A Trust Betrayed

Chapters 31-40

by Redwood

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

Chapter 31

The horses were spooked. Something was out there, trying to get close, trying to steal their water, trying to steal their horses, trying to steal the necessities upon which they depended for their very survival.

Heath waited behind a rock, trying to keep his heavy eyelids open, trying to stay alert, even in the depths of the dark night, to the danger that lurked out there, somewhere.

But, it was so hot.

He could hardly breathe.

He glanced over at the other two to see if they were having as much trouble as he was. He tossed a large pebble at Willie, trying to get him to stay awake, and he noticed that Gil’s hat was pulled so low it was hard to tell if his eyes were open or not.

There it was again, the feeling of something sneaking up on him.

The horses’ heads were high, their nostrils flaring in the acrid heat of the desert breeze.

Suddenly, the thieves were all over them. Heath rolled to the left to avoid the knife that came at him, held menacingly in the hand of one adversary. But, then, he felt a kick to the back and another to the chest that sent him reeling.

When he opened his eyes again, the only horse he was quick enough to grab and hang onto, as he put a bullet in the head of the thief trying to make off with her, was his own.

But, suddenly, something else was wrong.

They weren’t the same screaming Yumas as before.

This time, it was only one man, a giant of a man, standing over him, laughing as he kicked him in the side again.

The laughing face faded into the guilt-ridden features of Gil Anders, and then, quickly changed again, first, into the cruel countenance of Matt Coulter, then into the face that Heath hated above all others, that of Matt Bentell.

He tried to roll away again, as the knife plunged into his back, just above his belt. The burning pain, so like the heat that reached up from the flaming desert sand beneath him, left him gasping for air.

Something was wrong.

It shouldn’t be this hot in the dark, not even in the desert.

He writhed in agony at the burning pain.

He had to remove the knife.

It was too hot.

Too hot.

Hot.

As he tossed his head and kicked at the pillows under his legs, at the blanket covering him, she struggled to soothe him into stillness.

The fever was so high it frightened her.

Over and over, he mumbled something about the desert and other words she could not make out. But, once he said very clearly, “Anders, . . . no water. . . . It’s okay, Willie. . .”

Then, his eyes opened, and he seemed to be looking straight through her, as he repeated the words, “Hot. . . . Too hot,” again and again.

“Heath, Honey,” she said, “Heath, can you hear me? Please drink this for me, Heath.” She raised his head and touched the glass of water to his lips. She managed to get him to take a swallow, before he turned his head away and went back to mumbling.

She moved around to try to bring his legs back up on top of the pillows, but he was too restless, and she knew it was useless for now.

Sitting beside him on the bed again, she continued trying to sponge him with the cool water, watching the droplets of sweat mingling with the drips from the cloth and running down his chest and sides, soaking into the sheets. Her hands were red from wringing the cloth for the last three hours, but she paid them no attention.

Her entire focus was on the young man next to her, on willing him to stay with them, on willing him to survive the night.

Suddenly, he began to shake, and she was unsure as to why. Was he convulsing, as the doctor had warned her could happen with his fever so high, or was he having chills?

She was relieved to hear him say through teeth that almost chattered with cold, “Dammit! The stage. . . ice. . . . Can’t see. . . the sleet. . .” Then, he muttered, “Cold, so cold,” over and over.

His whole body was shaking by now, though the heat coming from him still felt scalding to her hands, indicating that he continued to be delirious from the raging fever.

As his body tensed, and he raised his head from the bed, he opened his eyes. Then, he reached out for her, and she took his hand, reasonably sure that he didn’t know who she was.

But, his words first surprised, then shook her, as he pleaded, “Mother. . . cold here. . . Bentell. . . So cold. . . Mother, please, . . . let me come home. . . . Don’t wanna stay here. . . So cold.”

He continued to shake as she held onto his hand for all she was worth, trying to soothe him with her touch and her voice. As she spoke the words, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that the suffering she had done, in the privacy of her room since he had left, was nothing compared to the intensity of the silent suffering he had endured for months.

“I’m right here, Heath. Mother’s here. You are home, Honey.” Then, more to herself, she added in a whisper, “Please, don’t ever leave again. We love you, Heath.”

By the time he relaxed into quiet unconsciousness, the sweat running down his chest was mingled with the tears she was crying over him.

* * * * * * * *

The smell of coffee roused Jarrod from a restless sleep. He had barely raised himself up on one elbow and pushed his shoulders back against the headboard, when his mother swept into the room with a tray.

“Good morning, Lovely Lady,” he said with an attempt at his normally gallant attitude. Somehow, the effect was not quite the same as when he was dressed in his typically refined attire.

She smiled at him anyway, and, setting the tray on the table beside the bed, she sat next to him on the edge of the bed and touched his cheek with her slender hand.

He knew she was checking for fever, but that she was hiding her action well in a characteristic display of affection. Her smile grew as she reached up and pushed his dark hair, never far out of place on his worst day, up and out of his shining, midnight blue eyes.

“Good morning,” she said, as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. Then, she returned to her always straight-backed, but never stiff, posture, and she continued to smile at him, drinking in the sight of her first born.

Finally, under his puzzled gaze, she responded, “Jarrod, I’m so glad to have you all home again. And, I’m such a grateful mother that all three of you are safe.”

Jarrod’s eyes clouded, as worry crept back into his face. He swallowed and whispered, “But, Heath. . . .”

She patted his good arm, and said, “He’s still with us, Jarrod. Howard and I take that as a very hopeful sign.” Then, she asked, “How are you feeling? How’s your arm?”

Jarrod smiled, “To borrow a favorite phrase from my blond-headed brother, I’m fine, Mother.”

She raised one eyebrow, then, said, “I trust that both of you really will be fine before long. Howard is still here, and he will check your arm again as soon as you eat something. I’ll be right down the hall if you need me.”

Jarrod watched her leave, shaking his head at her cheerfulness. She was amazing! She had probably stayed up all night with Heath, and she looked like she had not a care in the world.

He reached for the cup of coffee, and sat back against the pillows, thinking about how to accomplish the necessary legal tasks he had outlined for himself yesterday during the interminably long trip home in the wagon. The first thing he needed to do was talk to the doctor to find out about Anders’ condition. Then, he needed to speak to the sheriff about the two bounty hunters. He also wanted to communicate again with the Coreyville sheriff to make absolutely sure no charges were being filed against any Barkley as a result of what had happened in the last two days.

With a sigh, he looked over toward the window and let his thoughts wander for a moment. It could have all turned out so differently. Instead of cheerful, his mother could have been devastated this very morning over the loss of a son, either Heath or himself, or both.

And, Nick? He could be currently caught up in an ill-fated attempt to obtain justice for his family, an attempt that could have landed him in the Coreyville jail, a place that could have proven beyond any law to protect him before the judge’s twisted revenge could be exacted.

How different it could have been, if not for the loyalty of three brothers, a loyalty that even the events of the last few months could not destroy

------or at least a loyalty that those events had not yet destroyed.

Suddenly, he set the coffee cup down on the tray and tossed back the blanket. Before he saw the doctor, before he saw the sheriff, there was one person that he had to speak with, the only person that really mattered right now.

Pushing himself up from the bed, he knew he had to see his brother.

He had to see Heath.

Chapter 32

“Jarrod?”

“Yes, Honey?” the tired, dark-headed man responded to the soft voice of his younger sister.

“Jarrod,” she said, as she knelt down beside him and rested her hand on his uninjured arm, where he sat in the chair beside the bed. “Jarrod, Mother and Nick are downstairs getting ready for dinner. Don’t you want to join us? Doctor Merar said he would come sit with Heath while we eat together.”

He looked down at her compassionate blue eyes, framed by the loose blond tresses and the irresistible smile. He stroked her hair with his hand for a moment.

Then, he said, “No, Audra. Thanks just the same, but I want to stay here. I’ll be fine right here.”

She nodded her understanding, “Alright, Big Brother, you keep your watch over him. I’ll bring you something to eat in a little while.”

She stood and leaned down to kiss his dark hair. Then, she walked to the bed and bent low over the silent, sweating figure under the blanket. Jarrod couldn’t hear her words, whispered in the ear of their blond-headed brother, but he saw the smile she gave Heath before she placed a kiss on his cheek.

She reached down and squeezed Heath’s hand as she stood and turned to leave.

Suddenly, she stopped.

She glanced up at Jarrod, then down at her hand. He followed her gaze.

Though her fingers had turned loose, his had not. Jarrod leaned forward and watched, as she turned back to face the bed and knelt down on one knee beside it.

With both hands, she touched his face, talking to him. “Heath?” she said softly. “Heath? Can you hear me?”

A soft groan was the only answer she received, but she was encouraged enough to continue. Jarrod, meanwhile, stood slowly and made his way to the door of the room. He stepped out into the hall and called, “Doc! Mother!” before turning back to walk around to sit on the other side of the bed.

Audra had continued talking to the blond, and though his eyes were not open yet, Jarrod heard another quiet moan, one that seemed to come from deep inside his brother, one that reflected a layering of agony on top of agony that Jarrod could not begin to fathom.

He began to be afraid for the pain his brother was going to be in if he did come around fully. Just as he started to warn Audra to stop, to stop encouraging him to wake up, to wait for the doctor, Heath’s eyes cracked open.

Then, Jarrod saw him bite down on his lower lip, trying to stifle the cry that escaped through clenched teeth, as Heath arched his back and pushed his head down into the bed beneath him. The cords in his neck stood out, as the sounds of his intense pain slipped out. Audra stepped back, away from the bed, in horror, terribly afraid for him and unsure of what to do.

Heath’s right hand came up. Instinctively, Jarrod leaned over him and grabbed the searching hand in his own. Heath clamped down with an iron-like grip and opened his mouth, gasping loudly for air. His eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling without seeing it, but he made no other sound, as he blinked rapidly.

Jarrod ordered, “Audra, get Doc Merar. Bring Nick.”

Then, he returned his attention to his brother. “Heath? Heath, can you hear me?”

Heath moved his head an inch and tried to look at Jarrod. Then, he returned his eyes to the ceiling, fixed now on a spot only he could determine. The ragged attempts to breathe continued as he fought with the searing pain.

“Hang on, Heath! The doc is coming. Hang on, Little Brother.”

The open-mouthed gasps for air suddenly became clenched, grinding teeth, as a low growling noise emerged from Heath’s throat. Jarrod could no longer feel his fingers, his brother’s work-hewn grip was easily crushing the blood from his less hardened hand.

Suddenly, Nick was there, prying Heath’s fingers from Jarrod’s hand, and replacing it with his own. Jarrod gasped as the blood and feeling returned to his fingers with a vengeance. But, he continued his encouraging tone, “We’re here, Heath. Everyone’s here. We’re right here. You’re not alone, Heath. Fight it. Fight it with all the guts we know you possess. We’re right here with you. We won’t leave you.”

