Less than fifteen minutes later, Allie and Brandon were riding beside the wagon as they headed out of town. Sam drove the team in brooding silence, as Ben gave up on conversation, seeming to realize his friend needed some time to himself.
When they'd gone a mile toward home, Brandon said, "Boys, we're going to ride on ahead so Miss Allie can get started on dinner."
"But – the supplies—" Allie protested.
"Owen's already brought a wagonload of provisions out," Brandon said, "So you'll have double, I guess."
"Probably just as well," Allie said with a laugh. "I'm not sure how much it'll take. Better safe than sorry."
"Do you feel okay about this? Just the two of you?" Brandon looked at Ben, then back to Sam.
"Reckon we'll be fine." His tone was low; almost sullen. "I've been alone a long time."
Brandon reached down to lay a hand over Sam's, pulling the team to a halt. "You got something you want to say to me, Youngblood?"
Allie felt the tension in Brandon's body as if it were her own. He'd taken a liking to Sam from the beginning, and this surliness on the boy's part hurt him, she knew. But, of course, Sam would have mixed feelings, and unresolved anger. He'd obviously known about Brandon long before he'd come here. It was pure luck that Fate had brought them together in this most unlikely way. A brother Sam had probably never expected to see was now his keeper and his savior. Brandon must feel the kinship too, somehow. He'd called Sam 'Youngblood' – an affectionate term usually given to younger male family members.
Sam looked up at him with smoldering eyes, veiling his anger quickly as he glanced back down. "No. I got nothing."
"You're not alone anymore, Sam."
Sam nodded his understanding, but didn't speak.
"I'll ride back after I drop Miss Allie off."
"No, you don't have to do that. I've got my gun."
Brandon grinned. "That's a gambler's gun. You better be a good shot, or at very close range." The smile faded at Sam's momentary silence.
He looked up at Brandon, his face blank. "I know."
"All right," Brandon conceded, frustration evident in the edge to his voice. "But it shouldn't take longer than another hour for you to get back. If you're not there by then, I'll come looking. Fair enough?"
"Yeah. Okay."
Brandon urged the horse into a gallop, and they left the boys behind. She would tell him, Allie resolved, as soon as they had a minute to themselves. He needed to know. Sam hadn't wanted to tell him who he was. Why? Was he afraid Brandon wouldn't want him there? A gambler's gun, Brandon had said – and Sam had not denied it, or argued. Maybe that was the key, somehow.
As they rode over the last rise, Brandon drew to a halt. He sat looking at the activity on the land below. Allie peered over his shoulder, seeing what he saw; the milling cattle, loosely penned on three sides. The men and boys worked side by side on the fourth side, stringing the fence to make the temporary pen they needed.
Their dream, taking shape before their eyes. The cabin was a true home now, Allie thought. Suddenly, it seemed small. Her gaze settled on Jay, working alongside some of the older boys, laughing at something someone had said. He was truly happy. The drovers had each taken small groups of the boys and were working with them to set the posts and string the wire.
"Quite an operation isn't it?" Brandon murmured.
Allie carefully laid her head against his back. "I couldn't have done it without you, Brandon."
He gave a short laugh. "Glad to be of service, ma'am."
"Let's get home, Mr. Gabriel. I want to feed everyone and get to bed."
"Tired?"
"I didn't say that." She smiled against his shirt. "You were the one who mentioned 'service'."
****
Allie had just given the younger boys their meals when Ben and Sam pulled the wagon up into the yard. The men and older boys were putting the finishing touches on the temporary fence line, and as Allie handed the youngsters their plates, she could see Brandon's evident relief as he crossed the yard to meet the wagon.
She had to admit to feeling the same way. Not knowing who else had been in league with Carver, Smith, and Johnson, and to what lengths they'd go, wore thin. It could be they were all safe, that the trouble was handled. But the possibility did exist that there were others of the same ilk, still waiting…biding their time. How many times had she checked the clock on the mantle? More than usual, she knew. But the boys were home safe now, and their dinner would be ready shortly. The fence line was set, and men and boys alike straggled back toward the cabin, hot, dirty, and worn out.
Allie pushed back an errant strand of hair, feeling the warm flush in her cheeks. Cooking in the small quarters was suddenly stifling. Two of the drovers had butchered a beef earlier and the smell of steaks frying outside wafted through the open front door and the kitchen window. She suddenly realized how hungry she was, too.