Empty Promises

Chapters 69-77 and Epilogue

by Redwood

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

Chapter 69

Jarrod was standing outside, leaning against a tree near the closest corral to the house, the cigar in his hand long forgotten. The shade from the nearly leafless tree was sparse, but it made him feel somehow both protected from the glare of the mid-afternoon sun and shielded from the prying eyes of any of the men working on the extension to the smallest bunkhouse on the other side of the barn.

His eyes were closed, and he was listening to the sound of hammers and men’s voices, their words unintelligible from this distance, as well as the sound of the few leaves whispering over his head in the slight breeze.

He heard the footsteps approaching across the open area behind him, and he turned his head, catching the familiar scent of her lavender perfume.

“Mother,” he said, neither offering a welcome, nor a rebuff, with his carefully neutral voice.

“Jarrod,” she intoned in kind, her voice carrying a hint of compassion, but sheathed in steel.

Slowly, she reached her hand up and drew circles across his tense back, knowing that from the time he was a small boy, this simple gesture always calmed him, comforted him.

He recognized the tone of voice, especially with his eyes closed, and he smiled slightly.

How many times had he felt like giving up, when his sight had been taken from him by the explosion of the dynamite thrown through his office window before the trial of Joshua Cunningham, . . . only to have her imperious voice reminding him of the importance of maintaining who he was, of not giving up and becoming less of a man because of his blindness?

Now, here she was, using her voice to break through the depths of despair he felt for his youngest brother, to break through the dark memories he stood out here sifting through, trying not to be drawn into the past, into the hopelessness he had felt when he had been blinded. The memories of his lack of freedom, his lack of confidence, during those long, difficult days, were still too fresh, still too raw, like crusted over scabs that he knew would bleed profusely if touched.

Twice now, in the last few days, Heath’s situation had brought Jarrod crashing back through the walls he thought he’d built up around those dark, desperate memories. . . . first, the ones he’d had a few days ago in the jail, reminding him of how close he had come to gunning down Cass Hyatt, the man who had murdered his wife, and now these. . . .

“Jarrod,” his mother said again, stepping around to look into his face, reaching up to touch his unshaven jaw line. “Jarrod, you’ve been through so much in the last eight months. It’s not fair of me, Nick, Audra, Heath, or anyone else to ask you to face these particular memories again so soon. . . . So, I won’t ask. But, I will say aloud what I’m sure you already know in your heart, . . . that you may be the only one that can help your brother now.”

Jarrod turned tormented blue eyes to look into her grey ones, and he reached up to grasp the hand that touched his face so gently.

Quietly, he said, “You don’t have to ask, Mother. Neither does he. I just needed a little time to sort through it all again. Heath will have all the support I can give him, just like he gave me, just like you all gave me, when I needed it. I just. . . ,” he paused, closing his eyes and sucking in his breath through his nose, holding it there, and releasing it slowly.

Then, opening them again, he swallowed hard and said, “I just can’t stand the thought of my proud, independent brother, the young man who came to us three years ago ready to fight us all to make things better for those people in that mining camp, the young man who had to slowly learn to rely on anyone other than himself, going through the rest of his life. . . .”

Unable to even say the word, Jarrod dropped his head and remained silent.

“You went through hell, Jarrod, when you lost your sight. But, you made me so proud of you, learning to get around, learning to take care of your needs, learning all over again to hold your head up and do the right thing despite the obstacles in your path. . . .That young man up there will do no less. We won’t allow him to. And, it will be as hard on you to watch, maybe more so, as it was for us to watch you. But, we won’t do him any favors if we cripple him by allowing him to think we no longer expect as much from him as we once did, just because he can’t see.”

Nodding and swallowing hard, Jarrod lifted his face, and, as soon as she saw the tears fall from his eyes, she reached up to pull his head back down to rest on her shoulder.

Together, they clung to each other, grieving for the difficult memories of what Jarrod had gone through, grieving for the loss of Heath’s sight, and for the future that he might not ever see.

* * * * * * * *

Nick Barkley slowed his liver chestnut, and he brought her to a halt, allowing her to blow after the long climb. He removed his canteen from the saddle horn, and he took a long drink. Glancing back, he checked the condition of the gentle bay mare he led, making sure the stirrups were still firmly tied up, across the empty saddle and out of her way.

Then, he turned his attention toward the valley floor, stretching out below him, searching through the haze of the late afternoon for signs of the ranch behind him. He could see his herds, sprinkled like dark specks across the golden greens of the grasslands, and he could make out the buildings surrounding the house, though the majestic, Barkley home was hidden by the trees. His crew should be about finished with the framing on that new section of bunkhouse behind the barn by now, he nodded in satisfaction.

Now that his younger brother was going to be alright, Nick was hoping Heath would be up to walking out there in a day or so to offer suggestions and supervision for the crew, even if only for a few minutes, while Nick was gone. His brother was so good with anything related to building or woodworking, his hands able to craft just about anything his mind could visualize.

Nodding again, Nick felt the relief wash over him for the hundredth time since the doctor had said he thought Heath had turned a corner for the better, implying that he wouldn’t need the dangerous surgery.

Then, glancing back again as the little bay moved closer to Coco, rubbing her head against Nick’s leg, Nick smiled widely at the stubbornness of his younger brother.

As soon as Heath had awakened, he had started asking Nick again to find Brydie. He had remembered Nick’s promise to bring her to see him, and he stubbornly refused to submit to Doc Merar’s exam again until Nick had left to keep that promise.

Nick had tried to explain to Heath that he didn’t know where Brydie Hanrahan had gone, that he’d already sent someone over to ask Jim to bring her to the ranch, only to find that she had been gone since shortly after she had returned to Jim’s place. But, Heath had insisted that she had to have returned to Lonesome, to her father, and he wouldn’t cooperate, not even with Mother’s requests to the contrary, until Nick had agreed to take his bedroll, a spare horse, and leave to see if he could find her.

“Damn fool boy,” Nick muttered, as he shook his head, reached down to absently scratch the mare’s closest ear, and dallied the canteen once more. Then, he nudged his mount back into a slow lope, and he headed up the back trail toward the mining camp called Lonesome, his mind on reaching the campsite several more miles up ahead before dark. . . and on keeping a promise he had made to his younger brother.

* * * * * * * *

“Heath,” Jarrod said, trying to reason with the blond. “It’s too soon, Heath.”

His light blue eyes finding Jarrod’s voice as if he could clearly see his older brother’s face, Heath said quietly, “Jarrod, you know more than anyone, why I can’t just stay in this bed.”

Closing his own eyes to ward off the sincere directness of his brother’s gaze, Jarrod nodded, then caught himself. Heath couldn’t see him nod. He had to offer his assurances another way.

“Alright, Heath. Alright. But, Mother and Doc Merar are going to restrain us both if they catch us.”

The lop-sided grin that followed was swiftly there and gone, as Heath concentrated on getting his boots on and pulling the bottoms of his tan jeans down over top of them. Then, standing slowly, he kept his hand on the red oak headboard of the bed for a few moments, before he let go and turned his focus to tucking in his light blue shirt.

Only once did he pause, his left hand coming up to cover his eyes and squeeze his temples as a wave of dizziness and fresh pain washed over him.

Instantly, Jarrod was on his feet, ready to assist his brother, but, as if feeling him approach, Heath used the same hand to wave him off.

Taking a deep breath, Heath asked, “Do ya’ think she’d be less likely ta skin me if I wear that pesky sling Audra made?”

Smiling at the irritated look on Heath’s face, Jarrod started to nod again, but caught himself and said, “Yes, Heath. I think that might help.”

Crossing the room, Jarrod picked up the white piece of triangular fabric and returned to the bed. As he stepped close, he stopped as Heath quickly backed up a step, heaving in a sharp breath and almost colliding with the edge of the mattress.

“You knew I was there?” Jarrod asked incredulously. “Just how much can you see?”

Leaning down and feeling behind himself, Heath used his good hand as a guide as he lowered his body to the edge of the bed. Then, drawing in a deep breath, he said quietly, “I could feel you, as much as anything else. . . I can see shadows, but the light is so intense, . . . “

Jarrod looked at his brother’s drawn face closely, and he asked, “Is it improving?”

With a long sigh, Heath said, “Hard ta tell. The shapes inside are harder ta distinguish. That’s why I’ve got ta get outside.”

“Alright, but can I suggest you lie back down and rest a bit longer, now that you’re dressed, and that you let the sun drop a little lower before you do try it? I don’t think being outside in the brightest part of the day is going to help you much. Mother and Audra won’t be back until almost seven o’clock.”

Wearily, Heath reached up and rubbed his throbbing head, and he nodded, giving in a bit to the reason of it. “Alright, Jarrod, but can you at least help me get downstairs to the study, first? I could sleep there where it’s darker, an’ then, . . .”

Smiling, Jarrod interrupted and said, “And, then, you can make good your escape from there.”

As they exited Heath’s room a little while later, his hand gripping Heath’s bicep, Jarrod found that several thoughts were uppermost in his mind.

First, he was relieved that his brother, more self-reliant and independent than anyone Jarrod knew, trusted him enough to ask for his help. Second, he wondered how Heath had developed the perception of “feeling” someone’s approach so quickly-----a skill it had taken Jarrod weeks to develop himself, and third, having dealt with blindness first hand for just under two months, Jarrod couldn’t yet, quite get his mind around the fact that Heath had escaped from that shed and made it almost fifteen miles through rough back country alone, with very limited sight.

And, finally, he wondered how he was going to approach it with Heath that he was onto his youngest brother’s skillful maneuvering.

Heath had managed to hold off allowing the doctor to figure out he couldn’t see, just long enough to send Nick away for a few days, . . . and he had done so before Nick, or any of the rest of them, had become aware of how much the injuries had truly affected him.

Chapter 70

Jarrod watched with great interest as Heath took measured strides, checking the distance between the studs of the open framing. He could see the crease between his brother’s eyebrows, and Heath stopped once on the far corner of the unfinished structure, his hand curled around the closest board, as if he needed its support to keep going.

Standing up, Jarrod took three steps toward him, before Heath’s quiet voice stopped him in his tracks, “I’m alright, Jarrod. Just give me a minute.”

Watching him closely, Jarrod saw him draw in a deep breath and push off of the wooden structure, righting himself. Then, he proceeded to walk around the last of the three sides of the addition, touching each stud and checking for sturdiness by trying to shake it with his hand.

Finally, he reached up, found an opening, and pulled himself up onto the foundation by maneuvering between two studs. Standing now on the wooden floor, he walked along the edge closest to the back side of the existing structure, pausing every few feet to use his booted foot to test how square and tight the flooring was against the older, outside wall. Jarrod saw him nod when he reached the corner where he had first started, and he steadied himself as he stepped down to the ground, again moving sideways between two studs.

Taking a few deep breaths, Heath eased backwards to sit between the studs, on the flooring, his feet planted outside on the ground. He reached up to wrap his left arm around the sturdy boards beside him and to grasp his head between fingers and thumb, as he leaned against the rough wood. As Jarrod approached, he saw the lines of pain around Heath’s eyes and the sweat standing out above the bandage encircling his forehead, despite the chill in the air.

Touching his raised arm, Jarrod was not prepared for Heath to flinch as he did so.

Remaining quiet, he berated himself for not announcing his presence, and he waited for his brother to gather himself. Then, he asked quietly, “So, does it stay, or do I tell them to tear it out and start over?”

With a small, lop-sided smile, Heath lifted his head slightly, his hand still covering his eyes, and he said, his voice tight, “You’d trust a blind man ta tell ya’ that?”

After exchanging a small chuckle, Jarrod dropped down in front of his brother on one knee and gripped Heath’s shoulder. He said seriously, “It depends on the blind man.”

Nodding once, Heath said, “It stays.”

Then, pulling himself up, Heath reached out for Jarrod and said tiredly, “Pappy, I think I’ll take that . . . hand, now.”

Grasping his brother’s left arm, Jarrod turned, and held onto him as they began walking toward the side entrance to the house, through the study.

After a few moments of walking slowly, in which Jarrod realized he was carrying more and more of his brother’s weight with every step, he paused and pulled Heath’s good arm across his shoulders. Then, grabbing Heath’s belt, he steadied him as they continued toward the French door they had left open earlier. Both of them breathing hard, Jarrod eased Heath up the low steps and inside the darkened room.

With a relieved sigh, Heath reached out and helped Jarrod lower him onto the red settee, where he lay down on his right side, facing the back of the comfortable couch. Jarrod tucked a pillow under his head and quickly moved back to the doorway. He shut it, closed the heavy drapes to further keep out the dying light, and walked to the side table.

There, he poured Heath some water and returned to the settee.

“Heath,” he urged. “Drink this.”

After a few swallows, Heath returned the glass, his left hand falling back down to grasp the dark, carved wood along the back of the settee. Though he did not comment on how he was feeling, his white knuckles as he tightened his grip, told Jarrod all he needed to know.

Shaking his head at the stubborn cussedness of his younger brother, but finding himself slightly in awe of Heath’s determination to push himself, Jarrod lit a cigar, poured himself a stiff Scotch, lowered himself to the chair across from Heath, and he watched his brother settle into an exhausted sleep.

As he sat, nursing his drink, he mulled over the doctor’s words after the examination the morning of the day before.

Heath had almost bitten through his bottom lip in his attempts to keep from crying out at the pain the examination had caused. While the doctor, Silas, and Jarrod had been the only ones in the room, Jarrod and Heath both knew Victoria Barkley was just outside the closed door, anxiously awaiting the results. And, after worrying her for days on end, Heath was not about to add to her concerns by letting her hear his pain so clearly.

He was breathing hard by the time the doctor admitted her to the room, and Jarrod held her back from going straight to him, sensing that his brother was close to the edge of his endurance.

“Mother,” Jarrod said soothingly, “Just wait. I don’t think Howard is quite through.”

Her hand found his as they watched the doctor hold up several objects in front of Heath, who was sitting in the leather chair. Dr. Merar asked him what each was, without receiving any reply, before slowly going on to the next.

Having had days to adjust to what they had just discovered, Heath was the calmest of the four when he could not identify anything placed in front of him except the light, whether it was shielded with the slightly soot-encrusted globe or not.

