The Sojourner

by H.S. English

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.

Assumptions for this story: Tom Barkley has been dead for about two years; Heath has lived with the Barkleys for a little over a year. Eugene does not exist. One segment of the tale refers to the story “Comfort Zones”, which may be found in the Barkley Library. Thank you for reading!

Part 1

He knew it was hot. He knew he needed to stand up. He knew that his head hurt, hurt badly. But he didn’t know much else.

Slowly, the tall man stood. If any people had been watching, they would have considered it a safe bet that he wouldn’t stay on his feet. They would have bargained, however, without understanding what a strong will can do.

His hazel eyes squinted against the sun. His head ached. The world revolved as it always had, but as far as the man knew, he had never been on the face of the earth before. It seemed strange to consider that there must be people, people who were living their lives without understanding that his had been changed forever.

People. There had to be people who knew him. Bending slowly to pick up his dark, dusty hat, the man began the long, slow trek into the unknown, searching to find someone who could help him know himself.

Not far from the place where the man had discovered the horrors of anonymity, a blond-haired cowboy rode, looking carefully at the ground around him. In one hand he held the reins of his horse; in the other, he held another horse’s reins. The second horse followed him, almost as if they were friends, too.

They were friends. Since he had come to the ranch, Heath Barkley had loved Coco, his brother Nick’s horse. Nowadays, Nick only rode Coco if he wasn’t going to do anything strenuous. When Coco had come home without Nick, it was time to go searching.

Eyes narrowing, he pulled gently on his horse’s reins. Charger stopped obediently, and Coco came to an equally obedient stop as well. Heath dismounted in one fluid motion. Kneeling, he traced marks in the dirt and then looked up and around. He saw a starkly outlined silhouette standing against the sun. Quickly, he remounted and rode toward the dark figure.

The man heard the beat of horses’ hooves. Slowly, painfully, he turned and watched the man ride up. He waited. “Looks like you’ve had a tough day.”

The man waited. “Seems to me you’d be better off ridin’ this horse back to the house than walkin’. And while we’re on that topic, the house is thataway.” Heath pointed in the opposite direction from where the man had been walking.

He walked to the horse. Patting its nose, he looked up at the man on the stallion’s back. The stranger gave him a half-smile. “Well, Nick? You all right?”

He nodded and got on his horse. Together, they rode in the direction the rider had pointed.

Nick. He had called him Nick. That meant the man knew him. He had talked about a house. Maybe he worked for someone at the house. He’d know more when his head stopped hurting. What was he saying? The man spurred his horse to the stranger’s side and listened intently. “Mother and Audra had a conniption fit when Coco came in without you. Seemed they thought you must’ve died or been hurt somethin’ terrible. So you’d better get ready for some hen-cluckin’ when we get back.”

Mother. Audra. Family? Did those words mean that he was related to the stranger? The man waited for more. “Nick? Coco throw you?”

The man shook his head in irritation. Heath laughed.

“All right, he didn’t throw you. But somethin’ happened, and you’d better get ready to tell the whole story, because Jarrod’s home, too. By the time the family finishes, you’ll have told them everything, down to the color of your underdrawers, so get ready, Big Brother. Just get ready.”

They rode down into a yard. There were stables, a corral, a bunkhouse, and a huge white house. A beautiful woman came running. “Nick!”

As he swung down from the horse, she arrived at his side and embraced him.

“Nick, are you all right? We were so worried!”

“Audra, give him a minute to breathe. He’s back, and he looks whole to me. Here, Big Brother, let me take care of Coco.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No. I’ll do it.”

Heath looked curiously at his brother and then at Audra. “Nick, there’s no point in you doin’ it. I’m glad to...”

“I SAID I’D DO IT!”

He froze. The shout...where had it come from? What would they think? Why were they smiling? “Well, Nick, that’s proof that you’re not hurt bad. But Mother will still want to check you out, so let’s have Ciego take care of Charger and Coco and get you to the house.”

The pretty blonde tucked her hand inside Nick’s arm and steered him to the house, talking all the while. Heath tossed the reins to Ciego and with a shake of his head, followed his sister and brother to the house.

Inside, the man looked around. Big ... big and beautiful. Formal. Home? How could it be home and he not remember anything? A petite woman came down the stairs. Her silver hair made her large, dark eyes even more intense. “Nick! Oh, Sweetheart, I was so worried! Here, let me look at you!”

Heath took off his hat and stood quietly, observing Victoria cluck over her second child. Nick stood there, strangely still, seeming to be waiting for something. He looked back at Heath with a question in his eyes.

With a quick move, Heath reached up and took off Nick’s hat. “Might as well pretend you know how to act inside a house. Why don't we go on into the other room and sit down? It'll be easier for Mother to check you over, and you know just how Mother is, don't you, Big Brother?”

There was a new look of concern in the blond cowboy's eyes as he gazed speculatively at the older man. Keeping up the charade, the dark-haired cowboy smiled reluctantly, but he was grateful for the rope the blond had thrown him. Brother. This man was his brother. And the white-haired woman was the blond's mother, so she had to be his mother, too.

But the younger woman...blonde like the stranger...his brother. Was she a sister? A wife? How could he find out? His head ached abominably as he allowed the stranger ... his brother ... to lead him into the parlor and sit him gently down in a chair. Swiftly, before the women followed, the blond crouched down before him. “Nick? You need some help here, don't you?”

Nick. His name was Nick. Swallowing convulsively, he gripped the shoulder of his brother in silent gratitude. He tried to say something, to say thanks to this nameless man who was his brother, but words wouldn't come. Oddly, the blond seemed to understand. With a wink, he stood and faced the women. “Little Sister, I think that Nick needs some sleepin' time more than anything. Why don't you go up and run your big brother a nice hot bath, but don't go puttin' in any of them bath salts you like so much, you hear?”

The young woman giggled, bent over, kissed the dark-haired cowboy, and gracefully left the room.

Sister. This was a sister. With relief, Nick ... he had to remember that. His name was Nick. With relief, he leaned his head back. It hurt, it hurt so bad. And the more he tried to remember, the more it hurt.

The throaty voice of the white-haired woman came again. “Sweetheart, do you really think he's all right?”

He growled inwardly. Why couldn't she call the blond by his name? It wasn't right to wonder what his brother's name was. It was there, there on the tip of his tongue. But he couldn't bring it to mind.

With a swift glance toward the cowboy on the couch, the blond turned back to their mother. “Oh, Mother, I think he's fine. He just fell off his horse and I think he's embarrassed about it. Ain't that right, Nick?”

The woman laughed as she saw the storms flash in her older son's eyes.

“I'd say your brother is right, Nick. At least, you're not denying it, are you?”

He was saved from reply by the young woman's return. “Nick? The water's nice and hot. Why don't you go on upstairs and just relax, all right?”

Upstairs. Well, that made sense. But this was a big house. How would he know which door was his? And where was the bath? And what were their names? They were all looking at him, the stranger who was his brother most intently. What should he do?

He was spared the decision by the sound of the door's opening. All three instinctively turned for a moment; he took that respite to down his drink and stand. A grunt of pain escaped.

As the petite woman walked gracefully to the door, she called out to someone named Jarrod. A tall, black-haired man walked in and embraced her. The young girl followed. That just left the stranger ... his brother. It was so awful. He should know him, should know the women, should know the house. They all acted as if he fit there; no one seemed to understand that he was the stranger, sojourning in another man's life. “Nick?”

He looked at his brother. “Nick, let's get you upstairs. I think we need to talk.”

The blond stranger put his arm on Nick's shoulder. It rested there comfortably and steered the bewildered man out into the foyer and quickly to the stairs. He nodded at the man who was standing at the door and kept on walking. “Nick.”

They stopped. “Nick, I have some news for you.”

The man walked inside and over to Nick. He looked serious. “Jarrod, can it wait? Ole Nick here took a tumble off of Coco; he's not feelin' the best right now.”

The tall man laughed. “Fell off of Coco? I don't believe it! What happened?”

“We don't rightly know; Nick's gonna take a bath and rest a bit. Then he'll tell us all about it.”

As he spoke the blond continued to urge Nick up the steps. He called down his last words from the landing. Quickly, he walked with Nick to a door and opened it. “Big Brother, I'm thinkin' you need a long, hot soak. I'll get some clean clothes from your room and bring them in, all right?”

Mutely, he nodded. “And then, when you're done, just come on in my room. Then we can talk.”

Without another word, the stranger left him there. He undressed and sank gratefully into the water. He looked around the bathroom. It was palatial. He wondered how long he had lived there; he wondered just how old he was. His head hurt.

The stranger entered again. The same half-smile came and went as he deposited clothes on a chair and left again.

His brother. And a sister. Mother. Where was the father? Was his father dead? And who was this man they called Jarrod? With a sigh, the lost man got out of the tub, toweled himself dry, and began to dress. As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of someone in a mirror.

He was afraid. He was coping ... barely. How could he face himself and admit that he didn't recognize what he saw? With footsteps so slow and halting that they would have been suitable for someone leaving the tumbril to mount the steps to the guillotine, he forced himself to walk to the mirror.

It was odd, really. Almost funny. He didn't think he should look like that. He figured that if he had a blond sister and brother, he'd most likely be light-haired, too. But his hair was black ... blacker than the kiss of a raven's feather. And his eyes. The others had blue eyes. Even he could see that they were related. Why were his eyes different? Why didn't he look like everyone else?

Maybe it was a bad dream. Maybe he was sleeping and all this would go away when he woke up. He shook his head and winced. The alien in the mirror shook his head and winced in silent reproof.

He leaned closer. His face was tanned. There were minute scars here and there. But there was no word, no sign from the man in the mirror that could help the one standing outside, looking in. “Nick? You all right?”

It was the voice of the one who had found him.

“Yeah. Just a minute.”

He bent over and picked up his boots. Leaving his dirty clothes on the floor, he walked to the door and opened it, willing himself to face the incomprehensible and do the impossible. Together, the brothers walked to the open door at the top of the stairs. Together, they entered the room.

He looked around. It was nice, very nice. Not as fancy as the bathroom, but a nice room. It fit the man standing in front of him. But then, the man had no reason to be uncomfortable. He had a past, a history. He had roots. He belonged here; obviously he always had.

