Empty Promises

Chapters 30-40

by Redwood

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

(Many posts contain series dialogue, which I try to indicate by using italics. The original writers were terrific----and their dialogue always flowed so smoothly! I bow to their talents! However, sometimes, italics are used in my story to indicate a flashback, from one part of the story to another.)

Chapter 30

The dawn was slow in consuming this dark expanse of trees on the western side of the divide. They had been in the saddle for almost forty minutes before they could tell much difference in the sky, slowly turning from charcoal black, to dove grey, to blush pink. The quiet of the changes almost slipped up on them, for even the birds in the treetops were more silent than normal as the group of eight riders made their way, mostly single file, though sometimes in pairs, along the trail.

Riding at the front, Nick shivered slightly in the cool, damp air and kept his eyes out for any potential trouble. All they needed was for Heath’s horse behind him to step into an unexpected hole, be spooked by an equally frightened creature of some kind, or slip in any of the scattered muddy places that still dotted the trail in areas that would remain in deep shade, even when the sun cleared the peaks above them to their right.

Soon, they would turn with the next ridgeline toward the west, and the highest peaks would be mostly at their backs.

Nick heaved a sigh borne, half from enjoyment of the crisp temperatures and early morning beauty, and half from relief about the sure-footedness of the little black mare following directly behind him.

He glanced back over his shoulder again, and he caught Jarrod’s amused expression. After narrowing his eyes in a momentary, very meaningful glare at his dark-haired brother, he turned back around.

That Jarrod! There he went again, laughing at him with his eyes. Just because he tended to keep turning around and checking on them, didn’t mean he was acting like a ... a ...

What was it Jarrod had said to him last night when Nick had been taking a turn sitting with Heath and had made a comment about needing Jarrod to bring more cold water for him to use? ... Just because the pitcher was still half full, didn’t mean he might not need some more!

“Nick, I swear, someday you’re gonna make some child a fine mother!”

A good mother!

“Well, we’ll just see about who makes the best mother someday, Mr. Jarrod T. Barkley,” Nick thought, as he fought with himself to keep from turning his head and checking again on Heath’s progress. Under his breath, he mumbled, “I don’t see you letting him any further than an arm’s length away!”

Growling to himself, Nick then jogged his horse forward, around a wagon-sized boulder, checking out the terrain ahead. Behind him, Heath and Jarrod maintained a steady, walking pace, negotiating the wide, muddy depression in the trail that Nick had passed a few moments before.

Suddenly, Nick heard a shout from McCall behind them.

He wheeled his horse around and charged back around the boulder cutting him off from the others. However, he had to pull up abruptly to keep from plowing into the two horses following him.

“What the hell was that about?” he demanded, as soon as he could see that everyone in the now halted procession was alright. The men moved their horses to the right enough so Nick could pass them going the other way, though it meant he and Coco had to slog through the not-too-deep, muddy water of the large puddle that covered her fetlocks.

“Sorry, Nick!” Duke McCall said loudly from the rear.

Then, as Nick approached, he added, “I heard a rider coming in pretty fast. But, it was a false alarm, not trouble. This here’s Denny Hodges, one of the men from back down on the road last night.”

By now, Nick had reached the man speaking, and, if it was possible for someone with one arm in a sling to cross both arms, Nick came fairly close as he stared at the red-haired younger man.

“What do you want?” he demanded harshly, his hackles still up about the way the men with Aaron Hastings had treated Heath.

“Uh, Mr. Barkley,” the obviously intimidated young man stammered, “Mr. Hastings wanted me to bring your brother something. He ... well, we all feel pretty bad about what happened, and ... “

“What is it?” Nick asked again, just as gruffly, wondering why the man would have sent a rider all this way to deliver something to Jarrod. Whatever it was, why not just mail it to Stockton later?

The young man, his face blushing furiously, had turned to untie something from behind his saddle. Then, his words tumbling out like a runaway ore cart headed downhill, Denny said, “I tried to find you last night, but missed you somehow back in that camp. Then, this morning I should’ve figured you’d get an early start. I should’ve been watching for you closer. Anyway, my boss, he wanted your brother to have this ... It’s Mr. Hastings’ coat. His daughter just sent it to him last week, and ... ,” the young man grinned mischievously, his words continuing to come tumbling out, “And, he says she’s gonna be powerful mad ‘til he explains to her how it was, but it’ll be worth it. He said it would ease his conscience greatly if your brother’d accept it as a gift from him ... in apology.”

“A coat?” Nick asked, looking down at the pale green, sheepskin-lined coat he had just leaned forward and taken from Hodges. “Why would he send Jarrod a coat?”

Then, as realization dawned, Nick’s face broke into a huge smile that lit up his face.

“My brother, huh? ... Well, you tell Mr. Hastings from me, that he couldn’t’ve picked anything to give Heath that he needs right now any worse than this fine coat. Even if he probably won’t like accepting it, I’ll see to it that he does ... and that he wears it!”

Suddenly, Denny reached out and caught Nick’s arm. He spoke again, but his voice was sharpened by concern, “Mr. Barkley, your brother, his name is Heath?”

Nodding, his eyes narrowing again, Nick said, “Yes, that’s what I said. Why?”

“Um, well, I just ... You see, I...”

Impatiently, Nick growled, “Spit it out. What is it?”

“Uh, that man ... back at the camp ... I stayed at that saloon with the rooms for rent over it, and I overheard him when I was downstairs. He was talking pretty big last night ... He seemed pretty angry at somebody named Heath ... And, he was ranting like a barking coyote tied to a tree with his dinner just out of reach ... He was saying some pretty rough things, making some serious threats ... all of them thrown in your brother’s direction.”

“What’d he look like?”

“Dark hair, kind of slicked down all over, dressed like a miner ... I didn’t realize it at the time, but now it makes sense. He must’ve been mad ‘cause of what your brother did to stop those wagons.”

“O’Doule,” Nick muttered under his breath. Then, he said, “Thanks, Denny. We’ll watch out for him. I appreciate the information.”

“Anytime, Mr. Barkley,” Denny said. Then, nodding, the younger man started to turn his horse away. But, he stopped and said with a small chuckle, “Oh, I almost forgot. I guess I would’ve had to ride half-way to Stockton to find you if I did. Here.”

He reached just behind his leg and pulled out a worn, but obviously well cared for rifle. “This is his, too. Your brother’s. One of the men told me he dropped it after they shot him, and I went looking for it last night.” He hesitated as Nick took the rifle from him, looked it over curiously, then handed both to McCall, who was waiting silently beside him.

Hodges started speaking again, “I ... I did my best to get the dirt out of...”

Nick, however, interrupted him, “Thanks, Denny. That was a fine thing you did. If you ever decide you need a different job and don’t mind butting heads with a few cows, you look me up in Stockton. I can always use another reliable man on my ranch.” Nick reached out with his good arm to shake the redhead’s hand, as he finished speaking.

Then, his eyes shining, Denny Hodges nodded back at him. Touching the tip of his hat, he turned his horse and headed the several miles back toward Lonesome.

As he turned his own horse, Nick reached out to take the coat and long gun back from McCall. Then, balancing them across his thighs with the fingers of his almost immobilized hand, Nick caught the questioning look the older man gave him.

“Your brother?” Then, slowly nodding as understanding dawned despite Nick’s silence, Duke added, “He’s from Strawberry, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, Mac,” Nick said quietly, his eyes serious, “He’s Father’s son, the son we just learned about ... but, the trouble is ... I don’t even know if he knows it ... Or if it’ll be like this coat, here.”

At Duke’s lifted, bushy grey eyebrows, Nick took a deep breath and added, “He may know about it, and he may need it, but he may not be willing to accept it because he’ll feel like it was given to him, offered to him, only out of obligation. Somehow, I have to convince him that the Barkley name was meant for him as much as this coat was. And ... that no matter what, accepting it and wearing it proudly is the right thing to do.”

His mouth open, Duke watched his normally gruff employer gather himself, stuff the compassion and worry in his eyes back deep down inside, and set his determined jaw.

Then, he saw Nick’s eyes glitter with the acceptance of this new challenge, and, as Nick picked up his reins in his good hand and urged his horse into motion, Duke heard him mutter, mostly to himself, “But, what he doesn’t know yet, is that I’ve got just as much of Tom Barkley’s stubbornness in me as he does ... One way or another, that boy’s going to wear this coat ... and he’s going to call himself a Barkley!”

* * * * * * * *

“Mother! Have you seen my ... ?”

Audra trailed off as she entered her mother’s bedroom, the pale cream of the tastefully decorated interior a soft counterpoint to her mother’s strikingly blue silk dress and shiny silver hair. The small, quiet figure was seated on the cream cushion of a window seat, staring outside at the activity outside in the street. She did not turn in response to her daughter’s words.

Crossing the floor, her stylish boots silent on the thick, cream and coral rug, Audra eased down on the same cushion, arranged the skirts of her own pale green silk gown and reached out to take her mother’s hand.

Tears sprang to her blue eyes immediately, as she saw her mother’s face for the first time, and she reached out, pulling the tiny woman into a comforting embrace. Then, whispering into her mother’s hair, Audra asked, “Mother, please! Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Slowly, her mother’s arms reached up to return the much-needed hug, and she caught her breath with a gasp in Audra’s ear, before leaning back to sit up straight, her posture regal once more.

“I’m alright, Audra. Thank you, Sweetheart.”

“No, Mother,” her daughter said adamantly, “You’re not. You haven’t been since Nick returned from that mining camp with that young man, and we came here so you could gather those stock contracts for Jarrod ... Please tell me what’s wrong! Because ... I know something is!”

With a sigh, Victoria Barkley took her daughter’s hand, and squeezed it between her fingers. “We’ll return home in a few hours, Audra, and I’ll be better by then. It’s just that ... that...”

The compassion and puzzlement in her daughter’s eyes was too much, however, and Victoria gave in to Audra’s need to understand.

Audra was on her way to becoming dazzlingly beautiful, and she was going to turn many heads in the next couple of years, but she was also a highly perceptive, empathetic young lady who loved her family dearly, even fiercely. Making up her mind, Victoria realized it was not fair to keep her in the dark much longer, especially since none of them knew what the next few days were going to bring.

Turning to face her fully, Victoria reached out and took both of her daughter’s graceful hands and said quietly, “Audra, you know that Nick and Jarrod returned to the mining camp at Lonesome, while we came here to collect the votes we need to try to end this strike in a peaceful manner. Now that we’ve obtained all the ones we could here, we’ll leave for home shortly. But, when we get there, I’m not sure what will happen next.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you think the boys will be able to get Mr. Murdoch’s votes that the three of you were talking about?”

“Yes, I think, from Jarrod’s telegram, that they already have. But, it isn’t that simple. Many people have been affected by this strike, and some of them are apparently, as you heard Heath tell us, angry enough to resort to violence to get their concerns addressed. I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get all of this sorted out, but it may take a great deal of our focus for a while.”

“Mother, we need to do whatever we can to help those poor families there,” the blonde responded earnestly. “I heard what Heath said about the children and the older people who can no longer work. It’s important that we take steps to set up a school for the children and provide for the men who’ve been hurt, the ones that can no longer take care of their families! They were our employees, just like the men on our ranch, the ones in the bunkhouse. We don’t push them out in the cold after they’ve worked for us for years, even if they’re injured!”

Audra’s color rose with her voice, as her beautiful blue eyes flashed her indignation. Then, with her mother watching her closely, she added softly, “I’m so upset with Father! Do you think he really promised those people things that he failed to take care of?”

Squeezing her daughter’s hand, feeling the surge of pride and betrayal well up inside her heart at Audra’s words, Victoria smiled through the brimming tears. “I don’t know, Audra. I just don’t know what happened, or why. We’ll just have to take things one step at a time, but at least now we know about it, and we can make plans to set things right ... But,” she said, lowering her voice almost to a whisper and reaching up to touch the side of her daughter’s face, “There’s something else ... something you don’t know about ... And, while I think you’re old enough to hear it and can even help with any solution that can be made to it, it isn’t easy for me to say it to you.”

“What is it, Mother?” Audra asked softly, her compassionate blue eyes on her mother’s grey. “Please tell me. I know, whatever it is, it’s something that has had you in turmoil for days...”

Suddenly, her hand flew up to cover her mother’s cold fingers on her face, and she gasped, “It’s something to do with Heath, isn’t it?”

Startled, but somewhat relieved, Victoria asked, “Yes, Sweetheart. How did you know that?”

“I just ... There was just something about him that day in the study. At first I was intrigued by him, though I thought he was terribly rude, coming in and saying those things about Father. And, for a few minutes, I was even afraid of him ... But, after a little while, I decided it was like listening to Jarrod or Nick ... or even Father, when one of them would get all wound up about some...”

Then, her eyes widening, she said, “Mother, that’s it! Isn’t it? He IS like Nick and Jarrod ... and Father ... isn’t he?”

“Yes, Audra,” Victoria said, lifting her own hand, her fingers entwined with Audra’s, to her face. She kissed her daughter’s fingers and held them to her, resting her cheek against them. Then, she said quietly, her voice barely audible, “Heath is your Father’s son. We think his mother was a woman named Leah Thomson from another mining camp years ago. It was called Strawberry ... He’s probably about four years older than you and four years younger than Nick.”

“Oh, Mother,” Audra breathed. “How could Father do that to you? ... What’re we ... ?” But, she trailed off, watching her mother’s face.

Victoria had closed her eyes, tears leaking out from around the edges and trickling slowly down her face. Audra reached out and pulled her mother into a tight embrace, rocking her slowly and stroking the back of her silver head.

After a few moments, Victoria sat up, and, pulling a handkerchief from inside the sleeve of her dress, she dabbed at her face, and smiled at Audra. Taking her by the hand, they both stood up and crossed toward the door of the room.

There, they hugged one more time, briefly, before Victoria said, “Audra, let’s finish packing and head for the train station. As much as I enjoy being in Jarrod’s townhouse, I’m ready to go home. Once we get there, we can talk some more about this. But, no matter what happens, I want to tell you that I plan to try to talk Heath into staying with us, into becoming part of our family. And,” she hesitated for a few seconds, then said, “I’ll need to know I have your support in that decision, because it will affect us all.”

Hugging the tiny woman again, Audra said through her own tears, “Mother, I am so proud of you! And, you don’t even have to ask. You have my support.”

Pulling away from her and touching her mother’s soft cheek again with her fingers, Audra added softly, “I don’t ... I don’t understand it all, and I’ll want to ask you some more questions about it, but I know you’re not prepared to talk about it any more right now. If, as you say, Heath is my brother, then ... then, I want the chance to get to know him as much as you do.”

Chapter 31

The five Barkley hands sat off to one side of the small mid-day fire, passing around a canteen of water and making inconsequential repairs to equipment or swapping a few stories, all in a hushed, too quiet manner.

They kept throwing concerned glances to the activities on the other side of the small fire, meeting each others’ knowing eyes, and looking away until the next time one of them could not keep his worried eyes from straying back in that direction. Occasionally, one of them would add another piece of kindling to the fire, stirring the coals a bit, and open the lid on the small tin coffee pot.

At one especially loud curse from Nick, all of them froze and looked in their boss’s direction, then, slowly looked away, trying to concentrate on anything else.

It was obvious to everyone that, like the water in the coffee pot, Nick was about to reach his boiling point.

“Jarrod,” Nick growled, struggling to keep his voice down, “I’m telling you, we have to keep going. It’s the only way he’s gonna make it.”

But, before Jarrod could reply, they both heard Heath’s quiet voice, “...Still ... her-r-re ... Talk ... ta me ... Bark-ley.”

“Alright, Boy. I’ll talk to you,” Nick said, surprised. “Jarrod, here, thinks we should...”

“Hold on, Brother Nick,” Jarrod interjected, reaching out to help Heath take a drink from a blue tin cup and wincing at the obvious effort it took. “I’m still here, too, and I can explain for myself.”

Meeting his eyes, Jarrod said, “Heath, I think we need to stay here for more than just long enough to rest the horses. We should stay for several more hours and let you get some sleep if you can. Then, we can start off again afterwards.”

The exhausted, light blue eyes watched Jarrod as he spoke, then they slid over to his right to look into Nick’s hazel. Without saying anything, Heath made it clear he was waiting to hear what Nick thought before he responded.

