Stages of Trust

Chapters 1 - 11

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.

This is a sequel to my story called, “A Trust Betrayed.” This story is not really based on any episode, but it takes place sometime after the episode “Hazard,” from the first season.

Chapter 1

The ground beneath him seemed to take on a life of its own, spinning and whirling at will. His only recourse was to dig his gloved hands into the dirt and hang on, before the earth tilted and he fell off into a yawning abyss.

He closed his eyes.

He pushed his back into the brown, dusty earth, willing the whirling to stop, willing his hands to hang on.

Suddenly, he moaned and lunged forward, sitting up and leaning over, almost involuntarily, as his nausea won.

Moaning again, he felt his head eased back down, felt the hands that held him to the earth, the hands that grounded him.

His eyes squeezed tightly shut, he moved only one dusty boot, scuffling it in the dirt, its heel digging into the hard-packed earth, as the pain shot from the back of his head and around to the front, crushing his skull in its vicious attack from behind.

He fought for control, fought for breath, fought for consciousness.

He tried again to raise his head.

But, again, . . . he lost, as he cracked open his eyes, only to allow the spiking rays of the afternoon sun to slice into his head, sending him reeling into unconsciousness.

Chapter 2

The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t quite remember why.

He lay still, struggling to recall the soft tones from another place, another time.

His groan, as he tried to open his eyes, brought the concerned voice closer.

“Heath,” she said, “Heath, can you hear me, Son?”

The cadence wasn’t quite what he remembered, though the voice was soft, sweet, and full of concern.

He eased open his eyes and tried to lift his head.

“Lie still, Sweetheart,” she added, her quiet murmurs and comforting hands encouraging him to give it a little more time.

Slowly, he blinked open his eyes, finding her smiling grey with his confused blue.

“Heath,” she soothed, “Just lie quietly, now. It’s alright. There’s no hurry.”

He reached up shakily to touch the side of her face, smiling a faint replica of his familiar lop-sided grin, and said quietly, “Mama?”

She placed her hand over his, where it remained against her cheek, and nodded, “Yes, Heath, I’m right here.” She squeezed his hand and lowered it to his chest. Then, she reached for a pitcher of water and poured a small amount in a short glass.

“Here, Heath. Drink it slowly, now. Just a little.” She assisted him in raising his head a few inches and in drinking a swallow of the water. Then, she eased his head back to the pillow.

He lay staring up at the yellow pine boards of the paneled ceiling above him, all but clinging to the sides of the bed to quell the dizziness that began with the small movement that had been required to drink the water.

He blinked rapidly to clear his eyes, to clear his head, of the fuzzy edges that encroached upon his vision.

She watched him in growing concern. Then, she patted him on the shoulder, still clothed in the dusty blue shirt, and said, “Lie still, Heath. I’ll be right back. Don’t move, Sweetheart.”

Rising from the edge of the bed, she glanced back and saw him close his eyes tightly, his forehead creased in pain.

As she exited from the room, closing the door behind her, she could not help but pause outside, relief that he was finally awake, juxtaposed with fear at the lingering effects he was obviously experiencing. Taking in a deep breath, she continued down the hall, entered the cozy kitchen at the other end of the sprawling house, and greeted the surprised eyes of the occupants.

“Doctor Bray,” she said, her smile returning, “Would you come with me? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Standing eagerly, the tall, brown-haired young doctor answered, “Yes, Ma’am, Mrs. Barkley. How’s he feeling?”

Her eyes taking in the complete attention of the Durston family seated around their supper table, their eyes fixed upon her, she nodded at all of them. Then, she reached out for Alice Durston’s hand as the woman stood and approached her. “I’m just so glad he’s finally awake,” she said.

“Oh, Victoria, I’m relieved for you both!” Alice’s softly lined face broke into a smile, as she grasped her friend’s hand and clung to it.

Victoria nodded, patted the older woman’s hand, and gently pulled away, as she followed the doctor back down the hall to the small, but comfortably-furnished bedroom where her youngest son waited for her.

Outside his closed door, Victoria caught the doctor by the arm, just as he reached out for the doorknob. “Doctor?” The question in her voice gave him pause, as much as did the small hand on his arm.

He turned and looked down into her soft, grey eyes, noting the tiredness and concern that tinged the otherwise vivid light shining through them.

“Yes, Mrs. Barkley?”

“He seems a little confused, very dizzy, and he’s in more than a little bit of pain. He’ll tell you he’s fine, regardless of how he really feels. He won’t want to worry anyone, and he can be quite stubborn about it. You’re going to have to take a hard stand with him if you expect him to listen to you.”

The doctor watched her face as she spoke. It was obvious to him, as he was sure it had been to the Durstons as they had watched her care for the unconscious young man for the last four hours, that this mother loved her son very much.

“Yes, Ma’am, Mrs. Barkley. I’ll remember what you’ve told me, I promise.”

Then, he opened the door and the two of them entered, stopping in shock, as they both stared at the empty bed.

Recovering first, Victoria rose to her full five feet in height and rounded on the bandaged blond sitting in the comfortable, brown chair with his sock feet propped up on the edge of the bed.

“Heath, I’m going to borrow one of Alice’s spoons and take it to your dusty backside if you don’t slink right back over into that bed again before I count to three!”

He turned his twinkling light-blue eyes away from the open window and around to face her, his lop-sided smile slowing her rush toward him. He pushed himself gingerly up from the chair, and then lifted both hands in mock defeat. “I’m fine. Please don’t . . .”

But, he suddenly took a faltering step backward, and reached out to grab for the side of the headboard. His face now devoid of all color, his eyes lost focus before he closed them tightly, as his other hand started up shakily to grab for his head.

“Heath!” she cried, as she reached for him.

The doctor was suddenly there at his side as well, and between the two of them, they eased his heavier frame down to sit on the edge of the bed, before they let his momentum pull his upper body over sideways and toward the pillows.

He didn’t fight them. In fact, he seemed to almost reach for the bed with his arms and shoulders, and he curled away from them on his side as soon as they helped him lie down. Though he had pulled one leg up onto the bed, it took the doctor’s assistance to raise the other. Both of Heath’s hands were cradling his head, and they could not see his face, turned as he was toward the wall next to the bed in the small room.

Victoria eased down on the bed to sit behind him, and she began rubbing his back gently, as she spoke to him, “Just rest, Heath. Let go, if you can. Just rest, now.”

A tap on her shoulder reminded her of the tall man standing behind her. She glanced up at him, and then back to the figure on the bed. She leaned in and lightly touched the side of his face, the face that was still turned away from her. She said in his ear, “Heath, the doctor’s here, and he needs to examine you. Can you turn this way?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll try,” he mumbled.

She looked at the back of his head in sudden concern at his use of the hated word “Ma’am,” the word she had thought long behind them both.

She ran her fingers through the hair sticking up above the white bandage, then moved quickly out of Heath’s way as he struggled to roll onto his back. The doctor stepped in and helped ease his attempts, noting the tightly closed eyes, the hand trying to cover them, and the fingers of the other hand grasping the greens and blues of the quilt beneath him in a white-knuckled grip.

“I’m Doctor Bray, and I’m going to need you to lie as still as you can. I know it’s going to be uncomfortable, but please move your hand. I’ll need to check your eyes in a minute.”

As his patient complied, but kept his eyes closed for the moment, the doctor turned to the silver-haired woman behind him. “Please, close the curtain and then, step outside, and send Mr. Durston in to assist me.”

“Doctor, I don’t. . . ,” she started.

But, the doctor cut her off. “Please, it might be easier for him, if you aren’t here watching.”

At her puzzled look, he stood and took the slight woman by the hand and led her to the window. He said quietly, “Mrs. Barkley, you told me how he usually responds. Do you think it will be easy for him to know you’re aware of how much pain he is in?”

She looked up into the kind brown eyes, and smiled, “You’re probably right, Doctor. It’s just that. . . .”

There was so much she wanted to say, to explain, but, she wasn’t ready to air family issues to anyone if it wasn’t necessary. They had come so far, and part of her was afraid Heath would feel that she had abandoned him to strangers if she left now, but maybe the doctor was right. . . .

As she closed the curtains and reluctantly made her way to the doorway, she heard the doctor begin to ask Heath some questions, trying to determine if he was all right or not.

“Heath, do you know how this happened?”

She heard the confused, mumbled reply, “Yes, I was . . . . No, . . . sorry, . . . . don’t remember. . .”

She glanced back and heard the doctor say, “That’s alright, Young Man. That’s not all that unusual. Let’s try something else. Do you remember where you live?”

As she exited and began to close the door behind her, she heard the soft drawl she had come to love, respond slowly, “Yes, . . I live in Str. . . . wait, . . . I live in Stockton, in Stockton. . . on the Barkley Ranch.”

Quickly, she walked back down to the kitchen, where she approached Alice. Speaking to her about the doctor’s request, she then opened the back door and walked out into the cooler air of the darkening evening. She stood looking up at the stars, stars that were more and more visible now as her eyes adjusted to the contrast between the darkness outside and the glow of the cozy kitchen inside.

Chapter 3

Carl Durston entered the quiet bedroom, spurred on down the hall by the words his wife had spoken aloud in the kitchen the moment Mrs. Barkley left the house.

“Doctor?” he asked, as he approached the bed.

Paul Bray looked up from his patient’s face at the quiet question. He used his head to motion the man further into the room, while he quickly returned his attention to the blond-headed young man lying on the bed.

“Heath?” Doctor Bray inquired softly.

“Doc,” Heath said, his eyes still closed against the light of the bedside lamp.

