Gabriel's Law

by Pierson, Cheryl

  If Brandon didn't show up in the next few minutes, they were all going to be lying dead on the cabin floor.

  * * * * *

  Brandon carefully flexed his hand. It ached all the way into his elbow, but he kept it from showing on his face. Jay would be worried, if he had even the slightest doubt of the outcome.

  Jay walked beside him with confident strides that were matched to his, only because he was walking more slowly than usual. The need to hurry was burning inside him, but the methodical caution he'd learned tempered it. Rushing could put a very quick end to things.

  "It's right yonder, on the other side of this meadow," Jay said, pointing through the thick stand of elm trees. "Do you want me to show you?"

  Brandon smiled at the boy's eagerness. "No." He stopped and knelt, looking Jay in the eyes. "Jay, I don't know…how this will turn out, so—"

  "Well, you'll fix Tom Carver, that's how! Clean his clock for 'im!"

  "Maybe. But I don't know what to expect. If everything goes right, then—" He broke off. 'If everything goes right,' I kill another man. What kind of legacy was that? Yet, he hadn't gone looking for trouble. Tom Carver, Arnie Smith, and the others had laid it at his doorstep. He was only finishing what they'd begun with their betrayal.

  It was important that he do this right for so many reasons, and the look of pure faith and trust on Jay's face was not the least of them. He couldn't let Jay down, but he had to make sure he understood. There was killing to rid the world of vermin, and there was killing to stay alive. Sometimes, the killing accomplished both things.

  "Jay, you know I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to."

  "I know. But you have to. Doc needs us. And Jimmy's pa, too."

  He was surprised at that. Jimmy's pa could rot in hell, he wanted to reply, but instead, he said, "You're worryin' for Arnie Smith? Why?" His tone was sharper than he'd intended, and Jay looked down at the ground.

  "I know he's bad," Jay said, "but I think Jimmy would be all alone without him. I'd be sad if my pa – if you – had to…go away." He looked up at Brandon once more. "Besides, I think he might be a good pa. I seen him put his hand on Jimmy's shoulder one time, and he smiled at him."

  Brandon couldn't speak. Jay's innocent observations had opened a window into his own soul that he could see through clearly. Allie had given the boy her compassion; that much was obvious.

  He nodded. "All right, Jay. I'll see what I can do. But Doc, Sam, and Owen Morris have to come first." He stood up and started forward again. "You better go on back, now. I don't want to be worryin'—"

  "I'll stay out of the way. Please, let me come with you!"

  "No. Jay, I can't take a chance that you might get hurt."

  "I won't. An' you're my pa! You need me."

  Brandon stopped and put a finger under Jay's chin to lift his head. "Don't you ever forget it, Jay. I need you. You're mine. But I have to protect you too."

  "We'll protect each other. Like me an' Big Mack do."

  "Not this time, son. You go on home. I'll be back there shortly."

  Reluctantly, Jay turned away, his heavy disappointment evident by the slope of his shoulders. Brandon watched him go until he was sure there was no indication that Jay would double back.

  Only then did he move forward silently through the forest, skirting the rim of the meadow as he kept to the trees. There was an almost non-existent trail on the other side. He followed it over a small rise and, after a few hundred feet, came to a narrow clearing. A dilapidated line shack nestled at the edge of the opposite side of the woods, hanging brokenly on its frame like an over-sized piece of clothing on an old rag doll.

  Brandon stopped, taking stock of his surroundings. He was skilled in the art of stealth, his footfalls making no sound as he started forward once more. He stopped, blending with the trees around him.

  The door stood open, and from where Brandon leaned near a towering black oak tree, he could see part of a man's arm and leg. It had to be Tom Carver. Smith wouldn't be standing, with his injury, and Brandon knew the clothing wasn't right for any of the other three.

  With Carver's back to him, Brandon could get close; maybe even take him by surprise. But he wasn't fool enough to rush in. Was Carver in this alone, or was he trying to draw him out into the open? His gut told him this was a solo venture for Carver, but he couldn't risk it – not now that he had so much to lose.

  He could go no farther under the cover of the trees. If Carver turned, he'd see him. Brandon drew the gun, letting his palm and fingers meld with walnut and steel to become one.

