A Cowboy without a Name

The only thing Brand Duggan’s outlaw kin ever gave him was an undeserved reputation. Once he’s through breaking horses, he’ll leave Eden Valley. Staying means risk—and heartache. And he has no business falling for a refined English miss like Sybil Bannerman.

The rugged cowboy who rescues her from a stampede is just the kind of man Sybil Bannerman’s editor wants her to write about. Yet she has no idea how big a secret Brand Duggan carries, until her life is threatened. Despite the evidence against him, Sybil can’t walk away—for the man who lassoed her heart is the one she’ll love forever….

Cowboys of Eden Valley: Forging a future in Canada’s west country

“Brand, who are you?”

The words sprang forth unbidden but Sybil ached to know.

He grunted, and any welcome she might have imagined in his eyes disappeared into a stone-hard look. “Exactly what you see. A cowboy with a horse and a dog.”

“But you must have a name besides Brand. You must be more than that.”

His eyes grew harder, colder, if that were possible, and she shivered.

He might have well said, “Goodbye, this conversation is over.”

She had enough for her story.

He was known only as Cowboy. He never did give a last name before he rode into the sunset. He didn’t welcome any questions about his true identity. But he was the best bronc buster in the territory. A reputation well earned.

It began when he was ten…

But she wasn’t satisfied.

She wanted to know what caused the pain she had glimpsed before he pulled his hat lower.

LINDA FORD

lives on a ranch in Alberta, Canada. Growing up on the prairie and learning to notice the small details it hides gave her an appreciation for watching God at work in His creation. Her upbringing also included being taught to trust God in everything and through everything—a theme that resonates in her stories. Threads of another part of her life are found in her stories—her concern for children and their future. She and her husband raised fourteen children—four homemade, ten adopted. She currently shares her home and life with her husband, a grown son, a live-in paraplegic client and a continual (and welcome) stream of kids, kids-in-law, grandkids and assorted friends and relatives.

Winning Over the Wrangler

Linda Ford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Lord shall guide thee continually, and satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat thy bones: and thou shalt be like a watered garden.

—Isaiah 58:11

Prejudice comes in many forms. It can be against the color of your skin, your heritage or, as it is in this story, your family reputation. Although I will name no names, this book is dedicated to those of my children who deal with prejudice. May you find grace and strength in those kinds of situations, and may you know the assurance of both God’s love and the love of your family.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Eden Valley Ranch, September 1882

Stampede!

Brand knew what was happening before it took place. He saw the horses press against the corral gate, frightened by something beyond his vision. It could have been anything from a stalking cougar to a tumbling tumbleweed. Wouldn’t take much to alarm a bunch of wild mustangs. Wood creaked. The gate wouldn’t hold under the pressure of frightened horses.

Brand’s fists tightened so hard on the reins his knuckles cracked. His heart squeezed his blood out in a flash flood.

He would shout a warning to those along the fence, tell them to stand back. But he barely had control of the horse under him, which until a few minutes ago had never been ridden.

The gate snapped. The horses reared and screamed and pushed at each other, as frightened by the noise of the breaking fence as they had been by being confined. Brand held his mount with a firm hand. The horse was not ready to ride in tight quarters, but from the first, he’d sensed a willingness in it that was absent in many of the others he’d worked with. With no choice but to trust himself and the others to the green horse, he rode in the direction of the escaped animals. He had to turn them away from the people, get them back into the pen before anyone got hurt.

He saw a little boy and one of the women who had been watching. They stood only a few feet from the kicking, screaming, twisting animals surging in their direction. Choking dust clouded the scene.

He kicked his mount, raced for a gate, slipped it open with lightning speed and galloped toward them.

The stampeding horses were ahead of him. Before them, the boy scampered toward a fence and rolled under it. But the woman stood frozen, her mouth hanging open. Brand couldn’t tell if she screamed, couldn’t have heard it in the uproar if she did.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement of other cowboys racing for their own horses. No one else was close enough to rescue her. Brand leaned over the horse’s neck and urged him onward, closing the distance between them and the woman.

Ten more feet. He dared not look to the right or the left. All that mattered was that frightened woman.

Five feet.

One more leap of his horse and Brand reached her side. He leaned down and swept her into his arms, clutching her to his chest as they raced onward, out of the way of danger as pounding hooves thundered past and dust-laden air swirled.

He slowed, grateful the horse cooperated. “You’re okay now. You’re safe.” He pressed her trembling body closer.

He’d noticed her earlier as she stood by another woman, watching him at work. How could he not keep stealing glances at her? She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, with her golden curls flashing in the sunshine. He could describe everything about her in detail...the autumn-gold top she wore, the brown skirt that swung about her legs as she moved. The way she walked, as if life held nothing but promise for her. The way she smiled so sweetly at others.

It had taken all his concentration not to be distracted by her presence. It was his single-minded attentiveness that gave him his reputation as the best bronc buster in the West, and he wasn’t about to lose it.

And now she rested in his arms, holding his shirtfront as if it was a lifeline, and lifted her gaze to him. His world tipped at the way her cobalt-blue eyes caught his in a pleading look. How was he supposed to keep his mind off her in this situation?

Cowboys turned the herd of wild horses back to the corral amid more dust and more shouting.

“You’re safe,” he murmured again, as fierce protectiveness filled his insides. He wanted to promise both himself and her that he’d make sure she was always safe.

Then his world righted and reason returned. He could never make such a promise. In fact, he carried more risk than any woman deserved, and certainly more than he meant to give one. He warned himself to stay away from her before he brought danger into her life.

A mahogany-haired woman rushed toward them—the woman he’d seen earlier with his golden beauty. And then Eddie Gardiner, the ranch owner who had hired him, raced up on his horse. Already the dust had begun to settle.

“Are you hurt?” Eddie asked.

“No. I’m fine.” The woman had a gentle, soft voice with a sweet English accent. A voice full of music and peace, despite the danger she’d just been in. Was her life really as peaceful and perfect as her voice caused Brand to think? From what he’d seen of her, he knew her to be a high-class lady. Likely she had never had reason in her privileged life to deal with the harsh realities of a place like his.

Realizing he still held her tight, Brand forced his arms to unfold, and lowered her to the ground, where her friend took her hand and pulled her close.

“That was exciting,” the other woman said.

The golden beauty shivered. “A little too dangerous for my liking.”

If she thought a herd of wild horses was dangerous, he could not imagine what she’d think if she knew the truth about him.

Eddie glanced about. “Where’s Grady? Wasn’t he with you?”

The woman gasped. “He was right here.” She and her friend spun around, looking for him.

They must mean the boy who had wisely taken himself out of harm’s way. Brand’s smile formed as he looked toward where the boy had hidden.

“I’m here, Papa.” The little fella crawled from under the fence and dusted himself off.

Brand would have guessed the blond-haired, blue-eyed child to be about five or six.

Grady swiped at his runny nose and looked up at Brand. “I wasn’t scared.”

Brand laughed at his bravado. “I was.”

Grady hung his head. “Maybe I was a little.”

“It’s a good thing to be scared sometimes.” A message he wished he could send to the woman he’d rescued and who now looked up at him with big trusting eyes.

He touched the brim of his hat and reined around. Already others had the horses contained and were moving them back into the corral. He should have checked the enclosure better. His oversight had put people at risk.

Eddie’s wife raced down the hill, her skirts held in one hand. He’d seen she was in the family way, and hoped she wouldn’t fall.

As soon as she was close enough, she caught Grady and sank to the ground, cradling the boy in her lap. “Thank God you’re safe.” She glanced up at Brand. “I saw the whole thing. You saved Sybil’s life. You’re very brave.”

Brave! This woman was called Sybil. As if that could cancel out danger. It couldn’t.

Brand wanted to ride away, avoid all this fuss, but he was surrounded by people.

He felt Sybil’s gaze on him. Felt its warmth and watchfulness. He tried to avoid looking at her, knowing her blue eyes did something funny to his resolve. Made him weak and vulnerable.

“I don’t think you have met Brand.” Eddie pulled the woman close. “This is my wife, Linette, and my son, Grady.” He turned to the other two ladies. “Mercy Newell.” The darker of the pair. “And Sybil Bannerman, our guests from England. Ladies, this is Brand, best bronc buster in these parts.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Brand touched the brim of his hat. His dusty clothes and hat had seen better days. Normally he didn’t care, but Miss Sybil was so neat and proper, he felt grubby.

“Mr. Brand, you are indeed a hero.”

Her gentle words drew his gaze and he smiled despite himself. “No hero, ma’am. Just in the right place at the right time and glad I could be.” He doffed his hat and edged away.

“Wait,” Linette called. “You must let me do something to show my gratitude. Please join us for supper.”

“Appreciate the offer, ma’am, but I got a dog back at my campsite and he’s waiting for me.” Dawg would be fine on his own, but Brand grasped at any excuse to avoid joining the others. Again, he vowed to ignore Miss Sybil. Again he failed to do so. He met her gaze. She flashed a bright smile that caused his heart to shift sideways, and almost made him lose his balance.

He touched the brim of his dusty hat again and turned his attention back to his job. The horses milled about, upset at their sudden escape and equally sudden corralling. The one he rode picked up the tension. “Enough for today,” he said to the men fixing the fence. “No point in trying to work with them when they are riled up like this.” He dismounted and turned his horse into another pen, away from the mustangs he hadn’t yet ridden.

Cal, the young cowboy who’d given Brand nothing but dark glances since he started work on the horses, looked him up and down. “Guess you think you’re pretty special, having rescued Miss Sybil.”

No mistaking the challenging tone in the other man’s voice. “Nothing special about doing what a man can do. I’m sure you would have done the same if you’d been on a horse at the time.”

“You got that right. And I could break these horses if the boss would give me a chance.”

“Yup. I figure you could, all right.” He had no mind to start a disagreement. “Maybe next time the boss will let ya. Seeing as I won’t be back here again.”

“Huh. Figures.” Cal stalked away.

Brand had no idea what bothered Cal and didn’t rightly care. He would be here long enough to do the job Eddie had hired him for, then be gone, never to see any of them again. It was how he must live his life.

