Forsaken

Chapters 1-20

by Catgirl63

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.

Chapter 1

The small horse’s muscles rippled under her soft coat, the sun glistened off the tone of her body as she darted after the runaway from the small herd. She didn’t need any instructions from her master for their thoughts were as one. She had been his companion for many years now and sometimes his only friend.

The brush of the California hotness grazed his face and the sweat trickled from the hair beneath his hat. The day’s temperature was steamy and hot in the box canyon. The natural enclosure was much he surmised as he imagined the devil’s lair would be. The elements of the day rolled off his shoulders and he took in stride the dust rising up from his modoc’s hooves. Like every time before, he found he didn’t mind the grueling work. He was born to this outdoor life. It was a part of him…it was the breath in his lungs.

Instinctively moving in the saddle as Gal charged forward, the blond enjoyed the surge of strength from his modoc. She was a stayer and though small for many men, her size fit him just fine. She was wily as a fox and loyal as a hound dog…her qualities far outweighed and made up for her lack of size.

Hazing the runaway back to the group, Heath reined in Gal, taking a moment to wipe his sleeve across his forehead and dry the band inside his tan hat. Squinting against the harshness of the sun beating down, he replaced his hat and bent forward, patting the neck of his trustworthy mount. Gal shook her head and shifted on her feet at the appreciative hand of her master.

The air in the canyon was still and lifeless, the three sides of mother nature’s box loomed upwards and stopped any hint of wind from entering to take out the heat of the sun shimmering far overhead. The rocks off to the side seemed untouched by the orange ball’s seeking rays but man and beast knew differently. To touch the grated surface of the rocks would be like holding a piece of your flesh to an open flame. It was best to stay away from them also due to the scaly critters who would be seeking shade from the heat of the day.

Uncapping his canteen, he took a small swallow of water, letting the bit of moisture coat the drying tissues of his body. His eyes were in constant motion as he nudged Gal forward, watching the small herd of twenty and watching the land many around him would call forsaken.

Forsaken….now there’s a word thought the blond with a small twist of his lips allowing a sneer to spread across his face.

The humor of that particular word was not lost on the man riding in a land many shunned. The hard blue eyes didn’t reflect the amusement in his musings over the meanings of the word…isolated, deserted or abandoned.

“Forsaken kinda fits don’t it, Gal?” questioned her master.

His soft words caused her ears to twitch and if she were able to ascertain the emotion in a human’s voice she would have heard the bitterness underlying his short oration. The equine felt the gentle motion on the reins and moved to the right of the small herd he’d gathered, nudging her into a cantor to reach the beginning.

The cattle shuffling sluggishly along in the heat of the day moved in unspoken compliance of their herdsman’s commands. Their calling out to him seemed to be directed to their unhappiness of being moved from the small oasis they’d found in the box canyon. Fat and prime stock, the members of the herd weren’t aware of their fate. They were only aware of the instincts moving them in place, forward and onward to an unknown end.

Gal’s hooves chewed up the ground beneath her as she turned, forcing the leader of the group to shift to the left and head straight for the pen erected against the northern side of the box canyon. The pen was made with deadfalls, twine and other scattered pieces of wood found in the canyon. It wasn’t much to look at but it would hold the small herd until they were moved. The leader caught a hint of a scent on the breeze and picked up the pace of its movement, the smell of water enticed the leader further and he lead his group willingly into the enclosure.

Jumping down and ground trailing the reins of his modoc, Heath pulled the deadfalls across and dropped them into place, effectively closing the small gate with no effort whatsoever. Standing against the fence, the hard look in his eyes was replaced with pleasure for a day’s work well done.

Striding to Gal, he pulled off the saddle and lead her to the small trickle of water that flowed down from the wall of the canyon, its origin unknown. The supply of refreshing water landed into a natural rock basin then over an indention made in the rock. The indention made not by man but by nature, years and years of water splashing into the basin had worn part of it down to create a natural spigot of sorts. From the indention the water ran downhill and he built his pen over the stream so the cattle would have an endless supply of fresh water.

After letting Gal drink her fill, he moved her away from the water and under the shade of the only tree in the area where he picketed her line. Gal greedily munched on the small grass until her master slipped on the feedbag. Patting his modoc on the shoulder, Heath took his rifle from the scabbard and filled his canteen. With both items in hand, the blond skirted some boulders and climbed the path hidden by the massive rocks. Reaching a midway point up the canyon wall, he sat on a small rock and took a piece of hardtack from his shirt.

Cautious blue eyes watched the trail leading into the box canyon as he sat with his rifle across his lap. He wasn’t concerned of being seen from the trail for his tan shirt and pants melded perfectly with the backdrop of the wall. Methodically chewing on the stale piece of hardtack, he calculated in his mind how much money the cattle would fetch.

Moving his eyes from the trail, he glanced down into the pen and pushed down the surge of guilt he suddenly felt. Scowling at himself, he forced the knowledge the cattle bore the Barkley brand out of his mind and returned his thoughts to the job at hand.

Catching a flash of movement from the corner of his eye, he slowly turned his head and watched a rider leisurely riding around the obstacles of the forsaken canyon….a canyon forsaken like him…abandoned and deserted.

Reaching over and scratching his wrist, blue eyes caught the ever present reminder of his past under the cuff of his sleeve. Pulling the tan sleeve down, he covered the number tattooed in the skin on his forearm… the number he had been given the first day of his prison sentence.

Chapter 2

From his place midway up the canyon wall, Heath had a good view of the trail for nearly a half mile. The rider cautiously worked its way round rocks and scraggly bushes dry from two weeks without rain. Taking a sip from his canteen, he replaced the cap and slowly stood. Walking down the path, he wasn’t rushed or hurried for he knew this box canyon like the back of his hand. He’d spent his first three days in the dead end canyon leisurely studying every aspect of it in preparation in case his plans went awry.

Reaching the bottom of the path, he walked to his small encampment and relieved Gal of the feedbag. Putting his left arm through the sling on his rifle, he poured water from his canteen into his hat and waited while his modoc drank her fill. Glancing up to the sun, he estimated the time to be nearly one in the afternoon and scratched behind her ears for a moment, murmuring softly to the small equine.

Freeing his shoulder of the rifle, he shifted it to his right hand and moved to the rocks on the side opposite the pen. The sound of him levering a bullet into the chamber filled the quietness around him and he stood back, hidden from view to wait until his visitor came into sight.

He didn’t have long to wait and blue eyes watched impassively as the rider rode straight to the pen, studying the day’s bounty. Heath watched as the man pushed back his hat and glanced around, spying Gal under the lone tree.

“Thomson, where are ya’?”

“Close enough to send you to see your twin the devil.” Informed Heath walking around the rocks from behind and watching a flash of irritation spread across the rider’s face. “Good thing I knew it was you.”

“Don’t try to tell me ya’ didn’t watch me come up the trail, Thomson! Ya’ probably sighted me the whole way.” Snorted the visitor.

“You only had a bulls-eye on your forehead part of the way.” Replied Heath without any expression on his face.

“Very funny.” Retorted Gil Anders before gesturing towards the cattle, “Nice and fat! They’ll bring a nice price. I got it all lined up in Modesto.”

Nodding after the thin man dismounted and loosened his cinch, Heath leaned against his makeshift fence, his eyes hardening for a moment. “Yep and it’s worth every damn penny.”

Gil swiped at the dust on his clothes and rolled his head around on his shoulders. The ride to the box canyon had been long and hot, dusty and boring. The sunken face of Anders sported a few days growth of whiskers and he absently scratched the short stiff hairs.

“Why don’t we just round up all the cattle at once? One night just take ‘em all.” Suggested the thin man irritably. “Our luck’s gonna run out one of these days.”

Heath met the beady eyes of his partner and smirked, “Ain’t you ever heard of Barkley luck, Gil? It’s supposed to be like the touch of Midas. Turns everything to gold.”

Opening his mouth to retort to the blond’s smirking statement, Anders swallowed his burgeoning words. He found himself practically choking but was relieved he hadn’t said what was lingering on the tip of his tongue. There was sometimes no telling how the man before him would react to smart aleck remarks. The blond had a temper as hot as the driest desert in the world and it only took a small spark to set him off some days.

“Even a cat only has nine lives, Thomson.” Informed Anders. “They’re gonna find ‘em missin’….how many have we sold now?”

“Three hundred or so.” Answered Heath offhandedly moving to the small fire where the coffee was still hot and pouring a cup as he squatted on his haunches.

Following the blond to the fire, Anders sat on the deadfall and took off his hat. Running his fingers over his head nearly void of hair, he felt the odd feeling rising up again. The one that spoke to a person internally where no one could hear and prickled the hairs on your neck like the spines on a cactus.

“Don’t get me wrong, Thomson, this has been a good deal and all.” Stated Gil nervously meeting the blue eyes across the way. “I just think we’re pushin’ it too close to the edge. Eventually someone’s gonna notice they’re missin’ some cattle.”

Shrugging, the blond calmly took a sip of his coffee before replying, “I’m just taking what’s rightfully mine, Gil. That’s all.”

“I ain’t saying ya’ don’t deserve what ya’ got comin’ to ya’….I got a bad feelin’ is all.” Offered the thinner man eager to be away from this canyon where there was only one way out.

Watching the man across from him, Heath saw the agitation in the stringy body and slowly nodded, “Okay, Gil. After we touch up the brands on this bunch, we’ll head to Modesto.”

“Good…good.” Replied Gil, his relief evident in his smile and the way he jumped to his feet, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of his share of the profits. “I got a whiskey bottle callin’ my name, Thomson. Let’s get it done.”

Chapter 3

The stifling dead air in the box canyon allowed no relief as the two men working as a team spent time to alter the brands for their drive to Modesto. Gil Anders wiped his forehead after releasing a cow and limped over to the canteen lying near the deadfall. A swift hoof from one of the cattle caught him on his ankle and he was sure the tightness in his boot was from swelling. Taking a long drink of the slightly cool water, his narrowed eyes suddenly glanced around the edges of the box canyon and he couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes watching from somewhere.

Laying the cinch and metal wire back in the fire, Heath knelt and broke off more sticks to keep the fire hot enough to heat the makeshift branding iron. Staring into the flames as they hungrily nibbled at the pieces of kindling, he pushed his hat back up on his forehead. Brushing a trickle of perspiration making its way to the corner of his eye, he pushed himself up and caught Gil’s eye. Without communicating verbally, both men knew they needed to finish placing their trail brand over the Barkley brand before they could leave the canyon which was making Anders as nervous as an old maid in a room full of bachelors.

The blond scowled at his partner in crime when the man’s anxiousness made his lasso miss the neck of a calf. He shook his head and sipped on his cup of strong coffee as he waited. Briefly it flashed through Heath’s mind to leave without branding the remaining six cattle and then it disappeared just as quick.

No…he’d have his share and if it meant he was forced to steal what should be rightfully his, then so be it. If the Barkleys discovered their missing cattle, he’d receive even more satisfaction if they knew it had been him doing the taking.

Since his murder three years before, the pedestal their father stood on had grown like the giant redwoods that graced areas of the state. There was no axe with a blade sharp enough to slice through the grandiose base. He had nothing saved a faded certificate of birth uncovered amongst his mother’s things when he arrived at the ranch and he left with nothing, not even the certificate. The disdain in the men’s eyes rankled the hackles on his neck and his temper got the better of him that day. The men who were his half brothers had thrown him out of the mansion and out of their lives without a second thought.

The looks they gave him, he’d seen before as a boy through no fault of his own and then as a man when others caught sight of the numbers on his arm. Like the brand burned into the hide of the cattle he’d painstakingly gathered in the darkness of night, the numbers branded into his arm meant something.

To most others, they meant he was a person to always be cautious of and not trustworthy, a person who many judged based on the brand alone. They judged without knowing anything else of the man who wore the reminder of a time past and shied away from any association with an ex-convict.

To him, the brands were a reminder of what he’d survived, of a time that hardened him so the cruelties of the world would no longer weigh heavy on his shoulders or in his heart. Yes, he’d spent nearly four years in a federal penitentiary and unlike others in the place that broke many, he never denied the action that sent him there. He accepted his punishment and for the second time in his life fought the demons that wanted to steal his sanity in a place filled with moans and screams at night.

Blinking and forcing his mind back to the fire in the box canyon, he picked up the iron he’d fashioned at the sight of Gil pulling an uncooperative cow towards him. The sun was lowering behind the western ridge of the box canyon before the last of the brands were changed and the camp was broken down.

Dumping the remaining of the coffee in the bottom of the pot onto the fire, Gil kicked dirt over the pit to ensure no spark was remaining. Pulling himself into the saddle, Heath used his coiled rope and started the small herd of cattle moving to the entrance of the canyon. Protesting with each step the walking hides bellowed and bawled, their voices echoing in the natural chamber. Pushing the reluctant cattle steadily towards their goal, Gil Anders let out a sigh of relief when they emerged out of the canyon in the fading light behind the small herd. The smile on his face when he glanced over to the man on his left faded at the sight of a group of riders coming towards them from the south.

