his tone.
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?
