Empty Promises

Chapters 51-60

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 51

A booming crash of thunder reverberated through the small space, as Nancy sat up straighter in the comfortable rocking chair in which she had been sitting for the last two hours. She blinked open her eyes and stood up, stretching with a loud sigh. Crossing over to the window as another streak of lightning lit up the cozy bedroom, she gathered her skirt and lowered herself to the thick cushion of the window seat.

Placing her head against the sill, she looked out of the closed window, trying to see the ranch yard outside as the thunder continued to roll over her head.

She had awakened enough for Maria and Jim to help her to her bedroom earlier, the latter leaving the kindly dark-headed woman to assist her in sitting down in the comfortable chair. Maria had fussed over her, bringing her something to eat, and staying until she had finished it. Then, she had whisked the tray away and told her she needed to get some rest.

But, she couldn’t rest, couldn’t sleep.

She wasn’t sure she would ever do either one, ever again.

She had heard Victoria Barkley talking, only half listening, even after hearing the woman’s last name. She had been struggling to make a good impression, while trying to take an interest in the conversation, despite all the thoughts spinning through her mind like the large rear wheels of a wildly roiling stage.

When Jim had started asking her questions, she suddenly wondered if this woman could be one of the Stockton Barkleys she had heard so much about.

Then, something the silver-haired woman had said, or something in her speech, suddenly reminded her of someone she had once met

What was his name?

Jarrod ... Yes, that was right.

His name was Jarrod Barkley, and she had seen him only twice, years ago. She remembered that he had incredibly unforgettable dark blue eyes, and she recalled that he had been very compassionate, with his deep, rich voice and, yet, extremely logical in his decisions.

She could never forget his kindness in giving her money, funds that had kept her going, giving her a new start. Despite his obvious wealth and his own worries at the time, he had spared a thought for her situation and had offered her assistance, which she had not turned down.

Suddenly worried, paying closer attention to the older woman’s frantic fears, she hoped her kind benefactor was neither missing, nor injured.

But, at Jim’s next words to his guest, she had felt the room tipping over on its side, and instantly very warm, she had felt the glass in her hand start to slowly slip from her grasp.

Now, with a stifled gasp, she remembered the words, remembered the impact they had had on her a few hours ago.

Rising from her seat by the window, she knew she had to do something, she had to help them, these people that were his family, in any way she could.

Rushing to the dresser where she had placed her neatly folded clothes the day before, she hurriedly pulled out a grey-brown riding skirt, suitable blouse, and a camel-colored brown jacket. As she changed out of her blue linen skirt and more-frilly blouse, her thoughts stormed through her head like the crashing of the lightning that was thankfully growing more distant outside her window.

* * * * * * * *

Nick stood just inside the doorway of the stage stop’s roughly hewn shack, looking out into the driving rain. The only break in the perpetual dark was the brilliant flashes of lightning that were becoming more intermittent and moving away. The clouds were moving further east with every passing hour, pushed by the wind coming in from the west.

Unaware that his black slicker had continued to drip or that a puddle had formed at his feet with little rivulets running across the rough wooden floor in at least four directions, he kept his eyes trained on the area beyond the corral and the barn.

With a growl, he wondered if they wouldn’t have been better off bedding down with the horses. At least in the rough, little-used barn, he would have had something to occupy his time and his mind, as there was much needed in the way of repairs and rearranging of supplies that could have been done.

In here, however, there was almost nothing of any consequence, nothing requiring any attention, unless he set out to make repairs to the two, rickety old chairs and table in one corner.

As the thoughts of the tasks he could be doing sent his mind reeling back toward his own foul temper yesterday when the tool rack in their barn had fallen, Nick growled again, like a wounded bear, low in his throat.

Behind him, Jarrod and Duke, stretched out on the floor on top of their bedrolls, looked at each other, but Nick was oblivious to their expressions, as he continued to stare out into the dark.

“Heath,” he thought to himself, shaking his dark, wet head. “I’m sorry, Little Brother. I know I’ve been like a she-bear with a toothache ever since Layle chose to stay with that gun-toting scoundrel of a husband. I should’ve known you wouldn’t have headed off on your own without sending us word ... Trust Audra to set me straight.”

Then, his thoughts continuing to drift, he crossed his arms and leaned against the door-frame, his mind lost in remembering something from several years back, back when he had first met Heath, back when Heath had first joined their family.

It had happened after Heath had started healing up from the bullet wound in his leg, but before the doc had agreed for him to get back in the saddle.

Nick had been holding his breath for days without realizing it, worried that Heath would take off again as soon as he could ride. His mother and Audra had both assured him that they believed Heath would not go, would not leave for good, but Nick had still worried.

That worry had grown when he had entered the open barn door earlier than usual one morning and had discovered Heath already inside, well before sunrise, talking to his horse.

“It won’t be long, now, Gal,” Heath’s quiet voice had murmured, as he used short vigorous strokes to brush her shining black coat. “Give me just a few more days.”

Before Nick had taken a second step inside the door, he had heard Heath lift the level of his voice just a bit, as he had said directly to him without ever looking over his way, “Nick, we’re gonna need some new brushes, you know?”

Brushes.

Nick chuckled slightly at the words, the simple statement slowly working its way into his heart, as he realized what the blond was telling him.

It had to mean he was going to stay long enough to use them, didn’t it?

Then, shaking his head, he had wondered how the boy had known he was even there.

With a huge smile on his face, just like the one he had been unable to hide that morning, Nick continued looking out into the rain. Behind him, he did not see the echoing grins of the two men, who again exchanged glances and finally relaxed just a little.

Nick’s mind returned to the conversation that morning, three years ago.

“Brushes,” Nick had snarled in the barn doorway, fighting to keep the smile out of his voice, “Heath, ...

“What’s the matter?” the blond had asked innocently, his eyes still focused on what he was doing, though it was obvious to Nick that he was enjoying the reaction his words had caused. “You don’t think we need some new brushes around here? These are plum worn out.”

“Boy, if you don’t beat all. You know Mother is going to have your blond head when she finds out that you’re out here, standing up on that leg of yours, brushing that already shiny mare! But, I don’t mind telling you ... I’m glad to hear you’re worried about our supply list for the tack room, ‘cause it must mean you’ve decided to stick around. I’ve been worried you’d head off into the hills again the first chance you got ... and I wouldn’t ever get to find out if you’re as good with horses as my men seem to think you might be. This is a working ranch, you know!”

“...Back inta the hills, Barkley?” Heath said, turning and tossing the worn brush toward the dark-headed man standing in the doorway. As he limped toward Nick, he asked, “Whatever gave ya’ that idea?”

Stammering slightly, but tossing the brush back to the blond, Nick put his hands on his hips, and he growled, “Whatever ... whatever gave me that idea? Boy, getting something out of you is like pulling up stumps! Besides, why didn’t you already say you were planning to stay, if you knew?”

Looking at him with that infuriating, lop-sided smile and raised left eyebrow, Heath said, “I guess ‘cause you didn’t ask me.”

As the blond limped past him, Nick heard Heath’s slight chuckle, as the dark-headed rancher bellowed, “Didn’t ask you? Dammit, Boy!”

As Nick turned and took a good-natured swing at the back of Heath’s head, Heath ducked as if he knew it was coming, and he tossed the brush back, hitting Nick in the gut with it, temporarily stopping him with an unexpected whoosh of air escaping from his lungs.

Then, stalking toward the slowly escaping blond, Nick caught him by the arm, just as Heath said softly, “B’sides, Nick. I made your mother a promise. An’, I intend ta go on keepin’ my promises.”

“A promise, huh?” Nick said, throwing his good arm across Heath’s shoulders as they headed to the house. “I think I like the sound of that. Would that promise of yours have anything to do with sharing a place on a working ranch, Little Brother?”

“That it would, Barkley. That it would.”

Smiling into the dark again, Nick’s hazel eyes held their sparkle for a few more seconds, before his smile slowly faded, and he whispered quietly, “I expect you to keep that promise, Heath Barkley. I expect you to make it home and stay put where you belong this time, Little Brother.”

Chapter 52

All his life, he had looked forward to sunrise as a special time of day, as a time to reflect on a larger outlook of life, to concentrate on the blessings he had and to let go of the hurts and heartbreaks of the day before.

Now, as he stumbled through the lightening dark, slipping along low muddy slopes, and struggling across water-filled washes, he hoped the sunrise would take its time in coming.

At least, as long as it was dark, he didn’t have to worry so much about being seen, and he didn’t have to fight the stabbing pain behind his eyes in the sunlight. It also put him on more equal ground with whoever the man was that had locked him up to start with.

If he could just get home before the man came back, looking for him.

If he could just get home before his body refused to go any further.

Breathing hard, he carefully eased down on a low boulder, and he lifted his face into the rain, checking again for direction. As the water ran down his face, he shifted around on the boulder, making sure he was still facing south.

After stumbling groggily along from tree to tree in the rain for a little while, his mind had finally cleared enough to figure out that the steady wind and driving rain were coming in from the west, so by keeping them on his right, he more or less knew he was headed in the correct direction.

Blinking rapidly, trying to think beyond the relentless headache, he leaned forward on the sturdy branch he had traded the smaller one for over an hour or so ago. Figuring that the steady rain would wash away any tracks he left, he was much more secure moving the heavier branch back and forth in front of him on the ground to help him feel his way, than he had been while trying to drag the smaller one behind him to remove the evidence of his movements.

He had no real recollection of what had happened, of where he was, though he had remembered driving a team of horses toward Stegall ... when? Sometime yesterday? He figured that if he kept heading south, he would eventually run into the vast ranch where he had spent the last three years of his life, and he would feel that he had the advantage of being familiar with the terrain.

He reached up and squeezed his temples between his thumb and fingers, trying to press the pounding headache, ringing through his head like a hammer on iron, back inside, back down, and out of his way. Thankfully, the dizziness had dissipated some in the last little while, though it sometimes came and went in waves, hitting him several times when he had least expected it and leaving him dry heaving, down on his knees.

Each time, it had been more difficult to make it to his feet than the last, and he knew he was getting weaker.

If he just hadn’t cut his arm so badly ...

The only improvement in his condition was that the blurry, dark shapes were more distinguishable now than they had been before, so he held out a little more hope that with the coming light, he would be better able to see.

Reaching down, he shook the canteen still attached to his belt, and he realized he might not get a better opportunity to fill it.

Wishing he had his hat to help catch the drops of rain pelting him in the face, he reached up and removed the bandana from around his neck. Sliding over on the rock, but taking care to keep his boots facing in the right direction in case the wind suddenly stopped or shifted, he opened out the square of dark brown cloth, laying it across the rock, and he waited, head down, touching it every few moments to determine when it was saturated with rain.

Then, folding it up, he held it with his right hand over the open canteen, which he had placed firmly between his knees, and he ran his fingers down the cloth, squeezing it to remove the water, using a motion much like he would use to milk a cow ... if he were trying to do so with one hand.

Despite the renewed pain in his arm that just holding the bandana caused, he repeated the process two more times, until he was satisfied that the canteen was as full as possible.

The last time, however, he gave up on using his right hand to hold it, and he just squeezed the cloth over the canteen in one fist, holding it over the opening as best he could by feel. Finally, closing the canteen back up, he sucked on a corner of the cloth, getting enough of the remaining moisture out of it to slake his thirst.

With a grimace, he ran his left hand over the soaked bandage wrapped around his right forearm. He could do no more than hope that the moisture he felt was from the rain, and not because the bandage was soaked with blood. It throbbed unmercifully, shooting sparks of heat up and down his whole arm every time he moved it, and he closed his eyes, aware that that last fall he had taken down the slippery side of a gully back there in the darkness hadn’t done the laceration, nor his head, any good.

It certainly hadn’t helped his forward progress any either, as he had awakened there, lying on his side with his injured arm under him, some undetermined length of time later.

How much longer did he have until dawn?

After retying the bandana around his neck the best he could with one hand, he secured his meager supplies, and he pushed off from the rock shakily, careful to head in the direction he had previously determined, keeping the blowing rain coming in from his right.

Though he tried to keep himself focused, he knew he was moving very slowly and that, with his energy sapped by the unrelenting pain in his head, the injury to his arm, and the lapses of consciousness, he realized the sunrise could catch him miles from home, with no way to know if he was being pursued by the dark-headed man with the gravelly voice, or not.

* * * * * * * *

The stoop-shouldered little man watched her enter the sanctity of his barn with blatant skepticism.

What was she doing out here, anyway?

Shouldn’t she be inside, sleeping, or sewing, or something?

As she approached him, he lifted both eyebrows when he saw how sensibly she was dressed.

“It’s not a very nice night out there, is it?” she inquired quietly, waiting for a reply.

“No, Miss,” Harley answered, eyeing her and seeing the determination on her pretty face. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Nancy Briggs, and your name is?” she asked, giving him a small smile, though her worry was apparent for him to see.

“It’s Harley, Miss. Harley Aimes.”

“I need a horse, Mr. Harley. I have to leave for a little while.”

“A horse?” he asked incredulously. “Tonight? Miss, it’s not fit for anyone out there tonight. Can’t it wait ‘til in the morning when Big Jim can take you wherever it is you’ve got to go?”

“No, it can’t. And, anyway, Jim isn’t up to taking me anywhere just yet. But, I can’t wait until morning. I have to go now ... Will you help me, Mr. Harley, or will I have to just choose a horse and saddle it the best I can?”

Reaching up to scratch his grizzled head, Harley looked at her out of the side of his eyes as he looked back out the door into the weakening storm. Then, he asked, “Where is it you’ve got to go, Miss? And, you can call me Harley ... You only just got here, and I can’t imagine you know your way ‘round these parts very well. It’d sure be a rough night to get lost out there somewheres.”

