Leather and Lace - By DiAnn Mills Page 0,12

kind of man he is, but he’s done an honorable thing by me. What I’m asking is for You to please spare him. I’d be greatly obliged. Amen. She paused. And, God, no matter what happens—whether he lives or dies—I’m finished with the past. My ma taught me how to live right, and I know she’s with You now. So if You don’t mind, I’d like for You to please tell her I’m changing my ways. Maybe someday Tim will, too. Thank You for listening.

Casey wiped the wetness from her cheeks. Something about this man made her react like a female, a trait she’d long since ignored. She inspected the ropes that secured him to the travois and thought about all the men she’d seen die. Glancing into the heavens, she sighed and hoped there lived a God who heard prayers.

*****

Casey rode with a firm hold on the rope leading Morgan’s horse. Her fingers grew numb from the grip. Her palms laid raw against the rough rope. She’d tucked her gloves inside a saddlebag when they became too cumbersome each time she stopped to check on Morgan. The profuse bleeding and his uneven breathing told a grim story. He clung to life by a mere thread.

She attempted to toss aside a sickening thought. Had Morgan been betrayed by Jenkins? Was her opinion of the dying man based on fool’s ground? Surely not. Surely she had not been blinded by the dream of freedom and the possibility of a man she could trust.

For most of the journey, Morgan remained unconscious. In rare moments, low, guttural sounds rose to his lips. At those times, she stopped to moisten his lips with water and wipe droplets of sweat from his face, sweat that came from the battle he was fighting. He resembled a mangled animal: bloody and helpless. She agonized if her efforts were killing him or helping him cling to life.

My fault. My fault.

Normally the solitude of the open country offered a reprieve from an angry world. This time she ignored it all and focused on the critical matters ahead. Finding Doc to care for Morgan stood foremost in her mind. Once Morgan was treated and the danger had passed, she’d leave Vernal for the sake of those two men. No one, absolutely no one, would ever risk his life for her again.

With the slow progress, she continuously focused her attention in all directions for signs of Jenkins’s men. The threat of being discovered tarried in the air, and her head felt like someone kept hitting her with a closed fist. Sleep, she needed sleep.

Casey’s mind raced with loathsome memories of Jenkins. She shook her head and refused to dwell on the past. In the beginning, Tim had tried to protect her. Then he became like one of them. He’d come to her aid today, but he wouldn’t again. She could feel it in her bones.

Her gaze rested on the figure behind her. She wanted to believe Morgan was different from Jenkins. The outlaw stood for all the dark and contemptuous parts of her past, while Morgan offered hope. But they could have been working together and something had gone wrong. She desperately craved for Morgan to be a good man, but she couldn’t afford to be stupid. Stupid got you killed. She had to be ready for the truth, as ugly as it might be.

A faint cry from Morgan interrupted her thoughts. “Casey,” he whispered.

She reined in Stoney and hurried to his aid. “Leave me,” he said between gasps. “I’ll . . . slow you down.”

“No, sir. We’re in this together. Jenkins was shot, and his leg’s broke. So we have a head start. We’re okay for now, and besides, I’ve got to get you to a doctor.”

He mouthed the word. “Vernal?”

“Yes, and we’re nearly there.”

It took several long moments for him to form his words. More beads of sweat rolled down his face. She brushed them away with her fingertips. “Won’t make it . . . . Leave me.”

“No.” She checked the blood-soaked bandages and noted his colorless face in the evening shadows. “You just hush and save your strength.”

She mounted her horse, and Stoney trudged ahead. Soon darkness wrapped its cloak around them and concealed the pair from the daggers of night. A clear sky filled with glimmering stars, and a slice of moon offered a silver path. Every step inched them closer to safety.

In the wee hours of the morning, they arrived in Vernal. The town resounded with

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