Dead Wrong

Part IV / Chapters 45-52

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 45

As he hobbled down the spotless hallway of the townhouse’s second floor, Charlie reached out to wrap his fingers around the doorframe on his right to steady himself. Trying to avoid putting too much weight on his swollen ankle, he cursed himself again for the injury that had prevented him from being able to help the others much as they returned Heath to the house.

Entering the quiet bedroom, he quickly crossed the floor and smiled broadly at the face Nick made as he saw him there. Easing himself down into the chair closest to the doorway, Charlie then leaned back into the navy blue of the chair’s woven texture with an audible sigh.

Then, he asked, “How is he? Has he opened his eyes at all?”

Shaking his head, Nick continued the interminable process of wringing out the cloth in the basin on the table beside him, opening it out, and laying it across Heath’s chest, otherwise bare except for the clean, white bandages.

“No, and he’s still burning up.”

Leaning forward, the curly-haired man said, “Nick, that doctor, he’s a competent physician, but, he’s pretty arrogant. He’s not one to look much past the surface, and he won’t ever acknowledge that he doesn’t know everything. What he said about Heath. . . he doesn’t know for sure. He’s just telling us the worst, . . . so we’ll all be prepared if he. . . . This boy’s a fighter, Nick.”

“I know, Charlie. . . . You’re right,” Nick smiled slightly, thinking about the times since Heath had arrived at the ranch when Doctor Merar had been amazed at the stubbornness of the blond, especially when it came to getting himself past some injury or other. His thoughts took him back to the recent shooting, and for a moment, he fought back the fierce rage he had felt at Wallie and Evan Miles, neighbors he had trusted, who had almost cost him his new brother.

But, they had never seen Heath like this . . . .

With a long sigh, as he returned the now warm cloth to the basin of cool water beside him, Nick added, “I haven’t known Heath for as long as you have, Charlie. But, something tells me he didn’t make it through all that’s happened to him in his life without fighting his way out of a few illnesses and injuries.”

In the dimness of the pre-dawn light, Charlie leaned his head back against the chair tiredly, lifted his swollen ankle to prop it on the edge of the bed, and focused his eyes on Heath.

From Nick’s words, he knew the blond had not come around all night, and from what Robbie had told him about how they had found him, and about the long trek back to the carriage, Heath had not been conscious since they had located him. Though he was much cleaner now, and definitely much warmer, than when they had carefully loaded him into the waiting hansom last night, Charlie knew that little had really changed in the hours since.

The physician Charlie had suggested they send for, Doctor Bradford, had stayed for several hours last night. They had watched as he carefully cleaned the still oozing, recently broken open stab wound to Heath’s shoulder that Kyles must have inflicted on him days ago, as well as the ragged gash to his head. Both were now wrapped in fresh, clean bandages. He had then fussed over Heath’s ribs and abdomen, worried about the slight swelling and dark bruising he found there.

Charlie and the doctor, who was the same one that had examined Heath at the other townhouse, both knew that most of the bruises were new since they had seen him last. Again, Charlie assumed that Kyles had been the cause.

Shaking his grey head, Doctor Bradford had told them he felt the visible injuries could all heal with time, that even the swelling would go down. But, he was terribly unoptimistic about Heath’s general condition, warning them that with the blood loss and the signs of infection, the blond probably would not have the strength to fight off the fever that seemed to have had a grip on him for far too long. He was dangerously close to pneumonia, and if it turned that way. . . .

He had told them he would come back to check him this morning, but cautioned that the longer Heath remained unconscious without being able to get up and move around, without being able to cough up the congestion filling his lungs, the worse his chances of overcoming this.

But, despite the bleak news, Charlie continued trying to reassure himself that Heath had overcome too much to lose this chance at a home and family now.

Reaching out to grasp Heath’s right hand in his, Charlie leaned forward and said quietly, “Old Riley Harden would take great pleasure in seeing you like this. . . . Do you hear me, Heath? I’ve never known you to let scum like him win, not even when you had no hope for tomorrow. So don’t you let some low-life, murdering alleycat of a Kyles get the best of you, now----not now, when you have so much ahead of you!”

At Charlie’s words, Nick closed his eyes for a moment, clenching the now warm, wet rag in his fist over the bowl. Then, he opened his eyes and dipped it in the basin again.

The two men sat silently for a long while after that, the only sound the water trickling back into the basin, as Nick wrung out the wet cloth again and again, trying to keep his brother cool.

Finally, Charlie looked up as he heard Nick’s voice, loud in the warm, quiet space.

“Who’s Riley Harden?”

Charlie grinned slightly, his eyes leaving Heath’s still face and finding Nick’s, his own worry reflected back at him from the hazel eyes across the bed.

“He used to work with us, trying to boss us, down on the docks. He was a huge, hulking aggravation of a man, the kind of man most people go out of their way to avoid, even if it costs them their own self-respect to do so.”

“Most people?” Nick asked, sure there was a story in here somewhere, one that included the younger brother he didn’t know nearly well enough.

Charlie’s grin grew, lighting up his brown eyes at the thought of how Heath used to rankle the man with his quiet refusal to back down, his refusal to give the man the awe he felt he was due.

“Well, Heath Thomson. . . ,” he trailed off, looking at Nick sharply, then continuing when the hazel eyes met his steadily and the tired, dark-haired man nodded at him, silently encouraging him to go on, “Well, I think it’s probably safe to say that neither Heath Thomson, nor Heath Barkley, ever knew the meaning of ‘most people,’ nor the meaning of backing down just to save his hide from a bruising.”

Again, Nick’s nod assured Charlie that he had figured out that much already in the last few months, . . . and that he wanted to hear the story.

Charlie continued, “Harden was all bulk and not much brain, so it didn’t take Heath long to earn everyone’s respect, even Harden’s, begrudging as it was. The older man was just no match for Heath’s quicker thinking. Here he was, a young kid, just turned twenty, taking on a much stronger, bigger man who, on his best day, only wanted to crush Heath beneath his boots. But, Heath never baited him, never taunted him with his cunning, only used it quietly to get himself out of any scrape Harden backed him into.”

Nick turned his eyes back to his brother’s face, watching the movement of Heath’s head as he groaned softly, a deep crevice etched between his eyebrows. He reached over and touched Heath’s too-warm, too-dry face.

“Easy, Boy,” he said softly, watching to see if Heath would wake up or if he would settle back into unconsciousness.

Heath’s face turned back toward Nick’s voice, his left leg moving restlessly beneath the blankets, but he did not awaken.

Nick said quietly, “Just rest, Heath. Just rest. It’s alright, Boy.”

After another few moments of quiet, Charlie took up the story again.

“You know, Heath never said so, but I always got the impression that Riley Harden reminded him of the kind of man he had spent his whole life learning to deal with, whether in that mining town where he grew up, the hellhole he found himself in during the. . . .”

Suddenly, he trailed off, looking sharply at Nick again. After a moment, he asked, “You do know about . . . about the war, . . . and about. . . ?”

Again, he stopped talking and waited.

With a growl, Nick spit the words out, his anger at thinking of the place again, of thinking of what Heath must have endured there, stabbing into him, “Yes. I know about him winding up in Carterson during the war, but. . . ,” he hesitated, before adding, “Not much else about any of it.”

With a solemn nod in understanding, Charlie said, “I’m glad he told you. He’s never been much for talking about it, and I wasn’t there, . . . but, it seemed to help us both to know the other had demons from the war that plagued us from time to time. . . .”

After stopping again, his brown eyes losing a bit of their focus as he turned inward for a moment, Nick waited, watching him. Then, Charlie blinked a few times and seemed to shake himself, before he tossed Nick a careless smile.

“Anyway,” Charlie continued, “Whenever I saw him dealing with Harden, I always kind of figured that Heath must have had lots of practice with that sort of thing.”

At Nick’s raised eyebrow and the questioning look in his hazel eyes, Charlie said, “You’ve never heard him say much about his life before you met him, I take it?”

Nick shook his head and said abruptly, though the single syllable was eloquent in its regret, “No.”

Charlie nodded. “Like I said, he never was one for talking about himself. But, I’ve seen in him a skill at handling rough, callous men that few possess. He just sort of stands up to them, without setting them off, without making them bristle too much, kind of cajoling them into better humor without realizing it’s at their own expense. Before they know it, they’re all tripped up, and he’s out of their line of fire, though he would’ve been ready to fight to the death if it’d come to that.”

Suddenly, it was Nick’s turn to nod, seeing in his mind a scene that had played out in a saloon down near Modesto. It had happened just before Heath had gone to Lonesome to check on the mine there.

A big man, part-Mexican, had taken offense to the place where Heath was standing at the bar, as if his brother was occupying territory that was clearly marked as off limits, as belonging only to him.

Before Heath was finished sweet-talking the man in Spanish, the same man, who had been tossing him murderous glances and cursing at him so clearly Nick could understand the words, was buying his little brother a tequila and clapping him on the back as if they were the oldest of compañeros.

Nick grinned, remembering how Heath had only lifted his eyebrow at him, light blue eyes twinkling mischievously, when Nick had asked him on the way home what he had said to the man.

The only verbal reply he had offered had been, “Didn’t take long ta find out we were both fond’a our Mamas, Nick.”

Laughing lightly now in remembered response, Nick turned his eyes back to his brother’s face, and mumbled, just loud enough for Charlie to catch, “Fool Boy. He could coax the fleas off a tri-colored hound dog with fewer words than anyone I ever saw.”

Charlie chuckled softly and said, “Only thing was, Harden stayed clear of Heath after several instances of that-----except when he’d been drinking. . . . And, he was one mean drunk.”

When Nick looked over at him again, Charlie continued, “Do you remember that deadfall down on Beckett? The one where I told you Heath and I used to visit only when there were just a few of the big ships anchored out in the bay?”

“Yeah,” Nick responded, seeing the dark, crowded place again in his mind, all but feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the feeling of worry that crept up on him at the thought of Heath and Charlie frequenting such a place.

“One night, Harden and his cronies came in after we were already there, and he seemed to have it in for Heath the minute he darkened the door and saw him. He’d already obviously downed a few.”

Nick could feel his blood beginning to heat, anger at a man he’d never met rising up to join a surge of fierce protectiveness for his little brother, anger that seemed to suddenly reach a flashpoint and ignite at Charlie’s words.

Pushing himself up from the chair, he stalked over to the window and looked out, his fists clenched in fury that he longed to take out on Korby Kyles and his family for what they had done recently to his brother.

Watching him, Charlie chuckled again, and, when Nick turned to look at him, searching his smiling face, he told the rest quickly, quietly, hoping to calm the larger man with his words.

“There was Old Harden, 230 pounds if he was 20, and as big as a wooden packing crate full of goods from the Orient, pointing at Heath and yelling at him from across the room. You can imagine his loud words weren’t the kind you’d hear from a circle of sweet, smiling ladies meeting in a church social hall while wearing their best Sunday frocks.”

Nick smiled at the picture Charlie’s words drew in his mind.

“Heath just sat there, watching him over his beer, his wool cap pushed back on his head and his chair tilted back on two legs.”

Nick began to relax a bit, as he looked down again at his brother’s face, right shoulder leaning against the windowsill and both arms crossed over his chest. He felt it then, that slow warmth spreading across his heart, as the pride in this little brother seemed to swell up and push back some of the dark despair he had felt choking him for almost two weeks of worrying about him.

Charlie’s voice continued, though he glanced over his shoulder and nodded to Jarrod, who had quietly entered the room and taken Nick’s place in the chair beside Heath’s bed.

“After a little while, Heath stood up and walked over to the bar. He pulled several bills out of his pocket and lay them out, before he reached over, picked up an empty beer glass, and set it down on top of them. Then, he turned toward the loud, still hollering man and quietly, with that soft drawl of his, challenged Harden to out-drink him or shut the hell up.”

Nick and Jarrod exchanged amused, but amazed glances, eyebrows raised, before turning with questions in their eyes, back to face Charlie.

Charlie held up his hand to silence Nick, as the questions began to leak out of the taller man by the window.

“Wait a minute. I know. It sounds crazy. And, to most people in that place, it was. But, that’s what he said. With a loud laugh, Harden knew he had him beat, and he waltzed up, matched Heath’s money to pay for the liquor, added a larger wad to it, slammed his hand down on the bar, and demanded the barkeep fill their glasses and keep them coming. Then, he told the room that the winner could keep his money and the loser’s cash would pay for the liquor for them both, . . . and buy a round for everyone in the place.”

Jarrod asked quietly, “Charlie, do I want to know how long Heath would have to work to earn that much money?”

His eyes turning serious for a moment, as Charlie heard the sadness behind the question and looked at Jarrod closely before he answered, “What Riley Harden had just proposed was two weeks’ pay for your brother, Jarrod. It was probably every cent he had, because he. . . ,” Charlie stopped, and dropped his head for a moment, fighting with himself about whether or not he should be the one to tell them if they didn’t already know.

Finally, he lifted his face, met Jarrod’s blue eyes, and said, “Because, the whole time I knew him, he’d been sending almost everything home to his mother to help her.”

When Jarrod looked away, returning his midnight blue eyes to look again at his youngest brother lying under the blanket, Charlie turned back to meet Nick’s steady gaze, and he said, “After Heath placed the rest of his pay on the bar, under the glass, it took over an hour. But, the two of them stood there, matching each other glass for glass as the barkeep kept pouring the rotgut whiskey, until they were both losing sight of what they had started out to do.”

Charlie paused, took a breath, and watched, as Jarrod picked up the cloth and began using it to cool Heath’s fever.

“At one point, Harden finally pushed away from the bar and walked away, halting the battle. None of us knew what he was going to do, or what it meant that he had stopped, if it was temporary or not. Then, he staggered against the far wall, started hollering and shoving men out of the way, and he picked up a big round table in his outstretched arms and suddenly, threw it at Heath from across the room.”