“Nick, I don't know what's goin' on, but before Jarrod gets to you, I want to know what happened.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, come on, Big Brother! You rode out of here, sayin' you just needed some time alone. Then Coco comes back without a rider, and I find you out on the North Ridge, walkin' in the wrong direction. The tracks where you fell are there, Nick. Now you'd better tell me quick ... what happened out there today?”

The stranger's blue eyes blazed into the lost man's soul. What happened? Two words that were so simple to say, but impossible to answer. He was saved by a knock on the door. “Boys, supper's ready. Aren't you two hungry?”

It was the sister's voice. The one he had called . . . it was gone. But at least she brought a reprieve. Forcing a smile, he clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You're right. We need to talk. But let's go eat first, all right?”

With a frown that quickly changed into that half-smile he was beginning to know, the blond nodded.

“But after supper, Nick, no more puttin' me off. I want to know what happened today; I want to know it all.”

He turned and left the room. Slowly, the lost man named Nick followed his brother down stairs he knew he should remember, followed him through rooms he knew he should recognize, and followed him into a dining room filled with beauty he knew should be familiar. The white-haired woman sat in front of the lace-curtained French doors. The black-haired man sat opposite her; the golden-haired girl sat facing the two men who entered.

There were two places set. One was by the white-haired woman; the other, closer to the black-haired stranger who had news for him. Which was his? He stood, wondering what to do next. “Well, Brother Nick, it would appear that your fall has taken your appetite. Or are you feeling shy as you realize we all want to hear the story of how Coco bested you?”

Everyone laughed ... that meant he should, too. Forcing a grin, he ducked his head. The blond man went to the seat by his mother ... that meant he was to sit by the other man. Was this the one the blond had called Jarrod? He'd wait; maybe someone would help him. “Before we all start persecuting poor Nick, let's give thanks. Jarrod?”

As all heads bowed, Nick had a flash of memory ... a time when everyone in this room had bowed their heads as the woman gave thanks. But it was different ... the blond had been across the table. No matter. This black-haired man was Jarrod. It was something to remember, something for which he could give thanks.

The prayer over, the family commenced their meal. A servant in a white coat efficiently refilled cups, brought sauces, and so on. Nick wondered how long he had been part of the group; he wondered what it would be like to serve someone for a living. As the man filled Nick's cup, the bewildered hostage of irony thanked him. “You're welcome, Mr. Nick. Glad to see you're all right after that fall.”

With a gentle chuckle, the man walked over to the new man ... Jarrod's ... side as all laughed.

“Now, Silas, don't go laughin' too hard at Nick here. Why, I reckon it could've happened to anybody ... that is, anybody who hasn't been ridin' more'n a week or so.”

Renewed laughter followed this sally, but as Nick did not respond, four pairs of puzzled blue eyes turned to him. “Nick, are you sure you're all right? You're certainly not acting like yourself tonight.”

Well, that was true. How was he supposed to act? He wasn't himself; to him, it was as obvious as the roses outside in the garden. But evidently all that mattered to this group was that he looked all right; therefore, he was all right. “I'm sorry. I guess I was a little more shaken than I realized.”

This muttered apology seemed to relax them all. Now, Jarrod began to talk. “Well, if you're going to be quiet and peaceful, I guess this is the best time to tell you my news. It turns out that Hatch has a long, long history of violence; it's not surprising that he would do such a thing. It's a good thing that he's in jail. But he has a brother, and Fred is concerned about a possible attempt to get Hatch out before the trial. Your evidence is going to be very, very important, not only to Mrs. Rawlings, but to many others Hatch has hurt.

Before the bewildered man could even formulate a guess about what Jarrod was discussing, the blond brother spoke. “How's Mrs. Rawlings doing, Jarrod?”

“I went by to see her today. She's taking it awfully hard, but she's glad we have Hatch. Naturally, I didn't say anything to her about his brother. Mother, she sent her gratitude to you for what you've done.”

“It's little enough, Jarrod. I'll go in to see her again tomorrow.”

“I'll go with you, Mother. Maybe we can bring her some flowers.”

“That would be nice, Audra. Jarrod, do you have any idea what her needs will be now that Tony's not . . . well, not here?”

“I'm afraid her needs are going to be great, Mother. I think they were living on what Tony brought in.”

“We'll have to do something to help her.”

“There's one thing that might help. There was a sizable reward for Hatch. Naturally, it goes to Nick, but I thought we might make it over to her.”

“That's a good idea, but we'll have to be careful. No mother would like to live on money brought in by the death of her child. Is there some way we can just give her the money without letting her know the source, Jarrod?”

“I don't really know, but it's worth thinking about. Maybe we could have Arthur approach her and say it was coming through the bank somehow. Nick, she said today that she was very grateful to you. I think she'd like to see you ... to talk about that day. I know it won't be easy for you, but I think it might help her a lot.

As the talk surged around him, Nick sat there inundated with waves of bewilderment. Who was this Mrs. Rawlings and why did they care so much? Who was Hatch, and how was he involved with him?

They assumed he knew; they seemed to think that he was as concerned as they were. How could he be concerned about a stranger when he didn't even know what he had eaten for breakfast? But he heard his name; the gray-haired woman, his mother, was speaking. “Well, that's settled. Nick, we'll both ride in with you; maybe we can help her come to terms with everything.”

Settled? He didn't remember settling anything. Seething, he started to speak. Then he stopped. Maybe it was the way this group worked; maybe he was the quiet one who listened while the others talked. It seemed that they accepted it this way; well, then, that would be what he would do. He'd be the quiet one and follow their lead. It rankled, it felt all wrong. But nothing was right anyway, so what did it matter?

The talk at the table changed; it turned first to gentle teasing about Nick's fall and then, with a meaningful stare from the woman they called Mother, to other matters. While the words whirled on around him, Nick toyed with his food. As he pictured the faces of these people if he told them the truth, he snickered. The blond brother looked over at him. “Care to share the joke, Big Brother?”

“What? Oh, no. Sorry.”

What had he been thinking? Everyone else fit so well; only he felt like a shoe that had no mate. Only he knew his secret ... and if he could just get alone and think, he could remember. Then he could fit in again, too.

Covertly, he observed the relationships of the people around him. Whenever the servant ... Silas, that was it ... came to the blond cowboy's side, the man would smile and thank him. So would the mother. Now the sister ... Andrea? Alice? Audra! ... was friendly, but not always observant. The black-haired brother was nice, but seemed to expect being served. What interested Nick right about now was just getting alone for a while. He had to think; he had to remember.

Grinning again, he wondered what would disrupt the calm of this group. If he stood up and announced that he didn't know them, had never seen them, and wasn't their brother/son, would they notice at all? Not a bad idea ... at least he'd know how he fit in with everyone. But he decided against it.

When dinner was over, Jarrod asked if they wanted a game of billiards. Before Nick could answer, the blond brother intervened. “Lawyer, this poor man has had a tough day, fallin' off his horse and all. He's got a lot of work to do tomorrow; I reckon we'll both be sayin' good night to you all.”

With a smile, he kissed his mother and sister and unobtrusively, but firmly, guided Nick up the steps. Instead of going to his room, they went a different direction and entered a very different room. Nick stood there, gaping.

This wasn't a room; it was a suite. The other room had been nice, but the differences were obvious. Where the first room ... his brother's room ... had been simple and unornamented, this one was ornate and filled with mementoes. He walked slowly to a saddle; on it, in crude writing, were the words: “Nick Barkley. Keep off.”

Barkley. Was that his last name? It sounded strong, like he wanted to be. Nick Barkley. Well, he'd be strong. Maybe if he was, he'd learn to fit the name again.

He walked through the anteroom to the bedroom proper. The bed was huge. It made the one in his brother's room look like an anonymous hotel bed. In fact, he felt a curious kind of shame as he compared the two. Why was his room so splendid and the brother's so utilitarian?

“Nick?”

He turned. Hazel eyes met blue.

“Nick, I know something's wrong. Now, are you gonna tell me, or are we gonna take a ride in to see Doc Merar?”

He started to shake his head, but he realized this man would not be put off. “I . . . I don't know.”

“Don't know what, Nick?”

“I don't know.”

Didn't he understand? That simple statement was the truth. He didn't know. But he had a feeling that the simple truth was going to get awfully complicated. “Nick, what's the last thing you remember?”

Silence. He wondered how long it would last; he had a feeling that if the tables were turned, he wouldn't be waiting as patiently as the stranger who was his brother. Finally, he spoke. “You coming.”

Instead of making a fuss, the blond just whistled. He walked over to Nick and gently guided him to a chair. Again, there was a strange feeling of guilt; this was a luxurious chair, a chair built for a man to lean back in and relax. There had been no such chair in his brother's room. The blond bent over the bewildered man and gently felt his head. “You don't really have a bump; I don't see any cuts. I'd think that if you had a head injury, you'd show some signs. I wonder what happened.”

And that was it. He realized that here, in this one person, he would find acceptance. He had an ally. No fuss, no questions. Just a desire to help. And to know what happened.

He sighed with relief.

“Can I ask you a question?”

The blond gave the now-familiar half-smile.

“Yep.”

“What's your name?”

Well, he'd done it for sure. The blond looked at him in shock, then he put his head back and started to laugh. Nick was amazed at the transformation; the face, which he had only seen as serious, lit up. Blue eyes sparkled; Nick found himself laughing, too. Finally, both settled down. “Sorry, Nick. You mean you really don't remember anything at all?”

“Nope.”

“Well, Big Brother, my name's Heath.”

With mock solemnity, Nick put out his hand. Heath reached out and grasped it. “Hello, Heath. I hear I'm Nick.”

Both laughed again and were still laughing when Jarrod walked in.

“And may I ask what's so funny, gentlemen?”

That set them off again. Heath kept pointing to Nick and then to Jarrod; the more he laughed, the more Nick saw the humor as well. Finally, gasping for breath, they got themselves under control. “Jarrod, would you believe we were introducing ourselves?”

The lawyer looked at them both.

“Frankly, no. But have it as you will. Nick, we need to talk about Hatch.”

Nick looked at Heath. Then, he started to laugh again; Heath joined him. A part of Nick's brain realized that this was a reaction to all he had experienced since he found himself standing in the middle of nowhere. And he figured that Heath was reacting in his own way. It'd probably strike him funny, too, if he'd grown up with someone and had to be introduced to him. But it sure felt good to laugh, even for a minute. “Jarrod, you're right, even if you are a lawyer. But maybe we should wait until tomorrow. I thought Nick needed the rest, but I think he'd be better off if we went into town for a bit. We'll be back early ... and I'll keep my eyes on your star witness all the time, all right?”

