Blood Brothers

by Anne McAllister

  Mrs. Peek had climbed a tree?

  The bull spotted her legs and snorted. It whuffled, blew and charged.

  “Look out!” Gabe yelled.

  The legs disappeared up into the branches just as the bull crashed against the tree. The ground beneath Gabe’s feet trembled. He muttered an imprecation under his breath, looking around wildly for inspiration.

  And for a refuge, as the bull, after having hit the tree, turned around and spotted him.

  Gabe remembered a rodeo clown buddy who said, “Time slows down when I fight a bull.”

  As far as Gabe was concerned, it never slowed down enough for him to be sure he’d get out of the way. That was why he’d never tried bullfighting.

  He was going to have to try it now.

  He’d have to attract the bull, entice it, get it to run at him and away from Mrs. Peek and Charlie. It was the only way they could escape.

  Slowly, keeping an eye on the bull, Gabe pulled off his jacket. If the bull got it, ripped it out of his hands, he’d move on to the hat. If it got the hat-well, he wouldn’t let himself think that far ahead.

  He didn’t think about what would happen if the bull got him instead of the jacket, either. He flapped the jacket, moving away from the trees. The bull was curious, but not enthralled. He looked back at Mrs. Peek’s shoes.

  “Use our sweater!” Mrs. Peek called. “Us was tryin’ to distract ’im with it. It’s down there.” A hand dipped down below the branches of the tree and pointed.

  Gabe looked and, sure enough, he spotted her faded red sweater lying on the ground.

  “Us’ll divert his attention,” she called.

  “Right.” He wasn’t going to argue. She was reasonably safe in the tree, and the bull was once more looking her way.

  Mrs. Peek lowered her legs again. She kicked them. She waggled them. She called, “Yooo-hooo, toro! Over here!”

  The bull snorted and turned in her direction. Warily Gabe moved to snatch up the sweater. Then, clutching it, he shouted and waved it in the direction of the bull.

  The bull stopped. It stared.

  Deliberately Gabe flapped the sweater again. He started walking slowly parallel to the bull, away from the trees…trying to get the bull to charge.

  One second it was staring. The next it was racing toward him. And Gabe learned it was true, what his buddy had said.

  Though it all happened in the blink of an eye, somehow Gabe saw every step, every ball of mud the bull’s hooves flung high.

  He waved the sweater, flimsy and insubstantial, out to his side and leapt back as-whoosh-the bull pounded past.

  Breathing like each gulp would be his last, Gabe sidestepped, moving even farther from the trees. If he could get behind them and the bull came after him, they would be left in the clear.

  He moved. He flapped the sweater. He said, “Come on, you big fat son-of-a-gun. Let’s see how fast you can run.”

  Not all that fast, please God, he prayed.

  Once more the bull charged. Gabe dodged, stumbling this time, falling to one knee and wincing as the bull skidded and turned to come at him again.

  Desperate, Gabe staggered to his feet.

  “Come on! Come on! A miss is as good as a mile!” He’d twisted his knee as he fell, the same knee he’d hurt more times than he could count when he’d ridden bulls. He gritted his teeth as the pain stabbed him. “Come on!”

  The bull came. It lowered its head and charged-and snagged the sweater, ripping it out of his hands.

  But at least he was behind the trees now, across the meadow away from Charlie and Mrs. Peek.

  Beyond the bull, Gabe saw Charlie swing down out of the tree. As the bull came at him once more, Mrs. Peek descended, too. They glanced in his direction.

  “Go on!” Gabe yelled. “Go!”

  And the instant before he had to spin away, he saw Mrs. Peek grab Charlie’s hand and run with him up the hill.

  Once they were out of sight, Gabe took a breath.

  And panicked.

  He had no sweater, he’d dropped his jacket before the bull had made its first pass. It turned at the hedgerow by the far end of the field and looked back at him.

  Two-thousand pounds of muscle and horn and meanness was all that stood between him and safety.

  All?

  Gabe almost laughed.

