Wanted (37 page)

Morgan returned from burying the ambusher. He'd also checked cautiously for other tracks but found none. He finally concluded that the man had acted alone. He didn't understand how he had missed the man's approach this morning. He didn't like the carelessness that error indicated.

But he'd never had a distraction like Lorilee Braden before, either. The thought did not soothe him. He realized how closely he'd come to a bullet today, both from the bounty hunter and then from Nick Braden. He'd been damn lucky the latter had not pulled the trigger, especially considering the circumstances.

Why hadn't he? The question haunted him. Braden had killed Wardlaw in defense of his brother. Why hadn't he been able to kill the man he had every reason to hate?

And then Morgan had turned the question around on himself. Morgan had had two rifles in his hands today when Braden had pointed the gun at him. Morgan was probably fast enough to beat Braden even then. He knew the moves, but he'd never even considered the possibility.

Killing Braden would be like killing himself. No matter how different they were, how much anger was between them, Morgan accepted the fact there was something else too, an odd connection of some kind that always heightened the tension between them, rather than lessened it.

He rode slowly back to camp, his gaze searching for all who should be there.

“Lori?” he asked Beth.

“She took her horse,” Beth said.

“Which direction?” Morgan snapped out the words. Dammit, she shouldn't be out by herself. He felt the ambusher had been alone, but he couldn't be sure. He'd made too many mistakes lately. Panic gnawed at his usually calm and deliberate assessment of situations. He mounted his bay and turned in the direction Beth had indicated. The trail was easy to follow. She had not tried to be careful. He knew she wasn't trying to escape—not now, not with Nick as badly wounded as he was.

Apprehension pricked at him. A feeling. He knew she felt torn between him and her brother. He didn't know what Braden had told her about the occurrences of the last hour. And she was reckless. She didn't think about consequences. It was one of the qualities that so attracted him. He always thought of consequences—at least he had until recently. And now … well, he supposed he
did
think of them—he just hadn't heeded them.

He heard the neigh of a horse, and he kicked his own bay into a gallop, finding Clementine nudging her fallen rider. Lori lay still on the ground. Morgan jumped to the ground and knelt beside her, his hands ranging over her body, trying to find injuries. His heart was arching against his ribs, his fingers unsteady. There was no blood, but he found a large lump on her head.

He held her close to him for a moment, feeling the lightness of her body, the softness of her skin. “Little fool,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. His fingers skimmed her face, the area around her closed eyes. She was so pretty, and so much more vulnerable than she wanted anyone to believe. She loved so fiercely.

He swallowed. She had loved him fiercely for that hour last night, when she had been able to forget who and what he was to Nick.

“Lori,” he whispered. Her breathing was regular, not labored, but he wouldn't know whether there was any damage other than the head wound until she regained consciousness.

“Lori,” he said again, insistently this time. One arm was around her, the other still exploring for injury.

She moaned.

“Lori!”

She opened her eyes slowly, obviously trying to focus. Christ, they were beautiful. The amber appeared even more golden now as her lashes partially shielded them from the dimming light. Her gaze slowly focused on his face, and then she smiled, a smile so beautiful his heart rocked against his rib cage. That smile made her face glow, and he knew, for just this instant, it was for him. Spontaneous and unreserved.

He couldn't help himself. He leaned down and kissed her. Lightly, but with his heart in that kiss, and he saw that she knew it. Her eyes widened.

“Don't ever do that again,” he scolded. And then he made his voice matter-of-fact. “Do you hurt anyplace? Other than your head?”

“Only my pride,” she said, wincing as one of her hands probed her head. “I haven't fallen from a horse since I was ten years old. And my head hurts enough for the rest of me.” She tried to smile, and a tightness squeezed Morgan's chest. “I suppose I felt left out. You and Nick have been taking all the blows. Getting all the attention.”

His hand brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, resting there for a moment. “I'm sorry, Lori. So damn sorry for everything.”

