The Second Hand of Destiny

Chapter 1-16

by catgirl63

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

Chapter 1

Berlin, Nevada

The small town of less than one thousand inhabitants resided at the base of the Shoshone Mountain range, the ore was no longer free flowing in the high elevated town hidden and protected by the large peaks in the background. The coolness of the early morning air would be a sharp contrast to the desert between Berlin and the town which lay beyond the state line.

Frank Sawyer scowled and pushed the feline to the side when the ball of gray fur jumped on his desk to lay on his newspaper. “Why does it do that! I don’t even like cats.”

“That’s exactly why.” chuckled the younger man as he loaded the rifle in his hands, stopping to pet the cat as it rubbed against his tan boot suspended in the air from his perched position on the desk. “Ain’t that right, Henry?”

“If that thing’s name is Henry…why do we have a batch of kittens in the back? Stupid name for a girl cat!” scoffed the older man before folding the paper.

“Now Frank, if ya’ hurt Henry’s feelings, she’ll leave ya’ some nasty presents while I’m gone.” smirked the blond, filling the loops of his gunbelt and talking softly to the gray animal, sitting on a chair and staring at the man behind the desk.

“Tell it to stop staring at me! Gives me the willies!” protested the older man, glaring back into the green eyes before pointing a gnarled finger and threatening, “There’s a big lake not too far from here. Watch it cat!”

Arching suddenly with fur standing on end, a low growl and hiss filled the room as the green eyes narrowed and each muscle under the fur shook. Laughing at the look of horror appearing on the older man’s face, the blond shook his head and reached over, stroking the bristled fur, chiding through his laughter.

“Cut it out Henrietta, ya’ll give him a heart attack!”

Jumping suddenly across the desk, the feline sent the older man flying backwards in his chair to escape what he thought were claws seeking to latch onto his body and not let go, letting out a sigh of deep relief when the animal passed him by mere inches, heading to the back where her batch of kittens lay asleep, their small bodies intertwined in a basket.

“Why don’t you take it with you?” suggested the man, standing and walking to the window, the incoming sun glistening on his sheriff’s badge before he looked back at the smiling blond.

“And take away the only lady friend ya’ got, Frank?” teased the blond, his grin lop-sided as he packed his saddlebag. “Nah, couldn’t do that to ya’ boss.”

“Yeah, like that would break my heart.” snorted the older man, sitting back in his chair and watching his deputy ready his provisions for the trip.

The smiling young man before him was definitely a vast improvement over the short tempered man, he’d met just shortly over a year ago. Letting his mind wander, Frank Sawyer wasn’t sure how the blond came to their area of this vast country, this young man who filled out physically during his time in their elevated community, added muscles to his slim frame by working hard during the day.

Somehow the lawman had felt the brash youngster who was living on the edge, on the wrong part of town wasn’t hiding from the law, he was leaving behind a life which caused him great pain.

He wasn’t even sure when the first time he saw this young man was. Was it the first time he arrested him? Was it the first time he jailed him after breaking up the saloon? Was it when he saw him at the livery with his modoc horse?

He was the only man he’d ever arrested who when sobered looked haunted by his actions while drinking, almost as if he’d fallen off the wagon and was unable to get back on or unwilling, preferring to drown whatever was in his mind or heart.

Sure, most people would feel bad about breaking up the furniture but this young man often felt guilty and deeply saddened to the point where he was a body of contradiction to those who observed him. During the day he was respectful to the citizens he encountered, kind to the children and widows but each night he’d fall back to the same pattern.

A volatile temper, a short fuse and the mixing of alcohol were not a good match. He didn’t actively seek trouble but he didn’t side step it either. The locals soon learned to leave him to his nightly ritual and only when an outsider appeared in their small world could there be trouble.

It was when an outsider tried to rob the bank during the day which brought the young man to be his deputy. His quick action saved the life of the teller the outlaw sought to use as a human shield and saved the citizens of the community from losing their meager savings.

It was Frank Sawyer’s decreasing desire to ride the rough trails of the county he watched over and his increasing desire to know about this younger man who willingly stepped forth, undaunted by the possibility of death and calmly dispatched of the threat, which brought them together today.

“When you get to Dardanelle and get Finch from the sheriff there, send me a wire on your way out and I’ll contact the circuit judge so he can put us on his next stop.” stated Frank, leaning his arms on the desk. “Got everything?”

“Yep.” nodded the blond, shrugging into his coat and picking up his saddlebags. “I’ll catch the train at Hawthorne in a couple days and from there, I expect it won’t take more than one or two days to Dardanelle.”

Standing on the boardwalk, Frank watched the young man tie his saddlebags in place and mount his faithful modoc before giving him a wave.

“Watch yourself.” warned the older man as the blond flashed a grin and turned his horse down the street, wondering why he suddenly felt a chill up his spine.

Frowning, the sheriff entered the office and sat in his chair, absently petting the ball of fur which meowed and jumped into his lap. “Heath’ll be back before you know it, Henry.”

Chapter 2

The deep throbbing, the deep ache in his lion heart was as strongly felt today just as he’d first experienced it early on that dreadful day. Looking upwards, hazel eyes searched the heavens, searched for the resolve again to push the pain back down, back into the deep recesses of his soul.

Over a year and nothing. No word, no sighting, no sign of the teenager fleeing from the group of people who’d been more concerned with the rage inside the teenager, instead of the reason for the rage itself. The reason of the young blond which justified his rage, his anger.

Not until they’d forced him into a corner, forced him to cut his losses at the insurmountable task they’d challenged him to do….not until he made his choice and left did they finally understand.

Destiny had made his little brother who he was, destiny decreed the person inside from the past he’d been forced to live, forced to struggle through.

Destiny played its cards in his life and destiny dealt them cards. Dealt them cards, given them a hand to play. There was no bluffing in this game of cards. This was a game of life and death.

They laid their cards on the table for his blue eyes to see and he folded under their unwillingness to understand the hurt inside him. He folded and he walked away, his hand played the only way he knew how….he left before they could break his spirit.

“This one is special, Mr. Barkley. If you break his spirit, he’ll be no good. He can be trained but it’ll be a challenge. He doesn’t like to be manhandled. This one won’t be broken through normal means. If he is, you may as well put a bullet in him, now cause you’ll lose what makes him special.”

Shaking his head and moving his large hand to squeeze his temples at the aching behind his eyes, Nick heard the words Heath first spoke of Charger, the red stallion once full of spirit and spunk. Those words describing a wild stallion fit the teenager to a tee. He’d left before they could break him and lose what made him special.

With the blond’s departure, the red stallion felt its own loss, his spirit was no longer fiery as the coat of red he wore. When Heath left, he took the soul of the big horse with him. No other man on the ranch could touch him, he wouldn’t allow a hand to offer condolence, to scratch the sensitive area behind his ears. He became a danger to himself and everyone on the ranch with the departure of the teenager he trusted.

Audra argued and cried but deep inside understood when Nick released the horse back into the wilds. He ran from the family just as his human counterpart had done. He ran and he wasn’t coming back.

Closing his eyes against the tears wanting to escape at the look of hurt and painful disappointment in his sister’s eyes today, Nick took a shaky breath. The look the same as when Audra returned after spending the night at a friend’s house, returned to a home frantic with worry, frantic with concern.

Her eyes flared with disappointment and anger at what they’d done. Her brother was gone and she’d not been given a say in what they’d challenged him to undertake. They’d made a decision which changed her life and her destiny without asking, without understanding the boy inside her brother. Today as she looked at her family around the dining room table, the same disappointment shown in her depths and the blonde girl ran from the table, her sobs filling the mansion which no longer seemed like a home.

A hand found its way to his shoulder and Nick welcomed the strength offered by his big brother as his body shook with his unbridled anguish. The eloquent lawyer, stood by his brother’s side under the carpet of black velvet, sprinkled with glitter.

Today’d been a hard day for the family, a day all were again forced to examine the wrongness of the hand they played that fateful morning. Never was he far from their thoughts or their hearts. Never had they ever considered they wouldn’t be able to find the fleeing teenager and right their wrong. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, they felt the hope within them chipped away like a pick to a block of ice.

Today they stood together but not as a family for one of them was missing. They stood together linked but the gap between them left open for the missing member to fill.

Today the dreaded underground stream that had one time nearly stole their blond member from them was finally made into a lake by the Core of Engineers, their eyes were bright with unshed tears as they remembered the blond they pushed too far.

He should have been there with them. He should have been allowed to see the successful venture of the community. The venture which was originally born from his mind and his concern for others after what occurred with Terry and himself.

Yes, Heath should have been there but he wasn’t because they’d pushed him too far, they’d forced him to make a drastic decision.

“God, I miss him Pappy.” whispered Nick, his voice low and tense.

Biting back the emotion choking his own throat, Jarrod moved his arm to rest across the broad shoulders and pulled the dark head to lay against his shoulder. “I know, Nick. I know. I miss him too.”

Victoria watched her boys from her bedroom window, her own eyes filled with a self loathing and deep regret, sadness filled her every day, filled every part of her soul and some mornings it was all she could do to not cry at the empty seat around the expansive dining table. The empty chair, missing the slim teenager with twinkling blue eyes and lop-sided grin. The chair was empty because she’d given him no choice.

No choice only a challenge hurled at his boots.

Closing her eyes, she could see the deep rage in the blue eyes after she ground out her challenge. Only after he’d fled during the night and she searched her mind had she seen the abandonment, the betrayal under the anger. She’d betrayed him and left him alone against the odds when she gave him no choice. She knew he’d do anything for her and she played her cards, losing more than just the ante.

She lost a son that day, a child not born to her but so much like her in some ways. Stubborn, defiant and proud. Gentle with a fierce protectiveness. She above all else was responsible for a parent should protect their children and she’d made a conscious choice to make a lamb face the wolf of his nightmares. She’d played her cards and lost a piece of her soul, cast a darkness over her family, a darkness of loss.

Laying on her large bed, the petite silver haired lady curled her body around a pillow and let her tears fall, sending the same prayer again for a chance.

A chance to redeal and play another hand with destiny.

Chapter 3

California. The Golden State.

Heath threw the last dregs of his coffee onto the fire and let out a loud sigh of frustration as the liquid sizzled on the open flame. The blond had grown steadily uneasy from the knowledge he’d soon step foot in that state again.

Placing his cup on the ground, he walked over and checked on Gal before taking the short path to the stream. Reaching into his vest pocket, he took out his makings and rolled a cigarette, the darkness around him disturbed for only a moment from the sudden harsh flaring of the match before he shook it out.

Sitting on the bank of the stream, he inhaled on the calming habit and closed his eyes, letting the night sounds wash over him for several minutes. He opened his eyes and stared at the blanket of stars, the sky clear and crystallized, the windless night was the perfect temperature.

He loved being out in the open, out in nature’s wonderland, enjoying nature’s gift of beauty. This trip was really no different than any others he’d made in the past year, no different than his route through the county where he worked with Frank Sawyer. This was not the first time he’d dragged a prisoner from one point to another.

This was the first time though he’d be back there and he scowled at himself. Chastising himself thoroughly for acting like an old woman walking at night, passing by a gang of ruffians.

