Brandon's smile widened. "I know," he murmured. "But she's got her hands full. And I'm well enough to get around. Better every day."
"I should have stayed longer. Kept you from doing…what you're doing," Owen grumbled.
Brandon laughed. "This isn't what you came west for. You're here to help, Doc. Though you turned out to be a pretty good rancher, in the bargain."
They sat on the stone, the shade half gone. "Why are you really here, Owen? You didn't need privacy to ask me why I'm not getting breakfast in bed."
Owen gave him a rueful grin, then sobered, looking out into the tree line. "No. I came for another reason – or two. There's a man, a newcomer, in town. Gives his name as Isaac Rains."
Brandon kept his features impassive. There were lots of men named Isaac in the world, he thought. But, it was odd that he'd learned he had an uncle by that name at the very time this stranger had come to town. "And?"
"He's…asking a lot of questions about you and about the boys. Odd questions. An inordinate amount of interest – for a newcomer."
Brandon sat silent for a moment. It had to be the man Sam had described. Their uncle. But why would he show up here, now? He hadn't had to take Sam back to the orphanage, when the boy was thirteen. He wondered, now, why he hadn't thought to ask Sam why Isaac had returned his 'protection'. Why had Isaac Gabriel returned Sam to the orphans' home? It was suddenly very, very important. But he'd find out, soon enough, once Owen was gone.
"Is he a gambler?" Brandon turned to look at Owen.
Owen quirked a brow in surprise. "How'd you know that?"
Brandon laughed. "You're sounding like a westerner already, Owen," he teased before the smile evaporated. "Sam told me some things this morning about what he's gone through…before he came here. I believe this man, Isaac Rains, is related to him. And…to me."
"To you? How's that?"
He told Owen what Sam had confided earlier, omitting nothing. There was no reason to hold any of it back; Owen was a trusted friend.
"I didn't ask him what Isaac looks like," Brandon said, "so I don't have a description of him. And I don't want to worry Sam – not yet. He's got enough on his mind."
Owen gave a low whistle. "You're right about that. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Be my eyes and ears, Owen. I have to depend on you. I can't leave this place, not with all the work yet to do. And we're isolated out here." He flexed his fingers with only a small amount of pain rippling past his wrist and his forearm.
"You know I will." Owen let his breath out on a slow sigh. "It all makes sense now," he murmured to himself.
"Sam, you mean?"
Owen didn't answer for a moment, as he chose his words. Brandon didn't push him; he tamped down his frustration as he waited for Owen to form what he wanted to say.
"There at the line shack." He glanced at Brandon. "You didn't see what really happened. You couldn't, from where you stood."
Brandon gave a caustic laugh. "I was otherwise occupied, Doctor. Wasn't really trying to make out what was happening behind Carver – I was watching what was goin' on in front of him – the gun, the bullets – "
A wry grin touched Owen's lips, but didn't linger. He fell silent, but finally, turned to look Brandon full in the face. "I'm not sure you killed Tom Carver."
"You still worried about that? Thought Doc Wilkins said—"
"Doc was protecting someone all right, but it wasn't me, Brandon. Sam fired those shots. Sam most likely killed Carver – not you. And not me."
Brandon's chest constricted. He wanted to deny what Owen claimed, but there was no misunderstanding the conviction of the truth that he saw in the doctor's face. Doubtless, Sam had fired those rounds, though Owen had been holding the smoking gun by the time Brandon had a clear view of things.
"When Carver flung him away," Owen said carefully, "Sam landed near the gun. He came up with it in his hand. I didn't hear the first shot – he must've fired it at the same time you got your shot off."
Brandon nodded, thinking back. He'd only heard the second shot, as well. "He neglected to mention—"
"No, Brandon," Owen stopped him. "I believe he would have told you, in time."
"Meanwhile, he let us believe you'd fired those rounds."
"It's a lot, for a youngster like him to come to grips with. After he fired, he dropped that gun like it burned him."
"You picked it up." Brandon's gaze swung back to hold Owen's. "Why?"
Owen's lips curved. "Habit, I guess."
"That gun won't hold—"
"—more than two rounds, I know. And they'd both been fired. But I didn't know that. I only heard his second shot, since you fired at the same time. I had no way of knowing if he'd shot once…or twice." He grinned. "If there'd been another round in there, it would've been in Carver's hide, too – but all I got when I pulled the trigger was the very unsatisfying click of an empty chamber."