Wyoming Tough (8 page)

“She's just a friend,” Mallory muttered.

“She doesn't think that. She wants you. And she'll find a way to get rid of Morie, you mark my words. She's not going to let her stay here.”

“It's my ranch. I hire and fire.”

“Think so? We'll see. Meanwhile, how about easing up on Morie?” he added. “God knows what that child's been through in her life to make her end up here, doing a job she was never intended to do. Hurts me to see that deep scratch on her face. Flawless complexion. She could have been a model.”

Mallory frowned. He hadn't considered her complexion or her background. He'd only been concerned that she might be a con artist. He'd have to take a better look at her. On the one hand, he was suspicious. On the other, he trusted Darby's judgment when he couldn't trust his own.

He patted the old man on the shoulder. “Never could take back talk from anybody but you, you old pirate.”

Darby grinned. “You'll always get the truth from me. Even if you don't want to hear it.”

Mallory sighed. He was looking after Morie.
She'd gone galloping off, still crying. He felt like a villain. “Think I'll take a ride.”

Darby smiled. “Good idea. You do that.”

 

M
ORIE STOPPED AT THE CREEK
and got off the horse. She bathed her face in the clean water and used her only handkerchief to mop up her tears. Ridiculous, letting that awful man make her cry. She should have kicked him and told him what he could do with his job. That's what her father would have done. He'd never have gone off crying. She tried to picture that and it made her smile.

She heard a horse coming up and turned, expecting Darby. But it was the boss. He looked oddly contrite, watching her with one arm crossed over the pommel, his dark eyes keen on her tearstained face.

“Maybe I could have chosen my words better,” he said stiffly.

She shrugged and looked away. “I work here. You're the boss.”

“Yes, but…” He drew in an angry breath. “Why didn't you fight back? Why did you run?”

She glared at him. “I've caused enough trouble for one day,” she said flatly. She drew in a long breath. “Listen, I should quit….”

“No!”

He was out of the saddle in a heartbeat and standing over her the next. He took her by the
shoulders. In the silence of the woods, she could hear her own heart beating as he looked into her eyes and didn't look away for so long that her heart ran wild. She had to part her full lips to breathe. Her heartbeat was strangling her.

He saw that helpless reaction and it touched him. She couldn't have faked her attraction to him. It was far too visible.

His hands relaxed and became caressing. They ran up and down her arms in the long-sleeved cotton T-shirt. “You puzzle me,” he said, his voice deep and slow, like velvet. “I don't like it.”

Her hands pressed against the soft cotton of his shirt. Underneath it she felt cushy, thick hair and hard muscle. She smelled the woodsy cologne and the masculine soap that clung to his skin. He made her tingle all over, just by standing close to her. She looked up at his wide, sensuous mouth and remembered how it felt to kiss him. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted it, so much!

“Damn it,” he ground out, because he knew. He could sense her hunger, even before her rapt gaze on his lips proved it to him.

Before she could question the sudden curse, his mouth went down on hers. He kissed her hungrily. His arms lifted her into the instantly hard contours of his powerful body and pulled her into him. His hand went to the base of her spine, insistent as he demonstrated the force of his desire for her.

She tried to protest, but her own body betrayed her. She moaned and pressed close against him, her mouth twisting under his, provoking, pleading, begging for more.

She felt him move, felt the ground suddenly under her back and the weight and warmth of his body melting down into hers. She felt his long leg parting both of hers as his hips moved down between them.

“Dear…God!” he bit off reverently as he felt the pleasure wash over him.

His hands were under her shirt, under her bra. He felt the softness of her small, firm breasts with their hard tips first against his fingers, and then, as he pushed the shirt up out of his way, under his mouth.

He suckled her, hard, feeling her arch under him and cry out. He thought he was hurting her in his ardor and started to lift his head, but her hands pulled, pleaded, dragged his mouth back down.

