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 2

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Nick was surprised at how much work it took for two men to leave a ranch to go on a trip. Heath sat at the desk for hours, creating work rosters and plans and assigning men to be in charge. He and Jarrod talked over Nick's head, discussing where best each man would fit and who would have authority if Jarrod had to leave for San Francisco or would not be available.

Nick sat and listened, amazed at the scope of the Barkley enterprises. He had realized, from his short glimpse of the ranch and from the size of the house, that they were wealthy, but the discussions of orchards and the vineyards and the cattle and the horses and the mining and the logging boggled his mind.

He was interested at the grasp each of his brothers had on the details of running the Barkley enterprises. Jarrod seemed to know where each dollar, down to the penny, had been spent or was located. Heath, on the other hand, knew the people who worked for them. Jarrod would suggest a crew allocation; Heath would listen, nod quietly, and then mention a conflict that might arise from a certain area. Jarrod would, at times, argue, yet never did either man raise a voice..

Fascinated, Nick listened to the interwoven knowledge his two brothers held. He began to see how the authority was divided; Jarrod handled the business ends; Heath handled the people. Nick reflected that from what he'd seen, he would enjoy working for a man like Heath. He wasn't too sure he'd like to work for Jarrod; the lawyer seemed, to him, to be less interested in the ranch as a place where people worked and more as a piece of property designed to bring a profit.

He couldn't help, as he listened and learned, but wonder where he fit in. He mused on what his strengths might be; maybe it was just the situation, but he really didn't think he was as patient as Heath, and Jarrod's talk of investments bored him. Maybe he was just the muscle part; the one who provided the physical labor as Heath directed the crews and Jarrod deposited and invested the money the endeavors brought in. It was for sure, however, that the two men were close friends and even when they disagreed, they had a mutual bond and the same heart. They made a good team, Nick thought. His thoughts were disrupted as he heard his name. “Now, Nick wanted to try the new method to drain the bog area. It's no good to us now, but I just don't know how it'll go. He'd kill me if I said go ahead and it didn't work out . . . “

Suddenly Heath looked up and saw Nick, looking back at him. The blond man's face turned red as he realized that Nick had been sitting there, listening. “Nick, I'm sorry. I'm just so used to your makin' decisions about all this; it's easy to handle the normal things, but I'm just not sure about what you'd want on this piece of land.”

“Why would it matter what I want?”

Nick's inquiry brought a hoot of laughter from Jarrod and a frown from Heath. He felt the rage again; he realized that this was still something else he didn't know.

“Nick, that's a question I never thought I'd hear from you!”

“And just why is that, Jarrod?”

Even Heath grinned at that one. He leaned back in the chair and stretched his spine as he began to answer for his brother. “Nick, you're the boss man here. I'm just the back-up, and Jarrod is the money man. You're the one who stepped in Tom Barkley's shoes and who knows every inch and every detail of each thing the Barkleys are involved in.”

“Heath's right, Brother Nick. And what's more, not only do you know every detail, but if one thing isn't done to your liking, then no one in earshot is left in doubt that it will be changed.”

Nick listened to this, outwardly smiling and inwardly wondering why they were saying such things to him. He may have lost his memory, but he sure wasn't stupid, and it was obvious that Heath was far more than just a back-up. Maybe they were afraid to tell him that he really didn't belong. Whatever it was, when he got his memory back, he'd sure tell them both what he thought of what they said. His hot inner dialogue was cooled as Victoria walked in the room. “Nick, do you need some help getting ready for the trip?”

At first he wanted to say no, to tell her it was a ridiculous idea. But then he realized that he didn't know where they were going, let alone any people or places they would be likely to meet, and he changed his head shake to a nod. She smiled and turned, obviously expecting him to follow. After a minute, he did just that, wondering the “Old Nick” would be so acquiescent.

As they discussed what he should take, Nick decided that this was a golden opportunity to ask some questions he'd been harboring. He wondered how to start and then just decided to blurt them out. “Why is this room so big?”

Victoria looked startled as she folded a pair of socks. She looked down and caught her lip between her teeth before she answered. “Nick, this was once the room your father and I shared.”

“But why . . . ?”

“Why is it yours? Well, that's an interesting story. About five years ago, your father had a bad accident and was unable to move without help for several months. During that time, we both stayed in the guest suite downstairs. As he realized just how well you were able to cope with his not being available, other than for advice, he began to see that you were the one who would most treasure the heritage he was trying to leave you.

“So, being your father, he wanted to tell you that, but of course, he couldn't just say those words. He thought and thought and then, one day, out of the blue, he announced that from that day forward, our room would be your room. We were at the dinner table, and I remember being so surprised at the look on your face.

“It was as if you had been handed the Holy Grail. Nick, I've never seen anyone so nonplused and honored and frightened and appreciative and unable to say any of those things ... except your father.”

“But he did clear the move with you first, right?”

Victoria laughed, but Nick thought he heard a tear behind the sound. “Oh, no, Nick. You are very like your grandfather in appearance, but your impetuous nature comes straight from your father. Tom Barkley seldom consulted anyone; he had the gift of power, and that gift never sits easily on anyone's shoulders. A man with the gift of power knows what should happen, and he sets about his way so that he can make things happen.

“No, Nick. Your father didn't consult me. I did mention that later, and of course, just like you, the apology was twice as big as the error, but it didn't come in words. No, your father hired men to remodel and redecorate a suite of rooms to my pleasure; he also commissioned the bathroom then.

“Just like you, words of apology didn't come easily to Tom, but at the same time, there was no doubt when he was sorry.”

“Wouldn't it have been easier just to tell me to stay in my room?”

Victoria laughed again. “Yes, Nick, in most people's world, it would have been. But your father was a different breed. He made a mistake, a big one, but he fixed it as best he could without going back on his word.”

Suddenly her voice grew intent and her eyes filled. She put her tiny hand on Nick's arm and looked up at him. “Nick, promise me this: When you begin to regain your memory, or as you learn new things about us, never, ever doubt your father's love or worthiness. He was a good man, a great man. Your Uncle Jim used to say that there is one great man in every generation, and Tom was the great man for his time.

“As you and Heath travel and talk, will you please promise me that you'll never forget how worthy he was?”

Nick was puzzled. This seemed so important to Victoria, but he had no idea why. After all, a man who built an enterprise the size of the Barkley holdings, a man who had a statue put up to honor him, how could anyone ever doubt that kind of man? Puzzled, he simply stared at his mother, not knowing what to say.

“Nick, you worked with your father on every inch of this ranch. You learned his ways; from the time you could walk, you tried to pour as much sweat and blood and tears into building this ranch as he did. Your father was your hero, and he was worthy of that love. I'm asking you not to forget that he was a great man, not to lose faith in him.”

Well, that was easy. Nick smiled down at his mother and covered her hand with his and nodded. She leaned her head against his powerful chest just for a second; then, recovering, she held herself erect again and in a deliberately controlled voice, resumed the discussion about how many pairs of socks to take.

The day wore on; Nick found himself wandering through the house, looking at items, wondering what connection he had with them ... and they with him. He listened again to Jarrod and Heath discussing plans and contingencies; feeling cheated, he walked away and went outside. Standing there, he tried to push down the emotion and discover why he felt so isolated. Sure, he had a problem, and that wasn't a trivial thing. But he was with his family, fully accepted, and obviously loved.

He thought for a while about what he had learned this day. Still not sure how he could have forgotten what it was like to be Nick Barkley, he found himself wondering what he would be like when he regained his memory. Would he remember this? Would it change him? With an impatient shake of his head, he walked back into the house.

Heath walked out of the study at the same time and smiled at Nick.

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Next step is goin' over all this with Dace and Jim; the men aren't gonna be too happy, but they'll do all right. Do you want to be there when I talk with them?”

Nick started to answer in anger but caught himself. The man was offering him a part in the ranch, even though he had made such a big mistake earlier in the day. Nodding, he fell into step beside and slightly behind his brother. As they walked, Heath filled him in on who Dace and Jim were, even describing them. That shame rose up in Nick again as he realized that he was being given the information he needed so desperately, but he couldn't help resenting his brother's easy confidence and air of command.

The conversation with Dace and Jim didn't last long. Heath filled them in on the plans to go to Santa Ana and gave them the work rosters. Both men cast several curious glances at the silent Nick; he figured they were wondering when he was going to say something as stupid as he had before breakfast.

After that was over, the brothers walked towards the house. Heath stretched his spine and yawned. “Boy howdy, I sure don't know how Jarrod stays behind a desk all day, every day. This one day has me tied up in knots.”

“What do we usually do?”

Heath's half-smile came and went as quickly as ever. “Well, Nick, that's pretty much whatever you say. No matter what you say, though, it's better than sittin' behind a desk.”

Nick turned toward his brother and stopped. The sudden movement took Heath by surprise, but as Nick was coming to realize, his younger brother adapted well and waited. “Why do you keep saying that it's up to me? Heath, it's obvious that I don't have much say around here.”

Again that laugh came, the one he had heard the night before ... a lifetime ago. Sobering, Heath took a deep breath and looked at his brother. “Nick, let me say this again. You're the boss. You rule the ranch. This land is yours. The way things work around here is that what you say goes, and that's the best thing in the world, at least where I'm concerned.”

This time, he tried to believe, but it felt all wrong. Nodding, he continued to walk to the house.

“Would you tell Mother I'll be in soon? With us bein' gone, I want to check on something in the stables.”

Nick nodded and continued his walk. As he entered the house, he heard voices in the parlor and walked quietly that way. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but what he heard brought him up short in confusion. “ . . . I just don't know, Mother. If he remembers, there's a chance he'll be upset because we didn't go through everything.”

“Jarrod, I think there's a chance he'll be upset no matter whether he remembers on his own or whether Heath has to tell him. I know why you think it's best that they go, but at the same time, it worries me so much. I don't know if he can handle the same blow twice.”

“Well, the only thing that gives me comfort is that this time, we know the truth, and we'll be there to support them both. The friendship they have will get them through.”

“I hope so, Jarrod. I do hope so.”

Puzzled, Nick tried to put the pieces together. They must be talking about something to do with what Mrs. Barkley had asked of him earlier. Why didn't they just come out and tell him? Seemed to him that a man could handle most anything if he knew about it up front. With a resolve that died as soon as he entered the room, he walked towards the people, wanting to ask them just to tell him what it was that was so awful.

“Well, Brother Nick! Are you all packed?”

Warily, Nick nodded his head.

“I do need to check with Heath and see if he needs help. I think that it would be better if, instead, I just packed for him. You know how he is.”

“I do indeed, Mother. I would recommend, though, that you tell him your plans before you do so. Where is our younger brother, Nick, do you know?”

“He went out to the stables to check on something. He said to tell you he'd be coming in a little while.”

“That something has a name. He's checking on Charger, don't you think, Jarrod?”

The two smiled at each other as Jarrod nodded. “If there was ever any doubt that a man and a horse could have a special bond, all it would take to convince the doubters would be to watch those two. I swear they know what the other's thinking.”

“Nick, you gave Charger to Heath. When you did, his face lit up as if you had given him Christmas and the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving all in one. He certainly does love that horse.”

“And if the past is any predictor of the future, he'll forget to come in for a long time.”

“Do you want me to go get him?”

“That would be very kind of you, Nick. It's close to suppertime, and you've both got an early start in the morning. I'd like you both to get some rest tonight.”

