It was a dark shape smothered by the velvet of the night. A small two room building, the only haven for a small boy from the brutality of his two relatives he’d known as a child. The guardians appointed to him legally after the death of his mama.

As a five year old, his mind didn’t understand the turnings of the wheels of the legal system. He didn’t understand about guardians, death, wills and such things. He only knew one day his life changed.

As a child he learned early in life why he was treated less than favorably by the god fearing people of the town. He’d learned the definition of the word he was called before he could put his name down to paper, before he could read his first word. The hurtful words, the despicable treatment didn’t seem so bad as long as he had his mama with him, singing to him at night and surrounding him with her love.

To a child of five, it all changed the day she left this world, left her body behind and ventured into the world where the streets were paved with gold, where no harsh words were flung at a person for the sheer joy the cruelty would bring. She’d gone to a better place, of this place he was aware, for each night his mama would read from the bible to him. He knew she had stepped into the kingdom above and in that instant, he was thrust into hell on earth.

His adopted Aunt Rachel fought to keep the son of her friend with her, to raise him as her own. She’d fought against the man who was his biological uncle, the brother to his mama. Rachel’s fight was in vain, the law saw the blood bond and turned the youngster over to the childless couple who ran the hotel in town.

As a child who was intuitive and curious, Heath knew his life would forever be changed. He’d known the ugliness in his aunt and uncle, he’d already experienced it and there was nothing he could do to stay out of their clutches. He was only a child and save for Rachel, no one would step forward and speak for him.

Rachel’s protests went unheard and the middle aged woman knew fear for the boy she loved immensely. She’d been forced to watch from afar as the child changed during the time he’d spent in the hotel, the place he’d been forced to call home. His relatives sent the boy to work in the mine as a charge boy, a deadly profession, a risky business. They sent him there and collected the dollar he made each week, hoarding the additional money and barely giving the boy a roof over his head and food in his stomach.

After he was sentenced to live with his aunt and uncle, it only took a few times of disobedience, a few times of rebellion and the swift punishment which followed to squelch the laughter and joy in his young soul.

He was only a child but he knew he was only kept as an indentured servant, a means of making money, a scapegoat for the couple’s failures. He tried to run away but the attempt was unsuccessful and the punishment doled out was painful and startling, shaming and damming. It had started the anger deep down inside him, the anger which exploded one day when his uncle was out of town. The wrinkled hand which slapped his face and left a red mark sent the fury in him to the surface, his teenage hands responded and shoving with all his might, pushed his aunt down, her head hitting the floor and she lay stunned as he stood above her.

Fear had driven him at the sight of her laying on the floor, fear of punishment sent him from his hometown to the line of men enlisting for the war. The war which was far away on the other coast of the country, far enough away to escape the punishment which awaited him back at the place he barely survived in.

The enlistment, the assigning to a company, the impressive skills with a rifle. All these things surrounded him with men who were like no other. They didn’t treat him like everyone else had in his young life, they treated him as if he were one of them. They sheltered him because of his youth and yet, shook their heads at the deadly ability he possessed. They shook their heads in wonder at his tender age and yet, they admired his skill.

He was protected by the men who surrounded him, protected as well as they could in an environment where death was all around, where men lay crying while their blood seeped out or their screams could be heard as the doctors worked over their injured bodies without the benefit of anesthesia. He was protected for the first time in almost ten years and he could feel deep within him, his soul allowing some light in.

He was protected for the first time in years and had startled in surprise the first time he laughed with them, the first time he shared in a moment of joy among the sadness and darkness of war. The sound of his own laughter was foreign to his ears and with time, he could feel the blackness of his soul lighten, little by little.

The lightening stopped on the fateful day they’d been captured and sent to the confederate prison. The filth, the starvation, the beatings, the degradation, the lack of humanity surrounded them daily. The will to survive has always been strong in him and he used the anger inside to keep him alive, keep him going against the impossible odds.

He had all but given up hope of being free or setting foot on the ground outside the camp. He was sure he was destined to die in the enemy prison and he welcomed death, but it never came and he’d been forced to dwell in a place where it was hell on earth.

When he woke up in the army hospital, he’d given Rachel Caulfield’s name as his relative, not knowing if she was still alive or would even be wanting to hear from the boy who’d always loved her. He only knew he’d rather crawl all the way back to the ends of the earth rather than contact the two guardians the courts had deemed would be suitable to raise a small boy.

Rachel left as soon as she received the letter and the next time he was aware after his body almost gave out on him, she was there holding his hand and running her fingers through his hair.

It had taken almost a year for him to fully recover and find a way to restore the essence of peace in his soul. Nightmares threatened him though not on a daily basis, the childhood he’d survived was evident in his lack of comfort with strangers. Loud people would often send a shiver through him, the brashness reminded him of his uncle, the man whose hands he’d feared as a child.

Standing and looking at the cabin of Rachel, Heath’s blue eyes wandered past the dwelling to the street further down, the hotel where he knew his other relatives lived, the place he hadn’t stepped foot in since that last day.

The young man knew the dangers of the town but Rachel was old and wouldn’t move. Her own health was failing and she wanted to be buried beside her dear friends, Leah and Hannah. It was her one wish and the blond knew it was only a matter of time before it was granted.

Aunt Rachel had taken care of him and Heath would return the favor tenfold. The love they had for each other was no less than a mother had for a child, no less than a child had for a parent. It was unconditional and it was strong, unbending and unfailing.