There. That was it; the lifeline he needed to sober up. Heath seemed to understand that he needed time to adjust to all this before he told his family he didn't know them. He wondered how they'd gotten so close; it seemed as if the younger man could read his mind. Maybe it was because they'd grown up together. Yeah. That was probably it.

Both men were looking at him. Funny, both of them had blue eyes, but other than that, there wasn't much similarity. The lawyer had soft hands and only a light tan; the other man was burnished by the sun and bore the marks of hard work. The cowboy was looking at Nick with concern; the lawyer, with speculation. Nick squirmed uneasily. “Well, I guess it's not every day that the mighty Nick Barkley is felled by a horse. Maybe he does need a bit of fun to take his mind off of things. But Heath, make sure he stays with you, all right?”

The blond clapped the lawyer on the shoulder and smiled as he answered flippantly, “Won't leave his side, Jarrod. Nick, let's get a move on.”

Confused but very willing to get out of yet another stressful situation, Nick stood and followed his brother. They walked down the stairs and towards the door. “Nick? You might need these.”

He turned. Heath was holding out his gunbelt and hat. Nick smiled briefly and nodded his thanks. An involuntary wince caused the blond to move in closer. “You all right?”

His voice was lowered, and for that Nick was grateful. He grunted affirmatively and turned to open the door.

“Heath? Where are you going?”

Nick froze. It was the voice of the gray-haired woman, the woman who had given him birth. Mother. He should know that, should feel it inside him. But she was a stranger, too. Would she stop the getaway? Sweat began to bead on his forehead; breath came in short gasps. Again, his brother rescued him. “Well, Mother, we're just going to take a ride into town. We won't be long; Ol' Nick here just needs to unwind a bit.”

“Nick, after the day you've had ... “

“Now, Mother. I promise I'll take good care of him. Trust me.”

As he spoke, Heath bent and kissed the woman's cheek. Nick watched the lines of worry erase as she smiled up at the tall cowboy and felt a strange pang of longing. He envied their relationship, their ease of communication. It was obvious that the years had gone well with them, that these two loved each other and trusted each other. As he watched, he wondered what childhood memories he was missing of growing up with such a man; he wondered what it was like to know this woman as a mother instead of a stranger.

Heath turned and grinned at Nick. He walked easily to the door and ushered the bewildered man outside. Keeping close by his side, the cowboy steered his older brother to the stables. There, he swiftly began to saddle two horses. “I'll help.”

“No problem. You rest yourself.”

“I SAID I'D HELP!”

He couldn't help the shout; it came naturally. Abashed, he stood silent, wondering at the smile which played over his brother's face. With sparkling eyes betraying his amusement, Heath turned to Nick. “Well, it's nice to know that not everything's gone. The ways of the Almighty are strange indeed. Now, Big Brother, let's get while the gettin's good.”

Nick realized that while he had been standing there, Heath had saddled both horses. He fell in place behind his brother and meekly followed him out the stable door. There, he waited for further instructions.

Heath tossed him the reins of the horse he had ridden back to the ranch and vaulted into the saddle on the back of a magnificent stallion. Mounting his horse, Nick reflected for a minute; although his room might be remarkably more luxurious, it was obvious who was favored with horses. He had little time to wonder about that as they both urged their horses to a canter. Following his brother's lead, he rode, he assumed, toward town. Idly, he wondered what the name of the town was. “Heath?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going?”

Heath pulled up and turned to face his brother. The spark of laughter which had lit his eyes was gone; now they were dark with concern. “Nick, you need to see a doctor. I reckoned that you hadn't changed too much; if I'd had Doc come out here, you'd have had Mother and Audra cluckin' over you enough to drive you crazy. I thought it'd be easier on you to see him kind of quiet-like first.”

“DOCTOR! I DON'T ... “

“Oh, yes, you do. Now it can be easy or it can be hard, Big Brother, but you're gonna see a doctor.”

A new look came into Heath's eyes. Nick watched him, wondering what would happen if he simply turned and rode back . . . where? Home? That was a laugh.

Heath watched him speculatively. He relaxed in the saddle, swinging his knees up slightly, giving the impression of a man who had no concerns. But Nick noticed that he had maneuvered the stallion to a position which kept Nick facing the way they had started ... towards, he presumed, town. And Nick also noticed that his brother appeared to be relaxed, but his jaw was set and his head was tilted. The gentle man he had seen at the house now was all steel, and Nick suddenly knew that he didn't want to be the flint to set him off. He had a feeling it wouldn't be a long fire, but he sure thought it might burn hot and true. “All right.”

Just like that, the gentle man returned. Heath smiled that half-smile of his and sat up straight in the saddle. Together, they rode off to see if someone could shed some light on the darkness which had come Nick's way.

As they rode, Nick considered what he had learned. His name was Nick Barkley. He had two brothers and a sister; he had a mother. No one had mentioned their father. Was he dead? On a trip? Making a mental note to remember to ask Heath, he continued to think through the day. The older brother, Jarrod, seemed, from the conversation, to be involved in legal things. He also seemed more ... oh ... sophisticated than did Heath.

Glancing at the man who rode quietly at his side, Nick pondered what he had learned about this brother of his. He was blond like their sister; like the other two siblings, his eyes were blue. He was tall, but still not as tall as Jarrod. He was quiet, but Nick had gotten the idea from the discussion about the doctor that he wouldn't be one to be walked on. Reaching up a hand to massage his aching neck, he had a sudden flash; he saw Heath and himself fighting. Just as quickly as it had come, the memory was gone, but it left him with an uneasy feeling.

It seemed to him that it took an awfully long time to get to town. He stole glances at this man who was his brother. He seemed to be relaxed, riding loose in the saddle. Nick looked down at the way he was clenching the reins and compared them with Heath's loose hold. He wondered if he had ever been as relaxed and in charge as Heath seemed to be. From what he'd gleaned, he was older than Heath, but it seemed clear that age wasn't as important as ability. And Nick reckoned that it was obvious to anyone just whose ability was greater.

Finally, they reached the outskirts of a town. He saw the name on a sign. Stockton. It meant no more to him than his own name did. As they rode, Heath nodded amiably to a few people; Nick followed suit. Coming to the town's main street, Nick's attention was drawn to a large statue. He swerved and rode over to it. Dismounting, he stared at the man on the horse. “Nick?”

“Somebody must have been pretty important to get such a statue. Who was he?”

“Your father.”

Nick looked quickly at his brother and back to the statue. Heath's stare was different, somehow. All that relaxation had disappeared; he was tightly wound as he waited for Nick. “Does it look like him?”

“People say so.”

“I DIDN'T ASK PEOPLE, BOY, I ASKED YOU!”

Nick's anger left him as he saw his brother grin. Abashed, he attempted an apology.

“Heath, I'm ... I'm sorry. I had no call to . . . “

“No matter. Like I said, it's nice to know that some things never change. Now, Big Brother, let's get you over to the doc's house.”

Both men mounted again; Nick with a grunt and Heath with that leap into the saddle that seemed effortless. Meekly, the confused cowboy fell into place behind his brother. They rode to a white house. The sign out in front gave Nick the information he needed; he was going to see someone named Merar. As he dismounted, he wondered just how long he had known this man and what his reaction would be to his patient's lack of memory.

Mounting the steps increased his buildup of anxiety. Heath knocked at the door and stepped back. As the door opened, Nick took a deep breath. He saw an attractive woman and smiled politely, wondering who she was. “Why, if it isn't two of my favorite young men! Is anything wrong at the ranch, Nick?”

“Uhhh . . . “

“Mrs. Merar, everyone's fine at the ranch, but Nick and I kind of need to see the doc about a little situation that's come up. Is he in?”

Heath's polite tone was returned by a bright smile as Mrs. Merar gestured for them to come in. As she closed the door behind them, she called out to someone named Howard. Footsteps came hurrying down the stairs; Nick looked up to see an older man with a snowy cap of white hair. “Well, look who's here! Everyone all right at the ranch, Boys?”

“Yes, Sir, but me 'n' Nick here would like to talk with you, if that's all right.”

The doctor looked at the two men and nodded. “You know the way, don't you?”

Heath grinned as the doctor smiled at the two. “Yes, Sir, I reckon we do.” He followed as the doctor led the way down the corridor and through a painted door. Nick was fascinated with the change in environment; with a step through a doorway, he left a comfortable home and entered a doctor's waiting room. He looked around with interest and jumped when he heard the doctor's voice. “Now, Boys, just what's wrong?”

An uncomfortable silence grew and grew. Patiently, the physician waited; Heath stared at Nick, who stared back at him. Finally, Heath sighed. “Well, Doc, it's kind of strange, but I think you need to have a look at Nick here.”

“He looks healthy enough to me, but . . . “

That statement gave Nick the excuse he was looking for.

“And that's all I needed to hear. Thanks, Doc! Heath, you comin'?”

Somehow, the blond cowboy had moved between him and the door. Negligently, he leaned against it, looking relaxed ... almost lazy. But Nick had a feeling that the relaxation was a pose, and that he'd regret going up against his brother. Just how long had he been led by this man? Shouldn't it be different? He was the older one ... at least Heath said so. Why didn't he take charge? Helplessly, he sighed and turned in capitulation to Dr. Merar.

His eyes twinkling, the physician looked back and forth between the two men, so different and yet so similar. He gave the impression that he was mentally placing bets on just which one would win.

“Well, Nick?” The soft drawl came from behind him.

“ALL RIGHT!” Moving back, as if to deny the shout, Nick was abashed as he looked at the two pairs of eyes staring at him. His face burned with shame as he realized he was the one who had shouted. Again, however, his brother was grinning, and even the doctor's eyes were twinkling as they surveyed the bewildered cowboy's confused face. “Well, Son, I don't know what's wrong, but it can't be too serious, now can it?”

“Doc, Nick here has a little problem. Seems he don't remember who he is or anything about himself.”

Nick wondered if he'd ever forget the next moment. It was as if he were suspended in the air, waiting, waiting for someone to tell him what would make his life normal again. He recognized the absurdity of not breathing, but he couldn't help holding his breath as he waited for the doctor's response. His heart hammered in his chest; his mind hammered on the door of his memory, longing for the key. “Well, now. That does make things a bit awkward, doesn't it? Heath, why don't you just sit down and Nick and I'll go back in the room here and I'll check him out. That all right with you, Son?”

