Her gaze turned to her brother, and there was another silent exchange that Morgan didn’t understand. Then she turned back to him and gave him a blinding smile he sure as hell didn’t trust. “Perhaps I will take a dress,” she said.
Morgan remembered the tales he had heard of her. The charmer. The come-on for fake medicine. For card cheating. The smile had a powerful effect as heat surged through him, lingering where it shouldn’t.
He stood there, feeling like a fool, rooted to the ground as he tried to control the uncontrollable. It was an unfamiliar experience, and he sensed Braden’s amusement grow stronger. There was a reckless streak in Nicholas Braden that irritated Morgan. He sensed that Braden took few things seriously, whereas he, Morgan, had always taken everything seriously. He wondered which way was the wisest, but only for the briefest of moments.
He was what he was, and he felt no need for change. “Ten minutes,” he said. “And we’ll be riding out of here, with or without supplies for him.” He nodded his head at Braden.
The Bradens moved then. Morgan followed them into the cabin and ordered Braden to sit. Morgan didn’t want both prisoners moving around a cabin that might contain some kind of usable weapon.
Morgan watched intently as Lori packed a bedroll, then took a small metal object from a shelf and moved toward her brother.
He intercepted her, confiscating the object in her hand. A harmonica.
“Surely you can’t object to that?” Her voice was disdainful.
Morgan looked over to Braden. “Do you always let her do all your talking for you?”
Braden smiled and winked at his sister. “She does pretty well.”
Morgan shrugged, tossed the harmonica to Braden, who caught it easily in his manacled hands. He tucked it into his shirt pocket without comment.
“And you, Miss Braden,” Morgan said, turning toward Lorilee. “A violin? Guitar?”
“Oh I just sing, Ranger …?”
“Davis, Morgan Davis,” Morgan responded grimly, aware of the challenge in the room. They were both testing him. He didn’t like it one bit. “And, Miss Lori,” he said with some sarcasm of his own, “I think you have five minutes to gather your belongings, or you’ll go just as you are if I have to tie you over a saddle.”
“Whatever you say, Ranger,” she said sweetly, leaving him with the exact knowledge of what arsenic-laced sugar must taste like.
They didn’t stop until well past nightfall. Even then Morgan was reluctant to bring a halt to their journey. He knew he would get no sleep tonight with the she-cat along.
He had placed her with her brother on the same horse, and had strung that horse and the pretty little mare on leads. Using the second pair of handcuffs, Morgan had fastened Braden to his saddle horn, giving his hands little room for movement. Lori was seated behind Braden’s saddle, and Morgan knew she must be sore from riding the horse’s backbone. Her head had drooped to the back of her brother’s shoulder.
The arrangements were not the best, but Morgan feared that if Lori rode her own mare, she would try to get the reins of her brother’s horse and make a run for it. He didn’t plan to give her that opportunity, or any other.
Morgan found a stream and called a halt. He dismounted and tied his horse to a tree, then took the leg irons from his saddle bags. He went over to Braden’s horse and offered Lorilee a hand, but she refused it, slipping gracefully from the back of the horse.
“Stay where I can see you,” he told her curtly. With a movement of his head Morgan ordered Braden down, his hands still locked to the saddle horn. When his prisoner was on his feet, Morgan quickly attached the leg irons before releasing Braden from the saddle.
Nick Braden said nothing, his face revealing little, but Morgan sensed the anger and tension in him as strongly as if it were his own. He didn’t understand the bitter frustration that pounded at him, the frustration Braden must be feeling. It was almost as if he were in Braden’s mind rather than in his own, and he was feeling a sense of outrage, of helpless fury … when he should be feeling satisfaction.
He had no use for con men, for killers, and Braden was both of those. Morgan had never been purposely cruel to a prisoner, but neither had he ever been concerned about one’s comfort.
But now …
Damn Braden and his sister.
Morgan’s voice was harsh when he finally spoke. “Get accustomed to it, Braden. It’s routine.”