Nick nodded and turned to leave. As he walked, he replayed the conversation he had overheard in his mind. Finally realizing that he would get no answers at that time, he put it in the back of his mind and decided to ask Heath.

Entering the stables, the change from dark to light gave him pause. He stopped to let his eyes adjust and saw his brother combing Charger's mane. As he worked, Heath kept up a soft murmur of conversation. Nick watched, fascinated, as he saw what his mother and brother had talked about.

Heath murmured terms of affection and gently explained to the horse that he'd be gone for a few days. Charger regarded him with a steady gaze and occasionally nodded. Heath reached up and passed both hands over the horse's face, sliding his hands up to the forelock and back down to the velvet nose. Putting a carrot on his shoulder, he leaned in towards the horse and gently nudged the stallion with his head. The horse nodded and contentedly moved his head to Heath's shoulder, neatly snagging the carrot. After eating, he rested his head on Heath's shoulder. The two stood here, head to head. Heath murmured gently; Charger nodded and blew air softly as Heath laughed.

Nick realized that what he was feeling was envy. He wanted a tie ... a bond with someone, somewhere. He wanted to feel as if he belonged. As he watched his brother, he wondered if confidence was inborn or learned. It seemed to make sense to him that some of it was learned, but no matter how much he was told that he was the ruler of the ranch, he felt like an intruder as he watched the man and the horse commune.

A snort from Charger caused Heath to look up; seeing that the horse's gaze had moved, he turned and saw Nick watching. The half-smile tugged again as he reached up behind his head and patted Charger, who was moving toward him. When Heath did not move, Charger put his head over Heath's shoulder and nudged strongly. Heath laughed and pulled the second carrot out of his shirt pocket. It didn't take long for the horse to finish that one, either.

“They told me in the house you liked that horse.”

“They told you right. He's the best horse in the Valley.”

“How old is he?”

“He's three. You gave him to me a couple of months after . . . after you decided I needed a better mount.”

The awkward pause was obvious. In the strained silence that followed, Nick wondered if this gift of the magnificent stallion was the key to the mystery that Jarrod and Mrs. Barkley had been discussing. Maybe he had done something wrong, something bad enough that he had to make some apology, like Tom Barkley had with his wife. He couldn't imagine what kind of thing he had done, but he knew that it must have been bad.

With a final pat, his brother left Charger. The two walked in silence back up to the house. As they entered, Audra, with a whirl of skirts, swooped down on them both and tucked one arm under each masculine elbow. Triumphantly, she tugged them towards the parlor, where Jarrod and Victoria were still sitting.

“Well, Big Brother, did you get that horse bedded down for the night, or do you need to go back and check on him again?”

The teasing note in Audra's voice was obvious, and from Heath's sheepish duck of his head, Nick recognized that this was familiar ground. Jarrod and Mrs. Barkley joined in the laughter as Heath grinned and turned a dull red. He perched on the edge of a table and accepted a whiskey from Jarrod. “Do I have time to clean up?”

“I told Silas to hold supper for a half hour. Enjoy your drink, but then make haste, please. We're having Chicken Creole tonight.”

Nick wondered why they all were looking at him expectantly. Chicken sounded fine to him. He stirred uneasily and walked to the fireplace.

“Nick, doesn't Chicken Creole sound good to you?”

Audra's voice was a verbal mirror for the concern on her pretty face. Nick looked back at her and wondered why in the world anyone would get so upset over a menu.

“Brother Nick, you've been known to shout to the rooftops when Mother serves that dish.”

“Oh. Well . . . thank you.”

The lackluster response sounded as awkward as he felt. But with four pairs of eyes watching him, he didn't know what else to do. He wasn't a trained bear; no one would force him to do tricks for his supper. Victoria was the first to look away; biting her lip, she cleared her throat gently. Heath stood up swiftly and bent over to kiss her. “I'll just be a minute.”

With that, he vanished up the steps. His tuneless whistle remained as the only sound in the still awkward silence among the people remaining.

“Nick, would you like a drink?”

“You tell me.”

The anger was evident; even he realized it. Jarrod's eyes fell before he quietly stood and walked to the table where the tantalus was sitting. Without another word, he poured Nick's drink and handed it to him. The tall cowboy tossed it back, welcoming the fire burning his throat and warming him as it coursed down to his stomach.

Heath was as good as his word; it wasn't long before he was back downstairs. Victoria stood, and Jarrod offered her his elbow. Audra again joined herself to the other two, and they walked in silence to the dining room.

When Silas served the main dish, Nick again felt the expectancy from everyone in the room. Feeling as if he were being asked to undress in public, he ate a bite. It was good; in fact, it was very good. But from all the buildup, he wondered if they wanted him to stand up and shout hallelujah. Deciding that it was their problem and not his, he addressed himself to the meal and shut out the stilted conversation around him.

After dinner, coffee was served in the study. Jarrod and Heath played a desultory game of billiards; Audra and Victoria played a game of cards. Nick wandered restlessly around the room. Offered a cue, he shook his head. He wasn't about to find out that there was something else he wasn't good at. Safer by far, he thought, to refuse the opportunity.

After the game, Heath racked the balls and handed his cue to Jarrod. With a light kiss on Audra's head and one on Victoria's cheek, he turned to leave the room. “Nick, we've got an early train to catch. I'm goin' to bed. How about you?”

“Sure. What time do we need to get up?”

“I'll have breakfast ready at six; the train leaves at eight, so that will give you enough time to eat and then leave.”

Victoria's voice brooked no arguments; it was obvious that they were going to eat one more time at her table before they left. Nodding, Heath and Nick walked through the halls and up the stairs.

In his room, Nick found himself to be restless still. He tried to sit and be quiet; finally, he grew weary of that and looked around the palatial room. He tried to imagine what it would have been like for the Nick Barkley who belonged to spend his first night in such sumptuous lodgings and to realize that the suite was his forever. Had he felt guilt? Confusion? He had no idea.

Shaking his head again, he undressed and stretched out on the bed. He fell into an uneasy sleep. Shadowy images danced at the edges of dreams; he heard jeers and raucous laughter, and far away, he heard someone screaming. As he fought to see the faces of those who laughed and mocked him, he felt as if he were being shaken. Fighting back, he recognized that all he was seeing now was red. It was dark and viscous, coursing down the screen of his mind; with a sudden jolt, he realized he was seeing blood.

Something wet and cold landing on his face jarred him back to consciousness. Opening his eyes, he saw Heath standing over him. He reached up and wiped off his face as he realized that his brother had wakened him. “Nick, you all right?”

“Yeah. Just a dream.”

“I'll say it was. You raised the hair on my head with those screams. Can I get you anything?”

“No. I'll be all right, Heath. Sorry I woke you.”

With a nod, the tall man left Nick alone. He sat on the side of the bed, forcing himself to breathe slowly and normally. He tried to remember the dream, but all he could remember was the blood. The night passed slowly, indeed.

Long before the tendrils of dawn kissed the night goodbye, Nick was fully dressed and ready to go. He paced in his room, wondering how such a large, luxurious space could become a prison.

Hearing a gentle knock, he turned too fast and caught his boot heel on the edge of the rug. The stumble brought forth a colorful curse; as he caught himself by grabbing the bedpost, his door opened.

“Nick, you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, Big Brother, if Mother heard you talkin' in the house like I just did, she'd be likely to scrub your mouth out.”

“Is that what she did when we were little?”

Nick watched as the sparkle died out of his brother's eyes. Heath looked down and began to play with the buttons on his shirt cuff. The silence grew loud, so loud that Nick was ready to scream. He was beginning to wonder what he had said when he heard a mutter.

“What?”

“I'm sorry, Nick. I just . . . I'm sorry.”

With that, Heath turned and left the room. Nick stared after him, nonplused. What in the world could upset anyone about a kid's using a dirty word and getting his mouth washed out? With an explosive sigh, Nick charged out of the room, determined to find out what was wrong with Heath.

Instead, he encountered his mother, who greeted him with a smile.

“Good morning, Nick. Did you sleep well?”

“Fair. Yourself?”

Nick figured that short answers would be less likely to get him in trouble with this formidable woman. He tried to figure out what it was about her; she was so tiny that he figured he could pick her up with one arm and not even notice the load. Tiny or not, however, she projected an image of invincibility. He wished he had inherited that.

At breakfast, he remained silent as the conversation eddied round him as water swirling around stones in a brook. Jarrod and Heath were discussing last-minute thoughts about the work of the ranch when the lawyer suddenly quirked an eyebrow and smiled.

“Now, Heath, just be sure you don't get confused and wind up in Santa Ana, Mexico!”

“Jarrod!”

Victoria's voice was firm, even shocked, although she smiled slightly. Audra giggled. Nick waited to see what this mystery meant. Heath shook his head ruefully. “I don't think we need Diaz knowin' I’m available for a special chat any time soon.”

“And don't you forget it, Heath! Don't you set a foot on Mexican soil, no matter what happens. Promise me.”

The blond man smiled as he listened to his mother.

“All right, Mother, I promise. But you really don't need to worry yourself; Nick will take good care of keepin' me out of trouble.”

Nick looked at him, suspicious for any hidden meaning, but it seemed Heath was sincere. He wondered why Heath couldn't go to Mexico, and he wondered who Diaz was. He decided to wait until they were on the train to discuss it.

“When do you think you'll be back?” Victoria's voice was carefully controlled, but the concern in her eyes gave her away.

“Four, five days, Mother. Don't worry.”

With that comment, Heath stood up and clapped Nick on the shoulder.

“Ready, Big Brother?”

Nick nodded, and the subterfuge began. He and Heath left on their horses, while Jarrod drove the buggy to town. They headed off in a different direction and rode for about twenty minutes. Nick noticed with admiration, however, that the route they took was gradually angling them towards the direction they had ridden to get to town.

When they arrived in Stockton, the two rode directly to Jarrod's office. Dismounting, they walked together up the stairs. Nick noted his surroundings with interest; it was a well-designed area, with a comfortable set of chairs before a fireplace, and a desk flanked with law books before the window. Jarrod rose to meet them with pleasure.

He handed Heath, who was perching on the edge of the desk, the tickets and baggage claims and looked at the two men with sudden suspicion. “And you will be heading straight to Santa Ana?”

“No problems there, Jarrod. I reckon we'll stop the night in Fresno, maybe, or some such place. Don't want to spend two days on that train with no breaks at all.”

“I understand that, Heath, but please be careful. Both of you.”

Nick saw real concern in his brother's eyes and again felt that rush of warmth and affection which had occurred before. He nodded briefly; Jarrod reached out and put his hand on the cowboy's shoulder. “Nick, no matter what happens, the only important thing is you. Come back safely. We need you.”

Nick looked at the lawyer seriously, but he could find nothing which showed anything but sincerity. “Thanks, Jarrod.”

“I know, Brother Nick, that this must be very difficult for you, but maybe getting away will help.”

Nick nodded as Heath stood and looked pointedly at the clock on Jarrod's desk.

“You'll take care of the horses, now, right?”

Jarrod laughed at Heath's question and sardonically promised to give both horses refuge.

“And, Heath, while I doubt that Charger will receive quite the attention he's used to, he will be cared for. Be sure to wire me when you're ready to come home.”

“All right, Jarrod.”

With that, the blond man repositioned his hat and walked to the door. Nick followed him, feeling anxious for no reason he could isolate. Before he could think it through, they were on the train. Heath chose two seats in the back, away from the rest of the passengers. He slumped down in his seat and drew his hat down over his head.

“Are you planning on sleeping all day?”