“Heath, Mr. Durston is here to help us.”

At the slow nod, the doctor said, “Mr. Durston, please help me steady him. If he needs you, take hold of his shoulders. I don’t want him to move around too much.”

Turning his attention back to the quiet figure on the bed, he said, “Heath, it’s getting darker outside, but we’ve closed the curtain anyway. However, I need the lamp so I can check your eyes. I’m afraid it might increase the pain you’re already experiencing, though.”

Again, Heath nodded slightly.

“I need you to turn toward me. Try to focus on my finger and follow it with your eyes.”

* * * * * * * *

Wrapping her arms around her waist, she walked swiftly toward the corral. There, she stood, holding onto the top rail and watching the nondescript, brown horse moving around in the enclosure beyond.

She shook her head slightly, seeing the events of the afternoon unfold in her mind, the events in which the horse had played a major role.

Alice had been sitting beside her on the broad, front porch of the Durston’s ranch house north of Bridgeport. Both of them had been enjoying the time to renew their acquaintance of years ago, and they were talking and laughing like young schoolgirls. It had been a number of years since they had last seen each other; in fact, that had been on a trip here she and Tom had made together over 12 years ago.

She had already told Alice of Tom’s death earlier in the day. She had already heard Alice make a comment about how much Heath reminded her of Tom Barkley in his looks, and especially, in his lop-sided smile. She had not, however, confided any of the details of Heath’s history.

They had been chatting away sitting on the porch, when she had heard loud shouts of excited encouragement coming from the corral next to the barn. Alice had commented that it sounded like someone was breaking a horse. They had both stood to get a better view.

Immediately upon seeing the horse and its rider through the rising dust, she had known it was Heath.

As she watched, however, the rest seemed to happen as if in slow motion. One moment it appeared as though the horse was about to give in, then the brown animal took a wild leap into the air and twisted its body sideways at a strange angle. Though, at first Heath held on, the horse lost its footing as it came down, and Heath finally tried to push away from it, struggling to get his legs free from the falling horse.

By then, though, there was little room to maneuver.

Though the horse did not fall on top of him, the sharp angle of the fall gave Heath no opportunity to roll, letting his momentum absorb the shock of the ground as he usually did. Instead, he landed hard, slamming his head against one of the wooden fence posts.

By the time Victoria, with Alice trailing breathlessly behind her, reached the corral, the dust had settled enough to allow her to see that he still had not regained his feet. From her place just behind him, but on the outside of the fence, she could see his eyes blinking rapidly and his fingers digging into the dirt as if he were trying to hold onto it.

Alice sent one of the men south to Bridgeport for the doctor, while the others tried to support him----first, as he abruptly sat forward to one side, vomiting violently, and then, as they eased him back to the ground. When it was obvious that he had blacked out after fighting with them to sit up once more, they carefully lifted and carried him inside the house.

As she and Alice led the way in order to prepare bandages, as well as both hot and cold water, Victoria’s heart, and her thoughts, raced ahead of her.

It had happened so fast. One minute, even from a short distance, he had been so energetic and in control; the next, he was deathly pale and unconscious. She shook her head to clear it of any negative worries, concentrating instead on getting him cleaned up and cold cloths applied to the swelling gash on the back of his head.

She had sat with him for four hours-----waiting for him to regain consciousness.

The doctor had arrived sometimes inside the second hour, had examined him, praised the cleanliness of the wound, stitched up the two-inch tear in his scalp, and had settled in with the Durstons to wait.

Now, hours later, as she stood watching the offending animal move around the corral, she breathed in the night air and felt a shifting inside herself as her calm returned, aided by the relief she had felt at seeing his sky blue eyes open----finally----a little earlier.

As she had kept her vigil beside his bed, she had not allowed herself to think about the years ahead for her family without this quiet young man that complemented them all so completely. She had not allowed herself to dwell on the idea that he might never regain consciousness.

Instead she had thought back over the last few months and all that they had been through together.

She remembered her own insistence that Heath accompany Matt Bentell to the logging camp, and then, that he assist Gil Anders in his recovery.

She remembered how she had insisted that he offer a measure of forgiveness for the wrongs that each of the two men had done to him.

She remembered all that had occurred after that, about how she had almost lost both Jarrod and Heath, about how Heath had saved Jarrod, and about how Nick had saved them both.

She remembered the pain Heath had endured, how they all thought he was going to die from the beating he had taken at the hands of Matt Coulter and his hired help.

But, most of all, she remembered the way she and her other two sons had come to the realization that they had almost pushed Heath away by their unfair expectations of him, by their failure to really listen to him, by their inability to accept and offer him any choices in what they had expected of him.

She was so grateful that the irony was that her blond-headed son, like her blond-headed daughter, possessed a great capacity for forgiveness. He had shared this propensity for caring and compassion with each of them, and she believed that the wounds they had inflicted upon him, as surely as serious as any of those brought about by Coulter’s men, were now beginning to heal.

However, she also knew that his trust in each of them had been shaken. While Nick, Heath, and Jarrod had worked through the events surrounding Coreyville together and this had assisted the two older brothers in regaining the trust of the youngest, she knew that she and Heath would, because of no similar opportunity, take longer in repairing their issues of trust.

In fact, as she was sure he knew, this was the main reason she had asked him to allow her to accompany him on this horse-buying trip to the eastern Sierras.

Chapter 4

A few minutes after it had begun, all three men seemed to relax visibly when the brief, but painful, exam was over. Mr. Durston was especially grateful for the stoicism of the blue-eyed patient, who had calmly and quietly endured the exam without his assistance. He patted Heath on the shoulder, and, with a nod to the doctor, the grey-headed rancher headed back out the door.

The doctor also stood from his seat on the side of the bed and began packing his leather bag. But, though Heath’s eyes were closed and his hand again shaded them further from the unwelcome intrusion of the lamplight, his quiet voice stopped the doctor.

“Thanks, Doc. I appreciate your help. . . . But, before you go, could you tell me what happened? That man that was here, . . . he looked familiar, but I can’t place him.”

The doctor stood holding his bag in his hands for a second. Then, he said, “Heath, that was Mr. Durston. You and Mrs. Barkley have been guests in his home overnight. I believe, you are here to look at some horses. And, I must say, you must have gotten rather a close look earlier this afternoon.

At Heath’s blank look when he squinted his eyes open to look at him, the doctor added, “You were apparently trying to break one of those horses, and it wound up almost breaking you.”

The only response was another slight nod.

The doctor reached down and grasped the well-muscled shoulder of the quiet young man. “I suggest you stay in the bed this time, and that you try to get as much sleep as possible. I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow. I can give you something for the pain then, if you still need it---but not before.”

“But, what about . . . .?” Heath began.

Doctor Bray interrupted him, squeezing the shoulder tightly in a no-nonsense fashion, “Now, quit worrying about what you can’t remember, and concentrate on what you can,-----and on following doctor’s orders and getting some rest. The better you do that, the quicker I can release you to get up out of that bed.”

One corner of the blond’s mouth turned up into a lop-sided smile, though his hand now covered his pain-filled, very tired eyes again.

“Thanks, Doc. I’ll try.”

“Good enough, Young Man. I’ll hold you to that.”

* * * * * * * *

She had checked on him several times after the others had gone to sleep. But, aside from insisting vehemently that he was able to get himself into a clean nightshirt when she found him getting sick into the bucket by the bed just after midnight, he had said almost nothing at all. After that incident, she had been reluctant to leave him, and she had slept fitfully in the upholstered chair next to his bed.

Though he did not fully awaken again, she was aware of the nameless dreams that seemed to plague him throughout the night.

By morning, both of them seemed exhausted, and though she protested, she finally allowed Alice to lead her by the arm down the hallway to her guest room for a nap just before lunch. The doctor had arrived a little while before and had offered to sit with Heath.

When the two women left the room, the young doctor settled in to keep a close eye on his patient for a few hours, and by the time Victoria returned to the room several hours later, she and her son both looked much better.

“Well, Doctor,” she asked as she swept into the small room, “How is he?”

“Mrs. Barkley, he appears much better now. His reflexes are much stronger, and his eyes are clearer.” Turning to Heath, he said, “We even managed to get some of Mrs. Durston’s chicken soup down you and keep it there, didn’t we?”

The doctor’s brown eyes were full of mirth, and Heath even smiled up at her slightly, that familiar lop-sided smile lifting her spirits immediately.

“Now, Doctor, I must warn you. Most of the time, he’s pretty quiet, but, he can be a fast talker when he wants to be. He may look better, but don’t let him maneuver you into allowing him out of that bed, yet,” she said, her grey eyes smiling at her son.

Heath looked up at her, almost shyly, but he remained quiet.

“Okay, Heath. We’ve both been given our orders. I’m to make sure you listen to them. Do not get out of this bed until you have gone twenty-four hours without nausea from that head wound. Do you understand me?”

Heath nodded, but glanced up at Victoria and said, “But, when were we supposed to leave? Nick is. . . .”

Victoria held up her hand and stopped him, “Heath, Nick will be loud as usual, I’m sure, when he finds out those horses you bought from the Sherrod’s three days ago are going to beat you home, but I think between the two of us, we can handle him.”

Turning to the doctor, she added, “If I write out a wire, could you send it for me when you return to town?”

“Certainly, Mrs. Barkley, I’ll be happy to.” Glancing back at the bed and his much-improved patient, he added as an afterthought, “But, all that does, Heath is give you that much more recovery time----and we both expect you to take advantage of it. Rest today, right here in this bed.”

