Remnants of Trust

Chapters 30-39

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 30

Aware that Doctor Merar had not yet released Heath to ride, Audra was surprised and more than a little worried when she ran lightly down the veranda steps after breakfast and saw Heath headed out the main gate.

“Heath! Wait!” she cried. But, immediately, she knew he had not heard her, for Gal continued on at a smooth trot until she had almost reached the bend in the road. Then, just before losing sight of the pair, Audra saw the little black mare rise into an effortless canter. If Heath had heard her, he would have either slowed and looked back . . . or pushed the mare into the faster gait sooner.

Quickly, Audra looked back toward the house to make sure her shout had not caught her mother’s attention. Then, she ran to the barn and, after backing her own mare from the stall, began tacking her up.

Seeming to sense her distress, the tall black mare turned her nose and nudged at Audra as she swiftly placed the heavy saddle on the woolen blanket and began to cinch it in place.

“We’ve got to hurry, Girl,” Audra said, her calm, even voice soothing to both sets of ears. As she fastened the last buckle of the bridle and arranged the reins, she rubbed the soft nose of the black and turned her toward the door.

She placed her left boot in the waiting stirrup and easily swung her long right leg over, settling herself into the deep stock seat, and turned the mare toward the gate.

Without looking back, she walked the horse forward up the road, then broke into a trot. As soon as she felt the horse was warmed up enough, she pushed her into a ground-eating lope, following the road away from the house.

Her thoughts immediately turned to her brother.

While Heath had sought her out over the last couple of days, asking her general questions about the children at the orphanage or challenging her to checkers once or twice, she knew he still hadn’t really resumed the comfortable, easy relationship they had shared before he and her mother had left on their horse-buying trip.

How she wished she had been able to go with them! Maybe if she had been there, she could have somehow helped him regain his memories earlier, or could have at least begun to rebuild her relationship with him that much sooner.

Just as quickly, however, she admitted that if she had been there, he might not have made it home at all. She had heard Nick and Jarrod talking about it, and she knew how Heath had been almost killed by the men who attacked the stage, how he had almost died because he was trying to protect her mother.

If she had been there too, . . . . She shuddered at thinking about what could have happened if he had had to protect them both.

The morning sun was behind a haze of clouds and the heat was already beginning to hang in the air, casting a yellowish-grey pallor across the landscape. Even so, as the road leveled off and the trees thinned out, she could see further ahead than before.

She followed the road with her eyes, searching into the distance, trying unsuccessfully to locate her brother.

Where would he have gone?

She thought about the rides they had taken together, before he had been injured. He had always tended to head for either the vistas offered by the low, rolling hills to the east and north of the house, or toward the quiet beauty of the river.

But, that knowledge didn’t help her predict his destination this time. Both the hills and the river were in the other direction.

And, she knew he wouldn’t have gone to town, not if he were as upset as she thought he must have been. He would seek solitude, not a place with the constant activity of Stockton.

Could he have gone looking for Nick?

But, just as quickly as she thought the question, the definitive answer came to her that he would not have done that either. If Nick had stayed at the house, they might have taken the opportunity of a chance meeting by a corral or some other private place to reassure each other that everything was fine. But, since Nick had left, . . . she felt sure Heath would not ride out after him just to talk. Even if he had wanted to, Heath would feel that Nick had made it clear that he wasn’t ready for a discussion, so he wouldn’t have gone after him.

As the first couple of miles passed with no sign of Heath, she was really starting to worry. She silently berated him for choosing to ignore the doctor’s words, hoping that, surely, he wouldn’t get it into his head to go very much further. . . .

Suddenly, she dropped her mare down into a halt. Then, absently, she patted the obedient black horse, as she bit her bottom lip and looked over toward the trees to her left.

Making up her mind, she turned the mare and headed in that direction.

* * * * * * * *

Heath was breathing hard when he slowed Gal to a walk and entered the quiet clearing. His silent signal brought her to a stand still, and he gazed around him, wondering about this place.

When he had headed to the barn this morning, he had had no intention of saddling his mare and riding away from the house. But, just entering the enclosed space this time did not bring him the instant comfort, the instant feeling of welcome, that being in any livery or barn usually provided.

Instead, it was as if, once inside, he could feel that hand on his shoulder, grabbing him from behind, turning him, as the other hand came up with a crushing punch that sent him flying backward. . . .

He had shaken his head repeatedly, trying to clear it again of the haunting memory of his first night in this place.

It had been that memory that had come to him in the blink of an eye the day before when Nick had entered the barn behind him . . . , and even this morning, the images were still overpowering. The dark-headed man’s eyes boring into him, demanding answers that he was unprepared to give, forcing him to defend himself . . . .

“Who are you? I want to hear!”

With those words ringing in his ears----even this morning, he had had to lean his good shoulder against the wooden divider of Gal’s stall, hands on his knees, and he had hauled in several deep breaths. For long moments, he had continued fighting with himself, fighting the memories that kept him from reaching out to this man, the one man that, somewhere inside, he knew he needed above all others . . .

Suddenly, without really thinking about it, without any conscious decision, but with the added obstruction of the sling, he had backed Gal from her stall and saddled her. His eyes had been far away, letting the fingers of his right hand finish the task.

As soon as they had cleared the doorway, and despite the sling, he was astride his mare in one, flowing movement, . . . and they were out the gate.

Not at all sure where he was going, he had turned her toward the closest exit, the most accessible road.

With his thoughts in turmoil, . . . his angry memories trying to overtake him, . . . trying to unseat the respect and longing he knew he felt toward the dark-headed rancher called Nick, . . . he simply rode, . . . going no where in particular, . . . with no final destination,

. . . no endpoint in mind except to reconcile the battle he waged inside.

In the last few days, he had come to understand the opposing memories he now associated with his brother, Jarrod, and with his mother. He had held those remembered images up to the light inside his very soul, and he had seen the truth of his feelings, had revived the love he had in his heart for each of them now, the love that far outweighed any moments of hurt they had caused him in the past.

But, try as he might, he could only dredge up one side of his memories of the other man, the one that he still looked upon as his boss, the man who had hired him, the man who had fought him.

He knew Nick was his brother.

They had told him so.

And, he knew in his heart that he and Nick had some special bond. He could feel pieces of it, remnants of a torn trust that he knew he needed, longed to have whole again.

But, every time he looked at Nick now, he couldn’t shake the memories that were slowly returning, couldn’t deny the fragments that were cutting his heart into shreds.

After traveling several miles, and without a single thought about where her hoof beats would take him, he turned his mare off the road and onto a faint trail.

Shaking his head and closing his eyes for an extra beat of her hooves, he could see again, the other memory, the newest one, that had knocked him from his feet yesterday afternoon.

It had joined the others, the one of that first night, that first fight, in the barn, and the memory of the confrontation in the study with both Nick and Jarrod, . . . as well as the very clear image of Nick telling him that “maybe you don’t want to forget” all that had happened with Bentell.

None of the memories were good.

And, each one only added to his growing unease, his building agitation and rising anger whenever Nick spoke to him, looked in his direction, or tried to help him.

With each new memory, he felt as if he were hanging in the heat of the sun by one arm, twisting at the end of a frayed piece of rope, waiting for it to break and plunge his bruised body to the ground.

Every time it happened, he felt battered and beaten, as if Nick Barkley’s furious fists had found him yet again.

And, every time it happened, it came with no warning.

Yesterday afternoon, the new memory had been triggered by something as simple as walking over and closing an open gate.

Even now, he could see the months’ old image of the horse gathering itself to jump the fence, heard his own shouts as he had run to open, then close, the gate so the wrangler behind him could turn his mount and take off after the escaping stallion.

As he had closed the gate yesterday, he had suddenly remembered how Nick had appeared at his side that day, the blame, and his reaction, unmistakable.

The angry words were a blur, even in his returned memory, but the livid look in the hot, hazel eyes and the furious, fuming heat radiating off of the man as he had struck him, had been more than he could overcome.

Just like the unexpected blow that day had almost felled him, the sudden recollection of it yesterday had staggered him, sending him to his knees.

As he had used his good arm, his hand clutching the white, wooden gate, to haul himself back up, he had been unable to stop the groan that escaped. He stood, leaning against the fence, his eyes closed, trying to calm his ragged breathing, trying to place the isolated memory in the jumbled morass inside his mind.

Slowly, he had made his way over to the pump behind him, and, his hand shaking, he had splashed up the cool water from the trough to coat his face. He had stood leaning over, his right hand gripped tightly along the wet wood, trying to make sense of it all.

Suddenly, he had whirled around, coming up in a half-standing, half-crouching defensive position that was now so familiar whenever memories of Nick Barkley caught him unaware.

That same hand had touched his shoulder, pulling him out of the past. The hand was offered in support, he was sure of it now, but, at that moment yesterday by the trough, he had fully believed that hand on his shoulder would be followed by another blow, a punch just as savage as the ones in both of his, now all too fresh, memories.

He had stood, glaring at Nick, ready to defend himself again, ready to block the blow this time, ready to keep it from touching his heart.

At the wary glint in Heath’s eye, at the defensive stance of his body, at the snarling, determination in his face, Nick had released his concerned grip and taken a step back, as if he, too, could feel the heat of the memories that had Heath in their grasp.

“Heath, I. . . .” Nick had said, his face and wavering voice telling of his instant pain, his immediate self-recriminations.

Unable to express the war being waged inside, unwilling to stay there in case his heart that so longed to reach out to this man was wrong, Heath turned away and staggered toward the house and the one place he could close the door and be alone with the confusing memories-----his room.

It had been their second such encounter yesterday, and it was the last one that Heath could handle, even today.

As he slowly dismounted now inside the quiet grove of massive oaks, the left arm useless in its sling and the pounding in his head returning with a vengeance, he held onto Gal’s saddle horn and searched inside for more, for anything that would justify the tenuous connection he clung to in his heart, for anything that would balance the overpowering memories of fists and mistrust in his mind.

Chapter 31

When Audra stopped the mare again, they were just outside the clearing. She could see Gal, head down, grazing casually. The bright, intelligent eyes in the dark face lifted momentarily, before the quiet animal lowered her head again and continued tearing at the grass.

Slowly, Audra urged her mount into the clearing, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dappled shadows, the textured pattern of sunlight and shade merging into one.

Then, she saw him.

At her approach, Heath did no more than glance over his shoulder in her direction, before he returned his attention back to the stone beside him. When she was poised above him, her horse standing perfectly still behind his kneeling form, she suddenly remembered the first and only other time she had come upon him here, among the grove of great oaks.

When he realized she had not dismounted to join him, he slowly pushed up from the ground and turned around to her, offering her a soft smile and his hand.