“GO!” shouted Heath turning to the east while Gil headed west.

Breaking apart and splitting off, Gil leaned forward, his heart pounding as hard as the hooves of his horse on the ground. His eyes watered as he rushed forward through the air, throwing glances over his shoulder and using the ends of his reins to urge his horse to go faster at the sight of two men chasing after him. He swore he heard the sounds of shots back from where they’d been but he knew to turn around would certainly mean getting caught and after all, there was that bottle of whiskey waiting in Modesto for him.

Heath cursed and kicked Gal in the sides, the small modoc jumped forward and hit the ground running. She sensed the urgency in the man on her and her neck flattened out as she responded to his silent need. Pulling his rifle from his scabbard, he judged the distance from the three men cutting across the grassy lands and the heavily wooded area a half mile away. Clenching his jaw, he knew without a doubt this was one of the first races his faithful modoc would lose and he heard the angry whine of the bullet passing over his head.

Chapter 4

Throwing a look back over his right shoulder, blue eyes narrowed at the sight of the fast approaching trio. While the legs of his equine retained its steady movement and her hooves lightly touched the ground, his mind scrambled through the recent bits of information he’d gathered of the area. The land to the east of the box canyon was broken only with small hills, a few rocks, scraggly bushes and sparsely scattered trees until they reached the goal he was seeking. There the trees were thick and would offer a chance at dodging his pursuers in a game of hide and seek.

Flinching at a particularly close thrown bullet, Heath suddenly turned to the north, altering his plan of action at the angry report that sailed by his head. Gal turned at his urging, the muscles in her chest straining as her front legs clawed at the dirt of the small grassy hill while her back legs pushed them upward. His unexpected turn had made his pursuers lose ground and his small grin of success at how he’d thrown them off turned to a grimace when he was shoved forward by an unseen hand.

The force of the bullet entering his shoulder caused his right arm to lose all its strength and his fingers willingly opened to drop his rifle, the long gun rolled a few times before it came to a stop. The brute force on his body nearly toppled him from the saddle before he instinctively tighten his leg muscles.

The shock of the foreign object from when it entered his sinewy shoulder wore off and in its place was left a burning, fiery pain spreading outward. Like the fingers of a fire, the tips of the flames reached out and pulled back, reached out and pulled back. He could feel the blood he was losing running down his back and down the side of his arm but there was little he could do.

Gal sensed a change in the man astride her as she neared the crest of the hill, the muscles in his legs lessened and the reins slipped from his fingers. Heath was powerless to stop his body from betraying him, the pain overriding all his wishes and orders. Instead, he found himself slipping sideways and he kicked his feet free of the stirrups. Before Gal topped the hill, his boneless body slid down a few feet. The trio reached him and were jumping down as he tried to push himself up with his left arm, his right hanging uselessly by his side.

The blond couldn’t stop the groan of agony when he found himself shoved back down onto his stomach. The contact of the ground with his injured shoulder before his two arms were pulled and wrenched back sent wave after wave of mind numbing pain through him. He automatically kicked out with his feet to no avail at the bindings he could feel encircling his wrists behind his back.

The knee planted between his shoulder blades, kept him immobile and prevented him from drawing in a decent breath from the crushing of his chest against the ground. The thick heavy curtain in his mind muffled the words of the men above him and through half opened eyes, he only had a view of the green grass on the hill. Briefly he wondered where Gal ended up and tried to move his head to search for her.

He sensed it before he felt two harsh hands grabbing his forearms and jerking him onto his knees. Gasping outright from the brutal movement on his injured limb, his head lolled forward and he barely registered his shirt being opened. The wad of cloth that met with the angry wound on his back sagged his body more but the firm hands holding him stopped its wish to fall forward.

“All done, Nick.” Said Duke, after plugging the hole from the forty five in the back of the rustler. “He should live til we get him to town.”

Staring down at the downcast head of one of the men who had been systematically thinning their herd, the rancher felt little compassion for a person who took to making their living on the outskirts of society. Those who took from others instead of forging their own way in the world were lower than a snake’s belly in his mind.

If this was his father’s time, they’d have found the highest branch and carried out justice where the crime took place. But it wasn’t the time of his father, it was the time of his father’s heirs and he couldn’t in all good conscience string up a rustler caught in the act. He had to go through the processes and see that lady justice had her chance to work her magic.

“Jake, lift his head.” Commanded Nick his fists resting on his hips. “I want to see his face and find out what he did with my cattle.”

The blond head of the man held by Duke and Jake moved slightly back and forth as if to clear it of cobwebs. Heath blinked several times when he felt his head pulled roughly back by his hair. The shock on the face of the rancher towering over him worked through his fogginess of pain and blood loss.

“You!” shouted Nick, his hands falling from hips and he seemed to take a step back from the face presented to him. The hazel eyes had widened with shock for he hadn’t expected to see this man ever again since they’d thrown his sorry carcass out of the mansion two months before. “Where are my cattle?”

Duke and Jake looked up with puzzled glances to their boss who stood staring at the man they held in their hands. Glancing down to the blond’s face, Duke tilted his own head at the weak lop-sided grin forced onto the rapidly paling face.

“o…to…hell…bro...ther.” hissed Heath, his words barely recognizable before his eyes rolled back into their sockets and he passed out, relishing the look of shock and anger that flashed in the hazel eyes of the man who was his half-brother.

Chapter 5

“Jake, see if you can catch his horse.” Suggested Duke taking the full weight of the unconscious man.

Unsure and puzzled by the rustler’s words, the hand’s eyes shifted to his boss who stood glaring at the blond with an angry mixture of denial and disbelief. Looking towards his foreman, Jake held his tongue at the shake of the older man’s head before he walked to his horse and mounted. Duke waited til the ranch hand was out of hearing range before lowering the rustler to lay on his left side in the grass.

“Nick.” Said Duke pushing himself to his feet and putting the gun he’d taken from the worn leather holster of the blond in his waistband.

Moving his eyes slowly from the prone man’s face to his foreman’s, Nick replied gruffly, “What?”

Raising an eyebrow at the barely simmering anger in the rancher’s voice, Duke hesitated slightly then forged ahead, “About what he said, Nick?”

“Which part?” queried Nick before shifting his eyes back to the man from the past and then back to Duke’s. “The ‘go to hell’ part or the other?”

Nailing his boss with a cross look at the evasive question, Duke calmly met the flashing hazel eyes and snorted, “I ain’t asking about the hell part cause it sure wouldn’t have been the first time you’ve heard it, Nick and it won’t be the last. Fact is, I recall telling you that myself a time or two when you’ve worn on my last nerve.”

“Guess you have at that, Duke.” Agreed Nick with a small smile for the man who’d mentored him over the years as he took off his hat and ran his fingers vigorously through his hair before gesturing to the man on the ground.

“He showed up two months ago with some paper claiming….” Hissed Nick, his face turning a red from the fiery surge of Barkley temperament rising upward recalling the scene in the study. “Claiming father and his….mother…..well, we throw him out and told him not to come back.”

“What’d your mother say?” questioned Duke offhandedly, watching the wounded man move slightly and moan before stilling again.

“We didn’t tell her.” Stated Nick with a shrug of his shoulder. “No need for her to hear some drifter spilling lies about father in his own house.”

Frowning, Duke shook his head and raised his eyes to his boss’, “I sure wouldn’t want to be in your boots when she finds out, Nick. No siree….she’s liable to lift the roof when she knows you and Jarrod kept this from her.”

“She’s not going to find out, Duke.” Countered the rancher. “There’s no reason for her and Audra to have to hear lies from some no account.”

Catching sight of Jake coming back down the hill and leading the small black, Duke sighed, “You only shot him in the shoulder, Nick, he’s still got a mouth. One way or another, it’s bound to come out…either from him when he’s awake or during the trial.”

Cursing under his breath, Nick slammed his right fist into his left hand and growled, “I’ll let Jarrod worry about the trial. Since we caught him red handed, maybe there won’t be one.”

Duke knew the rancher didn’t believe his own words from the false ring to them and the forehead creased deeply in worry. Worry for the scandal this stranger’s words could cause to a family who’d been through a lot already. True or not, there were some in the community who wouldn’t care about validity. All they needed was the tiniest morsel or scrap to run their tongues nonstop and when it came to the prominent family, they latched on with jaws of granite.

“Boss, found his rifle.” Announced Jake as he rode up and tossed the long weapon to Nick when he gestured for it.

Nick caught the rifle in his right hand and immediately felt a surge of jealousy. Testing it out, he felt the balance and raised it to his shoulder, looking through the scope fitted to the top.

“That’s a nice piece of hardware.” Acknowledged Nick grudgingly, looking to the still unconscious man and scowling in puzzlement. “He could’ve taken up in the rocks and picked us all off with this scope instead of trying to outrun us. Don’t make much sense for him to take a chance on getting caught…..”

Gesturing for Jake to help, Duke offered, “Well, once doc fixes him up you can ask him why he didn’t just blow you out of the saddle.”

“Put him on his horse.” Commanded Nick walking over to the black and putting the rifle in its scabbard before taking hold of the reins. “Jake, Duke and I’ll take him into town. I want you to go back to the ranch and tell my brother to meet us at the doc’s.”

“Sure boss.” Replied the hand with a nod as he helped Duke pick up their prisoner and carry him to the small framed horse, the man’s eyes only fluttered but did not open from the movement after a low groan left his mouth. Putting him in the saddle, Jake held onto the blond while his two bosses mounted and took respective positions on either side to hold the man in place while they rode.

“Jake, if Barrett and Logan were able to catch up with his partner, have them bring him into town to the sheriff.” Stated Nick before adding firmly, “I don’t want you repeating what you heard. Got that?”

“Yes, boss.” Agreed Jake waiting til the men started toward Stockton before pulling himself into the saddle and galloping back to the ranch, wondering if the man was the brother of his boss…why would he rustle from his own family’s ranch.

Chapter 6

The room held the barest of necessities. The requirements kept to a minimum to not hamper the progress of the trained professional. A bed stood in the middle with two tables on either side, each holding a large lamp and the wicks were both burning bright. Two wooden straight backed chairs were situated against the wall by a large wooden cabinet holding medical supplies. Next to the bed stood a waist high table holding a metal tray and covered with a white cloth. The room was small and efficient, clean and curative.

Waiting anxiously next to the bed where Nick and Duke had laid their unconscious prisoner on his left side, the town physician watched the foreman cut the leather bindings from the blond’s wrists. The man’s arms relaxed in his state of oblivion seemed to be nonexistent of muscles and ligaments when the physician took the foreman’s place and moved the limbs effortlessly to the side.

Nick stood on the other side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest and his one shoulder reclining stance against the wall suggestive of non-interest in the man they’d brought in. Only his hazel eyes focused on the face of the blond who appeared in their house two months ago gave any indication he was paying attention to the happenings in the room.

Helping Howard Merar remove the blue shirt stiffened with blood from the injured right shoulder, Duke’s hands stilled after he pulled the garment back to the middle of the rustler’s back. Nick glanced upwards at the sudden ceasing of movement in the other two men and stepped closer to see what held their attention and paled their faces.

It wasn’t difficult to see what caused the horrified look in the two sets of older eyes for it was glaring apparent on the slightly tanned back. Hazel eyes witnessed for himself where the unblemished skin was broken with the faded jagged and raised evidence of a violence beyond comprehension. The long since healed welts varied in size and width, most of the damage centralized in the middle of the muscular back.

Swallowing the sudden rising of bile in his throat, Nick couldn’t fathom anyone being able to withstand the agony surely endured with each snap of the whip which cut into the skin. The idea of another deliberately using an instrument to destructively slice another to ribbons in such a way was appalling and atrocious.

Three sets of eyes blinked back to the man lying on the table when a faint moan filled the room. Howard leaned over and lifted the cloth that stopped the flow of blood from the entrance wound. Long strong fingers pulled the cloth off from the sections where it stuck. The tugging on the sensitive skin around the bullet wound caused a louder groan to escape his patient and the blond head moved slightly.

The sickening sign of past violence on the young man before him was thrust from his mind and the town physician shook his head at the red angry wound he was examining. The lack of an exit wound and the bullet still lodged somewhere inside were his first concern and he immediately set to cleansing the wound in preparation of the surgery.

With the first touch of a cloth wet from antiseptic to the wound, the man on the bed was forced out of his dark environment back to the present where pain overtook everything. His body reacted without conscious thought, seeking to escape the new torment of pain it was experiencing. The prior weakness which stole him into darkness was forgotten and he instinctively rolled to flee from the offender causing the additional torture.

Nick and Duke who had stepped back to give the doctor room to work jumped forward as the blond who had been still up until the start of the cleansing, lurched away from the physician’s hands. Howard grabbed for his patient, his fingers missing the man who rolled over the side of the bed. Nick stopped the blond from hitting the floor and held onto the man thrashing against him. Struggling against the viselike clamp on his arms, Heath’s half opened blue eyes staring outward were unfocused and unseeing as he was deposited back onto the bed.