Nick's question came out more harshly than he intended, but the gibe had its effect. Heath sat up straight and grinned at his brother.

“Want to play some cards? Maybe poker'll help pass the time.”

“No, I want to ask you some questions.”

Heath sighed and nodded. “All right, Nick. I'll do my best. Where's your list?”

Nick pulled out the two pages he had filled the day before and handed them to Heath. The blond perused them quickly and looked up and out the window, whistling. “You don't want to know much, do you now?”

“Tell me.”

“All right, Nick. Where do you want to start?”

“The ranch.”

Heath seemed relieved and answered every question as thoroughly as possible. Nick was again amazed at both the scope of the Barkley holdings and his brother's grasp of those holdings. He peppered his younger brother with follow-up questions until Heath held up his hands in mock surrender. “Boy howdy, Nick, give a man a break! I said I'd try, but I don't know everything.”

“You mentioned a logging camp. How big is that?”

“It's one of the biggest in the state, but it takes a hard day's ride just to get up there from the ranch. It's actually easier to make the trip in two days.”

“Who handles those trips?”

A shadow fell over Heath's face. Finally, he nodded.

“Most of the time I'm the one to go.”

“Who runs it for us?”

“Fellow named Matt Bentell.”

There was a strange note in Heath's voice and an unusual emphasis on Bentell's name. Nick couldn't pin it down, but he knew it was there. “What's he like?”

“People say he's a good leader, a good boss.”

“And what you think?”

“What I think, Nick, is that it's lunch time, and I'm hungry. Do you want to see what Mother packed for us?”

Nick realized that the stone wall Heath had put up wouldn't be battered down. Deciding to come back to the issue of this man Bentell later, he joined Heath in enjoying the repast Mrs. Barkley had sent.

As they ate and drank, Nick remembered last night's incident and asked Heath about the meal. “Chicken Creole is your favorite dish, Nick. I'd think that maybe Mother thought it would help you remember.”

Nick thought for a minute about the many things he had learned in such a short time. He marveled anew that he, a grown man, measured his lifetime by two nights and three days. Chewing his sandwich, he pondered what it would be like to watch a family member lose all contact with his past and recognized that Mrs. Barkley had fixed the special meal because of love. “Guess I should have been more excited about it, then.”

“I don't know, Nick. It'd be hard, I think, to get excited about something you've never heard of before.”

“She seems nice.”

“Mother? You got that right, but I wouldn't want to cross her none, either.”

Nick smiled at the thought of anyone crossing the petite woman's path. Physically so fragile, yet obviously as strong as nails inside, where it counted, Victoria Barkley was indeed someone people would think about twice before crossing her. “What's Audra like?”

“Audra? She's half tomboy, half woman; reckon she hasn't figured out just yet who she wants to be.”

“She seems real sweet.”

“That she is, Nick. But like Mother, she can come off pretty strong when she wants to. She's got a temper that matches yours when she's set off.”

“How about you?”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“I mean, Heath, how about you? Do you have a temper?”

Heath was quiet again and then chuckled.

“I'd say so. Not like yours, but still there.”

“What upsets you?”

Heath moved uncomfortably, and Nick realized that this brother of his did not enjoy talking about himself. He wondered why, but he decided to persist. “I mean, when we were growing up, did we fight?”

Nick again saw that shadow cross Heath's face and wondered what secrets his brother held. He waited for a long time until he heard Heath sigh. “Nick, the truth of it all is . . . “

They were interrupted by the conductor's chanting their arrival into the bustling town of Fresno. With alacrity, Heath stood and gathered their belongings. Nick followed him out of the train and stretched with as much enjoyment as did his brother.

“Reckon we'll get us a hotel here and finish the trip to Santa Ana tomorrow. No sense sittin' on that thing all night, too.”

“Sounds fine to me. Want a drink first?”

Heath nodded and tossed the carpetbag at Nick, who caught it with surprise.

“Let's check in first and then you can buy me the biggest, coldest beer in town, all right?”

With a laugh, Nick agreed, and the two walked together down the street. They entered the hotel and Heath signed in for both of them. Nick was surprised when the clerk handed them their key and said, “Have a good evening, Mr. Thomson.”

He started to say something but Heath hustled him up the stairs to their room. Once they entered, Nick gave full voice to his question. “Thomson? What did he mean, Thomson?”

“Nick, it just seemed easier, with all that's goin' on, not to use the Barkley name.”

“Well, maybe so, Heath, but why Thomson? And why didn't you put a P in it? Everyone knows Thompson is spelled with a P.”

That shadow reappeared. Nick was growing to hate that look; he knew it presaged Heath's silence and growing discomfort. Hating to make the boy feel so bad, he finally relented and clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, well, Heath, it doesn't really matter. What's important now is that tall beer you promised to buy me!”

“I promised to buy YOU? Not the way I remember it, Big Brother.”

“Well, no matter. You're in charge on this trip; you pay the bills.”

Muttering, Heath caught the key that Nick tossed to him and followed his brother's lighthearted charge back down the stairs. They walked to a saloon and Nick found a table while Heath ordered two beers. Nick grinned triumphantly as he watched his brother walk towards him.

They quaffed their drinks almost immediately; a girl came up and took their order for seconds. As they drank those, far more slowly, Nick leaned back and relaxed for the first time since Heath had found him alone.

Suddenly, he saw Heath sit up, all relaxation gone. Nick leaned forward to see what was wrong, only to have Heath gesture at him to remain silent. As Nick listened, he began to overhear the conversation at the next table.

“How much longer to Stockton, you reckon?”

“Don't rightly know; mebbe two, three days, dependin' on how hard we ride.”

“We don't need the horses worn out; we're gonna need 'em bad when we get my brother. We'll be hightailin' for sure then.”

The men who were speaking were travel-worn, but they still looked dangerous. As the conversation continued, Nick realized that one of these men was named Hatch, and that he was coming to Stockton to break his brother out of jail. The brother that Nick had seen commit murder. Heath pursed his lips in a silent whistle as the two sat there, listening and wondering what to do.

As the conversation wore on, Nick heard his name mentioned and stiffened. Heath warned him with a slight shake of his head, and the cowboy tried to relax. It wasn't easy, however, to sit there and listen to men plot whether to kill him before or after a jailbreak.

Heath got Nick's eye and jerked his head towards the door. Nick nodded; quietly, the two men stood up and walked to the door. With every step, Nick expected to be challenged by the men, but they took no notice.

As they walked out of the saloon, Heath whistled long and low. Nick shook his head in agreement.

“Nick, I'm thinkin' it might be time to check train schedules back to Stockton.”

Nick nodded, realizing that they must get home and notify the family and sheriff of what they had learned. When they reached the station, however, they found that the first train for Stockton didn't leave until 7 a.m. Heath bought the tickets then and there and nodded his thanks to the station master. Before they left, the blond asked the man where to get a good meal; after following his directions, the two sat silently and waited for the meals they had ordered to be served.

“Boy howdy. Don't this beat all.”

“Boy howdy, indeed! At least he wasn't using your name back there when he was deciding when to kill a Barkley.”

“Nope, but I felt uneasy all the same. Here I promised Mother you'd take care of me, and now I may have to break in someone new all over again.”

The mild joke caused Nick to smile, but he decided to follow up on the trail of thought which had confused him at breakfast that morning. “Heath, just why doesn't Jarrod want you to go to Mexico?”

Heath grinned and cut a piece of steak before he replied. “I can't go to Mexico because there's a price on my head down there.”

“WHY?”

“Easy, Big Brother. Easy. I was down there, supervising the installation of some pumps. Things were going along all right until we got news that a friend of ours was going to be arrested, so I sent him and his son, Pepe, on up to the ranch.

“Well, one thing led to another, and I ended up a guest of Mexico in a stinkin' prison cell. Guess I was gonna be hung because the family wouldn't sent Vicente ... that's the man we were protectin' ... back. Mother and Jarrod tried using politics and pressure, but there wasn't too much interest in helpin' the likes of me.

“So, you and Jarrod decided to get me out. Vicente came with you, as did Pepe. I don't think I've ever seen a prettier sight than Jarrod's face when he came to get me out of that cell.”

“What with one thing and another, there was a bit of trouble leaving Mexico, and several Federales, along with a man named Chavez, got killed. Diaz took it all kind of personal and blames me. He's threatened to hang my head on a pole outside his palace if I ever set foot in Mexico again.”

“So what happened to Vicente? Is he safe now?”

Again the shadow; this time, Nick saw a muscle working in Heath's jaw. He waited. “He . . . died trying to get me free. Pepe is down there now, leading the guerrillas in fighting Diaz.”

Nick sat there, trying to assimilate all Heath had told him. He had a feeling that for all the words his brother had spoken, there were many things left unsaid. He looked up and saw his brother's steady blue gaze directed at him. “Well, Heath, I wish I remembered Vicente. I'm sorry he died, but I'm sure glad you survived.”

“Yeah. Guess I am, too.”

Nick had learned enough, these three days, to know when not to push Heath. He wondered at the obvious doubt in his brother's tone of voice, but it was obvious to him that no more information would be forthcoming. Finishing his meal, he tossed down a tip for the lady who had served them and wiped off his mouth. Both brothers stood and walked back to the hotel.

As they walked, Nick realized that Heath was deliberately walking on the outside of the boardwalk and was slightly behind him. He understood that his brother was trying to protect him and, although he realized he should be grateful, he felt annoyed. Before he could express his annoyance, however, they arrived at the hotel and went up to their room.

Heath stretched and yawned.

“Think I'll go take a quick bath; you keep the door locked, you hear?”

Nick nodded and while his brother was gone, he sat and thought through what he had and had not learned. He smiled when he realized that, without even knowing it, he was making a list. And on that list, he had written areas where Heath was uncomfortable discussing Barkley life. They were interesting, to say the least: childhood, Bentell, the details of Mexico. He wondered if Heath were just shy, or if his reticence was related to that dreadful secret he still did not know.

His reverie was interrupted by Heath's soft knock. Opening the door, he let Heath in and, in his turn, went to take a bath. What he did not know, as he splashed in the tub, was that Heath saw the list, and what he did not see was Heath's bleak face as he read Nick's words and questions.

When Nick returned to the room, he saw Heath stretched out in the bed, his gun on the table beside him. He seemed to be asleep, so Nick quietly blew out the lamp and stretched out, his arms behind his head, and watched his thoughts revolve as he sought the sleep he needed but feared.

The dreams came again. This time, the faces were a bit more clear, and the voices were distinct. One was of a young boy, about sixteen or seventeen. He couldn't see them clearly, but he recognized that they were taunting not only him, but also the boy.

As the wolves howled and the faces crept ever closer, Nick's heart beat faster and faster. He knew that once he saw the faces, he'd remember, and he was terrified.

Suddenly, there was a loud explosion. This time, Nick saw and smelled the blood. It covered him, dripping off his hands. He heard a hoarse cry and tried to run, tried to get away from the hot smell of fresh blood. Again, he felt the cold, wet towel and came to with a start. “Nick, you almost tossed me out the window!”

Heath was breathing hard. Sweat was dripping off his face; Nick realized that he, too, was drenched. “Guess . . . guess we shoulda waited before we took those baths.”

Heath grinned and nodded before he fell into the chair. “Nick, if you're gonna spend every night fightin' whatever it is you're fightin', I'm gonna need some help here. You pack a mighty big wallop for a skinny guy.”

“A SKINNY guy?”

