Wanted

by Potter, Patricia;

  If she’d only trusted Morgan.

  Morgan and Nick got their horses from the livery, along with Clementine. They had walked past Jonathon Braden on their way out of the hotel. Nick went over to him and told him what had happened. “We’ll get Lori,” he said. “You go back to the wagon. We’ll get her back there.”

  Jonathon Braden looked long and hard at Morgan, then nodded. “Thank you,” he said, and turned away before Morgan could reply.

  Morgan and Nick mounted at approximately ten P.M., walking their horses toward the north road. There was only a partial moon, but the stars were bright, and both men’s eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. The road was lonely, particularly when they were both so wary, not knowing if and when they might be ambushed or confronted. But here the land was flat; there were few places to hide.

  They rode thirty minutes or more in silence. Morgan was used to this kind of tension, even that quickening speed of the blood that always occurred before action. His senses always became more acute, his mind aware of every sound, every movement.

  He didn’t like the handcuffs. He didn’t like being impeded that way. He didn’t like the fact he couldn’t make the normal reach for his gun. He also knew he might well be dead before he could reach the hidden weapons. Whitey wouldn’t keep him alive long, probably no longer than it took Nick to disappear with Lori, and even then he feared that Whitey would go after Nick. He’d painted an optimistic picture for Nick. He’d known it was the only way he would get his cooperation. Even now, though, he didn’t know how long that cooperation would last.

  He’d suggested that Nick wear Morgan’s own gunbelt. Whitey knew Morgan was right-handed, and he was the kind of man who would note that detail. It put Nick at a disadvantage, but there was no help for it. If all went well, Nick wouldn’t need his gun, in any event. And if worst came to worst, Nick also had the rifle in his saddle scabbard.

  Morgan saw a figure on horseback ahead. He exchanged a brief look with Nick. Even in the very dim light he saw the tension in Nick’s body. “Easy,” he whispered.

  “It should be me,” Nick said.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Morgan said, deliberately angering his companion. “It’s too late now to change plans. The man ahead is Ford Nesbitt. We know each other, so acknowledge him with his last name. The other man is Whitey. The less you say …”

  “I know you’re not the most gregarious man I ever met,” Nick said stiffly.

  “Just take Lori out of here as quickly as possible. I can take care of myself.”

  “There’s no telling what she’ll do.”

  Morgan sighed. “You’re going to have to take care of that.”

  Nick lapsed into brooding silence. They were nearing the man on horseback.

  When they reached him, Nick nodded. “Nesbitt,” he said.

  The man wet his lips, and Morgan saw his nervousness. Even in the slight moonlight he saw sweat glistening on his face.

  The man’s gaze went to Morgan. “Hell, he’s your double.”

  Nick shrugged. Morgan wondered whether he really looked that arrogant.

  Ford Nesbitt looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Give me your guns.”

  “Hell, no,” Nick said curtly. “You have yours. I have mine. Keeps things equal. Where’s the girl?”

  The man smiled. “Whitey said you’d be hot to get her. Guess he was right.”

  Nick started to turn his horse, and Morgan silently approved.

  “Wait,” Nesbitt said.

  “Where’s Whitey?”

  “Right here,” said a man’s voice from behind them. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t followed.” He was coming from behind them. Lori was in front of him, her hands tied, her body pinned against Whitey’s by an arm. In the darkness Morgan wondered whether she yet sensed the deception.

  As Whitey and she neared, Morgan saw that her face was swollen, her dress torn. He knew a rage he’d never felt before. If not for the handcuffs, he would have gone after Whitey’s throat. He sensed Nick’s corresponding anger, heard his curse. Lori did too. Her head snapped in his direction, her eyes widening as she looked from one man to the other and back.

  Morgan didn’t know how she knew, whether it was the way they sat their horses, or … something else. But she knew. And said nothing. Morgan silently blessed her.

  “Are you hurt?” Morgan asked softly, playing the role of dutiful brother, and her gaze returned to his. It was too dark to read the expression in her eyes, but she shook her head.

