Of Dreams and Yesterdays

Chapters 1-9

by Heartcat

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 One

Natalie sighed deeply, a soft smile curling the corners of her generous mouth, while her fingers went to the precious item suspended from the gold chain around her neck. The first musical swells of the show's finale began and the credits began to roll, as the familiar theme played on. She felt that same satisfaction that she always felt after watching her favourite television show. It had been a good one, 'Buffalo Man', and while not exactly a 'Jarrod' episode, the handsome lawyer had still had an important part in it. Her fingers found the object they had been seeking and raised it closer, as she bent her head to examine it.

It had arrived just that morning, her latest ebay purchase, delivered with a smile by the uniformed postman. With a great flourish she had sliced open the small, cardboard box, and excited hands had reached for the treasure within. There was a certificate on top, validating the merchandise as 'genuine'. Natalie glanced at it for a moment, wondering if it really was, assuming that it probably was, but it was genuine in her mind, and that was all that mattered. She set the certificate aside, and lifted the bubble wrap from it's container. The plastic fell open, and the light that streamed through the kitchen window glinted on the gilded surface.

Jason had just shaken his head and chuckled indulgently when she had pointed out the auction page to him that fateful day, her eyes pleading imploringly. She had budgeted herself $20 every month to purchase 'Big Valley' memorabilia. She had already spent her allotment for this month, on a photograph and some fridge magnets. And the starting price for this item was more than her maximum.

Her husband had never complained about her passion, or about the money she spent, even though, with only his income and two young children to feed and clothe and care for, they pretty much lived paycheque to paycheque. He didn't understand it, she knew, but he encouraged her in something that was important to her, as he always did. He had his own interests, NASCAR, and he could understand the collecting 'bug', even if he didn't see the draw of an old 60s t.v. western that had been off the air for almost as many years as either of them had been alive.

Natalie found it hard to explain to people just how much the show meant to her. How alive the characters were in her heart. How much she enjoyed the action. How impressed she was with the values. How nice it was in today's topsy turvy world to know that good would always triumph in the end. To experience the love that the Barkley clan felt for one another...something that seemed to transcend time and a television screen, to reach right into Natalie's soul.

And Jarrod Barkley, the eldest son, the lawyer, well he was her unequivocal favourite. Dashing and debonair. Undeniably intelligent. Uncommonly principled. The ultimate man of her dreams. She loved them all though. Victoria, the wise matriarch, Audra the beautiful, gentle daughter and sister, Nick the loud and brash rancher with the heart of gold and loyalty as big as the San Joaquin valley, and Heath, the illegitimate son of the late, great Tom Barkley, whose gentle ways and lopsided grin hid formulative years of hardship and hurt. They weren't real of course. But they were real to Natalie, as real as any people she had ever known, and she knew them as well as the writers who had created them. As did their other fans, the world over. That was the way it was sometimes, when people found something they could really relate to.

"A pair of cufflinks?" Jason had asked from over her shoulder. Natalie had swivelled her head in time to catch the raised eyebrow, but there was a softness in his eyes that she recognized. "That much money for a tarnished old pair of cufflinks?" He had chuckled then, planting a kiss on the top of her dark head. "Issued to members of the cast..." he read. "You realize that probably means some walk-on extra, or, if you're lucky a guest star, assuming they even were used in the production of the show." Jason was always a skeptic. "But they wouldn't have been worn by the Jarrod character, if that's what you're thinking."

He placed his hand on his wife's shoulder and squeezed consolingly. He knew how her mind worked, and Natalie blushed. "Well, of course not!" she insisted lightly. She'd seen the cufflinks normally worn by 'Jarrod Barkley', her beloved Richard Long, and these weren't them. No doubt those cufflinks were the sort of memorabilia taken by the cast or crew at the serie's close more than three decades ago. They wouldn't have been languishing in a box of old props in some California wardrobe company's warehouse.

But there was something about the ones featured in the auction ad photo. Golden, but not real gold obviously, and slightly tarnished with age. Horseshoes, with a horse head in the centre. The kind of inexpensive, vintage costume jewelry you could find at flea markets and thrift stores everywhere. But Natalie found she couldn't take her eyes off of them, or rid herself of the feeling that somewhere, at some time, many years ago, these cufflinks had had some connection with Richard Long.

Maybe worn by someone that he reached to shake hands with. Perhaps casually picked up by him and then set down, in wardrobe. If she watched enough episodes she just knew that eventually she would see these cufflinks. They were, even if in just some small way, a tangible connection to a past that Jason sometimes chided her was more real to her than the present

"Go ahead and place a bid," Jason had said then. "They can be a belated Mother's Day gift from me." April and May had been tight, and though there had been breakfast in bed, and flowers from the supermarket, and the gifts and cards that Brady and Brooke had made in school, there had been no real 'present'. Natalie hadn't seemed to mind...Jason knew that she honestly hadn't cared...but it had made him feel a bit bad. She did so much for their family. Caring so wonderfully for the children and for their home. There were times when he would get discouraged, but always Natalie's optimism and encouragement carried him through.

Natalie had felt the butterflies in her stomache. "Are you sure?" she asked, wide-eyed, her green eyes shining hopefully. He nodded. Quickly, before she could change her mind and talk herself out of it, Natalie had typed in her user name and password, entered a maximum bid amount, and hit 'submit'. She was the 'current high bidder'.

There had been no other bids, surprisingly. 'Big Valley' items were popular, and there seemed to be a small core of those who collected related items...all who seemed to have much larger financial resources than Natalie did, and to her disappointment she was constantly outbid. But not this time. As each day passed, she dreaded the email that she just knew would come. 'You have been outbid...' But it never came.

She'd sat at the computer screen, her heart thudding in her chest, hitting the 'refresh' button constantly in the last few minutes of the auction, just waiting for someone to come in at the last minute and beat her out. She had broken one of her cardinal rules then, about praying for 'things'. She had done it before she'd even realized it...bent her head and whispered a few words, imploring God to let her win this auction. And then, it was over, and the word 'Congratulations...' beamed at her from her screen.

Natalie hadn't thought of what she was going to do with them, particularly. If she had, she likely would have envisioned displaying them on her bedroom bureau with her other things. But when she held them in her hands that morning, she just knew that she wanted them closer to her. And not just when she slept, but throughout her day. Or one of them, at least. So, she had dug through her jewelry box and found a thin, golden chain, just cheap costume jewelry...she didn't have a real gold chain...and slipped one end through the cufflink, before clasping it at the back of her neck.

She stood now before the bathroom mirror, brushing her long, wavy, dark brown hair. She'd always been so proud of her hair, thick and luxurious. Her best feature, she'd thought, though Jason had dissented and said that would be her green eyes. Natalie reached to touch her right temple, noting the several new strands of silver there. She'd have to start colouring her hair soon, she thought with a sigh.

Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she admired the cufflink hanging just below the hollow of her throat, against the backdrop of the white t-shirt. Strangely, she never wore jewelry, not even her wedding band unless they were going somewhere special. Natalie wondered if other people would think she was silly, wearing an old cufflink on a chain. Not exactly the height of fashion, she mused, smiling at herself. But she had never been one to worry herself with what was 'in'.

Natalie glanced at her watch. She still had an hour before she had to be at the school to pick up Brady and Brooke. There were a lot of things she didn't like about where they lived...the old house was too small, the neighbourhood was not that great, despite the fact that their street was loving cared for by it's residents, there was that black, greasy soot from the steel factories that covered her patio furniture in the summer, and the homes were all so close together, with postage stamp-sized yards...but it meant the world to her that it was affordable, and she did love the quiet of living on a dead-end street that ended at the elementary school yard. And at the opposite end of the street, across the intersection, was the little strip mall. Convenience did have it's benefits.

She thought that she would run down to the supermarket and pick up a pie for dessert tonight. She'd taken out pork chops for Jason to barbecue when he came home. She had the fixings for tossed salad to accompany it. They didn't normally have dessert, but Natalie was feeling in such a good mood that she wanted to celebrate. Of course, she wouldn't actually say that to Jason and the children. Celebrating because there'd been a particularly good episode of 'Big Valley' on t.v. and because the cufflinks had come, and because the sun was shining and it was a lovely day? Well, they didn't have to know the reason, she decided, as she slipped on her running shoes at the front door. They wouldn't think of much more than the fact that they were being treated to pie. Blueberry would be nice, she decided.

Natalie felt light-hearted as she skipped down the front steps, turning to her right and towards the store, slipping her purse over her left shoulder. It really was a beautiful day, warm but not hot, a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of the big, old maples that lined the street, as birds chirped to one another from their branches. The sky was a deep, azure blue. The Bartlett's garden was bursting with colour, and Sharon waved from across the street, a spade in one gloved hand, her straw hat pulled low over her face.

Natalie strolled, feeling that all was right with the world. She had a wonderful, caring husband that she knew loved her deeply. She had two bright, beautiful children, her 'million dollar family', Brady the older one at age seven, Brooke, four, in her first year of junior kindergarten. They didn't have a lot materially, but they had their health and they had one another. Corny, she knew, but she truly was grateful for that. Natalie didn't need 'things' to be happy. Well, she reconsidered, a few things. Her fingers stole again to the cufflink around her neck, and she was filled again with the sensation that this piece had some connection to Richard Long.

Handsome, talented Richard, who had died far too young. Whose dear heart had given out when he was only in his forties. Richard who had portrayed Jarrod Barkley so masterfully. Natalie had always believed that Richard could never have made the character of the dashing, principled attorney so believable if he hadn't shared some of Jarrod's decency and goodness and honour. She envisioned him, with his jet black hair and incredible blue eyes. She thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Of course, Natalie had never told Jason that. Jason, her husband of almost ten years, had Richard's colouring. Jet hair and sapphire eyes. But Jason's features were more angular, his high cheekbones pronounced, his jaw squared. Jason was just as handsome, she corrected herself. She had seen the way women looked at her tall, gregarious, charmingly unaware husband.

She had come to the intersection now, pausing to wait for the light to change. Her bag slipped from her shoulder a bit, and she grabbed at it with her right hand. Her thumb hooked in the chain, and before she even realized what was happening, the thin metal snapped, and the cufflink slid down it's length. Natalie watched it in seeming slow motion.

It hit the curb with a ping that resonated, despite the sounds of the traffic all around her. Her mouth dropped open as it bounced up again and into the street. Towards the rusty metal grate, which looked to her frenzied imagination like the hungry toothed grin of some monster, set to devour the morsel that slid inexorably closer towards it's gaping maw.

"NO!" Natalie shouted. She couldn't lose it. There would be no other to replace it. It was special, she just knew it. It was hers. It belonged to her, belonged with her.

Without thinking, she moved to try to intercept it. Stepping off the curb, she bent at the waist, reaching her arm out, her splayed fingers stretching. Miraculously, she felt them close on the piece, felt her breath expel in a sudden whoosh, felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins, as she scooped it into the palm of her hand. Then Natalie heard the squeal of brakes. The high-pitched scream, surely a woman's scream, filled the air. The cufflink felt hot in her hand. Still bent over, she turned her head. Turned it to see the ton of dark metal bearing down on her. She was close enough to see the frantic face of the driver behind the wheel, his features contorted with horror. Comprehension began to dawn over her, and then everything went black.

* * * * * * * *

Natalie felt as though she was swimming underwater, fighting against a brutal, murky current that was alternatingly hot and then cold. Each muscle and joint in her body ached beyond any pain she had ever known. The surface of her skin prickled with raw sensation. She felt as though each breath she tried to draw was pinched off at the source, and her lungs burned. She twisted against the current, her body weak and barely able to respond to the orders her brain was sending. It was dark, shadowy, and she knew hollowly that she was alone in this torture chamber.

She thought that she felt hands on her body, and her hopes were raised as she wondered if someone had come to save her. If they were going to pull her from the stream of alternating molten and ice. She fought towards them, concentrating her efforts. Then she was sputtering, as liquid heat trailed across her tongue and down her parched throat, seeming to dissolve her very flesh, as though acid. They weren't trying to help her, they were contributing to her demise. She was too weak to fight any more. And the blackness washed over her.

* * * * * * * *

There was a light. She could see it beyond the shadows. She could hear sounds too. Muffled as though by cotton wool. Voices perhaps, she thought tiredly. Natalie no longer felt as though she were submerged in a watery prison. But the pain was still there. All over her body, but especially in her head. A headache that rivaled even the worst migraine she had ever had. Part of her wanted to sleep. Sleep until the pain was gone. But another part of her knew that she should fight the darkness, fight to break through this amorphous grey wall that surrounded her.

The light grew brighter, pushing the shadows away. Natalie concentrated on shapes in the haze. She could feel gentle hands on her brow, smoothing back her hair, a damp, cool cloth sliding over her forehead. How welcome the touch was. She wanted to raise her own hand, to connect with the flesh of another, but her arms felt as though they were leaden.

Her throat felt parched, burned still by whatever she had been forced to consume earlier. But those who wished to torment her seemed to be gone, and this angel of mercy was in their place. The damp cloth passed over her dry, cracked lips, and Natalie tried to hold onto it with her mouth, wanting to squeeze out any excess moisture, but she hadn't the strength and the cloth moved on. She whimpered disconsolately, and moved her head slightly.

"...think she's waking..." a soft voice cut through the fog, settling gently on her ears. "...all right..." Natalie caught snippets of conversation, striving to focus on the words. "...send...for the doctor..."

With a supreme force of will, she opened her eyes, blinking several times, trying to accustom them to the diffused light from a small lamp on the left. Desperately, Natalie tried to focus on the shadowy outline that seemed poised above her. She closed her eyes, tiredly, then forced them to part, as that same voice murmured encouragement.

