Wanted

by Potter, Patricia;

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The sun was setting, only part of it visible, the other part tucked among the mountains, when Morgan returned. He had two rabbits with him. Not wanting to risk gunfire, he had set snares, then gone backtracking, making sure they weren’t being followed. God knew they were leaving enough tracks with six horses and the damn pig. On his way back two of the four snares yielded a catch, and he had quickly cleaned them.

  There would be broth tonight for Braden. Perhaps some stew for the rest of them.

  He paused at the clearing. Beth Andrews was huddled next to Braden. Lori’s hands were moving gracefully as she sat in front of the fire with Maggie, who was listening intently to her. Lori was wearing a dress. His dress. It was the first time she’d worn one since Laramie, and he had forgotten how pretty she looked in one. The porter had done well. The dress fit perfectly, molding her fine breasts and slender waist. In the first dusk, framed by the fire, she looked totally charming. His body reacted, from the fire in his lower region to the softening of a heart that was now involved.

  Lori looked up, sensing his approach. She gave him a tentative smile, then seemed to catch herself, and her lips turned down in a small frown. Her gaze went to the rabbits.

  “For your brother,” he said roughly.

  The brightness returned to her face, and a lump formed in his throat. It took so little to bring back that smile. She whispered something to the child, then stood up and went over to him, reaching out to take the rabbits. Her eyes met his briefly. “Thank you,” she said in a slightly husky voice, then turned abruptly away. He watched as Beth joined her and together they put the meat in a pot with water and set it over the fire.

  “How is Braden?” he asked Beth.

  “Sleeping,” she said in that soft voice of hers. “I don’t think there’s an infection. He’s just lost a lot of blood.” There was censure in her voice, and guilt gnawed at Morgan again.

  He just nodded and turned toward Lori. Her golden eyes were watching him intently. He returned the look steadily. He had decided during the afternoon that he would talk to her, find out more about Nick, try to discover what, if anything, he could do to help the man. Try now to get her to trust him.

  He might as well try to push the sun around.

  “Help me water the horses,” he said suddenly, his voice harsher than he intended.

  “Is that an order or a request?” she said, obviously bristling that he had kept them going today when Braden was so ill. But Braden had hidden his pain well, until he’d nearly fallen from his horse. Morgan hadn’t expected that, had thought the wound wasn’t that severe, that Braden would tell him if he needed to stop. His prisoner hadn’t been reluctant to slow them before.

  “Please,” he said, startling her, startling himself. Her gaze met his, and she felt she was plummeting into uncharted depths. His eyes weren’t shadowed now, but neither could she identify the emotions in them. She only knew that despite everything between them, she was more drawn to him than she’d ever been drawn to another man, that she wanted to move into those arms, to feel his lips again. The want radiated between them, a live thing that twisted and curled, connecting them in intimately physical ways even though their bodies didn’t touch. She shivered with the unwanted desire that flooded her. She saw his hand clench with the same reflexive movement, a defense against something he couldn’t control.

  She finally nodded, feeling a little like a puppet, moving as if someone else were pulling the strings. She watched as he took the reins of the three stallions, his and Nick’s bay and Beth Andrews’s horse, and she took Clementine and the two pack horses. She noticed that he had unstrapped the bedrolls, though he had not unsaddled the horses. His rifle still sat in its scabbard. He was still being careful.

  He would always be careful, she warned herself.

  She’d noticed he hadn’t replaced the handcuffs on Nick, nor had he used the leg irons. That told her he thought Nick was too sick to run. So sick that the Ranger didn’t take his usual precautions. Still, he was keeping his eye on the weapons. He stopped at the stream, well out of sight and hearing of the others. He didn’t speak as he allowed the horses to drink, and she did the same as dusk fell gently around them, the brilliant reds of the sky fading away until the sky was dark blue and the first star twinkled down at them.

  Lori wondered if she had just imagined the undercurrent in the Ranger’s voice, if he had really just wanted help with the horses. Then why the “please”? Why not just the usual order? But he stood there patiently, letting the horses drink their fill; then he took them up the creek bank and tied them to trees. He returned and took the reins and ropes to the two pack horses and tied them just as deliberately as he had the others.