  Nick was more forceful, befitting Morgan Davis. “I could kill you for that.”

  “She’s all right,” Whitey said. “Just a few bruises where she fell. Didn’t touch anything important. Left that for you,” he added with an insinuating sneer.

  “Untie her and let her down.”

  “Not until we make a deal.”

  “What do you want?” Nick’s voice was a growl. “Other than Braden.”

  “Your word you won’t follow us.”

  “What makes you think I’ll keep it?”

  “Morgan Davis is famous for keeping his word,” Whitey said.

  Nick hesitated a moment. “Done,” he said. “I’ll give you Morgan Davis’s word.”

  Morgan bit back a grunt of satisfaction. Whitey was too confident to catch that clever, sardonic bit of wording.

  “No!” Lori’s agonized protest interrupted the negotiation, and Morgan heard the sound straight through his soul. It hurt, but it also pleasured. She did care.

  “Just think, Davis,” Whitey was saying now, completely ignoring her. “I’ll be doing your work for you. You should be grateful.”

  “Untie her,” Nick said with the same curt impatience that Morgan had so often used.

  “Whatever you say, Ranger,” Whitey said. He took out a knife and quickly cut Lori’s bonds, whispering something into her ear before lowering her to the ground.

  “No,” she said again, stopping at Morgan’s horse and looking up at him. He saw tears on her cheek, and he leaned down to wipe them away, forcing himself to make it a brotherly caress. He ached that he had caused her so many tears.

  “It’ll be all right,” he whispered. She caught his hand, holding it for a moment until he forced it free and sat back upright as Lori went to Clementine and mounted.

  “Real tender,” Whitey observed sarcastically. He took Morgan’s reins from him. “The key to the handcuffs?” The question was directed toward Nick.

  Nick shrugged. “Lost it some time back. I was going to get a blacksmith to cut them loose and borrow another pair from the sheriff.”

  Whitey stared at him a moment, then took a knife from his belt and cut a piece of rope from a lariat on his saddle. He leaned over and tied Morgan’s handcuffed hands to the saddle horn. “Looks like you’re slipping, Davis.”

  Nick stared right back. “The handcuffs were all I needed,” he said contemptuously.

  “I don’t take chances,” Whitey Stark replied as he started to turn back.

  “Stark!”

  Whitey turned back to Nick.

  “I want him returned alive.”

  Whitey smiled. “Depends on whether he tries to escape or not.”

  “I had no trouble,” Nick said.

  “I heard you were shot.”

  “That was Miss Braden. She apparently has all the guts in the family.”

  “That’s what she said,” Whitey chuckled. “I didn’t believe it. A woman besting you. And you still want her?”

  “That’s why I want her,” Nick said. “No one ambushes me and gets away with it.” It was a warning, clear and simple, as much as an explanation.

  “I’ll remember that,” Whitey said, then turned to his companion. “You stay and watch them, follow them a way.”

  Ford nodded.

  Whitey spurred his horse into a trot, leading Morgan’s horse. Morgan turned around. Nick and Lori were watching, but both soon disappeared as the night closed in around them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
>
  Lori watched the two men disappear and turned on Nick. “How can you …?”

  He shook his head in warning, turning his horse back toward Pueblo. Lori had no choice but to follow him. When they had gone a short distance, she leaned over, pulling on his reins. “Nick …”

  Nick turned around and looked back, then stopped. “Davis planned it this way. He has the key to the handcuffs, hidden weapons.” He reached out. “Are you really all right?”

  She nodded slowly. She was, physically. Just a few cuts and bruises. But otherwise? She wondered whether she would ever be all right again.

  Lori swallowed hard. She still felt Morgan’s touch on her cheek. Miserably, she remembered how many times he had asked her to trust him, and she’d refused. And now he was risking his life for her, and for Nick.

  “Why?”

  Nick was silent for a moment, wondering whether he should tell her what Morgan Davis had told him, and then decided he owed it to both Lori and Davis. “He said he loved you.”

  “How could he?” Lori whispered brokenly.

