Remnants of Trust

Chapters 11-22

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 11

Knowing she was going to have to have a long talk with Ogden regarding whatever he knew about Heath and Matt Bentell when this was all settled, she watched Howard Merar closely.

She could tell that he was carefully weighing her words against his medical knowledge---she could almost see the balance beginning to tilt in one direction as she watched. Then, the doctor blinked and leaned back slowly, searching the chandelier above the table for additional, crystalline wisdom.

Unwilling to break his concentration, she allowed her eyes to move around the room, stopping on objects that held special sentimental value to her. She rested her eyes on the beloved music box, encrusted with gemstones, that Tom had given her; the heavy brass candlesticks that had been a wedding present from her best friend, Elaine; the dark, carved horse with a slightly Oriental look that Jarrod had presented to her on her birthday three years ago; the lace doily adorning a side table that was the first Audra had made completely by herself; and the matching pewter picture frames Nick had thoughtfully given her a month after his father’s burial, over six years ago.

It struck her that, of all the many beautiful, expensive items in this room, it was these simple, family treasures that always drew her eye in quiet moments of reflection.

She sighed audibly and thought about the young man in the bed upstairs, in the bedroom that was his, though he was unaware of that fact. She hurt for the memories he had lost, realizing a little of how uprooted she would feel if she did not have her home, her family, and these sentimental objects to keep her grounded in good memories from the past.

She took a deep breath and reviewed the contents of the room again, realizing for the first time that he had yet to make his mark on this room, at least in any concrete way.

Then, she glanced at the fireplace, where she could see him in her mind, standing like a matching bookend for Nick at the opposite end of the mantle, laughing about a story from town that Jarrod had shared with them. She looked over at the side table, and she could see inside her mind, the picture of his charming smile and twinkling eyes as he baited Nick over a game of checkers, stealing a wink at Audra as Nick’s hands pushed roughly through his dark hair, agonizing over his next move.

No, she was wrong.

He had made his mark on this room, on this house, on this ranch, and on all of them.

But, much of his mark was only tangible within their memories of him, as he moved quietly through each day, quietly through their lives, touching each of them with his calm words, his dry humor, and his expressive eyes.

Though he had come here to claim what was rightfully his, ironically he seemed to place little value on possessions. So, it was appropriate that he had made his mark more with gifts of time taken, love lavished, and banter bestowed, rather than by leaving behind any particular objects around the room to represent him when he was not there.

Then, with a sharp intake of breath, her thoughts tumbling one after another, she realized that one of the most precious gifts he had given them was the one thing he valued over all others------the trust he had placed in each of them.

And, his trust was the one thing they had not recognized the value of----not until it was almost too late.

Blinking rapidly, she did not see Howard Merar studying her face, as she closed her eyes and fought away more tears.

She thought back to the angry young man Heath had been when he had first joined their family less than a year ago. She remembered how she had slowly come to realize all that he had recently lost with the death of his beloved Leah, and how that pain had driven him to seek them out.

How much did he remember of that time?

How much did he recall of why or how he had come to them in the first place?

She looked around the room again, remembering how hard it had been for her to leave the little house where Jarrod and Nick had been born, to leave that house where those special memories were rooted---even to move from one side of the corrals to the other.

For a man with basically no possessions, with no memories wrapped up in tangible objects of great sentiment and affection, what had it been like to lose the one person with whom all his early memories lay? What would it be like for him now, without recent memories to ground him, as he looked around a bedroom he did not recognize, a home he did not remember, a ranch he did not recall?

As she opened her eyes, her worried gaze fell on the family portrait beside her on the small round table by her right hand. She picked up the frame and studied the faces that stared back at her from within it.

She recalled vividly how that same picture had been one of the clues for her that everything was not right with Heath, over a month ago.

Heath and Jarrod had both gone, the latter to Coreyville, and Anders was lying in their guest room down the hall. She had gone into Heath’s room and had suddenly become frighteningly sure that he had left for more than a short stay in town.

She eased Heath’s door open and stepped inside. Standing just within the quiet space, she was immediately struck by the similarities of this room and the guest room she had just left. Neither room contained anything to declare the identity of its occupant; this room had no more personal paraphernalia than the other. There were no pictures, no collections, no mementos. There were no items displayed, nor lying around, to indicate that anyone lived here on a permanent basis.

As she headed for the door, then, she took a last look around the room, and her eyes rested on the small round table by the bed.

No!

Her heart almost stopped, as she reached out her trembling hand to the object she had missed upon her entry into the room some time ago.

On the table was a picture of the whole family, taken two months ago in the dining room downstairs. As she picked it up and stared at it, she traced Heath’s face with her finger.

Why hadn’t she realized before now?

The realization of what she had not noticed during the three months since his return from the logging camp sliced through her like a sharpened knife.

The picture showed it clearly; his eyes were so sad, and he looked so distant. Clutching the picture to her heart, she again touched the fingers of her other hand to her cheek, his last soft kiss to her cheek over three months ago at breakfast now etched only into memory.

She turned to leave, crossing the floor in a daze.

Then, she stopped and slowly turned back. She looked again at the table.

It was gone. His mother’s picture, the small one in the simple wooden frame, was no longer there.

“Heath,” she breathed as the fresh anguish closed in on her. She glanced down again at the picture in her hands, the family picture that had been on the table by the bed. When she had finally noticed it moments before, it had been in its usual place. But, the significance of what he must have done before he left had not been lost on her.

Knowing he planned to be gone for an undetermined length of time, it didn’t bother her so much that he would want to take the only picture he had of his mama with him.

But, the picture of his family had been left behind.

And, he had left it lying on the table, turned face down.

It had been at that moment, that she had realized she had been the greatest source of pain for Heath. It was her betrayal of trust on two occasions that had driven him from her, from all of them, and she had asked aloud, “Oh, Heath, Honey. What have I done?”

Oblivious now to the kindly doctor watching her as he sipped his lukewarm coffee, while she ignored hers, she slowly traced the faces in the picture.

Her silent thoughts continued to berate her, “All Heath has are the qualities that make him who he is and the love in his heart for the people he treasures. That’s all any of us really has.”

Then, she returned her concentration to the picture. Perhaps, she could use it to assist her in doing what she had to do----to tell him, show him, the truth about his place in their family.

As she contemplated her possible actions, she nodded her head, just before her eyes clouded over with doubts. The real question was, were those relationships still strong enough to bear the weight of the pain and confusion it would cost him to hear the truth?

And, would he still trust them enough to let them help him find his way back to them?

Would he trust her enough?

Would their remaining love and remnants of trust in each other be enough to allow him to find his way home?

Slowly, she leaned forward, lay the framed picture on the marble-topped table in front of her, and turned her attention to the doctor. The only way to find out the answers to her questions was to convince Howard.

The only way to give love and trust a chance was to talk to Heath.

* * * * * * * *

Later that afternoon, the house was quiet, as she crossed the foyer floor from the study and headed toward the dining room to speak with Silas about dinner, before going upstairs to sit with Heath. Nick and Jarrod had not yet returned, and she was getting anxious about speaking to Heath before they did.

Once she had discussed the situation with Howard that morning, she had been eager to find an appropriate time to talk with her son. Though Howard had been reluctant, he had finally given his consent for her to try to broach the subject, but only if Heath seemed to be alert enough. She had also readily agreed that she would not continue if, though they both knew Heath would be reticent about letting her know of any pain, it became evident to her that he was struggling.

But, so far, he had been asleep, and there had been no opportunity to talk.

As she crossed the floor, her thoughts were in turmoil. She did not want a repeat of that morning’s events with Nick or anyone else, but she certainly did not want to cause Heath any unnecessary stress.

She glanced to her left as the heels of her boots tapped lightly on the intricate wooden floor. Her eyes fell on the picture in the frame that she had left lying on the table in front of the fireplace earlier that day.

Quickly, she changed direction, crossed the floor, and entered the lovely sitting area, where she reached down to pick up the picture once again.

She recalled her thoughts from earlier in the day-----the belief that he had not yet graced this room with any mementos as had her other children, and her subsequent realization that he had given her many memories already, memories that were tied specifically to this room.

Suddenly, a new thought hit her, making her hold the picture frame tightly to her chest and causing a small gasp to leave her throat.

How ironic it was that he did not remember how important he was to them, that he apparently had no memories of them as a family. Yet, if something happened and he did not recover, or if he should choose to leave them when he became well enough, they would have very little remaining except this portrait-----and their memories-----to remember him by.

Chapter 12

Slowly, she placed the framed picture on the side table. Then, she stared down at it for another moment, trying to make up her mind.

Suddenly, she reached up and touched the side of her face, placing her fingertips on her cheek and remembering the long months in which he had seemed to withdraw from all of them. Taking a deep breath, her resolve in place for all the right reasons, she turned toward the staircase.

* * * * * * * *

Nick blinked slowly and seemed to come back to himself. He stood upright, no longer leaning against the fencepost, and brought one hand up to the back of his head. He pushed his hat forward, down over his eyebrows, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. Then, he turned around, as if just now aware that Jarrod was no longer nearby, and he looked for his dark-headed brother.

Spotting him sitting in the minimal shade cast by the horses, Nick righted his hat and folded both arms across his chest. His face straight, he growled loudly, “Are you gonna sit there all afternoon when there’s work to be done?”

Jarrod’s eyes never having left his brother for the long minutes Nick had stood perfectly still-----staring out at something Jarrod could not see, the oldest Barkley brother just continued to watch Nick now. Then, he pushed off from the rock with one hand and walked toward his brother, extending the canteen to him when he got close.

Silently, he watched as Nick opened it, took a long drink, removed his hat, bent forward at the waist, and with great flourish, poured the cool liquid over his head. Knowing what was coming next, Jarrod stepped back out of the way, just as the spray from Nick’s wildly shaking head of wet, dark hair found the front of Jarrod’s tan-colored shirt.

“Nick! Must you share your bath with the rest of the valley?”

“I would’ve thought you’d be thanking me for cooling you off, Big Brother.”

Jarrod grumbled to himself, as he leaned down to pick up the discarded shovel at his feet. However, as he straightened, he felt Nick’s hand on his shoulder. He stood and looked into the pain-filled hazel eyes, and he waited for the words he knew Nick was ready to share.

“Jarrod, I can’t. . . I can’t go back to the house and . . . and talk to him like nothing’s wrong.” Nick’s usually loud, boisterous voice was as quiet and mournful as Jarrod remembered hearing it, at least since their trip together on the way back from Coreyville, an injured Heath held tightly in Nick’s arms.

Jarrod took a deep breath and reached out to grasp Nick by the shoulder in return. “I know it’s hard, Nick. Mother told me that Heath seemed to think he’ll be staying in the bunkhouse when he’s better, and that he called you. . . .”