She tasted like honey. He was drowning in need. He pressed against her in a slow, sensuous rhythm that grew more insistent by the minute. His hand lifted her hips, pulled them against the hardness of him.

He worked feverishly at the buttons of his shirt and opened it so that he could feel her breasts under the crush of his bare chest. His mouth in
vaded hers. He was desperate to have her. He couldn't bear to stop, not now!

Neither could she. It was the most passionate interlude of her young life. She wasn't able to protest. She wanted to know him, as a man, as a lover. She wanted to feel him deep inside her, feel him taking her, possessing her. She wanted…a child…!

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud until he suddenly dragged himself away from her, rolled over in an agonized state of denial and groaned as if all the devils in purgatory were pummeling him.

She lay shocked, gasping, as she realized how far they'd gone. She jackknifed, quickly righting her clothing, shivering with denied pleasure. She got to her feet, shaking, and looked away while she fought to get her breath. She was horrified at her own lack of control. It had been so close!

She swallowed, hard, and then swallowed again. She couldn't force herself to look at him, although she heard him get to his feet, heard his own rasping breath as he worked to regain the control he'd lost.

After a minute, she heard a rough curse break from his throat as he looked at her stiff back.

“So that's your game, is it?” he asked coldly. “You'd like a child, would you? I don't suppose you're taking any sort of preventative. You seduce
the boss, there's a child and you're set for life. That how it works?”

She turned, shocked. She stared at him with stark embarrassment and averted her eyes. She was flushed and sick at heart. “I…wasn't thinking at all.”

“Obviously you were,” he said coldly. He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. “Good try. But I'm no novice with your sex, and I'm no easy mark.”

“It wasn't like that.” She faltered, flushing even more.

He gave her a long and very insulting look. “Sure.” He picked up his hat from where he'd tossed it, dusted it off, slanted it over his eyes and went to find his horse, which had wandered off to eat green grass. He mounted and turned the horse. He stared at her, but she didn't look at him, or answer him. She went to get back on her own mount and rode away without another word.

She was going to have to leave. She knew it certainly. Mallory had made his opinion of her quite clear. What was unclear was why he'd suddenly started kissing her like that. She hadn't asked for it. Or had she? Her obvious attraction to him was going to be disastrous. He was already suspicious of her, thanks to his girlfriend. She'd blurted out that embarrassing comment and now he was surely going to think she was some gold digger.

Her subconscious must be working overtime,
she decided, because she had no conscious thought of starting a family. But to have a child, with a man like Mallory, who was so masculine and attractive…

And bullheaded and suspicious-minded and unkind, she added hotly to herself. Of course she wanted a child from a man like that!

Actually, in her young life, she'd never known passion or such hunger; she'd never thought of marrying and having children. She'd thought herself in love with the persistent accountant until she found out his true motives for courting her. But now she knew there had been nothing at all to that relationship. And he'd pressed her to sleep with him. He'd even said they had no need for birth control, because he wanted children with her. Somehow, she'd had the sense to deny him.

Mallory was thinking the exact same thing about her that she'd thought about her would-be lover. The accountant, she still couldn't bring herself to say his name even silently, had wanted to trap her into marriage. Mallory thought Morie was up to the same underhanded game. It was humiliating.

She should have had more control of herself. It was just that he was heaven to kiss. And kissing had so quickly not been enough to satisfy either of them. If she hadn't opened her mouth to say
something so shocking, if he hadn't pulled back in time…

She flushed, remembering how sweet it had been. She couldn't allow that to happen again. Not that she'd be around long enough. She'd started trouble with the brothers, innocently, setting one against the other. Her presence here was causing problems. She should leave. Now. Today.

Yes. She should. She got back on her horse and started to turn him toward the ranch. But at the last minute, she couldn't force herself to do it. Just a little longer, she promised herself. Just a few more days to look at Mallory from a distance and talk to him and dream of him. What would it hurt?