Smiling back without a word, she threw her leg over and dropped lightly to the ground with her back to him, his hand beneath her elbow.

However, when she turned around, ready to share her worries, fears, and anger with him for what he had done, she immediately saw his eyes, and she kept silent.

He released her, placing a steadying hand on the saddle of the animal beside him, and he stared into Audra’s eyes. She reached out to help him, unable to ignore the pain deep within his eyes.

“Heath? Are you alright?”

When he didn’t answer, but just continued to stare at her, his face suddenly almost devoid of color, she placed one hand on his right shoulder and the other on his cheek. She was surprised at the cold, sweaty feel of his skin, and she immediately reached up to her canteen, removed the lid, and handed it to him.

“Audra?” He asked softly. Then, he took the canteen and moved away from her horse to lower himself slowly to his knees. He took a swallow and held it up for her.

Suddenly, he narrowed his eyes, looking at her standing above him, the white picket fence with the headstone behind her, and he dropped his head as she took the canteen from him.

“Audra?” He whispered this time, shaking his head slightly. “Your father was shot here, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” she replied quietly. “Right here in this grove. They murdered him, thinking that they could stop the farmers and ranchers from fighting back. But, Heath, he was your father, too.”

He nodded slowly, the paler blue of his eyes holding hers close to his heart. “Ya’ found me here. . . . once before, didn’t you? That first day?”

Her smile, having faded at the mention of Tom Barkley’s murder, slowly emerged again, breaking through and dazzling him with its brightness. She laughed lightly, and she lowered herself to the ground beside him, facing him and throwing her arms around him.

As his right arm came up to hold her, he felt her tears streaming down his neck, soaking the collar of his blue shirt and the white cotton of the sling. She was shaking, and her words were nearly lost as she buried her face against him.

“Oh, Heath! I’ve missed you so, Big Brother. I was afraid, so afraid, that you’d never come back to me, but you remember me now, don’t you?”

He rocked her in his arms, rubbing her back, while trying to keep his own composure. “Yeah, Little Sis, I remember you. I remember bein’ here with you, an’,” he laughed lightly, “I remember that the last time, ya’ weren’t as glad ta see me here as ya’ are now.”

She giggled a little, and sat back then, wiping her face with the backs of her hands. She gave him an exaggeratedly stern look, and said, “You were trampling my flowers, as I recall, Heath Barkley!”

He smiled at her pretended ire, and said, “I suppose I was at that, but not on purpose, an’ at least,” he nodded his head, indicating with his eyes that she should look behind her, “I didn’t allow my horse ta eat them.”

Audra gasped as she jumped to her feet and grabbed her horse’s trailing rein, pulling the quiet animal away from the fence around her father’s grave and the apparently tasty white roses.

This sent Heath into a coughing chuckle that he tried unsuccessfully to hide behind his hat. Then, her verbal indignation as she gave the mare what-for, added to the fresh memory of the two of them rolling in the dirt that day and her fussing, spitting, and fuming at him, as she fought with him for control of her quirt.

He had stepped into a wildcat’s lair that day, when he had entered that grove for the first time, and he remembered counting himself lucky that he had gotten out of there without this girl he had realized was his sister sinking her claws into him, but good, on that first encounter.

Audra returned shortly, after tying the unrepentant mare to a tree branch, and she eased quickly to the ground again beside him.

Both of them basked in the quiet majesty of the place for a little while, her eyes first on the trees, then on the grave, then on her quiet brother.

“Heath,” she started, after a long, comfortable silence, “Heath, you know Mother’s going to be in a fury when we come back.”

He chuckled softly, nodding his head, “Boy Howdy, that’s the other Barkley female I don’t cotton ta havin’ mad at me.”

Smiling at his off-hand reference to that first day and her own reaction to him, she thought about that memory for a few seconds. Then, she asked, “So, why’d you come out here, if you knew that?”

When he didn’t answer, she added softly, “It must’ve been terribly painful to stay if you would risk her wrath to leave.”

Heath slowly tore his eyes away from the headstone and fastened them on her worried face. He nodded and said quietly, before moving his eyes back to the grave, “Nick.”

She dropped her eyes and pulled at a few strands of grass beside her with her fingers. Then, she nodded and said, “The two of you in the barn yesterday before lunch, . . . you were both so . . . so angry. It was about some long ago memory, wasn’t it?”

Heath closed his eyes, hauled in a shaky breath, and pushed it slowly back out. Then, he opened them again and looked at her bowed head. At that moment, she raised her eyes and held his.

Without another word, she slid closer to him and grasped his forearm in both of her hands.

Again, they shared the silence of the powerful place, letting it soak into them, letting it ease their mutual worries just a bit.

It didn’t surprise her when he started speaking, his words barely above a whisper at first, as soft as the gentle breeze that ruffled her hair.

“With you, Jarrod, Mother, the memories match what I feel, in my heart. . . . But, with him, . . . I know there’s more, much more, . . . but,” he closed his eyes again, struggling to put it into words, not even sure he could explain it to himself. “All I can remember are angry words, blazin’ eyes, tempers that could set a forest on fire, an’ fists plowin’ inta my face.”

She shook her head, the worry about his words joining her worries about how tired he looked, all combining to bring fresh tears to the blue of her eyes. “No, Heath! There is more! So much more!”

He dropped his gaze and, staring at the ground, he added, his frustration evident in every clipped phrase, “I know you’re right. I know it. But, every time I look at him, . . . all I can see, is how furious he is, that I’m even here, that. . . “

Heath stood quickly, breaking away from her hold on his arm, and he paced up and down beside the grave. She watched him, worried that he was going to further wear himself down in his agitation.

Suddenly, she began to sputter, trying to hold back one giggle after another.

He whirled around and glared at her for a few seconds. Then, slowly, his scowl turned to a helpless, perplexed look, as he watched her dissolve into full-fledged laughter.

“What?” he asked, puzzled at the change in her. “Audra?”

Holding onto her sides, she said, “Oh, Heath. You might not remember Nick very well, but all you need are some spurs that jingle and a black vest! You sure do have his exasperated, explosive pacing down just right!”

Heath gave her a lop-sided grin and walked over to her. Reaching down with his right hand, he offered her a hand up from the ground. Then, when she was standing beside him, he led her over to her mare and held the horse steady while she climbed into the saddle.

Then, he said, “Guess it’s time ta go see how much the weather’s changed back at the house. Something tells me it’s Mother’s temper that Nick has in his blood, even more than Tom Barkley’s. An’,” he added with a deep breath, “She’s gonna have that temper shined up, spit polished, an’ waitin’ for me when I ride back in.”

“You’re probably right, Heath. The longer we’re out here, the brighter the glare is going to be.”

He turned and slowly headed toward Gal. His headache had returned full-force in the last little while, and he didn’t relish riding in to a blistering reception. He shook his head as he walked, trying to clear it.

Despite his words to Audra about Victoria, all he could see was Nick.

Nick’s anger.

Nick’s glare.

Nick’s fists.

This time, he climbed laboriously into the saddle, and slowly followed his little sister from the grove. As he looked back over his shoulder at the grave that had apparently drawn him to this place, he spared a thought for the man buried there, and for his father’s middle son, the dark-haired, hazel-eyed man he needed so desperately to remember as his brother, as the best friend his heart told him that he had ever had.

Chapter 32

“Heath Barkley, if you EVER pull a stunt like that again. . . .” the silver-haired woman’s words died on her lips as she caught a good look at her blond son’s face and the way he slowly swung down from his saddle. She managed to grab him by his right arm as his legs almost gave out on him, when both boots finally touched the ground.

“Heath!” Audra cried, tossing aside her horse’s rein and rushing to assist her mother, who was staggering under his weight. Together, they helped Heath the two or three feet backwards to the veranda steps.

Leaving the two of them seated there side by side, Audra hurried to tie-up both horses. Gal wouldn’t wander off, but she wasn’t too sure about her own horse’s willingness to remain ground-tied for long.

Then, she joined her mother.

“Heath, can you stand?” Victoria asked, her attention riveted to the paleness of his face beneath his hat and his hand that covered both eyes in the now familiar gesture of squeezing his temples between thumb and four fingers.

“. . .’think so. . . ,” he said quietly. “Just. . . give me. . . a minute. . . . dizzy. . . .”

She rubbed his back, making large circles with one hand, while reaching out to look up at Audra and squeeze her daughter’s hand with the other.

“I’ll be right back, Heath,” Audra said. She touched his shoulder as she hurried up the steps and inside to solicit help from Silas.

“. . . ‘sorry, Mother,” Heath breathed. “Should’a listened. . . stayed on . . . the ground.”

She closed her eyes and whispered thanks that he was all right, before replying, “Maybe you’ve learned that lesson, Son. I’m just sorry it had to be the hard way.”

He nodded slightly and asked, with a lop-sided smile as he lowered his hand and began pushing himself up from the wide, wooden step, “. . . ‘sayin’ I’m hardheaded, . . . huh?”

Victoria, eyes widened with his quiet chuckle and replied with a laugh, instead of letting her worry push her toward anger. Taking his arm again, she assisted him as best she could, “You listen about as well as another stubborn, hardheaded Barkley son of mine that I can think of.”

On his feet now, Heath froze on the steps, one hand on the corner of the house for balance. His head came up, and if possible, his face turned another shade paler, as he turned his eyes toward her.

Her words invoking another memory, Heath suddenly recalled an image of trying to reason with an enraged Nick, trying to keep him from attacking, trying to explain his way through Nick’s stubborn jealousy over a woman.

The snarling, ferocious fury in Nick’s eyes, even in the remembered dark broken only by a dim campfire, tightened Heath’s grip on the white woodwork of the house, as he saw himself, once again, in a defensive posture, trying in vain to make an attacking Nick listen.

The sadness in the blue eyes that turned to her almost caused her to gasp, as Victoria took a firmer grip on Heath’s arm and continued supporting him. Together, they made their way steadily toward the front door.

Silas and Audra met them in the doorway, and they turned Heath toward the study down the hall to the right.

Once he was lying on the red settee, covered in a light blanket, a cool, wet cloth over his forehead and eyes, Victoria lowered herself regally to sit across from him. She held his hand in hers, looked up at Audra, and asked her daughter quietly, “What happened? Where did you two go? . . . And, why?”

Before Audra could answer, however, Heath stirred and, with a groan, tried to sit up as he reached to remove the cloth with the left hand held fast in the sling.

But, Victoria reached out and stopped him, placing one hand on his right shoulder, the other on his chest, and she held him down firmly. She said, “No, Heath. Just lie still. It’s okay. Audra can tell me later. I should have known you wouldn’t let her do the explaining.”