Nick held onto the blond’s shoulders and Duke used his body weight and laid across the tan covered legs to stop their attempts at kicking and moving. Howard shouted trying to break into the agonizing world the young man was in, fearful of the red liquid again escaping from his patient’s wound.

“I’m a doctor, young man.” Assured Howard loudly as the blond head rolled back and forth on the pillow, the only part of his body his patient was able to move. “You must stop moving and let me help you….Nick, do you know his name?”

“Uh, its…Heath…Thomson.” Recalled Nick after a moment, trying to remember the name given two months ago in the study as this man soiled his father’s memory.

“Mr. Thomson!” called Howard, reaching between Nick and his patient to stop the flailing head. “Mr. Thomson! I’m a doctor! I need to take out the bullet, Mr. Thomson. You must not move!”

Whether it was the repeated shouts of reassurance from the man of medicine, none of the trio knew but the blond blinked and for a moment, the fog of pain was gone from his eyes. Moving his orbs sluggishly in their sockets, Heath’s blue eyes chilled as they met the angry hazel pools above him before he suddenly lapsed back into unconsciousness under their hands. Howard quickly checked the pulse of the blond and nodded with relief to the two men to release their hold on his patient.

“Now, to get the bullet out.” Muttered Howard to himself before instructing his two helpers to roll their prisoner onto his side.

Holding onto the blond firmly to prevent a repeat of what happened previously, Nick and Duke watched as the man trained in the fine art of healing and repairing cleaned the wound without the blond flinching even an inch. Lifting the white cloth covering his instruments, Howard took in a deep breath before inserting the end of a probe into the wound. As the physician searched for the piece of lead in the damaged shoulder, not a word was spoken and the silence of the room was broken only by the shallow breaths of the blond rustler.

Chapter 7

Staring at the sleeping blond laying on the small cot through the metal bars, Jarrod glanced towards Nick before turning his eyes back to the reason he’d been summoned to Stockton by his brother. His irritation at being sent for at such a late hour rapidly turned to disbelief at his brother’s words.

“Doc says he’ll be alright in a few weeks.” Stated Nick in a low voice, hazel eyes not leaving the bandaged rustler whose right arm was held firmly against his chest to keep it immobile.

“Nick, I don’t see why you sent for me.” Said Jarrod in a puzzled tone. “Clearly he was caught in the act of rustling…a punishable offense of law breaking.”

Shaking his head, Nick’s frowning face turned towards his big brother’s and scowled, “When I asked him about the cattle….he told me to go to hell.”

Jarrod grinned suddenly, “Seems he’s as full of fire and vinegar like he was the last time we crossed paths.”

“And he called me brother…” finished the rancher, his lips thinning out in anger. “In front of Duke and Jake.”

Taking in a deep breath, Jarrod’s smile faded and he nodded, “I see.”

“Yeah I thought you would.” Sighed Nick shaking his head in denial of the title spoken by the younger man. “If it goes to trial, the whole town’s gonna hear what he said to us two months ago.”

“And so will Mother and Audra.” Added Jarrod with a frown of worry. “I don’t see how it can be avoided, Nick. He broke the law and has to be punished….”

“Can’t steal….what’s yours.” interjected the blond waking to the deep voices, shakily pushing himself up onto the cot and gasping as he leaned against the wall. Closing his eyes for a moment, he took in several breaths to fight the pain radiating out from his injured body before grinding out. “Rightfully…mine.”

“Now, you listen to me boy!” growled Nick, his leather gloved fingers tightening around the metal bars.

“Nick.” Said Jarrod, placing a hand on his brother’s bulging bicep straining with anger at the man who openly sneered at them from the safety of his cell.

Heath met the burning eyes of the rancher, his own glaring right back before shifting over to the prominent attorney, the mocking blues rising the dormant temper inside the older Barkley son.

“Perhaps you’d care to elaborate on what you said, Mr. Thomson.” Offered Jarrod, his words clipped and cool.

“Like I told you before….your daddy wasn’t happy in his own back yard and sired me.” Hissed the blond, his righteous anger giving him the strength to push himself up from the small cot and sway on his feet. “It’s true and I may be a lot of things, but I’m not a liar.”

“You’re a rustler and a thief!” countered Nick, his eyes taking in the faded numbers on the naked left arm, found when they’d taken off his shirt before bandaging the rustler. “And a ex-con!”

“Boy howdy, aren’t you a quick one. My being an ex-con makes you kinda proud of what your daddy did, don’t it…big brother?” queried the blond, relishing the way the hazel eyes flared at the question. “Maybe if I’d been born in a fine mansion instead of in a shack with a dirt floor, these numbers wouldn’t be on my arm! Guess you could say OUR father and I are both bastards.”

“Nick.” Hissed Jarrod at the face beside him quickly turning purple with a thunderous rage before turning back to the smirking blond moved to hold onto the wall with his left hand for support.

Snapping his mouth closed, the muscle in Nick’s jaw pulsated and his teeth hurt from the power used to clench his ivories together. If it had been humanly possible, he’d have torn the bars apart to reach the blond on the other side at the slur cast on his father’s name and legacy.

“Mr. Thomson, I don’t know what you are trying to accomplish with your charade, however, be rest assured you will gain nothing from us.” Informed Jarrod forcefully. “Extortion and blackmail are also against the law.”

Chuckling, the blond’s eyes turned from hardened to amused within seconds and he lowered himself down onto the cot, clutching onto his injured limb before and moaning at the pain he was causing himself.

“What is so…amusing, Mr. Thomson?” demanded Jarrod, blue eyes sparking like the flaring of a match.

“Boy howdy, you don’t get it do you lawyer?” smirked Heath, after pushing himself back to lean against the wall and taking a breath at the two angry men outside the bars.

Gesturing to himself, he continued, “My daddy was Tom Barkley and I’m entitled to my share of what he left behind…..his horses…his orchards…his mines and his cattle. A man can’t be jailed or imprisoned for stealing what is rightfully his. Branding my own cattle with my filed road brand and driving them to sale is NOT against the law, the last time I checked….brother Jarrod.”

“What the…!” stammered Nick loudly, unable to get past the anger and shock fighting over each other at the smiling blond.

“You are out of your mind!” snapped the normally calm and collected attorney, eyes wide with disbelief at the blond, his stomach dropping to his feet when the blue eyes revealed the man truly believed what he was declaring.

Shaking his head to deny the lawyer’s observation of his mental health, the blond smiled like the cat that ate the canary. “I know it’s a shock and all…what with me having been to prison and such….well….if you had bothered to listen before you threw me out two months ago….”

“Bothered to listen to what?” asked Jarrod, wrapping his hands around the bars in front of him, unconsciously mimicking Nick’s stance with a white knuckled grip.

“My claim.” Answered the blond before smiling. “My being your brother….course reckon I could understand how you’d want to forget your daddy’s mistake…can’t be easy having to face up to what he really was….an adulterer and a cheat.”

“Talk is cheap!” hissed the first born son of Tom Barkley, shaking off the hand Nick placed on his arm after his own face changed with his explosion of anger. “You could have easily forged that birth certificate and it proves nothing!”

Lowering himself slowly to lay on the cot in the jail cell, the blond gently shifted his body to a more comfortable position before glancing at the two men watching him with narrowed eyes and flashed a lop-sided grin.

“Reckon you’d best take a ride to Modesto, big brother. In the bank there, you’ll find your name will give you access to a security box. If you dare to know the truth….go there. Now git out and leave me be.”

Staring at the man who laid his left forearm over his eyes and gave into the weakness of being injured, it took several minutes before either moved after the dismissal from the rustler whose even breathing suggested he was asleep. Looking at each other, the brothers turned and left the holding area of the jail. Neither speaking but both knowing by mid morning they would be at the Bank of Modesto.

Chapter 8

The rumbling of the metal wheels below the car they sat in continued in a steady rhythm. The half loaded car swayed back and forth, the passengers found their bodies moving along with its motion as if unconsciously in dance. Long, lean powerful fingers held onto the metal container firmly, moving only to tap in tune with a beat unheard to all others.

Sitting against the back wall of the passenger car beside his brother, Nick’s hazel eyes stared into the blackness of the outside world. The inner glow from the lamps spaced along the interior cast the reflection of his profile onto the dirt speckled window. The strong planes of his face were sunken in with thought and his eyes gazed outward without blinking.

Jarrod realized he was tapping the metal box his name granted him access to at the Bank of Modesto and stilled his fingers. Neither of them had been fully prepared for what they found….the proof substantiating the claim of the blond locked up behind bars in Stockton.

Closing his eyes, Jarrod could once again hear the mocking laughter of the younger man as they stood outside the jail cell. The light blue eyes capable of turning hard and calculating quick as a hummingbird’s wing flashed in the darkness behind his eyes lids. Shaking his head, Jarrod mumbled under his breath unaware his words were loud enough for Nick’s ears.

“What a damn mess…how in god’s name did this happen?”

Snorting at the mumbled question without turning his head, Nick retorted sarcastically, “Don’t tell me you need me to teach you about the birds and bees, big brother?”

Turning red at the harshly thrown question, Jarrod ignored the barb cast his way and looked down at the box sitting on his lap. To equate the life hardened man in the jail cell on the same lines as the brother sitting to his left, he found inconceivable. They weren’t the same and yet, the same blood surged through their veins by having the same father.

Nick pulled his eyes away from the night’s darkness at the regret from lashing out at his big brother rising up from within and studied his brother’s down cast head. It wasn’t Jarrod’s fault his stomach and head were all tangled up in knots. He was trying to work through what they knew now to be true and found he couldn’t find the correct string to release the knots. That sneering boy behind bars was a brother…like Jarrod was….no. This was starkly and vastly different.

Jarrod was an upholder of justice, a searcher for the truth and a champion for the underdog. His big brother was a man whose passion for the law was the vibrancy in his soul. He welcomed the Blind Lady Justice as his mistress for life, promising to never fall short in her estimation. He was the right often times when there was only wrong.

That…boy…in the cell outright admitted he’d done time in prison. He flaunted his wrong doings in their face and not one morsel of regret showed in his eyes. No, he wasn’t the same as Jarrod. That boy wasn’t even close to being good enough to stand in his brother’s shadow, regardless of who their mutual father was. The boy had suggested the mistake of their father was the reason the numbers were tattooed in his forearm.

‘No!’ thought Nick. ‘Lots of people have less than others and they never turned bad. There were a lot of poorer people out there who held their heads high and struggled every day to eek out an existence without breaking the law.’

Jarrod looked up at the feel of eyes on him and waited for Nick to speak. He saw the far away look in his brother’s eyes and knew no words were forthcoming for the moment. Nick was lost within himself just as he had been, lost in the shocked fog of their minds. Letting out a sigh, Jarrod watched the lids blink over the hazel eyes and clarity return before speaking in a low voice.

“The next logical choice is to find out exactly what he wants, Nick.” Suggested Jarrod.

“He already told us what he wants.” Growled the rancher, his eyes narrowing as he remembered the cockiness in the blond’s voice as he gestured to himself.

“My daddy was Tom Barkley and I’m entitled to my share of what he left behind…..his horses…his orchards…his mines and his cattle.”

“His share of it all.” Muttered Nick in a voice promising the blond wouldn’t receive what he was seeking and his anger surged his words upward. “Crissakes, I’m not just handing over what we worked to build. That land has been kept and nurtured with the blood of our men and the blood of our family! I didn’t work this hard for no goddamn ex-con to come in here and take a chunk of it!”

“Nick!” hissed Jarrod not missing the heads of the other passengers turning to glance towards the back of the car at the voice which kept rising in fury. “Settle down! You’re making a scene!”

Glaring at the passengers who dared to meet his eyes til every head turned back to face forward, Nick slapped his black leather gloves against his thigh. Taking in several breaths, he forced his explosive anger back down and shook his head, his voice still quivering with emotion but lower in volume.

“He’s not getting what he wants, Jarrod. Can’t you find some legal way to stop it?” asked Nick, his eyes beseeching his older brother.

Frowning, Jarrod sighed, “When we get back I’ll see what I can find in the books about the rights of….kids…born into circumstances like his.”

“Kids?” repeated Nick. “I can’t imagine that hard nosed law breaker was ever a kid.”

“Yeah.” Admitted Jarrod ruefully before adding, “After we tell Mother, Nick, I’ll check the books.”

Looking askew at his brother as if he were sporting two heads, Nick’s voice squeaked out in amazement of Jarrod’s words, “Are you crazy?”

“Nick, we can’t keep this from her.” Answered Jarrod. “We’ll be lucky if she doesn’t take a switch to us when she finds out he was here two months earlier and we kept that from her.”

