by Linda Ford
She caught the sound of grunting and scuffling. And Dawg growling.
“Dawg, quiet.” These were the only words she heard Brand speak.
“Get to your feet,” Cal said harshly.
Sybil clutched at the rough wood on the door frame. Why was Cal so vindictive? What did he hope to gain by parading Brand before the others? Everyone knew he was in the barn and why. But Cal wanted to further humiliate him.
Brand had dealt with enough already. His capture. His pa’s death. Enough was enough.
Ignoring the warning voice in her head that said she should stay out of this, Sybil hurried down the aisle. She reached the open gate.
Dawg whined, alerting Brand. He stood before Cal, his hands bound, a rope around his neck. He shook his head as if warning her away.
But she was beyond paying attention to a warning of any sort. “I wonder what Eddie would think of this. Or have you sent him after an imaginary sick cow again?”
Cal spun about, his eyes wide with surprise, and then they narrowed. “It was a bull and this is none of your concern.”
A few minutes ago she might have agreed with him. In fact, she might have been compelled to add her own words of condemnation. But suddenly everything was so clear she wondered how she could have been confused for even a minute.
Cal gave her his back as he turned his attention to Brand. “He’s an outlaw. Don’t bother wasting your time on him.”
She stepped into the pen. Dawg pressed to her side and she patted his head, but kept her attention fixed on Cal. When he continued to ignore her, she grabbed his shoulder. “Who appointed you judge and jury?”
He spared her a look full of disbelief. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“Sybil, leave it be.” Brand obviously did not thank her for interfering.
“I have no intention of leaving it be. Cal, let him alone.”
The cowboy laughed in her face. “Who’s going to stop me?”
She grabbed the rope, surprising him enough that it slipped from his grip. She glowered at him. “I am.”
Cal growled. “Little Miss London. Too good for the rest of us. You might just consider that you don’t belong here and this is none of your business.” He lunged for the rope, but Brand jerked away, pushed Sybil aside and faced Cal.
“You can call me an outlaw all you want, but you will treat Miss Bannerman like a lady.”
Cal’s face darkened. His fists curled.
Dawg’s hackles rose and he snarled at the man.
Cal kicked at him. “Your dog is ugly and stupid.” He grabbed the rope and yanked it tight.
Brand choked, fought the rope with his bound hands.
Sybil shoved Cal. He shoved back and she fell into the boards.
Dawg erupted into a ball of flying fur. He lunged at Cal, grabbed his arm and bit.
Cal shook his arm, balled his fist and—
Sybil screamed.
“Cal, that’s enough.” Eddie’s voice stopped them midmotion. He stepped into the pen and loosened the rope around Brand’s neck. “Call off your dog.”
Brand croaked out two words. “Dawg, down.” He clutched at his throat. Dawg released Cal and stood back, his hackles raised, his teeth bared as he growled.
Cal held his arm. “That dog attacked me for no reason. I’m going to get my gun and shoot him.” He stomped toward the gate.
“Stop.” Eddie spoke the order softly but with no mistake. He meant to be obeyed.
Cal halted, his back to the others.
“You can pack your bag and be off the place immediately. I wouldn’t advise you to linger. I might regret letting you off so easy if I have time to think about it.”
Cal turned. “I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
Eddie planted his fists on his hips. “I heard enough, saw enough to disagree. You aren’t the sort of man I wish to have on the place.” His eyebrows rose. “I’m already having second thoughts about letting you just ride out.”
Cal spared Brand one hot look and then tramped out of the barn.
Eddie faced Sybil and Brand. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Sybil said.
Brand nodded and backed up to the corner.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie said. “Outlaw or not, you don’t deserve to be treated like that. I wish I didn’t have to tie you up again, but I do.”
Brand simply sat down and let himself be tied to the post.
Sybil bit her lip to keep from protesting. “Eddie, do you mind if I stay here and talk to Brand?”
“I believe you’re safe enough.” He backed away and left the barn.
Sybil lowered herself to the floor in front of Brand and sat staring at him, uncertain what she wanted to say.
He studied her, his eyes flat, his face expressionless. Then he laughed.
She stared. “What’s so funny?”
He shook his head, unable to talk.
She lifted her eyebrows, silently demanding an answer.
“You,” he sputtered. “‘Little Miss London.’ You certainly surprised that cowboy. You looked about ready to bear wrestle him.” He laughed some more.
“I don’t see what’s so funny. He was about to hurt you.” A trickle of amusement drowned out her fear and a grin grew on her lips. “I did surprise him, didn’t I?” Not half as much as she’d surprised herself. Where had the fight come from? She was normally the most agreeable, most nonaggressive person imaginable. Her actions were totally out of character.
He sobered. “Why are you here?”
Her amusement ended as quickly as it had begun. “I don’t know.” She studied her fingers as they intertwined in her lap. “I guess I was hoping for some answers.” She lifted her head and met his look, searching for truth.
At first his eyes were hard, then she detected a softening. He sighed. “What more do you need to know? I’m a Duggan.”
