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 3

Fierce was the battle and fierce was the resistance. Hatch's men were quickly sent back and soon fled. Nick rose and stretched when the gunshots ceased, but a stifled moan sent him turning quickly to the task of caring for those who had been hurt.

One of the most seriously wounded was McCall, who had so bravely sounded the alarm, thus foiling Hatch's plans. Nick and Jarrod carried him into the house while Heath worked with the other men, searching for any downed victims, regardless of what side they had supported. The only other wound in a Barkley man was Smiley Jones, and he resisted the idea of medical care, wanting only to continue the fight. Heath smiled but insisted that he be carried to the house as well.

Two men from the other side were found, both dead, and Nick came outside just as Heath straightened from checking the last one. He walked to his younger brother's side and stood there, looking down at the face of a man who had tried, just an hour before, to take his life. Together, the brothers walked to the bunkhouse and found blankets; covering the bodies, they straightened and turned to what was left of the barn. As they looked, the last timbers fell.

Shaking his head, Heath looked at the devastation in silence. Nick cursed softly and fluently as he remembered the hours he and his father had put in to building that barn. As the acrid smell of smoke bit through his senses, he could feel the hammer in his hand and the feel of his father's strong arm helping him learn to swing that hammer true and steady. Bitterly, he realized that he was losing even more than a building; he was losing part of his childhood, and his anger grew.

The rest of the men were throwing water on the fire and keeping the other buildings, especially the roofs, as wet as possible to protect them from the devastating flames. Heath sighed deeply and walked to join them. Nick stood there, watching, as the son who had never known his father worked to complete the destruction of the barn his brothers had helped to build.

“Remember how he used to make us drive in the nails straight and true?”

Jarrod's voice broke through Nick's reverie. Not trusting himself to utter words, the tall cowboy contented himself with a nod.

“I remember one thing so clearly; you got them in the first time, and I always had to take them out and try again. I resented you so much for that, Nick.”

Nick turned slowly as he heard his imperturbable older brother confess to a form of envy. Jarrod smiled at the look in his brother's eyes and continued. “Oh, I tried to hide it, but you were so very good at anything like that, and it didn't come naturally to me. I often thought Father was so proud of you and just tolerant of me.”

A sharp laugh escaped Nick as he listened, for he remembered it differently. All he remembered was the words his father used over and over again: “Now, Nick, why can't you stop and think things through like your brother? Jarrod never acts impulsively; you need to be like him.”

He was unaware that he had said anything until Jarrod laughed softly in acknowledgment.

“Yes, he said that, Nick, but to me he always said, 'Jarrod, your brother Nick is someone you need to watch. He just naturally understands what needs to be done and why it needs to be done, and he gets on with the job. Maybe if you didn't think so much and did more, you'd be like him.”

“Father said that to you?”

Evidently Jarrod heard past the incredulous question to the searching Nick was doing in his heart. He smiled again. “Not once, Brother Nick, not twice. There were times I'd swear it was the only thing he knew to say to me, ever. And so I naturally thought you were his favorite.”

“Well, now. What do you know? Maybe ... “

He couldn't finish the thought, and it seemed that Jarrod also struggled. Silence fell between them as they watched Heath work. Finally, as he took a hammer and began to knock the smoldering boards apart, they both stirred. “Jarrod, do you ever . . . ?”

Again the pause, again the wait, but this time Jarrod completed the thought. “Yes, Nick, I do. I wonder what he would have said to Heath. And I think Heath wonders that, too.”

“He can't know ... I mean, Heath can't know about how we built that barn.”

Jarrod's eyes met Nick's in comprehension. Slowly, he shook his head. “Not tonight, Nick. He can't know that he's helping tear down what we built with Father. But there might be a time when we can tell him.”

Nick thought through what Jarrod meant as the lawyer walked to his youngest brother's side and began helping him work. Gradually, he came to see that the only possible way he could find any type of healing was to work with his brothers, even if it meant destroying the barn. Pushing the pain deep down, he stalked to the smoldering boards and grabbed a hammer from Heath's hand. “Here's how you do this, Boy, if you're not gonna work all night.”

With one mighty blow, Nick smote his past into fragments, forcing himself not to wonder if this would have been the board where he and Jarrod had carved their initials in celebration the day their father had said, “Well done.” The three brothers worked in silence, refusing any offers of help from the rest of the hands, until Dr. Merar rode up, at which time Jarrod went inside. Nick and Heath worked on, side by side, until the once-proud barn was no longer a threat to the safety of the family's home.

Finally, the work was done, and the filthy men wearily stood and stretched. Heath looked at Nick and laughed out loud.

“And just what is so funny?”

“Well, Big Brother, seems like you've got teeth and eyes, but the rest of you is all dirt. Maybe a visit to the horse trough would be a good idea.”

“Would it now? If you think I look bad, you ought to see yourself. No one'd ever know you had blond hair; it's as black as Jarrod's and mine! Makes you look more like Mother ... “

Instantly, Nick stopped. He couldn't believe what he had said. He reached out his hand to his brother and tried to find words to apologize. Heath looked at him steadily; after a silence which seemed to stretch forever, he quirked his half-smile and nodded. Together, the two men walked silently towards the house.

