It was a dark place, the air rank and putrid. Tremors within the edifice, caused dirt, dust and shards of debris to fall. Nick's heart was full, pounding as he searched through the blackness. A cloak of fear engulfed him as he felt an intense pain. Heath was in trouble. He was so still and pale. Nick desperately tried to reach him. Screaming his name, Nick pounded his fists in fury, until he felt someone pulling him back. He lost his battle ... as the image faded, his heart sank.

Nick stretched and blinked as the warm sunlight filtered into his dreamstate. He sat up and saw the sun and knew, before glancing at the clock, that it was almost six a.m. Just enough time for a long hot soak in the tub, a good breakfast and getting to town for the nine a.m. train to San Francisco. He made mental list of what paths to take in the City by the Bay. He'd stop at Jarrod's first, then head for the Rusty Nail. Maybe some of the local patrons of the establishment would remember something. He made his way to his dresser and took out a clean set of clothing. Turning to head for the door, he spotted his young rescuer, curled up on the floor. Making his way back over to the bed, he sat down, studying the slumbering boy. He thought it had been a dream. During the night, he'd had nightmares about Jeff shooting him and then an even darker image of Heath trapped, dying in a dark place. He remembered waking up screaming and someone easing his pain. Kneeling down, he scooped the youth in his arms, transferring him to the now vacant bed. Rico never woke, turning into the pillow and moaning a little. Nick rested his hand on the boy's shoulder for a minute, still not adjusted to the unwavering loyalty the boy held.

"Concussion or not, that internal clock of yours is still working."

"Hey, Duke. You moving the herd today?" Nick looked up as the foreman entered his room.

"Hey yourself and yes, we'll be pulling out in about an hour. Although I might have to hog tie a certain stray." He shook his head, glaring at the dozing form of Rico.

"Don't be too hard on him. Them growing pains have been working on him of late," Nick paused, picking up the clean pile of clothes on the bed beside him. "He's matured so much over this last year, sometimes I forget he's only a boy. He's so much like Heath, it's scary."

"Guess they have a lot in common, the kid's mother raising him alone, teaching him to stand tall and all. I'm worried about him, though. Something's eatin' away at him. He couldn't find one steer yesterday, and you know how good he is. Pete noticed it, too. We tried to talk to him last night, but he clammed up. He must have slipped out after I fell asleep."

"I'll try talking too him before I leave. Maybe he's worried about Heath."

"You think Heath is headed back here?"

"Nah, He's in San Francisco, trying to find the killer. It's a long story and I ain't got time to go into it now. You okay, Duke? Any problems with the herd or the peaches?"

"Nope, all is quiet on the western front, Nick. I'm leaving Randy behind with a few men to get that fenceline fixed and get the peaches to market. We should be back by the end of the week. You sure you're up to traveling? Doc thought you best stay put for a few days."

"I'm okay, Duke. Head still hurts, but not like it did ... stomach's not churning anymore. Go on, get them cows to water," Nick nodded to the departing veteran.

He did feel better, and was glad of it. He stopped by the bedstand and put some aspirin powder into the glass and poured a glass of water. He took notice of the full pitcher, complete with ice. No wonder the boy was exhausted, full day and up all night. He took his clothes and was almost at the door when he heard the uneven footsteps and turned as the smaller body ran into him.

"Whoa, steady there," Nick said, stabilizing the groggy youth who wiped his eyes. "Go on back to bed. I'm gonna take a bath ... alone. Comprehende?" "Huh...," the blinking eyes squinted.

Nick laughed and ruffled the dark hair, physically steering the boy towards the bed.

"Sleep, you hear?"

Rico paused and looked at his boss suspiciously. "You will not be sneaking away? I will find you."

"I bet you would. Speaking of sneaky, Pete and Duke ain't real happy with your little midnight run."

Rico looked down at the floor, but Nick saw the small smile. Then, just as fast, it faded and the dejected shoulders and deep sigh spoke volumes. Nick sat down and balanced his clothes on one knee, shaking the depressed shoulders with his left hand.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Nick asked quietly, feeling the pain, when the sorrowful eyes met his.

"I...It...is...my fault...," Rico stammered. "I should have went with him, then he would not be lost. He was so upset and I tried to help...but he told me not to worry. Some friend I am..."

"Heath? Is that what's been bothering you since yesterday?"

"Si."

The voice was barely audible and Nick didn't know quite how to dispel that pain he felt in the tense frame. How was it Jarrod always knew the right thing to say? He was a lot like their father in that regard. Tom Barkley could ease the pain with a look and a firm touch. Heath, too, had that ability. Best to get all the pieces to the puzzle first.

"Start from the beginning, I know you're holding back," Nick advised.

Rico's voice wavered and he cast a nervous glance sideways at Nick, then began.

"The other night when you and Senor Heath were...uh...shouting ...I was walking past the house..."

"You overheard me and Heath arguing and followed Heath when he stormed out?"

"Si, he was angry...he left with Charger and I followed. I was afraid for him. I was following him and he caught me...he said I was sneakin', but I was not. No, I was not sneaking," he paused, as if to answer his own question. " I would not sneak, but it was dark and I guess he thought someone was sneakin'..."

Nick wiped the back of his neck and tried to be patient with the young man's ramblings.

"Get to the point, Rico."

"Si, I am sorry. Where was I? Oh, he pulled his gun and turned, and when he saw me, he got mad. He busted me but good," Rico said proudly, giving Nick a grin.

"Let that be a lesson to you. Don't be followin' someone around in the dark. You were unarmed. You're lucky Heath didn't shoot you."

"Si, that is what he said. He was coming back home when I met him," Rico sighed dejectedly. "I should have been better seeing. No, that is not right," Rico struggled, trying to find the right words. "He always helps me with my problems, and this time I did not help him."

"Look Rico, Heath is a grown man and knows right from wrong. He'll be careful. Jeff Adams was his friend growing up when there was nobody else there for him. So it's hitting him pretty hard, that someone he trusted could turn on him. He didn't come to me either, so I know how you feel. Sometimes a man needs to be alone, get his head together. It don't mean you're any less his friend, or I'm any less his brother."

"It hurts..."

"I know, Kid," Nick soothed, rubbing the boy's back, "believe me, I know. I hurt for him, too"

"I will find him...and...tell him...or..."

"I need you here ... to take care of things. I'm going to San Francisco and will get Jarrod. We'll put our heads together and figure out where Heath is."

"I will go, Senor, and you cannot stop me," Rico seethed, standing up, fists clenched as his side.

"I'm not gonna let you go gallivanting around in a strange city. That don't make sense. Rico, I'm not kidding. You ain't stepping one foot off this ranch and that's final." Nick loud stern tone and angry glare didn't faze the determined boy.

"I AM GOING. I do not need your permission," Rico defied, eyes flashing. "I do not need your help. I will find Senor Heath by myself. Maybe I will find that sting ... Scorpion man and take care of him, too."

Nick wasn't surprised by the boy's outburst ... lately he'd been all too eager to grow up. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the defiant one man army. Sighing, he rubbed his hand on the back of his neck and cursed softly. This was one battle he'd never win. He saw the boy sucking angry air in through his bared teeth, the muscles in his forearms bursting by the clenched fits at his hips. That's all he'd need ... to have this kid go off alone, half-cocked, running loose in San Francisco. Just his luck. He'd find Adams and get himself killed. Better to drag him along and keep an eye on him.

"I will go now, then. I am not a baby and do not need you to ... " Rico's tirade was interrupted by Nick's surrender. "Are we a team then, Senor?"

Nick sighed and gave a small smile at the gutsy Kid, "Okay, you got a deal. But you're gonna stick with me. No running off tryin' to be hero ... got it?" Nick asked and waited for the head to nod, and then extended his hand to 'shake on it'.

"What are you grinnin' at?" Nick question. "Don't think you're gonna run around like some loose cannon ball when we get there. It's gettin' late and need to get movin'. You hungry?"

"SI!" Rico boomed, grinning at his partner in crime.

"Me too, I could eat a horse."

"Why would you want to eat a horse, Senor?"

The sight of Rico's face screwed in disgust, gave the dark Barkley a good fit of laughter. He stood, grabbing his clothes and pulled the boy along with him. Handing him a towel and some soap from the bathroom, he pointed back to his own room.

"There's a pitcher full of water in there. You get cleaned up and meet me downstairs. Tell Silas to get crackin'. I can taste them buttermilk pancakes now."

"Si, Senor, and Gracias," Rico shied.

"If there's anyone to be thankful, it's me, Kid," Nick replied. "You saved my bacon out there yesterday and I won't forget it."

Rico slipped into Heath's room and stripped off his shirt. As he got washed, he thought on Nick's words. Eating horses and saving bacon? This he did not understand. Sometimes Americano's were too confusing.

The cold water revived him a bit, although his leg throbbed every time he moved. He did not want to take the medicine that the doctor had left ... it made him too sleepy. He buttoned his clean shirt and looked around for his boots. Where had he left them? He gazed around the large room and spotted them by the closet. Gingerly reaching down, wary of his injured leg, Rico picked up his boots. There on the floor next to them, was the strange slip of paper he'd found yesterday. He thought back to the night before. Glancing at the wingchair, he remembered limping ahead of the doctor, racing to Nick's room. The doctor had been angry and made him sit down, scolding him good. He recalled Randy helping him out of the torn clothes and cleaning up the cuts and bruises. The note must have fallen out then. His stomach loudly reminded him of his duties. Shoving the note inside his pocket, Rico pulled on his boots and limped away.

