He fell silent, looking away toward the gathering dusk. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and indecision hovered in his blue eyes for an instant. "Yes," he answered slowly. "But…no more. I'm here to start over."
Just then, Brandon and the boys emerged from the edge of the woods. Owen returned his gaze to her. She gave a slight nod. "We're glad to have you, Owen. And again, thank you for everything. Including your honesty."
He smiled, relieved. "You're welcome. Let's get these boys fed," he said, starting up the steps. "I'm starving."
****
Finally. Brandon shut the bedroom door behind him and leaned against it briefly. Every part of his body hurt. He knew he'd pushed his limits today, but it had all been necessary.
He'd killed Abe Johnson, true enough. But Tom Carver? He wasn't so sure his bullet had been the one to end Carver's life this morning. He'd felt a kind of understanding with Owen Morris – one he couldn't name. When Morris had put three slugs in Tom Carver with such expediency, he'd understood what Doc had in that same instant; Owen was no ordinary doctor. He'd come west for a reason, and one he'd glibly stated more than once. He was here to make a new start. Or start over.
It wasn't that Brandon minded a man making a fresh start. That was exactly what he was doing, himself. But for that very reason, he had to know exactly who Owen was – and why he was starting over; questions that normally would be categorized as being Owen's own business now became the very ones he had to have answers to. He'd stayed alive these twenty-five years by being cautious and aware.
He was a stranger here in Spring Branch, himself; that was true enough. But, so was Owen Morris. He just needed to know they would both be fighting for the same things – not just today, but from now on. He'd been around long enough to know things weren't always what they seemed – and neither were people.
Allie was upset with him. He could tell by the way she moved, her steps measured, as she turned back the bed, adjusted the lamps, and fluffed the pillows. Maybe she was just tired, too.
"You've done way too much today."
No. She wasn't just tired.
Brandon stood away from the door and walked to the bed, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt. He was in no mood to deal with her anger for something he'd had no control over. "Which part should I have left out?"
Allie's head came up quickly from where she stood beside the bed, unbuttoning her own clothing.
Brandon gave up on the buttons. His hand hurt like hell. He sat down and automatically started to reach for his boot.
"No – let me." Allie came around the bed, kneeling on the floor in front of him as she reached for his right foot. Her hair shimmered in the soft golden lamplight as she put out her hand, her fingers closing around the underside of his calf, urging his foot up.
Brandon sat immobile for an instant, and Allie looked up at him, the dark velvet of her eyes locking with his and holding.
"Let me," she said again in a whisper.
"I hate this." But he let her pull off the boot, then the other.
She put them side by side at the end of the bed, her lips trembling. "I know."
He stood up slowly. A wave of dizziness slid through him, and he widened his stance quickly to be able to hold onto his balance. He sighed in frustration, and Allie's hands came around his waist steadying him until his equilibrium righted itself.
"How are you still standing?" she whispered.
His lips curved faintly as his arms came around her, holding onto her as if she was the only solid thing in his entire world. "I'm not. At least, I'm not doing a very good job of it."
She moved her palms to his belly, now that he was holding onto her. She unbuttoned the placket of his jeans. Her fingers grazed the tip of him, and he sucked in his breath sharply.
She laughed. "Sorry."
But not too sorry, he thought, or her fingers wouldn't have danced over his hot flesh that second time, encircling him just for a moment before she opened the last three buttons.
He swallowed hard as his flesh quickened in her grasp, his hips thrusting forward slowly as he filled her hand. She let go reluctantly and began to push his jeans down. He groaned, closing his eyes for an instant, and then kicked the jeans away as they slid to his feet.
Her hands moved up, sliding deliberately over his taut flesh. Slowly, she tracked her way up to the remaining buttons on his shirt, slipping them free until the material hung open. He shrugged out of it as she ran her palms over his flesh, between his shoulders, and the sweat-damp material. The warm air touching his skin felt somewhat cooler, though he didn't see how. Though full darkness was upon them, the night air was still, with no hint of a breeze, and even now, nearly as stifling as it had been hours earlier in the sun.