"Mother, I'm so sorry. I never thought--"

"We'll deal with all that later, Jarrod. Believe me, we will deal with it. Right now, let's get your brother well."

If the doctor thought the two brothers were protective of his patient, he soon discovered that Victoria Barkley was even more so. She listened patiently to what he had to say about her son's physical problems; all the time she was listening, her hand was resting on Heath's bare shoulder. Nodding in comprehension, she turned to her son.

"Sweetheart? Mother's here. Honey, I know you hurt, but you need to keep working to breathe. In a little bit, we'll get some broth and water down, won't we?"

Heath's eye opened slightly; a gleam of blue flashed. He reached out with his left hand and took Victoria's hand. Nick, Audra, and Jarrod smiled at each other. Yes, Mother was indeed here. And Heath knew it.

" . . . So, you see, Mrs. Barkley, it is best if trained staff members take care of the patients."

"This has been most interesting, Sister. Thank you. Now, if you don't mind, my son needs to swallow some more broth. Excuse me." And Victoria turned back to the cowboy.

Somewhere in Heath's mind, he realized that he was free. What he couldn't understand, however, was why the pain hadn't stopped. He had thought that once he got out of that prison, he wouldn't hurt. But here he was.

He still couldn't breathe. And the pain was bad, so bad. A couple of times, he just stopped trying. It was easer just to stop trying to breathe; the knives inside his chest and stomach didn't slice as hard. He began to hear a roaring in his ears and welcomed it. Then, a familiar voice pierced his ear.

"Heath! You hear me now! You can't stop fighting, Sweetheart! Now breathe!" Victoria's imperious voice cut through the roaring and mental fog. Raggedly, he gasped for air.

"That's it, Sweetheart. Again! Heath, I know it hurts, but you've got to do it." She cajoled him, she shouted at him, she ordered him. The only thing she didn't do was to let him go.

They kept opening his mouth and swabbing it. That hurt. Not as bad as some other things, but the frequency made it bad.

He wanted to sleep. No one would let him; he'd just go off and someone would wake him and ask him to squeeze their hand or lift his hand. Why? Mother kept talking to him about his head injury and how he needed to breathe. No one seemed to understand that every time he inhaled, he felt as if he was breathing through a straw.

And the food. Every time she could, she spooned something else in his mouth. Swallowing was hell. He hated that.

And the others were there, too. He heard Nick and Jarrod; he heard Audra. Seemed to him they all were talking so loud, and he wanted to sleep. But no one would let him sleep.

And then, the coughing. He would start to cough; the pain would make him stop. Then one of them would be there, holding something tight across his belly, ordering him to cough again. It hurt. It hurt so bad. And he was tired. But they wouldn't let him be.

He heard Jarrod. There was something he needed to tell Jarrod. His throat was on fire, but he had to try. He tried to talk; even he realized that the sounds he made weren't human. What was wrong? Had that maniac really cut out his tongue like he had threatened to do? He felt Jarrod's hand on his; he heard the lawyer's voice. What did he want to tell him? He didn't know. Heath only remembered that it was important.

Mother. There she was again. What did she want from him now? Swallow? Well, he couldn't. It hurt too bad. But there she was; she wouldn't let up. Stubborn didn't describe her. For such a tiny woman, he reckoned there was more punch to the pound in her than in anyone else he'd ever known. He tried. He choked. But she wouldn't give up.

Audra. And Nick. He'd know him anywhere. He wanted to see them, to tell them that he finally understood about crusaders. But he couldn't talk. Maybe if he just stopped trying, maybe then it would go easier. The thoughts jumbled through his mind as he worked on breathing and swallowing the broth and cooked egg whites Victoria tirelessly spooned down him. Then she was gone for a little while; Audra and Nick were there instead. They kept saying the same things: "Breathe. Eat. Swallow." No one would let him rest.

"Hello, Mrs. Barkley. I'm Stephen Milford."

"Mr. Milford." Victoria's voice would have frozen the rivers of Hell.

"I came to see how Heath was."

"I'm afraid he's not too well. But then, you might have expected that."

"May I see him?"

"Stephen, I think that would be a good thing." Jarrod's voice cut through Victoria's refusal. Angrily, she turned to him; seeing the lost look in his eyes, she relented. But she made sure she followed them into Heath's room.

Milford walked in the room with relative confidence. As he reached Heath's bedside, the cowboy coughed and gasped for air. Audra gently cleaned his face, whispering encouragement to him to be strong, that things would get better. Nick was holding him. His sister opened his mouth to swab it out; Milford saw the bloody mess, even from where he stood.

It couldn't be. The man Milford had seen only Tuesday, just a week ago--this couldn't be that man! He stared in shock at the swollen visage, the tracks of the blows the cowboy had taken. Nick stared at the sophisticated politician in silent scorn.

He turned. There was Victoria. She said nothing. He left. Victoria returned to caring for her son; Jarrod stood at the foot of Heath's bed, helpless, in the middle of his family and yet alone.

Gradually, things got a little better. Heath began to respond. His breathing was still painful, but not as wet and raspy as it had been. He realized that the work it had taken just to bring in air was less, but he also knew how much it still hurt.

The family was jubilant. The horrible wheezing sounds that had accompanied each labored breath were softer. The doctor agreed; the swelling in his airway had diminished.

He still couldn't talk. The doctor said it would take a while. He was finally able to open his eyes a little more. It didn't help too much, because he was still seeing through a fog, but at least the knives in his gut and chest had been dulled.

"We can be optimistic, Mrs. Barkley. I think he's past the worst of it."

"Then we can take him home?"

"Let's see. It's been a little over twenty-four hours, hasn't it? Let's give him another day, if you don't mind. I want to make sure that he's stable. That long train trip won't help him."

"The train trip is no problem. We have a private car waiting; I'll see to it that a bed and everything else he needs are there for him." Nick stated this in a matter-of-fact voice; the doctor looked at him with renewed respect.

"He must be some kind of man to earn all this devotion."

"He's my brother." For Nick, that said it all.

Finally, they let him sleep. Instead of waking him every hour, he could actually rest for a couple of hours. Each time he awoke, they were there; Audra and Victoria had feeding him down to a fine art. Nick helped him with his physical needs. They kept telling him he was going home. He wanted that. Maybe they would let him rest when he was home.

The doctor showed them how to continue swabbing out his mouth with a watered-down peroxide solution.

"Keeping those cuts clean is crucial, Mrs. Barkley. Soft tissue damage is tricky; we really need to watch to avoid any type of infection. The only way to keep that from happening is to clean his mouth out with this solution frequently.

"Now, his throat is still raw and burned. He threw up so much; a lot of what he got rid of was stomach acid. That didn't help his airway very much. I'm afraid that a lot of the acid actually went into his nose as well. That means that he's going to have quite a bit of pain.

"That metal gag cut into his tongue and mouth pretty bad. I'm afraid that he won't be able to talk at all for several days; even after that, it's going to be hard for him. You can't expect him to be able to swallow easily for a while, either. He's going to need only very soft foods or liquids."

"Doctor, what about his pain? He seems to hurt so much."

"Well, Mr. Barkley, if you had gone through what he's endured, you'd be hurting, too. I wish we could give him some medication; however, I do think it's contraindicated because of his concussion."

He became more alert; his eyes opened even more. Delighted, Victoria kissed him. She saw him wince and apologized, but the delight in her face pleased him. He tried to smile at her, but his torn lips couldn't move as he wanted them to. He reached out his hand; she took it. He tensed as his eyes focused on something behind her.

She turned. She frowned.

"Mother, we have to ask him some questions. If we don't, all this will be for no purpose at all."

Victoria's eyes flashed fire again. Jarrod recognized that there would come a time when she would unleash her anger; however, he had to bring something good out of this mess. Heath could not have sacrificed so much for nothing. Neither could he.

"Heath? We have the prosecutor here, and some other people. I know you can't talk; do you think you can just nod or shake your head?"

The wounded man turned his head to look at his brother. He knew he wanted to talk to him, but he couldn't. What was he asking? Did he want him to nod his head? Heath tried. Jarrod smiled.

"All right, Heath. Now, this is the prosecutor. He is going to take Hook to trial; he needs to ask you just a couple of questions. If the answer is yes, please nod your head, all right?"

"Mr. Barkley, first accept my sympathy for what you've endured and are going through now. On behalf of the people of San Francisco, I apologize, and I thank you for being willing to go through this to help so many."

Heath looked at him. His eyes were almost completely open, but the bruising looked like someone had taken every color of the universe and put those colors at random in his face. The prosecutor shuddered involuntarily to think of the pain he must still be in.

"Mr. Barkley, do you know who it was that hurt you so badly?"

Heath nodded.

"Would you be able to identify them?"

He nodded again.

"When you are able, will you testify about what you went through and who put you through all this?"

He nodded again.

"Frank, is that all you need?"

"Jarrod, I really need the names of the guards as well as identifying the leader. Is there any way he can tell us?"

Heath tried. He knew the names. But his mouth and throat wouldn't cooperate.

"Can you write the names?"

"Frank, he's right handed."

"Can we try with his left hand?"

Victoria sighed angrily. Heath reached out to her. Smiling at him, she turned to the prosecutor. "This is it. I'll let him try once, but this is it."

"Yes, Ma'am. I understand."

Jarrod held the paper and gave Heath the pencil. Carefully, he tried to write the three words. They were so short and simple; it was unbelievable how they wandered over the page. But he did it.

"Mr. Barkley, may I read these names to you, and if they are the names of the ones who hurt you, will you just nod?"

Heath waited.

"Hook, Pete, and Sam. Are these the names of the ones who hurt you?"

Heath nodded.

"Thank you. Now, Gentlemen, my son needs rest. Good day." Dame Victoria ushered them out the door. Heath slept.

When he awakened, he saw Victoria and his family smiling at him. What now?

"Sweetheart, we're going home soon. In a minute, they're going to put you on a stretcher; we'll be on a train for a while, and then we'll be home."

Oh, no. Frantically, he looked around; Nick and Jarrod were there. He tried to talk, to tell them about his problem, but he couldn't make them understand.

"Heath, what is it? You can't get this upset; you'll hurt yourself. Now, what is wrong?"

Heath reached out and plucked at Nick's pants. Jarrod comprehended; a large grin spread over his face.

"Mother, he's upset because he isn't wearing any clothes. That's it, isn't it, Heath?"

He relaxed. Jarrod understood. But they were all laughing. Why?

"Heath, we'll put a nightshirt on you if you're so worried. But it's silly to worry; you'll be covered by blankets."

He glared at them; even through the bruises and cuts, the ferocity of his expression caused them all to break down in helpless laughter.

"Brother Heath, be grateful for the nightshirt. I have a feeling it's going to be some time before Mother lets you near your pants."

"If I did let him have his pants, he'd be out trying to work. And we can't have that." She smiled at him and brushed his hair back. Defeated, he lay still. But he wasn't happy.

They gave him a nightshirt. Nick was right; the blankets covered him. But he felt better. The trip home was long, but it was worth it. The transfer to the wagon was painful, but the way he grasped Nick's hand when the house came in sight made it worth everything to the family. Silas met them at the door.

"Welcome home, Mr. Heath. Welcome home." The butler hid his shock at the change in Heath's appearance as he accompanied the brothers up to Heath's room. "I've got your bed all turned down for you, Mr. Heath. You just rest easy. You're gonna be fine."

After he was settled, Silas sat with him for a while. Victoria had shown him the basics of how to care for the cowboy; Dr. Merar was to come out later in the evening to check him over. The family met downstairs, where Jarrod began.

"Well, who would like to take the first shot?"

The family looked at each other. Victoria took a deep breath.

"I had hoped that we would be able to postpone this discussion until we were all more rested, but perhaps it is good to get this out in the open. Jarrod, why don't you go over what happened, how it began, and tell us in your own words just why you thought this was a good idea."

The lawyer went over the entire story again. Victoria demanded silence until he was finished. At the end of the tale, he looked at them and said, "And, somehow, I thought nothing would or could go wrong."

"Jarrod, let me get this perfectly straight. You volunteered my brother--"

"Nick, he's my brother, too!" Jarrod's voice was sharp and loud.

"All right. You volunteered Heath before you asked him to come to San Francisco. Knowing that he was in a prisoner-of-war camp and to this day hates to be cooped up inside, knowing that he would do just about anything in the world you or any of us asked of him, you volunteered him to go be a prisoner?

"Knowing that he went through hell at Carterson, you volunteered him to be a candidate for torture again? And you gave him no back-up system to call for help, no one to turn to? Is this what you did with your precious crusade?" Nick spat out the last two words as if he had encountered a worm in an apple.

"Yes, Nick. That's about right."

