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Like his pa said, Brand was a Duggan. The man she’d thought she saw a few days ago was nothing but a figment of her overactive imagination.
Time to face reality and bring herself in line with the rules of conduct she’d lived by all her years.
Chapter Twelve
Brand watched Sybil and Mercy leave the room, listening to Mercy’s voice as they descended the stairs. He gave Slim a silent stare, then settled back in his chair.
It was the first time he’d been in a house in a very long time and it was a fine house. Pa lay on a real mattress, covered with real bedding. Likely he hadn’t enjoyed such since before Ma died.
Nor had Brand enjoyed such since Ma’s death. He’d been always on the run. Always hoping to stay ahead of Pa and Cyrus. Hoping no one would discover he was a Duggan.
But as Pa said to Sybil, he was a Duggan.
Although he’d gone along with the gang only to protect Sybil. He hadn’t even held a gun during the attempted robbery. Not that he expected anyone to believe him.
There was only one more thing he wanted before he went to his short future—to see Pa accept God’s forgiveness before he died.
Brand would also like to see Sybil believe his innocence. But he’d sacrificed that two days ago.
The patient stirred and Brand leaned forward to touch his arm. “Pa?” he whispered, ignoring eagle-eyed Slim’s watchfulness.
Pa mumbled something Brand couldn’t make out.
Brand watched his chest rise and fall, his own breathing matching the movement. So long as Pa drew breath he still had the opportunity to seek forgiveness.
Brand kept a careful vigil, waiting for him to waken.
And praying. That surprised him. His neglected, forgotten faith had been right there all the time. He only had to stop and listen to the call in his heart.
The rise and fall of Pa’s chest marked off the passing minutes.
Despite his concentration, Brand knew the exact second Sybil stepped into the room. He felt her with every nerve ending that responded in eager welcome. It took every ounce of self-control to keep his gaze on his father.
She was alone, and Slim rose to accompany her to the bed, guarding her.
“The dressings will need changing again.”
Pa stirred as she lifted the covers. He opened his eyes.
Brand would not let Slim and his rifle, nor Sybil and her alluring presence, stop him. He leaned over his father. “Please, Pa, before it’s too late.”
“Brand, stop fretting.” His thin hand patted Brand’s. “I done made my peace with God. Like you said, He’s forgiven me.”
Joy erupted in Brand’s heart. He had to share this feeling with someone, and looked up into Sybil’s eyes, not caring that she would likely not rejoice as deeply as he was. Why would she? Most people would think the Duggan gang deserved nothing but punishment.
Her mouth curved in a sweet smile.
His heart threatened to jolt from his chest. For one heartbeat, two, and then a thunderous third beat he let himself drown in that look. Then Pa grabbed his hand and mercifully brought him back to his senses.
“Son, I ain’t long for this world. Promise me something.”
He wanted to argue that Pa would recover, but he couldn’t. He’d seen how Linette had earlier applied a paste of something she said an Indian woman had given her, said it would stop bleeding in normal situations.
Pa’s was obviously not normal, as his wound continued to bleed. “Anything.” If it was in his power to do.
“Promise me you’ll tell Cyrus he can be forgiven, too.”
Surprised at the request, Brand jerked his gaze toward Sybil.
She shuddered. He felt her anger.
“Brand?” Pa sounded anxious, and Brand brought his gaze back to him.
“Yes, Pa. I promise.”
The old man sighed. Brand waited, but Pa had fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.
Brand allowed himself to lift his gaze to Sybil again. “Can God forgive my brother?”
She would not meet his eyes. “Of course.”
“Can you?”
She gathered up a basin full of soiled rags. “I don’t know.” And she left the room.
He understood. Neither brother could expect forgiveness from her. Cyrus didn’t merit it and wouldn’t care.
Brand could never prove he deserved it, even though he cared so much that his throat was impossibly tight.
