Empty Promises

Chapters 61-68

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 61

 

“Jarrod,” Nick said, quietly, as the four men headed away from the abandoned storage shed. “Jarrod, the three of you go ahead. Someone’s back there, following us. I’m going to drop back and find out who it is.”

 

His eyes wide, Jarrod said, though he continued to face forward, “Nick, be careful. It could be Reed Clayton looking for Heath. Dark-headed, deep voice, and he looks like a slick gambler. Brydie says he carries a small gun hidden inside his coat.”

 

“I’ll watch for it,” Nick said, nodding and handing one of Coco’s reins to Jarrod.

 

Nodding in return, Jarrod kept his horse walking straight ahead. He held Coco walking beside him, as Nick threw one leg over and dropped down to the ground on the off side, his gun already drawn.

 

Trying to see his younger brother, without turning his head to alert the man following them, Jarrod swallowed hard and glanced sideways at Duke, meeting the foreman’s worried eyes.

 

After a moment, as the trio of riders and four horses passed an outcropping of sandy-red rocks, Jarrod and Duke sent Billy ahead with all of their mounts, and the two older men waited, guns out, behind the rocks for Nick to follow or signal to them.

 

Suddenly, they heard shots ... two of them.

 

His breath caught in his throat, Jarrod charged out from behind the rocks, running back toward the trees. In his overwhelming concern for his brother, he barely felt Duke reach out or heard the foreman call softly to him, trying to get him to stay there, to wait behind the cover of the rocks.

 

As he reached the trees fifty yards away, his breathing ragged, he saw Nick emerge from the long shadows and step toward him.

 

“You alright?” Jarrod asked, coming to a stop in front of him.

 

“Yeah. He’s dead, but I had no choice. He drew on me as soon as I stepped into the clearing and asked him what he wanted. Fortunately, his bullet went just wide, and mine didn’t.”

 

Glancing over at the rough-looking drifter, lying on the ground, his gun still in his hand and his scraggly dog nosing his inert form with a small whine, Jarrod shook his head and said, “I got a glimpse of Reed Clayton at the hotel, Nick. And, that most certainly is not him.”

 

“Figured as much. I did find a lot of cash on him, and he mumbled something about killing a cowboy before he died.”

 

“Clayton works pretty fast. He must’ve hired him to come out here and kill Heath,” Jarrod breathed.

 

He reached out and gripped Nick’s solid shoulder, feeling the muscle beneath his brother’s white shirt. “It’s a good thing we had you out here following Heath’s trail, or we’d be burying a brother, Nick.”

 

Shaking his head, Nick said, “Heath got himself out of this place long before we arrived, but it’s not over yet, Jarrod. I’m worried about him making it home before Reed Clayton figures out he’s not dead ...  that he’s still a threat.”

 

Nodding, and with one last glance back at the silent man lying near the shed, Jarrod said somberly, “Let’s go.”

 

   * * * * * * * *

 

Though Jarrod heard Nick growl under his breath when he turned Jingo along the rougher back trail and away from the smoother track of the main road from Stegall to the stage stop at the crossroads further up, Nick didn’t actually say anything.

 

However, a few minutes later, Jarrod pulled up and looked over at Nick, very aware of the impatience and doubt that created his brother’s scowl.

 

“Nick, would you feel better if we split up and two of us, maybe you and Duke, took the road? I’m pretty sure I’m right, but I’m willing to admit it’s possible I’m not.”

 

Nick looked out across the trail they were on that connected the Stegall road to the main road from Stockton, like the long side of a triangle drawn in the dirt, and, then, he looked back to the easier, longer route of the road still visible off to their right.

 

He shook his head.

 

“I’m not doubting you, Jarrod. I just don’t understand why he’d go this way if he were hurt. Wouldn’t he want to stick to the road, figuring we’d be looking for him?”

 

“I can’t answer that, Nick. Let’s just hedge our bets. Why don’t the two of you go the other way, and Billy and I’ll go this way. We’ll meet up on our land in a couple of hours where the two routes join back up.”

 

Shaking his head, his mind made up, Nick said, “No, I’ll go with you. Mac, how about you and Billy going the other way? And, don’t wait for us. Just head on into the ranch, and send someone back to meet us with word when you get there. We’ll want to know either way ...  if he’s there, or if he’s not.”

 

“Right, Nick. But, don’t look for us to beat you there. We aim to ride both sides of the road, keeping a close eye out for him ... in case he’s hurt, and that’ll take time. That is the longer route.”

 

Nodding, Nick turned his horse back toward the trail, gesturing with one hand for Jarrod to take the lead.

 

As the foreman and the younger man headed back to the main road to turn left and ride out to the crossroads, Nick followed his older brother, their horses climbing the steep grade that would lead them above the river to the south.

 

“Heath,” he mumbled. “Where are you, Boy?”

 

   * * * * * * * *

 

Dark was fast encroaching, making Jarrod’s worry deepen.

 

The relentless questions kept battering him, like those asked by a prosecuting attorney in a major trial, just before the judge could call his hand for badgering a witness.

 

Why had he thought this was the more likely route?

 

What had made him think that Heath would cut across rougher country like this, instead of sticking to the main road?

 

Heath Barkley was nothing if not a practical man, and if he were hurt, he would take the route most likely to garner him the help he needed, wouldn’t he?

 

Glancing over at Nick, his brother’s profile clearly outlined by the rapidly descending sun to the west, Jarrod wondered at Nick’s quiet calm. He had to be fighting with himself to keep from saying how wrong he thought Jarrod was, though his concentration was clearly on the terrain around them, looking for signs that Heath had come this way.

 

Jarrod kicked himself again mentally, wondering what had made him so sure he was right.

 

He knew it was more than just a feeling he had gotten as he sat his horse up on the rise above the river earlier that day. It had to have been something that his eyes had recognized, though his mind had not understood the significance of it. Was it something he had missed when ... ?

 

As they rounded a bend in the trail, Jarrod immediately recognized the place where he had stopped before. Cresting the top of the rise, he halted his horse, looked around, and he heard Heath’s voice inside his head again, just as he had remembered it before, earlier in the day.

 

“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.”

 

He remembered how his attention this morning had been drawn toward the river, toward the trees that lined it.

 

Glancing over at Nick, he turned Jingo toward the river below, and he carefully descended the off track area between the trail and the rushing water, knowing his brother would follow.

 

After a few moments, in which both men paid careful attention to the footing for their mounts, especially in the weakening light, they reached the trees. Dismounting, Jarrod dropped his reins and continued his descent to the edge of the bank on foot.

 

When both of them stood above the rushing water, neither one said a word for long moments, neither tried to make himself heard over the constant noise from below.

 

But, both knew that if their brother had tried to swim across from here, he would have had a very hard time of it, even if he weren’t injured in some way already. The current was swift, and the water level was high. The river was choked with debris, floating logs and branches from somewhere further up.

 

Nick gripped Jarrod’s arm firmly, and he turned his brother, whose head was now down, back toward the horses waiting above them.

 

When they reached their mounts, Jarrod stood, as if transfixed, his eyes focused back down on the water they had left behind.

 

Nick said, “Come on, Jarrod. He’s not here, but we’ll find him.”

 

His brother nodded silently, and Nick breathed out a sigh of relief when Jarrod turned to mount ... but he soon realized his brother was not getting into the saddle.

 

Nick rolled his eyes skyward, and he exclaimed under his breath, “Jarrod! Dammit, what now?”

 

Watching, Nick saw Jarrod change his mind and begin leading his horse along the river, heading downstream, walking a good ten yards back from the edge of the bank. His eyes were fixed on the other side, and he was obviously searching for something, but Nick had no idea what----unless Jarrod thought he was going to see Heath on the other ...

 

Suddenly, Jarrod cried out excitedly, “Nick!” and he pointed to the other bank, further downstream.

 

Mounting swiftly, he turned his horse up the hill, away from the river, and back to the trail. Ignoring Nick’s irritated questions, shouted after him, Jarrod concentrated on making it to the bridge before the light gave out on them. With him in the lead and Nick following closely, they proceeded as quickly as Jarrod felt they could in the rapidly diminishing light, and they made it to the bridge downstream in less than three minutes.

 

Then, crossing the bridge single-file, one at a time, Nick followed silently behind, having resigned himself to getting the answers he wanted only by following his brother.

 

Jarrod turned his horse and picked his way back up-river, searching for the place closest to where they had been standing just a little while before. There was no trail, and twice, he had to dismount and lead his chestnut around difficult terrain, choked with rocks and logs, but even in the growing dark, Jarrod felt the surge of hope pushing him on.

 

Watching intently, looking for any sign of Heath, Nick suddenly saw Jarrod dismount up ahead of him, slide a few steps down the bank to his right, and stop himself, leaning down to pick something up.

 

“It’s his, Nick!” Jarrod shouted, climbing the few feet back up and walking over to hand the dark brown piece of cloth up to Nick, who was still mounted on his horse. “It’s Heath’s bandana. He did swim across the river, Nick. Probably from just over there, a little further upstream by those trees, where we were.”

 

Holding the circle shape of the bandana, still knotted as if it were tied around Heath’s neck, Nick paused a moment.

 

No, not his neck. It was tied too loosely, too close to the ends, for that. Quickly removing his hat, Nick pulled the bandana down over the top of his head, testing it. The cloth fit perfectly, encircling his head.

 

Jarrod watched, and he saw Nick remove the brown cloth and replace his hat. Their eyes met, as they both remembered their conversation by the storage shed earlier, the conversation in which they had wondered if Heath had a head injury.

 

Quietly, Nick asked, “How did you know, Jarrod? What made you so sure he came this way, that he didn’t use the bridge?”

 

“I came this way earlier today, Nick, looking for you. I sat right over there, on that rise on the other side of the river, and I kept having the strangest feeling that I should be noticing something. I must have seen the bandana lying on the edge of the bank, maybe out of the corner of my eye or something, but I just didn’t realize the significance of it until later, until we talked about him possibly having a head injury.”

 

Still worried, Nick said, “It’s just a little darker than the bank. I guess it’s a wonder you saw it at all. I don’t know how he did it, but, as high up on the bank as this was, at least we know he made it across okay. I still don’t understand why he didn’t just come down a little further and use the bridge. And, why didn’t he stick to the trail?”

 

Taking the rein Nick offered him and mounting his horse, Jarrod said tiredly, “I don’t know, Nick. I guess it’s one of those questions we’ll have to ask him when we find him.”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m going to have more than just questions to say to him when I see him, and I don’t plan to be quiet about it!”

 

 

 

Chapter 62

 

It was almost dark when Nick turned his tired horse to the left, her hooves finding more solid, secure footing on the flatter, smoother main road. He sighed with relief as, unbidden, Coco pricked up her ears and increased her pace. She knew she was close to home, and Nick had to rein her in, sitting deep in the saddle for a few moments as she tossed her head and, then, tucked her nose, arching her neck, and she trotted forward several paces before settling into a long walk.

 

“Easy, Girl. Easy, Coc,” Nick soothed, glancing back at his exhausted brother. Jarrod had ridden even more miles on his chestnut today, with the trip into Stockton and back, and the large horse, longer in body than Nick’s mare, wasn’t the only one feeling it.

 

But, he was relieved to see that this turn for home had energized Jarrod’s red horse, his flaxen mane waving softly against his sweaty neck as he shook his head and trotted forward to join Coco on the road.

 

“You two alright, Jarrod?” Nick asked, turning up his collar against the fast-dropping temperature.

 

“We’re fine, Nick. Let’s give them their heads while we have a little light. They’re both eager for a good feed tonight, and I can safely say I second the idea.”

