Wanted

by Potter, Patricia;

  “He doesn’t believe you. He thinks you said that just to make it easier to take him back and …” She stopped.

  “And?”

  Lori felt her face redden. She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t bring up last night, and her very brazen behavior.

  Morgan turned away from her and slammed his fist against a tree. He cursed, then turned back to her. “I’m sorry, Lori. I’m damned sorry about last night. I didn’t mean that to happen. Christ, I can’t blame … your brother for feeling the way he does. I would probably try to kill him, if the situation were reversed.”

  “He will try that,” she said quietly.

  “I know,” he said. “He said as much this morning.”

  Lori took a couple steps away. He was too close. She couldn’t think when he was so close. “You said you wanted to help. Can you guarantee he won’t hang? Or go to prison? He couldn’t stand that, you know. He loves the outdoors. He can’t stand being inside for long.”

  Morgan hesitated. “No, I can’t guarantee anything. But I do have friends. In the Rangers. Among the judges. They trust me. And I can get people to talk, now that I know what happened.”

  “And if you can’t?”

  “Dammit, Lori. I’m the best chance he has.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not good enough. Let him go, Morgan.”

  “I can’t do that. It would be like tethering a sheep among wolves.”

  “He’s not a sheep. He can take care of himself.”

  Morgan shook his head. “He’s not a killer, either. I’ve discovered that. And it will take a killer with killer instincts to survive that pack after him.”

  “He would kill you.”

  “That’s different. I … hurt someone he loves.”

  “Are you a killer, Morgan?”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “Yes,” he said bleakly. “I kill in the name of the law, but I kill. And most of the time, I feel damn little regret.”

  “And if it comes to Nick? Would you be one of those wolves?”

  “Don’t ask me that, Lori.”

  “I have to know.”

  “I don’t have an answer. I’m not going to make promises I can’t keep or give you words I don’t mean.”

  Lori felt her eyes fill with tears. It had been happening with dismaying frequency. She wanted to look away from him, but she couldn’t. His own gaze held her where she stood. Uncompromising but compelling. And then she heard his voice again. Another curse. Almost under his breath, but not quite. And then his lips were on hers, hard and ruthless and demanding.

  And desperate. She felt the desperation. In him and in her. She didn’t want to respond to him. Her body stiffened and she tried to back away, but his arms went around her, holding her there, his lips probing hers, seeking a response she was determined not to give him. Not this time. This time she couldn’t, or she could never live with herself again.

  Lori broke away. “Don’t,” she said brokenly. “Please don’t.”

  He dropped his arms and turned away. He didn’t say anything but efficiently unhobbled the horses. His back stiff, he started back to the camp. Lori didn’t follow. She sat down next to a tree. When she was sure he was out of hearing and sight, she let the tears come, spending them in huge, gasping, life-sucking sobs. When there was nothing left, she stumbled down to the stream and washed her face with the icy water. It wouldn’t help her eyes. They were sore, and she knew they would be red for a very long time. She cared for Nick’s sake. She didn’t want Morgan to see how much she hurt. She couldn’t go back, not until it started to get dark.

  Lori looked at the horses. They had no saddles, but she and Nick had learned to ride bareback, even stand on their back—another one of their odd skills accumulated over the years with the Medicine Wagon. She wished she could take one now, ride it to Pueblo. She wanted to see her parents, but most of all she wanted to talk to Daniel. Outside of Nick, Daniel was her best friend. Perhaps because of his size and all the misery it had brought him, he never judged. He always just listened and usually was silent, letting Lori figure out things for herself.

  If only she hadn’t needed Morgan’s touch so badly. If only she hadn’t ached to press her body against his, to spend her own desperation in his.

  Morgan’s will was almost broken. When he’d heard the desperation in her voice, he’d almost said he would release Nick. Anything would be worth bringing that sun-bright smile back to her face. He cursed himself all the way back to camp. He had put that sadness in her eyes, that tremor in her lips. He had made her choose, even when he’d known what that choice had to be. He didn’t know what the hell he hoped to achieve by that kiss, unless a certain sick jealousy drove him to make the decision more difficult. Christ, jealous of a girl’s brother. How pathetic could he get?