Knocking on the door of the cabin, he whispered and she unlocked the door, ushering him in and wrapping her nephew in a hug. No lights were light, their voices never raised over whispers in the darkness of the small home.

“I heard him, Aunt Rachel. Saying I was their brother. They’d known it all along, this whole time.” whispered Heath, torn between anger and desire, sadness and longing. “I want to hate them. I should hate them.”

“But you don’t, do you?” asked Rachel, rubbing his back in the darkness as she sat beside him on the small couch, his head held in his hands, his body hunched forward.

“No.” admitted Heath with a shaky breath. “I’m so confused…I don’t know what to do...what to think. I’m afraid of being angry all the time again. So afraid of feeling the rage.”

Rachel remembered vividly the rage her nephew had fought long and hard against, his gentle nature had slowly returned, his shattered being carefully put back together. Reaching over, she pulled one of his hands away and held in between hers.

“I can’t tell you what to do, Heath. You have to make your own decision.” stated Rachel quietly. “If you don’t ask those questions that are repeating themselves in your mind, you’ll never have peace. You’ll always wonder and it’ll slowly eat away at you. Can you live with questions? Can you afford to?”

The windows of the building were thickened with dust, the wood dreary and forsaken, the sign weathered and difficult to read. Of all the buildings on the main street, it was the only one which showed a hint of life in the empty street.

Stopping their horses, the two men ran their eyes up and down the desolate town, the signs of few inhabitants stood everywhere for them to see. From tumbleweeds piled up against fences and buildings, to little vermin scuttering around, unconcerned with the human population since they owned this place they dwelled in. The humans were the minority and they, the majority.

It had been a dry and long ride for Nick and Jarrod, brothers since birth, companions and confidants to each other over the years. Yes, it’d been a long ride made essentially longer by the underlying anger of one brother against another. Over the past years, the brothers had no secrets between each other, the bond between them was strong as iron and their trust in each other solid as rock, until now.

It wasn’t so much words spoken, it was the unspoken language which hurt more, the walls erected, the moat dug with no drawbridge to cross. He’d hurt his little brother by not sharing the information in regards to Heath. No matter if the reasons were valid to the mind of the eldest, to the youngest, he felt as if he wasn’t trusted enough to be taken into confidence with an event which would forever change the lives of all in the family and in the community.

Nick was unarmed to deal with the fury from their wild-eyed half-brother, because he hadn’t known of the blood line by way of their mutual father and thus, his lack of knowledge left him ill prepared when he was placed in harm’s way.

Of all things, Nick Barkley was a man with a large heart, with a strong back and hands whose world evolved around simple rules though his mind was complex. Regardless of the circumstances of the blond’s birth, he was their brother and a person, all three siblings mutually agreed to be a man they wanted to know from this day forth. A man they wanted in their family, a man they needed to find to right a wrong.

It was this mission which brought them to the remnant of a world once showered with gold and glitz, where men made and lost millions, where the gamblers, conmen and cheats profited by plying their trades. Those heydays were long gone and all that was left was a town falling into ruins, the mines closed up, the business dried up as quick as the veins of ore. The people who had flocked to the town of riches, stampeded just as quickly from the town of poverty, off to bilk another town of its valuable natural resources.

Nick caught Jarrod’s eyes and shook his head at the town before them. He’d seen bad off people and towns before but the rancher knew he’d never seen anything like this. Jarrod stood beside his brother and sighed.

“Looks like only this hotel is open, Nick.”

“Good as place as any to start.” stated Nick, his spurs jingling as he climbed the three steps, grabbing onto the railing when the loose board gave way and his leg dropped several inches when it splintered in two from his weight.

“You okay?” questioned Jarrod, reaching up and holding his brother by the back with two hands, til he regained his balance and climbed up onto the rickety porch.

“Yeah, here grab my hand.” offered Nick, pulling his older brother up over the broken step, scowling at the rotted wood. “Somebody could break their neck on those steps.”

“I don’t think the proprietors have to worry about any customers hurting themselves, Nick.” retorted Jarrod, clapping his brother on the back. “Thanks for the hand up.”

“I still ain’t talking to you.” snarled Nick, moving to the door, leaving his eye rolling brother on the porch as he stepped inside and stopped. Jarrod moved to stand beside him and both men stared at the lobby, filth and debris mixed in with the gaudy crushed red velvet furniture. The dust lay thick on everything and the smell was less than appealing.

A man with dark hair, lined with gray looked up from the corner table where he was nursing a drink, a half-empty bottle of no name rotgut before him. As the men neared, his black harsh eyes studied the two strangers, narrowing at their approach which sent dust flying in the air, the particles dancing in the beams of sunlight which managed to find a way through the panes of dirt.

“What do ya’ want? We ain’t got nothing to offer.” snorted the man, lifting and tossing back his shot of drink.

“We’re looking for someone who lives here.” said Jarrod, suddenly glancing at Nick, the two brothers both feeling a sense of discomfort, a sense of uneasiness at the man before them.

“Who is it ya’ lookin’ fer? Ain’t many here no more.” slurred the man, his words filled with bitterness, his hand was unsteady as the dark drink poured into the dirty glass. “I ain’t got all damn day!”

Nick fought down his irritation at the man’s manner, his need for information overtaking his anger at the man’s tone and he hooked his thumb into his belt before stating. “Heath Thomson. You know him?”