Nick’s head dropped, and he took a step back to stand in front of his brother with his arms crossed over his chest. He shook his damp head back and forth, and he ground out, “Mr. Barkley. He called me Mr. Barkley, Jarrod! It was like I was the range boss over him, and he was just one more hired hand.” He continued shaking his head. “I can’t go back and talk to him, sit in the same room with him, without the truth bursting out of me. I can’t let my own brother think he works for me, takes orders from me, without telling him different!”

Jarrod searched Nick’s eyes, his mind going back to Heath’s first few weeks with them, wondering fleetingly if Nick realized the irony of his words, of the difference a few short months and many hours of working and living side by side had wrought.

But, he kept his own counsel and continued to stand quietly, watching and listening intently.

Nick began pacing up and down by the repaired fence line. He leaned down and picked up a couple of fist-sized rocks, and hurled them out into the brown grass away from the fence. Then, he turned back to Jarrod and said, “I’m going up to the line shack below the North Ridge. I’ll ride out to meet the crew coming up in the morning to finish that new fence just beyond there. Tell Duke to send them up to me with the supplies we’ll need.”

Jarrod opened his mouth to try to talk Nick out of his decision, but closed it just as quickly when Nick turned and glared at him, his hurt hazel eyes of moments ago turned now to hard, hazel hail. His eyes dared Jarrod to argue with him, before he again turned away.

Instead, Jarrod changed tactics and asked quietly, “What should I tell Mother? She’ll worry about you. Just so you’ll know, she was planning to talk to Doc Merar about telling Heath the truth as soon as possible”

Nick’s eyes softened momentarily, as he looked back over his shoulder on his way toward Coco. He said, “Tell her I’ll be home in a day or two.”

Then, he stopped, shook his head, and added, “Tell her, tell the doc, that I can’t be a part of betraying Heath’s trust in me, but I don’t want to hurt his recovery by saying too much, either. It’s better if you just let me know when he’s been told. I’ll come home after that.”

“Nick,” Jarrod found that he couldn’t stop himself, “Nick, he’s going to need you there with him.”

His brother continued on his path toward his horse as if he had not heard.

Then, he untied Coco’s trailing rein from the branch of the fallen tree, turned his horse’s dark head away from Jingo, and mounted. As he nudged the horse toward higher ground, he glanced back at Jarrod.

“And, I’ll be there when I can be without hurting him, when I can be there as his brother.”

Then, he touched his hat and spurred the horse into a ground-eating lope.

Watching him leave, Jarrod released with a sigh, the breath he had been holding for too long. He leaned back down, picked up the shovel he had dropped again, and walked toward his horse.

As he tied the shovel behind the saddle, he muttered to Jingo, “How do you argue with a man who could give a granite-faced mountain lessons in stubborn?”

* * * * * * * *

She eased the partially-closed door open with one hand, trying to be quiet and not disturb him if he was still asleep.

However, as soon as she could see inside, she gasped, and half ran across the room, trying to reach the other side of the bed as quickly as possible.

With Heath sleeping soundly, Silas had come down the stairs less than ten minutes ago to start supper, and she had been headed back upstairs to take his place when she had stopped to look at the framed picture one more time.

“Heath! Heath Bar. . . ,” she caught herself and said instead, “Heath! Where do you think you’re going, Young Man? You get back in that bed this instant!”

By the time she had finished speaking, she had reached him. He was standing there in his tan jeans with his unbuttoned blue shirt hanging open loosely around him. His right hand was clasped firmly on the back of the wine-colored leather chair next to the bed, and his normally tanned face was very pale.

He swayed slightly.

His eyes were closed, and his left hand was holding his right side inside the shirt-----whether to ease the pain of the bruises visible across his chest or to keep his left shoulder still, she was not sure.

He did not open his eyes at her approach, and she moved behind him, easing her silver head and small shoulders under his right arm before standing up straight.

Carefully, she tried to support him, to help him turn around and make it back to the edge of the bed.

However, he resisted her efforts, clinging stubbornly to the back of the chair. His head was down, and his breathing was harsh and ragged. She could barely understand his words when they came.

“Need. . . ta. . . talk. . . ta . . . Mr. Bark-ley. . . .”

She felt like she had been punched in the stomach at the quiet words and the effort they cost him. Shaking her head at the strength of will her husband had shared with all of his off-spring, she said, “No, Heath. There will be time for that. Right now you need to stay in that bed, and give yourself a chance to heal.”

He tried to untangle his arm from hers and push himself off from the chair without off-balancing her. As he turned and tried to take another step toward the open doorway, he cried out in pain and staggered, winding up down on one knee, his right hand coming up to grab at his head.

She left him there and ran back toward the door. As she reached the hallway, she dashed toward the back stairs, hollering, “Silas! Silas!” down into the kitchen below. As soon as she heard the noise of footsteps on the bottom stair, she turned back toward Heath’s room as fast as her now throbbing ankle would take her.

When she reached the room, Heath was still upright, though both knees were on the floor, and he was holding himself up with his right hand pressed hard against his thigh. His fingers were white from his tight grip, and his head was bowed.

She knelt in front of him, touching his face with one hand, the other on his chest, trying to help him remain upright until Silas joined them.

“Oh, Heath,” she said, as she lifted his head and saw the agony he was in, etched deeply in the furrow between his eyebrows. His breathing continued to come in ragged gasps.

Just as she heard the approach of footsteps behind her, his eyes cracked open slightly, and he asked quietly, “Nick?”

“Easy, Boy,” Ogden’s voice replied, before she could answer.

Gratefully, she stood and backed up as the old man’s strong hands joined Silas’s in helping Heath regain his feet.

Though he bit down on his lip, he could not hide a moan of pain as they helped him ease down to the side of the bed, his left hand still held tightly against his ribs, and his right once again cradling his forehead.

His eyes were closed as she brushed past the two men and helped them gently lower Heath’s shoulders back toward the pillows. As he turned his face away from them, she heard him ask again, “Nick?”

While Ogden and Silas reached down and hauled his legs up and onto the bed, she answered, “Heath, he’s out on the ranch. He’ll be here later. You just rest now.”

She saw the blond head began to toss back and forth, and she hobbled around to the other side of the bed to sit beside him. She caught his arm as he tried to push himself back up, trying again to make it to his feet.

Ogden held him firmly from the other side and said, “No, Heath. You stay put, Boy.”

“Need. . . ta find. . . Nick. . . .”

“Sh-h-h-h, Heath. It’s alright. Nick’s not angry with you. Just lie back, now,” she soothed. Taking the cool, wet cloth Silas offered her, she wiped at his sweating face. His questing blue eyes had lost their focus, and she felt as if he hardly knew she was there. He continued asking for Nick, trying to push against the bed, while Silas and Ogden struggled to hold him down.

She reached out to touch his pale face. “Heath? Heath, can you hear me?”

The only response she received was his single-minded question, “Nick?”

Realizing that he was out of his head with the pain, she watched helplessly as his eyes suddenly flew open, then abruptly closed and his breathing slowed.

He was not merely asleep, and she knew it.

Sitting up straight, she blinked her own eyes to chase away the tears that threatened, and she looked over at the two men on the other side of the bed. They had both been watching Heath’s face, but now they met her gaze with worried expressions.

She reached up to touch the side of Heath’s face, then followed with the damp cloth. His hair was soaked, and his face was streaked with sweat, as if he had been out replacing fence line in the sun for hours.

“Where’s Nick?” Ogden asked quietly.

She and Silas met each other’s eyes as she replied, “Jarrod went to find him hours ago. Neither one of them have returned yet.”

Ogden stated, “I think we’d better hope he’s here when this boy wakes up.”

Chapter 13

When Jarrod tiredly handed over his horse to Ciego, it was nearly sunset. Wearily, he walked toward the back door of the kitchen and was relieved to see that everything looked normal as he opened the door and entered the bright and cheery, though uncomfortably warm, space.

Silas turned around from the stove, as Jarrod hung his hat on the rack by the door. When their eyes met, however, they both knew something was wrong.

“What is it, Silas? Is everything alright?” Jarrod asked, alarm rising in his throat at the man’s wide-eyed, worried look.

“Mrs. Barkley’s upstairs, Mr. Jarrod. You’d best be going up to talk to her.” Craning his neck to see around Jarrod and out of the window behind him, spoon still in his hand, Silas asked, “Is Mr. Nick in the barn?”

“No, Silas, he’s not coming in tonight.” Jarrod walked over and squeezed the elderly man’s shoulder. As he turned to head up the back stairs, he heard Silas’ reply.

“Then it’s gonna be a long night, Mr. Jarrod, yes sir, a long night.”

One hand on the banister and one foot on the bottom stair, Jarrod stopped and looked back at the old gentleman as he moved around the room, shaking his head with his back turned.

“What do you mean, Silas? What’s happened?”

But the man just shook his head and started humming to himself.

No other information was forthcoming.

Really worried now, Jarrod hurried up the stairs.

Though he longed to pause a moment in his room to clean up a bit first, he headed straight down the hall toward Heath’s room, sure that was where he would find his mother.

As he entered the room, the first thing he saw was her bowed head as she sat, leaning forward in the leather chair pulled next to the bed, his brother’s hand in hers. There were no sounds, except the ticking of the clock on the dresser.

He walked quietly into the room and skirted around the end of the bed to reach her. He knelt down just to the side of her chair, by her left knee.

Looking up at her, he asked gently, “Mother? Are you alright? Is Heath alright?”

Quickly, she raised her head, and he could see her exhausted, anguished eyes, as she reached out and touched the dark hair. “Oh, Jarrod, it’s been a very rough day. Where’s Nick? We need him up here.”

Jarrod dropped his eyes from hers and said, “He refused to come home with me. He’s staying in one of the line shacks. Mother, he doesn’t want to hurt Heath by saying the wrong thing, but he says he can’t sit here and keep from saying it. He believes the only choice is for him to stay away for a while.”

While he had been speaking, Jarrod had been searching her grey eyes with his dark blue ones. He did not miss the look of fear that flashed from them at his words, though she quickly tried to hide it.

She started shaking her head.

“Jarrod, you must go find him and convince him to come home. Every time Heath wakes up, he fights us. He keeps asking for Nick, trying to get out of the bed. I haven’t been able to talk to him at all. It’s as if he’s lost somewhere, and the only one who can reach him is the one person who isn’t here.”

Jarrod closed his fingers over her hand, the one that held Heath’s hand so tightly. He started shaking his head. “I know he wants to be here, but he thinks he’ll hurt Heath’s recovery if he is. He thinks he’ll make him worse, and he won’t take that chance---even to make himself feel better. I’ve tried, Mother, but I’m not sure I can convince him otherwise.”

Then, he took a deep breath, continuing to search her eyes, and said, “Isn’t there something else we can do? Maybe the doctor could give Heath something to keep him sedated, or . . . .”

“No, Jarrod. Howard’s already been here this afternoon and gone again. He will not let us give Heath anything, not even for pain, though we know he’s having blinding headaches. Howard is just too concerned about the head injury. He said the only thing to do was hold him or tie him down. We can’t let him out of this bed, not til Howard is sure the headaches aren’t from bleeding.”

