Because he’s an outlaw?
She didn’t believe that, not for a moment. He’d been gentle with Maggie, protective of his sister. Feelings she didn’t, couldn’t, equate with a killer.
He was handsome. In a much more dangerous way than Joshua had been, though Joshua had been well favored. Or perhaps it was the dark beard that covered his cheeks, or the animosity that radiated between him and Morgan Davis. Which made her think again about the physical resemblance between the two, and how extraordinary it was.
She wondered if she truly did see it more than the others. Beth remembered the twins she had known. Each seemed to know what the other twin was thinking, almost before the other thought it. They often finished one another’s sentences. They didn’t wait to catch diseases from one another but seemed to suffer them at the same time, and when one had an accident, the other felt the pain.
And they were perfect images of each other. Nick and Morgan Davis weren’t perfect images of each other, but they came close. Take the mustache from Ranger Davis, smooth out some lines, give him a smile …
She had noticed that Nick was left-handed and the Ranger was right-handed, and the twins she’d known were both left-handed. Still, it was uncanny. For a fanciful moment she wondered whether the Ranger had felt any pain when Nick was stabbed. Then she dismissed the notion. According to Lori, both men were very sure where they were born and to whom.
Her gaze stole back to Nick. He was trying to stand. She thought about chastising him for doing that, urging him to rest and regain his strength, but she sensed it would do no good. There was a determined glint in his eyes.
She looked down. Her hands were bunched in tight fists as she mentally suffered with him, as she felt the will it took to rise and take several steps. His gaze found hers, and he gave her a conspiratorial smile. It was strained, but a smile just the same, and she found herself responding, so very pleased at his success. Her heart tipped inside as she watched him take several more steps, moving ever so slowly over to his horse and rubbing its neck affectionately. She could feel his desire to mount, to ride away, his chagrin at not having the strength to do so.
Beth wished she could help him, that she could saddle his horse and help him escape. But she knew he wouldn’t get far, not with the knife wound. He rubbed the horse once more, whispered something to it, and then returned to where he’d been lying, where his blankets lay strewn around. She saw his gaze go down to the leg irons again, and the look in his face—a mixture of longing and despair, frustration and bitterness—made her want to cry.
Nick sat heavily as if his legs refused to hold him any longer, and he turned away from her and looked toward the mountains to the north. Toward freedom. The heart that had merely twitched before now hammered in her chest. She couldn’t believe how much she wanted to give that freedom to him.
When he first woke up, Nick had looked up at those damn cornflower-blue eyes and momentarily thought he had already gone to heaven. Prematurely, but not by much, if everything worked out as Morgan Davis hoped. That’s what hurt so damn badly. He’d never been so taken with a woman, and now that his life expectancy was about as great as a steer’s at a slaughterhouse, it was his luck to find something rare and … wonderful.
He tried to tell himself it was only because Beth Andrews had patched him up, that it was gratitude on his part, and on hers, and that was why those small hands were so gentle. She was a small woman, but her hands had calluses and her fingers had been efficient when they had worked on his wound. Her eyes were soft, but her back was straight and determined, and he thought how much strength there had to be in her to try to keep a farm going in this country.
And those damn Indians. She had stood there, defying them, holding on to her daughter with all her strength. He had felt like Lochinvar rushing to her rescue—not what he was, what Davis had made him. Familiar anger rushed through him. He still wanted to be Lochinvar to Beth Andrews. Instead, he was a man headed for the gallows.
For a few moments he’d forgotten. His hands were free. His ankles were free. She had smiled at him, sharing a moment of laughter as she told him about Caroline. And then the smile had fled at the mention of her husband, and he knew he had no right even to think of trying to make her care. Even then he had held her hand a moment too long, so reluctant to release that contact, that moment of empathy he didn’t remember ever sharing with a woman before.
