Wanted (20 page)

“Would you prefer a jail cell?” His voice was cold, and she wondered whether she had imagined that smile seconds earlier.

“Is that my choice?”

“It could be.” His eyes narrowed. “Attempted murder of a peace officer.”

“Then you would have both Bradens, wouldn't you?” she taunted bitterly. “Two trophies for the manhunter. Two heads for the price of one.”

He gritted his teeth. “Dammit, I didn't want it this way. I don't want it this way, but you leave me little choice.”

“You have lots of choices,” she retorted. “You just won't acknowledge them.”

“What about you, Miss Lori?” he asked in a deadly calm, answering her question with one of his own. “Did you feel you had a choice other than to ambush me?”

“Yes,” she said flatly. “I could have killed you, instead.”

“Then you should have done it when you had the chance, because you won't get another one,” he said in a voice that came close to being a growl. Disbelief burned in his eyes. He was still convinced she'd tried to kill him. He would always believe that.

He
wanted
to believe that, she realized with sudden insight, because it put distance between them.

“I wish I had,” she said, turning her back on him. She wanted to hide the tears in her eyes—tears of frustration, she told herself, tears for Nick. But also, she knew, she grieved for that lost, brief moment of warmth that had snaked between them.

She started the fire, hunching down in front of it as the Ranger unlocked Nick from the tree. Lori saw the strain on her brother's face as he stretched sore muscles. She looked back toward the Ranger's bedroll. The map was gone.

The two men disappeared into the trees. Lori looked toward the Ranger's saddle, at the rifle there, but now she knew it was unloaded, and the bullets were probably in his saddlebags, which he had thrown over his shoulder.

She waited for the flames to die and then sorted through the stock of supplies. Limited amounts of coffee. Bacon. Cornmeal. Some hardtack and jerky. She was sick of the latter, which had been mostly their diet for the last week. Well, she would be generous with the bacon and cornmeal since they were headed for civilization. She didn't mind at all making the Ranger spend his own money. Georgetown. It was a sizable city. The Medicine Show had gone through several times but had never stopped to perform, not since she could remember. Jonathon preferred smaller towns, towns without doctors or sheriffs.

There would also be stagecoaches to Denver. Frequent ones. And definitely a telegraph office. She had to find a way of sending a telegram, though she knew he would be watching her every minute this time … if he didn't make good his threat to put her in jail. She didn't worry so much about a stagecoach. She could find her way free of that, easily enough. A few miles down the road, a sudden illness, something nice and contagious like cholera.

Jail might present another problem. But with the single exception of the Ranger, she'd never met a lawman she couldn't charm when she set her mind to it.

She put a generous portion of bacon in the frying pan, and it had almost finished cooking when the Ranger and Nick reappeared. Nick sat, graceful despite the irons on both his wrists and ankles, and sniffed hungrily. Lori took the bacon from the pan and set it aside, then mixed corn-meal with water and a tablespoon of the bacon drippings and put the mixture back in the skillet to cook.

Nick grinned. “Hoecake.”

She nodded, ignoring the Ranger, who stood and watched. It was the first time Lori had cooked anything for them. The Ranger had taken care of what little cooking he'd allowed; mostly they had survived on hardtack and jerky and, in the cabin, beans the Ranger had boiled until they were almost paste. He'd been worried, she supposed, that she would throw hot grease on him or do something equally destructive when he'd been so weak.

Now she simply acted on her own, and he watched her without comment but with caution, as if afraid she was making dynamite instead of simple food. He frowned as the cornmeal mixture bubbled and browned, and she expected a rebuke for doing something he'd not specifically permitted.

But he said nothing. He left the fire and saddled the horses, buckling the bedrolls in place before joining them at the fire again. She'd turned over the hoecake and poured coffee into the two tin cups that the Ranger carried in the supply sacks, along with tin plates. She divided the bacon, then took the hoecake from the pan and cut off three slices. The Ranger looked startled when she handed him a plate and put both hers and Nick's on the second plate, as she'd left her own utensils behind in Laramie.

