To Find You Again (38 page)

"No, it's fine, truly," Emma assured, then grinned mischievously. "It's bigger than a tipi, and the bed's not on the ground."

An endearing blush stained his cheeks and he sipped coffee to cover his embarrassment.

"You bought a new bed," she commented.

A roguish grin stole across his lips. "I thought you'd like it."

"I do," she said softly. "But you didn't have to do it."

"I wanted to." He shrugged. "I had some money left after buying the bull."

"But you were going to start buying your land back from my father."

"I will someday."

Emma blinked back tears and wished she dared confess how much she loved him. "Thank you," she whispered, clasping his hand across the table.

Ridge brushed his thumb across her knuckles. "Tell me why you rode over here so early."

Emma gathered her thoughts, reluctantly setting aside the infinitely more pleasant ones involving Ridge and the new bed in the corner. "Remember when I had the dreams?"

"You were worried about Chayton. You thought something would happen the night of the full moon."

"I-I'm having those same dreams again, but this time they're even more frightening." She went on to describe them and was relieved when Ridge listened without comment, his expression somber.

"What do you think it means?" he asked as he continued to caress Emma's hand.

"That something will happen to Chayton tonight," she replied unhesitantly.

Ridge frowned. "And maybe you, too. But who's the mountain lion?"

"I don't know." Frustration laced her voice. "i don't know who the eagle is either."

"Easy, Emma. Last time, nothing happened. Maybe it'll be the same this time."

She shook her head vehemently. "No. This feels different, more real and more menacing."

Before Ridge could say anything, the sound of an approaching horseman broke the morning's quiet. Emma exchanged a puzzled glance with Ridge, and they rose together and went out to face the visitor.

Preston Wylie galloped into the yard and reined sharply in front of the shack. The usually fastidious officer's uniform shirt was misbuttoned and untucked. He spotted Emma and his eyes widened slightly in his dirt-streaked face.

"Where's the fire, Pres?" Ridge asked.

The lieutenant dragged his gaze away from Emma and replied, "Cullen's escaped. Whoever helped him killed the guard."

Emma inhaled sharply.

"Is someone watching Colt?" Ridge demanded.

"Sarge."

"Where's Nyes?"

"Back at the post. General Mason's questioning him now. The general wants you to track down Cullen."

"Cullen and whoever got him out of the stockade," Ridge said grimly. "I'll grab some supplies and ride over."

Pres touched the brim of his hat and said to Emma, "Ma'am."

Emma managed a nod and the officer rode away.

Ridge grasped her shoulders. "I have to go, Emma."

Again she nodded, unable to speak past the irrational fear lodged in her throat.

"Are you all right?" Ridge asked, ducking to peer into her face.

"Yes."

Ridge didn't appear convinced, but he drew back, his reluctance obvious. "I have to see if I can track down Cullen before his trail gets cold, but I'll come back to the ranch before nightfall so we can figure out your dreams."

"All right."

Although Ridge was anxious, he remained with Emma. "I'll escort you back to your place before I ride over to the post."

Emma mentally shook herself. "No. That'll add eight miles. You need to find Cullen and lock him up again before he hurts someone else."

She could see the fiery determination in his expression, but his eyes were uncertain. She gave him a little shove. "Go! I'll be fine."

After another moment of indecision, Ridge kissed her. It was brief but fierce—a promise he'd return to her as soon as he could.

He walked her to Clementine and gave her a boost into the saddle. He laid his hand on her leg and gazed up at her anxiously. "Are you sure?"

She leaned down and feathered a touch across his whisker-roughened jaw. "Yes. Now go."

He grinned, a crooked, wry grin that never failed to arouse Emma's passion. Stifling a moan, she tapped her heels to the mare's flanks and the animal sprinted away.

Ridge hunkered down, tipping his head from one side to the other as he tried to make out the footprints in the dirt. He had no trouble distinguishing Cullen's from the soldiers' since the scout wore moccasins. Except there was a second set of moccasin prints, slightly smaller than Cullen's. Ridge's first thought was Cullen's squaw had broken him out, but the prints were too big for a slip of a gal like her.