 

Glancing around one more time, Nick realized it was too dark to see much on either side of the road, but there was just enough reddish glow left in the sky to reflect off of the harder surface in front of them. He knew their chances of spotting Heath, unless they came across him walking along the road right in front of them, would not be good, no matter what pace they set.

 

Nodding, he loosened the reins a couple of notches, and his strong-willed, liver chestnut surged forward, with Jarrod’s gelding following closely behind.

 

Both men kept their eyes open for Heath, but in truth, they hoped to see one of their hands riding toward them to let them know their younger brother was finally home, sitting by a warm fireplace, with the doctor already gone, and the two lovely Barkley ladies fussing over him.

 

They were no more than three miles from home when they did see movement on the road ahead, and they heard the steady rhythm of hoof beats approaching.

 

Reining in after a few more strides, Nick and Jarrod stopped beside the lathered, dun-colored horse, recognizing ­­­­­­­­­­­­young Denny Hodges immediately, despite the darkness.

 

“Nick! Mr. Jarrod!”

 

“What is it, Denny?” Nick called out. “Has Heath made it home? Did Mac and Billy beat us to the ranch?”

 

Catching his breath, the younger man turned his mount back in the direction from which he had just ridden, circling around behind Nick to come up between the two men.

 

“I haven’t seen your brother, Nick, and I just passed Duke and Billy about thirty minutes ago. Mrs. Barkley sent me out to tell you...”

 

“Tell us what?”

 

“She asked me to tell you that she’s sent some men out looking for your sister.”

 

“Audra?” Nick exclaimed, the unexpected news causing his voice to rise in irritated consternation. “What the devil happened to her?”

 

Denny shook his head and said, “She left the house to go riding at about three o’clock, Ciego said, but she hasn’t come back yet. Your mother’s worried sick, and she asked me to come looking for you.”

 

Speaking up for the first time, Jarrod asked, worry noticeable in his voice, “Denny, does anyone know in what direction she headed when she left?”

 

Nodding, Denny replied, “Yes, Sir. They think she headed out toward Sky Meadow hours ago. But ... she promised Mr. Silas that she’d be back to help him put dinner on the table for you, and now...”

 

“And, now,” Nick snarled, worry translating into action as he looked over at Jarrod. “And, now, we have two missing Barkleys, night coming on fast, and a man named Reed Clayton eager to put a stop to any interference from one of them.”

 

“Nick,” Jarrod said, trying to keep a handle on his own building worry, “If we take the old road through the north pasture...”

 

“Yeah. Let’s go ... Denny, you with us?”

 

“Sure thing, Nick. I figured that’s what you’d want to do, so I told Duke when I passed him that we’d meet up with them when we came back in that direction.”

 

Nodding, Nick lifted his right hand and pointed, indicating the others should follow him. After galloping south along the road to the ranch for a few more minutes, he then picked up a faint, little-used, grass-covered road that angled off to the left, and he slowed his tired, but game horse back down into a controlled lope.

 

   * * * * * * * *

 

She leaned down and stroked the black neck of her mare, scratching softly beneath the dark mane with her fingers, as she looked out over the rolling hills toward Sky Meadow. It would be a long climb in the hottest part of the day, though she knew there would be much cooler temperatures on her return, as darkness approached.

 

Glancing to her left toward the sun, which was now half-way between passing its zenith and slipping behind the hills to the west, she realized with disappointment that she didn’t have enough time to make it all the way up to the view she loved the most.

 

With a sigh, wishing fervently that she had time to reach the place she and all of her brothers enjoyed as a vantage point back on the whole valley, she resigned herself to finding a closer destination along the way.

 

Remembering the first time she had ridden up to Sky Meadow with her new brother, almost three years ago now, she set her horse into a comfortable pace and continued north.

 

They sat in companionable silence, both of them leaning against the same large, spreading oak tree, looking out on the valley below, listening only to the wind in the grass behind them and the sounds of their horses contentedly tearing into it.

 

After a little while, she turned to him, studying his face, and she said, “You know, I always thought it was funny that I didn’t look like either of my brothers. In fact, they looked more like Mother, and I looked like Father. My friends always said it should’ve been the other way around because they were the boys, and I was the girl.”

 

Heath looked at her out of the corner of his eye, the eyebrow closest to her lifting in reply, while his mouth turned up only on one side for a fleeting second.

 

“’Barkley luck that ya’ didn’t turn out ta look like Nick.”

 

Her blue eyes wide, she watched him a moment, surprised at the soft, teasing comment, delivered with such a straight face. Then, she giggled as he returned his eyes to the view before them, and she waited on him to say something else.

 

When he didn’t, she turned back to look down across the valley, visually tracing the main road far below, following it until it reached the large white house and red barns of the ranch. She had become engrossed in trying to make out details of certain trees, storage sheds, and white fences, when suddenly, she heard his quiet voice, just a little louder than the wind.

 

“My mama had light brown hair an’ dark brown eyes, like a newborn fawn ... From the time I was about seven or eight, I used ta look closely at every blond-haired, blue-eyed miner that crossed my path, wonderin’ if he were my father, the man I must look like. Even durin’ the ... well, even when I got older, whenever I came across some fella that was on the other side, I wondered if I was about ta...”

 

“Other side? You mean men that you were fighting against? Were you a deputy or something?”

 

Taking a deep breath, he answered, “Yeah ... among other things ... a deputy for a while, part of a posse here an’ there, fought in the Lincoln County Wars, and ... ‘Seems I’ve always done my share’a fightin’ for one cause or the other.”

 

She shook her head and turned to look directly at him, though he kept his focus on the view below. “Fighting ... I always thought that would’ve been Nick’s life if he hadn’t grown up here, if he’d left after the war and never returned to live with us, to work with Father ... You did know he and Jarrod fought in the war, didn’t you?”

 

She saw the instant darkening of Heath’s light blue eyes, but she didn’t hear anything different in his voice when he said a moment later, “Figured they did.”

 

“Nick was a lieutenant, and Jarrod, he was at some secret level in Washington, I don’t know what,” she said proudly. Then, she added softly, “I surely was glad to have them home, though.”

 

Heath nodded once, allowing her chatter to continue to wash over him.

 

“Jarrod didn’t stay home very long before he returned to school back East, though. I missed him something terrible all that time, but I guess we were lucky he came home to stay after that. Now, Nick ... I could see him leading the kind of life you did, if he hadn’t had this ranch and Father to keep him here.”

 

She reached out, then, placing her gloved hand on his arm, and she gripped the blue shirt-sleeve above where his cuff was rolled up, and she said, “I’m glad you’re here, now, Heath. I’m glad you finally found us and came to live with us, with your family, where you belong ... And, I’m glad you look like me!”

 

He turned his face toward her, and he reached out, across his body with his other hand, tapping her nose with his finger, and he allowed the wonderful feeling of belonging to instantly replace the bad memories and angry feelings invoked by her words of a few moments ago.

 

He said, a small, lop-sided smile on his face that made his eyes shine with warmth just for her, “I’m glad, too, Little Sis.”

 

Audra smiled, stopping her horse, her blue eyes searching the hills beyond.

 

It had been the first time he had called her that, and now, as she remembered, her smile faded, and her eyes filled with tears.

 

Softly, she whispered, “Please hurry home, Heath. I miss you, Big Brother.”

 

   * * * * * * * *

 

Once she realized she did not have time to ride all the way to Sky Meadow and still be home in time to help Silas as promised, she decided to head for another, closer spot she frequently visited, though she had not been there in several weeks.

 

Each time she went there, she had to summon her courage to face the deep sadness of her memories, but she also acknowledged to herself that she always left feeling better able to face any of the little concerns and worries that would crop up during the coming days. It was a place for getting in touch with herself, a place for remembering the past, thinking about her family, and refocusing on her dreams for the future.

 

As she approached the thick grove of trees, she suddenly remembered the first time she had ever come across Heath here. While it had only happened twice in the last three years, the first time was a couple of months after they had ridden to Sky Meadow and had sat talking together there, after he had been with them about three months.

 

She entered the grove and immediately saw his black horse, several paces away, the mare’s head lifting up from cropping the grass between her front hooves, soundlessly watching Audra’s approach.

 

Surprised that he had not looked up, she saw Heath down on one knee, his other leg stretched out awkwardly at an angle in front of him, and his hat in his hands, staring at the headstone.

 

Taking a deep breath, she dismounted right behind him, and, reaching out to place her hand on his shoulder, she dropped down beside him, next to the small, white picket fence surrounding the grave, the white flowers trailing over and through the wooden slats.

 

“Heath?”

 

Though he did not answer, when he slowly turned his face to her, she saw that he had been crying and that he was not ashamed of having done so, or of having her see him that way. But, it was also obvious that he had not heard her approach. He seemed almost surprised to see her there beside him.

 

“Heath, are you alright?”

 

He didn’t respond to her question, but he finally said quietly, “Audra, I’m sorry ya’ lost your father ... when you were so young ... It must’ve been hard on you.”

 

Tucking her arm through his, she leaned her blond head against his strong shoulder, and she replied quietly, “It was, Heath. I loved him very much. We all did.”

 

Above her, Heath nodded his head, but he didn’t say anything.

 

After a moment, she pulled him down to sit beside her on the ground, and he groaned almost inaudibly as he straightened out the leg that still bothered him from time to time.

 

When they were both settled there, the sunlight dappling the dark shade all around them, she continued, “At least, when he died, I had Mother, Nick, and Jarrod ... Jarrod ... he quickly became the one I went to when I needed a father again. Nick and I both started calling him Pappy after that ... But, you ... You didn’t have anyone when your mama died, Heath.”

 

He reached out and stroked her hair, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, his arm around her, and he said quietly, “No, but it wasn’t long afterwards when I found all of you. For that, I’m grateful every day.”

 

Now, as she guided her horse between several massive oaks to enter the grove where her father was buried, she caught a glimpse of something that shouldn’t have been there.

 

Riding forward cautiously, she gasped as she realized it was a man.

 

Urging her horse across the vast openness of the grove, she grasped her leather quirt tightly, angrily, in her hand, as she prepared to berate the trespasser for trampling the flowers she had so lovingly planted.

 

Then, after a few more strides of her horse, Audra could see that the man was not purposefully destroying the area. Rather, he was lying unmoving across the grave, and the white picket fence was broken. Like some of the flowers, it was lying crushed beneath him.

 

Suddenly, she cried out, finally realizing the filthy form lying there across Tom Barkley’s grave, his bloody hand curled around the grey marble base of their father’s headstone, was her missing brother.

 

 

 

Chapter 63

 

“Heath!”

 

Executing a flying dismount that would have made her big brothers proud, Audra tossed her mare’s reins aside and ran to kneel beside him.

 

“Heath,” she whispered, trying to shake him awake. “Heath!”

 

When she got no response, she began pulling at the broken pieces of the wooden fence beneath him, trying to move anything that might prevent her from rolling him toward her. Then, removing her riding gloves and laying them aside, she carefully eased his obviously injured arm up higher, hoping that, with it lifted out of the way, she would be able to turn him by pulling his other shoulder back toward her.

 

When her hands came away red with his blood, she stared down at them both for a moment, then took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

 

“Oh, Heath,” she whispered.

 

Opening them again determinedly, she maneuvered behind him, and, grasping his left shoulder with both hands, she let the mound of dirt covering the grave assist her, as she tried to roll his upper body down the slight slope and toward her.

 

Breathing heavily, she was relieved to feel him turning, but, as she rolled him all the way over and off of the grave, she was immediately frightened to see his closed eyes and the paleness of his face. His ashen skin contrasted with the dried blood around his nose and the angry gash cutting into the side of his head, as it lolled sideways toward her. Carefully, she lowered his injured arm to let it lie across his chest, hoping that elevating it would slow the bleeding some.

