Linda Ford - Winning Over the Wrangler

“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.