Wanted

by Potter, Patricia;

  “Where did you find Nicholas?” he persisted, wondering whether he should or not. Yet this was too important to Nick not to know. To Lori.

  If the Ranger lived. If he didn’t, perhaps everyone would be better off not knowing. Everyone but Daniel. He had to know.

  “The stage … I was going home to Kansas after … my baby and husband died … and the stage stopped to change horses. The woman was having birth pains before she should. I stayed. I didn’t want to. I’ve never been good at that, and I still hurt so … from losing my own. But … the husband … was so frantic, so insistent.”

  “Then what?” Daniel said, hoping to keep her going before she faded away again.

  “She had two babies … two boys. We’d been warned about Comanches, and we were getting ready to leave. I was putting one baby in the wagon when …” Her eyes clouded with tears.

  “When what?” Daniel urged gently.

  She blinked, and her hand went over to Daniel’s, clutching it. “The horses bolted. I don’t know how far they ran, but the wagon turned over, and then I saw …”

  “What?”

  “The cabin. Smoke. Fire. No one could live through that. I knew they all had to be dead. I started walking. I don’t know how long I walked. I just knew that God had given me another chance, that I had to save this baby.” She looked down at Daniel. “I thought they were all dead. But …”

  Daniel waited patiently. She was alert now, the fog gone from her eyes.

  “They had birthmarks. Half hearts on their feet that would have fit together to make one heart,” she whispered. “That’s what I thought then. I tried so hard to make Nick not miss that second half.” The tears were flowing harder now. “But he did,” she said. “I know he did. He used to wander by himself, and I always sensed he was looking for something, for someone.” She buried her head in her hands. “What have I done?”

  “You saved a baby,” Daniel said gently. “And you and Jonathon gave him a fine life with much love. He’s a good man, Fleur.”

  “And … the other one?”

  Daniel nodded. “Also a good man, I think.”

  “They … don’t know?”

  “The Ranger suspects. Hell, he knows, I guess. Inside, he knows. That’s why I suspect he took Nick’s place.”

  “And Nick?”

  “He has no idea.”

  “What if … the Ranger is killed?”

  “Then I think we should keep this to ourselves,” Daniel said softly. “But I think he’s very capable. Very capable indeed.”

  Morgan cursed bitterly to himself. The key to the handcuffs was in his hat, and there was no way in hell he could get it as long as his hands were tied to the saddle horn. Whitey was shrewder than he’d thought.

  But Nick had played his role well. His last admonition about keeping him alive was well placed. Whitey would probably wait at least until he was out of earshot.

  He wondered whether Nick would come after him. He doubted it. Even though Nick Braden would probably have to tie Lori to a horse to keep her out of this. He smiled at that. She was a she-cat. But, like Nick, he didn’t want her involved. And Nick certainly had no reason to help out the man who had dragged him across Colorado.

  No, he was on his own. As he’d always been. As he’d always planned to be. It was what he wanted, what had been drummed into him since he was a boy. Never depend on anyone, other than fellow Rangers.

  A brother. And Lori. In just a matter of weeks all that advice had come to naught. He found a heart couldn’t be told whom to love, or what to want. He’d also discovered exactly how lonely he had been, how much a part of him had been missing. He had dismissed it as fancy years ago, this idea of something missing. But even when he and Nick had been at loggerheads, they had worked so damned well together. At the cabin. When they were ambushed. And now. Neither of them needed to explain anything. They just knew.

  And Lori. Lori with the golden eyes that looked at him with such anger and longing. Lori, who had cried for him. No one had ever cried for him before.

  He had never made her laugh. He regretted that. He didn’t even know if he could. But he would like the chance to try. He would like to see her smile, not with sadness, but with the pure joy he knew she was capable of. He wanted to learn to share it. Dammit, he wanted so much now. It was as if he’d never really lived.

  Finally Whitey came to a stop. “We’ll wait here for Ford,” he said, untying Morgan from the saddle horn and pushing him from the saddle before Morgan could slip down. He landed on his side, and Whitey was next to him, tying his feet together with a rope. He then tied his elbows behind him, stretching the chain between the handcuffs as tight as possible so Morgan could barely move.

