To Find You Again

by Maureen McKade

  Terribly.

  In the Lakota culture, men were the hunters and warriors, and every activity they engaged in was geared toward being better hunters and better warriors. Emma had seen the men race their ponies countless times in the past and she'd long since lost her fascination with their riding skills. However, knowing Ridge was to participate, Emma made certain she faced the direction of the meadow where the race would take place.

  "Is your man good?" Talutah asked.

  Emma glanced at the woman sitting beside her who was sewing quills on a shirt for Fast Elk. "Yes," she replied. Although not as certain as she sounded, she knew Ridge possessed a natural grace atop a horse, and suspected he could easily match the other warriors' prowess.

  Emma tried to keep her attention on her own sewing task, but her gaze kept shifting to the warriors and horses at the far end of the field. Ponies stamped and snorted as the men lined up in a single row. A boy whooped the signal to start. Horses and men exploded in a blur of motion.

  Hoofbeats pounded the hard-packed earth and Emma picked out Ridge near the far end of the group. Her hands fisted and she leaned forward, silently urging him on.

  Paint lengthened his stride and began to gain ground, moving forward to overtake the middle of the pack, then passing them. Only four riders were ahead of Ridge, and Paint ate up the ground between them. Finally, there was only one warrior who outdistanced them. Emma shaded her eyes to pick out the brave's features.

  Hotah!

  Talutah had told her he'd been on a scouting trip, but it appeared he had returned.

  "Go Ridge," she murmured, her gaze riveted to the unfolding drama of racing horseflesh and skilled horsemen.

  Clods of new grass were thrown back by sharp hooves as Ridge and Hotah leaned low over their horses' manes.

  Paint drew neck and neck with Hotah's chestnut horse. Emma could make out flecks of spittle on both animals' muzzles and the faint tremble of the earth from the thundering gait. Just as they crossed the finish line, Ridge and Paint surged ahead to win by less than a head.

  Emma clapped and smiled so widely her mouth hurt, but it couldn't lessen her exhilaration at Ridge's victory over Hotah.

  A motion caught her eye and she turned to see Chayton standing on a tall boulder some two hundred feet away, jumping up and down as he, too, cheered Ridge's win. Her elation disappeared, replaced by dread at her son's precarious position. If he slipped, the fall could injure him badly, or even kill him. She rose, intent on getting him off the rock before he lost his balance.

  Suddenly, Chayton's arms flailed wildly and he stumbled back to disappear behind the boulder. His shrill cry chilled Emma to the bone.

  Talutah caught Emma's wrist. "You must allow him to learn on his own," the older woman said sternly. "Do not shame him in front of the others."

  Emma's mouth gaped. "He's not even four summers old." She tugged free of the older woman's strong grasp. "How can such a young one be shamed?"

  Talutah shook her head in disapproval. "You have changed, Winona. You think more like a wasicu than one of the People."

  "If being one of the People means I cannot go to my son when he is hurt, then maybe it is better to be a wasicu," she said angrily, fear sharpening her words.

  "Go then," Talutah said flatly. Her gaze dropped back down to her sewing.

  Torn between apologizing to her adopted mother and her need to check on her son, Emma wavered, but her maternal instincts overrode her momentary indecision.

  Running, she followed the trail the children had taken earlier which led to the river's edge. She spotted the group of youngsters with Ridge already in their midst.

  "How is—" Emma began, but broke off when she caught a clear view of her son sitting on a rock. He had blood running down the side of his face. She sank to her knees in front of Chayton, her heart jumping into her throat.

  "It looks worse than it is," Ridge reassured. "He's a mite dazed, but he wasn't knocked out, and the bleeding's slowed. His head's gonna hurt some, though. And I think his ankle's twisted, but nothing looks broken."

  Ridge untied the dark blue bandanna from around his neck and rose to dip it into the edge of the river. When he returned, he handed it to Emma, and spoke to the children. "Chayton will be fine. Go."

  The dark-eyed girls ushered their charges away and in a few moments, the children were once again playing and laughing.

  "This is one of the reasons I can't leave him here," Emma said hoarsely to Ridge, although her attention was riveted on her task as she wiped the blood from her son's face.