When she opened them again, she could begin to make out features. An angel, she thought, as the light cast a halo around a golden head. Natalie concentrated on the face, and slowly the shadows slipped away. A pair of blue eyes regarded her from a perfect, porcelain countenance. Full, pink lips were pursed in concern. Platinum hair tumbled down across slender shoulders, clothed in some kind of costume, unlike any nurse's uniform Natalie had ever seen before.

'She looks familiar', she thought, as she studied the lovely, youthful face. The pale lips turned up in the hint of a smile now. "You're coming back to us," the dulcet tones announced with satisfaction.

Linda Evans, Natalie realized. The nurse...caregiver...whoever she was...looked a lot like the beautiful actress. In her early career. As she had looked in 'Big Valley'. Natalie found that strangely comforting. She imagined that the young woman probably heard the comparison frequently.

"Hi there," the young woman said, openly grinning now. "We were all so worried about you." Even the voice was strangely familiar, very reminiscent of Linda's. "Dr. Merar should be here shortly to examine you."

Dr. Merar? The coincidence startled Natalie. Of course, while not a common name, it wasn't totally uncommon. There were probably thousands of Dr. Merars in the world. To someone who wasn't a 'Big Valley' fanatic like Natalie was, it wouldn't even give them pause. It was just...strange...that was all.

The young woman settled back into a chair, which was placed at the side of the very soft bed. Several pillows propped Natalie's head and shoulders up. This was unlike any hospital bed she had ever been in before, she thought. Not that she'd spent much time in the hospital, just a couple of nights each time when the children had been born. What was she doing here now? She was sore all over, and her head continued to throb. Natalie tried to remember what had happened to her. She recalled bending over into the street...a screech of brakes...then darkness.

"Audra, I brought a fresh pitcher of water," another feminine voice came from somewhere behind.

Audra? A chill ran down Natalie's spine, and she struggled to sit up. What was this place? This was no hospital. Her eyes scanned a room decorated in late 1800s decor, coming to rest finally on the figure that crossed from the doorway, setting a big pitcher on a bureau. Dark, bright eyes turned towards her own green ones, their gaze pleasant and curious.

Natalie started to tremble, as she took in the figure. The short, white hair. The smooth unlined cheeks. The regal carriage, hands clasped demurely at the front of a long, blue silk dress. It couldn't be...but it was. Barbara Stanwyck! But the actress had been dead for almost fifteen years. Yet here she stood now, every bit as real as the young woman who looked like Linda Evans. Looked like Linda Evans? Natalie wondered fearfully.

She felt the bile rise to the back of her throat. The colour drained from her face. What on earth was going on here? This was all too real to be a hallucination! The accident. Was she...dead? Were these ghosts? But that didn't make sense, Linda Evans was still very much alive. It was a coincidence, that was all. A trick of the light or something.

The smile faded from the older woman's face, and a hand went to her throat in alarm, at the grey pallour that came over the woman on the bed. She didn't like the way the woman was looking at her, almost in fear, appearing on the verge of hysteria. There was a sharp knock on the door, and she turned, relieved to see Dr. Merar, not a moment too soon.

Natalie watched the doctor enter, her horror mounting. What kind of sick joke was this? It was him...the actor who had played the aging Dr. Merar...she couldn't remember his name right now. He carried an old-fashioned black bag with him.

Natalie's mouth worked convulsively, but no sound came out. The man referred to the older woman by name. Victoria, he called her. Natalie's eyes grew wild. What was this? Some strange kind of heaven? Worse...a hell for some transgression she hadn't realized was serious enough to damn her immortal soul? Had she lost her mind? She tried to scream, tried to force the sound up out from her very core where it resonated...tried to force it up past the lump in her aching throat, past her parched lips, and into the air. Finally, she succeeded, and the sound that she emitted was a keening of pure fear and terror and incomprehension. As the young woman leaned over her, and the two others ran to her side, Natalie felt the merciful nothingness envelope her once again.

Chapter Two

It was the warmth of the golden rays of afternoon sun that eventually wakened her, caressing her face, their gentle beams penetrating the darkness and the cold. Nebulous saffron fingers massaged her pale features, igniting new sensation, new life, in the prone figure that had been hovering in the twilight between eternal sleep and worldly existence. All the while she had remained totally unaware of those who laboured tirelessly, night and day, determined to bring her back from the edge.

She lay there, her breathing transforming from shallow, barely perceptible inhalations and exhalations, to a steady, deeper sequence. For the first time in several days, she became self-aware. Sounds, which at first were no more than an indistinguishable reverberation in her inner ear, began to separate into recognizable form. Voices in the distance, beyond the room, were booming good-naturedly to be followed by unconstrained laughter. Somewhere, a horse whinnied, and another answered it's call. There was the softer, closer sonance of footfalls, muffled by floorcoverings, as someone drew towards her.

There were scents as well. Something delicate and floral that only partially masked an underlying odour of staleness and sickness. She remained unmoving, eyes closed, aware, but gradually orienting herself to the world again, as the sunshine, slanting through the open window to her right after it's incredible journey from it's molten source, and across the vastness and coldness of the galaxy, worked it's magic.

She became aware of the figure standing next to the bed on her left, and eventually, reluctantly, turned her head away from the illumination. She was so tired; felt so drained physically, spiritually and emotionally, and part of her longed to sink back into the nothingness, to rest, but the other part of her resisted. Drawing a deep breath, filling her lungs to a recently unaccustomed capacity, she held it for a moment, and then released it, opening her eyes as she did so.

An older woman stood by the bed, smiling down at her. She wasn't a tall woman, but she gave an impression of strength and indomitable spirit, standing there ramrod straight, her head held high. Her lovely features were ageless, though her hair was snowy white. Dark eyes regarded her questioningly.

"Welcome back," the older woman said softly, smiling.

The woman in the bed blinked once or twice. Her eyes shifted to survey the room, taking in her surroundings. Lots of carved, heavy wood pieces. Upholstered chairs. Red velvet flocked wallpaper on the upper walls above wood panelling. Sconces and paintings decorating the walls. A small table beside the bed, with an oil lamp, and a bud vase containing a single, pink rose. Everything very beautiful and expensive looking. The perfect backdrop for the older woman.

"Where am I?" the younger woman asked. The words were strong in her head, but they transmitted as a weak whoosh of air past parched and swollen lips.

"Here, let me get you some water," the grey-haired woman said quickly, turning to pour liquid into a glass. She brought it to the patient's lips, holding it there, allowing her just a bit of the liquid at first. The young woman swallowed, nodding, indicating that she wanted more. So she tilted the glass and complied. At last, the injured woman shook her head slightly, to communicate that she had had enough for the time being.

"I'm Victoria Barkley," the older woman announced, beginning to answer the question. "You are in my home. You were badly hurt, one of my son's found you and brought you to our ranch. You've been here for several days. We've been very worried about you." The cloud that passed over her lovely features attested more clearly than any words could have, just how worried she had been.

"What...what happened to me?" the younger woman croaked, her voice still weak, but more controlled.

Victoria Barkley shook her head. "We don't know. We were hoping that you could tell us. You'd sustained some serious injuries, but my son was baffled as to just what had occurred, or how you had happened to be where he found you." She paused. "Do you remember anything at all."

The brow beneath the mane of dark hair furrowed, as the young woman thought for a moment. Finally, she shook her head.

"Well, I suppose that doesn't matter," the matron told her gently. "The important thing is that you've come back to us. How do you feel?"

The young woman's eyes danced, and Victoria was grateful to see the spark there. "Like I've been hit by a semi," she announced.

"By a what?" the Barkley matriarch queried, with a slight frown.

The young woman felt anxious. For a fleeting second, as she'd been speaking, she'd held an image in her mind, but as soon as she'd uttered the strange words, the picture had disappeared. "I...I don't know," she said embarrassedly. Her throat hurt, her tongue felt huge and fuzzy in her mouth. She glanced at the glass of water, and Victoria immediately recognized her need, and reached to bring it to her lips again.

"Thank you." She paused. "I feel sore all over. My head has a dull throb, at the back." She paused again, licking her cracked lips. She tried to catalogue all of the sensory information her body was sending her from beneath the wool coverlet. "My left leg and hip are particularly painful."

"Amazingly, Dr. Merar says there are no broken bones," Victoria told her comfortingly. "But you have some terrible bruising, especially on the left side. He's bound your ribs, he thinks one or two may be cracked, but nothing that won't heal with time." Victoria reached to touch the young woman's shoulder, a soft, sure connection. "The important thing is that you're awake now. I'm sure there are people terribly worried about you! Just tell me your name, and who to contact, and I'll see that it's taken care of immediately."

"My...name?" the young woman asked hesitantly, as she felt her stomache first constrict and then flop. "You...you don't know me?"

"No, I'm sorry," Victoria said with a prickling of alarm. "I'm familiar with most people in the valley and in Stockton. Perhaps you're from further away?" she hinted.

The dark-haired woman struggled to sit up, a panicked expression in her wide, green eyes. "I...I don't remember my name, or where I'm from or what happened to me!" She stopped, tired from the outburst. Sadly, she fixed her gaze on the older woman. "I can't remember anything at all."

Victoria Barkley tried to smile reassuringly. "Well, I'm sure it will come back to you in time. You've had a terrible shock, and you still need to heal. My oldest son, he's an attorney, he's been inquiring around, trying to locate your family, or people who know you. I'm sure it's just a matter of time until he connects with someone who is seeking you. By then, your memory will probably have come back."

Her words did little to assuage the sense of loss and isolation the young woman felt. The ache that gripped her heart now, was worse than the pain in her extremities. "Yes, I'm sure you're right," she demurred politely. "Thank you, Mrs....Barkley." She peered intently at the older woman then. There was something familiar about the name, but she couldn't quite determine what, it eluded her, staying tauntingly just out of reach.

The half open door was pushed wide, and a tall, muscular cowboy strode into the room. "Mother, I..." the soft drawl began, then the sandy-haired man stopped suddenly, as he looked at the young woman in the bed. Her eyes were open, and though she was still terribly pale, the unhealthy grey pallour had left her cheeks. "Well, boy howdy, if it ain't our Sleepin' Beauty, awake from her nap!" He grinned lopsidedly, his blue eyes sparkling, as he continued his journey to stand next to, and slightly behind, Victoria.

"This is my son Heath," Victoria introduced him. "Heath is the one who found you and brought you here."

The tall cowboy rocked on his heels, sticking his thumbs in the waistband of his tan pants, nodding towards the young woman on the bed. She looked up at him, her features a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. "Thank you," she murmured. "That sounds so inadequate. I don't know how to repay you."

"Just seein' you awake like this, is thanks enough," Heath returned shyly. "Miss...?" his voice rose in question.

Victoria shook her head almost imperceptibly, but the young woman caught the movement. "I'm afraid I don't remember," she admitted, smiling bravely, trying to quell her apprehension. She began to cough then, as the culmination of so many words, after such a long silence, strained her vocal chords.

Heath reached swiftly for the glass of water, his large, workman's hand dwarfing the delicate bit of crystal, and he leaned over the young woman and raised it to her lips. His other hand slipped automatically around to the back of her neck, steadying her, as she drank, revelling as the cool liquid slid down her throat. Her green eyes met his, translating her appreciation over the rim of the glass. Suddenly embarrassed by how close in proximity his body was to hers, and how familiarly he held her head, his long fingers tucked into the dark waves at her nape, Heath released the young woman and busied himself refilling the glass and returning it to the bedside.

She sank back into the pillows, closing her eyes for a moment, exhaustion claiming her. She couldn't believe the effort it had taken to simply sit up and speak a few words. Coupled with the emotional angst of the myriad of questions that raged through her brain...not the least of which was who was she?...the dark-haired woman was totally overwhelmed.

"We should let you get some rest," Victoria Barkley said firmly. "Dr. Merar left some powders we could mix, for the pain. Would you like me to get them for you?"

Eyes still closed, the dark-haired woman shook her head. She knew she had to sleep, but she had so much to consider, and she didn't want any medications clouding her thoughts. She opened them again and smiled wanly. "Thank you, no, the pain is not too excessive. But I should probably sleep a bit more. I know that's all I've been doing, but I'm still so tired."

"It's understandable, after all you've been through," Victoria commiserated. "You rest as long as you like. When you wake again, I'll have Silas fix some broth. You need to eat, but I know you won't be able to hold much at first." She reached to brush the backs of her fingers across the young woman's brow, both to offer support, and to check for signs of fever, which thankfully, were absent.

"I'll see ya later," Heath said then. "Don't ya worry about nothin' but gettin' better." He winked, then turned and strode from the room.

"If you don't mind," Victoria Barkley suggested kindly, "I have some needlework here with me. I thought I'd just sit in the chair across the room, and work on it while you sleep. Just in case you wake and need something."

The young woman felt that she should tell the other woman that it wasn't necessary, that she should go about her day. She was sure that Victoria must have things that she needed to do, besides wasting time here babysitting a stranger. But she couldn't force herself to say the words that would send her away. She felt so terribly alone, and her only connection to humanity right now was the older woman. So she only nodded briefly, before sinking back into the pillows.

She turned her face towards the light again. She could tell that it was afternoon sun. She knew that. She had looked at things, and she had known what they were, and what they were called. She had been able to comprehend language, to communicate and express herself. Why didn't she know who she was? Why was there nothing beyond today? Nothing going back from the moment that she first wakened? Were her problems simply short term...or had she lost her whole life, and in effect only began to exist from this point forward? Was the damage temporary, or permanent?

Perhaps a CAT scan or MRI would help determine that, she thought idly. There was a flash, fleeting and powerful like a bolt of lightning, when she thought she knew what that meant, before the words became a garbled, unfathomable mess. Some glitch in her brain, she realized, disheartened to know that she was damaged. She could only hope, and pray, that time really would heal all wounds.

But how much time did she have? These people didn't know her obviously, but somewhere, someone must. Was she missed? Were people worried? What place did she have in other lives? While she lay here recovering, what was happening in the life that should be hers?