At that knowledge, he turned and stared up the hill. Linette and Eddie, with Grady between them, entered the house, Mercy on their heels. But Sybil had paused halfway to the house and stared toward him. He couldn’t see her eyes at that distance, but nevertheless, felt the intensity of her look. Wondered at it. For a moment, he couldn’t tear himself away.

Then, with a great deal of effort, he pushed forward all the reasons he had to ignore her.

Dawg would be waiting for his supper. “I’ll be back in the morning to work on the rest of those mustangs,” he said to any of the nearby cowboys who cared to listen. He didn’t glance about to see if anyone acknowledged his words.

His gaze lingered two more seconds on the beauty up the hill. Then he jerked around and strode to the clearing he’d chosen as his home away from home. Not that he had any home to be away from. Hadn’t had one since his ma died six years ago. Even before that their homes had been temporary at best, as Ma tried to keep ahead of Pa and Cyrus, Brand’s older half brother.

Brand had asked her often why she’d married a man who robbed houses, banks and stagecoaches. She said he hadn’t done that until later, when things went wrong once too often.

“He said it didn’t make sense that the rich got richer and the poor got poorer no matter how hard a poor man worked,” his ma had said. “So he decided to even things out.”

Only the way Pa and Cyrus went about doing it put their faces on wanted posters as the Duggan gang. And in order to protect Brand from the shame and the danger, Ma took him and fled.

At the memory he pressed his palm to his chest—the same spot where Sybil’s head had rested—then jerked his hand to his side. He crossed to the fire pit he’d built out of river rock, and lit a fire. His memories flared along with the flames.

Brand had continued to run for the same reasons—to avoid the shame and the danger. He avoided friendships for the same reasons, plus more. One thing he’d learned well in his twenty-three years: associating with Brand Duggan put others at risk. Pa and Cyrus didn’t hesitate to threaten his friends in order to try and force Brand to cooperate with them. Besides, simply being associated with the Duggan name spelled ruin, and shunning by decent people.

He’d once allowed himself to grow fond of a young lady, but when he’d grown bold enough to tell her his last name she had reacted in anger and firmly informed him she’d have nothing to do with a man bearing such a stained name. She’d made sure he understood all the risks and shame she could face simply by being allied with him.

And she was right. Knowing him put her at risk from his family and at risk of censure from the community. People like Sybil, Eddie and the others at Eden Valley Ranch could live where they chose, in a big house, open and free, while he must always be on the lookout.

So Brand put down no roots, told no one his last name and didn’t get close to others. Not even beautiful women like Miss Sybil. Especially not a woman like her.

Dawg had trotted toward him as he reached the clearing. Brand bent and scrubbed his fingers through the dog’s silky fur now. This was all he could allow himself in the way of friendship.

He had no hope of a life full of peace and serenity. Nor did he intend to disturb Sybil’s sweet world.

It took a lot of kicking clumps of dirt and throwing wood on the fire for him to persuade himself he didn’t mind dealing with the truth of his life. Finally, he looked about, determined to find reasons to be grateful. Fall was in the air, filling it with deep-throated scents. Sure, it meant winter would soon be upon them, but he liked the color of the changing leaves, the cool night air and the migrating animals. He glanced up, hearing the honking of a V of geese overhead.

After a bit, his emotions back in order, Brand hunkered down beside the blazing fire, forced to sit a good distance away to avoid being scorched.

Dawg stretched out at his side.

For a time Brand stared into the flames.

“Dawg, you should have seen the commotion.” He didn’t know if he meant the runaway horses or the reaction to his rescue of Sybil.

“Miss Sybil just stood there as if frozen.” He’d seen her eyes. Expected the fear he saw. But there was something more—a watchfulness that surprised him. There was something intriguing about the golden miss.

He dug his fingers into Dawg’s fur. “Could be it’s because she’s such a fine looking woman that I can hardly keep my eyes off her.” But his gut said it was more than that. Something that made him consider turning his back on the facts of his life and living recklessly free for a few days, just so he could enjoy spending time with her.

He reminded his gut that to do so would put her in danger. Association with a Duggan—even one not involved in the unsavory exploits of the gang—would sully her name.

Trouble with his gut was it never listened to reason.

* * *

How mortifying to be pressed so intimately close to a complete stranger. A big, strong, deep-voiced stranger. Sybil had struggled with trying to decide if she should swoon or fight, when in truth she didn’t care to do either. What she’d been tempted to do was so strange, so foreign, she wondered if she’d momentarily taken leave of her senses. She wanted to look into his face and memorize every detail.

Surely her reactions were confused because of the thudding stampede of horses she felt certain would run over her.

She and Mercy had joined the cowboys crowded against the heavy rail fence cheering for the man riding the wild horse. She hadn’t felt like cheering. Instead, she’d shuddered as the animal bucked and twisted and snorted in an attempt to dislodge the man on his back. How did he stay glued to the saddle? And didn’t all that jolting hurt every bone in his body? Here was a man who thrived on danger. Yet, as she watched him clinging to the back of the wild horse, something tickled her insides. Excitement? Fear? Admiration? She couldn’t find words to describe it. And she fancied herself a writer!

The horse had stopped bucking and stood quivering as the big man brushed his hand along its neck and murmured words she couldn’t hear, but that stirred her deep inside.

Then a crack as loud as a gunshot had jolted through the air.

A dozen horses had crowded against a split gate. It swayed and then crashed to the ground. The sound of hoofbeats thundered. Frightened horses squealed. The animals were a blur of wild eyes and flying manes.

Sybil had taken a step back, her mouth dry. The noise boomed inside her chest. Dust clogged her nostrils. Uncertain which way to flee, she’d frozen in fear at the melee.

And then she’d been swept off her feet. Rescued from the screaming horses.

No wonder her heart thudded as if she’d run a mile, and she couldn’t look away from his face.

But she could not avoid the truth about how unusual her reaction had been, nor could she face the others until she had herself under control. As soon as she reached the big ranch house she excused herself to go to the room down the hall from the kitchen.

Life in the West was certainly different from the one she’d known back in England.

At the thought of where she’d come from, her tension returned. She sat on the edge of her bed and pressed cool fingers to her hot cheeks. Of course she was upset. Her fear had immobilized her. She would have been trampled to death if the bronc buster hadn’t swept her off her feet and pressed her to his chest.

A very broad, comforting chest.

Sybil, stop it. It doesn’t matter if the chest was broad or fat or sweaty or...

But it wasn’t. He smelled of leather and horses and wild grass. A very pleasing blend of aromas.

That doesn’t matter. He means nothing to you and will mean nothing to you. Besides, didn’t Eddie say the man would stay only long enough to break some horses? And hadn’t Eddie further said the man gave no last name?

Quite the sort of fellow any woman would do well to avoid.

Not that Sybil Bannerman had any intention of doing otherwise. In her twenty years, she’d had her fill of people being snatched from her life or simply leaving of their own will, breaking off pieces of her heart in the process.

She bent over her knees as painful memories assailed her.

At only twelve years of age, Suzette, her dearest friend in the whole world, had drowned, leaving Sybil, also twelve at the time, lost, afraid and missing a very large portion of her heart.

She’d recovered enough at age sixteen to give her heart to Colin, the preacher’s son. They’d spent hours talking of their hopes and plans, and dreaming of a future together. She’d finally found a soul mate to replace Suzette. She had opened her heart to Colin, expecting his attention to grow into a formal courtship. She even dreamed of the frothy white dress she’d wear at their wedding, and considered where they might live. For the first time since Suzette’s death she’d felt whole and eager to share her thoughts and dreams.

No one had warned her it was temporary. Colin had never hinted that he’d changed his mind about how he felt about her, but a year after they met he left without a word of explanation. He never wrote or made any effort to keep in touch.

Another slice of her heart was cut off.

Losing her parents to fever a year and a half ago, within a few weeks of each other, had been the final blow.

From now on, she vowed, she would guard her heart, though she had very little of it left.

She sat up. Why was she having this argument with herself? It wasn’t as if being rescued by Brand meant anything. As he said, he was simply in the right place at the right time. It made sense that she would feel some type of bond with a man who saved her life. But that’s all it was.

Intending to calm herself, she pulled a notebook to her lap, just as Mercy rapped on the door and entered, without waiting for an invitation to do so.

Mercy nodded at the journal. “I’m guessing you’re writing all about that handsome cowboy.”

Her friends knew she made short notes about each day in her diary. They would never believe she wrote for publication. She’d never told them. Most people she knew didn’t think a young woman should have her name mentioned in such a public way.

She didn’t mind that as much as knowing most people didn’t think a young woman would have anything of value or interest to say. That had been the comment of the only editor she’d been brave enough to speak to, a couple years back.

But surely Mercy would understand. She didn’t share the same sense of outrage at women doing different things.

Sybil retrieved papers she’d secreted away earlier. “I’m writing a story.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you remember reading that article written by Ellis West? You know. The one that described the ship’s captain from our journey here.”

Mercy laughed. “He really made us see the pompous man.”

“I’m Ellis West.”

Mercy snorted. “Ellis West is a man.”

“No. It’s a pseudonym I use.”

Her friend’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Are you sure?”

Sybil laughed. “Of course I’m sure. Why do you find it so hard to accept?” Was she wrong in thinking Mercy would understand?

“You?” Mercy shook her head. “It just seems so out of character.”

“Look at this if you don’t believe me.” She held out her notes for an article about the life of a cowboy.

Mercy read them through. “You wrote this?”

Sybil sighed. “What does it take to convince you? Remember Mrs. Page on the boat? She’s secretary to the editor of a newspaper back East. She saw me writing and asked about it. I showed her what I’d written about the captain. She asked if I had more. I gave her four stories I’d composed, mostly for the fun of it.” Though even after the rude rejection by the one editor Sybil had seen, the desire to write just wouldn’t leave her. “She took them immediately to the editor, who offered to publish them. I gave him half a dozen stories before I left the ship.” They’d been published and she’d sent several more describing the West and the inhabitants of the territory. She expected they might have already appeared in the Toronto paper. The newspapers didn’t reach Edendale for several weeks after they appeared back East.

