“Do you think you can ride now, pet?” Dakota asked, his hands coming to rest on her ribs, just beneath her breasts.
She gazed up at Quinn. Anger still had his mouth drawn tight, but his heated blue gaze suggested he had another kind of ride in mind. With a great effort she broke the connection and looked back over her shoulder at Dakota’s warmly concerned and equally heated face. Not trusting her tongue not to beg them to take her right here despite the throbbing pain, she simply nodded.
A blanket was wrapped around her. Quinn helped her stand then released his grip on her. His features tightened even more and he turned, brusquely striding toward his horse.
His anger was so palpable it felt like a smack.
Now what had she done? Her legs shook with the effort to remain standing.
“It’s okay,” Dakota whispered in her ear, helping her move toward the horses, his arms firmly gripping hers from behind, holding her steady and keeping her vertical. “You didn’t make him angry.”
Mounted on his horse, Quinn maneuvered to a halt in front of them and leaned back in his saddle. “Give her to me.”
“I can ride,” she protested.
“You can barely stand.”
“I can take her,” Dakota said, tightening his grip on her just slightly.
“And manage the gelding too?” Quinn tethered his reins around the pommel, then held his arms out. “She rides with me.”
This time it wasn’t a question. His voice brooked no protest. He wanted her in his lap, and that was where she’d ride.
Without another word, Dakota scooped her into his arms and handed her up to Quinn, who carefully but firmly settled her across his thighs, her good side pressed into his body.
“Really, this is silly,” she tried to protest once more. “I’ve been riding since I was a child.”
“Ever ride with a mangled shoulder and arm before?”
No. Just half beat to death, actually. The words were on the tip of her tongue but she held them back. Somehow she didn’t think they’d improve his mood.
He tightened his hold around her hip and grabbed the reins with the other hand before fixing her with his intense blue gaze as if daring her to argue with him further. She held her tongue and he nodded, setting the horse on the trail behind Dakota and her horse.
They climbed higher into the mountains. She kept her eyes on the mountainside as they rode. A rustle sounded above them.
She jumped then hissed as pain seared through her shoulder once more.
In one motion, Quinn switched the reins to the hand holding her and palmed his Colt, scanning the area where the sound came from. “Easy, darlin’. I doubt another cat is close by.”
“Then why did you draw your gun?”
The corners of his lips twitched, as if he might actually smile at her. “I said I doubted it. Not going to take any chances.”
He slid the gun back into the holster tied on his thigh, then pushed her head back against his chest. “Get some rest. Let me worry about protecting you.”
The heat from his body seeped through the blanket, and she slowly relaxed against him. When he slipped his hand under the blanket to stroke over her hip, she couldn’t resist a sigh of pure contentment.
“Now you sound just like a kitten.” His voice rumbled in his chest, tickling her ear as he slid his hand up her back and came to rest gently over the old scars, avoiding her new injuries.
She stiffened. “Please don’t.”
“Don’t touch them?”
“Yes.”
“Why? They can’t hurt you.”
“They remind me…”
“Remind you of the pain?”
“No. My own stupidity.” She swallowed the hard lump in her throat.
She wouldn’t cry. She…would…not.
Quinn splayed his hand over several ridges, pressing firm and strong against her back. His heat eased some of her tension.
“Darlin’, we all do stupid things. Like the Captain used to say, the key is to never repeat them.”
A harsh snort escaped her. “Don’t worry. I learned my lesson well.”
From the moment she and Mama had joined Devil on his trip out of New Orleans, he’d changed from the charming Union soldier to the evil persona his name implied. Even as a child she hadn’t understood why Mama had tolerated his abuse. No matter how bad Devil was to her, Mama seemed to crave his attention, good or bad, like a drunkard needed his liquor. In those early years, Mama had tried to protect her by taking most of the violence.
“Child, you just have to stay out of his way when he’s into the bottle,” Mama had said when Lacy had asked why Devil had suddenly turned mean and beaten Mama nearly black and blue.