Grudgingly admitting they’d be lucky to get off scot-free when they came clean with their mother, Nick reluctantly nodded before hissing, “Alright, we’ll tell Mother but not Audra. She’ll probably try to take him in like he was a stray or something…feel all sorry for him. I don’t like the idea of him around Mother and Audra, Jarrod.”

“We’ll head out to the ranch when we get back to Stockton and talk to Mother before we do anything else as far as Heath Thomson goes. Don’t worry, we’ll watch over Mother and Audra. He won’t get near either one of them.”

Chapter 9

The lower level of the mansion was still, no sound was heard except for her breathing in the parlor. Sitting on the smallest of the settees, Victoria lowered her book and stifled a yawn before glancing to the gold gilded clock on the high mantle of the fireplace. She was reluctant to head back to her bedroom and retire for the night.

The morning, noon and dinner times had been quiet with neither of her sons or her daughter at the table. Duke had informed her right before breakfast, Nick and Jarrod had left on the first train to Modesto for business. She thought she had sensed an eagerness in their long-time foreman to leave after he delivered his message and then had mentally come to the conclusion she’d imagined it.

Audra and Silas had spent the day at the orphanage as they did every Friday. The hours of the day dragged by as if they were being purposely held back by father time. She’d taken care of all the meaningless chores put off for a rainy day in hopes of keeping herself busy with her children gone and the house empty.

Leaning her head back, she wasn’t sure why she instinctively felt she should stay up past her normal hour of retiring. Perhaps it was an inkling of a mother’s intuition whispering in her ear that her sons would be back tonight. Or perhaps it was merely wishful thinking and a longing to hear their deep voices shattering the calm of the mansion.

Smiling to herself, she could remember at a time when they were little how she had wished their voices had been quiet more often. Funny how things changed with time and with the passing of life. Sighing, she found even though she enjoyed the sounds of her sons’ voices reverberating in laughter or arguing, she’d give anything to hear the sound of her departed husband’s laughter or voice once more. Though he’d been gone nearly six years, it was a yearning she knew would never depart for he would always be in her heart and in her soul.

Shaking her head she tried to clear her mind of the memories of her late husband which had occupied nearly each free moment she had today. Normally throughout a day she would see something that brought him to mind but today it was if he were dogging her every move.

Glancing once more to the clock, she sighed, marked her page with a bookmark and set her book on the table. Pushing herself up and tightening the belt of her robe, the small woman lowered the light in the parlor and headed towards the grand staircase.

Nick opened the front door and stepped inside, forcing a grin on his face at the happiness of the silver haired woman who stopped on the third step of the stairs when she heard the door open.

“You’re home!” exclaimed Victoria turning and descending the staircase on feet made lighter by the appearances of her sons.

“Mother, you’re up awfully late.” Stated Nick throwing his hat on the table and greeting her with a kiss and a quick hug.

“It’s not that late, Nick.” Corrected Victoria as Jarrod copied his brother’s movements with his hat and greeting to his mother. “I had a feeling you’d be back soon. Though I don’t know why you had to leave so suddenly to go to Modesto.”

“Well, it’s been a long day and then some.” Replied Nick quickly. “I’d best get to sleep if I want to get any work done tomorrow.”

“Nick, where do you think you’re going?” asked Jarrod, his voice daring his brother to keep heading towards the stairs in hopes of trying to put off the talk they needed to have with their mother.

Glancing between the faces of her sons, Victoria watch the silent battle and wasn’t too shocked when Nick begrudgingly turned around and nodded slightly to his big brother.

Satisfied with his brother’s retreat from the stairs, Jarrod picked up the metal box from the table by their hats. Gesturing towards the room she’d just left, he sighed. “Mother, we need to have a talk about something that’s happened. I don’t believe it can wait til morning.”

“Alright, boys.” Agreed Victoria, gray eyes studying the apprehensive faces of her sons before she lead the way into the parlor, retaking her seat on the settee.

Nick lit the darkened room and picked a spot where he could lean on the fireplace while Jarrod sat on the chair closest to the small settee. Placing the box on the table before him, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, gathering his thoughts before speaking.

“Does this have to do with whoever’s rustling our cattle or with Modesto?” inquired Victoria.

“Both, Mother.” Answered Jarrod glancing over to Nick who moved to sit in the other chair by his brother.

“One of the rustlers is in jail and one got away.” Announced Nick, disheartened to hear Barrett and Joe weren’t able to catch up with the other man who left Joe with a bullet in his arm. “The man who we caught, Mother…well…Jarrod and I met him before.”

Surprised, Victoria’s eyes widened slightly and she frowned, “It was someone you knew?”

“Not really….we didn’t know him like a friend or anything.” Implied Nick, unsure of how to proceed.

“We met him here two months ago, Mother when you and Audra were in Denver visiting Uncle Jim. He came to the house.” Informed Jarrod, hesitating at the look of curiosity and puzzlement in his mother’s eyes. “He didn’t stay long….”

“We threw him out.” Interjected Nick.

“You threw him out?” repeated Victoria in amazement. “I don’t understand….why would you throw a guest out? What did he do?”

“He wasn’t a guest, Mother.” grumbled Nick irritably.

“Boys, perhaps we should start over.” Suggested Victoria. “If he wasn’t a guest then what would you call him.”

“Oh, I got lots of names in mind, Mother.” Stated the rancher firmly, his forehead scrunching in anger.

Glaring at his brother for a moment, Jarrod turned back to his mother and continued, “Mother, this man came to the ranch and claimed he was father’s…son.”

Staring at her sons as if they’d reached over and slapped her, Victoria snapped her mouth shut which had dropped open and nodded. Narrowed gray eyes kept locked onto her older son’s face and she could barely hear his words through the roaring in her ears.

“We thought he was trying to run a con or something and threw him out. Well, it turns out he was one of the rustlers. He’s in jail in Stockton.”

“And why am I just hearing of this now?” demanded Victoria, her voice low and still. Both grown men shifted slightly in their seats at the tone speaking of more disapproval and disappointment than words could ever convey.

“We didn’t think you and Audra needed to be upset by some drifter trying to run a scam.” Informed Nick running his hand through his hair. “We were only protecting you from his lies.”

Jarrod saw his mother’s words rushing to the tip of her tongue and added, “Only it turns out he wasn’t lying, Mother. He told us his proof was in a safety deposit box at the Bank of Modesto. We went there and it’s all in here…”

Victoria’s eyes went to the small metal box her son’s index finger tapped on before rising back to her sons’ faces. Locking onto each set of eyes for several moments, she raised her chin slightly before speaking.

“Your father was not a perfect man. He had his good and his bad like anyone else. He’d done things he regretted just like the rest of us.” Said Victoria, seeing the shock fly into her sons’ eyes. “What is this man’s name?”

“Heath Thomson.”

“From Strawberry.” Added Victoria before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath of air to calm the out of control pounding of her heart. “Is his mother, Leah Thomson?”

Chapter 10

Glancing at each other with matching looks of disbelief, the two sons turned their eyes back to their mother. The petite woman who their worlds evolved around since their time of birth had her eyes closed and she was sitting with a stiffened spine as if waiting for the final blow.

Jarrod nodded and sighed, “Yes, Mother.”

A shudder raked their mother’s frame and before the two strong men could rise from their seats, she opened the lids on her gray eyes and shook her head, her brows drawn together in confusion.

“I wonder why we never questioned it could be a possibility.”

Tilting his head at his mother’s mumbled words, Jarrod asked, “Who, Mother?”

Taking in a large breath, Victoria let it out slowly and answered, “Your father and I.”

“Mother.” Prodded Nick softly, when her eyes took on a far away look. He was still trying to comprehend his mother’s knowledge of the apparent act of infidelity and her reference to the other woman’s name.

Bringing her mind back to her two worried children in the same room with her, the tiny leader met their gazes. “When you were both young, your father had gone to Strawberry to check on our share of the investment in the mine. We had put every cent we could borrow and our savings into that venture. Its success was what helped us to venture out into other areas like orchards and building up the ranch.”

“Yes, Mother we know how you and Father built everything from scratch. He told us the story quite a lot over the years. He wanted his children to understand the importance of our legacy and the responsibilities that came with it.” Informed Nick impatiently and with a hint of sarcasm, inwardly sure this day ranked as the second worst day of his life; the first being his father’s murder.

“Nicholas, if you want to hear my explanation it will be done my way.” Countered Victoria firmly and noting her son’s silent agreement in the way he consciously stopped his restless movements before she continued.

“Your father spent nearly six uninterrupted months there. It was a time of a great deal of uncertainty and tension for our family. We had so much riding on the partnership, it became a pariah to your father. He hated the high stakes involved and yet, in some ways I think he grew lustful for the power he gained once the richness of the vein was discovered. He was alone in a world of his making and he became tempted by more than just the gold being brought out of the Strawberry mine.”

“Thomson’s mother?” queried Jarrod unable to envision the man lusting for power as the same one who seemed to never wield his standing in their community like a saber over the heads of others.

“Yes, Leah Thomson.” Confirmed Victoria quietly. “He fell for her and they had a very brief affair that last month he was in Strawberry. When he came to his senses, he sold off his share of the mind for quadruple the profit and came home…to his family.”

“He told you.” Ground out Nick from clenched teeth, his fury from the boy in the cell shifting to the dead man responsible for his birth. “He told you about her?”

“Nicholas, no one is perfect and your father after all was just a man.” Pointed out Victoria firmly, her eyes softening at the wounded angry looks in the eyes of her sons. “It wasn’t easy after he came clean about his indiscretion. There was a time when I felt for certain we wouldn’t survive as a couple. There was so much trust lost, it seemed impossible to regain and until one day I realized I had to forgive before we could move forward. Until I did that….there would have been no hope for us as a family.”

“And neither of you thought perhaps a child may have been a result of his affair? Father’s child?” asked Jarrod in a low voice.

Shaking her head, gray eyes filled with regret and she sought to explain the great emotional upheaval caused by her husband’s straying and her inability to see beyond the act of betrayal. “God help me, we should have considered it…but we didn’t. At the time, I was barely able to function through the day and raise you two, let alone dwell on the what ifs between my husband and another woman. No, we should have but perhaps I was incapable of caring at that point. I honestly don’t know what would have happened if we received word Leah had been with child. I truly don’t know.”

The remorseful tone of their mother’s voice as she bared the deepest wound suffered by the actions of their father left Jarrod and Nick feeling an agony similar to what she must have lived through at that dark time. Both sons had time to examine their thoughts on the man they worshipped all their lives on the train ride back from Modesto. Though it had been distasteful to face what their father had done….they hadn’t even considered the possibility their mother had known of the dalliance that produced a child.

The room fell quiet and still, the three occupants were lost in thought of the evidence of the past that had come back full force into their future. A child now grown and sitting behind bars in the Stockton jail. A man whose veins ran with Barkley blood and who also ran on the wrong side of the law.

Standing from her place on the settee, Victoria waited til her sons looked at her before instructing, “I’ll take the box to my room and tomorrow, we’ll discuss what we should do about Heath Thomson.”

“After we tell Audra?” suggested Nick stopping his mother after she picked up the box and turned towards the foyer.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Victoria met her son’s questioning eyes, “Hmm…perhaps…we’ll see.”

Chapter 11

Sitting bolt upright and glancing around with eyes wide with panic, Nick gasped when he realized he was in his room before raising a hand to wipe the tormented sleep from his eyes. Shuddering once and absently swiping at the beads of perspiration covering his broad chest, he shook his head and flopped back onto his pillows. Both hands reached up and rubbed vigorously over the face shadowed with whiskers and dreams.

Looking up and studying the ceiling above him, he tried to force the repeated words out of his mind, their echo resounding off his skull with a whisper of sound. He couldn’t vanquish them for they wouldn’t be quieted. His frame trembled as if there were a chill in the morning nipping at his bare skin but the temperature in the room was warm…almost stifling.

Covering his eyes with his forearm, the rancher questioned suddenly if it was the temperature in the room that was stifling his attempts to gather his out of control breaths or the repetitious chant bouncing in his head.

“You shot me, Nick Barkley. You shot your own brother.”

Heaving his body up from his comfortable and spacious bed, the dark haired man sat on the edge holding his head in his hands. Subconsciously batting with the mantra heard in the belligerent blond’s voice even though the man sitting in the Stockton jail hadn’t muttered the words.

Internally he battled, his words against the unspoken declaration brought forth from the nightmarish darkness he’d forced himself from. His mind fought to free his shoulders of the burden of guilt his subconscious dwelled on after he finally gave into sleep.

No….that boy may have blood that was half Barkley but he wasn’t a brother and never would be. It took more than blood to make someone a brother. This time blood wasn’t thicker than water….if anything the blood in the blond’s veins was more like the tainted blood in a rabid animal. It’d been turned from good to bad. No matter what Heath Thomson may claim….he would never truly be a brother like Jarrod was to him.

“I shot a man rustling my cattle.” Stated Nick into the quiet room growing lighter with the new day. “A thief and a rustler who happens to have some Barkley blood…nothing more and nothing less.”

