Of Dreams and Yesterdays

Chapters 10-18

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 Ten

"I was talking to Howard in town, and he confirmed that he'll be coming out here tomorrow," Jarrod spoke to the others in the room, raising his dark head for a moment, before lowering it again in concentration, lining up his next shot. There was the sound of the billiard balls striking one another, and then the satisfying thud that indicated the desired ball had sunk into the pocket. Jarrod grinned, stepping back from the table, indicating it with a broad sweep of his hand. "Your turn," he announced to Heath.

Heath studied the green felt table top as he walked slowly around the perimeter. His older brother hadn't left things in a very convenient array, and was grinning broadly, figuring Heath's next shot would be a scratch. And that after that, the lawyer anticipated sinking the nine ball and being five dollars richer. It wasn't as much the money that appealed to Jarrod, Heath knew, as the bragging rights. Jarrod rarely beat Heath at pool.

The sandy-haired cowboy stopped next to where his brother was standing. "Mind givin' me a little room," he said, unperturbed.

Jarrod laughed. "Certainly. No sense prolonging the inevitable." Blue eyes winked at the two women on the settee, as he stepped back, making a show of giving his younger sibling all the space he could possibly need.

Heath leaned across the table, cradling his cue in the valley formed by his knuckles. He closed first one sapphire eye, then the other, sliding the wooden stick back and forth along his hand. It was a big risk, he knew. The striped ball would have to bank not once, but twice, before it ever got to it's intended target, having to contend with other balls along the way, and it was difficult to calculate both trajectories. Heath took his time, as he did with all things. He chuckled inwardly to hear the impatient release of breath from the figure behind him.

"So, did Doc mention what time he might be here?" Heath inquired conversationally, as the cue found it's mark. He turned from the table, casually, not even waiting to see the outcome.

He watched his brother's eyes, widening with disbelief as they followed the impossible shot. Nick had sauntered over, standing behind Jarrod's left shoulder, curious to see how Heath made out. Heath observed the other men calmly, and when the grin split Nick's face, as Jarrod's jaw simultaneously dropped, he knew he'd met with success. It should be easy now, to clean the rest of the table, and pre-empt his big brother's victory.

"Well I'll be hanged!" Nick's deep voice boomed out, before he let loose with a low, appreciative whistle.

Jarrod watched uncomprehendingly as Heath finished the game, coming to stand beside him, digging an elbow into the lawyer's ribs. "Not that yer credit ain't good," Heath said, with a straight face. "But if you could pay up now, it'd save me a trip to the bank in the next day or two. I'm a little light on cash at the moment."

Jarrod sighed, shaking his head, as he extracted his billfold and counted off five crisp bills. He handed them to his younger brother, then burst out laughing. "I had you!" he protested. "There's no way anyone could make a shot like that!" As Heath took the money, his face softening in a lopsided grin, Jarrod finally answered his earlier question. "Howard said he'd be by sometime in the morning."

Jarrod had missed dinner with the family, becoming immersed in some paperwork at his law office, and not returning to the ranch until just after dark. In a way, he was glad of the delay, wondering if it had been a subconscious one on his part. Their injured guest, Rose, had eaten with the family, but had retired for the evening before Jarrod had gotten home. While part of him had wanted to see how she would react to him on their next encounter, he really hadn't wanted to sit through an uncomfortable dinner. Or to risk upsetting her for a second time that day.

Silas had left dinner in the warmer for him, which he'd polished off in the kitchen before joining the rest of the Barkley family in the billiards room. He knew that they had to discuss the mysterious young woman, but he'd needed to unwind a bit first, and feeling lucky, had challenged Heath to a game of pool. Now, he laid his cue across the table and went to pour himself a drink. He asked the ladies if they'd like a sherry, and both declined. He held up the whiskey decanter towards his brothers. Heath nodded his acceptance while Nick shook his head.

"There were some telegrams waiting for me at my office, concerning Rose, and a letter," Jarrod began. For some reason, part of him balked at using the name, knowing that it wasn't really hers. Four pairs of eyes looked at him then, three of them alight with hope, the third pair, darkly hazel, veiled. He shook his head quickly. "No new information," he put in hurriedly. Not there had been any 'old' information either. "But there was something from the Pinkertons, suggesting that we take out ads in some of the bigger papers. Just in the state for now. Proclaiming that we're looking for any leads as to Rose's identity. Perhaps even offering a reward of some kind."

Jarrod paused, sipping the whiskey, to allow them all to consider that for a moment. "It'll cost money, for the ads, and the reward of course. But I think the idea has merit. We might get some actual leads that way. On the downside, every time you offer a reward, you're bound to also be inundated with a lot of useless 'information' from people who smell money."

"It seems to me that we don't have a lot of options," Audra spoke up. "Rose hasn't been able to remember anything, anything at all about her prior life." Victoria agreed with her daughter, adding that of course money would not be a consideration in assisting Rose and they would do whatever necessary to help her.

"Well, just a sec here," Nick blustered. "If we take out an ad saying we've got a young woman here with no memory, and we're offering cold hard cash to anyone who knows who she is, what's to prevent some unscrupulous rake with an ulterior motive, someone who doesn't even know Rose or care about her, from saying he knows her and taking our money...and Rose...then just dumping her off somewhere? Or worse." Nick thought about the brothels that lined the river, always looking for fresh girls, and his chest constricted.

Jarrod looked at Nick, seeing the tension in his brother's face, noting the hands clenched in fists against his thighs. "Well, to be honest, I hadn't considered that Brother Nick, but that's not a bad point," Jarrod conceded. "So, we'd have to take steps of course, to ensure that we didn't just accept the first person who showed up at our doorstep, at face value, and risk putting Rose in any danger. We'd make sure any claims were checked out thoroughly, by the Pinkertons, and backed up by a variety of reliable sources first." He paused thoughtfully. "In fact, would could have our names kept out of the ads altogether. Any and all information could go through the Pinkertons first, and they can weed through it. Then, only if they have what seems like solid leads, we can get involved. And, of course we wouldn't divulge too much about Rose, only perhaps her approximate age, and that she was found here in the valley."

"Most of the folks around here already know all about her," Nick said. "They'll talk."

"Nick," Jarrod said in exasperation, "we want people to talk. You're right that we have to be careful, and we'll be sure before we hand Rose over to anybody...but we need people to talk. The best likelihood we have of finding out who she is and where she belongs, is through word of mouth. Some farmer or miner mentioning it in some saloon, word making it's way out to the outskirts, til it reaches the ear of someone who does know something.

"Lots of people don't or can't read the paper, and lots of people don't live in the cities the ads will be targeting. We've got to reach as many people as we can. That's our best hope of re-uniting her with her family and friends," Jarrod insisted.

"I know," Nick agreed grudgingly. "I just think we have to be careful, is all."

"We will be Nick. I promise you all that."

"I have a theory," Victoria spoke then. "I believe that Rose is from a wealthy family." She explained what had transpired earlier, about Rose's description of what had to be a Magic Lantern, and Victoria's belief that it was a clue to the young woman's background.

Jarrod rubbed his chin reflectively. "That is interesting, Mother," he agreed. "It gives us somewhere to start." He had to wonder though, if Rose came from a well-to-do family, why they wouldn't have been searching for her, if they had the resources. The Pinkertons were checking every missing persons report, and had not cross-referenced anything yet.

The lawyer quickly considered a couple of possibilities. Either that Rose was from farther away than any of them suspected, perhaps the midwest, or even back east. Or, that her family wasn't looking for her. Perhaps she'd defied her family and hooked up with the wrong kind of man, somehow ending up bloody and battered here on Barkley land. It wouldn't be the first time a privileged young woman had fallen for the wrong fellow, and paid the price, both by being disowned by her family, and then being betrayed by her man.

Perhaps, Rose had been kidnapped. And somewhere, her kin was waiting to hear back from her kidnappers. Kidnappers that had either left Rose for dead, or were people that she'd somehow gotten away from. Only her family, still thinking her under the control of her abductors, was keeping low key and secretive, working on their own to get back a daughter, sister or wife, that they were unaware was now safe but in a state of amnesia. As Howard Merar had pointed out, question after question, but no answers.

Heath held his drink, swirling his glass as he contemplated the discussion. He finally concluded that now was the time to speak up. Even if all he had was a suspicion. It was all any of them had for now, and it might start the ball rolling and be the first piece of the puzzle that would help re-unite Rose with those she belonged with. The sooner the better, Heath thought. Not that he had anything against Rose, she was likable enough. But he felt that Nick was getting far too attached to their guest.

When she had first been found, and in those first nights, when Heath, Nick, Audra and Mother had sat around discussing who she might be and what might have happened to her, they had examined certain scenarios. They had pondered, openly, whether or not Rose might be married. She hadn't been wearing a wedding band at the time Heath had found her, Audra had pointed out. Heath had been quick to say that it might well have been stolen though. Or lost.

Victoria had mentioned that usually even if a person took their ring off, there was usually a dimple where the gold had rested against flesh. And perhaps a paler line, where skin would not have been exposed to sun. As well, Victoria didn't believe that the young woman had ever borne a child. She explained, briefly, that there were usually marks, signs that a woman's body had grown at some point with child. And that such marks had been absent on Rose.

It was all just speculation of course. But Heath worried that perhaps Nick was taking that speculation as gospel, and had decided in his own mind that Rose wasn't a mother, and she wasn't even married. Heath cleared his throat. "Well, I've got nothin' solid to back this up," he began, "but a gut feeling. But..." his blue eyes lighted on Jarrod, "I think Rose knows ya, Big Brother."

All eyes turned to the lawyer, who looked taken aback. He was a very observant man, and he rarely forgot a face, and he was certain that he'd never seen Rose before the day Heath had brought her here. "I'm sure you're wrong, Heath," he contradicted. "I don't know Rose at all, I'd bet on it. Even with the bumps and bruises, I'd recognize her if we'd met before. I'm pretty certain."

Heath was shaking his head. "I didn't say you knew her," he clarified. "I said that I think she knows you." Heath's blue-eyed gaze included everyone then. "It was a feelin' I got when Jarrod got back home yesterday. I could see Rose clearly from where I was standin'. And I'd swear to it, that for a moment or two anyways, Rose recognized ya, Jarrod."

Everyone was quiet, considering the ramifications of Heath's words. "Think about it. You wouldn't hafta know Rose, for her to know you. You're pretty well known in these parts. Had yer picture in the paper more'n a time or two. Could be she knew ya by reputation, without ever havin' made your acquaintance." Heath let that sink in. "Maybe she was on Barkley property for a reason. Maybe," Heath took a quick swallow of his whiskey, "she was comin' here to see you, Jarrod."

They all realized that what Heath was suggesting made sense. Jarrod thought about the possibility. Perhaps Rose had been running from some kind of trouble. Trying to reach the attorney she had seen in the papers, or whose reputation she had heard about. Coming to him for help. Only perhaps that trouble had found Rose, before she had found Jarrod. It put an intriguing spin on things. Only... "If she was coming to me for help, then why did she seem so afraid of me today?" Jarrod queried.

Heath shrugged. He couldn't answer that. Couldn't even project a theory.

The family continued their discourse, fascinated by Heath's idea that Rose might have been on her way to the ranch to see Jarrod. Wondering why she would have reacted to him so adversely earlier, or if her reaction had really had anything to do with him at all, but was just a matter of bad timing. They talked eagerly for some time, including about how they might broach this with Rose, before finally Victoria and Audra had announced they were turning in. Nick had followed not long after. He had been uncommonly reticent all evening.

Alone now, Heath had turned to Jarrod, ready to share with him the final detail that had been plaguing him. "There's somethin' else I ain't said to anyone yet," Heath began. "Something that's been buggin' me." Jarrod encouraged him to go on. "Well, you know how I found Rose when I went after those stragglers. Just off the path. 'Cept it's not really a path, no one hardly uses it, it's overgrown and out of the way.

"The colour of her dress caught my eye. So I dismounted and went to check it out. She was laying there, all beat lookin', covered with blood. Funny thing was, there were no animals nosing around. Not yet. No buzzards circling. And you know how it don't take long to draw 'em when they smell blood."

"So what are you saying, Heath? That she hadn't been there long? That you must have just chanced upon her right after the accident...or whatever it was that happened to her?" Jarrod quizzed. "Damn lucky for her that you did!"

Heath was nodding. "Yeah. That's the thing. I must have just got there, Jarrod. Whatever happened, couldn't a happened too much before." Heath thought for a moment about how best to communicate his unease. "Where we were, where I found her, it was sort of above the surroundin' area. I'd a seen anyone comin' or goin'. I'd a seen a horse gallopin' away, if she'd got throwed. See, 'cause she wasn't there too long, I shoulda seen somethin'. But there was nothin' as far as the eye could see."

"So I guess she was there longer than you realize, and it was just a fluke that you got to her before any wild animals did," Jarrod remarked, unsure of where Heath was going with all this.

"The blood was fresh, Jarrod. It hadn't even started to coagulate, not anywhere, even the smaller cuts and scrapes. And you know, out in the sun, it don't take long for blood to start to clot." Heath sighed. "What I'm tryin' to say, is that it didn't make sense. Either she'd been there a while, and then there'd a been signs of that, or she'd just got there, and then I shoulda seen somethin'."

Jarrod's brow furrowed. "I don't know how to explain it, Heath. Frankly, I'm not really sure if it's that important, in the bigger scheme of things. I realize that it seems important to you, but I just don't know..."

"There's more," Heath added, his voice unusually terse. "I took a quick look around, 'cause the whole scene just struck me as wrong. Lookin' for somethin'. Tracks from hooves. Foot steps. It's pretty sandy up there, and there were plenty of places to leave impressions. But there was nothin'. Not leading to or away from that spot."

Jarrod thought he understood Heath's concern now. "So someone took pains to remove all traces of whatever struggle might have taken place. Someone else was there, someone did this to Rose deliberately, and then cleared the area."

Heath looked frustrated. "Yeah, that's what I thought. But after I got her back to the ranch, and the doc got here, and there was nothin' more for me to do, it got nigglin' at me again. All a that woulda taken time. And during that time, her blood woulda started to clot. The vermin woulda begun to slink around, the buzzards to circle. Or I shoulda seen someone leavin'. And none a that had happened. So I went back there." Heath looked at Jarrod, his blue eyes mirroring his growing distress. "I began at that same spot, and I worked my way outward. You know I'd been a tracker before. I know how to look for signs, and I know how to cover 'em up.

"Nothing was disturbed, Jarrod. No one swept the area, no one covered their tracks. I'd a known. And I worked a circle around the site. Went out wider an' wider. Probably one hundred yards out in every direction. And I tell ya, there's no way she coulda got there, bleedin' like she was, either on her own on brought by someone, and not left some signs of where she'd passed ta get there. There's no way someone coulda put her there, and then left no trail.