Heath nodded reluctantly.

Victoria reached over to squeeze his shoulder from where she now stood beside him at the head of the bed. “Go to sleep, Heath. Maybe you’ll feel like eating something more than soup for dinner.”

Then, he surprised her by reaching up and grasping her hand in his, as he said earnestly, “Thank you.”

She looked down at him quizzically, as he released her hand and began to slip down in the bed, turning away from the two people standing beside the bed.

As she and the doctor left the room, the latter closing the door softly behind him, she turned to Doctor Bray. “Is he alright, Doctor? I mean, he looks better, but,. . . there’s just something. . . . something so tentative. . . .” She trailed off.

“Mrs. Barkley, injuries to the head are among the least understood by those in my profession. I can’t begin to tell you if everything is completely okay or not. Only time will tell. But, he’s awake and alert. His appetite was fairly good. Aside from being very tired and experiencing some dizziness and pain, which are all normal for his situation, he really doesn’t have any other symptoms or complaints.”

He paused and took a deep breath before continuing, “I will be concerned, however, if he continues to experience nausea from the head injury. But, we’ll have to wait and see about that. I’m not going to give him anything for the pain until that clears up.”

He looked into her eyes, saw the slight worry there and asked her, “Can you be more specific about your concerns?”

She shook her head and looked up into the doctor’s eyes. “He just seems a little distant, maybe a little confused?”

“Well, he is bothered by the fact that he can’t recall anything of yesterday, maybe even the day before, when you arrived here. But, that in itself is not something to worry about. Temporary memory loss of the events surrounding the cause of the head injury is not all that unusual-----and it doesn’t mean anything is terribly wrong if he never remembers them.”

The doctor patted her on the hand, and said, “If you notice anything more unusual, like personality changes or slowed reflexes, please let me know. Although, I must say I have seen people become more angry than usual after a head injury, typically for no more than a temporary time period, I haven’t heard anything about the opposite. I’m sure he’s just very tired and sore, and he doesn’t want to admit it to you.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Thank you, Doctor. I’ll be very watchful today to make sure he doesn’t get out of that bed. But, I can tell you from past experience, that once he feels like himself again, none of us, short of having you force something down him to make him sleep, will be able to keep him there long. I may have to steal his jeans from his room and hide them!”

As the two shared a chuckle over that idea, they walked toward the kitchen. Once there, Victoria found pen and ink, and wrote out a succinct telegram, handing it to the kindly doctor. “He’s going to want to know when we can go home. What is the best answer I can give him? Should we plan to wait a few days, or . . .”

He shook his head and said, “How are you traveling?”

“There is an afternoon stage that leaves here headed toward Stockton three days a week. We were supposed to leave today, but we’ll wait as long as you suggest.”

“As long as you take the stage, and he doesn’t go by horseback------unless he gets sick again, I think you could safely take him home tomorrow afternoon.” Then, waving the telegram she had given him, he added, “I’ll send this as soon as I reach Bridgeport. I have a stop or two to make on the way, first.”

“Thank you so much, Doctor.”

“You’re very welcome, Mrs. Barkley. And, I hope the next time I see Heath, you’re bringing him by my office tomorrow after lunch on your way to board the afternoon stage for home.”

She nodded, grasped his offered hand, and accompanied the doctor to the front door.

Chapter 5

The house was quiet when he struggled into a sitting position and eased his feet to the rug beside the bed. He did not realize he had been holding his breath, until he let it out in relief at the minimal dizziness that he felt at his own careful movements.

He had complied with the doctor’s orders, . . .

“Well almost,” he nodded to himself, as he knew it had been almost twenty-four hours since the dizziness and nausea had taken control of him in the middle of the previous night.

This time before he tried to get out of bed, however, he sat still for a few minutes before he pulled himself up any further, one hand bracing against the side of the bed and the other grasping the top of the yellow pine headboard. Though the headache returned with a vengeance, he did not feel sick, so he smiled ever-so-slightly as he made his way slowly to the chair by the window. He stood there for a few minutes, holding onto the back of the chair and looking outside at the half moon that dimly illuminated the barn and the various buildings around it.

With a sigh, he reached down for the clothes lying neatly folded in the chair. He knew that she had put them there earlier, on one of her many trips into the room on some pretense or another, while checking to make sure he was still in the bed. Each time, he had noticed the way her eyes had twinkled with caring, and yet, seemed clouded with hidden worry.

That level of combined compassion and concern left him feeling uneasy, like-----like he was missing something.

It was as if she were expecting something from him, and he had no idea what.

It left him feeling unsure of himself around her, more shy and quiet than was comfortable, even for him, and this seemed to just deepen her concern.

As he eased down into the chair after tucking in his shirt, he rested a few moments, debating on whether or not to tackle his boots.

The questions he saw in her eyes, the questions he could not decipher, bothered him. Why was she so worried about him? Why would such an obviously fine lady trouble herself over the likes of him? It was as if he were more than hired help, like he were someone special to her-----and he just couldn’t figure it out.

He remembered the ranch, with its sprawling diversity of vineyards and crops, cattle and horses. He remembered Nick Barkley and his loud, exuberant mannerisms, and he also remembered the man’s quiet, concerned attention---the way Nick treated him like, . . . like an equal.

He knew she was his boss’s mother. He remembered Mrs. Barkley’s big, fine white house and its well-tended rose garden. But, most of all, he remembered her fairness to all the men who worked for her family. Knitting his brows together, he could even remember snatches of conversations between the men as he worked side-by-side with them, as they talked about something kind she had done for them, from remembering their birthdays to asking about a loved one living far away.

But, though he didn’t remember much, he couldn’t recall seeing her worry over anyone the way she had hovered about him in the last day or so. At least, he only vaguely remembered seeing her this way with her family.

Besides Nick, he remembered the beautiful, blond-headed daughter, and the dark-headed, blue-eyed lawyer. Though he could not recall their names, he could see them in his mind. They had both been easy to talk to from his first arrival at the ranch, and. . . .

. . . A sudden, sharp pain filled his head with a powerfully-bright, incredibly-searing heat.

It drove all thoughts, all memories, away, and he leaned forward in the chair to crush the heels of both hands into his face, just below his eyebrows.

As a low moan escaped his lips, he began to pant for breath and to rock his upper body back and forth slightly.

After long moments of agony, that brought tears to his eyes, as he struggled to keep from crying out, the white-hot heat began to finally lessen.

As it abated somewhat, he leaned back in the chair, resting his bandaged head against the edge of the upholstery. He closed his eyes and struggled to catch his breath.

* * * * * * * *

Hours later, her hand on his shoulder brought him out of his deep sleep. Surprised at the daylight streaming in through his window, he sat up straighter, trying to rise to his feet in her presence. With the pressure of her hand insisting that he remain in the chair, he glanced up at her.

Her soft smile, so like his own mama’s, warmed him, but, at the same time, it made him feel that same uneasiness that had plagued him every time he had looked at her the day before.

“Good morning, Heath,” she said. “You must have gotten up feeling better last night.” She pointed down at the clothes he was wearing as she said it, and since the statement was not really a question, he simply nodded his head.

Then, she added, “Everyone else has already eaten, so I’ll bring you some breakfast in a few minutes.”

He nodded again. Then, he asked, “Do ya’ think we can head back ta the ranch taday? I know Nick’s got a whole list’a things for me ta tackle, an’ I’m sure ready ta be outta this room.”

She laughed, glad that he was eager to get home, “Yes, Heath, since you’re obviously feeling better, we can leave for town in a couple of hours. The stage should arrive a little after 1:00. I am going to want the doctor to check you out again, but I feel like he will okay the trip home if you promise both of us to behave yourself and take it easy along the way.”

He looked up at the easy conversation, and smiled lopsidedly at her. “The Doc again, huh?”

She nodded.

“Well, I reckon it’s a small price ta pay for my freedom, Ma’am.”

There was that look again. He saw it cross her face, that half-puzzled, half-hurt look that left him very unsure of what it was that he had said wrong.

Swallowing hard, and struggling to keep the smile on her face, she patted him on the shoulder and said, “I’ll get you something to eat. Should I tell Mrs. Durston to get word to her husband that you do want to talk to him about sending some of his horses to the ranch later, or not?”

“I’d like ta talk ta him about a couple’a them before we go, but I’m not sure he’ll be willin’ ta go ta all the trouble of shippin’ just two.”

“All right. I’ll see you in a few minutes, then.”

She patted his shoulder again, lost deep in thought before she even got beyond the bedroom door.

Chapter 6

They were standing in front of the depot, both of their bags in his hands, when the stage pulled in. Heath noticed immediately the good condition of the horses, noting to himself that they must have just changed teams at the previous stop. The stage was quickly emptied of its three passengers, and the driver stood beside the door assisting and motioning them aboard, as soon as there was room.

As the driver threw the small mailbags up into his box and quickly scrambled back up to his seat high above the team, Heath tossed the lively little man two of their bags to place on the roof. Then, he assisted the tiny, silver-haired woman beside him into the stage, and he climbed in after her, shutting the door.

The driver shouted to the team, and the leaders surged forward, followed by the wheelers. As they settled into their harnesses, the rhythm of the steady pull brought Heath instant comfort. He had had several jobs over the years driving stages or riding shotgun for them, and he had always enjoyed the work of staging, despite the inherent difficulties and dangers.

He settled back into the seat, pulled his hat down over his tired eyes, and crossed his arms. His head was pounding after the doctor’s exam, the bright light of the sun outside, rivaling the glare of the lamp the doctor had used to check his eyes a little while ago.