Impatient, Nick did not need any more invitation than that. “Your fever is up, Boy. I think we should keep riding as long as you can sit a saddle. Then, I can hold you in front of me if need be, or we can stop again if we have to when you can’t go any further.”

Immediately, Heath’s left eyebrow shot up, and he looked back at Jarrod, asking, “...‘He always ... this ... way?”

Chuckling, Jarrod replied, “If you mean, bent on getting his way, no matter what, then I’d have to say an unequivocal ‘yes.’ If you mean, is he always willing to hold people in front of him on his horse, I’d have to say only if they’re pretty.”

Ready to protest, Nick suddenly reached out and gripped Heath’s shoulder with his good hand, as he and Jarrod both saw a jolt of pain slice through the blond, like a lightning bolt hitting a solid tree.

Heath’s eyes closed tightly, and he reached up, grabbing hold of Nick’s wrist, as his jaw visibly clamped down. Though no sound beyond a sharp, stifled growl escaped his pressed together lips, both men heard his breathing change.

When he opened his eyes, they were darker, and he blinked rapidly, fighting with himself.

“Heath,” Jarrod asked quietly, “How can we help you?”

“...’on m’horse ... ,” he said, already trying to pull himself up and off the ground, his hand still holding onto Nick’s wrist.

“Alright, Heath,” Nick said, working with Jarrod to help him back to a standing position and trying to keep from jostling his leg. “Alright. But, just let us help you, now. Go slow.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw McCall pouring out the coffee, using it to douse the flames, he heard the sizzle of the fire as it was extinguished, and, in front of them, he saw one of the other men bringing Heath’s horse closer.

He gave Heath a moment to collect himself as he felt the blond shake his head a few times, as if trying to ward off dizziness. He coughed hard for a few minutes, spitting out the thick substance before turning his face into his shoulder to wipe the corner of his mouth. He took a couple of deep breaths as he lifted his head, focusing on something in the middle distance.

Slowly, he nodded his head.

Then, with several of them working together, and with a minimum of comment or verbal response from Heath, Nick and Jarrod managed to get his arms into the sleeves of the pale green coat and help him back into the saddle above them.

It was only when Nick turned to take his own horse’s reins, that he heard Heath say to Jarrod, his voice in tight control from above them, “...‘spectin’ ya’ ta ... come up with ... ’nother ... option ... ta ridin’ ... with him.”

Nick said immediately, tossing a grin at the two of them, “Well, I don’t expect you’re my type anyway.”

Jarrod added, as he swung into his saddle, “You’re right. You don’t want to ride with him, Heath. He really doesn’t have much experience with that sort of thing ... because most of the pretty girls won’t go out with him.”

“Now you know that’s not ... Oh, and you think you do better, huh?” Nick inquired, switching tactics in mid-sentence and grinning at the two men as he turned his horse back to the west slope of the trail.

“Yes, Nick. I know I do,” Jarrod said, with a wink at Heath.

The blond beside him only gave him a slight nod and lifted one corner of his mouth in acknowledgement.

His eyes, Jarrod saw, were focused, but not on anything close, and they were narrowed in concentration. His breathing was slowing, and his jaw remained locked tightly.

Watching him closely, Jarrod did not see him blink, except for the brief moment when he turned his horse’s head and followed behind Nick.

It was as if he were no longer here on this trail with them, but as if he were somewhere far away, seeing things they could not, trying to hold himself in, struggling with more pain than Jarrod wanted to imagine.

* * * * * * * *

Cursing the broken arm that prevented him from being able to spell Jarrod, who rode with Heath propped up in front of him in the saddle, Nick held Coco back and let his older brother go on ahead.

“Duke!” Nick called, as he glanced back and saw the slowly setting sun across the now visible valley taking shape below them through the trees. When the older man rode up beside him, Duke’s worried eyes flickering toward the two men riding together on the sorrel up ahead, Nick nodded toward Jarrod’s back and said, “Go on up with them, Mac. We’re gonna push on ‘til we can’t see the road in front of us, and it’s liable to get rough before it gets better. I need to tell the boys why.”

Nick knew the time had come to explain to the rest of the men what the connection was between himself, Jarrod, and Heath. Though some part of it bothered him to think they would know before his family had even had a chance to talk about it with the blond, he knew he couldn’t keep pushing his men this way, expecting them to just go along with it out of loyalty, without some explanation.

And, in loyalty to his own, innate nature, only the truth would suffice.

Besides, if they were somehow able to convince the blond to stay, the whole valley would have to know eventually ... And, even if they weren’t successful, Nick still intended for them all to know how he felt about this boy, who was obviously his father’s son and someone worthy of the name Barkley.

Raising his eyebrows, McCall reached out and gripped Nick’s arm. “They didn’t know your Daddy like I did, Nick. Do you want me to tell them for you? Maybe that would make it easier.”

“Thanks, Duke,” Nick said, shaking his head. “You’ve always stood beside me, and I appreciate you for it more than I’ll ever be able to say. But, this is something I have to do.”

Duke nodded in understanding.

“You go on and help Jarrod get him as far down out of these mountains as you can while there’s still some light. The rest of us will stop here a few minutes. Then, we’ll catch up to you.”

“Sure, Nick.”

As he pushed his horse on ahead, it dawned on Duke that Tom Barkley, though a man who had obviously done some things that had come back to haunt his family, would have had reason to be plenty proud of the way all three of his sons had turned out.

And, when all was said and done, what better legacy could any man hope to leave behind him on this earth?

Nick turned his horse, and he waited for the others, watching the slowly descending four men, their horses moving carefully toward him on the shifting shale of the fairly steep slope of the trail he had already traversed. They had all had the good sense to spread out on this particular portion of the track, which had been Nick’s main reason for the choice of this spot for his conversation with Duke. It had given him a moment of privacy with his foreman.

Now, waiting in the wide spot at the base of the steepest part of the slope, Nick gathered them one at a time as their horses plunged carefully down the eroding trail, each rider leaning back in his saddle, keeping his upper body parallel with the ground and giving his horse every chance to maintain balance on the sharp descent.

Watching their tired faces as they each reached the more level place where he waited, Nick felt both the loyalty of each of them, and the unease with which each greeted him. He understood their growing uncertainty about what he had been asking of them on this trip.

Nick Barkley was a born leader of men, and he recognized the need to rally his men around him and his family. He knew that if he explained to them what he needed from them and why he needed it, they would be there for him. And, he knew he was going to continue to need their unquestioning help in getting Heath down out of these mountains and to a doctor as soon as possible.

But, the choice had to be theirs.

When they were assembled, Nick looked each of the four of them in the eyes, and he spoke confidently, “I know you and your horses’re worn out, Boys, but Jarrod, Mac, and I are going to push on to the ranch. If you want to stay here the night, there’s that place with water we passed on the way up yesterday. I’d say it’s another two miles or so on down.”

“What about Heath?” Billy Muller, the one leading the riderless black mare, spoke up worriedly, surprising Nick. “How’s he holding up, Mr. Barkley?”

Unable to keep the concern from his eyes, Nick responded to the youngest man, “He’s still out, Billy.”

“You think he’s gonna make it, Nick?” John Bishop asked, also reflecting some measure of Nick’s concern.

Nodding with confidence he no longer felt, Nick said, “Yeah, John, I think he will, if we can get him home.”

The two men who hadn’t yet spoken glanced at each other at Nick’s use of the word “home.”

Seeing their look, Nick said in a no-nonsense voice, “I appreciate everything you’ve done, coming with us like this, being willing to take on whatever unknown situation we were riding into last night, and now trying to get that boy back to the ranch and to the Doc. You may’ve already figured it out from some things that’ve been said, but I want you to hear it from me now.”

He paused, took a deep breath, looking into each pair of eyes again steadily, and he said, “My family just recently found out about Heath. He’s the son of my father that we never knew about. He’s a Barkley, just like Jarrod and me ... He’s my brother, and I aim to get him to the doc down in Stockton just as quick as I can. But, I’ll understand if any of you don’t feel the same urgency I do. I appreciate you sticking it out as long as you have. We couldn’t have gotten this far without you. Just having you along kept us out of trouble up at the camp for sure.”

Again, glances were exchanged among the four of them, along with a few nods.

It was John Bishop who spoke first, his eyes containing the same amount of noticeable worry as before, “If there’s anything my being with you can help with, Nick, I’m right behind you all the way. That young fella’s as tough as they come, and he’s earned my respect ... I don’t care what his name is or who his Daddy is ... no disrespect intended to you or your family, Boss.”

“Thanks, John.”

“Is he going to stay on the ranch, Mr. Barkley?”

“I don’t know, Billy,” Nick said, his throat closing even as he felt his eyes turn to stone at the thought that what he had told his men might cause them to not want Heath there, simply because of the circumstances of his birth.

Quickly, the younger man spoke up, looking down at the horse on his right, and away from his boss’s glare, “No, no, Mr. Barkley. I didn’t mean it that way ... It’s just, well, this horse...” He nodded toward the black mare.

Recovering a bit, Nick said tersely, “What about her, Billy?”

“I ain’t never been around an animal like this one,” he said, wonder creeping into his voice. “She’s got the best ground manners and trail sense of any horse I’ve ever seen, and she just seems to float over the ground, no matter how rough it gets...”

“Yeah, she’s something, Boss,” Abe Washington interjected from further back, a note of awe in his voice.

Glancing as the others responded with heads nodding slightly, even quiet Joel Spalding, who had not yet spoken, Nick looked back at Billy, who had started speaking again.

“I was just thinking that I’d like to work with any man who could train a horse like that. ‘Might be a good hand to have around ... somebody Ol’ Sawdust and I could sure learn a thing or two from, anyways.” Billy patted his dun-colored mount on the neck fondly as he spoke.

Nodding at the sincerity in the young man’s voice, Nick said, “Thanks, Billy. I’ll tell him you said so, next chance I get.”

Turning his horse, he heard John say from over his shoulder as he moved off, “We’re with you, Nick. Let’s get that boy home to the ranch and get him well. When we get close to Stockton, one of us’ll ride in and find the doc, and one’ll go ahead to get a wagon out to meet the rest.”

Nodding again, Nick glanced back at the men, a growing grin on his face, and he said, “Thanks, Boys.”

Pushing his horse back into a controlled lope on the more level trail stretching out before them, he couldn’t help a quick look back at the little black mare, noticing how sensibly she moved along with Billy, and the smooth, easy transitions of her gait from walk to rolling canter.

He smiled as the warmth of hope began to spread through his chest, as he contemplated for the first time a future with Heath by his side on the ranch he loved more than life itself.

Chapter 32

Jarrod and Duke had made good progress on the more gently sloping trail, despite the long shadows stretching across the track from the landscape around them.

When he joined back up with them, Nick’s smile was still in place, a noticeable remnant of his pride in what his men had shared with him about Heath. But, as soon as he pulled up alongside Jarrod and took one glance at both men’s faces, he knew his elation was premature.

“What is it, Jarrod? Duke?” Nick demanded loudly.

Pulling back on his reins, Duke allowed Jarrod, shaking his head slightly, to keep going, while he moved his horse beside Nick’s. They fell into step behind the white-blazed chestnut.

“Heath’s bleeding again, and he’s starting to get difficult for Jarrod to hold onto.”

“Well, if Jarrod’s tired, let’s switch off. Arm or no arm, I can take a turn at holding Heath,” Nick responded, preparing to catch back up with them.

Reaching out to stop him, Duke said, “No, Nick. You don’t understand. He’s burning up, and he’s getting delirious. Not only that, but we may have to cauterize that wound to stop the bleeding.”

His hazel eyes widening, Nick shook his head vehemently, fear replacing the hope of moments before, “No! We can’t, Duke! The bullet’s still in there!”

“I know, Nick. And, I’ve never had to cauterize a wound with a slug still in it. I don’t know what’ll happen if we try it, but I do know that a tourniquet could cost him his leg. And, much as we don’t want to, we may have to do one or the other, ‘cause if we don’t get that bleeding stopped again, he won’t make it to the ranch.”

Nodding curtly, Nick said, “Let’s get him to that campsite down the trail, then.”

“Yep,” Duke said, releasing Nick’s rein, “That’s where they’re headed.”

Urging his tired horse forward, Nick caught up to Jarrod and rode beside him a little ways on the widest part of the trail.

As they rode adjacent to each other for a few moments, Nick searched Jarrod’s face, seeing the tiredness, as well as the worry that seemed permanently etched around his older brother’s eyes.

“He’s burning up, Nick,” Jarrod said quietly. “And, all this riding ... it’s not good. Did Duke tell you the bleeding’s started up again?”

Nodding, watching Heath’s head moving against the side of Jarrod’s face, Nick swore under his breath as the blond started muttering something neither of them could make out. Then, Nick said, “I’m going up ahead to get some water and start a fire.”

“Alright, Nick,” Jarrod said with a slight smile, trying to relieve a little of his brother’s fear. “I’ll get him there to you in just a little while. It’s smoother here, so we’ll pick up the pace some.”

Suddenly, both of them were caught off guard as Heath opened his eyes and spat out in a dangerous voice, “Get away from me, Bentell, you Maggot. Ain’t got nothin’ you want!”

His eyes were narrowed to slits, and he immediately resumed tossing his head back and forth, growling with his teeth clenched together and reaching up to push away Jarrod’s arms, as if he were fighting off someone only he could see.

Halting his horse, Jarrod wrapped his reins quickly around the horn and used both arms to hold onto the struggling blond.

“Heath. Heath!” he said, his normally calm, well-modulated voice rising as he fought to hold the blond steady, trying to keep them both balanced in the saddle. Glancing off to his left, he realized they were closer to the steep slope than he had thought, and he picked up his reins before urging Jingo forward carefully, continuing their slow progress toward the suitable campsite he knew was up ahead.

“Can you hold him, Jarrod?” Nick called from in front of him, cursing himself silently again for the broken arm that prevented him from taking over from his brother.

“I think so, Nick. Let’s get going. Find someplace more level.”

“Easy, Heath,” Jarrod breathed, as he felt some of the tension leave the blond with the horse’s resumed forward motion. “I know you’re hurting. Easy now.”

Setting the pace, Nick led them down the trail, turning every fifty yards or so to look back at the two men on horseback behind him. Though Heath was still mumbling and tossing his head back and forth every so often, he was no longer fighting Jarrod off.

He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw the clearing among the trees and heard the stream headed down the mountain below. He dismounted and carefully led Coco over across the rushing water, and he tied her, loosened her cinch, and removed the saddle, hauling it over toward the base of a tree with one hand wrapped around the horn. Then, he crossed back over the fast-moving stream, using a fallen log and some large, flat rocks to keep his boots as dry as possible.

After waiting for Jarrod, he led the chestnut back across, then, steadied them both while Duke McCall joined him. Together, they held the blond in place while Jarrod slipped down backwards off of Jingo’s hindquarters. Then, the three of them eased the almost unconscious Heath down sideways and carried him over to a protected area of the clearing.

As John got some water boiling and the others took care of the horses, Nick, Jarrod, and Duke concentrated on the blond. They placed him on a bedroll, and Nick stayed with him while Jarrod brought over supplies they may need.

Lowering himself to his knees beside Heath’s right leg, Jarrod carefully cut away the white bandage, now soggy with fresh red blood. Nick cursed at seeing the situation up close, and he raised his hazel eyes to meet Jarrod’s worried blue.

“It’s not looking good, Nick,” Jarrod said. “I think Duke’s right. We may have to cauterize it. He can’t go on like this.”

“What if you sew him up, Jarrod?” Nick asked. “You did that for me that time up at the lodge. I know it was a bad cut and not a bullet wound, but it stopped the bleeding.”

Shaking his head, Jarrod said, “I don’t think that will work in this case, Nick. The bleeding’s not on the surface. It’s coming from deep inside. I don’t see what a few stitches on the outside will do to stop that. It may just make it worse.”

Taking the bottle of iodine from Duke, as the older man lowered his knees to the bedroll beside them, Jarrod carefully poured the dark brown liquid directly into the wound, trying to ignore Heath’s tossing head and his angry mutterings about someone by the name of Bentell. Despite all of that, Jarrod was grateful that Heath was not conscious enough to have to endure the burn of the stuff.

