Those Who Know Me True

Chapters 65-72

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 65

Jarrod gave the address on 10th street to the driver, then climbed into the interior of the carriage. He sat back as the horses began to move, glancing out the window at the yellow mansion with the green trim. The Governor's Mansion. It was likely the last time he would ever step inside, Jarrod knew poignantly. He watched the black wrought iron gates slip by as the team picked up it's pace.

Governor White had been able to get out of bed, and had been sitting in a wheelchair in the sitting room of his bedroom, a blanket covering his lap and another around his shoulders. He had instructed his physician and nurse, and even his wife to leave them. He looked even more haggard than the last time Jarrod had seen him. He looked like a man in his eighties, not a man in his fifties. His once proud shoulders were hunched, his eyes were rheumy and red-rimmed, and his skin hung loosely on his gaunt frame.

"It's a terrible, terrible thing when your body betrays you," Sam White had wheezed. "It won't be much longer now, I know. We just may have to move that election up. I've seen the Grim Reaper, huddled in the corners of my rooms, ducking behind doors, sitting at the table when I can actually choke down a meal, and now he's taken to keeping a vigil at the end of my bed." The Governor winked good-humouredly, to let the attorney know that he was speaking figuratively, not literally.

"Is there anything they can do?" Jarrod asked, knowing the answer already. If there was, it would already have been done.

The Governor shook his head. "Oh, they can give me something for the pain. But I don't like to take it, it clouds my mind. And that's about the only thing I've got left, now that my body is devouring itself from within." Sadness crossed his face. "Though I wonder sometimes if perhaps it wouldn't be better if I wasn't so self-aware. I've seen people who faced the encroachment of death, whose faces were slack, their mouths drooling, their minds already gone on before. I used to think that was a terrible way to go. Now, I'm not so sure. Perhaps, in the end, that's the less cruel way." He paused as a coughing fit overtook him, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief.

"But as long as I still have my mind, I can continue to govern the people, after a fashion." He took as deep a breath as his tortured lungs could bear, and smiled at Jarrod.

It was a hideous thing that smile. His false teeth drooping in his skeletal face. Jarrod wished that he didn't have to be here. That he didn't have to witness the end of this great man. He didn't want his last memories of Samuel White to be of this decimated body. He tried to cling to the fact that the man who Governor White had always been, was still inside. "I'm sorry to intrude when you're unwell, Governor," Jarrod apologized. "But there was something I needed to say to you in person."

"The nomination convention is just two weeks away," Sam White said, nodding to himself. "Do you require something of me? Additional support? You probably don't want to be seen in public with such a pathetic figure of a man," the Governor said with a self-deprecating chuckle. Only the shadow that crossed his eyes evidenced his pain. "I can draft a letter though to the papers. Or do you need me talk to some people? Swing some votes?"

Jarrod was touched that even as ill as he was, Governor White was willing to do whatever he could to help Jarrod's ambitions. "That won't be necessary, though I appreciate the offer more than I can say. I came to tell you, Governor, that I've withdrawn from the election."

Sam White regarded the attorney thoughtfully. He saw how much it had pained the other man to reach this conclusion. He hoped that it had been a decision of Jarrod Barkley's own free will, and that he hadn't been out-manouevered somehow by his rivals, or abandoned for some reason by his party. He had not heard any of the rumours circulating about his hand-picked successor, and so did not even consider those. "You reasons are, of course, your own personal business," Sam said. "But I just need to know. Was this your own decision?"

Jarrod nodded. "Yes, Governor, it was. The personal sacrifice that it was going to require was just too great, I'm afraid. I know how shallow that must seem, especially to a man who had given so much to do so much good for this state. And I know that I will have let you down. Let many people down." Jarrod stared at the floor, fighting for composure.

"This life can suck a man dry," Sam told him. Then chuckled again at his unintended pun. "I told you already what this life entails. The loss of family relationships, the corruption at every turn that tries to steal a man's soul. It consumes you every waking moment, and even steals your thoughts in sleep. You have to give everything that you have to that one cause. If you know that you can't commit to that, then I think it's an honourable thing you are doing, to step down," the older man said sincerely. "There are other ways to work for the people. You already are, in your capacity as a lawyer. Politics is a hard life, especially for a young man who still might have dreams of a wife and a family."

The breath caught in Jarrod's throat. Sam White had seen to the heart of Jarrod's dilemma, though he hadn't realized it. The Governor was thinking about Patricia Vandermeer no doubt, probably still believing that Jarrod and she were still courting and planned to marry in the near future.

"Thank you for your understanding," Jarrod said. He saw that the Governor looked exhausted. He shouldn't have stayed so long. "I just want to thank you Governor for your unwavering support. Coming from a man such as yourself, one whom I admire so greatly, it has been an incredible honour."

"You're still a young man, Jarrod Barkley," Sam assured him. "There will be other elections," he said innocently. Jarrod swallowed convulsively, knowing that this was not true. There would be no other chance for him. "I guess that I can assume Vandermeer and the others will be coming to see me soon," Sam continued. "To put forth their new candidate and ask for my support." Jarrod nodded. "And do you think I should give them my blessing?" He eyed Jarrod closely.

Jarrod nodded. "I don't know for sure who that man will be," he admitted. "But we cannot allow a man like Clayton Knowles to get that nomination," Jarrod said stridently.

"I agree," Sam White said quietly. "Take care of yourself, Jarrod Barkley. It has been an honour and a pleasure to know you."

Jarrod rose, taking the Governor's hand. The skin was so cold and so paper thin. The bones were so close to the surface, protruding through. "The honour and the pleasure were all mine, Governor," he told him huskily, knowing that this would in all likelihood be their final farewell.


The carriage pulled up before the row of shops on 10th street, in front of the address that Jarrod had given. He stepped out, reaching up to the high seat to pay the driver, tipping him well, sorry that the man had to work outdoors in such raw weather. For the third day in a row, bitterly cold temperatures had blanketed northern California. Jarrod's breath made puffs of condensation, and he realized that if there were to be precipitation, it would probably be snow, or sleet at the very least. He tucked his head down into his coat, and hurried through the doors of the shop.

Bells jingled as he opened the door. The clerk looked up happily. It had been very slow the past couple of days. With the weather so unfavourably cold, not many people had been out shopping. He supposed that he should be grateful for the rest though. As soon as Thanksgiving came and went, he would be rushed off his feet by Christmas shoppers. He smiled, recognizing the man. It was Jarrod Barkley. The man who had bought the opal pendant from him not long ago.

"Good day, Mr. Barkley!" he called jovially. The clerk knew that Jarrod Barkley was going to be running for governor, and the opinion among his circle was that Barkley would take it with a landslide. "Terrible cold we're getting," he said conversationally, noting the man's reddened cheeks and nose.

"It is at that," Jarrod replied with an easy smile. He walked over to the jewelry cases, peering intently at the sparkling array within.

"Is there anything in particular I can help you with?" the clerk inquired hopefully.

Jarrod nodded. "I'm looking for a ring. A very special ring for a very special lady. An engagement ring." A wide grin broke out on his handsome face.

Jarrod had been planning to wait for Christmas Eve to propose to Catherine. He had thought that by then, she would trust him enough to allow him to take her into his life fully. He had wanted to ask her to marry him after that night in the Barkley cemetery, when he had known that even knowing everything about him, all of his dark and terrible secrets, she saw in him a goodness and man worth loving. She had pulled him from his dark nightmares and towards the sanctuary of her arms. He had known then that Catherine Vaillancourt was the one who knew him true. His soulmate.

But he had known that he couldn't rush her. She had been through terrible hurts. She had had to go it alone for the last five years, depending on no one but herself, knowing that the only one she could trust was the face that looked back at her from a mirror. She had been treated deplorably in town after town where she had tried only to carve out a quiet existence for herself and her daughter. Catherine had many scars, and he had wanted to go easy with her.

Watching her fall deeper in love with him, watching her learn to trust him, having her give herself to him fully, had been the ultimate experience of Jarrod's life. He had watched her closely for signs, for any indication that she desired their relationship to be permanent, but she never once talked of the future.

In addition to gaining Catherine's love and trust, Jarrod had known that he would have gain Cadence's as well. He had been fond of the child from the beginning, but he had believed that before he could plan a life with her mother, he had to also love the little girl. And she him. As he had spent more time with them, and gotten to know Cady better as well, Jarrod had fallen in love with the beautiful child as well.

He wanted to protect her and spoil her and shower her with love. He wanted to be a father to her. To try to make up for the deprivation of her own biological father and these four years already that she had not know a man's love. Jarrod wanted to raise Cadence with two caring parents, who loved her as much as they loved one another. He did not ever want her to doubt that she was not as firmly entrenched in his heart as any child of his flesh he could be.

He had known that he could not ask Catherine to marry him until he was sure that it would be what Cadence would want as well. Catherine would not ever make such a decision without considering her precious daughter first. And he had known that he couldn't force things. Jarrod had understood that, and had been willing to take his time for a full and honest relationship to form between the three of them...an unbreakable bond that none of them could deny.

Jarrod had known, in San Francisco, that he had finally succeeded. That Cadence loved him as much as he loved her. And he had known too that Catherine loved him completely. He had waited with bated breath for her to give him even the slightest bit of encouragement towards asking her to share her life with him. He had walked her by the jewelry shop in Union Square, hoping to see her express some interest in the rings there. Even just the subtlest of longing glances to indicate that marriage might be on her mind. And still, despite how happy she seemed to live in the moment with him, Catherine had not revealed to him that she wanted him to be a part of her life forever.

He had almost asked her to be his bride on a couple of different occasions in San Francisco. When he had been so overwhelmed with love, that he couldn't stand the thought of not having her forever, and had wanted to blurt out a proposal. But each time he had fought for control.

When he asked her to marry him, Jarrod wanted to do it right. He wanted it to be romantic, with him on bended knee. He wanted, at the very least, to have a ring to slip on her finger should he be so fortunate as to receive an affirmative response to the question that sang through his veins night and day.

Jarrod knew that he just couldn't wait any longer. He had been as understanding and as patient as he possibly could. He didn't imagine that he and Catherine could ever be any closer than they were now, his relationship with Cadence any more loving or solid. If Catherine wasn't ready to spend her life with him now, she never would be, he knew. And so, he had decided that on Thanksgiving Day, at the Barkley's party, he would ask the love of his life to marry him.

"We've got some beautiful diamonds that just came in," the clerk was telling him enthusiastically. "Some lovely square cuts especially."

"No, not a diamond," Jarrod said slowly, shaking his head. "Do you have any rings with those opal stones in them?" he queried, tilting his head to one side, his blue eyes bright.

"We do," the clerk said. "They aren't specifically engagement rings, but they'd make a wonderful non-traditional selection," the clerk said intrigued. He took a small key from a ring at his hip, and unlocked one of the cases. He laid on the counter a display box, containing three opal rings.

Jarrod reached for the one in the centre, bringing it closer to get a better look. The milky stone flashed fire. It was a marquis shape, set in a wide gold band, thicker in the centre and then tapering to the underside. On either side of the opal were two diamonds. Jarrod considered the ring. "Can I have two of the diamonds removed, the ones directly next to the opal, and replaced with sapphires?" he asked.

Jarrod had wanted the two blue gems to symbolize the blue of both his and Cadence's eyes, the opal to signify the fire in her soul, and the fire that she had ignited in his heart, and the diamonds were to signify the enduring quality of their love.

The clerk nodded. "Mr. Freidman, the owner, is away on holidays, but he'll be back by tomorrow. I could write up an order and he could work on it as soon as he returns. You could then pick it up, or I could send it to you special delivery as soon as he was done."

"That would be wonderful," Jarrod agreed happily. "Now, can you size the ring for me? I'm not sure of her ring size, but she's very tall. Can you make it two sizes larger than this?" The ring he held looked tiny.

"Certainly sir." He put the ring in a small velvet bag. "What would you like us to do with the diamonds we remove, Sir? We could mount them as earrings," he suggested.

"That's brilliant!" Jarrod agreed, his eyes gleaming. What a wonderful first anniversary gift those would make for Catherine. "And I need another ring, a small one, for a child. A little girl of four. I'd like a simple gold band with a single sapphire," Jarrod requested.

The clerk checked the cases and showed Jarrod a child-sized sapphire ring. "This might be a bit big for such a small child, but I can have it sized down a bit," he assured.

Jarrod smiled. The stone was the perfect blue of Cadence's eyes. "Yes! That's exactly what I was looking for!" He had had an idea, that once Catherine agreed to be his wife, he would also get down on bended knee and make a proposal to the little girl. To tell her that he would like to be her father, and that this tiny ring would signify his promises to her. That he would love her and care for her always. And her acceptance of it, would be Cady's acceptance of him as her new daddy.

"I really need these before Thanksgiving," Jarrod explained. "Is that at all possible?"

The clerk mused. "It should be. There isn't too much work to do, not like with a special custom design. He'll just be slightly altering existing pieces. I don't see why we can't then have them sent special delivery in time for the holiday."

Jarrod breathed a sigh of relief. He picked out a wide gold wedding band encircled with diamonds for Catherine, and a wide gold band with a single, square diamond for himself. He paid for all the purchases, and gave the address as the Barkley Ranch in Stockton. He thanked the young man for his help.

"Good luck, Mr. Barkley! With both the young lady, and the election!"

When Jarrod came out of the shop, humming to himself, he was so warmed by thoughts of the future, that he no longer noticed the chill that nipped at him. He might not be the next governor of California. But if Catherine accepted his proposal, Jarrod knew he would be the happiest, luckiest man to ever walk the earth. He couldn't wait to get back home and see his girls again.

Chapter 66

No funeral had ever been enjoyable, but the day that they buried thirteen-year-old Tommy Norris, was one of the absolute worst days of Nick Barkley's life.

The morning hadn't started off too badly, though Nick had had another restless night. This time, when he tossed and turned, he worried about Catherine and Cadence, alone back in that tiny shack in Stockton. He hadn't protested when Catherine had announced she and Cady were leaving. He honestly believed that it was the best for all involved. But in the darkness of night, the guilt had plagued him.

Nick hoped that when Jarrod came home and found that they were no longer there, it would force his older brother to confront some realities and make some decisions. Did his brother expect to just have Catherine and her daughter living with the Barkleys for the rest of their days as houseguests? How convenient that would be for Jarrod, Nick knew, but how grossly unfair not only to Catherine and Cady, but to the rest of the family as well.

Were they just supposed to accept her as Jarrod's mistress, and act as though she were part of the family? And how would Catherine feel, trapped forever in some in-between place....peripherally a part of his brother's life, and yet denied the respect and honour of his name? If Jarrod's intentions towards the woman and her child were honourable, the time had long come for him to make his declarations, as far as Nick was concerned.

But did Jarrod really want to spend the rest of his life with Catherine Vaillancourt? Did he want to marry her, give her his name, and have children with her? If he was thinking anywhere along those lines, did Jarrod have any idea how rocky that road would be? If he thought Catherine and Cadence were shunned and ill-treated now, Nick could only imagine the backlash and the furor if Catherine were to marry a white man.

And not just any white man, but Nick's brother. Counselor Jarrod Barkley. A man held in such high esteem by the citizens of this state that he was actually about to run for governor. His brother was about as high-profile as a man could be, Nick knew.

And the backlash wouldn't stop there, as the family was already seeing, it would extend to anyone bearing the Barkley name. Nick knew that if what Jarrod wanted, with his whole heart and soul, was to marry Catherine, then he Nick would stand between the couple and anyone who intended them harm. And there would be many who would. Who in one way or another would try to make life intolerable for the Metis woman and the white man.