Her eyes on the doctor, but having already had experience eight months ago with finding out one son could not see, . . . and knowing now that full recovery was sometimes possible, Victoria almost held her breath as the man began speaking, telling them the medical reasons for what they now knew.

“Heath, with injuries to the head, the results are sometimes still a mystery to us. There are all kinds of blindness, some permanent, and some temporary. From what I’ve read and what I’ve seen over the years, what you’re experiencing could be caused by swelling or pressure inside your head. If that’s the case, your vision could improve with time, as those conditions are resolved. I think it’s probably a good sign that one eye seems better than the other already, and that both eyes react to light. While the light is very painful to you, the pupils of your eyes are reacting properly. . . . The pain should ease with time, and some or all of your vision could return.”

Taking a deep breath, and allowing them all to silently absorb the information, he asked, “You said you can see more now than when you first came to in that shed, right?”

Heath nodded, swallowing hard. He closed his eyes, trying to remember how it had been to wake up to only shades of darkness that first time, the only clue as to what was happening a dark shape moving around over him with a deep, gravely voice that punctuated each kick to his chest and ribs. . . .

“I can see more light, now. But, . . .”

“But, that’s what causes the most pain, am I right?”

“. . . yes,” Heath slowly responded.

“One more question, Heath,” the doctor said. “Then, it’s imperative that you get some rest. If it is swelling or pressure from bleeding causing this, you need to sleep as much as you can. I’m not saying you have to stay in bed, but you need to give yourself much more rest than you think you want. I’ll put your mother in charge of that, and I’m quite satisfied that she’ll keep you corralled.”

“Doc,” Jarrod said, squeezing his mother’s hand, “You said you had one more question.”

“It’s more out of curiosity and personal theory than out of anything else, Jarrod.”

Turning back to Heath, the older man asked, “Heath, I assume you hit the back of your head when you were shot, probably on a rock. Do you remember if you could see immediately after you were shot or immediately after you hit your head?”

Shaking his head, Heath said, “I’m not sure, Doc. . . . I remember openin’ my eyes an’ seein’ someone with dark hair an’ dark eyes bendin’ over me. . . . Yes,” he added, thinking hard about it, “ . . . He was removin’ my gun belt, an’ we were outside, near the rocks by the stage, I think. But, I must’ve blacked out again right after that.”

“And, later?”

Taking a deep breath, Heath said, “When I woke up in that shed later, I couldn’t see much at all, just greys an’ darker shadows.”

“So, it got worse. . . . And, then, it started gradually getting better?”

“Yeah, Doc. I think so.”

Having been quiet up to that point, Victoria asked, “Howard, is that important in some way?”

“Well,” the kindly physician replied, “It might be, Victoria. You see, with Jarrod’s blindness, his eyes probably responded to the extreme brightness of the light when the dynamite exploded so close by. . . though his blindness could have also been caused by just the force of the explosion itself. Probably, it was the light, and when his eyes healed, his vision returned.”

“But, with Heath?” Jarrod asked, returning the firm grip his mother had on his hand.

“With Heath, there was no bright light, just a bullet that creased the side of his skull and a blow from falling backwards, probably from hitting his head on a rock. In my experience, that kind of blindness is permanent. . . .”

He paused at the small gasp from Victoria, but he held up a hand that Heath could not see, as he hurried to complete his thought, “Wait a minute. I’m not finished.” Reaching out to grip Heath’s shoulder in his strong hand, the doctor continued, “But, the exception to that seems to be if the blindness develops later, after the initial injury. If he wasn’t blind when he first woke up, that may be a very good sign that there is no permanent injury to the inside of his eyes. It probably developed from the pressure of the bleeding we know was happening inside his head. . . . The nosebleeds indicate to us that was going on.”

Taking another deep breath, he added, “And, the fact that you have had some improvement, Heath, is another good sign. . . . Let’s give it some time, Son. I’ll check you again in a few days, but I suspect that it might take several weeks before we know for sure.”

“Thank you, Howard,” Victoria said quietly, leaving Jarrod’s side and sitting down in front of Heath. He sat silently in the burgundy chair, his head down, his forehead supported against the palm of his left hand, and his right arm resting across his thighs.

Though she could not see his eyes, she knew they were closed and that he did not even realize she was there. As she reached out to touch his dark blond hair, he stirred against her hand.

Leaning down, she kissed the top of his head. Then, she turned to look at Jarrod for a moment, and she said, “Sweetheart, please help me get your brother back into bed. I think that rest the doctor spoke of should start right now.”

The two of them looked at each other meaningfully for a brief moment, as Heath silently complied, allowing them to each take him under an arm, to help him stand, and to turn him around and press him back down on the bed behind him.

Then, gripping Jarrod’s arm tightly, Victoria said, “Heath, I want you to rest for a while. We’ll talk about all of this later. Jarrod, stay with your brother, please.”

“Alright, Mother,” Jarrod responded, as he nodded at her and watched her take the doctor by the arm, leave the room, and close the door behind her.

As the door shut, Jarrod felt the tension that had been holding his brother together evaporate, and Heath immediately sagged further back against the pillows with a low moan of pain.

“Heath,” Jarrod offered, “I can ask Howard if he’ll give you something.”

“No. . . . Thanks, Jarrod.”

Jarrod sat down in the comfortable wing-backed leather chair Heath had just vacated, and he propped his boots up, one at a time, on the edge of the bed. They remained like that for long minutes, Heath’s face turned more away from the window than toward Jarrod, but facing each other all the same.

The dark-haired, eldest brother could see from the restless movement of Heath’s leg beneath the blanket, that the blond was no where near being able to sleep.

Finally, the older brother stood up and walked over to the basin of water Silas had left there after the examination. He picked up the soft, unused towel lying beside the bowl, and, dipping it in the cool water, he wrung out the excess. Then, returning to the bed, he crossed around it and picked up Heath’s left hand.

It was curled tightly into a fist, and Jarrod squeezed it, before turning his hand over and placing the cold, wet cloth against it. Slowly, Heath’s fingers uncurled and grasped the towel.

“Here, Heath,” he said, “Let’s put this over your eyes to see if it cuts out some of the light.”

Lifting the towel toward his head, Heath placed the cloth over his eyes. Jarrod assisted him by stretching it out long-ways, flat over his face, from temple to temple.

The relief it brought was instantaneous, as Heath released a soft groan and lay still. He lifted his damp hand up blindly, reaching toward Jarrod, and he said softly, “Thanks, Pappy.”

Gripping the offered hand, Jarrod sank down on the bed beside him. He held onto his hand until Heath’s breathing eased, becoming slower and more regular, until the hand in his became slack with sleep.

Then, patting his brother’s shoulder, Jarrod said, “Rest easy, Brother Heath. Rest easy. We’ll get through this together, one step at a time.”

Now, as he swirled his Scotch in his glass in the darkened study, Jarrod again watched his younger brother’s back while he slept, determined that Heath would not go through this alone, any more than he and Nick had allowed him, months ago, to go through his own, similar ordeal alone.

Unconsciously adopting Nick’s words for him, Jarrod added quietly, “I’m here, Heath. Right here, Little Brother.”

Chapter 71

It had not taken him long to figure out where she would be once he arrived in Lonesome. But, getting her to listen to him, or even to hear what he had to say, well, that was another problem all together.

Nick had met first with Collin Murdoch, the mine supervisor, and he had finally gotten an audience with the very reluctant Tim Hanrahan, who had only grunted as Nick had stated his request to find and meet with Tim’s daughter, Brydie.

Though Nick was technically his employer, now that the wizened older man worked as liaison between the families of Lonesome and Barkley-Sierra, hired at Heath’s request several years ago, Hanrahan had made it clear his obligation to the Barkleys ended with his job.

“I’ll not be telling the lass anything fer ye, Mr. Barkley. She’s a fickle one, and a bit brazen, but she’s still my daughter. If it’s a meeting with her ye’d be wanting, you’ll have to work that out with her yerself. I’ll not be carrying yer love songs back and forth between ye like some crippled carrier pigeon.”

“No, Sir,” Nick laughed, then thought better of that response, as the man fingered the cane resting beside him, its crook wrapped around the arm of his chair. He tried again, shaking his head, “No, Mr. Hanrahan. I think you’ve got it all wrong. It’s my brother that wants to see her, not me. But, he’s. . .”

“Yer brother? Then, why are ye here insulting me like this, bringing yer brother’s suit fer him? Where is the man? Why can’t he come do his courting up front and proper? I’ll not have me daughter insulted in this fashion, and I don’t care who his daddy is. In fact, if he’s a son of Tom Barkley, I might have to take him down a couple of pegs before I’d agree to hear anything he had to say anyway. And, that goes fer the likes’a you as well. Yer daddy left the people here with quite a few empty promises to feed us through many a winter.”

Growing impatient, Nick said, “Now, wait a minute, Mr. Hanrahan. My brother is . . . .”

But, the man reared up from his chair at that point, grabbing his cane and shoving the point of it into Nick’s chest. “No, you wait a minute, Mr. Barkley. Just because I gave ye shelter in me house three years ago, just because ye pay me salary, doesn’t give you, nor anyone else in yer family, the right to take liberties with me or mine!”

Backing up, his hands in the air, Nick smiled at the feisty old man, his respect for him growing by the minute, and said, “Whatever you say, Mr. Hanrahan. Whatever you say. But, if you see Brydie, just tell her that Heath asked me to come let her know he’s alright and he’d like to talk to her.”

Stepping through the doorway, and out onto the porch, Nick heard the man moving toward him, and, as he mounted his horse, he heard Tim Hanrahan calling to him.

“Heath? Heath Thomson? He’s yer brother? Why didn’t he come with you? And, dammit, Man, why didn’t ye say he’s the brother you were talking about?”

Continuing to smile, Nick kept his back turned as he rode back toward Lonesome Camp.

Now, walking along the boardwalk of the camp, Nick tried not to smile again, as he thought of besting the prickly old man at his own game. Hopefully, by the next day, if Brydie really was here, she would have heard he was here as well, and she would find him.

* * * * * * * *

He entered the saloon, and he had the instant feeling that he had stepped back in time.

The place was exactly the same as he remembered it from three years ago.

Then, just as quickly, as Nick made his way through the thick tangle of loud, raucous miners, he realized it wasn’t the same at all. The furnishings seemed newer, less beat up, and more plentiful than before, and, more importantly, the patrons themselves seemed shinier, less downtrodden. They were also friendly, something they hadn’t shown the slightest inclination toward the last time he had been here, he thought, as he picked his way toward one wall, the jingle of his spurs failing to penetrate the general din of the place.

And, he thought, finding a seat in a location similar to the one he’d sat in the last time he’d been here, with his back against the wall, he realized there was another major difference.

There was laughter this time, something that had also been completely missing before.

Then, as he nodded at the bartender and tossed the familiar-looking man a gold coin in exchange for the bottle of good whiskey and a glass placed on the round wooden table in front of him, Nick’s eyes roamed around the room again. He relaxed slightly when he didn’t recognize any of the characters that had been part of the attack on him three years ago, and he blew out gently, an audible sigh of relief, when he didn’t see the young, dark-haired woman with vivid green eyes that had sauntered over to him that first night, her Irish lilt and youthful brashness glaring at him curiously.

He wanted to find her, but he had hoped she had not returned to working here.

Just the same, as he looked around and poured another drink, a mountain of memories came flooding back to him.

Unfazed by the stout bartender’s attempts to keep her from offering the newcomer any hospitality, she responded, “Aw, let a girl make her rent, will ye’, Newton?”

Nick slid a partially-filled glass down to her, then grabbed the bottle from the barkeep before he could walk away with it, and, retrieving his saddlebags from the odd, little man who had followed him in from the street, carried both items over to a table near the wall.

“You wait ‘til Himself hears about this!” the barkeep said to the girl, who ignored him and turned to watch Nick walk across the room.

Then, she picked up her glass, slipped off into a back room, and came back with a leg of mutton on a plate. Smirking at Newton, she evaded his grasp and walked across the room to perch beside Nick, who was now sitting in a chair, watching, while sipping on his drink.

Nick eyed her closely for a moment, then nodded his thanks as she pushed the plate toward him. He picked up the fork she had brought him, and, as he took a bite of the roasted meat, he looked around the room again at the inhabitants.

Though everyone was watching the two of them, most were evasive about it once more, their eyes hooded.

However, in one corner, further down along the same wall where he had placed his back, Nick noted that he was being openly watched by an unshaven, blond-headed young man with his chair tilted back on two legs.

Intending to make brief, intimidating eye contact with the blond, Nick felt himself suddenly unable to look away.

He saw the world-wise intelligence and felt the simmering tension as the young man narrowed his eyes and continued to stare back at him, meeting Nick’s silent challenge head on.

Then, as he heard the girl’s voice, her Irish lilt not unpleasant to his ears, he reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the blond in the corner of the room and again sought the bright green eyes of the girl.

“What’s your name?” Nick asked, pouring them both a drink.

“Brydie.”

“Brydie what?”

“Brydie Hanrahan.”

Glancing back at the corner, and seeing the pale blue of the young man’s eyes still watching him, Nick turned to her, indicated the blond by gesturing toward him with his head, and said, “I need some information, Brydie.”

“Why? That’s a dirty word around here. What are ye, a company spy?”

“No. Is that what they think?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well,” she said slowly, “Ye’re a stranger.”

Nick nodded and said, “And, this place doesn’t get many people passing through, does it?”

“No. . . . Not now. . . . not now that the mine’s shut down.”

“Not much of a way to make a living,” Nick said, turning his full attention to the girl, who couldn’t be any older than his sister, but whose brash approach to life told of a very different kind of existence.

“No. And, even with the mine open, it . . . ,” she trailed off, glancing, like Nick toward the blond openly watching them.

“Who’s Himself?” Nick asked, again tearing his eyes away from the ice blue in the corner. He inclined his head toward the young man. “Is that him? And, are you afraid of him?”

Her eyes widening suddenly at the bold questions, Brydie stood abruptly, glanced in the direction of the blond watching them, and she began shaking her head, her dark hair tumbling about her shoulders.

“No. Not him, never him. . . . But, I’m the sole support of me old father, I am, and I can’t afford to be killed.”

She tried to take a step back, away from the table, but Nick reacted instantly, reaching out and grabbing her by the forearm.

“Brydie?”

“No!” she said, trying to pull away from him.