It was only a state.

A mass of land with borders, split into counties, beaches that ran into the ocean. It was the same as Nevada or so he tried to reason in his mind but he was unsuccessful.

It wasn’t the same because they lived there, in the mansion on the ranch.

He hadn’t been there since…how long was it since he’d turned his back?

Fifteen months, two weeks and three days.

So long ago and yet not long enough. Not long enough to erase them from his mind, erase them from his heart.

Falling back into nights of excessive drinking of alcohol to numb the pain in his heart hadn’t helped and only succeeded in making him feel guilty in the light of day. The light of day would reveal the truth, the devastation he was capable of in a drunken stupor. It’d been too easy to fall back onto the crutch, too easy to use it to avoid his thoughts at night but in the light of the day, they would return and the pain would start again.

Shaking his head and grinding the stub of the cigarette into the rock, the lone man made his way back to his camp, taking time to speak to his faithful horse before laying on his bedroll. Clasping his hands under his head, he turned his thoughts to the older man he worked beside and respected, Sheriff Frank Sawyer.

A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth and a low chuckle escaped when he remembered Henry and Frank’s morning encounter. The cat always bothering the older man, seemingly picking on him, teasing him in ways only a feline can.

The gray ball of fur had shown up one day outside the jail, half starved and needing attention. Unable to hurt any animal and much to Frank’s chagrin, Heath nursed the sickly cat back to health and was rewarded with its friendship and loyalty.

The older lawman had grumbled, cursed and muttered all along about the sick cat in his deputy’s presence but Heath had seen Frank feeding the ball of fur with an eye dropper. The grouchy old man was soft inside for an injured animal as he was but would never readily admit it, not to his deputy or anyone else. The older man preferred to keep his gruff image intact in the town where he resided and made his living as the law.

Moving his hands from the back of his head, Heath took his hat off and put it to the side, running his fingers through his hair, his tips running over the two inch scar on the side of his head.

What if he saw them? What would he do?

Cursing at the sudden rampaging thoughts, the blond wrapped up in his blanket and closed his eyes after he reasoned he was only going to be forty six miles into the state of California. Just across the eastern border while they resided in the western section. There was no reason to get all worked up for the chances were slim and next to none of a chance encounter.

Was he hoping to see one of them, all of them? Would it be so bad after all? Could he handle it after all this time? Can you really go back once you’ve left? Was he wrong to have left before? Was he a coward for not facing his past?

Unable to fall into sleep, the blond rolled onto his back and sighed, his eyes studying the pinpoints of light above him, searching for the answers, searching for something but he didn’t know what it was.

‘No, you can’t go back. You can only go forward.’ thought the blond firmly before groaning when his mind wouldn’t stop and he could’ve sworn he heard their voices in the still night air calling to him.

Eight days. Eight days before he was back in Berlin and he would be back to the normal comforting routine, a routine without turmoil.

‘Eight days’ thought the blond repeatedly, his eyes slowly closing as his weary body overtook his wandering mind.

The night shone down on the lone man sleeping by the dwindling campfire as the hand of destiny picked up the cards and shuffled the pieces of cardboard, the suits intermingling several times before four hands were dealt.

One for the family drowning in their loss in California.

One for the lone man sleeping on Nevada soil under the brilliant night sky.

One for the man who awaited extradition in a jail cell.

One for the player hidden in the shadows, waiting in anticipation.

Destiny watched the players pick up their hands and waited for the game to begin. This time Destiny was content to sit back and speculate on who would bid, who would raise, who would call and who would check.

Who would fold? Who would lose? Who would win?

Chapter 4

The black locomotive slowed coming into the depot, the large engine limping slowly. Waiting til the iron machine slowed significantly, a blond man jumped down and reached up, pulling the platform to the livestock car down and entering. Brown eyes rolled when he approached and Heath chuckled.

“I don’t like them myself either Gal. Let’s go and rent you a friend.” cooed Heath softly, stroking the powerful animal before picking up the blanket and proceeded to saddle his friend. There were a day late in arriving from the mechanical failure of the iron horse. Tempting as it would have been to leave the train and start to Dardanelle across country, the deputy knew he’d have made it in about the same time frame and decided to save Gal and himself the additional trail time.

Leading the Modoc to livery, the blond deputy worked out a deal with the livery owner and within fifteen minutes was headed down the street with both horses, tying them to the rail in front of the sheriff’s office.

Entering, Heath nodded and shook the hand of the large man who introduced himself as Sheriff Macon Jacobs.

“Deputy, you’re not gonna ride the train back?” asked the balding man as he lead the blond to the back cell.

“Train’s busted.” stated Heath quietly, “We barely made it here. Only take two or three days longer this way.”

“Rough country between here and there, Deputy Thomson.” informed the other man hesitantly, unsure if the younger man would be up to the task.

Shrugging, Heath met the inquiring gaze and nodded, “Yeah, I know. I been through it a time or two.”

Satisfied by the younger man’s knowledge of the area, the lawman shook his head, “Over a year ago, a Pinkerton man came through and couldn’t wait til the next day for the outgoing train. He was looking for some kid that run off or something from home. Damn fool got snowed in up in the Sierra’s and got himself killed. Just cause it was May doesn’t mean it’s the same up in the higher elevations as it was here. Prospector brought what was left of his body in, only knew it was him from the wallet in his jacket.”

“Guess he won’t make that mistake again.” suggested Heath listening to the sheriff’s chuckle and eyeing the full cells of the jail. “Kinda busy, ain’t ya?”

Smirking, the lawman waved to the group of sullen looking men as they passed, “Typical Saturday night for this bunch. Right boys?”

A subdued murmur of ‘that’s right’ reached Heath’s ears and he smiled slightly to himself. Hard working men played hard and sometimes a cooling off period was more useful than a long term jail cell. Most of them only looking for a way to spend their day off and not really looking for any problems. Decent men who worked for every hard muscle, every scar, every bruise on their bodies and quite unlike the man whose cell they stopped in front of.

Bradford Finch, born in the back of a saloon, sat on the bunk and played with the deck of cards in his hands. The pasty faced man, slim and wiry, ignored the two badged men outside the bars. His pale looks gave him the air of a man unable to protect himself against a fight with a butterfly but both lawmen knew differently.

The man in the cell, looking like he belonged in an eastern city and not in the wild lands of the western states, thrived on the edges of humanity. He thrived on earning his money through crooked cards, bottom dealings and thievery. Not stand up thievery…but stab you in the back from a dark alley and steal your money thievery, shoot you from behind a rock and pick your carcass clean thievery.

Never caught before, it was his misfortune to have been identified by the broom pusher at the Golden Hour Saloon in Berlin as the person responsible for the death of mayor’s son. A man whose grave mistake was to be the winner at cards and leaving to walk home, the last walk he ever took. The ending of the man’s last walk witnessed from the storeroom window of the saloon. The murder happened before Heath’s tenure as a deputy but when word was received Finch was captured, a hearty cheer could be heard through the streets of the town who immensely liked their deceased citizen.

“Finch, get over here.” ordered the sheriff gruffly, clenching the handcuffs tighter in his hand as the prisoner took his time. Heath calmly watched, his eyes studying the sallow skinned man, the dark eyes beady and shifty.

“Time for dinner, Sheriff?” asked the prisoner as he leaned on the cell bars, his eyes taking in the newcomer before sneering. “See you have a new trained dog by your side.”

“Shut up Finch.” snapped the older lawman in disgust glancing at the calm deputy beside him. “His mouth nev’r shuts up, maybe you should gag him for the trip back.”

“Might not be a bad idea.” admitted Heath with a nod, not liking the sudden gleam appearing in the man’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you say we were leaving deputy?” exclaimed Finch, his happiness flowing freely as he shrugged into his frock coat before putting his hands through the rectangular opening, offering his wrists to the sheriff. “I’m ready!”

Eyes narrowed in suspicion on the two men’s faces before the sheriff clamped the metal bracelets on the slender wrists and unlocked the door, taking hold of the arm held out for him.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” hissed the sheriff as he yanked on the prisoner’s arm with Heath following.

“Nothing, Sheriff.” smiled Finch with a shrug. “I’m just happy to be anywhere but in that cell. Nothing like riding a train and letting it lull you to sleep.”

“Sheriff Jacobs, I’d appreciate if ya’ could wire Berlin and let them know I’m on my way back.” stated Heath receiving a nod before putting the prisoner’s hat on his head. Taking the handcuff key from the sheriff, he smirked, “Hope you feel the same about sleeping on the back of a horse, Finch?”

“Horses are not my favorite.” sighed the prisoner as they stepped out onto the boardwalk and he was lead to one of the horses, and helped into the saddle. Watching the deputy mount before he glanced down the street from his bowed head the prisoner smiled, flaring suspicion in the blue eyes of the lawman. “Nothing like riding in the fresh air and sunshine, Deputy Thomson. Lead on!”

If the blue eyed deputy hadn’t been focused on wondering about the prisoner’s gleeful disposition and the steady gleam in his eyes, he may have questioned how the murderer came to know his name.

Chapter 5

Nursing a drink of his imported scotch, Jarrod moved away from the french doors, the pounding rain on the glass made it impossible to see out into the night. The howling wind pushing the unexpected summer storm through the area drowned out all sounds with its announcement of the weather it brought.

Taking a seat behind the desk, Jarrod set the crystal holder down and stared at the umber liquid, taken back in time. Back to a time where his missing brother sat in this very chair drawing up plans for the orphanage, using his hands to make the building the lost children call home, a safer place to live.

‘You did that for them, Heath and yet, when push came to shove, we made your home a dangerous place, didn’t we? We made it a place with only one exit, not allowing you a choice or chance to find another exit, didn’t we?’ thought Jarrod rubbing his hands over his eyes, replaying again the very scene which occurred in the room.

Leaning back in the chair, the first born shook his head and closed his eyes, wanting to erase the memory of what’d happened but knowing it’d never leave. While Heath was never far off in his thoughts, today for some reason his youngest brother’s face overshadowed everything, took center stage in his mind, keeping him from working and focusing. Unable to concentrate, his secretary hadn’t been able to keep the surprise off her face when he closed the office early and left Stockton, making it to the ranch before the storm hit.

The eldest son was relieved his mother and sister were gone, visiting some family friends in Sacramento. Two weeks passed since the ceremony of the new lake and Jarrod hoped the time away from the ranch would help both of the ladies in the family with the melancholy settling over them.

Truth be told, Jarrod was relieved they were out of town for he knew his mother would have picked up on his disconcertion and would have expected him to relay what was on his mind. The silver haired lady would do anything for her children, but there were some times when even he wanted to wallow in self-pity and sidestep her good intentions.

Good intentions, born out of love, he knew could hurt as much as bad. For their own good intentions born out of their love for Heath, their concern over the rage he carried inside was the reason they had felt their way was right.

‘Boy howdy, were we ever wrong, little brother.’ chastised Jarrod mentally. ‘I wonder if you heard we let Bentell go after you left. If you heard, I wonder if it made a difference in your heart and your soul about us?’