“That's right, Big Brother. A skinny guy.”

With mock anger, Nick tossed a pillow at his brother. Grinning in mutual accord, they bantered for a couple of minutes before Heath grew serious. “Nick, these dreams . . . you remember what's in them?”

“Yeah. But not enough to help.”

Heath nodded and walked over to the bed, beginning to make it again so that they could spend the rest of the night in comfort. As he worked, he stayed silent, but just before blowing out the light again, he offered one comment. “Nick, no matter what, we're gonna get through this, together. You try to rest easy, you hear?”

Nick nodded and turned on his side, careful not to disturb his brother.

The next morning dawned, bright and clear, far from the mood of both brothers. They hurried to make the train; while walking to the station, Heath was obviously greatly on edge. Nick realized that he was the one in danger, but he still resented Heath's taking charge, even though he agreed with his brother's decisions. They had argued about telling the sheriff there or sending a wire to Stockton; Heath had been adamant about not doing either. He was convinced that even one rumor set free could bring Hatch down on them before they were prepared to fight back, and he was unwilling to take the chance. Nick finally saw his point, but for some reason, submitting rankled.

The train ride to Stockton was not as relaxed as yesterday's had been. Heath was constantly vigilant, and that vigilance was just about enough to make Nick snap. They played cards for a while; Nick began to wonder if his brother was not only a phenomenal rancher but also a professional at cards. After losing all his money, he proceeded to take out his list again. “Nick, not again! I thought we answered all those yesterday.”

“Well now, Heath, seems to me things turned out a mite different from that. In my mind, we got through all the questions about the ranch, but very few about the family. Now, let's start here.”

“Where's here?”

Heath's question came quietly, but Nick didn't miss the muscle working in his jaw, nor did he miss the way Heath held himself. Nick took a deep breath and pointed to the name on the list that he wanted to discuss first. “Here, Heath. With Matt Bentell.”

“Nick, I told you all about him!”

“No, Heath. No, you didn't. You told me what others say about him; it's obvious that you have different thoughts. I want to know why.”

Nick stared implacably at his brother, who met his stare mutinously. Finally, the blue eyes dropped, and the hazel ones sparkled as their owner realized that, in the battle of wills, he had won. “All right, Nick. During the War ... you do remember about the War?”

Nick frowned for a minute.

“The Civil War, Nick. The one we fought in.”

“No, I really don't. What was it about?”

Heath stared at his brother incredulously. Nick grinned at him, waiting. “Well, Big Brother, it's kinda hard to say just what it was about. Some say it was to free slaves; others say it was because of money. All I know is that we fought, we fought hard and long.”

“Did we fight together?”

Heath grinned for a second and shook his head. “Not hardly, Nick. You were a lieutenant; I was a grunt. Made it to sergeant in the end, but I never fought a fancy war like you and Jarrod did.”

“Why?”

“That's not so important, now is it?”

With the question, Heath stirred uncomfortably, obviously hoping that Nick wouldn't pursue the line of questioning.

“So did you serve under this Bentell fellow?”

Heath laughed bitterly as his eyes darkened with remembered pain. “Not hardly, Big Brother. He was on the other side.”

“So did you know him during the war?”

Again, Heath stirred, obviously wishing he were anywhere but beside his brother. “You know, Jarrod could take some lessons from you about questioning witnesses.”

“Thanks, Heath. Now, did you know him during the war?”

“You might say that. I was a prisoner for seven months in the camp he ran.”

“A prisoner?”

The note of incredulity brought Heath's head up sharply. “Yes, Nick. A prisoner of war. In Carterson, which, since you don't remember, came second only to Andersonville for the way the prisoners were treated. In Carterson, where over seven thousand went in, and less than six hundred came out.”

The emotion was raw and obvious; as Nick watched his brother, he saw the pain reflected in his eyes. Heath definitely had lost the control Nick had envied. “You mean, we hired this man, knowing that you were his prisoner?”

“No, Nick. He was hired under a different name; I came in the house one day and found him there. After some . . . discussion, the family decided to keep him on, and so he stays.”

“And you think this is a good idea?”

Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing. To him, imagining what it might have been like to live in a prison and watch over six thousand men die, and then be connected with the commander of that camp, well, to him it sounded like a refined sort of torture. He waited for Heath's response. “Don't matter what I think. It was a family decision ... and before you ask, yes, you were part of it!”

Nick recognized that Heath was breathing hard and that the anger was smoldering in him. He couldn't understand why he would have been involved in such a refined sort of cruelty, and he wondered how to make it right now. “I . . . don't know what to say, Heath.”

“Then it's probably best you say nothin'.”

The call of the conductor defused their tension for a brief period of time. As the train slowed, Heath stood.

“Where are you going?”

“Wire Jarrod to meet us.”

Nick nodded and watched as his brother walked off the train and to the window of the station master. There, Heath bent and wrote quickly; paying the attendant, he vaulted back up on the train. Nick watched as he stood and breathed deeply several times before coming back to sit by him.

“Can we talk some more?”

“Talk's free.”

“All right, Heath. I'd like to know why you won't talk about our childhood.”

If Nick thought Heath's eyes had grown dark while talking about Bentell, he was mistaken. This time, they didn't seem even to be blue anymore. But Nick pressed on. “Heath?”

“All right, Nick. I don't talk about our childhood because we didn't have a childhood.”

“I don't understand.”

“I'm not sure I do, either. But here it is, plain and simple. We don't have a childhood full of memories because you grew up on the ranch and I grew up in Strawberry.”

“What's Strawberry?”

“It's a mining town, or it was. Nick, Tom Barkley was my father, but I'm not really your brother like Jarrod is your brother. I'm Tom Barkley's bastard son. Want it any plainer than that?”

Nick looked at Heath and anger grew. It wasn't like the rage he had felt when he was annoyed. This was cold, deep down cold. And the more the anger grew, the quieter he became.

Heath looked defiantly at Nick. His jaw jutted out, his breath came short and hard, and he played absently with the shirt button on his cuff.

Nick stood up and walked to the end of the train car. His thoughts raced too fast for him to categorize them. He turned and looked back at Heath, who sat there, his head down, refusing to look up at him. With a deep sigh, Nick walked back towards his brother, only to be interrupted by the conductor calling out the name Stockton as the next stop.

Heath didn't move; this time, it was Nick who took the bag, Nick who led the way off the train. Heath followed mutely.

Jarrod stood there, holding the reins of the horses both men had ridden the day before. Charger snorted in greeting as he recognized Heath, who absently patted his neck before mounting. Nick tossed the carpetbag to Jarrod and threw his leg over Duke's back. Heath led Charger over to the sheriff's office and went inside. It didn't take him long to come back out; Fred stood in the doorway and watched him mount Charger and turn towards Jarrod and Nick.

The man without a past rode off, not checking to see if Heath or Jarrod followed. As he rode, he wondered just what there would be left to say when he arrived home.

Dimly, he heard the hoofbeats coming up behind him; soon, he recognized that Heath was by his side. He glanced behind and saw Jarrod coming up, too. Gradually, he slowed his pace so that Jarrod could catch up.

The three rode in silence. Nick saw Jarrod casting glances at him and at Heath, but he kept his view straight ahead and gave no opening for conversation. When they arrived at the ranch, Nick pulled up and threw his reins at the Mexican man who ambled out of the stable. He vaguely remembered his name; something like Diego, maybe.

He knew that if he yielded to Jarrod's obvious desire for information, he'd haul off and knock his older brother straight into next week. His hand positively tingled with anticipation as he thought of it. But Jarrod kept his silence, somewhat to Nick's regret.

Stalking into the house, he threw his hat towards the table. Without removing his gunbelt or spurs, he ramrodded his way past Audra, Silas, and finally Victoria Barkley. He was vaguely aware that they all followed him into the study, but he didn't care.

Pouring himself a drink, he stood, hands on hips, and looked at the portrait of his father. There were Heath's features, his eyes, his nose, his facial shape. Nick wondered, if the beard had been shaved, if he would have seen Heath's mouth, too.

He lifted his glass in ironic salute to the portrait and drank deeply. Gradually, he became aware of the fact that everyone else was staring at him.

“Nicholas, may I ask you just what is wrong?”

He laughed shortly. He didn't know if he'd been taught manners or not, but the idea of someone asking him if something was wrong seemed stupid. What could be right? People were planning to kill him, he had lost his memory ... well, those were facts. But the fact that he was the offspring of a man who fathered another child and left him to grow up on his own ... that was a fact which didn't go down well at all.

“Oh, Nick, Heath told you, didn't he?”

He looked at the petite woman, wanting to push her away. Respect for her kept him from doing so; it was obvious that he could break a bone with any carelessness. “You might say that.”

“Nick? You're not mad at Heath, are you?”

Audra's sweet voice cut through his anger and reached his mind. He laughed shortly and shook his head. “Mad at Heath? Why would I be mad at him?”

“Well, there might be good cause, Nick.”

Heath's drawl disguised his anxiety, but in the past three days, Nick had gotten to know this man. His brother. The one who had rescued him, cared for him, and stood by him, no questions asked. From what Mrs. Barkley had told him, he had done it before. No, he knew Heath, probably better than he knew himself, and he recognized that the man was worried, even frightened.

“Cause. Well, now, I can see cause for anger, but I don't know why it should be directed at you.”

With that, he deliberately threw his glass at his father's portrait. It hit the ornate frame and shattered; dregs of the liquor coursed down the painted face. Victoria gave a sharp cry of anguish and tears began to roll down her face.

“Nick, there was no call for that!”

“No call? Heath, have you lost your mind? This ... this man ... fathered you and left you alone. And we allowed a statue to be put up in his memory?”

“Nick, he didn't know!”

“Well now, Heath, that's mighty nice. I don't remember much, but I do know this: If I sleep with a woman, I'm sure gonna check to make sure that my seed didn't give her a baby. But he didn't check, did he?”

“No, Nick, he didn't. But you got no cause to . . . “

“No cause to what? To feel ashamed to be Tom Barkley's son? I think I've got good cause, and I'm lookin' at it.”

“Nick, you're reacting a little strongly here, don't you think?”

The lawyer's cool tones goaded Nick into a deeper anger. With contempt, he turned to the man he had learned was his older brother. “Well now, Jarrod, maybe I am. But you tell me this: When you and I were growing up, did we want for anything?”

“No, of course not, but . . . “

“Were we given a chance at education?”

“Yes, Nick, of course we were, but . . . “

“But nothing! What advantage did Heath have?”

“Nick, this is all new to you, but it's old news and not worth this much trouble. If I'm the reason you're mad, then you need to listen to me!”

Nick looked at the blond man and waited.

“Nick, this is something out of our control. It's true that Tom Barkley is my father, and it's true that he didn't know I was born. But that's water gone under the bridge, and all the hurt and yellin' in the world won't change what is.

“Nick, what is, is. You can't change it, ever.”

Nick sighed and walked over to get himself another drink. He thought about what Heath had said, even wondered about the fact that his brother was defending their father. Now, Nick reckoned that he wasn't completely stupid about men, and it had been obvious that Heath held little love for Tom Barkley. As he poured his drink, he decided that Heath was defending Tom Barkley for the rest of the family's sake, not his own. Slowly he turned to face his siblings and mother. “Even if Heath is right and things can't be changed, would you all tell me one thing?”

“What's that, Nick?”

“Well, Audra, or Jarrod, or Mother, you claim to love Heath. Can you tell me why, for what possible reason, you would put him in a position where he had to go through all that ... to tell me about his life?”