"And you thought this was a good idea?" The tall cowboy's scorn was growing by the minute.

"Up until the night Heath came to San Francisco, yes. I thought it was a great idea."

"Why, Jarrod? Can you tell us why?" Victoria's voice was carefully neutral, but her eyes were stormy and dark. Audra just sat there, listening and looking at Jarrod with tears in her eyes. In some ways, that hurt Jarrod the most.

"Mother, I've gone over it and over it in my mind. Yes, I can tell you why. There was good evidence that Hook was using his power at San Quentin wrongly. But if we went in for an investigation, he was smart enough to keep all his dirty little secrets hidden. And what prisoner would talk? We'd leave, but the prisoner would be there--and so would Hook.

"We needed someone who was tough enough and brave enough to go inside and find out the truth. We needed someone who was incorruptible. We needed--we needed Heath. I couldn't think of anyone else who could even come close to him."

Nick's response was cut off by a knock on the door. He pointed to Jarrod before he turned to answer and said, "This still isn't over, Jarrod. And until you can go up to Heath's room, look at him, and tell me in front of him that what he went through was worth it, I'm not sure it ever will be."

Dr. Merar was a welcome relief from the tension. He carefully examined Heath, who was obviously unhappy at the extra attention. When he insisted on removing the bandages, the cowboy feebly beat the bed with his left hand. The wise old doctor chuckled as he noticed Heath's mute protest.

"Son, I have a feeling that you aren't too happy with me right now. Well, that's all right; I'm still going to check you over. So you might as well cooperate."

After the examination, he cleaned the wounds again before rebandaging Heath's cuts. He paid special attention to his ribcage, making sure the strapping was tight. Asking Victoria to get a few more pillows, he looked at Heath seriously.

"Son, you're not going to like what I have to say. So I'm going to get the rest of the family in here so that I won't have to go through it all again."

Heath's eyes looked back at the physician, waiting for the news. As his family came in, Jarrod noticed that he was only covered with a sheet. He walked over and pulled the blankets up over his brother.

"Folks, I'd just like to have to say this once. First, Heath will eventually be fine--that is, if he cooperates. He was stomped pretty bad; those cuts and bruises tell us that. But his real problem is going to be eating--and, of course, talking."

"Howard, what do you mean? The doctor in San Francisco said it would be a few days, but that Heath would recover."

"Now, Victoria, we all have different ideas about what a few days entails. Heath, when you threw up that water, you hadn't been fed for a good long time, had you?"

Heath shook his head no, waiting to find out what the good doctor was aiming at.

"Well, the stomach is an interesting thing. To digest food, it puts out a very strong acid. When there's no food in the stomach and the person throws up, the acid comes up, too. Heath, when you were vomiting all that water, did it burn your throat and nose?"

He nodded. Victoria interrupted.

"Howard, the doctor said that he had thrown up acid."

"When he did, that acid burned his throat and nasal cavity pretty bad. The cuts inside his mouth are deep, and they're not going to heal very fast, either. I'm just warning you that it's going to be a while before Heath is able to talk clearly or to eat normally. If you're not real careful, you're going to have one skinny son here, Victoria.

"Now, Heath, I wanted to talk to you in front of your family. You're going to be feeling better, except for the broken bones and the pain in your throat and mouth, very soon. I've gotten to know you. And I'm warning you of this: You'd better listen to us and do what we say, or you're going to take a long, long time before you ever get back out on the range again. Do you understand me?"

Nick walked over to his side. Placing his hand on his brother's shoulder (bare again, Heath noted bitterly), he said, "He understands, Doc. And he'll listen." Looking at Jarrod, he added, "So tell me, Counselor, was it worth it?"

Jarrod turned and left the room. Silas volunteered to sit with Heath so that the family could rest. They were all tired, but few of them slept. The next morning, they were all coming downstairs when they heard Silas' soft voice.

It was a dead heat for Nick and Jarrod; Victoria came next. Audra was close behind. Heath was panting; his covers were thrown back. He had swung his legs over the bed and was trying to stand; Jarrod caught him just before he fell.

"Easy, Heath. What's wrong?"

Heath looked at all of them. It was obvious that he had just awakened from a nightmare. His efforts cost him dearly; the pain erupted with a vengeance. As Jarrod and Nick got him settled in bed, Heath shook his head and tried to speak, but no one could understand what he was saying. His voice rasped painfully; his lacerated and swollen tongue would not articulate the sounds. They all decided to stay with him until he was calm again. Taking shallow breaths, the cowboy carefully closed his eyes and lay still. Thinking he was asleep, Nick turned to Jarrod.

"All right, Jarrod. Let's start again."

"Nick, keep it down."

In a softer voice, the cowboy continued. "I can see that in your mind Heath was the obvious choice. I even agree with you. But tell me this: Was it worth it to put him through all this?"

"Nick, that's not a question I can answer. I never dreamed this would happen."

"Jarrod, you've had that thought before! Now tell me this; when you staged that court martial, didn't you say the same thing?" Victoria's eyes burned through her son.

"Mother, there is a difference. Jarrod put himself on the line there--he did have a back-up plan to help if you and Audra were in danger. This time, he dumped Heath in an impossible situation and expected him to survive on his own."

"Actually, there isn't much difference at all. I still acted on my own and didn't consult anyone before the plans were made. The pain I caused wasn't that much different from what we're all going through now, watching Heath suffer." Jarrod's voice was soft and heavy with regret.

"Jarrod, there is a difference. You put him on the spot; what was he supposed to do in front of all your fancy friends, turn you down flat? Didn't he try to talk to you?" Nick's voice was rising.

"Yes, he did. He actually got up and left the meeting; I had no idea where he'd gone until late that same night. We had a long talk then; Heath gave me his reasons for agreeing."

"And what were they?"

"Basically, he had one. Cowardice." Jarrod looked at his brother as he softly voiced the word. Heath's eyelids flickered; he began to realize that the cowboy wasn't asleep. Preempting Nick's angry growl, he continued. "Heath said that he couldn't live with himself if anyone else took on the job and got hurt. And he said that he was saying yes because he was a coward; he wasn't brave enough to say no."

"Jarrod, surely you explained your reasons for choosing him! Didn't you make him see why you thought that he was the best choice for the job?" Nick's swift challenge showed Jarrod that the root of Nick's anger was still based in the way he had treated Heath.

"If you mean that I told him he was the most incorruptible man I know; if I told him that when I thought about people who were intelligent enough to find out what I needed and brave enough to go to the places where the information could be found, then no.

"I didn't tell him that. For some unforgivably stupid reason that I don't understand, I assumed that he just automatically knew what I thought of my father's youngest son."

Jarrod's voice grew louder as Heath's eyes came open. Looking directly at his brother, the lawyer continued.

"I still believe that Hook needed to be stopped. I still believe that there was no other way of catching him. And I still believe that if I were asked again to come up with the name of a person who could do just that, Heath's would be the one and only name on my list.

"His friend Sarah, the one who became a nun, once told her Mother Superior that Heath was 'unspeakably brave.' When the Mother Superior told me that, I agreed with her. I know of no one--and that includes you, Brother Nick, myself, and Tom Barkley, who exhibits greater courage and dignity than my brother Heath.

"If I could, I'd change the order of how Heath found out about my idea. I'd let him know before he left the ranch. Certainly, I'd plan for more safety for him. But there's one thing I'd never change. I would never change asking Heath to be the one to do this job."

Heath's eyes closed. Defiantly, Jarrod stared at his family.

Victoria was the first one to break the silence. "All right, Jarrod. I see a little more, but I am still furious with you! You had no right to keep this to yourself; you had no right to put another family member in jeopardy. And you had no right to make this decision without consulting us all.

"Jarrod, don't you see? When you did this in secret, when you waited until you had Heath in front of those men, you gave him no choice at all!"

Jarrod looked at her; the pain in his blue eyes almost caused her to reach out to him.

"Mother, there's nothing you've said that I haven't said to myself a hundred times or more. But I still believe that Hook had to be exposed for the monster he is."

"Jarrod, no one is questioning that. What we're questioning is how you could have made the decision on your own to have Heath be the one to suffer."

"Audra's right, Jarrod. Even Heath here wouldn't argue with you that Hook needed to be caught, and I for one am looking forward to seeing him punished. But playing God with another man's life--and that man a family member--isn't the way things should be."

"Playing God?" Jarrod's voice was low as he repeated part of Nick's accusation.

"Yes, Jarrod. No one is saying that your motives were bad, but we are saying that there are some things you might ask of a family member that cannot be decided alone. This should have been a family decision, and Heath should have been given the dignity of being allowed to make his decision without the pressure of being asked in front of Milford."

Victoria's voice was calm, but she had drawn the line clearly.

"And, I believe it would be best for us to drop this now; when Heath is able, I believe that he and you, Jarrod, will have some things to settle. For now, let's just have breakfast and let Heath rest."

As they left the room, Audra remained behind. She had seen the same things that Jarrod had seen. Going to the bedside, she took Heath's good hand and held it.

"Heath? I know you heard all this. But I want to say something. Will you listen to me?"

The cowboy opened his eyes and looked at his sister. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Heath, I couldn't believe you told Jarrod that you were going to do this because you were afraid to say no. But I thought about it all night, and I think I understand. You really didn't believe that Jarrod asked you because you were the obvious choice; you just thought he picked you because you knew more about that kind of life, didn't you?"

He made no response, but he continued to look at her.

"Heath, it's not fair to throw all this at you when you can't talk back. But I want you to hear me. First, I'd like to slap Jarrod for putting you in this position. But even more, I'd like to slap you for even daring to consider that he asked you because he thought so little of you. I believe Jarrod was wrong in the way he did this, but he was right to ask you. And everything he said, Heath, while you were listening, everything was true. Think about that, Big Brother, will you?'

Heath squeezed her hand slightly. Audra dropped a kiss on his forehead and said, "And I'll go down and get you some nice broth to swallow! You'll love that, won't you?" With a giggle, she scampered out of the room.

That day was a rough one for Heath. The trip had taken more out of him than he could have ever imagined. Victoria, Silas, and Audra were kept busy just helping him to stay as comfortable as possible. Finally, he relaxed enough to doze off; Audra looked at her mother with tears in her eyes.

"Mother, he's in so much pain! It's obvious that his head is hurting him, and he has to work so hard just to swallow broth or water. How does he stand it?"

"Audra, this is the other side of a hero."

Her daughter's blue eyes stared at her as she smoothed the sheets over her son. He winced as he moved his arm in his sleep. Suddenly, he took a deep breath and began to cough; the pain awakened him immediately.

After the spell was over, he lay back on the pillows, looking at his sister and mother. Audra's tears were falling; gently, he reached out his good hand and wiped them away. She tried to smile but failed miserably.

"Mother was telling me that this was the other side to being a hero."

Heath looked at her quizzically; then, as one, they turned to Victoria. She smiled at both of them.

"Heath, when you were a boy, did you read books about heroes?"

He nodded carefully, having learned that any sudden move sent off bolts of lightning flashing through his head.

"And in the books, the hero got hurt, but he recovered by the next chapter, didn't he?"

Beginning to understand what she was saying, a small smile started to grow in his eyes. Seeing the twinkle, Victoria leaned over and brushed her fingers gently through his hair.

"Real life isn't like that, Sweetheart. What you did was very brave, and the way you handled it all would fit anyone's definition of a hero. But now, having gone through all that and survived, here you are, in your room, filled with pain, and not even able to talk. Instead of a hero's welcome, you're getting soup fed to you by two women who won't leave you alone.

"And in the books, they don't ever pause to wonder if the price they paid was worth it. But even though you're free, you're still a prisoner, because real people can't heal by the time the reader turns the page. So it would be very normal, I would think, for you to wonder if it was worth it all."

Victoria's voice was thick with tears as she caressed her son's face. He took her hand and held it gently. Audra smiled at him.

"I think I understand, Mother. And in a way, everyone who loves the hero suffers, too, don't they?"

"Yes, Audra, they do. It may be because they can't stand to see the pain, it may be because they question why it happened, or it may just be because they would have done it differently, but the end result is almost always the same. Acts of heroism are costly. That's why heroes are so rare."

She bent down and kissed Heath's forehead. "So very rare, and so very precious."

Jarrod had been standing outside the doorway. He eavesdropped shamelessly as Victoria attempted to explain to Audra and Heath. Turning away, he walked down to the study, wondering what price he would pay in his relationship with Heath.

Nick continued to be standoffish. The entire family was waiting for Heath to recover enough to talk with them about the incident. Jarrod felt as if he were tolerated by them all, but he also began to understand the torment the condemned man feels as he waits for the executioner's blow to fall.

