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He was ready to take the chance.
It was midafternoon when he finished his job. “All the gates are in good repair,” he told Eddie. “What do you have for me to do now?”
“There’s no point in starting another job this late in the day,” the rancher said. “You’re free to do whatever you like.”
“Okay, boss.” There was only one thing he wanted to do. He’d seen Sybil leave the house half an hour ago, headed in the direction of his old campsite. It seemed to be where she liked to go to be alone...where she read and wrote.
He washed up reasonably well, left Dawg in the barn and headed for the spot. This time it was about him and Sybil. He did not want Dawg to be part of what he had to say.
She sat against a tree, the golden leaves a bright backdrop. More leaves danced across the ground, fluttered in the air. She distractedly brushed one from her hair, lost in concentration as she wrote furiously.
He stood in the shadows, content to watch.
Her hand paused. She lifted her head, listening, and then glanced about.
He stepped forward so she wouldn’t be alarmed. “Howdy.”
She smiled, her cheeks rosy and her blue eyes glinting. “Howdy, yourself.”
He crossed the clearing to her side and sat down. He hadn’t thought this far ahead, hadn’t planned how he’d do this. It didn’t seem right to blurt out “I love you.” Seemed something that important should be done properly. “What are you doing?”
“Yesterday when you talked to the boys about learning to ride wild horses, I thought of another story.” She kept her head down.
“Why are you embarrassed?”
There was a beat of silence as she considered his question. “I suppose because my writing means so much to me.”
“Are you going to get your stories published?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Because you’re still afraid of how people will react?” If the opinion of others mattered so much, how could he tell her how he felt? People would likely say unkind things if her name was linked to his. Would she let them influence her? He swallowed. This was harder than riding a wild horse.
“It’s not so much that.” She paused a moment, then went on. “Being published means someone has to be willing to publish my stories.”
“And you wonder if anyone would be?”
She nodded. “I’ve never tried to publish fiction.”
“Can I read your story?”
She handed him a handful of papers.
The story began well. Two daredevil boys with more guts than common sense decided to ride a wild mustang. He chuckled a few times as he read. He reached the end of the page and turned it over.
But the second page didn’t seem to follow.
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...
This wasn’t the same story. It wasn’t about children. It was about a grown man who broke horses, a loner with no name and an ugly, but loyal, dog.
This was his story.
Brand stared at the pages. “Have you had other things published?” The words felt like blocks of ice on his tongue.
“A few nonfiction articles, but not under my own name.”
He faced her, his eyes burning. “Is this one of those you’ve had published?” He shoved the pages toward her.
She glanced at them and gasped. “How did this get in there?”
He jerked to his feet. “So all the questions, all the interest was merely so you could write a story about a nameless cowboy?”
She scrambled to her feet. “No, Brand. Well, maybe at first. But—”
“I should have known. A fancy English miss and a nameless cowboy. Of course you had to have another reason.”
She reached for him.
He stepped away.
“Brand, I never sent the story to the editor. I couldn’t.”
He slammed his hat on his head. “Well, don’t let me stop you. I’m sure it’s worth more than—” He would not say what he’d intended. Me. “I hope it earns you a lot of money.” He strode away as fast as he could. He would not run, though his muscles twitched to do so.