Despite the headache that now throbbed relentlessly, it had been worth it. The doctor had given him the okay to travel, accompanied by the expected admonishment to rest and avoid strenuous activity for another couple of days. Doctor Bray had told both of them that, because he would continue to experience headaches, dizziness, and possibly even blackouts, Heath should not ride until the symptoms disappeared. He had emphasized that his loss of memory of recent events was not unusual and reminded them both that his memories may not come back.

While Heath had had head injuries before, he never remembered dealing with the constant pain and aggravating dizziness quite like this. He had not wanted to worry Mrs. Barkley by saying anything more to the doctor with her listening, but he had had several episodes, since the doctor had last seen him at the Durston’s, in which the pain had absolutely brought him up short.

This morning after he had eaten, he had had a blinding headache that had sent him to his knees on the floor of the small bedroom, for what seemed like an eternity. He had just been glad that no one had walked in on him and had found him there, gasping for breath like a dying old man.

The doctor had given him some medicine to carry along on the trip back to Stockton, but he was not interested in taking anything. He wanted no part of the lethargy that he knew the foul-tasting stuff would produce.

However, he was well aware that she had picked it up from the table where he had deliberately left it, before they left the office.

Pulling his hat down more securely over the bandage, as they hit a bump in the road, he tried to relax and will himself into sleep.

* * * * * * * *

She knew the stage trip should take at least three days. Though the distance wasn’t all that great, the normal speed of a stagecoach, with its frequent change of horses, was not much of an advantage in this area. The road meandered both up and down, across switchbacks on both sides of the ridgeline of the Sierras. The changes in elevation would be enough to slow even the strongest of teams. Added to these adversities was the fact that, while most stage trips included travel at night in order to speed the journey, this route was known for its dangerous terrain.

Though she had heard it said that some drivers preferred to make this run at night so they would not see how close the wheels of the stage often came to the edge of the mountain road on some of the curves, she hoped this was merely the nonsense of bravado talking. The man inside the stage depot had, in fact, assured her that the road was considered non-negotiable after dark----at least until they crossed beyond Tamarack.

She glanced over at Heath. He had barely stirred in hours, even when the driver had stopped for new horses about thirty minutes back. Part of her was loathe to wake him, since she knew he needed to rest, but she wasn’t really sure he was asleep.

Reaching across the space between them and gently removing his hat, she sucked in her breath at the pallor of his sweating face and the crease that seemed forever etched deeply between his eyebrows.

She watched him for a few more minutes, trying to decide what to do next. Then, she grasped firmly onto the window opening across from her and pulled herself forward. She turned and sat down next to him, very glad the wheels had not hit a bump during her ill-conceived attempt to change seats.

Pulling the small bag of provisions she had brought along across the floor of the stage and out from behind his long legs, she retrieved the canteen and untied her bandana. Wetting it as best she could and closing the canteen again, she held the bandana outside the window and wrung it out.

“Heath. Heath!” she said as she reached over to shake his arm, hoping for a reaction. When he did not respond, she leaned toward him and gently wiped his face with the cold, wet cloth. After several minutes of applying the compress against his face with no reaction, she worked one end of it behind his neck and left it there, hoping the coolness would assist her in reviving him.

Again, she leaned toward him, and, while she used one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, she reached out with the other and lightly tapped his face. “Heath!” she called.

After several attempts, she saw him blink and his light-blue eyes trying to focus on her. “Heath,” she breathed in relief.

He raised himself up straighter on the uncomfortable seat and looked at her without understanding. Then, she offered him the canteen, and he automatically drank a swallow from it.

Slowly, she could see his confusion slipping away as he became a little more alert.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly.

He nodded and then looked out of the window. After studying the view for a few moments, she heard him say quietly, “We’re near Ebbet's Pass.”

Amazed, she asked, “How did you know that? You’ve been out for hours.”

He glanced back over at her and smiled slightly, “I used ta make this same run, several years ago. I could drive it blindfolded.”

She looked at him, started to ask him how he felt, and then, laughed softly to herself. She knew the answer he would give before she asked the question. So, instead, she

contented herself with trying to hand him a sandwich, which he shook his head against accepting, and with just watching him closely.

He reached around behind his neck and pulled out her bandana, and he looked at her curiously, then gazed back down at the wet cloth in his hand. “I can’t thank you enough for takin’ such good care’a me. My own Mama couldn’t ‘ave done better by me.”

Surprised to hear him mention the woman she knew he revered above all others so freely to her, she said, “Thank you, Heath. I know how special Leah was to you, so I take that as a very nice compliment.”

He nodded at her, his eyes looking deeply into hers, and she saw her own puzzlement mirrored back at her from his.

Then, trying to keep the conversation going and wanting to know more, to somehow get closer to this son of hers that, despite her best efforts, continued to keep her at arm’s length, she asked, “What other jobs up in this area did you have, Heath, before you came to the ranch?”

He leaned back into the seat and turned away from her. She sat forward enough to see that his eyes seemed to be searching the growing dark of the tree-lined view all around them. His words that followed were spoken quietly, “Worked a few claims down on the Stanislaus, spent some time runnin’ supply shipments up from Murphy’s Camp down below us, an’ led more than my share’a hunting trips up inta the Sierras from over near Eagle Peak, below Sonora. ‘Never could seem ta stay in one place very long, so jobs like that kept me goin’. ‘Only spent one winter up here, though. That was a loggin’ job, an’ that was one winter too many.”

He paused and the silence stretched out between them, filling the stage and almost echoing in the small space----echoing like one of Nick’s loud hollers would have echoed across the distant peaks. She reached over and grasped his closest hand, “I’m glad you found your way to us after all those jobs, after all that moving around, Heath.”

Again, as he glanced over at her and nodded without speaking, she saw the confused look darken his eyes for a brief instant. Then, he responded, as he again turned away from her and rested his head against the corner where the side and back of the stage met, “I am too, Ma’am.”

Since his eyes were closed, and the sharp pain was again stabbing into him from the back of his head around to his forehead, he did not see the look that his words brought to her face, the look that bordered somewhere between hurt and disbelief.

As she sat watching him, she couldn’t help wondering if she had only imagined the forgiveness she had felt from him during the week or so before they left the ranch to begin this trip. Was he trying to distance himself from her again? Was he just not comfortable calling her Mother anymore, after the recent events with Anders?

Or, was it something else?

When had he started saying Ma’am to her again?

Though she tried to think back, she could not remember an instance of it since before they had arrived at the Durston’s.

Had something happened, something of which she was not aware? Had someone at Carl and Alice’s ranch said something to upset him, or. . . .?

The questions continued to bother her, as she tried to follow his example and settle back into the seat.

She knew, judging from the deepening shadows and Heath’s knowledge of where they were, that it wouldn’t be long before they reached their stop for the night. Hopefully, once there, she would be able to get him to talk to her about whatever was bothering him.

She knew that, no matter what, she would be unable to endure a whole day of this much uncomfortable distance between them tomorrow.

Chapter 7

She felt the slowing of the stage in the near dark, long before she could see a light of any dwelling up ahead. She had been anxiously looking for the light for the last rugged miles, hoping that they would arrive soon, wishing she had enough light to see Heath’s face, to see how he was doing, even if he wouldn’t tell her himself.

Reaching over beside her, she shook Heath gently by the shoulder, “Heath. Heath, wake up!”

With relief, she finally saw his eyes open as she heard the driver call out the single, long, drawn-out word to his team, “Whoa-a-a-a!”

As soon as the stage stopped, she pushed the door open and jumped down without assistance. Reaching back inside, she lifted her small bag of provisions to the ground and then leaned back in to grasp Heath on the knee. Shaking him repeatedly, she felt him begin to finally move toward her with a low groan.

When he jumped to the ground and staggered, she was glad her hand had quickly found his arm in the dark. “Hold onto me, Heath,” she offered.

Suddenly, she felt his other side supported by the driver, and together, they assisted him toward the beckoning, yellow light shining through the open door of the station.

“What happened, Ma’am?” the driver asked in concern, as they helped Heath to a bed against one wall of the station. He had noticed the cowboy’s bandaged head back in Bridgeport. “He was alright earlier this afternoon, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was alright then,” she replied, as she pulled off one of his boots, then, began working on the other. Looking over at Heath’s face, with his closed eyes and face turned partially toward the wall, she knew he was already asleep.

“I don’t know. He just seemed to get worse. At first, I thought he was just asleep, but a couple of hours ago I realized he was unconscious. He came around, for a little while, but. . . “ she trailed off, her worry making her less than interested in conversation.

She looked up as a kindly-looking, old man limped over with a tin cup in his hand that he extended toward her. “Name’s Haverty, Ma’am.”

To the driver, he said, “Ellis, I’ll go look after the team. You get cleaned up and get some stew in you. I’ll help her with him when I come back.”

Nodding to the two men, she said, “I’ll pour you that stew in a moment, Mr. Ellis. Thank you for helping me with him. Maybe he’ll be better in the morning after some decent sleep.”

As they both left, one to the water barrel out back and the other to unharness the horses, she pulled up a rickety-looking wooden chair beside the bed. Then, she sat sipping the cool water from the cup, while she ran her fingers through Heath’s hair with the other hand.

“Heath, Honey, just rest easy, now,” she said. “Just rest, Son.”

Her soothing words, spoken aloud in the quiet room were meant as much to calm herself as they were intended for him.

