Rachel locked the door behind her and sat heavily on the bed, her body quivering with grief and fear.

Quivering with grief over the loss of her good friend. A friend who through the years gave joy, companionship and love to her. A friend who never asked for anything from anyone but who would give all she had if it was requested.

Quivering with fear over the look in her nephew’s eyes. The light from the inside had shone across his face on the porch, the look in his eyes turned her stomach.

Those eyes could be so expressive when he wasn’t smothering his emotions.
Those eyes could turn icy cold when facing an enemy.
Those eyes could sparkle and overflow with love.
Those eyes could shine with mischief.
Those eyes tonight carried a look she had never seen before.

She had seen Heath angry in the past, but tonight it was different and it frightened her. When she ordered Heath to release his brother, the thought flashed briefly through her mind, ‘What if he doesn’t let go? What will you do?’

She’d been greatly relieved when he obeyed and stepped back. When she put her hand on his arm, she had been alarmed at the shaking in his body.

Closing her eyes, she fought the fear she felt rising in her. Heath would never knowingly hurt her, but a man with that kind of rage inside of him, may not be aware of what he’s doing, should it take over.

When she had gone to their ranch, she could see the concern they held for Heath, well, all except Nick. Nick’s attitude towards Heath had changed or so it seemed. Could they be what Heath needed to calm him, to help him see his way through?

Sighing, Rachel knew Heath was not planning on returning to Stockton. She didn’t know what had happened, but understood the conflicts between he and Nick were the reason for his early departure.

It seemed the inner bottle inside her nephew had cracked, leaving him teetering on the edge of a precipice. His balance thrown off, his arms flapping wildly while he tried to regain his footing to keep from falling over the edge.

Looking out the window, Rachel wondered if the Barkley family was the key to soothing the rage, the cracked inner bottle was releasing, inside Heath Thomson, human volcano.

How do you calm the raging fire within a volcano?
How do you stop a volcano from exploding?

The full moon shone down from the sky cast its glow on the world below. The world lay tranquil and peaceful, no sounds could be heard.

Sitting on the balcony of his hotel room, Heath Thomson wasn’t aware of the glory of the circular object in the sky, he wasn’t aware of the sound of the piano playing in the saloon down the street, he wasn’t aware his brother was in the next room awake like he was and he wasn’t aware of the man who watched the hotel from the shadows.

He was only aware of his sense of loss.

Another loved one gone, never to return except in his dreams.
Another loved one gone, a spot of sunshine in his dismissal years in Strawberry.
Another loved one gone, there was only one left – Aunt Rachel.

‘What about the Barkleys? They’re family.’

The thought flashed through his mind, quick as a lightning bolt streaking across the sky. Pouring another shot, he let the smooth liquor slide down his throat, shaking his head at the forbidden thought. Leaning his head back against the wall, he inhaled deeply on his cigarette.

It had been two days since Hannah’s death. Arrangements had been made, a wagon rented and tomorrow they were taking Hannah back to Strawberry.

Nick Barkley was still in Pine Crest.

Despite repeated angry orders to leave, Nick stood his ground, not budging an inch, withstanding the anger from the younger man. Heath finally stopped ordering, not cause he wanted Nick around, but because of the tears in Aunt Rachel’s eyes during the last confrontation.

Almost coming to blows with Nick, Rachel was terrified at the rage exuding from her nephew. She had burst into tears from the additional emotional trauma and the fear inside. Heath was guilt ridden from the pain he was causing her, so soon after Hannah’s death. Conceding to her wishes of no more confrontations, he agreed, Nick could stay until they returned to Strawberry.

Nick joined them at mealtimes. Nick accompanied them to make the arrangements. Nick spent his time with them and Heath chose to keep silent, openly conversing with his aunt while ignoring his brother who stood next to his side.

Nick would wink at Rachel and grin widely at Heath. Nick was not about to let Heath get under his skin or drive him away. Nick and Heath were in a battle of wills, one Rachel watched with interest.

