Those Who Know Me True

Chapters 21-30

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.

This story includes adult situations and sensitive scenes that might be too realistic for some readers.

Chapter 21

Thankfully, Jarrod only had to remain in San Francisco for four days. In confidence, he told his assistant Mark Treymore that he was going after the Republican nomination for the Governor's race. And, that if he was successful, he would be devoting all of his time to the upcoming election. He trusted Mark implicitly with this information, knew that he was man of good character, otherwise Mark wouldn't even be working for him.

They discussed the situation with the offices there and in Stockton. If Mark needed additional help here, Jarrod would hire someone else. If business fell off, because clients balked when they learned that Jarrod wouldn't be overseeing their business personally, Mark would still receive his full pay. And if things got really bad, Mark could relocate temporarily to Stockton where local loyalty to Jarrod would likely keep the office afloat. If, after everything had played out, and Jarrod actually did win the governorship, then he would look into getting a partner. Perhaps Mark Treymore himself, if Mark had the finances to buy into the practice at that time, and if he had the inclination, and if had proven himself capable of running the office on his own.

Jarrod dealt with the other matters that had called him to San Francisco, wrapping up just about everything that he could, letting some of his more prominent, influential clients know that he would be going on a hiatus. Some of them seemed to have an idea about just what that hiatus might entail, also being prominent members of the Republican party, but didn't push Jarrod for details.

He went through all of the current files and cases that needed his personal attention, handing others off to Mark, spending long evenings in the office making sure that the other man was fully apprised of everything that he would need to know. Making sure that he had overlooked nothing. The caseload was not too crushing, fortunately Jarrod hadn't taken on any new commitments in the preceding couple of weeks.

On his last night in San Francisco, after Mark had gone home, Jarrod sat alone at his desk in the quiet office. He looked around the room, feeling an inexplicable sadness to know that he wouldn't be spending much time here for the next little while. Knowing that, in fact, if he was successful in his bid at the governorship, he would be away from this office, and the one in Stockton, for the duration of the term.

It was true, that in the last several months, since the trial in Stockton last spring of Davey Keppel, Jarrod hadn't found the same satisfaction in his work. Everything he had done had seemed to take away another piece of him. Until he felt that he'd had nothing left. Catherine had said not to let Davey and Lynn Keppel steal his joy in his work. But that was exactly what had happened. It had happened with those bullets that Davey Keppel had fired and the lives he had taken. Because of Jarrod's mistake. Catherine had said that the blood wasn't on his hands.

Wasn't it though? No one, none of them, saw past the mask that he wore, to the man who lived underneath. A man who hid the secrets of a dark and selfish soul. Whose arrogance and personal need caused the loss of innocent lives. They all thought that he was so good. 'Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages, the heroic of all ages, Whose deeds crowd History's pages and Time's great volume make.' How many of those noble and revered individuals had hidden secrets akin to his?

Jarrod had wired home his final night. One telegram to the family, one to Catherine. To let them know he was coming home the following day. To tell Mother and the others that he would be inviting a young woman to dine with them. A Miss Catherine Vaillancourt. To Catherine he had expressed his desire that she join his family for dinner the next day, she and Cadence.

He wanted Catherine to meet his family, to see who he was and where he came from. Before he took her on a special walk that might change everything between them. Before he told her about Beth. Everything, including the feelings that he could no longer deny.

How he missed Catherine, and little Cady too. How he longed to hear the sound of Catherine's sultry voice. Longed to look into her dark eyes. Longed to twine her dark hair around his fingers and to kiss her burgundy lips and feel her respond to him with passion. He couldn't wait to see her again. Jarrod missed her with an actual physical ache that was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. She was nothing that he was supposed to seek in a woman. But she was everything that Jarrod Barkley wanted.

Chapter 22

Catherine climbed down from the buggy, aided by Jarrod's firm grip, looking up at the impressive, white mansion, feeling overwhelmed. She had been stunned to receive his telegram, inviting she and Cady to dinner upon his return...at his home. Jarrod reached up for Cady next, taking her in his arms, hugging her to him for a moment before setting her on the ground. How good it was to see them again.

He hadn't had a chance to see Catherine before he had left for San Francisco so unexpectedly, but he had left her a brief letter. When she had seen him this afternoon, had responded with sympathetic indignation to his still bruised eye, she had assumed that it had happened in San Francisco. Jarrod had done nothing to allay that assumption. He didn't want Catherine to know that the fight had happened right here in Stockton...that it had had anything to do with her. He felt fiercely protective of both she and Cady, wanting to cocoon them from the ugliness of the world.

Now, he was eager to introduce them to his family. It felt like it was another lifetime ago that he had brought Patricia Vandermeer home. As though it had been a different Jarrod Barkley. He dared to put his hand around Catherine's waist, as he guided them through the door and into the house.

Catherine looked around at the beautiful entry, at the wide curving staircase that swirled before them, and the parlour area that extended to the left. The walls were papered in a rich gold, with a tone on tone design. Sconces with burnt orange glass shades illuminated the areas. A thick, gold carpet ran up the length and breadth of the staircase. Catherine tried to picture Jarrod sliding down the banister, as she and her cousins had done at her Uncle Moise's house. He had been a doctor, and his home in Red River had been grand, but nothing like this. She wondered if Jarrod had been a carefree child, if he had given in to youthful whims and flights of fancy. She wasn't sure.

Occasional tables were draped with green damask, and fringed with thick, gold cording. Matching drapes hung at the parlour window, and on the opening between the entry and an area to the right. A chair and chesterfield, upholstered in a cream fabric, welcomed visitors to sit. One wall was a built-in bookcase, the spines of leather bound volumes visible behind the leaded glass doors. A fire burned a welcome in the hearth. It was a stunning home, Catherine thought admiringly.

"Anyone home?" Jarrod called out, his deep voice echoing through the entry.

"Jarrod!" Victoria's voice came from down the hall. She hurried through the draped doorway on the right, coming forward to greet her son and his guest. Victoria halted, unable to hide her surprise. Not only was Catherine Vaillancourt an Indian woman, she had a small child, undoubtedly her daughter, with her. It took only a second for Victoria to compose herself. It didn't matter to her in the slightest who Jarrod chose to spend his time with, as long as he was happy. But she was surprised. "Miss Vaillancourt, so nice to meet you," Victoria said, moving forward, extending her hand, conscious of how very tall the young woman was.

Catherine took it, smiling shyly. She had noted Jarrod's mother's brief disconcertion, and gathered that he hadn't told them about her heritage at all. There had been nothing negative in the regal, silver-haired woman's reaction though. Naturally, Catherine thought, she would be caught off guard, if her son had not prepared her. "Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Barkley," Catherine replied.

"And this is her daughter, Cadence," Jarrod introduced, smiling fondly at the child.

"Cadence...what a beautiful, unusual name," Victoria murmured. "For a beautiful little girl," she smiled. And the child was beautiful, with her golden skin and her big blue eyes. Her long, wavy dark hair that was tied back with a yellow ribbon.

Victoria told them that Audra, Heath and Annabelle were waiting in the dining room already, and that Nick was upstairs washing up and changing clothes. She led them through to the other room, where a long, wooden table was laid out resplendently. A tall, blond-haired man stood next to a sideboard, pouring wine into crystal goblets with ruby-coloured rims. A stunning young blonde woman with eyes of blue that were identical to Jarrod's, sat at the table. Across from her, sat a pretty woman whose hair was a lovely mix of reddish brown, and whose eyes were a warm hazel.

Catherine noted that their reactions were all fairly similar to Mrs. Barkley's. Surprised, but with no animosity. Catherine wasn't sure if she wanted to hug Jarrod for not telling them that she was Metis, or if she wanted to kick him. Perhaps he had wanted to get their honest reactions, or perhaps he had just not considered it an issue. For Jarrod to be so tolerant of those who were different, Catherine knew, he must come from a family who had taught him those views.

Introductions were made again. Cady pressed close to her mother, feeling shy at meeting so many new people and at being in such wondrous surroundings. The dining room was beautifully decorated as well, Catherine saw. Panelled walls were wood covered on the lower section, painted a cream-colour on the upper portion, with cream-coloured wallpaper gracing the panels. Additional sconces, identical to the ones in the front hall and parlour, cast light from the walls. Thick, oriental rugs covered the gleaming hardwood floor. There was a fireplace in this room as well, and it too had a small fire going.

A black man, wearing a crisp, white servant's jacket, came in to let the Barkley's know that dinner was ready anytime they wanted to eat. Jarrod introduced Catherine and Cadence to Silas, whom he had spoken of before with fond affection. Then he seated them each. Cadence next to Audra, and Catherine beside Cadence, to the left of the head of the table where Jarrod would be sitting.

"Heath, can you please go see what's keeping Nick?" Victoria asked.

Heath excused himself, bounding up the stairs to go locate his brother. He was about to knock on Nick's bedroom door, when Nick sauntered out. He looked uncomfortable in the navy blue suit that he wore, fiddling with the black string tie. Heath didn't feel any more comfortable in his tan-coloured jacket and pants.

"You're holdin' up dinner," Heath urged him.

"Say, are Jarrod and his Miss Vaillancourt here yet?" Nick asked conspiratorially.

"Yep," Heath said quietly, walking down the hall and towards the stairs.

"So, what's she like?" Nick grinned at his younger brother. "Beautiful?" he asked, jabbing Heath in the ribs with his elbow.

Heath considered this for a moment. "Not in the way you'd be expectin'," he told Nick.

Nick laughed. "Well, I can't wait to see who this Catherine Vaillancourt is," he insisted. "If Jarrod traded in that gorgeous Patricia Vandermeer for her, she's gotta be a real looker!" He winked at Heath, and Heath just shrugged. Then they hurried down to dinner.

Nick walked into the room, and upon seeing Catherine and Cadence, his jaw dropped open. He remained somewhat flustered as Jarrod made the introductions, but soon regained his composure. "Excuse me for being late," he said in a gravelly voice. "Heath and I have been out on the range all week gathering up steers to take to market, and I had some trail dust to scrub away. Some of us have to work for a living, unlike Big Brother here, whose job consists of pushing the odd paper around his desk, and then spending the rest of his time at business luncheons and the opera." Nick Barkley smiled fondly at Jarrod, his grin lopsided, his dark eyes full of teasing affection.

Catherine found the conversation stilted at first. She felt shy, wanting to make a good impression on Jarrod's family, but finding it hard to open up. She felt intuitively that they were all good and decent people. And she believed that they had the utmost respect for, and pride in Jarrod. Catherine could see that with the symbolic taking of his late father's chair, Jarrod had also assumed a not clearly defined patriarchal role within the family. Yet more responsibility that had either been surreptitiously shifted onto his shoulders, or which he had willingly assumed. Catherine could feel the love that flowed between the members of the Barkley clan, and knew that they were a tight knit family.

She noted that they were each as Jarrod had described them for she and Cady, both in appearance and character. Beautiful, pampered Audra with her soft, gentle ways...the protected little sister. Audra was especially sweet to Cady. It was obvious that she really liked children, that she was good with them. Catherine remembered that Jarrod had said his sister did a lot of work at the orphanage outside of town.

Heath...fair-haired, quiet, but with an inner depth and blue eyes that reflected sensitivity. Hopelessly and endearingly in love with his wife. Annabelle...pretty and bright, with a quiet watchfulness and an understanding of people, their moods and emotions.

Nick...loud, brash, but clearly loyal and caring...a hard-worker who had made the success of the ranch and the happiness of the people who lived there, his number one priority. He might not ever be able to recite a stanza of poetry, but he could recite the bloodlines of his best bulls and stallions.

Victoria...gracious and wise, still a support system for her adult children without smothering them. Beautiful, with her soft, silvered hair, ageless unlined cheeks and dark eyes. A woman who had come out to California with nothing but love, and helped to found a dynasty.

Gradually, first the others, then finally Catherine, began to relax. At Jarrod's urging, she told the story of her people, the Metis of Canada. She described her childhood, a condensed version of some of the same things she had shared with Jarrod. Briefly, she mentioned that she had lost her parents tragically, without going into detail. She didn't say anything about the mission, or her daughter Cadence's birth, only that the two of them had been moving around California for a few years now.

"How long have you been widowed?" Audra asked sympathetically, when the remains of the roast beef dinner had been cleared away, and while Silas was bringing out the dessert.

Catherine's cheeks flamed, and she stared down at her plate. She wasn't ashamed of her beautiful Cadence, she truly wasn't. But she was ashamed of what had happened to her. What that man had done.

"Catherine has never been married," Jarrod said easily. He reached under the table to squeeze her hand, to let her know that everything was all right. That she had nothing to be ashamed about.

"Oh...I...oh...I'm so sorry..." Audra stammered, blushing, her blue eyes darting around the table, bright with confusion, coming finally to rest on Catherine. They begged her forgiveness.

"There's no need," Catherine told her softly.

Jarrod interjected then, turning the talk to more mundane things...the price that they were expecting for their beef, how the walnut harvest was going, what Nick thought of the wines they had bottled in their vineyards that year. His gaze returned often to Catherine, his smile gentle and encouraging. Letting her know that she was doing just fine.

After dinner, Jarrod announced that he would like to take Catherine on a brief tour of the ranch. Audra volunteered to keep Cadence with her, saying that she would show her the house, and take her out to the stables to see Blossom and the puppies. Catherine accepted her kind offer, looking forward to being alone with Jarrod, and was happy to see that Cady skipped off holding Audra's hand, not in the least bit shy. Jarrod ran up to his room for a moment, then hurried back down, telling Catherine that he was ready to go.

Later, in the billiards room, where Victoria, Heath, Annabelle and Nick had gathered, there was a reflective silence. Finally, Nick spoke out. "Okay, is no one else going to say it? What the hell is Jarrod thinking?!" he thundered.

"Nick..." Heath said quietly.

"No, really. I mean, let me know if I was imaging it or not, but I could have sworn that Jarrod said he was going to be running for governor. Did I hear that right? 'Cause if I didn't, then someone knock me upside the head, because I'm sure that's what he said."

