Brandon smiled. No matter how they talked, they'd never see it the way he had. The sun in his eyes, mixed with blood, his body aching and raw. He'd been waiting for that next punch, the one that would've at least rendered him unconscious. The one that never came.
Allie standing on the boardwalk with that rifle aimed at Arnie Smith, and murder in her eyes. The hot breeze ruffling his own hair like a kiss of redemption she'd sent his way. Time had stopped for a minute, and he realized now, he'd had some inkling of recognition, then. Her finger on the trigger, she'd been ready to do whatever she needed to protect him, once again. And she had. Her green eyes had held as much murderous light in them for Arnie Smith as Brandon had seen in Smith's own earlier, when the fight had boiled out of the livery into the dusty street.
"'Old friends,' she said you were," Doc said quietly, as if reading Brandon's thoughts.
"Yeah. From – when we were kids." Another lifetime ago. He glanced up at the doctor, a cynical smile on his lips. "She'll be safe enough with me, Doc, if that's what's worryin' you. I'd never hurt her."
Doc's steady blue gaze locked with Brandon's. "I never thought that, son. Just get well. That's the important thing."
****
Allie settled Jay on the settee with a goodnight hug. As she started to go, he clung to her a second longer than usual, and she hesitated. "Is something wrong, Jay?"
Again, the hesitation. Then, "No."
Allie gave him a serious look. "What's the matter?"
He took a deep breath. "Do you know who my – my father is, really?"
Allie's gaze held Jay's for a long moment. There was sadness behind the curiosity. The doctor's words came back to her. How long had the other boys been tormenting Jay?
After she had rescued Jay – bought him – they'd kept moving endlessly, it seemed. Until they'd found this place for sale. Traveling with an unruly, abused four-year-old had been tedious. But this place…there was something so right about it. And situated as it was, almost exactly halfway between Spring Branch and Hobart, had been wonderful. She'd sent Jay to Spring Branch to school because it was two miles nearer.
Looking into his deep brown eyes now, she realized it had been a terrible mistake. Her heart ached. She glanced away, pretending interest in Big Mack. But Jay would not be put off.
"Mama? Do you?"
"No," she answered slowly. How much did he remember? Did he remember the filthy cage the grizzled mountain man had kept him in? Did he remember the festering sores across his back? Did he remember that she'd bought him – like a bundle of prized pelts – from the toothless old man at the trading post? And if he did, was going to school so important to him that putting up with the likes of Jimmy Smith actually seemed tolerable?
"Jay – I don't know. Honestly. But it doesn't matter to me who your parents were."
"You are my mama," he answered sternly, his face drawn. "I never had another mama. But I need to know who my pa is."
She didn't dispute him, though his childish reasoning tore at her. She took his hands in hers, watching him as she spoke. "Why is that so important to you, Jay?"
He did his best to appear unruffled, but Allie knew the signs. His fingers tightened in hers. He gnawed on the inside of his lip. His brows drew together. "Well, everybody's got a pa," he said quietly. "Everybody. Even Jimmy Smith. They all say I'm a bastard 'cause I don't have one."
"Who says that?" Allie tried to keep the shock from her voice and her expression, but it was no use. She wasn't ignorant of the cruelty of children, or the rough talk. But it cut her deeply to think of Jay – her Jay – bearing the brunt of it.
He blinked rapidly to keep the tears back. "All of them do. Every last one of them. I try to be nice. I just want one friend. But they won't play with me because they say I'm a bas—"
She couldn't bear it. She put two fingers gently over his mouth, and he turned his head into her palm, just for a fleeting instant. Her Jay, who never needed hugs or kisses, who disdained most every affectionate overture in a mixture of normal little-boy gruffness and a far deeper damage that had been done before he came to live with her. It was as if he couldn't allow himself to trust that he'd found a place in the world where he was safe. She'd broken that trust unwittingly by sending him to school.
"I don't ever want to hear you say that again."
"Is it true? Am I…one?"
"Jay…I – don't know. I don't know. But neither do they."
"Neither do I," he pointed out sagely.
"It doesn't matter, darling."
He was silent a moment. The fight seemed to go out of him, his eyes dulling. "It does to me." He turned away from her, curling up on the settee, stiff and unyielding.
"Jay—"
"I want to be someone's son."