Gabriel's Law

by Pierson, Cheryl

  Sam helped Allie up into the wagon and she scooted over. "Well, you and Ben come on. We've got to make a quick trip of it."

  Relief flooded Sam's features and Ben jumped in on the other side as if he were afraid she might change her mind. Sam climbed up beside her and she offered him the reins.

  He took them, giving them a shake as he whistled to the team, and the cumbersome wagon lurched forward.

  Allie knew the very moment Brandon became aware of what she was doing. He'd been talking to two of the boys, Travis and Rocky, showing them how to set the fence posts straight. He straightened and turned toward her, and she could feel the scathing scorch of his eyes from a quarter-mile away.

  She stiffened her spine.

  "He's gonna say no," Ben muttered.

  Allie gave him a quick glance, then turned her attention back to Brandon. From the scowl he wore and the way he stood, he damn sure was. She sighed. She'd nearly embarrassed him earlier. She wouldn't do that again, no matter what.

  He must have sensed her willingness to cooperate, because he relaxed his stance as they drew near.

  "We're headed to town," Sam said in the awkward, weighty silence.

  Brandon's eyes warmed with laughter as he looked up at Allie. "That so?"

  "Someone has to," Allie replied, the flush creeping into her cheeks.

  He glanced at the boys beside him, and then turned back to Allie. "Hold on. I'll come—"

  "We can handle it, Mr. Gabriel." Ben's voice cracked, his face reddening, and Allie sensed his need to prove himself.

  Brandon stood without speaking for a moment, as if coming to a decision. "Yeah, I reckon you can." He bent an odd glance on Sam. "You have a weapon on you?"

  Sam hesitated a moment. "That little pepperbox derringer."

  "Well, you better make it count if you ever have to use that, boy." He reached for the bridle, absently soothing the restive horse.

  "I know how to use it, sir."

  Allie felt the sudden chill between them and reached to cover Sam's fingers quickly with hers. "It'll be fine, Bran. I'm not worried."

  A moment of silence told her he was concerned enough for both of them. "What about meat?" The question was terse.

  Allie knew he was thinking of their earlier conversation about butchering one of the cows. It would have to be done. There was no help for it. She nodded, looking down. "Whatever you think. We may need to butcher two for this many mouths."

  He smiled faintly as she met his eyes. "We'll take care of it while you're gone."

  "We'll be back soon," she said.

  He raised a brow and she patted her pocket, knowing he was reminding her she'd need to settle up with Zach Anderson in cash. She had five double eagles knotted into the corner of her handkerchief.

  "Be careful," he murmured, but he wasn't looking at Allie. His gaze held Sam's, and there was an understanding that passed between them that Allie was not a part of.

  "You know I will," she said.

  "I know you will," he replied steadily, letting go of the bridle.

  Sam flicked the reins and the horses moved forward, Allie wondered again at the odd sudden chill between Sam and Brandon, and the thing they shared that she could not.

  * * * * *

  Nearly an hour later, the wagon came to a halt in front of Zach Anderson's establishment. Allie took Ben's hand and alighted from the wagon seat, immediately going up the steps that led to his front entrance. She felt the stares of some of the townspeople, but didn't turn around. Purposefully, she entered Zach's store, Ben and Sam flanking her.

  Zach looked up from behind the counter where he was just finishing totaling Kent Swanson's bill.

  "There she is!" Swanson said with an admiring smile. "Glad to see you, Allie. You've had yourself an exciting couple of days, from what I hear." He glanced at Zach, whose fair skin was becoming a dull shade of red. "Ain't that right, Zach?"

  Zach cleared his throat, and Swanson guffawed at his successful needling of the merchant. "He'll be right with you, Allie, just as soon as he can rustle up a box of shells for that Henry Doc paid for."

  "Hello, Kent," Allie said, dismissing him with the curtness of her greeting. She didn't want to rub anything in Zach's face. They needed supplies, and no trouble. She was here to get what she came for as quickly as possible, and head back home.

  She directed the boys, having them load barrels of flour, meal, and sugar first. It seemed she was out of everything except the lye soap she'd made earlier in the spring. She began to wonder if the money she'd brought would be enough for everything.