  “Davis bought you a little time,” he said. “I don’t carry irons like he does. Don’t need them for dead men, and you’re as good as dead anyway. You should be grateful. A bullet’s a hell of a lot better than a noose.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer but went over to his horse and took a canteen from the saddle. He took a long pull from it, and Morgan caught the scent of whiskey. He just lay there, hoping that Whitey would accept Nick’s word that the prisoner presented no threat.

  It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he would have to go into contortions to reach the key to the cuffs now. His hat had dropped to his back, held only by the leather thong around his neck. He would have to twist his neck, work the hat over his head, and reach the lining with hands that had damn little movement.

  How long would it take for Ford Nesbitt to return? Once he did, Morgan suspected they would waste little time in ridding themselves of a live man.

  Christ, but he hurt. The bonds bit into both his ankles and arms. Think of Lori. Think of that tremulous smile. But all he could think of were her tears. If he ever got out of this, he swore he would never cause her so much as a blink again. Whitey took another long pull from the canteen. That’s right, Stark, keep drinking, Morgan thought. Whitey walked impatiently to where he could see the road, giving Morgan a chance to try to twist the damn hat off.

  Whitey turned abruptly and Morgan stilled. “That must be one superior piece of goods your sister has,” he said, “for Davis to give you up.”

  Morgan tried to hold his temper. He was Nick Braden. If Whitey figured for a moment he was the Ranger, Morgan knew he would die immediately.

  Whitey came over and prodded him in the side. “Nothing to say? I had fun with her myself while we was waiting together.”

  “Bastard!” Morgan spit out.

  “I wondered what it would take to rile you,” Whitey said.

  Morgan kept his mouth shut. He knew Whitey was baiting him, just like a bully pulling wings from a fly. He wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction, nor an excuse to shoot him now.

  “Guess Davis was right,” Whitey said. “No gumption, none at all.” He aimed a kick at Morgan’s ribs, then another. “That Ranger didn’t happen on one of my partners, did he?”

  Morgan moaned. His chest felt as if it had caved in, but the sound was mostly for Whitey’s benefit. The foot rammed into him again. “Answer me.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Morgan managed.

  “You didn’t happen to see a big man, black hair and beard?”

  “Haven’t … seen anyone since Georgetown.”

  Whitey turned away, as if bored, and retreated to where he could watch the road.

  Morgan didn’t know how much time passed. His ribs hurt like hell, and every movement was painful, but still he tried to untangle his hat from around his neck. He had just started twisting his head when his ears picked up the sound of a horse, a sort of snorting sound. The ground was too soft to hear the hoofbeats. It had to be Nesbitt. Morgan knew. Nick’s horse would greet his own once the familiar scent reached it, so it wasn’t he. He felt suddenly forlorn, disappointed, though he knew he shouldn’t be. Nick Braden had no reason to come back for him, and every reason not to.

  He angled his head sharper as Whitey�
��s attention riveted on the road. Finally the hat fell over his head, dropping to the ground. Ignoring the increasing pain in his chest, Morgan twisted his body this time, one of the fingers on his right hand managing to reach the key inside the lining of the hat. Morgan glanced up. He saw a man on horseback appearing out of the darkness. He was wearing Nesbitt’s duster and hat, and riding Nesbitt’s chestnut horse, but there was something different.

  Frantically, Morgan tried to unlock the cuff on his left wrist, but the bonds pulling his elbows back and stretching the chain taut gave him no leeway. He pulled, feeling the ropes cut into his skin.

  He looked up again. The man, until now shielded and fogged by darkness, was closer. There was no doubt now. Nick Braden. And Nick was no match for Whitey. He tried again, and then there was a hand on his shoulder quieting him. He glanced around quickly. Jonathon Braden! The man had a knife in his hand and quickly cut the ropes behind Morgan, and Morgan unlocked the cuffs. The man faded off into the darkness as Morgan bent down and retrieved the pistol tied to his ankle and silently got to his feet.

  Just then he heard Whitey curse loudly as he discovered the rider wasn’t Nesbitt, and his hand went to the six-shooter in its holster.

