"I won't need them both." Sam's voice was filled with self-assured certainty.
Johnson paused, looking at him, sizing him up. Though he was much brawnier than Sam, something kept him from going for the young man immediately. Allie sat frozen, watching, as Johnson tried to decide whether to lunge for Sam, knock the weapon aside, and fight him physically. His bulk and strength would give him a marked advantage, in that case.
From behind Sam, the audible click of a rifle shell notching in the chamber reverberated above the stillness of the streets. Brandon stepped out from between the mercantile and the bank, his long arm trained on Johnson, and Allie closed her eyes briefly, letting go a sigh of relief. Sam, unable to see who was at his back, stiffened, standing completely still.
"Put your gun away, Sam," Brandon said levelly.
Allie felt Ben relax.
Sam started to protest, but seemed to think better of it. Allie watched the flicker of dissent in his eyes gutter and die, to be replaced with cool indifference. He did as Brandon said, slipping the gun inside his boot with a practiced movement.
"Now, come over here, with me."
He backed up, never turning his back on Johnson, until Brandon laid his hand on his shoulder quickly to let him know where he was. They stood side by side for a moment, and Allie's breath caught.
"My brother will be glad to know there are no hard feelings, asshole…"
It was true. The proof was obvious as Sam stood tall beside Brandon, his build a younger, less-muscled version of his older brother. Though their eye color was different, the shape was identical, and the arch of their brows.
Allie sat forward unconsciously, fascinated. Did Brandon have any idea? No, she told herself. He must feel some kinship, though, she reasoned, remembering the care he always took to tell the others that Sam was in charge if he wasn't there. He didn't know, but Sam did. And what did that mean? Did Sam know their father?
She shook her head. No. He wouldn't have been in an orphanage if he knew his father, would he? Unless, his father had left him there…
"Are you all right?" Ben half-whispered.
She turned to him quickly, startled from her thoughts at the sound of his voice.
"I – yes – I'm fine, Ben."
Her gaze went back to Brandon and Sam as Brandon said, "I killed Tom Carver, Johnson. Any beef you have, you take it up with me – not one of my boys."
"You murdered him!"
"It was a fair fight. I gave him a chance."
He drew his lips back in a snarl. "What chance? You bein' a gun hawk an' all – he didn't have a prayer, goin' up against you!"
Brandon gave Johnson a long stare. "I'm telling you, Sam had nothing to do with your partner's death, Johnson."
"Hell, I know that." He shouldered a trickle of sweat from his cheek. "I thought – well, I thought he was you, Gabriel."
Brandon's lips curved up. "Now you know different. You want a piece of me, or you want to let it be – it's your call. Let's settle it now."
Johnson didn't answer. He appeared to be thinking it over. After a few seconds, he scratched his cheek and pushed his hat back on his head. "No. I don't reckon I do want a piece of you, Gabriel. Now, or ever," he said softly.
"Then get your damn hand away from your holster."
Allie had started to relax. It seemed as if Abe Johnson was giving in, getting ready to turn and walk away.
But in the next instant, he reached for his pistol, clawing at the butt as he drew it and fired.
Brandon brought the rifle to his waist and pulled the trigger. The blast of the Henry was deafening, the round catching Johnson in the gut and flinging him backward.
He let out a high-pitched scream, and then lay silent and broken in the dusty street.
"Jesus!" Sam breathed. "Ain't no one faster than that!"
Brandon gave him a quick look, lowering the gun. "You okay?"
Sam nodded, obviously shaken. "Yeah. I'm okay. You?"
Brandon smiled faintly and touched Sam's shoulder. "I'm okay," he said lightly, but his eyes roved over Sam in unspoken curiosity.
Ben jumped from the wagon and ran to them. "That was some shooting, now!" He grinned, glancing up at Brandon, who, Allie thought, suddenly looked very, very tired.
"Yeah," he muttered, meeting Allie's eyes. "Some shooting. Again." He walked toward her, stopping at the side of the wagon. "Gotta go make sure—"
"You do what you have to," she told him. "I'll be right here."
A grateful light warmed his eyes before he turned away. "Thanks, Allie. I won't be long."
Doc was already rushing down the street toward the small crowd gathered around Johnson's body. "Stand aside, stand aside—" he ordered.
"I know you won't. Doc won't allow it," Allie said softly. But worry gnawed at her as Brandon walked away, the set of his shoulders weary, as if he carried the weight of the world.
Chapter 25