"Anything?" Pres Wylie asked, standing a couple yards away from the tracker so he wouldn't mess up the ground with his own boot prints.

"I'm not sure," Ridge replied. "It looks like whoever killed the guard and busted him out was wearing moccasins."

"There aren't many so-called civilized folks who wear them," Pres remarked.

Ridge glanced at his own comfortable, knee-high moccasins. "Yeah. Me, Cullen—" he broke off as a stray thought struck him. "Did you have any trouble getting into that village a couple weeks ago?"

Pres blinked owlishly at the change of subjects. "No, not that I can recall. Cullen led us through a serpentine trail that cut through rock. I remember thinking it was an opportune place for an ambush."

Ridge pushed himself upright. "While Emma and I were in the village they always had sentries stationed up there."

"So where were the sentries?"

"That's a damned good question." He strode back to Paint, his mind racing with possibilities. "Who's coming with me?"

"General Mason's authorized ten men for the search. I'm the ranking officer."

"Is someone guarding Colt?"

"Sarge is in charge of the guard detail."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Ridge smiled. "Betcha Colt's having a fit. Being out of the action is going to do what Cullen didn't—kill him."

Pres laughed. "I don't know about that, but Sarge is threatening to bind and gag him."

Ridge shook his head in amusement, but the moment passed and he sobered. "I'll meet you and your contingent outside the gate."

By late afternoon, Ridge was using every trick he knew to find the trail. At first the stolen horses' tracks were easy to follow. But as Cullen and his accomplice moved into rockier terrain, the prints disappeared. Ridge had to search for darker soil spots, which were exposed when a stone was disturbed; or a metal-gray slash on a rock from the graze of a horseshoe; or the fresh break of a twig. It was time-consuming and laborious.

Ridge gripped his saddle horn and shifted his stiff backside on the unforgiving leather saddle. He rubbed his eyes, which were sore from intently studying the ground for hours on end.

"Any ideas?" Pres Wylie asked, setting his horse beside Ridge.

"Yeah, but I don't like any of 'em."

Pres pushed his hat off his forehead. "If it wasn't another white man wearing moccasins, it was an Indian."

Although it wasn't a question, Ridge replied, "Yep. And I've got a bad feeling I know who it was."

"Who?"

"Hotah. He was from the village you attacked." He couldn't hide his simmering resentment.

Pres's gaze hardened. "We were under orders to recapture the natives and return them to the reservation. It wasn't our intention to do battle."

Ridge took a deep breath to dispel his anger. "It was Cullen, who somehow got Hotah to help him get the detachment into the camp without being seen."

"Why would this Hotah assist Cullen in murdering his people?"

"Revenge, maybe. The chief banished him from the village the day before the attack. Hotah didn't like that the chief wanted peace, not war." A lead ball settled in Ridge's stomach. "I could be wrong. I ain't never heard of an Indian turning on his own before, but if Hotah is hell-bent on stirring things up, this is a good way to help it along."

"Maybe Cullen offered him some incentive."

"What kind?"

"Half a dozen repeating rifles and boxes of shells were stolen from the armory the night before Colt was stabbed."

"Shit," Ridge swore. "Those would kill a lot of soldiers and settlers." He stiffened his backbone. "Let's get back to it. If Hotah and Cullen have those rifles, we need to stop them."

Determination driving him, Ridge led the small group of soldiers and hoped he was on the right trail.

Emma trudged downstairs after trying on her wedding dress for the umpteenth time. This time, however, it fit perfectly, much to her mother's relief. Mrs. Wright was frying chicken and Emma's stomach growled, reminding her she'd eaten little during the day. Between her nightmares and her fear for Ridge with Cullen on the loose, she'd simply been unable to force food into her rebelling stomach.

She entered the front room and found her mother and Sarah with their heads bent over something as they sat on the comfortable sofa.

"What're you doing?" Emma asked.

The two women jumped in guilty surprise and Sarah moved to block her mother from Emma.

"Doing?" Sarah repeated too brightly.

Emma crossed her arms. "What's going on?"

"We have no idea what you mean, dear," her mother said innocently.

Emma suspected it was some surprise for the wedding tomorrow, and didn't have the heart to spoil it for them. "Where's Chayton?"