Braden’s eyes flashed his anger, the blandness gone. “You don’t give a damn whether I’m guilty or not, do you?”
“No,” Morgan said flatly. “That’s not my job.”
“Neither is leaving Texas. You have no jurisdiction here. You’re just as bad as those bounty hunters you mentioned.”
Morgan shrugged, not acknowledging the thrust that hit its target. “Think what you want.” He went back to his horse and started unsaddling it, ignoring his two prisoners. When he was through, he turned back to them.
Lorilee had moved over to her brother and was studying his handcuffed wrists in the moonlight. “He’s bleeding,” she accused.
Morgan unlocked the cuff on Braden’s bloody right wrist. “You can use your bandanna to wrap it,” he said.
He unsaddled Braden’s horse and gave his prisoner the reins to both the Bradens’ horses. “Water them,” he ordered, knowing that the man wasn’t going anywhere with the leg irons and that he probably could use a few moments for his private needs. He watched as Braden shuffled awkwardly toward the stream; then Morgan turned his attention to Lorilee, who was also watching her brother, dismay and concern making her face even more expressive, more striking. “You can gather some wood for a fire,” he said.
“Go to hell,” she said; and the bite was not in the words themselves, but in the almost broken way she said them. Her eyes were bright, too bright, almost shimmering in the moonlight, and he knew she was holding back tears. The glimpse of her silent pain hurt even more than that kick she’d given him earlier.
Even killers have family … people who care about them. It doesn’t change what they are, Morgan thought. And he knew he was right. He was a lawman. Lawmen didn’t allow emotions to interfere with duty.
Hell, he didn’t even have any emotions, he told himself. He was just tired. And it was going to be a sleepless night. His eyes studied her, and he saw her straighten, her back stiffen with pride. Her eyes still glistened, but she made no attempt to wipe them. She simply radiated mutiny.
“It’s going to be cold,” Morgan said mildly. “I’ll be staying awake, so I don’t care that much, but Nick …” He used the shortened name on purpose, just as he had used hers. It showed his control and authority. He could do anything, say anything, and the Bradens could do nothing about it.
He watched her swallow hard to keep from retorting, her fingers fisting at her sides. He sensed the content of her internal debate. Was it worth fighting him now when he was alert? Or should she wait? She didn’t want to wait. She would have happily killed him at the moment, and he knew it.
“You enjoy this, don’t you?” she finally said through clenched teeth.
“No,” he said softly, surprising himself with the admission. It lost him some of that control, but despite his better judgment, he didn’t want her thinking him an unfeeling monster. “No, I don’t enjoy it, but that doesn’t make any difference.”
“What would make a difference?” Her voice had softened. It was an offer, pure and simple, and Morgan felt his gut tighten. She hated him. He could see it in her eyes, yet for her brother’s sake she was offering herself to him. He felt as if a knife had been thrust into him and twisted. He turned away.
“Nothing, Miss Lori, and I don’t think your brother would have liked hearing that last question.”
“What do you care?”
Morgan faced her. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do to free him?”
“Do you have a sister?”
He shook his head.
“A brother? Anyone?”
He didn�
�t answer this time, just stood there, a bleakness washing around him, a loneliness so strong he couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t reply. The silence answered for him, and a flicker of understanding crossed her face, then disappeared. She turned away from him and started picking up twigs, branches. She didn’t look at him again, merely gathered up the makings of a fire.
In an hour a fire was going, and Morgan had spitted the rabbits Braden had trapped earlier. A pot of coffee sat on the edge of the fire, and the flames hissed and sizzled with the juices of the cooking meat. Lori had bandaged both of her brother’s wrists, and they sat together, the two of them united against Morgan.
Nick took the harmonica from his pocket and started to play. He was good, and the mournful ballad that permeated the night air with sorrow increased Morgan’s own sense of isolation. Occasionally the two men’s eyes would meet, would question, would duel. And Morgan felt that odd kinship again. It was only that Nick Braden resembled him, he told himself. And then Morgan would find Lorilee’s gaze on him, studying, weighing, judging.