It wasn't going to be magic. Slowly, Nick exhaled and with the swoosh of breath, his hopes fled him as well. There was no secret key that the doctor held. Defeated before he began, the dark-haired man followed the doctor into the examining room while his brother sat down outside.

Nick allowed the good doctor to poke and prod as he wished, although with every poke and prod, he felt the pressure rising within. He answered as many questions as he could, again trying to be patient, wondering what this hot feeling inside him was, wondering why he wanted to swat the man who was annoying him as a fly annoys a sleeper. He was curiously shamed by the anger; he knew the man was trying to help him. But this feeling of helplessness was suffocating him. Finally, Dr. Merar sighed as he stepped back from the examining table. “All right, Son, you can get dressed now. I'll be outside when you're ready.”

“Doc?”

“Yes, Nick?”

“Can ... can you help?”

Again the earth stood still. Again, he held his breath. This time, he could hear the tick of the doctor's watch as he waited; each tick seemed to mark off an eon of time for the man who had come to occupy a stranger's life. “Let's talk outside, Nick. I'll be waiting.”

As Nick dressed, he listened carefully for the sound of voices, but other than one murmur, he heard nothing. His fingers were shaking as he fumbled the buttons into their slots; with an impatient shake of his head, which he regretted instantaneously, he crammed his arms into his vest and began the walk to the door which held the only possible hope he had.

A detached part of him marveled at his composure as he opened the door. Inside, he was screaming with fear, but outside ... outside, he simply walked to the chair by the only landmark he knew and sat down. As he sat, Heath looked at him but said nothing. “Nick, it doesn't seem that you have any head injury or physical cause of this problem. That headache probably is just from the stress you're under.”

“THEN WHAT... ” Again, that shout; again, he quenched it, gritting his teeth. As before, he was confused to see the smiles on the two men's faces. “Doc, can you help him?”

“Well, Heath, the mind is a strange thing. Doctors know some things about how the Good Lord made the bodies, but we're just now beginning to get a handle on the fact that no matter how much we learn, there will always be surprises. What Nick has is a form of amnesia.”

“Nice to have the name, Doc, but I'm thinkin' that it'd be a better plan to know what to do to help him.”

This came softly, even pleasantly, but Nick, sitting beside him, felt the intensity. He listened to the two men discuss him, wondering why no one was consulting him, but at the same time, fascinated with the information being presented.

“ . . . so we'll just have to wait and see. I can give him some medicine for the headache, but for the rest . . . well, we'll just have to be patient.”

Heath snorted in amusement; the doctor smiled back at him. Nick sat there, turning his hat around and around in his hands. He had memorized the pattern in the band; now he was focusing on the sweat marks inside. At least they showed that he had been useful ... had earned his way at some time. “Doc?” He tried to say it softly, tried to be gentle. But he wanted ... no, he needed to be in charge. Part of him marveled at that, when it was so obvious that he couldn't be in charge of anything, not even getting home, because he wasn't sure what road to take. Even more, he wasn't sure about home ... to him, that big white house was as impersonal as a hotel. “Nick? You want to say somethin'?”

With a start, he recognized that both men were staring at him. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat and tried again. “Doc, if what you say is true ... if my memory will come back, how long will it take?”

“Well, Nick, I wish I could tell you that. But I can't. Usually, when people go through this, it's because they've had something happen that was so big their minds just couldn't take it. Now, I know you've had a tough road to hoe for some time, but I don't know how long it's going to take you to remember.”

“But I will remember, won't I?” He was pleading now, begging. A part of him stepped back and looked at the fear with disdain, but he couldn't help it. He was already learning that he could be two people at once ... he could be somebody's brother and still be a fraud ... an impostor.

A long sigh escaped Dr. Merar. Nick swore there was pity in his eyes as he looked into the bewildered man's hazel stare. “I think so, Nick. But I can't guarantee that. If you do, it will most likely be in little bits and pieces, not all at once.”

“Is there anyone we could take him to that would be able to help him more?”

Again, Nick sat back and let his brother take charge. As the words eddied and the two men discussed what to do with him, he chose to take the role he assumed was his, that of passive participant while Heath was the leader. He wondered if he had that role with the other one ... Jerry? No. Jarrod. Probably so. Gradually, he tuned in to what was being said. “So we just tell the family to wait and see?”

“NO!” He was out of his seat before he realized who had shouted. Both Heath and the doctor began to speak; Dr. Merar nodded to Heath to continue. “Nick, we've got to tell the family. There's so much goin' on right now, and with this ... well, believe me, Big Brother, we're going to need all the help we can get. Besides, you 'n' me ... we've danced this same tune before, and last time I covered for you, I almost ended up livin' in the line shack until Mother calmed down.”

The two men stood, staring at each other. Heath seemed resolute, but Nick knew that this was an issue he had to fight. He didn't know why, but he knew it was worth it. “I don't want them to know.”

“Well, Nick, don't you think they'll notice when you don't remember how to get from the house to the stable? It isn't as if you just moved in two years ago, you know.”

The cowboy's sarcasm reached Nick, even though the period of time he picked for an example seemed strange to him. So many things were strange, however, that he just put that in the back of his mind and focused on the problem at hand. “Heath ... you don't understand. I . . . I can't . . . “ As he saw the implacable face of his brother, he realized there were no words to explain what he knew but did not understand. He couldn't be looked at as someone weak, someone who needed help. What was the word? Pity. That was it. He couldn't be pitied. But he didn't know why. “Son, you're going to need your family's help. I really think you'll get your memory back, but you'll need the support of those who love you, no matter which way things go.” Dr. Merar's wrinkled face mirrored the concern he saw in his brother's eyes, but instead of warming him, it made him feel more and more choked. Mutely, he shook his head.

Heath bent over and picked up the hat Nick had dropped when he shot to his feet in protest.

“Nick, let's go on home. We'll talk about it on the way. Doc, you won't mind keepin' this between us, now will ya?”

As the doctor nodded, he gave Nick the promised pain reliever for his headache. Taking it, the baffled man tucked it in his pocket. Heath handed Nick his hat and steered his brother towards the door. Walking down the hallway, Nick turned to look back and saw the doctor standing there, shaking his head.

Both men mounted their horses and wheeled to ride. This time, Nick took the lead. He was angry, so angry that he felt compelled to . . . to do something ... anything ... to deal with what had happened.

As they rode back through town, his attention was diverted by the statue. Wheeling his horse, he rode to it and dismounted. He walked around the statue, looking up at the man forever immobilized on his horse, forever frozen in time.

Placing his hands on the horse's flank, he felt the cold wall repulse him. This was an image he understood; it was supposed to be his father on that horse. Presumably, the statue was meant to be an honor, especially for his children. Yet, as the cold metal warmed under his hands, he realized that it was an empty thing, as empty as his life now was.

There was no connection. No spark of memory lit the fuse of his mind as he gazed upward into the remote face of the man who was responsible for his existence here on earth.

“What was his name?”

“Tom Barkley.”

“How did he die?”

There was a long silence, marked only by the impatient snorts of the horses and Nick's level breathing as he gazed up at the frozen image. “Murdered. Railroad men.”

“How long ago?”

“Little over two years ago.”

Two years. Again that span of time. Why did he keep referring to that? Swatting that gnat of thought, Nick pressed on. “Was he fighting the railroad?”

“Yep.”

Something had changed in his brother's voice. Until now, even when he was arguing with Nick about the visit to the doctor, he had been relaxed, peaceful. Now, however, he was tightly wound, and it showed in the voice. Nick turned to look at the man on the stallion to see what was stressing him. As he did, another man walked up to him.

“Well, Nick, I didn't expect to see you here tonight. I figured Jarrod would be working on the trial with you.”

“Evenin', Fred. Nick needed some time away from the house ... and lawyers.”

This comment brought a chuckle from the man. Nick observed the star on his vest and assumed he was the sheriff.

“Well, Son, you take care of yourself, now. You're pretty important to us all, especially Mrs. Rawlings.”

As Nick continued to stare at him, the sheriff evinced some uneasiness.

“Nick, you all right?”

Heath swiftly dismounted and came to stand beside him.

“Don't you worry none about Nick, Fred. We'll see to him.”

Fred chuckled, relaxed again. “Well, see that you do. You're the only one who really knows what went on; we've got Hatch for robbery, but we want him for more than that, now don't we, Son?”

What did he mean? Who was this Hatch? Questions shouted at Nick from all sides of his mind, but somehow, he managed to smile and nod.

“Heath, let's get on home.”

“Sure thing, Big Brother. Fred, good to see you.”

Both men mounted and nodded to the sheriff, who stood, watching them ride off. Nick swore that the lawman's eyes were burning through his vest and branding his back, but he refused to look back.

Allowing Heath to take the lead, he rode on into the night, all anger gone. It had been replaced by a sickening, bile-raising fear. He somehow knew that his loss of memory was connected to this man called Hatch, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know any more about him or not. Maybe it would be easier to start all over and never know. “Heath?”

“Yeah?”

“What was he talking about?”

He heard Heath sigh. For a long time, there was silence. Nick waited, waited for the answer he dreaded to hear. “Nick, let's get back to the stable. I'll tell you there, all right?”

With a nod, the lost man acquiesced to his brother's will. Riding back, he depended on him to be the lead, the guide. He knew that he'd never find his way back home without him, but what he did not know was just how accurate that thought would be in days to come.

As they stopped at the doors of the stable, Heath dismounted. He reached up and took Coco's reins from Nick. “Nick, I'll take care of him. You rest yourself, all right?”

Saying nothing, Nick dismounted and followed the blond man into the stables. Looking around, he hoped to find something familiar, something that would be his. He saw a number of horses, but he recognized none. One, however, nickered as the cowboy walked towards him. “Who's this?”

Heath laughed.

“That's Duke. He's your pride and joy; you say he's better than Charger, but you're wrong.”

“I have two horses?”

Silence answered him. Turning, he saw the crooked grin come and go. “Big Brother, you have all the horses you want. You're the king of the Barkley ranch, and what you say goes.”

