His eyes met hers over the rim of the cup for a moment, and then he drank the last of the tea and lay back against the pillows. The pain was worse than he would ever let her know. There was worry in her eyes, and he couldn't forget the tears he'd seen lurking there earlier.
The lashes were burning from the exertion of propping up, and he felt the warm ooze of fresh blood through the bandaging. His ribs…his ribs were cracked, at the very least. If he breathed too deeply, the left side hurt so badly it immediately stole his breath back. His stomach and chest were a mass of bruises where fists and boots had connected. The bloodied streak of flesh at his side reminded him just how lucky he'd been that whoever had wielded the knife hadn't been more accurate with it. Same with the bullet. It had tracked through his side, just barely missing everything vital by a scant inch. Amateurs. And it was a damn good thing.
The whole beating had been hastily planned, it seemed, with not a lot of forethought. The townsfolk weren't professional killers. They were just mindless, as most mobs were. But the damage they'd done was bad enough.
Allie fussed with the pillows a moment, then stood and took the mug from the nightstand. She looked uneasy as her gaze flicked over him.
He gave her a half-grin. "What?"
"Try to hide it all you want, Brandon. I know you're hurting." He was silent and she went on. "You don't have to stay so strong for me. I know you aren't used to having anyone in this big ol' world, but you can count on me."
She bent down, close to him, and gave his forehead a light kiss.
That was what he'd been afraid of. He wasn't going to be here long enough for her to be the one he could count on. Didn't even want her thinking that way. Unwittingly, he had brought danger to the one person in the world he cared for – the one person who cared for him.
"Allie, you know – I can't stay here."
For a moment, a look of panic crossed her face, quickly erased as though it had never been. She looked down and nodded. "We've gotta get you well. No doubt about that." She turned toward the door. "Guess I better check on the potatoes. I'll be back in a bit."
What was she scared of? The men who'd beaten him, or something else? There are secrets in this house. Brandon closed his eyes. Right now, he hurt too much to think about what they might be. Beneath the blanket, he fought the urge to move his mangled hand, to test it – to see how bad the pain was – a gauge of how bad the damage was.
He drifted, letting the sleep come again, allowing himself to go into it as he searched for respite from the hurt. The physical agony, he could deal with. It was the emotional hurting that he couldn't confront. Not yet. Not yet.
Chance had delivered Allie to him again, but Fate wouldn't allow it. And unless he was mistaken, his heart was fast deserting him. He knew when he left her this time, Allie would keep that piece of him forever.
Chapter 5
After supper, Allie gathered up the dishes and put them to soak in the wash pan. She set by a plate of potatoes and a biscuit for Brandon, but when she carefully opened the door to check on him, he was sleeping. He lay on his side so as not to put pressure on the deep lash welts across his neck and upper back. His right hand was covered beneath his left, protected, even as he slept. The grim set of his lips kept any sound he might make hidden. Relaxation failed him, his muscled frame tense as he slept. The lines in his face deepened as he shifted. Allie stood beside him for a moment, then reached to smooth his straight, dark hair away from his face. Her hand stopped before she touched him. He'd always been a light sleeper.
Her thoughts roamed back through the years, when they'd been together before, at the orphanage. Brandon had always been the first one up. She'd risen early one morning in need of the outhouse, and found him already outside, sitting cross-legged on the dew-wet grass, watching the sun rise. Walking past him primly, her face burned in the dawn light as she made her way to the privy. Neither of them spoke. When she walked by him going back inside, their eyes had met.
Allie's heart jumped to her throat. Brandon Gabriel was older, and Indian. He'd always been kind to her – except that time when he'd put the cricket in her shoe. That had broken her heart, and she'd almost cried. He'd sought her out as they were doing their afternoon chores and apologized to her.
From that time on, he'd been watchful of her, and that morning as the sun was rising was no different.
"Everything all right, Allie?" he'd asked quietly.
"Yes." She stepped closer. "What are you doing out here so early, Bran?"
"Watching Father Sun kiss Mother Earth good morning."
"That's pretty," Allie said, immediately wishing she had remained quiet. That particular choice of words had made him uncomfortable, she thought.
"It's…legend. I just like being alone out here—" He broke off as Allie stopped where she was, coming no closer. "I didn't mean it like that. I don't mind your company, ever."