Retribution

Chapters 55-69

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 55

 

Evangeline sat on a chair in the parlor absently thumbing through a catalog of the latest woman’s fashions and listening to her father who had finally healed enough to leave the guestroom a few days before and now sat on the settee reading a bedtime story to the twins.  The Barkley family reveled around the newest extensions of their family and helped fulfill the hours of the day but the nights were three times as long and ten times as lonely for the wife who waited for her husband.

 

The air in the house was as oppressive as the heat surrounding the outer walls to the adults who waited for news.  It had been over a week since Heath sent word after leaving the ranch in his effort to take the reins of the situation out of his adversary’s hands.  The wire didn’t say where he was but simply sent his love to his family and stated Charlie Whitehorse was fine. 

 

Now, they all wondered if the wire were true for Duke had heard a rumor while he was in town that Vern Hickson had shot Heath in Stanislaus.   Heath Thomson’s name was flying around the community as the only man to live after receiving a bullet from Vern Hickson.   She and her father held steadfastly to their faith in the friendship Vern had with Heath, neither believed such a thing to be true.

 

Shaking her head, she remembered the awful shouting match Nick had with his Father and Jarrod when the foreman came to the house with the news.  The rancher wanted to head to the town of Stanislaus but the others talked him out of it, wanting more concrete proof before making a move.  No one wanted to give Crown any window of opportunity to cause more pain for Heath or give him more leverage to use against the blond. 

 

Closing her eyes and leaning her head back, she let her mind wander through her memories.

 

She looked down in shock at the young man who’d fallen into her arms, the blood on his shirt widening her eyes and she tightened her hold on the slim body when she felt someone pulling him from her.

 

“No!” screamed Evangeline, clutching the blond savior to her chest protectively.

 

Thad placed both his hands on his daughter’s face and tilted her head upwards, tearing her eyes away from the heavy body of the young man laying across her lap.  The shock of the events reflected in her face.

 

“It’s daddy, honey.”  soothed Thad softly caressing her cheek with his thumb.  “Let go of him now, Evangeline.  He needs a doctor to tend him.  Com’n honey.”

 

The deep voice filled her ears and she blinked slowly, nodding slightly before the tears fell onto her cheeks.  The realization of what happened seeped into her body and shook her uncontrollably. 

 

Two of the other customers gently pulled the injured man off her legs and together carried the stranger who placed himself in front of a bullet to the physician’s office down the street.  Thad gently wrapped his arms around his daughter, his hand brushing down her auburn hair as she sobbed into his shirt, holding on to the material with two small fists.

 

“Everything’s fine honey.  You’re safe.” repeated Thad over and over, his own mind stunned at what had occurred. 

 

“Who was he?” asked Evangeline through gasps of breath.

 

“I don’t know who he is.” replied Thad with a shake of his head.  “He’s someone I’m eternally grateful to.”

 

“I want to see him, papa.” whimpered Evangeline after several minutes.  “Please.”

 

Pulling back and looking into his daughter’s tear stained face, Thad nodded and helped lift her up.  The  banker kept his arm around her waist, her legs shaking and weakened from the shock as he walked his daughter down the street to the physician’s office.  Leaving his manager and employees behind to deal with the aftermath of the robbery with the sheriff.

 

Entering, he left her in the waiting room and made his way to the only examination room.  Evangeline closed her eyes and trembled on the sofa, her hands clenched in the skirts of her dress and her mind seeing only the handsome face of the man who appeared to be her age or perhaps a year older.

 

Her father’s voice broke into her thoughts twenty minutes later and he motioned for her to follow.  Pushing herself up, she crossed the waiting room and entered the open door, slowly making her way to the bedside.  Stopping, she ran her eyes over the face relaxed and asleep before blushing at the chest which was uncovered above the bandage wrapped across his stomach.

 

“Can I touch his hand?” asked Evangeline looking into the kind eyes of the town physician who nodded.  “Will he be alright?”

 

“He’ll be fine Miss Benton with rest.  You can touch his hand if your father says it’s okay.” smiled the older man before leaving the room.

 

Azure eyes looked pleadingly at her father who nodded slightly.  Reaching out slowly, her small fingers clasped around the right hand of the blond stranger which lay on the bed. 

 

“Daddy, can I sit with him for a little while?  Please?” whispered Evangeline.

 

Hesitating a minute, Thad sighed and replied, “Only a few minutes, honey.  Then you need to rest too.  You’ve had a horrible shock.  I’m going to check in at the bank and with the sheriff, then I’ll be back.”

 

Placing a kiss on her cheek, Thad wasn’t sure his daughter heard any words that he said as she kept her grasp on the tanned hand of the blond and sat in the chair by the bed.  Stopping at the door, Thad suddenly did a double take and looked back at her profile.  The image of his dear departed wife in his daughter’s profile took his breath away for a moment. 

 

The tilt to her head as she kept her eyes locked on the young man’s face was familiar to him and for the first time, he saw the quiet strength in his daughter that had been in her mother.   Smiling to himself, Thad sighed heavily and thanked the physician before making his way back to the bank.

 

Evangeline found it difficult to keep her eyes off the chest of the blond who was sleeping.  She’d never seen the chest of a man, not even her father’s and her cheeks flushed as she struggled to move her eyes away. 

 

Squeezing the hand gently she was holding, she studied every feature of his pale face, shadowed with a short growth of whiskers.  She wondered what color his eyes were before she moved her gaze down to his lips.  She found herself mesmerized and was unaware her tongue had darted out to wet her bottom lip.

 

A slight movement of his head broke her gaze and she stood up, hovering over the bed but keeping her hold on his hand.  She saw the movement beneath his eyelids and reached up to run her hand over his blond hair.

 

“Shhh…it’s okay.  You’re gonna be fine.” assured Evangeline softly, finding she was no longer holding his hand but he was holding hers and his eyes were drowsily looking up at her face.  Smiling into the light blue eyes which were confused and pained, she found herself lost in their depths for a moment.  “My name is Evangeline Benton.  What’s yours?”

 

“Heath.” whispered the blond finding his throat parched and dry.  “Heath…Thomson, miss.”

 

“Thank you, Heath Thomson.” smiled the auburn haired girl.  “You saved my life.”

 

Clenching his jaw against a sudden burst of pain when he tried to move, Heath closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, holding onto her hand when she tried to move away.  Several minutes passed before a lop-sided grin greeted her and his eyes moved open again.

 

Heath weakly pulled her hand up to his lips, gallantly placing a kiss on the back of her fingers.  She held onto his hand with both of hers, smiling down and watching as he fell back into a painfree darkness. “Twas…my…pleasure..Ange.”

 

Evangeline remembered how her heart had started pounding rapidly at the shortened version of her name leaving his lips.  It was the heart beat of love and Heath claimed he’d known since that day she was for him.  Her name would be the only one to ever leave his lips in the years to come during the height of passion and love.

 

Raising her head from the back of the chair, she was surprised to see the settee across from her was empty and smiled to herself.  How her father ever got the twins to be so quiet as to leave the room without her knowing was beyond her. 

 

Since they’d been at the Barkley ranch, the children had relished the extra attention received by the two men who were their grandfathers, their step grandmother, uncles, aunt and their friend, Mr. Silas.    Evan had become as attached to Nick as Heather had to Jarrod.  Neither youngster understood why they couldn’t go with the two men who never left the ranch unescorted.

 

Crossing to the window, Evangeline looked into the velvet darkness of the night and glanced over at the sound of footsteps.

 

“Eva, you should be resting.” admonished Tom making his way over to her, his arm held against his chest by a sling.  “Your father and I put the twins to bed.”

 

Smiling at name the peppered haired man said, she asked, “Did they put up a fight, Mr. Barkley?”

 

Holding up his thumb and index finger, Tom winked, “Only a tiny one.  Not so much us two old men couldn’t handle it.”

 

Laughing for a moment, she smiled and shook her head.  “You two are spoiling them terribly.”

 

“Ah, but that is a grandparent’s prerogative Eva.” replied Tom with a smile before his eyes turned serious.  “Are you okay, my dear?”

 

Nodding, she sighed deeply, “I miss him and wish we’d hear something.  I think I’ll go crazy from the not knowing.”

 

“Yes, I know.” agreed Tom wistfully turning his brown eyes to the outside world and placing a comforting arm across his daughter-in-law’s shoulders.  “Heath’s fine because I won’t contemplate otherwise, Eva.  Fate has brought us together and I will not lose him.”

 

Leaning against the large man and letting her thoughts take her away into the darkness of the night, both were startled at the sound of knocking on the grand oak door.  Nick passing through the foyer on his way to the staircase, detoured to the door and opened it as Tom and Evangeline moved from the parlor.

 

“He’s burning up!”

 

 

 

Chapter 56

 

Sitting at the oak desk staring down into the ledger book opened before him, the hazel eyes didn’t see the rows and columns, the hand written entries for the winery encompassing the carefully gathered evidence of a steadily thriving Barkley enterprise.  All he saw staring back at him were two light colored eyes which’d haunted his dreams the past week. 

 

Dreams starting pleasant and hopeful quickly turned out into a land of nastiness and despair, a land of blackness and death.  The sparkle of life in the blue orbs looking at him would fade out and leave only emptiness behind. 

 

The fragile beginnings of their bond of brotherhood, the new growth would cease and a longing was left behind, a longing which would never be fulfilled for the connection had been severed before its powerful strength could firmly take hold. 

 

Closing his eyes for a moment, Nick again felt a sense of dread creep up inside him.  The foreboding increasing until it reached his throat, tightening it as one would twist a bolt, slowly until no more give could be felt. 

 

Shaking his head and forcing the constriction downward, the dark haired man again reviewed the wishes of his father and older brother.  The verbal sparring of a week ago continued on in his internal fight, his internal war.  The need to see his newest brother, this man who risked himself for the safety of the rest of them, the rest of those who were his family whether labeled so in his mind or not. 

 

The need to reassure himself of Heath’s presence of life and not death woke with him each day, riding on his broad shoulders as he went through the motions of his position, his responsibilities under the eyes of his protective men.  His mind understood the dangers of rushing headlong based on rumor only but his heart didn’t care. 

 

He’d always been a man of action, a man protective to a smothering point of those he loved and cared for.  With Heath Thomson, his heart knew no difference for they were of the same mold, the same breed of man, they had the same soul.

 

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Nick shut the ledger forcibly startling the others in the room as they all went about the recently established ritual.  One of the older men in the mansion would read a nighttime story to the twins while the others spent that span of time in the study to ensure the children a time of serenity and calm before bedtime.

 

Looking at the surprised faces, Nick stood and mumbled, “Sorry” before leaving the study to head upstairs with the others’ eyes on his hunched back, their faces sporting matched looks of understanding and compassion mixed with a need of knowledge.

 

The knock on the mansion and a quick glance to the grandfather clock sent a frown across his face for a moment before his mind theorized it was more than likely the foreman coming to announce the newest addition to the Barkley horse line was about to make an appearance.  Waving to his father and Evangeline who started towards the foyer, Nick opened the door and gaped for a moment in shock.

 

 

“He’s burning up!” declared Charlie through clenched jaws.

 

The tall dark haired man looked as if he’d been fighting all day, his long black raven wing colored hair was in disarray, his face sported a shiner.  His left arm struggled to keep his grip on the fevered blond’s right arm while trying to grab the flailing left hand of his time locked friend with his own right.  The rising temperature increased his friend’s agitation and enflamed the past to gigantic proportions.

 

In the blond’s mind, the past and present mixed together, forming inconsistency in timeframes, jumbled reasoning, inconceivable actions, consequences and retaliation.  Heath struggled against the disarrangement of staunch thoughts, his body reacting to what his mind forced him to witness and feel.

 

“No!” stammered Heath, gazed eyes widened with panic pushing against the new set of hands joining in the battle to ensure his presence in the location where the confederate prison staff greedily passed the cruelties inflicted on them by the world onto the dwindling number of union prisoners.