Heath shifted in his half conscious state, his hand instinctively reaching for the burning he felt at his side. Groping with his searching fingers, he felt the gritty and stiff hardened fabric of his cotton workshirt. His legs felt as if they were underneath an eighty pound sack of grain. Concentrating, he thought back, trying to remember where he was. There had been a loud noise followed by the sifting of sand washing down over him. Was he at the beach? He remembered going there once when he was young to visit a distant relative. How fun it had been tunneling into the shimmering dunes, waiting for the sand to suddenly fill in around him.

Reality emerged as Heath's power of recollection slowly began to surface, each puzzle piece falling into place. He blinked as the small patch of sunlight from above provided him with a small measure of comfort. Freedom was so close, but wounded and half buried, he was no better than a prisoner looking through bars at the world outside. Turning his face away, the glimpse of gold peeking up through the dismal floor of his underground home, caused heath to momentarily push his troubles to the side.

Reaching a dry and filthy hand to the flashy object, Heath's finger were not quite long enough to grasp around the esteemed prize. Leaning farther with his upper body, he stretched his fingers as far as they would go. Hooking the shiny trinket with his middle finger, he slowly managed to maneuver it into his grasp. Clutching it tightly, he held it close for inspection. It was Nick's gold watch. Jeff must have dropped it when he escaped. Tears moistened his dry eyes as he snapped open the cover and listened to the steady tick. Running a finger over the insignia engraved inside, it didn't matter that he couldn't read the words in the dim light ... he knew them like his own name.

Swallowing his pain, Heath clutched the watch, holding it next to his body. The rhythmic tick-tock seemed to be keeping time with the beat of his own heart, as if in some supernatural way, Nick was right there with him. Peering through the twilight at the hands on the clock, they both appeared to be pointing upright. High noon. Squinting up at the opening, Heath knew the watch was keeping accurate time. The dawning of a new afternoon ... what would be the outcome of this day?

Heath gently caressed his aching side as the throbbing seemed to increase. Though the pain was close to unbearable, nothing could match what he felt inside. Thinking back on his last conversation with Nick, Heath was sick with grief. They had had a disagreement and had parted in bitterness. How he wished he hadn't acted so hastily. He'd placed the words of an old friend higher than those of his brother whom he loved and trusted. How could he have been so foolish as to think that Nick would ever do or say anything that wasn't in Heath's best interests? He longed to hear his brother's voice again ... even if he were bellowing the same words that had sent Heath fuming out into the night not so long ago.

Once again becoming aware of the antique timepiece that he held in his hand, Heath studied the open face. Feeling weaker by the minute, the watch that had initially brought comfort, now served as a melancholy reminder. A reminder that time was running out. Searching his soul over, Heath reflected on his past. He wanted to be sure that he didn't have any outstanding, unconfessed debts tipping the scales against his favor.

One thing Hannah had always taught him as a child was to stand tall, but walk humbly before the Lord, his maker. Heath always tried to honor that rule and live according to it. His mama had always instilled in him a strong sense of right and wrong. Heath knew he often held anger and hostility inside, but it was most always a result of an injustice done to someone else. In his own way, Heath held a deep reverence for God. While many people would pay honor to the most high by frequenting buildings of worship and reciting a prayer before meals, Heath revered him from the inner temple. How he treated people and the high standard of integrity that he lived by was a true statement of his faith. 'If you've done it unto the least of these you've done it unto Me' were not just words to be read and forgotten. The phrase had become an unconscious part of the blond cowboy, and having been poor himself, he never allowed material items to exalt him above others. Communing with his creator silently, Heath drifted back to sleep.

"Jarrod usually keeps this car fully stocked, Kid, so if...," Nick turned to find himself talking to empty space. "Rico?"

Nick stepped outside the Barkley's private car in the Stockton Depot and searched the crowd for his sidekick.

"Figures ... we ain't even left Stockton and he's lost."

Nick swore softly as he squinted through the masses, finally spotting the stationary figure. His long strides found the boy quickly. He grabbed the white cotton shirt and pulled the stammering would-be-detective with him.

"Didn't I tell you to stay close? We're not even out of the station yet and you got lost."

"I was not the one who was lost!" Rico grumbled, pulling his arm free.

"Oh really? What would you call it then."

"You were misplaced. I was trying to find you."

"Get in!" Nick exasperated, rolling his eyes.

Rico froze in the doorway and his wide-eyed stare took in the plush surroundings. Nick tried to push his way past the motionless boy, wondering what the problem was.

"What's wrong? Go on in."

"I was right, Senor, you are misplaced. We better leave before the patrons come."

"I ain't misplaced! I am the patron ... owner. This is the Barkley's car."

Rico took a halting step, allowing Nick to pass. Nick pointed out the ice chest, water water barrel, liquor cabinet, and other amenities. He motioned to the velvet settee at the end of the car.

"You gotta be beat, I know you didn't get much sleep. Go on and get a nap."

"I am not tired," Rico yawned, sitting on the edge of the lounge chair.

"You want something to drink," Nick asked, his back to the boy. "I'm gonna ring the porter and get some coffee. Rico?"

Nick turned and grinned, seeing the sleeping form, his feet still on the floor, head on his chest. He turned the body and lifted the legs, watching as Rico curled up. Nick decided against the coffee, and watched the crowd thin out. The motion of the train and the hot sun warming him through the window, sent him to slumberland as well.

Battered and worse for wear, Jeff stumbled down the rocky embankment. His feet slid in the rubble as he sidestepped down the hill to where his horse was still hobbled. Pressing his weight up against the polished leather saddle, he panted and paused a moment to catch his breath. The July sun beat down relentlessly on his hatless head. The large droplets of sweat, mixed with two days worth of grime and cave-in, felt slippery against the back of his hand as he attempted to brush away some of the moisture. Reaching down, he tightened the cinch before searching for the stirrup with his dirt coated boot. The money was gone ... buried somewhere in the belly of the mine ... but for now, that was the least of his worries.

Spotting Heath's horse up ahead in the brush, the Scorpion stopped briefly to turn it loose and swat it on the rump. Heading back towards civilization, Jeff knew better than to return to his plush room at the hotel. No, Sir ... he'd be beddin' down in the first sleazy, cockroach infested joint he came across ... they'd never think to look for him there. Besides, right now he imagined that he was a sight for sore eyes. Walking into the lobby of The Grand Hotel would certainly draw unneeded attention to himself. He knew of little Cantina which sat on the outskirts of the big city ... there he'd be right at home. He'd just waltz in and nobody would even give him a second thought.

It was early afternoon as Jeff approached the Cantina. He reined in his mounted and slid down from the saddle. Tying up to the post out front, he half walked, half stumbled in through the swinging double doors.

"Buenos Tardis, Senor!" came the husky female voice from behind the counter. "You need a drink to wash the dust down?"

"Por Favor," Jeff replied, resting both elbows on the counter. "A room, too, if you've got it."

"Si, and maybe you would like a senorita to turn down the covers for you, eh?"

"No, gracias," Jeff answered, thumbing through his pockets. "I would like a basin of fresh water and some towels, though. Will this cover it?" he asked, placing a silver coin on top of the counter.

"The towels in number twelve haven't had much use, and I'll have one of the girls leave a pitcher of water outside the door. Anything else, Senor?"

"Yeah, I'd like some grub. Whatever you got around is fine."

"That would be beans and corn tortilla's ... twenty-five cents extra."

"Good enough," Jeff replied, as the matron's hand scooped up the additional coin he laid on the counter. "Oh, and see that I'm not disturbed, okay?"

"If that is your wish, Senor," the woman conceded.

Clutching the neck of his newly purchased bottle of comfort, Jeff climbed the rickety wooden stairs and found the door labeled twelve in faded, peeling black paint. There was no key, just a chain to lock it from the inside. Collapsing down on the bed, he was soon overtaken by his own fatigue. All he wanted to do was catch a few hours of sleep, but something seemed to be nagging in the back of his mind. Tossing fitfully, his subconcious wouldn't allow him to escape the vivid memories that he thought were null and void. Tormented in his sleep, all he could see was Heath's pale face ... half buried in a pile of rubble.

"Haven't heard a word outta you since we pulled in. What's the matter? You sick?" Nick leaned over in the cab taking them to hospital and laid a hand to the protester's forehead.

"I am fine and no nino!"

Nick studied the set face as the boy stared at the large buildings. Nick sent Jarrod a wire from the station and waited for a reply. Jarrod's secretary replied that he would be at the hospital midday, when the train came in. Nick paid the driver and led the quiet hand inside. Nick didn't know what room Pierce was in, so he asked at the desk. They denied he was there. Nick realized his mistake too late. He remembered Jarrod mentioning the room being guarded. How many of them could there be?

"Come on, Kid. Looks like you get first lesson in detective work. We gotta find the room Jarrod's friend is in. He's a policeman who was wounded savin' Jarrod's life."

Rico nodded, wincing as his injured leg, stiff from the ride, started to pain him. The first two floors showed no signs of a guarded room. Nick strode towards the stairwell, two steps at a time, eager to get to the next floor. Rico tried to keep up, but the faster he walked, the more his leg hurt. Gasping, he stopped on the stairwell, grimacing and rubbing the tender leg. When he looked up, Nick was gone. He hobbled to the doorway and crept through.

"Senor Nick?" he whispered, not wanting to disturb the sick people.

He wandered down the corridor, peeking in doors, but didn't find his boss. The floor was square, with four equal corridors. Rico had turned onto the third one, and saw a group of woman in white dresses gathered by a large cabinet. Maybe they could help. He flinched as a meaty hand bit painfully into his shoulder.

"Who are you? What are you doing slinking down the hall?"

"Uh...uh...slinking?...Estoy buscando a alguien," Rico muddled, trying to break the painful grip.

The two large men eyed him suspiciously.

"What's he babbling about?" The larger male said.

"Beats me...Could be one of them border jumpers. I hear tell there's been a problem with them," his partner answered.

