Sean and Thomas' phantom toothache had begun the minute they learned they were not going to get out of going to the dentist. They saw their father rubbing his jaw and somehow found their fingers doing the same. What scared them about going to a place they had never seen before was the sight they had both witnessed when they had come to town with their Uncle Jarrod a month or two back. Uncle Jarrod had met someone in the street and lost sight of the boys as they had wandered down the street and come across a quack dispensing dental care of his own fashion. The memory was indelibly imprinted on their memories and fuelled their fears now.

Dentist's waiting rooms, either by design or accident, are austere places, especially to little boys of five. The room was dark and gloomy and the furniture Spartan, causing all attention to be focused on the door behind which Mr. Silverman, the new dentist in town, worked. This wasn't a man dispensing from the back of a covered wagon but it didn't stop the two boys imagining all sorts of things happening behind those oak doors. As they sat with their feet dangling from chairs too big for them and their hands firmly clasped in their laps, gripped in fear, they shared scared looks across their father who sat between them.

Heath was no fan of dentists either. His only reason for being there was because he was in considerable pain from Nick's handy work. He was mulling on the dizziness he had experienced too. Something was not right, but he didn't want to face it, and yet he had to for the sake of his boys. His chest had felt weak of late though he had hidden it well from the family. It was only at night he had been coughing more but he refused to admit he might be sickening again. Then the dizzy spells had begun. They were new. He was tired that's all. But why? Why was he tired? Hell, he was only twenty-seven! His mind continued to fight back and forth with the questions until he noticed his sons' exchange further glances. Lord bless 'em, they didn't want to be here anymore than he did. But he was twenty-seven and they were five! If he had watched his sons stare over to the big oak door once he had watched them do it a dozen times. He put his own discomfort and thoughts away and concentrated on helping them try get rid of their fear.

Putting an arm around each he pulled them close and promised them he would go into the surgery with them. He tried to explain what the room would look like to offset their fear, but the boys' grew even more fearful. He decided a child could be told too much and that the best thing he could do for them was simply be with them. He gave both boys a cuddle and didn't let them go. In return, he felt his shirt and vest clenched by small hands, afraid to let go.

Suddenly, the door opened and in walked a rotund but smiling woman who sat down to their left. She gave Sean a smile and he tried to return it but his mouth had forgotten how to smile.

"Howdy!" Heath said and she returned the courtesy. Five minutes later the door opened again, this time loudly. All three Barkley's neck's craned and their eyes opened wide as they saw the large form of Killer Cannon walk in, holding his right cheek. When he took his hand away his face looked like it had doubled in size on one side. "I got to see me the dentist, right away!" he groaned, not expecting to be met with any opposition or delay. His entourage of six men quickly filled the room and began knocking impatiently on the dentist's door telling him it was an emergency. Sean and Thomas looked wide-eyed whilst their father pointed out that the dentist was already with some one and that there were others due in next.

"Killer Cannon doesn't do waiting!"

"Oh really?" Heath answered unintimidated. "Well you know it ain't really that hard," he continued dryly. "You just take a seat and wait your turn."

"You trying to be funny?"

"Just pointing out a fact. My boys and I were here first and this lady is next."

"Well maybe we were a bit forceful, but you can see the boss is in pain. Can't you let him go next? He's got a fight on Saturday. He's got to be fixed for then."

"Yes, I know who he is. I have no objection to him going before me. As to the lady, you'll have to ask her nicely," he added pointedly.

"Ma'am do you mind?" the man pleaded.

"Well he does look in awful pain," she replied. "I guess I have no objection either."

"Thank you ma'am. We'll leave free tickets for the fight on Saturday."

"Tickets? For me? Uh.. oh.... well thank you. A fight you say. Well, I'm not really sure it is something that I would want to...."

Her embarrassed reply was interrupted by Mr. Silverman opening the door and escorting his last patient out. The patient left quickly. Not a good sign.

"Who's next?" Silverman asked and a group of six men stepped forward. "What? All of you!"

"Me doc." said Cannon stepping forward clutching the side of his face. "Name's Jake Cannon. I got me a powerful toothache. And look, I woke up with this, this morning!" He removed his hand and revealed the bulbous swelling underneath.

"You've got an abscess." Silverman informed, turning the taller man's face from side to side. "More than likely an infected tooth. It will have to come out. You!" he pointed to Heath. "You'll have to help."

