She kept her eyes shut another minute, knowing what she would see before she saw him. She felt weighed down with sleep, or lack of it. She didn’t know which. Surely, it couldn’t be dawn yet. It couldn’t be time for the stage.
Dread filled her at the thought of leaving Nick.
“Lori!”
She opened her eyes. The Ranger was standing there, fully dressed, the gunbelt in place as always. Why did he always have to look so confident, so powerful?
Lori stretched in the comfortable bed. Wallowed in it, actually. She kept her gaze away from him. Yet instinctively, she knew she was provoking him. Or something else. Sweet Mary and Joseph, she wanted a reaction from him. Some kind of reaction—any kind.
“Lori.” This time his voice was lower. Even harsher. Rather strangled, in fact.
“Do you always walk into ladies’ bedrooms?” she asked sleepily.
He grunted an unintelligible reply.
Lori looked toward the window. Only darkness came from behind the curtains, not the first rays of sun.
“We’re leaving,” he said abruptly. “Get ready.”
“What time is it?”
“Early morning.”
“Very early,” she guessed.
He shrugged, as he did so many times when he didn’t want to answer a question. Her gaze fixed itself on his, and she sat up, hugging the quilt to her. She didn’t need to. She was still clothed in the shirt she’d been wearing for the last few days. “What’s wrong … Nick …?”
His gut tightened again. Nick. Always Nick, goddammit. Why did she care about the murdering bastard? It didn’t make him feel one damn bit better that he was jealous of her blood relative. “Bounty hunters,” he said. “Rode in an hour ago.”
She stiffened. Despite what she’d said a day ago about Morgan not being any better, she knew her brother stood little chance with any bounty hunter.
“Where are we going?”
“South. Along the river. Too many tracks out of town for them to follow, and the creek bed will keep our signs to a minimum.”
“How did they find us?” She felt fear for the first time. She hadn’t felt it in Laramie. She’d been too angry, too determined to free Nick—too sure of her ability to do that.
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “They might just be checking all the mining towns. We lost time during the snowstorm.”
And because she had shot him. She was grateful he didn’t remind her. She merely nodded. She’d learned by now that there was no arguing with him. Once he’d decided on something, there was no reprieve. She wondered briefly if he ever bent and decided he didn’t. He’d crack wide-open first. If, she thought bitterly, there was anything inside him to crack.
He abruptly left, leaving her to pack what few things she had. She hesitated as she looked at the dress, then rolled it up in the bedroll. She didn’t want anything from him … but it was something else to wear, and she didn’t doubt she might need it. Despite the bath she felt dirty and grungy in the clothes she had been wearing. She had kept them on last night, purely in self-defense. The Ranger gave her privacy only up to a point.
She wondered now whether he’d had any sleep at all, wondered if there was a way to take advantage of that possibility. And then she warned herself against underestimating him again. As long as he had the gun and the irons, he had the upper hand.
Until Pueblo.
In just a few minutes she joined the two men in the other room. Nick had a days-old beard; the Ranger still had not permitted him to shave. Her brother was wearing his coat, but his hands were cuffed in front of him, though his ankles were free. The Ranger gave him one pair of saddlebags to place over the handcuffs in case they ran into anyone. Then Morgan Davis eyed her warily for a moment. “I hope you know what’s at stake,” he said.
Lori nodded, her hands loaded down with her bedroll. The Ranger also gave her Nick’s, and he took his own in his left arm, leaving his gun hand free, Lori noticed.
“We’ll go out the back to the hotel stable,” he said. “You two go first. To the right and down the back stairs.”
Lori felt the weight of too little sleep. Her mind was muddled with the lack of it. So was Nick’s, she noticed; his steps lagged, the usual energy drained from him. She wondered how the Ranger could be so decisive, his eyes so alert, and she silently cursed him for it.
She and Nick exchanged glances. He gave her a wry smile, and her heart ached. There was defeat in that smile, something she rarely saw in him. She knew it was partly because of her. He’d wanted her on that stage as much as the Ranger did. She hadn’t told him she’d had no intention of going all the way to Denver. She wasn’t going to leave the two men alone, not after seeing the anger between them nearly explode last night.