Interrupting both Victoria and Jarrod, who had started to talk, he continued.

“And did you know that he doesn't think that he's my brother? Because he has a different mother, he's convinced that he's not my brother! Oh, he didn't say it in so many words, Mr. Lawyer, but it's there. And if this is how he's treated, then I can understand why!”

“Nick, listen to me, please.”

Victoria's importunate voice cut through Nick's anger. Shrugging, he walked over beside Heath, who perched on the edge of the desk, head down, looking at no one. Nick folded his arms and waited.

“Nick, we were worried over your safety. No one was pleased with the fact that all this might come out again, but your brother was the one who volunteered to go. While you were sleeping, we all four talked about it. Ask him!”

Nick looked at Heath, who nodded.

“Well, Mother, that's all well and good. But does it make it any easier for him? You all were busy worrying about me, but who worried about him and how hard it'd be for him to go through all that again? Tell me that, please!

“And while you're at it, tell me why in God's green earth we keep a man like Matt Bentell on our payroll after what he did to one of our family? And since we do, why do we make Heath, who watched so many men die under that man's command, spend so much time with him?”

“Brother Nick, it sounds like you and Heath did a lot of talking while you were gone.”

“Meaning that Heath came whining to me about how he was treated? It wasn't like that, Mr. Lawyer, not at all. He's the one who told me I liked to make lists; he's the one who had me make a list of my questions. And he's the one ... the only one, I might add ... who took the time to answer those questions.

“He didn't like a lot of my questions, and he did his best to change the subject. But I finally pinned him down, and that's how I found out all this.”

“Nick, no one here would ever think Heath would whine, as you put it. He's an honorable man, much like your father . . . “

“That word should be his.”

“I beg your pardon?” Victoria looked honestly puzzled. “His. His father, not my father, his. “

Nick was no longer shouting. His voice was silky and he almost purred as he spoke. But he was tired, so tired. And he didn't even seem to care about the tears Victoria and Audra were shedding. He wasn't interested in the fact that Jarrod looked sick; right now, he didn't even care too much that Heath was obviously uncomfortable. He just wanted to have his say.

He took a deep breath to continue, but Victoria interrupted. She walked over to him and put her hands on his arms. Tears were still falling, her voice was still breaking, but she was obviously determined to speak, and Nick decided to let her. “Nicholas, because of this amnesia, what is settled for many of us is brand new to you. The information about your father's infidelity had to hurt badly . . . “

“Mother, frankly, the fact that he was unfaithful hurts you far more than it does me! What I'm talking about is my brother!”

“Yes, Nick, and so am I. Right now, your father is as much a stranger to you as he is to Heath. It would only make sense that you would come down completely on Heath's side. But listen to me, please, please listen! “It was you to whom Tom Barkley turned when he needed to know who would handle the ranch. I feared that this would be how you would react when you learned, and I made you promise me something. Do you remember that?”

Nick looked down at the diminutive woman who obviously still held the family together. He nodded.

“Then, Nick, keep your promise! Don't judge your father until you know everything!”

“Well, Mother, just what else is there for you to know?”

“A lot.”

Heath's interruption startled them both. Victoria turned towards him, still keeping one hand on Nick's arm. Heath stood up slowly and walked to the fireplace, looking up at the picture all the way. “Nick, your ... I mean our ... father wasn't a bad man. He was a man who made mistakes. I didn't ever get to meet him, and there was a time I was glad about that. Now, after two years, I'm sorry. I think I would have liked him.”

“Liked him?” Nick couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“Yes, Nick. I think I would have liked him, because from all I hear, you're very much like him, and that means a lot.

“Now, before you go condemnin' everyone in this room, hear this. I'm the one who had to tell you about him 'n' me, and it wasn't too much fun. But I went on that train ride with my eyes wide open, Big Brother! I knew you, and I figured that if it had to come out, it'd be better if it came out when it was just the two of us. When you get over this mad you've got on, you'll understand it a little more.

“Don't you see, Nick? How could they tell you about all this without makin' it sound as if they treated me like what I am?”

Heath stared with great intensity at his brother, who felt Victoria's hand tighten on his arm. The silence in the room vibrated with passion as Heath waited. Finally, Nick nodded. “Just hear this, Heath. You'll never go to Bentell's camp again without me.”

The half-smile came and went as Heath nodded. Jarrod's sigh of relief caused Audra to laugh nervously.

Victoria held out her hand to her blond son, who came to her readily. Tenderly, she reached up and kissed his cheek. He smiled down at her and the love in his eyes made it clear to Nick that, as far as his brother was concerned, there was no problem there at all.

He didn't like it, he still thought it was too much to have asked of Heath. But at the same time, Heath's logic hit home to him. His brother's clear-headed way of putting things made it obvious to Nick that he held no illusions about Tom Barkley. It was equally obvious, however, that Heath was content in the life he lived and in the place he held.

He remembered the envy he had felt when he watched his brother interact with the family and with other people. It was strange, but the envy was still there, still real. Now, however, it wasn't of Heath, but of the peace he had obviously reached.

“Well, boys, if that's all settled . . . again, then may I impose on you to tell me just why you came back so early?”

With a jolt, Nick realized that there were problems still to deal with, but if he wanted to live to work them out, he needed to focus on Hatch's brother and his gang. Heath nodded at him, and Nick began to tell what they had learned in Fresno.

After the discussion Nick had already learned was part of the Barkley system and nature, decisions were made. Jarrod's concern, after Nick's safety, was that no one learn of his amnesia. Heath volunteered to ride into town to tell Sheriff Madden more about what they had learned in Fresno; Jarrod would talk to Dace and Jim and set a guard system up. Nick was, as usual, left out of things to do.

He chafed at the silken cords of protection, wanting to throw them off and to appropriate the reins of leadership he was beginning to feel should be his. No matter how he tried, however, the blankness of his memory kept him from assuming the role he wanted so desperately.

Wandering through the house, he walked into the parlor, where his mother was sitting, staring at nothing. Nick tentatively laid his hand on her shoulder; she reached up and covered it with her soft, small hand. “Your father used to come in late at night sometimes. I'd be sitting, waiting, wondering if he were all right. He would always lay his hand on my shoulder, just like that.”

Nick walked around and sat on the low table in front of her. While he moved, Victoria kept his hand in hers. He looked up at her and saw her eyes, bright with tears.

“What I said in there . . . well, I didn't mean to be hurtful.”

Victoria smiled absently and rubbed her fingers over his. “When Heath first came to us, you were the one I worried about most.”

“Why, Mother?”

“You loved your father so much. To see that he had feet of clay, to see that so soon after his death ... it just was so hard for you.”

“How did I react?”

She was silent for a minute as she thought. Finally, she spoke. “Oh, you shouted, and that wasn't so bad. When you shout, I know that it will be over soon. But then, when you realized it was true, you became quiet, so very quiet. No one could reach you, no one could touch you. Oh, Nick's body was there; his legs walked through the house; his voice gave the orders to keep the ranch running.

“Even though you did all that, there was a core of ice that would not be warmed. I watched you, and I thought I couldn't bear to see you hurt so deeply.”

“So what changed?”

“Oh, several things helped. One of the most major things was a cattle drive; Heath had to take your place when you were injured. Of course, it was during that time that another hero of yours died, and you discovered that he, too, had feet of clay.”

“How did we learn about him?”

“It was Heath. He saw through him long before anyone else. But that was the first place where you allowed someone to chip away at your grief and pain. Gradually, you opened the door, and you found a brother . . . and a friend.”

Her voice broke at the end of her sentence as her tears flowed. Gently, Nick reached up and brushed the drops from her face. Softly, he tried to prompt her to continue. “And now, . . . “

“Now, my dear son, now I'm watching it happen again, and I don't think I can bear it.”

“You mean my anger?”

“Oh, no, Nick. I mean your pain. You've lost so many heroes in the last two years; you've gone through so much. I don't think I can bear to see you hurt again. And to see you hate your father -- I don't -- I don't think I can . . . “

Her tears flowed as he took her hand and pressed it to his lips. She ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair as they sat there, silent, waiting for healing to come.

Heath's return found them still there, still waiting. Nick was amazed at the fact that he had been able to sit so long, saying nothing, yet receiving strength he hadn't known he needed. He squeezed Victoria's hand softly when they heard the door open and slowly stood to meet what was coming.

“Fred's gearing' up for a full attack. Reckon he'd deputize T.J. Dykes if he could get him to agree to it.”

Victoria smiled absently at Heath's comment. Jarrod, hearing Heath's voice, walked out from the study and similarly reported on the patrols he, Dace, and Jim had organized. “From now on until this is over, Nick, it's important that you don't go anywhere on your own.”

Nick nodded as he heard the lawyer's statement. It made sense to him, but it still felt wrong. Heath looked at him and grinned. “You're thinkin' about goin' out on one of them patrols, right?”

Nick grinned back at his younger brother and said nothing. He waited for the reaction of the family to come; he expected them to explode at the thought. Victoria, however, surprised him with her calm statement. “Just promise me, Nick, that when you go, you'll stay with Heath.”

He looked at her in amazement, wondering at her acceptance of a plan he thought he'd have to implement after they had all gone to bed. She smiled at him as she saw his surprise.

“That would be a good idea, Brother Nick.”

Again the feeling of impatience came. Why was it, Nick wondered, that he could accept his mother's statements and could accept Heath so readily, but he wanted to bust Jarrod right in the mouth. He decided it must be because the lawyer was so composed at all times; Nick figured that he himself must have always been pretty combustible. Maybe Jarrod was the iceberg and he was the July 4th fireworks.

“Yeah, Nick, that way, you won't shoot one of the hands thinkin' he might be one of Hatch's men.”

“HEATH!”

Victoria was scolding, but she was smiling at the same time. Jarrod ironically saluted the blond cowboy with his glass as he leaned against the mantel. Nick wondered at his poker face; it seemed that the only sign of amusement was in those blue eyes. “Heath, do you always play cards like you played on the train?”

With a sober look, Heath waited a minute. Finally, he answered, seemingly reluctantly, “No, Nick. I was goin' easy on you, since you were out of your head, so to speak.”

Victoria scolded him again, but Nick found himself grateful to the man who, evidently, was only his half-brother. During these few days, Heath had been the only one to address his memory problems directly, and still he accepted Nick as a person. He felt as if Jarrod talked down to him; that was it! Heath talked naturally; Jarrod almost condescended.

As he thought, another memory burned through his brain. Again, it was of Heath and him; this time, they were in the barn, and they were fighting again. Why, he wondered, were these the only memories he was regaining? “Heath, did we fight a lot?”

Everyone stopped and looked at him. Heath gave him that half-smile and nodded. “You might say that you'n'me had a disagreement or two, Big Brother.”

“Did I ever pull a gun on you?”

“Nicholas, of course not!”

Victoria seemed scandalized at the thought, but Heath was nodding. “Now, Mother, you were in San Francisco when Nick and I had that little set-to about those people he called Irish hooligans. Reckon I've never seen Nick so mad as that day, and come to think of it, he did pull a gun on me.”

Audra's voice startled Nick. He hadn't realized she had entered the room. “Heath, weren't you frightened?”

“No, not with Nick. He was mad, mad enough to pull the gun, but I'd stake my life anytime on the fact that he'd never have pulled the trigger.”

Again, Nick felt that bond, the pull that drew him to Heath. He didn't understand a lot about what was happening, but there was one thing he knew. Heath understood him, and that meant a lot.