  "Don't mollycoddle him. It's not their way."

  Emma snapped her gaze to Ridge, her disagreement with Talutah adding fuel to her frustration. "This is my way!"

  "Look at him, Emma," Ridge ordered. "Go on. Look! He's Lakota."

  Reluctantly, Emma scrutinized her son, from his pale complexion to his struggle to remain unmoved by his injuries. There were two tear tracks down his dusky cheeks, but no more were being shed. He reminded Emma too much of Enapay after he'd been injured during a raid—the same withdrawn expression and impassive eyes.

  She pressed her lips together and handed Ridge back the bloodied bandanna. "Could you rinse this for me?"

  Emma had less than a minute alone with her troubling thoughts before Ridge returned. She continued to wipe away the blood, more than a little shocked that the boy hadn't spoken since she began.

  "Does it hurt?" she asked him.

  He finally focused on her. "No. I am not a baby."

  "I know, Chayton, but I am your mother and I worry about you."

  He stared at her, his eyes the same color Emma saw when she looked in a mirror. "Ina?"

  She nodded solemnly. "Yes. I am your ina" She hadn't tried to explain to him yesterday, hoping that he might remember on his own. "I had to go away for a little while, but I'm back now."

  Chayton studied her, almost frightening Emma by his intensity, which was far too profound for a boy bis age. "You will stay?"

  "I don't know." Emma brushed the gash on his head with the cloth and involuntary tears slid down Chayton's face, his stoic expression giving way to a little boy's pain. He whimpered and Emma drew him into her arms. She was surprised and pleased when his arms wound around her neck.

  "If I go, I want to take you with me," she whispered in his ear.

  Chayton raised his head. "Where?"

  "To see your white grandfather and grandmother."

  The boy grasped Emma's hand and stared down at their intertwined fingers. "Wasicu?"

  She nodded, her throat full.

  "Lakota," Chayton exclaimed fiercely, jabbing a thumb into his chest.

  "Yes, you are. But you have as much wasicu blood as Lakota blood."

  The boy raised bis gaze to Ridge, as if asking him to deny her words.

  Ridge nodded slowly. "Your ma's right, Chayton."

  The boy's brow furrowed and for the first time, Emma considered Chayton's feelings about his mixed heritage and leaving his home. There was no doubt he'd heard stories about the whites and their treatment of the Indians, but how much did he understand? The warriors would've embellished atrocities the wasicu committed, while celebrating their own victories. Emma's sympathies lay with her adopted family, but she wasn't blind to their fierce tendencies.

  "He'll be all right, Emma," Ridge reassured. "It looks like the bleeding's stopped."

  Emma eased Chayton back to the rock and raised herself on her knees to tie the cloth around his head. "There. Let's go back to our lodge and you can lie down."

  Chayton brushed the back of his hand over his moist cheeks and nodded. Before Emma could help him up, Ridge hoisted him into his arms.

  "His ankle's already swelling. When we get back, you need to put a cold cloth around it," he said quietly. "Could you lead Paint back?"

  Emma nodded and hurried to gather the horse where he stood with his head lowered. Dark patches on the horse's coat showed where he'd sweat, and his skin rippled occasionally from quivering
muscles.

  When Emma returned with Paint, she was gratified to see Chayton slumped in Ridge's arms, with his head on the man's shoulder. Leading Paint, she walked behind them on the narrow trail back to the camp, trying not to notice how her son's head rested against Ridge's cheek, or how carefully he walked so he wouldn't jar Chayton.

  Ridge abruptly halted and Emma nearly ran into his back. She raised up on her tiptoes to see over his shoulder. A broad, flat-nosed warrior stood in the middle of the path. Her breath caught in her throat and she had the overpowering urge to grab Chayton and run in the opposite direction.

  The cruel eyes rested on Ridge a moment and Emma could see he was furious to have lost the horse race to a white man. Hotah's lips thinned and his gaze moved across Chayton to Emma. He reached for Chayton, but Ridge shifted away so the warrior couldn't touch him. Hotah snarled and his shoulders stiffened as his hands fisted at his sides.