"Yes, Nick," Victoria said softly. "That's what he said."

"Okay, and correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Catherine an Indian woman?" Nick said incredulously. "Not that it matters to any of us. Personally, I thought she seemed real nice, but I can't help but think that some of the bigoted voters of this state might have an objection to their white governor keeping company with an Indian." Nick shook his head, "And then there's the child, her being..." his voice trailed off. The room was completely quietly.

"Being illegitimate?" Heath prompted.

"Aw, Heath, you know I didn't mean it like that...." Nick sputtered.

"Yeah, ya did," Heath said sadly. "But it's nothin' that I didn't think myself when we found out in there. Like you said, not that it matters one whit to any of us...but for Jarrod...for an election..." Heath let the thought hang in the air. And hated himself for knowing that what Nick had said had validity. Heath remembered the stares and the whispers the last time he'd been in town. Thinking that it had had something to do with him. He wondered now if it had really had something to do with Jarrod and Catherine Vaillancourt.

"Anyhow," Nick continued, "I just don't get it. Hasn't any of this occurred to Jarrod?"

Victoria stood looking into the fire, recalling the evening that Jarrod had told them that he was inviting Catherine Vandermeer for a visit to the ranch. He had meant Patricia, of course, but he had said Catherine. Had been thinking of her even then, even as he was arranging for Patricia to come to Stockton. She recalled the night she had waited up for Jarrod in the parlour, the day that Patricia had left, when she had been worried about him. She recalled the dreamy look on his face as he'd come through the door. The weight that had seemed to be lifted from his shoulders.

"I don't know if any of this has occurred to Jarrod or not," Victoria said finally. "But it isn't our place to say anything." Surely, Jarrod would soon realize that he couldn't continue down both of the paths that drew him now. And no matter which path he chose, she was afraid that giving up the other would break his heart. She wanted to allow him to live this dream as long as he was able. "None of us is going to say a single thing, do you understand me?" She turned to face the others, drawing herself to her full height, her expression daring anyone to say another word on the matter, to defy her.

Heath looked away, shrugging his shoulders. Nick looked hurt. "If it'd help Jarrod any, I'd take on each and every voter in the state, who got it into his head to give Jarrod any grief over this," Nick mumbled. "I just don't want to see him get hurt, is all," Nick explained gruffly, running his fingers through his dark hair.

Victoria came to him, laying a hand on his arm. "I know, Nick," she told him understandingly. "None of us do. But I think Jarrod may be at a crossroads, and only he can know where he really wants to go. None of us can show him the way, or help him get there. All we can do is be here for him, if...when he needs us."

Chapter 23

Jarrod and Catherine strolled away from the house, past the stables where Catherine could hear Cady inside with Audra, giggling. "I'll show you the puppies later," Jarrod smiled at her. They walked shoulder to shoulder, their bodies not quite touching. Jarrod wanted to take her hand, but he didn't. Not yet.

Jarrod had been so proud of Catherine at dinner. He deliberately hadn't mentioned anything to the family about Catherine being Metis. Or about Cadence. He hadn't wanted it to colour their perceptions of her. He had wanted them to meet her with her no preconceptions, to see her as he had seen her those first few times. To see who she really was...why he adored her so. She had been her true self with them as well, no games, no pretense. Just a beautiful, proud, graceful, remarkable woman. He believed that they had liked her, and she them.

A dark shadow passed over Jarrod's face, as they walked away from the house and outbuildings, and along a narrow path to the rear. The imposing house receded in the distance behind them, though still visible...still a marker for their bearings. The little path wound next to the peach orchards, then veered off to the left, guiding them to a grassy knoll bordered by a low, black, wrought iron fence. Jarrod felt his heart begin to pound in his chest.

It was a beautiful evening. The sun was just beginning it's descent from the deep blue expanse of the sky. Gold, copper and red streaks shot out across the land, tinting the undersides of the impossibly low clouds. An eagle circled overheard, giving it's forlorn cry, and Jarrod thought of the feather that he had at home, tucked in his bureau drawer. He swallowed hard, dreading what was to come.

Catherine could sense Jarrod's unease. Underneath his obvious joy at seeing them when he had picked up she and Cady that afternoon, she had sensed a tension. She had thought at first that it was because he was nervous about taking them to meet his family. He had relaxed visibly during dinner, but now seemed tightly coiled and withdrawn again. There was an ultimate purpose to their walk, Catherine discerned.

Jarrod opened the little gate and led Catherine through. It was a graveyard, she saw now, a family plot. There were only a couple of markers though, towards the far end, under the watchful, protective shade of a grove of cypress trees. Jarrod took her hand finally, his grasp warm and strong, as he pulled Catherine towards the first marker. He cleared his throat, gazing at the well-tended site. From the vantage of this knoll they could look around and survey the orchards to the east, a stream off to the north, and fenced pasture to the west. The solid outline of the big, white house was an indomitable presence to the south. This was an ideal location to gaze out on the Barkley holdings.

"This is my father's grave...Thomas Barkley," Jarrod said quietly, kneeling to touch the marker. He had told Catherine before about the murder...about the anger and loss that he, his mother and siblings had felt. About the disbelief that this vibrant, caring, principled man had been taken from them.

Catherine could relate to his pain. She reached out and laid her hand on his shoulder, gently. "It sounds as though he was a remarkable man," she told him softly. "I can imagine how very much you miss him."

Jarrod laid a hand over the one on his shoulder. "Yes, I'm sure you can. It's not easy to lose a parent, especially so violently, and you have been through something similar. Worse, I'd expect, because of your age, and because you lost both parents at the same time."

"I idolized my father," Jarrod went. "I can't tell you how surprised I was...how surprised we all were...when a couple of years after his death, a surly young man showed up at the ranch, proud and defiant, claiming to be my father's son. None of us had ever seen him before. Didn't even know that he existed. We didn't believe him at first. Nick and I were furious, at the pain this caused my mother...these claims that my father had been unfaithful, that he'd had a child by another woman.

"There was something about that young man though. Something...familiar. Something that made us check out his wild claims, ostensibly to prove that they had no validity. We discovered that there had indeed been a young woman...in a town called Strawberry. Leah Thomson. She had died recently, and this angry young man had just learned of his paternity. Had just learned that our father, my mother's husband, Thomas Barkley...was his father. That his real name should have been Heath Barkley."

Catherine gasped, totally caught off guard at this revelation. Jarrod went on to finish the story of how Heath had come to be part of their family. Had left behind his anger and bitterness and pain, and found his place...found a home and a family. Handsome, gentle Heath, with his open blue-eyed gaze, and his sandy-blond hair and quiet demeanour. A half-brother! Her eyes teared up, as she realized what this meant. Jarrod's younger brother was...illegitimate...was a bastard, born out of wedlock. Just like her sweet Cadence. And it didn't matter to the Barkley's at all. They accepted him as one of their own...he was one of their own...and they made no distinctions.

Catherine had seen the way Victoria Barkley had looked at Heath. The love and pride that shone in her dark eyes. She loved him as one of her own, even if he wasn't the child of her womb. Catherine had seen the devotion in her eyes when she had talked of her grandson, Chase. She had heard Heath call Victoria Barkley 'Mother'. And Jarrod had never referred to Heath as anything but his brother, in all of the tales he had told her so far. It didn't matter to him, to any of them, the circumstances of Heath Barkley's birth. All that mattered was that he was part of them, and they loved him.

"I just wanted you to know that," Jarrod told her quietly. "We don't talk about it very often, because it just isn't important. It doesn't matter how Heath came to be part of us, only that he is, and that every day we thank God for that. But I wanted you to know what Heath's story was. Because...because of Cady. So you would know that none of us judge her...or you." Catherine nodded, as a tear slid down her cheek.

He rose then, reaching to capture one of Catherine's hands in his again. Jarrod sighed heavily, his eyes growing clouded. "I need to show you something," he said thickly.

She walked with him a short distance to another well-tended grave. A pristine, white stone marker proclaimed the loss of one who had died far too young. 'Elizabeth Jane Barkley' Catherine read. 'Beloved wife of Jarrod'. Her heart caught in her throat. She read the date on the marker. It had been three years since the young woman's death. Catherine wondered automatically if she had died in childbirth, which was the most common way for a young woman to die. She remembered the wistfulness that had overcome Jarrod when he had spoken to Cadence of not having any children. Catherine's heart went out to him.

"Beth was my wife," Jarrod said huskily. He crouched down on his haunches, his back to Catherine, as he traced over the writing that was carved in the stone. Slowly, he told her the story of Beth. To do that, he said, he'd have to tell her about another man first.

He explained to Catherine about Cass Hyatt, the man that he had prosecuted and had sent to prison, who had vowed revenge on his release. How a month before Jarrod had met and married Beth, Hyatt had finished his term of incarceration, and returned to Stockton. Jarrod had remembered the threats the man had made several years earlier, but hadn't taken them seriously. Men made such threats towards him all of the time, and nothing ever came of it. Jarrod had begun to feel that his safety was immutable. That no one would or could ever harm him. And he hadn't taken those threats seriously, even when he had seen Cass Hyatt slinking around town. Had felt his cold, calculating gaze.

He told Catherine about meeting Beth on a train to Colorado. About being instantly attracted to her, captivated by her warmth and grace. How he had been looking for so long for someone to share his life with, how desperately he wanted to experience the next phase. Marriage. Children. How ideally suited Beth had seemed to him. Exactly the sort of woman that everyone had always predicted he would one day find.

When the train had stopped in Colorado, and Beth had been about to disembark, they had said their reluctant farewells. Jarrod was journeying on, but Beth was returning to her family home. Jarrod had taken Beth into his arms, had promised to be in touch with her soon. Had helped her with her bags as she left the train. He told Catherine that he had made an impulsive decision to get off the train there with her.

It had been a whirlwind romance, Jarrod reminisced, his back still to Catherine, his voice thick with memory and emotion. He couldn't stay in Denver indefinitely. He had to return to California, to his family and his work there. But he didn't want to part from Beth. Knowing that she was so far away. That it would be so difficult to maintain any sort of relationship across so many miles. And she made it clear that she didn't want to be parted from him, either.

And so, impulsively, Jarrod had asked Beth to marry to him, and she had agreed. They found a judge who performed the ceremony. How lovely she had looked, in her blue dress, her honey-coloured hair swept up under her fashionable little hat. He had bought for her a delicate, gold, filigreed wedding band, and she had given him a plain, broad, gold band.

They had gone together to tell her parents that they were man and wife now. Her mother had cried, her father had thundered, demanding to know what the rush had been, looking pointedly at Beth's flat abdomen, and then glaring at Jarrod. At last, he had left them alone together, going back to his hotel, while Beth had spoken to her parents. Calmed them down. Explained that she was in love with Jarrod Barkley, and he with her. When Jarrod and Beth were ready to leave the next day, both her mother and father, as well as her two younger sisters, had come to the train station to bid them a tearful farewell, making Jarrod promise to bring Beth back to Colorado soon.

"You take damned good care of her, you hear, Son?" her father had said to Jarrod as he'd shaken his hand. The older man's eyes had misted over. His eldest daughter was his unconcealed favourite...his pride and joy. It tore at his heart to watch her leave now with a man who was still a virtual stranger to them all...but who was her husband.

They had gone on to California, to Stockton. Blissfully aware only of one another, of their good fortune. Floating on the wings of newlyweds. Jarrod had brought her out to the ranch and introduced her to his family for the first time...as his wife. They had all adored her, as he had known they would. Had all approved of his choice.

Jarrod had taken Beth on a tour of the ranch, stopping at one of his favourite spots overlooking the river. They had sat together, talking, dreaming about their future. "She wanted a house with no roof," Jarrod told Catherine brokenly. "So that she could always see the sky."

Catherine's heart ached, with jealousy of this woman she would never meet, and with pain for Jarrod's loss. She wondered sadly if the spot by the river was the same one that he had taken her to. She wanted to touch Jarrod, to connect with him in some way. But she feel the distance that enveloped him, lost in his thoughts of his past. Lost in thoughts of Beth.

"I heard the shot ring out," Jarrod said now, his voice detached. "I knew what it was, but I refused to believe it. It echoed across the valley, that single gunblast. She slumped in my arms, and I knew she was dead. One minute, she was laughing, talking to me about the house we would build, and the dreams she had. And the next minute, all of the life had gone out of her, the blood staining the bodice of her dress. I rocked her in my arms, screaming for help. Shouting my rage to the heavens like a mad man."

'Oh dear, God', Catherine thought. Poor Jarrod. She imagined his horror as he'd sat there, his new bride in his arms, murdered. It was one thing to lose a parent. Always, at the back of one's mind is the idea that one day...some day in the distant future...nature will take it's inevitable course and one generation will leave the earth as a new one takes it's place. But to lose a spouse...especially such a young one, to such a senseless act of violence...it was unimagineable. She wanted to comfort Jarrod, but she sensed that he just needed to talk. She didn't even know if he still remembered that she was there, so lost was he in thought as he poured out his pain and loss.

He told her how he been consumed with the need for revenge. How he had known that it was Cass Hyatt who had killed Beth, though he figured the bullet had been meant for him. How he wished that it had found him instead. He told Catherine of his pursuit of Hyatt. How, for the first time in his life, he had set aside all that he believed in...the letter and spirit of the law...and had taken matters into his own hands. He was going to kill Cass Hyatt if it was his last act on earth.

He had tracked Hyatt down to a small town, where he was incarcerated in the local jail on petty charges, waiting for the circuit court judge who was due to arrive within thirty days. Jarrod went on with his tale, his voice distant. He admitted that he had paid the local sheriff to release Hyatt from his cell, to send him out into the street so that Jarrod could finally face Beth's killer. Hyatt had screamed over and over that he didn't do it, that he hadn't fired the bullet that had put sweet, gentle Beth in her grave.

