Gabriel's Law Page 4

Jay sat back in the chair abruptly, eyes wide. He gulped, his black eyes riveted on Brandon.

  Brandon sighed, grimacing at the sharp pain in his ribs. "Jay—"

  "I'm sorry," the boy mumbled. He cast a glance over his shoulder toward the open door. "Please – don't tell Mama I asked. You know – about you bein' my pa."

  Brandon swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment. All the years of wondering if he'd ever meet his own father – and what he'd do if he did come face to face with him – weighed heavy on his mind. No one could understand if they hadn't been in that position. A boy wanted to know his father; wanted to make his father proud of him. And, he wanted to be proud of his father, in return.

  "I won't," he promised. Allie was coming toward the door. There was no time left for discussion. He had hurt Jay unintentionally; now, there was no time to explain. "We'll talk later."

  Jay nodded, and the tightness in his face eased some.

  "Thanks for staying with me," Brandon said, and the tension lessened a little more. Just then, Allie came around the corner into the room carrying a steaming mug of the medicinal tea.

  She smiled at Brandon as she set the mug on the night table, then patted Jay on the shoulder.

  "It's going to be a sparse dinner tonight, I'm afraid. I'm making fried potatoes, and we'll have the leftover biscuits. Sound good?"

  Jay nodded enthusiastically. "I'm starving."

  "Go ahead and grab a biscuit, to tide you over until the potatoes are done."

  As Jay left the room, Allie turned to Brandon. "Let me help you sit up."

  "I can do it."

  "You'll hurt your hand."

  Brandon gritted his teeth, shifting in the bed, then came to a half-sitting position. Allie shook her head at his stubbornness. She held the cup for him as he drank. He slumped back against the pillows, his eyes closed, preparing to finish the rest of the bitter brew.

  "I wish you'd let me help you."

  Brandon looked at her silently. She put a hand on her hip, holding the cup with her other hand.

  "You've done enough," he muttered. "And there's more to come. I'm just tryin' to do what I can on my own."

  His arm began to tremble as he supported himself. Maybe the tea would ease some of the pain.

  As if she'd heard his thoughts, Allie stepped forward and sat in the chair, extending the cup. "Here. You need to finish it up. I know this doesn't taste very good, but it will help."

  He drank another swallow of it.

  "But, you know that from experience, I'm sure."

  His eyes met hers over the rim of the cup for a moment, and then he drank the last of the tea and lay back against the pillows. The pain was worse than he would ever let her know. There was worry in her eyes, and he couldn't forget the tears he'd seen lurking there earlier.

  The lashes were burning from the exertion of propping up, and he felt the warm ooze of fresh blood through the bandaging. His ribs…his ribs were cracked, at the very least. If he breathed too deeply, the left side hurt so badly it immediately stole his breath back. His stomach and chest were a mass of bruises where fists and boots had connected. The bloodied streak of flesh at his side reminded him just how lucky he'd been that whoever had wielded the knife hadn't been more accurate with it. Same with the bullet. It had tracked through his side, just barely missing everything vital by a scant inch. Amateurs. And it was a damn good thing.

  The whole beating had been hastily planned, it seemed, with not a lot of forethought. The townsfolk weren't professional killers. They were just mindless, as most mobs were. But the damage they'd done was bad enough.

  Allie fussed with the pillows a moment, then stood and took the mug from the nightstand. She looked uneasy as her gaze flicked over him.

  He gave her a half-grin. "What?"

  "Try to hide it all you want, Brandon. I know you're hurting." He was silent and she went on. "You don't have to stay so strong for me. I know you aren't used to having anyone in this big ol' world, but you can count on me."

  She bent down, close to him, and gave his forehead a light kiss.

  That was what he'd been afraid of. He wasn't going to be here long enough for her to be the one he could count on. Didn't even want her thinking that way. Unwittingly, he had brought danger to the one person in the world he cared for – the one person who cared for him.

  "Allie, you know – I can't stay here."

  For a moment, a look of panic crossed her face, quickly erased as though it had never been. She looked down and nodded. "We've gotta get you well. No doubt about that." She turned toward the door. "Guess I better check on the potatoes. I'll be back in a bit."