The sound of the front door slamming could only mean Nick was in from working the ranch and Jarrod scowled, trying to remember the last time he’d heard Nick announce his greeting with a bellow. The thunderous noise capable of reaching to the rafters in the mansion, the thunderous noise which was so Nick.

It hadn’t been since Heath left.

The departure of their youngest brother had lessened the thunderous noise to a hoarse whisper. Heath had taken more than just their hearts and souls when he left, he’d stolen the spark within each of them. It seemed they went through the motions but really didn’t find joy in what at one time they thrived on or excelled in.

‘Where are you little brother?’ asked Jarrod studying the portrait of his father above the mantle. ‘Can you see him Father? Can you see the son you never knew?’

Blue eyes burned into the eyes of the departed patriarch of the family as if he felt his father were hiding the blonde from them, as if the oil painting held the hidden clue to the missing piece of their family.

Nick slammed the door shut against the strong wind driving the soft raindrops and making them into small pellets. The pellets pushed by the hard movement of the air beat down on man, land and beast. Leaning against the door for a moment, he caught his breath and took off his slicker, handing it to Silas who in turn handed him a towel.

“Mighty pow’rful, Mr. Nick.” stated Silas quietly, worried over the family and the loss of light in their eyes. “Ya’s got time ta clean up ‘fore din’r.”

Nick used the towel to wipe his face before heading up the grand staircase and offered his old friend a shadow of a smile, “Thanks, Silas. A warm bath’ll take this chill outta my hide.”

“Mr. Jarrod’s in ta study when ya’s through.” said Silas as the young man passed and wearily climbed the staircase as if his feet were mired in deep mud.

Climbing the flight of stairs, Nick felt every bone in his body, every muscle screamed from fighting the elements and shoring the dam on the north slope. Returning to the area where his blonde brother saved his life sent a hand inside his chest to twist his heart with loneliness and bitterness. The strong man needed several minutes before he could join Duke and the others, the memories hunching his body in the saddle before he got hold of himself. The day spent trying to keep Heath out of his thoughts while he fought along his men against Mother Nature’s temper tantrum.

Stopping outside the door, he slowly reached down and turned the knob, pushing open the plank of wood and leaning against the doorframe. Taking in the room where everything was just as his little brother left it. He knew without looking the furniture didn’t have a speck of dust on it, the windows were spotless inside and the bed had fresh sheets. Silas missed Heath just as much as they did and he kept his room ready for his return.

Closing his eyes, Nick leaned his head against the oak doorframe, fighting to squelch the emotions waiting to be unleashed. He took several deep breaths and exhaled slowly.

‘Where are you, boy?’ repeated Nick over and over, his thoughts broken into by the hand on his shoulder.

“Nick, you’d better get some dry clothes on or you’ll catch a chill.” suggested Jarrod softly receiving only a nod before his brother crossed to the watercloset and shut the door. Jarrod looked over the room of his youngest brother before he pulled the door closed and went to his own bedroom.

Silas placed the dinner on the table between the two men, quiet and deep in contemplation. Leaving the two brothers in the dining area, the older man made his way back to the kitchen, sending his thoughts upwards into a silent prayer for the family torn apart from the one lost to them. While he waited to clear the dinner table, Silas took the dry slicker and black hat out the to foyer, putting them by the door ready for the next morning.

A knock on the door could barely be heard over the still surging wind. Opening the door, Silas waved Fred Maden in and rushed to get him a towel. Handing the lawman the white cloth, Silas left him standing in the foyer and several minutes later, the two dark haired brothers were greeting their unexpected visitor and leading him into the study for a shot to warm up his inner core.

“Fred, it must be important to get you out on a night like this.” suggested Nick taking the glass handed to him by Jarrod after he’d handed one to their guest.

“What seems to be the problem, Fred?” questioned Jarrod watching their old friend reach into his pocket.

Looking at the two men, Fred opened a paper and hesitated for a moment, “I got this wire from Sheriff Tucker in Pine Crest.”

“Pine Crest?” repeated Nick, his head snapping up at the mention of the town. Jarrod stiffened and watched Fred nod to his brother’s question.

“What’s it about, Fred?” queried Jarrod, his voice laden with questions.

“Sheriff Tucker received a notice of a missing man and he forwarded it to me. I don’t know for certain, mind you.” said Fred quietly, handing the paper to Jarrod who looked at Nick before reading out loud.

Sheriff Fred Maden

Stockton, CA

Sheriff Frank Sawyer, Berlin, Nevada wired. Deputy bringing prisoner from Dardanelle. Overdue three days.

Blond hair, blue eyes, six feet tall, two hundred pounds. Name Heath Thomson.

Please notify Barkley Family.

Sheriff Brad Tucker

Pine Crest, CA

Chapter 6

After Fred left the mansion, it had taken all of Jarrod’s powers of persuasion and the skill of his silver tongue to get his headstrong brother to wait til the pre-dawn of the next morning before heading into town.

Reluctantly and grumpily, Nick saw the good sense in not riding out in the raging storm and waiting at the depot for hours to catch the first train heading east. The hazel eyes sparking with hope were suddenly tempered with worry at the prospect the missing deputy and their little brother were one and the same.

If they were the same man, where was Heath now and why was he three days late in arriving back in Berlin? The questions ran through each man’s mind and neither wanted to fully consider the obvious reason.

No, they would latch onto the hope brought by the unexpected wire. This was the first break they’d had since that night. No, they would keep hope alive. Each man knew and promised to themselves, they’d find Heath one way or the other.

The brothers stood at the pool table in the study, leaning over the felted table and examining the maps of California and Nevada, trying to decide the path to take. Start at the beginning in Dardanelle or the end in Berlin?

“Nick, we know Heath was here…going there and logic decrees, he’s somewhere in the middle. That’s a large area to search if he ran into trouble.” stated Jarrod, pointing to the maps. “Be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Scowling, Nick nodded in agreement, “I know but I don’t see what sense it makes to head to Berlin. We know he’s not there but I wonder if that sheriff in Berlin…”

“Frank Sawyer.” said Jarrod offhandedly, his eyes looking sideways to the strong profiled face beside him.

“Yeah, Sawyer. Did he wire every town in between or just the bigger ones? The next town listed on this map after Dardanelle is Kennedy Meadows, did he wire them? Do they have a telegraph office? Has he heard anything from his wires? Is he even looking for Heath?” puzzled Nick, his mind trying to go over all the questions and not liking some of the answers he was coming up with.

“Nick, we don’t even know if this is our Heath.” replied Jarrod, his statement earning him a furious glare. “If we go right to Berlin, we can get those answers and perhaps narrow the search even further. This way we can eliminate parts of the area and establish a pattern of search.”

Sighing deeply, Nick reluctantly agreed, “Well, I reckon that makes sense too. I just want to see him, talk to him, Jarrod. I don’t like the thought of him out there, hurt or worse.”

“I know, Nick.” whispered the older man, his hand squeezing the nearest shoulder. “Let’s just speculate Heath were hurt and able to get away, I’m betting he’d take to the mountains. After we talk to Sheriff Sawyer and narrow down the possibilities, I’d say the hills are where we should start.”

“What about Mother and Audra?” asked Nick quietly. “Should we wire them?”

“Not yet.” replied Jarrod with a negative shake of his head. “I say we wait til we have something more concrete. You know Mother, she’d search the area on foot if there was a possibility she’d find Heath, even if it were an area ten thousand miles square. No, let’s wait before we send word to Sacramento. When we do wire, I hope it’ll be on the way back to the ranch with our little brother.”

Nodding, Nick offered his big brother a slight smile before returning his eyes to the maps on the table. The enormity of the area between Dardanelle suddenly seemed to be larger than the state of California. Exchanging what each knew of the eastern landscape of the state by knowledge of hearsay, both men felt a shiver climb their spine.

The search would be like looking for a grain of salt amongst the sandy beaches covering the western coast of their country. It was a task of daunting proportions but neither would have considered not searching. The impossibility of the mission was thrust from their minds, replaced with focus and purpose.

Climbing the grand staircase after explaining to Silas and Duke the time they’d be away from the ranch, both brothers retired to their respective rooms. Neither able to find solace in sleep, their stomachs churning in anticipation and dread. The dawn was approaching slowly, the rising of the sun in the east seemed to be slowed by invisible hands holding onto the ball of fire, stopping its upward progress and lengthening the night even longer.

The next morning with passage booked for themselves and their horses, Nick and Jarrod fought the overwhelming eagerness inside as they rode the black train to the east, the wheels rumbling over the tracks, taking them closer with each passing mile. Slumping in their seats, the men who hadn’t slept the night before let the consistent lullaby of the iron beast replenish their stores of energy and pass the time with sleep.

Their dreams tinged with happiness of a reunion, tinged with love as they were able to look into the light blue eyes again. In sleep, their faces smiled as they wrapped their missing member in their arms, encasing him in their brotherly love.

Watching the long black snake weave its way over the landscape, around hills, cross flat plains and over rivers, the hand of destiny moved, stirring up the cards in one fluid movement waiting for the fall out from the choices to be made.

The dream was so real it woke him from a state of complete darkness, the faces of those he’d left behind seared into his memory were brought forth, fresh as the last time he’d seen them.

His eyelids closed when he realized it was no more than a dream, no more than his mind playing a wishing game with him, torturing him with longing, tempting him with what he knew he’d never have again.

Chapter 7

‘Crazy! He’s gonna drive me crazy!’ thought Heath, his prisoner’s mouth running nonstop since they’d left Dardanelle the day before, the man was a bottomless pit of words. The only time he’d not heard Finch’s voice was when the mouth was closed in sleep and then the small man snored enough to shake the leaves off the trees. ‘Probably even scared the grizzlies outta the area.’

“So deputy, it’s mighty hot today, you think we can stop soon.” whined Finch, his words not turning the lawman’s head towards him. “Com’n, we been riding all damn day! I need to stretch my legs!”

Rolling his eyes, Heath stopped Gal and turned in the saddle, his eyes taking in the flushed face of the man, the beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face before replying. “Finch, if ya’ weren’t working your jaws so much, ya wouldn’t be sweating bullets right now.”

“I can’t help it!” protested the flushed man before snapping. “I like to talk! It’s not my fault you can’t hold your end up in this conversation!”

“I didn’t know we was havin’ a conversation.” stated Heath simply, “All I’ve been hearin’ is complaints and whinin’.”

“I haven’t complained all the time, deputy. Admit it!” challenged the sallow face man, his temperament about as cool as the rocks being baked by the sun’s rays.

“Really? Let me think….” frowned Heath, deep in thought before he snapped his fingers and slapped his thigh, “You’re right, Finch. There was a span of about two minutes when ya’ didn’t complain. Damn, I owe you an apology!”

Chuckling at the face now red with anger, Heath turned and nudged Gal along, his prisoner mumbling under his breath with swears thrown in for good measure, just enough for the man in front of him to hear. Shaking his head, the lawman sighed and studied the area around them.

He’d been in the process of finding a suitable place to spend the night when they had the brief respite. The sun would be down in a couple hours and he planned to have them settled with Finch secured before darkness fell.