 

At least if he was still bleeding, that meant he was still alive, didn’t it?

 

Quickly leaning over him, she placed her ear against his chest, paying no attention to the leaves and dark dirt that clung to his almost unrecognizable reddish-colored shirt. Concentrating, with her eyes closed, she heard his heart beating faintly and felt his chest’s shallow rise and fall that told her he was, indeed, still alive ... though he was very weak.

 

Taking in a deep, ragged breath in relief, she reached up and touched the side of his face, feeling the chill that gripped him.

 

The cold, clamminess of his skin triggered a recent memory of something she had seen the doctor do for one of their hands not even a month ago, when the man had been thrown against a fence and badly hurt.

 

Looking around at her staid mare, she thought briefly about trying to get her brother on her horse and riding with him toward the house. But, just as quickly, she tossed that idea aside, knowing she would never be able to get him in the saddle unless he came around first.

 

Then, looking back at the grave, she wondered if she could turn him so that his legs were resting across it ... But, she discarded that idea, knowing he was too heavy for her to move any more. Returning her eyes to the mare and staring at her for a moment, she quickly pushed off from the ground and walked toward her, picking up the trailing rein and leading the black horse closer to her unconscious brother.

 

Dropping the rein again, she said, “Easy, Girl. Whoa now,” as she unsaddled the mare and lowered the heavy stock saddle to the ground beside him. Then, removing the saddle blanket, she dropped it as well, before struggling to lift Heath’s legs, one boot at a time, and rested them across the saddle.

 

Then, breathing hard again, she opened up the folded, woolen blanket and spread it over him, taking care to keep the sweat-dampened side, which had been against her horse’s back, away from his already chilled body. Afterwards, she led the mare over to a large, fallen tree trunk and tied her there, returning quickly to Heath.

 

She sat down by his head, stroking the uninjured side of his face with tentative fingers, as she talked to him, “Heath ... Please, Big Brother. I need you to wake up. I don’t know what else to do for you. Please, Heath.”

 

When he did not respond, she looked up at the sunlight filtering through the trees to the west, knowing she was going to have some tough decisions to make in the next few hours.

 

What if she couldn’t get him warm enough?

 

What if he died here, and ... ?

 

“No, Audra Barkley,” she said aloud. “You will not think that way. He’ll be alright ... He has to be. Now, think. What else can you do? What would Mother or Doctor Merar do if they were here?”

 

As she glanced down at her red-stained hands, she suddenly knew the answer.

 

The bleeding ...

 

She knew she had to stop it ...

 

But, what if she couldn’t get the bleeding to stop?

 

Shaking her head, she bit down on her bottom lip and refused to think about any more “what ifs.” The only other thing she knew to do for him was to try to get the bleeding stopped, so that was what she must somehow do.

 

She lifted the corner of the blanket she had pulled up over him, looking down at the wrapping around her brother’s arm. It was soaked through with both dark, dried blood and newer, fresher-looking red.

 

The cloth must have originally come from Heath’s shirttail ...

 

Looking around, as if afraid someone would see, she stood up, pulled her own dark brown shirt from out of her riding pants, and she started trying to do as he must have done with his, tearing a strip from around the bottom of her shirt. But, it wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be, and she finally had to resort to unbuttoning the bottom two buttons, leaning down, and starting the tear with her teeth.

 

As she ripped the material, she vowed to herself, that beginning with the next time she left the house to go riding, she would always carry a knife with her.

 

Dropping back to the ground beside her blanket-covered brother, she also wished she had a way to build a fire to further warm him. As she berated herself, she added matches to her mental list of supplies to make sure she carried in the future.

 

Then, carefully untying and unwrapping the knotted, blood-soaked bandage from around Heath’s forearm, she gasped when she saw the deep, jagged, cut that went from just below his elbow to the inside of his wrist. Quickly, she returned to her saddle lying on the ground, removed the canteen tied to it, and stepped back.

 

Opening it, she held Heath’s arm over to the side, away from his body, and, ignoring how wet she became in the process, she poured a generous amount of water over the livid laceration, trying to wash any dirt away.

 

Thinking again of how unprepared she was to offer assistance to her injured brother, she then allowed a slight smile to follow her initial anger at herself.

 

Aloud, as she set the canteen aside and bent his arm back across his chest, she said softly, "If Nick were here, Heath, he'd probably have a bottle of Jarrod's best scotch tucked away in his saddlebags to clean this with. Then, he’d grumble at you about having to waste it, instead of drinking it!"

 

Moving around to the other side, away from the now wet ground, she tore off a short section of the long strip of shirt material and folded it over the gash. Holding it in place awkwardly with one hand, she struggled to re-wrap his arm, trying to keep a steady pressure across the make-shift dressing.

 

When she had done the best she could, and his arm was wrapped in the dark brown cloth, she again lifted the blanket, and she gently tucked his injured arm beneath it. Finally, she tore another small area off of the bottom of her now very, ragged shirt, wet it with water from the canteen, and held it against the side of Heath’s head, trying to clean the frightening-looking bullet wound.

 

While it was no longer bleeding, she could tell this wound had bled profusely at some time in the last few days. It was deep and angry looking, though she acknowledged that some of the way it appeared was due to swelling, which would hopefully go down. Then, checking his head carefully, she also found a badly swollen area in the back that must have been the result of a bad fall or hard blow.

 

Though she desperately wanted to cradle his head in her lap to make him more comfortable, she looked again at his legs, knowing she didn’t have them as elevated as the doctor had done for Dace that time. She remembered how the physician had cautioned them about keeping the man’s head lower than his feet when he had become so cold and pale after the fall from the horse.

 

“Sorry, Big Brother,” she said quietly, but her voice rising in worry, “I can’t get you any more comfortable than this ... Oh, Heath! I wish I knew what else to do for you!”

 

She remained like that for long moments, stroking the side of his face with one hand and holding onto his good hand with the other.

 

Suddenly, she felt him shiver violently beneath the blanket, his eyes still closed. His head tossed away from her, then back again, a small groan escaping from between his lips.

 

She had to get him warmer.

 

If only she had some matches!

 

Then, she instantly remembered something Nick had said to Jarrod several years ago about Heath, a discussion she had overheard one afternoon in the barn, a conversation that had made her wonder even more about the life her new brother had led before he came to live with them.

 

“That boy is more prepared for survival than anyone I know, Jarrod. He’s like a tinker traveling from place to place with all of his goods bundled up together ... But, the things he uses are all small and tucked away. If you didn’t just happen to see them, you’d never know they were even there! ... Did you know he keeps a packet of stuff he calls wild medicine and a folded piece of dried-up old animal skin in his saddlebags? I don’t even want to know what part of some animal it’s made of, but he swears that skin’ll hold water ...  that it’s saved his life more than once. He keeps matches wrapped in another little piece of oiled skin in his shirt pocket, and no matter if we’re crossing the driest section of land between here and the coast, he carries needles, horsetail hair for stitching up a wound, and fish hooks on string! Can you believe that? Fish hooks and string!”

 

“Well, Nick,” Jarrod reasoned, “If you’d had only yourself to rely on for as long as he’s had, you’d probably be more careful about what you carry with you, too.”

 

Edging closer to Heath, Audra pulled back the woolen blanket again, and she carefully patted Heath’s shirt pockets, looking for the matches in the protective packet that Nick had mentioned.

 

When her fingers closed around it, she pulled it out. Holding her breath, she untied the thin strip of rawhide wrapped around it and unfolded it carefully.

 

The matches she found inside felt dry enough.

 

Now she had a choice, and she knew she had to decide ...

 

Should she build a fire to keep him warm and stay here with him, or should she leave him and ride for help?

 

Just as quickly as the question surfaced, however, she remembered the rest of Nick and Jarrod’s conversation that day in the barn, heard Jarrod’s deep, soothing voice as he finished sharing his thoughts with Nick ... and she knew what her decision had to be.

 

“You know, Nick? ... You, me, Audra ... we’ve always had each other. You come closer than the rest of us to ever needing to think about survival because of how you spend every day, out on the ranch, but, even when you’re out with the herds, you usually have a crew of men around. So, you’re not truly alone. And, if any of us have any distance to go, we usually travel by stage or train with other people, not at all like he’s traveled, probably alone and by horseback whenever he’s gone from place to place all of his life. It’s rare for any of us to ever be completely alone, even in a bad situation, but for our little brother, being on his own, even before his mother died, is probably all he’s ever known.”

 

She remembered how those words had made her see Heath, her quietest, gentlest brother, with new eyes, with new respect and understanding. As much as it had helped her understand the way he would suddenly disappear from large parties and crowded gatherings to stand outside, looking up at the stars, or the way she would find him sitting solitarily by a tree, watching a sunrise or sunset, she knew it also helped explain why he seemed so contented and appreciative of everything related to being part of their family.

 

No, she couldn’t leave him.

 

She wouldn’t.

 

He might die while she was gone, and she didn’t want him to be here, alone, with only their father’s grave ...

 

No.

 

No matter what, she wouldn’t leave him here alone.

 

Taking another deep breath, trying to dispel the frightening thoughts, she forced herself to concentrate on what she needed to do next.

 

Having made up her mind to stay, all she needed was some wood.

 

Eyeing the broken picket fence, she knew that if the pieces would burn, they would solve her problem of getting a fire started. Then, covering her brother’s chest with the blanket again, she rose and walked a short distance away toward her horse and the fallen tree trunk, picking up enough smaller pieces of the fallen wood in her arms and dragging over some of the larger limbs lying around it that she could use to keep a fire going for quite a while.

 

Using Heath’s matches and the small, shattered pieces from the broken fence as tinder, she was soon successful in getting a nice blaze going.

 

Then, after adding some of the larger pieces she had broken off of the branches she had picked up, she sat back down, resting and contemplating for a moment, as she gripped his left shoulder again, waiting and hoping that the fire would be enough to keep him warm.

 

After a little while, as the sun dropped behind the trees and toward the hills beyond, she reached out and touched the side of his face again.

 

She was immediately relieved to find that he was not as cold as before, though, with the descending of the darkness around her, she couldn’t tell if he was still as pale as he had been.

 

“Heath ... Please, Heath,” she said quietly, “I need you to wake up, now. You’re scaring me, Big Brother.”

 

Reaching down to take his uninjured hand from beneath the blanket again, she lifted it up and lay the side of her cheek against it, searching his face in the reflection from the firelight.

 

She was immediately startled to hear him groan a bit and to see his head toss back and forth again. He began trying to pull his hand out of her firm grip, and he moved his legs restlessly, though both remained across the top of the saddle.

 

“Heath? Heath, please,” she cried, shaking him a bit, trying to get him to wake up.

 

Slowly, his eyes cracked open slightly, and he moved his head restlessly again.

 

“Heath. I’m here, Heath,” she soothed, wiping his face with the wet cloth again.

 

With a groan, he rolled toward her, and he began coughing and retching, the dry sounds producing nothing but a stinging behind her eyes for the agony he was in. Sliding around and behind him, she held his head against her knees, trying to steady him, but she could feel him shaking with the chills and the pain, even as she lifted his head onto her lap.

 

Pulling his knees up toward his chest with agonizing effort, his boots off of the saddle and scraping the dirt, he stayed on his left side, curled up and coughing hard, both arms tight against his chest. His eyes were closed, and she leaned over him, gripping his shoulder tightly, her voice speaking softly, trying to let him know she was there.

 

“Easy, Heath. Easy, Big Brother. It’s going to be alright.”

