It took almost an hour to work the rock out of the spot it was wedged into without damaging Galead's hoof, but Bret came up smiling and sweaty at long last. "That was no accident," he pronounced, and both Bart and Molly looked at him with concern.
"No?" Molly asked as he shook his head.
"No," Bret replied. He looked at his brother. "They've moved on to the next phase."
"Sure seems that way. Ya know where they're goin' next, don't ya?"
"What are you two talking about?" Molly's face wore a puzzled expression.
Bret didn't want to talk about it while they were out in the open. "Molly, you ride Blackthorn. I'll walk Galead back. I think we should take him there good and slow, without any additional weight. You don't want to damage that hoof."
"Can Blackthorn hold both of us?" the girl asked.
"Sure," Bret answered. "You take the saddle, I'll ride behind."
"Give me Galead's reins," Bart volunteered. "I'll walk him nice and easy."
Molly mounted Bret's stallion and he swung up behind her, after handing the reins of the Arabian to his brother.
"Oh!" Molly exclaimed, twisting her head back towards Bret. "It was deliberate, wasn't it? The stone in the shoe?"
"I'm sure of it," he answered her. "The way it was wedged in there, that took some doin'."
"To deliberately lame him?"
"Yeah. Runnin' the mares off, so we'd have to go after 'em. Get us out where you'd be forced to ride him until he pulled up."
"My poor boy! All for some land?"
Bret nodded. "All for some land. You won't sell any other way, but if you haven't got a stud for the cross-breedin' . . . "
"Jeremiah?"
"Or one of his group. It's been hard to deal with, Molly, but it's gonna get worse. They haven't got too many ways to get your land left to 'em."
Bart had ridden up slowly with Galead trailing behind. The Arabian was walking without any trace of a limp so far. "What he's tryin' to tell you, Molly, is that the next time somebody starts shootin' at one or the other of us, they won't be shootin' to miss."
"Me, I understand. But why would they shoot at the two of you?"
"It's our fault," Bret responded.
"Your fault? How, pray tell?"
"That's easy enough," Bart explained. "You were down to your last set of Vaqueros until we came along. We've helped fix up the place, brand the mares, an get you back on your feet. If it wasn't for us you might have given up an sold already."
"So that's what the beating was about?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'm so sorry, Hancock." There was sadness and regret in Molly's voice.
"Don't you do that, Miss Molly. Don't you apologize for somethin' you had no hand in. We're the ones took the job, you done nothin' wrong."
"But if you hadn't – "
Bret interrupted. He knew what Bart was thinking. "We'd have gotten into trouble somewhere else. Sometimes it just seems to follow us around."
"Let's just get you an the horse back home," Bart finished. "Then we can come back out lookin' for the mares."
Molly shook her head vehemently. "I'll ride one of the mares. If you're coming back out to search, then so am I."
They both started at the same time. "I don't – "
"I'm not – "
"It doesn't matter what either of you want. It's my ranch, and they're my mares. I'm coming back out with you."
"Yes, ma'am."
XXXXXXXX
It was later in the day by the time they got back to the ranch and Bret was able to help repair the shoe, a trade he'd learned the hard way long ago in a mining camp in Chloride, Arizona. It was one of the few times in their lives the brothers had actually been estranged, and it was the only way Bret could make enough money to survive and get back on his feet. "It's temporary, at best," Bret explained, "but it will hold him until we can get him into Yuma and get it fixed proper."
"How about some lunch before we go back out?" Molly questioned.
"Sure, sounds good to me," Bret replied. As soon as Molly was headed for the house Bret turned to his brother. "You ready to go?"
"I figured you had that in mind. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
In less than five minutes they were mounted and gone. "She's gonna be mad, ya know," Bart told Bret.
"I know, but at least she'll be safe while we find the horses."
Several hours later they returned with all the missing mares. Bart was right, Molly was angry – but at the same time she couldn't stay angry at them for wanting to protect her. "You left without me," she scolded after closing the gate to the corral once the horses were inside.
"Yes, ma'am, and we'd do it again if we had to. It was for your own protection." Bart saw the quick glance that was exchanged between his brother and the ranch owner, and realized he'd been wrong when he assumed nothing had happened between them. Something important was in that glance, and he knew that whatever he'd begun to feel for Molly would be better off forgotten.
"You found all of them?"
"We did."
"And you must be starving."
Both brothers laughed. "That would come pretty close to explainin' this feelin', yes, ma'am. Right close." Even Bart had to admit saying they were starving was accurate.
"Then come on inside and get supper," Molly told them. "And don't ever run off and leave without me again."
"Yes, ma'am," both answered at the same time.
Supper was quiet, until Molly asked, "Who are they most likely to go after first?"
The Maverick 'look' was exchanged between the two men. "One or both of us," Bret answered. "In the hopes that if we're gone, you'll give in and accept their offer."
"I'd say 'be careful' but I'm sure you already know that."
They finished the meal in silence, and as soon as Bart was done with his coffee he forced a yawn. "Listen, I'm really worn out and my ribs are still botherin' me. If you two don't mind, I'm gonna turn in for the night."
Bret and Molly both shook their heads, and Bret added, "Watch out goin' to the bunkhouse."
"I will, Brother - " and Bart caught himself before he said 'Bret.' "I'll see y'all in the mornin'."
"Good-night, Hancock," came from the girl.
"Catch you in the mornin', son," Bret told Bart as he headed for the door.
This time, Molly picked up on the familiarity. "You've called him that before. Why? You sure aren't old enough to be his father."
"I practically raised him," Bret answered with little hesitation.
"You raised him? But you've got different names."
"My parents were . . . not around. His momma died young and his pappy had to work for a livin'. So while I was raisin' me, I was raisin' him, too. Sometimes, now that we're growed, I call him son. Sometimes he calls me Pappy. It's a fair trade."
"You two have the strangest relationship I've ever seen."
Bret shook his head. "Nope, not strange at all. I'd die for him – or kill to protect him. He'd do the same for me."
"Like brothers."
"Yes, ma'am, just like brothers."
"I wonder what it would be like to have someone feel that way about me?" Molly asked wistfully.
"As long as you don't ask it to be me," Bret answered while they were taking the dishes to the wash basin. She laughed and looked up at him, and he bent slightly and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, almost tentative, and then it was more than that, and he folded her into his arms and kissed her like he meant it. When he pulled away from her, at last, it was with an apology. "I'm sorry, Molly, I think I should go."
"Don't leave, Joe. Stay."
He debated for half a second. It was her calling him 'Joe' that finally made up his mind. He hadn't even told her his real name; he couldn't stay and take advantage of her like that. "For both our sakes," he told her, and when he moved away she didn't try to stop him.
He went back to the bunkhouse, where Bart was already asleep. "Goodnight, little brother," he whispered and, after getting undressed, climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up. That night he dreamt of Mary Alice Tompkins, the first girl he'd ever been in love with, and had tried so unsuccessfully to marry when he was all of fifteen years old. His dreams changed nothing.