Winning Over the Wrangler

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.