Nick glanced up at the Ranger. “Lori's a good cook,” he said with a slight, wry smile. “Hell of a lot better than you.”

The Ranger merely grunted and sat down, cross-legged, staring at the hoe bread as if it might poison him. His gaze rested on Lori skeptically, as if trying to figure her motives, then went back to the plate. He tentatively took a bite, chewed slowly, then nodded at Lori. It was, she suspected, as close to approval as he would ever give her.

When they were finished, the Ranger used the remainder of the coffee to quench the fire. When he was sure all the embers were out, he scattered the remains, trying to disperse any sign of a campfire. Nick stood, lounging against a tree. Lori stole a glance at him. An onlooker would have taken his stance for nonchalance. She was only too well aware that it was something else entirely. Lori knew he was a volcano ready to erupt—just as he had at the cabin, and he would have as little chance this time.

She shook her head at Nick, cautioning him to wait. He sent her a scathing look of defiance. Lori knew he was losing his patience, tired of the Ranger's orders, gut-sick at being chained like a vicious animal. She walked over to him and lowered her voice so the Ranger, who was packing the last of the supplies, couldn't hear. “I saw his map. He's heading to Georgetown and then to Pueblo. I can send a telegram, alert Jonathon and Andy.”

“No,” he said. “I don't want them involved, any more than I want you involved. He's too good for Andy, and Jonathon …”

Nick didn't have to continue. Jonathon was a natural confidence man, but he didn't have a violent bone in his body.

“They can get help,” she insisted, then shut her mouth as the Ranger looked over toward them suspiciously.

Nick just shook his head. “This is my problem.”

Lori bit her lip. “No,” she disagreed as the Ranger stalked over to them, obviously aware they were discussing him.

“Let's go,” he said in that curt, impersonal manner of his, those deep-blue eyes full of suspicion. She turned back to Nick and found identical eyes glaring back. Until that moment the expressions in both sets of eyes had been so different—Nick's usually light and untroubled, even after his capture, the Ranger's brooding and contained. Lori caught her breath as the similarity between the two men struck her forcefully. Nick's face rooted her to the ground. How could two people be so alike and not be related? Even their expressions at this moment were identical. The Ranger was a fraction taller, leaner, but everything else …

But Nick was her blood brother. The Ranger was from Texas, an orphan, he'd said, whose mother and father had died in an Indian attack.

“Lori?”

It was Nick's voice, worried, and she stared down at her hands, knotted in tight fists, the skin pale from the pressure. She felt as if the blood had just faded from her face as well, though she didn't know why it would—why … all of a sudden, she would have such a strange feeling, an odd premonition of tragedy.

“Lori!” Now it was the Ranger's voice. Commanding.

She shook her head, trying to rid it of cobwebs constructed of half-formed thoughts—and of sudden, inexplicable fear.

Lori felt hands on her. Nick's familiar ones. Familiar and dear. Safe. Not as hard and callused as the Ranger's but just as competent and sure. His hands, still linked by the handcuffs, were touching her chin, forcing her face up to meet his eyes. “What is it, Lori?” he asked softly.

She couldn't tell him. She didn't know herself. She just felt death. Emptiness. A terrible loneliness filled with dark shadows.

“You're as pale as a ghost,” he said worriedly. “Are you ill?”

She managed to shake her head. “Just … tired, I think. I was dizzy for a minute.” She let herself lean against him, her head on his shoulder, as she had so many times as a child, soaking up his confidence, his strength.

Lori felt him relax slowly, and she suddenly realized that, at least for now, some of his impatient anger had faded in his worry over her. He wouldn't go after the Ranger now, wouldn't go after him and get killed.

After a minute she straightened and took a step backward. “I'm all right now. I don't know what happened.” She looked toward the Ranger, whose expression was as inscrutable as ever. “I'm ready,” she said, and walked over to Clementine. The Ranger, in his efficient way, had already tied her horse's reins to the lead, along with Nick's horse. Lori mounted by herself and then submitted to her hands being tied to the saddle horn. He hesitated a moment, as if reluctant, then quickly bound them with the strip of cloth as she caught just the whisper of an oath from his lips.

