“Laudanum?” Morgan repeated.
The man nodded, pleased with himself for his helpfulness.
Thoughtfully, Morgan left. So that was what she intended. Another … friendly dinner. Drugged coffee. And then only God knew what she had planned—he sure as hell didn’t. He’d never met anyone like her. Christ, just thinking about her last night, that kiss. Part of him went rigid at the recollection, even as he warned himself against her. He’d tried to tell himself all night that the kiss had been just another confidence game, another act. A swindle.
Still, she couldn’t have faked her response to him. She had been too angry at herself. He had seen that fury in her eyes, had recognized it because he’d felt the same damn disgust at himself.
At least he didn’t have to worry about her the rest of the day. He would ask her to dinner again, pretend to drink whatever she would drug, and then wait for her next move. There was really damn little he could do until then. The jail was filled. He couldn’t ask the territorial prison to confine her when there was no warrant for her, and he had no legal reason to hold her. He would feel one hell of a lot better when she was on the Denver stage tomorrow. One Braden was enough to worry about.
He didn’t like the nagging voice inside that whispered he might miss that intriguing challenge she represented. He had a feeling that the brother might represent an equally challenging one, once his sister was safely out of the way. Still … there was something about Lorilee Braden that made him feel very much alive, made his body rumble with pleasure and his mind smile. He didn’t know when last it was that he had bantered as he had last night, when he’d smiled and even teased a little. And when she smiled … it was like the brilliant first glimpse of the sun after a fortnight of storms.
He decided he would get some sleep that afternoon. He sure as hell didn’t think he would get any that night, and he knew he had to leave in the morning. The warden had said he could keep Braden no longer, and Morgan knew the bounty hunters wouldn’t be far behind now.
Yep. Sleep was what he needed now. If only he could keep her from haunting his dreams, if only his body could relax, numb itself against its own primal reactions.
Lori heard him come down the hall, heard his footfalls stop at her door, then continue on to his own room. She knew they were his, the way they hesitated outside her room. She also knew it simply because she felt it.
She changed clothes, slipping into her split skirt and shirt. She didn’t dare take the carpetbag, which meant she would have to leave her dress, but she very carefully wrapped her pants and shirt and tucked them, along with her coat, into her bedroll. She slipped into the corridor after making sure no one was there. The stairs led down into a main lobby, and she couldn’t take her bedroll that way. At the end of the hall, however, was a window and a fire escape, which led to the back of the building and an empty lot.
She dropped the bedroll out the hall window, then leisurely strolled down the corridor, walked down the stairs, and out the door. The stable was just a few doors away. She handed the sheriff’s note to the stubborn stable owner, whose attitude changed abruptly. He saddled Clementine for her.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said, dispensing another smile. “I’m just going to see my brother.”
She had to restrain herself from urging Clementine into a gallop. Instead, she very sedately walked the mare down the street as the stableman went back inside the barn, and then she doubled back, turning down a road to the back of the buildings. She retrieved the bedroll, quickly buckling it to the back of the saddle. The pistol she had stolen from the sheriff remained well anchored on her leg. Once she was out of sight of town, she would place it in the saddlebags. It was rather uncomfortable, despite the small sense of security it gave her.
She should have several hours before the Ranger discovered her missing. With luck it would be dark. By then her tracks would be mixed with so many others leading out of town, he would never find her.
But she would find him. She had a very good idea where he would head once he left Laramie with Nick. And because the Medicine Show had traveled the towns of north Colorado, she suspected she was far more familiar with the area than he. Lori knew just where to watch for him. If he didn’t show by noon tomorrow, she would know he had decided to take the direct route across the plains, and she could easily catch up with him. He couldn’t travel very fast, not with Nick, who would slow him as much as he could.
Morgan knocked on her door, then tried the doorknob. It was locked, and there was no sound inside. He went down to the desk and asked the clerk for a key. Since he had paid for the rooms, he received no argument. Morgan was beginning to have a very bad feeling about all this. Night had fallen; the stores were closed. She should have been in her room.