"Let's take him to immigration. They'll send him back."

"Inmigracion? No por favor, usted no entiendo."

"Save it, Mister. Let's go."

"No...No...Senor Barkley...Nick..."

"Barkley? Yeah right, and I'm the King of France," The beefy one smirked as he elbowed his comrade.

Rico thrashed and pulled, fighting as best he could. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt. He couldn't be sent back. He wouldn't let them. He continued to fight all the way down the stairwell, causing the burly guards to tighten their painful grip. As they entered lobby, Rico saw his chance. One guard let go of his arm to get the door, Rico shoved the other one hard.

"Get him!"

Rico's freedom was short lived. He never saw the fist coming. He fell backwards rolling over and shook his head trying to clear the ringing in his ears. He heard someone calling him.

Jarrod was entering the hospital with Claire Summerfield, when he saw commotion across the room. Two hospital guards were struggling with a someone much smaller. He saw the larger guard hit the captive and winced. There was something familiar about the felon's face. Just as the beefy paw came up to strike again, Jarrod hurried forward and caught it.

"Stop that! Rico, is that you?"

Rico peered up at the fuzzy form bending over him. The blurry arm was grabbing for him and he pulled back.

"No...dejeme ir usted americano perro!" Rico cursed.

"You know this kid?" the large guard asked.

"He's an employee of my family. I'm Jarrod Barkley. What's he done?"

Jarrod had pulled the boy to his feet and held him firmly by his forearms. He saw Rico blinking and shaking his head, still stunned from the blow.

"Well...uh...we figured he was illegal."

"You figured wrong, Gentlemen. So he hasn't done anything?"

"He attacked my partner, and..."

"He's a scared seventeen-year old boy in a strange place. I would hardly call him pushing you, out of fear, an attack. If anything, you two were a little overzealous in your handling, I'd say," Jarrod glared, still trying to control the struggling Cortez.

They didn't like it, but they left. Claire looked from Jarrod to the guards to the frightened boy.

"Jarrod?"

"Give me a minute, Claire. Rico, settle down. What are you doing here?"

Jarrod stern tone cut through the fog and he eased the shaken boy onto a chair. Kneeling in front on him, he tapped the youth's face, which was resting on his chest. Rico let out a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. Finally, the fuzziness left. His eyes widened in shock.

"SENOR BARKLEY! I am so glad to see you." Rico expelled a large rush of air.

"Jarrod, he's hurt," Claire offered, pointing to the blood peeking through the thin cotton pants.

"Rico, what happened?" Jarrod glanced at the leg and the swollen stitched lip.

"The stinger man tried to kill Senor Nick. But he missed and Senor Nick got hurt ... there was so much blood. I found him in the ... hill ... no ... bottom ... and I was rushing and slipped. I got Senor Nick up the hill and then Randy came, but I did not shoot him. Randy took Senor ..."

"Slow down, Rico, I can't understand you. Take a deep breath," Jarrod coached, rubbing the boy's shoulder.

"Senor Nick is okay, but the other man is dead. Not the stinger man ... Shep, he is dead. Senor Nick and I have come to find Senor Heath."

"Heath is here?"

"Si, he came yesterday morning after the stinger."

"The Scorpion? Heath is chasing him?"

"Si, the stin...Scorpion."

"Where is Nick now?"

"I do not know," Rico scowled, his wide eye's appealing to Jarrod. "We came looking for you and we did not find you and then he was walking up the stairs so fast, and I couldn't keep him...find him." Rico shook his head. "I tried, Senor Barkley, but my leg is hurt and he was going too fast. Then I got lost and those men took me. They ...said...Inmigracion...I cannot go back, Senor, I cannot."

"I know, Rico. I won't let anyone take you back," Jarrod soothed, sensing the boy's fear. "Come on, let's have a nurse look at that leg. Did they hurt you?"

"No Senor, I am fine. I give them what for," he boasted

"You sure did, Rico," Jarrod laughed, helping him up.

Jarrod waited with the still shaken vaquero, while Claire made her way to Pierce's room. A young doctor entered the examining room and smiled at Rico. He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and asked how he felt.

"I am fine. I need a bandage."

"Well, let's have a look at that leg, Young Man."

"Senor?" Rico paled, realizing he wanted him to drop his pants.

"Rico, he's a doctor, he's only trying to help you. I won't leave you."

Rico stood, red-faced and eased the pants down, partially.

"They are stuck, Senor."

"I can fix that, " the intern said, pouring some water on the reddened pants leg.

Jarrod winced at the soft yelp the boy gave as the reluctant pants finally dropped. The cut wasn't too deep, but without a bandage, dirt had seeped in. He washed the wound with Carbolic Acid and rewrapped it.

"Better?" he asked the shy teen.

"Si, Gracias."

"Come on, let's find that brother of mine."

Rico limped behind Jarrod up to the first floor. They had just entered the hall when they heard him.

"RICO! Where have you been? I've just about wore myself out, climbing them stairs. Didn't I tell you not to wander off."

"I did not wander off and I am not speaking to you," Rico pouted, leaning in to Jarrod for support.

"Nick, you want to keep it down to a low decibel? This is a hospital." Jarrod hissed irately and strong-armed his loud brother into Pierce's room. "What's the matter with you? You were going too fast, Nick, he couldn't keep up. He's got a bad leg, or did you forget he got hurt rescuing you!"

"Well, I didn't know he wasn't behind me. I got to the fourth floor and he was gone. Gave me a good scare."

"Gave you a scare? You know where I found him? In the lobby on his way to Immigration. They were going to deport him. Nick, you should have been more careful."

Nick scowled and eased his shoulder out of Jarrod's iron claw. He walked slowly to where the boy sat in the far corner of Pierce's room. He saw the bruise forming on the boy's face ... a calling card from the guards, no doubt. He spotted the blood stains where the muscles had worked overtime, trying to keep up with his own long strides. He squatted down and laid a hand on Rico's downcast shoulder and winced when Rico pulled away.

"I'm really sorry, Rico. Sometimes I don't think too straight. You know I wouldn't let anyone hurt you."

"Senor Heath would not have left me," Rico rasped, meeting Nick with scorched eyes.

Nick stood up and crossed over to Pierce's bed, feeling like a horse had kicked him. Pierce was sleeping and Nick eyed his friend painfully.

"How is he?" Nick spoke, breaking the suffocating silence.

"A little stronger. His fever broke last night. Now we have to work on building him up. He's so weak from blood loss," Claire said, squeezing Nick's hand. "I'm glad you came ... you make him laugh."

"Yeah, that's me, a real comedian," Nick said wryly.

"Nick, can I talk to you outside?" Jarrod nodded.

"Look, Jarrod, I feel awful about the kid, so don't start up again."

Jarrod knew by the pain etched on his brother's face, how bad he felt.

"Rico gave me a speedy, rambling version of events. But, just so as I've not missed anything ... Shep's dead, Jeff tried to kill you on the ranch and Heath arrived here yesterday?"

"Yes, Yes and Yes," Nick muttered, pacing.

"Do you have any idea where to look?"

"Maybe, I thought I'd try that saloon, the Rusty Nail. He knows that's where I got clubbed, he may go there."

"All right, but be careful, Nick. We've got a tail on the Senator ... we're confident he'll lead us to Jeff. I'm sure they'll have some sort of meeting to finalize their plans. Why is Rico here?"

"That's a long story, but the bottom line is, if I left him home, he'd have come on his own. At least this way, I can keep an eye on him," Nick made a face at the raised eyebrows his older brother gave. "Shut up, Jarrod!"

"He's pretty shook up about those guards grabbing him. I can't say as I blame him. I can't imagine the fear he felt, thinking he was being deported."

"He didn't get much sleep and he's pretty sore."

"Why don't I take him to Mrs. Redstone's. He can sleep there and get something to eat. You stay here with Pierce and Claire until I get back."

"Okay, by the way, Jarrod. Where are the guards? This is the first floor we hit ... we didn't see anyone."

"You're not supposed to Nick, that's the whole idea," Jarrod paused. "The orderly and that man mopping the floor."

"Yeah? How about that," Nick mused, reentering the room.

"Rico, let's you and me get some lunch. You can have a long nap and meet Nick and I later. Okay?"

Rico didn't say a word or acknowledge Nick's good-bye as he left. He remained silent all the way to the safe house, despite Jarrod's best efforts. Jarrod knew the close call shook him up and maybe worrying about Heath was weighing on him too. Sam was painting the shutters out front when they arrived. Jarrod made the introductions and Rico was polite. Jarrod made him a platter and waited until the last bit disappeared. He found a small bedroom on the first floor. He deposited the unusually quiet boy on the bed with orders to stay put until he returned at dinnertime.

Victoria sat in front of the sunny living room window at the safehouse trying to concentrate on a book. She knew that she needed to be doing something that would take her mind off the current circumstances, but reading just didn't seem to be the answer. She worried about Jarrod being in 'way over his head' in his heroic attempts to protect the president from hired assassins. Her thoughts were also with Nick back at the ranch and Heath, for all she knew, still missing as he scoured the countryside for his 'friend'. Thinking on the possible outcomes of that meeting, should it ever take place, sent shivers up her spine. She knew Heath was capable of taking care of himself, but what were the odds of him surviving a gunfight with a professional gunman. Then there was Audra. Audra wasn't in any immediate danger, but the girl seemed restless. She, too, carried the load of not knowing whether or not her brothers were safe.

"This is foolish, Victoria," she scolded herself inwardly. "Worry never accomplished anything. Go find yourself something to do!"

Slapping the cover of the book shut, she set it down, trying to think of a more productive way to pass the time.

"I hope I'm not intruding," came the soft voice of Julia Grant as she entered the comfortably furnished sitting area.