 

Nick wasn’t aware he’d called Heath’s name several times as his hands were reaching to take hold of the blond’s left arm.  Capturing the limb and holding it in a secure firm grip.  His loud voice, soothing and insistent, overrode the gasps of his father and Evangeline at the sight of the two bedraggled men.

 

“Heath!” pleaded Nick, knowing the man on the other side of his brother was Charlie Whitehorse from Evangeline and Thad’s descriptions. “You’re home, little brother.  You’re safe, Heath!”

 

Sluggish eyes met concerned and questioning eyes for a flicker of time, blinking away the shroud of confusion after a second.  The fight lowering a level in the shaking form and he shook his blond head.  The eyes dawned with a forced recognition of the hazel eyes’ owner and his head shook negatively, seeing no one except the hazel eyes. 

 

“Crown’ll…come.” groaned the blond, fighting against the darkness he sensed pending with the stopping of his panicked feverish struggle in the past memories, pending with the opening his lack of struggling allowed.  “Can’t…not…here…Ni…Ni…”

 

Heath’s head slumped forward and his weight turned burdensome with the buckling of his knees, his body held by two strong hands.  Nick moved his arms to effortlessly pick up the unconscious man and lead the way through the family who gathered around after hearing the commotion in the grand foyer to the auburn haired woman whose face glistened with tears.  

 

Reaching out a trembling hand, Evangeline touched her husband’s cheek before gathering her skirts and lead the way up the grand staircase with Nick following on her heels.  In the foyer, the dark eyes suddenly tired and pained watched and a small sigh of relief escaped before he was unaware of the two sets of hands grabbing onto his falling form.

 

Jarrod caught the tall man as he slid to the floor with his father’s good hand latching onto the nearest arm of the copper skinned man.  Lowering him gently to the floor, Tom caught Silas’ eyes and motioned to the oak door.

 

“Have Duke send for the doctor then have him come in to help carry Mr. Whitehorse upstairs.” 

 

The words barely left the mouth of the patriarch before the long-time family friend was gone into the darkness of the night.  Jarrod quickly ran his hands over the relaxed man, frowning when his hands probed his right side and a moan of pain was heard from the freedom of movement beneath his fingers. 

 

Tom moved aside the dark hair, scowling at the gash hidden under its curtain before Duke was suddenly there beside them, advising one of the hands was already through the gates of the Barkley ranch and heading to Stockton.

 

“Let’s get him upstairs.” commanded Tom, pushing himself upwards and watching as the injured man was carefully lifted. 

 

Jarrod and Duke climbed the stairs and Tom glanced around, not surprised to find his wife was absent, knowing she had undoubtedly sent Audra to gather the first aid supplies and would be with his returning son. 

 

Stopping with his hand on the banister and his left foot on the bottom step, Tom felt his heart clench and his stomach turn at the dried blood on the clothes of Heath and the fever which held him in it’s grip.  A quiver of fear settled into his spine and he shuddered trying to shake off it’s effects before he climbed to the second floor of the mansion.

 

 

 

Chapter 57

 

Thad held the bedroom door open, standing back to allow Nick entry into the room.  The older man lightly touched the back of his pale faced daughter in support as he followed her into the room, crossing to the opposite side of the bed.  The dark haired rancher lowered the dirt crusted clothed legs to the bed, holding up the relaxed body of his younger brother while Evangeline reached for the nearest pillow, positioning it up against the headboard with her uncasted hand.

 

“Dad add those pillows so we can prop Heath up.” instructed the auburn haired woman moving to the stand holding the basin and pitcher.  Pouring the water into the shallow ceramic basin, she offered a small smile of gratefulness when two strong tanned hands appeared and the bowl was moved to the bedside table. 

 

Setting the basin on the bedside table, Nick hovered anxiously beside his sister-in-law, who dipped the handcloth into the water and gently wiped her husband’s face, his flushed cheeks and raspy breathing unfortunate familiar signs to her.

 

“Nick, can you help me with his shirt?” asked Evangeline glancing over to her father, his worried eyes meeting hers.  “Charlie’s downstairs, Dad.”

 

“I’ll see what I can find out.” offered Thad with a quick nod and a squeeze of his son-in-law’s hand.  “I’ll be right back, Heath.”

 

Nick quickly unbuttoned the sweat drenched shirt pushing open the sections of cloth and stopping at the resistance felt on the right side.  Leaning over the blond slightly, he lowered his head and frowned.

 

“It’s stuck, Eva.” announced Nick, his voice quiet as the world waking in the dawn.  “Looks like his bandage moved down and it bled some afterwards.”

 

“Here.  Use this to see if you can loosen it.” suggested the small woman thrusting the water soaked cloth into Nick’s hand.  “I need to see how bad it is.”

 

Nodding, Nick squeezed the water from the cloth down onto the dried section while slowly pulling the cloth away.  Heath’s head moved on the pillows, his moan of pain cut into the other two hearts thumping furiously in the room.  Blinking away the moisture causing her vision to waiver, Evangeline  brushed the back of her fingers down his hot cheek, her voice soothing his pain filled movements.

 

“Shhhh….it’s almost done darling…..shhhh.”

 

Nick hissed a sigh of relief after the water loosen the dried blood’s hold on the material of the shirt.   Handing the cloth back to Evangeline, Nick glanced upward at the rustle of skirts beside him.

 

“Nick, you may need to hold Heath down.” said Victoria taking the cloth from Evangeline after squeezing her hand in support.  Nick nodded and stood crossing to the other side of the bed and kneeling on the mattress, ready to steady the unconscious blond if need be. 

 

Small fingers wrinkled with time and sure in experience from carving out an empire in the wilderness land of California, slowly but firmly cleansed the area of the offending wound.  The blond’s head moved and mumbled incoherent words left his lips.  Nick caught and held onto the left hand which reached slowly across towards the area of the fire in the injured man’s body, softly beckoning his brother to lie still and offering his reassurances to the unaware blond.

 

Evangeline exchanged cloths with Victoria, helping as much as she could in her limited capacity as the older woman painstakingly cleansed the battered side to reveal the redness around the recent line of stitching.   Nick reached across and gently rolled Heath onto his left side, holding him in place while the exit wound was subjected to the same treatment.

 

“It’s infected.” stated the silver haired woman into the room filled with the sounds of harsh breaths and soft moans.  “Nick, lets take off his shirt and clean Heath as much as we can.  Howard may want to remove the stitches when he gets here to see the inside of the wound and try to determine the depth of the infection.”

 

Within minutes, the blond was stripped and examined, his bruised body revealing the hint of a story which was untold and a mystery to those in the room.   Pulling the sheet up to cover his lower body, Evangeline sat beside her husband, her hand wiping the water soaked cloth across his broad chest, the skin hot and seeming to sizzle from the contact of the droplets.  Raising the cloth to wipe his face, she stopped and leaned forward, her hand moving down to rest on his chest at the spot of color suddenly appearing from beneath his eyelids. 

 

Biting back the groan of pain rising in his throat, Heath hissed in a quick breath, his parched throat constricted convulsively from dryness and he tried to curl on his side from the radiation of pain when a wet cough shook his frame, unknowingly his legs pushed his wife from her seat on the bed after he tried to move away from the pain. 

 

Victoria grabbed onto Evangeline preventing her from falling to the floor.  Nick held onto the groaning man from behind, the coughing bout causing excruciating pain to the blond who squeezed his eyes shut and his fists clenched in a white knuckled grip.

 

“I know it hurts, little brother.  I know.” whispered Nick in the blond’s ear, his arms wrapped around the younger man to prevent him from moving any further, hazel eyes filled with fear at the heat he could feel through his black shirt. 

 

Victoria poured a glass of water, hoping to prevent any more bouts of coughing by replacing the moisture taken from his body’s tissues by his feverish state.  Holding the glass to Heath’s lips thinned out in a line against the pain, the Barkley matriarch and Evangeline coaxed the blond into taking a sip after several minutes.  The voices of the women were familiar and he forced open the coverings on his eyes, staring out with a glazed look into the female faces before sluggishly looking down at the arms that were holding him in place.

 

“Ni…” whispered the blond weakly unconsciously leaning more into the strong secure arms of the man whose bonds of brotherhood he’d been previously fighting against being wrapped in.  “Ange?”

 

“I’m right here, Heath.” assured Evangeline, taking hold of one of his hands and smiling tenderly.  “I’m here honey.”

 

“Dr. Merar’s on his way, Heath.” said Victoria softly brushing her fingers through the blond hair slick with perspiration.  “Rest now, son.  You’re safe here.”

 

Eyes filled with confusion and fever blinked several times before he negatively shook his head slightly, trying to move his face upwards to look at the man behind him, needing to relay some knowledge, some important facet of information.  His mouth opened but the effort was too much and his eyes closed, the darkness split with fingers of fire again pulled him under.

 

 

 

Chapter 58

 

Stepping into the hallway, Thad caught a quick glimpse of the half Cherokee being carried into a room three doors down.  The older man took a moment to check on his grandchildren, satisfied the two miniature blonds were asleep before he made his way towards the room to be by the side of their family friend, bypassing the Barkley women in the hallway on their way to the room he’d just left.  He was sure the calmness of their features was a façade, a deception to the anxiety lying within as it was in him.

 

With each step on the finely woven runner beneath his boots, his mind whirled with questions.   His heart pumped faster in his chest and he shook his head at the fear the fever inside his son-in-law created. 

 

The young blond, a physically fine specimen of a man whose strength appeared to have no weakness, was the only person he’d known who could find himself down and out in record time from fever and infection.  The muscular shell covering the blond hid the internal weakness caused by poverty, abuse and neglect. 

 

A simple winter cold could take hold deep inside and send the blond into a downward spiral it seemed within a matter of hours.  The man who loved the outdoors, who thrived in his active physical lifestyle despised the weakness inside his body.  He fought hard against it and sometimes he won, sometimes he lost.  On those times when he lost to his weakness, Heath needed the strength of his family to help him rally and prayers to help keep him from succumbing wholly to his weakness’ hold.

 

Sending a silent prayer upwards to guide the blond out of his fevered environment, Thad took a deep breath and entered the room, approaching the side of the bed, smiling into the two black eyes slowly opening, the raven colored hair a stark contrast to the whiteness of the feather pillows.

 

“Hey Charlie.” greeted Thad warmly.

 

“Thad.” groaned the half-breed, hissing in a sharp breath before scowling and pushing at the strange hands probing his ribs.  “Hey, watch it!  I’m okay, they’re just bruised and I’m just tired!”

 

Arching an eyebrow at the snarled declaration, Jarrod said calmly, “Maybe they are, Mr. Whitehorse and then again, maybe they’re not.  We’ll let the doctor decide when he gets here.”

 

The black eyes narrowed as they glanced at each of the strange faces before meeting the familiar brown eyes with a questioning look.  “Heath?”

 

“Evangeline’s looking after him.” informed Thad softly.  “What happened, Charlie?”

 

Nodding and clenching his jaw at the throbbing in his head, the men in the room exchanged glances after a string of curses left the copper skinned man’s lips, ending with a muttered.  “Damn fool stubborn kid.”

 

“Charlie?” prodded Thad firmly with everyone else looking on.  “What happened to you two?  Did you see Vern?”

 

Snorting suddenly, the tall man sucked in a breath and slowly exhaled as he struggled upwards further on the pillows, thankful for the two sets of hands which leant their assistance.  Tom saw the questions in the dark eyes and put a hand on the shoulder of Thad, introducing himself, Duke and Jarrod to the injured man.

 

“From Heath’s descriptions, I figured that’s who you all were.” admitted Charlie softly before wiping a hand across his paled face.  “Vern shot Heath.”

 

No sound could be heard in the room as all three men fought to comprehend in their minds the solidification of the rumor making its way across the community.  The realization it was fact shook them all and Thad frowned.

