TheSurrenderofLacyMorgan (12 page)

They circled the herd so as not to give Will any warning
they were coming and approached as quietly as they could, intent on scaring the
kid.

What they found scared them nearly witless instead.

Will still sat on his horse. Only he wasn’t alone. Three
men and a boy wearing long duster coats like the Missouri raiders from Quinn’s
past sat on horses surrounding him. One had his hand on a rope—a rope looped
over the big cottonwood a short distance from the tree line, the other end
looped around Will’s neck. The memory of watching his parents’ lynching as
Northern sympathizers slammed into him.

Without hesitating, Quinn palmed his gun and shot one man
dead center of his chest at the same time Dakota’s arrow nailed the arm of the
man holding the rope. The other rustler managed to get his gun up before his
next shot hit its mark and he fell off his horse, dead before he hit the
ground. Quinn trained his gun on the boy as Dakota cut the bindings on Will’s
hands.

Will didn’t hesitate or cry like a kid should. He pulled
the noose from his head, rode over and put it on the man with the wounded hand.

“You can’t let him do this!” The rustler made the mistake
of looking to Quinn for help as he cursed Will’s color.

That was the last straw. Quinn clenched his jaw and
shrugged. “Can’t stop him.”

Will looped the rope over the very tree they’d meant to
use to string him up and tied it to the trunk.

“Sure you can. Put a hole in him like you did my
partners!”

“Can’t. The Captain wouldn’t want me interfering with a
man doing his job.”

Will nodded and sat his horse even straighter. Then he
turned to look at the man who’d almost killed him. His eyes filled with rage,
Will smacked the rustler’s horse on the rear, setting it to bucking its rider
loose, then leaving the man to twist and hang from the noose.

Dakota nudged the youngest rustler’s horse closer. The
kid sitting on it looked pale as a ghost, eyes bugging out of his head as he
watched his partner die. The unique smell of piss filled the air as his fear
manifested itself in his pants.

“You want to hang this one too?” Dakota asked.

“No. He can be a warning to anyone else coming for the
Cap’s cattle.” Will moved his horse up alongside the scared kid. He pulled out
his knife and cut the would-be rustler along his cheek, just deep enough to
leave a scar. “You tell everyone in town and anyone who asks you about that cut
that Los Hombres don’t put up with no rustlers. You be sure and tell ’em we
hang rustlers or shoot ’em dead!”

Then he slapped the kid’s horse, sending it racing out
into the night.

Quinn learned two things that night.

First, William Danville might’ve been ten years old, but he
sat his horse like a man. He had the grit and backbone to do the hard things
when they needed doing.

Secondly, Quinn learned never judge a person on anything
other than their own merits and the truth.

From that day on he’d lived by that principle, even after
he’d followed Cap into the Marshals. That was until one sexy, buxom woman
opened her cabin door and denied she’d been the woman with the men who killed
Cap.

The horse made a sharp turn on the path, jarring Lacy’s
injured shoulder and waking her. A soft moan escaped her.

He looked down into her deep green eyes, her lips slightly
parted, an invitation he couldn’t resist. Lowering his head, he captured her
mouth with his, slipping his tongue in to dance with hers. The heady taste of
her sent his blood racing again, straight to his cock.

Before he let it get out of control, he broke off the kiss,
dragging air into his lungs. “Damn, woman, you are a temptation.”

She rested one hand on his chest. “Thank you.”

He drew his brows together. “For the kiss?”

“For coming to my rescue.” Her eyes drifted closed. “No
one’s ever come to help me.”

The words kicked him in the gut. She was thanking him for
saving her when it was his fault she’d been injured. For the second time in his
life, his blind obstinance had nearly gotten someone killed.

Chapter Six

“How far do you think we are from Goldwater?” Quinn asked as
they set up camp that night.

Dakota paused in unsaddling Lacy’s horse.

“If we don’t have any more problems, we should reach
Goldwater by tomorrow evening. Why?”

Quinn’s hands stilled on the beans he was stirring, shifting
his gaze over to the bundle of blankets where Lacy lay sleeping near the fire.
“She needs to sleep in a bed. The last thing we need is our only source of
information taking ill.”