"Oh, not at all," Victoria exclaimed, patting the empty spot on the sofa next to her. "Please, sit down."

"Thank you," Julia smiled, accepting the offered seat. "The house seems so quiet today for some reason."

"Isn't your husband here?" Victoria inquired.

"Yes, he's here somewhere. He's beginning to feel caged. I believe he took a walk out along the beach. One of his personal guards is with him."

"That's good," Victoria agreed. "Even though our location is obscure, he shouldn't take unnecessary chances. How are you doing?" she asked, her green eyes reflecting the deepest sincerity.

"I'm all right," Julia answered. "This is nothing that we haven't already experienced. Seems like the war created many enemies of Washington. When my husband assumed his position, he knew that there would be rough moments. Still, I can't help but look forward to the day when his presidency has come full term. It would be nice to be able to settle down and live as 'normal citizens' again."

"Do you think that that will ever happen?" Victoria empathized. "What I mean is, your husband played such a vital role in both the war and the healing of the nation. He's not a man that will soon be forgotten."

"I suppose you're right, but I can still dream," Julia smiled. "I often wonder what things may have been like if he had turned down the nomination. We'd be off living our own quiet lives ... not having to watch our backs every second of the day."

"Perhaps," Victoria nodded, "but would you have been satisfied knowing that your husband was capable of pulling this country back together and not doing what you could? When I think of all the progress that's been made during his office, I can't help but think of the great mark he's made in history and all the benefits the country will reap years from now. You have both truly sacrificed yourselves for the well being of our nation."

"I guess that's maybe how Sam looks at it, too," Julia sighed. "To be perfectly honest with you, he was never overjoyed about being elected, but felt it was his duty to serve his country the best he knew how. Still, we both look forward to the day he can retire."

"I understand," Victoria said, clasping the first lady's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"How are you faring through all of this?" Julia wanted to know. "You seem like a very close family. I know you can't help but feel concern over the current situation."

"I do," Victoria admitted. "I have three sons, same as you, and a daughter. You've met Jarrod and Audra, and I'm hoping that you'll have the opportunity to be introduced to Nick and Heath as well. It's just so uncertain not knowing. If only I knew my other two boys were safe right now ..."

"I'm sure they're okay," Julia offered. "My husband and the secret service have men keeping an eye on things. They'll do whatever is necessary to protect your family."

"I know," Victoria surmised, "and I shouldn't be giving it as much thought as I have. It's just the thing that us mothers do I guess. Come on, let's you and I prepare lunch. I think we could both use something to take our minds off the situation at hand."

The two woman stood and slipping an arm around each other, headed off to the kitchen. Today would be special. In spite of all the concerns and woes, they would make the best of things. Working together, they would place their focus on pleasing those around them, rather than stewing inwardly. Soon the good smells coming from the kitchen, and from 'a mother's heart' would warm the spirits of those who would dine at the table they had prepared.

"Mrs. Barkley," Julia began, as they started the meal preparation in the kitchen.

"Please, call me Victoria," the silver-haired woman answered.

"Victoria ... Sam and I are to be guests of honor at the Centennial Celebration Ball at the Palace Hotel tonight. I know we'd both be honored if you and your family would be our special guests."

"I don't know exactly what Jarrod has going on, but I'm sure that Audra wouldn't mind me telling you that 'we except'," Victoria exhuberated. "I'm sure Brielle would love to join us as well."

"Splendid," the first lady exclaimed. "We were planning to leave shortly after lunch. I want to take in a little shopping before hand."

"And I never knew a woman who didn't love to shop," Victoria added. "I'm sure I can vouch for both my daughter and future daughter-in-law on that invitation as well."

The two women busied themselves about the kitchen, chatting lightly like old friends. Victoria would have never imagined that she would be in this position of getting to know the president and his wife on a personal level. Jarrod's work certainly provided the family with many interesting acquaintances. Victoria couldn't help but think how much she really liked Julia Grant. She was getting to know her as an individual rather than a title, and found her to be not much different the any of her other close friends.

He dreamed he was tied down to an ant hill covered from head to toe with gobs of sweet, sticky honey. The Apaches sure had a cruel way of torturing a man. His body felt like it was on fire ... must be fire ants that inhabited the mound where he lay. The hole in his side didn't help take his mind off the discomfort any. The arrow must've gone all the way through 'cause he sure couldn't feel the tail of it sticking out anywhere. It was so dark out. He tried searching the vastness above for the moon or a few stars, but found nothing but empitness and gloom.

As the hours wore on and infection began to set in, Heath's fever addled brain slipped in and out of delirium. At times he remembered who he was and what had transpired, but often old memories flashed through his thoughts taking him back in time to relive his past. Some of the visions were encouraging, but others brought only fear and menace to his agitated mind.

Slowly, the visions of Apache madness subsided and Heath, now in a brief moment of sanity, clung to an old bible verse for strength and support. 'For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I shall know fully just as I also have been fully known. But now abide faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love'.

As Heath reflected back on his life, even in his altered state he realized how much better he knew and understood himself and his purpose in life since finding his new family. The understanding and acceptance that he had received, allowed him to put away the anger and bitterness we had felt for so many years. The angry young man ceased to be, and the gentler, softer side of Heath had surfaced.

Faith, hope, love. These three words seemed to highlight themselves as each simultaneously brought it's own unique meaning. To Heath, the word 'faith' brought his mama to mind. Leah Thomson had definitely been a woman of faith. She had reared her son on prayer, the bible and God's grace. The same faith that she had cleaved to during her life on earth, was now instilled in the heart of her only child, and he would always cherish that precious gift that he received from her.

"Mama?" Heath called out as his thoughts darted from reality to fiction. He knew she was near and was desperate to feel her touch. "Mama, where are you?"

As Leah's image faded, another woman's face now came into view.

"Mother ... I knew ... you'd come. So ... hot. Please ... open ... window."

"It's all right, Sweetheart," he heard Victoria reassure him. "I'm right here. I love you, Heath," she said, bending down to place a kiss on his forehead.

Love ... Heath couldn't even fathom what the word really meant. His father's family had accepted him unconditionally. He knew the vast emotions tied to the word held no boundaries. He likened it to a bottomless pit ... it could go on forever and never come to an end. Often the word was tarnished with foolish arguing and disagreements, but here and now, nothing seemed so important as what truly lay beneath the worldly veneer of pride and self. In the long run, the foolish things of the world would be dissolved and love is what would hold steadfast.

"There you are, Heath," a young woman's voice chimed as she entered his bedroom where he lay. "What are you doing in bed on such a gorgeous day. I was hoping we could go riding later. I was hoping that ..." Audra's voice and face grew dim as he grasped hold of her words. Hope ... there it was again.

If there was anything that Heath wanted to cling to now, it was hope. The golden timepiece that he still held tightly in his hand reminded him of that hope. The watch stood in as a substitute for his much loved brother. A brother who was strong, just as the word hope. The ticking of the watch was constant, and though it, too, had been through so much, the hands kept advancing onward, each minute that passed, representing another minute of victory. He could only hope that soon this ordeal would be over and that the rest of his family was safe. A heaviness worked it's way through his guts as he reflected again on Nick. Would things have been different if he had stayed back at the ranch instead of running off to San Francisco looking for answers? Was he to blame for Nick becoming the Scorpion's latest victim? These questions haunted him like demons, his only solace being the word 'hope'.

Rico listened to the pounding surf outside the window. It could have easily lulled him into a restful sleep, but he could not rest. He had heard the gulls calling on the drive north from the city. He tried to sleep, but kept seeing the face of the smiling blond man, whom he loved like a brother. He heard the patron ... Sam? ... yes, that was his name ... singing outside. He wandered out front and offered to help. The kind man told him to sit and rest.

Sam told him about the seals, the ocean and the rocky cliffs. Then Rico asked about gold mines, and Sam told him of the Opal, the Baby Rose and the Isabella. Rico tilted his head, his keen ears picking up on the name Isabella. Was that the map he found left by the Scorpion during the fight with Nick? Could that be where Senor Heath was? He Heard Sam say there was people who claimed the mine was haunted. Sam turned and saw Rico's wide-eyed, mouth gaping stare, which he incorrectly assumed was the reaction to ghosts.

"That's just a lotta fool talk, Rico. Ain't no ghost's in that mine."

"Is it far from here?" Rico said, his heart hammering.

"Nah, just a couple mines northwest." Sam paused, seeing the boy's labored breathing. "You look a mite peaked, Son. Why don't you get some shuteye before dinner."

"Gracias, Senor Sam, I am a little tired."

Smiling, he made his way inside, the wheels in his mind spinning. Slipping into the kitchen, he found a burlap knapsack. He made sandwiches, found some fruit and cookies, placing each in the bag. He went back to the guestroom and got cleaned up. His leg was throbbing and he decided to rest for a minute. The sound of the waves lulled him to sleep.

Heath blinked in the dark as the tall form of Nick Barkley loomed over him in a dreamlike haze. The lanky cowboy wore the familiar scowl of disgust that he often used when things didn't quite agree with him. Things were beginning to grow extremely fuzzy in Heath's vast storeroom of thoughts and memories, but he distinctly remembered some sort of ill-fate befalling his brash brother. He tried to reason in his own mind ... how could Nick be here if ...?

"Nick," Heath cried out, the pain in his side causing his speech to be extremely difficult. "Nick ... you're ... here."

"Right beside ya, Boy! Me and you ... just like always."

No sooner had Nick spoken the words when an angry red insect wiggled out from the shadows, weaving a pattern of hieroglyphics in the dirt with it's curved deadly tail. Using the heel of his boot, Nick stomped on the menacing scorpion and squashed it into the ground.

"You see, Heath. A scorpion ain't so tough. You just gotta show it the upper hand. Gotta let it know who's boss."

