Wanted

by Potter, Patricia;

  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.”

  “Would you prefer a jail cell?” His voice was cold, and she wondered whether she had imagined that smile seconds earlier.

  “Is that my choice?”

  “It could be.” His eyes narrowed. “Attempted murder of a peace officer.”

  “Then you would have both Bradens, wouldn’t you?” she taunted bitterly. “Two trophies for the manhunter. Two he
ads for the price of one.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Dammit, I didn’t want it this way. I don’t want it this way, but you leave me little choice.”

  “You have lots of choices,” she retorted. “You just won’t acknowledge them.”

  “What about you, Miss Lori?” he asked in a deadly calm, answering her question with one of his own. “Did you feel you had a choice other than to ambush me?”

  “Yes,” she said flatly. “I could have killed you, instead.”

  “Then you should have done it when you had the chance, because you won’t get another one,” he said in a voice that came close to being a growl. Disbelief burned in his eyes. He was still convinced she’d tried to kill him. He would always believe that.

  He wanted to believe that, she realized with sudden insight, because it put distance between them.

  “I wish I had,” she said, turning her back on him. She wanted to hide the tears in her eyes—tears of frustration, she told herself, tears for Nick. But also, she knew, she grieved for that lost, brief moment of warmth that had snaked between them.

  She started the fire, hunching down in front of it as the Ranger unlocked Nick from the tree. Lori saw the strain on her brother’s face as he stretched sore muscles. She looked back toward the Ranger’s bedroll. The map was gone.

  The two men disappeared into the trees. Lori looked toward the Ranger’s saddle, at the rifle there, but now she knew it was unloaded, and the bullets were probably in his saddlebags, which he had thrown over his shoulder.

  She waited for the flames to die and then sorted through the stock of supplies. Limited amounts of coffee. Bacon. Cornmeal. Some hardtack and jerky. She was sick of the latter, which had been mostly their diet for the last week. Well, she would be generous with the bacon and cornmeal since they were headed for civilization. She didn’t mind at all making the Ranger spend his own money. Georgetown. It was a sizable city. The Medicine Show had gone through several times but had never stopped to perform, not since she could remember. Jonathon preferred smaller towns, towns without doctors or sheriffs.

  There would also be stagecoaches to Denver. Frequent ones. And definitely a telegraph office. She had to find a way of sending a telegram, though she knew he would be watching her every minute this time … if he didn’t make good his threat to put her in jail. She didn’t worry so much about a stagecoach. She could find her way free of that, easily enough. A few miles down the road, a sudden illness, something nice and contagious like cholera.

  Jail might present another problem. But with the single exception of the Ranger, she’d never met a lawman she couldn’t charm when she set her mind to it.

  She put a generous portion of bacon in the frying pan, and it had almost finished cooking when the Ranger and Nick reappeared. Nick sat, graceful despite the irons on both his wrists and ankles, and sniffed hungrily. Lori took the bacon from the pan and set it aside, then mixed corn-meal with water and a tablespoon of the bacon drippings and put the mixture back in the skillet to cook.

  Nick grinned. “Hoecake.”

  She nodded, ignoring the Ranger, who stood and watched. It was the first time Lori had cooked anything for them. The Ranger had taken care of what little cooking he’d allowed; mostly they had survived on hardtack and jerky and, in the cabin, beans the Ranger had boiled until they were almost paste. He’d been worried, she supposed, that she would throw hot grease on him or do something equally destructive when he’d been so weak.

  Now she simply acted on her own, and he watched her without comment but with caution, as if afraid she was making dynamite instead of simple food. He frowned as the cornmeal mixture bubbled and browned, and she expected a rebuke for doing something he’d not specifically permitted.

  But he said nothing. He left the fire and saddled the horses, buckling the bedrolls in place before joining them at the fire again. She’d turned over the hoecake and poured coffee into the two tin cups that the Ranger carried in the supply sacks, along with tin plates. She divided the bacon, then took the hoecake from the pan and cut off three slices. The Ranger looked startled when she handed him a plate and put both hers and Nick’s on the second plate, as she’d left her own utensils behind in Laramie.

  Nick glanced up at the Ranger. “Lori’s a good cook,” he said with a slight, wry smile. “Hell of a lot better than you.”

  The Ranger merely grunted and sat down, cross-legged, staring at the hoe bread as if it might poison him. His gaze rested on Lori skeptically, as if trying to figure her motives, then went back to the plate. He tentatively took a bite, chewed slowly, then nodded at Lori. It was, she suspected, as close to approval as he would ever give her.

