Wanted (31 page)

They were too damn stubborn to see he was right.

They had reason
.

Morgan hadn't treated either of them with much consideration or sympathy. He'd been so damn mad about that poster, he'd automatically assumed Nick Braden was guilty. He didn't believe that anymore. Braden hadn't tried to convince him, not after that first time. But his actions had. Morgan was usually a good judge of character. Someone might fool him for an hour, even a day, but not for weeks, especially under the circumstances they'd been traveling. A man showed his mettle under the intense pressure to which Morgan had subjected Braden.

Braden had shown his. Time and time again. When he had helped Morgan at the cabin. When he had refused to use Lori to help himself. When he had tried to avoid killing the Utes but then had done so with competence. He wasn't a coward who would shoot an unarmed man.

Morgan didn't blame Braden for hating him, for distrusting him. He had given him no reason to do otherwise. In fact, he had given him more than one cause to despise him. Braden's eyes had bored into him last night when he'd returned with Lori. Even in a night lit only by firelight, only a blind person would miss the pine needles in her hair, the flush of her cheeks.

Christ, what a mistake that had been! But he had looked into those golden eyes, and his need for her had wiped away every vestige of decency and good sense he had. He had wanted her as he'd never wanted a woman before. He had needed her as he'd never needed anyone.

He'd also wanted to convince her she could trust him. He'd thought he could …

What? Love her into believing … after weeks of dragging her and her brother through the woods in irons?
That's what you do best
. He could still hear the bitterness in her voice. And she'd been a virgin! Because he knew she'd played cards in saloons, he'd assumed …

He hadn't really listened to her. Bile rose in his throat. He could never convince either of them now to trust him. Braden knew what had happened, Morgan saw it in his eyes, in his bitter expression, and Nick's distaste for killing no longer extended to him. Morgan had no doubt of that.

Which was why he'd had to chain them last night, no matter how hard it was, no matter how Lori had looked at him as his hand had rested on her wrist before locking the bracelet around it. Just as he had been able to do that, she was capable of knocking him unconscious or seizing a gun while he slept. He knew that. She had declared as much.

He
could
help Nick Braden. Goddammit, he would help him, whether he wanted Morgan's aid or not. Morgan had already decided to take Braden to Ranger headquarters and hold him there until Morgan could prove what really happened in Harmony. He would have the backing of his captain and the judge. He always had.

But he knew he couldn't convince the Bradens of that. He didn't even know how. He'd never had to explain his actions or motives or intentions before. He believed in absolutes. Trust was trust. It was there, or it wasn't, and words wouldn't change that. He had hoped to gain Lori's last night, but he had only deepened her distrust. Hers and her brother's.

And Beth Andrews's. She had looked at Morgan in horror last night when he had ironed Nick Braden, and then his sister, to a tree.

“He's sick,” she had exclaimed.

But Morgan knew Braden, as he knew himself. A knife wound wouldn't stop him, not if he had an opportunity.

Hellfire, the only creature that looked at him with anything even remotely resembling tolerance was his horse and the damned pig, and the latter, he thought with dry humor, didn't know any better. The horse, he fed.

Lori could have stood anything but the sad, self-accusing look in Nick's eyes. He
knew
what had happened, and he blamed it on himself. She had felt his wrath last night, had seen the tight compression of his lips each time he looked at her. He had glared at the Ranger, with killing rage. She had tried to talk to Nick when she thought the Ranger had gone to sleep, to tell him what Morgan Davis had said about helping.

Nick had just looked at her, and she knew he neither believed the Ranger's words nor was willing to accept his help, even if it had been offered. He thought she had sacrificed herself for him, and that the Ranger had used her. She didn't know how to tell him the truth. That in those moments on the stream bank, she had forgotten that anything existed other than herself and Morgan Davis, and her gnawing hunger for him. The truth was a ball of misery in the pit of her stomach. She felt she had betrayed Nick even though she still believed that Morgan would try to help. She just didn't believe he could. He was one man, a Ranger sworn to uphold the law, and the law in this case was ugly and twisted.

