Читать книгу Winning Over the Wrangler - Linda Ford - Страница 13

Chapter Four

Sybil’s heart bucked and twisted like one of those wild horses. As if Brand meant to tame her heart, too. She shook her head. How silly. She lived a careful life that didn’t need any taming. Brand filled the qualifications of a larger-than-life cowboy for her story. That was all. But she failed to still the furious pounding of her heart at having just seen him ride a rank horse, stand up to the challenge of the cowboys, and walk away as if he felt no pain. She knew otherwise and it concerned her. Would his pride and isolation cause him to neglect an injury?

She crossed to Jayne’s house and knocked on the door.

“Did you see that?” she asked when Jayne called for her to enter.

“I’ve been busy making a shirt for Seth.” Her friend held up the brown fabric. “It’s proving a bit of a challenge.” She let the cloth fall to her lap, and turned her attention to Sybil. “What’s going on?”

“Brand rode a horse Eddie had forbidden any of them to ride.” She filled in the details.

Jayne’s eyes widened in horror. “Was he injured?”

“He was limping.”

“Don’t you think someone should check on him and make sure he’s okay?” She narrowed her eyes at Sybil.

“Me?” She wanted to know he was okay, but surely someone else could take care of that. Her boundaries already felt threatened. She pulled the gates to her heart closed so she would be safe.

“Seems to me you’re the one who should. Mercy says he likes you.”

Why would Jayne say such a thing? Had Mercy been dreaming up stuff again? Brand had certainly never given any indication that he even noticed her. Oh, he might have let his gaze linger a bit long on her while he’d considered riding that awful horse. Simply because she was the only one to offer any sympathy at the challenge thrown before him.

“His dog might like me,” she finally said. She’d petted Dawg without any growling from the animal. “It’s hardly the same thing.” Sybil pretended a great interest in the view from the window as her cheeks burned with—

What? It wasn’t embarrassment. She had done nothing for which she should be embarrassed, except grow overly curious about a man who did not belong in her world.

Which, she reasoned, made him a perfect candidate as the hero in her story. Just not the perfect man to fill her head with all sorts of unfamiliar feelings and a thirsty longing to experience firsthand the kind of strength she’d felt when he swept her out of harm’s way. She knew a deep sense of emptiness when she watched him, when she thought of him.

Surely, only because she knew a man who allowed himself no last name must be very lonely.

But, she realized, in the awareness of his loneliness there was an answering echo of loneliness in her own heart.

Of course she was lonely. Her parents were gone. She had no family except elderly Aunt Celia, who cared not whether Sybil was there. Nor did she allow anyone to fill that hollowness.

Certainly Brand couldn’t be allowed to intrude into that loneliness. Only God could, and she tried to focus her thoughts on Him alone. He is my strength and shield. A present help in time of trouble.

The empty feeling in her heart refused to abate.

But she didn’t have to let her confusion get in the way of her common sense. Someone needed to make sure Brand was okay, and if she had to be that person, so be it. She turned to face her watching and waiting friend. “You’re right. Someone should check on him. Not because Mercy thinks he might like me. She is always dreaming up mad notions. But because he is alone with no one to care.” She’d go with gifts, so she wouldn’t wound his pride if he thought revealing an injury was a sign of weakness. “I’ll beg some cinnamon buns from Cookie and take Grady with me.”

“That’s the spirit. Show some spunk. Take life by the horns and hang on. Just like Brand on that horse.”

Sybil chuckled even as the words slapped her on the side of the head. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d been thinking only moments ago? Only it had been Brand taming her heart. “I could never be like that. I don’t want to be.” Writing her stories was enough danger for her.

Jayne laughed. “Someday, my dear cautious friend, you will find some reason to step outside your careful boundaries.”

Little did Jayne know how wobbly her boundaries were proving to be when she watched Brand and took mental notes. “Not me.” She hurried across to the cookhouse and explained her request.

“I keep hearing tall tales about the man,” Cookie said. “Wish he would come and visit me, but I understand he prefers his own company. He saved your life, though, and for that he has my gratitude.” The big woman wrapped some fresh cinnamon rolls in a piece of brown store paper. “You tell him thanks from me and Bertie.” Bertie, her husband, helped run the cookhouse.

Sybil took the buns and headed up the hill to the big house to ask Linette to let Grady accompany her.

