Heath held Maria in his arms as they both lay in the grass and broke away from the kiss they were enjoying. He smiled as Maria lay back on to the grass and looked up into the blue sky and then into his eyes, the blueness so similar.

She caressed his face, tracing the outline and pulled him down so their lips could meet again. Everything felt right. All the way right, as Heath had said and promised it would be. Caught between the old world and the new, Maria had needed that reassurance.

She recognized that she had been falling in love with her young cowboy since their first encounter on the lawn at her father's ranch. He stole her heart just as certainly as she had stolen his all those years ago, though she had not known it at the time.

Their time together had been free from worry for whilst they were together they shut out the rest of the world. They were in love, how could anyone deny them that, how could anyone want to, even if that person was her father.

Up on a nearby hill and out of sight, Don. Alfredo and his nephew came to a sudden halt as they both spied Maria in Heath Barkley's arms. Don Alfredo was quick to make his displeasure known. His toleration had reached its limits. The attraction which he had hoped would burn out if not denied, had grown stronger instead of weaker. Now was the time to act. He could no longer consider his neighbors, the Barkleys. The Montero name was all that was important. Silently, he vowed to send Maria back east. As he watched the couple part, Heath helping Maria up on to her horse and their heads meeting in a kiss, he uttered these fateful words:

"Él es bastardo de Tom Barkley. Su sangre no es pura. Lo no caben para casar a mi hija o para engendrar a mis nietos futuros. Nuestro linaje pasa detrás mil años. Él no lo contaminará. No si tengo cualquier cosa hacer con él." "He is Tom Barkley's bastard. His blood is not pure. He is not fit to marry my daughter or father my future grandchildren. Our lineage goes back over a thousand years. He will not contaminate it. Not if I have anything to do with it."

Hearing his uncle's words and watching him then ride away, Luis Garcia, Don Alfredo's nephew grabbed hold of the fancy whip he favored and kicked his horse into a gallop, charging towards Heath Barkley and striking him down with the whip.

Neither Don Alfredo or Maria could hear Heath's cries as lash after lash bared his flesh open and left his shirt in bloody tatters. Seeing Heath curl up into a ball to protect himself from the blows, Garcia continued his vicious assault, strike after strike coming down so that even Heath's pants were bared open under the whip and his buttocks made raw. His face, back and buttocks covered in bloody welts, Heath finally passed out, free from the pain.

In two different residences families gathered for pre-dinner drinks. Victoria and Audra were missing a family member and decided to wait a little longer for Heath to return. Nick had indicated he would be heading straight to town after working on the range and was not expected home for dinner.

Neither Victoria or Audra could hide their concern as Heath, who was expected home, was usually punctilious unless there was good reason. Was there a reason for his lateness? Their eyes strayed constantly to the door, hoping to see it open and a young, apologetic man appear.

At the Monteros, Luis Garcia joined his uncle and cousin Maria for pre-dinner drinks. Whilst Maria went to check on how long dinner would be, uncle and nephew talked, Garcia eager to tell his uncle that they would no longer be bothered by Heath Barkley, regaling with pride how he had dealt with him and in what terms. Though careful to keep his voice low so Maria could not hear, Garcia could not hide his enthusiasm for what he had done.

Don Alfredo listened in horror, his grip tightening on the stem of his glass until the thin material could stand no more pressure and it broke, fell to the floor, shattering into many pieces.

"Uncle! What's wrong?" Garcia asked, the smile on his face quickly disappearing as he saw the blood spread out across his uncle's hand.

"You stupid fool!" Montero exclaimed, getting something to bandage his hand. "You imbecile! This is not what I wanted! Not this!"

"But Uncle? I did it for you! You said you would separate them!"

"By sending Maria back east! Not through violence. Get out! Get out of my house now. As far as I am concerned you do not belong to this family. You are no longer welcome!"

"Father, what is it?" cried Maria, hearing the heated exchange and running back into the room.

Don Alfredo could not look at his daughter. He felt shame like he had never felt shame before. Yes, he had wanted Heath Barkley out of his daughter's life, but not like this! Unable to answer his daughter, he went outside and directed some hands to ride to town for the doctor and for a buckboard to be made up with blankets and medical supplies.

"Father!" Maria exclaimed again, her voice filled with growing fear, as she watched her father mount a horse, ready to escort the two men taking the buckboard.

"It's Heath Barkley, Maria." Don Alfredo finally admitted. "He has been hurt. I am taking some help to him. Send word to the Barkleys that I will bring him here. His mother will no doubt want to be with him."

"How hurt? Father, tell me!"

When her father did not reply, she said again, "How hurt? Tell me what has happened to Heath! What have you done to him?"

"Not now Maria." Montero censured sternly though in reality he did not know what to say. To say anything was to lose face in front of his daughter and even with all that was going on, Montero was still a proud man.

"Take me to him. I want to go with you. I want to be with Heath." Maria screamed as her father turned his horse to ride out.

"No Maria. Stay here! I will bring him here, I promise."

Montero was not sure in what state he would find the boy. If Barkley was dead, Montero did not want his daughter seeing him that way.

"Maria, as much as you want to come, you can do more for him here by sending word to the Barkleys and waiting for the doctor. Prepare a room and guest rooms, too, for the Barkleys when they come."

And with that he rode away, leaving a distraught Maria, crying on the porch, her mind racing, her heart filled fear for the man she loved.

Pulling his horse to a stop, Don Alfredo almost vomited when he saw the bloody state of Heath Barkley lying on the ground, legs sprawled, clothing torn, blood everywhere. He never wished to see such a sight again. Aware that his men were also staring, he quickly regained composure and dismounted.

He knelt down by the young man telling the men to bring a board on which they could carry him. Don Alfredo knew there was nothing he could do to help, the doctor could do anything he could attempt better, his task was to get the boy home alive and keep him alive through the journey.

He instructed the men to place Heath on the board and carry him to the buckboard. Fortunately, Heath was unconscious and unaware of being moved. Montero prayed that would remain the case for Barkley until he could get him to the doctor. His dislike for the young man had not changed in terms of his unsuitability as a suitor for his daughter, but he had not wished him physical harm. Not this. This was.... he found he could not find the words to describe the act of savagery that had taken place. In all his years he had never taken a whip to a man.

As he watched his men place the boy in the back of the buckboard, his thoughts went back to his reasons for his slaying of the bull, the imagery of that bull drawing uncomfortable parallels with the savagery done to Heath.

It was a deliberate act on his part. An act intended to give a clear message. Impure breeds would not be tolerated on any level. But, he had not meant this. This barbarity done to a man, not his equal, but a man all the same.

