As they rode over the last rise, Brandon drew to a halt. He sat looking at the activity on the land below. Allie peered over his shoulder, seeing what he saw; the milling cattle, loosely penned on three sides. The men and boys worked side by side on the fourth side, stringing the fence to make the temporary pen they needed.
Their dream, taking shape before their eyes. The cabin was a true home now, Allie thought. Suddenly, it seemed small. Her gaze settled on Jay, working alongside some of the older boys, laughing at something someone had said. He was truly happy. The drovers had each taken small groups of the boys and were working with them to set the posts and string the wire.
"Quite an operation isn't it?" Brandon murmured.
Allie carefully laid her head against his back. "I couldn't have done it without you, Brandon."
He gave a short laugh. "Glad to be of service, ma'am."
"Let's get home, Mr. Gabriel. I want to feed everyone and get to bed."
"Tired?"
"I didn't say that." She smiled against his shirt. "You were the one who mentioned 'service'."
* * * * *
Allie had just given the younger boys their meals when Ben and Sam pulled the wagon up into the yard. The men and older boys were putting the finishing touches on the temporary fence line, and as Allie handed the youngsters their plates, she could see Brandon's evident relief as he crossed the yard to meet the wagon.
She had to admit to feeling the same way. Not knowing who else had been in league with Carver, Smith, and Johnson, and to what lengths they'd go, wore thin. It could be they were all safe, that the trouble was handled. But the possibility did exist that there were others of the same ilk, still waiting…biding their time. How many times had she checked the clock on the mantle? More than usual, she knew. But the boys were home safe now, and their dinner would be ready shortly. The fence line was set, and men and boys alike straggled back toward the cabin, hot, dirty, and worn out.
Allie pushed back an errant strand of hair, feeling the warm flush in her cheeks. Cooking in the small quarters was suddenly stifling. Two of the drovers had butchered a beef earlier and the smell of steaks frying outside wafted through the open front door and the kitchen window. She suddenly realized how hungry she was, too.
She took up the pan of fried potatoes and drew the second pan of biscuits from the oven. There were not going to be enough plates. A sigh of exasperation escaped her lips.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Brandon's voice startled her. She jumped and turned to face him, putting her hand to her pounding heart. "Sorry." He gave her an apologetic smile and reached for one of the potatoes.
"Not enough plates."
"Those boys are already finished," Brandon said with a laugh. "I'll send 'em down to the creek to wash them, and—"
"Send Sam with them, will you?" She took the butter down and began to butter the biscuits.
Brandon was silent a moment. "I could, but he's had a pretty rough day. You expecting trouble still?"
"No, but you know— Boys and a creek. I – don't want to take any chances. They aren't familiar."
"They need to learn, Allie," he said gently. "It's too much to watch every one of them every second."
"I thought Sam—"
"No."
Allie looked up at him, surprised at the sharp edge in his voice.
"Allie – Sam's not responsible for the boys. He and Ben have had to be because of circumstances, but—" He raked a hand through his hair and drew a sleeve over his forehead. He felt something more for Sam; it was obvious. And it puzzled him, Allie could see.
"Brandon, I know it's not ideal, but things have happened so quickly – we'll sort it all out in the next couple of days." Either Sam would tell Brandon, or she would.
"I'll go with 'em." He turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Allie started to protest. He had already done too much. But when he got that look in his face, that tone in his voice – there was no stopping him, Allie knew. She reached for a couple of bars of lye soap and hurried after him.
"Wait—"
"Soap," he muttered, turning so abruptly that she walked into him. He put his hands out quickly, catching her, steadying her.
She held it up, a bar in each hand, laughing. A slow smile touched his lips, a hint of a tease in his eyes, but when he spoke he was serious.
"If I'd known I was missing the other half of my soul all these years, I would've moved heaven and earth to find you."
She sobered. "You don't think you did enough?"
"No. Not by half. I should've – followed through. Been more persistent, I guess, rather than waiting for Fate to bring us together."
Fate. This would be a perfect opportunity to let him know what else Fate had brought him, Allie thought. A brother he never even knew existed.
"Brandon—"
"Hey! Those potatoes and biscuits done yet?" a deep voice called from outside.
Brandon leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss. "This won't take long. The drovers'll have their own camp gear. You can dish them up while we're gone."
He turned and walked out onto the porch, and Allie could hear him telling the younger boys to follow him. Sam's questioning tones floated to her on the evening air, and Brandon's assuring response.
Allie put half the biscuits and potatoes on a large platter and carried it out to the fire where the drovers were lining up for their portions of the meat the cook was serving up. She went back inside for a platter of onions and some of the pickles she had canned last year.
When she stepped back outside with the platter, Owen excused himself from the other men and came to take it from her. "Everything okay?" he asked, concern high in his face. "I heard about what happened in town earlier." He hesitated a moment. "Wish I'd been there to lend a hand, but I'd already headed back here with supplies by that time. How's Brandon?"
They stepped down from the porch and started toward the group of men by the fire.
"You know Brandon," Allie said quietly. "He did what he had to do."