  He kept his eyes riveted on Carver's arm and leg, and then suddenly, Carver's whole body came into view, framed in the open doorway as he stood erect, rigid with fury.

  "You little bastard! I ought to kill you right now!" Carver moved to kick something across the floor. A gun, Brandon could tell from the clatter of it. Small. Most likely the one Sam had stashed in his boot.

  Carver bent to yank the boy up, and Brandon started forward into the sunlight with deadly purpose. Carver shook Sam, and though Sam tried to hide his fear, Brandon recognized the bravado that covered it. The boy's eyes widened as he raised his hands to ward off Carver's upraised fist.

  "You tryin' to trick me, boy? Where is Brandon Gabriel? I want him, and I want him now."

  Brandon stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, cocking his gun. "You've got me, you son of a bitch. Turn your ass around."

  At the sound of Brandon's voice, Carver jerked, turning as he dragged Sam in front of him. His eyes were almost as wide as Sam's had been just moments earlier.

  Brandon's lips curved in a faint smile. "Let that boy go, and die like a man."

  "I – didn't think–" Carver broke off, swallowing hard. "You was half dead!"

  "I heal fast." Brandon spread his legs in the familiar stance. He eased his gun back into the holster. "Draw."

  Carver looked startled. Then his expression became cunning. He slowly took out his gun and put it to Sam's head. "I don't think I want to do that, Mr. Gabriel."

  A cold weight settled in Brandon's chest. He'd encountered plenty of men like Carver in the past. Weak. Cowardly. A cheating bastard. These were the hardest to best. Their fear made them desperate. And Tom Carver was very, very afraid right now.

  "Come out here," Brandon said quietly. "Come into the light."

  Carver threw a glance over his shoulder toward the interior of the cabin.

  "Doc?" Brandon called. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine," was the reply. "We're all fine, except Arnie."

  "How bad's he hurt?"

  "He'll make it, if I can get him into town – to my office."

  Carver laughed. "What do you care, Gabriel? You should be glad I put a couple of rounds in his fat ass for you."

  Brandon shook his head. "No. Meddling'll get you killed." He kept his voice even, and Carver tightened his hold on Sam's neck as his arm tensed. His lips compressed briefly. Brandon kept his eyes locked on Carver, ready for any sudden movement. He was painted into a corner. Brandon had to offer him something attractive enough to make him let Sam go.

  "Do you want to live, Carver?"

  Carver gave a low laugh. "I'm not stupid. I know you're not gonna allow that – not more'n five minutes, anyhow."

  Brandon shrugged unconcernedly, veiling his eyes. Carver was right about that, but Sam's life depended on him believing otherwise. "I'm only interested in the others, not you. You ride out of here, and don't stop. Don't go home, and don't go to your business. Just get on your horse and ride. Don't look back."

  The light of hope flared in Carver's eyes at Brandon's words. "You won't follow me?"

  Brandon forced himself to breathe deep and slow. He was going to do it. "No. I won't follow. You just give me your word you'll never come back here again."

  "No!" a voice shouted from inside the shack.

  Arnie Smith.

  "No! Don't trust him, Gabriel!"

  From inside, Brandon could hear Doc's muffled voice shush
ing Arnie. But the distraction had been enough to break the spell of false security that Carver had been under. He took a step back, his face hard and set.

  "No, Arnie's right. You wouldn't trust me, would you, Gabriel? You'd follow, and you'd find me. I'd never be able to sleep again, would I?"

  Brandon sighed, tamping down his frustration. "Let's end all speculation, then, Carver, about your sleeping habits. You can wonder, or we can end it here. One of us will sleep forever, and the other one—" he shrugged, "—the other one of us will be able to go to bed tonight with a clear mind."

  "Nothing ever goes right for me," Carver muttered. "First Arnie, then you. I'm half a mind to blow this kid's head off just to please myself for once."

  Brandon flexed his hand slowly. It hurt, but he could use it. If he drew now, would Carver kill Sam first? Or would he try to save himself? He couldn't shield himself behind Sam and get a decent, fast shot off in Brandon's direction. Carver's head was close to Sam's – it was a shot Brandon didn't want to risk, yet there might be no choice.