The reaction from the young man in the corner was instantaneous.

In one fluid motion, he had risen from his chair and was half-way across the room, coming toward them, before Nick had removed his eyes from the girl’s frightened face, or his gloved hand from her arm.

Suddenly, the blond was standing in front of Nick, snarling in his face, “Let her go.”

For a moment, both of them stared at each other, hard hazel eyes locked on blazing blue, those of the girl forgotten.

Though the blond, who was a good two inches shorter and much slighter of build, had not touched him, Nick could feel the power of the quiet demand, backed by the young man’s well-muscled, though somewhat gaunt frame and evidence of a lifetime of hard work. He knew he had unleashed more anger in his direction, by his unthinking actions toward the girl, than he had faced from a single source in a long time.

Nick released his hold on her and, knowing that he had brought more attention to himself than he had wanted, lifted both hands in apology. “I’m sorry, Brydie,” he said steadily. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you or scare you.”

Having recovered from the fear created by his open questioning, she leaned around the blond and replied saucily, her green eyes glittering, “I hope O’Doule cuts your heart out.”

Then, she turned away, her back to both of them.

Nick watched, incredulously, then, as the young man, though a snarling, dangerous force to be seriously reckoned with only moments before, turned around and lay a calming hand on her shoulder. The blond leaned in close from behind her and murmured a few quiet, calming words in her ear. At this, her bowed head came up, she nodded once, and she moved off, crossing the floor to retrieve her warm wrap from behind the bar.

Then, she headed toward the door, but stopped, as if to wait.

Though Nick had been unable to catch any of the younger man’s words, he immediately recognized the tone. It brought an instant image to mind of a bright, but dusty afternoon years ago. For some reason, he vividly recalled leaning against a white fence and listening to the quiet murmurings of a much older man speaking to a trembling filly that had just been placed under saddle for the first time.

Blinking, Nick shook off the memory and found himself again staring into the narrowed eyes of the blond.

“You’re one’a them, aren’t you?” the quiet, confident voice asked.

“One of who, Boy?” Nick asked, his voice gruff and demanding, surprised at the brazen openness of the question coming back at him from this unexpected source.

The young man in front of him, dressed in ripped and faded brown work clothes, though obvious attempts had been made to clean and repeatedly repair them, had an unmistakable spirit about him. In fact, it shone through the layers of perpetual dirt and worn tiredness with a glare that almost succeeded in blinding Nick to the young man’s circumstances.

The pale blue eyes searched Nick’s face again for another second. Then, he replied, no longer asking, but certain, “You’re one’a the Stockton Barkleys.”

Nodding in spite of himself, though he was rapidly thinking through the ramifications of being honest in this potentially volatile situation, Nick responded, “Yes. I’m Nick Barkley.”

After a pause, in which he had expected the young man to at least return the favor by responding in kind, Nick asked, reaching out to offer his hand, “And you? Have you got a name, Boy?”

The blond kept his hands down by his sides, clenched into white knuckled fists, and his eyes remained narrowed. The only thing that moved was a slight lift of his left eyebrow.

Seconds passed.

Then, though still not reaching out to shake Nick’s gloved hand, he said quietly, “Name’s Heath.”

Shaking himself, Nick suddenly realized it was as if, in those few, brief moments three years ago, he had somehow felt a connection with the rough-looking, but proud, miner standing before him, the young man he’d never met, the brother that he didn’t even know existed before that day.

Somehow, now, in three, short years, the two of them had gone from strangers to partners, from enemies to . . .to best friends.

Somehow, now, . . . he couldn’t imagine life without his younger brother.

Closing his eyes, Nick pulled in a deep breath through his nose, and he released it again, opening his eyes and blinking them several times. They had come so close, . . . too close, . . . to losing him in the days that had followed that very first meeting three years ago, . . . and, they had come too close to losing him in the last few, frightening days before he had come here now.

But, Heath was home now, where he belonged, and he had probably already been caught several times sneaking out to the barn to brush down his horse.

Smiling, Nick knew it wouldn’t be long until that stubborn, younger brother of his would be off riding his horse somewhere, polite but determined in his efforts to find work to do out of range of their mother’s demands to rest and recuperate from the events that had separated him from his family, that had threatened to take him from them forever.

Looking around the room again, Nick took another deep breath, and he slowly remembered the reason he was here, the promise he had made.

It would have made his mission much simpler if she had been here, in this place, . . . but he was very relieved to assure himself differently.

No, Brydie wasn’t here. . . .and, thankfully, neither was Heath. And, if Nick Barkley had anything to do with it, his younger brother would never have to come back to this place as long as he lived.

Only Nick’s memories of finding them both here, three years ago, remained in this place now, lurking in dark, dusty corners that existed only in his memories.

Chapter 72

Nick slowly stood up and stretched, shaking his head wearily and then, he reached down to pick up his glass and polish off the last of his whiskey. He had already dined on a steaming plate of savory pork loin and new potatoes, and he had a room reserved upstairs.

But, he decided he would take another walk around the quiet mining camp before turning in, trying to figure out some way of finding the girl he had come looking for. It would be completely dark soon, and he knew this would be his last chance to locate her before tomorrow.

Heading toward the door, he glanced over at the heavy-set bartender. The man, Newton, was watching him intently. For some reason, Nick had the instant feeling that the man knew where Brydie was, but that he had no interest in telling Nick where that someplace might be.

Well, if his talk with her father worked from earlier this afternoon, she would be looking for him before long. He was sure of it.

As he exited the doors of the saloon, Nick turned right and headed down the boardwalk toward the mine. Maybe Murdoch would be able to help him, if no one else would.

But, suddenly, he stopped.

Up ahead, walking toward him, was the somewhat familiar figure of the girl he remembered. However, there was something different about her . . . . She looked. . . more sophisticated somehow, as if she had replaced her crusty, brash exterior with spit-shined and spotlessly-polished brass.

Though he had been prepared to be angry with her part in what had happened to Heath and the trickery nearly carried out on Jim, Nick found himself smiling broadly instead. As she approached him tentatively, almost shyly, he reached out and caught her in a warm hug.

“Brydie! It’s good to see you!”

“Hello, Mr. Barkley,” she said with reserve, her beautiful green eyes watching him sadly as she leaned back again, out of his hug.

“It’s Nick, remember?” he said. “How’ve you been, Brydie?” Then, he blurted, “Why’d you leave Stockton without telling us you were going?”

She shook her head, dropping it to look at the toes of her black boots, showing beneath the hem of her dark blue skirt. “I think I’ve done enough damage to everyone without staying around to make it all worse, don’t you? The faster everyone there in that place forgets about Brydie Hanrahan . . . and proper little Nancy Briggs, the better for everyone.”

“Does that include Heath?” Nick asked abruptly, reaching out and lifting her chin with his gloved hand.

She gazed up into his handsome face, and she whispered, “Heath?”

Then, she asked, gathering her courage and adding gentle volume to her voice, “How is he, Nick? . . . Or is he. . . .?”

Shaking his head, Nick assured, “He’s fine, Brydie. He wants to see you, though. That’s why I’m here.”

She tilted her head slightly and narrowed her eyes at him, suddenly worried. She asked, a little of the sauciness he remembered so well returning, “Nick Barkley, if he’s so fine, why isn’t he here himself, instead of sending the likes’o you?”

Smiling slightly, Nick stepped toward her and turned around to head in the same direction she had been going. He tucked her arm in his and led her up the boardwalk, away from the mine.

“The likes of me? I’ll have you know, Girl, I’m considered the best looking Barkley brother by many a woman in four counties.”

She looked up at him, and, seeing his wide smile, she smiled back at him, laughing slightly. Then, both smiles slowly faded as Nick answered her question.

“Brydie, you knew he was hurt in that attack on the stage, that he was shot. Then, this Reed Clayton fella, someone I understand you know, locked him up in a shed near the stage to keep him from telling Jim about you. Now, I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting this Clayton, yet, but when I do. . . .”

“But, what about Heath?” she cried, interrupting him. “Did you find him?”

Shaking his head, Nick said, “We didn’t have to. Heath broke out of there and walked home.”

He blinked his eyes closed an extra moment, trying to remove the image in his head, conjured up by Audra’s telling of how she had found Heath lying across their father’s grave, his hand. . . .

“Walked? But, he was hurt! I thought . . . I was so afraid he was dead,” She gasped suddenly, stopping and looking up at him, wide-eyed, her hand digging into his arm. “How far was it, Nick? And, just how badly was he hurt?”

Patting her hand, he soothed, “He’s alright, Brydie. He had a head injury that had us very worried there for a while, and he lost a lot of blood from a cut to his arm, but he’s fine now, or he will be in a few days. He wants to see you. In fact, he made me promise I’d come after you right away when we found out you’d left Jim’s place.”

She relaxed slightly, and Nick turned her again, heading her back down the boardwalk toward the wood-framed homes at the other end of the street. He assumed that had been the direction in which she had been heading originally.

It was growing darker by the minute, and he held her securely beneath the elbow after she nearly stumbled on a board sticking up higher than the others.

“Whoa, there, Girl. Be careful!”

But, when she didn’t answer, Nick stopped walking and turned her around to face him.

Her head remained down, and he again lifted her chin to look at her face. He had finally realized that she may have tripped, not so much because of the lack of light, but because. . . . Yes, he was right. Her eyes were full of tears, and they were now streaming down her pretty face.

“Brydie. Don’t cry, now. It’s going to be alright. Heath’s going to be fine.”

“Nick?” she asked softly, taking the white handkerchief he produced from a shirt pocket under his vest and coat. “Nick, I shouldn’t have left, at least not without talking to him first. It seems that I just keep making a mess of things. . . . Will you take me to see him?”

“That’s why I came here, Girl. To take you back with me. I can’t tell that little brother of mine that I couldn’t do the one thing he asked of me, now can I?”

She nodded slowly, smiling slightly. Then, she said quietly, “I shouldn’t have left without making sure he was alright. . . . I was so mixed up, but I’ve been so worried about him. . . . When can we leave?”

Turning her back around, Nick replaced his hand firmly beneath her elbow to keep her steady, and he said, “Just show me which house is yours, now, and, I’ll take you home. Then, I’ll pick you up in the morning, say 8:00. Wear warm clothes for the trail, though. We won’t be going by wagon. It’s much quicker to ride by horseback.”

Then, as an afterthought, he asked, “You can ride, can’t you?”

“Yes, I can ride. . . . Heath . . . Heath taught me. But, I don’t have a horse.”

“Never mind about that. I brought one for you.”

Smiling up at him, almost shyly, her thoughts returned to the blond young man that, no matter what else she had done or not done, still meant so much to her. She asked, “Nick, my father said you call Heath your brother now, and I heard you say that a little while ago. I noticed that Mr. . . . that Jarrod does the same. I talked to your mother about it, and I can tell she loves him like he were her own son. . . . Please tell me. Has he been happy since he left this place?”

“Yes, Brydie,” Nick answered confidently, “He’s been happy. This place brings back lots of memories for me, and I was just thinking a little while ago about how much a part of our family, . . . of me, Heath has become in three years.”

Nodding, she looked up at him again, and she said, “I’m so glad, Nick. He deserves to be happy, to have a family finally. He’s a very special person. . . . Did you know that he kept me Da and me alive during the strike, finding food for us when there was none to be bought, and he kept me out of that saloon for as long as he possibly could?”

Then, pausing, her hand reaching out to touch Nick’s buttoned coat where it pulled across his broad chest, she said, remembering, “Nick, did you know that’s why he was there, in Newton’s saloon, that night you first met him. He was worried about me having to go back to work there, and he was keeping an eye on everyone to make sure they behaved around me.”

Nick, his eyes sparkling in the limited light, said, “I guess my actions toward you that night didn’t classify as behaving, then, did they?”

“No, they didn’t,” she laughed in agreement.

Suddenly, Nick stopped walking, and he whirled her around, leaning down as if to kiss her.

Her eyes widened in surprise, not believing that he would act that way toward her, and she brought her free hand up as if to slap him. But, she dropped her hand to grab his light tan coat in her fist instead, as she heard him whisper in her ear, “There’s a rifle pointed at us, from right across the street.”

As her eyes widened in fright, he said into her ear, “I’m going to push you back into that doorway. Don’t move until it’s over.”

Without waiting for her to answer, he pushed her hard to her left, causing her to stagger up against the closed door, set two feet back between two windowed storefronts.

Instantly, he dove out into the dirt of the street, rolling twice as a bullet whined by his ear, kicking up dirt into his eyes. Having already pulled his revolver, he took aim, and, with two shots echoing in the broken quiet of the street, he saw a dark-suited man fall from the loft of the barn across from him.

Never removing his eyes from the still figure, Nick slowly got to his feet.

Then, he walked over toward the barn, his gun leveled at the unmoving form. Bending down to pick up the rifle from where it lay, he stepped over to the dark-headed man and rolled him over.

The man, whose once immaculate, finely-cut suit coat was now covered in dirt and blood, stared lifelessly up at the sky.

Behind him, as he leaned over and closed the man’s eyes, Nick heard Brydie gasp as her running feet brought her within a few feet of the dead man.

As she dropped to her knees in the dirt beside the man, she said quietly, “I swear, Nick, I didn’t know he was here.”

“You know him?” Nick asked in surprise. “Who was he?”

She shook her head and bowed it for a moment.

Above her, Nick said with certainty, having quickly puzzled it all out, “He’s Reed Clayton, isn’t he? He wasn’t after me at all. He came here to kill you.”

Slowly, she lifted her tear-filled eyes and said, “He must’ve figured out I tried to help your brother find Heath.”

“And, I guess he didn’t like it much that you left Stockton without going through with the plan to fleece Jim North.”

Reaching down to help her up, Nick felt her trembling. He held her close to his chest for a few moments, rubbing her back and allowing her to cry, her face pressed against his soft coat.

“It’s alright, Brydie. It’s alright, now.”

As the street began to fill up with curious on-lookers, Nick turned and led her away. Leaning down, he said, “Show me where you live, Brydie. I’ll take you home, now.”

Chapter 73

The morning had a freshness about it, a cool, breeziness, that made her immediately begin to think about preparations for the state fair next month.

It was a family tradition to travel to Sacramento in October, hooking their private car to the train loaded down with friends and neighbors, not to mention the Barkley entries for the various competitions, from livestock to pickled cucumbers.