  What was she scared of? The men who'd beaten him, or something else? There were secrets in this house. Brandon closed his eyes. Right now, he hurt too much to think about what they might be. Beneath the blanket, he fought the urge to move his mangled hand, to test it – to see how bad the pain was – a gauge of how bad the damage was.

  He drifted, letting the sleep come again, allowing himself to go into it as he searched for respite from the hurt. The physical agony, he could deal with. It was the emotional hurting that he couldn't confront. Not yet. Not yet.

  Chance had delivered Allie to him again, but Fate wouldn't allow it. And unless he was mistaken, his heart was fast deserting him. He knew when he left her this time, Allie would keep that piece of him forever.

  Chapter 5

  After supper, Allie gathered up the dishes and put them to soak in the wash pan. She set by a plate of potatoes and a biscuit for Brandon, but when she carefully opened the door to check on him, he was sleeping. He lay on his side so as not to put pressure on the deep lash welts across his neck and upper back. His right hand was covered beneath his left, protected, even as he slept. The grim set of his lips kept any sound he might make hidden. Relaxation failed him, his muscled frame tense as he slept. The lines in his face deepened as he shifted. Allie stood beside him for a moment, then reached to smooth his straight, dark hair away from his face. Her hand stopped before she touched him. He'd always been a light sleeper.

  Her thoughts roamed back through the years, when they'd been together before, at the orphanage. Brandon had always been the first one up. She'd risen early one morning in need of the outhouse, and found him already outside, sitting cross-legged on the dew-wet grass, watching the sun rise. Walking past him primly, her face burned in the dawn light as she made her way to the privy. Neither of them spoke. When she walked by him going back inside, their eyes had met.

  Allie's heart jumped to her throat. Brandon Gabriel was older, and Indian. He'd always been kind to her – except that time when he'd put the cricket in her shoe. That had broken her heart, and she'd almost cried. He'd sought her out as they were doing their afternoon chores and apologized to her.

  From that time on, he'd been watchful of her, and that morning as the sun was rising was no different.

  "Everything all right, Allie?" he'd asked quietly.

  "Yes." She stepped closer. "What are you doing out here so early, Bran?"

  "Watching Father Sun kiss Mother Earth good morning."

  "That's pretty," Allie said, immediately wishing she had remained quiet. That particular choice of words had made him uncomfortable, she thought.

  "It's…legend. I just like being alone out here—" He broke off as Allie stopped where she was, coming no closer. "I didn't mean it like that. I don't mind your company, ever."

  She settled herself on the ground beside him, not near enough to touch him, more intent on watching him than the spectacular sunrise.

  "Brandon—" She wanted to tell him how grateful she was that he'd broken up a scuffle the day before between Dickey and Jake. Dickey was sickly, an easy target for the other boys.

  He reached to take her hand. "Shh. Let's not talk right now. Just watch."

  At that moment, she'd realized she was in love with Brandon Gabriel. As the light broke over the horizon, she'd dared not look into his dark eyes for fear that he'd see how
much he meant to her. It would ruin everything. He was just being kind to her, looking out for her as he had for Dickey. But, with his hand enfolding hers, Allie suddenly felt as if she had everything she could ever want.

  Looking down at him now, all those old feelings roared through her like a freight train. She'd tamped them down so long, missed him so much. The thought of what almost happened to him this afternoon in town was too horrible to dwell on.

  He felt he was bringing trouble down on her, but he couldn't be further from the truth. He was the answer to a prayer. She needed him; needed him badly, if her plan was to succeed.

  Ever since those days she spent at The Benevolent Christian Home for Infants and Waifs, she kept the dream of doing something for other orphans close to her heart. The idea for what she could do had come to her after she rescued Jay. When they'd bought this house and land – a real home – it began to fall into place in her mind. She wanted to open a ranch facility that would be self-sufficient. At first, she'd have to take in older boys with no homes, and let them work the cattle herd she had on order. They'd learn a trade, then when the cattle were sold, they could reinvest in the home if they wanted, buy into next year's herd. Or, if they were ready, strike out on their own with their share of profits or cattle, whichever they chose. No matter what, they'd never be at the mercy of the world.