  "What good would that do?" Brandon asked. "He's nothing to you." He stood, relaxed but ready, his hand hovering close to the walnut stock of the .45 at his hip. "I'm the one you want, Carver. Let's do it."

  Chapter 23

  Allie's breath caught, and she leaned against an elm tree near the edge of the woods. She'd promised Bran she would wait at their cabin, but how could she? Now that he'd walked back into her life again, she realized how raw the hole in her heart had been…how she'd missed him. She couldn't bear to lose him again, certainly not permanently.

  From where she stood, she could see just what Brandon was seeing – Tom Carver, with his gun at Sam's temple, his elbow crooked around the boy's neck tightly.

  She'd changed into jeans and a cotton work shirt, pulling on her boots as soon as Jay and Brandon had disappeared. When Jay returned, she grabbed the new repeater she'd taken from Zach Anderson's store two days earlier, and set off at a trot toward the line shack.

  She'd put Ben in charge of the younger boys and threatened them within an inch of their lives if they followed her, including Jay and Jimmy Smith.

  Now, she stood helpless to do one thing.

  Brandon looked almost negligent in his stance, but Allie was not deceived. It was the slow flex of his hand, which would have gone undetected by anyone who didn't know him, that worried her. He was testing his smashed fingers and bruised muscles before he drew.

  "I'm no fool," Carver called.

  A cold smile crossed Brandon's face. "No. You're a chickenshit."

  Carver's thin lips drew back tightly, showing his teeth. "I'll kill you for that, Breed."

  "Quit talking, then. Let that boy go and come for me, Carver."

  With a sudden movement, Carver snarled in rage, flinging Sam away from him as he squeezed the trigger and leveled his gun in one motion.

  But Brandon had his .45 in his hand, the barrel smoking as he dropped, rolled, and fired in rapid succession.

  For a moment, there was no movement inside the little shack or out. In that short space of time, the only sounds that filled the still summer day were the lazy drone of honeybees seeking the sweet fields of clover, the call of the mourning doves, one to the next, and the hot breath of a slow breeze.

  Then, with a short stuttering step, Tom Carver went to his knees, the life already gone from his startled eyes. He pitched forward, flat on his face across the narrow porch. The last breath he'd drawn rushed out of his body, along with a groan, and then he lay still.

  Allie closed her eyes, stifling a gasp, and then realized there was no need to keep silent any longer.

  Brandon. Had Tom Carver hit him? She started to run. She only had eyes for Brandon, as he got to his feet, slow to rise. He turned at the sound of her footsteps. He holstered his gun with a curse, tinged more with concern than anger, and caught her to him.

  His mouth came across hers as he wrapped his arms around her, his left hand splaying through her long hair, clutching the silken mass as she opened her mouth under his.

  Alive. Her thoughts sang the word again and again, in rhythm with her pounding heart. His thumbs moved over her cheeks, and she realized she was crying; that he was wiping her tears away as his lips moved across hers in a slow, sweet kiss. Reassurance with no words needed. He was not hurt. He loved her. It was over.

  He lifted his head giving her a half-smile. "Okay?"

  She nodded, then sniffed. "Yes. Yes, I'm okay."

  "Stop crying, Allie," he whispered. "I'm okay too."

  He pulled her to him, smoothing her hair beneath his palm, and she felt his heart beat much slower and calmer than her own.

  He shifted his position, and she pulled away to follow his gaze. Doc knelt beside Carver, looking at Owen Morris in silence. Owen stood straight, his face set in grim lines, a challenge in his eyes. "Do we still have a partnership?" His voice was soft, more clipped in the anxiety he tried to hide. "I took the oath, same as you, but in this case—"

  The back part of Carver's skull was gone. Blood pooled around him where he lay, and began to drip from the wood planks to the ground.

  "Hell with the oath, Owen." Doc stood slowly, his eyes locked with Owen's questioning gaze. "I'd say that's not the first time you've dealt with vermin like Carver."

  Owen shook his head. "No."

  Doc put out his hand, and Owen clasped it for a long moment, his thanks and relief evident in the way he gripped Doc's palm.

  Brandon stepped away from Allie, climbing the stairs of the porch slowly. He nudged Carver over onto his back, with a quick glance at the two doctors as he did so. Another bullet hole in Carver's body, in his chest, blossomed red as his blood seeped to the porch.