If Jarrod really wanted Catherine in his life, he would have to know that his political career would be dead. The voters would never allow him into office. And if by some fluke they did, Jarrod would be a marked man. It would only be a matter of time before some self-proclaimed protector of the white heritage gunned his brother down. Was Catherine worth Jarrod's life? Was any woman? Jarrod was already receiving death threats, and if one person had taken the time to put pen to paper, guaranteed a hundred more had had the same thought but just hadn't voiced or acted upon it. Yet.

Nick could see no way out this particular forest. No way for a happily ever after for Jarrod and Catherine. Even if Jarrod were to bow out of politics, Nick believed that he'd never be hired as an attorney again. The law wasn't just Jarrod's profession. It was his life. His brother drew his strength from it, the same way Nick drew his from the soil. And the hatred of the ignorant might not just cost Jarrod his career...but his whole family their ranch, and their empire...everything that they had worked so hard to build.

Nick wished with his whole heart that it could be different...that people could be different, but he knew that they weren't.

When morning had come, Nick had saddled up Orion and gone into Stockton. He had sent the men out with Duke. He and Heath were taking the day off, since the funeral for Tommy Norris was that afternoon. But first Nick had wanted to reassure himself that Catherine and Cadence were all right. He kept thinking that if anything had happened to them, if any harm had befallen them, he would never forgive himself for just letting them leave the ranch without putting up a fuss.

He had known that Catherine lived in the shacks on the other side of the livery, but he hadn't known exactly where. After picking up the mail...several more pieces for Jarrod...he had stopped at the general store, and purchased supplies for Catherine and Cadence.

Since they had been away from their home for a week, they would probably need to replenish, especially food items like produce and meat. Fresh items. He had asked the woman behind the counter if she knew where Catherine Vaillancourt, the laundry and repair woman, lived.

"Well now, I thought the squaw lived with you Barkleys," the woman said disdainfully.

"She was our guest for a while," Nick said through gritted teeth. Damn these insufferable fools!

The woman looked at him with barely concealed contempt. Evelyn, Nick remembered her name. "I believe she lives over by the livery in those rented shacks. The one with the blue door. But your brother'd know better than I would," she added maliciously.

Nick didn't bother to thank her, as he snatched up his purchases and stormed out. He left Orion tied to the rail, and walked over to the nondescript lane. He found the house with the blue door. He noticed right away that even though it had been unoccupied for the last several days, it still had an air of being cared for. He marched up to the door, setting down the box, and knocked.

Catherine was stunned to see him Nick knew. "I, uh, just happened to be in town and thought I'd stop by and make sure you two were okay," he said.

Catherine had invited him in. He'd picked up the box of supplies and carried it through the door, setting it near the cupboard by the back of the room in the kitchen area. "Thought maybe you might not have had a chance to restock yet," he mumbled.

"Well...thank you...that's very thoughtful," she told him. Her dark eyes mirrored both her surprise and her appreciation. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Nick said. He accepted the tin cup, glancing about awkwardly. "Where's Cadence?" he asked. It was too cold and windy for the child to be playing outside, he thought with a frown.

"Next door, with the McNeil children. They're all playing with the little gifts we brought them from San Francisco."

Nick nodded. "Ya know, maybe you should come back to the house, least ways til Jarrod gets back from Sacramento," Nick blurted, surprising himself as much as her.

"Why?" Catherine asked quietly.

Nick blushed, unsure of how to put his feelings into words. Unsure even of how he felt. Why indeed? So that she and her daughter could continue to ping pong back and forth between two worlds? "Well, you know, I don't think Jarrod is gonna like it," he said lamely.

"Jarrod is the sweetest, most wonderful man I have ever known," Catherine said quietly. "But he's not being very realistic, is he Nick?" Her dark eyes were shadowed.

Nick didn't know how to respond to that.

She smiled at him, a sad, brave smile that tugged at his heartstrings. "Thank you so much, for coming to check on us, and for bringing us these things," she told him. "I guess you've got to be heading back for the funeral?"

Nick gulped the rest of his coffee. "Yeah. I still can't believe it. Such a damn shame. He was just a kid."

"Please say hello to everyone for us, and let them know they don't need to worry. Cady and I are just fine," Catherine insisted. She saw Jarrod's dark-haired brother to the door. The wind gusted in towards them, making her shiver. "Oh my, this really makes me long for those summer days again, when it was too hot to even move without breaking into a sweat! 'Strange that summer skies and sunshine, Never seem one-half so fair, As when winter's snowy pinions, Shake the white down in the air.' " She grinned at Nick. "It's not exactly snowing, but you know what I mean."

Nick grinned back at her. He could see why his brother was so drawn to her. She and Jarrod were so much alike. She wasn't the kind of woman who would have turned Nick's head, he acknowledged to himself. She didn't have that obvious beauty that made a man's mouth go dry, and his palms get sweaty, and his heart start to thud in his chest. But there was something about her. Something that Nick knew would appeal to his older brother especially.

He reached a gloved hand to squeeze her forearm. "You take care, you here?" he told her. "And if there's anything you need, anything at all...or you encounter any problems, anything...you let me know." His dark eyes were serious, his offer heartfelt.

Catherine nodded. They were good people, the Barkleys. All of them. She hated that they were having any troubles at all, and all because of her. But she couldn't bring that up without alerting Nick to the fact that she'd been eavesdropping. So she simply said, "Thank you, Nick."


He'd ridden home then, and bathed and changed into his suit. Nick hated the stiffness of the material. The unaccustomed tightness of the collar at his neck made him feel strangled. He straightened his tie then went downstairs to wait for the others.

Victoria and Audra had ridden in the buggy, Nick and Heath riding Orion and Charger alongside. There were about three dozen mourners, huddled together in the cold, as Reverend Day read from the scripture, spoke about the Lord's mysterious ways, and tried to offer words of comfort.

The Norris's had stood together...in close proximity physically, but worlds apart emotionally. Nick had watched C.J. take his mother's hand, and then drop it again moments later when her gloved fingers did not curl around his in return. Both Pauline and Kent looked so pale and haggard. Lifeless. Almost like zombies. Understandable, under the tragic conditions.

When they had lowered the coffin into the earth, Pauline Norris had suddenly come to life. Screeching, she had thrown herself into the hole, on top of the pine box, wailing and lamenting, screaming Tommy's name. The gathered mourners had stood there shocked, unsure of what to do. At last, Kent had gone to his wife, reaching down to offer her his hand, mumbling something to her.

"This is all your fault!" she'd yelled at him wildly, beating away at his arm. "I told that C.J. was to young to go loaded! I told you that you should go along with them and supervise!" Her accusations rang across the air. Her eyes were wild, sunken in her wan face. "But you never listen to me! You always think you know best! Let them learn to be men, you'd told me! But they weren't men, just boys! And now Tommy will never be a man! He's gone forever...my baby...my life...and it's all your fault!" All of her pent up anguish came out in gut-wrenching sobs.

Kent Norris had turned his stricken face towards his friend Nick Barkley. His body began to tremble, then to shake spastically. Nick and Heath had gone forward, reaching for Pauline, trying to encourage her to come out of the hole. To let Tommy go to his rest. At last, still sobbing, she had acquiesced, and holding onto them for support, had climbed out of the grave. Her black dress was covered with dirt, her cheeks streaked with dusty tears.

Victoria had taken Pauline Norris into her arms, holding her tight, encouraging Pauline to grieve. Kent Norris had stood there, shame-faced and dumbfounded. C.J.'s skin had a ghastly pallor. Reverend Day nodded to Nick and Heath and they began to shovel dirt over the grave. The plunk of the earth hit the pine box with that sound of finality that was like no other. It was perhaps one of the saddest, loneliest sounds in the world.

Kent had approached his wife, and she had turned on him again, kicking and screaming obscenities at him, words that no decent woman should know. She'd grabbed the pocket of his coat, the fabric tearing under her frantic efforts. She had spat at him, yelling again the it was her husband's fault that their firstborn son was dead, and that she wished it was him instead who was being put to rest in the cold ground. She wailed that she never wanted to see him again, and that she wished he would just kill her as well.

Nick had felt sick. He'd seen some painful graveside mourning that had torn his heart apart before, but never such a scene between a family, between people who he knew loved one another and had always worked together. He felt for all of them, his gut twisting. Pauline, so obviously decimated by her loss, Kent carrying not only the grief of his son's death, but the guilt now that his wife had transferred to him. C.J. watching the whole scene, a scene that would mark him for many years, if not his whole life. Nick wasn't sure if this family would ever recover from this tragedy.

Victoria had arranged for mourners to come back to the Barkley ranch, for tea or coffee, or something stronger if they desired, and sandwiches and desserts. But with these new events, she felt that it would be better if she and Audra just took Pauline and C.J. Norris back to the Norris place. Nick and Heath could take Kent back to the ranch for a while. The embarrassed and aching mourners, having no desire to gather together in light of the scene by the graveside, had readily agreed to disperse, dispensing with the Barkley's gathering afterwards, eager to put as much distance between themselves and this sorrow as possible.

Nick drove the Norris's surrey back to the Barkley ranch, Orion tethered behind. Heath rode behind. Kent Norris sat wordlessly, his shoulders slumped, his eyes glistening with the sorrow that he himself had not yet given voice to. When they got to the main house, Nick led Kent inside, while Heath offered to take care of the horses and the rig.

Nick left Kent sitting on a chair in the billiards room, while he went to Jarrod's study to get a bottle of the really good scotch. He had a feeling that Kent was going to need a couple of stiff drinks. And even if he didn't, Nick sure as hell did. The outburst at the grave haunted him. He returned to the billiards room, almost dropping the bottle of expensive liquor at the tableau that met his eyes.

Kent Norris sat on one of the overstuffed leather chairs, the barrel of a rifle jammed up under his chin. He had taken a gun from the rack along the wall, and propped it under his neck. His arm stretched downward between his knees, his finger on the weapon's trigger. His eyes were vacant and unseeing.

"Kent, no," Nick said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. He had to do something fast to prevent this additional tragedy. He felt the bile rise in his gorge. If he said or did the wrong thing, Kent was going to follow through with his plan. He was going to shoot himself. Nick saw the resignation on the other man's face, the hopelessness and despair, and knew that this wasn't just some stunt to gain sympathy. If Nick didn't intercede, Kent Norris was going to blow his brains out, right here, right now.

One wrong word, one wrong move on Nick's part and it would be all over. He knew that the man's future, his very life was in Nick's hands. 'I can't do this!' Nick thought desperately, the pressure crushing him. It was a vice around his body, squeezing the blood from his head and the breath from his lungs. 'I never, ever say the right thing!'

Nick prayed that he would hear Heath's footsteps, coming to rescue him, coming to rescue he and Kent Norris both, but Heath wasn't done yet. It would take him some time to unsaddle both their horses, and unhitch the Norris mare. And there was no time.

"Kent, take it easy," Nick said softly, a cold, greasy sweat breaking out on his face. He could feel the beads of perspiration on his forehead and above his lip. "You don't want to do that. You've got to put the gun down, Kent," he pleaded.

Kent Norris jammed his chin further into the gunmetal, his words coming out strangled. "She's right you know. It is my fault. I was their father. It was my job to protect them both. I failed. I failed them all."

Nick's head was spinning. What were the right words for such a situation? Were there any? And what were the wrong words? One small miscalculation on his part and Kent would follow through. How could Nick keep this from happening before his very eyes? "It was an accident. A terrible, senseless accident, but nobody's to blame here," Nick tried to soothe.

"Tell that to Pauline," Kent said, his vision shimmering.

"She's upset. Rightly so. You've both suffered an unimaginable loss. But she needs you, Kent. Her and C.J. both." The sweat trickled over his brow and down into Nick's eyes. He wiped it away with the back of his hand before the salt could sting.

"I don't deserve to live," Kent said forlornly, his pain folding his features.

Nick knew that Kent Norris was a proud man. He was a lot like Nick, which was how they had gotten to be friends. Kent was tough and unsentimental on the outside, not needing anyone, his role to be the protector and the provider.

Nick tried to think what lifeline he could cast the man. What words might get through to him if he was grieving and at the end of his rope. These next words would perhaps be the most important ones that Nick had ever spoken before and could make the difference between life and death.

"Stop being so selfish!" Nick snarled then. He was gratified to see the spark in the other man's eyes. "Don't you dare take the easy way out! You don't have that luxury! Don't you dare sully Tommy's memory this way, with your own self-indulgence!"

Nick saw that he had caught the other man's attention. That Kent was looking at him, listening to him. "Pauline and C.J. need you! You step up to the plate and you be there for them! You stop this foolishness, and you remember what your job is! They need you to take care of them!"

"They'll both be better off without me," Kent said stubbornly. But his eyes were riveted on Nick's face, seeming to beg Nick to continue.

"No, they won't! What's gonna happen to them? Who's gonna take care of them? Who's gonna provide for them, and run the ranch, and keep food in their bellies and a roof over their heads? Who's gonna teach C.J. to be a man?" Nick kept his voice harsh, believing anger, not sympathy, was the best way to bring Kent out of that terrible place he had retreated to. "Those are your jobs, Kent. Be a man!"

"I miss him so much, Nick," Kent Norris said. Nick's breath caught as the other man lowered the rifle. "It's like it's me in the ground there."

Nick crept forward cautiously. Kent watched him. When Nick reached for the gun, and Kent relinquished it, Nick finally let out his breath. His heart galloped in his chest. He knew somehow that this would be the last of it. That from here, Kent would begin his healing process, and there would be no more thoughts of suicide.

Nick closed his eyes, his legs feeling like they might buckle. God had been with him, and Nick hadn't failed his friend. For once, he hadn't said the wrong thing. Nick couldn't imagine the torment that would bring a man to this state, where giving up seemed the only thing he could do, the only way to escape the pain.

Nick touched his hand to the other man's shoulder. He could understand the sense of helplessness and despair. The loss and the guilt. He had felt many of those same things when his own father had been murdered. "I know, Kent," Nick said, his gruff voice raw, his body still bathed in the sour sweat of this emotional ordeal. "I know."

Chapter 67

The station master had announced the delay to a chorus of groans from the passengers who had already waited an hour for the overdue train. There had been a robbery just outside of Tupper Springs. Apparently, one of the infamous Dolan gang had boarded there, after the gang had been alerted by an insider that a huge payroll was going out to the Kendrick-Brown mine. The outlaw had gotten to the engine, forcing the engineer to halt the train in a narrow pass where the remainder of the gang had lain in wait to board the train and divest the mail car of it's prize.

The armed guard watching over the car, and the mail sorter, had both been killed in ensuing gunfire. The man in the front of the train had scuffled with the engineer. The outlaw had been fatally wounded, and the engineer had received a flesh wound. The rest of the gang had ridden out with their ill gotten proceeds.

The station master said that the sheriff from Tupper Springs was riding out to the scene to take reports from eye witnesses. It would take a couple of hours before the train would leave the pass. Additionally, a replacement engineer was being brought in from nearby Johnsville. Passengers already on board were being given the option of remaining on and continuing with their journeys once the ride was underway again, or of taking wagons back to Tupper Springs where they would be billeted overnight at the railroad's expense. Most had chosen this option.

This was the last train due through Sacramento and back towards Stockton. The station master offered passengers in Sacramento the choice of waiting for the train, which would eventually be up and running but be delayed several hours altogether, or of holding their tickets which would be honoured on any of the following day's trains.