Nick’s eyes grew wide at this revelation, while Jarrod kept his eyes on Heath.

“Your brother had been watching him, his back to the bar, leaning on it with his elbows resting on the stained wood, and his cap still pushed back at that infuriating angle. He just stood there, without moving, and the table crashed into the bar beside him. Then, as the whole room full of men turned back to Harden to see what he would do next, we all saw him stagger backwards against the wall and slide down it to slump, eyes closed, across the floor, snoring loud enough to wake any shanghaied crew asleep in the cellar.”

Nick chuckled, leaning down to gently tousle the blond head of his younger brother, and he turned his eyes to find Jarrod’s, the pride and humor lighting them from deep inside.

Nodding at Nick, his own blue eyes shining, Jarrod then smiled at Charlie and asked, “What happened next?”

Charlie leaned back in his chair, remembering the night he and Heath had talked about that very escapade, the night they had stayed in the other townhouse, just around the corner.

“He got madder and madder, finally picked up that whole table and threw it at you, missing you by a good foot, before he collapsed to the floor. It took five men to carry him out of there, and he kept his distance from you after that.”

“Your brother finished off his drink and pocketed his money again, while he watched Harden’s five men pick their leader up and carry him from the place. Then, he and I left, headed toward our rooms in the other direction.”

Nick, seeing the growing smile, asked, as Charlie trailed off and shook his head, looking at Heath and remembering, “What?

“Ya’ never did tell anyone, did you, that I got only as far as Gold Street before I slid ta the ground, an’ you had ta practically drag me the rest’a the way to our rooms?”

Charlie returned his amused eyes to meet Nick’s and he finished, “We had hardly turned the corner down the street before Heath staggered to his knees in mid-stride. Needless to say, I had a tough time getting him back to where we had already paid for our lodgings, because even back then, he had me by a good twenty pounds and at least two inches. But, we made it, and he never had to worry about Riley Harden bothering him again. If the man had tried, one of his own followers would have stepped in and stopped him. . . . That’s how much respect Heath had added to what he’d already earned before that night.”

After a few moments of silence, Charlie added, “Even then, he was always the kind of man you could put your trust and your faith in, the kind of man you could count on in any tough situation, and . . . anyone who spent any time with him could see that quiet pride he carried inside. . . . You know,” Charlie continued, taking in the eyes of the two fine men watching him, “It doesn’t surprise me at all to find out that he had reason for that kind of pride, even then, . . . even in the blood he carried, . . . the blood from the father he never knew.”

Chapter 46

The tiny woman moved around the clean, comfortable room, refreshing tepid water with cool, gathering used cloths and replacing them with dry. Then, she stood over the young man lying on the bed, covered to his chest with crisp, white sheets and a light-weight, dark blue blanket.

She reached out to touch his shoulder, just beyond the stark white of the bandaged stab wound, and she shook her head silently at the heat still radiating off of him. Her hand moved up to touch his blond hair, and she pushed her tiny fingers through it several times.

The doctor was due back shortly, for the second time, and Sune had told her the words the man had shared with them the first time. Though she had not been able to understand the doctor’s words, she had not needed Sune to explain, to know what the man had said. The doctor’s shaking head, as he had packed up his black, leather bag, had been enough to translate the message to her.

His message had emanated off of him, scorching them all, like the heat coming from his patient.

She glanced over at the man sitting on the other side of the bed, his dark head down, as if he were staring at the floor, though she believed his eyes to be closed. He had run the fingers of one hand through his hair so many times, the thick strands were disheveled, though his hand was now still, his forehead supported in one palm, his elbow on his thigh.

His other hand, with his sleeve rolled up above the bandaged cut the doctor had checked before he left, was also still. It lay stretched out on the bed, clasping the limp hand of his unconscious brother.

Sune had told her about them, these two men called Nick and Jarrod Barkley. He had told her of how Heath Barkley’s brothers had come from far away to find him, how they had, with his friends, searched the alleys and streets above the docks for days and nights, trying to locate him, knowing all the while that another man, a bad man, had claimed to have killed him.

She looked back at the face of the blond-haired young man lying on the bed, watching for herself to see if he was fading, . . . or if he was still fighting.

Suddenly, she gasped, reaching up to clutch at the amulet around her neck, its dark, worn leather now in sharp contrast to the clean, bright yellow silk of the new shirt she wore over crisp black pants.

The tiny woman’s gasp brought Nick’s head up immediately, and he moved quickly from his place in the navy-colored chair to turn and sit closer to his brother, on the side of the bed, wincing as he did so.

Heath’s eyes were open slightly, and Nick could see that he was in pain and struggling to focus.

“Ah Lin. . . . Jarrod Barkley. . . ,” Nick said, momentarily breaking eye contact with his brother to search for the dark eyes of the woman standing on the other side of the bed. He pointed toward the door and said again, “Jarrod Barkley,” hoping she would understand.

As she bobbed her grey head, and hurriedly left the room on her too-tiny feet, Nick turned back to concentrate on his brother.

“Well, it’s about time you showed up to help me get some work . . .” he started, a huge grin on his face. But, he trailed off as he heard Heath’s voice.

“Ni-i-i-ck? . . .”

“Yes, Heath,” Nick said, relief flooding in, “I’m here. Right beside you, Boy.”

“ . . . Ja-r-r-od?”

Quickly, Nick reached down and gripped the closest of Heath’s shoulders as he tried to raise himself off of the bed. Nick searched the barely open blue eyes for signs of real recognition.

“We’re both here, Heath. Right here,” Nick said, gently running his fingers through Heath’s hair.

“Both? . . . Her-re?”

“Yes, Little Brother, we’re both here,” Nick answered, glancing up at Jarrod in relief as his older brother entered the room.

“. . . The ran-n-ch? . . . Hom-me. . . ?” Heath asked in a rasping whisper, his darker than normal blue eyes bright with fever.

“No, Heath,” Jarrod responded as he pulled up the chair and sat down to face Heath, handing Nick a glass of water. They worked together, Jarrod ever mindful of Nick’s arm, to lift Heath slightly and let him drink.

“No, we’re at my house, Heath. You’re still in San Francisco.”

“Moth-er? . . . Aud-ra?”

“No, Heath. They’re not here. Both of them are still at home, at the ranch.”

“No. . . No!” Heath panted hard, trying to push up from the bed.

Nick reached out to stop him. “Easy, Boy. Take it easy, now. You’ll see them soon.”

A deep, prolonged cough tore through the blond, then, as Jarrod shifted Heath’s bandaged shoulder forward and eased his tall frame into the bed behind him, supporting him as the cough continued to shake him. Nick wiped Heath’s too-hot face, then held the rag to his mouth as his brother expelled dark phlegm from deep inside his lungs.

Panting for breath, Heath’s eyes closed as he leaned back against Jarrod for a few seconds, before the ordeal began all over again.

Once, in the middle of it all, Nick thought he heard Heath saying something, his voice raspy and barely more than a whisper between ragged breaths and wet, agonizing coughs. But, he couldn’t make out the words, though he was sure Heath repeated them several times, always as if he were trying, hand reaching up to grab at Nick’s shirt, to tell them something.

Shaking his head in frustration at not being able to understand, Nick immediately stopped when he realized Heath was becoming more agitated, fighting him. The blond must have thought he was answering him, feeling Nick’s negatively shaking head against his own, when Nick still didn’t even understand what was being said to him.

As another cough shook Heath, and they both held onto him, the two dark-headed brothers, facing each other with the blond between them, met each others’ eyes. Then, they returned their worried attention back to Heath, as they held onto him and took turns talking to him, encouraging him.

“Come on, Heath,” Jarrod said, leaning his brother forward, and gripping his good shoulder. “Come on. Keep fighting. That’s right.”

Again, Nick thought he heard Heath saying something, and he leaned in close, his ear near Heath’s mouth, as he held his own breath before saying, “Tell me what you want, Heath. I didn’t understand. Say it again, Boy.”

The cough began violently this time, wrenching the blond’s upper body forward and almost out of Jarrod’s grasp. But, when it eased for a few seconds, moments later, Nick could hear him again, trying to tell them something.

“. . . Broth-th-ers. . . . broth-th-ers. . . .”

Looking up at Nick, his deep blue eyes anguished over Heath’s head, it was clear Jarrod had understood him as well this time. Though he was still positioned behind the blond, Jarrod nodded his head, and said, “Yes, Heath. We’re brothers, the three of us. We’re here, and we’ve got you. We’re not going to leave you.”

A small groan of pain crossed Heath’s lips as he reacted to these words, shaking his head, and fighting for breath between coughs, leaning forward against Nick’s chest, eyes closed tightly.

His tortured attempts to talk to them continued, head shaking back and forth agitatedly, but all they could catch was the same word, over and over.

“Yes, Heath, we’re your brothers,” Jarrod said, his own guilt rushing back in at Heath’s continued attempt to make them understand the single word.

His brother’s apparent refusal to accept what Jarrod was saying in reply, began to erode the thin veneer of hope he had allowed himself to feel ever since Charlie had told them what Heath had said about the two of them several days ago. “You don’t have to worry, Heath. We. . . .”

Jarrod trailed off as Nick placed a hand on his shoulder to still the reply.

“Stop, Jarrod,” Nick said. “I don’t understand why, but what you’re saying’s just making him struggle harder. . . . “ He interrupted himself, when, suddenly, Nick thought he heard Heath saying something different. “Wait. . . What is it, Heath?”

Through the next coughing attack, as Heath’s whole frame shook with the pain each spasm brought to his battered body, Nick was sure he could hear another word through the wheezing. While he wanted to tell his exhausted, normally quiet brother to quit trying to talk to them and just concentrate on breathing and resting in between, he could tell Heath was fighting to get them to understand something important to him.

Suddenly, Nick caught the single syllable, the single word that Heath had been trying to say, and his face, just moments before scowling in concentration, lit up in a huge, relieved grin.

“Easy, Heath. Easy. It’s alright, Boy. We’ll take you home just as soon as the doctor says you can travel.”

This time, Heath managed to say more before the next cough consumed all of his breath. “ . . . Hom-me . . . . Pleas-s-se. . . . . . go . . . home.”

“Yes, Boy. I promise you,” Nick said quietly, “We’ll leave to take you home to Mother and Audra, to the ranch, just as soon as we can.”

The exhausted blond remained still this time, unable to say any more, head leaning heavily against Nick’s chest, only moving back and forth slightly. Nick felt his brother’s hand come up to grab a fistful of his white shirt, while Heath stiffened with the growing pain that accompanied the next cough.

How was he going to keep the promise he had just made anytime soon? Maybe it would be best to telegraph the ranch and send for Audra and Mother to come here. . .

“Easy, Heath,” Nick said, his voice searching for a soothing tone, despite the worry that was gnawing through his insides with each wracking cough that tore through his brother.

* * * * * * * *

When the doctor entered the room with Robbie a little while later, both dark headed brothers were struggling to remain calm in the face of Heath’s obvious, though unspoken pain and his prolonged, increasingly exhausting battle.

Though the coughing had slowly subsided, to be replaced with ragged, wheezing breathing, Heath continued to struggle, his eyes closed, a deep crease of pain between his eyebrows, his jaw clenched, and his hand wrapped tightly in Jarrod’s.

“Let me get there, Mr. Barkley,” Doctor Bradford said, indicating Jarrod’s position next to Heath, where he was sitting on the side of the bed. As Jarrod complied, easing Heath’s hand to the bed, and stood to move away, the doctor removed a syringe from his black leather bag and began to fill it from a dark bottle with a cork stopper in it.

Nick eased down on the opposite side of the bed, where he had been pacing, and carefully lifted Heath’s other hand, wrapping it in his own strong grip. He felt a shudder of pain pass through his brother’s body.

As the doctor picked up Heath’s right arm and prepared the injection, Jarrod was suddenly, overpoweringly, assailed by the memory of Asa Harmon’s voice in his office that day a week ago, telling them of past battles Heath had waged to prevent being injected with any opium derivative for pain.

He reached out quickly to still the man’s hand and said, “Hold on a minute, Doctor. . . . What is that? And, why are you giving it to him?”

“Let go of me, Sir,” the doctor commanded, bristling at this intrusion upon his person and glaring up at Jarrod indignantly. “I am simply giving him something for the pain.

“What are you giving him?” Nick demanded, his gaze leaving Heath’s face and focusing on the doctor’s actions, now that he had heard Jarrod’s words. His hard hazel stare allowed the physician no opportunity to look away.

“It’s just morphine, Young Man. It won’t do him any harm, but it might go a long way toward easing his suffering!”

“No,” Nick said emphatically. “You can’t give him that.”

Looking at him askance, syringe still in hand, the grey-haired doctor asked, “Why on earth not? Can’t you see that he’s hurting in the worst possible way?”

“Yes, we can see that, Doctor Bradford,” Jarrod asserted calmly, standing his ground. Though he had lowered his hand from the man’s arm as requested, he was ready to step back in, if necessary, to prevent the man’s actions. “But, you’re not giving him any of that. He doesn’t want it.”

Frustrated with them both, the doctor huffed, “Gentlemen, how in the Hell do you profess to know what he wants me to do? He is too far out of his head to speak for himself, except for the fact that he is clearly in a great deal of pain. Do you want him to die like this? Hurting and incoherent?”

Jarrod’s dark blue eyes looked at the well-meaning man, then found Heath’s face. He watched Heath toss his head back and forth, his left leg pushing up and down on the bed, and his jaw clenching as he arched his back slightly.

Again, he saw Heath’s lips move, though no sound escaped, and he knew his brother was focused on one thing, on making it home.

Ignoring the man and inserting himself bodily between his brother and the insistent doctor, Jarrod lowered himself down onto the bed again and struggled to find his brother through the fever and pain.

“Heath. Heath!” Jarrod said. He grasped the tossing head between his hands and tried to get Heath’s now slightly-open, blue eyes to focus on him.