  Emma stepped forward. "He will carry Chayton. Let us pass," she said firmly, hoping Hotah would listen to a mere squaw.

  The warrior remained long enough to prove he could, then stepped to the side. Ridge passed first and Emma retrieved Paint and followed after him.

  When they arrived at their lodge, Emma left Paint ground-tied outside the tipi. She removed Chayton's moccasin, nearly crying when the boy whimpered again. She was aware of Ridge building up the fire.

  "I need to heat some water," she said quietly.

  Ridge nodded and ducked out to retrieve some.

  Emma wrapped her son's swollen ankle with a rabbit skin. She brushed her fingers across his cheek. "How are you feeling?"

  "Head hurts," he whispered.

  Emma swallowed back her tears. "I'll make something that will help."

  Chayton bit his lower lip and nodded slightly.

  Ridge returned with the water and set the kettle above the fire. He knelt in front of Chayton. "You're a brave warrior," Ridge said to the boy in Lakota.

  Emma smiled gratefully at the man and retrieved her saddlebags to pull out her collection of herbs. As she waited for the water to warm, she listened to Ridge speak softly to Chayton.

  "I'll bet you've never heard the story of the boy and the wolf, have you?" Ridge asked Chayton.

  He shook his head, his amber eyes wide.

  Ridge settled into a cross-legged position in front of the boy. "Many winters ago there was a boy who was called Dakota. Even though Dakota was only six summers, he took his bow and arrow and went hunting because his people were starving. He came upon a beautiful gray wolf who growled and snarled and showed his big sharp teeth. Dakota was very frightened, but he was also very brave like you. He did not run but spoke to the wolf. 'Why are you so mean?'

  "That wolf stared at him for a long time, trying to decide if he should eat the foolish little boy. But he respected Dakota's courage, so he replied, 'I have a spine in my paw and I cannot get it out.'"

  Emma leaned forward as Ridge's low, somewhat husky voice, drew her into the story.

  "Dakota, who also had a kind heart, thought for a minute. 'I will help you if you promise not to hurt me.' The wolf nodded and laid down on the ground. Dakota carefully examined the wolf's paw. He found the sharp spine and gently removed it. The wolf was so happy he promised Dakota he would stay with him and protect him always.

  "Then the wolf helped Dakota bring down deer and rabbits so Dakota's people wouldn't starve, but the people didn't understand how a little boy and a wolf could be friends. So they threw rocks at the wolf and chased him away. Angry and heartbroken, Dakota went after his new friend and never returned to his village. It is said that Dakota and his gray wolf still run through the woods together and if a person is lucky enough to see them, they will be blessed with a good hunt."

  "I want a wolf," Chayton said.

  Ridge smiled. "Maybe someday."

  Emma stirred some herbs into a cup of warm water and carried it to her son. "Drink."

  Chayton took the cup between his small hands and drank over half of it. The boy's eyelids drifted shut and Ridge settled him in the bed. Chayton hadn't napped earlier so Emma was fairly certain his drowsiness was caused by lack of sleep, rather than the bump to his head.

  "That was a beautiful story," Emma said softly to Ridge.

  He ducked his head. "Ma used to tell me one about a lion and a little boy. I figured Chayton would like a wolf better."

  Emma stared at the cup in her hands, knowing it was time to tell Ridge of her dreams. She struggled to find the right words. "Remember when I told you I dreamed of a mountain lion?"

  Ridge nodded slowly. "It was our last night in the cabin." His gaze caressed her face, and then flickered down to her breasts and back to her eyes.

  The familiar curl of desire unfurled in her belly and she gripped the cup tighter to keep from reaching for Ridge. "The night before I left my parents' ranch, I had a dream about a wolf cub and a mountain lion. The frightened cub was being toyed with by the lion. A full-grown wolf tried to save the cub, and the wolf and the lion fought."

  "What happened?"

  She shook her head, feeling the urgency rise again. "I don't know. I woke up." She took a deep breath. "I've had the dream more than once since then."

  "You think it's some kind of vision?"

  Emma met his skeptical gaze without flinching and nodded. "Yes. That's why I had to find Chayton."

  "You think he's the cub?"

  "Yes."

  "But you found him and he's safe."

