In the bewitching hour, Charlie Sawyer tottered out of the saloon, unaware that two shady characters were waiting for him outside the batwing door. They stealthily followed him into the shadow to a dark alley where they shoved him against the wall.

“Okay Sawyer, where’s the money?” asked the scar-faced ruffian with a knife held at his throat. “The boss is tired of waitin’.”

“I don’t have it,” he replied with a choked voice. “But…but I know…I know where I can get it,” he stuttered between nervous gulps.

“Speak!” the ruffian ordered between clenched teeth, while his partner kept a look out for unwanted spectators.

“There’s a man. His name is Heath Barkley.”

“Barkley. I know that name from somewhere.”

“His family owns the biggest spread in Stockton. Says he’s my son. I can get the money from him.”

“Where is he?” he threatened by grazing the blade against the skin.

“I…I…don’t know. He didn’t say. But I bet he’s staying at the hotel. Sure can afford it.”

The man cracked a sadistic grin before plunging the knife into Sawyer’s stomach. He revelled in the look of numb horror etched on the gambler’s face, his eyes bulging from their sockets before dropping to his knees and curling up on the ground. The man bent down to ensure Sawyer was dead before rummaging through his pockets.

“What about it, Joe?” His partner, Clay, asked.

“Nuthin’ on him. But we’ve got sumpthin’ better than five thousand dollars,” he crowed with a malicious glee.

“What?”

“Heath Barkley.”

“Where? Here?”

Joe nodded affirmatively before motioning to the hotel. “We’ll get a room there and come mornin’ we’ll tail him.”

“We don’t know what he looks like.”

“Not yet, but we’ll get his room number and watch him.” He flashed a devilish grin. “Can yoa believe it? A Barkley? We can get a bundle in ransom money.”

The two greedy hoodlums patted each other on the back, their faces lighting up in triumph at the gainful prospect, already relishing the money the Barkleys would fork over for the safe return of their own.

Heath was up with the lark the next morning to head back to Strawberry. After saddling his horse he crossed the street to the telegraph office to send a wire to his family, assuring them that he was fine and that he’d be home in less than a week.

No sooner had Heath ridden out of town that the two cutthroats rouse. Clay jumped into his pants and slipped on his shirt to go sit in the open lounge in order to keep an eye on Heath’s bedroom door. Joe finished up in the room before joining his partner downstairs.

“So?”

“Nothin’ yet. Could be that he’s a late sleeper?” Clay surmised with a shrug. He handed Joe a section of newspaper so that he wouldn’t look too conspicuous.

Thirty minutes trickled by with no sign of the blond cowboy coming out of his room. Joe got restless.

“This ain’t right. I’m gonna ask the clerk to see if he’s still in there.” He stood from his chair and stepped up the counter. “Excuse me.”

“Something I can do for you, sir?”

“I was wonderin’ if ya could tell me whether my friend Heath Barkley’s still in his room?”

“Mister Barkley left early this morning.”

“He did? Did he say where he was goin’?”

“No. I just saw him leave the hotel about an hour ago.”

“Damn!” Joe cursed underneath his breath.

“What’s that?”

“Nuthin’. Just that I wanted to give him sum’ thin’ for his birthday. Thanks for the info.” With teeth set in suppressed anger, Joe returned to the lounge where he caught Clay ogling a voluptuous maiden. “Hey, Barkley’s gone.”

“What?”

“The clerk said he left ‘bout an hour ago.”

“Which way’s he headin’?”

“Old man Sawyer said the lad told him he was his son. And since Sawyer used to lived in Strawberry I bet that’s where we’ll find our golden goose,” he crowed with a sadistic grin.

“Let’s go then.”

Our two friends mounted their horses and spurred them at a full tilt toward Strawberry. After many hours in the saddle eating dust trail they finally managed to catch up with Heath just as he was making his way to Rachel’s cabin. She was sitting in the swing on the front porch, knitting, when the young visitor arrived.

“Heath! You’ve come back!” Rachel exulted, setting aside her knitting to greet the young blond with a hug.

The sight of a likely witness to the kidnapping prompted Joe and Clay to retreat in a nearby thicket and lay low.

“What d’we do now, Joe? We make off with the woman too?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“Don’t be silly. She’s ain’t worth nuthin’. She’ll only be in the way. No we stay here and wait for Barkley to leave.”