After a moment, he gave up and just sat there, pushing his fingers through Heath’s hair.

“Easy, Heath. It’s alright, Little Brother. Just rest.”

Glancing over at Nick’s face, which displayed a steely mask of determination, Jarrod saw Nick nod back at the question in his blue eyes. Then, he looked up at the silently fuming, grey-haired man standing beside him.

Resolved, he said quietly, “Doctor, we’re his brothers, and believe me, we know what he would not want us to let you do. We . . . ”

The doctor’s look was incredulous, as he interrupted, “Excuse me, Mr. Barkley. But, from what I’ve heard of your family, this young man you so charitably call your brother has only been part of your family for a few months, and his tendency to frequent the more unsavory parts of this city have obviously caught up with him.”

Eyes on Jarrod, the doctor did not catch the significance of Nick’s slow rise from the other side of the bed, as he continued, “I’ll ask you again, Sir. How in the Hell do you propose to know more about what is good for him than a highly trained physician?”

Still steadily gripping Heath’s hand, Nick stood rooted to the spot, unwilling to leave his recently returned brother, even to follow through on his desire to boot the man from Jarrod’s house. However, his hard hazel glare glittered with pride, as he saw Jarrod stand up, reach out two hands, and grasp the doctor’s shoulders firmly. A smile broke out on his face at his brother’s words.

“Make no mistake, Doctor Bradford. Heath would want us to keep you and your morphine away from him, no matter how much pain he is in. Whether you believe us or not, the choice is not yours to make.”

Turning the man around, away from the bed, and pointing him toward the door, Jarrod added, “We’re taking Heath home to place him under the care of a competent, caring physician who will respect both the man he is and his wishes for his own treatment. Now, send the bill for what we owe you to my offices, at your convenience, but leave my house immediately. We no longer have need of your services.”

“Mr. Barkley,” the doctor said, worriedly, thoughts of his own reputation and that of the well-known man before him, warring with his anger. “You, Sir, . . . both of you, are making a big mistake. It will be your conscience that will have to remember the way you let him suffer at the end. I will not stay here and be a party to this. Keep him cool, and get liquids inside of him when you can. Other than that, if you’re not going to let me help him, that’s all I can recommend, anyway. Call me if you change your mind. But,” he finished, “If you do decide to allow me to help him, I’d advise you to not wait too much longer. He may not make it another twenty-four hours.”

Replacing his syringe and the bottle from the side table back in his bag, Doctor Bradford picked up his wool coat and hat from the dresser where he’d set them on the way in, and he left the room without looking back.

Chapter 47

As Nick and Jarrod met each other’s eyes across the bed, another groan escaped from Heath’s tightly pressed lips. He continued to toss his head and struggle against the pain.

Standing behind Nick, Robbie watched for another moment silently, then came over to lay a comforting hand on Jarrod’s arm, as the lawyer spoke softly to his brother.

“Easy, Heath. Easy now.”

“It’s the right thing ya’ did for him, Lads. Charlie told me about how your brother, there, has always felt about the stuff. For me, I think you’re better off without that high society doctor anyway. If you listen to him, you’ll be burying the lad before his time. It’s clear that he doesna’ know anything about Heath, nor what he’s made of.”

“Thanks, Robbie,” Nick said tiredly. “But, there never was any question for either of us about what Heath would want us to do. I just wish that doc had been able to tell us something more to do for him.”

Robbie nodded sadly, though neither brother looked away from the blond, now lying curled up on his side, eyes closed and coughing raggedly, though more weakly than before.

He shook his head as he headed for the door, worried, despite his words, about whether or not the young man would make it through the coming night.

Slowly, over the next hour, Nick and Jarrod could both feel the tension and the remaining strength beginning to leave Heath, as he started to drift in and out, drinking another sip of water here and there, but mostly coughing raggedly and gasping for breath afterward.

“Ni-i-ick?” Heath mumbled into Nick’s shoulder sometime later, his blond head cradled securely against the clean white shirt and black leather vest.

“Right here, Boy. I’m right here,” Nick said gently, his hands supporting Heath, who sat up, leaning forward against Nick’s chest.

Near silence followed as he and Jarrod listened to Heath’s rasping breathing for long moments, both wondering if he was still conscious or not.

Jarrod’s hand suddenly froze, as he started rubbing Heath’s bare back, trying to ease the tight muscles that remained bunched and constricted, as his brother fought for every breath. He dropped his gaze from Nick’s, puzzled at what he felt on Heath’s back. Then, in the bright afternoon light streaming in through the window, he slowly traced the slightly raised lines of the scarred-over welts, his eyes blinded by sudden moisture.

Then, as Heath’s voice sought him, Jarrod lifted his eyes to find Nick’s on him.

“Broth-er . . . Jar-r-rod?” Heath asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Right. . . ,” Jarrod paused to clear his choked throat, before continuing, “Right here, Heath. We’re both here.”

“Ni-i-ck?”

“Yeah, Little Brother?” Nick spoke up.

“Couldn’t . . . couldn’t die there . . . in that. . . in that place. . . without tellin’ ya’.”

Normally the one whose words tumbled out of him as forcefully as his fists flew when those he loved were insulted, Nick found himself unable to speak. He looked away, tears springing to fill his eyes, though he reached out with the hand not gripping Heath tightly against his chest, to grasp Jarrod’s head, pulling him down to lean next to both of theirs.

Swallowing hard, Jarrod answered for them, shaking his head against Heath’s, “Just rest. There’ll be no talk of . . . of dying. . . .We’ve only just found you, Brother Heath.”

Heath tried to lift his head, tried to pull back from them both, becoming agitated again.

“No.” He shook his head weakly, and said again, more emphatically, “No! . . . Gotta,” he trailed off, gasping for breath, “Gotta. . . tell ya’.”

“Alright, . . . alright, Heath. It’s alright.” Jarrod stroked the blond head, urging Heath to remain still, to save his strength, to conserve his energy. Then, he asked quietly, “You wanted to tell us what, Brother Heath?”

But, another cough shook him, and it was several long minutes before they both felt the blond begin to sag more heavily against them, the spasm passing.

“Easy, Boy,” Nick said, wringing out a clean cloth and leaning him back against Jarrod while wiping his face, passing it over the closed lids and across the shallowly breathing chest again, for what seemed like the thousandth time since they had carried him in the doorway the evening before.

“Easy, Heath. Just rest. Just breathe in between . . . I know it hurts to cough, Boy, but the stuff’s got to come out.”

When his words got no response from the exhausted young man, Nick lifted his hazel eyes to look into Jarrod’s worried midnight blue.

Jarrod reached up above the bandage to stroke Heath’s hair again, and he shifted the weight of Heath’s upper body slightly lower, toward the bed.

“He’s worn out, Nick. He’s having to fight too many things at once----the fever, the threat of infection, the congestion, the pain from the injuries. . . . Look at him. He looks like he’s barely eaten in days.”

Nick closed his eyes and reached out to grip Heath’s unresponsive hand again, willing his own strength to work its way inside his brother.

“I know, Jarrod. I know!” he said, his frustration rising with his volume. Just hearing Jarrod’s words spoken aloud, voicing the fears and worries he’d been wrestling with for hours on end, were more than his heart could stand.

“Just . . . just don’t say it. Don’t say it again! . . I can’t stand both of you talking about . . “

Nick trailed off.

This time it was Jarrod, his eyes glistening with the weight of unshed tears, who reached out and gripped Nick’s shoulder. “I’m not giving up on him, Nick. And, I know you aren’t either. But, he’s just so weak. . . “

“I KNOW, DAMMIT!” Nick said, wrenching away and leaping to his feet, pacing back and forth across the brightly lit room. Finally, he stopped, leaning against the windowsill and staring outside, into the cloudless day with unseeing eyes.

After a long moments, Jarrod lifted his head as he felt Heath stir, and he heard his softly spoken name.

“Jar-rod?”

“Yes, Heath.”

“Too . . . quiet. . . Wher-re’s . . . Nick?”

The dark-haired lawyer’s mouth turned up in a slight smile, as he found Nick’s eyes watching them from by the window on the other side of the bed. “He is kind of quiet, all of a sudden, Brother Heath. But, he’s here, too.”

Nick growled as several long strides brought him back around to sit close beside Heath, who was still propped up against Jarrod’s chest, though lying slightly sideways, breathing wheezily, eyes closed.

As Nick’s weight jostled the bed, Heath’s blue eyes cracked open slightly, and he offered Nick a small, lop-sided smile.

“Thought ya’d . . . gone off. . . chasin’ . . . strays.”

Jarrod asked, smiling slightly so only Nick could see, “Stray cows or stray women?”

Nick growled again and said, “You two think you can work together to get a rise out of me, don’t you? Well, I’ll have you know, . . . “

He trailed off, as Heath’s words started, “Stray . . . broth-ers . . . ,” but, were interrupted by another ferocious cough.

“Easy, now. Easy, Heath. Just breathe,” Nick muttered, as he and Jarrod both fought to steady him.

The cough seemed to tear right through Heath’s shaking frame, as he moaned once and brought his legs up in an anguished attempt to relieve the pain.

Then, gasping for breath, Heath’s body shuddered convulsively as he seemed to suddenly fold in on himself with a sharp cry.

Jarrod carefully eased him sideways down to the bed, continuing to rub his back, to let him know they were there, that he was not alone. Helpless to do any more as Heath continued to cough for long minutes, they could only watch, supporting with their hands, words, and continued presence, as each wracking cough took its toll.

Just when they thought he had lapsed into unconsciousness again, Nick saw Heath’s hand move, reaching out for them. Grasping it, Nick felt Heath return his grip weakly, then push his hand down onto the bed, release it, pat it once, as if wanting it to stay there, and reach out again.

“Jar-r-rod,” he whispered, his hand seeking blindly.

As a tear trickled from Heath’s tightly closed eyes, Jarrod reached out, around Nick, who now knelt beside the bed, and wrapped Heath’s hand in his. Heath, cracking open his eyes slightly, placed Jarrod’s hand on top of Nick’s. Then, he put his own on top of theirs, patting them once.

In a voice barely audible, he mumbled, as if making a toast, as he slid into unconsciousness, “. . . to m’ broth-ers. . . .No more. . . no more ang-er. . . . .”

As Nick closed his eyes and dropped his head on top of Heath’s hand, he responded, “It’s alright, Heath. . . It’s alright. Jarrod and I, . . . we’re not angry at each other anymore.”

Jarrod, laying his other hand on top of Nick’s head, turned his eyes, tears streaming down his face, toward the window, as he repeated, “Yes, . . . to brothers, Heath.”

Chapter 48

Liam Forrest closed the door and headed slowly back across his office floor. He leaned against the corner of his old, scarred oak desk, his eyes on the small piece of paper he had just been handed. As he opened the folded rectangle, the words he read filled him with both fleeting relief and instant, renewed worry.

Returning to the door quickly, he removed his battered Stetson from its peg on the wall, placed it on his head, and, donning his brown wool coat, headed out of the office.

“Billy,” he called to the thin, dark-headed deputy standing with two other young men at the corner of the building, “I’m headed out to the Barkley Ranch. Send this over to Doc Merar’s, then you keep an eye on things ‘til I get back, especially those prisoners, you hear?”

“Yes, Sir, Sheriff!” the young deputy said, stepping over to take the telegram from the other man’s hand. Before he turned back to look at his companions, his unspoken words, as he glanced down to read those written on the piece of paper, swirled silently in his head, like the dust left behind by his boss’s horse as he looked up, open mouthed, as the older man headed out of town at a no-nonsense lope.

Glancing up at the weak, watery sun visible through the thin layer of clouds as he rode, Liam shook his head, doubting his ability to carry out the request made of him in the time available. Then, a grin replacing the scowl of a few minutes ago, he reminded himself aloud of just who it was he was dealing with.

“This isn’t just any woman, Liam Forrest,” he chastised himself. “This is Victoria Barkley, and I have no doubt she’ll rise to the challenge better than any other woman in these parts could.”

* * * * * * * *

As he brought his chestnut to a dusty halt outside the pristine white of the impressive home, he dismounted, beat the dust off of his dark brown pants with his hat, and stepped up on the wide front verandah.

At his insistent knock, he was immediately greeted by the white-coated Silas.

“Good morning, Sheriff Forrest,” Silas said, taking a step backward into the room. “Won’t you come in, Sir?”

“Morning, Silas. Is Mrs. Barkley here? I need to see her.”

“Yes, Sir. She’s here.” Reaching out for the sheriff’s hat, Silas took it and lay it gently on the white, lace-covered foyer table, so as to avoid dislodging any more of the dust. “If you’ll wait in the parlour, I’ll find Mrs. Barkley for you.”

“Thank you, Silas,” the sheriff said, stepping down onto the finely crafted, inlaid wood floor of the massive foyer. Then, he crossed over to the large grey-marbled fireplace in the parlour and stood in front of the cheerful fire, removing his gloves and warming his hands. He turned abruptly as he heard the light tread of the woman he had come to see.

“Sheriff,” she said, stepping over to take his hand and turning quickly toward the side table, “Can I get you something?” She lifted a crystal decanter of amber liquid in mute echo of her question, but replaced it at the silent shake of his head.

Liam glanced to his left at the approach of the blond-headed young woman as she joined them, and he nodded to them both, “Mrs. Barkley, . . . Miss Audra.”

“Sheriff,” Audra nodded, her bright blue eyes full of unspoken questions.

The sheriff crossed to stand in front of the two women, both of whom were comfortably, but crisply attired in riding skirts, blouse-covered sweaters, and boots. While the daughter wore black with a pale yellow shirt, her mother was dressed in dark brown and tan.

As he hesitated for a few seconds, Victoria reached out to place her small hand on his arm, and gripped him with strength, the same strength that he saw reflected in her grey eyes. She knew this was not a social call, and she waited patiently for him to state his purpose for coming.