 

“But why?” questioned Thad holding onto the footboard of the bed.  “Heath’s practically the only friend Vern has.  Hickson’s always said that!”

 

“He still is.  With friends like him though, you don’t need no enemies.”  smirked Charlie holding up a shaky hand to stop the litany of questions he could see waiting to spill forth from the others in the room. 

 

Looking into the eyes of the father of his unit peer, the reason for the unexpected action by Vern Hickson was relayed.  The brown eyes of the Barkley leader darkened with anger at the disclosure of the bounty on his head and the heads of his two other sons before his heart filled with dread at the knowledge Heath had been pushed to the point of perhaps following the same path as his friend, Vern Hickson.

 

“Vern’s gonna try to get on Crown’s good side, if he’s got one.  He’s gonna try to get the goods on ‘em.”

 

Jarrod shook his head in disbelief, glancing over to his father and Thad.  “Hickson’s playing a dangerous game.   At this very moment, he may be dead.   Why on earth would he think Crown would believe he was no longer Heath’s friend?”

 

“Because Hickson’s a man who hires out his gun.” answered Tom thoughtfully, pursing his lips together before adding.  “Crown probably figures every man has his price and may think he’s found Hickson’s.  Money is a powerful motivator to a lot of people.   Some would do anything for a mere fraction of the amount of the bounties.”

 

Chuckling and leaning his head back onto the pillows, Charlie winced in pain for a moment, his hand holding his injured side.  “That’s what Vern’s counting on.  If Crown knew anything about Hickson, he’d know once Vern calls you friend, the man’s as loyal as a dog and ten times as protective.”

 

Shaking his head, Thad took in a deep gulp of air and let it out slowly.  “Let’s hope Crown doesn’t even get a whiff of suspicion when Vern meets with him or...”

 

“Either way Vern’s out for blood cause of what Crown’s men did to you and Evangeline, Thad.  Vern’s not gonna let that snake near the twins.  He’s on the warpath.  The only thing missing is his paint.” sighed Charlie reaching to lightly finger the throbbing gash in the side of his head, muttering under his breath.  “I hope we see Vern soon I got a bone to pick with him.”

 

“Hickson do that to you?” queried Jarrod gesturing to the wound under the dark hair.

 

“Not directly.” admitted the copper skinned man in a tired voice.  “He rented a wagon for me to bring Heath here after the doc patched him up.  Things were going good the first two days.  I even got Heath to agree to riding in the wagon.”

 

Charlie winked at Thad who chuckled and shook his head, the older man almost able to hear the arguing between the old friends even though he wasn’t there to actually witness it.  Jarrod and his father looked at the two men in puzzlement until Charlie continued on with his tale, none of the men noticing Duke leaving the room at the sign of the doctor’s surrey entering the ranch yard from the bedroom window.

 

“Anyways, we were going along good til we tried to cross the Mokelumne north of here towards dark the third day.  Heath was in the wagon bed and there musta been a hole in the river or something.  The damn axle broke and the horses tried to bolt in their harnesses.  The wagon tipped and dropped Heath into the water.  The next thing I remember is the damn stubborn fool was carrying my carcass up the bank.  Saved my life but the horses took off and he started bleeding again.” scowled Charlie remembering the state of the blond after he’d come back to his senses.  “Kid swallowed a lot of water, Thad before he pulled me out.  Too much for his own good.  Course walking the rest of the way here didn’t help either.”

 

“Why didn’t you try to get another horse or wagon?” exclaimed Jarrod.   “Lodi’s between here and the Mokelumne!  Surely you could have found someone with a horse to sell or loan.”

 

Charlie smirked, “Heath tried to get two horses out of a farmer but he only had the one and his missus was expectin’ so he wasn’t too willing to part with it, he backed up his argument with a scattergun so we let him alone.  We had to stay away from towns cause we weren’t sure where Crown was and neither of us was in shape for an unexpected fight.”

 

“What is this bone you have to pick with Hickson?” asked Tom curiously, watching the dark eyes flash for a moment.

 

“If Vern was more like the farmer, he coulda picked out a good wagon instead of one with a weak axle.” snorted Charlie suddenly feeling tired and unable to keep his eyes open.  “That damn stubborn cuss wouldn’t hurt himself more by keeping me from drowning.  Fool kid.”

 

Smiling at the tenderness in the scowled words, the men looked up when  Duke knocked on the door and peeked in his head, motioning slightly, “Dr. Merar’s in with Heath.

 

 

 

Chapter 59

 

“Evening.” greeted Howard to the worried faces filling with a touch of relief upon his entering the room.

 

Walking to the bedside and placing his medical bag beside the basin, the dark haired man swept his experienced eyes over the blond as he pulled out his pocketwatch, his fingers lightly holding onto the strong wrist, now limp and boneless. 

 

Nodding at Evangeline and Victoria’s concerns, Howard looked across the bed and met the hazel eyes watching his every move for a moment before pulling the sheet covering Heath further down to expose the reddened skin around the stitching.

 

“Those’ll have to come out.” muttered Howard with a shake of his head at the bruising on his patient’s body, gesturing with his hand before reaching into his bag and removing a stethoscope .  “Any idea how he got the rest of these?”

 

“No.” replied Nick quickly, his deep voice forced an octave higher from the worry catching in his throat.

 

“The axle of the wagon he was riding in broke when they were crossing a stream and he was thrown into the water.” informed Tom from the doorway as all eyes turned at the sound of his voice. 

 

Stepping further into the room, he stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes not leaving his blond son’s flushed face.  “He saved his friend Charlie from drowning and further aggravated his own injuries.”

 

Gasping, Evangeline quickly grabbed onto the a nearest arm of the town physician, her voice low and rapidly firing words, “Heath’s prone to colds and lung ailments, Dr. Merar.  What’s an inconvenience to most can have him flat on his back for a week if we don’t catch it in time.  Last winter we almost lost him to pneumonia after he got back from helping Sheriff Timms track down a bank robber.”

 

The ocean colored eyes were wide in the face of the small woman and Howard squeezed the hand holding his sleeve in a deathgrip.  Smiling, the older man nodded his understanding.  “Well, let’s have a listen to his chest.  His fever could just be from his infected stitches.”

 

Victoria entwined her arm through the trembling girl’s beside her, no one made a sound other than the blond who was unaware of the increased gathering in the room.  Howard closed his eyes listening carefully to his patient’s lungs, only opening them and motioning for Nick to lift the blond up against his chest so he could move the black piece of rubber across the muscular back. 

 

“You can lay him back down now, Nick.” stated Howard pulling the stethoscope down to hang around his neck.  “He’s got some fluid in his lungs alright.  Not what he needs right now.”

 

“Damn.” whispered Evangeline, shamefully turning crimson when she realized the curse had been heard by all in the room.

 

“Double damn.” agreed Tom firmly, raising his eyes to their old family friend.  “What do we need to do?”

 

 

Contrary to society’s views of the man slowly riding his horse down the main street of Stockton two days earlier, he did have a soul and a heart.  Vern Hickson, born Gabriel Vern Hicks to a gambler father and saloon girl mother, could count on his one hand the number of people he’d ever called friend in his lifetime.   

 

His earliest recollection of life as a child was riding the riverboats with his unmarried parents.  The life was nomadic and unsettling while at the same time boring and exciting to a child.  He spent his pre-teen years on the fringes of society after his parents abandoned him one night on the streets of New Orleans.  The gangly quiet teen had been taken in after several months by the members of the society which claimed the docks as their territory. 

 

Many a man he saw slain on those docks, many went missing if they didn’t keep their wits about them in the darkness of the sweltering Louisiana nights.  They’d find themselves as food for the animals inhabiting the nearby swamps or find they’d earn free passage on a ship sailing to the eastern parts of the world. 

 

Gabriel Vern Hicks was seemingly born without remorse or conscience.  As a child, his studious eyes could be unsettling to adults, the lack of fire or emotion in them hinted at the coldness inside, a coldness born in him and simply a part of who he was.

 

He’d taken his first life on those docks as his way of acceptance into the society which protected the lone teenager.  It was an offering of his worthiness as one of them and a step into the profession he excelled in today.  Quickly becoming known for his deadly aim and grim reaper abilities amongst the officers of the law, he left Louisiana behind and headed north before turning west. 

 

After crossing the Continental Divide, Vern Hickson was born. 

 

The only game his father would play with him as a young boy was poker.  His father was not typical as most fathers except in the aspect of wanting to pass the knowledge he possessed down to his son.  His father didn’t know all the answers to life’s mysteries but he sure knew the ins and outs of poker, reading the cards and reading people, dealing from the bottom and other devices used by the cheats who didn’t want to place their faith in the cards dealt.  

 

Vern’s natural dexterity, a quick eye and an icy core benefited him in his education of the game.  He enjoyed a good card game more for the chance to hone his reading of people than for the riches in the pot on the table.  Any winnings at the end of the night was an added bonus since in essence he was a frugal man.  He was a man of simple means to an extent. 

 

He stayed in hotels when he traveled but didn’t stay in the best money could buy.  He ate in restaurants but didn’t need a steak dinner with all the fixings at each meal.  More often than not, he only needed a bowl of soup or stew with a couple slices of bread to satisfy his hunger. 

 

He didn’t imbibe in alcoholic beverages to excess.  He simply couldn’t afford to for responses dulled by liquor could be a death wish to a man in his profession.  When his work necessitated entering a saloon to gather information or meet a client, a single drink could last him all night. 

 

Vern Hickson earned his living in a way that would give most nightmares.  He had the ability to detach himself mentally from those who were unlucky enough to find themselves looked at through his scope.  He wasn’t squeamish at close-up killing.  He was exceptionally adept with a pistol though personally he preferred to handle most of his business from a long range distance, it was less messy and less complicated.

 

He, like most businessmen, spent more on the equipment needed to run their business than they did on their wives or mistresses.  Though he did not have any female companion in his life, he did spend more money on his weapons and bullets than he would ever contemplate spending on himself.   He wasn’t a rich man and neither was he destitute, he was monetarily comfortable. 

 

Vern Hickson wasn’t a man who sought unwanted attention.  He was a man who could merge in with a crowd and not stand out.  He could pass for either a drifting cowhand, a peddler or a down and out gambler.  His anonymity, his ability to camouflage himself is what had kept him alive so far. 

 

The noon hour had just passed when he entered the outskirts of Stockton, brown eyes peered out from under the brim of his hat as he scanned the boardwalks from atop his walking horse, searching for faces catalogued in his mind, watching for a sign of familiarity amongst strangers. 

 

Stopping in front of the hotel, he dismounted and pulled off his saddlebags and rifle before climbing the steps and obtaining a room by marking the register with an x.  Taking the key and handing the clerk a coin, he requested his horse be cared for and another readied for his use in the morning.

 

Climbing the stairs, Vern smiled slightly.  Again he would be seen only as a man who couldn’t write.  He was not illiterate but he wasn’t stupid either.  He didn’t need to sign his name for Crown more than likely would know he was in town within the hour.  Josiah Crown was patient to an extent but he would he anxiously wondering who would arrive in response to the contracts.

 

Locking his room door and stepping over to pull the shades, Vern moved to the side and peered down at the man who was across the street, appearing to be simply leaning against a post waiting but his eyes were directed upwards to the second floor of the hotel and to the windows with drawn shades.

 

Taking off his hat and placing it on the table, Vern opened a saddlebag, bringing out a leather bag.  Sitting in the chair he placed one gun on the table while methodically cleaning his other, switching the position of the pistols when finished.  An hour later, he sighted his empty rifle on a fly sitting on the wall across the room before reloading the weapon.

 

Wrapping the gunbelt around his hips, he stood and whirled on the balls of his feet, his hands filled with the grips of his pistol before his mind was aware of his actions.   He continued practicing until a knock sounded on his door and a low voice responded to his call.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Three o’clock at the abandoned mill north of town.”