  When they were finished, the Ranger used the remainder of the coffee to quench the fire. When he was sure all the embers were out, he scattered the remains, trying to disperse any sign of a campfire. Nick stood, lounging against a tree. Lori stole a glance at him. An onlooker would have taken his stance for nonchalance. She was only too well aware that it was something else entirely. Lori knew he was a volcano ready to erupt—just as he had at the cabin, and he would have as little chance this time.

  She shook her head at Nick, cautioning him to wait. He sent her a scathing look of defiance. Lori knew he was losing his patience, tired of the Ranger’s orders, gut-sick at being chained like a vicious animal. She walked over to him and lowered her voice so the Ranger, who was packing the last of the supplies, couldn’t hear. “I saw his map. He’s heading to Georgetown and then to Pueblo. I can send a telegram, alert Jonathon and Andy.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t want them involved, any more than I want you involved. He’s too good for Andy, and Jonathon …”

  Nick didn’t have to continue. Jonathon was a natural confidence man, but he didn’t have a violent bone in his body.

  “They can get help,” she insisted, then shut her mouth as the Ranger looked over toward them suspiciously.

  Nick just shook his head. “This is my problem.”

  Lori bit her lip. “No,” she disagreed as the Ranger stalked over to them, obviously aware they were discussing him.

  “Let’s go,” he said in that curt, impersonal manner of his, those deep-blue eyes full of suspicion. She turned back to Nick and found identical eyes glaring back. Until that moment the expressions in both sets of eyes had been so different—Nick’s usually light and untroubled, even after his capture, the Ranger’s brooding and contained. Lori caught her breath as the similarity between the two men struck her forcefully. Nick’s face rooted her to the ground. How could two people be so alike and not be related? Even their expressions at this moment were identical. The Ranger was a fraction taller, leaner, but everything else …

  But Nick was her blood brother. The Ranger was from Texas, an orphan, he’d said, whose mother and father had died in an Indian attack.

  “Lori?”

  It was Nick’s voice, worried, and she stared down at her hands, knotted in tight fists, the skin pale from the pressure. She felt as if the blood had just faded from her face as well, though she didn’t know why it would—why … all of a sudden, she would have such a strange feeling, an odd premonition of tragedy.

  “Lori!” Now it was the Ranger’s voice. Commanding.

  She shook her head, trying to rid it of cobwebs constructed of half-formed thoughts—and of sudden, inexplicable fear.

  Lori felt hands on her. Nick’s familiar ones. Familiar and dear. Safe. Not as hard and callused as the Ranger’s but just as competent and sure. His hands, still linked by the handcuffs, were touching her chin, forcing her face up to meet his eyes. “What is it, Lori?” he asked softly.

  She couldn’t tell him. She didn’t know herself. She just felt death. Emptiness. A terrible loneliness filled with dark shadows.

  “You’re as pale as a ghost,” he said worriedly. “Are you ill?”

  She managed to shake her head. “Just … tired, I think. I was dizzy for a minute.” She let herself lean against him, her head on his shoulde
r, as she had so many times as a child, soaking up his confidence, his strength.

  Lori felt him relax slowly, and she suddenly realized that, at least for now, some of his impatient anger had faded in his worry over her. He wouldn’t go after the Ranger now, wouldn’t go after him and get killed.

  After a minute she straightened and took a step backward. “I’m all right now. I don’t know what happened.” She looked toward the Ranger, whose expression was as inscrutable as ever. “I’m ready,” she said, and walked over to Clementine. The Ranger, in his efficient way, had already tied her horse’s reins to the lead, along with Nick’s horse. Lori mounted by herself and then submitted to her hands being tied to the saddle horn. He hesitated a moment, as if reluctant, then quickly bound them with the strip of cloth as she caught just the whisper of an oath from his lips.

  Lori watched as he went through the usual ritual with Nick, handcuffing him to the saddle horn before unlocking the leg irons. She saw Nick’s shoulders heave slightly as if barely restraining himself from doing something reckless, and then he mounted gracefully, trying so bravely not to show how much his pride was battered. Nick’s rage had returned, and he held it barely in control—for her sake, she knew. He was reaching the point where he would risk everything, including his life, to free himself, no matter how slim the chance.

  Lori knew then she had to find a way to stay with them. Otherwise, she knew, one of them would die before reaching Harmony, Texas. Nick had been biding his time, but he’d nearly reached the end of his endurance.

  She watched the Ranger untie the reins of his own horse and mount. He looked infinitely tired, his mouth set, the lines around his eyes even more pronounced. But as completely in charge as he had always been, as quietly competent as the first moment she’d seen him.

  Nick turned in his saddle and looked at her, apparently reassuring himself she was all right She tried to smile, but the last hour had drained her of optimism. Those feelings had run too deep, too real. Her brother turned back slowly, his gaze still questioning. She knew he was still worried about that moment back at the campsite.