“What if he stays?”

“Then we’ll have no choice but to bust in there and kill the woman. We don’t want any witness.”

Prostrated with grief, Heath stood by the window with a faraway expression, his mind numbed of any memory past or present. While in the kitchen preparing a fresh pot of coffee Rachel would occasionally throw him a sidelong glance in hopes of willing his eyes to hers. The silence that fell between them grew more deafening with each of Heath’s murmuring sigh.

“What happened, Heath?” Rachel blurted out to stir the stillness.

Heath inhaled a lungful of air and held it. “I saw him,” he exhaled.

“Who? Charlie Sawyer?”

Heath nodded in dejection without averting his gaze from the window.

“You couldn’t have possibly have reached Coreyville this fast?” Rachel observed with disbelief as she poured two cups of coffee.

“No. I ran into him in a saloon in Pride Junction. He was there gambling.”

“Oh.” She brought the cups to the kitchen table and sat down. “Come here and have some coffee.”

Heath strained a smile at the offer and ambled to the table to take a seat across from her. He folded the cup in both hands, raising it to his quivering lips to take a sip. “He told me he wasn’t my father.” He lifted his eyes off his cup to gauge Rachel’s reaction. “Why would he lie?”

“Probably because he was afraid you’d ask him for money,” Rachel improvised over the rim of her cup to hide her lying eyes.

“He said my mom became pregnant with me weeks after he’d gone. Kind to think of it I don’t look anything like him.”

“Not really. You look more like your mother. Wait here.” Rachel stood from her chair and made her way to a cedar chest sitting at the base of her bed. She opened it to retrieve a small rectangular box that she brought for Heath to see. “This was your mother’s.” She opened the lid to uncover a pair a baby shoes that Leah had knitted before he was born. Rachel held it in from of Heath’s dewy eyes before setting them in the palm of his hand. “Your mother made these for you. I forgot to give them to Victoria. I guess your feet are too big for them now?” she joshed, her humour wringing a light-hearted smile out of Heath. She reached into the box for a photo of Leah. “This is your mother.”

Heath’s gaze dwelled on the creased photo he held in his shaky hand, triggering a flood of emotions that came rushing up. “She was beautiful.”

“That she was. And kind. That woman had a heart of gold.”

Heath shut his eyes for a brief moment to gulp down the lump forming in his throat, opening them just as Rachel was concealing another photograph underneath the box. “Is that another picture of my birth mother?”

“Ah…yes,” Rachel answered hesitantly. She reluctantly handed the photo over to Heath.

“That’s her and my father Tom Barkley.”

“That’s right.”

“How come his wife isn’t in the picture? This was taken b’fore I was born, right?”

“Oh Heath!” Rachel tossed her head to the side to avert her gaze from the innocent blue eyes staring at her inquiringly. She bit her upper lip and drew in a deep breath to relieve the burden of guilt weighing heavily on her mind. She felt it crushing her mercilessly, leaving her with only one way of escaping the oppression, which was to reveal the truth.

As she weighed the pros and cons of her decision, Heath studied the picture intently, scrutinizing Tom’s features until it finally dawned on him. He jerked his head up at Rachel who stood speechless, tear running down her cheeks. “My God! I really do look like him.” Shivers coursed through his body and his breaths came in short gasps at the frightening realization of Tom Barkley being his biological father. He looked up at Rachel who stood speechless with bedewed cheeks. “This can’t be!” he gulped. “Miss Caulfield? Please, tell me. I need to know,” he beseeched with a quavering voice that sliced through her.

She gulped in a shuddering breath to summon the fortitude she needed to utter the two words she knew would shatter the young man’s world. “He is,” she breathed out in a quavering whisper. The deafening silence that followed chilled her to the marrow. She willed her eyes up to see him stare at the picture in mute consternation.

“H…h…how?” Heath stuttered, his bottom lip quivering.

“Tom Barkley came to Strawberry a few days after Charlie had left on a business trip. One night two men who followed him into an alley to steal the money he’d won at a poker game savagely assaulted him. Leah witnessed the beating and screamed for help. The men scurried away leaving your….” her voice faltered at the word, “your…father…barely breathing. With the help of some neighbourly citizens she brought him to the doctor’s office where he regained consciousness with his memory gone. He didn’t know who he was. Leah therefore offered to house him and nurse him back to health. During that time, Tom and Leah fell in love and…”

“I reckon I can figure out what happened then,” Heath finished for her.