  “Whitey!”

  At the sound of Morgan’s harsh voice, Whitey whirled around, his gun now out and pointing toward Morgan. Morgan fired, and Whitey sprawled on the ground, his body twitching a moment before stilling.

  Morgan stooped next to him and felt for the pulse in his throat. There was none. He stood painfully and walked slowly over to Nick. He was too filled with emotion to say anything. He simply held out his hand, and Nick hesitated a moment, then leaned over and took it.

  “Would have been here sooner,” Nick said, “but Pa had to circle around on foot. We didn’t know what … the situation would be, but we figured another hand might be useful.”

  “Lori?”

  “Holding a shotgun on the other one back on the road. That was the only way we could keep her out of this.”

  Morgan felt himself grin foolishly. He was glad it was too dark for any one to see it. “I owe you,” he said finally.

  “No, you don’t,” Nick said. “We … Lori and me … owed you. You didn’t have to change places with me.”

  Morgan felt strangely awkward and humble. Humble. By God, that was a new one. His fellow Rangers would have a hoot over that.

  The other man, Jonathon Braden, approached. Morgan remembered him from the bar and from months ago when he’d started tracking Nick. “Sir,” he said, “my thanks.”

  It was too dark to see the expression in the man’s face, but Morgan felt himself being studied as though he were some peculiar specimen. This man was Lori’s father. Nick thought him his father. Morgan remembered his first impression of Jonathon Braden. A con man, pure and simple, a crook, a charlatan. But a charlatan wouldn’t have done what he’d just done, wouldn’t have raised Lori and Nick with that fierce loyalty, wouldn’t have made a friend out of a man many would consider a freak. Morgan again swore to himself he would never make quick judgments.

  “You’re the man dead set on taking my son to hang,” Jonathon said without friendliness and refusing Morgan’s proffered hand.

  Morgan’s lips quirked up in a half smile. He knew where Lori and Nick had learned stubbornness. “I was,” he admitted.

  “And now?” Jonathon demanded.

  Morgan looked toward Nick, who dismounted from the chestnut. “I still think it’s best for him to return to my Ranger post and let me get this straightened out. This is only a taste of what will happen if he doesn’t.” It was one of Morgan’s longest speeches, heartfelt and pleading.

  Jonathon looked up at Nick, and Morgan sensed the man who had helped save him would just as quickly kill Morgan to save his son.

  “He’s right, dammit,” Nick said slowly, obviously hating each and every word. “I won’t keep putting you all in danger.”

  “Do you trust him?” Jonathon’s words were doubtful, and Morgan wished like hell they wouldn’t talk as if he weren’t there.

  “I guess I just did. We all did,” Nick said. He looked down at Morgan. “Lori’s going to be crazy if we don’t get you back in one piece pretty soon. You all right?”

  Morgan didn’t know when he’d felt better. His body damned well hurt, but he knew an elation now he’d never felt before. Lori was waiting for him. The man he believed to be a brother had just risked everything for him, including his life and future. He wanted to say something, wanted to say it now. But he had to be sure. He had to talk with Jonathon and Fleur Braden first. He had to be absolutely sure.

  Morgan nodded belatedly in answer to Nick’s question. “We’ll take Whitey and Nesbitt into the sheriff’s office, and I’ll make sure they hold Nesbitt for kidnapping.”

  “Always the lawman,” Nick said somewhat bitterly, but also with resignation. He rode over to where Jonathon stood and gave him a hand up behind him. “Lori and Pa can go back to camp. They’re probably worried sick.”

  “You go, too,” Morgan said. “I expect Mrs. Andrews and a little girl are more than a little anxious.”

  Nick couldn’t hide his astonishment. “You’d trust me?”

  Morgan walked over and picked up the handcuffs he’d discarded. When he returned, he saw that Nick had tensed. “I can use them for Nesbitt,” he said, tucking them into his belt.