“Not her fault, Mother. . . .Mine. . . .Just needed ta. . . .” he trailed off, as she placed her fingers over his lips.

“Shhhhh, Heath. Just rest, Sweetheart. The explanation can wait. Just don’t do that again.” She patted his chest, and sighed when the corner of his mouth lifted in a weak smile.

She reached out and touched Audra’s hand lying across the back of the settee, saw the concern in her daughter’s eyes, and nodded reassuringly at her.

Together, they kept watch until Heath was breathing quietly, his hand slack in hers.

* * * * * * * *

It was late that night when Nick came in, but Jarrod was there waiting for him, telegram outstretched toward him.

The dark-haired, blue-eyed attorney had shaken his head in frustration as he had waited for his brother to come in. He was sure Nick had spent the day pushing himself to physical exhaustion in order to forget whatever pain Heath’s recovery was causing for him.

First, Jarrod had tried unsuccessfully to catch a nap on the settee, then had paced the length of the room, scotch in hand.

His plans to come home at lunch to talk to Heath had fallen through, with the new case he had just taken on. But, he had remained determined to catch up with at least one of his brothers before the end of the day and to lend a listening ear.

When he had finally returned to the ranch, however, those plans too had gone awry. His tiredness evident in each heavy step toward his study, only Victoria was anywhere around. Nick had not made it in yet, and both Audra and Heath had already turned in.

Though he could see his mother’s desire to talk, he had been appreciative of her few, well-chosen words instead.

“Jarrod, you look exhausted! Let me get you something to eat.”

With a quick peck on the cheek, she had stopped in the doorway when he had said, “Thank you, Mother. I’ve already eaten. I’ll just lie down here a while and wait on Nick.”

At her raised eyebrows, he had added, “We received another telegram from the logging camp today.”

He saw the look of fleeting anger that crossed her face, before she asked calmly, “What do you think we need to do, Jarrod?”

“You and I need to talk to Nick and Heath. It seems like we can’t keep putting this off. I think Nick and I need to ride up tomorrow to check out what’s going on up there. Something just doesn’t feel right about all of this.”

“Jarrod, Heath has had a very difficult day. He took Gal out this morning after you left, and, though he won’t come right out and say it, of course, I think it has completely drained him.”

Jarrod’s eyebrows flew up at this information. While it was very much in character for his younger brother to push the limits of any doctor’s orders, it was not like him to be completely reckless.

“Is he okay, Mother?”

“He had been doing better with his headaches, I believe, but this seemed to bring them on again full force, not to mention some dizziness. I think he’ll be alright, but I plan to speak to Howard about it when he comes tomorrow afternoon.” Then, with a knowing smile, she added, “Something tells me Heath won’t be trying that again for a while.”

Jarrod chuckled and asked, “You didn’t threaten him with that spoon again, did you?”

“No,” she replied, her face suddenly growing serious, “But, I think the after-effects took even him by surprise. He slept most of the day and went to bed again immediately after supper. But, I’ve also talked some more with Audra, and I think this trouble with Nick is taking its toll on him,” she paused before adding, “On both of them.”

Jarrod nodded. Then, he sighed and asked quietly, “I promise to try to talk to Brother Nick about it. Maybe, . . . maybe Heath’s memories will continue to return, and it will all work itself out.”

She smiled and shook her head ruefully, “I hope so, Jarrod. For both of them, for all of us, I hope so.”

Then, returning to the renewed worry of the nagging telegrams, Jarrod asked quietly, “Mother, what do we do with Bentell? We have yet to talk with Heath about his wishes. We only know he said before that he wanted it to be a family decision. If Nick and I go up there, I want to know the parameters of that decision. I want to know that everyone here, including Heath, is willing to let completion of this flume go if absolutely necessary.”

“But, Jarrod, you don’t feel we can wait until he’s up to talking about it, do you?”

“No,” he shook his head regretfully, “No, I don’t. I think we have to leave as soon as possible. This last telegram wasn’t from Bentell. It was from Jim Reese, his assistant foreman. He asked us to come immediately.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I really think Heath will understand and be okay with whatever you decide when you see the situation firsthand. But, I know he’ll want to be involved in as much of the decision as possible. What about if you and Nick head up that way in the morning, and I talk with Heath as soon as I think he’s feeling better? We can wire you to let you know what we come up with.”

Jarrod stood, crossed the floor toward her, and wrapped his strong arms around her. “You, Lovely Lady, are a marvel. I think that will work just fine. I’ll wait here for Nick for a while. If he doesn’t come in soon, I’ll leave a note in his room. We’ll plan to head out at first light.”

She leaned back and patted his chest, then fingered the handsome silk of his grey vest. Looking up at him, with pride in her eyes for the way he always looked at all angles of a decision, she said, “I’ll bring you some coffee and a blanket, Sweetheart.”

Now, as he handed a tired and dusty Nick the telegram, he knew his plans to talk to Nick about the effects Heath’s returning memories were having on him would just have to wait.

Chapter 33

The voices drifted in through his partially open door. The voices were deep, and both were raised. Only one was even remotely soothing. The other. . . . Well, the other rose to one crescendo after another, dropping only when the rich timbre of the first seemed to cut it off.

Heath opened his eyes slowly, and turned his head gingerly toward the open window. The room was dark, the kind of darkness that came only from a moonlit night well after sundown.

Slowly, carefully, and with no one close enough to hear his quiet groans, he hauled himself up to a sitting position and swung his feet to the side of the bed. A wave of dizziness swept over him, but that was nothing too unusual lately.

He knew enough to breathe deeply and sit still for a moment until the feeling eased up, and he tried to stand. Reaching out for the oaken headboard he knew was to his right, he pulled himself to his feet and took the four short steps toward the basin on the dresser next to the wall.

Rinsing his face, he used the towel left there to dry off. Then, he leaned heavily against the substantial oak piece, just to give himself another moment.

The throbbing in his head was only a quiet memory, and the dizziness had eased up, so he walked slowly from the room and made his way down the hallway, toward the curving staircase with the golden carpet beyond.

When he reached the top, he thought twice about going down. Doing so would just mean he would have to make the arduous climb back up at a later time. Instead, he used the banister to his right to ease himself down on the top stair, in plain sight from the room below.

The voices below him had been quiet for a few moments, but, now he could hear the sound of spurs pacing.

At the sure knowledge that it was Nick below him, Heath covered his knees with his arms and lowered his head on top of them, closing his eyes.

At the sound of Nick’s voice again, Heath paid no attention to the words, but he couldn’t keep the memories from finding him once more.

He felt as though he had been kicked by a horse, right in the gut. He clenched his jaw and fought the instant nausea that assailed him, the angry images that barged into him, and the severe headache that followed.

* * * * * * * *

“Nick, we don’t know for sure what’s going on. For the love of. . . . will you just slow down?”

“I’m telling you, that man is more trouble than a pack of wolves set loose on a flock of sheep, Jarrod, and a whole lot craftier. He’s playing with us, playing with Barkley money and Barkley trust.”

The blue-eyed attorney turned back to the marble mantle and stared down at the empty grate. He shook his head silently, tired of trying to convince this irritated brother to stay calm.

“You seriously think that we should ride up to that camp and kick the man AND his wife out of that cabin without so much as a by-your-leave handshake and a letter of reference?”

“Handshake? Handshake?” Nick shouted incredulously. “After what he did to Heath? You think we should shake his hand? Fine. You shake his hand. Then, I’ll kick him out.”

“Nick,” Jarrod tried reason one more time. “What he did to Heath was a long time ago. Not, in the last two weeks. And, might I remind you, we hired the man knowing what he had done to Heath? Legally, we have a contract. . . .”

With Jarrod blocking his usual route, Nick paced up and down between the fireplace and the piano, his agitation rising with every step. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and cut Jarrod off. “Yeah, well it was the sorriest decision I’ve ever been a part of. And, another thing. As far as I’m concerned, I knew what Bentell was when we hired him, when we. . . when we sent Heath up there to work with him, to protect him, but I never KNEW what that man did to my brother until the last few weeks. So, you’ll excuse me if I don’t have any patience for your legalities and your contracts.” With every pass, he gestured vehemently at Jarrod, punctuating every word with his hands.

“Nick, I agree with you. I feel exactly the same way, but we still need to . . . .”

Suddenly, Jarrod stopped talking, his tired eyes on Nick. His dark-haired brother had frozen, his eyes on something outside the room that Jarrod could not see. Jarrod saw Nick’s face actually turn pale, his expression one of extreme pain, just before he closed his eyes tightly, and clenched his fists at his sides.

Jarrod stepped toward Nick, concern written all over his features. Just as he reached him, Nick stirred. With his eyes fixed on whatever it was behind Jarrod, Nick nodded slowly, as if he were pointing with his eyes and wanted Jarrod to turn and look.

Both hands on Nick’s shoulders, Jarrod looked back over his left shoulder.

A gasp exploded from his lips as he turned and sprinted across the room.

“Heath!”

Nick followed him much more slowly, feeling as if he were moving through a sopping wet mud hole leading a worn-out cowpony.

Jarrod knelt on the step just in front of his blond brother. He carefully placed both hands on Heath’s shoulders, trying to avoid the injury to the left. When his brother did not look up, Jarrod shook him very gently.

“Heath? Heath, are you alright?”

Slowly, Heath raised his head, and stared into Jarrod’s concerned blue eyes. He responded very softly, “Yeah, Jarrod. . . . Okay, just. . . .”

Behind Jarrod, Heath saw Nick approaching, almost hesitantly, up the stairs. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he stopped talking. He stared impassively at Nick’s face.

Jarrod said, “Come on, Brother Heath, let’s get you back to your room.”

But, Heath shook his head, trying to ignore the throbbing there. “No.”

He continued to stare at Nick, waiting, watching, wanting desperately to know, but worried about what other memories the close contact was going to dredge up and send careening into him.

When nothing came, he almost sagged toward the banister in relief, and he closed his eyes again.

“Heath. . . “

Quietly, he heard Heath’s voice, “What were. . . you two . . . feudin’ about down there? . . . ‘Couldn’t tell . . . if it was about . . . Bentell . . . or my past . . . or both.”

Jarrod stood up and turned to look at Nick, who nodded back at him, his arms crossed over his chest.

With his unspoken request for permission granted, Jarrod said, “How about if we go to Nick’s room and talk about it?” He reached out to assist Heath in standing, but the blond shrugged out of his grasp and shook his head.

“No, not. . . not there,” Heath said emphatically.

Glancing back at Nick’s inscrutable expression, Jarrod recovered from his surprise and said, “Alright, how about your room? You look like you could use a few pillows to hold you up anyway.”