"We'll help," chorused the entourage.

"Not in my surgery you won't. Now wait outside. If I need anymore help. I'll call for you."

"I'll be along in a minute," Heath replied. He knew that pulling a tooth, something he may have to go through himself shortly, was painful and from a man as big as Killer Cannon there was bound to be cussin and screams. He didn't want the boys to witness or hear that.

"C'mon boys. You can see the dentist another day," he said. "I'll take you to Mrs. Lansings. You can stay with her whilst I help Mr. Silverman. Now I want the two of you to be good."

Both boys were thankful for the reprieve. "We will Papa! We promise!" they both chorused, smiles returning to their faces for the first time that morning. "But Papa!" Sean paused. "What about you? Will you be alright? Without us here I mean."

Heath smiled, despite the discomfort it caused. "I'll be just fine. Mr. Silverman will fix up Mr. Cannon's tooth and then he'll fix up me. It'll be kind of sore for a while, but it will mend."

Little did he know the antics that were about to take place as Cannon stepped inside the surgery and began taking off his coat.

Killer Jake Cannon took off his coat in determined fashion and was directed to the chair which Silverman lowered from its previous position to accommodate the large man's size and height.

Barely had the renowned fighter sat down then he became subject to the smaller man's authority. "Open wide," instructed Mr. Silverman with a smile as he stretched across the expanse that was Jake Cannon's chest and came face to face with the fighter.

Painfully, tentatively, like a child, Cannon slowly opened his mouth. Silverman peered in and probed around. "Oh yes. That's nasty. Very nasty," he announced, locating the area of inflammation and its cause.. "Yes," he said as he probed the tender area, sending shock waves of pain causing Cannon to grip the chair and the knuckles of his hands to whiten. "Very nasty... "

"C..c....can you do anything doc?" Cannon breathed out, his face contorted in pain. Heath, returned from dropping the boys off, slipped almost unnoticed into the room. Immediately, he felt sympathy for the prize fighter and rubbed his own jaw wondering what was in store for him.

"Well as I suspected it will have to come out." Silverman advised. "It will hurt so I would advise chloroform."

"What Killer Cannon take chloroform! Do you know who I am? No! No chloroform. Let's just get on with it."

"As you insist. But it will hurt. I am just warning you. You're sure?"

Cannon nodded.

Seeing Heath standing by the door, Silverman indicated for him to come forward. Heath put down his hat on a spare surface and came up close.

"The name's Heath," Heath said, not wanting to give his full identity away to Cannon.

"Well Heath. I want you to hold down Mr. Cannon's arms. Whatever happens just keep him pinned down in the chair whilst I work."

"I'll try," Heath said, honestly appraising his own strength against a man who stood 7" taller and 50 pounds heavier. "Might be better with two men, though?"

"Get on with it!" Cannon shouted from his chair, he wasn't sure how much longer he could endure the pain.

Heath came round and took a grip of the fighter's arms and Silverman made ready. "If you'll just open wide then, Mr. Cannon,"

"Mr....? Heath? Are you alright, sir?"

"Huh? Where am I?" Replied Heath, groggily coming around. He was on the ground again. Boy Howdy! Second time in one day!"

"I'm afraid..." Mr. Silverman answered, his small frame struggling to help the young man sit up against the wall, "Mr. Cannon..." he sighed, "...was none too appreciative of our efforts to help him."

"Why? What happened?" Heath asked, his confusion and disorientation still very much present as he rested his head against the wall. As his vision began clearing he could see dental instruments and trays strewn across the floor along with furniture overturned.

"Boy Howdy! My jaw hurts," Heath complained, holding the offending and throbbing jaw. "My tooth I reckon," he surmised out loud.

"Your tooth is here, Heath," replied Silverman dryly, holding it between his finger and thumb.

Heath probed around the tender gap in his mouth with his tongue. The tooth Nick had loosened was no longer there. The second one remained but didn't feel loose. Silverman saw his confusion and tried to explain.

"I'll see if I can get the order of events in sequence for your benefit. Let me see... I started pulling Mr. Cannon's infected tooth. First with one hand and then two. It was proving quite a tussle. You were holding him down, but then as I pulled the tooth, Cannon came with it so to speak and before I knew it he had his hands around my neck. Then when you tried to release his grip, he, Mr. Cannon that is, punched out at you and sent you flying across the floor. I'm afraid you hit your head on side of the cabinet and it knocked you out for few minutes. I found this," he said pointing at the tooth, "a few feet from you."