"Too ... late ... I'm ... bit ..."

"Nonsense! It's never too late, Heath. I'm here for you and you're gonna be fine."

"Nick ... please ... not angry ... just wanted ..."

It felt as though some unseen person had just thrown a couple of extra logs on the fire stoking Heath's body. His skin was burning and the heat was intense. He knew he had to make things right with Nick ... make them right before the fire consumed him.

"Spit it out, Boy. What's eatin' in that craw of yours?"

"Gotta ... tell ... ya ... "

"The hay's down in the north forty and the peach orchard's dry as a bone. We got work to do, Boy. I ain't got time to stand around all day while you loaf," Nick shouted, going into a tirade.

"I ... can't ... Nick ... I," Heath sputtered, frustrated at his inability to communicate his concerns.

"What do ya mean, you can't? Can't ain't part of the Barkley vocabulary. You're a Barkley now and you know what that means? That means you don't know the meanin' of the word quit. It means you get that sorry hide of yours up outta that lousy dirt and start actin' like you own half a ranch. It means ..."

"Too ... tired ... I ... can't," came the adamant plea, small droplets of sweat staining the soil around him.

"You can and you will!" came the booming reply. "I won't take no for an answer, not outta you, Heath!"

"Nick ... come ... closer," Heath begged of his brother whose six-foot, three inch frame still towered over him.

Squatting down in the debris, Nick's attitude suddenly seemed to soften as he took the limp hand and held it in his own.

"Now, look, Heath. I know you're feelin' poorly and all, but you're gonna be okay ... you understand me, Boy? I need you, Heath. I'm countin' on you. Don't let me down now ... not when I need you the most."

A stubborn determination fell over the feverish cowboy as Nick's words encouraged him to keep on fighting. Heath couldn't bail now ... not when Nick needed him so much.

"I ... won't ..."

Nick looked intently into his brother's eyes, allowing him to complete his thought.

"Let ... you ... down," Heath finished.

"That's it! That's it, Heath! You hang in there, Boy. You're a Barkley and don't you forget it."

Heath closed his eyes to catch a few more winks. He needed his rest ... needed to be strong so that he could help Nick run the ranch.

"Soon," he thought as he drifted off. "Help will be here soon."

He awoke slowly, the stifling heat in his languid body making his moves seem lazy. His shifted, immediately sending spears of pain through his lacerated left side. He moved the blood encrusted fingers on his left hand, the pins and needles proclaiming loudly as circulation was restored. The dormant pain in his right leg flared up, again. Briefly, he thought about trying again to free his trapped appendage, but gave up. With a scowl and a shudder of dejection, he sank back into his misery.

"Never figured you for a quitter," the deep voice loathed, piercing his subconscious. "I used to think that your fierce, unconquerable spirit gave you such grace."

Heath forced the heavy eyelids up, blinking as sweat ran profusely into the blue pools. He saw the elegantly attired man, who's gait was so familiar to him, emerge from the shadows. Pushing his hat back, he drew heavily on his cigar and stared down at Heath. The amazing blue eyes that usually shone with affection, or blazed in righteous thunder, now glowered with disgust. His oldest brother, whom he admired so, who always looked him straight in the eye and always treated him like an equal, seemed sickened by the sight of him. The handsome features were masked in contempt.

Heath's used his sticky, crimson paw to wipe the sweat from his eyes, leaving a scarlet trail on his already bruised face. He opened his eyes, but the disdained face was still peering at him. He reached out, ready to welcome the strong arms to lift him and carry him to safety.

"Jarrod?...Help me, please."

"Help you?...You've given up." Jarrod leaned in, eyeing the prize Heath clutched to his heart. "You don't deserve that."

"No...you don't understand... I need it...he's coming. As long as I have it..."

Heath turned, protecting Nick's watch, gaining strength from the timepiece he held against his aching heart. He stared at it, fingering the filigree and reciting the words he knew by heart.

"Arm yourself with Faith, and courage will fill your heart."

He smiled, remembering the first time he saw the watch. His eyes slipped behind their weary lids and he floated down the river of memory. The walls in the mine faded away ... as did the July heat. It was late November, a biting wind blew around the two figures huddled over a campfire.

"Ain't that done yet, Heath. What the blazes are you cookin'?"

"Genius can't be rushed, Nick. All good things come to those who wait."

"If I wanted a philosopher, I would have brought Jarrod with me to buy them ponies. Come on, Boy, I'm starving!"

Nick's attempt at reaching into the small pot, over Heath's shoulder was met with a harsh slap.

"Ow!"

"Needs a few more minutes," Heath decided, tasting the less than haute cuisine.

"I tell you what, Boy, I'd even eat YOUR beans, I'm so hungry. Gonna be time to turn in soon," Nick moaned, flipping his watch open.

The blond man glanced up from his haunches over the fire, and saw a strange tide of emotion cross his brother's dark features. He'd often see Nick caress the watch, lost in thought. Must be something pretty special. With every passing month, he was getting more comfortable with his new family. They'd come to represent so much more than he'd ever fathomed a family would mean. He couldn't imagine his life without them. Even the smallest things ... Silas remembering his favorite Southern foods, his Mother's touch, Audra's quiet conversations, Jarrod's broad shoulders, the house, the barn, watching the sunrise over the corral. It was all a part of him now, unseparable. Then there was Nick. He couldn't explain it ... not in words anyway ... how or why his feelings ran so deep. How he knew what Nick was thinking, before his brother uttered a word. Nick felt it, too, and admitted to Heath that it scared him a bit. They'd joked about it, neither comfortable with admitting how deep their feelings ran.

He added some whiskey to his creation and stirred carefully. Nick stretched out across the way, leaning against his saddle. Heath crossed over and sat down next to him. Nick spotted his brother's pale eye's cast upon the timepiece. He handed the gold treasure to his blue-eyed sibling.

"Nick, I didn't mean to stare," Heath protested.

"I got no secrets from you, Heath. That watch was our grandfathers." Nick's voice was rich and as warm as the fire that played upon his features. "He gave it to Father when he got married. When I was a kid, I used to sneak in his room and play with it. I didn't think their was anything finer. I knew how much it meant to him ... what it represented. A passage ... a transition ... an honor. When I was sixteen," Nick paused to take a swig of the Jack Daniels Heath offered, "my Father had decided to close the Isabella, a mine he owned outside San Francisco. They're had been too many accidents and he wouldn't risk the workers lives. I ran with ... well. let's just say that my friends were a bit on the 'rowdy' side. You talk about adventures! Well, we got to talkin' about the mine closing. Somebody said it was haunted. We double-dared each other to the point where five of us decided to spend the night there. The rest of the gang covered for us, saying that we were camping. I'd been in the mine before. Father started integrating me into his world when I was about twelve or so." Nick paused, hearing Heath's soft chuckle

"What's so funny?"

"Just picturin' you a lot shorter, stomping around, giving orders..."

"Anyway," Nick continued, rolling his eyes, "some of the tunnels had been closed down. We went in okay, but then there was a cave-in. We couldn't take the same tunnel back. The air was bad and two of the guys were hurt. I don't think I was ever so scared as I was that night."

Nick saw the puzzled look on Heath's face as if the words 'Nick' and 'scared' were foreign to him when used together.

"How long were you trapped?"

"Long enough," Nick sighed. "Father found out almost right away, and I thank God every day for his attention to detail. He sold a horse to Will Jenkins, who's son Andy was supposed to be camping with us. He found an error in the paperwork and rode over to the Jenkins' place. Andy answered the door ... and the ruse was up. Even with the experts and engineers Father brought, it still took them until daylight to dig us out. I don't remember too much about that. I remember seeing his face, feeling his arms lifting me. Jarrod was there, too ... he had rode all night from college. When I woke up, in the hospital, that watch was pinned to my nightshirt."

"You kept those kids alive when they'd lost hope ... gave them the strength to make it to mornin'. You never lost your faith," Heath admired.

"How'd you ... Jarrod tell you this story?" Nick's eye's narrowed.

"Nope," Heath said, rising.

"Then how?"

"Cause, I know you, Brother," Heath said quietly, handing the treasure back and squeezing Nick's shoulder.

Nick swallowed hard and looked away, "Yeah , well, we would have been fine. They were just a little rattled. He ... well, there was something in his voice that night ... he was so proud. I never felt closer to him than at that moment, when I held that watch to my chest."

Heath was ladling out the food, when he heard Nick stop suddenly. He purposely dallied, giving his brother time to recover. He knew how painful it was for Nick to talk about the man he loved so much. Sometimes the memory of Leah's voice could bring tears to his eyes as well.

"Heath, while I'm young, huh?" Nick pleaded, hungrily eyeing the plate.

Heath just smiled and handed the steaming plate to the hungry man. He sat down beside him and saw a strange look, a cross between bliss and incredulation, on Nick's face.

"Hey, this is good, Heath. I mean REALLY GOOD," Nick marvled at the rabbit stew, with small onions, potatoes and carrots in a 'spirited' gravy. "Where did you get the vegtables?"

"From the rancher's wife. While you were signing on the dotted line, I was charming us some decent food. I got a nice hunk of ham, flour for flapjacks and some cookies, too."

"What do call this?" Nick said, savoring every bite.

"Son-of-a-bitch Stew," Heath deadpanned, causing Nick to nearly choke with laughter.

"Why?" Nick said, then howled in pain. Wincing, he spit something out, clanging as it hit his plate. "What the hell is that? You trying to kill me!"

"Named it after the son-of-a-bitch who caused me to use an extra bullet to bring 'em down," Heath replied, holding up the offensive lead ball, from Nick's plate.