Jarrod had decided to wait. He didn't want to remain in Sacramento any longer. Even if the train was delayed, and he didn't get into Stockton until well after dark, he felt as though he couldn't go another day without seeing Catherine. Even though he would wait for Thanksgiving to make his proposal, he could at least share with her the information that he had withdrawn from the race for the Republican nomination.

That was another reason Jarrod knew he had to get back tonight. He had seen Henry Stanton for lunch today. Stanton had informed him that the news would break in tomorrow's paper. Jarrod had to be home to tell everyone in person, before they got the Stockton Eagle and read the announcement there. He hadn't wired that he was coming back today, wanting to surprise them.

It was twilight when the iron horse had chugged at last into the Sacramento station, it's passenger cars mostly empty. Only a few other passengers boarded with Jarrod. Finally, the whistle sounded and the train pulled out of Sacramento and Jarrod was at last on his way back to Catherine, Cadence, and his family.

It was past ten o'clock when Jarrod arrived at the ranch. He stabled the rented mount, and bounded up onto the veranda and on into the foyer, humming to himself, so happy at last to be home. He wondered if Catherine would already be asleep. The house was quiet, and Jarrod realized that everyone had probably turned in for the evening all ready.

He had hung up his coat then hurried up the stairs, at least wanting to peek in on his girls and make sure they were all right. And perhaps if he was really lucky, Catherine would be awake and reading in bed. Perhaps he could tempt her downstairs for a nightcap or a game of chess, or just to curl up on the chesterfield in his arms.

When Jarrod pushed open the door to her guest room, he saw that the room was blanketed in darkness. There was enough moonlight filtering through the lace curtains that he saw the bed was empty. Neither Catherine nor Cadence were there. Frowning, Jarrod wondered if they had moved to another room for some reason. Perhaps they had been unable to sleep and were actually downstairs somewhere still, in the library or the billiards room. He hadn't actually checked the house yet to see if anyone was indeed still awake.

The downstairs rooms were empty. Jarrod began to get a sick feeling that something bad had happened. He was on his way back upstairs to see if Mother was still up, or to wake her if she was not, to ask her what was going on. To find out where Catherine and Cadence were. He hadn't checked the other guest rooms yet, and perhaps he should do that first, Jarrod reasoned. Then he had seen the sliver of light from beneath his study door. Someone was up, at least.

Nick looked up at him when Jarrod entered the room. His brother sat behind the desk, papers sprawled messily over the surface. Nick had a pencil in his hand and had been writing something. Jarrod could sense that Nick was in a foul mood. "Well, Counselor, how nice of you to stop by," Nick welcomed sarcastically.

Jarrod moved closer to the desk. "I see you're up late with paperwork," Jarrod said, trying a light smile, "and I know how much you hate that. So I won't disturb you more than necessary, Brother Nick. Where is Catherine?"

Nick's face was unreadable. "She went home." He tapped his pencil against the desktop.

Jarrod frowned. "What do you mean, she went home?" he asked in alarm. "Back to her place in Stockton? When? Why would she do that? I asked you to watch over them while I was gone!" Jarrod said accusingly. He'd been caught off guard and spoke more sharply than he intended.

"What I told you, actually, was that while they were under this roof, they were part of this family, and I'd take care of them," Nick said coldly. "But I didn't say I was going to lock them in their room and forbid Catherine to move about freely or make her own decisions."

Nick had a terrible headache. He'd had three nights in a row of almost non-existent sleep. He'd been dealing with so much turmoil lately, that it had left him drained. And now his brother stood there, implying that Nick had let him down somehow...had failed to fulfill his obligations. Nick could have told his brother that he had checked on Catherine and Cadence both yesterday morning when he had taken her some supplies, and then again today when he'd gone into Stockton. But he didn't like to have to justify himself.

"As for why she left, you'll just have to ask her!" Nick growled. "She did say that since Doc Merar had been here and pronounced her just about healed, and since there was no longer any danger from either George or that miner, Jenner....she believed that the place for her was back in her own home!"

Jarrod was floored by that revelation. He had hoped that Catherine and Cadence had come to accept this as their home. At the very least, he would have thought Catherine would have waited until his return to make such a decision. After all, she had known he wouldn't be in Sacramento more than a few days.

Jarrod's heart lurched with worry imagining the two of them back there in that shack, alone and unprotected, with the memories of their terror. Jarrod's eyes narrowed. Someone must have said or done something to make Catherine and Cady feel unwelcome here. And to his mind, the most likely culprit was his brother.

"Did anything happen that would cause her to believe her place was there and not here?" Jarrod asked hotly.

Nick pushed back from his chair and stood up, going around the desk. He pushed his face into his brother's. "Not that I know of," Nick said angrily. "You'll just have to ask Catherine! And as far as I'm concerned, if you're so damn worried about them, maybe you shouldn't have just taken off to Sacramento that way!" His voice raised higher with each word.

'That's not fair, Nick," Jarrod snapped back. "You know that I've had things to take care of. I left them here thinking you'd watch over them!"

Nick leaned back, crossing his hands over his chest. "Well...perhaps I've had a few things to take care of myself," Nick said with a humourless grin. "And anyway...give me ONE good reason why I shouldn't have let them go back there? Had they moved in permanently here and you just hadn't bothered to inform anyone? 'Course there's a lot that you don't keep us up to date on lately, isn't there, Brother Dear?"

Jarrod couldn't understand Nick's animosity. "What the hell is going on, Nick?" he demanded, hands on his hips.

Nick laughed, an ugly sound. "Are you sure you want to know?" he asked.

"Out with it," Jarrod retorted sharply.

Nick began to pace the room. He hadn't wanted to dump all of this on his brother. Not this way. He'd believed that Jarrod should know what they were facing...he was part of this family too...but Nick hadn't planned to tell him like this. Too much had happened over the last few days though and Nick's nerves were strung taut.

Among the latest developments had been a destructive brawl in town last night. It had involved several of the Barkley hands against some other drunken patrons in the saloon. Apparently, it had all come about after some comments about the 'injun loving' Barkleys and those who worked for them.

The comments had been designed to incite anger and violence, and had done just that. The fight had ended with some major damaged to the bar of the saloon, the destruction of the mirrored shelves behind it, and the loss of several bottles of liquor. Sheriff Madden had invited several of the participants, Barkley hands included, to be his guests overnight at the jail. Nick had had to ride into Stockton this morning and reimburse Harry for the damage, before bailing the men out. Ortez had quit outright, claiming he'd had enough, and a couple others had looked like they longed to go with him.

Then there had been the report this afternoon that one of the buyers for some of their horses, who had been talking about purchasing ten to a dozen of their prime brood mares, had backed out of the as yet unsigned deal. No reasons had been given to Nick, but he had heard that the buyer was privately citing personal reasons of 'morality'. He just couldn't deal with people 'like the Barkleys'.

Nick had spent many frustrating hours this evening going over the books. It hadn't been the best year for the Barkley interests. They weren't hurting by any stretch of the imagination, but Nick was having to do some recalculating. If he didn't get a buyer for the almonds and walnuts within the next day or two, he could forget all about the new wells he'd been planning on digging in the spring.

Worst of all, were the new death threats that had come in. They'd been for Jarrod, but they'd come addressed simply to the Barkley Ranch, so they had gone to Nick. They'd all been pretty much the same, condemning his brother's relationship with an Indian woman. Promising that Jarrod would never live to walk up the steps of the Capitol. The letters had left Nick shaken.

All of this, coupled with having to dealing with the Tommy Norris's funeral and it's aftermath, had left Nick vulnerable. He had nothing left inside that would allow him to erect even the flimsiest of barriers between his raw emotions and logical thought. Now he tried to deal with his perceived unfair treatment and judgement by his brother. Nick's head was pounding, numbers were dancing in a mocking jumble before his tired eyes, and now Jarrod strolled in, acting as though Nick had done some terrible thing to him. Or to Catherine.

"Well, where shall I start?" the cowboy asked, his toothy grin anything but friendly. "Do you want me to follow a timeline? Or just go from bad to worse? Or just say whatever pops into my head first?" Nick's cheeks grew red. "How about this....I had to go bail half of our hands out of Sheriff Madden's jail this morning....because they tore apart the Golden Eagle saloon. Not all by themselves, of course. They were defending the Barkley honour! Trying not to let our good friends and neighbours sully our family's name with their racists slurs!"

Jarrod clenched his fists. Recalling his confrontation with Jed Slater and the mood in the saloon at that time, he could well imagine the scene that had met the hands when they got to town. He felt sick trying to imagine what might have been said, and then pictured the men trying to stick up for their bosses, and paying the price with bruises and lacerations.

"And then of course, I had to pay for the damage! Not really such a financial hardship as that may at first seem though!" Nick called out gaily with false enthusiasm. "Seems that all the money I'd set aside for Al Langford's breeding bull was returned to our account. Langford decided to renege on the deal! And then we'll be saving all that money on wages....'cause Ortez quit this morning right after I'd bailed him out. And Millar and Forbes, well they were smart....they took off a few days ago!"

Nick hated seeing the pale look on his older brother's face, the pained look in Jarrod's blue eyes. But he just couldn't stop himself. He raged on. "We had some fence deliberately cut and our cattle spooked, but we managed to round 'em all up again, thank you very much! Don't you worry yourself none about that!"

Jarrod gazed dumbfounded at Nick. He couldn't believe all that he was hearing. He couldn't believe the anger and the resentment that sparked from his brother's dark eyes. He felt nauseous trying to decipher all that Nick was telling him. And through it all, he felt a cold knot in his stomach. Fear for Catherine.

"Of course, none of what's been happening here is anywhere near as bad as what happened to the Norrises! Tommy Norris died of that head wound. We buried him yesterday. 'Course we gave your condolences. I'm sure the Norrises know that you're way too important, way too busy, to put in an appearance yourself, and understood that you couldn't make it."

That wasn't fair, Nick knew, and regretted the words the second he'd uttered them. They hadn't even notified Jarrod of the Norris boy's death. But Nick was hurting so badly inside, he just had to lash out. He was so tired, so confused, so dizzy from the way events had been spiraling out of control lately.

Nick was a man of action, who liked to meet his problems head on and deal with them at once. But his hands had been tied. Both by Mother and by his lack of information from Jarrod. And so things had been building inside the tall, rangy rancher, and now he couldn't hold back anymore.

Jarrod's pallor deepened to learn that Tommy Norris had succumbed to his gunshot wound. The hunting accident that had injured Tommy had occurred on the same day that George Vail had tried to kill Catherine and Cadence.

"Oh and I almost forgot," Nick trilled with frightening good humour, "our deal with Kimball-Merriweather, involving both Overland Express and Sacramento Western Wholesalers is off! And I haven't been able to swing another one yet. So I've just been sitting here deciding whether or not we should offset the losses by closing mine number two, or by laying off men at the mill, or maybe by selling the vineyards!" Nick knew that that was extreme. It wouldn't come to that. But Jarrod needed a wake up call.

Jarrod shook his head. "We had a deal. A deal that was good for all of us. We have a signed contract. Why would they do that?" His brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah, I thought we had a contract too. In fact you checked it over before advising we accept it. Seems now that there were one or two little loopholes, some teeny, tiny print that you overlooked. Course, this was all done several months ago, and as I recall you weren't quite yourself, isn't that so....Counselor? Maybe we should have gotten a second opinion!" Nick told him cruelly.

"I don't understand," Jarrod said. Then he thought that he did. Patrick Vandermeer was one of the most strident voices behind Kimball-Merriweather. Patrick Vandermeer who had looked at Jarrod with such hate in the private room of the Carlton Club when Jarrod had announced he was withdrawing. But this just didn't make any sense! Even if Patrick was furious with Jarrod's political decision it didn't follow that he would want to terminate a mutually lucrative business arrangement.

Nick jabbed his finger into Jarrod's chest. "Well I do! Didn't you stop to think when you went parading Catherine all over San Francisco, that there was bound to be fall out?!" Nick's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "And there was! So you see...I'm sorry, Big Brother, but I've been a little too busy dealing with the consequences of your little romance, to get down on my knees and beg your mistress to stay here indefinitely!"

Jarrod knocked Nick's hand away, his own cheeks colouring. How dare his brother try to blame this on Catherine! How dare Nick hold Catherine responsible for any of the things that had been happening! How dare Nick speak about her that way! Even if some prejudiced people were being thorns in their sides, none of this was any of Catherine's fault. And why hadn't anyone told Jarrod what had been going on?

"Watch it, Nick," Jarrod said, his voice rising. "Watch what you say about Catherine." His blues eyes flashed.

"I'm not saying anything about Catherine!" Nick hollered. "But I think it's pretty damned apparent that other people are! I think you need to pull your head out of the sand and deal with the situation! Catherine went back to the shack. She went home. And it's probably a damn good thing for us...for all of us," he insisted pointedly, "that she did."

Jarrod was stunned by the things his brother was saying to him. Nick, whose support he had always counted on, who had always been so close to him, so encouraging and so protective. Nick was saying that he was glad that Catherine had left the Barkley mansion. Catherine, the woman that Jarrod loved more than he had known it possible to love. The woman he was going to marry. It had probably been Nick who had driven Catherine away.

Nick saw the suspicion, the malice on his older brother's face. Nick couldn't take this any more. He couldn't take the secrets, the pretending and the uncertainty. He hadn't even been able to stop to breathe and think in the last week. And he especially couldn't deal with the letters that threatened his beloved brother's life. Jarrod had to know the truth...all the truth...and he had to make a decision...now!

"You've always told me that being a Barkley was a great privilege. And that along with that privilege, goes great power, but it also means great responsibility!" Nick said emphatically. "How many times in the past have you sat me down and made me rethink some course I was hell bent on? How many times have you taken me to task for some bad decision I'd made? How many time have you told me that because I was a Barkley, there was more to think about than just myself? That I had a responsibility to others? To this family? To all the people we employ?

"Think about it, Jarrod!" Nick implored desperately. "For God's sake, think about it! What are you going to do, walk around with your head in the clouds forever? Or just til the damage to this family or our holdings is irreparable? Or maybe you'll just persist til someone shoots you in the back?!" Nick's voice was strangled with the last question. He couldn't imagine anything happening to his adored brother. But he couldn't protect Jarrod if Jarrod wasn't prepared to acknowledge there was a danger and protect himself.

"What do you think you're going to do? Do you think you're going to marry her?" If Nick hadn't been so upset, he might have seen the answer in his brother's eyes, and stopped there. But he didn't, and he hadn't actually believed that this might ever be Jarrod's eventual plan, so he pressed on. He only wanted to make his brother confront reality. To force him into a decision, one way or the other. He wanted his brother to see his relationship with Catherine the way the outside world saw it. "Do you plan on taking Catherine for your wife? Do you plan on siring half-breed Barkleys?!"

Nick never even saw the punch coming. Jarrod's fist exploded, connecting with his brother's jaw. Nick went down, the world going hazy. If he'd been expecting it, there was no way Jarrod would have gotten off a punch. Jarrod was no match for Nick in a fist fight. But Jarrod had caught Nick completely unawares. Any other man would have been knocked unconscious from the force and the fury of the blow. Nick lay on the ground, dazed and hurt but still cognizant.