"Mine?" asked Heath, his eyes clearing.

"Oh yes, it's definitely yours. Mr. Cannon is still walking around with his."

"Where is he?"

"He stormed out of here a few minutes ago, the bib as far as I know still attached to him. Not quite the advertisement I was hoping for." He added dryly, his sense of humor not having left him despite the mess to his surgery. "Under the circumstances, there will be no charge for your tooth. In all conscience I cannot charge for a tooth extraction which I had no part in," he laughed.

"Decent of you," Heath replied, with equal dryness. Looking around the room he surveyed the mess. "It's like a tornado hit the place."

"An occupational hazard I'm afraid when you are a dentist." Silverman looked at Heath who appeared a little gray. "Here let me help you up. I'm no doctor but I think you should get yourself checked out. You were out for few minutes."

Heath felt weak and cursed whatever was ailing him but wouldn't let it show anymore than it had. He knew it wasn't just the punch, he'd taken punches before and thrown them. First he had been dropped by Nick. Okay, he and Nick were pretty evenly matched. He figured that Nick would best him sometimes. And the punch from Cannon, well he was caught off guard, that's all. As soon as he thought about it, he knew it was self-delusion. Nick had been stronger than him for some while now. Perhaps he always had been. His head was hurting. Not his jaw this time. This time it was the conflict in his mind. As he stood up with assistance, he said, "I'll help you straighten the place up first."

Silverman gave a look of earnest censure.

Heath answered his look with just three words, "I'm fine... honest."

Nick turned his brother head from side to side. "You're sure your okay?"

Heath nodded. "I'm fine." Then quickly changing the subject he said: "Sit down Nick, I've got something to tell you about Cannon."

Later that evening, Heath took his boys up to get ready for bed. Carrying Thomas who had wrapped his arms around his father's neck and hung his head over his shoulder, he held onto Sean with his other hand and set off up the stairs.

"That boy's sickening again." Nick announced as soon as Heath was out of ear-shot.

"I know," Victoria agreed.

"I tell you that boy's sickening."

"I know," Victoria reiterated, knowing that Nick hadn't listened, his preoccupation still with the brother who had just gone upstairs.

"You do!"

"I've made him an appointment to see Doctor Merar on Monday." Victoria answered, not able to hide the concern in her voice for her youngest son.

"He won't go."

"He will when I ask him. And then there's the children."

"The children?"

"Children influence in a way adults never can. You saw the way Thomas and Sean worried over their father's cuts and bruises when he got home. And then again, when Heath began coughing at dinner. Did you see how Heath looked when they showed concern? He knows he has to go and get himself checked."

"And then what? What do we do then?"

"We deal with it, Nick. We deal with whatever it is and help Heath to get better."

"I'll go with him on Monday." Nick readily offered.

"No, Nick. I'll go with him. I want to be with him."

Nick nodded, finding it hard to maintain interest in the fight anymore. But Heath was excited. Excited about the fact that Nick could beat Cannon now. Was it right? To exploit Jake Cannon's weakness. Ah hell! Why not? He was not going to let his brother down! Not with Monday looming.

A mother never stops being a mother, no matter how old the child. Victoria Barkley was no different. About fifteen minutes after Heath had kissed her cheek and said goodnight, she followed him upstairs. First she checked on the children, treading the same footsteps her son would have traveled before retiring for the night. First the nursery, where little Cate slept her innocent sleep, baby blond curls spilling onto her pillow and a thumb tucked in her rosy pink mouth, and then to the twin's room where she replaced the covers Sean had kicked off. She brushed a hand lightly through each child's hair and felt overwhelming love for them all. Closing the door, she traveled the short distance to Heath's room and gently knocked on the door. "May I come in Heath," she asked.

She swept gracefully into the room as Heath gave permission and found him already in bed, the lamp still lit and him attempting to sit up.

"Something wrong, Mother?" Heath asked.

"I hope not," she smiled as Heath made room for her to sit down.

"Is it Nick and the fight? Please don't worry, Mother. I'll see he's alright."

"Well, of course, I am concerned about Nick, but my middle son has always gone his own way in his thirty-one years and he will on this. No, it's my youngest son who is concerning me now."

