"I know."
The fire crackled between them, occasionally snapping and shooting sparks into the air.
"Would you like me to read aloud?" Emma asked quietly.
He kept his gaze aimed downward, afraid she'd see how much her simple offer touched him. He cleared his throat. "If you'd like. It won't bother me."
"I hope you like humorous stories." She smiled and mischief glittered in her eyes, along with the firelight. She dipped her head and began. "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County by Mark Twain."
Ridge watched the movement of her bow-shaped lips as she formed the words effortlessly. The sight mesmerized him, and tempted him to run a gentle finger along the full lower lip. He could imagine the softness, like a wild rose petal.
He closed his eyes, afraid temptation would overwhelm his common sense, and merely listened. He liked Emma's mellow voice as it rose and fell in a pleasant cadence. The only other woman who'd read to him had been his mother, and her voice hadn't been as easy on the ears. Emma had a way of making the story sound like something special and magical.
The story was about some gambler who trained a frog named Daniel Webster to jump. To Ridge, training a frog to jump seemed a useless thing to do, but the Twain fella had written it in such a way that it made Ridge chuckle and shake his head.
Of course, Ridge wasn't certain it was the story or Emma's way of reading it that made it so amusing.
Some minutes later Emma stopped and rubbed her eyes. "I thought I could finish it this evening, but I'm afraid it'll have to wait for another time."
Although disappointed, Ridge shrugged.
A breeze kicked up, stirring the fire and sending sparks swirling upward. Emma shivered and closed the book. "Winter's reminding us it's still here."
"Feels like it," Ridge murmured.
"Did my reading aloud bother you?"
He jerked his head up. "No. You've got a pretty voice." He suddenly realized what he'd said and snapped his mouth shut.
Emma smiled and laid her hand on his coat sleeve. Despite the clothing between them, Ridge fancied he could feel the warmth of her delicate fingers. "Thank you. I've always enjoyed reading. It's one of the things I missed most when I was with the People." Her eyes focused inward. "Sometimes when Enapay returned from a raid, he would bring me back a book."
"Enapay?"
Emma's eyes widened and he heard a catch in her breath. "He was a friend."
Suspicion followed closely on the heels of unexpected jealousy. "Sounds like more'n a friend."
"If he was, that's my business," Emma said without meeting his gaze.
Ridge eyed her warily. Was Enapay the reason Emma needed to find the tribe she'd lived with? And if he was, was it any of Ridge's concern?
"We'd best turn in," Ridge said.
Emma placed her book in her saddlebags as if it were gold bullion. But, then, maybe books were Emma Hartwell's treasure.
Without exchanging another word, Ridge and Emma slid into their respective bedrolls.
Ridge pondered Emma's slip and his own reaction to it. It was only natural for a man to want to protect a woman, even when the woman didn't want protecting. A lot of folks already suspected Emma had been sullied by the Indians, but if she'd chosen an Indian lover, her life would be made more hellish by neighbors and so-called friends.
What if she was trying to return to an Indian lover?
Unsettled, he turned on his side so his back was to the woman.
The temperature fell rapidly overnight, and the following morning Emma and Ridge moved through their morning tasks quickly, eating jerky and leftover biscuits, and drinking icy water for breakfast. They readied their horses to head out just after sunrise.
Few words were exchanged between Emma and Ridge, and unwieldy silence hung between them. The horses tugged at their bits and danced nervously at skittering leaves as if sensing the tension. Emma kept a snug hold on the reins and tried not to think about the previous night's blunder. She'd been so careful for months. Why had she slipped up last night?
Because Ridge Madoc makes me feel too comfortable.
He could've continued questioning her about Enapay, but he hadn't. He also hadn't looked at her any differently this morning, although she had expected him to renege on their deal. However, he'd surprised her again. Any other man wouldn't have been so tolerant. Especially her own father.