 

Slowly, the coughing seemed to ease, until finally, he lay still, his head resting across her lap and the saddle forgotten, as he remained on his side, breathing raggedly, eyes tightly closed.

 

“Heath,” she asked, after a few more minutes. “Heath, can you hear me?”

 

He cracked his eyes open slightly, and he lifted his left hand weakly from the ground where it lay, as if he would reach out for her if he could.

 

“Aud-ra ... ?” he whispered.

 

Overjoyed, her eyes filled with tears that quickly coursed down her cheeks, and she stroked his hair as she leaned over him. “Yes, Heath. I’m here. I’m right here, and I’m not going to leave you. Do you hear me, Big Brother?”

 

“Hear ... ya’ ... ,” he breathed, before his eyes closed again, tightly, as if he had held the pain off as long as possible, but could no longer.

 

She reached out for the canteen beside her, and she opened it. Then, careful to lift his head only a little, she touched the rim to his lips and poured a small stream against them. He spluttered a little, but managed to swallow some of the cool liquid, before he moved his head away with a groan.

 

Carefully lowering his head back to her lap, she pulled the blanket up over him, and leaned back, grabbing another long piece of wood to add to the blaze.

 

Then, turning back around and stroking the side of his face and his dark blond hair, she said softly, “Hang on, Heath. Just hang on, now. We’ll get you home somehow.”

 

Though his eyes did not open, his hand moved slightly in the dirt, reaching toward her again. She leaned forward and took hold of it, squeezing his hand in her smaller one, letting him know he wasn’t alone.

 

 

 

Chapter 64

 

As they rounded a turn in the faint, grass-covered road, Nick pulled up his horse.

 

Squinting into the darkening gloom, he stared in front of them for a moment, trying to place what he was seeing.

 

“Jarrod!” he called over his left shoulder, after only a few seconds, “Someone’s got a fire going over there, in the grove!”

 

Their eyes meeting, worried blue touching hazel, they nodded at each other without another word, and, as one, turned their horses to detour in that direction, knowing Denny would follow them.

 

Though their pace was not as fast now, with their tired horses beneath them and the darkness falling rapidly to the ground around them, they made good time.

 

Then, just outside of the grove of thick oaks, Nick halted his dark chestnut again and dismounted slowly. Jarrod and Denny echoed his movements.

 

Drawing his gun, Nick cautiously led his horse, with the others behind him, inside the trees. Then, handing his reins to Denny without a backward glance, he and Jarrod both edged cautiously between the massive trunks, trying to get closer to the small, bright blaze that was located right beside the grave they knew was there in the dark.

 

As he quietly approached, Nick could see two dark shapes, one lying on the ground and the other seated nearby, facing away from them, away from the fire. Neither one was moving, and it was obvious to him that neither of them had spotted him ... nor had either one even looked up at their approach.

 

Unsure as to whether or not there were any others lurking around in the dark, thick wooded area, Nick plunged ahead, letting his words precede him, “Leave your hands where I can see them,” he demanded, his strong voice carrying toward both Jarrod and Denny, making it clear to everyone listening that he would tolerate no refusal.

 

Watching the two figures on the ground, Nick was startled to see one figure lean forward and carefully stand up before turning toward him, and he crouched down, ready to dive to the side and fire, just before he heard his name.

 

“Nick!” Audra cried, “Oh, Nick! Is that you?”

 

Suddenly, he was in motion, running toward her and catching her against his broad chest protectively, his gun aimed at the back of the person lying on the ground, ready to shoot if necessary to defend her.

 

“Audra! Are you alright? What’re you doing out here? What happened?”

 

When she cried silently, struggling to pull herself together, her face buried in his shirt, he growled as he held his gun steady, “What’s going on? Who’s that?”

 

“Nick,” she said, finally lifting her head, pushing his gun away and pulling him forward by the hand, closer to the fire, “I was so scared ... Heath’s badly hurt. We have to help him!”

 

“Heath?”

 

“Audra,” Jarrod said, as Nick holstered his gun and stepped toward the small fire in one fluid motion, his other arm still wrapped around his sister as he pulled her with him. “Audra, are you sure no one else is here? Just you and Heath?”

 

“Yes, Jarrod. I’m sure. There is no one else. Hurry! Please!”

 

Kneeling down beside the blanket-covered blond, Nick lifted his brother’s head and upper body into his arms, and he held him close.

 

“Heath. Heath!” he said, leaning over him and trying to get a response.

 

“He was unconscious when I found him,” Audra said, glancing up and reaching out to take Jarrod’s hand as he approached from the other side of the fire. Clinging to him, she said, “He has a terrible cut on his arm that was still bleeding when I got here, Jarrod. I tried to re-bandage it, but I don’t know how it looks now. It’s too dark to tell much.”

 

Looking at Jarrod, who was now on his knees beside her, eyes pleading with him, she added, “He was so cold, and his breathing was ... I was afraid ... I’m still afraid, that he’s going to ... We have to help him!”

 

Reaching out and pulling her to his side, Jarrod said soothingly, touching her worried face with his hand, “It looks like you’ve been taking good care of him, Audra. You kept him warm, and you tried to stop the bleeding. You’ve done all you could.”

 

Then, looking back over at Nick, Jarrod asked, “How is he, Nick?”

 

Shaking his head, Nick said, methodically checking over the unconscious blond, “I don’t know yet.”

 

Audra spoke up quietly and said, “It looks like he has a bullet crease on the side of his head, Jarrod, and a bad knot in the back. He was sick a little while ago ... coughing terribly, too. I tried to get some water inside him afterwards, but I don’t think he drank much.”

 

“How long have you been here with him, Audra?” Jarrod asked.

 

Glancing over at the last vestiges of sunlight slipping behind the trees to the west, Audra said, “At least two or three hours. He was just lying there, Jarrod. Face down on Father’s grave, his hand touching the base of the headstone!”

 

She shook her head, openly crying again, “It was as though he made it to this spot and couldn’t go any further, but ... what happened to him? Where was he?”

 

“Sh-h-h-h, Honey,” Jarrod murmured, his arm still wrapped around his sister, holding her close and trying to comfort her. His eyes met Nick’s briefly over her head. He knew his sister’s words about Heath having made it this far and no further, the image of him lying across their father’s grave, would stay with him for a very long time.

 

“We’ll talk about that later, Honey. The main things are that you’re safe, you found Heath, and you took care of him. Now, we’ve got to get him home so you, Mother, and Doc Merar can get him well.”

 

Watching Nick, who was checking the bandage Audra had placed around Heath’s arm, he asked, “Nick, do you want to try getting him on a horse or should we send Denny for a wagon?”

 

Glancing up, Nick said, “Let’s get him home, now, Jarrod. I don’t think we should wait. We can send Denny for Doc once we’ve got him on a horse.”

 

Then, eyeing his sister, he softened his voice a bit and, reaching over Heath to wrap his hand around her closest boot and squeezing her foot, he asked, “Audra, this is from your shirt, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes. I did the best I could. The other bandage was from his shirt. It’s over there, Nick.” She pointed to where she’d tossed it into the dark. “It was soaked with blood, but ... He’s still bleeding, isn’t he?”

 

“Yeah, he is, Honey,” Nick replied, watching Jarrod get up and head toward his horse, knowing their older brother was going to retrieve the medical supplies in his saddlebags and bring Denny back with him. “But, this was real smart of you, Audra. I’m proud of you ... You may’ve saved his life with the things you did for him ... bandaging his arm, keeping him warm.”

 

With fresh tears flowing, she nodded and slid closer to Heath, reaching out for his uninjured hand and holding it in both of hers. She watched as Nick unwrapped their brother’s arm, removing the bloody dressing she had placed over the cut.

 

Silently, Jarrod returned and knelt down beside them. He poured tincture of iodine into the still bleeding wound, wiped it dry with a small towel, and, as the two of them worked together to apply a fresh dressing, he re-bandaged it with fresh, white, cloth.

 

Then, they did the same for Heath’s head wound, though they applied the liquid on a cloth rather than pouring it directly from the small brown bottle, and Nick held Heath’s head up carefully as Jarrod wrapped it in cloth as well.

 

“Is the swelling still there, in the back?” Audra asked anxiously, as she watched them.

 

“Yes, Honey,” Nick said quietly, but he met her eyes and smiled reassuringly at her. “He’s going to be alright, Audra. He’s tough. Don’t worry. He’ll be giving you, Mother, and Silas a fit, trying to sneak out of the house and get back on a horse, before you know it.”

 

Trying to return his smile, she nodded and squeezed her brother’s hand harder. If only Nick were right, instead of just trying to make them both feel better with his words.

 

   * * * * * * * *

 

The weary group of people and horses halted by the front door to the large white house, its lights blazing from inside. As Duke, Billy, and the other men helped ease Heath down from Nick’s arms to theirs, Jarrod assisted Audra from her horse and into the arms of their worried mother, waiting beside them on the ground.

 

Their anxious eyes followed the progress of the men as they carried Heath upstairs. Then, enveloping her daughter in a warm, navy-blue blanket, Victoria led her up the stairs as well.

 

Despite Audra’s protests, she maneuvered her down the hall past Heath’s closed door, and toward her own room, where she assisted her in undressing and sliding into bed. With the warm fire in the small hearth giving off a cheerful glow in the finely-appointed, mostly-white bedroom, the two women clung to each other for another brief moment.

 

“Sweetheart,” Victoria said, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“Yes, Mother,” Audra replied, squeezing her hands, “I’m fine, just worried about Heath and very tired and cold.”

 

“I’m proud of you, Audra,” the matriarch whispered, smiling through the tears springing into her eyes. “Jarrod said you probably saved Heath’s life tonight.”

 

“Thank you, Mother. But, I was so scared, so scared I couldn’t do anything to help him! It was horrible, not being sure what to do, whether I was doing things wrong, and not knowing if he was going to die ... He still could, couldn’t he?”

 

“No, Sweetheart,” she answered, her arms wrapped now around her daughter, who had sat up and was clinging to her. “I don’t think so. I have faith that he’ll pull through this ... He’ll be alright, you’ll see.”

 

Easing her daughter back on the bed, Victoria stroked the side of her face and murmured, “I’m so glad to have all of my children back under my roof tonight. Thank you for what you did for your brother. Just close your eyes and rest now. When you wake up, I’m sure he’ll want to see you and tell you himself how much he loves you. You’ll want to be rested by then.”

 

Her heavy eyelids closing, Audra squeezed her mother’s hand and whispered, “I love you, Mother.”

 

“I love you, too, Sweetheart. And, thank you.”

 

She sat with her exhausted daughter for a little longer, assuring herself that the blonde was asleep, before she rose carefully from the side of the bed and walked quietly from the room.

 

As she headed down the hallway to check on her sons, she closed her eyes for an extra second, hoping that her words to her daughter had been accurate and not just empty promises spoken aloud to console them both.

 

 

 

Chapter 65

 

“How long before he wakes up, Doc?” Nick asked anxiously from his seat on the bed beside his unconscious brother.

 

Shaking his head, the quiet physician kept his own counsel, as he leaned forward over Heath’s outstretched arm and concentrated on cleaning the deep laceration. Beside him stood Victoria Barkley, ready with more cloths draped over her shoulder and a yellow porcelain bowl of warm water in her hands.

 

Realizing he was not going to get any other answer, Nick focused on watching the doctor’s movements as he finished up, dried Heath’s arm, and prepared to stitch the long, jagged gash closed. Swallowing hard, Nick then looked back at Heath’s face, and he revised his thinking, glad for the moment that his brother wouldn’t feel what was getting ready to happen.