Mercy hugged her. “How exciting.”

“The editor has asked me to find a bigger-than-life cowboy and write his story.” He’d offered a nice sum of money for such an article.

An idea flared through her head. She’d had recent experience with a bigger-than-life cowboy, a hero, as she’d said. “Brand—best bronc breaker in the country—fits the bill to perfection.”

Mercy bounced up and down on the bed. “He’s exactly what you need. I say write his story.”

“But how am I to get the details of his life?” Sure, Sybil could ask others what they knew. Certainly make her own observations. But the best source was the man himself.

Her skin burned. Her lungs refused to do their job. There was no way she could ever approach this man and ask personal questions. There was something about him that threatened the locks on her heart.

You’re being silly. He is just a man. Observe. Ask questions. That’s all you need to do. He doesn’t have to know that you’re writing something about him. Besides, she’d learned people were more honest, their answers more raw, if they weren’t aware they were being interviewed. And who would suspect a woman of interviewing them for a story, anyway?

She could not let this opportunity pass. Or let her natural reticence—or as Mercy insisted, her fear—get in the way of this story.

“All you have to do is ask him questions. You’re very good at that. People seem to trust you.” Mercy flung herself back on Sybil’s bed. “With good reason. You are a good person.”

“It’s very kind of you to say so.” Sybil listened distractedly as her friend chattered on about whom she’d seen and talked to, and how she meant to pursue certain activities, until Sybil caught the words, “learn to trick ride.”

She spun around to confront her. “Tell me I didn’t hear you say you mean to learn to trick ride.”

“Okay. You didn’t hear me say that.” Mercy grinned.

“Good. Honestly, sometimes you scare me with your rash words and even rasher actions.”

Mercy regarded her with a teasing grin. “No more than you worry me with your careful way of living. Sybil, my friend, if you’re not cautious you’ll end up living a barren life, when there is so much to know and enjoy out here.” She waved her arms in a wide circle as if encompassing the world.

“I’d sooner be safe.” Sybil hoped Mercy would never learn that barrenness felt better than having your heart shredded. Besides, she experienced lots of adventures through the stories others told her. All without the risk to herself.

Mercy laughed. “And I’d sooner have fun.” She draped an arm about Sybil’s shoulders and rested her forehead against hers. “We are an odd pair and yet you are my best friend.”

“What about Jayne?” Jayne Gardiner Collins had been good friends with her and Mercy for several years...since they’d met at a tea party given by a dowager of London society. Despite their differences in nature, they got along well, and the three of them had crossed the ocean and traveled across most of Canada together. Sybil had allowed herself these friendships, knowing from the start they wouldn’t last forever. The three of them would go their separate ways. Some to marriage. Likely they would lose touch. Truth was, Sybil simply kept most of her heart safely protected from the pain she knew she’d experience by allowing any friendship to grow.

“Pshaw.” Mercy waved her hand dismissively. “She’s no longer any fun. She’s only interested in Seth. Honestly, I get tired of ‘Seth said this, Seth did that, Seth likes such and such.’”

Sybil giggled. “They’re in love. What do you expect?”

Mercy laughed, too. “I’m never going to let her forget she had to shoot him to catch him.”

“It was an accident,” Sybil protested.

They fell back against the bed, laughing at the memory. “I tried to warn the pair of you that no good would come of shooting a gun.”

“And she proved you wrong.”

“I guess she did.”

“Goes to show you should live a little dangerously once in a while. It’s worth the risks.”

Mercy left a few minutes later.

Sybil stared at the wall. Could she write Brand’s story? Yes, of course she could. The bigger question was could she do it without endangering the carefully constructed walls about her already damaged heart? The man held inherent risks for her, as she’d already discovered by her reaction to being rescued by him.

Oh, stop fretting about that. You were frightened. Snatched into the arms of a tall, dark stranger. It was an unusual experience. Of course you had an unusual reaction.

She made up her mind. She’d write the story, keeping her eyes wide-open to both her initial, surprising response and her prior knowledge that he didn’t mean to stay. Eddie said the man never did. He was a born wanderer. Forewarned was forearmed. This time, unlike her unfortunate experience with Colin, she knew what to expect.

She pulled out pen and paper and wrote a letter to the publisher.

I have exactly the man for the assignment you’ve offered. He is a bronc rider, a quiet loner, a strong and mysterious man. Certainly bigger than life in a world that is full of strong, bold men.

She would find ways to get information about him without letting her silly reaction to being rescued cloud her good sense.

Chapter Two

Her resolve to pursue a story about this man firmly in place, Sybil went to the kitchen.

“Are you sure you weren’t hurt?” Linette asked as she bustled about the large room. A big wooden table filled one corner; cupboards and shelves occupied the opposite corner. East windows on either side of the outer door allowed them to enjoy the sunrise as they ate breakfast. Another door opened to a spacious, well-stocked pantry, and a third doorway opened to the hall that led to the rest of the house. Another door, always closed, hid the formal dining room, which Linette refused to use.

Even though she expected a baby in a few months, it didn’t slow her down. She never seemed to stop working.

“Frightened is all, but I’m fine now. What can I do to help?”

Mercy sliced carrots into a pot.

Roasting meat filled the room with enough aroma to make Sybil’s mouth water. Food certainly tasted better when it came fresh from the garden and when she had a hand in preparing it. Something she’d never done before her arrival at the ranch.

Meeting a man like Brand—big, strong, bold—would have never happened back in England, either. The men she’d been acquainted with would pale in comparison.

Mercy paused. “That bronc buster is a fine-looking man.” She gave Sybil a glance that demanded a response.

“Can’t say I really noticed.”

Mercy laughed. “Hard to see much with your face smashed against his shirtfront.”

“He was fast enough and brave enough to rescue me. I thank God for that.” Except she’d forgotten to thank Him and she made up for it on the spot, uttering silent thanks.

“I join in thanking God,” Linette said as she poured water from the boiled potatoes, saving it in a jar to use later, when she made bread.

Sybil watched everything Linette did. She’d found so much satisfaction in learning to cook meals, bake bread and cookies, and even preserve garden produce for the approaching winter months. She’d only meant the trip to western Canada as a chance to start over, to rebuild her heart and strengthen the barriers around it, but she’d found so much more. She’d found purpose in doing useful things.

“I regret Mr. Brand refused to come for supper,” Linette said. “But I’ve decided to send supper to him. Eddie said he’d be an hour yet. Would you two take a meal to Mr. Brand?”

“Of course,” Mercy said.

Sybil wanted to refuse, because her heart still beat a little too fast as she remembered being held so firmly. But it provided a chance to meet him in a less emotionally packed way and learn about him, so she could write a fine story. “Certainly we’ll take a meal to him.” No need for her silly reaction to repeat itself. She knew how to control her emotions.

Linette piled a plate high with what looked to Sybil like enough food to feed a family. She couldn’t get used to the amount a working cowboy ate. Linette must have noticed her surprise. She chuckled. “I’m guessing a man who makes his own meals around a campfire would enjoy a home-cooked meal.” She wrapped the plate in a cloth and handed the bundle to Sybil.

Sybil and Mercy left the house. They paused at the corrals, where the gate had been repaired and the wild horses had settled down. They asked where they could find Brand, and Eddie directed them to the east. They crossed the yard, the grass beaten down and brown after a summer of wear. What must it be like for Brand to eat and sleep outside as the nights grew colder? Sybil wondered. Any cowboy, not just him.

“You be sure and have a good look at him this time,” Mercy said as they climbed the hill and made their way through some trees.

Sybil didn’t need to give him a good look. She’d already done that and it had caused her heart to quiver. Instead, she concentrated on their surroundings. Dark pines stood like silent sentries. The golden leaves of the aspens swung to and fro, catching the sunlight in flashing brightness.

A dog growled and Mercy grabbed her arm.

“I don’t fancy being torn up by a cross dog,” Sybil whispered. “Maybe we should go back.”

Mercy looked at the plate of food, then back down the trail.

Maybe she was doing the same as Sybil...measuring how fast they could run and considering if an angry dog would stop for the food if she dropped the plate.

“I know you’re there. Come out and make yourself known,” Brand called out.

Her fingers clutching the plate so hard the china would certainly crack at any moment, Sybil ventured forward. “I’ll throw the food at the dog if I have to,” she murmured to Mercy.

“Good idea.”

They stepped into a clearing. Wood smoke shimmered in the air. The smell pinched her nose.

A dog lunged toward them. Quite the ugliest dog she’d ever seen. Dirty brown with snapping black eyes and bared yellowed teeth. Not a big animal, but still a threat to life and limb. Only Brand’s hand at the animal’s neck restrained him.

Sybil squeaked. At the same time, she considered what sort of man kept such a dog.

“Quiet, Dawg,” Brand murmured, his voice so deep it seemed to echo the canine’s growl. The animal settled into watchfulness that did nothing to ease Sybil’s mind.

She swallowed hard and shifted her attention to the man. His cowboy hat was pulled low so all she saw of his face was a strong jaw and expressionless mouth.

She turned. “Come on, Mercy. No one is going to bite.” She faced Brand again. “I assume I am correct in saying that.” She indicated his dog, though maybe she meant more. Not that she expected Brand to bite, but he certainly filled the air with danger.

Or maybe it was her own heart calling out the silent warning.

“He won’t bother you unless he thinks you’re threatening me.”

The dog settled back on his haunches and watched them.

Mercy laughed nervously. “And how could we do that? We’re two unarmed women.” She stepped closer, hesitated when Dawg growled louder, and turned her attention to the animal. “Nice doggie. I won’t hurt you.” She put out a hand to touch the ugly dog. It lunged with a growl.

Mercy jerked back and Sybil almost dropped the plate of food.

Brand’s large hand gripped the dog by the ruff. “Stay!” He gave a tug and the dog settled.

Sybil’s heartbeat hammered erratically.

“Why do you keep such a cross creature?” Mercy asked.

Brand looked at Sybil as he answered, though she could not see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. “He’s my kind of friend.”