Then, Jarrod handed the bottle back to Duke, who capped it again with the cork. He rummaged around in the brown woven supply bag Brydie had replenished for them and pulled out a strip of white cotton cloth.

He glanced down at the blond and was relieved to see him lying quieter, almost as if he were waiting for the next step.

“I’ll hold it, Duke, if you’ll cut it for me. Right here,” he directed. Then, glancing up at Nick, his own blue eyes bright with an idea not yet tried, he looked back at McCall and said, “How about sliding over so I can roll this up. I’m going to try something.”

As the other two watched, he made a tight roll of the material, about six inches long. Then, Jarrod folded it in half and held it in one hand, while he held out his other to the foreman. “Douse my fingers with some more of that iodine, will you, Mac?”

As the older man complied, Nick returned his attention to Heath.

The blond had not moved much, just tossing his head and mumbling ever since they had gotten him lying on his back on the ground, and the dark-haired rancher was surprised now to see the light blue of his barely open eyes steadily watching Jarrod.

“Jarrod,” Nick said, catching his brother’s concentrated attention. He nodded down toward Heath, from where he was now struggling to sit up.

“Easy, Heath,” Nick said quietly, as he moved behind the blond and once again supported his back, stretching his long legs out, one on either side and pulling Heath up against his chest. Heath groaned at the movement, but seemed to breathe easier once it was done. Nick, leaning back against the tree behind him, wrapped his one arm around Heath’s chest and propped his chin on the top of the sweaty blond hair.

Heath shifted his head and tried to see him, simultaneously asking, “Bark-ley?”

“Right here, Boy. I’ve got you. Whatever Doctor Barkley’s about to do won’t be pleasant, but we’ll get through it together. Do you hear me?”

Letting the tension in his muscles dissolve just a little, Heath nodded beneath Nick’s chin. Nick closed his eyes for a moment, and he pulled in a deep breath. He could feel Heath’s trust in him, in both of them, leap out and surge through him ... and in that instant, he knew he would never willingly let go of this boy, even if he had to fight the devil himself to keep him by his side.

Then, as Duke replaced the cork on the bottle, Jarrod turned his attention to the now silent blond. He saw immediately, that Heath was lucid and that his jaw was clenched tightly against the pain he was already in. He felt his heart lurch at the thought of causing more, but he reasoned that Heath knew he would only do what was necessary to help him.

“Jar-rod?” Heath said brokenly, reaching out to grab his arm as if he could read the dark-headed lawyer’s unspoken thoughts. “I’ll thank ya’ now for ... for what you’re doin’ ... ‘Know it’s tough on you...”

Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Jarrod nodded.

He could not reply, however, as he thought about the kind of man that would reach out to make someone else’s task easier, despite his own struggles. Shaking his head a bit, his heart full, he glanced up at Nick. Then, he looked back into Heath’s eyes, again seeing the light blue watching him steadily.

Another idea occurred to him.

“Heath,” he asked quietly, “Have you ever heard of someone cauterizing a bullet wound with the bullet still inside? Do you know if it could work? Or what damage it might cause?”

The younger man’s countenance never changed as he looked back at Jarrod steadily and replied as casually as if they were discussing the possible weather three months from now, though he was struggling a bit to breathe through the pain, “...‘seen it done ... to a soldier with a miniball ... lodged in a shoulder ... couldn’t get the bleedin’ stopped for hours ... we made camp ... an’ tried ta save him.”

Nick and Duke exchanged long, perplexed looks, as Jarrod maintained eye contact with the blond.

When had this boy, that couldn’t be but a few years older than Audra, found himself in that kind of situation? Most cavalry soldiers Nick knew had quit using miniballs right after the war, and that had been too long ago for Heath to ...

Their mutual, silent thoughts were interrupted, however, when the two men heard Jarrod ask, “What happened to him, that soldier?”

They turned their eyes back to Heath as he leaned sideways away from Nick and coughed hard for a moment, then, after several deep breaths, continued to talk to Jarrod, though his voice was a little more raspy.

“...Died ... That bullet got so hot ... it just burned inta him ... ‘til he begged us ta shoot him again ... Took two more hours b’fore he ... breathed his last ... ‘Helped bury him.”

Jarrod turned his head and looked at Duke McCall, who shook his head at him. Then, he turned the other way and met Nick’s wide eyes, as he reached down and grasped Heath’s shoulder.

Jarrod said, “We’ve got to get the bleeding stopped, Heath, but none of us has ever tried it when the bullet’s still lodged in the wound ... But,” he assured, smiling slightly, though he found himself feeling a bit sickened by what he and Mac had almost done, “We’ll come up with something else. We also need to get your fever down, Heath. You’ve been out of your head some, already.”

Again, Heath reached up and grasped the dark-headed man’s arm and he said, “Some packets’a medicine in my ... in my saddlebags ... Boil some water ... add the powder from the ... the grey leather poke ... Then ... just shove that roll’a cloth ya’ve made ... down inta the hole ... It’ll stop the bleedin’ ... ‘Least for a while.”

“But ... with the bullet in there...” Jarrod started. He was interrupted by the quiet resolve of the blond’s voice.

“Then, give it ta me ... ’s my leg ... I’ll do it.”

Heath began to struggle against Nick, releasing his hold on Jarrod’s arm and trying to push Nick’s off of his chest.

All three of them reacted immediately.

“No, Heath!” Nick shouted in his ear.

“Whoa, now,” Jarrod soothed, reaching up to push the sweat-soaked young man back down against Nick’s chest. “I wasn’t saying I wouldn’t or couldn’t do it. I intend to. I just wanted you to know how bad it’s likely to get ... Try to relax, Heath. You’re with family now, and we take care of each other. You don’t have to do this on your own. We’ll be right here all the way.”

Breathing hard, Heath closed his eyes, leaving them uncertain as to how much he had heard or understood of Jarrod’s words. He groaned against the instant fury of the erupting, burning pain that coursed through his leg, and he arched his back against Nick’s chest, pushing his head back into Nick’s collarbone.

Jarrod reached up and clamped down on Heath’s shoulder, as Nick felt the blond grip his wrist with an iron force. The groan that escaped through his clenched teeth tore at all of them. It was like being on foot and watching a man being drug across a rough field by a galloping horse. There was nothing any of them could do except hope that the agony was over quickly.

As his breathing slowed, they both felt some of the extreme tenseness drain away, and Jarrod saw the slits of blue appear again beneath the hooded eyelids.

After a moment, Jarrod took the small, slender roll of cloth from Duke’s hand, and he folded it over carefully.

Jarrod said, trying again to make sure Heath understood him, “You’ve got Tom Barkley’s stubborn, proud, defiant blood in you, Brother Heath. Now, let’s see if we can’t keep what’s left of it right where it belongs.”

As Duke positioned himself to lean all of his weight down across the blond’s legs, and Nick set his arm across Heath’s chest into a viselike hold, Jarrod searched the blue eyes for both acknowledgement and permission.

Waiting for a few seconds, he saw the blond blink, then slowly nod his head.

“What-ever ... ya’ ... say ... Doc,” Heath ground out, his left eyebrow lifting slightly, followed by a barely noticeable, one-sided grin.

“Alright, Heath,” Jarrod said. Then, taking a deep breath, he clamped one hand down on the gaping, oozing bullet wound and, with the other, pushed the curve of the folded cloth with his iodine-covered index finger, plunging the rolled material inside as far as he could.

Long seconds later, Jarrod extracted his finger, and he sat back on his heels with a sigh of relief. He reached up with his arm and drew his shirtsleeve across his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had dripped into his eyes, despite the cold temperature.

Searching for any sign of seeping blood and not seeing any, he nodded his head. Then, turning his face, expecting to see that the blond was unconscious, he was surprised to see the pale blue of Heath’s eyes barely open, but still looking at him, his lips pressed together in a straight line.

As Nick relaxed his hold on him and Duke eased off of his legs, Heath reached out to grasp the dark-haired man’s bloody hand in his.

Before closing his eyes and giving in to the pull of the darkness he had been fighting for long minutes, he said clearly, “Thanks ... Jarrod.”

Chapter 33

“Morning, Nick,” Jarrod said, walking over to stand beside his silent, dark-haired brother.

Receiving only a nod, Jarrod looked at him as Nick stood by the streambed, watching the water rush over the rocks on its way down into his precious valley below. His broken arm was tucked into the sling, this time on the outside of his thick, tan coat, and he flexed his fingers as he brought the tin cup of coffee up to his lips to drink with his other hand.

Jarrod eased down to sit on a large rock to his right, and he, too, stared at the water, while he waited for Nick to begin speaking ... as he knew he would.

After a few moments, he turned his head, watching Duke and the other men behind him, readying for the journey in front of them.

Then, he turned back around, looking up at the tall, imposing figure above him. Nick was now staring out over the grey morning, watching the dawn slowly beginning to illuminate the valley floor.

“Jarrod,” Nick said softly, “When we lost Father, part of my soul died with him. He was the man I wanted to be, the partner that I counted on, the one man that knew me better than I knew myself, who wanted the same things with the ranch and out of life, that I did.”

He took a deep breath and continued, “It hurts, Jarrod, causes a pain as deep as the bullet in that boy’s leg, to think that, even if he didn’t know about him, the fact is he left Heath out there ... left him to grow up without a chance to learn from him all of the things my father taught me. But ... it also hurts to know that Father never got a chance to know Heath, and except for this strike up at the mine, we wouldn’t have either.”

Nodding, Jarrod stood up from the rock and placed both of his hands on Nick’s shoulders from behind him. Together, they stood watching, as the grey landscape slowly grew lighter down below.

“Jarrod,” Nick added, “You know, I’ve learned something though ... just from being around Heath already.”

“What’s that, Nick?” Jarrod responded, with a slight smile playing around his lips at the quiet admission.

“I’ve always thought I’ve become the man I am because of who my father was, because of the example he gave me, because of the path he set before me to follow with my life.”

Nick paused a moment, taking a sip of coffee. Then, he turned to look directly into Jarrod’s vivid blue eyes and said, “But, meeting Heath, and knowing he too is a son of Tom Barkley, seeing the kind of person he is, the intensity and honor that he brings to things he believes in ... I’ve started to wonder if much of who I am isn’t more a measure of me ... than of my father.”

“What do you mean, Nick?” Jarrod asked immediately, stunned at his brother’s thoughts. “Are you saying you always thought you were destined to turn out this way because of Tom Barkley’s example, not because you had control over any of it yourself, not because of the choices you’ve made along the way?”

“Yeah, something like that. I think I’ve been giving Father too much credit for who I am, and not giving myself enough. But, getting to know Heath just a little in the last few days, I’ve been struck by the idea that he didn’t have Father, and he’s turned out to be ... well ... What do you think, Jarrod?”

“What do I think?” Jarrod asked, pausing for a second. Then, he took a deep breath, watching Nick’s eyes, and he added, “I think the person you keep calling a ‘boy,’ Brother Nick, is a young man with more fortitude, pride, and honor, than most men ever grow into, despite a lifetime of experiences, no matter who their parents are. And ... I think he has a rancher for a big brother that has the same fine qualities in great supply.”

Smiling slightly, Nick nodded at Jarrod. Then, he gestured with his coffee cup out toward the valley below.

“Let’s get him home, Jarrod. I know a special lady down there who desperately wants to spend some time getting to know that ‘boy,’ and I for one, think he’s going to need her just as much as she needs him.”

* * * * * * * *

Relieved to see the bleeding had not started back since the last time he had checked the dressing, Jarrod relaxed a moment and sat back on his heels. Then, he leaned forward again and touched the side of Heath’s face with his hand. Smiling slightly at the cooler feel to Heath’s skin, his grin grew when he saw the pale blue eyes crack open.

“Makin’ your ... rounds, Doc?” Heath drawled softly. He immediately began coughing slightly.

Jarrod quickly helped him raise his shoulders, and as the coughing eased, Jarrod reached to his right side, picked up the tin cup of water he had brought with him, and raised it to Heath’s lips, holding it for him as he took a few swallows. Easing him back down after several moments, Jarrod patted Heath on the chest.

“Rest easy, Heath,” he said, “We’ve got a few more things to do, then we’ll get back in the saddle, and we’ll head for the valley. Your leg isn’t bleeding any more, at least not with you lying still, and your fever seems to be down some.”

Then, pausing, Jarrod asked curiously, “What was in that powder you had me mix up for you last night, anyway?”

“Mount’n ... misery,” Heath said, grinning lop-sidedly.

Looking at him askance, as if he thought Heath had made up the name, Jarrod repeated, “Mountain misery?”

“...the white flowers ... all around ... ,” Heath said, gesturing vaguely with his hand.

“Oh,” Jarrod responded, wondering about the experiences of this young man as he pushed off of the ground to get to his feet. Jarrod was more tired than he cared to admit, especially after holding Heath in front of him for much of the day yesterday, and he was moving rather stiffly.

Reaching up, Heath grabbed Jarrod’s wrist as he rose, stopping his progress. Slowly, Jarrod eased back down beside the blond, looking into the pain-filled eyes and the bruised face. As he waited, he was pleased to see that the exhaustion from yesterday was slightly less noticeable.

“Did ya’ mean ... what ya’ said ... last night, Jarrod?”

Without hesitation, Jarrod answered, not having to wonder what part of the previous conversation the simple question was referring to, “Yes, Heath, I did. Nick and I both meant it.”

He patted the brown cloth of the torn shirt showing through the unbuttoned front of the light sage green coat. And, he added, searching Heath’s blue eyes with his own, “Our mother ... she knows as well. She realized who you were as you told us about Lonesome Camp the other day at our ranch.”

Jarrod trailed off, watching the blue eyes narrow slightly. Then, he resumed speaking, letting the honesty of his words settle into the space separating them. “And ... she wanted us to find you, Heath, to bring you back to the ranch to stay, to be part of all that our father built ... if you want to be.”

“She knows? ... An’, she ... ?” Heath asked, trying hard to concentrate on what the dark-haired man was saying, struggling to be sure he heard him right.

He heard a roaring in his ears like the sound of a waterfall pounding on the rocks beneath it, the constant mist of the spray all but blinding him for a few moments. The ground beneath him seemed to shake from the force of the words, their flow interrupted as they hit the rocks at the bottom and reverberated in the depths beneath the surface.

“Yes, Heath. She did.”

Smiling a little at the only outward response, at the narrowing of the blue eyes and the eyebrow that lifted in question, Jarrod continued, unaware of the fingers digging into the brown blanket on the other side of Heath’s body, unmindful of the left boot heel scraping up and down into the dirt as Heath’s left knee lifted and lowered again several times as Jarrod spoke.

“Let me see if I have the facts straight. Your mother is Leah Thomson, and you were born in Strawberry, or at least that’s where Tom Barkley met her over twenty-four years ago.”

Heath closed his eyes, and Jarrod felt a shudder go through him. When he reached out, grasping Heath’s shoulder, the blond turned away from him, curled up slightly on his side, and he began to cough again.

Jarrod could do no more than hang onto him as the wracking coughs brought up phlegm from deep inside his chest. As the coughing subsided, and Heath rolled towards him, Jarrod helped ease him onto his back.

Heath’s eyes remained closed tightly, and his breathing was ragged. But, he said quietly, his words slurring a little, “Only one ... one thing wrong with ... what ya’ said.”

“What’s that?” Jarrod asked, squeezing Heath’s shoulder again.

“Ya’ said my mother ... is Leah Thomson.”

Sudden fear that they had made a mistake slammed into him, and Jarrod was immediately surprised at his own, strong sense of loss. He asked quietly, “She isn’t?”

“...‘name was ... was Leah Thomson. ... She’s dead now.”

Jarrod breathed deeply, amazed to feel the instant relief that warmed his cold chest upon hearing Heath confirm that he was who they had thought him to be. Then, just as quickly, he felt the hurt of Heath’s loss, his loss of someone he loved.

“Heath, I’m sorry.”

“...‘been gone ... four months ... ,” he explained haltingly. Then, Heath asked, breathing hard, “How’d’ya’ know?”

Tapping the bruised face lightly, Jarrod said simply, with a smile, “You and Nick are too much alike for it to be a coincidence, and you and Audra ... you met her back at the house ... the resemblance is, well, it’s kind of hard to ignore what’s right in front of you.”