She started back to the fence line.

 

S
EVERAL DAYS PASSED
with no other incidents. Mallory, however, said hardly two words to Morie. He relayed instructions through Darby, who seemed uncomfortable for some reason.

Cane found Morie at the line cabin, where she was spending the day watching for calves to drop. He got off his horse with some little effort and walked up on the porch. Morie was drinking coffee from her thermos and eating a cold, buttered biscuit.

“Hi,” she greeted cheerily. “Want to share lunch?” She held out the half-eaten biscuit.

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I just had a
thick roast-beef sandwich with homemade French fries.”

She groaned and looked at the biscuit. “I knew I wasn't living right.”

He smiled. He pushed his wide-brimmed hat back on his head and his dark eyes narrowed. “What's going on between you and Mal?” he asked unexpectedly.

She fumbled and spilled coffee on her jeans. Well, they were dirty anyway. “What…what do you mean?” She faltered, and ruined her poise by flushing.

He pursed his lips. “I see.”

“No, you don't,” she shot back. “You don't see. There's nothing. Nothing at all!”

“Why, because he's the boss and you're the hired help?” he asked, leaning back against a post. “We aren't royalty.”

“You might as well be,” she said flatly. “He thinks I'm after his money.”

His eyebrows arched. “He does?”

She lowered her eyes to the splash of coffee on her knee. She sipped more coffee. “I'm not,” she said with quiet pride, “but it's what he thinks.” She looked up. “I'm fairly certain his girlfriend is helping him to think it. She really hates my guts.”

“I noticed.”

She looked up at him solemnly. “You watch
her,” she said with sudden passion. “She's pretending to be something she's not.”

His eyebrows arched. “And you know this, how…?”

“For one thing, she's wearing last year's colors. For another, the shoes she favors are far out of style. Her jewelry is just as dated, and the purse she carries is couture, but it's not a new one.”

His eyebrows arched more. “Excuse me?”

She shifted restlessly and averted her eyes. “I have a friend who models,” she lied. It was her mother, who was her closest friend. “I know what's in style and what's not, something Ms. Bruner seems unaware of. I suppose she thinks men don't follow fashion and wouldn't know.” She met his gaze. “She's trying to pose as a socialite, but something's not right about her. Want some advice? Get a private detective to do just a surface check of her background. I'm betting you'd find something interesting.”

“Why don't you tell Mal?” he asked.

She laughed coldly. “Oh, sure, he'd listen to me. He already thinks I'm a gold-digging opportunist.”

He sighed. “You're not what you're pretending to be, either, are you?”

She smiled wryly. “No,” she confessed. “But I'm an honest person. I'm not hiding from the law or contemplating breaking it. Actually, I have a
cousin who's a Texas Ranger. I've known him and looked up to him since I was able to walk. He'd disown me if I did anything criminal. So would my parents.”

“Why are you working here?”

“You'd be surprised,” she assured him.

“I might be, at that.” He hesitated. “Want me to go ride fence with you? I've got some free time. That killer is still on the loose.” He sobered. “I wouldn't want anything to happen to you.”

She was pleasantly surprised at his protective attitude. “Thanks,” she said and meant it. “But I'm fine. I've got the cell phone the boss was kind enough to provide, and I've got a gun that Darby loaned me. I'll be fine.”

He regarded her quizzically. “Okay, then. I'll leave you to it. A cold biscuit. You call that lunch?”

She sighed. “It's a lovely biscuit. Mavie made them for me.”

“She's a super cook.”

“Yes, she is. Thanks again,” she added as he mounted his horse and started to ride off.

“You're welcome.”

He tipped his hat and rode away. Morie finished her biscuit and coffee and went back to work.

M
ORIE WAS CONFUSED
about her feelings for Mallory and her growing concern about Gelly Bruner's interference and antagonism. The woman really hated her, and she was going to find a way to make trouble. Not that Morie was willing to run from a fight. If worse came to worst, she could always tell them the truth about herself. Except that Mallory, who hated lies, would think her a hopeless liar and probably never speak to her again.