"I went back to where she'd lain. There was blood on the ground, directly beneath her. But there was none spattered anywhere else. Not on the rocks or the bushes around her. There's no way she could be in that condition, suffered like that, and there not be a spray of blood. Not even a single drop except where she lay. All around where she was, it was clean. Clear. Just like the whole area.

"So, she couldn't a been brought there, already injured. And she couldn't a been injured where she was. There hadn't been any wind or anythin'. Charger's hoofprints were still there. And those of the cattle. But I checked that whole area. And those were the only tracks. It just don't make no sense, Jarrod."

If had been anyone else, Jarrod would just have supposed that there had been signs, perhaps minute, but that they had been missed. But this was Heath. If Heath said he checked thoroughly, then he had. If Heath felt that something was amiss, than it was. Jarrod didn't know what to make of his brother's words, but he sensed that what Heath was telling him was very important.

"Any chance you can take me out there tomorrow?" Jarrod asked evenly.

Chapter Eleven

Nick tried not to let his dark eyes mirror his surprise, as he listened to Heath explain that he'd be along a bit later that morning, because he was taking Jarrod out to the site where he had found Rose two weeks earlier. Surprise and, if Nick was honest with himself, hurt. They weren't overtly excluding him. Heath hadn't said that Nick couldn't ride along, and Nick knew that if he mentioned a desire to do so, Heath would readily accept his company.

But Nick knew that the simple fact that his brothers hadn't invited him, and hadn't mentioned their plans until now, meant that they didn't want him along. Heath and Jarrod must have discussed the matter last night, after Nick had gone to bed. The question was, had the discussion been purposely delayed so as not to include him...or was it simply a matter of timing? And, Nick wondered, who had suggested this early morning ride. Jarrod? Or Heath? Was there some reason Jarrod wanted to go out there? Or was the reason Heath's? And what might this mean to and for Rose?

"No problem, won't be the first time I've had to pick up your slack," Nick joked over the rim of his coffee mug, trying to put a smile on his face. His pride kept him from asking the questions that troubled him.

Heath gave a lopsided grin. "My slack? Ya know I do the work of two men on an off day," Heath teased back. "I'll be back before ya know it, and makin' it look like ya ain't done nothin' but stand around all day." Heath was relieved that Nick hadn't asked to accompany he and Jarrod this morning. Not that he didn't want Nick there, exactly. But then Heath would have had to explain all over again, and Nick would have wanted to know why Heath hadn't mentioned any of his concerns to him, when there had been ample opportunity in the preceding fortnight. And Heath didn't want to get into any of that...to say anything that might either anger Nick, or hurt him, or put him on the defensive when it came to Rose.

If Jarrod thought Heath's unease meant anything, if anything came from their ride this morning, anything that might impact on this mystery surrounding their pretty houseguest, then certainly they would bring Nick into the loop. But if this trip out to survey the area where Rose had been found proved to be fruitless, resulting in nothing more than questions whose answers weren't going to assist them any on their quest, then there was no point, Heath had decided, on bothering Nick.

The two brothers said little, riding side by side in companionable silence, as Heath retraced his path to the area where he had found Rose that day. They weren't that far from the area where Nick and the boys were working. From time to time they could see clouds of dust not far away, that indicated the movement of the men and their horses.

Eventually, they came to the rocky area, sparsely vegetated with scrub brush, where Heath had discovered Rose's body. It was on a slight incline, and as they guided the horses, Heath pointed out to Jarrod the area below where he, Nick, and the hands had been moving the cattle. He retold how he'd spotted the stragglers who had moved away from the herd and up the incline, and how he had diverted Charger, calling to Nick to let the other man know what he was doing.

As the horses picked their way along, their metal shod hooves would ring out on occasion, as they encountered windswept rock. Finally, Heath reined in Charger, and dismounted effortlessly, as his older brother followed suit. There was no need to tie either gelding, they would remain until their masters remounted, and red necks extended in unison as they nibbled at the sparse groundcover.

"This is where she was, in a crumpled heap," Heath recalled, as a tan, booted foot kicked at a spot next to the seldom used path, beneath some brush.

Jarrod knelt down, trying to envision the young woman's battered body. He knew she'd been wearing a burgundy dress, and it was that which had caught Heath's eye. The dress, torn and bloodied, had long been disposed of, and Jarrod found himself wondering now if it would have provided any clues as to what had happened to her. He removed his glove, and touched the bare earth, which no longer showed any blood stains. Mother Nature was a good housekeeper.

The dark-haired man stood again, and keen blue eyes surveyed the surrounding landscape. It was just as Heath had said. He could see a fair distance in all directions. No rider, nor even a man...or woman...on foot would have escaped detection til they had travelled a fair distance from this spot. Turning his head, he glanced up the craggy cliff face, less than fifty yards away. Jarrod pushed the Stetson back on his head, and tilted his neck to stare up to the top of the rocky outcropping. Then, he looked back at the spot where Rose had lain, seeming to calculate something.

"Naw, it didn't happen like that," Heath spoke up, following his brother's gaze, knowing what he was thinking. "She didn't fall down the ridge. She was too far out. And her injuries woulda been spread more evenly, not just on one side like they were." Jarrod nodded, having reached this same conclusion. Heath gave a self-conscious grin. "I checked though. Started at the bottom and climbed up a bit, lookin' for rocks that had been recently dislodged. Lookin' for blood.

"Then I rode around, up to the top. A sandy area, just like down here. Nothin' up top. No footsteps leadin' to the edge. No signs of a scuffle. No ground crumbled away." Heath shook his head, perplexed.

Jarrod stared at his brother, impressed with Heath's thoroughness. "When you passed this way with the herd, did you hear anything? Nothing unusual? No cries or shouts or screams? Even something that you took at the time to be a wild animal?" Jarrod knew it was pointless to ask, certainly Heath would have volunteered such information if he had, but he was just as thorough in his own way, and had learned through his years as a trial attorney never to take anything for granted.

"Well, ya know how much noise cattle on the move can make, not to mention Nick shoutin' orders," Heath chuckled. "But I'd a heard a shrill or high-pitched sound. Like a woman's scream. If one managed to scream as we happened by. But I didn't hear a thing."

Jarrod stood with his arms crossed, one hand rubbing his clean-shaven chin. He didn't like this. Not one bit. It was almost a logistical impossibility for Rose to have been here, based on everything Heath had told him. And Jarrod didn't doubt Heath's recounting of the facts for a moment. Rose couldn't simply have appeared out of thin air. Jarrod felt strongly that if they could determine how Rose had gotten here, they would be on the path to finding out what had happened to her. And then they might have a better chance at identifying who she was. But how could they solve a mystery without any clues?

"Yeah," Heath said quietly, seeming to read Jarrod's mind. "It's the damnedest thing, isn't it?"

* * * * * * * *

"I'd say you're recovering wonderfully, young lady," Dr. Merar said with a smile, tucking his stethoscope into his black bag. "You're getting some colour back. Your heartbeat is nice and steady, and your lungs sound really good. I think it's time to take the bandages from your ribs, since they were only cracked, not broken, and should be just about mended by now." The physician nodded his satisfaction. "Now, we just need to get some meat on those bones."

"We're working on that, Doctor," Victoria assured him, "with Silas's help of course."

"Now, I know this isn't going to sound like something you'll be eager to do," Howard Merar continued, "but it'll be best for you in the long run. I'd like you to start spending more time up and on your feet. Don't overdo it at first. It'll take a while for you to get your strength back completely, and you'll be using muscles that you haven't used for a bit. I know you're sore, that's some bad bruising on your hip and leg there." He turned to glance up at Victoria. "Maybe you could dig up a cane for Rose to use for a while?"

Victoria smiled. "I've got one in the attic that Tom carved for me, years ago, when I broke my leg. Audra was just a toddler then. I remember hobbling around after her." Her mind went back to the riding accident, and how she'd been so determined to get out of bed and care for her children. Tom had carved the cane for her, from a beautiful old piece of wood, making a design of leaves and flowers for the handle.

"That'll be just fine," Dr. Merar nodded approvingly. "What do you think, Rose? Can you handle being up for a bit, taking some steps each day?"

Rose's green eyes danced with excitement. She was looking forward to being able to get about on her own. To going outside for short walks around the Barkley property. "Oh yes!" she enthused.

"I want you to be careful on the stairs though," the doctor cautioned, pleased by the young woman's fervor. He knew from experience that the patients who healed the quickest and the surest were those who were eager to get back to normal and were committed to their recoveries. "Always make sure there's someone to help you with steps. We don't give them much thought when we're able-bodied, but either going up or down a flight of stairs requires a lot of effort. Balance especially, and it doesn't take much to throw our balance off. A bad tumble could be a serious set back. So," and the old doctor winked at the perceived cleverness of his joke, "don't let pride come before a fall. Ask for help, and wait for it."

"We have the matter of the stairs worked out for the time being," Audra piped up from the corner of the room. "Nick's got a system. He carries Rose." Her voice was light with amusement.

Rose blushed deeply, looking away from the doctor, who reached out to pet her head, as though she were a small child. "It's good to have a man in the house," he said with satisfaction. "I can't imagine you'd be much of a strain for a strapping young lad like Nick, so if he can help you with the stairs for another day or two, that'd be fine."

Victoria and Audra left the room, while Rose lowered her gown so that Dr. Merar could remove the bandages that bound her ribs. As he unwound the dressing, Rose cleared her throat, in preparation for the question she wanted to ask. She hadn't wanted to say anything in front of the other women.

"Doctor, I was wondering something," she began hesitantly. He waited for her to continue. "The a...accident. Even though I feel fine, could it have...well...done something to my mind?" Rose chewed her bottom lip.

"What do you mean?" Dr. Merar probed gently. He had already discussed yesterday's episode with her, her apparently irrational fear of Jarrod and subsequent blacking out. Explaining it to be the result of delayed stress from her accident. He wondered now if there was something more.

"Well, sometimes, I think and say words that...that aren't real words," Rose said embarrassedly. "But at the time, I think they are, and I think I know what they mean. And the thing is, Doctor, that, well, I'm sure afterwards that they aren't real things at all." She sighed, unable to communicate her fear and frustration. "And I've had really...odd...dreams. Fantastical dreams." Just as had happened with the bizarre words, the strange things that Rose had seen in her dreams had faded upon her wakening. So she couldn't remember them now, to explain to the physician. "You don't think....I mean...I couldn't have escaped from a sanitarium or something and be...well...dangerous to the Barkleys at all, c...could I?" she voiced her biggest fear.

"Jarrod's had people searching high and low, and if there'd been an escapees from such a place, he'd have gotten wind of it by now," the doctor said philosophically. "But don't worry yourself any, dear, you're not a danger to anyone. I know that much. As for the dreams, and the misspoken words, that's really not so unusual," Dr. Merar comforted, having finished the unbandaging, and turning slightly to allow her a modicum of privacy to redress.

"You suffered a head injury, along with your other injuries. And head injuries are a funny thing. We don't really understand how they affect the mind." He felt more than saw her tense. "In the majority of cases, it's just a benign short term thing, nothing to be concerned about. It's a result of fatigue and of delayed shock. You seem perfectly 'normal' to me, young lady, if that's what you're worried about." He turned back to her, smiling reassuringly.

Rose returned his smile. "I guess since I have no idea who I was before, I have no idea what 'normal' for me is supposed to be anyways," she said wryly.

Howard admired her spunk and her spirit as evidenced by her self-deprecating humour. He wondered how many people would still be as positive and upbeat in her position. "If anything at all comes up that you think I need to know about, no matter how seemingly insignificant, or if you just feel off, you let Victoria know, and she'll send for me. All right?" he pressed.

"Dr. Merar," Rose continued softly, wonderingly. "The Barkley's don't seem to know what happened to me, and I can't remember a thing. Based on my injuries...do you have any idea what would have put me in the state that I was in?" Wide green eyes were hopeful.

They had ruled out a wild animal attack, there had been no tooth or claw marks. Howard had tended to victims who'd been thrown by horses before, and though that would explain the head injury, if she'd struck a sharp rock as she'd fallen, it wouldn't account for the severity of the bruising on her left hip and thigh and the uniformity of the abrasions on that side of her body. Finally, he'd considered that she might have been beaten. If, after being knocked unconscious by the head injury, and laying on her right side, one or more men, very strong men, using clubs of some sort, had sadistically beaten her, it might account for the state her body had been in.

But the truth was, Howard was as uncertain as anyone what had put Rose in her current condition. He figured that she was hoping he might know, and that his explanation might prompt some memory buried beneath the surface. Anything he might say though, would be no more than a guess. He couldn't solve that part of the mystery for her. "I'm sorry, Rose," he answered regretfully. "I'm afraid I don't. You take care, and unless there's some problem, I'll be back in another week."

Rose nodded pragmatically, before he turned to leave the room. She couldn't begin to guess what had happened to her either, formulating suppositions, and then rejecting them just as quickly. She only knew how she felt in the aftermath...like I'd been hit by a semi...

Her hands trembled, and her throat got tight as once again a strange word and impossible depiction slammed through her, leaving her bewildered and breathless. As usually happened, the outlandish thought disappeared totally, and as suddenly as it had come. Feeling a mounting agitation, she opened her mouth, to call Dr. Merar back, then suddenly closed it again. The elderly physician didn't think that she was crazy, Rose knew. Better to keep things that way, she decided.

Chapter Twelve

In the next few days following Dr. Merar's visit, Rose spent more time in Jarrod Barkley's company. Never alone, the way she had that first morning, but always with at least one of the other Barkley family members around. While she still felt uneasy in his presence, that overwhelming sense of fear had faded dramatically.

He was always charming; a handsome, well-groomed man, with impeccable manners and a deep mellifluous voice that she found very pleasant. Jarrod made sure to keep his distance, without being obvious about it, allowing her enough personal space so as not to risk making her nervous or unsettled. He was cordial and friendly, and when he engaged her in conversation directly, his questions and comments were always light and impersonal.

Rose began to sense though, that despite the fact that she was feeling more comfortable in his presence, that the good-looking eldest Barkley brother was uncomfortable around her. She would catch him watching her with something that went beyond curiosity and actually bordered on suspicion at times. It was similar to the way Heath would regard her on occasion, only where Heath seemed puzzled by her, Jarrod seemed actually wary.

Rose's relationships with the two women and with Nick continued to gain strength with each passing day. Victoria had gone into town the other morning and returned with several items of new clothing, bought especially for Rose. The young woman had been stunned by the generosity, stammering that she had no idea when she would be able to repay the older woman's thoughtfulness, and that she was touched by the kindness. Victoria had purchased undergarments, and sleep wear, and four lovely dresses, three perfect for every day wear, the fourth, a silk, slightly dressier, with a fitted, low-cut bodice.

It had felt wonderful for Rose to slip into something that was her very own. She was able to dress herself now for the most part, though she still needed either Victoria or Audra to help her with clothes that buttoned at the back. As she had gotten dressed that morning, Rose had stood in front of the full length looking glass in her room, studying her reflection.

