Gabriel's Law

by Pierson, Cheryl

  "I'm not going to help you, Isaac. Those days are over. I'm not going to be your—"

  The sound of flesh meeting flesh came through the darkness, and Brandon stopped, cocking his head to listen and gauge the distance between them.

  No more than twenty, maybe thirty feet. Silently, he cursed the blackness. One false step could end it all. He moved forward again, three steps more bringing him abruptly to the edge of the tree line. Ahead of him was a small clearing. He put a hand behind him to stop Ben. Looking into the clearing, he could see Sam on the ground, a big man towering above him. As anger blossomed in his chest, it took everything in him to keep from running across the expanse of grass and beating Isaac Gabriel to a bloody pulp.

  A breeze had picked up, and the smell of rain was on it. Brandon glanced upward as a small bit of moonlight escaped through the thick clouds.

  Isaac bent over Sam and hauled him up by his collar. "Get moving, Sam, before I show you my fist rather than the back of my hand. You will help, or your precious brother will pay for it." He gave Sam a shove, and the boy stumbled forward clumsily.

  Brandon drew in a sharp breath. Sam's captor had bound his wrists behind him. Ben started forward, but Brandon laid a firm hand on him. Pulling him back into the trees. "No!" he whispered fiercely. "Stay put!"

  "But—"

  "You heard me, Ben." He softened his next statement, realizing his anger at Sam for baiting the big man was fueling his temper at the entire situation. "Have some patience. We'll make this come out all right."

  Ben swallowed, and nodded his understanding.

  Brandon gripped his shoulder quickly. "We'll stay close to the tree line."

  "It'll take longer!"

  "Don't you think he'll be looking behind him?"

  "Sure."

  "And what would he see, Ben?"

  Ben was silent a moment, then he muttered, "Us in the clearing, if the clouds parted just right."

  "We won't lose much ground, I promise." He started around the tree where they stood. There was no more talk as they worked their way around the edge of the woods toward the spot Sam and Isaac had disappeared.

  * * * * *

  Allie was torn as she'd hurried back to the cabin. She paced the length of the porch and back; then, again. Should she stay here with the boys, or go with Owen when he arrived? She thought of what Brandon would say if she followed. Her chin rose in silent defiance. Oh yes. He'd be plenty mad that she'd not stayed behind. Guiltily, she thought of her own surge of anger at the boys when they'd come to the line shack a few days ago, defying her orders to stay at the cabin.

  But she was no child, she reasoned. And, she knew the risk this time. The boys might decide to follow. Probably, they would. They'd been lucky, there at the line shack. Bullets were flying, and chaos had ruled everything, for a few moments.

  They'd stayed safe, that time. Yet, if Brandon had known that she and the boys were there, watching, would he have been more cautious – maybe even too wary? Sometimes, that led to a mistake of a different kind, yet the result could have been the same as one made in carelessness. Once again, she started toward the opposite end of the porch as the boys gathered in the front yard. A storm was blowing in. She'd hoped the rain would hold off for another few days, until they'd had a chance to get a start on a bunkhouse and a barn. There was room for the boys inside the cabin, now that there were only thirteen of them. It would be cramped, but doable.

  The first rumble of distant thunder sounded and she stopped to listen, hoping that Owen, James, and Jay would make it back before the storm hit.

  Travis stood away from the other boys, alone. She watched as he lifted his head toward the sky, and read his thoughts as easily as if he'd spoken them aloud. If they didn't beat the rain, it wouldn't matter how well he could track. The rain would wash all of it away.

  He met her eyes in the dim lamplight, and she motioned him to her. She'd been thinking about the burden he must be feeling, and had seen a glimpse of it in his face.

  He walked toward her with sure strides that bespoke a kind of arrogance. But Allie had seen it before from so many others like him, she wasn't fooled. It was a ruse he'd adopted to cover his uncertainty.

  "Travis," she said as he stopped a few feet from the end of the porch. "Let's talk a minute."

  He shrugged his thin shoulders. He needs more to eat, she thought. His frame was large enough to carry more weight. Twice, she'd seen him sharing his food with some of the younger boys, as if there weren't enough for all. How well she remembered those days. There had never been enough to eat in the Benevolent Christian Home.