Even to his ears, his voice sounded flat and hollow, the words forced out and a contradiction to the twisting in his gut. Cursing under his breath, he grew angry and pushed himself up, jerking open his drawers and dressing.

“Damn him.” Growled Nick as his long strong fingers buttoned his shirt. “He’s not gonna win. I’m not letting him take what he hasn’t earned! He’s not gonna come in here and tell us what he’s entitled to. Not if I have anything to say about it!”

* * * * * * * *

It’d taken a few moments after his eyes opened to recall where he was. Wiping a hand over his face etched with weariness from a broken sleep, Heath grimaced at the flaring of pain when he moved his right shoulder. Closing his eyes, he took in several breaths before using his left hand to push himself to a sitting position.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the hard cot cushioned with the lumpy mattress, he sighed loudly and stood. His legs felt as if they would protest for a moment before they found their strength. Glancing through the only window in the jail cell placed a foot higher than him, he gauged it to be just after daybreak from the departing dark and arriving light.

He hadn’t seen neither of his half brothers yesterday, only the sheriff, the deputy and the doctor came into the holding cell. He had slept periodically throughout the day after the town healer changed his bandage in the morning. The loss of blood from the wound tired him immensely. The blond knew from past experience it would be several days before he wouldn’t want to lay down and sleep part of the day away.

Walking around the six by six cell, he worked the stiffness out of his body before sitting back on the cot, his back against the wall. Adjusting his injured arm in the sling, he let a small smile filter across his face as he imagined the faces of the two prominent men when they found what he left safely stored in Modesto. The small metal box contained some but not all that he kept from his mother’s personal items after her passing.

The smile left and his eyes filled with a bitter sadness for the woman who’d raised him against the odds. Sadness for the pain she endured at the end as the sickness ate away at her. Bitter for the times he’d caused her pain when he bucked her attempts to rein in his behavior. A boy who grew up without a father to protect him learned at a young age how to protect himself against the vileness of those who treated him less than their dogs.

Closing his eyes, he silently apologized for the hurt he’d oftentimes put in his mama’s eyes. Volatile and reckless before entering the war to escape Strawberry, it was nothing compared to how he’d been when he returned home after Carterson. Though only fifteen, he’d done his share of killing and lost more than just his soldier friends – he’d lost himself. Gambling, drinking and rough characters took his mama’s place in his life then for he didn’t know how to control the visions that haunted his sleep each night or how to handle the screams of dying still echoing in his ears.

He was wild those days, wild as the mustangs running the hills. Wild as the mountain lion lithely strolling his mountain home. Wild and unwilling to give into his mama’s pleas to stop his association with the men who lived on the fringes of right.

When he and his new friends decided they needed a quick supply of cash, none of them felt like working and all agreed to get their fill from the Nevada State Bank. It was early morning when they tied their horses in front and it was only a short time later he woke up in chains. He’d been knocked out with the end of a gun by his peers for refusing the leader’s order to outright kill the innocent man behind the counter who was merely doing an honest day’s work.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty. It wasn’t until he’d been released had Heath Thomson, prisoner 37056, realized the time spent working away in the prison’s rock yard and manhandling the large stones had provided him an outlet for the ever present anger inside. He’d learned under the brutally hot Nevada sun how to keep it under control. Keep it on a leash even thought it was always there, ever simmering like the lava deep in the bowels of a volcano.

After his mama’s death, the pain he was wracked with was replaced as the lava rose higher and hovered near the top of the open volcano. His eyes filmed with a surge of red after finding the evidence she’d kept hidden from him, never once revealing when he’d demanded to know. Evidence that revealed Thomas Barkley was the man who years before had left his seed growing inside his mama. He hadn’t come back and he’d left her alone to raise his bastard child.

Just as he had paid for his father’s sin all his life, his father’s family would feel how it was to pay for something they didn’t have control over from the past. They would experience the bitter foul taste he’d been forced to swallow from the time he was able to comprehend the word bastard. They would comprehend and they would pay for treating him just as everyone else had. Clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes, the blond man pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the metal bars.

“Sheriff! Sheriff!”

His shouts brought the man with graying temples into the holding cell and he waited til the sheriff stood outside his cell.

“Sheriff, reckon I’d best be getting myself a lawyer to defend myself. Can you fetch me one?” queried the blond, a small smile hovering around his lips.

Studying the smirk on the blond, Fred Maden wondered about it before nodding, “Sure, I’ll send my deputy over to Phil Archer’s office when he opens at nine.”

“Thanks.” Replied the prisoner waiting til the lawman left before laying back on the cot and studying the metal bars crossing over his head, chuckling to himself.

Chapter 12

Buttoning his vest, Jarrod stopped before Nick’s door and knocked while blinking against the burning in his eyes. The irritation the end result of a nearly sleepless night caused by the unending questions springing up in his mind. Stifling a yawn, he turned the knob and opened the door to his brother’s door ready to goad the younger man who it appeared to have slept past his normal waking time. The neatly made bed stopped him in his tracks and his brows joined in a scowl.

‘Maybe he’s handing out the work assignments’ suggested Jarrod internally though deep inside he had an inkling he wouldn’t find Nick if he went to the bunkhouse.

Turning on his heel, he strode down the hallway to the room three doors down uncaring of the sound of his boots ringing out on the runner. Escaping into his room, he grabbed his suit jacket and quickly belted on his gun before taking his hat from the top of his dresser. Closing his door behind him, he stopped short when he turned to the left and nearly collided with his petite mother.

“Jarrod, where are you going?” questioned Victoria, her gray eyes showing a hint of weariness as she studied her son’s eyes.

“To town, Mother.” Replied Jarrod, placing a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be back later today.”

“Well, it’ll have to wait.” Instructed Victoria firmly. “I’d like to discuss Heath Thomson with you and your brother.”

Taking in a breath, Jarrod shook his head, “Mother, I don’t believe that will be possible at the moment.”

“And why not?” demanded the silver haired lady. “Surely you haven’t scheduled any appointments on a Saturday?”

“Nick’s not here.” Admitted Jarrod knowing he couldn’t lie to the woman whose sharp eyes would pick up on his falsehood. “I have a feeling he’s halfway to town by now.”

The gray eyes flared for a moment before she nodded, “Fine, I’ll just change and we can catch up to him.”

“Mother!” exclaimed Jarrod when she started to her room. “I’ll get Nick and bring him back.”

“Have Misty saddled for me, please.” Commanded Victoria over her shoulder, not stopping til she entered her room and closed the door.

Staring at the oak door for a moment, Jarrod shook his head and took in an angry breath before heading down the hallway to follow his mother’s order. Stopping in the kitchen, he was relieved when Silas informed him Nick had only ridden out five minutes earlier and continued to the back door.

In her room Victoria quickly changed from her dress and donned her riding outfit. Placing her hat on her head, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror and frowned at the tired person looking back. Her night had been spent going through the box and crying all over again at the renewed pain from her husband’s inability to stave off the temptation of Leah Thomson. If Tom were there at that very moment, she had no idea what she would have done….throttle or kick him. But he wasn’t here to face the consequence he’d left behind and now, it was left to her to decide what to do with this grown man child of his.

Shaking her head, she quickly penned a note for her daughter before leaving the room. Sliding the lavender scented paper under her youngest child’s door, she briskly walked to the stairs and slipped on her gloves before exiting the mansion her husband built for her.

Jarrod stood by Misty, having only tied the two horses to the hitching rail before his mother came out of the mansion. Helping her into the saddle, he handed her the reins and mounted Jingo, urging his horse into a cantor to catch up with his mother who lead the way off the ranch.

* * * * * * * *

Riding down the street of Stockton, Nick nodded to the early rising citizens and business owners readying for the day who waved their greetings. Looking around, he could just imagine the looks he’d be receiving if news got out over the blond’s link to the Barkley family. None of the valley would ever look at them in the same light and he wouldn’t dare to venture how long it would be til the scandal would die down.

Normally, he wouldn’t have given two shakes about what others thought of him. For he was a man who lived his life according to his own set of rules and morals. He didn’t care if the old biddies in the Stockton social circle categorized him as uncouth and unruly from his many barroom fights. He didn’t care if many, when comparing him to his big brother, thought his being a rancher was somehow not held in the same esteem as being a lawyer.

He didn’t care for he was a man who could wake up in the morning and look in the mirror without shame. He was proud of what he’d added to the ranch since his father’s death and proud of how he’d stepped up to the challenge forced on him at the age of sixteen. He could hold his head high for all they’d done as a family to expand their holdings and for all they gave back to the community.

But this….this was something that could irreparably damage his mother and sister. The whispering and pointing he could imagine would happen over the blond’s presence would only cause his mother and sister pain. Pain and shame where they had no control. They would feel the repercussion of Tom Barkley’s broken marital vow and have to be the brunt of tongue wagging. None of them should have to now pay because of another man’s weakness twenty some years earlier. Pulling up in front of the sheriff’s office, Nick tied Coco and climbed the two steps, pushing the door open and entering.

“Nick?” greeted Fred Maden with a questioning voice, surprised to see the leader of the biggest ranch in the valley in his office. “You got more trouble at the ranch?”

“No, Fred.” Informed Nick looking through the open door to the holding area. “Can I see your prisoner?”

Glancing past the rancher and spying Billy leading Phil Archer across the street, Fred shook his head negatively. “Maybe later. Archer’s coming over now to talk to him…Thomson wanted an attorney to represent him so I fetched Billy to get him..”

The hazel eyes in the tanned face widened at hearing the name of the man who took great delight in dragging his family through the mud at every opportunity he could find. Leaning on the desk while his heart pounded rapidly in his chest as if he were a mouse pinned into a corner by a tomcat, Nick stammered.

“We’re not pressing charges, Fred. We’re gonna let him work the losses off at the ranch.”

Chapter 13

“What?” asked Fred Maden stepping over and closing the connecting door to the holding area as he wondered if his hearing was failing him. “You’re gonna do what?”

Nick’s decision made at the spur of the moment was fueled by the blond’s request for an attorney. The sheriff hadn’t sent for just any lawyer…no, he had to send for a man who liked to exaggerate and exasperate any situation where his family was involved. The man was like a blood sucking leech whose head grew fatter with each taste of the precious Barkley liquid.

“We’re not pressing charges, Fred.” Repeated Nick briskly.

“But you caught him red-handed.” emphasized the lawman thrown off by the unexpected words from the rancher. “You told me that yourself and his partner shot one of your own men!”

Growing impatient with the incredible look on Fred’s face and the disbelief in his voice, Nick fought off the impending doom he felt spreading across his chest. His mind flashed a court room scene where Phil Archer exposed to the world the connection of Heath Thomson and the Barkley family. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he sensed the nearing of the blood sucker towards the jail with each passing second.

“Fred, they’re my cattle and I can decide whether to press charges or not, right?” asked Nick.

Reluctantly nodding, Fred scowled, “Well, yeah Nick but letting him go doesn’t make any sense. Just last week you were fit to be tied about the rustling. Hell, you threatened to string whoever was doing it in the nearest tree if you found them.”

“I know, Fred” agreed Nick, not contradicting the truth in the sheriff’s words.

“And now you want to let him go?” asked the older man, clearly befuddled by the unexpected turn.

“Something’s changed and…uh….well….I’m just not gonna press charges!” replied Nick barely keeping a tight rein on his impatience and visibly stiffening when the door behind him opened.

“Sheriff, you sent for me?” asked Phil Archer as he followed the deputy into the office and stopped when he saw the rancher standing to the side of the desk, his face unable to keep free of his dislike of the man. “Barkley.”

“Archer.” Responded Nick, able to imagine the man’s two cheek bones moving from under his skin to reach out as if to latch onto the closest warm body to get his taste of blood.

Looking once more at the glowering rancher, Fred shook his head and took in a breath. “I did Phil but it turns out you’re not gonna be needed.”

“Oh and why is that, Sheriff? Your prisoner get another lawyer…perhaps Jarrod Barkley?”

The brown eyes of the lawman met the attorneys and he shrugged. “No, cause the charges have been dropped.”

“You dropped the rustling charge?” queried the thin faced man in a high pitched voice after shifting his body sideways to face the rancher whose large frame filled the small outer office. “Why?”

“None of your damn business Archer!” snapped Nick, unable to hide his dislike for the smaller weasel of a man.

Bristling at the hiss from the other man, Phil Archer’s face reddened with anger and he replied, “It is my business if you think you can circumnavigate justice simply because of who you are or your family’s standing! First he steals your cows and you drop the charges? Second, that man was arrested on a punishable offense…I’ll have to speak to the district attorney about this….it’s simply not how we should be handling the law in our town! Next we’ll be letting murderers go free!”

Waving off the blustering words of the other man, Nick smirked, “Have a nice chat with Ted and tell him I won’t be able to make the poker game tonight.”