 

Leaning his ear against the door, he could hear the sounds of heavy footsteps growing fainter as they drew further down the hallway and away from his door.  Taking out his pocketwatch, Vern snapped it shut and mumbled to himself.

 

“For you, my friend, this one’s free.”

 

 

 

Chapter 60

 

The air tasted stale and stagnant in the confines of the building, its once rock hard foundation was battered and broken from an earthquake’s vicious shaking.  The roof was partially open allowing in several families of the feathered variety and the elements of mother nature. 

 

The wooden slats of the buildings coat were wrinkled with time and fatigue, crumpled down upon itself over time, no longer able to keep the wind out of the interior.  The great wheel once moving, propelled by water sat idle, it’s wooden slats becoming a haven for nest building.

 

‘Retribution’, thought Josiah Crown with a smile as he sat at a table in the office of the abandoned mill, uncaring of the drab accommodations for the afternoon.  ‘A punishment for wrong and soon retribution will be mine.’

 

The dark haired man dressed in a white shirt, black vest and black pants laid the king of hearts on the ace of spades, the death card.  Gone was the three piece suit of the businessman, the wardrobe not fitting for the past weeks of searching the country for the man who’d done him a disservice.

 

The youthful face of Heath Thomson flashed in his mind and the vein on his temple pulsated with the increase of fury rising within.  The blond had taken five years of his life by setting the Rangers on his trail.  The man who had been in his teens had thrown back into his face the friendship he extended.  He had gotten the blond the job as a railroad agent when he needed money to pay the hospital where his mother was staying.  He’d taken the blond under his wing and instead of thanks, he’d gotten a prison term.

 

When he received the pinker ton report somehow he hadn’t been wholly surprised to discover Heath Thomson was the man he envisioned settling a score with all those nights in the small prison cell.  It was his thoughts of retribution which kept him from going insane in the prison, kept him going through each day and night.

 

He should have known it was Heath Thomson but he allowed himself to think otherwise, he had even convinced himself the young man he’d mentored was one hundred percent loyal to him.  He had been wrong and paid dearly for his mistake, losing the power he wielded under the name of commerce and therefore, losing the riches he was seeking from the land he obtained and sold. 

 

It’d been easy to turn a profit from the land he got for free and sold for under the value but at a clear profit.  When the night riding was carried off successfully, he and his men could net more bounty from the possessions of those whose land they were after.  They’d had a profitable venture until Heath Thomson put a stop to it.

 

“Cuz, why don’t we just attack the ranch?” scowled Surrley, grabbing a wooden chair and turning it around, straddling the chair and leaning his forearms on the back, the tired wood protesting from the man’s six foot four inch frame and weight.  “I can kill them all and then when Heath comes, I’ll shoot out his knees for you.”

 

Josiah felt a moment of irritation and disgust at the son of his mother’s brother.  The monstrous man was uncouth and unpolished, unworthy of appreciating the game he was playing with his former friend, the torture he was subjecting Thomson to without touching him.   

 

Calmly moving another card to its rightful place in his solitaire game, Josiah took a moment to force his irritation down and smile.  “Jeb, we don’t have enough men to outright attack a ranch with a full crew.  Especially one the size of the Barkley ranch.  And I want Heath to suffer slowly, like I did every day in prison.”

 

Watching his cousin continue playing his card game, the massive man shook his head and snorted, “I still don’t get how you’re makin’ him suffer!  The only real bad thing ya’ done is burn his ranch.  Hell, that ranch ain’t even his!”

 

Nodding in agreement to the truth which couldn’t be denied, Crown put his cards on the table and shifted in his chair to face his cousin.  “Jeb, I know you don’t remember Heath cause of the hospital but trust me, this way tortures him more than just shooting him.”

 

Staring at his cousin for a minute, Jeb nodded and muttered, “Alright, Josiah.  I trust you.”

 

Relaxing in his chair for a minute, Josiah smiled and picked up the cards, shuffling them in his hands.  Jeb leaned his chin on his crossed arms and watched the strong fingers handle the cards, his eyes almost childlike in their expression, compliments of the mental hospital he’d been sent to during the war after his court martial. 

 

The doctors at the hospital were into research more than healing and used those entrusted to them as guinea pigs for the cures they came up with.  Cures in the forms of mixed toxins, combined drugs and new medical surgical procedures left his cousin’s mental ability a mere shadow of itself.  The large man before him still possessed his sniper capabilities but attention to details, cohesive planning were now as foreign to him as a menu in a strange language.  He could follow directions and had no qualms about killing anyone.

 

The large man’s mind was a powderkeg of unexploded dynamite sticks.  One never knew what would set him off into a rage, a rage more often than not ending in a killing.  If it weren’t for the occasional explosion in his head which would drive him to the edge, Josiah would have been more open to keeping his cousin with him after he’d had his retribution.  But as it was, the larger man was slowly becoming more of a problem than a means to an end.

 

They’d started out with two other men but Jeb had gone on a rampage after he took offense to the men’s needling and both were pushing up daisies in the Sierra’s.  Their bodies had no doubt been ravaged by the animals by now and neither of the no accounts would be missed.

 

Biting back a sigh of frustration for his cousin’s unexpected destruction of the two lackeys in their group, Josiah laid the cards into a neat pile in front of his younger cousin before standing.  “Here keep yourself busy.  I’ll be right back.”

 

Nodding to his cousin, Jeb picked up the cards and watched the other man from under the brim of his hat, frowning slightly.  Somewhere deep inside he felt a moment of fear thinking of his cousin, it was a stark fear which shook him temporarily until he reasoned it away before cloudiness again formed in his thoughts.  The shadow of a man entering the door caused the large man to look up at their returning member before he returned his attention to the cards in his hands.

 

“Well?” asked Josiah quietly.

 

“Vern Hickson.” informed Masters with a thin smile.  “Interesting wouldn’t you say?”

 

Josiah nodded, “Certainly is and you thought things were getting boring.”

 

Admitting the statement with a shrug of his shoulder, Masters turned his green eyes to the outside of the building before looking over at his boss.  “Are we sure about him?  Could be he’s coming here to kill you for Thomson.  He coulda hired him.”

 

Shaking his head negatively, Crown smiled, his even teeth sparkling in his tanned face, “Never.  Thomson would try himself but he’d never pay anyone.  It’s not his way.”

 

“What if you’re wrong?”

 

Gesturing slightly to his cousin at the table shuffling the cards, Josiah winked, “If I am, we’ll let Jeb have a go at him.  Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone.”

 

“Fine with me.” agreed Masters nonchalantly before asking, “Anything from the ranch yet?”

 

“No, but he’ll meet up with us tonight and give a report.” informed Josiah before catching sight of a rider coming towards the mill.  “One thing about Hickson…he’s always punctual.”

 

 

 

Chapter 61

 

After the footsteps in the hallway receded, it’d taken Vern Hickson only ten minutes to work his way down the back stairs of the hotel, into the alley and around the buildings of Stockton to the livery.  The liveryman taken one look into the icy brown eyes and made sure the horse he rented to the stranger was fit and had staying power.

 

Vern paid the liveryman a week’s advance rental on the chestnut before leading the animal out of the livery away from the main street of the busy town.  Pulling himself into the saddle, he turned the brown equine and nudged her towards the north using the terrain created long before any of them were born to conceal his passing from any onlookers.  Purposely staying off the roads, he weaved his way through trees towards the general area of the meeting place. 

 

Reaching the barely traveled road described by the liveryman, Vern Hickson dismounted with rifle in hand, quickly tying the reins to a small bush before stepping back to his saddlebags.  Lifting a flap, he pulled out a leather case and slung it over his left shoulder.  Patting the brown horse on the shoulder, his boots crushed the discarded leaves under his feet as he climbed the small hill. 

 

Taking off his hat, he laid on his stomach and pulled himself up onto the crest of the hill, his neutral colors blending in with the area surrounding him.  Pulling open the end of the leather case without removing his eyes from the area below him, he slid out a leather covered scope. 

 

Studying the area around the abandoned mill, he extended the spying glass and lifted it to his left eye, keeping his right hand on his rifle while his left elbow supported his weight.  Moving the spotting scope slowly, he studied every inch of the terrain, meticulously in his scrutiny. 

 

The brown eye carefully picked out each spot where a person could hide undetected outside the mill and smiled when he picked out the large man who rose from behind a stand of rocks before walking across the open area to the door of the mill then disappeared inside.

 

“Head shot for you, friend.” muttered Vern to himself.  “Take too many bullets in your body to bring you down.”

 

Studying the rundown building standing solemnly in the midst of the small haven, the hired gunman pulled the glass from his eye and sighed, wishing he possessed the ability to see through wood for a time.  A hint of a movement within caused him to raise his glass again and  his lips thinned into a small line. 

 

“There you be, Josiah.” mumbled the brown haired man.  “The man I’ve been waiting to see.”

 

Lowering the glass and preparing to slide backwards down the hill, the brown haired man stopped and stilled at the rider coming from the road leading to town.  He didn’t need the glass to know who was atop the back of the black spotted horse and he smirked as he crawled back down the hill a ways before turning. 

 

“Never did like that Masters.” snarled Vern on his way back to his rented mount. 

 

Putting the glass back in its case, the gunman returned it to his saddlebag and quickly mounted, galloping the horse around the natural barrier between himself and the meeting place til he was on the road which lead from Stockton.  Taking out his watch and checking the time before he put it back in his vest pocket Vern took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, the color of his pupils seemingly turning darker with the coldness seeping through him. 

 

Holding his rifle in his right hand with his trigger on the guard, the brown haired man nudged the horse forward into a cantor and leisurely made his way into the pit of the rattlesnakes.  Each time he had to arrive at a meeting, he never knew what to expect and so, he expected the worst.  A person offering his type of services always had to be prepared for the nastiness which was human nature.

 

He couldn’t even venture how many such meetings he’d had in the past for each job seemed to merge into the others, fading into the background as soon as he departed from the area with his cash in hand.  The job became inconsequential in his mind much as his targets did after his visit from afar.

 

But this time other than just his life being at stake in the process of conducting his business, there was so much more hanging in the balance.  There was so much more relying on his skills, something bigger than anything he’d ever known in his life.

 

It was the continuation of a family as a whole unit.  It was the continued future of a family which was counting on his ability to convince others of what he was….a hired killer…a man who placed no value other than monetary on a human life.

 

Letting his eyes roam the area around the mill, Vern stopped ten yards away and dismounted keeping the chestnut between himself and the doorway of the falling down building, his rifle pointed across the saddle into the darkness of the opening.

 

Josiah, Masters and Surrley stepped out from the darkness into the fading afternoon light.  Brown cool eyes surveyed the group of men, meeting each of their gazes firmly before moving to the next, resting lastly on the black eyes regarding him intently.

 

“Josiah.”

 

“Vern.” greeted Crown with a smile taking a couple steps forward, stopping at the sound of a hammer being pulled back.  “What’s the matter?  Nervous?”

 

“Cautious.” stated Hickson in a low cool voice.  “Last I heard you were in prison.”

 

Shrugging a shoulder, Crown replied, “Done my time and got out early for good behavior.”

 

Vern arched an eyebrow upward, “That so?”

 

Smirking, the black haired man nodded before suggesting, “Heard you head a run-in with your friend, Heath Thomson over in Stanislaus.”

 

Tilting his head slightly, Vern let a ghost of a smile lift his lips before responding, “We had a…bit of a disagreement...over something.”

 

“He’s still alive, I hear.” informed Josiah crossing his arms over his chest.  “Losing your touch or have you gone soft-hearted?”

 

“There was no profit to be made in killing him.” explained Vern simply.  

 

“Guess that’s true.” admitted Josiah.  “I always wondered which of you was faster.”

 

The afternoon air filled with a dry chuckle and Vern smiled, “Reckon you know now and so does he.”

 

Laughing, Josiah nodded and motioned to his cousin beside him, “My cousin Jeb and you remember Masters, I’m sure.”