“A month later, Tom regained his memory, one that included a wife and two young sons. He couldn’t bring himself to leave Victoria for your mother.”

“Did he know about me?”

Rachel shook her head in negation. “She never breathed a word to anyone but you. Her brother and his wife knew you were not Charlie’s son but have never been privy to the identity of the baby’s father. Leah was prepared to raise you by herself. You were her pride and joy.” Her glowing smile wrung a small grin out of the woeful man sitting across from her. “She was devastated when the doctor diagnosed her with a terminal disease. She swore to hang on until she went into labour for she desperately wanted you to come into the world.”

“She must’ve been in terrible pain?” Closing his teary eyes, Heath could almost experience his birth mother’s agonizing last days.

“The medicine helped allay some of the pain. She was able to cradle you in her arms before she heaved her last breath. She left this earth contended, with a blissful smile on her face that lit up the room. As per her last request I set out to find you a proper home but I didn’t have to look very far. Victoria had just lost her little baby boy a few days earlier, so I asked if she’d be willing to become your mother. I didn’t have to twist her arm. She was smitten with you the moment she held you in her arms.”

“She’s been a wonderful loving mother.”

“I’m sure she was.”

“So my parents never knew?”

“No. To them you were Leah and Charlie Sawyer’s son.”

Heath inhaled a shuddering breath that he held until the tide of emotions receded within him. “Can I keep this picture?”

“It’s yours. So is this box and everything it contains. Do whatever is best. But I would advise against telling Victoria about Tom. There’s no predicting what this could do to her; to your family.”

Heath reached out to her hand and clasped it. “This’ll be our secret Miss Caulfield. No one will know. I’m much obliged to ya for telling me the truth. It was important to me to know everything. Now that I do I…” Heath fashioned a grateful smile, “I’m relieved. I feel whole again. I’m ready to go back home,” he stated confidently.

She leaned forward to stroke his cheek, her heart brimming over with joy at the young man’s renewed faith in his family. “I’m so happy for you, Heath. I’m sure Leah is looking down on you and marvelling over what a handsome and beautiful man you’ve become. Victoria raised a fine boy.”

“Thank you so much,” Heath quavered with gratefulness.

“You are welcomed to stay here as long as you want.”

“No. I think I’d best hit the trail now if I wanna make it back to the ranch by nightfall.” He stood from his chair and scooped the box underneath his arm.

“Suit yourself. Know that the door will always be open for you.”

“Thank you.” He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, after which he bent down to pick up his hat sitting in an armchair. “You’ll hear from me again.”

“I’m counting on it.”

He opened the door and placed his hat over his head as he walked up to his horse tethered to the porch. “Next time I might bring my brother Nick. You’d like him. He growls like a bear but his heart mewls like a newborn kitten”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Heath placed the box inside his saddlebag, and then mounted Charger and tipped his hat. “I’ll be seein ya.”

“Goodbye Heath,” she waved. She stood on the porch watching him ride away until he disappeared down the road.

Concealed in a thicket, the two men looked on.

“What d’we do now, Joe?

“We follow him. Let’s go!”

As Heath ambled through town he decided to make a brief stop at the cemetery to pay his last respect to Leah. He bent down to pick up a long-stemmed white daisy on his way to the mother’s grave where he crouched down to deposit the single dainty flower on the ground. He removed his hat and bowed his head in a silent prayer. “I’m going home,” he sighed. “Thank you again for giving me life. Ya must’ve been a remarkable woman. My only regret is that I never got to meet ya. Someday I will.”

“What’s he doin’ over there?” Clay asked his partner.

“Ain’t it plain to see? He’s payin’ his respects,” Joe answered peevishly.

“To who?”

“Who cares?”

Waiting across from the cemetery Joe and Clay pretended to tighten the cinch of their saddles so not to look too conspicuous. Once Heath was back on his horse they tailed him to a few yards down the road. There, out of prying eyes, they sprung into action.

“Hey there stranger!” Joe hailed from behind.

Heath reined back his horse and with his thumb, he slowly released the band on his gun holster as a precautionary measure. “Something I can do for ya?”