He took a deep breath and said, “I received a wire from Jarrod a little while ago. He and Nick are on their way home . . . with Heath.”

Immediately, Audra stepped forward, wrapped her slender arm around her mother’s shoulders, and looked down at her, tears brimming in her blue eyes.

“Oh, Mother! They found him!” she cried joyfully.

Turning to her, Victoria and her daughter clung together for a brief moment, before the silver-haired woman gathered herself and returned her tear-filled eyes back to the sheriff.

While the words themselves had been a great relief, she knew something was not right.

The man was too reticent about sharing his news. . . there was more, and she knew immediately that he was uncomfortable being the bearer of it. Besides, she thought, as her heart hammered in her chest, if the news had been nothing but good, Jarrod would have wired her directly, rather than having the sheriff deliver it personally.

“What . . . what else did the wire say, Liam?” she asked firmly, fighting to keep her voice calm.

He brought his eyes up from where he had been studying the dusty toes of his dark brown boots, meeting her steady, though clearly worried gaze.

He swallowed hard, reaching up to run his hands once through his light brown, greying hair. At that moment, he knew he would rather face down an angry mob of irritated townsfolk than have to be the one standing here, telling these two fine women the information he had been asked to deliver.

Then, he explained, “Jarrod said I should bring you to meet the train. It’ll be arriving in just over an hour. He said to bring the large buggy and some heavy blankets. Heath is. . . . . . Heath’s very sick. . . I’ve already asked Doc Merar to meet us there, at the station. We’ll need to hurry.”

“Very sick?” Audra echoed, shaking her head. She turned her eyes from the sheriff back to those of the shorter woman standing beside her. “Mother, if he’s sick, why would they want to make this long trip right now? We could’ve easily gone to San Francisco to meet them? Why would Jarrod. . . ?”

But, she trailed off, not understanding, as she stared into her mother’s troubled eyes. Victoria was still watching, searching for more from the sheriff. But, the quiet man just stood in front of them, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing hard and struggling to make himself keep eye contact with the older of the two women.

Audra’s eyes widened, and with a gasp, she suddenly understood, but continued shaking her head, this time in denial. She backed up a step and wailed, “No-o-o! No! They can’t be bringing him home to. . . to. . . . NO-O-O!”

Turning quickly, she ran from the room and dashed up the staircase, tears nearly blinding her.

Left behind in her wake, disbelief and dread rooting her to the spot, Victoria took a deep breath and finally stepped forward. Though her eyes still betrayed her fear and worry, she pointed to a nearby chair and said steadily, “Liam, please give us a few minutes, and we’ll be ready to join you for the return trip to town.”

“Mrs. Barkley, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll go out to find Ciego and help him hitch up that buggy. I’ll stop off in the kitchen and ask Silas to pack us some hot coffee.” He tentatively reached out to grip her icy cold fingers in his hand, then released them at her silent nod, and headed toward the back of the house.

She stood in the quiet room, listening to his retreating footsteps and the soft crackling of the fire for a moment.

“Oh, Heath,” she whispered, dropping her head.

Then, she turned and walked quickly across the floor to climb the stairs and find her daughter.

* * * * * * * *

Sune and Ah Lin looked on worriedly from where they both stood at one end of the sleeping quarters in the well-appointed, private train car. Then, the young man put his arm around the tiny, shaking form, silently guiding her over to sit in a comfortable, brocade-covered armchair. Both of them kept their eyes on the two dark-headed men struggling with the blond who was trying to raise himself from the bed attached to one wall.

“Easy, Heath. Quit fighting us, Boy,” Nick said, exasperation increasing.

“Ni-i-ck. . . . go. . . hom-me. . . . broth-ers. . .”

“Yes, Heath, I’m here. We’re both here.” Nick responded, trying to keep Heath’s strident movements from upsetting the bowl of cool water on the shelf nearby.

Sune stepped in quickly, but, not fast enough, as Heath’s thrashing arm hit the bowl and sent it crashing to the floor. He left the small area hurriedly to retrieve more towels and water, as Ah Lin gathered her courage and moved closer to the men, standing beside Heath’s head.

She reached out to touch his hair, speaking to him softly.

Immediately, Heath quieted for a moment, and his eyes opened slightly, his breathing raspy in the enclosed space.

Nick leaned back in his chair in momentary relief, wiping his own heated forehead with his sleeve.

“To be as sick as he is, he’s sure got a lot of fight left. I guess that’s a good sign, Pappy, but I swear he’s wearing me out. . . . Why is he fighting us? I just don’t understand!”

Jarrod reached out quietly, tapped Nick’s shoulder, and pointed toward the tiny woman.

“I don’t know, Nick, but, he recognizes her. Though I doubt he understands any more of what she’s saying than we do,” Jarrod said gratefully. “We’re going to have to find a way to thank her for what she’s done for us, for him, before it’s all over with.”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed, “But, like everything else we need to take care of where this boy’s concerned, we’ve got to get him home and get him well first.”

As Ah Lin pushed her tiny fingers through Heath’s hair, Jarrod leaned over, nodding his thanks to Sune, who held out a cool, damp cloth for him to take. Spreading it out across Heath’s hot chest, Jarrod picked up Heath’s right hand and held it between both of his. He watched Heath as he began to toss his head again, his eyes slightly open.

“Easy, Heath. We know you’re hurting, but we’ll get you home soon, Little Brother. Rest now. We’re headed home.”

Suddenly, Heath’s fever glazed blue eyes seemed to clear for a moment, and he focused on Jarrod’s darker midnight.

“. . . hom-m-me?”

“Yes, Brother Heath. We’re taking you home. Mother and Audra will meet us at the station, and we’ll get you back to the ranch as quick as we can.”

Immediately, Heath began trying to pull himself up, a groan of pain escaping as he used Jarrod’s hand for leverage. At the same time, he tried to push up off of the mattress by using his injured arm on the other side of the bed.

“No, Heath,” Nick said, as he reached out and tried to push against Heath’s chest and shoulder, struggling to hold him down on the mattress, despite the sharp pain it caused him to use his own left arm. “Lie still. We’re not there yet, Boy.”

“No. . . Mo-ther. . . Aud-ra. . . No!”

“Easy Heath. Easy Little Brother,” Nick continued.

“Nick . . . Ya’ gotta . . . go home . . . ,” Heath panted, pleading with his eyes. “Nick, . . . hur-ry. . . pleas-se. . . .”

Glancing over at Jarrod, shaking his head in frustration, Nick said, “I am going home, Heath. We’re all going home. But, we’re not there yet. We’re on the train. Dammit, you’ve got to rest, Heath.”

“No-o. . . ,” Heath said, trailing off, first closing his eyes tightly, then opening them, trying to focus on the two men beside him, trying to get the words out, despite the difficulty of speaking around each ragged breath.

“No! . . . . no, Nick. . . Gotta . . . tell ya’. . . . bro-thers. . . “

“Easy, Heath. Easy. Just rest, dammit,” Nick said, holding onto the struggling blond, as Heath suddenly began to cough.

Nick dropped his head and set his jaw, his fear for his younger brother’s condition, fighting with his frustration and anger at Heath’s stubbornness.

Then, as the cough subsided, Nick risked reaching over his shoulder to take the warm cup of broth Sune handed him, and he tried to get Heath to drink it, sliding his arm behind his brother’s shoulders. “Drink this, Boy. You need some food inside of you.”

Heath pushed it away weakly, and continued trying to sit up, but fell back against Nick’s good arm with a groan that quickly turned to another cough.

Grabbing the cool cloth from his brother’s chest, as Jarrod wrung out another and replaced it, Nick got down on one knee beside Heath, leaned in close, and wiped the hot, feverish face, as the prolonged coughing finally eased.

“Heath,” Nick said quietly, using every ounce of convincing, caring command he could insert into his voice, turning Heath’s head toward him and watching for him to open his eyes. “Heath, you need to rest. Quit trying to get up. Do you understand me, Boy?” he said, shaking Heath by the back of the neck just a little. “Quit trying to talk to us. Just rest, now, durn your hide. Quit fighting us!”

Suddenly, however, any more words died on his lips, as Heath opened his exhausted, pale blue eyes to meet Nick’s worried hazel. He held Nick’s gaze for a split second, before he began saying softly between gasps for breath, “. . . Nick, . . . broth-ers. . . . . . Kor-by’s . . . bro-thers. . . . “

His voice fading into a raspy, tortured whisper, he added, reaching out now to grasp Nick’s open white shirtfront, “. . . they’ll go . . . af-ter Mo-ther . . . Aud-ra. . . Ya’ gotta . . . go. . . home, Nick. . . .”

Chapter 49

They had been dead wrong about what Heath had been trying to tell them since the day before, and all they could do now, with no more telegraph stops between the area the train was passing through and Stockton, was to hope that Heath was also dead wrong in what he believed.

Jarrod sat by the bed, his hand gripping the now quiet Heath’s hand in his, his dark head bowed and troubled blue eyes closed. Behind him, he could hear Nick pace back and forth in the too-small space, the spurs once again on his boots, jingling loudly with each step. Both of them had their guns strapped in place, and they had already decided that, as important as it was to get Heath out of the train and into a warm bed with the doctor taking care of him, Jarrod and Heath would wait here while Nick conferred with the sheriff, making sure the ladies were safe and that arrangements were made to keep them all that way first, immediately upon the train reaching its stop.

They had already informed the conductor that they would need a delay at the Stockton Depot. They would need time to let Liam’s men secure the area, providing protection for the whole family, and time to carefully remove Heath from the train.

Before he had stopped fighting against them, against his exhaustion, Heath had told them what Kyles had said after he stabbed him in that alley.

Apparently, after making their break from the courthouse, Korby’s brothers had vowed to him that, if Korby were taken back into custody, the two of them would make good on their original threats to Heath in the smithy that night. They would first go after the two Barkley women, then the three brothers, beginning with Heath and Jarrod.

When Jarrod had tried to assure Heath that Korby, Emmet, and Jake were in the Stockton jail, that they would be unable to carry out their threats, this information had only worried Heath more.

And, now, the longer Jarrod thought about it, the more it worried him, too-----because both of them, he and Heath, had experienced Alan Kyles’ focused fury firsthand in the last few weeks. If the tallest, hothead Kyles boy had told Korby he would kill the Barkleys, they were both sure Alan would at least try to make good on his vow to his older brother.

Suddenly, Nick stopped pacing and whirled around, glaring at Jarrod, who lifted his head at the pause in the strident sound of the spurs.

“You know we both thought Heath was just focused on making us promise to take him home. . . . In fact, we thought all that mumbling he was doing about brothers yesterday, was about us, about wanting to be sure nothing’d changed between us! . . . You do realize,” Nick continued, pacing again, uninjured hand punctuating his words, “That we let what we thought he was saying, persuade us to put him on this train, to take him away from a doctor------and we assumed he was telling us how much we meant to him, how much going home meant to him.”

Nick took a deep, ragged breath, “What if we. . . ?”

Jarrod just sat watching Nick as he talked.

Then, he started moving as Nick trailed off, the thoughts too painful to be put into words. Lowering Heath’s hand to the bed and standing, Jarrod caught his balance by gripping a bar above his head, as the train’s side-to-side motion made him momentarily unsteady on his feet. Then, he crossed the small space to stop in front of Nick, and he reached up to place both hands on his brother’s shoulders as he approached. He felt Nick’s heated anguish radiating through his damp white shirt.

“Nick,” he said quietly, calmly, but with clear emphasis, “Nick, we have to believe it was both! That he was trying to say all of those things. . . . Yes, now we know he was trying to tell us about Korby Kyles’ brothers and their threats against the family, but I believe he was also trying to tell us how important going home is to him, how important we are to him.”

He paused for breath, searching Nick’s eyes, before continuing, “If he didn’t feel that way, for what reason would he have continued to . . . to fight against us, Nick, to fight against us to make us understand, to want so desperately to protect us from the Kyles family? Charlie told us what he said about us, Nick. And, I for one, am going to believe those words he shared with Charlie until I hear from Heath that I’m dead wrong about that, too.”

Halfway through his brother’s words, some of the tension Nick had felt began to ease.

By the time Jarrod was finished, Nick was nodding, and his eyes were beginning to lighten from dark, anguished hazel to a soft, more hopeful green-gold. He smiled at Jarrod, and muttered, “Dang big city doctor! He wasn’t fit to warm old Doc Merar’s stethoscope, anyway!”

Then, he quickly pulled his slightly shorter brother into a quick hug. Releasing him, he slapped Jarrod on the shoulder and turned around to retrieve his hat. Placing it on his head, he felt the train beginning to slow, and he said, “Thanks, Pappy. I just needed a bit of that cheap lawyer advice to set me straight. Besides, I didn’t have anything to do with running off that fool doctor. That was your doing, Big Brother. . . . And, a good job you did of it, too!”

Nick slapped Jarrod on the shoulder again, his pride in his older sibling clear. Then, he added, “You keep a sharp eye on that little brother of ours, and don’t let him head off to Piper’s for a drink, now, you hear?”

As Jarrod smiled back at him, his dark blue eyes dancing, Nick added, “At least make sure he waits for me before he goes off in that direction. Don’t tell him I said so, but it’s my turn to buy.”

“. . . heard . . . that. . . ,” Heath said softly, behind them both.

Nodding, his own smile growing, as he glanced over toward the bed at Heath’s response, Jarrod said, “I’ll make sure, Nick. . . . And, you make sure to keep Mother and Audra safe. We don’t want to take any chances, not any of us.”

“We’ll all be careful, then,” Nick responded, picking up his thick, tan coat from the back of the brocade chair and nodding again.