Heath, his eyes trying to remain focused on Jarrod’s face, nodded. He reached out to the banister and hauled himself up, an escaping groan sending Jarrod leaning in to assist.

But, Heath, worried that if he allowed Jarrod to help, Nick would join him, shook Jarrod’s offer off, and growled softly, “No, I’m fine. . . ‘Can make it.”

Jarrod looked back at Nick, not understanding all of it, neither why Heath was so reluctant to have anything to do with Nick, including going to his room, nor why Nick had not yet moved from his spot on the staircase to help.

Just as he was feeling very much caught in the middle between the two of them, he suddenly remembered Audra’s words at breakfast that morning, and with a flash of understanding as he followed Heath to the door of his bedroom, he motioned for Nick to join them.

Hoping Heath would agree to lie down on the bed, Jarrod winced as he watched him lower himself carefully, painfully, into the soft leather chair by the window. Grabbing a pillow from the bed, Jarrod fought off his brother’s irritated look and pulled him forward enough to stuff the pillow behind his shoulders and head.

When Heath leaned back into it, however, he flashed Jarrod a slight, lop-sided smile that said more than any words. Jarrod smiled back, his eyes understanding, and he patted Heath once on the chest. Then, he reached down and lifted both Heath’s legs and placed them on the bed. He was rewarded with the soft sigh that left his brother’s lips.

Meanwhile, Nick had stepped into the room, figured out the seating arrangements, and left again. After a moment, he returned, carrying a fairly comfortable, but not too large gold-velvet armchair from the hallway. He placed it beside Heath’s wine-colored wing-back and motioned for Jarrod to sit.

Then, he returned to the other side of the bed and eased down into the dark green woven fabric of the chair that had been brought into Heath’s room over a week ago. He leaned over, removed his boots with a tired groan, and letting them fall heavily to the floor with separate thuds, placed his sock feet on the side of the bed.

Jarrod stood again, smiled knowingly at him, and tossed him one of the other pillows from the head of Heath’s bed. Nick nodded back at him and tucked it behind his head.

Then, they sat silently for a few moments, the younger two with their eyes closed, and the eldest watching them both.

Jarrod knew it was up to him to start the conversation.

Chapter 34

After a little while, Jarrod said quietly, “I think I’ll go down and see what I can raid for us out of Silas’ kitchen.”

Heath made no comment.

Nick replied, eyes cracking open to glare at him, “Sure, Pappy, you do that.”

Jarrod pushed up from his chair and looked down at Heath’s quiet features and closed eyes. He gently touched the blond hair without any response. Then, Jarrod crossed the room, patted Nick on the shoulder a couple of times, and said, “I’ll be back.”

When he didn’t receive any response this time from Nick either, he walked quietly down the hall and descended the stairs.

He fixed himself a glass of milk and sat down at the wooden table in the center of the room.

He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time, making a mental bet with himself. It wasn’t that he was avoiding talking with them, but more that he was worried that the exhaustion that all three of them suffered from would do nothing but lead to more misunderstandings. Something told him that if he gave it another few, quiet minutes, there would be no need for coffee nor conversation.

After another ten minutes, he rose from his seat, pushed the chair under silently, and climbed the stairs again, empty-handed.

As he crossed the room quietly to return to his chair next to Heath’s, he looked at first one sleeping brother, then the other. With a knowing smile on his face, Jarrod turned his gaze out into the night, thinking that this was probably the longest these two had been in one room together in several days, and that it was definitely the calmest.

Rising again and leaving them there, facing each other in their respective chairs, feet extended toward each other across the tousled bed like an incomplete bridge constructed over a turbulent stream, Jarrod reflected that maybe their exhausted sleep would help with the wounds they shared and the remembered pain that nothing else had, so far, been able to heal.

* * * * * * * *

It was well after sun-up when he blinked his eyes open. He stretched stiffly, trying to flex his aching shoulder. He shook his head slightly, trying to remember falling asleep in this chair by the window.

Rising carefully, he spotted the tray on the table next to him and inhaled the aroma of breakfast.

As he chewed the first strip of succulent, perfectly cooked bacon, he picked up the note by the plate. Opening it, he read the words, written in Audra’s practiced, slanted handwriting. With a smile, he replaced the missive and turned his face to the morning sunshine coming in through the window.

He recalled his talk with Audra yesterday by the grave, and he felt so grateful that he had finally remembered that meeting months ago.

She had made it clear in her note that their mother was over her anger with him, but cautioned him to take it easy today while the two ladies were in town. He smiled again slightly, thinking that if she said it was going to just be a morning of shopping, it would probably extend well into the afternoon.

As he munched on a still warm, buttered biscuit, his eyes found the extra chair beside his own, obviously brought in sometime during the night, and then, his eyes rested on the green one across the room, the pillow from his bed still lying there, over the arm.

Heath creased his forehead, trying to remember, . . . then, he sat the tray aside with sudden concern. He, Jarrod, and Nick had come up here last night. They were going to talk about. . . about whatever the two of them had been arguing about downstairs.

It was something to do with. . . with Bentell. . . and with . . . with him.

He leaned down and searched for his boots beneath the bed. Pulling them on, one at a time, he got to his feet and found a clean shirt from a drawer. Spotting the white sling lying there, he stuck the corner of it in his back pocket, and he left the room, still fumbling with the buttons on his shirt

Dammit! He was tired of only being able to use one hand!

But, the wound hurt more than he cared to admit to anyone, and he knew himself well enough to be sure that if he didn’t use the aggravating sling, he would overwork the arm and further slow its healing----something he definitely did not want to do.

His steps were purposeful as he descended the back staircase to the kitchen, determined to find out what had been going on last night.

“Mornin’, Silas,” Heath said, as his boots reached the last stair to the kitchen and touched the pristine floor of the man’s personal domain.

“Good morning, Mr. Heath! Did you find the breakfast Miss Audra carried up and left for you?”

“Sure did, Silas. Thank you.”

Heath crossed to the table and pulled out a chair, careful not to scrape it across the shining boards of the heart pine floor. He watched the older gentleman’s practiced movements as he punched and kneaded the bread on the floured surface of the table in front of him.

Then, he relaxed further at the gentle features, both a smile and a quiet humming already returning to the man’s lips.

“Silas, where is everyone? ‘Seems too quiet around here.”

The grey-haired gentleman nodded and his dark brown eyes found Heath’s light blue. His smile didn’t spread, and his eyes had a hint of worry in them. “Miss Audra and Mrs. Barkley, they went in to Stockton for some shopping.”

“Yes, Audra left me a note,” Heath offered. Then, he waited, watching Silas’ eyes.

The lines of worry deepened for a minute, as Silas kept his gaze fastened on the dough as if he had to do so to keep track of what his hands already knew how to do so efficiently.

Heath waited quietly, sure of the outcome if he kept silent.

Suddenly, Silas’ eyes looked up and found the blue eyes that reminded him so much of Mr. Barkley’s eyes, of that serious patience of Tom Barkley’s gaze.

“Mr. Nick and Mr. Jarrod, they rode out early this morning. ‘Won’t be back for a while.”

Heath waited calmly, intent on hearing it all. But, somehow, he realized that he had known the rest the very moment he had spotted the two other empty chairs in his room.

His eyes back down on the dough before him, Silas’ hands stilled, and he said softly, “They left at first light headin’ up to that loggin’ camp. But, they’ll be alright. No matter what that telegram says, they’ll straighten out the trouble up there and be back in just a few days.”

The older man’s worry, emanating off of him in waves as he spoke to reassure himself as much as Heath, was as difficult to miss now as would be the smell of the baking bread that would soon rise to fill the whole downstairs of the large house. The only difference was that the latter would be a pleasant sensation, while the man’s wide-eyed worry was not.

Heath reached out and touched one of the man’s flour-covered hands.

“I’m sure you’re right, Silas.”

Then, slowly, Heath rose from the chair and gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze as he left the room, headed for the parlour where he had heard the two men arguing late last night.

It didn’t take him long to find the telegram Silas had mentioned. Scanning it quickly, Heath digested the short message from Bentell’s second-in-command, Reese. He heard the concern in the few words as clearly as if he had been standing beside the broad-shouldered, earnest man with whom he had only spent a little time.

As he turned to leave the room, unsure of what to do now, he suddenly narrowed his eyes and reached up to grasp the edge of the mantle with his hand. Staring down at the empty grate with unseeing eyes, he concentrated on trying to remember a scrap of conversation he had heard not too long ago.

Something about the name Reese. . . .

It could be just a coincidence, but. . . . .

Worriedly slamming the heel of his hand into the grey marble of the mantle above him, Heath turned and headed quickly toward the study. Though he was intent on reaching the gun cabinet, other evidence of his brothers’ hastily-planned trip caught his eye first.

There, on top of the gleaming oak of the massive desk, was an unfolded map.

Tracing the route they had drawn until he reached the circled destination, Heath shook his head slightly at the sudden memory of having done this once before, just not using that particular route. He grasped the edge of the oak desk with both hands, as an image of Matt Bentell’s face loomed before him, with the roar of a forest fire behind him. The piercing blue eyes, their expression unblinking and unfathomable, seemed to look right through him.

Shaking his head again, trying to clear it, Heath slowly let go of the desk, picked up the map, and folded it, placing it inside his shirt pocket. Then, he crossed the room, removed a box of ammunition and his well-cared for rifle.

His mind made up, he carried them from the room.

Chapter 35

The sound of the horse’s hooves in front of him changed yet again, as Jarrod sighed, rolled his eyes, and pushed his own faithful chestnut into a lope to keep up. He shook his head as he unconsciously moved with the horse’s smooth gait, wondering just how long his brother would insist on keeping up this pace.

The long grasses of the valley floor had given way almost completely within the last hour, and they were now shaded as they rode through a gradually thickening area of pines and deciduous trees. Though the shade helped, Jarrod knew the horses would have to have a thorough rest soon. The question that remained in his mind was whether or not Nick would recognize the need and acknowledge it when the time came.

It was as if Nick were driven, chased forward by some nameless beast.

No, that wasn’t right. He wouldn’t feel chased.

Nick was afraid of nothing, at least nothing Jarrod could think of----- except losing someone he cared about deeply. Now that they knew for sure that Heath was recovering from his recent brush with death at the hands of one man, that fear was no longer a driving force. It was more like Nick was drawn forward, like a well-trained cowpony seeking out an errant maverick in the brush, trying to find the other man that had so wronged his younger brother. It was as if he were pushing himself to get to Matt Bentell as soon as possible.

Again, Jarrod shook his head.