With a sigh, Nancy looked steadily at the little man, wondering if he would help her if she told him where she needed to go. Then, she said, “I need to find Victoria Barkley. Will you help me?”

Making a face at the thought of heading out into the weather, he slowly nodded and said, “Yes, Miss. If that’s what you need to do, I reckon I’ll help you. Give me a minute, and I’ll hitch up a buggy and drive you there. It’s not a fit night for horseback.”

* * * * * * * *

The clock on the small round side table in the otherwise quiet parlour was just before striking ten o’clock when Victoria looked up from her book at the sound of a horse outside the front door. Crossing the foyer quickly, she eagerly stepped up to the door and opened it, expecting to see her sons returning.

With a dismayed exclamation, she stepped out onto the wide verandah and took Nancy Briggs by the hand, helping her shed her wet cloak just outside the door.

“Mrs. Barkley,” the distraught young girl said, “Is there somewhere Harley could wait for us? I must speak to you at once.”

Turning to the diminutive Harley Aimes, who had climbed back up into the buggy after helping his passenger down, Victoria said, “Harley, this is two trips you’ve made out here today. Please come in. I’ll have Silas get you something hot to drink.”

“No thank you, Ma’am,” he said, touching the brim of his worn-out hat. “If it’s all the same, I’ll wait in the bunkhouse with the men. Just send someone for me when Miss Nancy’s ready to return to the ranch.”

“Thank you. But, judging from the looks of both of you, I think you’d better plan to bed down in the bunkhouse, Harley. You can take her back to Jim’s ranch in the morning,” she said, nodding. Swiftly, Victoria led the chilled young woman inside and seated her by the fire.

She nodded to Silas, who was coming in from the kitchen, and he retraced his steps at once, heading back to the kitchen to bring some hot coffee.

Turning to face Nancy, who was seated on the grey silk settee, Victoria took her cold hands in hers, and she quietly asked, assuming something had happened between the couple she had last seen earlier that evening, “What is it, Nancy? What’s wrong? Is everything all right between you and Jim?”

“Oh, Mrs. Barkley,” Nancy exclaimed, shaking her head with her teeth all but chattering in her chilled worry. “Jim’s fine. He doesn’t know I’m here. I didn’t want to worry him, but I left him a note in case he checked on me.”

“Nancy, please call me Victoria,” she said. “Now, tell me what it is, Dear. If it’s that the two of you are not getting along, you know you have to give that some more time...” She trailed off as the girl shook her head harder.

“No. No, you don’t understand. It’s nothing like that.” Gripping the kind, silver-haired woman’s hands in hers, Nancy fought to control herself long enough to explain.

“Oh, I’m making a mess of this! I came here to help. I came to tell you what happened, but it’s just so ... .”

Suddenly, she pulled her hands away and covered her face with them, the instant sobs escaping despite her best efforts to keep them contained. She doubled over, rocking back and forth with the fear and anxiety that had built up inside her since the previous afternoon.

Reluctant to leave her, Victoria stood as Silas came in with a polished silver tray of coffee and two cups, a thick, navy blue blanket draped over his arm.

“Silas, you are a treasure,” the matriarch whispered, taking the blanket as soon as he placed the tray on the table. She turned, opened the blanket, stepped behind the settee, and she draped the warm blanket around the shivering young woman. Then, returning to her seat, she took the cup of steaming coffee Silas handed her, after nodding to him to add a dollop of brandy as he stood by, waiting with the small decanter in hand, and she gently touched Nancy’s arm.

“Here, Nancy,” she said, “Drink a few swallows of this. It will help.”

Complying, the distraught young woman sat up, wiping at her tears with her hands, and she tried to smile through those remaining. Taking the offered cup in both hands, she took a cautious swallow, then another. Handing it back, she nodded and leaned back on the settee, pulling the comforting warmth of the blanket around her.

Nodding and smiling at Silas, Victoria waited for him to leave, then turned back to the girl.

“Nancy, please tell me what’s wrong. I was hoping you’d remember some other details that would help me locate my son. Is that why you came? Because you know something that will help us find Heath?”

Nancy paused, swallowing hard. Then, she replied, the tears beginning again, “Yes, Mrs. Barkley ... But, please understand, I didn’t know that he was ... that he was your son. I’m so sorry!”

“No, no, Nancy. Don’t apologize. It’s not necessary. You weren’t feeling well this afternoon after all you’d been through. It was thoughtless of me to carry on that particular conversation with Jim within your hearing. But, please. Tell me what you know, whatever it is.”

Shaking her head again and leaning forward, her voice pleading, Nancy reached out and took Victoria’s hands in hers. She said emphatically, her innate strength beginning to show through, “No, you don’t understand, Mrs. Barkley. I’m sorry for the news I have to bring you. I could tell how upset you were this afternoon about him. But, like I said, I didn’t know he was your son. He ... he tried to help us when the stage was attacked, and he shot the ... the man that had hold of me. He’s the only reason I was able to get away from them, to run before they killed me like they killed the other woman ... But ... but ... “

Again, she stopped, unable to go on. She dropped her head and twisted the blanket in her hands, tears falling into her lap.

Victoria reached out, engulfing Nancy in her comforting arms, though her own blood was pounding in her ears at the words.

Then, she gasped as she heard the girl’s tiny, defeated voice add, “One of the men shot him, Mrs. Barkley ... They killed him ... I saw him fall! ... I’m so sorry, but, Heath is ... your son is dead.”

Chapter 53

Victoria glanced over at the young rider beside her, noticing the worry that creased his features. They had been in the saddle for several hours, having decided to take the back cut-off toward Stegall, then veering north toward the main road again on a narrow, little used trail, hoping to run across Nick and Jarrod. But, they had realized their mistake later, turning west again and back toward the stage stop.

They would have saved themselves a good hour and a half if they had headed there first.

It had been Billy’s idea, and now, she was sure he was berating himself, as they were both tired, damp, and more worried than ever as a result of the decision.

Silas had told her that Billy Muller had volunteered immediately when her faithful friend had gone to the bunkhouse to ask someone to ride with her to find Nick and Jarrod out near Stegall. The young man had told Silas that he wanted to do anything he could to help them find Heath.

She had heard Nick tease Heath from time to time about how the younger men like Billy, and, in truth, many of the older ones, seemed almost in awe of Heath’s abilities with the horses, and ... she suspected, his expertise with firearms ... though she knew her quiet son never flaunted either.

The teasing never went very far, because Heath invariably changed the subject by finding something to say to Nick that got a rise out of him, leaving the conversation Nick had started unfinished, and everyone else in the room hiding their smiles behind averted faces, sudden coughing attacks, or already empty coffee cups.

Now, as she peered ahead into the gradually lightening grey, she smiled softly as she thought of the differences between her two rancher sons, one dark headed and quick to rise to any bait, one light haired, though not as blond as he had been when he had first joined their family, and much slower to anger, especially in the last couple of years.

But, despite their differences, as the pride in both of them swelled within her heart, she knew they were so similar in their values, so tied to each other in their loyalties, that no one meeting them for the first time ever questioned the obvious fact that they were brothers.

They were both deeply compassionate, always willing to lend a hand to anyone who needed it, and they each complemented the other to the point of creating an unbeatable force that had successfully enhanced the reputation of the Barkley family on many levels, only one of which was financial.

They, joined by her oldest son, Jarrod, had proven again and again that they were truly leaders in the valley, men that, like their father before them, were willing to take a risk to help a neighbor, even if there was no known benefit for themselves, and often in spite of any danger.

As she glanced at Billy again, riding beside her on his horse, his eyes searching the dim road ahead for trouble, she felt that familiar pride surge forth, filling her heart to overflowing.

Though Heath would never mention it, she had heard Duke McCall say that her son had provided this young man much needed guidance several times in the last few years, not only in helping Billy shape his horse-training abilities, but in just being a quiet listener who offered rare, but well-thought out words of advice when needed. Heath had become, in some ways, an older brother to the younger man, who had had a tendency to drink too heavily prior to her youngest son’s arrival on the ranch.

In fact, she recalled silently as they rode, that Nick had been on the verge of sending Billy packing before Heath’s arrival. Now, Billy, along with Denny Hodges, the young man Nick had recruited three years ago from among the guards that had worked for ... what was his name? ... Aaron Hastings? was ranked among the ranch’s top hands.

While some of Hastings’ hired guards had been responsible for Heath being shot and almost killed up by the Barkley-Sierra mine at Lonesome Camp, Nick had told her that Denny had impressed him with his compassion afterwards.

Now, these two young men, Billy and Denny, were fast friends, and, Victoria knew, rumors around the ranch had it that Denny would be standing up for Billy as his best man within the month, as the dark-haired, blue-eyed young man riding next to her married the sweet, freckle-faced daughter of one of their neighbors.

Her thoughts having touched on this up-coming marriage, Victoria’s mind quickly jumped back to Jim North, his bride-to-be, Nancy, and the events of yesterday.

Then, just as quickly, her thoughts whirled back around, full-circle, back to the insurmountable fear that had driven her from her own comfortable home so early on this dark, chilly morning.

Nancy’s words had left Victoria feeling that her warm mother’s heart had turned to cold, dead stone, had turned to a crushing, searing weight inside her chest, as she had described what had occurred the day before with vivid detail at Victoria’s frantic request.

“The driver had told us that when we started seeing the larger, sandy-red rocks, we would know we were almost half-way to Stegall,” Nancy spoke quietly, her voice still shaking with the effects of the tears. “So, I know that’s how far out we were when the shooting started.”

She paused and took a deep breath, searching Victoria’s eyes with hers. “There were three of us inside, and only the driver on top. When the shooting started behind us, the driver tried to defend us from the riders, but he was shot immediately. I saw him ... I saw him fall, and I watched his body roll away in the dust.”

She felt the squeeze the silver-haired woman gave her hands, and she nodded in grateful appreciation before continuing. “It didn’t take long after that. I remember having to hang on tighter to the open window beside me because of the furious side-to-side motion of the stage. The men on horseback, four of them, stopped the team that had begun to gallop back and forth along the road, leaving the stage roiling dangerously.”

Nancy clutched the fine, slender hands in hers and said, “I remember all the shouting outside and the screams of the blond-headed woman across from me ... I thought she would never stop. Her terror left her cowed in the corner when one of the men jerked the door open, and he growled at us to get out. Mr. Clayton helped me down, and when he leaned back in to offer her his hand, the woman, ... she bolted out of the door on the other side. The man standing there with his gun aimed at us...”

She shook her head and pulled her hands from Victoria’s grip, using them to cover her face as she burst into tears again. As the silver-haired matriarch, whose own heart was breaking, reached out to comfort her, Nancy turned and buried her face against the pink silk of the older woman’s wrap.

After another moment, Nancy lifted her head only enough to allow Victoria to barely hear her, and she said, “He shot her in the back, Mrs. Barkley. I couldn’t believe it ... And, I knew then that I would never survive what they would do to me ... that I would never survive to meet Jim ... and to ... to become his wife.”

Stroking the damp cloth of the back of Nancy’s camel-colored jacket, Victoria closed her eyes, and she bit her lip at the thought that quite possibly her son had given his life in exchange for this young woman’s.

... Heath ...

Had he watched a young woman die from a bullet several months ago, only to die yesterday, trying to save this girl from a similar fate?

Suddenly, she knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he would have probably done anything, even attempting something hopeless, to prevent a repeat of the outcome he had witnessed over two months ago up by Pine Lake.

As the fleeting image of her missing son’s handsome face, with his lop-sided smile and laughing blue eyes, filled her teary vision, Victoria heard Nancy’s voice confirm it.

“The man with the gun grabbed me, and Mr. Clayton took a step toward him. But ... one of the other men leveled a gun at him, and ... and the man who had hold of me laughed as he ripped open my blouse with his hand. He turned me toward him and joined the laughter of the others as he forced me to kiss him...”

She trailed off, her fears from that afternoon surging through her, and she swallowed hard. But, then, she sat up and looked into the brimming, hurting eyes of the older woman beside her.

Taking Victoria’s hands, Nancy said, “Mrs. Barkley, it was then that I heard gunfire from behind us, and the man who had hold of me dropped to the ground like a rock falling from a cliff. As I staggered back, away from him, Mr. Clayton pushed me to the safety of the ground.”

Their eyes searching each other’s, Victoria heard Nancy say, the words tumbling out of her now, “Heath ... your son ... he ... well, he was coming from around the curve in the road, from behind the rocks, driving the surrey straight at the men. He shot one more of them, the one who had reacted the quickest and had pointed a gun at the two of us, ready to kill us, and he felled the man before the trigger was pulled. By then ... the other two men had started running for their horses, but they were still firing back at him. Then, Heath ... he turned the buggy away, and he dove out of the side of it ... behind the cover of some rocks. He fired a couple of other shots at them, but, ...”

She shook her head and dropped her eyes again, the tears flowing, as her voice came out in a whisper, “But, as they got to their horses and rode off, one of them hit him. I heard him cry out and saw him as he fell back behind the rocks. I never ... I never saw him get up after that, Mrs. Barkley.”

When she didn’t speak again, Victoria squeezed her hands, shaking her slightly, and she asked, “What happened then, Nancy? Please finish it.”

With a tired, tiny voice, Nancy added, “I’m not sure, Mrs. Barkley. I think Mr. Clayton shot at one of them as they left. He had a little gun in his jacket, you see. But, I was ... I was crying and screaming by that point, and I think I ... I fainted. When I woke up it was much later, getting close to nightfall. Mr. Clayton told me your son was dead, and he took me to Jim’s ranch by horseback.”