Heath finally began to improve; once he turned the corner, Victoria was at wits end trying to keep him confined to his room. She quickly gave up on that idea after she caught him trying to make it down the stairs on his own. They reached a compromise: Heath would stay in the house unless accompanied by a family member; in turn, she would relent and let him make the decisions about when he was ready to try the next step in recuperation.

He grew more and more frustrated. Talking was almost impossible; when he tried to say something, he would end up coughing and wheezing from the pain and from the difficulty he had in breathing. That would set his ribs to hurting again, and before he would know it, Victoria would have him back in bed

So, he just stayed quiet. One week in bed, another moping around the house, and he still couldn't swallow without pain. As long as he didn't talk, it wasn't so bad. But he wanted to talk. Angered, he turned and threw the pencil he was holding across the room. Why did it have to be his right arm that broke? Forming letters with his left hand was awkward, and the time it took sure didn't show up in the results!

"I believe this is yours, Heath." Jarrod's cool voice startled him. Turning, he saw the lawyer smiling at him, holding out the pencil he had thrown.

"Are you trying to communicate? Let me see if I can help: Perhaps you'd like to write something like, 'Dear Mother. Please let me out of the house. I need to be allowed to go outside and play. Sincerely yours, Heath.'"

The involuntary laugh turned into one of those hated spasms of coughing. But Jarrod had seen the twinkle in his eyes and recognized that he was right. Heath wouldn't be kept on a leash much longer.

"I'd offer you a drink, but from what I remember, Nick's already tried that. How about some water?'

Heath nodded gratefully. Yes, Nick had tried two days before. Asking Heath if his mouth was less sore, the blond had nodded. Nick had offered him a glass of whiskey; Heath could still feel the alcohol on the still-open cuts in his mouth. Nick had been contrite, but Heath reckoned it no more Nick's fault than his own. Problem was, he couldn't talk to tell his brother that.

"Perhaps I can help. How about if I get the buggy out and we go for a slow ride--say down to the creek? I believe I might be able to handle baiting your hook if you think you could fish left-handed."

Heath looked at Jarrod with such hope blazing in his eyes that the lawyer laughed aloud. "Let me try, Heath. I'll do my best."

Victoria had been doubtful but had given in. "Now, Jarrod, the minute he gets tired, you bring him back!"

Kissing his mother, the urbane lawyer smiled at her. "Mother, believe me, I'll take good care of him."

As he walked with his brother out to the stables, those words turned over and over in his brain. Looking at the fading marks of the bruises Hook's men had left on Heath, he felt a renewed rush of guilt. What had he done to take care of Heath before?

That afternoon, Heath had the first good time he had experienced since before his visit to San Francisco. Lying back in the grass, watching Jarrod bait hooks and grinning at his brother's lack of dexterity, he truly relaxed. Jarrod watched as his left-handed grip on the pole slackened and the cowboy went to sleep. He gently took the pole and sat, watching his brother sleep.

While he watched, he thought through the mistakes he had made. Yes, they had needed someone to go inside the prison. But surely, if he hadn't been caught up in the fire of the idea, he would have taken the time to plant a guard or two in the jail just to protect his brother. Or better yet, why couldn't he have just held firm and suggested that a lawman go in? Heath stirred and caught Jarrod's attention. Looking at him, the lawyer admitted the truth to himself: He had acted on impulse. It had never occurred to him that Heath would be hurt; his brother had seemed indestructible to him.

Heath moved quickly in his sleep; a grunt of pain escaped him. His eyes opened; for a moment, he was confused. Seeing Jarrod, however, he relaxed.

"Heath, are you hurting?"

The blond man smiled and shook his head.

"Want to go back to the house?"

Again, he shook his head.

"Mind if I talk?"

Heath's left hand made an expansive gesture. Jarrod correctly interpreted it as an invitation. The lawyer looked at his brother, seeing the drawn look still on his face, noting the obvious weight loss. The bruises were fading, but they were still there.

"While you slept, I started thinking. For the life of me, I can't understand why I allowed this to happen; I can't understand why I put you in such danger. It's true that I didn't think anything could happen to you, but I just can't believe that I didn't see to it you were better protected."

Heath carefully turned so that he could look more easily at his brother and waited. Jarrod took this as an invitation to continue.

"I guess, when it all comes down to it, I acted just like Nick."

A cocked eyebrow and a grin provided his response. It was obvious that Heath was asking for more information.

"We always joke that Nick doesn't think before he acts. And that's what I did. I viewed you as so indestructible that I didn't even think of giving you backup. And I'm sorry. Heath, if I could do it over again, I would do things very differently. Do you believe that?"

Heath nodded thoughtfully. He wanted to answer Jarrod, but he knew he couldn't. Slowly, he sat up; the movement awakened his still-healing ribs. The lawyer saw his wince and interpreted it correctly.

"No matter, Brother Heath. Let's get you home before Mother has my hide as well as yours!"

Sighing, Heath allowed himself to be taken back home. When they arrived, Nick met them at the door.

Heath looked at him quizzically. The question in his mind was obvious; why would Nick think otherwise? As Nick glared at Jarrod, the answer was clear. Nick didn't trust Jarrod to take care of him.

All the coddling grew more and more irksome to the blond cowboy. It seemed to him that he couldn't turn around without a family member checking on him. The more they watched, the more his nerves grew ragged.

Dr. Merar was not pleased with the way he was losing weight. "Heath, you've got to eat more, Son."

Heath looked at him, anger sparking from his blue eyes. Eat more? Of what? Soup, pudding, watered down oatmeal, runny eggs? No man could enjoy food meant for babies! And with everyone checking his plate--well, his bowl--to see how much he had swallowed, he felt as if he was on display for the whole world to see.

"I'd imagine that you're pretty frustrated with all this. It's been two weeks, and your mouth and throat haven't healed up very much. Ribs still painful?"

Heath shook his head, but when the doctor pressed against the area of the breaks, he winced involuntarily. The doctor smiled.

"Son, I told you this would take time."

"How -- much -- time?" The croak hardly resembled a voice, but Heath was sweating when he finished forming the question.

"I don't really know, Son. At least four more weeks for your arm before I'll take the splints off. Those cuts are healing well; I've taken out all the stitches. As for your mouth, it's coming along, but the most important thing you can do is to get proper nourishment."

The doctor looked at his patient with concern. "Son, are you beginning to think that you'll never be right again?"

Heath's eyes looked at him miserably. Putting a fatherly hand on the young man's shoulder, the doctor said seriously, "Heath, you are going to be fine. Another week, and you won't believe the difference. You're already talking some; it probably hurts a lot, though, doesn't it?"

Heath nodded.

"Then I'd take it easy on the talking, too. If it hurts, it's your body telling you not to push things too far. You don't listen, you'll take longer than you ever dreamed to get well. You've been through a lot, Boy; give yourself permission to take enough time to heal right, will you?"

"Don't have -- much -- choice--" The effort cost him dearly; another coughing spell began. The wise old doctor gave him water to drink and waited for him to gain control again.

"That's just what I was talking about, Heath. Give it time, Boy. Give it time."

He called Victoria in to go over the care regime he wanted Heath to have. Miserably, the cowboy listened to his sentence of yet one more week before he tried to talk; one more week before he could even attempt to get Jarrod and Nick together. And on the personal side, one more week of being coddled and pampered and watched every second of the day. Sighing, he slid down from the table and attempted to put on his shirt by himself.

Victoria watched in amusement as he struggled to get it around his shoulder and button it with one hand. She and the doctor enjoyed the sight, perhaps a little too much. Heath's glare as he gave in and allowed her to help him had her biting her lip to hold back her laughter; she could tell he knew that.

"Really, Heath, you can pout better than Nick ever did. Now bend down here so I can fix your collar."

Blue eyes flashed fire and then softened as he submitted to her care.

"One more week, Sweetheart. Then we'll come back and see if Howard will loosen the ropes on you at all." She reached up and kissed his cheek softly; extending his arm, he escorted her from the office.

Jarrod met them outside.

"Heath, I've had a telegram from Stephen Milford. Hook has disappeared."

"Jarrod, how can that be possible! Surely, he was guarded carefully!"

"Mother, he made bail. And he put up the bail money for those two animals who worked for him."

"Are they gone, too?"

"Yes, Mother, they are."

The three Barkleys looked at each other; Victoria's concern was immediately for Heath.

"Does Milford think that they'll try to--"

"To get to Heath? Yes, Mother, he does. He'd like to take Heath into protective custody until they find Hook."

"Oh, Jarrod, no!"

"Mother, Hook knows that Heath is the only real witness that can hurt him. We all saw a little, but Heath lived through it all. His word on the witness stand will take away the doubts that everyone else is having."

Heath looked at his brother in shock. Doubts? What did he mean? Jarrod realized that he needed to explain.

"Heath, while you've been so sick, we all decided that you didn't need to know what was being said. But now, I guess we can't keep it from you any longer. Hook was so respected that a lot of people think it was wrong to arrest him, to charge him. And their side has been pretty vocal. He's still got a lot of political clout; Milford has even wondered if he could win the case. Without you, he knows he can't."

"What would protective custody mean, Jarrod?"

"It would mean that the marshals would take Heath somewhere secret and keep him safe until Hook makes his move."

"Could we see him?"

"No, Mother. That's what makes it safe; no one but the marshals and Milford would know where he was."

"No."

The choked voice carried desperation with it. Heath looked at them with eyes full of fear. Jarrod reached out to him; he jerked away.

"No!"

"Heath, let's go home. We'll talk about it there."

The ride home was silent. Heath's head was whirling as he watched Jarrod's hands on the reins. Would they send him away?

Before they had been home an hour, the marshals arrived. Nick greeted them with smoldering anger. They were surprised to find that there was a question about whether Heath would go with them or not.

The argument was long and heated. Nick was adamant that they could protect Heath as well as, if not better than, any marshals. Audra agreed. Victoria and Jarrod were not so sure. The subject of their debate sat silently, miserably, listening to the angry words. Finally, Jarrod turned to him.

"Well, Heath. It looks like we're deadlocked. That means your vote is the deciding factor. Do you do what Milford wants, or do you trust Nick and me to protect you?'

"No."

"No to Milford?"

Heath nodded his head. Nick walked over to his side and put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "We'll keep you safe, Heath. We'll take care of you." Turning to the marshals, he smiled triumphantly.

"Mr. Barkley, beggin' your pardon, but your decision may not be the best one you've ever made."

"And which Mr. Barkley would you be talkin' to?" Nick's sarcasm was evident.

"Mr. Heath, Sir." The marshal looked directly at the blond cowboy. His voice was rough but compassionate. "Boy, I know you want to be home with your family. But if those men get to you, you'll not have a choice; they'll kill you as soon as look at you. You're the only one who stands between them and life in prison. They know what's facing them there."

"Gentlemen, what makes you think that these men are still in the country? Surely it would be better for them to go to Mexico than to try to stay here."

"Mrs. Barkley, we know they're still in the country. And we know that they're after your son here. They won't stop until this is permanent, Ma'am."

The other marshal interrupted.

"Heath, I was one of the men who carried you out of Quentin. I wasn't sure you'd live long enough to tell the story of what happened to you. I'd sure like to know that you didn't go through all this for nothing, Son."

Heath looked up at the man who spoke so gently. He looked at Victoria and Audra and back at the man who wanted to take him away from them.

"That's right, Son. They may just use the people you love, too. If you go with us, they'll know that idea's useless, because no one can get a message to you. But if you stay here, they're bait just waiting to be put on a hook to bring you in."

Heath nodded in resignation. The marshal clapped him on the shoulder.

"Why don't we all stay here tonight, if that's all right with you, Son? We'll finish up our plans and take you with us in the morning, all right?"

"Marshal, if the danger is so great, then why--"

Victoria's voice showed her deep concern. The marshal smiled at her reassuringly.

"We reckon that Hook and his cronies haven't had long enough to make any firm plans. We've got a little time on them; it should be safe enough here tonight. But we'll be takin' turns watching the house, just to make sure. We'll keep him safe, Ma'am."

The marshal's words were reassuring, but no one knew how wrong he was. Hook had made plans; he had used his time wisely. Heath found that out during the night when he was awakened by the sound of a gun being cocked. Opening his eyes, he saw Pete holding Jarrod; the gun he was holding was grinding into the lawyer's ear.

"Looks like we got you both where we want you, Boy. Easy now, easy. Just get up nice and careful."

Heath pushed back the covers and rose. He silently waited for instructions. His eyes never left his brother.

Jarrod was sweating. The pain of the gun's barrel pressing into his ear was negligible; his main concern was his brother.

Sam's familiar giggle brought goose bumps to Heath's bare arms and chest. He realized that flesh really can crawl.

"Look here, Pete; he's starting to sweat. You think maybe he's missed us?"