She paused and took a deep breath, before adding, “Ogden went out to get a couple of the men. I won’t let them tie him, and he was too much for the two of us to handle the last time he woke up.”

“Alright, Mother. But, I’m not leaving you. I’ll send Duke to get Nick.” As he moved to stand up, she lay a hand on his arm to stop him. He looked back up at her and asked, “Where’s Audra? This has got to be tearing her up, too.”

Victoria nodded and said, “She’s in the barn, Jarrod. I think she’s found comfort in taking care of Heath’s mare. You stay here, Sweetheart. You can handle Heath alone better than I can, if it comes to that. I’ll send Duke after Nick and tell Ogden you’re back. Maybe with you here, we can do without any of the men from the bunkhouse. Then, I’ll go talk to Audra.”

She patted Jarrod on the shoulder before he half rose and pulled her forward into a hug. Then, she released Heath’s hand and stood up. Stepping forward, she ran her slender fingers through the blond, sweat-streaked hair and leaned down to whisper to him, “I love you, Heath Barkley. You listen to Jarrod and stay in this bed. Just rest easy, Son. We’ll find that Nick for you.”

Squeezing Jarrod’s shoulder, she brushed past where he now sat in the chair she had vacated. She walked quickly from the room, pausing to look back before she pushed the door partially closed behind her.

Jarrod had picked up Heath’s hand and was talking to him, his deep comforting voice a soothing balm to her own worries and fears.

* * * * * * * *

He had only had one swallow from the dusty bottle he had found after rummaging around in the back of the rough wooden cabinet inside the line shack. But, he knew he wouldn’t be drinking any more of it. The burning liquid only seemed to fuel the blaze already searing his soul.

It was all he could do to stop himself from throwing the almost full bottle against the plank siding inside the single room.

With a growl, he jumped up from the small table, sending his chair crashing backwards to the floor, and began stalking back and forth in the restrictive space. After several minutes, he angrily pulled open the door, nearly ripping it from its protesting hinges, and walked out into the growing gloom of the evening.

He stood still then, hands on hips, fighting to pull in enough air to calm his rapidly beating heart.

Closing his eyes, he sucked in the cooling scent of the stream and the rich smells of the damp earth behind the cabin. The distinctive noise of the water blended with the sounds of the breeze picking up among the surrounding trees.

He could definitely breathe better out here, but that was all.

Everywhere he had looked inside the small, enclosed space, he had seen signs of his brother. Heath had been the last one to occupy the line shack, and though it had only been for one night over two months ago, Nick could easily tell from the neatness he had found inside, that Heath had left it in much better order than when the winter crew had vacated it, despite his injured hand.

He had thought he would feel better out here, away from the neatly covered tin plates stacked in the cupboard, the cups hanging on hooks under the shelves, and the neat woodpile next to the small hearth. But, now, as he got a glimpse of the stars peaking through the darkening sky, and he listened to the sounds of the stream among the rocks and trees behind him, he realized that it all reminded him of his brother.

With a growl, he swatted the gloves he held in one hand against his thigh, and gave in to the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. Spurs jingling, he stalked around the corner of the cabin and headed down the slightly sloped path toward the stream. There, he perched on the largest rock and tried to still his noisy emotions enough to concentrate on the sounds and smells around him.

He could easily picture Heath sitting just over there, on one of the other rocks, one bent knee up with his forearm resting across it, tin coffee cup in hand. He could see the relaxed, yet focused, look on his brother’s face, his light-colored eyes watching the water rush smoothly past the rocks.

“Heath.”

Nick said his brother’s name aloud, as he closed his eyes and tried to keep the worry and fear from encroaching on the calm his brother’s image invoked.

Frustrated, Nick shook his head.

Somehow, he had to get past the fear that was choking him, the fear that Heath would never look on him as a brother again.

“He’s alive, dammit! Isn’t that enough for you?”

His question, sent snarling into the air, seemed to follow the path of the water, stopping only long enough to swirl around like an eddy caught between two rocks, before rushing on downstream.

He shook his head again, fighting with himself. He knew that if he went home, he would just frustrate the doctor’s attempts to let Heath’s memory return slowly, giving him time to come to terms with who he was and what had happened. He knew he would not be able to keep from blurting out the truth in one fell swoop, or saying the one wrong thing that might push his brother further away from them.

He stood abruptly, beginning to pace up and down along the streambed, slapping the two leather gloves in his right hand against his thigh with every other step.

His frustrated growl had the sound of a wounded animal caught in a trap, as he turned and strode back in the direction he had come.

He spit his thoughts into the air, one question, one statement, at a time, blistering the coolness of the light breeze and turning it to the dry dust of a howling sandstorm.

“But, what is best for Heath?”

“We know him better than the doc.”

“We know that, more than anything else, he needs to be able to trust us, trust in us.”

“What would Heath want us to do?”

“What would he want me to do?”

Suddenly, Nick stopped pacing, stopped his single-sided tirade, and stared across the stream at the next-to-the-largest rock in the area, the one on which Nick had found Heath sitting more than once in the past, either late at night or in early morning.

He smiled slightly at the memory of his own question and Heath’s uncharacteristically long answer.

“What? The rocks on this side of the stream aren’t good enough for you, Boy?”

“Saved that big one there on that side for you, Big Brother. ‘Sides, I know how grizzly bears are about gettin’ their feet wet. They’re not interested, ‘less there’s food in it for ‘em.”

Nick’s smile grew. Then, he said into the deepening dark, “I know what you would say, Heath. You’d hate all the fussing everyone’s doing over you, all the worry about what to do or how to do it. You’d just want the facts plain and simple, straight out. And, you’d want me to be the one to tell them to you.”

He tilted his head, looking at the few stars visible between the branches of the overhanging trees, and added quietly, “In fact, you’d expect it of me, wouldn’t you, Little Brother?”

He slapped the gloves against his leg one last time, his mind finally made up. He turned on his heel and stormed up the path, leaving the rocks and the streambed behind.

As he tightened the cinch on the still saddled Coco, he said to the horse, “Something told me we might not be staying the night, Old Boy.”

As he mounted up and turned the horse’s head toward home, he added softly, “Let’s get a move on. We’ve got to get home, Coco. I can’t help him from here.”

Chapter 14

After finding Duke and Ogden just coming out of the closest bunkhouse, Victoria sent the foreman to find Nick and deliver a message from her to come home immediately. She asked Ogden to go back to stay with Jarrod in case he needed help with Heath, while she went to the barn to check on her daughter.

Still feeling the worry that had held her in its grip since Nick had left the house that morning, she sighed tiredly as she entered the open doorway. Pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dim light, however, she could not help but smile and feel somewhat better at the image of her only daughter.

The blonde was standing at the little horse’s head, talking softly and smoothing the dark forelock down over the equally dark face.

Though she could not understand the words, she could see the little smile on Audra’s face, and she could identify her tone as one of gentleness, mixed with wistfulness.

Stepping toward the stall, Victoria allowed her own smile to grow, and she started speaking to the pair as she entered, patting the black horse on the rump. “Well, it looks like Gal’s found a new friend. I’m sure Heath will appreciate the time you’ve spent with her, Audra.”

Her daughter’s compassionate blue eyes turned to find Victoria’s grey ones. “Mother, how is he?”

Victoria reached across the horse’s withers to take her daughter’s extended hand. She sighed again, and said, “I honestly don’t know, Sweetheart. He was still asleep when I left, and Jarrod was with him. Maybe the next time he wakes up, he won’t struggle so much.”

“I wish there was something I could do to help, Mother. I just felt so helpless the last time I was up there with you and Silas! Why won’t he let us help him?”

Victoria shook her head, running her fingers through the horse’s thick, coarse mane. “I don’t know, Audra. I think there’s only one person that can help him right now.”

“Where is Nick? You said Jarrod was back, but I thought he went to get Nick early this morning.”

“He did, but Nick wouldn’t come with him. He apparently went to the line shack near the North Ridge for the night.”

Audra looked sharply at her mother, disbelief in her eyes, “The line shack? Why would he do that if he knew Heath needed him?”

Victoria took hold of Audra’s hand again, covering the slender fingers that gripped the crest of Gal’s neck. She pulled on the girl’s hand and turned her toward the rear of the horse. “Come on, Sweetheart. Let’s go in and help Silas get some food upstairs to Jarrod. I have a feeling he hasn’t had anything to eat since breakfast.”

As they walked arm in arm toward the house, Victoria added, “Remember, Audra, when the boys left this morning, they didn’t know how important it would be to have Nick here. Heath didn’t start fighting us until after they left. It’ll be alright.”

The look in her daughter’s eyes let her know Audra was not yet convinced.

She took a deep breath and a tighter hold of Audra’s arm, “I’ve sent Duke to go get Nick. Hopefully, they’ll return by early morning. I believe Nick made this decision to stay away because he knows it’s the only way he can follow Howard’s advice that Heath not be told the truth about who he is until he begins to question it himself. Nick knows that he will never be able to stop himself from just coming out and telling Heath, if he is here. Don’t be hard on him, Sweetheart. He’s just trying to protect his brother in the best way he knows how.”

* * * * * * * *

Ogden’s snores were filling every nook and cranny of Heath’s bedroom, but even that did not stop an exhausted Jarrod from dozing, as he sat in the leather chair on the opposite side of the bed.

Victoria had covered her oldest son with a light blanket before walking softly from the room.

Before she had left, she had assured herself that Heath was also sleeping, the sheen of sweat covering his chest visible in the weak moonlight streaming in through the open window. She was pleased that his fever was not as high as it had been, knowing his restlessness probably contributed greatly to the heat radiating off of him.

As she carried the bowl of water down the hall to discard it and replace it with fresh, she thought she heard voices from the kitchen below. She entered the water closet, poured out the water, and left the bowl there, before descending the stairs.

Surprised, she realized it was Nick’s voice below her, followed by the voice of their foreman, Duke McCall. Briefly, she wondered how they had made it back so soon, but she was so glad her middle son had returned, she set aside her curiosity in favor of allowing the grateful relief to flow through her.

As soon as she reached the bottom stair, Nick saw her.

“Mother!” He quickly crossed the floor and picked her up in his strong arms, hugging her tiny frame to his chest, her feet completely off the floor.

“Nick, for goodness sake, put me down!” Her words sounded irritated, but she was smiling her pleasure up at him as she said them.

He kissed the top of her head and set her back down. Then, he said, “Duke came over with me to find out how Heath is, Mother. . . .“ He trailed off as the petite woman started shaking her head.

“Heath is asleep, Nick.”

She stepped over to the brown-eyed foreman, took his hand in hers, and said, “I don’t think there’s any need for you to stay, Duke, unless I can get you something to eat. Thank you so much for going after Nick for me. I know you are worn out.”

