Wanted (11 page)

“Just what I said. She took off yesterday afternoon on her horse.”

“And you let her? A woman alone?”

“Would you prefer I had her locked up with you?” Davis said, his voice rough with anger.

If Nick hadn't been so worried, he would have smiled at Davis's obvious discomfort. So Lori had outsmarted him in some way. That was a good sign. If Lori could do it, it meant the Ranger wasn't as good as he appeared to be.

But Nick
was
worried about Lori. There was no telling what she might do now. He had wanted her out of this, on her way back to Jonathon. Only when he believed Lori was safe could he plan his own moves. Now …

Lori had always been reckless, perhaps because she had always been so good at everything she tried. Or perhaps because she had been so enchanting as a child, everyone forgave her everything.

“What will she do, Braden?” Nick was surprised at the question. Surprised it was asked. Surprised that Davis expected an answer.

He shrugged. “I don't know. I never know what she's going to do next.”

“There's a bounty hunter named Whitey Stark on our trail, probably no more than a day behind. He and at least two others. They won't be gentlemanly if they meet up with her.”

“Is that what you are, Davis? A gentleman?” Nick asked mockingly. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

The Ranger turned and stared at him through eyes that were colder, harder than Nick thought his own had ever been. “Don't worry about it, Braden. Your sister is very good at playing men for fools.”

Nick felt an icy chill go down his back. He wasn't sure what Lori had done, but he knew he wouldn't want to be in her shoes if she met the Ranger again.

He just prayed that she was making her way to Jonathon to enlist help, even as he feared it was a fruitless hope.

CHAPTER SIX

Hunkered down low on the edge of a ridge, Lori watched the two distant figures and knew she had guessed right.

Although they must have been more than half a mile away, her eyesight was excellent She couldn't see faces at this distance, but she could identify two bay horses, one slightly trailing the other, and two figures that looked astoundingly alike in the way they sat their horses.

She didn't know why she had been so sure the Ranger would take this route. She knew it was the one Nick would have chosen, if only he could. He loved the mountains and knew them well. There was something of the loner in Nick, though he rarely allowed it to show with his family. Lori knew, because she knew him better than any of the others, because she had watched him look longingly at the mountains and take rides or long walks when he thought everyone else was asleep.

Despite his quick smile, there was a part of him he didn't share with anyone, not even her. There were times the smile was swallowed in some vast darkness she didn't understand. She often had wondered whether he regretted the ever so frequent occasions when everyone in the family relied on him so completely.

She watched the small figures grow even smaller, then disappear. Lori knew the Ranger must be a good tracker. He was, after all, a professional hunter of men, and she knew she had to be extremely careful. He would be looking not only for her, but for the bounty hunters the sheriff had mentioned. But he also had Nick to watch, which meant he couldn't backtrack or circle. He would just make the best possible speed on a route he hoped no one would suspect.

Lori still didn't know why or how she knew he would choose the mountains. Because Nick would have? Or because, in the several days she had spent with him, she had learned a little about how he thought. Both answers bothered her. They ate at her conscience and even a little at her heart The Ranger
had
tried to be considerate in his own rough, suspicious way. He could have locked her up. Handcuffed her to a bed. She suspected he'd thought of each of those possibilities.

She refused to think about that kiss, that attraction, which ran between them like bolts of lightning. She'd always heard that love and hate were two sides of the same coin. Strong, violent emotions turned inside out. Love tied to hate meant nothing—nothing at all. As an exploding backfire drains the air of oxygen, it would die of its own intensity.

She viciously shoved away thoughts of the Ranger. Nick's life was at risk. The brother who had taught her to ride, who had teased and loved her, who had been her only friend, only confidant for so many years. The Bradens had long ago learned to rely solely on each other, to protect each other fiercely, and Nick had no one but her at the moment.

She returned to Clementine, who was munching happily on prairie grass. The two men were headed toward a pass below the Colorado border, and then they would most likely follow Trail Creek, the same route she and Nick had previously taken. The Ranger probably hoped any pursuers would assume he had followed the more direct route through Fort Collins.