Linette readily agreed and a few minutes later Sybil and the boy made their way toward the clearing.

Dawg’s growl greeted them before they stepped from the trees.

Grady clutched Sybil’s hand. “Mercy says he’s got a mean dog.”

“He won’t hurt you.” Though he certainly managed to keep most people at bay, she felt no threat from the dog.

Grady refused to take another step even when Dawg’s growl became a whine of greeting.

“Come on in,” Brand called.

Sybil struggled forward, her progress impeded by having to practically drag a reluctant Grady. Perhaps that was a sign she should stay away from Brand and his campsite. But now that she was here she couldn’t retreat, even if she wanted to. Of course she didn’t; she wanted to make sure he wasn’t injured. She could do that without stepping across any invisible lines she’d drawn for herself.

She entered the clearing.

Brand lounged back on his saddlebags. He made no attempt to rise at her presence.

That alone caused concern. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Just resting.” He tried to hide it, but she heard the strain in his voice.

“Your leg must be injured.”

“It’s fine.”

She studied him a moment, noting how the lines in his face had deepened. Why couldn’t he admit he had pain? “I know you’re not.”

He shrugged. “It’s not as if I jumped out of the loft door.”

“I saw how the horse rammed you into the fence. I’m certain your leg has been bruised or worse.”

“Only a bump. Nothing to be concerned about.”

There seemed no point in arguing. “Grady came to say hi.” She turned to the boy, who darted a look from Brand to Dawg and back again.

Sybil nudged him.

“Will your dog bite me?”

“I don’t know. Let’s ask him. Dawg, you gonna bite this boy?”

Dawg gave a wag of his crooked tail.

“Nope. But he’s not exactly the friendly sort.”

Grady carefully kept Sybil between them as Dawg wriggled closer. The nearer he got, the tighter Grady tucked himself into her other side, as if he hoped to disappear into the fabric of her skirts. She bent to pet the dog, but couldn’t with her hands full, so held the brown-paper-wrapped gift out to Brand. “Cookie sent some cinnamon rolls. The best in the country. She says she regrets you never stopped in to see her.”

Brand took the package. His long fingers grazed Sybil’s knuckles, making her heart buck three times in quick succession.

He sniffed deeply of the aroma. “If they taste half as good as they smell...” He waved for his visitors to sit down.

Grady kept close to Sybil as they settled on a log.

The dog slunk closer to Sybil. She hesitated a second. Was Dawg as cross as Brand led everyone to believe? She had no wish to have her hand torn off. Then she saw the welcome in the animal’s eyes and knew she was safe. She stroked the brown head, finding his fur surprisingly silky.

She felt Brand’s gaze on her and met it. “He’s a nice dog.”

Brand’s eyes filled with something she could only take as regret.

Did he mind that Dawg accepted her attention? She almost withdrew her hand, but couldn’t deny either herself or the dog this comfort. “Eddie wasn’t happy about the cowboys bringing in that wild horse.”

Brand shrugged. “It happens a lot.”

His words burned through her. Did he face this kind of challenge wherever he went? “Young Cal got put on manure shoveling for a month.” She laughed softly. “He didn’t look too happy about it.”

“It’s a smelly job.”

“You ever had to do it?”

“Shoveled my share of the stuff.”

“When? Where?”

“Here and there. Every cowboy has to do it.”

She’d hoped for more explanation but he didn’t offer any.

“What’s the hardest job you’ve ever had?”

He stared into the distance. “Burying my ma.”

Sybil’s thoughts stalled as pain and regret clawed up her limbs. She’d expected him to talk about horses. Instead, he reminded her of her own loss and loneliness, and her chin sank forward. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to be without parents.”

He didn’t answer.

She sucked in air to fill her tight lungs. Was he all alone? Did that explain why he drifted from place to place? Perhaps he sought for belonging. Family. Or home. “Brand, who are you?” The words sprang forth unbidden, but she ached to know.

He grunted and any welcome she might have imagined in his eyes disappeared into a stone-hard look. “Exactly what you see. A cowboy with a horse and a dog.”

“But you must have a name besides Brand. You must be more than that.”

His eyes grew harder, colder, if that was possible, and she shivered.

He might well have said, “Goodbye, this conversation is over.”

She had enough for her story.