  He took off his hat. Slowly he flapped it up and down. He took a step, then another, moving toward the bull this time, not away. “Come and get me,” he said softly. “Come on. Once more. You’ve only got one more shot, buddy. Miss one more time and I’m outa here.”

  Get me and I’m outa here, too. In a box.

  The bull lowered its head. It snorted. It pawed.

  It ran straight at him.

  “She was amazing,” Charlie was babbling with admiration. “Just like one of them bull fighters on the telly!”

  Freddie had her arms around both of them, hugging them, almost sobbing in relief. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you. Thank you. If you hadn’t-I don’t know what I’d have done if-”

  But Mrs. Peek shushed her before she could even speak the unspeakable. “Us gave ’im a little breathing room,” the older woman said modestly. “Us’d still be sittin’ up in those trees if it weren’t for your Mr. McBride.”

  Mr. McBride. Gabe.

  Freddie looked around frantically. “Where-”

  “He’s fighting the bull, Mum!”

  Oh, God. She remembered when Gabe and the children had been watching the rodeo videos. Emma had been fascinated with the bullfighting clowns.

  “Were you ever one of them?” she’d asked Gabe eagerly.

  “Not on your life, sweetheart. There are some things even I’m not fool enough to tackle.”

  But today he was.

  Freddie closed her eyes. “Oh, Gabe. Oh my God, Gabe.” She hugged her arms across her chest. She wanted to vault the hedgerow and race down the meadow and scream his name, demand that he come. And she knew she didn’t dare.

  She knew there was no point. She would cause more trouble. As if he needed more trouble…

  “Gabe!” Charlie shouted.

  “Gabe!” shrieked Emma.

  And Freddie opened her eyes, looking down the field wildly-and in vain.

  Then she looked where her children were looking-where Charlie was running-and saw Gabe, dirty, disheveled, but-thank God-in one piece, coming up the lane toward them.

  She started toward him, then stopped, watching as Charlie hurled himself into Gabe’s arms. She saw those arms go hard around him, saw Gabe crush the boy against his chest and bury his face in Charlie’s hair.

  “Don’t ever-don’t you ever-do a thing like that again!” His voice was ragged as he let the boy down, but kept a hand on him.

  “I only wanted to ride ’im,” Charlie said. “You do.”

  “It’s different,” Gabe said, his voice still rough. “Way different.”

  “But-”

  Gabe put his arm around Charlie’s narrow shoulders. “Listen,” he said. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me or to anyone. Then, with his arm still around her son, he looked up at Freddie. “I’m sorry.”

  It was the last thing she expected him to say. “S-sorry?”

  He nodded. “He did it because of what I said, that I wouldn’t coddle them. I’m sorry. I had no right.”

  “It’s…it’s all right,” Freddie’s voice faltered. “He’s all right. You’re all right.” She wanted to go to him, to put her arms around him the way he had around Charlie, to hug him, to prove to herself he was all in one piece, safe. Alive.

  She gave him a watery smile, praying that she wouldn’t be soppy and start crying. She was trembling all over.

  “All’s well, ends well,” Mrs. Peek said. “An’ what a story us’ll have!” She rubbed her hands together and her eyes sparkled with excitement.

  But Gabe shook his head. “I’m writing this one.”

  Her face fell.

  “And we’ll have Dodd
the photo out to take your picture.”

  “Our picture?” Mrs. Peek blinked owlishly.

  Gabe grinned and put his other arm around her. “If it hadn’t been for you, Charlie’s adventure with the bull might have turned out a heck of a lot worse. In next Thursday’s edition we’ll have a story-and a picture. This time, Mrs. Peek, you’re the news!”

  He knew words didn’t change things.

  Yes, Charlie was safe. But he had been at risk. He might have been killed or seriously injured out there.

  It was all his fault, and Gabe knew it.

  Even though Freddie smiled and said it wasn’t, she was very quiet all the way home. She tried not to fuss over Charlie- Gabe could see that. But he could also see that she had to almost forcibly keep herself from touching him, patting him, stroking his hair. And every time she turned away from Charlie to look at him, almost instantly her gaze skated away again.