He and Nick desperately needed to talk about what they were going to do when they finally reached the logging camp. But, somehow, he didn’t think any words were going to make a difference, and, as the heat from the blistering pace caused the sweat to seep out from beneath his hat and streak slowly down his face, Jarrod admitted to himself that they were fast running out of time for discussion anyway.

If they didn’t slow down soon, they would be in the camp and at Bentell’s doorstep before they had even figured out what to do when they arrived.

* * * * * * * *

“Why, Doctor, how kind of you to say so!” Audra blushed at the compliment, as the dancing brown eyes of the doctor winked over at her mother. Howard Merar had driven out from a neighboring ranch on his way to check in on Heath, before he drove back to town, and he had crossed paths with the two women returning from Stockton.

Now, as he spoke again, he assisted Victoria down from the buggy outside the Barkley front door.

He turned to the beautiful blond and said, smiling, “With all honesty, Audra, I just wanted to see if I could flatter you into offering the recipe for your famed pickled cucumbers. My wife would definitely benefit from it----and so would I!”

Audra’s laugh, the doctor’s twinkling eyes, and Victoria’s indulgent smile all faded simultaneously as the door flew open and a breathless Silas greeted them.

“Mrs. Barkley!” he said without preamble, without his usual calm decorum, “Thank goodness you’re home! I tried to stop him, Mrs. Barkley, I surely did, but he wouldn’t listen to me, not even a little!”

Victoria reached out and stilled the anxious wringing of the elderly gentleman’s ice-cold hands and asked, “Who, Silas? Who did you try to stop?”

“Mr. Heath! I tried mighty hard to stop him, but he just wouldn’t pay me no never mind! ‘Just said he had to go, to tell you he’d be alright, and not to worry!”

Leading the distraught man back inside, Victoria, despite her own instant worry, turned him around gently and pressed him into the ornate, golden settee just inside the doorway. She had rarely seen him this upset.

“Silas, slow down. Just tell me what happened. When did Heath leave?”

She took the small glass of brandy that Doctor Merar handed her, and she eased it into Silas’ shaking hand. “Just a small sip, now, Silas,” she said.

He sipped at the liquid tentatively and nodded at her as its warmth seemed to fill him, reducing the chill he felt in his bones with the worry that had consumed him for the last four or five hours.

“It was just after he came back downstairs this mornin’, just after you and Miss Audra left for Stockton.” Almost to himself, his head shaking back and forth as he stared down at his hands, he added, “He must’a gone back upstairs while I was bakin’ bread, ‘cause I sure didn’t see no saddlebags and bedroll the first time he came down.”

Alarmed now, Doctor Merar spoke up and tried to clarify the information spilling out too quickly. “Silas, are you saying Heath left this house with gear for more than just an afternoon ride?”

His eyes finding the silver-haired matriarch’s face, Silas nodded and said, “Mrs. Barkley, it’s all my fault, my fault for sayin’ anything to him about them leavin’. He said he had to catch up with Mr. Jarrod and Mr. Nick. ‘Said to tell you that he’d be alright---to be sure to tell you that. I tried to change his mind, to tell him you’d be frightfully upset if he got on a horse again so soon. But, that boy, he just smiled in that way he has, just like his father had, and he was around me and out the door before I could even shake my finger at him. I went after him, but he wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t say anything more. Just handed me an envelope for Mr. McCall and kept saddlin’ that big bay Mr. Nick gave him.”

Victoria patted the man’s hand, trying to ease his agitation. “It’s not your fault, Silas. If Heath had made up his mind to leave, there wasn’t anything you could do to stop him.”

“Mrs. Barkley, I sent one of the men after you, right after Mr. Heath left,” Silas added. “But, the man came back, said he couldn’t find you in town.”

Victoria nodded, remembering, “We stopped off at Mrs. McPherson’s house on the way into town to see if she needed anything. Then, we went by the orphanage. I guess we missed him.”

Seeing Silas’ worried eyes still searching her face, she patted his hand again with reassurance she did not feel and said, “Silas, would you prepare some lemonade and bring it to the study. The doctor, Audra, and I need to talk. And, don’t worry. I’m sure Heath will be just fine. You did all you could.”

As the concerned man headed toward the kitchen, still shaking his head, Victoria wasted no time in leading the others into the study. There, she walked to the open French doors and stood looking out for a few moments. When she turned, her eyes bored into the doctor’s, as she asked, “Howard, he’s barely healed and still suffering from headaches and dizziness. What kind of damage can he do to himself out there?”

The seriousness in the gaze that the doctor returned, left no doubt as to his concern about the situation. “Victoria, I don’t know for sure, except that I can tell you no good can come of it. He’s still worn down from blood loss and two severe beatings, and his shoulder is barely healed over. But, honestly, my biggest concern continues to be the head injuries he’s sustained.”

Audra quickly crossed the floor to stand by her mother, whose sudden paleness belied the strength in the eyes of steel grey that watched the doctor’s face.

“Mother,” she said, “He was so exhausted after yesterday!”

“Victoria?” Howard Merar questioned immediately. “Silas said something about Heath getting on a horse again. What happened yesterday? And, where are Nick and Jarrod going that he felt the need to follow them?”

She sighed and took Audra’s hand before turning to look out of the doorway again. With her back to the doctor, she said, “He was really bothered about something yesterday, probably about Nick, and he went riding without my knowledge. Audra found him and talked him into coming home. . . . We had to help him back into the house afterwards.”

“The headaches and dizziness?”

She nodded silently. Then, she added, “His brothers have gone up to our main logging camp, up into the Sierras.”

Slowly, the doctor walked toward them. He placed a hand on each woman’s shoulder and said hopefully, “Chances are, Heath’ll be back here in a few hours, when he realizes he just can’t make it any further. He’ll change his mind about following Nick and Jarrod if the pain becomes too much.”

Shaking her head, Victoria turned and looked at the doctor silently for a moment. Then, she said, “No, he won’t, Howard. I don’t know why he felt so compelled to follow his brothers, but if he made that decision, it was with the knowledge of how yesterday affected him. He won’t turn around lightly.”

Then, dreading the answer, she asked, “What will happen, Howard, if he doesn’t come back on his own, . . . if he can’t make it back here before he. . . ?” Unable to continue, she just trailed off, watching the doctor’s eyes helplessly.

With eyes full of compassion, Howard Merar just shook his head at her silently and said quietly, “I don’t know, Victoria. If he’s as determined as you say, then I guess it depends on where he is when he can’t keep going any further. I can tell you this, though. That boy can’t survive much more trauma to his head right now.”

Taking a ragged breath, Victoria quickly embraced Audra, whose tears were silently streaming down her face, and held her.

Then, she gazed past the two of them to the gun racks lining the walls. When her eyes fell on the empty place where Heath’s rifle usually rested, she quickly shifted them toward the large oak desk in the corner behind the doctor. She hugged Audra to her quickly, before releasing her and walking toward the desk.

The map that had been there this morning, the one Nick and Jarrod had consulted before leaving, was gone. They had been in a hurry to reach the camp and had decided not to stick to the main roads they had always used in the past when taking wagons carrying supplies up to the camp. Satisfied that they remembered the less used, but more direct, more rugged trails, they had traced it out together, but had left the map there, deciding they didn’t need to carry it along.

Heath must have taken it with him, just as he had taken his rifle. In its place was a smaller piece of paper----the folded telegram Jarrod had brought home from Stockton.

It hadn’t been there this morning.

Though her eldest had told her of its contents last night before Nick came home, she picked it up and read through it for herself now, anxious to see if it offered any clues for figuring out what had spurred Heath to follow his brothers.

Suddenly, she gripped the edge of the desk and gasped, rereading quickly.

“Victoria?” Howard asked, anxiously. “What is it?”

When only silence followed the doctor’s question, Audra moved past the doctor and placed both hands on Victoria’s shoulders from behind her.

“Mother?”

Victoria turned around and locked eyes with Audra, then looked back to the open window behind her daughter and stared out, unseeingly, toward the hills beyond.

She felt again the ropes biting into her wrists, felt the pull in her shoulders as she knelt in the dirt, pressed against the wheel of the stagecoach, her hands tied above her head.

She again saw Heath, not fifteen yards away, pushing himself slowly up to his knees, one hand on his thigh, the other in the dirt, his face bruised and battered, both by the man standing behind him and the one, called Mason, rummaging through the contents of the attacked stage.

She watched Mason again, his cruel eyes matching his careless abandon as he reeked further havoc on the contents of the stage.

He seemed to be looking for something in particular as he pulled out crates and bags, emptying them all over the ground and kicking them to scatter the contents. Suddenly, he cursed excitedly and held up a small canvas bag he had dumped out of a leather case.

Opening it, he poured out a couple of large, greenish, reddish-colored crystalline rocks into his hand.

She heard again, Mason’s cruel voice, as his words echoed over and over in her head as she stared back down at the telegram in her hand.

“Here they are, Jed! Just like Reese said they would be. Now, all we’ve gotta do is get up to the Upper Blue, and get these little gems into his hands.”

Turning quickly, he strode over to one of the waiting horses and tied the canvas bag onto his saddle. Then, he walked back to the stage. “Keep the gun on him, Jed.”

Shaking her head to push away the thoughts of all that had happened next, she crossed her arms around her waist and shook off an unbidden chill.

Slowly, she turned her eyes back to the doctor, then to her daughter. She said, her voice catching in her throat, breaking with the fear that had taken hold of her heart, “We have to trust Heath, trust that he is just doing what he believes he has to do. But, we have to get word somehow to Nick and Jarrod. I’m suddenly very afraid that they are, all three, in terrible danger.”

Chapter 36

The sun was dropping rapidly behind the ridges to the west of them by the time they crossed the wide wooden bridge over the river closest to the logging camp. The welcome coolness, both in the moisture-laden air beside the river and the deep shade among the tall trees, was a source of great relief.

Jarrod sighed with released tension when Nick raised his right hand in a signal to stop. Though there were only the two of them, and Jarrod would have just as easily picked up on the signs of Coco’s halt as Nick’s hand in the air, the gesture was as ingrained into his rancher brother as the leadership position he had earned since their father had been killed years ago.

With a small smile, Jarrod realized that Heath was the only one who could have ever challenged Nick for that position, and that their quiet, very capable younger brother would never do so out of his deep respect for Nick. Instead, he had stepped into the role of trail boss only when necessary, choosing instead to find other ways to support Nick through a growing partnership, building a subtle, personal respect among the men that in no way threatened Nick’s role.

