Winning Over the Wrangler. Linda Ford
Читать онлайн книгу.
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.
Chapter Five
The next morning, Sybil made her customary notes in her journal, then tucked her writing pad and pencil into the deep pocket of her dress designed expressly to hide them, and left the house. She meant to walk a little distance from the buildings and find a quiet, secluded place to work on the story of the nameless cowboy. Only he wasn’t exactly that. He was Brand.
But who else was he?
Her thoughts darted back and forth among the bits and pieces of information she’d gleaned. How much could she embellish to give the impression of strength and honor she sensed in him before her story grew more fanciful than actual?
So lost was she in her contemplations, she didn’t realize a man worked with a horse in the corral until she reached the bunkhouse, where she had an unobstructed view.
Her feet stuttered to a stop, matching her stuttering heartbeat.
Was that Brand? She knew the answer even before the bucking horse brought him around to face her.
His head jerked back. Their gazes collided with such force she gasped and pressed both palms to her chest as if she could stop the frantic surging of her heart.
Why had he come back?
Her mind raced with a thousand possibilities, all of which ended in one question. Had he come back to tell her who he was?
The horse bucked again and Brand turned away.
She blinked back her surprise. She must move on before anyone wondered why she stood in the middle of the yard staring in Brand’s direction.
Sybil hurried onward until she found a private spot and sat down, pressing her back to the sunlit poplar. She lifted the backs of her hands to her overheated cheeks and slowed her breathing to normal. Why did she feel such a peculiar leap in the depths of her heart at his return?
She shook away her stumbling confusion. Time to forget uncertainties and get to work. She pulled out her notebook and pencil and turned to the page where she had been arranging notes on Brand’s story. “Who are you, Brand?” she wrote.
After thirty minutes or so all she’d put on the page besides that question were a series of doodles—circles that went round and round. Exactly how she felt as her thoughts returned again and again to the cowboy in the corrals. Why had he returned?
And why does it matter to you?
Only because I feel like it’s an answer to a prayer if he changed his mind about being a nameless, rootless cowboy.
And why would that matter to you?
Annoying, persistent voice.
Because.
Yes?
She closed the notebook and put it in her pocket before she answered. Because it gives me a chance to learn more about him for my story.
Oh yes. The story. The one you haven’t added a word to in half an hour of sitting here.
“I will.” She silenced the inner voice by speaking aloud. “I just have to learn more about him.”
She pushed herself to her feet and dusted off her skirts. She didn’t know how long Brand would stay around, but she would find an excuse to visit him and talk to him and get the information she needed to flesh out her story.
Right then she returned to the house to help Linette with kitchen chores. The afternoon sped by as they made pickled beets and filled dozens of jars. The kitchen grew hot and steamy. Sybil’s nose stung with the smell of vinegar.
Finally, the bottles of burgundy beets sat in neat rows on the cupboard shelves and Linette rubbed her hands together. “These will be so tasty during the winter months.”
Sybil was about to excuse herself when her friend pulled out potatoes for the evening meal. She couldn’t leave Linette to prepare supper on her own. They finished just as Eddie and Grady came in. Mercy followed, and they gathered around the big wooden table in the kitchen.
Sybil