  "For now. In my dream, the moon is always full."

  Ridge frowned. "There's a full moon tomorrow night."

  Emma's heart leapt into her throat. "I know."

  The fire crackled and Chayton snuffled restlessly. Outside the lodge, men and women talked, and children laughed. An occasional bark or whinny added to the peaceful sounds.

  "Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Ridge asked.

  She smiled without humor. "Would you have believed me?" His silence gave Emma her answer. "The medicine man said I had a dreaming gift. He used to help me figure out what my dreams meant." She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear as she gathered her courage. "I'm afraid for him, Ridge. I can't let him out of my sight for the next few nights."

  "I'll help you watch him."

  "I thought you didn't believe me."

  "I admit it's kinda hard to swallow, but I've seen a lot of strange things in my time, Emma. I guess this ain't all that different."

  Ridge's warm understanding threatened to bring tears to Emma's eyes. It would be so easy to fall in love with Ridge Madoc. No other man—not even Enapay—had been so tender and thoughtful. Among the Lakota, Winona had been Enapay's wife and Chayton's mother. Winona was expected to do her duties with no complaints and be there when her husband or son needed her.

  But what about Emma?

  She wanted to be Chayton's mother, but Emma wanted more than Winona. She wanted her husband's respect, and she wanted to be involved in decisions affecting her. She wanted—no, needed—to be loved by the man she would share her life with. Winona had accepted less; Emma would not.

  She laid her hand on Ridge's and squeezed it. "Thank you."

  Ridge merely nodded and then rose. "I'd best take care of Paint. After that race, he needs a good rubdown."

  Emma smiled. "By the way, congratulations."

  Ridge studied her, his eyes hooded. "Are you glad I won, or glad I beat Hotah?"

  "Both."

  Chapter 13

  Ridge felt the hostile gaze drill his back as he led Paint back to the rope corral. He wasn't surprised someone was watching him. Ever since he and Emma had arrived yesterday, their freedom around the camp had been an illusion. Emma might not see it, but Ridge did. At least one warrior was always guarding him. He didn't think it was the chief's doing, but the men in the village who didn't trust a wasicu.

  He kept his pace unhurried as he used Paint's saddle blanket to rub the gelding's withers, back, and flanks. He knew he was a fast horse, but hadn't r
ealized how swift until the race. A smile tugged at his lips. The braves had been impressed by the weak white man.

  Ridge rested his arms across Paint's back and stared out across the village. Two weeks ago when he'd left Sunset to find Emma Hartwell, he hadn't suspected half of what he'd learned about her since then. Discovering Emma was a widow had been surprising, but even more shocking was her son.

  Taking Chayton back to Sunset was only inviting more trouble. Her life would be hell and old man Hartwell would try to cover up Emma's sin as quickly as possible by ridding himself of her and her half breed son. He might even force Emma to give up Chayton and then send her off to live with some far-off relative, like he'd planned before Emma had run away.

  Bitter bile rose in Ridge's throat as he imagined the proud woman being forced to bend to her father's will. Emma would break before doing so, but what kind of life would she have? Would she end up in one of the cribs in the part of Sunset that everybody deliberately overlooked, where desperate men went looking for even more desperate women?

  Merely imagining Emma lying on a dirty mattress, allowing every kind of man to rut with her made him want to puke. But hadn't he used her? She'd asked him about marriage, but he couldn't offer that to any woman until he had a good start on his ranch.

  Would he have asked Emma if he was ready to take a wife?

  The near-silent approach of someone made Ridge stiffen and strain to hear who it was. He turned slowly, expecting Hotah, but was pleasantly surprised to see Fast Elk.

  "Hau," Ridge greeted.

  "Hau," Fast Elk replied, his expression somber. "You raced well."

  Ridge inclined his head in acceptance. "My horse is strong and fast."

  Fast Elk crossed his arms and stared off into the distance. Ridge waited patiently.

  "When I found Winona, she was frightened but she did not give in to tears," Fast Elk began. "Our daughter died when she was fourteen summers. Because she was strong and brave, I chose Winona to become our daughter. She never shamed us, but I knew she missed her white home. After the soldiers came, we thought we would never see her again."