Both women had been completely drained afterwards. Upon getting her settled into dry clothes and staying with her until she was sleeping exhaustedly in a guest room upstairs, Victoria had enlisted Silas’ help in making sure the young woman would be returned safely to Jim North the following morning.

Then, she had prepared to deliver the crushing news to Nick and Jarrod, hoping that Nancy had somehow been wrong, since neither her two dark-headed sons, nor the sheriff, had yet returned to the house with undeniable evidence of the young woman’s words.

* * * * * * * *

The ground reverberated slightly with the staccato rhythm of hoof beats, bringing his heavy head up from the ground. Blinking rapidly, but unable to see much of anything in the almost complete darkness of the grey, encroaching dawn, Heath concentrated through the merciless headache, trying to determine how close the sounds were and how many horses were approaching.

After a few seconds, he decided there were only two horses, and he began edging back, away from the sounds, pushing off with both hands and staying low to the ground, keeping his head down.

When he felt better concealed by the slight slope and the underbrush, he again rested his head on the ground, fighting with himself to remain conscious despite the thick pounding inside his head and the sharp, stabbing pains shooting up his arm, reawakened by the rough use of his hand to maneuver backwards moments before.

Even before the horses had passed his position, his eyes were squeezed shut and he again lay curled up on his side, lost in darkness and pain that forced everything else from his thoughts.

Chapter 54

Just before the rain had set in last night, Nick had walked in a wide circle around the stage stop, which consisted of a ramshackle shed, a rarely-used barn in disrepair, and a falling down corral.

The only thing within the circle that appeared to be in good condition was the pump overhanging the watering trough. And, from the obvious condition of the horses pulling Jim North’s surrey, it had, ironically, remained unused by whoever had left them tied at the hitching post.

However, that fact alone was enough to convince Nick that it had not been Heath that had left them there, even if he had been injured, though the dark-headed rancher had no other ideas about how the horses and buggy had come to be found at the stage stop.

As he had walked last night, holding a lantern high overhead and searching the ground at his feet for signs of what might have happened, he had discovered one more disturbing fact, though it did not offer him any more clues as to where his younger brother had gone.

Skirting the area where the sheriff’s men must have churned up the ground with their horses, Nick had walked in a wide arc, focusing on tracing the path of the surrey. He easily found where the wheels of the buggy had cut across the tracks of the horses’ hooves as they had been turned down the road back toward Stockton by the driver, Ben Oliver, one of the sheriff’s men.

Finding the place where the wheels had entered the area in front of the stage stop the previous day was much harder.

However, after a twenty-minute search, he had found the telltale tracks in the last place he had expected to see them, entering the circle from the east, from the direction of Stegall.

Now, as he stood next to his horse in the early morning dawn, waiting for Coco to finish taking a drink from the trough, he puzzled over why the surrey would have been brought here from that direction.

With a frustrated growl, he reached up and absently scratched at one of his horse’s ears, his thoughts so focused on trying to answer the questions inside his head, that he failed to hear Jarrod’s approach.

“Nick,” Jarrod said for the second time. “Nick, we’re ready. How about you?”

“Yeah, Jarrod,” Nick replied. “I’m ready.”

Jarrod looked sharply at his brother, his face impassive in the grey light, but something in his short reply giving away more than mere worry.

“What is it, Nick?”

Instantly, the heated, sarcastic retort found its way to the surface.

“What is it? You mean what is it other than the fact that Heath is missing, that I was a whole day late in starting to look for him, or that, because I waited, a rainstorm last night washed away all the tracks that could have helped us find him? What else could it possibly be, Jarrod?”

Waiting until the words ended, just as emphatically as they had begun, Jarrod reached out just as Nick started to turn away to mount his horse, and he grabbed Nick’s more powerfully muscled arm, spinning him back around to face him.

Holding him in a vise-like grip, his own substantial arm muscles bulging beneath his blue shirt as he forced him to stay there, Jarrod said quietly, “Yes, Nick. I know there’s more. Tell me. What else?”

Nick looked up at the barely visible clouds above them, their undersides streaked faintly now with pinks and pale oranges, heralding the coming of the sun’s light, and he blinked rapidly.

Then, he looked into Jarrod’s worried blue eyes, and he expelled the air in his lungs noisily, closing his own eyes tightly.

Without another word, Jarrod pulled Nick toward him, wrapped his arms around his younger brother in a no-nonsense hold, and he said quietly, with strong assurance, into Nick’s ear, “We’ll find him, Nick. It’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

As Nick nodded once and reached out to catch Jarrod’s shoulder in a tight, appreciative grip as he backed up a step, Jarrod added, his blue eyes holding onto Nick’s hurting hazel, “He’s tough, Nick. You know he is. And, he’s more adept at survival than anyone I know. He’s probably sitting out there somewhere right now, nursing a turned ankle or a borrowed horse with a pulled tendon. He may even be back at the house soaking in the tub by now, laughing as he thinks of you out here eating jerky and beans he didn’t cook.”

Nick closed his eyes with a slight chuckle and faint smile, as Jarrod’s words helped him focus beyond the worry consuming him.

“If that’s so, he’d better get ready to run, then, because when I see him, I’m not going to stop chasing him until he’s too tired to do anything but drown in warm water.”

Turning, Nick picked up Coco’s trailing rein, and just before mounting, he paused, his sharp ears catching the sound of horses approaching.

* * * * * * * *

“Nick! Jarrod!” Victoria Barkley called, as she slid from the back of her palomino.

“Mother!” Nick responded, he and Jarrod both moving to her side. His brother caught her elbow as she hurriedly dismounted. “What are you doing out here? And, why are you coming from that direction?”

Pulling them each into a quick embrace, she said breathlessly, her worry and fear making her lean on Jarrod more than she would have normally, “Never mind that now, Jarrod. We need to ... to talk.” Her voice catching on the words, she added quietly, beseeching them with her tear-filled eyes.

Nick met Jarrod’s eyes over her head, before his brother led their petite, silver-haired mother toward the shack they had vacated just a little while ago. At her words, Nick had been seized with a stabbing fear, as sharp as a hot knife run through his insides.

Finding Duke with his eyes, Nick asked gruffly, “Mac, would you ... ?”

But, the foreman interrupted him, and he said, “You go on, Nick. Billy and me, we’ll look after the horses, then nose around here for any more tracks as the sun comes up.”

Nodding, Nick turned and headed toward the open door of the stage stop without another word.

When his long strides brought him even with the door, he could see Jarrod seated on a rickety wooden chair across from his mother, leaning toward her, with her hands held tightly in his.

She was crying openly, something Nick had only very rarely seen her do.

As he entered, Nick crossed over to her and knelt beside her on one knee, slipping his arm around her waist. She leaned into him sideways and turned her face against the white shirt covering his broad chest.

After a moment, they both heard her say, “Nancy Briggs, Jim North’s bride-to-be, came out to the house late last night. She told me that Heath is ... that he’s dead.”

“No!”

Shaking her head against Nick’s chest, she removed one hand from Jarrod’s, and she reached out and gripped Nick’s shirt in her fist.

In quiet contrast to Nick’s outburst, Jarrod asked, as he felt the pressure on his hand increase, “What happened, Mother?”

The tears flowing freely now that she was able to feel the comforting presence of both of them, she tried to explain, tried to make them understand. “She said he was shot ... trying to keep the four men attacking the stage from hurting her ... from killing the two remaining passengers.”

“No!” Nick exclaimed again, the knife twisting in his insides at her words, at the thought of his brother lying out there somewhere, his lifeless body soaked with last night’s rain, while he and Jarrod searched for him ...

Victoria continued in a small, broken voice, as she held onto her two remaining sons with strength she didn’t know she possessed, “She said he shot two of them from Jim’s surrey, then he ... he dove behind some rocks. She described more shooting as the other two rode away, and she said she ... she saw him fall back ... that she heard him cry out when ... when he was hit.”

Taking a deep breath, fighting back the tears that threatened to choke her, Victoria struggled to finish, “Nancy said she fainted after that, but that the passenger, a Mr. Clayton, that took her to Jim’s ranch told her Heath was ... that he was dead.”

“But, Mother,” Nick exclaimed, shaking his head and trying unsuccessfully to modulate his voice for her sake, “That just doesn’t make any sense. Does it to you, Jarrod?”

Lifting her head and looking up at him, her eyes nearly blinded by the tears, she asked thickly, “What do you mean, Nick?”

“Fred told us last night that he looked all over that area, and he didn’t know anything about Heath when we asked him. Heath couldn’t have been ... he couldn’t have been killed there. Fred would have told us!”

Her eyes reflecting her sudden hope, she tried to make sense out of what Nick was saying to her now.

“You talked to Fred?” she asked, sitting up and looking at both of them.

“Yes, Mother,” Jarrod’s calm voice intervened. “We met him last night on the road. He found Jim’s surrey here, the horses still hitched up and tied, and he knew nothing about Heath. When we asked, he said he’d already been to Stegall and that he didn’t think Heath was there, either.”

Shaking her head, Victoria responded, “But, then, if he wasn’t at the stage, he’s not here, and he’s not in Stegall, where is he? How could Nancy think he was dead if his body ... ?”

“I don’t know, Mother,” Nick interjected, the new information again conflicting with the way the sheriff had found Jim’s team here at the stage stop, four miles from the attack on the stage. “But, did you say the girl described Heath as driving the surrey and shooting at the men from inside of it?”

“Yes, Nick. She said he drove the surrey straight at the men, then suddenly turned it away and dove out of the side of it into some rocks.”

Nick shook his head for another moment, then, he rose from the floor with a quick squeeze of her hand, and he began pacing back and forth across the small, dark interior of the dusty room, his spurs jingling stridently with each step.

After a moment, in which Jarrod and Victoria were both quietly lost in thought, Nick growled loudly. Then, the words seemed to erupt from him like a bullet from a gun with a hair trigger.

“None of this makes any sense! She must be lying!”

“No, Nick,” Victoria spoke up quickly. “She was telling the truth. In fact, she was very distraught, almost to the point that, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought the girl was talking about someone she cared deeply for.”

“But, Mother! Fred found the surrey and team here, four miles from the stage, and I found the tracks coming in from the east, from the same direction as where the stage was attacked. If Heath drove it from Stockton toward Stegall, and then she saw him driving it as he tried to stop the attack on the stage between here and Stegall, that means somebody brought it back here afterwards. But, it wouldn’t have been Heath. He would’ve never left those horses tied up with no water...”

“Not if he could help it, Nick,” Jarrod interrupted. “Perhaps the girl was right. He was hurt, and he couldn’t get any further. Maybe he even stayed here for a while...”

Shaking his head harshly, Nick interrupted, “No, Jarrod. We checked everything here when we first came. You know as well as I do that there’s no sign of him ever having been here. Besides, if he were shot, then took the buggy, why would he tie the team up and go off somewhere else?”

“I don’t know, Nick,” Jarrod reminded, speaking hesitantly, his eyes glancing toward his mother, “But, you did find some blood in the surrey.”

He felt her hand tighten in his as they both heard Nick’s reply.

“Yes, I did find blood, but it was in the back of the buggy. No, I don’t think that's what happened, Jarrod. I don’t think Heath is the one that brought those horses back here. He may have been in that surrey, and it may be his blood, but there’s something else going on, something we don’t know about yet ... Mother, you said the girl mentioned that Heath shot two men. That’s how many Fred said were killed. How many more did she say there were?”

The tiny woman searched her memory for a moment, her eyes still on Nick, before she responded quietly, “Two, I think, Nick. Yes, she mentioned two more. Could they have had something to do with the surrey being brought here? But,” answering her own question, she finished, “No, Nancy said they were riding away when Heath was hit.”

Suddenly, Nick stopped pacing, and he whirled around, facing the other two, who were now standing to one side of the small space.

“Mother,” he asked pointedly, “The surrey was here. How did you say Nancy got to Jim’s ranch? With some man on the stage named Clayton?” As she nodded, Nick continued, “Fred called him Reed Clayton, didn’t he, Jarrod?”

“Yes, I think that’s what he called him, Nick.”

“Nancy said,” Victoria paused, seeing where Nick was going with his questions, “That they had to ride to the ranch on horses from the stage. Why would they do that if the surrey was there?”

“I don’t know, Mother,” Nick said. “But, I have a feeling this Reed Clayton may know.”

As Nick stalked toward the door, Jarrod’s voice stopped him. “Nick, how about if you take Billy and Duke and check out the area around the stage, and possibly Stegall again. Mother and I will return to the ranch, and then, I’ll head to Stockton to see if Fred was able to talk to this Reed Clayton.”

Slamming one gloved fist into the other hand, Nick nodded curtly and stepped back outside through the open doorway. As Jarrod and his mother emerged from the small, dilapidated space, they saw him sitting tall in the saddle with the reddish glow of the sunrise behind him.

As he turned his horse away from them, Victoria whispered, “Be careful, Nick.”

Chapter 55

Slowly, Nick lifted his head and looked out toward the hills to the east, as the beauty of the early morning sunlight began painting them in brightly colored hues of light and shadow. The branches of the few, nearby trees moved softly in the light breeze, keeping the morning cool and fresh after the downpour the night before.

But, Nick didn’t notice, as he absently rubbed his fingers over the small, fist-sized stone he had picked up from the ground at his feet.

The pale, sandy-red of the rock, like the ground at his feet, was spotted with dark, rust-colored stains that remained there, despite Nick’s handling, despite the rain from the night before.