“No problem, Ma’am. I’ll be going now. I can get something to eat at the crew’s quarters. I’m glad to hear that Heath is okay. Good night.”

“Good night, Mac. Thanks for riding out after me. You let Ben take charge of the crews in the morning, now, you hear? You need your beauty sleep.”

“Alright, Nick. But, speak for your own self when it comes to that beauty sleep!”

As he closed the door behind Duke, Nick turned and flashed his huge grin at her.

Knowing his greatest need would be for food, she had already headed immediately to retrieve the roast left from their dinner several hours ago. As she prepared a plate for him, and he washed up a little at the sink, she tried to answer his questions.

“How is Heath really, Mother?”

“Howard was here this afternoon, Nick. We sent for him because, well, we were afraid Heath was unconscious again instead of just asleep.”

Nick paused, the towel in his hands. Then, he asked quietly, “What happened?”

Victoria sighed and handed him the full plate while she turned to pour him something to drink to accompany it. “Silas and I had thought he was asleep, and we had left him alone for a few minutes. Somehow, he got up from that bed, dressed, and was trying to leave the room when I found him. He blacked out after we had him back in the bed, but not before he completely exhausted himself trying to fight us to let him get back up.”

Incredulous, Nick stared at her, the plate all but forgotten in his hand as he stood at the foot of the stairs waiting on her to join him.

“Got out of bed? How in the h-. . . How in the devil did he manage that?” Nick interrupted his short tirade long enough to avoid use of the language his mother abhorred.

She shook her head, as she passed him, carrying the full glass and climbing wearily up the stairs in front of him. “I don’t know, Nick. But, it has happened twice more since then. Not that he managed to get out of bed again, but every time he wakes up, he fights us, trying to get up. He’s obviously in pain, and Howard won’t let us give him anything because of the head injuries. He said we’ll either have to keep holding him down or restrain him some other way.”

“You didn’t tie him. . . ?”

“No, Sweetheart, we didn’t, but I have thought a time or two that we should have. I don’t know where he gets the strength from, but my biggest fear is that he’s fast using up what little he has left.”

As she reached the last step, she stopped and looked down at Nick climbing up right behind her. “He keeps asking for you, Nick. Getting to you, talking to you, seems to be what he is trying to accomplish. I think you’re the only one that has a chance of keeping him calm enough to. . . . “

At Nick’s worried look, she stopped talking and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “He doesn’t know the truth yet, Nick. But, Howard is in agreement with us telling him. With him fighting us, there just hasn’t been an opportunity. Maybe you can get through to him, Son. If you can’t, . . . “

She took a deep breath and added, “I’m afraid for him, Nick. He’s worn himself completely down today. He is so weak, but he just keeps fighting us. . . .”

She stopped and closed her eyes. Nick joined her on the top step and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, pulling her forward toward the red upholstery of the chair in the hallway.

Easing her down into it, he knelt on one knee beside her and grasped her hand in his. “Mother, I know you sent McCall to find me. He didn’t have to ride the whole way out, though, because I was already half-way home when we met up.”

She nodded, having figured out that something had occurred that had allowed him to return sooner than expected.

“I had some time to think today, and I know now that I need to be here for Heath. He and I, well, . . . he would want me to be the one to tell him what’s going on. I need to do this for him. He would expect me to, and there’s one thing for sure, I’m not going to let my little brother down, not now, not ever again.”

With tears in her grey eyes, she smiled and nodded at him, giving her permission for what he proposed, though she could not muster the words to tell him so. At that moment, her heart was bursting with pride in this son that had always tried to do the right thing by his family, no matter the cost to himself.

His heart soared at the love and understanding he saw in her expression, and he smiled again, releasing her hand to reach up and lay the length of his hand against the side of her face.

He stood, then, pulling her to her feet, and, his supper plate in one hand, he linked his other arm in hers as they headed down the hall toward his brother’s room.

Suddenly, however, they both heard loud voices coming from that direction.

Turning toward her quickly, he pushed his plate into her empty hand, and he sprinted down the hall, the fear in his throat increasing his speed as he approached the partially closed door of Heath’s room.

Chapter 15

Jarrod woke up with a start.

Something was wrong.

He blinked rapidly, forcing his mind toward alertness, and he tried to get his bearings. His eyes found the wild white hair of the man sound asleep in the chair on the other side of the bed. Ogden’s mouth was open, his head back, and Jarrod was sure he could not have heard anything over the man’s loud snores.

He then sat up straighter in the chair and turned his head toward the head of the bed. He was instantly alarmed to see that Heath was sitting on the edge closest to Ogden with his back to Jarrod. Heath’s right arm was braced against the top of the headboard beside him, and he was obviously preparing to try to pull himself up.

Quickly, Jarrod worked to untangle his feet from the cover that Heath must have tossed back over them where they lay across the bed, and he called loudly to his brother, “Heath! Heath, just stay right there. Don’t get up, Heath!”

Frantically, he tried to get to the blond before he made himself worse trying to stand.

Besides, if Heath got to his feet, Jarrod knew from past experience that his best efforts to subdue him might not be enough.

He grabbed Ogden’s shoulder as he passed the sleeping figure, trying to rouse the man into offering him some help if needed, even as he called again to his determined brother, “Heath! No!”

Still about three steps away, he saw Heath haul himself to his feet and let go of the headboard. The blond took two staggering steps toward the door, his progress helped along by the right hand that he planted in the center of the small table next to his bed as he went by.

Reaching across and grabbing him by the good shoulder, Jarrod tried to stop his brother by planting himself in front of him and halting his forward progress. The look of pain in Heath’s eyes told him that the younger man was only on his feet out of sheer determination, and that he was probably not thinking clearly, maybe not even aware of who was with him in the room.

Reasoning with him was not going to work.

“Whoa, there, Heath. Let’s get you back to that bed.”

Heath’s right arm came up to keep Jarrod at a distance, and he used Jarrod’s shoulder as a pivot point from which to push off and brush past the dark-haired man to get to the door.

“No!” Heath mumbled. Then, more emphatically, he said, “Gotta find. . . . Nick.”

Unable to get a good grasp on the damp, loose material of Heath’s unbuttoned blue shirt as he went by, Jarrod tried again to stop Heath with his words.

“Wait, Heath. Nick’s not here. Come back to bed, and I’ll get him for you in the morning.”

“Nick? . . . .Hav’ta’ see Nick!” Heath’s voice was still halting, but loud now, demanding, as he staggered away from Jarrod and grabbed for the corner of the dresser by the door to hold himself up.

Jarrod came up behind him, and mindful of the injured left shoulder, again tried to take hold of Heath’s right. But, his brother shrugged him off, pushed away from the furniture, and headed for the door.

Suddenly, he reached up with his right hand to grab his head, and, with a cry of pain, he dropped hard to his knees.

Jarrod went down on one knee behind him. He grasped Heath’s right shoulder from behind, trying to help him remain upright.

Then, Nick was there, down on his knees as well, and holding Heath up from in front.

“Fool Boy,” he said. “Don’t you know you ought to be in bed?”

“Nick. . . ?” Heath asked through clenched teeth, his eyes closed and his forehead held between the wide-open fingers of his right hand.

“Yes, Heath, I’m here.”

“Nick.”

Heath seemed to sag forward, his body too heavy for him to continue to hold up. Nick caught him, and Jarrod used his hold on the back of the blue shirt to help Nick ease the weary young man sideways and down toward the floor. Nick cradled Heath’s head and upper back in his arms, holding him close to the dark leather of his vest.

Nick’s worried eyes found Jarrod’s, then looked back down at the tightly shut eyes of his younger brother.

“Heath? Can you hear me, Boy?” Nick asked.

“Nick? . . . Needed ta . . . find ya’.” Heath tried to smile lop-sidedly, as he cracked his light blue eyes open. But, he quickly shut them again, arching his back against the pain that seared through his head. His breathing came in ragged gasps that slowly eased, as Nick started talking to him.

“Heath. Don’t leave me, Heath. Hang on, Boy. I’m right here,” Nick said, his eyes pleading with Jarrod to do something, anything to help ease his brother’s pain. He continued to talk, afraid of what would happen if he stopped. “Easy, Heath. Just breathe through it. ‘Sorry I left you this morning, Little Brother. I won’t make that mistake again.”

By this time, Ogden had awoken and had passed Victoria coming into the room, as he headed to get some cold water. The tiny woman placed Nick’s dinner on the dresser and dropped down on one knee behind Jarrod, her hand on his shoulder.

She fleetingly noticed that Nick’s calling Heath ‘Little Brother’ had had no effect, but was more worried to see the agony he was in. She asked quietly, “Nick, do you think we should try to get him back in the bed?”

“Not yet,” he replied as he shook his head, his attention focused on the contorted face of his brother, the pain tearing into all of them.

Heath’s right hand came up, searching, and Jarrod grasped it strongly in both of his. He added his voice to that of Nick’s, “Hang on, Heath. We’re all right here. Just hang on.”

The light blue eyes cracked open again, and Heath searched for the voice, “Jar-rod?”

“Yes, Heath. We’ve got you.”

Another wave of pain assaulted Heath, as he turned his face toward Nick’s chest and groaned. Nick continued to hold him tightly, and Jarrod felt the muscles in his brother’s hand clamp down on both of his with a deadly fierceness.

Ogden handed down a cold, damp cloth from above them, and Victoria eased between her two dark-headed sons to turn Heath’s head away from Nick just enough to place the cloth across his forehead. She kept one hand on the cloth and stroked the side of his head with the fingertips of the other.

As the minutes ticked by, and Nick continued to talk to him, they could all see him starting to relax little by little.

“That’s right, Heath. Just let it go if you can. It’s going to be alright, Boy. We’ve got you.”

“Niiickk?” Heath’s tired voice took on a slurring quality.

“Yeah, Heath, right here.”

As Victoria removed the cloth, handing it up to Ogden behind her to re-soak and return to her, they heard Heath respond coherently to Nick.

“Made ya’. . . mad . . . . . Was it . . . the grizzly. . . or . . . the snorin’?”

Nick laughed lightly and gently shook the groggy young man in his arms. He answered, “Neither one, Boy. It was the comment about going to sleep in the bunkhouse and then you calling me Mr. Barkley.”

She replaced the cool cloth over the furrowed forehead, all the while holding her breath at Nick’s bold words.

She and Jarrod exchanged looks, as Heath responded in confusion, his pale blue eyes opening a little and searching Nick’s face, “Bunk-house? . . . Don’t under-stand. . . . why’d ya’ . . . get. . . mad. . . ?”

“You don’t sleep in any bunkhouse, Heath. And you don’t call me Mr. Barkley. Not ever!”

They saw him try to struggle up and out of Nick’s arms, but the dark-headed rancher held him firmly against him. “Cut it out, Heath. You’re not going anywhere. You’re right here, where you belong----with us. You are Mr. Barkley, Heath. No matter whether you remember it or not, you are Heath Barkley. This is your room. This beautiful lady taking care of you is the woman you call Mother, and Audra is your little sister.”

