"Brandon." He extended his hand, and Brandon took it in a firm handshake.
"Thanks, Fred, for all your help. Don't know what we would've done without you and your men."
"It was our pleasure. I expect we'll be seeing you all on a regular basis, when this operation of yours takes off."
"I hope so. You're welcome here anytime."
"Mrs. Gabriel," Fred said, as Allie stepped outside. He tipped his hat. "Thank you for your hospitality. We appreciated the fine cooking."
"You're welcome. Thank you all for lending us a hand."
Fred turned to mount up, and he and the others rode slowly away from the house, picking up speed as the distance grew.
Brandon put his arm around Allie, watching the men ride away. His gaze shifted to the cattle. The pens would hold them temporarily but he'd feel better once the permanent wire was strung… Once the barn was rebuilt… Once the boys had a place to sleep. A bunkhouse. Everyone should have a place to sleep – a comfort he'd not always had. It meant a lot, to have that bit of security.
He flexed his hand slowly. Better. But not well enough to build a barn or a bunkhouse. Barely in shape to do much of anything. Yet, he'd done what had to be done when it came to killing Carver and Johnson. He'd protected what was his. And that's where it all had to begin; protecting.
Allie laid her head against him, a sigh escaping her. Brandon smiled. "That's what I was thinking too."
"It'll come, Bran. Slowly, but surely. We just have to take it a day at a time."
"Patience has never been my strong suit."
"How well I know."
He kissed the top of her head. "Guess we better get to it – see how much we can get done today."
"Where'll you be?" She looked up at him.
"I thought I'd take Sam and start clearing the remains of the barn. We'll…have that talk while we're working."
Allie nodded. "He needs to know you want him, Brandon. Not just as one of the boys, but – as a brother."
Brandon smiled wryly at her words. "You know, I never even thought to ask you how you felt about all this. Sam is family; blood. I can't deny it – not after watching him – knowing what I know." He was quiet for a moment. "You may not be as hopeful at the prospect of having—"
She cupped his face between her palms. "Stop it, Brandon," she said in a low voice. "He's your brother."
"You're my wife. That comes first."
"I know that. There's no doubt. But something tells me you're worried that Sam's going to cause some trouble somehow. That's not ever going to happen. He just wants your acceptance."
Her eyes were filled with the soft light of understanding. In her look, Brandon saw that she wasn't sure how he'd approach his brother, and what would come of it.
His lips tugged upward. "Stop worryin', will ya, Allie? Sam and I are gonna be fine. I just need to get this talk done so we know where we stand with one another."
Reluctantly, he stepped away, and headed toward the knot of younger boys who stood talking by where the horses were tethered. He called Ben and Sam over and gave the younger boys their directions for what needed to be done – not just the fence reinforcements, but the everyday chores.
"Ben, I want you to oversee everything."
Sam's head came up quickly, as if he perceived Brandon's words as a slight.
Brandon didn't give him the chance to let his quick anger set in. "Sam, I want you with me today." He'd thought about all the things he wanted to say and how he might approach Sam with the knowledge that they were brothers, but he'd given no thought to what he'd say to him about working together initially. And it had been easy. It had rolled off his tongue naturally. I want you with me.
Sam's eyes widened for just an instant, then he covered his surprise, and Brandon recognized something. Sam was also hiding the fact that he waited to hear just those words. Still, he knew it didn't mean anything – not the way it ought to. Brandon read his thoughts by the sardonic twist of his lips, as if he were mocking himself for his hopes.
"Let's get to it," Brandon said. The younger boys followed Ben, who was already dividing them into work parties, and talking to them about their day.
Sam came to stand in front of Brandon, his gray eyes veiled in a way that Brandon recognized well. "You ready to get started, Sam?"
"Sure. What're we gonna be doing?"
Brandon nodded toward the charred remains of the barn. "Clearing that. Getting the ground ready to rebuild on."