Lori knew now that the Ranger would not shoot her brother in cold blood. She also knew, though, that Nick was reaching the point of doing something reckless, of not giving the Ranger a choice, or what the Ranger saw as a choice. She reached the stairs and started down them. All three of them were silent, careful in their steps. Doing as the Ranger ordered. Resentment boiled up in her, and she measured the steps. Perhaps if she stumbled … Nick could back into the Ranger, and the two of them, she and Nick, could …
“Don’t even think about it, Lori.” His voice was low, almost inaudible, and Lori swallowed. Had she hesitated a moment? Or did he already know her that well? She didn’t bother to deny it, just kept moving, balancing her load to open the door.
In minutes they were riding out of town at a gallop. An opportunity lost, but at least, Lori thought, she wasn’t on the stage.
And there was Pueblo.
Whitey Stark swore. He stared at the note at the telegraph office. He had missed them again, and this time only by hours. Still, he had what he needed.
“Pueblo,” the copy of the telegram said.
He was surprised the Ranger had permitted the girl to send the telegram. But, then, in Whitey’s opinion Morgan Davis was often a fool. The Ranger had a code of honor Whitey didn’t understand, would never understand, and because he didn’t, he held it in contempt. A weakness. Whitey distrusted weakness.
And he hated Morgan Davis. Davis had foiled several of his intended captures. Whitey had been close three times to nabbing a wanted man, spending months in tracking, only to find that Davis had beat him to it.
Now five thousand dollars was at stake. So was his pride.
He had been tailing Morgan a month earlier, knowing that the man was after Nicholas Braden. An acquaintance had told him a Ranger had been asking questions in Harmony. Whitey had thought he would trail Morgan, save himself time and trouble. He’d even played with the thought of shooting Davis and taking him back as Braden, but he didn’t dare do that in Texas. He didn’t want the Rangers on his back the rest of his life. He wanted it to look as if Braden had shot the Ranger, and then he, Whitey, had killed Braden. He had to kill them both.
Everything had gone well enough, until the Ranger had backtracked once and found him. He’d disarmed Whitey, taken his rifle and his treasured pistol with the pearl handle, and thrown them into a river. Whitey hadn’t been able to find them, even after days of searching. That pistol had been important to him. He’d taken it off a gunfighter he’d killed, and it represented his prowess, his power. Davis had not only humiliated him but had taken his most prized possession.
He’d had just enough money to purchase a new pistol and rifle, neither near as fine as the ones he’d had. And he’d recruited Curt Nesbitt, whom he’d worked with before, and Curt’s brother, Ford. Curt and he had the same philosophy. No value in taking a wanted man alive. Whitey had made it clear, however, that he would have the pleasure of shooting the Ranger, and that he would take two thirds of the bounty. The woman would be a bonus, and then they would have to kill her, too.
Whitey turned away from the telegraph office, where he had bribed the operator. A clerk from the Hotel de Paris, the man had said, brought in the telegram.
The
Hotel de Paris! He never would have suspected Morgan Davis would stay there. He hadn’t even checked there, by God, though he had checked the other hotels, the sheriff’s office, which was empty, and the town doctor, who reported no callers. Morgan Davis was a hell of a lot smarter than Whitey had thought. Still, the Ranger had made a mistake. The telegram was a big mistake.
Whitey studied his own map, every town anywhere close to the mountain trails that led to Pueblo. He and the Nesbitt brothers would separate, cover each of those trails. The woman would slow the Ranger down. So would his prisoner. The telegram had promised as much.
Daniel Webster visited the Denver telegraph office as he had done every day since that telegram arrived more than a week ago. He ignored the stares that always accompanied him. He had learned long ago not to care.
Andy was in the saloon, getting knee-walking drunk again. He’d been consumed by guilt ever since his brother was almost hanged for saving his hide. Daniel had some sympathy but not a lot. It was time that Andy grew up.