 

“Jarrod,” Doctor Merar’s soft, soothing voice said, “Can you move down here beside me and hold onto his arm?” At Jarrod’s silent nod, the doctor continued, “Nick, how about putting your hands on his shoulders. I don’t want him coming around in the middle of this and trying to pull away from me.”

 

Complying, Nick looked down into Heath’s ashen face, noticing for the first time the deep crevice of pain between his brother’s eyebrows and realizing that the doctor was right about the possibility of Heath waking up in the middle of the procedure.

 

Sure enough, moments later, before the first ten stitches were finished, Nick found himself holding onto his silent brother, pushing him back against the bed with all of his considerable strength.

 

“Dammit, Heath,” he growled through clenched teeth, then spared a glance to look at his Mother’s face. She was watching Heath’s face so intently, she did not seem to notice Nick’s language, however.

 

“Hold still, Boy,” Nick continued. “The doc’s got to sew you up, Heath. Now be still.”

 

“Ni-i-i-ck?”

 

“Yes, Heath. I’m here.”

 

Heaving a deep sigh as his brother, with eyes still closed, slowly stopped fighting him, Nick reached up and ran his hand along the side of Heath’s face.

 

“Right here, Little Brother. We’re all right here.”

 

“Ho-m-me ... Ni-ck?” Heath asked, his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the pain that coursed through him from too many directions to pinpoint.

 

“Yes, Boy. You’re home. Just rest easy, now, and let the doc finish up.”

 

Nick glanced over to see that the doctor was almost done, and he caught Jarrod’s eyes, just as Heath’s uninjured hand came up to grasp the front of Nick’s shirt.

 

Nick, already leaning down over him, whispered, while running his fingers through his brother’s damp, dark blond hair, “Hold on, Heath. It’s almost over.”

 

He swallowed hard as he saw the muscle convulse in his brother’s jaw and his blue eyes crack open, then immediately slam shut again.

 

But, he was unprepared for Heath’s next words, as he leaned even closer and heard the quiet, strained voice say, barely loud enough to be called a whisper, “Nick ... the light ... Pleas-s-se ...  no li-i-ight.”

 

Glancing over at the doctor, who was finishing up the last of the stitches and had apparently not heard, Nick looked back down at Heath and gripped the fist that had hold of his shirt. He suddenly realized Heath’s pain-filled reaction had little or nothing to do with the stitches being taken to sew up his arm.

 

“Just a minute, Boy. The doc needs it, but he’s almost finished.”

 

At Heath’s brief nod, Nick felt the fist tighten on his shirt, and he watched his brother squeeze his eyes shut even harder. Taking a deep breath, Nick was relieved for him when he felt his brother’s whole body suddenly go slack, unconsciousness claiming him again.

 

Nick slowly removed Heath’s hand from his shirt, and he gripped it tightly in his as he lowered it to the bed.

 

Everyone in the room seemed to breathe a relieved sigh, as Howard Merar applied a new, pristine dressing to the still oozing wound, wrapped it in a white cloth bandage with Victoria’s help, and lowered Heath’s injured arm gently to the bed.

 

Reaching up to mop at his brow with a handkerchief, Howard gave a small smile, then leaned back in the comfortable burgundy chair he had been sitting in, to rest for a moment, while keeping an eye on his patient.

 

The silver-haired woman placed a grateful hand on the tired physician’s shoulder, squeezing it, as she said, “Thank you, Howard. I’m sure that was not an easy task. Is there anything I can get you, now? Something to eat or drink?”

 

“No, thank you, Victoria,” he replied. “I’ll just sit here a few more minutes to make sure he’s resting okay. Then, I’ll come downstairs to talk to you. Would you send Silas up to sit with him in a bit?”

 

“I’ll stay, Doc,” Nick spoke up from the other side of the bed.

 

“You can come back, Nick. But, you’ll need to hear what I have to say to you all.”

 

Nick’s eyes narrowing, he looked from the doctor’s impassive face, up to meet his mother and older brother’s eyes, then, back down to look at Heath.

 

His younger brother’s normally tanned face was a grey version of the white bandage wrapped around his head, and the line of pain was still present between his eyebrows. As Nick watched, Heath moaned quietly and his head rolled from one side to the other.

 

“I’ll get Silas,” Jarrod said quietly, leaving the room without waiting on a reply.

 

“He’s still not completely unconscious, is he, Howard?” Victoria asked.

 

“No. He’s not.”

 

Then, with a sigh, Howard pushed off from the arms of the leather chair and climbed to his feet. It had been a rough night, using ice to get the swelling in Heath’s arm to go down enough to stitch the jagged wound closed, trying to keep his fever from rising too much, and trying to keep the restless blond quiet and comfortable enough without the benefit of any medication. Because of the head wound, any use of laudanum was not advised.

 

He stepped closer to the bed, leaned down, and lifted one of Heath’s eyelids, then the other, checking the pupils of his eyes. He took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly, lips pressed tightly together. Then, as the blond again moved his head away from him, Howard used the opportunity to probe the swelling at the base of Heath’s skull.

 

Shaking his head again, he straightened back up. Then, patting his patient on the bare shoulder above the white sheet and forest green blanket turned down over his bruised chest, he said quietly, “Rest easy, Young Man. You’re home, and we’ll take care of you, now ... Just rest, Heath.”

 

As he turned away from the bed, no one in the room missed the worried look on Howard Merar’s face.

 

   * * * * * * * *

 

“Nick, Sweetheart,” Victoria Barkley said tiredly, patting the grey settee beside her. “Please come sit down. The doctor is worn out, you and Jarrod haven’t slept well in days, and I need to concentrate on what Howard has to say ... Please, Nicholas.”

 

With another audible slam of his hand into the grey marble of the mantel, Nick turned away from the crackling fire and stepped over to sit beside his mother. Jarrod and Howard already sat across from her. Only Audra, who was asleep upstairs, was missing. She had not completely recovered from the anxiety of her ordeal the night before, and she had returned to bed after sitting with Heath for a few hours earlier that morning.

 

Her hand firm on Nick’s arm, Victoria squeezed it and said quietly, “Thank you, Son.” Then, turning to her old family friend, she asked, “What is it, Howard? What did you need to tell us about Heath?”

 

Nodding, the doctor met her eyes steadily and said, “I’m concerned about him, Victoria, very concerned. He’s extremely restless, his pulse is elevated, and I assume from those signs, he’s experiencing a high level of pain. He’s lost too much blood ... though I don’t think that it alone will prove life-threatening, especially now that his arm has stopped bleeding. But, it’s weakened him. Being without care after his injuries for more than two days hasn’t helped either.”

 

His eyes left the silver-haired woman’s grey for a faltering second, as he noticed Nick drop his dark head at his words. The young man ran frustrated fingers through his hair, and Howard heard a low, rumbling growl emanate from him.

 

Then, as if almost to himself, the doctor added, “I still don’t know how he made it as far as you described on foot with that concussion, Nick, especially crossing the river in the process...”

 

Howard shook his head. Then, he looked over at Jarrod, who was beside him, and back across the table at Nick. “He’s a survivor. And, it’s the one thing that gives me hope now ... that strong will he has to live.”

 

With a small gasp, Victoria leaned into the strong, supportive arm of her middle son, causing him to lift his head and kiss her hair. Her voice calm, but wavering slightly, she asked, “Is it that bad, Howard? Surely ... now that he’s home ... now that we’ve gotten the fever back down and his arm’s looking better ... ?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Howard said, “Victoria, I’m afraid he has a severe head injury ... While he’s mighty bruised and banged up overall, the pain he’s in has no other explanation. There’s already been some bleeding from his nose, and his eyes are unevenly dilated. If there’s bleeding inside his skull causing pressure, as the signs suggest, I may have no choice but to consider surgery ... It’s very risky, even these days.”

 

Blinking hard, Victoria asked quietly, “How soon will we know, Howard?”

 

“Let’s give it a little longer. It could work out all right, yet. Just try to keep him calm and resting as comfortably as possible.”

 

Looking at their anxious faces, he took a deep breath and added, knowing they would do anything to help the young man lying upstairs, “Talk to him as if he were awake, because he can probably hear you on some level, and don’t let him get agitated or let him move around too much. He needs to stay still. That’s one thing that the last couple of days have not allowed him to do that he needs badly now. It could be, he will improve with lots of rest.”

 

Nodding, Jarrod asked, his eyes on his mother, who was still sitting close to the silent Nick, his arm wrapped tightly around her, “Howard, why do you keep saying something about keeping him calm? This is, after all, Heath we’re talking about,” he said, trying to smile.

 

“Yeah, Doc,” Nick spoke up for the first time. “That’s kind of like telling a dammed up pond to stay in one place!”

 

“Nicholas,” his mother admonished, “I should think you wouldn’t use such words in my presence.”

 

“Sorry, Mother,” Nick said, realizing his use of one word had also reminded her suddenly of his earlier slip.

 

Jarrod smiled slightly again, glad for the momentary respite in the worry caused by the doctor’s prognosis. Then, he asked, “Howard, are there signs we should look for that’ll tell us if Heath’s condition is growing worse?”

 

“I’ll stay here to help you keep an eye on him until I’m needed somewhere else. But, to answer your question, Jarrod, yes,” Howard said firmly. “The reason I talk about keeping him calm, is that a bad concussion has been known to make some patients combative and unusually aggressive. He needs to be still, to allow himself to heal ... even if ... ,” he paused before adding, his eyes on Jarrod to avoid looking at Nick, “Even if we have to restrain him. Also, the worse things get, he may develop stiffness in his neck, and he’ll probably have severe reaction to light.”

 

Because his eyes were on his mother and brother across from him, Jarrod saw Nick’s immediate reaction to Howard’s words, and he felt a tearing, heartbreaking sensation in his chest at the instant thought that Nick wasn’t just reacting to Howard Merar’s comment about restraining their brother.

 

No. It was more than that, he was sure.

 

Somehow, Nick knew that Heath was already experiencing one or both of the worst symptoms.

 

 

 

Chapter 66

 

Unable to stay seated beside his mother any longer, Nick jumped to his feet and stalked angrily to the fireplace, standing with his back to the room. All three of the people behind him watched, wondering when the explosion that was sure to follow would begin.

 

But, it didn’t.

 

Slowly, his eyes first meeting the sad grey of his mother’s, Jarrod rose to his feet, gripped the doctor’s shoulder with his left hand, and stepped over to stand behind his brother.

 

Behind them, Victoria stood gracefully, stepped around the low, round table that separated her from the doctor, and took Howard’s arm in hers, turning him away from her sons. She leaned into him slightly and murmured, “Let’s go find you something to eat and some of Silas’ hot coffee.”

 

Nodding, Howard Merar cast a mournful look back at the two men he thought of as almost members of his own, extended family, and he walked with his old friend, their mother, toward the back wing of the fine house.

 

Jarrod, hearing them go, kept his attention on Nick.

 

Without reaching up to touch him yet, he let his brother know he was there, as he asked quietly, “Which is it, Nick? The stiffness in his neck or the light?”

 

As a low rumbling, buried in the earth, heralds the swelling of a volcanic eruption, Jarrod heard the muted growl begin from deep inside his brother’s chest. By the time it erupted in full fledged anger at the injustice of it all, Jarrod reached out, encircling Nick from behind in his arms, and he said firmly in his younger brother’s ear, “Nick, he’s going to be alright. We won’t give up on him, and neither will Doc Merar. I think that man cares about and respects Heath almost as much as we do.”

 

Nick Barkley closed his eyes, both clenched fists coming up to forcibly grab hold of the solid mantel, and he ground out the pain-wracked words from between gritted teeth, “Jarrod. If I just hadn’t waited...”

 

Shaking him, Jarrod said, “Nick. You didn’t know. None of us did. Heath doesn’t blame you ... He won’t blame you, Nick. Do you hear me?”