Again Mercy laughed. “I wonder what that says about you.”

Sybil thought the same thing. Judging by his quick, selfless actions that day, Brand deserved better company than a cross dog. But considering how he’d declined Linette’s dinner invitation, maybe he preferred it that way. That would make an interesting twist to her story.

“Read it any way you want.”

Sybil narrowed her eyes and watched his face for clues.

He met her gaze. Something flickered in his eyes. An emotion she couldn’t name. Perhaps he gave consideration to his chosen solitary state.

Having held a woman in his arms so recently, he longed—

No. That wasn’t what she’d write.

His isolation had been momentarily disturbed by his quick actions in saving a young woman, but he quickly reverted to his usual state. He and his dog...

Her thoughts abandoned her as she tried to free herself from his gaze. The way he hid behind his hat, the set of his jaw, even eating at a campfire when he’d been invited to share a meal said he either welcomed loneliness or it had been imposed upon him for some reason. She studied him as if she might be able to discern which it was.

He dipped his head.

She drew in a sharp breath. She’d been staring. But only because she wondered about the reason for his self-imposed solitary state.

She realized she still held the plate of food. “We brought you supper. Linette decided if you wouldn’t come to the house for a meal, she’d send you one.”

After a moment’s consideration of the offer, he nodded toward a stump. “Leave it there.”

Despite his dismissive words, his solitary state called out to Sybil. She stepped past the dog to put the plate on the stump he indicated. “Do you mind if we visit a few minutes?” Would she be able to discover the reason for his loneliness? Or perhaps something about his background?

“Suit yourself. Have a seat. Lots of grass to choose from, or pull up a log.” A smile flitted across his face so fast she almost missed it.

Sybil’s curiosity about the man grew. She sank to the ground. Mercy sat a few feet away, her gaze never leaving the dog.

Sybil smiled. At least her friend wouldn’t be taking an inventory of Brand’s looks and itemizing them for her later.

He snatched off his hat as if recalling his manners.

She stared, darted her gaze away. Against her better judgment, she brought it slowly back. Mercy was right. He was a fine-looking man, dark and mysterious. Black curly hair that was over long, deep brown eyes, a slightly crooked nose...

He met her look for a second. She saw a soul-deep sorrow that sucked at her resolve, diluted it and poured it out on the ground. She sought for reason. Perhaps she was taking her study of him too seriously...imagining how lonely it must be for him. But then, she wasn’t him, so how would she know until she asked?

Before she could glance away, he shifted his attention to his dog, which was lying at his side, watching Mercy.

Sybil almost laughed aloud at the way her friend and the canine eyed each other. She’d never before seen this side of Mercy, who was usually adventuresome to the point of recklessness. At least that’s how Sybil saw it, although she’d be the first to admit she was conservative in the extreme by comparison.

Still unsettled by what she’d seen in Brand’s eyes, she shifted her attention back to him, wondering if she’d imagined it.

He stared at something on the ground at his feet. She looked toward the same spot. All she saw were blades of grass.

“They say you never get bucked off a horse. Is that right?” The question had sprung from her mouth unbidden...but not unwelcome.

He chuckled, cut it off abruptly. Was he not comfortable laughing? “I guess you could say that practice makes perfect.”

She smiled at how his answer said so much with so few words. “So you took a lot of spills before you got good at it?” Dawg stopped having a staring contest with Mercy and inched toward Sybil, his head between his paws. Poor thing meant no harm. He was likely as lonesome as his owner.

There you go again. Jumping to conclusions. You have no way of knowing if he’s lonely or just likes to be alone.

That was part of what she hoped to discover.

“I got tossed off many times.”

Remembering how she’d held her breath as he rode a bucking horse, and wondering how he could stand it, Sybil shuddered. Getting tossed off sounded even worse than riding. “Did you ever get hurt?”

Mercy leaned closer, earning her a growl from Dawg. She edged back. “It must be so exciting. I think I’ll give it a try.”

Sybil gasped. “Mercy, you can’t be serious.” She fixed a demanding, pleading look on Brand. “Tell her she could get hurt. Tell her it’s foolish to think of riding a wild horse.” Why did Mercy think she must do something crazy and reckless all the time?

Brand choked slightly, as if keeping back another chuckle. “Ma’am, she’s right. It takes a lot of practice and lots of good fortune to survive some of the wild horses. Sure would hate to see your neck all busted up.”

Mercy grinned widely. “Still, I just might see how I fare.”

“Have you ever been hurt?” The words squeaked from Sybil’s throat. A man with a dangerous job. Likely that explained why he was alone. A woman or a friend would face the constant risk of seeing him hurt or killed by one of those angry horses. How many women would accept that kind of life? She certainly wouldn’t. She’d marry at some point, because she wanted a home and family, but she’d want security and safety when she did.

And she didn’t intend to involve what was left of her heart. Colin had made her see the folly of that.

Brand answered her question. “Nothing serious, seeing as I’m still here and still riding horses.”

“But you have been injured?” Sybil, you don’t need to know the particulars to see that this man should wear a big danger sign around his neck.

Details for her story. That was the only reason she wanted to know.

“A time or two. Once when I was ten.”

“Ten! You were hardly out of short pants.”

“Ma’am. I never wore short pants. And it was my older brother who thought it was a lark to throw me on a horse he was trying to break. I stuck until the ornery critter stopped bucking.”

Another chuckle that he made no attempt to hide. Interesting observation. It would make a nice addition to her story.

A loner of a man with a deep-throated laugh that broke out unexpectedly from time to time, surprising the cowboy as much as it did those who heard it.

“I felt so high and mighty about riding a horse my brother couldn’t that I climbed to the loft and jumped out the open door.”

Mercy laughed as if it was the funniest thing ever.

Sybil gasped. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I was ten. I didn’t need a reason. But I guess I thought riding a wild horse made me invincible.”

Sybil laughed softly. “Let me guess. That’s when you were injured.”

“My brother broke my fall, but I still busted my arm.” He held it out and had a good look at it.

Mercy leaned back on her hands, her gaze darting frequently to Dawg.

Sybil’s mind raced with questions. How many could she ask before he refused to answer? “What happens when you get bucked off?”

“If I did get bucked off—” he made it sound like a far-fetched possibility “—I’d just get right back on and finish the job.”

His answer pleased her. She liked the idea of a man finishing what he’d begun. Except, she reminded herself firmly, in this case, it meant he would break horses and move on. That’s the job he’d begun.

Not that she cared one way or the other.

You’re not telling yourself the truth here, Sybil.

Oh, hush. Her inner voice could be so annoying at times.

Annoyingly right, maybe? Because you wish that he’d stay around.

I do not. How could I wish for anything so foolish? A dangerous man. A leaving man. I’m paying attention only because he saved my life and I want to write a good story.

You’re hiding from the truth.

Sybil wasn’t interested in whatever so-called truth that annoying inner voice meant.

Chapter Three

Brand had almost forgotten about breaking his arm. But only because he hadn’t seen Cyrus in a long time. Cyrus never missed a chance to remind him that he likely owed his life to his big brother, and as a result, his big brother deserved a few favors in return. Trouble was, Brand wasn’t prepared to dish out the sort of favors Cyrus had in mind. A sour taste filled his mouth. Because of Cyrus and Pa, Brand could never hope for anything but a nomadic lifestyle.

“Have you ever been hurt riding a horse?” Sybil asked, her voice a melody of calm and sweetness...a marked contrast to his thoughts and the raw sounds he normally heard on a ranch. Her gaze riveted him like velvet nails, compelling him to answer.

“A few bumps and bruises. Nothing to take note of.”

Dawg wriggled closer to Sybil. Well, if that didn’t beat all. Brand couldn’t remember when the animal had shown the least sign of interest in another human being. Dawg could spot a sly fox a mile away. Brand could only assume he could equally well spot a sweet, innocent, woodland miss. Maybe this woman warranted further interest. It wasn’t like he would be around long enough to put her in danger. He eyed the plate of food. It would have to wait until the ladies left. If he dug in now, they might see it as time to leave.

“I was about to have coffee. Care to join me?” He had only two cups, but he would drink from a tin can. He filled the cups and passed one to each of the ladies.

Sybil’s blue eyes held his.

He couldn’t remember how to fill his lungs.

Mercy leaned forward, her expression eager. “You must have seen most of North America.”

The question, posed as a comment, broke his momentary lapse and he settled back with his coffee. “Been around some.”

“Have you been to the Pacific Ocean?”

“Nope. Never had no mind to see it.”

She sighed. “I’d love to see it.”

Sybil made a scolding noise. “Mercy is restless. Always looking for the next big adventure.”

“Uh-huh.” He had little interest in the excitement-craving woman. He picked up a piece of kindling and kept his attention on the rough edges of the wood. “And what are you looking for?” He meant the question for Sybil.

It was only conversation. Words to pass the time. But he raised his eyes enough to watch her from under the protection of his lashes.

Her own eyes darkened to the color of the evening sky and her lips pressed together. A very telling gesture. She wanted something she couldn’t have. A man, perhaps? But what foolish man would refuse such a woman anything, including his heart and love? Unless he had the kind of life Brand did. One that didn’t allow him to give heart and love to anyone. Sometimes he wondered why God had made him a Duggan. Or more correctly, given him a pa and brother like the ones he had. Seems God could have arranged things just a little better.

“I’m quite happy with my life as it is,” she answered after a beat of silence.

She might think it true, but he didn’t believe her.

Mercy made an exasperated sound. “Someday, Sybil Bannerman, you’ll discover your life is far too safe.” She fixed Brand with a daring look. “Sybil lives a very careful life. Never takes risks. Obeys all the rules.”

He thought of how his pa and brother lived a lawless life. “Rules have their purpose.”

“Thank you.” Sybil favored him with a beaming smile. “That’s what I’m always telling Mercy.”

“Okay. Okay.” Mercy tossed her hands in the air. “I agree to a point. But rules should not become chains. There are certain risks and adventures that don’t follow rules. It’s a crying shame to avoid them.”

Brand stared into the fire.

He was a risk. Miss Sybil would do well to avoid him and remember the safety of her rules.