Sam shuddered slightly, his lips tightening. "I don't remember seeing a rake. Guess we didn't save it—"
"It's all right, Sam. We saved what we could."
"Bastards."
Sam had suffered some losses. A lifetime of bitterness was rolled into that one word. But there seemed to be more, even, than loss beneath his words; almost a kind of anxiety, or fear, of what the fire had left. Brandon watched him a moment, trying to discern what it was Sam was trying so hard to cover.
Brandon laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a light tap. "Go get a couple-a pairs of gloves for us, will ya? And don't worry about the rake – Owen brought two new ones yesterday along with the supplies, and a shovel, too."
Sam turned to go inside for the gloves.
Brandon slowly unbuttoned his shirt and drew it off, laying it over the porch railing. When Sam came out of the front door, carrying the gloves, he stopped. His gaze swept over Brandon, and Brandon looked down, realizing what Sam was seeing for the first time.
The bruises were healing, but for now, they made a garish rainbow across his torso, easily visible under the dark bronze of his skin. Shades of purple, violet, and green swirled and spotted over his ribs, chest, and belly.
Sam gave a low whistle, moving forward across the porch, his stare registering each mark. "You sure you feel like raking?"
Brandon grinned at his quietly understated worry. "It's my hand I'm worried about. Not this," he said, indicating the other injuries with a dismissive wave.
Sam didn't say any more on the subject. He handed Brandon a pair of the gloves as he jumped from the porch, then headed to the side of the cabin where the supplies were neatly stacked. Quickly locating what they needed to work with, he seemed to take a moment to square his shoulders before he headed toward the burned-out ruins.
Brandon walked beside him, taking one of the rakes from him. The floor of the barn was still warm in places. They bent to the task. After a few minutes, Brandon asked, "Everything go all right in Anderson's yesterday?'
Sam knelt to retrieve a bit of metal from the ground. A buckle of some kind, Brandon could see. Sam studied it a moment. "Mr. Anderson knows where he stands with us."
Brandon shot him a quick look. "Trouble, then."
Sam stood up, pocketing the buckle. "He wanted you to know there weren't any hard feelings. He was just doing what he had to do."
Brandon's lips twisted. "And you said?"
Sam didn't respond, and Brandon knew he was wrestling with the truth or a lie.
"I…told him you'd be glad to know there were no hard feelings." He kept his eyes averted, raking carefully, but he couldn't keep the caustic note from his tone.
"You watched my back, Sam. That's what brothers are for, right?"
Sam straightened quickly, the rake clattering on a large chunk of charred wood as it hit the ground. His eyes arrowed to Brandon's and held. "You knew?"
Brandon shook his head. "No. Not until you said it."
"I said it in Comanche. No one knew. No one understood."
"No one but Allie."
Sam swore under his breath. Then, "Stupid. Stupid of me. It just…came out, and I was relieved that he didn't understand – that Ben and Miss Allie—" He sank his hands into his pockets.
"So…it's that bad – having me for a brother?"
"No!" Sam took two steps toward him, and then stopped, as if he weren't sure any physical overture would be accepted. "That's not it at all. See, I didn't know we were brothers – not until a few years ago. N
ot until a couple of the older boys at the school told me. They'd heard the nuns talking one day. Sister Maria Theresa was telling Sister Mary Agnes about me, and then, about you. The orphanage has always been so full. And sister was thinking if they contacted you, maybe – maybe I could come live with you."
There was still a note of the wistful hope in Sam's voice that he'd carried with him all these years. Regret settled in the pit of Brandon's gut. "I never knew, Sam. I would've come for you, if I'd known."
"That's what Sister Mary Agnes was afraid of." He gave a wry grimace. "She said I'd be better off dead than riding with you. At least – that's what John and Alan told me they heard her say." His fists clenched at his sides. "But I wanted to be with you, Brandon. I didn't have anyone else."
Brandon knew that feeling well. He hadn't recognized it for what it was when he was younger, but now that the missing pieces were fitting together, he understood everything so much better than before. There was no other feeling quite as sobering as being alone in the world. Completely alone.