Far too many questions, and no answers. The older woman, Victoria, had said that they had been trying to solve the mystery, that they were working on it on her behalf. She would have to satisfy herself with that for now. She simply didn't have the resources to dwell on the enormity of the mysteries that threatened to engulf her. She tried to relax her mind, to relax her body, and eventually she succeeded and drifted into a restorative sleep while the healing process continued.

Chapter Three

Blue eyes set in a in a handsome countenance, now drawn with concern, scanned the telegram once more. It had arrived yesterday, finding him at his hotel in Denver in between meetings. Signed from Mother, with love. Blue tendrils of cigar smoke swirled through the air around the dark head, as he signaled the bartender for a refill. Jarrod Barkley contemplated the message...short on words but long and complicated on meaning. 'She is awake. No memory. At all. Convalescing. Please step up inquiries. Thank you.'

He had been in San Francisco when Heath had found the young woman, battered and barely alive, in a rocky pass on the north end of the ranch. Jarrod had returned home to find her ensconced in one of the guest rooms, a pale, slender waif, clinging to life by the thinnest of threads, while Dr. Merar, Audra and Mother took turns ministering to her, trying to coax her to fight the toughest and most important of battles, the one for her very earthly existence.

Jarrod hadn't even gone into the room, trying to stay out of the way, feeling like an intruder, peering from the doorway at the figure on the bed, her features swollen and bruised. What flesh had remained undamaged, was an obvious sickly grey. He honestly hadn't known if she would pull through. Dr. Merar hadn't given them any false encouragement. She was a stranger to them all, so he had felt able to be more blunt that he might have with anxious, shocked family. The prognosis had been guarded, at best.

It was the head injury that had worried the old doc the most. It had bled alot, as head injuries did, and though the wound itself was not severe...a few stitches to the back of the scalp, and no real exterior swelling...the physician had worried about the other signs. Bleeding from the ears. The unresponsiveness of the pupils. The shallow breathing, and the limbs that did not respond with the usual reflex actions. He had done all he could do, promised to return daily to check on any progress, and instructed the Barkley family to pray for this poor soul.

Jarrod had only been home a day before he had to leave for Denver. He had gone to his office in Stockton first, sending out telegraphs to inquire about missing persons. None of their friends and neighbours in the valley, or in town, seemed able to identify the young woman. It had twisted Jarrod's insides, to imagine if it had been Audra, mortally injured, away from those who knew and loved her, while they were unaware of her fate. It was important to find someone, some kin, to let them know where she was, so that they could be by her side. Just in case...

But now it seemed that her will to live had been strong, and she had beaten the odds. Thankfully. It was pure luck that Heath had even found her, to the side of a little used path, unconscious and bleeding. He'd diverted from the herd to round up a couple of stragglers, when something had caught his eye, a scrap of colourful fabric, that he'd realized was a woman's dress. The buzzards hadn't been circling yet, and no wild animals had come to investigate, drawn by the smell of blood and helplessness, so she couldn't have been there long.

What had happened to her? What was she doing on Barkley land? Who was she? These were all questions that had gone unanswered. They had all assumed that if the mysterious young woman survived, she would be able to explain. Jarrod knew that often following severe trauma, especially head injury, victims had some short term memory loss, often unable to recall the hours, or even a couple of days, preceding their injuries. So he hadn't held out hope that she would be able to tell them what exactly had happened to her, even if she did regain consciousness. But the important thing had been helping her to get well, and discovering who she was and where she belonged.

Apparently, though awake now, she wouldn't even be able to tell them her name. Jarrod reached for the beer that the bartender had slid down the length of the wooden counter, staring unseeing into it's amber depths. As troubling as this was, there was also the knowledge that in the seven days since Heath had found her, one whole week, there had been no word of anyone searching for a missing young woman, no response to any of Jarrod's inquiries. Surely someone was looking for her. Someone must be worried sick. Someone must have knowledge of what had happened to bring her to the brink of death. Yet no one had come forward.

He had considered the possibility she was on the run from the law. But Fred Madden, Stockton's long-time sheriff, had had nothing come across the wire about a young, female fugitive. Finally, Jarrod had decided that she must have been enroute somewhere at the time of the accident, though what she was doing on private lands he could not imagine. Perhaps she'd lost her way. Perhaps those who had seen her off on the journey, did not yet realize that she had not arrived. And those who might have been expecting her, were not yet concerned about the delay. He had sent word to all of the stage and train depots in a forty mile radius, for information about people looking for passengers who had not shown up as expected. But so far, he had unearthed nothing. Obviously, it was time to broaden the search.

The lawyer lifted the glass, taking a big swig, and absent-mindedly licking the froth from his upper lip. He had two or three more days worth of business here in Denver, then he'd head back to the ranch. Though there had been a time when it had been one of his favourite cities, he hated coming to Denver now. It reminded him all too painfully of Beth. Though it had been almost two years since her death, and he had finally been able to put the past behind him, Jarrod found that Denver, the place of their courting and the site of their elopement, held far too many bittersweet memories of his late wife.

What of the young woman, resting under the roof of the big, white Barkley mansion? Did she have a husband somewhere? A man who loved her and was looking for her frantically? Desperately seeking word, but not yet aware that somewhere else there were people caring for her, trying to determine who she was, so that they could let her loved ones know? Jarrod mused. Everyone had someone. Some past. Some lives touched by their existence. It was time, he knew, to get the Pinkertons involved. No one simply appeared out of the blue.

* * * * * * * *

Blue eyes set in a handsome countenance, now crumpled with pain, surveyed the photograph held reverently in hands that fought to keep from shaking. It was their wedding picture, taken before a fountain in the park, a glorious early summer day, a decade ago. Natalie looked radiant, her dark hair swept up into a bun, her wide green eyes luminous, her lips a soft, bridal pink. Her long, strapless gown clung to her curves, the beaded bodice reflecting enchantingly in the sunlight.

She had been looking at the camera, posing for the photographer, but he had been looking down at her. Oblivious to all else but the beauty by his side, still trying to fathom that she was his. He had thought the photograph a reject, that he had messed it up with his lack of attention to the professional who sought to capture the glory of their special day. But Natalie had loved it from the moment she had spied it among the proofs.

"I hope that you never, ever stop looking at me like that," she'd said quietly, her eyes shining with sentimental tears from beneath long, smoky lashes.

Jason never had. Things had changed some, of course. The early infatuation of two young adults barely out of their teens, and the heady excitement that it entailed, had gradually faded away. But it had been replaced with something deeper and even more meaningful. Their early years, when they learned not only about one another, but about themselves, and who they were as people. The frequency of their ardour had declined, especially in those first years after first Brady, and then later Brooke, were born. But the passion had remained.

There'd been those patches when things had been less than ideal. When he'd become too involved in his after hours socializing with the boys at work. When Natalie had, in frustration, centred all of her time and attention on the children, slowly shutting him out. There'd been some rough times financially too, especially after he and Natalie had decided that rather than having her return to work when her maternity leave for Brady had ended, she would be a stay-at-home-mom. Other, little bumps in the road along the way. But always, their love had endured, and the friendship that had initially brought them together, remained strong.

Jason reached a finger to the glass in the frame, and traced a line lovingly around Natalie's face. He hadn't realized just how lucky he was. Not really. They'd pledged forever, and that's exactly what he had expected. Well, maybe not forever exactly. But a long life, together. Raising their family. Growing old together. Spoiling their grandchildren. And then one day, in the twilight of their lives...he would go on ahead (those were the statistics anyways, he'd known) and wait for her to join him once more.

A tear squeezed from his right eye, and splashed down on the photograph. He rubbed it away, distractedly, with his thumb. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He needed her. The children needed her. Jason couldn't go it alone. He couldn't be a single working father, trying to raise two small children. Natalie was their rock. It was she who handled all of the household things, all of the banking and bills, made arrangements for t-ball and karate and parents' nights at the school. It was Natalie who stayed awake to all hours when the Brady was sick with the flu, and when Brooke had had the allergic reaction to amoxicillin, cradling their small bodies on her lap, softly singing lullabies and caressing little foreheads, her maternal loving willing them strength and health.

He just couldn't do this on his own. It wasn't fair!

June was here for the time being, and of course that was an incredible help. Natalie's mother had come immediately, without having to be asked, temporarily taking her daughter's place as the woman of the home, preparing the meals (which mostly went uneaten), doing the laundry, comforting the children. Jason appreciated it more than he could say. He knew that June was the glue holding their family together at this terrible time. Setting aside her own grief, to help anchor her only child's family as they weathered this storm.

But Jason had heard her crying, alone in the spare bedroom, late at night, when she thought everyone else was asleep. Every morning when he rose, after a night of tossing and turning and trying to outrun the nocturnal demons who plagued him mercilessly, he planned to tell June, as she busied herself making oatmeal, or toast, or getting cereal for the children, just how much it meant to them all to have her there. To share with her how much he knew Natalie would have appreciated it. He wanted to say the words, he heard them in his head, envisioned speaking them to her, and then perhaps the two of them exchanging a rare hug.

Yet each morning, he couldn't bring himself to tell her. He was afraid not only that he wouldn't get the words past the lump that never seemed to leave his throat, but afraid that he would break down. That the pain and sorrow that he was struggling so mightily to dam, so that he could be strong for all of them, would be unleashed and he might never be able to get it under control again. And so, another day would dawn, and Jason would accept another cup of coffee from the aging, liver-spotted hands, and he would hope that perhaps June would read in his face all that he longed to say to her.

Jason had known, the minute he'd gotten the call not to proceed to his last job, (replacing a showerhead and bathroom faucet) but to bring the truck back to the shop, that something was wrong. When he'd grabbed his lunch pail and hurried into the front office, and had seen the uniformed police office standing there, he'd known that something was very, very wrong. He'd known at once that it was Natalie. If it had been one of the children, it would be Natalie who had come to get him, Natalie who had called his cell phone, frantic and distraught.

When he stopped before the desk, and looked into the sympathetic eyes of the young man, he had wanted to turn around and run away. Before the officer said the words that could never be taken back. Before the pronouncement that would make Jason's worst nightmare a reality. He had dropped the lunch pail and had run, stumbling, to the restroom, where he expelled the contents of his stomache in a spew of hot bile, before the other man had even been able to begin his speech.

Now, he put the photograph back on the bureau, sighing raggedly. His hand brushed against the small, golden object. Wonderingly, Jason picked it up, turning it to examine it from all angles. He recalled the day that Natalie had shown him the ebay auction. He'd seen the need in her eyes, had recognized the look, and knew that it was something that she really wanted. He couldn't fathom why, of course, and he'd tried to be realistic, but it hadn't dissuaded her. Sensing how important it was to her, he'd encouraged her to bid. She asked for little, and got even less, and never once in ten years had she complained about it. It made his heart ache sometimes, that he couldn't provide more grandly for her, for all of them. So, when he had an opportunity to do something to bring a smile to her lovely face, he took it gladly.

The cufflinks must have arrived that fateful day. Jason knew that if they had come before that, Natalie would have told him. Would have displayed her treasure with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. Would have been bursting at the seams to share with him. It isn't something she would have set aside and forgotten to mention.

He swallowed hard, trying to imagine the joy she had felt when her much anticipated package had arrived. He could picture her clearly, one of those silly little 'Big Valley' grins lighting her face. How grateful he was that she had had that moment. Before...

They had returned the cufflink to him, along with her purse. The kindly nurse, the shorter stout one with the auburn curls, had told him that Natalie had had the cufflink clenched in her hand when the emergency personnel had brought her in to the ER. Even in the midst of the frantic confusion, she had noticed it fall, and retrieved it. Returning it to him later, with a few whispered words of what, in even his shocked state, he discerned to be genuine support and caring.

Jason wondered idly, rolling the cufflink between his thumb and forefinger, what the nice, plump nurse would have said if he'd told her it had been 'issued to members of the cast'. He wondered if she had ever even heard of 'Big Valley'.

Chapter Four

A gentle breeze stirred the lace curtains at the window, parting their ecru panels, bringing with it scents of roses and fresh hay and the not unpleasant whiff of horseflesh. She sat in the rocker, gazing out at the front yard, green eyes pausing on the dark-skinned figure perched up on a red and yellow wagon, guiding a team of dappled greys away from the property, down the hard-packed lane that must eventually join the main road into town. Stockton, they had informed her the other day, hopefully, watching to see any signs of recognition on her wan countenance. The name had meant nothing to her.

Despite all of her fears, frustrations and anxieties of the last few days, the young woman couldn't help but set her current troubles aside for a moment, to just concentrate on the beauty of the moment. She couldn't imagine that she'd ever seen such a blue sky, a royal blue, that had a depth and intensity to it that drew her out of herself, despite all of her personal concerns. Being early morning, this side of the house was still shaded, but the sun that had begun it's daily climb was already reaching down it's fingers to dapple to front yard. She could hear the chirping and twittering of different bird species as they sailed from tree to tree, calling out their own joy at the winsome day.

The day had called to her, and slowly, gently, she had eased herself out of the high, feather bed, leaning on the back of the solid, walnut rocking chair, blanched knuckles gripping it for support. Bearing her weight on her right leg, she'd eased herself into the seat, wincing at the pressure of the hard surface as it pressed against tender flesh. Tears sprang to the green eyes, and she had had to bite her tongue to keep from emitting a yelp of pain. It had taken a while for her body to adjusts to it's shift in position and location, but the sensual feel of the soft, fragrant winds, had made it all worthwhile.

"Rose! You're supposed to be in bed!" the lilting female voice admonished, appearing at the doorway and beginning to cross the room towards her.

The young woman turned her dark head, smiling ruefully. It was Audra Barkley, dressed smartly in a navy riding skirt and silk, turquoise blouse, her long, blonde hair swept back in a practical ponytail, her blue eyes echoing how perturbed she was to see their injured houseguest out of her bed and in the chair next to it. Delicate ivory fingers were curled around the crystal bud vase that held a lovely peach-coloured rose blossom.