Glaring at the man who brushed him off as if he were no more than a speck of dirt, Phil spun on his heel quickly, causing the deputy to have to jump back to avoid a collision. Yanking open the door, the thin man sent a scathing look at a surprised Jarrod and Victoria before stalking down the boardwalk.

“God help us if he’s ever elected as DA.” Mumbled Fred standing when the Barkley matriarch entered the jail. “Morning, Mrs. Barkley.”

“Sheriff.” Stated Victoria puzzled over the other man’s furious departure before she shook her head and smiled at their lawman. Turning her eyes to her rancher son, she said. “Phil Archer didn’t seem very happy….would you know anything about this Nick?”

Shooting a look over to the two lawman who were off to the side and watching the family with interest, Nick nodded. “Some, Mother. What are you and Jarrod doing here?”

“What are you doing here, Nick?” asked Jarrod in a low voice, frowning at the slight shake of his brother’s head.

Watching the exchange between her boys, Victoria turned to the sheriff and his deputy, “Fred would you mind if I had a talk with my sons…alone? It’s a family matter.”

“Oh, not at all Mrs. Barkley.” Said Fred, nudging Billy towards the door. “We’ll go get some coffee at the hotel.”

“Thank you.” Acknowledged Victoria with a grateful smile.

Stopping with his hand on the door, Fred glanced back to Nick and motioned with his head to the holding area. “You’ll need to fill out some paperwork before I can let ‘em go, Nick. We’ll do it when I get back.”

“Sure, Fred.” Agreed Nick waiting til the lawmen left before turning to meet the two sets of eyes scrutinizing him in surprise. Shrugging, he scowled and tapped his gloves against his leg before gesturing to the cell area. “He requested a lawyer to defend him and Fred sent for Archer. What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let him tell that snake who he was!”

“And what is to stop him from telling all of Stockton when he’s released, Nick?” prodded Jarrod with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh. “You’re trying to do the impossible, Nick. You’re trying to stop the inevitable.”

“What the hell…uh…sorry…Mother.” Apologized Nick before his shoulders slumped. “You know how Archer feels about us….what else should I have done?”

“I’m sorry, Nick.” Replied Jarrod squeezing his brother’s shoulder. “I know you did what you thought was best but….”

“It is also an approach I hadn’t thought of….” Offered Victoria, her gray eyes deep in thought as her sons watched her before she pulled her thoughts back to the room they were in. “I do believe we should give Heath Thomson exactly what he wants and believes he deserves…..his share of the Barkley holdings and everything that comes with being a Barkley.”

“Mother!” gasped both her sons, eyes wide at her willingness to share equally with the man in the jail cell.

Chapter 14

“You can’t be serious, Mother!” exclaimed Nick loudly gesturing to the closed door, jabbing his finger with each word.

“I am neither deaf nor funning, Nicholas.” Replied Victoria firmly.

“He’s not one of us! He’s a stranger.” Ignoring his mother’s silent demand for him to lower his voice to a dull rumble.

“Nick’s right, Mother.” Agreed Jarrod, shaking his head in denial. “We know who his father is, however, that does not quantify he should partake in everything this family has built up over the years. We know absolutely nothing about him.”

“We know he is a Barkley and your father’s son.” Informed Victoria calmly meeting the rush of her sons’ shock without moving or flinching.

“Mother….”

“Nick.” Said Jarrod placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder to stop his words before facing his mother. “I was up last night searching and by legal rights, he has no basis to stand on, Mother. He was born outside the vows of marriage.”

“Legally, perhaps not.” Agreed Victoria with a slight nod, gray eyes meeting both her sons for a minute before adding, “What about morally? Would it not be up to us…your father’s family to ensure we handle this as he would have if he were still alive?”

“Unfortunately, father is not here, Mother and you are basing your actions on what you think he would do.” Countered Jarrod. “You have no basis for knowing what father would have done…you are only assuming.”

“Your father loved his children deeply and was proud of his family. I don’t believe he would have turned Heath Thomson away.” Sighed Victoria her eyes drifting to the inner door.

“Or perhaps father would not have wanted to bring shame to his family either, Mother. Heath Thomson could have shown up and received the same reception he got from us two months ago.” Surmised Jarrod with a shrug of his shoulder. “Whose to know for certain? No one because Father’s gone and he’s here.”

“A child shouldn’t be blamed for its circumstances of birth, Jarrod. Perhaps that’s a law which was made to be broken.” Countered Victoria forcefully.

Rolling his eyes, Nick wiped a hand over his face and asked in an irritable voice, “Can we skip this debate about laws and get back to him?”

“He is your brother boys.” Pointed out Victoria holding a hand up to stop the words she could imagine burning in them to get out. “I will agree with you, Nick that we know nothing about him. This is correct.”

“No that’s not entirely true….we know he’s a rustler and a thief!” declared Nick in a low voice, laced with disgust for a man who’d steal over working.

“And he was in prison at one time.” Added Jarrod, noting his mother’s expression didn’t change with the information and for a moment wondered where she had gained the ability to keep on such a poker face. “His prison number is tattooed into his forearm.”

Taking in the information, Victoria nodded, “And do we know why or when he was in prison?”

“Well, no.” answered Jarrod begrudgingly.

Chuckling slightly, the petite woman’s anger filled eyes tore into her sons’ before she retorted, “I see you two have taken up new professions as judge and jury and your motto appears to be ‘guilty before innocent’. I don’t remember your father and I raising you to act in such a manner.”

Both men had the grace to turn crimson at their tiny mother’s biting words and sarcastic observation. Raised to judge no person without first knowing them, neither of the men could counter their mother’s statement and they shifted slightly in place.

“Maybe you should ask him about the numbers.” Suggested Victoria.

“And expect an honest answer?” questioned Nick, his tone scoffing at the absurdity of his mother’s request. “Why would I ask him that? He’s not staying!”

Arching an eyebrow, Victoria smiled, “If you feel Heath Thomson won’t be truthful, Jarrod can request run a background check.”

“Mother, why go all that trouble if you’re going to give him what he wants anyway.” Queried Jarrod irritably with Nick nodding in agreement.

“Boys, we Barkleys have never been given anything. We’ve fought tooth and nail for what we have.” Declared the silver haired woman, emphasizing her words with the shaking of a manicured finger.

“It’s taken hard work, personal sacrifice and determination to create what our family has today. I did say give we should give Heath Thomson what he feels he deserves since his father was Tom Barkley. Just as you two had to prove your worth to running the Barkley holdings, Heath Thomson will have to prove his. If either of you had fallen short of expectations, you’d have receive what the family deemed appropriate. Simply because you bear the Barkley name…it doesn’t mean you’re entitled to all if you’re not a Barkley through and through.”

Taking a breath at her frowning sons, Victoria continued, “Nick, you were right to drop the charges. Heath Thomson…Barkley has taken it upon himself to sell off parts of our family’s holdings without a family vote….”

“Now he has to repay the rest of us for our shares.” finished Jarrod, the understanding dawning in his eyes. “And if he can’t measure up….”

“Then he gets nothing.” Stated Nick thoughtfully before shaking his head. “I don’t know about this, Mother. I don’t have time to hold his hand everyday. I still say we just run him out of town.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to grant Heath Thomson any favors, Nicholas.” Corrected Victoria. “A man is expected to be able to stand on his own two feet and prove himself.”

Scowling at the inkling rising in the pit of his stomach, Nick reluctantly nodded to his mother’s suggestion and ignored the little voice warning of the dangers of this game they were about to embark on with the man sitting locked behind bars.

Chapter 15

Lowering the day old edition of the Stockton paper, Heath leaned his head back against the cold wall after glancing once to the door connecting his area to the outside the sheriff had shut. With his stomach trying to decide if it’d revolt from the early morning breakfast and nature’s call taken care of, he took in a breath and let it out slowly. The pain in the back of his shoulder pulsated and radiated through his upper back. The section of damaged skin was angry and tender but only needed time to heal.

His fingers released its hold on the paper lying on his lap and he smiled to himself. Gil had escaped from the clutches of the two men who’d been chasing him. He could imagine the thin rail of a man hadn’t stopped riding til he reached Modesto where that bottle of whiskey waited for him.

Leaning his forehead against the wall, he closed his eyes to rest until the lawyer he sent for appeared. Smirking, he could imagine the expression on the unsuspecting attorney when he revealed his connection to the all powerful Barkley family. Within a few minutes, his even breathing filled the holding area and his eyes moved restlessly beneath their lids.

The blood red sunset was nothing compared to the blood red liquid spilled on the ground. His ears rang from the furious whining of the bullets ricocheting past his head and lodging into the dirt of the tunnel dug by gnarled hands. His eyes, familiar with corpses from his time on the battle fields, barely reacted to the men who were cut down and slid back into the tunnel after they’d climbed out. The red liquid of life escaped through the holes dotting their bodies like a sieve.

He’d been only four men away from a certain death and had turned to flee back to the entrance with the others. An emancipated, sunken cheeked, fever riddled teenager found himself stuck in the human stampede. More cries and screams of agony echoed over the thundering of the guns held in the hands of the guards. The prisoners were caught in a deadly game of pickle between the exit and entrance of the carefully excavated earth.

Their dreams of tasting sweet freedom taken viciously by the man who ruled over the prison with an iron hand. This man had no mercy, no sympathy for those who were forced to live in the squalor of the overcrowded Confederate prison. He seemed to enjoy and thrived on the animalistic means needed to be utilized by the enemy to survive each day and night in his own personally created hell on earth.

The roars of echoes in the tunnel ceased and he huddled against the side of the dirt wall, eyes wide and unblinking. Twenty seven men had stealthily made their way into the tunnel that night and now looking around, he only counted eight others kneeling in the dirt with him. Their eyes watched for death to come from either side and their shoulders sagged further. Their minds taunted them with the realization this would surely be their last minutes on earth at the sounds of the guards approaching.

It was strange in a moment when the others around him were cowering away from the void called death, he found he was waiting to invite in it. It was the first moment of peace he’d had since arriving in Carterson seven months earlier. It was a moment when he realized he’d no longer have to cover his ears at night to drown out the screams of the dying or the agonizing vocalizations of pain filled men. Death would be heaven to this living hell.

Sometimes fate was a cruel mistress and instead of giving him the peace of mind he’d been expecting, he’d been dragged from the tunnel along with the remaining others. The ruler over the empire of Carterson prison deemed a public demonstration of discipline was necessary. His guard dogs rousted the camp to waking though most of the prisoners already had been woken by the gunfire splitting the night.

Bucking and fighting the hands dragging his powerless form to the posts, his hatred for the warden of his living hell was shouted from the top of his lungs until he was nearly rendered unconscious from the gun butt on the back of his neck. The world around him wavered and he wasn’t aware as his wrists were tied in place, his shoulders protested from his arms being stretched outward and upward. It was the first stinging lash of the whip across his back that brought him back to full awareness, the leather slicing into skin deeply.

* * * * * * * *

Gasping and lurching away from the pain of the lashes, Heath’s eyes flew open when he fell heavily onto the wooden floor of the cell. Heaving for air he grimaced at the agony in his shoulder and stared at the wall before him. It took a moment before he recalled where he was. Awkwardly pushing himself up to his knees, he wiped his sweat heavy face with the sleeve of his forearm and took in several breaths to calm his pounding heart, his hand shaking slightly as it held onto his injured limb.

Closing his eyes as he sat back on his heels, he shuddered once as the last of the vivid memory was forced back to the deep recesses of his mind. Lowering his left hand to push himself upwards, he stopped at the prickling of the hairs on the back of his neck and the feel of eyes boring into his perspiration streaked shirt. He didn’t question how but he knew without looking who was there….his half brothers.

Clenching his jaw and pushing himself upward, he found again the eruption of the volcano inside him at the thought of all they’d had while his mama was forced to scratch out a living to raise her bastard child. Turning slowly, his cold blue eyes widened slightly at the sight of the silver haired lady standing between her two tall sons.

“Are you…alright?” asked Victoria after finding her voice which had been muted as they witnessed her husband’s blond son struggle in the world he’d been locked in during his sleep.

Narrowing his eyes when he realized who this small woman was, he pointedly turned and resumed his seat on the cot, reaching down and scooping up the paper that’d fallen to the floor. Meeting the eyes of the men outside the cell, he gestured to the door with the newspaper.

“Git.” commanded the blond, irritable at the increased pain he’d subjected on himself. “I got me an appointment and it ain’t with you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Thomson.” Interjected Victoria stepping to the bars and meeting the hard icy eyes of the blond through the metal poles. “Your ‘appointment’ has been cancelled.”

“What the hell are you talking about, lady?” asked Heath loudly, her offhand tone of voice raising the hackles on the scruff of his neck.

“Watch your language!” hissed Jarrod and Nick simultaneously.

Openly smirking at the anger flashing in his brothers’ eyes and the clenching of their fists, the blond couldn’t hide his surprise at her calm words.

“Your attorney has been released from your case as there no longer is one.”