  He turned back to her, his darkly stubbled face rough in the dim light, his eyes impossible to read now as he studied her. Then he held out a gloved hand. She surprised herself by taking it.

  He led her to where the bank of the stream rose, making a natural seat, and he helped her down with a gracefulness she hadn’t expected of him. Then he sat next to her, directing his eyes away from her, toward the stream, where he appeared to study some unknown object.

  “Tell me what happened in Harmony, Texas,” he said.

  Lori didn’t know what she’d expected, but it wasn’t that. She also knew it wasn’t an idle question. He never indulged in idle conversation. She looked at him, searching for the reason behind the sudden interest in Harmony.

  “Why?” she asked bluntly.

  He didn’t answer, but he turned and looked at her. His eyes were troubled, the lines around them even deeper than before. “I want to know,” he said simply.

  Her anger, always bubbling just beneath the surface, and made stronger by her raw attraction to him, cracked open. “Why?” she asked again. “You haven’t cared before.” She heard her own voice break, and she hated it. She hated showing him that she gave a fig about what he thought. She hated that she cared.

  “I want to know, Lori.” The uncertainty was gone now. The demanding Ranger was back in place. An order, plain and simple.

  “All right,” she said. “I saw it all. Will you believe me?”

  He studied her, evidently debating the question in his mind, and she started to get up. His hand stopped her, pulled her back down. “Just tell me,” he demanded.

  Lori felt her chin quiver. She had wanted this. She had wanted him to listen. “We have a younger brother, Andy. He made the mistake of trying to court Lew Wardlaw’s daughter.”

  The Ranger nodded. He’d seen Andy Braden, a big, good-looking kid with an obvious streak of recklessness.

  “Lew and his son, Wade, didn’t want him anywhere near their princess,” she said bitterly. “We were gypsies to them, dirt, just like you think,” she added with anger. “Well, the Princess didn’t feel the same, and one night she sneaked out of the house to meet Andy in town. Wade followed them, caught up with Andy behind the livery stable and found them kissing. He pulled his sister away and then took a whip to Andy.”

  She paused, remembering it, remembering the starlit night when everything had changed. “Nick and I”—she looked toward the stream—“we were playing poker in the saloon when we heard someone come in and say a man was being whipped outside by Wade Wardlaw.

  “We knew it was Andy. We had tried to warn him about Wardlaw, but he wouldn’t listen. We ran out, and Andy was on the ground, bloody, and Wardlaw was hitting him over and over again. One of the Wardlaw hands was standing nearby with his gun drawn. When Andy tried to get the whip, the man would spray the area around him with bullets. Andy didn’t have a gun with him that night; he wouldn’t have been a match for Wardlaw in any case.

  “Nick went for the whip, and Wardlaw swung it at him, then went for his gun. So did the hired hand. Nick was just a fraction faster. He wounded the gunhand and fell to the ground, trying to avoid Wardlaw’s bullets. Wade Wardlaw didn’t stop firing, and Nick rolled behind a water trough and fired. He didn’t want to kill Ward
law, any more than he wanted to kill the gunhand. But Wardlaw was furious, jerking the gun around, shooting at anything that moved, and Nick’s bullet hit his heart”

  She stopped, the memory still vivid. She hadn’t had a gun; only Nick had. She’d been afraid to move, afraid that she would ruin Nick’s aim, and then Wardlaw was dead.

  For a moment Lori forgot that the Ranger was next to her. She saw that street, the horror unfolding. But when she felt a hand closing around her straight, rigid fingers, she went on tonelessly. “Someone scooped up Wade Wardlaw’s gun, and his sister claimed Andy had attacked her, that Nick had killed her brother in cold blood when he’d come to her assistance.” Lori looked up at the Ranger. “Two of the men watching were Wardlaw hands, the few others worked in businesses owned by Wardlaw—everyone but the town drunk, and he was too scared to disagree.”