Suddenly, Nick pulled his arm back angrily and threw the small rock as hard as he could, sending it pinging off the surface of the stone face of the outcropping behind him, before it fell back to the earth and rolled near the rear wheels of the abandoned stage.

Then, dropping his head, Nick wondered for the hundredth time in the last two days where he would find his younger brother, and, his worry having turned to abject fear with his mother’s information a little while ago, he wondered if he would find him alive or dead.

Turning away from the area, having already looked unsuccessfully for tracks that would help him, Nick returned to his horse, mounted up, and somberly galloped toward the small town five miles away to the east, his two silent companions following behind him.

* * * * * * * *

Glancing over at his mother as they rode, Jarrod marveled at the determined look on her face, despite the weariness and worry that he knew must be plaguing her every movement.

He had tried to persuade her to return to the ranch, but she had refused. Then, giving up that line of reasoning, he tried to insist that they detour from the main road, heading to the ranch just long enough to switch from horseback to their more comfortable buggy, so she could at least rest on the way into Stockton.

However, she had been adamant about finding the sheriff as quickly as possible, and she refused any delay, even one that was designed to increase her comfort.

Now, she rode with her typical, perfect posture, as at home on the back of her palomino mare, as in a comfortable chair in her parlour serving tea to guests. But, Jarrod could tell that every moment of not knowing, of continued worry about her youngest son, was taking its toll on her.

* * * * * * * *

Many times in his life, he had managed to bridle the anger that seethed under the surface and use it to keep going, to keep pushing, to keep himself alive despite cruel situations, severe injury, or harsh conditions.

Before he had come to this valley, he had been reminded time and time again that he only had himself to rely on, only had himself to lean on.

Over and over, he had lifted a single eyebrow, spitting in the face of trials that should have made him crack or collapse, not giving in to the temptation for self-pity and self-defeat.

But, now, as he lay curled up on his side in exhaustion, with the searing sunlight seeping into the cracks around the edges of the bandana, he wanted nothing more than to remain here, unmoving, until death pulled him down into an unending darkness, where he would suffer no more of the relentless, skull-crushing pain.

It would not be hard, for he now knew the cloth wrapped around his arm was soaked with his blood, not water. While the sun had begun to dry the rest of his clothes, the bandage remained wet, heavy with the weight of blood that should have been inside of him, not slowly seeping out, precious drops at a time.

All that he would have to do would be to stay still, to lie here, letting the inevitable happen.

All that he would have to do would be to rest right here until he could no longer lift his heavy head.

His head ...

He had made the mistake of trying to remove the bandana from around his head a little while ago, reasoning that if he could see anything at all, he could make faster time, despite the relentless headache, despite the blood that he could not stop from trickling from his lacerated arm.

But, even as he had cursed aloud at the sharp slicing pain, dropping to his knees and cradling his head in his hands, rocking back and forth on the water-saturated ground, he knew that the variations of light and dark, of sunlight and shadows, were, though better than the near darkness of the day before, the best that his eyes were going to give him.

Now, as he lay there, pushing his head into the soft, slanted ground, willing the pain to trickle away like his blood was already doing, he felt his anger, that hard edge that had kept him alive for so long, leaching away into the sandy soil beneath him as well.

Despair, like the cold moisture soaking up into his clothes from the chilled ground, replaced it, enticing him to give up, tempting him to just let go.

How could he go through the remainder of his days never seeing the faces of those he loved, never watching another early morning sunrise, never appreciating the fluid movements of a fine horse trotting around a corral, never performing the constant, satisfying work he reveled in, and never walking across a room without assistance from those who would now take pity on him?

The answer was simple, and it shook him, sending shivers through him, with the wave after wave of chills coursing through his damp body.

He couldn’t live like that.

He wouldn’t.

Without warning, he drew his knees up, coughing and retching, and he fought the dry heaves that left him feeling weaker, numb with cold from the inside out, though his heart was pounding as hard as the blood inside his head.

Suddenly, with a sharp growl, he reached up, snatching the bandana from around his eyes and throwing it to the ground, and he forced himself to his feet, one boot at a time, gasping at the renewed salvo of pain surging through his head.

Then, he staggered forward, tears streaming from his eyes as he savagely blinked them open and wiped his sleeve across them angrily.

No!

He would not lie here and wait for the pain, cold, and weakness to overwhelm him.

Purposefully, he allowed the anger to ignite, letting the slow-burning rage at himself warm him from deep inside.

Staggering forward, he harnessed the building anger to force himself to fight back.

And, even if its only cause were the two senseless deaths he had witnessed in the last three months and the unacceptable image of his own future, of his endless days stretching out before him, marred by helplessness and defeat, he knew this tiny flicker of anger, if he fanned it carefully, would be enough.

He pushed himself forward, one foot following the other, as he lashed out at himself inside his hammering head.

Having finally found them, he would not leave his family saddled forever with thoughts of his senseless death, one that had occurred no more than a few miles from home.

He would not leave Nick wondering why he had not fought harder to return to them, no matter his condition.

And, he would not leave his mother wondering why he had not trusted her to help him through the spectre of blindness without allowing him to become an invalid in her home.

“Boy Howdy, Heath,” he mumbled, picturing the tiny silver-haired woman, one hand on her hip and the other pointing at him angrily, as he heard the words she had used on him on more than one occasion, inside his head, admonishing him.

“Heath Barkley, I have never heard anything so ridiculous in my life!”

Smiling lop-sidedly as he set his jaw against the blinding pain, he cradled his bleeding arm against his body and used his other hand to help him scramble up the steep bank.

Mumbling beneath his breath again, as he fought to keep his boots under him, he said, “’Wouldn’t want’a ... do anything like that ... ta get her riled ... now would ya’?”

Then, keeping the searing light of the morning sun over his left shoulder, he stumbled away from the tumbling river behind him.

Crossing it over an hour ago had meant he was now inside the northern edge of Barkley property, and, as he finally made his way over the top of its high, crumbling bank, he was immensely grateful that swimming its swollen, rushing water had left him enough warmth inside to rekindle the single spark of determination he had needed to keep his thoughts, and his boots, focused on home.

* * * * * * * *

As they pulled their horses up in front of the sheriff’s office, Jarrod was still amazed at his mother’s energy. She was off of her horse and at the door by the time his boots touched the ground, and he hurriedly tied Jingo, then rushed across the boardwalk to hold open the smooth wooden door for her.

Stepping inside, however, he saw her shoulders sag tiredly when they both realized the room was empty. Crossing the floor, Jarrod quickly checked the back, trying to ignore the resurfacing memories of his thoughts from the last time he had been here, and he returned to her side.

“No one’s here, Mother. Give me a minute to leave a note for Fred, and we’ll go over to the Cattlemen’s to book a couple of rooms. We’ll just wait in town for him, get some rest and something to eat, and hope he finds us in the next hour or two.”

“Jarrod,” she started, shaking her head.

But, he interrupted her firmly. “No, Mother. Now, I insist. We both could use some rest, or we won’t be much good to Heath or Nick when they need us.”

Taking her by the elbow, he ushered her outside and assisted her to her saddle.

“Go ahead to the hotel. I’ll leave the note, come by to pick up Misty, and I’ll take both horses around to the livery before coming back to join you.” Then, giving her a smile as he gazed up at her and gripped the calf of her leg encouragingly, he added, “If you order before I return, you know how I like my steak.”

Nodding down at him and placing her hand on his shoulder in a brief, but strong squeeze, she said, “Alright, Sweetheart. Thank you.”

Jarrod stood there, watching her go for a moment.

Then, with thoughts of how she must be feeling, he turned back inside to leave the sheriff a note and to write out another to be delivered to Audra at the ranch. His sister must be frantic with worry by now, and having her here would be just the thing to distract his mother’s focus away from her own fears for her son.

Chapter 56

When Jarrod entered the hotel restaurant, he was immediately dismayed to not see his mother anywhere. Then, after checking with the hotel clerk and finding that she had not yet registered, he felt the knot of worry inside double in size.

What if they were wrong and what had happened to Heath had not centered around a random attack on a stagecoach?

What if they ... ?

“Mr. Barkley?” a small voice behind him said.

Turning, he saw a young boy with brown hair holding out a piece of paper with his name on it.

Even upside down, he recognized his mother’s handwriting.

Taking it from the outstretched hand in relief, he opened it and scanned it quickly. Then, he fished a coin from his pocket, tossed it to the boy, and walked rapidly from the building, headed for his office.

As he entered the vestibule, he nodded to his secretary, who was busy filing some papers.

“Good morning, Elizabeth,” he said. “Did my mother come in here?”

“Yes, Sir,” the older woman replied, “She’s inside with a guest. Can I get you anything?”

“No. Thank you.”

As he knocked twice and opened the door, he heard his mother’s voice.

“Jarrod, Sweetheart, come in. There’s someone I want you to meet. Jarrod, this is Jim’s bride-to-be, Nancy...”

Her words, however, trailed off, as the gentlemanly response on the tip of Jarrod’s tongue died, and he blurted out, “Brydie? Brydie Hanrahan? It’s good to see you, but what’re you doing here?”

Slipping immediately back into the comfortable Irish brogue of her youth, the green-eyed young woman responded with a slight tilt of her head and a brief, saucy smile, “Aye, Mr. Barkley, ‘tis Brydie Hanrahan, to whom yer speaking.”

Victoria, despite her shock, gathered herself and asked quietly, “You two know each other? And ... I take it your name is not Nancy Briggs?”

Turning to her, the young woman she knew as Nancy quietly removed the brown leather riding gloves from her hands, and she set them on the small table behind her. Then, she crossed the floor and took the older woman’s hands in hers as she spoke, her voice now a pleasing mix of lilting Irish and more refined inflections, “Mrs. Barkley, I was about to tell you, before the interruption of your fine son here made it a necessity. But, none of the reasons or particulars are important now. They’ll keep ... My only concern is for Heath. Could you please tell me if you’ve been able to confirm what I told you last night or not?”

Swallowing hard, the silver-haired woman reached out for Jarrod’s arm, both for his support and to restrain the questions she felt building inside him, and she answered, her consternation quickly giving way to the overwhelming worry that had consumed her for two days, “We’ve only been able to determine that he, that his ... that he hasn’t yet been found.”

“Do you think then, that he could still be alive?” the young woman interrupted, her voice rising in hope as the spark in the deep green eyes returned.

Victoria added, “The sheriff told Jarrod and Nick, my other son, that Heath wasn’t at the place where the stage was attacked as you had said. Nick went back there to look again, and Jarrod and I came here to speak to Fred Madden, the sheriff. But, please ... is there more you aren’t telling us?”

Nodding her head, the young woman took a step back and sank into the black leather chair behind her, the tension and energy that had kept her on her feet seeming to leave her all at once.

“Yes,” she whispered, her head bowed, “There’s more. But, where do I start?”

Turning to her son, Victoria said, “Jarrod, please get Nancy a brandy.”

“No,” she said at once, lifting her head. “No, thank you. I don’t need anything. I’m just so worried about him, but ... you’ve given me hope that he might not be dead, like I thought.”

Then, rising again, the young woman took hold of Victoria’s hand and pleaded, her voice strong once more, “Please, Mrs. Barkley, it doesn’t matter any more what you call me. My name has been Brydie Hanrahan for longer than it’s been Nancy Briggs, and I don’t think that Jim North will be wanting anything to do with me any more anyway, so just call me Brydie ... But, whatever you choose to call me, I need for you to listen to me, to trust me now.” She swallowed hard before saying, “If Heath is still alive, I’m afraid he’s still in terrible danger.”

Jarrod took charge of the situation and led his mother over to the dark green settee that occupied one wall of his office. And, ignoring Brydie’s response that she didn’t need anything, he seated her beside his mother and poured all three of them something to drink, using the opportunity to give himself time to order his thoughts.

Returning with the small glasses, he heard his mother ask for clarification.

“Brydie, I take it you know Heath, as well as Jarrod, then?”

Looking up at Jarrod as she accepted the brandy he offered her, she smiled slightly at him, as she said, “I’ve only had the pleasure of meeting your two handsome, dark-haired sons that one time up at Lonesome Camp about three years ago, Mrs. Barkley, but I’ve known Heath since he first started working Barkley-Sierra two months before that. He is ... he’s special, Mrs. Barkley. And, right now...”

She paused and dropped her head again, the un-tasted liquid in her glass trembling in her shaking hand, “And, right now, I’m more afraid for him than I can explain to either of you.”

Pulling his own black leather chair up in front of her, Jarrod reached out and touched her beneath the chin, tilting her head up to make her look at him. “Drink a swallow, Brydie,” he commanded gently.

While she complied, Jarrod added, “Mother, Brydie is the one that took care of Heath, of all three of us, when he was shot that night up at the camp. The medical supplies she gave us made the difference between saving and losing him on the return trip to the ranch afterwards.”

As Jarrod took the glass from her unsteady hand, Victoria reached out and grasped the young woman’s chilled fingers in hers and said, “I can never thank you enough, Brydie, for giving me the chance to get to know my son. Maybe you can make the difference for him again, now. Can you explain to us what else you know?”

Taking a deep breath, Brydie looked into the worried, but compassionate grey eyes of the woman in front of her and those deep blue eyes of the man she knew was Heath’s brother.

Nodding at them both, she said to Jarrod, “You gave me money when you left Lonesome, Mr. Barkley, more money than I’d ever seen at one time in all my life. And, I put it to good use. Heath had already convinced me that I needed to get myself out of there, but without the offer of the job for me Da that came from Mr. Murdoch, I knew I would never have been able to leave. Looking back, I guess I always knew you were behind it, getting Tim Hanrahan to work for management and act as a go-between for the company and the families there...”

