He located the Ranger approximately six feet away. He was on his side, reloading his six-gun as bullets splattered around him. Like Nick, he was only partly covered by the tree trunks. Nick would have sold his soul at that moment for an honest, good-sized rock.
He found his own limited cover. “Bullets?” he asked Davis.
The Ranger hesitated only a moment. “I’ll trade you the pistol for the rifle.”
Nick was loath to give up the weapon, but he knew Davis was probably better at this than he was. He, like Lori, was damn good at bottles and apples, but the Ranger had more experience at human targets. He threw the rifle to the Ranger and caught the pistol the man threw back at him.
Christ, it felt good to be able to defend himself, though he knew his role now was to give Davis cover, to distract the gunman while Davis did the real work. Still, the gun felt fine in his hands.
“That hill up there,” the Ranger said, and Nick found the glint of late sun on a rifle barrel. He nodded.
“Shoot as close to that as you can,” Davis said. “I’ll move around and try for a better shot.”
Nick aimed at the rocks above, coming damn close to where he’d seen the gleam of metal. The rifle sounded again, dirt spurting up a foot away. Nick crawled in that direction, thinking the gunman would now move his sights a bit to the left. He fired, knowing he was making himself a target, knowing it was necessary if Davis was to get a clean shot.
He didn’t care about Davis, but he cared about the child and Lori and Beth, and he realized Davis had been right all along about the bounty hunters. The gunman had come close to hitting Maggie; he obviously didn’t care whom he killed, and that meant the women and child were in danger. He’d settle the score with Morgan Davis later. He rolled another couple of feet and shot again. Damn, he had only one more bullet left.
How long had it been? Had Davis had a chance to move upward. Then he heard a rifle shot, and a grunt of pain. Something rolled down the incline where the gunman had lain in wait.
Everything was quiet. Morgan was apparently waiting too, making sure the man had been hit and wasn’t just faking. A bird started trilling again, overhead. Nick saw Morgan finally rise and carefully approach the clump of rocks that had hidden the gunman. He went behind them, then came back out, his hands holding a second rifle.
Nick looked down at his pistol. One shot left. That’s all he needed. Morgan’s hands were at his side, the rifles pointed downward.
One damn shot.
He aimed.
The Ranger saw the gun in his hand, stilled. Waiting.
Nick couldn’t pull the trigger. He tried. His finger closed around the trigger, but he couldn’t make that final movement. He cursed himself. He’d been able to pull the trigger on Wardlaw, to save Andy. Instinct pure and simple. But it failed him now. Perhaps if Davis had a rifle pointed at him … if it were a fair fight …
If. Nick felt waves of defeat as the Ranger started moving forward again. He reached Nick, tucked both rifles under his arm, and held out his hand for the pistol. “No bullets left?” he said.
Nick shook his head. “No,” he said.
Davis laid the rifles on the ground and checked the pistol. “You don’t count so good.”
A muscle jerked in Nick’s cheek. He felt it, and he damned it. He wanted to be as impassive as the man two feet away from him. He just turned around and headed back to camp, to his bed, to Beth … to captivity.
He didn’t even care who it was up there.
“Braden?”
He turned around.
“No curiosity about who it was?”
A muscle flexed in Nick’s face again. “What difference does it make to me?”
“Then why did you help?”
“He almost hit Beth and Maggie,” Nick said tonelessly.
“Well, he’s dead now, thanks to you. A bounty hunter named Curt Nesbitt.”
Nick stiffened, the area around his mouth tensing.
But Morgan wasn’t through. “You were real good back there.”
Nick didn’t want the Ranger’s praise. Especially not now. He shrugged, mindless of the fact that it was the same gesture he had seen Davis use so many times. He felt sick. Now that the urgency was gone, he felt leaden and weak and … crushed. He hadn’t been able to do what he needed to do. Every step seemed like a mile, but finally he reached his bedroll—and the tree he’d been chained to. The tree that represented every damn failure.
He ignored Beth’s anxious question, Maggie’s frightened face, Lori’s concerned glance. He lowered himself and turned away from all of them.
