Gabriel's Law

by Pierson, Cheryl

  "You boys can play cards, but please don't keep secrets from me or Mr. Brandon. Honesty is all we ask of you." She looked directly at Tiger. "Understood?" He nodded, as did the others, and she walked into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. She'd make cookies, too. This was going to be a long night, and she doubted any of them would sleep much until Brandon, Sam, and the others returned.

  * * * * *

  Brandon's heart plummeted. Isaac Gabriel. His father. He was finally forced to admit the truth of it all to himself. He'd wondered and wished and hoped all these years. He'd speculated as to whether or not his father was even still living; wondered what he'd say to him if he came face-to-face with him. Secretly, in his heart of hearts, he realized he'd been hoping that someday that meeting would take place – even if he wasn't sure what he would say, how he would feel. No matter what, the questions in his mind could be put to rest.

  He couldn't have been more wrong. Seeing Isaac Gabriel, understanding what kind of a man he truly was, had changed everything. He didn't want to talk to him, or ask him the questions that had haunted him from the time he was a child, or even be in his presence another five minutes. He felt dirty, cheap, disgusted.

  He wanted to kill him.

  Shooting him would be too quick – too easy. His palms itched, his fingers tingled, as he imagined them curving around Isaac Gabriel's neck, choking the life out of him very, very slowly. He forced himself to breathe methodically, deeply.

  "I know quite a bit about both of your mothers, actually, Sammy."

  Brandon saw the same light of recognition in his brother's face that must have crossed his own just moments ago.

  "You know a lot about being a coward, don't you…Father?"

  Another draw on the cigar. "So, you've figured it out. I wonder if your brother will." He gave a soft chuckle. "If he does, he won't come, Sam. Believe me, he won't. If he doesn't—" he shrugged in the darkness, "who knows?"

  "He will come, Father. Don't you doubt it."

  Gabriel gave a shudder, as if a chill ran through him at Sam's words. He shook it off quickly. "Then we'll end it, here; tonight. You're right, Sammy. I can't trust you anymore. And I can't run forever. When you were younger, you were afraid. Fear kept you in your place. You were…weaker…than Brandon ever was." He gave short laugh, placing his booted foot on Sam's stomach.

  "Look at you, Sammy," he said, pityingly. "You'll never be any good to anyone, not really." He pressed down, his weight shifting heavily to Sam. Sam groaned and tried to roll, but he couldn't. "Beg, Sam. That's what you're good for – begging."

  "Screw you," Sam ground out harshly.

  "He won't come. Not in time."

  Brandon stepped out of the trees, his gun pointed at the back of Isaac's head. "I'm here, you son of a bitch. Get your damned foot off of my brother."

  His father seemed, despite his claims to the contrary, to be expecting him, Brandon thought. He stiffened at Brandon's words, but didn't immediately turn. A flash of lightning flickered through the thick canopy of trees, and Brandon quickly moved so that he could see Isaac's face. He pulled back the hammer of his pistol, the cocking sound loud, even above the howling of the wind through the tree branches.

  "I said, take your foot off of him."

  Slowly, Isaac withdrew his foot, and stood beside his younger boy, looking into Brandon's face.

  "So. We meet again."

  "Yeah. After what? Twenty-two, twenty-three long years?" Brandon's lips curved faintly, as he remembered the hopes he'd harbored so long, watching them crumbling to dust before his eyes. This man was a monster. Could he escape carrying a part of that with him? He was his son—

  Isaac took a step forward, and Brandon shook his head. "Stay where you are."

  "As you wish…son."

  "You forgot that fact for twenty-odd years, Isaac…Robert…whoever you are. Forget it from here on out."

  The gambler's mouth twisted caustically. "What now? You gonna shoot your old man, gun hawk?"

  No. Brandon knew he would never pull the trigger – not unless he was forced to. But he didn't put the gun away, either.

  "You probably don't remember much about me, or your mother."

  "No."

  "It's odd how things happen, Brandon. I've run from you for years. Lived in fear of my own son."

  "You must have done something terrible to be so afraid." Brandon's voice was flat. The emotions were slowly draining from him, leaving only the necessity of doing whatever it took to end this madness and get back to Allie in one piece.