Lori watched as he went through the usual ritual with Nick, handcuffing him to the saddle horn before unlocking the leg irons. She saw Nick's shoulders heave slightly as if barely restraining himself from doing something reckless, and then he mounted gracefully, trying so bravely not to show how much his pride was battered. Nick's rage had returned, and he held it barely in control—for her sake, she knew. He was reaching the point where he would risk everything, including his life, to free himself, no matter how slim the chance.

Lori knew then she had to find a way to stay with them. Otherwise, she knew, one of them would die before reaching Harmony, Texas. Nick had been biding his time, but he'd nearly reached the end of his endurance.

She watched the Ranger untie the reins of his own horse and mount. He looked infinitely tired, his mouth set, the lines around his eyes even more pronounced. But as completely in charge as he had always been, as quietly competent as the first moment she'd seen him.

Nick turned in his saddle and looked at her, apparently reassuring himself she was all right She tried to smile, but the last hour had drained her of optimism. Those feelings had run too deep, too real. Her brother turned back slowly, his gaze still questioning. She knew he was still worried about that moment back at the campsite.

And so was she. She couldn't stop those beads of apprehension that had now settled in her stomach, the knot of fear that was growing inside her.

Morgan felt as tightly drawn as the military drum that had once tattooed him into battle. He had just watched ghosts flit across Lorilee Braden's face—nothing else could quite describe that look, that sudden moment of fear as she had stared at her brother, her golden, expressive eyes widening with apprehension. The emotion was palpable, her raw fear making jagged cuts in him.

And then he had watched Nick Braden soothe her, her head resting against his shoulder with such trust. Morgan had wanted to stand in his place, comforting her. God, how he had wanted to do that, and instead he had to watch, like the outsider, and the enemy, he was.

He turned and looked at Braden. His prisoner's face seemed carved in stone now, the ease gone from it Their eyes met for a moment, and Morgan realized he had overestimated Nick Braden's apparent acceptance of his captivity, his facade of good nature. Enmity gleamed in those eyes now. Enmity and challenge and promise.

You or me, Nick Braden was pledging silently.

Morgan understood for the first time that it was likely only one of them would survive this journey. Morgan also knew suddenly that despite his disadvantage, Nick Braden would be a formidable foe.

And Lori? Lori with the honey-brown hair and golden eyes and the passion simmering beneath those boy's clothes. Lori, who obviously loved so deeply, if not wisely. What would happen to Lori?

If he killed Nick Braden, Lori would hate him.

He
could
allow Braden to escape.

He could, and he could never live with himself again. Nick Braden was a wanted murderer. Morgan was a servant of the law. If he bent now to personal feelings, his whole life would have been a lie. And Braden would be no better off. Not with a five-thousand-dollar reward on his head.

If only he could be sure that what he was doing was right.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Georgetown, one of Colorado's largest towns, was brimming with activity. Its very size, Morgan hoped, would allow the three to fade into its busy streets. As Morgan and the Bradens saw the first buildings ahead, the Ranger stopped the horses and untied Lori's hands. He was going to be conspicuous enough with one prisoner. He sure as hell didn't want word getting out that he was also holding a woman prisoner. Word traveled fast out there, running from mining town to mining town.

He thought a warning in order, though. “You're going to behave yourself, Miss Lori,” he said. “You are going to stay at my side every minute and do exactly as I tell you.”

“Why?” she asked defiantly.

“I want to attract as little attention as possible. You may want every goddamn bounty hunter in this state after your brother, but I don't,” Morgan said impatiently.

She shrugged. “I don't see any difference between you and a bounty hunter,” she said.

Morgan's gut twisted. “He may make it alive to Texas with me.”

“And he might prefer a bullet to a noose,” she retorted.

“He might also prefer to keep you out of jail,” Morgan said, looking over at the object of their conversation.

Nick shifted in his saddle, his gaze going from Lori to Morgan. Unlike Morgan, Braden seldom wore his hat, and a lock of dark hair had fallen over his forehead. He looked amused. “You haven't seemed interested in my ‘preferences' to this point, Ranger.”