Oddly warmed, Nick turned back to the beautiful horse in front of him. Duke's dark eyes looked at his owner as he nodded gently. He rubbed the horse's nose; Duke responded by blowing softly. A laugh escaped as Nick realized that here was someone who recognized him, someone who didn't expect him to do anything but just love him back. He was beginning to see that his life might be a lot more complicated than he could have imagined.

Heath finished with the horses and walked towards his brother. His easy stride was arrested by a sound outside; catlike, he turned, crouched, and drew his gun while knocking Nick down and hovering over him protectively. As Jarrod entered the stable, he relaxed.

Nick lay there, astonished, as he tried to understand just what had happened. Heath reached down and helped him to his feet as he glared at their older brother. “Boy howdy, Lawyer; I'd think you'd have more brains than to come up unexpected like that. You're lucky I didn't blow a hole in you.”

“Sorry, Heath. I wasn't thinking.”

“Well, I'd start if I was you.”

The anger was still there, but it was more under control. Nick found himself even more confused than he had been.

“And how was your trip into town?”

“Not as good as we'd hoped.”

The sullen rejoinder caused Jarrod to laugh.

“Were the ladies not as receptive as you had hoped, or was Barkley luck not present at the card tables?”

“Neither one. We went somewhere else.”

Jarrod raised an inquisitive eyebrow and waited. Heath put his gun back in its holster and moved over to a barrel. Perching on it, he reached out behind him, pulled out a piece of straw from the bales at his back, and began to chew reflectively on it while tilting his hat back.

Nick stood there, between them, wondering how he could escape. His heart slammed against his chest, so hard he was sure his shirt was moving. Sweat began to pour off him as his breathing accelerated. As his panic grew, he looked back and forth between the two brothers, so different, and yet, so alike.

He remembered the man he had met in the mirror and looked for some sign of belonging to either of the two men he was supposed to call brother. Looking closely at Jarrod and then Heath, even though their coloring was different, he could see similarities in their bone structure. Yes, it was obvious that they were from the same stock, but even though they called him brother, he couldn't figure out any way that he resembled either of them.

The cool tones of the lawyer's voice broke the spell.

“Nick, I don't know what's up, but I do know this. Once before, you had a secret to hide, and you talked Heath into keeping that secret from us all. Those months, you just might recall, nearly tore us apart, and they just about did Heath in. It wasn't fair to him then, and whatever it is that's bothering you, it won't be fair to him now to . . . “

“I fight my own battles, Jarrod.”

Heath's jaw was set, but a muscle moved in it as he stared at Jarrod. Nick watched in fascination as the two men stared at each other. He could tell that Jarrod was angry, even though his face bore a smile. Finally, the lawyer nodded. “All right, Heath. But even you'll agree that there's a bigger stake at hand than there was that other time.”

The blond cowboy nodded once and leaned back again, seemingly relaxed. His eyes, however, never left Nick's. “Brother Nick, why don't you just make it easy on all of us and tell me what's going on?”

“Jarrod . . . “

Before he could finish, Heath intervened. “Nick, before we go into that, why don't you ask Jarrod to give you a brief review of what's happened from his side. Then maybe you can see why he feels so strongly about being kept informed.”

Nick nodded, mutely thanking Heath for the lifeline, although he could see the ire smoldering in the lawyer's eyes. “All right, if you want to play games, let's at least go in the house where we can be comfortable. Or is that too much to ask?”

The sarcasm missed its mark. Heath nodded; tossing the straw aside, he blew out the lantern in the stable as he followed Nick and Jarrod to the house. The three men went in a side door to a richly decorated room. The centerpiece was a billiard table. Jarrod went to the bar and poured drinks for all three.

Nick waited to see where the two men would sit. Quirking an eyebrow, Jarrod pointed to a large leather chair between two facing sofas. Nick sat in the chair, which enveloped him with support. He leaned his aching head back and sighed with relief.

Heath took up a position by the fireplace. One arm leaned negligently on the mantle; the other hand held his glass, which he looked into intently. Jarrod sat on the sofa, leaning back in a position which gave him a chance to watch both brothers. Nick waited. “Since we're playing this game, Heath, why don't you tell me just how far back you want me to go?”

The half smile came and went so fast that if he hadn't been watching, Nick would have missed it completely. He waited, once again trusting this man who had rescued him so many times today. As he waited, he looked around the room; over the fireplace was a portrait of a bearded man. As he looked between Heath and the man, he could see the same nose, the same eyes, and he realized he was looking at a portrait of their father.

Looking at the portrait, it was obvious to him why this man was so confident, so relaxed in his power. He was the image of the painted man; it seemed logical that if he looked so much like him, he would be very much like him, too. “Why don't you start from where you got the message about the bank, Jarrod?”

“Heath! For all the love of Heaven, why are you playing these games?”

“Because Nick needs it, Jarrod. He needs to hear it, and he needs to hear it now.”

Again, the note of steel rang true. The lines were drawn, and Jarrod was the first to back down. Sighing, he began. “All right, Nick. Six days ago, I was in my office when I heard gunshots. I went down the stairs to the street, only to discover that the bank was being robbed. You were in that bank; you and Tony were taken hostage by the robber.”

“The robber's name is Hatch, Nick.”

“Yes, Heath. Please do forgive me for leaving that piece of information out. Anyway, Hatch had a gun at your head; one of his gang members had Tony Rawlings. They walked out into clear daylight. Fred couldn't do anything; no one could.

“They put you both into a wagon and drove it out of town. We didn't know that they had horses waiting there; from what you've said, they knocked you both out and threw you over the horses when they got to that rendezvous.

“Anyway, of course we followed, but as long as they had you and Tony, there wasn't too much we could do. The next day, there was a fight; Tony was killed. Two men got away, but you attacked Hatch and beat him until you knocked him out. When we rode up, you were standing there, looking down at him. You had his gun; I swear that you would have killed him if we hadn't arrived.

“Because Greene is still down from that surgery, he asked me to prosecute. Now, Brother Nick, is that enough of a review, or do I need to spell out for you just how important it is that you be ready and able to testify next week that Hatch killed Tony Rawlings?”

Nick shook his head, unable to speak. Seemingly satisfied, Jarrod stood and went to get himself another drink. Heath watched Nick carefully; when their eyes met, he quirked an eyebrow in silent question. Nick shook his head. No, he didn't remember. “Lawyer, there's been a little hitch that I think you need to know about.”

Jarrod turned, waiting for Heath to explain what he meant. Nick stood, his eyes beseeching Heath for more time. But even he realized that this wasn't a secret he could keep. In defeat, he nodded; sitting again, he leaned his head into his hands as Heath began talking, waiting for the reaction he knew would come when this lawyer brother learned that his star witness had no memory of the events in question.

“Amnesia?”

Jarrod's incredulous voice caused Nick to feel defensive. The problem, of course, was that he didn't know what to defend. As he listened to Heath explain what Dr. Merar had said, a strange fancy crossed his mind. What if he just stood up and left? Would anyone notice? Who would miss him? Shaking his head, he forced himself to pay attention to the conversation again. “Well, there has to be something we can do, Heath!”

“Doc said that there wasn't much point for a couple of days. He told us that Nick'd probably get his memory back in bits and pieces, but that this wouldn't last long.”

“Well, if this problem lasts past next week, we're in big trouble.”

“Seems to me, Jarrod, that any piece of time he goes through this is big enough trouble to worry about.”

Jarrod reacted as if Heath had slapped him. He glanced at Nick, who was sitting there, silent and brooding. He stood and walked to his brother. “Brother Nick, Heath is right. I do apologize; I was letting the case take over. We'll help in any way we can.”

Nick nodded, but he continued to force himself to remain silent. A rage burned inside him; the lawyer had apologized, but he didn't believe the sophisticated man really felt compunction for his hasty words. To him, the case mattered more than the person. Well, so be it.

“I'm going to bed.”

“Need anything?”

That quiet question poured water on the fires of anger. With those two words, his landmark had helped him relocate. He realized that Heath was offering him support without judgment. A smile crossed his face as he shook his head no.

As he walked up the stairs, he counted doors. Wondering just what they were doors to, he forced himself to concentrate and find the one door which would open into the room he was supposed to call his. He turned as he reached the top of the stairs; there, down the hall and to the left. That was it.

Walking into the room, he looked around again. He was Nick Barkley; this was his room. He had horses; according to his brother, he was the king of the ranch. But the head which wore the crown was uneasy, for he didn't know anything about his kingdom.

Sitting in the comfortable chair, he idly pondered. Had any king ever been in this situation? What would happen if, say, a king from another nation took a throne? Would the people follow, or would they rebel?

That was one big concern he needed to face. From the size of the house and the size of the ranch, it was obvious that the Barkleys employed many people. If Heath was right, he was the one who bossed those people, the one who kept all the details in his head and sent the men to the right places. He had a feeling that he needed some support there.

He remembered a desk in that room downstairs. Maybe there were details there; he hoped so. He wondered what type of books he kept; if he had died, would someone else be able to step in and take over easily? Well, he'd sure find out, because Nick Barkley was gone ... for all he knew, dead forever. He was occupying Nick's life, so he'd soon know what needed to be changed for the time when Nick was gone forever.

Finally, he undressed and went to bed. Lying there, he reviewed the day. Somewhere, in his capricious memory, he recalled stories of gods springing full-grown into life; in many ways, he was living out that type of situation. But he had no powers, no special abilities. He was just a sojourner, come to stay for a while.

Recognizing that he wouldn't be able to sleep, he got up and pulled on his pants again. Walking quietly down the stairs, he entered the large parlor and poured himself a drink. Sitting down in front of the fireplace, he tried to think through what Jarrod had told him.

There had been a bank robbery. He and someone named Tony had been taken hostage. He had lived; Tony had not. The criminal had been caught, but from the conversation at supper, he realized why Heath was so protective. He was the eyewitness, the one who could get this man hung, and the criminal's brother was coming. If he died, there was a possibility that the man ... Hatch ... would not hang for murder.

A soft rustle caught his attention. Turning his head, he saw the silver-haired woman standing there, watching him.

“Hello.”

Walking with feline grace, she came to his side and joined him. After a few minutes, she began to speak. “Your father used to come down here when he couldn't sleep. He told me it was easier to think in this room than in any other. It seems all three of my boys have the same belief.”