As they came near the front door, one of Fred's deputies rode up.

“Everything all right, Jimmy?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Barkley. The Sheriff just wanted to let you know there's not been a sign of 'em in town and that he's glad everyone's all right here.”

“Well, let's go inside and find out just how true that is. We have two good men down, Jimmy.”

As Nick reached to open the door, he felt Heath's hand on his arm. Looking around, the tall man frowned at his younger brother. “Nick, I think we'd better go to the back.”

“WHY?”

Jimmy emitted a nervous titter as he saw the beginning of the famous Nick Barkley bellow and the equally-talked-about calm response from the new member of the family. Nick glared at him fiercely; the young deputy did his best to calm his nerves, but the soot-covered faces staring at each other almost overcame his resolve. “Now, Nick, before you go to havin' a heart attack or somethin', just take a look at us. Don't you think we'd be better goin' through the back than in gettin' this filth all over the house?”

Nick started to argue, but another suppressed sound from Jimmy was his undoing as well. Glaring, this time in mock anger, he stalked around to the back of the house, meekly followed by Heath and Jimmy. He grinned to himself as he heard the blond man whisper to the nervous deputy, “Before we get inside, it'll be his idea to go to the back. Just watch.”

True enough, when they entered and Silas turned around in surprise, Nick muttered a few words. “Guess we'd better clean off in here, Silas. We don't need to be making more work now, do we?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick observed his brother catch Silas' eye and saw Heath raise an eyebrow before he winked at the butler. Silas smiled at Heath and then turned to Nick. “Sure is nice of you, Mr. Nick. I do appreciate that. I'll be bringin' down new clothes for both you and Mr. Heath if'n that's all right with you.”

“Well, you'd better ask Mr. Heath, seein' as how he's the one who's so all-fired smart and all.”

Nick's menacing growl caused Jimmy to freeze until he heard Heath laugh. “Silas, he's on to us. Thanks for bringin' those clothes down; sorry to cause the bother.”

“No problem compared to what it'd be if the house had burned, Mr. Heath.”

“Silas,” Nick interrupted, “how are McCall and Smiley?”

Silas' smile broadened. “Oh, Dr. Merar, he said they'd both be all right, Mr. Nick. He said it would take a while, but they'd both be fine.”

“Well, that's one piece of good news . . . “

Nick was interrupted by the entry of his brother Jarrod, who bore a large armload of sheets and cloths which had evidently been used for bandages. The lawyer quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at his two filthy brothers and then turned to Silas. His look of helplessness was clear; as Silas took the bundle from him, both Heath and Nick collapsed in laughter. “Jarrod, even I know where Silas keeps the clothes for the laundry. Don't tell me you didn't know.”

“I fear that to say otherwise would be a lie, Brother Nick. I assume that the fire is out?”

“Yeah, but we still need to keep a watch; we've got two more days before this trial starts and Hatch gets what he deserves.”

“Then I suggest that I learn where Silas keeps the laundry soap as well.”

“Laundry soap?”

“That's right, Heath. It would appear that both of you need to use it if you're ever to be in polite society again. Silas, do you think you can help these poor men?”

As Silas agreed, Jarrod invited Jimmy inside for a drink. The deputy refused, saying again that he had only come to see if things were going all right and that the town was quiet. He took his leave and, as he left, Nick glared at Heath. “Well, now you've done it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He's going to tell everyone that you're the one who sets me up to look like a fool. Come to think of it, I think he's right.”

Heath looked at his brother for a minute. His blue eyes were dancing, and Nick knew he was just waiting for the perfect moment to reply. Just as Victoria swept into the kitchen, Heath spoke. “Well, Big Brother, there are some things that are hard, and some that are easy. Reckon we both know which one your idea fits in.”

“And what idea would that be, Heath?”

“Oh, nothing, Mother. Nick here just thinks that I'm the one who sets him up to look like a fool, so I told him some things were hard; others were easy. I reckon it's up to him to figure the rest out -- if he can.”

His deadpan delivery, coupled with the dancing blue eyes, caused even Nick to collapse with laughter. With a mock glare, he took the soap and hot water from Silas and went into the side room to begin to scrub off the soot and dirt that marked every crevice of his face and hands. Heath soon joined him, and the two scrubbed in companionable silence, broken only when Jarrod brought them clean clothes. With mock solemnity, the lawyer bowed as he received the filthy clothes his brothers held out to him; proclaiming himself as “Keeper of the Wardrobe,” he grandly carried the clothes out and gave them to Silas.

As Nick donned his clean clothing, he paused to meditate on what had happened. He had been afraid of betraying his secret, but he had found he could cope in direct disaster. Neither Jarrod nor Heath had noticed any hesitation or major mistake, but he wondered grimly how he would maintain his facade under pressure.