He unlocked the door and lit the gas lamp. The carpetbag, partially open, lay on the bureau; the brown-checked dress was carelessly thrown on the bed. Other than those two items, the room was empty. He went to the carpetbag. There were a few personal female items within, including a corset. He located the bottle of laudanum and balanced it in his hands as he tried to think.
She had left enough of her belongings that she could still be in town, but he had the uncomfortable feeling he’d been outsmarted. That feeling was growing more acute by the minute.
Where would she have gone?
He ran down the steps and strode quickly to the stable. Lorilee Braden’s mare was gone. He confronted the stable owner, who showed him the note from the sheriff. She’d said she would be back shortly.
How long ago?
The man shrugged. “Four … five hours.”
“What direction?”
“I didn’t watch.”
Morgan swore to himself. The man had been charmed by Lori. That much was obvious. He wasn’t going to offer one bit of information. Morgan was tempted to confront the sheriff, but there was no telling what tales Lori had spun to convince the lawman to interfere. Morgan doubted he would get much cooperation from him now.
It was too dark to trail her. At least Braden should be safe enough in the territorial prison.
Or was he?
Morgan was beginning to wonder if anything was beyond the wily Miss Lori. He just hoped to hell she hadn’t somehow got her pretty hands on a gun. He doubted, though, that even if she had, she was capable of killing anyone. Her weapons, he believed, were her charm and wits.
He saddled his bay, rode to the territorial prison, and found his prisoner still there. No young lady had asked to see him. Morgan almost decided to take Braden then and there, but his supplies were still in his hotel room, Braden’s bay still at the stable. He might as well wait until morning.
What in the hell was Miss Lorilee planning?
Morgan only knew he preferred bounty hunters to Miss Lori any day. But now it seemed he might have both of them on his trail. He knew how to handle the hunters, but he was beginning to realize he didn’t know how to handle the woman.
It was a humiliating discovery.
Nick never thought he would be glad to see a lawman’s face, but he was damned grateful to see Morgan Davis’s, even if it did look so irritatingly like his own.
The last two nights had been hell. He knew now that he would rather hang than spend time in a place like the Wyoming Territorial Prison. His cell had been little more than a tomb, four feet by seven feet, containing a hammock and a slop bucket. He had never realized before that he hated and feared small places, though he had always preferred sleeping outside, even as a small lad, to spending nights in the cramped, crowded interior of the Medicine Show Wagon.
Apparently because he was a temporary resident, he had been left his own clothes, rather than forced to wear the black-and-white-striped uniforms of the other inmates, and his hair had been left unshorn. But there was a stench that remained on his clothes, even as he held out his hands for the handcuffs and followed the taciturn Ranger outside to the horses. He felt as if he could breathe for the first time since he was locked in the small cell. Th
e panic, the constriction in his chest, the fast, painful beating of his heart dissipated in the bright light of day. He took full swallows of sweet air, felt the morning sun bathe him with freshness.
He waited patiently as the Ranger once more used the second set of handcuffs to lock his wrists to the saddle horn. He noted there were only the two horses and wondered about Clementine.
“Lori?” he said.
The Ranger’s jaw set.
“She’s on the Denver stage?”
The Ranger didn’t answer as he finished his task and mounted his own horse. Nick’s horse was already on a lead.
“Damn you, Davis. What about Lori?”
Morgan looked back, his face expressionless, but Nick sensed—no, he felt—a cold, simmering anger. For a moment he thought the man wouldn’t answer, but then he appeared to change his mind. “She left on her own last night.”
“What do you mean, on her own?” Nick’s hands tightened around the saddle horn as he kicked his bay to move up even with the Ranger.
“Just what I said. She took off yesterday afternoon on her horse.”
“And you let her? A woman alone?”
“Would you prefer I had her locked up with you?” Davis said, his voice rough with anger.
