They both met with Victoria heading out of the general store, a hefty clerk in tow carrying a heavy pouch of potatoes to the back of the buckboard.

“Mother, you already bought the supplies?” Heath remarked.

“Yes. I have everything I need.”

“What about Mrs. Anderson and all that planning?”

“She had already ironed out all the minor details. She didn’t need my help.”

Casually browsing through the store window nearby was a scruffy suspicious character. His sloppy bearing and obvious itchy trigger finger spelled trouble. A hardball looking to instigate a brawl at first set of circumstances.

“I hope everything is satisfactory, Mrs. Barkley?” the store manager asked as Heath slung a sack of corn seed over his shoulder and hauled it out to the wagon.

The name Barkley struck the sandy-haired wanderer’s mind like a thunderbolt. He turned to face the threesome finishing securing the supplies to the back of the buckboard. A blind rage surged up within him like an oil gusher battering at the earth’s crust raring to spurt out of the ground. He grew up cursing the ground the Barkleys walked on. He and his brothers were dead set on exacting revenge on Tom Barkley’s family for the hideous murder of their father. Deadening the wrath flaring inside him, he stealthily crossed the street to the saloon.

“I’ve thrown in an extra pack of beef jerky at no cost. I know how mighty hungry our boys get when they’re out on the range.”

“Very kind of you, Harold. Indeed, Heath and Nick have healthy appetites.”

“They work hard, Mrs. Barkley. Fine boys you have.”

“I agree. Wouldn’t trade my babies for anything in this world.”

Babies. The word echoed in Heath’s mind like a sparkling stream pearling down a peaceful meadow. No doubt this refined, grand lady had grown to love him dearly as her own flesh and blood during the past year. Heath was given to her at a belated age but nevertheless regarded him as one of her own “babies”. She worried if he were late showing up at the dinner table; she listened whenever he needed a compassionate ear; she snuggled him close whenever he craved a comforting presence; she nursed his wounds following a brawl; kept a vigil during those long gruesome heartrending nights when he was at the grip of a deadly disease. She was his mama.

“We’d better get a move on if we want to get to the ranch before sundown,” Victoria impelled, bidding farewell to Harold walking back inside his store.

“I need to run an errand for Nick. Shouldn’t take me long. In the meantime, why don’t you and Audra go to the hotel restaurant and get some refreshments. I’ll join you there when I’m through.”

“Okay, but don’t dawdle, Heath. I wouldn’t want to get caught in pitch dark on a cold night.”

“I won’t,” he assured, kissing her on the cheek.

Heath waited for the women to be out of range before sidling over to the dress shop.

Inside the saloon, the enigmatic personage, named Cassidy, joined his two brothers sipping whiskey at the bar. The eldest was a disarmingly tall, brawny blood-thirsty bullyrag who had inherited his irascible temper from his late father. His mother, who passed away when he could barely hold a rifle, had managed to instill him good manners in the short time that she walked upon this earth. However, when the truth about his father’s death was inadvertently blurted out, his mild-mannered disposition readily evanesced. His heart turned to stone. He shed his velvet gloves and began slogging with tightly clenched iron fists. He’d swab the streets of anything or anyone that impeded his movements, blocked his path, indiscriminately slaughtering innocent souls. He was Johnny Harden.

Sitting next to him was his younger brother, Andy. Three years his junior, light-haired blue-eyed Andy often differed in opinion with Johnny. They had clashing personalities. His stance on life was live and let be. Never dwell on the past. He barely knew his father for he passed away when he was a toddler. Johnny believed he could raise up his ire, stir up the resentment stifled deep in the abysmal corners of his heart and soul by relating the hideous story of how Tom Barkley came to cold-bloodedly murder their father. Andy was hurt, naturally, but never subscribed to the “eye for an eye” resolution. He had unwittingly embarked on this journey solely to keep Johnny at bay. The initial plan was to kidnap as many Barkleys as they could in exchange for a substantial ransom, which was enough revenge for Andy, and was dead set on coercing Johnny to uphold the ground rules.

“Guess who’s in town?” Cassidy quizzed.

“I don’t like to guess, Cassidy.” Johnny grunted, leaning against the bar sipping his whiskey.

“The Barkleys.”

Johnny stopped drinking. He reared his head, staring blankly at the bottle-displayed wall before him. He flumped his glass on the counter. turned to Cassidy and stared at him. He clawed at his brother’s shirt, nearly tearing off a strip of fabrics.

“Are you sure?” he pressured between clenched teeth, eyes smoldering with hate.

“Yeah. Tom Barkley’s widow and two of his offsprings.”

Johnny loosened his grip on Cassidy’s shirt, neatly pressing his lapel flat. He carved a vindictive grin. “Well, well, well...what d’you know? Don’t need to ride out to their fortress, they’ve come to us.”

“Johnny we’ve agreed...no violence,” Andy admonished.

“That all depends on their actions.”

“I reckon they’re ain’t going to let us snatch ‘em. They’ll put up some kind of a fight.”

“We’ll just tie ‘em up and gag ‘em, right Johnny?” Cassidy teased as he and Johnny exchanged conniving smiles. Cassidy was Johnny’s younger sibling by one year and both shared congenial tastes in women, liquor and guns. Their heartfelt hatred of Tom Barkley was a venom coursing through their veins and the antidote would only be administered by the agonizing demise of one of his heirs.

“I’m warning you, Johnny!” Andy threw a withering look at Johnny behind his back.

Johnny smirked at Cassidy one more time before facing Andy. “Sure, Andy. Don’t fret, Little Brother.” He clawed a peeved hand at Andy’s shoulder. “Let me handle everything.”

Heath entered the dress shop, politely removing his hat out of deference for ladies present in the store. The bell’s tinkling didn’t register in his mind for his quest made him oblivious of his surroundings. He walked to the counter, disregarding the pairs of eyes peering at him.

“Pardon me, Ma’am.”

“What can I do for you young man?”

“How much for this pearl necklace,” Heath motioned with his finger.

“Thirty-five dollars and fifty cents.”

Heath’s face almost dropped to the floor at the sound of the steep price tag. The image of Audra’s elation as she popped open the box danced on Heath’s mind, trampling any lingering doubts about his perfect gift. He had to have it. Heath burrowed in his waist pocket and remitted a sum of forty dollars to the saleslady. She handed him his change and reached for the black velvet box and closed it.

“Aren’t you the young man who was here with the pretty lady awhile ago?”

“Yes, Ma’am. She’s my sister. Her birthday’s coming up on Sunday and I wanted to surprise her with it.”

“She surely will,” she emphasized, wrapping the box in plain brown paper. “It’s a fine piece of jewelry, genuine and rare. She’s a fortunate girl to have such a caring brother.”

“She’s precious, bless her heart.”

The saleslady sealed the package with a tiny white string and handed it out to Heath.

“Here you go, young man.”

“Thank you.” Heath contemplated it for a brief moment, grasping at the reality that the necklace was now his to give to his best girl.