When Ellis returned, she rose from her chair and made her way across the room to the large wood stove. Lifting the lid from the huge, cast-iron pot on top, she then used a long spoon to stir the thick, savory stew. She poured three bowls and carried them in two trips to the nearby table. She then poured three cups of water and sat down so that she faced Heath’s bed across the room, before she began cutting the warm loaf of bread already placed before them. She passed a slice to the tired driver.

Haverty joined the two of them, and they ate in near silence. The two men seemed to be almost embarrassed to be in her company, and they kept glancing up at her as they ate.

Finally, Ellis asked, “Ma’am, is that fella, there, your son?”

“Yes, he is,” she replied with a small smile. “I’m Victoria Barkley, and he is my son, Heath.”

Suddenly, Haverty dropped his spoon and stared at her. He staggered up from the bench he shared with Ellis and limped quickly across the room toward the bed. Alarmed, Victoria stood and followed him. As they both reached the bed, she grabbed the old man by the arm, trying to stop any intent to hurt or bother her injured son.

“What are you doing, Mr. Haverty?” she cried.

But, the look on the old man’s face, as he turned back to stare at her, told her immediately that he meant Heath no harm. Ellis came up behind her, and they both watched as the old man struggled to ease down to sit on the bed next to the sleeping young man.

He reached out a trembling hand and touched Heath gently on the side of his face. “Heath? Heath, it really is you, ain’t it?” When his words elicited no response, he reached up and stroked the blond hair above the bandage almost reverently. Then, he turned and looked up at the two people staring down at him in amazement.

“This boy saved my life, once, Mrs. Barkley.” His words were spoken slowly, and his voice sounded choked. “I thought he looked familiar somehow, but I didn’t figure it out ‘til just now, when I heard you say his name. ‘Kind of an unusual name, Heath, don’t you think?”

He reached back and patted Heath’s chest once, then got shakily to his feet. Ellis reached out for him and helped him back to the table. They sat down at their places, and while she and Ellis began eating again, Haverty just toyed with his food.

Softly, she said, with her eyes on her stew, “Mr. Haverty, I’d like to hear the story if you don’t mind telling it.”

He pushed his bowl away and looked at her across the table. There were tears in his bright, blue eyes as he watched her face. Unbidden, she felt tears begin to burn her own.

“You’re not his Ma,” he said, though his voice held no accusation or insult. Instead, he simply said it in a matter-of-fact manner.

However, when he didn’t say anything else, she took a deep breath and decided to open up to him.

“No, I’m not, Mr. Haverty,” she started.

But, he interrupted her immediately. “It’s Ogden,” he said.

Ellis nearly choked on his stew, and his eyes grew wide as he stared at the man beside him. “I’ve known you for two years, you old goat, and I never even knew you had a first name, least ways, not a real name other than the Jehu or Charlie that people call all’a us in this business. She sits down with you for less than an hour, and you tell HER your name!?”

The old man chuckled and said, “She’s better looking than you, and she’s here with the boy that I’ve wished for years could’ve been my son. So shut up, you old hostler, and eat your stew.”

Smiling at their banter, she turned her eyes back to the white-headed man across from her and waited.

But, it seemed that he was waiting for her to continue first. She shook her head at the idea of opening up her family’s concerns to these two men, as the three of them sat together in a single, rough-hewn room, far from any place on most maps.

However, she took a deep breath and began again, “Heath never knew his father, my husband. Now that Tom Barkley is dead, now that Heath’s mother is dead---my sons, my daughter, and I are all the family he has. You probably knew him as Heath Thomson, but Heath Barkley is my son in every way that matters, Mr. Haverty.”

The pride in her voice as she finished was unmistakable, and Ogden Haverty’s watery eyes watched her with equal measures of it shining through his voice as well, as he replied, “Mrs. Barkley, Ma’am, that boy’s one fine young man, full of a goodly plenty of compassion, but armed with enough anger and pride to fuel any fight worth starting. And stubborn. . . !” He gave a low whistle. “Geez Louise, he is one stubborn cuss.”

As she and Ellis waited, he continued. “It were three years ago; he couldn’t have been much over twenty. He sure knew how to handle a team though, even then. When the gold was flowing more freely through these mountains, it seemed like getting from one side to the other, and quickly, was even more important to the ones what could pay. We used to use six-in-hand back then, just switched over to four shortly after he left. He and I were a good team ourselves, one driving while the other toted the rifle at the ready, riding shotgun for the other, then switching off when the one driving tired. We always made good time, had only one bad accident in the six or seven months we were together.”

He paused and took a deep breath, the memories cutting deep. “But, that’s another story. The one I set out to tell was of the night he saved my life. It was blistering cold, the ice and snow were blinding us both, making it hard to keep to the road, making it hard to tell where we were. Weren’t no passengers to hurry us, but we were carrying a coupl’a strong boxes full of gold across the pass and down to Tamarack. The company thought if we carried it, ‘stead’a the usual stage through Silver Lake to the north, wouldn’t nobody bother it, or us. Turns out, they were wrong.”

Haverty stopped and took a drink of the beer that Ellis had slipped him a little while back. His eyes were far away, and, after a quiet moment, he reluctantly returned to the telling of it, “They got off a coupl’a shots at us a’fore we knew what had hit us.” He turned to Ellis. “Caught us coming through the bad curve just before the first crossing of the riverbed.”

Ellis nodded, and Ogden continued, “I was driving, and they got me in the leg, all but shattered my knee. It came close to knocking me off the box. Heath was on top and took one in the shoulder, but he climbed down to me and got me steady. Then, he brought the team under control. I think we would’ve made it out that way, except it was the first snow, and there was too much ice. The slack had already given’em too much momentum. He had to slow the team so much to keep us from turning over, the gang caught up to us.”

“Somehow,” he said, turning back to look at the still figure on the bed behind him before continuing, “He managed to get the team stopped, and get me down to the ground behind some rocks. He stood guard over me all night. ‘Brought down all three of them jack- . . . ah, scoundrels, before the night was over. ‘Got’em one by one, as they tried to climb in on us. I weren’t much use to him. I just kept drifting in and out, able to see some of what was going on, but not able to help him, not able to lift one finger to help him.”

He sat there quietly and stared into his beer, shaking his head all the while.

Ellis reached out and touched him on the arm, and Ogden’s head came up. “He killed them all, and then he got us down that mountain the next morning. It took the doctor two hours to dig that slug outta him, and my leg was never the same, but somehow, thanks to his plain, cussed, determination, both of us survived it.”

Then, his tale finished, he looked across the table at Victoria. He searched her face, “You are one fine woman to treat him as your own. Not many’d do that----can’t say as I know even one who would. But, you probably already know that you are much richer for it, don’tcha?”

With tears falling freely from her eyes, she said, “Yes, Ogden. I know. My whole family knows. And, I thank you from the bottom of this mother’s heart, for telling me about my son. There is so much I don’t know about him, so much he would never say about himself.”

Ogden smiled and chuckled, “You’re right about that, Mrs. Barkley. Heath’s not talky like some I’ve been stuck with!” He elbowed Ellis, who grinned at him in return. “Now, both of you’d better get some sleep. Stage’ll pull out early tomorrow, and if Heath’s no better, you’ll want him out of these mountains that much faster.”

She rose and reached across the table to cover his gnarled hand with hers. “Thank you, Ogden.”

He nodded at her, then added, “It’d be my pleasure to keep an eye on that boy through the night, Mrs. Barkley. You rest easy. I’ll call out to you if I need your assistance with him.”

She squeezed the man’s hand again and moved across the room to check on Heath. Meanwhile, Ogden lumbered over to a corner of the large room and tugged on a couple of blankets whose ends were pushed up high over the rafters. Each fell neatly in place to create a partition in the corner from the rest of the room

His breathing was fine, and she was pretty sure he was only sleeping. He reacted to her gentle touch to the back of his head by moving away slightly from the uncomfortable pressure applied there as she changed his bandage. Then, after straightening Heath’s blankets, she knew there was nothing more that could be done for him tonight.

Satisfied, she retired to the area that had been prepared for her, where her last thoughts before she fell asleep were of a shoot-out in these mountains over three years before and of the friendship that had developed around it.

Chapter 8

He sat with Heath through the night, offering the only thanks he knew how to the young man who had done the same for him years ago, as Heath had guarded him through that long night in the blinding snow.

* * * * * * * *

Heath woke up in a familiar place. He heard the soft snores and could just make out the features of an unchanged Ogden Haverty by the glow of a down-turned oil lamp nearby. He lay there, unmoving, on the thin mattress over the bed frame of yellow pine and hemp. He was covered with a brightly-colored, wool blanket.

Shaking his head to clear it of sleep and confusion, he quietly gazed around the dimly-lit room.

This was the Ebbet's Pass stage station. Even in the near dark of early morning, he recognized the arrangement of chairs by the huge, stone fireplace, the placement of rugs on the wooden floor, and the relics of many hunting trips attached to the walls.

But, how did he get here?

“Ogden?” he whispered, his eyes on the old man, who was gently snoring, his feet propped up on an over-turned bucket near his chair. “Oggie?”

He struggled to sit up and was instantly attacked by a ferocious, stabbing pain that burned through his head. Groaning softly, he raised one hand up and found the bandage wrapped around his forehead.

He fought silently with the pain, trying to remember how he came to be here.

Beyond the pain was only blackness, blackness-----and this darkened room with the one other occupant that he could see, . . . that he could remember.

Ebbet's Pass, . . . . . Tamarack, Murphy’s Camp, Cherokee Flats.

The names lined up in his head, each one following the last, more than just names on a mountain map, more than just destinations along a familiar stage route.