"Me?" Heath sounded surprised. "I'm alright." And then for a minute he thought it might be about the boys? Worry entered his voice. "Is it the children? Have the twins done something I need to know about?"

"No, dear," she said, patting his leg and quickly dispelling his fears about them. 'It's you, I am concerned about. You're the one who has me worried."

Heath bit his lower lip and waited for her to explain.

"You've been coughing quite a bit lately, Heath, and Nick tells me you felt dizzy the other day when you and he were sparring."

"If you mean the coughing at dinner, that was just something that went down the wrong way."

"Really? And the times when you escape outside to hide your coughing, too? Heath, sweetheart. We know you. We know when you don't want to admit something to yourself. We also know when you don't want others to know when you are not well. Do you think I don't know my son, by now?" she added squeezing his hand, encouraging him to trust her and open up.

"I'm not ill, mother,"

"You're not well, Heath." Victoria replied emphatically. "And there is our dilemma."

"Dilemma?"

"You will not admit you are unwell and I am not about to admit that you are not. So....I think it best if Doctor Merar decides."

"No!"

"Heath, what are you afraid of?" Victoria kept her tone calm, a raised voice did work with her son, it simply made him clam up.

Heath was stung by her perceptiveness. There followed a long silence. Knowing her son, Victoria waited.

Eventually, Heath made to get up. Victoria didn't stop him and watched him slide over to the other side of the bed, the side on which his wife had slept, the side that remained empty now. Her heart broke for his grief. For he was a man who needed a woman's influence and love in his life. And as much as she loved Cate, who had been a sweet girl and was much missed, she prayed for Heath to fall in love and find that kind of happiness again. He was not meant be alone and sleep in an empty bed, alone with his thoughts.

She watched him walk away. Dressed only in his sleeping pants, his back bearing the scars of long ago, but it was the scars occurring inside that concerned her. For indeed he was scarring with each bout of ill health. Illnesses never came and went with him, they lingered and had to be fought all the way, each bout harder to fight than the last. They would cheer when he rallied and his youthful eagerness to bounce back would fool the family for a while but then the worry would come back. It was back now. It was her mother's right to worry and to nag until Heath did something. If he didn't, she would.

"It's true," Heath said softly as he came back to the bed and sat opposite her, ready to get up and walk away if the talk became difficult. "I've not been feeling too well. And yes, I have been coughing and the dizziness is true, too. I just keep thinking I will shake it off."

"But you haven't?"

Heath shook his head.

"You're a grown man, Heath and I recognize your right to be independent and make your own choices, but on one thing I will not compromise. I won't compromise on your health. You're my son, but more importantly, you are the children's father."

Heath nodded, understanding her meaning. "And yet that is what scares me too?

"The children? Because of what you might find out and how it will affect them?"

"I don't want to leave them Mother. They've lost their mother. They can't lose me as well."

Victoria could no longer stay on her side of the bed. With a sweep of her skirts she walked around and embraced Heath who clung on to her waist and buried his head in her chest, willing this problem, whatever it was, to go away. "Heath, sweetheart. You are not leaving those children. You are not leaving your family. Whatever your fears are for the children, mine are the same for you, because I love you and will not see you suffer unnecessarily. Listen to me, darling." Heath looked up, trusting his mother's voice as the children did his. "I've made an appointment for you to see Doctor Merar on Monday. Will you go? I'll come with you, but I will respect your wish to see the doctor on your own, if that is what you would like. I am only concerned that you go and we find out what it is we need to do to make you well."

She felt Heath tense in her arms and then saw him nod. Grateful that she had not fought her on this matter, she kissed him on the top of his head. "Good," she said.

Suddenly, he began to cough. He made no attempt to disguise it now and accepted the lace handkerchief, a ridiculous item for a man, but he took it gratefully and coughed into its fabric.

Running her fingers through his hair, Victoria bit back her fear. Monday couldn't come soon enough for Victoria, but she knew that Heath would want to attend the fight tomorrow and be at his brother's side. The coughing eased and did not re-emerge. Still the worry would not leave her all night.