Nick moved restlessly, and she leaned over and felt his forehead. It was warm, too warm for the chill that had come during the night. She took the blankets from herself and packed them around Nick.

“Is he feverish?”

She looked up. Beth Andrews had approached and was standing there, her pretty face marred with worry. She had spent hours with Nick the night before, spooning broth she had made from the rabbits.

Lori nodded, feeling shame at being locked to her brother as if they were both criminals. But Mrs. Andrews seemed unaware. Or uncaring. She stooped down and put her own hand to Nick's cheek. His eyes fluttered opened and fixed on her face. He tried to smile, but it was more a grimace, and Lori knew then how sick he was. Nick liked women, pure and simple. And she knew he would rather be flayed than show weakness in front of one. He was usually so strong and confident and full of blarney charm.

Mrs. Andrews looked at the handcuffs binding the two of them, then at the leg irons that linked his right leg to a tree, and winced. “Mr. Davis?”

Lori grimaced. “He left at dawn. He built a fire before he left, but it's almost out now. He'll … be back soon.”

Mrs. Andrews's soft blue eyes clouded as she obviously disapproved of what the Ranger had done, leaving the two of them chained when one was ill. “I'll get some more firewood and heat some more broth,” she said. “We need to break the fever.”

She gave Nick a lingering, concerned glance, and then she reluctantly turned away, returning in a minute with a full canteen. Nick's eyes had closed again, and she handed it to Lori. “Get him to drink as much as he can.”

Lori nodded. “Thank you.”

The woman smiled. “Please call me Beth. Maggie and I both think of you as a friend now.”

A rush of warm gratitude swept through her. She wondered whether Beth Andrews had noticed what her brother had noticed last night—that she and the Ranger had made love. Her face flushed at the thought.

“Thank you,” she said again.

“I wish I could do something about those handcuffs.…”

Lori smiled halfheartedly. “I wish you could, too, but he keeps the keys on him.”

“Why?”

Lori knew the question wasn't why he kept the keys on him, but why he had felt it necessary to handcuff her in the beginning. “Because I shot him,” Lori replied frankly. “He's not sure I wouldn't do it again.”

Beth digested that piece of information slowly. Her eyes had a bit of a smile when she asked the obvious question. “Would you?”

Lori looked up. “I don't know.”

Beth's smile disappeared. “Because of … Nick?”

So it was “Nick,” already
.

Lori nodded and looked at Nick, whose eyes had closed again. She didn't know whether he was sleeping or feigning sleep.

Beth's expressive eyes softened; then she retreated quickly, as if embarrassed by the conversation. Lori watched as she gathered wood and fed the fire with competence. She was a pretty, slender woman, with a surprisingly determined competence about her despite those gentle blue eyes.

Lori felt Nick's cheek again. It seemed hotter—but, then, that was probably just because she was worried. She tugged at him, and he finally opened his eyes. Lori held the canteen to his mouth with her free hand. “I have orders to make you drink,” she said.

Nick's eyes were half-closed, as if he had to fight to keep them open. His free hand went to the canteen, effectively dismissing her assistance. “Where is …”

He obviously hated even to mention his detested nemesis. Lori felt shame wash over her. “He left at dawn. To make sure no one's following, I guess.” She had to look away from his steady gaze and tried to change the subject. “It was Beth who said you should drink.”

When Morgan Davis returned, the smell of coffee was strong. He tied his horse away from the others. He took the rifle from its scabbard and unloaded it, putting the ammunition into the saddlebags and carrying those over to the tree where the rest of his gear remained. He then went over to Lori and Nick and, his gaze meeting hers with characteristic directness, unlocked the handcuffs holding the Bradens together. She noticed he was very careful not to touch her in doing so. He turned away abruptly, toward Nick, and put his hand to Nick's fever-flushed face. Nick shied away, his eyes filling with anger.

“He's feverish,” Lori said. “We can't leave this morning unless you want to kill him.”

Morgan merely nodded, watching as she stretched stiffly, rubbing her wrist where the handcuff had created a red circle. “Let me see your wound,” he said curtly to Nick.