Source of information?
Dakota had seen the way his
blood brother cradled the beautiful woman all afternoon then tucked her in by
the fire to rest. His actions contradicted his words. He’d bet a month’s pay
Quinn no longer thought of her simply as a means to finding Cap’s murderers.

“How long do you think we’ll be staying in town?”

Quinn went back to fixing their dinner. “We’ll find us a
good set of rooms and send telegrams to the others. By the time they arrive, we
should have the exact location of the gang. I’m guessing somewhere southwest of
Yellowstone.”

“You’re sure that’s where Devil’s gang is holed up?”

“Two places to hide out in Wyoming Territory.
Hole-in-the-Wall and Yellowstone. Once Lacy lied to send us east toward the
Hole-in-the-Wall, I pretty much figured we had to head west.”

Quinn’s instincts for finding people rarely failed. Even
without Lacy’s information they probably would’ve located the gang’s
hideout—eventually. Lacy provided expediency. With her help they’d stop Devil
and his henchmen, hopefully before anyone else died.

“So you’ve finally decided she’s innocent?”

Quinn’s jaw set in that stubborn way he had when he didn’t
want to admit he was wrong. “She isn’t innocent, Dakota. She’s already admitted
she took part in the bank robbery, but I’m willing to keep an open mind about
how involved she was with Cap’s murder.”

Dakota finished feeding the horses and stepped back to study
his brother. “Then why are you hurrying to get her off the trail and into a
hotel?”

“She needs rest to heal or she isn’t going to be any use to
us.” He stood and adjusted his pants. “Besides, I’m tired of sleeping on the
ground.”

Dakota lifted one brow as Quinn hobbled over to Lacy’s
sleeping form.

It wasn’t sleeping he was tired of doing on the ground.
Quinn wanted to fuck the beautiful captive as much as he did. Neither of them
would take advantage of her tonight. Despite their treatment of her so far,
they wouldn’t abuse an injured woman—at least not in the same day she’d nearly
died. Yep, the sooner they got her off the trail, the sooner they could sink
their cocks into her hot body.

* * * * *

They rode into Goldwater just before dusk the next day.

Unlike many of the end-of-line railroad boomtowns Lacy had
ridden through with Mama and Devil since leaving New Orleans, Goldwater seemed
to be prospering. The gold rush the town was named for had given way to coal
mining.

Not only were there a livery and stable at one end of town,
but also a general store with large glass windows flanked by a café and saloon.
The tinkle of a piano and the rumbling of male laughter spilled out into the
evening air as they passed by the saloon door.

A brick bank stood across the street right next to the
hotel. Miners and cowboys milled along the plank walkways, as at home as the
women hurrying their children from one building to the next.

Lacy’s body ached from her injuries and a complete day in
the saddle. She couldn’t wait to find a bed.

As they rode through town, a few people stopped to stare at
them, just as she had the day Quinn and Dakota rode into Beaver Run. Lacy held
her duster closed with her good hand as the spring wind whipped around her.
Beneath it she wore a white shirt Quinn had given her that morning. At least
he’d stopped binding her hands.

She might be riding with the two lawmen, but no one needed
to know the extent of her relationship with them, as prisoner or sexual
plaything, something she still hadn’t come to understand herself.

They stopped in front of a hotel, the only three-story
structure in the town.

Quinn dismounted, tying his horse to the rail. “Wait here.”
He sauntered into the hotel, leaving her with Dakota, who moved his mount
closer to hers but fixed his attention on the foot traffic coming and going
from the saloon across the street. She noticed him lay one hand on the butt-end
of the rifle strapped along his saddle, prepared for trouble.

A few minutes later, Quinn emerged through the hotel door.
“Got us two connecting rooms on the second floor.”

He helped her down from her horse. Even with his help, pain
shot through her shoulder and back with the effort. She hissed when her feet
landed on the ground and she slumped against him for a moment.

“You need me to carry you in?” His quiet question rumbled
against her ear.

Part of her wanted to beg to be cradled in his arms once
more, but the other part, the strong woman who’d survived living in Devil’s
camp, refused to give in. She shook her head and slowly straightened. He held
her by the waist until she looked him in the eye. Then he gave her a firm nod
and stepped back, one hand taking her uninjured arm.