  “What happened then?”

  “My father and Daniel came, and the three of them were able to hold off the onlookers until they got Andy to the wagon and drove off. Nick knew what would happen, that he wouldn’t stand a chance in court, so he headed in another direction, trying to draw the posse away from the others.”

  “And you?”

  “I knew where Nick would go. I followed him. Andy had Papa and Daniel.”

  She fell silent. She didn’t want to look at his face and see doubt. “Nick,” she finally said, “has always been the strong one in the family, ever since I can remember. I love Papa, but he’s not … always practical. He just thinks everything will turn out for the best. He’s always for the underdog, sometimes foolishly. He just likes lost causes, I suppose.” She looked up at him. “His family were slave owners in Virginia. He hated slavery and apparently said so to the extent he was disowned. He’d spent two years at a university, and he loved books, he taught all of us to love them. But he wasn’t very good at any one thing, or perhaps he didn’t have the patience or temperament to learn a trade. He joined a medicine show and eventually inherited it when the owner died. He … loves that life. He has a lot of curiosity about places and people, and he can go where he wants to go. That’s how he met Mama.”

  She stopped, stared at him defiantly. “I know what you think about my family, but you’re wrong. Papa is … well, he never meets a stranger. He never sees anyone in need without trying to help. He doesn’t see anything wrong in what we do. The tonic and Herbs of Life don’t hurt anyone, and we provide entertainment for people who don’t get any.”

  Lori glanced up at Morgan, a sudden glint of mischief in her eyes, “Of course, we have been known to ‘sucker’ marks, but only those who were greedy and could afford it.” She bit her lip and then continued, obviously determined to tell the whole truth. “Nick and I have even cheated some at cards, but only when we needed the money really badly. We’re both very good without cheating, and we’ve been accused of it even when … we didn’t.”

  Morgan wanted to smile. That damn, appealing honesty again. That convoluted logic that fascinated him. But he forced himself to remain still, not wanting to stop the words, the chance to learn more about her. About her family.

  After a quick glance to determine censure, Lori continued. “We were never lonely because we had … each other.” There was just a trace of wistfulness in her eyes, and Morgan understood more of the close relationship between Lori and Braden. We had each other. Regardless of what she said, it must have been a lonely life for a child. No roots, no friends outside of family. But if there was any regret, she didn’t reveal it. “There was something new all the time. Papa was always finding some itinerant entertainer who would teach Nick and me and Andy all sorts of things.”

  “Including how to shoot,” he inserted wryly.

  She looked up at him and nodded. “And to perform tricks with horses, to sing and to play various instruments. In addition to the harmonica, Nick can play the guitar and banjo.” Lori hesitated a moment before continuing slowly. “I think I always liked it better than Nick. I like people, and I … like singing for them. I used to love the sharpshooting shows.” She looked up at Morgan. “I’m very good.” She was telling him again that she could well have killed him if she’d wanted to.

  “Nick … he was good at performing too,” she continued after a moment’s pause. “But his heart wasn’t always in it. Nick wanted to enlist during the war, but he felt we needed him. I was only ten and Andy six, and Nick, well, he worried about us. And lately … he’s been wanting to ranch.”

  Lori looked straight into the Ranger’s eyes. She had told her story, had pleaded her case as best she could. Now she tried to gauge his reaction, trying to decipher whether or not he understood anything she was saying, that Nick was innocent, that he was a good man.

  Her heart froze. His face was still stone. “He has to go back, Lori,” he said slowly, making each word clear. “But I’ll help him.”

  Lori heard only the first part. The second sentence meant little. Nothing could help Nick in Harmony. Nothing. The five-thousand-dollar reward said as much. He didn’t believe her. Nothing had changed. She started to rise again, but his hand, as before, wouldn’t let her.

  “Let go of me,” she said bitterly.

  “Lori, listen to me,” he said in a low, insistent voice. “There’s a big bounty on his head. Someone will claim it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be you.”

  “Dammit, I have no intention of collecting the bounty. I told you that before.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she lied. She did believe him, but she wanted to hurt him, as he kept hurting her.