 

Nodding to the other men, Vern stepped sideways and came around the horse, his rifle still in his hand, the barrel pointing slightly downward but still in their general direction. 

 

Josiah grinned into the cold eyes watching their every move and shook his head, “No need to be that way Vern, we’re all friends here.   You can relax.”

 

“Relaxing last week around a so-called friend could’ve got me killed.” informed Hickson.  “If the job is as profitable as my associate suggested, I’ll let you be my business acquaintance til it’s done.  After that all bets are off.”

 

“Fair enough.” agreed Josiah with a deep laugh, waving the brown haired hired gunman towards the mill before turning on his heel.  “Jeb, you keep watch out here while we talk.”

 

 

 

Chapter 62

 

Jeb angled across the overgrown grass heading to a small hill overlooking the road to town.  Vern’s eyes narrowed beneath the rim of his hat, the skin on the palm of his hand  itched at the broad back Josiah Crown presented to him when he turned and headed to the door of the mill.

 

Forcing down his sudden desire to effectively sever the man’s threat against his friend’s family, the hired gunman kept his steps in pace with Masters.  Walking several yards apart from each other, two sets of cold eyes studied each other from their peripheral vision. 

 

Neither man had ever liked the other but both respected each other’s abilities with the weapons they carried.  The door of the mill was wide enough so the two didn’t have to step into the other’s personal territory to enter.

 

Josiah gestured to the table, taking a spot himself and smiled slightly when Vern pulled a chair away from the piece of furniture and settled against a wooden beam.  The move preventing anyone from outside taking advantage of any invisible target on his back and allowing his brown eyes to keep the other two men easily in his field of vision.

 

Masters sat in the last available chair and rested his right hand on his thigh, near the colt resting in his holster.  Vern studied both men and mentally categorized all he knew about both from the time spent together working for the railroad those years ago. 

 

Both were cruel, both would look innocently in your eyes and slit your throat.  Both were deadly and yet, of the two, Josiah Crown would be the most dangerous.  With Masters, you could expect him to try to run you through with a knife or put a bullet in you.

 

Josiah Crown was a different animal all together.  He was a man you couldn’t trust to help your grandmother cross a busy street.  If there was any money in her handbag, he’d push her under the wheels of a wagon simply to steal what little she may have in order to increase his own wealth.  He’d take the gold out of a dead’s man teeth just to melt it down.

 

“Did your associate tell you the targets?” asked Josiah suddenly, leaning his elbows on the table and offering a smile of interest which did not reach his eyes of obsidian.

 

“He said there were three.  Three Barkleys.” answered Vern quietly.

 

Nodding, Crown smiled, “Tom Barkley, the father.  Nick Barkley, the rancher and Jarrod Barkley, the attorney.”

 

“I heard of them.” said Vern.  “They’ve been in the papers.”

 

“Of course.” agreed Crown with a quick nod.  “They’re always doing some kind of charity work and crap like that.”

 

“My colleague said ten for the father and five apiece for the sons.” stated the brown haired man moving the rifle across his lap slightly when Masters shifted in his chair.  “You must’ve made a lot of money in prison to offer such a high price.”

 

“Money is no object when I want something.” suggested Crown in a low voice.  “Don’t worry, I can pay if you can handle it.”

 

“I’m not worried about getting my money when the job is finished.” replied Vern with a brief smile.  “I always get paid one way or another.”

 

Picking up the deck of cards and idly shuffling the pieces of thick paper, Crown queried, “Don’t you want to know why?”

 

“Don’t care why, it’s not my business.”

 

“Don’t care or perhaps you already know why.” suggested Josiah.

 

Vern titled his head slightly and lifted an eyebrow, “Why don’t you come out and ask what you want to know, Josiah.  Pussyfooting around doesn’t become you.”

 

Turning crimson with anger for a moment, the dark haired man roughly placed the deck of cards on the table and nodded, “Alright, why did you shoot Thomson?”

 

“To get him out of the way.” answered Vern honestly before lifting his left shoulder into a shrug.  “He wasn’t open to my idea of heading to Stockton.  Appears he also has an interest in the Barkleys.  Kinda understandable him being old man Barkley’s whelp and all.”

 

Intrigued at the man sitting against the beam, Crown frowned for a moment, “He told you about that?”

 

“What’s the matter Josiah?  Are you afraid Heath mighta offered me more money to keep them alive and perhaps see to you instead?” asked the hired gunman before his eyes twinkled and he smiled.  “If he did, you’d be dead right now and I’d be living the good life where nobody knows me.”

 

“The thought did cross my mind.” admitted Crown sitting back in his chair.

 

Vern met the black eyes and stated, “Heath Thomson did not extend an offer on you, Crown.   There’s no profit in it for me if I kill you, just like with him.  My profit is in the business at hand, nothing else.  I’m not in the charity business.”

 

“Fair enough.” replied Crown with a positive shake of his head.  “As long as you understand when your job is done, I’m going to kill Heath Thomson.”

 

“Fair enough.” agreed Vern with a slight bob of his head.  “As long as you don’t try to cheat me out of my earnings, we shouldn’t have a problem.”

 

Satisfied with the brown haired man’s answers, Josiah picked up the cards again, “What do you want to know about the Barkleys?  When will you do it?”

 

“I work alone and when one of the opportunity presents itself, I’ll take advantage of it.” stated Vern firmly.  “I gave you an inch Josiah by telling what you wanted to know, don’t try to take a mile.”

 

Laughing suddenly, the dark head of hair nodded several times before he stood, “Alright Vern.  You’re the best so do what you do.”

 

Vern stood and gestured towards the door, following the two men to the exit and made his way to the rented chestnut.  Mounting, he looked down into the black eyes and gestured towards the monster of a man sitting at the lookout point.

 

“Wanna call over your other man, Josiah?”

 

“Sure.” replied Crown waving to his cousin and calling his name, watching the large man start towards them before looking up into the cool brown eyes.  “If you need to know anything about the layout of the Barkley ranch, let me know and I’ll have my other man find it out for you.”

 

Not replying Vern pulled back on the reins and backed the chestnut towards the trail, turning suddenly and galloping back to town.  Reaching the livery, the brown haired man unsaddled the chestnut and took his saddlebags, leaving the currying of the horse to the liveryman.  Entering the lobby, he climbed the stairs and locked the door to his room.

 

Dropping his gear on the bed, the brown haired man let out a sigh of worry and shook his head, wondering if the other man in Crown’s group was simply watching the Barkley ranch or was he on the inside.   His thoughts turned to his blond haired friend and he wondered if Charlie Whitehorse had brought Heath to the Barkley ranch yet, back to the safety of his family.  Pouring some water in the basin, he washed his face and grabbed a towel to wipe away the droplets before studying his face in the mirror. 

 

“Vern Hickson, stage actor extraordinaire.” mumbled Vern before tossing the towel onto the stand and laying on the bed, fingers entwined behind his head.  “Soon, friend, soon.”

 

 

 

Chapter 63

 

The shadows around the mill increased in their lengths and Josiah turned on his heel after the afternoon visitor could no longer be seen.  Masters followed and took a seat at the table, watching his boss pace the width of the abandoned mill for several minutes.

 

Stopping and turning suddenly, Josiah Crown scowled, “I’m not so sure of Hickson’s sincerity, Masters.  I couldn’t get a good read off him.”

 

Green eyes met black and Masters shrugged, “He’s cagey alright.”

 

“I don’t think he was lying but…I don’t think he was straight with us either.” frowned Crown with a shake of his head before making his way to his chair and sitting down.

 

“If he wasn’t after the bounty, why’d he shoot Thomson?” asked Masters.  “The wire said the doc up there dug a bullet out of him.”

 

“I know, dammit!” snapped Josiah, uncertainty was creeping up into his bones.  “It doesn’t make sense for Hickson to shoot him if they’re friends.”

 

Leaning forward, Masters suggested, “Let’s see what Hickson does next.  If he’s playing both sides of the fence, we’ll take him out.”

 

“Alright, we’ll wait.” agreed Josiah.  “Now, we just need to find out what hole Thomson crawled into and we can make sure he’s around for the rest of the party.  It certainly would be a waste if he wasn’t here when the bounties are collected.”

 

 

“Howard, is it pneumonia?” asked Victoria quietly, tightening her hold on the auburn haired woman beside her.

 

“No, not yet, Victoria.” stated the family physician with a negative shake of his head as he reached into his medical bag before looking up at the strained faces in the room.

 

“There is no doubt Heath has some fluid in his lungs and congestion, along with a fever.  An amount of congestion is expected from ingesting water after falling into a stream.  The amount of water taken in also depends on the water level, how difficult it was to save his friend, did he have to dive for him or did he just pull him to safety.” explained Howard glancing into the brown eyes of the family patriarch who frowned and shook his head.

 

“Only Heath has those details, I’m afraid.” acknowledged Tom.  “When Mr. Whitehorse woke up, they were already out of the water.”

 

“I can tell you with the injury he sustained in his side, he should have been on bed rest instead of riding in a wagon.”  sighed Howard.  “I’m going to need to take those stitches out and thoroughly clean the wounds.  We’ll use compresses to keep his fever controlled.  I’ll need Silas to mix up a tea of Licorice root and Flax seed to help with the congestion.  The tea along with a mustard poultice should help stave off the effects of the water he ingested.”

 

“So, he’ll be alright?” asked Nick in a hushed voice, his hand laying on the blond’s closest shoulder.

 

Smiling into the fearful hazel eyes, Howard nodded, “He won’t be himself for a while but once the fever’s lower, he’ll be more aware.  Rest will be the best thing for him.”

 

Sighing with relief, Evangeline smiled through her tears at the petite woman by her side.  Victoria glanced over to her husband, his hand wiping down his face and his features seemingly had grown haggard within a matter of minutes.

 

“Victoria, why don’t you help me clean Heath’s gunshot wound?  Nick, can you ask Silas to make the tea, using warm and not hot water.” suggested Howard glancing to the wife of his patient after the rancher left the room.  “Evangeline, perhaps you could let the others know Heath will be fine and make sure your father doesn’t overdo.”

 

Hesitating and torn, Evangeline eventually nodded and sighed after Victoria reassured the young woman the moment they were finished she could return to the room.  Tom stepped to the bed and brushed a hand over the flushed cheek of his blond son before escorting Evangeline out of the room.

 

“Howard and Victoria will take good care of him, Eva.” assured Tom with a smile into the worried eyes before he stepped to the door of the other room. 

 

“I know, Mr. Barkley.” stated Evangeline with a shake of her head.  “I have to warn you though, Heath can be almost unbearable if he has to stay in bed.”

 

“That must be the Barkley in him.” groaned Tom with a twinkle in his brown eyes.  “His brothers and I are the same way.”

 

“So, you three are awful patients too?” queried Evangeline, biting back her smile of amusement.

 

“The worst, Eva.  The worst, I’m afraid.”  admitted the pepper haired man with a small chuckle before he opened the door and was met by the worried faces of the three men inside.

 

 

 

Chapter 64

 

Tom smiled as the door to the bedroom opened with only a whisper of sound and a silver tray held by two dark hands preceded the entry of the older man who cared for the Barkleys as if they were his own family.  Pushing himself upward, the Barkley patriarch crossed over and cleared a space on the nearby table and watched Silas place the tray onto the oak furniture without making a sound.

 

“How’s Mr. Heath?” whispered Silas pouring a cup of coffee and glancing over to the blond sleeping upon a mound of pillows.

 

“Much better since the fever’s gone down.” whispered Tom, his brown eyes filled with thankfulness.  “Did you get any sleep last night, Silas?”

 

“I’s old, Mr. Tom and don’t need much.” replied Silas gesturing to a cloth covered container.  “Ther’s tea fer when he’s ta wake.  He’s still a mite flushed.”

