"We'll protect each other. Like me an' Big Mack do."
"Not this time, son. You go on home. I'll be back there shortly."
Reluctantly, Jay turned away, his heavy disappointment evident by the slope of his shoulders. Brandon watched him go until he was sure there was no indication that Jay would double back.
Only then did he move forward silently through the forest, skirting the rim of the meadow as he kept to the trees. There was an almost non-existent trail on the other side. He followed it over a small rise and, after a few hundred feet, came to a narrow clearing. A dilapidated line shack nestled at the edge of the opposite side of the woods, hanging brokenly on its frame like an over-sized piece of clothing on an old rag doll.
Brandon stopped, taking stock of his surroundings. He was skilled in the art of stealth, his footfalls making no sound as he started forward once more. He stopped, blending with the trees around him.
The door stood open, and from where Brandon leaned near a towering black oak tree, he could see part of a man's arm and leg. It had to be Tom Carver. Smith wouldn't be standing, with his injury, and Brandon knew the clothing wasn't right for any of the other three.
With Carver's back to him, Brandon could get close; maybe even take him by surprise. But he wasn't fool enough to rush in. Was Carver in this alone, or was he trying to draw him out into the open? His gut told him this was a solo venture for Carver, but he couldn't risk it – not now that he had so much to lose.
He could go no farther under the cover of the trees. If Carver turned, he'd see him. Brandon drew the gun, letting his palm and fingers meld with walnut and steel to become one.
He kept his eyes riveted on Carver's arm and leg, and then suddenly, Carver's whole body came into view, framed in the open doorway as he stood erect, rigid with fury.
"You little bastard! I ought to kill you right now!" Carver moved to kick something across the floor. A gun, Brandon could tell from the clatter of it. Small. Most likely the one Sam had stashed in his boot.
Carver bent to yank the boy up, and Brandon started forward into the sunlight with deadly purpose. Carver shook Sam, and though Sam tried to hide his fear, Brandon recognized the bravado that covered it. The boy's eyes widened as he raised his hands to ward off Carver's upraised fist.
"You tryin' to trick me, boy? Where is Brandon Gabriel? I want him, and I want him now."
Brandon stopped at the bottom of the porch steps, cocking his gun. "You've got me, you son of a bitch. Turn your ass around."
At the sound of Brandon's voice, Carver jerked, turning as he dragged Sam in front of him. His eyes were almost as wide as Sam's had been just moments earlier.
Brandon's lips curved in a faint smile. "Let that boy go, and die like a man."
"I – didn't think–" Carver broke off, swallowing hard. "You was half dead!"
"I heal fast." Brandon spread his legs in the familiar stance. He eased his gun back into the holster. "Draw."
Carver looked startled. Then his expression became cunning. He slowly took out his gun and put it to Sam's head. "I don't think I want to do that, Mr. Gabriel."
A cold weight settled in Brandon's chest. He'd encountered plenty of men like Carver in the past. Weak. Cowardly. A cheating bastard. These were the hardest to best. Their fear made them desperate. And Tom Carver was very, very afraid right now.
"Come out here," Brandon said quietly. "Come into the light."
Carver threw a glance over his shoulder toward the interior of the cabin.
"Doc?" Brandon called. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," was the reply. "We're all fine, except Arnie."
"How bad's he hurt?"
"He'll make it, if I can get him into town – to my office."
Carver laughed. "What do you care, Gabriel? You should be glad I put a couple of rounds in his fat ass for you."
Brandon shook his head. "No. Meddling'll get you killed." He kept his voice even, and Carver tightened his hold on Sam's neck as his arm tensed. His lips compressed briefly. Brandon kept his eyes locked on Carver, ready for any sudden movement. He was painted into a corner. Brandon had to offer him something attractive enough to make him let Sam go.
"Do you want to live, Carver?"
Carver gave a low laugh. "I'm not stupid. I know you're not gonna allow that – not more'n five minutes, anyhow."
Brandon shrugged unconcernedly, veiling his eyes. Carver was right about that, but Sam's life depended on him believing otherwise. "I'm only interested in the others, not you. You ride out of here, and don't stop. Don't go home, and don't go to your business. Just get on your horse and ride. Don't look back."
The light of hope flared in Carver's eyes at Brandon's words. "You won't follow me?"
Brandon forced himself to breathe deep and slow. He was going to do it. "No. I won't follow. You just give me your word you'll never come back here again."
"No!" a voice shouted from inside the shack.
Arnie Smith.