Nick's concentration was not on the fight ahead of him but on the brother preparing him. He could see Heath mouthing the words but he wasn't listening to the earnest advice being given. One look at the boy and Nick knew that Heath was waging a fight with himself to stay on his feet. Was it only a week ago Heath had been talking his older brother out of the fight and Nick, being Nick, had proved hell bent on resisting him and everyone else in the family? Now, Nick couldn't care less about throwing in the towel and it was Heath instead who was now doing the resisting. Damned boy, Nick thought. I should be dragging your hide back to the ranch. A week in bed is what you need and no getting out until the doc. declares you fit. But no, you're excited as a kid with a new pony about this fight now and there's no talking any reason with you. Ah Hell, boy! Let's get this over with so we can get you home.

"Nick!" Heath said excitedly, trying to raise his usually soft voice above the roar of the large crowd. "Are you listening, Nick?"

"Huh? What was that?" Nick responded, hearing his brother's voice for the first time since they had stepped into the ring.

"Did you hear what I said?" Heath repeated. "Now, don't forget? Aim for his jaw, right here?" he said pointing to the spot where Heath hand noticed the untreated abscess on Cannon.

"Yeah, yeah... the jaw. Got it. Aim for the jaw." He watched Heath turn to the side and cough into his hand. Instinctively, Nick placed a large hand on his brother's back.

"I'm okay, Nick," Heath said between coughs.

"Of course you are, Heath," Nick sighed, unconvinced. The coughing ceased and Heath turned back and presented Nick with a smile with which he hoped to dispel his brother's concern. He wanted Nick concentrating on the fight, not on him. He really had no idea of how ill he had become.

Nick punched his right hand into the palm of his other hand, not happy about the situation at all. At the sound of his name he stood up and took center stage to acknowledge the crowd, most of whom he knew. Presentations over, he shook hands with his opponent, craning his neck up to look at the swollen cheek that was going to be the primary target for the fight. Suddenly, Nick realized how foolish it had all become. Not for the first time his loud mouth had got him into a situation which just looked down right childish at the end of the day. He looked at the baying crowd, all eager to see a good fight. Then he took a good look at himself. The word jackass quickly sprung to mind.

Nick went flying to the ground, a spray of sweat paving the way for his fall. It was his sweat and it had been hard earned. The sweat merged with the sweat and blood, mostly his, on the floor and caused him to slide ungracefully towards the ropes. He held out two hands to stop himself from going through them and out into the waiting crowd, nevertheless, his head appeared unceremoniously and bruised between the ropes. Heath, a towel around his neck, his own fever induced sweat beading his brow, was quick to grab Nick's hair and lift his head.

“How do I look, little brother?” Nick asked through a bloodied upper lip which prohibited his signature curled smile.

“Do you want me to lie?” Heath teased, his own signature dry humor coming to play.

Nick nodded. "I'd kinda like that right now."

“You look real purty. So purty I’d even kiss you myself.”

“Am I winning?” Nick grimaced as he vaguely heard himself being counted out, one, two, three, and struggled to get up.

“Do you want me to lie again?” Heath asked again as he watched his brother’s ungainly attempt to get up on all fours.

“Worked the first time.” Nick confirmed.

“You’re winning, then. You're just taking your usual damned time about it.”

"Strategy, little brother. It's called strategy," Nick replied as he got to his feet on the count of nine.

Nick’s footwork was light and he managed to land a couple of body punches but getting those punches to land on Cannon’s face was proving nigh on impossible, the fighter’s extra height and skill giving his opponent seemingly impossible advantage, despite the fighter's dental handicap. Nick had a cut to his lip, one to his eye, the flow of which Heath had managed to stem, and bruising to his jaw. And what’s more, as round six began he was flat tired, doggone tired. He'd been in fights before but this was something different. Only pride was keeping him on his two feet. “Gotta win for Heath,” was his mantra as with renewed determination he sent a flurry of shots intended to break through Cannon’s defenses. Just one punch... just one punch, Nick thought, even as the punches came back.

And then there it was! Suddenly, he'd found a gap and his arm and fist sailed through and landed on the very spot. The crowd covered their ears as Cannon howled like a banshee when the pain shot through the inflammation which had been left untended. The volcanic pain of the abscess, temporarily dormant, exploded out of his mouth with a string of highly colored Irish expletives which turned the air blue. Nick's victory was brief, as in pain, Cannon's fist careered into his face sending him back down to the floor again. Nick lay quiet, not hearing the count going on above his head. When he started to come too, the count was ended, Cannon was the victor and the defeated looked around for his brother. "Where's Heath?" he asked, surprised Heath wasn't by his side, wanting to see the blond one more than anyone else.