If Nick hadn’t been so worried, he would have smiled at Davis’s obvious discomfort. So Lori had outsmarted him in some way. That was a good sign. If Lori could do it, it meant the Ranger wasn’t as good as he appeared to be.
But Nick was worried about Lori. There was no telling what she might do now. He had wanted her out of this, on her way back to Jonathon. Only when he believed Lori was safe could he plan his own moves. Now …
Lori had always been reckless, perhaps because she had always been so good at everything she tried. Or perhaps because she had been so enchanting as a child, everyone forgave her everything.
“What will she do, Braden?” Nick was surprised at the question. Surprised it was asked. Surprised that Davis expected an answer.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I never know what she’s going to do next.”
“There’s a bounty hunter named Whitey Stark on our trail, probably no more than a day behind. He and at least two others. They won’t be gentlemanly if they meet up with her.”
“Is that what you are, Davis? A gentleman?” Nick asked mockingly. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”
The Ranger turned and stared at him through eyes that were colder, harder than Nick thought his own had ever been. “Don’t worry about it, Braden. Your sister is very good at playing men for fools.”
Nick felt an icy chill go down his back. He wasn’t sure what Lori had done, but he knew he wouldn’t want to be in her shoes if she met the Ranger again.
He just prayed that she was making her way to Jonathon to enlist help, even as he feared it was a fruitless hope.
CHAPTER SIX
Hunkered down low on the edge of a ridge, Lori watched the two distant figures and knew she had guessed right.
Although they must have been more than half a mile away, her eyesight was excellent She couldn’t see faces at this distance, but she could identify two bay horses, one slightly trailing the other, and two figures that looked astoundingly alike in the way they sat their horses.
She didn’t know why she had been so sure the Ranger would take this route. She knew it was the one Nick would have chosen, if only he could. He loved the mountains and knew them well. There was something of the loner in Nick, though he rarely allowed it to show with his family. Lori knew, because she knew him better than any of the others, because she had watched him look longingly at the mountains and take rides or long walks when he thought everyone else was asleep.
Despite his quick smile, there was a part of him he didn’t share with anyone, not even her. There were times the smile was swallowed in some vast darkness she didn’t understand. She often had wondered whether he regretted the ever so frequent occasions when everyone in the family relied on him so completely.
She watched the small figures grow even smaller, then disappear. Lori knew the Ranger must be a good tracker. He was, after all, a professional hunter of men, and she knew she had to be extremely careful. He would be looking not only for her, but for the bounty hunters the sheriff had mentioned. But he also had Nick to watch, which meant he couldn’t backtrack or circle. He would just make the best possible speed on a route he hoped no one would suspect.
Lori still didn’t know why or how she knew he would choose the mountains. Because Nick would have? Or because, in the several days she had spent with him, she had learned a little about how he thought. Both answers bothered her. They ate at her conscience and even a little at her heart The Ranger had tried to be considerate in his own rough, suspicious way. He could have locked her up. Handcuffed her to a bed. She suspected he’d thought of each of those possibilities.
She refused to think about that kiss, that attraction, which ran between them like bolts of lightning. She’d always heard that love and hate were two sides of the same coin. Strong, violent emotions turned inside out. Love tied to hate meant nothing—nothing at all. As an exploding backfire drains the air of oxygen, it would die of its own intensity.
She viciously shoved away thoughts of the Ranger. Nick’s life was at risk. The brother who had taught her to ride, who had teased and loved her, who had been her only friend, only confidant for so many years. The Bradens had long ago learned to rely solely on each other, to protect each other fiercely, and Nick had no one but her at the moment.
She returned to Clementine, who was munching happily on prairie grass. The two men were headed toward a pass below the Colorado border, and then they would most likely follow Trail Creek, the same route she and Nick had previously taken. The Ranger probably hoped any pursuers would assume he had followed the more direct route through Fort Collins.