When at last the party arrived back at the ranch, the doctor was waiting with Maria and Victoria Barkley, who had been brought from the Barkley ranch by one of the Montero ranch hands.

Jarrod was away in Denver, but a telegram had been sent, and Nick was still in town. A Barkley ranch hand had been sent out to tell him what had happened.

Maria grew faint when she saw Heath who was lying on his front, still unconscious. Victoria held her steady, keeping herself steady at the same time, for nothing wounded a mother more than to see her child hurt. The two women, divided by age and by culture, were now joined in their love for this special man.

They watched silently as the hands carried Heath upstairs and the doctor followed. With hearts beating with hidden fear, they slowly made their way upstairs together.

Downstairs, Don Alfredo was left alone.

Outside the bedroom into which Heath was taken, Victoria suddenly stopped and held Maria at arms length. In the background, Heath was being placed face down on a prepared bed and the doctor was getting ready to assess the patient's injuries.

"Maria," Victoria asked. "Do you love my son?" It was a direct question and it demanded an equally direct answer. The two women understood each other.

"Yes." Maria said with conviction. "I love him. I love him with all my heart."

Internally, Victoria breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was what she had hoped for Heath.

"Good," she replied. "Now my dear, answer my next question just as honestly, will you? If you walk into this room now, are you going to be able to stand what you will have to do and what you will see?

"You will see things and have to do things which no fancy education back east prepares you for.

"If you cannot, then you had better leave it to those who can, for Heath's life depends on us."

Maria's tear-filled gaze turned towards Heath lying on the bed. Victoria waited for her answer.

Victoria placed a wool blanket over the sleeping form of Maria Montera as the young girl slept in a chair next to Heath's bed. Though mentally Maria had fought sleep, her eyes not wanting to leave the sleeping ones of Heath's, physically she was exhausted and quite rightly the body had won out and forced sleep where none was wanted.

Smiling, Victoria returned to Heath's side and for the hundredth time that night, took a cool cloth filled with water and sponged him down, trying to stave off the fever that simmered under his skin, threatening to erupt any time. He was not awake, but he was not asleep either. He was betwixt both, his body like Maria's, in conflict, needing sleep, but also needing to fight the infection from the myriad of cuts that covered his back and buttocks.

Victoria took in the injuries done to her son. She could not stop the tears forming in her eyes, tears which she had kept contained until now. For tears helped no one, least of all Heath. But the tears came anyway as she took in the lacerations done to her son's body, twenty lashes in all.

Had Montero's nephew decided on the number? It was such an even number. She tried to understand the thinking of one man taking such violence out on another. Heath, they had been told by the doctor, would be scarred for life. Oh yes, in time, they would fade, but he would never again be able to take off his shirt and hide them away from the world. They were a part of him now, as much a part of him as the blue eyes of his father, the blond hair he shared with Audra and the signature smile that was all his own.

In time, the angry rawness and openness of the wounds would heal, the skin would slowly knit together but this time into thickened, raised skin, no longer the smoothness of before, its pigmentation forever white against the skin tanned brown by sun. There was one thing she was grateful for, and that was that Heath would never see them. He would be aware of them, of others staring, perhaps wondering at their source, for people rarely viewed the mark of a lash without thinking it was deserved, but he would never see them as they are now. He would never be able to see the full force of an anger spent. An anger borne out of the irrational, the belief that one man is better than the next.

As she tended Heath, he stirred. At twenty-three he looked even younger, or maybe it was her imagination. Vulnerability enhanced youth, especially in a mother's eyes. With a mother's hand, she gently soothed him, placing a hand on his cheek and then ran her fingers equally gently through his hair, her actions reminiscent of when she soothed him from a bad dream or through a childhood illness. Heath had three gashes to his face. The doctor did not think they would scar as the force of the lash had been less than that on his back which had taken the brunt of the attacks. Victoria was grateful for that small mercy but even more grateful for the fact that Heath was alive. He would survive and they would make him well again.

Victoria returned to her own chair and regarded Maria still asleep. The older woman had found a new respect for this girl who was not yet twenty. She had kept her composure when together they had cut away Heath's clothes, piece by piece, and then repeatedly washed the blood away, allowing the doctor to tend Heath's wounds whilst they cleared bowl after bowl of bloody water and dressings away. She had remained strong when the doctor had shown them what they would have to do afterwards in maintaining Heath's care and managing the fever that would eventually come. Only now, in the quietness of the night, did Victoria reflect that this would be the first time Maria had seen Heath naked, but she had shown no embarrassment. Modesty had no place in a sick room and Maria had been quick to realize that, neither fainting or blushing at what she had seen or had to do.

What would the future hold for this young couple who had so much potential? Would love win or heritage win out? Maybe they would find the strength to find their own future, unburdened by Heath's illegitimacy or Maria's aristocratic roots. She dearly hoped they would.

As her own eyes rested and her thoughts turned inward to contemplate how she could help, life in the form of her middle son, forced them quickly open again.

All hell had broken out downstairs and it's name was Nick.

Victoria descended the stairs to find Nick holding Don Alfredo by the lapels of his bolero and pinning him up against a wall.

"I'll ask you again what you have done to my brother?" Nick was screaming at the top of his voice.

"Get your hands of me!" Don Alfredo was shouting back.

Nick did not let go. "I'll ask again. What have you done to my brother?"

"Then ask, Nick," came his mother's voice, "And remember that Heath lies injured upstairs. Your shouting is not helping him any." Nick turned to find his mother standing on the stairs addressing him.

"Injured? Why this man is responsible for Heath almost being beaten to death!" Nick shot back in disgust, not willing to let the anger that had raged ever since he had heard what happened leave him anytime soon, or the guilt he felt. He was as mad as hell and feeling guilty that he had not been there to protect his brother. Instead he was in town with a woman whilst his brother lay beaten near to death. So much for his promise to look out for his kid brother.

"For the love of God, Nick." Victoria exclaimed, her patience and energy spent, "I have spent three hours with your brother. He is my concern now! This can wait. Your brother can't."

"But Mother! This man is responsible for Heath being like he is. This man stood outside these very doors and killed a bull without a second thought, now my brother is whipped near to death, with just as less thought. Why? Because he represents an impure blood line. For God's sake," Nick pleaded back to Don Alfredo," He's my kid brother ....my kid brother. We love him and you almost took him away from us." The words were spoken with such heart and pain that none present could remain unaffected. The admission sapped all the energy from Nick.

Victoria moved towards him and comforted him. Hurt his family and you hurt the very core of Nick for there was nothing in life he valued higher. "Nick. Go upstairs. Go see Heath. He is sleeping now, but somehow I think he will know you are there. He is in the second room on the left. You will find Maria there, too."