Daniel approached the counter, which came to just about the top of his head. He stood on tiptoes. “Any messages for Jonathon Braden?”
The operator handed him a telegram with a smile. Daniel smiled back. The telegraph operator had stared at him years ago when he’d first come in, but now, again like so many others, he had discovered that Daniel was like everyone else and treated him that way. He’d even interfered several times when another customer had cruelly teased Daniel about his tiny size. Some people never accepted Daniel. Some took great pleasure in taunting him, calling him a freak, to make themselves feel superior.
Daniel took the telegram and opened it. He was a part of the Braden family. There were no secrets, and he was as worried as all of them about Nick and Lori. He remembered the previous telegram word for word. He had gone cold when he read it. Nick Braden had been his protector since Nick had been ten and started towering over Daniel, though Daniel had then been around twenty-five. Anyone, even adults, who teased or taunted Daniel had Nick to contend with, and Nick, when he was angry, could be dangerous.
Daniel loved Nick and Lori as if they were his own brother and sister. And they were. Jonathon had found Daniel when he was eight, little more than a starved animal. He had been sold to a circus by his family, who was ashamed of giving life to a dwarf. He’d been displayed in a cage for several years.
Jonathon had bought him from the circus owner, though it had gone against his grain to buy and sell human beings, and had patiently taught him to read and write, had even raised him as his own. Daniel had been fifteen when Jonathon had come across Fleur and the baby so many years ago.
It was Daniel who had helped care for them, particularly the boy, after they found the mother and child in Texas. And then Jonathon and Fleur had fallen in love, and they’d seen no reason that the child shouldn’t think of both of them as his real parents. After Fleur and Jonathon were married, they had registered the father of the boy as Jonathon. And Jonathon had always considered Nick his, even after the other two children came.
Daniel had kept that secret all his life. He would carry it to the grave with him if that was what Jonathon wanted.
And now Nick was in grave danger. The first telegram from Lori had been sent from Laramie. It had simply said that Nick had been taken prisoner by a Texas Ranger who planned to return him to Texas. She would send another telegram as soon as she could.
Daniel had known exactly what that meant. She would try to rescue Nick on her own. Lori had always been full of confidence, and she had reason. She was unusually bright and intuitive, quick to master a variety of skills, particularly anything involving coordination and concentration, and used to getting her own way. And she did it so charmingly, flashing that bright, open smile, that no one would gainsay her.
But a Texas Ranger? Daniel Webster was an observer. He had to be. And the Medicine Show had traveled Texas enough that he knew the breed. Hard and relentless. It took a particular kind of man to withstand the loneliness and isolation of that kind of life. A sheriff was different. He lived in a town and had good times as well as bad. The Rangers had few good times. They had only each other.
He read the telegram again. Lori had been unusually brief, which meant she was being watched. Traveling through mountains. Headed for Pueblo. Will try to move slowly.
“Try.” Which meant she was with them.
Daniel walked over to the saloon and found Andy. He ignored the usual jocular commentary on his size and simply handed the telegram to Andy, who read it quickly. He jerked upright, knocking over the chair, spilling the beer on the table. “Come on, Daniel,” he said as he threw several coins onto the table, which had righted itself.
Daniel ran to keep up with the long-strided Andy, uncaring of the comical sight he presented, and didn’t voice his usual protest when Andy tossed him up into the saddle of Andy’s pinto and mounted behind him. Andy spurred the horse, and they raced the mile to the cabin where the family was wintering.
Three hours later Andy was heading for Pueblo on the pinto, and Jonathon, Fleur, and Daniel were behind him in the Medicine Wagon. Fleur wouldn’t even think of being left behind. She couldn’t shoot, but Nick was her baby, her firstborn. And Lori … Lori was everything any parent could want. So passionate about life. She embraced it as few others did.
Traveling through mountains. Daniel snapped the whip over the head of the horses harnessed to the wagon. They would have to move fast, but they were taking the faster plains route. They should make good time. If only Lori succeeded in moving “slowly.”
