Gabriel's Law

by Pierson, Cheryl

  Allie shot Brandon a questioning look, but he remained quiet, looking, she thought, like the cat who'd swallowed a canary.

  "Those boys'll be asleep in no time tonight," Doc predicted. "They're worn out."

  Brandon nodded. "Guess that'll be the secret for keeping the trouble to a minimum from here on out. They'll be working hard for the next several weeks, getting the cattle pens built and running a fence line."

  Owen chuckled. "Well, they seem like good boys, but there's no getting around a few problems with that many of them."

  Allie smiled at him. "Did you come from a large family, Doctor Morris?"

  "Eight boys and one lone girl." He shook his blond head as he took the two wooden steps and gained the wide porch landing. "And please, call me Owen." He glanced at Brandon. "This land doesn't stand on propriety like my home state of Massachusetts. I'm glad to be here."

  "It's rough," Brandon agreed. "Unforgiving."

  Owen gave a rueful laugh. "My stage was held up twice."

  "You're lucky to be here," Brandon said. "They usually don't leave survivors."

  Owen shrugged. "Some things are meant to be, I guess." He smiled wearily. "And others aren't."

  "Well, I'm hoping you'll do one last thing for us before you completely give up the things that 'aren't'."

  "You know I will, Brandon." He turned to look at Allie. "A wedding by moonlight it is. If you're ready, Miss Allie?"

  "Are you a preacher, too, Owen? As well as a doctor?"

  He chuckled at her question. "My mother had it in her mind that one of her boys was going to be a man of the cloth. I was next to the youngest. But although I was ordained, I never gave up my dream to be a doctor. Er…you may have noticed, I'm a bit older than the average new physician, just coming from my studies."

  "I didn't know this was your first practice," Allie said.

  "Well, Marcus, here, has kindly taken me to raise – although he doesn't realize it yet." He winked, and Allie laughed.

  Doc gave him a complacent stare. "You'll do well here, Owen." He cleared his throat. "But we have a patient that's been up far too long. Let's get these vows repeated so he can get to bed."

  "Amen to that," Brandon said quietly, squeezing Allie's hand.

  She squeezed back, heat rushing to her cheeks as Owen turned to hide a smile and Doc cleared his throat.

  "Do you have a ring, Brandon?" Owen asked.

  Brandon pushed away from the porch support where he leaned and took a step forward. "No. I guess I wasn't…nearly prepared." He smiled uncertainly at Allie. Before she could say anything, Owen covered the moment by reaching into his own pocket and pulling out a small circular object that gleamed in the moonlight.

  "Here." He handed it to Brandon. "It's a brass nail ring. The smithy made a few of them for me before I left Boston. Lot of young people up there trying to get a start in life. No money for jewelry of any kind." He grinned. "I tell you, I was a mighty popular preacher."

  "Because you furnished the rings?" Doc asked.

  "No. Because I didn't charge a fee." He quirked a brow. "And I furnished the rings." He nodded at Allie. "You ready? This won't take long."

  She looked at Brandon. "I'm ready."

  Brandon's lips curved faintly. "You're sure, Allie?"

  She nodded quickly. "I'm sure. I've always loved you." Her breath caught at the expression of dawning belief in Brandon's eyes. Hadn't he known before now? He should have. "I always have, and I always will." Her voice was low on the night breeze.

  He put his fingers under her chin, tilting her head back to look at him. As her eyes held his in the silver-streaked darkness, the raw vulnerability she saw in his expression made her heart pound against her chest. Would she promise him forever? He was not a man to ask anyone for anything – to take without giving.

  "I love you, Allie. I'll be here for you – from here on out, if that's what you want."

  She nodded, unable to find her voice. Finally, she whispered, "Yes. That's what I want, Brandon."

  "Dearly Beloved…" Owen intoned in a rich baritone.

  They both turned to look at him, as Brandon moved to stand closer to Allie. He slipped the ring in his shirt pocket as Owen continued.

  "Do you, Allison Taylor, take this man…"

  It was happening. Finally, it was happening. She realized that the words she'd spoken earlier were true. She had always loved Brandon. She didn't believe there was anything in this world that would ever change that.