With a slight nod of his head, Heath rasped, “Your Mother ... she’s sure somethin’.”

Jarrod chuckled for a moment, then said, “That’s what Nick said about you.”

They remained silent for a while, one with his eyes closed, and the other with his eyes looking out into the coming morning. Jarrod was thinking back over Heath’s words, wondering about the young man’s mother, when he saw Nick approaching with their horses.

“Heath,” Jarrod said quietly, “It’s time. We’ve got to get you home, now.”

“Boy Howdy,” he wheezed, opening his eyes and turning up his mouth in that slight, lop-sided grin, “...‘Was just gettin’ ta ... like this place.”

Nick met Jarrod’s eyes in instant worry that Heath had resigned himself to not making it much further. Then, the booming voice exploded from him, “None of that, Boy! We’ve got a ranch to run. And, we can’t do it from here. Now, let’s get to it.”

Heath did not make a sound as they helped him to his feet, but he began shaking his head, protesting between coughs when he did not see his mare saddled and waiting. “Where is she, Bark-ley? ... not sharin’ a saddle with ... either’a you ta’day ... least not ... ,” he stopped to cough again, before he finished, “At least not yet.”

“Of all the stubborn, hard-headed ... ,” Nick grumbled as he and Jarrod leaned him against a nearby rock. Then, Nick turned away, smiling broadly the whole time, relieved to see the return of some of the blond’s earlier fire, as he stomped over to Billy, waiting at the back of the group of men, and retrieved the little mare from him.

“My brother wants his horse,” Nick explained to the men sitting astride their mounts and watching the exchange. His smile was infectious.

Leading her back, Nick admitted to himself that he was impressed with the animal. She was too small for his tastes, and he hadn’t paid much attention to her before. But, now he saw that she possessed solid, rippling muscle, her coal black coat was gleaming, and she had an intelligent look in her eye.

Helping Heath back to his feet, the dark-headed brothers watched as he grabbed hold of her mane, and scratched around the closest ear, speaking to her quietly. Then, he briefly checked her cinch, and he eyed the stirrup hanging down. He seemed to be gathering himself for the coming ordeal of getting awkwardly into the saddle.

“Heath, we’ll help all we can, but you’re gonna have to pull yourself up and get your leg over again. We’ve been through this before, and you know there’s no easy way to ... ,” Nick started, reaching out to take him under the left arm.

But, before either of them could make a move to help him any more, Heath grabbed the saddle horn and smoothly vaulted into the saddle from a standing position on the ground, shocking them both.

“...to do this,” Nick finished, looking up at him, then over at Jarrod, who was standing there, his eyes wide and still trying to go over in his head what he’d just seen.

“I think he just told you to shut up, Nick,” Jarrod said, smiling suddenly.

Above them, Heath was unaware of their reaction, as he grabbed his injured thigh, and leaned over toward the mare’s off side, coughing again. Then, slowly righting himself, he grinned down at the two of them and said, “Hope I haven’t caused ya’ ta make ... another house call so soon, Doc ... I’m sure I’ll need your services again ... before the day’s over.”

Turning the mare, he let her pick her way daintily across the stream. Then, he headed her toward the downhill slope of the trail.

Watching after him, Jarrod just shook his head, and Nick grumbled, a huge grin on his face, despite his words, “Doesn’t know his place, that boy. I lead when we’re on the trail!”

“He’ll learn, Nick,” Jarrod chuckled as he turned away to lead his horse across the water. “He’ll learn.”

“Yep, Big Brother, I reckon he will. In fact, I think I’m gonna learn a few things from him along the way as well.”

Chapter 34

With Heath in the lead down the last bit of mountain trail, there was no need to hang back and wonder if the pace was too fast for him, so they made good time.

Nick was grinning broadly, his pride in this new brother soaring.

Jarrod, however, was worried.

“Nick,” he said, watching Heath’s back as they followed him at an easy lope through a thick stand of pines, “Don’t you think he needs to slow down some?”

“He probably just wants to get to the ranch to start living like a Barkley.”

“Nick, I’m serious. And, besides ... you know he’s already living his life like...”

His eyes twinkling, Nick interrupted, “I know, Jarrod. I know. And, he sure is a Barkley to be proud of, isn’t he?”

“Nick!”

“Well, he’s as hard-headed as you, Jarrod. Why don’t you try talking some sense into him?”

Pushing his horse to catch the little black mare, Jarrod nodded as he passed Nick. “Me? I don’t think I’m the ...” Then, changing his mind, he said over his shoulder, “Alright, Brother Nick. I believe I will.”

When he pulled up beside the blond, he saw that Heath’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat and that his eyes were narrowed into ice blue slits.

“Heath,” Jarrod said, “Heath! There’s no need to...”

“Beggin’ your ... pardon, Doc,” came the reply. “But, it’s time ta get ... down off this hill ... while I can still ... ,” he said, breaking into a cough, before he could finish, “...still sit a saddle ... I’ll make it down ... But, after that...”

Reaching out, Jarrod grasped Heath’s left shoulder and squeezed it. He said, nodding, “Alright, Heath. I don’t have to like it, but I understand ... How’s your leg holding up?”

“...‘not bleedin’ ... Thanks.”

“We’ll check it again later, then. Just remember, you’ve got two strong brothers to help you when you need it. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, Doc,” Heath replied, turning his head and flashing Jarrod a lop-sided grin, “...I hear ya’.”

Nodding, satisfied, despite how pale and drawn Heath looked, Jarrod reined in his horse slightly, and horse and rider fell in behind the black mare.

He would have to content himself with staying close in case this younger brother needed him.

* * * * * * * *

Shaking his head, Jarrod saw Nick riding up out of the corner of his eye forty-five minutes later, and he heard the grumbling, growling irritation emanating from him as he approached.

Reining in a bit to allow Nick to catch up, to allow him to have his say, but hopefully out of earshot of the blond up ahead of them, Jarrod smiled softly to himself. Sometimes Nick was so gruff and prickly when he was trying to hide his concern for someone ... but, Jarrod knew him to be very soft-hearted, easily worried, and overprotective when it came to taking care of family and those he considered too weak to take care of themselves.

For some reason, it tickled him to see Nick struggling to figure out exactly which of those Heath was. If the last few days had proven one thing, it was that Heath was anything but weak. And, Jarrod cautioned himself silently, just because they wanted Heath to be a member of the family ... and he hadn’t said no to the things Jarrod had said to him a little while ago ... they still didn’t know what he wanted.

“Jarrod,” Nick demanded, as soon as he brought his horse up beside Jingo, “Jarrod, you haven’t been very successful getting him to slow down. When’re you gonna tell him he better get his carcass back here to ride with you?”

Smiling again, Jarrod patiently let all of the words tumble out from beside him before he bothered to respond.

Then, he said, “Nick, now you know...”

But, apparently, he had still stepped in too soon, because Nick wasn’t finished yet, “He’s got to be hurting, Jarrod, and he just won’t admit it! In fact, he won’t admit he needs help at all! ... Durned, stupid, mule hide of his...”

This time, taking a deep breath, Jarrod kept silent for an extra long moment, waiting to be absolutely sure that Nick had wound down.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say anything? Don’t just sit there smiling and trying to make me think you aren’t worried about him, too!”

Jarrod sighed, loudly. He might as well give up!

Then, taking a deep breath, he looked at Nick before he opened his mouth. Satisfied, that Nick was looking back at him expectantly, that he wasn’t going to start speaking and Jarrod wasn’t going to find himself cut off again, he ventured to say, “Nick, you’re the one that told me to let him set the pace ... not an hour ago, remember?”

Then, plunging ahead as Nick opened his mouth to reply, Jarrod mentally kicked himself for starting off with a question and giving his brother an opening, and he said quickly, “I did talk to him a little while ago. You saw me ... He knows he won’t make it very long before he needs help. Unlike some people I can think of, he isn’t being foolhardy. He’s thought this through.”

Dammit, he’d done it again.

Jarrod reached up to rub his tired eyes and berated himself silently. He was too exhausted from lack of any real sleep for too many nights to think straight.

He’d given Nick something to respond to, instead of saying what he’d needed to say first. And, he could tell from Nick’s open-mouthed stare that he didn’t have long to finish what he’d set out to explain.

Jarrod held up one hand toward Nick, trying to physically hold off the explosion he knew was about to erupt.

“Nick, he just wants to get down off the slopes. He knows he’s just slowing us down, that we can’t get a wagon up here to him. Then, he promised he’d slow the pace some. The last I checked, his leg wasn’t bleeding, and his eyes were still...”

Too late, the words began pouring out of the dark-haired rancher beside him.

“Jarrod, he’s just being stubborn, and one of us had better go up there and talk some sense into him before it’s...”

But, this time, neither of them got to finish what they had been planning to say, as they heard Heath shout something, just before they heard the loud retort of a gunshot.

Pulling their handguns, Nick and Jarrod both charged forward, trying to reach the blond, who had put a good forty yards between them while they had both been talking. As they closed the distance, they saw Heath throw his left leg over the back of his horse and slip from the saddle on the off side. He pulled his rifle from its scabbard as he dropped, and they heard him cry out as both boots touched the ground. Then, they saw him swat his horse on the rump with the rifle just before he fell and rolled down a brush-covered embankment on the right side of the trail.

His horse continued on another fifty yards, before she stopped and stood still.

Reaching the place where Heath had disappeared, Jarrod dismounted quickly, gun in hand, and crouched down, leaving the trail and sliding down the small slope. Nick, however, charged on, firing two shots just to keep their attacker busy. He watched the trail ahead for a place from which a gunman could be hidden while he rode toward the greater cover available among some rocks a few more strides ahead.

He dismounted, headed his horse back the other way, and quickly stepped in among some waist-high boulders on the left side of the trail, taking care to avoid the steep slope just beyond his position, but mindful of the particularly thick stand of hardwood trees up ahead.

There was a horse moving around up there, off the trail, of that he was sure.

Behind him, he heard Mac and some of the men, and he glanced over with approval, knowing they would spread out to cover him.

“Drop your gun and come out of there!” Nick yelled, certain now that he could make out a lone figure crouched down just off the trail, attempting to take cover behind a tree that was too small for the purpose.

The only answer to his demand was another shot, which went way wide of its mark, assuming Nick was now its target.

Smiling dangerously, Nick saw the man stand up and fire again, his poorly aimed shot going too far overhead to do any damage. This man, whoever he was, was not very experienced in this kind of thing. But, the nagging thought remained, if it was someone from Lonesome Camp as Denny Hodges had warned him, how had he gotten in front of them?

Confirming Nick’s suspicions, the angry, distinctive voice rang out, giving the Irishman away, “It’s Heath I’m wanting. Give him to me, Barkley, and I’ll let the rest’o you go on about yer business!”

“Come on out, O’Doule!” Nick responded. “He’s worth ten of you, and we’re not giving him up, not to you, not to a whole gang of Mollies ... not to anyone!”

Then, kicking himself for not taking Denny more seriously yesterday, Nick realized the man could have gotten by them last night. Nick had been so concerned about Heath, he hadn’t paid much attention to protecting him from further attack, neither had he given the threat much credence.

Well, that would be the last time someone would threaten his brother and find Nick Barkley napping when he should have been ...

Suddenly, the man started firing at them, and he broke from the cover of the trees, running across the trail, probably trying to get closer to where he had last seen Heath.

As the bullets careened off of the rocks protecting him, Nick eased out to the side of one, crouching down low, and he fired off a single, carefully aimed shot, hearing several others at almost the same time. He was satisfied to see the man, dressed in nondescript miner’s clothing, spin backwards from the impact of the bullets and fall to the ground, just on the edge of the trail.

Never taking his eyes from the man, whose pistol was lying in the damp dirt next to him, Nick slowly stood up, stepped around the rocks, and made his way toward him. He was joined by Duke McCall and John Bishop, all three of them keeping their own guns at the ready.

As they slowly approached, they could see the man’s glassy-eyed, rapidly blinking stare, his lips moving. Nick nudged the pistol away with the toe of his boot, and he looked down at the man, shaking his head.

“... was ... my friend ... ,” O’Doule whispered. “Turned ... ‘gainst me ... Wanted ... to ... teach ... the ... bas-tard ... a ... les-son-n...”

The lips stopped moving, the man’s head slumped, and his eyes became an unblinking stare, focused on nothing.

“Friend of yours, Nick?” Duke asked, squatting down to close the man’s unseeing eyes.

“No, but I think he was once a friend of Heath’s. A friend turned enemy, all because they had a difference of opinion about how to settle this business up at the mine. He led the men that tried to kill me earlier this week.”

“The Mollie Maguires you told us about?”

“Yeah. I think, though that he was more interested in the power of it all than he was in really helping the miners. I got the feeling that Barkley-Sierra was just a cause he used to make himself necessary.”

Reaching out to grasp Nick on the good shoulder, Duke said, “Me and the boys’ll take care of burying him. You go check on your brothers. I think they need you more than this fella does.”

Nick looked up at McCall’s worried eyes, and then he glanced back down the trail.

Turning in that direction, Nick said, “Thanks, Mac.”

Chapter 35

Jarrod froze for an instant, as he reached the bottom of the short, but steep embankment. He knew Heath had come this way, but for the life of him, he couldn’t see him. Dropping down, trying to keep his head below the level of the trail above them, just as more firing began, he searched the wooded slope with his eyes.

“Jarrod,” a quiet voice off to his left said.

Then, heaving a sigh of relief, he spotted the blond, lying face down, just off the trail and slightly above him. Climbing back up and lying down beside him, gun still in hand, Jarrod saw that Heath had his rifle trained on the area from which the first shot had come.

“Heath,” Jarrod whispered. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah ... Just a might tired’a bein’ ... shot at.”

Nodding, though the blond’s attention was aimed in the other direction, Jarrod then responded by placing his hand on Heath’s shoulder and saying, “Do you know who it is this time?”

“Some-one ... I’ve known ... for a long time ... I sus-pect.”

“Someone from the camp?” Jarrod asked incredulously. “One of the Mollies?”

“The one who ... fan-cies him-self ... their lead-er ... Deon O’Doule ... ‘Nev-er could shoot ... worth a cuss.”

Smiling slightly at the words, though they were spoken in such an exhausted, halting manner, Jarrod sobered quickly as they both heard additional gunfire.

Heath immediately took aim and fired a single shot in one fluid motion, as if the long gun were simply an extension of himself.

“Dam-mit, Deon!” he exclaimed, as he struggled up from the ground before Jarrod could stop him, and he started down the trail toward where Nick and the men behind him were now stepping out from cover among some rocks. But, unable to take more than two hobbled steps on his leg, Heath could not bite back the stifled cry of pain as it gave out beneath him.

Jarrod caught up to him quickly and grabbed the blond beneath the left arm, pulling him around to lean his back against a rock on the side of the track.

”Easy, Heath,” Jarrod said.

He could see the pain the blond could no longer hide, as his jaw muscles clenched, and his eyes squeezed shut. He clamped down on Jarrod’s hand with a crushing strength.

Then, Jarrod heard him whisper brokenly, “Boy ... How-dy ... Doc ... Gotta ... get this-s ... ,” but he couldn’t continue, and his words ended in a harsh groan.

“Hang on, Heath,” Jarrod said, wincing at the grip on his hand, but glad for the strength behind it. “Just hang on. It shouldn’t be too much longer. Three hours or less from here.”

Heath’s eyes cracked open, and he said softly, squeezing Jarrod’s hand harder for a moment, “Three...”

Then, his voice stronger, as if he were trying to make clear he was telling, not asking, he said, “No tourni-quet ... Prom-ise me ... Doc ... No tourni-quet.”

Realizing what Heath was expecting of him, Jarrod swallowed hard and nodded, his own voice rasping in his ears as he gave the requested promise, “Alright, Heath ... It’s not going to come to that...”

But, he trailed off as he realized the ice blue eyes and the man behind them were not going to be soothed, nor placated.

“Your ... word ... Jarrod,” Heath demanded fiercely.

Feeling like he could close his eyes and the voice would be that of his father drilling into him, Jarrod blinked them open again and relented, even knowing it could mean Heath’s life. He nodded and said, “Alright, I promise you, Heath. We won’t use it if you don’t want it, not even...”

