Wanted (19 page)

What had she thought? That the Ranger would relent, would let Nick go? That one soft moment had changed his mind? What a fool she was.

She bit her lip, trying to restrain the tremors she felt, hoping they were from the cold air now brushing her wet clothes, but knowing they were something else altogether.

And then he was next to her, her bedroll with her other set of clothes in his hand. His voice was as cold as her thoughts. “You'd better change,” he said, handing her things to her, “before you get pneumonia. I don't want any more delays.”

Morgan turned over in his blankets again. He'd been doing that all night. Christ, would he ever have another tranquil moment?

Not until he got rid of the Bradens.

He kept seeing her, first that glorious smile when he'd agreed to her request and then her laughing face as she surfaced from the water. He had seen her smile before, but he'd never seen joy on her face. It had struck him like a lightning bolt, how her face transformed from pretty to beautiful, the eyes so alive and the mouth creased with pleasure. He had not been able to take his eyes from her, and he had wished he could always see her this way.

And then she had climbed from the water, the clothes clinging to her, outlining a figure that was nothing less than perfect, and he felt his body stiffen with reaction. She had looked at him, and the joy had faded from her face, faded because of him, and caution replaced pleasure. He'd felt something vital drain from his body, even while his loins continued to blaze.

It had taken every bit of his considerable will to turn away as she changed clothes, to sit across from her as she prepared beans and bacon for their dinner. And then he had watched her comb her hair, drying it by the fire. It was splendid in the firelight, gold and red silk. Braden had played his harmonica again, something he had not done in days, but Lori didn't sing.

Instead, her golden eyes silently accused. He knew he would carry the image of them forever.

Whitey Stark smiled as he noted the recent ashes in the fireplace of the mountain cabin. So he had been right He had argued the point with Curt They had wasted several days in Denver before Whitey had convinced his companions that the Texas Ranger would choose a mountain route.

The ashes hadn't yet mixed with dust. The storm had ended three days ago. They had probably left then. A three-day head start But Morgan Davis had a prisoner with him. And probably a woman. He'd found traces of three horses, not two, and he knew a woman had been with them in Laramie. The damned sheriff had tried to mislead him, but others in the town had been more informative. A few coins had brought forth a great deal of interesting information, including the fact that the Ranger had dined with the woman, and that there had been an obvious attraction between them.

It was the kind of information Whitey fancied. The woman could be a weapon.

And now he had found something else among the ashes. A bloodstained piece of cloth. One of the occupants of this cabin had been hurt, which would slow them down even further. He and the Nesbitt brothers should catch up with Morgan Davis and his prisoner in no more than three days. Their quarry had to follow the stream to get through the mountains, and then he and Curt could pick up the tracks. If Whitey pushed hard enough, they should track them down within the next week. This time the Ranger wouldn't get a drop on him. This time they would get the drop on Morgan Davis.

Whitey knew he would have to kill both men. He would have no choice. He had run into Morgan Davis before and knew he wouldn't relinquish a prisoner, even if it cost him his life.

And then there would be the woman. The waiter at the hotel had said she was very pretty.

He would find out for himself. Soon.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Morgan rose before dawn the next morning and used the hot spring to bathe. Both the Bradens appeared to be sleeping. He wished he still was. He wondered whether he would ever sleep well again, or whether his nights would always be haunted by Lori and Nick Braden.

The water, though, was pleasant, and he understood the Bradens' delight with it last night He let the heat of the springs wash over him, reduce some of the tension in his muscles. And he felt clean for the first time since his bath in Laramie.

Because the springs were in sight of Lori, he bathed with his trousers on, although he shed his shirt.

The first light was visible in the east, a pale stream layering the night sky. A few defiant stars remained, but he knew they would soon be eclipsed, blocked out by a power greater than their own.

The water soothed him, the hot, fragrant spring easing his physical weariness as well as blocking the renegade thoughts in his mind. His wound was much better. He wouldn't bandage it this morning. God knew, he had little left to bandage it with. They needed additional clothes, all three of them.