Which one would win? Both were stubborn. Both were pigheaded. Both were ready to stay their course, no matter what. Yep, they’re brothers.

Since leaving the Barkley ranch, Heath found himself thinking of his future. A future with Aunt Rachel and a new place to call home. A ranch that was his own, with horses and cattle. A ranch that was small, yet with potential to expand over the years. He knew of the perfect location for his ranch.

He needed more money to make that dream come true.

In the mountains around Strawberry were wild horse herds. These horses could be caught, broken and sold. He had watched the herds before heading to Stockton and knew the quality of horseflesh that could be found.

It would be a lot of work, but would expand his savings faster than working as a ranch hand. He had done it alone before and could do it again.

Satisfied with the plans he had conceived, Heath entered his room and lay on his bed.

Tomorrow, Hannah will lay beside mama. Tomorrow night, Nick Barkley will be laying in his own bed in Stockton.

Strawberry, California.

In its heyday, Strawberry was a thriving, pulsating town. The money was free flowing, the men loud and gregarious, the woman in the saloons painted and wildly dressed. It was a place where fortunes were made and men left penniless.

In its heyday, every shyster, con man, gambler, hired gun, fortune teller and snake oil peddling medicine man would seek out Strawberry. A place where the easy score was to be made. A place where the law was virtually non-existent. A place where the gold from the mines was the major source of income to its residents.

In its heyday, the town smelled of baked goods, horses and smoke. People walked on the boardwalks and in the street. The traffic was fast, wagons rumbling down the street, horses held to a walk by the hands on their reins, children and dogs running between the moving objects, chasing each other or a wooden ring.

This was the den of inequity. This was the place into which Heath Thomson was born and raised. This was his hometown.

Now, Strawberry was a place covered in dust, dirt and grime. Degenerated buildings, windows broken, shutters hanging down with tumbleweeds snuggling against the doors.

Roofs with holes in them, missing shingles, exposed trestles, birds and bats residences of the buildings, boardwalks with missing boards and water troughs dry as the desert. Hitching rails lay on the ground or leaning, waiting for a strong wind to send them to their final resting spot in the dust.

Ruts and potholes lined the streets. Only tumbleweeds, stray cats, mice and other varmints ran down the byways now.

The town smelled of neglect, rotting and death. No fortunes to be made here anymore. No easy scores to be made. No sounds of laughter, shouting, shots or jiggling of the ivory keys on a piano were heard now. No one ever came here except if they were lost or visiting one of the few people that still dwelled in this desolate place.

In the early morning light, Nick Barkley rode Coco, his eyes taking in the place where his Father met Heath’s mother. Trying to envision the town as it was over twenty five years ago, unable to make that visualization in his head with what lay before his eyes while he followed the wagon carrying the simple pine box into the graveyard.

Jumping down from the wagon, Heath reached up and lifted his aunt down. Nick dismounted and tied Coco to the haphazard fence. Rachel headed away from the cemetery towards a small cabin lined with a collapsing picket fence, flowers in the window boxes and two chairs on the front porch.

Meeting Heath at the back of the wagon, he was startled when words broke the silence.

“Stay away from the hotel.” warned Heath grabbing the pick and heading into the cemetery.

Nick took the shovel out of the wagon and stood patiently waiting for Heath to pay his respects to his mother, walking over after his brother drove the pick into the ground.

Working steadily in the chill of the early morning, the brothers did not converse, their thoughts kept to themselves as they methodically dug into the earth. The morning passed quickly, the only break taken when Rachel brought fresh water to satisfy their thirst and replenish much needed fluids in the rapidly rising temperatures.

Their bodies and clothes became covered with dust and grime, the hole becoming deeper until they reached the standard depth and width. Climbing out, they wiped the sweat off their foreheads and returned to the wagon.

Carrying the casket between them and grunting from exertion, they slowly made their way to the grave, carefully placing the pine box in its resting place. Rachel arrived from her home with a bible. Standing hatless and heads bowed, the brothers listened to the simple, love filled ceremony celebrating the life of Hannah James.

