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“Then do it.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Are you afraid of the risks?” Wasn’t he? “This is the West. Things can be different.” His words accused him. “You can make them different.” Did he truly believe it? If he did, wouldn’t he act on the knowledge?
Her head snapped up. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you. You can make people look at the Duggan name differently.”
They stared at each other, her eyes blazing with challenge.
He figured his did, as well. Then the humor of the situation hit him and he laughed. “A Mexican standoff.”
Her eyes widened. “What’s that?”
“It usually means two gunfighters confront each other and there is no way either can win because they are evenly matched. But it can also refer to something like this, when neither party is willing to back down.”
She laughed. “I expect you know a lot of cowboy stories.”
He shrugged. Of course he knew a few.
“Have you ever seen a Mexican standoff where guns weren’t involved?”
Grinning at the memory that sprang to mind, he said, “I once heard of one between two men on horses. Seems they both headed down a narrow alleyway at the same time, coming from opposite ends. There wasn’t room for the horses to pass and neither would give in and back his horse out. They spent most of the day there until a Mountie came along and made them both back up and use a different route.”
She laughed, the sound dancing across the strings of his heart. “What do you call a horse like the one Cal found for you? The one Eddie had forbidden anyone to ride.”
“That’s easy. An outlaw. He obeys no rules. Accepts no authority.”
“Oh, I like that.” She smiled as if pleased with his explanation. She studied him intently. “You said you spent last winter in a cabin? Is that how you’ve spent—what is it? Six winters since your mother died?”
A thousand memories, ten thousand hopes and dreams and twice as many disappointments ambushed him, leaving his lungs too tight to do their job. Outlaw lungs. Then his breath eased with a whistle and he was able to speak.
“It was December when Ma died. She’d already made plans for Christmas. She worked extra hard planning a special day. I worked, too, by cleaning out the livery barn every afternoon. Ma did laundry, took in mending and cleaned houses.
“We hadn’t seen Pa and his gang in a long time. Ma said maybe they’d decided to leave us alone. I hoped it was so.” He broke off and tried to slow his thoughts. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’ve put it out of my mind.”
She held his gaze in a velvet grasp that made it impossible to pull away. “You’ve tried to forget it but you haven’t. What happened to your ma?”
“Pa.” One word, but it said everything he felt. “Pa and Cyrus showed up. They brought gifts. A blue taffeta dress for Ma. You should have seen her eyes light up. For me, they brought a brand-new pair of alligator boots and a leather belt. I guess my eyes lit up, too.
“But Ma put the dress back in the paper and handed it to Pa. She said she couldn’t benefit from ill-gotten gains. I handed back the boots and the belt, too, though it hurt me a lot to do so.” Brand paused, lost in his memories of that time. “I didn’t think life could get any worse. But it did.” Hearing the regret and maybe a bit of misery in his voice, he held up his hand. “Not that I’m whining. I’ve had a good enough life.” For a Duggan.
Sybil made a disbelieving sound. Her mouth pulled down.
He didn’t want sympathy. So he went on with his story. “Pa and Cyrus stormed out. A little later a neighbor rushed over to say the general store had been robbed. Many of the Christmas presents ordered by the townsfolk had been stolen or broken, and the store owner shot.”
Sybil touched his hand, squeezed it. “It was your pa’s gang?”
“Of course. Guess he figured to make Ma pay for refusing his gifts.”
“That’s dreadful.”
Brand quirked his eyebrows, hoping she would read the gesture as agreement rather than the pain and shame it indicated. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. The Duggan gang was awful.”