  Of all the boys here, Travis Morgan touched Allie the most. She supposed it was because of his fierce pride and independence. But he had a soft heart. She'd seen evidence of that on more than one occasion. And he had a last name to hang onto; something many of the boys had lost through their years of living in an orphanage.

  She sat down on the edge of the porch, eye-level with the boy. "Travis, I know you'll do your best no matter what happens." She glanced at the sky, as thunder rumbled, this time closer than before.

  "I know," she faltered, trying to pick her way across the words that she needed, "I know some things are beyond our control. And if we get the rain before Doc Morris comes—" She broke off, unwilling to voice her dark thoughts. Even now, Ben, Brandon, and Sam could all be lying dead.

  As if he sensed her worst fears, Travis put a hand over hers in comfort. It touched her more than any words he could have spoken, and she prayed he wouldn't speak, for fear her emotions would get the best of her.

  For a moment, he was silent, and she regained her composure. Then, he said, "It'll be all right, ma'am. I think the rain'll hold off a spell – long enough for Doc Morris to get here. I'm ready to go when he does. Just need a lamp to light our way in the dark."

  "I don't have a gun – nothing but the old rifle and the shotgun—"

  He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. "Don't need a weapon, ma'am. My job's trackin' – that's all. Can't carry a rifle and a lantern, look for sign an' be worried about gettin' shot. That's why I need Doc Morris with me. He'll have a pistol – that's all that matters. An' besides, you might need them long arms yourself, ma'am." Surprising her, he nodded toward Tiger. "He's a good one with a gun. He's older'n he looks. Damn good shot – pardon the language, ma'am." His features hardened as he spoke, giving Allie a glimpse of what he would look like in the years to come.

  His bottle green eyes were determined, but she'd seen in them an expressive quality that spoke of deep emotions he tried to cover. His hair was long, and Allie felt a sudden shame that she hadn't thought about haircuts for any of the boys, but instinctively she knew Travis would see that everyone else was taken care of before him. Had he ever been first, she wondered; ever been special?

  She'd meant to comfort him, and he'd turned the tables on her, with a simple touch of his hand. But as aloof as he usually seemed, that quick grasp of his hand meant everything.

  "You don't mean to come along, do you?" His question was direct. She couldn't lie to him, not with that aged look emanating from his young face, pinning her to the truth.

  She shook her head and looked down. "No. Someone'll have to stay here and make sure no one else leaves." She gave him a wry grin.

  He nodded, satisfied, no answering smile on his lips. "We'll handle it, ma'am. It'll be all right."

  They both turned at the sound of horses. Not the two they'd expected, but to Allie's amazement, a group of men and horses she couldn't count fast enough, with Jay and James in the lead.

  Owen dismounted and quickly strode to where she stood, having risen from the porch and started toward them. She'd given Travis the lantern and he stood beside her now, the other boys quick to gather around.

  "Owen – what—"

  "Just listen, Allie. The boys came for me like you told him to. I was eating a late dinner at the hotel restaurant, and – as you can see, some of the men from Spring Branch wanted to help." />
  "That's right, Allie!" Luther Thompson called. "We'll get him!"

  The other men muttered in agreement.

  Joe Williams' voice rose above the noise. "Jay said you have a tracker."

  Allie's heart swelled, ready to burst. They had come to help. Maybe she hadn't picked wrong, as she'd told Jay, after all.

  "I do," she said confidently. Unthinking, she put her arm around Travis' bony shoulders. He stiffened, but didn't pull away from her.

  She looked down at him, and he gave her the first smile she'd seen since he'd come. "I've got the best. Travis Morgan."

  Chapter 31

  Sam and Isaac stopped just inside the woods, past the clearing. Brandon and Ben almost stumbled over them in the blackness, Brandon stopping barely in time. Another small copse of trees formed a natural canopy, breaking the strengthening wind above, and providing some shelter from the coming rain. There was only a faint flickering through the thickness of the leaves that could have been moonlight or lightning. It provided him a glimpse of Sam, lying on the ground where he'd stumbled and fallen, or where Isaac had shoved him down, Brandon thought. The anger surged through him again.

