Authors: Linda Ford
Then the horse stopped. It stood there quivering.
A murmur of approval circled the crowd.
“He did it,” Sybil said.
“Don't think so, not yet.”
And then the animal turned and tried to bite its rider. As Brand kicked away from the teeth, the horse suddenly started to buck again.
Brand fought to stay in the saddle.
The horse ran for the fence, ramming him against the boards.
Several cowboys groaned. “That's got to hurt,” said one. “Be a wonder if his leg ain't broke.”
The horse stampeded along the fence, several times banging Brand's leg into the boards. It bucked. It snorted.
Still he stayed on board.
And Sybil's heart swelled with pride in the man's accomplishments. Brand was far more than a campfire legend. He was the real deal. He could ride. He was a man who stuck to his decisions.
Now, where did that last thought come from? She knew nothing of his actions outside this corral.
And the feel of his arms about you as he swept you off your feet.
Nonsense. It didn't mean that much. Just that he'd saved her life and now she felt a special bond, as if she mattered to him.
Huh. I wonder if he even remembers your name.
She silenced the inner voice.
The animal trying to toss Brand to the ground finally wearied and stopped bucking.
“I'd say his reputation is well earned,” Sybil said, loudly enough for several of the cowboys to hear. This story would be the best one she'd ever written.
Never once did he reveal a hint of fear as he swung into the saddle. Those watching caught a collective breath and held it, wondering who would win this contest between man and beast.
Two men jumped forward and took the horse.
Brand slipped off, leaning against the fence.
The cowboys clapped and cheered as he limped away, none louder than Sybil. Without turning, Brand waved his hand in acknowledgment. “Tell the boss he knows where to find me.” He made his way across the yard and into the trees toward his campsite.
Sybil watched him leave. He had been hurt, though he hid it admirably.
At that moment, Eddie rode into the midst of the men. “I didn't find any bull needing help.”
“Must have been mistaken,” Cal murmured.
Eddie glanced around the group, studied the horse now turned into the bigger corral. Several of the men tried to slip away unnoticed. “Wait up.”
They ground to a halt.
“Anyone care to tell me what's going on?” Eddie leaned over the saddle horn, looking casual and relaxed. But Sybil certainly wasn't fooled by his posture, and she guessed from the shuffling of booted feet that the cowboys weren't, either.
Slim sat on a horse at the boss's side and looked about ready to give them all a good chewing out.
Eddie's gaze settled on Cal. “You sent me on a wild-goose chase. I'd like to know why. And why is that stallion in the corrals? Haven't I told you all to leave him alone? He's a man killer.”
Eddie's answer confirmed her suspicion that the cowboys were all involved in this potentially dangerous challenge. She glanced to where she'd last seen Brand. How badly had he been hurt?
Cal stepped forward. “We just wanted to see how good a rider he was. After all,” he said, growing bold, “you can't just take his word for it.”
Eddie studied Cal long enough that the younger man squirmed. “Did he ride the stallion?”
“To a standstill,” one of the others answered, when Cal hesitated.
“Then he deserves his reputation.”
A murmur of agreement came from the group.
Eddie continued to study Cal. “You can shovel manure for the next month. With no help.”
Without another word, the boss reined away and rode to the big house.
Sybil hid a grin at the disgruntled look on Cal's face.
Not even a wicked man killer of a horse could unseat this big, bold bronc buster. The cowboy rode the rank horse to a standstill...
Her gaze found the path where Brand had disappeared. He'd done his best to hide his pain, but she knew he'd been hurt. Did anyone care?
* * *
Brand waited at the campfire for Eddie to appear with the money he'd earned. Then he'd be on his way.
He sucked in a deep blast of air and rubbed his leg. That mean sucker of a horse had had murder in mind. Seeing as he hadn't succeeded in bucking Brand off so he could trample him, he'd meant to try and knock him off. Had banged his leg good and hard against the fence. It hurt some, but it wasn't anything he couldn't live with.
He gingerly stretched out his leg and leaned back, smiling up at the brilliant sky. He kind of enjoyed the way Sybil had watched him and clapped when he rode the horse. He snorted and pulled his hat over his eyes. No point in looking at blue skies and dreaming of possibilities.
He could never be anything more than Brand, the bronc buster.
Enough staring into nothing. Time to get something to eat. From his meager supplies he chose a can of beans and opened it. Opened a second can for Dawg.
He downed the beans cold, chasing them with hot coffee.
His thoughts wandered again to a golden gal whose blue eyes smiled so gently at him he could almost believe she cared. But how could she? She knew nothing of him. Certainly not who he really was. A Duggan. Part of an outlaw family. Even if for some reason he stayed, he could never tell her, and lose the memory of that smile.
What would it be like to return home every day to a smiling welcome like that?
Brand Duggan would never know.
His leg pained him. It wasn't broken, but bruised enough to remind him with every move that a horse had almost got the better of him. But the pain paled in light of a deeper pain that never left. Oh, sure, he sometimes managed to ignore it, push it away, pretend it didn't exist, but all his efforts were but a thin scab that could be easily dislodged.
Something about Sybil had done more than dislodge it. Her gentle manner had scrapped away the protective layer, exposing the rawness beneath.
So many things contributed to the wound. Too many to count. Besides, what was the point?
He missed Ma. He missed conversations. Heart-to-heart talks. Teasing and laughing. He missed a warm bed and a hot meal at the end of the day. He missed having a home.
Home.
The word reverberated through his head, his heart and his soul. A trumpet sound of despair that he couldn't deny.
Something Ma had often said to him sprang into his mind.