With a smile creeping across her face, she could almost picture the hustle and bustle of their upcoming departure, and she could almost hear the different voices of her children, as they excitedly challenged each other to some contest or another.

Suddenly, as she opened the gate, headed toward the quiet barn for her morning ride, she paused, her hand still on the latch. Like a stone hitting her in the chest, the thought crashed into her that some competitions, possibly even the trip itself, would not be anything they would participate in this year.

Closing her eyes briefly, she could hear the voices of her two younger sons from recent years, as they challenged each other over which of them would bring home the coveted prize for marksmanship. She could easily conjure up Nick’s louder, deeper voice as he made one exorbitant bet after another while Heath listened and nodded quietly, his light blue eyes dancing merrily as he winked at her and continued to silently pack his battered, but reliable rifle.

Placing bets on that particular competition had been a new tradition, one started shortly after Heath had come to them three years ago. Now, however, it was painful to recall, for she knew the chances of her youngest son participating this year, or any other, were slim to none.

Stepping through the gate, and closing it behind her, she leaned back on it for a few seconds, wondering where any of them would get the strength and how they would overcome their sadness to face the challenges ahead of them, not in sharp-shooting, pickle-tasting, or fair-going, but in assisting Heath with the trials ahead of him.

Drawing in another deep breath, she shook her head and opened her eyes.

He was alive, and he was here with them, . . . plenty to feel grateful for, no matter the challenges. Squaring her shoulders, she knew they would find the strength like they always did, facing things together, as a strong, supportive family.

Her thoughts still on helping him any way she could, she walked without conscious thought toward the barn. However, when she reached it, she stopped again, puzzled to see that the white-trimmed, double red doors were closed.

Normally, this time of day, they would be wide open, allowing the bright, morning sun to engulf the relatively dark interior.

Cautiously, she opened the one to her right and stepped inside, trying to see inside the grey gloom, broken only by the shafts of light seeping in through the tiny cracks between the un- chinked boards.

At first, all she could see was the movement of several dark shapes, the soft sounds of horses shifting in their stalls assuring her that everything was all right.

Then, slowly, as her eyes adjusted, she realized she was not the only one inside.

“Heath?” she asked tentatively, understanding finally dawning on her.

“Mornin’, Mother,” came his soft drawl in reply.

He stood on the other side of the vast space, his back to her, as he combed out the long, black strands of his horse’s silky tail. He had paused briefly in his work as she had spoken to him, but had resumed his task immediately.

Walking over to stand near him, she leaned her arms across the top of the open stall separating them. She watched his awkward movements, his task hindered, not so much by his lack of ability to see what he was doing, as by the bandaged arm, and she fought back the urge to remind him to be careful. His sleeves were rolled up, and, though he was not wearing the sling, she could tell he was keeping the movements of his right hand at a bare minimum.

Glancing back over to the doorway she had left partially opened, she reached out, placed her hand on his back, and returned swiftly to the door. Closing it, she carefully returned across the hay-littered floor to resume her stance against the half-wall of the stall.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his back still to her, though he moved his head to acknowledge her, almost as if he were glancing back at her as he did so.

“The light still bothers you so much?” she asked softly.

Seeing him nod at her again, she said, “Heath, how long have you been out here?”

“Oh, ‘bout an hour, I guess. Long enough ta remove four shoes, file his hooves down, an’ fire up the forge so I could replace them.”

“Fire up the. . . !” she started.

Then, catching herself, she chuckled softly, reaching out to take him by the shoulder as he turned to cast her that lop-sided smile she loved, . . . and he winked in her direction.

She shook him slightly, then released her grip to reach further up and lay the palm of her hand against the side of his face. He didn’t move at first. Then, as he transferred the wide-toothed metal comb to his right hand, he reached up tentatively toward her face with his left.

Laying his own hand against her cheek, he smiled again as he felt her face shift from worried dismay to smiling pleasure.

Swallowing hard, she stepped around the open stall separating them and into his arms.

Silently, he held her close for long moments, his arms wrapped around her and his cheek pressed into her silver hair.

Neither spoke, but she felt a tremor pass through him.

After another moment, she leaned back a bit, and she searched his face. His eyes were closed, and she could see the tiredness and lack of sleep reflected all across his features.

“Heath,” she said with concern and returning worry about him, “Heath, Honey, you shouldn’t even be out of the house. You should be in bed or at the very least resting by a warm fireplace.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” he returned. “’Sides, I’ve seen enough’a the inside’a these eyelids ta last me a while.”

“Heath,” she said, shaking her head. She could feel the tiredness in him, so she pushed, appealing to the common sense she knew he possessed, trying not to brush up against his raw stubbornness. “You have to rest, to give yourself a chance to heal, Sweetheart. You know what the doctor said.”

“I know. But, I won’t get stronger lyin’ in a bed.”

“Just take it slow, then. Please. Come over here and sit down with me. We need to talk.”

Taking him by the good arm, she then turned with him and led him over to a hay brick lying against one wall. Helping him turn and sit down, she joined him, leaning against his side, as he brought his left hand up to wrap his arm across her shoulders, pulling her close.

After a few moments, she said quietly, “Heath, when Jarrod went through this, I’m sure you remember how he vacillated between wearing a calm dignity, . . . almost like a blanket of protection, and becoming furiously angry in moments of reaction. The anger was usually brought on by his frustration at not being able to do something specific, something he took for granted when he could see.”

She waited, not feeling any change in him, . . . not in his breathing, nor in his movements beside her in the dark grey of the barn’s interior. But, she could tell he was listening.

She reflected while she waited, sure that he would respond if she gave him time.

She had certainly seen this quietest of her three sons furiously angry before. In fact, though it happened only rarely, she could think of at least two conversations she had had with him in the last three years when he was so irate about an injustice or a wrong-doing that the words seemed to just spill out of him, as if pouring over a suddenly broken log-jam, high in the Sierras.

Now, his lack of anger, his quiet, calm demeanor in the face of his near-blindness, was almost chilling.

In fact, as much as she had worried about Jarrod almost a year ago, she believed his reactions to be much more normal than what she sensed in Heath now.

How could he not feel the frustrations that Jarrod had?

How could he not explode with rage at his inability to see more than shadows and light, at his inability to do the things he had taken for granted all of his. . . .?

Suddenly, she stopped her silent questions, torn between hope and despair. It was either one of two things, either his eyesight had almost completely returned, or. . . .

She turned, pulling away from him, and she reached up, placing one hand on each side of his face. Then, she turned his face toward her own, and she asked, “Heath, can you see more than you could when Howard was here two days ago?”

Nodding slightly, he said, “Some. . . . I can see where you are, an’ I can tell it’s you, . . . if the light’s not too bright.”

Hope winning out, she asked, “You can see my face? You can see my eyes?”

“No. Not exactly, but I could see enough ta know who you were comin’ in the barn.”

Suspecting that he could tell who had opened the barn door before that, just from her approach, and even before she had spoken, she shook her head and took a deep breath, trying one more time.

“How are the headaches? And,” she said, trying to put a smile in her voice as she imitated him, though she felt like her heart was in her throat, choking off her air, “Boy Howdy, don’t tell me ‘fine’. . . . I want to know all of it, Heath Barkley.”

Smiling lop-sidedly again, he said quietly, reaching up to find her right hand with his left and grasp hold of it where it still lay against his face, his voice not quite reflecting the teasing words, “Mother, ya’ put Big Brother Nick ta shame with your worryin’. I’m alright. I’m gettin’ better every day. Now, please, don’t keep worryin’ about me.”

Her eyes searched his, but she found herself unable to read any more inside the light blue of his eyes now than she usually could before, when she knew he could see her perfectly, when he didn’t want her to know what he was thinking. Really worried now, she turned her right hand inside his left and returned his light pressure on her fingers with a tighter grip.

Something wasn’t right. And, it was more than tiredness, pain, or even the fact that he could not see very much. There was a sadness inside of him, a distancing somehow, almost as if he were. . . .

She thought quickly back through Nick’s worries about Heath from the first night he hadn’t come home. Could her middle son have been correct about his brother? Correct that he was hurting inside from the occurrences in the last couple of months? If so, that on top of the loss of most of his sight. . . .

Then, dropping her other hand down to grasp his shirt in her fist, she made her voice stern, and she demanded, hoping he would open up to her if she pushed him, “Heath, tell me. Tell me now. What is it? What’re you thinking?”

“I don’t. . . .”

“No! I know you, Heath Barkley, and something isn’t right. And, I’m not referring to the fact that you can’t see me very well. You’re biding your time. You have some plan in mind, and you’re waiting until you can put it into action. Now, tell me. What is it?”

Then, trying to convey to him her desperation, knowing he couldn’t see the emotions written all over her face, she leaned forward and wrapped both arms around him and lay her head against his chest. Trying to avoid aggravating his fading bruises, she nevertheless held him close, letting him know of her worry and fear in the only way she could.

Though he didn’t answer her, he shifted his weight slightly, and he encircled her with his arms. Kissing the top of her head, he said quietly, “Everything will be alright, Mother.”

The confidence in the words he spoke, however, gave her none, as she heard the note of iron-willed determination under them.

Whatever it was, whatever he was thinking, she knew she was too late to change his mind. He had reached some decision that she could not fathom, but that somehow sent a cold dagger of loss straight into her heart.

“Heath,” she breathed. “I don’t want to lose you, Son.”

Pulling her even closer, he repeated his words from before, “Everything will be alright.”

As they remained there, both of them knowing his words held no more than an empty echo of a promise for a future only he could see, the heat of her scalding tears soaked through his pale blue shirt, just over his heart.

Chapter 74

“Mister Heath?”

Silas’ soft voice interrupted the silence of the room, its only other sound that of a crackling fire of apple and oak, sizzling and singing in the fireplace.

“I’m here, Silas,” Heath responded slowly, his thoughts shifting back to focus on his surroundings.

“Mister Heath, you have a visitor. Mister North, he’s asked to talk to you. May I light one of these lamps for him, if I keep it down low?”

“Sure, Silas. Thank you.”

The older man crossed over to a table in a far corner of the room, one that would be behind the younger man, and he lit the lamp, careful to keep the wick turned down. Then, unable to return to the foyer without expressing his concern, Silas walked around in front of Heath, where he still sat, leaning forward in the red chair in front of the fire.

Heath, the white bandage around his head standing out starkly against the darkened room, had his head down, his forehead supported against the palm of his left hand, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. His other hand lay unmoving in his lap, its white bandage visible beneath the down-turned cuff of his blue shirt.

Dropping stiffly to one knee in front of the younger man, Silas reached out and touched the side of Heath’s face. Somewhat alarmed, he felt the slight dampness.

The room wasn’t that warm. In fact, Silas had been inclined to think the fire needed tending when he had first entered.

“Heath?” he asked softly, worriedly. “I can tell the gentleman you’re not up to visitors, if you like. You’re not feeling well. . . . Is it your head? . . . Can I get you anything?”

“. . . ’m fine, Silas. Thank you, . . . ’s just a headache. . . . Will ya’ give me a couple’a minutes, . . . then bring Jim in here?”

“I’ll do that. I surely will.” Moving his hand up to touch the dark blond hair, Silas was further concerned to feel the dampness of it. There was no doubt about it, the young man was either fevered, or he was in a lot of pain.

Vowing to himself to keep the visit short, then to get the young man, who was the only one of the Barkleys at the house for the moment, up to his room for some sleep, Silas paused to pour a glass of water from the side table by the door. He returned to place the glass on the small round table in front of the blond.

“There’s you a glass of water when you want it,” he said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. Then, he placed his hand on Heath’s shoulder briefly and squeezed it.

Heath acknowledged his actions with a silent, single nod.

Turning, Silas straightened his white jacket and walked quickly to the doorway. His last glance back at Heath revealed that the young man still had not moved.

Shaking his head, he headed to the foyer.

“Mister North,” he said, as soon as he stepped through the double doors and into the large, open space, “Mister Heath is in the study. He wants to see. . . you,” Silas faltered for a moment on the word ‘see,’ but he recovered and lifted his eyes to search those of the much larger man. Standing as if to block the way down the hall, without really seeming to move more than a few inches to do so, Silas lifted his voice again and continued, “But, please, Sir, he won’t say so, but he isn’t well at the moment.”

Nodding, concern springing instantly to the big rancher’s eyes, Jim said, his hands gripping the brim of his dark brown hat, “Don’t worry, Silas. I won’t stay long. I just need to talk to him a few minutes.”

Then, seeing the continued worry in the older man’s eyes, he added, “I tell you what. I know I get carried away sometimes. You just come back and stand in the doorway if you think I’ve been in there too long, and I’ll get right up and head out. Will you do that for me?”

Searching the pleading, but clearly exhausted blue eyes of the big man, Silas nodded. “Yes, Sir, Mister North. I can do that for you.”

Reaching out, Jim put his hand on Silas’ arm as he turned. “One more thing, Silas. Shorty drove me over. Since you said Victoria isn’t here, do you want me to send him after the doctor for Heath?”

“No, Sir. I don’t think that boy can handle much more of the doctor’s examinations on his eyes. I surely don’t want to put him through it no more than necessary. If he’s no better when you get ready to leave, I might need the two of you to help get him upstairs, though.”

Nodding, and very relieved to be offered a way to help his friend, Jim said, “We’ll sure do it, Silas. We sure will.”

* * * * * * * *

The ornate clock on the table in the corner chimed eight times, as Victoria lifted her eyes from the book she had been reading. Reaching out to dim the lamp next to her, she placed the book on the table and gathered the crisp silk of her blue dress to stand. Stepping around behind the red settee, she leaned down with one hand and ran her fingers through Heath’s hair.

Smiling slightly, she was relieved to feel that his hair was not as damp as it had been and especially so, as she heard his soft voice.

“Mother?”

“Yes, Sweetheart. I’m right here. You’ve been asleep a long time.”

“Been awake long enough ta hear you not turnin’ many pages in that book’a yours.”

Her smile growing, she said, “Nick always said you could hear a. . . a. . . How does he put it?” Adopting a deeper voice, she stated, “That boy could hear a lone cattle rustler in a July thunderstorm.”

His quiet, sleepy voice responded, though she could hear the slight smile in his tone, “Not ‘specially a compliment, since no rustler worth his salt would ever try it.”