"He went out to help Rory," Sarah replied.

"How long ago?"

"A half an hour or so."

"I think I'll go find him and let you two get back to doing nothing." Emma smiled sweetly.

She refrained from laughing at Sarah's loud sigh of relief as she left them to their scheming. Outside, the sun was dropping toward the mountains. It wouldn't be long before twilight came and went, which meant the rising of the full moon. She shivered uncontrollably and wrapped her arms around herself.

Where are you, Ridge? You said you'd be here.

Emma spotted Rory leading a bay gelding that had cut his front right fetlock two days earlier. She was pleased to see the horse's limp was barely noticeable now.

"Rory, have you seen Chayton?" she called out.

The old hostler shook his head. "Ain't seen him since early this afternoon."

"Sarah said he came out here half an hour ago."

"Ain't seen him," he repeated with a frown, a deep crease between his eyebrows. "Check the barn. Maybe he's just playin' with them kittens."

Emma was panting by the time she arrived at the barn and threw open the door. The kittens were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Chayton. Emma's anxiety turned to dread and her heart pounded so hard it made her dizzy.

"He ain't there?" Rory asked, limping up behind her.

"No. Where would he go?" she asked, her voice climbing.

"I'll start lookin' around and as soon as the boys start comin' in, I'll have them help." Rory patted her shoulder awkwardly. "Don't you worry, Miss Emma. He probably just found a new place to play."

Emma managed a nod and raced back to the house. Her cry brought her father out of his office, as well as Sarah and her mother from the parlor.

"Chayton's missing," Emma announced, her voice thready. "Rory hasn't seen him and he's not in the barn. When he's not with Rory and the horses, he likes to play in the barn with the kittens, so I thought he'd be there, but he wasn't." She knew she was rambling, but it was either that or fall apart completely.

"I'll get the men out looking immediately," her father assured, his mouth set in a grim line. "We'll find him, Emma."

He grabbed his hat on the way out the door, his stride purposeful.

"I'm sorry, Emma," Sarah cried. "I should've gone with him and made sure he made it over to Rory."

"I'm sure he'll be fine, Emma," her mother reassured, although her face was wan. "Why, I'll bet they'll find him curled up someplace taking a nap."

"I'm going to change clothes and help look for him," Emma said, her voice stronger.

Without waiting for a reply, Emma flew upstairs and changed into the same split riding skirt and blouse she'd worn that morning to Ridge's. Within ten minutes, she was searching the ground for a sign of a scuffle. Although she wasn't a tracker like Ridge, she'd learned a few things from him and Fast Elk.

Behind the barn Emma found what she was seeking. She called to her father, who joined her. She showed him the marks in the dirt—small boots and a larger set of footprints that weren't boots. Rather, they were moccasins.

Hotah.

Emma swayed and her father caught her arm.

"Emma, are you all right?" he asked, wrapping a steadying arm around her shoulders.

"It was Hotah, the Indian I told you about that Captain Rivers chased away."

"You said he wanted Chayton. Why?"

"He thinks Chayton should grow up to be a Lakota warrior. Hotah never liked me and when I took Chayton away, he must've followed me back here."

Her father scowled. "I'll have one of the men ride to the fort and tell General Mason what happened. He should be able to assign some soldiers to help us search."

Emma nodded absently, wishing with all her heart that Ridge were here. He would be able to make sense of the tracks. Besides, his confident presence would be a balm to her hysteria threatening to escape.

Her father led her back to the barn and joined some of the hired hands who had just returned from the range. Emma waited until his attention was on them and then slipped into the barn to saddle Clementine. A rifle leaned up against a stall and she slid it into the scabbard on the saddle.

She led the mare out the back door of the barn, hidden from the men, and began to follow the faint moccasin prints left behind. It would be night soon and she'd lose the trail in the darkness... except there was a full moon. More light. More danger.

Tonight her vision would come to life.

Chapter 23

Ridge cursed the bad luck that had him arriving at the Hartwell ranch after sunset. As he rode closer, he noticed the activity around the outbuildings and corrals. Lanterns bobbed about, carried by men who appeared to be looking for something.