Braden looked at the tree a few feet away and then, using his one good leg and his handcuffed hands, slid over to it. Morgan quickly took the empty band of the leg irons, twisted it around the tree, and locked it back around the chain, effectively securing Braden. He tossed the man his sock and boot.
“I’m going to water the horses,” he said, wondering why he was explaining anything. “Then I’ll start a fire and heat some water for that ankle.”
“I’m surprised you care.”
“I don’t,” Morgan said grimly. “But I don’t want you slowing me down anymore.”
Braden gave him a crooked grin, and Morgan knew as a certainty that the stumble had been planned in some way. The injury was real, but it had been no accident. Just an attempt to delay, to test him. Morgan was getting damn tired of it.
He kept reminding himself of that as he watered the horses, then hobbled them for the night. Morgan quickly gathered sufficient wood for a small fire. He would heat water, make a poultice for Braden’s ankle, then extinguish the fire, though it promised to be a cold night. He didn’t particularly want to be silhouetted against flames, nor did he want the glare of flames to signal their presence.
He looked toward the horizon as he tended the fire. Another hour before nightfall. He balanced his rifle against a tree, well out of Braden’s range. Morgan felt more than one kind of chill as he tore up one of his own few shirts, and soaked it in the water he’d heated. He handed the cloth to Braden and watched as the man carefully wrapped it around his ankle, wincing at the heat. “My thanks,” he said.
“Think nothing of it,” Morgan replied with the same mockery he’d heard only too often from his prisoner. “Because tomorrow you’re riding all day, no matter what that ankle looks like.”
“I never thought differently.”
“No? All that pain for nothing?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do,” Morgan drawled. “And we’ll make up every damn minute.”
Braden shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
Morgan snuffed out the fire. Night was falling rapidly now, and clouds were blotting out the moon. It was just as well they had stopped. Dark would be complete tonight.
“Get some sleep, Braden. We leave at sunrise.”
There was no answer, but through the last glimmers of light Morgan saw the gleam of Nick’s white teeth. He gritted his own. He knew, and Braden knew, he would be getting damn little sleep himself.
Lori had watched the two men approach from where she’d waited among some rocks overlooking the only pass in fifty miles. She willed them to come to her, but they stopped short of her pistol range, and then she saw Nick fall and clutch his ankle.
She thought about trying to move down, within pistol range, but the Ranger kept glancing around. Any movement of a bush, a rock, would alert him, and she couldn’t afford that Not now.
She would inch down during the night, when darkness might cover that tiny movement. And then at dawn …
At dawn, what?
Lori chewed some jerky, as much to soothe the jitters in her stomach as to take nourishment. When she touched the pistol she had stolen, her hands shook. Ordinarily, she had complete faith she could hit any target, still or moving. In fact, she used to shoot apples off her brothers’ heads, and off those of any spectator brave enough to volunteer. She was a crack shot.
She still wasn’t sure she could purposely wound or kill a person, least of all one who looked so like her brother that she was startled anew every time she saw them together. One whom she had kissed with such angry intensity, who had stirred such unfamiliar wants within her, who had made her smile, who had even stirred her heart with that lonely directness.
But she had to try. The Ranger would not surrender his guns, especially to her. She knew that as well as she knew her brother was innocent of murder.
She shivered in the cold night air. She wore a coat over her shirt and pants, but she’d left her bedroll on Clementine a fair distance away. She didn’t dare leave this spot to go find it. Lori stretched out on her back and stared up at the sky, so black tonight without its usual trinkets. It was as if someone had laid a blanket across it, quenching every light. She felt the same about her soul.
Nick watched the dawn come. He had been too uncomfortable to get much sleep, just a few moments now and then. He felt more drugged than rested.
It was, he thought with perverse humor, hellishly cold. September weather was unpredictable in these mountains. He wouldn’t be surprised to see a snowstorm, what with those spinning dark clouds rushing across the sky.