They were all places he knew well.

But, weren’t they from another time?

Weren’t they from before?

Before what?

He struggled to hold onto brief images of . . . . of people and places, . . . of events and experiences. . . of a more recent time and place.

Shaking his head slightly, trying to clear it of the blackness that threatened him from around the edges, he reached for his boots, pulled them on over his socks, and lowered the bottoms of the tan-colored jeans he still wore to cover them. Then, he pushed himself up from the edge of the wooden frame of the bed.

He half-walked, half-staggered toward the back of the chair where the old man still snored. Patting the thin shoulder of the man affectionately, Heath then crossed over to a large chair by the cold fireplace. He picked up a woolen blanket folded there and opened it to wrap the heavy covering around his bare shoulders.

It was summer somewhere below them on the mountain, but here in this high pass, with the moon just visible through the doorway he quietly opened, it was still chilly enough to make him shiver.

He stood staring out at the dark landscape, its trees silhouetted against a deep, pre-dawn blue sky, their top-most branches brightly tinged with the silver of moonlight. The craggy peaks beyond, still edged in snow even at this time of year, brought him a sense of comfort.

With so much turmoil in his mind about when and how, he felt relaxed by the familiarity of it all. He glanced over at the waiting stage ready for use later in the morning. Then, he walked toward it, inexplicably drawn toward its bulky shape.

The last time he remembered being here, at Ebbet's Pass Station, it had been the beginning of winter. It had just started snowing, and he and Ogden had headed out in the afternoon with that gold shipment.

But, . . . something else had happened. He and the old man had been . . . .

Confused, he reached up and touched his bandaged head. Then, without conscious thought, he dropped his hand and rubbed his left shoulder, just below his collarbone. He leaned heavily against the stage, shaking his head against the dizziness that threatened, struggling to remember, to get it all straight.

In his mind, he saw the rocks and the snow, felt the sting of the ice and the wind in his eyes. He slid down to the ground, his back protected by the scratchy, woolen blanket against the side of the coach, until he fell forward in the dirt on his knees. He closed his eyes, and shook his head again, trying to pull the images into something he could hold onto.

He could see the rocks, he could feel the relentless cold, and he could hear. . . . He opened his eyes, raising them. Instead of the rough log shape of the station in the early morning darkness, he could see the rocks all around him. Above him, he could see movement, and he remembered the three men trying to climb down to finish them off.

Them?

He reached behind him with his hand, expecting to feel the unconscious body of Ogden Haverty, the old man he had grown to care about, the old man he had to protect.

But, suddenly, he shook his head again, pain crashing over him.

The man he reached out to touch wasn’t Oggie. It was a much younger, darker-headed man, a man with laughing blue eyes, eyes the color of a deep, calm lake in the early morning shade.

He knew this man. He could see, hear, and even feel this man’s reassuring smile, offering him a drink and a heart-felt piece of advice by the warmth of a marble-mantled fireplace.

The constant pain in his head began to rumble louder, its pounding coming in rolls of dark thunder. He dropped his head, grabbing at it with both hands, pressing his hands into his forehead until he could push no further.

Gasping for breath, he reached out again to touch the unconscious man behind him, only to find that he wasn’t in the rocks at all. He wasn’t guarding anyone. Behind him, all he touched with his searching fingers was the smooth, iron-clad wood of the stagecoach wheel.

Shaking his head again, his confusion slowly dissipating as the pain receded back to a dull, constant pounding, he began struggling to his feet. He turned and used the spokes of the wheel to haul himself up, the blanket slipping from his shoulders as he lurched upward.

Then, he leaned forward heavily, bracing himself on the tall rear wheel, his eyes closed as he sucked in deep breaths, one at a time, through his nose.

As he opened his eyes, he reached out and placed his hand on the door of the coach, absently tracing the capital letter M’s that engraved it.

Then, he walked slowly around the singletree resting on the ground, and he sought out the path he knew wove through the trees to his right. Only once did the stabbing pain through his head force him to stop and lean against a lodgepole pine, struggling for clarity, struggling for balance. When the pain eased, he shook his head as if to force the dizziness away, and he pushed off from the almost smooth bark of the trunk to continue up the path.

Sighing deeply when he reached his destination, he adjusted the blanket and climbed up on a boulder flanking the path. All around him, the sky was beginning to lighten, and the first pink tinges of the sunrise to come could be seen reflecting from the undersides of the clouds, far away to the east.

He sat down on the rock, and he waited and watched.

* * * * * * * *

When she awoke, she lay listening to the quiet sounds of early morning drifting toward her from beyond the blanket partition. She could hear the sound of metal on metal and of water being poured, indicating that someone was cooking. A chair scraped across the floor, and footsteps could be heard. However, no voices identified the room’s occupants.

Quickly, she dressed for travel, straightened the bed beside her, and repacked her bag. Then, she pulled back one of the blankets hanging down from the rafters and emerged from her shielded area.

She glanced around, noting that Heath’s bed was empty and that he was not in the room.

“Mr. Haverty,” she asked, breaking the near-silence, “Where is Heath?”

“It’s Ogden, Ma’am,” he reminded, “When I woke up, Heath was gone.”

She looked at him in wide-eyed shock at this simple statement. She hurried toward the door to begin the search for her missing son, but was stopped by Ogden’s next words.

“It’s alright, Ma’am. I know where he is.”

She turned back to him, ready to give the white-headed man limping toward her a piece of her mind.

“Mr. Haverty, stop playing games with me, . . . .”

“No, Ma’am. It’s not like that.” He held up his hands as he approached, shaking his head contritely all the while. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Barkley. Just let me explain.”

She relaxed visibly at his obvious distress and nodded at him. “Go on.”

“Heath always was an early riser. He’s got a favorite spot to watch the sunrise. C’mon. I’ll show you.” He reached behind him for a blanket from the back of a chair, took her elbow, and turned her toward the door.

Together, they stepped out into the fresh, cool air of the early morning. She breathed in the scent of pine and let her eyes take in the beauty of the place that had not been visible in the darkness and worry of last evening.

The trees all around them seemed to stretch toward the sky, the perfect, slender straightness of the lodgepole pines vying with the fuller, taller red firs. The pinks and reds of the sunrise to the east cast the trees in a soft, rosy glow.

Ogden led her toward a path barely noticeable between the trees. Then, he stopped and pointed.

“He’ll be just through those trees. He’s got a favorite rock. I’ll have you both some breakfast ready in about twenty minutes, and by then, Ellis’ll have the horses harnessed to go.”

The old man handed her the blanket and turned to head back to the low, log building. Victoria squeezed his hand as he went by. Then, she walked quickly down the root-strewn path.

Chapter 9

He was deep in thought, trying to make all the pieces, from what little he could remember, fit together and stay together, when he heard a noise behind him. He wrapped the blanket more securely around his bare shoulders and struggled to rise, one hand pushing off from the rough rock beneath him.

Seeing her approach, his heightened alertness dissolved and the jarring headache returned to fill the space where the alarm had been. He stood facing her, realizing suddenly that, of all the pieces he had been trying to make sense of, she was the one part that just would not fit.

He knew who she was, but he was not sure how or why they were together.

Watching her quiet, quick steps and taking in her silver-haired sparkle, he felt somehow drawn to her. . . .

. . . Then, he shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to make sense of it all.

“Good morning, Heath,” she said, her smile hiding the sudden stab of fear and loss that his puzzled face held for her.

He just nodded at her in greeting.

But, when he realized she was clearly intent on joining him on top of the rock, he stepped forward and pointed, his hand extending out from under the blanket that draped his shoulders, toward a narrow opening between the boulders to her left.

“Come around this way.”

Then, he leaned down and held out his hand, helping to pull her up to the top of the smaller rock that offered her access to the slightly higher one he was standing on.

When she had joined him, they both turned and sat down, side-by-side.

Quietly, they watched the changing of the sky all around them.

They sat almost companionably, each wrapped in a warm blanket of wool. But, in truth, they were separated from each other by the mantle of confusion they both wore.

They sat there for long moments, watching the brightening sky together. Yet, their eyes were surrounded by their own clouds of questions, questions to which neither of them had any answers.

* * * * * * * *

He knew this place, and he remembered Ogden Haverty. In fact, except for Ellis, everything here was as he remembered it----the station, the stage itself, this rock.

But, if he was still driving the stage on the run from Bridgeport to Cherokee Flats, why was Mrs. Barkley here----Mrs. Barkley, the woman he remembered from the ranch where he knew he had worked in Stockton?

He shook his head. No, he wasn’t still driving the stage.

He had been on a horse buying trip to several ranches, a trip he had been sent on by. . . by his boss, Nick Barkley.

But, why had he and Mrs. Barkley been together on a ranch near Bridgeport? He just couldn’t believe that Nick would have sent his mother with him, just because she knew the family he was going to be buying from.

Nick.

The images came roaring back to him, like the roar of the man when he was angered. But, even more than the growls and the temper, he remembered a dark-headed man with laughing hazel eyes and arms strong enough to hold onto an empire of fertile ground, diverse crops, and abundant livestock----strong arms backed by a huge heart, a heart with room enough to spare for a lost young man pulled constantly into the folds of camaraderie and . . . and of trust.

But, did Nick trust him, one of his hired hands, this much----trust him enough to travel with his mother and keep her safe?

And, finally, the question that plagued him the most, over and over, every time she looked at him or spoke to him------Why was she so solicitous toward him, so concerned about his feelings and his welfare, almost as if. . . almost as if he were one of her own?

* * * * * * * *

She knew she was making him uncomfortable.