  "What do you think it was – son?" A natural spark of curiosity edged his voice.

  "Murder, maybe."

  It seemed to take him a moment to process Brandon's meaning. "You think – you think I murdered your mother?"

  "Did you?" Brandon's gut twisted. What would he do if the answer was 'yes'? Would that be the thing which would make him pull the trigger?

  Sam also waited in frozen silence to hear Isaac's response.

  "You think I'd tell you, even if I did?" The gambler nodded at Brandon's gun. "I don't like those odds."

  "They're all you've got to work with…Father," Brandon said coldly. Emotion seemed to be coming back to him now, at the worst possible moment. If Isaac hadn't had something to do with his wife's death, he would have denied the accusation outright. He hadn't done that. He'd used a gambler's gambit – playing for more time, trying to increase his odds.

  "You…don't remember anything?"

  Brandon gave a caustic smile. "I remember plenty, old man. Living on the streets, begging for handouts, being rounded up and taken to that godforsaken orphans' home—"

  At this, Sam became very still.

  "Put that gun away, and maybe I'll tell you what happened."

  "No! Brandon, don't! He's got my derr—"

  Isaac kicked Sam's ribs quickly as Sam ineffectually tried to roll away from him. Brandon started forward, but in the next moment, the derringer was in Isaac's hand, pointed at Sam.

  "Now, son, lose that weapon or your brother here, will be joining both your mothers in the happy hunting ground in the sky." He chuckled at his own words.

  "Where are the others?" Brandon asked, making no move to drop the gun. Isaac would feel confident enough to crow, Brandon hoped.

  "The others?"

  "Obviously, you made two of us. We're here. Hard to believe you kept your pants buttoned the rest of the time. I'm figuring there are…more."

  Isaac gave a snort of laughter. "Two that I know of – another boy and a girl – hardly worth mentioning."

  "Where are they?"

  A slow smile crossed Isaac's face. "Why do you want to know?"

  "Where?"

  The gambler shook his head slightly. "Drop that gun and I'll tell you."

  Brandon glanced at Sam. Sam had seen this trick before, according to what Brandon was reading. Would Isaac murder him – or try to – in cold blood? There were so many questions in his mind that, by watching Isaac, he knew he'd never get the answers to.

  "No. You kill Sam, I kill you."

  "He'll still be just as dead, Brandon."

  "So will you, Isaac. So will you." Regret at what seemed to be an inevitable outcome pulled at him, weighing on him as if he carried the world on his shoulders. He'd never thought this day would come; meeting his father and killing him, all within a few short hours.

  Suddenly, Sam lashed out, kicking at Isaac's legs. It gave Brandon the momentary diversion he needed. The derringer popped once as Brandon threw himself into his father, wrestling the gun from his fingers.

  Had Isaac's shot hit Sam? God, was Sam hurt? Bleeding? Brandon had to end this struggle. The clouds parted, revealing movement through the trees. Just as he managed to get to his feet, from the tree line, a streak of growling fur raced across the small clearing.

  Though Isaac had gotten to his feet, Big Mack jumped, hitting him chest high, sending him sprawling to the ground again. He put his arms up, trying to ward off the vicious attack. B
randon unsheathed his knife quickly and ran to where Sam lay. He knelt, cutting the rope at Sam's wrists. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  Brandon had to take his word for it, for now, though there was a hint of muted strain in Sam's tone. He stood swiftly and strode to where Big Mack still kept Isaac pinned to the ground, his teeth bared, hackles raised.

  "Mack!" Brandon's command cut through the sound of the wind. "Good boy. C'mere."

  The dog backed away a few steps, still growling, before he turned and ran to Brandon, tail wagging. Brandon patted his head as Sam came to stand by him. He had retrieved the derringer, and held it at the ready, trained on Isaac, who rose slowly.

  Suddenly, with a howl of fury, he hurtled himself toward Brandon. Brandon didn't holster his gun; he had no time. He dropped it on the forest floor, and prepared for the inevitable. It seemed his father was determined to carry this fight out with fists rather than guns.