  Brandon looked up at Owen. "You didn't kill him, Doctor. I did."

  "Brandon—" Owen began.

  "I'm the elder medical authority here, Owen," Doc said sharply, "and I agree with Brandon. He has a reputation to uphold," he murmured, looking over the top of his glasses, "and so do you."

  Owen clamped his lips together and nodded. "I'm obliged."

  Brandon shook his head. "No call for that. It is what it is." He glanced at Sam, who was standing just inside the doorway. "Are you all right, Sam?"

  Sam nodded, but from where she stood, Allie could see the pallor of his normally dark complexion. She started forward, but stopped short at the distinctive whistle that came from the woods behind. Jay.

  She had made him and the others promise to stay behind. She should've known the boys wouldn't be able to resist the fascinating lure of the gunplay they'd just witnessed, no matter what dire consequences she'd threatened. Swallowing back her anger, she turned to see the boys emerging sheepishly from the trees, Big Mack walking slowly ahead of them. Jay had been trying to call him back.

  Allie bent to pet the dog as he stiffly limped up to where she stood. As if sensing her roiling emotions, Big Mack licked her hand and looked up at her in silent intervention for Jay.

  After a moment, Jay joined him. "Ma, I'm sorry. An' we'll take our punishment, but – well, we couldn't stay behind! Not with Pa goin' up against Tom Carver."

  Jimmy rushed up, standing next to Jay. "He's right, Ma'am. We had to come. I had to know my pa was safe. Please, don't be mad at us."

  Allie ruffled Jay's hair and smiled at him, then looked at Jimmy's worried face. "Let's go see about your pa, Jimmy."

  The boys were gathering around them now, and Allie looked at Brandon. Should they cover Carver's body? He shook his head slightly in response to her unasked question.

  "Let them have a look, Allie," he said softly. "This is what they came to see. I want it to stick with them – forever."

  Jimmy had run on ahead, into the cabin, with a cursory look at the dead man. As Allie followed him up the steps, the other boys gathered around the gruesome sight, expressing their opinions in quiet tones. Two of the younger ones stayed back, not wanting to get too close.

  Brandon stood silently, looking at the boys. After a f
ew seconds, he said, "I killed this man because he tried to destroy what we're working for – our ranch. He wanted me, and I don't run from a fight. Sometimes, men are unreasonable. You can't talk it out. You have to settle it with fists. Or with a gun." He fell silent once more, and Allie watched the emotions play across his handsome face.

  He was worried. He needed to say this all just right, so the boys would understand.

  "I protect what's mine." His eyes rested on each of the boys briefly, then held Allie's. A smile touched his lips, and she lifted her head, encouragement in her eyes. He nodded in acknowledgement. "It's Gabriel's Law. You belong somewhere now." He looked around the circle of upturned faces. "Here, with us. We're a family now."

  Allie felt a lump form in her throat as he spoke. His words were for her, as well as the boys. He was letting her know her dream was now his too, and he wanted it as much as she did.

  "Let's go home, boys. We've got some cattle pens to build, and we're burnin' daylight."

  * * * * *

  The boys slowly turned away, Jay leading them back toward the path. Within a few moments, the somberness that had enveloped them lifted, and snatches of talking, even laughter, floated back through the woods to where Allie, Doc, Owen, and Brandon stood on the front porch.

  Brandon turned at the sound of a sob from the interior of the cabin. He'd almost forgotten about Jimmy and Arnie.

  Allie looked up at him, a question in her beautiful features. What would he do about Arnie Smith?

  Owen stepped forward and laid a hand on Brandon's arm. "Marcus and I will take care of this, Brandon. Why don't you and Allie go back and see to the boys…build those pens." He gave a wry smile. "I can handle a dead body as well as the next man, and leave Marcus to oversee his querulous patient in there." He cocked his head toward the doorway.

  Doc shook his head, running a gnarled hand through his thinning hair. "I'd say you'll have a more pleasant task than I will, Owen. Good Lord... He's in there bawling." He turned away to go through the door to the dim interior.

  Brandon's lips curved at Owen's offer. "I'll head back in a minute. First, I've got a word for Arnold Smith."