She mounted, grateful that Clementine was much faster and stronger than either her appearance or her name indicated. If she rode hard, she could reach the pass before the two men. Nick would slow the Ranger down—he would be in no hurry to reach Texas, even if he wasn't aware Lori might be close.

She bit her lip, knowing she was setting into motion events that could never be undone. She had never shot a man, had never purposely hurt a living creature—she had even refused to fish. As she pondered the consequences of what she was planning to do, Lori looked down at her hands and saw them tremble. She tried frantically to reason with herself. She didn't owe the Ranger anything. It was just that he bore a surface resemblance to Nick, a resemblance that made him a dangerous enemy, and she couldn't forget that If she wasn't strong, Nick might well die for something he didn't do.

And she wasn't planning on killing the Ranger. Just wounding him. Leaving him a horse to get help. Buying some time for Nick. Still, her stomach churned, revolted at the very thought of shooting someone. Confused, and angry that she was, Lori tightened her thighs around Clementine, gave her a slight slap on the rump, and raced toward Colorado.

Morgan looked toward his prisoner with exasperation as Nick Braden massaged his ankle with a handcuffed hand.

Another damn delay! Nick Braden had been slowing him in small, almost imperceptible ways since the moment they had left Laramie two days ago. Several times Braden's horse had balked, apparently almost throwing him, yet Morgan believed the animal better trained than that. Each time Morgan had had to dismount and calm the bay, losing valuable time. On the morning after leaving Laramie, Morgan had allowed his prisoner to wash at a nearby stream. He had removed one of the handcuffs so Braden could change clothes. In minutes a shirt was floating down the stream and Braden was splashing after it, thoroughly dousing his second shirt. Since the morning was cold, Morgan had agreed to let the shirts dry by a fire, delaying them nearly an hour.

Morgan had pushed hard the rest of the day. They had stopped to water the horses in late afternoon, and Braden had asked to stretch his legs after the eight-hour ride. Morgan had agreed, taking his usual precaution of affixing the leg irons. After shuffling a few steps, Braden had stumbled over a rock, falling and grabbing his right ankle. Morgan reluctantly unlocked the leg iron and watched as Braden pulled off his boot and then a wool sock, his face grimacing with pain. The ankle
was
swollen, goddammit.

Morgan pulled out the map he had discussed with the prison warden. He and Braden had been climbing upward the last few hours and had reached a narrow pass formed by a swiftly moving creek. The riding was already rough. It would get rougher, he knew, once they were through the pass. He had wanted to get through there tonight.

Nick Braden's face was expressionless as he looked up at Morgan. He was waiting, apparently docile, but Morgan sensed the man's watchfulness. He always sensed it—but now every one of his
own
warning signals was blasting, like a series of dynamite explosions vibrating within him. His hand automatically went to his gunbelt. The touch was reassuring. He looked out at the aspen-and-evergreen-forested hillsides. Nothing moved, and he had been damnably careful during the two days, backtracking last night after he had secured Braden to a tree. He would have sworn no one was behind him. He wondered at his own skittishness.

Morgan knelt down, his hands running over Braden's ankle. It wasn't broken, but neither was it right. It was swelling rapidly and had turned reddish purple in color. At the least it was badly twisted. “We'll camp here,” he said curtly. Braden's gaze never wavered from his but waited for Morgan's next instruction. If Braden was acting, Morgan thought, he was damned good at it.

He remembered Braden and his sister whispering, but they had no way of knowing which route he would follow. And if Lorilee had been following without Morgan's noticing, he'd eat his own sweat-stained hat.

Still, he didn't plan to take chances.

“Move over to that tree,” he said, indicating a slender but strong aspen.

Braden hesitated.

“Don't forget what I told you in Medicine Bow. The minute you're more trouble alive than dead, that situation is going to change.” He knew his voice was cold, hard, as biting now as the wind that was beginning to stir the golden trees.