She finished her cold biscuit and cooling coffee and sighed. Just as she started to get up, she heard a twig snap. There was another sound of movement, rhythmic. Any hunter knew that to walk normally was a dead giveaway to prey he was stalking. Animals never moved rhythmically. They'd hear the odd rhythm and know it was a human even before they caught his scent.

Morie looked toward her saddled horse, where her pistol was. She did have her cell phone in her pocket, though. She stood up and pulled it out,
fumbling as she tried to turn it on. Of all the times not to have it activated…!

“Don't do that” came a curt, masculine command from behind her.

She whirled, frightened and shocked, to see a tall, sandy-haired man with a hunting rifle standing just a few yards away. She trembled and dropped the phone. Her wide brown eyes were appalled as she looked at the rifle and hoped that she'd lived a good enough life that she wouldn't go somewhere horrible when she died.

She didn't speak. It would be useless. Either he'd kill her or he wouldn't. But the bore of that rifle barrel looked ten inches wide as she stared down it. She lifted her hands and waited.

But surprisingly, he didn't shoot. He lowered the gun. “Where did Tank go?” he asked suddenly.

“T…tank?”

“Tank Kirk,” he said curtly. His blue eyes were dark and glittery.

“That wasn't Tank. It was Cane.” She faltered. “He just came to offer to ride the fence line with me, because there's an escaped murderer on the loose.”

“Murderer,” he scoffed. “It was an accident. The idiot fell into a brick wall and his even more idiotic girlfriend lied and said I did it deliberately. Getting even, because I knew what she was and I wanted no part of her.”

She lowered her hands slowly. Her heart was slamming against her ribs. “You're Joe Bascomb.” She faltered.

“Yes, unfortunately.” He sighed. He stared at her. “Have you got anything to eat out here? I'm so sick of rabbit and squirrel—bad time of year to eat either. They're not really in season. But a man gets hungry.”

“I have a biscuit left. No coffee, I'm sorry, but I have a bottle of water.” She offered both.

He put down the rifle and ate the biscuit with odd delight, closing his eyes on the taste. “Mavie must have made these.” He sighed. “Nobody cooks like she does.” He finished it off in a heartbeat and washed it down with half the bottle of water.

Morie watched him with open curiosity. He didn't act like a murderer.

He noted her gaze and laughed shortly. “I wasn't going to end up in a maximum-security prison while my lawyer spins out appeal after appeal. I hate cages. God, I hate cages! To think I could ever end up like this because of some spiteful, vicious woman…!”

“If you'd had a good defense attorney, he could have taken her apart on the witness stand,” she returned.

“My attorney is from legal aid, and they come in all sizes. This one's meek and mild and thinks that women have been victimized too much in
courts, so she wouldn't say anything to hurt my accuser's feelings.”

“You should have asked the judge to appoint someone else.”

“I did. They couldn't get anyone else to volunteer.” He sighed heavily and ran a restless big hand through his hair. “She did say she'd appeal. I think she finally realized that I was innocent, after I'd been convicted. She said she was sorry.” He glared at Morie. “Sorry! I'm going to get the needle, and she's sorry!”

“So am I,” she said gently. “The justice system usually works. But people are the odd element in any trial. Mistakes get made.”

“You'd know this, how?” he asked, but with a smile.

“My uncle is a state supreme court judge,” she replied. “In Texas.”

His eyebrows arched. “Impressive.”

She smiled. “Yes, it is. He used to work for legal aid and donate time, when he was younger. He still believes everyone is entitled to proper representation.”

“I wish he sat on the bench in Wyoming,” Bascomb replied sadly.

“You should turn yourself back in,” she advised. “This is only going to make things worse for you.”