Jarrod launched himself onto his brother, straddling him. He had had just about all of the bigotry he could take. That it was coming now from his own brother, was breaking his heart. Jarrod had sacrificed everything for Catherine. His political career, and eventually it was possible that his law career would be affected as well. But he had never imagined he might have to sacrifice his family! Jarrod loved Catherine. And he loved Cadence. And he would love any children he might be one day be blessed to share with Catherine. Any brothers or sisters that he might one day be fortunate enough to give his beautiful Cady. To hear Nick's words...'half-breed Barkleys'...had cut Jarrod to the quick.

Jarrod grabbed Nick now by the shirt, shaking him furiously, his blue eyes wild with pain and bitter disappointment. Nick's head lolled, but his eyes were still open, trying to focus on the brother who had decked him and now had the front of his shirt in both of his fists. "If you ever, ever say such a thing again...if you ever...I'll kill you Nick! Do you hear me?" Jarrod shouted, pulling his brother's face towards his own, his blue eyes boring into the dazed darker ones, his breath hot on Nick's face. "I'll kill you!"

Chapter 68

Audra stood unnoticed in the doorway of Jarrod's study, transfixed by the odious confrontation that had just played out between her two oldest brothers. She had listened aghast to their loathsome exchange, tears springing to her sapphire eyes. She had wanted to cry out to them to stop, to put an end to their tumultuous and barbarous dissension. To cease this confrontation before they could inflict any more misery on one another. Before the damage to their relationship was incurable.

When Jarrod had swung at Nick, and then sat over him, uttering those accursed words, making that unfathomable threat, Audra had turned and fled. She had run up the wide, winding staircase to her room, struggling out of her silk nightgown and grabbing her riding slacks and a blouse. She rummaged quickly through her bureau, finding what she sought and slipping it into her pants pocket. Jarrod and Nick's acrimonious words, their malevolent animosity, haunted the young woman. Never would she have imagined that things could ever disintegrate this way between two men who she knew loved and respected one another, valuing a relationship that few men were lucky enough to know.

She had stood agape as Nick had ranted, each trial and tribulation that the family was facing felt almost as a physical blow. Her family was being torn apart. And not just from the outside, but from within. Audra had to do something, had to put an end to this agony that had afflicted those she loved most. Flying down the stairs again, Audra had grabbed her coat and dashed out through the darkness to the stable.

With shaking fingers, she saddled Misty Girl, her mother's horse being the most accessible mount. Audra had scrambled up into the saddle, guiding the mare through the big wrought iron arch that proclaimed this Barkley property. The wind of the last few days had died down, but it was still cold. She should have worn her hat, or at least remembered her riding gloves. But there was no time to turn back now. Her family was at an untenable juncture, and Audra knew that there was only one way to save them all.

Misty Girl's stride covered the miles between the ranch and Stockton, her hooves beating the hard-packed earth, her breath making grey plumes in the chill night air. Audra leaned forward in the saddle, tears stinging her eyes, as she tried to put the horrific scene she had just witnessed from her mind. To have her two beloved brothers at one another's throats this way, to hear Jarrod actually threaten to kill Nick, left Audra rattled in a way she had never experienced before.

At last she came to the crossroads just outside of town, the black mare's sides heaving from the scorching pace she had been forced to set. Audra urged her on just a little further, through the dark and mostly empty streets of Stockton. She found the little shack, dismounting fluidly, and wrapping the mare's reins around a picket fence. Misty Girl stood, her legs splayed, her head bowed, her neck and sides covered with white froth. Audra knew the horse should be walked first, knew she needed water, but there was no time. Apologetically, she patted the mare's arched neck, then dashed to the blue painted door.

Catherine was startled by the urgency of the frantic knocking that roused her from her slumber. Hoping that Cadence would remain asleep, she got out of bed and hurried through the muslin curtain into the main room. She made her way through the darkness to the door, glancing regretfully at the empty gun rack. Fear gripped her as she pulled back the lace curtain, looking out onto the stoop.

She was stunned to see Audra Barkley standing there, huddled in the cold. 'Good, Lord,' Catherine thought, her heart plummeting. 'Something has happened to Jarrod!' She opened the door, and stepped back. Without waiting to be invited in, Audra shot inside, closing the door behind her. "Audra what's wrong?" Catherine asked, her voice shrill.

"I need to talk to you. Now!" Audra insisted in the darkness. Catherine fumbled with the lamp, until at last a golden glow surrounded the two women. "Is Cady asleep?" Audra asked sharply.

Catherine nodded, her pulse pounding in her temples. "Jarrod?" she squeaked out. "Has something happened to him? Is he all right?"

"He's not all right!" Audra shook her head. Catherine's knees grew weak. "But he will be. As soon as I've finished saying what needs to be said!"

Catherine stared at her, incomprehension pulling at her bronzed features. "Please, Audra," she pleaded. "Tell me what's wrong!"

Audra drew a deep breath, looking up at the taller woman, at the concern that tightened her face. "Please believe me, when I say that I have nothing against you personally, Catherine. You or Cadence. I think you're both wonderful. We all do! You know that." Audra's creamy features softened. "If Jarrod knew I was here, he'd be furious. But I had to come! Jarrod has always taken care of me. Taken care of all of us! He's looked after our best interests even when we couldn't see for ourselves what that was. He's always, always put others first. And now the time has come for me to repay him!" the blonde asserted.

Catherine was confused by Audra's words, but she knew that she wasn't going to like wherever this conversation was heading. She inclined her head to show that she was willing to listen.

"Jarrod's whole life has been spent in the service of the law. You know that. It's always been the most important thing in his life, outside of the family. He was the first Barkley to attend college. Did you know that?" Audra didn't wait for a reply. "He excelled there. We were all so proud of him. He was the first lawyer to open a law office in Stockton.

"Jarrod's whole sense of self is tied to that. To serving justice. And he's also had another ambition, that he's just now starting to realize. Politics." Audra paused. "What Jarrod can achieve, what he will achieve, will not only be beneficial to Jarrod, but to all of the people he will represent as Governor. Not just one or two, or dozens, but hundreds...thousands of people will benefit, thousands of lives can be changed if a man like my brother were to speak for them.

"Someone who will make decisions based not on what's best for one greedy cynic, but decisions made by a man who's decent and loyal and dedicated. A man who's progressive and far-seeing!"

A Warrior of the Rainbow, Catherine thought as she listened to Jarrod's sister give her impassioned speech. She knew that every word the platinum-haired young woman had spoken was true. By why Audra felt it was necessary to ride out from the Barkley ranch at what must be close to midnight, alone, to tell her all of this, Catherine did not want to fathom.

"But Jarrod is at risk of losing everything. Everything that he has always wanted and dreamed of having. Everything that he has spent his whole life working towards. He's even losing the people he has cared for," she continued, seeing again one brother swing at the other. "He's losing those very relationships that have helped to define who he is as a man...." Audra's sapphire eyes filled with tears.

She reached out towards Catherine, taking one of the brown, work-roughened hands in her own soft, pale one. "It just can't be, Catherine. You and Jarrod. Surely you know that."

Catherine gasped, jerking her hand away. Her obsidian eyes narrowed. She didn't know what had precipitated Audra's decision to come here, or what her motivations were. She assumed that Nick had probably shared with the family the bad news about their nut crops. It was obvious now though what Audra's mission was. "I love Jarrod! And he loves me!" Catherine cried.

"I know," Audra said quietly, as she bit at her bottom lip. "Which makes this all the harder. I love my brother, Catherine. If there was any other way, I wouldn't be here. But everything that Jarrod has spent a lifetime building, everything that my family has spent a lifetime building, is in danger. His career, his friendships. Even his relationships with his family." A shadow crossed her eyes. She paused, looking away from Catherine. "Jarrod is a white man, and you are Metis. An Indian woman."

Catherine's head snapped up proudly. "That doesn't matter to me, and it doesn't matter to Jarrod, so why should you care?" she demanded, the pain and humiliation washing over her. Audra had always treated she and Cadence so sweetly. With open friendship. But apparently it had all been a facade. Beneath her beautiful exterior there was an ugly heart. Catherine was shattered.

"No, it doesn't matter to either of you. Or, truth be told, to any of us," Audra assured Catherine. Then she recalled Nick's remark and wondered if that were really true. "But Jarrod doesn't live in an insulated box. Or even in this valley, which seems so big but which I know to be small in the great scheme of things. This isn't his world. And in the bigger world, the one that Jarrod is truly a part of, it does matter. To most people.

"Because they don't understand, or it makes them uncomfortable, or because they are flat out ignorant...but it does matter. Jarrod is so close to becoming governor. His backing is strong. Men with money and influence believe in him. People love him. But now, things are changing."

"Because of me," Catherine supplied softly. "Because of who I am and because Jarrod demands the right to love me." Her mouth curved downward.

"And that's not right, and it's not fair...but it's reality." Audra insisted. "It's the reality that my brother has to live with."

"Maybe it's not really that important to Jarrod to be Governor," Catherine grasped for a way out of this abyss.

Audra shrugged. "Maybe not. Maybe Jarrod might even be willing to give up those ambitions. All of his dreams of any sort of a political career. My brother probably could love a woman more than any of that. But there's more to it than that," she said. "Word has gotten out about your relationship. How could it not after you both went off so blithely to San Francisco? I don't know what Jarrod's been playing at. Whether he thinks that he alone can take on generations of hatred and prejudice. But this won't just cost Jarrod his political ambitions. It will eventually affect his law office's as well. People will express their displeasure in the way that will hurt him the most. They won't give him the opportunity to practice as an attorney."

Catherine wondered if that could be true. If it could really go that far. She ached to think of Jarrod suffering because he dared to care for a half-breed Metis woman. Because he dared to love her. She knew how important it was to him to be an attorney. But maybe, just maybe, she and Cady were more important to him. If Jarrod was willing to accept that sacrifice, Catherine thought that she wouldn't have the strength to stop him or to turn him away.

Audra seemed to sense what she was thinking. "There's more to it than even that," she told Catherine, determined to finish what she had begun. "More than Jarrod refuses to admit or to contemplate. Jarrod is a Barkley! He has certain obligations that are inherent with the name. Being a Barkley means that you are not only responsible for yourself, but for others who depend on you.

"I don't know how aware you are of how extensive our holdings are. The ranch. The cattle and the horses. The orchards. The vineyards and the winery. The mills and the mines. All part of the Barkley empire. Founded by my father and mother and continued and expanded on by my brothers today.

"All of these holdings will be feeling the effects of your relationship soon. Suffering. If people refuse to deal with us, refuse to purchase our goods, or supply to us...then there is nothing we can do but stand by and watch our endeavours fail."

Catherine hung her head. She already knew about the broken deal with the almonds and walnuts. What other situations was the family facing? She could not ever have anticipated all of the ramifications to her love of Jarrod and his of her. She had known from the onset that things would be difficult. But she could never have anticipated all of this. But still, she rebelled at the thought of losing Jarrod. Did the dissolution of their relationship have to be the only way to salvage things.

Catherine felt her bitterness rise. "Are you worried that you might have to buy a few less silk and taffeta dresses next season?" she asked cattily, arching a dark brow.

"Do you honestly believe that's why I've come here?" Audra asked. "For monetary reasons? Because I'm so spoiled and selfish that I would sacrifice my brother's happiness for a few material goods?" Audra turned and began to pace the room. "Do you have any idea how many employees we have? How many families depend on a Barkley paycheck?

"Do you have any idea what will happen to those innocent men, and the women and children they support, if they lose their jobs because Nick has to close down a mine or cease the operations at the winery? Do you know how hard it is to find decent, fair-paying jobs with good working conditions? How long do you think those families can last? And you think I'm the one who's being selfish?!"

Audra was right, Catherine realized guiltily. What would happen to those people? People who had no control over their own destinies, but were being pulled inexorably along in the shadow of Catherine and Jarrod's ill-fated love affair.

"But I love him," Catherine whispered hoarsely, tears in her eyes. "And Cady loves him. And he loves us. I know he does. He's happy. I believe that with all of my heart."

Audra stopped pacing and stood before the other woman again. "Tonight, Jarrod and Nick had a terrible fight. Nick was trying to explain to Jarrod all of these things that I have tried to explain to you. Because Nick knew that he had a duty...to Jarrod. To tell him the truth about things.

"They exchanged some terrible, terrible words. Words that might damage their relationship forever. And then Jarrod hit Nick, and he knocked him down. And he grabbed Nick, and he threatened to kill him." Tears shone in Audra's eyes.

Catherine felt as though she was going to be sick, her stomach convulsing. She tried to imagine her gentle, peaceable Jarrod assaulting and threatening his brother that way. She remembered what Jarrod had told her about Nick stepping between Jarrod's gun and Cass Hyatt. Risking his own life. Not to save the murderer, but to save his beloved brother's soul. How could this be happening? How could she have caused all of this?

"It tore at my heart," Audra confessed with heart-breaking sorrow. "To see them at odds that way. They have always been so close. Always been so supportive of one another. They've been willing to give up their lives for one another. They've saved one another from death on more than one occasion. It's been that relationship that's helped to make each of my brothers the man that he is today. They share a family history, they know things about one another that no one else could ever know or understand.

"Neither is complete without the other. They share the same memories and the same blood. The same past, the same present and the same future. Yet now, there is this gigantic wedge between them.

Catherine's eyes fixed on Audra's. "I can't tell you how much it hurts me to think of Jarrod and Nick fighting," Catherine said. "But even if I told Jarrod that I wanted to break it off, he'd never believe me. He'd never let me."

"That's why you have to leave Stockton," Audra asserted. "And make sure that Jarrod not only can't find you, but that he won't even try."

"Leave Stockton?!" Catherine exclaimed. "But this our home! Cadence finally has friends here. I've finally found friends. Where would we go? What would we do? No! That's too much to ask, Audra! I will tell Jarrod that I can't see him anymore. I love him enough to do that. I know how much his career and his family mean to him. But I won't leave Stockton. I can't uproot Cady like that again!"

Audra shook her head sadly. "And you will pretend that this will all blow over and go away. And you know that Jarrod won't accept your rejection. He'll keep at you. And because you love him, you won't be able to be strong, or to stay away from him. Even if you both know it's what's best. You'll think that maybe you can still be together...now and then. On the sly. But people will know."

Audra reached into her pocket and withdrew a roll of bills. She pressed them into Catherine's palm. "That's more than enough to leave Stockton. There's enough money there to give you and Cadence a fresh start elsewhere. To get you back to Canada even."

Catherine stared agape at the money. "A payoff?" she asked, her words strangled. "To leave your brother? Even if you don't care about mine and Cady's happiness, what about Jarrod's?"

Audra looked at her sympathetically. "Do you think it's fair to either of you, this relationship? Living in the shadows? Both of you knowing you can't be fully together, and forgoing permanent relationships because of it? Never having the chance to be married, either of you, or to have children? How long will that make either of you happy? How fair is that to Jarrod? One day he will turn around and realize that he will have lost his chance at a normal life. Of a wife and children.

"Has he asked you to marry him, Catherine? Has Jarrod said anything at all to you about the future? Has he talked about taking you for his wife, even while you were in San Francisco? He hasn't has he? Because it's impossible. And so you both will live a half life with one another rather than the full lives you deserve with someone else."

Audra sighed desperately. "If none of what I've said already matters to you, perhaps this will," Audra finished. "Jarrod has been receiving death threats. If you continue to see him, someone will try to kill my brother. Are you willing to risk his life? Or yours or Cadence's? How do you think Jarrod would ever live with himself if a gunshot aimed at him was to kill either you or she?"

Catherine gasped at the thought of Cadence being hurt. And she knew what it would do to Jarrod to lose another person that he cared for, to a bullet that had had his name on it.