“Barkley?” The confusion in the eyes was made worse for them by the pain they could see deep within.

Nick sucked in a ragged breath of his own and finished what had to be said, “Yes, Heath. You’ve been hurt and don’t remember too much. But, trust me, your name is Heath Barkley. Jarrod and I are your brothers.”

Chapter 16

Unnoticed, Ogden quietly slipped out, but remained nearby in case they needed him.

Long moments passed, with no response from the blond lying on the floor, his head and chest cradled tightly against his brother.

Nick held Heath gently against him, watching the flecks of blue barely visible from under the nearly closed eyelids. He was aware of Victoria and Jarrod nearby, but he did not glance away from Heath’s face.

He concentrated fully on this brother that needed him so much, unwilling to divide his attention in any way, afraid he would miss a sign that Heath was ready to fight him or ready to understand more.

“Bro-thers?” Heath asked, the words barely above a whisper. “You?. . . Jar-rod?. . . Me?”

Jarrod squeezed the work-worn hand in his as Nick responded aloud for both of them, “Yes, Heath. The three Barkley Brothers.”

His words slurred tiredly as he closed his eyes completely, “. . . ‘means I . . . gotta sleep . . .in-a room. . . next ta. . . griz-zly . . . ev’ry night?”

Nick lifted his head and blinked his eyes rapidly, as he felt the worry and fear that had held him in its grasp, for what seemed like years, drop away with that simple, slurred question.

He gently shook Heath and leaned back down to whisper in the closest ear, holding him close, “Yes, Heath. Every night from now on.”

As if from far away, they heard the soft drawl of the reply as Heath relaxed against Nick’s chest in sleep, “Don’t . . . r’mem-ber, . . . but . . . I . . . trust ya’. . . . All’a you.”

* * * * * * * *

The next morning dawned a little cooler than it had been in days. As Nick stood looking out of Heath’s window and down on the barn and corrals below, coffee cup in hand, he watched the inky darkness slowly turn to cool grey and, after that, the grey to a pink-tinged freshness.

Behind him, the sleeping blond had barely moved for more than nine hours, and his breathing was calm and deep. Nick hoped fervently that it was a healing sleep. It seemed much better than the fitful drifting in and out of consciousness that they had been dealing with for what seemed like days on end since the stage had brought Heath and the rest of them home.

Nick dropped his eyes and stared down into his coffee cup. Now that Heath seemed to be doing better, it seemed that Nick’s food, and even Silas’ coffee, always good, tasted better than he remembered it being in a long time.

He shook his head and grinned, remembering the grizzly bear question Heath had asked last night, just as the tension in the room had reached a fever pitch of twisted nerves and collectively held breath.

And when Heath had said he didn’t remember, but he trusted them all, well, the relief he had felt, they all had felt, was something none of them could put into words. Even as they had worked together to return the sleeping young man from the floor to his bed, none of them had even tried to talk about it.

The unspoken agreement was that Nick was going to stay in the room with Heath.

After his mother had leaned down and shared a few quiet words with her sleeping son, she had given both Nick and Jarrod wordless hugs before leaving the three of them all together.

Shortly afterwards, Jarrod had stood up from his place on the side of Heath’s bed, run his fingers through his brother’s blond hair, turned to grasp Nick on the shoulder, and had silently, with a smile on his face, left the room.

But, as he stood there, now hours later, looking out at the growing dawn, Nick knew Jarrod had returned and was standing there behind him.

The oldest Barkley son sat down on the side of the bed and watched his blond brother sleep. He reached out with one hand and felt of Heath’s forehead, pleased that the temperature seemed almost normal. Then, he dropped his hand to let it lie over Heath’s heart, feeling the strong, slow rhythm beneath his hand.

Quietly, he said, “Just rest, Brother Heath. Keep growing stronger so you can keep up with this brother of ours better than I can. He needs you to build fences and bridges with him-----I for one am too old for much of that.”

Nick chuckled from his place at the window, his back still turned toward the room. Then, he said, “You’re not sore from yesterday, are you, Pappy?”

Jarrod glanced up at Nick’s strong back, the muscles visible even beneath the black leather vest that covered the slightly rumpled white shirt. “What do you think, Boss Barkley?”

Nick turned, smiling broadly at the irritating words that would have sent chills up his spine just yesterday. He replied, “I think your lily-white hands probably have more blisters than you can count, and your scrawny shoulders burn like the dickens.”

Smilingly indignant, Jarrod said, “Scrawny! I’ll show you scrawny, Little Brother!”

Leaping up, he grabbed Nick from behind and playfully pulled him back toward the leather chair, trying to use to his advantage the fact that the arm of the chair was soon against the back of Nick’s thighs.

Nick’s coffee was the only victim of their escapades, however, as lukewarm liquid splashed all over both of them, and droplets splattered across the bed as they tussled with each other.

“Nick!” Jarrod hollered as the stronger rancher turned the tables on him and sent him teetering backward into the chair.

As they both caught their breath, laughing and playfully glaring at each other, they heard a soft chuckle from the bed.

Turning quickly, Nick’s eyes widened as he saw Heath’s lop-sided smile and laughing blue eyes. Heath’s face, chest, and the white sheet pulled up to his ribs were all splattered with tan, coffee-colored drops.

“Didn’t know . . . grizzlies . . . drank coffee,” Heath drawled slowly.

“Heath,” Jarrod gasped, still catching his breath, his smile wide enough to match Nick’s. “I’m sorry we woke you, but it sure is good to hear your laugh again, Little Brother.”

Heath winked at Jarrod and gingerly turned his head to better see Nick’s face. “You tryin’ ta . . . make a‘nuf noise . . . ta rival your snorin’?”

Nick leaned down to tousle Heath’s hair. He was immediately rewarded with Heath’s right hand coming up to bat him away. “Keep your. . . paws off, . . . Mama Bear!” he growled.

Nick walked quickly around to the other side of the bed and poured Heath a half glass of water, while Jarrod grabbed up the cloth from the now room temperature basin of water under the side table beside his chair. Wringing out some of the water, he tried to wipe off Heath’s face and chest, but he met with the same fate as Nick’s attempts at fussing over him.

“Quit, . . . the both’a you,” Heath demanded, smile still in place, as he used his hand to ward off Jarrod and wipe at his own face.

Then, Nick helped lift Heath’s head and held the glass for him to drink a swallow. Neither of them missed the flicker of pain or dizziness or both that passed over Heath’s features as Nick gently lowered the blond head back to the pillows.

Heath closed his eyes, the furrow back between his eyebrows, and a worried Nick asked, “You alright, Boy?”

“Yes-s-s, . . . just. . . give me . . . a minute,” Heath responded slowly.

They watched as he opened his eyes again and gave them each a small smile. “Guess I’m not up. . . ta helpin’ with that fence yet, . . . Jarrod.”

Jarrod raised his eyes, surprised that Heath had heard him, and he found Nick’s, before replying, “Yeah, well, you will be soon enough. And, I promise to turn my part of that job over to your non-scrawny, much more capable, shoulders, as soon as that day comes.”

Heath smiled again, then closed his eyes tightly. Beneath the light green blanket, he slid his right foot up, bending his knee, and pushed it back down again. He repeated this several times.

They both watched him for a few minutes longer, aware that he was hurting, before Nick ground out, “The headaches, Heath. How bad are they?”

Heath didn’t answer for a minute. Then, his eyes still closed, he rolled toward Nick and said, “Sick-k-k. . . “

Quickly, Jarrod passed Nick the basin, and he held Heath steady as the water, consumed moments ago, came back.

Breathing rapidly, Heath’s head rolled back onto the pillows, and Jarrod stroked the blond hair without getting a rise out of his brother this time.

“Sor-ry, . . . Nick,” Heath whispered.

The reply was instantaneous and forceful. “Heath, we’re brothers. That’s what brothers do, they look out for each other----whether it’s when one of us is sick or when we’re all laughing. That’s what we do, you hear?”

“. . . Hear ya, Nick. . . .” Heath said, a faint lop-sided smile on his face. As he drifted off to sleep, he slurred, “Don’t snore, . . . an’ don’t call Jar-rod. . . scrawn-y. . . .”

Nick nodded, though Heath’s eyes were closed and didn’t see.

He replied quietly, as he grasped Heath’s right shoulder, “Okay, Little Brother, that’s also what brothers do. You may not remember, but, you got it right. They take up for each other, . . . AND they boss each other.”

“. . . brothers. . . ,” they heard Heath mumble.

Jarrod reached over and adjusted the blanket to cover most of the bruises on Heath’s exposed, left side. He patted the lower part of Heath’s arm, and said, “Your brothers will both be right here when you wake up, Heath. Just rest, now.”

Chapter 17

The woman stood out in the open sunlight, looking back toward the side of the mountain, toward the darkness surrounding the shadowy opening that marred the play of the sun’s rays through the sparse, tall trees that dotted the rocky area.

She was safe here, away from the debris and dust that she knew to expect at any moment.

She was safe here, waiting for the explosion that would eventually be accompanied by the deep roar and the shaking of the earth at her feet.

She had witnessed it enough times now, ordered it enough times, to know that the roar would begin as a low, uneven rumble, like the purring of a large, powerful cat interrupted from its leisure by suddenly giving chase to a small, frightened mouse, the purring turned to a satisfied, intensifying growl.

She was safe here, so, as she felt the ground begin to shake, felt the small vibrations and heard the low rise of the rumble from all around her, she smiled.

She could identify with the cat, its long striped tail lashing as it growled its pleasure at taking the tiny mouse, the small, terrified shrieks completely covered by the growing snarl of the cat enjoying its reward.

At the explosion that followed, she raised her hands over her head and laughed out loud, turning round and round in the dust-filled sunlight.

* * * * * * * *

“Mrs. . . Bark-ley?”

The quietly whispered question whipped Victoria’s head around as she sat next to Heath on the bed. She had been staring out of the window, remembering things she probably shouldn’t, things that had happened on that stage trip down from Ebbet’s Pass, things involving a cruel, red-headed man named Mason.

“Heath, Honey,” she replied, reaching up and touching his face, “I’m right here.”

She helped him drink a swallow of water, watched him grimace at this small movement of his head, and then waited while he closed his eyes again. Jarrod had told her how any slight movement had affected him early that morning, and she watched closely to see how he would be this time.

Finally, his eyes peeked open again, and he gave her a small, lop-sided smile. “I’m fine,” he said, as if he could read her mind.

She patted his chest and smiled back at him, breathing a sigh of relief, even though she knew he was probably just trying to keep her from worrying.

As she smoothed out the sheet over him, he reached up with his right hand, and stilled hers against his chest. “Just rest,” he said, smiling again.

She gave a huge grin at his attempt to stop her fussing over him by using her words. “Alright, Heath,” she said, “I’ll stop fussing, but only for a minute.”