It was this tradition, the bringing of a fresh cut flower from the Barkley rose garden each morning, that had given the young woman her 'name'. The first day or two after she had wakened from her long sleep, it had not bothered her to have people address her as 'Miss', or in Heath's case, 'Ma'am'. But as she began to get her strength back, and to communicate more with the kind strangers who had taken her under their roof and committed to nursing her back to health, the young woman had grown agitated that everyone else around her had a name...and identity...except for her.

It was a constant, unspoken reminder that not only did she have no past that she could recollect and was a stranger to herself, but that she was an outsider here, not previously known to any of the close-knit clan whose hospitality and lives she had encroached upon, and was that she was a stranger to them as well. She had expressed this sentiment to Mrs. Barkley, Victoria, two days ago, her eyes brimming with tears. The desire to be someone to have some name, some way to define herself, had been heart-breakingly crucial to the young woman.

The matriarch had understood, both the plea and the sense of loss and the need for some kind of mooring, some way for the young woman to anchor herself to the present and to the people around her. In her typical upbeat fashion, she had flashed a wide smile, and suggested that the two of them brainstorm and come up with something that met her guest's approval. She didn't say so, but the young woman could see in the depths of the dark eyes, the smoldering embers of a hope that from among the names suggested, they might actually hit upon one that had meaning for her, that sparked some memory.

None had seemed quite right. After being so desperate for a moniker, the young woman had been a bit embarrassed at first that she couldn't select a name from the dozens that she and the older woman bandied about. But Victoria had insisted that a person's name was very important. Usually, people had no choice in what they were called. But since the young woman did have a choice in naming herself, at least temporarily, Victoria agreed that it should be one that pleased her, and for the name to fit their guest, not the other way around.

Eventually, as she had lain there, pondering, a name had come to the young woman. Her eyes had come to rest on the little vase that graced her bedside table, studying the bright red bloom of the rose that Victoria had brought her just that morning. She had been delighted and warmed at this little personal touch, when she had realized that each morning either of the two women would bring her a fresh flower from Victoria's rose garden. She had been especially touched to learn that they had begun this practice from the very first day that she had been brought to the ranch, before she had even been aware of it. Waiting for her. Wanting to please her in some small way when at last she woke up. The tenderness, hopefulness and solicitude in the gesture had touched her deeply.

"I think perhaps...Rose," the young woman had said contemplatively, her eyes still fixed on the blood red blossom.

"Rose," Victoria said quietly, repeating it. "Rose. That's lovely." She thought how perfectly it suited their beautiful, fragile guest.

The young woman enjoyed the sound of the name on the older woman's lips. "Yes...I like it," she said shyly. She turned her eyes back to the other woman. "From now on, until...until things come back to me," she began, averting her eyes for a moment so that Victoria would not see the fear there, fear that such a day might never come for her, even once they had eventually tracked down her past and her kin, "I would be pleased to have you all call me 'Rose'."

"Rose it shall be," Victoria agreed, reaching to pat one of the limbs beneath the coverlet. "A wonderful choice. I'll let everyone know."

Once that task was accomplished, Victoria had suggested that perhaps Rose would like to take a look at herself in a mirror. She cautioned that there had been a lot of bruising, and some facial contusions, and though much of the bruising had already faded, there was still quite a bit of swelling. She had wanted Rose to be prepared for the sight that would greet her.

Rose had taken the handle of the looking glass with some trepidation. It wasn't merely the older woman's words that had caused her heart to pound and her blood pressure to rise. It was the idea of her corporeal self staring back at her. She wondered what she looked like. She knew that she had long, dark brown hair, she could see it curled over her shoulders. But she had no idea, not even an inkling, of how her features might appear. Would she recognize herself? Rose asked silently. Could her reflection give some clue, prompt some buried memory, that would reveal at last the mystery of who she was?

The face that had looked back at her, had indeed borne the traces of her recent physical trials. But as she gazed, riveted, at the woman who stared back at her, Rose was actually surprised that she didn't look worse. She felt worse. As she had passed the mirror to the young woman, Victoria Barkley had graciously and thoughtfully excused herself from the room so that Rose could have some time alone. So, there was no one to observe her, as she continued to examine the face that everyone else saw.

Her eyes were green, she'd noted. 'Your best feature', a voice whispered inside her head. She fought to hold onto it, but it eluded her. Rose didn't know if the voice had been a thought of her own or...a memory. The white's were bloodshot now, but the irises were clear and, she realized objectively, an unique and lovely shade. Her left cheek was swollen and bruised, her jawline there scraped and raw. Whatever had happened to her, it seemed that the left side of her body had taken the brunt of it. Her left hip and leg were so tender that sometimes merely the weight of her body against the bed, and the coverlet above it, could cause them to ache and throb.

Rose noted that her lips were cracked and dry, though Audra had been applying a salve to them. Underneath all of the damage though, she had a sense that there was a young woman more than passably pretty. Except...except that she hadn't expected to look so young. Rose didn't know why she should feel that way. She was probably not too much older than Audra. For some reason though she felt older, but not in any way that she could define. Not as old as Victoria, but just not a very young woman who was probably no more than half a decade or so beyond her teens.

With cautious fingers, Rose reached for her right temple, touching the dark hair there. She turned her head slowly, trying to get a different angle, softly parting the brown strands, first one way and then another. She knew that she was searching for something, but she didn't know what. Rose was uneasy, something seemed slightly off, slightly wrong, but it wasn't anything that she could put into a concrete thought.

At last, done her examinations, she had set the looking glass aside. Perhaps she didn't have her memory back, and perhaps the inquiries that the Barkleys had been issuing hadn't turned up any information yet, but at least she knew what she looked like. And she had a name now. She was someone. She was Rose.

"I couldn't help myself," Rose spoke now, somewhat apologetically, as Audra moved briskly to set down the vase, and then came around to the other side of the bed, perching on it's edge. "I'm so tired of just laying there, doing nothing."

"You're not doing 'nothing', you're recuperating!" Audra remonstrated, but the curve of her full, pink lips softened her words. Her blue eyes grew more serious. "You've been through something terrible, we...we almost lost you. Your body needs time to heal and repair itself, Rose." Audra bit her upper lip and shook her head. "I have a feeling you can be as stubborn as we Barkleys!" She winked at the figure in the rocker.

Audra sighed then. "You at least should have waited and asked one of us to help you. Your appetite is getting better, but there was an entire week that you ate nothing. Your body hasn't caught up to your spirit yet, though I'm pleased that you're feeling so well. But you could have fallen and severely injured yourself again. And then all of our hard work, and sleepless nights would have been for naught!"

Rose looked guilty, as a faint flush coloured the pale skin of her right cheek. Audra was right, it had been foolish of her to get out of bed all by herself, on her very first attempt. "I'm so sorry, Audra, you're right. It was foolish of me. I would hate for anything to happen that would cause me to be even more of a burden on your family's generosity than I already have been. I hadn't even considered how much of your time and efforts you've already given to tend to me, when I wasn't even aware."

Audra bent slightly, to rest her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "I was only joking about that part, Rose, please don't feel bad. It's you that I'm concerned about...that we're all concerned about...not any inconvenience to ourselves. I have three older brothers, who seem to attract trouble like a trio of magnets, and believe me, Mother and I are well accustomed to keeping watch on a sick bed!" The blonde smiled affectionately with the mention of her siblings. "You were no trouble anyhow, we took turns, and you mostly just slept."

"Thank you," Rose said, "but it doesn't change the fact that you are right. I shouldn't have gotten up on my own. It's just that it's such a remarkable day, I have an almost physical hunger to feel the air on my skin and the sun on my face," she admitted. She looked enviously at the beautiful young blonde woman. "Are you going riding?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral, trying not to sound bitter.

Audra nodded. She shifted on the bed to glance out the window, at the impossibly blue sky. It truly was an incredible day. She didn't blame Rose for wanting to be part of it, to forget for a moment all that she had endured and all that was pressing on her. "Dr. Merar is coming this afternoon to check on you. We'll ask him if it's all right for you to come downstairs, and maybe to go outside. If he says it's all right, I'll arrange for it immediately...today. But if he wants you to wait a few more days, you'll listen to him. Do you promise?" Rose gave her word, that she would abide by the physicians orders. "It's a deal then. Come and I'll help you back to bed for now."

* * * * * * * *

It would be another three days before Dr. Merar would give his consent for Rose to leave her room. He made his rounds on Saturday, pronounced her well enough that a change of scenery might at last do her more good than potential harm, and suggested that the following day, if she felt up to it, Rose could come downstairs. With a lot of assistance, of course.

It had now been almost two weeks since her injury. Two weeks spent under the Barkley's roof. The last six, she had been awake and aware. Her recovery had been very pleasing not only to her hosts, but to the wiry old physician as well. He hadn't really expected the young woman to wake again, and part of him had thought that it would be better if she hadn't.

He had had a patient once, Ted Jenkins, a farmer in the valley, who'd fallen from the roof of his barn, sustaining severe head injury. Jenkins, formerly a big, strong, friendly man with a booming voice and joking ways, had survived his fall. But the Ted Jenkins who had woken several days later, hadn't been the Ted Jenkins of before. He was like a child, unable to care for himself. At last, exhausted and confused, his wife Edna had agreed to have him sent to the sanitarium. He'd died there less than a year later. At least, his body had. Dr. Merar knew that what made Ted Jenkins the man that he was, had died that night of the fall.

When he had come to the Barkley residence, summoned by one of the hands that the mysterious young woman had finally regained consciousness, he hadn't known what to expect on his arrival at the big, white mansion. What he had found had exceeded his wildest dreams. The young woman was indeed conscious, fully awake, physically worse the wear for her terrible experience, and minus her memory, but her mind had been intact. Dr. Merar didn't think that any of them had any idea just how lucky she was.

They had taken to calling her Rose, and Rose's recovery had been remarkable. She'd progressed from small sips of fluids, and clear broths, to creamed soups with mashed vegetables, to soft breads and finally to small servings of whatever meals the Barkleys themselves were having. She was still quite thin, but she'd put on some weight, and gotten some colour back. It would be a while still before she was horseback riding or dancing, but Dr. Merar was confident that the corner had been turned and that Rose was going to be one hundred percent again one day.

He had known how eager she was to go outside, but she had been a good patient, honest with him when he'd done his examinations and had asked her pointed questions about her health. Finally, convinced that it was time for Rose to begin to move out of that Barkley guestroom for short periods of time, and back into the world, he had okayed the requests.

* * * * * * * *

"Just put your arms around my neck," Nick told Rose, bending down towards her, grinning rakishly.

"Oh no...no, I'm su..sure I can walk," Rose stammered, embarrassedly. "Just let me lean on your elbow, and if we go slowly, I'm sure I can make it."

"For Pete's sake woman, I don't plan to spend all day moving from this room to the parlour! Trust me, my way it much quicker and easier! You'd don't weigh more than a feather. I carry sacks of feed bigger than you," the dark-haired cowboy teased, winking. "Two at a time."

Audra, standing behind him, could barely stifle her laughter. She had promised Rose that as soon as Dr. Merar said it was okay, she'd see to it that Rose could leave her room. And so, after their return from church, she had enlisted Nick's help to get their patient downstairs. She hadn't known though that Nick, ever impatient, had decided just to carry Rose down. Audra watched the interaction play out in front of her now, feeling a bit sorry for Rose's discomfiture, but realizing that Nick's idea was not without merit.

Rose heard Audra's giggle. Knowing that there'd be no help there, she sighed resignedly. She could argue about this all day, if she really wanted to. But she had a feeling that when Nick Barkley set his mind to something, he'd didn't take 'no' for an answer. And so, gulping nervously, head bowed, Rose slid her arms around him, clasping them behind his neck, while the tall, rangy rancher easily lifted her towards him.

The tenderness in Nick's eyes belied the smug set of his mouth. The look of satisfaction on her brother's face, the gentle way he cradled Rose's body, mindful of her still badly bruised left side, the way he had, for the barest of moments, brushed his cheek against the top of the young woman's head, made Audra wonder curiously if Nick hadn't had an ulterior motive, and that maybe speed wasn't the only reason he had made the offer to carry their lovely guest downstairs.

Chapter Five

The arms that held her were strong, she could feel the muscles bunched beneath the fabric of the dark shirt, could feel the broad, hard back beneath her forearms, straining, though there was nothing in his face, no grimace, no gritting of teeth, and no heavy breathing, that would indicate she was much of a burden for him. Rose's body had tensed when Nick Barkley had first scooped her off of the bed, and then strode from the room and down the hall with long, effortless paces.

As they had reached the wide, curving stairway, he'd paused, glancing down at her for a moment to assure himself that she was all right, that the arms that held her closely against his torso, weren't banded too tightly, and that he wasn't hurting her, or causing her any discomfort. Nick's dark eyes sought her green ones, held them for a moment, and when he was satisfied that she was not in any distress, he leaned his body back slightly to help him balance himself and the young woman, and began his descent of the stairs.

It wasn't any physical pain caused by his movements that was bringing Rose any distress...it was more her proximity to the big, powerful rancher, the familiarity of being in his arms, the sensation of finely tuned muscles and sinews working beneath a suddenly all too thin covering of clothing that separated them. She could feel his heart beating beneath her cheek as she laid it against his left shoulder. Though outwardly Nick did not show that her weight was of much consequence to him, inwardly she could hear the increased tempo of his heartbeat.

Rose began to feel overly warm, especially where their bodies made contact. Though she wore only a light, cotton house dress, loaned to her by Audra, she felt the beads of moisture on her upper lip. She began to regret acquiescing to Nick Barkley's gallant suggestion to carry her. No matter how much quicker his way was. For her it seemed that time had slowed, it seemed like she had been in his embrace for an eternity. With each step, first one well-defined thigh, and then the other, brushed against her right hip. Rose knew that Nick was just being practical...despite how long this journey seemed to be taking, she knew that if she'd tried it under her own steam she'd barely have stepped much beyond the bed yet...but there was just something so intimate in being cradled this way in the arms of a handsome man that she barely knew, no matter what the circumstances.

