TheSurrenderofLacyMorgan (11 page)

Keeping his hold on her steady, he leaned to the side and
looked closer at her back. Thin scars crisscrossed her flesh. Flat, old scars.
Whipping marks. He’d seen them on slaves. On Northern sympathizers when he was
a child during the war. On his father’s back before he’d died.

White. Hot. Blood-boiling anger shot through him.

Her soft flesh had been torn open, over and over again.

Bile rose in his throat.

Swallowing down the bitter taste, he forced the rage into
the deepest corners of his heart, reserved for when he needed it. When they
found their quarry.

No wonder she’d been so disturbed by Dakota’s scars at the
river yesterday. She’d known every bit of pain he’d suffered—knew it firsthand.

This had been done to her months ago, so the physical pain
was gone, but her stillness conveyed more than screaming ever could. She’d
endured torture at Devil’s hands. Punishment or coercion?

Now was not the time to find out.

“You want me to take her?” Dakota asked.

His blood brother knew him too well, could read the anger
and the control fighting inside him. His need to smash his fist into something
or distance himself from her pain. As he’d done their whole lives.

This time was different. The need to comfort and care for
the woman in his arms—an emotion he didn’t plan to look at too closely—won out
over everything else.

“No, I’ve got her.”

His gaze met Dakota’s over Lacy’s shoulder in a silent pact.

Later.

They’d coax the details from her when the time was right.
The monster would pay for this crime as well as the murders and robberies.

* * * * *

When would the humiliation end? Lacy clenched her eyes shut.

The zinging sound cut through the air, followed by
several more. Seconds later her back was on fire. The world rocked around her.
Her vision went black.

Laughter.

Dangling from the post, she could hear Devil’s men
laughing at her in their drunken revelry.

“No one leaves my gang!” Devil yelled.

The whip sang again and another strip of fire danced
across her back.

Eyes clenched once more, she fought to stay conscious. No
matter what, she wouldn’t let him break her.

Firm hands rubbed her back, gently working the muscles.
Another set held her steady, one hand cupping her hip, the other running
through her hair, caressing her scalp.

Soothing.

Quinn and Dakota.

The pain was gone. Disappeared with the dark memories.

All that remained was the tender throbbing in her shoulder,
back and arm.

“Easy, darlin’.” Quinn’s deep voice rumbled against the ear
she had pressed to his chest. “No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

Safe.
Odd.

She should hate them as she hated Santos for using her, but
she didn’t. In her whole life she’d never felt as protected as she did with
Quinn and Dakota.

Even when they used her body, they didn’t just take. They
gave. Dear Lord, how they gave. Heat of another kind flushed her body. The kind
that made her crave more of their sexual torture.

“Do you think you can ride now, pet?” Dakota asked, his
hands coming to rest on her ribs, just beneath her breasts.

She gazed up at Quinn. Anger still had his mouth drawn
tight, but his heated blue gaze suggested he had another kind of ride in mind.
With a great effort she broke the connection and looked back over her shoulder
at Dakota’s warmly concerned and equally heated face. Not trusting her tongue
not to beg them to take her right here despite the throbbing pain, she simply
nodded.

A blanket was wrapped around her. Quinn helped her stand
then released his grip on her. His features tightened even more and he turned,
brusquely striding toward his horse.

His anger was so palpable it felt like a smack.

Now what had she done? Her legs shook with the effort to
remain standing.

“It’s okay,” Dakota whispered in her ear, helping her move
toward the horses, his arms firmly gripping hers from behind, holding her
steady and keeping her vertical. “You didn’t make him angry.”

Mounted on his horse, Quinn maneuvered to a halt in front of
them and leaned back in his saddle. “Give her to me.”

“I can ride,” she protested.

“You can barely stand.”

“I can take her,” Dakota said, tightening his grip on her
just slightly.

“And manage the gelding too?” Quinn tethered his reins
around the pommel, then held his arms out. “She rides with me.”

This time it wasn’t a question. His voice brooked no
protest. He wanted her in his lap, and that was where she’d ride.