Jumping up to his feet suddenly, the man sneered, his eyes laden with contempt and hate. “What do ya’ want him for? He rob you, steal from you or something. He ain’t nothing but a no good lousy bastard. He break the law? Hangings too good for his kind.”

Sending a warning look to Nick, Jarrod shook his head and smiled, “We contracted with Mr. Thomson to train some horses for us. We were in the area and it’s a good opportunity to see how he was coming along with them.”

Dark eyes studied the two men before him, his hands on the table steadied his weaving body and he sat back in his chair, picking up his glass and downing it, his eyes becoming glossier by the second.

“Don’t know and don’t’ care where my bastard nephew is.” slurred the man before banging his fist on the table. “He’s the reason we’re stuck here. Him and his whore mother.”

“You’re his uncle?” hissed Nick, his stomach churning in disgust, his body trembling.

“I ain’t proud of it. Ain’t nothing but bad seed. Bastard. His kind should have their heads smashed at birth.”

Lunging forward, Nick grabbed the older man by the front of his shirt, pulling him across the table, the bottle and glass crashing to the floor. Stunned at the quick movement and the curses from the other man, Matt Simmons was startled and couldn’t move for a second, before the fury darkened his already black eyes and his hands tore at the steel arms which shook him like he were a doll.

“GIT OFF ME!”

Jarrod grabbed onto Nick’s arm to break the hold he clamped on the man, both brothers standing stark still at the sound of a gunshot making their ears ring.

“Let him go.” ordered a voice devoid of all kindness, devoid of all compassion from behind them. “Do as I say or the next ones in your back.”

Loosening his hold slowly, Nick clenched his jaw and dropped the older man into the filth on the floor. Black eyes burned with anger and his hand enclosed on the bottle, springing to his feet, he smashed it against the side of Nick’s head, sending the dark vested man staggering into Jarrod who caught him in his arms.

“NICK!” shouted Jarrod, turning his brother’s face to get a look at the wound opened in the side of his head, the blood running down the unconscious man’s face and dripping onto the floor.

Looking up, blue eyes were caught in the hateful matching gazes standing above him, his hands holding onto his injured brother, his heart full of fear for their safety and his mind full of revulsion for these people related to their newest brother. The venomous words no doubt had been lashed out at Heath as a child, an innocent child who didn’t have a choice to who or what circumstances he’d been born in.

“They’re lookin’ for the whelp.” sneered Matt weaving slightly on his feet beside the woman who held the pistol in her hand, the barrel steady and aimed directly at the two black haired strangers on the floor.

“What do you want him for? That boy bastard ain’t no good.” demanded Martha, her eyes matching the surprised tone of the words leaving her mouth, the lines in her face which once reflected beauty were the consequences of the life she’d lead, the weavings of hatred in her soul.

Jarrod was rigid with anticipation, kneeling on one knee and holding onto Nick, he studied the man and woman, his eyes not leaving them even as Nick stirred slightly in his arms. A slight moan reached his ears and he tightened his hold onto the man born with a double streak of Barkley temper, somehow he knew instinctively these relatives of Heath would never let them leave alive and his mind whirled with the knowledge like water swirling in a tidepool.

“I asked you a question!” screamed Martha, her control slipping slightly, her cold eyes telling the lawyer he needed to keep her calm while he searched for a way out of this mess without further bloodshed.

“He’s training some horses for us.” stated Jarrod calmly. “We wanted to check his progress. We were only asking if that man knew him.”

“You’re lying, mister.” shouted the woman, the lines in her face seeming to deepen as her distrust grew.

“That is the truth.” assured Jarrod smoothly, his face trickling with sweat from the heat of the day and the dark barrel he found his eyes continually straying towards. “Our family owns a ranch in Stockton. Ma’am, I need to take care of my brother. His head needs tending.”

“Who cares. He shouldn’t have laid his hands on me.” snarled Matt, his movement forward stopped by his wife.

“If you hadn’t been drinking yourself senseless, he’d have never been able to lay a hand on you!” retorted Martha sharply, her harshness causing him to stop and clench his fists.

“I only had a couple!” snapped Matt, turning slightly off balance and facing the woman on his left. “What else is there to do here?”

“We’ll discuss it later after we figure out what to do with these two.” frowned Martha, her eyes studying the men closer, they smelled of the money and riches chased after all her life but never captured. “Your clothes ain’t bought off the shelf like most folks, your boots are fine leather…you’re well off, ain’t ya?”

“My sister and mother are excellent seamstresses.” replied Jarrod offhandedly, using the shield of Nick laying across his lap to slowly edge his hand backwards, prepared to make a frantic grab for his gun if need be.

“Martha, just kill ‘em already.” slurred Matt reaching for the gun, making her eyes move away from the brothers, the barrel dropping slightly.

Opening her mouth to cut her partner in marriage to pieces with the slicing tongue which flicked around in the vile mouth, the couple were startled when the pane glass window beside them shattered with a blur of blue. Jarrod hunched over, protecting his unaware brother from the flying slivers of glass and flinching at the sound of gunfire.

Heath spying from outside the window through a small clean opening stepped back and with a running start dove into the glass, his rush carrying him into his uncle. The momentum moved him and his uncle sideways into his aunt, her finger pulling on the trigger impulsively, the bullets flying harmlessly through the lobby.