Jarrod moved back to make room for the doctor, who said, “Nick, can you roll him toward you and hold him while I examine his back?”

Nick, on one knee beside the bed, immediately used his free hand, and with Jarrod’s help, pulled Heath’s chest toward his own. He held Heath there, while the doctor probed Heath’s bruised back. The doctor glanced up to meet Victoria’s worried eyes. “Hot water, lots of it, but not boiling, and some clean cloths. Hurry!”

As mother and daughter flew from the room, Heath blinked rapidly and tried to focus on Nick. Through teeth that were almost chattering with the pain that was shaking him, he said, “Hom-m-m-e, . . . N-i-c-c-k-k?

“Yes, Little Brother, you’re home, now.” Tears threatened to turn Nick’s hazel eyes to pools of liquid green at the question-----and the pain behind it.

Having moved out of the doctor’s way and around to lean over Nick’s shoulder, Jarrod reached out to touch Heath’s face. He could feel the heat and the rock hard muscles of Heath’s clenched jaw working beneath his fingers. He added, “We’re all home, here with you, Heath.”

His legs were beginning to thrash wildly, making it hard for Nick to hold onto him.

“Jar-rod,” Heath called between gasps, “Jar-rod?”

“I’m here, Heath, right here.” Jarrod’s eyes, too, filled with tears that threatened to spill. How much more could his brother endure? How much could any of them endure of watching him like this?

“Doc,” Jarrod asked quietly, “Can’t you give him something?”

“No, not yet. His head injury, Jarrod, . . .” Howard left the rest unsaid.

Heath slowly brought his left hand up from where it rested, almost lifelessly between his chest and Nick’s. Jarrod reached in and took hold of it gently with his right. He saw Heath close his eyes, the lids squeezed shut, and his forehead beneath the bandage creased in unending pain.

Then, as Heath’s eyes suddenly shot open wide, and he began to gasp for air again, both older brothers saw the tears escape from the light-blue eyes.

Nick’s head dropped, unable to continue looking at his brother, but he tightened his grip. He wished that Heath would just give in to the pain and let it take him back into unconsciousness-----anything to prevent his brother from feeling this kind of agony.

“Nick,” Doctor Merar said, “Nick, keep holding him, but let’s try pulling his knees up toward his chest. Jarrod loosened his grip on Heath’s hand long enough to reach down and assist the doctor in bending Heath’s legs at the knees and pulling his legs up. This seemed to help, as Heath responded by almost curling up against Nick, pulling his knees in closer to his chest.

As the women returned, each carrying a steaming porcelain bowl of water, they and the doctor moved around behind Heath. Sitting behind him on the bed, Howard soaked a cloth, and wrung it out, grimacing at the heat on his hands. Then, very carefully, he placed the steaming, wet cloth across Heath’s lower back, holding it there.

Everyone in the room seemed to hold their breath collectively, as they waited to see if it would help ease the pain the blond was in. By the time the cloth had been replaced three times, Nick was beginning to nod to them. “Yes. Keep going. I think it’s working.”

After another ten minutes, Victoria moved around to the other side of the bed, and worked her way between Nick and Jarrod, finding a kneeling position on the floor so she could look straight into Heath’s pain-filled blue eyes. She began talking to him quietly, stroking his face, “Heath. It’s Mother. Can you see me?”

“Moth-er?” He asked, after a moment, blinking. Then, he repeated, “Moth-er?”

“Yes, Sweetheart, it’s Mother.” She continued to talk to him, trying to distract him from his pain, trying to reassure him that she was there with him, “Heath, Sweetheart, just rest if you can. But, if you need to scream, then do that, too. No more suffering in silence, Heath Barkley. I love you, and I have no wish to see you suffer. But, if you’re hurting, I expect you to tell me, to tell us.”

Almost as if he hadn’t heard her words, only her voice, he asked, “Moth-er? . . . My fam’ly?. . . Here? His eyes never left her face.

With tears streaming down her cheeks, she said, “Yes, Heath, we’re all here, right here beside you.” Her voice breaking, she added, “We love you, Sweetheart.” She brushed his hair back with her hand, and she raised herself up to kiss his forehead. Resting her face against his for a moment, she whispered in his ear, “I love you, Son. You use those guts of yours to fight this and come back to me when you can. But, just rest now, okay? We’ll all be right here.”

Either the pain continued to abate so he could slip into sleep, or he finally gave into it and let it pull him back into unconsciousness. But, no matter which, he seemed to relax at her words, and he closed his eyes.

Nick felt the muscular grip slowly fade until his own hand was the only thing holding up Heath’s. He looked up at Doctor Merar in alarm. “Doc? Is he . . . ?”

With the ear pieces of his stethoscope quickly put in place, the brown eyes of the doctor closed as he concentrated on listening to his patient. He started nodding and smiling before he opened his eyes to speak.

“He’s still with us, Nick. He’s just unconscious.”

Nick blinked rapidly in relief, fighting for control.

Jarrod sat down heavily in the nearby armchair, and Audra came and curled up in his lap, her face turned to his chest, as she quietly sobbed out her fears. He held her close with his good arm.

Nick reached down and helped his mother to her feet. He stood with her as she, too, let the weeping take her. Nick reached down to pick her up under the knees, as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he carried her to his sister’s room just down the hall.

He placed her on the bed and covered her with the pastel-colored quilt that had been folded neatly at the foot. As he sat down beside her and stroked her silver hair, she grabbed his hand and said, “Oh, Nick, I was so scared we were going to lose him!”

“You were wonderful, Mother. You’re as strong as he is. He’ll fight. It’s going to be tough, but, he’ll pull through. You rest now, so you can be there with him the next time he wakes up. He’s going to need you; he’s going to need all of us.”

He squeezed her hand, and leaned over to kiss her hair. Then, he walked out into the hall, and went to his own room.

A moment later, he stood by the window, gripping the sill with both of his hands, looking out into the dusk. Then, he dropped his head, and let the tears fall.

His brother.

Such pain.

Somehow, he knew it wasn’t over, and he didn’t know where he was going to get the strength to go through it all over again the next time. He didn’t know where he was going to get the guts to watch his brother suffer like that again.

Suddenly, his mother’s words, of several months ago---on the night they told Heath he had to go to the logging camp with Bentell, came crashing through his head, as unexpectedly as if a rock had sailed through the window at that moment and landed at his feet.

“Show us some of Tom Barkley’s guts!”

Heath hadn’t begged for pain medicine; he hadn’t begged for anything. If he had to endure it, he had wanted nothing more than to know that his family loved him and would not let him go through it alone.

Nick knew now where he would get the strength to do what he had to do, to be there for his brother----he would get it from his brother’s quiet courage.

And, . . . his resolve returning, . . . he knew he would not let Heath down.

Not now, not ever again.

Chapter 33

By now, everyone in the house, not just Nick and Jarrod, were fighting serious fatigue. It had been well over twenty-four hours since that first time, the previous evening, and it still took at least three of them to help Heath through the wrenching battles with the intense pain every time he came around. The episodes, that occurred about every two or three hours, required one to hold Heath on his side, one to replenish the supply of steaming water, and one to apply the hot compresses to his back. Even with turns taken by Silas and Doctor Merar, they were all operating at near exhaustion levels.

Because of his concussion, the physician was loathe to give the young man any pain medication, and Heath had never once asked for any. But, each and every time it happened, it was taking its toll, not only Heath, who seemed to be weakening somewhat, but on everyone in the house. Watching him and being unable to do more than talk to him and place heat on his back was torture for them all.

In the middle of the second night after they had begun the heat treatments, Nick had sent Silas to enlist the help of Duke McCall. His intent was to make Jarrod, though his brother argued eloquently otherwise, leave and get some sleep.

By the time the foreman arrived, Nick had seemed to gain the upper hand.

“Jarrod, either you go get some sleep right now, or I’ll have Doc give you something to force you!” Nick said loudly.

When Jarrod just glared back at him, Nick gestured toward his brother’s bandaged arm and added, “And, don’t think I can’t hold you down enough to help him if necessary, Big Brother!”

Jarrod looked at the stone-faced doctor, his brother with his crossed arms, and the amused face of their recently-arrived foreman-----all staring back at him. He finally nodded once in defeat and leaned over to whisper loudly in Heath’s unhearing ear, “When you have children, don’t let them treat their Pappy like my young’uns treat me!”

When he stood up shakily, he glared at Nick’s smiling face and left the room unassisted.

Doc Merar sat down on the bed and checked Heath over again. He nodded to Nick, who was still standing with arms crossed above him. When he was finished, he turned slightly and said, “He’s a little weaker, probably from the bouts with the pain all day, but he’s holding his own. The fever is not as high as it was a few hours ago, Nick, so that’s a good sign. I think the swelling has even reduced in his abdomen some since this morning. That’s a very good indication that he is not bleeding as much as I first thought. If it were all caused by blood, it wouldn’t be going down yet.”

The doctor paused for breath, as he checked Heath’s left arm. Then, he added, “This is looking better, too----less swelling, as well. Just keep a close eye on him, Nick. If he starts to come around again, one of you come get me. His eyes are looking better; we might be able to get some laudanum in him by mid-morning.”

The doctor pulled the sheet and blanket back up to cover the bruised chest, patted Heath on the right shoulder, and stood to leave. Then, he turned to look back down at the bandaged blond and said, quietly, almost to himself, “If there ever was a doubt that this boy was one of Tom Barkley’s sons, he has certainly put that to rest. He’s as stubborn and tenacious as Tom ever was.”

Then, he glanced at Nick, and said, “I’m going to look in on your mother, to make sure she’s resting this time, before I take advantage of that guest room she offered earlier. Call me if he stirs. You two’ll need one more pair of hands.”

Nick, who had just exchanged glances with McCall, a long-time friend of his father’s, looked back at the doctor and nodded. As the doctor left, Nick turned his gaze back to Heath, reached down to place the length of his hand against his brother’s bruised face, and swallowed the lump in his throat that the man’s words had put there. Slowly, he turned to the nearby leather armchair, and he hauled it a foot closer to the bed.

Nick settled into the chair, with McCall on the other side of the bed in a similar one brought in from Nick’s room hours ago. Suddenly, at the sound of a foot banging against the bedroom door, they turned as one, open-mouthed, to see Jarrod coming back. He was loaded down with blankets and pillows from his own room, his good arm used only to balance the pile at the top. Dropping the bedding on the floor unceremoniously, Jarrod grinned at the two sets of incredulous eyes staring at him and said, “I remind the court that I was banished from the bedside, but not from the room.”

Then, without another word, he knelt down by Heath’s dresser, straightened the blankets, arranged the pillows, and lay down with his back to them.

McCall exchanged an amazed look with Nick, who rolled his eyes and flashed a wide smile, before turning back to watch the unmoving blond.