The Ranger had won!
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lori realized immediately that the level of tension, already near the boiling point between the Ranger and Nick, had increased even further in the minutes after the shooting.
Nick’s knife wound was bleeding again, and Beth tended it, carefully sewing back where the threads had broken. Lori tried to calm Maggie and a disgruntled pig, which had been disturbed from its dinner.
Neither of the men seemed disposed to talk about what had happened. After accompanying Nick back to his blankets, Morgan disappeared again without words. Nick was unusually sullen, bearing the pain of restitching with clenched teeth.
As Lori comforted a still frightened Maggie in her arms, she kept her eyes on her brother. Something vital had drained from Nick, and a twisting pain snaked through her. She wondered what had happened now to plunge him into such despair. She squeezed Maggie affectionately and asked her to help look for Nick’s harmonica. They finally found the mouth organ, a bullet stuck halfway through it. There would be no more music from that source, and it had been one of Nick’s most treasured possessions, a gift from years back.
She whispered to Maggie, telling her a story until Beth finished doctoring Nick and moved over to Lori to take Maggie in her arms. Lori traded places with her, sitting next to Nick, wanting desperately to know what had taken place.
“What happened?” she asked quietly, keeping her voice too low for Beth and Maggie to hear.
“I had a chance, Lori, I had a chance to take him, and I couldn’t”
“The shooter?”
“Hell no—Davis. After he’d shot the man. Bounty hunter, he said. I had Davis in clear sight, a gun in my hand, and I couldn’t pull the trigger.”
Lori privately thanked God, but she wisely refrained from saying so. And she was surprised. She knew Nick, knew his temper, knew how the anger had been building against Morgan, especially after the past two days. Her hand went to him, locking her fingers in his.
He looked around, saw that Beth was out of hearing distance, calming Maggie. “I’m a coward, Lori,” he said with a defeat that almost broke Lori’s heart.
“Cowardice had nothing to do with it,” she said. “Look how you exposed yourself to help …”
“To help the man who’s taking me to hang and who’s sleeping with my sister.” This time Nick’s frustration exploded with words he hadn’t said to her before, though they had been in his eyes.
Lori swallowed, her face reddening, but she wasn’t going to lie to him. “That was as much my doing as his,” she said. “I care about him. I didn’t want to. I still don’t, but I do, and … dear God, I’m so glad you couldn’t shoot him.”
He was silent.
“The family will be waiting in Pueblo,” she said. “We can find some way to free you.”
“Without killing him?” he asked, disbelieving. “He’ll chase me the rest of his life. He’s that kind of man.” With that comment he turned away from her, closing her out, and Lori’s heart cracked into pieces. Her heart was divided against itself, and she wondered whether it could ever be whole again.
She hesitated, then left his side. There was nothing she could say to ease the burden he’d taken upon himself. She knew he felt he had not been up to the task of killing Morgan Davis—not only for himself but for her.
Lori wished there was something she could do. Anything to
keep busy. But the meat was almost done on the spit. She’d already washed every piece of clothing she could find. Beth was still soothing Maggie, and her brother didn’t want anything to do with her.
And she couldn’t go to Morgan. Not now, and do even more injury to Nick. She’d done enough already.
She went over to Clementine and rubbed the mare’s neck, taking a tiny satisfaction in the way the horse shivered in delight. She rested her head against the animal’s neck. She needed to give affection to someone, something. Holy Mary, but she was burgeoning with the need, and no one wanted any.
The horse wasn’t saddled, but it was bridled. In sudden impulse she unbuckled the hobbles and bolted to the horse’s back. She had to get away from the unrelieved tension, from the blame and guilt and uncertainty.
Without looking back, she turned toward the mountain to the west and tightened her knees against Clementine’s sides. She was a child again, riding in front of an approving crowd, looking down and seeing Nick’s proud face. She closed her eyes for a moment, bringing back those days, letting Clementine have her head, trusting her as she had always trusted her.
Lori was still thinking of those days when the side of her head hit the low branch of a tree.
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.
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