But it wasn’t the cold that kept him from sleep. He was used to sleeping outside in all kinds of weather. The ankle hurt like hell. He just might have outsmarted himself this time. He had purposely fallen, not that he had to try very hard with the damnable leg irons. He had wanted to fake a minor injury, enough to slow them down again. Instead the irons had caused him to pitch down harder than he’d intended, throwing all his weight against that right ankle.
He reached down and felt it again. The ankle was even more swollen this morning. He would never get the boot back on, but neither did he think Davis would attach the leg iron to it. At least he hoped not. Hell, it wasn’t necessary now. He would be lucky if he could even get up on his feet.
Nick looked around at the forest. The aspens were changing color. Yesterday, in the sun, they had been bright gold, but now, under the heavy clouds, they looked drab. Or perhaps it was his mood.
He saw only one bright spot. Lori had not appeared and must have done what he had told her for the first time in her life. Otherwise she would have shown up by now; she just plain didn’t have the patience to wait this long, and he also doubted whether she could have trailed them without being spotted. So he reasoned she had gone to Denver for help, taking Clementine; the mare would be a great deal faster than a stage. Now it was just Nick and the Ranger, a situation Nick much preferred.
He sat up, losing his two blankets. It was damned difficult keeping them wrapped around him with the handcuffs curtailing his movements. It was like having one hand instead of two. And the leg iron didn’t help. His good leg was stiff from lack of movement— stiff and cold.
Frustrated, he looked toward the man responsible for his difficulties. The Ranger had already started saddling the horses. Nick wondered whether he ever slept. As if he felt Nick’s gaze, Davis turned around even as his hands continued to buckle the saddle straps. “Your ankle?” The question was as curt as it had been the night before.
Nick tried to stand, using the aspen, to which he was still chained, for support. He had a pressing private need, which was beginning to compete with the ankle pain in discomfort. “Still hurts like hell,” he admitted.
“Can you walk?”
Nick was standing now, balancing his weight on his left leg. Agony shot through him as he displaced some of that weight on the injured ankle, then a little more. The pain increased, but it was bearable. Anything was bearable if he could get free, and perhaps he could use the injured ankle to further that cause. He looked laconically down at his good foot, the iron band still ringing it. “Not chained to this damn tree, I can’t,” he said, grimacing with the pain still coursing through him.
Davis gave one last pull on the saddle, then took a key from his pocket and walked cautiously over to Nick. The Ranger was wearing a gunbelt, but his rifle still lay next to his bedroll. He saw Nick’s glance, followed it, and seemed to hesitate; then he dismissed it. Nick certainly wasn’t going to be able to sprint for the rifle, not with his injured ankle. Davis handed the leg-iron key to Nick, who realized the Ranger had no intention of kneeling in front of him to unlock the cuff. Nick had hoped …
Nick leaned down unsteadily and unlocked the metal around his ankle, not bothering with the other band still locked to the chain that had kept him tethered. He took a tentative step, wincing at the new billow of pain that rocked him. He set his jaw, concentrating. He moved several steps
away, each one pure torture as he realized he might as well still be hobbled for all the freedom of movement he had. He stopped and leaned against a tree, aware of the Ranger watching every movement. The ground was freezing to his unbooted foot, enhancing the pain of the wrenched ankle.
He rested a moment against the tree, then took care of his necessities, still mindful of the Ranger’s scrutiny. When he took several steps back, the ankle gave way. He started to fall, grabbed what seemed to be a heavy branch. It broke off, and he felt an arm going around him, lowering him to the ground. He also heard a low round of curses as Davis inspected the ankle. With surprisingly sensitive fingers the Ranger rebound the ankle, drawing the bandage tighter for more support. He then made a woolen boot out of the end of one of the blankets. When he was finished, he dug some jerky and hardtack from his supplies and gave a portion to Nick, as well as a canteen. “Five minutes and we leave.”
Nick watched as the Ranger turned suddenly, starting toward his bedroll. A shot rang, and Nick saw a look of pain and surprise cross Davis’s face as red stained his left shoulder. He spun around, starting to fall, but as he did, Nick saw him twist toward the rifle. In a blinding succession of movements, Davis had the rifle in his hands and found a tree for protection against more shots.