"Keep it quiet, Sam. We don't need to wake anyone else. Boy, you listen to me now. Make one wrong move, and this fancy lawyer gets it right in the head. You understand me?"

Heath nodded.

"All right. Now, Sam here is gonna follow you; he's got a gun in your back. You're gonna put your good arm up on your head so we can see it. Me and the lawyer will be right behind you. If you're thinkin' that the sound of the guns will wake up anyone else, just remember; if they go off, it'll mean you'll both be dead. Now, go on down the back stairs."

Heath walked quietly down the hall. As he reached the back stairs, he paused briefly. The cold touch of Sam's gun prodded him forward. The weight of the splints and sling kept him a little off balance; he knew that he had to be careful as he descended the stairs.

Part of his mind was racing frantically, trying to figure a way out of this mess. The other part was remembering when he first entered this house he now called home. He remembered how he and his brother played tricks on Audra; it was Nick who had showed him how much faster it was to use these back stairs for a getaway. As he saw the kitchen come into view, he remembered the midnight snacks he had shared with Jarrod. The conversations he had with Silas during their early-morning breakfasts haunted his heart.

He shook his head angrily; he knew that the only way to survive was to concentrate and wait for the moment their captors relaxed. Reaching the bottom, he turned and waited. Jarrod followed quietly.

"All right, Lawyer boy. You stop right here." Pete's voice was soft, but it carried a good deal of conviction.

Jarrod never took his eyes off Heath. The blond man stood in the middle of the kitchen, shirtless and barefoot, with his left hand resting on his head. Sam walked carefully around the cowboy and roughly cut the sling that held his broken arm. As the arm fell, Heath winced in pain. Using the same knife, he roughly cut off the splints and threw them on the floor. He grabbed the broken arm and pulled it around to Heath's back. Heath was covered in perspiration, even though the temperature was cool.

Jarrod watched as the sadistic man handcuffed his brother's hands behind his back. As he did, he looked at Jarrod and laughed softly.

"We learned the hard way that this boy is slippery. He'll fight you as soon as look at you. Just as well to spike his guns before he gets a mind to do anything else. Now, Lawyer, you just put your hands behind your back."

Jarrod obeyed. He felt the rough hemp of rope scrape across his wrists as Pete tied them tightly. Roughly, Pete pushed him forward.

Sam went ahead of Heath and Jarrod, opening the door with mock courtesy. Jarrod looked to his right and saw a body lying there. He thought it was one of the marshals, but it was too dark to tell. Where was Nick? He had sworn he would keep Heath safe.

The men pushed Heath and Jarrod forward. Jarrod tried to protect Heath by walking close beside him. Heath was staggering, almost blinded by the pain from his arm. If he focused, he thought he could feel the bones grating with each step.

The men took them to the cabin up in the trees behind the house. As they were pushed inside, he heard Jarrod grunt with pain. The lawyer's shout was all that kept him from kicking out in a vain attempt to protect his brother.

"Heath, for God's sake, take it easy. I'm all right!"

Heath stood still, wondering what would happen next. As the light from a shaded lantern filled the room, he was soon enlightened. The familiar smell of Sam's fetid breath crawled over his senses as the man pushed him down. Once he was on the floor, he felt ropes go around his legs; he realized that he was, once again, helpless. Sam knew it, too.

He heard Jarrod's voice. "What are you planning to do?"

Somewhere deep inside his mind, Heath thought, What a stupid question. They're planning on killing us, that's what. But he couldn't function well enough to say it out loud. Sam was too busy enjoying himself again.

"Why don't you give up on him? He's already hurt; what prize is there in hurting him again?" Jarrod's voice rang out across the cabin. Sam stopped what he was doing and turned thoughtfully to the lawyer.

"Wait a minute, Sam. He's just trying to get you off of his precious brother," Pete warned.

"Yeah, but it might be fun to see just what lawyers are made of, too." Sam's giggle warned Heath; he raised his head and tried to shout to Jarrod, to warn him not to antagonize this man. He wanted to protect his brother from the pain he was experiencing; Jarrod wasn't like him. He couldn't stand it like Heath could. After one last forceful kick to his side, Sam turned his full attention to Jarrod.

It was easier, really, when it happened to him. Pete's enlightened idea of turning the flame of the lantern up high so that he could watch what they were doing to his brother made that clear to Heath. Jarrod tried not to cry out; that was obvious. Heath could have told him that it was pointless. Those two just kept on until you gave in.

Watching his brother suffer gave Heath a whole new outlook on living. He decided, somewhere in his befuddled mind, that he had to live; he had a purpose he had to fulfill. Somewhere, someday, he was going to kill those two baboons. And he was going to do it slow.

Finally, Jarrod collapsed. The two men left him there and walked to the door, waiting. Heath wondered what they were waiting for. The sound of a horse's hooves told him that the answer would come soon. He expected Hook to walk in the door when the horse stopped. Looking apathetically at the opening, he was rewarded with the image of the man who had tried so hard to break him in San Quentin.

"The wagon's here. You need to keep it quiet."

"We're not makin' too much noise. Leastwise, not now."

Heath looked at his brother. It bothered him, really bothered him, that Jarrod's flesh was so covered with blood. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Jarrod was the one who remained untouched; he and Nick always handled the physical stuff. Where was Nick? Didn't seem right, somehow, that Nick was so quiet.

Nick groaned as he returned to consciousness. His head ached. Reaching up, he pulled away a hand sticky with blood. Memory flooded him; he was in the barn, where he had been checking on some stock. He had heard a sound. Turning, he was just in time to see a gun barrel descend and feel its impact on his skull. Dazed and still only semiconscious, he sat there, wondering what he was supposed to do. Staggering to his feet, he plunged to the trough; pumping vigorously, he ran cold water over his head and hands.

He learned immediately not to shake his head. The world twisted and turned at an insane pace when he tried that. Squinting his eyes against the pain, he lurched toward the house. He remembered his mission. Heath was in danger.

Heath wasn't in as much danger as Jarrod. The lawyer had come to and was continuing to bait Sam into beating him, continuing to keep the focus off of Heath. As Heath watched, Jarrod laughed in Sam's face.

"Is that all you can do? Not too much fun, beating up on someone who can't fight back, is there? Or maybe you're too chicken to find out just what it would take to beat someone like me."

Sam was enraged. His boots found their target; over and over again they thudded into Jarrod's body. Each blow, each kick was accompanied by Jarrod's continuing taunts. Finally, obeying Hook's orders, Pete pulled him away.

"Sam, you can have all the fun you want later, but we need to get going. The wagon's here."

Roughly, the two men threw Jarrod into the back of the wagon. Sam came back for Heath. Looking down at him, he grinned.

"It was the right arm, wasn't it, Boy?"

Heath said nothing. With one well-aimed stomp of his foot, Sam made sure that it was the right arm; seizing the newly broken limb, he dragged Heath out as well. The three men threw him up beside his brother. Jarrod raised his head; blood poured down his face.

"Heath, are you all right?"

"Jarrod, why? You didn't have to take all that." The hoarse voice carried Heath's concern and fear.

Unbelievably, Jarrod grinned at him. Heath looked up at the battered face and felt a fierce pride. He realized that he and Jarrod were more alike than he had ever known. Together, they had to live so that Hook couldn't win.

Nick's trip to the house was stopped by his tripping over the prone body of the marshal. Farther on, in the shadows, he found the other officer. His quick curse announced his discovery. He turned; he stalked back to the stable and reached up. Ringing the fire bell, he summoned the hands.

In a few short words, he filled them in. He ordered them to get their horses ready; turning toward the house, he saw Victoria and Audra for the first time.

"It's Heath, isn't it, Mother? They got him, didn't they?"

"And Jarrod."

Nick stared at her in shock. Realizing that there was no time to waste, he turned and walked toward the horses. Victoria and Audra followed him, only to see him accept Coco's reins and ride out at the head of the crew.

Victoria walked back toward the house. She saw the body of the marshal; bending over, she realized that he was still alive. Silas checked on the other one, but the butler's mute shake of his head told her that there was no hope for him. She turned her full attention to the injured man. Ciego and Silas helped the women get him inside; Ciego then rode for the doctor. The women had their hands full trying to staunch the bleeding from the knife wound.

Part of Victoria's mind focused on the fact that her hands were obeying her; she wondered at that. To her, the thought of her two sons in the hands of those animals was paramount, yet she went through the proper actions of nursing care as if she were a machine. The marshal reached up and grabbed her arm. Looking down at him, she forced a smile.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry. I tried--I tried to warn -- " His head lolled back and he lost consciousness. Victoria continued working, blocking out the fears that possessed her soul.

Dawn was peeking over the edge of the wagon; Heath wondered just where they were being taken. Twisting and sliding until he could use the wagon side to worm his way up, he looked carefully. As he closed his eyes in rejection of the sight of the silver lake, Sam's giggle burned through his brain.

"You always did like water best, now didn't you?'

Heath looked bleakly at his brother. All this, all the effort, and for what? He saw no way out.

The wagon pulled up; Jarrod was pulled from it first. He was taken to the water's edge and forced to stand there. They made sure that Heath knew about the gun, the gun that was pointed directly at his brother's head. To make sure he understood, Hook shot the gun once; moving the barrel back against Jarrod's head, it was obvious that he was willing to pull the trigger in a second if either captive made a wrong move. Sam went back and cut the ropes that bound Heath's legs.

"I'm not carrying you; now get out and walk!" He accompanied his command with a blow from his gun butt. Heath shook his head; he was seeing double again. Sliding out, he gingerly attempted to get his balance. Blood flowed from the cut the gun had made in his head. Slowly, he turned and moved toward Jarrod. He knew that if he fell, he wouldn't be able to get up again.

Hook stood, gun at Jarrod's head. He stared implacably at the man who had bested him. Heath stared back, his eyes filled with hatred. Jarrod moved; the extra pressure from Hook's gun warned him to be careful.

As Heath watched, he wondered if Jarrod's responses would be fast enough. If he could just get enough volume to shout once; if Jarrod would understand and dive to the ground, then when Heath walked by, he could barrel into Hook. Nick would know what to do; Nick and he thought alike. But Jarrod? He was the model for whoever called mysterious people dark horses. What would he do?

He walked as slowly as he could. Sam's gun was boring into his back. He knew that when he jumped, Sam would shoot, but maybe, just maybe, if Jarrod did it right, then the lawyer would live.

"Hook, as long as you haven't taken a life, there's a lot that can be done!" Jarrod's plea fell on deaf ears.

"Barkley, my life's ruined; the only satisfaction I can find before I leave for Mexico is to make sure that you and your brother are taken care of. Just shut up."

Heath took another step toward the water. Jarrod watched him come; each movement was obviously an effort. The lawyer shook his head to rid himself of the blood still running in his eyes. He understood that he was to watch his brother drown; he decided not to spare himself one detail. He determined that he would give Heath the respect of refusing to shut his eyes, refusing to turn from the sight of his brother's death.

Nick rode. He had quickly picked up the trail; daylight had made the marks of their passage clear. With each sign, Nick's anxiety grew. Outwardly, his face was as composed as a marble statue; inwardly, the tempest raged unabated.

At the cabin, he stayed on his horse while two hands went inside.

"They were here, Boss. Looks like they got beat up pretty bad; lots of blood around."

Nick didn't wait for them to mount. Seeing the tracks of the wagon wheels, he realized what direction they were heading. He spurred Coco to a full gallop.

Heath drew closer to Jarrod and Hook. His bare feet were scratched and bleeding from the weeds he had walked through. His face was gray with fatigue and drawn with pain. Jarrod looked at him, praying for a miracle. The lawyer felt Heath's eyes burning into him. What was he trying to communicate?

Heath took a deep breath. He checked to see if Pete was still with the horses. He was. It was now or never. A hoarse voice rasped out, "Jarrod, down!" and Heath leapt into the air. His feet collided with Hook's chest; the former warden went down. One shot, then another split the air as the cowboy's body thudded into the dirt where Jarrod had stood seconds before.

Jarrod lay still. His heart was pounding rapidly, as rapidly as the sound of horses galloping. The explosion of Nick's gun galvanized him back into reality. With a bullet through his heart, Sam fell to the ground.

Other guns went off; Pete was the next to fall. Nick didn't wait; he was off Coco's back and kneeling by his brothers in one fluid motion.

Jarrod was still trying to understand just what had happened. One minute, he was waiting to watch his brother die; then, in seconds, Heath had turned into a blur of motion. Jarrod had never seen anything as graceful or as terrifying before.

"I'm all right, Nick. How's Heath?"

"He's unconscious, Mr. Barkley." Karl, one of Heath's friends, was kneeling by the cowboy.