  Sam glared up at his captor, murder in his eyes. Thunder rumbled above them.

  "Stay here," Brandon whispered to Ben. "I'm going to try to get on the other side."

  Ben wet his lips, bobbing his head. Brandon moved away, fading into the darkness, thankful for the swelling rush of the wind that muffled his footsteps at this close range.

  Isaac knelt on the ground by Sam. "Got your little gun with you?" The question mocked, but was wary.

  Sam didn't answer.

  "Which boot is it in? Still carry it in your right one, like I taught you?" He reached for Sam's boot, but Sam kicked at him. He was prepared for it, pushing Sam to the ground again, and making it impossible for him to fight with his wrists bound.

  He yanked off Sam's right boot, and the derringer dropped to the ground. Isaac scooped it up quickly, hefting it in his palm. Brandon moved through the trees more freely, seeing Isaac's attention given to the weapon he held.

  "Do yourself a favor, Uncle," Sam sneered, "and carry your ass back to whatever rock you crawled out from under this time."

  Isaac looked down at him, wordlessly, as if weighing his words. After a moment, he said, "Brandon's been nothing but trouble since the day he was born. It looks like you're following in his footsteps."

  "You're damn straight!"

  That brought a smile to Isaac Gabriel's lips, and calculation to his gaze. "Just as I thought. As I…expected."

  Sam pulled at his bonds in frustrated helplessness, but the anger never left his eyes.

  "You're very much like your mother, Sam." Isaac heaved a deep sigh. "Just as Brandon is like his. Neither of you received the benefit of my – my brother's good common sense and decency."

  "Decent! Decent! Jesus, you are crazy, old man."

  Brandon had to agree. If kidnapping young boys and forcing them to 'protect' him while he gambled was Isaac Gabriel's idea of decency, Brandon wanted no part of it. He'd almost worked his way around directly opposite where Ben stood, across the small clearing. He couldn't hear any sound now, other than Sam and Isaac, and the wind. He stealthily moved into position.

  "Why are we stopping?" Sam asked. He was almost yelling now to be heard above the thunder.

  "We're waiting, Sam." Isaac turned and walked over to an elm tree not more than ten feet away from where Brandon stood.

  Brandon melted back into the shadows of the woods.

  "You seem to believe Brandon will follow you."

  "He will. You can be sure of it." Brandon heard the first note of uncertainty in Sam's tone.

  Isaac took a cigar from inside his jacket pocket and cupped his hand around the flare of a match. In that brief bit of light, Brandon read the worry in the bracketed lines around his mouth and the deep grooves in his cheeks. It was his first good look at his uncle, and a jolt ripped through him. It was as if he were looking at an older version of Sam. Of himself.

  Sucker punched, or close to it. He drew a slow, deep breath, knowing Isaac Gabriel couldn't hear the air rush out of him, or the breath he forced himself to take to bring it back in. He had not expected that.

  Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized that he'd had some preconceived notions about this man who claimed to be Sam's uncle. His uncle. He'd not expected it to be true. Not expected him to be so competent in the game of abduction, and he certainly had not expected to look into a face that resembled his brother's – and his own. He'd half-believed that Isaac was no more than a pompous, over-confident con man. He'd wondered what kind of man would leave a young orphan who'd been through so much loss already, at an orphanage. Surely not anyone named Gabriel.

  Brandon understood, with sudden shock he had not truly believed Sam when he'd told him the story about Isaac Gabriel. Ever since he could remember, Brandon had been alone in the world. He'd wanted nothing more than a family of his own – even before he thought of any kind of permanence with a woman – with Allie, he'd longed for a mother, a father, brothers and sisters – a feeling of belonging somewhere. The world was a hard place, rough and sharp, and he'd been alone in it as long as he could remember. Until he'd found Allie.

  He needed some answers, and this man who claimed to be his uncle, was the only one who could provide them. He was the key to everything that had happened to Brandon, and everything that had befallen Sam. And only he and God knew if there were any others in the world that shared their name, their fate of abandonment.