As people stood over him and he looked out between their feet and the ropes beyond, the crowd huddled in a group in front of him stepped back to reveal Heath laid out on the floor.

"He just keeled over, Nick." Sam Arnstein informed, shocked as anybody. "Nick. I don't know how to say this. Nick, I think the boy is dead!"

A cold chill ran up Nick's entire body and gripped him with fear. "Get me up!" he bellowed. "Get me over to my brother, now!"

"Heath boy! Come on now, wake up!" Nick had clambered through the ropes and down to where his brother lay, quickly checking his brother's breathing. The boy had collapsed but was still alive. Sam Arnstein's assessment had been wrong and Nick was never so happy for the man's mistake. Scooping Heath up in his arms and pressing him to his bare chest he encouraged him to wake up. He was holding him so close he didn't see Heath's eyes open and slowly take in where he was. It was the coughing that announced to Nick Heath had come to.

"Easy boy," he soothed as Heath coughed heavily against him.

"Nii..ck!" Heath choked out.

"Your gonna be alright boy," Nick reassured him, feeling Heath tremble against him as the coughing spasm took its time dying away.

"Did you win?" Heath gasped out, his voice only carrying to Nick's ear as his head rested against that of his brother's. The younger sibling was weary and no longer able to ignore how ill he felt.

"Never mind did I win. Come on I'm taking you to Jarrod's office. You can rest upstairs whilst I get the doc."

Heath shook his head. "I can stand Nick. Just help me up."

"What help you up so you can fall down again! You're sick Heath. Don't be a damned fool!"

"Okay, Nick." Heath conceded. Now Nick was really worried. The tiredness of the fight forgot, he quickly scooped Heath up and bare chested, bloodied and bruised, carried his brother out of the building, parting the crowd as he walked. He stopped three doors down at Jarrod's Stockton office and where the lawyer was in consultation with a client.

"Nick! What happened?" Jarrod asked, as hearing a commotion he quickly and apologetically excused himself from his client and met Nick at the door carrying Heath.

"It's Heath, Jarrod. He collapsed at the fight."

"Upstairs," Jarrod quickly directed, sending his secretary to hurry for Doctor Merar. Within minutes the brothers had Heath lying in bed and the covers pulled around him. Coming to again, Heath realized where he was and gave Jarrod an apologetic look. Jarrod's face returned only worry and concern and something else. An eldest brother's censure for Heath being so cavalier with his health.

His anger quickly took a back seat as Heath rasped and suddenly curled over whilst his body tried yet again to expel the coughing that had consumed his body in such a short time. Jarrod was quick to tell Nick to get cleaned up and assumed control of his brother's care. "I'm sorry Jarrod," Heath croaked out as he felt himself propped up in Jarrod's arms and against his brother's chest. Jarrod held him close and ran a protective, almost fatherly hand through his brother's dampened hair. Heath couldn't see his brother's face but knew the source and meaning of that touch. The wooden stairs sounded under heavy feet and Doctor Merar rushed into the room with his bag. He momentarily registered Nick washing in a bowl of bloodied water but his immediate concern was reserved for the younger brother, looking pale, exhausted and desperately ill.

"Okay Jarrod. Let me take a look at him. You might want to see to Nick whilst I do."

Jarrod squeezed Heath's arm and let the doctor do his work. He sent a rider out to the ranch to bring his mother to town, then set about helping Nick clean up. Heath ill, meant everyone would be in attendance until the fever broke... or rather, he corrected, if the fever broke.

The room above Jarrod's office was small and confined, used only on the rare occasions Jarrod worked late into the night and felt due to the late hour either unable, or disinclined to make the journey home.

A bed stood center of the room in which Heath now lay, tossing and turning, his mother at his side, endlessly sponging his fevered skin, fighting the battle to cool him down.

A comforting hand on her right shoulder followed by a squeeze told her it was time for her to take a break. Victoria didn't want to leave but all the family were sensible to the fact that in order to help Heath they need to take rest when they could so as to help him better when the crisis came. They had done this routine before, they all knew their roles but sometimes it was hard to divorce the emotion from what needed to be done.