Owen shrugged. "That doesn't make it any easier…just because it has to be done."
"No." There was something about Owen's words that made Allie wonder – not for the first time – about his past. He seemed to have an understanding of someone like Brandon that went far beyond the surface down to the inner workings of his soul, his reasoning, and his thoughts.
Owen handed the platter of relish to the cook, who made a dour comment about 'fancy trimmins' as the other cowpunchers descended on the vegetables with calls of thanks.
As they started back toward the house, Allie turned to look up into Owen's face. "I wanted to say thank you for everything. You're been a good friend. We couldn't have done this – any of it – without you."
Owen shrugged and grinned. "Just in the right place at the right time to offer my help."
"If you're talking about bringing out the supplies earlier, yes. Everything else, I believe, you've done because—" she broke off, but Owen wouldn't allow it.
"Because?"
She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me, Allie. I'm everything I claimed to be; a one-time preacher, a doctor—"
"A hired gun?"
He fell silent, looking away toward the gathering dusk. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and indecision hovered in his blue eyes for an instant. "Yes," he answered slowly. "But…no more. I'm here to start over."
Just then, Brandon and the boys emerged from the edge of the woods. Owen returned his gaze to her. She gave a slight nod. "We're glad to have you, Owen. And again, thank you for everything. Including your honesty."
He smiled, relieved. "You're welcome. Let's get these boys fed," he said, starting up the steps. "I'm starving."
* * * * *
Finally. Brandon shut the bedroom door behind him and leaned against it briefly. Every part of his body hurt. He knew he'd pushed his limits today, but it had all been necessary.
He'd killed Abe Johnson, true enough. But To
m Carver? He wasn't so sure his bullet had been the one to end Carver's life this morning. He'd felt a kind of understanding with Owen Morris – one he couldn't name. When Morris had put three slugs in Tom Carver with such expediency, he'd understood what Doc had in that same instant; Owen was no ordinary doctor. He'd come west for a reason, and one he'd glibly stated more than once. He was here to make a new start. Or start over.
It wasn't that Brandon minded a man making a fresh start. That was exactly what he was doing, himself. But for that very reason, he had to know exactly who Owen was – and why he was starting over; questions that normally would be categorized as being Owen's own business now became the very ones he had to have answers to. He'd stayed alive these twenty-five years by being cautious and aware.
He was a stranger here in Spring Branch, himself; that was true enough. But, so was Owen Morris. He just needed to know they would both be fighting for the same things – not just today, but from now on. He'd been around long enough to know things weren't always what they seemed – and neither were people.
Allie was upset with him. He could tell by the way she moved, her steps measured, as she turned back the bed, adjusted the lamps, and fluffed the pillows. Maybe she was just tired, too.
"You've done way too much today."
No. She wasn't just tired.
Brandon stood away from the door and walked to the bed, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt. He was in no mood to deal with her anger for something he'd had no control over. "Which part should I have left out?"
Allie's head came up quickly from where she stood beside the bed, unbuttoning her own clothing.
Brandon gave up on the buttons. His hand hurt like hell. He sat down and automatically started to reach for his boot.
"No – let me." Allie came around the bed, kneeling on the floor in front of him as she reached for his right foot. Her hair shimmered in the soft golden lamplight as she put out her hand, her fingers closing around the underside of his calf, urging his foot up.
Brandon sat immobile for an instant, and Allie looked up at him, the dark velvet of her eyes locking with his and holding.
"Let me," she said again in a whisper.
"I hate this." But he let her pull off the boot, then the other.
She put them side by side at the end of the bed, her lips trembling. "I know."
He stood up slowly. A wave of dizziness slid through him, and he widened his stance quickly to be able to hold onto his balance. He sighed in frustration, and Allie's hands came around his waist steadying him until his equilibrium righted itself.
"How are you still standing?" she whispered.
His lips curved faintly as his arms came around her, holding onto her as if she was the only solid thing in his entire world. "I'm not. At least, I'm not doing a very good job of it."
She moved her palms to his belly, now that he was holding onto her. She unbuttoned the placket of his jeans. Her fingers grazed the tip of him, and he sucked in his breath sharply.
She laughed. "Sorry."
But not too sorry, he thought, or her fingers wouldn't have danced over his hot flesh that second time, encircling him just for a moment before she opened the last three buttons.
He swallowed hard as his flesh quickened in her grasp, his hips thrusting forward slowly as he filled her hand. She let go reluctantly and began to push his jeans down. He groaned, closing his eyes for an instant, and then kicked the jeans away as they slid to his feet.
Her hands moved up, sliding deliberately over his taut flesh. Slowly, she tracked her way up to the remaining buttons on his shirt, slipping them free until the material hung open. He shrugged out of it as she ran her palms over his flesh, between his shoulders, and the sweat-damp material. The warm air touching his skin felt somewhat cooler, though he didn't see how. Though full darkness was upon them, the night air was still, with no hint of a breeze, and even now, nearly as stifling as it had been hours earlier in the sun.
Allie's clothes followed his to a heap in the floor, the satin and sinew of their bodies kissing each other with glancing touches as they stood in the near darkness, face to face.