"Please," Audra begged her, the tears overflowing now, "if you care for Jarrod at all, and I know that you do, you have to see that there is no other way. You have to go. And you have to make sure that Jarrod won't try to follow you."



After Audra left, Catherine sat in the rocker, burying her face in her hands as she sobbed forlornly. Audra was right. She had to leave, for Jarrod's sake, if not for hers and Cadence's. When her tears had finally stilled, she had gotten up, getting the carpet bag, and filling it with belongings. She wouldn't take more than her old lilac dress, and an outfit or two for Cady.

She hadn't opened the Saratoga trunk since her return to the shack, and she did so now. Digging through, she found the other items that she had not even seen yet. The riding clothes, and the everyday dresses for she and Cady. Fresh tears had flown then. She found a plainer wool coat that the weather had dictated she would need, and she kept the purple velvet jacket that her daughter was so fond of. She took a new pair of shoes for Cady, but left all of the footwear Jarrod had purchased for her in San Francisco. She left the perfume and the jewelry.

She boxed up the other items. The beautiful chess set, and the checkers set. Catherine knew that Cadence loved her alphabet book, so she packed that. And she could not leave behind the poetry book that Jarrod had first brought to her. She might have to leave him, to put him out of her life forever, but she would take this one piece of him with her.

It had been almost dawn before the words had finally come to her. The one way that she thought she could make Jarrod forget them and go on with his life. With trembling hands, she set the words to the page, dashing tears from her cheeks. When at last she was done, satisfied, she placed the folded sheet on top of the box. Then she removed the opal pendant from around her neck and laid it over top.

She woke Cady early, dressing her quickly and feeding her some bread, cheese and fruit. Then she had explained to the little girl that they were going to be leaving Stockton. Cadence had cried, wanting to stay. Not wanting to leave her friends. Not wanting to leave Jarrod or the other Barkleys. Catherine had hugged her daughter close, fighting her own tears, rocking the child and trying to comfort her.

Then she had gathered their bag, and taken one last look around the small shack. When she closed the door behind her, she shut the door on all of her hopes and dreams for her life with Jarrod Barkley. Catherine took just enough of the money Audra had given her to purchase two tickets on the first stage out of Stockton that morning, and a tiny bit more to help them find a room once they'd reached their destination.

She had stopped at the post office, and purchased an envelope. Catherine had written Audra's name on the front, set the remainder of the money back inside, and sealed it and left it there. When she found work again and was able to put some money aside, she would send what small bit she had borrowed back to the other woman.

As the stage pulled out of Stockton, Catherine pulled her daughter into her embrace and closed her eyes against the pain. She could see Jarrod's handsome smiling face, could see the vividness of his blue eyes, so like her precious daughter's. And she could hear his deep voice.

'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.'

And the rocking of the stage took them away from Stockton, as Catherine bid the only man she had ever loved, farewell.

Chapter 69

Jarrod left Nick lying on the floor, unable to believe what had just happened between them. He staggered to the bar table, as though he had been the one to have taken the punch. He stood with his back to his prone brother, as he took the cap off of the crystal decanter and poured a generous measure of bourbon into one of the glasses. His hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips. Jarrod tilted back his head and drained the glass. He quickly refilled it and drained it again. The liquor couldn't work fast enough to dull his pain.

Nick lay back for a moment, willing the grey haze at the edges of his vision to dissipate. His big brother sure could throw a punch. Nick had had no idea. Under different circumstances he would have been impressed. Worse though than any physical blow could ever be, had been his brother's words. 'I'll kill you Nick!' Jarrod had sworn. Nick turned his head, fighting the urge to vomit as the acid burned his throat. 'I'll kill you Nick!' Nick wasn't so sure that the dagger hadn't already been thrust into his heart, the way his chest burned. Maybe he already was dead. Death couldn't feel any worse than this, surely.

'What was it I said?' Nick cast about wildly. 'What stupid jackass comment did I make to hurt my brother so badly that he wants to see my dead?' Then Nick remembered. 'Half-breed Barkleys'. He groaned, noticing that Jarrod didn't care enough to turn at the sound.

Nick hadn't meant it quite the way it had come out. He hadn't meant that that was how he would view any potential nieces or nephews, if there was indeed a union between his brother and Catherine. He had only meant to let Jarrod know what other people would think. What they might say. To see if Jarrod was really prepared to accept all that a full relationship with Catherine would entail. 'As usual,' Nick thought ruefully, 'I should have kept my mouth shut.'

He thought again of the look in Jarrod's eyes, that murderous blue glare, and swallowed the hot bile again. Nick would have given anything if he could have turned back the clock. If he could have taken back those errant words. He would have given his share in the Barkley empire...anything. If only he could take back the words that had turned his brother against him.

Gradually, Nick managed to sit up, rubbing his aching jaw. Things were still blurry, but he saw that Jarrod hadn't moved, that he still had his back to him. He had to resolve this. Tonight. Now. If it wasn't already too late. "Jarrod..." Nick spoke hesitantly, his own voice sounding distant to him, muffled, as though it was trying to penetrate a great fog.

Jarrod turned towards Nick, with such sorrowed defeat on his face that Nick Barkley, who hadn't shed a tear in more years than he could remember, thought that he might cry. Jarrod put the glass down behind him, then walked away from the drinks table. He paused by where his brother sat, glancing down at Nick as though he were looking at a stranger. "I guess there's no point in asking you to be my best man," Jarrod said simply. Then he strode out of the room.

As much as he wanted to go to Catherine at that moment, Jarrod knew that it was much too late. He would see her in the morning. He would have breakfast with his family. He would tell them that he had turned down the Republican nomination. That he wasn't going to be the next Governor of California. Not this time. Not ever. And then he was going to tell them that he was asking Catherine to marry him. And if any of them didn't like it, well, they could just be damned!

This was his life and he just couldn't live it for everyone else anymore. Not for another day. He couldn't live it at all, actually if he didn't have Catherine in his life. And Jarrod was sorry if that was going to make things difficult for the family for a while. They would just have to ride it out.

Then Jarrod was going to go into Stockton, and even though he didn't have the rings yet, he was going to make his proposals. To his beloved Catherine and then to his sweet Cadence. And as long as they said yes, nothing else would matter.



Jarrod drove the carriage he had rented back to the livery. He had tied Jingo behind so that he could ride him back to the ranch after seeing Catherine. Then, if she had agreed to marry him, as he hoped, he would go back home, pack a bag, and he would take his wife-to-be and daughter-to-be to San Francisco.

Victoria had been delighted to see her oldest son at breakfast, rising from the table to give him a kiss. Heath and Annabelle too had been pleased. Nick had been trying to catch his eye, Jarrod knew, but he hadn't looked at his brother. Audra had seemed strangely quiet. Without wasting any time, Jarrod had made the announcement. He was leaving politics.

He had expected their shocked reactions. Heath had been the first to recover though. "Reckon you know what ya want, Big Brother," he'd grinned. "Ya woulda made a fine governor, but if that ain't what ya want, then good for you for knowin' that an' gettin' out in time. And we'll be just as happy to have ya 'round here instead!"

Victoria had quickly echoed Heath's sentiments, and Annabelle as well. Nick and Audra had both gaped at him, their shock apparent. Jarrod took a grim satisfaction in Nick's confusion. Victoria had asked a few questions until she had seemed to reassure herself that Jarrod was fine with bowing out of the election. That it was, in fact, what he wanted, and had been a choice he had made freely.

"And, I thought I might as well tell you all this now, since you've probably been wondering. I intend to ask Catherine to marry me. With any luck, she'll say yes." His blue eyes shone with an inner light as he contemplated this.

Audra had dropped her fork then. It clattered down onto her fine china plate. Her face was white.

"Do you have a problem with that, Audra?" Jarrod asked quietly, his eyes narrowing.

"No, no of course not," she replied with a sickly smile. "I...I'm just surprised! It's not every day one of my brothers gets engaged!" Her blue eyes were too bright against her wan features.

"We all support you, Jarrod," Victoria had said. The others expressed congratulations. He could have told her differently, Jarrod thought. "And we're happy for you, truly. If this is what it's important to you, then it's important to the rest of us, too. Catherine and Cadence will be welcomed fully into this family.

"I think you know that there may be some...problems," Victoria hesitated. "But we don't need to discuss that right now. If you and Catherine are in love and want to be together, then we will all do everything in our power to see to it that you are."

Jarrod smiled at her gratefully. "I know the problems you're referring to, Mother," Jarrod admitted. "I'm hoping that once word gets out that I'm no longer a potential candidate for governor...well then, things should cool down. I'll be old news and before too long people won't care what I do anymore, I'm sure." He'd wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with destiny in Stockton!" He had winked at them all good-naturedly.

Now Jarrod left the livery and walked Jingo the short distance to Catherine's. It was much nicer out today. The wind and bitter cold that had settled over the northern part of the state had moved on, leaving sunshine in it's wake. It was still a bit cool, but only seasonally so, and the sheepskin jacket was more than warm enough.

Jarrod was a bit upset with Catherine for leaving the ranch so abruptly without talking it over with him first, and he intended to tell her so. After talking to Nick last night though, Jarrod wouldn't be surprised to learn that his brother had had something to do with her decision. Pain darkened Jarrod's blue eyes as he recalled again the words his brother had spoken to him, and the terrible thing he had said in return.

He'd begun to think...to hope...that perhaps Nick, being Nick, hadn't really meant what he had said. Not in the way that it sounded, anyways. It wouldn't be the first time that Nick had put his foot in his mouth. Nick didn't likely mean his hurtful comment any more than Jarrod had meant his threat. They had both been emotionally overwrought, and vulnerable, and it had been a bad time for them to be clashing horns.

Jarrod would talk with Nick later and work things out between them. He could understand Nick being upset after all that he had been dealing with. Jarrod would work with him and help to find some solutions to the problems that had been plaguing his family. Jarrod had expected there to be repercussions to his relationship with Catherine, but he had expected them to involve only himself and his foray into politics. He hadn't expected that the bigotry would extend to the rest of the Barkley family.

That had been a miscalculation on his part, Jarrod knew now. He did believe though that the backlash would soon cease, once it became known that he was not indeed, pursuing the Mansion. People might not want a Governor who was involved with an Indian woman...that might be upsetting to their sensibilities...but if he was no longer a quasi-public figure, Jarrod reasoned, then no one would probably even care. Perhaps one or two local bigots, like Jed Slater, but he could deal with that.

Jarrod wrapped the gelding's reins around the picket fence, patting the sorrel neck as the horse extended his head to nuzzle his temple. Feeling nervous but elated, Jarrod hurried up to the front door, rapping three times, then waiting. He stood for a few moments, and when there was no response, he knocked again.

There were no sounds from within the shack. It was possible that Catherine and Cadence had gone out somewhere, Jarrod knew. But the flesh on his neck crawled as he remembered the scene that his met his eyes the last time he had come here looking for them. A vision of George Vail's arm raised high, the blade of the knife glinting wickedly, assailed Jarrod's inner eye. He checked the door, turning the knob and entered the little house.

The first thing that Jarrod noticed was how cold it was. He stepped further into the room, letting the door shut behind him. The fire must have gone out in the stove. Jarrod strode to the back room, waiting on this side of the muslin curtain. "Catherine?" he called out. When there was no reply, he pulled back the curtain. The small bed was empty, the sheets and thin, worn blanket pulled taut.

Jarrod wondered where they might be. He wondered how long the stove had been out. He thought that perhaps he should stop at the McNeils to inquire if Halley or Leo happened to know where Catherine and Cadence were. If they had seen them this morning. Jarrod was beginning to get a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn't right.

The Saratoga trunk was against one wall, as well as a box that was set on top of it. Something there caught Jarrod's eye and he drew closer. Catherine's opal pendant was draped across a folded sheet of paper. Jarrod's breath quickened, his heart beat faster in his chest. What was the meaning of this? He picked up the necklace, dangling the pendant in his hands, watching the opal spin around, flashing colour as it twisted and turned. Someone had put it here for a reason.

Jarrod reached for the paper, hesitantly, loathe to touch it. Nevertheless, he unfolded it, reading the gracefully inked words.


Dear Jarrod,

You have no idea how much it pains me to write this. Knowing you...loving you...has been the most wonderful experience of my life. My time spent with you, is time that I will always treasure. But what we have was always ethereal...ephemeral...and I think we both knew that it just could not be.

What I told you about my parents' deaths was true. They were murdered by trail bandits, all that we owned destroyed. I was attacked and beaten, though the rest of what I told you happened at our campsite did not really occur.

I did manage to crawl to the road that night. And that first wagon did pass me by. But the part about the mission, and about Cadence's conception, I am ashamed to tell you now, was a fabrication. At the time that I told that tale, we had not yet fallen in love, I did not know what your feelings for me were, only that I had come to care for you and did not want you to think too badly of me, or to know my secret shame. And I knew you well enough by then to know that this lie would touch you and arouse your sympathy.

Someone did stop to pick me up by the road that night. A young man. A young farmer. With red gold curly hair and lovely blue eyes, very like your own. He took me in, and gave me a home, and I fell in love with him, and he with me. We were married, and several months later Cadence was born. Vaillancourt is my maiden name.

It was a hard and difficult life, and as you can imagine there was much prejudice against the relationship. One day, my husband, Jesse, could take it no more, and I am ashamed to admit that he abandoned Cadence and I before her second birthday.

She has no memory of her father and I had not thought to ever see him again. She and I moved from town to town, trying to make our way. I had believed that Jesse was wholly in my past. Then miraculously, he showed up here in Stockton a couple of days ago. He had tracked us down. He said that he still loves me, and has begged my forgiveness that he was not mature enough to stand up for his wife and child. He claims to love us still and he wants to be a true father to Cadence in every sense of the word, and for her to get to know him, and to make up for that lost time.

I would be lying if I said that part of me did not love you, Jarrod. But part of me loves Jesse still. His youth and his vibrancy. His humour. And he is Cadence's natural father, her birth father, and I believe that she has a right to know him. Despite his abandonment of us in the past, I can see that he has changed and matured. And that he does still love me. And I think that he will be a good father to her, which is what she deserves.

Jesse wants us to be a family again. And I want that too. I will never forget you, and a part of me will always care for you. But I know that I belong with the man that I promised my life to. I said 'for better or for worse' and I must keep my vows now. I know that I sinned in that I did not 'forsake all others' but how could I fail to fall for such a wonderful man as yourself?

I hope that one day perhaps you will forgive me my lies and my deceptions, for I know that they will have hurt you. And that one day when you remember me it will not be with hatred or contempt.

Lying to you is the worst thing that I have ever done in my life, and you have no idea of the pain it has caused me.

I cannot thank you enough, or your wonderful family, for all of your kindnesses. For the way you took care of my daughter and I. Jesse wanted to thank you too, but I told him that it would be better if you two did not meet. My future is with him now, and in order to go forward with that future I must leave our past, yours and mine, behind.

San Francisco was a beautiful dream, and I am glad that I dreamt it, but it is time now for both of us to wake up.

Cadence has been told that Jesse is her father. She is naturally confused, but eager to have a daddy of her own that she can love and cherish. And I am convinced that with time and effort Jesse and I will find our way back to one another fully. There is love still between us, which is a good start. We have to rebuild the trust and other aspects, but I believe that we can.

Good luck to you with your political career. I know that you will go far. There is no end the heights you could reach, the lives you could better, the positive place in history that you will take. You are a special man, Jarrod Barkley, one of a kind, and I will always count myself lucky that I was able to know you the way I did.