The next words they heard were totally unexpected. Having regained his composure after the assault on his person, Don Alfredo's arrogance and air of superiority quickly re-emerged.

"Mrs. Barkley. I'm afraid I must insist that Maria does not attend your son any more. I understand that he is in a state of undress because of his injuries. This I understand. But, my daughter, Mrs. Barkley, is an unmarried woman. It is not decent that she should attend to a man in this state. I will send to town for a nurse to assist you. It will be more proper, less inviting of scandal."

Victoria who was ascending the stairs after her son, stopped dead in her tracks and turned. "Decent! Naked! My son is naked, Don Alfredo because your nephew under your intended or unintended influence saw fit to whip my son twenty times. And when he was done, he saw fit to triumphantly regale you with the facts over polite drinks whilst my son lay bleeding and alone out there. Have you seen my son, Don Alfredo? Have you seen what twenty lashes have done to his skin? It took your daughter, yes your daughter, and myself eight attempts to bathe his skin clear from all the blood just so the doctor could work on him. You speak to me of what is decent! You speak to me of what is proper! My son did not deserve this. My son does not deserve to carry the scars he will now have to carry for the rest of his life. He does not deserve the days ahead filled with pain. He does not deserve to be thought of as any thing less than the decent, honorable and fair man that he is. A man's nobility comes from the way he behaves Don. Alfredo. In that regard you have much to learn from my son. You may not have held the whip that beat my son, Don Alfredo, but you are no less guilty than your nephew who did. Your twisted sense of self-importance nearly cost my son his life. Now tell me Don Alfredo. What is decent now?

And with that Victoria and Nick continued upstairs to join Heath and Maria. As soon as Heath was well enough to travel, they would be returning to the Barkley ranch and an invititation would be made to Maria for her to join them.

The weeks passed slowly for Heath. It took him a long time to mend physically as well as mentally from the beating. The weeks in bed did not help his depression. At first there had been too much pain. Pain staved off thought. Then as the pain lessened and the wounds healed, there was too much time to think. In that state the mind can play perverse tricks, cruel tricks. It chipped away at the inner man, his self-worth and his self-belief.

Maria had come to stay with the Barkleys, disgusted at what her family had done and unable to come to terms with the hatred of her father towards the man she loved. Her own pain was doubled though, when as he began to get better Heath began to grow distant from her. Though she still walked into his room, wishing him good morning and helping with his care, she might as well as have been a hired nurse for there was no connection between the two.

"I don't know what I have done wrong," she confided to Victoria, tearfully, one morning. "He just pushes me away. I don't think he loves me anymore. It's become so bad, I think I must leave. I only seem to be hurting him whilst I remain here!"

And with that she ran out of the house, leaving Victoria to look up to the first room at the top of the stairs, the room in which her son had hidden away far too long.

Victoria did not knock at Heath's door. She was in no mood to give him the opportunity to say no. True, his bedroom had not really been his own for weeks now and she had some sympathy with his need for privacy, but he needed to rejoin the world and put right what was wrong between him and Maria.

Her sudden appearance in his room surprised Heath who was stood over the wash stand throwing water over his face. He wore a loose pair of sleeping pants which because of his recent weight loss threatened almost to fall straight to the floor. Victoria winced when she realized how thin her son had become. His appetite was still like that of a sparrow, not enough to keep a child going, let alone a full grown man.

Here for a purpose she swiftly moved to his closet and picked out a shirt and pants and then moved to a chest of drawers and picked out some underwear and socks for him to wear. Heath watched her suspiciously as he dabbed his face dry with a towel.

"Am I going somewhere?" he asked, already deciding he was not.

"Yes you are. You need a bath first, I'll ask Silas to help you since Nick is already out on the range, and then young man I am going to cut your hair. We are going to town to get you some new clothes that will fit you until you get some meat on your bones, and then you are going to get some fresh air and get to feel some sun on your back." She almost bit her tongue at her last statement but continued to push on with her resolve, especially when Heath shot back with the remark:

"What! This back!" His words were said with self-pity as he showed off his scarred back, the wounds healed but the marks and the legacy still an angry red. His grip on the bed post clearly showed that his anger was not spent.

Victoria could not abide self-pity. She hated it because of the way it ate away at a person's soul and spirit and it was eating away at her beloved son now. She was determined its corrosiveness would not claim him. "Yes, that back. That back which you can still use. It's not broken and nor is the man inside."

Heath shot her a wounded look. "Look at my back, Mother ~ I'm as branded as any of those calves out there on the range. Only my brand is that of the Barkley bastard!"

Heath suddenly felt a swift slap across his face.

"Don't you ever call yourself that!" His mother rebuked him with tears in her eyes. "That word has never been mentioned in this house and never will be again! I have been your mother since you were a few months old. I will not have one man's twisted view of the world lessen that relationship in your eyes or mine. If anything, Heath, I have loved you more than Jarrod, Nick and Audra. You needed more love and I gave it to you with all my heart. You are my gentle, principled and loving son, as good as any of your brothers and as good as any man that walks this earth. You don't have to hide this," she said touching his back, "or, the man who wears them."

Heath sunk to the bed and found himself wrapped in his mother's small arms. His hands found her waist and he buried his sad face in his mother's breast.

"I'm sorry, Mother." He said softly, his anger finally gone. His head lifted up and his blue eyes looked sincerely into hers. "I'm sorry for hurting you."

Victoria released a hand to caress his face, "And I am sorry for hurting you. I shouldn't have slapped you."

Heath smiled, rubbing his still stinging cheek, "Oh I reckon I deserved it. My mother always brought me up to be proper and not to use cuss words."

"But you do?" Victoria queried, knowing that the answer was yes sometimes out on the range.

"Only ones Nick taught me. I swear Mother, that older brother of mine has led me astray." Heath joked back.

Victoria laughed at the image of her two sons, who enjoyed such a close friendship.

"Well now, how about you getting that bath. Then we'll go to town. And then young man, you have some words you need to say to Maria. That girl loves you very much and all you have done recently is push her away. I have a feeling I know the reasons why. I just hope our disussion this morning will help you see things differently from now on."

Heath stood up, grabbed his clothes and kissed his mother on her forehead. "Thank you, Mother. Thank you for putting me right. I love you very much,"

"And Maria?"

"I believe those words I need to say to Maria, don't you?"

"Indeed I do, Heath. Indeed, I do!" Victoria responded with a huge smile on her face, feeling absolutely sure that there would be a wedding very soon.

The wedding did not come quite as soon as Victoria hoped. Heath preferred to take some time to court Maria before popping the question, but one day he did and six weeks later the couple married.

