Wanted (33 page)

“He's the smallest man you will probably ever see,” Lori said, “but he has one of the biggest hearts you'll find.”

Maggie's eyes widened. “How tall is he?”

Lori held her hand up to what would be a little more than waist high if she was standing.

“And how big is his heart?”

Lori held her hands out as wide as they would go, and Maggie laughed, but she understood. She didn't have to ask anything else, and Lori's liking for Beth Andrews grew. She had taught her daughter what was important, that a man's character and not his size mattered.

“He practically raised my brother Nick,” Lori said, “and he can tell wonderful stories.”

“I like Mr. Nick,” Maggie said.

“So do I, sweetie,” Lori said.

“But the other man doesn't.”

Lori squeezed the soap from the shirt before answering, distressed at the dull rusted stain that discolored the blue cotton. She hesitated before answering, wondering how much Maggie really understood about what was going on, or whether she just felt the tension.

“No.”

“Why?”

Lori didn't know how to explain. She couldn't explain it herself. The animosity between the two men had festered since the beginning, growing even more malignant after last night. She was part of it, but not all. Another part of it, she suddenly realized, was what Beth had seen. They were too much alike in many ways, and neither liked seeing themselves in the other. But she didn't know how to explain that to Maggie. She didn't know how to explain any of this to a child.

So she took the coward's way out. “I don't know, sweetie,” she said. “But I think he's a good man too.”

Maggie looked at her doubtfully, and Lori felt a sudden compassion for Morgan. Despite that rigidity of his, he
was
a good man. He had put up with a lot from both her and Nick when he could have easily put a bullet in her brother. Anyone else probably would with far less justification. She remembered what she'd wondered before: if he was a man who ever bent.

He had last night! Her body quaked as she remembered how he had bent.

Trust me
. He had meant that, too. He was trying to help as much as his private and stringent code allowed him to help. But the last was the question. How much could he help under that restriction?

If only she could trust him. If only Nick could.

If only she and Nick didn't have to depend on Andy and Jonathon and Daniel.

If only they weren't headed for a showdown in which someone would probably be killed.

She turned back to the Ranger's shirt she'd just picked up, fingering it. It too had stains. Stains from where she had shot him.

So much blood already between them.

So much hate.

So much …

Lori felt a tear start down her face, and she rubbed it away before Maggie could see it. She turned away, forcing cheer into her voice. “Let's see if you remember the song from yesterday.”

Morgan purposely stayed away from the camp. He set several snares again, before once more scouting the trail behind, looking for signs of either Utes or the bounty hunters.

He was haunted by Braden's words, his fury. By the fact that each charge was justified. He could never earn Braden's trust now, and he knew it. The man had every right to hate him, to distrust him, to want him dead. Morgan had broken every rule he'd ever made for himself, the first and foremost: don't ever let personal feelings get involved with the job.

They had. They were. And not only with Lori, but also, strangely enough, with Nick Braden. And every mile they traveled, those feelings were becoming more complicated. And more dangerous. For one of the few times in his life, he was unsure about what to do. Unsure about right and wrong. The only other time had been the war.

Even the child had stayed away from him, though she'd so easily befriended Lori and his prisoner. That had hurt. Children were said to be good judges of character. Was he such a monster, then? Perhaps he'd seemed so, when he'd snapped the leg irons on the man who had helped save small Maggie. Perhaps he'd seemed so to Lori when he'd handcuffed her again. He hadn't known how to explain that he didn't know what else to do.

He looked up at the sky. It must be near noon. He'd been gone four, five hours now. There was no sign of anyone following. Perhaps he had lost Whitey in Georgetown. And the Utes? Still licking their wounds?

Morgan turned back toward camp, his knees signaling a faster pace. He'd never used spurs. He didn't need them, and he didn't like the way they announced the wearer's presence.

Despite the problems back at camp, he found himself anxious to get there, to see Lori.

To his astonishment he found himself humming.

Christ. It was “Sweet Betsy from Pike.”

Beth smiled with quiet pleasure. Her patient was better. Sleep and hot broth had worked miracles. After sleeping all morning he woke, stretched tentatively, then again with a sigh of relief. Beth had already seen the red rings around his wrists and had noticed during the night how restless he'd been, how he'd fought against the irons. She'd hurt for him, for his lack of freedom.