She walked back around the front of the settee and sat down sideways behind his back. Reaching up, she continued stroking his hair above the bandage. From the way he settled into the pillow beneath his head, she could tell that he appreciated the soothing gesture.

After a few moments of mutual silence, he said softly, “I miss him, Mother.”

Surprised at the quiet statement, her heart immediately pounding faster at the hint of. . . of almost far away grief she detected in his tone, she swallowed hard. Then, trying to keep her voice light, she responded, “He’ll be home, soon, Sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath and trying to laugh, she added, “But, mind you, your brother is not going to be happy with you when he finds out that you sent him away before he could figure out what your injuries have caused, Heath.”

“For the best,” the tired, quiet voice responded slowly, after a brief pause.

There it was again, that hint of . . . of resignation and loss, that something intangible in his voice that told her he meant more than just it was ‘for the best’ that Nick wasn’t here when the doctor told them about Heath’s eyes.

For the best?

What else could he mean?

Deciding that at some point she was going to have to confront him again, but that he was not in any shape for it now, she simply said, “You know he’s not going to see it that way, Sweetheart. . . .”

Suddenly, an idea about what might be going on inside his head came to her, and she added gently, “Heath, you can’t protect the people who love you from their feelings. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.”

When he didn’t answer her, she knew she was close to rubbing against the problem.

What was he thinking of doing?

Surely, he wasn’t thinking of leaving, of trying to protect them from having to see him like this!

Again, the realization she had reached in the barn, that feeling that he was planning something she knew would hurt her, hurt them all, hit her.

Where would he go?

Why?

But, how like him it would be to think he could spare them somehow by leaving.

Now, if she could only find a way to convince him otherwise, before it was too late.

But, before she could say anything else, he asked, shifting slightly to turn toward her, “Did Silas tell ya’ Jim was here?”

Realizing he may just be changing the subject, she went along with the conversation, but silently thinking, “I’m not finished with this, Heath Barkley.” Aloud, she replied, “Yes, Sweetheart, he did. He also told me about your headache.”

“Figured he would,” Heath nodded, his eyes open, but not even attempting to find her face as he talked to her. She had moved over to sit on the table, facing him, as he had shifted more to lie on his back, and she watched his eyes as she reached out and held the fingers of his right hand in hers. He appeared to be staring at the ceiling, and he blinked only occasionally. She couldn’t help wondering how much he could really see.

“Was he here just to see how you were? Or, did he want to talk about Nan. . . about Brydie?”

“Both.” Smiling lop-sidedly then, Heath turned his eyes toward her, moving as if he were searching her face, though she thought it more likely that he was searching for her. “I think he an’ Silas had some signal arranged b’tween them. Jim had been here about fifteen minutes when Silas came ta the door an’ cleared his throat. Jim jumped up from here like he’d been set on fire.”

Chuckling at the picture his words painted, her eyes danced as she said, “Then, what happened?”

“They tried ta prod me like a cowpoke with a bullwhip goin’ after a moss-horned old maverick, inta goin’ upstairs, but I told them me an’ this settee had become good friends. . . .Thank you for comin’ ta sit with me.”

“Silas stayed until Audra and I got home.”

“I know. You are all too good ta me. But, I don’t like you ta worry so much.”

“Sweetheart,” she said, daring to rub a little harder at the issue she suspected was uppermost in his mind, “That’s what families do. It’s no trouble. . . .You’re no trouble. We love you.”

Pushing off of his bad arm and wincing slightly at the sharp pull it caused, he leaned toward her and squeezed her hand. “Mother, I know you do. An’, I love you. Each one of you. Please, never doubt that. . . . I know you think I’ll do something foolish, like leavin’ here, in some misguided attempt ta keep you from seein’ me like this. But, you’re wrong. That’s not it at all. This is my home. It seems that I’ve been locked away, for one reason or another, too much lately. . . away from here. . . ,” he trailed off for a long moment, closing his eyes, shutting out the pain of those incidents. . . in that cage up by Pine Lake, in Fred Madden’s jail cell, and more recently, being injured and trapped in the shed north of the ranch. Each one, on its own, still had the power to dredge up too many old memories of long, torturous months of confinement.

And, all three of them together. . .

Finally opening his eyes, he winced again as he lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed her hand.

He said softly, “Coming home, Mother, returnin’ here ta you, ta all of you, was all I could think about after I woke up in that shed. It’s the only thing that kept me movin’, even when I wanted ta give in an’ stay there, on the bank, after crossin’ that river.”

Again, he paused, easing back to lie down again with a soft groan. Just speaking the words reminded him of the exhaustion and defeat he had battled that day.

After a moment, her hand squeezing his, he said softly, lifting his left hand to cover his eyes, “I love you, an’ leavin’ isn’t something I’ll do lightly.”

Her heart, its burden growing lighter with every word as he had spoken of his deep feelings and needs for his family, . . . suddenly seemed to stop.

Frantically, searching his face through the tears that had trickled down her cheeks since he had first started speaking of his love for her, . . . for them, she looked for any sign to give her an idea about what he had meant with his last words. Reviewing them mentally, she suddenly understood what her heart had already heard.

He had said coming home had meant everything to him, and he had stated that he wouldn’t leave because he thought doing so might spare their feelings in some way, but. . . but, he had just confirmed what she had feared. . . .

He had not said he wouldn’t leave.

Instead, he had implied that he might, just that doing so wouldn’t be easy, and that if he did, it wouldn’t be for the reasons she had thought.

Chapter 75

“MOTH-ER!”

Coming around the corner of the hallway upstairs, Victoria smiled to herself before lifting one hand to shake her finger at her just-returning, hazel-eyed son, standing downstairs and looking up at her with a huge smile on his face.

She said sternly, her heart lifting at the very sight of him, “Nicholas! How many times do I have to remind you not to burst through the door yelling? Someday, you’re going to bring the very roof down on top of us!”

“I’m glad you missed me, Mother. I missed you, too!”

Taking her arms, as she reached the bottom of the steps, Nick pulled her close and kissed her cheek with gusto, his infectious smile unfazed by her admonishments.

“How’s Heath?”

She held onto him without answering, grasping his dark brown vest in her hands.

Chalking up her slightly tighter-than-usual hold on him to having missed him for the four days he had been gone, Nick’s dancing hazel eyes reflected his brilliant smile, and he turned slightly to the tired young woman behind him, feeling only fleetingly uneasy that the woman in his arms had not yet answered his question.

“Mother, you know Brydie Hanrahan. She came back with me to talk to Heath. Where is he, anyway?”

Nick immediately picked up on the slight hesitation as the silver-haired woman drew in a deep breath, patted his chest, and kept her other hand on his arm, as she turned to the dark-haired girl.

“Nick,” she said, “I believe Brydie would prefer a chance to clean up and rest a bit before she talks to your brother. Jarrod is in the study. I think you should go talk to him while I show Brydie to her room.”

“Jarrod? He’s here? I thought he was going back to San Francisco for a big trial three days ago?”

Turning away from him, she reached out to take Brydie’s hand.

Then, answering Nick as she led the girl up the first step, she said, “Yes, Nick. Jarrod’s here. Please go talk to him.”

Puzzled, he was beginning to have a very bad feeling as he saw the worry deep within her transparent grey eyes and heard the no-nonsense direction in her voice. His eyes following her, Nick tossed his hat on the table and removed his coat and gun belt. Placing them beside his holster, he watched her lead Brydie up the right side of the wide, gold-carpeted stairs toward the second floor.

Then, realizing he was not going to get any more answers to his questions from her, he stalked toward the double doors to the hallway beyond, calling as he went.

“JAR-ROD!”

Behind him, Victoria paused on the stairs, closing her eyes for a brief moment. Then, her hope returning even as the boisterous voice echoed in the large, open space of the foyer, she continued up the stairs, the tired young woman trailing silently behind her.

In her heart, Victoria Barkley knew that if anyone had a chance of convincing her youngest son to stay, it would be this loudest, most gregarious of her children.

* * * * * * * *

“JAR-ROD!”

As the sound of Nick’s voice thundered through the too-thin barrier of the closed oaken doors to the study, Jarrod rose from his chair and crossed to the sideboard against one wall, pouring both a whiskey and a scotch. He held the former out to his brother as Nick threw open one door, causing it to crash back against the wall, and he stalked inside, removing first one leather glove, then the other.

“Thanks,” he said, as he took the drink, downed it, and then, searched the room for the missing brother he had been hoping to see leaning silently against the fireplace, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Where’s Heath?”

“Hello, Nick. Welcome home. . . . Heath’s. . . in the barn.”

Handing Jarrod back the now-empty glass, Nick turned toward the outside doors at the other side of the room. However, Jarrod reached out and snagged him by the arm before he could head outside.

“Sit down, Nick. We need to talk.”

“Sure, Jarrod. After I see the boy. I just want to let him know I’m back.”

“You can see him in a few minutes, Nick. We need to talk first.”

Yanking his arm from Jarrod’s grasp crossly, Nick demanded, “Talk? What about?” Then, folding his arms over his chest, he stated, “Look here, Jarrod, I’ve been on the trail for four days. Whatever business you want to discuss can wait ‘til I’ve seen Heath, had myself a good soak in that tub upstairs, and I’ve eaten a whole plate full of Silas’ smothered fried chicken.”

“No, Nick. Sit down. This can’t wait.”

With the concern inferred from his mother’s reactions moments before, now added to those implied by Jarrod’s words, Nick felt the icy cold of sudden dread seep into his blood.

Clamping down on his growing impatience, he crossed to the fireplace and lifted his eyes to meet those of his father as he waited, his thoughts still on the blond who had never known the man. Feeling Jarrod’s grip on his arm, he turned, his own hand tightly clamped down on the mantel over his head.

Taking the offered drink with the other, he met Jarrod’s compassionate dark blue.

Without lifting the glass, Nick demanded in an imperious tone, not in the mood for any of his older brother’s long, carefully-worded introductions to whatever it was, his diplomacy designed to ease the way into some difficult subject.

“Just tell me, Jarrod.”

“No, Nick. It’s not that simple. I don’t. . . .”

“Dammit, Jarrod! What’s not that simple? What’s wrong?” Pausing, he searched his brother’s face and asked again, “What? The doc said Heath won’t be able to use his arm for ranch work for a few weeks?”

With a sigh, Jarrod turned from the impatient demands of his returning brother and walked away a few paces.

How best to tell Nick what none of them wanted to say out loud, to think about, or to. . . ?

“Jarrod,” Nick growled warningly behind him.

Closing his eyes at the difficult memories of his own that suddenly surged through him, Jarrod stopped and gripped the back of the settee with both hands, steadying himself for the reaction he knew would follow what he had to say.

“Nick,” he began, after a long pause.

Then, surprised, he felt a hand putting steady pressure on his shoulder. Turning, he saw the self-assured countenance and easy, lopsided smile of his blue-eyed brother, and he heard Heath’s soft drawl, “Thanks, Pappy, but this is my battle, not yours. . . . I’d appreciate it, though, if you’d stick around ta pick me up off the floor after the storm’s blown over.”

“The storm? What’re you talking about, Boy?” Nick tossed out, his eyes narrowing at Heath’s quiet appearance.

“Nick, I think it would. . . .”

But, Jarrod trailed off, as he saw Heath’s eyes still on him, their steady blue conveying both Heath’s confidence in being able to handle Nick’s reaction and his appreciation to Jarrod for being willing to do it for him.

At Heath’s slight nod, Jarrod took a deep breath, gripped Heath’s good arm for a moment, and walked over to lean against the desk he still thought of as his father’s, his eyes on both of his brothers.

Heath remained where he was, standing behind the red settee that separated him from Nick, who was still leaning against the fireplace mantel.

For a long moment, neither one moved, though Jarrod saw that Heath’s good hand was resting, seemingly for no reason, on the top of the ornately carved mahogany at the peak of the settee’s back, and he alone was aware that its purpose there was probably for balance and to provide Heath a reference point within the room.

Their eyes appeared to be fixed on each other across the space, though Jarrod again found himself wondering if Heath could really see Nick’s hazel staring at him.

For Nick’s part, he was immensely relieved to see his younger brother standing across from him looking almost recovered from his ordeal, rather than coming home to find him still hovering close to his bedroom upstairs. Characteristically, he spoke up first.

“Brydie’s here, Heath. She’s upstairs resting. . . . She was eager to come back here to see you. . . . You know, she’s a gutsy little thing, even though I still don’t hold with what she almost did to Jim.”

“Thanks, Nick. I appreciate it.”

Nodding, Nick asked, “What did the doc say about you getting back to work, Boy? With both of us away, I’m sure Duke’s had his hands full keeping things running around this ranch.”

“I’m not going to be working on the ranch, Nick.”

At the abrupt words, Jarrod’s head came up from where he’d dropped his eyes to look down into his drink several moments before. He, just like Nick, stared at Heath, startled to hear this kind of admission from the blond. It was the first time since they had found out the extent of the injuries that Jarrod had heard Heath admit to what his future would be like if more of his sight did not return.

“NOT GOING BACK TO WORK?” yelled Nick in consternation. “What’re you talking about, Heath? It might take a little while before that arm of yours is up to full strength, but we’ve got plenty of fence you can ride and . . . “

Heath’s calm, quiet voice cut through the torrent of words, like a tree falling across a swollen river’s current. “No, Nick. I’m not stayin’ here on the ranch. I’m goin’ back ta Lonesome.”

“TO LONESOME!” Nick repeated. Then, he turned the words into an incredulous question at the same volume, “TO LONESOME?” as he took three quick strides to step around the end of the settee.

Simultaneously, seeing Nick’s advance, Jarrod rose to his feet, ready to step to Heath’s defense if he was needed.

Strident spurs announcing his intent to reach his quiet brother and get to the bottom of this nonsense, Nick suddenly saw Heath’s steel-blue eyes turn and bore into him. The worn, but determined look sent icy thoughts of the unshaven, rough-looking blond he had first seen sitting in the corner of Newton’s Saloon three years ago crashing into Nick, and he plowed to a sudden stop.

Heath didn’t move as Nick halted in front of him.

Then, Heath slowly turned his body and faced his taller brother, Nick’s solid, better-than-six-foot frame blocking out the light from the fireplace behind him. Heath lifted his left hand to almost blindly grasp at Nick’s white shirt, making contact where the cloth stretched across the front of Nick’s right shoulder.

