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Eddie said amen. Each of them tossed in a handful of dirt then passed by Brand, uttering condolences. Sybil went last. She ached to be able to forgive his treachery and who he was. But how could she? Yet she must let him know she understood his sorrow. She’d tried earlier, but felt he was too shocked by his father’s death to really hear her. “I’m sorry,” she said. Such inadequate words for all she felt. “I know what it’s like to lose one’s father.”
His gaze jerked to her, hard, glistening with tears, yet probing.
She jolted as his look rattled against the insides of her heart—an intruder, unwelcome, unsafe.
“Your father was a good man. Mine was an outlaw.” His voice grated. “It’s not the same.”
She patted his arm. “He was your father. It’s the same.”
She left. Why did she say that? It didn’t make sense and yet it was the truth, and somehow, she knew he needed to hear it.
Bertie went to Eddie. “Boss, he needs to be alone with his grief and loss.”
“It’s not a privilege I can give him.”
“Give me the gun. I’ll guard him but respect his need for privacy.”
Eddie considered the request, then nodded to Seth, who handed the rifle to Bertie. Bertie sat on a rock a few feet away.
Brand watched the proceedings without a flicker of expression.
“Ignore me,” Bertie said. “I won’t bother you unless you try and escape.”
Sybil joined the others as they returned to the house. She lingered at the back door, watching Brand standing over his father’s grave. Dawg lay at his feet, his head on his paws, watching his master.
Mercy came to her side. “I guess you can’t help feeling sorry for him even though they are outlaws.”
Sybil didn’t answer. She could never forgive him for being an outlaw and for hiding his identity from her. Nor would she listen to her conscience, which said she must forgive if she wished to be forgiven. Any more than she’d listen to the part of her brain that said he hadn’t forced her to enjoy his company the few days he was at the ranch under false pretenses.
She turned away and put her efforts into helping Linette. Her body was usefully occupied. Too bad her heart wouldn’t be diverted.
* * *
Brand stared at the hole before him. His father lay in the cold ground. He shivered. The grave would soon be covered with dirt and then a layer of snow. But Pa wasn’t there. He was in heaven with Ma.
Brand wasn’t sure how to deal with the sorrow that clawed at his insides. How often had he wished both Pa and Cyrus would not bother him anymore? But not like this. Death was too final.
He sighed and shifted his gaze toward the house. Was that Sybil in the shadows? Then the figure was gone. She’d expressed her regrets. Said she understood that he mourned his pa. He wished he could think she cared, that it was more than politeness, but he didn’t dare allow such a thought.
He was more than grateful for the kindness shown his pa. That had to be all he could think of. Eddie had informed him he could wait in the barn for the Mountie’s return. It was no more than Brand expected. He only wished the Mountie would hurry up so he could leave this place. He fought a constant fight against the sweet memories of the past few days.
“I’m done,” he said to Bertie.
Bertie led him past the house, Dawg walking at his side. Brand forced himself not to look at the windows for a glimpse of Sybil. He had enough memories to carry him through his future, which would be short and end abruptly.
They went to the pen he and Dawg had recently shared. He averted his eyes from the place where Sybil had sat, her back to the rough wood as she visited with him and touched him. Silently, he submitted to being tied securely to a sturdy corner post.
“Surely hate to do this, son, but I got me orders.”
“Don’t worry. It’s what I expect.”
Bertie finished and squatted in front of him, eye to eye. “Linette says your pa made his peace with God before his death. Glad to hear that. What about you? Are you prepared to meet your maker?”
The man’s gentle concern melted Brand’s frozen heart and he smiled. “I am indeed. My ma was a strong believer and taught me to be the same, though truth be told, I let my faith slip for many years.”