Nick and Heath completed the sad task of piling dirt on the pine box, encasing it in a blanket of brown, shutting out the sunshine and the rest of the world to its occupant.

Taking the shovel from Nick, Heath threw it in the back of the wagon. Climbing up, he mounted and backed the wagon out of the cemetery.

“There’s a stream about 100 yards that way. You can clean up there.” stated Heath jumping down and gesturing towards the trees which bordered the cemetery.

“Aren’t you coming?” asked Nick.

Heath retorted, “Boy Howdy, you need me to hold your hand?”

Biting back the angry reply, Nick shook his head, “No thanks.”

Grabbing a clean shirt from his saddlebags, Nick headed to the stream. Heath knelt before the two graves, lost deep in his thoughts, the approaching footsteps unheard in the grass.

“So, the bastard returns.”

Standing, Heath put on his hat and turned to face his uncle, Matt Simmons. The man responsible for nothing but misery, pain and anguish in his life as a boy. The man who should have been a role model for a growing boy, instead the subject of nightmares. Beatings, insults and whippings were handed to a young Heath by this pathetic excuse for a human being standing in front of him.

Coldly staring into the eyes of the older man, Heath growled, “What do ya’ want?”

Disgust and contempt flashed across his uncle’s face. Walking around Heath and looking at the simple marker on the new grave, Matt snorted, “A whore and a crazy old woman.”

Heath clenched his fists, his words fraught with fury as he snarled. “You better leave while you’re able!”

Matt watched the body of his good for nothing nephew shaking with anger. Matt Simmons had been drinking, his days spent imbibing in alcohol to drown out the life he had carved for himself. Blaming his failures on everything and everyone except where the blame actually lay.

Heath and his mother, Leah, were treated as if they were lower than scum by he and his wife in the past. No family loyalty could ever be found in Matt towards his sister. He always felt Heath should have been put in an orphanage or killed at birth.

Blaming an innocent baby for the shame brought upon he and his wife.
Blaming a an innocent baby for misfortunes befalling them.
Blaming an innocent baby because it was easier than admitting one’s own shortfalls of character.

Matt Simmons could be a dangerous man when sober. Killing someone to obtain what he wanted was not a foreign idea to him. In fact, his past actions were the reason he no longer used the surname, Thomson.

Alcohol created in him a false sense of importance, a false sense of security, a false sense that this was the same scared boy in front of him.

Gesturing at the graves, Matt smirked, “Now, your whore mother has a friend with her.”

The bellow of rage reached Nick’s ears when he was putting on his shirt. Grabbing his gun belt, he ran towards the sound coming from his little brother.

Matt Simmons’ alcohol dulled mind knew his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth.

Heath let out an unworldly howl of rage and dove into his uncle. Pushing him backwards into the dust, his fists pummeling the man. Scrambling away, Matt sprang up and kicked Heath in the stomach. Doubling over, Heath gasped for air, pain exploding in the side of his face when a boot kissed his jaw.

Shaking his head, Heath brought him down by grabbing and sharply twisting the boot coming towards him again. Cursing loudly at his uncle, Heath sat on top of him hitting his head against the ground. Matt’s fists found his nephew’s face and body.

Ignoring the blows, Heath was unaware his hands were wrapped around his uncle’s throat, squeezing the life slowly out of him, the rage taking over blocking out all sense of reason.

Nick ran over, shocked at the sight of the man under Heath whose face was slowly turning blue from the shortage of oxygen. Grabbing at Heath’s arms and hands, Nick pulled at them trying to break the herculean hold.

Screaming at Heath to let him go, Nick panicked from the wild look in the blue eyes.

“LET HIM GO!” screamed Nick.

The frantic movement of the man’s hands and legs were slowing, his eyes rolling in the back of his head.

“HEATH BARKLEY, YOU’RE KILLING HIM!”

Blinking in shock, Heath stared at Nick and then down at his uncle laying underneath him. Releasing his hold, Heath fell over onto the ground, his breath coming in gasps. Shudders running through his body, tears mixing with blood, pain etched in his face.