“Why can’t we just leave him and go back to New Orleans?”
“Hush now, Lacy. People are starving to death in New Orleans since the war.” She pressed her fingers over Lacy’s mouth and looked around as if expecting Devil to appear and punish them for an act of defiance. Then she fingered the gold collar on her own throat. “A woman needs a man to look out for her, especially out here in the wilderness. Some day you’ll understand.”
Then Mama became ill and Devil switched his attention to her. She’d learned to dodge his advances, avoid him when he drank too much and deflect his tirades with stoic silence.
Becoming a crack shot with her Colt hadn’t hurt matters either.
Naïvely though, she’d underestimated Devil’s deviousness. She should’ve known he’d live up to his name.
Just when she thought he’d give up, he switched tactics. His overt attacks stopped. When her guard was down he stooped to subterfuge—in the form of the wickedly handsome Santos.
That’s when she’d done the stupidest thing.
She’d believed a man’s promise of love.
* * * * *
As they wove their way through the mountain trails, Quinn couldn’t keep his mind off Lacy and the scars on her back. She’d finally drifted off and slept with her face pressed against his chest. He didn’t want to think about how good that felt. Instead, he traced his fingers over the thin ridges lacing her back.
Was this how Devil forced her to ride with the gang? Was the whipping the catalyst for her agreeing?
If so, was handing Lacy over to the territorial judge really serving justice?
“Cap also taught us to look for the truth, even if it’s not what we want to see or hear.” Dakota’s words from the night before echoed in his mind.
Despite his attempt to justify keeping Lacy tied up and his angry words to his blood brother, he knew Dakota was right. The most important thing Cap had taught them was to think for themselves. He’d preached many times to all his boys that doing the right thing was more important than blindly following the law.
Over the years, he’d also taught them to defend the innocent and stand up for others, even if it meant going against popular opinion. Cap had backed up his sermons with actions. Especially when he’d brought Gabe home to the ranch.
Quinn adjusted his grip on Lacy so her bottom snuggled easily between his thighs. Ignoring the tightness in his cock as it pressed against her hip, he let his mind wander back to that day.
At age twelve, he and Dakota had been with the Cap for about four years. They’d each healed from the deaths of their parents and bonded like true brothers. Learned to ride, rope, shoot and work the ranch even when Cap was away trailing outlaws. Juanita acted as their surrogate mother, doling out hugs and punishment with equal frequency. Cap had found him and Dakota, both near death. Their lives had greatly improved since living on the ranch.
When Anson returned from one trip with a scrawny, half-starved, orphaned half-black boy, they hadn’t wanted a stranger to interfere with their new life.
Okay. That wasn’t entirely true.
He’d resented the little kid from the moment he hopped off the back of Cap’s horse. Not because as a Southerner he’d been raised to think himself superior to the slaves. No, Will was a reminder of all the
frightened, near-death runaways his parents helped escape throughout the war years. The ones who’d been caught that night leaving the farm and caused his parents’ flogging and ultimate deaths.
Quinn glanced ahead to where Dakota rode through a patch of sunshine on the trail. Dakota had wanted to befriend the new boy from the first day but had held back his welcome because of their bond.
Will slowly found his place on the ranch. Despite his resentment of the little boy, Quinn had to admit Will was a quick learner and hard worker. Cap tried repeatedly to convince him that Will had a lot in common with him and Dakota, but still he’d stubbornly withheld his friendship.
Until the night the raiders came.
It was his fault Will had taken his turn out with the cattle alone that nearly fatal night.
“When Cap gets home, we’ll be takin’ the herd to Abilene, Kansas, to market,” he’d told the younger boy earlier in the day.
“How long will we be out on the trail?” Will had asked, excitement in his dark eyes.
“Oh, you won’t be going. Cap ain’t gonna take no tenderfoots,” he’d said with a smirk.
Will’s face fell. “Why not? I can ride and shoot just like y’all.”