  "He's had time to catch up, Sammy." The gambler's voice came to Brandon on the breeze. "Plenty of time, if he's as wonderful as you seem to believe."

  Sam remained silent, and Brandon knew he thought so, too.

  Isaac took a deep draw on the cigar. "After all I've done for you. You and your twisted loyalties. Almost as twisted as your legs were after the fire."

  "Stop it." Sam's voice was so low, Brandon wasn't sure he'd spoken, but the smile that flitted across Isaac's lips made him understand that the gambler, a master at reading the emotions of others, was prodding Sam and enjoying the outcome.

  "Well, where is he, Sammy? Hmm? This loyal protector of yours will surely be along now, won't he?" He shook his head and chuckled. "Your mother was like that, Sam. Always expecting things would take an upward turn." He paced away from the tree, back toward where Sam lay, half-propped on his shoulder. "Brandon's mother was quite a different story. More of a – realist, you might say. Very much like he turned out to be, from all accounts."

  "How would you know?" Sam asked sullenly.

  Brandon had moved forward to the rim of trees, concealed by the trunk of an old black oak. He could make his move now, he thought, crouching low. His fingertips tingled, the rush of adrenaline roaring through his body. He could come out of this blackness and he could take Isaac Gabriel easily. But he waited, as Sam's voice came to him again.

  "How do you know anything about my mother, or his?"

  Another man might not have noticed the almost imperceptible stiffening of Isaac Gabriel's body, but Brandon recognized it instantly. It was a movement that was familiar to him; as easily recognizable as if he'd been watching his own reflection in a mirror. Something like a particular gait, or carriage that might be common to a family. But in that instant, Brandon knew it was more than that. It was a trait so inherently close to his own, he knew there could only be one explanation.

  Isaac Gabriel was not his uncle.

  He was his father.

  * * * * *

  Allie had brought the boys inside as the wind whipped up, the storm imminent now. The little house was filled to the brim. With a wry smile, she realized there was no floor space left for her pacing. She'd have to occupy her worry some other way. Some of the boys played a friendly game of checkers at the kitchen table while others waited their turn.

  A furtive movement by one of the boys in the corner of the front room drew Allie's eye. She
walked to the small cluster, Jay among them. "What's going on?"

  Jay looked down.

  "Come on." She crossed her arms. "What's the secret, here?"

  "I told them you wouldn't care," Jay muttered.

  Tiger looked up at her, his tawny eyes holding hers. "We weren't allowed to have cards." He produced a bedraggled deck of cards from his pocket as if by magic. "These."

  Allie realized what a show of trust this was. She stood unmoving for a moment. "Why?"

  "Sister said it was the devil's work." Tiger's bronze face split in a wide, quick grin that surprised Allie, breaking her heart with his next words. "I kept the cards, always, Miss Allie. 'Cause I am of the devil anyway. My soul is lost already."

  Allie knelt swiftly in front of Tiger, close to eye-level with him. "Tiger, you are not 'of the devil'."

  "Sister said I was."

  "Sister should be shot for saying such a thing."

  Silence filled the room.

  Tiger shook his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead. He pushed it back with one hand in an unconscious gesture, stuffing his cards into his pocket with the other.

  "We must forgive," he said, matter-of-factly. "Even those who do not deserve it. You see, Miss Allie, I will try to be good, even though I never will be."

  "Do not say such things, Tiger." Her voice shook. She closed her fingers around both the boy's upper arms.

  "Or you will beat me?"

  She shook her head. "No. Never that, darling." But she knew from his question that it was what he expected; what he was used to. She wanted to pull him close and hug him. "Cards are allowed here."

  "And wagering?" James's eyes were alight with the possibilities.

  "We'll see." She reached to tousle his fair hair, and he grinned.

  "No betting allowed on anything at the orphanage," he said. "Sister said it wasn't Christian."

  Allie was becoming heartily sick of Sister's rules. "Well," she said, turning toward the kitchen, "we can all tell how important that was to Sister." Hopefully, Sister and her version of Christianity would be forgotten in a short space of time.