Twenty minutes passed quietly, with only the sound of Jarrod’s heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock on the dresser, to interrupt the silence.

Finally, Duke McCall spoke up quietly, “I guess Heath just has that kind of effect on folks, don’t he?”

Lost in his own thoughts of his father and younger brother, Nick raised his eyes slowly, his chin still resting in the palm of one hand, elbow on the armrest of the chair. He looked at McCall’s rugged, sun-worn face beneath the greying dark hair, and then, lowered his eyes to gaze at his brother beneath the blanket.

He asked, “What do you mean, Mac?”

“The doc’s words a little while ago. They sounded full of respect to me.”

Nick nodded, but he continued to look at his brother.

McCall took a deep breath and continued, “Nick, I’ve watched Heath with the men these last months since he’s been here. While every one of them would walk through fire for you, would follow you anywhere, it’s him, more and more, that I see some of them trying to be more like, especially the younger ones.”

When Nick silently raised his head and simply raised his eyebrows to look across the bed into the dark brown eyes looking back at him, McCall asked, “Have you noticed that we haven’t had as many heated arguments, as many fights between the men, as we used to, Nick?”

The dark-haired rancher turned his eyes toward the window beyond McCall, and gazed out into the gradually lightening sky without blinking. Slowly, he shook his head and returned his gaze to meet McCall’s, saying quietly, “No, Mac, I guess I hadn’t.”

“He’s good for them, Nick. He’s good for you, too.”

Nick nodded. Then, he turned his eyes back to Heath’s face, and said, almost in a whisper, “Tell me.”

Duke McCall sucked in another deep breath. He had been wanting to say this to Nick for a while now, but he didn’t like to interfere. He had seen the way Heath had begun to distance himself from Nick and Jarrod in the last few months, and he had been afraid the young man had been thinking more of leaving lately than he ever had, even during the stormy period at the beginning when he had first arrived.

He looked hard at Nick---his boss, yes---but his long-buried, best friend’s son, as well. Then, he glanced back down at the son his friend had never known.

He decided it was worth the risk; he decided now was as good a time as any to speak his mind.

Chapter 34

“Nick, there’s just something about him. He has the same intense love for this ranch, for this work, for this life, that you do. He knows what needs to be done, and he doesn’t hesitate to work everyone hard to accomplish the tasks. But, the way he goes about it,” McCall shook his head in frustration at his own lack of words to describe what he believed.

“I don’t know how to explain it, Nick. I just know that the men believe he cares about each one of them. If they were in trouble, they would probably go to him-----Hell, they probably wouldn’t even have to go to him. He would probably already know, would’ve already done something to help them with whatever it was.”

Nick’s eyes never left the face of the brother lying in the bed, as his foreman’s words washed over him. He nodded again to encourage McCall to continue.

“When you were gone those two months, he ran this place as if he were born to, just as you were. So help me, Nick, I don’t think there was one problem between the men. After a week or so, their respect for him grew to the point that they would’ve just worked themselves into the ground for him, every one of them, if he hadn’t made them slow down from time to time. Then, . . . when you came back, he just handed it all back, just stepped right back into the role of your little brother.”

Nick spoke for the first time, his voice quiet and full of the anguish that he had felt since his ride to Coreyville several nights ago. “And, I just stepped right over him into the role of boss again. . . . I never even acknowledged what he did, neither with the ranch nor with the family, while I was gone. And he, . . . he never said a word.”

The usually close-mouthed foreman listened intently, then continued speaking into the silence that followed, “He don’t have the benefit of all Tom taught you; he don’t know the long-range goals for this place like you do; and he don’t have the experience with the business end of it like you and Jarrod. But, he ran it like he knew you would want it run, like it was his, like he cared about it, and like he cared about the men. And, they responded to that.”

Wondering if he were saying too much, he looked at Nick to make sure no outburst was coming. Then, assured for the moment, especially by the way Nick had reached over and taken Heath’s hand in both of his from where it lay on the blanket, and by the way Nick’s head was bent down toward the floor as if he were listening while studying the rug, he continued.

“His calm, level head is exactly what this place needs, Nick. His calm, level head is what you need. He balances you, like, . . . like,” McCall struggled, searching for the words, “Like the left stirrup balances the right.”

Then, very quietly, he added, “The men respect him, Nick. I respect him. This place needs him. Even you, you need him. None of us want to see him leave.”

At this, Nick took in a noisy, ragged breath, and he raised his hazel eyes, filled with a mixture of pain and pride, to look into McCall’s. He was sure that, when the man across from him mentioned leaving, he had not been referring to the recent worry over Heath’s injuries. Nor had he been referring to the fact that the doc still wasn’t sure if Heath would make it.

As he stared into the brown eyes, Nick was positive that McCall had been worried that Heath would leave the ranch for good. And, somehow, he realized McCall had been worried for longer than just the last few days.

“How long have you known?” Nick asked, his voice almost strangled as he tried to push the words out past the tightness in his throat.

Duke McCall searched Nick’s face, while he hesitated. Finally, he answered, “He’s had a faraway, almost haunted, look in his eyes ever since he got back from that logging camp, Nick.”

He let the words hang quietly in the space between them, like the soft, pale green blanket that separated them, like the stillness of the form beneath it.

Then, McCall said, “We’re both early risers, and we’ve shared a few sunrises together since he came. But, somehow, lately it’s been different. He’s been different. He hasn’t said a word about it. But, . . .it’s like being here causes him a nameless kind of pain, deep inside him, that can’t be touched by the love he has for this place, for all of you. He’s been hurting, Nick, and he’s been hiding it very, very well.”

Nick’s next words, and his anguished voice as he spoke them, gave McCall the first hope he had felt in three months, the first hope that this could all be put to rest, the first hope that the pain he had observed could be dealt with before it was too late.

Nick didn’t dispute any of it. He didn’t argue, and he didn’t erupt into irritated pacing and agitated words. Instead, he asked simply and quietly, “Why didn’t I see it, Mac? Why?”

The older man uncrossed one long leg from on top of the other, placed his boot back on the rug beneath his chair, and stood. He crossed to the window nearby, and looked out at the first pink-tinges in the eastern sky beyond the barn below. He spoke quietly into the silent darkness behind him, “Nick, you’ve as big a heart as any man I’ve ever known. You’re like your Daddy that way. Tom Barkley would help anyone he could that needed it, especially if he could connect with the good in that person first. If you remember back that far, you’ll know that’s what happened with Bud Ackley that time. And, you. . . you’re that way, too. Of that, I have no doubt.”

He turned his head to look straight into the dark-headed rancher’s eyes and said, “But, Nick, sometimes, a person has to hit you over the head with the need to get you to see it! Once you notice it, your caring and concern knows no bounds, but. . . .”

Still watching Heath, Nick nodded at the foreman’s words. He knew, suddenly, why he hadn’t been able to see Heath’s pain, to see the distance beginning to stretch between the two of them, to see what McCall had known-----that Heath had been thinking of leaving. It hurt that the older man had seen it, while he, Heath’s brother, had not.

Nick swallowed hard and said, “I didn’t look.”

Duke McCall turned around slowly. He met Nick’s eyes with compassion and nodded. “He knows you love him, Nick. And, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes, that he loves you.”

Then, the foreman glanced down at his boots, and back up. In speaking again, he let his voice rise through the depths of the worry that he had carried inside him for nearly three months,

“But, whatever happened several months ago, it’s like his heart just isn’t inside him anymore. He goes through the days the same as always, works just as hard---maybe harder, if that’s possible---checks on the men and let’s them know he appreciates what they do, that he’s here for them if they need him, but. . .”

He stopped and shook his head in frustrated worry.

Returning Heath’s hand to the blanket and rising from the chair, Nick walked around the bed to stand before McCall. He placed his hand on the slightly shorter man’s shoulder, stared into his eyes, and finished the thought for him, “But, he needs us to reach out to him before he drifts away from us.”

At McCall’s raised eyebrows, Nick added with a slight smile, “I think Handsome Harry’s the one that got me thinking on it to start with, and I’ve had a lot of time to roll it around in my thick skull lately.”

He took a deep breath, and shared his innermost thoughts out loud, “It’s like he’s a boat on a river that’s been tied to a tree. And, . . . and now something’s happened to slowly tear the rope. The current’s pulling him away from us. If I don’t reach out and throw him a line, he’s going to drift away, isn’t he, Mac? I have to . . . to tell him how I feel, . . to reach out to him somehow.”

Suddenly, McCall shook his head again, stopping the heart-felt words. He said, “Nick, you’re right in some of what you said. Yes, you have to reach out to him, and soon. But, you’re also wrong in part of it. You have to understand, Nick. He’ll disappear all right. But, it won’t be like you said.”

He turned back to the window and said softly, “He won’t drift away. He’ll leave, Nick. He’ll leave of his own choice, and he won’t look back. I told you he’s been hurting and that he’s hidden it well. I told you he hasn’t said a word, and that’s true. But, he hasn’t been hurting silently and, . . . and he hasn’t drifted through it like you described. He’s been waging a noisy, angry battle inside himself.”

The foreman stared out at the growing dawn, thinking on the figure he had watched stand looking out at that same eastern sky so many mornings. He continued quietly, “That tether you mentioned isn’t just slowly tearing, Nick. Heath is a very strong-willed, very stubborn, very self-confident man who knows himself extremely well. I don’t know what happened a while back, but something came crashing down on him, like. . . like a cave-in from a rotten hole of a mine. And, . . . instead of the dust clearing and help coming to dig him out, more’s been heaped on top of him, and . . . .”

McCall stopped, then turned his head and looked directly into Nick’s eyes and said, “When he’s had enough, he’ll just push it all off of him and get himself out all alone, even if he has to leave his heart behind to do it. When he’s had enough, he’ll just reach out and snatch that rope you talked about back into the boat, and he’ll push himself off from the shore. He won’t float aimlessly downstream. He’ll be in complete control, and he’ll propel himself out into the current and away from you, this family, and this ranch forever. . . . And, I’m telling you, Nick, he won’t look back.”

At the shock and fear that covered Nick’s face, McCall knew he had finally gotten through. But, just to be sure, he gave his boss a minute to pull himself together, then asked, “Nick, do you remember when Heath nearly broke his hand a month ago? He never explained it, did he?”

At Nick’s look of puzzled agreement, the man continued, “When you finally noticed it and asked me, I told you he had a run-in while we were at Harry’s the night before.”

Nick nodded, and he watched Duke’s eyes.

“I guess I should’ve told you the truth then, Nick. But, he’s his own man, and I didn’t think it was my place to interfere in his business. We were at Harry’s, that was true. He’d had a few shots of whiskey, but he was nowhere near drunk. He went out to get the horses from where we’d left them in the livery. He told me to take my time, that he needed to clear his head. I’d noticed his eyes, and I realized there was a rage building there that was as furious as anything I’d ever seen in yours. After a few minutes, I followed him out. But, he wasn’t inside the livery. He was out back, behind it at that little shed where Mose keeps his tools.”