Before he could take that final step, and kill Cass Hyatt, Nick and Heath had found Jarrod, had intervened. They implored him to let the law handle things. They tried to reason with him that if he did this thing, if he killed Hyatt without benefit of a trial, he would not only lose his law license, he could lose his freedom. And, more importantly, his soul. None of it had mattered to him though, Jarrod said. All that he had wanted was to kill Hyatt. Finally, the unarmed Hyatt, cowering in the street, had admitted that yes, he had shot Beth. He begged the local sheriff to arrest him, to protect him.

"I raised my gun," Jarrod whispered hoarsely. "I had him in my sights. And I was prepared to pull that trigger, to shoot down an unarmed man in cold blood. Nothing mattered to me more than putting that man into a cold, dark grave himself. And then Nick stepped between us. He put his own body between Hyatt and I, knowing that I was out of my mind. Knowing what I planned to do. Not because he gave a damn about a scumbag like Cass Hyatt and whether he lived or died...but because he knew that once I took that final step...once I went over that edge...there would be no turning back. And the Jarrod Barkley that he knew, would be gone forever." Jarrod's voice broke and Catherine thought that he might be crying. "Nick didn't risk his own life to save Cass Hyatt's life that day. He risked it to save my soul." Jarrod bent his head, as shudders passed through him, shaking his broad shoulders.

"I clawed my way out of that black pit, eventually. Cass Hyatt was convicted of Beth's murder. He was sent back to prison, this time with a life sentence. He died there this spring, in a fight with another prisoner. Stabbed with a makeshift shiv. And I went back to my life, and my wife lies here in her grave," he ended.

Catherine's tears were warm on her cheeks. How much he must have loved that woman...his Beth. How tragic that she was taken from him that way. What hell he must have gone through...must still be going through whenever he visited her grave. How it must eat at his soul, on those long, lonely hours of the night with Beth's body no longer curled up next to his, and just the memory of her head on his pillow. What a special love, an incredible passion they must have shared.

She thought that she could understand why Jarrod was telling her this. So that she would know where his heart truly lie. Here beneath the packed earth, with the woman who was his soul. So that she would know that whatever he had to give her, it would never be his whole heart. Catherine ached with the loss...ached for what could never be. Ached to know that she love she longed for so desperately had already been given to another woman.

She knelt beside him then, reaching to smooth his black hair, trying to offer him comfort with her touch. "I am so truly, truly sorry, Jarrod, for the loss that you have suffered. Sorry beyond words." Her mind cast about for some bit of poetry that might comfort him, or let him understand, but her mind was still in the grip of the terrible, tragic tale he had spun, and her memory failed her. "I think I understand what you want to say. How very much you loved her and miss her to this day..."

Jarrod shifted his body then, grabbing Catherine's forearms in each of his hands. His eyes were wild and dark, his face pale. "You don't understand," he said, shaking her. "You can't! No one will ever understand!"

Chapter 24

Jarrod stared in horror at the hands that gripped Catherine's forearms...as though they were the hands of a stranger. His wild eyes looked to her, sickly expecting to see fear, but seeing only concern, and sadness. Choking back a sob, he released her, sitting back, legs bent in front of him, cradling his dark head in his hands.

Catherine was not afraid of him. She did not fear for her safety. Jarrod hadn't hurt her with his insistent shaking. But she was afraid for Jarrod, for the anguish on his face that emanated from the very depths of his soul. Such incredible love he had felt for that woman. Beth. Catherine understood that kind of love...now.

She reached for him, wrapping her arms around him, trying to soothe him. She didn't care if he had already given his heart away. Whatever he could find left in him to share...she would take. It didn't matter to her if he could never feel about her as he did about his lost Beth...as Catherine felt about him. She just couldn't stand to see him this way, the terrible pain of wounds that were still so raw. Wounds which would probably never heal. "Oh Jarrod," she murmured, rocking her kneeling body against him. Kissing the top of his head. She was crying now, unable to bear the thought of Jarrod adrift alone in such a black and desolate place. "How you must love her still..."

He lifted his head then. His black hair was tousled. His face was calmer now, though pale. The angry green and black bruise around his left eye stood out. Battered not only on the outside, Catherine thought, but on the inside as well. What a different Jarrod Barkley this was, from the man she had first met in his office that day.

"Love her......?" Jarrod whispered, his voice trailing off. His eyes sought hers, his darkened with emotion, hers bright with empathy. "You don't understand....I didn't even know her..." He bowed his head in shame, then raised it again. The time had come to admit what he had done. "I took that gentle young woman from the safe and loving arms of people who cared for her. I vowed to love and protect her. I brought her here, and then I let that animal kill her. We barely knew one another," he continued, his voice still low. "I was tired...tired of searching for that perfect soulmate...tired of being alone, of facing the nights by myself...tired of watching children scampering through the streets of town and longing for my own..."

Catherine gave a soft gasp as a new understanding dawned.

"Beth seemed perfect...exactly what I knew everyone would expect as the wife of Jarrod Barkley. Cultured. Refined. From a good family. Well-read. Gentle. Meek and unopinionated. Beautiful. Everything that I was supposed to want in a woman. She didn't make me think too deeply, but she made me laugh. She was desireable.

"When I watched her get off the train, I knew it was now or never. I couldn't keep searching. I was tired of it, the whole rigamorale of courting. I had a flourishing law career and I just didn't have time, for one thing. I was always travelling. And they were all the same. Different women in different towns, but they were all cut from the same cloth, or so it seemed. Raised and taught to be good wives to important men." He sighed.

"I asked myself what the point was, in continuing to play this same game, over and over and over. And then always backing out at the last moment, unable or unwilling to take that final leap...to make that ultimate commitment. What the hell was I waiting for? Did I want to just continue to watch life from the outside? To never know the joy of my baby's cry? To never have the privilege of teaching my son to ride a horse? To never wake up in the morning and feel beside me the form of someone warm, someone who cared about me?"

Catherine couldn't believe what she was hearing. Was afraid to make too hasty an interpretation of what Jarrod was telling her now. She saw the pain recede from his eyes, only to be replaced by guilt.

"So, when I watched Beth get off that train, it was as though I was watching my last chance at the life that I wanted so badly, go with her. And, I grabbed my bags, and I got off the train there too." Jarrod closed his eyes, running his hands over his face, wincing as he touched the sensitive area above his left cheek.

He opened his eyes again, reaching over to take one of Catherine's hands in his own. Holding it tightly. "I think that I was caught up in the dream, the dream of finally attaining what I thought I was supposed to have been searching for. Beth was just perfect, exactly what Mother and the others would expect for me. They would surely approve, be satisfied with this choice. I wouldn't let them down, if I had someone like Beth. And if I felt those old niggling doubts again...well, I'd just bury them down deep inside where Beth would never see them.

"Our courtship was fast, frenzied. We attended the theatre, the opera, went to dinner and for carriage rides in the park. We talked for hours...but we never really shared anything about ourselves. When she died in my arms, she died never knowing who I was truly was. And I don't even know the woman who is buried in the Barkley cemetery."

Jarrod's voice grew more strident then, the colour returned to his cheeks. "I knew that Cass Hyatt was out there, that he might be gunning for me, yet I believed that I was so damned untouchable, that I had nothing to worry about! I was Jarrod Barkley, spending my honeymoon on the ranch with the girl I had taken for my bride. When I realized what had happened...that Beth was dead...that Hyatt had killed her....I knew that it was my fault! That I'd had no right to bring her here with me...when I didn't even really know her, couldn't possibly truly love her! I had failed in the responsibility that I had taken on too lightly! To protect her and keep her safe!"

He shook his head wildly. "It wasn't love or grief that made me seek out Cass Hyatt. It was guilt and shame! Anger at having let him best me! Guilt that Beth lay dead now, never having had the chance to truly know love! I had always worked my whole life to help people, to do what was right, what was expected, to put their needs before mine! And this time I had been so incredibly selfish, so self-centred....and I led poor Beth like a lamb to slaughter, setting her up where that animal could hurt her!

"And all the while, it wasn't even her that I cared about, just my own selfishness! And it wasn't even her death that I was trying to avenge...I was trying to blot out the knowledge of what I had done! My ultimate horror born of conceit and arrogance! It wasn't Cass Hyatt I was trying to kill, or his evil that I was trying to right...the retribution I sought was against the presumptive egomania of my own soul! At the knowledge that I had failed! That I wasn't the man that everyone wanted and needed me to be! That's what I raged against...that hollow knowing...that's what I sought to decimate! So that even in the end, as it had been in the beginning...it wasn't about Beth...it was about me!"

"They were all so sympathetic, so sorrowed at my grief. 'How he must have loved her', they all said. Poor, noble, caring Jarrod. My family, so wounded by my tragic loss. Beth's family came to see me afterwards. Her mother hugged me, crying. She said that she had never seen her daughter so happy as the night she told them about our marriage. During the talk they had had back in Colorado, after I'd left to go back to the hotel. She said she could rest easy...knowing how very much Beth had been loved."

Jarrod gave a strangled cry then, a guttural sound that welled up from inside him. "Do you see now? Do you understand? That's the real Jarrod Barkley. This selfish, pitiful creature. Who pretends he is the perfect being that everyone wants him to be...and who allows the world to think that he is still mourning a woman whose face he can't even recall!"

Catherine was stunned by Jarrod's words. She couldn't imagine which was the worse fate...loving and grieving a woman who had been your whole world...or suffering with the belief that caught in the throes of your own human needs you were responsible for the death of another, and then carrying that guilt around with you, having it eat away at you.

Jarrod reached into his shirt pocket, and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. It was very wrinkled, as though it had been crumpled up and thrown out, then retrieved from the trash. He extended it towards Catherine, his eyes miserable. "This is what I thought was in my briefcase when you brought it back to me that first day," he began. He sounded exhausted. Drained. "When you spoke of my 'poetic soul'. This piece that I had recently composed, while trying to outrun my demons. This is what I couldn't bear the thought of you or anyone else seeing. Read it, and then reflect on the truths that you know now, and see if you still think that I'm worthy of you."

With trembling hands, Catherine took the piece of paper. She had sensed that there had been more to his explanation of his behaviour in his office that first day. She had sensed that there had been something that he hadn't wanted her to see...to know. And now, that closely guarded secret, which penultimately had been responsible for everything that had happened between them since, was about to be his secret no more.

Catherine folded it open, and began to read.

What fair and modest outward form, hides an ugly heart within?
The face that's turned towards the world looks free from hideous sin.
But behind the gentle smiling eyes, lurks a man that no one knows,
Responsible for such suffering and pain...the cause of others' woes.

Bad decisions, fatal flaws, begin to crack his perfect shell.
Sounding in the distant night, he hears the death toll's knell.
Everywhere he turns, it seems, deceit goes deeper still.
He longs to break through evil's shroud, but he does not have the will.

Entrusted with the gentle care of those who needed him to be strong,
From fateful greed his narcissistic self brought to their lives much wrong.
He hides there in that lonely place, of dark and ethereal mists,
He cannot even put a face to the lips that he once kissed.

If only they could see beyond to the man he is inside,
Behind the cracked, imperfect mask, he'd no more have to hide.
But all their hopes and earthly dreams they've laid upon his head,
And before he'd ever let them down, he'd rather just be dead.

No one else, it would appear, sees the blood that stains his hands.
They look at him but what they view is a good and noble man.
He wants to tell them who he is, but he's afraid they won't believe.
They've fashioned him to be certain things and from that there's no reprieve.

Behind the gentle smiling eyes lies a man who holds no worth,
Who is just a shadow of the wonderful things that have been wished for him since birth.
They say that Lucifer will fight to control you, and he feels another battle begin.
What none of them knows is that there in their midsts...his devil dwells within.

And finally, Catherine understood him.

Chapter 25

Wordlessly, Catherine reached towards Jarrod. She cupped a hand on either side of his dear face, held his gaze for a moment, then leaned towards him. And just as he had done with her the week before, she brushed her lips ever so lightly across his.

Jarrod held his breath. When he searched Catherine's eyes, he did not see either the disappointment or the loathing that he had expected to see. Instead, he saw compassion...and something else that he was too afraid to identify.

Catherine drew her head back, though she continued to hold him, her palms gently sliding against his skin. She moistened her lips, then tilted her head slightly to the right, shifting her position on the ground, tucking her legs underneath her. Jarrod sat there, his long legs still bent in front of him, arms still resting across his knees. He looked so forlorn, so vulnerable, that it tore at her heart.

What could she say to him now to make him understand? "Sometimes," Catherine said at last, her voice soft and wistful, "I can't remember the exact tone and timbre of my father's voice. Or, I can't quite picture my mother's face...the subtle shading of her skin, the shape of her eyes and mouth. I forget how much grey Uncle Moise had in his hair, or who was taller, my cousin Juliette or my cousin Sabine." She paused. "That doesn't mean that I don't love them, or that I never really did. It means that sometimes our memory fails us. Sometimes, it twists our recollections, and sometimes it plays games with us...refusing us access to precious visions we should know in detail.

"The mind can be funny that way. The things it chooses to remember are often things we would rather forget." Her face clouded for a moment, thinking of memories she would rather not carry with her. "While other things that would give us warmth and sustain us, seem lost to us. Sometimes only for a time, until something else prompts us, and sometimes they are lost to us forever.

"But what is in our mind's eyes, is not necessarily the same as what is in our hearts. I loved my parents dearly. And when I tell Cady about them, I try to describe them, as they looked...but mostly, I want to give her a sense of who they were. I describe them as I hold them in my heart...not necessarily as I see them in my memories." She smiled then, as she thought about her parents for a moment. Then her face sobered. "You have convinced yourself that you didn't really care for Beth. Didn't know who she was. But when I listened to you speak of her...when you mentioned that she made you laugh...there was a warmth and a lightness in your eyes for a moment. You were picturing her in your heart, even if you could not see her in your mind. A young woman whose words and actions had pleased you...had gladdened your heart, at some point in the past.

"You say that her mother told you that her daughter was happy. Happier than she had ever seen her before. That Beth felt loved...believed she was loved. I don't know very much about things between a man and a woman. But I would think that if a daughter could communicate to her mother that she truly cared for a man, and was cared for in return...that she at least, would have to believe that, in her own heart.