When she’d left, he’d tried to stand, hoping the pain and effort would drive away other more intimate physical reactions. And he wanted to test his strength. Damn, Dickens was only feet away, but Nick doubted he could even saddle the horse. He managed to get to his feet, inwardly cursing the weakness in his legs, in his body. But he felt a glimmer of triumph as he managed the steps to the horse, and he stood there, thinking about jumping bareback on the horse as he used to do so often, grabbing Beth and Maggie, and making off for the sunset.
Hell, he could barely stand. He looked around and saw the compassion in Beth’s eyes. Dammit, he didn’t want compassion. He didn’t want pity. He wanted to feel like a man again, a free man. The ache in his soul was so much greater than that in his body as he barely managed to stumble back to his resting place. He hated it. He hated the dangling leg irons that kept reminding him he was a prisoner, but he knew he needed rest. Rest and food. He couldn’t do anything without them.
He turned away from Beth, not wanting understanding. He wanted strength. He wanted freedom. He turned north from where they had come, from his small piece of land in Wyoming, the home he’d hoped to make. Beth would have liked those rolling rich hills. He knew it.
Morgan saw a small antelope on his return and decided to take a chance at shooting it. They all needed fresh meat, Braden most of all.
He’d seen nothing all morning. No sign of life. Mrs. Andrews had said the Ute leader had violated the words of the Ute chief. Perhaps there would be no problem with them; perhaps they would regard the episode as finished, as just punishment for rash young renegades who disregarded their chief.
And Whitey. Morgan knew in his bones he hadn’t seen the last of the bounty hunter. Whitey was smart. Cunning smart. Morgan tried to put himself in Whitey’s shoes. There would be almost no way of tracking the Ranger out of Georgetown, not with all the tracks leading in and out of town. The bounty hunter might hear about a skirmish with Indians, but the Utes sure as hell wouldn’t talk about it, not and bring the army down on their heads for attacking a white woman.
There were three of them now—Whitey and two companions—and Morgan would bet his last dollar that the three would split up, check every possible town along the way, keep in contact through the telegraph. That meant Morgan had to avoid towns, and that meant keeping Beth and her daughter with them for a while longer. It also meant they had to live off the land.
He took his rifle from the saddle scabbard and aimed at the elegant animal. He slowly squeezed off a shot, and the antelope leaped into the air, then collapsed on the ground. Morgan approached it slowly. There was no movement. He thought of the child, little Maggie, and her obvious love for animals, and decided to butcher the animal there.
Morgan took his knife from his belt and knelt beside the dead animal, hoping to hell no one heard that shot.
Curt Nesbitt heard a distant gunshot. He and Ford and Whitey had separated two days earlier. Curt was the best tracker, so he was given the job of trying to pick up the Ranger and his prisoner in the mountains. The other two rode ahead to towns along the Ranger’s possible route.
If they failed in these places, there was always Pueblo.
Curt felt a momentary satisfaction, a reward for his skills as he heard the faint echo. The gunshot might not mean his quarry was near, but instinct said otherwise, and he trusted his instinct. Curt had lost the Ranger’s trail—hell, he’d never found it—but he knew these mountains. He knew that was why Whitey had recruited him.
He had specific orders from Whitey to do nothing on his own and to contact the other two. But he was
so damn close. And he thought about the five-thousand-dollar reward, and about not sharing it. He knew Whitey would take the lion’s share even if Curt did all the work. There was only one Ranger. And he was burdened with a prisoner. And a woman. Now that Curt knew what direction to take, he should be able to locate the trail. Perhaps he would try to take the reward himself.
Thinking about the five thousand dollars and all the liquor and women it could buy, Curt Nesbitt headed in the direction of the gunshot.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lori’s heart jumped when she saw Morgan return. Icy fingers poked into that same heart, yet it continued to thump with eager welcome. She wondered whether she would ever understand her extraordinary reactions to him: the fire that roared in the most private places at the very sight of him, the gentler need to erase at least some of that solemnity that indicated he’d had precious little joy in his life.