With a crease forming between his eyebrows and a narrowing of his deep blue eyes, Jarrod dismounted and loosened the chestnut’s girth. As he worked, he felt again that sharp worry that had been growing rapidly lately, his concern that Heath’s memories were somehow interfering with his relationship with Nick, possibly destroying that easy camaraderie they, and everyone around them, had benefited from since shortly after Heath had come to them.

Nick and Jarrod had been quietly walking their tired mounts through the trees for the last half-hour, so Jarrod was quickly satisfied that his horse was ready for a drink. As he led the willing animal toward a steep, but clear path toward the water, Jarrod continued to let his thoughts roam freely through the recent past, tumbling along like the rushing water of the river before him.

In the perspective of hindsight, Nick and Heath’s relationship had suffered between the time the family had forced Heath to go with Bentell to the logging camp and the arrival of Gil Anders at the ranch. However, the two of them had seemed to forge an unbreakable bond after their return from Coreyville.

And, Jarrod had to admit, his own relationship with his blond-haired brother had been strengthened by that situation in particular, though they had both suffered the trauma of its effects physically.

It had been Heath and Victoria’s relationship that had been the slowest to heal after Bentell and Anders, but, ironically, after their harrowing experience together on the stage, theirs seemed to be the closest of all.

But, as for Nick and Heath now . . . ?

Jarrod narrowed his eyes as he watched Jingo step toward the deep, rushing water of the river and lower his head to drink.

He shook his head and wondered again, for the hundredth time in the last week or more, what it was going to take to make Heath comfortable again around a Nick that seemed to grow more growly and gruff by the day. Something had obviously happened between the two of them, something that had them both on edge around each other to the point that Nick was avoiding Heath, and Heath was more than wary around Nick.

Both were off balance, and Jarrod could only speculate as to why.

Shaking his head, he looked over at Nick, whose eyes were staring out at the river and the bridge they had just crossed. There was only one way for Jarrod to find out what exactly had happened, but he wasn’t sure he should bring that up when he and Nick so desperately needed to talk about Bentell.

Looking away again, he thought he could deal with one discussion, but not both, right now.

Waiting for Coco to finish drinking, Nick’s hazel eyes had immediately settled on the rocks across from him on the opposite river bank. He readily remembered a night not too long ago, a night when he was so torn about worry for his brother---worry that his impatient words would hurt Heath if he remained at the house----that he had stayed away, had chosen, instead, to go to one of the line shacks for the night.

But, even that hadn’t worked. Reminders of his brother had been everywhere.

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.”

Slowly, Nick brought his mind forward, away from that remembered night, and turned his gaze toward the only structure in sight, toward the bridge slightly above him and to his right. As he focused on its wooden form, clearly outlined against the setting of the sun behind it, his breath caught in his throat.

He remembered that first day and the other bridge where his relationship with Heath had begun---a relationship that, up until recently, had been, more often than not, characterized by respect-filled sparring and competitive companionship. He hadn’t known it when they had first met there. And, though he would soon find out---but would take long to accept---this stranger was his brother.

As they had faced each other on that narrow bridge, the one closer to home than this one, the only things moving as they had stared at each other for the first time had been the restless shifting of their horses and the constant rushing of the water beneath them.

Nick had begun the quiet conversation.

“Afternoon.”

“Afternoon.”

“That’s quite a pony you’ve got there.”

“Yeah, she’s a runner.”

“Indian?”

“Modoc.”

“Well, they breed ’em right up there.”

“Yeah, ‘cept for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“They don’t know how ta back up.”

“That a fact?”

“Yeah, so if you’ll just pull that crock head off this bridge. . . .”

“Well, I’d gladly do that for you, Boy, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“This one’s a Modoc too.”

With a small, lop-sided smile, the stranger had taken off his hat, revealing sweat-streaked blond hair. Fanning himself with it, he had begun the conversation this time.

“Hot ain’t it?”

“Yeah, . . . you can really work up a sweat this time of year. . . . That’s a fine looking blow pipe you’ve got there.”

“Mexican.”

“That a fact?”

“Got the bite to blow the head off a grizzly.”

“That is, if you get to it in time.”

“Don’t need to. Just think it. Eyeball or button I wanna pop, and pow.”

Lifting the edge of his vest away from his handgun, Nick had shared, then, about his own weapon.

“English.”

“Do tell?”

“Core an apple at half a mile.”

“On a tree or fallin’?”

“’Horseback, in a hurricane.”

Simultaneously, then, they had both reached for their guns.

But, the bridge beneath them had broken, leaving them each wondering what the outcome would have been, whether just to settle bragging rights about who could un-holster his weapon the fastest, or . . . .

Instead, they each swam their horses----each headed in their original direction--and they each wound up on opposing banks.

Nick had looked back to see if the stranger had made it across okay.

Heath had looked back, poured the water out of his hat, grinned back at Nick, and they had each headed out on their respective journeys, not knowing their paths would cross again later that same day.

Remembering, Nick took a deep, ragged breath and wondered about the connection he had felt, even then, even though he had denied it for longer than he cared to remember now. The connection had drawn him to this blond-headed stranger with the bull-headed pride that, except for Jarrod, had matched his own like no other, neither before, nor since.

“Heath.”

At the one word spoken aloud by his brother, Jarrod lifted his head from where his eyes had been staring at the water in front of him, and he focused on Nick’s face. He quickly turned away, however, closing his eyes. And, he struggled with his own emotions.

The sight of his brother’s tears was almost more than Jarrod could take.

Chapter 37

The tall case clock in the foyer under the stairs was the only sound in the quiet house, as its soft chimes spoke of the hour at which the family usually gathered for dinner together. This evening, however, only Audra took note of the time as she paused in her slow ascent of the golden-carpeted staircase.

She glanced down at the clock, then back up at the top of the stairs, hoping to see her mother either descending toward her or crossing the floor of the balcony above her. When the small, silver-haired woman did not appear, Audra sighed and continued her climb.

As she approached her mother’s closed bedroom door, Audra fought back the tears of worry that she had finally succeeded in stopping only a little while before. Composing herself, she knocked softly on the door.

“Mother?” she asked quietly. When she heard no reply, she knocked again, a little louder, and said again, “Mother?”

To her relief, she heard her mother’s quiet words from within the room, “Come in, Sweetheart.”

Opening the door, Audra entered the room and immediately saw her mother sitting on the pale blue upholstery of the window seat next to her bed. Her grey eyes, bright with unshed tears, were turned toward her daughter.

Audra swiftly crossed the floor and knelt beside her mother, grasping the hand extended toward her. She felt her mother bend over and kiss the top of her head.

When Audra looked up, Victoria reached out with the hand she still held and encouraged her daughter to stand and move to the nearby wing-backed chair. Then, she held Audra’s eyes in hers and picked up a folded piece of parchment-colored paper from her lap.

Puzzled, Audra listened as her mother said with a catch in her voice, “He left me a note, Audra. It was lying on my dressing table when I came upstairs.”

“Heath wrote you a note?”

Audra couldn’t keep the smile from her face, despite the worry that still hung as heavily in the room as the rich blue, brocaded draperies that bordered the two open windows on either side of her mother’s bed.

“Yes. Since he’s come to us, Audra, he’s never written to me before today. But, . . . he must have known how worried we would be, and he took the time before he left to . . . “ She trailed off, but smiled through the threatening tears.

Then, she reached out to touch Audra’s hand again and asked, her voice full of pride, “Didn’t you leave him a note this morning? Maybe he got the idea from you.”

Audra nodded, a shy, but pleased blush creeping into her cheeks, and she asked quietly, “What did he say?”

“He let me know why he had to go. He said that when he saw the telegram, he remembered the name Reese being mentioned by the men who attacked the stage. And, that he couldn’t take the chance that it might be more than a coincidence. He said he had to warn Nick and Jarrod, but that he had asked Duke to send for Ogden to stay here with us. He also asked Duke to send a telegram that he hoped would reach Nick and Jarrod before he did.”

“But, Mother, if he was worried about their safety. . . ? What if a telegram to the logging camp is read by the wrong person?”

“Oh, I think he took that into consideration!” Victoria’s eyes sparkled now as she added, “He said he wrote out the telegram and placed it an envelope. He wrote it as if it were from me, saying that there was an emergency here with their Grandfather Duke. It said that they should return home at once.”

“Duke? But, Duke’s not . . . . Oh!” Audra’s hands flew up to cover her mouth. She, too, was laughing, picturing their foreman’s irritation when he found out the telegram he had delivered to town to be sent had taken a few liberties with his age.

“Can’t you just see Nick’s face when he gets hold of that?” Audra giggled.

Victoria wiped the now flowing tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes, and said, “Yes, Dear. I think it will surely let them know something is wrong that we are unwilling to say by wire, but, without giving anything away. Unfortunately, it is at poor Duke McCall’s expense! Heath’s tendency to tease Duke and call him ‘Old Man’ came in handy this once, didn’t it?”

Audra’s smile disappeared, however, as she asked her next question. “Mother, why did Heath want Mr. Haverty to come all the way out here? He just started his new position at the depot in town, and Mr. Matthews is not going to take kindly to him leaving this soon, is he?”

Victoria shook her head, and said seriously, “I’m not sure, Audra. But, if I’ve learned one thing about your brother during the last few weeks, it’s that he usually has a very good reason for whatever he does. He trusts Ogden like he trusts very few people, and after all that he has done for us, I certainly understand why. Perhaps Heath is just feeling very protective of us all right now.”

Audra nodded and squeezed her mother’s hand. “I understand Mother, and, anyway, I look forward to having Mr. Haverty back with us for a while.” Bouncing up from the armchair, she leaned over and gave her mother a quick kiss before turning and heading toward the door. Then, she paused and asked, “You are coming down for dinner, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sweetheart, just give me a few more minutes.”

“I’ll go prepare a guest room for Mr. Haverty and tell Silas to expect him.” Then, with a sparkling smile on her face, she added, “Maybe I can talk him into telling me a Heath-story or two while he’s here!”

Heath’s telegram, sent to the logging camp for Nick and Jarrod, had also contained another piece of information, a deceptively simple question, that she had not shared with her daughter.

Heath had closed it with, “Please ask if Mr. Reese is related to my nephew, Gil.”

Though the guilt she still felt at her actions with Heath regarding Gil Anders had been much assuaged in the last few weeks, the name, even now, still had the power to sting her.

Instantly, she wondered, “How much worse had putting that into words been for Heath?”

She hoped his willingness to bring it up now would make their concerns about Reese’s possible betrayal, immediately clear to Nick and Jarrod.

Victoria smiled back at her lovely daughter as she departed. Then, she turned her face toward the window. Looking out at the still strong sunlight, she shuddered briefly, seeing the cruel face of the red-headed Mason in her mind. She was sure she knew exactly why Heath had sent for Ogden, and, not wanting to scare her daughter with the full explanation, she was glad Audra had not asked for the details about what she believed Heath trusted Ogden to do.