  They were waiting for her responses. Brandon took her fingers with his left hand.

  "I do," she said quietly. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them.

  "Do you, Brandon Gabriel, take this woman…"

  Brandon disengaged his hand, reaching to retrieve the ring and place it on her finger. As Owen said the final words, Brandon turned to kiss her.

  "I'll never let you go, Allie." His lips were demanding and firm on hers in a brief, hot kiss that let her know he meant to possess her fully – that she was his for all time. He lifted his head, looking into her eyes, as if to read her thoughts. "You're mine."

  "I always have been."

  They stood in hushed silence for a few seconds, then Doc Wilkins cleared his throat. "Well, it's time for me to hit the sack—"

  Allie jerked, coming out of the moment with a start. "I'll – uh—"

  Doc chuckled. "Just go on, Allie, you and Brandon. Owen and I will make ourselves comfortable."

  "Congratulations, you two," Owen said, putting a hand out to Brandon. "I'll write you a certificate tomorrow."

  "Thanks, Owen," Brandon said, clasping his hand.

  * * * * *

  Doc met his eyes as Allie and Owen walked inside ahead of them. "This seems right, son," he said in a quiet voice.

  Brandon's lips curved. "Well, Doc, after what you told me, seemed like if I'd waited, I might've had a true contender in Smith for Allie's hand."

  Doc made a sound of disgust and shook his head. "As if she'd ever choose him – whether you were in the picture or not. No, make no mistake, she wouldn't ever have ended up married to that snake, but she might've wound up dead."

  Brandon glanced down, hiding the deadly killing light that entered his expression. "He won't hurt her, Doc. Not unless he kills me first." He raised his eyes to Doc's worried stare. "That's not likely."

  "Boy, you're gonna have to be on guard every minute," Doc warned. "He'll never forget."

  Brandon was silent a moment, his mind full of the feel of the whip, the self-satisfied snarl on Smith's florid face as he'd drawn back to deliver a staggering punch to Brandon's ribs; the pure joy in Jay's eyes when Brandon had claimed to be his father – and the fear in Jimmy's; the sound of Doc's earlier warning repeating in his ears, echoing what he'd somehow felt in his heart; the soft warmth of Allie's lips on his in the midst of the feverish night, and the silk of her body against his own. This was his world now, a place where he belonged. He'd never give it up, or let any piece of it be harmed.

  The memory of the unnamed longing for it that had filled his heart was still sharp. It would never leave him. He didn't want to let it go completely. Keeping it near would help him always remember how sweet the fulfillment of the dream had been, and how unexpected, when death had been so near.

  "He may not forget, Doc," Brandon said tightly. "But neither will I."

  * * * * *

  As Brandon came through the bedroom door, Allie turned to him. She shook out the match she was holding and turned up the wick of the extra lamp she'd just lit.

  By the way he hesitated, resting his weight against the door briefly, she could see that he had pushed himself to the limit. When he turned to her, the weariness threaded through his midnight dark eyes, even though he made himself smile at the concern on her face.

  "Christ, Allie. Quit worryin' about me, will ya?"

  She shook her head stubbornly. "No. I'll never stop worrying about you. You need 'worrying' more than any other person alive."

  La
ughing, he came toward her and pulled her to him. He lowered his head, his lips taking hers with surety. He raised his bandaged right hand to Allie's cheek, tracing her jaw with the pad of his thumb, the edge of the bandage tickling.

  She smiled, her lips curving under his, until he lifted his head and swore softly.

  "This isn't the picture I imagined, all through the years, of us together," he muttered.

  She shook her head. "It's exactly how I saw us, Bran. You, with some kind of bandaging, on our wedding night."

  He reluctantly smiled at her tease, but didn't let her go. "Pretty predictable, given our past history – the bandaging. But…I was never so certain of the wedding night." His eyes were shadowed again, and Allie's smile faded. How could he have ever doubted? But there were all those years between them, then – in age and experience, and all the years that had separated them since.

  "You always were reckless."