  When she caught both the young men eyeing the glass jars of candy, she made a silent vow that no matter what, she'd put back enough for at least two peppermint sticks.

  Within a half hour, the last of the items had been loaded, Anderson wordlessly scrambling to write everything down on his ledger.

  "That comes to eighty-eight dollars so far, Miss Allie," he said, looking up as he pushed his glasses back up on his nose. "That includes the whiskey and bandages from…the other day."

  Ben and Sam came back inside, standing behind her.

  "Doc took care of the – the rifle already," he mumbled. He reached to slap a box of cartridges down on the counter beside the ledger. "He – uh, paid for these too." He slid them over to Allie, unable to meet her eyes. After a moment, she nodded at Sam.

  "I don't know why Doc feels the need to interfere," Anderson said sourly, squirming on his stool.

  Sam's bronze hand hovered idly above the box. "Maybe Doc's lettin' this whole damn town know which side of the fence he's comin' down on, Anderson."

  A chill marched up Allie's spine at Sam's deadly tone. She looked up at him, but his eyes were locked on the storekeeper across the counter.

  Anderson looked away first, and Sam's hand finally closed over the box of shells. "Just like we all know whose side you're on."

  Allie quickly unknotted the handkerchief and laid the money on the counter. Ben stood beside Sam unflinchingly. His eyes were riveted on the storekeeper, as well.

  "Here, Zach." Allie pushed the money over to him, but he didn't reach for it. He didn't even look her way. He swallowed hard, as if unable to glance away from the two young men who challenged him in stony silence.

  "'Get his gun, Arnie,'" Ben mocked softly. "We heard all about it."

  Anderson blanched and drew back with a sharp, inward hissing sound. "Who—"

  "Some of the boys, Zach," Sam said. "Some of the children of the citizens of this good town. They saw it all." Sam hefted the box from the counter. "Word's already spread that you were the one yelling for Smith to get Mr. Gabriel's gun. You're a real man, Anderson."

  "It wasn't like that! You don't know – you weren't there!"

  "Zach!" Allie's tone made him jerk around to look at her. "Here's the money. We need to get going."

  "Tell them, Allie. Tell Mr. Gabriel. I was just doing what I had to do!"

  Allie shook her head. "Not from where I was standing, Zach."

  He moistened his lips, and Allie noticed the dark rings of perspiration at this armpits. He untied the apron at his back and wearily shrugged it off, hanging it on a peg behind the counter. But he didn't completely turn his back on Sam and Ben.

  It struck Allie in that moment just how much Sam reminded her of Brandon. Sam wasn't much older than Brandon had been when he'd run from the orphans' home. The last time she'd seen Brandon before he'd left, he'd worn defiance in every line of his body, just as Sam did now.

  Zach turned back to the counter, and with shaking hands, he picked up the money, made change, and handed the coins back to Allie.

  "Thank you, Zach." Even her words couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from Sam's face. "Oh, and we'll have two pieces of peppermint—"

  "Here. Here – just take as much as you want." He opened the jar and reached for a length of paper to wrap the candy in.

  "No – we don't need that much – Zach—" But her attempts to stop him fell on deaf ears. He hastil
y wrapped up a handful of the peppermint sticks and tied twine around the paper, then handed her the package.

  "How much do I owe you?" she asked.

  "M-My compliments. For placing such a large order." He drew a hand across his mouth. "Anything else, Mrs. Taylor?"

  Allie smiled. "No. And it's Mrs. Gabriel, now, Zach. Brandon and I were married."

  He looked at her in wide-eyed shock. "M-Married, you say?"

  "Yes. Married."

  "So, I guess…that means he'll be staying here in Spring Branch – you bein' married an' all? I mean, well – that's a good thing! Congratulations! Tell him I said congratulations, won't you?" He glanced from Sam to Ben, then back to Allie. "Tell him, son— No hard feelings – you'll tell him Zach Anderson said—"

  "My brother will be glad to know there are 'no hard feelings' – asshole."

  Sam's words were spoken in perfect Comanche, and Allie could barely keep the shock from her face. Her head swiveled, her eyes arrowing to Sam's and holding.