  But he was jealous. Not of Nick personally, but of that unreserved love and regard he had from Lori. He’d wanted to tell her he wasn’t one of the wolves. That he wouldn’t shoot Nick, even if he tried to escape now. But, then, that would only make the possibility a likelihood. He would lose any edge he had with the man. He needed time to reason with Nick Braden, even though he feared it would do little good. He had to try, though.

  Once back at the campsite, he was met with more suspicious glares, and with the smell of cooking meat, which made him want to retch. He secured the horses, then went over to Nick.

  Nick glared at him. “Where’s Lori?”

  “Watering the horses,” Morgan replied. “How’s the knife wound?”

  “I’ll live.”

  Small talk obviously was not indicated here, not that Morgan was any good at it, in any event. He got to the point. “Did Lori tell you I might be able to help down in Texas?”

  Nick stiffened. “And why would you do that? You’ve already taken my sister to bed. Looking for a second tumble?”

  Morgan bristled. “Leave Lori out of this.”

  “I don’t want to leave Lori out of it. You’ve made her a part of it, damn your arrogant, sorry hide.”

  Morgan inwardly flinched at the well-placed shot, and his voice was harsh when he finally spoke again. “Braden, goddammit, I want to help.”

  “Why?”

  Morgan stared at him, willing him to believe. “You’re no killer. You didn’t want to kill those Utes. You could have left me to die outside that cabin.”

  “Not doing that was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

  Morgan ignored him. “Dammit, just listen. I’m taking you to Ranger headquarters in El Paso. That will give me time to do some investigating on my own.”

  “Meanwhile, I’m supposed to sit back obediently while you bed my sister,” Nick said bitterly. “And if you can’t convince anyone in a scared-stiff town to talk, I’m dead.”

  “I won’t touch her.”

  “Noble of you.”

  Morgan bit back his own frustration. “Will you at least think about it? Think about making it easier on yourself as well as Lori,” he said impatiently. “What if those bounty hunters had reached you before I did?”

  “I can’t see how either of us would be worse off.” His meaning was only too clear, and Morgan felt his own anger rising again. Damn, but the man knew how to aim his blows.

  “Then you don’t know Whitey Stark and his friends.”

  “I don’t see the difference, Davis.” Nick turned away. “I want some sleep.”

  Morgan sighed with defeat and went over to the fire. Beth had been watching them, and he gave her a rueful smile. He wished Lori would return, but he had seen the glitter in her eyes, had known she wanted to be alone. He wished he could go to her, tell her everything she wanted to hear, but he couldn’t do that, and she wouldn’t accept any other comfort. She wouldn’t accept it any more than her brother would accept anything from him. He’d made a royal mess of everything.

  Maggie had been feeding Caroline some grain, and Morgan smiled slightly at the sight of the little girl and the pig.

  “Thank you for letting us bring Car
oline,” Beth said.

  He shrugged. “I’m glad we could.” He continued to look toward the child. “I never had a pet,” he said.

  “Not even a horse?”

  “I was raised to take good care of my horses, but never to forget they’re working animals,” he said slowly. “It’s not wise to get too attached. During the war …”

  “During the war?” she prompted.

  “I lost five horses. I decided then that …” He stopped suddenly, as if he’d revealed too much. Christ, what was happening to him?

  “You shouldn’t get too attached to anything or anyone?”

  He stared at her in surprise. “Something like that.”

  “Doesn’t it get lonely?”

  He shrugged again, then rose. “I’d better feed the animals.”

  “Do you ever stop?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “Don’t guess I do.”

  “Do you ever want to?”

  He thought about the question for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

  “Did you ever think about doing anything other than being a Ranger?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  The answer came so sure and fast, Beth looked startled.

  “Even when the man you’re hunting is innocent?”

