by Linda Ford
“I only broke some horses for the man.”
“We saw how you hung about. How the man visited you in the barn.” Cyrus leaned back with a malicious sneer on his face.
Brand noted that the five men around the campfire all sat up and watched. His nerves twanged with tension.
Cyrus rose and loomed above him. “We know you got it figured out where the man keeps his money.”
Brand had known what to expect, but it still turned his blood bitter that they figured he was the same as them. “Know nothing about it.”
Cyrus’s mean laugh carried no mirth. “Ya, I guess you want us to think so. Selfish, you are. Figger to keep it all to yerself.” His eyes bored into Brand’s. “We aim to make sure you don’t.”
Brand didn’t bother sparing a glance at Pa, knowing he would share Cyrus’s opinion.
Brand slowly rose to his feet, leaning forward, forcing Cyrus to take a step backward, which earned him one of his brother’s black looks. “I know nothing. Now if you give me my stuff, I’d like to go to sleep.”
He and Cyrus continued their staring match until the others began to shuffle nervously.
“Stu, get his bedroll,” Pa said. “Brand, Cyrus, we’ll finish this conversation in the morning.”
Cyrus grunted. “You can count on it.” When the whiskered man Pa called Stu tossed Brand his bedroll, he stretched out, hopefully giving the opinion that all he cared about was his slumber.
Dawg curled up against him. Brand closed his eyes and feigned sleep. He lay with every nerve tensed, ready for anything, knowing the battle of wits was not over.
He eventually drifted off, though he twitched awake at every little sound, and with half a dozen men snoring and Dawg’s hearty snorts, there were lots of noises to waken him. At one point he sat up and looked around, hoping for a chance to escape, but a man sat near the smoldering coals, a rifle resting across his knees. He touched the brim of his hat in mocking acknowledgment of Brand’s stare.
He had expected no less. Pa and Cyrus had their sights on picking off the Eden Valley Ranch.
Could he stop them?
Sleep never came, and hours later he watched dawn break reluctantly, clouds hanging low.
“Could get another storm,” he mused aloud when the men stirred. Had the Duggan gang been out in the open when the last one pelted down? He kind of liked the idea of them huddled under inadequate slickers, trying to keep dry.
“A little rain never hurt no one,” Cyrus mumbled, his usual cheerful self. “’Course, I know you prefer a nice warm house, with a gentle woman to serve ya meals.” His laugh brought twisting tightness to Brand’s chest. “Now your ma is dead, guess you’ll have to find someone else to do it for ya.”
Pa slapped Cyrus’s shoulder. “Don’t be speaking of Brand’s ma like that. She was a good woman. Better’n I deserved, for sure.”
“She loved you, Pa,” Brand said gently, not bothering to add that it had about killed her to see what he’d become.
Cyrus snorted. “She sure found a funny way of showing how much she cared. How often did we have to track down the pair of ’em?” he asked their pa. Then he fixed Brand with an evil look. “And then you got so’s you wouldn’t tell us about yer friends.”
Brand had learned that lesson well. Once he discovered the interest from Pa and Cyrus was only to get information so they could rob his friends’ houses, he’d stopped telling them anything.
“Come on, boys, let’s have breakfast.” Pa nodded for the two men who hunkered over the fire to pass around the food.
Brand ate heartily, even though he found it hard to swallow past the tension in his throat. He slipped some to Dawg. He’d no sooner scraped his plate clean before Cyrus yanked it away and handed it off.
“Now, little brother, it’s time to tell us what you know.”
Brand shrugged and gave him a defiant look. “I know where the horses are penned. Where the animal doctoring supplies are kept. And I know the cook who feeds the cowboys makes fine cinnamon rolls. That’s about it.”
Cyrus yanked on Brand’s shirtfront. He would have jerked him to his feet, but Brand outweighed him.
“You always were a selfish son of a gun. Now you think ya can keep all the money to yerself.” He released Brand with a shove. “Seems yer gonna take some persuading.” He pulled out his pistol and aimed it at Dawg, who didn’t move, but gave Cyrus a look of hatred.
“How be I shoot this cur?”
Brand’s insides curled, but he simply shrugged. “He’s about dead, anyway.”
Pa shook his head. “Leave the poor animal alone.”
Cyrus snorted and stalked off ten paces. He slowly turned to face Brand, with such a malicious grin that Brand struggled to hide a shudder. Sorrow clawed at his gut. Cyrus had once been a decent big brother. Now look what he’d become.
“Dog don’t count. Saddle me a horse.” He signaled to one of the men, who did as he instructed. Then Cyrus rode away.
Brand stared after him, his heart beating wild as the hooves of a mustang.
What was Cyrus up to?
Whatever it was, Brand knew it was no good.
* * *
Sybil thought longingly of her favorite spot—the place where Brand had camped. But Eddie had warned her not to stray too far. She could have found a bit of solitude in the trees next to the river where she and Brand had spent a few minutes. But her memories prevented her from going there, so she settled for a place on the hill, surrounded by trees, within a few yards of the house.
Brand! Why did she keep thinking of him? He was not what she thought.