Nick face screwed up then opened, his booming laughter matched the slap he gave to his blond, dry-humored brother's back. Heath shared the mirth and the warm feeling that went with it. It was a good night, the two brother's shared stories, and created memories.

A small shower of rocks cascaded down upon him, stealing him from the cherished past. He saw the dark walls, and it seemed to his fevered brain that they were closing in. He suddenly panicked, realizing that he was alone. Where was Jarrod?

"JARROD! Jarrod come back ... JARROD ... JARROD ..."

Late afternoon, San Francisco Hospital

Pierce observed his visitor with a worried eye. Nick Barkley was in the middle of a nightmare. Pierce couldn't reach him. His parched tongue directed his eyes to the water pitcher, the condensation urging the thirsty man to reach out. He suddenly found himself slipping from the bed and grasped the rail, causing a stabbing pain. His cry brought a pair of strong arms, which eased him back onto the stack of pillows.

"You ain't real smart for a Lieutenant," Nick barked. "Makes me wonder about the pour souls who got passed over while you got promoted."

Nick's long legs lumbered around the bed and poured the panting man a tall glass of cold water. He held the shaky hands, steadying them as the grateful man drank. He saw the worry in the dark eyes, peering at him from over the glass.

"Thanks," Pierce gasped. "You okay?"

"Me? I ain't the one who's sporting a new scar. I'm fine, how you doin'?"

"...little sore...," Pierce cursed, his weak fist flailing. "Why now, Nick? Jarrod needs me, and where am I? Stuck in a bed"

"You saved his life, that's more than enough," Nick glowered. "Besides, he's up to his hips in Feds. I'd say he's covered."

"...Maybe I can get to the office...Must be some way..."

"ARE YOU CRAZY!" Nick bellowed, leaning in. "Like Jarrod ain't got enough problems worryin' about savin' Grant's life. You want him to find you in a pool of blood at your desk? You ain't leavin' this bed, even if I gotta tie you up. Are we clear?"

Pierce didn't reply verbally, but his meek nod and dejected face, told the tall Barkley that the cop wouldn't fly the coop. Easing himself back into the chair, he tried to clear the face of it's depressed state.

"You're getting old, Boy," Nick teased, "you forgot to duck. I think maybe you need me on this force. I could learn you a thing or two."

"No doubt," Pierce looked over, his mouth turned up slightly, "I'd have a force full of swaggering, spur-sporting hotheads"

Nick shared the injured man's laugh, glad for the sound of it. He liked Pierce a lot and it eased his mind knowing Pierce's devotion to Jarrod. His older brother spent a lot of time in this city, and Nick knew it would be the lawyer's home one day. He was glad Jarrod would have a warrior by his side or in his wake.

Pierce saw Nick's features change, the light gone, now he was shrouded in darkness. He knew where the brooding Barkley was.

"Heath?"

"Yeah, I'm really worried. He's hurt...hurt bad and alone. He's stuck in the darkness ... trapped. He's calling me Pierce ... and I can't find him."

"We'll find him, Nick. I've got a dozen of San Francisco's finest out combing the streets for him. Clayton's men are out looking for Adams. Between the two groups, Heath will turn up."

Both men turned at the rich voice of Jarrod Barkley, as he entered the room.

"I don't know Jarrod, he's hurt bad ... weak ... suffering alone in the dark ..."

"Nick, you don't know that. Heath may very well be safe and sound. Although, I am going to have a talk with him about running off like that. It wasn't his best move."

"I am right," Nick's deadly eyes matched his voice. "You know I am Jarrod."

Jarrod couldn't argue back. Deep down, he knew his brother was correct. He gave up trying to understand the unexplainable, deep-rooted connection his brothers shared. It went far beyond answering the other's sentences or sensing a need before a spoken word. Heath could silence Nick's fervor with one strong look, something all Jarrod's sensible arguments couldn't.

"There's a formal dinner tonight at the Palace in honor of the Centennial Exposition's Opening tomorrow. The President has invited us to join him. Mother and Audra are staying in the suite of rooms reserved by the First Family. You're in no shape to be running around this city at night Nick. You look awful, and don't tell me you're not in pain. You're a lousy liar. How about a compromise?"

"I'm listening," Nick grunted, swaying slightly and allowing Jarrod to steady him.

"You go to the hotel and get a good nap and a bath. We'll go at first light. I'll have updates from Clayton and Tim Dobson by then, and we'll know more. You're not going to do Heath, or anyone any good, if you pass out and fall off a horse."

Nick didn't reply right away, angry that Jarrod was correct. He doubted if he could catch an old man with a gimp leg, he felt so lousy. His head was pounding and he felt sick. He suddenly remembered his young partner.

"What about the Kid?"

"I'll send a man over for him. He can meet us at the hotel."

"I'll get him," Nick said, fighting a wave of blackness. "I owe him."

"All right, Nick, but rest at the house. Dinner isn't until eight p.m. If you're not up to it, send a wire to Adam Kennedy, he'll see that I get it."

"I gotta find him," Nick pained, patting Pierce's leg. "I'll go to the Rusty Nail."

"I've been there, Nick. Heath was in there yesterday asking about Adams. He rented a horse about this time and set off. I've got men canvassing that whole area. There trained pro's Nick, you couldn't do any better."

Nick walked slowly to the door, careful of the eyes on his back. "They don't know him," he finally said, eyeing the other two men and tapping his chest. "Not in here, they don't."

"Maybe you should go with him," Pierce offered, spotting Jarrod's face. "He had quite a nightmare ... just before you arrived."

"It wouldn't do any good. Until we find Heath, Nick will be a haunted man. I'm guessing that was no bad dream. More like a vision. Nick and Heath have ... I can't explain it ... a connection, a link. They sense the other's needs, thoughts, pain. I've never seen anything like it and I've learned not to question it."

Pierce raised his eyebrows, knowing how hard that must be for his friend who sought the physical, hard evidence.

"I guess it was early last autumn when it happened the first time. Heath had been away to Sonora, not expected back until the following afternoon. It was a terrible night ... a storm raged outside. I was awakened out of a sound sleep by my babbling, half dressed brother. He was going on and on about Heath being trapped in a river and would drown. I tried to reason with him. I pleaded with him and argued quite loudly, struggling with my boots. I caught up to him in the barn. He was on Coco and once I saw his face, I realized no man would stop him. So I followed, fearing for him riding off half cocked into a storm. He knew exactly where to go, following a direct path, turning at precise points. I was about ten minutes behind him. An hour later, when I slid off Jingo," Jarrod paused, the sight still shook him, "there was Nick, knee deep in water, wind roaring past him, the driving rain pelting him. He was struggling to free Heath's leg. Heath's business was finished early and he rode through, trying to make it home before the storm hit. His horse tossed him in the swollen river and he almost made it to shore. He slipped and caught his thigh in a cluster of rocks. He wasn't hurt, just cold and wet."

"That's incredible," Pierce gasped, "God, how lucky for Heath."

"That 's not the half of it," Jarrod replied, running his hand along his neck. "Heath was shocked to see me, but not Nick. He knew Nick was coming ... wasn't the least bit upset. Looked right at Nick and calmly asked 'what took you so long?' Heath rode with Nick back to the ranch. I took a good look them, neither fully understood what happened, but there was a huge difference. Heath is a very spiritual person. He has strong faith, something I'm sure he's needed many times to survive. He's accepted this 'gift' and trusts it without question. On the other hand, it shook Nick up good. He ran out so fast, it didn't have time to sink in fully. He was unusually quiet and preoccupied for days. Then one afternoon I came home early and saw the two of them by the corral. Side by side, Heath talking with his hand on Nick's shoulder. It was a while later, while I was upstairs, I happened to glance out the window and they were still there. Whatever Heath said, helped Nick come to terms with his feelings."

"Couldn't have been easy for him," Pierce noted.

"No, I'm sure it wasn't," Jarrod smiled slightly. "Nick, like the apostle Thomas, needs to touch, to see, to feel it in his hands ... then it's real. Actually, I think it's given him an inner strength somehow."

"Any word on the Senator?"

"I didn't speak with Clayton," Jarrod replied, "but Adam did, and I spoke with him briefly. Garrison hasn't left the hotel all day. Clayton suspects he'll be meeting with Adams tonight. His partner will relieve him later. Speaking of partners, where's your better half?"

"I sent her home, she wasn't feeling well," Pierce said of his pretty wife. "All this stress isn't good in her condition."

"Well, now," Jarrod grinned, extending his hand. "Am I to understand that you're cozy twosome will be changing to a happy threesome?"

"Sharp, Buddy, real sharp," Pierce chuckled, returning the shake. "By the end of December, God willing."

"Congratulations, Old Man!"

"Thanks, Buddy. We were gonna ask you and Brielle at Dan's next week," Pierce said of their surgeon friend, "but ... we'll here I am. Uh ... we'd like you and Brielle to stand for the baby, at the Christening."

"I'd be honored to be the Godfather, and I know Brielle will be thrilled as well." Jarrod paused, meeting the emotional gaze. "So you're going to be a father, that's a scary thought."

"You ain't kidding. I've faced bullets, knives, armed felons, and worse. But sometimes the thought of this new little life, scares me."

"You and every new first time father since the dawn of man. You'll be fine. With you and Claire, any child will be blessed."

Jarrod noticed Pierce shifting, and realized the injured man was due for pain medication that would give him a good, restful sleep. Patting the prospective father's leg, he rose to leave.

"I'll send the nurse in and let you get some sleep. I don't know if I can make it tomorrow. Between Heath and the President..."

"Jarrod, please don't," Pierce interrupted as the lawyer reached the door. "You take care of the President and your family. You've done more than enough already, and I thank you." Pierce ended, wincing.

"You are family, Pierce," Jarrod ended, "and I thank you."