Nick used his knife and sliced the ropes holding Jarrod's hands. Immediately, he turned to Heath. "Karl, help me turn him over. We've got to check to see if any of those bullets got to him."

Jarrod waited anxiously as his brother's skilled hands gently checked out Heath's unconscious body. Nick shook his head and breathed out a gusty sigh of relief.

"No bullet wound."

"Nick, as high and as hard as he jumped, if he came down on that broken arm, he might have passed out from the pain."

"Nick, there's blood on this rock; it looks to me as if Heath hit his head here."

"That's just what he doesn't need. They worked him over pretty good at the cabin before Hook got there with the wagon," Jarrod said.

"Looks like they had some fun with both of you before they got you here." Nick spoke almost absently.

"I'm fine." Jarrod stood; the beating he had asked for was taking its toll. Nick took one look at him and grinned.

"Yeah, you're fine, all right. Fred, Joe, get my brother here and help him get in the wagon before he falls and breaks that elegant lawyer's neck of his." As the men helped Jarrod to the wagon, the tall cowboy turned back to Heath. "You're gonna be all right, Boy. Just hear me now. You're gonna be fine."

Karl spoke quietly to one of the other hands who was checking out Hook's prone form. After a few seconds of searching the pockets of the fallen men, the man gave Karl a key; he handed it to Nick. The cowboy nodded briefly in thanks; lifting Heath gently, Nick unlocked his chains. Karl gently took Heath's broken arm and cradled it across his chest. Looking up, he was chilled at the sight of Nick's face. Heath moved restlessly; immediately, Nick began talking quietly to him.

The two men picked up Heath and carried him to the wagon. Gently, they laid him in the back. It was Jarrod this time who cradled Heath. It was Jarrod this time who held him as the wagon lurched over bumps in the road. This time, Jarrod and Nick brought him home.

Victoria met them at the door. One swift glance showed her all she needed to know: Her sons were home. All three. And while there was work to be done, while it was obvious that all three had suffered, the most important thing was clear. They were alive.

Howard Merar was to talk of that night for years to come. Nick had obviously received a severe blow to his head; Jarrod had been beaten badly. Heath lay unconscious; as Jarrod and Nick filled Audra and Victoria in on what had transpired, Doc Merar realized that the cowboy had willingly laid his life on the line to save the life of his older brother.

At first, he suggested working on Nick and Jarrod and then turning his attention to Heath. In his mind, that would have been the fastest, most efficient method. His plans were changed, however, when Jarrod's eyes turned to blue ice. The good doctor realized immediately that both Nick and Jarrod would insist on taking care of Heath, and Heath alone. Warning them that they would have a long wait, he, Victoria, and Silas prepared for a long period of activity.

When Ciego rode for the doctor, he had also summoned Sheriff Fred Madden. The sheriff had been with the injured marshal, who had finally come to. The lawman had been able to give Fred the information he needed. Hearing the noise when everyone returned, he descended the stairs in time to help carry Heath to his room. Once the man was comfortably in his bed, Madden walked downstairs to talk to Nick and Jarrod.

Jarrod was allowing Audra to fuss over him. As she used their mother's favorite remedy to clean the many cuts on his face, he developed an entirely new sympathy for his two brothers, who were the frequent recipients of his mother's nursing care. He drew the line, however, when Audra wanted him to take off his shirt. There was no undue modesty; he just didn't want his little sister to see the evidence of Sam's footwork. Fred grinned as he watched the pretty blonde clean up Jarrod's face.

"Jarrod, you look like you've had a night and a half. Can we talk about it?"

"Sure, Fred. Just as soon as my little sister here stops thinking I'm at death's door."

When Audra was finished with Jarrod, she turned her attention to Nick. Her reaction to his refusal of her help caused her blue eyes to flash fire.

"Nick, you're going to sit down. You're going to sit in that chair. I'm going to check that head of yours, and if you don't do what I say, I'm going to get a pool cue and give you a matching lump. Now sit!"

Nick looked at his sister in surprise. "Yes, Ma'am!" Grinning as he saluted her, he sat meekly and allowed her to care for him.

While Audra was cleaning the cut on the back of his head, Fred got the basic facts from Jarrod.

"Where are those three now?"

"I left Karl and a couple of the boys there; Joe took the wagon back once we got Heath and Jarrod home."

"Is Hook alive?"

"I don't know." Jarrod's expression caused the sheriff to be grateful that the lawyer had nothing he held against him.

"The boys will bring him home. We'll find out then." Nick's expression was equally forbidding as he looked at Fred, daring him to criticize his decision.

Madden looked back. He knew he should at least argue that if Hook was alive, they could have put him in the wagon. But he also knew that if he did, he'd not be arguing from personal conviction. Defeated, he nodded. "Probably just as well."

Nick stood. Audra glared at him. "Nick, just what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going upstairs to check on Heath. Doc's taking a long time with him."

"Victoria, he's not doing too well. He was a pretty sick young man to begin with; the extra beating he took certainly didn't help. We've got to get this arm set again, but I'm most worried about his head injuries. We could be looking at something pretty serious."

Victoria listened to Dr. Merar with growing concern. "Howard, just what are you saying?"

"Victoria, I don't know right now. But that boy has been through too much; we can't expect him to bounce back from this latest mess."

The silver-haired woman shook her head in denial.

"Victoria, you have to listen to me. He hadn't recovered from all he went through. Now, he's been through another beating. His ribs are in bad shape. He has another head injury. His arm is broken again. I'm trying to warn you that when he wakes up, he may not be the same Heath you knew before."

"Well, we'll just have to deal with that when he wakes up."

Merar shook his head in frustration. He decided that it would be best to have the whole family together before he tried to explain what a severe head injury could do to a person. Nick entered the room more quietly than the doctor could have ever imagined.

"Doc? How is he?"

"Well, Nick, he's hurt pretty bad. I'm going to set his arm now."

Nick moved immediately to help. As the doctor worked to reduce the fracture, he held Heath still. Finally, when the bones were aligned and the splints were applied, he relaxed.

"Tough one, huh?"

"I'll say! The old break wasn't healed; this didn't help it any."

Merar checked Heath's pupils again. The cowboy moved restlessly and muttered something no one could understand.

"Doc? Is he coming to?"

"I don't think so, Nick. I don't want to leave him just yet; why don't you get Jarrod and I'll check you both over up here."

As Nick reached the bottom of the stairs, Sheriff Madden stood. "Well, Jarrod, thanks. I'll go on out and see what your boys bring in."

"If he's alive, Fred, don't bring him in here." Jarrod was polite but firm. Madden nodded and took his leave.

"Jarrod, Doc wants to see you. He doesn't want to leave Heath right now."

Merar's examination of Jarrod was quick; he didn't listen to Jarrod's protests about not taking off his shirt.

"Looks like they danced a hoedown on you, too, Jarrod. We'll have to strap up those ribs."

Jarrod winced involuntarily at the doctor's firm and skillful handling of his cracked ribs.

"Need to take a couple of stitches here; you'll probably have a scar, but we can do our best to make sure it's not too dramatic."

"Brother Nick, I'm beginning to have a lot of belated sympathy for your past visits to the good doctor here." The lawyer did his best to appear as nonchalant as his two brothers were when they needed some stitching, but it was hard for him to do. Nick grinned as he watched Jarrod try.

"Jarrod, just say ouch. Lawyers are a lot softer than cowboys, you know."

Jarrod's laugh turned into a muffled grunt of pain as the doctor finished his handiwork.

"You'll live, but you'll have to take it easy for a while. I'd recommend you think about staying down for the next couple of days. You're not going to know the meaning of the word sore until about this time tomorrow."

"Thanks for the encouragement, Doc."

Dr. Merar grinned at the lawyer, who slowly rose and walked over to Heath's bedside, where Audra sat, holding his hand. The doctor checked Nick's head wound out and smiled.

"At least they got you in your toughest spot, Nick. Don't do any drinking until that headache goes away; stay inside and quiet--if you can."

Victoria's giggle was a welcome relief to them all. She had been extremely quiet while she watched the doctor repair the damage done to her sons.

"Doc, how's Heath? Shouldn't he be comin' to soon?"

"Nick, I wish he would. He's not in good shape. I was just warning your mother; with repeated head injuries, along with everything else he's gone through, he might be a little different when he wakes up."

"What do you mean?"

"We don't know that much about injuries to the brain, Nick, but a repeated concussion can cause all sorts of problems. He might be confused, he might have all sorts of problems."

"But he might be just fine, too. Isn't that possible, Howard?" Victoria's voice was full of anxiety and worry.

"Could happen. But I wouldn't count on him remembering anything of what happened."

"That would be a blessing, Doc. He doesn't need to remember that."

"Jarrod, I've never seen anyone jump like that. I was comin' up on Coco and ready to shoot, but I couldn't figure out any way to get you down."

"That was Heath's doing. He shouted at me to go down; I went to my knees, and he just sailed through the air."

"Scared me; wonder how Hook felt when our brother collided with him?"

Jarrod grinned as he laid his hand gently on Heath's head. "I hope he felt every bone in his body break."

"Jarrod!"

"He's right, Mother. That's only a touch of what that devil deserves." Nick's face showed his anger. Victoria looked at her sons and then turned back to Heath.

They took turns sitting with him. They followed the doctor's instructions and talked to him, telling him where he was and what was happening. For hours, he didn't respond, other than some garbled sounds and restless movements. Nick finally looked at the doctor in frustration.

"Doc, it's been a long time. Why isn't he awake?"

"Nick, I warned you. This could take a lot of time, or he could come to any minute. We just have to keep hoping for the best." Nick frowned as he turned back to his brother and began telling him about the fishing trip he wanted to take. Somewhere in time, Heath knew that people were talking; somewhere in time, he knew that people were calling his name. But he was tired, so tired. And he couldn't fight any more.

He was irritated by the demands he heard; he resisted listening. But the voices wouldn't stop. Finally, he realized that the only thing that would make them stop was if he reached out and asked them to. There was a problem; he couldn't move. His feet were glued to where he stood. He realized that if he just lifted his foot, he might pull it out of the mire that held it fast. He decided he'd try that; maybe he could get close enough to tell them to be quiet.

It wasn't mud. It was quicksand. Moving toward the voices made him realize that. The more he struggled to respond, the more the quicksand took him under. He thought about it for a minute. The voices were loud; they didn't understand how tired he was. Maybe if he just stood still, the quicksand would take him and he could have the rest he craved so desperately.

But the voices wouldn't stop. He knew that they wouldn't; he couldn't remember how he knew that. So, finally, he gave in and opened his eyes.

"Heath? Oh, Sweetheart!" Victoria leaned forward and kissed her son. "I've missed seeing those blue eyes of yours." She straightened and said, "Let me go call Dr. Merar. He's taking a nap in the guest room. I'll be right back."

The cowboy looked around the room. He knew it. It was familiar. He knew his mother. But he didn't understand why she was going for the doctor.

Dr. Merar leaned over him. "Heath, welcome back! How do you feel?"

Heath looked at him. He tried to answer, but he couldn't remember how to form any words. He tried to push himself up; the doctor restrained him.

"Son, just take it easy. Let's try it another way. Can you tell me your name?"

Heath opened his mouth, but no words came. The only communication he made was a confused set of syllables that made no sense. His eyes grew dark as he realized he wasn't making any sense. Dr. Merar soothed him.

"Heath, now keep it calm. You've had a bad blow to the head. You just need to relax and take it slow. Now take a deep breath for me, all right?"

Heath inhaled; the look of pain on his face showed his regret.

"Your chest is hurting because your ribs were broken. But you need to breathe deeply, Heath. Now, try again."

Heath was able to understand they wanted him to do. The only thing he couldn't do was to do what they asked of him.

"All right, Heath. Now stay calm. Let's try this. If you understand me, can you nod your head?"

The entire family, including Silas, was in the room now. They held their breath as they waited. Dr. Merar watched the cowboy intently. Finally, infinitesimally, he moved his head up and down. Everyone sighed in relief.

"Good job, Heath. Now let's try something else. Do you know what day it is?"

A slight shake of his head from left to right was the cowboy's only answer.

"That's to be expected. Bet you're kind of nervous right now, aren't you?"

A fleeting smile was his response.

"No need to be, Son. I'm going to let your family see you for just a minute, and then I want you to try to go back to sleep, all right? When you wake up, you'll probably feel a lot better."

Audra stayed with Heath while the rest of the family went out in the hall with the doctor.

"What's happening, Fred? Why can't he talk?"

"Victoria, it's like I was telling you. He's been through too much. This may be temporary, or it may last a while. There could be other problems, too."

"Like what?" Nick's voice was hard and demanding.