He smiled again, eyes closed.

They sat like that for a while, each seeming to draw strength from the quiet presence of the other.

Outside, the twilight sounds settled over them, joining them through the open window. A soft breeze gently caressed her silver hair, and for some reason, she thought instantly of her beloved Tom, the man she had not seen in over six years. Looking down at his son lying so still on the bed, she whispered words of gratitude silently inside her joy-filled heart.

Slowly, he blinked open his eyes again and winked at her, his lop-sided smile back in place. He squeezed her hand and, looking into her gentle grey eyes, he said, “Nick says . . . I call you ‘Mother’.”

She laughed, trying to make light of his words, “You used to, and it would please me greatly if you would again, but I want you to call me whatever makes you feel most comfortable, Sweetheart. If ‘Mrs. Barkley, Ma’am’, is what you need to call me until you remember calling me ‘Mother’, then I guess I’m tough enough to endure it for a while. Just don’t think you’ll get away with it forever, Heath Barkley.”

His smile stayed in place, but his light blue eyes closed again, and the furrow appeared between his eyebrows. She reached out and kneaded his forehead between her slender, but strong fingers for a moment, swallowing hard.

She hated to see him in pain. He had been through so much, and she knew she could only imagine the confusion and the grief he had to be dealing with, without his memories to guide him.

“I’m right here, Heath. We’re all here for you. There’s no rush, Honey. You take all the time you need. We’ll help you all we can. None of us has ever been through this before, so we don’t know exactly what to say or do. You’ll have to help and tell us what you need. Just promise me that you’ll tell us. Don’t keep it all inside, Sweetheart.”

He nodded, his eyes closed, and she felt some of the tension ease around his temples as she shifted her weight and continued to rub his head.

Slowly, he brought up his right hand to still her fingers. He smiled again, cracked open his eyes, and said, “Please, . . . would ya’ turn down . . . that lamp?”

She smiled as she stood up and walked around to the other side of the bed and lowered the flame inside the oil lamp until it barely flickered. Thinking to herself, that at least it was a start, she sat down on that side of him and said, “Thank you for telling me.”

His eyes found hers, and they smiled at each other, both knowing that his request to turn down the lamp wasn’t exactly what she had meant when she had asked him to say what he needed.

After a moment, he reached up and touched her face, stroking her soft cheek with the back of his hand. Then, he said, “The last thing I remember. . . .” He stopped and swallowed hard, before continuing, “The last thing I remember is . . . those men ridin’ up the road. . . chasin’ you. . . .”

He stopped again, the moisture building in his sky blue eyes. He looked into hers and finally continued, “Couldn’t stop them. . . . couldn’t keep them. . . from goin’ after you . . . ta hurt you. . . . . . . I failed you, failed Nick. . . .”

Halfway through his words, a tear had leaked from one of his eyes and rolled down toward the pillow.

Seeing it released a flood of her own.

Crying openly, she reached up, grabbed his hand, and kissed it. Then, holding onto it, she lowered her head to his chest, and turned, half lying on the bed next to him, and she sobbed.

Painfully, slowly, he brought his left hand up and touched her silver hair, letting more of his own tears come without shame.

After a moment, her cheek lying against his chest, and her face turned away from his, she began to speak to him, for both of them, “Heath, you didn’t fail me. You didn’t fail Nick or the rest of your family. You did everything you could to keep me safe.”

Then, she raised her head, still grasping his right hand and looked up into his blue eyes, saw the love he had for her reflected in his tears.

With a broken voice, she added, “Neither Nick, . . . Jarrod, . . . nor my husband, Tom Barkley, . . . your father, . . . could have done better than you did for me, Heath. . . . I am so proud of you, so very proud, . . and I’m so grateful to be able to tell you that, Son.”

She reached up with one hand and stroked the side of his face. She took a deep breath and added, “I thought they had killed you. I was afraid you had died, not even remembering who you were, Heath. Not knowing what you meant to us all. But, I wasn’t sure, and I felt so guilty, like I had betrayed you all over again, for going off and leaving you there with them. I should have stayed. I should have never left. But, when I did, I should have gone right back to help you. . . . “

She dropped her head back down, holding him close, listening to his heart beating beneath her ear.

He held onto her for a moment, his left hand grasping her trembling shoulder. Then, he again used his left hand to lift her chin, to ask her without words to sit up and look at him.

When he could see her eyes, he said, “No. If you’d come back. . . .”

Then, as he tried to raise his own head and shake it at her to emphasize his words, the pain caught him again, and he gasped, squeezing her hand in spite of himself.

He breathed hard for a moment, but forced himself to continue, though he kept his eyes closed.

He whispered, “No,” before taking in a few breaths and saying, “I remember . . . I sent you ta Ogden. . . They would’ve killed us both . . . if you’d stayed. . . “

He opened his eyes again and looked deeply into hers, as he said, “You trusted me then. . . Don’t twist it inta something else now, . . . something ugly . . . inta. . . betrayal. You trusted me, an’ I . . . . I needed ta know that you would.”

She looked into his blue eyes as his words again reminded her how important trust was to him, and she reached out to touch his face, wondering if he remembered anything of the last four months.

Then, she nodded, swallowing hard, and tried to smile at him.

“I did trust you, Heath. Even though you didn’t remember that I was your mother, you kept me safe from those men. I know you delayed them from coming after me. I don’t know how, but I know you must have baited that man for him to stay there and hurt you like he did. You nearly died protecting me, Heath Barkley, and . . . “

He touched her lips with his hand, stilling the out-pouring of words.

Then, he said simply, “I love you, too, Mother.”

Chapter 18

“Good morning, Heath.”

The doctor’s cheerful words did little to reach through the serious, quiet mood of the young man sitting in the chair across the room, as the smiling physician took a step inside.

Seeing that he was not going to get a response, he turned back to the worried grey eyes of the woman standing uncertainly behind him in the doorway, and he shook his head at her. Reaching out, he squeezed her hand, smiled once, then stepped far enough inside to gently close the door behind him.

Victoria had warned him that, though she and Heath had had a talk two nights ago, he had seemed very distant all day yesterday. The one thing he had said was that he wanted to talk to the doctor.

As the doctor approached, Heath did not turn away from the window. Instead, he kept his eyes on the distance, his thoughts searching through memories of events from years ago, events from places miles and miles away.

Howard Merar sat down on the edge of the bed and watched Heath’s profile for a few minutes. He looked at the open, unbuttoned blue shirt and noted that Heath had refused to use the sling he had provided him. Shaking his head slightly, he then observed the line of pain that marked Heath’s forehead and the darkness around his eyes that told a story of little sleep.

Silently, he reached out and touched Heath’s arm.

The young man, though not startled, seemed aware of the doctor’s presence only at that moment. Slowly, he blinked several times, turned his eyes away from the window, and took a few seconds to focus on the doctor.

A lop-sided smile, that did not touch Heath’s eyes, crossed his face. “Doc.”

Again, the doctor said, “Good morning, Heath.”

When he heard no other response, Doc Merar asked, “How’re you feeling today?”

“Fine, Doc,” Heath replied, turning his eyes back to the window.

Howard rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Then, he leaned in and tapped on the arm still resting on the chair. “Heath? Victoria said you wanted me to stop by.”

When there was no response, the doctor added, “We need to talk, Son.”

The blue eyes turned slowly back to him.

“Heath, I need you to tell me how your headaches are.”

“I’m fine, Doc.”

“No, Heath, you are not fine. I can see the pain in your eyes, and I know that you haven’t been sleeping. Now, I need for you to tell me.”

The blue eyes watched the doctor’s face. “I’m getting better every day, Doc. The headaches are better. It’s just. . . .”

The doctor waited, but Heath stopped.

“It’s just what, Heath?”

“Doc, I need ta know what’s happenin’ inside my head. I keep tryin’ ta remember, tryin’ ta find whatever it is that I’ve lost, but . . . I don’t know how ta find it all.”

Howard gazed steadily back into Heath’s eyes, understanding now what was pulling on him, keeping him back, keeping him apart from his family.

“Victoria, at least, seems happy that you’re calling her Mother and that you’ve quit talking about sleeping in the bunkhouse. While that pleases her very much, she is worried about you.”

He did not respond for a few seconds, then said, “No need for anyone ta worry.”

”Heath, your memories might come back today, or they may never come back. It could be that when you can get out of this room, the things you see and do may help trigger some of them. They could start returning slowly. Just give yourself some time, Son. You’re a very strong young man, and you’re very lucky to be alive. But, you do need a little longer to heal. Just take it slowly.”

When the blond did not respond, even to ask him how long it would be before he could get back to work, Howard shook his head again slightly. He asked, “Can you tell me what you do remember, Heath?”

The blue eyes found him again. After another moment, Heath said, “I remember the stage hold-up an’ some’a what happened next. . . . I remember. . . fightin’ with Mason an’ . . . an’ that’s all I guess.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t remember any’a this.” His eyes moved quickly around the room before focusing back outside the window.

“How much do you remember about your family, Heath. About who you are?”

The blue eyes turned back toward the doctor and gazed at him, then lost focus as if he were searching through his head, sifting through memories only he could see.

Then, Heath answered even more quietly than before, “I remember Nick, . . . workin’ with him, ridin’ with him. I remember his spurs, his voice, an’. . . an’ . . . “

Heath’s eyes moved back to the window, as he searched for the words to attach to what were just pieces floating through his head, like disjointed sections of some larger structure tossed on a white-frothed river overflowing its banks in the aftermath of a flood.

He took a deep breath and added, “I remember Nick’s hand on the back’a my neck, shakin’ me. When he tells me we’re brothers, I feel it right there. An’ I believe him.” He smiled lop-sidedly, touching the back of his neck with his right hand.

Then, he said, “Audra an’ Jarrod, I remember more as good feelings wrapped around my heart, Doc. Not as any picture in my head, except maybe their faces, their eyes, an’ Audra’s smile.”

“And, Victoria?” the doctor asked, nodding at the words Heath had shared with him.

Heath sighed, and looked down at his hands. It was then that Howard Merar realized Heath had his left hand wrapped around the family portrait in a small frame, similar to the one that Victoria had had a few days ago downstairs. Heath traced the outline of the woman’s face with his finger, and said, “She left this out for me last night. ‘Said it had been moved when they brought me up here, an’ that I always kept it on that table over there by the bed.”

Then, Heath said, “I remember her as. . . as Nick’s mother, as Mrs. Barkley. But, more. . On that stage, she became much more for me. She gave more love ta me than I thought I had a right to, ever again, after my Mama died.”

He swallowed hard. “I could feel her, here, right inside my heart.” Heath touched his right hand to his chest and closed his eyes. “She’s very special . . . . I can feel it, Doc. I know it’s true. . . . I just can’t remember any more about why.”