He was lost in a dark dreamworld, seeking and searching. Heath needed him and was nearby, and Rico knew his boss was in trouble. But his legs were tired and the more he ran, the worse his fear became. It was cold and he shivered. Suddenly, the darkness lifted and he blinked, spotting the magenta, violet and blue evening gown the sky wore. He shivered again, the cool twilight breeze danced around the bed. It was nearly nightfall ... he'd slept too long. He jumped up, angry at his carelessness. Grabbing his bag, he crept down the hall. The snoring from the parlor eased his tension a bit. Sam was sound asleep, which would make his journey easier. He saw a platter, left by Sam, on the table. With an ear to the hall, he wolfed down the hearty fare and took a long swig of juice from the jug on the table. Without a backwards glance, he stole away into the approaching dusk.

He made his way down to the beach, the uneven sand giving his leg fits. He would find Isabella and find Senor Heath. He felt the pain in his chest, remembering the guards who almost took him away and the dark cowboy that let it happen. To hell with Senor Nick. He didn't need him, he would show them all.

It was dark when Nick arrived at the safe house. He welcomed the cool night air and the steady rocking of the wagon, made him drowsy. He'd stopped at the Rusty Nail anyway and spent an hour inside and out, without any luck. Having stopped briefly at the hotel, he had found his mother resting. He'd spoken with Audra and left a note for Jarrod. He was no mood for any party. All he wanted to do this eveing was have a quiet meal, a long talk with the kid ... and then bed. Jarrod could meet them at first light ... together they would find Heath.

"Hello? Anybody here?" Nick called out, entering the house.

"Out here," a voice called from the back.

Nick made his way through the hall and out the kitchen door. Sam was at the bottom of a long set of stairs that led to the beach. Nick peered into the darkness, Sam's form was shadowy at best, the only light a torch at the railing below. He was about to make his way down, when Sam waved at him to stop.

Halfway up, he knew something was wrong. The older man's face was set in a grim line.

"What's wrong?" Nick demanded.

"That boy's missing. I've been looking for him for a couple hours now. "

"Missing? How the hell did that happen?" Nick growled, fists clenched.

"He wasn't feeling well ... napped right through supper. I kept checking on him and finally left a meal for him in the kitchen. I was doing some paperwork and dozed off. He must have slipped out. Look, I wasn't expected to be baby-sitting today, Mr. Barkley. I've been awake before sunup and working in the sun all day. Your brother said you'd be home by late afternoon. I'm sorry, what more do you want me to say?"

Nick pounded the table in frustration. The old man wasn't too blame and didn't need or deserve Nick's rage. He looked out into the blackness and his heart sank. He hadn't brought along the pain medicine and his head was splitting. He saw the familiar black spots appearing and sat down at the table, his frustration overpowering him. Sam didn't say anything at first, then dished out the stew and a large mug of cider.

"Thanks, Sam, and I'm sorry. It's just that between my brother's disappearance and now the kid ... and I feel like I got an ax in my head."

"Nothing you can do in the dark. Best thing for you is to eat a good dinner and get some sleep. Things will look better in the daylight. You think the boy went looking for your brother?"

"I know he did ... damn him. I told him to stay put. What was he thinking? He don't know his way around these parts."

Nick took a few spoonfuls of the stew and pushed the bowl away. His knees buckled twice just outside the kitchen while the old man was giving the perimeter one last look. Nick thought better of the steep staircase and headed for a small bedroom off the kitchen. He poured the cold water into the basin and doused his face and neck liberally. Sitting on the small bed, he took off his boots and vest, easing back onto the cool pillows. He'd give a week's wages to have that pain medicine ... his head felt like it was split in two. He turned toward the open window, embracing the cool breeze. The desolation he felt was endless and deep. How could things get any worse? He peered out into the blackness, and allowed the ocean to soothe his frazzled nerves and he finally drifted off to sleep.

The elegant ballroom of the Palace Hotel never looked finer. The guests at the opulent gala numbered close to one hundred and were resplendent in their finery. The diamonds glittered and the satin gowns waltzed to the lyrical notes of the fine band. The room was buzzing with conversation, laughter and music. But at the head table, graced by the president, first lady, his senior aide, Adam Kennedy and the three Barkley's, there seemed to be a dark cloud hovering about.

"I'm not surprised that Nick didn't come. He looked awful. He's been pushing himself much too hard these last few days. I'm glad he used his head and got a good night's rest."

"I hope so, Jarrod," Victoria added, squeezing her son's hand. "If we don't find Heath ... well, I don't know if Nick could recover."

"We'll find him," Jarrod said sharply. "I'll ride out and pick up Nick at first light. He can go with Dobson's men and continue the search. I have to be at the Exposition grounds by ten for a final run through."

"He'd be the handsomest man here," Audra thought outloud, turning to meet Jarrod's winsome grin. "Well, he would," She defended, thinking of her fair haired brother.

"We'll find him, Honey," Jarrod soothed his sister. "I promise."

"Don't," she said pulling her hand free and standing, "make promises you can't keep. He could be ..."

She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, but her tears told those near her what her heart feared most. She excused herself and slipped away. Victoria rose to follow her. Jarrod nodded to an agent nearby, who trailed the women.

"I'm sorry, Jarrod," Ulysses Grant leaned in. "The burden your family seems to be carrying at my expense is rather overwhelming. Come hell or high water, tomorrow we will find your brother ... if I have to lead the charge myself," the blues blazed.

"Thank you, Sir," Jarrod nodded, trying to quell the uneasiness inside.

Julia Grant spotted Jarrod's fiance approaching, a vision in emerald green. Sensing they needed a moment in private, she tugged on her husband's sleeve and discreetly nodded to the dance floor.

"If you'll excuse us," Grant nodded to Jarrod and took his bride to waltz.

"Where are Audra and your mother," Brielle asked, as she returned to her seat.

"Audra's calm exterior finally cracked. She's very close to Heath and has been holding it all inside. She hit her pressure point. Mother went to calm her down."

"Audra's not the only one letting the pressure build," Brielle eased, staring into the blue pools, "I'm worried about you. You can only carry so much on those broad shoulders." She took the strong hand in hers and intertwined the fingers. She ran the other hand behind his neck and caressed his cheek.

"I still think we'll find him, I haven't given up...but...with every passing hour, it's getting bleaker. If the Senator doesn't crack soon and lead us to Adams...," Jarrod sighed, sipping his wine.

"So he's your red chip?"

"He is and I think he's just about at the breaking point. Clayton followed him to Chinatown. He waited in a Noodle house for over and hour and was flustered and highly upset when he left- alone"

"So Adams never showed for this meeting," Brielle guessed, "and if the senator thinks he's been doubled crossed, he'll trip up?"

"I'm betting on it," Jarrod said ruefully, "with Heath's life."

It was dark, but the moon gave sufficient light for the wanderer to see the landmark. The rocky point told the boy to go inward. He climbed up the short rocky wall and stood on firm land. Making his way for another half mile or so, he saw the boarded up entrance. He was squinting at the lettering over the door, when he heard a voice calling in desperation.

He limped heavily past the entrance, around the side of the abandoned mine. Someone was calling for Jarrod Barkley. He scrambled up the hill and peered down through a hole into the dark chamber below. There was no mistaking the battered body who huddled below.

"SENOR HEATH!"

Rico was ready to recklessly climb down, then he heard Heath's reprimand in his mind. He halted his movements and took a step backwards, eyeing the terrain.

"Always leave a marker," Rico recalled.

As his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, he spotted a tree limb hanging over the hole. It's knarled, knotty skin stretched like a witch's arm, pointing to the opening. His eyes shifted as his hand fingered the multicolored belt he wore over his loose fitting white shirt. He took it off carefully, and thought of all the jokes Randy and the others had tossed his way upon seeing the belt. Even Nick joined in, but only Heath knew what it meant to the boy. He fingered the woven sash and climbed up the tree. Careful of his injured leg, he slowly made his way out towards the end of the limb until he heard a loud creaking sound. 'Far enough', he thought, tying the colorful cotton to the limb, letting the ends drape down. Once on terra firmae again, he gathered up rocks and made a good size crude arrow pointing to the hole. He paused over the opening and berated himself for how stupid he'd been. No one knew where he was. He'd really messed up this time.

Sitting over the small hole, he eased his legs in first ... slim hips and shoulders soon followed. Suddenly, he was sliding fast, down a dirt incline, speckled with rocks. He slid to a stop and scampered over to where the unmoving body lie. He knelt over the prone man and his hand froze. What if he was too late? The lamp flickered, casting an unhealthy amber glow over the face of Heath Barkley. Rico could see the moisture covering the flushed face. Trembling, his hand reached out and touched the damp forehead.

"Madre Maria ... so hot," he exclaimed, brushing the wet blond hair. "I have come for you, Senor Heath. You will be fine. You have a fever. I will get some water."

He tapped the pale face just as he spotted the canteen across the way. Lifting the burlap sack from his chest, he went to retrieve the canteen. Shaking it, he was relieved to find it nearly full. He turned as the weak greeting met his ears.

Heath heard a familiar voice through the waves of pain. The burning in his side was barely tolerable, but the leg was pure agony. He felt someone stroking his hair and fought to open his eyes. The heavy lids relented and his eye's took in the retreating body. Another hallucination ... someone else to add a thorn in his heavy heart.

"Rico? ... Didn't 'spect to ... see you."

"Senor Heath! You are awake ... good. I have brought food and there is water." Rico dropped to Heath's side and lifted his head. "Sip, do not gulp, you will throw it out ... and I would not like that."

Heath stiffened and pulled back, shaking his head. He was very alert now and his right hand reached up and tentatively touched the apparition's arm. Yes, it was flesh and bone ... not a vision. Rico was actually beside him. He swallowed the water, eyeing the face above like a babe nursing.

