"You gotta help him, Mr. Gabriel!"
"Help him? How?" It would be a cold day in hell, Brandon thought, before he'd turn a hand to help Arnie Smith with anything – even staying alive. He was aware his voice was frosty. Some of the boys looked up at him, and Jimmy stopped blathering.
"It's Tom Carver! He shot him an' – an' he's got him an' Doc!"
"Got 'em where?"
"Headed toward a line shack… Harry Ross' place," Jimmy panted. "My pa was bleedin'—"
"What about Doc?" Owen asked quickly.
"He's all right, but my pa—"
"All right, calm down," Brandon said.
"It could be a trap," Owen murmured, meeting Brandon's eyes.
"How well I know."
"It's not! I promise!" Jimmy licked his lips, his cheeks wet with tears of fear.
A flicker of sympathy stirred inside Brandon. "Does Carver know you saw them?" he asked, coming to his feet.
Jimmy nodded, misery in every line of his body. "He sent me out here, Mr. Gabriel. "I'm to tell you if you come to the line shack, he'll let Doc and my pa go free."
Instantly, Brandon thought of the thousand dollars that rested inside his wallet in the false-bottomed drawer. "What does he want me to bring? Money?"
Jimmy shook his head and looked down at the ground. "No. Just you. He said for you to come alone and—"
"And what, Jimmy?"
Jimmy slowly raised his head. "Be ready to die. He's going to finish what they started at the livery stable."
****
Allie gave a sharp gasp at his words. "Why, that pompous jackass!" She turned to Brandon, quickly grasping his arm. "What are we going to do?"
He gave a mirthless chuckle. "Not we, Allie."
"You can't be considering actually turning yourself over to him, Brandon," Owen said. "Surely, there's another way."
"Where is this line shack?" Brandon asked.
"It's—" Jimmy began, but Allie shushed him with a quick shake of her head.
"No. Not unless you agree to accept some help," she said, meeting Brandon's eyes. He thought she was being unreasonable, by the look on his face. "I don't intend to lose you. Not now, after so long."
"Allie, there's nothing you can do," he said flatly.
"There may be something—" Desperation filled her voice, tension crackling through the air around them.
"You've got other responsibilities now." The words were spoken quietly, but she understood exactly what he was saying. The boys. The cows. The fence-building. They were working against the clock. But what did any of it mean without him?
A hot breeze lifted the dark strands of his hair. Bees buzzed around them as they settled on the clover spread throughout the field where the first fence posts had been set. The boys were quiet, as if frozen by this turn of events.
"I have an idea," Owen said, stepping closer to Brandon. "Carver doesn't know me. He doesn't know the boys. What if I take Sam, here, and we create a little diversion?"
"Give him some unexpected company, you mean?" A faint smile touched Brandon's lips, and for the first time, Allie felt a small bit of hope returning.
"Just tell me what I need to do," Sam said, his voice edged with hard purpose.
Owen squeezed his shoulder. "This won't be without danger, you know."
"We can do it," Sam responded.
"Confidence is half the game," Owen muttered, causing Brandon to give him an appraising glance.
"What do you have in mind, Owen?"
Allie could see Brandon was going to have to be convinced before he agreed. He'd never allow it to go forward if there was much chance of Sam or Owen being wounded. Tom Carver was desperate, if he'd turned on Arnie.
Owen flashed a wide, devil-may-care grin. "Well, it seems my son, Sam, and I are traveling back East to visit an ailing relative. Sam, here, has suffered a stress fracture – too much walking. We got lost and stumbled on the line shack, hoped to rest for a day before we set out again. Give us a few minutes to get settled in with our host, and then you make your appearance. We'll do what we can." He nodded at Brandon's right hand, shooting him a searching look. "How does it feel?"
Allie read the tense set of his shoulders, and knew how he'd respond before he ever spoke.
"It's all right."
The lines were grooved deep in his face, bracketing his mouth; the sensual lips drawn tight. His eyes were veiled, unreadable; pools of fathomless darkness with none of the teasing warmth she'd come to expect. He would not be argued with. Not now. He'd do what he had to do, and she could see there was nothing she could say or do to dissuade him.
Owen gave him a grim smile. "Somehow, I doubt that. Will you be able to shoot?"
Brandon nodded. "I'll get the job done – one way or another."
"Guess we'd better get started then," Owen said. He looked at Sam. "Let's go back to the house. There's…something I want to get."
"You want me to oversee the fence, Mr. Gabriel?"