"You're welcome. Thank you all for lending us a hand."
Fred turned to mount up, and he and the others rode slowly away from the house, picking up speed as the distance grew.
Brandon put his arm around Allie, watching the men ride away. His gaze shifted to the cattle. The pens would hold them temporarily but he'd feel better once the permanent wire was strung… Once the barn was rebuilt… Once the boys had a place to sleep. A bunkhouse. Everyone should have a place to sleep – a comfort he'd not always had. It meant a lot, to have that bit of security.
He flexed his hand slowly. Better. But not well enough to build a barn or a bunkhouse. Barely in shape to do much of anything. Yet, he'd done what had to be done when it came to killing Carver and Johnson. He'd protected what was his. And that's where it all had to begin; protecting.
Allie laid her head against him, a sigh escaping her. Brandon smiled. "That's what I was thinking too."
"It'll come, Bran. Slowly, but surely. We just have to take it a day at a time."
"Patience has never been my strong suit."
"How well I know."
He kissed the top of her head. "Guess we better get to it – see how much we can get done today."
"Where'll you be?" She looked up at him.
"I thought I'd take Sam and start clearing the remains of the barn. We'll…have that talk while we're working."
Allie nodded. "He needs to know you want him, Brandon. Not just as one of the boys, but – as a brother."
Brandon smiled wryly at her words. "You know, I never even thought to ask you how you felt about all this. Sam is family; blood. I can't deny it – not after watching him – knowing what I know." He was quiet for a moment. "You may not be as hopeful at the prospect of having—"
She cupped his face between her palms. "Stop it, Brandon," she said in a low voice. "He's your brother."
"You're my wife. That comes first."
"I know that. There's no doubt. But something tells me you're worried that Sam's going to cause some trouble somehow. That's not ever going to happen. He just wants your acceptance."
Her eyes were filled with the soft light of understanding. In her look, Brandon saw that she wasn't sure how he'd approach his brother, and what would come of it.
His lips tugged upward. "Stop worryin', will ya, Allie? Sam and I are gonna be fine. I just need to get this talk done so we know where we stand with one another."
Reluctantly, he stepped away, and headed toward the knot of younger boys who stood talking by where the horses were tethered. He called Ben and Sam over and gave the younger boys their directions for what needed to be done – not just the fence reinforcements, but the everyday chores.
"Ben, I want you to oversee everything."
Sam's head came up quickly, as if he perceived Brandon's words as a slight.
Brandon didn't give him the chance to let his quick anger set in. "Sam, I want you with me today." He'd thought about all the things he wanted to say and how he might approach Sam with the knowledge that they were brothers, but he'd given no thought to what he'd say to him about working together initially. And it had been easy. It had rolled off his tongue naturally. I want you with me.
Sam's eyes widened for just an instant, then he covered his surprise, and Brandon recognized something. Sam was also hiding the fact that he waited to hear just those words. Still, he knew it didn't mean anything – not the way it ought to. Brandon read his thoughts by the sardonic twist of his lips, as if he were mocking himself for his hopes.
"Let's get to it," Brandon said. The younger boys followed Ben, who was already dividing them into work parties, and talking to them about their day.
Sam came to stand in front of Brandon, his gray eyes veiled in a way that Brandon recognized well. "You ready to get started, Sam?"
"Sure. What're we gonna be doing?"
Brandon nodded toward the charred remains of the barn. "Clearing that. Getting the ground ready to rebuild on."
Sam shuddered slightly, his lips tightening. "I don't remember seeing a rake. Guess we didn't save it—"
"It's all right, Sam. We saved what we could."
"Bastards."
Sam had suffered some losses. A lifetime of bitterness was rolled into that one word. But there seemed to be more, even, than loss beneath his words; almost a kind of anxiety, or fear, of what the fire had left. Brandon watched him a moment, trying to discern what it was Sam was trying so hard to cover.
Brandon laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a light tap. "Go get a couple-a pairs of gloves for us, will ya? And don't worry about the rake – Owen brought two new ones yesterday along with the supplies, and a shovel, too."
Sam turned to go inside for the gloves.