His eyes remained closed, and he turned his head away from the doctor. But, when he continued talking, Howard could still hear Heath’s quiet words, “I want ta remember her. I want ta remember them all. They tell me I’m part’a them, part’a this family. I believe them. I trust them. But,” Heath’s right hand came down hard on the arm of the chair, his frustration building. “But, I just can’t remember why or how. . . . I just can’t remember.”

The doctor squeezed Heath’s arm gently and stood to leave, knowing that there was little more he could do for his slowly recovering patient. He said, quietly, “Heath, give it some time. It might all come back in one flash, it might never return, or it might come back to you in bits and pieces. But, one thing’s for sure. . . .”

Heath looked at him briefly, the question in his eyes.

Howard Merar finished, “. . . You can’t force it.”

Heath nodded, and the doctor walked toward the doorway.

As he opened the door, he heard Heath say quietly from behind him, once more in control of his emotions, “I don’t want ta hurt them, Doc.”

The doctor turned back to look at the soft-spoken young man sitting in the chair, his sock feet propped up on the open window-sill and his head leaning back, almost hidden, against the wine-leather wing of the chair.

“They love you, Heath. And, you love them. You won’t hurt them, Son. It’s not in you to hurt them.”

Smiling slightly, Howard left the room and walked quietly down the hall, his footsteps muffled by the rich colors of the rug beneath him.

Chapter 19

“I’ll tell you what I told him, Victoria. He needs more time. And, we all need to give it to him. We need to be the ones reminding him to be patient. This is very hard for him. He doesn’t want to hurt any of you by not remembering what you think he should, but I suspect he calls all of you by name without really remembering any of the past that you share.”

They were outside the front door. Victoria was standing, with one hand on the buggy, looking up at Howard Merar, and the doctor was leaning down from the seat above, his hand on top of hers.

Her troubled grey eyes stared up at him, but she nodded at his words, “I know, Howard. I know he is trying to protect us, almost as if he’s just responding with what we need to hear. But it’s taking a toll on him. I can see it.”

He nodded at her. “Victoria, I think maybe he can feel his closeness to you, to all of you, but he just can’t remember it. Picture how it would be to know you feel something for someone, but you can’t share, or even remember, why you feel it. It has to be terribly frustrating. . . Oh, by the way, he does remember his own mother. And, he talked about how special you are to him. Whatever the two of you went through on that stage was very meaningful to him. So, at least he has strong, though recent, memories of you to hold on to.”

She bit her bottom lip and nodded again.

Then, she replied, “Howard, how is he really? What about the headaches? He just seems so weak, still. It’s not like him to just accept being in that bed, in that room, for so long.” She glanced out into the distance, noting the haze of heat that seemed to diffuse the morning light. She said, “He has not complained or grumbled the first time about it, at least not since Nick got him calmed down a couple of days ago.”

Then, she looked sharply at the doctor again, who was shaking his head negatively, and she asked, “Did he even ask you about getting out of that room, out of this house? Normally he would be badgering all of us about it by now.”

The doctor sighed and said, “No, Victoria, I think he simply realizes he isn’t able to yet.” Howard sat back on the seat of the buggy, the reins gathered loosely in his hands. He added quietly, “Remember, Heath has been badly beaten twice within a month. He’s almost died twice, and both times, he suffered a head injury. This last time, he lost an awful lot of blood and developed a fever. Then, he continued to fight against everyone and everything, fighting himself into exhaustion over and over. It’s a wonder he can even sit up in that chair by the window where I left him.”

Moving the reins back to his left hand, he reached down and patted her hand again, saying, “Just give him some time. Don’t let him rush it. I know no one wants to hear it, but his recovery is going to take a while. He’ll know when he’s ready. Then, you’ll be trying to run after him, trying to keep him from doing too much.”

She squeezed the doctor’s hand, and though she still worried, she said, “I know. You’re exactly right. He’ll have me looking all over for my wooden spoon. Thank you, Howard. I’ll remember what you said.”

* * * * * * * *

When she returned inside the house, she was half-way across the foyer floor going toward the dining room before . . .

. . . . . . She stopped in her tracks and lifted her gaze to take in the smiling blue eyes looking down at her from the middle step on the gold-carpeted stairs.

He was breathing hard, but obviously pleased to have gotten that far.

However, now that he was caught, something told him she wasn’t going to feel as pleased as he was.

She stood looking at him, almost speechless------almost, but not quite. She recovered rapidly, her disbelief, after Doctor Merar’s words of caution, quickly giving way to a rising ire.

“Heath Barkley, what’re you doing out of that bed?” She advanced on him, one hand on her hip, the other hand up, her worried finger pointing at him in time with her words.

He just continued to sit there, looking down on her, that lop-sided smile in place, his light blue eyes dancing.

She stopped two steps below him, placed both hands on her hips, and tilted her head sideways just a bit. Unable to keep her mantle of anger in place in the face of his pleased expression, her eyes began to give her away.

Suddenly, she dashed up the remaining two steps and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. “Oh, Heath. I should be irate with you, but I’m so glad to see you out of that bed and smiling at the same time!”

He held her close for a moment. Then, he reached up toward the banister with his right hand and tried to pull himself up. She held onto his left arm, unsure of how best to help him. He winced as she turned and carefully pulled his injured arm over her shoulders, trying to give him some additional assistance.

Together, they made it to the bottom of the staircase. Then, he turned to her without taking his hand from the banister, and looked back to eye the distance across the floor to the closest chair.

“Now what?” She asked him.

“Sorry, Ma’am,” he quipped, while trying to catch his breath, “I don’t know . . . my way around . . . this fine establishment. . . . . Any place with a chair to sit in. . . is fine with me.”

She nodded, and carefully, she helped him all the way over to the grey settee next to the cold fireplace. With a sigh, he turned and eased down onto the fine piece of furniture. She released him and grabbed a few pillows from around the room, tucking them under his back and head. He groaned slightly as she helped him lift his legs, one at a time, to place his socked feet up on the other end.

Then, she sat down on the marble-topped, round table in front of the settee and waited quietly as he lay still for a few minutes, his eyes closed, breathing heavily.

After a bit, she rose and crossed to a small table at one end of the room, poured a half glass of water, and returned to sit across from him.

Again, she waited.

Moments later, he blinked open his eyes. It was his turn, now, to look up into her smiling eyes, and he returned the grin. She held out the glass and helped him raise up enough to take two small swallows.

He lay back, and again, she waited while he closed his eyes.

Then, she heard him say quietly, “Thought I’d feel better . . . gettin’ outta that room for a while.”

“I think you overdid it a bit, though, don’t you?”

He sighed, and a slight scowl crossed his features, before he smiled, eyes still closed, and said, “Didn’t know how far it was ta go.”

She closed her eyes at the simple statement and blinked rapidly, pulling in a noisy breath, berating herself.

She continued to make the same mistake over and over, where he was concerned. She continued to forget, to take for granted that he knew everything he had known before, knew everything she knew. She continued to forget that he had not grown up here with all the family memories that the rest of them had.

It pulled her off balance to suddenly remember that he was like a first-time guest in their home, just like in those days when he had first come to them months ago.

Now, just like then, everything was new to him.

She reached out and gently rubbed his arm. He slowly opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Ma’am,” he said, quietly, “I need ta ask you something. . . . I remember comin’ here, but. . . ?”

As he trailed off, he closed his eyes again, the furrow between his brows deepening.

She remained silent, not sure what he was referring to-----coming here with them on the stage recently or coming to the ranch for the first time. And, she did not want to make the mistake of assuming again.

When he did not say anything else, she asked, “Coming here, Heath?”

“How long have I lived here, . . . at the ranch, with all of you?”

“It’s going on a year, now. About eight months.”

He nodded, eyes still mostly closed, though she could see the pale blue beneath his barely cracked eyelids.

“Eight months, . . . an’ I can’t remember any of it, . . . . . . . . ‘cept workin’ with Nick.”

She smiled a little at this last statement, knowing how relieved it would make Nick feel to hear it. She said, “It’ll come back, Sweetheart, I’m sure of it.” She reached forward and grasped his left hand where it lay against his leg. She added, “And, if it doesn’t, we’ll tell you about it, and we’ll go forward together from there.”

He nodded slightly and tried to smile at her.

But, the headache was back. He was rubbing the right side of his head with his fingers.

She stood and said, “I’ll be right back. Let me get you a cold cloth.”

But, he held onto her hand and said quietly, “No, it’ll be alright. Please, stay.”

She sat back down on the table across from him, her worried expression vying with her joy that he had asked her to stay, her joy at Howard’s words about the connection Heath had told him he felt to her, and her joy at seeing him more like the strong, unreasonable patient she knew him to be.

They sat quietly. The large room seemed to absorb the outside sounds, creating a still, tranquil setting. Once again, her eyes roamed around the room, touching the various objects that always caught her attention whenever she had quiet time here just to reflect.

His voice drew her eyes back to his face. His light blue eyes, the color of the summer sky outside this room, this home, were watching her intently.

“Mother, . . . even if I don’t ever remember everything you’ve done for me. . . since I came here, . . . I felt your love for me on that stage. . . . I felt it even when I didn’t understand it. And, I still feel it. . . I don’t have ta have my memory back ta know how you feel about me. . . I can’t . . . I don’t . . . I don’t have the words ta explain what that means ta me.”

He squeezed her hand slightly and smiled at her.

She nodded, unable to speak for a few seconds. His words let her know he must remember some of his life before coming to the ranch, and they gave her hope for his future there with them. Then, she stood and leaned over him to kiss his forehead. She said, her voice thick with emotion, “I love you, Son. I have not always done the right thing by you, but I love you as my own.”

With the smile still in place, he closed his eyes again. She sat back down on the table, holding his hand, while he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 20

Silas was keeping an eye out for Nick, ready to stop him from throwing open the front door and exploding into the house in his customary manner. Finally, his vigilance was rewarded as he saw the quick strides and dark clothing of the middle Barkley son as he approached.

Surprising Nick, Silas pulled the door open just as the black glove of one hand reached for it. Before Nick could say a word, Silas stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

“Shhhh, Mr. Nick,” Silas admonished, his finger pressed to his own lips.

“Silas! Why are you shushing me? I haven’t said a word yet!”

“Yet, Mr. Nick. You haven’t said a word, yet,” Silas repeated. “Mr. Heath, he’s asleep downstairs, and Mrs. Barkley, she don’t want him disturbed, no Sir. Now, you sit down right over there, and take off those loud, rattlin’ spurs of yours. All by themselves, they’re as noisy as a big old bear turned loose in my kitchen cupboards and rootin’ through the shiny pots and pans!”

Nick gaped at Silas, his mouth open and his eyes huge. He couldn’t remember Silas talking to him that way since he was ten.

But undaunted, the impassive, much smaller man just stood his ground, his arms crossed over his chest, as he guarded the door, and pointed toward the red upholstered wrought-iron chair just to his right.

“Silas, if you don’t beat all!” Nick’s surprise had turned to a full smile, now that it had finally sunk in that it was Heath that had brought out Silas’ protectiveness.