“They couldn't get much worse,” he replied. “I
lost my wife last year. She died of a heart attack. She was only twenty-nine years old. Who dies of a heart attack at twenty-nine?” he exclaimed.

“There was a football player at my high school who dropped dead on the playing field at age seventeen of an unknown heart problem,” Morie replied. “He was a sweet boy. We all mourned him. People get all sorts of disorders at young ages. You don't think of little children having arthritis, either, do you? But some grammar-school kids have rheumatoid arthritis that limits them in all sorts of ways. Kids also have diseases like diabetes. We don't only get things wrong with us when we're old.”

“I guess so. It's not a perfect world, is it?” he added.

She shook her head.

He finished the bottle of water. “Thanks. I've been going by my mom's place for food, but they've got people watching it. I don't want her to suffer for what I've done. I've been hunting for food.”

“What about water?” she asked gently. “It's dangerous to drink water from springs….”

He pulled a packet of tablets out of his vest pocket and showed her. “It makes any water potable,” he said. “I was in the military. Tank and I served together in Iraq. That seems like a hundred years ago.” He grimaced. “He testified for me.

It was a real brave thing to do, when everybody thought I was guilty. The local boy's family is known and loved, and that made it a lot harder for me to get an unbiased jury. In fact—” he sighed “—one of the jurors was actually an illegitimate blood relation. My attorney didn't catch that on voir dire, either.”

She caught her breath. “That's a disqualification. Grounds for a retrial.”

“You think so?” he asked, curious.

“I do. You should speak to your attorney.”

He laughed shortly. “She's not my attorney anymore. I read in a discarded newspaper that she said she couldn't represent someone who proved himself guilty by running away. So now I've got no defense and nobody to advise me.”

She moved a step closer. “I'm advising you. Turn yourself in before it's too late.”

He shook his head. “Can't do that. I can't survive locked up in a cage. I've had months of it. I'd rather die than go back, and that's the truth.”

She could sympathize. She didn't like closed places, either. “It will go harder on you that you didn't wait for an appeal.”

“I don't care,” he said heavily. “My wife is dead…the life I had is all gone. I've got no reason to go on anyway. If they shoot me down in the woods, well, it won't be so bad. God forgives people.
Even bad people. I don't think He'll send me to purgatory.”

“You can't give up,” she said, driven to comfort him. “God puts us here for a reason. We may never know why. It may be to inspire one person, or give another a reason to keep them from suicide, or be in the right place to give aid to save someone's life who may one day save the world. Who knows? But I believe we have a purpose. All of us.”

“And what do you think mine is?” he asked with amusement. She was so fervent in her beliefs.

“I don't know,” she replied. “But you have a part to play. I'm sure of that. Don't give up. Don't ever give up.”

“There was this movie
Galaxy Quest
with Tim Allen and Alan Rickman, kind of a
Star Trek
spoof,” he recalled. “Their running line was ‘Never give up, never surrender!'”

“I saw that one. It was terrific,” she replied, smiling.

He shrugged. “I guess it wasn't such a bad credo, at that.” He shouldered the gun. “Don't tell anybody I was here,” he said.

She bit her lower lip. It sounded like a threat.

He gave her a long-suffering look. “You might get in trouble for giving me food and water,” he added.

She relaxed. “Oh. Thanks.”

“I'm a wanted man,” he replied quietly. “I'm not giving up, no matter what. They'll have to take me down. Prison is a horrible place for an outdoors-man.” He looked around at the towering trees and the blue, blue sky. “This is my cathedral,” he said solemnly. “There's no place closer to God than the forest.” He drew in the scent of it with closed eyes. “I should never have let her talk me into going to her apartment,” he said. “She was screaming. She said her boyfriend was banging on the door threatening to kill her and I was the only person she knew that she could trust to deal with him. I must have been out of my mind,” he added remorsefully. “She was fending him off when I got there, but he muttered something about her attacking him first. She set us both up. I don't think she meant for him to die, or me to go to prison… It was just a misguided plea for attention. But she caused it. Now she's the injured party and I'm being sued for wrongful death by his family.” He gave her a long look.