The doctor was right, the quiet tentativeness she detected from him was definitely because of her-----but, not, as the doctor had said, because of his reluctance to let her know he was in pain.

Though she knew him well enough to be quite sure he would never mention it if he were still hurting, she knew the change she detected was from more than just that.

Something was making him withdraw from her.

Was it that he had decided after all that he couldn’t forgive her for her role in forcing him to go with Bentell several months ago, or that he couldn’t forgive her for trying to make him help Anders more recently?

No, she wouldn’t believe that he could change his mind about any of that. He had forgiven her and he had meant it----well, not in so many words, but she knew he had. He had said he just wanted them to talk through any situations and make decisions as a family, rather than. . . . No, it couldn’t be that!

Was his distance somehow related to their arrival at the Durston’s?

It had to be. He hadn’t been that unsure of himself around her before reaching Bridgeport.

Was it that she and Tom had been there together years ago? Did that fact make him uncomfortable? If Alice had noted the resemblance between father and son, had Carl or some of their long-time hands commented on it to Heath?

But, wasn’t he used to hearing that by now? In the beginning, people in Stockton had occasionally made a similar comment, but it probably had not occurred recently.

If it had happened at the Durston’s ranch, was he just having trouble dealing with it because it had been the first time it had been brought up since Coreyville?

She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking hard. Could it all be related, all tangled up into one huge knot that he couldn’t work his way out of?

Or, was it more than that?

She remembered the puzzled looks he had given her in the last few days when she tried to express her concern about him, and she shuddered momentarily, thinking of his use of the cold, formal “Ma’am” that she had heard him say three times now.

She thought about the way he had thanked her for taking care of him. She could hear his voice inside her head, his tentative words implying that he had no right to such treatment from her, his words and voice conveying his surprise that she would even bother.

It was almost as if, . . . . No, . . . . No, it couldn’t be that!

She had thought he was distancing himself from her again, somehow withdrawing from her in direct relation to a renewed lack of faith and trust in her----all of it related to her disregard for his feelings and choices in the last few months.

It would be like him to avoid telling her of any recent thoughts and turmoil out of deference for her feelings, but, . . . but, it was more than that.

Besides, what she hadn’t been able to figure out was why he had made a sudden change.

Now, she knew.

As the sun far to the east suddenly burst through the low-lying cloud cover and a ray of light found its way over the tops of the mountain ridges separating their dull, grey rock from the bright orange disk, it finally dawned on her that there was more going on here than simple mistrust.

No, in fact, it wasn’t mistrust at all.

In her mind, she could see him again where he lay in the swirling dust two days ago. Then, she could see his confused blue eyes, searching the faces around him as he struggled to sit up next to the corral fence. It had happened just before he blacked out, just before they had eased him back to the brown dirt, so deathly pale and silent.

She saw it again in her head, saw his lack of understanding, his lack of recollection for anyone gathered around him.

And, she saw his lack of recognition, even for her, before his eyes had closed in pain.

His use of the formal response of “Ma’am” that she hated and his confusion every time she expressed her concerns to him------now all of it made sense. Each time she had tried to offer him her caring and support since that fall, he had looked at her almost in disbelief, not understanding why she was treating him as if he were one of her own.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her, the woman he had called “Mother” for the last five months or more.

No, it was much more than that.

Now, she finally realized that he didn’t even know he had ever called her “Mother.”

Chapter 10

She had set out on this trip with him eager to regain his trust in her after the events of the last few months. But, now, she doubted that he even remembered those events! Here they were, sitting on the edge of the world, watching the sunrise together as it lit up a new day, and the opportunity for becoming more comfortable around each other had disintegrated before it had had a chance to begin.

She shook her head at the irony of it all, shook her head and refused to give in to the temptation to burst into tears and cover her face in her hands.

Instead, she stole one hand out from under the warm blanket and reached out to place it on his wool-covered shoulder beside her.

She decided to proceed cautiously.

“Heath, the doctor told me that you’re having trouble remembering what happened at the Durston’s ranch. Can you tell me what you do remember?”

He glanced sideways at her, surprised at her hand on his shoulder, and even more surprised at the question, the question that so closely mirrored his own.

Starting slowly, as if just talking about it made his difficulty in putting it all into any reasonable sequence more distressing, he said, “I can recall us arriving at the ranch a couple of days ago, and I remember looking at some horses there. The doctor told me the man I was buying the horses from was Mr. Durston.”

She nodded encouragingly, but he didn’t say anything else.

Quietly, she asked, “And, before that? Do your remember where else we went, the other horses you purchased?”

He shook his head. “No, Ma’am, Mrs. Barkley. I don’t remember much of anything about this trip.”

She closed her eyes and squeezed his shoulder, trying to focus on helping him through his confusion, despite the ache that squeezed her own heart in a vise at his words, at the use of the formal “Ma’am” that she finally understood, on top of the title, “Mrs. Barkley.”

She took a deep breath before saying, “I know it must all be very frustrating and confusing for you, Heath.”

Beside her, he nodded, consumed again by that feeling that he was missing something important where she was concerned.

She had to think. How could she get him to tell her about their ranch, about his home, about what he did and did not remember, without making this any harder on him?

Just as she turned to him, ready to ask another question, however, they heard Ogden Haverty’s voice calling to them from up the trail. Heath smiled lopsidedly, pushed himself carefully up from the rock, and offered her his hand. “I don’t remember much about the last few days, but I do remember Ogden, an’ I know when he sets breakfast out, there won’t be much left if we don’t hurry.”

Looking up at him, she reached out her hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. She adjusted the comforting blanket over her pale peach blouse, and she smiled her thanks to him for his attentive assistance as she jumped from the boulder to the small rock and from there to the ground. She turned toward the station and climbed up the gently sloping path just in front of him.

Then, at the top of the trail, just as she turned to speak to him again, she saw him falter. His hand shot out from under his blanket to reach toward a small sapling that bordered the path. As she returned to assist him, she saw his white-knuckled grip on the thin trunk and his tightly closed eyes as he fought with the dizziness.

She was no more than three steps away from him, when he moaned and turned away from her, retching into the undergrowth bordering the trail. Quickly, she caught his arm and tried to steady him as he clung to the tree and leaned into it with one shoulder.

When he could stand again, she pulled his right arm over her shoulders and wrapped her left arm around his waist. She tried to assist him in continuing up the trail, but only managed to keep him from toppling over as he staggered from one tree trunk to the next for about ten feet. Finally, unable to go on, he collapsed on his knees, almost dragging her down with him.

“Heath,” she gasped, fighting for breath as hard as he was. “Heath, just rest here. I’ll get Ogden.”

She pushed off of one of her knees to get to her feet. Then, she quickly ran her fingers through his hair, pulled his blanket up around his shoulders more securely, and left him kneeling on the ground, his face pale and drawn in deep pain.

Then, she turned and ran toward the station. “Ogden!” she called as she ran. “Ogden!”

Relieved to see both men moving toward her as quickly as possible, she stopped and tried to catch her breath.

“Where’s Heath? Is he hurt?” Ogden Haverty called as he approached her with his stiff-legged, half-hopping gait.

She nodded her head at them, “He’s just down the trail, and he’s terribly dizzy and sick again. Please help him.”

They looked at each other and then jogged past her into the trees.

Following them, she was quickly relieved to see the two of them reach Heath and pull him to his feet. They all returned slowly to the clearing with Heath walking, but assisted between the two men. He was leaning less heavily on them than he had on her a little earlier.

“Take him straight to the stage, Ogden,” she said emphatically. “I have to get him home.”

The older of the two men nodded, and, together, he and Ellis steered Heath to the awaiting stage, the horses in place and ready. She ran into the station, grabbed his shirt and their bags, before returning to the stage. Ogden took them from her.

“Mrs. Barkley, wrap those two plates I fixed for you both in a couple of napkins and take them with you. Both of you will need some food in a little while. The hostler at the next stop can’t cook worth a da----I mean, can’t cook worth his salt, so I already packed you some sandwiches for later. I’ll get you some extra bedding to take with you. We’re gonna need to cushion his ride some.”

She nodded, grasped his arm in silent thanks, and turned back inside.

After gathering the supplies, she returned to the stage, glanced up at Ellis in the box above her, and climbed inside unaided. From the other side, Ogden handed her an extra, folded blanket through the open window. She eased Heath’s head and shoulders toward her and tucked it down behind his back where he sat propped up against the inside corner. Then, she did the same with the thin feather pillow he handed her, using it to cushion Heath’s head.

She leaned out across her son, grasped Ogden’s hand through the window, and said, “Thank you so much for all you did to help us.” Then, looking into his concerned eyes, she added, “I’ll be sure he knows how much you care about him, Ogden.”

The old man nodded, and tightened his grip on her hand, before releasing her and waving his hat as he stepped back and shouted up to Ellis, “Get a move on there, you Charlie!”

Ellis hollered, “Hi! Hi!” and his team of four sprang forward.

Victoria held onto the edge of her seat with one hand and caught Heath’s hand in hers with the other. She leaned into him to help wedge him into the corner, to steady him, and she felt him squeeze her hand.

As the rhythm of the stage evened out, she turned toward him slightly and reached up to touch his face. “Heath,” she said loudly over the rattling and bumping of the coach, “Are you alright?”

His blue eyes were closed and partially-covered by one hand, but he nodded affirmatively. “Yes, Ma’am. A little dizzy and wonderin’ who threw a rock at my head, but better now.”

She sighed in relief that he would even tell her what was wrong, though deep inside, she was again jolted by his use of the word “Ma’am.”