They’d descended into the valley a little over an hour ago and the deputy was glad they wouldn’t be spending another night in the higher elevations. Even at this time of year, the night air was cold and crisp higher up even with a fire to sleep by.

Spotting a likely grove of trees, Heath steered Gal towards the natural seclusion and looked around in satisfaction. Dismounting, he tied the reins off and patted Gal on her muscular shoulder before heading to the other horse with a length of rope in his hand, untying the leather thong holding the prisoner’s handcuffed wrists to the saddlehorn. Pulling the smaller man off the horse, Heath held him by his arm until Finch got his legs under him and walked him to the stream.

Sighing gratefully after the first cool water hit his skin, Finch closed his eyes and let the heat of the day be swept away with each scoop of water over his head and groaned, “Damn that’s pure heaven. I don’t believe I’ve ever tasted better.”

“Finch, can’t ya’ keep quiet for ten minutes?” asked Heath from his spot four feet away, far enough away to keep watch on the man but close enough to stop any trouble he may try to start. “Just wash and drink. No talking or I will gag ya’.”

Heath observed the smaller man out of the corner of his eye, keeping him in sight as he dunked his handkerchief in the water and ran it over the back of his neck, the coolness shivering his warmed body. Finch’s mouth was closed but that didn’t stop him from moving, a foot, a hand, his fingers….one part of the man always had to be moving almost as if he had fleas jumping in his britches.

‘Just like Nick, he can’t stay still for more’n five minutes.’ mused the blonde, frowning suddenly at the unexpected comparison, not able to understand why they seemed to be occupying his mind more lately.

Scowling to himself, Heath tied the blue cloth around his neck and stood, catching sight of Finch’s eyes moving around as if looking for something.

“Don’t even think about it.” growled the lawman, yanking his prisoner to his feet and propelling him to a tree, lowering him to the ground. Securing Finch to the tree with the rope, Heath arched an eyebrow at the venomous complaining and questioned, “Ya’ want to eat tonight? If so, shut your trap.”

Snapping his jaws closed and leaning his head back against the rough texture of the tree, dark eyes followed the deputy’s every movement as he unsaddled the horses and watered the equines, taking time to let each animal roll on the ground before picketing them in a patch of grass. Gathering wood, a fire was soon blazing and Finch felt his eyes drooping from the day’s ride until he felt the rope loosen around his arms and a plate thrust into his hands.

Eating heartedly of the fish on the plate, the prisoner smiled in satisfaction and willingly let the lawman lead him to the trees to do his business. With a full belly and a body full of strained muscles, Finch lay on the bedroll and was asleep before the knots on his bindings were finished.

Heath sat on a log and studied the man on the ground, frowning at the complacency of this man, this man who knew a gallows awaited him at the end of the trail. It seemed like Finch didn’t think he be convicted of the murder even though there was an eye witness or perhaps he knew he wouldn’t be convicted because he wouldn’t be showing up in Berlin.

‘Maybe he wasn’t lookin’ for something to use as a weapon but someone.’ thought Heath, throwing the rest of his coffee on the ground before checking on the horses and moving them closer to camp.

Building the fire up with several pieces of wood, the flame burned brightly and the lawman checked his prisoner’s bindings once more before setting his bedroll at the edge of the light in the shadows. Placing his hat on the saddle, he bunched up the blankets and took his rifle into the trees surround the hidden glen. Sitting down in between two trees with a clear view to Finch and a view of his bedroll in the darkness, Heath closed his eyes and held the rifle in his lap, trusting the horses to alert him if anything or anyone strange wandered too close for their comfort.

His chest felt constricted as if a great weight were sitting on his sternum and his eyes flew open, his face perspiring and he wiped off his forehead with an arm, stopping at the whinnying of a horse. Standing he stood behind the tree in front of him, his eyes scanning the campsite in the light now a small flame.

One figure stood over Finch and another walked soundlessly towards where his bed was. Raising his rifle, he opened his mouth to shout when he felt a shiver crawl up his spine at the whispered words behind him and to his right.

“You took from me and the Barkleys are gonna pay for the return of your body.”

Slowly lowering his rifle to the ground, the lawman started turning slowly then suddenly spun, knocking the pistol pointed at him away but not before an orange flame flashed, his eyes only seeing spots from the surge of brightness in the darkness as the slam of the projectile turned him, his left hand striking upon the flesh before him, freeing a clear path.

The shouts of the men at the campsite sent him plunging into the night, his hand holding onto his side and melding in with the darkness.

Chapter 8

His chest burned, his lungs hungered for air and he stopped his blind panic, the run into the darkness. Holding his side and leaning against a tree, he gulped convulsively in the night, fighting the eruption of fear, filling his body with the cool night air.

He trembled uncontrollably and he fought to control himself, searching the shadows with his eyes while his mind filled with surging questions. He had to be wrong, his ears must be playing tricks on him. It couldn’t be her, it couldn’t be! It was impossible!

Taking the necessary time to gain a semblance of control over his shaking body and his rambling thoughts, he slid to the ground and under the pale moonlight opened his shirt to determine the damage done by the bullet fired in close quarters.

Sighing with relief, blue eyes closed and reopened. The bullet hit his gunbelt, exploding several of the cartridges and ricocheting upwards, leaving a deep crease going up his side. The crease stopped flowing blood but stung like the devil. Pulling his pants down slightly, he could see the beginnings of bruising on his right hip from the impact of the projectile with his cartridges.

‘Damn ya’ musta used a couple of your nine lives, Thomson’. thought Heath letting out a shaky breath and pushing himself to his feet. Looking towards the east where Berlin lay and the west where the mountains were, his decision was made based on several factors.

He didn’t have a horse and there were four of them. He didn’t have his rifle, only his pistol, the unexploded cartridges and his knife in its sling.

Hawthorne was the closest town but the way there was open and flat. Some scattered groves of trees, however, no consistent source of camouflage for a man on foot. With Gal, he could have out rode them to Hawthorne. On foot, he would be easy prey like a mouse in an open field is to a sharp eyed hawk.

He’d circle round and try to make his way to the mountains before the sun’s rays light up the valley. In the mountains, he’d have a better chance of getting away on foot. He could go places where the horses couldn’t and depending on the type of men with her, they may not like the thought of scouring brush and gullies.

With luck he could make it over the mountains and to Kennedy Meadows, the town after Dardanelle. Not much there in way of businesses but he could get a horse and travel onto Dardanelle. With the help of Sheriff Jacobs, they could mount a search party for the prisoner and these other three.

Taking a deep breath, the lone man started back to the area he’d left, moving slowly through the night and forcing himself to get within ear shot and down wind of the camp he’d made. He hadn’t wanted Gal to pick up his presence, his faithful companion would recognize his scent and call to him.

The group had brought the horses into camp and he could see their shapes under the moonlight as they moved about. He’d hoped he could get close enough to get Gal away but there was no chance now. He turned to continue around then stopped at the raised voices.

“I didn’t have a chance!” whined Finch, cowering back from the furious dark eyes boring into him.

“You owed my husband, Finch! Now you owe me!” screamed the woman, raising the hackles on the back of Heath’s neck and tightening his throat with fear. “I should just let them kill you! You can’t do anything right!”

“Now, Martha, he’s an extra man we need.” soothed one of the others calmly. “It’s not Finch’s fault he didn’t have a chance to get the drop on him. Thomson sounds like he knows what he’s doing. Just remember what’s waiting for us at the end of this deal.”

“Fine but if we can’t find him, someone’s gonna answer for it! It’s taken me a long time to find that bastard and I’m not gonna let him slip through my fingers!”

Unclenching his hands which he didn’t remember turning into fists, the watcher wiped the sweat from his brow and moved back away from the foulness reaching out and touching the beauty of nature around the camp. Stopping and drinking from the cool liquid in the stream, he moved slowly at first until he estimated he was a half mile from the group, then sped up his gait. Trying to run was difficult with his bruised hip and boots so he had to settle for a fast walk, not letting up and not stopping.

When the first rays of dawn were peeking at his back, he left the meadow grasses and entered the trees, working his way through the forest, around deadfall and through brush. His shirt was plastered to his back from perspiration, the crease in his skin stung from the salty water being released from his pores and his hip protested each step.

Clenching his jaw, he entered the trees at the bottom of the mountain as the sun fully rose above the horizon, lighting up the world around for him and those behind him. Turning north, he made for the stream he’d seen before and cautiously approached. He’d played this game in the woods before and he knew the stakes, freedom or captivity.

Waiting and searching the area, he descended the small bank and took the time to drink his fill and wash the crease. Using the cloth around his neck, he held it against the dark purple bruise covering his hip, the coolness of water taking some of the fire away.

His thoughts were plagued with questions, questions with no answers leaving him with only a lingering sense of dread. He knew why she’d want to kill him but why would she think they’d want him back? It didn’t make any sense to him. They’d made their choice, they’d put value on another man above him. Their actions spoke louder than words.

Using the cloth to wipe his face and neck, he gingerly pushed himself upward and crossed the stream, climbing the bank and disappearing into the trees. The day passed and the grueling pace he set for himself took its toll. He’d only eaten a handful of nuts and a couple stalks of squaw cabbage. Not enough to fill him but both items thankfully found and eaten.

His legs were shaking with exhaustion, the long forgotten exercise of walking and tackling the rough terrain of a mountain leaving him drained. As the sun lowered, he gathered some leaves and burrowed down into them beneath two deadfalls, the blanket of vegetation concealing the man who quickly gave into sleep.

The sun had just settled beneath the horizon when the group of four reached the stream, dismounting and felt their strained muscles. The deputy had surprised them by not proceeding to the closest town and electing instead to take to the mountains. It taken quite a large chunk of the morning to figure out his tactic. The unexpected move hinted of a man who used his brain and studied his choices before making a decision. He’d be in a terrain beneficial to a man on foot and less tantalizing to a man with a horse.

Their leader, a woman whose features had seen better days was sullen and unapproachable. She knew it was only a matter of time before she’d savor the sweet nectar of revenge and wealth. The revenge would be twofold. She’d rid herself of the man who was the child she’d always hated, the blight on their name. The Barkleys would think they were paying for the return of one of their own but she’d destroy her nephew in front of his brother’s eyes. The brother who killed her husband at the ranch in the mountains.

It was only a matter of time before their lives would be changed forever and she’d feel satisfied. The rising and lowering sun wouldn’t be the only thing with a color of blood red when her thirst was quenched.

Chapter 9

Shivering slightly under the blanket of leaves, Heath bit back a groan from the pain in his right hip and moved his hand to clear the vegetation from his eyes. Studying the surrounding area from his hidden position, the shirt which was plastered with sweat when he’d fallen into his haunting sleep was now hard and cold. The temperature in the night dropped at least twenty degrees. His hands and feet were laden with cold and he moved his hands under the leaves to his arm pits, trying to warm up his fingers as his eyes studied his surroundings.

Seeing no moving shadows in the area which would soon be lightened by the coming rays of the sun, the blonde rolled out of his hiding spot and moved his hands over his hair to dislodge the remaining leaves. His stomach growled, his throat was parched and he took a deep breath letting it out slowly, watching his exhalation hang in the air like a billowy cloud before he pushed himself to his feet.