Without another word, Dakota scooped her into his arms and
handed her up to Quinn, who carefully but firmly settled her across his thighs,
her good side pressed into his body.

“Really, this is silly,” she tried to protest once more.
“I’ve been riding since I was a child.”

“Ever ride with a mangled shoulder and arm before?”

No. Just half beat to death, actually.
The words were
on the tip of her tongue but she held them back. Somehow she didn’t think
they’d improve his mood.

He tightened his hold around her hip and grabbed the reins
with the other hand before fixing her with his intense blue gaze as if daring
her to argue with him further. She held her tongue and he nodded, setting the
horse on the trail behind Dakota and her horse.

They climbed higher into the mountains. She kept her eyes on
the mountainside as they rode. A rustle sounded above them.

She jumped then hissed as pain seared through her shoulder
once more.

In one motion, Quinn switched the reins to the hand holding
her and palmed his Colt, scanning the area where the sound came from. “Easy,
darlin’. I doubt another cat is close by.”

“Then why did you draw your gun?”

The corners of his lips twitched, as if he might actually
smile at her. “I said I doubted it. Not going to take any chances.”

He slid the gun back into the holster tied on his thigh,
then pushed her head back against his chest. “Get some rest. Let me worry about
protecting you.”

The heat from his body seeped through the blanket, and she
slowly relaxed against him. When he slipped his hand under the blanket to
stroke over her hip, she couldn’t resist a sigh of pure contentment.

“Now you sound just like a kitten.” His voice rumbled in his
chest, tickling her ear as he slid his hand up her back and came to rest gently
over the old scars, avoiding her new injuries.

She stiffened. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t touch them?”

“Yes.”

“Why? They can’t hurt you.”

“They remind me…”

“Remind you of the pain?”

“No. My own stupidity.” She swallowed the hard lump in her
throat.

She wouldn’t cry. She…would…not.

Quinn splayed his hand over several ridges, pressing firm
and strong against her back. His heat eased some of her tension.

“Darlin’, we all do stupid things. Like the Captain used to
say, the key is to never repeat them.”

A harsh snort escaped her. “Don’t worry. I learned my lesson
well.”

From the moment she and Mama had joined Devil on his trip
out of New Orleans, he’d changed from the charming Union soldier to the evil
persona his name implied. Even as a child she hadn’t understood why Mama had
tolerated his abuse. No matter how bad Devil was to her, Mama seemed to crave
his attention, good or bad, like a drunkard needed his liquor. In those early
years, Mama had tried to protect her by taking most of the violence.

“Child, you just have to stay out of his way when he’s
into the bottle,” Mama had said when Lacy had asked why Devil had suddenly
turned mean and beaten Mama nearly black and blue.

“Why can’t we just leave him and go back to New Orleans?”

“Hush now, Lacy. People are starving to death in New
Orleans since the war.” She pressed her fingers over Lacy’s mouth and looked
around as if expecting Devil to appear and punish them for an act of defiance.
Then she fingered the gold collar on her own throat. “A woman needs a man to
look out for her, especially out here in the wilderness. Some day you’ll
understand.”

Then Mama became ill and Devil switched his attention to
her. She’d learned to dodge his advances, avoid him when he drank too much and
deflect his tirades with stoic silence.

Becoming a crack shot with her Colt hadn’t hurt matters
either.

Naïvely though, she’d underestimated Devil’s deviousness.
She should’ve known he’d live up to his name.

Just when she thought he’d give up, he switched tactics. His
overt attacks stopped. When her guard was down he stooped to subterfuge—in the
form of the wickedly handsome Santos.

That’s when she’d done the stupidest thing.

She’d believed a man’s promise of love.

* * * * *

As they wove their way through the mountain trails, Quinn
couldn’t keep his mind off Lacy and the scars on her back. She’d finally
drifted off and slept with her face pressed against his chest. He didn’t want
to think about how good that felt. Instead, he traced his fingers over the thin
ridges lacing her back.