“How much longer will you be here?” Sybil asked, and his heart took off like one of those stampeding horses.

He managed to slow it some. It wasn’t as if she asked because she wanted him to stay, he told himself. She was only making polite conversation.

“I’ll likely finish up tomorrow, then me and Dawg will move on.”

“I enjoyed watching you work today,” she said. Did he see admiration in her eyes? And why did it matter? He’d move on before she learned his true identity. Heaven forbid she’d learn it before he left and he’d see the shock and horror in her eyes. Best to change the subject.

“So how long have you ladies been in the country?”

Mercy nudged Sybil and answered his question. “A couple of months. Three of us ventured over. Jayne, the other girl, is Eddie’s sister.”

“So you’ve come to visit western Canada? Then you’ll go back to your English home?” Unless they had an eye to marriage out here and with the shortage of young women in the country, they wouldn’t have any trouble fulfilling such plans.

“Yes,” Sybil said.

“No.” Mercy shook her head. “Sybil, why would you want to go back? You have nothing left back there.” She turned to Brand. “Her parents are dead. She has no other family.”

He wanted to stuff a handful of grass in Mercy’s mouth at the way her words sent shock waves through her friend’s blue eyes.

Sybil tipped up her chin. “It’s my home and I have Cousin Celia.”

Mercy snorted and lifted a hand in what Brand took as exasperation. “You belong here as much as there. And here is a lot more fun.”

Sybil studied her friend, her blue eyes troubled. “Your parents are expecting you to return.”

Mercy shrugged. “I doubt they’ll miss me.”

Sybil shook her head and turned back to Brand. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t argue in front of you. It’s none of your concern.” Dawg had sidled closer still and she stroked his head in an absentminded way that made Brand wonder if she knew she did it.

Brand expected Dawg to object, growl, move away, slink back to Brand’s side. Instead, the dog closed his eyes and looked as content as a baby in a cradle.

Brand realized his mouth had fallen open, and he forced it closed. But his surprise made him stare. Dawg never let anyone but Brand touch him. Not until this moment.

Sybil drained her cup. “Thank you for the coffee and the nice visit. Now we must be on our way.” She rose to her feet in a fluid movement that reminded Brand of a deer edging from the forest. “No doubt we’ll see you again.”

The words were said lightheartedly, but Brand felt the promise and threat of them. Did she want to return and visit? Did she hope he’d extend an invitation? But Sybil didn’t meet his eyes, so he couldn’t judge her thoughts.

When Mercy scrambled to her feet, Sybil caught her arm and they hurried away.

Dawg whined as they disappeared into the trees.

Brand patted the dog’s head. “Never seen you get all sappy about a girl before. Just remember, we aren’t staying, so don’t get too interested in her.”

Words Brand knew he should tattoo on his own brain.

He couldn’t stay even if he was tempted. If Pa and Cyrus saw him with Sybil, they wouldn’t hesitate to threaten her. Even if they didn’t catch up to him, someone would surely remember the wanted poster they’d seen somewhere, and place him as a Duggan. And if she learned his name, she’d be shocked. She’d withdraw. And who could blame her? Might as well move on and save her the trouble of telling him to leave her alone.

People would judge a person as guilty by association.

He’d grown to accept that all he could hope for in this life was to stay ahead of the Duggan gang and avoid the hangman’s noose.

* * *

Sybil’s plans to go immediately to the corrals next morning were cut short when Linette said, “Can you show me how to finish the edges on the baby shawl?”

“Of course.” As soon as breakfast was over and the kitchen cleaned, they went to the big room overlooking the ranch.

An hour passed before Sybil could slip away. Mercy had disappeared to some unknown destination, so she was forced to go alone.

Not that she was alone. There were cowboys everywhere. Eddie had said they were adequate chaperones anywhere on the ranch.

When she’d first looked out the windows, only two cowboys had been watching Brand work, but now several more gathered round the pen, and another jogged over in a rolling, awkward gait that said riding a horse was more his style.

Sybil found a place along the fence next to a cowboy whose name she couldn’t recall. “Is he as good as everyone says?”

“A couple of years ago, I worked on a ranch down in Montana.” The man barely glanced at Sybil as he talked, his attention fixed on the activities in the corral. “I heard stories about a dark, nameless man who could break the rankest animal to be found. I wondered at the time if it was a tall tale. One of those stories told around the campfire for entertainment. But I’m beginning to think the story held a lot of truth.”

A campfire legend. Sybil liked that and would certainly include it in her story.

Already she chose words to describe it to the readers.

A man with no name, but a reputation from which legends are born. A man whose strength of character made one instinctively trust him. Whose arms—

No. She would not say that his arms made one feel safe and secure. She wouldn’t even let herself believe it. This man spelled danger to her fragile heart.

But he wasn’t staying around, so she didn’t have to be concerned. All she had to do was write the story.

She glanced about. Strange that all the hands seemed to have gathered at the corrals this morning. Or perhaps not. Brand would finish up before long and no doubt they all wanted one last glimpse of this legend.

“That’s his last horse,” one of the men murmured.

“Or so he thinks,” replied another, with a soft chuckle accompanying his words.

Sybil’s attention kicked into full alert. “What does that mean?” she asked the second man.

He gave a wicked grin. “We found another unbroken horse.”

Several of the men snickered and nudged each other.

Something about the way they acted warned her they were up to no good. Her nerves twitched with a mixture of anticipation and concern.

Brand rode the horse he was on to a standstill, then spent several minutes riding the animal around the pen, teaching it to obey the reins and the instructions signaled by the rider’s legs.

“That does it.” He swung from the saddle and hung a rope over the nearest post. His eyes touched her, making her forget momentarily that they were surrounded by a horde of cowboys.

He shifted his gaze around the circle.

“Where can I find Eddie?” he asked.

Sybil glanced at the assembled crew. Odd that Eddie wasn’t with them. Nor the foreman or any of the other cowboys she was familiar with.

Cal answered Brand. “Boss got called away to tend a bull.”

“When he returns, tell him he can find me at my campsite.” Brand headed for the gate.

“Hang on. There’s one more horse to go.”

Sybil felt the tension radiating from the cowboys. It trickled up her spine, caused her to curl her fingers until the nails bit into her palm.

Brand stopped, studied the circle of cowboys. “There wasn’t another this morning.”

Cal chortled. “We found this one ’specially for you.”

Only because she watched so carefully did Sybil see the way Brand’s shoulders tensed and his breathing paused for a second. Then he emptied his lungs in a slow sigh.

“Special for me, you say? Let me guess. This horse is meaner than a twister, ain’t never been rode, and has been known to bite, kick and generally let people know he don’t intend to be.”

Cal’s laugh seemed a little strained despite his obvious glee. “Let’s see if you can live up to your reputation. Or are ya scared to get on this horse?”

Brand tipped his hat back and slowly shifted his gaze from cowboy to cowboy. Several of them squirmed.

Then his gaze fell on her. His eyes—the color of warm chocolate—filled with resignation and a loneliness he would no doubt deny, but she felt it clear through to the bottom of her heart. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.

Acknowledgment flickered through his eyes, though he couldn’t have heard her. Something shifted in his demeanor. It was as if her inaudible words encouraged him, let him know that not everyone shared Cal’s wish to see him tossed into the dust.

“Bring him on.” Brand jerked his hat down low, widened his stance and waited.

Three men pulled on ropes to drag in a black horse with white-rimmed eyes. The animal snorted and kicked.

Sybil held her breath.

Again, she whispered, “You don’t have to do this.”

But Brand never noticed.

Every eye was on that wild stallion. Every man held his breath.

“Throw on a saddle if you can.” Brand’s voice dared them to fail.

It took an additional two men to get a saddle blanket on the horse and then the saddle. One of them came away limping after a kick from the angry animal.

“Hold him while I get seated.” Brand spoke calmly, as if the only uncertainty was the ability of the struggling cowboys to do so.

Sybil’s chest hurt from holding her breath as she watched him gingerly arrange himself in the saddle.

“Let him go.”

The cowboys released their ropes and raced away, throwing themselves over the fence, then scrambling around to watch the show.

Sybil could not tear her gaze from the big man on the horse. He sat poised and ready. At first the horse simply stood quivering, then it erupted into frenzied movement. It seemed to jerk every which way at the same time. She’d watched Brand buck out a number of horses over the past two days, but nothing like this. Hooves flying toward the sky. Back twisting two different directions at the same time. Head down. Snorting. Blowing. But Brand clung to the gyrating animal.

“He’s good,” said the cowboy on Sybil’s right.

“He ain’t done yet,” Cal answered, disappointment in his tone.

Then the horse stopped. It stood there quivering.

A murmur of approval circled the crowd.

“He did it,” Sybil said.

“Don’t think so, not yet.”

And then the animal turned and tried to bite its rider. As Brand kicked away from the teeth, the horse suddenly started to buck again.

Brand fought to stay in the saddle.

The horse ran for the fence, ramming him against the boards.

Several cowboys groaned. “That’s got to hurt,” said one. “Be a wonder if his leg ain’t broke.”

The horse stampeded along the fence, several times banging Brand’s leg into the boards. It bucked. It snorted.

Still he stayed on board.

And Sybil’s heart swelled with pride in the man’s accomplishments. Brand was far more than a campfire legend. He was the real deal. He could ride. He was a man who stuck to his decisions.

Now, where did that last thought come from? She knew nothing of his actions outside this corral.

And the feel of his arms about you as he swept you off your feet.

Nonsense. It didn’t mean that much. Just that he’d saved her life and now she felt a special bond, as if she mattered to him.

Huh. I wonder if he even remembers your name.

She silenced the inner voice.

The animal trying to toss Brand to the ground finally wearied and stopped bucking.

“I’d say his reputation is well earned,” Sybil said, loudly enough for several of the cowboys to hear. This story would be the best one she’d ever written.

Never once did he reveal a hint of fear as he swung into the saddle. Those watching caught a collective breath and held it, wondering who would win this contest between man and beast.

Two men jumped forward and took the horse.

Brand slipped off, leaning against the fence.

