"Which boot is it in? Still carry it in your right one, like I taught you?" He reached for Sam's boot, but Sam kicked at him. He was prepared for it, pushing Sam to the ground again, and making it impossible for him to fight with his wrists bound.
He yanked off Sam's right boot, and the derringer dropped to the ground. Isaac scooped it up quickly, hefting it in his palm. Brandon moved through the trees more freely, seeing Isaac's attention given to the weapon he held.
"Do yourself a favor, Uncle," Sam sneered, "and carry your ass back to whatever rock you crawled out from under this time."
Isaac looked down at him, wordlessly, as if weighing his words. After a moment, he said, "Brandon's been nothing but trouble since the day he was born. It looks like you're following in his footsteps."
"You're damn straight!"
That brought a smile to Isaac Gabriel's lips, and calculation to his gaze. "Just as I thought. As I…expected."
Sam pulled at his bonds in frustrated helplessness, but the anger never left his eyes.
"You're very much like your mother, Sam." Isaac heaved a deep sigh. "Just as Brandon is like his. Neither of you received the benefit of my – my brother's good common sense and decency."
"Decent! Decent! Jesus, you are crazy, old man."
Brandon had to agree. If kidnapping young boys and forcing them to 'protect' him while he gambled was Isaac Gabriel's idea of decency, Brandon wanted no part of it. He'd almost worked his way around directly opposite where Ben stood, across the small clearing. He couldn't hear any sound now, other than Sam and Isaac, and the wind. He stealthily moved into position.
"Why are we stopping?" Sam asked. He was almost yelling now to be heard above the thunder.
"We're waiting, Sam." Isaac turned and walked over to an elm tree not more than ten feet away from where Brandon stood.
Brandon melted back into the shadows of the woods.
"You seem to believe Brandon will follow you."
"He will. You can be sure of it." Brandon heard the first note of uncertainty in Sam's tone.
Isaac took a cigar from inside his jacket pocket and cupped his hand around the flare of a match. In that brief bit of light, Brandon read the worry in the bracketed lines around his mouth and the deep grooves in his cheeks. It was his first good look at his uncle, and a jolt ripped through him. It was as if he were looking at an older version of Sam. Of himself.
Sucker punched, or close to it. He drew a slow, deep breath, knowing Isaac Gabriel couldn't hear the air rush out of him, or the breath he forced himself to take to bring it back in. He had not expected that.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized that he'd had some preconceived notions about this man who claimed to be Sam's uncle. His uncle. He'd not expected it to be true. Not expected him to be so competent in the game of abduction, and he certainly had not expected to look into a face that resembled his brother's – and his own. He'd half-believed that Isaac was no more than a pompous, over-confident con man. He'd wondered what kind of man would leave a young orphan who'd been through so much loss already, at an orphanage. Surely not anyone named Gabriel.
Brandon understood, with sudden shock he had not truly believed Sam when he'd told him the story about Isaac Gabriel. Ever since he could remember, Brandon had been alone in the world. He'd wanted nothing more than a family of his own – even before he thought of any kind of permanence with a woman – with Allie, he'd longed for a mother, a father, brothers and sisters – a feeling of belonging somewhere. The world was a hard place, rough and sharp, and he'd been alone in it as long as he could remember. Until he'd found Allie.
He needed some answers, and this man who claimed to be his uncle, was the only one who could provide them. He was the key to everything that had happened to Brandon, and everything that had befallen Sam. And only he and God knew if there were any others in the world that shared their name, their fate of abandonment.
"He's had time to catch up, Sammy." The gambler's voice came to Brandon on the breeze. "Plenty of time, if he's as wonderful as you seem to believe."
Sam remained silent, and Brandon knew he thought so, too.
Isaac took a deep draw on the cigar. "After all I've done for you. You and your twisted loyalties. Almost as twisted as your legs were after the fire."
"Stop it." Sam's voice was so low, Brandon wasn't sure he'd spoken, but the smile that flitted across Isaac's lips made him understand that the gambler, a master at reading the emotions of others, was prodding Sam and enjoying the outcome.
"Well, where is he, Sammy? Hmm? This loyal protector of yours will surely be along now, won't he?" He shook his head and chuckled. "Your mother was like that, Sam. Always expecting things would take an upward turn." He paced away from the tree, back toward where Sam lay, half-propped on his shoulder. "Brandon's mother was quite a different story. More of a – realist, you might say. Very much like he turned out to be, from all accounts."