"You know – I'd have taken you, Sam, if I could've. If I'd known." He swallowed the question back he wanted the answer to. Later. There would be a chance to ask, later. Right now, he needed to let Sam know he wanted him, just as Allie had said earlier.
Sam's eyes welled with tears, and he glanced away, not quite quickly enough to hide the emotion from Brandon. "What would you have wanted with me? When I found out, I was just a ten-year-old kid."
Brandon couldn't help but smile. "Well, I wasn't much ahead of you, then. Still a kid myself."
Sam gave him a puzzled look.
"I would've been twenty," he explained. "Still sowing some wild oats of my own. I couldn't've done you as much good then, as I – hopefully – can, now. That is – if you're still looking for a brother."
The relief in Sam's face touched Brandon as nothing else could.
"I am – if you are," was the cautious reply. He put his hand out, as if to shake.
Brandon stepped close and took his brother's hand, pulling him into a quick embrace. "I am, Sam. I've been wishing for a brother a lot longer than you have."
"You've got him."
"No." He held Sam away from him, looking into the shadowed gray eyes. "Now, we've got each other."
* * * * *
The question that burned in Brandon's mind remained unasked through the day as they worked. By suppertime, Brandon had discovered many things about this younger brother of his, but still had not asked if he knew where their father was, or even if he still lived. He tried to convince himself it didn't matter to him – but it did. It haunted him, as he lay beside Allie in the darkness.
She turned to face him, laying her arm across his waist. "Well?"
He smiled, knowing her curiosity was getting the best of her, and had been, ever since this morning when he and Sam had gone to work on the burned barn together.
"Well, what?" he asked.
"What happened?"
He laughed at her impatience. "It all worked out." He told her about their conversation, and how Sam had learned they were brothers.
She shook her head. "All those years, he knew. I'm surprised he didn't run away and come looking for you."
"He did, once. But when they brought him back, the good sisters claimed to have spoken to me on his behalf, and that I told them I didn't want him."
"He believed them."
Brandon's lips twisted sardonically in the darkness. "Nuns never lie. Didn't you know that?" After a moment, he said, "I…told him there was nothing I could've done to help him when I was twenty. That I was almost as wild as he was. It's probably better it worked out like it did."
"What does he say? Does he feel the same?"
Brandon sighed heavily. "I don't know. Conditions weren't ideal there – but it seems they never are. Still, he had it pretty rough."
"Typical orphans' home, you mean?"
"Not just that. He was badly injured when he was young. His mother's village was burned to the ground. No one remembered he was asleep inside the lodge until it was almost too late."
Allie shivered. "Is…that what happened to his mother?"
Brandon nodded. "Yeah. She was killed and they expected him to die. But he survived, by some miracle. He was taken to an army camp hospital by an insistent doctor. He beat the odds and not only survived, but regained full use of his legs again."
"He must be terribly scarred," Allie said softly. "I noticed he wouldn't take his shirt off all day."
"Yeah," Brandon muttered, unwilling to divulge the details of his injuries that Sam had provided. His own flesh had burned at Sam's vivid, horrifying description of being trapped in the flames. "I didn't know what had happened, or I'd never have asked him to help me with the barn."
Allie's fingers stroked across his arm. "Did it seem to bother him?"
"No, but he's good at hiding his emotions."
She moved nearer, kissing his chin. "Something you both have in common."
Brandon pulled her flush with his body. "I'm not so good at that with you. Not anymore." He was glad to leave the subject of Sam behind. There was something about the boy's story that didn't quite ring true. He didn't know why, but Sam wasn't telling the truth – at least, not all of it.
There was a hint of laughter in Allie's voice when she spoke. "I can think of something else you're very good at with me – if you aren't too tired."
He rolled, moving across her, his mouth hovering just above hers. "That'll be the day."