  He went over to Whitey and started to lift him when he had to stop for the pain in his ribs. A groan came from deep in his throat, and Nick stared at him a moment. “What …”

  Morgan tried to shrug it off, but Nick reached down and with Jonathon’s help laid Whitey’s body over the saddle, tying him there. Morgan watched gratefully, then mounted his horse as Nick mounted Nesbitt’s chestnut and helped Jonathon up behind him. Morgan turned to Nick. “You really planned to go up against him yourself?”

  “If I had to,” Nick said. “But I had confidence in you. You’re too damn ornery to die.”

  Morgan chuckled. “That why you saved my skin?”

  Nick grinned back. “Don’t remind me.”

  Morgan nodded, and the three of them started back to Pueblo.

  Lori had the rifle aimed directly at Ford Nesbitt, who was tied and gagged when Morgan reached her. He slid off the horse, and she ran into his arms, her own going around his neck and holding him tightly to her.

  “Ah, Lori,” he whispered. “Dear God, I was worried about you. Are you really all right? He didn’t hurt you?”

  “No,” she whispered. “And you?”

  “Your brother says I’m too mean to die.” Lori pulled away from him for a moment, studied his face. “We’ve made peace of sorts,” Morgan said gently. “He and your father are going back to your camp. I’m going to take Whitey and … Nesbitt into town.”

  Lori’s gaze moved to the man tied to the horse. “Dead?”

  Morgan nodded.

  “You or Nick?”

  “Me, but I couldn’t have done it without Nick or your father.”

  “I … when I saw you taking Nick’s place …”

  “Hush,” he whispered. And his lips pressed down on hers, tasting their sweetness, delighting in their welcome. He wanted to do more, he wanted to deepen the kiss, to expend all that terror he’d never felt for another person before. But her injuries needed attention. He reluctantly took his mouth from hers, his finger barely touching a swollen, bruised place on her face. “It’s good he’s dead,” Morgan said, “or I would kill him right now in cold blood.”

  “I really am all right,” Lori said, trying to make her voice light, but Morgan saw the dried blood around her wrists, her torn dress. Rage surged through him again.

  “I’m going to take you to a doctor,” he said.

  To his surprise she nodded. “And then what, Morgan?” Her voice was soft.

  “We’ll stay in town tonight,” he said. “You can get some rest and medical attention, and I can take care of our friends here. It might take a while.”

&
nbsp; “Nick?”

  Nick stretched wearily in his saddle, then said somewhat dryly, “I’m going back with him to …” He paused. “El Paso, is it?”

  Morgan nodded, and Lori stiffened against his body. Morgan knew a moment of resentment. Even jealousy.

  “My choice,” Nick said simply. “He was right. I can’t keep running the rest of my life. I have to trust him. I don’t have any alternative.”

  “I’m going with you,” Lori interrupted.

  “I thought as much,” Morgan said grimly, resignation in his voice. “Nothing I say or do will make any difference, will it?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll just follow you again.”

  Morgan didn’t want to ask the question hammering in his head: because of him, or Nick? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It would be both heaven and hell to have her with them. He helped her mount Clementine and then mounted his own horse. Nick had also changed mounts, helping a bound Ford Nesbitt up on his chestnut while he took his own Dickens.

  As they reached the outskirts of Pueblo, Nick and Jonathon took one trail, Lori and Morgan the other with their prisoner and Whitey Stark’s corpse. There were no words this time. They had been said, and they all knew what lay ahead. Suspicion lingered. Morgan could feel it in the other two men if not Lori. He told himself it was natural; it would take a long time to earn Nick’s confidence completely.

  And in a matter of hours, perhaps he would learn whether his own suspicions were true, that Nick was his brother.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Nick guessed it was early in the morning by the time he and his father reached the Braden camp. They had ridden mostly in silence, except for a few words about Lori, a few questions about Morgan Davis.

  “He sure as hell looks like you,” Jonathon said.

  Nick was getting increasingly irritated at hearing the obvious. He nodded.

  “He seems sweet on Lori.”

  Nick nodded again. He didn’t know how he felt about that now. He’d been furious when he’d believed the Ranger had been trifling with Lori. He didn’t think that anymore. But he damn well wasn’t sure fun-loving, exuberant Lori would be happy with a dour lawman.