Was this how Devil forced her to ride with the gang? Was the
whipping the catalyst for her agreeing?

If so, was handing Lacy over to the territorial judge really
serving justice?

“Cap also taught us to look for the truth, even if it’s
not what we want to see or hear.”
Dakota’s words from the night before
echoed in his mind.

Despite his attempt to justify keeping Lacy tied up and his
angry words to his blood brother, he knew Dakota was right. The most important
thing Cap had taught them was to think for themselves. He’d preached many times
to all his boys that doing the right thing was more important than blindly
following the law.

Over the years, he’d also taught them to defend the innocent
and stand up for others, even if it meant going against popular opinion. Cap
had backed up his sermons with actions. Especially when he’d brought Gabe home
to the ranch.

Quinn adjusted his grip on Lacy so her bottom snuggled
easily between his thighs. Ignoring the tightness in his cock as it pressed
against her hip, he let his mind wander back to that day.

At age twelve, he and Dakota had been with the Cap for about
four years. They’d each healed from the deaths of their parents and bonded like
true brothers. Learned to ride, rope, shoot and work the ranch even when Cap
was away trailing outlaws. Juanita acted as their surrogate mother, doling out
hugs and punishment with equal frequency. Cap had found him and Dakota, both
near death. Their lives had greatly improved since living on the ranch.

When Anson returned from one trip with a scrawny,
half-starved, orphaned half-black boy, they hadn’t wanted a stranger to
interfere with their new life.

Okay. That wasn’t entirely true.

He’d resented the little kid from the moment he hopped off
the back of Cap’s horse. Not because as a Southerner he’d been raised to think
himself superior to the slaves. No, Will was a reminder of all the frightened,
near-death runaways his parents helped escape throughout the war years. The
ones who’d been caught that night leaving the farm and caused his parents’
flogging and ultimate deaths.

Quinn glanced ahead to where Dakota rode through a patch of
sunshine on the trail. Dakota had wanted to befriend the new boy from the first
day but had held back his welcome because of their bond.

Will slowly found his place on the ranch. Despite his resentment
of the little boy, Quinn had to admit Will was a quick learner and hard worker.
Cap tried repeatedly to convince him that Will had a lot in common with him and
Dakota, but still he’d stubbornly withheld his friendship.

Until the night the raiders came.

It was his fault Will had taken his turn out with the cattle
alone that nearly fatal night.

“When Cap gets home, we’ll be takin’ the herd to Abilene,
Kansas, to market,” he’d told the younger boy earlier in the day.

“How long will we be out on the trail?” Will had asked,
excitement in his dark eyes.

“Oh, you won’t be going. Cap ain’t gonna take no
tenderfoots,” he’d said with a smirk.

Will’s face fell. “Why not? I can ride and shoot just
like y’all.”

“Yeah, but you ain’t passed the real cowboy test.”

“What test?”

“A real cowboy can stay out all night with the herd. He’s
gotta be able to protect them from wolves and rustlers.”

“I can do that.”

He’d frowned and shaken his head. “I don’t know. Cap
would be mighty angry if we let you go out there and something bad happened to
the cattle, you being a kid and all.” He’d winked at Dakota, who shook his head
but remained silent.

“I ain’t a baby. I won’t let nothing happen. You just
watch me.”

“If you’re sure?”

Will had hurried out to saddle his horse.

“What are you planning?” Dakota asked, eyes narrowed with
suspicion as they followed Will to the corral.

“Nothin’ bad. We’ll let him ride the cows down to the
trees and when it gets dark he’ll be so scared he’ll beg Cap to leave him
home.”

“Cap ain’t gonna like this.”

“If we don’t tell him, he won’t know.”

So they’d all ridden out and relieved the hired hands.
Quinn and Dakota made sure Will was the farthest from the ranch house, in the
dark by the tree line.

About an hour into the night they still hadn’t heard a sound
from Will.

Two hours passed and Quinn had to admit the kid was
tougher than he’d imagined.

Three hours passed and they decided to go see if he’d
fallen asleep or ridden back to the house without them knowing.