Chapter 28
Two days passed and Brandon became more certain that Sam was keeping a huge chunk of the truth from him. The boy caught himself several times, backtracking, stuttering, if Brandon tried to pin him down. If he asked Sam a direct question, it seemed as if Sam took a moment to formulate the correct response before answering.
The matter of the boy's easy familiarity with the derringer was constantly in Brandon's thoughts, as well. Where had he learned to handle a gun like that? Moreover, how was it that he even possessed such a weapon at an orphans' home?
He'd taken Sam aside to work with him on one of the corner posts that needed reinforcement on the morning of the third day. Neither of them spoke as they worked, digging a hole much deeper and wider than the one that held the small, temporary post. The corners were important, and this one was the weakest. Today would be the day to start with this particular post and go the length of one full side, reinforcing and shoring up what was already in place.
Brandon's hand was mending well, but he had to remind himself that his injuries were barely a week old. They would heal just so fast, he thought, and nothing he could do would speed it. Most things were within his abilities now, if he took it slow and easy. But gripping the wood, wrestling this particular corner post into place, made him stop to ease the sudden sharp pain that rocketed through his hand, wrist, and past his elbow.
Sam immediately shouldered the burden, letting the post slide into the hole. He held it upright in place as Brandon rubbed at his wrist with his left hand. He made a grab for the post even as Sam steadied it.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
Brandon turned away quickly, unable to answer. This surge of fire through his arm stole his breath for a moment. He nodded, wishing in that instant that he'd taken Owen up on his offer to stay one more day.
"I'm sorry. I should've taken more of the load."
Brandon's breath came in short spurts as the pain slowly abated to a dull throb. "No. I – should've waited another day or two before we tried this."
"Can't risk the cattle getting out. But Ben and I could do it, I bet."
Brandon didn't think so. They were strong, but young, without the hard-corded muscles that came with years of work and natural maturity. "Let's take a minute or two." He walked over to a large boulder that the drovers had rolled out of the way and sat down. It was shady where the rock lay; a natural place to sit and relax. The sound of voices drifted to Brandon, and he could tell that Ben was managing to get the
boys' cooperation from the tone.
For a moment, he and Sam sat in silence until Sam flexed his own fingers in an unconscious gesture so like one Brandon would make there was no doubt Sam was his brother.
Sam turned to look at him, his mercurial eyes veiled and wary. "You got somethin' you been wantin' to say for a couple-a days now, brother." He reached for one of the mason jars of water at the base of the rock and uncapped it as he spoke. "What is it?" He handed the jar to Brandon.
Brandon took a drink, letting the cool water slide down his throat as Sam picked up the other jar and unscrewed the lid. "How did you come by the gun, Sam?"
Sam took a drink, a caustic smile curving his lips. He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Don't you mean, how did I come by the way I use it, big brother?"
"I mean both," Brandon replied levelly. "There's something you haven't told me. Naturally, you can see where I might be curious."
"Worried?" Sam's voice was soft, but there was no menace in his tone as Brandon knew there would be in that one word had he spoken it to any other man. Sam had come up hard, but Brandon needed to know the details. All of them. Though Sam was blood, he was a virtual stranger. And Brandon had responsibilities to the other boys, including Jay; and to Allie. He had to know where Sam stood, and what role he expected to play – if any – in Brandon's life, and the running of this place.
Sam's eyes held his over the top of the jar as he prepared to take another drink.
"No." Brandon reached for the lid and replaced it, not screwing it tight. He waited now, to see what Sam would say.
Sam gave a self-conscious smile, unable to hold his look. "What do you want to know?"
"The truth. Every bit of it."
Sam sobered immediately, standing, his posture stiff and formal. Brandon could almost see him preparing his armor, putting it on, protecting himself from the world. It looked familiar, bringing an ache to his own chest as he watched.
"You know, if you want me to leave—"
"No more of that talk, Sam. I just want to know the truth. What you've told me – it's bits and pieces of what really happened to you, but there's more you haven't said."
Gabriel's Law Page 24