He had looked at the map last night, aware that Lori was watching him. Georgetown was the town closest to them. With hard riding they could reach it by late afternoon. To avoid Whitey Stark and others of his ilk, Morgan had hoped to skirt all towns, to live off the land, but Lori's presence had made that all but impossible. He couldn't leave the two Bradens alone while he went hunting. If something happened to him …

Perhaps he would leave her at Georgetown if he could find a sympathetic sheriff. As a lawman, though, he knew there might be problems. They wouldn't hold her without charges, without a witness willing to stay long enough for trial. And he didn't want that He probably should. She had waited in ambush for him. Morgan would have easily shot a man who had done so, and without compunction.

Hell, what a mess. He could try to put her on a stagecoach again, but he suspected the same thing would happen that had happened before. She would charm someone into letting her go. He understood that now. He also understood the lengths to which she would go to free Braden. And that, by God, was not going to happen.

Morgan washed his hair, all the time seeking a solution to his problems and finding none. He sure as hell didn't want to take Lori all the way to Texas. Neither did he fancy the alternative, looking for her behind every tree, worrying whether she was safe, or whether Whitey Stark, who was probably also on the trail, might find her first.

The very idea made him sick. But so did tying her to the saddle, and chaining her at night. It grew increasingly difficult as she stared at him with those wide, vulnerable eyes, even when he knew it was an act Damn her. She was as vulnerable as a rattlesnake. Still, he felt as if he were caught in a whirlwind, a storm of need and desire so strong, it was all he could do to keep his hands off her.

He had never been indecisive before in his life, not that he could remember. There was right and there was wrong. There was black and white, and he'd never believed in shades between them. That belief had made his life easy. He'd seldom questioned his own actions. But now he found himself questioning all of them. And he didn't like it Not one damn bit.

Disgusted with himself, he finished washing his hair and shook his head, throwing drops of water in every direction.

Georgetown. They would head for there today. He could purchase a couple of new shirts for himself and Braden, along with additional supplies. Perhaps he could find an answer there. He hoped to God he would.

The sweet trilling of a bird woke Lori. She moved cautiously so she wouldn't wake Nick. He had been restless throughout the night, chafing, she knew, at his enforced idleness. Besides the likeness of their faces, the Ranger and her brother had that barely suppressed energy and restlessness in common. Nick liked to prowl at night; he could never stay still.

Daybreak. Ordinarily one of her favorite times. She loved the first stirrings of life, the soft songs of the birds calling to one another, heralding another day. But now there was no joy in it. Each day brought Nick closer to a noose. Each day found her warring with herself, her almost unbearable attraction to the Ranger, her fear for her brother.

Her gaze went to where the Ranger had been sleeping. Only his blankets remained, uncustomarily messed. A map lay nearby, and she wished for a very long arm to reach out and grab it. She would sell her soul to know exactly where they were going.

She might even have to do it. Sell her soul.

She heard a splashing over at the pool and looked in that direction. The Ranger was emerging from it, his chest beaded with drops of water. He was magnificent He looked like some God of war with the various scars on his chest, which was hard and muscled, though his body was lean—leaner than Nick's. He hadn't shaved yet, and he looked much as he had the day he first appeared at the cabin. Hard and ruthless and utterly self-sufficient Unforgiving and unfeeling.

Yet she knew he wasn't the latter. His kisses said otherwise, even as he'd tried to hide it. She burned inside at the thought of those kisses and how she had responded to them, how she was responding even now.

He approached, his wet denim trousers clinging to his legs, to other parts that drew her attention. She had to force her gaze away—to the sun rising in the east, to the trees, to anything but the man who so intrigued and infuriated her.

The Ranger didn't glance her way. He went directly to his bedroll, grabbed another pair of trousers, and disappeared into the woods. In a minute he reappeared, the bare upper part of his body still glistening with water, but the lower part clad in dry clothes. Without words he strode to where she sat, leaned down, and quickly unlocked the handcuff binding her to Nick.