“Shhhh, Mr. Nick. The windows, . . . they’re open. You haveta be quiet, now.”

As Nick sat down to comply, Jarrod approached from the other direction. He stopped in surprise at the sight of the two men, one grey-headed and one dark-headed, but both silently shaking their heads at the other-----with neither of them noticing.

Chuckling, Jarrod continued toward the door.

Nick glanced up, one boot still crossed over his knee, the spur now in his hand. He held it up and said quietly, “Watch out, Brother Jarrod, if you laugh, whistle, shout, or rattle, the one-man welcoming committee there will be after you.”

“Silas, to what do we owe this fine reception?” Jarrod asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Mr. Jarrod, your brother is asleep downstairs, and your Mama, she don’t want him disturbed.”

Jarrod raised his eyebrows and smiled at Nick, “Well, Brother Nick, this is good news, don’t you think? It sounds like Heath is feeling better. Now, should I wait for you, or do you and your spurs need a few moments alone before being parted?”

“Very funny, Counselor!” Nick said loudly, removing the other one.

Jarrod just smiled and shook his finger at him, and he said, “Uh-uh, Nick. We mustn’t get too loud, now, remember?”

Nick rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but, with a huge smile, draped the hooked-together spurs over Silas shoulder, patted him on the back for his vigilance, and said quietly, “Come on, Gentlemen. Let’s go see that little brother of mine.”

When they entered quietly, they immediately saw Audra sitting across from Heath, who was, thanks to Silas’ foresight, still sleeping. She turned and motioned them into the room, but kept one finger over her lips to remind them to be quiet. As they stepped forward, Silas touched Nick on the arm and pointed to the hall tree near the clock. He placed the spurs over a hook and headed toward the kitchen, where Victoria was preparing supper.

The other two men continued on into the parlour. Jarrod leaned over to kiss Audra’s cheek and whispered, “How is he today, Princess?”

Her eyes shone as she reached up to squeeze his hand and responded, “I think he’s better, Jarrod. Just very tired.” She watched Nick cross to stand over Heath, looking down on him as he slept. Nick leaned down to whisper something in Heath’s ear, and he pulled off his glove with his teeth before running his fingers through his brother’s hair a couple of times. Then, Nick straightened and quietly walked over to pour himself a drink.

Unbidden, moisture sprang to her eyes at this gesture from her usually loud, brash brother. She squeezed Jarrod’s hand again, and he smiled down at her. Then, he sat down in the other grey-cushioned chair and watched Heath.

Nick returned, handing Jarrod a drink. Then, he carefully lifted both of Heath’s legs, sat down on that end of the settee, and placed both sock-covered feet in his lap. From that vantage point, he quietly sipped his drink and watched his brother sleep.

When Victoria entered the room over twenty minutes later, she stopped in her tracks and stared silently at the four of them. The sight affected her so, she felt her heartbeat quicken, and she raised her hand to cover her mouth to prevent the proud, joyful gasp that threatened to escape.

As she stood there, watching them all without them being aware of her presence, she was struck again by thoughts of her husband. How he would have loved to have seen this, all of his children, his whole family, complete at last and gathered together in one room, just grateful to be within sight of each other.

Slowly, she approached and, from behind his chair, placed her hands on Jarrod’s shoulders. He glanced up at her and placed one hand over hers. Then, after another moment, she leaned down to kiss his cheek. Next, she went to Audra and kissed the top of her daughter’s blond hair, before crossing back behind Jarrod to walk toward Nick. She leaned across Heath’s legs to kiss Nick on the cheek. He took her by the elbow and stared into her smiling, teary eyes, until she took a deep breath and nodded at him.

He smiled back.

Neither of them said a word.

Last, she walked around behind the settee and stood in back of the sleeping Heath, looking down into his face. She reached down and gently stroked his bruised cheek. The purples and blacks of the marks the two men had put there during the attack on the stage were fading slowly to yellows and greens.

She leaned over to kiss his disheveled hair, the mark of endearment his older brother put on him every chance he got. Then, she closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and smiled serenely at the thoughts of her family that filled her heart, the heart of a mother at peace.

But, . . . . the peace was short-lived. . . .

* * * * * * * *

They had each taken turns sitting with Heath while the others ate, the atmosphere calm, quiet, and filled with smiles and good spirits. Nick could hardly contain his buoyancy at the fact that Heath had made it downstairs that morning. He was already talking with Jarrod quietly over the dinner table about plans for what he and Heath could do with the breeding stock Heath had picked out.

Jarrod and Victoria let him enjoy his first real relief from the constant worry over Heath that he had had in well over a week. Both of them winked at each other from their respective ends of the table, as Nick tried not to get too loud, but kept catching himself with his voice rising like his gesturing hands, as he described the virtues of one recently delivered horse or another.

“Jarrod, did you see that chestnut he bought? I tell you, that filly is going to make one fine broodmare when she gets a couple more years on her.”

Not waiting for a reply, Nick took a quick bite of potatoes and gravy. He continued, “That boy sure has an eye for horseflesh. He. . . “

Almost glad for the interruption, Jarrod stood, and Nick stopped talking, at the sound of someone’s fist hammering on the front door.

Quickly, trying to stop the intrusive noise, Jarrod bounded from the room. Nick was on his heels.

Knowing they would probably be too late to avoid waking Heath, Victoria stood, placed her cloth napkin on the table and walked toward the parlour.

While Nick and Jarrod stepped outside and spoke to someone she could not see, she crossed toward her two youngest children. Audra was offering Heath a glass of water, and she could see him sitting on the edge of the settee as she approached.

She swept toward them, her pale green silk dress swirling around her. She sat down beside him and waited quietly for him to return the glass to Audra.

“Thank you, Audra,” he said softly, offering her a little smile.

She smiled back at him, but neither mother nor son missed the look of hurt that crossed her face for just an instant before she turned away.

“Audra,” he reached out and took her hand as she turned. Slowly, she faced him. The slight pressure on her hand asked her to sit across from him, which she did, staring into his eyes. “What is it? Please tell me,” he asked.

With Victoria looking on, Audra broke contact with his eyes and threw her arms around his neck. He reached up tentatively with his good arm and stroked her back. He whispered to her, “It’s alright. Whatever it is, I want ta know.”

Slowly, she sat back, wiped at the single, slow tear that had leaked out of one of her eyes, and said, her eyes downcast and her hands worrying each other in her lap, “Oh, Heath, it’s so silly. I’m so glad you’re alright. . . . I’m ashamed of myself.”

“No need ta be. Just tell me. Please, Audra,” He tried to search her eyes, his fingers curled under her chin, trying to get her to raise her eyes to meet his.

That same look crossed her face again, and in anguish this time, she quickly stood, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and fled across the foyer, running down the hallway toward the study.

He glanced over at Victoria, his expression perplexed. Then, he said, “Excuse me,” and carefully stood, walking slowly to follow the young lady he had been told was his sister.

As he passed by her, Victoria reached out to stop him, but was immediately distracted by the sound of retreating hoof beats from outside the front door. She, too, stood.

Just as Heath entered the double doors opening onto the hallway, Nick flung open the front door behind him and took long, furious strides toward the parlour. His immediate destination was the side table and the crystal liquor decanters it contained. His face was dark with anger, his eyes flashing fire. The first glass of whiskey was poured, raised to his lips, and downed before Jarrod could even return to the room.

A worried Victoria approached Nick and stood facing him silently while he struggled to rein himself back in. While Victoria longed to know what was going on, she and Jarrod both knew they needed to give Nick a few more minutes.

When he raised the third glass, however, she spoke up just as Jarrod reached out to place his hand over the top of it. “Stop it, Nicholas. Stop it now, and tell me what has happened.”

He drew in a ragged breath and shook his head, unable to speak. But, he did not fight Jarrod as he withdrew the whiskey glass from Nick’s hand. Reaching to place the glass of amber liquid on the table, Jarrod suddenly changed his mind and raised it, silently toasting toward his angry brother. Then, as quickly as Nick had, he tossed back the contents of the glass.

Nick took another deep breath, as the realization hit him that he wasn’t the only one unsettled and furious over this turn of events. He nodded at Jarrod, whose intense, smoldering blue eyes had not left his face throughout the last few minutes.

Victoria watched them and understood that whatever it was, they were both in agreement about what it meant or what to do about it----or both.

She waited.

Slowly, Jarrod’s eyes left Nick’s face, and he turned to her.

“Mother, do you remember the letter Bentell sent a while back asking for additional funds?’

She nodded, watching his eyes.

He continued, “You’ll remember that, though we had questions about it, we responded as he asked. We immediately wired him another five thousand over the original estimate for the flume.”

Again, she nodded.

Taking a deep breath, Jarrod added, “Not long ago, we received another letter. It was while you and Heath were gone. We have not yet responded to it. We were waiting to talk to the two of you first. . . . Then, . . . well, we just haven’t had an opportunity to think about it much since then.”

“And now?” she asked, her voice hard, her grey eyes growing large at the unwitting intrusion of the man into their lives at the very time when they were all regretting their involvement with him so intensely.

Jarrod saw her eyes and heard her voice change, her face becoming impassive. He replied, “And now, he has sent an urgent telegram all but demanding the additional funds, asking for even more now than he mentioned in his last letter.”

“How much, Jarrod? How much does he want?” Her voice had turned to stone.

“Another seven thousand.”

“Seven thou-. . . .” She broke off.

Her feelings about the sheer audacity of the man’s request merged with the intense protectiveness that had arisen within her very soul for her blond son-----and all she believed the man being discussed must have put him through.

She stood shaking her head, her eyes closed for a moment.

Then, she felt Nick’s hands on her shoulders, and she opened her eyes once more.

“Mother,” he said, his eyes flashing, “I’m not interested in leaving Heath right now, not for any reason. But, I promise you that when he’s better, I will be taking a trip up there to find out what is going on with that man. . . . What I can’t promise you is what I will do about him when I lay eyes on him again!”

She reached up to touch Nick’s face with her hand and turned silently to make her way up the stairs to her room.

The peace that had filled her heart for the last few hours, had fled in another direction, as she fought an internal battle with herself throughout that night-----a battle in which she was trapped between fight and forget, between loyalty and forgiveness, between anger and love.

By the next morning, she thought she understood something more about her blond-headed son, and what he must have been feeling in the months since Bentell, and then Anders, had come to their home.

Though she did not know all the circumstances of what had happened to Heath at Bentell’s hands while in Carterson, she had heard enough in the last two months to know the anger was deeply personal with him. And, during the night, she had come to grips with the knowledge that when he suffered, so did she, just like she did with her other children, just like she had when Tom was murdered.

Now it was deeply personal for her as well.

Sometimes, loyalty and forgiveness were just too distantly different.

But, she hoped in her heart, that there had to be a middle ground somewhere, and she intended to find it----for both of them.

Continued…