Chapter 16

Heath openly stared in disbelief at the silver haired woman who he guessed was Victoria Barkley. She had an aura surrounding her…an aura that spoke of grandness and rightness…an aura that bequeathed her very word was taken as fact. He’d met such people before in his less than rose colored life.

Those that thought they were higher than others in the invisible tiers of society. Those who deemed their voice should be heard before all others, simply due to their ‘stature’ in the communities they lived.

It was people like those who took it upon themselves and made sure his mama knew her place in the world. They were capable of beating her down with a simple look of disgust or a word well placed and meant to scar. She was lower than even the immigrants who chose to live in the mining town of Strawberry all because she gave life to a small baby. A small baby she cherished above even her pride.

Those type of people made certain he understood his place in their world when he was old enough to fully understand. They never let him forget and he was often left to suffer for the sin of his absent father. It wasn’t just the rich in the town, it was all who thrived on making others appear less than they. God fearing and non religious alike….it didn’t matter for he was nothing more than a spawn of evil. A thing to be denied any word of good or encouragement or act of kindness.

It was those types of people that made his blood curdle and got his back up. It was those types of do-gooders who were the biggest hypocrites and the biggest blasphemers. Those types of people all had the same aura about them and it rankled deep inside.

“Well now…near as I can recollect, I was caught red-handed by that one and from what I know of the law, I get me a trial.” Smirked Heath gesturing towards his hazel eyed brother before meeting the cool gray eyes of the petite woman. “Course, could be you might have me confused with another of your husband’s bastards that may be running around.”

“Don’t talk to her that way!” growled Nick stopping his trek to the metal bars at his mother’s small hand on his arm.

“Mother….” Said Jarrod, swallowing his forthcoming wish to get her away from the blond in the cell when she looked at him pointedly.

From his position on the cot, Heath watched as she reined in both of the furious men and rose to meet the tiny dynamo head on. Dropping the paper onto the thin mattress, he adjusted his injured arm in its sling and stood with legs slightly apart, ignoring the two men and focusing only on her.

Victoria stepped to the bars, eyeing the beads of perspiration on the face that held many features of a younger version of her husband. The droplets were a reminder of the nightmare she had witnessed after Fred Maden allowed them back to the holding area to speak with the prisoner. She would have liked nothing more than to dispatch this offensive creature from her and her children’s lives but looking into the hard blue eyes….knew it wouldn’t be easy.

She didn’t want to deal with the scandal this would create and yet, recognized it wouldn’t be an easy thing to hide. It would be damn near impossible and readily announcing who he was to the community would take some of the wind from his sails. If he thought he could blackmail them into paying him off for his silence, he had another thing coming.

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, Mr. Thomson.” Stated Victoria, ignoring his vile jab at her husband. “We have dropped the charges of rustling against you. So, you have no need of an attorney.”

Studying the older woman through calculating eyes, the blond tilted his head slightly and stated, “Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.” Affirmed Victoria trying to get a read on the mind of the man in the cell from his pale blue eyes.

“Now isn’t that mighty grand of you, Mrs. Barkley.” Snorted Heath. “And for this you want what…my gratitude?”

Raising her chin slightly at the sarcastic tone in his words, Victoria shook her head and let out a small chuckle, “Not hardly, Mr. Thomson. I don’t believe you would understand such a concept and quite frankly, I wouldn’t waste my time trying to explain it to you.”

The only sign her statement had hit a button inside of him was the pulsating muscle in his jaw after he clenched his teeth closed. The lids on the blue eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to the bars.

“It ain’t my fault you couldn’t keep your stud from roaming outside your pastures, lady.” Hissed Heath, his voice quivering with his fury he was struggling to keep a handle on. “Don’t blame me for what you could’ve stopped.”

Jumping towards the bars, Nick and Jarrod reached through and shouted in anger at the man who dodged the tips of their fingers before chuckling at the three whose faces were burning with anger at the derogatory remarks. Turning his back and taking in a breath, sure his mama was turning over in her grave at his foul words, Heath stepped back to the wall and leaned against it….waiting patiently for the next go round and wondering what they were up to.

Victoria stood shocked from his words before taking in a deep breath to calm her irate sons. Gray eyes watched the blond casually leaning against the wall, his left hand reaching into his sling and playing with the cuff of his sleeve. Blinking at the memories brought forth of her husband doing the same thing, she shrugged them off to focus on the matter at hand.

“Boys, please.” Sighed Victoria at her sons’ voices ringing throughout the holding area, echoing in the small enclosed space. When the two men beside her had forced a part of their anger downward, she met the blue eyes gazing at her impassively.

“I am not here to refute your claim of being a Barkley, Mr. Thomson.” Informed Victoria firmly watching as his eyes flashed with interest at the statement. “I only have to look at you to see you are a son of my husband’s….you have some of the same features.”

“Lucky for me.” Sneered the blond with disgust.

Continuing on as if he hadn’t spoken, Victoria stated, “You are a Barkley and subject, of course, to the same rules as the rest of us.”

“Rules?” repeated the blond, his eyes narrowing at the word and he felt as if he were waiting for a rattler to strike at the smile upturning the corners of her mouth. “What kind of rules?”

Chapter 17

Suspicion flared openly in the blue eyes of the blond as he asked his question. Instincts honed over the past years had him warily regarding the tiny woman standing with her two small hands wrapped around the metal bars. He hadn’t moved from the spot where he was leaning against the wall with his left shoulder. He considered taking a seat back on the cot but he discounted it just as quick. To sit would be almost a symbol of subjecting or giving in to whatever they had planned. Unconsciously, he sensed it would have put him at an emotional disadvantage.

Victoria studied the blond young man, noting his pale features and the weariness showing under his eyes. She was sure he wanted nothing more than to sit and rest from the aftereffects of the injury he received. Silently she acknowledged to herself he wouldn’t willingly let them be a witness to any sort of weakness and it appeared he’d inherited that stubborn streak of orneriness that ran through all the male children of the family.

Meeting his eyes, she hesitated for a moment before explaining, “Our family…the Barkley family….has always had some unwritten rules we follow and also some established ones. Each and every member of the family.”

Heath ignored the two half-brothers standing on either side of the tiny woman as he listened, mentally trying to head the matriarch off at the pass but he was unable to fathom the goal to which she was seeking. Shifting slightly against the wall, he kept locked on the cool gray eyes watching him and waited. He’d learned long ago that patience went a long way in the battlefields of life’s experiences and it was a trait he had mastered. He sensed she stopped speaking expecting him to inquire more into the rules and he purposely didn’t speak.

Victoria let the silence from her lack of words fill the holding area and when it appeared the blond rustler was not going to satisfy his own curiosity at her statement she continued.

“Your father and I,” said Victoria ignoring the flash of revulsion in the light blue eyes. “When our many different ventures started to flourish and garner us a return in profit, we expected our children to fulfill certain responsibilities as they grew.”

Letting out a sigh of annoyance, Heath leaned his head back against the wall as if to listen to her was draining the very life out of him. Internally, he still had no idea where her words were leading and inside his stomach, an uneasy feeling started.

“They were required to finish school and take part in learning every aspect of our many ventures which make up the Barkley holdings. With wealth and fortune comes an even greater responsibility of upholding our family’s honor in the community.”

Rolling his eyes to stare at the ceiling above the cell, the blond waited for the words he felt were coming…words to decree the fight he’d have on his hands to get even one penny of his due. Due he was owed as a result of his mama and Tom Barkley’s union of sin.

Nick’s spine stiffened with anger at the rolling eyes of the man inside the cell. He stepped closer only to back off to his previous place when his mother turned towards him. She needed only one glance. A single glance was all it took to have him feeling as if he were just a boy again who was being scolded by the tiny woman who raised a human dynamo of a son. Jarrod bit the inside of his cheek at the flush on Nick’s face from his mother’s single look. He could sympathize with his brother’s look of embarrassment at being backed down from their mother with a single glance for he’d suffered the same fate in the past.

Turning her eyes from Nick, Victoria stated, “The Barkley family works hard every day and we work together. Each member of this family has proven and contributed to our success. You could say your father put his children through some trials and tribulations. He may have been a rancher, a miner and a grower but above all he was a man who wanted his children to succeed in life. He….”

“Mrs. Barkley, I don’t give a damn about what he was….he was nothing to me.” snarled Heath, growing edgier and irritable with each passing moment, each work spoken in pride for a man who left his mama with child in the hell of Strawberry.

Ignoring the blond’s words for she could not deny the truth, Victoria nodded once in agreement, “I am aware of that Mr. Thomson….however, you need to be aware of several things.”

Victoria waited til he moved his eyes back to meet hers before going forward.

“One, you are the son of my husband and I acknowledge the family connection. Two, you feel you are due some…compensation for this.”

“Boy howdy, we rode this bronc already.” Replied Heath sarcastically.

“Three, you are entitled to one fifth of all this family’s holdings entail…”

“I am?” questioned the blond after overcoming the initial shock to her statement and a surge of suspicion welled up inside again.

“You are Tom Barkley’s son, are you not?” asked Victoria.

“Cut to the bone, lady.” Snapped Heath irritably. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“As Tom Barkley’s heir and family member, you are held to the same accountability as the rest of us.” Pointed out Victoria firmly gesturing to her sons and herself. “One of the established rules concerns the need to have a family vote to sell any part of the holdings. Majority rules in our family. You sold part of the holdings without a family vote and therefore, you must repay the part you sold without permission back to our holdings account.”

“Are you crazy?” snorted Heath, his voice unable to hide the incredulity he felt inside at her words before he gestured to his chest. “Those cattle are a fifth mine! He was my father and I’m not paying back nothing!”

“Jarrod.” Said Victoria without looking to her eldest child at the flung out denial.

“As a child born of wedlock….on the wrong side of the blanket in layman’s terms,” summarized Jarrod as he watched the simmering in the younger man reach to a full boil before he added, “The state of California does not and will not recognize any claim of inheritance you would make against our family. You do not have any legal recourse here, Mr. Thomson. This is the law. If you choose to elect not to pay back the amount into our holdings account, we shall be forced to take necessary actions and sue you to regain what our family has lost.”

The blond’s mouth fell open and he shook his head as if to wake himself from a living dream.

“We haven’t quite finished tallying the amount of money you will need to repay. However, we will allow you to work on the family ranch to repay your debt.” Informed Victoria. “And when you have made the losses up and if you have proven to all of us you have what it takes to be a Barkley, you will have earned your fair share….just as the rest of your father’s children have done.”

“Maybe I’ll just tell you all to take a flying leap?” hissed the blond wondering how everything had gone to hell in a hand basket in the span of a day.

“Well, you could tell us that…” agreed Victoria with a smile. “However, I would suggest you weigh a return to prison against working off a debt, Mr. Thomson.”

Chapter 18

It wasn’t the working off the debt part or the threat of a return trip to prison which raised a sense of uneasiness within Heath, it was the unknown part of ‘proving he had what it took to be a Barkley’ that made him hesitate. He wouldn’t admit to them he had no inkling of what the particular ideal meant. He’d spent time in two vastly different prisons and if truth had to be told, he’d hands down spend time in a federal prison again without batting an eye. The time spent in the Nevada correctional facility was similar in some ways to Carterson and yet, as different as night and day. Similar in the screams and moans at night but different in the ways of treatment.

At Carterson, brutality and breaking of spirits was a game reveled in by their Confederate enemies and guards. Men who were the scourge of the grey army and who relished in the torturing of their prisoners. Those guards were the lowest in the human chain who delighted in finding new ways of mental and physical torment. It was a common sight for the prisoners to see the passing of money between their jailors as they bet on the physical stamina and mental rigor of their victim.

In the Nevada prison, although it was far from having any comforts of luxuries of home, it was a place where the warden had only one rule. Do your time without causing any difficulties and follow the rules. No deviations, no disturbances would not cause any retribution from the prison staff. Disorderly conduct and thumbing at the established rules were dealt with harshly and fairly.

As a prisoner doing time and following the rules, you only had to need worry about the others serving time with you. The other prisoners were more the enemy than the men earning their living as the guards. Already hardened by his stint in Carterson and his wild existence, he had early on in his prison term established himself as a man who could readily protect his well-being and wouldn’t be bull-dogged by any man. He pushed back and pushed back hard when necessary to establish himself in the hierarchy of the inner society of the prison population.

It was the unknown that had him start to mentally calculate how much possible time in prison he could get for rustling if he refused. How old would he be when he got out and how much of life would be wasted away behind the high barb wired topped walls? He was in a spot, damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Internally, he had no doubt the three outside his cell would take every opportunity to ensure he didn’t raise up to whatever it meant to be a Barkley and therefore, deny him what he was due. For in their place, he wouldn’t freely give up what they’d built over the years to a man they deemed less than them. Perhaps he should go with the prison term and live to fight another day when he got out. Perhaps…..