Though the summer was long since over and the air was making a sharp turn towards winter and Christmas, the sun made a welcome appearance at the wedding of two people who had overcome so many obstacles to arrive at this day. Its warm, comforting rays seemed to add an extra blessing to the day and the marriage taking place.

In deference to Maria's faith, Heath and Maria were married by a priest and in the beautiful Catholic mission church which the Barkleys knew well. Jarrod proudly walked Maria down the aisle in the absence of her father and family being present and gave her to his brother to love and to cherish until the day that he died. Heath took her small white-gloved hand in his as though it was the most precious thing he had ever been entrusted with and together the couple stood before the priest to say their vows.

The vows were spoken softly and solemnly, a private communion between them both and God and witnessed by close family. Victoria listened, remembering her own wedding vows to Heath's father. It was a beautiful moment and one, which she wished Tom, had been able to witness. After the solemnity, the celebrations began and the next day the couple travelled to San Francisco for a three-week honeymoon for which Jarrod had graciously vacated his town residence.

Over time Don Alfredo found himself isolated by the stance he had taken over his attempt to evict hard working ranchers from their land and for the whipping one of his family had done to Heath. Heath was held in high regard by neighbors and townspeople and the brutality done to him won him huge sympathy.

By comparison, Montero, slowly, but slowly found doors closed to him, both social and commercial. He was not a likeable man and had done nothing to endear himself kindly to folk. Well, folk had long memories and in closing their doors to him they found their own way to exact revenge for his treatment of Heath Barkley.

Montero had lost the court case to reclaim his land and evict the ranchers, Jarrod Barkley having found independent representation for Hadley and the others in court. Without respect, without position, without his daughter, there was nothing to keep Don Alfredo in the valley. He had hated the violence done towards Heath Barkley and had not condoned it, but he knew he bore responsibility for what had been done.

It had cost him his daughter whom he had not seen for five years. She belonged to the Barkleys now. Of his nephew who had not be found after the attack on Heath Barkley, nothing had been heard. Montero had banned him from his house and disowned him. He had heard nothing of him since and did not want to.

Heath had been up early that morning. He'd already given the men their orders and had put in a full morning's work. Jarrod and Nick had been in San Francisco on family business for a week, leaving Heath in charge. Neither brothers were married yet though Jarrod was expected to propose soon to a young opera singer whom he had met. Thus far, Nick had somehow managed to avoid marriage, seeing it as some kind of achievement.

Heath chuckled when he thought how happy he was with married life. He wouldn't swap his life for anything.

Right now, he was heading home for lunch with his young family. It was his twenty-eighth birthday and Maria, though seven and a half months pregnant had insisted on a cake and all the trimmings. He worried that she was doing too much. She had not been sleeping well and he had deliberately left her sleeping that morning, hoping she would catch up on her rest. Maria had other plans though. Their sons, Will, four and Nicholas, two, were looking forward to eating cake and opening presents, even if they were meant for their father, and Maria was not about to disappoint them.

Yes, life could not be better, except perhaps in one thing and Maria would not even listen to him on the subject of a possible reconciliation with her father. She would not countenance a meeting with her father unless he accepted Heath first, and that was never going to happen.

Jarrod Barkley became aware that Nick was no longer listening to him and looked around the room of the restaurant to find what had caught Nick's attention. The easy smile on his face soon left soon left him when he saw a party laughing and joking in the corner of the room. At its center was none other than Luis Garcia.

Before he could say anything to stop Nick from doing anything foolish, Nick was on his feet and heading in Garcia's direction.

"You and me have got business outside," Nick bellowed in a tone that would not take no for an answer.

"I don't think so, Senor," Garcia replied smugly, not quite sure who he was addressing.

"The name's Barkley, Nick Barkley and Heath Barkley is my brother," Nick stepped close to Garcia and whispered menacingly, "So you see, you two-bit punk, we do have business outside and it ain't finished until I have beaten you to a pulp just like you beat my brother."

Garcia's friends watched with growing interest as Garcia paled upon hearing the Barkley name. Garcia had long wondered if the Barkleys would exact revenge on him one day for what he had done to their bastard member. It was one of the reasons he had laid low in Mexico until recently.

Now as he resurfaced, thinking enough time had passed, the Barkleys had found him. His instinct was to run, but his friends were watching him and with false bravado he made a big show about retuning to them as soon as he dealt with 'this upstart, Barkley.' He had not expected them to follow him outside in search of 'the entertainment'.

Jarrod was pressing Nick not to do anything he would regret, but Nick was in no mood to compromise.

"Have you forgotten what Heath looked like after Garcia had finished with him, Jarrod? When was the last time you looked at Heath's back? Even after all these years, the scars are still there. They will be there for the rest of his life and that low-life put them there. I couldn't do anything then, but I can now. I'm not going to kill him, but he will pay for what he did to our brother!"

Jarrod could say no more. An upholder of law, his anger at what had been done to Heath was as great as Nick's. Never, would he be able to forget the scars on Heath's back.

Garcia made a great show of removing his jacket, not wanting to get Barkley blood on it. His smiling face did not show his fear and his friends, who were equally arrogant and louche in their lifestyle, spurred him on.

Typically, he did not play fair, beginning the fight before Nick had turned to face him. Nick shook him off and an exchange of punches soon followed with Nick throwing a good punch to Garcia's stomach, which had him fall to the rain sodden street.

For a moment it looked like Garcia was defeated but then he kicked out at Nick sending him too, to the ground. Their followed an unruly sprawl where for a few moments it was unclear who was winning. Jarrod looked on anxiously. Nick was more than capable of looking after himself, but it didn't stop him worrying.

All of a sudden Garcia broke free, quickly scrambling to his feet and Nick instinctively scrambled to his, but just as he did so, a knife sailed through the air, one retrieved from Garcia's boot. It tore at the flesh of Nick's side and instantly his right hand went to the blood-filling wound.

"Nick!" Jarrod shouted.

"Stay back!" Nick shouted back. He threw himself at Garcia who had not expected Barkley to survive his normally accurate throw. From then on, all was over for the cowering Garcia. He shouted to his friends to give him another knife, but his friends not wanting to be part of what would now follow, abandoned him to the alley and his fate at the hand of the brothers.

Garcia begged for his life. Nick was never going to take it but he liked seeing Garcia crawl. He watched him crawl all the way out of the alley, the pathetic man that he was. So much for blood lines now. He was bad blood and now everyone knew it.

Jarrod was quick to Nick's side, checking under the now bloody shirt. With relief he saw that the knife had just creased the skin. "You’re lucky, Nick." He said, unable to check the relief in his voice.