The raider’s words of vengeance, aimed at her blond-headed son, who had killed several of Mason’s men during their attack on the stage, drifted back to her. As she reviewed them mentally, the evening breeze that lifted her hair from her forehead seemed to take on an ominous quality that matched the dark worry in her heart.

Then, reason replaced rampant worry, and she began asking herself if she was reading too much into any of it.

Assuming the red-headed gang leader had survived that night, would he even know where to look for the man he blamed for his losses?

She closed her eyes and thought back over that frightening experience again, trying to recall the details she sought, without forcing herself to relive all of it. This time, she focused on how much the man could possibly know about her son.

Finally, satisfied, she nodded her head and rose to make her way down to join her daughter for dinner.

After reviewing as much of that day as possible, she knew that Mason could not connect either one of them, neither she, nor Heath, with the name Barkley.

With her resolve in place, she decided to focus her thoughts on preparing for Ogden’s stay and concentrating on the safe return of her three sons in the very near future. With the arrival of Heath’s telegram at the logging camp, she was confident Nick and Jarrod would know something was wrong and return swiftly. She felt sure they would meet up with their brother on the route traced on the map Heath carried, and that his two older brothers would be equal to the task of helping, what she was sure would be a thoroughly exhausted, and probably very uncomfortable Heath to return home as soon as possible----where all of them would be safe.

* * * * * * * *

He pressed his nose against the large showcase window of the shop, as his bright blue eyes stared at the dazzling display of beautiful pendants, earrings, and necklaces, all laid out on a background of thick, forest-green velvet. The way the light from the two large oil lamps touched the many facets of the jewelry, the reflection from inside the window seemed to sparkle brighter than the stars shining in a moonless sky.

Slowly, with a groan, Heath raised his right arm and shielded his eyes from the bright light. As the various aches of his body began to register in his groggy mind, he realized that the bright lights sending a spectacle of pain shooting through his head had not been from a Strawberry shopkeeper’s window after all.

He closed his eyes and rolled toward his good arm, pushing up carefully until he was in a sitting position, his head supported by both knees and the grip of his hand around his throbbing forehead.

Then, he again cracked open his eyes and sought the source of blinding, intermittent light. The dark green of the sparse leaves above him did little to shield the sun directly overhead, as the bright streaks of sunlight boring through the leaves toward him drove sharp spikes of glittering gold through his eyes.

Reaching out to his side, he groped for his fallen hat, and finding it, he replaced it on his head and pulled it low over his eyes.

With his hand again on the ground beside him, he spoke to the horse quietly munching on the scraps of grass still to be found along the slightly shaded trail, and he pushed himself to his feet.

“Ho there, Son. ‘Glad ya’ didn’t decide ta wander on me.”

He bent over slightly, painfully, and caught hold of the single, trailing rein. He pulled the tall bay’s head up and tossed the rein over the dark neck. Then, using his right hand on the saddle horn, he steadied himself to ward off the dizziness that threatened to send him back to the ground.

As he stood, leaning on the quiet horse, gathering himself to mount, he tried to focus on what had happened, on how to keep it from happening again, and why he was out here to start with. The exertion of pulling himself up and into the saddle, awkwardly and with only his right hand, caused each phrase, uttered aloud, to be punctuated with its own particular rhythm.

“Dang fool thing, Heath Barkley, . . . fallin’ off in the dirt. . . like a drunken drover . . . on a green-broke pony. . . . Dammit!”

Once he was in the saddle, he felt relieved and paused to take a few deep breaths. However, as he carefully removed his left arm from the still mostly-white sling in frustration, he cursed again and continued to mumble under his breath.

“This overgrown ‘kerchief ain’t worth a damn. Would’ve at least been able ta catch myself when I started my slow slide to the ground if I hadn’t been wearin’ it!”

In irritation, he yanked the offending piece of cloth over his head with his good arm, nearly knocking his hat off in his haste.

“Well, Boy Howdy, that would’a been a fine thing, Heath!” He continued to audibly berate himself, the bay’s ears swiveling around to catch each word, “Would’a had ta climb down an’ then, back up here all over again. . . .“

Despite the headache and the slight dizziness, his smile returned as a picture of a broadly grinning Nick Barkley suddenly invaded his head. Aloud, glad for the memory that didn’t include a fist, he said, “If ol’ Nick saw me now, bet he’d be laughin’ so hard, he’d be fallin’ off’a Coco an’ rollin’ on the ground, not far from where I was down there.”

Stuffing most of the sling in his back pocket, and forcing himself to take a quick glance at the sun, Heath looked away again and turned his horse toward the east, pushing the bay into a steady lope.

In his head, he set his sights on reaching the river within the next four hours.

He was tired, sore, and hurting, but despite his fall a little while ago, he believed that if he continued to push on, he would eventually catch up to the two men in front of him, provided they had set a more reasonable pace than he had from the time they had left the ranch that morning.

With his good humor restored by the much needed, though unspecific memory of the tall, dark-headed rancher, Heath was able to ignore the headache that continued to lurk in the background, like a shadow of trouble, bidding its time.

He knew if he could concentrate on his brothers and keep the darkness away, he held an advantage in the young, powerful bay beneath him, and that alone, despite the way his head continued to pound, gave him hope that he would reach them in time.

Chapter 38

Nick pulled up his tired liver chestnut just as he crested the last ridge. The base camp for their major logging operations was visible among the clearing in the trees down below.

He had only come at the camp from this direction once before, and, with keen eyes, he tried to make out the quiet activity below, barely distinguishable in the almost dark under the bright moon.

It was Saturday night, so that probably explained why there appeared to be little movement in the camp. Most of the men were probably down the mountain on the other side, “visiting” in the small town of Silver Lake that, with its several saloons and occasional Friday or Saturday night dance, usually swelled to twice its normal size immediately after the loggers collected their weekly pay.

Then, he glanced over his shoulder at his weary brother, approaching on Jingo a few lengths back through the tall pines.

Though the hour was fast growing later, and they had been on the trail since dawn with few breaks, Nick’s agitation was still as prickly hot as it had been last night when Jarrod had handed him the telegram.

His belief that Bentell was just playing them all for fools was as strong now as it had been then, though, if Jarrod had forced him to put his reasons into words, he wasn’t sure that he could. But, over the years, Nick Barkley had learned to trust his instincts, and right now, just as it had last night, his gut was telling him that something was terribly wrong, and it had little to do with logging operations on the side of a mountain.

Trying not to think about Heath and all the water under the bridge between his blond brother, Matt Bentell, himself, and the rest of his family over the last few months, he knew if he started down that river of recollection right now, he would drown for sure.

Shaking himself mentally, Nick glanced over at Jarrod’s face. Then, he growled, “Guess we’d better decide if we should go on in or make camp here the rest of the night. What’s your pleasure, Big Brother?”

Taking in the sight below, Jarrod weighed the option of the rest of the night out in the open and a chance to talk with Nick about how to proceed, against the idea of heading on in, waking the camp, and getting on with the business at hand. Turning his eyes away from the shadowy scene below, he looked at Nick and realized that his brother’s agitation would probably keep them both awake all night if they waited here.

With a sigh, he realized it would probably be better to just go on in and get it over with.

Then, just as he nodded and gestured with his open hand, palm up, for Nick to lead the way, the activity in the camp below reached a frantic level. Even from where they were, they could hear a shout and see several figures running in different directions under dim lantern lights augmented by the glow of the moon. Standing in their stirrups, both men immediately scanned the ridges around them-----for the first thought that came to each of them in this country of tall, pervasive trees and normal, seasonal dryness----was fire.

Seeing no pillars of smoke stretching toward the almost black sky, Nick lowered his eyes and searched for the orange glow of flames that would be more easily detected against the darker backdrop of forest.

Again, he saw nothing to alarm him.

Glancing at Jarrod, he saw his brother shake his head, indicating that he saw nothing out of the ordinary either.

Suddenly, part of the answer was provided, however, as the unmistakable sound of a couple of shots peppered the quiet night.

* * * * * * * *

Sitting bolt upright in the darkness, Victoria hugged her arms across her chest and looked rapidly around the room. Her heart was pounding, and she felt the trickle of her own heated fear dampening her neck and face.

Swiftly, she rose from her bed, and foregoing the soft slippers waiting nearby, but grabbing the dark green dressing gown from the foot of her bed, she padded silently into the hallway.

No noise.

No sign of any movement.

Silently, she continued on to Audra’s room, eased open the door, and relaxed a little at the serene look of contented sleep that graced her daughter’s face.

It was not until she was half-way down the thickly carpeted stairs, that she heard something, some sound, out of place. Puzzled, however, she also noticed the soft glow of a single lamp sitting, un-customarily, on the round center table in the foyer.

Suddenly, with a smile, she breathed a sigh of relief, recognizing the soft cough and tired clearing of a throat from somewhere below, as that of a friend.

She paused to wrap the gown more firmly around her, then continued on down the staircase. There, she could just make out the wild, white hair of Ogden Haverty, as he sat in the corner of the parlour in a grey-upholstered chair he had pulled close to the cold fireplace.

“Ogden?” she asked quietly. “What on earth are you doing down here like this?”

He had been listening to her descent, heralded by the unmistakable sound of her heavy silk garments and light footsteps, and was looking at her intently as she approached and spoke to him.

“Couldn’t sleep, so I was just enjoying the quiet, Ma’am.”

She glanced behind him at the business-end of the rifle that leaned against the corner of the richly-papered parlour walls, then at the coffee cup resting on a nearby table, and she eyed him again sharply.

“You’re not fooling me, Ogden. Why the vigil in the dark? Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

His blue eyes, their twinkle visible even in the pale light, crinkled up at the corners, and he smiled at her. “No, Ma’am, Mrs. Barkley. ‘Just not one to take chances with precious treasures.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment. Then, she stepped forward to sit regally on the edge of the chair that matched his, turning awkwardly to make eye contact again with him as she spoke.

“Mason doesn’t even know who any of us are or where to find us. And, since you didn’t return to the depot in the mountains, that includes you. Besides, Ogden, you and I both know you probably killed that man up there that night.”

Ogden just looked at her. The only hint of what he was thinking was the raised, bushy white eyebrow over one sapphire-colored eye.

Slowly, he said, “And, if I didn’t?”

She looked back at him and, then, glanced up towards the staircase out of sight beyond the wall, suddenly thinking of her beautiful daughter asleep upstairs. She shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the dark night.

Softly, she responded, “But, why now? Why tonight? Because the boys aren’t here?”