Of course, it was no different to him, she realized, than if he was indeed carrying a sack of feed. Well, to be fair, he was being inordinately gentle and caring, more so than he would have been had she indeed been a burlap bag that he would have flung carelessly over one of his shoulders. He was treating her more the way she imagined he might treat an injured calf he'd found on the range. Wanting to help, willing to take action, but not vesting a lot of emotional energy into the task. Doing what needed to be done, because that was his way.

Finally, they were at the bottom of the steps, and just across the foyer, Victoria and Heath waited for them in the parlour. Nick crossed the floor briskly, Audra following behind, and he deposited Rose with great care into a big, overstuffed, upholstered chair. His face was just inches from hers as he bent over her, adjusting the pillow behind her back. His breath was warm on her cheek, and she marvelled again that there was no change in his respirations. What wonderful shape he must be in, to have carried her all that way, and not even to have broken a sweat. Nick's dark hair brushed her forehead, and then he was straightening, standing before her, looking impossibly tall, his broad hands planted on slim hips. A shock of black hair tumbled over his right eye, and he reached automatically to brush it back.

Nick stood looking down at her for a moment, seeming to decide whether or not she was any worse the wear for the move, then satisfying himself that she was not, he grinned broadly. "Well now," he said, his gravelly voice it's customary boom, "how's that? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Rose couldn't help the blush that warmed her skin. Her only consolation was that with all of the other colourations gracing her visage, it was likely to go undetected. "Not at all. Thank you. You're very kind," Rose mumbled, unable to meet his eyes, dark lashes sweeping her cheeks. She refused to acknowledge the small pang of regret she'd felt when the rancher had finally set her down and released his hold on her.

"Would you like some tea, Rose?" Victoria was asking, moving to a gleaming silver service on a nearby table.

Rose thanked her, then her eyes quickly scanned the room. Gold paper on the walls. Thick, gold, jacquard draperies trimmed in tassels, in the opening between the parlour and the front entrance. Upholstered furniture with finely carved wooden extremities. Heavy, Oriental carpets on the floor.

There was a massive fireplace in the centre of the long wall, almost as tall as a man, surrounded by beautiful, white marble. Built-in bookcases housed a multitude of leather bound volumes behind their glass-paned doors. Scattered around the room on the small, fabric-covered occasional tables were the little personal touches that made a house a home. Photographs. Favourite pieces of crystal. Oil lamps that were as much for beauty as for function. There was a gleaming black piano...someone had a musical talent.

Paintings highlighted the walls, lovely oils, pastoral scenes of horses and country life. Sconces, their orange shades spreading a warm glow, were placed strategically. At the far end of the room was a pair of enormous, white French doors, and beyond them, the covered front porch of the Barkley home.

Home? More like a mansion, Rose realized. She looked back at the staircase, carpeted in gold, sweeping up from the front hall to the second floor. Highly polished rosewood banisters curved up alongside, then continued along a portion of the length of the upper hall. The front foyer of the home was generous. A big wooden door was the entry into a small, raised area, and then there was a short step down to the main floor. Everything was beautiful, just perfect, and everywhere were the touches that proclaimed that the Barkleys were more than well-to-do.

Rose had known they were ranchers, of course, they'd shared that much with her during the course of her days. They raised cattle and horses. Had some crops that varied with the seasons. There were lots of ranchers though that were just barely eeking an existence from the land. Rose had assumed, without being told, that the Barkleys were doing better than that. Victoria's and Audra's clothing was the latest in fashion, well-made and lovely. The guest room she had been enjoying was well-appointed. But it wasn't until she began to get a glimpse of the rest of the house, and saw just how big and luxurious it must be, that she realized just how successful the Barkley family was.

Despite their obvious wealth though, they were decent, down-to-earth people, who did not put on airs or act as though they were better than anyone else. Rose knew how fortunate she was to have been found by a member of this household and brought here, to recover among people who were so kind and caring. At least, knowing that the Barkleys were wealthy, Rose felt somewhat less guilty about her imposition, knowing that any food she might be eating, any space she might be taking up, would not be a severe strain on the family until she discovered who she was and could repay their kindness.

Victoria handed her the steaming cup, smiling. "You are looking better with each passing day, Rose," she commented encouragingly. "I'm glad that Dr. Merar allowed you to come downstairs and join us. I can imagine how it must be to be stuck up in that stuffy room all the time."

Rose thanked her for the tea. "The room is beautiful, and you've all been so wonderful about spending time with me and keeping me occupied," the young woman said.

And they had. Victoria and Audra had spent the most time with her, of course. Heath and Nick were out working for most of the day, and often into the evenings as well. But the two Barkley women had been generous with their time. Reading to Rose. Telling her a bit about themselves and their lives. Audra had shared her magazines with her, and the two young woman had looked over the advertisements and the drawings of the latest fashions. Victoria had often sat on the bed and done her needlework, explaining to Rose, who was apparently unfamiliar with the craft, just what she was doing and what all of the different stitches were called and how they were created.

From time to time in the evening, Nick, or Nick and Heath together, would stop by to say hello, to see how she was doing, to inquire if she needed anything, anything at all, either from the well-stocked home, or from town. They would usually remain standing, never remaining for too long, expressing concern that they didn't want to tire her. Nick would often tell her jokes, or regale her with something interesting that had happened on the ranch that day.

Heath was always the quieter of the two. Rose sensed that this was a pattern, and in keeping with their personalities. That Nick was the more loquacious of the two, and that Heath was more introverted, seemed their norms. Rose had noticed though that Heath never came by to visit her on his own. After that initial day when she had wakened, and he had expressed genuine pleasure in seeing her back amongst the living, Heath Barkley had seemed to draw back from her.

It was nothing glaring, but Rose sensed that her sandy-haired rescuer was not comfortable with her. He was always pleasant, charming in his soft-spoken way, solicitous and outwardly friendly. On those few occasions when he'd come with Nick to check on her in the evening, he'd seemed concerned about her well-being, and grateful that she was making progress. While Victoria, Audra and Nick had welcomed her unconditionally, Heath maintained an aura of reserve. Rose couldn't blame him really. None of them knew who she was. She could be an axe murderer, for all any of them were aware, herself included, who might regain her strength and then repay then all with ghastly deaths one night while they rested in their beds.

Of course, Rose didn't actually believe that she was an axe murderer. She didn't feel like she had it in her to conceive and execute cruelty towards another human being. She had nothing but the utmost respect, gratitude and a growing fondness for all of the Barkleys. And she didn't really think that that was something that Heath Barkley worried about either, that there was a monster's heart buried beneath her innocent facade.

But Rose had seen the way Heath's blue eyes regarded her sometimes. Not with suspicion...but with something that she couldn't quite define. There was something about her that troubled him, she knew that. Of course there would be though. She was a stranger, claiming not to know her own identity. Appearing severely injured on a remote part of their property. Heath had told her how he had found her. That she had even been discovered at all, she realized, was a miracle. Naturally the handsome young cowboy would wonder who she was, and how she had come to be there, and in such a condition. That she apparently didn't know who she was, and even more strangely, that no one had appeared yet to claim her, was not only remarkable but troubling.

Rose tried not to contemplate the meaning of that too deeply. That almost two weeks had passed since her discovery, and not a single person had contacted the Barkleys to claim ties to her. Victoria had tried to give explanations, make excuses as to what could be causing the delay, trying to remain hopeful and to infuse that feeling to their guest. But late at night, before sleep had claimed her, Rose would think of the other reasons that no one might have come for her, or appear to be looking for her.

That either, and dread would wash over her at the thought, her kin had not been as fortunate as she, and they were now dead as a result of whatever accident or trauma had almost killed Rose herself. Or that no one was looking for her, because she had no one...no one wanted her. She would lay there in the dark, struggling to force herself to remember something...anything...about her life before she had woken in the guest room of the Barkley's ranch. But there was only an upsetting void.

Rose sipped the hot brew, looking over the delicate porcelain rim, finding Heath staring at her now, with that same inscrutable expression in the depths of his sapphire eyes. Wondering, just what it was he was thinking about her.

Heath saw the young woman regarding him over her tea, her large green eyes guileless. Rose. Except, that wasn't really her name. They had no idea what her actual name might be, or who she had been before he'd found her there near the seldom used trail, battered and bruised and barely clinging to life. He could understand her need to have some way to identify herself. And it made it much easier for the rest of them as well, to have a way to address her when talking either to her, or about her late in the evenings in the billiards room.

He just didn't know what to make of her. What to make of the circumstances under which she had become a part of their lives. He thought again of the enigma that plagued him, of those few details that niggled at him each time he looked at Rose, or thought of her. He hadn't shared them with anyone. What was there to share, after all? How could he explain his unease? To put into words why those few missing pieces of the puzzle disturbed him so?

Heath had thought of confiding in Nick, of sharing what else he had discovered there on the ridge that day, as they'd ridden side by side on their daily chores. But he had sensed that Nick wouldn't see things the same way he did. Nick wouldn't grasp the importance. It just wouldn't matter to his dark-haired brother, the way it mattered to him. And Nick would probably be right, what troubled Heath so much was, in all likelihood, inconsequential. Besides, Heath knew that Nick was becoming very attached to Rose. She brought out his quixotic side. That was understandable, she was alone and vulnerable. And, despite the marks of her traumas, very lovely. That she brought out a protectiveness in Nick, did not come as a big surprise to him. Normally, Heath would have felt the same.

Nick wouldn't want to hear anything that Heath might want to share, Heath intuited. And so, he'd kept his thoughts to himself. He'd been cordial to Rose, though not as attentive as the others. Something about her, all of those unanswered questions, made Heath uneasy. He couldn't understand how two weeks had gone by, without a single lead as to who Rose was or where she came from. If it had been Audra missing, Heath knew, the Barkleys would have rallied everyone in the valley to search for her, leaving no stone unturned. News of their search would have been spread swiftly, across the state and beyond it's borders, so that, even if no one knew anything of her, everyone would have known of the situation.

But no one seemed to be looking for Rose. And no one had responded to any of the queries Jarrod had sent out, first on his own, and then in conjunction with the Pinkertons. It seemed as though no one in the west knew anything at all about the mysterious young woman who had just appeared in his path that day. So conveniently.

Perhaps he could discuss all of this with Jarrod, Heath decided. Whenever his oldest brother eventually returned from business. Jarrod hadn't even met Rose yet, he was uninvolved and impartial. And he was more of a logical thinker than Nick. He would listen to Heath's concerns, ask questions, point out errors in Heath's line of thought, or support his concerns. Jarrod, always open to all sides of a story, would hear Heath out and then give him honest feedback. Perhaps allaying Heath's apprehension and consternation once and for all.

It wasn't that Heath thought anything negative about Rose. There were just things that he didn't understand. And Heath, never one to give his friendship or loyalty lightly, wanted to be sure, as sure as he could be, before he allowed this mysterious young woman to mean as much to him as she apparently meant to the others. He felt responsible for her surely. After all he had been the one who had found her, undoubtedly saving her life. There was just something that felt wrong to him about all of this.

Her green eyes were staring at him now, with something akin to sadness in their depths. Heath didn't know what to make of Rose, what to make of this whole situation. He sighed, wondering how long it would be before Jarrod came home.

* * * * * * * *

The train clicked inexorably over the miles of steel rails, bouncing lightly from side to side as it lumbered across the land. Jarrod Barkley sat in his seat, staring morosely out the window as the afternoon sun slanted across the horizon. He was in a foul mood, one that seemed to increase in intensity with each slow and steady mile that the iron horse galloped across the landscape.

He'd been delayed in Denver even longer than he had anticipated. He'd been furious when he'd realized that he wasn't going to be able to wrap up when he had hoped, inwardly raging at the incompetence of those around him who'd necessitated his having to remain in the Mile High City. He'd spent his days in insufferable meetings, his nights striding without purpose through streets illuminated by gas lanterns, stopping occasionally to down a glass of whiskey, or play a game of cards. Anything to try to take his mind off of his aversion to remaining in Colorado.

Finally, he'd been able to begin his journey home. Last night, on his final stopover, he'd missed his connection. The handsome counselor had tried to rid himself of his ill feelings with drink and feminine company in one of the local bordellos. He'd woken this morning with a terrible hangover, none of his negative feelings assuaged and only a further sense of disappointment.

Now, he was on his final leg of the journey, eager to be home again, back to the ranch, back to Mother, Nick, Heath and Audra. Back to his own bed. It wouldn't be much longer, he'd be home before nightfall, and though that thought should bring him pleasure, his travelling companions seemed to be conspiring to make things as difficult and unpleasant as possible.

The older man seated to his right kept dozing off, slumping against his shoulder, grizzled face coming to rest on the shoulder of Jarrod's navy suit. That in itself would have been bad enough, except additionally the old fellow carried the stink of someone whose body hadn't seen a tub in more days, or weeks, than Jarrod cared to contemplate.

And the middle-aged woman across from him had prattled non-stop since joining their car two hours earlier. She had seemed nice enough at first, and Jarrod, ever polite, had answered her small talk and her seemingly innocent questions. Where was he from, what did he do, was he married? Eventually, he had discerned that Mrs. O'Grady was on the way to visit her daughter in San Francisco. Amelia O'Grady, a school teacher at the prestigious Hudson House for Young Ladies.

Seizing upon the fact that Jarrod was not married, she'd at first hinted about Amelia...a 'beautiful, charming young woman, with grace and class and gorgeous red hair, but none of that distasteful temper so often the benchmark of a redhead'...and then finally flat out suggested that next time Jarrod was in San Francisco he may want to call on her daughter socially.