The cowboys clapped and cheered as he limped away, none louder than Sybil. Without turning, Brand waved his hand in acknowledgment. “Tell the boss he knows where to find me.” He made his way across the yard and into the trees toward his campsite.

Sybil watched him leave. He had been hurt, though he hid it admirably.

At that moment, Eddie rode into the midst of the men. “I didn’t find any bull needing help.”

“Must have been mistaken,” Cal murmured.

Eddie glanced around the group, studied the horse now turned into the bigger corral. Several of the men tried to slip away unnoticed. “Wait up.”

They ground to a halt.

“Anyone care to tell me what’s going on?” Eddie leaned over the saddle horn, looking casual and relaxed. But Sybil certainly wasn’t fooled by his posture, and she guessed from the shuffling of booted feet that the cowboys weren’t, either.

Slim sat on a horse at the boss’s side and looked about ready to give them all a good chewing out.

Eddie’s gaze settled on Cal. “You sent me on a wild-goose chase. I’d like to know why. And why is that stallion in the corrals? Haven’t I told you all to leave him alone? He’s a man killer.”

Eddie’s answer confirmed her suspicion that the cowboys were all involved in this potentially dangerous challenge. She glanced to where she’d last seen Brand. How badly had he been hurt?

Cal stepped forward. “We just wanted to see how good a rider he was. After all,” he said, growing bold, “you can’t just take his word for it.”

Eddie studied Cal long enough that the younger man squirmed. “Did he ride the stallion?”

“To a standstill,” one of the others answered, when Cal hesitated.

“Then he deserves his reputation.”

A murmur of agreement came from the group.

Eddie continued to study Cal. “You can shovel manure for the next month. With no help.”

Without another word, the boss reined away and rode to the big house.

Sybil hid a grin at the disgruntled look on Cal’s face.

Not even a wicked man killer of a horse could unseat this big, bold bronc buster. The cowboy rode the rank horse to a standstill...

Her gaze found the path where Brand had disappeared. He’d done his best to hide his pain, but she knew he’d been hurt. Did anyone care?

* * *

Brand waited at the campfire for Eddie to appear with the money he’d earned. Then he’d be on his way.

He sucked in a deep blast of air and rubbed his leg. That mean sucker of a horse had had murder in mind. Seeing as he hadn’t succeeded in bucking Brand off so he could trample him, he’d meant to try and knock him off. Had banged his leg good and hard against the fence. It hurt some, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t live with.

He gingerly stretched out his leg and leaned back, smiling up at the brilliant sky. He kind of enjoyed the way Sybil had watched him and clapped when he rode the horse. He snorted and pulled his hat over his eyes. No point in looking at blue skies and dreaming of possibilities.

He could never be anything more than Brand, the bronc buster.

Enough staring into nothing. Time to get something to eat. From his meager supplies he chose a can of beans and opened it. Opened a second can for Dawg.

He downed the beans cold, chasing them with hot coffee.

His thoughts wandered again to a golden gal whose blue eyes smiled so gently at him he could almost believe she cared. But how could she? She knew nothing of him. Certainly not who he really was. A Duggan. Part of an outlaw family. Even if for some reason he stayed, he could never tell her, and lose the memory of that smile.

What would it be like to return home every day to a smiling welcome like that?

Brand Duggan would never know.

His leg pained him. It wasn’t broken, but bruised enough to remind him with every move that a horse had almost got the better of him. But the pain paled in light of a deeper pain that never left. Oh, sure, he sometimes managed to ignore it, push it away, pretend it didn’t exist, but all his efforts were but a thin scab that could be easily dislodged.

Something about Sybil had done more than dislodge it. Her gentle manner had scrapped away the protective layer, exposing the rawness beneath.

So many things contributed to the wound. Too many to count. Besides, what was the point?

He missed Ma. He missed conversations. Heart-to-heart talks. Teasing and laughing. He missed a warm bed and a hot meal at the end of the day. He missed having a home.

Home. The word reverberated through his head, his heart and his soul. A trumpet sound of despair that he couldn’t deny.

Something Ma had often said to him sprang into his mind. God will always be with us. Always guide us to a safe place. Always. We have to trust Him.

He’d long ago dismissed the words. He didn’t see how God being with them had made any difference. Pa always ended up finding them. Yes, Ma and Brand had always slipped away, hoping to find a place where no one knew who they were. At first, Ma had urged Brand along, helping him hide, taking care of finding a place for them. Then Brand had needed no more urging. He’d helped Ma carry their meager possessions. Had sometimes been the one to find them a safe place. He’d often been the first one to hear rumors of robberies, and know Pa and Cyrus were close by and it was time to move on.

Just as he must leave here to stay ahead of the Duggan gang. But what would happen if he stayed a few more days? Not with any idea of putting down roots. No. He knew better than that. Sooner or later, Pa and Cyrus would show up.

But a few hours. A few days. What could it hurt? He wouldn’t do anything rash, like attempt to court Sybil, simply enjoy a moment of her company here and there. Shoot, he’d be content to watch her from a distance. Then he’d leave, with his heart full of memories to last him a lifetime.

Memories. Nothing but memories. The word screamed through his brain, tearing a wide, aching, oozing path.

“Isn’t like I have any reason to stay,” he muttered to Dawg, who replied with a yawn. “Don’t see anyone throwing out the welcome mat.”

Brand rubbed his aching leg. At least this pain would abate and he’d soon forget it. Unlike the emotional pain.

Dawg bolted to his feet, hackles up, growling.

“I hear it.” Hoofbeats thudded. Someone approaching the camp. Brand’s skin prickled as it always did when he knew someone watched him. His hand crept toward his gun belt and rested on the grip of his pistol. Had his identity been discovered? Did someone seek the five-hundred-dollar reward for the capture, dead or alive, of any of the Duggan gang?

Friend or foe. He’d give his last nickel to never again have to wonder which it was every time a stranger approached. At least he didn’t have to worry about whether or not he could trust a friend. He hadn’t allowed himself one in a very long time.

Eddie rode into sight and air eased from Brand’s lungs.

He pushed to his feet. His leg protested the change in position, but he straightened it and waited as the rancher swung from his horse.

He’d get his wages and be on his way. And if his insides twisted at the thought, he wouldn’t acknowledge it. Nope. He’d move on. Forget those he left.

This time would prove more challenging than simply waving goodbye to a bunch of cowboys who spoke no more words than necessary, and would forget him as quickly as he forgot them. This time he would turn his back on a pretty young lady who had momentarily—and not of her choosing—rested in his arms.

Eddie stood before him, a grin on his face. “Got some good news for you.”

Brand nodded. Only good news he could think of was the Duggan gang had disappeared into Mexico. As if it would really make a difference.

“I ran into Sam Stone today.”

“Uh-huh.” Whoever Sam Stone was.

“He runs the OK Ranch to the north of us.”

“Oh, yeah.” Still didn’t make any difference to Brand. “I finished breaking the horses. Some will need a bit more handling, but they’re all fit to ride. So I’ll be moving on.”

“Wait until you hear what I have to offer.”

He waited. As if he had any choice. Eddie seemed set to drag his news out as long as possible.

“Sam sold me a herd of wild horses. Said he didn’t have time or a man to deal with them.” The rancher rolled back on his heels, as pleased with his announcement as any man Brand had seen. “I want you to stay on and break them for me.”

Brand’s shoulders jerked up. His spine pressed against his skin. Stay? Wasn’t it exactly what he’d wanted? A few more days of watching Sybil. Of storing up memories. His muscles tensed at the risks it involved.

How long had it been since he’d last seen Pa and Cyrus? Longer than usual. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard mention of the Duggan gang since he’d crossed the border into Canada.

A grin crept around his heart and eased toward his mouth. Could it be that the Duggan gang didn’t care to meet up with the Mounties? No doubt they’d heard the tales of how tenacious the mounted police were. How they always got their man. The grin grabbed his mouth and Brand allowed his lips to curl just a little. Maybe he could be free of them if he stayed in Canada. Even as he allowed the hope, he knew he couldn’t trust it. At least not for long.

“I could stay around a few more days, I guess.” His casual words disguised his eagerness.

“You’re welcome to bunk with the others and eat at the cookhouse. Cookie makes a fine meal.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He’d breathed in the rich aromas every day from the cookhouse’s open windows. “But Dawg here ain’t very friendly.”

Right on cue, Dawg snarled at Eddie.

“He sure isn’t. I wouldn’t tolerate him biting anyone at the ranch.”

“Never known him to bite. Mostly he threatens.” Brand must make sure Eddie didn’t encourage anyone to challenge Dawg. “Figure he’d only bite if he thought someone meant to harm me.”

The rancher nodded. “Good enough. I’ll expect you in the morning then. You want your wages for what you’ve already done?”

“I’ll pick them up when I’m finished.” No need to get them now. When he was done he’d go to town and buy some supplies and a warm winter coat. He’d plumb wore out his last one and given it to Dawg to use for a bed. Dawg had chewed it to pieces and they’d left the remnants behind a few months ago.

Eddie mounted up and rode away. And Brand allowed the waiting smile to claim his mouth. “Well, don’t that beat all?”

Dawg whined, studied him with head tilted to one side.

“It’s only for a short time. Then we’ll be gone.” A few more days wouldn’t compromise their safety or Sybil’s, but no point in explaining that to Dawg.

Brand settled back on the ground and smiled up at the sky. Ma’s words seeped into his soul. God had led him to a safe place. Though he understood it was only temporary.

His leg twitched and he rubbed it.

How long would this place be safe?

Not long enough.

Chapter Four

Sybil’s heart bucked and twisted like one of those wild horses. As if Brand meant to tame her heart, too. She shook her head. How silly. She lived a careful life that didn’t need any taming. Brand filled the qualifications of a larger-than-life cowboy for her story. That was all. But she failed to still the furious pounding of her heart at having just seen him ride a rank horse, stand up to the challenge of the cowboys, and walk away as if he felt no pain. She knew otherwise and it concerned her. Would his pride and isolation cause him to neglect an injury?

She crossed to Jayne’s house and knocked on the door.