Jarrod, divested himself of his jacket and tie and rolled his sleeves up. He took the sponge from his mother and filled it with water from a nearby basin. Victoria leaned across her sick son and kissed his brow, the heat of his skin almost singing the coolness of her lips. For a moment Heath responded and turned into her, a brief rewarding moment of recognition that was gone all too quick as fever and confusion once again assumed control. "I'll be back soon," Victoria whispered but he was gone, lost in his fevered world. "Be good for your brother," she continued, refusing to let him go entirely.

She kissed Jarrod on the way out, turning back at the doorway to take one more look. She smiled as she saw her urbane son think nothing of tending to his brother's needs. She watched him sponge Heath's chest and under his arms and only left as Jarrod moved to withdraw the sheet so he could tend to the rest of Heath. She allowed them their privacy. She had washed Heath herself, but her son didn't need to be on show. He was private and shy and she protective of his feelings. She heard a knock at the door and went downstairs to see who it was, hoping it would be the doctor newly returned from attending Mrs. Marsden on the other side of town.

She tried to disguise her look of disappointment when it was not. It was simply a well-wisher who spoke for the rest of the town. Her son was well-respected and liked and they wanted to find out about the boy. Victoria was gracious, "He's holding his own," was all she could say. "The doctor thinks the crisis will occur in a few hours. Thank everyone for their good wishes. If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to my son." The well-wisher understood and saw the worry that underscored the gracious smile. The family needed to be left alone, but at least they knew the town was thinking about them and particularly the boy.

Victoria closed the door and turned towards Jarrod's office. She found Nick pacing the floor, a drink in hand. "Who was that?" Nick asked, turning towards her, his face battered and bruised. She felt immediate sympathy for the hurt he was feeling both inside and out. She was reminded she had three sons not one and instinctively told him to sit down whilst she tended to his cuts. Nick knew better than to argue and allowed his mother to do what she would do anyway. "How's Heath?" he asked, wincing as she turned his head from side to side.

"Restless. Still burning up. Jarrod is with him now. You would be better resting over at the hotel, Nick."

"I'm not leaving him." Nick said emphatically. "I'll take over from Jarrod shortly."

"Nonesense. I have one son ill, I will not have another. Doctor Merar thinks the crisis will occur in a few hours. We will all need our strength to help Heath through that. Jarrod is with Heath now. He will take care of him just fine and Doctor Merar will be here shortly to see us through the crisis. After I have tended to you, I want you to go over to the hotel and get something to eat. Then I want you to get some sleep."

"Someone should get back to the ranch and speak to the children. "I'll ride back first and see that they are alright."

"You will not. Silas is with them. I have asked him not to say anything about their father at the moment."

"But what if....."

Victoria would not listen to such defeatism. "Nick! We have seen Heath through these crisis before," implying that they will see him through this one again.

"Too many!" Nick sighed, wondering why it was his little brother could not fight what he and Jarrod could take in their stride. Most times Heath was as strong as he was, well almost... Nick's mind began to examine the differences between them which until now had not struck him. To him Heath had always been his equal. He put in as much into the ranch as Nick did, if not more, but Nick had to admit sometimes it took its toll. Why had he not seen it before? Why had he not made allowances? The answer struck him immediately. Because Heath would not allow him to, that's why! A little bit of Nick died that moment as he realized he might not have partner and best friend back working by his side. "Come on Heath," he silently cried, "I need you boy. We're a team, you and me."

Heath was so ill, he didn't know how ill he was and when he woke three days after the fever broke he was surprised to see two concerned black/purple/yellow eyes staring down at him and his brother's voice telling him to take it easy. Heath had slept a good sleep and thought he was just waking up for the morning. He had a strange feeling he had slept in.

"Mornin' Nick." He drawled, his voice curious as to why his brother was in his room and sporting two black eyes. His mouth felt dry and he thought his voice sounded croaky which felt strange. His throat hurt too. Even stranger, Nick was helping him take a few sips of water. "I'm alright," Heath continued, wondering why Nick was acting like a nurse. Nick with his two black eyes continued to fuss. "What's up with you Nick? I ain't the one who needs nursin' over. A sudden coughing spasm took him over and he felt himself expertly pushed forward and a pillow tucked under his chest, then Nick help him expel the phlegm which had got caught.

"Ah hell, I've been ill, haven't I?" Heath finally realised when he was able to draw breath. His chest hurt badly and with memory returning the illusion of normality was gone. "How long?"

"Four days."

"Bad?"