The day remained cool as Emma and Ridge traveled through terrain which became more barren with every mile. The mountains were over their left shoulder, and the winds that swirled down from the snow-capped peaks battered at Emma, despite her warm coat, muffler, and scarf. During a short rest in the late morning, Emma added a blanket to her shoulders. Ridge cocked an eyebrow at her, but nodded when an especially vicious wind swept through, the bitter cold cutting to the bone.
Midafternoon brought an unholy scream that made the hair stand up on Emma's arms. The blood drained from her face as she cast about fearfully for the source of the inhuman sound. Or was this a vision reminding her of the danger ahead?
"Mountain lion," Ridge said, his breath misting through the scarf covering the lower half of his face.
Relief flowed through Emma. Ridge had heard it, too, which meant it wasn't part of her dreams. However, it still unnerved her.
"It's all right, Emma," he added. "It's half, maybe three-quarters of a mile away."
He obviously thought she was frightened of the animal, and Emma wasn't about to disabuse him of that notion. How could she explain her dreams without making him think she was crazy?
"Springtime. He's probably looking for companionship." Emma forced lightness into her tone.
"Not likely. They would've mated by now and the female would be carrying the young."
"Don't they mate for life, like wolves?" she asked, intrigued despite herself.
Ridge shook his head and his eyes twinkled above his wind-ruddy cheeks. "They're just like alley cats."
Emma recalled the hideous howls in the early spring from the feral cats, and her cheeks heated beneath her wool muffler. "Oh."
Ridge chuffed a quiet laugh.
Emma couldn't help but smile and her tension eased.
Half an hour later, they arrived at a river swollen with spring melt from the mountains. Chunks of ice streamed by occasionally, carried down from higher elevations.
"We'll have to find a better place to cross," Ridge said.
Emma's heart thumped loudly, and she fought the panic rising in her breast. "Good idea. This doesn't look safe," she agreed, raising her voice to be heard above the river's raging current.
Ridge turned his horse downstream and Emma followed, hunching her shoulders. They rode for nearly a mile before the river widened and the current slowed.
"How deep is it?" Emma tried to keep her gaze averted, but her attention kept returning to the streaming torrent.
A crease formed between Ridge's eyebrows. "If I remember right, not more'n two or three feet. The horses shouldn't even have to swim."
Emma studied the meandering expanse. Although it wasn't nearly as fast-flowing as upriver, fear clawed at her throat. Ever since she'd nearly drowned that fateful day seven years ago, she'd had an irrational fear of water. She hated crossing anything larger than a stream, but living with the Lakota, she'd been forced to do so or be left behind in the wilderness.
"Are you all right, Emma?" Ridge's concerned voice broke through her heart-pounding fear.
"Fine," she answered too quickly.
"If you're scared, we might be able to find a better place farther downstream or—" He paused deliberately. "We can go back."
"I'm not scared," she snapped.
Ridge scrutinized her and Emma held his gaze, unwilling to let him use her fear as an excuse to abandon her quest.
"All right," he said grudgingly. "Take off your boots and stockings, and carry them around your neck so they don't get wet."
Emma didn't want to expose her feet to the cold air and colder water,
but recognized the wisdom in Ridge's suggestion. She dismounted and removed her boots. She glanced at Ridge to find his back to her and she quickly rolled down her heavy black stockings. Bunching the stockings, she placed them in her shoes. She tied the laces together and placed them behind her neck.
Before she could return to the saddle, Ridge joined her and cupped his hands. After a moment's surprise, Emma smiled gratefully and placed her bare foot in his warm palms. He raised her up and she gracefully swung her right leg over the saddle. As she fitted her right foot in the stirrup, Ridge gently guided her left foot into the other one, but didn't immediately release her.
Emma gazed down at him, but could only see the top of his hat and his wide, competent hands covering her bare foot. His thumb brushed across the sensitive instep and her toes curled as pleasure raced through her veins.
Ridge abruptly released her and mounted his horse. He, too, had tied his moccasins together and draped them over his neck. After one quick look at Emma, Ridge kneed his horse down the sloped bank and toward the water. The animal balked and Ridge kicked the gelding's flanks. With a snort and toss of his head, Paint entered the cold mountain water.