His hip was sore and awkward, not wanting to work correctly. The time spent sleeping left his bruised body stiff as a board. His feet ached from the trekking of the day before and now felt like clumps of ice. Trying to restore the circulation of blood into his limbs, he scanned the area while stomping his feet and swinging his arms for several minutes. The blood in his body which felt thickened by the cold slowly increased its flow and when he could feel his limbs again, started out with his jaws clenched against the shooting pains each time he moved.

Continuing down the side of the mountain, he slipped several times on the ground, slick with frost. His smooth soled boots made his continuing journey treacherous and tedious. Reaching a particularly steep section of descent, the blonde sat down and traversed the downward section by the seat of his pants, the frosty grasses and dead leaves cascading him down without a hitch, like a child enjoying a sled ride down a hill of white snow.

Reaching the bottom of the steep section, he looked back up and couldn’t see the spot where he’d come from, the natural shelf cutting off his view and he tilted his head, listening to a sound which caressed his ears. Gurgling of water. Turning towards the sound, he weaved his path around nature’s throw outs and finally reached the small brook. Kneeling down he drank from the mountain water, taking the parched feel out of his throat and drinking til he couldn’t force anymore inside.

Food he could last without but not water. Without water, his insides would start drying up and sucking in all the moisture within his own body, he’d have an internal war inside him as well as the outer war he was currently in. Water was a lifeblood of everything and without it, he’d may as well lay down and let the varmints, animals or otherwise, scavenge his carcass.

Crossing the small brook, he pulled himself up the gravelly bank by grabbing handfuls of bushes and manhandling his sore body upwards. Successful at crawling upwards over the bank, his eyes widened at the bushes of berries he found himself beside. His mouth watered in anticipation but he held off, taking the blue handkerchief around his neck and filling it quickly with the wild raspberries, plopping three in his mouth before carefully tying the ends of the cloth and moving on.

Where there were berries, there was a possibility of animals who would also be seeking out the delicious fruits for breakfast. Only armed with a pistol and knife, the hunted wasn’t about to get into a confrontation with one of the mountains full-time residents. That would be the last thing he’d need to happen and the smart thing was to keep moving. Putting the blue cloth in his shirt pocket, the blond continued across the gully, seeking the other side which was the bottom of his next mountain.

The morning sun had fully risen over the horizon but he didn’t pay homage to the sunrise in the manner which had become a daily ritual. He only saw the path before him, kept going forward and occasionally looked backwards to scan the area he’d left, looking for those who’d be seeking him out.

His body wanted to stop and rest but his will to survive kept his feet moving and his shirt was again plastered with sweat, soiled with dirt and filth from his flight. He had to fight down the desire to turn around and become the hunter instead of the hunted, knowing to do so would be a stupid move and the desire rose up because of those behind him who forced him into this situation.

He didn’t like to be hounded like a dog and sent to scurry off in search of cover, seeking a haven to escape. To act on impulse, to act based on his emotions would be detrimental to him and beneficial to the hunters. His mind needed to detach itself and work separately from the old fears and angers inside his soul. He needed to be almost be two separate people within one shell if he’d make it out of these mountains alive.

Glancing upward, he estimated it to be just past noon and leaned against the hewn bark of a pine tree, his legs wanting to give out from the continuous upward climb. Breathing deeply, he wiped the sweat off his head and not for the first time wished he’d had his hat to keep the sun off him. The difference in temperature was almost laughable. He was perspiring like he was dancing in the fires of hell and then later, he’d be left shivering in the cold from the higher elevations.

Eating the last of the berries, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, sliding to the base of the tree. His mind conjured up visions of faces he hadn’t seen for a while except in his dreams, faces he’d consciously left behind. Reaching up and wiping a hand over his face, he felt a pang of loneliness deep within him and he wondered what they were doing at this very moment. Letting the hunger for more than food subside, he absently wondered if that meant he was seeing his life pass before his eyes, wondered if his mind was telling him of a premonition or something.

‘It’s telling ya’ get your ass movin’ up this mountain.’ snorted Heath, angry for letting his mind bring forth the faces of the Barkleys, angry at himself for not being able to keep from his mind what his heart was steeled against. Letting the anger rise in him, he used his darkest emotion to again push himself to his feet and away from the tree.

His hip stiffened from the short rest and he slowly stepped forward up the mountain. Stopping suddenly, his eyes spied the two bears moving in the area he was heading directly into. A mother grizzly and her baby were not a welcome sight to his eyes. No fool wanted to give a mama bear any reason to believe her cub was threatened and he cautiously moved downward, keeping the two animals in sight.

Moving back the way he’d come and then to the south, horizontal to their position and slowly creeping further and further away, his chest barely moved with the breaths he seemed to be holding as he moved away from the larger forest tenants.

Cursing under his breath, Heath moved and walked the contour of the mountain to the south. It was just his luck there’d be a bear in his way. The reason he stayed away from the most southern part of the mountain would be plain to those following. The southern part would be easier for horses to traverse and he wanted to make it difficult for the hunters. They’d have to earn a chance at him the hard way and now, he may just be walking right to them.

For to go too far north wasn’t an option, the northern side was covered with rock walls and some couldn’t be traversed by hand. Some faces of the mountain were sheer rocks from the elements of time cutting and honing them. North to a man on foot wouldn’t be a smart option.

Several hours passed since he’d seen the family of furballs and the hunted was steadily angling his way upwards the side of the mountain. Reaching the ridge, he stopped and glanced backwards from his high advantage point. He could see movement in the distance and he squinted. It looked like two horses trying to follow the path he was taking.

‘Dammit, where are the other two?’ asked the blonde keeping watch on those behind him before shifting his eyes to the side of the mountain he’d be descending. Taking out his pistol, he checked the chambers before sliding it back in its holder, looping the thong over the hammer to hold it in place.

Looking at the slowly falling sun, he estimated he had three hours left before night fell and he pushed upward, starting out with his right leg, grabbing for air when his leg buckled and the mountains echoed with the sound of a report.

Chapter 10

The echo in the mountains was quickly forgotten as he unceremoniously tumbled down the hill, the burning flame which buckled his leg started the precarious fall. Seeing stars for a moment, his body relaxed from the stunning of his mind and his tumble was stopped by a scrubbrush. The dry branches breaking from the weight of his body bouncing against it and the ends leaving their mark on him with scratches.

Groaning and shaking his head, the blonde opened and closed his eyes several times, only hearing a roaring in his ears. The roaring slowly subsided and it took a minute for his brain to process what he was now hearing. Horses!

Pulling himself free of the brush which stopped his quick ascent, he ran a sleeve across his forehead, the brown material turned dark from the blood on his face running down the corner of his eye. Reaching for his gun, his eyes turned frantic when the pistol wasn’t in his holster and he searched the hillside for it.

Looking upwards, he thought he saw the weapon and tried to climb to his feet, falling back to hold onto his leg, gasping as it instantly filled with pain. His pant leg was stained red with blood from the bullet which hit his thigh. Quickly pulling off his blue scarf, he wrapped it around the wound and tightened it, hissing through clenched teeth at the inflicted pain.

The sound of the horses appeared to be nearing and he reached under his vest, taking out the knife before half sliding and half crawling down the side of the mountain away from the approaching sounds. His lungs gasped for air and his jaw was stiff against the onslaught but he struggled to get further away. Like a wounded animal seeking a haven from those hunting it, the blond frantically moved away from the hunters.

He could hear the hunters shouting to each other, searching for him and he pushed himself downward. He didn’t see the edge of the small ridge on the mountain side until he’d rolled himself over it, falling down the fifteen feet to the bottom and curling into a ball from his impact with the ground, his knife falling from his hand.

Groaning and biting his lip to stop the sound from escaping, he worked on taking slower breaths to stop the darkness making its way in on the edges of his vision. He couldn’t let the darkness take him or they’d get their hands on him, she’d get her hands on him and somehow, he knew if that happened, he’d be wishing for death long before it came.

Crawling to his knees, he felt the tears gather in his eyes from the almost unbearable pain but he reached out with a shaky hand and grabbed onto his knife. Using a tree to push himself up, he leaned his head against it and took a moment to study the landscape around where he landed. He needed to take a path and stick to it for he knew he couldn’t outrun those behind him now, not with a bullet in his leg.

His back shivered with fear for they could have easily killed him but he could just hear her vile voice ordering to bring him back alive so she, his less than loving relative, could take her pleasure in his pain, like she did when he was an innocent child.

Spying a small game trail almost hidden as it entered the brush, the blond set his eyes for it and pushed off, holding onto his leg and clenching his jaw, the muscle in his face throbbed from its tightness. Stopping, he picked up a small branch with leaves and continued to the trail trying to brush any tracks which appeared behind him but most of the ground was grass and leaves.

Kneeling before the game trail, his ears heard the faint sound of falling water and at the last moment, he moved to the north, keeping to the grass and away from the dirt around the pool of water as he made his way slowly to the beginning of the pool. Reaching the rocks on the side and several attempts later he slid his knife back into its sling, his hands were shaking uncontrollably along with the rest of his body.

Taking a breath, he pulled himself over the wet stones, his injured leg screaming out with each bump, searing his mind with a brilliant display of color with each agonizing touch and he felt the will to continue fighting leave him.

Closing his eyes and laying on the wet rocks, he sucked in air and suddenly heard a soft voice in his ear, “Hurry, my son. Don’t give up, son!”

His head snapped up and his body surged forward with a rush of adrenaline, crawling over the rocks, he lowered himself into the water, the cold against his hot skin making him flinch.

Holding his breath, he found the strength needed and dove into the water, gulping for air after he came up behind the waterfall. Half in and half out of the water, he struggled to pull himself onto a small stone shelf. The shelf made from years and years of falling water eroding away at the great stone, pushing against the hard surface and eventually making a haven behind the cascading curtain of water.

Laying on his left side with his head on the shelf and his arms cradled around himself, his injured body trembled uncontrollably and curled into a ball while the darkness moved in and surrounded him.

“He can’t have just disappeared! FIND HIM!” hissed Martha, her eyes darting side to side in their sockets, the insanity let loose upon her husband’s death rising up and seeking to take control over all reason, her desire for revenge and the planning were the only actions keeping the insanity at bay.

Uncomfortably, Finch shifted his eyes from hers to study the two metal bracelets on his wrist, the connecting chain between the rings of metal had been cut apart by a bullet but they hadn’t been able to get the locks open and the bracelets cut into his skin, chafing the wrists til they bleed and stung with each movement.

Matt Simmons, the dead sonofabitch, had seen him slit another man’s throat and at the time Bradford Finch had kissed his rabbit’s foot when Simmons offered a drink instead of turning him over to the law. Finch, a man known for his eagerness to kill, shivered as he remembered that fateful night and how he’d thought he wouldn’t leave the hotel of the couple alive. When Martha Simmons showed up at the jail and called in her husband’s favor, the lure of the Barkley wealth had him agreeing quite readily. He hadn’t known the man they’d be after would be wily as a fox and comfortable with surviving in the mountains, for Finch himself, knew he’d die if left afoot in the mountains.