"You held her in your arms, that final time. Only you were there with her, so only you can know. But tell me, Jarrod...was Beth unhappy at all? Did she see to regret your marriage? Was she a woman looking ahead to the future or one who seemed to wish she had clung to her past?" Catherine knew that she was taking a chance here, but she recalled 'the house with no roof', that Jarrod had spoken of. She hoped, perhaps, to help him see things in a different way.

Jarrod's voice was hoarse. "She...we were talking about the future. About the home we would have...and about our children..." Jarrod stared at Catherine...she was his beacon in the depths of his despair, and he could not look away from her, or he felt he would be lost.

"Then, in her final moments, do you not believe that Beth was truly happy...that she felt positive and excited...and that she felt that way...because of you?"

Jarrod's eyes welled with tears, wanting desperately to believe Catherine's words. He remembered now the scene by the river. The intimacy before the horror. The beauty of the day. The gentle devotion in Beth's eyes. Her sweet smile. Her laughter. Telling her how he had used to come to that very spot as a young boy, to read poetry. And then again as a young man, to write it. Sharing with Beth, some of who he was.

"Perhaps you didn't know her favourite colour, and she didn't know your favourite meal. But that doesn't mean that when she lay in your arms, she didn't have a sense of the man who is Jarrod Barkley. Or that she was no more than a stranger to you, and you to her. Or that, on some level, she hadn't already given you her heart...and claimed a piece of yours."

Catherine didn't like to contemplate another woman in Jarrod's arms, or the thought of him loving anyone else. But she just didn't see any way that the Jarrod Barkley that she had come to know, would have married a woman that he didn't have some sort of feelings for. There would have been lots of women in his life. There must have been something special about this one, for Jarrod to take her as his bride. Despite his claims of his own selfishness, of being tired of searching. "Perhaps, you did marry in haste. But I can't help but believe that there was some reason you chose this woman, and she you.

"That, with time, that tenuous bond between you would have deepened into something more."

"Blue." Jarrod said then, wonderingly, his voice no more than a whisper, his eyes shining with tears. "Beth's favourite colour was blue."

Catherine leaned against him, pulling his head to her breast. One arm went around his shoulders, the other hand smoothed his dark hair. "You didn't do anything terrible to Beth, Jarrod. She came here with you of her own volition, because she wanted to. And you are not responsible for her death. You cannot control the actions of other sentient beings. What Cass Hyatt did was a terrible thing. But the decision to do it was his, and his alone. Whether you could have predicted it or not, doesn't change the fact that the responsibility for Beth's death lies with him, and only him. No amount of love could have protected her from a man with such hate and ugliness in his soul, or shielded her from that fateful bullet."

They sat that way for a long while, while the sun dipped further below the horizon. The light was fading fast. Somewhere, the eagle cried again.

"When I first opened that book of poetry that you gave me," Catherine finally spoke again. "It fell open naturally to a certain page. The spine was creased there, there was a small smudge of ink on the bottom of the page. I knew that it was something that you had turned to, again and again. That it was a favourite of yours. I read it over and over...memorized it, because I felt that it was important. A key to who you are.

"I live for those who love me, whose hearts are kind and true,
For the heaven that smiles above me, and awaits my spirit, too;
For all human ties that bind me, for the task my God assigned me;
For the bright hopes yet to find me, and the good that I can do.

I live to learn their story who suffered for my sake;
To emulate their glory and follow in their wake:
Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages, the heroic of all ages,
Whose deeds crowd History's pages and Time's great volume make.

I live to hold communion with all that is divine,
To feel there is a union, 'twixt Nature's heart and mine;
To profit by affliction, reap truth from fields of fiction,
Grow wiser from conviction, and fulfill God's grand design.

I live to hail the season, by gifted ones foretold,
When man shall live by reason, and not alone by gold;
When man to man united, and every wrong thing righted,
The whole world shall be lighted, as Eden was of old.

I live for those who love me, for those who know me true;
For the heaven that smiles above me, and awaits my spirit too;
For the cause that lacks assistance, for the wrong that needs resistance,
For the future in the distance, and the good that I can do."

"It's by G. Linnaeus Banks," Jarrod spoke, awestruck, against her dress. This poem had always touched him deeply. He had tried to make it his creed...the way that he lived his life. He turned his face up towards Catherine, wonderment in his eyes. He felt again as he had a week ago, that he was on the edge of a rift, and that she was on the other side, reaching for him, trying to help him across.

"They are wonderful words," Catherine said softly. "And I see in them, a man who has spent his entire life trying to live up to the expectations of others. Who has given all that he is to try to help other people, and to live a good and decent life. But I also see a man who has put far too much pressure on himself...who has, perhaps believed that the salvation of the world is his sole responsibility. Who believes that were he to falter, to fail, to be unable to live up to these expectations, he would not only fail to be the man he feels he is supposed to be, but the man that others see him as. He would let down all those that he believes depend on him.

"Jarrod, you are the man in the poem, and you have lived your life this way. You have helped to right wrongs, and you have done good. You have helped to bring order and reason to the lives of people who didn't even know that it was missing. You are an extraordinary man.

"But you aren't a perfect man, Jarrod Barkley. You can only do the best that you can do, like we all try to do. And sometimes that will be more than enough, and at other times it won't. But you can't let what you see as failures, negate all of the good, all of the decency. I can't imagine that anyone...except for you...expects you to be perfect. I certainly don't. And I think that you are the bravest, dearest, most caring, compassionate, intelligent, honourable man that I have ever known."

Jarrod was surprised to see the tears on Catherine's cheeks, to hear the fervor of her words. "And I love you, Jarrod Barkley, with all of my heart."

And this time, when Jarrod said those words to a woman again, it was with a depth of understanding that he had never experienced before. It was with his whole heart, with every fibre of his being. "I love you, Catherine." And as Jarrod held her in his arms, he felt himself step over that chasm at last.

Chapter 26

Victoria was the first to awaken the next morning. She put on her dressing gown, slid her feet into her slippers, and crept quietly along the hall, and then down the wide main staircase. She thought that she would make some coffee, perhaps take a cup outside and sit on the veranda and watch the sunrise. She enjoyed these quiet times of the morning, often being the first to wake, sometimes before the dawn had even begun to break. She had become accustomed, over the years, to waking early with Tom, to making his breakfast and getting his coffee and spending time with him before he began his day. Even now that he had been gone for several years, the habit of rising early seemed ingrained within her.

She passed by the front parlour, halting in surprise. She stepped nearer the room, pausing, one hand on the heavy gold draperies that hung in the doorway. Her lips curled in a soft smile.

Jarrod and Catherine lay together on the chesterfield, asleep. Jarrod's back pressed against the back of the seat, his arms around Catherine, who lay with her back tucked into his chest. Victoria hadn't heard them come in last night. It had been long after dark when she had finally retired. Audra had written a note for Jarrod and Catherine, letting them know that a sleepy Cadence had been tucked up to bed in one of the guestrooms, and that Catherine was invited to stay the night. Since it was already so late and the child was asleep, they might as well stay over and for breakfast, and Jarrod could take them home in the morning.. A guest room next to Cadence's had been prepared for her.

It warmed Victoria's heart to see the pair there now. They looked so touchingly innocent. There was nothing scandalous about the picture, though it was obvious that they had spent the night there. They were fully clothed in the attire they had worn last evening, as though they had settled down for a moment, and both just drifted off to sleep. Jarrod's chin rested on the top of Catherine's cheek. One arm was underneath her, the other curled overtop at her waist.

Victoria moved quietly into the room, towards the cashmere blanket that was draped over the back of one of the chairs. She opened it out, then gently settled it over the two. The fire in the hearth had been out for some time, and there was a bit of a chill in the room. Jarrod stirred, his eyelids fluttering, before tightening his grip on the woman in his arms, and resuming the deep, rhythmic breathing of sleep. Victoria wondered where they had been last evening, what had kept them out so late. How very young Jarrod looked, she thought, despite the silver threads that wove through the dark hair at his temples. Asleep, and unguarded.

She left them then and went to make her coffee. As she busied herself in the kitchen, lighting the stove and scooping out the ground beans, she wondered about Jarrod. About the road that lay ahead of him. Thinking again about the conversation in the billiards room the previous night. Victoria genuinely liked Catherine Vaillancourt, and her young daughter Cadence was an enchanting child. She had found Catherine's reminisces about her early years, and her people...the Metis, just fascinating. The young woman was obviously very bright, very caring, and very genuine. And she obviously cared a great deal for Jarrod, and Jarrod for her.

But what could come of such a relationship? Victoria wondered. No matter how she tried to imagine it, she saw only strife and pain ahead for the pair. And perhaps, ultimately, the loss not only of the culmination of all of Jarrod's ambitions, but of this relationship as well. No man is an island, they said. Eventually, this truth would catch up with her beloved, oldest son. Victoria sighed heavily. She wished that there were something she could do to protect Jarrod, to ensure that he would have everything he had always wanted. But, as she had learned painfully in the past, no mother could keep her child locked away from the harsh realities of life. All she could do was to try her best to equip them to deal with those realities, and to let them know they were loved, and had a haven to retreat to, if those realities caused them pain.

"Jarrod...Catherine...wake up!" Audra's insistent whisper later roused Catherine from her slumber. She rubbed her hands across her face, feeling disoriented, trying to remember where she was. She was aware of the warm body behind her, of the comforting heaviness of the arm that draped her waist. She opened her eyes to see a blushing Audra Barkley bent over her. "Cadence is awake, and she's looking for you," Audra said, shyly looking away from the other woman's gaze.

Catherine sat up with a start, the blanket falling to the floor. Sun streamed through the lace covered windows. It was morning already. She flushed, realizing that she had spent the night here in the parlour in Jarrod's arms. Knowing what it must look like to Jarrod's sister. "Jarrod, wake up," Catherine said, rising from the chesterfield.

Jarrod groaned, stretched, and opened first one blue eye, then the other. Startled to see both Catherine and Audra looking down at him. Then the memory came back to him. Coming home from the cemetery long after dark. The note from Audra. Sitting with Catherine, neither of them really speaking, just watching the dying embers of the fire. His arm around her. Both of them exhausted and drained from all that had passed between them out on the knoll. Knowing it was late, and that he should let Catherine get to bed, but unwilling to let her out of his sight...or his arms. They must have fallen asleep here.

"Momma!" Cadence's sweet voice rang out, as she danced into the room. She ran to Catherine, hugging her skirts. "I slept in the bestest bed! All soft and warm. All by myself!" Her blue eyes sparkled. "And now we're going to have breakfast. Ham and eggs and milk and juice!" the little girl enthused. She reached for Audra then, linking her hand in the young woman's. "And Miss Audra said I can play with the puppies again. They're so soft, Momma. Will you come see them too?"

Catherine reached towards Cadence, affectionately stroking her hair. "I certainly will, sweetheart," Catherine smiled.

"And you too, Mr. Jarrod?" Cadence asked, turning to look at him.

"That sounds like a plan, Young Lady," Jarrod agreed.

Audra showed Catherine where she could wash and freshen up, while Jarrod went to change. Heath and Nick had already eaten and were out on the range. Victoria, Annabelle and the baby were there at breakfast though. Annabelle let Catherine hold Chase, and she gently rocked him in her arms. Catherine complimented Annabelle on her wonderful son, at how big and happy, healthy and strong he was. Annabelle told Catherine that Chase was two months old now. Catherine sighed, saying that it seemed like just yesterday when Cady had been a young babe in arms, and now she was a little girl already.

"They grow up so quickly," Catherine mused. As she held the baby in her arms, she wondered what it would be like to create a child with a man that you loved and cared for. A child that was conceived by people who cared for one another. Created out of their passion. To take pride and pleasure at the knowledge of your pregnancy. To have someone to go through all of that with, not feeling alone or afraid. To see a father's wonder and joy when he laid eyes on his child for the first time. She wondered if she would ever hold a baby of her own in her arms again.

After breakfast, Audra took Cadence out to the stables to see Blossom and the pups again. Jarrod and Catherine followed. They hadn't spoken many words to each other that morning, feeling shy with the knowledge of their mutual feelings for one another, unsure of what it would mean for them, unsure of what to say or do, especially with other members of Jarrod's family present.

Cady flopped down in the straw, laughing as the puppies climbed over and around her, licking her with their wet, pink tongues, pressing their cold, dark noses against her cheeks and hands. Catherine had never seen a dog like Blossom before. It was so small. Audra explained to her that Blossom was a gift from Jarrod, and that she was a Lhasa Apso. Proudly, she told Catherine about the breed that came from half way around the world. About what an intelligent and protective dog Blossom was, despite her diminutive size. Catherine crouched down in the straw there next to Cady, marvelling at the little dogs.

"You know, Jarrod," Audra said quietly. "One of those puppies is yours, to do with as you please. One is for Mike Chang, and one is for me, but as you know we agreed that the third pup is yours. To keep, or to sell." Audra paused, her eyes finding Cady. "Or to give away." She looked back at her brother. "The puppies
are old enough to leave Blossom now. They're weaned and eating well, and are healthy and energetic."

Jarrod caught Catherine's eye, crooking a finger at her beckoningly. She rose from the straw and came to stand next to him. "Audra and I were wondering...would it be all right if we gave Cady one of Blossom's pups?" he asked.

Catherine glanced back at her daughter playing with the puppies. At the unabashed joy on her face. Even a small dog would require food though, and they had barely enough for themselves. Catherine appreciated the generous offer, though she hesitated. In the end, she couldn't deny her daughter the chance to have a little friend all her own. She could always try harder to snare an extra rabbit or two. And if it came down to it, she could always eat a little less herself.

"I think that would be an incredibly thoughtful, wonderful thing for you to do," she said sincerely, thanking both Jarrod and his beautiful young sister. "I can't tell you how much it would mean to her."

"Cady," Jarrod called to her. The child looked up, grinning, holding one of the pups who squirmed in her lap. "Miss Audra and I would like to know if you would like to have one of Blossom's pups. To take home to live with you."