  As if she couldn’t bear to look at him.

  Well, she wouldn’t have to. Not much longer.

  He should have left at once, but he needed a shower. He needed to put on some of those clean clothes she’d washed and folded for him. He couldn’t turn up at Earl’s looking like he’d just stepped out of the rodeo arena. He didn’t want to have to explain.

  By the time he’d cleaned up, though, Freddie had supper on the table.

  “Please,” she said, “eat with us,”

  And the children said, “Please, Gabe.”

  Truth be told, he didn’t want to say no. All the momentum that was supposed to have got him out the door had vanished in the field. All the adrenaline that had kept him going was gone.

  It was a simple meal. Pork chops. A lettuce salad. Bread and butter.

  It was the best meal he’d ever eaten.

  It stuck in his throat.

  Because in just a few minutes-an hour at most-he was going to have to leave it all behind-leave this house, these children.

  This woman.

  He watched her every move. Every time she turned away, his eyes followed her. They traced her steps, her shape, her smile. She smiled at the children. Once or twice she even spared a smile for him. He memorized them, stored them away for the not too distant future when those memories would be all he had.

  “Tell us a story, Gabe,” Emma begged after dinner was over and the dishes were done.

  “I-” He was going to say he couldn’t, that he had to leave. But he couldn’t get the words past his throat.

  It would be easier, he told himself, to go if the kids were in bed asleep, not standing there watching him drive away. So he said, “I know a short one.”

  “About bulls?” Emma asked.

  Gabe saw Charlie shudder. “No,” he told the little girl. “This one’s about a lord.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Freddie start. But he deliberately didn’t look at her.

  He sat down with the children and began his tale. He told them about a pair of cousins-“blood brothers”-because once upon a time they’d pricked their fingers and mingled their already shared blood and promised they would always look out for each other. But then they grew up and grew apart.

  One went to be a cowboy. The other was groomed to be an earl.

  “Tell us about the cowboy,” Emma begged.

  But Gabe shook his head. “You know all about the cowboy.”

  He told them about Randall instead. He told them about duty and responsibility and commitment. He told them about putting other people’s needs first and sticking to what needed to be done.

  “Sometimes it isn’t much fun. And it doesn’t always look heroic, but it is,” he said. “Just like Mrs. Peek-doing what she always did-but she might have saved your life today.”

  “You saved my life,” Charlie insisted. “You fought the bull.”

  “I wouldn’t have even known where you were if Mrs. Peek hadn’t sent Emma to get us.”

  “But still-”

  Gabe shook his head. “I’m no hero.”

  He glanced at Freddie, hoping she heard.

  She was sitting on the far side of the room, the mending in her lap. She didn’t come and sit down to listen. He didn’t blame her.

  He hoped, though, that she heard enough of what he was telling them that she would know how much he regretted what had happened.

  He said, “You remember that story even if you forget all the rest.” Then he stood up. “Time for bed.”

  Charlie hugged him fiercely. Emma said, “Don’t go, Gabe. Don’t go.”

  But as he gave her a goodnight kiss, he said, “I have to.”

  They went upstairs and he gave them each a last hug, then left Freddie to say her goodnights to them. He went back down and stood for just a minute, looking around, letting it all seep in. The memories. The children. The woman.

  Then he picked up his duffel bags once more.

  “Gabe?”

  He turned. Freddie stood on the stairs. She looked pale, fragile. Breakable. Hurt-because of him.

  “Please. Wait.”

  He didn’t want to wait. Didn’t know how much more he could stand.

  But Freddie came down the stairs. Her fingers knotted together. “You said you were sorry. But I’m the one who should be saying it. It’s just… I think about Mark. He did foolish things. Risky things. He…died! Charlie…”

  She broke off. The tears that had been threatening since the moment Emma had pounded up the drive with the news spilled over now. She put her hands to her face. “Oh, help.”