"Well, his memory could be permanently altered. He might become very nervous; he could become withdrawn."

"How long might these symptoms last, Fred?" Jarrod's legal training was taking charge.

"Jarrod, he might be right as rain when he wakes up again, or he might be this way for a lifetime. We'll just have to wait and see. Now, I want you in bed; Nick, you need to get some rest, too." With that, the doctor turned and went back inside his patient's room.

When he awakened, Jarrod understood what Dr. Merar had meant about soreness. He had never known that so many places could hurt so badly, and that each one of them could send out signals which would keep him moving slowly and stiffly. He had been teasing Nick when he talked about developing belated sympathy, but now it was real.

He wondered what time it was. He had been sent to bed in the afternoon, and it was now dark outside. Wincing his way out of bed, he bit back an involuntary groan as he stood upright. For sure, he wasn't up to much. How did his brothers do it? He had seen them breaking horses, and their falls were spectacular. They both had experienced much more than he was going through, but they seemed not to notice unless it was really dramatic. Maybe Nick was right; maybe he was soft.

As he stood at the side of his bed, a loud knock caused him to jump. Nick strode in. One look at his brother, and he grinned from ear to ear.

"As our brother would say, Boy Howdy, Jarrod, do you ever look pitiful. Here, let me help you."

Nick helped him hobble to the bathroom and efficiently deposited him back in bed. Jarrod glared up at him. The cowboy's obvious good health seemed like a personal insult.

"And just how did you bounce back so fast?"

"Clean livin', Big Brother, just clean livin'. I'll even act like a saint and go get you some food. Nicholas J. Barkley at your service, Sir!" His comical bow caused him to stagger just a bit. Jarrod laughed.

"So you do have a little aftermath from that head blow."

"But compared to you, Jarrod, I'm as healthy as a newborn colt in June. Oh, Fred sent a message; Hook's dead."

"Good. How's Heath?"

Nick sobered immediately. "He's awake, Jarrod."

"Are things better?"

"Not yet. Doc Merar is here again. Heath's pretty upset, and Doc says he's going to try to explain all this to him in a little while. Mother's trying to keep him still right now."

"Why is Howard waiting?"

"He wanted you there, too, Jarrod. He wanted us all there."

Jarrod threw back the covers. "Help me get dressed, Nick."

"I'm not too sure you should be trying anything much, Jarrod."

"Help me or leave."

Nick smiled as he turned to his brother's aid. With his help and quite a few grunts and ouches from Jarrod, the lawyer was dressed in record time. He accepted Nick's assistance until they reached the door of Heath's room; then, Jarrod insisted on walking in by himself.

"Heath, just lie still! You won't help matters if you thrash around like this!" Victoria's voice was deliberately calm, but her frustration was showing.

"Good morning, Brother Heath! You look like I feel; may I offer you my sympathy?" Jarrod's voice caused Heath to look up. The lawyer caught his breath as he saw the new bruises and cuts on his brother's face. Heath tried to smile, but the cuts on his mouth obviously caused him too much pain.

The lawyer came over to the side of the bed where Victoria was sitting. Resting his hand on her shoulder, he continued.

"From what I overheard, Mother, I deduce that your youngest son isn't too interested in resting quietly."

Victoria smiled gratefully at Jarrod. "That, my dear, is a valid deduction. Perhaps you can talk some sense into him."

"Mother, I don't think I'd be very calm, either. In fact, I'd be scared to death."

As Jarrod looked down at Heath, he prayed that he would say the right words to help his brother understand it was normal for him to be frightened.

"And, if I were in Heath's situation, I'd want information on what was happening to me, and I'd want it immediately."

Heath nodded emphatically. Nick grinned at him.

"Looks like you figured it all out, Jarrod. Heath, Doc Merar's coming in now. He's going to explain what's going on. We'll let Jarrod earn his keep by asking all the questions, all right?"

"Brother Nick, you just read my mind. Heath, I'll do my best." Heath again tried to smile, but the effort was weak. Jarrod felt great compassion as he recognized the fear in his brother's eyes.

"All right, Heath. Now, we've let you have a lot of sleep, and one good thing has happened. You're not as confused as you were, right?"

The cowboy nodded as he looked intently at the doctor. His left hand clenched tightly; seeing the move, Victoria moved from her chair; perching on the side of his bed, she slipped her hand inside his. Her comforting squeeze caused him to relax, but he didn't let go for a second.

"Heath, what's happened is this. You had some head injuries at the prison; in fact, your concussion was pretty bad. As I recall, you were seeing double and had some pretty bad headaches."

"That's right, Doc; he didn't like seein' two of me, that's for sure." Nick's joke caused Heath to relax for a minute.

"Well, Son, last night you were pretty badly beaten, and you took at least two more blows to the head. The most severe one was when, as I understand it, you hit your head on a rock. Do you remember any of this?"

Heath shook his head no; the bewilderment in his eyes was painful for his entire family. Audra sat on the other side of the bet and rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Heath, do you remember San Quentin and Warden Hook?"

The cowboy nodded his head.

"Do you remember coming home from the hospital?"

Again he nodded. Jarrod wondered if he would ever try to talk again. Thinking about it, he realized that he sure wouldn't try, at least not in public.

"But you don't remember that Hook and his henchmen kidnapped you and Jarrod and tried to kill you, do you?"

Heath looked at Jarrod in mute appeal. The lawyer recognized that his brother was asking for verification of what he was hearing.

"Heath, Howard's telling you what happened. Briefly, the two guards who almost killed you in San Quentin broke in here and took us both. They beat you pretty badly; their plan was to drown us both. You saved my life, Heath."

"That's right, Boy. I was tryin', but you were the one who did the work. I've never seen anything like it."

Heath continued to listen, but it was obvious that he had no memory of the events his brothers were describing.

"Well, to make a long story as short as possible, Heath, you saved my life, but in doing so, you hit your head again, and that's what Howard is getting to now."

"Thank you, Jarrod. Now, Heath, when you hit your head, you were already recovering from a bad concussion; you gave yourself another one that was as bad, if not worse. When the head takes that kind of abuse, lots of times, there are more effects than people anticipate. The fact that you were injured each time on the left side of the head makes the problem you're having even more likely.

"I've been looking up some things in my books. From what I've found, it looks like you've developed aphasia. A French doctor gave it that name. The word just means that you're having a problem with language. There are all types of aphasia; the worst is when the person not only can't speak, but he also can't understand what's being spoken. At least that's not true in your case.

"But because of the head injuries, you're having trouble talking; in other words, you've developed aphasia. That's why you can't speak. You know what you want to say, don't you?"

Heath nodded.

"And it's obvious that you understand us. So those are two very good signs."

"Howard, will this condition just go away, or is there something you can do to help Heath?"

"In some cases, the problem disappears after a few days."

Jarrod looked at Heath. He wished he could stop there and give Heath the hope he so desperately needed. But his brother wasn't like that. No, Heath was an all-or-nothing man; as his representative, the lawyer knew he had to push for all the information.

"And in other cases, Howard?"

The family leaned forward to hear what the doctor had to say. He took off his glasses and polished them before answering.

"In other cases, the recovery isn't quite as fast."

"But they do recover, don't they?" Audra's worried voice reflected the emotions they were all feeling.

"Not always, Audra. Sometimes, they never recover."

"Is there any type of medication or a procedure that will help?"

"Jarrod, there's so much we don't know. There are men who are studying head injuries now; however, they haven't learned enough to help us very much yet."

"Is there anywhere we can take him?"

"Victoria, I'll be looking myself. If I find anything, I'll let you know immediately. All I know right now is that the most well-known research is being done by a Dr. Paul Broca, who lives in France. I've sent wires to several universities and to some doctors I know, asking for more information."

"All right, Howard, but until then, what can we do to help Heath?"

"Well, what you can do isn't as important as what Heath can do. Son, you need to keep calm and steady. You've got to give your brain every chance."

"Brain?"

"A concussion is like a bruise on the brain, Nick. We need to give it time to heal."

"Will there be any other effects?" Jarrod's cool voice belied his feelings of panic and guilt. As he listened, he remembered why Heath was hurt. He remembered that without him, Heath would never have gone to San Quentin. Without him, Heath would not be in this situation now.

"Well, we don't know yet. Maybe we should just wait and see."

Heath's immediate movement and shake of his head showed Jarrod that the cowboy needed the information now.

"No, Howard. Let's hear it all."

The doctor sighed, but he recognized that Heath wanted it that way.

"All right, Heath. It's possible that you won't be able to read; you may not even be able to write. And it's possible that you'll have some movement problems."

"Movement problems? What do you mean?"

"Many cases of aphasia that come from sudden head injury are also accompanied by a partial paralysis. In other words, it's possible that Heath won't be able to move his right arm or leg, or that he might have to work hard to do so."

"We know he can move his right leg, Howard. He and I were just fighting about his movements before you came in the room."

Heath's sudden grin was medicine to them all. He tried to speak, but the nonsense syllables were all that came. The laughter in his eyes died out.

"Now, that's an example of staying calm, Heath. For one thing, your throat isn't fully healed from the first mess you were in. And the best thing for you right now is to stay calm and quiet.

"Heath, you will get better. I promise you that. But what that means, or how much improvement you'll see, is something only time will tell."

"Howard, is that all?"

"It's all I know. I'll be continuing to check with other doctors, and when I learn something, I'll be the one to let you know."

"If we took him to San Francisco, would there be a better chance of finding those answers?"

"You'd have easier access to more doctors, but I don't think it would benefit Heath too much. Knowing this young brother of yours gives me the idea that he wouldn't thrive in a city like he would here where he's loved and wanted."

Jarrod looked at Heath. The cowboy's eyes were dark; the pain and fear were almost palpable.

"Heath, do you want to know about your ability to read now?"

"JARROD!"

"Be quiet, Nick. Do you, Heath?"

They waited. Finally, his hand never leaving Victoria's, he nodded.

"All right, Heath. Nick, would you go get a newspaper? Heath, if your head aches like mine, you won't be up to reading small print. Would you be all right with just looking at headlines?"

Heath nodded; as Nick bounded back in the room, Victoria and Audra felt his body tense.

"All right, Heath. I'll hold up the paper; you look at it. Let us know if you can read it."

To Jarrod, it seemed like an eternity. Heath's eyes stared at the paper; the lawyer struggled to keep it steady. Dr. Merar watched him intently, as did the entire family. Finally, Heath's eyes closed. A deep sigh escaped him.

"WELL? HEATH, WHAT THE--"

"Nicholas." Victoria's admonition was automatic. "You could understand it, couldn't you, Heath?"

He nodded. Dr. Merar was the only one who jumped at the sound of Nick's wild whoop of joy. Jarrod found out why Heath wasn't smiling when he laughed at his brother's antics. It hurt! Gradually, the elation died down.

"Well, Heath, I think that's enough discovery for today. I prescribe rest and lots of it. You also need to work with your mother here and keep making sure you take plenty of liquids. That means water, juice, and broth. In a day or so, we'll try you on some soft foods, but as I remember, your throat wasn't that well healed before this mess happened, so that may take some time."

Heath grimaced at the thought of more days of liquids only, but the doctor wouldn't be dissuaded. He closed his eyes and was soon asleep. Dr. Merar picked up his bag and started to leave; Jarrod and Nick followed him.

"Howard, is there anything else you didn't tell us in there?"

"Jarrod, there are so many possibilities. I hope for the best; just remember, he's going to need a lot of help and support if what we want doesn't happen. I'll be back tomorrow morning; send someone for me if he takes a turn for the worse." The doctor nodded at the two men and trudged down the stairs.

"Jarrod, I can't believe this! He's been through too much to cope with this, too." Nick's voice was strangely hesitant. It was as if he was asking Jarrod to agree with him, even though he knew that what he was asking was impossible.

"We've just got to get through this one day at a time, Nick. We don't have anything else but time." Jarrod's tone was bleak; his eyes were iced with clouds of grief. Slowly, he turned and went back to his room to lie down.

The lawyer's recovery was swift. At the end of the first week, he was moving normally and spending several hours in his Stockton office. Heath's recovery was a little less dramatic. At the end of the first week, he was sitting in a chair and taking some softer foods, but he showed little interest in working to become stronger. He was compliant when he was asked to do something, but he did not initiate any activity on his own.

Victoria rejoiced in this new type of patient, but her joy was short-lived. She began to see that her youngest son was withdrawing; always quiet, this new challenge seemed to be too much for him to handle. She kept talking to him about when he would be better; she urged him to take an interest in his own recovery. But he didn't respond.

At the end of the second week, he was coming downstairs. Nick was the first to notice his nervousness at any loud sound, which made sense to Jarrod.