Cadence squealed with delight, looking at her mother, her blue eyes wide, to see if this could possibly be true. Catherine smiled, and gave a slight nod. "A puppy all for me?!" the child exclaimed. "Oh thank you, thank you!"

Audra crouched down in the stall next to her. "Which one do you think you'd like?" she asked, grinning.

There was a loud whinny then from the other end of the stable. Jarrod glanced in the direction of the familiar sound, his hand stealing into his pocket where he had placed the sugar cubes he had taken from the breakfast table. "There's someone else I'd like you to meet," he informed Catherine with a wink.

Jarrod took her hand then, and led her down the length of the stable towards a stall at the far end. Catherine enjoyed the feel of his hand on hers. She was still trying to absorb the fact that Jarrod had told her he was in love with her. She felt as though she were floating on air this morning. Waking up knowing that she had spent the night in his arms had filled her with wonder. They had finally come back to the house last night, both very introspective. So much had been said between them out in the cemetery. They needed time to process it all. They had sat in the parlour while Jarrod just held her, neither of them sure where to go from here. He hadn't even tried to kiss her, both of them seeming to sense that after all they had shared emotionally, coupled with the place where they had shared it, that it just somehow wouldn't be right to embark on a physical relationship just yet. The time just wasn't right. And so, they had simply sat there, both deep in thought, watching the fire die in the hearth. Content just to be near one another.

"This is Jingo," Jarrod told her, reaching out to pet the head of a big sorrel. "Jingo and I go way back, don't we old fellow?" He reached into his pocket and withdrew the cubes of sugar, holding them in his open palm, while the gelding reached delicately to accept the treat, his velvety, whiskered nose brushing Jarrod's hand.

"Well, isn't he a handsome boy," Catherine smiled, extending her hand for the horse to sniff. She patted the white blaze on his face. The horse tossed his head, his blond mane bouncing, seeming to nod in agreement, and both Catherine and Jarrod laughed.

"I was with the 9th Cavalry," Jarrod told Catherine, stroking the gelding's neck, rubbing his ears. "That's where I finished out my commission. The army was having trouble finding officers to lead regiments of black soldiers...Buffalo soldiers the Indians called them. So I volunteered." Jarrod leaned against the stall.

"We were in Texas," he continued. "Charged with protecting the stage routes, building and maintaining forts. Essentially our job was to establish law and order in that vast area. There were problems with outlaws, Mexican revolutionaries, and raiding Indian bands...Comanches, Cheyenne, Apaches.

"Our task was made even more difficult by the fact that many Texans didn't want us there. They felt they'd been treated harshly by Washington in the post war reconstruction. A lot of people believed that the assignment of black soldiers was an attempt to humiliate them.

"Despite the prejudices though, the 9th established itself as one of the Army's most effective fighting forces. The Buffalo soldiers wore their name proudly. They were excellent horseman. And some of the finest, bravest men that I have ever known." Catherine could see the fondness in Jarrod's eyes as he spoke of the men he had led. "Their motto was 'Perseverance, Compassion, Brotherhood'. I was honoured to serve with them."

He turned to smile at the horse. "Jingo was my mount. He saved my life on more than one occasion. There were times when I used his body as a shield during fighting. And he had an uncanny way of sensing when danger was looming. Once, he refused to carry me through a pass. Reared, almost unseated me. That was so unlike him. I had a feeling there was a reason for his refusal. I sent scouts on ahead, up above and through the rocks, and they found out that a band of revolutionaries was waiting in ambush for us. If it hadn't been for Jingo, our whole platoon would have been slaughtered, picked off when we entered the narrow pass." He sobered remembering how close they had come. Catherine put her hand on his arm, feeling sick at the thought of anything happening to Jarrod. "That was the first time he'd ever done anything like that, but it would happen again. Jingo would seem to know when something wasn't quite right. We became very attuned to one another."

Jarrod smiled at her concern. "But we made it through, time after time. And we did the job we supposed to do. When my time was up, I decided that I had to come back here. I was eager to get back to my law career. And to help out with the ranch again. And to see the family." He looked embarrassed for a moment. "Knowing that I had to part with Jingo was just eating me inside. I offered to buy him, but my commanding officer wouldn't hear of it. He was just too valuable of an army mount. Sound under fire. Strong, with speed and stamina. Dependable. It broke my heart, saying good bye to him, the night before I was to leave." Jarrod remembered how he had stood there with the gelding, stroking the white blaze, thanking him for being the best friend a man could ever have. For keeping him safe time and time again. Mortified at the tears that stung his eyes. He had seen so much death and tragedy, and now he was feeling such sadness over an animal. It didn't seem right, but he couldn't stop the feelings.

Catherine heard the remembered sorrow in Jarrod's voice. He was such a caring man, feeling things so deeply.

"Major General Hatch was touring the camp. He knew that I was leaving, going back to California. I guess he must have been watching me as I said my farewell. As I turned to walk away, he stepped out of the shadow, putting a hand on my arm to restrain me. 'That horse is something special to you, isn't it?' he asked. I told him that he was. He told me a story about a black mare he'd had. Stargazer. Who was killed in battle. 'I didn't cry when my own father died,' Hatch said. 'But I bawled like a baby when that mare took a belly full of lead. We were inseparable since the beginning of the war. There really was a special bond. A man's lucky if he gets a horse like that once in a lifetime.' He was smoking a cigarette. I still remember the way the smoke curled around him in a blue haze. 'I hear that gelding was an excellent army mount. Too bad he took an Apache arrow in the neck.'

"I looked at him, not understanding at first. The army wouldn't sell Jingo. And Hatch didn't have the rank to retire him, or give him away. 'It's always a shame when the cavalry loses a good horse,' he said. He clapped me on the back, then strode away before I could even thank him. And when I left the next morning, I rode out on Jingo."

Jarrod was smiling now. "He's been pretty happy here on the ranch, I think. He's still got his army number tattooed inside his lip. But the Barkley brand has been superimposed over the army mark. Jingo the cavalry mount died back in Texas. And Jingo the handsome Barkley steed now carries a certain counselor around town." He winked at Catherine.

Catherine petted the gelding's muscular red neck. "Thank you, Jingo, for keeping him safe." She looked back at Jarrod. "That's a wonderful story, Jarrod. I'm glad that it had a happy ending."

Jarrod grinned. "It hasn't quite ended yet. I think this old boy's got more than a few good years left in him." A cloud passed over his eyes. "When the end does come though...I'm going to take the day off work, and lock myself in my study and just get drunk." He swallowed hard. Then the moment passed and the grin was back on his handsome face. "Do you ride?" he asked Catherine.

She nodded. "I used to. Uncle Moise had a saddle horse, and he'd let us children ride her sometimes. A big, high stepping bay. Jolie. It means 'pretty', and she was a very pretty horse." Catherine looked reflective for a moment. "The prettiest horse that I ever saw though, was a stallion that one of the men from the Hudson's Bay Company had. A big golden horse, with a white mane and tail. Father said that it was a palomino. I used to think that anyone who had a horse like that, must feel as though they owned the world." She smiled. "We didn't have a horse. We lived in town, and when we needed to go somewhere, Father would either borrow a horse and buggy or rent one."

"Would you like to go riding sometime?" Jarrod asked her. "There's some beautiful country around here, but a lot of it is off the beaten path. We've got lots of horses here on the ranch. Several good, quiet mounts for an inexperienced rider." His eyes shone at the idea of taking Catherine out on the trails.

"That would be lovely," she said.

Cadence came racing down the stable then, clutching one of the puppies to her chest. She lost her footing, almost falling into Jingo's stall before Jarrod caught her. The gelding didn't even flinch, just regarded both child and dog with placid eyes. "Easy there, Little Lady," Jarrod chuckled.

"Be careful, sweetheart," Catherine cautioned. "You can't run with the puppy. It's just a baby, and if you fell or dropped it, you could hurt it very badly."

Cadence frowned. "I wouldn't hurt my puppy." She smiled at Catherine, holding the squirming dog into the air in front of her. "It's a girl puppy, Miss Audra said. I picked this one, and she said it was okay." Cadence looked from her mother to Jarrod, hoping that neither of them would tell her anything different. "Her name is Fluffy."

Catherine laughed. "A very original name," she said with wry amusement, winking at Jarrod over her daughter's head.

"Now we're not alone anymore, Momma," the little girl said guilelessly. "Now we have Fluffy too. We're just like a family, Momma." And Cadence smiled up at Catherine with innocent wonder. "And I'm going to take good care of her, and she's going to sleep in our bed and she's going to be my best friend in the whole world!"

Catherine touched the top of Cadence's head, with loving reverence, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Thank you," she said to Jarrod, and to Audra who had come down to the end of the stable after Cady. "This means more to Cadence, and to me, than words can say."

"I'm just glad that one of Blossom's puppies has found such a good home," Audra said sincerely. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some letters that I've been putting off writing that just can't wait anymore. It was nice to meet you, Catherine, and you too Cadence." She bent to give the little girl a brief hug, smiled at Catherine, kissed her brother's cheek, and went back to the house.

"Audra was just wonderful with Cady," Catherine said to Jarrod. "She has a real affinity for children."

"She does," Jarrod said proudly. "She helps at the orphanage, and she teaches Sunday school. Children love her and she them. Maybe that's because in many ways, she's still like a child herself." Catherine saw the love in his eyes, heard the favour in his voice, and knew that he was not being condescending.

They watched Cadence hurry back up the length of the stable after the wandering puppy. "Well, M'Lady," Jarrod said with a sigh. "I suppose we should get you two back home. And I should stop to check in with George at the office to see if there's anything there that requires my immediate attention. I was off in San Francisco for a few days, and Sacramento before that...hopefully I've still got a practice waiting for me!" He winked.

Catherine's gentle laughter joined his. Then Jarrod took her hand again, and they followed after Cadence.

Chapter 27

Audra looked at Jarrod curiously as he knocked on her open bedroom door, asking if she had a piece of ribbon that she could spare him. A smart retort was on her lips as she handed him the wisp of blue silk, but at the sober look in his eyes she resisted, simply handing it to him and then watching him curiously as he strode down the hall.

Jarrod gathered a bouquet of flowers from the gardens around the house, until he had a huge, colourful display. Awkwardly, he tied the ribbon around them, making a big bow. Then, he set out on foot.

He knelt by the grave, reaching to trace the words that were carved into the stone. Beloved wife of Jarrod. He cradled the flowers in one arm, closing his eyes for a moment.

As he thought, it began to come back to him. The sound of her soft, pleasant laughter. The clear blue of her eyes. The silkiness of her honey-blonde hair. The pale pink of her generous mouth. The gentle way she would tease him, and how her eyes would sparkle when she did. The way she would twist the wedding band on her finger, staring at it, smiling. The feel of her lithe body as he had held her in his arms.

Catherine was right. He had cared for Beth, and she for him. Perhaps it wasn't the all-consuming love that he felt now for Catherine...Jarrod hadn't really known such passion and depth of emotion existed outside of books and poetry until now...but it had been something. It had been real.

And when he opened his eyes, and set the bouquet on the grave...straightening the ends on the bow that was her favourite colour...Jarrod was at last able to say farewell to the woman who had been his bride. And he thought that when he remembered her now, it would be with fondness, and no longer with the guilt that had plagued him. And, he had a feeling that the nightmares would pursue him across that darkened sleep scape no more.

"Good bye, sweet Beth," he said. And when Jarrod rose to walk away from the cemetery, there was a lightness in his steps, and a faint smile on his lips. His past was behind him now, and he was ready for whatever his future had in store.

Ciego hitched up the buggy for him, and Jarrod headed out towards town. He would bring Catherine and Cadence back to the house, and then Audra was going to spend the day with the child, while Jarrod took Catherine riding in the area. Audra had gladly volunteered to watch Cady, saying that it would be her pleasure. Catherine and Jarrod had gratefully accepted her offer, and Cadence was thrilled at the thought of spending the day with the beautiful, sweet-natured Miss Audra.

Silas was already preparing a picnic lunch for the pair. Cold chicken. Bread. Fruit and nuts. Cold potatoes tossed in a vinaigrette, that was one of Silas' specialties. A bottle of chablis from the Barkley vineyards. And one of the hands was retrieving the gentle, grey gelding that Jarrod had selected from those in the pasture, and was going to get him saddled and take him for a short ride first, to ensure he would be a quiet, well-behaved mount for Catherine.

It was even warmer than usual for this time of year, and Jarrod enjoyed the feel of the morning sun on his face, tipping his grey hat back further on his head, to take full advantage of the pleasant rays. He couldn't wait to see Catherine and Cadence again, though it had been only two days ago that he taken them home after they had spent the night at the ranch, and only yesterday morning since he had extended the invitation for today. He flicked the reins, called out, "Giddy up," and the mare increased her pace.

Two hours later, the sun had continued it's steady, relentless move across the sky, and was now almost directly overhead. Jarrod and Catherine made sure that Cady and Fluffy were settled with Audra, thanking her yet again. Then they went out to the paddock where Jingo and the grey were saddled, their packs bulging with food. Jarrod helped Catherine up onto the gelding, whose name he told her was Ashes.

Jarrod had assumed that Catherine would wear a split riding skirt, or a pair of pants similar to those Mother and Audra wore when they went riding. But apparently, Catherine didn't have any such apparel, and she was dressed in the plain, cream-coloured calico dress. She swung her leg over the horse's back, hitching up her skirt, and tucking her feet into the stirrups.

"I know," she said, noting his raised brow. "I'm shameless." She winked at him.

Jarrod chuckled. "So long as you're comfortable, it doesn't matter to me." He had thought for a moment of offering to lend her something of Mother or Audra's, but realized that nothing would fit. Catherine was much taller, and much wider in the hip, her waist and legs much longer. She seemed quite content as she was though, the front of the skirt tucked up a bit by the saddle horn, the back bunched over the horses flanks. Grinning at her, he stepped into the stirrup and smoothly mounted Jingo. "Let's go!" he announced.