  The uncertainty in his eyes deepened, his lips tightening briefly. "This is…probably the most reckless thing I've done, so far, Allie. For both of us." He sighed, and released her.

  "No regrets, Brandon." Allie closed the scant distance between them again and began to unbutton his blue chambray shirt. The material was warm beneath her fingers.

  Brandon closed his eyes for an instant, drawing a deep breath. "No. Not for me," he murmured.

  "Not even…for the fact that you've inherited an instant family?" Allie tried to keep her tone light, but it meant so much to her that she wasn't sure she'd been entirely successful. "I know you didn't plan on any of this – but Jay—" She broke off, finally raising her eyes to Brandon's serious gaze.

  "No regrets there either, Allie. Jay is a son any man would be proud of. He's a good boy." He chuckled. "He told me this ranch is going to be great someday, once the cattle got here, and the boys— He's got lots of dreams; something I never had. Not until now."

  He shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it on the chair. Allie began to unbuckle his belt. Her throat was tight, and she couldn't have spoken if she'd tried. She kept her eyes lowered to hide the sheen of tears there; kept her fingers busy unbuttoning the placket of his jeans so he wouldn't notice how her hands shook.

  "Allie."

  Her fingers stopped.

  "Allie."

  She couldn't bring herself to look up at him. She couldn't trust her emotions.

  "Look at me, honey."

  "Brandon—" She finally raised her eyes to his, and he gave her a slow grin.

  "I know what you're thinkin'."

  She didn't respond. She couldn't.

  "How do you look at your dream?" His voice was hushed. "How do you watch it come true? You get afraid that something's gonna happen to ruin it all…afraid everything's going too well to be real." He brushed back a strand of her hair, his gaze skimming over her features. "That's why I didn't dare to have any dreams until now." He swallowed hard in the stillness of the dim light. "I promise you, now that I have you and Jay, I won't let anything happen. As long as we all have the same…vision, Allie, there's no stopping us. No piss ant like Arnie Smith is gonna mess this up. I won't let it happen."

  She nodded, the warmth of his words washing over her in a rush of comfort.

  "Trust me, Allison."

  Chapter 18

  As Allie came into his arms again, Brandon realized she was still holding a part of herself away from him. She laid her head on his bare chest. He pulled her closer and she resisted briefly before fitting her body with his. "Just trying to be careful…"

  Brandon laughed. "Okay. Help me get undressed so you can take care of me properly." He felt her smile against him.

  "Sit down and let me pull off your boots."

  "Then, the pants," he said in a low voice.

  She giggled, and put her hand to her mouth. "Yes, sir. Then, the pants."

  He moved back and sat down on the side of the bed, squelching a groan at the pull in his ribs and the jagged fire that lanced through him from the bullet wound in his side. But Allie had her head down, reaching for the left boot, then the right, followed by the socks. He stood up once more, her hands instantly at his waist, pulling at the rough denim.

  Hiding a smile at her impatience, he reached to help her.

  "No, let me," she said, grasping his wrists. "Doc said—"

  Brandon sighed. "Yeah, I know, I know."

  Allie leaned up to kiss his jaw. "Then do what he says."

  She pushed his jeans to the floor and he kicked them aside. She hurriedly began to open the buttons of her blouse, then unclasped the waist of her skirt and let it drop to the floor, followed by the rest of her clothing.

  Brandon sat on the bedside watching her. He lay back in the soft sheets. With his movement, she glanced at him, suddenly aware of his steady gaze. After a moment, she tilted her head, her nose in the air, and let the pantalets fall on top of the heap.

  She was silhouetted in the dim glow of the lamp behind her, standing before him with an odd mixture of shyness and defiance. Was she unsure of herself now, this woman who had held that pack of wolves at bay with nothing but a rifle and guts? Once again, he felt the summer heat bearing down on them, the flesh scored across his back, and suddenly, the warmth of Allie's cotton dress pressed to him momentarily, soaking up his blood and burning sweat, absorbing the next stroke of Preacher Tolliver's whip. She'd held the wolves at bay that day, too, without even the rifle – only the guts.