 

Taking a deep breath, Nick nodded and said, “I hear you, Pappy. I just don’t believe you, because I blame myself!”

 

His ire rising quickly, helped along by the exhaustion and worry of the last two days and nights, the blue-eyed, dark-headed man whirled his younger brother around by both arms and shook him as he said, his eyes glaring and his well-modulated voice punctuating every syllable, “Nick Barkley, don’t you do this! Don’t you close yourself off from us at the very time when we all need you the most. You’re the strongest man I know! Don’t you fall prey to self-doubt and blame when we need you at your strongest. Do you hear me, Brother Nick? Heath needs you. We all need you. And, we need you to fight with us to keep him here, no matter what!”

 

Then, more quietly, his voice dropping, he added, “It’s your love and your strength that he needs, Nick, not your self-criminations.”

 

Some of the usual fire flared back up in Nick’s heart at the uncharacteristic demands made by his older brother. And, like silt settling to the bottom of a watering hole after a thirsty herd has moved on, the self-doubt in Nick’s hazel eyes slowly cleared, leaving him staring at Jarrod with new focus and determination.

 

Nodding, he lifted one side of his mouth in a deliberate imitation of his younger brother’s lop-sided smile, and he said quietly, “Boy Howdy, Jarrod, ya’ don’t have ta yell. I hear ya’.”

 

Smiling at him then, Jarrod reached out and used one of Nick’s gestures reserved for younger brothers on him, grabbing him by the back of the neck and shaking him. “Just see that it doesn’t happen again, Brother Nick, or the next time I’ll have to ball up my lily-white hands into fists and knock some sense back into you!”

 

Grabbing Jarrod’s shoulder, Nick nodded and stated firmly, shaking him in turn, “If you try it, you’ll need more than your fists, Big Brother.”

 

Then, both of them smiling slightly at the other, Nick added, his smile gradually fading, “I’m going up to sit with him, Jarrod. Silas might need some help, and I need to ... to talk to him when he wakes up again. He all but pleaded with me to turn down the light...” Seeing Jarrod’s nod, he swallowed hard and asked more quietly, “Will you tell Doc for me, Jarrod?”

 

“About the light bothering him? Yes, Nick. I’ll tell him. You go check on Heath. I have a feeling you may be the only one that’ll be able to handle him when decides he’s had enough of that bed up there.”

 

Smiling again slightly, Nick nodded and stalked determinedly toward the stairs. But, when he reached the bottom, he gave Jarrod a quick look out of the corner of his eyes and said, “Thanks, Pappy.”

 

Jarrod nodded, then murmured to himself, as he watched one brother climb the stairs to see about the other, “Anytime, Brother Nick. Anytime.”

 

   * * * * * * * *

 

The light filtering into the room through the closed window cast the furnishings in the reddish-orange glow of the setting sun. Silas sat by the window peeling apples, a sharp paring knife in his skillful fingers creating long, spiral corkscrews of bright red and yellowish-white that fell into the pan resting in his lap.

 

He hummed softly, keeping his eyes on his task, and smiling only slightly at the impatient movements and disgruntled noises of the man on the other side of the room.

 

Finishing with the apple in his hand, he placed the utensil and the fruit in the pan and rose to his feet. Stepping close to the bed, he continued his quiet humming and lay his brown hand against the too-pale, slightly sweaty face of the blond lying there, his restlessness a silent echo of the more overt movements of the dark-headed man pacing up and down between the door and the oaken dresser against one wall.

 

Pausing briefly in his humming, Silas shook his head and crooned, “You just rest easy, Mr. Heath. Just rest easy there.”

 

A soft moan escaped the blond’s lips as the crease of pain between his eyebrows deepened, and his head twisted away from the cool palm.

 

“He’s hurting, Silas,” Nick snarled from across the room. Slamming one fist into the other palm, Nick continued his pacing as he said, “Doc’s going to have to give him something, one way or the other.”

 

“Now, Mr. Nick,” Silas soothed, his eyes leaving Heath’s face for only a second to look at the dark-headed young man. “You know that doctor can’t do that. He needs this boy to wake up so he’ll know how bad his head is paining him.”

 

As Silas placed his bowl on the table and struck a match, he lit the bedside lamp. Then, still standing, he retrieved his bowl of partially peeled fruit. Across from him, he heard Nick’s reply.

 

“Well, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes and ears how bad that’s getting!” Nick said. “That boy’s never been one to make any mention of pain, but here he is, almost unconscious, and we can tell how bad it is.”

 

Suddenly, Nick reacted, leaping toward the bed, as he saw Silas jump, almost spilling the apples on the floor.

 

“No, Heath!”

 

“Ni-i-ck ... Ni-i-ck?”

 

“I’m here, Heath. I’m right here,” Nick responded, lowering himself to the edge of the mattress and reaching out to stop his brother, who was half-way out of the bed, one foot already on the floor, before Nick could get both of his hands on Heath’s shoulders.

 

“Whoa, Boy,” Nick said, holding him in place, but trying to get a look into the dark, searching blue eyes before they slammed tightly shut. “Easy, Heath. Easy, now. Where do you think you’re going? ... Everything’s fine. There’s no need for you to get out of this bed, Little Brother.”

 

“Ni-i-ck?”

 

Heath’s breathing was ragged, as he brought up his bare left arm and covered his closed eyes with it.

 

“I’m here, Heath. I’ve got you. Just lie back now. Come on. Lie down again.”

 

“The light, Nick ... Can’t ... Please, Nick,” he panted, his voice strained and tight.

 

Quickly, Silas saw Nick’s eyes seek his, Nick’s dark-headed nod in his direction, and he leaned down, blowing out the light on his side of the bed, the one he had just lit a few moments ago.

 

As the room grew darker again, Nick tightened his grip on Heath as his brother sagged against him, his hand dropping down to clench the shoulder of Nick’s white shirt. Silently supporting Heath’s upper body, Nick struggled to ease his brother backwards onto the pillows Silas piled behind him.

 

When the blond was lying back, Nick glanced at Silas and motioned with his head toward the door. Nodding, Silas carried his pan of fruit out of the room, and he headed down the hall and closest staircase to find the doctor.

 

“Heath?” Nick said. “Heath, are you okay?”

 

“Ni-i-ck.”

 

The reply was quiet, pushed out through clenched teeth.

 

“Is it your head, Heath?”

 

“The ... light ... My ... head.”

 

“Okay, Heath. Silas went to get the doc. He’s downstairs. He’ll be right back up here.”

 

Heath’s hand had dropped down to clench the front opening of Nick’s shirt. He nodded slightly, his eyes still tightly closed.

 

“Hang on, Little Brother,” Nick said. “Just hang on.”

 

After a few moments, in which Nick saw the grimace of pain lock onto his brother’s face and remain there, he heard him speak again.

 

“Audra?” Heath asked, his voice still strained, though his breathing was better now.

 

“She’s downstairs, Heath. She’s fine.”

 

“Took ... care’a me.”

 

Nick swallowed hard, realizing Heath wanted him to know what their sister had done for him, even though he was hurting too much to even try to talk. “We know, Heath. Our Little Sis did real good, didn’t she?”

 

Feeling a hand on his arm, Nick glanced up and saw his mother standing there, the doctor stepping around the end of the bed on the other side.

 

“The doc’s here, Heath. He’s gonna fix you up, now, Boy. You do what he says, okay?”

 

“Doc?”

 

“Yes, Heath. I’m here. Can you look this way for me?”

 

Heath slowly turned his head toward the doctor, his eyes still closed.

 

“Open your eyes, Heath. Just one at a time is okay, if it helps.”

 

After a brief examination, the doctor asked, “Heath, if I light the lamp, does that make your head worse?”

 

“Yes-s-s ... The light ... it...”

 

“Heath?” Doctor Merar asked, his hand gently turning the bandaged blond head away from him so he could check the swelling at the base of his skull, “How long has it been this way?”

 

“Don’t ... don’t know for ... sure.”

 

Heath’s hand covered his eyes again, and Nick could tell he had his eyes tightly closed underneath.

 

“What do you remember, Heath?”

 

Long seconds went by, as the blond tried to again find the memories that had finally resurfaced over the last day or two, memories that threatened to become lost again, buried by the pain.

 

Then, the strain evident in his voice, he said softly, “Jim asked ... me ta meet ... stage. Was bein’ robbed ... shot at them...”

 

Nick interrupted, “You did more than shoot at them, Boy. You killed two and the other two took off. But, one of them shot you, didn’t he?”

 

Heath squeezed his head, as if trying to make himself remember the rest. Something was back there, something important he couldn’t remember, couldn’t see, as if it were hidden in the cover of deep shadows inside his head.

 

“Heath, what else do you remember?” the doctor prompted, casting a weary look at the impatient Nick.

 

They watched as Heath shook his head very slightly, his hand still covering his eyes. As if from far away, they finally heard him say, “In a shed ... someone kickin’ me ...  ‘Broke a window ... out...”

 

As he spoke, Nick stood up from the side of the bed, and he began pacing again, his spurs shouting his anger for him.

 

The idea of some man kicking his already injured younger brother ...

 

Suddenly, from behind him, he heard Heath starting to cough, and he whirled around, just in time to keep the blond from falling off the edge of the bed, grabbing with one hand the basin of now tepid water sitting on the side table and holding it under Heath’s head as he lost the liquid they had so patiently gotten into him since they had brought him home. When the dry heaves began, all Nick could do was hold onto him, trying to keep Heath from having to use his injured arm for balance on the bed.

 

“Easy, Boy. Easy now,” Nick murmured, as Silas removed the basin. Nick’s and Doctor Merar’s eyes met over Heath’s shoulder.

 

When Heath could, Nick and the physician eased him back to the pillows behind him, and they both felt the tension and exhaustion send tremors through the younger man.

 

Hating to put him through it, but needing to be sure, Doctor Merar asked, “Victoria, please light that lamp for me, but remove the glass. Then, I’ll need you to go on downstairs. Send Jarrod up to help us, if you will.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Nick asked, his eyes widening in alarm. “He’s already sick enough, don’t you think, Doc? We don’t need to make him worse!”

 

“Nick,” the grim-faced doctor explained, “I know he’s hurting, but, I have to see how his eyes react to the light. I have to know just how much ... Well, I have no choice. We have to know.”

 

 

 

Chapter 67

 

Nick stood on the secluded side verandah, his hands wrapped tightly around the wrought-iron railing and his eyes on the moon and the wispy, fast-moving clouds that alternately covered it, then allowed it to shine through.

 

Struggling to keep his rapidly circling thoughts off of the hell that the examination earlier in the evening had been for his brother, but not wanting to think about the morning to come, Nick knew he had to do just that.

 

The preparations for surgery had already been taken, just in case. The doctor had returned home for the night, knowing he could do nothing more for Heath until there was plenty of light in his bedroom from the sun coming in through the eastern facing window. He also needed his delicate instruments, specifically designed for boring into a man’s skull ... not too deep, but ...

 

Closing his eyes, Nick fought with himself.

 

The doctor would be back in the morning. The family would have to tell him of their decision then. The final decision would be theirs to make, and Nick had yet to make up his own mind.

 

Should they allow the doctor to open up his brother’s skull, gambling that Howard could make the situation better by relieving some of the pressure from the bleeding, or should they continue to wait, hoping that Heath’s condition would start to correct itself?

 

How long should they wait?

 

His brother was in so much pain ...

 

It was hard to watch him, the tossing, agitation, and mumbling growing worse in the last few hours. And, his nose had begun to bleed again, a sign the doctor was very worried about.

