brim of his dusty hat again and turned his attention back to his job. The horses milled about, upset at their sudden escape and equally sudden corralling. The one he rode picked up the tension. “Enough for today,” he said to the men fixing the fence. “No point in trying to work with them when they are riled up like this.” He dismounted and turned his horse into another pen, away from the mustangs he hadn’t yet ridden.
Cal, the young cowboy who’d given Brand nothing but dark glances since he started work on the horses, looked him up and down. “Guess you think you’re pretty special, having rescued Miss Sybil.”
No mistaking the challenging tone in the other man’s voice. “Nothing special about doing what a man can do. I’m sure you would have done the same if you’d been on a horse at the time.”
“You got that right. And I could break these horses if the boss would give me a chance.”
“Yup. I figure you could, all right.” He had no mind to start a disagreement. “Maybe next time the boss will let ya. Seeing as I won’t be back here again.”
“Huh. Figures.” Cal stalked away.
Brand had no idea what bothered Cal and didn’t rightly care. He would be here long enough to do the job Eddie had hired him for, then be gone, never to see any of them again. It was how he must live his life.
At that knowledge, he turned and stared up the hill. Linette and Eddie, with Grady between them, entered the house, Mercy on their heels. But Sybil had paused halfway to the house and stared toward him. He couldn’t see her eyes at that distance, but nevertheless, felt the intensity of her look. Wondered at it. For a moment, he couldn’t tear himself away.
Then, with a great deal of effort, he pushed forward all the reasons he had to ignore her.
Dawg would be waiting for his supper. “I’ll be back in the morning to work on the rest of those mustangs,” he said to any of the nearby cowboys who cared to listen. He didn’t glance about to see if anyone acknowledged his words.
His gaze lingered two more seconds on the beauty up the hill. Then he jerked around and strode to the clearing he’d chosen as his home away from home. Not that he had any home to be away from. Hadn’t had one since his ma died six years ago. Even before that their homes had been temporary at best, as Ma tried to keep ahead of Pa and Cyrus, Brand’s older half brother.
Brand had asked her often why she’d married a man who robbed houses, banks and stagecoaches. She said he hadn’t done that until later, when things went wrong once too often.
“He said it didn’t make sense that the rich got richer and the poor got poorer no matter how hard a poor man worked,” his ma had said. “So he decided to even things out.”
Only the way Pa and Cyrus went about doing it put their faces on wanted posters as the Duggan gang. And in order to protect Brand from the shame and the danger, Ma took him and fled.
At the memory he pressed his palm to his chest—the same spot where Sybil’s head had rested—then jerked his hand to his side. He crossed to the fire pit he’d built out of river rock, and lit a fire. His memories flared along with the flames.
Brand had continued to run for the same reasons—to avoid the shame and the danger. He avoided friendships for the same reasons, plus more. One thing he’d learned well in his twenty-three years: associating with Brand Duggan put others at risk. Pa and Cyrus didn’t hesitate to threaten his friends in order to try and force Brand to cooperate with them. Besides, simply being associated with the Duggan name spelled ruin, and shunning by decent people.
He’d once allowed himself to grow fond of a young lady, but when he’d grown bold enough to tell her his last name she had reacted in anger and firmly informed him she’d have nothing to do with a man bearing such a stained name. She’d made sure he understood all the risks and shame she could face simply by being allied with him.
And she was right. Knowing him put her at risk from his family and at risk of censure from the community. People like Sybil, Eddie and the others at Eden Valley Ranch could live where they chose, in a big house, open and free, while he must always be on the lookout.
So Brand put down no roots, told no one his last name and didn’t get close to others. Not even beautiful women like Miss Sybil. Especially not a woman like her.
Dawg had trotted toward him as he reached the clearing. Brand bent and scrubbed his fingers through the dog’s silky fur now. This was all he could allow himself in the way of friendship.
He had no hope of a life full of peace and serenity. Nor did he intend to disturb Sybil’s sweet world.
It took a lot of kicking clumps of dirt and throwing wood on the fire for him to persuade himself he didn’t mind dealing with the truth of his life. Finally, he looked about, determined to find reasons to be grateful. Fall was in the air, filling it with deep-throated scents. Sure, it meant winter would soon be upon them, but he liked the color of the changing leaves, the cool night air and the migrating animals. He glanced up, hearing the honking of a V of geese overhead.
After a bit, his emotions back in order, Brand hunkered down beside the blazing fire, forced to sit a good distance away to avoid being scorched.
Dawg stretched out at his side.
For a time Brand stared into the flames.
“Dawg, you should have seen the commotion.” He didn’t know if he meant the runaway horses or the reaction to his rescue of Sybil.
“Miss Sybil just stood there as if frozen.” He’d seen her eyes. Expected the fear he saw. But there was something more—a watchfulness that surprised him. There was something intriguing about the golden miss.
He dug his fingers into Dawg’s fur. “Could be it’s because she’s such a fine looking woman that I can hardly keep my eyes off her.” But his gut said it was more than that. Something that made him consider turning his back on the facts of his life and living recklessly free for a few days, just so he could enjoy spending time with her.
He reminded his gut that to do so would put her in danger. Association with a Duggan—even one not involved in the unsavory exploits of the gang—would sully her name.
Trouble with his gut was it never listened to reason.
* * *
How mortifying to be pressed so intimately close to a complete stranger. A big, strong, deep-voiced stranger. Sybil had struggled with trying to decide if she should swoon or fight, when in truth she didn’t care to do either. What she’d been tempted to do was so strange, so foreign, she wondered if she’d momentarily taken leave of her senses. She wanted to look into his face and memorize every detail.
Surely her reactions were confused because of the thudding stampede of horses she felt certain would run over her.
She and Mercy had joined the cowboys crowded against the heavy rail fence cheering for the man riding the wild horse. She hadn’t felt like cheering. Instead, she’d shuddered as the animal bucked and twisted and snorted in an attempt to dislodge the man on his back. How did he stay glued to the saddle? And didn’t all that jolting hurt every bone in his body? Here was a man who thrived on danger. Yet, as she watched him clinging to the back of the wild horse, something tickled her insides. Excitement? Fear? Admiration? She couldn’t find words to describe it. And she fancied herself a writer!
The