“I’ll say.” Joe and Clay whipped their guns out and thrust them at a composed Heath. “Ya get down that horse of yours nice and easy.”

With two armed weapons pointed at him Heath had little choice but to follow instructions. In a fluid but calculated motion Heath dismounted and turned his back to the two cutthroats who, in turn, got off their horses. Clay kept his gun trained on Heath while his partner inched towards him to slide the six-shooter out of its holster. When he felt the hand reaching for the gun, Heath swung round to kick Joe in the side and lunged at him before he could retaliate.

While the two men struggled for possession of the gun Clay nervously took position to get a clear shot at Heath, but the opportunity never presented itself. Heath ensured his opponent was on top at all times. The two men’s concentration remained unbroken in spite of Clay’s warning shot in the air. At some point Heath got the upper hand and wrenching the gun from Joe’s grip, he slammed the butt across his forehead, momentarily stunning him. As he pushed him off him he swiftly pulled the trigger on Clay before the man knew what was happening.

Barely had the dust settled that Heath staggered to his feet and slouched over to the body lying prone on the ground. Unbeknownst to him that Joe was slowly reaching for the gun that had accidentally slipped from Heath’s holster during the shuffle. Dizziness threatened to overtake him, blurring his vision of the target crouching over his dead partner. He shook his head and squinted to establish focus before taking aim and firing one clean shot into his Heath’s back. The victim’s frame arched with the impact of the bullet, his knees buckling from the surge of pain radiating through his body. He slumped to the ground, hitting his head against a rock before surrendering to darkness.

Joe crawled over to Clay to check his condition, sighing with relief at the strong pulse he felt beneath his fingers. He pulled at his neck cloth and applied pressure onto the chest wound. His ministrations elicited a faint moan out of his partner. “Hey Clay, wake up. Come back!”

“Joooooooe,” Clay grimaced in pain.

“Don’t move. Ya hurt real bad.”

“Where….where?”

Joe motioned to Heath’s body. “I shot him.”

“Is he…is he dead?”

Joe clasped Heath’s right wrist and pressed his ear against his chest. “Yeah, he’s dead.”

“This ain’t goin’ right at all. What are we gonna do now? Can’t ask for no ransom if he’s dead.”

“Why not? We figured on killin’ him anyway after we got the money.”

“His kinfolks are gonna ask for proof that he’s alive b’fore they fork over the dough.”

“Not if we plan this right. First I aim to get ya to a doctor.”

“What about the body?”

“I’ll stash it in that thicket over there. The buzzards and creepy crawlers’ll take care of it.”

Joe perked up his ears at the sound of approaching thudding hooves. “Shuuuuuuu somebody’s comin’”

“Must’ve…must’ve heard the shots,” Clay breathed out painfully as he fought a losing battle with unconsciousness.

Joe spurred the wheels into motion to conjure up an explanation as to what occurred. He kept his gun handy in the event the riders were to reveal unfriendly. His brow furrowed at the sight of a sheriff with his two deputies.

“We heard shots. What happened?” the sheriff asked as he made his way to the three men.

“That scum, “ Joe pointed to Heath, “knocked me out and shot my partner. I slugged him out of self-defence b’fore he did me in. We need a doctor real bad, sheriff.”

“Can your friend ride?”

Joe turned to Clay who gave a weak nod of the head. “I think so. Help me up.” Joe and the sheriff positioned themselves on either side of the wounded man to assist him to his feet. Clay succeeded, albeit with much difficulty, in rising to his feet. Leaning heavily against his partner he allowed the two men to drag him to a horse.

“What about him, sheriff?” one of the deputies asked of Heath’s body.

“Is he dead?”

“Looks like it.”

“What do mean LOOKS like it? Is he or is he not?” the man spoke with exasperation.

The deputy groped Heath’s neck in search of a palpable pulse. “I don’t know, sheriff. I think I can feel something but I’m not sure.”

“Get him on your horse. We’ll bring him to Doc. Stanton.”

On their way to the neighbouring town of Swan Creek, Joe remained elusive in his answers to Sheriff Asner’s questions regarding the shooting. He manoeuvred the conversation so as to convince the lawman that he and his partner had indeed been the victims of a mugging.

“We was ridin’ out of Price Junction, mindin’ our own business, when this varmint jumped me and my friend to clean us dry. Seein’ how we had zilch he went berserk and shot Clay and tried doin’ the same to me; only I got him first,” Joe explained composedly, avoiding making eye contact with the daunting sheriff.