He was known only as Cowboy. He never did give a last name before he rode into the sunset. He didn’t welcome any questions about his true identity. But he was the best bronc buster in the territory. A reputation well earned.

It began when he was ten...

But she wasn’t satisfied.

He interrupted her thoughts. “You best get the boy back before his folks start looking for him.”

She wanted to know what caused the pain she glimpsed before Brand pulled his hat lower. It wasn’t from his leg, but a tenacious wound that she suspected went deep and needed tending.

A wound left to fester was dangerous.

She patted Dawg one last time and rose to her feet. “Goodbye. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

She took Grady’s hand, but faced Brand another moment. “Be sure and take care of your leg.” Brand would have to find his own way of healing the deeper wound in his soul. “May God go with you and keep and protect you.”

She and Grady left.

Brand would be gone in the morning. She’d never see him again. She wished she’d been able to get more information, but that did not explain the sense of loss she felt.

She had no explanation for that and forbade herself to dwell on it.

Sybil took her time returning to the ranch site. She didn’t know whether to kick herself for being so direct with him, or put it down to an honest question that deserved an honest answer.

Grady ran ahead and joined his friend Billy near the foreman’s house.

As Sybil passed the cookhouse, Mercy sprang to her side, causing her to jump and press her palm to her chest to calm her heart. “Where did you come from?”

Mercy tucked her hand around Sybil’s arm. “Jayne told me what happened and said you’d gone to check on Brand. How is he?”

As evasive as a turtle. But of course, Mercy meant his leg. “Said it hurt some but he’d live.”

“You sound disappointed. Did you want to see him hurt?”

The words stung. “Of course not. But I had hoped he’d reveal a bit more about himself.”

“Ahh. So it’s all about your story?”

“Certainly. What else would it be?”

Mercy drew back and held her hands up. “I thought it might be about the man.”

She had been thinking of the man, not the story. Not that she’d ever admit so to her friend.

“Did you get up the nerve to ask him questions?”

She had. But it wasn’t nerve that prompted her question. Nor was it curiosity. She really wanted to know more about him. As a man. Best if Mercy didn’t know that, however. “As soon as I asked him who he was he got all cold and distant.”

Mercy grew thoughtful. “He must be running from something or maybe hiding something. Maybe he killed a man and is running from the law.” She shrugged. “Or maybe he just doesn’t like human company.”

Sybil shrugged. “Who knows? And I guess it doesn’t matter. He’s leaving as soon as Eddie pays him. I’ll write a story based on what I have, and that’s the end of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sybil had no idea what her friend was sorry about and didn’t intend to ask. No doubt Mercy would have more to say than she cared to hear.

* * *

Who are you? The question ricocheted around the inside of Brand’s head.

The words that had pressed against his lips were not the words he could allow himself to utter. He was a man who longed for female company. Even more than that, for someone with whom he could share the ordinary events of his life...even his thoughts.

He shook his head at the crazy notion.

Brand stared at the cold fire. If he meant to stay here he should get some more supplies. But he didn’t want to spend too much time in town. He could survive on cold beans. Had done so on more than one occasion, usually because he was trying to make time and not reveal his whereabouts with a fire.

He unwrapped Cookie’s cinnamon buns and took a bite of one. It was really good. He ate all three of them.

He should have told Sybil who he was. Who he had to be. A Duggan on the run, hiding his name, hiding from his pa and brother, hiding who he really was on the inside. He couldn’t change that fact. All he could do was accept it and be grateful he had been able to stay ahead of the gang.

Once Pa and Cyrus found him they became unstoppable.

How many times had Cyrus slammed him against a wall saying, “You been friends with those uppity people. Guess they must have money hidden in their house. Where is it?”

No matter how many times, or how hard Brand denied such knowledge, Cyrus would not accept it.

“Go back there and find out where they keep their money. We’ll be waiting and watching until you do,” he would press his face close and growl.

“Cyrus, be nice to your brother,” Pa would say. He said the right thing, but he didn’t intend to let Brand go, any more than Cyrus did.

“I can’t believe you’re my brother.” Brand had once spat the words at him.

Pa didn’t intervene when Cyrus punched Brand in the gut.

Brand had learned to wrap rags around his horse’s hooves and find his way out of town in midnight darkness.

The lonesome call of a coyote echoed across the dusky plains, breaking into his memories. Another call came from the opposite direction.