She had been grateful that the Ranger had left him free this morning, though she had noted the simmering anger between the two men hours earlier. Beth couldn't even guess as to the depth of what was going on. She did know that the tensions went way beyond the obvious, that between captor and captive.

“Good afternoon,” she said with a smile. “How do you feel?”

Nick looked up at the sky, at the tilting sun. Then back at her. “Better, thanks to you.” Then his eyes searched the area.

“He's not here,” she said.

He frowned. “Lori?”

“She's looking after Maggie. They washed clothes all morning, and now they've gone after firewood.”

His face relaxed. “She's good with children.”

“Maggie's already captivated. And she's pretty careful with her affection.”

“Your daughter's pretty captivating herself,” Nick said, rubbing his hand over his bristled cheek ruefully.

“If I had a razor,” she said, “I could help you with that”

His face darkened, a muscle bunching against his jaw. “I'm not trusted with one.” He tried to sit, his lips tightening as he struggled to lean against a tree, the blanket falling from his chest, which was bare except for the white bandage wrapped around it. He looked for his shirt, but it was gone.

“Lori got them all,” Beth said, indicating the shirts and trousers spread over bushes and branches. “I'm afraid she grabbed everything that wasn't already on.”

He smiled weakly and tried to pull up the blanket.

“Don't worry about that,” she said softly. “I've seen it several times now. Remember?”

She saw that he did, and he abandoned his efforts at modesty. “My thanks,” he said quietly but with obvious gratitude.

She tilted her head. “I'm the one to be thanking you. I could well be living in a wickiup now.”

“The danger of being so pretty,” Nick said.

Beth felt herself flushing. She couldn't take her gaze from him. She was mesmerized by his eyes. They were so blue, like those of Morgan Davis, but Nick's had humor in them, and charm. Though he was ill and weak, they seemed to gleam with mischief, while the Ranger's were always deadly serious.

She much preferred Nicholas Braden's.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Some food?”

“Ah, that's progress.”

“The broth was good, but …”

“I'm just glad you're hungry. I'll cook some beans. Caroline … ate the leftover biscuits.”

Nick chuckled. “Beaten out by a pig. I must be sicker than I thought”

Beth laughed softly. She couldn't remember when last she had laughed, either. “Caroline beats out everyone, sick or not.”

A rascally glint came into his eyes, one that was irresistibly charming. “How did she come to be named Caroline? I never met a pig with a name before.”

“She was a precocious pig,” Beth said with laughter. “Caroline seemed to know that her existence depended on something other than normal pig behavior. She started following Maggie around. Maggie had never had a pet, and there weren't any children around. She just adopted the pig and named it after a girl in a story book. When time came for slaughter, Joshua didn't have the heart to do it, and gave Caroline to Maggie for her birthday.” Some of the smile left her voice when she mentioned her husband's name.

“I'm sorry about your husband,” Nick said quietly.

“I am too,” she said. “He was a good man, and he adored Maggie. She … really misses him. So do I.”

She started to get up to leave, but he caught one of her hands with two of his. “Thank you,” he said.

Beth smiled. “You already thanked me.”

“For doctoring me. Not for”—he hesitated—”for not being afraid of me.” The words were obviously difficult, and his gaze went to the leg iron still wrapped around the tree, at the empty band that had been attached to his ankle.

There was something so wistful in those words that they cut to her heart. He was thanking her for something more than just not being afraid. She had handed him a measure of trust, and she realized now how important that was to him. He was wanted for murder, considered so dangerous that a Texas Ranger kept him leashed tighter than a rabid dog. She felt a rising resentment for that.

“I could never be afraid of you,” she said. “And I believe you and … Lori.”

“You
are
very pretty, you know.” Despite his light words a shield had suddenly fallen over his eyes, just like that she had seen in the Ranger's. Yet she felt a warmth she hadn't known since her husband died.

“And you are obviously much better,” she said, tugging gently away.

Nick reluctantly released her hand, and Beth turned toward the fire. She looked back at him. He was still sitting up, his gaze on her. She felt a hot shiver run down her back. Her blood was suddenly warm in her veins. She bit her lip. It was just … that it had been so long since a man had touched her. And she was … grateful. She didn't want to think that what she was feeling was stronger—more compelling—than what she'd first felt for Joshua. That had been warm and affectionate. But what she was feeling now was different. She wasn't ready to think how different.

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.