Nick’s eyes now bored into Duke’s, and he waited.

“Nick, when I turned the corner, he was, well, let me say to you that his curses would’ve made a sailor blush, and he was hitting the wall over and over. Before I could get to him, he had put his hand clean through it. He never made a sound after that, and it was all I could do to get him away from that shed. To get his attention, I finally had to shove him backwards and put myself in between him and the wall, yelling at him all the while. I tried to tell him to take a swing at me if he needed to, but, . . . but, he wouldn’t. He just turned and walked away, got his horse, and headed out of town toward the ranch. I followed him, and he stopped about a mile outside the gate, waiting for me. He told me, in a deadly quiet voice, that I didn’t have to worry about him, but that he just needed to be alone. He said to tell you that he would meet up with us the next morning, that he’d come join up with his crew. I didn’t follow him anymore. I knew he’d just made me a promise that he wouldn’t leave, at least not that night.”

Nick had moved to the window, too, and was standing with both hands on the sill, much as he had the night before in his own room. Only this time, he was seeing his brother the way he had looked that morning a month ago as he rode in while they were all gathering by the barns. He had assumed Heath had stayed in town, and he remembered making some knowing comment about hoping Heath had gotten at least some sleep since he expected him to pull his weight around there that day. Then, also in front of the other men, he had reminded Heath that this was a working ranch and that every Barkley had obligations to the rest.

He heard again Heath’s quiet, reply, that to Nick’s surprise had not contained any easy, returned banter for the first part of his comment, nor any anger at the second. Instead, his brother had simply flashed him his lop-sided smile and said, “I’ll remember that, Nick.”

He hadn’t noticed the injured hand until late that afternoon.

Now that he knew what had happened, now that he knew what Heath had been wrestling with, he knew that the quiet words that day had had pain behind them, pain that had had nothing to do with his hand.

McCall placed his hand on Nick’s shoulder, and said, “I’ll go get us some fresh coffee.”

As he reached the doorway, he glanced back, and saw Nick’s unmoving, dark form silhouetted against the growing dawn, Heath’s still outline stretched across the length of the bed, and he saw Jarrod. Looking closer, he saw Jarrod’s open eyes and the light reflecting off of the moisture that filled them. He nodded at the man watching him from the floor, shifted his eyes back to Nick, and then back to Jarrod.

Jarrod nodded at him, understanding, and McCall reached down to grasp the oldest Barkley brother under his good arm. Silently, he pulled Jarrod to his feet. Once he was sure Jarrod was steady enough to head over to check on Nick, the foreman turned back to the doorway.

Walking down the hallway toward the back stairs, he felt somehow more encouraged that, if Heath could somehow survive the beating he had taken, it might just be possible that his family would be able to reach out to him-----and revive the beating of his heart.

Chapter 35

Jarrod and Nick stood shoulder to shoulder at the window of the relatively small bedroom, the dawn streaking the sky with warm colors that neither of them noticed as they stared silently out at the morning.

Nick spoke first, his pain at Duke’s words still slicing through him, “Jarrod, we were so close to losing him, and we didn’t even know!”

Jarrod lifted his right hand from the window sill to clamp down on Nick’s shoulder beside him. “I know, Nick, I heard McCall a little while ago. I woke up to the two of you talking----mostly, I might add------I was amazed that you were listening, and Mac was doing all the talking!”

He smiled over at Nick, trying to break the tension emanating from the younger man.

Nick glanced at Jarrod, not even realizing what his brother was trying to do, so intense was his own grief at the nearness of the loss. “Maybe I’ve been around you and Heath so long, . . .” He stopped and closed his eyes at the fresh pain his own words caused him. Then, he continued, “What if he had just ridden away, and we didn’t even know he was leaving for good? What if he. . . ?”

But, Jarrod shook his head, “No, Nick. I know what Mac said, but I can’t see Heath doing that. He fought too hard to be here to just turn his back and ride away.”

“Like Hell he wouldn’t! Mac is right, Jarrod! Heath would figure that it would make things worse on us if he tried to explain why he had to go. He would never consider that we could, . . . that we could, . . . that we could care about him so much that his leaving would shatter us. He would think it would be easiest for us if he just left. He. . . .”

Again, Jarrod interrupted, unable to listen to the anguish in his brother’s voice as the worries spilled out of him. Knowing the pacing would begin any moment, he figured he had better slow Nick down now, while he was still in one place.

“Whoa! Hold on a minute! There’s still time, Nick. He hasn’t gone anywhere yet. We can still try to make it right with him. It’s not too late!”

Turning to look at the pale, sweating face lying so still in the bed behind them, Nick nearly choked on the words, “Isn’t it, Jarrod? What if he. . . ?”

Struggling for control over his emotions, Nick just stopped and shook his head. Then, he lifted his eyes to the glowing sky outside the window, and sucked in air raggedly through his nose. He blinked rapidly and looked over at Jarrod.

“What if he dies, Jarrod. What if he never even wakes up enough for me to tell him how wrong I was, for any of us to make him understand how sorry we are? I don’t think he’s understood much we’ve said so far. He’s been in too much pain. . . .”

Jarrod swallowed hard, wishing with all his heart that he could tell this brother, this one that he had known all his life, that their younger brother was going to pull out of this for sure, that they would all have a chance to make things right, and that they would all benefit for years to come from the correction.

But, he knew he couldn’t.

They both turned then and half sat, half leaned against the window sill, their backs to the dawn. Nick remained with his arms crossed, while Jarrod propped himself up and kept his injured arm cradled against his belt.

Neither spoke for a few minutes.

Then, Nick said, “Jarrod, Mother is suffering, too. I think she believes this is all her fault. It’s not anything Heath has said. In fact, Heath hasn’t apparently said anything in the last three months that I know of to anyone about what he’s been struggling with, though Mac made it pretty clear he’s been battling with powerful feelings since, . . . well, since we sent him to that logging camp. . . . And, now, this with Anders.”

He continued, “Anyway, I know Heath hasn’t said anything, not up to now. But, since we brought him home, he’s done a lot of rambling-----mumbling things Mother has heard, things about Bentell, about Anders.”

He stopped. Then, after another deep breath, he said, “Jarrod, two nights ago, I came in to relieve her, and I found her crying over him.”

At Jarrod’s worried look, Nick added, “It was my fault. It was the first night we were home, and I slept too long. She was trying to cool him off, had been at it for hours. His fever was so high, and he’d apparently done a lot of talking. He was quiet when I came in, but she was badly shaken. She told me that at first he kept saying things about the desert, about that kid named Willie, and about Anders. Then, later, he looked straight at her, called her Mother, and pleaded with her to let him come home, to let him leave Bentell and come home.”

When Nick finished, Jarrod’s eyes were closed, and his arms were crossed low, wrapped around his own waist. The words, added to what Jarrod had heard Duke telling Nick earlier, made him feel physically sick.

In almost a whisper, Jarrod said, “He asked her that?”

Nick, glancing up, realized Jarrod had turned very pale. Grabbing him by the right arm, Nick quickly turned Jarrod around and held onto him as he leaned out over the open window sill and lost any remnants of last night’s meal to the ground far below. When the heaving ended, Nick leaned him against the wall and fixed him a glass of water to rinse his mouth. Then, he guided his ailing brother to the nearby chair.

Ruffling Jarrod’s dark hair just to annoy him, Nick smiled slightly and said, “Counselor? Next time, maybe you’ll take the court’s advice and get some sleep. You’ve definitely looked better!”

Jarrod glanced up at Nick, the anguish in his blue eyes immediately clearing away Nick’s half-hearted attempt at a smile. “Nick, we did that to our brother, all three of us, not just Mother. We all three did that. And, you were right. That makes it sound like he’s already left us in his heart! How are we going to make it right with him?”

Nick’s sad eyes staring back at him, as he shook his head in frustrated silence, gave Jarrod no additional answers.

Then, Nick said, “Jarrod, this is eating her alive, and you’re not far behind her. But, one of my fears is that I’m not sure Mother will ever be the same if she doesn’t have a chance to work this out with Heath. As much as I know I can’t lose my brother, I am well aware now that if we lose him, we may somehow lose them both.”

Jarrod leaned his head back against the supple leather of the well-used chair, and he nodded slightly. He asked, “What can we do, Nick? What can we do now, while we wait to see what’s going to happen. I want to be able to tell him we’ve DONE something when he wakes up. It has to be more than words. I want him to know we’ve already taken action to correct what we put him through.”

Nick just stared at him, thinking that he was usually the one ready to jump into action, not Jarrod. And, he was wondering what else had really happened between the two of them in Coreyville, when Jarrod spoke up again.

“I’ll take care of getting Anders out of Stockton, but I don’t think I can ever look into Matt Bentell’s eyes again. We need to get him out of our logging camp and away from our brother. I don’t want Heath to ever have to work with that man again. If Bentell stays, it’ll be inevitable that he’ll have to at some point. We should never have asked it of him the first time, and we certainly can’t ask him to do it again!”

Still staring at him, Nick shook his head in disbelief. Then, a huge smile spread across his face and lit the room, “So, Counselor, you’re giving me permission to ride up there and personally kick the man all the way down that mountain and off Barkley property?”

Jarrod’s pain-filled eyes slowly reflected the humor Nick was able to see in the situation. With a slight smile, he said, “No, Nick. Somehow, that isn’t quite what I had in mind.” Then, as an idea hit him, Jarrod’s smile grew wider, as well, “What about, when Heath is better, the two of you take a little ride up there, and Heath . . . .”

Catching hold of Jarrod’s idea, Nick interrupted, “And, Heath is the one that gives him the boot all the way down the mountain! I like it, Counselor, I like it a lot!”

“Fires him, Nick, not. . . .”

Impatiently, Nick waved his hands around, “Now, don’t get your shirttail all turned and twisted! I know what you mean, Pappy. . . . But, truthfully, the decision about what he does, and how he does it, should be left up to Little Brother, don’t you think?”

Jarrod nodded, thoughtfully.

Then, he said, “You know, once again, you’re exactly right, Nick. More than anything else, more important than us taking action now, more than anything, what happens from here on out has to be Heath’s choice, his choice with our unconditional support.”

After nodding silently in agreement, Nick added softly, "I think that's all he really wanted from us to start with, Jarrod. And, I think that's the only way we're going to regain the trust he had placed in us, regain the trust we have all betrayed."

Chapter 36

When he closed the door behind the sheriff, Jarrod returned to the study, retrieved his unfinished drink, and stood by the empty fireplace, his right arm propped up on the warm-toned wood of the mantle and the contents of his glass swirling around in his left.