Lori’s hand shook on the gun. She thought she heard the shot echo over and over again in the canyon, but perhaps the sound was only in her mind.
She had aimed for the shoulder. For the gun shoulder. But which was it? For a split second she just couldn’t remember. Nick was left-handed, and she had automatically shifted her aim to the left.
She closed her eyes for a moment. She had hit him, she knew that She had seen him reel with the impact before falling, grabbing the rifle and rolling out of sight. How badly was he hurt? She knew she was a good enough shot to hit what she aimed for. But she had never shot to wound before. This had been far different from shooting off a hat or an apple or aiming at a paper target.
She searched the area below. She had waited so long for the perfect shot. She had wanted Nick free of the tree, free of the leg irons, before she fired, in case anything went wrong, in the possible event both she and the Ranger were killed. And then her brother had been in the line of fire. There had been just that moment of opportunity when the Ranger was in clear view.
Where was he now? She felt sick about what she had done. Ambushed a man. She didn’t know whether she could shoot again, but she might well have to. She had hoped that the one shot would disable him sufficiently that she could release Nick. They could bandage the Ranger’s wound, leave him on a horse a short distance away, and make a run for it. But she had seen him grab the rifle, and in that moment she knew she had probably hit the wrong shoulder. She also realized she had wounded a very dangerous tiger.
She didn’t know whether she should stay up there or move cautiously down. And Nick? She didn’t see him, either, though he had been in partial view just before the shot. She had to find out! She had nothing to lose at this point by identifying herself. And she still had the high ground, still had the cover of rocks.
“Nick?” she yelled out.
“Get out of here,” she heard him call back, his voice uncustomarily shaken.
And then another voice. “Get down here, Miss Braden, or so help me God, I’ll kill your brother.”
“No!” Her brother’s voice. “Leave, Lori.”
A rifle shot rang out, and Lori felt herself shake all over. “Nick?”
“The next one goes in his heart.” The Ranger’s voice was as cold as a sudden blizzard sweeping over the Rockies. She knew he meant it. Dear God, what had she done?
She stood up slowly, the pistol dropping to her side.
“Drop the gun,” the Ranger ordered. There was no “Miss Lori” now. No “Lori.” Just a cold iciness that promised death. She wished now for that mockery, for anything other than the frozen fury she heard in his voice, fury that she knew included her brother as well as herself.
The gun dropped from her now numb fingers.
“Now, slowly, climb down. I want to see both of your hands,” he said.
She had taken several steps when there was an exclamation of some kind below, and then she heard another shot. Nick. Nick had tried something. Disregarding the Ranger’s order to go slow, she scrambled down. “Nick?” she screamed as she ran toward the place she had last seen him.
Lori saw him then. He was lying crumpled on the ground, his face in pine straw, his body perfectly still. She paid no attention to the Ranger standing two feet away as she knelt beside her brother. There was blood on the side of his head, but he was breathing.
Thank God, he was breathing.
“He’s still alive,” the Ranger said. “For now.” He emphasized the last two words, and Lori turned to look up at him. He was leaning against a tree, the left side of his shirt a damp bright red. He cradled a rifle in his right arm.
She wanted to say something. She wanted to ask about him, even to offer to help, but she knew she couldn’t. She knew he would refuse. Contempt blazed in his eyes, and his jaw was set against the pain she knew he must feel. She was feeling a pain of her own as she looked into his face; the lines there seemed deeper than two days before.
“What happened?”
The Ranger shook his head. “The damn fool came after me. Even in handcuffs and a bad leg. We fought over the rifle. I won.” He said it as if there had never been any doubt over the outcome.
Her eyes went to his shoulder. He hadn’t mentioned his own wound. It had been very nearly an equal fight.
His gaze met hers. “You don’t aim so good.”
She wanted to tell him she had, that she had hit exactly where she’d tried to hit But she knew he wouldn’t believe her. And why should he? Why shouldn’t he think she’d tried to kill him?