 

Nodding, Tom placed a large hand on the small shoulder closest to him and whispered, “Thank you, Silas.  We’d be lost without you.”

 

“T’ain’t nothin’, Mr. Tom.” stated Silas with a wave of his small hand.  “I’ll sleep t’nite.   I’s gotta be fixin’ breakfast ‘fore feedin’ ta chicks.”

 

“I’d appreciate it if you take the day to rest.”  whispered the pepper haired man.  “It’s been a long night and everyone will be sleeping in.  We can take care of those things for you, Silas.”

 

Shaking his head, Silas’ dark eyes sparkled and he smiled, “Feedin’ the hens t’ain’t much work, all’s I do is hold ta feed bucket.  I’s can rest later.” 

 

Tom smiled and watched the old family friend leave the room knowing Silas enjoyed the ritual of morning chores with the twins and the time spent with the two youngsters as much as the rest of them. 

 

Taking his coffee, the older man stood by the window gazing out into the first rays of light wondering where the man who enjoyed tormenting his son by hurting those around him was hiding.  Was he looking at the house now?  Was he in Stockton or one of the surrounding towns?  Who was next on his list?  What would his next move be? 

 

The anger at the game being played by the unknown face of his enemy was the reason his newest son left to take the target off the ranch and move Crown’s focus from those who remained behind.  The blond had known what he was undertaking and had willingly shouldered the risk to keep the rest of them safe.

 

Glancing to the relaxed slightly flushed face on the pillows, Tom smiled and his chest filled with pride.  This man was someone he was proud to call son as much as Jarrod and Nick.  His pride was tempered with a profound sense of loss for all the years he’d never be able to regain.  All those hard times Heath and his mother had lived through would never be fully erased or forgotten.  After this was all over would Heath want to continue to be his son or would he want to put as much space between them as possible?

 

Tom tried to understand why Leah never sent the letter she had written.  How could she keep her son from his father?  Shaking his head, he turned his eyes back to the outside dawn realizing there may never be any answers to his seemingly never ending stream of questions.  

 

Sipping his coffee and moving back to the chair to finish the rest of his shift beside his son’s bedside, Tom picked up the book he’d been reading earlier and tried to concentrate enough to finish the chapter it was open to.  The black print beckoned but his mind couldn’t comprehend what his brown orbs saw for it was far away and unfocused.

 

Scowling and leaning sideways, Tom placed the book on the floor beside the chair, straightening and stopping at the slight moan coming from the bed.  Standing, the patriarch put his cup next to the pitcher of water before sitting on the side of the bed next to the wakening blond’s legs.

 

The blond head moved slightly before the lids covering the light blue eyes opened, blinking several times to bring the world into focus, the confusion openly showing as he moved his sluggish eyes around the room before falling back on the face of his father.

 

Tom greeted his son with a wide smile before reaching up to feel the back of the cooler forehead with his hand.  Heath’s eyes followed the large hand moving towards him and he closed his eyes when the touch against his forehead sent a feeling of warmth through him. 

 

“How’d I get here?” asked the blond, his voice sounded as weak and pained as he felt throughout his whole body.  Reaching toward the wound in his side, he found his hand captured and held onto before it was gently moved away.

 

Releasing his hold on Heath’s hand and holding a water glass to the blond’s mouth, Tom watched as he took several sips before replying, “Doc took out the stitches cause it was infected.  He said it had to stay open til all the infection was out.  Charlie Whitehorse brought you home early last night.”

 

The water felt deliriously satisfying to his parched body and Heath nodded at the older man’s words before remembering the unexpected swim in the river.  Concern for his friend had Heath forgetting his own aches and he tried to sit forward, falling back and gasping at the sudden fire reawakened in his side.

 

“Don’t move, son.” scolded Tom placing a hand on the blond’s chest and waiting til the blond’s breathing was back to normal before peering at the white cloth wrapped around his stomach, satisfied no red was seeping through.  “You start that to bleeding again and Howard’ll have my head.”

 

“Is Charlie okay?  He hit his head on a rock.” worried the blond unaware he’d grabbed onto his father’s hand.

 

Nodding, Tom smiled, “He’s concussed and has two fractured ribs.  But he’ll be fine.”

 

“That’s good.” said Heath in a relieved voice, withdrawing his hand with a look of confused embarrassment before lowering his eyes and clearing his suddenly parched throat.

 

“I’m real sorry about bringing this to your door, Mr. Barkley.  I’ll get it taken care of as soon as I can so none of your family gets hurt again.” apologized the blond quietly and sincerely.

 

“They’re your family too, Heath.” corrected Tom firmly before gently commanding the blond to look at him, waiting til the blue eyes met his. 

 

“Heath, your fight is my fight.  My family is your family, Heath.”  stated the older man.

 

Shaking his head, Heath grimaced as he fidgeted under the offerings showing in the brown eyes.  Letting out a small sigh, the blond hesitated before saying, “Mr. Barkley, I’m not part of your family.  I’m a stranger to you more or less.”

 

“Maybe we don’t know everything about each other but that doesn’t make you any less a part of my family, Heath.  But here, deep inside…” offered Tom laying a hand over his heart before continuing. 

 

“The feeling in here is what counts.  You’re my son.  You’ve always been my son and always will be.  All we need is the promise of the future to get to know each other, Heath.  Besides, where do you think you inherited that stubborn streak from?”

 

 

 

Chapter 65

 

Instinctively Tom knew the blond wouldn’t respond to the teasing question regarding his inherited trait.  The light blue eyes showed the battle going on within his son, the weakness in his injured body conflicting with his mind and left his youngest son in a vulnerable state.

 

It would have been so easy to take advantage of the younger man’s weakened physical and mental state.  It was so tempting to exert his paternal will over the son he wanted to hold close and keep safe.  The soul and heart within this son he yearned to discover. 

 

It would be so easy and yet, so wrong.  Wrong to take advantage of the child’s incapability of fighting the fatherly love he was offering.  The fatherly love and guidance Heath should have freely had since his birth.  It took a momentous effort on the part of Tom to stand and move to the tray left behind by Silas, his hand shaking as he poured the medicinal tea into a glass. 

 

Confused blue eyes followed the older man’s movements to the table in the room.  When the patriarch stood, the simple act of moving from the bedside left Heath feeling a momentary sense of loss.  A loss which took him by surprise, further confusing the blond, raising the returning confliction of his mind against his heart, his past against his future.

 

The blue eyes widened in surprise at the slight shaking in the older man’s hands, a sign of the patriarch’s own inward struggle.  Heath could sense the older man’s desire to push him into accepting him as his father.  He could almost feel the man’s need across the expanse of space between them and felt how difficult it must have been for the older man to not push, to move back and give him space, to take a chance on rejection for all he offered.

 

Raising his eyes from the shaking hands, tired blue eyes met with concerned brown orbs for a moment.  Neither spoke for both sensed this was the fork in the road and both felt a moment of fear, unsure of what to do, what to say….the air in the room was filled with indecision until a gentle voice sounded in the blond’s head, bringing his confusion down into a pinpoint of focus.

 

‘Life is full of choices son.  Whatever one you choose, make sure it’s one you can live with.  For sometimes you cannot undo what you’ve chosen.’

 

Tom swallowed the lump of uncertainty in his throat and moved back to the other side of the bed, not sitting but bending at the waist to place the glass to his son’s mouth, nodding in approval of the blond’s downing the herb laced tea before placing the glass on the table beside the basin.

 

“I’ll see if Silas has something ready for your breakfast.” announced Tom quietly before turning to leave.

 

“Wait.” ordered Heath, his flushed cheeks heightened in color at the raised tone of desperation in his voice which sounded loud in the quiet room.  Tom felt a flicker  of hope rise inside before he pushed it down, turning back calmly.

 

Staring into the pale face of his son, Tom moved back and sat down on the bed, meeting the clearer eyes with his.  “Heath, we don’t have to…”

 

“I was wrong to be angry.” interjected Heath quietly, cutting off the deeper voice and shaking his head slightly.  “I can’t keep blaming you for something you didn’t know about.  She didn’t tell you about me and it’s not your fault.”

 

“I’m sure Leah had her reasons.” assured Tom gently.  “Your mama was a good woman, Heath.”

 

Swallowing the lump in his throat at the memory of his mama, Heath brushed a hand over his face, the pain of her death still raw and deep.  Pushing slightly against the bed, the blond felt the strong hands help lift his injured body into more of a seating position before adjusting the pillows to ensure his comfort.

 

“Mr. Barkley, do you think…” hesitated the blond feeling his bout of courage leaving him and his words trailed off.

 

“Do I think what?” prodded Tom, rejecting the urge to reach over and lift the face of his son to raise the blue eyes studying the sheet on the bed.  “Heath?”

 

“Is it okay if I call you…Tom?” questioned Heath quietly before stammering.  “It’s no promise or anything….”

 

No longer fighting the urge, Tom reached over and lifted the face of his son, smiling widely into the unsure blue eyes and nodded.  “You may call me Tom….if that’s what you want…for now.  Maybe with time, you’ll feel comfortable enough to call me something else.  I’m not looking for a promise, Heath.  I’m only wanting a chance, a chance to know the son I never knew but already love.”

 

A small sigh of exhaustion left the blond and he nodded, only slightly satisfied with the small step taken and yet knew inside it was lacking conviction of all he was feeling.  Tom felt the sagging in his son’s body and moved his hand to hold his palm against Heath’s cheek. 

 

“Rest now and I’ll bring you something to eat in a little while.” commanded Tom gently, moving his hand away as the lids slowly closed over the blue eyes.

 

Heath stopped his father by grabbing onto the hand leaving his face, an overwhelming desire to please the man who was his parent rose up as quick as a geyser from deep within and he whispered as he forced his heavy lids open to gaze into the brown eyes, “Thank you….Father.”

 

 

 

Chapter 66

 

With eyesight which was shimmering through wetness, Tom held his son’s hand with both of his, unable to speak from the emotions overwhelming him from the single word.  The lids on the blue eyes closed and the injured body of his son relaxed quickly into sleep, his head rolling slightly to the side against the mound of pillows.

 

Letting his gathered tears overflow onto his tanned wrinkled cheeks, the Barkley patriarch felt at this moment the same as he felt with the births of his other children.  His heart was fairly bursting apart with unconditional love and a welcoming of the experiences in the days, months and years to come.

 

Releasing one of his hands, he reached over and lightly skimmed his calloused fingertips across his son’s cheek before brushing them through his slightly drenched blond hair.  Taking a deep breath, he bent forward and tenderly moved his lips across the lukewarm forehead.

 

“I love you, son.” choked out the older man, his eyes closing in thankfulness for this moment and in thankfulness for a young woman who gave of herself to raise his son into this fine character of a man against all opposition of her small world which was lingering outside her door.

 

He stayed seated on the bed, reluctant to leave the side of his son and the room whose atmosphere was no longer confused and hesitant, strained and floundering.  His eyes cast upon the blond and he simply enjoyed the ability to gaze upon his son, trying to picture in his mind how Heath would have looked as a baby, a toddler and then a teenager. 

 

Not lifting his eyes, he brought forth the faces of his grandchildren and mixed them with the gentle, fine features of Leah Thomson and smiled tenderly.  Heath would have been a beautiful baby who’d grown into a handsome man. 

 

The previous sense of loss he’d experienced for all those missing years had been toned down by the one word title his son graced him with.  They’d been replaced with a promise for the years ahead and all those memories he could gather with each day spent together.  The single word carried so much meaning in its title and held a depth which was unending.

 

Father.

 

Letting out a sigh of regret, Tom lowered the hand he held to the bed and stood, quietly announcing, “I’ll see to your breakfast, son.  I won’t be long.”

 

The words didn’t bring a change to the slumbering blond, not that the parent expected one.  He simply wanted to subconsciously let his youngest son know he’d return in case he woke to find his father absent. 

 

The patriarch didn’t want his son to ever feel again his father had deserted him or didn’t want to be included in his life.  Their futures would be together as their pasts should have been from this moment forward.