  His first punch caught Brandon's chin, but was a weak uppercut that didn't hurt as much as it fired Brandon's anger even more. He threw a punch of his own, doubling Isaac over with the impact to his stomach, then straightening him as he sent a crushing blow upward in quick succession, bloodying and breaking the gambler's nose.

  Isaac gave a bellow, a mixture of pain and rage. His hands automatically went to his face and he stopped for a moment, shaking his head, muttering and cursing to himself.

  Brandon came after him, so filled with disgust and anger that his mind had ceased to function on a rational level. Methodically, he punched Isaac, not even knowing or feeling the punches the gambler managed to land in reprisal. He brushed off the blows, ignoring the pain, until they ended up rolling on the ground, and Brandon felt the outline of his pistol against his back where he'd dropped it earlier.

  He rolled away from it as he came atop his father, his fingers at Isaac's throat. He'd dreamed of this. He began to squeeze.

  "Don't…kill me!"

  Brandon felt Isaac's hands grappling in the dirt for a weapon. He let go of his throat with one hand, reaching behind him to grab his pistol. Swiftly, he brought it to Isaac's temple. "Why shouldn't I?" he panted. "One good reason."

  Chapter 32

  "I can tell you…what you want to know." When Brandon didn't answer, Isaac said, "I can tell you about your mother and…your…those others you're so concerned about."

  "I'm listening." He cocked the gun, and Isaac's eyes widened.

  "Please – not here. Back at the house."

  "No." Brandon shook his head. "You see, Father, my house is my home. I live there with people I love – people I don't want filth like you to come into contact with. So I won't be bringing you home to meet the family – a family you might have shared in, had you been a decent human being. As it is, I'm not sure what you are." His voice was low. "I only know who you are. And I'm sorry for that. I wish I had any other man in the world but you to call my father."

  Isaac moistened his lips, his eyes rolling toward the pistol at his temple. "If your finger slips—"

  "You better hold real still, you sorry son of a bitch. I've never killed anyone accidentally, but they say there's a first time for everything."

  "What do you want to know?"

  Of all the things he could have asked, Brandon hardly knew where to begin. His father had admitted, though, there were two more children in the world he'd sired. No, Brandon reminded himself firmly. He needed to think of them as his brother and sister – not as products of his father's loins.

  "Where are they? My brother and sister?"

  A smirk crossed Isaac's face, settling in his eyes. "Their mother was white. Came from money. But she – she threw in with me; she ran away."

  Brandon's gut twisted with disgust. "You used her and left her – same old story."

  "She knew I was a gambling man. She thought she could change me."

  "Nothing can ever change you," Brandon spat.

  "She tried. After she had the children, she tried to leave me, but her parents wouldn't take her or the children. The last I knew, she was in Dodge City. She was taking in laundry – that kind of thing."

  "Her name."

  "Linda Wheeler. Linda Gabriel."

  "The children. My brother and sister. Or can you remember?"

  The gambler balked, a cunning light in his eyes for an instant before Brandon gave him a shake.

  "Jamie!" he answered hastily. "Jamie and – and Natalie."

  Brandon started to get up, but thought of another detail that he might need to know. "Ages. Approximately. I realize you have trouble remembering who your children are and don't give a damn about taking care of them, but search your memory."

  "Jamie would be about eleven by now, and Talie…she was two years younger."

  Brandon slowly uncocked the pistol and moved it away from Isaac's head. The fight seemed to have left the gambler. Brandon slowly stood, towering over his father.

  "Why didn't you kill me?" Isaac asked quietly. "I always figured you would."

  "You're going to pay for what you've done, Isaac. But I'm not going to have your death on my conscience – not unless you force it. You stay away from me and my family. That includes my brothers and sister. The next time we meet – I will kill you. I don't ever want to see you again."

  Brandon felt the letdown overcoming him. The battle was done. He'd won. But the victory was anything but sweet. He watched as Ben and Sam tied Isaac's hands tightly. Part of him wanted to do the right thing – the noble thing. Turn him over to the new temporary sheriff in Spring Branch Owen had told them about.

  The other part of him was struggling with that decision. Jail was too good for Isaac Gabriel. Hangings weren't pretty to watch. But Brandon felt that in Isaac Gabriel's case, it would be more than justified.