Nick reluctantly unbuttoned his coat, and then his shirt, leaving the red-stained bandage exposed. The Ranger examined the area around it, obviously looking for signs of infection. His fingers explored and prodded, and he grunted, evidently satisfied.

“We'll stay here today. I'll do some more hunting. I imagine some fresh meat would help.” He unlocked the iron band from Nick's ankle, leaving him completely free. As free as the pain and fever allowed. It was a small concession, relatively risk free considering Nick's weakness, but still, for Morgan Davis, a concession just the same.

“Do you need …” The Ranger's question was aimed at Nick, but he quickly glanced at Lori and snapped his mouth shut.

Nick's mouth tightened. “I don't need help from you. I can manage on my own.”

He tried to stand, leaned against a tree, took a few steps, then started to fall. Morgan was there to catch him. “A few steps,” he said, “just lean on me for a few steps.”

Lori realized he was trying to help Nick, to give him a few minutes of privacy, and she saw Nick struggling with the decision. It galled him to have to rely on the Ranger for even that short length of time. She moved away from both of them, knowing her presence merely exacerbated the tension between them.

Nick hated the heaviness of his own body, the struggle it took to move. He'd hated having to lean on Davis, but his own personal needs had been too great to do otherwise. He'd somehow summoned the strength to shrug him off, but now he was paying the price for that independence. He hurt, and he was as weak as a day-old calf.

Fury coursed through him every time he looked at Morgan, knowing that he had been with Lori last night. If Nick had had the strength, he would have killed him. He had seen the misery in Lori's face, in the eyes that had refused to meet his. So unlike the Lori he knew. The Ranger's face had been set in stone, as usual, when the two had returned last night, the air between them so charged that one would think they were in the midst of an electrical storm. He knew what had happened had been more than a kiss, like the one he'd interrupted before. There was new knowledge in Lori's eyes that gave her away, even if the pine straw tucked among her hair and her mussed clothes had not.

Nick didn't blame her. She had been thrust into an emotion-filled situation. She was tired, she was exhausted, she was terrified for him. Lori would do anything to help him, she was that loyal, and that was why he had wanted her out of the way days ago. She was vulnerable to someone like Morgan Davis, who evidently had few scruples about taking advantage of the situation. He had even promised to “help,” Lori had told him.

Nick almost vomited at the hypocrisy. Help send Nick to a hangman was more like it—so Davis wouldn't have a “look-alike” on the wrong side of the law. If there had been any possibility that Nick might trust him, it had dissipated last night when he realized the man had seduced Lori, if not outright raped her.

Why hadn't he let that Ute kill Morgan?

When he and Davis were out of the others' sight, Nick jerked away from Morgan, then turned on him.

“What do you want to stay away from Lori?” he demanded through gritted teeth. He cursed his weakness. He cursed the fact that it was all he could do to stand. “My word I won't try to escape?”

The Ranger just stood there. A muscle flexed in his cheek. “I don't need it,” he said quietly.

Nick felt as if he'd just been kicked in the stomach. “No,” he said bitterly. “You don't need it.” He turned away and leaned against a tree to relieve himself, knowing if he didn't, he might well fall.

When he had finished, there was utter silence behind him. Nick had never felt so impotent. “What kind of bastard are you, anyway? What kind of man takes advantage of an innocent like Lori, who would do anything … God help me, to …?”

Still silence. A painfully long silence. He turned back to face Davis again. The Ranger's face was emotionless. “I don't … know,” Morgan finally said in a toneless voice.

Nick closed his eyes, still leaning against the tree. He wanted to curse the man several feet away from him, the man with his face. He wanted to beat him to a pulp, but cursing would do no good, and he was too weak to fight anyone. Nick slumped, weakened by the heat in his body as well as by the fierce anger that robbed him of what strength he had left. He had to stay alive, he had to get stronger. By God, he had to. He headed back toward the clearing, every footstep a mammoth effort, as if his feet were still encased in iron. Only too aware of the Ranger's steps immediately behind him, he finally made the clearing and fell back onto his blankets. He expected the Ranger to lock the leg iron back on him, but he didn't. Rather than feeling grateful, Nick only felt more humiliated, more mocked.