He’d left without even saying goodbye. Or explaining his reasons. But after Constable Allen’s visit that afternoon she understood why. The Mountie had brought a wanted poster for the Duggan gang.
“Morton Duggan and his son Cyrus,” the Mountie said. “They gather up ne’er-do-wells, but they’re the head of the gang. Notice anything about them?”
Eddie studied the drawings of the men and groaned. “The family likeness is unmistakable.” He handed the poster to Linette. Mercy and Sybil peered over her shoulders. The drawings could have been older versions of Brand.
Sybil’s insides turned to ice. A wanted man. Why hadn’t she listened to the warning voices in her head? Had the voices not said repeatedly that he was a dangerous man? A man who enjoyed risks?
Linette returned the poster to the Mountie. “He seemed like a decent man. Are you sure he’s part of the gang?”
Constable Allen considered the poster with a serious look on his face. “From the information I have, he isn’t directly involved in the robberies, but it seems he is on the scene first. It could be he garners information that he passes on to his father and brother.” The officer turned to Eddie. “I hope you didn’t share any information regarding your money or your valuables with him.”
Eddie shook his head. “Of course not. Fact is, I didn’t get more than a few words out of him, and he certainly didn’t hang around socializing with the others. Except—” His gaze hit Sybil like a blow. “You spent a fair amount of time with him. Did he ask any question that in hindsight might indicate he sought information of this sort?”
Sybil’s throat refused to work. She shook her head. If they only knew it was she who’d asked the questions. Questions to which she received few answers. Now she understood why. “He said very little and asked no questions,” she finally managed to say.
She’d fled the place as soon as she could, cutting short Mercy’s excited rant about having a wanted man in their presence and not even knowing it.
Sybil sat on the ground now, her back pressed to a tree. The larches were bright yellow, like bits of captured sunlight. But the sight gave her no joy. Brand was part of the Duggan gang.
And she’d been silly enough to allow herself
to care about him.
She pulled out her notebook. At least it would make a good story. But she stared at the page without putting down a word. How could she write about him now? He wasn’t a man bigger than life. He was a common criminal. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, letting disappointment and sorrow scratch at her insides. So much for her hard-learned lessons on guarding her heart.
But how could it be true? Was she so blind she’d missed every hint?
Her cheeks warmed as she thought of the moments they’d shared under the trees. The kiss in the barn. At least no one had seen them.
Did she hear a movement nearby? The rustle of leaves? She blew her breath out. Of course she did. The breeze made all the yellow and gold leaves move. She was just nervous, because of Eddie’s warning. Knowing Linette and Eddie would worry about her, she gathered her feet under her and stood. It was time to get back.
A man stepped from the trees.
Her heart clambered up her throat, which tightened so much she couldn’t even scream.
“Yer coming with me.”
She thought she shook her head, but perhaps she only wanted to. She managed to stumble back a step, never taking her gaze off the leering man.
His eyes reminded her of Brand, but his expression frightened her. This was Brand’s brother. Had Brand sent him?
He lurched forward.
“No.” The word wailed inside her head, but came out barely a whisper. She darted to the side.
The man laughed. “Wanna play? I like that.” He held out his hands and leaned one way and then the other, silently mocking her, urging her to run so he could chase her.
She lifted her skirts and took off toward the ranch. A thin sound meant to be a scream pushed past her teeth. “Help. Help.” Surely someone from the ranch would see her and come to her aid. She reached the crest of the hill. Through the veil of leaves she watched Slim saddle a horse. Another cowboy sauntered toward the cookhouse. The sun glistened off the windows of the big house, making it impossible for her to see if anyone stood beyond the glass, but Linette spent much of her time in that room, often glancing out the window. Despite the bushes that partially obscured her view, Sybil lifted her arms and waved frantically. It was possible Linette would see and send help.
“Sure do like this game, but ya gone far ’nough.”
Huge arms encircled her waist, sweeping her off her feet. She kicked her heels, knowing a taste of satisfaction when her captor grunted. She flailed her arms, scratched at the hands holding her. Despite his grunts, he did not loosen his grip. Instead, he carried her away from the ranch to a waiting horse.
She saw his intention and flung her head back, connecting with his chin.
His arms tightened cruelly, making it impossible to draw in a full breath, though her tight lungs had already made breathing difficult.
“Yer a regular little fighter, ain’t ya? I bet Brand enjoyed that.”
The mention of that name filled her with blinding fury and she fought with all her might, kicking, gouging, head butting, but Brand’s brother only laughed.
“I can see yer gonna give us some fine entertainment.”
She found her voice. “I’ll not be entertaining the likes of you.”
“Already are, sister.” His laugh shuddered along her spine. His sour breath made her cringe, but only for a heartbeat. Then she fought and screamed.
He threw her facedown over the back of his horse and swung up behind her. He slapped her bottom.
She saw red. Never in her life had a man touched her in such a familiar, rude way. She would get revenge somehow. Never mind that Father said a lady should never show such emotions. She’d find a way of making him pay for this if she had to track him to her dying day.
With deliberate intent, she kicked the horse, slapped him hard, screamed and squirmed. If she could fall off... She’d sooner be killed by the tumble, trampled to death, than endure the sort of treatment she knew this man and the rest of the gang meant to inflict on her.