After a silent dinner Morgan tethered Braden to a tree. He knew he should tie the girl, too, and he walked over to her, taking his bandanna from his neck, intending to use it. But when he took one of her wrists, he saw the dried blood from earlier, and he sighed. His eyes met hers, and her chin lifted, almost daring him to bind her again. She even put her two wrists together in front of her.
“Go ahead,” she said, “if you’re afraid of me.”
Morgan felt like a damn fool for the second time that day. “Not likely, Miss Lori,” he said grimly. “Children don’t frighten. They’re just damn nuisances.”
Her eyes glittered, but she managed a smile. “Do you still hurt, Ranger?” she said with feigned concern.
He did. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her know it. “Hell, I’ve been hurt more by a mosquito,” he said.
Her smile broadened wickedly, and Morgan realized she didn’t believe him. She had known exactly how much she had hurt him. That realization did not improve his temper. And he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of feeling important enough to be trussed up.
“Go to sleep,” he said flatly.
“You’re not going to tie me?”
“Don’t test me, Miss Lori. You weren’t tied up long enough today to know exactly how uncomfortable it can be.”
“As my brother knows?”
He didn’t answer. Nick Braden was going to be very uncomfortable before this journey was over, but that wasn’t Morgan’s concern.
“Damn you,” she said quietly, and turned away from him.
“Miss Braden,” Morgan said, and this time there was no mockery in his tone. She turned around. “I’ll be awake tonight, so don’t do anything you or your brother might regret.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she retorted.
He watched as she undid both her and her brother’s bedrolls and helped Braden wrap himself in the blankets. She leaned down and whispered something to him, and in the moonlight Morgan saw a slight smile come to his face. Morgan’s gut knotted, and he felt like the outsider he’d always been. He realized Lorilee Braden thought she had gotten the better of him, and perhaps she had, but only because he had allowed it. He simply didn’t have the heart to bind her tonight merely because she was loyal to her brother. She had committed no crime, done nothing wrong, and he appreciated loyalty, even when it was misplaced. And Christ knew he had gone without sleep before for lesser reasons.
He continued to watch as she lay down on her own bedroll several feet from Nick and a noticeably long way from Morgan. She was still almost immediately, but Morgan sensed a feigned sleep. She would wait, hoping he would fall asleep.
Morgan tucked his rifle next to him and leaned against the tree, watching fragile clouds scurry across the sky, sometimes eclipsing the moon, throwing the camp into darkness. He had stayed awake many a night when tracking outlaws or Indians, or as a scout during the war. He enjoyed the stillness and innocence of a night sky. He thought of it as innocence—a pure, pristine beauty unsullied by man’s greed or anger or hate.
He had tried to explain the feeling once to Callum, his father’s friend who had been his principal instructor. Callum had only laughed. Night, he said, is a breeding ground for evil.
But Morgan never thought of it that way. It was one of the few disagreements he’d had with Callum.
Morgan’s eyes returned to Lorilee. He wondered what Callum would have thought of her. But Callum, the closest thing he’d had to a father, was dead, and the night, brilliant and beautiful as it was, was going to be damnably long.
CHAPTER THREE
Impatience nibbled at Lori. Then it began to gnaw in earnest.
He had to go to sleep!
Huddled underneath the blanket in the cold night air, she slowly opened her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the darkness before turning ever so slightly to where the Ranger had settled.
He was still sitting, the rifle resting on the ground near his right hand. His head was leaning against the tree, but she sensed an alertness about him. Lori gritted her teeth.
“Can’t sleep, Lori?”
She sat up, knowing it was foolish to feign sleep any longer. She stared at him … hard. In the moonlight his face looked even darker. Everything about Morgan Davis was severe and harsh. Lori wondered if he even knew how to smile, and then she recalled the bleakness in his eyes when she had asked about a family.