  “Easily, Button,” Nick said. “If I weren’t your brother …”

  But his teasing had no effect. She knew now that Whitey Stark was capable of anything. She remembered Morgan’s words about Whitey never taking in prisoners alive.

  She had never quite believed him. She’d always halfway thought he’d used it as a threat, perhaps because she wanted to. It had been easier to believe he was the enemy.

  “We can’t leave him alone with them.”

  “I have no intentions of doing that,” Nick said. “I gave his word, not mine. I think our father will be down this road a little way. We’ll take Nesbitt and then go after Morgan.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “The hell you are,” Nick said roughly. “If you hadn’t gone off on your own …”

  He stopped suddenly, but the sickness in Lori’s stomach churned viciously. “He wouldn’t be in … so much danger,” she finished for him.

  His voice softened. “I know you were trying to help. And, to tell the truth, I was real glad to see Andy and Daniel. We just didn’t count on those two.”

  Lori shivered. “How long do we have before he’ll … kill Morgan?”

  “He’s afraid of Davis, or he never would have tried that trade instead of following and trying to ambush us,” Nick explained, wondering how he knew this. But he did. “I hope my warning will protect Davis for a while, anyway. But when Nesbitt doesn’t return …”

  Lori shivered again. She was cold, so cold. So afraid for Morgan. So very afraid she would never have the chance to thank him.

  Trust me! Even now she could hear that strained, agonized plea. Morgan Davis, she knew, was not a man who begged, who pleaded. And yet he had done exactly that, and she had turned her back on him. And still he was risking his life for them, for Lori and Nick. She knew suddenly he would have done it for anyone in his charge. He was not a man to abdicate responsibility. She’d observed that stubborn integrity from the beginning, but her heart had been too confused to understand it.

  Nick stopped his horse and motioned for Lori to do the same. They sat there several seconds, listening for Ford Nesbitt, listening for hoofbeats from the other direction. There was nothing.

  “Do you think he went back?”

  “Whitey told him to follow us to town. I don’t think he’ll cross him.” Then they heard the soft snort of a horse. “He’s there,” Nick said. “If only Pa or Andy would come along … or if there was some cover.”

  But there was none on the road, and Lori guessed that was why it had been chosen. They needed a stranger to approach Ford, to pass him, to get behind him and get the drop on him. And they knew Nesbitt had never seen Jonathon Braden. If Nick suddenly turned on Ford, there could be gunfire, and Morgan would surely die. The sound of a bullet carried a long way out here.

  Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Jonathon appeared. He nodded to them, then stopped.

  “There’s a man down the road, following us,” Nick said. “If you can get behind him … and take his gun.”

  “Without any noise,” Lori said.

  Jonathon nodded. “I think I can do that.” He took a pouch from his belt and balanced it in his hand. “I’ll just get a little clumsy.”

  His gold pouch. One of his props. Mixture of coins and nuggets. Fool’s gold, most of it, but enough of the real thing to lure a greedy mark into a fool’s bet. His gaze went to Lori. “Are you all right, Lorilee?” He was always formal with her name.

  She nodded, wishing everyone would stop asking her that when she wasn’t all right at all. “Thanks to the Ranger,” she whispered.

  He reached over and touched her. “Never had much use for lawmen, but this one might be different.”

  “He’s very different, Papa,” Lori said.

  Her father looked as if he wanted to say something else, but there was no time. He raised his voice to carry.

  “Sorry to hold you folks up, but maybe someone else can help me out.” He spurred his horse into a canter, and Nick and Lori forced their horses on, their ears straining in the darkness, hoping they wouldn’t hear a gunshot.

  Jonathon made one of his few bargains with the Almighty. He’d done it twice before, and both times his awkward prayer had been answered. The first was that Fleur and the baby would survive so many years earlier; the second that he and Andy would reach Pueblo in time to save his oldest son. It didn’t seem odd to him at all that now he was praying to help the man whom he’d been praying against just a little while earlier.