Knocking his uncle out with a right hook, Heath lunged and rushed his aunt who was bringing the pistol around. Grabbing hold of her wrists with one large hand, he wrenched the gun from her hand, her shoes kicking the shins of his legs. With all his strength he pushed the cursing vile woman back against the counter and stepped back, the gun now aimed at her black heart. Their eyes locked, her breaths coming out in shudders from the hatred encased in her very soul.

Jarrod watched as Heath backed slowly towards him and kept the gun trained on her, not saying a word just motioning with his free hand for Jarrod to pick up Nick. Hauling his semi-conscious brother to his feet, Jarrod pulled his arm across his shoulders and walked him towards the door.

“Get ‘em on his horse.” commanded Heath quietly, his eyes not leaving the couple before him, the bile inside him rising with the wretched memories starting to assault him.

“HEATH?” called Jarrod from the outside of the hotel, his hand holding his brother against him in the saddle, Coco’s reins wrapped around his saddlehorn.

Backing out the door, the blond kept his gun trained on the doorway and whistled, his modoc trotting over to him from behind some buildings further down the street. Climbing into the saddle, he motioned for Jarrod to start and followed him quickly, moving the horses faster down the narrow passage and out of the deadly town.

Jarrod followed the man they’d been seeking, worried about the brother in his arms and the brother whose arms were bleeding from the glass he entered through. Heath continued on for several miles, the woods becoming denser all around them, there was no trail that Jarrod could see.

Finally reaching a small oasis in the forest around them, the blond stopped and ground hitched his reins after dismounting. Reaching up, he was handed the groaning man and laid him carefully on the cushiony grass. Jarrod jumped down and grabbed his canteen before taking a cloth out of his saddlebag and kneeling on the other side of Nick.

Glancing up, he was frightened at the sick look on the blond’s face, his face pale and sweating profusely, red with some streaks of blood from small cuts. “Heath, let me see your arms. Heath?”

“I’ll get some wood to start a fire.” whispered the blond, pushing himself upward. “Ya’ just take care of your brother.”

‘Your brother’ echoed through Jarrod’s stunned mind as he stared at the retreating back before turning his attention to Nick’s wound, cleaning and wrapping it with a cloth before covering him with his bedroll.

“I’ll be right back, Nick.” assured Jarrod in his ear, the words turning the bandaged head slightly. “I need to look after our little brother.”

‘Your brother’ echoed continually and the attorney checked the horses quickly before following the blond’s steps into the wood, wondering what was keeping him, his concern hastening his strides, until his eyes caught sight of the blue shirt amongst the wall of green and brown.

Kneeling and holding onto his stomach, Heath fought for control over the sickness in him, the terror he was feeling, the fear clawing at his insides. He couldn’t prevent the shaking in his body, the past was nipping at his heels.

Jarrod knelt down and grabbed onto the trembling man, his eyes wide with fright and caring. “Heath, let me see your arms. Please, Heath.”

The emotional urgings from the older man reached in and the blond allowed one of his arms to be pulled away from his stomach. He was hovering between reality and shock, shock from blood loss and shock from re-entering the belly of hell.

“Damn!” whispered Jarrod at the long deep gash on the arm of his little brother, the blood staining the blue shirt and tan pants.

Yanking his own shirt out of his pants, the attorney ripped the bottom of it, holding it firmly til the bleeding stopped, wrapping it around the injured limb, noting the shivering man in front of him didn’t even flinch in pain when the knot was tightened to hold it in place. Pulling the other arm away from the slightly hunched over body, Jarrod breathed a sigh of relief when only scratches appeared on the tanned skin.

“Let me help you back to Nick and I’ll start a fire.” suggested Jarrod placing a strong hand on the nearest shoulder, his heart ripping in two at the anguished eyes which looked up at him and the hissed order.

“Go back to Stockton. It’d be best for everyone.”

“It wouldn’t be best for anyone, Heath. Not us and certainly not you.” countered Jarrod softly, reaching up and holding onto both quivering shoulders, searching the intense glazed eyes of the younger man before stating firmly. “You’re our brother and we’re not going anywhere without you. We have so much to talk about. There are things that need to be said and explained.”

Reaching up, Heath pushed the hands off his shoulders and shook his head in denial before climbing slowly to his feet with Jarrod quickly following. Picking up some wood from the forest floor, the blond sought to control his runaway emotions breaking free in his muddled head, his legs wobbled from the urge to run as he dropped the wood on the ground in the clearing close to the blanketed man.

“West from here…the trail back to Stockton.” stated the blond, his breaths coming in shudders, the punishment on his body catching up with the pain inside and he turned to walk away.

“Heath.” moaned Nick from his place on the ground, his hand reaching up to hold onto his head, hazel eyes squinted against the throbbing. “Wait…Heath.”

The groaned call of his name stopped his legs from working and his body tensed, upright as a fence post. Jarrod watched the two younger men, his two younger brothers, one trying to rise from the ground, the other fighting the urge to turn around at the continual repeating of his name. The pale faces sporting matched clenched jaws, their muscles quivering, both trembling from the onslaught of shock.

Nick pushed himself to his unsteady knees, his eyes staying on the back of the blond, burning a hole through the tan vest, searing the man underneath with its intensity. The intensity born not of cruelty or villainess but of something else, something greater and warmer. It reached across the openness of the small clearing and wrapped itself around his shaking weakened form. It was pulling at him, urging him to stay put, offering so much in its tendrils, promising more than life had ever given him before.