The horse snorted and reared. Her head swung back hard, snapping her neck. But her captor held her by the back of her dress. She feared if she struggled any harder the fabric would tear, exposing her undergarments. The man would likely see that as invitation to do worse.
He jerked her back in place. “You can make this easy or you can make it hard. Suits me either way.” He gave another of those dirty laughs.
She hung limply, weighing the possibilities. Could she pretend to cooperate and gain his trust? Bile rose in her throat at the idea. She’d sooner be hog-tied and butchered.
Did the man purposely choose a gait that bounced her so hard across the horse’s spine that she wondered why she didn’t vomit? Her ribs hurt. Her head hurt. Her arms grew numb. After a few minutes all she cared about was getting off that rigid spine, getting her head upright. But still the ride continued.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“Thought you might like to see Brand again.”
“No thanks.”
Another mirthless laugh. “He’s gonna be surprised to see you.”
She saw the legs of another horse, the boots of another rider. Had help come? She lifted her head and saw the rider. Her heart stalled. Given his expression, this man did not mean to help her.
“Got yerself a toy?”
“Keep yer hands off her. She’s mine as soon as she persuades Brand to cooperate.”
Sybil studied the words, but they made no sense. Except his claim that she was his. She lay still, hoping she appeared somewhat compliant. But she would not be this man’s toy or trophy.
“Hey, Pa,” Brand’s brother called. “Lookee what I got.”
Sybil lifted her head. She saw an older, thinner version of Brand, plus several very tough-looking men. Then she saw Brand and gave him a look full of all the anger that had built over the last hour of indignities.
He nodded a curt greeting, his expression stony.
So that was how it was going to be. No hint of regret or apology. But why should she think there would be? He was part of an outlaw gang. His interest in her had been solely for the purpose of learning what he could about the ranch.
“I see you’ve met Cyrus, my brother,” Brand said. “This here’s my pa. Can’t remember the names of the others.”
Cyrus swung down and lifted her to the ground. Her legs were wobbly, but she’d never let anyone guess. Only good manners kept her from spitting on her captor.
She swung her burning gaze at each and every one of the men, curling her lip as she looked again at Brand.
Cyrus laughed.
She’d never heard a more hateful sound.
“Thought she’d be a bit more pleased to see you, little brother.”
Brand shrugged. “Could’ve told you she don’t much care for me.”
Sybil gritted her teeth. To think she’d tried to persuade him to stay. Had practically thrown herself into his arms. Thankfully, she had restrained herself.
“That ain’t how I saw it.” Cyrus pushed her forward. “And I’m goin’ by my eyes.” He stopped pushing her as they neared the campfire with a pot hanging over it. Steam escaped around the lid.
“I’m hungry.” He shoved Sybil down on a log.
She sat, grateful to be off her shaking legs.
The others sat, mostly staring at her. Their looks made her shrink back, feeling soiled and exposed. One of the men filled dishes with heaping helpings of beans. All of them were so unwashed she couldn’t imagine eating the food, but when she meant to refuse the plate offered her, the scowl on the cowboy’s face made her swallow hard and accept it.
But she didn’t say thank you.
Brand’s pa edged closer. “We saw you and Brand being friendly. Ain’t often a woman warms up to him.” His smile was sad, regret
ful. “Or could be he don’t often let anyone get close.”
“Wouldn’t know. Don’t care.” She took a spoonful of beans simply to discourage further conversation, and forced herself not to gag.
She felt Brand’s disinterested look and shot him one that should have melted the flesh off his bones. “Where’s Dawg?”
Brand tipped his head to the side. Dawg sat there with his head on his paws, his eyes alert. His tail tilted to one side at Sybil speaking his name, and he wriggled an inch closer.
“Stay,” Brand ordered, and Dawg stayed.
Forks and knives clattered on the tin plates. A utensil screeched and Sybil shivered. Fear and anger and disgust raged through her.
When the men finished and handed their plates to the one who had served the food, they shifted their gaze to her. She thought her heart would leap from her chest at the way they studied her.
“Tie her up,” Cyrus ordered one of the men. “Then we’ll make plans.”
Sybil bolted to her feet, thought to run away, but she was surrounded by hard-faced men. One reached for her and yanked her arms behind her back with no pity for how much it hurt.
Brand! She sent him a silent plea, begging him to help her.
He crossed his arms and looked away.
“To think I thought we might be friends.” She spat out each bitter word. She was forced to sit with her back to a tree, trussed up hand and foot.
Cyrus laughed. “Brand don’t make friends. Why, he don’t even like his family much.” He edged up to his brother and gave him an evil grin. He grabbed Brand’s arm and dragged him away. The others followed and stood in a tight circle.
She strained to hear what the men said. She could make out only a few words. Enough to know they planned some kind of robbery and that somehow, though she’d done nothing to invite such treatment, she was to be used as a pawn. People hanged for kidnapping. She tried to find pleasure in the idea, but instead quivered so hard her teeth rattled, and she wished for a blanket to warm herself.
Please, God, rescue me.