Once more, her fingers went to the dark hair at her temple. Though she knew there was none there, she kept anticipating seeing strands of silver through the brown. She was too young for grey hair, she knew. But each and every time the feeling would wash over her. That morning, as she had slipped into her undergarments, Rose had paused, glancing down at her body. She knew that it was her body, but sometimes it just didn't feel as though it belonged to her.

She ran her hands over the smooth, taut, skin of her flat abdomen. Just as she felt when she'd touched her hair, she believed now that something was missing. Rose had the sensation that there should be a mark, a scar or something. And she couldn't believe that her body was so slender, her hips so narrow, her waist so tiny. She could move comfortably in this body, but there were times when she calculated herself to be bigger than she was, expecting herself to need more room to pass around something, expecting to take up more space when seated. It was the strangest thing, this altered body image. Rose wondered, since she was so thin, if she had lost a considerable amount of weight just prior to, or following the accident.

Rose was much more mobile in the last couple of days, to her increasing delight. Victoria had gotten Heath to retrieve the cane from the attic, and Rose had used it to manouver around the rooms of the Barkley mansion. Her limbs had screamed their occasional protest, when she insisted on remaining on her feet for too long at one time, but Rose could feel the muscles and tendons stretching again, regaining their movement and flexibility. Her ribs rarely bothered her as more than a dull ache. It was her left hip and leg that were the most tender, and Rose would have sworn that the pain dissipated a bit more with each passing day.

She had managed the stairs a time or two, with both Victoria and Audra assisting her. Though there had still been a couple of occasions when Nick was at home, and he had insisted on carrying her, telling her there was no point in overdoing it or risking a setback. On those occasions, Rose would allow herself the luxury of enjoying strong, masculine arms around her. She would revel in the heady male scent of him, breathing deeply, pulling his essence into her lungs. She would clasp her arms around his neck, sometimes letting her head rest on his shoulder for a moment. Enjoying the way her head curled so perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder against his neck.

Once, when Nick had swept her into his arms at the bottom of the staircase, Rose had noticed Jarrod coming out of his study into the foyer. He had paused, blue eyes scrutinizing the pair, and Rose had seen him frown, his sapphire eyes narrowing with dissatisfaction. She had almost felt compelled to ask Nick to set her down again, but the muscular arms that held her sheltered her from his brother's reprehension, and so she had simply averted her gaze. Jarrod Barkley be damned! He didn't have to carry her if he didn't want to, but Rose wasn't going to deny herself Nick's aid, and the comfort of his hold, simply because his older brother didn't approve.

On the fourth day after Dr. Merar's house call, the family had retreated to the billiards room after dinner. Rose intuited immediately that there was something the family wanted to discuss with her. She was seated on the settee, with Audra beside her. Nick had pulled a chair closer to where the two young woman sat. Heath lounged against the fireplace, an elbow on the mantle. Victoria stood in front of Rose, while Jarrod paced behind his mother, lighting a cigar. Rose's lips felt dry and she licked them nervously. She wondered what it was the Barkleys had to say to her. She wondered if perhaps they had some news...news that would illuminate the mystery of who she was. Her heart thudded in her chest, as she looked up at Victoria, waiting for the matriarch to speak.

"Rose, dear, we have a theory that we've been wanting to mention to you, to get your input, and see if it might mean anything to you," the silver-haired woman began. "It might be nothing at all, or there might be something to it. Either way, we'd like you to give it some thought, and to consider it long and hard."

Rose nodded, swallowing hard.

"We weren't sure if your...reaction to Jarrod that day had anything to do with him personally, or if the was just a coincidence. Dr. Merar didn't think that there was anything to it, but we wanted to wait a few days, to make sure that you were more comfortable around Jarrod, before we brought this up."

Victoria looked behind her, towards her oldest son, who had stopped pacing and stood watching Rose, puffing on his cigar. "We were all wondering if it was at all possible that...perhaps...you knew Jarrod. Or, knew of him. That perhaps you were coming to the ranch that day to seek him out. You know that he's an attorney, and fairly well known in these parts.

"Do you think it's at all possible that you might have heard about him somewhere, and that's why you were on Barkley lands? That you might have been on your way here? That, perhaps, you were in some sort of trouble, or needed the help of a lawyer?" Victoria waited for Rose to consider the idea.

Rose's open and expressive green eyes met the veiled blue ones of Jarrod Barkley. She thought about what the older woman had said. Could she have known Jarrod before meeting him here? Was she in some sort of trouble that had necessitated her seeking out an attorney? Rose watched the blue cigar smoke curl around his dark head. There was something familiar about the man. But in trying to place it, Rose felt the fear begin to steal over her again. She shrank back into her seat, tearing her eyes from his.

Nick, attuned to her mood, reached to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Rose forced herself to look at Jarrod again. Scanning his features. The deep crease on his chin. His blue black hair, swept back from his forehead, shiny as a raven's wing. Vivid blue eyes. The more she concentrated on his handsome countenance, the deeper her conviction grew that she did know him.

Images swirled in the recesses of her mind. She could picture Jarrod Barkley, seated behind an enormous desk, in what she knew instinctively to be his office, although she had never been there. She could envision gloved hands reaching past a silky, golden man, as he reached to hold onto a saddle horn, vaulting into the seat of an elegant sorrel. She witnessed him standing in the street of an unfamiliar town, a gun in his hand, pointing it at a cowering figure, while hate emanated from him. With lightening speed the images flashed across her inner eye, recognizably and undeniably Jarrod Barkley.

Rose believed for an instant that she did know him. The knowledge of how and where danced tantalizing before her, as she concentrated on retrieving it. The closer she got to enlightenment, the colder the blood in her veins seemed to run. Her willowy frame began to quake. A different name surfaced. Richard... And with it came the insight that he was...

"No!" Rose protested, shaking her head wildly, her eyes rolling in her head as she rebelled against her surfacing comprehension. "Richard...!" the name burst from her lips. And then Rose was weeping, her body slumped forward, head buried in her hands as her dark hair hung loosely about her head.

Nick was on bended knee in an instant, gathering Rose into his arms, while the others looked on in dismay. They had not anticipated that their questions might upset Rose so deeply. They couldn't understand her unfathomable reaction. "It's all right, it's all right," Nick murmured over and over, rubbing his hands across Rose's back, while she buried her head against his chest. He felt her hot tears dampening the front of his shirt. She was trembling still, and he whispered to her, soothingly.

Jarrod stood, regarding the scene thoughtfully. He had seen the recognition there in the depths of her emerald eyes. That fleeting cognizance that Heath had observed in the foyer that first night. He was certain then that Rose did indeed know him. In all likelihood, she had been on her way to the main house to find him. Why she would be coming there, from way out in nowhere, and would not have gone to his office in Stockton, was another matter.

Jarrod was sure that Rose's initial fear had metamorphed to something else. But just what that was, he couldn't say. The change had come so suddenly, and been so dramatic. She was weeping now, not in fear, but in abject sorrow. Why did he evoke such a myriad of emotions in this mysterious young woman?

And who, Jarrod wondered, was Richard, and what was the man's connection to all of this?

Chapter Thirteen

There was an awkward silence in the room, broken only by Rose's weeping, muted now against Nick's broad chest. Nick had stopped murmuring to her, but continued to hold her to him tightly, stroking her dark hair, resting his chin atop her head. She had stopped trembling, and eventually the sobs too ceased. The other Barkleys stood immobile, unsure of what to say or do, content for the time to allow Nick to comfort the young woman.

Finally, Rose pulled back from the circle of Nick's arms, wiping her red-rimmed eyes with the backs of her hands. He released her reluctantly, remaining crouched where he was on the balls of his feet, his elbows balancing on his knees. Rose smiled at him tenderly, grateful once again for his unfailing and unquestioning support.

She felt drained. Exhausted. Whatever thoughts, realizations or memories had prompted her outburst, were lost to her now. She couldn't recapture either the knowledge or the emotions. She had no idea why she was crying, or what had upset her so. She sat back on the settee, feeling very vulnerable and uncertain. Wondering what on earth was wrong with her. What all of this might mean.

"Come on, Rose, I'll get you upstairs to bed," Nick offered gently, his dark eyes brimming with compassion.

Rose reached to touch his work-roughened hand for a moment, lightly on the back, hoping to communicate her appreciation to the rancher. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, and looked past Victoria, levelly, to where Jarrod Barkley stood, keen blue eyes studying her curiously. "I'm fine now, thank you. I think it's important to continue with this."

"But Rose," Audra spoke up, "this is obviously upsetting for you. Whatever we have to talk about can wait another day or two. You shouldn't push yourself. It's not necessary." Her lovely face was taut with sympathy. Nick nodded his agreement of his sister's assessment.

"I'm all right now, really. I apologize for making a scene. I honestly don't know what came over me," Rose said, discomfited. "I do think it's important to explore this though. Apparently, this all might well have something to do with Jarrod." Her eyes found his again, and she met his stare unflinchingly. "These questions might help us to learn who I really am. And what I was doing there that day. If I was on my way to see Jarrod, in his capacity as an attorney, it's important to know why." Rose could sense the blue-eyed lawyer's distrust and cynicism. It rolled off him in waves, tangible, though his face was a mask of inscrutability.

"I think Rose is right," Jarrod spoke then. "We could be on the verge of a breakthrough." He didn't know what to make of Rose's behaviour. Part of him admired her pluck. Her willingness to continue their conversation, and to delve further into whether or not he was indeed pivotal in this mystery. To explore whether or not there was a connection between his profession and the appearance of this strange young woman. The other part of him wondered if it was all an act. Wondered if Rose did indeed know who she was, but was not saying...for one reason or another. Biding her time within the safety afforded her from the outside world, by the Barkley's walls.

"Perhaps I'm a fugitive on the run, in need of a defense attorney," Rose verbalized one of his thoughts for him, with a sardonic raising of her left brow.

The others were quick to assure Rose that that couldn't possibly be the case, though she was well aware that Jarrod's deep voice did not add to the dissent.

"We have to consider every possibility," he said softly. Nick shot him a look of pure disgust. Jarrod smiled benignly. "Not that I think Rose is a fugitive, of course."

Of course, Rose thought. And not that the handsome lawyer wasn't already delving into that contingency.

"But we have to think of everything, and then work to eliminate and disprove different theories," Jarrod said mildly. "Eventually, we'll find out the truth. And with Rose helping us do that, perhaps along the way we'll help her to recover her memory. After all, that's what we all want." Jarrod focused his intense azure stare on Nick.

Heath hadn't moved from his spot by the fireplace, watching everything that had played out, sensitive to the undercurrents. He had been surprised too that Rose had wished to continue with the dialogue that Victoria had begun, in light of her initial reaction. Heath appreciated the young woman's inner strength and courage. He believed that Rose too wanted to get to the bottom of this mystery. He knew that Jarrod was distrustful of Rose, but he didn't share that sentiment. Heath was curious, certainly. But he didn't think that the mystery of her appearance was in any way being manipulated by Rose. He sensed that Jarrod considered that a strong possibility, however.

"So what's our next step, Counselor?" Rose inquired of Jarrod, her tone businesslike.

Jarrod hesitated, looking to the family matriarch, ready to defer to her if she decided that they had had enough for one evening. Victoria could see that Rose was calm now. Since it had been Rose's choice to proceed, Victoria nodded at her eldest son, responding to his unasked question. There seemed no point in delaying.

Jarrod contemplated the young woman. She looked so young. So vulnerable. So earnest. He didn't really understand why he was so unsettled by her. Why he doubted her. She presented now the picture of openness and co-operation. Her wide green eyes, fringed with curling, smoky lashes, regarded him without guile from an unguarded countenance. Lovely, despite the fading bruises. She was an attractive young lady, Jarrod had to admit. Beautiful, actually. A true damsel in distress. He could understand his chivalrous dark-haired brother's insulating absorption with her.

"I suppose," Jarrod said at length, "that we should try to find out who Richard is."

* * * * * * * *

They had continued to talk, to question, to conjecture, for more than another hour that night, but had made no progress at all. Rose simply could not recall why she had been so upset, or what the significance was of the name that she had uttered so mournfully. Jarrod had fired questions at her, jumping from one train of thought to another, from one topic to the next, then back again just as suddenly, hoping to catch her off guard. But Rose had patiently and consistently met his queries. There was never a moment's hesitation in her responses, never the slightest veil over her eyes or guilty shift, or even the most minimal body language that would indicate that she was either lying or hiding anything. He pulled every trick he knew out of his lawyer's bag. Either Rose was an expert at deception and fabrication, or she honestly could not shed any illumination on the mystery.

Jarrod had sensed Nick's growing frustration with him. Finally, having gotten nowhere, and having evoked no additional emotional responses from Rose, Jarrod had concluded the conversation. Nick's dark eyes smoldered at his brother, over the top of Rose's head, as he was finally given the okay to take her back to her room and allow her to get settled for the night.

* * * * * * * *

The atmosphere in the Barkley household whenever Rose and Jarrod were in the same room together, was constrained for the next few days. Various pairs of watchful eyes would observe Rose as she interacted with the dapper lawyer. Different members of the family would note Rose staring at Jarrod, her face a pinched mask of concentration, as though she were trying to will herself to remember something...while he read his morning paper, or ate his dinner, or poured over legal documents in the evenings, unaware of her scrutiny.

Jarrod remained cordial but reserved with Rose. He had still heard nothing from either the Pinkertons or his independent sources. Following up Victoria's lead about the Magic Lantern, Jarrod had a man working on trying to track down sales of the device in the major cities in the area. Any information would be followed up with discreet calls on the families who had purchased the inventions. But Jarrod knew, frustratedly, that all of this would take time.

And in the meanwhile, the mystery continued to eat away at him. Rose's enigmatic appearance that first day. Her cryptic behaviour towards him. There was something here that he just couldn't put his finger on. While he knew by now that Rose was not a wanted fugitive, he hadn't entirely given up his inkling that she might still be on the run. That just because she wasn't known to the law, didn't mean that she didn't have a valid reason to avoid lawmen. It didn't mean that she hadn't perpetrated a crime...only that she hadn't been identified as the perpetrator.

Jarrod hadn't shared these ruminations with any of the others. He had no reason at all to suspect Rose had had any part in wrong-doing. And he knew that his family, even Heath, would be hard pressed to accept that Rose had done anything criminal in her prior life. Jarrod certainly wasn't about to share his musings with Nick...the volatile rancher would likely deck him if he even suggested that their pure and delicate Rose was in any way disingenuous.

Rose intuited that he was suspicious of her, Jarrod knew. She seemed to accept that, and surprisingly was not in the least reproachful. Either, he thought, she was very forgiving and understanding, or she knew that he had good reason to be wary.

There were a couple more incidences of Rose becoming confused with language again. One that Audra had noted, when helping Rose to dress one morning. As Audra's fingers numbly worked on the tiny buttons that closed the back of Rose's gown, Rose had commented that it would be a lot faster with velcro. As had occurred previously, the word was no sooner past Rose's lips when she professed not to understand it.

