Gabriel's Law

by Pierson, Cheryl

  "New Mexico Terr—" Jay began. "They're here! Our boys!"

  Allie's chest constricted as she looked into Jay's excited face. Having been through an early childhood such as the one he'd suffered, she'd wondered if he'd be able to share her with the new arrivals. It had been on her mind constantly since this idea had come to her. But the joyful expression, the unconditional welcome in his voice, put all her doubts to rest.

  "Yes. Our boys." Still, she held the rifle; uneasy and unwilling to put it away. Were Arnie Smith's men out there in the darkness as well? Were they waiting, watching, and biding their time? A shiver ran down her spine as she remembered the murderous look in Arnie's eyes when she'd forced him to back down. He wasn't used to losing. He would be back. Please God, not yet. Not tonight.

  "Go ahead, Jay. Open the door."

  * * * * *

  Jay slid the bar back, unbolting the sturdy wood door, and swung it open. Allie took the lantern from the table and held it up as she stepped onto the porch into the rich velvet darkness of the warm summer evening.

  Doc alighted stiffly from the buggy, the other man following suit with a bit more ease. Allie could only imagine the slow pace they'd set to accommodate the massive lumbering wagon, filled with boys. Allie hurried to Doc, but he waved her off.

  "Just stiff from the ride. Here, let me take that lantern so you can properly meet my new partner, Doctor Owen Morris. Owen, this is Mrs. Allison Taylor."

  Allie shifted the rifle to her left hand, putting her right hand out to shake with Dr. Morris. His grip was firm, and he gave her a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Taylor. I've heard a lot about you and your, ah – project."

  Allie returned the smile, liking him instantly. "It's nice to meet you too, doctor. As for my—" She turned from him to look at the group of boys who were standing beside the wagon, uncertainty written across their faces.

  A wary light entered the two oldest boys' eyes. They both stepped toward her, putting themselves between her and the rest of the boys. Not understanding for a moment, she looked down, realizing she still held the rifle.

  "Here, Allie." Doc hastily thrust the lantern toward his new partner. "Let me hold that for you."

  She handed him the gun, looking toward the boys again. There are so many of them. I said I needed ten. It looked like they'd sent all eighteen. Every one of them with the light of hope in their eyes, though the older ones were more jaded than their younger counterparts. They were all afraid and trying their best to hide it. She realized she was afraid too. Was this idea of hers crazy, as Brandon had said?

  Her doubt must have shown in her expression, because one of the older boys started toward her once more, hesitantly, putting his hand out in a beseeching gesture.

  "Mrs. Taylor? Please – the little ones – they're tired. If you'd let us stay, just for a few days, why, we can show you what we can do. You won't be sorry, I promise." His quicksilver eyes caught hers, snaring them and holding. It was as close to begging as this young man would ever come, and in that instant, Allie was reminded of Brandon. Asking for the others; not for himself.

  "I know there are a few more of us than what you'd asked for. But, ma'am – if you only knew—"

  Allie reached out and clasped his hand in hers, her throat tightening. No matter what, she couldn't turn any of them back. The memories of her childhood years at the orphanage flooded over her. She shook her head wordlessly, dispelling them. She wouldn't let those bad thoughts ruin this moment. "I do. I do know. You are all welcome here. We'll make this work. Somehow, we'll make it work."

  Brandon stood beside her in the next moment; strong, solid and steady. The boy released her hand, reaching for Brandon's.

  "You boys are welcome here," Brandon said, relieving the somber tension with an easy tease. "I bet you're hungry enough to eat the kitchen table aren't you?"

  The boys responded heartily.

  Brandon smiled, looking around the young earnest faces. "C'mon. Let's go get these animals bedded down while All – uh, Mrs. Taylor fixes you some grub."

  The boys fell in around him, leading the horses and both rigs to the barn.

  "I'll give you a hand," Dr. Morris said.

  Doc shouldered the rifle. "Got a way with 'em, doesn't he?"

  "He called this idea of mine crazy," she replied, frustration tingeing her words. Jay's laugh floated back to her as Brandon laid a hand on his shoulder.

