When Corey swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed, his fear reminding Braddock that he really was just a kid.
“He was hit pretty bad. Maybe he died.”
“I don’t think you’re that lucky, Corey.”
“Nope. Guess not.”
Braddock squatted to face him. “Seems to me you’d be better off in jail than running.”
“They’ll hang me.”
“Not if we give them Mulcahy and the gold. I’d say it’s your only chance, ’cause if the law doesn’t get you, Mulcahy will. I know the man. You’d rather be hanged than have him get his hands on you.”
Corey narrowed his gaze as if trying to see into Braddock’s soul. “What do you want?”
Braddock didn’t flinch under his scrutiny. There was nothing to see. “I want Lorelei someplace safe so I don’t have to worry about her. I want Mulcahy to hang and the gold returned. Then I’ll clear my name. In that order. If you get a lesser jail sentence in the process, that’s fine, but it’s not a priority.”
“So why should I help you?”
“I’m the only chance you have to keep the skin on your neck.”
“I could go it on my own.” The boy lifted his chin, letting Braddock know it was what he wanted him to believe he preferred.
“Or you could help me find Mulcahy in order to clear your sister’s name. As long as he’s free, you’re going to have to sleep with one eye open.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“And I don’t trust you.”
Corey shrugged. “I don’t even know where Mulcahy is.” Braddock didn’t believe him, but saying so wouldn’t get him the information. Fortunately, he had something else in mind. “You know where he’s been. We’ll start there. I’m a pretty decent tracker.”
Corey stood. “You stay away from Lorelei.”
Braddock wished he could tell Corey the same thing. The girl would be better off without either one of them. “I’ll leave that up to your sister,” he said instead.
Corey walked back toward camp as if he hadn’t heard. Braddock rubbed the back of his neck, relieved Corey had dropped the subject. Unfortunately, he knew continuing his relationship with Lorelei was wrong. He also knew that wasn’t going to stop him.
Corey turned back before he was out of earshot. “She’ll hold you responsible if something happens to me. She won’t forgive you.”
Braddock folded his arms over his chest, glad it was too dark for the kid to see his arrow hit its mark. He regretted not slapping him around while he had had the chance.
Corey quickly turned away again, but not before Braddock saw he was smiling.
Braddock shifted his weight. His right thigh throbbed in protest, reminding him he needed to take a look at the graze Langston had given him. He reluctantly followed Corey back to camp.
A golden glow flared out from the dark outline of the rocks. Instead of moving toward the fire, Braddock veered into the darkness, longing for a drink. Just one good shot of strong whiskey to shake the feeling of unease he was carrying around. He walked farther into the distance, away from Lorelei and her brother, hoping the desolate landscape would seep into him, return him to his old self.
All these different emotions—compassion, guilt, longing—tightened his chest and throat. Even the small scratch on his thigh pulsed with the pain of being human. He couldn’t say he liked being thrust back into the thick of things. After the war he had become numb. The only thing he felt was dependable sense of indifference.
Once the war ended and civilization took hold again, he couldn’t pretend that all those rules people set up for themselves and everyone else mattered. Couldn’t be polite when he didn’t feel like it. Couldn’t act like he cared when he didn’t. His parents had been horrified when their celebrated son came home and couldn’t be shown off properly. Braddock had lost his ability to be respectable, or so he had thought.
Well, he couldn’t say his intentions toward Lorelei were exactly respectable, not by most people’s standards, but he did have a strong desire to please her. He wanted to show her how good a man could make a woman feel.
The night had turned sharply cool, but the day’s heat still radiated from the ground. Thinking of the things he wanted to show Lorelei made the earth’s warmth shoot through the soles of his boots and pool in his groin. The last woman he had made love to whom he hadn’t paid was well before the war, a widow who enjoyed tutoring the boys from West Point in things other than academics. She had been his first real lover.
He hadn’t thought of that time in years. Hadn’t needed the widow’s special instruction. Whores didn’t care. They just wanted you to be quick or they charged extra.