Under his lowered head, Finch studied the two men standing off to the side, brothers bound by more than just their name but bound by the lure of a quick dollar.

The Dalton Brothers, Dave and Dirk, were not associated with the infamous Daltons, but tried unsuccessfully to mirror their actions. Grown up with a lust for things they couldn’t get from working in a backwater town, digging in the dirt like their parents who struggled against the elements and cattle operations, they had no conscience for anyone other than each other. They cared only for each other, watched each other’s backs and when approached by the woman who served drinks at the saloon in Dardanelle, they quickly agreed for the Barkley wealth was known all over the state.

Admittedly, both brothers wondered why Thomson who was a half-brother to the Barkleys wanted to work as a deputy when all that fortune was within his grasp. To them, he was even crazier than the woman who was filled with nothing but a deep hatred for the man they were chasing over the countryside.

Now, the brothers were tired and exhausted from riding, tracking, pulling their horses over rough terrain after a man who until yesterday for that one brief moment of time had been as elusive as a ghost. He’d outsmarted them, outran them and outmaneuvered them almost without conscious thought. This deputy appeared to experienced in this type of warfare and the brothers found themselves looking more and more for a way to escape the insane woman bent on revenge. Looking into each other’s eyes, their minds were the same.

It was better to leave the mountains alive rather than find the hole their prey had gone into. To get the deputy out of the corner he’d backed into would be like poking a stick at a sleeping bear.

Wounded or not, they knew someone wouldn’t survive and there was no lure of money great enough for them to take the chance it’d be one of the other two. If they could assure it’d be the weasel or the loony bird, both brothers wouldn’t have hesitated standing back and waiting. But, they knew it would be them holding the stick and poking into the hole.

A quick hushed conversation between the three after she’d fallen into an exhausted semi-coma resulted in the three agreeing they’d be better off if that sorry excuse for a woman perished in the mountains. Leaving her with no provisions, the men walked the horses away before mounting, deserting their leader and leaving their wounded prey in the hole he’d found.

When the sun rose on the second day of not finding her injured nephew, Martha Simmons found herself alone in the mountain range, the men traveling with her deserting her in the middle of the night.

Her scream of anger, mixed with insanity and terror, echoed down the mountain valley, stilling all living creatures and sending them scurrying under cover.

Chapter 11

Her dreams had been interrupted consistently the past few days, haunted by a lop-sided grin and twinkling blue eyes. Often she dreamed of a beau sweeping her off her feet or dreamed she were a princess in a far away land, living a life reflected in her childhood fables. Sometimes dreams were replaced by nightmares, horrific reminders of the evils in the world or her family members hurt and in pain.

Often times the nightmares invaded her sleep when one of the family was hurt, but they were always after the event and could be accounted for as her subconscious filling her mind with what if’s.

What if that had happened? What if they hadn’t been able to overcome their fever? What if they hadn’t made it to the doctor? The what if’s often would torment her even though she knew they were recovering and on the mend.

Standing and looking out the window at the darkness lingering over the city of Sacramento, Audra hugged her chest and couldn’t stop the feeling the last few nights of dreams were different, they were telling her something about Heath.

A light knock on her door was heard before it quietly opened and Victoria entered, fully dressed to meet the day. On her way from the water closet, she saw the light under the guestroom where Audra slept and knew the hour was much too early for her youngest to be rising.

“Audra, are you okay sweetheart?” asked Victoria concerned as she made her way over and placed a hand on the cool forehead.

Smiling slightly, the blonde girl nodded and then shook her head in denial. Her eyes confused and questioning. “I’m not sure, Mother. These last few nights, I’ve had these horrible nightmares about Heath.”

“Heath?” repeated Victoria scrutinizing the shadows under her daughter’s eyes. “What kind of nightmares?”

Turning back to the window, the blue eyes of the only daughter stared outward without seeing the world before her, the tears forming and falling unnoticed as her voice trembled, “It’s almost as if I can hear him calling out, his words are…so….painful. Not only physically…but…deep inside him. It’s terrifying.”

Looking at her mother, Audra was stunned to see a look of almost agreement on the tiny woman’s face and not a mask of surprise. “Mother?”

“I heard him, too.” whispered Victoria, seeking out her daughter’s hand and holding on tightly. “I convinced myself it was my mind simply wishing he was calling to us, seeking us out and allowing us, no….me…to remove the pain I caused.”

“The pain we all caused, Mother.” stated Audra.

Shaking her head, Victoria reached up and caressed the tears off her daughter’s silky skin and sighed, “Not you, Audra. I am the one who convinced your brothers it was the only way to deal with Heath’s anger towards Bentell. I was so sure of myself but so very wrong.”

Pulling her daughter to her and wrapping her arms around the young girl, Victoria placed a kiss on her cheek and stood back, “Pack your things Audra, we’re taking the first train back to Stockton. I’ll explain to Mary and Sam. On the way to the station, we can wire your brothers to let them know.”

Standing on the platform of the depot in Dardanelle, Nick found he couldn’t keep his eyes off the mountains in the distance. The majestic of white capped peaks against the blue background was peaceful and dignified from afar. The towering peaks beckoned him, almost as if they were whispering to him, urging and pulling him in that direction.

“Nick, the train is getting ready to leave.” stated Jarrod softly, turning the tortured hazel eyes towards him.

Shaking his head, the hazel eyes turned back towards the mountains on the horizon and whispered, “I’m not going any further, Jarrod. Coco and I are heading there.”

Jarrod followed the trembling hand gesturing towards the distant mountains and he hesitated a moment before questioning, “Why, Nick? I thought we agreed to head to Berlin first.”

“I can’t explain it. I know that’s where we’ll find our little brother.” hissed Nick before taking several shaky breaths. “I…I can feel it…deep inside. He’s…calling me...for us. I...can…almost hear him.”

Jarrod suddenly shivered as though someone stepped on his grave, the feeling of coldness rushed over him and his own eyes gravitated towards the mountains, the snow capped peaks which haunted his dreams.

“Alright, Nick. Get the horses and I’ll wire Frank Sawyer in Berlin. Let him know we’ll start searching from here. Then, I’ll stop and get some supplies for the trail.”

“Jarrod, make sure you get some medical supplies too.” sighed Nick turning to meet the blue eyes of his big brother and reaching over to squeeze the shoulder of his big brother who nodded slightly after swallowing the lump of dread in his throat.

Separating and moving in two different directions, Nick strode to the stockcar, reaching up, yanked down the gate and climbed inside. His body suddenly filled with an urgency which hadn’t been there before and he quickly threw the saddles onto their mounts.

Chapter 12

The dream was so real it woke him from a state of complete darkness, the faces of those he’d left behind seared into his memory were brought forth, fresh as the last time he’d seen them.

His eyelids closed when he realized it was no more than a dream, no more than his mind playing a wishing game with him, torturing him with longing, tempting him with what he knew he’d never have again.

All perception known as time, night and day, was replaced with a never ending cycle of shaking, tormented thoughts and pain. The cascading water, the falling liquid meeting the serene pool of its counterpart was the only constant rhythm filling his world, drowning out all other sounds.

The coolness of the stone shelf felt deliciously soothing to his heat inflamed face each time he struggled upwards to consciousness. He only had snatches of awareness of these times. Forcing his trembling fingers to clean the wound in his thigh. Forcing his weakening form to the edge of the shelf to take in a sip of the cool mountain water to replace the moisture leaving him from the fever and blood loss, forcing himself to keep the tissues of his body damp with the necessary element.

His thoughts during these higher levels of consciousness were scattered and strewn across his mind like a child blowing away the fuzzy parts of the dandelion. His throat was sore and he thought he’d heard his voice calling, wakening him from the darkness by calling their names but he was unsure. He was having trouble recalling in his state of confusion and fogginess what was reality and what wasn’t.

He lay back after forcing himself to drink and briefly committed himself to simply letting the darkness keep its hold on him the next time it came. He was tired and in the pitch blackness, he couldn’t feel the pain, the pain both from his injuries and in his heart. Perhaps the coward’s way was best, the way to end all torment was to simply give up and let the cards fall as they may.

Yet, somewhere deep inside he knew he wouldn’t, he couldn’t take the way of the coward, no matter how tempting and painfree it appeared. For it was not in him to give up, to let himself surrender or let go. Even with the last shred of strength in his fingertips, he’d hang onto the edge of the cliff until only death could loosen his hold.

His life had always been a struggle, one after the other, small engagements on the battlefields in the war of life. It was deeply engrained in him to doggedly put one foot in front of the other and keep on, heading to what destiny had in store for this bastard child now turned a man.

Was it what he left behind or something in his future? Did he have what destiny decreed for him and then left it behind, never to be found again? Had he unknowingly destroyed what destiny sought to reward him with for the trials and tribulations of his past struggles? Had he folded his hand before he realized the true riches in the pot? Had he already in a sense taken the coward’s way in the past? Had he turned tail and run without putting up a fight because he hadn’t known how to stand up to their challenge? Had he?

Rolling onto his side, blue eyes stared blankly through the falling curtain of water, able to see it was dark once again and without even being aware he was moving, he was suddenly at the edge of the shelf.

It was the primitive need for living, the need to survive taking control, the need to give his all, no matter the cost, moving him and forcing him to act. He’d always given more than he’d taken and somehow this was what made him who he was.

To stay here any longer would be the coward’s way and he knew he’d rather face what was out there then have his soul linger between this world and the next. For to give up would leave a blight of darkness on his soul, a blight which could never be erased.

Taking a breath and slowly letting it out, Heath bit back his groan of pain and forced himself to a sitting position with his left hand. The beads of sweat on his face increasing and he closed his eyes, steadying the swirling world with his palm flat on the rock shelf. His right thigh was engulfed with warmth and throbbed out of tune with the deep bruising on his right hip, the stinging of the crease in his side and the constant drumming in his head.

Wiping a trembling hand across his face after the world stood still, he slowly eased his battered frame into the water, hissing at the coolness touching his scalding skin. Holding onto the rock shelf, he slowly moved to the edge before taking a shaky breath, going under the water and pushing off the rock hidden beneath the surface with his left leg and left hand.

Gliding under the water cascading from above, he kicked with his left leg and propelled himself with his arms to the surface, reaching out and holding onto a crack in the rock wall with the fingers of his left hand. Floating on his back for a moment to gain some air back into his lungs, he moved onto his side and used the line provided by nature in the rock to reach the shallow end of the pool. His body shook uncontrollably from the cold water, his fever and the exertion used to remove himself from his hiding spot.

Crawling and pulling himself up onto the muddy shore, he sank down onto the bank, uncaring of the night air further chilling his wettened skin or the symphony of nature’s orchestra while his chest heaved for air.

Raising his head, he tilted it to the side at the voice he heard in his ears, the deep voice reassuring and reaching through the shimmering fog in his head.

“We’re coming, little brother. Hold on!”

“Nniicc…” whispered his voice barely through teeth chattering with cold and fever.

His hands reached out, grabbing handfuls of the muddy bank and pulled his body forward with his left leg bending and pushing, the toe of his boot digging in and taking himself away from the pool, an inch at a time.