Brand shuffled about. Most days he enjoyed the way the coyotes called to each other, and the yip-yip-yi of their singing, but tonight the sound ached through his insides like an untreated sore, filled with painful loneliness.

Was it loneliness that had driven him to court May? He’d thought her so sweet, a real lady. He tried to recall her face, but saw only blue eyes. No, May’s eyes had been brown, like her hair.

They’d met five years ago, when she came into the store where he was buying supplies, in one of the many towns he’d stayed in only long enough to keep ahead of Pa. Brand could barely recall the names of most. This one had been Lost River, Wyoming. She’d asked a few questions and got vague answers, just enough for her to guess he was alone and unsure of the future. She’d invited him to join her and her family for church and then dinner afterward, shared with her parents, a widowed aunt and a sullen younger brother. Following the meal, they’d played board games.

It was the best Sunday Brand had known since his mother died.

Sundays with May’s family became a regular occurrence, as did Saturday afternoon outings. He and May spent time with her family. Sometimes they walked along the edge of town on their own.

He hadn’t seen Pa and Cyrus since Ma’s death, and let his guard down, thinking now Ma was gone they had no use for him.

Then he saw their names in a newspaper story. They’d robbed a bank, shot an innocent woman in the ensuing gunfight. A half-page poster accompanied the story. Duggan Gang Wanted. $500 Reward. Dead or Alive.

The ink had smudged, so it was impossible to see their likeness clearly, and no one looked at Brand with suspicion.

But he decided to tell May the truth. He planned the moment carefully. Saturday afternoon they walked to a secluded spot just out of town, where he could hope for privacy.

“That’s my pa and brother,” he said, knowing no other way to say it.

“Who?”

“The Duggan gang.”

She’d laughed. “Don’t be silly.”

He laughed, too, though out of nervousness, not mirth. “I’ve never been part of the gang.”

“Of course you haven’t.” She’d given him a playful push.

“How do you feel about being associated with a Duggan?” He waited, unable to pull in a satisfying breath. Then, overcome with a need to make her see it could be okay, he poured out a gush of words. “Ma and me always ran from them, but they’ve forgotten about me since my ma died. They’d never harm you. I wouldn’t let them.” He had no idea how he planned to protect her. In hindsight he knew he had deluded himself into believing they wouldn’t come after him.

She’d stared at him, her eyes wide as she accepted the truth. “A Duggan. An outlaw gang.”

“Not me. I’ve never robbed a soul.” Surely she couldn’t believe otherwise.

She backed away.

When he followed, she held up her hands. Her face twisted. “How dare you? What will happen if people associate my name with yours? A Duggan.” She spat the word out as if it burned her tongue.

She flung about and returned to the road.

He went after her. “May, wait.” He had to make her understand.

She kept walking. “Go away. I never want to see you again.”

He ground to a halt. Again his life had been shattered by the Duggan name. It was a curse.

He’d returned to his job, but three days later knew he had to move on. As he saddled up, a bunch of rowdies rode into town. He’d glanced up in time to see Pa and Cyrus leading a half dozen hard-looking men.

They had come. They would always come. They would find him. Even in Canada. Brand had no doubt of it. And if he had a lick of sense he would leave now. Before they showed up. Before they put Sybil in danger. Before he had to face the same cold dismissal he’d seen in May’s face.

Dawg lifted his head and growled.

Brand calmed him with a touch.

Hard voices murmured through the aspen. Hoofbeats thudded. Two horses, if he didn’t miss his guess. Had the reward money brought someone to his camp? He reached for his pistol.

The sounds grew closer. He got a glimpse of two horses and riders through the leaves.

His fingers tensed on his gun. Dead or alive meant bounty hunters would just as soon shoot him as tie him up. Less trouble that way.

The trail turned. So did the riders. Not until he could no longer hear them did his grip on the gun relax.

His heartbeat slowed to normal.

How long could he stay without putting himself in danger? Worse, putting Sybil and the others in danger from the Duggan gang?

But he’d told Eddie he would break the horses, and he meant to keep his word, though it wasn’t horses, Eddie or his honor that made him ignore his common sense.

It was the hope of seeing a golden-haired girl again that made him ignore all the reasons for leaving that normally proved enough to spur him on his way.

Dare he allow himself to hope Pa and Cyrus had forgotten about him?

He laughed at such high hopes.