She mounted, grateful that Clementine was much faster and stronger than either her appearance or her name indicated. If she rode hard, she could reach the pass before the two men. Nick would slow the Ranger down—he would be in no hurry to reach Texas, even if he wasn’t aware Lori might be close.
She bit her lip, knowing she was setting into motion events that could never be undone. She had never shot a man, had never purposely hurt a living creature—she had even refused to fish. As she pondered the consequences of what she was planning to do, Lori looked down at her hands and saw them tremble. She tried frantically to reason with herself. She didn’t owe the Ranger anything. It was just that he bore a surface resemblance to Nick, a resemblance that made him a dangerous enemy, and she couldn’t forget that If she wasn’t strong, Nick might well die for something he didn’t do.
And she wasn’t planning on killing the Ranger. Just wounding him. Leaving him a horse to get help. Buying some time for Nick. Still, her stomach churned, revolted at the very thought of shooting someone. Confused, and angry that she was, Lori tightened her thighs around Clementine, gave her a slight slap on the rump, and raced toward Colorado.
Morgan looked toward his prisoner with exasperation as Nick Braden massaged his ankle with a handcuffed hand.
Another damn delay! Nick Braden had been slowing him in small, almost imperceptible ways since the moment they had left Laramie two days ago. Several times Braden’s horse had balked, apparently almost throwing him, yet Morgan believed the animal better trained than that. Each time Morgan had had to dismount and calm the bay, losing valuable time. On the morning after leaving Laramie, Morgan had allowed his prisoner to wash at a nearby stream. He had removed one of the handcuffs so Braden could change clothes. In minutes a shirt was floating down the stream and Braden was splashing after it, thoroughly dousing his second shirt. Since the morning was cold, Morgan had agreed to let the shirts dry by a fire, delaying them nearly an hour.
Morgan had pushed hard the rest of the day. They had stopped to water the horses in late afternoon, and Braden had asked to stretch his legs after the eight-hour ride. Morgan had agreed, taking his us
ual precaution of affixing the leg irons. After shuffling a few steps, Braden had stumbled over a rock, falling and grabbing his right ankle. Morgan reluctantly unlocked the leg iron and watched as Braden pulled off his boot and then a wool sock, his face grimacing with pain. The ankle was swollen, goddammit.
Morgan pulled out the map he had discussed with the prison warden. He and Braden had been climbing upward the last few hours and had reached a narrow pass formed by a swiftly moving creek. The riding was already rough. It would get rougher, he knew, once they were through the pass. He had wanted to get through there tonight.
Nick Braden’s face was expressionless as he looked up at Morgan. He was waiting, apparently docile, but Morgan sensed the man’s watchfulness. He always sensed it—but now every one of his own warning signals was blasting, like a series of dynamite explosions vibrating within him. His hand automatically went to his gunbelt. The touch was reassuring. He looked out at the aspen-and-evergreen-forested hillsides. Nothing moved, and he had been damnably careful during the two days, backtracking last night after he had secured Braden to a tree. He would have sworn no one was behind him. He wondered at his own skittishness.
Morgan knelt down, his hands running over Braden’s ankle. It wasn’t broken, but neither was it right. It was swelling rapidly and had turned reddish purple in color. At the least it was badly twisted. “We’ll camp here,” he said curtly. Braden’s gaze never wavered from his but waited for Morgan’s next instruction. If Braden was acting, Morgan thought, he was damned good at it.
He remembered Braden and his sister whispering, but they had no way of knowing which route he would follow. And if Lorilee had been following without Morgan’s noticing, he’d eat his own sweat-stained hat.
Still, he didn’t plan to take chances.
“Move over to that tree,” he said, indicating a slender but strong aspen.
Braden hesitated.
“Don’t forget what I told you in Medicine Bow. The minute you’re more trouble alive than dead, that situation is going to change.” He knew his voice was cold, hard, as biting now as the wind that was beginning to stir the golden trees.
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