Putting a hand on the ground to steady himself, Nick thrust down the nausea rising from his head wound, his voice low and quiet was pleading for time, asking for time from the brother who’d been driven away from their home by a misunderstanding, part of an overheard conversation.

“Stay…little…brother.” urged Nick between groans, fighting to keep his senses about him, suddenly feeling if the blond left, he’d never again lay eyes on him. “Please.”

Mesmerized, Jarrod startled when the final plea from his rancher brother reached across the clearing and the force of the single word seemed to buckle the knees of the blond, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and he crumpled to the ground, boneless and pliable.

“HEATH!” screamed both men with Jarrod rushing forward and falling to the ground beside the shaking man, his previously injured body doling out its protests while he lay unaware.

Jarrod swore as he suddenly felt the heat searing off the man trembling on the ground, his ears picking up the gasps for air.

“Nick, he’s burning up!” stammered Jarrod glancing at the man who had struggled over to them. “I didn’t notice before, dammit! How could I miss it?”

Running his hand over the drenched blond hair, Nick closed his eyes against the pain in his head and whispered, “Not..your..fault.”

“Stay with him, we need more water.” whispered Jarrod, jumping up and grabbing the canteens, running to the nearby stream they’d crossed.

Nick lay his head on his arm, the gash on his head stealing his strength and his hand shook as he gently wiped the trickles of blood from the face of the blond, the red moistened from the perspiration of the fever, the cheeks scarlet and flushed, standing out harshly against the whiteness of its background.

Closing his eyes against the onslaught in his head, Nick opened his eyelids slightly at the mumbling from his feverish brother, the blond head moving slightly, a single tear escaped from the corner of the closed eye of the rambling man after the anguished half sob, half cry.

“Rachel.”

Forcing himself up onto his elbow, Nick took the bandanna from his neck and wiped the fevered brow of the mumbling blond, his hand unsteady from his own injury. Laying his palm against the hot cheek, the pained rancher watched the eyelids open slightly, revealing two spots of blue.

“Heath.” smiled Nick in relief, his happiness at seeing the two spots of blue overriding the physical pain of his own body.

Coughing and gasping at the pain in his chest, the blond rolled on his side away from the concerned hazel eyes and pushed himself up to his knees. Shaking and trembling, the blue orbs looked around frantically, “Jarrod? Jarrod!”

“He..went..water.” groaned Nick, unable to keep his head up, moving his head back onto his arm, opening his eyes at the hot hands which held onto his shoulders and moved him onto his back.

Shaking his head against the fogginess, Heath grabbed onto the strong shoulders, moving the dark haired man onto his back, the appreciation in the hazel eyes shining through the pain. The blond inwardly cursed his own body which allowed an infection to live inside it, his eyes filled with anger at himself and his own inabilities which were rapidly taking hold because of his fevered state.

Nick saw the anger in the blue glassy eyes before he lost the fight to keep his eyes open unaware he’d grabbed onto the injured forearm of his younger brother when pain shot through his head. Heath moaned from the sudden pain in his arm and pried the strong hand away, holding onto it and shuddering.

Jarrod walked into the clearing, thankful for the blue eyes watching him and he slowed his steps at seeing the gun in the feverish man’s hand, while the other held onto Nick’s hand. Remembering the unexpected action of the blond when he’d awaken in the guest room of the mansion, the attorney took a silent deep breath and cautiously approached.

“Heath?” said Jarrod calmly, letting out his breath at the reply.

“It’s not safe.” whispered Heath, his eyes continually scanning the trees, squinting against the rise of temperature in him and the sweat which rolled down his forehead, stinging his eyes.

Kneeling beside his brothers, Jarrod pointed to the pistol in the trembling hand. “I’m here now. You can put that away.”

Staring at the weapon in his hand, Heath slowly nodded and after a few attempts, holstered the colt in its leather encasement. Jarrod poured some water on the black bandanna of Nick’s and held it to the back of Heath’s scalding neck, the blond sighing from the contrast of heat and coolness.

“Heath, how long have you been sick?” asked Jarrod, studying the dark circles under the closed eyes, the telltale signs of no sleep.

“Two days?” queried Heath, slowly opening his eyes and staring off into the distance. “The rain was so cold but I had to do it. I promised. Never go back on my word.”

Jarrod swiped the wet cloth across the pale face and puzzled over the continued mumbling, startled from his thoughts by a moment of clarity and the hand which gripped onto his.

“My ranch’s that way. Ten miles.” gestured Heath, staring into the blue eyes of the older man. “We have to leave.”

“You and Nick can’t ride.” stated Jarrod firmly. “I’ll watch over and take care of you two.”

“You can’t!” snapped the blond, his fear sending his anger forward, his words stammering with fear. “They’re evil. They got no soul.”

Jarrod held onto the increasingly agitated blond’s shoulders, using the strength of his uninjured body to hold him in place, his eyes locking with the ones now widened with fear and panicked, the weak man fighting to free himself from the hold of iron.

“Heath, stop it! Listen to me! They’re not here! HEATH!”

Nick forced his eyes open at the shouts which pushed through the haze he was surrounded with, the fear in one voice, the other firm and serious. Jarrod struggled with the smaller man who pushed him away when a shot of adrenaline surged through the fevered blond. Jumping up, Jarrod toppled the fleeing man onto the ground, Heath’s breath whooshing out of his lungs with the impact, his groan of pain loud in the afternoon air.