I know that one day you will find a woman to love, and will marry and have children of your own. How lucky they will all be to have you.

I will try to follow your life's creed, and encourage Jesse to do so as well, as we raise our precious daughter.

'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.'

I think you should make this part of your acceptance speech, when you assume the mantle of power and responsibility that should rightfully be yours.

God be with you, Governor Barkley,

Catherine


Jarrod stared at the paper in his hand...at the words that destroyed his whole world. In his left hand, he held the opal pendant he had given Catherine, in his right, the letter that was her ultimate rejection of him. Jarrod swayed on his feet, the blood rushing through his ears. The air had been squeezed from his lungs, and he gasped futilely, trying to fill his aching chest with breath, but the air around him seemed depleted of oxygen. His heart had been ripped from it's cavity, and he imagined that he held it now in his hands, watching as it's beating stilled.

No! Jarrod thought, every once of strength needed to keep his legs from buckling underneath him, sending him crashing ignominiously to the floor. No! How could this be? How could this possibly be happening? What cruel trick was life playing on him now? Jarrod shook his head, in denial of the truths that he held in his palms. Catherine's necklace. Her letter. She was gone from his life, and this was all that remained of the love they had shared.

His beautiful, beloved Catherine was already married! His precious, special Cady, already had a father! Catherine had lied to him! The ultimate of betrayals! It all began to make terrible sense to Jarrod now. The way that Catherine had not ever, even once, hinted about a future for them together. The way she had never spoken of marriage.

It was why she had not looked at the engagement rings in the jewelry showcase. Catherine had known that she was already another man's bride! It was why she had been so content for them to live only in the moment, never looking beyond today! Because she had known there was nothing more she could offer him!

She had let him live in his fantasy world. Surely she must have seen how much he loved her?! Surely she must have known that he had come to love Cadence as his own child?! Catherine had allowed him that cruelest of states...to live with false hopes. All this time, he had been going so slowly with her, trying to be so understanding, so protective. He had begun to hope, to believe....that he had a future with the two of them.

And throughout it all, his getting to know her, his loving her, there had been another man in the background. Catherine's Jesse. Her true husband. Cadence's rightful father. They were together now, the three of them, trying to put their lives back together. As a family. Catherine and Cadence could not ever be Jarrod's. They belonged to another man. Jarrod hadn't even gotten to say good bye. To kiss Catherine's burgundy lips one more time, or to look into her obsidian eyes. To hold Cady's warm little body close to him, or smooth her wavy, dark hair.

The roles that Jarrod had hoped with every fibre of his being to fulfill, were denied to him forever. The right had already been assumed by another man, long ago. That the man had ever been foolish enough to leave them was beyond Jarrod's comprehension. As far as he was concerned the man didn't deserve either Catherine or Cadence. He had had his chance, and he had failed them. He had left them alone in poverty, to stave off the cruelty and prejudice of the world.

But Catherine had made her decision. She still had feelings for the man. She wanted Jesse to be a part of she and Cadence's life. Even knowing how Jarrod felt about her. Even knowing all that he could offer her. Jarrod stared obliquely at the Saratoga trunk, and the box of other items. Catherine had rejected him and all that he had wanted to offer her. Not just possessions. But his very life. His soul.

They were gone! Catherine and Cadence, the two who were his world, were gone. Lost to him forever. Jarrod crumpled the letter in his hand, letting it drop to the floor. He wasn't even aware that he still clutched the pendant, the delicate gold chain wrapped around his fingers, the opal resting against his palm, as Jarrod bolted from the shack. Tears blurred his eyes, as he untied Jingo, scrambling up onto the gelding's back.

Jingo was used to only kindness from the man who was his master, and the rough jerk on the bit, and the cruel jabs to his ribs from booted heels, confused the sorrel. He did as he was bid though, and began to canter away from the lane, picking up speed as the heels continued to bruise his belly. He tossed his blond mane and stretched out his legs, moving into a gallop. He could feel the tension that emanated from his master, and the shaking hands that gripped his reins, sawing against his sensitive mouth.

Jarrod used the reins, to whip the gelding's neck urging him faster and faster. He couldn't put enough ground between himself and the little shack with the blue door. Between the cruel reality that had just been revealed to him, and the bleak future that he was riding towards. Jarrod couldn't get their images out of his mind. Catherine's quiet, dignified smile. Cadence's exuberant laughter. They were part of him, so fully entrenched and interwoven in his heart, that Jarrod could not begin to imagine an existence without them. He had never felt such pain, as that which clawed at him now. Such hopelessness and despair.

A yank on the bit took Jingo off of the main road and sent him across the range, his sorrel body flying, his hooves barely touching the hard-packed earth before he was airborne again. His long legs stretched fully, his head and neck were extended, almost in a straight line with his spine. His red ears flattened against his head, his nostrils quivered as his tortured lungs fought to draw breath. He felt his master lean forward, low over his neck, streamlining them both against the air's resistance.

Jingo didn't know what his master was doing or where he was supposed to be going. But the gelding did as he had always done, carrying his master faithfully across the brown landscape, eager to please and to do right. There was only one voice, one touch that meant anything to the big, handsome sorrel. And as it had been since their days in the cavalry, Jingo put every thought, ever muscle, into doing the master's bidding.

Neither of them saw the chuck hole. Too late, Jingo felt his misstep. His head jerked up and he screamed his pain, as his right leg snapped. His chest hit the ground, his muzzle plowing into the earth, his other legs splaying out beneath him. The gelding felt the weight leave his back, as the master was thrown over his head and thudded to the ground. He had failed, Jingo knew. Somehow, he had failed the master. He had never once fallen in battle, never before let the master down. Now, the gelding rolled heavily onto his side, his right leg flopping uselessly. The gelding didn't understand why he couldn't get up, why his limbs wouldn't obey him. His body trembled, and his eyes rolled in his head as the pain and confusion enveloped him.

Jarrod sat up dazed, his right cheek scraped where he had hit the ground. He turned and crawled to the side of his horse, reaching for the handsome red head, patting the wide, white blaze. "Easy boy, easy," Jarrod choked out. The gelding kicked impotently at the air. Three of his legs still strong and straight. The fourth, the front right leg flopped sickeningly.

"Awww, Jingo," Jarrod murmured to the sorrel. He knew what must have happened. He should never have taken the gelding across unfamiliar ground that way. Not at those speeds. Poor Jingo, whose senses had always been so heightened when his master was in danger, had not been able to realize that it was his own life at stake this time. He had not refused the order that had sent them on this deadly course.

Jingo screamed, his body trembling. He had to get up. Had to fight off whatever creature had grabbed at his leg, and was chewing through the flesh and bones. His eyes rolled in fright and pain, his breathing quickened. The master was here though, he sensed. He felt the familiar hands on his head, and tried to concentrate on the few words. But the pain was too intense, and Jingo continued to thrash around.

Tears streamed down Jarrod's face as he reached for the gun at his hip. He cradled the gelding's head in his lap, trying to quiet the horse. This was all his fault. His responsibility. Because of his error in judgement, Jarrod now had to put this beautiful, brave, loyal creature out of it's misery. There'd been too many errors of judgement lately.

"I'm sorry, old boy," Jarrod choked out. "I'm so, so sorry." The horse stopped his frantic movements, seeking comfort from the familiar voice. The master was here. The master would help him. The velvet brown eyes continued to roll, the red body continued to shake, but the horse stopped kicking at the air. His sides heaved. He flared his nostrils, trying to draw the master's familiar scent into his lungs.

Jarrod pushed the metal against the sorrel's face, between the horse's eyes. There, where the white blaze was at it's narrowest. He reached to stroke one of the soft ears, tugging it gently. "Soon boy, there will be no more pain," he soothed. "Forgive me, Jingo."

Jarrod pulled the trigger, feeling the pistol recoil in his hand. Blood and bits of bone splattered his coat and his cheek. The valiant gelding ceased his struggles, his red body no longer racked with pain.

Jarrod turned his head up to the heavens, to the impossibly turquoise sky, and he let loose a cry of such torment and loss...a primal, aching, paroxysm of sound that told of an agony too great to comprehend or bear. Everything that mattered to him in life had been ripped away. The lonely, tragic, undulating sound welled up out of him again and again, echoing across the land, as Jarrod Barkley gave voice to his unimaginable pain.

Chapter 70

The waiter filled her coffee cup, smiling down at the beautiful young woman with the black hair and green eyes, unable to keep his own eyes from darting to her creamy bosom as he inhaled her seductive perfume. She had been here for fifteen minutes already, in the hotel's dining room, waiting for her breakfast companion. The waiter believed that any man who would keep this treasure waiting...and he assumed she was waiting for a lover...was a fool. If he was ever so fortunate to have the privilege of dining with such an exceptional specimen of femininity, he would be here at the crack of dawn, counting the minutes til their liaison. He certainly wouldn't leave her here alone and unattended, the eyes of every male in the room feasting hungrily on her exquisite features and delectable form.

Patricia Vandermeer thanked the waiter with a distracted smile. She wondered where on earth Clayton was and what was keeping him. It wasn't like him to make her wait. She felt a fool, sitting here all alone, continuing to sip coffee while she waited for his arrival so they could order. She decided to give him five more minutes and then she was going to go back to her room and order room service.

At last, she saw his blond head moving across the room, and then his tall, well-built form was beside her. Clayton Knowles looked angry this morning. She had always believed him to be a man with the potential for great cruelty, but he had never exhibited even a hint of displeasure towards her or treated her with anything but supreme kindness. Patricia tilted her head and he kissed her proffered cheek lightly.

"Good morning," she said coolly, irritated at his tardy arrival.

"I'm sorry that I was late," he apologized, though he sounded anything but. With his lips pressed in a thin line, he regarded the young woman with icy blue eyes and handed her the morning paper. "I had to make a few arrangements...set up some appointments for later this morning. I gather that you still haven't spoken to your father and that you knew nothing about this?"

Patricia unfolded the morning's edition of the Sacramento Bee. Her eyes widened at the photos there and at the announcement proclaimed by the article's wide banner. 'Barkley replaced by MacIntyre! Governor shifts his support in stunning final hour move!'. Her emerald eyes widened uncomprehendingly as she took in the words of the article. Jarrod had been withdrawn from the Republican nomination, and newspaperman Gil MacIntyre had been put forth in his stead.

There was a quote from her own father. 'It became apparent to prominent party members that Mr. Jarrod Barkley was not the best choice to represent our concerns or the constituents in the California legislature. In conjunction with the Governor, the liberal faction of our party decided it prudent to replace Mr. Barkley with Mr. Gil MacIntyre of Sacramento. We have given Mr. MacIntyre our full support...' Her father went on to praise Gil MacIntyre, while giving a thinly veiled condemnation of Jarrod Barkley's 'unsuitability' for the position of Governor of California.

The article gave MacIntyre's background, which Patricia barely skimmed over, before setting the newspaper down on the table. She looked across at Clayton, her eyes wide and luminous. "I don't understand this," she said to the man who sat across from her, looking at her intently.

Knowles could see that the announcement had been as much of a shock to Patricia as it had been to him. He was relieved to know that she had not been keeping secrets from him. He drummed his fingers on the table top, trying to contain his anger and frustration over the situation. "All of my plans are now awry," he said bitterly. "I had thought to only have Barkley to contend with, and I knew how I was going to handle that situation. Now, we are less than two weeks from the convention, and I am faced with a different opponent, and not much time to discern his weaknesses and determine how to best him."

Knowles knew what must have happened, of course. Word had gotten out about Barkley's liaisons with the Indian woman. Knowles had been stunned to learn a few days ago that Barkley had actually taken the woman and the child to San Francisco with him. They had been seen at various locales around the city, not the least of which had been Cliff House and the Palace. Jarrod Barkley couldn't have been any more public or conspicuous if he had taken out an ad in each of the state's leading newspapers and announced that he was rutting with a savage.

He had been unable to fathom what game Barkley had been playing at. He didn't believe that the man was simply a moron...Barkley had to have some ultimate plan that Knowles just couldn't see yet. Knowles had had his people begin to soften the rumours with the stories they had agreed upon. Barkley was making things tough for them, with his flagrant flaunting of social mores by wining and dining his Indian mistress at some of San Francisco's finest establishments. But his people had believed that they could tamper this explosion until such time that they needed it to blow up in Barkley's face. Especially with the confusion there seemed to be among some regarding the young woman's race.

Now though, Vandermeer and his cronies had turned this into a whole new game. They had abandoned Barkley. So much for the love and esteem his precious party mates held him in! At the first sign of trouble they had abandoned their man. Well, Knowles had thought with a certain grim satisfaction, it did serve Barkley right! He took solace in knowing how bereft Barkley must be. How anguished he must feel to see another put forth in his place and all of his lofty dreams of the Mansion shattered. Of course, it would have been far more satisfying if he, Knowles, had been the cause of Barkley's pain. But it was the end that mattered really, not the means.

Patricia was stunned to learn of her father's abandonment of Jarrod. He had thought the world of the attorney, she knew that. So much so, that he had been willing to continue to support Jarrod's political aspirations at the cost of his own daughter's pride and happiness. She couldn't understand what might have precipitated this about face. Or what had caused the Governor especially, so obviously and publicly fond of Jarrod, to withdraw his support from him, and throw it behind MacIntyre. There had been a brief quote from the ailing Governor, saying how he believed that as things stood now Jarrod was indeed not the man for the job, and that he was pleased instead to offer his support of MacIntyre, and hoped that first the members of the Republican party, and then the voters of the state, would see to it that MacIntyre was his replacement.

'Oh Jarrod!' Patricia lamented. How terrible Jarrod must feel, abandoned by his party this way. How humiliating for him, and what a blow to his dreams, not only for this election, but for any hopes he might have had for future political success.

She had been trying to forget him and to go on with her life. She knew that she had jumped into this relationship with Clay Knowles, but she believed that it was the best way for her to put her past, and any hopes of a future with Jarrod, out of her mind. And now that she had defied her father, and had nowhere to turn, she needed Clay as well.

Clay was good to her and treated her well. She had finally given herself to him wholly, her first time with a man. He had been a tender and skillful lover. Of course, he would never know that while he was loving her, she had been unable to keep Jarrod from her thoughts, even though she had tried desperately. Thank God that Clay would never know that it was Jarrod's body her foolish heart had imagined merging with hers in her final throes of ecstasy.

They ate their breakfast, speaking of light, inconsequential things, both Patricia and Clay deep in their own thoughts. Towards the end of the meal, Clay excused himself for a moment, and rose and left the table. On his way back, he paused near a lattice divider, his eyes narrowing as he watched his lady love pick up the newspaper again. Believing herself to be alone and unobserved, Patrica gazed at the photograph of the dashing counselor. Clay watched the young woman reach out a delicate finger to trace the lines of the attorney's face.

There was such sadness, such longing, such devotion on her lovely features, that Clay thought he might scream at the injustice of it. She continued to harbour such deep feelings for Barkley, despite all that he, Knowles, had done for her. Despite how much he...felt for her. Even knowing that Barkley had tossed her aside for a heathen washerwoman, she continued to care for him.

Clay had not made love to Patricia since she had whispered Jarrod Barkley's name. Though he longed to possess her completely, he found the thought of being together with her as they had that first time, unstimulating. He had tried to be gentle, and caring and she had betrayed him. His first time with a woman on her own terms had been disastrous.