The day finally passed, and after the supper hour, the family gathered in the study again. Nick was coming to realize that this place which had seemed so very strange just two days before was beginning to seem familiar. He wondered if it was because he had taken the time to look at each room and its separate components with new eyes, or if he were regaining his memory. Whatever it was, he knew that it felt good inside, and he was glad.

As Victoria and Audra settled on the couch, talking about Bible lessons for the children, Heath and Jarrod went over to the pool table and began to play. Nick remembered being asked to play and remembered being afraid to try, not wanting to find out that he wasn't good at the game. He smiled, thinking about that. It was almost as if he were in a new life again; this one, while far more satisfying than the life of the confused, lost man who had existed in a void, was still not what he wanted.

As he watched his family, he pondered on what he actually did want. First, he tried to think about what Nick Barkley, ruler of the Barkley ranch, would have said when asked that question. Realizing that this was impossible just yet, he tried to decide what was most important. Many ideas went through his head; without realizing what he was doing, he walked to the desk, sat down, and began to make a list of the thoughts which seemed most important.

Engrossed in the task, he was unaware of anything but the fact that he was sitting at the place which was rightfully his. All he thought about was whether it was more important to him to know his family or to understand the place he held in the scheme of life itself. With a mental shrug, he decided that it was, at least at this time, far more urgent that he know where he fit in life; his family would be there, and he had already learned that they would try to understand and would always support each other.

The pleasant evening soon came to an end as Jarrod and Heath bid everyone good night. Clapping Nick on the shoulder, Heath reminded him that they were going out on patrol at dawn; without any more ado, he left him and went upstairs. Nick leaned back in his chair and thought about the casual way the statement was made. Heath wasn't asking or telling him; he was just . . . suggesting without actually making a suggestion. As Nick rose to follow his brothers up the stairs, he wondered just how often Heath “suggested” ideas which then became King Nicholas Barkley's own.

Sleep came faster that night, but the dreams crowded in on the first soft bliss of relaxation. Again, Nick heard the raucous mockery and saw the surreal beings circling him. He reached out, but he could touch no one. The blood came; this time, he realized that he needed to look down. As he did, a face came into view, and Nick's heart began to race .

As Nick stared at the broken, bleeding body of his brother Heath, he heard someone calling his name. He resisted any response because he wanted to kneel and help his brother, his friend. But the voice was insistent and finally Nick allowed himself to turn and look.

As his eyes opened, the same face he had seen in the dream hovered above him. Nick stared mutely at his brother's visage and then reached up and pushed him away with all his strength. Jarrod staggered back and almost fell. “Nick, what in the world is wrong? Were you having a nightmare?”

Nick rose and padded across the room to where Jarrod had retreated. With each step, the ice grew colder; with each breath, Nick's anger mushroomed. “It . Was. You.”

Enunciating each word clearly, he punctuated the words with stabs to Jarrod's chest. The lawyer's bewildered face looked back at him. “Nick, what do you mean?”

“I mean it was you. The dreams, the blood ... it was Heath's blood. And you were the cause of it. You were there, Jarrod; you were the one who made him hurt.”

By now, Nick had pushed Jarrod against the wall. Try as he might, the lawyer could not escape the implacable pressure. Nick's eyes bored into Jarrod's as he continued to talk to the lawyer. “He was in chains, Jarrod. He was helpless. And the blood ... the blood flowed like wine. And you were there, and you didn't help him.”

His hands came up to Jarrod's throat. Without consciously realizing it, Nick was beginning to apply pressure as he continued to talk. His voice was soft; liquid silk flowed as the words continued.

“Why, Jarrod? Why? Were you that upset because of his parentage? Did you want to hurt him? Why did you allow it?”

Jarrod struggled to reply, but Nick tried to continue. His monologue was broken abruptly as Heath pulled him away and shoved him back across the room. As the blond man stood there, he looked back and forth between his two brothers. As Nick rose, Heath shook his head and warned him not to come any closer. The younger man turned to the lawyer and helped him to a chair.

“Heath, he's . . . he's “

Jarrod's hoarse voice was muffled by a paroxysm of coughing. Heath brought him a glass of water and as he helped the lawyer drink, he looked at Nick and mutely pointed to the other chair in the room. Without realizing it, Nick obediently sat.

Heath crouched down by Jarrod and looked at him intently. “You all right?”

Still coughing, Jarrod nodded and tried to speak again, but Heath cut him off. “I know, Jarrod. He's remembering that time in San Quentin, but he's not rememberin' it right.”

Without any more ado, Heath turned back to Nick and began to talk. “Nick, what you're rememberin' is true. There was a time I did a favor for Jarrod and it backfired on us all. I got pretty hurt by it all, too. It was you who got things movin' and got into Quentin and got me out, and from what you told me, I was a mess.

“Now Nick, you hear me out. You're rememberin' the story, but you're not rememberin' it right. Jarrod never stood there and watched anyone hurt me without steppin' in. He's just a man bound by the laws and used to usin' them the way they're written. You, now, you just charge through life, gettin' things done no matter what it takes.

“That time in Quentin, Nick, was because Jarrod asked me to do something, and I did it. I went in with my eyes open. But what you need to understand, Big Brother, is that what happened was not Jarrod's fault. You can't blame me for decisions you make, and you can't blame Jarrod for decisions I make.”

Nick sat there, listening, and realizing that once again, he had acted without thought. Looking over at Jarrod, he mutely shook his head. The lawyer wheezed as he accepted another glass of water from Heath and then, to Nick's shock, grinned at the man who had tried to choke him. “Jarrod ... I ... I'm…”

Jarrod shook his head and smiled again. “Nick, I know you're sorry. Let's just listen to our younger brother here and let it be, all right?”

Nick looked at them both. As he stared, he remembered the times he had seen the two of them work together, and he realized that no matter what had happened before, both men had come to terms with it and were at peace. Nodding in acquiescence, he remembered the peace he had felt downstairs and wondered if such a time would ever come again.

An unusual noise made him turn to the door. There he saw his mother, her hands pressed against her mouth, tears standing in her eyes. Behind her stood Audra, unabashedly weeping. He tried to speak, tried to explain to them, but there was no reason, no way to defend the indefensible. He, the outcast, the stranger in their lives, had made another mistake. Yes, Heath had rescued him ... again ... but there would be a time when even Heath couldn't help.

Rising, he strode past the women and stalked down the stairs. He heard his name called, but he ignored it. He went to the door and walked outside. There, he stood, looking at the grandeur of God's creation and the grandeur that one man had built to enhance the beauty. Supposedly, it was his, supposedly, he was the ruler. But what was there to rule? How could a man who didn't even know what the Barkley brand looked like head up a team of men? Defeated, he shook his head.

A hand fell on his shoulder. Expecting Heath, he stood there, waiting for some word of wisdom from this man. As he waited, he pondered the irony of all he had thought before he learned about Heath's background. He laughed harshly as he recognized that his illegitimate brother was more comfortable in Barkley boots than he was.

“Something funny, Brother Nick?”

The lawyer's tones were a little rough, less cool than before. Nick shook his head and said nothing.

“There are two women in that house who love you more than life itself. Right now, they're wondering if you're coming back.”

“No need to fear. Where would I go?”

“Oh, lots of places, Nick. When this mess with Hatch is all over, I was wondering if it might be time for us to go up to Sky Meadow and just sit at the lake and fish and talk.”

“Sky Meadow?”

“It's a beautiful part of the ranch. There's a lake there so deep, so blue, that it's impossible to believe unless you see it. The fish bite there like mosquitoes finding a tenderfoot fresh off the train.”

“Seems like something you and Heath would like.”

“Probably so, Nick. But that was our getaway ... our special place. In the two years Heath has been here, I don't think either one of us has mentioned it to him.”

“That's really fair, now isn't it?”

Nick's taunt caused the lawyer to drop his hand and move slightly to the right. Nick continued to face away as Jarrod stared at him. “No, I don't guess it is, Nick. Are you thinking you're ready to take Heath to the place where Father taught us both to fish?”

“He was his father, too, Jarrod.”

“I know that, Nick. But would it help him or hurt him to go to the place where we had so much ... and remind him of what little he had?”

Nick shook his head again. Jarrod waited to see if the cowboy would answer his question; when it became clear that subject was closed, he opened another. “This situation with Hatch coming ... are you sure you want to ride patrol with Heath?”

“Why not Heath?”

“Well, Nick, it seems that he believes all the memories you're retrieving are about him. He's beginning to wonder if it's healthy for him to spend so much time with you.”

Jarrod's well-intentioned words fell on a stony heart. Nick understood, somewhere, what the lawyer was saying, understood that the question was whether he needed to bring up all the emotions he had felt when he found out about his half-brother. But in his mood, he chose to ignore what common sense told him and instead to believe that Heath didn't want to ride with him. Hammering down one more nail in the coffin of receiving help, he stiffened and drew his ground. “If he doesn't want to ride with me, that's fine. But I'm doing my part.”

“Nick, it's not that he doesn't . . . “

Nick turned to look at his brother. Something in the cowboy's eyes seemed to warn Jarrod that this was ground better left not walked, so he simply nodded and turned to go back in the house. “I expect you'll be riding with Heath, no matter what.”

“I expect.”

With that, Jarrod entered the house and left the stranger inhabiting his brother's body alone to brood. For hours he sat there, reviewing all he had learned, wondering where the key was to his locked-away memory. Finally, exhaustion forced him to enter the house and mount the steps to the room which, palatial though it was, had turned out to be a prison.

Dawn came early; Heath awakened Nick with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Blearily blinking his hazel eyes, he croaked an acknowledgment of the time and the need to get a move on. Splashing cold water on his face, he looked up and unexpectedly caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Fascinated, he stared again at the stranger. He reached out and touched the face of the man called Nick and shuddered at the thought of losing the identity he had found, even to find his old life.

Was it necessary for him to forget all this if he did regain his memory? And if so, what was the purpose behind the experience? He found himself hoping that when memory returned, these few days would stay with him. He wanted to balance them against the Nick everyone knew and expected; he wanted to have the power to choose who he was.

Maybe that was why Heath's news had hit him so strongly. Oh, he knew that it must have been hard growing up with no name, with no family, but at the same time, Heath had the chance to face life unfettered, free to carve his own place in the world. Nick realized that there was a part of him which felt trapped into being a Barkley, and he wondered if this was the amnesia or if it was something Nick Barkley fought daily. It might explain those temper explosions, he thought, grinning ruefully at the craggy face which stared back at him.

Breakfast was a hurried affair. As the two tall men left to saddle horses, tired riders came back in and reported no activity. Heath acknowledged each report and thanked the men by name as Nick stood back and watched. He didn't miss the furtive looks the hands gave him as they talked to Heath; he wondered if they thought he was acting strangely or if they resented working hard, long hours just to protect his skin.

Mounting Duke, he waited for Heath to vault up on Charger. To his surprise, the blond mounted normally.

“Somethin' wrong?”

Heath looked startled and then grinned. “Nope, just been up too late too many nights. Too tired to get up any other way.”

With a smile, Nick waited for Heath to take the lead. As they rode, he asked him a question he had been wanting to ask since his conversation with Jarrod the night before. “Heath, you ever been fishing up at Sky Meadows?”

His only response was a blue flash from those eyes before his brother turned his head away. Nick sped up a bit so that he could ride beside him. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Never had the chance.”

“Would you fish there?”