Jarrod wrapped his arms around the blond pulling him back into his chest, the mumbled ranting of fear twisting his stomach and he met the hazel eyes which stared at them from where Nick lay.

“Please, Heath. Settle down.” urged Jarrod loudly in the blond’s ear, the heat of the fever confusing the man in his arms, his memories mixing together, become disjointed parts and his movements slowed at the voice in his ear.

“I want to leave.” whispered Heath, his voice low and quivering, his body too exhausted to struggle, his eyes were starting to close and he repeated several times. “It’s a bad place, full of death. Always death. I don’t like it there. Please. I want to leave. Please.”

Nick felt his eyes tear up from the fright in his brother’s voice and he knew the relatives in his hometown were responsible for that fear, for the panic in the blue eyes. Looking up with sluggish hazel eyes, Nick met his older brother’s gaze and held it with his own, his answer clear for Jarrod to see.

Putting his mouth close to the blond’s ear, Jarrod stated firmly, “Can you lead us to your ranch, Heath?”

The sun was setting, the forest around them growing darker, the shadows lengthening and stifling the light. Jarrod kept the man on the modoc in sight, his arms holding onto Nick who had to be transferred from the back of Coco when he couldn’t remain conscious and in the leather seat on his own.

“Jarrod?” moaned Nick, the movement of the horse steadily increased the throbbing in his head.

“Yeah, Nick?” whispered the older man, his attention on the back of the blond struggling to stay in the saddle, his swaying body held in place by a deathgrip on the saddlehorn.

“He’s…struggling.” whispered Nick, his half-opened eyes watching the tan vest in the fading light. “How…far…there?”

“I don’t know Nick. I think we’re close though.” said Jarrod calmly. “We’re almost to the mountains. Remember, Heath said his home was at the base of a mountain.”

“He…did.” admitted Nick, his words barely heard as his eye closed and Jarrod held his brother firmer at the feel of his again relaxed body.

Taking a deep breath, Jarrod let it out fighting the urge to tell Heath to stop, his concern for both men growing with each passing yard, each tree ridden around, each stream crossed. He focused his mind on what he’d need to do once they reached their destination.

Going over the care both his younger brothers would require in his mind, the attorney was again thankful, Nick appeared to only be concussed and not too seriously damaged. With rest, his injury would heal quickly and with liquids, his body would replace the blood it lost. Once the man in his arms was allowed a place to rest uninterrupted, he would be back to his old growling self in no time.

His blond brother was another story, one for great concern and Jarrod frowned. The fevered mumbling of the man they barely knew were mostly unrecognizable but a shiver had crawled up his spine after he’d ridden up beside Heath who stopped and the confused blue eyes requested his orders and called him Major Binginton.

The title of the well-known military officer and the implications of the one sentence had shocked the attorney into silence until he realized the blond was growing more nervous and agitated waiting for him to speak. Talking quietly, he tried to get Heath to recognize he was Jarrod, his brother and not a military officer. The blond sat his horse waiting like a good soldier and when Nick suddenly moaned, his eyes blinked bringing him back to the forest of California instead of the hills in Tennessee.

The look in the blue eyes when he realized what must have happened twisted Jarrod’s heart. The shamed look turned to agony before he nudged the modoc forward, holding his injured left arm against his still paining ribs.

Other than treating his fever and cuts, Jarrod wasn’t sure what to do to help the inner man. What could he do to stop those looks from wiping the happiness forever out of the blue orbs? What the hell was he doing in a war as a mere child?

The voice of the young man riding ahead of him probably hadn’t even had a chance to change before he was fighting for his life on the bloody battlefields, amongst the cannon fire, stepping over the dead bodies of friends and neighbors, unit peers and the enemy who looked like the kid next door.

He’d entered the war as a man just turned eighteen and Jarrod shook his head. He felt sick to his stomach, imaging a boy of thirteen or fourteen pulling the trigger on a gun, eyes wide with innocence no more.

Heath held onto the saddlehorn, the reins looped around it, allowing Gal to walk the trail to the ranch, the trail he was finding excruciatingly long. He’d long since given up trying to stay upright in the saddle, the fever holding onto him and the pain in his ribs and arm making it difficult to focus, difficult to keep a sharp eye out.

The blond tried to get his mind to think about the consequences of what he’d done in Strawberry, the taking of the Barkleys from his relatives would widen the bullseye on his back. Their hatred for him would give way to revenge for his interference and he swallowed the fear rising up. The fear deep inside him from the time of a child, the fear he couldn’t stop.

He was positive his relatives didn’t know where he lived, otherwise, he reasoned they’d have made sure he knew of their presence long before. The controlling need of the couple, the meanness in both of them was a trait they’d probably been born with. They were a matched set in their lack of conscience. They had none and would do whatever it took to get what they wanted in life. To kill and rob innocent people were not above them and in fact, their last blood relative was sure it was how they made a living, how they eked out an existence in the town barren of life.

The town barren of life.

For him, the blond knew he’d never step foot in the place again. He’d spent one and a half days trying to keep his Rachel alive and with him, even though, they both knew it was hopeless, a futile attempt to stop the inevitable. There was no cure for the heart ailment which slowly took her away.