In between discussing the virtues of the as-yet-unmarried Amelia O'Grady, Mrs. O'Grady touched on a variety of other topics. The woman had something to say about everything...and lots of it. Her exuberance and self-importance began to grate on Jarrod's nerves, and at last, at least half an hour after he himself had ceased partaking in the conversation...not that Mrs. O'Grady had either noticed nor cared, or that it had slowed her in any way...he pretended that he had fallen asleep.

Of course, it was impossible to sleep with his nostrils assailed by the malodorous miasma emanating from the body next to his. But at least Jarrod no longer had to make a pretense of holding up his end of the conversation, or to listen to any more extolments of the aforementioned Amelia's charms. His head was pounding, his stomache felt raunchy, and all Jarrod Barkley wanted to do was get home, take a long, hot bath, and tumble into bed.

He had even forgotten, for the time being, about the mysterious houseguest that awaited him there.

Chapter Six

"...and then Heath and Nick reached for the calf at the same moment, and collided, cracking their heads so loudly it almost spooked the herd and caused a stampede," Audra was laughing lightly. "Fortunately, they both have skulls like rocks, so no damage was done. But the calf got away, splashed through the creek, past our property line, and scrambled up the embankment, right to where the Morton's hand was waiting. He dropped a lasso around it's neck, easy as you please, tipped his hat to my brothers, and trotted off.

"The two of them just sat there, dazed, with such a look of disbelief and disappointment on their faces, you'd have sworn it was old Prince Oxford, our prize breeding bull, that they'd lost, not some scrawny little maverick calf they'd been trying to brand. I just don't understand men and their silly rivalries sometimes," the pretty blonde finished her story, smiling conspiratorially at Rose, seated at the table to her right.

Heath chuckled at the memory, while Nick just scowled, refilling his glass with wine, pretending to ignore his younger sister. Rose laughed lightly, as much at Audra's animated and descriptive narrative, as at the actual situation she had described. She raised a last forkful of the delicious roast beef to her lips, feeling so upbeat and positive, delighted to be a part of the traditional activity of Sunday dinner, to be sitting here at the Barkley table, resplendent with fine china and mouth-watering fare. To feel so included, so normal.

"Hey Nick, maybe we should tell Rose about that dance last fall, and how..." the blond cowboy started.

"Heath Barkley!" Audra cut in, mortified.

"Well Audra," Victoria said lightly, "turnabout is fair play."

Heath winked at Rose. "'Ceptin' I don't rightly recall all the details. How's your memory, Li'l Sis? You got any more tales to spin about Nick and I?"

Audra held up her hands in front of her, palms out. "All right, I concede. A stalemate," she grinned at Heath. "No more embarrassing stories." She leaned towards Rose and said with a stage whisper, "At least for tonight."

Silas, the Barkley's middle-aged, Negro servant, entered the room and began removing the empty plates from the table. "That was wonderful, thank you," Rose told him sincerely, "that meat just melted in my mouth and those were the creamiest potatoes imaginable."

His chest puffed with pride. "That's mighty kind a you to say, Miss Rose," he accepted the compliment. "We gots some peach cobbler with fresh cream for dessert, and a pot a coffee jest 'bout ready."

"I'll help you with the coffee, Silas," Audra said, rising from her chair.

"Perhaps after dessert, you'd like to sit outside for a spell," Nick suggested to Rose, wiping his lips with a fine, linen napkin. "There's a swing out on the back porch, near Mother's rose garden. The sun's on this side of the house now, so it won't bother your eyes. It smells real pretty back there, and you get a nice view of the orchards."

It had been a marvellous afternoon, and Rose had enjoyed every minute of it. Tucked into the comfortable chair, a mohair throw across her knees, she'd spent a few wonderful hours in the company of the Barkley clan. Audra had played a few tunes on the piano, pretty, classical pieces, her accomplished fingers dancing over the keys. Nick and Heath had played a couple of games of chess, both of which Heath had won, results which had seemed to fluster Nick.

Just listening to the family's conversations, having them draw her in on occasion to share in their banter and laughter, being in a different setting, had done Rose more good than any of the little powders in Dr. Merar's black, leather bag ever could have.

When it had been time for dinner, with Nick and Victoria's help, Rose had risen from the chair and, supported between the two of them, made her way to the other room. She had moved slowly, gingerly, but when they had gotten to the doorway of the dining room, she had announced that she thought she could take a few steps on her own. That she would like to try at any rate.

Victoria had stood back, and though Nick had walked alongside Rose, his arm crooked out to offer her support should she need it, hovering over her each step of the way, Rose had managed the several feet to the table on her own. She had stood there, beaming, feeling silly to be so proud of such a small thing, but unable to contain her excitement. Nick's grin had been just as wide as hers, she was sure. He had congratulated her energetically, pulling out the fine, aristocratic chair, and taking her elbow while she seated herself. Everyone had been thrilled with the accomplishment.

Rose could imagine no better way to cap off this memorable afternoon than to spend some time in the peaceful twilight, near the gardens that had given her her name. "That sounds lovely," she replied softly, shyly. They'd all already spent so much of their time with her today. Rose hated to intrude on their family time any longer, but she couldn't pass up the opportunity to get outside for a bit.

After consuming every last bit of the peach cobbler, Rose was ready to venture outdoors. Heath announced that he had to go down to the stables and take care of a worn cinch on his saddle, before tomorrow morning and the resumption of work around the ranch. Victoria had excused herself, saying that she had some correspondence to tend to. So it had been just Rose, Nick and Audra who had decided to enjoy their coffee on the back veranda.

Nick had suggested that he carry Rose again, and this time she hadn't put up a fight. With Audra leading the way, they had crossed to the rear of the mansion, and through the billiards room, and then out a set of French doors, to the garden and the swing. Sitting comfortably, Rose looked out upon the profusion of colour, inhaling the heady aroma of the hundreds of multi-coloured rose blooms. The setting sun had streaked the undersides of the few, low lying clouds, with pink and gold. Overhead, a hawk gave a raucous cry as it circled over the land.

Beyond the gardens, which were larger and more intricate than Rose had imagined, and which included perennial and herb gardens, was a small stream, cutting through the earth. On the other side, were the orchards, she could see the green tops of the rows of fruit trees. The rolling land went on as far as the eye could see. She wondered idly how much of this belonged to the Barkleys. How beautiful this place was. A little bit of heaven.

Audra had gone back inside and returned now with three cups of coffee. She sat on the swing next to Rose, while Nick stood on the edge of the veranda and lit a cigarette. Rose sipped the fragrant dark brew, while the three of them enjoyed their drinks in companionable silence, savouring the conclusion of a pleasant day.

* * * * * * * *

He'd been surprised to see that no one was waiting for him when he'd stepped off the train, hoisting his luggage in tired hands. As other passengers were met, and made their ways from the depot, Jarrod Barkley stood on the platform, jaw clenching and unclenching. He'd wired the ranch last night, so that they'd known he was coming and would send someone to meet his train. He'd expected either Heath or Nick to come themselves, seeing as how it was a Sunday. Eventually, Jarrod realized that no one was coming. Some welcoming committee! Snatching up his big valise and soft, leather briefcase, he'd marched from the train depot to the telegraph office nearby.

"Evenin' Jarrod," Sam Tremain said from behind the desk.

"I sent a telegraph last night," Jarrod said without preamble, through gritted teeth. "Letting the family know I was returning today, and to have someone meet me. Do you know if that message was ever delivered?"

Sam Tremain leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs, scratching the few strands of greying hair that still clung stubbornly to his scalp. "Don't recollect any telegraph comin' in last night from you," he told the lawyer honestly. "I been on all weekend. I know I didn't send anythin' down to the ranch."

Jarrod closed his eyes and swallowed convulsively before opening them again. "I gave it to the bellhop at the hotel last night. Gave him a half dollar to see to it personally that it was sent."

Sam shrugged his beefy shoulders. "Sorry, Jarrod."

Jarrod turned away without so much as a thank you, and muttering profanities under his breath, he crossed the dusty street and carried his bags down to the livery stable. There were no carriages to be hired, and the only mount left was an ancient, decrepit, sway-backed nag that looked more mule than horse. Jarrod had stared incredulously at the animal, offering to pay generously for the loan of the proprietor's own steed, but the man was heading out to a funeral in a nearby town at daybreak, and needed his own horse.

So, finally, Jarrod had extracted a couple of bills from his wallet, and handed them over with great resentment. He had to leave his valise at the livery, but he strapped the briefcase behind the saddle, on the nag's withers, hoping the added weight of a few sheets of papers wouldn't prove the mare's undoing.

He'd mounted up, and the sway-back had began to plod away from Stockton on the road out of town, and towards the ranch. Jarrod fumed, irrationally blaming his brothers for not being there to meet him. They were probably enjoying one of Silas's finest Sunday suppers right about now. Not that Jarrod wanted anything to eat. His stomache, soured still with the whiskey he had last night, roiled and balked at the thought of food. But he still pictured Nick and Heath seated comfortably at the dinner table after an uneventful day of rest, the mental image mocking him.

Jarrod still had the stink of the old man on his clothes, and his head still pounded with the inane chatter of Mrs. O'Grady. He dug his heels into the bony ribs of his mount, whose slow, rocky gait made the attorney homesick for his own handsome, sorrel gelding, Jingo, stabled back at the ranch. Less than an hour and he'd be home. Where he could luxuriate in a tub, and wash away the nasty effluvium of his trip, and the depressing memory of Denver.

He was about three miles from the ranch, when the nag misstepped and threw a shoe. In disbelief, Jarrod dismounted, picking up the horse's left hoof, devoid now of it's protective metal. It's foreleg was slightly swollen. Blue eyes spied the horseshoe, the sun's setting rays gleaming on it tauntingly. Jarrod walked over to it, kicking up dust that settled on the surface of his black boots. He bent agilely to retrieve the shoe. Drawing back his hand, and giving a cry of frustration, he hurled it into the field, hearing it thud somewhere in the distance.

Wiping a hand tiredly across his face, Jarrod went back to the horse. He picked up the reins, looping them loosely in his right hand. He glared accusingly at the animal, which just looked at him with dull, brown, doe-eyes. Sighing resignedly, Jarrod began the long walk to the ranch.

Chapter Seven

"Well, I'm HOME! No thanks to any of YOU, just carry on as you were!" the agitated voice boomed out, as the heavy front door slammed in it's frame, shutting out the darkness of the early night beyond.

Heath, in the parlour just pouring himself a drink, turned in surprise at the sound. His oldest brother's back was to him, as hands removed the grey Stetson from the dark head, and hung it on a hook on the coat tree. Movement to Heath's left revealed Audra passing into the foyer, leading the way for Nick, who carried Rose in his arms.

Not sensing any of them, wrapped up in his own misery, Jarrod wheeled from the door, a scowl on his face, blue eyes narrowed warningly. He spied Heath first, one hand on the decanter, the other on a glass, and Jarrod pursed his lips. He wasn't sure for a moment if he should have the drink he craved, after his ordeal, or if that was the last thing he needed right now.

Blue eyes flashed like chips of ice from between narrowed lids. A sardonic, half-smile curled pale lips set in a face darkened with beard shadow, and a grey smudge of dust on the brow. The formerly black boots were charcoal now with road dust. The navy suit, which only that morning had been sharply pressed, was crumpled and disheveled, the pants dirty at the cuffs. The lingering stench of the old man mingled now with the musky odour of sweat. The tall figure zeroed in on his sandy-haired brother, looking so comfortable, so relaxed, so clean, and obviously not expecting to see him.

"I've had me a day!" Jarrod called out loudly in mock good humour, his deep voice raising an octave. "Go on, Brother Heath, just ask me! Ask me to fill you in on every last, DAMN detail!"

"Jarrod!" the gravelly voice interjected angrily. "Keep your voice down and watch your language man!"

Jarrod turned towards the sound, his eyes taking in the trio near the bottom of the stairs. Audra stood there, looking disconcerted to see him, home and in such a state. Nick, not far behind her, was frowning his disapproval. His feet were planted slightly apart. Cradled protectively in his arms, was the slender form of a young woman, her arms around his neck, her dark head against Nick's shoulder.

Their amnesiac, Jarrod knew. He'd forgotten about her on the train, remembered her while he'd begun the ride back to the ranch, and promptly put her out of his mind again when the horse...and he was using the term lightly...had thrown a shoe. "My apologies," Jarrod said, in a quieter, more controlled tone, unable to muster up enough chagrin to feel truly sorry for his behaviour, but at least having the ingrained manners to say the right thing.

"Rose, this is my brother, Jarrod Barkley," Nick was making introductions. "Jarrod, this is Rose."

Jarrod gazed at her reflectively, noting that though she still bore the marks of her injuries, her countenance was no longer the ghastly mask it had been when he'd first seen her. He could make out facial features now, and a pair of clear, green eyes stared at him, wide and stunned, while below them her mouth had dropped open. All right, Jarrod thought self-consciously, so he wasn't looking his dapper best, and maybe his language had been a bit colourful for mixed company, but he didn't think she needed to look so shocked. He hadn't meant to offend her delicate sensibilities! Jarrod realized then the importance of what Nick had just said. Rose. She did have a name!

"So, you've recovered your memory," Jarrod assumed. He forced himself to smile. That was a good thing. That period of not knowing must have been scary for her. It must be a recent development, or the family would surely have sent him a wire to let him know. Unless of course their wire had gone into the same void that his had. "Well, I'm pleased to meet you, Rose. And I must say I'm glad the mystery has been solved. This will save me a lot of time and a lot of work now too," he joked. Jarrod heard Nick's sharp intake of breath, Heath's muffled groan from the other direction, and saw the colour sweep up into his little sister's finely crafted cheeks.

