"You're my son. And you always will be." Tears brimmed in Allie's eyes. Would she ever be able to make him see how much he meant to her? All those years she'd spent at the orphanage, she'd dreamed of a loving family to adopt her. To love her and care for her. Instead, she'd gotten Mr. and Mrs. Hiram Nielson – two of the vilest people on earth. It had not turned out the way she'd hoped.
But she'd made her own way, and when she left the wretched "home" they'd provided she took two things: Nielson's money, and her former name. Taylor. Allison Taylor. That was a secret best left alone. Now, she needed to deal with Jay, and with Brandon.
"I know I'm yours," Jay whispered, calling her back to the present. "But I still don't have a pa."
Chapter 7
Brandon lay between wakefulness and exhausted sleep, drifting in a gray mist of uncertainty. His fever was high, and his dreams shifted from burning alive to being trapped in a sudden winter storm.
When the snowflakes parted and the fires began again, he awoke with a jerk to find himself looking into the flame of the low-burning lamp, then Allie's concerned face, as she hovered over him.
He put out his left hand unsteadily to touch her cheek. She smiled at him, but there was a well of concern in her eyes that he didn't miss, even in his condition. His hand didn't quite connect with her skin before he dropped his arm back down to the bed.
"You didn't slip me…some laudanum, did you, Allie?" This weakness… He'd been hurt badly before but never felt so…disconnected from everything.
"No. Morphine. But it was Doc, not me."
The bed sank beside him, and then the soft satin of Allie's skin glided unexpectedly against his. Once she settled herself close to him, disappointment registered slowly in place of the sudden leap his heart had taken. She wasn't unclothed, completely. She had her chemise on, still. But of course, she would, with the doctor here, and Jay. And what she was wearing right now was probably too scant to be any kind of proper in anyone's eyes, anyhow. She might as well be naked. He wished she was. Although, there was nothing he could do about it at this point, anyway. And though the thought of lust for her was in his mind, right now the desire was absent in his heart. He found he only wanted to hold her, to feel her skin against his, sweet and warm.
"I wish you were naked," he muttered.
She smiled against his side, and his arm came around her, gently.
"I know. But this is the best I could do."
"You dare much, Allison." His voice was low, distant to his own ears. Drugged…
She giggled against him, and his lips curved at the sound of it; a melody long silent, but not forgotten. His heart would remember it, even if his mind was rusty.
"I don't think I have anything to fear tonight."
He was silent a minute before he answered. "You never have anything to fear, Allie. Not from me. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes. I know."
"Only…the others. They – they need to be afraid. But never you."
"The others…the men from town, you mean?"
He didn't respond immediately. Then, very quietly, he murmured, "They're dead."
Allie nodded against him. "They know it too."
Brandon gave a faint smile. "You showed 'em, Allie. You…looked so damn beautiful."
She raised her head, startled at his words.
He went on softly, not noticing her surprise. "You were an angel – an angel with murder in your eyes."
She smiled at his odd description. "That morphine is making you say things you might regret later, Bran."
"Bran," he repeated with a low chuckle. "You're the only one who ever called me that." He shifted, moving to find a cool spot in the sheets. "I like it."
Allie laughed softly. "I like it, too." She reached to touch his hair, feathering it away from his face gently with her fingertips to dissipate the heat of his fever.
"Why don't you say it?"
Allie gave him a puzzled look. "Say what?"
"'I love you.' Why don't you…tell me?"
His words hung in the air. Allie swallowed hard, watching him. His eyes were shut, his voice low and rough.
After a few seconds, he cracked his lids open and met Allie's searching stare. "I see it every time you look at me. It's…been there…forever, Allie. Why don't you say the words to me?"
****
The air sizzled between them, and Allie tensed. Then, she gave an embarrassed chuckle and looked down, unable to hold his intense, all-seeing gaze a second longer.
"Bran, that morphine truly is playing tricks with your mind."
He was silent a moment. Then, "I don't think so, Allison. I know what I see – morphine or no."
"Ten years between us, Brandon," she whispered. "How do you know the love is still there? We were kids—" She stopped herself abruptly. She had almost said too much – and for her, there was no morphine to blame. "We'll talk tomorrow when you're feeling better."
"I feel…fine." His tone was dreamy, though, and quiet. "Ten years…the same as ten seconds. It's still there. Always will be."
Allie patted him gently, finally finding her voice. "Go to sleep, Brandon. It's what your body needs right now."
"Huh-uh," he argued as she started to rise. "What my body needs right now…is you. Here, with me."
Allie lay back down, her head pillowed on his shoulder. "I'm here."