When she passed after placing a goodnight kiss on his cheek, he’d welcomed the sense of hopelessness, the sense of despair which tore him apart. If his uncle or aunt had chosen to look in on Rachel for the first time ever, he knew he would have provoked them into a fight, just to end the shattering of his soul inside. Not that there would be a need for a lot of provocation, just his being there would be the start of the fuse.

As it was, the couple never made an appearance and in the rainy early morning hours, with his each breath burning his lungs, the promise was kept and he buried his Rachel beside his mama and his Hannah. Three fine wonderful ladies, three ladies full of smiles and love could now spend the hereafter together.

Returning to the cabin, he put the possessions she’d left him in his saddlebags and waited for the rain to quit, his damp clothes on his back, chilling him to the bone, making his already fevered body ache more but he dared not light a fire for warmth. He dozed off and when he woke later, the rain had stopped and he walked Gal to the edge of the street, stopping and making sure he would not be seen on his way out of the god forsaken place. All thoughts of leaving flew out of his mind and he grabbed onto the corner of the building, his eyes wide and his legs suddenly weak with fear.

The sight of the two horses in front of the hotel and the instantaneous knowledge of who owned the one closest to him, left him trembling for the safety of the riders. Keeping Gal in the alley, he worked his way around the buildings to the other side of the horses, his heart jumping into his throat at the sight of the other animal, both bearing the brand of the Barkley ranch. The brand confirming what his proficient eyes already knew.

It wasn’t a decision he made consciously, it was a decision which he made as quick as one would blink an eye. He wouldn’t leave his worse enemy in the hands of his relatives. To leave two men who were also sons of his father to their fate once they stepped foot in the den of death was a thought which was inconceivable.

Topping the small hill, Heath stopped Gal, waiting for Jarrod to pull up alongside him and he motioned in the dusk of the day to the buildings barely discernible in the valley, the mountain towering in the backgrounds made everything around seem small and minute.

“Jarrod, wait til I signal.” commanded the shivering blond firmly, nudging Gal down the hill and out of sight in the fading light.

“Heath!” called Jarrod quietly unable to see the brother who disappeared into the inking of the trees around them. Sighing, he reached up and cupped the cheek of the unaware brother in his arms, “Dammit, he's worse than you in stubbornness!"

Jarrod wasn’t sure how much time passed since his brother disappeared into the darkness and he kept his eyes forward watching for a signal, sighing when he realized he didn’t know what signal to look for.

The sky was moonless, the clouds had slowly built up during the late afternoon ride and now covered the area above his head fully. The dark was waking up with the sounds of the night symphony, crickets chirping, small animals scurrying, an owl hooting and off in the distance a wolf howling a cry of sorrow, a cry of loneliness.

Nick muttered before moving his head slightly against his big brother’s shoulder, unaware of the arm stiff from holding the large man tightly in the saddle, unaware of the rising fear in the usually collected lawyer brother. The fear of not knowing if the blond reached his ranch, fell off his horse or met with any number of reasons for delay, for not returning.

The thought of his newest brother, unconscious and needing his help was overwhelming and Jarrod nudged Jingo forward at the precise moment a glow of a lantern could be seen. The relief left him letting out two shaky breaths and he waited, watching the light come closer until he saw it held by a trembling hand of his little brother.

“This way.” said Heath, the lantern highlighting his feverish face even more so. “Follow right behind me, Jarrod. Don’t stray at all.”

Unsure but trusting to the man in front of him, Jarrod followed close behind the modoc, the attorney feeling the hairs on his neck stand up from the tenseness of his mount, his eyes unable to see the cause of the sudden tension.

The outline of a building took shape as they neared and Heath stopped in front of a small cabin, leaning over and hanging the lantern from the peg on the post of the porch. Climbing down slowly, Jarrod watched as the hands gripped the saddle and the blond shook his head to clear it of cobwebs before walking around and holding up his hands to take the unconscious man from atop the horse.

“Heath, if you hold Nick in place while I climb down, we can both carry him inside.” suggested Jarrod. “He’s heavier than an elephant.”

The corner of the blond’s mouth lifted slightly and he nodded, his hand reaching up and grabbing firm hold of the arm closest to him, the other a fistful of black shirt. Dismounting and stumbling on protesting legs, Jarrod reached up and between the two of them, Nick was slowly pulled from the saddle, his body relaxed and heavy.

Each men put an arm over their shoulders and Jarrod used a hand on the black leather belt to support the majority of the weight, not wanting to make the other injured man struggle. Reaching the door, Heath opened it and together Nick was dragged into a back bedroom and deposited on the bed. The blond was breathing heavily from his weakened condition, fully aware even in his feverish state of Jarrod hauling most of the weight.

Jarrod pulled off the dark boots and put the long legs on the bed, looking up and watching the blond open a door of a cabinet, pulling out more blankets. Handing a blanket to the lawyer, Heath walked out of the room, placing the others on the kitchen table. Unfolding the blanket, Jarrod covered his brother and checked the wound on his head.

“Here.” said Heath carrying a basin sitting it down before handing over a new bandage and a cloth. “Ya’ should clean it better.”

Jarrod took the items and placed them on the bedside table, his hand stopping the blond who turned to leave. “Heath, you’d best sit down. I need to look at your arm and ribs.”

“Later.” The blond’s jaw clenching as he fought the collapse he felt coming, taking the hand off his arm and walking slowly to the door. “Take care of Nick.”