  Still, he'd never lynched anyone and he didn't intend to start now, with his own father.

  Mack's ears pricked, his head swiveling toward the darkness of the trees, just before Brandon heard what the dog did.

  Travis and some of the townsmen led by Owen Morris appeared out of the blackness, the light of their lanterns illuminating the small clearing.

  Owen hurried over to Brandon. "You okay?"

  Brandon nodded, looping an arm over Sam's shoulder as he came to stand beside him. "I'm fine. See about Youngblood here, though. He's hurt – somewhere."

  "How'd you know?" Sam asked, lifting his shirt.

  Brandon grinned at him. "You told me you were all right, Sam, with your words. But your tone said otherwise." His smile faded. "Let Owen have a look. He'll patch you up quick, just 'til we get home and he can do it up right."

  "That hurt?" Owen touched Sam's ribs on the left side where a bruise was already forming.

  "Ow!"

  "I need your shirt, Sam. I'll tear it up for a bandaging wrap."

  "Like hell! This is new!"

  Brandon had started to walk away toward where Ben and Travis stood together. They were bursting with news. He turned back, at Sam's protests, seeing the indecision on Owen's face. "Here." He pulled off his own shirt and tossed it to the doctor. "Use mine."

  "But—" Sam began, dismayed.

  "It's all right, Sam. Let Doc Morris do what he needs to so we can get home." He started toward Ben and Travis again. Ben looked smug – almost as smug as Travis.

  "Travis tracked us!" Ben announced as Brandon walked up. "I knew he could do it! I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you at the end, sir, but I heard them coming and went to lead them to where we were."

  Brandon gave a low whistle, and Travis' chest swelled even more. "That's a good job of trackin', for sure, Trav."

  "Thank you."

  Brandon squeezed Travis' shoulder.

  "Mr. Gabriel?" Brandon turned at the man's voice behind him. A tall stranger with the weathered face of an outdoorsman put his hand out, and Brandon shook firmly. "I'm Tim Watters. I own a ranch just south of Spring Branch."

  The lawman. The temporary lawman. "Good to know you, Tim."

  "Likewise.
We'll be takin' this man into town, to jail, on charges of kidnapping and attempted murder." He nodded toward Isaac, who was trussed and being prodded to walk forward. "We're headed back now, to your place. Had to leave the horses there."

  "We're headed back too," Brandon told him, "as soon as Doc Morris wraps up Sam's ribs."

  Sam lifted his head and glanced at Brandon, grimacing as Owen tightened the bandaging.

  "May take us a bit longer," Brandon observed thoughtfully. "Don't let us hold you up, Tim."

  "We'll head on out, then. If we don't see you back at the house, we'll see you tomorrow."

  Brandon nodded, and Tim turned away, calling to the others.

  Brandon made his way back to where Owen was just finishing tying off the makeshift bandaging around Sam's side.

  "Almost done, here, Brandon." Owen glanced up at him, a teasing light in his eyes. "I believe with a little practice and time, Sam'll be as good a patient as you."

  Sam's lips compressed and Brandon couldn't help but laugh at his younger brother's suppression of his argumentative nature. Sam met Brandon's eyes, and his mouth curved into a reluctant grin.

  They started back through the woods, Travis in the lead with the lantern. Ben followed close to him. Owen seemed to stay nearby Sam, and after the first twenty minutes had passed, Brandon could see that Owen had realized Sam's injuries were more severe than he'd at first thought. Sam began to flag, and twice he stumbled.

  Not for the first time, Brandon wondered just how much damage to Sam's legs had been done in the long-ago fire. He let Owen spend the first half hour or so nearby Sam, and then dropped back, himself.

  "How does Travis do it?" Owen asked as Brandon joined them.

  "He says his uncle taught him," Sam said, trying to catch his breath. "He was a mountain man – at least, that's how Travis tells it."

  "You don't believe him?" Brandon questioned.

  Sam didn't answer for a moment. "Everybody has their story."

  Brandon and Owen exchanged a quick glance.

  "What's yours, Sam?" Brandon asked softly. "You know, something's bothered me since we talked."

  "What's that?" Sam's voice was cautious.