  Doc chuckled. "I'd say, then, you've got a way with him too, Allie." He followed her gaze to the disappearing band of boys surrounding Brandon, Owen bringing up the rear. "Guess it doesn't seem so crazy to him, now that they're here."

  * * * * *

  "Well, they're havin' a fine ol' party down there, ain't they?" Tom Carver slanted a look at Abe Johnson and spat a stream of tobacco juice across the boulder he squatted behind. The silver moonlight illuminated the scene below as if it were the broad light of day.

  Johnson snorted softly. "Why, them's a buncha boys, Tom! Lookee down there – the oldest ones can't be more'n fifteen; the youngest is the same size as that little Injun the Taylor woman keeps. How're they gonna manage all the cattle she's got comin'?"

  Carver didn't answer as he studied the scene below.

  "Be easy pickin's," Johnson continued, "once Arnie's better and we can count on him to help some."

  Carver gave him a narrow look. "Just how loyal are you, Abe? Hmm?" He glanced away and spat again. "Cause here's what I'm thinkin'. Why wait for Arnie to get better? The time's right. Waitin' for him might put a kink in the cow’s tail, for sure. But if we move soon, we can have us a whole herd of cattle, scatter them boys to the four winds, and pick us off a gunslinger too."

  "A gunslinger with a thousand dollars of our money," Johnson mused sullenly.

  Carver's lips curved. "And be a thousand dollars richer. I forgot to mention that."

  Johnson nodded. "You're right, Tom. We can't wait on Arnie. Might be weeks—"

  "Might be never."

  "Shore 'nuff." Silence followed, then Johnson said, "I didn't think she'd do it, did you? Shoot Arnie like that, I mean."

  Carver shook his head in disgust. "All over a half-breed gunslinger. Must be somethin' about all that we don't know."

  "Think she's doin' 'im?"

  "Hell, I don't know. How would she even know him? But they looked mighty cozy down there—" He nodded toward where Allie Taylor and Doc Wilkins were just going into the small house. "And she did take him home with her, to begin with. Mighty odd for a woman to take a strange man home with her…"

  "She's different, Tom. Not like any other woman we know."

  "Pretty, though. Beautiful."

  Abe Johnson glanced at his cohort. "You got you some ideas about Allison Taylor?"

  Tom gave a soft laugh. "Oh, yeah, Abe. I got me quite a few ideas about her. But first, I got to kill that gunslinger."

  Johnson's eyes widened. "Tonight?"

  Carver's voice was hard. "No. I've got other plans for tonight. Not tonight. But soon. I'll do it soon. And I ain't waitin' on Arnie Smith."

  Chapter 16

  Dinner was a haphazard affair. Allie threw together a huge pan of biscuits and scrambled every egg she could find, sending Jay to raid the henhouse in the darkness. The boys ate in grateful silence, the older ones seeing the young ones fed first, before they took a turn. Allie watched them, the relief on their faces enough to dispel the uncertainty in her own heart. They would make this work, as she'd said, somehow. Ten boys, she'd asked for. Actually, paid for. But she'd received nearly twice as many. The young ones were too small to put in a full day's work in the fields of farmers that might live close enough to the orphanage to adopt them. The older ones looked to be of mixed parentage. No Anglo family would claim them as a family member. And, she'd noted, two of the boys tried to hide deformities – one a club foot, the other, a withered left arm.

  She turned back toward the kitchen to check on the second pan of biscuits, nearly colliding with Brandon. As their eyes
met, he smiled, but she could see the strain and weariness grooved deeply into the lines of his face. It had been a very long day, even though he'd rested during the afternoon. He reached to steady her with his left hand, keeping the right out of harm's way.

  "They seem like a good group," Brandon said.

  She nodded, turning around to look over her shoulder once again. "Yes. I hope they like biscuits and eggs – there won't be much meat until we get the cattle sold."

  Brandon followed her to the kitchen. "We can butcher a couple of the cows to hold us awhile."

  Allie shook her head. "Not unless we just have to. That'll cut into the profits."

  "Gotta eat. Gotta feed your…cattlemen." He leaned against the doorjamb carefully.