His expression was unreadable as he dismounted, his hat pulled down low over his eyes. He didn’t empty his rifle this time. She imagined he’d already done so—he didn’t make mistakes like that. He evidently knew what she was thinking, as he so often seemed to do. His mouth twisted crookedly as he untied two large haunches of meat. He used his rope to hang one from a tree. The other he brought to where Lori and Beth had kept a fire going. He cut several pieces off and threaded them on a spit he’d fashioned earlier with his knife.
Beth had been sitting again with Nick, and she rose and came over, a tentative smile on her lips. She was evidently uncertain exactly what to do or say, but her eyes fastened on the meat.
“How is he?” Morgan asked her.
Lori watched Beth. She seemed to search the Ranger’s face, trying to find something there, but his expression was, as usual, undecipherable.
“A little better,” she said, then added hurriedly, “but he needs more rest. He lost a lot of blood.”
Lori wondered if she detected the smallest softening in his face as he nodded. “We’ll stay through tomorrow,” he said.
“Can he shave?” Beth asked.
Morgan shifted his weight, then knelt next to the fire, throwing a few more pieces of wood on it. He was avoiding the question, Lori knew that. She didn’t know why. He had allowed Nick to shave before—under close scrutiny, but he’d permitted it.
“Let him ask,” he finally said abruptly.
“He won’t,” Beth said.
“I don’t think he’d appreciate your asking for him, either,” Morgan said, but there was something unexpectedly kind in his voice despite the harshness of the words themselves. The icy fingers in Lori’s heart withdrew just a little.
“Why?” Beth asked softly. “Because you wouldn’t?”
He gave her a sharp look. Lori looked over to Nick. He was out of hearing range, and both Beth and the Ranger had spoken in low voices, but Nick seemed to know they were talking about him. Frustration was written all over his face.
And Morgan had been right, Lori knew. Nick wouldn’t appreciate Beth’s interference on his behalf. And Beth had been right. He wouldn’t ask for himself. Not now.
They were both so stubborn, the Ranger and her brother. How could she ever make either of them compromise now? How would Nick ever accept his help, even if she thought Morgan could really do something?
Morgan finished stoking the fire and rose. “Can you tend the fire while … Miss Braden and I …” He stopped suddenly, apparently just then noticing all the clothes spread over bushes, including his own. He turned to Lori, raising one of his dark eyebrows in question.
“You’ve been in my bedroll, Miss Lori,” he said, unexpectedly formal, apparently for Beth’s sake.
Lori resented the implication when she’d tried to do a good deed despite her better judgment. “Of course,” she said acidly. “I was looking for the weapons you’re always so damn careful to take with you.”
He suddenly grinned. It was an unexpectedly pleasant expression. The movement was tighter than Nick’s. Not as easy, as if Morgan had to work at it. But still … it was nice. So nice that her heart started thumping wildly again, so wild she thought he must hear it.
“Then I guess I should thank you.”
“Is that so hard?”
The smile disappeared. His face was a mask once more, hard and emotionless, as if the smile had been an aberration. “Yes, I guess it is. I’m not used to …”
“Your prisoners doing things for you?”
“You’re not my prisoner,” he said evenly.
“You’re pretty good at playacting, then,” she said. “I didn’t imagine you’d lock that handcuff on me last night.”
“Protecting you from yourself,” he said, his mouth crooking up again, this time only slightly.
“Protecting you, you mean,” she retorted.
“All right,” he conceded. “I needed some rest.”
“And tonight?”
“It depends. I’ll take your word that you’ll behave yourself.”
“You said you wouldn’t believe me if I sprouted wings,” she countered.
“I know you better now.”
Lori wondered whether his voice had really softened again, or if it was just wistful thinking on her part. “Do you?” she said. “Do you really?”
“Shouldn’t I trust you?”
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I would do anything …”
“To help your brother,” he finished flatly.
“Yes.”
He turned around toward the horses. “Come help me water the horses,” he said.