There was a long silence. Nick determined to wait his poker-playing brother out; it took most of his self-control, but finally he succeeded. “Don't know.”

“Would you fish there with Jarrod and me?”

Again the silence came. Nick glanced over and saw Heath's jaw working. Again, he waited. “Yeah.”

It was soft, so soft that it was almost impossible to hear. But Nick grinned with triumph; he recognized that this was another marker along the path. Whatever Nick Barkley had wanted, he, the sojourner, knew that what he had done was right.

The patrol was long and boring; they passed the time discussing what activities the ranch had going now and what they planned to do in the next few months. Heath showed Nick landmarks and identified property lines. Occasionally, he glanced over at Nick, seeming to want to say something but holding his tongue. During their lunch break, as Heath was rolling a cigarette, he asked the question with studied casualness. “This fishin' thing ... you clear it with Jarrod?”

“Yep. No need to worry.”

He felt an infinitesimal relaxation from the man at his side and realized again that his half-brother walked a finer line than he ever had thought of. He wondered what he could say to bridge the awkward gap. “You know why we never asked you before?”

“Figured it was your business.”

“Jarrod explained it to me last night. He thought ... and I guess I agreed with him back then ... that since it's where Father taught us to fish that it might be hard for you. I guess we talk about him while we fish.”

“Seems right.”

“So, it seems that the question is whether or not you'd be comfortable with that ... with talkin' about your father.”

Another long silence came. Nick wanted to lean over and shake the boy, command him to speak his mind. But he recognized that a man like his brother needed time to think, needed time to respond, and the response wouldn't come until it was clear in his mind. “I reckon it'd be all right.”

“I mean, we wouldn't expect you to think he was the most wonderful man in the world, now would we?”

That lopsided grin flashed across Heath's face. “It all depends, Big Brother. It all depends.”

Finishing lunch, they rose and cleaned the area where they had eaten. While they were mounting their horses, Nick asked him the question foremost in his mind.

“Depends on what, Heath?”

“Depends on which Nick is talkin'.”

With that sally, Heath clucked to Charger and began to encourage him to gallop. Nick followed, but as before, Charger won easily. The two walked the horses to cool them, bantering over the quality of their mounts. Suddenly, Nick pulled Duke to a stop.

Dismounting, he strode to the grove of trees he had seen so often in his dreams. He stood there, remembering the jeers and taunts from the mysterious people he heard only at night. Gradually, his hammering heart settled down, and as he lifted his head, he remembered. And with the memory, he realized that he was no worthy king, he was no man fit to rule. In his despair, he sank to the ground; on his knees, he scooped up the dirt and let it sift through his fingers.

With each granule that fell, new memories of his old life cascaded before his eyes. It didn't matter if he closed his eyes in protest, the landslide still cascaded. He remembered who he was, he remembered his life, and he remembered the bank robbery. He shook his head in mute protest as he relived the incident; he felt again the helplessness of watching Hatch control the power of life and death. He remembered the humiliation of being loaded into the wagon as if he were a piece of meat; most of all, he remembered the trust the boy, Tony Rawlings, had put in him. He remembered whispering to the boy to keep still, to trust him, and he remembered the blow Hatch's man had given him while warning him to keep quiet.

Still kneeling, still watching the trickle of dirt flow unimpeded, he watched the events play out in his mind and wished he could shut them off as he could the dirt. Clenching his fists, he watched the granules become dirt clods, but the events he wanted so desperately to forget still marched through his mind. Much like a spectator at a play, Nick watched the men tie him and Tony; he watched them taunt him; he watched Hatch fight to control his men, even though they were drinking heavily. He heard the thud of horses' hooves and felt again the helplessness of the bonds which constrained him.

He remembered the way they had tied him that night; forcing him to wrap his arms around the tree, they had bound his wrists together so that he had no way of sitting or lying down. But that had worked against them; the rough bark of the tree had served him well. He had worked all night, and the ropes could not help but fray.

A moan of protest escaped him as he remembered the next morning; the lookouts had warned of the posse approaching. He saw Hatch try to keep his men in line and relived the anger he saw in Hatch when two left anyway.

He didn't want to see what happened next. He shook his head in protest; raising his eyes, he implored the silent heavens to keep him from remembering. But no answer came; instead, the inexorable steps of events marched through his mind, and he remembered why he was no longer worthy to be called Nick Barkley.

Finally, he became aware of a voice; blinking, a face came into focus. Heath knelt before him, shaking him frantically.

“Nick! Nick, what's wrong?”

Nick stared at his brother. There were so many things to say, so many ways to answer that question, but no matter what he chose to say, he knew one thing; he could never tell anyone, not even Heath, the whole truth.

“Nick, your memory. It's back, ain't it?”

The cowboy nodded. Heath sighed heavily and rose to his feet. Walking to Charger, he took a canteen and brought it back to where his brother knelt in the dirt. He held out the canteen to Nick, who accepted it with no comment. As he drank, he wondered just what to say; he wondered how to protect himself from this man who had become so close to him.

Funny how things worked out, he reflected. Here he was, the man who had complained for two years about the way Heath held out on them, the way he didn't talk, the way he didn't share much about himself. Now, he, Nick Barkley, who had never held back an emotion in his life, had to learn to be secretive, and he didn't know how.

Handing the canteen back to Heath, he nodded his thanks and began the weary process of standing. He remembered learning about Atlas in school and thinking how great it would be to have enough strength to bear the world on his shoulders. Now, on the wiser side of maturity and experience, he saw how awful it would have been and wondered how he could bear this burden with no help.

Slowly, he forced himself to walk over to Duke. He gripped the pommel in an effort to mount the horse, but even the strength it took to reach up was too much. His arms fell back down, and he realized that he wasn't going anywhere just yet. Resigned, he turned back to the grove of trees, and again, he froze.

He remembered Jarrod and Mother talking about irony as they discussed books they had read. Well, he hadn't been too interested then, but he sure had an example for them now. This grove of trees was, perhaps, the most special spot on the ranch to all the Barkleys but Heath. He remembered standing there, holding Audra as she wept, watching his mother's back stay straight as an arrow as the dirt thudded onto the casket which held her husband's body. He had thought then that his world had ended. He remembered wondering if he could bear the burdens of the ranch and if he could hold together long enough to help Audra through her pain.

Nick walked to the white fence and looked at the tombstone. He remembered the times he had ridden out there alone, the times he had shouted at his father for dying, for leaving him, the heir apparent to the Barkley ranch, before he was ready to wear the crown. He remembered the way he had felt about his father, the admiration, the awe. And then, Heath had come.

That was the beginning, he realized, of healing for him. It hadn't felt like it then, of course; it was like opening a cut which had scabbed over and forcing it to accept the gunpowder and fire to cauterize the wound. He remembered one fight he and Heath had engaged in; he wanted to take him to the gravesite and Heath had refused. Offended, he couldn't, he wouldn't consider any viewpoint but his own. But as time went by, he learned to accept Heath, and all that Heath stood for, and he learned to love his father as a man, not a demi-god. For that, he was grateful, but he realized that he had never told Heath that.

As Nick stood by his father's grave, he accepted another point of irony. He remembered, when he finally accepted the flawed nature of the man who had always been “Sir” to him, how he had determined to be stronger than Tom Barkley, to be the hero he had thought his father was. But Hatch had changed all that forever. Even though he had wanted to be better, he knew now that he was more like his father than he ever imagined, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

He recognized his brother's presence and was grateful that it was Heath. This one, unlike Jarrod, would wait for him to make the first move; that patience was something which had driven him crazy at first but now was something he cherished. He and Jarrod both wanted answers, wanted them now, but Heath was willing to accept ... or at least to live with ... the fact that some questions don't have answers. Absently, Nick wondered if that came from within Heath or if it was a fact he had learned through growing up nameless, deprived of all that Tom Barkley had given his legitimate children.

Mrs. Rawlings' face swam before his eyes, and he realized that he owed a debt to her. He had to testify, he had to make sure that Hatch hung for murder. Even though he bore a burden of shame he could never share, he had to live, had to tell the story. Gradually, he felt strength coming back as he realized a purpose for life. He couldn't live for himself, because Nick Barkley was a fraud. But he could live for Tony's mother; he could at least avenge her son's murder. The rest he'd leave for later.

He turned and forced himself to smile when he saw Heath's worried countenance. He recognized that he had to play a role again, he had to pretend to be the Nick everyone knew, until he could get alone and figure out who he really was and how to live with truth. “You look like I feel.”

The weak sally caused the lopsided grin to appear for a second. Nick sighed deeply and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Well, I guess now we'd better get back to our jobs.”

“I'm thinkin' it'd be better for you to get back to the house and rest a spell. You look tired.”

Now what did he say? Atlas surely could acknowledge the fact that the weight of the world wearied him, couldn't he?

“That I am, Heath. But we've got more important things to do than worry about me. I'll rest when this is all over.”

He watched his brother relax, but his heightened perception, along with the memories of the past few days, gave him some clues. Yes, Heath was willing to accept his statement, but he recognized a wariness in those blue eyes which warned him that this man would not accept his word alone. Accepting the fact that the burden of proof would be his, he began to prove his ability to wear the title of Nick Barkley, King of the Ranch, by walking to Duke and mounting. Looking down, he smiled at his younger brother. “If you're so fired up to protect me, you'd better mount that mangy piece of horseflesh, or I'll see to it that you're eatin' my dust until we get home tonight.”

That did it, at least temporarily. Heath grinned at him and vaulted up on Charger's back. Sitting tall and proud, he wordlessly dared his older brother to best him in a contest, and the two brothers rode amicably back to take up their duties of patrolling the ranch.

As they rode, Nick cast occasional glances at his silent brother, marveling at what he had learned the past couple of days. He found himself making a list of questions he wanted answered, questions he felt he had the right to ask. He wanted to know this man who had given his help so freely during the crises of the past years. Even more, he wanted to find out how he had survived the weight of the strikes against him, thinking that this might help as he, himself, began to live a life with a secret which could never be told. Their ride was interrupted by a shout as a rider came up behind them with news which caused them to turn and head directly to the house.

Riding furiously, each sound of a hoof cutting the ground as it landed brought new and bitter thoughts to Nick. He wondered, as the hoofbeats counted away the precious seconds he had left before he had to assume the crown again, just why things happened the way they did. It seemed to him that there had to be more than chance for the circumstances to fit the way they did, but at the same time, he wondered what kind of order could ever be found in a system which caused the death of a young boy and the death of an illusion held by an older man. He cast furtive glances to his right, where Heath rode; he saw the purpose in his brother's face and knew that he had a bulwark of steadiness there. But how, he wondered, when the dark night came and this crisis was over, how could he resolve what he had thought he was and make it fit with what he now knew he was?

Irony. That word came back to him. Here he was, the man who never wanted to be alone, the man who wanted everyone to know his thoughts about everything, and now he longed for solitude. The Nick Barkley of before had flaunted his strength before the world, defying anyone to break him; this Nick Barkley saw how flawed he was and wondered how he would ever maintain the charade of playing the character he now saw as a buffoon.

Reaching the ranch, the dark cowboy forced himself to focus on what the rider had told them. The gang had arrived; they had burned out Patterson's holding, and Patterson himself had lived long enough to confirm their identity. Dismounting, throwing their reins to Ciego, both men hurried toward the house; Nick felt shame as he heard Heath thanking the man for caring for their horses. Nick had been focused on getting to the house; he hadn't thought of anything else.