Jarrod interrupted and said softly, “Actually, Brydie, that was Heath’s idea, and it’s worked out well, don’t you think? By the way, please call me Jarrod.”

As her face broke into a tentative smile, she nodded shyly and said, “Thank you, Jarrod. That does sound like something Heath would have done...”

With a sigh, she continued, “A few weeks after you left, I used the money to settle the rent, left some for me Da to live on, and I made my way to Saint Louis. I found respectable work with a fine family there, supporting myself by caring for their children. They worked hard to teach me more refined ways and a more ‘genteel’ way of speaking.”

She laughed lightly at this, then said, “You knew me from before, Mr. Bar ... Jarrod, so you know how difficult that must have been for them, and how long it took.”

“It was during that time, that I started writing to Jim. I saw his advertisement, and I decided to respond to it, more as a way of practicing my penmanship and my shiny new manners, than for anything expected for the future. I certainly never expected to come to feel for him what I did ... He’s a dear man, and I ... Well, that’s in the past now. He won't want the likes of me ... "

She trailed off, and with a sigh, added, "I had created a new name for myself when I left Lonesome Camp, so the rest was easy...”

“That explains why Heath never could find you after that.”

“He looked for me?” she asked, genuine surprise filling her voice as her green eyes suddenly filled with tears.

“Yes, Brydie. He was worried about you, and though he knew I had given you money, he just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed, that you had the chance to start over that he wanted for you.”

As he spoke, Jarrod glanced over at his mother, and they exchanged smiles, she nodding at him through her misty, grey eyes. She reached out and squeezed his hand, seeing her youngest son’s caring and compassion through the words of her eldest, as she heard this story for the first time.

Brydie swallowed hard and shook her head, saying quietly, her head down again, “Heath, Me Love. I didn’t think you’d really look for me after you left the mines.”

Victoria said quietly, “Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did, My Dear.”

Lifting her eyes to meet the tear-filled grey, Brydie smiled sadly and said, “He wanted me to have a chance to stand on my own, to have a chance to choose. He was more wise, even then, than I’ll ever be, Mrs. Barkley. I owe him so much.”

Reaching out, they hugged briefly, each taking comfort from the other, before Brydie took a deep breath and continued, “The mistake I made was Reed Clayton. I met him in Saint Louis, after I’d been writing to Jim, and I thought ... well, he was the polished, upper-class beau I never thought to have. After a while, I let him talk me into accepting the proposal from Jim North for marriage, with the idea that after a few months, I would leave Jim, with a nice settlement, which I would, of course, share with Reed. We came here to cheat that kind man, Mrs. Barkley, and for that, I will never forgive myself. But, the worst of it is now, that ... Heath...”

Unable to continue, Brydie rose from the chair, and she walked to the window, where she stood looking out, trying to deal with her rampant emotions, her self-loathing, and her fears for the young man she may have inadvertently led to his death.

Victoria looked at Jarrod, and he shook his head, as he rose to his feet to follow Brydie.

But, the young woman surprised them both as she turned around quickly and said, her voice suddenly full of determination, “I’m going to go to Reed to demand that he tell me what it is he has done to Heath. If he wasn’t killed near Stegall by the men robbing the stage, by the men trying to hurt me, I know Reed must have done something to him.”

“Why, Brydie?” Jarrod asked, “How do you know?”

“As he was coming in with the buggy, shooting at those men, I know Heath recognized me, Jarrod. He called my name as he shot the man who was attacking me! He kept me from being hurt, and ...”

Trying to spare her the distress of repeating it, Jarrod said, thinking hard, “So, you think that if he didn’t die there, Reed Clayton would want to prevent Heath from interfering with his plans for you here in the valley ... He knew Heath had recognized you. But, he wasn’t aware that Nick and I also knew you, that we would also recognize you, was he, Brydie?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and moving across the room toward them. “Until I saw Heath driving toward the stage, I had no idea Stegall was anywhere near where he lived, and I certainly didn’t know your family’s ranch was so close by. I didn’t know he was still with you, Jarrod, or that you,” she added, turning to Victoria and shaking her head, “Or that you would consider him your son, Mrs. Barkley. You are an amazing woman.”

“Like you said, Brydie,” Victoria said, her eyes brimming, “He’s very special.”

Nodding, as the two shared a small smile, Brydie continued, “Jim’s letters were always posted from Stegall, not Stockton, and I had no way of knowing the two places were so close together.”

Brydie began gathering the things she had left on the small side table, but Jarrod took her by the arm gently, stopping her, and he asked, “What’re you going to do, Brydie?”

“Reed has a room here in Stockton at the hotel. I’m going to confront him, tell him I want out of his scheme, and make him tell me where Heath is.”

Pulling away from Jarrod, she started toward the door.

But, Jarrod, his long legs carrying him there faster, stopped her again. “Wait, Brydie. You don’t know what he’ll do. He may hurt you once he finds out you plan to leave him high and dry in this.”

“He might, Jarrod. But, ‘tis a chance I have to take. I have to find out about Heath. I’m going, no matter what it is you say.”

Victoria crossed the room to stand behind the young woman, and her eyes met Jarrod’s.

Taking a deep breath, Jarrod said, “Alright, Brydie. I don’t want to be around when Big Jim North finds out what I let you do, but if you’re determined to go ahead with this, let’s at least think through it together, the three of us.”

Chapter 57

“What happened?” Reed Clayton asked abruptly when he opened the door to his hotel room and saw the young, dark-haired woman standing there. Pulling her roughly inside by the arm, he angrily turned her around to face him.

Keeping calm, she shook off his hand and said, “Reed, it’s not going to work.”

“From what I could see, from my vantage point in the hills behind the house yesterday afternoon, everything looks like it’s going just fine.”

“You were watching us?”

“Yes. Like I said, from what I could see in that rose garden, everything was fine.”

Shaking her head, she said, “With Jim, not with some of his friends.”

“Who exactly? What do you mean?”

“It’s the Barkleys. Jim’s friends. Their family owns half of this valley.”

“Why? What have they done?”

“Done? They’ve done nothing.”

“Then you need to calm down. You’re getting worried over nothing.”

“Reed, they think Jim sent Heath Barkley into a trap the other day. They are really upset. Even though I told them he was dead, that I saw him shot ... his body ... his body hasn’t turned up. They think I’m lying to them, that I had something to do with it. I’m afraid they’re going to have me investigated or something.”

“It’ll be alright. Now, I’m telling you, you’re doing fine. It doesn’t matter what someone else says anyway. All that matters is what that old man thinks of you, and from what I can see, that’s plenty.”

“I know this kind, and I know they’re not going to stop until they make trouble for me, for us.”

“I told you to calm down.”

Pushing away from him as he helped her remove her coat and tried to kiss her, she said, “I just don’t want to be around when they find out who I really am and start shaking things up.”

“When they find out ... if they find out...”

“They’re bound to find out if Heath Barkley turns up, and he starts telling them he knows me from Lonesome Camp! He’s not really dead, is he? If he were, they’d have already found him.”

Stepping over to her at the window, he turned her roughly toward him, and he leaned down, capturing her lips with his. At first, she kissed him back.

Then, she widened her eyes when he lifted his head and pulled her angrily up by his grip on both elbows, leering menacingly down into her shocked face. Her feet were almost off the ground, as she began trying to get away from him.

“Reed, you’re hurting me!” she gasped.

“I’ll do worse if you don’t find a way to settle things down and make this work! Don’t you know how much I have riding on this? Besides, you should’ve told me about Mister Heath Barkley long ago. I know what you said on our way to the North ranch, about how you met him in Lonesome when he was checking on Barkley-Sierra. But, if I didn’t know better from the way you were screaming about him back at that stage, I’d say you were in love with him instead of me!”

She shook her head, unable to speak from fear and the pain he was inflicting on her arms.

“Well, that’s one Barkley you don’t need to worry about any more,” he added, shaking her. “I’ll be taking care of him shortly, and I’ll be sure to leave his body where it can be found. That should keep his family busy for a while, too busy to worry about the upcoming marriage of their neighbor, Jim North!”

“Then, he wasn’t shot when the stage was attacked?”

“Oh, he was shot alright. He’s as helpless as a newborn, hardly able to lift his head, and I’ve got him locked away in an abandoned shed I found near where the stage was attacked. It’s hidden up there where no one will be able to help him until it’s too late, I assure you.”

Hauling her over to the bed, he tossed her onto it. Then, before she could roll away, he grabbed her and began kissing her again, as his hands moved to unbutton her blouse.

Frantically, she rolled away, laughing lightly, as if she were enjoying the attention, but teasing him. Then, she said, coaxingly, “Reed, this isn’t going to work. Let’s leave this town, now, right now, and go away somewhere, just the two of us.”

Catching her, he leaned in and nuzzled her neck as he mumbled, “It’s going to work. You act as if you were made for this.”

Stalling, she shook her head and said, “No, Reed, I’ll slip. I’ll say something. I’ll do something. And Jim, he’ll find out.”

Leaning back in, and losing patience with her attempts to distract him, he snarled, “No he won’t, because he’s so madly in love with you, that he wouldn’t see the truth if it were lit up with fire on a mountain. That’s the truth.”

Returning Reed’s kiss, she then broke it off again and said, “I just can’t hurt him. He’s a good man, a decent man.”

Angrily, Reed stood up, and he began pacing up and down in front of the bed.

“He’s an old man, and he’s buying more beauty and more love with his money than he deserves. We’re not taking as much as we could get, should get!”

Watching him warily, she said, “Reed, this was a mistake. It was a mistake right from the beginning.”

“No, the only mistake was running into someone who knew you here. So now, you just think about the two of us, and in a couple of months, after you leave him, I’ll take you back home with me. And, you can be Mrs. Reed Clayton.”

Puzzled, she asked, “Back home? I thought your father disowned you.”

“Well, when I can prove myself, there’s no more of the black sheep for me. I’ve got the brains to make it big in the business world. But, I need a stake. And, you’re going to get it for me.”

“I don’t want to hurt Jim,” she replied earnestly.

“I want you to forget about that old man and think about me, about me. I can’t make it any more drifting around winning a dollar here and there in a cheap poker game. So, I want you to go back to Jim North and forget all about Heath Barkley and the rest of his family.”

She stood up and pulled on her coat, as he handed her the leather riding gloves she’d had in her hand when she came in.

Quietly, her hand on the doorknob, she asked over her shoulder as he came up behind her, pushed aside her hair, and kissed her neck, “Where is he, Reed? I hope you really do have him hidden somewhere no one will find him, or it’ll all be over here.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of him shortly ... uh ... until this is over. After you're Mrs. Jim North, it won't matter what Heath Barkley or anyone else has to say!”

Opening the door for her, he whispered, “Now, go take care of that old man. The quicker he gets what he wants, the quicker I’ll get what’s coming to me.”

* * * * * * * *

She gasped in surprise when two figures emerged from a thin copse of trees off to her right, just a quarter mile from town. She had been watching the still damp dirt of the road, concentrating on maneuvering her horse around the puddles and reviewing the route to Jim’s ranch in her head, and she had not seen them start moving toward her until they were almost in front of her.

“Brydie?” Jarrod asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I think so,” she answered in a small voice.

“Let’s keep riding toward Jim’s place, then,” his deep, comforting voice said.

She nodded, and the other two fell in beside her, one on each side of her smaller, brownish-bay.

Victoria Barkley reached out and covered Brydie’s right hand in her left, switching her reins to the other hand for a few moments. Giving her gloved hand a reassuring squeeze, she smiled at Brydie, but remained silent.

“Brydie,” Jarrod asked, “I heard your exclamation one time through the door, but it sounded like you worked past it with him. Did he hurt you?”

“No. He ... he ... ,” she broke off, remembering Reed’s roughness, but knowing it had nothing to do with him suspecting anything. Then, taking a deep breath, she said, “I saw you in front of me, when I left the hotel. Thank you for staying close by.”

“Brydie,” Jarrod said, “I couldn’t let you go in there otherwise, not being sure if he would figure out you were trying to help us find Heath.”

Smiling over at him gratefully, she returned the squeeze of her hand from his mother, and they continued on for a little ways, quietly, each lost in thought.

Then, Jarrod asked her, “I could hear pieces of it, but what exactly did he say, Brydie?”

She replied, “I don’t know whether to suggest you follow Reed, or if you should just go back to the stage and start looking for Heath from there. Reed said he wasn’t dead, but that he was hurt, and that he had him hidden in a shed near there.”

She paused, as the Barkleys on each side of her seemed to take in a deep breath and let it out, as their eyes met. After a moment, she continued, “It had to be close to the stage, because he couldn’t have left me long. He was there when I fainted ... and he was there when I came around ... “

Nodding, Jarrod said, “That’s exactly what I figured from what I could hear him saying just before you opened the door. I guess he knew he couldn’t leave the surrey at the site of the stage attack.”

“Jarrod,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’m worried that all I’ve accomplished is to make him think he needs to hurry and ... and kill Heath! What if you can’t find him in time?”

“It’ll be alright, Brydie,” he replied. “We’ll find him.”

Then, watching her face carefully, he asked, “Brydie, were you with Clayton when he moved the surrey back the four miles to the stage stop?”

She dropped her eyes and took a deep breath. Then, lifting her head again, she looked over at the worried expression of the silver-haired woman watching her, and she turned back to Jarrod.

Nodding, she said, “Yes. I ... I knew Heath had recognized me, and when Reed kept asking me about him after he was shot, I ... I told him we knew each other three years ago. I didn't go into everything. I just told him Heath was there checking on the mine. He shook me then and told me Heath was dead, but that if we didn’t get the surrey away from the stage, someone would figure out he had been there.”