“Heath?” Nick asked tentatively, his eyes searching the light blues in front of him, the pain in his own hazel conveyed by the way his voice broke across the single syllable.

“Thanks for bringin’ Brydie back here, Nick. Jim wants ta see her. . . . Just as soon as you can spare Billy or Denny ta ride with me, I’d like ta head back up there.”

Shaking his head and swallowing hard, Nick asked in a torturously quiet voice, “Back up there? To Lonesome? But, why, Heath? I don’t understand.” Feeling Heath’s hand tighten on his shirt, Nick brought both hands up and grabbed his brother by both shoulders, shaking him slightly in frustration, as he demanded, “Dammit, tell me, Boy!”

“I’m no use ta ya’ here, Nick. At least there, I can do something useful.”

“Useful? What’re you talking about, Heath? You are useful. I need . . . I need you here.”

Not seeing Nick’s head shaking back and forth, but knowing it would be, and feeling the movement beneath his hand on Nick’s shoulder, Heath took a deep breath and said, “I can’t help ya’ here, Nick. . . . I can’t. . . .I can’t ride without someone beside me, can’t see a break in a fence, can’t chase down a stray, an’ in the bright sunlight, I can’t do any more than find my shufflin’ way from the house ta the barn with my hands out ta keep from runnin’ inta the fence.”

Jarrod could see the pain written all over Nick’s face as the significance of the words slowly sunk in. He kept shaking his head, his hazel eyes searching his younger brother’s face as Heath continued.

“That bullet did something ta my eyes, Nick. . . . I can’t see well enough ta be of any use here, an’ I won’t stay where I can’t pull my weight. I won’t accept charity, not even from my family.”

“Charity?” Jarrod asked in disbelief, speaking up from behind him, his heart pounding at the sound of finality in the words.

Turning his head slightly toward Jarrod’s voice behind him, Heath said, “You understand, Jarrod. I know ya’ do. If there’s somewhere I can go ta contribute ta this family, ta do an honest day’s work, even if it’s as far away as Barkley-Sierra. . . . You understand why, don’t ya’, Pappy?”

Slowly, Jarrod caught his breath, swallowed the lump in his throat, and fought back the sweat that threatened to break out all over him at the thought of how trapped he had felt all those months ago when he thought he could no longer practice law, could no longer do the work he lived for. . . .

But, to give up all of this, the ranch, working with the stock, riding out with Nick every day, to trade it for a life committed to being spent in that place, in the deep recesses of that mine. . . ?

With tears coming unbidden to his eyes, Jarrod turned away, blinking hard as he thought again of the words Heath had shared with him three years ago.

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

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

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

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

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

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

While Jarrod gathered his thoughts and brought himself back to the present, Nick’s eyes widened, and he reached over to grab Heath by the back of the neck. He lifted his eyebrows in pain and searched his brother’s eyes, shaking his head again, while he asked, disbelief shading his words, “The mine? You’d leave us and go back to working there? You hated that life, Heath. I know you did.”

His gaze steadily focused on where he thought Nick’s eyes were, and his quiet voice patient and matter-of-fact, Heath said, “I don’t need my eyes ta find my way around inside a mine, Nick. It’s the one place I can do my job without havin’ ta see what’s around me. It’s the one place I can contribute, can be productive, without bein’ able ta see much of anything.”

“Dammit, Boy! You do contribute. You are productive. And, besides, I need you here, Heath. You wouldn’t have to do. . . .”

But, Nick trailed off, finally feeling the heat of his brother’s silent gaze, the quiet steel behind his words. Heath’s pale blue eyes stared at him patiently, waiting for him to come around to the understanding that he knew Nick would, given time.

Slowly, Nick dropped his head, and he pulled his brother toward him, shaking Heath by the neck again. He swallowed hard, then, shifted his eyes to the right, catching Jarrod’s look.

Taking a deep breath and gathering himself, Jarrod nodded to him, lending Nick his strength and offering his understanding from his own, too-fresh experiences. Though Jarrod let his face betray his growing sense of loss, he knew what Nick had to do.

And, he knew it would tear his dark-haired brother apart to do it.

Nick closed his eyes and heaved in a deep breath, gripping Heath’s neck tighter with his left hand, as he lifted his head. Then, opening his hurting hazel again, he placed his open right hand against the side of Heath’s face and mustered the courage to give his brother the blessing that he knew Heath wanted, . . . but that the stubborn blond would leave without, . . . if it came down to it.

He said gruffly, “I don’t like it, Heath. Having you way up there, worrying about you down in that dark hole every day. No, I don’t like it one little bit. . . .But, I know you don’t like the thought of it either. You never did like it, did you?”

“No, Nick,” Heath sighed, drawing in a deep breath.

Then, knowing he had made Nick understand, he nodded and offered, “You’re right, Big Brother. I hated it. Every minute of it. Give me a good horse, a fence line ta check, an’ I’m contented with my freedom an’ with ridin’ beside you from sunup ta sundown. But, . . . minin’. . . it’s a job I know. Something I can still do. An’, anything, Nick, anything. . . even returnin’ ta that mine, would be better than havin’ no way ta do something useful for the rest’a my life.”

Nick met Jarrod’s eyes for a moment, seeing the pride in the compassionate, dark-blue eyes telling him he was doing the right thing.

“Alright, Little Brother,” Nick said, swallowing hard. “Alright. I guess I don’t have to like it. But," he asserted, shaking Heath by the back of the neck again, his voice growing in volume, "I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let you ride all the way back up there with Billy or Denny. It’s always been the two of us. . . ,” Nick saw Jarrod’s eyes immediately find his, and he added, “And, that fancy trial lawyer standing behind you, . . . together, on that trail between here and Lonesome, and I don’t see any reason to change that now.”

Nodding and breathing out a sigh of relief that the storm was over, Heath simply said, “Thanks, Nick.”

Chapter 76

Reaching out to take her hand, where it rested on the white lace of the tablecloth, Victoria squeezed the younger woman’s fingers.

“Don’t worry about Nick, Brydie. He’ll work out whatever has him growling at everyone right now, and he’ll calm back down again. I’m sure he didn’t mean to snap at you this morning. He’s probably just angry at his brother for not telling him about his eyes before Nick left to go find you.”

The young woman’s eyes turned from following Nick’s noisy departure from the dining room and met hers.

“It’s alright, Mrs. Barkley,” Brydie said quietly. Then, she squeezed the older woman’s hand and asked, “Did you know your son, Nick, shot Reed Clayton? He saved me from being killed while we were up there in Lonesome. If he hadn’t shown up when he did, I’d be dead now. . . . He’s entitled to be a little tired and out of sorts. He’s been nothing but kind to me. All of you have been. I can’t thank you enough.”

Patting her hand, Victoria lifted her eyes in time to notice Jarrod closing his, as if in pain. Suddenly, she felt the cold fear that had been her constant companion off and on for days seize her heart again.

Despite her words of reassurance after Nick’s barked outburst at the young woman, Victoria immediately understood that something was truly wrong. Nick had made it clear he had no patience with anyone this morning, and now she could see clearly that Jarrod knew something that he hadn’t told her.

Whatever it was, it was not good news.

Returning her attention to Brydie, Victoria asked, “Come with me, Dear. If you’re finished eating, I’ll get you settled in the rose garden, and one of us will go let Heath know where you are. He went down to the barn earlier, but he told me last night while you were asleep that he was hoping to speak to you this morning.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barkley. And, breakfast was lovely.”

Jarrod rose and didn’t miss the look his mother gave him as she led the younger woman from the room. With a sigh, he lowered himself back to his seat, as his thoughts returned to the conversation he and his brothers had had in the study the previous afternoon.

It was up to Heath, not him, to tell their mother of his decision, but Jarrod knew that he would be hard pressed to convince her of that upon her return.

* * * * * * * *

As Nick crossed the open space between the pristine white house and the deep red of the closest barn, his frustration and anger cleared just enough to allow the hammering sounds coming from in front of him to work their way inside his head.

Entering the wide opening, he leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching the two men working together to install the mended tool rack along the nearest wall. Closing his eyes for the briefest of moments, Nick recalled the late afternoon he had come home almost two weeks ago and realized that, uncharacteristically, his brother had not completed this particular task. It was later that same night that Nick and his mother had first begun to worry about where Heath was.

Opening his eyes again, Nick watched his brother.

His careful movements camouflaged the fact that his vision was severely impaired, as he used his still bandaged arm to steady his end of the wooden rack. Heath’s careful concentration compensated for his inability to see when the boards, that created the shelf above the hooks, were straight.

“Up a little on your end, there, Ciego. . . . That’s it. Hold it steady now.”

Catching the rotund, older man’s eye, Nick stepped forward quietly, and he smoothly took the smiling groom’s place. Then, motioning with his head, Nick silently gestured for the man to leave them alone.

“Ya’ let that end drop a bit. Come back up a fraction,” Heath directed. When the board didn’t move, Heath turned his head and lifted his left eyebrow slightly. Then, he added smoothly, “If you’re gonna do the man’s job, Nick, at least do it as well as he could.”

As Heath turned his head to focus back on his task, then, smoothly swung the hammer left-handed, driving the nail he was holding into the wood with two beats, Nick shook his head in disbelief.

“How’d you know it was me, Boy? And, how’d you do that? I’d’ve hit my fingers for sure if I tried that with my left hand. . . and, I can see!”

His face never changing, Heath moved one sideways step closer to Nick and calmly repeated the process. Then, though he leaned heavily, tiredly, against the wall with one shoulder and faced Nick, he asked incredulously, the two left-over nails held out for Nick to see, “Ya’ mean, ya’ don’t let the nail pull the hammer taward it? Don’t matter which hand ya’ use, it’s only when ya’ make the mistake’a tryin’ ta guide it, that the hammer ever misses.”

Staring at him, it took Nick a moment for the ludicrous assertion to register, and he glared at Heath even harder. “Uh-huh. The nail pulls the hammer? Well, I’ve got five dollars that says you can’t do that again.”

“Oh, I can do it. The question is, can you?”

“You’re on! Gimme that hammer!”

Nick reached out and wrenched the well-balanced tool from Heath’s left hand, and he swiped the two remaining nails from Heath’s open-palmed right. Then, as Heath made his way over to sit heavily on the hay bale off to one side, Nick began muttering under his breath as he placed one nail in the correct location on his end of the wooden rack, closed his eyes, and hefted the hammer once or twice in his left hand.

With a howl of pain, he missed the nail and hit the side of his right hand as he swung, dropping everything and leaning over, left hand on his knee and his right caught between his teeth, trying to stave off the worst of the pain.

When he could open his eyes again, he edged toward the hay brick, and he eased down beside the laughing blond.

“Dammit, Heath,” Nick moaned, shaking his right hand.

When he could, through the light chuckles still escaping, Heath reached out and traced Nick’s arm down to find his hand. Satisfied, he said, “I knew it. It was the gloves, Nick. The leather throws the hammer off. If ya’ learn ta do it, it’ll help your shootin’, too. Try it again.”

“Try it again? . . . What shooting are you talking about, Boy? You’re full of it, Heath Barkley! I’m not doing that again!”

Then, leaning back in companionable silence, Nick peeled off his right glove and sat sucking on his wounded hand while watching his brother’s face beside him. His smile of a moment ago faded slightly as he took in the tired, drawn look, the line of pain clear between Heath’s eyebrows. But, he noticed that Heath’s eyes, though a little darker than usual, were full of life, shining with a light that had not been there yesterday, when they had spoken in the study.

His brother was hurting, but, clearly, the weight of yesterday’s discussion was gone.

Swallowing hard, Nick nodded to himself, realizing all over again that it was up to him to give his brother the choice of what happened to him next.

Heath had had so many choices taken away, so much of his freedom diminished from time to time over the years, and now, if they didn’t support him in this decision, if he didn’t support him, Heath would lose more of his freedom to choose than he had to.

Nick suddenly remembered the decision he had reached that night not long ago when they had been facing a choice about the surgery Doctor Merar was advocating for Heath the next day.

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.

Reaching out, he put his injured hand around Heath’s neck and shoulders, pulling the tired-looking blond sideways a few inches, making him lean toward him. Then, reaching up with his other hand, he ran his fingers through Heath’s hair a few times until he felt his brother relax into him with a slight groan.

“Headache bad?”

“. . . . ‘m fine, Nick. Don’t need no wild marksman, an’ even wilder carpenter, holdin’ me up,” Heath slurred, his eyes now closed. He made no attempt to pull away.

Grinning, Nick asked, “Wild, huh? How’d you know it was me, Heath, when I sent Ciego away?”

“Nois-sy, jing-ly s-spurs-s,” he replied.

Then, reaching up to rub his brother’s temples just below the bandage still encircling his head, Nick calmly asked the question that had been half of what had kept him awake most of the night, “Why didn’t you tell me, Boy?”

“. . . did tell ya’. . . . Called ya’ by name.”

“No, you irritating, mule-headed little brother, you know what I meant!”

Then, in a surprisingly quiet voice, he asked seriously, “Heath, why didn’t you tell me about your eyes before you sent me off to Barkley-Sierra to find Brydie?”

After a long pause, Heath hauled in a deep breath and responded honestly, “Ya’ wouldn’t’ve left. . . . An’, I needed time, Nick . . . time ta get my bearin’s, . . . time ta figure out how ta do for myself without havin’ ta lean on you so much.”

In response, Nick shifted slightly sideways, pulling more of Heath’s weight against his chest and shoulder, holding him firmly as he draped his arm around Heath’s upper chest.

His voice quiet, but firm, he said in Heath’s ear, “I’m your brother, Heath. That’s what I’m here for. . . whether you need to lean on me with your feelings about that girl’s death, . . . or whether you need to talk to me about what happened with Charlie. No matter how you’re hurting, dammit, that’s what I’m here for.”

Turning his head slightly, and uncharacteristically allowing himself to wish for something he couldn’t have for a few seconds, Heath felt the pang of not being able to see his brother’s eyes.