“Did you see that?” she asked when Jayne called for her to enter.

“I’ve been busy making a shirt for Seth.” Her friend held up the brown fabric. “It’s proving a bit of a challenge.” She let the cloth fall to her lap, and turned her attention to Sybil. “What’s going on?”

“Brand rode a horse Eddie had forbidden any of them to ride.” She filled in the details.

Jayne’s eyes widened in horror. “Was he injured?”

“He was limping.”

“Don’t you think someone should check on him and make sure he’s okay?” She narrowed her eyes at Sybil.

“Me?” She wanted to know he was okay, but surely someone else could take care of that. Her boundaries already felt threatened. She pulled the gates to her heart closed so she would be safe.

“Seems to me you’re the one who should. Mercy says he likes you.”

Why would Jayne say such a thing? Had Mercy been dreaming up stuff again? Brand had certainly never given any indication that he even noticed her. Oh, he might have let his gaze linger a bit long on her while he’d considered riding that awful horse. Simply because she was the only one to offer any sympathy at the challenge thrown before him.

“His dog might like me,” she finally said. She’d petted Dawg without any growling from the animal. “It’s hardly the same thing.” Sybil pretended a great interest in the view from the window as her cheeks burned with—

What? It wasn’t embarrassment. She had done nothing for which she should be embarrassed, except grow overly curious about a man who did not belong in her world.

Which, she reasoned, made him a perfect candidate as the hero in her story. Just not the perfect man to fill her head with all sorts of unfamiliar feelings and a thirsty longing to experience firsthand the kind of strength she’d felt when he swept her out of harm’s way. She knew a deep sense of emptiness when she watched him, when she thought of him.

Surely, only because she knew a man who allowed himself no last name must be very lonely.

But, she realized, in the awareness of his loneliness there was an answering echo of loneliness in her own heart.

Of course she was lonely. Her parents were gone. She had no family except elderly Aunt Celia, who cared not whether Sybil was there. Nor did she allow anyone to fill that hollowness.

Certainly Brand couldn’t be allowed to intrude into that loneliness. Only God could, and she tried to focus her thoughts on Him alone. He is my strength and shield. A present help in time of trouble.

The empty feeling in her heart refused to abate.

But she didn’t have to let her confusion get in the way of her common sense. Someone needed to make sure Brand was okay, and if she had to be that person, so be it. She turned to face her watching and waiting friend. “You’re right. Someone should check on him. Not because Mercy thinks he might like me. She is always dreaming up mad notions. But because he is alone with no one to care.” She’d go with gifts, so she wouldn’t wound his pride if he thought revealing an injury was a sign of weakness. “I’ll beg some cinnamon buns from Cookie and take Grady with me.”

“That’s the spirit. Show some spunk. Take life by the horns and hang on. Just like Brand on that horse.”

Sybil chuckled even as the words slapped her on the side of the head. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d been thinking only moments ago? Only it had been Brand taming her heart. “I could never be like that. I don’t want to be.” Writing her stories was enough danger for her.

Jayne laughed. “Someday, my dear cautious friend, you will find some reason to step outside your careful boundaries.”

Little did Jayne know how wobbly her boundaries were proving to be when she watched Brand and took mental notes. “Not me.” She hurried across to the cookhouse and explained her request.

“I keep hearing tall tales about the man,” Cookie said. “Wish he would come and visit me, but I understand he prefers his own company. He saved your life, though, and for that he has my gratitude.” The big woman wrapped some fresh cinnamon rolls in a piece of brown store paper. “You tell him thanks from me and Bertie.” Bertie, her husband, helped run the cookhouse.

Sybil took the buns and headed up the hill to the big house to ask Linette to let Grady accompany her.

Linette readily agreed and a few minutes later Sybil and the boy made their way toward the clearing.

Dawg’s growl greeted them before they stepped from the trees.

Grady clutched Sybil’s hand. “Mercy says he’s got a mean dog.”

“He won’t hurt you.” Though he certainly managed to keep most people at bay, she felt no threat from the dog.

Grady refused to take another step even when Dawg’s growl became a whine of greeting.

“Come on in,” Brand called.

Sybil struggled forward, her progress impeded by having to practically drag a reluctant Grady. Perhaps that was a sign she should stay away from Brand and his campsite. But now that she was here she couldn’t retreat, even if she wanted to. Of course she didn’t; she wanted to make sure he wasn’t injured. She could do that without stepping across any invisible lines she’d drawn for herself.

She entered the clearing.

Brand lounged back on his saddlebags. He made no attempt to rise at her presence.

That alone caused concern. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Just resting.” He tried to hide it, but she heard the strain in his voice.

“Your leg must be injured.”

“It’s fine.”

She studied him a moment, noting how the lines in his face had deepened. Why couldn’t he admit he had pain? “I know you’re not.”

He shrugged. “It’s not as if I jumped out of the loft door.”

“I saw how the horse rammed you into the fence. I’m certain your leg has been bruised or worse.”

“Only a bump. Nothing to be concerned about.”

There seemed no point in arguing. “Grady came to say hi.” She turned to the boy, who darted a look from Brand to Dawg and back again.

Sybil nudged him.

“Will your dog bite me?”

“I don’t know. Let’s ask him. Dawg, you gonna bite this boy?”

Dawg gave a wag of his crooked tail.

“Nope. But he’s not exactly the friendly sort.”

Grady carefully kept Sybil between them as Dawg wriggled closer. The nearer he got, the tighter Grady tucked himself into her other side, as if he hoped to disappear into the fabric of her skirts. She bent to pet the dog, but couldn’t with her hands full, so held the brown-paper-wrapped gift out to Brand. “Cookie sent some cinnamon rolls. The best in the country. She says she regrets you never stopped in to see her.”

Brand took the package. His long fingers grazed Sybil’s knuckles, making her heart buck three times in quick succession.

He sniffed deeply of the aroma. “If they taste half as good as they smell...” He waved for his visitors to sit down.

Grady kept close to Sybil as they settled on a log.

The dog slunk closer to Sybil. She hesitated a second. Was Dawg as cross as Brand led everyone to believe? She had no wish to have her hand torn off. Then she saw the welcome in the animal’s eyes and knew she was safe. She stroked the brown head, finding his fur surprisingly silky.

She felt Brand’s gaze on her and met it. “He’s a nice dog.”

Brand’s eyes filled with something she could only take as regret.

Did he mind that Dawg accepted her attention? She almost withdrew her hand, but couldn’t deny either herself or the dog this comfort. “Eddie wasn’t happy about the cowboys bringing in that wild horse.”

Brand shrugged. “It happens a lot.”

His words burned through her. Did he face this kind of challenge wherever he went? “Young Cal got put on manure shoveling for a month.” She laughed softly. “He didn’t look too happy about it.”

“It’s a smelly job.”

“You ever had to do it?”

“Shoveled my share of the stuff.”

“When? Where?”

“Here and there. Every cowboy has to do it.”

She’d hoped for more explanation but he didn’t offer any.

“What’s the hardest job you’ve ever had?”

He stared into the distance. “Burying my ma.”

Sybil’s thoughts stalled as pain and regret clawed up her limbs. She’d expected him to talk about horses. Instead, he reminded her of her own loss and loneliness, and her chin sank forward. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to be without parents.”

He didn’t answer.

She sucked in air to fill her tight lungs. Was he all alone? Did that explain why he drifted from place to place? Perhaps he sought for belonging. Family. Or home. “Brand, who are you?” The words sprang forth unbidden, but she ached to know.

He grunted and any welcome she might have imagined in his eyes disappeared into a stone-hard look. “Exactly what you see. A cowboy with a horse and a dog.”

“But you must have a name besides Brand. You must be more than that.”

His eyes grew harder, colder, if that was possible, and she shivered.

He might well have said, “Goodbye, this conversation is over.”

She had enough for her story.

He was known only as Cowboy. He never did give a last name before he rode into the sunset. He didn’t welcome any questions about his true identity. But he was the best bronc buster in the territory. A reputation well earned.

It began when he was ten...

But she wasn’t satisfied.

He interrupted her thoughts. “You best get the boy back before his folks start looking for him.”

She wanted to know what caused the pain she glimpsed before Brand pulled his hat lower. It wasn’t from his leg, but a tenacious wound that she suspected went deep and needed tending.

A wound left to fester was dangerous.

She patted Dawg one last time and rose to her feet. “Goodbye. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

She took Grady’s hand, but faced Brand another moment. “Be sure and take care of your leg.” Brand would have to find his own way of healing the deeper wound in his soul. “May God go with you and keep and protect you.”

She and Grady left.

Brand would be gone in the morning. She’d never see him again. She wished she’d been able to get more information, but that did not explain the sense of loss she felt.

She had no explanation for that and forbade herself to dwell on it.

Sybil took her time returning to the ranch site. She didn’t know whether to kick herself for being so direct with him, or put it down to an honest question that deserved an honest answer.

Grady ran ahead and joined his friend Billy near the foreman’s house.

As Sybil passed the cookhouse, Mercy sprang to her side, causing her to jump and press her palm to her chest to calm her heart. “Where did you come from?”

Mercy tucked her hand around Sybil’s arm. “Jayne told me what happened and said you’d gone to check on Brand. How is he?”

As evasive as a turtle. But of course, Mercy meant his leg. “Said it hurt some but he’d live.”

“You sound disappointed. Did you want to see him hurt?”

The words stung. “Of course not. But I had hoped he’d reveal a bit more about himself.”

“Ahh. So it’s all about your story?”

“Certainly. What else would it be?”

Mercy drew back and held her hands up. “I thought it might be about the man.”

She had been thinking of the man, not the story. Not that she’d ever admit so to her friend.

“Did you get up the nerve to ask him questions?”

She had. But it wasn’t nerve that prompted her question. Nor was it curiosity. She really wanted to know more about him. As a man. Best if Mercy didn’t know that, however. “As soon as I asked him who he was he got all cold and distant.”

Mercy grew thoughtful. “He must be running from something or maybe hiding something. Maybe he killed a man and is running from the law.” She shrugged. “Or maybe he just doesn’t like human company.”