 

But, maybe, as the doc said, he would pull out of it yet. Maybe if they just gave him some more time ...

 

But, neither did they want to wait too long. Howard Merar had said that as Heath worsened, he would probably not wake up, slipping away from them, into a coma.

 

If they waited too long ...

 

Staring up at the moon, Nick felt like its light was like this decision, one minute its answer clearly visible, and the next, hidden and shrouded in more questions and doubts.

 

He had already let Heath down once in the last few days. He had delayed looking for him, irritated with him, sure that Heath had chosen to go off on his own to deal with what he had been feeling after the girl, Bettina, and his friend, Charlie Whitehorse, had both been killed, in separate situations in which Heath had been involved.

 

Believing he knew why his brother had not returned home, he had not gone looking for him the same day Heath had been shot, leaving him out there, hurt and alone, for much longer than he should have been. If only he had started looking for him sooner, maybe he could have found him before Heath had started off across country on foot, trying to make it back here, to the place he felt safe. Maybe he could have brought his brother home, to be seen by the doctor, before his condition had become so critical.

 

But, all the blame he cast on himself now would make no difference for Heath. He would have the rest of his life to blame himself if his brother did not recover, if they made the wrong decision now.

 

Nick mumbled, “I’ll be damned if I’ll let you down again.”

 

Suddenly, the moon came out from behind the clouds, its light shining to the earth and illuminating it in bright tones of silvery white.

 

As Nick looked up at it, paying attention to its beauty for the first time, he instantly realized he had been asking himself the wrong questions for the last few hours.

 

This wasn’t about Nick Barkley.

 

It was about Heath. It was about his brother who was the survivor, who had lived most of his life relying only on himself, searching for a place where he could belong, where he would be loved and valued for the qualities that made him who he was.

 

There was only one question ... and there could be only one answer.

 

Since his brother couldn't make the decision for himself, what would Heath want them to do?

 

   * * * * * * * *

 

Wearily, dreading the decision, but knowing it was the only choice they could make, the only choice Heath would want them to make, Nick climbed the thickly carpeted stairs to his brother’s bedroom.

 

He opened the door, and he smiled slightly, hearing Silas’ soft voice as he spoke to the restless blond lying there in the bed.

 

“That Ol’ Nick, he’s downstairs right now, trying to figure out what to tell that doctor in the morning. But, we know the only choice, don’t we? We’ll just let him stew in it awhile, but he’ll come around to the right decision, don’t you worry.”

 

“And, just what decision is that?” Nick spoke up as he approached the bed, seeing the eyes of the old, grey-haired gentleman lift to meet his, the light from the moon catching his face and illuminating the tears brimming in them.

 

“You know what’s got to be done for him, don’t you, Mr. Nick?”

 

“Yeah. I guess I do, Silas. This boy’s too ornery for us to let him just drift off too far without giving him a fighting chance in the end, don’t you think?”

 

Smiling through his tears, Silas nodded, “Yes, Sir, Mr. Nick. I sure do believe that. This boy’s been fighting all his life, and I don’t see any point in not allowing him to fight for life as long as he can ... But, you’ll see. None of those bad things the doctor warned about will happen. He’ll be as right as rain after that surgery, if it comes to that.”

 

“And, if he’s not, Silas ... you and I’ll take care of him for as long as we’re privileged to, won’t we?”

 

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Nick. We sure will.”

 

Swallowing hard, Nick squeezed the old man’s shoulder, then said quietly, “Silas, do you mind if I sit with him for a little while?”

 

“No, Mr. Nick. I’ll bring you up some coffee and a warm slice of apple pie in a bit. You just keep him company as long as you like ... He’s gotten a might restless in the last hour ... more than before. Why, I thought I was going to have to call you to help me a little while ago, but I got him back in the bed alright.”

 

“He got out of bed? Do you mean he stood up?” Nick asked, incredulously.

 

“Well, only for a minute, Mr. Nick. But, I got him to lie back down when I threatened to wake up Mrs. Barkley if he didn’t.”

 

Shaking his head, as he lowered himself to the leather chair Silas had vacated, Nick said, “Silas, you are a force to be reckoned with. You truly are.”

 

Smiling at each other in the limited moonlight, Nick nodded at the grey-haired old man as he moved silently toward the door.

 

   * * * * * * * *

 

Nick lifted his forehead from his hands and watched his brother’s head tossing back and forth across the pillows. He saw his lips move, and he tried to make out the sounds, tried to put together the words and understand them.

 

Heath appeared to be mumbling the same few words over and over, but the sounds were mostly unintelligible.

 

Suddenly, however, Nick saw Heath’s eyes crack open slightly, and he quickly stood up from the chair and moved to the side of the bed, pressing Heath’s shoulders back to the pillows as his younger brother tried to push himself up. The mumbling became more insistent, as Nick tried to get the barely open, pain-glazed blue eyes to focus on him.

 

“Heath. Heath, Boy,” Nick said, as he held onto the well-muscled shoulders, slick with sweat. “Heath, easy now. Let me help you.”

 

“Get ... down,” Heath mumbled, reaching up and pushing against Nick’s chest with both hands.

 

Worried about the injured forearm, Nick tried to twist his body away, giving Heath’s right hand nothing to grab onto. However, in doing so, he gave up some of his leverage, and Heath wrenched away from him, leaning away, toward the other side of the bed.

 

He said clearly, his agitation rising, “Get down. Get ... down!”

 

Amazed at the strength his brother still possessed, Nick’s fleeting thought was that it was much too early to decide to do the surgery if Heath still had this much fight in him. But, in the next instant, he heard the doctor’s warning, about keeping Heath calm and still, sounding through his head, and he lunged for the blond, just before his brother staggered up from the bed.

 

Cursing, Nick scrambled across the tangled blankets after him, and, gaining his feet again, he wrapped the unsteady young man in a bear hug grip after only two steps. Easing him back toward the bed, he saw Heath’s left hand come up to grasp his head, as he staggered against Nick.

 

Taking two steps backwards, Nick lowered them both to the edge of the thick mattress, and holding Heath against his chest, Nick spoke in the closest ear, “Where’re you going, Boy? Don’t you know you need to stay in this bed? You’ve been shot, Heath, and you need to rest.”

 

“Ni-i-ick,” Heath said quietly, his voice barely louder than his harsh breathing, “I saw ... Nick ... I saw ...  Bry-die.”

 

Nodding, finally understanding, Nick heaved a deep breath and said, “Yes, Heath. She was there. You saved her from getting hurt in that stage robbery. She’s fine, now.”

 

“She’s ... alright?”

 

“Yeah, Little Brother, she’s fine. At least that’s what Mother and Jarrod said. They talked to her. Now,” he added, trying to ease Heath’s upper body to the surface of the bed, “You lie down right here and rest.”

 

“No, Nick!” Heath said, shaking his head slightly and struggling against his dark-headed brother. “Gotta ... find her.”

 

His teeth clenched, Nick held on, trying unsuccessfully to avoid contact with Heath’s right arm.

 

“Dammit, Heath! Quit fighting me. You need to stay here ... and ... rest.”

 

“No, Nick ... Gotta find her!”

 

“Easy, Boy. Easy now. Just rest, Heath. I promise I’ll go get her and bring her here. But, only if you lie down and quit fighting with me!”

 

Just as he thought he was going to have to call Jarrod to help him, Heath quit resisting, and Nick felt the tension drain out of him. Heath’s eyes closed again as he moved his head against Nick’s neck, allowing his brother to support him.

 

“That’s right, Boy. I’ve got you. Just rest, now.”

 

Reaching up to run the fingers of one hand through Heath’s sweat-soaked, dark blond hair, Nick then patted the closest shoulder.

 

“Are you alright, now?” Nick asked.

 

“’m fine,” Heath answered tiredly, as he relaxed further against the white cotton of Nick’s shirt.

 

After a moment, Nick heard Heath mumble, “Couldn’t rest ... with no ... silver conches ... diggin’ inta me...”

 

Chuckling, Nick said, “Well, I guess you’re in luck, since it’s after midnight. I don’t sleep in that vest, you know.”

 

“Boots-s...”

 

“Yeah, well, you’re right about that. But, at least I took off my spurs before I came to nursemaid your sorry hide.”

 

Reaching up to shake the back of Heath’s neck, Nick’s smile slowly faded, as he remembered the swelling there in time to avoid hurting his brother further. Then, looking more closely, he probed carefully at the base of Heath’s skull, noticing that the large knot seemed to be less pronounced than before.

 

However, his attention was immediately diverted, as he felt Heath’s weight shift against him.

 

“Tired ... Nick,” Heath said, the pain evident in his voice now that the quiet teasing tone from before was gone.

 

“Alright, Boy. You rest, then,” Nick carefully eased Heath down on his side, gently trying to avoid tangling the bandaged right arm beneath him.

 

“Bry-die-e?”

 

“You behave yourself, and rest. Then, just as soon as you’re up to visitors, I’ll bring her here to see you. How’s that sound?”

 

“Thanks-s, Nick,” Heath slurred, his breathing already slow and heavy.

 

Smiling slightly, Nick slowly stood up, grasped his brother’s long legs, clothed in white cotton, and hauled first one bare foot, then the other, up onto the bed. Patting the bruised chest, he pulled the blankets from the other side of the bed over top of the already sleeping blond, and he walked around the bed to retrieve the leather chair by the window.

 

Maybe he’d better take up vigil on the door-side of the bed if he planned to keep his younger brother contained in this room without benefit of the restraints Doc Merar had mentioned earlier.

 

“Heath,” he sighed, smiling slightly, his hope slowly dawning, as he sat and watched the blond’s face. “You’re going to wear us both out at this rate, Little Brother. But, I promise you, I’ll bring Brydie here as soon as you’re up to seeing her.”

 

 

 

Chapter 68

 

“No, Jarrod!”

 

Nick stood up and started pacing back and forth across the room. The only sounds were the heels of his boots hitting the wooden floor along the edges beyond the forest green and cranberry rug at the foot of Heath’s bed.

 

“Nick,” the oldest Barkley son said calmly, though he wanted to roll his eyes at the ceiling in exasperation. “This is not about what you want. It’s about what’s best for Heath. Howard thinks his best chance is to have this surgery, and the longer we wait, the harder his recovery’s going to be. Now be reasonable.”

 

Snarling, Nick rounded on Jarrod, his arms crossed and his boots planted widely. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I want what’s best for him? You know me better than that, Jarrod. I’d give my share of this ranch to keep from having to put him through that, but if it’s what’s going to give him the best chance, then I know he would want that chance...”

 

Nick trailed off, then shook his head before saying under his breath, “It’s what he may want if it doesn’t work out, if the surgery makes things worse, that...” Aloud, he echoed, “Well, it’s later, if he doesn’t fully recover, that I worry about what he may want.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Nick turned away and stalked over behind Jarrod to stand by the window, leaning over with both hands on the window sill, and his head down, as he fought to control the fierce, protective emotions and fears for the future that surged through him, blinding him for the moment to what he had been trying to get Jarrod to understand.

 

He felt Jarrod’s hand on his back, and he nodded slightly to both acknowledge it and to let his brother know he was alright.

 

After another moment, he hauled in a deep breath, stood up, and turned around, his hurting hazel eyes finding the dark, concerned calm of his brother’s blue. Nodding again, he said quietly, “Last night, I knew what we had to do ... for Heath. And, that hasn’t changed ... IF Howard will just give him a little more time, first ... You didn’t see and hear him early this morning, Jarrod.”

 

“Tell me, Nick.”

 

Nick swallowed hard and gestured toward their brother lying quietly on the bed, his bruised face turned away from them. For the first time since they had brought him home, he appeared to be sleeping soundly, without the aid of unconsciousness, without the overwhelming pain that had kept him tossing restlessly for more than 24 hours.

