"How would you know?" Sam asked sullenly.
Brandon had moved forward to the rim of trees, concealed by the trunk of an old black oak. He could make his move now, he thought, crouching low. His fingertips tingled, the rush of adrenaline roaring through his body. He could come out of this blackness and he could take Isaac Gabriel easily. But he waited, as Sam's voice came to him again.
"How do you know anything about my mother, or his?"
Another man might not have noticed the almost imperceptible stiffening of Isaac Gabriel's body, but Brandon recognized it instantly. It was a movement that was familiar to him; as easily recognizable as if he'd been watching his own reflection in a mirror. Something like a particular gait, or carriage that might be common to a family. But in that instant, Brandon knew it was more than that. It was a trait so inherently close to his own, he knew there could only be one explanation.
Isaac Gabriel was not his uncle.
He was his father.
****
Allie had brought the boys inside as the wind whipped up, the storm imminent now. The little house was filled to the brim. With a wry smile, she realized there was no floor space left for her pacing. She'd have to occupy her worry some other way. Some of the boys played a friendly game of checkers at the kitchen table while others waited their turn.
A furtive movement by one of the boys in the corner of the front room drew Allie's eye. She walked to the small cluster, Jay among them. "What's going on?"
Jay looked down.
"Come on." She crossed her arms. "What's the secret, here?"
"I told them you wouldn't care," Jay muttered.
Tiger looked up at her, his tawny eyes holding hers. "We weren't allowed to have cards." He produced a bedraggled deck of cards from his pocket as if by magic. "These."
Allie realized what a show of trust this was. She stood unmoving for a moment. "Why?"
"Sister said it was the devil's work." Tiger's bronze face split in a wide, quick grin that surprised Allie, breaking her heart with his next words. "I kept the cards, always, Miss Allie. 'Cause I am of the devil anyway. My soul is lost already."
Allie knelt swiftly in front of Tiger, close to eye-level with him. "Tiger, you are not 'of the devil'."
"Sister said I was."
"Sister should be shot for saying such a thing."
Silence filled the room.
Tiger shook his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead. He pushed it back with one hand in an unconscious gesture, stuffing his cards into his pocket with the other.
"We must forgive," he said, matter-of-factly. "Even those who do not deserve it. You see, Miss Allie, I will try to be good, even though I never will be."
"Do not say such things, Tiger." Her voice shook. She closed her fingers around both the boy's upper arms.
"Or you will beat me?"
She shook her head. "No. Never that, darling." But she knew from his question that it was what he expected; what he was used to. She wanted to pull him close and hug him. "Cards are allowed here."
"And wagering?" James's eyes were alight with the possibilities.
"We'll see." She reached to tousle his fair hair, and he grinned.
"No betting allowed on anything at the orphanage," he said. "Sister said it wasn't Christian."
Allie was becoming heartily sick of Sister's rules. "Well," she said, turning toward the kitchen, "we can all tell how important that was to Sister." Hopefully, Sister and her version of Christianity would be forgotten in a short space of time.
"You boys can play cards, but please don't keep secrets from me or Mr. Brandon. Honesty is all we ask of you." She looked directly at Tiger. "Understood?" He nodded, as did the others, and she walked into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. She'd make cookies, too. This was going to be a long night, and she doubted any of them would sleep much until Brandon, Sam, and the others returned.
****
Brandon's heart plummeted. Isaac Gabriel. His father. He was finally forced to admit the truth of it all to himself. He'd wondered and wished and hoped all these years. He'd speculated as to whether or not his father was even still living; wondered what he'd say to him if he came face-to-face with him. Secretly, in his heart of hearts, he realized he'd been hoping that someday that meeting would take place – even if he wasn't sure what he would say, how he would feel. No matter what, the questions in his mind could be put to rest.
He couldn't have been more wrong. Seeing Isaac Gabriel, understanding what kind of a man he truly was, had changed everything. He didn't want to talk to him, or ask him the questions that had haunted him from the time he was a child, or even be in his presence another five minutes. He felt dirty, cheap, disgusted.
He wanted to kill him.
Shooting him would be too quick – too easy. His palms itched, his fingers tingled, as he imagined them curving around Isaac Gabriel's neck, choking the life out of him very, very slowly. He forced himself to breathe methodically, deeply.