Nick said nothing, just waited. She bent to the left and picked up a music box. Opening it, she smiled as the tune began to waft through the room. “When you were a little boy, you used to beg me to play the box. 'Play it again, Mama.' Over and over, I heard that. Then, one day, you became very brave. You sneaked in and played the box by yourself.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, what always happens in such cases. You felt guilty; when you heard someone coming, you dropped the box. It stopped playing, of course, because the mechanism broke. You felt so very, very guilty. No matter how I tried to comfort you, nothing would help.”

“It plays now.”

“Yes, it does. Your father and you took it apart; you both sat at the table and worked every night for several weeks. But in the end, you repaired what you had broken ... with your father's help.”

“He wasn't angry?”

“Oh, yes. He was very angry, because you had disobeyed. But when he saw you cry, he knew you were already punishing yourself. That's when he decided to teach you the lesson.”

“Lesson?”

“Yes, Nick. The lesson. He wanted you to learn that every man makes mistakes. It's the man who refuses to acknowledge or learn from those mistakes who can't grow. He wanted you to learn to take responsibility for the things you did. In many ways, Sweetheart, he taught you too well.”

“I don't understand.”

“He taught you so much about responsibility that it's very, very hard for you to ask for help. Even now, when you're a grown man, you will wander lost through a storm rather than ask for help.

“What your father didn't get across to you, I think, is that you could never have fixed the music box by yourself, Nick. You needed his help. And there are and will be times when you need help again. Ask, Nick. Don't hurt yourself. Ask.”

With tears in her eyes, she rose and pressed her cool lips to his forehead. Caressing his shoulder, she walked back up the stairs. Nick watched her and wondered why he felt so curiously warmed.

That night passed by very slowly for Nick. He wandered through the house, idly looking at items and wondering just what his connection was with each one. One of his hardest moments was when he picked up a photo frame and discovered a family picture. Going to the mirror, he looked at the picture and then at himself.

There he was. Right there, standing next to the sister. But he didn't remember the people; he didn't have any way to belong, not in the picture, not in the house.

He put the picture back with an impatient shake of his head. Walking softly through the foyer, he explored the rest of the rooms. The gun room fascinated him. All those rifles, all those firearms. Each one shining bright and ready to use. He picked up a Winchester and caressed its deadly beauty.

He had been involved in something that used guns, according to Jarrod. He wondered if he had ever killed a man. Surely not. Seemed to him that no matter how much the world rocked, a fellow would remember taking a life. Of course, his own life had been taken, held hostage by some sort of strange fate, but that was different. He figured he'd remember if he'd taken a life.

He held the gun out, admiring it. Checking to see if it was unloaded, he turned it to squint down the barrel. Just as clean inside as out ... kind of like his memories of this day. He held on to them pretty tight ... after all, they were the only memories he had. “Nick?”

It was the lawyer. Nick felt that same resentment boiling up inside him again. Clenching his jaw to hold back hot, undeserved words, he turned. “I suppose it would be stupid to ask if you can't sleep.”

Nick said nothing.

“Drink?”

He offered Nick a glass as he poured his own. Nick watched his moves, wondering just how long he had been waiting at the door while the cowboy looked at the guns. Reaching out, he accepted a drink from his brother. He couldn't restrain the words.

“Is there some reason you're not sleeping?”

“I deserved that. Heath and I had a long talk after you went upstairs. He has . . . some special insights on how you might be feeling, and he let me know that I came across a little too much the lawyer. I'm sorry, Nick.”

Nick looked into his eyes. He was afraid of the pity he believed would be there, but to his surprise, he read none of that. Instead, he saw humor and warmth. He nodded once and walked over to the door.

“And just where would you be going now?”

“The room we were in . . . earlier.”

“The study.”

Nick walked out, cataloguing the name in his mind. He wondered how the lawyer would feel if he told him that his name had left his memory? He knew it started with a J, but that's all he could remember. He heard deliberate footsteps follow him.

Ignoring the company, he entered the study and walked over to the portrait. Looking at it again, he said, “Heath looks a lot like him.”

Silence greeted his remark. He waited, wondering why. Finally, the lawyer spoke. “Yes, Nick, he certainly does. There are times I look at him and see our father ... the way he moves, the way he responds to surprise.”

“Is he like him?”

“No, not very, at least not in behavior. There are some things he feels very strongly about, but all in all, you have more of Father's leadership style.”

“And what was that style?”

“To see the need and meet it, no matter the cost. That's you, Nick. It cost Father his life; I don't want to see that trait take my brother from me, as well.”

Nick nodded absently. Reaching up, he ran a hand across the hands represented in the painting. Just like the statue, he found another empty icon. “Nick, you do know we have to tell Mother and Audra.”

Again that rage came. The tone of the lawyer's voice caused it, he believed. Dispassionate, authoritative ... deciding for him! “I'll be the one who ... “

“No, Nick. This is a family problem. You're not alone, and you won't face this alone.”

As the two men continued to talk, dawn touched its fingers to the windows and French doors in the study. Hearing a noise, Nick went to the glass and looked out. Heath was walking toward the stables, dressed and seemingly ready to leave. With an explosive grunt, Nick went through the doors towards his brother. As he walked, the blond cowboy turned and waited for him. “Seems to me you'd be wantin' some boots, Big Brother.”

The note of amusement couldn't be kept from his voice. It was obvious he was trying, but there it was. Glancing up, Nick noticed that while the face was straight, the eyes were sparkling with laughter. He muttered something and continued to stand by Heath. “Nick, why don't you go in and get shaved and cleaned up. I'll be in for breakfast in about an hour or so. I just wanted to take a ride.”

“Wait for me?”

Again that silence. He was beginning to recognize that it was part of this brother. Finally, the half-smile came and went. “Sure, Nick. You go get your boots on; I'll saddle Duke and Charger. Meet you here?”

“Heath . . . Heath, thanks.”

With a friendly clap on the shoulder, the blond went whistling into the stable. Nick turned to go back inside and saw Jarrod watching from the window. Walking back through, he had a passing thought ... why didn't he invite Jarrod? But the thought, as do so many, died before it was born, and he went racing up the stairs to get his boots and escape the house which he should call home.

The two men rode in companionable silence for a few minutes. Finally, Nick turned to Heath and grinned. “Race?”

“To the oak; last one there has to drain the swamp, all right?”

“Done.”

Without knowing what he had wagered, Nick bent over his horse and urged him to run. Duke responded admirably. At first, they were winning. Nick cast a triumphant look back.

Charger, however, didn't approve of losing, even when his master wasn't urging him to win. The stallion took the bit and ate up the distance between the horses; with an easy stride, he soon passed Duke. Heath waited at the oak, his face impassive, but the amusement evident in his eyes. “Good horse.”

“Best on the ranch.”

“Duke could beat him.”

“So you say.”

“He will.”

“When he learns how to fly.”

Both men laughed as the banter flew. Gradually, they sobered as Nick began to scan the horizon. “Where are we?”

“This is the beginning of the North Ridge. Go on a ways, and you'll come to a hillside.”

“What's down there -- on the other side?”

“Orchards. Peaches mostly.”

“Heath ... I . . . I don't want to . . . “

Why couldn't he say it? Why couldn't he ask for help? The time with his mother came back to his mind. Gritting his teeth, he tried again. “Heath, today will be . . . “

“Today will be a full day, Big Brother. You've lined out enough work to keep twice the men we have workin' till the next day dawns. Maybe we'd better get back to the house so you can see just what's goin' on.”

“I'd like that.”

Heath nodded.

“Any help you need, you just holler. You're not alone, Nick.”

Again that feeling of warmth came. It was as if Heath understood his hesitancy, his fear of making a wrong move. There was no way he could understand what it was like to walk in a strange man's boots, but it helped to imagine that he did.

Riding back to the ranch, the two talked of duties and plans. It seemed to Nick that he would never get it all straight ... fence crews, cattle tally, windmill repair, horses to break, buildings to fix, orchards to check for readiness. No one man could keep all that in his head, he figured, but Heath did. He talked of the chores with knowledge and confidence, naming names of strangers who would head up certain jobs. With a rueful smile, Nick conceded one thing: If he was king of the ranch, Heath was a mighty good advisor. Maybe that was how those kings survived.

At the stables, a burly man came out and greeted them. “Nick, I'm gonna shoe those horses for the Army today. You think three?”

Nick did his best. But he couldn't admit to this man, the one Heath called Yankee, that he didn't know what he meant. Three what? Horses? Shoes? That was ridiculous. He heard his brother speak. “Three sounds good, Yankee. That should be enough men to help you out and keep them separated from our stock. Don't want you havin' to catch 'em and get them back in the stables, too.”

Yankee grinned and nodded before he turned to go back into what Nick realized was a blacksmith's forge. Sitting astride Duke, he wondered what mess he would get into next. He didn't have long to wait.

As the two men began to dismount, several hands came up. Heath greeted them and Nick nodded. His heart began to race again. Here was the test of kingship ... could he command his men? “Boss, we gonna get him today?”

Thinking rapidly, Nick assumed they were referring to this man Hatch. Confidently, he smiled at the men and boldly asserted, “He's been captured, boys. He's all locked up.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Heath's head snap around so that he could see his brother directly. Nick had a horrible feeling that his brother was staring at him in shock. Irritated, he reasoned that the family may not have wanted Hatch's capture announced, but who cared. On he went. “Yep, the sheriff has him locked up tighter 'n' a drum. No problems there. Thanks, Boys, but it's all over but the shoutin'.”

There. That would show them. The men were looking at him carefully, many of them frowning and moving uneasily. He turned to Heath, only to see his brother's jaw working and his face turning redder by the minute. “Heath? You all right?”

Heath nodded as he took several deep breaths. Finally, he got things under control and began to speak. “Uh, Nick, I think the men were talkin' about that stallion you've been hunting. Seems to me you'd talked of goin' out in the next couple of days and tryin' again.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. The stallion. Well, Boys, not today. I've got to ... uh ... spend some time with uh ... that lawyer brother of mine.”

Relieved looks came over the men's faces at this response. Nick wondered what they were thinking, although he was pretty sure he knew.

“Yeah. Just ... uh ... “

“The Boss Man here wants every extra hand on fence repair. We're losin' too many cattle to count, so pair up, fellows. We'll be on up there with you after breakfast.”

Disappointed, the men nodded in resignation. As they turned to walk away, Nick realized how much he had been sweating. Turning to Heath, he glared at his brother. “AND JUST WHY DID YOU LET ME GET IN SUCH A MESS?”

