Brandon's eyes narrowed. "He kept you against your will?"
"Taught me to use a gun. That little derringer you called a gambler's gun? Well, you were right." Sam shook his head in remembrance. "He was a gambler. I was his protection. He said he couldn't keep his mind on earning us a living if he had to worry about getting shot. It was my job to keep that from happening. No one would think twice about the young boy, a half-breed boy, sitting in the corner. But, he always knew he was protected, if push came to shove."
"Earlier, I told you that killing was a hard road to turn back from," Brandon said. He had to know. His stomach sank as Sam gave him a slow, calculating nod of understanding.
"It is. You were right."
"How many?"
Sam looked down.
"I don't blame you, Sam. You were a kid."
"Four. Killed four men, and I hadn't even hit fourteen yet." His voice shook. "He brought me back to the orphanage when I was thirteen. Dropped me there with the nuns again, and told 'em I'd just 'been found' and he was returning me. They weren't very happy to see me again." He gave a wry smile. "By that time, Sister Mary Agnes was in charge. She and I never had gotten on too well, and me bein' gone three years didn't change that a lick."
Sam had hesitated, there at the beginning, which struck Brandon as odd. He was sure he'd killed more men than Sam during his lifetime, and he knew exactly how many they numbered, without having to stop and think about it. Eighteen. And he could remember where, when and who. Yet, Sam had stumbled over four…
"Sam, what happened to our father? Do you know?" The question burned. But with Sam's answer, there was none of the surety he'd hoped for.
"I don't know. I asked Isaac, but he never would answer me straight. Kept talkin' around it in circles. I asked, was he dead? Just tell me—" He broke off. "Never an answer."
Brandon sighed heavily. "Sister Mary Agnes must have never realized you had the gun. She'd certainly have kicked you out."
But Sam gave him a wide, enigmatic grin. "Oh, she knew, all right. Said she wanted me to give it up voluntarily. If I'd give her my gun, she said, it would prove that I'd turned my back on my sinful ways and wanted forgiveness. The Lord would protect me."
Brandon's lips curved at Sam's stubbornness. "You didn't want forgiveness, I take it?"
Sam nodded. "Guess I did…still do. But I wanted protection more. She promised God would protect me – but I'd already learned to depend on myself for that. It's the only way to know you'll go on breathin' one more day."
Brandon walked back to the fence post, leaning against it for a moment. "God doesn't bargain like that, Sam. You've got His forgiveness already, if you've asked for it."
"Meaning?" Sam asked warily.
Brandon smiled at him. "You were right to keep the gun."
"Brothers still, then?" The need in Sam's tone was like an open wound to his soul.
"Sam…" Brandon searched the shadowed depths of his little brother's eyes – eyes that looked at him as if he held the world in his hands. And for Sam, he realized, he did. "That'll never change. This is your home – here with me – as long as you want to be here."
Sam didn't reply for a moment. He came toward Brandon then, a spring in his step that hadn't been there before. "Let's get these posts, done, brother." He put out his hand to shake, and Brandon took it firmly.
"I'm glad you're here, Sam." It was all he needed to say.
Chapter 29
Later that same day, in the early afternoon, Owen Morris came driving Doc's rig down the road, turning off at the archway. Brandon and Sam had worked their way up the side of the pen, near the house. As Owen drew the team up in front of the house, Brandon waved a hand and walked toward him.
Owen jumped down from the buggy and called out a greeting.
Sam rose to refill their water jars. As Owen passed, he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder.
"Owen," Brandon said, putting out his hand. "Good to see you. What brings you out this way?" Whatever it was, Brandon thought, it wasn't good by the set of Owen's mouth, the lines at his eyes. Owen shook hands, but the gesture was automatic. His mind was clearly elsewhere.
"Can we talk privately?"
"Sure. Let's go sit in the shade over there." Brandon nodded toward the boulder. "Take a breather, Sam," he said as Sam headed for the well. "Doc Morris and I need to talk a minute."
Sam nodded. "I'll go see how they're comin' along before I fill these up." His gaze was already fixed on the far end of the pen where a group of the boys were working as Ben directed. "Looks like Ben might need some help. See you later, Doc."
Brandon and Owen started toward the rock, walking at a leisurely pace.
"How're you feeling?" Owen asked.
Brandon's lips curved up, but he didn't look at Owen. Before he could answer, the doctor went on.
"You're working too hard, too soon, you know. Most men would still be having Allie bringing their meals to them in bed."