"You're real! ... How'd you ... find me? ... Who's with you ... they outside?" Heath exerted, anxiously peering past the boy's shoulder.

"Of course I am real. Did you think I was a ghost? I have come to rescue you," Rico paused, his voice faltering when he spotted the large crimson stain. "You are bleeding!"

"... We were trapped here. Adams shot me ... left ..."

Heath winced as the normally affable voice turned hard and the string of curses that flew from the lad's lips. His eyes burned and he smacked the wall.

"OUCH!" he recoiled, shaking his hand. "I thought he was your friend. How could he do such a thing. He left you here to die? I do not understand."

"I don't either, Kid," Heath gasped, clutching his burning side. "He stopped bein' anybody's friend a long time ago. He's a paid killer."

"Si, the Stinger...," Rico nodded. "That is how I am here. I found his map."

"Where are the others?" Heath's voice wavered. Something on the dusty face didn't set well with him.

"Uh ... I am sorry, Senor, I ...," he sighed, leveling a doe-like stare at the injured man, "came alone. I did not think ... I ..."

"ALONE! ... No ... Rico ..." Heath sank back, eyes closed, then he felt the light hand on his shoulder.

"I am sorry ... I do not know what else to say. I will leave the Ranchero when we get back ...," Rico rasped, the weight of his actions feeling like a sandbag on his chest.

Heath peered over and saw the lower lip trembling and the downcast shoulders. Too damn loyal, Heath thought, seventeen going on thirty. Trying to hard to be a hero ... to shine. He reached up and grabbed the boy's shoulder.

"Look, Kid ... you ... made a mistake ... a whopper. But what's done ... is done. Crying now ... won't get us ... out of his hole. Look at me ... Rico," he issued sternly.

"I cannot," came the whispered reply.

"Stop it ... get that head up ... I need your help. Check my back ... for an exit wound."

Slowly the head came up and the dark blue eyes met the pale ones. Rico gently turned his friend over and lifted the filthy blue shirt.

"Uno momento." He patted the back and crawled for the lantern.

Rico set the lamp down next to Heath's head and the flickering glow showed the unmarred skin.

"There is none, Senor," he said, easing Heath onto his back.

Heath's fingers stumbled, but he opened the shirt. Rico winced at the blood encrusted fingers that covered the wound.

"There's a bag ... over there ...," Heath indicated with a nod. "Go get it."

Rico brought the carpetbag over and opened it. His audible gasp echoed in the cavern as his eyes took in all the money.

"Look for a bottle of liquor ... hurry," Heath gasped, blinking back the painful trickles of sweat.

"Si, here it is." Rico lifted out a three-quarters full bottle of whiskey. He uncorked it and helped Heath drink a little.

"Listen to me ... carefully ... Rico ... ain't got ... strength." Heath swallowed the burning fluid, hoping it would numb the pain a bit. "Clean it up ... don't use too much water..." Heath closed his eyes as the boy tenderly did as he was told. "Good ... now pour a little liquor on it. Go on ... ," Heath hissed loudly and cried out, bucking slightly as the fire burned his side.

"Sorry ... ," Rico flinched.

"Stop ... saying ... that ... " Heath's temper was short. "Now listen up. The bullet ... needs to ... come out ... now."

"Come out?" Rico's face screwed up, not comprehending. "Si, I will go for a doctor and..."

"No, Kid," Heath grasped the boy's arm and locked eyes, "... no time ... you gotta do it ..."

"I cannot ... I cannot ...," Rico breathed heavily, shaking his dark head.

"You got to ... or I'm gonna die." Heath reached a hand up and rested it on the side of the boys neck, rubbing it. "You can do this ...," he said softly. "I'll ... talk you through it. We're partners, right?"

"Si," Rico whispered, looking at the angry red wound. "You cannot die. You cannot ..."

"Look in bag ... for knife ..." Heath blinked, praying for more time as his vision started to blur.

Rico rummaged around and felt something bulky on the bottom. His hands felt the handle and he pulled it out, holding up it for Heath to see.

"Good ... throw a little whiskey on it .... and then ... heat it up ... till it glows red. Let it cool ... use the tip ... work blade in ... feel around for bullet ...," Heath paused, as Rico poured a little water on his shirt tail and wiped the flushed face. "Ease it out."

"I will hurt you ...," Rico's stomach turned at the gruesome thought.

"Bein' dead will hurt a lot worse," Heath gritted, fighting to stay awake through the tides of pain.

Rico had washed the blade off and stood to heat it when Heath grabbed him.

"Wait ... more ... get some bullets offa my gunbelt. Use tip of knife ... uncap ... them ..," Heath groaned, closing his eyes as pain surged up his trapped right leg.

He felt Rico's hand retrieving the bullets and looked over to see six, uncapped and standing on a rock by the boy's side.

"I do not ... understand ... ," Rico stammered, as he cocked his head.

"When the bullet's out ... you ... pour that gunpowder ... into the wound ... light with match ... my pocket ..." Heath took a large breath and reached for the whiskey, taking a good sip.

Rico's reeling mind finally absorbed the request. "Light it? On fire? I cannot ... burn you ... No!"

"Only way ... stop bleeding ... seal wound. You can do it ... have to ..."

Rico turned and clutched his stomach, swallowing the bile that bitterly filled his mouth. He took several deep breaths and saw the trusting look the older man gave him. Heath's life was in his hands, and that steady gaze and grip on his arm gave the boy strength to continue.

Rico nodded and set up his tools, ripping his own shirt to use for bandages. Finally, he was ready to start. He lifted Heath's head and the blue eyes opened, as the whiskey came into view.

"Drink, Senor, you will need it," Rico's voice was steady, even if his hands weren't.

Heath felt the balmy effects of the spirited beverage as it raced through his bloodstream.

"One ... more thing. You do your job. DON'T LOOK AT ME ... no matter what you hear. Understand? ... Stick to the job. ... Don't lose head ... ," Heath collapsed.

Rico's hand went for the knife, then paused. What if it didn't work? What if Heath died? Had he ever thanked this man for giving him a life? How would he find the right words? He saw the kindness and warmth in the pale eyes and the crooked smile.

"Senor ... I want you to know ...," Rico paused, eyes full. "You have given me so much ... taught me ... cared for me ..." His voice was quiet and shy. "... I ... Gracias ..." He tapped his heart and wiped the moist eyes.

Heath felt a swell of emotion as the boy's faltering words hit his chest. He reached up and caught the youth's cheek, wiping a stray tear with his thumb.

"Yo tambien, perqueno hermano," Heath gentled, meeting the started gaze.

Rico heard the words and saw Heath tapping his own heart. He felt the words as they settled inside, deeply rooted, finding a permanent home. 'Me too, Little Brother'...words he never dreamed he'd hear...words that felt so right.

"I will make you proud. I will not fail you."

"... I know, Kid ... ," Heath faded as a wave of pain engulfed him.

Rico gripped Heath's hand as the blond man stifled a cry. He moved to the torch on the wall and held the knife until the blade glowed an angry red. He waited until the blade cooled, then knelt over the wound. He wanted to see the confident cool blue eyes, but dared not look.

With a deep breath, Rico used the knife to explore the area where the bullet entered Heath's left side. He heard the hiss, but didn't falter. It was several agonizing minutes later when he spotted the offensive lead ball. He carefully eased the tip of the blade under it and extracted the pellet, dropping it into his shaking hands. He reached for the first of the bullets and his side vision caught the other man's face, teeth clenched, blood dripping from where he'd bitten through his lip, not wanting to cry out.

Rico laid the knife, blade up, against his leg. He unclenched his fists several times, trying to quell the shaking hands. Finally, he took two bullets and sprinkled the gunpowder as instructed. He watched in dismay at the blood from the wound ate the gunpowder. He took two more and liberally sprinkled the wound and quickly lit the match, touching it to the area. The blinding flare and the unholy screech of agony as Heath's body buckled, tore the boy's heart out. He caught Heath, who slumped in his arms, mercifully out of pain. He held the unconscious man close to his chest, rocking and sobbing, as bitter tears shook his whole body. Easing Heath down onto the ground, he stumbled down into the nearest tunnel and dropped to his knees. He lost the contents of his stomach and continued to retch, long after he was empty. Wiping his mouth against his sleeve, he sank against the wall, resting his head.

Composing himself, he made his way back to his patients side. Using the squares of cloth he cut from his shirt, he covered the wound and secured it with a long thin rope-like strip, he made from the cloth. He cleaned the knife with some whiskey and wiped it clean, placing it nearby. He rested his head on his knees as the gravity of the situation hit him. He was dozing when he heard the thrashing. He pushed the fevered man's shoulders down, fighting the weaker form. Heath mumbled incoherently and tossed restlessly, shivering. Rico frowned, he had no blanket. His eyes caught a flash of fabric on a nearby rock. He limped over and held up a dark cotton suitjacket. It wasn't much, but it was all they had.

He lifted Heath forward and eased his body behind, so that Heath's back rested against his chest. He pulled the jacket over Heath, covering his throat to this waist. He gripped the man tightly, speaking softly in his ear, trying to help fight the invisible demons that tortured the slumbering man. Recalling a song that his mother used to sing to him when he was a small boy, Rico mouthed out the tune, his voice halting and soft.

Heath was lost in a demon filled maze, every time he thought he was free, Jeff's leering grin would appear. He would raise the gun and shoot Heath all over again. Nick's dead eyed stare and accusing finger, pointed at him in contempt. 'Where were you when I needed you?' the white lips sneered. He felt strong arms embrace him and heard a soothing voice. The soft melody and gentle stroking combined with the rocking motion, chased the villainous visions away. He took a deep breath and eased into a restful sleep, feeling safe and content.