“Let you? LET you?”

Heath began to answer hotly; however, the humor of the situation reached him again. Reaching out, he pushed his brother towards the house. “You go on in and get cleaned up. The bathroom, by the way, is UP the stairs and to your left. Think you can remember that?”

Reluctantly, Nick simmered down. As he walked to the house, a chuckle escaped him.

“What's so funny, Nick?”

“Well, I don't know his name, but that guy who asked me about the stallion ... I'd bet on him thinking I've lost my mind.”

Heath chuckled, but as the two men came near the house, he put his hand on Nick's shoulder and paused. Nick stopped, confused, and looked at his brother. “Nick, I didn't stop to think about how all this is gonna work. Seems to me that we've got to talk things through before something else happens ... something less easy to fix.”

“Heath, I just made one mistake. It'll be all right; trust me.”

“Nick, ain't no man I trust more'n you. But right now, you're carryin' too heavy a load to think about runnin' the ranch, too.”

Hot words boiled up in Nick's throat; as he stared at his younger brother, his head began to hurt again. Suddenly, he saw a different scene; he saw himself and Heath fighting. This time, they were in a meadow; Heath was standing and he ... he had a gun trained on his brother! The memory flashed through his mind so quickly that it was easy to push it down, to deny it could ever had happened. This was his brother. Brothers helped one another. They were blood. They grew up together. That was that. Nodding, he turned and walked with Heath to the door of the house.

Inside, they both went upstairs; Nick paused for a minute. The half-smile tugging at Heath's mouth caused him to smile again. Silently, Heath pointed towards the bathroom; grinning, Nick went off to clean up. Inside the bathroom, he thought again of the memory of his pointing a gun at Heath. Looking in the mirror, he asked the stranger watching him, “You goin' crazy, Nick? Nobody pulls a gun on his own brother. Nobody.”

Breakfast was a stilted meal. Heath, Jarrod, and Nick tried to respond normally to questions and comments, but finally, Victoria thanked Silas and requested another pot of coffee. As the butler left the room after bringing in the new pot, she put her hands in her lap and stared at her sons. Audra giggled and, after a glare from the matriarch's dark blue eyes, remained silent. “All right. Which one of you is going to start?”

“Start?” Nick was surprised to realize that he was the one who had replied.

“Yes, Nicholas, start. Something is obviously wrong, it is obviously related to you, your brothers obviously know about it, and no one is leaving this table until I know what is going on. Now, will you start, or shall I ask your brothers?”

Nick lowered his eyes. He heard Heath sigh as the silence deepened. Risking a glance, he saw that Mrs. Barkley ... he could NOT think of her as Mother ... was waiting, and it was obvious that her patience was growing thin. He looked at Heath and then at Jarrod. Panic began to rise in his chest.

“Heath, would I be correct in assuming that you know all about this problem, whatever it is?”

Refusing to look up, the blond cowboy nodded. “Uhhh, yes, Ma'am.”

“And I suppose that your brother asked you not to tell me, correct?”

The hunted man shot a look of desperate appeal to both his brothers. Jarrod took pity on him and took a deep breath. Victoria turned her formidable stare to her oldest son's face.

“Well, Mother, it seems that there is a little problem.”

“I gathered that, Jarrod. Now just what is this problem?”

“Well, it seems that Nick here has lost his memory.”

“His memory?”

The note of horror in Audra's voice caused Nick to feel guilt again. But before he could say anything, Mrs. Barkley hushed her daughter with an impatient gesture and leaned forward.

“Heath, how long have you known about this?”

“Uhhh . . . “

“I believe we established two years ago that I am not accustomed to asking twice. Now, Heath, just how long have you known about Nicholas' problem?”

“Since last night.”

Nick was surprised; he had spoken without thinking. He only knew that Heath had rescued him so many times since yesterday that he had to step in; the relationship his brother and mother shared was too obviously close and precious to risk. Clearing his throat, he looked directly at Mrs. Barkley. “Have you seen a doctor?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Her lips compressed briefly in annoyance as Jarrod chuckled and that half-grin tugged at Heath's mouth. Bewildered, Nick turned to them in turn. Heath leaned over and whispered, “She doesn't like to be called Ma'am.”

“That's enough, Heath. Now, Nicholas, just what did the doctor say?”

As it had the night before, the talk raged around him as he sat there. Victoria asked every question he had thought of and that Jarrod had considered important the night before. The questions were the same, and so were the answers. He was still helpless, caught in the vortex of events which were not only bewildering, but also threatening to overwhelm him. Wondering if anyone would ever think to consult the man who had the amnesia, the man who was supposedly the king of the ranch, Nick sat, waiting for his family to decide his fate.

As the discussion raged, the irony of it all began to sink in. Here he was, the man with the problem, and from what he was hearing, the man with the key to put a noose around a man's neck. He was also, according to Heath, in charge of the ranch. All those things sounded to him like a man who was important, a man who knew how to take charge. And here he was, as ineffectual as a wax flower was in the hot California sun.

To control the rage he felt building, Nick focused on the cups of coffee his family had. Heath took his black; Jarrod used one lump of sugar. Mrs. Barkley used a touch of cream, and Audra didn't drink hers at all. She just stirred it, over and over and over, until the sound of the clinking spoon was enough to make Nick want to scream. He wondered how he liked his own coffee. Furtively, as Mrs. Barkley and Jarrod argued about whether or not to tell the sheriff about his amnesia, he reached for the cream and sugar. He stirred a bit of cream in the coffee and watched the black liquid turn creamy brown. Next, he took a lump of sugar and placed it in his spoon. He dipped it in the coffee and then lifted it out.

Staring at the formerly pristine cube, now soggy brown, he thought he could understand just how it would feel if it could speak. Here it was, harmlessly sitting in the sugar bowl, and the next thing it knew, someone had picked it up and dunked it in some hot, brown stuff and made it ugly. Kind of like what had happened to him.

Words began to reach him, no matter how he tried to stay disassociated. Heath was talking about ranch duties; Jarrod wanted to keep it all quiet; Mrs. Barkley wanted the sheriff notified; Audra just wanted to know what they could do. Suddenly a cup went flying. The sound of the china shattering stopped the voices. Nick rose as all the family focused on him. “You're all trying to make decisions, but they're about ME! I'M the one with the problem; I'M the one who can't remember! I try, and I try, and I try, but it's like there's a blanket hanging between me and what I know. I should remember this room. I should know what I like in my coffee; hell, I should know what I like for breakfast. I should know each of you. But I don't.”

As he spoke, he punctuated the words know and try with slaps to his head. It was stupid, but he couldn't help it. Somehow, he felt that if he could hit hard enough, things would become clear and he would remember again. “Now, I'm sorry that I've messed up your lives; I'm sorry that this problem is a legal inconvenience as well as a business embarrassment. I'm sorry that I can't be what you want me to be. But I need -- I need…”

He saw their faces. Heath's was inscrutable. Audra was crying. Jarrod's mouth was open; Mrs. Barkley's was filled with concern. He couldn't stand it. The pity was so real that he felt it, and it strangled him. With a shake of his head, he turned and charged out of the room and blundered his way to the study. There, he looked up at the portrait of his father and shook his head again, wondering how this man would react to the weakness of a son who couldn't even remember him.

As he stood there, soft footsteps approached. He heard someone enter and then heard the clink of glasses. “I know it's a little early, Big Brother, but I reckon you just might need this.”

Without looking, Nick took the glass and drained it. He walked to the desk and sat down in the chair behind it. Wordless, he began to open the drawers and pull out the ledgers and files he found. His brother walked to the fireplace and leaned one arm on the mantel, waiting and watching, saying nothing. Finally, Nick broke the silence. “Guess I made a fool of myself again.”

“Oh, I don't know. Seems to me you'd have a right to have your say.”

“Still . . . “

“Nick, life is different for you now ... maybe for a long time, maybe for another five minutes. But no matter how long it takes to get your memory back, right now, you're in a new world. Seems to me you've been tryin' to sit back and not be noticed, tryin' to fit in when you don't even know where you are. But believe me, Big Brother, you can't live that way. Comes a time that every man has to take his stand, has to have his say. I guess your time came this morning. Now, I'm gonna go make sure the hands are all settled with what they should be doin'. After that, I'll come back in; why don't you make one of your lists . . . “

“One of my lists?”

“You like ... when things are normal in your life ... you like to make lists of things you need to do, questions you need answered, jobs for the men, and so on. Seems to me that, deep down, you haven't changed very much; maybe if you'd make a list of all the questions you have, we could get some of 'em answered for you.”

With a nod, the blond man strode from the room. As he left, he very carefully and deliberately shut the door. Nick watched him go, wondering if he'd ever had that assurance, or if he ever would walk so tall and strong.

He thought about what Heath said and realized he had been trying to do just that. Because he was so bewildered, he had tried his best to be inconspicuous, to be unnoticed. That way, he couldn't get himself in big trouble. With a rueful smile, he pulled a piece of paper close; dipping his pen, he neatly inscribed the number 1 and began to write his first question.

After he had filled two pages, he heard the doors open. Looking up, he saw Mrs. Barkley. She stood there, looking at him. He smiled and stood, stretching his spine.

As the petite woman walked to the loveseat, he watched her. She was so tiny; even his sister was much taller than Mrs. Barkley. He wondered how anyone so minuscule could be so strong; he wondered if he could draw strength from her. “I”m sorry about breaking your cup.”

She smiled absently and waved her hand. “It's not the first piece of china you've broken, Nick, and I fear it won't be the last. But I want to make sure something else, far more important, doesn't become broken today.”

“And what would that be?”

She held out her hand to him. Walking to her, he sat down at her right side. She turned to look up at him but did not let go of his hand. “Nick, I knew there was something wrong yesterday. I was hoping it was just reaction over what you had gone through with the bank robbery, but I was afraid it was more. And I knew, oh, I knew that you'd try to solve the problem on your own.

“Let me tell you about another time when you were dreadfully hurt so that you'll understand just a bit about why we all reacted so strongly. You and Heath were on a trip; as you camped out, you both heard a noise. It turned out to be a wolf, Nick, and it attacked you. It was rabid.

“Heath cauterized the bite and got you to a doctor the next morning, but the chances weren't too good. You didn't want us to suffer, Darling, so you made Heath promise not to tell us what had happened, and you went off alone.