  Allie bent and pulled the oven door open, removing the biscuits. "I know," she said quietly.

  "You worried?"

  She gave him a wry smile as she set the pan on the counter top. "Worried? What would make you think that?"

  "You're not in this alone, you know."

  She turned away at the burning in her eyes. He couldn't know how much those words meant to her, how she'd longed to hear them, and to know they were true. He moved to stand close behind her.

  His left hand encircled her upper arm, the touch of his warm rough palm sending a thrill into the pit of her belly, spreading downward. Slowly, she turned, looking into his face.

  By his faint smile, she realized her feelings were not as well disguised as she hoped. The bruised eyes, his torn lips, and the gash across his left cheek had brought empathy to her expression, swiftly followed by a spark of anger for those men who'd done this to him.

  "You know what I love about you, Allie?"

  She shook her head, her hand going to his cheek in silent comfort. With her thumb, she lightly touched an unscathed plane of skin, mesmerized by his eyes, his voice, the feel of him standing so near.

  He let his hand glide slowly up her arm, fingering the warm column of her neck, her hair falling across his skin as he laid his palm at the back of her head, spearing his fingers up through the soft silk.

  "More than anything, I love the way you love me."

  She closed her eyes, letting his words caress her as his fingers were.

  "I love knowing you'd fight for me." His lips were close, almost touching hers, his warm breath mingling with her own. "No one ever cared for me as much as you do," he whispered. His lips brushed hers gently, and she whimpered in need, biting it back belatedly. Her eyes flew open, then shut again, as he pulled her close, his mouth coming across hers, hot and moist, full of promise and pleasure.

  She moaned again and he caught the sound of it in his kiss, his tongue demanding entry as she yielded in his arms.

  He pressed her back against the rough cabinetry until she could go no farther. Her body quickened even more as she felt his hardness come up into the vee of her thighs. She moved to bring him closer, cradle him tighter.

  He groaned, pushing against her, and holding her pinned against the counter. His whispered curse ended the kiss, and she felt his reluctant release as he pulled away from her slowly. She opened her eyes and he gave her a wry smile.

  "Another minute and I'd be making love to you on the kitchen floor. You make me forget myself," he murmured. "That's dangerous."

  "No," she whispered breathlessly. "Not dangerous, Bran." She couldn't help the teasing smile that came. "As long as we don't both 'forget ourselves' at the same time. Someone has to keep a clear head."

  He lifted her chin with his knuckle. "I meant what I said," Brandon told her, serious again. "I'll do whatever it takes."

  * * * * *

  An hour later, bellies full for the second time that day, the boys trouped out to the barn to bed down for the night. Jay led the way, proudly showing them the outhouse and the pump on the way.

  Brandon had announced to the group earlier that Sam and Ben were in charge. And anyone who didn't obey would answer to him. He hadn't really expected any trouble from them, as tired as they were, but it was too much to ask the older boys to enforce the rules.

  Now, he stood at the cabin doorway beside Allie, watching Jay lead the procession. He could feel Allie's tension.

  "They'll be fine," he murmured.

  She glanced at him and smiled. "I know," she said. "Jay's so excited. I've never seen him so happy."

  He grinned. "I was about to say the same of you."

  Her gaze strayed to the boys again. "Everything happened sooner than I thought," she mused. "I wasn't nearly prepared was I?"

  When he remained silent, she turned to look up at him, a spark of the familiar defiance in her eyes. "But it's not crazy. It's not crazy to want to build something, is it Brandon?"

  He searched for a way to cover the mistake he'd made. He hadn't realized how badly he'd hurt her. Damn it. "No. It's not crazy. I shouldn't've ever said that to you." He understood her better than anyone. Those years of growing up rough and tumble at the orphans' home had been a proving ground. Allie might be tough on the outside, but he'd wounded her tender heart, and her pride.

  The fragments of Tenting Tonight On the Old Campground drifted to them on the cooling night air. Doc Wilkins and his new partner had followed the boys down under the auspices of making sure the horses were settled for the night, but Brandon suspected it was to give him some time alone with Allie. There was no doubt, they'd be scrambling to figure out what they were going to do.

