Brandon slowly unbuttoned his shirt and drew it off, laying it over the porch railing. When Sam came out of the front door, carrying the gloves, he stopped. His gaze swept over Brandon, and Brandon looked down, realizing what Sam was seeing for the first time.
The bruises were healing, but for now, they made a garish rainbow across his torso, easily visible under the dark bronze of his skin. Shades of purple, violet, and green swirled and spotted over his ribs, chest, and belly.
Sam gave a low whistle, moving forward across the porch, his stare registering each mark. "You sure you feel like raking?"
Brandon grinned at his quietly understated worry. "It's my hand I'm worried about. Not this," he said, indicating the other injuries with a dismissive wave.
Sam didn't say any more on the subject. He handed Brandon a pair of the gloves as he jumped from the porch, then headed to the side of the cabin where the supplies were neatly stacked. Quickly locating what they needed to work with, he seemed to take a moment to square his shoulders before he headed toward the burned-out ruins.
Brandon walked beside him, taking one of the rakes from him. The floor of the barn was still warm in places. They bent to the task. After a few minutes, Brandon asked, "Everything go all right in Anderson's yesterday?'
Sam knelt to retrieve a bit of metal from the ground. A buckle of some kind, Brandon could see. Sam studied it a moment. "Mr. Anderson knows where he stands with us."
Brandon shot him a quick look. "Trouble, then."
Sam stood up, pocketing the buckle. "He wanted you to know there weren't any hard feelings. He was just doing what he had to do."
Brandon's lips twisted. "And you said?"
Sam didn't respond, and Brandon knew he was wrestling with the truth or a lie.
"I…told him you'd be glad to know there were no hard feelings." He kept his eyes averted, raking carefully, but he couldn't keep the caustic note from his tone.
"You watched my back, Sam. That's what brothers are for, right?"
Sam straightened quickly, the rake clattering on a large chunk of charred wood as it hit the ground. His eyes arrowed to Brandon's and held. "You knew?"
Brandon shook his head. "No. Not until you said it."
"I said it in Comanche. No one knew. No one understood."
"No one but Allie."
Sam swore under his breath. Then, "Stupid. Stupid of me. It just…came out, and I was relieved that he didn't understand – that Ben and Miss Allie—" He sank his hands into his pockets.
"So…it's that bad – having me for a brother?"
"No!" Sam took two steps toward him, and then stopped, as if he weren't sure any physical overture would be accepted. "That's not it at all. See, I didn't know we were brothers – not until a few years ago. Not until a couple of the older boys at the school told me. They'd heard the nuns talking one day. Sister Maria Theresa was telling Sister Mary Agnes about me, and then, about you. The orphanage has always been so full. And sister was thinking if they contacted you, maybe – maybe I could come live with you."
There was still a note of the wistful hope in Sam's voice that he'd carried with him all these years. Regret settled in the pit of Brandon's gut. "I never knew, Sam. I would've come for you, if I'd known."
"That's what Sister Mary Agnes was afraid of." He gave a wry grimace. "She said I'd be better off dead than riding with you. At least – that's what John and Alan told me they heard her say." His fists clenched at his sides. "But I wanted to be with you, Brandon. I didn't have anyone else."
Brandon knew that feeling well. He hadn't recognized it for what it was when he was younger, but now that the missing pieces were fitting together, he understood everything so much better than before. There was no other feeling quite as sobering as being alone in the world. Completely alone.
"You know – I'd have taken you, Sam, if I could've. If I'd known." He swallowed the question back he wanted the answer to. Later. There would be a chance to ask, later. Right now, he needed to let Sam know he wanted him, just as Allie had said earlier.
Sam's eyes welled with tears, and he glanced away, not quite quickly enough to hide the emotion from Brandon. "What would you have wanted with me? When I found out, I was just a ten-year-old kid."
Brandon couldn't help but smile. "Well, I wasn't much ahead of you, then. Still a kid myself."
Sam gave him a puzzled look.
"I would've been twenty," he explained. "Still sowing some wild oats of my own. I couldn't've done you as much good then, as I – hopefully – can, now. That is – if you're still looking for a brother."
The relief in Sam's face touched Brandon as nothing else could.
"I am – if you are," was the cautious reply. He put his hand out, as if to shake.
Brandon stepped close and took his brother's hand, pulling him into a quick embrace. "I am, Sam. I've been wishing for a brother a lot longer than you have."
"You've got him."
"No." He held Sam away from him, looking into the shadowed gray eyes. "Now, we've got each other."