Read Online To Find You Again by Maureen McKade - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maureen McKade
Ads: Link
skidded down Ridge's spine as he rose. It was uncommon for a wolf to howl during the day. He turned slowly, making a full circle, as he sniffed the air and squinted to see around the surrounding rocks and trees. Nothing.
Clutching the rifle more tightly in his good hand, Ridge slung his canteen and saddlebag over a shoulder. Puzzling over the wolf, he continued following the trail, which had grown fainter across the rocky ground.
The horses' tracks became clearer as reddish soil replaced the rough land. Ridge increased his stride. Clouds continued to blot out the blue skies, urging him faster. If it rained, he'd lose the tracks completely, as well as his chance to find Miss Hartwell.
Half an hour later, Ridge rounded a corner and nearly stumbled into Paint. The horse, his reins wrapped loosely around a bush, raised his head as he munched a mouthful of grass.
Ridge grinned and laid a gloved hand on Paint's neck. "You're a sight for sorry eyes, fella."
Paint snorted and tossed his head, then lowered his muzzle to tear up some tender spears of grass. As the animal ate contentedly, Ridge examined him, sliding a hand along his flanks and down his legs, but didn't find anything amiss. It appeared the woman wasn't completely heartless. She probably only wanted to slow Ridge down to make good her escape.
He spotted a piece of paper caught between his saddle and the blanket, and tugged it out. He recognized his name written on the folded sheet, opened the paper, and stared at the letters for a long moment. Swallowing hard, he crumpled the note and tossed it away.
After tightening Paint's cinch and ensuring the bridle was fitted correctly, he shoved his toe into the stirrup and hauled himself up carefully. The stitches in his arm pulled and he clenched his jaw. It was merely another reminder of why he wouldn't return without Emma Hartwell.
The woman owed him.
The Lakota elder had told Emma to ride north and east if she wished to find her adopted people. Although they'd had only a six-day head start and most of the survivors were women and children on foot, Emma wasn't surprised she'd been unable to catch up to them.
Generations of nomadic living had given the Lakota the skills and tools to disassemble their homes and be ready to journey in less than an hour. The first time Emma had witnessed the entire village preparing to abandon a site, she'd been terrified that the Indians would kill her and leave her body behind. After being reassured she wouldn't be harmed nor abandoned, Emma had resolved to do her share rather than to be a hindrance. It had been the beginning of her acceptance, and she had grown to have an abiding respect for their ways.
Emma halted her horse with a slight draw on the reins and gazed out across the vast expanse of land. North and east covered a wide swath of territory. Would she ever find them in the sprawling wilderness?
If only she'd been able to convince Ridge Madoc to help her. However, that option was lost to her, especially after what she'd done to him. Wounding him with her knife and then putting sleeping herbs in his tea hadn't been enough. She'd also taken his horse. He wouldn't be happy, but she hoped her note convinced him she wasn't going back until she attained her goal.
A chill slipped inside her jacket and goose bumps danced across her arms. She glanced up at the clouds, dark and swollen with rain, and worry sent another shiver through her. What if Ridge didn't find shelter? He was already injured. What if the wound became infected? She had cleaned it well, but infection was common even with minor cuts.
She turned in the saddle, resting one hand on her horse's rump as she studied her back trail in the fading light, and was pleased to see no evidence of her passage. She'd left a trail a child could follow when she'd taken his horse because of her guilt-stricken conscience. Surely he had found the animal by now, read her note, and headed home.
After she left his horse, she'd circled
Clutching the rifle more tightly in his good hand, Ridge slung his canteen and saddlebag over a shoulder. Puzzling over the wolf, he continued following the trail, which had grown fainter across the rocky ground.
The horses' tracks became clearer as reddish soil replaced the rough land. Ridge increased his stride. Clouds continued to blot out the blue skies, urging him faster. If it rained, he'd lose the tracks completely, as well as his chance to find Miss Hartwell.
Half an hour later, Ridge rounded a corner and nearly stumbled into Paint. The horse, his reins wrapped loosely around a bush, raised his head as he munched a mouthful of grass.
Ridge grinned and laid a gloved hand on Paint's neck. "You're a sight for sorry eyes, fella."
Paint snorted and tossed his head, then lowered his muzzle to tear up some tender spears of grass. As the animal ate contentedly, Ridge examined him, sliding a hand along his flanks and down his legs, but didn't find anything amiss. It appeared the woman wasn't completely heartless. She probably only wanted to slow Ridge down to make good her escape.
He spotted a piece of paper caught between his saddle and the blanket, and tugged it out. He recognized his name written on the folded sheet, opened the paper, and stared at the letters for a long moment. Swallowing hard, he crumpled the note and tossed it away.
After tightening Paint's cinch and ensuring the bridle was fitted correctly, he shoved his toe into the stirrup and hauled himself up carefully. The stitches in his arm pulled and he clenched his jaw. It was merely another reminder of why he wouldn't return without Emma Hartwell.
The woman owed him.
The Lakota elder had told Emma to ride north and east if she wished to find her adopted people. Although they'd had only a six-day head start and most of the survivors were women and children on foot, Emma wasn't surprised she'd been unable to catch up to them.
Generations of nomadic living had given the Lakota the skills and tools to disassemble their homes and be ready to journey in less than an hour. The first time Emma had witnessed the entire village preparing to abandon a site, she'd been terrified that the Indians would kill her and leave her body behind. After being reassured she wouldn't be harmed nor abandoned, Emma had resolved to do her share rather than to be a hindrance. It had been the beginning of her acceptance, and she had grown to have an abiding respect for their ways.
Emma halted her horse with a slight draw on the reins and gazed out across the vast expanse of land. North and east covered a wide swath of territory. Would she ever find them in the sprawling wilderness?
If only she'd been able to convince Ridge Madoc to help her. However, that option was lost to her, especially after what she'd done to him. Wounding him with her knife and then putting sleeping herbs in his tea hadn't been enough. She'd also taken his horse. He wouldn't be happy, but she hoped her note convinced him she wasn't going back until she attained her goal.
A chill slipped inside her jacket and goose bumps danced across her arms. She glanced up at the clouds, dark and swollen with rain, and worry sent another shiver through her. What if Ridge didn't find shelter? He was already injured. What if the wound became infected? She had cleaned it well, but infection was common even with minor cuts.
She turned in the saddle, resting one hand on her horse's rump as she studied her back trail in the fading light, and was pleased to see no evidence of her passage. She'd left a trail a child could follow when she'd taken his horse because of her guilt-stricken conscience. Surely he had found the animal by now, read her note, and headed home.
After she left his horse, she'd circled
Similar Books