Victoria stood quietly, watching him from the doorway, wondering what had been said between the two of them, but not yet willing to intrude upon her oldest son’s thoughts. She turned and walked through the dining room to the kitchen, quickly prepared a tray with hot tea for herself and a thick, roast beef sandwich for her son. Then, she returned to the wood-paneled room.

As she seated herself and placed the tray on the round table in front of her, she glanced up at the picture of her husband above her son’s head, and then down to look into Jarrod’s dark-blue eyes.

Wordlessly, she patted the place beside her on the red settee, and he came to join her.

She poured cream, dropped a cube of sugar into her tea, and she waited.

“He said those two bounty hunters finished serving their time yesterday. Since he told them he’d received the wire from the sheriff in Coreyville, the one that said there is no more bounty on Anders, they went on their way.”

Victoria looked into his troubled eyes and asked, “But, you don’t believe that?”

“No, I think he’s right. There’s no reason for them to hang around here if the man they were after is no longer worth anything to them.”

She reached over and touched his hand, the hand that had not yet reached out to touch the lunch he had missed earlier, “Then, why are you still worried?”

Jarrod sighed. “The doctor said I could make the trip into town when he leaves in a bit, and I want to accompany him, Mother. I need to talk to Gil Anders, who Howard says is up and around. But, I have found that I now feel like my brother has all along. I don’t want to even look at the man. We know he’s not a murderer, but . . .”

He paused, and she filled in what he didn’t say, “But, he is part of the reason you and Heath were almost killed, and there is no doubt that he did leave your brother and that young boy to die in the desert several years ago.”

She stirred her un-sipped tea, while he swirled his still remaining drink.

Then, she spoke softly into the silence, “Jarrod, I was wrong.”

He glanced over and watched her, waiting for her to continue.

“There are many things I want to say to your brother when he has recovered, so much I need to tell him. But, even more, I need to let him know I want to listen to whatever he is willing to share with me. My fear is that I have wounded him even more deeply in the last few months than he was hurt by the severe beating he took while he was in that town.”

She stopped talking again.

He reached over and stilled her hand as it continued to stir the now cold tea.

She glanced up at him, smiled slightly, and looked back down. “I was wrong, Jarrod. I was wrong to force him to go with Bentell, and I was wrong to try to convince him he should feel something he couldn’t for Anders. I wasn’t there in that desert when his friend did that to him. I wasn’t there when he had to shield that boy from the sun, and I wasn’t there when he held a dying child in his arms, knowing he would have to bury him with his bare hands.”

She sighed and looked up into Jarrod’s waiting eyes, the tears falling freely from her own, “You do what you feel you should where Anders is concerned, but know that if Heath never has to look at that man again, it would please me considerably. He’s suffered enough for that man, and so has the rest of his family.”

He squeezed her hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek, wiping a tear with his thumb.

As he stood and left the room, she reached up to feel the place where the memory of his gentle kiss lingered. She closed her eyes and thought of both her blue-eyed sons, thought of how close she had come to losing them.

Then, she wondered if she would ever again feel that same gesture of love from the son that remained upstairs under the watchful eye of Doc Merar.

* * * * * * * *

Hours later, Jarrod sat in his comfortable leather chair in his Stockton office, twisting the chair first slightly to the right, then to the left. All the while, the black-leather toe of his left boot kept time to the pencil he drummed on the arm of the chair.

He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Nick was coming in to pick him up in a little while, and he could just relax now while he waited. He needed to relax. He needed to . . .

Slowly, Jarrod stood up and crossed the room. He eased his tall frame onto the welcoming feel of the soft brown leather of the sofa against the wall, and propped his boots up on the two tweed pillows at the other end. Then, he leaned back against another pillow and closed his eyes again.

A deep sigh escaped, and a small smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

He was tired.

No, he was flat, worn out.

He hadn’t had this much activity without a rest since they’d returned from Coreyville.

But, no matter. In some ways, he felt better than he had in days.

He could see Anders’ face as the haggard-looking man had sat across from him in the hotel room almost an hour ago. He recalled the conversation vividly.

“Mr. Anders, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thank you, Mr. Barkley. And, I wanna thank you for all you done for me. Taking me into your fine house. Your family looking after me. You protecting me from those bounty hunters, getting me the care of the doctor. I did nothing, but bring your family trouble.”

“Don’t give it another thought, Mr. Anders,” Jarrod said.

The morose man nodded, “But, thank you just the same. I’m in your debt.” Then, his eyes brightened momentarily. “Heath? I was still hoping he’d come.”

“No, Mr. Anders, my brother, well let’s say he had a run-in with some of those men back in Coreyville.”

Anders mouth dropped open, “Coreyville?”

While Jarrod did not want to go into all the details, he did want the man to know that he had been the catalyst for many events of the last few days. He said simply, “Heath and I both went there to try to find out what happened with you.”

Anders shook his head, “You shouldn’t have gone there. That place is . . . is, it’s run by the devil himself! Is that what happened to you?” He indicated Jarrod’s sling. “Is Heath gonna be alright?”

Jarrod nodded and said, “We don’t know about Heath yet. Matt Coulter and some of his men beat him up pretty badly.”

Anders closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He said quietly, “One more thing I need to ask him to forgive me for.”

“Mr. Anders, we found out you didn’t murder anybody in that town.”

The man raised himself up out of the chair and walked slowly to the window. He stood there, his hand on the thick, gold brocade curtain, looking out onto the street below.

Jarrod continued, “In fact, we found out that Matt Coulter is the one who killed the schoolteacher, Horace Ames. He also killed his wife.”

Listening, the man now stared down at the floor, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

“They’ll still come after me. That judge, Matt Coulter’s uncle, he’ll still try to pin it on me.”

“No, Mr. Anders. He won’t. He’s dead. They’re both dead.”

Anders turned and stared at Jarrod, his arms wrapped around his stomach. “Dead?”

“Yes. Heath shot Matt, and our brother, Nick, and I, killed the judge. He tried to kill the sheriff and Heath. It’s over, Mr. Anders.”

Jarrod stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of the incredulous man. He pulled out the telegram and the one page document signed by the local sheriff and the district judge. He handed them to Anders.

Taking them, the man glanced down and then back up into Jarrod’s eyes. He asked, “What’re these?”

“Those, Mr. Anders, give you your freedom back. The bounty hunters are no longer interested in you; you no longer have a price on your head. You are no longer a wanted criminal. You may have to keep producing these papers for a while, but, when you’re well, you can leave Stockton and go anywhere you want without fear of someone putting you in jail for something you didn’t do. If anyone has any questions, they can reach me here.”

Holding the papers in one hand, and reaching behind him to grab the open sill for support, the man leaned heavily on the window frame. “Thank you, Mr. Barkley. Again, I don’t know what else to say.”

Then, he slowly raised his eyes to meet Jarrod’s. “But, leave? I can’t leave, yet. I need to see Heath. I’ve looked for him for a long time, close to three years.”

Jarrod took a deep breath. The rest had just been loose ends, but this? This was what he had come to say, to say for his family, to say for his brother. He stared into the man’s lost eyes, any sense of purpose wavering now.

“Mr. Anders, my family did everything we could to help you. But, this is the one thing we cannot do. You are asking too much of us, of me, of my brother. He knows you didn’t have anything to do with that man’s murder, but he also knows your actions several years back almost cost him his life, and most assuredly cost the life of a sixteen-year old boy that Heath had to bury in that desert. . . .”

Gil Anders started shaking his head, staring into Jarrod’s eyes. He held up his hands and started waving them back and forth, the two pieces of paper flapping wildly. “Wait. Wait a minute.”

Jarrod stopped.

Swallowing hard, Anders continued to shake his head and asked, his voice rising, “Sixteen-year old boy? What’re you talking about?”

“Willie Martin. Surely you remember the boy that was with you and my brother in the desert?”

“Willie died? He died in the desert? Heath had to. . . .” The man’s dark eyes grew larger and rounder with each shake of his head. Then, he whispered, “Willie died?”

Jarrod took the man by the arm and led him back to the chair. Then, he sat down across from him, and waited.

Slowly, Anders raised his lowered head, and looked at the papers he had clenched in his hand. “You and Heath found out I was innocent, you took care of me, and all of you knew that boy died because of me? Why? I would never have come asking to see Heath if I’d known Willie died. I had no right to ask even when I thought my shame was about the way I’d left them, the way I’d betrayed my friends like that. What am I gonna do, Mr. Barkley?”

He sat silently for a few more minutes. Then, he said, “Now, after all this time, . . . to find out I killed that boy, and, the man that used to be my friend, he knows I done it. He must’ve been ready to kill me with his bare hands when he saw me in his house. . . I. . . I just didn’t know what I was asking.”

Then, he took a deep breath before he continued, as if he were saying a well-rehearsed speech, “I came to tell Heath, I came to tell him that was a stinking bad thing I done out there in the desert. No excuses for it neither, not then, not now. I was just too purely scared was all. Thing like that it, . . . it stays with you. It eats out your heart. The whole thing is that you do something wrong, you do it mostly to yourself. I knew I had no right to ask Heath for anything. But, I swear, I’d give my life to do it over. That’s what I came to ask him, that he’d believe I would. I figured if he’d believe me, having been my friend, the one I’d betrayed the most, I could find Willie next and ask the same thing. Then, maybe, I’d be able to put my life right from then on. You know, put it behind me some. But, now?”

He shook his head again, “Now, I can’t ask that of him, and. . . and, I’ll never be able to ask it of Willie, ‘cause I killed him.”

Jarrod took a deep breath. He wanted this man out of his brother’s life, but, he also felt compassion for the pitiable state the man had reached, all because of one terrified act on one frightening night now years in the past.

He reached into his inner vest pocket and handed Gil Anders an envelope he had prepared earlier. It contained some money and several addresses.

He said, “When you’re stronger, please leave, Mr. Anders. At one time, my brother spoke of having made a promise to kill you himself. He is not interested in carrying out that promise, and I believe he was relieved to learn that you did not murder anyone in Coreyville. However, he does not want to see you, and he does not want to talk to you.”

Anders nodded, his eyes on the unopened envelope in his hand.

“There’s enough in that envelope to get you started somewhere away from here and away from Coreyville. But, it won’t go far if you spend it all on a bottle, like the sheriff in that town told me that you were prone to do.”

Anders nodded.

“There are also a couple of names and addresses that I thought you’d like to have. They might be a way to start again in the right direction.”

As he lay on the couch remembering, he thought about the contents of the envelope and the information provided there. He wondered now, like he had a little while ago, when he had put his hand on Anders’ shoulder, and said simply, “Good luck,” before turning and leaving the room-----what, if anything, the man would choose to do with what he had given him.

While he was sorry to find that Anders had not known of Willie Martin’s death before today, Jarrod knew that he had done all he could to give Anders a chance at making some important choices for his own future.

More than anything, he was glad to have finally taken action to see that his brother’s wishes in this situation could be honored.

