Winning Over the Wrangler. Linda Ford

laughed softly. “He didn’t look too happy about it.”

      “It’s a smelly job.”

      “You ever had to do it?”

      “Shoveled my share of the stuff.”

      “When? Where?”

      “Here and there. Every cowboy has to do it.”

      She’d hoped for more explanation but he didn’t offer any.

      “What’s the hardest job you’ve ever had?”

      He stared into the distance. “Burying my ma.”

      Sybil’s thoughts stalled as pain and regret clawed up her limbs. She’d expected him to talk about horses. Instead, he reminded her of her own loss and loneliness, and her chin sank forward. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to be without parents.”

      He didn’t answer.

      She sucked in air to fill her tight lungs. Was he all alone? Did that explain why he drifted from place to place? Perhaps he sought for belonging. Family. Or home. “Brand, who are you?” The words sprang forth unbidden, but she ached to know.

      He grunted and any welcome she might have imagined in his eyes disappeared into a stone-hard look. “Exactly what you see. A cowboy with a horse and a dog.”

      “But you must have a name besides Brand. You must be more than that.”

      His eyes grew harder, colder, if that was possible, and she shivered.

      He might well have said, “Goodbye, this conversation is over.”

      She had enough for her story.

      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...

      But she wasn’t satisfied.

      He interrupted her thoughts. “You best get the boy back before his folks start looking for him.”

      She wanted to know what caused the pain she glimpsed before Brand pulled his hat lower. It wasn’t from his leg, but a tenacious wound that she suspected went deep and needed tending.

      A wound left to fester was dangerous.

      She patted Dawg one last time and rose to her feet. “Goodbye. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

      She took Grady’s hand, but faced Brand another moment. “Be sure and take care of your leg.” Brand would have to find his own way of healing the deeper wound in his soul. “May God go with you and keep and protect you.”

      She and Grady left.

      Brand would be gone in the morning. She’d never see him again. She wished she’d been able to get more information, but that did not explain the sense of loss she felt.

      She had no explanation for that and forbade herself to dwell on it.

      Sybil took her time returning to the ranch site. She didn’t know whether to kick herself for being so direct with him, or put it down to an honest question that deserved an honest answer.

      Grady ran ahead and joined his friend Billy near the foreman’s house.

      As Sybil passed the cookhouse, Mercy sprang to her side, causing her to jump and press her palm to her chest to calm her heart. “Where did you come from?”

      Mercy tucked her hand around Sybil’s arm. “Jayne told me what happened and said you’d gone to check on Brand. How is he?”

      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