Emma's hands trembled and her body tensed tighter than a bowstring. If she wanted to discover her son's fate, she had no choice but to follow. Emma used the end of her leather reins to lightly slap Clementine's rump and the mare leapt forward, only to stop sharply at the edge of the river.
Emma sailed over the mare's neck to splash into the river. The icy cold water shocked the air from her lungs, and she frantically scrambled to her hands and knees in the shallows. She gulped in air as her body trembled.
"Emma, you all right?"
She blinked the droplets from her eyelashes and focused on Ridge, who'd ridden back across the river. Her heart racing and her lungs screaming, she could only nod.
He dismounted, getting his own feet wet in the shallow water. "What happened?"
"Uh, Clementine balked. Stupid of me. Flew over her head," Emma managed to gasp out.
Ridge frowned as if he didn't believe her, but only held out his hand. She accepted it gratefully and he tugged her to her feet.
"Your shoes are gone," Ridge said.
Emma's hand went to her neck but there was nothing there. They were the only shoes she had. "They can't be far." She frantically searched for the boots, but couldn't spot them.
Ridge scowled. "The current must've caught them. C'mon." He helped her up the steep bank, to where Clementine stood calmly, as if she'd done nothing wrong.
The cold breeze struck Emma, ripping away more heat from her chilled body. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.
Ridge released her and retrieved the blanket from her saddle. He wrapped it around her shoulders and picked her up.
"What're you doing?" Emma asked, struggling weakly to escape his arms.
"You might cut open your foot." Ridge carried her to a large rock where he eased her down. "I'll be right back."
When he rejoined her, he carried a second pair of moccasins. He knelt down and, with an economy of emotion, tugged the first deerskin boot, then the second, on her nearly numb feet.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"They're a mite big on you, but better than nothing. And since the river's not any deeper'n a couple feet, you won't get them wet."
"Are you sure?"
Ridge nodded. "I was all the way across when I looked back and seen you in the water."
"Sorry," she mumbled.
"It's all right," he said gently.
Emma's nerves jangled, but the terror she'd felt only minutes earlier loosened its stranglehold with Ridge's soft-spoken words. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest. "I-I thought I was g-going to drown," she stammered.
"The water wasn't deep enough to drown in, but you did get soaked." He rubbed her back. "There's a shack only a mile or two from here where we can spend the night."
Emma nodded as she felt the first snowflake land on her cheek.
"Can you ride?" he asked.
"Yes."
Ridge helped her to her horse, then gave her a boost into the saddle. She settled uncomfortably on the cold seat, her wet clothes bunching around her legs and thighs.
"Here." Ridge held the reins up to her.
She accepted them and watched Ridge mount his black and white horse. He nudged the animal closer to her.
"Stay right behind me, Emma," Ridge said. "We'll cross slow and easy-like."
She closed her eyes momentarily against the renewed fear, but nodded gamely.
"Remember what I said. Stay close," he repeated.
Keeping her gaze on Ridge's back instead of the churning water, Emma followed him. Her heart sounded louder than the rushing water as she clung to the saddle-horn, her knuckles white. Her mare moved farther into the river. Goose bumps covered her skin and her teeth chattered, although Emma wasn't certain if it was from dread or the cold.
Ridge's horse scrambled up the opposite bank and out of the river. Clementine followed without prodding and Emma was once again on solid ground.
"Are you doing all right?" Ridge asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
She nodded, lightheaded with relief to have the crossing behind them. "Just c-cold."
"Well be at the shack in five or ten minutes."
"Thank heavens," she murmured.
By the time they arrived at the small cabin, Emma's teeth were chattering uncontrollably and she had little feeling in her fingers and toes. Although her mind was sluggish, she knew she had to get out of the wet clothes and into something dry.