Nick moved then, a soft groan coming from deep in his throat.
Lori looked back down at him. Nick moved slightly; then his eyes opened, widening as they saw her. His hand started to go out to her, then stopped. His face was lined, and it had never looked as much like the Ranger’s as it did then. There seemed to be no difference in years now as pain etched furrows around his eyes.
“Lori,” he whispered, a quiet despair in his voice that struck through her like a sword. His gaze went to the Ranger. “Don’t … hurt her. She was just …”
“Trying to kill me,” the Ranger finished for him in a voice so impersonal that it frightened Lori more than his anger ever had.
Nick shook his head, but the Ranger paid no attention. “I’ve had enough of the pair of you,” he said.
Lori’s hand dug into the pine needles, into the earth. She half expected a bullet to plow into Nick. Into herself. Her hand reached for Nick’s handcuffed ones, but she avoided his eyes. He slowly tried to sit up. She knew it was pride forcing him. She hurt for that pride, for him. She hurt that she had cost him more than pride. She might have caused his death. She turned her head toward the Ranger. His face was paling, his jaw squared with determination. A puddle of blood was widening at his feet, dripping from a shirt now soaked.
“Nick didn’t know …”
“I don’t give a damn whether he knew or not. I wouldn’t believe either of you if you sprouted wings and …” His voice faltered for a moment, then regained in strength.
“Braden, move back over to that tree where you spent last night.”
Nick stared at him.
“Goddammit, do it. Now!”
Nick tried to stand. Lori rose with him, letting him use her as a crutch. They made the few steps to the aspen, and Nick sank to the ground. Lori breathed a sigh of relief. At least the Ranger wasn’t going to shoot him—or he would have done it minutes ago.
“Lock the leg iron around his ankle.” He was talking to her, his voice still impersonal, though Lori sensed he was barely holding his anger at bay. A chill that had nothing to do with the cool mountain weather seeped through her. She hesitated, and Nick, apparently sensing her reluctance
, leaned over to do it himself.
“No. She does it” His voice was strained but emphatic. There was no reprieve, and Lori knew he was at the limit of whatever patience he had. She leaned over and picked up the iron band. The key was still in the lock. She tightened the band around Nick’s good ankle, and then she saw the swollen right one. “Oh, Nick,” she said.
“Throw me the key.”
Lori didn’t hesitate this time. There was no advantage in further angering the Ranger.
He left the key where it dropped, took out another one, and tossed it to her. “Unlock the cuff on his right wrist.”
Lori obeyed silently.
“Now lock it onto your own wrist.”
Lori stared at him in dismay. “He needs help. You … need help.”
“You really believe I would trust you now, or your goddamn help?” He said bitterly. “And something tells me your brother will survive a bump on the head and a twisted ankle. Lock it, Lori, or I’ll do what I should have done back at the cabin. Kill him, and save myself one hell of a lot of trouble.”
She closed the cuff around her wrist.
“Tighter, Lori.”
She tightened it as far as it would go. It was still a little loose but not enough to enable her to slip from it.
“Now that key.”
She held on to it a moment, then tossed it to him.
He turned then, leaning against the tree, averting his face from them. He was still a moment, his slumped shoulders reflecting weariness that he had refused to show until now. Lori bit down on her lip to keep from exclaiming, to keep from offering help. She needed to help him.
He could have killed her, and he hadn’t. Not even when she had ambushed him. Not even when he thought she had tried to kill him.
He could have killed Nick.
The Ranger stayed still for several minutes, as if to gather strength; then he removed his shirt and tore part of it off, tying a bandage around his shoulder to slow the bleeding. Without saying anything he walked to where he had placed their gear. He picked up two canteens and threw them to Nick. Then he walked away again, disappearing from sight For a moment she was terrified he might leave them like that, but he returned, his left arm bent stiffly, his right arm holding a pile of firewood. He dropped the wood, added kindling, then ignited it with a match. She watched with growing horror as he placed his knife in the fire.
Wanted Page 9