Shaking her head, Victoria hastily turned her horse toward the one Brydie rode, stopping her forward progress.

Brydie halted her horse abruptly, and she looked at the incredulous grey eyes of the woman in front of her. Her own green eyes filled with tears, and her heart lurched in her chest, plummeting quickly to her toes at the look of disbelief.

“Do you mean to say,” Victoria began, her anger beginning to overshadow her compassion, “That you knew Heath had come to take you to Jim, that you recognized my son as someone you knew and, I presume, cared about years before, and you left him there for dead? Then, you knew that man was covering up the fact that Heath had ever been there?”

Jarrod, his own horse stopped, watched the two of them, waiting to see how the young woman would answer his mother.

“Reed said it would be better if no one knew Heath had been there during the stage attack ... better if no one tied him to me. I saw the flowers in the surrey, and a little note Jim had attached to them for me, so, yes, I knew Heath had come to get me.”

She took another deep breath and added, wanting them to know all of it, “Now, I understand that Reed just wanted to move the surrey to throw all of you off in your search for Heath, and I know that he could be dead now because of what we did, what I ... But, at the time...” She trailed off.

Then, in a small, quiet voice, Brydie added, her eyes on Victoria’s, “Yes, I loved Heath once, Mrs. Barkley. And, in some ways, I still do. He was the kindest man I had ever met. Most of the men at Newton’s Saloon only wanted one thing from me, but Heath was different. He took care of me Da, took care of me, kept me from having to work in that saloon, though he asked nothing of me in return. If I had had any idea that he was still alive after he was shot, I would’ve done everything differently. But ... I was so upset, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Seeing him fall to the ground like that, the force of the bullet throwing him backwards ... I believed Reed when he told me he was dead. He wouldn’t let me go to him ... I was so distraught ... “

She trailed off, then began again, her thoughts only concerned for the blond that had taken care of her and her father when no one in the world had cared, “I ... I don’t have any excuses for my actions, Mrs. Barkley. I’m not proud of what I did. Please believe me ... I’m ashamed that I ever let Reed talk me into going through with the plan to marry Jim, to cheat him out of a marriage and out of a small fortune, but to continue on with the charade when all I can think of now is Heath, about how he may have died trying to protect me...”

Though Victoria’s innate compassion was winning out, she still wanted to know the limits of the scheme, to be sure that it was over. She asked coldly, “How much do you hope to gain?”

Taking a deep breath at the fair, but, very unyielding question, Brydie continued, “Nothing now, Mrs. Barkley. I won’t be marrying Jim, and I won’t be trying to pass myself off as something I’m not any more. Heath helped me straighten my life out three years ago, giving me the courage and confidence to find a better life for myself. And, now, when I was about to make another mistake, he was suddenly there, helping me, saving my life this time, and getting me out of more trouble than I’d ever found myself in before. I won’t forget this time, no matter what else happens from here. Brydie Hanrahan may be just a saloon girl, but from now on, I'll be an honest one.”

As the silver-haired older woman slowly nodded her understanding, Brydie heard her quiet voice say, “Well, perhaps you’ll get your chance to tell Heath all of that yourself.”

“I hope so, Mrs. Barkley. I truly hope so.”

Then, turning back to Jarrod, seeing his kind blue eyes watching her, she asked, “What about Reed? We can’t let him get away with this. We have to find Heath before he does! After what I told him, he’ll leave right away to kill Heath. We can’t let that happen!”

“Don’t worry, I have someone watching him. If he leaves to find Heath, we’ll know it. And, he’ll be followed.”

She gave the tall, dark-haired lawyer a warm smile, trying to calm herself, and then, turned back to Victoria.

“Mrs. Barkley, I need to talk to Jim.”

“Nan ... Brydie,” she corrected, then asked, recognizing the attempts the young woman was making to set things right, “Would you like for me to go with you?”

“No, Mrs. Barkley. This is something I have to take care of myself. But, thank you.”

“Alright. I understand. But, if you need somewhere to stay afterward, ask Harley to bring you back out to our ranch. I want you to stay with us for as long as you like.”

“I don’t understand.” Brydie shook her head, “How could you feel that way after what I’ve told you, after what I’ve done?”

“No matter what you came here to do, you’re planning to tell Jim the truth now, aren’t you?”

“Yes. It will probably hurt him, but I can’t lie to him any more.”

“And, you put yourself at risk last night and this morning to help us find Heath, didn’t you?”

“But, I’m the one that got him into that situation to start with!”

“No, Brydie. If you know anything about my son, you know that he would’ve risked his life to help anyone who was in as much danger as you and Mr. Clayton were yesterday. Anyone.”

Nodding, the dark-haired woman’s green eyes filled again with tears, and she said, “Yes, Mrs. Barkley. You’re absolutely right. What he did, he would’ve done for anyone. The fact that Reed tried to hurt him afterwards, knowing what Heath had done for us, shows me just how despicable the man really is...”

Taking a deep breath, she smiled softly at the woman beside her and said, “I can see that you’ve come to know Heath very well, that you love him a great deal. If you don’t mind, I’ll accept your kind offer, with great appreciation.”

“No, My Dear,” she said, reaching out again to squeeze Brydie’s hand, “It is I who am grateful. You’ve helped give me hope for my son, and ... ,” she smiled mischievously, “I have a feeling you and I can share some interesting stories about him.”

The smile the young woman returned was the first real one she had offered since she had arrived in the valley.

Chapter 58

The dark-haired man looked up from gathering his belongings into his cloth satchel, as the door to his room flew open.

Swallowing his instant irritation at the disrespectful entrance of the scraggly drifter, followed by his mangy-looking dog, Reed Clayton steeled his repulsion and commented dryly, “Do come in.”

Then, pulling out a wad of bills, he dangled a few in front of the stranger he had met downstairs the night before over the poker table, the same man he had sent for just a little while before.

“I have a job for you. I need to get rid of a certain problem. Will you take care of it for me?”

“D’pends on how tricky the problem is.”

Reed added a few more bills to those he held out, and he smiled and said, “How does finishing off a half-dead cowboy sound to you?”

Reaching out to whisk the bills from his fingers, the ruffian nodded and opened his mouth to smile widely, causing the dark-haired man, fastidious to a fault, to step back and practically hold his breath at the rank odor that issued forth.

“Half dead, huh? Well, I reckon this’ll do fer starters,” the grinning man said, as he turned and followed Clayton, bag in hand and coat over one arm, from the room.

* * * * * * * *

“Jarrod,” Victoria said, her single word halting his deliberate movements, as he tied the bedroll containing, among other things, fresh shirts for himself and his two brothers.

As he lifted his head and his eyes found her searching grey from the other side of his room, he blinked rapidly and tried to compose his thoughts. Then, lowering his eyes again, he completed the last knot, picked up the roll of blankets and supplies, and, as he walked around the bed, he threw the bedroll over his shoulder and added to it the saddlebags full of food and medical supplies she handed him.

He took her arm and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head as he held her there, against his broad chest.

“Mother,” he said quietly, “We’ll find him. Now that we know more about what’s going on, we’ll find him and bring him home to you soon, I promise.”

She closed her eyes and clung to this oldest son, hearing his strong heart beating inside his chest beneath the soft blue shirt that so brought out the color of his handsome eyes.

She could not bear the thought of losing him, of losing Nick, or of losing Heath, the son she had not borne, but mothered all the same.

She had already lost so much to the violence of a bullet, and she could not lose any of her children as well.

“Jarrod,” she said quietly. “Just promise me that you and Nick will look out for each other, that you’ll do your best to find Heath. I need you all to come back safely. The kind of man that would dream up this sort of scheme for preying on a young girl, using her to his own purposes, and stealing the future from as kind a man as Jim North, wouldn’t think twice about killing one of my sons. And, don’t forget what I told you Brydie said. That man carries a gun hidden somewhere inside his jacket.”

Nodding against her hair, Jarrod said, “I won’t forget, Mother. Thank you for the medical supplies, but I don’t plan on having to use them except for doctoring Nick after having to eat Duke’s cooking for two days.”

They both chuckled as they headed out of the room and toward the staircase, arm in arm.

She said, “Your father once told me after he returned from a trip with his foreman, that choosing to eat Duke’s cooking was like trying to decide between death by drowning or death by hanging. Either way, once you had taken the first bite, you knew it would be slow and painful, and leave you wishing you’d just hurry up and draw your last breath.”

“I remember, but I also know he didn’t ever say too much about it in front of Duke.”

“No, he never did. He was like Heath that way. He would never have wanted to hurt Duke’s feelings, but I’m sure Nick, though he won’t want to hurt Duke’s feelings either, won’t be so quiet about it. He’ll come up with some excuse not to eat if necessary, and then he’ll just be the devil to live with.”

Jarrod laughed, “That’s why I’m awfully glad you took Billy out there with you. That young man can cook a mean pot of beans. Maybe they’ve survived.”

“He can?” she asked, as they reached the door.

“Yes,” Jarrod said, his eyes twinkling merrily, “And, who do you think taught him?”

“You don’t mean Heath?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, that’s exactly who I mean.”

“But, Jarrod. I thought,” she said, trailing off. Then, she started laughing as he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Do you mean to tell me that Heath really is a good cook? The way Nick has maligned his cooking all this time, I’ve tried giving Heath some pointers a couple of times so the two of them wouldn’t starve out on the trail. He never said a word...”

Chuckling again as he mounted his horse to ride out and find his middle brother, Jarrod looked down at her, squeezed the hand she held up to him, and he said, “Mother, if anyone could give YOU pointers about cooking over a campfire, it would be Heath Barkley. He was probably just being his polite, gentlemanly self by not saying anything. You know, Nick may grumble about Brother Heath’s cooking, but I always notice he eats every bite and goes back for more. Heath knows how to make a hearty meal out of just about anything out on the trail, and I do mean anything ... including beans and bacon.”

Then, he added, his smile making his eyes dance, “We both know Nick and Heath well enough to know the one would never admit to noticing many of the quiet talents his younger brother possesses, while the other would never contradict him when it comes to his own abilities!”

Smiling and nodding at his words, Victoria said, “Take care, Jarrod. Come home to me safely, Son. All three of you.”

Nodding, Jarrod turned his chestnut toward the gate, and he headed north to find Nick.

* * * * * * * *

He was only an hour or so from the area where he figured the stage attack had taken place, when he suddenly pulled Jingo up.

It was as if something had suddenly made the fine hair on the back of his neck stand up, as if something wasn’t as it should be.

Could those men that had attacked the people on the stage still be in this area?

Looking around, he searched the low hills with their golden grasses and occasional scrub tree, and he paid careful attention to the stand of trees to his left that edged the river, just below the rise of the road.

He had taken this back trail toward Stegall trying to save time in reaching Nick, and some five minutes ago, he had crossed the bridge over the river. He had noted then how swollen it seemed as it rushed along between its banks, marking the boundary at the northern end of the ranch.

Removing his canteen from where it was dallied around his saddle horn, he took a long drink and continued surveying the area with his eyes, trying not to be too obvious about it ... just in case.

The sun was high overhead, and its glare off of the water below made him turn his face away. Removing his hat as he replaced the canteen, he moped at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. It had been so chilly last night, downright cold if they hadn’t had the warmth of the small fire in the fireplace at that stage outbuilding to warm them, and now it was the opposite. Before the day was over, it was probably going to get a lot warmer.

Shaking his head at himself, at letting some feeling make him edgy, he took one more, long look around, and he nudged his horse forward, eager to reach the area where he believed he would find Nick.

For some reason, however, his thoughts immediately targeted a conversation he and Heath had had several years back.

They had been riding together, headed somewhere Jarrod couldn’t remember now, shortly after the doctor had given the okay for Heath to begin riding again with his healing leg.

Smiling to himself, now, he realized Heath had probably been doing so for days, just not letting the doctor or Victoria Barkley know about it ...

Jarrod did remember it had been a day like this one. The sun’s light had made everything shimmer, from the cloudless sky to the hills in the distance, after a soaking rainstorm the night before.

With no preamble, Heath had quietly said something about the beauty of the valley, and Jarrod had glanced over at his new brother, surprised that he had volunteered any conversation as they had ridden.

So far, his experience with Heath led Jarrod to believe that he only answered direct questions, or that on the rare occasion he ventured to add an opinion, it was apparently only after he had thought it through completely. The only other time had been if he felt he had some particular angle to offer that the others might not see, but that hadn’t happened that Jarrod remembered since they had discussed what to do for the people at Lonesome Camp.

For Heath to offer an idle comment like this was rare, and Jarrod was hard put to resist following it up, as he took note of the faraway look in his again quiet brother’s eyes, his eyes silently watching the path of the river.

A few seconds later, Jarrod was again surprised when Heath brought his horse to a stop at the top of a rise, and he sat there, his eyes taking in the view spread out below them like a man dying of thirst, as if he had forgotten Jarrod was even beside him.

Not wishing to intrude, but hoping for some insight into this enigmatic, quiet young man beside him, Jarrod responded softly to Heath’s words from a moment before, “Spoken like a man with an eye for more than just the land as a place to work cattle and raise horses, and ... it sounds like something Nick would say.”

After a few more minutes, in which Jarrod’s comment went unacknowledged, Jarrod was beginning to think he was wrong about what he had heard in Heath’s voice, about what he saw in his new brother’s eyes.

Then, his silence was rewarded.

Heath turned light blue eyes to him for no more than a second, and he nodded in acknowledgement of the comment. Then, he turned his eyes back to the golds, browns, and greens of the land below them, to the irresistible blue of the water and the sky.