Her hand took his, and she brought it to her mouth, holding it there for a moment. “I was so worried about you, about you both. If either of you …” Her voice trembled.

“Nothing is going to happen to either of us,” he promised. He leaned down and picked her up. He wanted to continue holding her. Hell, he wanted to hold her forever, to remove that worry from eyes that could sparkle so. But they weren't sparkling now, and it was because of him. His arms tightened around her for a moment. “Do you feel up to riding back? I think you need something cold for that bump.”

She nodded. He carried her over to Clementine, helping her on, then holding her hand a moment longer than necessary. His mouth tightened, a muscle in his cheek flexing under the black stubble of his beard. She could have so easily been killed. The thought was excruciating.

He released her hand and turned back to his horse, wishing with all his soul that he could make things right for all of them. He just wasn't sure he could. And he knew that if anything happened to Nick Braden, Lori would never forgive him.

Nick watched suspiciously as Morgan returned with Lori. She was covered with dirt and pine needles. Morgan helped her down gingerly, and she took a moment in his arms to regain her balance, just standing there. Then Nick saw the bruises beginning to show on her face. He tried to stand, barely making it to his feet as his hand used the tree for support. Lori apparently saw the suspicion and anger suffusing his face, and she walked over to him, followed by Davis.

“I fell,” she said before he could make any accusation.

“You never fall,” Nick observed acidly.

“I did this time,” she said, her lip trembling slightly. She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I wasn't paying attention. I was upset about you, and I closed my eyes for a moment, I must have hit a branch and fell. Morgan found me.”

Nick's mouth tightened at the familiar use of Davis's name, but he didn't say anything. Lori didn't lie to him. But he still didn't like the way the Ranger had held her. He didn't like the fact that Morgan Davis had been the one to find her.

His voice softened, but his mouth was grim. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

“She hit her head,” Davis interrupted. “She needs to rest.”

Nick hated agreeing with him but saw he was right. “I think that's a good idea, Lori.” She hesitated, then nodded. Nick watched as she went to her bedroll several feet away and sat down. His face white with effort to remain standing, he turned back to Davis.

“Any one else out there?” He had concluded that Davis had searched the area, made sure the shooter didn't have any friends with him.

“Not with him, but probably around someplace. I saw three men ride into Georgetown when we were there, including Whitey Stark. I knew him from that white hair, but the other two wore hats, and I couldn't see their faces. I think our friend on the hill was one of them. Probably they split up, and Nesbitt decided to act on his own, thought he could take me alone, what with a wounded prisoner. He might have been right if you hadn't helped.”

His gaze met Nick's. “That was good shooting.”

Nick glared at him. “Up until the end.”

“For God's sake, man,” Morgan said, unexpectedly angry. “Killing sure as hell isn't anything to be proud of. It takes more courage not to pull that trigger.”

Then Morgan walked away. Nick knew he'd said more than he intended, but he wasn't soothed nor did he feel vindicated. He was angry—no, furious—that he hadn't been able to do what needed to be done. Angry at himself, at the Ranger, even at Lori, who looked at the Ranger with stark yearning in her eyes.

He understood wanting. He knew wanting often had nothing to do with right or wrong, was oblivious to timing or suitability. After all, he wanted Beth now, and that was just as disastrous as Lori falling in love with the Ranger.

Nick closed his eyes. He was weak and hurting and so goddamn tense. He wondered how long the five of them could travel without something blowing up in their faces, something a hell of a lot worse than what had happened today.

Even Maggie was subdued during a silent supper, and then she had curled up next to Caroline, hugging the animal as if her young life depended on holding her tight.

With increasing awareness of the feelings of those around him, Morgan realized how frightening her life must be: her father's death, the Utes, then this shooting. She had sat next to Nick during supper, at one time holding his hand tightly, and Morgan realized he had not helped ease the child's fear by keeping her friend, Nick, prisoner.