Catherine had forgotten how high it seemed on the back of a horse. How good it felt to sit tall in the saddle, and feel the fluid muscles moving beneath her thighs. The gentle side to side rocking was a bit jarring at first, as they started out at a walk. She remembered how smooth a gallop had been though, and wondered if she would have the confidence to ask Jarrod if they could try that later.

She rode alongside him, as they passed under the high, arched sign that proclaimed this the Barkley Ranch. How handsome Jarrod looked astride the dapper gelding. He was dressed in tan leather pants that matched his tan vest, and he wore a dark blue shirt, open at the collar. He wore his gunbelt today, because despite the presence of ranchers, this was still wild country. Jingo's white blaze and four white feet were stark against the dusty road. His red hide gleamed after a good currying. While his mane was mostly blond, Catherine saw that his long tail was red. They were a striking vision, this virile man atop his gallant steed, and she felt her pulse quicken.

They rode for a while in companionable silence, along the main rode that led back to Stockton. Finally, Jarrod asked Catherine if she felt up to increasing speed. She grinned, and nodded. Jarrod squeezed Jingo's ribs with gentle pressure from his thighs, and the horse instantly broke into a canter. Catherine's mount, Ashes, didn't even need urging to do the same, increasing his pace to keep up with his stablemate. Catherine held the reins tightly in one hand, the other hand gripping the saddle horn. Jingo increased his speed almost to a gallop. She rose slightly in the stirrups, looking down at ground that was a beige blur. How invigorating it was, to feel the wind against her cheeks, to feel it tugging at her black hair as it streamed behind her.

Jarrod glanced back over his shoulder, marvelling at the woman on horseback. How happy and free Catherine looked, her dark eyes dancing, her long hair whipped back by the breeze created by their speed. He could see the dress straining across her chest, and felt his body stir. How beautiful she looked, seemingly unaware of what a seductive picture she presented.

Finally, before the horses could get winded. Jarrod shifted slightly in his saddle, communicating to Jingo more with the position of his body, then by the almost imperceptible pressure on the bit, that he wished him to slow. Jingo would have preferred to just stretch his legs and have a good run, until his sides heaved with the exertion and his body was flecked with sweat. But he instantly acquiesced to the wishes of the man who was his beloved master, shortening his stride until he was back at a walk.

'That was wonderful!" Catherine enthused, her breathing heavy, both from excitement and from the physical act of keeping her seat. She reached down and patted the grey gelding on the neck. "Good, good boy," she cooed. "Oh Jarrod, that was so much fun. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to be up on a horse. That freedom."

"There's nothing quite like it," he agreed with a smile.

He led her away from the main road then, off through the brush, up through the hills. They rode alongside as much as possible, Jarrod telling her about the ranch and about the San Joaquin valley. About the crops the Barkleys grew each season. About the strawberries that came ripe early each spring. About the cherries that they picked in early summer. About the grapes that were harvested summer through to the middle of December, depending on variety, and then turned into wine at the Barkley vineyard. About the tomatoes and peaches that had finished picking last month. About the almonds and walnuts that were being harvested now and through the next while. Jarrod explained that some of the crops were small, mostly just for family use, and to feed the hands. But some, like the peaches and grapes especially, were good money-making commercial crops. He spoke proudly of his brother Nick, who was always looking for ways to diversify and to ensure the success of the Barkley operations.

He told her about some of the native plants that they rode past. The scrub pines and the chaparral. The monkey bush. The big cypress trees. About some of the local animal wildlife. The bears and the cougars. The eagles and hawks. The foxes and hares. About the herd of wild horses that lived in the valley, led by a wily dun stallion.

Catherine, in turn, told him about the Red River Settlement. About the flat, but fertile land of the prairies. She explained about the land holding system. That Metis parishes were divided into long, narrow lots that fronted on the river, as was done in Quebec. There were no great, sprawling parcels such as the Barkley Ranch.

She told him about the long, cold winters, and how they might already have snow back in Canada by now, being late October. She told him about the Northern Lights...about the exquisite show that Mother Nature would put on for them. About the colors that rippled against the backdrop of a blue-black night sky, a sight so magnificent it would take a person's breath away.

She told him about a man named Louis Riel, who was a leader of the Metis people. Who fought for her people's rights. Her father, also an activist, had known Riel. Riel had schooled in Montreal, first for the priesthood, and then as a lawyer, excelling, but graduating from neither pursuit. He was well-educated, bilingual, ambitious and brilliant, but, her father had told her, seemed a tortured soul. Catherine had wondered wistfully what was happening with her people in the five years since she had been away from home.

The terrain grew rockier, as they climbed higher. Catherine had to concentrate to hold her seat now. The placid grey picked his way carefully over the uneven ground. Jingo and Jarrod led the way, moving surely.
"It'll be worth it," Jarrod smiled back at her encouragingly.

At last, Jarrod halted the gelding, dismounting easily, and moving to take Ashes' bridle. He reached up to Catherine, one hand at her waist, to help her dismount. Taking the reins of both horses, Jarrod tied them to a fallen tree. Catherine smoothed her dress, then gave each leg a shake, trying to get the circulation back into unused muscles. They had been riding for a couple of hours now, and the latter part of the journey had been more difficult. She had forgotten what strength it took from the inner thighs to sit a mount. Though she was physically tired, she was invigorated by the scenery, by the beauty of the day, and mostly, by the presence of the handsome man who accompanied her.

"Almost there," Jarrod assured Catherine, taking her hand. He began to climb up a rocky outcropping, holding her to steady her. He was gratified and appreciative at how nimble she was. At last, he drew her to him, and turned her gently, so that she could look out over the panorama that awaited.

Catherine gave a gasp at the beauty of the valley below them. Though they were still reasonably far from the ledge, her heart pounded, and she shrank back against Jarrod. He sensed that she was afraid of heights, and slid his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her tightly against him. "I won't let you fall," he whispered.

She relaxed then, her arms covering his, her eyes scanning the view. There were the jagged blue outlines of the mountain peaks opposite them, their triangular tops dusted white. Their dark sides became lighter green towards the valley floor, where green and gold fields stretched for miles. The silvery surface of the river wound it's way laconically through the centre of the scene.

"It's beautiful," Catherine told Jarrod breathlessly.

He smiled, laying his cheek against hers. "I hoped you would think it was worth the trip." His voice was soft when he spoke again.

"For the lifting up of mountains,
In brightness and in dread;

For the peaks where snow and sunshine
Alone have dared to tread;

For the dark of silent gorges,
Where the mighty cedars nod;

For the majesty of the mountains,
I thank Thee, oh, my God!"

Catherine turned slightly in his arms. "That's beautiful, Jarrod. Just perfect. I was trying to think of a word to describe all of this. Majestic. Yes, that's exactly what it is. I've never seen anything to compare."

'I have', Jarrod thought to himself. They stood a moment longer. Jarrod could have stayed that way all day, holding Catherine in his grasp, looking out over his beloved valley. But he could feel his stomach begin to rumble, and knew that she too must be hungry. At last, reluctantly, he turned away. He told her to stay there, while he went for the blanket and the food. She agreed, though she moved away from the rocks, and towards a sandy area encircled by pines whose trunk and limbs had been misshapen by the elements.

They ate lunch slowly, talking about how Catherine and Cadence were adjusting to having a dog in the house, and how Jarrod had found things at the office when he'd finally returned to rescue George. They sat close to one another on the blanket, but not touching. Biting off chunks of the crusty bread. Savouring the cold chicken and potatoes. Sipping the delicious white wine that Jarrod explained had been made at the Barkley vineyard.

Jarrod had rinsed the deep bowls that they had eaten from with water from his canteen, then had taken the bowls and gone to water the horses. When he returned, Catherine was laying on her back, one arm across her forehead, looking up at the sky. A pair of hawks circled overhead, their sharp eyes scanning the landscape for prey. Jarrod unbuckled his gunbelt, setting it on the rocks, then lay down to her right, propping himself up on his elbow.

His eyes roamed the tanned planes of her face, over her lovely dark eyes, and across her burgundy lips. His heart began to thud in his chest, so loudly it seemed that he was sure she must be able to hear it. But Catherine continued to watch the blue expanse overhead. Finally, she turned her face towards him, smiling. Just as intently as he had searched her features, she gazed at his now.

Catherine looked at the man who was so close to her. Here, just the two of them. Alone. He was so incredibly handsome. His eyes so vividly blue. His dark hair shining. Without really considering what she was doing, she reached out to trace the deep crease across his chin. She touched the small, dark birthmark on his right cheek, her fingers lightly skimming the faint pock marks there.

Jarrod held his breath, his throat tightening as she touched his skin. His heart was racing. Catherine was so beautiful. His veins burned with molten lava. His skin was on fire where her fingers made contact. He saw her eyes widen, heard her soft murmur as she traced his lips. The thin pale upper lip, and then the fuller, sensuous lower lip. He opened his mouth, taking two fingers, sucking on them gently. Catherine closed her eyes, moaning softly, arching her back. Jarrod opened his mouth, and she took her hand away, bringing the damp fingers to her own lips. Jarrod groaned at the unwitting seductiveness of the gesture.

He bent his head, his eyes holding hers, taking encouragement from the desire in their depths. His lips went to the soft hollow of her throat. Licking the slightly salty skin. Then tracing a path up her neck, and under her chin, until his lips found hers.

Catherine slipped her arms around Jarrod's broad shoulders, drawing him nearer, so that his chest pressed tight against her now heaving breasts. The pressure of his lips on hers was exquisite. His kisses were soft at first, growing more demanding as his ardour increased. Willingly, Catherine parted her own lips, feeling his tongue slip over her teeth, and into her mouth. She nibbled at it gently, feeling him tremble in response. Then her tongue danced over his, and he groaned against her. Her fingers kneaded his shoulders as he rained kisses across her mouth, her cheeks, her eyelids. His tongue found her ear, darting inside, his breath hot. Catherine arched her back again, her short nails digging into his back.

Jarrod felt her hands grab at the shirt that was tucked into his waistband. Her hands slipped underneath the cloth, warm and sure on his skin, trailing up and down his spine. His breathing was ragged and their mouths joined again. He kissed her with wild abandon, revelling in the pure physical joy. He put his weight on his left arm, while his right hand pressed between their bodies, working it's way up to her breasts, kneading them through the thin fabric, feeling the tips harden.

He pulled back a bit. Catherine's eyes were closed, her lips dark and swollen. This wasn't what Jarrod had planned when he had brought her here, but he couldn't stop himself now. He knew that she hadn't had more than a few sips of the wine, that she knew what she was doing. His fingers fumbled at the buttons on her dress. In an instant, she was helping him, before she deftly undid the buttons on his shirt. Then she pulled him towards her again, their naked torsos touching, while her lips found and claimed his.

Soon Jarrod was pulling his face away again, this time turning his attention to her bare expanse of skin. He moved his mouth over her, his tongue wet and insistent, as he tasted every square inch of her. He nibbled and teased, eliciting soft cries from her. This seemed to feed his own frenzy, and he pressed his body against her, groaning. Catherine could feel his desire, his hardness against her thigh.

She sat up then, panting, and pulled the dress up and over her head, before reaching for him, undoing the buttons at his crotch. He helped her, easing out of his clothes...his pants first and then his shirt and vest. Catherine wore no corset, and he pulled off her filmy undergarments with trembling hands.

At last, they were naked. Their hands roamed one another's bodies, seeking hidden, erotic places. They panted against one another's cheeks, moving and shifting their bodies to aid their explorations. They murmured words of love, over and over, as fingers and lips brought one another to incredible heights of passion.

Jarrod pulled away from her then, feeling as though his body was about to explode. His eyes were dark with passion, his skin bathed with sweat. Every nerve tingled with awareness. He wanted this woman more than he had ever wanted a woman. Loved her more than he had even known possible. She was driving him crazy with her boldness, the sureness of her touch. His breath came in great gasps. As much as he desired her, he had to know that she was sure of what she wanted. Another man had hurt her badly, and Jarrod didn't know if she might be afraid. "Are you sure?" he asked hoarsely, his voice thick with passion.

Catherine couldn't speak, only nodding, her dark eyes locked on his blue ones. She had had no idea it could be this way between a man and a woman. This all-consuming fire...this need that threatened to destroy her sanity. "I love you Jarrod," she managed finally, her voice a ragged whisper.

"I love you too, Catherine. With all my heart and soul," he answered.

She pulled him towards her then. And when their bodies merged, for the first time Jarrod joined with a woman completely. Physically, emotionally and spiritually. He had never dreamed it could be this way. Had never experienced such total ecstasy. Catherine gasped as her body welcomed him. When at last their bodies reached a crescendo and they cried out, their primal sounds echoing over the hilltops, Jarrod and Catherine both knew that they had found where they belonged.

Chapter 28

He stood back in the shadows, hidden from view between two buildings, his stomach roiling with anger and disgust. He peered down the street to where the black buggy, the Barkley name emblazoned on the side, pulled up in front of the little shack. He watched as the man got out, smiling, and went around to help the woman, before lifting the child out. He took a box of something from the back of the carriage and carried it into the house, the woman and child trailing after him. Perhaps, the watcher clung desperately to the thought, it was all innocent and not as it appeared.

He continued to wait and observe, his patience rewarded when the trio came outside again. It was almost sunset, but there was still plenty of light. More than enough for him to see the dark-haired man take the Indian woman into his arms, and bend his head to press his lips on hers. He thought he was going to be sick, observing the spectacle. Then the man climbed back into the buggy, waved at the two who stood in the yard, and moved off down the street.

He was thunderstruck. Jarrod Barkley! There as plain as day, not even trying to hide the fact that he was involved with an Indian woman, a half-breed most likely, and a lowly washerwoman at that. And she had a half-breed child, too. Not even making a pretense that the woman was perhaps a client or something...seeming almost proud to stand there in the street and put his hands on her! Jarrod Barkley, Stockton's paragon of virtue. It's finest lawyer. It's knight in shining armour. The smartest, most principled man he had ever known. Sinking to such lamentable depths. Dirtying himself that way, with savages.