He hadn’t understood. He would never understand how she felt about her family, how Nick felt, and that gave her one advantage over him.
“No,” she finally replied. She moved close enough to him to talk without raising her voice. Perhaps she could make him understand that Nick was innocent, that he didn’t have to be chained. She looked over at Nick, and she sensed he was listening. He wouldn’t be sleeping, not trussed up as he was. “Can’t you at least take off those leg irons?”
The Ranger shook his head. “No,” he replied flatly.
“Why? He can’t go anyplace with his wrist chained to that tree.”
He peered at her, and his eyes seemed almost black now, dark holes she couldn’t penetrate. Yet she felt an odd, irritating familiarity. Because he resembled Nick? She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to believe he and her brother had anything in common, other than a few facial features that meant nothing at all.
He just shrugged. “He seems to be doing all right.”
“You don’t know him.”
“You’re right, Miss Lori. I don’t know him. I don’t want to know him. I don’t need to know him. Now, I would advise you to get some sleep. We have a long ride tomorrow, and I won’t be slowed down.”
“What about you? Don’t you need sleep?”
His lips twisted in a mirthless smile. “I’ve gone as long as three days without sleep, Miss Lori, when I’m tracking someone. And I plan to get some in Laramie, since you’re so concerned over my well-being.”
Lori shifted slightly at his sarcasm but made no move to return to her bedroll. He raised an eyebrow, then allowed it to settle slowly back into place with lazy indifference. She saw his body tense, though, and she knew he wasn’t as indifferent to her as he tried to appear. But, then, neither was she.
Something was happening. She didn’t know what. She didn’t know why. But she felt little knots of heat flame in odd places and move along her blood, like prairie grass in a fire, tumbling across the plains, igniting everything in its path.
She struggled to speak, to ease the sudden stiffness in her throat. She’d always been able to charm. She knew she wasn’t beautiful, but laughter and smiles came easily, just as they did to Nick, and she’d discovered they more than made up for any physical lack. But the few smiles she’d directed his way hadn’t seemed to work on the Ranger. Even now his expression was wary, suspicious. It had to be five hundred miles or more back to Harmony. Five hundred miles of rough terrain, of mountains, valleys, and rivers. Indians. Outlaws. Th
e rest of the Braden family, if she could locate them and send word.
And sleep. Eventually there had to be sleep. The Ranger might consider himself an iron man, but no one could go weeks without sleep, without lowering his guard. He had made a mistake in not tying her. He didn’t know that, but she did. If he couldn’t do it tonight, he wouldn’t be able to do it tomorrow night, or the next, and then …
He might think he was going to leave her in Laramie, or put her on a stage, but she knew otherwise.
“I’m not concerned about your well-being at all,” she said honestly. “I’m just curious. Have you tracked so many men?”
He shrugged. It seemed to be his usual response.
“How many?” she insisted.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Know thine enemy,” she responded quickly with a whimsical smile that usually softened the most difficult of men. She had found that honesty disarmed much more swiftly than subtle methods.
“Smart,” he said. “Is Nicholas that wise?”
“Know thine enemy?” Lori’s retort was quick, and she saw a hint of appreciation in his eyes before it disappeared just as quickly. “He is your enemy,” she said softly, “just as I am. You’ll never bring him back to Texas.” She hesitated, then tried reason once more. “He really is innocent. That was a fair fight in Texas. Don’t make him—or me—do something we don’t want to do.”
“And what would you do, Lori? How far would you go? Would you kill? Or do you just maim?”
“What do you think?”
His dark, hard gaze seemed to impale her. “I think you’d better get some sleep.”
“You didn’t answer me before,” she said. “How many men have you hunted?”
“Enough,” he said flatly.
“Do you have trophies?” she taunted. “Locks of hair? Notches on a gun? Do you enjoy being a hunter?”
Lines tightened at the edge of his mouth, and the glow from the fire gave his eyes a dangerous glint. “Go to sleep, Lori.”
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