Then, taking a deep breath and closing his own again, he said softly, “I know ya’ are, Nick. An’, believe me, I’ve leaned on you,” he said, tapping his head with one hand, “Up here. . . . Many times when ya’ didn’t know I was, I’ve turned ta my big brother for strength, an’ you’ve never let me down, not once. . . . I wouldn’t’a made it home, wouldn’t’a gotten up from that riverbank a little while back without ya’. . . . But,” he paused, knowing Nick would understand, but struggling to find the words just the same, “This time, I needed something only Jarrod could help me with. An’, I . . . I didn’t want ya’ ta see me strugglin’ so much, . . . not like this, not right away.”

Closing his own eyes, and feeling Heath shift more weight against him, pushing his head into his shoulder as if to share some of the pain, Nick swallowed hard, as he almost dug his fingers into the side of his brother’s skull, making small circles with his fingertips.

“Easy, Boy. Easy now,” he said, waiting to comment on his brother’s words until he felt Heath relax a bit more.

Then, when he heard Heath release the breath he’d been holding in a quiet moan, Nick said quietly, “Jarrod told me he couldn’t believe how you’ve adapted to this. He said it’s almost like it’s happened to you before.”

Heath drew in a deep breath, letting it out raggedly through his nose.

Nick tried to ease the blond up a little straighter, tightening his grip across Heath’s chest as he did so. “C’mon, Heath. Let’s get you back in the house. We can talk about all of this some other time.”

“No, Nick. I’ll be alright. . . . It’s gettin’ better every day.”

“Your sight? You mean it’s coming back?” Nick felt hope leap up to almost choke him at the simple words.

“. . . ‘can see a little more clearly . . . than I could two days ago, . . . an’ the headaches.....they’re gettin’ better.”

“This is better?” Nick muttered under his breath. When his brother didn’t respond, Nick said, allowing his smile to shine through his words, while trying to keep his worry at a minimum, “That’s good Heath. Real good. . . . But, there’s no need for you to be out here working in the barn.”

Smiling lopsidedly, Heath said, as he reached out to Nick and pushed off of his broad shoulder to maneuver himself into a standing position. “Yeah, there is. . . . I didn’t want that tool rack ta fall again. . . like that last time ya’ used it.”

Narrowing his eyes to stare at him, even as he stood and grabbed Heath under one arm, steadying him, Nick asked, “How’d you know it fell before?”

Without missing a beat, Heath asked, “How’d ya’ think I figured out which way ta go ta get home? . . . I could hear ya’ cussin’ Ciego an’ me . . . all the way out ta Stegall.”

“You . . . heard me? . . . Boy, I’ll show you cussing! Go on and get in that house!”

Together, they turned toward the house, walking slowly toward the side kitchen door, Heath’s arm held across Nick’s shoulders only with the first ten steps or so. After that, he pulled away and walked mostly unassisted, as the almost crippling headache abated some once they reached the shadow cast by the high roofline of the house.

It wasn’t until later that Nick remembered Heath had never answered his question about being without his sight on a previous occasion.

Chapter 77

The random gusts of cold wind kicked up the dust, swirling it around in tight spirals of uplifted debris, as the two of them stood outside the dark opening in the side of the hill. Except for the wind, its sound augmented by the tracts it traced around the small shed with the rattling tin roof and the empty ore cars pushed off to one side, the mine was silent.

All of the men, except those on one shift working deep inside, were probably at home, enjoying the warmth of a bright fire and a good meal, while the pick axes being wielded inside were too far down to contribute to the sounds out here.

Jarrod stood off to the side, smoking a cigar and looking back at the growing town, remembering the differences in how it had looked three years ago, wondering what it would look like ten years from now.

Nick, however, kept his eyes on the opening, waiting, wondering only how much longer they would have to wait before he would spot the one figure emerging that mattered most to him.

“Heath,” he growled under his breath, his eyes never leaving the opening and the sturdy beams of hardwood reinforcing it.

Shaking his head, he thought back over conversations best forgotten, feeling all over again the pain and sense of loss, almost grief, that had overtaken him from the moment his brother had announced his plans for a future here, stated in that typically straight-forward manner of his.

With a sad smile, he shook his head slightly, as he allowed himself to recall one recent discussion that had not been so difficult, one in which he had started out thinking he was right, sure of it, in fact, and had wound up being convinced, once again, by his blond-headed brother, that he was not.

Now, though, Nick wasn’t so sure. Maybe it was Heath that hadn’t been completely honest with himself this time.

Well, at any rate, it was too late now, and changing Heath’s mind wouldn’t make any difference at this point.

They had been on the back trail toward Lonesome all day, and, reluctant to bring up again the subject that had been uppermost on his mind throughout the hours in the saddle, Nick decided for a little lighter discussion once they had taken care of the horses, set up camp, eaten a quiet supper, and settled in around the fire for the night.

Nudging Jarrod with his foot to keep him awake a little longer, to let him know what was coming, Nick smiled broadly and said, “Hey, Heath, I think you love that girl too much to let Jim have her.”

His eyes closed and hat pulled down over them, his arms crossed over his chest, Heath responded with a quick come-back.

“From what I could tell, it wouldn’t’ve taken much for you ta set your sights on her, Nick.”

With the tables unexpectedly turned back on him, Nick was momentarily speechless, but Jarrod stepped in with a cool comment, “Not if he knew what was good for him, Heath. She’s too pretty, too much a lady on the outside, but too full of sparks on the inside. The two of them together’d be a match that would threaten to send the whole valley up in smoke at least once a week, don’t you think, Brother Heath?”

“Yeah, Jarrod. I guess ya’ do have a point, there. Brydie’d be too much for him.”

Beginning to splutter, Nick sat up and stared first at one brother, then at the other, “Now wait a minute. I’ll have you know, there’s no girl too pretty for Nicholas J. Barkley, and there’s no little Irish lass that would ever get the best of me, either!”

Laughing lightly, Heath pushed his hat back up off of his forehead and said, with a wink thrown in Jarrod’s general direction, “Boy Howdy, Jarrod, is he blushin’ or is that firelight flickerin’ off his face that’s turned him that color?”

“I do believe you’re right, Heath. He’s blushing for sure.”

With another chuckle, Heath turned toward them, lying on his side, and supporting his head on the heel of one hand, his elbow holding him up. Slowly, Nick settled back into his upturned saddle, and he crossed his arms, grumbling about elder brothers needing to keep their thoughts to themselves and pesky younger brothers needing to know their places.

As the noises tapered off and the quiet reigned again, Heath stayed where he was and closed his eyes, as he reviewed the thoughts he had been mulling over about Brydie ever since he had realized she was there when the stage was attacked, when he had been shot.

He had asked himself again and again what she meant to him, even before Nick had returned with her, even before he had sat on the bench in his mother’s rose garden that afternoon over two weeks ago talking to her.

Did he ever love her? Yes.

Did he still love her? Yes.

Did he love her in the way that he should for her to ever become his wife? No.

None of those answers had changed, not even when Victoria had driven Heath and Brydie over to talk to Jim, when she had stayed there as originally intended when she had first come to the valley, nor when the two of them, Jim and Brydie, had come to the house to announce their engagement a few days ago.

Besides, he had known he could never approach Brydie or anyone else about marrying him as long as he could not see. Maybe, with the return of his sight, . . . but, he knew, even deep inside his heart, that he could handle seeing her with Jim, knowing how much the man loved her, knowing she returned that love, knowing she was Jim’s wife.

After talking to her that day in the garden, he had become convinced of it, that she and Jim were meant to be together, that Jim could give her the kind of love that Heath could never offer her, the kind of love that she deserved, that she had been looking for ever since he had known her.

She had admitted to him that she thought Jim could be the man that she had always wanted in her life, the man she could feel a lifetime’s worth of love for, . . . if only she hadn’t started her relationship with him based on a lie.

Smiling to himself, Heath was glad that he’d been able to convince her it was not too late to try with Jim, that Jim wanted to start over, to get to know her, the real Brydie, . . . and not just the idea of a prim and proper Nancy Briggs, created from words on letters exchanged over vast distances.

He had been relieved when she had accepted his offer to take her with him to see Jim.

Yes, he wanted to see her happily married to his friend, Jim North, if that is what she wanted.

Speaking into the long silence that followed the ribbing aimed at Nick moments before, Heath surprised them both by sharing his thoughts on the matter with his brothers. They both turned toward the normally quiet blond as soon as he started speaking, his voice very introspective.

“In some ways, you’re right, Nick. I could’ve loved Brydie, I think. But, I thought differently of her there, when I met her in Lonesome, more like I had ta protect her from that place. Now, after all this time, after findin’ all’a you, I’m sure that what I felt for her then was more what I feel for Audra, more like a protective, older brother for a little sister, than for a woman ta love as a wife for the rest’a my life. . . . No, she chose Jim, an’ I’m relieved at the choice she made. I’m proud for both’a them, for two people I’m glad ta call my friends.”

Now, standing outside the mine, waiting on the blond to come out, Nick said quietly into the wind, “Friends are fine, Heath. But, what about your future, Little Brother? What about what you want?”

* * * * * * * *

They both turned at the sound of coughing, the echo of it from inside the mine magnifying the noise beyond normal proportions.

Tossing down his cigar and grinding it out with the heel of his boot, Jarrod strode forward and reached out to grip his pacing brother’s arm tightly, as they both walked rapidly toward the mine opening.

“Dammit, Jarrod,” Nick growled. “I knew this was a bad idea!”

Neither one spoke again until they reached the blond.

Heath’s face was streaked with dirt, he was holding onto a side beam to keep his balance, and his hair was two shades lighter from the dust inside, but they both heaved a sigh of relief when they realized he was smiling lopsidedly at them between coughs.

Grabbing him beneath both arms, his brothers assisted him toward a wooden crate off to the side of the opening and out of the cutting wind. Alarmed that he offered no resistance, Nick immediately placed Heath’s sage green coat around his brother and sat down next to him, while Jarrod stood watch over them both.

“Boy Howdy,” Heath mumbled, before he started coughing again. “Guess I’ve gotten too used ta fresh air an’ the sun in my face.”

“Well?” Nick demanded, not giving him any longer to catch his breath. “Did you figure it out?”

“Easy, Nick,” Jarrod said calmly, patting Heath’s shoulder through the coat. “Give him time.”

Nodding, Heath coughed one last time, then, he reached up to Jarrod with his other hand, accepting the outstretched offer to help pull himself up. When he was on his feet again, he said, “Just don’t tell Mother. I’d hate for her ta know about that little stunt, as you called it, Nick.”

“Heath,” Jarrod said, shaking his head, laughing softly. “As long as it was just this once, I don’t think there’s any reason to tell her.”

Meeting the eyes of both of his concerned older brothers, Heath nodded again, and he said, “It was just this once, Jarrod. . . . That was enough. Let’s go home.”

Epilogue (Part I)

Nick stood in the open doorway leading down into Jim North’s first wife’s rose garden.

He remembered the first Mrs. North and how close she had been to his own mother, how they had helped each other with their roses years ago, when the bushes had been fledgling plants, trying to gain a foothold in the newly turned soil. Breathing in deeply, he remembered playing here as a child, remembered that tall oak over to the left as being much smaller, its lowest branches the perfect height for climbing up on, if he hauled over a hay bale to stand on first.

Turning, he swept the room with his eyes as he sipped at the wine from his own vineyard in his glass. Then, his attention drawn to the irresistible voice of the scrappy Tim Hanrahan, off in the foyer by the stairs, he saw and heard the men gathered around him break up into loud laughter over some story or other that Tim was telling.

The crusty old miner was looking very dapper tonight in the dark brown suit with the yellow flower jutting out of his lapel. He was spit-shined and well-shaved, his full head of hair slicked down and the twinkle in his blue eyes evident even from this far away.

Smiling, Nick wondered if the man could be persuaded later to play any of his sad, mournful tunes on those pipes he had insisted on bringing with him. Though he hadn’t admitted it to anyone, Nick had rather enjoyed the melodies the man had shared with them out on the trail, once his brother had insulted and challenged him into producing them.

His brother.

Letting his eyes continue around the room, he found Heath, dressed in his dark blue suit, just finishing a dance with the new Mrs. North. Those two, Nick thought, with just a touch of sadness, made quite a fine-looking pair themselves, but, he sighed, it was not to be. His brother seemed fine with it, having served as Jim’s best man today, and Nick knew it was not for him to question, but still. . . .

Then, a large grin breaking out across his face, Nick’s eyes twinkled as he saw Heath’s smile, saw his sparkling blue eyes as he led her over to Jim, leaned down and kissed Brydie on the cheek, and placed her hand in Jim’s. Turning, Heath caught Nick’s eyes watching him, and he walked over toward him, picking up a small glass from a tray on a side-table near the open doors as he came.

“She’s sure happy about all this,” Heath said, his eyes still dancing with the memory of her smile.

“And, you, Heath?” Nick asked, reaching out to shake his younger brother by the back of the neck.

“Proud, Nick. . . . I’m so proud of her, I could bust. She’ll make Jim a fine wife. An’, have ya’ heard Tim holdin’ court over in the foyer? Ya’d think he arranged this match himself. . . . She told me what ya’ did for her, Nick. Up at the camp, keepin’ her safe from Clayton. Thank you, Big Brother.”

“It was a good idea you had, Heath. A real fine idea, about going up to Lonesome to get her father and bring him here without her knowing. I’m sure they both appreciate it.”

Heath turned back from watching his friends across the room, to look into Nick’s eyes, searching them for a moment. Then, nodding, he turned toward the outside, and he let his gaze wander over the hills in the distance, the rays of the setting sun just beginning to turn their tops a rosy shade of red.

“Heath, when we went up there, to Barkley-Sierra to talk Tim into coming back with us, why was it so important to you to go back down in that mine?”

Never taking his eyes from the sky, Heath responded slowly, having figured Nick would bring it up eventually, “I’d already made up my mind ta go back there ta work, before the rest’a my sight cleared up.”

Interrupting, Nick said, “I know that. I’ve never been so glad of anything in my life, Heath, when you realized your vision was getting better as the headaches improved. I didn’t know how I was gonna get along without your sorry hide, and, in case I didn’t say so, I didn’t like the thought of you down there in that hole everyday, Boy!”

Grinning over at him lopsidedly, Heath said, “Ya’ said so. . . . ‘Didn’t much like the idea myself, Nick. An’, in case I didn’t say so, thank ya’ for givin’ me your support for what I had ta do. I’d’ve done it anyway, but knowin’ you an’ Jarrod understood. . . well, it meant everything ta me.”