  “You, too, ma’am?” he asked, wryly.

  “Me, too,” she acknowledged gently.

  “Then convince him I’m his best hope,” Morgan said.

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked him straight in the eyes, searching for something there. “Why should he listen to me?”

  “I think anyone would listen to you, Mrs. Andrews,” he said in a rare compliment. He liked her. He liked the way she accepted hardship and circumstance without complaint. He liked the way she smiled at her daughter and praised her often. He liked the way she cared for Braden’s wound with both efficiency and gentleness.

  And he hadn’t missed the glances between Nick Braden and Beth Andrews, hadn’t missed her unmistakable concern, or Braden’s clear interest.

  “I think that’s a compliment, Mr. Davis. Thank you.”

  Morgan smiled suddenly. “It was, and you’re welcome.” He started to leave, then turned back. “My shaving gear is in my bedroll, if you want to give it to him.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Tell him I suggested it. Health reasons.”

  Morgan saw instant understanding in her face. I don’t think he would appreciate your asking for him. His earlier words.

  She nodded. “You two have a lot in common,” she said.

  He stilled. “I don’t think so.”

  “You know that about him.”

  He shrugged. “He fights his own battles. I’ve discovered that.”

  Beth rose. “So do you, Mr. Davis. No matter how much it hurts, so do you.”

  Nick rubbed his face. Damn, but it felt good. Sitting while someone shaved him had been even better. Beth Andrews had offered to do it, and he’d accepted after she’d said she often shaved her husband, that it was something she enjoyed doing.

  Her hands on his face had been pure heaven. Despite the calluses on them, the fingers had been firm and gentle. And efficient. As one hand carefully skimmed his cheek with Morgan Davis’s razor, the other held his chin. He’d been able to look up into those blue eyes, so filled with concentration, and he wondered what it would be like to feel those hands often, to become familiar with that care and tenderness.

  And then she would give him that slow, wide smile that transformed her quiet, pretty face into something of real beauty, and he’d wanted to take her in his arms and just hold her, to know whether she was as soft as she looked.

  He knew, though, he couldn’t do that. His hands and ankles were free temporarily, through the dubious grace of the man who continued to watch him as a hawk watched a rabbit. But he still felt the chains on them, on his future. So he had merely squeezed a handful of dirt with wanting fingers, wanting hands, to keep them from reaching for her.

  She tipped her head when she was finished and studied him. He found himself smiling. “Do I pass muster?”

  “You have a dimple. Just like Mr. Davis.”

  He scowled.

  She ignored it and sat next to him, one eye still on the meat on the fire. Maggie came over to join them, shyly sitting next to her mother.

  “I know a song,” Maggie said.

  Nick found himself grinning at her. She was a pretty little thing, part shy, part bold, as some little girls were wont to be. Lori had never been shy. She’d always just embraced life, positive that everyone would like her. Probably because everyone had. Until the Ranger. He still wondered if that wasn’t part of her fascination with him. He hoped to God it was only that, and nothing deeper.

  “Will you sing it for me, Button?” he said, using Lori’s pet name.

  She started the song about the cat and the pig named Caroline. Nick listened at first, then hunted around and found his harmonica. He leaned against the tree and started to accompany Maggie. He warmed to Beth’s delighted smile, and when Maggie finished, he started a new tune, feeling a lightness he hadn’t known since he’d been accused of murder.

  Maggie snuggled closer to him, her blue eyes wide. “Can you teach me to play?”

  The child had almost perfect pitch. She would learn easily. Nick’s smile stiffened slightly. “If we have time,” he said, not allowing himself to forget that his time with the Andrewses was limited in any event. They would go on their way, and Nick would have his showdown with Davis.

  “Can you play ‘Betsy’?” Maggie said, losing the last of her shyness.

  “‘Sweet Betsy from Pike’?” he said roguishly. “Can I play that? Ah, can I ever play that.” He looked down at Maggie. “I used to play that song for Lori when she was no taller than you.”

  “I like Miss Lori.”