Quietly, he said, “It’d be like walkin’ past a girl you’ve known most’a your life, an’ not noticin’ when she gets a new bonnet.”

Intrigued, Jarrod left the comment hanging between them for a few seconds. Then, shaking his head, but looking over at Heath with curiosity in his eyes, he asked, “How do you mean?”

The response, in length, depth and eloquence, nearly knocked Jarrod out of the saddle as he listened, learning about normally quiet brother and the life he had led.

“When ya’ don’t see daylight for weeks at a time, when ya’ get ta starvin’ ta see sunbeams dancin’ through tree branches full’a green, rustlin’ leaves, or sparklin’ like shiny diamonds on water as blue as the sky on a summer afternoon, ya’ don’t ride past it without noticin’, without sharin’ your appreciation.”

Nodding, swallowing hard, Jarrod allowed the words to pull his eyes away from his brother’s face and to sweep slowly back over the landscape stretched out before them, as if seeing it for the first time.

Then, returning his blue eyes to the blond beside him, he asked quietly, “How long did you work in the mines, Heath?”

The younger man closed his eyes briefly, then, opened them. He looked into Jarrod’s compassionate blue and he said, “Time has a way’a passin’ right by down there, Jarrod.”

Unwilling to let go of it, but acutely aware that Heath was making light of the situation to keep him from knowing something Heath probably thought would hurt them, Jarrod began to wonder how many of his brother’s years had been spent inside places like that. Trying to be more specific, however, and realizing Heath wasn’t going to tell him much, Jarrod asked, “How long had you worked at Lonesome?”

Jarrod instantly kicked himself for asking too many questions, when the blond’s jaw muscle tightened, and he saw the look of pain cross his brother’s face. Wishing there was some way to remove the question, he turned his horse’s head and nudged the chestnut down the hill, giving Heath some additional space.

Behind him, Heath didn’t respond immediately.

In fact, he didn’t respond to the question until after they had stopped over an hour later to sit beneath a couple of old oak trees and eat the sandwiches Silas had prepared for them, while their horses rested and grazed nearby.

Jarrod leaned against a tree trunk, his arms crossed, and he closed his eyes.

Lying back on the ground, his head resting in his hands as he stared up through the tree branches over his head, Heath spoke quietly after a few minutes of mutual silence, “Went ta Lonesome after my mama died. I’d been there, headed toward two months, when the strike started.”

After a moment, Jarrod opened his eyes and looked over at Heath. He knew, from a previous conversation, that Heath had not known who his father was until her death. He asked, “You knew who you were by then, right? Why did you go there instead of coming here, to find us?”

His light blue eyes finding Jarrod’s, Heath studied his oldest brother’s sincere face for a moment, then he nodded, and he said simply, “I knew. ‘Guess that’s why I went ta Lonesome. The mine carried the name Barkley-Sierra, an’ I knew about minin’. I wanted ta see how his family ran their operations, after his death.”

Sucking in his breath through his nose, Jarrod closed his eyes and let the air slowly back out. Unspoken in the reply had been the idea that Heath already knew first-hand how Tom Barkley had run his mines when he had been alive ...

He felt as if the words had punched him in the gut without warning.

He pictured in his head the appalling conditions he had seen when he and Nick had gone there together to try to stop the strike and to find Heath. He remembered well the poor excuses for housing, the store that Nick had discovered was charging the families three times cost, and the hunger and despair rampant everywhere.

And, he remembered Heath’s words, his anger, as he had confronted them all in the study beneath his father’s portrait.

By the time he opened his eyes, Jarrod was alone by the tree.

Feeling his heart twist inside his chest even now, even as he rode the back trail above the river, trying to find Nick so they could locate Heath, Jarrod reflected on what Heath must have thought of them all as he had gotten to know the situation at Lonesome, at Barkley-Sierra, as he had lived there with the people who had suffered from Tom Barkley’s empty promises, just as he had all of his life.

It was painfully obvious now that if they had not responded, if they had not tried to do what they could to help the people of Lonesome once they had become aware of their plight, Heath may not have ever stayed, may not have ever agreed to wearing the name Barkley.

Shaking his head, Jarrod realized all over again, that the fact that they had Heath in their lives was not so much a measure of his mother’s generosity and compassion that she had asked Heath to remain with them, but, rather, it was a measure of his brother’s capacity to forgive that had led him to accept her offer.

Chapter 59

Nick barely looked up as he heard a horse approaching from off to his left. His quick glance told him it was Jarrod, his sorrel’s unusual white blaze and the comfortable way his brother sat Jingo’s canter, making both horse and rider easily distinguishable from all others, even from a distance.

He returned his eyes toward the ground, taking another careful stride forward, letting his concentrated gaze stay a foot or so ahead of his boots. He, Billy, and Duke had been at this for a couple of hours now, scouring the ground around the rocky area near the abandoned stage in a wide circle.

This particular area he was working was made more difficult by the scraggly grass found in the places that had enough soil on top of the rock to support growth. It was tough to find anything of note except rock, grass, and ...

Suddenly, he stopped, his slow forward motion suspended, while his eyes continued methodically on.

There!

He saw yet another, faint hint of a thin, barely visible, linear indentation in the dirt, as though a buggy wheel had passed over the flat, sandy-red of the rocky ground sometime before last night’s storm. In the places where dirt had accumulated and the rain had not washed over the rock in running rivulets because of the tangled grass, he discovered first one recognizable mark, then another.

Glancing up at the approach of his older brother, Nick said quietly, “Jarrod. I think I’ve found something. Get Mac and Billy headed this way, will you? And, bring Coco.”

“Sure, Nick,” Jarrod said, as he turned his horse back around, careful not to break the unusually quiet Nick’s concentration.

Watching the ground intently, Nick continued following the barest hint of a trail, hoping to get a sense of the direction and possible destination of the tracks.

He was aware of the men following him on horseback a little while later, but he gave them no more than a cursory nod as he kept his eyes on the ground. Every so often, he glanced up to get a general feel for his surroundings, as he tried to keep his mind off of the fact that if Heath had been here, instead of being the one they were trying to find, he may have already figured out the illusive destination of these tracks.

Though neither of them had ever said a word about it, Nick knew his quiet brother was the better tracker of the two. While Nick had sharp eyes and could do a passable job at this, he had never had the patience to apply his tracking skills the way Heath did, and he certainly had not had the experience in this sort of thing that his younger brother had.

As if reading his mind, Jarrod moved his horse closer, watching Nick’s concentrated movements from one relatively soft area of ground to the next, and he said quietly, so Duke and Billy couldn’t hear, “Heath would be proud of you, Nick. It must’ve been hell to find any of this trail. He won’t believe me when I tell him how careful and patient you were...”

“Yeah, well,” Nick replied from the ground, uncomfortably interrupting the praise, “If this works, you can tell that boy anything you want to tell him ... I just hope I haven’t been too slow at this to do him any good!”

“I have faith in you, Nick. And, so does he. Heath knows you won’t give up looking for him until you’ve got him back in one piece.”

Taking a deep breath, Jarrod added, “Nick, it’s a long story that can wait until later, but I found out in town that Reed Clayton was indeed responsible for taking Heath from the site of the attack on the stage, and he wasn’t doing it out of compassion. Clayton’s in town at the hotel, but he apparently has Heath hidden in a shed around here somewhere. It can’t be too far away, that much I do know.”

His eyes on the ground, Nick nodded once, his throat tight with renewed worry and instant, blood-red anger at the man who had done this to his brother, but his heart was, at the same time, lightened by the glimmer of hope Jarrod’s words offered.

He wanted to assail Jarrod with questions, but he knew he had to stay focused on what he was doing, or he would miss something important.

Taking a deep breath, trying to shove the anger back down inside, he knew he had to keep an iron grip on himself, and he would have to trust Jarrod to tell him what he needed to know, when he needed to know it.

Then, after a few more minutes, he looked up again and verified that their path was taking them toward the stand of thick trees, over a hundred yards away, on the outskirts of this rocky stretch of soil dotted with sparse, dry grass.

“There, Jarrod,” he pointed. “Maybe there’s a shed or something in those trees. I take it you’ve thought to have someone keep an eye on Reed Clayton, and we’ll be warned if he tries to move Heath?”

“I have, Nick,” his brother assured him.

Satisfied, Nick reached out to take Coco’s rein from Jarrod, and he met his brother’s concerned, dark blue eyes as he mounted.

“Let’s go find our little brother.”

Glancing back at Duke and Billy, Nick nodded toward the trees and led the small group of men toward them at a gallop.

* * * * * * * *

Dismounting carefully, all senses alert, his hawk-like hazel eyes on the front of the small shed, Nick swiftly tied his horse and motioned to the others to remain there, among the thick trees. His gun drawn, he walked with long, fluid strides toward the closest corner of the dilapidated building, and, trusting the men with him to watch his back, he edged around the corner and toward the door.

Seeing the bolted padlock, he gave it a fierce tug, assuring himself that it was locked from the outside. Then, he eased toward the single, broken window.

Unable to see the door, but watching Nick’s movements intently, Jarrod searched his memory for who might have built this run-down shed and for what purpose. He settled on the distant recollection that this land was the southern border of Hank Reynold’s property, a rancher with a small spread that had fallen into disuse, since its owner’s poor health had forced him to down-size considerably, a few years ago.

The place was overgrown with weeds, and even the hardwood trees, once tall and majestic, were choked with small saplings and soft pines that had grown up between them over the years. There was no doubt the forest was quickly reclaiming this land as its own again.

Hank had developed pneumonia a while back, and he had never ...

Jarrod’s eyes suddenly widened, his thoughts interrupted, as he heard Nick shout his name, and he saw his younger brother take aim at something with his pistol.

Running forward, his own gun drawn, Jarrod heard the retort of the revolver as Nick fired it twice. Then, coming to an abrupt stop, Jarrod heaved a sigh of relief as he realized the only enemy Nick had been facing was the rusty padlock on the door.

With a curse, Nick tried to open the door with his hand, but, when his attempt was unsuccessful, he shook his head, holstered his gun, and swiftly lifted his boot, kicking it in. As dust and light filtered in through the now open doorway, Jarrod eased in carefully, followed closely by the hazel-eyed rancher, with his pistol drawn once again.

Knowing anyone inside would have the advantage of being able to see them better than they could see inside the darkness, one went quickly to the left, while the other moved to the right, both keeping low and ready.

Slowly, they both eased to an upright position as they realized at the same time that the abandoned space was empty of all but the rotting bags of seed piled against one wall and a few wooden boxes and broken tools scattered across the dirt floor.

Nick, his anger welling up to cover the disappointment of believing that they had been about to find Heath, only to have that belief crushed with their entry into this dusty domain, snarled as he stalked from one end of the shed to the other.

“Dammit! I thought we’d found him. As soon as I saw it, I was convinced this was the place you meant!”

Hearing the note of worry and self-crimination behind the angry tone, Jarrod looked over at Nick, who was dropping down on one knee beside the back wall, searching the area closely with his eyes. It was unlike Nick to let much get to him, and even more unusual for him to allow anything to diminish his self-confidence, like this search for their brother had done.

That Nick blamed himself in some way was becoming more and more obvious to the tall, dark-headed lawyer, an expert in reading all kinds of people, good and bad, honest and dishonest, but especially cognizant of the moods of this brother with whom he had lived all of his life

Shaking his head, Jarrod searched the darkest end of the shed, to the left of the door, giving Nick room to study the bulk of the space, pacing as he needed to. Suddenly, Jarrod swallowed hard, and he leaned down, picking up an object from the dirt.

“Nick,” he said softly. “Maybe we weren’t wrong. Look at this.”

Crossing the dusty space and taking the light-colored Stetson from Jarrod’s outstretched hand, Nick Barkley knew they had finally found part of the answer about why their younger brother had not come home.

* * * * * * * *

Just as he crested the top of a small rise, he dropped to his knees, his head down, and he hauled in several ragged breaths. With his eyes closed tightly, he tried to ignore the bright light from the sun that seemed to sear through his skull and stab straight into his brain with every unsteady step he had taken for the last few hours.

The unrelenting headache that had kept him off-balance and in agony with every step seemed to double as he remained there, struggling to breathe. The dizziness that plagued him, he was now sure, was as much a result of the blood loss as it was of the bullet that had creased his head.

His arm was a hot, heavy weight that he held close to his chest with his good hand, and he was aware that it was badly swollen, though the bleeding had probably stopped sometime after he had crossed the river.

The only improvements were in his memory, in that he could now recall a gun battle involving several men and a stopped stage, and in his eyesight, in that he could now distinguish shapes with greater precision ... at least he could through the narrow crack of his eyelids whenever he ventured to open them at all. The sun’s rays seemed to intensify the blinding headaches whenever he did so.

Slowly, as the rasp of his breathing eased, he became aware of the sound of the breeze in the trees off to his left, followed by the call of a jay from that same direction.

With a gasp at the cutting pain it caused, he blinked his eyes open enough to feel sure there was a stand of trees there, not too far off from the direction he had been heading for ... for how long? as he had struggled southward, trying to keep the sun on his right as it slowly dipped to the west.

Staggering to his feet again, he stumbled forward, descending the backside of the low rise. When he fell and rolled the last few feet at the bottom, he was barely aware of it, as he fought his way to his feet one more time and struggled the remaining steps toward the grove of massive trees.

Reaching out, he caught himself against the first trunk, and he slid down it to lean back exhaustedly, his pounding head pushed against the rough bark.

His eyes closed again in exhaustion.