  "We'll tell him, Zach." She managed to turn for the door, ignoring the storekeeper's quizzical expression. Please let them come with no trouble.

  She descended the steps, as if she believed there would be no question as to whether or not they would follow; relieved to hear two pairs of boots sounding close behind her. Sam laid the rifle shells in the bed of the wagon, taking the parcel of candy from Allie to put it atop the cardboard box of cartridges, then vaulted up to sit beside her. But just as he did, Abe Johnson's big fist closed around the back of his shirt. He pulled Sam down off the wagon and threw him in the hard-packed street.

  Sam sprawled in the dirt, the big man towering over him. "What'd you do to Tom, you filthy half-breed? Huh?" He reached down to grab a fistful of Sam's shirt again, but Sam rolled lithely away, and when he came to his feet, there was a gun in his hand.

  The pepperbox derringer.

  Ben stiffened beside Allie, uncertain as to whether to join the fight or protect Allie. She felt his indecision, and laid a hand on his knee.

  "You young whelp! You dare to pull a gun on me?" Johnson started to laugh. "Not much of a gun, at that."

  "Big enough."

  Johnson shrugged. "Not much firepower. You better not miss. You've only got two shots."

  "I won't need them both." Sam's voice was filled with self-assured certainty.

  Johnson paused, looking at him, sizing him up. Though he was much brawnier than Sam, something kept him from going for the young man immediately. Allie sat frozen, watching, as Johnson tried to decide whether to lunge for Sam, knock the weapon aside, and fight him physically. His bulk and strength would give him a marked advantage, in that case.

  From behind Sam, the audible click of a rifle shell notching in the chamber reverberated above the stillness of the streets. Brandon stepped out from between the mercantile and the bank, his long arm trained on Johnson, and Allie closed her eyes briefly, letting go a sigh of relief. Sam, unable to see who was at his back, stiffened, standing completely still.

  "Put your gun away, Sam," Brandon said levelly.

  Allie felt Ben relax.

  Sam started to protest, but seemed to think better of it. Allie watched the flicker of dissent in his eyes gutter and die, to be replaced with cool indifference. He did as Brandon said, slipping the gun inside his boot with a practiced movement.

  "Now, come over here, with me."

  He backed up, never turning his back on Johnson, until Brandon laid his hand on his shoulder quickly to let him know where he was. They stood side by side for a moment, and Allie's breath caught.

  "My brother will be glad to know there are no hard feelings, asshole…"

  It was true. The proof was obvious as Sam stood tall beside Brandon, his build a younger, less-muscled version of his older brother. Though their eye color was different, the shape was identical, and the arch of their brows.

  Allie sat forward unconsciously, fascinated. Did Brandon have any idea? No, she told herself. He must feel some kinship, though, she reasoned, remembering the care he always took to tell the others that Sam was in charge if he wasn't there. He didn't know, but Sam did. And what did that mean? Did Sam know their father?

  She shook her head. No. He wouldn't have been in an orphanage if he knew his father, would he? Unless, his father had left him there…

  "Are you all right?" Ben half-whispered.

  She turned to him quickly, startled from her thoughts at the sound of his voice.

  "I – yes – I'm fine, Ben."

  Her gaze went back to Brandon and Sam as Brandon said, "I killed Tom Carver, Johnson. Any beef you have, you take it up with me – not one of my boys."

  "You murdered him!"

  "It was a fair fight. I gave him a chance."

  He drew his lips back in a snarl. "What chance? You bein' a gun hawk an' all – he didn't have a prayer, goin' up against you!"

  Brandon gave Johnson a long stare. "I'm telling you, Sam had nothing to do with your partner's death, Johnson."

  "Hell, I know that." He shouldered a trickle of sweat from his cheek. "I thought – well, I thought he was you, Gabriel."

  Brandon's lips curved up. "Now you know different. You want a piece of me, or you want to let it be – it's your call. Let's settle it now."

  Johnson didn't answer. He appeared to be thinking it over. After a few seconds, he scratched his cheek and pushed his hat back on his head. "No. I don't reckon I do want a piece of you, Gabriel. Now, or ever," he said softly.