 

Stepping into the hallway, Tom came face to face with Thad, the two older men gauging each other for a minute expanse of time.  Thad felt his heart pounding furiously in his chest and he watched as the leader of the Barkley clan wiped the remnants of tears from his face.

 

“Heath called me Father.” informed Tom in a low, wondrous voice before he consciously remembered this man before him had been the only father figure his son had ever known the past six years and felt suddenly as if he’d stolen something precious from the former banker.

 

Thad reached over and squeezed one of the patriarch’s broad shoulders and smiled, “Heath couldn’t have a finer man for his father, Tom.  This is just a beginning and I’ll do whatever I can to help smooth the way between you two.”

 

“Thanks, Thad.” replied Tom gratefully, appreciative of the man before him who also loved Heath like a son and wanted only the best for him.  “All we can do is take it one day at a time for now til we get past this Crown business.”

 

Nodding, Thad fell into step with Tom and walked with him down the hallway, the realization of the threat out lingering on the edges of the world weighed heavy on both their minds and hearts. 

 

“How’s Mr. Whitehorse?” asked Tom keeping his walk to a slower pace so the recently injured man stayed by his side.

 

“Raring to get outta bed and to Stockton.”

 

“Stockton?  Why?” questioned Tom glancing sideways as they descended the last step and stopped on the foyer floor.

 

“He’s chomping at the bit to find Vern Hickson.” said Thad with a frown darkening his features.  “We need to know somehow if Vern’s made contact with Crown and Charlie figures he’d be the best one to check it out.  If we can tie Crown in with the price tag he’s put on your and your sons’ heads, we can put him away for a long time.”

 

Holding his hands on his waist, Tom shook his head negatively and scowled, “He’s got the right idea but I gotta tell you I think he’s the wrong man to do it.  In Stockton, he’d stick out like a sheep herder at a cattlemen convention.  Also, Crown and his men know Mr. Whitehorse.  Didn’t you say this Surrley guy was in the same outfit as him and Heath?”

 

“Yeah, he was.” admitted Thad rubbing the back of his neck in frustration.  “I’d go but Crown knows me and wouldn’t hesitate to use me against Heath.  It’s the same for your family, too.  At least I know what Crown looks like, you could be standing next to him and not even know it.  Charlie’s right, we need to talk to Vern.  Get a hold of him somehow without Crown knowing.”

 

The muscle in Tom’s jaw twitched for a moment and his fury reflected in his brown eyes before he hissed, “I’d like to talk to this Hickson myself for a few minutes.”

 

Arching an eyebrow, Thad suggested, “Vern’s method may be a bit…unorthodox...but believe me when I say he only has the best interest of Heath and his family at heart.”

 

“Seemed a bit extreme to me.” muttered Tom before shaking his head.  “He could’ve killed Heath.”

 

“If he wanted Heath dead, he would be Tom.” reminded Thad softly as he followed the larger man into the kitchen where Silas was stirring a pot on the stove, starting his daily preparations long before the morning sun had topped the horizon. 

 

Placing a hand on the sleeve of Tom, Thad mentioned with his head towards the old family friend and whispered, “Does Mr. Whiting need to go to town for supplies anytime soon?  Do you think they’d be watching for your houseman?  To them, he’d be just another hired hand, not one of your family.”

 

Looking into the questioning eyes beside him, Tom shifted his gaze to the smaller man standing in front of the stove before lifting a shoulder in a slight shrug.  “You could have something there but I’d have to ask Silas first and then run it by everyone else.”

 

“Of course, Tom.” agreed Thad with a firm nod.  “I wouldn’t expect it to be handled any other way.  He’s a part of your family too.”

 

 

 

Chapter 67

 

The feather light touch on her face seeped through the remnants of exhaustion and Evangeline mumbled lightly and sighed, turning her cheek away seeking a few more stolen moments in dream land.

 

“Hmmm…not now, I’m dreaming about you.”

 

“About me, mama?” asked Heather in a hushed voice, her fingers moving gently on her mother’s cheek.  “What I’s doing?”

 

The lids covering the light colored eyes blinked open and Evangeline looked around the guest room in confusion before remembering she had slept with the children to allow the rest of the family in the grand mansion to care for their injured member at the insistence of her father and Victoria. 

 

“What did you say, Heather?” asked Evangeline pushing herself to sit up on the bed, running her fingers through her daughter’s matted curls as she glanced across her small body to her still sleeping brother.

 

“Ya’ said ya dreamed about me, mama.” replied Heather with a smile.  “Tell me.”

 

“I did?” queried Evangeline in confusion before her cheeks turned pink, realizing what had happened.  Glancing into the small face and blue eyes, she nodded and held a finger to her lips, gesturing to the blond still slumbering away.

 

Nodding, Heather’s curls bounced and she whispered, “I’s quiet, mama.  What’s it about?”

 

The curious, excited look in the blue eyes prevented Evangeline from dashing her little girl’s wonderment and she wrapped her arms around her, placing a kiss on her small forehead.

 

“It was about you, Evan and papa.”  whispered Evangeline, hesitating for a moment quickly finding an answer to the unexpected question.  “All of us were on a picnic by the river.  Remember our last picnic and how much fun we had?  We fished and papa helped you two climb the tree, then we played blind man’s bluff with papa.  Would you like to do that again sometime?”

 

Shaking her head, Heather’s face fell with sadness,  “We’s can’t mama.”

 

“Well, sure we can, honey.” assured Evangeline, puzzled at her daughter’s reaction.  “We pack a lunch and fishing poles.  We can do that just like before.”

 

“It’s burnt up!” suddenly cried Heather, her bottom lip trembled and tears filled her eyes.  “We’s no home!  We’s orphans!”

 

Snapping her mouth which had fallen open closed at the stammered declaration, Evangeline shushed her small daughter as the sobs spilled out and shook her tiny frame.  “No, honey….shh….we’re not orphans.  Losing a house to a fire doesn’t mean you don’t have a home, Heather.  It just means we can’t go right back there and walk in like we did before.  If you don’t have anyone to love you when you’re a little girl or boy, you’re an orphan but you have lots of people who love you.  Mama.  Papa.  Uncle Charlie.  Grandpa Thad...”

 

Tiny hands clenched to her cotton night dress, holding on til the sobs subsided and the small head shook negatively, her voice muffled against her mother’s shoulder.

 

“We’s can’t have a picnic there no more cause we’s can’t lives there no more.  Evan said the bad’s man mite burned us up too!”

 

Closing her eyes and letting out a sigh, Evangeline realized when she had suspected  the twins overheard their grandfather talk about rebuilding the home Crown had destroyed by fire, she should have taken them aside and tried to dispel any confused thoughts the words may have created.

 

Placing a kiss on her daughter’s head, Evangeline pulled the small arms down and cupped the tiny face and smiled.  “Heather, a home isn’t where you lay your head to sleep….it’s where your heart is….it’s where people are that love you.”

 

Confusion pierced the blue eyes and the small forehead wrinkled in thought before stammering, “Mama, ya’ head’s always where ya’s heart is.  Ya’ can’t walk around with no head!”

 

“No, you can’t.” agreed Evangeline brushing the tears from the small silky cheeks with her fingertips.  “When papa goes away for horses, remember what he always tells you before he leaves?  Where does he keep you and your brother?”

 

“In his heart.” whispered Heather moving a small hand over her chest and pointing.  “That’s here.”

 

“That’s right, honey.” smiled Evangeline putting her hand over the small one laying on it’s chest.  “Wherever you, Evan and me are…that’s papa’s home cause he loves us.  If we lived on the top of a mountain papa would keep us in his heart if he had to go into the valley.  His heart tells him where his home is.  Understand?”

 

“Papa ain’t keeping us in his heart no more.” declared Evan angrily, pushing himself up onto his knees after having woken to the soft feminine voices speaking in the quiet room.  “He didn’t take us.  He done rode off.”

 

The past few nights of bad dreams from the twins fell into place and Evangeline held out her arm, pulling Evan close as he gladly scooted against her.  Holding the small ones to her, she placed a kiss on the tops of their heads before continuing.

 

“Papa was trying to find the man who shot Grandpa Tom and he had to leave real fast.” explained the auburn haired woman, scrambling for the words to calm the storm of confusion and fear.  “Your papa loves you more than anything in this world and even if he was sitting right here on this bed, you would still be in his heart.  You’re always in his heart even if he can’t tell you before he leaves.”

 

“Always?” asked Heather, her small hand wiping at her eyes and her voice hopeful.  “Ev’n iffen he’s in ta corral?”

 

“Always.” said Evangeline firmly.

 

“Eatin’ sup’r?”

 

“Even if he’s eating at the table or in town.” stated Evangeline with a tender smile.  “Everywhere and forever.”

 

Scowling, Evan looked up and asked suspiciously, “Ev’n iffen hell frozed over?”

 

“Evan Thaddeus Thomson!”

 

 

 

Chapter 68

 

Heather stared wide eyed at her brother, afraid to move from her spot, pinned in place by the tone of her mother’s voice.  The scowl on his face disappeared to be replaced with a look of confusion and Evan’s eyes filled suddenly with tears.  It wasn’t often either of the children had ever heard such a shrill of outrage and anger from their angelic mother and each wondered what he’d done.

 

“Mama?” whispered Evan, his voice small and choked, his body cringing away in uncertainty, sure he’d lost her previously unfailingly love for an unknown reason and stammered out between his sobs of confusion and heartbreak.  “I’s sorry, mama.”

 

“No, Evan, mama’s sorry.” consoled Evangeline grabbing the small boy and pulling him back to her with her one good hand, placing several kisses on his face, horrified she’d put such an expression on her son’s face in the twins’ existence which had recently been turned upside down.

 

“You just surprised mama when you said those naughty words.  Shhh…it’s okay, Evan.” soothed Evangeline brushing her hand over the tiny quivering back.  “You shouldn’t say such things.”

 

Heather having been satisfied with sitting quietly and observing her brother’s ramifications of the words he said, looked up into her mother’s face and queried, “How’s come Uncle Jar’d can say it?  He ain’t in no trouble.”

 

“Uncle Jarrod?” repeated Evangeline surprised at the mention of her gallant, suave brother-in-law as the culprit before regaining her focus and falling back on the old parental excuse used since the beginning of time.  “Well, Uncle Jarrod is a big person and you two are just children.  Children are not allowed to say those kinds of things.”

 

“Why not, mama?” asked Heather latching onto the hesitation she could hone in on in her parents’ words anytime they hedged around an issue or question.  The little blond girl could be as tenacious as a bloodhound on a trail when she sensed a weakness until she was lead off into another direction.  “Uncle Jar’d knows lots of words, is they all bad?”

 

“No, they’re not all bad, Heather.” stated Evangeline seeing her daughter’s mouth open for another question before she quickly added, “If you hear Uncle Jar’d or any other big person say a word and you don’t know if it’s naughty, you need to ask me or your papa before you say it out loud.”

 

Heather scrunched up her face, deep in thought over her mother’s directive and glanced up when Evan took up where his sister left off, “Mama, how can we’s ask if we ain’t s’posed ta say ta word til we’s talk ta ya’ or papa?”

 

“Well…” hesitated Evangeline for a moment.

 

“We’s can’t write them’, mama.” declared Heather.  “We’s too lit’le.”

 

“What if ya’s ain’t here?” asked Evan knowing he needed to define the rules more clearly to avoid hearing such a scary voice from his mama in the future.  “What if’s ya’ gone?  What’s we do then?”

 

For a brief moment, Evangeline felt a strong urge to take the lawyer Barkley by the ear and lead him to the watercloset for punishment in the form of a bar of soap before she realized it was unfair of her to lay all the blame at the first son’s feet.  The family who was in the habit of speaking freely was still adjusting to having two small children in their midst after years of being youngster free.  Although they enjoyed the twins and relished each moment spent with the matching blonds, it was easy to forget they were in the vicinity when they were quiet and entertaining themselves. 