Jarrod found he was holding his breath, interested and curious to see how the man in the cell would react to their mother’s terms. To his chagrin, he found the man’s silent contemplation a mirror of one of his father’s traits. Tom Barkley had a fierce temper which could ignite like a powder keg and yet, he was a tender and gentle man with those he loved, friends and family. He rarely acted in haste, oftentimes, contemplating all angles of a problem to find a solution. It bristled the back of the first born to find their father’s bastard son raised a desire in him to yearn for the opportunity to study this volatile man in the family setting on their ranch.

Thrusting his hands on his hips and standing with legs slightly apart, Nick waited and grew further annoyed as they waited for the rustler to respond. He could see a hint of his father’s features in the younger man…things he hadn’t seen before or taken the time to see. The strong chin and the blue eyes that conveyed more than mere words. The color of his hair and skin were a Barkley mark only passed on so far in Audra as he and Jarrod inherited more of their mother’s family looks. A blind man could see the gentleness passed on from their father to Audra wouldn’t be found in the blond inside the cell. Where their little sister was soft like the touch of a light breeze this man was hard and biting like a northern wind.

Victoria found her mind thrust back in time to a memory of her late husband, holding onto the wood mantle of the parlor fireplace and staring into the fiery flames as he contemplated a problem or just the mysteries of life. His lips would thin out into a line, the planes of his face stilled in deliberation and his eyes brooded unseeing as his mind twisted itself around. Taking a quiet breath, she wasn’t aware her fingers tightened around the metal bars as her heart fluttered at the signs of the man she loved in the capricious son he’d had with another woman. A son, she could almost unequivocally guarantee, her husband would have welcomed into his home and spent the rest of his life to take away the stigma of the years he’d missed in the boy’s life.

No one in the valley would say patience was one of Nick Barkley’s strong points for he thrived on the gusto of life. He was a man whose very presence brought security to many and who could fill a room simply by standing in its doorway. Impatient he was for to remain quiet and calm was a direct contrast to how he lived each day of his life. Living to the fullest, working hard and loving deeply.

“Daylight’s wasting, boy!” snarled Nick harshly, his mind running through the tasks for the upcoming day. “Let’s send the boy back to prison where he belongs!”

The term ‘boy’ flung out in a derogatory voice flashed in the pale blue eyes and anger deepened the lines in his face. Heath felt the desire to fling a fist into the belligerent mouth of his half-brother rushing through him. The man’s very being chaffed against him like a scratchy wool undershirt and he let the dislike springing up inside him give him a bout of energy.

“No one sends me anywhere.” Hissed Heath, his eyes narrowed in fury and his voice cold as the frozen blocks of water in Harry’s ice house. “If you’re an example of being a Barkley, any boss* could do it hands down.”

Three sets of eyes showing puzzlement at his statement gazed back at him and a grin lifted the corners of his mouth but the hard cold look in his eyes didn’t change.

“Thanks for the welcome to the family.”

*Boss in prison lingo means ‘sorry son of a b*tch’

Chapter 19

The adrenaline pulsating through his veins and mixing with his blood from the result of the Barkleys’ visit leveled off. It was a while after the three departed through the door to the outer office of the sheriff’s dwelling before he could recline back against the wall and calmly run through his mind the details of their conversation.

He hadn’t checked the laws personally to determine if the lawyer was telling the truth or not as far as any claim of inheritance he may try to establish. Could be the fancy worded man was trying to run one over on him but the thought was immediately dismissed. He doubted that was the case since he could have easily just asked another attorney if Jarrod Barkley spoke the truth or not.

Leaning his head back, he raised his left arm and squeezed his temples. He felt like he’d been rolled in an alley on the waterfront instead of merely having a ‘talk’ with his father’s family. He reasoned much of the exhaustion was due to his physical injury and yet, part was due to way they had appeared to outmaneuver him.

He hadn’t thought to look into the legalities of an inheritance claim and a dark scowl settled on his features. He was quite certain, even though no words to the affect had been spoken, his time spent working to repay the family for selling off part of the cattle would be anything but a picnic.

Ruefully, his lips twitched into a sneer and he lowered the lids over his hardened eyes. He loved a challenge and thrived on competition. There was nothing better to get the old blood started and heart pumping as trying to best another. In this case, he would have to best the prejudices and towering walls of the Barkleys who sought to keep him from what was his.

Legal laws or not….the old stud planted his seed outside of his own pastures and the price was the birth of a half-bred son.

Taking in a breath and letting it out, his mind pictured a battlefield where the Barkley ranch site stood. The line was drawn and the sides chosen. If he were the victor, the spoils would be plentiful. If they were the victors, there would be no consolation prize for he’d have what he started with – nothing. He had more to gain than lose. For in his mind, you can’t lose what you never had.

Opening his eyes at the sound of approaching boots, he watched disinterested as the sheriff unlocked the cell and allowed Howard Merar into the cell, leaving the door open and departing from the holding area. The physician set his bag on the only stool in the small area and calmly waited til his patient moved forward to the edge of the cot.

“How’s the shoulder feel?” asked Howard quietly, concerned eyes catching the tiredness around the pale blue eyes and the pain lines around the blond’s mouth.

“It’s fine.” Mumbled Heath even though he felt as though someone were shoving a red hot poker continually into the same area of his back. Experience told him within a four to five days the pain would nearly be gone as the healing progressed. Until then, he was resigned to living with the pain.

“Is that right?” murmured Howard unwrapping the cloth after untying the sling holding the arm in place to scrutinize the angry wound on the muscular back.

Entwining a fist savagely into the meager blanket on the cot he was sitting on, the blond clenched his jaws tightly together as the town healer’s gentle fingers touched the area around the stitching in his back.

Recovering his handiwork with a clean section of cloth, Howard retied the sling around his patient’s neck and adjusted it slightly. “Mr. Thomson, there’s only a small amount of red around the stitching. It’s healing nicely and thankfully, infection has not set in.”

“So, I can get rid of this?” asked Heath gesturing to the white cloth holding his shoulder still.

“No, not yet. The more you move, the more likely you’ll tear those sutures out.” Informed Howard with a shake of his head. “We need to give it a few more days before I’ll allow you to use your arm on a limited basis. It’s best to give it time to heal properly. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”

“Won’t be here.” Replied Heath without glancing at the doctor.

“Oh?” questioned Howard, puzzled for a moment before asking, “Just where will you be?”

“Seems I got some work to do on the Barkley ranch.” Stated Heath, buttoning his shirt with his left hand and struggling with each small piece of ivory before slowly finishing the task.

“You are in no condition to work, Mr. Thomson.” Surmised Howard forcefully after the young man’s aged eyes looked back up. “Surely, the Barkleys are not expecting a man with your injury to do so.”

“The Barkleys didn’t seem too concerned about it. Mrs. Barkley gave me a choice of working to pay for the loss of the cattle or go to prison.” Shrugged Heath, inwardly smiling at the indignation and disbelief flashing in the medicine man’s eyes. “Don’t worry about it, doc. I’ve been in worse shape before and still had to work. A body’s gotta make do in this world and ain’t no one gonna do it for me.”

Snapping his bag shut, Howard’s forehead deepened with a dark frown before he picked up his hat. Taking one last glance at the man who moved to rest with his back against the wall, he left the cell and didn’t see the faint smile hovering about the blond’s mouth or hear the quiet chuckle as he closed the connecting door firmly shut behind him.

“This could be fun.” Whispered Heath to himself before allowing his eyes to close, his body yearning for sleep to heal itself.

Chapter 20

In the quiet of the which prevailed over the outer office after Jarrod and Victoria departed out on respective tasks, Fred Maden shook his head again in disbelief at the turn of events as he supervised Nick signing the paper to release the charges of rustling against Heath Thomson. Sliding the paper into his top right desk drawer without glancing at it, Fred cast a sideways look towards the holding area before lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Nick, you sure about this?” asked Fred concerned of possible ramifications the family could face by having the ex-criminal in his holding area on their ranch. “You don’t know anything about him….he could be a murderer.”

Frowning darkly, Nick thought for a moment on the sheriff’s words and found himself wondering if murder was the reason Heath Thomson had been in prison. As quick as the thought brewed in his mind, a breeze of reasoning brushed it to the side. He wasn’t sure how he knew but he was positive the blond hadn’t been in prison for murder. No matter what arrogant belligerent words came out of his mouth the simple fact remained….Heath Thomson could have killed them when they were pursuing him. A man didn’t have a rifle like his with a scope if he didn’t know how to use it. Instead he chose to outrun the men chasing him and forego a sure means of escape. A man who didn’t value human life would have taken the presented opportunity to escape and wouldn’t have blinked an eye at leaving any bodies behind.

“I don’t think he was in jail for that, Fred.” Replied Nick after a minute his eyes drifting down to the rifle and gun belt on the sheriff’s desk. “If he were a killer I think me, Duke and Jake would be dead. If not all three...well, at least one or two of us.”

Considering the rancher’s words of reasoning, Fred shrugged, “Maybe he didn’t have time to get set up for the shots. He could’ve been waiting for you to get somewhere without cover only he ran out of luck.”

Shaking his head in denial, Nick answered, “No, we were out in the open with no cover. He wouldn’t have had to worry about trying to get at us. He could have opened up and shot us out of the saddle.”

Listening to the deep sound of Howard Merar’s voice in the holding area, Fred scowled, “I still don’t like it, Nick.”

“We’ll make sure he’s watched all the time.” Assured Nick before clapping their old family friend on the back. “Thanks for worrying though.”

“I still don’t like it but there ain't much I can do about it since you got your mind all made up. He can leave when you’re ready. Just let me know if he gives you any problems.” grumbled Fred as the doctor exited the holding area, closing the door firmly before fixing a glare at the two men looking towards him.

“Nick, surely you and your family are not entertaining the idea of putting that man to work!” exclaimed Howard Merar in a raised voice. “He is in no condition to work as a ranch hand with that wound in his shoulder.”

“He’s paying off a debt he owes, doc.” Countered Nick irritably, his voice raising in answer to their old family friend’s level of indignation and the accusation in his tone.

"I find it difficult to believe your mother suggested this...this..ultimatium." voiced Howard, his brown eyes narrowed in confusion over the behavior of the woman he'd known over twenty years.

"Actually, it was Nick's idea first." stated Fred settling back in his chair and laying his entwined hands across his stomach. "Victoria and Jarrod agreed, Howard."

Glancing towards their town's peacemaker, Howard shook his head in disbelief, "I must protest this Fred on Mr. Thomson's behalf! Regardless of what he has or hasn't done, it's not right to put in harm's way in his condition. The wound is healing nicely, however, to put him in jeopardy like this is unneedlessly reckless and in all good conscience, I must ask you to reconsider."

Rolling his eyes, Nick's jaws clenched together and he put his leather gloved fists on the desk, leaning forward and meeting the healer's unflinching brown eyes. "We're not a family of heathens who would work someone to death, doc! Your objection, as my big brother would say, is duly noted. Don't waste any more of your time worrying over...him."

The definitive look in the hazel eyes of the prominent rancher squelched any further protests from the town physician. Stubbornness at it's highest form ran through the Barkley family like the veins of ore stuck deep in their mines. You could chip away at it for years and in most cases would never even reach the middle of it. Resigning himself to surrendering at the moment, Howard realized he'd have to circle around and try a different approach to ensure his patient's welfare was not purposely or intentionally marred. Clenching his fingers around the handles of his black bag, the physician shook his head once again at the turn of events he couldn't stop and nodded, silently bidding his fellow town citizens good day. Nick let out a breath after he watched the man who'd been there since the day he was born leave the office with a forceful closing of the door.

"He's not gonna be the last one to wonder about why your family's doing this, Nick." offered Fred leaning his forearms on the desk. "Can't say I really blame him cause I don't understand it myself."

"We got our reasons." replied Nick.

Fred shrugged, "Just don't say you weren't warned if anything happens, Nick. Remember, you can always put the charges back against him if he doesn't hold up to his end of the deal."

Nodding once, Nick sighed and looked towards the connecting door. He found himself almost second guessing their decision to bring this man in the holding area back to their home but the realization of the alternative quickly disspelled the hesitation. It was better to have this man who was his father's bastard in a place where his every action seen and his every word censured to a degree. The knowledge of who he was would eventually get out to the community but he didn't feel up to dancing to that particular music right now. Straightening and walking to the inner door, he opened it with only a whisper of sound and entered the holding area. Standing in the opening to the cell, he raked his gaze over the man reclining in the corner of the cell with his eyes closed. In a flash, Nick's mind remember the twisted scarring on the middle back of the blond and he again felt a sickness welling up inside him at the evidence of brutality. Where and who had done such a thing? When did it happen and why? The questions sprang up in his mind and he forced them away by telling himself it was none of his concern. His concern was only for his mother, sister and his older brother. They were his family and the only ones who warranted his caring....not this mongrel stray skirting around on the edges of their family unit threatening them with teeth barred.

Lifting his chin slightly, the hazel eyes burned with anger over the situation this man forced on them and he steadily met the cold blue eyes which opened, his voice cold as the highest elevations in the Sierras.

"Get on your feet."

To be continued…