  He had no choice. He dropped the duffel and went to her. “Charlie didn’t die,” he said thickly. “And he won’t try it again. He won’t do what Mark did, either. He’ll learn. We all do stupid stuff as boys. It’s part of the definition.” He took hold of her arms, but that didn’t seem enough, so he wrapped them around her, drew her in. “He was up a tree, Freddie. Scared, but safe. He learned his lesson.”

  “But you…you could have…”

  “I should have gone up the tree, too,” Gabe said wryly, “but I didn’t want you having to call out the fire brigade. How would that have looked? What a British version of a cowboy I would have been!”

  He saw the faintest hint of a smile touch her mouth. She looked up into his eyes. “You’re a wonderful cowboy. The best. Thank you.”

  He snorted softly. “Don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”

  “You saved Charlie. And-” she faltered for a second “-you taught me a lesson, too.”

  He looked at her blankly.

  Freddie went up on tiptoe. “That there are some risks worth taking,” she whispered and she touched her lips to his.

  He only meant to comfort her. Truly. He only wanted to share on a deeper level all that they had shared today.

  It was, perhaps, the one time in his life he’d held a beautiful woman in his arms and had not been hoping for more.

  But somehow comforting and sharing turned to touching, to caressing, to kissing, to loving. And when Freddie took his hand and led him back up the stairs to her room, he didn’t say no.

  He’d wanted her forever. Couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t gone to sleep thinking of Freddie Crossman and awakened with thoughts of her in his mind.

  But still he had to ask. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  The last thing he wanted was to have her wish it had never happened. “You’ve been under a lot of stress. You’re overwrought because of what almost happened to Charlie.”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” And then she looped her arms around his neck and kissed him again.

  There was tenderness in this kiss-as there had been in the earlier one. But now there was desire, too.

  Gabe knew about desire. Knew about desperation. His whole body seemed to throb with it, with his need of her.

  “Freddie,” he warned, voice shaking as he gave her one last chance. He still had-he hoped-a thread of control.

  Until she tugged his shirt loose from his waistband
and slid her hands up underneath, caressing his heated flesh, making the blood pound in his veins. And he was gone. Lost.

  He kissed her hungrily, eagerly. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on her shirt. She made quicker work of his, then peeled the shirt off his shoulders and ran her hands over his chest. Then, as if she hadn’t already lit his fire, she pressed a dozen tiny kisses here and there.

  He muttered. He stumbled trying to shed his jeans and get out of his boots. With her hands Freddie both soothed and excited him.

  “Shhh,” she whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.” And if there was the barest hint of emphasis on the word I, Gabe wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it. But in any case, it was true. He was the one who would be leaving.

  But not now. Later.

  In the morning.

  Not yet.

  They tumbled onto the bed, and then, as if by some unspoken accord, their movements slowed, became languid, their touches gentled.

  Gabe was no young buck, desperate to fulfill his body’s urgings. He wanted her, yes, desperately. But he could take his time-enjoy, appreciate, savor the softness, the smoothness, the suppleness that was Freddie Crossman.

  He stretched out on the bed and leaned up on one elbow to survey her.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Ah, yes.” With one finger he traced a line from the tip of her nose across her lips to her chin, then down between her breasts. His fingers lingered there. His mouth touched there. Freddie shivered. She clutched at him.

  “Gabe!” Her voice was urgent, needy.

  He smiled. But it was a strained smile because he was needy, too. Needing Freddie. He kissed each breast. His fingers moved down, found her-slick and soft and ready for him. She squirmed under his touch.

  He shut his eyes. Bit his lip. Held his breath.

  “Come to me, Gabe!” She reached for him, ran her hands over him, found the hottest, hardest part of him, making him exhale harshly.

  “Freddie!”

  “Now, Gabe,” she urged. And then she brought him home.

  That was what it felt like. Home. Where he was warm and safe and loved. Home-where he belonged.

  Sex had always been fun for Gabe. It had never made him want to weep before. Now it did.

  For love. For joy. For the pure unadulterated beauty of the way they fit together-body and soul.