  "Then get your damn hand away from your holster."

  Allie had started to relax. It seemed as if Abe Johnson was giving in, getting ready to turn and walk away.

  But in the next instant, he reached for his pistol, clawing at the butt as he drew it and fired.

  Brandon brought the rifle to his waist and pulled the trigger. The blast of the Henry was deafening, the round catching Johnson in the gut and flinging him backward.

  He let out a high-pitched scream, and then lay silent and broken in the dusty street.

  "Jesus!" Sam breathed. "Ain't no one faster than that!"

  Brandon gave him a quick look, lowering the gun. "You okay?"

  Sam nodded, obviously shaken. "Yeah. I'm okay. You?"

  Brandon smiled faintly and touched Sam's shoulder. "I'm okay," he said lightly, but his eyes roved over Sam in unspoken curiosity.

  Ben jumped from the wagon and ran to them. "That was some shooting, now!" He grinned, glancing up at Brandon, who, Allie thought, suddenly looked very, very tired.

  "Yeah," he muttered, meeting Allie's eyes. "Some shooting. Again." He walked toward her, stopping at the side of the wagon. "Gotta go make sure—"

  "You do what you have to," she told him. "I'll be right here."

  A grateful light warmed his eyes before he turned away. "Thanks, Allie. I won't be long."

  Doc was already rushing down the street toward the small crowd gathered around Johnson's body. "Stand aside, stand aside—" he ordered.

  "I know you won't. Doc won't allow it," Allie said softly. But worry gnawed at her as Brandon walked away, the set of his shoulders weary, as if he carried the weight of the world.

  Chapter 25

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Allie and Brandon were riding beside the wagon as they headed out of town. Sam drove the team in brooding silence, as Ben gave up on conversation, seeming to realize his friend needed some time to himself.

  When they'd gone a mile toward home, Brandon said, "Boys, we're going to ride on ahead so Miss Allie can get started on dinner."

  "But – the supplies—" Allie protested.

  "Owen's already brought a wagonload of provisions out," Brandon said, "So you'll have double, I guess."

  "Probably just as well," Allie said with a laugh. "I'm not sure how much it'll take. Better safe than sorry."

  "Do you feel okay about this? Just the two of you?" Brandon looked at Ben, then back to Sam.

  "Reckon we'll be fine." His tone was low; almost sullen. "I've been
alone a long time."

  Brandon reached down to lay a hand over Sam's, pulling the team to a halt. "You got something you want to say to me, Youngblood?"

  Allie felt the tension in Brandon's body as if it were her own. He'd taken a liking to Sam from the beginning, and this surliness on the boy's part hurt him, she knew. But, of course, Sam would have mixed feelings, and unresolved anger. He'd obviously known about Brandon long before he'd come here. It was pure luck that Fate had brought them together in this most unlikely way. A brother Sam had probably never expected to see was now his keeper and his savior. Brandon must feel the kinship too, somehow. He'd called Sam 'Youngblood' – an affectionate term usually given to younger male family members.

  Sam looked up at him with smoldering eyes, veiling his anger quickly as he glanced back down. "No. I got nothing."

  "You're not alone anymore, Sam."

  Sam nodded his understanding, but didn't speak.

  "I'll ride back after I drop Miss Allie off."

  "No, you don't have to do that. I've got my gun."

  Brandon grinned. "That's a gambler's gun. You better be a good shot, or at very close range." The smile faded at Sam's momentary silence.

  He looked up at Brandon, his face blank. "I know."

  "All right," Brandon conceded, frustration evident in the edge to his voice. "But it shouldn't take longer than another hour for you to get back. If you're not there by then, I'll come looking. Fair enough?"

  "Yeah. Okay."

  Brandon urged the horse into a gallop, and they left the boys behind. She would tell him, Allie resolved, as soon as they had a minute to themselves. He needed to know. Sam hadn't wanted to tell him who he was. Why? Was he afraid Brandon wouldn't want him there? A gambler's gun, Brandon had said – and Sam had not denied it, or argued. Maybe that was the key, somehow.