Chapter 13

“Duke, what do you mean the boys aren’t here?” questioned Victoria in confusion. “I didn’t know they were expecting to be out of town.”

Looking around at the gathering crowd on the platform, Duke put on his hat and held his arm out, stating for her ears only, “Let’s talk over by the surrey, Mrs. Barkley.”

Hesitating only a moment, Victoria nodded and took the offered arm with Audra following after Duke instructed Turly to get the trunks of the two women. Stopping by the black carriage, the foreman pushed his hat back and sighed.

“Jarrod and Nick left two days ago. Seems the sheriff in Berlin, Nevada has a deputy who was overdue by three days.” stated Duke quietly.

“Why would they need Jarrod and Nick?” puzzled Audra. “We don’t know anyone in Berlin, do we, Mother?”

Shaking her silver head, Victoria replied, “No, I don’t believe so, Audra.”

Holding up his hand to stop the questions he saw ready to spill forth, Duke found the gray eyes of the Barkley matriarch. “The missing deputy is blonde with blue eyes and his name is Heath Thomson.”

Gasping in surprise, Victoria and Audra grabbed onto each other, their eyes sporting matching sets of hope and wonder.

“They went to Berlin to find out if the missing deputy is Heath, ma’am.” informed the foreman.

‘Missing’ reverberated through Victoria’s mind and her head snapped up, “What do they mean by missing? Did the telegram say?”

“It said he was overdue from delivering a prisoner by three days. That’s why the Sheriff from Berlin wired Dardanelle. He was to pick the prisoner up from Dardanelle and transport him to Berlin. The sheriff in Dardanelle wired Sheriff Tucker in Pine Crest and he wired Fred. There’s some mighty rough territory between them two places, Mrs. Barkley. It could be one of the horses was injured.” suggested the foreman.

“Or it could be something else all together, Duke. Something worse.” interjected Victoria, remembering the haunting dreams of the past few says.

“Mother, what are we going to do?” whispered Audra, her stomach clenching as she recalled the dreams of her blond brother. “I know it’s him. I know it!”

“Mr. McCall!” shouted the telegrapher, Hank Johnson, tipping his hat to the women. “Afternoon, Mrs. Barkley. I got a wire for you, Mr. McCall.”

Taking the paper and handing the man a tip, Duke opened it and handed it to Victoria. Scanning the written words, she reread the paper again and looked up into the eyes of her old friend.

“Duke, find out when the next train going east is leaving. We’ll need two tickets, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” nodded Duke, returning to the depot and entering.

Turning to Audra, Victoria sighed, “Jarrod and Nick stopped in Dardanelle. They’re starting their search from there.”

Holding onto her mother’s hand, Audra let out a shaky breath and offered, “Heath’ll be fine, Mother. Maybe one of the horses did go lame.”

Smiling at her daughter, Victoria patted her hand and watched their foreman approach.

“Leaves in twenty minutes, Mrs. Barkley. I got two seats and Turly put the trunks back on the train.”

“Thank you, Duke.” smiled Victoria in appreciation. “Please wire Dardanelle and leave word for the boys to let them know we’ll be arriving. They may be out searching but when they get back into town, the wire will be there.”

“I will, ma’am.” assured Duke, adding as she turned to go. “Mrs. Barkley, he may not want to admit it and he may fight it but that boy belongs on the ranch. You bring him home, okay?”

Stopping for a moment, Victoria gazed into her foreman’s eyes and nodded firmly, “I will do my damn, uh, my best, Duke. You can bet on that.”

Keeping his eyes on the departing women until they boarded the train, Duke smiled and shook his head while whispering to himself, “I believe you will do just that, ma’am. I believe you will.”

Falling again to the ground, her cries of fear and frustration stilled the forest life around her. Her hair was unkempt and dirty, the palms of her hands and her knees bleeding from struggling over the foreign terrain. Her middle aged body while not unfamiliar with work was battered and bruised.

Terror filled her moments of clarity, terror stark and dark reached down to the very core within her. She had no skills, no way of knowing how to escape the mountainous deathtrap she’d been deserted in. Always a city dweller, she loathed to wander outside the safe limits of a town. She’d always relied on her husband to handle the jobs which took place on the road leading to or from their hotel.

She despised the outdoors and the roughness of the countryside. She’d always thought she’d deserved to live in a grand house, dine in style and entertain the finest people around. She deserved those things and yet, here she was. Left in a god forsaken place, abandoned by those she coerced into helping with her plan of revenge.

It was his fault! The bastard! How could he have escaped? Where is he hiding? He was hurt, the Daltons said they shot him in the leg and yet, they couldn’t find him. Those pathetic excuses for men! They lost the man who could have made her rich! The Barkleys, those damn no-gooders, would have paid to have the bastard returned! Why they would want him around was beyond her!

Picking herself up, she didn’t notice the tears which fell down and left tracks on her face lined with dirt. The heat of the day was scorching down and the dust rising from her boots gravitated towards the droplets of sweat on her skin, it clung to the wet patches on her torn blouse. Her steps were sluggish and uneven, her legs shaking badly, her eyes darting around in confusion.

It all looked the same! Every tree! Every bush! Every rock! It was all the same!

Her hands grabbed onto the side of the mountain, pulling her body upwards while her mind dodged from one end to the other, her thoughts of yesteryear intermingled with recent memories.

Her nails became broken and dirty, blood seeped out from her digits when she suddenly flew into a fit of rage, scratching unmercifully into the ground and screaming nonsense until she was hoarse. Falling onto her stomach, she laid on the grass warmed by the sun, her eyes open but unblinking, her body trembling with the remnants of the fury.

Lifting her head, she pushed up onto her hands and knees, mumbling to herself as she crawled forward, her hair sprinkled with twigs and grass. Uncaring of the ripping of her clothing, she moved to the top of the hill, collapsing against a rock, scrapping her elbow as it grated on the rough surface and stared down the mountainside.

Beyond the mountainside was a valley and beyond that….lifting her head, she stared in disbelief.

Chapter 14

For a moment, lucidity returned and her shattered mind categorized the sight, the fight on the other side of the valley, a struggle of mammoth proportions as the participant engaged in the battle.

For a brief flicker of time she stared, then her hand resting against the burning surface of the stone pushed her exhausted body upwards and her feet moved forward. Her eyes not losing sight of the struggling participant who succeeded and now leaned against a tree.

Her feet, previously unsure and stumbling, seemed to find their own way around the obstacles, seemed to suddenly be as sure footed as a mountain goat’s. Nimbly taking her down the side of the hill, her heart pounding feverishly, her mouth dry in anticipation and the fingers on her hands twitched the closer she got.

Neither dared break the melody of the hooves beneath them, the pounding on the soil covered with dry grasses intermittingly mixed with miniature bushes and piles of rocks. Winding their way around the obstacles created over centuries of elements, the two riders’ eyes were focused and intense.

The punishing pace on the horses, the battering on their muscles, the stiffness in their bodies went unnoticed. Their minds remained tortured by demons of despair and the unknown while they endeavored to reach their end goal.

The end goal had been in sight since the first movement of their horses’ hooves. It molested them from afar, seeming teasingly near and yet, the lofty hills appeared to be forever just beyond their fingertips.

The faint, pastel distant colors encompassing the majestic figures grew distinct and bold as the day drew longer. Faint pastel hues of blues, yellows and greens became darker over time as if a painter stroked with an oil-laden brush to bring the colors out sharper on the canvas. The brashness drawing their eyes upward, the beauty of the scenic view not impacting the harried souls riding the equines.

To the two brothers whose minds could not erase the lingering calls each had heard or the continual whispered reverberation of his voice, the hours stretched to an eternity before they’d finally reached the base of the grandiose hills whose peaks danced with the clouds in the sky.

No communication was needed to establish the order of the procession into the vastness, no words to be vocalized. It was preordained by the strength of the sensations gracing their souls across the miles of separation.

Nick moved to the trail seen as they neared and entered the mountains via the southern most section. The trail while not worn and smooth from continuous travel was a path worked into the environment from time and past wanderers.

The road he urged his mount up followed the natural contours of the land created long before his ancestors set foot in this great country. It was created long ago, perhaps by the first people who lived in the area. The first people who traveled to the mountains seeking the riches of meat, fur and the natural abundant resources. Their necessity for the riches needed to survive were responsible for the trail used for generations long after they’d rejoined with the earth.

Jarrod glanced backward over his shoulder at the storm clouds which were building in the west since they’d left Dardanelle. The pillow soft white masses in the sky were slowly replaced with large lumps of darkened gray and black. The new arrivals hanging low and menacing over the ground, moving to sweep across the area left hungering for the taste of its wetness to fight the dry spell which choked them.

A storm in the higher elevations was a ferocious sight, an experience capable of waking the dead from the fury of the thunder shaking the earth and the slashing bolts of light trying to dodge from one peak to another. Even a simple cloudburst or a small shower in the higher elevations could cause death to any living thing in its path while it careened down the gullies and ravines, making its way downhill in its natural cycle.

The first spatters of small drops hit the ground, splashing and becoming disseminated with the contact on the hard surface. The oblique shape of the drops shattered into a multitude of tinier drops before the thirsty ground greedily inhaled the wetness.

At the first drops, the brothers stopped and put on their rain gear, the black slickers designed to keep their garments dry, thus preventing their body heat from escaping under a deluge. Looking upward and estimating they were halfway between the bottom and the ridge, Nick took a deep breath and glanced backward to his older brother, his unspoken question receiving an affirmative nod. Nudging Coco with his heels, the hazel eyes scanned the area before them as they continued climbing to the higher elevation.

The afternoon was still upon them but the darkness of the sky, the closing off of the sun and the increase of rain mixed with wind were the signs Mother Nature sent down. She’d been dogging their heels all day with her contribution to destiny’s game and she let loose with a vengeance, the howling wind her laughter of delight at the chaos she created.

The hairs on the backs of their necks stood up with the first crack of thunder, the first flash of the electric energy against the dark backdrop. Both riders were on their feet, struggling to pull their mounts up the trail which seemed to lose all solid consistency in a matter of minutes. Their boots and the horses hooves slipping on the slick surface but they continued upward to the ridge, knowing to stop would mean they’d have to turn around and go backward.

Going backwards was not an option either could fathom. Only going forwards would they find the brother they’d lost, only forward and with each step taking them closer to the top of the ridge, the bodies of men and beasts were tense, waiting for a flash of light to strike.

He felt the change in the environment, subconsciously knowing what was coming even in his feverish state. His time spent in Mother Nature’s company, working under her vast skies, sleeping under her blanket of stars, sitting below her comforting moonlight beams reached through the fog of pain and peeked his senses. He knew from the charge in the air, the sudden quieting of the forest animals she was sending her fury his way.

He struggled from where he’d lain on the ground, his body steadily declining in strength and the pain became like a welcomed friend. For if he felt the pain, he was still fighting, still struggling to make his way across the expanse. For he knew, it was when he felt the pain no longer, that would be the moment all would be lost and gone forever.