Both brothers looked at each other. Their methods might be different, but both were united in seeing justice done for Heath. "Let's go home," Jarrod said, picking up Nick's hat and handing it to him.

"Just one thing, Jarrod," Nick breathed out heavily, betraying the pain to his side, "Not a word to Heath and Maria about this."

Jarrod was not sure. He felt Heath had a right to know, but still he acquiesced. "Okay, Nick. Not a word to either of them."

Against the violence of this scene in which retribution was being exacted on his behalf, Heath was enjoying his birthday lunch with his family. The children had enjoyed opening his presents and were now eagerly waiting for a piece of cake each, their eyes bigger than their tummies. Heath found himself, with one son on each knee whilst Maria and Victoria simply enjoyed the scene.

Both boys took after their father, their hair, dirty blond like his own rather than dark like their mother's. Will was noisy, Nicholas was quiet and both had brought tremendous joy to their parent's lives. Heath's happy face went from one to the other as he answered their questions and talk. His face was still smiling when he looked up with love to Maria. Only she was no longer smiling. Her face was grimaced in pain and she was clutching her stomach.

"Heath fetch the doctor!" Victoria cried, rushing to her daughter-in-law's side.

The doctor did not hide his fears. "The baby's coming early. I will do my utmost to save them both, but you need to prepare yourself, Heath. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

With that Doctor Merar left the distraught young man to assimilate the information whilst he returned to fight for Maria's and the unborn baby's life.

With his brothers away and his mother busy helping Doctor Merar, it was left to Silas to comfort Heath in his despair. The two were old friends, but even Silas' kind, thoughtful words were unable to help Heath. Heath's world was crumbling all around him and he was powerless to stop it from happening. He could only pray to God that his wife and child's lives would be spared.

For a man such as Heath who loved his wife as he did, there was no point in life if Maria was not by his side. She was his soul-mate, the one he had hoped and waited for, no one completed his life as she did. To consider her not being in his life filled him with despair.

His hooded, moist-filled eyes lifted up constantly to the room that he and Maria shared, the room in which her life and that of their baby's were held in the balance. How had this happened? Why had it happened?

From the nursery the crying of young William Barkley, 'Will' for short, who was waking from his nap, filtered down to the Parlor.

"I'll see to him Mista Heath," Silas offered, knowing that the child's father could not cope with the child now. Heath was barely aware of Silas passing by him to go up the stairs. How long had it been? Was Maria alive, still? Was the baby?

"I'm sorry Mista Heath." Silas' kind, apologetic, southern voice, interrupted Heath's thoughts several minutes later. "But Master Will won't settle without his father."

Absently, Heath turned to see Silas standing with Will in his arms. The child was sobbing and frustratingly reaching out for his father. Heath stared blankly at Silas for a few moments before realizing what his friend had said. Though his thoughts were filled with worry and fear, instinctively, his arms reached to take Will from Silas' arms.

The child's sobs continued for a while until he grew more settled. Then he seemed to sense a need to be quiet as he sat on his father's knee, curiously looking into his father's face.

Something was wrong. Papa was sad. Papa was crying. He grabbed on to his father neck with his small hands and pressed his soft, chubby cheek next to that of his father's and squeezed, giving him a hug.

"Don't be sad, Papa. Don't be sad," he uttered in his sweet, child's voice.

The words were so pure, so innocent of what was going on. Heath could not say anything. Speech seemed to have left him. All he could do was hug his son back, which he did, turning his face into the side of his son's neck to hide his tears.

Victoria found Father and son like this as she came down the stairs an hour later.

"Heath, sweetheart," she said softly.

Instantly, Heath's tear-filled eyes lifted to his mother's. "Maria?" he asked, his voice almost hushed, almost not wanting to know the answer.

Victoria's older face, broke out into a small, pained smile, knowing that her next words would give Heath hope and yet just as quickly take it away again. Still Heath had to know. He had to understand the gravity of the situation. That even now the future for Maria and the baby was still so unclear.

"She's sleeping now, Heath. Howard had to carry out a caesarean to deliver the baby."

Heath's ears did not even register the mention of the baby.

"Is she going to be alright?" He asked, thinking only of Maria in that moment.

Victoria pressed her hand to Heath's, trying to squeeze encouragement into it.

"Heath's she's very ill. Maria has lost a lot of blood. Howard is not sure yet. It could go either way."

Heath sat still, clutching on to Will who was now asleep in his father's arms, the child thankfully unaware of the fight over life and death going on upstairs.

"What about the baby?" Heath asked eventually, almost choking on the words. He wondered if the child was dead.

Victoria was in awe of this tiny being who she was almost frightened to love in case she was taken away from them.

"She is so tiny. Oh God, Heath. None of us know. She is in God's hands now. We must hope and pray that He will allow her to survive. That He will allow us to keep her."

It was all too much for the young father. His wife and daughter... yes, a daughter, lay upstairs, their lives in the balance. He only wanted one thing in life and that was his family. Nothing else counted.

Standing a little unsteadily and thankful for Silas taking Will out of his arms, he turned to his mother: "Can I see them?" he asked unsure if he would be allowed into the room.

"Come with me," Victoria smiled, tears filling her eyes. "I'll take you to them."

Heath stumbled on the first stair, but with each further step, he slowly regained his composure and strength. He needed to be strong for Maria and his daughter. He needed to lend them that strength, for he would not give up his family without a fight. From that moment on he would cry no more tears until they were both safe.

A few days later, Jarrod and Nick returned to an exhausted household. Heath, Victoria and Silas had had very little sleep. A nurse had been hired but it was the nature of all those who loved Maria to want to be in attendance as much as they could.

Heath had barely left her side, save to visit with his tiny daughter who was being cared for by a special nurse brought in by Doctor Merar's son, Johnny, Heath's old childhood friend.

Even then, the nurse who valiantly fought for the precious child placed in her care restricted his time. Heath longed to hold his daughter, but their contact had consisted of his little finger touching the tiny open palm of her hand and the soft, velvety skin of her tiny face.

"Don't leave us, sweet Rosita," he whispered softly as he looked down into the crib at his sleeping child. The crib which he had made for their first child and which now seemed so big for his tiny, tiny daughter.

Heath was allowed to spend more time with Maria and was encouraged to do so. He helped his mother to stem the fever, which had followed his wife's surgery. All the time he talked to Maria, reassuring her of his love, telling her about the children, asking her to stay with him. He could not talk to her about their daughter though, for every time he did, the pain grew too much. What if they lost her? What if he lost them both?

Audra had joined them on the second day, leaving her own small family behind in Sacramento to help in Maria and the baby's care. Motherhood had brought a new maturity to the flighty girl of before and was never more than welcome now. She proved practical and stoic in what needed to be done.