 

Letting out a sigh and smiling, Evangeline touched each of the twins’ cheeks lightly and replied, “If papa and mama are not home, you can ask any of your uncles or grandfathers.  But only if mama and papa are gone, okay?”

 

Nodding slightly, Heather looked up and questioned, “What bout Aunt Audra and Missus Barkley?  Can we’s ask them?”

 

“What bout Mr. Silas?” questioned Evan.

 

“Yes.  Yes, they’re all big people and you can ask them.” agreed Evangeline, eager to put the fifth degree behind her.  “Why don’t we get dressed and see if Mr. Silas needs any help with breakfast?”

 

All questions lingering in their minds disappeared and the two blonds moved as one, eager to assist the older man in the kitchen with his cooking chores.  Evangeline reclined back against the pillows and sighed, watching with relief at the two small blonds struggling with their articles of clothing for a moment before she pushed her way off the bed and moved to the dressing screen.  Half-listening to the excited voices, she hoped Silas would keep the twins occupied so she could check in on their papa and see if he was well enough for two pint-sized visitors.

 

 

As the family was dining at the breakfast table, Heath grimaced slightly as the town physician’s sure fingers completed their examination and cleaning of his bullet wound.  The blond let out the breath he’d been holding during the prodding and he wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with a shaky hand.

 

Howard replaced the bandage and rewrapped the slim waist to hold the covering in place before sitting on the edge of the bed.  The fever had reduced in its intensity and the flush on the pale cheeks was all but gone. 

 

“Heath, you look better.” stated Howard with a smile.  “How do you feel?”

 

“Like I been rode hard and raked with spurs all the way.” scowled Heath barely stifling a yawn.  “I feel like I could sleep for months.”

 

Nodding his understanding, Howard answered, “Sleep and good nourishment is the best thing for you right now.  That’ll get your strength back and replace the blood you lost.  Another four to five days bedrest is what you need.”

 

“Boy howdy, I know doc but now ain’t a good time for turning into a bed bug.” drawled Heath.  “I got…things…to do…people to take care of...”

 

Arching an eyebrow at the voice which trailed off and the blue eyes meeting his, the medicine man crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head, “Well, you can get out of bed AGAINST my recommendation of course, but when you crack your head open from passing out…don’t call me to stitch it up.”

 

“Doc…” protested Heath falling back against the pillows in frustration at his inability to push himself upwards without help due to his lack of strength and power.

 

“Plenty of liquids, medicinal tea, good food, confinement to bed and sleep.” stated Howard, checking each item off on his hand as he relayed his professional instruction to the man whose face was darkening with each item on the list.

 

“Is there anything I can do?” snapped Heath before sighing.  “Sorry, Dr. Merar.  I do appreciate all your help before and now…I just…I can’t…”

 

“I know you’re worried about your family, Heath.” assured Howard softly, having been informed by the two older men in the mansion of the entire string of events leading to the blond’s condition.  “You can’t protect them if you don’t have the strength behind it to back it up.  Trust me and the Barkley’s on this, okay?  Until you’re able, they’ll do what they can to watch out for your family.”

 

“I know.” admitted Heath with a nod, his shoulders sagging in defeat and resignation due to his body’s inability at the moment.  The blond trusted the Barkley’s and his father to watch over his family while he was incapacitated just as he had silently asked them when he left the ranch in search of Crown. 

 

Standing, Howard patted the slumped shoulder and closed his black bag.  Taking up his hat and looking down at the forlorn man on the bed, suggesting with a smile.  “I hear there’s two little tykes waiting to see you.   If you keep the visits short and don’t overdo, I think they’ll perk up your spirits and the next few days will be over and done before you know it.”

 

Heath’s face widened with a smile and he watched the doctor move to the door, open it and kneel in front of the opening.  The deep voice of the healer carried back to the younger man in the bed.

 

“You can see your papa now but remember what we talked about before.  You have to be careful of papa’s owie.” stated Howard with a smile at the two heads bobbing as one in agreement.  “Papa needs medicine of hugs and kisses before he has to take a nap.  Can you do that for me?”

 

“Yep.” agreed the twins with identical lop-sided grins of happiness, their eyes already filling with anticipation before the large hand of the healer tousled their hair and he moved to the side. 

 

Tentatively stepping into the room after receiving a nod from their mother, they slowly made their way to the bedside and climbed up after Heath patted the bed on either side of him.  Tom suddenly appeared and lifted the twins onto the bed, blinking back his own tears at the two little ones who tenderly hugged their papa, The touch of the small hands were light as a feather before each placed a kiss on his cheek then laid their head on his shoulders.

 

“Love you, papa.” whispered the little miniatures of himself and Heath placed a kiss on each of their blond heads, smiling gratefully to his father who stood back to give the three a semi-private reunion.

 

“I love you too.”  stated Heath softly.  “Remember, papa always keeps you in his heart even when he’s not home.”

 

 

 

Chapter 69

 

Unnoticed, Tom moved to the door, glancing back at his son surrounded by his small family, the twins overcoming their tentativeness as the man whose side they scooted up to firmly reassured his confused children of his infinite love.  Smiling at the scene, the older man quietly left the room gently closing the door behind him. 

 

Heading down the hallway to the back stairs, his smile faded into a worrisome frown and his steps fell heavy on the sections of wood as he descended into the kitchen.  Silas looked up and nodded before casting his eyes around the spotless kitchen, ensuring he’d taken care of his morning duties.

 

“Silas, if you don’t feel up to doing this, you don’t have to.” suggested Tom gazing into the dark older eyes, surrounded by wrinkles of times past and experiences.

 

Silas took off his white coat to hang it on a peg by the door leading into the dining room before shaking his head negatively and flashing his white teeth in a smile of assurance, “Now’s Mr. Tom we’s done talked ta til it can’t git kick’d no more.  Ta’ll be fine, ya’ll see.”

 

Letting out a deep sigh and running a hand through his hair, Tom nodded and followed the smaller man to the back door.

 

 

Vern scowled and shook his head, his mind not on the ranch below but on the advantage point Jeb Surrley had discovered to watch Crown’s prey.  The large man whose mind sometime resembled only a child’s had whether instinctively or with the knowledge of a predator found the hidden vantage point. 

 

Situated on a peak lined with trees, the prying eyes of those who lay in wait could see three fourths of the ranch base.  They could see who came and went, who moved from house to barn, from barn to bunkhouse.  The elevation of the point allowed a view over the top of the bunkhouse and mostly down into the far corrals.

 

It was two days since he’d had his meeting with Crown at the abandoned lumber mill.  After leaving the former railroad man and his henchmen behind, Vern had ridden back into Stockton and went to his room in the hotel.  He’d spent a good portion of the night trying to figure out how to find out the whereabouts of his former trail partner and friend.

 

Rising early in the morning, he’d bit down a flash of irritation at the sight of Masters waiting for him when he descended the stairs.  Each man sized the other up, silently pitting himself against the other in a battle to the death.  Vern’s inward view of the outcome lifted the corner of his mouth and his cold eyes burned into Masters’ as he passed by him, taking a seat at a corner table.

 

Masters narrowed his eyes slightly as the thin statured hired killer passed him and took a seat at the farthest table where he could sit with his back to the wall.  The green eyes flared with suspicion before he let out a low breath and walked cross the room, pulling out the chair across and sitting down.

 

The middle aged waitress made her over to the table with a pot of coffee and two cups, placing the crockery on the red checked tablecloth.  Vern reached across and turned the cup in front of Masters over, preventing her from filling it with coffee.

 

“He ain’t staying, darlin’.” stated Vern quietly, placing his order and blowing on the hot brew before sipping it carefully, his brown eyes laughing at the furious man across from him.

 

“Crown sent me.” hissed Masters in a low voice, the man taunting him with his eyes digging further under his skin of ice.  “To help.”

 

“Maybe you need a wet nurse Masters but I don’t.”  chided Vern with a sneer.  “Bet you were latching onto your mama til you were almost full grown.”

 

The green eyes sizzled with anger and Masters let out a loud howl of outrage, causing the middle aged serving woman to gasp from the unexpected burst of noise in the serene dining room.  Staring at the two men seated at the corner table for a moment, she hesitated before going about her daily chores when no further outburst happened, her ears too far away to hear the low conversation.

 

“I’m gonna kill you.” snarled Masters, his hand moving and stopping suddenly at the sound of a hammer being pulled back.

 

“Go ahead, Masters.  Start my morning off right.” taunted Vern casually, meeting the furious gaze turned to extreme caution with his own look of contempt.  “I ain’t ever liked you and splitting your gut with a bullet would give me great pleasure.”

 

Not angry or foolish enough to buck the stacked deck the other man was holding, Masters moved his hands to the top of the table and sat still.  The hate between the two men thick as a cloud between them.

 

“Now git!” ordered Vern firmly. 

 

Pushing himself up from the table, Masters cast one final glance at the man calmly drinking his coffee with his right hand, his left hidden by the square piece of wood.  Spinning on his heel and stalking out of the hotel dining room, the door slammed in Masters’ wake.

 

Thirty minutes passed before the slender man paid his tab and left the restaurant with his belly full as he made his way to the livery after grabbing his gear from his room.  Saddling his rented horse, the hired killer recalled his surprise when he found the childlike giant waiting for him outside his room.  The large man’s excitement at showing a fellow sniper the spot he’d chosen almost sent a shiver down Vern’s spine.  Curious and wanting to gain the huge man’s acceptance in a small measure, Vern instructed Surrley to wait for him outside of town.

 

Laying on his stomach and looking down at the ranch base, the thin man heard the larger man coming up the hill and glanced over, nodding before turning his eyes back down to the buildings.

 

“Josiah wants to know if you seen anything of Thomson yet?  His man thinks he might be in the house cause the doc was out a couple nights ago.”

 

“Nope, ain’t seen Heath yet.” stated Vern, his eyes not leaving the ranch site as he lifted his spying glass, sharpening the focus to bring in the wagon being brought from the side of the barn to the front of the house.  “Maybe his man is just keeping your cousin interested by feeding him a line of bull.  You know, taking his money and not really giving any information in exchange.”

 

“Maybe.” frowned Jeb wondering if Josiah had thought of that. 

 

“Who is this man anyway?  How can I be expected to trust his information if I don’t know him?” asked Vern after a few minutes, wondering if he was hedging too much for information on the unknown factor.

 

“I don’t know his name but he’s one of their older hands.” said Jeb with a shrug.  “Seems he thinks the Barkleys should give him something for all the years he’s worked for them.”

 

“Guess that makes sense.” lied Vern quietly.  “I can see why he’d want to get back at them.”

 

“I suppose.” mumbled Surrley, lifting his binoculars and pointing.  “Looks like their houseboy is leaving.”

 

“Hmmm…did your inside man say anything about a trip into town for supplies?” queried Vern glancing over to the larger man who shook his head.

 

“Nope.”

 

“I’m gonna trail that wagon for a ways to make sure they’re not trying to sneak anyone off the ranch.” suggested Vern handing his spying glass to the larger man.  “You stay here and watch the ranch, okay?”

 

“Sure!” exclaimed Jeb dropping his binoculars to the ground and taking hold of the leather covered cylinder, looking up when the other fingers wouldn’t let go. 

 

“Remember Jeb, I’ll want these back.  This is only a loan.” said Vern with a wink.

 

“I know.” smiled Jeb when the slender fingers released the spying glass and he quickly raised it to his right eye, no longer paying attention to the man beside him in his thrill of using the glass.

 

Making his way through the trees to the horses which were saddled a quarter mile away in a thick stand of brush, Vern hastened his steps and mounted, pushing the chestnut through nature’s obstacle course.  Angling across the range of the Barkley ranch, he could see the wagon in the distance and his mind formed a plan as he rode.

 

 

 

To be continued…