She looked them each in the eyes for a second. "Brave men. I wonder how you sleep at night."
She could see now that their impetus was gone. When she'd brought Arnold Smith down, she'd effectively put an end to his leadership. They'd lay low a few days, maybe long enough for Brandon to heal enough to get away – go somewhere safe to make a full recovery. And then, she'd bet none of them would be sleeping. They'd spend the rest of their lives wondering when Brandon Gabriel would come back and exact his revenge for their scheming treachery.
Allie turned the horses only after they backed down the street several yards. She held the gun steady all the while, feeling Brandon's precarious balance in the saddle. He rode beside her, holding the reins in an expert easy grip, despite the brutality of the beating he'd just endured. Allie's lips compressed. He was used to rough living. Had grown up with it. So he'd learned to deal with it better than most.
She didn't risk looking at him; didn't need to. The tension in his leg as he brushed hers was tight, their mounts close together. He was not going to fall – that much, she knew. He sat a saddle as if he and the horse were one, with an inherent fluid grace that could never be taught or learned – it just was.
Brandon bit back a groan as his mount turned in unison with Allie's and they rode for her place.
He was managing, she thought, finally daring to glance his way, though this ride must seem interminable. Even though he slumped forward over the horse's neck, he was still in control.
"Hold on," she said, above the pounding hooves. "We're almost home."
He nodded his understanding, a brief jerk of his head.
Slowing just a little, she slid the new rifle into the leather saddle scabbard, close to her own older Winchester. She would need both hands free to be able to grab for his reins if he dropped them. A faint smile curved her lips. Not likely.
Two more miles, she thought, as they began to ride parallel to the small creek that ran behind her place. She slowed again as he leaned lower to the horse, his right hand going to his ribs as if to hold himself together. The bastards. She'd always known Arnold Smith was a snake, but she hadn't figured on so many of the others throwing in with him.
The road curved ahead, and as they rounded the bend, the welcome sight of the cabin came into view.
Jay stood framed in the barn door, a feed bucket in his hand. He set the bucket down and came on the run, taking the reins of both horses as they rode into the yard. He looped them quickly around the hitching post.
Allie slid to the ground almost before the horse had come to a complete stop, hurrying to Brandon's side. She looked up into his face, appalled at the temporary disfigurement from the savage beating. Her stomach knotted as she took in his injuries. His eyes were nearly swollen shut, and blood streamed from his broken nose. His lips were split and puffy, and his cheek was laid open – probably by someone's ring finger. She drew a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.
She did her best to hide her dismay but knew she'd done a poor job of it when he tried to smile at her.
Twin lights of glimmering brown shone at her from the pummeled slits of flesh that had been his eyelids.
"That bad, huh?"
She nodded, stretching her hand up to him. "Let me help—"
He shook his head. "No. I can – make it. I think." He eased off the horse slowly, his legs barely supporting him as he came to the ground. He stood leaning against the big black's side, resting his forehead against the saddle leather for a moment. He gathered himself, taking raspy, shallow breaths.
Lifting his head, he reluctantly let go of the horse as he made an unsteady turn for the porch, nearly going to his knees.
Allie slipped his arm around her shoulders before he could protest, and Jay supported him as well as his eight-year-old frame could manage. Two wooden steps stood between them and the porch. Brandon took the first one easily, but his sharp intake of breath let Allie know it had been more than he'd bargained for. He stopped, letting the hurt slide over him as he waited for the next breath. When it came, he nodded, and they negotiated the next step.
Allie released her own sigh of relief once they reached the broad, level expanse of the wood porch. Just a few more steps.
"Ma'am?" Brandon's voice was low and husky with the pain, but it was just as she'd remembered it – only deeper and more mature. She would have recognized it anywhere; even after ten years of being away from it. Away from him.
She brought her gaze to bear on his face as they slowly moved forward, while Jay held the door open.
"Allie," she corrected softly. "Just Allie. No 'ma'am' to it."
"Okay, 'Just Allie', I can't – stay here, you know." He leaned closer to her, his arm tightening around her. Worry threaded through his dark eyes. "And now, neither can you."
Chapter 3