“Yeah, but you ain’t passed the real cowboy test.”
“What test?”
“A real cowboy can stay out all night with the herd. He’s gotta be able to protect them from wolves and rustlers.”
“I can do that.”
He’d frowned and shaken his head. “I don’t know. Cap would be mighty angry if we let you go out there and something bad happened to the cattle, you being a kid and all.” He’d winked at Dakota, who shook his head but remained silent.
“I ain’t a baby. I won’t let nothing happen. You just watch me.”
“If you’re sure?”
Will had hurried out to saddle his horse.
“What are you planning?” Dakota asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion as they followed Will to the corral.
“Nothin’ bad. We’ll let him ride the cows down to the trees and when it gets dark he’ll be so scared he’ll beg Cap to leave him home.”
“Cap ain’t gonna like this.”
“If we don’t tell him, he won’t know.”
So they’d all ridden out and relieved the hired hands. Quinn and Dakota made sure Will was the farthest from the ranch house, in the dark by the tree line.
About an hour into the night they still hadn’t heard a sound from Will.
Two hours passed and Quinn had to admit the kid was tougher than he’d imagined.
Three hours passed and they decided to go see if he’d fallen asleep or ridden back to the house without them knowing.
They circled the herd so as not to give Will any warning they were coming and approached as quietly as they could, intent on scaring the kid.
What they found scared them nearly witless instead.
Will still sat on his horse. Only he wasn’t alone. Three men and a boy wearing long duster coats like the Missouri raiders from Quinn’s past sat on horses surrounding him. One had his hand on a rope—a rope looped over the big cottonwood a short distance from the tree line, the other end looped around Will’s neck. The memory of watching his parents’ lynching as Northern sympathizers slammed into him.
Without hesitating, Quinn palmed his gun and shot one man dead center of his chest at the same time Dakota’s arrow nailed the arm of the man holding the rope. The other rustler managed to get his gun up before his next shot hit its mark and he fell off his horse, dead before he hit the ground. Quinn trained his gun on the boy as Dakota cut the bindings on Will’s hands.
Will didn’t hesitate or cry like a kid should. He pulled the noose from his head, rode over and put it on the man with the wounded hand.
“You can’t let him do this!” The rustler made the mistake of looking to Quinn for help as he cursed Will’s color.
That was the last straw. Quinn clenched his jaw and shrugged. “Can’t stop him.”
Will looped the rope over the very tree they’d meant to use to string him up and tied it to the trunk.
“Sure you can. Put a hole in him like you did my partners!”
“Can’t. The Captain wouldn’t want me interfering with a man doing his job.”
Will nodded and sat his horse even straighter. Then he turned to look at the man who’d almost killed him. His eyes filled with rage, Will smacked the rustler’s horse on the rear, setting it to bucking its rider loose, then leaving the man to twist and hang from the noose.
Dakota nudged the youngest rustler’s horse closer. The kid sitting on it looked pale as a ghost, eyes bugging out of his head as he watched his partner die. The unique smell of piss filled the air as his fear manifested itself in his pants.
“You want to hang this one too?” Dakota asked.
“No. He can be a warning to anyone else coming for the Cap’s cattle.” Will moved his horse up alongside the scared kid. He pulled out his knife and cut the would-be rustler along his cheek, just deep enough to leave a scar. “You tell everyone in town and anyone who asks you about that cut that Los Hombres don’t put up with no rustlers. You be sure and tell ’em we hang rustlers or shoot ’em dead!”
Then he slapped the kid’s horse, sending it racing out into the night.
Quinn learned two things that night.
First, William Danville might’ve been ten years old, but he sat his horse like a man. He had the grit and backbone to do the hard things when they needed doing.
Secondly, Quinn learned never judge a person on anything other than their own merits and the truth.
From that day on he’d lived by that principle, even after he’d followed Cap into the Marshals. That was until one sexy, buxom woman opened her cabin door and denied she’d been the woman with the men who killed Cap.