“I don’t believe that says it all.”
He looked past her. Kept his attention focused on something beyond her shoulder.
“Brand, who are you besides that?”
Slowly his gaze came to her, and she shivered at the pain she saw embedded in them. He blinked as if he hoped to erase it, but failed.
She squeezed her fingers tighter to keep from reaching for him. Her heart could not forget the few days when she’d believed in him. The way they’d laughed together, nursed Dawg together. The way they’d kissed. “Why did you kiss me?”
The pain in his eyes deepened, turning them to black coals. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “That’s not what I want to hear.” When had she become so demanding? So outspoken? She knew the answer. When she began to sort out the pieces of what she knew about Brand. “Things just don’t add up. If you were staking out the place, as we’re supposed to believe, why did you never visit Eddie’s house? Why did you avoid everyone on the ranch except me? Why didn’t you ask questions about the place? What kind of front man could you possibly be?” She grew impassioned as she spoke, lifting her hands imploringly.
She knew she wasn’t mistaken in judging his attitude shifted. His shoulders relaxed. His breathing came easier.
Then he shrugged. “I’m still a Duggan and that is how I’ll be judged.”
“Are you saying you’ll go the gallows with your only defense being that you’re a Duggan? Need I point out that is no defense at all?”
He tipped his head to one side in a dismissive gesture.
“I don’t understand.” She sorted through the events of the past few days. “Why did Cyrus kidnap me? If you were doing the job of spying out the land, why kidnap me? Wouldn’t it just bring more attention to the gang? What purpose did my kidnapping serve?”
“Apart from giving Cyrus some sport, you mean?”
>
It wasn’t meant as a question but an answer. A truly unsatisfactory one, she decided.
“I was very angry at first. I don’t like being deceived. But more and more the whole situation simply doesn’t make sense.”
He studied the shape of his dog’s head, visually examined the grain of the wood in the wall beside him and generally pretended a great interest in everything but her demands.
“Brand. Can you not offer an explanation? Don’t I deserve at least that much?”
He shifted his gaze back to her, all sign of emotion gone. “You figure one little kiss gives you the right to know everything about me?”
His harsh words drained the concern from her thoughts. She rose to her feet in a slow, self-controlled manner. “I haven’t given the kiss another thought.” It was as false as his pretense to be a good, kind man. Or was his falsehood in pretending to be an outlaw? She left the barn without a backward look.
But she could not shake off the feeling that things were not as they appeared, if anyone cared to look beyond the surface.
But was anyone willing to do so?
* * *
Brand waited until he knew she was long gone before he let out a low groan. “Sure hate to be mean to her,” he explained to Dawg. “But what’s the point in her thinking I’m innocent? The Mountie caught me in the act of robbing the store.” No one would believe he was there against his will. After all, he was a Duggan. And that said it all. He’d ask for no mercy except from God, who knew the truth and had forgiven more than one Duggan.
Lord, there’s still Cyrus. Give him a chance to repent, too.
And thank you that Sybil wonders if I’m guilty.
Brand could die with joy tucked around his heart to know that. More than that. If he held on to the memory of her facing down Cal, he could die happy.
He sobered instantly. He did not fancy dangling at the end of a rope. But he saw no way of avoiding it.
Because the truth was, he had been involved in a robbery. He had become what he had avoided so hard for years.
He’d become a Duggan in more than name.
Unable to guess at the time except to know the sun shone in the western window of the barn, he settled down to wait, Dawg at his side.
He was roused by a shout outside. “It’s the Mountie.”
“Looks like he got the men.”
“Nothing I like better’n to see two outlaws draped over the back of a horse.”
Draped? As in dead? Cyrus was dead? Shock coursed through Brand’s body. Somewhere deep in his brain he’d secretly hoped Cyrus would tell the truth about why Brand had been involved in the robbery. Now that chance was gone. Though all along he’d told himself no one would believe one Duggan over the other.
He strained upward, hoping for a glimpse of the Mountie, trying to catch more words, but he couldn’t get high enough to see over the sides of the pen, nor could he hear the men as they rushed past and out of his hearing. “Dawg, I sure wish you could go find out what’s going on.”
Dawg stood at attention, listening to the commotion outside but choosing to stay at Brand’s side.
Brand sank back, knowing he would have to wait until someone came to inform him. And wait he did, the minutes ticking by with maddening slowness.
It was Eddie who finally came. “The Mountie wants to see you.” He untied Brand from the post, leaving his hands bound. “Trust you won’t try and run.”
Brand glanced about. “Would seem futile, seeing as every place I look there are people. ’Spect some of them would be happy enough to shoot another Duggan.”
Eddie didn’t reply as he led him up the hill.
Brand paused inside the door of the big house, struck once again by the size and beauty of the place. It was the right setting for a girl like Sybil.
She stood inside the room to the left of the big entryway, her eyes watchful and still begging for the truth.
He managed a flicker of a smile that went no deeper than his lips. But he wanted to somehow assure her she needn’t worry about him.