But Morgan didn't know how to make music, or charm, or even smile in a nonthreatening way. He cared, but he didn't know how to show he cared, and so he stayed away, watching from a distance, as he'd learned always to watch. He'd thought he'd also learned not to get involved in others' lives, but now he knew the lesson hadn't taken as well as he'd imagined. He felt so very alone, so very inadequate, so damnably empty.

Nick was sleeping on and off, Beth sitting next to him, her hand on his arm. Morgan had not chained him, nor had he asked for his word. They all realized Nick had no more strength in him. But Morgan knew he had to ask for Lori's. He understood her well enough to know she would still try any desperate scheme to help Nick. She wouldn't kill Morgan, he knew that now, but she wasn't beyond trying to steal his guns and horses.

He'd put his offer in a way she couldn't refuse. “Your brother needs all the rest he can get. He can't get much with you attached to him. I want your word you won't try anything, anything at all. Your other alternative is to be attached to me.” He knew she wouldn't accept the second choice. And he waited, even as he ached inside at her obvious distaste at being close to him. He could chain her to a tree, but he wasn't going to give her that option. He couldn't lock metal on her again, not any longer. He wanted her word, plain and simple, so he would never have to do that again. And to obtain it, he gave an unacceptable choice—purposely, almost cruelly, bending her to his will.

She had stared at him with disbelief, with eyes full of disappointment in him, and he felt as if she were ripping out his heart. But she finally gave him her word. Bitterly. Reluctantly. He knew she would keep it, even as she remained distant from him during the evening. Beth had already moved Maggie's sleeping body closer to the fire, and her own blankets near Nick, so she could hear if there was any change.

Morgan nearly suffocated in the pall that had descended on their small divided party. Nick was still sullen, Beth anxious, Lori sad. Only Caroline seemed indifferent to the stifling atmosphere. After suffering Maggie's embrace, the pig had nonchalantly scouted around for any remaining scraps, gobbling up every piece of food in sight and some that wasn't. She rooted constantly, often butting those individuals who paid her little mind. She even butted Morgan, whom everyone else was avoiding. He found himself grateful for that small notice. It was, he thought, a pretty demeaning state to find oneself in.

Morgan added more wood to the fire and rolled up in his blankets, his six-shooter still strapped to his body, the rifle immediately at his side. He heard Beth whisper something to Nick, and he envied his prisoner. He wanted to whisper to Lori, to draw her close, to share his blankets and the night, to wipe away the taste of killing.

But he felt stained with blood and wryly realized his whole life had been that way. For the first time in years he wondered how it would feel not to be a Ranger, not to be the hunter.

He couldn't picture it. God help him, he just couldn't imagine it.

They left the clearing two days later. It had taken that long for Nick to regain enough strength to ride any distance at all, and even now the going would be slow.

The delay was agonizing for Morgan. He had left Nick free, knowing he couldn't get far in his condition. He scouted, this time more thoroughly, and set several rabbit snares, but decided not to do any more shooting. He suspected that was what had led the gunman to them. He cursed himself more than once for that lapse in judgment, even though he knew the meat had been essential to Nick's slow but steady recovery.

It was Lori that made the wait so terrible. She avoided him as if he might have the plague, and he suspected she considered him just that to her family. Nick was taciturn, speaking very little to him, keeping what words he had for Beth and Maggie.

Morgan had never thought he would miss the sound of that damned harmonica, but he did. Lori still sang a little, but mostly to Maggie, none of the plaintive melodies that she and Nick seemed to like so much, the melodies that had taunted at first and then had struck at his heart. He had wanted to talk to Nick, to try to convince him again that returning to Texas was the best way to handle this, but he met with a stone face whenever he neared the man. It was as if Braden had closed himself completely off. Morgan understood that. God knew he had done it enough times himself.

And what could Morgan say?
I'll try to prove your innocence, but I won't let you go
. He'd already said that, and he knew they were meaningless words to Nick Braden. Braden didn't trust him, would probably never trust him. Morgan found it odd that, on the other hand, he did trust Braden—had done exactly that, in fact.