The second occasion had been one evening in the billiards room, while Rose and Heath were playing checkers. Rose had forgotten about her tea, and it had gotten cold. Victoria had offered to go make a new pot, and Rose had mumbled distractedly that she would just put the cup in the microwave for a minute. Rose was becoming less self-conscious about these eccentricities of language, and had laughed at herself after the strange word tumbled forth.

Nick had grinned at the musical sound, and the good humour that underlay it. Jarrod had lifted his head from his lawbooks, forgetting about precedent for a moment, enjoying the dulcet, harmonious reverberation of Rose's unconstrained laughter. His smile had been genuine and unreserved. She'd happened to glance up then as her laughter trailed off, noticed Jarrod's relaxed posture and the openness on his handsome face, and, forgetting for a moment how he felt about her, smiled back at him. Then, all the questions that plagued him about her surfaced again, and the warmth faded from Jarrod's eyes. Rose watched the transformation, sadly turning back to her game. Nick, who had been tensely watching the exchange, relaxed.

* * * * * * * *

Rose tilted back her head, lifting the sponge, then closing her eyes as she squeezed it gently, allowing the warm water to trickle over her face, and down her neck and across the top of her chest, until it flowed back again in to the cast iron tub. It felt marvellous to be immersed this way in the steamy, lavender-scented water.

The heat drew the stiffness out of Rose's limbs. She'd taken a long walk with Victoria today, while Audra had gone off to the orphanage where she helped out. Rose still needed the cane, but gradually she was becoming less dependent on it. Victoria and she had strolled down to the orchards, taking their time, while the matron pointed out various flora and fauna of interest. It had been a perfect day weatherwise, the sun streaming from a cloudless sky, a light breeze sweeping down the valley, holding the humidity at bay.

She had really enjoyed Victoria's company. The older woman had shared stories of her late husband, Tom Barkley, who'd been murdered several years previously. Rose had heard the tenderness in the matriarch's voice when she spoke of her children's father, and how much they all missed Tom. Time had diminished the pain of their loss, but not their memories.

Victoria had reminisced with pride about how her two sons had risen in the face of adversity. Nick had taken over the running of the ranch, and the hands on part of the family's various holdings. Jarrod had assumed Tom's paternal role, becoming their advisor and confidante, as well as dealing with all of the legal matters. Both young men had grouped to protect their younger sister, shielding her from the ugliness of the world. Spoiling her.

Strangely, Victoria did not speak of Heath. Rose felt a fleeting understanding that Heath had not been with them in that time shortly after Tom had been killed. Away at school, Rose had wondered, then rejected the idea. Estranged from the family at that point in the past? It would have been impolite to ask, so Rose had kept her curiosity to herself. The conversation had shifted then to more timely matters, such as this year's crops and a horse buying jaunt that Nick and Heath were going on in Nevada the following month. It had been a peaceful, restful day, and Rose had savoured ever minute of it.

"I've forgotten your nightdress," Audra spoke from behind a screen. Audra had helped Rose upstairs after dinner when Nick, Heath and Victoria had moved to the study to discuss some business matters. Jarrod had been in Sacramento for the past week and wasn't expected home for a couple of days. Audra, disinterested in the mundane affairs of the family's various ventures, had volunteered to draw a bath for Rose. Because she was still weak on occasion, and getting in and out of the tub was difficult for her, Audra had assisted with that, then retreated behind the dressing screen with a magazine, in case Rose needed her. "I'll just run to your room, and be right back." Audra left the door unlocked for her return.

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod had arrived home that afternoon, hiring a buggy to get back to the ranch. He'd missed dinner, and though he was famished, he also craved a warm bath. Train travel was fairly luxurious compared to going by stagecoach, but Jarred always felt so dirty and rumpled afterwards. He heard voices from his study, and sneaked past and up the stairs to his room, without betraying his presence. He didn't want to get hailed and pressed for his opinion on any of the details of one branch of their holdings or the other, so he slipped quietly to his room.

Slippered feet padded along the fine, hand-made woolen carpet, from his bedroom to the bathroom. He reached for the door handle, turning it slightly to make sure the room was unoccupied. He sighed with satisfaction. Pushing the door open, he entered the room.

Rose didn't know who was more shocked, herself or the attorney. Her mouth dropped open as she gaped at him, unable to move. He stood there, just a few feet away, dressed in ivory cotton sleep pants and an indigo silk smoking jacket. The jacket was tied loosely at his waist, the neck open wide, and she could see the scattering of dark hairs on his chest.

Jarrod froze, unable to accept the sight that met his sapphire eyes. Rose was leaning back in the tub, while curls of steam rose lazily from the water's surface. She hadn't used any bubble bath obviously. The water was crystal clear, affording him a bold view of her feminine charms above the waist. He stared, stupefied.

Rose, following the line of his gaze, realized that she was totally exposed, as a crimson flush stole over her from head to toe. Hurriedly, clumsily, she crossed her arms in front of her. Everything had happened so fast, his bursting in on her like this, and she was too aghast to think.

"Jarrod!" an appalled voice sounded behind him.

He turned, as if in slow motion, to look down into the horrified face of his sweet little sister. "I...I..." he stammered, disoriented.

"Jarrod Thomas Barkley, get out of here right now!" Audra commanded, her normally soft, breathy tone strident and indignant.

Against his will, his head swivelled back towards the tub, as if seeking confirmation for the unbelievable. Yes. There was Rose, wide-eyed and incredulous, having sunk lower in the water, her knees drawn to her chest, her body flushed with shame. "But..." he began lamely, not even sure what it was he was trying to say.

"Out of here!" Audra repeated, grabbing at his arm and propelling him through the doorway. She pushed it closed after him, turning the key in the lock, before looking back to Rose. "Oh my goodness, I am soooo sorry," the blonde girl apologized, looking stricken. "He...well you know he wasn't supposed to be home today. I never expected...I mean, I should have locked the door, even for a moment, and...and..."

Suddenly, Audra doubled over with laughter. Rose was caught off-guard by the other girl's sudden change in demeanour. Audra held her sides, giggling, trying to speak but unable to get a word out. Her mood was infectious, and Rose found herself beginning to chuckle as well, her embarrassment dissipating.

"I'm sorry," Audra apologized, wiping tears from her eyes. "I don't think this is funny, Rose, honest, and I feel just awful that it happened. It's just that...if...if you knew Jarrod...how suave and sophisticated he is...always in c...control," Audra began to giggle again, before regaining her composure. "Nothing fazes my big brother...nothing. He's Mr. Cool.

"And that look on his face...it was just...priceless. He has a way, without using any words at all, of making fun of me sometimes...of making me feel so young, and gauche and unsophisticated. But now..." Audra shook her head, her eyes dancing with mirth, "whenever he tries that, I'll just picture that look. Totally dumbfounded. All that smooth, debonair, college-educated, man-about-town self-assurance flown out the window." The young blonde struggled to maintain an air of decorum. "I'm not laughing at you, Rose, or the situation. I can only imagine how you must feel..."

Rose, picturing again the befuddled, humiliated angst on Jarrod Barkley's face, began to laugh even harder. Her own shame seemed minimal by comparison, and well worth the price of seeing the urbane attorney so flustered. This caused Audra to break into gales of laughter once more, and the two young women shared their hearty joviality.

* * * * * * * *

"You what?" Nick bellowed, standing with his hands on his hips, staring at his brother in disbelief, unable to fathom Jarrod's indiscretion. "What the hell possessed you?!"

Heath looked from one brother to another, trying to suppress a smile. Nick, apoplectic, his eyes shooting daggers. Jarrod, his hair mussed after running his fingers through it distractedly, standing there in his slippers and sleep wear.

"Well for Pete's sake, Nick, it's not like I did it on purpose," Jarrod said, turning his hands palm out in supplication. "I'm not some kind of perverted Peeping Tom, sneaking around, spying on young maidens. The young lady is a guest under our roof, and I would never...never..." Jarrod shook his head wildly. "I've seen my fair share of beautiful, naked, nubile women in my time, all of whom displayed their delightful wares willingly, and..."

Then came the voice that made Jarrod wish the quake to end all quakes would hit the San Joaquin valley just then, opening a crack in the floor beneath his feet and swallowing him up. "Really, Son? Well, I'm sure those would be some interesting stories," Victoria spoke lightly, entering the study. She had gone to speak with Silas about tomorrow's menu. She had met Audra in the hall, and her daughter had demurely mentioned that Jarrod was home, explaining briefly what had happened upstairs. Victoria had continued on to find her three sons clustered together in the study.

Jarrod turned scarlet, knowing his mother had heard at least his final comments.

Victoria passed by the men, not even batting an eye, or missing a beat. She had never imagined for a moment that either of her red-blooded sons was an innocent. Unruffled, her face serene she looked at her oldest. "Need I remind you though, Jarrod, that a gentleman doesn't tell tales."

Heath didn't know which struck him as funnier. Nick's incensed sensibilities and marked jealousy, Jarrod's supreme mortification, which had begun with the attorney walking in on Rose in her bath, and ended with his blasé announcement about all the naked women he'd been privy to, or Victoria's deliberately casual comments and teasing of her oldest son. Unable to decide, but overcome with the hilarity of the moment, Heath, the normally reserved cowboy, let out a loud guffaw which startled them all, as he convulsed with laughter.

Heath knew that somehow, someway, he'd be sure to be on hand the next time Rose and Jarrod came face to face. No, he wouldn't miss that for the world.

Chapter Fourteen

Heath descended the back staircase, his steps light and invigorated, before entering the kitchen. Silas was up before him as usual, slicing thick slabs of bacon from a smoked piece of pork. On the counter were the ingredients and accoutrements that indicated the houseman was planning to do some baking that morning. The knife in the mahogany hand paused for a moment, as Silas looked up and greeted the sandy-haired cowboy.

"Just wanted ta let ya know, Silas, that I think I'll wait breakfast this mornin' and have it with the family in the dining room," Heath said casually. It was customary for he and Nick to be up and out at dawn most mornings, having dressed and eaten and begun work on the ranch while the others were still luxuriating in their beds.

Silas nodded. "Yes, Mr. Heath." He pointed the knife at the pot on the stove. "Coffee's ready."

"I'll just help m'self, and then go find Nick and let him know I'll be along later and ta start without me," Heath remarked. He poured the fragrant dark liquid into a cup. He loved that first cup of coffee in the morning. Sweet ambrosia of the gods.

"You'll find Mr. Nick in the parlour," Silas commented lightly.

"Thanks, Silas," Heath nodded, carrying the coffee carefully so as not to spill on the immaculate floor. As he left by the other door, he missed the knowing grin on the long-time servant's dark features.

Nick was in the parlour, as Silas had said. He sat in one of the black, leather wing chairs, his feet, crossed at the ankles, resting on the matching ottoman. The oil lamp on the table beside him cast an amber circle of light, helping to push back the last of the nocturnal shadows, as the sun peeked over the horizon. Nick looked very relaxed, holding a dime store novel out in front of him, as dark eyes scanned the pages. A cup of coffee was at his elbow.

Heath was surprised. Usually Nick was the first one up, raring to go, wanting to get a jump start on the day as soon as the sky began to change from pitch black to shades of grey. Nick was normally urging Heath to hurry his morning meal, quoting clichés such as 'time waits for no man' and 'a rolling stone gathers no moss', in an attempt to inspire him. Heath had never before met anyone who identified so closely with the land, and who was so energized by the physical labours that would exhaust most men. It was almost as though sleep were the evil necessity for Nick, and a day's hard work his reward at the end of it.

Heath had been prepared for Nick's barely concealed zest to get their day underway, and for protestations when Heath informed him that he'd be along a little later today. Instead, Nick looked firmly ensconced in the parlour, as though this was a Sunday day of rest, and not a working weekday. "Mornin'," Heath said, raising his coffee cup to his brother.

Nick gave a lazy smile, nodding his head to the younger man. "I'm going to be runnin' a bit late this morning," Nick began. "Thought I'd have breakfast with the rest of the family for a change. There's nothin' too pressing going on today. I've already been out to the bunkhouse and let Duke know. I'm sure you and he can handle things til I get there."

Heath moved to take the seat on the other side of the little table, setting down his own cup. He leaned back in the big, comfortable chair, lifting his feet up onto the same ottoman next to Nick's. He crossed his own legs at the ankles, and gave his brother a knowing smile. "Boy howdy, ain't that a coincidence," Heath announced breezily. "I was just tellin' Silas the same thing. That I was gonna wait and take breakfast with the family this mornin'." His blue eyes twinkled.

Nick kept his eyes on the page, skimming over the 'real life adventures' of the Texas Rangers. "Well now, that's mighty nice," he replied coolly. "All of us sharin' breakfast this morning. Mother'll be pleased."

"Uh huh," Heath agreed, reaching for his cup and taking a long swallow. "I noticed Silas preparing biscuits and bacon. That's Jarrod's favourite, ain't it?"

"I noticed that too, and I do believe it is," Nick concurred. He set the book down on his lap and reached for his own cup. Darkly hazel eyes met clear blue ones.

"Yep," Heath repeated. "This'll be mighty nice." He linked his fingers behind his head and made himself comfortable, wondering how long they'd have to wait for the rest of the household to rouse.

* * * * * * * *

"More orange juice, Miss Rose?" Silas asked from where he stood by her elbow, holding the pitcher.

"No thank you, Silas," she told him. "I must say, this is a delicious meal. The bacon is so smoky and salty and the biscuits are a perfect compliment. So light and buttery."

Rose had been surprised to see that both Nick and Heath were joining them for breakfast this morning. Normally it was just she, Audra and Victoria, and Jarrod if he happened to be home and hadn't jaunted off somewhere on business as he was want to do. They always waited the final meal of the day until the two cowboys had returned from the range, but usually the pair was up and out long before the others had even stirred.

Rose had wondered, after last night's debacle, how she was going to face Jarrod Barkley this morning. She had considered pretending to sleep in. Faking exhaustion or perhaps a headache. But her spirit had rebelled against such a cowardly escape. Besides, it would only be temporary at best. She would have to contend with him eventually. The Barkley mansion was a big place, but it wasn't that big that she could successfully avoid the dark-haired lawyer for any great length of time.

She had taken care with her appearance that morning. She normally didn't wear face powder or rouge, though Audra had made sure there was some available to her on the vanity in her room. But today, she'd wanted to look older, more confidant, put-together and secure in herself. Not like a silly schoolgirl. So, she had dabbed the powder on, then rubbed the rouge discreetly on her cheekbones, before applying a faint, pink covering to her lips. She'd brushed her hair until it gleamed with vitality, then used mother-of-pearl combs...also on loan from Audra...to sweep it back from the sides of her face.

She's slipped into the nicest of the dresses that Victoria had purchased for her, a becoming yellow silk trimmed with a forest green sash. Audra had helped her with the buttons...Rose just couldn't seem to get the hang of all of those tiny buttons. Audra had complimented her on her appearance, a knowing smile of approval letting Rose know that she understood why it was important for the other woman to look her best this morning. At last, satisfied with her appearance, Rose had dabbed a drop of perfume on the hollow of her throat. She wanted to dispel any memories of the blushing water nymph from the night before.

