Read Online To Find You Again by Maureen McKade - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Maureen McKade
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into the flames. "I have something I have to do first."
"What's so important that you'd abandon your own family?"
She laughed, but it was a raw, hurtful sound. "Abandoning family. That's what this is all about, Mr. Madoc."
"I don't understand, Miss Hartwell." Ridge peered at the woman and her figure blurred. He squinted and managed to clear up the picture for only a second. His eyelids flickered downward and he fought to keep them open.
"You should get some rest, Mr. Madoc. You lost a lot of blood."
"Home. In the morning," Ridge slurred.
"Yes, Mr. Madoc. In the morning you can go home."
He felt a gentle pressure on his arm, guiding him to lie down. A blanket settled over him, and small, competent hands tucked the material around him. "Thank you, ma'am," he murmured.
His last memory before dropping off was that of a woman's tender touch feathering across his brow.
When Ridge awakened the next morning, groggy and confused, the sun was high above the horizon. And Emma Hartwell was gone.
Chapter 5
Adjusting the canteen and bedroll straps crisscrossing his chest, Ridge followed the suspiciously distinct trail Emma had left behind. He knew her skill at hiding her tracks firsthand, yet she wasn't making any effort to hide the two sets of hoofprints now. Why?
He should've been more wary of her willingness to help after she'd knifed him, but he hadn't expected someone like Miss Hartwell to be so treacherous. The woman he'd found stumbling near town nearly two weeks ago wouldn't have attacked him. Nor would she have drugged his tea.
Even as young as he'd been, he remembered his pa's strict lesson on treating women with respect and courtesy. He'd always said it didn't matter if the woman was a lady or a whore, Ridge always tipped his hat and opened doors for her. Emma Hartwell was no whore, despite what many of the townsfolk thought. Yet she hadn't acted like a lady either.
So how should he treat her?
Like a bounty.
Ridge cringed inwardly. She wasn't anything like those men he'd hunted for the price on their heads. Most of them had been more like animals, and when he'd defended himself, it was more like putting down a rabid creature than shooting a man.
After he joined the army, he swore he'd never return to bounty hunting, although he'd been tempted over the last month. The money was a whole lot better than chasing cattle around all day, but tracking down murderers and thieves was a dangerous job. Too dangerous for someone who had a reason to live.
Ridge stumbled over an exposed tree root, jarred his injured arm, and bit back a curse at his uncharacteristic clumsiness. He'd been walking steadily for over three hours, feeding off anger and humiliation. However, his emotions were starting to drain and he couldn't ignore his arm's throbbing or the stinging blisters on his feet.
The ground was littered with boulders jutting out of the earth and Ridge lowered himself to one with a groan. His feet nearly groaned in relief.
He was getting soft. A year ago a little cut wouldn't have taken so much out of him. A year ago he wouldn't have been wounded and left afoot by a gal, either. At least she'd left his saddlebags, canteen, and rifle so he wouldn't starve or be helpless against a wild animal.
He tucked the canteen between his injured arm and his side, then used his other hand to remove the stopper. Raising the canteen to his lips, he took a few sips of the cool liquid. The water helped clear his foggy head, but he didn't dare drink too much. He wasn't certain how far he'd have to walk, but he would find Miss Hartwell, even if he had to track the woman halfway to hell. Then he'd haul her crafty little backside back to her daddy's ranch—tied belly down across her horse's saddle, if he had to—and collect the one hundred dollars.
A wolf's bay sounded from nearby and Ridge jerked his head up, searching for the wild animal. The sun slid behind a gunmetal gray cloud and another howl ripped through the stillness. A shiver
"What's so important that you'd abandon your own family?"
She laughed, but it was a raw, hurtful sound. "Abandoning family. That's what this is all about, Mr. Madoc."
"I don't understand, Miss Hartwell." Ridge peered at the woman and her figure blurred. He squinted and managed to clear up the picture for only a second. His eyelids flickered downward and he fought to keep them open.
"You should get some rest, Mr. Madoc. You lost a lot of blood."
"Home. In the morning," Ridge slurred.
"Yes, Mr. Madoc. In the morning you can go home."
He felt a gentle pressure on his arm, guiding him to lie down. A blanket settled over him, and small, competent hands tucked the material around him. "Thank you, ma'am," he murmured.
His last memory before dropping off was that of a woman's tender touch feathering across his brow.
When Ridge awakened the next morning, groggy and confused, the sun was high above the horizon. And Emma Hartwell was gone.
Chapter 5
Adjusting the canteen and bedroll straps crisscrossing his chest, Ridge followed the suspiciously distinct trail Emma had left behind. He knew her skill at hiding her tracks firsthand, yet she wasn't making any effort to hide the two sets of hoofprints now. Why?
He should've been more wary of her willingness to help after she'd knifed him, but he hadn't expected someone like Miss Hartwell to be so treacherous. The woman he'd found stumbling near town nearly two weeks ago wouldn't have attacked him. Nor would she have drugged his tea.
Even as young as he'd been, he remembered his pa's strict lesson on treating women with respect and courtesy. He'd always said it didn't matter if the woman was a lady or a whore, Ridge always tipped his hat and opened doors for her. Emma Hartwell was no whore, despite what many of the townsfolk thought. Yet she hadn't acted like a lady either.
So how should he treat her?
Like a bounty.
Ridge cringed inwardly. She wasn't anything like those men he'd hunted for the price on their heads. Most of them had been more like animals, and when he'd defended himself, it was more like putting down a rabid creature than shooting a man.
After he joined the army, he swore he'd never return to bounty hunting, although he'd been tempted over the last month. The money was a whole lot better than chasing cattle around all day, but tracking down murderers and thieves was a dangerous job. Too dangerous for someone who had a reason to live.
Ridge stumbled over an exposed tree root, jarred his injured arm, and bit back a curse at his uncharacteristic clumsiness. He'd been walking steadily for over three hours, feeding off anger and humiliation. However, his emotions were starting to drain and he couldn't ignore his arm's throbbing or the stinging blisters on his feet.
The ground was littered with boulders jutting out of the earth and Ridge lowered himself to one with a groan. His feet nearly groaned in relief.
He was getting soft. A year ago a little cut wouldn't have taken so much out of him. A year ago he wouldn't have been wounded and left afoot by a gal, either. At least she'd left his saddlebags, canteen, and rifle so he wouldn't starve or be helpless against a wild animal.
He tucked the canteen between his injured arm and his side, then used his other hand to remove the stopper. Raising the canteen to his lips, he took a few sips of the cool liquid. The water helped clear his foggy head, but he didn't dare drink too much. He wasn't certain how far he'd have to walk, but he would find Miss Hartwell, even if he had to track the woman halfway to hell. Then he'd haul her crafty little backside back to her daddy's ranch—tied belly down across her horse's saddle, if he had to—and collect the one hundred dollars.
A wolf's bay sounded from nearby and Ridge jerked his head up, searching for the wild animal. The sun slid behind a gunmetal gray cloud and another howl ripped through the stillness. A shiver
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