If anyone could accomplish that, Daniel knew, it was Lori.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Morgan ruthlessly kept them moving. They were all dozing in the saddle by the time he considered calling a halt in late afternoon. Even he had nodded off several times, jerking full awake at a sudden sound. But, then, he’d slept in the saddle on other occasions. His bay was well-trained, and he trusted it not to misstep or shy at an unexpected noise; his prisoners were once more tied to their saddles.
He had hesitated before binding Lori’s hands, but he had no time for her tricks, and he was too damn tired to be as alert as he should be. He had known instantly on the stairs at the hotel that she was thinking about making some kind of move; her back had tensed as she’d hesitated. She just damn well wasn’t going to give up. So when he’d saddled the horses, he’d used his bandanna to tie her hands to the saddle horn and had handcuffed Braden as he always did.
He had followed a streambed until late morning, walking the horses through the shallow water, then had made for the high country, where he hoped the rocks would make a trail even more difficult to follow. Once he’d secured the Bradens, he would backtrack, make sure they weren’t followed. He wished he could think more clearly. He should have done something about Whitey a month ago, but the bounty hunter wasn’t wanted, and no sheriff would hold him. Morgan could have killed him, probably should have, but he was still too much a Ranger to kill an unarmed man in cold blood, even an animal like Whitey Stark. Now there were three of them, normally not that much of a threat—except now Morgan had his hands full with Nick and Lori Braden.
His back stiffened just thinking about her. He had taken the lead, had tried to keep his eyes from the slender girl, whose hair now fell halfway down her back in an untidy braid. Anyone else would look like hell after what she’d gone through, but weariness had only seemed to magnify those golden eyes that cut through him each time their gazes met. He didn’t know which was more agonizing: the hostile defiance that so often gleamed in her eyes or those rare moments when they blazed with a passion that had little to do with anger.
Or maybe that forbidden passion had everything to do with anger. Remember that, he warned himself. Remember that before you find a knife in your back. Either way, she radiated life. That was one thing that so intrigued him about her. All that life.
Just before they left the stream, he watered the horses and filled the canteens. They would have a d
ry camp this afternoon. No fire, no smoke. Jerky and hardtack would have to do for food. He knew he needed sleep. They all did. And they would be safer without a fire and then moving again when nightfall came. There was a full moon that night, and he might as well take advantage of it.
He found a small, protected clearing, well shielded by trees, and stopped. He took off his gloves and untied Lori’s hands, dismounted, and then offered his hand to her. To his surprise she took it, sliding off the saddle. She stumbled as her feet hit the ground, and Morgan found himself catching her, his arms automatically going around her. He wondered only fleetingly whether the stumble was accidental or on purpose, because his body immediately responded to hers, to the softness, to the way it leaned into his for the briefest of moments.
But any idea he might have had that the stumble was deliberate was immediately put to rest. She stiffened and backed away as if burned. Automatically, his hand reached out to steady her arm, and she jerked away at his touch. There was no doubt that she detested even that touch, and his hand fell away awkwardly as if he were a small boy reaching for a forbidden pie and caught at it.
He turned away, wishing the rejection of his very touch didn’t hurt so goddamn much. He had been wrong surmising, even for a second, that she might have welcomed his nearness, that those kisses had been anything but a lure, and she couldn’t even bear to play that game now. He stalked over to his horse, took the leg irons from his saddlebags as Braden dismounted, and waited for the inevitable. He locked them onto Braden, and then freed him from the saddle horn. Braden stretched his arms and stared at Morgan. “Don’t you ever sleep?”
“I’m about to do just that,” Morgan said.
“That means I’m going to be real uncomfortable again.”
Morgan didn’t reply. He turned back to Lori. “You have a few minutes.” He didn’t have to say anything more. She glared at him but then turned and disappeared into the woods. Morgan leaned against the tree. Damn, he hated this. He wished he could ask for her word. He wished she would give it. He wished he could accept it. But he just plain didn’t trust her. “You too,” he said to Braden. “But you keep in sight.”
Wanted Page 18