Her hands caressed him gently again for only an instant before moving up his hips and sides. He could do no more than stand, and that was taking every bit of what energy he possessed. He realized she was hesitating. Did she feel he'd been too cavalier with the killings he'd done? He couldn't help but look at his own hands, resting on her shoulders. Hands that had killed more men than he wanted to think about. He couldn't change it. Maybe, having seen what he was capable of first-hand, Allie had changed her mind.
"I killed two men today."
She raised her head slowly to meet his eyes in the near-darkness. "I think – you only killed one. But it doesn't matter, Brandon. Not to me."
The look she gave him was so sweet, so pure, so true, that he felt humbled by it. The trusting love that shone in her expression was a picture he'd carry in his heart until his last day.
"You protected us – me, the boys, our ranch – that's what matters. And I love you for that, Bran."
She meant it, no doubt. He smiled wearily. "Why the hesitation, then?"
She shook her head and looked down. "Selfish of me, to want you like I do. You're so tired…oh," she waved a hand, "you put up a good front for everyone out there, but I know you. I see the pain in your eyes when you forget and move your hand too much. I see the weariness in the lines here—" She touched the sides of his mouth and his forehead. "And yet, here I am thinking of how much I want you. How much I need you."
"Feeling guilty, are you?"
"Don't tease me, Brandon. I mean everything I've said."
He lifted her chin, and leaned forward to cover her mouth with his own. Her lips parted, and he slipped his tongue inside her mouth, kissing her long, and slow, and hot.
The hard length of him rubbed her belly and she moaned softly, encircling him with her hand, her thumb passing over the tip of him.
He lifted his lips from hers. "Do I feel weary to you now?" he whispered raggedly. "I need you, Allison, as much as you need me. One man, or two – I've done murder today. It's left a wound in me only you can heal. Come make me whole again."
She pushed him down gently to the bed, following, to fit her body atop his. Her breasts teased his chest, his manhood flush against her, their legs entwined as she put her mouth to his once more and he gave her control of the kiss.
Her hands moved slowly over his body, neck, shoulders, and armpits, gliding down his sides, over his ribs, with gentle care, as if she were memorizing every hollow and plane of him. Her mouth followed her hands, kissing, licking, tasting every place her hands had charted. But when she began to move lower, he stopped her, pulling her back up to him.
He rolled over, taking her with him, pinning her beneath him. "Kiss me," he whispered, nipping at her full lower lip. Her breath hissed inward as his naked, hot skin glided over hers.
He grinned, reaching for her wrists, pinioning them above her head. She turned back quickly to glare up at him, her eyes ablaze with emerald fire. She didn't bother to ask him to release her. They both knew that wasn't going to happen until he was ready.
"Kiss me." He tasted her, felt her lips tremble beneath his tongue. His mouth came over hers slowly, deliberately, his hard chest skimming across the cradling softness of her breasts.
She tensed beneath him, straining up toward the touch of his skin on hers, and the languid possession of her mouth as he stole her breath from her body.
He drew her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked it as her hips moved up, seeking him. He held her wrists easily with only one hand now, the other moving to her hair, cupping her cheek tenderly.
Brandon lifted his mouth, needing to hear it from her again. "Tell me," he muttered. He nipped her chin playfully, then ran his tongue over her lips.
"I love you."
He moved his hand lower, covering her breast, feeling the hard, pebbled nipple. She surprised him with a quic
k flick of her tongue across his lips. He ground his hips slowly into the V of her thighs, letting her feel the heavy, hard length of him.
"I love you, too."
"How much?" A smile touched her lips, but there was still a question in her eyes.
Brandon looked at her for a long moment. Finally, he lowered his head, his hot breath fanning across her puckered nipple. She strained upward, desperate to close the half-inch of space he left between his mouth and the taut peak.
"Enough to die for you."
Her eyes filled with tears. He hadn't meant to break her heart, but she had to understand. If something happened to him, he didn't want her to feel guilty. He put his tongue out, circling her nipple languidly, tasting the sweet warmth of her skin.
"If it comes to that—" He looked down into her face, memorizing her expression, loving her all over again, his own heart shattering at the look she wore. "If it comes to that, remember, it's my gift, Allie. Mine to give."
He lowered himself to her again, covering her mouth with his as much to stop the protest he saw in her eyes as to show her again just how much he cared.
Love thundered through him like the steady pounding of the ocean, his hands locking in her hair as he rose above her and plunged into her, again and again.
Sensing the primal cry hovering on her lips, he put his mouth over hers, breathing the same breath at that very instant, until, when he lifted his lips from hers, she only whispered, "Brandon."
But the way she said it couldn't have meant more to him than the sweetest I love you ever voiced.
He filled her, pulling back, his own fingers tracing the lines of her fine bone structure – her cheeks, her chin, around her neck to where her pulse beat just under her ear.
Then, she said the words to him, and he felt the wound inside him close, and knit completely.
"I love you, too, Allison," he murmured. She was all he would ever need. All he ever wanted. And he was whole again in her love.
Chapter 26
Gabriel's Law Page 22