Leaning against the tree, he stared at the ridge, his glazed eyes wavering the horizon and he gulped air into his burning lungs. Somehow, he knew if he made it over this ridge, he was sure there were no more mountains to crawl up, no more hills to ascend. Tilting his head upward, he opened his mouth and took in the clean moisture falling from the sky, the few drops not driven away by the wind were quickly cycled by the tissues in his parched body.

He didn’t know how long the sound had been in the background before he recognized it over the wind, the sound chilled his fevered body, taking away the burning inside replacing it with the icy hand of dread.

Turning with difficulty on the rain slick slope, glazed eyes were wiped free of fever as he was propelled backwards by the screaming banshee lunging into his body.

Struggling over the rise, Jarrod and Jingo moved to the side of Coco and Nick, both men descending as one, leading their mounts and seeking a haven from the elements at a lower elevation. The rain and darkening skies hindering their ability to see was suddenly filled with brightness from the burst provided by Mother Nature.

The burst of lightning was almost blinding if you looked at it directly, however, the two pairs of eyes were drawn by movement below their position and both men screamed, the wind drowning out their cries at the hand which plunged downward.

Chapter 15

The spine shriveling shrieks hidden under the sounds of the pitching winds and thundering cracks filling the mountainous valley rang in his ears. Propelled backwards from the head on rush, Heath’s breath left his lungs when he impacted viciously with the water drenched muddy ground.

His weakened body lay pinned by the weight upon him and he desperately moved his hands trying to stop the assault of the deranged woman who had the momentum of madness and revenge driving her.

A flash revealed the dirt streaked face with untamed and mangled hair standing out from her head, the charge in the air straightening the strands. The hollowness of her features, gaunt and enflamed with fury were heightened by the insanity in her dark eyes.

The lighting flash changed the color in her eyes from dark to red, the demon living deep inside her soul escaping and reeking its vengeance on the man struggling beneath her.

Catching her shoulder with his right fist, he propelled his aunt off his abdomen and chest, his face, neck and shoulders suffered the majority of the attack. Her foot hit the bullet wound in his thigh, the tenderized area of flesh sending a shockwave of pain through his leg, his hands reached down to clamp on the injured area as he rolled onto his side.

Martha rolled four feet on the side of the mountain before coming to a stop on her stomach, her screaming of rage proceeding her scramble up the slope. Her hand closed on a branch and with one fluid movement, she wrapped her fingers around the solid wooden club provided by nature.

Reaching under his vest, he grabbed the handle of his knife bringing it out from its sheath. The lightning flashed, the blade glittering as it came around his body and her arms swung, hitting his wrist.

Crying out from the impact of wood against flesh, his weapon was cast from his grip and he instinctively gripped on the injured section of his wrist, the hand going numb from the contact. Kicking out with his left leg, he caught her knee, sending her down to the ground and her unholy howl of pain sent another surge of adrenaline through her.

No longer was there any evidence of sanity, the cloudiness in her mind was gone, leaving behind only a dark place filled with voices and thoughts of cruelty. She was unstoppable, her body not registering the effects of the pain it was experiencing. All she knew was the voices urged her on and she threw the club from her fallen position.

Pushing himself to his left knee and trying to get up onto his injured leg, Heath collapsed in pain from the explosion in his right leg, falling forward and sliding forward on his stomach, the slick slope moving him effortlessly five feet.

Groaning and rolling on the ground, his hands trying to stop the fire in his thigh, the skies lit up again, his hands springing upward to throw her over him. The knife glistened in her hand and left a deep cut in his chest on her way past. The rain pelting down from the dark skies unable to wash the blood away, the stain spreading across his chest. Turning, he saw his crazed relative lying stunned and slowly making her way to her feet.

Fear brought his body to his feet, he lunged and his hands barreled into her back. The movement snapping her head backwards as his weight propelled her forward, her shoulder glancing off the side of a tree on her way past.

The lunge catapulted his body to the ground, his hands breaking most of his fall. His gasps for air ripping through his lungs and the instinctive need for survival, pushed him upwards, his hand holding the forest fire in his leg. Staggering and swaying, Heath moved to the area where he’d pushed his aunt.

Leaning against the tree, he couldn’t see the light colored dress and he moved forward, the rain and darken sky hindering his search. She sprang with the knife poised to slash, his hands grabbed her wrists and their footing was lost.

Falling, he held onto the woman with the strength of ten men while they rolled on the hill, the mud caking their clothes, their skin and finding its way into the wounds now flowing free with red.

Her movements quicker than his, her lunacy increased strength exceeded his fear incensed adrenaline. Rolling to a stop, she was in the position of supremacy and the lightning flashed before she slashed downward with the razor sharp blade.

Neither hearing the screaming of the two men over the booming of thunder and cracking of lightning. Neither heard anything, saw anything except the enemy they engaged in battle.

Heath felt the blade find a home the same time his fist broke the jaw in the demonic face, sending her onto the side with a scream of pure pain. Reaching up, his face turned paler as he yanked the knife out of his body.

Holding onto her face, her hand sought to hold the broken mandible in place, her eyes finding him and she jumped, her body falling onto his, the blood from her mouth dripping down as their eyes stared into each other. Pushing upward, he rolled her off to the side, the knife embedded deep into her abdomen buried to the hilt, her fingers reached out and dug into the mud slowly until their movement stilled.

Turning onto his side away from the sight, his tears of pain and relief mixed with the rain which trickled down his face. His cheek pressed into the cold mud while he reached down deep inside for one last bit of strength, moving his right arm underneath his body, he put his palm down on the ground and pushed, falling back onto the ground and lying with eyes closed, exhausted and beaten.

Pulling the horses down to a tree and tying their reins securely, Nick and Jarrod scrambled over the slippery slope, holding onto the muddy bank and forcing their way to their fallen brother.

Large hands gently turned the smaller man whose eyes suddenly flew open and his arms flailed outward, his left side exploding in pain from the wound in his chest when his hand connected with a solid body.

“HEATH!” screamed Nick and Jarrod, their loud voices halting the frightened man’s movements. “IT’S US! IT’S YOUR BROTHERS!”

Blue eyes blinked at the faces looming over him blocking the rain drops. The older men watched the lids on the eyes close and reopen, the incredulous look overcoming the pain in their depths before the ghost of a smile upturned one corner of his mouth and his brutalized body went limp in their hands.

Chapter 16

Through a flash of light, Jarrod saw the tender smile on Nick’s face and the hazel eyes filled with moisture while his hand stroked the pale face reassuring himself his little brother was real and not a figment of a cruel imagination.

Jarrod let out a shaky breath, his own throat choked with emotions. The terror at seeing the knife wielding hand being brought down towards Heath, the fear of being too late to save him when they’d finally found the missing piece of their family and the elation at seeing the blue in his eyes ravaged the prominent attorney as much as the storm was the mountains.

“There’s so much mud and blood I can’t tell if he’s only got a knife wound or more injuries.” scowled Nick, having opened the filthy shirt to examine the blond’s chest, shoving his black handkerchief into the gash below his collarbone and pressing on the wound.

A low moan and turning of the blond head at the pressure being applied to stem the flow of blood was the only sound from the pale younger man, the moan barely heard over the howling wind.

“We need to get him out of the rain and get these wet clothes off.” stated Jarrod looking around at the mountain side. “If we move further down maybe there’s some shelter in a grove of trees. Anything’ll do.”

Nodding, Nick lifted the cloth and lowered it, his hand pressing down firmly. Gesturing over to the other body as Nick looked past his older brother, he frowned, “Jarrod, is that a woman?”

A surprised look filled the blue eyes and Jarrod turned around on his haunches and bent over, his fingers feeling for a pulse. Staring at the face for several minutes, his head snapped up and cursed.

“What’s the matter? Jarrod!” bellowed Nick, unable to move or the pressure on the wound would be released and more blood would escape.

Turning to his younger brother, Jarrod swallowed the bile in his throat and choked out, “It’s Heath’s aunt, Martha Simmons.”

“SHE’S SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!” shouted Nick in disbelief. “SHE IS DEAD NOW, RIGHT?”

Shaking his head, Jarrod felt his stomach turn with sickness, “Nick, she’s still alive but barely. Her pulse is very weak.”

Staring into his older brother’s blue eyes, Nick shook his head in denial and stammered, “Leave her. Let the animals take care of it.”

“Nick!” gasped Jarrod.

“Dammit, who’s more important here? Heath or…or...or…that…that” growled Nick furiously, gesturing with the hand not holding the bandage in place. “Christ, I’m not putting another person before him! I’M NOT!”

Wiping a hand over his face, Jarrod took in a lungful of air, “Nick, no matter what we think, I can’t do it. I can’t not try to help her. We’re obligated to try to save her. NO matter who she is!”

“We are not obligated to that bitch! We’re obligated to our little brother not some crazy!” snarled Nick, turning his eyes downward to the injured man lying by his knees. “And I’m not helping HER!”

“I don’t like it either, Nick but to just let her die would be like murder.” stated Jarrod. “I know you don’t condone murder.”

Angrily moving, Nick brushed against Heath’s right leg and the blond suddenly cried out in pain, his hands reaching for the leg bursting with fire and rolling onto his side, his head thrashing about.

“HEATH!” called Nick, his eyes frantically searching the closed eyes scrunched in pain, his hands clamped onto his thigh, his breaths hissing between his clenched jaws. Taking hold of the wrists, Nick pried the hands away from the pant leg thick with mud. Jarrod held onto Heath’s face with both hands, talking to his little brother, his voice slowly calming the thrashing blond.

“That’s it, Heath. Let Nick look at your leg. It’ll be okay, little brother.” soothed Jarrod, his voice and the fingers stroking the crusted hair and face reaching through the curtain of pain.

Shaking uncontrollably, Heath lay with eyes closed and bit back a groan of pain when the material of his pants rubbed against the angry wound from the sharp knife cutting through the cloth. Reaching towards the pain, his hand was caught and held by a larger hand.

“Don’t Heath. I know it’s hurting but we need to get it done.” said Jarrod, gripping his little brother’s hand, grimacing slightly when the younger man’s grip tightened when he felt gentle fingers probing the inflamed area.

Even if he wanted to escape the sharp daggers in his leg, Heath knew the hand holding onto his chest to stop the bleeding from the knife wound held more power than his whole body.

Turning his head, Heath pushed his forehead into the bent knee by his head, his breaths ragged and fast. Jarrod looked up, realizing the rain had stopped and a glance at the horizon revealed the storm’s edge was above their position.

Jarrod looked down in surprise when the hand gripping his, loosened its hold and he glanced at Nick who was shaking his head and growling from deep within his body.

“Bullet went clean through but it’s infected. Looks like Heath cleaned it as well as he could.” informed Nick before looking up. “No blood poisoning this time.”

“Thank goodness.” sighed Jarrod, lowering his unconscious little brother’s hand and stroking the cheek not pressed to the ground.

“I’m not a murderer.” stated Nick firmly, feeling the blue eyes of his big brother on his head as he worked on the bullet wound. “Do what you think you have to, but I’m not helping you. I’m taking care of Heath and not lifting one finger to help her. Not one!”

Continued…