“His stomach heaved, but he managed to choke back the nausea. He glanced at Emma, whose face was the color of ash. She pressed a hand to her mouth as she gagged uncontrollably.Ridge looked away, afraid he'd lose the bit of control he'd managed to gain. Then he thought of Chayton, and guilt and fear sliced his chest. If he was dead, it was Ridge's fault. He was the one who'd talked Emma into leaving him behind.He frantically searched for Emma's son among the women and children, but they were clum...ped together so closely he couldn't make out individuals. He swore under his breath and urged Paint forward."Ridge!"The sound of his name caused him to pull back on the reins. Preston Wylie's uniform was usually spotless and flawlessly creased, but now it was splotched with brown and his left sleeve was cut off, exposing a makeshift bandage around his upper arm.Ridge glared down at him. "What the hell's going on?"Pres's jaw muscle clenched, exposing his own anger. But before he could speak, Emma launched herself out of her saddle and ran toward the circle of captives.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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