Then, he stepped over to the bed, where Heath lay still, watching him through barely open, pale blue eyes. Bending down, Nick placed a gloved hand against the side of Heath’s face, and lightly patted the roughly whiskered jaw with its fading, yellowish bruises. “You wait here for me, Boy. I’ll come back to get you, and I promise you, if you don’t take off toward Piper’s on your own, we’ll get you home where you belong before dark.”

Heath lifted his hand to grip Nick’s wrist, and he said with effort, his breathing raspy, “Won’t . . . be there. . . ta watch. . . your back. . . Big Brother. . . . Steer clear’a . . . stray women. . . .” He flashed Nick a small, lop-sided grin as Nick patted him on the jaw once more and stood up to go.

Nick chuckled, “Stray women!”

Then, eyes still on the brother he was so thankful to have found alive, he said, “Jarrod! You watch him close, now, you hear? I think he’s got a cold mug of beer in mind. I can see it in those blasted blue eyes of his!”

“Alright, Brother Nick, I’ll watch out for him,” Jarrod responded, as he moved the gold curtain aside and saw that the train was pulling into the station.

His serious eyes met Nick’s then, as they silently telegraphed their concern for each other, before Nick nodded and turned away, headed for the closest exit.

* * * * * * * *

Nick jumped down from the still rolling train, the steam blast from the engine loud, as he quickly made his way toward the depot building, looking right and left for the sheriff, for any sign of his family, or for any glimpse of danger in the form of Alan Kyles.

“Doc!” he called, catching sight of Doctor Merar, his black leather bag in his hand as he stood waiting beside the dark green of the wooden building. As the doctor returned Nick’s wave and held out his hand, Nick reached him and took it in a forceful handshake, already beginning to pull the man toward the rear of the train and the Barkley’s private car.

“How is he, Nick? Jarrod’s telegram said the doctor in ‘Frisco didn’t think he’d make it,” the doctor said, trying to make himself heard over the noise from the engine as they walked.

Nick shook his head and said loudly as he continued to scan the area around them, “He’s holding on, Doc, but he’s weak, and the coughing about tears him in two, and us with him. He’s in a lot of pain.”

Then, stopping the doctor by the arm, Nick said, “Doc, we think Alan Kyles may be around here somewhere, possibly after my mother and sister, possibly after Heath and Jarrod. Keep a sharp eye out, and know that we’ll do all we can to protect you if you’re still willing to help us get him home. But, if you’d rather not…”

The older man drew himself up to his full height and said to the taller, but younger, man beside him, interrupting his concerned, brutally honest words, “Nick Barkley, you just concentrate on protecting your family, and I’ll look out for myself-----and your brother. He’s in the last car?”

Gratefully, a full grin on his handsome face, Nick replied, nodding, “Yeah, Doc. You go on ahead. I’ll watch from here. Then, I’ve got to find the sheriff.”

* * * * * * * *

Liam and Duke settled the silent women into the buggy, where they quickly arranged the dark blue plaid blanket to cover themselves, to keep as warm as possible on the long ride. Duke climbed into the front and picked up the reins, turning the horses around to head them through the gates and toward Stockton, while the sheriff mounted his chestnut and followed them.

They rode in worried silence, the two women in back lost in their own thoughts.

Audra recalled the blond young man that she had first met that day at her, no, their, father’s grave. Eyes staring out to the right side of the buggy without seeing, she realized that she had felt a connection to him that day, something she had been unable to define, only knowing that she had heard something in his voice, seen something in his eyes, that touched her deep inside.

Then, closing her eyes and squeezing her mother’s hand next to her, she remembered the way he had held her close not long ago, comforting her against his chest, strong arms wrapped around her, when she had thought her mother had been killed in the church cave-in caused by the earthquake. He had not let her give up that day, had not let any of them give up, keeping them all focused on finding a back way into the forgotten mine below.

She looked over at her mother, whose soft grey eyes were staring straight ahead, looking off into the distance, and she knew she would not have her mother beside her now, had it not been for her brother’s stubborn refusal to give up on her.

Beside her, Victoria Barkley was also remembering, thinking about her blond-haired, blue-eyed daughter and the son that looked so much like her.

She squeezed Audra’s hand in return and thought of her conversation with Heath that day at the Cattlemen’s Hotel, in the bar downstairs, where she had found him on the morning before the afternoon dedication of his father’s statue. He was downing one stiff drink after another, trying to force himself to let go of the anger inside at the man he had only recently learned was his father.

His anger had been so tightly wound, his rage wrapped around his heart, choking him that morning. But, he had relented when she had asked him, almost begging him, to put into words the very things that he most wanted to forget.

And, afterwards, he had come for her, returning to the mining town he clearly despised, heading straight into the doorway of the broken down hotel. He had come face to face with the uncle he hated, for the way the man had treated his mother, standing up to him, facing Matt Simmons down quietly, just to make sure she, a woman he had only known for a few weeks, was unharmed.

His calm courage, both in sharing his past with her, and in acting on his worries for her, had given her the strength to withhold the truth from him at the time, until she was sure he would not immediately turn his anger on his aunt and uncle for what they had done to Rachael Caulfield.

She closed her eyes, and, for a moment, she could see him standing there, recently, behind her in the barn. It was the night she had shot Evan Miles, and just like her two other sons, his worried eyes constantly offered her his silent support, while his uninjured arm was wrapped protectively around the daughter she loved more than life itself.

True, they had not been graced with his presence in their family, nor even with the knowledge of his existence, for very long, . . . only a few months really. But, they had all come to depend on him, to lean on him, to count on him being there. She knew she did, and she knew that was true for Nick and Audra, as well.

Then, with a sigh, she thought of Jarrod. If something happened now, and they lost Heath, while it would affect them all, it was the impact on Jarrod that she worried about most of all.

With her eyes closed, she could hear Jarrod’s strong, confident words, the statements he had made to her in his office that day, weeks ago, before the trial had started, before the rift in his relationship with Heath had formed, like the yawning crack that had unexpectedly broken across the Greer family’s north pasture, the crevice created by the recent quake.

“. . . No, there’s nothing in the law that says he has to defend any special person, but when a lawyer takes his oath he swears to defend justice and the constitution.”

“If you do take the case, that means you will attempt to discredit Heath’s testimony,” she had asked then, watching as Jarrod’s intelligent blue eyes dropped to the floor at her words.

“If I take the case,” he countered, nodding, looking back up at her.

“Jarrod,” she said quietly, imploring him to hear her mother’s heart speaking to him, not to feel that she was casually stepping in, wanting only to interfere in his life, in his decisions, “From the day Heath came to us, he’s had to prove to the people in this valley that he’s the equal of anyone, that his word counts no less than any other Barkley.”

His own inner battle causing his words to tumble out more rapidly, more impatiently, than he would have liked, he replied, “Oh, Mother, don’t you think I’ve thought about that? You know I don’t want to hurt Heath. But, he’s told me that he doesn’t want to influence my decision either.”

Watching him carefully, quietly for a moment, she decided that she must make sure he could see both sides of the possible ramifications clearly, that he did not take Heath’s words as absolution, as permission, only as his brother’s understanding of the predicament Jarrod was in. She said softly, “Nevertheless, you will hurt him.”

“Yes. . . . Oh, that puts me nicely in the middle, doesn’t it?”

“Jarrod. . . ,” she started again, trying to help him, to help them both, without choosing sides between them.

But, he stopped her, reaching out to lay his strong hand on top of hers, and he said, “I promise you, I will carefully consider everything you’ve said to me.”

“Oh, Jarrod,” she said softly, her words almost swallowed up in the rhythmic sounds of horses’ hooves, creaking leather, and jingling harness, “If Heath. . . if Heath doesn’t make it, will you ever feel the same way about your ideals, about your constant search for justice? . . . At what cost to yourself will you lose the brother you’ve barely had a chance to know?”

Beside her, Audra squeezed her hand again and turned her eyes to look at her, tears brimming in pools of liquid blue.

* * * * * * * *

About ten minutes outside of town, Duke pulled his pocket watch out and checked the time. If the train from ‘Frisco was on schedule, they would be late meeting it. Glancing over at the sheriff, who was watching something off to their left, Duke clucked to the horses and got them moving a bit faster.

Suddenly, the sheriff closed in on them, holding up his hand for them to stop.

“Wait here, Duke,” Liam said to the man pulling back on the team. “I need to check out whatever that is over in those trees. It wouldn’t make sense for that last Kyles boy to be hanging around out here, this close to town, but I can’t pass up an opportunity to keep trying to locate his sorry a-----. . . uh, his sorry self.”

Concern written all over his face, as he took in the vague shape of a single horse hidden among the trees, Duke pulled his revolver and silently, leaning down, retrieved the rifle lying at his feet. Without taking his eyes off of the direction in which the sheriff had ridden, he handed the loaded weapon over his shoulder to place it in Mrs. Barkley’s outstretched, capable hands.

Chapter 50

Liam looked slightly embarrassed when he returned to the side of the buggy, especially as he saw the relieved looks and lowered weapons of the three people he had left behind, waiting on him worriedly, but certainly not helplessly.

“Sorry, Folks,” he said, holding up the reins of the additional horse, a spotted mare, he was now leading. “She looks like she belongs to one of Carl Wheeler’s hands, what’s his name, Duke? Brice or Bryson? She’s got a stone bruise, and he must’ve left her here, hidden among the trees, until he could get back for her. Must’ve been with some other fellas and in a hurry to get to town.”

Duke grinned back at the smiling sheriff, before indicating the back of the buggy with his head. “Likely we’ll meet up with young Bryson on foot as we get a little closer to town. Tie her to the back, Sheriff. We’re pretty late as it is. A few more minutes won’t matter much now.”

As they set off again, Audra glanced over at her mother and reached out to squeeze her hand.

“I’m sure Heath will be alright, Mother. He’s been through so much to find us, to get settled here with us at the ranch, he just has to be alright. . . .” Then, giggling softly, she added, “With his poker face and quiet teasing, he’s even got Big Brother Nick twisted sideways sometimes, doing unusual things like charging straight up the stairs to the tub in the evenings, when he only grumbled before at being made to clean up before dinner, . . . and asking girls he never would’ve looked at before to dances . . . . “

As her mother smiled slightly beside her at the words, Audra finished, “I just know he’s going to pull through this.”

“I hope you’re right, Audra. I hope so badly that they’re all three all right, that they’ll have a chance to get past this ordeal over the trial, to get beyond it together. . . . We all need time with Heath, time to get to know him better, to show him how much he means to each of us, to this family.”

Pushing her hand through the crook of her mother’s arm, Audra leaned against the smaller woman, both of them drawing strength from the faith and hope of the other.

Then, as she closed her eyes and tried to squeeze them shut, to squeeze back the tears that threatened once more as she thought about her new blond brother, she heard her mother’s voice again from beside her.

“He has to be all right, Audra. Not only do we all need him, but without Heath to help them heal, I’m not sure Nick and Jarrod will ever feel the same way about each other again. . . . And, I truly fear for Jarrod. I fear that he’ll never be able to get beyond the guilt that’s been eating him from inside. He just needs more time to show Heath how much he cares about him.”

* * * * * * * *

“Sune! Sune!”

Jarrod’s voice carried through the private car to the small kitchen area at the back.

Handing the bowl of water he had been filling to Ah Lin, Sune dried his hands on a white towel hanging behind him in the cramped space and hurried to see what his employer needed.

“Yes, Mr. Barkley?” Sune asked, entering the sleeping berth. Immediately, he stepped over to support the blond’s right side as Jarrod attempted to help Heath with his boots. The obviously sick young man leaned heavily against Sune with a groan, his eyes closed.

“Heath,” Jarrod said quietly, “This is not necessary. We need to just get some men in here to help us carry you from the train. . . I promise you that Mother will be just as worried when she takes one look at your bandaged head and pale face with those bruises all over you, no matter whether you’re standing up between two men or lying down on a board between four.”

Heath mustered the energy to form his mouth into a small lop-sided smile, and he said, “. . . No, . . . worried her. . . enough,” just before he leaned forward and began to cough again.

Sune quickly held a soft rag near his mouth, catching the choking phlegm.

“Dammit,” Heath mumbled, when the coughing eased, and he was left gasping for breath.

“Easy, Little Brother,” Jarrod said, standing beside the blond and rubbing his back through his blue shirt. “I know it hurts, and I’m no doctor, but I do think your breathing’s starting to sound a little better.”

He barely glanced up as Ah Lin entered the space, carrying two glasses of water, and moved to stand by the window. There, she turned and watched them with dark, worried eyes.

As he reached over for one of the glasses and helped Heath drink a few swallows, Jarrod nodded at her and smiled.

Sune had assisted them in communicating their appreciation to her earlier. And, they had let her know they were willing to help her start a new life in Stockton, or would help her return to China later if she wanted. Still, Jarrod knew the tiny woman had to be petrified with all that was happening.

However, Sune had assured Jarrod quietly that she was only worried about Heath. She had told Sune, and he had shared with Jarrod, how Heath had comforted her, shown concern for her, even defended her, though he had had no words to communicate with her.

Jarrod looked over at the tiny woman, watching her more closely for a moment. Sune had been right, he could see immediately.

Ah Lin was silently watching Heath’s every move, and, in her dark, almond-shaped eyes were sad depths of constant concern, focused on him.

Jarrod’s eyes met Sune’s worriedly over his brother’s head. Both could feel the tremors that shook the young man between them with each raspy breath.

Heath, the clothes retrieved from the livery stable in San Francisco hanging loosely on his gaunt frame, was so sick, and their fear for him seemed to permeate them all.

Jarrod was sure he was in more pain than he had admitted to any of them, the white-knuckled grip his brother had on the side of the bed with his good hand, a testament to how much.

But, Jarrod told himself, his breathing did sound a little better today.

Just then, the outer door to the car opened, surprising all of them, and Jarrod moved quickly to the doorway of the berth, pulling his gun and standing sideways looking out, to make sure of who was joining them.

What if it was. . . . ?