 

Then, nodding, his eyes closed as he remembered their conversation several hours ago ... for that was what it had been, a conversation between them, punctuated by moments of agitation.

 

But, the doctor had said that agitation sometimes happened with serious concussions, hadn’t he?

 

After a few seconds, Nick explained, as he reopened his eyes, “At first, he was out of his head, muttering something about ‘get down’ over and over ... I don’t know. I guess he was trying to get the stage passengers to get down before he started shooting or something ... But, then he got past me, out of the bed, and he started across the room.”

 

As Jarrod’s eyes widened at this information, Nick continued, “I tried to stop him from getting up, Jarrod, but he out maneuvered me. When I did get to him, he knew it was me, and he told me he’d seen Brydie ...  I told him she was at the stage and that he had kept her safe. He asked if she was alright, and I assured him she was, that you and Mother had talked to her.”

 

“Then, what happened?” Jarrod prompted, as Nick walked past him and lowered his strong frame gently to sit beside Heath. He patted Heath’s shoulder and moved the blanket enough to assure himself the bandage on his brother’s arm was still white.

 

“I got him back to the bed, but he kept fighting me, telling me he had to see her. I told him I would bring her here, and he finally relaxed. We talked another minute or so, and he ... it was like it always is between us. You know, him saying something about my boots or something else to get a rise out of me.”

 

Shaking his head, trying to reconcile the worry of the last few days with visualizing Heath teasing Nick again, Jarrod smiled slightly, as he stepped around the bed and sat down in the burgundy chair on the other side.

 

“What do you think, Jarrod? Doesn’t it mean he’s getting better?”

 

“I don’t know what to think,” Jarrod said. “When he left last night, Howard said Heath would just get weaker and more out of his head from that point on. That’s not what you’re describing.”

 

“Well, I can tell you one thing. This boy’s got an awful lot of fight left in him. I thought I was going to have to call you to help me wrestle him back down in this bed. But, he calmed down when I told him I would find the girl and bring her here. He understood what I was saying ... And, that’s not all. Silas told me before that happened, that Heath had also gotten up, out of the bed. And, he was able to talk him into lying back down when he threatened to have to wake Mother up to come see about him.”

 

“When was that?”

 

“About one o’clock this morning, I guess.”

 

“I don’t know, Nick,” Jarrod said, his eyes leaving Nick’s and searching the face of the blond brother they discussed, “I don’t know what it means, but it’s certainly worth sharing with the doctor when he gets here.”

 

   * * * * * * * *

 

Howard stood up slowly, and he ran his hand up and down the side of his face, as if to rub the tiredness away.

 

Then, he shook his head, a smile slowly forming as he turned and met the eyes of the young man’s family.

 

“You’re right, Nick. He’s definitely turned a corner, one that I never thought he’d really reach. The swelling’s gone down, and his pupils are almost equal in size again. How was he about the light, about the pain, when you were with him that last time?”

 

Taking a deep breath, allowing the doctor’s encouraging words to soak into him, Nick hugged his sister closer beside him, and he said, “I only saw him reach up for his head that once, when he was standing, but it could’ve been dizziness as much as anything. He didn’t mention the headaches, didn’t get sick. He just told me he was tired, right before he fell asleep. Like I said, he was talking to me in between, almost as if he weren’t hurt at all.”

 

“How much light was there?”

 

“Mostly moonlight, though I think Silas had that lamp on the dresser turned way down. Heath didn’t mention it.”

 

Shaking his head again, the doctor said, “But, you said he was upset about something, about the girl he remembered, and he was strong enough to pull away from you?”

 

“Yeah,” Nick replied. “He staggered to his feet like he thought he could go somewhere, the stubborn jack- ... ahhh, mule.”

 

“It sounds like severe concussion, but no worse than that.”

 

Jarrod reached out for his mother as she turned her face into his chest, and he felt her small hand grab his blue shirt in her fist. Rubbing her back and holding her close, he bent down and kissed the top of her silver hair.

 

He asked, swallowing the relieved lump in his throat, “When will you know for sure, Howard?”

 

“I’ll stay here awhile, Jarrod. And, I’ll have to check him again when he wakes up,” he added, looking at Jarrod’s eyes meaningfully, “But, for now, let’s just let him sleep. It’s the best thing for him.”

 

Swallowing his worry about a repeat of the excruciatingly painful examination Heath had already endured once, Nick felt proud of his little sister when she stepped away from him and over to the doctor, taking on the duty his distraught mother would have normally seen about, “Come on, Doctor Merar. Let me show you to a guest room where you can get some more sleep. We’ll come get you when Heath wakes up, but you need to rest in the meantime. I know you worried about him last night, just as we did.”

 

Victoria squeezed her daughter’s hand as she went by, Audra’s other arm looped through the doctor’s, and the two women exchanged dazzling smiles, their teary eyes causing each to laugh lightly at the other in relief.

 

Relieved of her hostess responsibilities, the tired, silver-haired mother sank down on the side of the bed and placed the palm of her hand against the sleeping face of the blond-haired son she had claimed ever since she had first realized who he was three years ago.

 

Their eyes meeting across the bed, Nick and Jarrod nodded at each other. The eldest placed his hands on his mother’s shoulders, and he leaned down to say quietly as he again kissed her on the head, “Mother, Nick and I will be just downstairs in the parlour if you need anything. Just call us. We’ll leave the door open.”

 

“Thank you, Jarrod,” she replied, glancing up at him and smiling. “Thank you, Nick, for being here with him last night.”

 

Without reply, the two dark-headed brothers walked from the room. Nick, in his exuberance, had his arm wrapped around Jarrod’s shoulders as they left.

 

She heard them talking as they went down the hall.

 

“He’s going to be alright, Pappy!”

 

“Yes, Brother Nick, I think he is.”

 

Turning her eyes back to the sleeping blond, Victoria leaned down and kissed the side of his face, smoothing his hair above the bandage with her hand.

 

Audra had told her how she had found him, lying across Tom’s grave, as if he had pushed himself to get that far, as if he had believed he had gone far enough once he had reached that point.

 

It made her heart sing that Heath appeared to have taken comfort from that spot where the father he had never known, the man he had probably hated as a boy, was buried.

 

Then, she sought out the fingers of his uninjured, left hand and lifted them to her lips.

 

Suddenly, her eyes filling with tears again, she remembered the time three years ago when she had sat with him, this son of her husband that she had just discovered for the first time, had sat with him in this very room, waiting on him to recover from blood loss caused by a bullet buried deep in the bone of his leg.

 

As the tears coursed down her cheeks, she heard his voice inside her head.

 

He said softly into the silence, “...m’ mama told me from ... from the time I was old enough ta ask ... that my father was a ... a good man, that he was  ...”

 

Suddenly, he began coughing, turning his head and his upper body away from her, grabbing for the sore stiffness of his bruised chest. When he turned back, a grimace of pain clearly etched across his features, she was there, having moved to sit on the side of the bed beside him, helping him lift his head enough to drink a swallow of water from a cool glass.

 

“Easy, Heath,” she soothed, easing him back to the bed. She brushed her hand against the side of his face, then, left it there in the time-worn gesture of a mother caring for a sick child.

 

Reaching up to catch the fine, slender fingers, holding them against his face in appreciation, he looked into her eyes and finished, “...she said ... he was ... the finest man she’d ... ever known.”

 

Then, they remained like that for long minutes, as his eyes slid closed from the heaviness of his eyelids.

 

Gently, she lowered his hand in hers, holding it across his blanket-covered chest, as she said, squeezing his fingers quietly, “Your mama was right, Heath.”

 

As he cracked his eyes open again, finding the tear-filled grey of hers, he gave her a faint-lopsided smile, and he said, breathing hard with the pain from his leg, but needing to get the words out,  “She never blamed him ... even when he never ... he never came back ...  . She hated whenever I said ... anything angry ‘bout him ... though, I reckon I said plenty ...  the ... the older I got.”

 

Then, he paused, taking in a few deep breaths, struggling, before he tried to go on, his voice catching in his throat, “‘Don’t know what she was ta him ... but ... I know how much she ... how she loved him, an’...”

 

He paused, his face turning away, blue eyes finding the ceiling, unable to look at her any more, as the grief inside him took over, and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

 

Swallowing hard, he was barely aware of her hand reaching out, wiping at the tears, even as she lifted his hand to her lips with her other. She kissed his fingers and held them next to her cheek, rocking against his hand, as she cried with him, holding him in the only way she could.

 

After a few minutes, he took a shuddering breath before he continued, “...an’, I know how she loved me ...  . She was a good person, Mrs. Barkley ... an’ ... an’ her love was all she had ta give ... ta either of us.”

 

He saw the tears, her tears, as soon as he turned his head to find her eyes again, and he immediately struggled up on his elbow with a groan he couldn’t contain. As he shifted his weight toward her, concerned for the hurt he had caused her, she released his hand to help him, to reach for him. He responded by encircling her shoulders with his right arm, and she clung to him.

 

They both cried quietly, then, ...  her face pressed against his neck, his face in her hair.

 

After a few moments, he reached up and touched the silver at the back of her neck, murmuring comforting words to her, and she began to calm, feeling the pull of his words, his tone that reminded her so much of her husband’s soft voice when speaking to a skittish colt.

 

“Sh-h-h, it’s alright. It’s alright, now.”

 

Then, she kissed his cheek and sat up, smiling down at him and laughing lightly as she wiped at her face with the backs of her hands. She placed her damp fingers gently along the line of his jaw, as he tried to return her smile.

 

Seeing the crease of pain between his eyebrows that he could no longer hide from her, she reached up and pushed his shoulders carefully, slowly back to the pillows behind him. When his eyes closed tightly, and he gasped for breath, she knew what all the words, and the comforting, one-armed embrace had cost him.

 

Reaching for the cloth waiting in the basin of water on the side table, she wrung it out, and held it to his forehead, to one side of his face and then the other, and she dabbed it at his neck and the upper part of his chest.

 

After a few moments, she saw him take a deep breath and ease further into the pillows. His hand came up, catching hers with eyes still closed and stopping her ministrations with the cloth.

 

Quietly, she waited.

 

Then, after another minute, he smiled at her, his eyes opening slightly.

 

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I’ve ... missed her.”

 

Smiling back down at him, she said, her eyes growing misty again, “Thank you for telling me about her, ...” Her voice broke, and she shook her head slightly, before she added, “...and about him.”

 

After another moment, he said, his voice so quiet she could barely discern the words, “...‘never meant ta come here ... ‘never meant ta hurt you ... any of you ... But, I couldn’t just ...  Nick ... those miners up at...”

 

Reaching out again, she touched her fingers to his lips to stop his struggle.

 

“Just rest, now. I know you didn’t come here to hurt us. It’s not in you to hurt anyone, Heath. I know, believe me, I do. It’s not in any of Tom Barkley’s children to hurt anyone, any more than it was in him to hurt you or your mother. You came to help Nick, to help those miners and their families ... I’m the one who owes you a debt of gratitude for both ... But, I’m also so very grateful, so very glad, that, for whatever reason, you are here, finally, where you belong.”

 

Echoing those heartfelt words of years ago, she gazed down at him and said aloud, “Yes, Heath. I am so grateful, so very glad, that you are here, finally, where you belong ... with the family that loves you for the man you are.”

 

Swallowing hard, her heart twisting in her chest with the recent fear that they could have been returning him to that grove of trees, that they could have been burying him there beside the father he had never known, she whispered, “Thank you for coming home to us. I love you, Heath Barkley.”

 

 

 

To be continued…