“Yes. That, and because Heath asked me to.”

She looked into his eyes, stared deeply into his heart, and she saw again that steady devotion to her blond-headed son that the man before her possessed. She smiled back at him, rose from her chair, and said simply, “Thank you, Ogden. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here, doing what Heath asked. He loves you, and he trusts you---two things he doesn’t give lightly.”

Then, she stepped toward him, leaned down to give him a quick kiss on his cheek, and left the room before he could say anything in his surprised pleasure at her words. When he could no longer hear her light tread on the stairs, he lifted the fingers of one hand up to touch the place where her lips had briefly met his grizzled, white-bearded face.

As he shook his head and reached behind him to retrieve the rifle he had placed there at her earlier approach, he said quietly, “Woman, if I were twenty years younger. . . !”

* * * * * * * *

(Note: In "The Guilt of Matt Bentell," I gathered, from the discussion b/w Bentell and Heath, as the three of them (including Mrs. Bentell) headed up to the logging camp, the drive up by buggy should take less than one whole day. However, in checking a map, it seems to me that it would have been a journey of at least more than 50 miles, probably more like 75 or 80, a mighty long way into higher elevations of 7000 to 8000 feet. But, I've compromised and made it a journey that could be crammed into eighteen or twenty hours, but would be best spread over two days. This is also the significance of them taking back trails that a buggy or stage could never manage.)

Chapter 39

With no time to think or discuss, with no time to contemplate right for their brother’s past or wrong for the binding of their legal contract, with no more time to debate what could or could not, should or should not, be done, Jarrod and Nick urged their mounts down the maddeningly meandering trail and toward the confrontation they had partially witnessed from above.

Once they plunged into the trees below the ridge, they could no longer see the clearing, could no longer see what was happening, though they continued to hear intermittent gunfire occasionally from below.

With Nick in the lead, they eventually reached a flatter stretch of trail further down the mountain, and they surged forward as fast as they dared in the dark.

Just as they approached the area where the trees thinned out, signifying the beginnings of the base camp’s clearing, Nick reined in Coco, while simultaneously holding up his hand in that unquestioned gesture to halt.

Silently, Jarrod complied, shifting his weight and bringing his chestnut to a sliding stop behind his brother’s horse.

Together, they strained to hear what was going on.

But, the camp was silent.

Wordlessly, Nick dismounted from his horse and walked the quietly blowing animal into the trees to the right of the trail. Again, Jarrod followed suit. The only difference was, he pulled his gun as soon as his boots touched the thick blanket of pine needles on the ground.

Together, they stole forward, using the thick trees as cover. After following a silently circling route to their right, they found themselves between the split-log barn and the largest of the white canvas tents used to house the men.

Signaling with his hands, Nick pointed to Jarrod’s eyes and then toward the barn. He signaled toward his own eyes and pointed toward the tent. Then, he reached in his pocket, drew out his pocket watch for an instant, held up five fingers and pointed back at the ground where they were now standing.

To Jarrod, who had grown up beside his inventive brother, participating in the numerous summer days of imagination-filled battles and heroic, pretend missions, these directions, though given silently, were clear. Nick thought they should scout out the area, try to figure out what they could, and meet back in this spot in five minutes. Jarrod, ever the negotiator, shook his head, held up eight fingers, waited for Nick’s shrug and nod, and moved off into the dark.

Jarrod had asked for three additional minutes, because, in order to keep some distance between himself and his brother, he wanted to head back toward the other side of the barn, not just move down this closest wall. If there were anyone inside the barn, they would have a better chance of figuring out whom, as well as keeping control of a better defensive position, if that person were caught between them.

As he edged along the far side of the barn, Jarrod’s senses were fully heightened. Because of Jim Reese’s worried telegram, and their own feelings about Bentell, exacerbated by the man’s suspicious and repeated requests for more money, they had no idea who could be trusted, nor with whom their allegiance should lie.

Blast it all, they needed to figure out what was going on----and in a big hurry!

Ahead, Jarrod saw someone moving around behind some barrels stacked near the front corner of the barn. The man’s back was to Jarrod, but, even in the dark, Jarrod could tell he was clearly focused on an objective hidden from Jarrod’s view, focused on something or someone over close to Bentell’s house.

Intent on watching the figure ten yards ahead of him, Jarrod didn’t notice the body lying in the dark at his feet until he nearly tripped over him. Bending down slowly, worried about taking his eyes off of the man ahead of him, Jarrod quickly reached down, trying to find a pulse beneath the light-colored bandana around the muscular neck.

The man, whose curly hair and face he did not recognize, was dead.

Carefully, Jarrod stepped over him, and decided to risk another few steps toward the corner, trying to see if there was more than one man hiding out by the barrels, without putting himself in the line of sight of whoever might be the man’s target by the house.

* * * * * * * *

Nick’s impatience did not improve as the seconds ticked off in his head. He had returned to the agreed upon place with no new information to report, except for the empty bunks throughout the nearby tent.

The longer the silence in the camp continued without Jarrod returning, the more agitated Nick became.

Resisting the temptation to curse loudly into the dark, Nick lifted first one boot, then the other, removed his prized, but very noisy, spurs, and, leaving them hanging there on a nail behind the barn, he eased toward the closest front corner to find out what had become of his brother.

* * * * * * * *

Heath sighed wearily, as he dropped the small armload of firewood he’d gathered next to the place where he planned to build a fire for the evening. Slowly, he eased his tall frame down on the ground, leaning up against a fallen log, and he simply stared at the suddenly overwhelming task he’d set for himself. Too tired to make the effort, he slowly pulled his knees up close to his chest, his throbbing left arm tucked protectively across his belt, between his body and his legs.

Then, telling himself that he just needed a minute to rest before he could lay the fire, he dropped his head onto his other arm stretched across the tops of both knees, and he closed his eyes.

Sometime later, he was startled awake by a dream.

Though the details waited dimly, off to the side, just beyond the edges of his vision in the moonlit dark, he knew the dream had been about Nick.

Shaking his head to clear it, he lowered it again with a groan when the ever-present pounding behind his eyes immediately got the best of him.

Immediately, however, Heath lifted his head again.

Somewhere, someone. . . .

Heath’s eyes roved the darkness, struggling to see more clearly.

Then, he closed his eyes again, realizing the images were not out there in the dark, but here, inside his head.

There had been someone else in the dream, several others.

Reluctantly, he acknowledged to himself that he knew who they had been.

He could see the tall, thin frame of Matt Bentell, glaring down at him, his blue eyes blazing with contempt and hatred.

He could see the man turn around over his shoulder and nod at someone behind him, out-of-sight, giving the signal that would soon have Heath pulled back to his feet, his weight suspended once more from the rope still attached to his left arm.

Then, he saw the fox-like features of Mason leaning over him, reaching out to pull him up, a knife, Heath’s knife, held up high above him.

“NO!”

Heath’s cry startled the remembered images away. He brought his right hand down from his knees and gripped his left shoulder with it, curling his body protectively around his injured arm, and he rocked back and forth slightly, trying to ease the throbbing beneath his hand, made worse by the memories in his head.

Suddenly, he sucked in his breath.

He had again remembered Nick’s face, and his words, from the dream.

The dark-haired rancher stood off to the side, almost behind Heath, his arms crossed, hazel eyes glaring at him, and his voice telling him over and over again, “Maybe you don’t want to forget, Heath.”

Shaking his head from side to side, Heath closed his eyes and fought with the images again, until he said softly, into the darkness, “Nick! If you only knew how much I wanted ta forget. . . .”

It was just so hard to forget the atrocities, though they had happened years ago, in another place and time. In his way of thinking, any man that had used the medical needs of his prisoners to barter for information, as Heath knew Bentell had done with the Condans, or who had repeatedly harmed a young boy to break the spirit of the on-looking men, as Heath knew Bentell had done with him, could never be trusted now.

It was just so hard, but . . . but, more than anything, he wanted to forget.

Struggling to take a few deep breaths, Heath suddenly thought of the woman he now called Mother. A small, lop-sided smile appeared, and Heath added softly, his eyes opening, “I can’t forgive Bentell for what he tried ta do ta me, but, . . . I can let go of it a little more now, . . . now that I have my family ta think of.”

Then, using the log behind him to steady himself, he climbed slowly to his feet. He hauled in a shaky breath and stumbled over toward his horse.

“Can’t stay here. . . . Gotta get movin’, Heath.”

As he placed one foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up, into the saddle, Heath heard in his head the heart-felt words that Nick had spoken to him when he had been lying on the ground outside the house over a week ago.

“Heath, I should have known. . . . You tried to tell us. But, I didn’t slow down to listen to you, and I. . . I never. . . I never asked you what exactly he had done to you. I’m sorry, Little Brother. You’re right. I let you down when you trusted me, when you needed me the most.”

Turning his horse back onto the trail, faintly lit by the moon peering through the trees, Heath whispered, “I trust ya’, Nick. I don’t remember why, but. . . no matter what. . . I know I still trust ya’.”

Then, as he asked the bay for a little faster pace, he set his jaw against the pounding headache and realized that, as much as he wished for nothing more than to stay as far away from Matt Bentell as he could for the rest of his days, he needed to find the two men that were his brothers even more.

They were out there, somewhere ahead of him, and they could be riding right into a trap. Maybe it was nothing more than a coincidence that Mason had talked about a man named Reese and that Bentell’s segundo, or second-in-command, had the same last name.

But, not trusting Bentell anymore than he did, Heath remembered enough to be sure that he was not willing to take that chance with his brothers’ lives. If the men named Reese turned out to be one and the same, that meant Mason might not be far behind. . . .

He couldn’t stop now.

He had to get to them.

He had to warn them.

Suddenly, as he rode through the dark, following the trail of moonlight cutting through the trees, he had the feeling that this wasn’t the first time that he had tried to convince someone, himself this time, but others at least once before, that he should go in after Nick.

It was out there, somewhere on the fringes of his memory.

Nick had been trapped into a bad situation once before, and Heath could remember, . . . trying to convince Jarrod and Mother that they should let him help, . . . but, when. . . ?

Shaking his head, Heath struggled to remember, but all he could find were Nick’s words from his dream, from that afternoon in the study when Heath had tried to convince them all of Bentell’s cruelty.

“Maybe you don’t want to forget, Heath.”

As the remembered words echoed in his head once more, Heath shook his head again.

Why was it so hard to forget some things, but impossible to remember the things he wanted to?

Then, he said quietly into the night, “This time, you’re right, Nick. I don’t want ta forget. I want ta remember. I need ta remember it all. . . . This time, I need ta remember you, Brother Nick.”

Continued…