After the unfortunate incident with the dark-haired girl at Madame Bianca's, Clay had gone to other such establishments since, to practice his usual brand of debauchery. There had been no problems for him there, getting into his games again, and taking satisfaction from them. And he had been able to keep himself under control. There were no more accidents like what had happened at Madame Bianca's. Clay could satiate himself the old way. He just didn't know if he could ever be with Patricia again the way he had the other night.

Still, he was not about to let Patricia go. She was his. She belonged to him and he would keep her at all costs. Knowles watched Patricia wipe a tear from her eye, then look up guiltily, her eyes quickly scanning the room for his return. She pushed the paper away, and sat up straight, ready to pretend that she had not just been thinking of Jarrod Barkley...wanting him. Ready to pretend that she was fully committed to Clay. Well, he would get that commitment from her, one way or another.

He pasted his most charming smile on his handsome face and walked back to their table. He seated himself, then reached across the table for one of Patricia's small, soft, delicate hands. "My dear," he purred. "There is something I have been meaning to ask you. You know how much you mean to me. I have enjoyed taking care of you and protecting you, and making you the focus of my life. I think you know that there is not anything I would not do for you. I don't like to see you living here in this hotel, alone with no one to watch over you. A woman needs a man to take care of her.

"I would like to assume that responsibility. Not just for now, but forever. I believe that we are a good match, well-suited to one another. We have similar tastes and aspirations. I could give you the world, if you would let me. Patricia, my darling, I am asking you to be my bride." He brought her hand to his lips, his kiss dry and light. "I don't have a ring yet, but say the word and we will go right now to the best jeweler and select the largest, costliest, most impressive diamond this city has ever seen."

Patricia brought her napkin to her lips, her face going pale. She felt panicked by Clay's proposal. He seemed so sincere. But she felt as though she hardly knew him, despite the fact that she had gone willingly to his bed. They had been spending a great deal of time together and she did care for him. But marriage? Her heart's wounds were still too raw. She was not yet over Jarrod, she knew. It hadn't really been that long ago since she had discovered that he had not ever loved her, but it didn't change the fact or the depth of her feelings for him. She was not a woman to love lightly, and she had thought to spend her life with Jarrod Barkley. She was trying to go on with her life, to sever her attachments to the handsome attorney, but it would take time. More time than this, certainly.

"Oh Clay," she began helplessly. "I am so flattered. Any woman would be lucky to be your wife. But it's just so...so sudden. We're still getting to know one another. I'm certainly not saying no, but right now I...I just can't say yes. Can you understand that? Can you give me some more time?" She tried to soften her words with a smile, her small even teeth white against her full, pink lips.

Clay Knowles felt the fire that began to spark up through his veins. She was turning him down! He had vowed never to share his life with only one woman, had never wanted the constrictions of matrimony or the responsibilities and annoyances of children. Now though, he had offered Patricia Vandermeer his name...his life...and she thrown it back at him! And he knew why. Because of Barkley!

If she had known him longer, Patricia would have known that his thin smile and calm laughter, and the glacial look in Clay's eyes, was far worse than any irascible outburst might have been. "Of course, my dear. There's no need to rush. No reason for the future to be settled right this minute. I just wanted to be sure you knew how important you were to me...how valued. And when the time is right, we can cement our plans."

Patricia sighed, relieved. She had been worried that there might be a scene. Or that Clay would demand a response and if it wasn't the one he wanted, that he too would abandon her. But he hadn't done that. He understood and he wasn't going to pressure her. "Thank you, Clay," she said gratefully. "I really am so lucky to have you." And she squeezed the large, broad hand that still captured hers.

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

Patrick Vandermeer stood in his study, bent over his desk, taking in the headline of the Sacramento Bee and the accompanying story. The reporter had done a good job. The slant of the story made it plain that Jarrod Barkley was lacking, that he was unworthy as a candidate and all those who had previously supported were grateful that they had come to this realization in time before either the party or the voters could have been hoodwinked. Jarrod Barkley's political future would be ruined after this. The man would not return to battle again another day.

Patrick lit a cigar, going to stand and look out the window on his garden. The roses were all gone now, the previous few days cold and the frost that had gone with it, had killed the old blooms and discouraged any new buds. He thought of his own precious flower, the rose in his life's garden, his darling Patricia. He had not seen or spoken to her since she had left home. He had heard from various sources that she was seeing Clayton Knowles. She had a room at the Delmonica Hotel, Patrick had learned eventually.

By that time, it had been far too late for him to go and get her and bring her home. The damage had been done. She had spent the night outside of her home, and she had been seen with that scoundrel Knowles. His Patricia was ruined, whether or not she was aware of that fact yet. No other decent man would ever want her again. She had sullied herself and her family's good name. For once, Patrick was glad that his Lenore was not here to see what ignoble depths their firstborn, cosseted and beloved child had sunk to.

He grimaced, his hand flying to his chest. He had been getting these pains lately. Indigestion. Too much stress, Patrick knew. He would have to see his doctor, perhaps there was some sort of powder he could give him, something that would take away these intermittent pains. Well, the doctor would have to wait. Patrick had too many other important things to deal with right now.

There was a dinner tonight in Gil MacIntyre's honour. Pete Burns was continuing as running mate, for the less prestigious position of Lieutenant Governor. Burns had been regretful that Barkley had been asked to leave the campaign, but was just as happy to throw in his lot with MacIntyre.

By now, Patrick thought with a malicious smile, the Barkleys would have been informed that their deal with Kimball-Merriweather was off. Jarrod Barkley was probably scrambling to find some way to legally force Kimball-Merriweather to honour their contract. He would probably find one, Patrick knew, but in the meantime, Barkley would be sweating. His family would be uncomfortable. They could know some of the humiliation and the upset that the Vandermeers had known. Turnabout was fair play.

And Patrick knew that Jarrod would know who was behind the manouever. Normally, Patrick, despite his close to majority seat on the board at Kimball-Merriweather, let his lawyer vote his proxy for that company's decisions. Patrick had more important companies and issues to deal with on a daily basis. But this time, he had called the emergency shareholder meeting on his own and bullied and brow-beaten enough of the others to toss their votes in with his. And he had been able to halt the deals with the Barkleys. Both with Sacramento Western and Overland. Even though they had been good deals for Kimball-Merriweather. It might only stymie the Barkleys for a short while, but it warmed Patrick's heart to know that he could cause them any trouble or distress at all.

It was the least he could do to repay Jarrod Barkley.

Chapter 71

The trail dust rose up in clouds around them, working it's way through his open mouth and into his nostrils, and ears. It settled down inside his shirtfront, blanketing his hot and sweaty skin with a grimy film. He held the reins tight, his thighs gripping the saddle, as he kept his seat on the galloping steed. The blond mane, whipped into a frenzy by the hot, dry wind stung his cheeks. He knew he had to hurry. There wasn't much time. If he didn't get there soon, he would be too late.

The red gelding skidded to a stop, his shod hooves scrambling for purchase on the rocky outcropping, the metal shoes ringing against stone. Somehow, with a supreme effort, the sorrel managed to keep them both from tumbling over the edge. The man looked down to his right, watching the rocks that had come loose beneath his mount's feet slide over the edge and tumble down, down, down to the canyon floor below. It seemed an interminable length of time before he heard their soft 'ping' as they hit the ground below and bounced before settling.

The sun was hanging low in the sky as the man looked out over the valley, bathed in crimsons, vermillion and gold. He pushed the grey Stetson back on his dark hair and looked across the gorge. It was about a twenty foot span to the other side. It might as well be one thousand...it was too big of a gap for the gelding to bridge, no matter how big and brave his loyal heart.

The man looked back the way he had come. It was dark, as dark as night, the clouds gathering on the far horizon. He could hear the riders approaching. He could hear the galloping hooves in the distance, growing closer, growing louder, enveloped by the black clouds, and the earth began to shake.

They would be here soon. They were almost upon him. He clawed frantically at his right hip, but his gunbelt wasn't there. There was no way to defend himself. If he stopped to face them, they would kill him where he stood. He understood this. But there was no where to run to. He was trapped, here on this rocky outcropping, overlooking the canyon below. The riders were closing in, the amorphous pitch drawing inexorably closer.

"Jarrrrrrod....Jarrrrrrod...." He heard the sultry voice calling to him, the husky tones echoing across the canyon. He turned, and stared agog across the chasm. She stood there on the opposite side of the gorge, on another rocky outcropping. She was dressed in a beautiful, butterscotch gown, her dark hair down around her shoulders, her burgundy lips parted as she called his name. Fire flashed at her throat from a milky stone that hung from a gold chain. She reached her arms towards him, stretched wide, her limbs out over the ledge, her fingers crooked beckoningly.

The horse beneath him began to tremble, it's breathing laboured, it's ears twitching, velvet brown eyes rolling in their sockets. It knew they were trapped here, that the riders were coming, and that Death was on their trail. It reared up on it's hind legs, pawing at the air, dust coating it's white socked forelegs.

"Jarrrrrod....come to me....make the leap......" she implored him. "You can do it! I will catch you!"

Somehow, as impossible and illogical as it seemed, he knew that she was telling the truth. She would be able to catch them, to reach across that chasm and hold both horse and rider safe, helping them to the other side. Bringing them away from the darkness to the safe, still lighted side of the canyon where the faceless riders could not pursue them.

He wheeled the gelding around, riding him back towards the dark clouds that closed in on them. Then he turned sharply, and squeezed the horse's ribs with his legs, loosening the reins so that the sorrel could extend his handsome head as he ran flat out back towards the ledge. It would mean certain death, the horse knew, but the master bid it, so he acquiesced. The blond mane streamed out behind him, as the man sat low on his back.

The hoofbeats behind them were louder now, the phantom riders almost at their heels. This was their only chance at salvation, to put their trust in the woman who awaited them on the other side of the canyon, on the rocky outcropping opposite. The sincerity in her voice, the open love on her face, compelled both man and beast as they raced towards her, concentrating on the tall, bronzed figure in the silk dress.

He felt the horse's muscles bunch beneath him, as the gelding launched himself outward into the air. For a moment, they were suspended. In time and in space. The red legs with their white feet stretched out in the now still air, the rays of the dying sun surrounding the steed like a halo. The man gripped the saddlehorn, his stomach pushed up to the back of his throat. They hung like that, motionless, while sixty feet below the jagged boulders of the canyon floor waited for their fall.

They could do it, he knew. With the woman's help, even that which seemed impossible could be possible. Her strength, her commitment, could carry them through. Amazingly, the horse continued to sail through the air, slowly, while each detail implanted itself vividly in the man's mind. The woman stood waiting, arms still outstretched, her tawny features echoing her belief in them.

Then, their death knell sounded. It came in the form of a stranger's voice. "Catherine...." it said.

He watched, horrified, as a tall young man with reddish-blond locks appeared behind the woman. A small child was at his side, holding his hand, her sapphire eyes looking up at him adoringly. The man held out his other hand to the woman, smiling at her. "Catherine..." he called again.

The woman turned her back on the horse and it's rider. The rocky outcropping where she had been standing now looked miles away. It was only about another ten feet, but it was too far. There was no way for the gelding to make it. Still, his red body continued to stretch through the air, towards it's impossible goal.

Then gravity reached up to claim both horse and man. They began their descent, began the plummet to the rocky canyon floor. The woman had forgotten them, lured away by the man with the titian curls. Their was no one to help them...no one to save them. Man and mount were alone.

The sorrel screamed, his body twisting as they began the fall. The rock walls closed around them. Down, down they went, the boulders below ready to smash their bones to smithereens when they finally met their fate. The man felt his hat swirl away on an up current air, his hands left the saddlehorn, and he reached desperately upwards...to the woman and salvation. But she was gone.

Down they plunged, as the earth rushed up towards them. The horse continued to jerk beneath him, pawing at the air, it's eyes rolling in it's head. It would be only seconds, and both of them would crash to the valley floor. The canyon would be their final resting place as, forgotten, the blood would pool around their lifeless, broken forms. The pain, he knew, would be unlike anything he had ever experienced or could even begin to imagine.

"Nooooooo...." he screamed as Death reached it's arms towards him, greedily seeking to enfold both man and beast in it's eternal dark grasp. "Noooooo!" Over and over he yelled as he continued to tumble towards his destiny.


"Jarrod! Jarrod! Wake up!"

Groggily, Jarrod escaped the nightmare's talons, as the hand that shook his shoulder, and the voice that called to him, brought him up out of his troubled sleep. It was no welcomed rescue though, no act of mercy to pull him from his fantasy ordeal back to the tortured verity that was his existence. He lifted his head up from the desk, his blue eyes bleary and red-rimmed, the dark stubble heavy on his cheeks and chin, his jet hair in greasy disarray. "Ge' out!" he slurred, his breath rank with liquor.

"Jarrod, it's me. Gene." Eugene looked down at his oldest brother, slumped now over the desk in his study. They had warned him that Jarrod had been spiraling downward in a pit of despair over the last week or so, and that Eugene would hardly recognize his normally dapper sibling. Mother had told him, tearfully, that Jarrod had become a recluse, locking himself into his study and refusing to come out. Refusing to talk to any of them. Gradually withdrawing from life. It was worse, Mother had said, her voice breaking, than when Beth had died.

Gene had been away at school when his brother had brought his bride home to the ranch. He hadn't even had a chance to meet the young woman before Cass Hyatt had stolen her from Jarrod's life. Gene hadn't been home when Jarrod had gone on his rampage, vowing to hunt Hyatt down and exact his revenge. A life for a life. But he had heard about his brother's fight for his very soul, and how close the killer had come to claiming two victims. One mortal, one spiritual.

Gene had gotten in on this afternoon's train, and had learned all about the latest happenings over dinner. He had been overwhelmed by it all. Through his family's tales, he had been brought up to date on events that had culminated several days ago with Nick finding Jarrod out on the range, the dead Jingo's head in his lap. Jarrod had held a necklace in one hand, his gun in the other. Nick hadn't liked the empty look in Jarrod's eyes or the way he was staring at the pistol that he turned over and over in his hand.

Eventually, Nick had convinced Jarrod to get up on Orion, mounting behind him and bringing his brother back to the ranch. He had worried that perhaps Jarrod had been injured when Jingo had fallen, had bumped his head or was suffering a concussion or other cranial injury. They had sent one of the hands to fetch Dr. Merar, who had examined Jarrod and pronounced him physically fit, except for a slightly bruised shoulder and a scrape on his cheek. Jarrod's problem, Dr. Merar had said in a hushed tone, wasn't physical.

When Heath had mentioned that perhaps he would ride into Stockton and see if Catherine and Cadence were all right, or if they could shed any light on why Jarrod was so upset, aside from his grief at the loss of his horse, their oldest brother had seemed to snap out of his dazed state temporarily. Jarrod had grabbed Heath's arm to restrain him, and in a loud, clear voice that rang out through the room, he had intoned, "They loved, but the story we cannot unfold, They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; They grieved but no voice from their slumbers may come; They joyed but the voice of their gladness is dumb."

Jarrod had laughed then, a bitter sound devoid of humour. Only he knew that the words were from a poem that he had read to Catherine that day in his office. Her favourite among those in the slim, leather-bound volume. The very poem that President Abraham Lincoln himself had recited for Jarrod on a train that hurtled through the night towards a nation's capitol long ago. A poem about death. Jarrod had roused himself, calmly ordering them all from his room. He had seemed like himself...or at least a reflection of himself. Outwardly, a mirror's image, but inwardly, there was nothing of substance.