His body shook with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. He hadn't really believed before now that things were as they had appeared. Despite the whispers that moved through the townsfolk. He hadn't wanted to believe it. What heathen spell had the woman cast on Jarrod, to ensnare him that way, making him lose all sense of reason, all sense of decency? Something like this would ruin Jarrod. What had happened to the man's mind? Jarrod Barkley had always been a bit eccentric, proclaiming to see no difference whether a man were white, or Negro, or Chinese, or Mexican. People had been indulgently tolerant of that. But this was different. This was an affrontery to God's natural design.

He continued to watch, safe from notice, as the woman closed the picket gate. The child put something on the ground, then began to scamper along after it, her laughter rising in the early evening air. He heard a yip. It was a puppy then. The Indian woman laughed too, her voice deep and husky. She began to weave around the yard, giving chase to the child and the little dog, the young girl squealing with delight. At last, the woman scooped up the pup, a tiny beige bundle of fur, rubbing her cheek against it for a moment, before handing it to her daughter. Then the two of them went inside.

He continued to stand there, wiping at the sweat that had broken out on his forehead and upper lip. He had to do something. He could not let this be. This...this...abomination! A plan began to formulate, and at last, a sly smile on his face, he slipped out from between the buildings and hurried back up to the main street, to the evening bustle, taking sustenance from the white faces he saw there. He had to do something to help Jarrod Barkley, if the man was too far gone to help himself. He owed it to him. All he had to do now, the man thought, was just bide his time.

**********************

Catherine had tucked Cadence into bed, Fluffy snuggling down under the worn blanket next to the child's body. How it warmed her to see her daughter so happy, so attached already to the tiny dog. Catherine didn't even mind the little dog in the house, sharing Cady's bed, though she had never heard of such a thing before. Dogs slept outside, on or under the porch. But Cadence had insisted that her puppy stay with her at all times. It was a special dog, she'd told Catherine. From faraway palaces. And Miss Audra said that Blossom and her puppies were for inside the house. Blossom slept in Miss Audra's room, Cady had told her. Until she'd had the puppies. And once the puppies were in new homes, Miss Audra had a special basket for Blossom who would be returning to the warmth and comfort of the house. So, Catherine had relented, and there were now three of them in the narrow cot at nighttime.

After kissing Cadence good night, Catherine had come back out to the main room and settled into the rocker, her basket of mending on the floor next to her. She hadn't done any washing today. She would have to work extra hard tomorrow or risk falling far behind. Catherine picked up one of the shirts, noting the torn seam below the arm. Sighing, she threaded her needle in the glow cast from the oil lamp. She began a few half-hearted stitches, then tossed the work aside. Rising from her chair, she began to pace the floor.

She hugged her arms across her bodice, a dreamy smile on her face. She couldn't stop thinking about what had happened out in the hills. Of the way she and Jarrod had shared their love physically. She shivered, remembering the ecstasy she'd felt in his strong arms. Nothing could have prepared her for the sensations he had drawn from her. For the pleasure he had brought her. Pleasure that, she remembered flushing, had seemed mutual, despite her inexperience.

Strangely, as she had lain in his arms after their passion had been spent, his head on her chest, her hand idly smoothing his hair, she hadn't felt the least bit guilty about what had passed between them. She had always imagined that when...if...she ever lay with a man, it would be with the benefit of marriage. She hadn't seen that happening anytime soon, based on the way most people in this land treated her. Hadn't ever imagined that her virtue..compromised irreparably though it had been that man who had attacked her and stolen her virginity...would ever be in any danger.

Though she had proclaimed her love for Jarrod Barkley, and he his love for her, she hadn't actually thought far enough ahead to consider a physical relationship between them. Hadn't dreamed he would want her in that way. Yet, when he had settled his body so close to her this afternoon, had stared at her like that, had placed his lips on hers...it had seemed so very right to share with him this ultimate expression of love. And she hadn't felt any remorse afterwards either. Hadn't felt any shame. His tender looks, his gentle touch, had told her more than any words could have, that he didn't think any less of her for what had passed between them. That if anything...he loved her even more.

And, after they had rested, their passions had risen again, and once more Jarrod had quenched that fire that burned in her loins. Catherine ached at the memory, hungering yet again for his expert touch on her skin. He had learned the art of loving a woman well. She wasn't surprised though, that a man so sensitive and attuned to the emotional needs of others, could translate that skill to the physical as well. She sighed.

She didn't know where this path would lead them. She only knew that nothing mattered more than holding Jarrod's hand and taking this journey with him.

****************************

Jarrod sat staring into the fire, unaware of the voices and the movements behind him. Finally, Nick came to him, clasping a hand onto his brother's shoulder. "You still with us?" he boomed, laughing.

Jarrod turned from the conflagration, smiling lightly. "Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind."

"That's right," Heath said. "That wire from Sacramento. Think it sounds like Governor White is going to announce the new election soon?"

Jarrod nodded, though the election had been the furthest thing from his mind just then. He'd been thinking of Catherine, marvelling at what they had shared that afternoon. Delighting in the memory of the way she had made him feel. Of the love that he felt for her. He had marvelled at her unabashed desire. At the passion she had exhibited. At her eagerness to please. At the overpowering, heady desire she had elicited in him. He hadn't wanted to ever let her leave the circle of his arms. That was the only place he wanted to be, next to her. The only place he had ever wanted to be, though he hadn't known that until he had found her. Until Fate had brought her to him.

Now, however, he turned his thoughts to the telegraph that Heath had brought back from Stockton this afternoon. Patrick Vandermeer had asked Jarrod to come back to Sacramento as soon as possible because of an 'imminent announcement'. That could only mean one thing. "It would appear so," Jarrod told him. "Though to be honest, I still won't actually believe it until it happens. Sam White has always been one of those men that nothing could keep down. It just doesn't seem real that his health is failing so fast, that in essence he's fighting for his life. I keep expecting to hear word that through his sheer force of will, he's turned things around, and is the picture of health again, and intends to stay in the mansion for many more years." Jarrod sighed, knowing this was not possible, his blue eyes sad. "I suppose I'll head back to Sacramento tomorrow." His brow furrowed, thinking of being away from Catherine again. Especially now.

Heath thought of the snide looks he had gotten from some of the people in Stockton today. It had been just like his last time in town. The laughter that had followed him. The way some of the men had avoided his eyes when he's stopped in at the saloon for a beer before heading home. He was torn as to whether he should say something to Jarrod or not. Heath knew that it either had to do with him, with his illegitimacy...or with Catherine...the fact that she was Indian. Either way, he couldn't think of a way to bring it up that wouldn't hurt Jarrod. That wouldn't take that light out of his eyes.

Heath decided to just forget about it. To deal with things as they came up, on his own, without involving his oldest brother. Eventually, Jarrod would notice the same treatment that Heath had gotten if it did indeed have to do with Catherine. Could then draw his own conclusions, and deal with it however he wished. For now, Heath decided, it was best just to keep what had happened to himself. After all, there was nothing concrete. People laughed all the time. Some of the men who hadn't looked at him in the saloon had been men whose money he'd taken recently at poker. It was mostly just speculation and gut feeling on his part. If there was anything to it...Jarrod would know soon enough.

Chapter 29

Jarrod stood in the back of the room, arms crossed, while people pushed to get to the front. Reporters, from all across the state. Photographers. Different political personalities. Excited murmurings had gone up throughout the room at the announcement. Disbelief and rampant speculation. All set against the opulent backdrop of the library of the Governor's Mansion.

At Governor Sam White's words, issued with regret. "I am unable to fulfill my term of office, due to health reasons. I announce a new election for Governor of California, to be held in the new year. On the day of February 12th."

They had rushed the dias then, pushing to get close to the great man, questions being fired in rapid succession like the reports of a Gatling Gun. Flashes went off. Jarrod could hardly see the Governor any more. Tall muscular men, dressed impeccably in dark suits, began to marshal the crowd back towards their seats, one of them putting his body protectively between the frail Governor and the throng. The others motioned everyone to sit down, indicating that the press conference wasn't over yet. There was still much chatter, but finally the men sat down.

"It is my pleasure, to endorse for my nomination for the Republican party, Mr. Jarrod Barkley of Stockton, California. I would like nothing better than to see my fellow Republicans ensure that Counselor Barkley's name is on the ticket next year, to represent the great people of this wonderful state. And then to see the men of California take him to the Mansion." Sam White's voice was weak, but his eyes blazed with conviction.

Again a great swell went up in the crowd. Many knew who Jarrod was, knew of his reputation, others knew only of the Barkley name. Hands flew furiously as pencils scribbled across note pads.

"You'd better make your exit now," Henry Stanton said quietly from behind Jarrod. "You can meet with the Governor publicly in a few days, for photos and such. But right now, before someone recognizes you, we'd better slip out the back."

Patrick Vandermeer had been appalled when Jarrod had arrived in Sacramento sporting the remnants of a black eye. "For heaven's sake, man, now is not the time to turn into a pugilist! We're running on the platform of peaceful change...of lawfulness...! We're touting a candidate who uses his brain, and his oratory skills, not his fists! We're advocating the use of the vote, of change through legislation, not the use of force!" Patrick Vandermeer had been very agitated and disappointed. "Well, we're just going to have to make sure you lie low til that eye isn't as noticeable. Let it fade a bit more before we have you posing for any photographs with the Governor." He had almost been pouting, shaking his head in bewilderment. And if he hadn't been absolutely correct, Jarrod would have found it amusing.

Now he nodded to Stanton and the two slipped out the back door into the hall, then quickly made their way from the Mansion. Jarrod couldn't help but gaze around in awe, as his footsteps echoed through the building. One day, all this might be his. His heart pounded in his chest.

Patrick Vandermeer had invited Jarrod to his home for dinner that evening, but Jarrod had declined with a feeble excuse. Patrick had accepted it graciously, though it was apparent that he knew Jarrod was avoiding his daughter. Jarrod hadn't wanted to have to see Patricia again. To pretend to be friendly and charming.

It made his gut twist to realize how close he had come to making a terrible mistake. He had actually been considering taking the young woman to be his wife. Because he had believed that she was the kind of woman he was supposed to fall for. The kind of woman he was expected to take as his bride. Even though he hadn't loved her. Even though she hadn't even known who he really was.

What might have happened, Jarrod wondered sickly, if he hadn't found out in his office that day about the ugliness that dwelt inside Patricia Vandermeer? If he hadn't acknowledged his growing feelings for Catherine? Jarrod felt weak at the thought of never knowing Catherine's love. Of being lost forever in the dark abyss that had been his soul, never finding the one who really did know him true.

Jarrod had agreed to meet Patrick Vandermeer at the Carlton Club later that evening, however. He had dined alone in his hotel room, and then enjoyed a brief nap. It was just after ten o'clock when he strolled, refreshed, into the Carlton Club.

Immediately, he had been besieged by men who wanted to congratulate him. Who wanted to talk to him. Who already had some personal interests they were lobbying for, though at this moment he was still as far away from being ensconced in the Governor's Mansion, as any of them were. Jarrod accepted the well-wishes, deflected the self-serving, had a couple of drinks, and behaved congenially.

Clayton Knowles sat in a chair off to the left of the room, watching the pitiful scene play out before him. Watching Jarrod Barkley, resplendent in a dark suit and crisp white shirt, saunter in as though he owned the world, and not just half of the San Joaquin valley. He watched him toss back a couple of whiskies, laughing easily with the men who surrounded him, who pressed closer to the Republican party's prodigal son. Accepting the accolades as his due.

Clay felt his face grow hot, his stomach churn with jealousy. It wasn't bad enough that Jarrod Barkley had Patricia Vandermeer, the most beautiful, desirable woman in the state. A woman who had turned down Clay Knowles invitations repeatedly both before and during her courtship with the handsome attorney. His sources though had told him that things had cooled between the beautiful debutante and the rich lawyer for now. As near as Knowles could figure, Barkley must be planning to use the 'poor widower's' card, and so had the lovely Patricia waiting for him in the wings. She certainly wasn't seeing anyone else, and she wasn't a woman who had to spend the evenings home alone unless that was her choice.

Now everyone seemed to believe that Barkley had the Republican nomination all wrapped up...and the entire election as well. Without so much as giving a single speech or shaking a single hand. Knowles couldn't stand to watch those simpering fools that surrounded Barkley now, eager to buy him drinks, eager to curry favour, or just wanting to be near the next 'great man'. Knowles recalled his visit with Governor White, trying to sell himself as the ideal candidate for the Republican party. But White hadn't been buying.

He hated Jarrod Barkley, more than any man on earth. And that was saying a lot, because there were many men that Knowles believed were beneath contempt. But this dark-haired, blue-eyed lawyer, so suave and smooth, had always been a thorn in his side. Was constantly opposing him whenever he pushed for legislation that would be beneficial to the wealthy railroad men that Clay represented, and who he was one of now.

Barkley was always watching him, forcing him to tread a fine line, and to cover his tracks if he happened to stray over it. More than once, he had wished Barkley dead. He had tried to goad him into drawing on him outside of the Club a few weeks ago, but Barkley hadn't played his game. Too bad, Knowles reflected. He was a much faster draw than Barkley...one of the fastest in the state in fact. And he would have had a witness if the lawyer had drawn first.

Knowles saw another man enter the Club. The same man who had been with him when he had confronted Barkley. Jim Bannon. An associate of Knowles. One of his minions, who was good at ferreting out information and keeping Knowles informed about everything that was going on in the capitol. He watched Bannon's dark eyes search the room before finding him. The self-satisfied smirk on Bannon's face intrigued him. Perhaps the man had something for him.

Knowles ordered two more brandies from the lovely serving girl in the low cut dress, his gaze appreciatively caressing the white mounds of her breasts, pushed up by the tight bodice. He reached to squeeze her derriere, as the long-suffering girl smiled automatically. Then, he raised his hand and signaled to Bannon who scurried over.

"I might have something here," Bannon all but cackled with glee. "Remember how you said that Barkley was seeing Vandermeer's daughter? That gorgeous older one?"