Long moments later, he slowly opened his eyes, and he caught his breath as even the filtered light cut through them. Then, blinking rapidly, he forced himself to move his head, searching the area for anything familiar, trying to be sure of where he was.

Suddenly, he began pushing off from the trunk behind him, scrambling upward and using both hands roughly in a fevered rush to get to his feet. He stumbled forward, unaware of the reopened laceration, his arm beginning to bleed once more, and he staggered eight or nine steps before he fell to his knees again, his eyes closing.

Completely spent, his body toppled sideways, and he crashed into the thin, white strips of wood beside him without uttering a sound.

The light red of his filthy shirt and the brighter red of the bloodstained bandage covering his arm stood out in stark contrast to the bank of white flowers trailing down behind him, some of their blooms crushed beneath his body, as his fingers touched the base of the grey slab of marble that meant he had made it far enough ... that he had made it home.

As the sun slipped toward the tops of the trees, and the shadows lengthened across the open area between the massive trunks, the call of the raucous jay filled the space within the grove once more, just before it flew off, leaving the quiet place behind, the earlier intrusion long forgotten.

Chapter 60

“But, why? Why do you have to go, Nancy? We were just getting comfortable with one another.”

Jim North’s voice lost all pretense of pride as he pleaded with her again.

Shaking her head, she crossed over to the bureau where she had placed her carefully folded clothes so hopefully two days before. She leaned with both hands on its polished surface for a moment, turning her head back over her shoulder to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

Then, calmly, firmly, as if she were explaining a rule to a child who didn’t understand, she said, “I told you, Jim. My name is Brydie Hanrahan, not Nancy Briggs. And, I can’t stay ... because I lied to you. I came here with the idea of marrying you, then leaving again, all within the space of a few months, but leaving much richer than I arrived.”

“But, Nan ... ,” he paused again, unwilling yet to call her the unfamiliar name, but not willing to see her go like this. Then, he swallowed hard and finished, “But, I told you that it was the woman in your letters I fell in love with, not your name. And, I’m not such a young fool that I can’t tell when someone is toying with my affection. I know I’m not wrong in this, Na ... Bry-die,” he said, rolling the name off of his tongue for the first time, trying it out. Then, he repeated, “I know I’m not wrong. You love me, as well ... I’m sure you do!”

With a sigh, she looked at him in the mirror for another moment, as he stood beside her.

Then, she shook her head firmly and said, wanting to be very sure that he knew exactly who she really was, adopting her natural Irish lilt on purpose to drive home her point, “If ‘tis sure ye be, that I’m the woman ye love, ye best be knowing who that woman really is, Big Jim. True, t’was as a woman responsible for the well-being fer the three wee ones of a fine, St. Louis family that I began writing to ye, but before that, t’was as a woman who made me living as a barmaid in a fine, California mining camp saloon that I got me start.”

Jim’s sad eyes widened in shock, and he stepped back, away from her, as her words and accent washed over him.

“No,” he said, shaking his head in denial.

Her head dropping at this callous treatment of him, but feeling that it was for his best in the long run, she didn’t turn around as she said, her more cultured accent back in place, “Yes, Jim. That’s who you would have married if the masquerade had continued. Now, I think it’s for the best, for both of us, that you let me go.”

Silently, heart-broken, he left the room and closed the door softly behind him.

After a moment, Brydie lifted her eyes and stared at her face as the tears coursed down her cheeks. Then, brushing them away with the back of her hand and squaring her shoulders, she returned to the bed and continued packing her valise.

Knowing Reed Clayton as she did, she knew that if Heath wasn’t already dead, he probably would be soon. And, even if he wasn’t, he would never want to have anything to do with her again after what she had been a part of. Above all, she knew him to be an honorable man, and she had not only acted dishonorably toward Jim, she had done so toward Heath, putting him in great danger because of her charade.

And now ... she was acutely aware that she had just trampled the heart of the second love of her life.

There was nothing for her here.

Knowing she would not accept Mrs. Barkley’s kind invitation, she closed and latched the lid, picked up the valise, and she opened the door, heading down the staircase and out of the house she believed with all of her heart she could have been very happy in, had the circumstances been different.

* * * * * * * *

Her mother was resting in her room, and it was still more than two hours before dinner.

Audra walked slowly down the back staircase and paused at the bottom, watching the quiet, grey-haired man moving silently about the kitchen.

When he did not acknowledge her, she knew she had caught him in one of those rare moments in which his own thoughts and worries overshadowed his flawless attention to taking care of the ones he loved.

Sure that she knew what he was thinking about, or rather, who, she crossed the floor to stand beside him at the large wooden sink, purposefully making her boot heels ring out on the polished, heart of pine floor so he would know she was there.

While not quite as loud as Nick’s silver spurs, she was satisfied with the result, as the old gentleman lifted his head and said, with only a trace of a quiver in his voice, “Land sakes, Miss Audra, I done thought you were Mr. Nick, trying to sneak up on me!”

With a soft chuckle, Audra placed both hands on the man’s shoulders from behind. Then, she said, her voice full of commiserating compassion, “You’re worried about him, too, aren’t you, Silas?”

“Why, Miss Audra,” he said, turning his tear-stained face toward her, “You know that boy can take care of himself! I’ve never known anyone so capable of weathering rough times as our Heath.”

Catching the more familiar usage of her brother’s name without the customary “Mister” placed in front of it, Audra thought again of the close relationship these two shared. She had rarely heard Silas slip up, and she knew it was a sign of how distraught he was that he had. But, she had also known for some time that Silas referred to her blond-headed brother by his first name, only his first name, when it was just the two of them together, and that he did so at Heath’s request.

Gripping his shoulders more firmly, Audra said quietly, swallowing her own worries and fears, as she attempted to comfort him, “You know it’s going to be alright, don’t you? They’re going to find him.”

“Yes, Miss Audra. I sure do know that.”

Nodding, she gave his shoulders another squeeze, and she stepped toward the door. Looking back at him, she said, “Silas, would you please tell Mother, when she awakens, that I’m going riding? I’ll be back before dark, in time to help you put supper on the table for all of us, in case the boys come in.”

“I’ll tell her,” Silas replied, as he turned toward the stove and the apple pie he was baking, just in case.

As Audra began walking toward the barn, she heard him humming a sad hymn, the mournful melody drifting out of the open window behind her.

* * * * * * * *

“Alright, Jarrod,” Nick said, his hands on his hips as he stood just inside the doorway of the forgotten storage shed, “Let’s hear it. What do you know about this Reed Clayton fella, and what has he got to do with Heath?”

“From what I know, he decided our brother, the same man who saved him and Jim’s bride-to-be from being killed on that stage, was a threat to his future.”

Growling, Nick said, “You’re talking in riddles, Jarrod!”

“Nick, do you remember Brydie Hanrahan?”

“Brydie? Sure, I remember her. She was Heath’s friend from Lonesome Camp. We met her three years ago, when ... What’s she got to do with this?”

“She’s the reason Mother and I know about Reed Clayton. She came to talk to us, and she pointed us in Clayton’s direction.” Seeing Nick’s look, Jarrod continued to explain, “Apparently, she went to St. Louis after she left the mining camp, and she answered Jim North’s advertisement. She’d already changed her name to Nancy Briggs, and, after corresponding with him, then accepting his proposal, she journeyed here to meet him.”

Nick’s eyes widened in the gloom inside the small building, and he quickly put much of the rest together, “She was the girl Heath was sent to meet? And, this Reed Clayton was with her? As more than an escort, apparently ... Let me guess, Heath recognized her, and this fella, Clayton, locked him in here after he was hurt, trying to keep some charade going long enough to fleece Jim!”

Jarrod nodded throughout his brother’s listing of the events, and he listened in amazement as Nick’s shrewd thinking reasoned out all of it, even the parts involving the horses, the parts that had been bothering him from the beginning.

“So, that’s why the surrey was taken back to the stage stop! With the rig left there, we wouldn’t know Heath had been involved in the attack, and the two of them would think their secret about Brydie being this Nancy Briggs was safe. But, I take it Reed Clayton doesn’t realize we also know Brydie? Or that she talked to you?”

“No. And, if she hadn’t come to us, the first part wouldn’t have mattered much until we eventually ran into her along the way. That could have been weeks down the road, and she and Jim could’ve been married by then.”

“Alright, so now that we know, and Heath isn’t the only one that does, he may not be in as much danger any more. The whole thing’s becoming a secret that’s leaked too far to plug back up, isn’t it?” Nick asked, his eyes searching Jarrod’s.

“No, Nick. I don’t think so. At least, not as far as Reed Clayton is concerned. Though Brydie insisted on going to see him, on verifying with Clayton that he had hidden Heath away somewhere, her conversation with him probably also raised his interest in getting rid of Heath soon.”

Shaking his head, Nick said, “I really thought that girl loved Heath? Why would she do that?”

“Mother and I both worked the details of it out with Brydie before she went to talk with Clayton. We were all worried Heath could die without medical treatment, Nick. We felt she had to push Clayton on it, to call his hand and get him to reveal what he knows. What she did helped us understand what we’re up against, and, now, we either have to find Heath before Clayton does, or at the very least, we’ll be able to follow the man to Heath when he ...”

“But, Jarrod!” Nick said worriedly, heading past Jarrod and for the open door. “Look around, Pappy. He’s not here, though he obviously was. What if Clayton’s already gotten to him!”

“No, Nick,” Jarrod said, shaking his head and grabbing his arm to stop him. “He couldn’t have. I came straight here. He hasn’t had time, yet.”

Hauling in a deep breath, Nick resumed his prowling inside the shed, looking for anything they might have missed before. He walked over to the broken window, and he examined the boards lying on the ground, as well as the jagged shards of wood and glass protruding from the sill.

Suddenly, he said, “Jarrod, look at this.”

Seeing the blood as soon as he stepped close enough, Jarrod met Nick’s eyes. “The door was locked when you came in, Nick.”

“Yeah. It looks like Little Brother found a way to escape.”

“But,” Jarrod said, leaning down and examining the blood that had dripped down on the nearby feed sacks, “At what cost?”

Leaving the quiet, dirt-crusted interior of the shed, Nick and Jarrod blinked as they emerged into the glaring, late afternoon sun. They stopped beside Duke McCall, who was walking around the area outside the window.

“Is that Heath’s?” the older man asked, gesturing toward the hat in Nick’s hand.

“Yeah, Mac.”

“Then, I guess this is his blood?” he asked, pointing to the sharp glass smeared with rusty red, lying in the weeds at his feet. Not waiting on a reply from the two, somber men beside him, he added, “Looks like he was cut up some coming through that window. Then, he headed across here. The trail this far is pretty easy to make out, but after that, we lose him in the trees ... ‘Can’t figure out why, though. The rain wouldn’t wash out all the tracks in that soft dirt in there. The trees are pretty thick, close enough together to keep out some of the rain that would’ve destroyed the tracks.”

“Heath,” Nick growled, turning away from the other men.

“What is it, Nick?” Jarrod asked, one eye watching their foreman walk away to join Billy, who was still searching among the trees for tracks, and the other on his brother.

“If he knew Clayton might come after him, he’d cover his tracks.”

“Then,” Jarrod added, his worry instantly intensifying, “We won’t find him by trailing after him, will we?”

“No,” Nick said with assurance. “That boy’s as slippery as a snake covered in axle grease when he wants to be. We won’t find him that way.”

“He’d head for home, don’t you think?” Jarrod said, pointing toward the trees where their two men were walking, “And, that’s not the right direction.”

“He probably circled around, then headed for the ranch. ‘May already be there now, for all we know.”

Nodding, as they both headed back toward their horses, Jarrod quietly asked the one question that was most on his mind, that had been ever since he had seen Nick kneeling down in the dirt beside the back wall of the shed, “Nick, just how badly hurt do you think he is?”

Shaking his head as they reached the horses and led them out to meet Duke and Billy, Nick said softly, “He’s hurt, Jarrod ... For one man, this Clayton, to get Heath this far by himself ... There were cut ropes in that shed, and I’d bet on there having been some kind of scuffle, and ... and somebody was terribly sick in there.”

“A head injury?” Jarrod asked worriedly, from his place now above Nick as he mounted his horse.

“Yeah. That’s what I’d suspect.”

“We’ve got to get to him before Reed Clayton does, Nick.”

“Then, let’s head for the ranch,” Nick said emphatically, mounting his horse as he spoke. “I’m betting Heath’s making his way there, now.”

Reaching out, Jarrod stopped Nick as he gathered his reins and prepared to turn his horse’s head back to the main road. “Wait, Nick. Do we take the road or cut across country? The road’s longer, but it may be quicker in the long run than trying to make it across the rougher terrain between here and the ranch on that back trail. Which way would Heath have gone?”

Having joined them on horseback and listened for a few moments to the discussion, Duke offered, “He’d stick to the road, don’t you think, Nick? With all the rain, he might think that old narrow bridge up there wouldn’t be a good route, that the river might be too high for it...”

Suddenly, Jarrod’s head came around to stare at Duke, and he swallowed hard, thinking back to his ride out from the ranch earlier in the day.

“No,” the blue-eyed lawyer said. “I think crossing the river below that back trail is exactly what he did, and I think I know where.”

Puzzled, Nick responded, his tone clearly communicating his disbelief, “Below the trail? You think he swam it? Why, when there’s a bridge? It might be rickety, but it’ll hold. Or, for that matter, why would he go that route when he could go by way of the road and use the bigger bridge? ... And, how do you know where, Jarrod? What makes you so sure?”

“Trust me, Nick,” Jarrod said quietly. “I missed it earlier, but I won’t miss it again. I think I know exactly where he crossed.”

Continued…