When at last Maria turned a corner, though her full recovery would be still be a long way off, Doctor Merar set about persuading Heath and Victoria to take some rest.

Heath would have none of it, proving stubborn to the point of stupidity. He was dead on his feet, running between Maria, Rosita and the boys and in need of some solid sleep, not the catnaps which he had taken in a chair next to Maria's bed and then felt guilty about afterwards. Victoria, also refused to sleep.

Doctor Merar and his son, Johnny, also now a doctor, despaired, realizing that there would be two extra patients soon, if nothing was done. It was left to Audra Barkley-Kent to suggest the solution.

Johnny remained unsure.

"You're his sister, but I'm his friend. And I know it's not you he's going to be mad at. It's going to be me!"

"Nonsense Johnny. It has to be done. Now I'll distract him and you give him the shot." Audra retorted, determined on her plan of action and not about to be dissuaded.

And so it was that at an opportune moment, Johnny Merar sunk a shot into his old friend, which would make him sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

The look of betrayal on Heath's face when he realized what his friend had done to him was one Johnny would never forget.

"Sorry dear friend," he sighed as he patted an unconscious Heath on the side of his face. "But sleep is what you and your family need right now. We can argue the ethics later. Sleep well, friend. I'll look after your family, I promise."

And with that he gently placed a blanket over Heath and closed the door behind him.

With Heath asleep, Audra was finally able to persuade her mother that she too needed sleep. Victoria began arguing but did not have the energy to keep up the fight. She lay down on her bed and let sleep claim her.

So when Jarrod and Nick returned a few days later from San Francisco, Nick still sporting a flesh wound which he kept well hidden from everyone but Jarrod, the brothers were told of what had transpired.

Their faces turned grim when they learned how close they had all come to losing Maria and the struggle for their little niece to live.

Allowed to visit little Rosita for the briefest of moments they were humbled by the little one's fight for life. They sent prayers heavenward for little Rosita's struggle not to be in vain.

Discovering that Heath had been sedated, Nick's outrage on his behalf soon lessened when he checked in on his exhausted brother.

Heath was stretched out in one of the guest rooms.

"God Heath," Nick sighed as he took in the drawn features of his brother. Mentally and physically exhausted, Heath needed this sleep, forced or otherwise.

A twinge in his injured side pained Nick suddenly and he quickly felt the need to lie down. Lying down next to his brother he pulled Heath towards him, ruffling the kid's hair fondly with one hand whilst his arms held him protectively to his chest. "It's going to be alright, Heath, I promise. It's going to be alright." They were the solemn promise of an older brother to a younger one and it would be a brave man who would prove Nick Barkley wrong.

The next morning Jarrod shook Nick awake. Waking up, Nick took in the unfamiliarity of the room and Heath sleeping next to him, suddenly remembering the nightmare he and Jarrod had returned home to the previous night.

"You been up all night?" Nick observed of his older brother's rumpled look. He rubbed his eyes awake and then sat up trying not to disturb a still sleeping Heath.

Seeing Nick being careful of Heath, Jarrod reassured him, "It's okay, Heath will be out for another 12 hours yet, and yes, I have been up all night. Things are still the same. I guess, this is one of those situations where we just have to wait and see."

"I don't know how the boy here has coped. Nearly losing Maria like that and now the baby." Nick took a deep sigh. "Ya know, Jarrod. I just want things to be uncomplicated for the boy and it always ends up complicated."

"We all do, Nick. We all do. Life provides no guarantees, the hardest thing is for us to learn to accept that. You know, Nick, we're all a little over protective of Heath, but we underestimate how strong he actually is."

"He's my kid brother, Jarrod." Nick replied, his voice heavy with emotion. "It's my job to look out for him and it kills me when I can't always do that."

"And it's mine to look out for you both," said Jarrod, pulling a chair up and dropping some dressings on the bed. Time I checked that dressing of yours."

"Not here!" Nick shot back, referring to Heath being in the room.

"I told you Nick. Nothing will disturb Heath for the next 12 hours. He's not going to know and I'm not leaving until I have checked you out. Now undo your shirt and let's see how that wound is doing. I'm honoring your promise to keep this quiet, but I have certain conditions I want met for my silence and that is you being a co-operative patient. I know it goes against the grain but try just for once, will you?" His note of censure was finished off with a wry smile.

Nick growled out his reply and duly complied, grimacing when Jarrod cleaned out the wound and reapplied a fresh dressing.

When everything had been tidied away, leaving no trace for Heath or anyone else to find, both brothers got up to leave, casting a look back at their sleeping brother, hoping the boy's sleep was not night-mare filled.

When eventually Heath did wake up, he made his anger known. It took Jarrod's harsh words to knock some sense into him, pointing out that if he didn't sleep, he would be no use to either his wife or his daughter. Jarrod rarely raised his voice to Heath and the shock of him doing so made the youngest brother listen in silence.

Embarrassed, knowing he was in the wrong but unable to control his emotions, Heath scrambled for some fresh clothes and headed out the door, not saying a word in response to his brothers. His silence said it all.

Looking in on the nursery, Heath asked the nurse how his daughter was doing. "A little stronger," was her response. Heath took comfort from those words and spent a few minutes with his fragile daughter. It was a moving scene and one, which the nurse felt privileged to see. Reluctant to leave Rosita, a name he and Maria had decided on a few weeks prior to their daughter being born, Heath stole one last look at her sleeping form and thanked the nurse for all she was doing for his daughter. Then he made his way to his and Maria's room and checked in on his wife.

Still only half dressed, his shirt unbuttoned for the most part and not tucked into his pants, his feet bare feet and his hair unbrushed, he made a sad, but poignant sight sitting by his wife's bedside, holding her hand, whispering his love to her, willing her to get well. His head dropped to the bed. He longed to hear her voice again.

After a few moments he was rewarded with a weak hand caressing his unruly hair. Not quite believing she was awake, he slowly lifted his head and looked with his blue eyes into her hazel ones. "Maria," he breathed out, frightened to think he was only dreaming the image in front of him.

"Heath," Maria breathed back. It was obviously difficult for her to speak. Her face grimaced as she felt the pain of the surgery done to her stomach. "The baby?" she asked.

Heath's eyes grew hooded as he thought what to say. Slowly he opened them again. "We have a daughter, Maria. We have our Rosita."

Maria's pain-filled face suddenly broke out into a smile as she welcomed the news of their daughter and then just as quickly to terror. "She's too early. Is she alright Can I see her? Where is she?" Her eagerness for information drained her rapidly but she fought to see her daughter, despite the overriding pain.