Breathing deeply, he grinned and relaxed visibly when he saw the familiar figure.

“Jarrod?” Doc Merar’s voice called.

“In here, Doc!” came the instant reply.

The brown-suited doctor eased into the already crowded compartment, shifting his gaze to look at the three pairs of eyes that met his, and the bowed head of the blond whose eyes did not.

“How is he?” the doctor asked quietly, moving to pull a straight-backed oak chair over in front of Heath. Sune reached out to tug the chair forward with one hand, while Jarrod stepped back slightly to allow the doctor access to his brother.

“Fine, . . . Doc,” Heath said softly, “. . . fine.”

“Well, ‘glad to hear it, Heath,” Doctor Merar answered, with a smile, patting Heath’s shoulder. “Now, why don’t you let me talk to your brother a minute, and you just sit quietly?”

As a slight nod turned into a full-scale struggle to cough and breathe, all three men fought to keep Heath upright on the side of the bed, his feet on the floor.

“Jarrod,” Doc Merar said, looking down at Sune’s hands, adjusting Heath’s tan jeans over the second boot, as the spasm eased, “Let me guess. He wants to walk out of here, right?”

“That’s what he says, Doc,” Jarrod nodded, relieved to have professional help in contending with the blond’s stubbornness.

“I think you’d better find us some men to carry him out of here and over to my office. I don’t think we’d better let him walk that far, not even with us helping him.”

Heath started shaking his head, pushing himself up by pressing on Sune’s shoulder and reaching up to haul on Jarrod’s arm, wincing as he did so. “No,” he wheezed, as he made it to his feet. “No, . . . . . need m’ gun, . . . Jarrod. . . .”

Steadying him between them, as he started to cough, Jarrod and Sune each reached out to hold onto one of his arms, facing him.

As the doctor began shaking his head at this display of Barkley cussedness, Jarrod spoke up, incredulously, “Heath, I know you don’t want to worry Mother, but, . . . “

Then, he looked closer at the blond’s bowed head, with slowly growing understanding, “Heath,” he asked quietly, “You don’t want to go out there without being able to help defend them if necessary, do you? That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

At the slight nod of Heath’s lowered head as he struggled for breath, then began coughing again, Jarrod leaned in, supporting him, and said quietly, “You’ve done enough, Little Brother. Let us help you, now. You’re not alone anymore. We stand as a family, as brothers, . . . with brothers, . . . alright?”

Heath lifted his head, his blue eyes searching Jarrod’s for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded, and said, “Yes. . . . As . . . broth-ers, . . . Pap-py.”

Reaching out to tousle the blond hair once, Jarrod saw the lop-sided smile begin.

Then, Jarrod heard Ah Lin gasp, and in front of him, he saw Heath’s warm gaze become an icy, steely-eyed stare. His brother’s jaw clenched tightly, and Jarrod heard him snarl, “Kyles . . . .”

Turning slowly to look over their shoulders, the doctor, Sune, and Jarrod saw the narrow, grinning face of Alan Kyles standing in the doorway, gun in hand.

“Don’t turn around, Gentlemen,” Kyles said, “None of you. Just step over there so’s I can get to the one person I’ve been waiting for weeks to find again.”

Then, his eyes widening in anger when the men in front of him only looked at each other and stood their ground, refusing to comply, Kyles reached out to shove Doc Merar to his right, toward Ah Lin at the window.

Then, he yelled, “Move!” and wrenched Sune away from Heath, pushing the young man in the same direction as the doctor.

As Sune stumbled past Heath, reluctantly releasing him, Jarrod felt his brother falter, and he immediately adjusted to grab hold of the right side of Heath’s belt to keep him from going down.

Wasting no time, the angered man sent a brutal punch into Jarrod’s lower back and quickly yelled again, “Move, Lawyer! It’s him I want!” Then, he continued to growl at Jarrod, who remained there, stubbornly standing in front of his brother, who had begun to cough again, protecting Heath while fighting the bright flare of pain in his back, and refusing to allow the pain from the harsh blow to force him to his knees.

Incensed, Kyles brought up the pistol that he had been brandishing at them all since he had entered the cramped space, and he brought it down heavily on Jarrod’s left shoulder. This was followed with a downward shove that succeeded in driving the determined man to his knees.

Jarrod staggered to the floor of the car, sucking in breath desperately, his body reeling from the two crushing blows.

Above him, Heath took one staggering step forward toward Kyles, his good hand on Jarrod’s uninjured shoulder, both in support of his brother and to steady himself, and he said, his jaw clenched against the difficulty of standing, “Get out, Kyles. . . . Get outta here, . . . b’fore you’re locked up. . . like the rest’a. . . your family. . . or worse.”

Watching the unsteady blond and deeming his threat meaningless, Kyles laughed in Heath’s face. Then, he pulled his unencumbered hand back and hit Heath in the ribs twice, forcing the air from his lungs and almost lifting him from his feet with each punch.

As his brother doubled over, coughing and choking from the punishing blows, Kyles reached down, grabbed Jarrod’s right arm and yanked it up behind him, preventing any more movement from the dark-haired lawyer.

Powerless to help the blond sinking slowly to his knees in front of him, Jarrod turned his head, eyes seeking his brother’s face as he leaned forward, propelled into submission by Kyles’ grip on his right arm behind him, his other caught firmly against his body and still throbbing from the blow to his shoulder moments before.

“Heath?” Jarrod ground out through teeth clenched in pain. His question caused a renewed attack on his upheld arm, and he watched worriedly as his brother first struggled for breath, then began retching, as he continued to cough.

Distraught, Doc Merar took a step toward the two men on the floor, but was stopped by Kyles’ pistol and Sune’s hands on his arms, the fear of seeing the gun pointed at the back of Jarrod’s head, causing them both to freeze.

“Get back where you were, Doc. Don’t interfere, and I might let you live. It don’t matter much what you do, anyway. They’re both gonna die before it’s over with. They all are.”

“You deserve to hang, Alan Kyles, right beside your brother,” the doctor spat defiantly at the grinning, much taller young man.

“I know, Doc,” Kyles answered, laughing lightly.

Then, missing the exchange of brief glances that took place between the two blue-eyed men on their knees, facing each other, kneeling between his boots and the doctor’s, Alan Kyles added, “And, I prob’ly will someday. But, first, I’m gonna have me a good time busting my brothers and Daddy outta that jail you all are so proud of.”

Turning his attention back to the two men on the floor of the train car, Alan then narrowed his eyes and said viciously, “Now, get up, Lawyer! And, bring the bastard with you! We’re leaving!”

“Go to Hell, Kyles,” Jarrod said. His jaw was set against the pain he was in and for the agony he could hear in every breath Heath took.

His blood boiling at the dark-headed man’s defiance, Alan Kyles bent down and wrenched the lawyer to his feet by the arm, spinning Jarrod around to face him.

Jarrod sagged slightly, biting down on his agony, as the vicious force and cruel angle threatened to yank his shoulder out of place.

Then, as Alan Kyles raised his gun, intending to hit Jarrod across the face with it, . . . the sound of a single shot echoed through the small space.

Chapter 51

“Mother! The train’s already in!” Audra said, raising up slightly from her seat, by leaning forward and placing one hand on Duke McCall’s shoulder. She shielded her eyes, realizing immediately that something was wrong.

“Yes, Dear,” Victoria said mildly, her sharp grey eyes also taking in the scene at the railroad depot.

The dark, sleek engine was sitting silently on the tracks just beyond the depot, and there were several men with rifles in the crooks of their arms, standing alertly around the opposite end, as if on guard for some reason.

Her eyes widening, as Duke turned the horses around, facing them away from the train and then stopped, she realized that one of the men was waving.

It was Nick.

The sheriff shouted to Duke, “Wait here. I’ll find out what’s going on!” He pushed his horse into a controlled lope and continued on toward the far end of the train, leaving them behind, sitting in the buggy.

“Mother, what do you think it is?” Audra asked.

Shaking her head, Victoria murmured softly, “I don’t know, Dear. We’ll just have to wait here to find out. If there’s a problem, I’m sure your brothers won’t let us get anywhere near until it’s resolved.”

Just then, all three of them stiffened slightly as something they could neither see nor hear brought all of the men at the other end of the train into instant action. Though they could not tell what had happened from where they watched, the two women and Duke immediately heard shouts, saw everyone running toward the train, and they saw Liam Forrest pull his gun as he dismounted.

The sheriff turned and motioned urgently with his arm, sending them away from the area. Duke complied at once, snapping the reins and urging the team toward the other end of the street and around the corner, away from the depot.

As they jumped down outside the Cattlemen’s Hotel, Duke hustled them inside and sat with them at a secluded table in the far corner. For reasons he could not explain, and though he sorely chaffed at not being able to go make sure everything was all right with his boss, he felt compelled to stay with the two women, to provide protection for them against an unknown threat.

* * * * * * * *

Nick had just finished rounding up some Barkley hands and a couple of volunteers that he had located from inside two of the nearby saloons. He was working with Billy, the young deputy, to get them situated around the private railcar, when he spotted the buggy approaching from the far end of the street.

He heaved a sigh of relief at seeing them, more worried than he had wanted to say aloud, at how late they were.

“Bet that little sister of mine couldn’t decide what color blouse to wear,” he grumbled to Billy, who walked beside him.

Though his tone was gruff, Billy saw the immediate smile of loving pride, as Nick waved to acknowledge them.

“You go on ahead to meet them, Nick,” Billy said. “I’ll finish getting the men settled here, then I’ll wait inside the car, just like you said.”

Nodding, Nick started walking away to meet the buggy, very pleased that Duke had driven the rig with the sheriff riding beside them, even though neither of the men could have known about the threat that had been made against the women.

However, he stopped after a few long strides, realizing that he would either have to tell Billy to pull some of the men out of position or find some more help, in order to have enough men to assist with carrying his brother from the train to the buggy.

Turning back to speak to Billy again, Nick instantly pulled his gun and charged toward the front of the private car as he heard the short, distinctive blast of a pistol from inside.

Oblivious to the other activity of men running and shouting in reaction to the sound, Nick did see the sheriff motioning for Duke to take the women in the other direction, just before leaping up the metal steps of the car’s front platform. Then, with only thoughts of his brothers and their safety, he barreled through the wooden door, staying low, gun ready.

For a moment, he saw no movement, . . . heard nothing.

Then, the sound of muffled weeping reached his ears.

Rising slowly from his crouch, he edged toward the sleeping compartment at the other end of the car, and eased quietly in through the open doorway.

Inside, he immediately noticed Sune and Ah Lin standing by the window, the young man’s arms wrapped protectively around the weeping, elderly woman. Then, on the floor, he saw several men lying crumpled together, covered in bright red blood. Doc Merar was down on his knees, systematically searching for a pulse from the closest one.

“Nick!” the doc said, glancing up from his position on the floor. “Nick, he’s dead. Help me get him off of them!”

“My brothers, Doc?” Nick said frantically, as he quickly replaced his gun in his holster and leaned down to help, all the while, worriedly searching the two blood-covered men with his eyes.

“Not now, Nick!” the doc demanded, working to get to the two Barkleys, lying beneath the dead man.

Nick reached down to lift the tall, thin body of Alan Kyles and struggled to carry him to the door of the compartment. Glancing back, all he could see was the blood all over Jarrod’s clothes and enough of Heath’s face to see how pale and still he was, as he lay partially hidden beneath his dark-haired brother.

Then, hearing other voices, he realized Billy and Liam were moving toward him from the lounge area of the car.

“Here’s your missing Kyles, Liam,” Nick said, grunting with the effort and the sharp pull on his arm, as he and the sheriff struggled to get the body through the doorway.

“Nick,” the sheriff asked, noticing the doctor working over the two men still lying on the floor, “I’m gonna have Billy tell them to unhook this car from the train. Any objections?”

“No,” Nick said abruptly, nodding at him, before he quickly returned to check on his brothers, worry driving him, like a Jehu urging a six-hitch team up a steep slope.

As he turned around, he saw that Jarrod was slowly standing up, and, though he was only using one arm, he and Sune were reaching down to help the doctor lift Heath from the floor of the rail car. Nick reached out to steady Heath’s head, and together, they placed him on the bed beside them. Then, he assisted Jarrod’s awkward, one-armed descent, helping him sit beside their brother on the edge of the bed, out of the doctor’s way.

“How is he, Doc?” Nick demanded, staring over at Heath’s closed eyes.

“I think he’s alright, Nick. . . . But, . . . give me a minute,” the doctor said absently, as he continued to check his patient.

Then, Nick bent down to retrieve the unfamiliar pistol lying on the floor at his feet. Without a word, he turned and handed it to the sheriff standing behind him in the doorway, watching them.

Realizing there was nothing he could do to hurry the doctor, Nick lowered himself to one knee beside his older brother. Concerned about the look in Jarrod’s dark blue eyes, Nick reached out to steady him.

“What happened, Jarrod?” he asked quietly, as soon as his brother turned his eyes away from Heath to look down at him. “Are you alright?”

Jarrod returned his troubled blue eyes to Heath’s face.

After a moment, he saw a slight movement of Heath’s head, and he sucked in a deep breath in relief.

Then, slowly, as if he were trying to move through the thick mud bordering the trampled edge of a watering hole after the cows had come through, Jarrod silently leaned over to gently lift Heath’s arm from where it hung down, off the side of the bed. Without a word, he removed his own revolver from his brother’s loose grip, handed it to Nick without looking at him, and tightened his fingers around Heath’s hand.

He never glanced up when Ah Lin quietly bobbed her grey head at them and squeezed behind Nick, as she headed out toward the door, carrying the soiled towels she had used to quickly mop up the floor.

Taking a deep breath, Jarrod finally said, though his voice came out brokenly, “I’m not . . . I’m not sure, Nick. . . . It all happened . . . so fast. . . ,” and he trailed off at the end.