Knowles nodded, placing his elbows on the table and leaning towards the other man with interest. "Yes. Patricia Vandermeer." The jealousy swirled over him again.

"Well, I, uh, intercepted a couple of wires that Barkley was sending off to Stockton. Before they actually got sent. I copied the messages. One was to his family, saying that White had made the announcement. The other one was this!" With a flourish, Bannon withdrew a piece of paper from his vest pocket. His dark eyes were bright, his pock-marked cheeks flushed with excitement. He ran a hand through his thinning brown hair, his grin threatening to split his skin.

Clay Knowles accepted the piece of paper curiously. His blue eyes took in the full import of the words. 'Well, well, well,' he thought, a sardonic smile curling his lip. The message read, 'Arrived safely in Sacramento. Have much exciting news to discuss upon return. Missing you. Love, Jarrod.' It was addressed simply to 'Catherine'. "Hmmm....." Knowles mused, turning his gaze to Bannon. "Any idea who this 'Catherine' is?"

Could it possibly be that the dashing, debonair, oh-so-perfect attorney was cheating on the lovely Patricia Vandermeer with some floozy back in Stockton? That would just be too perfect! Of course, he couldn't assume that Barkley was doing any such thing, just on the basis of this one message. Clayton Knowles hadn't gotten where he was by making rash assumptions. This 'Catherine' could be a maiden aunt, or old friend of the family or something.

Bannon shook his head. "No, but it's signed with 'love'. It sounds like..."

Knowles eyes were like ice as he stared at the other man, and Bannon's voice trailed off in confusion. "Sounds like, isn't good enough, Jim. I need to know." Though 'love' wasn't a word in his vocabulary, Knowles knew that some people used it as indiscriminately as they said, 'hello' or 'good day'. This would, however, bear looking into to.

Knowles lit a cigarette, his eyes finding Jarrod in the crowd, at the far end of the bar. "I want you to let me know when Barkley is ready to return to Stockton," he said thoughtfully. "I think I may have to make a little trip there myself." Then he turned back to Bannon, his smile cold and calculating.

Chapter 30

Catherine missed Jarrod more than she could have anticipated while he was away in Sacramento. He had sent her two telegraphs though, which a surly young man had reluctantly delivered. Jarrod wrote each time that he was missing her. And that he loved her. How that made her heart sing. One wire in particular sounded intriguing. He said that he had exciting news to share with her upon his return. She wondered what it could be. Probably an exciting new case that he was taking on.

She enjoyed spending this time alone with Cady though. Reading to her from the beautiful picture book that Jarrod had given her. Beginning to teach her the rudimentary skills of checkers. Watching the child and the puppy cavort around the rear laneway while she stirred laundry in the boiling water in the cast iron pot. She was happier than she had ever been, despite the drudgery and physical exertion of her work. The knowledge of Jarrod Barkley's love buoyed her spirits, and recollections of the moments in his arms helped to take her to another plane while she did other people's laundry and mending. Cady seemed particularly happy and carefree as well.

Catherine was peripherally aware of the increase in strange and often disapproving glances she would receive as she went about town on errands. The whispers that she discerned when she walked along the boardwalk. She didn't pause to give them too much thought though. It wasn't an uncommon thing, to be unwanted in a place. Though so far, the people of Stockton hadn't been too openly antagonistic or resentful of her and Cadence's presence. She continued to hold her head high, as she had always done in the countless other towns were there had been prejudice, distrust and ignorance. She didn't care what any of these people thought about her. Jarrod loved her, and that was the only thing that mattered.

When he had dropped them off after that incredible ride through the hills, Jarrod had left her a box of canned goods for she and Cady. He had claimed they were a gift from his mother, who had put up the jars of peaches and tomatoes herself, and had also made the plum and cherry jams. There was even a jar of Audra's prize winning chili sauce. Her first instinct had been to refuse what she saw as 'charity'. But she had thought of her daughter. Children needed a variety of good foods to grow healthy and strong. And so, she had graciously accepted, telling herself that one day she would do something in return for the Barkleys' generosity.

Jarrod had been gone for three days when Catherine decided that it was time to supplement their meals with some more fresh meat. While her neighbour watched Cadence, Catherine took a long walk that morning to the edge of town, to an area she had found to be frequented by rabbits. She set up three snares, carefully tying them off, and hiding them the way her father had shown her. She rubbed the snares with the hide of one of her earlier catches, trying to remove the human scent. She covered them lightly with loose dirt and fallen leaves, then began the long trek back to town.

Jarrod had slept late, pulling the heavy drapes shut the night before so that the morning rays wouldn't disturb him. He'd had a bit too much brandy at the Carlton Club the previous night. Playing cards with friends. Enjoying the fine atmosphere of the exclusive association for the second night in a row. He stretched and yawned, luxuriating in the feel of the soft mattress, the feather quilt that covered the bed. This truly was one of the finer hotels in Sacramento, he thought contentedly. His morning was free, so he decided to go down to the dining room for a leisurely breakfast, and then to sit and read the morning paper over coffee. Then he would go back to his room for a bath, before heading out to lunch.

It was cooler today, the weather more seasonable, but there was a wind that cut through her dress. Catherine looked skyward, at the large masses of clouds that were grey and low in the sky. It was going to rain, she knew. Probably not today, but perhaps beginning overnight. Catherine knew that Cady would be needing a new coat soon after outgrowing last year's. The fall weather was fast approaching and with it the cooler temperatures. She sighed, wondering where she would get the money for material. She would have to dip yet again into the jar in the cupboard. A little rabbit skin coat would be just dandy, but Catherine didn't have nearly enough pelts yet. Oh well, she reasoned, she would manage somehow. She always did.

One of the miners came to pick up his small bundle just after lunchtime, dropping a few pennies onto the table near Catherine's front door. He was dirty and unkempt and should have invested in a bath rather than the whiskey that soured his breath. His grey eyes were hazy with the liquor. He ran a hand over the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin, standing in her doorway with one foot propped against the jam so that Catherine couldn't close it. He was a big man. Not overly tall, but barrel chested with strong arms from the hard work in the mines. She didn't like the way his eyes roved over her. Catherine thanked him for his business, and tried to press the door shut.

Jarrod had enjoyed a succulent luncheon of lobster and shrimp, spicy noodles, and fine wine, followed by an exceptionally good cigar. He walked slowly along the boardwalk now, one hand in his vest pocket, smiling good-naturedly to those he passed, tipping his hat to the ladies. The day was overcast, and there was a slight chill in the air. The wind had a bit of a nip to it. He was barely aware of that though, his thoughts centred on the pleasant lunch that he had just shared with Henry Stanton and his gracious wife, Louise.

Things had been going well so far, this trip. The bruising around his eye had faded enough that Vandermeer had scheduled some photo opportunities with Jarrod and Governor White for later that day. To be followed by a series of interviews, with some of the bigger newspapers in the state. And then a dinner in his honour. Everywhere that Jarrod went, he was greeted positively. He found that encouraging. It boded well for his future success. He couldn't keep the smile from his face, formulating in his mind some of the key words and phrases he would use during the interviews.

"Now, jest wait a sec there," the miner drawled, his breath rancid. "Was thinkin' mebbe you an' me could do a bit o' other business." He grinned lasciviously, reaching out to finger the collar of Catherine's calico dress. He wanted a woman bad. It had been over a month since he'd last had enough in his poke to afford one of the gussied up gals at the saloon. He didn't have enough money this time around though, to enjoy their favours. He'd foolishly spent too much on liquor and lost a bit more at cards. Seeing the Injun washerwoman though had given him an idea. How different could it be? he wondered. From the stories he'd heard, wimmen was wimmen. Didn't make no difference what colour they was on the outside. And he was in a bad way right now. Couldn't afford to be too choosy.

"I'm terribly busy," Catherine said nervously, trying to smile.

"Well, this won't take too long, if'n you do it right," he leered at her. "An' I got a whole quarter dollar too. That's more'n yer worth, I reckon'." He laughed cruelly.

Catherine swallowed nervously. "I only do laundry and mending," she told him, trying to keep her voice even so that he wouldn't hear her fear.

Despite the pleasure he was taking from his trip, Jarrod missed Catherine, and Cadence, his thoughts turning to them again and again. He wondered what they were doing. How they were making out with the puppy, Fluffy. What a wonderful idea Audra had had, to give Blossom's pup to a home where she would be so treasured and loved. Where she was so needed. He would have to be sure to let Audra know how much it meant to him. She really seemed to be bonding with both Catherine and her daughter, he thought fondly.

Jarrod's heart filled to overflowing as he thought about Catherine. She was such a remarkable woman. He truly was the luckiest man alive to have her love, to know the sheer joy and privilege of loving her in return. He passed by a jewelry shop, his attention caught by the sparkling gems in the display window. His smile widened. He had never seen her wear any jewelry, but that was probably just because she didn't have any, he realized. But all women loved jewelry. He reached for the handle of the shop door.

He laughed, a hollow sound, then reached down to give one of her breasts a hard squeeze. Catherine gasped, stepping back into the room. He took the advantage, pushing into the room, dropping his bundle of clothes and shutting the door behind him.

'Oh dear God,' Catherine thought frantically. 'This can't be happening! Not again!' She knew that her daughter was just outside playing with Fluffy. She prayed fervently that she would stay there. That she would stay safe. That she wouldn't have to see whatever was about to happen here.

Jarrod twirled the necklace in the air, marvelling at the way the light caught the gem that dangled from the delicate gold chain. Fire seemed to explode from within. Each way that he turned it, he was greeted with another amazing sight. Green, red, gold and blue, all seemed to dance in the depths of the stone, depending on which way you viewed it.

At first, it hadn't really caught his eye there in the case. A milky white stone. Nothing special about it. He'd been looking for something more dazzling. Diamonds. Sapphires. But the clerk had insisted that he take a look at this pendant, that it was really something unique. An opal, the salesman told him. And so, curious, he had taken the piece, draping it over his finger.

The man grabbed her arms, bending his head towards Catherine, the stubble on his face scratching her cheek as he nuzzled her neck. She thought that she was going to be sick. He pressed his body up against her, one hand clamped on both of her wrists, raising her hands over her head, the other roughly searching the contours of her body while she writhed. She wanted to scream, but didn't, terrified that any noise they might make would bring Cady.

He bent her backwards, violently kicking her legs out from underneath her, still grasping her arms, lowering Catherine to the floor. The cold, hard wood pressed uncomfortably into her back. He pulled his shirt out of his jeans, grabbling with the buttons at his fly. He'd never taken a woman by force before, but he found that her struggles excited him. He bit at her through the thin fabric of her dress, laughing, his breathing laboured.

An opal, Jarrod considered. He'd never seen one before. How lovely it would look, nestled against Catherine's bronzed skin. It reminded him of her too. When he had first met her, he had thought her perhaps plain on the surface. Nothing remarkable. Yet as he had gotten to know her, as he had examined different facets of who she was, he had seen the beauty that sparkled within. The amazing array of qualities that had stunned and impressed him. That lay hidden beneath the surface, waiting for someone to turn her towards the light. Catherine was incredible. Unlike any woman he had ever known. She deserved something truly special. No run of the mill emeralds or rubies for her. She was as this opal...a stunning jewel that had been revealed to him. She deserved something that mirrored all of the fire and passion that burned in her magnificent soul.

Catherine thought desperately of how she could prevent what this horrible man intended to do.

"Please!" she pleaded with him, her voice soft but urgent, tears stinging her eyes. Struggling, she tried to push him away. "It's my womanly time!" she lied.

She heard his disgusted intake of breath as the meaning of her words penetrated his whiskey fogged brain. Catherine felt his hands leave her, as he thrust himself forcibly away from her. His face had paled, a study in revulsion. He wiped his calloused hand over his face, rising to his feet, backing away from her. He fumbled with the buttons on his pants. "Stupid, filthy whore!" he spat, stepping towards her again, slapping her across the face with the back of his hand.

He turned and hurried to the door, stopping to pick up the money he had tossed on the table earlier, and his bundle. He left the shack, slamming the door on his way out, muttering obscenities.

"I'll take it!" Jarrod announced with a grin, not even asking or caring how much it cost. He couldn't wait to be back in Catherine's arms again, to hear her sultry voice. He tried to imagine the look on her face when she opened the little black velvet box. The pleasure he hoped it would bring her.

Catherine sank to the floor, burying her head in her hands. Sobs racked her, as she rocked her body back and forth. She hated this terrible land sometimes. She wished desperately that Jarrod was there, to take her into his arms, to kiss away the memory of that horrible face near hers, those strange hands on her. But she was alone, as she inevitably was.

At last, she dried her tears, gingerly rubbing her stinging cheek, and rose to her feet. She pulled the tub out of the back room, and began to heat water on the stove. She checked on Cady, still playing outside with Fluffy and the neighbour children. Then she shed her clothes, and climbed into the bath, scrubbing herself until her skin was raw, avoiding looking at the semi-circular bruises on her chest and shoulders. Trying to rid herself of not only the man's stench, but his memory.

********************

He stood watching from the shadows again. He saw the dirty labourer knock on the Indian woman's door. He couldn't hear their exchange, but suddenly she was moving back, allowing him entrance to the home. He thought at first that maybe the man had forced his way in, but he heard no sound of struggles from within the shack. No woman's voice crying for help. His eyes narrowed, waiting, until not too much later, the miner came out of the house. The man was tucking his shirt into his pants, he saw with disgust. It hadn't taken him long, but apparently he had gotten what he wanted from the woman.

What a disgusting animal the squaw was! God only knew how many men she had lain down for. She wasn't fit to lick Jarrod Barkley's boots! He trembled with rage. They should have run her out of Stockton when she'd first arrived, instead of allowing her to settle in. Before allowing her to poison their wonderful town. Jarrod had only been gone for a few days, but God only knew how many men had passed over the heathen's threshold in his abscence. He couldn't stand here and watch her all the time, after all.

He heard the blood roaring in his head. He couldn't allow this travesty to continue. He would have to act soon.

Continued…