Heath tried to soothe her. "Maria, please. You've been so ill. You have to stay quiet."

"Heath! I want to see our baby. There's something wrong, isn't there? Tell me, tell me what is wrong?"

Heath was desperate. Maria was still ill and yet she had to be told. He searched for the right words to say. "She's very small, Maria. Doctor Merar is not sure if she will survive. But she's fighting Maria. Our little girl is fighting to stay with us."

The weeks passed and slowly but surely little Rosita Barkley began to put on weight and thrive. It was a miracle, one that her parents were fully aware of, as they knew only too well, how easily they had come to losing her. She was their little miracle and their thanks went out to all the family and prayers and especially the devoted care of Howard Merar and his son, Johnny.

One day Heath sat on the back porch, a little too thin according to his friend's medical opinion, but then Heath always lost weight during times of worry. More settled times would restore the necessary weight.

Heath breathed out a sigh. "I can't thank you enough for what you and Howard did for Maria and Rosita, Johnny. I'll be eternally grateful." Heath breathed out, his voice heavy with emotion, realizing again what he had so nearly lost.

Johnny patted his friend on the back. "You're more than welcome, Heath. Now do me a favor, will you?"

Heath looked up, "Anything, Johnny. Just name it. I can never repay you for what you have done for my family."

"Leave the worries of what might have happened in the past and just enjoy that family of yours. They're a precious gift and they've been given back to you."

Heath smiled. His friend had identified the reason for his melancholy and hit the nail on the head. He had been feeling guilty, almost to scared to love his family for fear he might nearly lose them again.

Johnny was pleased with himself. He always did know what troubled his friend. Heath didn't have to say much, but if you knew the man, you knew how to read him as well.

"I promise." Heath breathed out eventually, the smile still filling out his face. "And I reckon, I'll do that just now. Maria should just be about finished nursing Rosita right now. I think I'll go join them."

The scene, which met the new father, was one of mother bonding with child as Maria cooed over Rosita. Heath knew Maria retained a sadness that she had not been able to do so from the beginning, but both had been so ill. The chances of both or either of their recoveries had been so slim, that the Merar's had not been able to tell Heath the full extent of their fears.

That Maria had been a little further along in her pregnancy than first thought had helped, that mother and daughter had both proved fighters in their respective corners had been another, that round the clock medical and nursing care had been provided had been another, Howard and Johnny, rotating, sometimes even sharing their shifts. There were so many factors, the love and devotion of Heath and his family, the good wishes and prayers of neighbors and townsfolk, the need never to give up hope. There would always be a delicacy about Rosita's early health and neither parent would ever be free entirely from worry, but in time she would grow stronger, even growing up to marry and have a child of her own one day.

Maria gently placed Rosita down in the crib and felt the arms of her husband encircle her gently around the waist, fearful still of the pain she might be in. His touch was so gentle she had to press him to her to show him that his touch could never hurt her. His fear was born of not wanting to hurt her, her fear was of being no longer attractive to him. She bore a deep scar that would never go away. Would he recoil from her, from her no longer beautiful body.

She had nothing to fear. For when the time came for them to be intimate again, his passion for her had not dimmed. The scar changed nothing, just as the scars on his back had not dimmed him in her eyes. Scars were only skin deep whereas their love went to the very core. Having found each other, life could not exist for one without the other. Theirs' was a marriage for life and beyond.

Life got back to normal for the Barkleys, until one hot day working on the range, Heath watched his brother take his shirt off and saw a scar that had not been there before.

"Want to tell me how you got that?" Heath asked.

Immediately, Nick's hand went to hide the scar, but it was too late.

"It's just a scratch," Nick said dismissively.

"Then why are you hiding it from me?" Heath asked, pursuing the subject even more, feeling instinctively from Nick's unease that something was wrong. He put down his wire cutters and walked over to his brother to inspect the scar more closely. "It's a knife wound," he said knowledgably. "Someone knifed you! Why?"

Nick shook his brother's hand away and resumed fixing the fence wire.

Heath would not accept his brother's silence. "Nick!"

"I told ya, it's nothing. We get cuts all the time. I was clumsy that's all."

"Don't lie Nick. That's a knife wound. Something happened. And for some reason you never told me."

"Oh for Pete's sake, Heath. I told ya. It's nothing. Nothing happened. Now let's get this fencing fixed and head back to the ranch. It's hot and there are better places to be than baking in this hot sun."

"Who did it, Nick? Who cut ya?"

"It was an accident, now let it rest."

"Nick?"

"I told ya. Let it be." Nick rounded sharply, walking away from the fence and his brother and effectively ending the conversation.

The bad mood between brothers and unspoken words continued the rest of the afternoon. One brother wanting to know information the other brother was determined not to reveal. It was an impossible situation. Heath had good instincts and knew straight away Nick's wound had been made by a knife. Nick knew his kid brother would not let it rest and from that his frustration grew with Heath, with Montero, Garcia, with the whole damned situation.

Silently, the brothers packed up at the end of the day, the camaraderie of the morning lost in the anger of the afternoon. Nick needed an outlet for his frustration and temper and the door took the brunt, as it was slammed shut on his arrival home.

Heath was already half-way up the stairs to his and Maria's room and ignored the thunderous display of temper which had all residents running to the foyer to find out what had caused it. Nick never kept anything from him and the fact that he was doing so now, hurt. More importantly, someone had taken a knife to his brother and he wanted to know who and why. Was his brother's life in danger? Not knowing was killing him.

The situation did not improve throughout dinner, though both Heath and Nick kept the source of their argument to themselves, since neither wanted to worry the womenfolk, but Maria and Victoria were no fools. They watched with concern as the distance between the two brothers opened up after dinner, Heath quickly excusing himself to take a walk outside and stretch his legs.

When Jarrod returned later that evening from his office in Stockton, he listened to his mother's concerns and offered to mediate between his two younger brothers.

Both women knowing they could do no more for the moment, retired early, Maria checking in on her young ones before getting into the bed she shared with Heath and staring out of the window, wondering what had come between him and Nick. She knew only too well from her estrangement from her father, how much an estrangement between Nick and Heath could serve to hurt both.

She picked up the wedding photograph which stood on her bedside table, one of two that she kept nearby. The first was a picture of Heath and Maria on their own, and the second one with Heath's family.

Heath's family, not hers, although they had become as much to her in the last few years. Still the absence of her father hurt. As much as she hated his beliefs and his actions, she loved the man who was her father, the man who had raised her, the man without the prejudices and hate.

Unable to settle until Heath came to bed, her gaze returned to the window and her thoughts to what was transpiring outside.