  "We don't need that extra lamp, do we, Allie?" Brandon's voice sounded odd to his own ears; dry and low.

  "No." She turned and walked to where the lamp set, blowing it out completely.

  Brandon reached to turn the wick down lower on the lamp, smiling at the delectable picture Allie's cute little backside made as she walked away from him. But when she turned, his breath caught in his chest.

  She was so beautiful. And she was his – to love, to cherish, and to protect. She hesitated at the foot of the iron bedstead. Brandon pushed up on his elbows, putting his left hand out to her.

  She took his hand, carefully climbing over him to the other side of the bed to lie beside him in the darkness. The smell of the smoky kerosene was faint, and through the filmy curtains they could see fireflies in the deep night. The air was still, but for an occasional puff of a breeze, the sheets cool and soft.

  Brandon shifted, drawing her to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. They lay together in silence for several moments before Allie spoke.

  "This is my dream, Bran. For as long as I can remember. When I was lonely or afraid, I'd think of you…draw my strength from you, even though you weren't there. Somehow, I knew you'd find your way back to me. That eventually, we'd be together."

  He smiled in the darkness. "How'd you know that?" Her words tangled around his heart, and he heard the unsteady note in his question.

  She shrugged against him. "I just knew. I had faith in my dream, I guess." She hesitated a moment. "It paid off. You're here."

  "You made it happen, Allie. I don't think anyone else was about to come to the rescue when you did. You were on your own." He shook his head, remembering. "You didn't mind a bit, either."

  "You have to fight for what you want. Including your dreams."

  Brandon ran his hand up the silk of her side, cupping her breast. Her skin was sweet, warm…too fine for his rough touch. "You're lucky. You knew what your dreams were. I didn't have any – until recently." He couldn't draw his hand away from her, even though he felt the softness beneath his calluses.

  The soft creamy texture of her tantalized him even more in the darkness than in the light. Here, he knew her by touch, by sensation, by the smell of her clean washed hair and the silk of it as it drifted across his chest and stomach.

  Allie raised her head to look at him, but he knew she couldn't see him yet. Not until their eyes adjusted better. "You didn't dream of me?" He could hear the disappointment in her tone. He leaned over, finding her mouth unerringly, and kissed her slowly, tenderly.

  "You've
always been my dream, Allison. Always. But one I never thought would come true. You were what I held onto in those dark times." His lips curved slightly. "I didn't keep track of that hair ribbon all these years for no reason, you know." He gave a strand of her hair a playful tug. "I figured…by now, you'd have found someone else. I came back for you, Allie. You were already gone by then. I came back because I wanted—" He broke off, remembering how hard it had been for him to wait for his eighteenth birthday. When they could do nothing but answer his questions. When they could impose no more punishment. When he was beyond their control, and could no longer be taken into their custody.

  But by then, it had been nearly three long years since he'd run. And a lot had happened in those three years. Allie had been adopted out. They wouldn't tell him who had taken her or where they'd gone. He'd never felt as alone as he did then. Hadn't realized how much he'd counted on being with her again.

  "You wanted?" she prompted.

  "I…wanted to marry you then."

  Allie rose up on her elbow, looking down at him, her eyes shooting sparks of angry fire in the darkness. "Then why did I have to convince you now?"

  "I guess I had time to grow up some. To realize that my dream…might not be such a good vision for you. For your future."

  "Brandon Gabriel, that makes me so all-fired mad I can't see straight!"

  "Allie—"

  "Don't you Allie me! And don't you ever say your dreams aren't good! Especially if it's the same one I'm having," she added.

  He smiled in the darkness. "Why's that?"

  "Because, Mr. Gabriel, I don't have bad dreams. I have faith. And I know this place is going to work. The boys are going to help and learn, and be safe. And the cattle are going to multiply and get fat, and Jay is going to be happy." Her expression softened at the prospect.

  "What about you?"

  "I'm going to see that it happens like it should."

  She was determined. Brandon had forgotten just how much he loved that about her. She was going to make it happen, and she was including him in the powerful magic of her vision.