"Rose hasn't been able to remember anything yet, Jarrod," Audra put in hurriedly. "She...we...we all agreed that we had to call her something, and she chose the name Rose. For us to use for now. Just until she does...remember." Audra was afraid to look at their guest, afraid to see the stricken expression that she was sure her oldest brother's flippant and unintentionally cruel words would have evoked.

Jarrod realized his faux pas. Before he could say something to soften the words, which he had only meant to break the ice, Nick had turned his back to him, shielding their guest, and began to ascend the stairs. "It's been a long day and Rose needs to get to bed," Nick said decisively. Audra shot Jarrod a look that was a mixture of disappointed reproval and irritation, and then hurried up the stairs after the pair.

Jarrod stood in the foyer, watching them go, feeling the coldness and the censure. He looked back at Heath, and strode over to the parlour. "Pour me one, would you?" he asked miserably.

Wordlessly, the blond cowboy filled the glass that he held, passed it to his dark-haired brother, and then reached for another glass and filled it for himself. Heath raised his own glass, "Welcome home," he said, speaking for the first time since Jarrod had stomped through the door.

Jarrod took a quick gulp of the bourbon, then looked at the other man with a wry expression. "Well, I guess I botched that up."

"Boy howdy, I'll say ya did," Heath agreed honestly. Then after a pause, "Why didn't ya let us know you were comin' in today? I'd a met ya at the depot." He glanced pointedly at Jarrod's appearance. "You look like a man who's had a long hike. Horse throw ya?'

"No, the nag didn't throw me," Jarrod responded, disgruntled. He prided himself on being an expert horseman. He might not spend all day on the range on horseback, like his two younger brothers, but Jarrod too had been riding since he could walk, and he'd been an officer in the cavalry. He did know a thing or two about horses, including how to keep his seat. "It threw a shoe, out by the fork to the Cutler place." Heath nodded understandingly. That was a good walk. "But that's not where things started, just where they finished," Jarrod said sourly.

As Jarrod began his tale of woe, Heath listened with only half an ear. His mind kept casting back to the look on Rose's face when she had first encountered Jarrod. She had seemed stunned to see him, and Heath didn't think that it had anything to do with the mildly colourful language or his big brother's less than pristine appearance.

Rose had recognized Jarrod. Heath was almost sure of it. The way she had stared at him...it was as though she were seeing a...a ghost or something. Neither Nick nor Audra had been positioned to really see her expression, or the effect that Jarrod's presence had had on Rose, and Jarrod himself had been far too distracted to read much into it. But Heath, ever watchful and aware, had seen that light in the young woman's eyes, however fleeting. A knowing. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it had been extinguished. And she hadn't said a word to Jarrod, not anything at all, just stared at him with something akin to disbelief. Heath couldn't be certain, of course. But he felt that there was some connection between Jarrod and Rose.

* * * * * * * *

"You get a good night's sleep now," Nick was saying, after having set Rose down on the bed. Audra would remain and help the young woman change into night clothes, and get her settled. "I'll be getting an early start in the morning, but I'll stop back 'round noon, and if you feel up to it, I can take you back downstairs for the afternoon, to the parlour or the billiards room."

Nick didn't like the sickly expression on Rose's face, it caused an ache deep inside him. She had been doing so well, she'd had such a good day, until Jarrod had returned and cut her to the quick with his callous words. Nick couldn't wait to get back downstairs and tear a strip out of Big Brother.

Rose nodded distractedly, looking down at the hands folded demurely in her lap. Nick wanted her to say something, anything, so that he could know she was all right. He looked helplessly at Audra, whose blue eyes mirrored his uncertainty and concern. "Good night, Rose," Nick said, his deep voice husky. Impulsively, he bent to plant a quick kiss on the crown of her head. Rose did not react to the tender action. Blushing, unable to look at his sister, Nick bolted from the room.

Audra crossed to the bureau and removed a long, ivory nightdress from the drawer. She helped Rose to slip out of her dress and into her night clothes. All the while, Rose remained mute, her features waxen. As Audra began to brush the other woman's long, dark waves, taking extra care with the area at the back of her head where Rose had received the stitches, she said quietly, "Jarrod didn't mean that the way it came out, Rose, honest he didn't. Jarrod is one of the sweetest, gentlest, most caring men imaginable. He lives his life to help others, it's who he is and what he does. It's no problem really, this search he's undertaken, to find your people.

"I know it must have sounded...bad," Audra reflected, "but please don't let it worry or upset you. We're committed, all of us, Jarrod included, to doing whatever it takes to help you. I'm sure he feels just awful. Don't you feel bad about it, Rose, please," the blonde implored.

Rose roused from her reverie long enough to pat the slender hand that had settled compassionately on her shoulder. She wasn't sure, really, what Audra was talking about. She'd been in a daze ever since she'd seen the oldest Barkley brother, down in the foyer. Ever since she had heard that well-modulated, masculine voice. Ever since her eyes had come to rest on features that were uncommonly handsome beneath the grime. Ever since she'd looked at eyes so blue, the brightest gem would pale by comparison.

For just a second, Rose had known him. She had known Jarrod Barkley. Known that she had seen him before, that he was familiar to her. But with that knowledge had come a disassociation from the world around her. Reality had become hazy, her setting, so real just the moment before, had become ephemeral. She had seen the eldest son standing there, she had known him, somehow, some way, and yet part of her had rebelled. An inner voice had screamed that it just couldn't be so, that it just wasn't possible for them to be in the same room, face to face that way. It was impossible. Either he couldn't be here. Or she couldn't.

Rose was exhausted. She didn't understand any of the thoughts and emotions that were whirling dervishes, crashing and colliding inside her mind. Her head began to ache again, and she raised her hand, rubbing her brow, as she politely requested that Audra prepare some of Dr. Merar's powders. Rose fought desperately to stay anchored, to concentrate on small details, like the stitching in the coverlet on the bed, and the soft feel of the flannel gown against her skin. Another thought popped unbidden to the fore, and she wasn't sure if it was something that had really happened, or only something that she had imagined. Had Nick Barkley kissed her?

* * * * * * * *

Nick's hand descended on his brother's shoulder, his grip unrelenting, as he spun the other man around, not caring that his siblings had been in the middle of a conversation. Liquor splashed out of Jarrod's glass, and onto the cuff of his shirt sleeve as, startled, he gazed into Nick's stormy face. "What the hell were you thinking, Jarrod?" Nick hissed, rocking on the balls of his feet, his body tightly coiled with barely concealed rage.

Jarrod stared pointedly at the hand that clamped down on him. Grudgingly, Nick let it slip away. "Easy, Nick," Jarrod cautioned, his eyes narrowing. He had had enough for one day, and his patience was shot. He knew he'd made a gaffe but he didn't think he deserved the animosity that emanated from his brother's 6' 2" frame.

Nick was not to be deterred so easily though. "Do you have any idea of what that girl has been through?" he demanded. "She nearly died. We almost lost her. But she pulled through, and she's been getting better day by day. She's a fighter," he said, pride deepening his voice. "But she's really fragile for the time being. And she doesn't know who she is or where she belongs, and we're all she has in the world right now." Nick raked long fingers through his dark hair. "You made her feel like nothing! Like an imposition!" Dark eyes flashed an accusation.

Jarrod sighed. "I know Nick, and I'm sorry. Surely you know I didn't mean it the way it sounded. It was just...miscommunication and bad timing. I'll talk to her tomorrow. Apologize. I'm sure she'll understand."

Nick wasn't mollified yet. "I guess judging from your earlier glib remark that you haven't been able to learn anything yet?"

Jarrod shook his head, including Heath in his remarks now. "Not yet, no. The Pinkerton agency has men working on it too, and we've broadened the search beyond the California borders. It's just a matter of time, boys. We'll find out who 'Rose' really is." Jarrod paused, and looked speculatively at Nick. "And we'll see that she's back where she rightfully belongs."

Nick paled, looking as though he'd had the wind knocked out of him. "Good. Fine," he said gruffly. "I...I think I'll turn in early. I want to get a good start on the day tomorrow." He glanced at Heath. "See you at dawn." He looked back at Jarrod. "Welcome home," he told him grudgingly. "We'll talk tomorrow." He spun on heel and beelined for the staircase again.

Jarrod watched him go, pondering all that had just taken place. What had been said and, more importantly perhaps, what hadn't been said. He looked at Heath, blue eyes boring into a similar pair, seeking confirmation. But Heath's face betrayed nothing.

"Refill?" Heath asked calmly.

Chapter Eight

There was a soft knock at the open door, before a deep, cultured voice called out, "Good morning. May I come in?"

Rose looked away from the window, towards the tall, dark-haired man standing in the doorway. He was much cleaner and tidier than he had been last night. Freshly scrubbed. Clean-shaven. Jet hair swept back. A crisp, white shirt tucked into tailored black slacks. A black, string tie, perfectly knotted. Blue eyes, bright and alert, regarded her curiously. He stood there confidently. The epitome of style and class and self-assurance. No longer the dusty saddle tramp of the previous evening. But still, unmistakably the same man.

She felt the chill steal over her, a coldness that seeped over her body, leeching down to her bones. One that had nothing to do with the pleasant mid-morning temperature. Her mouth felt pasty, her tongue too big for her mouth, her lips gummed together. Rose could only nod in reply to his query. Affirmatively...despite the fact that every fibre of her being wanted to shrink away from the handsome figure.

Jarrod Barkley smiled at her, the crease in his chin deepening. He walked into the room, his right hand extending the slim vase which today bore a single yellow bloom. "Mother was just on her way up with this. I asked her if it was all right if I brought it to you instead." Victoria had also explained to him the circumstances of how their guest had come to be named. He set the crystal on the bedside table. "How are you feeling today? I understand you ate a good breakfast. Silas does make the best scrambled eggs in the valley."

With each word he spoke, as innocuous as they seemed, Rose imagined them falling upon her as death knells. His voice was pleasant enough, his conversation light and not too personal. Yet Rose felt as though imaginary fingers were closing around her windpipe, making it hard to draw air. She couldn't possibly speak, so again she nodded her head in agreement with his pronouncement about Silas's culinary talents.

The lawyer looked at her, sensing her unease, but unaware of just how deep it ran. Bordering on panic. His blue eyes met her green ones, and she looked hastily away. A small sigh of frustration escaped Jarrod. He had come to make amends, but she obviously wasn't going to make it his easy on him. Why should she? he reasoned.

Late at night, after a long, hot bath, dressed in a linen nightshirt, reclining in his comfortable bed, he had finally been able to step outside of himself long enough to feel real guilt and remorse for his off the cuff comments. No matter that his motivations had been innocent enough. His unthinking and ill-timed remarks had been insensitive at best...cruel at the worst. Of course, it was no trouble to try to help her recover her lost identity and to find her loved ones, and he hadn't meant to imply that it was.

He had come here to apologize. To reassure her. To charm her, so that they could begin anew. Jarrod Barkley normally had no trouble befriending women. He was sensitive to their moods, solicitous to their needs, and respectful of them as individuals. He wasn't conceited, but he had been around enough to know that most women found him attractive. He was well-read. Intelligent. Interested and interesting.

He must have hurt her more deeply than he had imagined, Jarrod was pained to know. He had let her down, and if there was one thing he hated, it was to let anyone down. "I'm truly sorry," he went on, embarrassed and sympathetic. "About last night. I certainly didn't mean..."

"Oh, there's nothing to worry about," Rose managed at last, forcing the words out with superhuman effort. She had no idea what he was talking about. What he was apologizing for. But it became apparent to her that that was why he was here. So, she figured that she would accept the apology and he'd be on his way. She couldn't stand to be in the same room with him. She felt as though she were suffocating.

She still wouldn't maintain eye contact with him, Jarrod noted with growing irritation. And she didn't seem particularly hurt. It appeared to him that she was just trying to...avoid him. Rebuffing him. "I'm afraid there's still been no progress with our inquiries," he tried, hoping to elicit a response from her. Surely she would want to know what was being done. Would have some questions of her own.

"Fine," she mumbled, green eyes still averted as she studiously traced the pattern of the stitching on the coverlet with a thin finger.

Jarrod frowned. Something wasn't right here. And it went beyond his gaffe of last night. He stared at her profile. This side, the left side, was still swollen, but the bruises were definitely fading. The abrasions were scabbing over, no longer raw and weeping. The face that lay beneath was actually quite fetching, he could discern. Her dark hair was long and silky, tumbling down behind her delicate neck, and across thin shoulders. He'd known dancers with long, graceful necks like that. She was thin. Too thin. Audra's nightdress was too big on her, and bony wrists protruded from beneath the laced cuffs of the sleeves.

"I know that this has been a terrible experience for you," he commiserated. "To suffer such terrible injury, and to wake up among strangers. I know that you've had time to get to know the rest of my family a bit, and that I'm a totally unknown element joining the equation now. Please don't judge me though on my actions of last night. I won't make any excuses. But I am every bit as committed as the others to ensuring that..."

"Thank you," Rose cut him off brusquely, unmoved by his speech.

Jarrod bristled. He didn't know why she was being so difficult towards him. He only wanted to help her. Had, in fact, being doing more work to help discover who she was, than any of them. His suspicions became aroused. Why did this mysterious young woman not want to have anything to do with him? What was she hiding? What was she afraid he would see, that the others had missed? What was she afraid he would find?

"I've enlisted the Pinkerton Agency," Jarrod informed her slowly. "If anyone can discover your past...Rose..." Jarrod hesitated just long enough that she should be able to pick up the emphasis on her 'name' but not long enough to be too obvious. It was a trick that he had used often in the courtroom, "...it will surely be them." This didn't get the rise he had expected from her, and she showed no adverse reaction to the mention of the famous detectives.

Jarrod stood there for several moments, silently, trying to wait Rose out. She began to pluck at the light, wool covering in agitation, and the tempo of her breathing increased dramatically. Stunned, Jarrod watched as she began to tremble. He began to worry that she was going to hyperventilate. She didn't say a word, almost as though she was pretending that he wasn't in the room. Jarrod was confused, totally unsure of what to make of this bizarre behaviour. What colour there was in her cheeks drained suddenly. Alarmed, Jarrod reached to take her left hand.