“Well, obviously, Kyles got in here somehow, before we got the men in position, and then. . . ?” Nick asked, his voice loud in the enclosed space, causing Jarrod to wince, his head, neck, and both shoulders pounding furiously.

“And, then. . . ?” Jarrod swallowed hard, closing his eyes briefly, before he opened them again and finished, “Then? . . . Then, Heath shot him.”

Without elaborating further, Jarrod just looked at Nick long and hard for a few seconds.

Slowly, Nick stood up and reached out to wrap his arm around his brother, bolstering him and shaking him gently for a moment. But, he asked again, as he felt Jarrod flinch in pain, “Are you alright, Jarrod? What did Kyles do to you?”

Nodding, Jarrod swallowed hard, as Nick’s supportive gesture put pressure on his pain-wracked shoulders. Then, he said, “It looks like all three of the brothers Barkley are going to need one of Silas’ slings for a while, . . . but, yes, I’ll be fine.”

The doctor paused in unbuttoning Heath’s shirt to glance over at Jarrod for a second. “Your shoulder? Do you think it’s dislocated, Jarrod?”

“No, Doc. I don’t think so. Just . . . ” Jarrod left the rest unsaid, cradling his forearm against his chest.

Concerned, the doctor said, “Nick, get him over into that chair before he passes out. Blast it all,” he muttered, half to himself, as he returned his attention to Heath, “Dislocating it might’ve been less painful for him.” Then, a little louder, he said, “I’ll be with you in a minute, Jarrod.”

“Take your time, Doc. I’ll be fine. Just . . . just take care of my little brother, alright?”

Nodding, Doc Merar kept his eyes on what he was doing, as he took the scissors Sune held out to him from his bag, and cut away the bandages wrapping the aggravated bruises around Heath’s ribs.

Nick, not yet getting the answers he wanted from his older brother, nor from the distracted men working over Heath, helped Jarrod move toward the small window and the stuffed, brocade chair. Then, he patted Jarrod on the head as his brother leaned back and closed his eyes, his face creased in pain he would not express aloud.

Silently, Nick stalked back over to the bed and eased down behind Heath’s head. He touched the blond hair, now matted with blood he fervently hoped belonged to Alan Kyles.

Heath was breathing-----that much he could tell. In fact, he was beginning to come around, with his head tossing around and one leg moving up and down as if he was hurting.

But, whether or not he was hurt any worse than before, Nick could not be sure. From past experience and the steady pace at which the doctor was working over his brother, Nick knew better than to distract the physician with questions, no matter how much he longed to ask them.

Finally, after a moment of watching, he broke his gaze away from the face of his younger brother, as he heard the doctor call his name.

“Nick? Nick!” Doc Merar said, “Can you get a buggy or a buckboard down here? I’d like to get this boy to my office as soon as possible. But,” he said, glaring meaningfully back over at Jarrod with one eyebrow raised, “He needs to be carried out, not going out walking this time. Might work for both of them.”

“No problem, Doc,” Nick said, glancing at Jarrod, who was sitting up again with a slight smile playing about his lips, in spite of the pain he was obviously in. “But, can you tell me if they’re both going to be alright? Neither one of them was shot or anything?”

“No, Kyles was the only one shot, Nick,” the doctor’s tone softened slightly, as he added, “But, that man was not gentle with Jarrod. If nothing else, your older brother’s going to be sore and bruised for quite a while. And, he hit Heath a couple of times. . . . hard. It looks like that was the last thing this young man needed, . . . though I don’t think there’s any new internal bleeding. . . . Now about that buggy. . . ”

“Right away, Doc.”

As Nick sighed in relief and headed to the doorway, he glanced back and caught Jarrod’s eye. “What about it, Pappy? Other than your shoulder, you’re sure you’re alright?” he asked again, nodding and pointing at Jarrod’s arm, bent at the elbow and held protectively across his chest.

“I will be, Nick.”

Nodding at him again, Nick said, “I believe you, Big Brother. But, if you don’t have a chance to get some of that blood off of you before Mother and Audra see you, they might not be so easy to convince.”

Jarrod nodded back at him, before he glanced down at his ruined grey suit. As Sune stepped over to assist him, he began easing both sore arms out of the jacket with a muffled curse he could not bite back.

Then, once he was free of the blood-covered coat, he returned his worried gaze back to the face of his youngest brother.

* * * * * * * *

A slight groan was the only sound Heath made as Nick, the sheriff, Billy, and one of the Barkley hands carefully lifted him from the shelf-like bed bolted firmly to the wall.

Looking at each other after two unsuccessful attempts, however, the men quickly realized they were never going to get Heath through the narrow doorway with four of them holding him.

“This is never going to work, Doc,” Nick said, turning his head to look at the brown-suited physician, matching bowler and black leather bag in hand.

“You two,” the doctor immediately ordered, exasperatedly pointing at Billy and Rusty, “You’ll have to put his legs down. . . . carefully, now.” Then, he added, “Alright, move on outside the door, and let Nick and Liam carry him through, standing up.” Muttering again, he added, “Barkley cussedness. ‘Even build their doorways just to confound common sense medicine.”

Nodding, trying not to smile, the two men complied.

Then, with Jarrod, Sune, and Ah Lin watching from the lounge area of the railcar, they saw Liam easing sideways through the door, Heath’s arm held firmly across the man’s shoulders. Just as Heath and Nick emerged, moving through sideways, Jarrod was pleased to see the blond’s head come up and his eyes crack open slightly.

Heath immediately started struggling, trying to move his feet to help Nick ease him through the narrow opening, and grinding out words through his clenched jaw.

“. . . can . . . make it, . . . Nick,” Heath said irritably, his halting words bringing a large grin to Nick’s face.

“Sure you can, Boy,” Nick growled back at him, “. . . In a July snowstorm.”

“Ni-ick!” Heath continued, indignantly, his breathing ragged, but not rattling as much as it had been.

Smiling, Jarrod remembered the blond’s earlier, stubborn refusal to be carried out of the train flat on his back, and he motioned for Billy and Rusty, plus Sune and the tiny woman, to follow him as he headed for the rear of the car, leading the way.

“Better leave him that way, Doc,” Jarrod called over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling, as he slowly ushered Ah Lin to the exit, “The next door’s only a little wider, and then, there’re the steps to negotiate.”

To no one in particular as he carefully made his way down the metal steps outside the railcar to the ground, then stood watching their slow, but steady, progress, Jarrod shook his head and said aloud, “Yes, Sir, I’d like to see the look on that Doctor Bradford’s face about now.”

Suddenly, from behind him, he heard his name.

“Jarrod! Jarrod!”

He turned gingerly to see his mother and Audra jumping down from the buggy behind him, even before Duke’s steady hands had brought the team to a complete stop. Reaching out to them with his left arm, he sucked in a ragged breath when his little sister’s hug jostled the other.

“Jarrod!” Victoria exclaimed, looking closely at him, “Sweetheart, you’re hurt!”

“I’ll be fine in a little while, Mother.”

He reached up, looking into her worried grey eyes, and he squeezed the small hand that was resting against his chest. “The doc’ll get to me after he’s taken care of Heath.”

“How is he, Jarrod?” she asked, then trailed into silence as she, Jarrod, and Audra watched Nick and Liam carefully easing Heath down the black, metal steps at the end of the railcar.

Audra gasped at the sight of her blond-headed brother, and she moved closer to Jarrod, clasping the white of his shirt in her hand, as she watched.

“Heath,” Victoria breathed quietly, her heart in her throat at the sight of the bruised and bloodied blond, as Nick’s boots finally touched the ground, his brother still held upright between his broad shoulders and the sheriff’s.

Jarrod grimaced at their slow progress toward the buggy, situated only a few, painful steps away, until he saw Heath’s head come up again slightly.

Nick grinned broadly, as he heard Heath’s raspy voice in his ear.

“Ni-i-ick, . . . wait-t-t.”

“Liam,” Nick said, nodding toward his family standing nearby. Then, moving as one, they turned Heath around so he could better see Jarrod and the two women standing together watching them.

Stepping forward quickly, Victoria reached up and placed both hands on Heath’s gaunt, barely lifted face, one hand on each side. Then, tears springing into her eyes, and her voice catching, she said, “Oh, Heath. . . . We’re so glad you’re home, Sweetheart.”

Breathing hard, Heath leaned more heavily against Liam, and pulled his right arm out of Nick’s grasp. Then, without a word, he reached around her with his arm and pulled her close to him, bowing his head against the soft silver of hers.

After a few seconds, in which the only sound was her quiet sob, muffled against Heath’s unbuttoned shirt, Nick reached out and gripped Heath’s hand and forearm, while Liam continued to support his wounded left and, with Victoria gently supporting his battered right side, the four of them made it the few remaining steps to the buggy.

With a quick kiss to his cheek, and a lingering hand on his face, she moved aside then, and allowed Nick and Liam, assisted by Billy and Rusty, to lift Heath, who had no breath for a rebuttal, onto the padded, rear leather seat of the buggy.

Victoria quickly ran around to the other side, climbed in, and pulled Heath’s upper body back against her, carefully supporting him. She reached over and pulled a thick blanket over him, as she held him close.

Audra walked slowly toward the front seat with Jarrod, and Nick reached up to assist his dark-haired brother with the last step. His arm throbbing unmercifully, Jarrod sank gratefully into the front seat beside Duke.

Doctor Merar had already moved around to sit on the other side of the patient driver, leaving Nick and Audra to hug quickly, before following them on foot.

While Duke got the buggy turned in the direction of Doc Merar’s office, Liam reached out to place a hand on Nick’s arm.

“Nick, we’ll finish taking care of Kyles and get a crew started cleaning up your rail car.”

“Thanks, Liam,” Nick said. Then, he glanced at Sune, who was obviously unsure of which group to follow. “You’re coming with us, Sune Yun-shan,” he asserted with a smile and a gloved hand on the younger man’s back. “We’ll get my brothers settled first. Then, I have a feeling we’ll need you to help us with Little Grandmother for a while.”

Sune bobbed his head, a pleased grin on his face. “Yes, Sir, Mr. Nick. It would be my honor!”

Holding his sister’s hand, Nick led the little group in the direction of the doctor’s office. Then, a few moments later, he stopped and began smiling broadly when he saw Duke turn the team around again, changing directions.

As they followed behind the rig, Nick broke out into a throaty chuckle when he saw it head toward the livery and stop to let the doctor climb down.

As he and his on-foot processional made their way across the dusty street, watching out for other carriages and riders, Nick pushed Audra’s blond tresses away from her ear, leaned down toward her, and said conspiratorially, continuing to chuckle as he did so, “Honey, that boy could talk the fleas off a tri-colored hound dog.”

“A hound dog, Nick?” Audra asked a moment later, removing her arm from around him and glancing down into his sparkling hazel eyes as they reached the buggy and Nick handed her up into the doctor’s vacated seat.

“In this case, the hound dog has brown eyes, grey hair, wears a brown bowler hat, and carries a black leather bag!” Nick said.

Then, he turned to enter the livery to help hitch up the doctor’s buggy, and he said over his shoulder to the two tired people following behind him, “Come on, Sune, you ugly Mandarin. We’re going home!”

Chapter 52

The warmth of the crackling fire drew them both closer.

Nick walked over after closing the double doors and placed two warm mugs of coffee, laced with brandy, on the low, round table. One, he slid closer to Jarrod, while he settled across from him and waited, more patiently than usual, for his unusually quiet, older brother to notice and pick his up.

Finally, after a few more minutes, Jarrod turned away from the bright blaze, glanced at Nick, nodding in silent gratitude for the coffee, and leaned back on the red settee with a sigh.

Nick continued to watch him, waiting on him to take the first sip, waiting on him to finally relax.

After another minute, Jarrod nodded in appreciation of the warmth and flavor of the brew and turned his eyes on Nick.

Reaching down to his vest to pull out the pocket watch that Audra had returned to him just a little while before, Jarrod fingered it as he said with a slow, sad smile, “It could have all turned out very badly, Nick.”

Nodding at the simple statement, Nick agreed, “Yeah, Pappy, it could have. . . . But,” he added, “It didn’t, and the boy’s home now, with us, right where he belongs.”

“What did the doctor say, Nick? Is he really going to be alright?”

Nick started nodding, but never got a chance to say anything, as Jarrod continued, “Audra told me the doc said he will be, but I didn’t get to hear any of what was actually said yesterday, . . . everyone was too busy shuffling me off to a hot bath,” his blue eyes glared at Nick.

“Well,” Nick offered, “You know how it is when you have Mother’s orders ringing in your ears like Silas and I did.”

Then, Nick smiled, shaking his head at Jarrod, and he added, “You didn’t hear what he said today for sleeping through it all, did you? You slept a little late, even for you, Pappy.”

Ignoring the gentle teasing, his brother’s sad, dark blue eyes spoke volumes of concern, more eloquently than any of the literature on the shelves around them, and Nick decided then and there that his first priority was to get Jarrod in a better frame of mind.

“I heard you had more than a little trouble getting past the grandmother dragon guarding the door, when you tried to see him a little while ago,” Nick said, chuckling, “But, to tell the truth, you haven’t missed anything. He’s done nothing but sleep since Duke and I got him up those stairs yesterday.”

“Dragon!” Jarrod growled softly, shaking his head, but pleased about the fact that Heath was apparently resting just fine, “I couldn’t have put that any better myself, Brother Nick! Who would’ve thought that tiny, quiet, grey-headed woman would’ve turned into four feet, ten inches of fire-breathing protector all of a sudden? Do you know, she took off her shoe and threatened me with it, if I didn’t go out and close the door! . . . At least, I think she was just threatening,” Jarrod finished, “She could’ve been serious about hitting me, for all I could understand.”