"Yep, little brother." Nick sighed, not aiming to hide anything. "It was bad."

This time Heath didn't mind the fussin' Nick was doing. He didn't even have the energy to stretch down and pull the blankets back over him. It was left to Nick to cover him up.

"Was?" Heath continued.

"The fever peaked three days ago, Heath. You've been sleeping like a baby since." He added with a relieved smile.

The mention of being like a baby made Heath remember the children. Nick read his thoughts. "They're fine, Heath. Absolutely fine and eager to see their father."

"Am I infectious?" Heath asked worried about passing anything on.

"No," Nick reassured him. "You want to see them?'

Heath nodded, his emotive eyes telling Nick everything.

"Well let's get some food into you and clean you up and then maybe, just maybe you can see them this afternoon after some more sleep."

Heath yawned, sleep threatening to take him away again from Nick. "Heath!" Nick shouted, trying to stop him. He'd missed his little brother and wasn't ready to lose him to sleep so quickly.

"Nick?" Heath sighed with obvious tiredness.

"Yeah, Heath."

"Did you win the fight? I didn't like to mention it but you got two black eyes. I sure hope Cannon looks worse than you. You did beat him, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't win that fight, Heath, but I won a more important one, right here. You sleep boy. I'll go tell Mother, you're awake."

In the afternoon, Heath felt more refreshed. Nick, who genuinely looked liked he should be in bed also, had helped clean him up, his mother had fed him and with Nick's help again after Doctor Merar's visit, he had managed to get himself into some clothes, though was annoyed that he still had to lie in bed.

Doctor Merar's visit had not revealed much, other than Heath was past the worst and was on the mend. Heath had sat patiently through the examination whilst the doctor worked checking his lungs, his heart and his throat. Heath, excited at seeing his boys soon left questions till later. All he needed to know was that he was on the mend. The only thing that had created some alarm had been the doctor's vague answer when Heath had asked when he could get back to work but he chose not to pursue it now. Besides, the doctor was soon busy checking Nick over, and Heath's concern turned away from himself and to his older brother. "Nick!" he exclaimed as he saw the extent of the bruising under his shirt. Nick seeing the look on his brother's face knew Heath was blaming himself for the injuries.

"I'm fine, Heath. Nothing broken, is there doc?" He looked to Doctor Merar to confirm his statement and Merar, quickly complied.

"No, fortunately. Just a lot of bruising. Mostly self-inflicted." He continued putting the shirt back on Nick.

"What do you mean? Self-inflicted," Nick objected.

"Well what else do you call professional fighting?

"A gentleman's sport!" Nick defended.

"A fool's sport!" came back Merar's damning retort. Nick just "Hmmphd." and said nothing more.

"Nick!" Heath exclaimed again, unconvinced by the doctor's report and any attempt to shield him, but the sound of his childrens' voices heralded their excited arrival and the conversation between brothers was deferred whilst everything was done by father and uncle to allay the childrens' fears about their father's illness and the bruises to their uncle's face.

An hour later, Victoria came upstairs to find Heath asleep on the bed and his son's curled around him. "Should we disturb them?" Jarrod asked. He had brought them from the ranch earlier and was ready to take them home. Victoria considered the scene for a moment. "Doctor Merar says we can take Heath home tomorrow. Maybe it's best if we let the children sleep over at the hotel tonight. They can see their father again in the morning and I think it will do them all good. Doctor Merar wants to see Heath in a couple of days."

"What about?"

"He won't say until he has spoken to Heath. I'm worried Jarrod. He is being very closed about something. Usually, he speaks freely with me, but not today."

Jarrod, too, was worried but his natural instinct to give a lead to his family came to the fore. "Come on, let's go downstairs. Nick and I will take the children across to the hotel in about an hour. I'll sit with Heath tonight. You get some rest with the children."

Two days later at the ranch....

Heath sat down on the bed shocked at the news. His fingers clutched at the material of the bedspread under him, scrunching the fabric up into a tight ball as he did so and making his knuckles turn white in the process. He tried to take the news in, struggling to gather his thoughts, struggling to understand the ramifications of what the doctor had said. All he could see was the bleakness that lay ahead. He was only twenty-seven years old. A widower with two boys and a girl, a young family who needed him. They'd lost their mother dammit. And now their Pa? A Pa who may not be around to see them grow up, a Pa who had let them down.