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.
Once Pa and Cyrus found him they became unstoppable.
How many times had Cyrus slammed him against a wall saying, “You been friends with those uppity people. Guess they must have money hidden in their house. Where is it?”
No matter how many times, or how hard Brand denied such knowledge, Cyrus would not accept it.
“Go back there and find out where they keep their money. We’ll be waiting and watching until you do,” he would press his face close and growl.
“Cyrus, be nice to your brother,” Pa would say. He said the right thing, but he didn’t intend to let Brand go, any more than Cyrus did.
“I can’t believe you’re my brother.” Brand had once spat the words at him.
Pa didn’t intervene when Cyrus punched Brand in the gut.
Brand had learned to wrap rags around his horse’s hooves and find his way out of town in midnight darkness.
The lonesome call of a coyote echoed across the dusky plains, breaking into his memories. Another call came from the opposite direction.
Brand shuffled about. Most days he enjoyed the way the coyotes called to each other, and the yip-yip-yi of their singing, but tonight the sound ached through his insides like an untreated sore, filled with painful loneliness.
Was it loneliness that had driven him to court May? He’d thought her so sweet, a real lady. He tried to recall her face, but saw only blue eyes. No, May’s eyes had been brown, like her hair.
They’d met five years ago, when she came into the store where he was buying supplies, in one of the many towns he’d stayed in only long enough to keep ahead of Pa. Brand could barely recall the names of most. This one had been Lost River, Wyoming. She’d asked a few questions and got vague answers, just enough for her to guess he was alone and unsure of the future. She’d invited him to join her and her family for church and then dinner afterward, shared with her parents, a widowed aunt and a sullen younger brother. Following the meal, they’d played board games.
It was the best Sunday Brand had known since his mother died.
Sundays with May’s family became a regular occurrence, as did Saturday afternoon outings. He and May spent time with her family. Sometimes they walked along the edge of town on their own.
He hadn’t seen Pa and Cyrus since Ma’s death, and let his guard down, thinking now Ma was gone they had no use for him.
Then he saw their names in a newspaper story. They’d robbed a bank, shot an innocent woman in the ensuing gunfight. A half-page poster accompanied the story. Duggan Gang Wanted. $500 Reward. Dead or Alive.
The ink had smudged, so it was impossible 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