  He stiffened. “I’ve never hunted a man for money.”

  “Then why …? Because you look alike? Because you’re afraid they’ll come after you?”

  He sighed. “That was part of it,” he admitted. “I’ve been a lawman all my life. Having my face on a poster was like … an insult to everything I’ve believed.”

  “You obviously don’t believe in justice,” she retorted, so furious she could barely speak. He always did that to her, made her angrier than anyone ever had before. Because he was so blind … and because even then he raised these wanting feelings in her.

  “I believe in the law,” he said. “It usually works pretty well.”

  “And when it doesn’t?”

  “I try to see that it does,” he said quietly.

  “You said you were in Harmony,” she accused, “and you were convinced Nick was guilty.”

  He nodded. “I had no reason not to be. Everyone told the same story.”

  “But you have reason now?” she said, holding her breath. Maybe she could convince him to let Nick go.

  He hesitated. “Maybe.”

  “Then release him.”

  “You aren’t listening, Lori. You know how many killers out there are hunting him?”

  “We’ll go far away.”

  “Goddammit, you can’t go far enough.”

  Lori stared at him, stunned. He wasn’t going to release Nick, no matter what he thought, or what she said. “Why did you ask, then? Why did you want to know what happened in Harmony?” Her voice broke.

  “I can’t let him go, Lori, or you’ll both end up dead, perhaps your whole family, but once we’re in Texas, I can help.”

  “Assuage your conscience before he dies, you mean,” she said. She hated the tears that were beginning to burn behind her eyes. His hand caught her chin and drew her face up to meet his eyes.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he said in a low, harsh voice. His eyes were intense, the blue so dark that now they appeared black in the evening dusk. She had never seen them like that before. He’d always so surrounded himself by a wall of solitude that she’d often wondered if anything penetrated it, whether he ever let anything or anyone intrude into that private world he hoarded to himself. He’d always struck her as a lonely man, one who made an art out of aloneness, even attempted to make a virtue out of it.

  A muscle moved in his throat, and she felt the tension in him, the struggle inside h
im to keep from doing exactly what she knew he was going to do.

  Morgan fought himself, but it did no damn good. He had watched her every expression, the earnestness as she struggled with words to defend someone she loved. The anger. The sadness. The pleading. He sensed how much she’d hated pleading. And something exploded inside the places he’d always guarded. That trapdoor sprang, exposing the raw loneliness, the emptiness that had always been so much a part of him.

  He wanted her to trust him. To believe in him as she believed in Braden. And he didn’t know how to make that happen. He didn’t know how to force it. And then he just reacted. Out of need. Out of desire. Out of some kind of hope that he could make her believe in him.

  His head lowered. His lips met hers. Roughly at first, because of that fierce need he didn’t know how to harness. Her lips, at first resistant, gave under the persistent onslaught and responded as hungrily as his. He didn’t feel victory, though. He sensed her reluctance, her anger at herself for yielding to him. And he wanted to drive away that anger. He wanted it more than he ever wanted anything in his life.

  Morgan had never been gentle with a woman. He’d never been rough, either. He’d just been … efficient. Taking care of needs. He looked at Lori’s face, so full of conflicting emotions, and he wanted to be gentle, to be trusted. He wanted so much more than he’d ever given or been given.

  He wanted to explore everything. He wanted to see her smile, her eyes light with that spontaneous pleasure he’d seen earlier that day. He wanted those eyes to light for him. His kiss gentled, deepened, invited. His arms went around her, and he felt pleased when her body relaxed against him and she opened her mouth to him. A little bit of trust. A very small bit, but he would take what he could, he thought with a sudden burst of elation.

  She didn’t want to respond to him. She wanted to push him away, to call him a murderer. She could do neither. She found herself betraying all she loved and held dear as her mouth responded to his, and the kiss became a desperate, needy thing, a conflagration that should have been damped by anger and loneliness, by uncertainty and her own sense of betrayal to herself. Instead it seemed to feed on those very emotions.