“Heath!” protested Jarrod stopping at the moan from the bed, looking back at Nick for a moment, then glancing at the door which was closing. Shaking his head, Jarrod sat on the side of the bed, his hands unwrapping the bandage, his fingers working with the cloth, tenderly cleaning the large gash before rewrapping it with a new cloth of white. Satisfied at the feel of coolness beneath his palm, Jarrod pulled the blanket up and whispered in Nick’s ear. “Be right back, little brother.”

Heading into the outer room, Jarrod took a moment to start a fire in the small stove and putting water in the coffee pot from the indoor pump, set the tin pot on the fire. Opening the door, the blue eyes looked into the murky darkness, the glow of the lantern signifying where the blond had disappeared to.

Crossing the dirt area, Jarrod entered the barn, his eyes adjusting to the dim light and he hurried to the stall where Heath was struggling with a saddle, taking it from the shaky man’s hand and setting it on the rail. Bending, Jarrod quickly placed the other two saddles on the rail and turned to the man who was leaning against a nearby post, his eyes closed.

“Com’n little brother.” soothed Jarrod, pulling Heath’s uninjured arm over his shoulders.

“Rifle.” whispered Heath, leaning heavily against the older man, struggling to keep his mind coherent. “Need it.”

Nodding, Jarrod walked the scalding man to the rifle which leaned against the wall. Heath grabbed it in his left hand, grimacing at the pain shooting up his arm while Jarrod reached out and turned the lantern flame down.

“You’re going to bed, Heath.” stated Jarrod firmly, half carrying the weak blond to the cabin and pulling him inside. “You got another bed?”

“No. Only one.” informed the blond swaying against the worried man holding him up, muttering under his raspy breaths. “Not expectin’ company.”

Jarrod lowered the blond onto the rug in front of the fireplace, coughing and groaning from the pained ribs, the blond lay carefully on his side, his head cushioned on his arm, curled up and trembling with his eyes closed, letting himself fall into a disturbed sleep. Looking around the room, Jarrod opened the other door and held a candle up in the darkness, the storage room containing canned goods and crates, his eyes spying a mound of fur and he picked it up.

Taking the large and heavy coat made of buffalo out to the outer room, he spread it on the floor, putting a blanket over it and crossed to the bed, gingerly pulling Nick up, the movement stirring his brother into waking.

“Jarrod?” groaned Nick, trying to open his eyes.

“Yeah, it’s me.” whispered Jarrod. “Nick, I’m made you a bed on the floor.”

Forcing his eyes to open, the hazel orbs ached as they moved to survey the room they were in, stopping at the shaking man on the floor. Holding onto Jarrod, the rancher was lead over to the corner and lowered onto the makeshift bed, his hand grabbing hold of the white shirt of his brother.

“Heath?” whispered Nick, his eyes closing against his wishes.

“He’s got a good fever going, Nick.” sighed Jarrod covering the rancher up before standing and bringing the canteen over, lifting up the injured head carefully and nodding his approval at the water taken in. “I’ll make you some broth after I get Heath settled.”

“Not..hungry…tired.”

“I know but you need fluids in you, Nick. Just rest for now.” ordered Jarrod firmly, cupping the pale cheek before moving to where the blond was laying. Picking up the trembling man, Jarrod carefully laid him on the bed, taking off his boots and placing a blanket over him.

Entering the kitchen, he searched the cabinets and found the medical supplies, his eyes widening with surprise at the herbs in carefully labeled containers. Taking out the willowbark, he brewed some in a pot, letting it cool in a cup and mixing in some aspirin powder before carrying it over to the bed along with some bandages.

“Heath?” called Jarrod quietly, tapping the sweaty cheek several times before he received a response by way of slightly opening eyes and the blond struggling to rise.

“No, stay down.” was the order emphasized with a hand on the blond’s chest. Holding the cup to Heath’s mouth, Jarrod coaxed the feverish man who turned his head away, unsure of what was happening.

“It’ll help with the fever. Com’n Heath, you gotta drink it.” urged Jarrod, putting the cup to the side and holding onto the shoulders of the smaller man when he tried to rise again. “Don’t move, Heath. You need to stay in bed.”

“Jarrod?” whispered Heath, his head moving on the pillow, the sweat glistening off his skin, his hand reaching out, captured by and held onto.

“I’m here, little brother.” acknowledged Jarrod, holding the wet hand with his and wiping the sweat laden brow. “You need to drink this tea.”

“Careful, Jarrod.” mumbled the blond weakly squeezing the other’s hand. “Kill us all.”

“I’ll keep watch, Heath.” assured Jarrod releasing the hand and holding the cup to his lips again. “Drink this for me. I can’t keep watch if you’re running a fever, Heath.”

Nodding slightly, the blond choked down the cool tea, the foul taste not foreign to the youngster whose body been weakened from the time he’d lost his mama. The mines, the foul treatment of his relatives, the war all taking their share of his physical body.

“Good, Heath.” smiled Jarrod into the blue glassy eyes peeking out from under their hoods, running a cloth over the blond’s face. “Rest now. I’ll take good care of you and Nick. I promise.”

The eyes of the blond closed and he wondered briefly at the safe feeling the man beside him created in him, the worries in his muddled mind seeming to dissipate with the promise given and Heath let the murky waters take him under.

...Continued