  He had accepted the vagaries of life long ago, even enjoyed them. He’d made few rules for himself, and for his family. One of those few was repayment of a debt. He owed that Texas Ranger now. Just as he would have reluctantly killed him earlier, he was now determined to save him.

  He hadn’t believed his eyes when the Ranger took Nick’s place. He hadn’t believed that two men could look so much alike. But it was true, and now he had to do what little he could to right things.

  Jonathon soon encountered the man who was following his two oldest children, and he drew his horse over so the man couldn’t pass without going around. “I wonder if you can help me, sir,” he said politely.

  “Get out of my way,” the horseman said rudely.

  “Just simple directions, and I’ll be on my way. I have an appointment at a ranch around here … I’m a government man here to purchase some horses.” Just then the pouch fell from where it had been tied around his wrist. Several of the pieces rolled out along the ground, catching what little light the partial moon gave.

  Ford Nesbitt was out of his saddle, scooping up one of the nuggets, eyeing it greedily, when the butt of a gun hit the back of his head.

  Daniel knew his role was to keep Fleur calm, Fleur and now Beth and Maggie. Andy was reluctantly staying, but he wasn’t any help; he’d been pacing up and down like a caged bear. Daniel wasn’t sure how long he could keep him there. The only way thus far was to convince him this was where Jonathon and Nick would turn if they needed help. If Andy went off on his own, Daniel warned him, he might not be found when needed.

  The strategy had worked thus far.

  Daniel had brought his chair to the fire and placed it next to Fleur. It had been made especially for him, and he sat around the fire with the others. None of them had eaten much of the stew bubbling in the pot over the fire. He made conversation until Beth disappeared to put Maggie to bed. Daniel then turned to Fleur and tried to choose his words carefully. But now he had to know the truth about Nick.

  “The Ranger … who was bringing Nick in,” he said, “could be his twin. I’ve never seen such a close likeness.”

  Fleur just rocked in her chair, her eyes focused on the flames.

  “He has a birthmark on his right foot,” Daniel continued conversationally. “Just like Nick’s on the left foot.”

  The rocking of Fleur’s chair stopped.

  “His name is Davis, Morgan Davis, and he was b
orn just about where Jonathon found you all those years ago. The same year as Nick. The same month.”

  Daniel looked at Fleur’s face. She was as still as stone. Her face as white as that same stone washed clean by a fast-running stream. “No,” she whispered. “It can’t be.”

  Daniel swallowed hard. “When you were still delirious, I remember you saying ‘poor babies.’ Was there more than one, Fleur? Did you have more than one?” He knew Fleur had nursed the baby; therefore, she must have been the mother. He also felt, from the conversation he’d had with Morgan Davis and what he’d heard between Davis and Nick, that Morgan Davis was most probably in love with Lori. His half sister.

  Emotions flickered across Fleur’s face in the firelight. Daniel saw memories trying to surface. There was fear, reluctance.

  “Fire,” Fleur said in a whisper. “I saw the fire. He couldn’t have survived.”

  “He did,” Daniel said softly, not knowing exactly what she was saying, but knowing it was necessary to keep her talking, to keep the memories alive. Fleur had often retreated into a world of her own. Was this why? Because she thought she’d lost a child to fire?

  Her hand reached out and clutched his. She swallowed hard.

  “What happened?” Daniel questioned gently.

  “Nicholas is mine,” she said.

  “Of course, he is,” Daniel soothed her.

  A faraway look came into her eyes. “He didn’t really die of the fever. Not really. God gave him back to me.”

  Daniel’s blood started to run cold. “How did God give him back?”

  Fleur started rocking again.

  “Fleur,” Daniel insisted, “how did He give him back?”

  Fleur started singing a lullaby.

  Daniel waited patiently until she finished. “Tell me about the first Nicholas,” Daniel said.

  “He died … just like my husband. Cholera,” Fleur said.

  Daniel closed his eyes. He and Jonathon had always known there was a deep sadness in Fleur. It was one of the reasons Jonathon had always been so protective of her: that vulnerability, that haunting sadness that clouded so much of her life, that often made her retreat into another world.