And, now that he had finally come to understand that his brother, like each of them, needed to make his own choices, Jarrod felt he had taken an important step in building a bridge across the distance developing between them.

Chapter 37

Nick was dozing in his chair when a sound awakened him.

He sat up abruptly and looked around the now darkened room, trying to make sense out of the shadows. He reached to his left and turned up the oil lamp on the small round table by his brother’s bed. Then, he leaned back in the chair and tried to clear his eyes, to clear his head of the confused images that he remembered from his uneasy dreams.

With eyes closed again, he recalled seeing a huge giant bending over his brother, punching and kicking him, laughing all the while. Then, he had seen Matt Bentell bending over Heath, hauling him up by his injured arm, trying to make his dazed eyes focus on his face. Just as Nick had propelled himself forward, trying to take down both men at once, he had heard, . . . heard what?

Something had awakened him.

He leaned forward again, watching his brother intently.

Had he heard Heath call him? Or had he dreamed that too?

He reached forward and touched Heath’s face, relieved immediately at the slightly cooler temperature. Then, he pulled back the damp sheet and blanket, and he ran his hand carefully over Heath’s bruised chest and down below his ribs. He let out a noisy breath, almost unaware that he had been holding it, at what he found. Though the swelling was not completely gone, it was definitely not as bad as it had been.

He stood and removed the blanket, tossed it in a corner, and picked up the folded one beside his chair. Opening it, he replaced the previous one with the dry one and returned to his seat. He ruffled his brother’s hair above the bandage encircling his head, and said, gruffly, “Hey, Little Brother. You’re about to miss another sunrise. I’ve never known you to sleep so much. This is a working ranch, you know!”

Nick leaned back in the chair, and then, he stood and walked around the foot of the bed to stand at the open window. After a few minutes, he leaned down and propped himself up with both hands gripping the sill, his head staring down at the ground far below.

It was still dark out, though he could tell that it wouldn’t be much longer before the eastern sky would begin to visibly lighten.

“N-i-i-c-c-k-k. . . ?”

The tall rancher whirled around at the sound, and in two strides, he was seated on the edge of the bed beside his younger brother. “Heath, Boy! I’m here, right here!”

Reaching under the fresh blanket to find Heath’s hand, Nick uncovered it and gripped it with both hands.

“N-i-c-k. . . ?”

“C’mon, Boy. Open those eyes. I’m right here.”

“Hurts. . . Nick. . .”

Nick swallowed hard, hoping that the last dose of laudanum was still containing most of the ferocious pain his brother had endured for what seemed like forever. “I know, Heath. I know. But, you’re not alone. I’m right here.”

Heath’s eyelids cracked open, and Nick could now see his unfocused, blue eyes searching for him in the soft light of the lamp. “Not. . . sunrise, . . . Nick.”

Nick dropped his head, closed his eyes, and let the relief turn his pent-up worry to a huge, heart-felt smile. Then, he raised his head and reached up to pull Heath’s face around toward him. His own eyes bright with unshed tears, he said, “Not yet, but soon, Heath. Soon, you’ll be out there sharing it with me.”

A tiny smile lifted one corner of Heath’s mouth, as his eyes fought to focus on Nick’s face, “Sun---rise, . . . with . . . you?”

As he lifted his brother’s head and placed a glass of water to his lips, Nick laughed and said, “Yeah, yeah. None of your sass, now Little Brother, you hear?”

When Nick let his bandaged head return to the pillow, Heath nodded slightly, his eyes closed. Then, suddenly, his eyes opened widely, and he reached out to grab Nick’s arm.

Afraid the pain had returned, Nick looked around for the bottle of medicine.

But Heath’s single word, spoken with fear and desperation, brought his attention back down to his brother’s face. “Jar-rod!” Heath tried to raise himself up away from the pillows, pulling hard at Nick’s arm.

“Whoa, Boy. It’s okay. Lie back, now. Jarrod’s fine, Heath.”

Heath tried to turn toward him, his right arm now reaching across and clutching at Nick’s upper arm, “No, . . . I . . . . I hit . . . Jar-rod. . . . Gotta . . . .”

The words dissolved into a groan so painful, Nick winced as he said, “Heath! Heath, listen to me! Jarrod’s fine. He’s asleep. You rest, now. You can see him later, after sunrise.”

Though Heath could no longer raise his shoulders from the bed, he continued tossing his head back and forth, muttering his brother’s name.

Recalling how hard Heath was to calm down back by that stream until he saw Jarrod, Nick knew he needed to do something. Unsure if Heath was in pain or just reluctant to believe him, or both, Nick decided to risk leaving him for a moment and awaken Jarrod. He knew his older brother needed to see Heath as much as Heath apparently needed to see him.

Quickly, he tucked the edges of the blanket on his side of the bed under the mattress and moved around to the other side to do the same. Hoping his action would keep Heath in place long enough for him to leave the room, he ran out the open door and down the hall.

“Jarrod!” Nick called, as he opened his brother’s door, trying hard to not awaken everyone in the house. “Jarrod! Heath’s awake and calling for you.”

Then, seeing his older brother sit up quickly in the bed, Nick turned and sprinted back the short distance to Heath’s room. The blond had managed to sit up and had his feet headed toward the floor, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist and the other pulling him toward the edge of the bed.

His eyes were barely open, as he gasped for breath and tried to get up.

Quickly, Nick reached him and gently placed one hand on the right shoulder and the other on Heath’s left arm, trying to hold him still without hurting him. He used his body to block Heath’s progress, but then, swiftly knelt beside his brother and pulled his upper body forward toward his chest when Heath started coughing and retching.

He felt Jarrod behind him, guiding Heath’s head over a bowl, as the water Nick had given him came back up. When the misery-filled sounds ended, the older brothers worked together to ease Heath back to the bed, resting him on his side. Jarrod lifted Heath’s feet from the floor, and put them back under the blanket, while Nick wrung out a wet cloth and used it to wipe Heath’s face.

The two dark-haired brothers locked eyes as Heath continued to toss his head and started mumbling Jarrod’s name. Nick traded places with Jarrod and pulled the leather chair up so his brother could sit as close as possible to the blond. Jarrod held Heath’s hand in his right and said, “Heath, it’s Brother Jarrod. I’m here, Heath,” as he used his left hand to stroke his brother’s face.

Slowly, the mumbling stopped. They both saw Heath’s eyebrows raise and a lop-sided grin emerging; then, they saw the blue of Heath’s eyes as his lids cracked open.

“Jar-rod?”

“Yes, Heath. I’m here.” Both older brothers were holding their breath. Was all of this a sign that Heath was getting better and was going to be alright? Or was it just more of the delirium that had had him in its grasp for days?

“Jar-rod, . . hit. . . you. . . .so. . . sor-ry. . . .”

“Heath. Heath, look at me. I’m alright. You saved my life, Heath. . . . ” Jarrod’s voice caught, and trailed off to a whisper, “You got me out of there. You shot those men.” Then, he looked into Heath’s barely-opened eyes, and said strongly, “I’m the one who is so sorry for all I have done to you!”

Heath’s forehead creased under the bandage in puzzlement. Then, his other hand reached up slowly, and he touched his fingers to Jarrod’s jaw. “Didn’t. . . wanna. . . hit . . m’brother.”

His hand dropped back down to grasp Jarrod’s nightshirt collar in his fingers.

Jarrod tried again, “Heath, I’m okay. You saved me from them. It’s okay, Little Brother. Thanks for saving my life out there.”

Heath, who had been watching Jarrod’s eyes, nodded once, and then closed his own. He let his hand fall back to the blanket.

Jarrod eased back and, still holding Heath’s other hand, glanced over at Nick. Together, they watched Heath sleep, reassured by the constant rise and fall of his chest.

After a little while, Jarrod spoke up quietly, “Thanks for getting me, Nick. I don’t know if he understood or not, but I feel better for telling him how sorry I am.”

Nick said, “It was like before, Jarrod, like that day between the stream and the road, when he was so worried about you, and nothing would calm him until he saw you and knew you were okay. It’s a good thing you’ve already been to town and back, because I don’t think you need to be very far away from him for a while.”

Jarrod nodded, his heart full.

Again, Nick spoke, “Jarrod, whatever happened out there, I think it’s made the two of you more connected than ever. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble convincing him that you wish you’d acted differently with both Bentell and Anders. . . .” He trailed off, as both of them turned their eyes back to Heath’s face.

Then, Nick added, very quietly, “As for me and Mother, . . . I don’t know if things’ll ever be the same with him. He told me once that he’d do anything for her. I think he’ll always feel guilty for the pain he thinks his being here causes her, and he’s still overwhelmed by the way she’s loved him despite that pain. I think she’s the reason he went with Bentell; you and I didn’t help him by stopping her. But, she’s the reason he allowed himself to go through that. And, I’m sure she knows and regrets it now.”

When Jarrod’s eyes bored into him, Nick continued, his own regrets fueling the words, “For me, our relationship is different. Once I quit blaming him for what Father did, . . . ,”

Nick swallowed hard, before going on. “We became partners and friends, as well as brothers. He trusted me, gave me all of his loyalty, and I did the same-----at least until Bentell, and now again with Anders.”

Nick stood and moved around the bed to the window, leaning on the frame and looking out into the darkness. Quietly, he said, “I betrayed him like none of the rest of you could. And, I don’t think I even have the right to ask him to forgive me for that. I don’t think he’ll ever trust me again.”

Jarrod looked over at Nick, watched as the pain seemed to smolder in the hazel eyes and then get pushed back down deep inside before his brother turned completely away.

Jarrod glanced down at Heath, where he lay on his side facing him.

However, instead of seeing the sleep-relaxed face he had expected, Jarrod was surprised to see Heath’s eyes, the color of a hot, summer afternoon sky, staring straight ahead, his forehead creased in either pain or concentration.

Had Heath heard Nick’s words?

Jarrod squeezed Heath’s hand, and he felt the grip tighten on his in return. He leaned down to whisper in his brother’s ear, “Are you alright?”

Heath nodded slightly, then, glanced up at Jarrod and shifted his eyes as if he were searching for Nick.

Jarrod squeezed his hand again, and he pointed to the window, as he stood and quietly left the room.

Chapter 38

The sky was beginning to lighten just enough for Nick to see that the sunrise today would be marred by the clouds rolling in overhead.

He thought about his brother, lying there on the bed behind him. He thought about all the times he had found him outside by the corrals, a tin cup filled with coffee in his hand, enjoying the solace of that particular morning’s sunrise.

Nick thought of all the times he had found his brother sitting on a rock, or propped up against a tree, watching the lingering colors of a sunset in comfortable solitude, while the other men were cutting the fool or passing a bottle of liquor around the fire.

His strong, highly-introspective brother was the balance he needed in his life. He was the man he wanted by his side, both in good times and in trouble. McCall was right. The ranch needed Heath. He needed Heath.