Heath was matching him stride for stride, and Nick realized that it hadn't taken any more time for him to say the words of thanks. Shamed again, he resolved to think about this aspect of life, too, and to wonder just how many things he took for granted. As they entered the house, he was surprised to hear himself shouting for Jarrod; wryly, in the internal dialogue which had become a part of him, he recognized that it might be easier than he thought to resume the habits of a lifetime. As he watched his brother and the sheriff walk towards them, he wondered if acting the part would ever force down the knowledge about himself that he didn't want to face.

The meeting was short and to the point. Fred figured that the gang was using the burning as a diversionary tactic to spread out any defenses and thus weaken the lines of defense which had been established at the ranch and around the jail. Still not willing to take full part in the discussion, Nick waited and marveled at how well Heath and Jarrod worked together. The lawyer's quick mind and clear view of goals which needed to be accomplished was complemented by Heath's knowledge of the men and even of combat. Nick recognized that he had, in previous times of crisis, taken part in the discussions, and he also, with his new knowledge, recognized that much of his shouting had been a way to force his brothers to acknowledge his presence. At least, he thought so, but with the memories which cascaded through his mind, he admitted to himself that this was never a thought he faced.

“So, it's come to this. We don't know which way they'll take, but we are sure that they'll either come here or try to take the jail. You think we've got enough men to protect the main buildings if I take the rest of them to patrol?”

Heath nodded thoughtfully as Jarrod frowned.

“I reckon if we keep the six men and ask the rest to ride for you, they'll see that it's the best way to protect Nick and keep Hatch in jail.”

“What if some of the men don't want to do that?”

Nick was surprised to hear the question coming out of his mouth and even more surprised to see all three faces turn towards him.

“Nick, your men would ride through fire for you, and they're all pretty riled about what happened to Tony. If we're wrong, well, we can find others.”

Jarrod nodded agreement as Fred began to stand.

“We'll send riders to call them all in; I'd imagine they'll be reporting to you in town in a few hours, Fred.”

“I can't say I'm not grateful to you, Jarrod, but I still wonder if I'm cutting you short of manpower. I'd hate like anything to keep Hatch safe and…” His voice died off short of completing the awkward sentence, but everyone understood. Nick smiled grimly.

“Don't you worry about that, Fred. If they attack here, we'll be well prepared. Heath alone could take out quite a few with that rifle of his, and even Jarrod here has been known to hit a rabbit if it's standing still.”

Fred laughed heartily at the joke as he took his leave. The perceptive eyes of the lawyer, however, sharpened at the comments his brother made. Nick watched his head snap up and, answering his unspoken question, nodded at him. The sigh of relief Jarrod gave was audible to all, but Fred took it as his martyred response to his brother's sally and laughed again.

As they walked out into the hall, Victoria came sweeping down the steps. Nick smiled up at her, and she saw the knowledge in his eyes. As she thanked Fred for coming, her hand crept up and rested on Nick's powerful arm. With a gentle squeeze, she ushered Fred to the door; closing it, she turned and ran to her son. “Oh, Nick! You remember, don't you?”

Her eyes were full of tears as she gazed up into his face. Slowly, he bent down and kissed her forehead.

“Yes, Mother. I remember.”

“How grateful we are. Are you feeling all right?”

Her automatic mother's question brought smiles to all three men. Nick was aware of a feeling of completion; there the three tall men stood, dwarfing the tiny woman who dominated them all. He remembered his father telling him that this woman was not only the sweetest and most caring wife in the world, but the strongest. A picture rose in his mind of his father, ruefully shaking his head and saying, “She may be tiny, but there's more strength of will in her little finger than there is in most men's entire being.”

Grinning, he watched her take charge and cause all three men to agree meekly with her assertion that a good meal was needed for all the help, and that was why she, Audra, and Silas had worked so hard all day. He listened to her announce that she had sent Johnson, who normally cooked for the men, into town to help Fred secure the jail and laughed at her bland denial of being tired because she had spent the day cooking for forty men.

“And I'll bet you saw to it that Silas rested, didn't you?”

A quick flash from those expressive eyes came his way. “Of course he did. He's not recovered from that cold he's had, and it's important that he get his rest. We want him healthy and whole again; the house isn't the same without him, now is it?”

As she talked, she guided all three men to the kitchen and gestured towards the many pans and kettles. Nick's eyes widened at the vision of his sister bending over a hot oven and sliding in more cobblers. She straightened and put her hands at the small of her back as she smiled at her brothers.

“Now, if you'll just help us get everything set up outside ... oh, Heath, would you mind helping me with a few boards? I tried to lift them and just couldn't seem to manage.”

“And just how long were these boards, Mother?”

“Oh, a little taller than I am. I didn't want Audra to rough up her pretty hands, but I know you can help me.”

“Well, why don't you show me where you want these boards, and I'll just do it?”

Their voices, bickering amiably, trailed into silence as the two walked out of the kitchen together. Nick grinned at Jarrod, winked, and turned to his sister. “Now, Audra, just which of these pies did you make?”

“Why, Nick?”

“Well, I want to protect my men from any food poisoning, so I needed to know how to warn them . . . “

His sentence was never finished as Audra catapulted herself into his arms. “Oh, Nick, welcome back! I missed you so much!”

She began to sob as Nick held her. He felt his arms around his little sister and realized again that one of the burdens which came with the crown was the protection of this innocent girl. His hold hardened as she wept, and he resolved that he would see to it; she would not be harmed.

“Nicholas, it's very nice that you're comforting Audra, but we have work to do. Audra, we are all thankful that Nick's memory has returned, but our duty is to the men.”

Chastened, the two released each other and Victoria's magic asserted itself once again. All four children worked at her direction, carrying food, setting up an area for plates, bringing buckets to hold the food left on the plates, and getting utensils from the bunkhouse. By the time the first hands rode in, they were greeted with a smile from the Barkley matriarch and a hot, welcoming meal to strengthen them.

Nick wondered how many gallons of coffee he poured as the family served the men. Silas hovered anxiously, refilling emptying kettles and bringing out more food as the men ate. As he served, he listened to the men talk and realized that Heath and Jarrod had been correct. There was no question of these men deserting him. He felt humbled as he realized the devotion they bore, not only to his mother, whom they obviously held in awe, but also to him.

As the last men rode away, Audra sighed.

“Well, that's over. I'm exhausted!”

“Time for that later, Dear. We have dishes to do.”

She should have been tired, Nick reflected. She was their mother; her tiny frame belied the fact that she had carried three of the four, but it would seem to him that she would be the most tired of all. Yet her spine was as straight, her hands as active, her voice as strong as always. He wondered, as he assisted his brothers in taking the dishes inside to clean, if anything would ever break his mother's spirit, and again, he wished he had inherited her strength of character instead of his father's flaws.

As he worked with the rest of the family, he wondered just what his response would be when Hatch's men came for him. He knew that before the amnesia, he would have been the leader, the one out there firing at anything or anyone; he knew, however, that things were different now. To himself, he admitted another irony; he was afraid, and he was shocked to find this out, let alone admit it.

They came. And when they did, Nick realized that, at least during times of intense crisis, he had no need to fear the side of himself he had discovered earlier that day. Later, he heard Heath liken their attack to that of Apaches ... their tactics of creating a diversion with fire and then swooping down on unprotected areas was uncannily reminiscent of battles he had read about. It was then he learned of Heath's time as a scout for wagon trains and learned how his brother became acquainted, firsthand, with Indian tactics. But that time was far in the future.

When McCall spotted the burning, he warned the others with the prearranged signal. Heath and Nick were first at the barn, first to work with the animals, first to recognize the dangers of exposing themselves in the light of the fire. The bullets whistling by their ears caused them both to throw their bodies prone on the barn floor and wriggle to cover. Nick had thought he would be terrified, but a cold anger was the only emotion he recognized. Checking to see if Heath were all right, he was quickly satisfied with his brother's nod and look of determination.

“Look, we're useless here; why don't you cover me and I'll start getting the stock out?”

Heath raised an eyebrow in surprise, then nodded grimly and set to his job. Nick realized again that his brother's skill with a gun would come in awfully handy ... and he realized as well that there had been a time when that admission of superiority would have cost him too much. As he cajoled the terrified animals and wooed them to relative safety, he was relieved to hear the covering gunfire protecting him and then was startled to see his mother's slight form waiting to help him.

“You need to be inside!”

“I was fighting marauders before you were born, Nick! In fact, I helped fight them when I was carrying you. Now you just get the stock here and I'll get them to safety.”

There was no time to protest. The attack was spreading, and Hatch's men had the advantage of looking at the fire instead of out at the darkness. He nodded and dashed back for more animals.

Once the stock was safe, although that was a term he used loosely, he conferred briefly with Heath. They agreed that it was useless to fight the fire and more important to continue to focus on conquering the animals who sought to find Nick and kill him with no more compunction than the cowboy would have given a fly.

Bullets came from every direction, it seemed. The attack was a kaleidoscope of frozen moments for the beleaguered cowboy; he knew he was fighting for life, but at the same time, the only thing which kept him fighting was the anger he felt toward Hatch. Each bullet he sent was an unspoken curse against the man who had ripped the facade of Nick Barkley's life and caused him to face himself.

His anger grew, and as it did, his instincts sent him closer and closer to the enemy. He longed for a clear sight; he wanted to see them die. There was no time to reflect, no time to ponder just why he longed to see his hand bring another to death, just the coldness and bitterness of reality.

Heath fought with him and tried to keep him down, but Nick didn't listen. He dodged from one place of cover to another; he dimly heard his brother's voice shouting at him, but the bloodthirsty rage was controlling him too strongly. He only checked the fury during the moment when Heath ran after him and, as a bullet sang its sweet song, fell to the ground.

Nick froze. He ignored the bullets, ignored any thought of danger as he willed Heath to move. He shouted, even cursed, but his brother's body lay still, the gun he had been so proud of lying in his motionless hand. Nick could wait no more. He leapt into the fray, shooting wildly, and grabbed Heath. Dragging him back to better cover, he frantically checked his brother's body to see where he was hurt. Heath moaned softly as consciousness returned. “Heath, I can't find a bullet hole! Where were you shot?”

Heath thought for a moment before lifting a hand to his forehead. “Nick, I don't think a bullet got me. I dove for cover and wondered if I was too close to that water trough; I'll bet I hit my head on it. Sorry, Big Brother, no bullet holes at all.”

Nick grinned at Heath's mock apology while asking him why he had exposed himself to such danger by covering so much clear ground.

“Well, Nick, someone somewhere had to watch over your mangy hide. You used to be smart enough to know you can't stop bullets by yelling at them, but tonight, I'm not so sure.”

The taunt was enough to anger Nick, but he still acknowledged the justice of his brother's comment.

“You're right, blast your eyes. I'll stop taking chances if you'll stop trying to watch my backside, all right?”

“That's a deal I can live with.”

With that, Heath reached up and felt his head again. Shaking it ruefully, he grinned and said, “I guess we'd better get back to work here.”

Once Nick began to think instead of fighting with no reason, the battle was short. He realized that he was outnumbered, but he also realized that the invaders were cocky and expected to win. Now that he was through with suicidal charges, he realized that he was able to fight with intelligence.

Catching a glimpse of Heath waiting until he saw the flare of a gun and then firing in that direction, he adopted the same strategy and was gratified when he heard a cry of pain and rage just after a telling shot. Grinning fiercely, Nick hunkered down and began to fight for his ranch, his family, and his life.

(continued in Part 3)