Nick had taken a wagon and several men out to retrieve the body of the sorrel gelding. He then spent the remainder of the day digging a grave for his brother's favourite mount, out in the back pasture where his own beloved Coco had been buried just the past year. The hard, physical work had been his penance for the scene in the study with his brother the night before.

Heath, unsure of what the cryptic words meant, had ridden out to Stockton anyhow. He had found the little shack with the blue door empty and cold. Not quite empty. The wooden trunk that he had brought out for them just a few days previous was still there. He had checked with Catherine's neighbours, a coloured couple, who had advised him that Catherine and Cadence had left town without so much as a farewell.

Heath had returned to the empty shack, poking around to see if he could find any clues as to where they had gone or why. He had found a crumpled piece of paper, and flattened it only enough to discern that it was a private letter for Jarrod from Catherine. That it was a good bye. He did not read the details, though he was curious. This was private business between his brother and Catherine. So, Heath had lit a match to the thin sheet of paper, and tossed it into the belly of the stove where it consumed itself, turning to ash the secrets that lay within.

Heath had come back to the ranch with the announcement that Catherine and her daughter were gone from Stockton, and that no one, save perhaps Jarrod, knew where they had gone or why. There would be no marriage between them. Jarrod had lost everything. His political ambitions, the woman and child that he had thought to take into his life forever, and finally his loyal friend, the red gelding. They had believed that in time, Jarrod would talk to them. Would share his loss and his grief, and would fill in the blanks of his despair.

But that had not happened. Instead, he had turned away from them. Becoming introverted. Not doing, as he had done after Beth had been killed, not galvanized to action through his anger and his pain. Now Jarrod became withdrawn, his moods capricious. He began to drank heavily, and to neglect his hygiene. He would lock himself in his study for hours at a time, refusing to answer the family's knocks or respond to their queries.

Gene had decided to try to approach Jarrod after dinner. He had found the door locked, but had heard his brother's frantic shouts in the agitation of his nightmare. He had used the spare key to force his way into his brother's inner sanctum. And he had woken Jarrod from alcohol induced slumber and the hateful chimera of his grieving mind. He looked down at his older brother now, distraught and disturbed to find him in such a state. The family had tried to warn him, but unless Gene had seen it for himself, he would never have thought to see his logical, distinguished, strong-willed brother so broken.

"Jarrod," the young man tried again. "It's Eugene. You were having a bad dream. I'm sorry that I woke you, but you were yelling, and upset. Are you all right?"

Jarrod rubbed his hands over his shadowed face, blinking at his youngest sibling. "Gene?" he asked, puzzled.

"Yes, it's me Pappy. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I wrote you that I'd be coming home, remember?" the young man prompted, his blue eyes earnest and hopeful. It tore him apart to see his revered brother like this.

"Thanksgiving?" Jarrod repeated. He lowered his head again, to the cupped valley of his hands, shaking it as if to deny this truth.

Eugene reached for his brother's shoulder again, feeling him tremble beneath the touch. "Why don't we get you up to your room so you can rest. Maybe a bath. Mother says you haven't eaten in days. Why don't I get Silas to fix you some soup or something? Then we can talk."

"Jus'...get...out," Jarrod said weakly, jerking his shoulder, rejecting the human contact.

Gene's nostrils were assailed with the sour, rancid sweat from his brother's shaking form. "Jarrod...chrissakes...." Gene said desperately.

"I said LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!" Jarrod shouted. He lurched to his feet, leaning his face towards Gene's. His face was a mask of pain and fury. His breath stank of bourbon and halitosis.

"All right, Jarrod, for now," Gene told him. "But I'll be back. You can count on that."

Jarrod heard the door shut behind his little brother. He picked up the glass at his elbow and hurled it towards the oak-paneled walls, where it shattered, glittering shards dropping to the floor. He dropped back down on the chair. Thanksgiving. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving.

With shaking hands, Jarrod pulled open the top drawer of the desk. He extracted the package that had arrived this morning by special messenger, turning it to dump the contents. Three black velvet boxes spilled out. He opened the first, staring at the opal ring that lay nestled within. Flanked by two sapphires, and then by two diamonds, it shone, alive in the oil lamp's glow. He set it down, the lid of the ring box flipped up.

Then Jarrod opened the other box, looking at the tiny gold ring it contained. The single blue sapphire winked at him mockingly. He swept it aside, to the edge of the desk where it balanced precariously. Sickly, he opened the final box, gazing down at the diamond earrings in their delicate settings of gold. He rested his elbows on the desktop, pressing his palms into his eye sockets. His shoulders shook and his body heaved as Jarrod Barkley began to sob.

Chapter 72

To his dismay, Gene's efforts to reach his oldest brother were unsuccessful. Jarrod would not talk to him, or to anyone else in the family, nor would he leave the study. He had not bathed in several days, nor had he changed his clothes. He continued to drink excessively, and to be plagued by nightmares.

Victoria decided to go ahead with the Thanksgiving celebration at the ranch for their friends and neighbours, hoping against hope that Jarrod would pull out of his depression and decide to join them. The morning that Thanksgiving day dawned, she knocked on the study door. When she received no response, she used the same key that Gene had the day before, and let herself into the room.

All of the curtains were drawn tight. The room was dim, the air stale. It felt like a tomb. She saw that Jarrod was sitting in the chair at his desk, pushed slightly back, slumped against the leather, his elbows resting on the arms, his fingers steepled across his chest. There was several days growth of dark beard on his face. She noted the empty decanter on the desk, and the tray that overflowed with the remnants of cigars. Sorrowed, she went to the windows, pulling back the curtains to allow light to filter into the room.

Jarrod squinted against the sunshine, regarding his mother with such a lost expression that it cut her to the quick. "Oh, Jarrod," she said, moving towards him, perching herself on the desktop. "You can't go on like this. This isn't you. You're a fighter. You're strong. It isn't like you to just lay down and give up. I know that you're hurting, it's obvious how much. But we're all here for you. You have to let us help you." She bit her lip, trying to keep her tears in check.

"There's nothing you can do, Mother," Jarrod said quietly, his blue eyes bloodshot.

Victoria could smell the vestiges of alcohol, but believed that he was sober right now. "Sitting here alone with your demons isn't the answer, Jarrod," she told him mournfully.

"There is no answer," he told her, his voice barely audible. "Everything that matters to me in life is gone."

"Well, how dare you!" Victoria snapped at him. "Everything that matters? What about us? Your brothers and sister and I? What about your sister-in-law and your nephew? What about this ranch and everything that your father and I, and you children too, all of us....worked so hard to build? Does none of that matter?" She stared at him indignantly, hoping to snap him out of this trance by appealing to his sense of family and duty.

Jarrod inclined his head to one side, seeming to consider her words. "Right at this moment," he answered truthfully. "No, it doesn't. I'm sorry, Mother."

"So what do you intend to do?" she demanded, her eyes glistening. "Just sit here and drink yourself to death? While the rest of us watch you slip further and further away from us? Is there nothing left of the man who was my son inside there?" She straightened her shoulders angrily. "I know all about loss, Jarrod! I lost my own husband, the man that I adored, the father to my children. My partner in every respect! He was cruelly and needlessly ripped away from me! I still wake up in the mornings, early like we used to, and take my coffee to watch the sunrise, and not a day goes by that I don't feel the pain of his loss!"

She was heartened to see the compassion in her son's blue eyes. There was still hope then. "When your father died, Jarrod, for a time I wanted to be dead too." She saw him wince at this revelation. "I thought that there was no way I could go on. The pain was too great. I couldn't imagine my life without your father. But you children, your love, my love for all of you, helped me through it. Eventually. It wasn't an easy journey and there were days when I thought I'd rather be dead. But in the end, I had to go on. Because that's what we human beings do. We endure our suffering and then we go on. I know how difficult it was for you when you lost Beth, but at least then you were still fighting, still lashing out. Still alive."

"I have nothing to go on for," Jarrod informed her bleakly. "I don't want to go on. They were everything to me, Mother. I'd never known life could be like that, that love could be like that. Finding her...I found myself. And with her gone...I'm lost again."

He sounded so forlorn, so miserable and inconsolable, that it broke Victoria's heart. "Heath told us that Catherine and Cadence had left," Victoria said cautiously. "Do you know where they are? Why they left? Is there any chance you can work things out between you? Surmount whatever difficulties lay in your path?"

Jarrod chuckled mirthlessly. "I don't know where they've gone. Only that they'll never be back. And that there was never any chance for the three of us. It was only a dream, something intangible and elusive, that could never, ever be. They won't ever be mine, Mother, won't ever be a part of my life. I know that. But when they left...they took my soul with them." His eyes were glazed with pain. "And nothing else matters. Not politics. Or the law. Not this ranch. Nothing." Jarrod avoided her gaze.

"Not me?" she choked. "Not this family?"

Jarrod turned his head back to her. He reached for one of her soft, delicate, ivory hands. He caressed the back of it with his thumb. "I don't know if it's enough," he said guilelessly.

"Sometimes," Victoria told him, "we have to go through the motions at first. We pretend to get back to a normal life. We force ourselves to follow our normal, daily routines. We begin to converse with people again. And at first, it's a terrible effort for us. Just getting through a day seems to take a toll. Then gradually, bit by bit, we find ourselves not having to concentrate and make such an effort every single second. Things get easier. We find ourselves smiling and are amazed to know it's genuine. We find ourselves expressing interest in things and people again. It doesn't happen all at once. It happens bit by bit.

"That's how people work through pain and grief, Jarrod. Bit by bit. Day by day. Painful moment, by painful moment. And gradually, with time, and with help from others, we can pull through the dark place in our hearts. I know, because I've been there. You have too. People are strong. We have to be, with all that we have to deal with. I know you're hurting, but this didn't kill you. It's a setback, and it's painful, and your world might never be the same again.

"But you're alive, Jarrod. And like it or not, you're going to have to live." She laid her other hand over top of the broad one that held hers. "I love you, my son," she told him, her voice beginning to break.

Jarrod sighed, and tried to smile, though the curl of his lips was just a pitiful parody. "I know, Mother," he said. "And I love you too. I just...I just don't know how I can go on without them." His blue eyes swam with tears.

"I'm here, Jarrod, to help you. We all are." She got up then and leaned to hug him, pulling his head against her chest and kissing the top of his head. If there was any way she could have taken his pain into her own heart instead, she would gladly have done so. Then she gave his hand a squeeze and left him alone again.

Jarrod sat there, considering his mother's words. She was right, of course. He couldn't continue to wallow in self-pity. He loved Catherine and Cadence. He knew that he always would. But Catherine had made her decision. She had chosen her husband Jesse over him. And Jarrod knew that that was as it should be. He might feel as though he had died that day, but he hadn't. Tiredly, he ran his fingers over his face. He needed a shave. And a bath. He still had obligations and duties to the Barkley family. For their sakes, if for no other reason, he had to pull himself together.



Jarrod wasn't able to find the motivation in time for Thanksgiving though. He listened to the sounds of the dinner party that filtered under the study door as the guests arrived at the mansion, as he poured himself another drink. This was to have been the day he was to have proposed to Catherine. And to Cadence. To ask the one to be his wife, the other his daughter. Jarrod just couldn't face the festivities, the happy faces and jovial conversation.

He knew that he was letting his family down, and part of him regretted that, but a bigger part didn't really care. Audra had knocked on his door, whispering about turkey with pork and pecan stuffing, and maple glazed ham encrusted with walnuts, in an attempt to entice her brother out with some of his favourite foods. But it was to no avail.

After dinner, while Bobby danced with Audra held tight in his arms, she almost told him about what she had done. About her conversation with Catherine. To confide in the young man and share this burden she had been carrying. Audra didn't know what Catherine had done to convince Jarrod that their relationship was doomed and should be ended, but it had certainly worked.

If Audra had known that Jarrod had already dropped out of running for Governor of California, if she had had even the faintest idea that her oldest brother was planning to propose to Catherine, then Audra knew that she would not have made that late night ride. She would not have spoken those words, no matter how much she had believed them then to be true.

And still believed them. Because when it came right down to it, nothing had changed. The world they lived in would never accept Catherine and Jarrod as a couple. Would never leave them alone. Catherine had known that, which was why she had made the decision to leave. Audra hadn't forced her at gunpoint. She had simply brought to the fore some truths that could no longer be denied. And Catherine, knowing that everything Audra had said had merit, had broken off her relationship with Jarrod.

That it was intensely painful for Jarrod, that his heart was broken, was undeniable. And it pained Audra greatly to watch her strong, brave, bright and handsome brother withdraw from the family this way. But Audra believed that if she went to her brother, if she told him that she had been the catalyst for Catherine's sudden change of heart, she was afraid that Jarrod would never forgive her. His anger would be insurmountable. He would hold Audra responsible she knew, for the loss of the woman and child that he loved. And for the death of his loyal steed as well.

And then, Jarrod would end up hating her, and Catherine would still be gone, and nothing would be changed. No, Audra decided, as she twirled around the floor, gazing up into Bobby Olson's handsome face, it was better to just let some secrets stay buried. What was done was done, and though it was painful in the short term, Audra firmly believed that it was what was best for everyone...for all of them...in the long run.

Bobby's parents had sent their regrets yesterday that they would not be able to attend the Barkley's Thanksgiving party. They were both ill, their message had said. Yet when Bobby had come through this door this afternoon, both of his parents had accompanied him. Audra knew bitterly that it had nothing to do with any miraculous recoveries, but more to do with what she had told Bobby when she had gone riding with him yesterday. That Catherine Vaillancourt had left not only the Barkley mansion, but Stockton as well.

Audra wondered how Mr. and Mrs. Olson could fail to appreciate the irony of the situation. They had been unwilling to come to Thanksgiving at the Barkley's originally because they had thought that there might be an Indian woman and child in attendance. Audra wondered what their pilgrim forefathers who had shared that first Thanksgiving feast with the native peoples, would have thought about that?


The following morning, as the family was bustling around, helping Silas to clean up the aftermath of the celebration, and as Gene was preparing to go back east, a telegraph came for Jarrod. Silas answered the door, and accepted the message, then tentatively approached Mr. Jarrod's study. He knocked twice, then when there was no answer, called out that there was an urgent wire, and slipped it under the door.

Gene stood in the foyer with his bags, hugging his mother and sister and his pretty sister-in-law, and shaking his finger at his baby nephew, while he bid everyone farewell. Heath was outside hitching up the buggy and would take Gene into Stockton to the train station. Gene was despondent that he hadn't been able to convince Jarrod to leave the study, or even to really speak with him.

Gene felt guilty leaving with the way things were. In addition to Jarrod's depressed state, there were other problems that the family was dealing with, such as the disposal of their nut crops. Gene felt as though he were abandoning them all, going back to his position as chief veterinarian for a racing stable. He loved his work and was eager to return. He was also falling in love with his boss's daughter, and eager to return to her as well. There was really nothing he could do here anyhow, he knew realistically. He didn't have Jarrod's legal skills or business acumen, nor Nick and Heath's knowledge of the ranch and other Barkley operations. So, reluctantly, he said his good byes with promises to try to get back over Christmas next month.

They all heard the door open and turned to see Jarrod standing there. He looked haggard and seemed to have aged ten years in the last several days. He had lost weight, and his rumpled clothes hung loosely on his tall frame. To see the normally debonair and dashing attorney looking so unkempt was devastating for his family. Jarrod stared at them, then down at the telegraph he held in his hands. Jarrod tilted his head to one side and murmured in disbelief, "I have to go to Sacramento. Sam White is dead."

To be continued…