Nick dropped his eyes to look at the hands that gripped the window sill. He knew that he would give anything just to be able to offer Heath his hand in apology for all the pain that he had caused him and to know that all would be accepted, forgiven, and forgotten.

But, . . . he couldn’t even forgive himself for what he had done, for his betrayal, for not speaking up to prevent him from being sent to the logging camp months ago, for not letting him know he understood his intense hatred of Anders days ago.

He couldn’t forgive himself.

How could he even hope that Heath would be able to forgive him?

He lifted his head and looked back out at the clouds, noticing the tinge of red beneath each grey shadow as it hung above the ranch, above the land he loved---like he loved his brother.

As he looked out at the dark morning, he admitted to himself, truly acknowledged, that he loved his brother. Without Heath beside him, he didn’t know if he could . . . .

Suddenly, Nick turned.

Had he heard his brother’s voice?

Searching the dark room with his eyes, he wondered where Jarrod had gone.

He could see Heath’s shape in the bed, still lying on his side facing away from him.

He started to turn back to the window, when he heard it again.

He froze.

Then, he walked quietly back around to the other side of the bed and lowered himself into the chair Jarrod had vacated.

He watched his brother’s face. Heath’s eyes were closed, and he looked like he was sleeping. But, . . . .

“Nick?” Heath’s voice was barely audible, and his eyes remained closed.

The dark-haired man leaned in closer to the blond. “Yes, Heath,” he breathed.

“Nick, . . . ,” Heath began, but he stopped. His eyes remained closed, and there was a crease between his eyebrows, like he was in pain still, or. . . or trying to focus on something elusive.

Nick reached over and gently ruffled the blond hair.

“Nick, . . . !” Suddenly, Heath’s eyes opened wide, and he tried to find Nick’s face through the haze in his mind.

“Nick, . . . I . . . shot. . . ,” Heath tried to shake his head. He started coughing. Nick reached over to steady his bandaged shoulder.

“Easy, Boy. Just breathe, Heath. We’ll talk later. Just rest.”

“No!” Heath said between coughs. “No, Nick. . . . shot at . . . at you. . . ?” His eyes showed his struggle to remember. “It was . . . snowing. . . couldn’t see. . .” He shook his head again in frustration.

Nick reached for the water glass, lifted the bandaged head, and offered Heath a swallow. “Just one this time. Easy there. That’s right.”

Resting his head back on the pillow again, Heath said with closed eyes, “Dammit, . . . that . . . medicine. . . can’t think. . . .”

“It’s alright, Heath. There’ll be plenty of time for us to talk. You’ve got a powerful lot of getting well to do before you’re out of this bed this time.”

“Need ta. . . talk, Nick.”

The hazel eyes closed in torment. He hoped Heath hadn’t heard any of what he had said to Jarrod. He didn’t want Heath to feel obligated to forgive him. He reached out to grab his brother by the back of the neck and shook him very gently.

“Get some sleep, Heath. We’ll talk later. You rest first. Then, we’ll talk.”

Heath reached up with his hand and grabbed Nick’s arm in a steely grip. He forced open his blue eyes and searched Nick’s face.

“You . . . were there, . . . in the rocks?”

Nick nodded, “Yeah, Heath. I was there.”

At first, Heath remained silent.

Then, he said slowly, “. . . R’member. . . two’a them. . . gotta keep. . . you. . . pinned down. . . . Not sure. . .” Heath shook his head again, and he tried to continue, “Can’t let ‘em . . . hurt Jarrod. . . .” Heath’s eyes closed, and his quiet voice trailed off.

Watching his brother slip back into sleep, Nick blinked hard and looked out of the window. He thought about what Heath had been trying to say.

Had Heath missed him during the shooting back there in those rocks?

Or, had he put those bullets right where he had intended?

He thought over the words again.

Then, he said, “You sleep, Little Brother. We’ve got a lot to talk about when you’re better. I’ll be right here. I promise.”

He heard Heath mumble something, and he leaned in to hear better.

“Stay. . . Nick. . . .”

“Yeah, Heath,” Nick said past the tightening of his throat, “Yeah, I’ll stay. I’ll be right here, Little Brother.”

* * * * * * * *

In the heat of high summer, the ranch had little use for the line shack hidden among the trees just beyond the North Ridge. With little of the spring run-off remaining, the access to water here this time of year was very limited. The cattle on this side of the ranch were all sheltered closer to the streams and rivers that ran through the bottom land.

Two horses stood quietly in the rough corral outside the small structure. They faced in opposite directions, the nose of one being kept free of flies by the swishing tail of the other.

Inside, two men dozed, having eaten their fill of the provisions stocked in the cabin. They, like their patient mounts, thought nothing of killing time while they waited for information, waited to make their move.

In fact, they thought nothing of killing at all.

Chapter 39

After several hours, Nick had just reluctantly left to check with Duke out by the barn, and Audra was sitting with Heath, when he awoke again.

At first, he couldn’t see or hear anyone nearby. Moving only his eyes, he waited to be assaulted by the fiery pain that had filled his conscious moments for days. He opened his mouth with a gasp as it hit him, and immediately, he was aware of someone moving around the bed to face him.

With eyes staring straight ahead as he lay on his side facing the door, he blinked hard to focus. The hazy face began to take on more clarity, as he felt the cool hand stroke the side of his face. He bit down on his lip and immediately wished he had not. His raw lip began to bleed again from the action, repeated too often in the last few days, and the hand in front of him tried to push something between his teeth.

He tried to turn his face away.

“Heath,” he heard his sister’s words as he saw her mouth move, “Heath, bite down on it.”

“No,” he managed to say, as he brought his hand up and pushed away the piece of leather. He vaguely remembered it, the shape and feel of it between his teeth, the stifled groans threatening to spill out from behind his clenched jaw, as he had fought, again and again, with the heat of the blaze deep inside.

He was abruptly pulled back out of his disjointed memories, when she wiped the blood from his lip. Then, she tried to lift his head up and give him something in a spoon. Again, he balked, refusing to open his mouth and turning his head away.

“Heath!” she said again, “You have to take it. The medicine will help. Please, Big Brother.”

He shook his head slightly and closed his eyes, blocking out the pleading of hers.

He reached out and sought her hand. Catching it in his, he gently held it. Then, slowly, he gave her a lop-sided smile and cracked open his eyes. When she began smiling back at him, continuing to talk to him, he allowed himself to unclench his jaw and tried to relax into the pain.

Her voice, each word no longer heard distinctly, rolled over him for a few moments, as he tried to stay awake, as he tried to focus through the pain.

It wasn’t as bad as he remembered it to be, the fire in his back now not quite as blistering as before, . . . as before . . . .?

Then, he realized he knew nothing of “when” or “how long” or “before.”

Time, like a sure-footed horse suddenly sent sliding down a muddy, slippery slope, seemed to have no purchase, no opportunity to regain its hold, no point of reference for “before.”

He shook his head slightly to clear it, to force himself to focus . . . to focus. . . .

“Audra,” he sighed.

Then, he asked, “S’me water, . . . please?”

Quickly, she poured a glass of water and returned with it. Helping him to raise his head, she winced when he did, at the pain that surged through him, from his back all the way through. When she lay his head back down, he started breathing harder, but nodded at her, his eyes closed again.

“Thanks,” was all he could say for a moment, as he fought with the fire to keep his breath.

Her hand continued to stroke his face, and he smiled at her again, but couldn’t yet open his eyes. Slowly, he tried to relax, to just let the flare burn through him.

Finally, he opened his eyes to look into hers.

He nodded.

“Better,” he said after a moment.

“Heath, please take the medicine,” she asked again.

“No, okay now,” he responded, trying to breathe normally. “No more . . . medicine.”

“Heath. . .”

His eyes locked onto hers, and he held her gaze. Again, he brought his hand up and touched hers, curling her fingers in his and holding them against his face. “Audra. No. . . . No more.”

When she nodded, her eyes full of worry, but her face smiling back at him, he smiled, too.

“Heath,” she said, “I didn’t want you to leave that day. I was so worried about you. And then, when you came back, . . . and, I saw you in so much pain, I thought, . . . I thought. . . .” She stopped, and he squeezed her hand, his eyes searching hers. “I thought we were going to lose you. I couldn’t bear it, Heath. I couldn’t!”

When the first tear slowly began to trickle down her face, he quietly released her hand and reached up to touch it. He tried to focus on her words so he could respond.

“I’m here, . . . Sis,” he said. “I’m still . . . here.”

“Yes, I know you are. But, Heath, I’m so afraid you’ll leave. I’m afraid that when you’re better, you’ll just climb back up on Gal, and you’ll ride away from us.”

He continued to catch the tears with his fingers as he gently stroked her face. All he could do was look at her, as the anguish he felt at her words added fuel to the blazing fire that threatened to consume him again, to pull him under.

“We hurt you, Heath. Mother, Jarrod, Nick, me, all of us, we hurt you. I know we did!”

He caught her hand in his again and brought it to his battered lips. Kissing it, he then held it to his chest, near his heart. He closed his eyes, as a single tear, his tear, tracked its way down to the pillow.

As the pain overwhelmed him, he whispered to her, “No, Little Sis, . . . not you. . . . And, I promise, . . . won’t leave without . . . without saying good-bye.”

* * * * * * * *

She was sitting by his bed, tears still coursing down her cheeks at her brother’s whispered words, when Nick returned. She heard his spurs as he entered the room and crossed the floor, and she immediately tried to dry her face.

Then, she stood to meet him.

As she turned, he saw that her blue eyes, usually so soft and empathetic, were both full of tears and blazing with hurt and fury.

“Audra? What happened?” Nick placed his gloved hands on her shoulders.

She silently pushed his hands away and brushed past him on her way to the door.

He reached for her, but she was gone.

Glancing back at Heath, he satisfied himself that his sleeping brother was all right for now, and he strode quickly to the door after her.

Catching sight of the older man down the hall, Nick called, “Silas! Can you stay with Heath for a little while?”

“Yes, Mr. Nick. ‘Be right there.” He stepped inside a nearby doorway to set some folded clothes in Jarrod’s room, then he walked toward Nick. Entering Heath’s room, he was already checking the supplies of water and clean cloths as Nick left.

As he headed down the stairs, Nick could hear Audra’s raised voice from below him. He walked quickly to the dining room, where his mother and older brother were seated for a late breakfast, listening to Audra’s tirade.

“Doesn’t anybody believe me? We have to DO something!” she repeated, her eyes shooting sparks at Nick as he entered the room.

He stalked over to her, took her by the elbow, and, though he tried to be gentle, he spun her around to face him. “What happened up there?” he asked.

Jerking away from him, she walked quickly around to the other side of the table and stood between her mother’s and Jarrod’s places, glaring back at him.

“Audra,” Victoria said calmly, “Sit down, Sweetheart, and tell us what happened.”