“Do you have any idea who he is?”

“Didn’t ask. He was doin’ all the talkin’.”

“Maybe he’s got some kind of identification on him. We’ll check it out when we get him to Doc. Stanton,” the sheriff said, spurring his horse at a light trot ahead of the three riders to lead the way.

Twenty minutes later he dismounted in front of the doctor’s office and waited for his two deputies to appear at the end of the street before going in to notify the physician of incoming wounded. Dr. Asner forfeited the card game to his young assistant, Paul Melville, and hurried outside to assess Heath’s and Clay’s conditions before waving the men to carry them both gingerly inside to the examining room. He instructed Paul to strip Heath of his clothes while he did the same for Clay.

“How is he, Doc?” Joe asked of his partner.

“Can’t say yet. Help me turn him over, gently. I want to see his back.” Joe and the sheriff did as instructed, the rolling motion eliciting a painful moan out of the semi-conscious Clay. “No exit wound,” he observed grimly. “Okay, roll him over on his back.”

“It’s bad, ain’t it?” Clay rasped between clenched teeth.

“I’ll need to remove the bullet to stop the spread of infection.”

“Am I gonna make it?”

“You seem to have a strong constitution. I see no reason why you shouldn’t,” the doctor spoke reassuringly, though a doubt lingered as to the actual chances of survival, seeing how the bullet was lodged in the upper left quadrant near the heart. He turned to his assistant busy examining Heath. “How is he, Paul?”

“I have a faint heartbeat, Doctor. The left side of the skull has been bashed in pretty seriously.”

“What about the bullet in his back? Is there an exit wound?”

“I checked. There isn’t any.” Paul ran his hands over Heath’s belly to feel for signs of internal haemorrhaging. “There’s rigidity in the abdomen. I’d say the bullet caused internal bleeding.”

“Doc, that scum tried to kill me and Clay. Surely you ain’t gonna save his sorry ass?” Joe complained bitterly. He was uneasy at the thought of Heath regaining consciousness to give his account of the facts.

“Does anyone know who he is?”

“Name’s Heath Barkley,” informed one of the deputies who had gone through Heath’s shredded pants pocket. “Lives in Stockton.”

“Heath Barkley?” The sheriff exclaimed. “He must be related to the powerful Stockton Barkleys. Anything else on him?”

“Yeah. A wad of money.”

“That’s ours, Sheriff,” Joe brashly interrupted. Asner grabbed his wrist before he could twitch the roll out of the deputy’s hand.

“Sorry Mister. I’m keeping that money until we settle this matter.”

“But Sheriff. That’s our money. We won it in a poker game in Pride Junction,” Joe defended fiercely.

“That may be. But for now it stays with me. I find it strange that a wealthy man like Heath Barkley should want to steal money from anyone.” Asner eyed Joe suspiciously, his glare warning the man to refrain from uttering another word at the risk of aggravating his already dubious case.

“There’s also an address.” The deputy handed the note to his boss.

“Rachel Caulfield. Strawberry,” Asner read out loud. “It’s not far from here. I‘ll ride on over there to see if she has any relation with Barkley.”

“Should we wire his family in Stockton?”

“Yeah, you do that, Jay. Tell them it’s serious and to get here as fast as they can. I just hope the don’t come to claim his body.” The sheriff looked up at the doctor who shook his head dejectedly. “That bad?”

“I’m afraid so. He’ll be lucky if he survives the operation. I hate having to dig for a bullet in the back. Too many nerve endings in that area. Plus which he has a severe concussion.”

“Do whatever you can, Doc,” The sheriff emboldened with a friendly tap on the physician’s shoulder before he turned to his other deputy. “Simon you and Jay keep an eye on things while I ride into Strawberry to pay a visit to this Rachel Caulfield.”

“Will do, Sheriff.”

Dusk with its pink-tinged clouds was mantling over in the sky by the time Asner arrived to Rachel’s cabin.

“Who is it?” She asked from inside.

“It’s Sheriff Asner from Swan Creek, Ma’am. I’ve come about a Heath Barkley.”

She practically yanked the door off its hinges at the name. “Heath Barkley? What about him?” she queried frantically.

...Continued