"Where?"
The gambler shook his head slightly. "Drop that gun and I'll tell you."
Brandon glanced at Sam. Sam had seen this trick before, according to what Brandon was reading. Would Isaac murder him – or try to – in cold blood? There were so many questions in his mind that, by watching Isaac, he knew he'd never get the answers to.
"No. You kill Sam, I kill you."
"He'll still be just as dead, Brandon."
"So will you, Isaac. So will you." Regret at what seemed to be an inevitable outcome pulled at him, weighing on him as if he carried the world on his shoulders. He'd never thought this day would come; meeting his father and killing him, all within a few short hours.
Suddenly, Sam lashed out, kicking at Isaac's legs. It gave Brandon the momentary diversion he needed. The derringer popped once as Brandon threw himself into his father, wrestling the gun from his fingers.
Had Isaac's shot hit Sam? God, was Sam hurt? Bleeding? Brandon had to end this struggle. The clouds parted, revealing movement through the trees. Just as he managed to get to his feet, from the tree line, a streak of growling fur raced across the small clearing.
Though Isaac had gotten to his feet, Big Mack jumped, hitting him chest high, sending him sprawling to the ground again. He put his arms up, trying to ward off the vicious attack. Brandon unsheathed his knife quickly and ran to where Sam lay. He knelt, cutting the rope at Sam's wrists. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
Brandon had to take his word for it, for now, though there was a hint of muted strain in Sam's tone. He stood swiftly and strode to where Big Mack still kept Isaac pinned to the ground, his teeth bared, hackles raised.
"Mack!" Brandon's command cut through the sound of the wind. "Good boy. C'mere."
The dog backed away a few steps, still growling, before he turned and ran to Brandon, tail wagging. Brandon patted his head as Sam came to stand by him. He had retrieved the derringer, and held it at the ready, trained on Isaac, who rose slowly.
Suddenly, with a howl of fury, he hurtled himself toward Brandon. Brandon didn't holster his gun; he had no time. He dropped it on the forest floor, and prepared for the inevitable. It seemed his father was determined to carry this fight out with fists rather than guns.
His first punch caught Brandon's chin, but was a weak uppercut that didn't hurt as much as it fired Brandon's anger even more. He threw a punch of his own, doubling Isaac over with the impact to his stomach, then straightening him as he sent a crushing blow upward in quick succession, bloodying and breaking the gambler's nose.
Isaac gave a bellow, a mixture of pain and rage. His hands automatically went to his face and he stopped for a moment, shaking his head, muttering and cursing to himself.
Brandon came after him, so filled with disgust and anger that his mind had ceased to function on a rational level. Methodically, he punched Isaac, not even knowing or feeling the punches the gambler managed to land in reprisal. He brushed off the blows, ignoring the pain, until they ended up rolling on the ground, and Brandon felt the outline of his pistol against his back where he'd dropped it earlier.
He rolled away from it as he came atop his father, his fingers at Isaac's throat. He'd dreamed of this. He began to squeeze.
"Don't…kill me!"
Brandon felt Isaac's hands grappling in the dirt for a weapon. He let go of his throat with one hand, reaching behind him to grab his pistol. Swiftly, he brought it to Isaac's temple. "Why shouldn't I?" he panted. "One good reason."
Chapter 32
"I can tell you…what you want to know." When Brandon didn't answer, Isaac said, "I can tell you about your mother and…your…those others you're so concerned about."
"I'm listening." He cocked the gun, and Isaac's eyes widened.
"Please – not here. Back at the house."
"No." Brandon shook his head. "You see, Father, my house is my home. I live there with people I love – people I don't want filth like you to come into contact with. So I won't be bringing you home to meet the family – a family you might have shared in, had you been a decent human being. As it is, I'm not sure what you are." His voice was low. "I only know who you are. And I'm sorry for that. I wish I had any other man in the world but you to call my father."
Isaac moistened his lips, his eyes rolling toward the pistol at his temple. "If your finger slips—"
"You better hold real still, you sorry son of a bitch. I've never killed anyone accidentally, but they say there's a first time for everything."
"What do you want to know?"
Of all the things he could have asked, Brandon hardly knew where to begin. His father had admitted, though, there were two more children in the world he'd sired. No, Brandon reminded himself firmly. He needed to think of them as his brother and sister – not as products of his father's loins.