Nick and Heath's eyes had widened appreciatively when she had joined them at the table. Both had gotten hastily to their feet, and Heath had moved quickly to pull out Rose's chair, handing her cane to Nick who'd been just a bit too slow. She wasn't sure if either man knew about what had occurred the previous evening. She assumed that they probably did, but naturally no one would have the ill manners to bring it up.

Jarrod had been the last to join them that morning. She had coloured slightly, when she heard his deep, sonorous voice bid everyone a good morning. Finally, with a supreme force of will, Rose had raised her eyes in his direction, hoping that the slight heat in her cheeks was hidden by the rouge.

Jarrod had been taken aback to see that his two brothers were having breakfast with them this morning. He'd known the reason why at once. Both had wanted to get front row seats to whatever would transpire between he and Rose this morning. Jarrod had briefly considered rising early and going into the office, forfeiting breakfast. But he had known it would merely be prolonging the inevitable.

He had taken even more care than usual with his normally meticulously groomed appearance this morning. He had lathered up with shaving cream, and then pulled the straight razor as tightly against his skin as he dared, eliminating as much of the morning shadow as possible. He'd combed and styled his hair in his customary fashion, dabbing a bit of an expensive pomade on the black locks, making sure that not a strand was out of place.

He wore a crisp, white linen shirt, and charcoal pants with a matching silk vest. He'd pinned his pocket watch, the one Mother and Father had given him when he'd passed the bar, to the vest. He buttoned the shirt to the top, slipped a pair of oval, gold cufflinks through the cuffs, then tied the black string tie in a familiar loop. He'd shined his already immaculate low-heeled black boots, then gone down to greet the day. He was Jarrod T. Barkley, Esquire, Attorney at Law. A man of education and sophistication. And he wanted to make sure he looked the part. To dispel any memories of the slack-jawed, stammering yokel of last night.

It wasn't until he was almost to the dining room that it occurred to him to wonder if perhaps Rose might decide to avoid him. It would be understandable if, after the fiasco of last night, she elected to remain in her room, and take her breakfast on a tray. He called his hearty greeting and stepped into the room.

Jarrod felt Rose's eyes on him before his own moved to meet them. He was struck immediately by how lovely she looked this morning. Not just lovely. Beautiful. She held her head high, her long, slender neck fully extended, as she looked at him, her gaze unwavering. His practiced eye discerned that the colour in her cheeks was not just from the rouge she wore. But she faced him stoically nonetheless.

This was going to be easier than Jarrod could have dreamed. They were both adults. His walking in on her in the bath, while embarrassing for both of them, didn't need to be something that would hang over them like a dark cloud. It had been an unfortunate accident, but one that two mature adults could put behind them.

Then, as he took his seat, out came the horrifying words that Jarrod would replay in his mind later, time and time again. Jarrod Barkley, known for his masterful orations. Praised for his eloquence and his manner of articulation. Respected among his peers in the courtrooms of the west, and on the floor on the state legislature where he'd lobbied for his causes. Jarrod knew what he meant to say. A charming compliment that would allow them to ease into conversation, moving past their initial awkwardness. 'You look lovely in that dress, Rose.' But what came out of his mouth was, "You look lovely dressed, Rose."

Jarrod blanched, incredulous, as the words left his lips, winging their way to the five attentive pairs of ears, with no way to retrieve them. There was a gasp from Audra. His blue eyes darted around the table, as a preternatural silence fell over the room. Five pairs of eyes were riveted on him, disbelief mirrored in their depths.

If Nick didn't know any better, he'd have sworn that Jarrod had done that on purpose, to further embarrass Rose. But that wasn't Jarrod's way, and anyhow it was far more humiliating for his brother, he would imagine, than for their guest. Nick hadn't been sure what to expect this morning. He had thought that perhaps Rose would treat his older brother with icy disdain. That Jarrod might be cowed and regretful.

He'd been surprised, and perhaps a bit disappointed, when they had both seemed able to put the unthinkable events of last night behind them. At least it appeared they had. He was glad for Rose, he didn't want her to be uncomfortable at all. Even with Jarrod, he allowed grudgingly. But Nick could see now where his big brother's lecherous thoughts were. Undoubtedly the attorney had been unable to erase from his mind his glimpse of Rose in all her natural splendour. Nick wondered, jealous and disgruntled, what kinds of dreams Jarrod had had last night.

For a split second Nick had thought that he mustn't have heard it right. But Audra's sharp intake of breath, and the ensuing quiet...not to mention the way Jarrod had paled...told him he'd been correct.

Four pairs of eyes swept in unison from Jarrod to Rose, who kept her gaze fixed on the handsome, dark-haired, blue-eyed man. He was as wan as the ivory-coloured napkin folded now in her lap. Even his lips appeared bloodless. She watched, fascinated, as his circulation seemed to resume, and his normal complexion returned. She continued to stare at him, as it went beyond that, crimson finally highlighting his aristocratic features.

Heath watched his brother closely. Yes siree, he was glad that he hadn't missed this. Seeing Jarrod so dismayed, and through no fault but his own, not one but two days in a row, was like Christmas come early to Heath. Not that he bore his brother any animosity. He loved him dearly and respected him deeply. But sometimes...well...Jarrod could be a little too perfect at times. Almost annoyingly so. Heath didn't mind seeing Jarrod come down a notch or two. It was nothing serious, it was only temporary, and it was only family. So, Heath didn't begrudge himself that same satisfaction he had enjoyed when he'd made that impossible shot and stolen a sure victory from Jarrod not too long ago. Heath did feel a bit guilty that Jarrod's fall came partly at Rose's expense. But he sensed that she'd recover.

Rose knew that she should be offended. Humiliated. That a real lady would perhaps faint, horror-stricken, at the innuendo in Jarrod's pronouncement. All that she could think about though were Audra's words last night. 'If you knew Jarrod...'

And Rose felt as though she did. Jarrod Barkley never experienced a slip of the tongue. Jarrod Barkley never embarrassed anyone, or ever humiliated himself. 'You look lovely dressed, Rose.' His features composed, a polite smile on his face. Rose grabbed frantically for the napkin in her lap.

Jarrod thought that she was going to cry, he saw her reach for her napkin, and he groaned inwardly. How much worse could this get?

Rose brought the linen to her lips. Lowered her lashes. Her slender shoulders quaked. She tried to choke back the laughter, but it bubbled it up out of her. Heath joined her first. Then Audra. Victoria. Nick. Finally, reprieved, the tension easing out of his impeccably dressed frame, but still unable to believe his gaffe, Jarrod joined their communal mirth.

Chapter Fifteen

After that morning, things between Rose and Jarrod Barkley became more relaxed. Though at times he still seemed distant or on guard, more and more he appeared comfortable in her presence. Less suspicious. His scrutiny no longer accompanied by a coldness in his sapphire eyes that leeched the warmth from her body. He would even tease her lightly on occasion, in the same manner that he often interacted with Audra. A warm indulgence, that made Rose feel welcome and included.

Three days after the scene at breakfast, Jarrod announced one morning that perhaps Audra and Rose would like to meet him in town for lunch that day. "We could have a bite at the Cattlemen's Hotel. I'll be back and forth between the land office and my office all morning, but could meet you two ladies there around one," Jarrod addressed the young women.

Rose lifted her head and looked at him curiously. She wondered why he wanted her to come to Stockton. Despite the welcome changes in the way that Jarrod reacted to her now, Rose knew that there must be more to his invitation than a simple desire to share a meal in town.

He returned her gaze, a smile curling one corner of his mouth. "I thought perhaps Audra could take you shopping, Rose. And on a brief tour of Stockton. You could look around. See if anything or anyone looks familiar to you at all." He had asked most of the shopkeepers, at the train and stage depots, at the post office and telegraph office if they could remember a young woman of Rose's description passing through the town in the last month. None seemed to, but Jarrod knew that a verbal description wasn't enough. That perhaps seeing her in person would prompt someone to recall her. Or, being amongst the streets of the town, Rose might find something familiar to her.

Jarrod didn't know if Rose had passed through Stockton on her way to the ranch that day or not, based on the area where she'd been found, but he couldn't afford to automatically discount any theory or possibility no matter how slim. He had wanted to get Rose out to Stockton weeks ago, but her physical condition hadn't been such that a ride in even the most comfortable of the Barkley rigs would have been advisable. She seemed to be gaining strength each day though, and she rarely even used the cane anymore, except for longer distances. Her discomfort seemed minimal, and Jarrod had decided that she was probably ready, physically at least, to venture beyond the main house and yard.

He tried to gauge her reaction, to determine what her gut reaction was to his suggestion. The green eyes which had been unwavering, contained only curiosity. He watched as Rose looked to Audra now to see if the journey into town would meet with her approval, and not conflict with any prior plans.

The blonde smiled at the prospect of shopping and then luncheon with her older brother. "I think that's a fine idea, Jarrod," she agreed. "Mother, would you like to come as well?"

Victoria declined. "I promised Jake Manning that I'd be out to the farm today, to see Edna. She's recovering from the fever, but feeling down, Jake was saying. Her father passed away while she was sick, and she wasn't able to get down to Modesto for the funeral. I thought I'd drop by with some baked goods. See if there was anything I could do to help. Even just to chat with Edna for a bit and try to raise her spirits." The Mannings were a couple in their late forties, and Edna Manning was a close acquaintance of Victoria's, both women being active at their church.

"Well now, I was just thinking that I needed to get into Stockton and run a few errands myself," the deep, gravelly voice interjected from the doorway. Nick Barkley strode into the room, his tanned features relaxed and full of good humour. "Would you ladies mind this old cowpoke accompanying you on this outing?" Nick turned to grin at Jarrod. "And I hear you're buying lunch?"

Jarrod shook his head and rolled his eyes in mock suffering. "Trust Brother Nick to conveniently appear at the mention of a free meal! Why don't we include Heath as well? Make it a real party," Jarrod chuckled.

Nick's dark eyes caught Rose's green ones. "Gosh, that's a mighty nice thought," Nick said jocularly, winking at Rose, "but somebody has to stay behind and be productive. After all..."

Rose felt the cold wash over her. Time seemed to freeze for a moment. She studied Nick, the now familiar lines of his jaw. The dark, often unruly hair. The wide, toothy grin. The warmth in his lovely hazel eyes. She'd grown to know him well in the days and weeks that she had been afforded the sanctuary of the Barkley mansion. The sound of his silver spurs as his long legs carried him across a room. The depth and power of his voice, often raised unwittingly, as he spoke with passion and sincerity. The strength in his tall frame, and the gentleness in his touch.

So, it was conceivable that she had heard Nick Barkley utter previously the words that he would now say. Except that Rose knew that he hadn't. But before they were even fully formed and had a chance to roll off his tongue, Rose knew what he was going to say. She knew what words would follow. Could hear Nick's voice play on her inner ear. "...this is a working ranch!"

That coldness, that iciness, stabbed through her veins, and permeated her muscles and sinew and flesh, and wrapped itself like a vice around her heart with cruel frozen fingers. Enveloped her again as swiftly and irrevocably as it had on those other occasions. That sense of fear...of wrongness.

Nick was not yet aware of the change in her. It happened simultaneously, before he could even complete his thought. "...this is a working ranch!" he declared with a chuckle. He saw right away that something was wrong with Rose. She paled visibly, and her mouth began to tremble in distress. The green eyes that regarded him were wide with apprehension. With fear.

Jarrod had been relaxed, watching his brother, listening indulgently to the words he'd heard so many times before. Then without warning or any cause that Jarrod could discern, Nick became distraught, his feature's tightening. Jarrod followed the line of his brother's gaze, turned his head, and saw Rose. Her eyes closed. Her hands on the table in front of her, palms pressing onto the patinaed surface. Her slender form swayed slightly. Her face was the pale oval of a winter's moon.

Audra's hand flew to the slender ivory column of her neck. Victoria started to rise from her chair, her body pumping adrenaline.

Nick and Jarrod moved at the same time. Jarrod was closer and he reached Rose first. Bending next to her, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. Drawing her towards him, he felt the delicate shoulder blades beneath the cotton of her dress. Felt the tension that knotted her frame. The faint tremors that moved her. He was surprised by the other things his senses noticed in that instant. The silkiness of her hair where it brushed the back of his hand. The delicate, slightly floral scent of the special soaps Audra and Mother used.

Just as suddenly and dramatically as the intense numbing blast of cold had spread over her, Rose felt the heat ignite. The transformation was immediate. Powerful. She felt consumed by an unseen conflagration, as though fiery tongues were lapping at her flesh. Her eyes sprang open, and she tilted her head, to the side and then back. The incredible azure orbs of Jarrod Barkley looked down at her. Filled with genuine concern. The wide brow beneath dark, backswept locks was furrowed.

He was so close that Rose could feel his breath on her cheek. Could see the obsidian irises in the centre of all that amazing blue. She could smell his cologne. Feel the warmth that emanated from his body. Where his body connected to hers, the length of his arm around her shoulders, she felt as though she'd been branded.

Jarrod hadn't spoken. It was Nick's voice that cut through her thoughts. "Rose!" Strident. Heavy with worry. The rancher's hand descended on the top of her left shoulder, above where his brother shielded her to ensure she would not fall if she fainted.

Deferring to his brother, to the history between both Nick and Rose and that between he and Rose, and acknowledging Nick's role as protector, Jarrod withdrew his arm. He had no idea what had precipitated the spell. There had been nothing out of the ordinary, just a casual breakfast. The idea of going to Stockton? Jarrod wondered. Subconsciously, had it upset Rose to consider going there? The lawyer straightened and stepped back.

Rose felt Jarrod release her, and the heat dissipated. Nick's broad hand was on her shoulder, squeezing gently. Feeling drained and disconnected, Rose reached her right hand across her chest and patted Nick's hand absent-mindedly. As quickly as the various thoughts and emotions had deluged her, they had dissipated just as immediately. Rose didn't know what had just occurred, or why. It seemed obvious that she had had another spell of sorts. Though mercifully short-lived.

All she could focus on for the moment was the realization that for only the second time since she had come to the Barkley ranch, Jarrod Barkley had touched her. Heath had held her when he had found her that day, lifting her onto Charger and racing back for the main house before carrying her inside. He had put his hand to support her neck that first day she had wakened, when he had lifted the glass to her lips. He had given her his arm from time to time, offering support when she moved about the house.

Nick had carried her in his arms up and down the stairs, several times before she was able to navigate them herself. He had held her when she had broken down sobbing that evening in the billiards room. He had touched her hand or her shoulder on occasion, as a gesture of support and understanding. And he too had offered his arm when accompanying her to the dining room, or from one location to another.