“For over two months, we waited, and we wondered. I knew you were in terrible trouble, and all I wanted to do was to find you. But only your brother knew how to reach you, and he had given his word. I think we all ended up blaming him for what was, actually, his loyalty to you and his belief that his word is his bond.

“So, this time, I knew that if anyone would have the answers to what was wrong, it would be Heath. And I also knew that if you had your way, no one else would know.

“I also knew that my beloved son was suffering, suffering alone, and he needed support. I believed that he couldn't and shouldn't bear another burden alone. Do you understand, Nick, why we reacted so emotionally?”

As Nick listened, he realized that his mother really did love him. But he also heard her words and realized that she was pleading with him not to put Heath through pain again. Realizing that he had actually gotten one thing right...the fact that the bond between Heath and Victoria Barkley was special, he determined not to add any more pain to his brother or mother. “I'm sorry, Mother. I just . . . “

“You just are your father's son, and you are strong, Nick. So strong. Please, please, let us carry this burden with you.”

Silently, he nodded, and Victoria sighed with relief. A tear fell from her eyes and landed on the hand she still held; shakily, they both laughed. She reached up and traced his jawline. “You look so much like your Grandfather Davis.”

“Davis?”

“My father. He had that same firm jaw, that same determined look. Sometimes, when you walk in the room, I think it's my father again.”

“Was he the one who was so stubborn?”

“Oh, my poor children had no chance. Your father was equally as stubborn as was your grandfather; really, you could be no other way.”

“What was he like?”

“Your father?”

Nick nodded. With a catch in her voice, Victoria began to tell him of the heritage he had in Tom Barkley. He listened to every word, but even more important to him was the life and tenderness he saw in her face as she spoke of her husband.”

“Is Heath the one most like him?”

He was surprised to see his mother's eyes drop. He waited, not wanting to intrude on what was obviously a tender memory. “Nick, each one of my children is like Tom Barkley. It is true that Heath ... Heath looks like Tom, but you and Jarrod and Audra are also much like your father.”

He smiled, but he recognized the sop she was throwing him. Heath, Heath was the one like his father. Nick understood that he could never usurp that role, but he wondered at the pain and emptiness in his heart as that realization grew.

As the two sat there, silently, Jarrod and Heath entered the room. Nick watched them walk in, seeing the similarities between the brothers, even though their coloring was so different. He had thought that Jarrod was taller than Heath, but he noticed now that it was the other way around. It seemed to him that this younger brother of his had a way of , well, disappearing, for want of a better word, when many people were in the room. He wondered about that, wondered why anyone would want to stay in the background. It didn't seem right to him, even though, he wryly admitted to himself, he had tried it himself since this memory thing happened.

Well, he could understand why he, Nick, would want to hide, want not to be noticed. After all, he didn't even know his middle name, let alone what was going on. But it seemed all wrong to him that someone who knew what was what and who was who would do the disappearing act.

He wondered, too, why Jarrod sat in the chair opposite the love seat, but Heath perched on the edge of the big table. Come to think of it, other than at meals, he hadn't ever seen Heath sit in a chair and relax. He always seemed to be on the edge of the activity rather than inside it. It seemed strange to Nick, but he figured, with so much else being strange, there was an answer that would show up. It still seemed all wrong to him; why wouldn't the boy just join in?

His thoughts flashed rapidly, one piling up on the other in no certain order, as the two men walked in and sat down.

"Well, Brother Nick, how are you feeling?"

"I don't remember."

His feeble joke brought the expected mild chuckles and smiles. Jarrod settled deeper in his chair and looked up.

"Nick, Heath reminded me that you've been told a whole lot of things in a short period of time, but none of us has asked you any questions or let you ask them. He's right, and we were wrong.

"So, let's start over, if that's all right with you."

Wondering just how long this peaceful approach would last, Nick nodded warily.

"Just what do you remember now?"

As the lawyer watched him intently, Nick felt even more hunted. Other than what he'd been told, the only "memories" he could claim were of him and Heath fighting. He sure wasn't going to bring that up! Feeling helpless once again, he mutely shook his head.

A strange look came in the lawyer's eyes. His face softened as he relaxed his long body and leaned into the cushions of the chair. Victoria's hand again covered Nick's as she spoke.

"Nick, why don't you tell us what Dr. Merar said?"

Well, this was new. He had begun to figure that no one ever asked him directly about anything. Taking a deep breath, he began.

"He told me that this type of . . . problem . . . usually came on because of a shock or big crisis, and that in most cases, it went away. Some times it goes away all at once; other times, memory comes back in bits and pieces."

"Did he tell you which way it would be with you?"

Nick realized that his mother was ignoring the rest of what the doctor had said, ignoring the possibility of his never regaining his memory. Just as he had the night before, he felt warmed and loved. That one question relaxed him more than he had thought possible.

"No, Ma'am . . . "

Seeing her frown, he remembered Heath telling him how much she disliked being called Ma'am. With a smile that Victoria returned, he began again, speaking directly to her.

"No, he didn't. He said there was no real way of telling, but then he said that, knowing me, he'd bet that it would happen all at once."

Everyone in the room but the subject of the joke smiled and nodded in agreement. Nick looked at them all and wondered just how they would feel if he was laughing at them and he had no idea why. That hot pressure began to build inside; he recognized that if he didn't move, he'd explode.

Swiftly, he stood and walked to the fireplace. There, he turned and looked back at his family.

"All right, Nick. I'd say that what you went through last week would qualify as a major shock. Did Dr. Merar give you any period of time for this recovery of memory?"

Why was it, Nick wondered, that when Mrs. Barkley asked him questions, he didn't mind it, but when that lawyer asked him, he wanted to pick him up and throw him in the fireplace? Pushing down his impatience, he shook his head no.

"None at all, Nick?"

"No. He just said it usually would take a couple of days at most."

"So we're probably looking at no more than three days of this, right?"

Nick shrugged and picked up a candlestick. Turning it over in his hands, he waited.

"Heath and I were talking about the problems we're going to face, and he's come up with an interesting idea."

Victoria looked over at Heath, who had been sitting there quietly, saying nothing. As the blond man lifted his head, Audra entered the room. Heath smiled at her but remained silent.

Audra walked over to Nick and kissed him on the cheek.

"Well now, what was that for?"

He was smiling at the pretty girl who stood before him.

"Nothing. I just thought you might need that."

"Thank you."

Audra smiled at him again and went to sit by her mother. Nick turned to Heath, expecting him to speak but was surprised when Jarrod continued.

"Let's look at the situation logically. You have no memory right now. Normally, we'd all be very upset about this and this alone, but the timing is a little awkward."

"IT'S NOT AS IF I PLANNED THIS, JARROD!"

The shout came involuntarily. Again he was surprised when no one else seemed to be upset with him.

"Nick, no one thinks that. But here are the facts: You have amnesia. You are also the only eyewitness to a cold-blooded murder. That man is in jail; we can get him on bank robbery, but not for murder without your testimony. If that weren't enough, Hatch's brother is probably on his way to break him out of jail."

"Or to do something else."

Heath had been so quiet that Nick jumped when he spoke. Looking up, he waited for Heath to continue. Jarrod sighed.

"Yes, or to do something else. Nick, there is a strong possibility that whether Hatch is broken out of jail or not, his brother will try to kill you."

Audra's gasp was the only sound in the room. Victoria sat as still as a statue, watching Jarrod. Nick stared at the lawyer. Finally, the white-haired woman broke the silence.

"Do you agree with Heath, Jarrod?"

"Yes, Mother, I do."

"Well then, we have to protect him. Again, if you would let Fred know . . . "

"Mother, if we let Fred know, he'd have to decide whether it was more important to guard Hatch or guard Nick. With that, no matter what decision he made, there would always be questions about what he should have done."

"Jarrod, I don't care how Fred feels! My son is in danger!"

"Mother, that's what we're talking about. If we let the news out that Nick couldn't remember, it might protect him, but only for a day or two until his memory returns. Alternatively, that news might be his death warrant. Either way, it's too much for anyone else to handle."

With a reluctant nod, Victoria seemed to give in. Nick noticed that once again, they weren't consulting him; they were talking over and around him. It was beginning to irritate him more and more.

"So, we need to look at how best to protect Nick. Now, Heath and I both think that it would be best if no one else knew but us."

"Only problem with that is how hard it'll be to hide."

"Why, Heath?"

The half-smile came and went as the blond man looked at his mother.

"Mother, think about it. We've got a full crew; Nick knows every one of them. One slip too many, and how long could we keep this our business?"

"Yes, there's that, but every man on this ranch would protect Nick."

"And it may come to that, Mother," the lawyer said smoothly, "but since we have such a short time to wait, maybe there's a better way."

"Of course, that's only if Nick agrees," Heath added.

"And just what am I agreeing with?"

"You've been talkin' about our takin' a trip down Santa Ana way. There are some horses there you wanted me to look at, and then there are those prize bulls you're thinking about buying."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"I'm sayin' that it might be best if you 'n' me went to Santa Ana. Jarrod could stay here and work on the trial; you'd have time to get your memory straight, and if we said we were goin' after that wild horse, everyone would expect us to be up in the mountains and not where we'd actually be."

It took him a minute, but as he sorted through what Heath had said, he saw the wisdom of the plan. Victoria, however, was shaking her head.

"Heath, I know you think it's a good idea, but wouldn't he be safer at the ranch? What if he had medical problems? I think he's better off here."

"Mother, we all would rather have him here, where we could all help him, but look at the situation. Now, the doctor said that he could do anything he wanted to do; there's no physical problem. And if no one actually knows where he is, then no one could come after him, either."

"When do we leave?"

He didn't care that he had interrupted everyone. He didn't care about their discussing the issues from all angles. It sounded so good to Nick. Just walk away from it all; deal only with Heath instead of all these people. And maybe, if he were alone with just his younger brother, he could sort things through and come up with the key to unlock his memory. Victoria and Jarrod smiled as Audra laughed.

"Well, it seems as if it's settled. It makes sense. But it still worries me. Heath . . . "

"Mother, there's no one who'd watch out for Nick more than Heath. You know that."

Audra's vote of trust caused the blond man to smile at her. Nick watched them all, feeling again like he was a member of an audience forced to be on stage in a cast he didn't know, acting in a play he'd never read. But Santa Ana made sense. Maybe there, he'd get it all straight.

(continued in Part 2)