That had been his excuse yesterday. Still, she knew they did have to be watered. She also knew he wanted to talk to her alone, with Beth out of hearing range. Without Nick glaring at them.
She nodded. “I’m going to talk to Nick first.” She didn’t wait for an answer. She turned around and went over to where Nick sat, clenching his fists together.
“Stay away from him,” Nick said.
“I can’t,” she replied simply.
His jaw worked. “Not for me,” he ground out through clenched teeth.
“It’s not for you,” she said in a low voice. “Not this. Not last night.” She didn’t even try to deny what she realized he knew. “I … care about him.”
“You can’t,” he said. “He’s just taking advantage of you, of his power.”
She swallowed. She couldn’t let him believe that. It would only make the tension between the two men worse, deepen the danger of one killing the other, make it more difficult for him ever to believe Morgan. And she knew that Morgan hadn’t taken advantage, any more than she had. He had fought it as much as she.
“No,” she said flatly.
“Dammit, Lori. He isn’t any good for you. Even if …”
It was the “even if” that was so damning. “Even if” the Ranger wasn’t dead set on returning Nick to Texas—the “even if” that spelled heartbreak. She knew it. She also knew she couldn’t stay away from Morgan Davis. She’d tried. She’d tried to keep her heart intact. She’d tried to keep it from flipping, from thumping, from turning cartwheels when she looked at him, when he so rarely smiled.
“I know,” she said miserably.
His hand took hers. “I wish …”
“Me, too,” she replied wistfully.
One of Nick’s eyebrows raised, just as Morgan’s had moments earlier. It was eerie. “Be careful, Button,” he said, using a name he hadn’t used in years. “It might well come down to him or me. How will you feel then?”
“It can’t come to that,” she said. “He knows you’re not guilty. He said as much. He said …”
“What did he say?” Nick asked grimly. “What did he say last night to make you—” He stopped suddenly, unable to go on.
“Nick …” She had thought Morgan might have extended his offer to Nick this morning. Obviously, he had not. Obviously, Nick had been too angry to hear it.
“Yes,” he said coldly.
“He believes you. He says he thinks he can help you.”
“In Texas,” Nick said. It wasn’t a question.
She nodded.
“Let me understand this,” Nick said sarcastically. “He was going to take me to Texas because he believed I killed a man in cold blood. Now he thinks I’m innocent, so he still intends to take me back. Well, I don’t give a damn what he thinks. I’m not going back.”
“Maybe … he can help.”
“Right to a noose,” Nick said dryly.
“He said bounty hunters … will eventually catch up with you.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Texas, though, is a sure thing.”
Lori knew she wasn’t going to change his mind. Maybe she could have before last night, but not now. Not unless there was some kind of assurance. That left only convincing Morgan to let Nick go.
“No,” Nick said explosively, obviously reading her thoughts. “I’ll not have you bargain for me.”
Lori had never felt so miserable in her life. She was so torn between wanting to believe Morgan, and respecting Nick’s wishes. She wanted to be on both sides, and she couldn’t do that, so she had to be on Nick’s.
She nodded. “I’m just going to water the horses.”
His eyes showed aching disbelief, but he didn’t say anything. That hurt. She knew he felt ineffectual, unable to protect her. But she needed to talk to Morgan, to know more about what he planned. And she couldn’t do that with Nick’s furious eyes on her, and Beth’s inquisitive ones, and Maggie’s innocent ones.
She stood and walked over to the horses, taking the same three she had taken before, knowing that Morgan was following her. He was no longer “the Ranger” to her. Last night had destroyed that barrier forever.
He didn’t say anything until they reached the stream. Lori had led the way, and she chose a spot other than the one where they had made love.
They both concentrated on watering the horses.
When the animals had slaked their thirst, Morgan led his charges up to the bank and hobbled them, then hobbled Lori’s, giving them a chance to graze.
“Did you talk to Nick?” The question was abrupt, without niceties; she’d come to expect directness from him. But she hadn’t expected his use of her brother’s given name.
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