Victoria and Audra had both tended her in her recovery. Washing her brow with cool cloths. Helping her to bathe. Brushing her hair. Assisting her in dressing. Soft, encouraging touches now and then, that bespoke of their kindness and concern.

But Jarrod had only tried to touch her once. That morning in her room, when she had become so upset. He had reached for her hand and she had jerked it away. Since then he'd never offered her his arm to lean on. Never even brushed her fingers when passing the salt or butter at the table. Rose had never realized that until this moment. She wondered if it had been coincidental...or deliberate.

Nick was saying something about Rose going back to lay down. Spending the day resting. Stockton could wait for another day. "No," Rose assured him. "I'm fine, really, thank you, Nick." Her hand slipped from over his. She looked at Jarrod, watching her with those alert blue eyes. Always thinking.

She knew that still none of his investigations had yielded even the slimmest of leads as to her identity. She couldn't remain here indefinitely. Even if she couldn't retrieve her memory, Rose knew that she had to do all that she could to find a place for herself in this world that did not depend on the magnanimity of the Barkleys. Not that they ever complained, not even once, but she was already too far indebted to them.

If Stockton held any answers, Rose knew it was imperative to seek them out. Her health had precluded a journey into town any sooner. But she was ready now. Physically, at any rate. Part of her rebelled at the knowledge that one day she would wake up and have to leave the big, white mansion and the kind and decent people who lived within. They were the only souls she knew, the only people who meant anything to her, that she could recall. The thought of rising one day, still without her memory, but learning who she was and having to go back amongst people who would be strangers to her, made her heart constrict. This felt like home. These people felt like her family. Except that Rose knew they weren't. She was an interloper here. She couldn't impose indefinitely.

"I think a little jaunt into town might be just what I need," Rose continued. She heard the disapproval in the drawn out way Nick exhaled behind her.

At least, Nick thought to himself, he would be able to go to Stockton with Rose and Audra. His business there might separate them for an hour or so. But he would be nearby if she needed him. "If you're sure," he said, sounding not quite convinced.

"Besides," Rose said lightly, "lunch is on Jarrod! I'm planning to work up quite an appetite between now and then." She watched Jarrod incline his head slightly, before smiling at her. A distracted smile, no more than the briefest lifting of his upper lip in the right hand corner as it separated from the fuller, lower lip.

Pale pink lips that, Rose knew with horror, she'd been tempted to press hers against when Jarrod had stood so close to her moments ago. She coloured slightly, looking away before he could see something in her eyes. Something that shouldn't be there. Something that made no sense and which Rose couldn't begin to understand and which she refused to contemplate.

Chapter Sixteen

The warm rays of the morning sun, shining down on her upturned countenance, had soothed Rose not only physically but spiritually. As Audra had guided the buggy along the road leading to Stockton, Rose not only admired the scenery of the lovely, untamed San Joaquin valley, but began to anticipate her first sight of Stockton with a growing eagerness. The matched pair of greys made good time, their shod hooves making muffled strikes on the hard-packed earth. The buggy, one of the latest models, had a new type of suspension, Audra had informed her, that made for a much more enjoyable ride. Rose had assured her that she was experiencing no discomfort whatsoever.

Nick, ever solicitous, had placed a down cushion on the seat, to help protect Rose's still tender hip. He rode his mount Coco, a chocolate brown stallion with blond mane and tail, alongside the carriage, on the right hand side where Rose sat, and watched her surreptitiously for signs of unease. Physical or otherwise. He engaged her in light conversation, pointing out things of interest along the way, and regaling her with talk of the ranch. His deep, gravelly voice seemed to envelope her in a cloak of security, and Rose found herself increasingly grateful that Nick had decided to accompany them into town. Knowing that in large part his presence was helping to keep any unease at bay.

Jarrod rode his sorrel gelding, Jingo, ahead and to the left. He would glance back at the carriage from time to time, an inscrutable expression in his deep blue eyes. Eyes that seemed to absorb and then reflect the cloudless, sapphire sky. He had instructed Rose upon their leaving to let him know if anything along the route they would take into Stockton was familiar to her. Anything at all, no matter how seemingly small and inconsequential.

But there was nothing that whispered to Rose of any connection to her past. So, she simply sat and enjoyed the gentle rocking of the carriage, the amenity of the golden rays, the vastness of the country sky and the unbroken landscape, and the company of the people she had grown to care for and to trust so completely. Up until this point, the Barkley Ranch had been her whole world. It had been easy to pretend that there was nothing more beyond the mansion's solid walls, or the fenced property line.

But now Rose would be confronted with the reality that there was indeed a bigger world out there. Other places. And other people beyond these few who had come to be her everything. And though on a deeper level that was an intimidating thought, Rose couldn't help but feel excited about her foray into the 'real world'.

Jarrod had left them just outside of town, claiming that Jingo was eager for a bit of a run. He asked Audra to meet him at the Cattlemen's Hotel at one o'clock. He suggested that they view as much of the main streets as possible that morning, and especially to stop by the stage and railroad depots. If Rose had come to Stockton by either of those modes of transportation, perhaps returning to those spots would prompt her memory.

He gave Rose the first genuine smile since the episode in the dining room that morning. "Don't push yourself too hard," he told her gently. "Don't force memories that you aren't ready for. Just see if you have any sense of familiarity with Stockton.

"Enjoy yourself. Go shopping. The more relaxed and at ease you are, I think the more receptive you will be to anything that does trigger a memory. I'll see if there is anything from the Pinkertons, and then we can all get together at lunch and discuss how our mornings went."

He had nodded in Nick's direction, tipped his hat to the two young women, and then Jarrod had pressed his heels into the red gelding's sides. Jingo had tossed his regal head, then moved off at a canter, and was soon galloping over the road ahead, leaving a white cloud of dust rising in his wake. Rose watched Jarrod go, remembering how, for just a moment in the dining room that morning, she had wanted to kiss him. She pushed such strange and inconceivable thoughts out of her head.

* * * * * * * *

As Jarrod had encouraged, they went first to the stage and rail depots. Rose had watched passengers alight from the newly arrived stage, wiping the trail dust from their wrinkled clothes, sighing with relief to have reached their destinations, or for those who were travelling on, to have a chance to stretch their legs. She couldn't recall ever having been on a stage before, though she assumed that she probably had at some point or another in her lifetime. It was, after all, a common method of travel.

Later, Rose had walked along the wooden train platform, deserted for now since the next train was not expected in until after noon. She had the cane for support, but was finding that if she moved along at a normal pace, it wasn't really necessary to use it. Nick walked beside her, one gloved hand hovering near her elbow in case she needed to lean on him. Audra walked along the other side.

None of the trio spoke while Rose walked the length of the platform twice, concentrating on the ticket booth, peering down at the iron rails below, then looking off towards the horizon. But just as she had found when she observed the stage coach, Rose could not recall ever having been on this platform, or any other, or recall ever taking a journey on the Iron Horse.

Nick had left them at the rail station. "I've got someone to see, and some wires to send. That auction in Nevada is coming up in just over two weeks. I've got to make sure there are no interruptions in deliveries of supplies and household goods while Heath and I are away, and that payroll is all taken care of for that time period. It won't take me too long.

"You ladies do your shopping, and I'll meet you and Jarrod back at the hotel dining room at one. You sure you're okay?" he asked Rose once again, his dark eyes probing.

Nick stood looking down at her, his hands on his hips, the concern evident in his handsome features. Rose wanted to reach up and smooth the furrow from his high brow, but knew that such an intimate action would be inappropriate. She wanted somehow to communicate to Nick how much it had meant to her to have him there that morning.

Finally, she settled on reaching to touch his sleeve, her hand resting just a moment on the grey fabric, before dropping again to her side. "I'm fine, Nick. Really. And thank you." She stood looking up at him, her green eyes fixed on his darker ones. Wishing he could understand what she couldn't say, here in the middle of the street with curious passersby.

Nick seemed to sense that she truly was all right, and a lopsided grin softened his face. He gave a wink and a slight bow, excusing himself with, "Ladies..." and then he was striding away across the boardwalk, his long legs moving with athletic grace, his silver spurs doing their familiar dance.

* * * * * * * *

"What do you think of this one, Rose?" Audra's asked, holding the lavender dress out in front of her, and pirouetting before the other young woman.

"It's lovely," Rose replied, reaching to touch the soft fabric. "You'd look beautiful in anything though Audra. You've got a perfect face and perfect figure."

Audra inclined her platinum head demurely, though she was clearly pleased with the compliment. "There's a church social Sunday after next," she told Rose. "After the prayer meeting. The other unmarried women and I are making box lunches, and then those lunches are being auctioned off to the highest bidder. Whoever wins the bid gets not only the lunch, but the company of the girl who made it." She grinned at Rose, displaying pretty dimples. "All of the money goes to the church of course, to help out with a variety of worthy causes." One soft, white hand smoothed down the bodice of the pale purple dress. "Perhaps I could wear this that day."

Rose thought that the church social sounded like a lot of fun. "I'm sure there'd be a bidding frenzy," Rose laughed.

Audra titled her head to one side and gazed at the other woman speculatively. Then her blue eyes began to sparkle. "I know, Rose, why don't you make a lunch too! It's ever so much fun. It would be a good opportunity for you to get out and meet some of the other families here in the valley. Everything is closely chaperoned, it's all very innocent. They organize games for the children, and some of the men usually bring fiddles. I think you'd enjoy yourself!"

Rose beamed. "Do you think I could? That does sound like fun! I am feeling so much better, even in these last few days. I'm enjoying Stockton and I'd love to meet some of your friends and neighbours. It sounds like such a quaint, old-fashioned time!'"

Audra regarded her friend with bemusement for a moment, curious about her choice of words. She wondered if Rose was from one of the big cities, more accustomed to the sophisticated entertainments they offered. This was just the sort of thing that Jarrod had mentioned Audra should be watchful of. She would mention it to him later.

Except...the longer that Rose stayed with them, and the better that Audra got to know her, the more important she became to their lives. Audra realized that she was in no hurry for Rose to regain her memory, or for Jarrod to find Rose's people. Rose seemed to add something to their home and family that Audra had never even felt was missing before this. But now, she knew that if...when...the time came for Rose to leave them, it would leave an emptiness and pall over the great house. The blonde felt her throat tighten at the thought.

Rose had turned away and was examining some perfumes at the counter. Holding them up to sniff their lovely fragrances, spicy or floral in turn. 'Wouldn't it be wonderful', Audra thought to herself, 'if there was some way for Rose to remain with us?' She watched Rose reach for one of the pretty crystal bottles, extending her long, delicate neck, her dark hair tumbling across her shoulders. What if...what if one of her brothers fell in love with Rose? And she with him? What if, even after they found out Rose's real name, she wanted to stay at the ranch? To begin a new life there.

Nick was already smitten with Rose, Audra was certain. And she believed that Rose had feelings for Nick as well. No had come forward to claim Rose, even after all of this time. Even once they had begun to offer the reward. And Rose couldn't recall a single thing about her previous life. Why shouldn't Rose simply forget the past, and look instead to the future? Audra chewed thoughtfully on her full, lower lip.

* * * * * * * *

Audra had purchased the pretty lavender dress, and then insisted on buying for Rose the perfume that had been her favourite. Rose was beginning to feel hungry, and was looking forward to having luncheon in the restaurant. She was proud of how well she was moving about now, and it was only as the morning had drawn on, that her limp became pronounced. It was time to meet Jarrod at the hotel, but Audra had said that perhaps they could catch him at his office, which was just around the corner, and walk over together.

Rose had been thinking about the church social and how much fun it would be to participate with a boxed lunch of her own. As the two young women stepped out into the midday sun, Rose was hit with the realization that it was the unmarried women who participated in the event. And the fact was, that Rose had no idea whether or not she was married. They didn't think so, of course. She had no wedding band, or marks where one would have rested on the third finger of her left hand. And after an examination, Dr. Merar had pronounced that Rose had never borne a child. Rose didn't feel that her heart was tied to a man in her past. But the truth of it was...she just didn't know.

They rounded the corner, Audra prattling about some of her favourite selections on the restaurant's menu. Just down the boardwalk, coming out of his office and turning a key to lock it behind him, was Jarrod Barkley. His leather briefcase was tucked under his left arm. Rose wondered, as her heart did a staccato beat, whether or not there was any information about her amongst the legal papers.

"Jarrod!" Audra called out, quickening her step, smiling to see her oldest brother.

Jarrod turned at the sound, grinning at the sight of the pair. He slipped the key into his pocket, then lifted his grey Stetson, running the fingers of his right hand through his jet hair, before replacing the hat at a jaunty angle. He waited for the two women.

As they drew closer, Rose's gaze was drawn to the shingle hanging outside, the one that proclaimed that this was where Jarrod spent his working hours. She smiled at the handsome attorney, then past him, her eyes riveting to the window beyond. The smile froze on her visage, as she read the words that were printed right onto the glass. 'Jarrod T. Barkley, Attorney at law. Offices in Stockton and San Francisco.'

Rose's emerald eyes continued to widen, as the warmth stole from her bones. She stared at the sign, and then beyond it, no longer focused on what she really saw on this calm, summer day. Jarrod was no longer at her side, although she heard his sharp intake of breath. She could see him, standing on the inside of his office, in front of that window, gazing out at the street.

He was wearing a white shirt, and black tie, but no jacket. The crease in his chin was deepened by his frown. More creases lined his brow. His blue eyes were penetrating, but he was not looking at her. He was looking past her, at something in the street that had caught his attention. Something that troubled him.

Rose didn't have to swivel her head to know what Jarrod was looking at. Who he was looking at. He'd gotten the telegraph. Had slipped it inside his desk drawer. He'd known that today was the day, but he hadn't gone to meet her. He was a mixture of emotions, and they roiled inside him, crashing over the calm that he always sought to maintain. He hadn't thought of her in a long time. Didn't want to think of her. The pain and the guilt hadn't lessened, even after all of these years.

Rose could hear the jeers. The taunting in the street. She could feel the animosity of the crowd. Her eyes remained on Jarrod, at the face at the window, but she knew just what the woman looked like. She knew that she was holding her blonde head high, her pride belying her fear. Rose knew that the woman scanned the crowd, searching for the dark-haired man with the unforgettable azure eyes. Unaware that he was watching her, and the crowd that hurled insults.

Rose was peripherally aware of the tall figure at her side. She could hear voices, but they were muffled, as though coming through a curtain of cotton wool. Her unfocused emerald eyes remained fixed on the window. On the moment in time frozen there. She knew who had written to Jarrod. Who waited for him now. A woman from his past. Reviled in Stockton. Rose knew about the telegraph in the desk. And she knew that Audra was waiting for Jarrod to take her to lunch that day as well.

Rose felt so incredibly cold. She could feel her body tremble. The hand that held the rosewood cane released it and it clattered to the ground. She turned to Jarrod, to the concern in his eyes, as the strange name tumbled from her lips. "Julia Saxon." That was the woman that Jarrod had stood at his window watching for that day. There was a loud noise inside her head, the rushing of tumultuous winds that surrounded her and stole her equilibrium. Rose grabbed for Jarrod's arm, and fell into his embrace.