  Eventually, she hoped to broaden her operation, but first, she had to get it up and running. She needed a foreman, and she needed him now. There would be no chance any of the townspeople would help. The boys would be here in three days; the cattle – two weeks – at the most.

  She quietly gathered some of the bandaging strips and the open bottle of whiskey. She'd see to Big Mack, and then she and Jay would talk.

  Tomorrow…tomorrow, she'd find a way to convince Brandon Gabriel to stay. For now, sleep was the best medicine for him. He was safe here. She would make sure of that.

  * * * * *

  Jay sat beside the bed they'd made for Big Mack in the corner, behind the settee. His hand rested on the dog's brown head. Big Mack whined, moving slightly. He'd gotten torn up before, Jay thought, but never this bad. Jay figured he'd lied when he told Mr. Gabriel he was 'almost' in as bad shape as Big Mack. Mr. Gabriel's wounds were even worse, but Jay hadn't wanted to say so.

  Truthfully, he was scared for both of them. Big Mack was a fighter, and probably, Mr. Gabriel would be too.

  Jay settled back against the wall. He would've given his right arm to see Mr. Gabriel run the Claytons out of Spring Branch. Listening to the other boys at school talking, making their plans to sneak down to the bluff overlooking the town to watch the gunslinger take on the gang, he'd felt so alone. His ears perked up when he'd realized the conversation had taken a gory, unexpected twist.

  "Hell, no!" Jimmy's voice rose above the others. "I ain't talkin' 'bout seein' him run the Claytons out of town." He grinned, wide. "I'm talkin' 'bout what comes after."

  "After?" Charlie Hayes had asked.

  The circle of boys leaned close to hear Jimmy's explanation. All but Jay. He pretended not to care, sitting a few yards away on the ground alone, his lunch in the pail between his legs.

  "Yeah. After. My pa and some of the other men have a little surprise for the gunslinger. A nice serving of 'knuckle sandwich'. Pa says they're gonna pay him in full – just not like he thinks."

  The boys fell silent, shocked.

  "What if he gets warned? Shoots your pa instead?" Brock Hastings was the first to recover enough to speak.

  Jimmy shook his head assuredly. "He won't. He'll be dead before sundown, Pa says. No doubt about it."

  Jay hadn't been invited to go with the boys, being Indian, and a bastard. But how he wished he'd followed, just to see what had happened! How did Mama get Mr. Gabriel away from the men?

  Jimmy's pa was going to be sore as heck. His plan hadn't worked, after all.

  If Jimmy knew the gunman was staying with them, he was liable to be as mad as his pa. Jay would have to fight Jimmy – and he always lost that fight. Jimmy was strong as heck, and two years older.

  Jay's spirits plummeted even further. He stroked Big Mack's head.

  "Jay?" Allie peered around the corner of the settee, her arms laden with supplies to treat the dog's injuries.

  Jay sat forward, reaching to take the bandaging from her as she knelt in front of him. She set the whiskey bottle down and reached to run her hand over the wolf-dog's head.

  "Good boy," she crooned softly. "We'll fix you up." She reached to turn him, with Jay's help. They maneuvered the big dog to his right side, and Jay moved in front of Allie to look into his companion's amber eyes.

  Big Mack had been here almost as long as Jay had. Half-shepherd, half-wolf, he'd approached the house with wary caution, waiting for scraps from meals, sleeping just inside the front door of the barn. As time passed, he became more trusting, and now, he and Jay were inseparable.

  Allie poured some of the whiskey on a cloth and carefully began to clean the deep lacerations across the dog's neck, side, and stomach. Jay held his head, whispering to him in a mixture of Comanche and English. Big Mack whined softly in his throat as Allie touched a deep, raw gash. "I'm sorry, Mack," she murmured.

  "You're a lot like Mr. Gabriel, Mack," Jay said. "I sat with him earlier, like I'm doin' with you now. I told him you were hurt worse than he was, but that wasn't true. I just told him that so's he'd feel better."

  Allie glanced at Jay. He met her eyes. "Mr. Gabriel's not gonna die, is he?"

  Allie shook her head. "No," she said emphatically. "And neither is big Mack. But they'll both be in a lot of pain for awhile, Jay."