  “Everybody likes Miss Lori,” he said.

  “But me best,” Maggie argued. “She likes Caroline.”

  “I like Caroline too,” he complained, his voice teasing.

  Maggie squirmed happily next to Beth, who put her arm around the girl and pulled her close while her eyes rolled at the thought of Caroline’s admirers.

  Nick chuckled.

  Beth tipped her head in a gesture that was becoming increasingly dear to Nick. “You should do that more often,” she said.

  Nick felt that warmth spread into his heart, take root there, and begin to fill it. He found a rock in his throat, so he lifted the harmonica and let it talk for him. The lively sound of “Sweet Betsy” filled the clearing, and when he was finished, he started another, this time a plaintive melody, a lovely, haunting melody that sang through the woods. Before he was finished, he heard the melody put into voice, and saw Lori coming over, her mouth framing the words with such sweet clarity. It was one of the songs that never failed to move an audience: “Red Rosey Bush.”

  Nick turned his head and saw Davis. He was, as usual, leaning against a tree, watching. His gaze turned hungry as it followed Lori’s movements. Hungry and intense and brooding.

  The bittersweet melody had always affected Lori’s sentimental streak, but Nick noticed her eyes were already red and swollen, though her voice was pure and strong as ever. Something flickered on the Ranger’s face, but Nick couldn’t tell what it was before he turned away and disappeared into the shadows.

  Nick finished, and all of them were silent, a heavy emotion gripping them all. Even Maggie was still, her hand caught in her mother’s tight grasp. Nick wished that brief moment of peace hadn’t been swallowed whole by foreboding, by a suffocating presentiment.

  For the child he tried to shake it off. He started another tune, one he’d heard Lori sing for Maggie. Lori approached and sat down next to Maggie, her voice losing the plaintive quality as she matched Nick’s forced playfulness.

  “Froggie went a’courting, he did ride,

  Uh-huh”

  Just as Nick moved slightly in rhythm to the music, a rifle sho
t rang out, raising a cloud of dirt a fraction of an inch away from where he’d moved. His reaction was instantaneous. “Take cover,” he yelled to the two women as his own body shielded Maggie, picking her up and following the two women to sparse shelter behind thin aspen trees.

  Nick kept his body over Maggie’s as he looked for Beth and Lori. Both were hugging the ground as another shot rang out, then a third, the latter coming again within inches of Nick. Whoever the shooter was, he was good. Very good.

  Nick heard another shot, this time from a six-gun. Davis. The other man, the shooter, had a rifle. Nick knew enough about guns to recognize the difference.

  The rifle sounded again, this time coming nowhere close, and he knew the gunman was now aiming for Davis. The Ranger didn’t have a chance against a rifle. Nick lifted himself. “Go to your mother,” he told Maggie, and nodded his head to Lori for the three of them to move back.

  If only he was stronger. If only he could get his hands on the rifle in the Ranger’s saddle, now lying about fifty feet away. And bullets. Davis kept them in his gunbelt or saddlebags, both with him, while the rifle was a good hundred feet away in clear ground. He prayed his legs would work, that his body still had enough strength in it to reach the rifle.

  Another shot rang out, then another. How many bullets from the rifle now? Four? He would wait until he heard the sixth, then make a run for the rifle and try to get bullets from Davis.

  If Davis would give them to him.

  He found his harmonica and tossed it out, drawing the gunman’s attention. A shot threw the harmonica in the air, and the Ranger fired again, but he was too far away to be effective.

  Five shots.

  He waited impatiently and then realized the gunman didn’t have a good shot. He was waiting too. Nick saw a movement to the side. He guessed it was Lori, who had also understood what needed to be done and had shaken some bushes.

  Another shot. Six.

  Nick got to his feet and dashed toward Davis’s saddle, desperation driving a body that felt leaden. He grabbed the rifle, just as another shot barely missed him, and he rolled behind some bushes, crawling toward where he guessed Davis to be. He heard several pistol shots and realized Davis was providing cover for him.