But, seeing the clear look of understanding in Heath’s eyes, he stopped. Heath obviously knew exactly what he wanted, and Jarrod knew he had no option but to honor any request he made, even if keeping his promise came down to giving up the hope of life-----without his leg----in exchange for his death.

Nodding, Heath began pulling in air through his nose, letting it out in a slow, blowing motion from between his lips.

After a moment, Jarrod felt the iron grip on his hand begin to ease up, and some of the tension beneath his other hand on Heath’s shoulder faded slightly. However, he observed that Heath’s knuckles were white as he gripped the rifle, still in his right hand, with great force.

By the time Nick joined them, Jarrod was convinced Heath was not even aware that he was still kneeling beside him.

“Jarrod! Is he alright?” Nick said, his loud words getting no reaction at all from the blond.

Quietly, Jarrod got to his feet, reaching out to grab Nick and stop him from touching the younger man.

“Nick, come over here,” Jarrod demanded softly, as he pulled the hazel-eyed man to the side.

“He wasn’t shot again, was he?” Nick asked worriedly, though he lowered his voice in response to Jarrod’s.

“No, he’s just in a great deal of pain. But, it’s like he’s...”

“He’s what?” Nick asked impatiently.

“I don’t know, Nick. It’s as if he’s conscious, but he’s not. I don’t know how to explain it. Somehow, he’s handling the pain by ... by focusing inside himself or something. I don’t even think he knows we’re here.”

Nick just stared at Jarrod, then looked over at Heath. He could see the barely-open blue of Heath’s unblinking eyes, staring out over the valley, the white-knuckled grip on the rifle, and the deathly pale, stony face streaked with sweat.

“Do you think he knows we just killed that O’Doule?”

“He knows. I think he helped you.”

Nodding, his eyes widening a bit at the comment, Nick asked, “Alright. Is he ready to travel?”

“He has to be. We’ve got to get him back on his horse and hightail it to the ranch. That’s all we can do.”

“I’ll get her.”

Reaching out to grab Nick’s arm, Jarrod added, “One more thing, Nick. He’s bleeding again. Not as bad as before, but we’re running out of time. I told him three hours, but all three of us know he can’t keep bleeding for that long. The horses are worn out ... he’s worn out ... Hell, we’re all worn out, but we’ve got to cut that in half.”

* * * * * * * *

As soon as the trail began to noticeably level off for the last time thirty minutes later, Abe, John, Nick, and Mac dropped back and let the others go on.

Duke looked at Nick’s worried hazel eyes as Jarrod, again riding behind Heath on the large chestnut, passed them and their steady gazes met. Jarrod gave a slight shake of his head, letting Nick know there was no sign of the now unconscious Heath coming around, just before he lifted his horse back up into an easy, rolling lope.

“Mac,” Nick said, his eyes not leaving his older brother’s back, “We talked about getting a wagon before ... but, how about just riding ahead and telling my mother to have everything ready. He’s still out cold, so I think we can make better time on horseback than by wagon from here.”

“Right, Nick,” the foreman nodded. Then, Duke asked, “John, are you going straight to Stockton for the doctor?”

Nick nodded distractedly, as both men’s eyes found his, silently asking if that was what the boss wanted him to do.

John Bishop answered, “Yep, I’ll find him and bring him straight to the house.”

“Mac,” Abe spoke up, “You stay here with them. I’ll ride to the house for you. From what I saw, it may come down to you putting that army training of yours to use on Heath’s leg.”

The three men exchanged glances as Nick reached up and removed his hat, slamming it down on his thigh.

“Nick?”

“Yeah, that’d be helpful, Abe. Just in case,” Nick responded, turning his hazel eyes back to meet theirs. “Thanks, Boys.”

John and Abe set off at a clattering canter, passed Jarrod on a wide, smooth section of the trail through the scrub and rock-covered low hills in this section of the vast Barkley Ranch, and they let their horses lengthen their strides into a slow gallop toward the northwest. The paths taken by the two men would divide within the next mile, as one headed on to the central part of the ranch and the other rode into Stockton to look for Doctor Merar.

As Duke McCall turned his horse around to catch up with Jarrod, Nick’s hard-edged voice halted him.

“Duke.”

“Yeah, Nick?” the grey-haired man replied, not meeting his boss’s eyes, knowing what subject he was going to broach.

“If you have to put a tourniquet on him, he’ll lose the leg, won’t he?”

Mac pushed his hat forward on his head, stretched with one hand in the small of his back above his belt, and, as he eased back down in the saddle, he replied quietly, “Yeah, Nick. But, there may be no other way.”

His eyes clouding over, Nick glanced at the older man. He saw the set of his old friend’s jaw, and he saw the lines on his face, as he remembered. Nick had heard the story, told to him by his father, of how Duke had left California for two years during the war, and how he had saved an army colonel’s life by using a battlefield tourniquet on him. Tom Barkley had said that the aftermath had been especially hard on Duke, because the man had lost his arm afterwards and had blamed him, never acknowledging what everyone in the regiment knew ... that without Duke’s actions, the man would have bled to death from the wound.

Unable to contemplate what it would be like for his friend, or for Heath, if that drastic action became necessary, Nick reached out, grasped Duke by the arm, and said, “We’ll get him home before that happens, Mac.”

Then, as Duke returned his nod, Nick touched his spurs to his chocolate-colored horse’s sides, and the two men quickly caught up with the rest of the riders following Jarrod.

Nick smiled slightly as he realized that, though none of them expected any more trouble, his men were not taking any chances by letting the tall, dark-headed lawyer and the injured blond get too far out front alone.

Reining in to slow his horse as he came alongside the two riding together, Nick caught the steady gaze Jarrod gave him. His older brother’s eyes and his silence said more eloquently than any courtroom speech-making, exactly what Nick dreaded to hear.

He swallowed hard and looked down and to his left, staring for a moment at the bandage wrapped around Heath’s right, outer thigh, encircling the sliced open brown pant leg. Nick shook his head slightly as he mentally compared the circle of bright red slowly spreading across the white cloth, to the much smaller size it had been a little while before.

Then, lifting his eyes, he stared out into the distance, willing his searching gaze to find the landmarks that indicated the outskirts of the ranch buildings. But, knowing full well that, even at this pace, they had over another hour of steady riding to do before they reached the house, he finally voiced, though in a strangled whisper, the thoughts that threatened to choke him.

“Hold on, Heath. Just a little further, Little Brother. Hold on.”

Chapter 36

“Easy, Boys. Easy now.”

The quiet voice of the doctor directed them as the men on the ground reached up and slowly lowered the unconscious blond sideways and into their strong arms. Working on the off side of the chestnut, they kept Heath’s injured leg as still as possible while Duke, on the other side, eased his left leg over the chestnut’s neck. Jarrod slipped off the back of his horse, from where he had been holding Heath up, and came around to help them, as Nick cradled Heath’s injured leg close to his body and steadied it.

Together, they started up the low steps and moved toward the front door.

Nick was momentarily distracted by the silent, comforting arm that slipped around his waist, and he glanced down into his mother’s worried grey eyes. Nodding at her, he smiled and winked, then continued up the steps with the others. As he supported Heath’s bandaged leg, Nick was aware that the fact that Heath was still bleeding hung like a dark, stormy cloud of worry over them all.

Audra stood just to the left of the door, her eyes wide as they carried Heath past her, through the opening, and toward the gold-carpeted stairs. She took her mother’s hand as the tiny lady approached, and they both turned to look into Jarrod’s exhausted face as he joined them.

“Oh, Jarrod,” Victoria Barkley breathed, turning to him as he folded both of them into his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Audra’s shoulders were trembling as she pressed her face into his soft tan coat and cried openly.

Victoria looked up and met his worried blue eyes. Then, she raised up on her tiptoes and kissed his rough, unshaven cheek, before squeezing Audra’s shoulder and turning for the door.

“I’ll go see if I can be of any help to Howard, Jarrod. You and Nick get cleaned up. I’m sure Silas will have something ready for you to eat when you’re done.”

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said, “I don’t know if Heath will...”

“Sweetheart,” she said, her voice both compassionate and strong as she looked up at him, his hands settled gently on Audra’s shoulders, “You’ve both done all that you could for Heath ... You brought him ... brought him home,” she added, pausing for a deep, ragged breath. “And, whatever happened to him, to all of you, he’s still alive. Now, you and Nick have to get some rest, and let the doctor do what he can.”

Nodding at her, he gently turned Audra toward the door to follow her. “Come on, Little Lady,” he soothed. “Let’s go inside.”

* * * * * * * *

Nick was sitting on the bottom step of the great, curving staircase, leaning tiredly against the newel post, and Jarrod was standing beside him, his arms resting on top of the same section of banister, when Victoria slowly descended the stairs.

That she had been crying was immediately evident to both of them.

Silently, she reached down to Nick, taking his hand with one of hers, while reaching out to take Jarrod’s in her other. Squeezing tightly, she nodded at them, with tears again filling her eyes.

Then, swallowing hard, she said quietly, her voice breaking, “The bullet’s finally out. It was ... difficult.” She dropped her eyes from theirs for a moment, then, seemed to gather herself again.

"But, he's alive?" Jarrod asked quietly.

"Yes, he's still holding on," she responded.

Breathing out harshly, Jarrod swallowed and asked, “Howard didn’t have to use a tourniquet, did he? Not even for a little while?”

Lifting her eyes, she said, “No, Jarrod. Howard understood what you were saying when you came upstairs to tell him not to earlier. He didn’t go against Heath’s wishes, not even ... not even temporarily during surgery.” She squeezed his hand tightly, sharing her assurance with him in more ways than just with her words. Then, she added, “Howard thinks the bleeding will stop in a little while, without having to ... to do anything more drastic to close it off.”

“Will he be alright?” Nick asked, as he moved to stand, and silently, tiredly, accepted Jarrod’s assisting hand under his arm to complete the maneuver.

She shook her head slightly and met his worried hazel eyes with her glittering grey, and she whispered, “I don’t know, Nick ... Neither does Howard.”

She released his hand and wrapped her arm around Nick’s waist, still clinging to Jarrod’s hand with her other. “We’ll just have to wait and see, Sweetheart. He’s lost too much blood, but a transfusion is so dangerous ... Howard wants to wait a while before he decides to take that step. He...”

Interrupting her, Nick said vehemently, “He can have my blood ... All he needs, anytime the doc is ready ... Barkley blood for my Barkley brother.”

Smiling through the tears coursing steadily down her cheeks, she looked at Jarrod’s sad, but understanding smile, and she let go of his hand long enough to reach up to touch her fierce Nick’s face lovingly.

“I know, Nick. I already told Howard that I felt sure both of you would be willing to help with a transfusion if he decides it’s the best choice. I explained to him about Heath and ... and your father, so he knows that it could work. But, he still says it’s too dangerous to try until there’s ... until there’s no other choice.”

“What about everything else? Heath’s been doing a lot of coughing since we found him, Mother,” Jarrod spoke up, taking her offered hand again, tucking it under his arm, and leading her toward the grey settee in the parlour, with Nick following behind them.

“Howard says ... well, he says Heath is a very strong young man, but it’s obvious he’s not been eating very well for at least several weeks ... He’s developed fever, and he’s headed toward pneumonia ... But ... Doctor Merar thinks the blood loss is the most critical worry right now, Jarrod. Heath is ... he’s very weak now.”

Nodding silently, Jarrod looked over at Nick, who was leaning against the marble mantel, his good arm stretched out along it, and then he looked back at her. “Does he know about the head wound? As I thought about it later, after Heath left here several days ago, I was afraid he may have had a concussion from what happened with the Mollies in that camp.”

“Yes, I pointed it out to him. But...”

“But, nothing else really matters right now, does it? Nick asked, his voice clipped and serious, as he interrupted her. “He’s afraid Heath may die from the blood loss, isn’t he?”

“Howard says it’s a possibility we need to prepare ourselves for, Nick ... He asked if he had any other ... any other relatives that should be told...” She faltered, looking back at Jarrod, squeezing his hand tightly. “I didn’t know ... what to...”

Reaching up, Jarrod pulled her toward his chest, and he leaned back on the settee, taking her with him, first stroking her soft, silver hair, then rubbing his hand up and down her back as she cried.

For his own part, he closed his eyes for a few seconds, holding her close, as his own guilt surged through him for a moment. Maybe if he had not made Heath that promise out on the trail earlier in the day, or maybe if he had had the strength to break that promise, perhaps Heath would at least have a better chance to ...

Then, shaking off the disturbing thoughts, but, speaking as much to himself as to the woman softly crying against his chest, he said, “Sh-h-h, Mother. It’s going to be alright. That young man up there has endured so much. And, he’s ... he’s very strong, very good at survival. I have every hope that he will pull through this...”

He had to believe that he had done the right thing. Heath had had enough of broken, empty promises, and no matter the cost, Jarrod knew he had had to keep the one he had made to the younger man.

Suddenly remembering his mother’s anxious comment from a moment before, he added, “Besides, you’re the only mother Heath has left now, and...”

He stopped as she pushed off of his chest and looked at him. “Then, Heath’s mother is ... she’s dead?” she whispered.

To Jarrod’s left, Nick dropped his arm from the mantel and turned around, glaring at him, wondering what else his older brother knew that he had not told him.

“Yes. Heath told me she died four months ago ... You, Lovely Lady, are the only ... the only person that could possibly be a parent to him. And, I have every confidence in you, in all of us ... in his family, to help him pull through this.”

He glanced over as Nick turned back and hit his hand hard against the grey mantel. Then, Nick turned back, and his eyes lifted, meeting his. Jarrod saw the fierce, determined look burning in the hazel eyes, as hot as the flames in the grate near his boots.

Then, he met his mother’s grey eyes, and he saw the equally determined look that filled them.

Smiling slightly, he listened to the iron will of her voice as she said, “Yes, Jarrod. You’re absolutely right. If it’s possible, Heath will survive this, and he will never again have to experience the hardships he’s endured before becoming a member of this family. I intend to see to it that he knows how we feel about wanting him here ... after we help him recover from this situation.”

* * * * * * * *

If anyone had asked Nick about the interminable ride home from outside Lonesome to the ranch, he would have been hard put to explain how they had all made it that far. Some part of him had worried that each time Heath lost consciousness, he would not ever wake up.

Now, as he stood here, in the quiet bedroom, the only sound the soft, yet raspy breathing of the very sick younger brother he’d only known for a week, Nick knew real, unmitigated fear for one of the very few times in his life.

The doctor had come by for the third time since they had brought the blond back to the house, and he had only recently left again. Nick and his family had watched, standing by the foot of the oak bed, as Howard Merar had done more head shaking than talking to any of them throughout his last examination.

The only time he had nodded, as he had held Heath’s wrist, listened to his chest and heart, placed his hand on Heath’s forehead, and checked his leg wound, was as he had cut away the bandage that he had placed around Heath’s thigh earlier in the day. He had apparently been relieved, as Nick was, that the thin trickle of blood had completely stopped the day before and had remained that way.

Afterwards, they had stepped out in the hallway, leaving Silas to continue placing cool, damp cloths across the feverish young man’s forehead and neck.

“Well, Doc?” Nick demanded as soon as the door to the oak-paneled bedroom closed behind them.

With another sigh and a negative shake of his head, the grey-haired doctor said more than words could convey. But, he tried to give his troubled thoughts a voice just the same.

“Am I correct in assuming he’s shown no signs of coming around? Not since yesterday morning?”

“That’s right, Howard,” Jarrod said, glancing over at Nick and seeing the haunted look in his hazel eyes. He reached out and held Victoria close, knowing how hard this had been on her as well.

“Tomorrow morning will be forty-eight hours, then. I have to say that if he doesn’t come around before that, I can’t give you much hope for him.”

“What about that transfusion, Doc?” Nick spoke up, his pacing up and down the hallway not bringing any comment from his mother, since he was careful to stay on the thick, carpet runner and to keep his voice down. In truth, he did not need any reminder to avoid disturbing his exhausted sister, sleeping now in her bedroom at the other end of the second floor.

With another sigh, the doctor said, “I haven’t forgotten, Nick. I just want to give him every chance without it, first. It’s just too risky. There’s too much we don’t understand about why the same person’s blood can help one patient, but can kill someone else, even family members.”