She continued to stand, her hands on the back of her chair, and she said, “He’s going to leave!”

Jarrod’s coffee cup clattered back to the saucer as he watched her, and Nick hollered, “No! He can’t!”

Victoria looked long at Jarrod, blinked several times, and raised her chin. Then, she took a deep breath, and said, “Nicholas, Audra, sit down this instant. We have to talk, and we can’t do that with you two faced off like a pair of barnyard cats ready to tear into each other. Now, sit down!”

As her two children finally complied, Victoria kept her eyes on Jarrod and said, “Audra. Do as Nick asked. Please tell us what happened.”

Audra glanced away from Nick’s hard hazel eyes and down at her hands in her lap. The tears began again silently. The flash of anger was quickly fading, replaced completely with the fear she had felt upstairs at Heath’s words. She glanced up and looked at her mother, and she said shakily, “He woke up. He was in pain again, but he refused to take any of the laudanum Doctor Merar left for him. It was the first time I had been able to talk to him, so I . . . I told him how afraid I had been that we would lose him. And, how afraid I am that when he is better he will ride away because we have all hurt him so much.”

She stopped, the linen napkin in her lap receiving the brunt of her roiling emotions as she wrung it between her hands. Jarrod stood and moved to sit in the empty chair beside her. He pulled her head toward his shoulder, and she turned into it and cried quietly. He stroked her hair and looked across at his mother, the anguish in their eyes reflecting back and forth between them for a moment.

Nick, leaning forward with both forearms planted on the table around his empty plate, asked quietly, “What did he say, Honey?”

She turned her face away from Jarrod’s white-clad shoulder and said softly, without quite looking at Nick, “He told me I had never hurt him.” Then, she reached up to put her left hand around Jarrod’s neck for comfort and turned her face back toward his chest.

They heard her muffled words, “He promised he wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye.”

Nick bolted from his chair and headed from the room.

Victoria followed him, as Jarrod continued to comfort his sister.

Chapter 40

When the others had been gone for several minutes, Audra finally sat up and wiped at her face. She patted the soaked white shirt covering Jarrod’s chest, and struggled to pull herself together. Then, she stood, poured him a fresh cup of coffee, and, with a sigh, returned to sit beside him.

She looked over into his intense blue eyes and said, “Jarrod, when you and Nick brought Heath home, I was so afraid he was going to die. I couldn’t believe that he had been with us for such a short time and that I had come to love him so much. The idea of losing him, and the hurt of watching him in so much pain, made me feel like a part of my very soul was being torn away.”

He reached out and stroked her face, silently encouraging her to go on.

She continued, “I’ve felt that he’s been hurting somewhere deep inside for months. I’ve watched him, but I haven’t been able to get him to talk to me about any of it. He . . . .”

Audra stopped, and swallowed, clutching her napkin again between her fingers. “He just, . . . every time I walked up on him, he just looked so torn up about something. Before, . . before that happened with Matt Bentell, I could never catch him off guard. He always turned and smiled at me whenever I tried to sneak up on him to give him a quick kiss, a hug, or just put my arm through his from behind. But, . . . but, after that. . .when he came home from that camp up in the mountains. . . ?”

She stopped again, looking into Jarrod’s eyes. “I can’t explain it, but it was like he wasn’t really there, like he was somewhere else part of the time, and even when I spoke directly to him, he had to pull himself back from where ever he was, just to respond. Then, he would suddenly act the same as he had before. He’d offer the same smile, the same teasing voice, but. . . . Oh, Jarrod, I don’t know what I’m trying to say!”

She dropped her head again.

Jarrod leaned over and touched her under the chin, gently turning her face toward him. “Audra, Honey, you were exactly right. You realized something was wrong, long before the rest of us did. I only wish you had told us.”

Her eyes widened at this. “Jarrod, I did! I tried! Don’t you remember?” Then, she swallowed, not wanting to hurt this brother that she loved and respected so much, and she brought her voice back under control. “It was a little over a month ago, when he hurt his hand.”

Jarrod stared at her, his mind working furiously. But, he could not remember exactly what she was talking about, and he finally shook his head. The only thing that came to mind was the conversation he had overheard between Nick and Duke.

“Jarrod,” she said, her voice rising, “You received that letter from the logging camp, remember? And, he. . . .”

She trailed off, watching the memory return, the realization flashing across his face as he closed his eyes and touched the palm of his hand to his forehead. She heard him suck in a deep breath through his nose and let it back out raggedly.

After a few moments, he spoke, almost as if he were talking to himself, “I told all of you after supper that night that Bentell had sent a letter demanding more money and complaining that most of the men he had were no longer pulling their weight. He said he needed to hire more if he were going to keep on the same schedule we had agreed to for the higher elevations of the flume.”

Then, he thought for a moment about the rest of the circumstances surrounding the sharing of the news that night.

“I told Nick that we should wire the money, but to plan a trip up later to check on things, to see what was going on. . . . But, we never went.”

Audra nodded as he talked.

“Nick got tangled up with that land deal over near Modesto, and I had the Frawley trial going on. And, . . . and Heath, . . . now that I think about it, he never said a word, did he?”

Audra watched her oldest brother’s eyes. She saw the anguish there at the sudden understanding that the conversation must have hurt Heath to hear.

She said, “No, he didn’t say a word, Jarrod. He just stood at the open doors, staring outside. He wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t even look at me. Then, McCall came to ask for his help with something, and they left together.”

Jarrod added, remembering Duke’s words from the other night, “And it was the next day that we noticed Heath had hurt his hand. . . . And, you. . . you, Lovely Lady, tried to tell us that morning at breakfast when he wasn’t there, that something was bothering him, that something had been wrong for a good while.”

“Yes, Jarrod, I was starting to really worry about him. Mother was preoccupied with plans for Lettie Mason’s wedding, Nick was just anxious to get outside to his work crews that morning, and you were, . . .” She stopped and looked at him with tenderness.

“I know. I was in the middle of that trial. But, as I remember, you were pretty involved with the wedding, too. How is it that you noticed what was happening, and we didn’t?”

“Jarrod, Heath is, well, . . . he’s the one that always finds time to listen to me, to let me know he’s interested in what I’m thinking and what I’m doing. In many ways, you and Nick take me for, . . . well, for you, I’ve always been here.”

Jarrod filled in what she didn’t say, “Nick and I tend to take you for granted.”

She smiled, “Yes, in some ways, but that’s not all bad. I’ve ALWAYS been your little sister. But, Heath has never had a little sister, so he’s still adjusting to me. Maybe he’ll take me for granted someday, too. But right now, well, . . . right now, he doesn’t. And, . . . and he is the brother that needs me the most.”

Jarrod leaned over and kissed her cheek, smoothing back her vibrant blond hair. He touched the end of her nose with the tip of his finger, and he looked into her blue eyes, the eyes that willed him to understand. “Honey, I’m so proud of you. You are a wise young lady, one that I am truly glad to call my sister.”

He hugged her to him again. Then, he said quietly, “And what, wise Audra, do you think we should do now to help our brother?”

She looked at him and said incredulously, “You’re really asking me for advice? You really want to know what I think you should do?”

He nodded.

Slowly, she said, “I do have an idea about it, Jarrod, but you might not like to hear it.”

“Please tell me, Audra. If it would help us repair the damage we’ve done to Heath, I’d be willing to walk through a burning barn full of angry rattlesnakes right about now.”

Seeing the sincerity in his eyes, she said quietly, “It really comes down to trust, Jarrod---the trust he believes we have in him and the trust he has in us.”

Jarrod nodded his agreement at this.

She continued, “I’m not sure, but I’m afraid he doesn’t feel any of us trust him to. . . .”

She immediately held up her hand to touch his lips when he started to interrupt her.

“Wait, Big Brother, please let me finish. It’s not exactly what you think. He doesn’t believe we trust that his reactions are as valid as our own. Think about what happened with Bentell. Think about Anders. No matter how angry he was, he listened to us, but, . .”

“But, we didn’t listen to him.”

“Right. He is a deeply compassionate, incredibly caring person, Jarrod. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone, not us, not those two men. He just hasn’t had any other way to deal with either of them. As far as he knew, his only options either time were to lash out at them in anger or to leave. He planned to leave while Bentell was here, before we stopped him, and he did leave when he found out Anders was in the house.”

Audra paused.

Jarrod waited, pondering her words.

Then, she added, “We wanted him to know there was another way to deal with Bentell, but we forced the decision on him. No one asked him, and no one talked to him about it. We just told him what to do.”

Audra finished quietly, “I don’t know if he will ever trust us not to do that same kind of thing to him again. When he left that day Anders came, I’m sure he was afraid that if he didn’t, we would try to force him to do something again.”

Jarrod thought about what his mother had said, about how she had tried to convince Heath that he should feel something for Anders that he couldn’t.

“He’s a proud person, Jarrod. But, you heard him ask each of us, one at a time, if we would stand by him. For him to do that, he must have needed to know terribly. It must have torn him into shreds when we didn’t. I’m so angry at myself, so ashamed, for letting him down, and I’m so afraid of what he’s going to do! I believe he thinks his only options now are either to keep giving in to us when we try to force him, to hurt us by his refusals, or to just leave. In my heart, I know what he will choose, and it frightens me, Jarrod!”

Jarrod squeezed her hand, and she sat quietly, gathering herself to share the hardest part with him.

“You’ve given this a lot of thought lately, haven’t you?” he asked.

She nodded, and stared down at the wrinkled white napkin, wadded between her hands, “Somewhere between Bentell some months ago and Anders this last time, I think he realized he can’t give up the man he has always been----the man that used to be Heath Thomson----even if it’s the only way we will ever let him be Heath Barkley.”

He asked quietly, “That’s exactly what you think we’re expecting of him, isn’t it?”

With tears in her eyes, she responded, “Yes . . . . Jarrod, if we force him to, he’ll choose to be who he is inside, and he’ll leave us! He may have already made up his mind to do so. . . . I just hope he hasn’t yet.”

She looked at him and pleaded with her eyes. Almost whispering now, she dropped the napkin and grabbed his hand. She said, “Please, Jarrod, we have to come up with something else. We have to give him another way. We can’t try to make him into you or Nick. We need to just let him know we respect him for who he is. And, if there is a next time like this, we need to listen to him, help him by working out some reasonable options together. Then, we should just get out of his way and let him choose. He won’t betray our trust in him. I know he won’t!”

Jarrod looked at his beautiful sister, and he saw the wonderful young woman that she was fast becoming. He let her words touch him, let them prod gently at the wounds he had felt around his heart for days---at the raw, open places that his own actions had caused his brother, and therefore himself, in the last three months.

Though her words stirred the pain all over again, when they softly settled against his heart, they became a balm for his self-inflicted wounds.

He knew she was right.

And, it was up to him to figure out what to do with her observations.

To be continued…