Nick chuckled out loud at the idea of such a confrontation between his sophisticated, refined brother and the fragile looking Ah Lin. It was all he could do to sit on that picture, not reacting to it until later, as he concentrated on completing the conversation he knew Jarrod needed to have now.

But, . . . choking down the laughter that threatened, he knew it was a sight he fervently wished he’d seen!

When he could speak again, Nick said with an overly serious voice Jarrod didn’t pick up on, “I think Sune made the mistake of telling her what the doctor said.”

“What was that, Nick?” Jarrod asked seriously.

“He told Mother not to let anyone disturb Heath, which Sune must have translated pretty specifically.”

Then, Nick chuckled, his handsome hazel eyes lighting up, as he leaned back in his chair and crossed one boot up on his other knee. “I can’t wait to see what happens when Heath tries to get out of that bed, because I think Sune also told her that the doctor has forbid Little Brother from getting up until he says otherwise.”

Jarrod smiled, then chuckled lightly.

Then, after another quiet moment of turning his head away, toward the fireplace, as he watched the flames, he asked softly, “What else did the doctor say, Nick?”

Not yet ready to let the conversation turn serious, but knowing that Jarrod needed to know some of the answers he sought, Nick asked in return, a grin still on his face, “You mean, what did he say about Heath’s condition right now, or what did he say about Heath’s future in the valley if somebody didn’t break him of thinking he was qualified to give and take his own medical advice?”

Jarrod laughed softly and said, “All of it.”

“Well, yesterday, after Old Doc Merar got through hustling him off to bed, giving him another once over to make sure the ride out here hadn’t damaged anything that he’d already checked, and leaving Mother a list of orders . . . orders that included doing everything necessary, including hogtying him, to keep him in the bed and eating anything and everything in Silas’ kitchen, . . . there wasn’t much left of Heath under the blankets except a lump in the mattress. Oh, yeah, that, and a gleam in the boy’s sleepy blue eyes, as the escape attempts were already being plotted in his head!”

By the time Nick finished, Jarrod was cradling his arm against his chest, laughing openly, enjoying the feeling of being home, and knowing that Nick was sufficiently relieved about Heath to joke about it all.

“Seriously, Nick,” he said after a moment, his chuckling tapering off. “He can’t be that much better that fast. It’s only been three days since Doc Bradford and his dire warnings.”

“He is, though, Jarrod. I’ll sneak you up in a little while to see him, in spite of the Dragon Grandmother. Even if he’s asleep, you won’t believe how much better he looks. The fever’s finally broken, his breathing’s much easier, and though his coughing is still terrible to watch, . . . and to hear, it does seem to’ve eased up quite a bit.”

At Jarrod’s raised, and very skeptical eyebrow, Nick continued, “Maybe it’s that concoction Silas started getting inside him early this morning, as soon as the doctor finished tapping on his chest a hundred times, and said he sounded better. In fact, he said the worst of the congestion was clearing up, and it was safe to stop making him hack the stuff up constantly.”

Nodding and taking another sip of his coffee, Jarrod said, remembering all the times Doc Merar had tapped on his own chest and back, listening intently for the dull thuds that he said indicated fluid in his lungs, “Yes, Nick, I know that concoction, as you call it, very well. I swear Silas’s cured me at least twice with it over the years.”

“Don’t let Silas hear you say that. He’ll be insulted. I have a feeling he thinks he gets the credit for at least four times.” Then, Nick smiled again, thinking of Heath’s natural politeness warring with his irritation, every time he saw Silas coming in again with that “thick alkali water” as he called it.

Seeing Nick’s smile, Jarrod added, “I bet Brother Heath isn’t enjoying finding out that roast duck and smothered steak aren’t all Silas is known for around here.”

“He sure isn’t, Pappy. . . . But, he’s doing okay. He wouldn’t hurt Silas’ feelings for the world, and I think he’s beginning to feel so much better without that cough tearing him in two every few minutes, he wouldn’t say much about it if it were old Jake Kyles, himself, that was making him down the stuff.”

After another moment of silence, Nick stood and stepped over toward the fireplace, picked up the wrought-iron poker, and shifted the steadily burning wood around in the grate with the pointed end of it.

Then, he said quietly, as he returned to his chair, his words no longer teasingly playful, “Doc Merar said that the pneumonia didn’t get a good hold on him, Jarrod, and that it should clear up. Now, it’s mainly a matter of Heath getting lots of rest, staying warm, and eating good food. We both know he wasn’t getting any of that before we found him. . . Ah Lin obviously tried, but. . .”

Nick trailed off. He and Jarrod both thought again of the frightening conditions of the place where they’d found the two of them.

Jarrod asked, “But, what about his shoulder, the head wound, and, . . . ?” Leaning forward, he returned the almost empty mug to the table, and stopped speaking. Then, he looked down at the floor, his forehead supported by his hands, elbows on his thighs.

Quietly, he continued, his voice sounding far away, “Nick, I was so afraid we were going to lose him. . . even after we found him there, in that place. . . .”

He lifted his head and searched Nick’s compassionate hazel eyes with his anguished blue, unshed tears making them shine in the firelight. Then, in a half-strangled voice, he implored, “Are you really telling me, that with all the injuries----his head, his ribs, his shoulder, as sick as that doctor said he was, he’s going to be alright?”

Nick placed both boots on the floor and quickly, like a lithe mountain lion protecting one of his own, he rose to his feet and came around the table to sit on it’s smooth surface, directly in front of his brother. He reached out, gently took hold of Jarrod’s sore arms above the elbows, and shook him slightly.

“Look at me, Jarrod,” he commanded. “Look at me!”

When Jarrod, who had dropped his head again after asking his question, slowly lifted his eyes to look up at Nick, the dark-haired rancher said, “Yes, Jarrod. That’s what I’m saying. That’s what Doc Merar told us after he checked Heath again, not two hours ago.”

At Jarrod’s look, Nick explained, “He stayed the night, checked him this morning again, and returned after lunch. The last time, he shook his head, turned his brown eyes on the three of us standing at the foot of Heath’s bed . . . ,” Nick paused, then said, “I swear, Jarrod, his grey eyebrows almost reached his hairline, and he said something about this cussed, blond-headed Barkley being too much of a scrapper, too stubborn to die over a cough and a few busted ribs.”

Then, Nick smiled and added, “He told Mother to watch him closely, because he wouldn’t put a bet against Heath about how long it would be before he’d be sneaking down the back stairs to get his sorry carcass back on his horse.”

Jarrod, his eyes on his brother’s face, had been listening closely to Nick’s words.

Then, when Nick said the last part, Jarrod sat up straighter and started smiling again in earnest. He said, “Now, Brother Nick. I know Doc Merar did not say ‘sorry carcass’ in Mother’s presence. He’s not that foolhardy.”

Nick grinned and gave Jarrod’s arms one last shake, before he stood up and said, “No, you’re right, Jarrod, he didn’t use those exact words, but he did tell us last night that ‘this boy’s been to Hell and back and will survive to tell about it.’ . . . And, she didn’t even flinch when he used the word Hell!”

Laughing lightly, Jarrod stood up and gave Nick a one armed hug, pulling him sideways against his chest. Then, he released him and said, “Thanks, Nick. Thanks for telling me, and for. . . for helping me.”

He moved toward the small side table of crystal decanters, and poured himself a scotch. Then, he glanced back at Nick, waiting.

“Sure, a whiskey,” Nick answered to the silent question.

As Nick returned to his chair, Jarrod handed him his drink and walked past him, leaning his left shoulder against the tall, mahogany mantel, and staring down into the fire.

After downing most of his drink and noticing that Jarrod’s was still untouched, Nick knew it was time to deal with the second part of what needed saying. His words came out gruffly, purposefully leaving no room for misunderstanding.

“Jarrod, it was my fault that Kyles got in that rail car. . . my fault that he got to the two of you, not yours. It was my fault, Pappy, and I’m sorry. I should’ve backtracked and checked with you again, moving outward from there as soon as I saw that Mother and Audra were alright. If only I’d come back sooner. . . “

Jarrod had closed his eyes as Nick had started speaking, his jaw set into a hard line.

Then, suddenly unable to listen to anymore, he whirled on Nick, his blue eyes flashing, and he said loudly, “No, Nick! No! It was not your fault! It was mine! Your job was to keep Mother and Audra safe, to get the men in place outside. I let that man get all the way inside our car, all the way inside the berth. I let him hit Heath again, let him almost kill my brother, right before my eyes. . .”

He stopped, closing his eyes, and turning back to the mantel, left arm reaching up to clench the wide shelf above his head with his hand. The untouched drink was in his other, hanging limply down at his side. He added quietly, “The brother we’d both only just found again.”

Nick reached him in two strides, took the glass from his hand, and, for the second time inside of a week, he reached up to hold onto Jarrod’s heaving shoulders from behind him, lowering his own dark head to rest it between his brother’s shoulder blades.

Quietly, he said, “No, Jarrod. You’re wrong. It was too late by the time we arrived at the station. The only thing that would’ve made any difference at all was for me to have stayed with you in that car or to have returned sooner than I did.”

As Jarrod lifted his head, Nick could tell he had his brother’s attention, and he raised his head as well, speaking next to Jarrod’s ear.

“Billy mentioned to some fellas he was talking to, when the telegram came, that we were arriving on that train, and somehow, probably from lurking around down at the depot like Korby always did, Alan Kyles heard about it. The sheriff’s since found out from other passengers that Kyles must’ve boarded the train as soon as it slowed down to make the last curve into Stockton. . . . Jarrod, he was already on board when I left the car. I should’ve never left the two of you!”

Jarrod turned in front of Nick and used his left hand to grasp Nick’s right arm. He continued to search Nick’s eyes, as understanding dawned.

He said, his voice stronger now, “It wasn’t your fault either, Nick. I should’ve kept my guard up, but somehow, . . . I don’t know, . . . Heath started coughing when the doctor came in, and we started talking about the best ideas for getting him out of there . . . I guess we didn’t hear Kyles come in. I should’ve been paying closer attention. . . .”

He trailed off as he remembered his sudden realization of why it had been so important to Heath to walk out of that car, about how he had . . .

“Heath asked me for his gun, Nick, before Kyles came in, though I never had a chance to find it and give it to him,” Jarrod smiled slightly and shook his head, still incredulous. Then, he continued, “He refused to step off of that train and have us worrying about keeping him safe instead of focusing on Mother and Audra. He . . .,” Jarrod stopped, remembering his own words to Heath about how he needed to accept help from his brothers, and Heath’s lop-sided smile as he finally agreed.

In that moment, before Kyles barged in on them, Jarrod had known both, that Heath had forgiven him, and that what Charlie had told them had been true. He had not been wrong about that, after all. . . . If Kyles had succeeded in killing one of them in that railcar, at least the other would have known they had reached that all-important, silent understanding between them, beforehand. . . .

Swallowing hard, Jarrod said, “He could barely stand, Nick, and he insisted that he help us, instead of the other way around.” Jarrod shook his head, smiling slightly, but he added, his voice full of relief and pride, “Our little brother is all Barkley, Nick. All Barkley. And, I think he’s finally beginning to accept it, to understand that being a Barkley means we accept help from each other, as well as giving it, though there never was any question of whether or not he would give it when the time came.”

Nodding, Nick reached out and shook Jarrod by the back of the neck, both of them remembering for a brief second, . . . seeing the blond galloping toward the Sample’s farm, jumping that fence, and riding in to stand beside them in the fight that had only just become his.

Then, Nick said, “He needs his big brothers, Jarrod. Both of them. And, we need him. . . You know, it sounds to me like you both looked out for each other pretty good in a tough situation yesterday.”

Shaking his head, his eyes clouding over slightly, Jarrod said, “Kyles bragged that he was going to take the two of us with him to use as hostages. He planned to use us in the jailbreak to release his brothers and father.”

Taking a deep breath, he added quietly, his eyes almost losing focus as he remembered, “After Kyles hit me the second time and knocked me down, Heath stood over me, and he told Alan to get out. He stood up to the man, Nick, trying to keep Alan’s attention on him so I could recover from him hitting me in the back. He could hardly stay on his feet, could hardly breathe, but there he stood, above me, weaponless, with his eyes like blue granite, staring the man down.”

Nick grasped Jarrod’s arm, as he continued, “When Kyles hit him, Nick, all I could think about was that . . . that he was going to kill him right there, with his fists. That Kyles wouldn’t have to shoot him to finish him, but that, after all Heath had been through, after all I’d put him through, he was going to die right there, in that train car, defending me.”

“Jarrod,” Nick said quietly, gripping his brother’s arm tighter, “Doc Merar told me what you did, how you defended Heath. He said that Kyles told you several times to move out of his way so he could get to Heath. He even hit you so hard Doc thought you should’ve already been on your face on the floor, long before Kyles succeeded in knocking you to your knees, just because you were trying to keep him away from Heath.”

Jarrod shook his head, staring down at the floor for a minute. Then, he said, “When Kyles pulled me up by the arm and started to hit me for the third time, . . .”

“. . . Because you had refused to help him by getting Heath on his feet,” Nick inserted, recalling the events the doctor had told him about.

“I couldn’t move either of my arms by then. Heath, . . . he couldn’t breathe, Nick, couldn’t quit coughing, but he had already pulled my gun from my holster as soon as we were both on the floor, and . . . and, Heath shot Kyles before he could hit me again, Nick. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t waver. He just shot him.”

“And,” Nick asked quietly, “If he hadn’t?”

“We may have both wound up dead, maybe even the doc, Sune, and Ah Lin as well. . . You, too, because, hearing all of that gunfire, you would’ve come barreling in there, ready to take on an army of Kyles’ to get to us, and the man would’ve shot you down without any remorse.”

“So,” Nick finished, “You and Heath both did what you had to do to defend the other. . . I’d say you were right, Jarrod. Part of being brothers means accepting help from each other, and you both proved yesterday that you’re the best of brothers under the worst of circumstances.”

Epilogue to follow…