She moved quietly away from Nick, who, as far as she could tell, still slept. She quickly gathered wood for a fire as she had during the other mornings, while the Ranger slipped on a shirt and ran a comb through his hair. He ran a hand across his cheek, obviously feeling for the growth of beard, and he frowned at what he discovered. He buckled on his gunbelt, which lay next to him, then rubbed his cheeks again. With a wary eye toward Lori, he opened his saddlebags, took out soap and a mirror, and moved to the spring again.

Lori's eyes immediately went to the map that still lay on the bedroll, along with the saddlebags he left there after extracting what he wanted. She moved faster, quickly finding sufficient dry wood to start a breakfast fire.

“I need matches,” she told the Ranger, who had just lathered his face and had made the first smooth movement with his straight razor as he balanced the mirror on his knees.

He hesitated. “Bring me the saddlebags,” he said.

Lori stooped at his bedroll, her back to him, though she made sure he could see exactly what her hand was doing with the saddlebags. With her other hand, hidden from his view, she scooped up the map and tucked it into her shirt. She stood and walked over to him, the saddlebags in her hand. He made her wait while he took several more strokes with the razor; then he searched in one of the bags for a box of matches and silently handed it to her.

“May I have some privacy first?” she asked with mock politeness.

He stared up at her, part of his face still rough, part covered with soap. “Five minutes, no longer,” he said curtly. “And you know the rules. Don't even think about approaching the horses.”

“Yes, sir,” she said sarcastically.

If his eyes were fire, they would have burned right through her.

She wanted to say more, but she didn't want to make him more suspicious than he already was. She had to get into the woods, study the map, and get it back. All before he finished shaving.

Lori moved with what she hoped was leisurely defiance, no different from any other morning. Just out of sight, she pulled out the map, and her gaze raked it. He hadn't drawn a line, but the town of Pueblo was circled, and the way the map was folded indicated they would be traveling through the middle of Colorado, through the mountain trails rather than the easier but much more public trail that skirted the plains. She would have to get a message to Jonathon and Andy. If the Ranger changed routes, at least they wouldn't be too far, and she could notify them by telegraph of a change.

She tucked the map into her shirt and hurried back. The Ranger was drying his face with his bandanna, and Lori moved quickly to his bedroll, pretended to trip, allowing the map to fall where it had been.

The Ranger was next to her in seconds. “Are you hurt?” he said with a concern that shamed her. She shook her head. He held out his hand to help her up. She hesitated, knowing what always happened when she touched him. But then she took it, feeling his warm, strong grip. She smelled the lingering scent of soap on him, and her hand involuntarily tightened on his as she came to her feet. His hand held on, a second more than necessary; then he released her, his eyes suddenly bleak.

“You should be more careful, Lori,” he said. “Two casualties on this trip are enough.”

Her eyes went to the wound on his chest. It was unbandaged, and it still looked raw and ugly. She studied his other scars. “How did you get those?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Two during the war. The other one … that woman I told you about The pregnant one.” His mouth quirked up at the side, so unexpectedly that she found herself responding. His smile was so deprecating, so … like a small boy discovered playing in the mud.

Perhaps the spring had mellowed him. Or the quiet dawn. She just knew she liked him this way. Very much. So much that her heart pounded with curious little lurches. And that was dangerous, so very dangerous.

How could she plot against someone she liked? She forced her gaze away from him, toward Nick, who was now stirring. The Ranger's eyes followed hers, and the smile disappeared.

“If you want breakfast,” he said, “you'd better start the fire. I want to move soon.”

“Where are we going, or am I not allowed to ask?” she said, unexpectedly wounded by the sudden chill in his voice.

“Georgetown,” he said. “To see if I can find a stage for you.”

“I won't go,” she said. “I won't leave Nick.”