She winced. “I'm sorry.”

“Hell, so am I,” he said heavily. “Don't know what I ever did to deserve this.”

“It's a trial,” she replied. “All of us have them. It's part of the process of life. You'll get through it,” she added firmly.

“Think so? If I were a gambler, I'd take that bet and get rich on it.” He looked at her clothing and
laughed. “Well, maybe not. You don't look any better off than I was, no offense.”

“None taken,” she replied.

“I have to go. Thanks for the help. But if I'm caught, I'll swear you never did a thing to help me,” he added.

“And I'll swear that I did,” she said proudly. “I'm not afraid of due process. My uncle is a judge. He'd find someone good to represent me.”

His blue eyes smiled at her. “Lucky you. Thanks, kid.”

She laughed. “You're welcome. I wish I could help you.”

His face softened. “You're a nice person. My wife was like that. She'd have helped anybody, in the law or out of it. I miss her so much.”

“It's just a little separation,” she said. “We all go, eventually. It's a matter of time.”

He cocked his head. “She'd have said that, too.” He looked around. “You be careful out here, all alone. It's dangerous sometimes. There are other people who shun society. Some of them are homeless people with various mental disturbances. They could hurt you.”

“I know. I've got a phone.”

“Keep it on,” he advised drily.

“Yes, well if I'd had it on, the police would already be here, wouldn't they?” she said pointedly.

He chuckled. “I guess so.” He gave her a last look. “Be safe.”

“You, too.”

He turned and walked back into the woods. She noted that when he was almost out of sight, the rhythm of his footsteps changed and became halting and unsteady. Like an animal's gait. She realized then that he'd walked in a human pattern to alert her to his presence, so that he wouldn't frighten her too much by appearing suddenly. She felt sorry for him. She wondered if she could get in touch with Uncle Danny and find him some help. Even if he was guilty as sin, he needed a lawyer. Uncle Danny would know someone. She was certain of it.

 

T
HAT NIGHT, SHE CALLED HIM
. She knew his habits quite well, and one of them was to work very late at his office on nights when circuit court was in session. Sure enough, he answered the phone himself. He was surprised but pleased to hear from her.

“Having fun at your job?” he asked, amused that she'd defied King to work as a cowgirl on a ranch.

“Lots,” she replied. “But I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, sweetie,” he replied. “Not prying, but is there some reason besides love that you're calling me at night? Got a problem?”

“Sort of,” she said. “There's this escaped convict who was framed…”

“Oh, spare me,” he said heavily. “Honey, you have no idea how many innocent people are serving life terms in federal prison. They were framed, the cops were dishonest, somebody was getting even with them…”

“But it's not like that.” She faltered. “Tank Kirk was a character witness for him. The man fought in Iraq. His wife died. This other woman chased him and couldn't get him, so she set him up by crying for help when her boyfriend was beating her up. The guy came to her rescue, struggled with the man, who hit his head and died. The woman then swore that the convict did it deliberately. It's her word against his, and he only had a public defender.”

“Careful, darlin', I was a public defender,” he chided. “It's a noble calling.”

“Yes, well this public defender was on the woman's side and wouldn't press the case. There's something else. There was a blood relative of the victim on the jury and it wasn't caught in voir dire.”

“Now that's another matter, a very serious one,” Danny replied. “His attorney should press for a retrial on that basis, if she can prove it.”

“He isn't represented,” she replied. “His attorney quit when he escaped and ran from the law.”

“Oh, boy.”

“I know. I shouldn't get involved. But he seems a decent man. You'd have to know the Kirk brothers to understand why I think he's innocent. Tank isn't easily fooled about people.”

“Ah. But he's fooled about you, isn't he?”

She had to concede that point. “Touché.”