After the Ashes(45)

“Corey says Mulcahy will kill him.”

“If he gets his hands on him, I imagine he will.” He put a hand on Corey’s shoulder and shoved him to the ground against the tree.

Braddock strode over to his scattered belongings then, inspecting what had been taken before he repacked the rest. Lorelei’s gaze strayed to Corey. He looked like a pig trussed for market. With a motion of his head, he gestured toward Braddock in a silent plea for help. She stared at Braddock’s broad back, not sure what she could do, but knowing she had to do something.

As she approached him, she noticed Braddock’s rifle propped against a thick pine. She glanced back at Corey. The unguarded weapon hadn’t gotten past him. He motioned again, the rifle clearly his intended target.

Braddock knelt between her and the weapon. She wasn’t sure she could get to it, and was even less sure she could use it against him. Braddock wasn’t a man who could be bluffed. Perhaps she could shoot him in the leg. The thought of hurting him at all sent her stomach to her knees. But if she didn’t find her courage and something happened to her brother, she’d never forgive herself.

Helpless to make a decision, she maneuvered herself within reach of the gun, hoping it wouldn’t come to that. “You can’t let Mulcahy get his hands on Corey. Doesn’t that prove to you he’s innocent? The man he was supposed to be in cahoots with wants to kill him.”

She noticed the rabbit then. He must have had it tucked away during the confrontation with Corey. Braddock skinned the animal with quick, detached motions. His hands were covered with blood, his eyes filled with cold disgust. “He’s not innocent.”

His statement didn’t leave room for argument. The rifle leaned directly behind her. Christopher remained turned away—purposely avoiding looking at her, she suspected. She could swivel on her heels and grab the weapon. Indecision mired her in what felt like knee-deep mud. The desire to trust him kept her feet firmly planted.

With great effort she took a step toward him, and one away from the rifle.

“What about me?”

He still didn’t look at her. “What about you?”

“What do you intend to do with me?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder, then turned away. “I never intended anything, Lorelei.”

She clasped her shaking hands behind her back. If she could get the rifle, what would riding out of here accomplish? Where would they go?

She glanced at Corey. His silent, anxious pleading unnerved her. What had justice ever done for any of them? Justice didn’t rescue her father when he was accused of cheating in a horse race. They’d been turned out of their house to pay fines. And there was that awful month her father spent in jail. Supposedly the punishment had been lenient, but it had broken her father’s spirit and his pride. He’d never been the same after that. Her mother’s words haunted her. Corey was too much like her father.

Lorelei knew what she had to do. “After you catch Mulcahy, they’ll send Corey to jail.”

“Yep.” Braddock stuck a sharpened spit through the poor rabbit’s glistening body.

“There’s nothing you’ll do?”

He poured water from a canteen over his bloody hands, then shook them dry. “Nope.”

“But you said—”

He stood and faced her, stopping anything else she might have had to say. She backed up, suddenly afraid of him.

“I said I wanted to help you. Not him. He robbed a stagecoach. I said I might—might,”—his teeth shone white against his dark-stubbled beard as he ground out his words—“be able to keep him from hanging, but I never said anything about keeping him out of jail.”

He turned away, but then abruptly whipped around as if he suspected her plan. “So you can stop looking at me like I have two heads. I’m not the one who had any other motives besides having a good time. Sorry I ruined your plans, sweetheart.”

He turned his back to her again and tossed wood into a pile to start a fire.

The urge to explain, to tell him he had overheard wrong, shriveled in the harsh light of his words. Shooting him in the leg—the thigh, better yet—became more and more appealing. She didn’t deserve his cruel assessment. Even though there were never any promises made, and she should have known better, she thought there was more between them than “having a good time,” as he so crudely put it.

She quietly and calmly picked up the rifle. He never once glanced her way. She had all the time in the world to fix her aim on his head while he crouched over the smoking wood.

Casually he raised his gaze to hers. His cold expression didn’t waver in the least at the sight of her raised weapon. “It’s not loaded, Lorelei.”