  "We're tenting tonight on the old camp-ground

  Give us a song to cheer

  Our weary hearts, a song of home

  And friends we love so dear…"

  Allie closed her eyes, the breeze playing with tendrils of her hair. The song brought a smile to her lips again, as Brandon watched. The silver moonlight touched the dark satin of her hair, bathing her face. She'd never been more beautiful. Even the long lost dreams he'd kept close to his heart couldn't match her true beauty. Those half-forgotten fantasies of a young man trying to conjure up the images he remembered through the years had grown faded and blurred with the passage of time. She was here now, finally with him again. No vision, no dream, just the reality he'd longed for all those empty years.

  And she wanted him. There was no question of that. She loved him. She'd never stopped.

  Contentment washed over him, stronger than the harsh edges of pain that were taxing him; more constant than the weariness that was beginning to overtake him. She opened her eyes and looked at him. She was offering him a trust that couldn't be bought or sold – only given, along with the bounty of her unconditional love.

  His breath caught. Such a gift. One the likes of which he'd never expected to receive. He pulled her into his arms gently, ignoring the shooting fire that streaked through the mending bullet wound.

  His lips brushed hers in the balmy air, the music enfolding them as Allie's fingers caught in the fabric of his shirt. The harmonies were sweet and clear, filling the night around them with contentment. His mouth moved over Allie's possessively, with the assurance that this was where he belonged. She sighed, her arms going around him carefully.

  Her kiss was tender, but Brandon felt the barely controlled desire inside her that equaled his own. His tongue touched hers, and she moaned, melting into him.

  Brandon's lips curved, and he lifted his mouth from hers a fraction. "Let's go to bed."

  She pulled back and looked up at him, reluctance in her expression. "We can't, Bran. Not now that the boys are here."

  "They're not in the bedroom with us, Allie. How would they know where we were sleeping?"

  She smiled and looked down. "I imagine the older ones could just take a look at either one of us in the morning and figure it out."

  Brandon gave a short laugh. "You think saying a marriage vow's gonna alter that? That's the look of being well-loved, well-fed, and well-bedded. I don't look for that to change tomorrow or twenty years from now. Do you?"

  "No. But I don't want them thinking we – that it's all right if – well—"


  Brandon pulled her close again with his left hand, his fingers trailing through her auburn hair. "Marry me then, Allie, and quit hemming and hawing over it."

  She looked up quickly at the teasing note in his tone. "Got a preacher in your pocket, Mr. Gabriel?"

  "As good as. But first…I need to hear you say it again."

  "Say what?" Allie's voice was quiet.

  He turned serious. "All those things you told me earlier. The reasons about why none of it matters."

  She shook her head. "There's only one thing that's important. One thing I need to tell you…I said it – earlier. I love you, Brandon. I always have and I always will." The moonlight shimmered in her eyes. "It's the only thing that matters."

  He stood silent for a moment, unable to respond. His tumbling thoughts came into clear focus with those words. It's the only thing that matters. It had been so hard for him to accept, this love, because it was the realization of a dream he'd kept as a talisman for so long – one he'd never expected to see made whole. Yet, here it was, being offered to him so sweetly that it had taken him a while to come around to acceptance.

  Allie watched him, blossoming hope in her expression, bringing guilt with it. What did he truly have to offer her? She was the one good, true thing he'd always held in his heart. Would he be a disappointment to her?

  "I love you, too, Allie. Now and for always."

  She sniffed and moved into his arms.

  "Don't cry, sweetheart."

  She laid her cheek against his chest, over his heart. "I'm just happy."

  He stroked her hair, then kissed the top of her head. "So'm I. For the first time, ever."

  They stood that way for a several seconds, then Allie said, "About that preacher—"

  Brandon's heart leapt at the eager note in her voice. He smiled, looking over her shoulder at the two figures that had just emerged from the barn. "Headed this way."

  Chapter 17

  The boys' voices were becoming fewer and fainter in the darkness as Doc and Owen made their way up to the house.