She jerked her head at his touch. Enormous green eyes fixed on him then and he saw the terror in their emerald depths. She opened her mouth, and a shrill, high-pitched scream exploded with remarkable force from her tiny frame. Her head lolled for a moment, and then Rose fainted.

* * * * * * * *

The acrid smell assailed her nostrils. Twisting and turning her head, she fought to get away from it, coughing in protest.

"She's coming to," a female voice announced, relieved.

Rose's eyes fluttered open, and Victoria's hand withdrew the vial of smelling salts. The older woman relaxed visibly. "You fainted, Rose. You had us worried there for a moment."

"We heard you scream," Audra added. "Are you all right?"

Both women were perched on opposite sides of Rose's bed. She sat up, smiling tremulously. "Yes, I...I'm fine. I'm sorry, I feel so silly."

"Nonsense," Audra comforted. Her pretty blue eyes were perplexed. "Why did you scream though, Rose? What happened?"

Beyond the women, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching her stoically, was the tall, masculine form of Jarrod Barkley. Rose's eyes lighted on him for just a second, and then she looked back quickly to the two Barkley women. "I...I'm not sure," she said.

Audra frowned over at her brother. He had come to bring Rose a fresh blossom, and to apologize for last night, she knew. She and Mother had come running at Rose's blood-curdling scream, and found him leaning over the bed, holding her hand, while their young guest was slumped unconscious. Pushing Jarrod aside, the women had ignored him, and rushed to assist Rose, with Victoria reaching into the drawer of the little bedside table and extracting a vial of smelling salts. Rose had come to almost at once.

Audra narrowed her eyes distrustfully on Jarrod. "Do you know what happened?" she asked him now.

Jarrod returned her stare levelly. "I honestly wish that I did," he replied. His blue eyes contemplated the figure in the centre of the bed. Then without another word, he retreated.

Chapter Nine

Nick kept his word, returning home briefly just before noon. He met Audra on the stairs, and she told him about the small setback with Rose. She hastened to assure her brother that their guest was all right, that she'd only fainted for a minute or two, and had been easily revived.

Nick's eyes narrowed when he learned that Jarrod had been in the room at the time. "What the devil did he say to her now?" the cowboy growled.

"Nothing unusual, he says Nick, and Rose says she doesn't know why she screamed. She's been fine the rest of the morning. Please don't bring it up with her, it might only upset her again," Audra suggested.

Nick nodded curtly. "Where is Big Brother now?"

"He went into Stockton, to his office. He'll be gone most of the day," she informed him.

"Good," Nick said with satisfaction. "I'm going to get Rose and bring her downstairs. Where will you and mother be?"

"I'm going to the orphanage now, it's Kendra's birthday, and we're having a little party for her this afternoon," Audra explained. Kendra was one of the children, a little red-haired girl who, along with a younger sister, had come to them recently. "But Mother said that you could bring Rose to the parlour, if she's up to it, and she'd be there with her for the afternoon."

Nick nodded his understanding, then took the remainder of the stairs, two at a time. Audra watched him go, sensing his urgency and his need to check on Rose for himself. It was sweet, she thought, how protective Nick was over their guest. She just hoped that he would remember that Rose had a past. A life that did not include the Barkleys...even if they didn't know what that was just yet.

"Hey there," Nick whispered from the doorway. Rose was leaning back against the pillows, her eyes closed. They flew open at the sound of his voice, and she smiled at him. A warm, genuine, eager smile. Nick grinned back at her. "I wasn't sure if you were sleeping or not." His voice resumed it's normal deep tone and timbre.

"Just resting," Rose answered.

"Well, here I am, just like I said," Nick remarked. "Mother's going to be down in the parlour this afternoon. Would you like to join her there?"

"I hope you didn't come home just for me," Rose protested, blushing guiltily.

The tall, rangy cowboy came towards her, hat in hand, silver spurs clinking. He was dressed in work clothes today. A dark, maroon shirt, black leather vest, and black pants. There was a maroon kerchief tied jauntily at his open neckline. She noted the gunbelt, slung low over slim hips. "Well, I had to come back this way for more barbed wire. We're stringing fence line in the north pasture." He stopped beside her bed, looking down at her, his eyes soft. "Naw, that's a lie," he corrected, lowering his voice. "We got enough wire. When the boys broke for lunch, I rode back here. Wanted to check on you, and thought you might be ready for another change of scenery." He cleared his throat self-consciously, running his fingers over the brim of his hat. "Is that so bad?"

The green eyes sought and held his dark ones. How kind he was, Rose realized. Thoughtful. Steadfast and dependable. When Nick Barkley was around, she no longer felt as though she was drifting, unanchored, on strange seas, while a storm brewed on the horizon. When the tall, handsome cowboy was near, Rose felt protected. Safe. Sheltered in the harbour that was the strength and shadow of his indomitable personality. Her doubts and worries were calmed temporarily in his presence. "You're incredibly kind," she told him finally. Inadequately.

Nick set the hat back atop his head, as Rose pushed aside the covers, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She was wearing another of Audra's dresses, a pale peach silk, that was form-fitting on his little sister, but which made Rose look like a little girl playing dress-up. She needs some clothes of her own, Nick thought to himself. He'd have to speak to Mother about that.

When Rose was ready, and hesitantly, shyly, reached her arms up towards him, Nick bent and drew her into his embrace. He'd been thinking about this moment all morning. Holding her in his arms again, her slender body curved against his chest and abdomen. While his body had been digging the hard-packed earth, pounding fenceposts, and looping and nailing wire, work that his hardened muscles knew well...his mind had been looking forward to returning to the main house. To feeling her fragile weight, supported by his hold. To luxuriating in the softness of the dark waves of her hair, brushed now against his cheek, silken and fragrant.

Nick's heart thudded in his chest, as he carried his precious burden. Concentrating on the moment. Refusing to consider the words that Jarrod had tossed out so carelessly last night. "We'll find out who 'Rose' really is. And then we'll see that she's back where she rightfully belongs."

* * * * * * * *

Victoria devoted a large portion of the afternoon to beginning to teach Rose how to crochet. The matriarch had been surprised to learn that Rose seemed to have no understanding of any of the simple needle crafts. The older woman didn't know a single young woman who wasn't well versed in these necessities, from the poorest to the most extravagantly wealthy. She had been teaching her own daughter, Audra, since before the child had even begun school. Victoria couldn't conceive of any woman not having picked up these skills at some point.

She decided that Rose probably did know, but that the knowledge had been lost to her temporarily as a result of her amnesia. Some quirky trick of the mind. In the meantime, it would give them both something to do. And so, after a lunch of chicken soup and cheese sandwiches, Victoria had settled next to the young woman on the settee and begun, patiently, to explain to her the art of crochet.

They had taken a break mid-afternoon when Silas had brought tea and miniature cakes to the parlour. Afterwards, Victoria had inquired whether Rose wanted to continue with her lesson, or perhaps read for a spell, or play checkers or do some other activity.

"You really don't need to sit here with me all day," Rose protested. "Perhaps there's something good on..." Her voice trailed off, while the older woman looked at her expectantly. Rose frowned, perplexed, by the strange word that rolled off her tongue,"...television."

Victoria's dark eyes were curious at the strange, garbled term. What had Rose been trying to say?

Rose flushed in agitation. There was a mental image in her head, that was already fading away. "A...a box, with pictures...and they...they move," she stammered uncertainly.

Victoria's unlined brow knotted for a moment. "You mean...a Magic Lantern?" she pressed. She had heard of these new fangled contraptions before, though she'd never actually seen one in use. It was comprised of a special, four-wick oil lamp. There were hand-tinted slides that worked with it, and scenes would project magically against the backdrop of a sheet of fabric, or a blank wall. The slides would depict images of gargoyles and fairies, and tell a story as they progressed.

Victoria's excitement grew. If Rose was accustomed to a Magic Lantern, if she lived in a household where there was one, then surely this was an important clue about her background. Only the very wealthy, probably those from the larger cities, would own one of these. Of course, it could be that Rose was a servant in such a household. But discussing among themselves in the evenings, the Barkley family had more or less rejected the idea that she had come from a farm background or that she did menial labour. Her hands were soft, her nails long and well cared for. And Rose articulated well, her speech that of an educated woman.

"Are you talking about a Magic Lantern?" Victoria asked again, trying not to let her voice betray her excitement.

Rose sighed, turning forlorn eyes on the older woman. "I...I don't know. That name doesn't sound familiar," she admitted regretfully. Rose had no idea what a Magic Lantern was. And the image that had been so clear in her mind a few moments ago, was gone now, as was the strange word she had used to define it. She closed her eyes, and rubbed her forehead distractedly.

"Would you like me to get the powders?" Victoria asked sympathetically.

Rose straightened and smiled at her. "No, thank you, I'm fine. Really. I'm sure you must wonder though, with my strange behaviour. Screaming for no reason, and then talking without even knowing what I'm saying." She shrugged her thin shoulders in a self-deprecating fashion.

"Well," Victoria began, patting one of Rose's hands, "I think that it's all perfectly natural, given what you've been through. Dr. Merar will be by tomorrow again, and we can discuss everything with him then. He did say, after the last time, that it was not unusual for someone to experience 'terrors' after an accident like yours."

"The last time?" Rose repeated, cocking her dark head.

Victoria nodded. "Yes, it happened before. I'm sorry, I guess we just never mentioned it. It was two, perhaps three days after Heath had found you. You hadn't woken for the duration of that time, we were sure of it, because we'd been tending you round the clock.

"Then one afternoon, you began to stir. Audra wiped your face with a damp cloth, and we sent one of the hands for Dr. Merar. You seemed to hover in and out of consciousness. Then you were with us fully, I could see the veil had lifted from your eyes, and you were looking around, obviously disoriented." She paused. "You became very frightened, and just as Howard arrived, you screamed, just the way you did this morning.

"Only you sank into unconsciousness again. For another four or five days. We weren't sure if you'd ever come out of it. Which is why Audra and I were so worried this morning," Victoria admitted. "But this time you'd only fainted and came right back to us," she finished with satisfaction.

"I...I don't remember that at all," Rose told her.

Victoria smiled comfortingly. "No reason that you should, I suppose. I can understand how frightened you must have been, to wake up in a strange place, with people you didn't know, not knowing if we were there to help you or to hurt you." She squeezed one of the ivory hands than released it.

Frightened, Rose thought. Yes, that's how she'd felt in Jarrod Barkley's presence that morning. Inexplicably, but definitely frightened. She couldn't understand it. He'd posed no threat to her, that she could discern. But there had been something about him. Something that had stolen the warmth and the breath from her body. A sense of wrongness, that she had experienced upon first meeting him last night. A contradiction, both of knowing him, and of knowing that it was impossible that she did.

Just picturing the lawyer's handsome countenance made her blood pressure rise again. So instead, Rose conjured up an image that had the power to soothe her. One that fostered a sense of security. She pictured in her mind's eye the charming grin of Nick Barkley.

* * * * * * * *

Howard Merar busied himself in his surgery, cleaning and disinfecting the tools that he had used that morning to remove the about to have ruptured gall bladder of one of the local farmers, recovering now in the other room. "It's not so unusual, Jarrod," he was saying to the other man in response to his questions. "The young lady has been through a bad time. She almost died you know. And you saw how depressed her vitals were. When the body, and more importantly the brain, goes through a shock to the system like that, there's no way to predict what the outcome will be, or what the ramifications will be, both short and long term.

"In addition to amnesia, there is often a drastic change in personality. Sometimes coupled with an inability to cope with the simplest things. That can be short term or it can continue through the patient's life time. There's no way to say.

"I thought our Rose was doing splendidly the last time that I was out at the ranch," Dr. Merar said sincerely. "But I was already planning on going out tomorrow, so I'll examine her completely again then. From what you've said, the episode sounds like a little bump in the road, and nothing too consequential if she came back again right away."

"But her behaviour," Jarrod insisted. "She seemed so frightened. Afraid of me. She doesn't know who I am, so she must be afraid of what I am. A man tied to the law. Doc, is it possible for someone to fake amnesia?"

Dr. Merar shook his head. "She's not faking, Jarrod. Her confusion is real. You're reading too much into this episode. Taking it too personally. It's not the first time it's happened, after all." Jarrod, unaware, asked for details, which the physician provided. "The mind is a funny thing, Jarrod. Modern science can't begin to understand all of it's intricacies. Physical healing is only one component of the process. It's the one I'm most familiar with, but I've been at this long enough to know that it's not the only component, or even the most important one sometimes.

"The mind and the spirit, they play a role too. Rose's body is healing. But her mind and her spirit...who knows what's going on there?" He wiped his hands on a towel. "Can I give you a little advice, Jarrod?" The lawyer nodded. "Don't approach her like a witness on a stand. I know how you are. I know that you like answers, and not uncertainty. I know that you want to find out who Rose really is, and how she came to be where Heath found her. I know that right now all you've got are questions, piling up on top of questions, and no answers yet. I understand your frustration.

"But try to put yourself in Rose's place. As frustrated as you are, imagine what it's like for her? As kindly and considerately as your family is treating her, she knows that she doesn't belong there. But she doesn't know how she got there, or where she does belong. You're all strangers to her. And you can be an imposing figure, young man.

"Take a leaf from your brother Nick's book. Put your mystery on the back burner. It'll resolve itself one way or another, probably when you least expect it. In the meantime, help Rose to feel welcome and at ease. That's what she needs right now." He clapped the eldest Barkley son on the back.

Jarrod nodded his acceptance of the older man's words. "Thanks, Doc." Everything that the experienced physician had told him, had made sense. But Jarrod couldn't shake the feeling that there was so much more to Rose's being here, than any of them knew.

Continued…