"Very funny, Jarrod. Even if you're right, he's never been jumpy when I've yelled before. In fact, he's egged me on a few times."

"That was before, Nick. This is now."

"Well, I just want to know what we can do! He's withdrawing more and more into himself; before long, it won't matter even if he gets the ability to talk, because he'll forget how. He won't try at all."

"I think he's embarrassed, Nick."

"Well, that's stupid. He can't help it; why would he be embarrassed?"

"Think what it must be like, Nick. He understands us, he knows in his head what he wants to say. He can read, but even allowing for the fact he's right-handed, he can't write. And while he is making sounds and even using some recognizable words, none of them make sense. I've noticed that we're all talking louder to him, as if by getting louder, we can help him speak coherently."

"So what do you think we should do?"

"I wish I knew. Let's just continue to encourage him to try. Maybe Howard will find out something that can help."

As they talked, Audra was sitting beside Heath, trying to wheedle him into playing a game of checkers with her. Irritated, he shook his head, but the pretty blonde continued. Finally, losing his temper, he snapped out the word "Yes!"

Audra squealed; jumping up, she hugged him. "Heath! I'm so proud of you! Mother! Jarrod? Nick!"

They came rushing in. By this time Heath was standing, his good arm supporting him as he leaned on the fireplace mantel. His face was stormy; his breathing was quick and rough. Audra related what had happened. Victoria looked at Heath in confusion.

"Sweetheart, that's wonderful! I don't understand why you look so unhappy."

"I think it's because he wanted to say no. Isn't it, Heath?"

The gratitude in Heath's eyes was overwhelming to Jarrod. Heath tried to talk, to explain to them that he was trying to say no, but again, the majority of his words were unintelligible. In frustration, he turned, picked up the glass of water he had been drinking, and hurled it across the room.

"Hey now! Heath, settle down; there's no need to get so upset." Nick's loud voice was far from soothing; his words caused the cowboy to look up at him. All the anguish of the universe seemed to be mirrored in his eyes; he was pleading with Nick to understand. But he didn't.

"It's not so bad, Heath. You actually said a couple of real words. Just because they're not the ones you wanted to say doesn't mean that you're not getting better."

Anger and a strange contempt sparked from Heath's eyes. He stalked from the room, leaving his family speechless. The slam of his door signified what he could not say.

"Well, what do we do now? Here he is, beginning to say something, even if it's not what he wants to say, but he's still mad."

"Nick, he's not mad. He's scared and upset. What if you were trying to brand a calf, but all you had was a kitchen match instead of a branding iron?"

"That'd be stupid, Jarrod. No one in his right mind would be in that situation."

"And that's just what I mean. Heath must be afraid that he'll always sound crazy when he talks, even though we know he isn't."

Another week went by. Jarrod was almost back to full strength; Heath, however, suffered terrible headaches. He was still thin, although he was able to eat more. Dr. Merar was adamant that his arm would remain in the splints for at least four more weeks, but he gave the cowboy permission to begin exercising more.

The more he tried, the more tired he became. It didn't make sense. He wanted to ask someone. But how? The tension built up more and more; he was able to say a lot more, but nothing made sense. If he did come up with the right word, he turned it around so that it was a nonsense word. Once, he tried to call Audra "Little Sister." When it came out "Sittle Lister," she giggled. He smiled with her, but the frustration multiplied a thousand times.

And the writing. No one knew the hours he spent in his room, trying to force his left hand to write his name. He knew how to do it. Straight line down, bar, another straight line. Curve for the next letter; circle and line for the A. Then more straight lines and bars for the T and the H. He knew. But his hand wouldn't obey.

Hour after hour he struggled. He walked for miles; making sure he was alone, he tried to say something simple. Something like "My name is Heath." Again, he knew how. But it wouldn't come.

Sundays. He hated Sundays. They wanted him to go to church; he hated being the pet monkey on display. So he didn't go. But then he disappointed Victoria and the family. Jarrod was the only one who understood.

Sunday dinner came. The family was all excited. The new pastor had talked about what it meant to trust God. He had used some different illustrations; in fact, he had startled many people in Stockton when he implied that most people didn't really trust God as much as they trusted money.

"I don't know, Jarrod. The text just didn't seem to support all that he said."

"Well, the verse in Matthew 6 certainly supported what he had to say about what we should be seeking."

"But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness. And all these things shall be added unto you."

The room was still. Every eye was on Heath. His face turned red from the attention. Jarrod recovered first.

"That's right, Heath. In fact, it's exactly as he quoted it."

Pandemonium broke out. The louder they got, the more Heath was unable to respond. How had he done it? He didn't know. He just remembered the verse; his mama had made him learn so many verses by heart. As they celebrated, he grew more and more frightened and withdrawn.

Victoria was watching him. Nick was slapping the cowboy on the back, calling for a celebration.

"Boy, before you know it, we'll be back out there fixing fences every day! You're just getting better and better!"

But her mother's heart saw something else. Yes, he was stronger; yes, the bruises were faded and the cuts were healed. But he still had no appetite; he still was so tired. His walks in the sun had given him some color, but to Victoria, he still looked sickly and pale. Her eyes caught Jarrod's.

"Brother Nick, you're going to break more of his ribs if you keep pounding him on the back like that! Now give the poor man some air! Heath, why don't you and I go sit on the porch and let these ruffians drive each other crazy?"

The lawyer's tact put him at ease. Gratefully, he smiled and followed Jarrod. The lawyer poured them each a small portion of brandy; taking the snifters, he led the way outside, where he knew his brother was most comfortable. Raising his glass, he lifted an eyebrow and said, "To our sensitive brother, Nick, who thinks that everything is fine now." Heath returned the salute and both drank.

"Nick's wrong, isn't he, Heath?"

The cowboy looked up at Jarrod. He was afraid to try; afraid to make a fool of himself again. Jarrod sighed.

"Yes, he's wrong. And as long as you're going to get this reception whenever you make a stride forward, you're not going to get much better. Heath, I have an idea."

Leaning forward intently, the lawyer talked to his brother for a long time. At first, Heath rejected his thoughts; as Jarrod continued, however, his face became intent and hopeful.

"So you see, Heath, in a way, it would be like going back to school. But we'd be alone, and you could work without interruption. Do you want to try?"

Hope blazed from Heath's eyes. He nodded emphatically. Jarrod slapped him on the back in approval.

"Good! It will take me a couple of days to get my case load cleared; I'll ask Nat Springer to handle any situations that come up while we're gone. And I'll tell the family, all right?"

Heath grinned at the man who was offering him a chance. He knew it was a long shot, but he also knew that it was the only shot left.

Jarrod explained his new idea to Nick first. The cowboy listened intently; at the end of their conversation, he shook his head dubiously.

"It sounds good, Jarrod, but I don't think Mother will go for it."

"She will if you and I present it to her correctly. And that, Brother Nick, is crucial. Now, why don't you help me clear up this last piece of business before we talk to her and Audra."

Nick was right. Victoria was against Jarrod's idea. Audra, however, thought it was the best solution.

"Mother, he's spending most of his time in his room. He hates being around people; he just gets more and more tense. I think Jarrod's right."

"But what about your law practice?"

"Nat Springer has agreed to take my current cases; I won't be taking any new clients until this is settled. As for ranch business, Nick is more than capable of knowing what to do. If there's something he can't handle, he'll know how to reach me."

"What if Heath isn't comfortable with this idea?"

"I'm not making that mistake again. I've already talked to him; in fact, I talked to him first. He's all for it, Mother."

With a few more questions, Victoria was persuaded.

"But I'll be coming up several times to check on you both, Jarrod."

"And you'll be welcome as can be, Mother. Just give us a couple of weeks first, all right?"

The silver-haired woman nodded slowly. "Oh, Jarrod, help him!" Jarrod held her tenderly as she cried.

The adjustment to life at the lodge was probably harder for Jarrod than Heath. Always one to enjoy his comforts, he discovered just how much his younger brothers had done to make life comfortable when they vacationed at the lodge. Heath sat on the porch rail and grinned as the lawyer split wood. When his older brother cursed inventively as the wood refused to quarter neatly, he laughed out loud. The sound caused Jarrod to drop his ax.

"You think that's funny, do you?"

Heath continued to laugh. Jarrod glared at him in mock anger and then returned to his chore. He didn't dare let Heath know how excited he was to hear his brother's laughter again; he feared the cowboy would retreat rather than progress.

For the first few days, Heath refused to try to talk. Jarrod was patient but persistent. Finally, the blond began to relax enough to try.

"Heath, I have no idea where to start. But you seemed to be able to say that verse well. Did your mother make you memorize verses?"

Heath rolled his eyes expressively. The reaction was so unexpected that Jarrod shouted with laughter. "By that, I would assume that not only your mother, but also Rachel and Hannah were involved, weren't they?"

Heath's rueful grin was his answer. The lawyer looked at him seriously.

"Then that's where we'll start. You'll be teaching me some of those verses, I imagine. Let's work on John 3:16. Do you know that?"

Well, that was easy. Everyone knew that. Heath began.

"For G--G--" The harder he tried, the more he stuttered. His face became red with effort; his eyes were stormy again. Jarrod reached out his hand.

"Heath, stop. Let's take this slow, slow and easy. Oh, and by the way, I brought this; you wanted me to keep it for you. I started to give it back to Mother, but she wanted you to keep it."

Jarrod handed Heath the locket their mother had sent to San Francisco a lifetime ago. Heath looked at it and then back at the lawyer.

"Go on, Heath. Take it. Maybe if you hang on to it, you'll be able to relax a little."

Without knowing it, Jarrod had hit on a key factor in Heath's recovery. Having an outlet for his frustration was crucial. The cowboy put the locket in his pocket and tried again.

"F--for God s--s--ss AHHHHH!" He hit the table in frustration. But he didn't leave. Jarrod counted that a victory.

"Well, I certainly understood that! Now, just relax. Take it slow, Heath. Slow and easy. We've got all kinds of time; just stay calm."

The lawyer watched as Heath tried and tried again. He noted that the locket came out of his brother's pocket. The cowboy held on to it tightly as he worked to say the words he knew so well; he began to open and close it. As his hand worked the locket open and closed, his ability to speak increased. After a couple of hours, Heath had finally recited John 3:16 aloud.

"Good work, Heath. Now, let's take a walk; when we come back, you can teach me Genesis 1:1."

Thus the pattern was established. Work for a few hours; walk off the tension and stress. They began with what they knew was effective, with things that Heath had memorized. Jarrod carefully watched, and while he watched, he learned.

Whenever the stress factor was too high, the cowboy couldn't talk. If he did utter words, they were unclear or the wrong ones. But if he recognized the stress coming, he could ward off the effects by playing with the locket. He turned it over and over in his hand; he snapped it open, snapped it closed.

Jarrod learned that when Heath was tired, he couldn't produce words correctly. It seemed imperative that the cowboy be rested and relaxed. Most of all, he had to regain confidence. The more Heath began to trust Jarrod not to laugh at him, the more he tried. And the more he tried, the more ground he regained. The lawyer decided to take another step.

"Heath, today, we're going to try something else, something a little unusual. We're going to sing."

That got a reaction. When he looked at Heath's face, Jarrod couldn't help it. He laughed.

"No, we're not going to put on a concert for the squirrels. But we've established the fact that when you're calm and relaxed, you can produce verses you've memorized. Now, let's see if you can sing songs you memorized, too. Do you know 'Amazing Grace'?"

Looking at his brother as if he were insane, Heath nodded.

"No, Brother Heath. No more nodding. Answer me."

Jarrod waited. Out came the locket; in a few minutes, a soft, husky "yes" came as well. Jarrod smiled.

They learned that he could sing songs and even answer questions. Heath was not a singer, but Jarrod didn't care. To him, it was the sweetest music in the world.

Heath was growing more comfortable with his life. He still suffered from headaches, but he was beginning to learn the warning signs of one coming on. He would see black and white spots; before long, the pain would attack. During those times, Jarrod learned to leave him alone.

They walked for hours. As Heath became more comfortable with trying to talk, he began to teach the lawyer the names of plants and trees. The difference Jarrod noted was in the frustration level; having gained some level of communication, the cowboy seemed able to accept the fact that he wasn't able to speak with ease. As time went by, when Heath couldn't say the word he wanted, he would grin and his left arm would sweep out in front of him. With a curiously circular motion, he would pantomime pulling the word back. Sometimes it came; sometimes it didn't. But now, when it didn't come, he was less and less angry.

Victoria visited; so did Nick and Audra. Those times were hard at first. They learned quickly that pressure caused Heath to be unable to produce the words he had worked to hard to relearn. Taking their cues from Jarrod, they were patient and accepting. Heath saw their efforts and realized what they were doing. The difference was that he understood now. They weren't patronizing him; they were showing love.