Hazel eyes held summer sky blue for a long moment, then Nick grabbed the back of Heath’s neck again and, shaking him once more, said, “But, you didn’t answer my question, Boy!”

Laughing, Heath sobered immediately before responding, “. . . Just ridin’ through that town when we went ta get Tim brought back some tough memories, Nick. It also gave me a different look at things. . . since all the changes we’ve been involved in for the families there over the last three years. But, even though the housin’ was better, the school’d been built, an’ the timberin’ in the mine had improved, . . . goin’ back down inta that mine was the one thing that wouldn’t have gotten better . . . not for me.”

Searching his brother’s eyes again, Nick felt that he could suddenly see all the way inside his brother’s heart, and he knew Heath was allowing him entry, so he could understand something deep down inside of him.

Quietly, reverently, Nick said, “You weren’t sure you could face it again, the idea of it every day, were you? You’d planned to go back to that life, but you didn’t want to. You were afraid you couldn’t do it, weren’t you?”

“Yes. Given a choice, it was a life I wanted no more part of.”

Nick closed his eyes, and he felt Heath reach out, his hand clamping down on Nick’s forearm, steadying him, steadying himself.

He heard their words merging inside his head with a distant memory of their voices three years ago. They had been standing next to a filthy window in a poor excuse for a hotel room, watching death approaching them in the form of a mob of mad miners milling around in the street below.

“Why’re you doing this?” Nick asked, suspicious and puzzled all over again as to why the blond was sticking his neck out for him.

“Just don’t cotton ta seein’ anyone else gettin’ killed over some hole in the ground, is all. Now, let’s go!”

Willing to once again trust that the blond, for whatever reason, was here to help him, Nick finally reached out and squeezed the shoulder of the younger man, and he said, “If we get out of this, Boy, I promise you, you’ll never have to see the inside of this one or any other mine, if you don’t want to.”

Then, he opened his eyes and he said, “I made you a promise once before, Heath, and I would’ve done anything you’d have let me do to keep it. Or, baring that, I would’ve gone with you that day, if you’d let me.”

“I know that, Big Brother. . . . I know all I’d’ve had ta do was ask, an’ either one’a my brothers would’ve gone with me, . . . but it wasn’t about you, neither of you. I had ta know that I could go back in there, an’ if necessary, give up all’a this for good. . . .Even you couldn’t take that on for me.”

Nick’s pride in his younger brother, the brother he had only known about for three years, shone in his face, as he said, “You’d have made it. You’re a Barkley, Boy. You’d have been fine, Heath.”

“I know, Nick. I know. But, knowin’ it here,” he said, pointing to his head, “Is not the same as committin’ to it here.” His hand over his heart, Heath returned his eyes to the sky above the hills to the west. He slowly lowered his hand to take hold of the wooden railing around the verandah. “It was enough, though. I went in about two hundred yards, doused the torch, an’ worked my way back out. . . . It was enough.”

Beside him, Nick’s eyes grew wide as he turned and stared at his brother’s profile. “Two hundred yards? You purposefully got rid of the light and came back out without it? But, why? Why did you do such a fool thing? . . . Dang Fool! No wonder you were so worn out by the time you got out of there!”

With a sigh, Heath said, “You asked me not too long ago how it was that I seemed ta’ve adapted so well ta not havin’ my sight.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Nick said, calming down some as he began to get his answer. “Jarrod said it was like it must’ve all happened to you before. Did it?”

“Not the way you mean,” Heath responded, “But, when ya’ work in a mine, Nick, it has ta become part’a your existence.” Seeing his brother’s puzzled look, he continued, “Ya’ never know when something’s goin’ta happen that leaves ya’ in total darkness for days.”

“And, I take it that’s happened to you?”

“More than once. ‘Been lucky, . . . more lucky than most, ta get out afterwards.”

Shaking his head, Nick put both hands on the railing, and gripped the sturdy board until he felt the impression of the wood stinging his palms. He closed both of his eyes and tried to imagine doing without them as he thought about his day, . . . all the things he could do because he could see, and the things he would not be able to do if he could not.

Both of his brothers had been through it, and they had been fortunate that their loss of sight had been temporary. But, it had taught them something about not taking things for granted, and he vowed that he would learn that lesson from them, without having to experience it for himself, if possible. And, glancing over at his brother standing quietly beside him, right where he belonged, Nick nodded to himself slightly, glad that he had had the good sense and courage to support his brother in the tough choices Heath had been prepared to make recently.

Then, suddenly understanding something, Nick turned and faced the room again, his eyes searching out the figure of Tim Hanrahan, dressed in his new-bought finery as he stood, toasting his daughter’s future with her new husband.

Looking again at his brother, Nick said, “I told you three years ago we could give Tim Hanrahan enough compensation for his injuries to keep him from having to ever work again. But, I guess you’ve been in and around that kind of situation enough in the past to know that a man has to feel that he can earn his own way, no matter what’s happened to him, no matter the advantages or disadvantages he’s faced with. . . .That’s why you were so adamant back then that Tim should have a job to do up at the mine, even though I didn’t think it was necessary. . . wasn’t that right?”

His eyes followed Nick’s to take in the sight of his friend, blue eyes twinkling and craggy face all smiles. Nodding, Heath said, “Yeah, Nick. That’s it exactly, Big Brother. It’s not just about bein’ able ta support yourself or your family. It’s also about havin’ the freedom ta control some’a your own choices, an’ about the need ta feel ya’ make a difference, contribute something, just by who ya’ are or what ya’ have ta offer.”

Then, as Heath turned back around, Nick saw a shadow cross over his brother’s face, just for an instant, and he saw Heath close his eyes and breathe in deeply.

“You alright?” he asked, gripping his brother’s left arm.

“Fine, Nick,” Heath said. “. . . ‘just rememberin’.”

“As long as there’s room in all that remembering to think about how glad I am that you’re here, working beside me on this ranch, instead of up there, inside that mine, . . . and about how glad I am that your eyes are alright now, . . . then you just stand here and remember all you want. I’ll get us another drink, something stronger this time.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

Glad for the solid strength of the hand on his back, before this brother who knew him so well turned and walked back inside the room to give him a few minutes of solitude, Heath kept his eyes on the sun dropping steadily behind the hills.

As Nick stepped back into the room, his broad smile slowly returned and his hazel eyes lit up, as he thought about the upcoming fair. He had only started thinking about it in the last week, since he had realized Heath’s eyes were almost back to normal. On the way up to Lonesome five days ago, Nick had hit upon a plan, one that he was sure was going to help him match his little brother’s skill with a rifle once and for all.

He shook his right hand as he walked, conscious of the slight swelling in one of his knuckles.

But, with his smile growing, he was more sure than ever that, since he had been practicing hitting a nail with a hammer in his left hand, eyes closed, whenever he could steal a few minutes to himself behind the barn for the last couple of days, he was going to be able to finally beat that Heath in the marksmanship competition this year.

Epilogue (Part II)

After watching the slowly reddening sky for a few more moments, Heath heard the rustle of silk behind him, and he felt a smaller, but equally comforting hand on his back.

As his mother tucked her arm through his and pulled him close, he heard her murmur, “It’s awfully warm in there, Heath. Would you mind walking with me outside in the rose garden for a little while?”

Inclining his head toward her, he led her carefully down the three, wide steps to their left, and he breathed a sigh of relief when his black dress boots touched solid earth, the press of people left behind.

“I’ll never be as comfortable at parties an’ such as Nick an’ Jarrod,” Heath said. “Thanks for rescuin’ me.”

With a smile, she steered him toward a corral fence to the right, where they could stand and watch the sunset together.

A small chuckle escaped his lips as he asked, “I thought ya’ wanted ta walk in the garden?”

“Roses are really rather dreary to look at this time of year. I thought we’d both enjoy the colors in the sky much better.”

“Ya’ know me too well, Mother. Ya’ always have, from the first day ya’ ever set eyes on me.”

He leaned forward on the white fence, lifting one gleaming black boot up to rest on the bottom board, as she placed one hand on the fence and kept one wrapped around his arm. Together, they watched the sky, their thoughts on the first time they had ever seen each other, and the days and weeks that had followed.

After a few moments, she tightened her grip on his arm and she said, her voice thick with unshed tears and her grateful heart.

“There was something about you, Heath, even that first time I saw you. To this day, I can’t explain it to you, to anyone. You were so obviously uncomfortable there, in the study, in our home, yet you braved all of us and the unfamiliar surroundings to stand up and say what needed saying, all for the good of those men and their families up at that camp.”

“Boy Howdy, Mother, ‘til Nick, Jarrod, an’ I went back ta Lonesome this week, I’d forgotten what I was like when I first came here, how much I lived my life from one meal ta the next, from one trip down inta that mine ta the next.”

He swallowed hard and added, “I was pretty well filled up with hate an’ anger, too, back then, but I guess you know that.”

Then, sure that he did not want to hurt her with his words, but equally sure that she would value whatever he wanted to say, he added, “I was so angry at Tom Barkley, at what he left my mother ta deal with the rest of her life. . . . I think it became like the rock hard surface that I struck at with every swing’a my pick axe inside that mine.”

She took a deep breath and reached up to stroke his back with one hand, while keeping a tight grip on his arm with the other. As he leaned down and kissed the top of her silvery hair, she said quietly, “I suppose seeing what his empty promises had done to the men and their families there day after day didn’t make it any easier for you, Heath.”

He closed his eyes, trying to remember what it had felt like then. But, . . . it was like trying to remember a nightmare in the daytime, the three years in between having replaced so much of it all with the love he felt and enjoyed now on a daily basis.

Only the last few months had begun to cloud it up again.

“I think when I realized his family had no more knowledge about the promises he’d made ta those people, than he’d known about me, my anger an’ my hate began ta dissolve. . . I don’t know for sure when it happened, but I don’t feel that way t’ward him, t’ward any of you, any more.”

“You never acted toward any of us out of hate and anger, Heath. Like I told you then, it’s not in any of your father’s children to act that way.”

He nodded, then, dropped his head, looking down at his boots for a long moment.

Then, he began speaking again, his voice even more quiet than before, . . . slowly, hesitantly, as he struggled to put words around the thoughts and feelings that had been eating away at him recently.

“The things that’ve happened lately, . . . Charlie’s death, . . . the way I had ta live up there with those people by the lake, . . . Bettina’s death, . . . I think I was slowly sinkin’ back down inta that dark place I’d come from.”

He closed his eyes as if in pain and shook his head slightly, “When those people kept me in that . . . in that cage for all those nights, . . . when I couldn’t get out’a that shack, . . . even when I was locked up in Fred’s jail cell, not sure if I’d killed that man in cold blood or not . . . I just couldn’t seem ta pull myself back out of it. The memories’a those months in Carterson started pullin’ at me again. . . . But,” he added, opening his eyes again, “Though I didn’t realize it until I got there, goin’ back ta that camp, ta Lonesome, helped me see how far I’ve come, . . . how I don’t ever have ta go back ta bein’ who I was then. . . just a scared kid, tryin’ ta survive.”

She stepped closer to the fence and turned toward him, reaching up to firmly lift his face to look at hers. The love and compassion in her grey eyes were easy to read, but her voice allowed no room for him to easily dismiss her words, “Heath, you may have seen yourself that way, because you never had anyone to reflect back for you what the world saw in you, but I never saw you that way. To me, from the first moment I heard your voice, coming in the doorway of the study, that defiant, proud, but angry voice. . . angry, not for yourself, not at us, but for the plight of those people up at that camp, I only saw you as a confident young man, trying to do the right thing, even if it cost you your own survival.”

He shook his head slightly between her hands, his voice disagreeing with her, “That’s not the way it was at Carterson. Some of us stuck t’gether, an’ we tried ta help each other, . . . but it was mostly every prisoner for himself, . . . an’ I’m not proud’a some’a the things I did there ta survive.”

“But, Sweetheart,” she said, smiling slightly as she searched his pale blue eyes, relieved beyond measure that he could once again see her clearly in return, and that he flashed her a slight, lop-sided smile to prove it. She reached up and ran one hand through his hair as she explained, “Those are the things that you learned from. You survived that experience, took something worthwhile from it as a lesson for the way you wanted to live the rest of your life, . . . and look at what you did! Even before you called yourself a Barkley, before we even knew of you, even when you thought of yourself as alone in the world, . . . you protected a whole mining camp full of people, you kept them from allowing their own needs to turn them into violent reactionaries, and you saved a group of hired men from walking into a violent trap, all because they were willing to follow unlawful orders.”

She took a deep breath and continued, knowing he wouldn’t interrupt her, “Heath, you didn’t need your father’s name to help you become caring and compassionate, a man who knows right from wrong, and lives by it. You’ve always been that way, since long before I met you. And, you’ve continued to be true to yourself, no matter what obstacles have come your way since then. You’ve continued to reach out to others, to help them find themselves, like you tried to do for Bettina, like you did for Brydie, despite the choices they both made along the way, . . . understanding, as only you could, that survival sometimes forces different choices on us temporarily, but that we don’t have to live all of our lives that way.”

Slowly, he nodded, his eyes beginning to sparkle a bit as the lopsided smile grew more genuine.

She knew that something she had said had made sense to him, had gotten through, as she heard his words.

“These last few months, I think I was beginnin’ ta wonder if I’d ever be able ta help anyone else again. But, now, this week, . . . seein’ the improvements that’ve been made up at Lonesome Camp, I realized that promises can be kept, . . . sometimes it just takes more time than I’d like for it to. I felt. . . very proud’a what this family has helped the people there accomplish in the last three years.”

Her smile spreading, she dropped her hands to his chest, gripping the dark blue of his coat tightly, and she said, “Oh, Sweetheart, you’re so right! Brydie made some empty promises to Jim that you helped her fulfill, and through you, the promises your father made to those people up in Lonesome have finally been kept. . . . And, I for one, Heath Barkley, couldn’t be more proud of you, more proud to call you my son!”

Bending down, he kissed her on the forehead, and pulled her to his chest, savoring the feel of her soft, silver hair against his face.

“I love you, Mother,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

She lifted her head, and looked up into his light blue eyes, shining with unshed tears.

Then, her voice breaking with the tears streaming down her face, she replied, “And, I love you, Heath Barkley.”

THE END