Then Eddie led him down the hall to another room. They stepped inside. The Mountie sat in a big leather chair, before an oak desk. Shelves full of books encircled the room, with chairs placed in three of the corners. Just right for reading. A little table provided a place for writing. He allowed himself one mental picture of Sybil sitting there, writing her stories, before he turned his full attention to Constable Allen.
“Guess you got the others.”
“I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,” the Mountie replied. “They both came back dead.” He indicated a chair in front of the desk, and Brand sat. “Sorry about your brother.”
Brand didn’t answer for several seconds, still uncertain what he thought of Cyrus’s death. Finally, he said the only thing that made sense. “I hoped for a chance to tell him he could find God’s mercy. Guess it’s too late for that.”
“Again, I’m sorry.”
Sorry was a pitifully inadequate word, but he guessed there was no other.
“Cyrus had lots to say before he died.”
“Cyrus always was a talker. Ma used to say his tongue was loose on both ends.” Now why had he said that? As if anyone cared.
The Mountie chuckled. “I can see why she’d say that. He had some mighty interesting things to say.”
Brand held his counsel. Cyrus wasn’t exactly the truth-telling sort, so he couldn’t begin to guess what had been said.
“I think he was afraid you’d get off scot-free, so he warned us that you might concoct a story. Even told us what it was you’d say. I found that a little odd. How would he know the details of your story? I’ve been asking around. Putting the information together.”
“That a fact?” Whom had he been talking to and what information had he gathered?
“The facts are this. You were unarmed at the robbery. Miss Sybil says you never asked any questions that would gain you information of the sort needed for a robbery. Macpherson says you had been in the store only twice and both times hurried in and out. Eddie tells me you wouldn’t even accept an invitation to the house. Seems odd if indeed you meant to rob him. Then Bertie comes to me and tells me that you were forced to go along with the robbery in order to protect Miss Bannerman. How am I doing so far?”
Brand couldn’t put two words together. All those people had spoken in his defense?
The Mountie continued. “I have one question for you.” He waited for a nod from Brand. “Are you guilty or innocent?”
Brand considered his answer carefully. He had no desire to hang, but neither did he want to spend the rest of his life running from the Duggan name. “I was with the gang when they tried to rob Macpherson’s store, but I did not wish to be.”
The Mountie smiled. “I’ll take that as a plea of innocence.” He closed his notebook and nodded toward Eddie. “He can go free.”
The rancher untied his ropes and clapped Brand on the back. “I have to say, keeping you prisoner went against my judgment. I’m glad to see I was right in my estimation of you. Now come and join us for supper.”
Brand stood, rubbing his wrists and feeling as out of place as Dawg would have. “Might be best if I move on. I’m still a Duggan.”
“Nonsense. If you leave without giving us a chance to prove we believe you’re innocent, you’ll forever wonder whether or not we do. You want to carry that with you down the trail?”
“I guess not.”
“Then come along.” And before Brand could think of a reason to refuse, he found himself drawn into a big kitchen, warm with the feel of family and love, full of the smells of good home-cooked food and the smiling faces of those who lived in the house.
He stared at Sybil. He couldn’t help himself. She’d spoken on his behalf. Overwhelmed by how things had changed for the
better, he lowered his gaze to the floor. “I’m grateful for—” He couldn’t even say what it was, so didn’t finish.
Linette sprang forward. “I never did believe you were part of the gang. Now sit here.” She indicated a chair at the table, and he sat.
Everyone suddenly found chairs and settled into them. Constable Allen sat beside him, Grady beyond that. Linette and Eddie at each end of the big wooden table, Mercy and Sybil across from each other. All Brand had to do was lift his eyes and he connected with Sybil’s steady blue ones. He expected his were full of shock, since he hadn’t yet processed the events of the past hour. Hers brimmed with triumph.
If only he could guess what that meant. Was she happy she’d put some of the pieces together even without the Mountie’s help?
Was she happy Brand wasn’t going to hang?
He ducked his head. His heart raced with impossible possibilities.
Chapter Fourteen
Sybil could hardly sit through the meal. It went on and on as Eddie and Linette shared all the details of what the Mountie had discovered.
As for Mercy...well, her friend said over and over, “I can’t believe you have all the adventures, while I can’t find one no matter how hard I look.”
Sybil only wanted the meal to end. As soon as it did she would find an opportunity to speak to Brand alone.
Constable Allen broke into the conversation and asked Brand, “Would you like to see your brother?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
Eddie and Linette shared one of those secret communicative looks, then the rancher spoke. “Do you want to bury him next to your father?”
Brand did his best to hide his emotions, but Sybil felt his surprise and gratitude just as she’d felt it throughout the meal. It would appear that carrying the Duggan name had brought him nothing but regrets. Well, now he could change that.
“He was an outlaw.” Brand’s words were strained. “And as far as I know, he never repented.”
The Mountie cleared his throat. “I don’t think any of us are able to judge that matter. Cyrus did not die right away. I spoke to him once he could no longer talk nonstop. I told him he could make his peace with God.”