Nodding, Jarrod asked, as Victoria’s eyes watched the doctor’s face, “What about tonight? What else can we do?”

“Well, I’ve got to go check on the Masons for a little while. As you know, Victoria, Libby’s baby is due any day now. But, if it’ll be alright with you, I’ll come back here to stay the night. Then, first thing in the morning, we can be ready for that transfusion, Nick, if he still hasn’t come around.”

Looking up at her hazel-eyed son, Victoria saw his confident nod, and she reached out to place her hand on his good arm. She answered for them both, “That will be fine, Howard. One of us will be watching for you to return later.”

“In the meantime, just keep him as cool as possible, keep trying the smelling salts I left on the bedside table, and if he shows any signs of coming around, even in delirium, try to get some water down him. I don’t want him choking on it, but any water we can get inside him will help with both the fever and the blood loss.”

Shortly after that, his mother had gone back into the room to sit with Heath, while Nick and Jarrod had gone downstairs to see the doctor out. Nick had felt there was more the doctor had been trying to convey with his eyes about something, as he had looked at him steadily, over his mother’s head.

And, following the doctor, he had wanted to see if he had been right.

As he and Jarrod had stepped outside to stand beside the doctor’s buggy, Howard Merar had climbed up, gathered his reins, and looked down at the two of them.

“Nick, Jarrod,” he said quietly, “I wanted to be careful of your mother’s feelings as I said this, but you need to know it. Just because you and Heath have the same father, doesn’t mean your blood is liable to be the same. With different ... well, let’s just say that even both of the two of you may not be able to safely give blood to each other, and you have both parents in common.”

“What you’re saying is,” Nick said gruffly, “That a transfusion of my blood could kill him, simply because our mothers are not the same.”

“Well, that’s not exactly the way I was going to put it, because, as I said, I’ve even heard of transfusions from one full brother to another to fail, with disastrous consequences. We just don’t know enough about the blood yet to understand it all. There is talk among the medical community that there’re different types, and some mix together with no ill-effects, while others do not. Quite frankly, a transfusion’s success is based on trial and error, and the consequence of error is always death. I know you keep mentioning it, Nick, and I admire your bravery for being willing to try it, because there’s always the chance, if something goes wrong, of some of Heath’s blood mixing back in your body and making you very sick, or worse, as well ... But, it’s just something I’m not willing to do unless we know he’ll die without trying it.”

Nick and Jarrod exchanged glances, and Jarrod swallowed hard. Then, in a tortured whisper, he stated, “Duke McCall, our foreman, knows how to use a tourniquet, Doc. I guess maybe I should’ve never promised Heath we wouldn’t use it out on the trail earlier.”

Howard Merar said, looking down at the two of them, realizing for the first time, just how much of a struggle they had had for the last few days, “Frankly, I’m surprised that he’s lasted this long, Jarrod, but he has ... No, I can’t say that you should’ve used one. For someone that determined to live, losing his leg could’ve been just as much a death sentence as bleeding that wouldn’t stop.”

“Can’t say I’d want to go on without my leg, either, when it comes right down to it,” Nick responded quietly, “But, I can’t say I’m in favor of the idea of losing him altogether for that reason.”

Jarrod looked down at the steps, and he said quietly, “I’m sorry, Nick. Maybe we should have talked about it some, the two of us, before I let Heath make me promise that we wouldn’t use the tourniquet. It’s just that he knew exactly what he was saying, and I didn’t feel there would’ve been any choice about it ... And, there was no way I could ever have broken that promise to him once I made it.”

Nick reached out to grasp the back of Jarrod’s neck, while they both heard the doctor say, “Then, you did the right thing for him, Jarrod. It sounds like he knew the consequences of the choices.”

Jarrod spoke up and said, “You feel that by in the morning we’ll know which way to go with the decision about the transfusion?”

“Yes, I do. To be perfectly blunt, Boys, he’s showing signs of slipping away from us now, and I don’t think he’ll last much longer if he hasn’t come around before noon tomorrow. Trying the transfusion at that point, can only make things better.”

Chapter 37

Now, as Nick continued to stand by the window and look out at the stars shining through the wispy clouds in the dark, almost moonless sky, he thought back to the night, exactly one week ago, when Heath had stood at the window of his hotel room, looking out on the deserted street of the mining camp.

At first, Nick had been sure the blond was going to turn on him, that he was watching for his friends to enter the saloon below, so he could make his move. But, the longer he watched, the more convinced Nick had become that this stranger standing across from him was keeping some other kind of vigil.

As he took a swallow from the glass he had picked up from the table, he heard the soft drawl of the blond repeating his own question back at him, “Why’re you here, Barkley?”

Suddenly, he realized, this young man may be able to answer his questions better than the man, called O’Doule, could have done. The black-hearted devil that had left a little while ago was probably the source of the violence, and had too much to hide to be of any help.

And, this boy?

Well, Nick surmised, though probably involved in it at some level and a threat for a betrayal at any moment, he was possibly also a reasonable source of information. He would see what he could find out, while keeping a close eye on him, maintaining his vigilance in case the young man again became a threat.

He decided to answer the question, hoping it would lead to more answers to his own.

“My family owns an interest in Barkley-Sierra, and we want to know what the issues are, why the men are striking, and why all this violence, all of a sudden.”

Heath kept his eyes on the darkness outside the window, but Nick noticed he was starting to sag a bit, leaning now on his hand against the windowsill, as well as the shoulder propped against the wall.

For a fleeting second, Nick felt concerned for him, hearing again the breath going out of the younger man when he had slammed him against the wall, then against the furniture a little while before.

Before he could say anything about it, however, he heard the soft drawl ask without a trace of the expected sarcasm, “How much of an interest? Enough ta control the company? ... Or, are the votes controlled by someone else? ... Who handles the proxy majority, Barkley?”

Startled, Nick’s mouth dropped open. He stared at the side of the young man’s face, unable to see the blue eyes still watching out the window.

“The proxy?” he asked, incredulously. “But ... ? How ... ?”

Heath took his eyes away from scouring the street, only for a piece of one fleeting second, but it was long enough for Nick Barkley to see the carefully controlled anger behind the glance.

“What’d ya’ think, Barkley? That just ‘cause I’m covered in the dirt from your mine, with no time ta look out at ta’morrow, for scratchin’ out’a livin’ ta’day, that I don’t know how it’s done in your world?”

He took a breath and continued, his jaw clenched warningly, “Stock exchanges an’ fancy business suits, proxy votes an’ lawyer-created contracts, shareholders that wouldn’t know a stringer from a spill if they walked right up to one, deep in the depths of the mine ... Oh, you are so wrong, Barkley!”

Nick narrowed his eyes as he rose from his chair, and placed his glass on the table as he crossed the room. He stood staring at the younger man from the other side of the window, his arms crossed.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice puzzled, his irritation held in check by a barrier he couldn’t see, but could feel ... as if to span the remaining space between them was to step blindly into the lair of an unknown adversary whose tactics he didn’t understand, but was already beginning to begrudgingly respect.

The blond continued to watch the street from the window, ignoring the question and the glaring cowboy in front of him.

“I asked you a question, Boy. Who are you?”

Neither intimidated by the tone, nor the presence of the dark-haired man, the only indication that he had even heard Nick was the lifting of his left eyebrow and the slight change in the set of his mouth.

Quietly, he said, “Told ya’, Barkley, my name’s Heath. An’ right now, I suggest ya’ get some sleep, for what’s left’a this night, anyway. Then, ta’morrow, if you’ll accept help from this ignorant, dirt-covered miner, I’ll get ya’ out’a this camp b’fore the Mollies decide ta’ come a’callin’.”

Heath.

Nick turned his face away from the dark glass of the window and looked at the blond lying so still under the dark green of the blanket. How was it that he had first met this boy only a week ago ... yet right now, he felt that he had known him, and wished that he had, for his whole life.

First reaching out and gripping the back of the burgundy leather chair between the window and the bed, Nick stepped around it and sat down heavily, feeling as if he had been suddenly punched in the gut.

Lowering his chin into his hand, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair, he closed his eyes. He lifted his eyebrows in sudden, compassionate misery, and he shivered at the thoughts that careened into him.

He suddenly realized that he felt that he knew this boy because he ... because Heath reminded Nick so much of everyone else in his family.

Heath had his father’s lop-sided smile, his light blue-eyed intensity, his soft, soothing voice made for skittish horses and frightened children.

Thinking back to the way Heath had talked about and worried about those miners and their families, Nick knew he had his little sister’s compassion and gentleness, though he covered those qualities well with an intensity ... a fierceness, and an unbendable stubbornness that reminded Nick of ... of himself.

He also had Big Brother Jarrod’s cleverness and knack for figuring out ways to right a wrong.

Of his mother, well ... while Nick knew she wasn’t related to Heath by blood, he still saw her iron-willed determination behind those blue eyes of Heath’s.

This thought made him immediately wonder what Heath’s mother had been like, and if ... if there had been some quality in her that had reminded his father of Victoria Barkley, of the woman Nick knew his father had loved with all his heart for more years than Jarrod had been alive. Maybe, among other things, it had been that determination that ...

Taking a deep breath, unwilling to keep thinking along those lines, Nick opened his eyes, and he was immediately surprised to see Heath’s head tossing around, back and forth, across the white of the pillows. Rising to his feet, he quickly left the room, crossed to the open balcony, and ran lightly toward the staircase, looking for a glimpse of his older brother sitting downstairs.

“Jarrod! Jarrod!” Nick attempted to whisper, as he saw the back of the dark head bent over a book. His brother appeared to be reading in front of the fireplace, waiting for the doctor’s return.

He saw the dark-headed man sit up straighter and heard him respond, “What is it, Nick?”

Then, without replying, Nick turned and sprinted back across the balcony, where he re-entered the room the blond was in.

He knew it would only take a moment before Jarrod joined him, but in the interim, Nick was startled to realize just how out of his head Heath had become. As soon as he reached the bed, he heard Heath mumbling, and when he reached out to touch him, he got a reaction he was not expecting.

Heath, his eyes opening, began throwing punches at Nick with both fists, the first one finding him totally unprepared. As his jaw began to swell, Nick tried to throw his body across the struggling chest, but caught another blow to the side of his head.

“Heath! Heath, settle down ... Easy, Boy!”

Joined by Jarrod a few moments later, Nick’s unprotected, injured arm was already throbbing with the effort, but he was almost frantic to get the blond calm for worrying about what all the lashing out was going to do to the stitched-up bullet wound in his leg.

“Help me ... hold him ... Jarrod ... Look out!”

With a muffled groan of pain, Jarrod didn’t react fast enough and caught Heath’s left knee in his chest, as he tried to hold the right leg still, despite Heath’s frenzied, delirious thrashing.

Their eyes met, when once again, they heard Heath growl out a command, “Get them off’a me, Bentell ... Ya’ve already gone too far ... I swear ... you’ll pay for havin’ them all ... killed that way!”

At the last comment, Heath bucked beneath Nick and threw the larger man to the edge of the bed. Making a grab for the hot, heaving shoulders from behind with his only free hand, Nick managed to take hold of the back of the light blue, collarless night shirt Heath wore. But, when Nick pulled, trying to haul Heath backwards to the bed before he could push Jarrod off of him ... the shirt ripped. As it came away in Nick’s fist, the ragged opening revealed the straining muscles across Heath’s back.

Nick froze, his eyes remaining on the tanned skin, the cloth of the torn shirt still in his hand.

For long seconds, he did not hear Jarrod’s strangled call for assistance.

Suddenly, however, he realized the urgency of the immediate situation, and he got to his knees behind Heath, grabbed him around the chest with his one arm, and pulled him backwards.

For a few moments, the room was full of near silence, heavy and ominous, as the only sound was that of three men struggling to breathe.

Slowly, without a word, Jarrod rose to his feet, rubbing his bruised chest, and he reached out shakily for the cup and pitcher next to the bed. Shaking his head, he paused to wonder how, during the wild struggle, the pitcher was still standing, along with the table and the dimly lit lamp resting on top.

He lowered himself to the bed again, this time closer to the blond, and he placed the cup against Heath’s lips.

He was pleased to see some of the water go in, before Heath started choking slightly, then coughing. His blue eyes were closed, and his breathing slowly returned to what had been the normal, rasping sound for the last day and a half.

Shaking his head again, Jarrod reached over, picked up the spoon Silas had left there, and he tried again, this time using a slower method of offering smaller portions of water, one spoonful at a time. After several successful swallows, Heath turned his face away, coughed again, and seemed to sag further back against Nick, who had been continuing to support him from behind.

“Let him all the way back, Nick,” Jarrod directed, before rising from the bed and coming around to the other side. “I don’t think I can get any more water down him now, and we need to check his leg.”

When Nick did not move, however, Jarrod looked at him closely.

“Nick,” he said, suddenly worried about him, “Did he hurt you? Are you alright?”

“Jarrod,” Nick said slowly, thickly, as if from far away. “Who do you think he was talking about? Who is Bentell?”

“I don’t know, Nick,” Jarrod said, “It could be anybody, I guess, that he’s crossed paths with along the way. I get the feeling he’s been in more than his share of tough situations.”

Realizing Nick was still not moving, Jarrod carefully checked the bandage wrapped around Heath’s leg, and he breathed a sigh of relief at seeing no fresh blood on the pristine, white cloth.

He replaced the blanket and returned to the other side of the bed, poured fresh water in the porcelain bowl, dipped in a fresh cloth, and held it dripping over the rim as he wrung it out, twisting it between his strong hands. Then, sitting down in the leather chair, he leaned forward and wiped at Heath’s overheated face, neck, and chest above the undone buttons of his shirt.

Looking back at Nick, Jarrod saw him staring out at nothing, his eyes unfocused. Nick still held Heath propped up against his chest, and he was leaning back against the oak headboard, his arm wrapped around the unconscious young man.

“Nick,” Jarrod tried again gently. “Nick, what is it?”

“Jarrod,” he replied softly. “Do you remember when you asked him about a cauterized bullet wound with the slug still in it?”

“Yes, I do. He talked as if he’d been with some soldiers, and that he’d helped bury the man after he died. I still don’t understand when that could’ve been, or where. It’s something I want to ask him about someday, after he’s well. Why?”

“Maybe it was exactly the way he told it, Jarrod, and we just don’t want to believe it could be that simple.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think he wasn’t just with some soldiers ... I think he was a soldier.”

Jarrod’s eyes widened, as he looked up at Nick’s serious eyes, and down at Heath’s bruised face. Quietly, he shook his head and asked, “Why, Nick? What makes you say that?”

“Help me lean him forward, Jarrod ... and I’ll show you.”

Knitting his dark eyebrows together, Jarrod stood slowly and stepped toward Nick’s position at the head of the bed. Using both of his hands to steady Heath’s shoulders and head from the front, Jarrod assisted Nick’s one-armed attempt to lean his upper body forward.

As the torn shirt fell away from Heath’s back, Jarrod’s eyes widened. His voice caught in his throat as he asked, “Nick ... what ... ? Why would ... ?”

Then, helping to push Heath back against Nick’s chest again after a silent moment, Jarrod quickly stood up and crossed to the window. He unlatched it and pushed it up, then leaned out, hauling in several large breaths of the cold, brisk night air.

After several moments, he lowered the window and blindly took two steps back to sit on the arm of the chair. Swallowing hard, he finally looked over at Nick and found his brother’s eyes.

“Jarrod,” Nick said quietly, his voice hard with anger. “The only Bentell I’ve ever heard of was Matthew Bentell, and we’ve both heard enough stories to know he had a reputation for controlling his prisoners with every means at his disposal, including whipping them.”

“Carterson?” Jarrod asked, his voice no more than a whispered question. “You think Heath may have been at Carterson?” Then, with more confidence than he felt at the moment, he added, “Nick, he couldn’t have been there. He was just a kid during those years...”

He met the steady gaze, as Nick replied, “Jarrod, you heard his words, same as me. You see the marks on him. Now, let me ask you something. We both served, but how many more years do you think we’d have been tangled up in the fighting, if Father hadn’t been here to stop us from joining up sooner?”

