creating it. The rider rode unerringly toward him and Ridge tensed.
He narrowed his eyes until he could make out the nearing figure. John Hartwell. What the hell was he doing here?
Ridge kept his arms hanging loosely at his sides, but his muscles coiled. Did Emma tell her father about the fight between him and Cullen the night before last? And, if so, was Hartwell planning to thank him or shoot him?
Hartwell halted his horse on the other side of the four-foot wide stream. He didn't wear his usual suit, but typical range gear, although his wool trousers and waistcoat were newer and of better quality than a hired hand's. Hartwell's cheeks were flushed, and sweat mixed with dust streaked his face. He remained in the saddle. Ridge figured the man enjoyed looking down on folks.
Ridge nodded a mute greeting.
"Madoc." There was more hospitality in a rattlesnake's reception. "I've got a job for you."
Anger came directly on the heels of surprise, and Ridge laughed, a cold, harsh sound. "I wasn't good enough to work on your ranch, so what makes me good enough for this job?"
"You were a scout," Hartwell said tersely. "I need you to find my daughter. Emma ran away Saturday night."
The night Ridge had found her alone with Cullen. He ground his teeth and felt the tug of his jaw muscle. "Maybe she ran off with some fella."
Hartwell shook his head impatiently. "My other daughter said she had a nightmare. It upset her but she wouldn't tell Sarah about it." He looked away, embarrassment and a hint of humiliation in his expression. "Sarah thinks she went back to the savages that kidnapped her."
After Emma's confession about trying to hire Cullen to find her adopted tribe, Ridge wasn't surprised. But he wasn't about to confess that to Hartwell. He shrugged. "They're probably scattered seven ways to Sunday."
"I'll give you a hundred dollars to find her and bring her back home," Hartwell offered.
A hundred dollars. That was more than he would make in three months working as a ranch hand, and the balance he needed to purchase the bull. But what about his land— the land Hartwell had practically stolen from Harry Piner.
"On one condition," Ridge said flatly. "You sell me my land back at the same price you paid for it—fifty cents an acre."
Hartwell's mouth gaped and his face reddened, but this time it was with antagonism instead of embarrassment. "That's extortion."
"That's business," Ridge shot back. He lowered his voice and smiled without an ounce of warmth. "You know all about business."
Hartwell's knuckles were white as he gripped his saddle horn and a vein in his forehead pulsed angrily as he glared at Ridge.
"Your daughter for my land. Your choice, Hartwell." An eagle's cry sliced through the tension and Ridge glanced up to spot the mighty bird soaring high above them—a favorable sign.
He looked back at Hartwell to find the man still mulling over his offer. Ridge's lips curled in disdain. A man who had to consider a choice between his daughter and some land was a miserable excuse for a human being.
The rancher's eyes blazed. "All right."
"I want it in writing." Men like Hartwell respected words on paper.
"Damn you, Madoc. My word's good."
Ridge merely stared at him.
Hartwell capitulated with a snarl. "Come to the house and I'll have a contract ready to sign."
Ridge relaxed. "Why didn't you get me yesterday? She's got a day and a half lead now."
Hartwell glanced away and rubbed at a patch of dust on his cheek. "I tried to find her myself, then I went to Colonel Nyes. The son of a bitch said they'd keep an eye out for her during their patrols, but didn't want to expend the manpower to find a—" He clamped his mouth shut, but Ridge knew what he was going to say.
It looked like he and Hartwell had something in common after all: a mutual dislike for Nyes.
"She's not in her right mind, Madoc," Hartwell confessed in a low voice. "But she's still my daughter."
In the few instances Ridge had talked to Emma Hartwell, she
He narrowed his eyes until he could make out the nearing figure. John Hartwell. What the hell was he doing here?
Ridge kept his arms hanging loosely at his sides, but his muscles coiled. Did Emma tell her father about the fight between him and Cullen the night before last? And, if so, was Hartwell planning to thank him or shoot him?
Hartwell halted his horse on the other side of the four-foot wide stream. He didn't wear his usual suit, but typical range gear, although his wool trousers and waistcoat were newer and of better quality than a hired hand's. Hartwell's cheeks were flushed, and sweat mixed with dust streaked his face. He remained in the saddle. Ridge figured the man enjoyed looking down on folks.
Ridge nodded a mute greeting.
"Madoc." There was more hospitality in a rattlesnake's reception. "I've got a job for you."
Anger came directly on the heels of surprise, and Ridge laughed, a cold, harsh sound. "I wasn't good enough to work on your ranch, so what makes me good enough for this job?"
"You were a scout," Hartwell said tersely. "I need you to find my daughter. Emma ran away Saturday night."
The night Ridge had found her alone with Cullen. He ground his teeth and felt the tug of his jaw muscle. "Maybe she ran off with some fella."
Hartwell shook his head impatiently. "My other daughter said she had a nightmare. It upset her but she wouldn't tell Sarah about it." He looked away, embarrassment and a hint of humiliation in his expression. "Sarah thinks she went back to the savages that kidnapped her."
After Emma's confession about trying to hire Cullen to find her adopted tribe, Ridge wasn't surprised. But he wasn't about to confess that to Hartwell. He shrugged. "They're probably scattered seven ways to Sunday."
"I'll give you a hundred dollars to find her and bring her back home," Hartwell offered.
A hundred dollars. That was more than he would make in three months working as a ranch hand, and the balance he needed to purchase the bull. But what about his land— the land Hartwell had practically stolen from Harry Piner.
"On one condition," Ridge said flatly. "You sell me my land back at the same price you paid for it—fifty cents an acre."
Hartwell's mouth gaped and his face reddened, but this time it was with antagonism instead of embarrassment. "That's extortion."
"That's business," Ridge shot back. He lowered his voice and smiled without an ounce of warmth. "You know all about business."
Hartwell's knuckles were white as he gripped his saddle horn and a vein in his forehead pulsed angrily as he glared at Ridge.
"Your daughter for my land. Your choice, Hartwell." An eagle's cry sliced through the tension and Ridge glanced up to spot the mighty bird soaring high above them—a favorable sign.
He looked back at Hartwell to find the man still mulling over his offer. Ridge's lips curled in disdain. A man who had to consider a choice between his daughter and some land was a miserable excuse for a human being.
The rancher's eyes blazed. "All right."
"I want it in writing." Men like Hartwell respected words on paper.
"Damn you, Madoc. My word's good."
Ridge merely stared at him.
Hartwell capitulated with a snarl. "Come to the house and I'll have a contract ready to sign."
Ridge relaxed. "Why didn't you get me yesterday? She's got a day and a half lead now."
Hartwell glanced away and rubbed at a patch of dust on his cheek. "I tried to find her myself, then I went to Colonel Nyes. The son of a bitch said they'd keep an eye out for her during their patrols, but didn't want to expend the manpower to find a—" He clamped his mouth shut, but Ridge knew what he was going to say.
It looked like he and Hartwell had something in common after all: a mutual dislike for Nyes.
"She's not in her right mind, Madoc," Hartwell confessed in a low voice. "But she's still my daughter."
In the few instances Ridge had talked to Emma Hartwell, she
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