God will always be with us. Always guide us to a safe place. Always. We have to trust Him
.
He'd long ago dismissed the words. He didn't see how God being with them had made any difference. Pa always ended up finding them. Yes, Ma and Brand had always slipped away, hoping to find a place where no one knew who they were. At first, Ma had urged Brand along, helping him hide, taking care of finding a place for them. Then Brand had needed no more urging. He'd helped Ma carry their meager possessions. Had sometimes been the one to find them a safe place. He'd often been the first one to hear rumors of robberies, and know Pa and Cyrus were close by and it was time to move on.
Just as he must leave here to stay ahead of the Duggan gang. But what would happen if he stayed a few more days? Not with any idea of putting down roots. No. He knew better than that. Sooner or later, Pa and Cyrus would show up.
But a few hours. A few days. What could it hurt? He wouldn't do anything rash, like attempt to court Sybil, simply enjoy a moment of her company here and there. Shoot, he'd be content to watch her from a distance. Then he'd leave, with his heart full of memories to last him a lifetime.
Memories. Nothing but memories. The word screamed through his brain, tearing a wide, aching, oozing path.
“Isn't like I have any reason to stay,” he muttered to Dawg, who replied with a yawn. “Don't see anyone throwing out the welcome mat.”
Brand rubbed his aching leg. At least this pain would abate and he'd soon forget it. Unlike the emotional pain.
Dawg bolted to his feet, hackles up, growling.
“I hear it.” Hoofbeats thudded. Someone approaching the camp. Brand's skin prickled as it always did when he knew someone watched him. His hand crept toward his gun belt and rested on the grip of his pistol. Had his identity been discovered? Did someone seek the five-hundred-dollar reward for the capture, dead or alive, of any of the Duggan gang?
Friend or foe. He'd give his last nickel to never again have to wonder which it was every time a stranger approached. At least he didn't have to worry about whether or not he could trust a friend. He hadn't allowed himself one in a very long time.
Eddie rode into sight and air eased from Brand's lungs.
He pushed to his feet. His leg protested the change in position, but he straightened it and waited as the rancher swung from his horse.
He'd get his wages and be on his way. And if his insides twisted at the thought, he wouldn't acknowledge it. Nope. He'd move on. Forget those he left.
This time would prove more challenging than simply waving goodbye to a bunch of cowboys who spoke no more words than necessary, and would forget him as quickly as he forgot them. This time he would turn his back on a pretty young lady who had momentarilyâand not of her choosingârested in his arms.
Eddie stood before him, a grin on his face. “Got some good news for you.”
Brand nodded. Only good news he could think of was the Duggan gang had disappeared into Mexico. As if it would really make a difference.
“I ran into Sam Stone today.”
“Uh-huh.” Whoever Sam Stone was.
“He runs the OK Ranch to the north of us.”
“Oh, yeah.” Still didn't make any difference to Brand. “I finished breaking the horses. Some will need a bit more handling, but they're all fit to ride. So I'll be moving on.”
“Wait until you hear what I have to offer.”
He waited. As if he had any choice. Eddie seemed set to drag his news out as long as possible.
“Sam sold me a herd of wild horses. Said he didn't have time or a man to deal with them.” The rancher rolled back on his heels, as pleased with his announcement as any man Brand had seen. “I want you to stay on and break them for me.”
Brand's shoulders jerked up. His spine pressed against his skin. Stay? Wasn't it exactly what he'd wanted? A few more days of watching Sybil. Of storing up memories. His muscles tensed at the risks it involved.
How long had it been since he'd last seen Pa and Cyrus? Longer than usual. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard mention of the Duggan gang since he'd crossed the border into Canada.
A grin crept around his heart and eased toward his mouth. Could it be that the Duggan gang didn't care to meet up with the Mounties? No doubt they'd heard the tales of how tenacious the mounted police were. How they always got their man. The grin grabbed his mouth and Brand allowed his lips to curl just a little. Maybe he could be free of them if he stayed in Canada. Even as he allowed the hope, he knew he couldn't trust it. At least not for long.
“I could stay around a few more days, I guess.” His casual words disguised his eagerness.
“You're welcome to bunk with the others and eat at the cookhouse. Cookie makes a fine meal.”
“I don't doubt it.” He'd breathed in the rich aromas every day from the cookhouse's open windows. “But Dawg here ain't very friendly.”
Right on cue, Dawg snarled at Eddie.
“He sure isn't. I wouldn't tolerate him biting anyone at the ranch.”
“Never known him to bite. Mostly he threatens.” Brand must make sure Eddie didn't encourage anyone to challenge Dawg. “Figure he'd only bite if he thought someone meant to harm me.”
The rancher nodded. “Good enough. I'll expect you in the morning then. You want your wages for what you've already done?”
“I'll pick them up when I'm finished.” No need to get them now. When he was done he'd go to town and buy some supplies and a warm winter coat. He'd plumb wore out his last one and given it to Dawg to use for a bed. Dawg had chewed it to pieces and they'd left the remnants behind a few months ago.
Eddie mounted up and rode away. And Brand allowed the waiting smile to claim his mouth. “Well, don't that beat all?”
Dawg whined, studied him with head tilted to one side.
“It's only for a short time. Then we'll be gone.” A few more days wouldn't compromise their safety or Sybil's, but no point in explaining that to Dawg.
Brand settled back on the ground and smiled up at the sky. Ma's words seeped into his soul. God had led him to a safe place. Though he understood it was only temporary.
His leg twitched and he rubbed it.
How long would this place be safe?
Not long enough.
Chapter Four
S
ybil'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 withâ
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.