Closing his eyes, Jarrod sucked in another deep breath through his nose. Then, he pushed it back out, remembering the way he had seen the blond handle a rifle as if he had more experience with firearms than most, much older men, and he blinked his infinitely sad, dark blue eyes open.

“You’re right, Nick ... It’s possible. With what they were paying, he could’ve joined up just to send home more money than he could make any other way.”

“I swear, Jarrod,” Nick said, “If I could get at Father right now, I’d take HIM to the woodshed beside the barn for leaving this boy and his mother with nothing but empty promises all those years.”

He suddenly stopped speaking, turning his head just in time to catch the quick flash of dark grey silk, as Victoria Barkley turned away and headed silently back down the hall.

Chapter 38

“You stay with Heath, Nick,” Jarrod said quietly, worry clearly evident in his voice. “I’ll check on her.”

Leaving the two of them, Jarrod quickly rose and headed down the hall, toward the other end of the house. He heard his mother’s bedroom door close just before he stepped around the corner of the hallway.

With his heart in his throat, he walked toward her room, knocked softly on the door, and asked, “Mother? Mother, it’s Jarrod ... Please. May I come in?”

He almost held his breath as long seconds ticked by, stretching into a full minute, during which he quietly knocked on the door again half-way through the wait. Then, he breathed out carefully as he felt the door handle turn beneath his hand. He pushed it open slowly, and he saw her haunted eyes as she stepped back and allowed him entrance.

Quickly, she turned away and moved to stand by the window. With one slender hand, she pushed back the heavy blue tapestry curtain and peered out into the darkness.

Jarrod stood there, waiting, wanting to help, but not sure what to say, not sure how much she had heard.

After a moment, she removed the uncertainty by speaking up.

“Jarrod, do you think Nick’s right, that Heath fought in the war, that he was captured and spent time in ... in that place?”

With a sigh, Jarrod crossed the room to stand behind her. He reached down and wrapped his strong arms around her tiny frame and hugged her back to his chest. He leaned down, kissed the top of her silver hair, and he murmured into it, “I don’t know, Mother. I think it’s possible, but there’s too much we don’t know, to say ...”

With a sob, she turned and wrapped her arms around his waist, crying openly into the front of his soft cotton sleep shirt, that, like all things related to this first-born son, was neatly arranged, tucked into the waist of his pants.

“He was only a boy, Jarrod...”

Then, dropping her head even more, she cried, “Oh, Tom! How could you do this?”

Jarrod slowly lowered himself to the blue-cushioned window seat beside them, pulling her down, almost into his lap, and he rocked her slowly, stroking her hair with one hand. He did not speak, but allowed her to cry, allowed the fear of the last few days, as well as the raw hurt that stretched back over twenty years, to leak out of her heart and down her face in hot rivulets of tears.

* * * * * * * *

Howard Merar had been shown to a guest room down the hall after checking over the unconscious blond.

He was exhausted from the blessed event he had assisted with at the Masons’ home, but he had taken time to give the Barkleys reason to hope before he had left Heath’s room this time. According to the tired physician, the fact that the blond had spoken aloud, even though he had only done so in a feverish delirium, was a good sign.

Now, the only noise in the quiet, dimly-lit bedroom was Heath’s soft, but rasping breathing.

Victoria sat beside him on the edge of the bed, her posture straight, and her hands slightly red from wringing out the soaked cloth again and again. As she opened it out over Heath’s bare chest, the torn nightshirt having been removed by Nick and Jarrod before they had reluctantly gone to try to catch a few hours of sleep, she tried to keep her thoughts away from the conversation she had overheard two hours ago as she had stepped into this room, then had turned and abruptly left.

Nick’s anger was justified, she knew.

Her middle child never minced words, and he always made his beliefs known with no reservations. Though he was hurt by the events of over twenty-four years ago, he had accepted this blond stranger into his heart in the same way he lived his life ... vocally, and with no reservations. His anger was reserved for his father, and she could not blame him for it, for she knew part of the reason was his defense of her.

“Nick,” she whispered, brushing her slender fingers through Heath’s hair, damp from the repeated use of the cool cloth, “This son of your father is so like you. He has that same spirit, that same stubborn pride ... Given the chance, the two of you would have been the best of friends growing up, I’m quite sure.”

Smiling slightly, she created a mental image of two teenage boys, one dark haired, one light, galloping over the rolling hills on the fringes of the Barkley Ranch, racing the wind and each other, then laughing and challenging one another to some other contest.

Then, her eyes misting over, she thought back to the months following her husband’s murder, seeing again, hearing again, Nick’s angry, almost belligerent response to any situation, large or small, as he fought to find his balance without his father beside him on the ranch for the first time in his memory.

She wondered briefly if the anger she had seen in the blond downstairs the previous week would have been there if he had grown up here, on the ranch, with all of them. If that volatile spark she had observed was really an integral part of him, she admitted to herself that if Heath had been here then, it would have set Nick irreparably ablaze, like a match held to tinder, during those first, most difficult months after Tom’s death. And, she knew, it would keep the two of them at constant odds with each other even now, if he were to stay, if the anger couldn’t be tempered ... if he were to survive his injury.

Then, shaking her head, she remembered the compassion for the people of Lonesome Camp that had fueled the blond’s anger, the desire to right the wrongs done to them that had seemed to give him the strength, despite his obvious exhaustion, to challenge her family ... his family.

She thought of the worry for the people there that she had seen in his ice blue eyes that day. His was a look of deliberately focused anger ... not anger that was pervasive or destructive.

“Oh, Heath,” she said, shaking her head and touching the side of his face with her hand, “For some reason, even with my only interaction with you limited to a thirty minute confrontation downstairs, I have a feeling that you could’ve been the balance my Nicholas needed all those years ago. It’s our loss, Tom’s loss, that we did not know of you, did not have a chance to get to know you, well before he died.”

Then, she lifted the now warm, still damp cloth from his chest, returned it to the basin, wrung it out again, and dabbed the coolness at his face, hair, and neck for a moment, before opening and replacing it on his chest.

With a sigh, she reached down and lifted his hand from the bed to hold it against the side of her face.

She said forlornly, watching his unresponsive face, “We need you, Heath. We need the chance to get to know you for the man you are ... And, I want that chance, Sweetheart. Please, Son, don’t leave us, now.”

Suddenly, she was startled when his eyes cracked open just a bit, and she heard his soft voice ask, “Mama?”

Unsure if he were fully conscious or not, for a few, interminable seconds, she was equally unsure about how to respond.

Then, remembering that Jarrod had told her Heath’s mother had been dead for four months, she relaxed slightly and said, touching his bruised face again, just as she would have for any of her three children, “Sh-h-h, Sweetheart. It’s alright.”

His searching, slightly glassy, blue eyes closed slowly, and the corner of his mouth lifted briefly, forming the fleeting, lop-sided smile she remembered so well. She held his hand and stroked the side of his face with her other, as he turned his face into her touch and mumbled, “...missed ya’, Mama.”

With tears spilling over, out of her closed eyes and trickling down her face, Victoria Barkley whispered, “I’ve missed you, too, Sweetheart.”

Then, she smiled as he squeezed her fingers, and he seemed to relax into the bed, his hand suddenly going slack in hers.

Lowering his hand to the blanket, she reached out and touched his hair again, feeling with relief how soaked it suddenly was, and, realizing his fever had finally broken, she said softly, “Just rest, Heath. I’ll be waiting for you when you wake up. We have a lot to talk about ... It’s important to me that you have a chance to get to know the father you never met. There’s much that I want to tell you.”

* * * * * * * *

Nick woke up with a growl, and he shook his head groggily, trying to push aside the fog that seemed to smother him. Then, sitting up, he stared outside at the too-bright sky he could see through his closed window.

It was late! Why had they let him sleep so long?

Jumping up, he found his pants where he had discarded them on the floor last night, and he pulled them on awkwardly, cursing his one-handed efforts. Then, stumbling from his bedroom and turning the corner of the hallway, he almost plowed into Silas who had just brought a load of clean clothes up the back staircase.

Catching the smaller man’s elbow, Nick apologized gruffly, before he assailed him with questions, his words almost overpowering the silent man as much as his hurry had almost done moments before, “Sorry, Silas! I should’ve been watching where I was going. What time is it? Where is everybody? Do you know how Heath is this morning? Is he alright?”

Then, not giving the slightly amused older gentleman a chance to answer any of them, Nick took a breath and growled, “And, why didn’t somebody wake me?”

“I declare, Mr. Nick,” Silas finally started speaking, his dark brown eyes shining, though he shook his head as he walked past the unusually unkempt, much adored younger man. “If you don’t slow down, you’re gonna make my head dizzy with all your questions, sure enough.”

Nick ran the fingers of one hand through his disheveled hair, and he glared at Silas’s back.

“Your mother and the doctor are down in Mr. Heath’s room.”

Then, breaking into the grin he had been trying unsuccessfully to hide throughout Nick’s inquisition, Silas added over his shoulder, “That boy, he’s some better this morning, Mr. Nick, so they decided not to wake you.”

“He’s better? You’re sure, Silas?” Nick asked, relief reflected in every feature of his face.

“Now, Mr. Nick,” he chided, “You know you’re never gonna believe it ‘til you see for yourself. You just go on down there and prove Old Silas right.”

“Thanks, Silas!” Nick shouted from half-way across the landing, not even waiting long enough for the man’s words to catch up to him.

Watching him go, Silas just shook his head silently, his eyes filled with love.

Chapter 39

“Well, if I had any doubts about what you told me about Heath’s parentage before, Victoria, I don’t any more.”

Nick heard the doctor say the words as he entered the small bedroom. He stopped, standing stock still, as the others turned to him, smiles on all the faces of those standing by the bed. Audra hurried over to him, took him by his good arm, and ushered him back to stand with them, chattering excitedly.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Nick? Doctor Merar thinks he’s going to make it. His fever broke while Mother was with him very early this morning, and since he’s come out of it enough to speak several times since last night, the doctor says there’s no reason to think he won’t wake up fully today!”

“Audra,” Victoria chuckled, coming around to touch her daughter’s shoulder. “Let poor Nick take a breath. Nicholas, come sit down in this chair.”

Taking his arm from her daughter, the smiling matriarch led Nick around to the other side of the bed and backed her tired, still recovering, son into the burgundy chair.

“How’s your arm, Nick?” she asked him gently.

Glancing up to see Jarrod smiling broadly down at him from across the bed, enjoying his captured state, Nick responded with just enough civility to get by, “Fine, Mother. I’m fine.”

Packing up his stethoscope, the doctor laughed, “You see, Victoria? That’s exactly what I meant. That stubbornness. It’s in their blood already ... all of them. No transfusion necessary!”

“Thank you, Howard,” she said, smiling softly at her three, who were all watching her to see how she would respond to these casual references about the parent they shared with Heath. “I’m so relieved that he’s going to be alright.”

“Doc,” Nick spoke up, removing the attention from her, “You’re saying he’s gonna be fine? There’s no chance of a mistake?”

“Well, Nick,” Howard Merar stepped over and began checking the broken arm, taking advantage of having the injured Barkley’s attention in one place long enough to do so. “I can’t go quite that far, yet. But,” he shook his grey head, “I never would’ve thought he would come around enough to even mumble coherent words last night, let alone, react well to some of the tests I’ve done on him this morning. The fact that his fever is way down is just another good sign.”

Taking a deep breath, the doctor said, “He’s not over this yet, not by a long way, but, his chances are very good ... chances that I wouldn’t have given him at all, yesterday.” Turning back to look at Jarrod steadily, he said, “You did the right thing for him, Boys. I think that packing you put down in the wound, Jarrod, made all the difference. That, and getting him here quickly.”

He patted Nick lightly on his injured shoulder as he said the last.

Jarrod’s dark blue eyes closed for a moment as he felt a warmth spread through his chest, beginning to dissolve the cold knot of fear that he had lived with for several days.

Sighing with relief, Nick winced as the doctor’s manipulation of his arm found a tender spot. Then, he gasped slightly, trying to cover it up with a cough, as the man glared at him and pushed up his sleeve to get a better look at what was causing so much pain. Then, all but ripping the buttons off of Nick’s white shirt, he quickly unbuttoned it, sputtering angrily, and pushed it back, trying to get a better look at the affected shoulder.

“Nick Barkley!” he admonished, his normally calm voice rising in aggravated consternation, “What have you been doing with this arm since I last checked it? It’s got more bruises on it, more swollen places, than it did when you broke it! Must I confine you to bed to get you to let this arm heal properly?”

Stepping around to see, Victoria gasped at the sight of her middle child’s latest bruises. His arm was purple and green in places, with swelling evident all along his shoulder.

“Nick! What have you done?”

The dark-haired offspring under scrutiny glanced up at her, and, as he did so, he saw that Jarrod had moved off to the other side of the room and was leaning back on Heath’s dresser, his arms crossed, with a smile even wider than before.

Jarrod was enjoying this!

Well, just wait until the next time they ...

But, the thought broke off abruptly, as Doctor Merar touched another particularly painful spot, and Nick gasped. “Hey, Doc! Do you have to keep doing that?”

He immediately realized his mistake, however, as the man stood up over him and said, “Nick Barkley, in deference to the ladies of this house and their ears, I’m not going to confine you to bed. But, I am going to confine you to this house for the next three days. If I so much as get a hint that you’ve left from under this roof long enough to walk to the barn, I’ll have Jarrod and Duke McCall bring you to town, and we’ll see Liam about renting out a jail cell for you for the remainder of that time. Do I make myself clear, Young Man?”

His eyes daring to leave the doctor’s face for a split second, Nick could see that Jarrod had turned around, was leaning over the dresser, and was shaking the sturdy piece of furniture, as he tried unsuccessfully to control his laughter. In the mirror, Nick could see the tears streaming from Jarrod’s dancing blue eyes.

Narrowing his own eyes, Nick sent daggers into his brother’s back, before looking up at the doctor’s flushed, angry face.

“Nicholas!” his mother snapped from over his shoulder.

Clamping down on his irritation, Nick mumbled, “Uh, yeah, Doc. Perfectly clear.”

“Good.”

Nick slumped back in the chair, pulling on his shirt, and fumbling with the buttons as the doctor and his mother stepped around the bed and out into the hall.

Audra patted Nick on the head sympathetically, and she leaned down to kiss the side of his face. Whispering conspiratorially, she said as she helped him finish the tedious task, “You did more than you should’ve to help take care of Heath, didn’t you?”

Looking sideways at her appreciatively, he smiled and winked.

“I love you, Big Brother,” she added, before she, too, walked around the end of the bed. But, instead of leaving, she stepped over to Jarrod, pulled her handkerchief from inside the sleeve of her favorite blue dress, and used it to swat Jarrod playfully on the arm.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” she laughingly accused. Then, seeing his twinkling, teary blue eyes turn her way, she reached up, wiped his face for him, and raised up on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek.

Leaving them both watching her, she turned and exited the room and closed the door.

“Well,” Nick said, “Like I told Heath back on the trail, I’d do it all again right now, if necessary ... I swear, Jarrod, I’m so glad he’s gonna be alright, nothing else matters, not even three days imprisoned in this house!”

Laughing, Jarrod said, “I have a feeling, Brother Nick, that Mother and Audra, not to mention Silas, will be begging the doc for a reprieve before half of that time is up!”

Glaring at him, Nick’s face slowly switched from mournful to hopeful, and his hazel eyes lit up.

“Speaking of Silas, I could sure eat a stack of his flapjacks right about now!”

* * * * * * * *

As soon as she closed the bedroom door behind her, Victoria turned to the doctor beside her, grasping his arm with one hand, and wiping at her eyes with the other.

“Three days! Oh, Howard, I don’t think I can make it that long! You may have to come back and pronounce Nick cured well before that, or I’LL have to request asylum in the jail!”

Chuckling, the doctor admitted, “Well, perhaps I did get a little carried away ... But, that boy just brings out the worst in me sometimes. How in the dev- ... uh, sorry, Victoria ... How in the world did he get so banged up with an already broken arm?”

“Knowing Nick,” she said, walking him toward the top of the staircase, “I’m sure he was doing something he believed necessary to protect Heath or Jarrod. He’s too stubborn for his own good sometimes, but how can anyone fault him for taking care of his family? I’ll get the rest of the story out of Jarrod, eventually.”