Nick knelt beside Heath, the man coughing and taking deep breaths of precious air. Anger flared in the man’s eyes, his hand went back for his gun, only stopping at the pistol pointed at him.

“You better get outta here or I’ll let my brother finish what he started.” replied Nick, cocking his pistol to drive the point home.

Struggling to his feet, Matt staggered back to the hotel, his hands shaking with anger and fear, aware his life had only been spared by mere seconds.

Waiting until the man entered the dilapidated hotel down the street, Nick looked down at Heath. Bruises forming on the face of his brother, blood running down from a cut on his forehead, the shuddering in his body had ceased.

“Heath?” asked Nick quietly seeing his eyes closed.

Opening his eyes, Heath pushed himself up, biting his lip to hold in the moans from the bruises that were making themselves known. Wiping the blood out of his eye, he climbed slowly to his feet, the burst of frenzied energy leaving him drained.

“Is that why you said to stay away from the hotel?”

“My loving relatives.” replied Heath bending over to retrieve his hat, brushing at the dirt on his clothes.

“Heath, are you all right?” asked Rachel, breathing heavily from running over to the brothers.

“I’m fine, Aunt Rachel. I’m gonna clean up for lunch.” stated Heath walking to the stream Nick had just left, leaving the others behind.

Nick walked with Rachel back to the cabin leading the team. Tying the horses to the fence, Nick waited outside for Heath to return. Thirty minutes had passed and still no sign of his brother.

Concern moved his feet to the stream hidden by the trees. Retracing his earlier steps, Nick approached the freshly bathed blonde leaning against a tree, a bloody cloth held up to his forehead.

“You okay?” inquired Nick eyeing the material.

“I would’ve killed him, Nick. Not that he don’t deserve it, but it’d upset Aunt Rachel.” said Heath his eyes looking forward. “Thanks for stopping me.”

Shrugging, Nick grinned slightly, “You woulda done the same for me.”

“You sound mighty sure of that.” stated Heath checking the cloth satisfied the blood had stopped flowing, standing on his feet. “Nice to be sure.”

Frowning, Nick let Heath’s words roll around in his head. Wondering exactly what they were meant to convey. Deciding to forego asking him at this moment, he filed it away with all the other questions he wanted to ask.

“I was thinking maybe I should stay a couple more days in case your uncle tries something else.” suggested Nick hazel eyes lighting up with hope.

“He won’t try anything.” snorted Heath buttoning up his shirt. “It’s a lot different than hitting a boy who can’t hit back.”

The repercussions of Heath’s words resonated in Nick’s head. Heath glanced sideways at Nick, stopping at the shock appearing on the dark haired one’s face.

“What’s the matter?” asked Heath puzzled by the look.

“Your uncle beat you?” blurted Nick angrily. “A boy?”

“Aunt Rachel’s waiting on us for lunch.” stated Heath walking past Nick, ignoring the outburst and question his offhand remark caused.

Heath looked down at the hand that grabbed his arm, halting his progress back to the cabin. Lifting his blue eyes up, he said quietly, “I’d remove that if I was you.”

“Why didn’t anyone do something about it?” asked Nick. “You were just a boy!”

“Nobody cares what happens to a bastard born in a mining camp. Nobody would get involved for fear they’d get the same. I didn’t have no high and mighty daddy to take care of me!.” retorted Heath angrily shaking the hand off his arm. “Welcome to my world, Nick Barkley!”

“I’m your brother and I’m here now, Heath.” stated Nick firmly. “Give me, US, a chance to be brothers.”

“It’s too late for that, Nick. Go back where you belong.”

“You expect me to leave and never return?” shouted Nick, anger reddening his face. “I can’t do that! You’re part of the Barkley family. WE STICK TOGETHER!”

“My name is Thomson, not Barkley.” snapped Heath walking away, leaving a frustrated and dejected Nick standing by the stream.

....Continued