She patted his arm and leaned down to retrieve the canteen at her feet. Opening and handing it to him, she sat back in the seat as he rinsed out his mouth and spat out the water through the open window.

“Ogden sent us some food. Do you want anything yet?” she asked as he took another swig from the canteen, wiped off the rim with the edge of the blanket he was still wrapped in, and handed it back to her.

He shook his head, and said, “No, Ma’am.” Now that his eyes were open, he spotted his blue shirt from where it lay on the seat across from them, and he leaned forward to retrieve it. He looked at her as he tried to decide whether to just remove the blanket and put the shirt on or to try to ease it on beneath the covering of the thick woolen layer.

“For goodness sake, Heath,” she laughed, “It’s alright. Just put it on, Son.”

His eyes caught hers and held for a few seconds, as he froze in the act of placing his hand inside the sleeve. He searched her face, and she felt her breath catch in her throat at the slip.

Slowly, he nodded at her, the confusion compounded as the use of the word “son” reverberated around in his pounding head. He pulled the shirt on, ignoring the blanket that slipped down to his waist, his eyes still fastened on hers. Then, he leaned back in the seat and rested the side of his head against the inner wall of the stage and closed his eyes as his fingers fastened each button. The crease of pain and confusion that had almost become a permanent mark between his eyebrows, told her that her use of the word had cost him.

Vowing silently to be more careful about what she said to him, she turned her eyes outside the window to her right. Only part of her mind registered the stunning, early morning beauty of the raw, untouched landscape around her.

The rest of her attention was focused on the young man beside her, though she did not turn around to look at him for a long while. When she finally did, she was pleased to see that he seemed to be sleeping, or at least resting, the blanket pulled back up over his shoulders and the pillow held fast between his head and the side of the coach.

Chapter 11

She nibbled on the breakfast of egg on buttered biscuit that she had wrapped in the cloth napkin over an hour before. As she ate and watched him sleep, her thoughts kept drifting back to the night at the house when, in front of the whole family she had apologized to Heath for her command months before to show them all some of Tom Barkley’s guts. After her apology, she had given him the letter she had written to Bentell, and he had surprised her by refusing the offer of sole control of their logging operations.

But, mainly, she recalled the moment that evening when she had known he had given her back his trust. It was the same moment she had realized she could never betray his trust in her again.

She could see him now in her mind, how he had looked as she had first struggled to make her apology. She could see, all over again, how difficult it had been for him to even hear her words, the words that had dredged up memories he had probably much rather let die.

With the family gathered around them, she had looked into his blue eyes, pleading with him to give her a chance to finish. She had held onto his hand and had felt the emotions surging through him. She had seen his battle to stay seated, had seen the difficulty he was having in remaining there with his hand in hers, had seen the war he was waging inside, all of it clashing with his love and respect for her.

And, all of it had been blatantly evident in his expressive blue eyes.

Then, he had closed his eyes for a second and had hauled in a ragged breath through his nose, his lips pressed together in a hard, straight line. He had let out the breath and opened his eyes to look squarely back into her grey eyes, and he had squeezed her hand and nodded.

With that simple action, she had known he had given her back his trust. He had let her know that he would wait her out, allow her to finish what she needed to say, no matter how it tore at him. He had let her know he had faith in her, and that, whatever her reason, he was willing to hear her out-----because he knew she would not hurt him again.

In that instant, she had known that he was right. She would never hurt him again. He had given her his heart and his trust, and she would never use them to betray him again.

After all that they had been through, after the bond of renewed trust that they had begun to build together that night and, now, on the first part of this trip, how could she even fathom having to back up and start over from the very beginning?

How was she going to reach him if he could not even remember her as the woman he called “Mother?”

Slowly, as the thoughts washed over her, surrounding her, choking her, she closed up the napkin and, unable to swallow any more, she put away the rest of her breakfast. She dropped her head and allowed a few tears to slide down her face and fall silently onto her hands, now clasped tightly together in her lap.

The despair was overwhelming.

What if he never regained his memory? What if, when they got home and the reality of his recent past as Heath Barkley, her son, collided with what little he remembered, and he decided he did not want that life? What if, in the very same month that he had assured them that he would stay, they lost him to a different decision made as a result of an accident far from home?

They could lose the brother and son they had just come to believe they had regained!

She shook her head and wiped at her tears. Turning her head, she took in the view as they descended the rugged road cut through the High Sierras just west of Ebbet's Pass. The trees were even more prevalent here, benefiting from the frequent rainfall on this side of the mountain range. Their green grandeur guarded the road on both sides, allowing only infrequent glimpses of the steep, rocky slopes all around them.

Again, she shook her head. She was determined, with a galvanized resolve, to help him find his way back to them all. She had to find a way to reach him, no matter what memories he still retained, no matter what memories he still lacked. He had fought to find his place with them once before, and, if necessary, she would encourage him to fight to find his home with them once again.

With hope now struggling and slowly winning through her despair, she returned her eyes to her son. His pale features belied his normal healthy tan, and she wondered just how correct her decision had been to continue this journey when his head injury was obviously so much worse than the doctor had believed.

Would it have been better for him if they had remained at the station for a while, waiting on the next stage run to Stockton? But, when would that have been? If they had left Bridgeport yesterday, they would have returned by way of Silver Lake and Carson Pass, but this particular run was only made once a week.

They could not have waited there at the station a whole week before getting him home and under the care of a doctor.

No, this was the right decision, the only decision. She had to get him home where he belonged.

She reached up and touched his face, laying her hand against the cold, sweaty dampness of his cheek. Then, she smoothed back his hair with her hand, and, while she was glad he was able to rest, she wished for the reassurance of his twinkling, sky blue eyes.

Sighing, she leaned back in the seat, and she tried in vain to get comfortable on the narrow seat of the coach. Despite the worries that continued to plague her, despite the bumps and holes in the winding road toward home, she tried to focus on her hopes more than on her fears.

* * * * * * * *

“JARROD! SILAS!” The familiar roar filled the foyer as Nick entered the house, waving the telegram in a black-gloved hand.

Having learned long ago that running was a response necessary only if he wanted to save his ears any additional battering, Jarrod took his time coming down the gold-carpeted, curving staircase of their home. His hands were shoved into his jeans pockets, and he wore a bemused expression on his face, his blue eyes that matched the blue shirt under his brown vest, twinkling in patient merriment.

“Ah, Nick, if that’s a telegram from Mother that you’re holding, you could have just shouted its contents from town. I’m quite sure the good news of their imminent arrival would have gotten to me faster and just as effectively.”

Nick smiled sarcastically at his older brother, his hazel eyes glaring at the calm expression on Jarrod’s face. “For your information, Counselor, it is from Mother, but it is not good news.”

Jarrod’s amusement quickly turned to seriousness, the medium blue of his eyes turning to midnight in an instant. “What is it, Nick? What’s wrong?”

“She says they’ll be slightly delayed in returning, that they may have to take the less-used Tamarack stage route,. . . and,” he paused to ease the telling of it with a slightly quieter voice, “She says not to worry, but that Heath was hurt in a fall from a horse.”

Jarrod took the telegram from Nick’s waving hand, whistling long and low as he did so, before saying, “That must have been some horse!”

Skimming the message, he asked, “What do you think could’ve happened, Nick? The whole trip was by stage except between ranches, and I don’t think I’ve ever known Heath to fall, unless he was breaking a bronc or was shot off.”

“Relax, Jarrod, he probably just got bruised up trying out some unbroken horse, and she insisted they give his backside a day or two to recover so he wouldn’t have to make the return stage ride standing up!”

Glancing up at Nick’s worried hazel eyes, Jarrod knew the words were designed to cover the concern he felt at the idea of anything happening to his partner and little brother.

He reached out, clasped Nick on the shoulder, and said, “I’m sure you’re right, Nick. He’s probably hopping mad at Mother for even telling us-----he knows you won’t let it rest now that she’s told you of his, uh, . . . undignified dismount.”

“Yeah, can’t you just see him cooped up inside a stagecoach for a couple of days, hardly able to sit down----and mad at her the whole time, but too polite and slightly shy with her to say so?” Nick’s slight smile flashed a little wider at the thought.

Then, he turned on his heel and headed back to the door. He said, “Apparently, he did manage to make some purchases, so I’d better get someone headed toward Sonora to meet the horses that were sent overland a few days ago.”

Pausing with his hand on the door, he turned back to Jarrod and said, “Hey, you tell Silas to be sure to supervise whatever Audra is making for lunch. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to be powerfully hungry, especially if I have to do all of my work and Heath’s for longer than I thought.”

Jarrod nodded, turned toward his study, and said loudly, “You’ll use any excuse, Nick, to get more food on your plate----and, by the way, are you finally admitting that Heath does a good bit of the work around here?”

Nick stuck his head back inside the door and replied, “Not a chance, Brother Jarrod. I just meant that the boy is good for a few extra chores here and there.”

Shaking his head, Jarrod continued through the doorway and down the side hallway to his study. Once there, he looked up at the picture of his father hanging above the mantel.

Then, moving slowly toward his desk to begin work on the books, he couldn’t help worrying about his mother and youngest brother, hoping that both of them were all right.

The knowledge that Heath had been hurt tore at him.

Last night, he had promised Nick he would take a look at the accounts for the vineyard today. But, as he tried to concentrate on the task at hand, the idea, that this brother, who reminded Jarrod so much of the father he had lost, was having to endure any more pain beyond what he already had in his young life, continued to distract him all morning long.

Continued…