He caught her, his briefcase dropping to the planks beneath his feet, holding Rose against his chest. She pushed away from him though, her slender arms incredibly strong, that same fear that he had detected in her before, surfacing again.

Rose took a step back, stumbled, and then other arms encircled her from behind. Before she even heard his voice, she recognized the feel of his body, and the masculine scent of him. Nick. Rose pivoted, her palms pressing against Nick's broad chest, burying her head towards her hands, as she convulsively gasped for air, and fought back her mounting panic.

Then as suddenly as it had come, the wrongness was gone. Whatever had frightened Rose was over. Strong arms ringed her protectively. A clean shaven chin rested on the top of her head. Rose felt Audra's delicate touch on her shoulder. No one spoke. The vision had already faded away.

Rose's breathing began to slow, and she took deep lungfuls of air, her face still pressed against Nick's shirt. Rose clung to the cowboy a moment longer, then stepped back, turning her face up towards him for a moment, reassured by the determined strength she saw there.

She looked to Audra, whose worry darkened her pretty blue eyes. Then to Jarrod, whose lips were pressed together in a thin line, a muscle in his jaw twitching, as he stared at Rose. Her rejection of him, and her obvious fear, stung. The name she had uttered was perhaps the last he had expected to hear. "Who are you?" he demanded, unable to keep the suspicion from his tone. "And what do you have to do with Julia Saxon?"

Chapter Seventeen

Rose didn't flinch as she returned Jarrod's icy stare. She could no longer remember what had prompted her to speak the name, but when Jarrod repeated it now, it was familiar to her. Julia Saxon. Rose had a fleeting image of a statuesque blonde woman. She could hear the fading strains of a smoky voice. The name meant something to Rose. For the first time since she had woken in the Barkley guest room, she could remember something that predated her appearance there. Unlike the name Richard, which had elicited such an emotionally devastating response in her the day she had uttered it, then seemed to be purged from her mind as soon as she gave it voice, she was able to retain an image in her head to accompany this new name. Julia Saxon.

"I don't know who I am, or who she is," Rose told Jarrod, her delicate chin jutting towards him. She felt the warmth of Nick's hand on her arm. "But the name means something to me. I'm not sure just what. It's hazy, not a true memory, but I have the sense that she's a blonde-haired woman. And...I think...she's a singer?" Her voice raised in query at the end of the remark, making it more question than statement. Rose watched the shadows pass across the attorney's face. "You know the name too," she asserted, almost accusingly. "You tell me who she is!"

Audra looked from her oldest brother, then to the young dark-haired woman, and back to Jarrod again. There were two spots of colour, high on his cheeks. His eyes had narrowed, and he regarded Rose warily. Audra waited for him to speak, to explain who Julia Saxon was. When after a moment he didn't, she turned back to Rose. "Julia Saxon is a singer, that's true. Before that, she was a Confederate spy during the war. Even though she was a Northerner. After the war, she became famous in the South as an entertainer, but she didn't return to the North for a long time, until just recently." Audra gave what she thought would be enough information to prompt Rose's memory, without sharing Jarrod's connection to the sultry songstress. She watched Rose curiously, to see if any of this seemed familiar to her.

Rose's face tightened in a mask of concentration. Then she shook her head. "That seems familiar, in a way, but I don't really have any recollection of that. Just the name stands out. And...a voice." Rose could hear the muted lyrics in the recesses of her mind. 'Poor little lamb...'

"This is the first thing you've remembered, the first thing you've been able to retain," Jarrod commented slowly. He fought to push his own memories of Julia Saxon to the background. "The question is, how do you know her? What does she have to do with you, and vice versa?" The clear green eyes held his gaze. He was struck again, as he had been in the billiards room that other day when he had questioned her, when she had mentioned Richard, how guileless her expression was.

"There's no reason to think Rose has anything to do with Julia Saxon," Nick's gruff voice interjected. "Heck, everyone in these parts knows that name. Because of what happened in the war. And since then, Julia Saxon has been travelling all over, singing. I'd be more surprised if Rose didn't know her name!"

Jarrod looked to his brother then. Nick's frown, the clenched hand at his left side, the way his weight was forward on his right leg, the squared set of his broad shoulders, all communicated to Jarrod that his brother was ready to go on the offensive for Rose, should Jarrod upset her in any way. And the lawyer knew that his brother was correct. Julia Saxon was a name that most people knew. But why Rose should remember that name, why she should not remember her own, or where she had come from, or what had happened to her...yet that one name, one that caused him so much pain, should be the one the girl recalled...had to be more than a coincidence.

And even more than that...why had she remembered it here? Remembered it now? Jarrod had seen the way Rose had stared at his office window. The way she had seemed to focus on something that wasn't even there. He had almost been able to imagine that she did see something. But what? What would she see, or think she saw, there at his window? And then the name...Julia Saxon. For just an instant, Jarrod had been transported back in time. He recalled the telegraph, and her request for him to meet her. He recalled standing at that same window, looking out into the street. While the good citizens of Stockton voiced their displeasure at the audacity of the traitor's appearance.

And though the idea was absurd, crazy really, for just a fraction of a moment, Jarrod had imagined that that was what Rose was seeing. That that was what she remembered. Only that was impossible, of course. He had been alone at the window. No one in the street had noticed or acknowledged him. All attention had been riveted on Julia. There was no possible way for Rose to have any memory of something that she had never seen. Jarrod shook the feeling off.

Perhaps Rose didn't know Julia Saxon, at least not beyond her name and her reputation. But this was the first link, however tenuous, that they had had to Rose's past. And Jarrod knew that he had to follow up on it. "You're right of course, Nick," Jarrod acceded at length. He smiled at Rose, trying to put her at ease. "We had hoped that coming to Stockton might prompt your memory in some small way, and it appears that it has. Even if nothing and no one in the town is familiar to you, this is a start. You remembered something. You have a true, viable memory. Even if we aren't sure what it means or where, if anywhere, it will lead us. I'd say that was something to celebrate, wouldn't you?"

Jarrod Barkley's charming smile did not reach his sky blue eyes. But Rose knew that, whatever his reservations, he was making an effort. She nodded. Whatever Julia Saxon meant to Nick and Audra, the woman meant a great deal more to Jarrod, Rose could sense. She wondered about his own connection to the singer.

"Good," Jarrod said. "Why don't you three go on to the hotel. I have a quick errand to run. Nick, you can order for me, please, I'll have the prime rib. I'll be back before lunch is brought to the table." He bent to retrieve his soft leather case, and the carved cane, which he extended towards Rose. She took it from him, and their fingers brushed, and he held his breath for a moment, then let it go when she exhibited none of the fear she had shown towards him earlier.

* * * * * * * *

The appetite that Rose had had previously had dissipated somewhat after the events outside of Jarrod Barkley's law office. She was too nervous to eat much, too busy wracking her mind, trying to dig up further memories of Julia Saxon. Or to unearth new, unrelated memories. As promised, Jarrod's errand hadn't kept him too long, and he was seated at the table just as the wait staff brought out their meals.

Audra and Nick participated in the bulk of the conversation. Audra wanted to take everyone's mind off of Julia Saxon, including her own. She kept thinking of the murder trial, just over one year ago, and Jarrod's defense of the woman. Julia had been innocent, but if her attorney had been anyone other than Jarrod, that wouldn't have mattered. The people of Stockton had been ready to string Julia Saxon up with a hangman's noose before she had even set foot in the town.

And she, Audra, hadn't blamed them. Until a conversation in Julia's jail cell, had helped her to see another side of the woman. Audra was aware of how conflicted Jarrod's feelings for Julia Saxon had been. Seeing her again, defending her and watching her set free, had released much of the hurt and bitterness from her oldest brother's soul. But there would always be pain there. Because of Matt. Julia Saxon was not a name that was spoken around the Barkley table.

Rose was sure that the meal was probably very good, but she could hardly taste her glazed chicken. She knew that she couldn't force her memories, but that didn't stop her from trying. She was grateful to Audra and Nick for trying to maintain an air or normalcy, and for attempting to steer the conversation down other avenues.

Jarrod had informed them regretfully that there was still nothing from the Pinkerton Agency. Rose pondered that for a bit, but couldn't keep her thoughts from returning to the image in her head, of a blonde siren. Knowing there was some connection between the woman and Jarrod. Rose recalled the Barkleys' theory that she had might have been coming to the ranch to see Jarrod, in his capacity as an attorney. She wondered if her decision to seek out Jarrod Barkley, if indeed that was what she had been doing, had been precipitated by the songstress. And if so, how and why?

Jarrod appeared calm during the meal, but Rose noticed that he downed two glasses of Scotch after his glass of wine. She wasn't certain, but she thought that that was more than usual for him to be drinking with his midday meal. Their eyes met once, over the rim of the crystal glass that contained the amber liquid, and held for an extended time. Jarrod wondered about Rose's connection to Julia Saxon, and she wondered about his. And both the blue-eyed man and the green-eyed young woman felt that they were connected to one another in some way. Being pulled inexorably down a strange, previously untravelled path, together.

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod had remained in town after lunch, while Nick drove Audra and Rose back to the ranch. The cowboy tied Coco behind the carriage, and expertly handled the greys as he guided them away from Stockton. Nick was happy to be leaving. He had had his reservations from the start, about Rose going into town. She hadn't seen anyone or anything familiar that would help her to regain her memory. The one person she had recalled...Julia Saxon...was a name from the past, and why Rose should speak it, was a mystery to Nick. There was nothing to prompt a thought of the singer, so far as he could tell. He wasn't convinced that Rose's recollection of the name meant anything at all. As far as he could determine they were no closer to solving the mystery of who Rose was, than they had been before they'd gone to Stockton.

Rose sat in the centre of the bench seat, between Audra and Nick. She appeared to be very tired, Nick noted. Drained. She had done a lot of walking that morning. And he knew that she had been focusing all of her energy on trying to remember something, anything, about her past. The rocking motion of the carriage, combined with the weight of her meal, and the warmth of the summer sun, combined to make Rose drowsy. Her eyes would close, her dark head would loll, and then she would snap it up again. Finally, unable to resist slumber's call, Rose had slumped in her seat, her head resting on the rancher's shoulder.

Nick smiled to himself, enjoying the delicate weight of her against his right side. Her steady inhalations and exhalations indicated how relaxed and restful the young woman was. He transferred the reins to his left hand, so that he would not jolt and wake her. He envisioned the way she had pushed herself away from his brother, loathe it seemed to touch him. She did not have that same aversion to him, he knew, and a satisfied sigh escaped his lips.

Audra glanced at the pair from the corner of her eye. She caught the smile that lighted her brother's features. Heard his sigh. Julia Saxon didn't matter. What mattered was that Rose was here, with them, and that the bond between she and Nick deepened with each passing day. Audra turned her head, pretending to watch an eagle that soared on currents high above them, hiding the delighted smile that stretched across her own features.

* * * * * * * *

It was after dark when Jarrod finally returned home. Nick had spent a few hours in the afternoon, working on the ranch, before he and Heath had joined the women for dinner. They had all moved to the billiards room afterwards. Audra had shared with Victoria their experiences in Stockton earlier in the day. The matron had not known what to make of Rose's unprompted speaking of Julia Saxon's name either.

Victoria was seated on the settee next to Rose, overseeing a simple crocheting effort, when Jarrod strode into the room. He removed his jacket, and laid it over the back of one of the leather chairs, then turned to face the others. One hand was tucked into his vest pocket. The other held a folded slip of paper. He cleared his throat. "I sent a telegraph earlier today, to try to reach Julia Saxon through her manager. I received a reply this evening." He paused for a moment. Rose sat straighter, Victoria leaned forward on the settee, Audra gave a barely audible gasp, Heath swirled the glass of whiskey he was holding, and Nick took a startled step closer towards the spot where Jarrod stood. "It seems that Julia is performing in San Francisco through the next fortnight. At one of the rooms at the Palace."

Rose could hear her blood rushing through her veins. Knowing what was coming next.

"I was thinking it might be a good idea to take you there, Rose. To meet with Miss Saxon. If you know her, there is a chance, however slight, that she might know you too. Or that seeing her will prompt further memories." He paused again, allowing the suggestion to sink in. "So far, it's our only lead." He watched Rose carefully, using all of his legal acumen gained over the years, to gauge her reaction. He knew that often despite one's words, one's body language gave a true indication of what someone was feeling. Rose remained poised, uncertain, but she was not fearful and there was nothing in her movements to indicate guilt or deception.

Jarrod continued. "I have to ride to Granite City tomorrow, for some business that I can't postpone. But day after tomorrow, my schedule is free. I've already arranged to have our rail car hooked up to the Thursday morning train to San Francisco. Mother, if you're free for a couple of days, I was hoping you could accompany Rose and I. Assuming, of course, that Rose will agree to go?" He raised a brow as he directed the remark to the young woman.

Rose's throat felt tight and parched. What might they discover in San Francisco? Did she really want to know? Was there any way she could deny herself the knowing? 'Poor little lamb...' She heard the underlying sorrow in the husky words, and could almost picture the curvaceous blonde woman onstage. Would Julia Saxon be the key to unlock the mystery of who Rose was?

"Let's not be so hasty," Nick broke in. "Rose is doing really well, but she's still recovering. I don't see why we need to whisk her off across the state right this minute..."

A stern glance from Jarrod, and a look of supplication from Rose silenced him.

"I realize that you are all so busy, and that this is a huge imposition to ask you to abandon your lives here for a few days to take this sudden trip," Rose managed to say. "But I agree with you, Jarrod. I think it's important to pursue this. I certainly want to do everything I can to discover my past." Did she though? Rose wasn't so sure anymore. The idyll she had found here in this place, with these wonderful people, surely could not be surpassed.

Jarrod nodded his satisfaction. "Mother?" He heard Nick mutter under his breath.

Victoria set the ball of yarn aside. "Of course I'll go, this could be very important." She touched Rose's forearm. "If you feel up to it," she said gently.

Jarrod stared at Rose, waiting for her answer. Rose mustered a smile. "Of course."

"Good," Jarrod concluded. "At the most, we might learn something that can help us...that can help you. At the least, we'll spend a couple of days in a beautiful city, enjoying the good sea air. Either way we have nothing to lose."

'Except Rose', Nick thought to himself. Then wordlessly he spun and stalked from the room.

Chapter Eighteen

She seemed to glide across the small stage, her swaying body moving effortlessly in time with the music. Her smoky voice hung over the hushed crowd, as the mournful ballad transcended the lyrics, and she became the central figure in a palpable tale of love and loss and sorrow. Each quavering of her vocal chords caused the air to reverberate, each powerful rise and fall carrying with it a swell of genuine emotion. The footlights didn't illuminate the tears that had gathered in the corners of her blue eyes, but the audience felt them there nonetheless. They were transported beyond the confines of the intimate and luxuriously appointed room, to a world where a woman keened the ruination of her dreams and the dissolution of love.