The horse made a sharp turn on the path, jarring Lacy’s injured shoulder and waking her. A soft moan escaped her.
He looked down into her deep green eyes, her lips slightly parted, an invitation he couldn’t resist. Lowering his head, he captured her mouth with his, slipping his tongue in to dance with hers. The heady taste of her sent his blood racing again, straight to his cock.
Before he let it get out of control, he broke off the kiss, dragging air into his lungs. “Damn, woman, you are a temptation.”
She rested one hand on his chest. “Thank you.”
He drew his brows together. “For the kiss?”
“For coming to my rescue.” Her eyes drifted closed. “No one’s ever come to help me.”
The words kicked him in the gut. She was thanking him for saving her when it was his fault she’d been injured. For the second time in his life, his blind obstinance had nearly gotten someone killed.
Chapter Six
“How far do you think we are from Goldwater?” Quinn asked as they set up camp that night.
Dakota paused in unsaddling Lacy’s horse.
“If we don’t have any more problems, we should reach Goldwater by tomorrow evening. Why?”
Quinn’s hands stilled on the beans he was stirring, shifting his gaze over to the bundle of blankets where Lacy lay sleeping near the fire. “She needs to sleep in a bed. The last thing we need is our only source of information taking ill.”
Source of information? Dakota had seen the way his blood brother cradled the beautiful woman all afternoon then tucked her in by the fire to rest. His actions contradicted his words. He’d bet a month’s pay Quinn no longer thought of her simply as a means to finding Cap’s murderers.
“How long do you think we’ll be staying in town?”
Quinn went back to fixing their dinner. “We’ll find us a good set of rooms and send telegrams to the others. By the time they arrive, we should have the exact location of the gang. I’m guessing somewhere southwest of Yellowstone.”
“You’re sure that’s where Devil’s gang is holed up?”
“Two places to hide out in Wyoming Territory. Hole-in-the-Wall and Yell
owstone. Once Lacy lied to send us east toward the Hole-in-the-Wall, I pretty much figured we had to head west.”
Quinn’s instincts for finding people rarely failed. Even without Lacy’s information they probably would’ve located the gang’s hideout—eventually. Lacy provided expediency. With her help they’d stop Devil and his henchmen, hopefully before anyone else died.
“So you’ve finally decided she’s innocent?”
Quinn’s jaw set in that stubborn way he had when he didn’t want to admit he was wrong. “She isn’t innocent, Dakota. She’s already admitted she took part in the bank robbery, but I’m willing to keep an open mind about how involved she was with Cap’s murder.”
Dakota finished feeding the horses and stepped back to study his brother. “Then why are you hurrying to get her off the trail and into a hotel?”
“She needs rest to heal or she isn’t going to be any use to us.” He stood and adjusted his pants. “Besides, I’m tired of sleeping on the ground.”
Dakota lifted one brow as Quinn hobbled over to Lacy’s sleeping form.
It wasn’t sleeping he was tired of doing on the ground. Quinn wanted to fuck the beautiful captive as much as he did. Neither of them would take advantage of her tonight. Despite their treatment of her so far, they wouldn’t abuse an injured woman—at least not in the same day she’d nearly died. Yep, the sooner they got her off the trail, the sooner they could sink their cocks into her hot body.
* * * * *
They rode into Goldwater just before dusk the next day.
Unlike many of the end-of-line railroad boomtowns Lacy had ridden through with Mama and Devil since leaving New Orleans, Goldwater seemed to be prospering. The gold rush the town was named for had given way to coal mining.
Not only were there a livery and stable at one end of town, but also a general store with large glass windows flanked by a café and saloon. The tinkle of a piano and the rumbling of male laughter spilled out into the evening air as they passed by the saloon door.
A brick bank stood across the street right next to the hotel. Miners and cowboys milled along the plank walkways, as at home as the women hurrying their children from one building to the next.
The Surrender of Lacy Morgan Page 9
