Allie didn't answer. The truth of his statement was too much to bear right now. She'd had to fight for…everything. For so long. Her shoulders slumped under his weight. I'll think of it later. One thing at a time.
The front room had never seemed as large as they crossed it, headed for her bedroom. His harsh breathing was the only sound as they made their way into her small bed chamber.
Two more steps to the bed. He was leaning on her even more, his steps faltering. She concentrated on getting him closer to the bed. At least if he blacked out, he wouldn't hit the floor.
A look of understanding flashed through his swollen eyes. "I'm gonna make it, Allie. You don't have to worry." He grasped the wooden bedpost in the next instant and eased down slowly to sit on the edge. His legs trembled, and he released his breath on a long, slow sigh.
"Let's get your boots off." Allie bent to reach for his left ankle and he put a hand on her arm.
"I can…do it."
Allie knelt on the floor. "Don't be ridiculous. I think you have a couple of broken ribs."
He gave her the remnant of a grin. "I think you're…probably right."
She patted the leather boot. "Let me have it."
He made no further protest, but Allie could tell it was all he could do to steady himself while she pulled. She turned to Jay who stood, wide-eyed, behind her.
"Would you go see to the horses, Jay?"
He nodded, disappearing through the bedroom door.
"The rifles—" Brandon muttered.
She stood up quickly and followed Jay into the front room. "Wait a minute, sweetie. I need to get my rifle first."
They walked out of the house and Jay took her hand suddenly. "Why'd you bring him here?"
Allie looked down into the boy's bronze face. "He's – a friend."
"He's a gun hawk."
She knelt to meet his gaze eye level. "How do you know that?"
"Jimmy said it. Said his daddy was gonna get rid of him. Send the son of a bitch on his merry way."
Allie bit her lip, her heart pounding. Jimmy Smith. Arnie's son. They must have planned Brandon's murder from the moment they hired him. She hid the thoughts whirling in her head, instead, seizing on the words Jay had spoken as she tried to collect herself. "Jay, I've asked you not to cuss like that."
He shrugged defensively. "That's what he said; not me."
"All right." She sighed heavily. "I wish you'd told me sooner."
"So you could stop them?"
Allie's brows slashed together in puzzlement. Jay seemed at odds by this whole chain of events, and she couldn't blame him. She couldn't help but wish he had confided in her earlier, even if there was nothing she could have done. Softly, she said, "I did stop them. Jay, it wasn't right what those men did – beating him like that. Do you think?"
He didn't answer right away. Finally, he gave her a sullen, "No." He looked at the porch, not raising his eyes to hers until she lifted his chin with her finger.
"We'll talk more later, but I have to see to him right now. You go take care of the horses, then wash up and come back inside. I might need your help." When he didn't answer she said, "Okay?"
He nodded. "All right." He turned to jump from the porch, unraveling the horses' reins from the hitch. "I'll get your gun."
"I'll get it," Allie said, following him off the porch. "It's a hard angle for you to reach, until you grow a few more inches." She ruffled his ebony hair, then took both rifles from the scabbard and started back inside as Jay headed for the barn, leading the horses.
****
Brandon slowly began to unbutton the ragged remains of his shirt. The fingers of his right hand – his gun hand – wouldn't work. That worried him, plenty. The doc wouldn't fix it, even if he could; wouldn't go against the good citizens of Spring Branch no matter what kind of oath he'd taken when he became a doc. No, the town elders here at Spring Branch had proven to wield formidable power.
The room spun crazily as he started to stand up. He needed to take the gun belt off…hang it up somewhere nearby.
How am I going to do that? Can't even manage the shirt buttons…how long will a buckle take? Maybe this time next year…
Standing was a bad idea. Hell, who am I kidding? It was worse than a 'bad idea' – it wasn't about to happen.
He'd surprised himself by making it this far after the ride. He'd managed to dismount without falling flat, and he'd made it up the porch steps. Then, he'd gotten to the bed with only a little help. No…more than 'a little' help. Still, he couldn't do something as simple as unbuttoning a shirt. Unbuckling a belt. Standing up.