Rose was certain that she had never been so touched by a performance, nor would be again. As the last crestfallen note hung on the air, a heart-rending, dolent lament, the lights were extinguished, and the room was blanketed in darkness. The preternatural quiet hung in the air, until the lamps were lit again. The stage was empty, except for a single, long-stemmed, red rose that the chanteuse had carried during the poignant melody, now laying discarded on the gleaming wood floor.

As if on cue, thunderous applause broke. Rose was on her feet with the others, without even being aware of having made the effort to stand. She clapped with enthusiasm, swallowing back the lump in her throat, reaching covertly to brush the moisture from her cheeks. She believed that for those final few moments they had not merely been witness to an extraordinary performance, but had actually been privy to a window on a woman's soul. Her heart still ached with empathetic compassion, at the masterful way the songstress had stirred the emotions of the appreciative patrons.

Victoria, on her left, was also applauding, her approval genuine, her dark eyes fastened on the stage as she, like the rest of the assemblage, anticipated the encore. Jarrod, on his mother's left, had risen to his feet with the rest of the audience. Rose noted that strangely, he stood with his arms at his side, not adding to the acclamation. He too was fixed on the small stage though. Watching and waiting for the performer to come back and take her well deserved bow.

When it became apparent that the beautiful singer had no intentions of returning, the lamps were dimmed, and the impeccably dressed crowd began to move from the room out into the main rotunda of the hotel. Jarrod and the two women waited by their seats until they were almost the last to remain. Then Jarrod took Victoria's arm, and guided she and Rose to the curtained area at the back of the room, to the right of the stage. The pianist was gathering up his sheet music, when he spied them approaching.

"Miss Saxon prefers not to be disturbed after a performance," he explained politely. "Though she is often here practicing in the afternoons, and is happy to speak with people then."

"Could you please let her know that Jarrod Barkley is here and ask if perhaps she could spare a few minutes?" the attorney asked.

The older man nodded and then excused himself, though he doubted that Julia would grant the request. When she hadn't gone back on stage for her encore, but had instead rushed to her room, he had known that the final number had affected her even more so than usual.

When he returned, it was from behind the curtained area. He held back the thick folds of burgundy velvet. "Miss Saxon says to please come on back," he told them. "She's in her dressing room, the second door on the left." He looked at the trio curiously, then nodded to them politely, and walked away down the narrow hall.

There was a temporary sign on the door, indicating that this was Julia Saxon's room. Jarrod gave two sharp raps at the door. It swung open instantly, and the blonde stood in the doorway. She gave the dark-haired lawyer a soft smile and extended her hand. "Jarrod,"

"Julia," he returned, griping her hand for just the briefest of moments. "You remember my mother." The singer nodded. "And this is Rose. Rose, Julia Saxon." The performer shook both Victoria's and Rose's hands in turn, her touch light and cool. Jarrod studied both the blonde and the brunette for signs of recognition but there were none. "I know this is unexpected and I'm sorry to disturb you," he continued. "But if you could spare us a few moments, there is something we'd like to talk to you about. Perhaps you can help us with something."

Julia Saxon moved back into the room to allow the three to enter. "It's not so unexpected," she allowed, moving to rearrange some of the theatrical make up on her vanity. She looked back over her shoulder at Jarrod, smiling wryly. "Tommy told me that you had telegraphed him, and that he'd let you know where I was." Tommy O'Day was Julia's manager. "It's good to see you."

What Julia didn't tell Jarrod was that since hearing from Tommy, she had peered out into the audience each night, prior to her performance, looking for that one dark head in the crowd. Tonight, she had noted him, resplendent in his tuxedo, moving with that confident gait that she recognized right away, escorting his mother and the young raven-haired woman. When Julia sang her final song, pouring every fibre of her being into each delicate nuance...though she was the only person in the room who knew it, she had been singing for Jarrod Barkley alone.

When Jarrod didn't return the sentiment and an awkward silence ensued, Victoria fixed a broad smile on her lovely, ageless features. "I'd never had the pleasure of hearing you sing before, Miss Saxon. I have to say that was one of the loveliest performances I have ever had the privilege of witnessing," she praised sincerely.

Julia Saxon turned from the table and gave the older woman a sad smile. "Thank you, how kind of you to say."

"Your voice is beautiful," Rose added her own praise. "That last song was haunting."

Julia observed the young woman curiously. The girl was classically beautiful. Creamy, unlined complexion. Luminous green eyes fringed with smoky lashes. A slender, delicate figure, clothed in a pretty, feminine yellow dress with green accents that brought out the depth of her eyes. Thick, dark hair, pulled back now into a fashionable upswept bun. She wondered who Rose was to the Barkleys. Who she was to Jarrod.

Julia was self-consciously aware that her own youth was now firmly in the past. There were crows feet at the corner of her eyes. And tiny, fine lines were beginning to form around her mouth, especially her upper lip. Noticeable to no one but her, for the time being. But once age began it's irreversible march, each movement of the clock's hands, moved her one step closer to the inevitable. Even her hourglass figure, the body that had mesmerized men and made them putty in her hands, was beginning to betray her. The low-cut, form fitting dresses still looked good on her. As long as she wore the corsets pulled tight. She still had her voice though.

The girl was correct, the song was indeed haunting. No one in the world had any idea how much it tormented Julia. "I appreciate that," she said graciously, half turning her face so that the girl would not see the truth in her eyes.

"We don't want to take up any more of your time than necessary," Jarrod interjected. "Rose was found at the ranch, injured and unconscious a few weeks ago. She has no memory of that day or anything that preceded it." Julia Saxton's eyes widened with curiosity. "The only thing that she has been able to recall with any sort of clarity, is a name. Your name, Julia." Jarrod told her, his tone bordering on recrimination.

"Do I know you?" Julia asked Rose, tilting her head appraisingly.

Rose shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "We were hoping you could tell us that, Julia," Jarrod continued. "Is there anything familiar about Rose at all? I know that you meet a lot of people in your line of work. Take your time." He waited them prompted. "An actress? A dancer in a chorus?" With her graceful body and lovely visage, Jarrod had wondered if Rose might be in show business too.

The singer looked at the young woman consideringly. At length, she shook her head. "I'm sorry. I have a good eye for faces, and I'm fairly certain that we've never met before."

"Now that you've seen Julia, Rose, do you believe that you've ever known her?" Jarrod queried

Rose wasn't sure how to answer him. There was something familiar about the statuesque beauty, but Rose didn't have the feeling that she had ever met her before. Seeing her now certainly did not prompt any memories. At last, dispirited, Rose shook her head, biting her lower lip. "No, I don't think so."

Jarrod had known that it was unlikely that their visit to San Francisco to see Julia Saxon would solve the mystery of Rose. But it was the only thing he'd had to go on. Still, he could feel the disappointment constrict his chest. "Well, I'm truly sorry for our intrusion then," he told the singer, apologetically. "We won't take up any more of your time."

"I'm sorry that I wasn't able to help," Julia said regretfully. She couldn't imagine not knowing who you were or where you'd come from. As painful as her past was, as deeply as she regretted some parts of it, it was integral to who she was. It had shaped the woman she had become. And buried amongst the caustic, agonizing recollections, were those few times of pure joy, which when she conjured them up, seemed not such a bad trade off, even for all the sadness.

Impulsively, Julia moved to the vanity, and to the vase that held at least two dozen blood red, long stemmed roses. She plucked one from the crystal container, then brought it to young woman. "I wish you the best of luck in your journey of self-discovery." And she passed the bud to Rose.

Rose accepted it with a wan smile. It was lovely, this flower that had given her her temporary name. She brought it to her nostrils and inhaled it's delicate scent. "Thank you." For a moment, a vision swam tantalizingly before her, and then it faded just as quickly as it had come. Rose frowned and stared hard at Julia Saxton. Embarrassed she inquired, "I was wondering...by chance were you ever a nurse?"

She was unprepared for the deep, throaty laughter that welled up out of the other woman, and Rose coloured. Julia Saxon gave a self-deprecating smile. "It's not you, Honey. It's just...I've never been anywhere near caring or altruistic enough to devote myself to such a noble profession." Just ask Jarrod, she was tempted to add. Except that Julia really didn't want to hear Jarrod confirm the negative assessment.

Jarrod thanked Julia for her time, Victoria murmured that it was good to see her again and wished her the best with the continuation of her career. Rose shook hands mutely, as it began to hit her that this had been the only glimmer of a chance they had had so far in solving the conundrum of her fateful appearance at the ranch. She was still only...Rose...named for the flower that she clutched in her left hand.

As Jarrod held the door for she and Victoria to pass through, Rose took one last look over her shoulder at the blonde. What she saw there was no answer to her personal mystery. What she saw was a look of hopeless longing, as Julia Saxon fixed her blue eyes on Jarrod's departing form. Rose knew then where the entertainer had drawn her inspiration to breathe such vivid life into her final song. Rose still might not know what Julia Saxon meant to her past. But she knew now what she had meant to Jarrod's.

Julia became aware of Rose's gaze, and shifted hers from the handsome attorney. She returned Rose's look levelly, without shame or apology. Then Jarrod pulled the door closed, the solid thud of the heavy wood against the frame ending any hopes they had had of Julia Saxon illuminating the enigma that was Rose.

* * * * * * * *

It was long past midnight, when Rose crept down the stairs of the townhouse, running her hand along the wall that lead to the kitchen area, hoping that she wouldn't trip and injure herself, or knock something down and wake Jarrod or Victoria. They had come straight back to Jarrod's San Francisco home after leaving the Palace and Julia Saxon. It had been late, a disappointing end to a long day begun early back in Stockton, and buoyed with hopes and anticipation. They were all drained, physically and emotionally.

Rose had slept briefly, then wakened, tossing and turning and unable to find respite. At last she had decided to get up and get a glass of milk, hoping that a brief change of surroundings, and having something on her belly, might help her to get back to sleep. She tiptoed down the hall, along the plush Oriental carpet.

She thought that she heard a faint sound to her left and peered into the darkened shadow of the study. She paused as her eyes caught the glowing ember of a cigar. Jarrod Barkley must be sitting there in the pitch, she knew. She meant to move past, to leave him to his musings, undisturbed. But of their own volition, it seemed, her bare feet took her into the room. She had no right to be there, in his inner sanctum of his private residence. She was a guest, and only a barely tolerated guest at that, she sensed at times.

But there was something so unbearably sad about the attorney sitting there, alone, in the dark. Rose took a few hesitant steps towards the red eye of the cigar. "Jarrod?" she whispered.

She thought at first that perhaps he hadn't heard her. Eventually, he answered. "Did you need something Rose?" His tone was solicitous, he didn't sound bothered or irritated.

"I...no. I was just going to get a drink. I thought I heard something. I saw your cigar. I...I just wanted to see if...if you were all right," she stammered.

"I'm fine, thank you," he told her. She could smell alcohol, but he didn't sound drunk. He wasn't slurring his words.

"I'm sorry we came all this way...for nothing," Rose told him. It felt funny to be having a conversation in this lightless void.

She heard him sigh. "It was my idea," he reminded her.

There was a despondency beneath Jarrod's words that made Rose ache for him. She could hear again the echoing strains of Julia Saxon's love song. She could see on her inner eye the naked longing as Julia had looked at Jarrod, thinking herself unobserved. For Julia Saxon to still carry such a torch for Jarrod Barkley, Rose knew that at some point in the past, her love had to have been deeply requited.

What pain had it caused Jarrod, Rose wondered, to bring her here? How much had he sacrificed in order to try to assist her? "Would you like to talk about it?" she asked softly, timidly. "About Julia Saxon?"

Rose heard Jarrod exhale. There was a creak of leather as he shifted in his seat. "It was a long time ago," he chuckled humourlessly. "You don't want to hear about any of that," he added dismissively.

"Don't discount the importance of the past," Rose advised softly.

She sensed more than saw Jarrod bring the whiskey to his lips. "There is a chair, about two feet to your right," he instructed. "You might as well get comfortable," he added amicably.

Rose had thought that he might turn on a lamp, but Jarrod never did. Perhaps it was easier for him, she decided, to tell his story without having to look at anyone, or having anyone look at him. He took her back in time, his deep, mellifluous voice painting a picture of a much younger Jarrod Barkley. She could imagine him, in his smart blue Union officer's coat, with the polished brass buttons. Idealistic and brave.

She felt his deep-seated affection for his friend, Matt Parker. Another young man from Stockton, who had signed up with Jarrod and was pleased to be serving with him in Washington. She was introduced to the younger Julia Saxon. Beautiful. Desirable. Though Jarrod made light of his feelings for her, Rose sensed the truth. Jarrod had been passionately in love with the young woman.

There was the betrayal. First Julia's betrayal of Jarrod, and then her betrayal of Matt. Ultimately, Jarrod had felt responsible for the troubles that had befallen Matt. After all he had introduced his friend to Julia Saxon. He had represented him at the court martial. Had watched his happy-go-lucky friend become distant and withdrawn. Then there was the accident that had taken Matt's life.

The war had ended and Julia Saxon had returned to the South, her name reviled in the North. Especially in Stockton, where the Parker brothers still mourned the death of their younger sibling, and had vowed to exact revenge on the woman who they held responsible for his demise. And then, incredibly, Julia had shown up in Stockton one day, ostensibly to sing at a local club.

Jarrod spoke of the murder, how Julia had been framed for the club owner's death, and his subsequent defense of her. She had been proven innocent, and she had left Stockton and that was the last he had seen of her until tonight.

He had spoken dispassionately, as though he were telling the story of someone else, but Rose knew what an impression this part of his life had made on Jarrod. There shimmered an image of Jarrod and Julia Saxon standing before a grave, with Matt Parker's name carved into the headstone. Rose couldn't recall Jarrod sharing this part of the story, but obviously he must have, for her to see it so clearly.

"You think Matt killed himself," Rose realized, her voice softly sympathetic.

"I know he did," Jarrod said raggedly. "He tried it with drink, and when that wasn't fast enough for him...he used his gun."

"It wasn't your fault, Jarrod," Rose told him. "None of it." She fought to contain the tears that threatened to spill over. She knew that he blamed himself. Would always blame himself. And she knew that despite everything, despite how much he hated what she had done, and would never understand it, a part of Jarrod Barkley would always love Julia Saxon. Her eyes had adjusted to the absence of light and she could make out his aristocratic profile.

"It's late," Jarrod observed tiredly. "You should get to bed." Rose stood. "What you said to Julia, about her being a nurse...what prompted you to ask that?" he queried curiously.

"I...I don't really know," Rose admitted. "For a moment, I could almost see her wearing something that looked like a nurse's uniform. It's silly, I know." Gooseflesh rose on her arms at the pronouncement, and Rose rubbed her hands over the sleeves of her dressing gown.

"Good night, Rose," Jarrod concluded.

She bid him good night in return, then left him sitting in the blackness.

Continued…