Sybil shrugged. “Who knows? And I guess it doesn’t matter. He’s leaving as soon as Eddie pays him. I’ll write a story based on what I have, and that’s the end of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sybil had no idea what her friend was sorry about and didn’t intend to ask. No doubt Mercy would have more to say than she cared to hear.

* * *

Who are you? The question ricocheted around the inside of Brand’s head.

The words that had pressed against his lips were not the words he could allow himself to utter. He was a man who longed for female company. Even more than that, for someone with whom he could share the ordinary events of his life...even his thoughts.

He shook his head at the crazy notion.

Brand stared at the cold fire. If he meant to stay here he should get some more supplies. But he didn’t want to spend too much time in town. He could survive on cold beans. Had done so on more than one occasion, usually because he was trying to make time and not reveal his whereabouts with a fire.

He unwrapped Cookie’s cinnamon buns and took a bite of one. It was really good. He ate all three of them.

He should have told Sybil who he was. Who he had to be. A Duggan on the run, hiding his name, hiding from his pa and brother, hiding who he really was on the inside. He couldn’t change that fact. All he could do was accept it and be grateful he had been able to stay ahead of the gang.

Once Pa and Cyrus found him they became unstoppable.

How many times had Cyrus slammed him against a wall saying, “You been friends with those uppity people. Guess they must have money hidden in their house. Where is it?”

No matter how many times, or how hard Brand denied such knowledge, Cyrus would not accept it.

“Go back there and find out where they keep their money. We’ll be waiting and watching until you do,” he would press his face close and growl.

“Cyrus, be nice to your brother,” Pa would say. He said the right thing, but he didn’t intend to let Brand go, any more than Cyrus did.

“I can’t believe you’re my brother.” Brand had once spat the words at him.

Pa didn’t intervene when Cyrus punched Brand in the gut.

Brand had learned to wrap rags around his horse’s hooves and find his way out of town in midnight darkness.

The lonesome call of a coyote echoed across the dusky plains, breaking into his memories. Another call came from the opposite direction.

Brand shuffled about. Most days he enjoyed the way the coyotes called to each other, and the yip-yip-yi of their singing, but tonight the sound ached through his insides like an untreated sore, filled with painful loneliness.

Was it loneliness that had driven him to court May? He’d thought her so sweet, a real lady. He tried to recall her face, but saw only blue eyes. No, May’s eyes had been brown, like her hair.

They’d met five years ago, when she came into the store where he was buying supplies, in one of the many towns he’d stayed in only long enough to keep ahead of Pa. Brand could barely recall the names of most. This one had been Lost River, Wyoming. She’d asked a few questions and got vague answers, just enough for her to guess he was alone and unsure of the future. She’d invited him to join her and her family for church and then dinner afterward, shared with her parents, a widowed aunt and a sullen younger brother. Following the meal, they’d played board games.

It was the best Sunday Brand had known since his mother died.

Sundays with May’s family became a regular occurrence, as did Saturday afternoon outings. He and May spent time with her family. Sometimes they walked along the edge of town on their own.

He hadn’t seen Pa and Cyrus since Ma’s death, and let his guard down, thinking now Ma was gone they had no use for him.

Then he saw their names in a newspaper story. They’d robbed a bank, shot an innocent woman in the ensuing gunfight. A half-page poster accompanied the story. Duggan Gang Wanted. $500 Reward. Dead or Alive.

The ink had smudged, so it was impossible to see their likeness clearly, and no one looked at Brand with suspicion.

But he decided to tell May the truth. He planned the moment carefully. Saturday afternoon they walked to a secluded spot just out of town, where he could hope for privacy.

“That’s my pa and brother,” he said, knowing no other way to say it.

“Who?”

“The Duggan gang.”

She’d laughed. “Don’t be silly.”

He laughed, too, though out of nervousness, not mirth. “I’ve never been part of the gang.”

“Of course you haven’t.” She’d given him a playful push.

“How do you feel about being associated with a Duggan?” He waited, unable to pull in a satisfying breath. Then, overcome with a need to make her see it could be okay, he poured out a gush of words. “Ma and me always ran from them, but they’ve forgotten about me since my ma died. They’d never harm you. I wouldn’t let them.” He had no idea how he planned to protect her. In hindsight he knew he had deluded himself into believing they wouldn’t come after him.

She’d stared at him, her eyes wide as she accepted the truth. “A Duggan. An outlaw gang.”

“Not me. I’ve never robbed a soul.” Surely she couldn’t believe otherwise.

She backed away.

When he followed, she held up her hands. Her face twisted. “How dare you? What will happen if people associate my name with yours? A Duggan.” She spat the word out as if it burned her tongue.

She flung about and returned to the road.

He went after her. “May, wait.” He had to make her understand.

She kept walking. “Go away. I never want to see you again.”

He ground to a halt. Again his life had been shattered by the Duggan name. It was a curse.

He’d returned to his job, but three days later knew he had to move on. As he saddled up, a bunch of rowdies rode into town. He’d glanced up in time to see Pa and Cyrus leading a half dozen hard-looking men.

They had come. They would always come. They would find him. Even in Canada. Brand had no doubt of it. And if he had a lick of sense he would leave now. Before they showed up. Before they put Sybil in danger. Before he had to face the same cold dismissal he’d seen in May’s face.

Dawg lifted his head and growled.

Brand calmed him with a touch.

Hard voices murmured through the aspen. Hoofbeats thudded. Two horses, if he didn’t miss his guess. Had the reward money brought someone to his camp? He reached for his pistol.

The sounds grew closer. He got a glimpse of two horses and riders through the leaves.

His fingers tensed on his gun. Dead or alive meant bounty hunters would just as soon shoot him as tie him up. Less trouble that way.

The trail turned. So did the riders. Not until he could no longer hear them did his grip on the gun relax.

His heartbeat slowed to normal.

How long could he stay without putting himself in danger? Worse, putting Sybil and the others in danger from the Duggan gang?

But he’d told Eddie he would break the horses, and he meant to keep his word, though it wasn’t horses, Eddie or his honor that made him ignore his common sense.

It was the hope of seeing a golden-haired girl again that made him ignore all the reasons for leaving that normally proved enough to spur him on his way.

Dare he allow himself to hope Pa and Cyrus had forgotten about him?

He laughed at such high hopes.

Chapter Five

The next morning, Sybil made her customary notes in her journal, then tucked her writing pad and pencil into the deep pocket of her dress designed expressly to hide them, and left the house. She meant to walk a little distance from the buildings and find a quiet, secluded place to work on the story of the nameless cowboy. Only he wasn’t exactly that. He was Brand.

But who else was he?

Her thoughts darted back and forth among the bits and pieces of information she’d gleaned. How much could she embellish to give the impression of strength and honor she sensed in him before her story grew more fanciful than actual?

So lost was she in her contemplations, she didn’t realize a man worked with a horse in the corral until she reached the bunkhouse, where she had an unobstructed view.

Her feet stuttered to a stop, matching her stuttering heartbeat.

Was that Brand? She knew the answer even before the bucking horse brought him around to face her.

His head jerked back. Their gazes collided with such force she gasped and pressed both palms to her chest as if she could stop the frantic surging of her heart.

Why had he come back?

Her mind raced with a thousand possibilities, all of which ended in one question. Had he come back to tell her who he was?

The horse bucked again and Brand turned away.

She blinked back her surprise. She must move on before anyone wondered why she stood in the middle of the yard staring in Brand’s direction.

Sybil hurried onward until she found a private spot and sat down, pressing her back to the sunlit poplar. She lifted the backs of her hands to her overheated cheeks and slowed her breathing to normal. Why did she feel such a peculiar leap in the depths of her heart at his return?

She shook away her stumbling confusion. Time to forget uncertainties and get to work. She pulled out her notebook and pencil and turned to the page where she had been arranging notes on Brand’s story. “Who are you, Brand?” she wrote.

After thirty minutes or so all she’d put on the page besides that question were a series of doodles—circles that went round and round. Exactly how she felt as her thoughts returned again and again to the cowboy in the corrals. Why had he returned?

And why does it matter to you?

Only because I feel like it’s an answer to a prayer if he changed his mind about being a nameless, rootless cowboy.

And why would that matter to you?

Annoying, persistent voice.

Because.

Yes?

She closed the notebook and put it in her pocket before she answered. Because it gives me a chance to learn more about him for my story.

Oh yes. The story. The one you haven’t added a word to in half an hour of sitting here.

“I will.” She silenced the inner voice by speaking aloud. “I just have to learn more about him.”

She pushed herself to her feet and dusted off her skirts. She didn’t know how long Brand would stay around, but she would find an excuse to visit him and talk to him and get the information she needed to flesh out her story.

Right then she returned to the house to help Linette with kitchen chores. The afternoon sped by as they made pickled beets and filled dozens of jars. The kitchen grew hot and steamy. Sybil’s nose stung with the smell of vinegar.

Finally, the bottles of burgundy beets sat in neat rows on the cupboard shelves and Linette rubbed her hands together. “These will be so tasty during the winter months.”

Sybil was about to excuse herself when her friend pulled out potatoes for the evening meal. She couldn’t leave Linette to prepare supper on her own. They finished just as Eddie and Grady came in. Mercy followed, and they gathered around the big wooden table in the kitchen.

Sybil joined the others for the meal. Would Brand be gone by the time she got a chance to leave the house?

After supper there were dishes. Finally, she dried the last pot and hung the towels to dry. She looked around the kitchen. “I thought I’d go see if Brand is still breaking horses if you don’t need me for anything more.” She hoped her words sounded casual. As if it didn’t matter one way or the other.

Mercy winked at Sybil. “I’ll help Linette if she needs anything. You run along.”

Sybil ignored her and waited for Linette’s reply. “Yes, you run along.” And if Linette grinned at Mercy as if they shared a secret, Sybil pretended not to notice.

As she left the house, her gaze went immediately to the corrals. No bucking horses. Was he done, and gone already? She hurried, but not enough to make anyone think she was desperate.

Brand was still there, talking to Buster, the youngest cowboy on the ranch.

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