He helped her step onto the wooden walkway then turned to
Dakota. “We’ll get settled and see about some food and a bath.”

“I’ll stable the horses then visit the telegraph office,”
Dakota said, taking their horses’ leads. He fixed her with a hard stare. “Leave
the dressing on your shoulder and back alone until I get there.”

“I can clean it myself,” she protested, only to have him
shake his head and narrow his dark eyes at her.

“It’s our job to look after you now. You can’t see your back
and shoulder, I can.”

“Don’t argue with the healer, sweetheart,” Quinn whispered
loud enough for them all to hear. “He once put something in my food that had me
puking up my guts for days, all because of a girl.”

“A girl?”

The corner of Dakota’s lips lifted and heat lit his eyes.
“You knew I wanted to take her to that dance when you asked her.”

“Learned my lesson. Never mess with a man who knows
poisonous plants.” Quinn gave a snort of a laugh. Grasping her elbow, he
steered her into the hotel.

These two men acted so differently from the ones she’d known
in Devil’s camp. If someone had poisoned another one over a woman, he wouldn’t
have hesitated to plug the other man full of lead. Who was she kidding? Poison
never would’ve entered into the mix. Bullets answered everything among Devil’s
men. She’d seen Santos kill two men for cheating at cards once. At least he’d
said they were cheating.

Yet Quinn and Dakota laughed over the incident like it was a
joke.

“This is it.” Quinn opened the door to the nicest room she’d
seen since leaving New Orleans.

A quilt-covered, wrought iron bed filled the space beneath
the windows, which had actual lace curtains hanging in front of them. The bed
looked so inviting to her tired, aching body that she headed straight for it.

“Whoa, there.” Quinn grabbed her uninjured arm again to
still her movement.

“Oh please, I just want to lie down.”

“In a little bit, darlin’.” He pulled her up against his
chest, his hands cupping her face and smoothing her dark curls away. Intense
blue eyes held her gaze captive long moments before he lowered his lips to
claim hers.

Immediate heat and energy flowed through her veins. She
parted her lips to allow him access and touched her tongue to his. His
responding deep growl sent another shiver of desire coursing over her. She’d
managed to make him lose some control. With only the touch of her tongue.

A knock sounded on the door. Quinn slowly eased away from
her, guiding her to sit in one of the room’s two ladder-back chairs. “We’ll
finish that later.”

With a finger to his lips, he palmed his Colt and stepped
over to the door. “Who is it?”

“I’ve got that tub and hot water you asked for, Marshal,”
came the answer from the other side of the door.

Cautiously, Quinn opened the door a crack then re-holstered
his gun to allow a gangly teen to carry in the large bathing tub.

“Ma’am.” The boy nodded briefly in Lacy’s direction before
settling the tub in front of the fire. He hurried back into the hall, returning
with several buckets of water, which he proceeded to slosh into the tub.
Finished, he brushed his hand on his dungarees and stared at the gun strapped
to Quinn’s thigh and the huge knife hanging from his belt for a moment before
swallowing hard and looking at Quinn as if he’d just grown two heads. “I’ll be
back in a minute with some hot water, Marshal.”

“You’re taking a bath?” Lacy asked after the door closed.

“I don’t plan on crawling into a clean bed with trail dirt
on me.” He unstrapped his holster from his firm thigh and lean hips, laying it
on the bureau on the opposite side of the room. Then he sat on the other chair
and pulled off his boots, letting each hit the floor with a thud. “So yes, I’m
taking a bath.”

God, what she wouldn’t give to climb into that tub and soak
all the weariness away. But she didn’t dare ask. Any time she’d wanted
something special, something more than Devil thought she should have, he’d
dashed her hopes with a well-placed slap.

Quinn pulled his shirt over his head and hung it on the back
of his chair.

Lacy swallowed hard. She couldn’t help staring at his naked
chest. Broad shoulders, solid muscles that flexed with each movement. Golden
hairs covered his chest lightly and darkened as they narrowed to a thin line
over the taut muscles of his abdomen before disappearing into the top of his
pants.