Patting her hand on his arm, Howard Merar said, “I’m sure you’re right, Victoria. And, speaking of stubborn, while Heath is not over this yet, I really do feel very good about his chances now. What was it that you told me Jarrod said about him? That he is very good at survival?”

She nodded as they reached the bottom step.

“Now that I’ve had more time to check him over thoroughly, I have to tell you, Victoria, that he’s seen much more than his share of physical difficulties, and I don’t just mean this week.” Turning to her, he took her hands and asked, “Are you very sure about what you told me, that you want him to stay here?”

Sensing his need to talk more in depth with her, she showed him toward the study. Victoria did not give him an answer until they were both seated before the brightly crackling fire.

“Yes, Howard,” she said, her eyes looking at him across the round, wooden table. “If he will agree to it, I want him to stay, to be part of this family.”

Nodding, his pride in her response written all over his face, but, accompanied by concern he could not hide, the doctor continued, “As I mentioned before, it’s evident to me that he hasn’t eaten well in weeks, and I would say that getting him to do so is going to be one of your main challenges for a while. He’s too thin for his height, and, I get the feeling that ... well, that it has been an on-going problem.”

“Howard, you are trying to tell me something. But, I’m not sure what. Stop trying to spare my feelings about all of this, and just say it, please.”

With a sigh, the doctor said, “Alright. To be blunt, he’s no stranger to hunger, Victoria.”

Then, seeing little reaction from her, beyond a tightening of her hands together where they rested in her lap, he continued, “When I listen to his lungs, it’s also evident to me that there’s some scarring there that shouldn’t be. It’s almost like listening to Jarrod’s lungs, with all the bouts of pneumonia he’s been through ... but not quite the same. Whatever has caused it, I’m quite sure he’s prone to having problems as a result, so we’ll have to keep a close eye on that. Right now, the congestion has a good chance of clearing up nicely. Just, as soon as he is awake, keep getting liquids in him, and encouraging him to cough it out. Oh ... and he seems more comfortable breathing with his shoulders propped up, at least for now.”

She nodded again, her gaze now steady, but the doctor had not missed the quick glance she had given toward the picture above the polished, wooden mantel.

“What else?” she asked quietly. “I know there’s more.”

Looking at her closely, Howard Merar nodded. Then, he said, “Despite all of those things I’ve already outlined, he’s physically very strong, or he will be again, as soon as his blood builds back up. If he weren’t, he wouldn’t have made it through the last few days. As I mentioned, Victoria,” he paused and searched her face with his eyes, making sure she was able to hear the rest.

Then, he continued, “It’s evident that he’s been through many physical difficulties, that he’s survived a great deal of trauma. He has several scars from bullet wounds, wounds from what appear to be a knife, and I found evidence of scars from bad cuts or injuries to the head in addition to the most recent one you mentioned. But, really, in our part of the country, none of that is so unusual, at least not when I am examining a grown man of many more years. But, Heath, he can’t be but a few years younger than Nick, and...”

“He’s only twenty-four,” she said softly, “Or close to it.”

Howard nodded silently, then he went on, “He’s too young to have that many ... Well, you see my point. He’s not had an easy life in his twenty-four years.”

She waited, letting his words sink in, and she took a deep breath before saying, “You’re leaving out something, Howard. I heard Nick and Jarrod referring to some marks on his back. Tell me about them, please.”

Looking at her determined, grey eyes, he nodded, swallowed hard, and responded with a sigh, “He’s been whipped, Victoria. Viciously, repeatedly, whipped.”

Then, seeing her eyes focused on the flickering fire, examining events from the past, he leaned forward and asked quietly, trying to get her to think of the ramifications for the future, to be sure of her choices, “What do you know about him, really? Are you sure he’s the kind of person you want to live in your house, to spend time around your daughter, Victoria? Isn’t it entirely possible that he’s been in prison for some kind of criminal activity you don’t know about?”

She lifted her face and looked into his brown eyes. In them, she saw no judgment of her decision, only supportive concern for her family.

Quietly, she asked, “Is it possible, with all the things you’ve described, that he could’ve been a prisoner in Carterson during the war? That he could’ve survived such a place, as little more than ... little more than a boy?”

The doctor’s eyes widened, and he stared at her as if she had suddenly told him she could predict the next earthquake that would shake the valley from one end to the other.

Then, rising slowly to his feet, he walked past her and stepped over to the glass doors on the other end of the room. Pushing back the lace drapes, he looked outside with unseeing eyes, part of his focus on the young man upstairs, on what he had observed, on what she had just asked him ... and part of it on the past and the things he had seen during the conflict that had cost all of them so much.

After a few moments, he turned back around and slowly walked to the settee where she sat. Placing his shaking hands on the back of the ornate piece of furniture, he said quietly, as he looked down at the top of her silver head, “I gather you have your reasons for asking me that ... So, I’ll give you an answer. Yes, it is possible that if he were there, he could’ve survived ... I don’t know the figures for Carterson, but for Camp Sumter, at Andersonville, more than three-quarters of those interred over the camp’s fourteen month existence did survive, at least long enough to walk out of there or to be carried out by wagon, though thirteen thousand of them did not.”

She sucked in her breath at hearing the staggering numbers again. She had read of them in the newspaper articles published after the war, but she had forgotten them, pushing them out of her memory as quickly as possible.

Turning, she looked up at the physician standing behind her, his eyes staring into the fire over to his left.

Placing her hand over one of his, covering the white-knuckled grip comfortingly, she waited.

Softly, she heard him say, his head nodding above her, as he thought it through, “Yes, it’s possible, and, in fact, it would explain much of what I’ve observed. The lung scarring, the leanness, the marks on his back...”

Returning his eyes to her face, he said, in a whisper, “But, to survive such a place...” Then, he shook his head.

Silently, both of them turned their eyes to the picture above the mantel.

* * * * * * * *

(Please see "Notes" related to Chapter 39 at the end of this section.)

Chapter 40

The shadows from the barren trees outside the window continued to grow longer, narrower, reaching across the polished wood of the bedroom floor. Just before they touched the dark green woven rug in front of the armoire, Audra placed her book on the bedside table and stretched her arms and neck.

Turning to look outside for a few minutes, she was surprised to see how late it was. She would soon need to light the oil lamp next to her.

Letting out a slightly worried sigh, she leaned forward, placing one elbow on her knee and supporting her chin with her hand, her blond hair falling forward. She watched the shadows play across Heath’s face and shoulders, watched the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the green blanket and crisp white border of the sheet turned down over it.

Then, with another sigh, she reached out and touched his hand, squeezing it with her long, slender fingers.

Startled, she jumped slightly when she felt him return the pressure.

“Heath?” she asked quietly, leaning forward toward him and watching his face more closely. She saw him take a deeper breath, then return to his normal, steady pattern.

After another moment, she reached out with her other hand, and she stroked the side of his face, careful to avoid the bruises all along his jaw line, visible through the shadow of his rough, blond beard. “Heath? Heath, can you hear me?”

This time, the response was a low groan, and she saw eye movement beneath his lids, followed by a grimace of pain with his eyebrows lifting, then drawing close together, a sharply creased line forming between them.

Again, she asked softly, “Heath? Can you please wake up, now? I want to talk to you, Big Brother.”

As he began to stir, his hand in hers pulled away and lifted toward his head, squeezing his temples together, and his head shifted back and forth. She saw his left knee lift the blanket as he slid his foot up and down on the bed a few times.

This time, the groan that escaped his lips seemed more like a growl.

Suddenly, he came fully awake, trying immediately to push himself up from the bed. But, as she stood up and touched his shoulders to push him back, he reached down to clamp his hand on his thigh through the blanket, and he fell back against the pillows, his breath coming fast, his eyes focused on the ceiling, and he blinked rapidly.

She saw him swallow hard, then, he slowly turned his face toward her. Blinking at her, as if he wasn’t quite sure who or what he was seeing, he managed to ask, though his voice came out in a dry, cracking whisper, as he pulled at the blanket to better cover himself, “Who ... ar-r-re ... ?”

Smiling at him, and after touching the side of his face again, she reached over to pour him a small glass of water.

“Here, Heath. Let me help you.”

Helping him lift his head, she saw him close his eyes as he drank a swallow. When he turned away, she lowered his head, aware of the deepening crease between his eyebrows, and she said quietly, “I’m Audra ... Audra Barkley. Do you remember me?”

He slowly blinked his eyes open again, this time just a narrow crack, but he nodded slightly, turning back to her, and said, “...I re-mem-ber.” Then, swallowing hard, he asked, “Wher-r-re ... ? The ran-n-ch?”

Still smiling, she said, “Yes. Nick and Jarrod brought you here two days ago.”

“Two ... days?”

She saw him searching through his memories, trying to put it all together. Quietly, she added, “This is Wednesday afternoon.”

Then, as his eyes moved from the ceiling, back to her face, he asked, “Whose ... . room ... is this?”

Reaching for the glass of water, she helped him lift his head again and drink some more, two swallows this time, before he pulled away, nodding at her gratefully.

Then, she replied, “It’s your room ... yours, if you want it to be, Heath.”

She saw the questions in his light blue eyes as he looked at her, and she realized, too late, that she should have probably never said anything like that to him so soon. Quickly, she plunged in, suddenly afraid he would turn her down flat if she gave him the chance to respond.

“Yes, your room, Heath. Or, you can have another one if you prefer. This is the one they carried you up to on Monday, and Mother thought, since Nick said you’re so good with horses, that maybe this is the one you’d like to keep, because you’ll be able to see the corrals and the barns from here ... And,” she jumped up from the chair, and walked around the rest of the room, pointing out the armoire, the desk, and the dresser as she went. “You can put your things in here. And, on top, up here, there’s a nice place to display the things you have that are important to you ... “

As she paused in her chattering, walking from one piece of furniture to the next, Heath repeated quietly, blankly, “My things?”

She saw him raise his left eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched briefly in the beginnings of that lop-sided grin she remembered as her father’s smile. She smiled back at him and said, “Yes, your things. And, there’s plenty of room over here to put things as well. What do you think?”

Chuckling slightly, Heath drawled quietly, his tired eyes sparkling at her infectious enthusiasm, despite the exhaustion that was making it more and more difficult to keep them open, “I don’t have any ... any things, Audra.”

He let his smile convey his amusement, as his eyes slipped closed.

She returned to the bed and sat down on the edge, careful not to jostle his injured leg. Silently, she reached up to touch the side of his face, and she saw his eyes crack open again, as he struggled to focus on her.

Incredulously, she asked, “You don’t have any things, Heath?”

He said slowly, “Just a picture of my...”

Then, he stopped, closed his eyes again, and, when he opened them a few seconds later, he smiled lop-sidedly at her and finished, “Well, just a picture ... ‘Course, there’s always my rifle ... an’ my horse, but,” he finished with a slight chuckle, “...‘don’t think she’d like it ... in here...”

Audra’s face became sad, and she picked up his hand, removing it from the edge of the blanket he had been holding onto.

Softly, she asked, “Why not, Heath?”

He looked at her, knowing what she meant, but determined to remove the sadness his words had put there, and he said, “This is ... the second floor ... right?”

She nodded and said, “Yes.”

“Don’t think she’d like ... climbin’ all those stairs.”

Her face transformed into a dazzling smile, before she said, “No, I meant ... Oh, you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“Do ya’ mind?”

“No, I ... I think I like it ... Nick and Jarrod tease me all the time, but ... usually their teasing just makes me mad ... especially Nick’s.”

They shared another smile, before Heath said, shifting on the bed uncomfortably, “Tell ya’ a secret ... Little Girl ... That old bear ... he’s easy ta tease.”

Her eyes widening, she asked, never having heard anyone brave enough to say those things about Nick Barkley, except maybe her brother, Jarrod, “He is? I never thought about trying to tease him back. I just get mad at him, sometimes mad enough to want to...”

“Whoa, there ... “ Heath chuckled, then grimacing again, as he reached out to take her hand that had balled up in a fist.

She smiled and ducked her head, embarrassed. And, then she asked, quietly, aware that he had closed his eyes again, and that she probably shouldn’t be tiring him out, even as she asked the question, “Heath, why don’t you have any things, besides the picture, your gun, and your horse, I mean?”

Without opening his eyes, he said gently, breathing hard with the effort, but deciding it was worth it, “When ya’ live your whole life ... outta leather saddlebags ... an’ a bedroll ... ya’ don’t have much call for collectin’ things.”

He opened his eyes just long enough to add, “...Bought a grandfather ... clock off a fella once ... but, Gal got tired’a haulin’ it ... from one town ... ta the next.”

She stared down at him for a moment, saw the lop-sided grin, and she said, “You’re teasing me, again, aren’t you?”

He just lifted his right eyebrow and smiled lop-sidedly, without opening his eyes.

“Heath, do you mind not having things?”

“No,” he said quickly. Then, he cracked them open again, looked up into her earnest, concerned face, and added honestly, “...‘don’t rightly know, Audra ... Maybe a little ... Don’t know no other way, I guess.”

She watched as his eyes slid closed again, and she heard the deep breath he took, seeing the pain between his eyebrows beginning to smooth out as he drifted toward sleep.

“Heath,” she asked softly, determined to somehow let him know she wanted him to stay with them, before he drifted off to sleep again, “Have you ever had a sister before?”

His head shook slightly, before she saw the crease return between his eyebrows at the movement. And, she heard him mumble, “No ... nary ... a ... one.”

She reached out to touch his face again, and she saw his lop-sided smile form, though his blue eyes remained closed.

Then, suddenly, her heart full of happiness, she leaned down, kissed the side of his face, and she said softly into his ear, “I want you to stay, Big Brother. I want to teach you what it’s like to have a little sister ... and I want you to teach me how to tease that Ol’ Nick!”

Continued…

Notes (Chapter 39):

By Heath’s words in “The Guilt of Matt Bentell,” the prisoners of fictional Carterson received “floggings for complaining” about the food and water available there. However, I have heard of no such instances from Camp Sumter, now called Andersonville, which was one of the largest prison camps during the American Civil War, and the only one from which the commander was put to death following that war.

I recently visited there, viewing the grounds of the camp, the cemetery and hospitals, as well as the National Prison of War Museum that is adjacent to the hallowed ground of the camp itself.

According to the National Park Service website, the museum is “dedicated to the men and women of this country who have suffered captivity. Their story is one of sacrifice and courage.” It explores all of the United States’ wars, offering comparisons between and information about them, as explained through focusing on our prisoners of war. For example, one display case contains eating utensils made by American prisoners in various wars and conflicts-----from a spoon carved of wood at Andersonville, to a metal fork made by a prisoner in Vietnam. Andersonville is a fitting place for such a museum because it is said that the revived interest in preserving the camp there, eventually led to the later creation of the Geneva Convention’s policy on treatment of prisoners of war all over the world.

Though there were many prison camps located on both sides of the Mason-Dixon line during the Civil War, Andersonville had the highest percentage of deaths. Just reviewing the conditions created by cramming so many men* into the relatively small area of the prison are enough to result in an unceasing wonder that any of them could have survived, let alone three-fourths. That they did is a testament to human determination and strength.

I truly wish that I had the words to describe the effect that visit had on me. I, like Doctor Merar, am still rendered speechless, incapable of explanation and description, at the thought of it. The area is a vast, empty space on two gently sloping hills with a tiny creek running down the middle between the two, and it is almost devoid of any structures to see any more. The boundaries of the camp are delineated by several well-spaced, stone pillars, and only the two, huge, stockade-type gates have been partially reconstructed. Yet, despite the acres of emptiness, I found myself reluctant to take more than a few steps onto the field within the boundaries of the markers. I felt it would be like wandering across a graveyard without regard for the walking paths between the graves, walking haphazardly with no respect for the individuals buried there.

I won’t soon forget it.

* * * * * * * *

*Two women were also thought to have been imprisoned there during the war.

(Other notes: According to the museum’s United States map, no Civil War prison camps were located west of Texas, which rules out New Mexico as a location for Carterson, except, of course, in fiction. As a result, and since Heath and Charlie Whitehorse were supposed to have fought together at Chicamauga, on the Georgia/Tennessee border, I tend to place Carterson in the southeastern part of the U.S., like Andersonville, which is found in southwestern Georgia.)