She started to dismount, then felt herself lifted from her horse. Blissful warmth radiated from Ridge and she snuggled against his chest. Closing her eyes, Emma imagined she was back in her tipi wrapped in heavy buffalo robes.
Ridge lifted the latch and the door swung open, the force of the wind causing it to crash against the wall.
He carried Emma inside, and the near silence was eerie after the dull roar of the blizzard. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he spotted a rough frame bed. Although it was bare and narrow, it was better than the dirt floor. He checked for mouse nests, found none, and lowered Emma to the thin mattress.
"Stay here. I'm going to get a fire going," he said to her.
She rolled onto her side and pulled her knees up to her chest. "So cold."
"I know. Just give me a few minutes and I'll have the place warmed up."
He went outside and moved the horses around to the lee side of the building, where he found a stack of firewood. He quickly hobbled the horses and loosened their girths. Promising to return to remove the tack, Ridge tossed Emma's saddlebags over his shoulder, then loaded his arms with wood and carried it into the cabin. He glanced at Emma who was still lying curled up on the bed—she appeared to have fallen asleep. He knelt beside the iron stove in the center of the single room. Five minutes later a fire blazed in the stove's belly.
Certain the fire had caught, he closed the stove door and rocked himself to his feet. Finding a lantern with some kerosene left in it, he lit the wick and pale yellow light filled the small cabin.
Now that he could see the room, he searched Emma's saddlebags for dry clothing. He found a skirt and blouse, but no undergarments. After a quick search of the cabin, he unearthed two old woolen blankets in a crate and laid them on the end of the bed, along with her clothing.
He debated whether to touch Emma while she was asleep, but decided it would be safe since he'd seen her knife in a saddlebag. Besides, she needed to change into dry clothing.
He shook her shoulder and she blinked blearily at him.
"You have to take off your wet clothes, Emma."
She nodded and her hands went to the buttons on her coat, but she only fumbled with them, as if she couldn't get her fingers to do what she wanted.
"Let me, Emma."
After a moment, she nodded in surrender and remained pliant as he removed her jacket, then the soake
d blouse beneath it. Her damp camisole lay against her skin, so translucent Ridge could see the tan circling her peaked nipples through the cloth. He swallowed hard and ignored the undeniable charge of lust through his veins. Keeping his gaze averted, he skimmed the undergarment off and tossed it aside. He covered her naked breasts, glancing at them only once as he buttoned her blouse. Steeling his reaction to her feminine body, he removed her skirt and petticoat with the same impersonal motions and slipped on the dry skirt.
His gaze traveled to her face where he met half-lidded eyes. "Thank you," she whispered, her expression as trusting as a child's.
"You're welcome," he said, an odd lump in his throat. He eased her back down on the bed, her eyes already closing, and covered her with the dry blankets. Fighting the urge to kiss her brow, Ridge dragged a shaking hand across his forehead. Although he was tired, he was glad he still had the horses to take care of. He needed the distance from Emma to cool his hot blood.
Half an hour later, Ridge finished laying out Emma's wet clothing around the tiny cabin. He'd changed out of his damp buckskins into some men's clothes he'd found in the same box as the blankets. Although the pants were a little snug and the shirt hugged his chest, he was glad for the dry clothing.
Ridge added more wood to the fire and stretched, popping his spine in two places. Outside, the light gave way to darkness. The wind continued to blast, and the cabin creaked from the assault. Spring blizzards weren't uncommon but this one had caught him unprepared. They wouldn't be continuing their journey for a day or two, maybe longer.
Ridge considered making something to eat, but exhaustion won out. The bed looked inviting, even without Emma in it. But she was there and it wasn't proper to be lying beside a woman who wasn't your wife or a whore, even if he had seen her in her full glory.
Sighing, he laid down on the floor close to the stove and crossed his arms over his chest. He'd slept in a lot worse conditions.
Being on his own since the age of fifteen, Ridge was a light sleeper. Even the absence of sound often awakened him because of its peculiarity. This time, however, it was Emma's restlessness that woke him.
To Find You Again Page 9