  Jay nodded, understanding the unspoken warning that neither the dog nor the man might be fit company for several days. That somehow made the gunman's earlier gruffness easier to bear.

  "I want to talk to you."

  Jay didn't reply. He knew from her tone it was about what he'd said earlier, when they'd brought the gunfighter inside, and Jay had gone to see to the animals.

  Allie wrapped a length of bandaging across Big Mack's neck, and then began to salve the claw marks the big cat had left on his side and massive chest.

  "What did you know about – about Mr. Gabriel? And when did you know it?"

  Jay shrugged and looked down at Big Mack. "Everyone knew he was here to get rid of the Claytons," he said.

  "You know what I'm talking about." The warning in her tone was unmistakable.

  Jay moved to strengthen his grasp on the dog as Big Mack jerked and whined. After a moment, he said, "Just today, Mama. At lunchtime, Jimmy Smith was talking about it. But he didn't say for sure what would happen. All the boys went to see."

  "To see Mr. Gabriel fight the Claytons?"

  Jay shook his head, not meeting her eyes. "No. 'Cause Jimmy said, his pa would tan his hide if he came around before the Claytons were done in. But he was going later, after school. He and the others went to the bluff to watch—"

  "Do you mean to tell me all the boys knew what was going to happen to – to Mr. Gabriel?"

  Jay shifted uncomfortably. "Not exactly."

  * * * * *

  Allie turned her attention back to the dog to buy herself some time. She needed to get a hold on her emotions. She had picked the wrong place to settle down. The wrong place to start the orphans' home and ranch that had been her dream for so long. She couldn't fight an entire town for something as common as everyday decency. She couldn't single-handedly show them the meaning of honor. And it would be damn hard to show it to a passel of boys – young men – who would be living at the orphans' home, if they were surrounded by townsfolk such as those in Spring Branch.

  She was not unaware of what they said about her. About Jay. There was still much conjecture that Jay was her true son. That he'd been born out of wedlock. Now that Brandon was here, there would be all kinds of fuel for that particular fire, owing to the obvious – he and Jay both carried Indian blood. And she had shattered Arnie Smith's kneecap defending Bran
don.

  "Mama, what did happen in town?"

  Jay's voice called her back to the present. She gave him a quick look before turning her attention back to the dog. Finally, she spoke.

  "Jay, I picked wrong for us. When I brought you here and we bought this place – I thought it was like heaven."

  "Me, too."

  Allie smiled, and then became serious once more. "No matter how good we try to be, how honorably we want to live, it doesn't matter if we – if we pick wrong." She swallowed hard, not looking at him, barely even able to admit her impending defeat to herself. She'd had such plans for this place, so many dreams she wanted to make a reality.

  "The men – Jimmy's father and several of the others – had planned to cheat Brandon – Mr. Gabriel – " she corrected quickly, "out of the money they paid him to run the Claytons out of town. Then, they planned to kill him."

  "I figured – somethin' like that." Jay shook his head. "Jimmy's been braggin' at school about stuff, but he never said exactly what his pa planned to do. Just acted like he had a big secret of some kind."

  Murder. Double cross. Betrayal. The biggest secret of all.

  "Easy, boy," Jay murmured as the big animal whined and tried to escape Allie's gentle fingers. "Mama, did you know Mr. Gabriel from before? I mean, it seems like maybe you were already friends. And how did you get him away from the other men?"

  Careful, Allie.

  She made her expression bland as she wrapped a length of bandaging around one of Big Mack's front legs. "I've known Mr. Gabriel for a long time. Since I was about your age, in fact. We lived at the same orphanage."

  "Like what we're going to have?"

  Allie glanced back over Jay's shoulder, resisting the urge to shush him. Brandon was asleep, and anyhow, he'd have to know of their plans soon, she thought reluctantly. "Yes. But ours will be better. A happy place." I hope.

  "How did you stop those men from killing him, Mama?"

  Allie turned to look into Jay's chocolate-dark eyes. Nothing but the truth would do. She hoped he would understand.

  "I had to shoot Jimmy's pa in the leg, Jay. He was the ringleader."