Jarrod came on his youngest brother having a smoke from one of his favored roll ups whilst throwing a stick for his dog to fetch.

"Feel up to talking?" Jarrod asked.

Clem, Heath's dog viewed Jarrod as an interloper, minding the interruption to his fun. He jumped up to his master demanding attention. Obligingly, Heath's spare hand patted his faithful friend and he stroked the dog's coat.

The two brothers took a walk, with Clem following at their side.

"Did you know about Nick's scar?" Heath asked, revealing the preoccupation for his thoughts.

Jarrod thought how to answer his brother's question, being fair to both brothers. "Have you asked Nick?"

Heath laughed. "That's why we're not talking."

"Oh I see." Jarrod replied with an understanding smile.

"I need to know, Jarrod. Is Nick in danger?"

Jarrod's heart went out to his concerned brother. "No," he replied firmly. "No, Nick is perfectly safe."

"Then what happened. It's a knife wound, Jarrod. I'm not stupid. I've seen knife wounds before. What I want to know is how he got it. And why he clammed up on me when I asked him about it."

"You won't accept the fact that he is not in danger? Because, you know Heath, that is the truth. I would not lie to you regarding that."

Heath's sensitive blue eyes looked up to the crystal blue ones of Jarrod's. They were honest eyes. They had never lied to him.

"If you tell me I have to, I will, but I'm hurt Jarrod. I'm hurt Nick won't share with me what happened. And that makes me think he is keeping something from me on purpose."

Jarrod patted his brother on the back again. "Get some sleep. I'll see what I can do."

Later in his study, Jarrod tackled Nick.

"Nick, you have to tell him. Not telling him will just make the situation worse between you both. There is more at stake here now. Heath feels like you are shutting him out, that you don't trust him anymore."

"Well, that's just plain ridiculous." Nick shot back, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You know why I am doing this! How does the kid come to that conclusion?"

"Because you are always open with each other normally. He sees you cut by a knife and you won't tell him why. I'm sorry Nick, I know your intentions were for the best but I always thought keeping this information from Heath was wrong. For both your sake's tell him what happened. Let him deal with the facts."

"And then what?"

"That is for Heath to decide. We owe him that much."

Nick could not sleep. He had gone downstairs for a drink and was now heading back upstairs on his way back to bed. He passed the first room, which was Heath and Maria's and was just passing the next room which was the nursery when little Rosita's cries could be heard as she wakened.

Nick waited a minute to see if either Heath or Maria would emerge from their room, but neither did. The baby's cries continued. He slowly turned the handle in the door and went to attend to his niece.

"Hey now, what's this?" He said in hushed tones. "You're going to be waking your Mama and Papa if you keep this up."

The bear of the man became gentle instantly as he picked up his niece and held her in his rocking arms.

"So that's it, huh? You just want a little company, huh?" He made funny faces reserved only for his nephews and niece. "Well now, young lady. What should we talk about?"

Rosita's little hazel eyes remained fixated on her uncle's moving mouth and her tiny ears on his soothing, sing-song tones. Her crying turned to little hiccups and Nick put her up on his shoulder to help rub her back and get rid of them.

Nick envied his little brother his little family. A confirmed bachelor up to now, Nick's thirty-two year old heart was beginning to ache for a wife and family of his own. The trouble was, Heath's brood were such charmers. He'd never had such amusing conversations at the breakfast table as he had with young Will and Nicholas Barkley.

Rosita's hiccups grew faint. Nick eased her down to cradle her in his arms and the two resumed their one-sided conversation.

"So, what am I going to do with your father, huh? He and I are not speaking, you might have noticed."

Rosita let out a trembled sigh as she grew sleepy once more with the rocking of her uncle's arms.

Nick continued his monologue. "How am I going to tell your father I fought with Luis Garcia and it was his knife that cut me."

"Oh, I reckon you should just come right out and say it." Nick turned to see his brother leaning against the door frame.

"Hmph" Nick coughed, embarrassed that he had been heard. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough."

"Hmm... Well, Rosita and I are just having a private talk, aren't we Rosita?"

"And what does she say?"

"She's told me I'm a big buffoon for getting into a argument with her father."

"Oh I don't know about buffoon." Heath said from the doorway. "Perhaps, on reflection her father did not give you much choice."

Nick continuing making funny faces at his niece who was growing more sleepy by the minute. "You reckon that's what her father thinks, huh?"

"What happened, Nick? What happened between you and Garcia?"

Heath came into the room and grabbed himself the rocker in which Maria nursed the baby. Nick passed him Rosita as Heath sat down and then paced the room. Gently Heath pushed the rocker back and forth and stroked his daughter's velvety cheek whilst he waited for Nick to explain, the presence of the child the healing balm between them.

"It was whilst we were in San Francisco." Nick sighed, finally resigned to what he had to say. "We saw him in a restaurant. I tell you Heath, he was loud and bragging. I couldn't stomach it. I couldn't stomach him holding court amongst his friends when I knew you had to live the rest of your life with those scars on your back. Scars that he had put there. Scars from his whip!"

"You fought?"

"I called him out. I was only going to use my fists."

"But he pulled a knife on you?"

"Yeah, but I won the fight. I watched that low-life in his fancy clothes crawl away into the gutter where he belonged."

"It was my fight, Nick."

"You weren't there!" Nick suddenly rounded. And then more softly, "And you're my brother. Don't tell me to stand back when I see my brother whipped, his back ripped to shreds, his life held in the balance.

"Maybe, I act first and think later, but I am not sorry, Heath. Not sorry for what I did. I gave him a fair fight, which is more than he gave you. He left you as good as dead. I allowed him to crawl away."

"Where is he now?'

Nick shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "I don't know and I don't care."

Heath stopped the rocker and stood up, kissing his daughter before putting her down in the crib. He watched her a few moments before walking over to the window. After a minute, he turned to face Nick.

"I'm sorry, Nick. At first I thought you were in danger and you weren't telling me. That's why I was mad at you. Maybe part of me is mad too that you went after Garcia. If I had wanted to, I could have hunted him down after I had recovered, but there was always Maria to consider. She was my priority. I drew a line under it.

"I heard Garcia had gone back to Mexico. I could live with that. But if he crossed my path again, or threatened my family then I would not hesitate to fight back. I'm worried, Nick. Maria told me that there is bad blood on Garcia's side. You remember, Evan Miles?"

Nick nodded, remembering that then too, Heath had been nearly killed. Evan Miles was unstable, his instability hidden by his parents since his childhood.

"Well, Luis Garcia spent time in a sanatorium when he was younger, and his father before him. A sanatorium for the insane, Nick!"

...Continued