Braden looked at the tree a few feet away and then, using his one good leg and his handcuffed hands, slid over to it. Morgan quickly took the empty band of the leg irons, twisted it around the tree, and locked it back around the chain, effectively securing Braden. He tossed the man his sock and boot.

“I'm going to water the horses,” he said, wondering why he was explaining anything. “Then I'll start a fire and heat some water for that ankle.”

“I'm surprised you care.”

“I don't,” Morgan said grimly. “But I don't want you slowing me down anymore.”

Braden gave him a crooked grin, and Morgan knew as a certainty that the stumble had been planned in some way. The injury was real, but it had been no accident. Just an attempt to delay, to test him. Morgan was getting damn tired of it.

He kept reminding himself of that as he watered the horses, then hobbled them for the night. Morgan quickly gathered sufficient wood for a small fire. He would heat water, make a poultice for Braden's ankle, then extinguish the fire, though it promised to be a cold night. He didn't particularly want to be silhouetted against flames, nor did he want the glare of flames to signal their presence.

He looked toward the horizon as he tended the fire. Another hour before nightfall. He balanced his rifle against a tree, well out of Braden's range. Morgan felt more than one kind of chill as he tore up one of his own few shirts, and soaked it in the water he'd heated. He handed the cloth to Braden and watched as the man carefully wrapped it around his ankle, wincing at the heat. “My thanks,” he said.

“Think nothing of it,” Morgan replied with the same mockery he'd heard only too often from his prisoner. “Because tomorrow you're riding all day, no matter what that ankle looks like.”

“I never thought differently.”

“No? All that pain for nothing?”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Morgan drawled. “And we'll make up every damn minute.”

Braden shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Morgan snuffed out the fire. Night was falling rapidly now, and clouds were blotting out the moon. It was just as well they had stopped. Dark would be complete tonight.

“Get some sleep, Braden. We leave at sunrise.”

There was no answer, but through the last glimmers of light Morgan saw the gleam of Nick's white teeth. He gritted his own. He knew, and Braden knew, he would be getting damn little sleep himself.

Lori had watched the two men approach from where she'd waited among some rocks overlooking the only pass in fifty miles. She willed them to come to her, but they stopped short of her pistol range, and then she saw Nick fall and clutch his ankle.

She thought about trying to move down, within pistol range, but the Ranger kept glancing around. Any movement of a bush, a rock, would alert him, and she couldn't afford that Not now.

She would inch down during the night, when darkness might cover that tiny movement. And then at dawn …

At dawn, what?

Lori chewed some jerky, as much to soothe the jitters in her stomach as to take nourishment. When she touched the pistol she had stolen, her hands shook. Ordinarily, she had complete faith she could hit any target, still or moving. In fact, she used to shoot apples off her brothers' heads, and off those of any spectator brave enough to volunteer. She was a crack shot.

She still wasn't sure she could purposely wound or kill a person, least of all one who looked so like her brother that she was startled anew every time she saw them together. One whom she had kissed with such angry intensity, who had stirred such unfamiliar wants within her, who had made her smile, who had even stirred her heart with that lonely directness.

But she had to try. The Ranger would not surrender his guns, especially to her. She knew that as well as she knew her brother was innocent of murder.

She shivered in the cold night air. She wore a coat over her shirt and pants, but she'd left her bedroll on Clementine a fair distance away. She didn't dare leave this spot to go find it. Lori stretched out on her back and stared up at the sky, so black tonight without its usual trinkets. It was as if someone had laid a blanket across it, quenching every light. She felt the same about her soul.

Nick watched the dawn come. He had been too uncomfortable to get much sleep, just a few moments now and then. He felt more drugged than rested.

It was, he thought with perverse humor, hellishly cold. September weather was unpredictable in these mountains. He wouldn't be surprised to see a snowstorm, what with those spinning dark clouds rushing across the sky.