When it was time to remove the splints, Jarrod and Heath rode down together. Dr. Merar was shocked when he heard the cowboy say hello.

"Well, Son, your mother told me about your time at the lodge. Jarrod, you'll need to teach me what you're doing to help him."

"Howard, I'm not doing it. Heath can teach you; he's the one who's doing it all. I'm just the wood splitter."

The two brothers laughed. As Heath looked at his atrophied arm, the laughter died.

"Heath, the breaks are healed well. It's going to take time, however, to get the strength back. You'll have to work hard, and it will probably be painful."

Heath slipped his hand in his pocket. Jarrod heard the familiar click of the locket and smiled. Dr. Merar started to turn to Jarrod to tell him about the exercises Heath could do.

"T--t--tell me." Heath's demand was simple, but it was clear. The doctor looked at Jarrod, who smiled back at him.

"Howard, it's his arm. It's his responsibility. He's right. You tell him."

After the visit to the doctor, they rode to the ranch. Heath grew more and more tense.

"Nervous?"

"Yes."

"So am I."

Heath looked at his brother in surprise.

"Brother Heath, for the past four weeks, we've had peace and quiet. And here we are, voluntarily going back into the world of Nick. Just how excited will he be after all this time?"

"Not know."

"No, Heath. Try again."

"D-ddd-don't know."

"That's right. But we're going to find out; look ahead." There was Nick, riding to meet them.

To the lawyer's surprise, Heath urged Charger to a full gallop. With a shout, he dared Nick to race him. The two brothers swept away, leaving Jarrod in the dust. He rode on in, smiling at the renewal of the competition between his younger siblings.

"Jarrod! Oh, it's good to see you! But where's Heath?"

"Well, Mother, I have a sad story. My company was rejected when the opportunity for a horse race came along."

The two brothers rode as if their lives depended on the outcome. Finally conceding, Nick shouted at Heath to slow down. The cowboy gradually reined in his horse; turning, he grinned at his brother.

"Heath, one of these days, I'm gonna beat you. You'd better get used to the idea, Boy, 'cause it's comin'."

"Not likely."

Faking a mock blow, Nick cuffed his brother affectionately. "Where's your respect, Boy?"

Heath grinned at the handsome cowboy. "Keep it for riders."

Nick shouted with laughter. As they walked their horses, he talked of work that was waiting. Heath made no reply. Finally, Nick pulled up Coco and turned to his brother.

"Heath, you home for good?"

"D--don't know."

"Boy, you know that it don't matter how much you get back, right?"

Heath looked at Nick. At first he wanted to shout at him, to tell him how much it did matter. But he had learned a hard lesson during the past month. He took a deep breath and waited.

"I'm not sayin' that it's not important to you, Heath. I'm sayin' that it's not important to me. What matters is you. Talkin' or not talkin'--well, that won't change how I feel."

The blond cowboy was glad he had waited. He smiled.

"Thanks, Nick."

"Well, let's see if we can make it home before Mother sends out a posse to bring you in. She's been goin' crazy for two days, knowin' you'd be here tonight." They turned their horses toward home and rode together again.

Victoria laughed as Jarrod continued to tell the story of Nick and Heath's race. As he finished, however, her face grew serious.

"Jarrod, is he ready to come home?"

"I don't know, Mother. That's up to Heath."

Laughter interrupted their conversation. Nick and Heath strode in, both tossing their hats on the marble table. Blond head and dark head together, they walked toward the living room. Victoria rose to greet her youngest son.

"Oh, Sweetheart! You look wonderful!" She leaned back and gazed up at his face. There were still signs of strain, still echoes of pain. He was still too thin. But his eyes were confident.

"S--sss-" Jarrod watched intently. He wanted to intervene, to remind Heath of what they had learned. But it had to be Heath's call.

The cowboy grinned. Using his left arm, he drew a circle in the air. Taking a deep breath, he started again.

"So do you."

"Oh, Heath!" Victoria's hug and kiss said what her words couldn't.

"Heath, want a drink?"

"No, thanks."

Jarrod smiled at his brother. He knew how much those five words had cost; he had seen the sweat pour off his brother's face while he worked. Watching the interplay and listening to Nick talk about the ranch, he remembered when they had started working on the sounds of the alphabet.

"Heath, we've mastered Bible verses and singing. Now, let's start at the beginning. I know you can read, so let's try to just say the sounds of the alphabet, all right?"

He worked. Oh, how he worked. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't produce the sound his mind wanted his mouth to speak. One day went by. Then two, then more. Still, there was no progress.

"Well, we at least know lots of ways that won't work, Heath. But, we have many more ways to try. Maybe if we work on your copying the way I use my mouth and tongue to make the letters, you'll get your brain and your mouth to work together."

By now, Heath was no longer self-conscious around Jarrod. He recognized that Jarrod understood, possibly more than anyone, how important it was for Heath to talk again. And the lawyer didn't talk down to him or answer for him. Because of his patience, he and Heath had worked out several signs and gestures that gave the cowboy a larger vocabulary than yes and no.

It was hard. Jarrod could not remember ever thinking about where he put his tongue to say the long A sound.

"Heath, bear with me for a minute. I've got to figure this out first. And let us be grateful that we're only being watched by the deer and squirrels; imagine what any other person would think if they saw us sitting here sticking our tongues out at each other!"

Both of them laughed at the thought, then Jarrod got back to work.

"All right, Heath. I've got it. To say A, you hold your tongue so that the tip just barely grazes the top of your lower teeth. And you smile. Here, watch me."

Intently, Heath watched as Jarrod exaggerated the movements. He tried to emulate them; Jarrod watched and criticized. Finally, with great effort, the miracle happened. It wasn't pretty; it wasn't clear. But it was recognizable. Heath said A, the first letter of the alphabet. Jarrod grinned.

"And only twenty-five more sounds to go; then we'll work on putting them together in words."

With a start, the lawyer realized that Nick had asked him a question. "What, Nick? I was daydreaming."

"Well, Jarrod, I asked you if you were down for good."

"That's up to Heath."

The family looked at him. His face grew red with their scrutiny.

"Well, Heath, have you spent enough time at the lodge?"

"N--no."

"What else do you need to do there?"

Heath looked at his mother. The silence was curiously healing. Even Nick realized that Heath was working hard to come up with the words he needed.

"Need to--two things. To write, talk with Jarrod."

"Talk with Jarrod? About what?"

"Ss-San Quentin."

"Then we'll go back tomorrow, Heath. Is that all right?" Jarrod's calm acceptance gave Heath the peace he needed.

"Would it be all right if we came up to see you again, Sweetheart?" Victoria was equally calm, but she was intent on spending time with her son.

"Days."

"What?"

"Days. Few days."

"All right, Sweetheart. We'll give you a few more days." Victoria stood and kissed her son. "And now, would you like to take a bath and relax before supper?"

Heath smiled and left the room. At the entryway, he paused and turned around.

"Thanks." Then he turned and walked up the stairs.

Nick had been right. Victoria had cooked every dish she could think of that Heath enjoyed. Silas had been equally busy. Audra had arranged flowers in every room. She burst in the house as Heath came out of his room, buttoning a clean shirt.

"Heath! Oh, Heath!" She ran up the stairs and hugged him. He held her gently.

"Did I hurt your arm?"

"No."

"And just how is that arm, Heath? Jarrod said to ask you what the doctor said."

It was too much. Jarrod was expecting him to handle it all, and he wasn't ready. The panic returned. Victoria sensed his distress. Tucking her right hand under his good arm, she continued to converse as she guided him down the stairs.

"And when you tell me what Howard said, you understand that I'll expect confirmation. If I know you, you'll try to tell me that you're ready to go out and do everything you did before. And I won't accept that, Heath. Not for a while."

Gratefully, he smiled at her. She understood. She really did.

"Not."

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I don't understand." Yes, she did understand. She didn't baby him; she just expected him to try again. He could live with that.

He took a deep breath. "Not--not the same as before. Long time."

"Well, you're finally getting some sense! So you know it will take a while to regain your strength. I'll hold you to that, Sweetheart!"

Heath stopped walking with Victoria. She looked up at him questioningly. He bent down and kissed her. She smiled.

That night was special for many reasons. Heath was back. He could talk--a little. But the most important thing was that he accepted the fact that he had to struggle. The next morning, as the two brothers started back to the lodge, Victoria ran out of the house.

"Heath! Heath, you forgot this!"

She stood beside his horse, holding up the locket. Heath started to shake his head; looking at her, he smiled instead.

"Thanks, Mother." Bending down, he kissed her and then rode off. Jarrod smiled and urged his horse to follow.

He waited. But Heath didn't bring it up on the ride. That night, the cowboy worked with Jarrod, showing him how to aim the ax so that he could quarter the wood neatly. It was obvious that his right arm was painful, but Jarrod said nothing.

They continued working on his regaining the ability to talk. Heath insisted on starting to learn to write again.

The blue eyes met his mutinously. He recognized that with or without him, Heath would try. Sighing, he gave in.

"All right, Heath. But I just want to say one thing. The next time you call Nick stubborn, you'd better be looking in the mirror."

The battle continued. Jarrod's battle was different; part of it was watching the brother he had grown to love having to work so hard to do simple tasks. Part of it was the realization that without his actions, Heath wouldn't have needed the help. And part of it was dreading the conversation he knew they needed to hold.

Finally, after three days, Heath was ready.

"Jarrod, tell me. Why?"

"Why what, Heath?"

"Why so much time--here?"

"You mean with you?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you tell me what you think my reasons are?"

"Because you sent me to Quentin."

"So you think that the reason I chose to spend so much time up here with you is because I feel responsible for what happened?"

Heath tried to talk. But he was nervous. The words wouldn't come. In frustration, he hit the arm of the chair.

"Why don't you just relax, wait a minute, and see if you can answer, Heath? I'm not going anywhere." Jarrod's face was inscrutable. Heath couldn't read him.

The cowboy stood and walked to the water pitcher. Pouring himself a drink, he gulped it down. He hadn't been this nervous for a long time. But he had to know; he had to hear it.

"Yes."

Jarrod waited to see if there would be more. Heath simply looked at him. The lawyer sighed.

"I deserve that, Heath. And I'll admit something; when I suggested coming here, my responsibility was a large part of the reason. Before I go on, I want to ask you a question."

Heath waited.

"Will you believe me when I say what I want to say?"

The younger man walked slowly back to his chair. Sinking down, he made sure he was comfortable. It was obvious to Jarrod that he was thinking about his answer. Now it was Jarrod who was nervous; Jarrod whose fears were coming to the front. He waited.

"I trust you."

Jarrod's eyes grew intent. "Thank you, Heath. My reason for wanting to come here, as I said, was largely because I knew that I was the reason you were in this shape. But Heath, my reason for staying is different from my reason for coming."

Heath remained still. Jarrod was reminded of the day before, when Heath had tried to teach him how to remain still in the forest, so still that the animals would walk over him as if he were a part of the woods.

"Heath, my reason for staying isn't because I'm the cause of your problems. I'm staying because you're my brother."

Now it was Jarrod's turn to stay still. Had he said enough? The lawyer in him wanted to plead his case, to explain to the man in front of him that this time had shown him far more than it had helped Heath. Jarrod had grown to admire and respect the cowboy for the man he was. He wanted to go over the complicated issues of his brother's parentage and show Heath, step by step, how unimportant that was. His commitment was simple. Brothers help brothers.

Heath sighed. "Thanks, Jarrod." And the lawyer knew that his brother understood.

Several weeks went by before Heath decided he was ready to tackle living at the ranch. During that time, he worked harder than he had ever worked before. So did Jarrod. For every lesson in writing and speaking, Heath demanded time with his brother in his own element. He showed him how to tell when a wooded area was ready for logging; he explained how to tell where to sink a mine shaft.

Jarrod learned a lot about survival. As Heath explained how he knew which plants were poisonous and which were edible, the lawyer began to appreciate the core of strength that had helped the cowboy through so much.

"You know, Brother Heath, I always thought I knew a lot about ranching and about our mines and timber camps. You've showed me that I'm a novice at it all."

Heath grinned. "Just like me in your San Francisco, fire food and all."

The two men laughed as they walked. Heath looked at Jarrod seriously.

"When we get back, things will change. I can't--can't do all--"

"Heath, Howard warned us that you'll have these headaches for a long time, maybe even years, and he also told us that you'll need to back off from some of the physical work you do. When we get back, I have a few ideas that might help, all right?"

"Tell me first."

Jarrod stared at his brother. The impish twinkle in the cowboy's eyes warned him; Heath was teasing. But as he continued to look, he saw the resolve, the confidence in his brother's eyes. The healing had happened.