As he pulled on clean socks, he thought about the fact that the link he had cherished as the last project with his father was destroyed, and he also wondered about why he still had to fight blaming Heath for its destruction. His brother was completely innocent of wrongdoing; he certainly hadn't set the fire, and his quick attack on the flames was designed to protect the rest of the buildings. Yet something in Nick felt broken beyond repair, and he decided it was the fact that he could never share with his new brother how badly it hurt to watch Tom Barkley's youngest son destroy the last thing his father had built. Yes, that was it.

With that settled, Nick set his face to the continuing task of protecting Barkley property and people from the marauders who sought to take his life. It was another example of irony, he reflected, that they didn't know his life would never be the same.

Certainly, as the next two days went by, Nick's life continued to change. He began to wonder when he had ever slept a complete night; he began to think he would never see his family sitting at the table, enjoying a meal together again.

The constant patrols to protect the ranch and keep Hatch in jail were wearing enough. Jarrod's continued insistence on reviewing his testimony drained him even more. The constant wondering where the next attack would come from chipped away at his endurance. But the worst part was his continued masquerade, his determination to let no one know that the once-confident Nick Barkley now was afraid, and what he feared most was himself.

After two days of wondering, waiting, and watching, it was finally time to leave the ranch for Stockton. The trial was scheduled and Nick had an obligation. Grim-faced, he walked with his brothers to the corral, where Ciego had all three men's horses saddled and ready to go. Victoria and Audra were already ensconced in the buggy. The men stood by, horses' reins in their hands, each hand armed and ready to ride. “Boys, we appreciate all you've done so far, but you have to know this. I'm not going to ask any of you to put yourselves in that type of danger.”

The men shifted their feet and glanced at each other as they listened to Nick. McCall's assistant, in charge now that McCall was recuperating, stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Nick, seems like we never did get this through to you. That man killed a kid and would have killed you if he'd had time. If Hatch's gang is planning on attacking, this ride into town would be the perfect opportunity. There ain't a man here who isn't going into town with you.”

Nick looked at each man in turn. Level eyes met his; a few decisive words came. Clearing his throat, he nodded once, sharply. He turned and mounted Coco; settling himself as his brothers mounted and came beside him, he turned again to his men.

“I thank each of you. But if it comes to a choice, protect them.”

Nick's nod left no one in doubt as to where the men were to place their attention. Each one looked at the Barkley women and then turned to mount their horses. Ranging their mounts alongside and behind the buggy, they waited for Nick to lead the way.

With a gentle click of his tongue, the cowboy urged Coco to go forward. Nick had wondered how he would feel during this part of the charade; as he had been surprised during the battle, so he was surprised at the lack of emotion now. His focus was on getting to town safely, protecting his mother and sister, and with his testimony, signing Hatch's death warrant. All other questions would come later.

Much to his surprise and to the surprise of the others, the gang did not attack. They reached Stockton safely; Nick was relieved to see Jarrod and two deputies escort Victoria and Audra inside the courtroom. As he readied himself to dismount, a whine passed his ear and Heath flew off Charger, knocking Nick out of the saddle as well.

The brothers lay on the ground, stunned for a second at the impact. Heath rolled off Nick while drawing his gun; Nick rolled the other way, angered to discover that the fall had knocked his revolver out of its holster. A quick glance showed him where it was; he began to squirm towards Coco's hind feet as the bullets began to fly.

The marauders were on the roof of the courthouse and on the roof of the hotel. The two brothers were pinned down by the crossfire. Nick heard the reply of bullets as his men found shelter and began methodically firing back, but he realized quickly that the criminals had the advantage. He also realized that as long as he and Heath were lying in the street, they were mercilessly exposed.

The bullets came closer as Nick's hand closed on the handle of his gun. Rolling over, he saw one man rise from the rooftop and aim at Heath. There wasn't time to aim; he had to rely on a volley of shots and hope that one of them took effect.

Six shots weren't too much of a volley, he reflected ruefully, and he was right. They had little effect on the deadly crossfire. It was strange, he thought, that no bullet had hit him or Heath. Just then, Coco stumbled and whinnied. Alarmed, Nick raised his head to see if his beloved horse had been hurt; that move showed him very quickly that the men were purposely aiming their guns as they desired. The bullet crooned by his ear, and he quickly hit the dirt again.

He wondered why they weren't killing him, and he also wondered where Fred and his men were. He heard a shout, and suddenly, the firing stopped. He looked over at Heath, who raised an eyebrow at him to show his confusion and went back to reloading his revolver. “Sheriff! You see I've got them cold. There's no way you can save them.”

“I see.”

Annoyed, Nick rolled over and raised his head. Fred was standing by the jail, his arms folded. A gun in his hand showed that he had been fighting, but his position also showed Nick that the lawman was about ready to cave in. “Fred! Don't listen to them!”

“Ain't that brave of the guy; he's dead and still tryin' to win. Reckon a bullet in your brother's hide would convince you, Barkley?”

Chilled, Nick realized that he wasn't just chancing his life; he was also chancing Heath's. With newborn humility, he recognized that he had no right to do so. Just then, he heard his younger brother's voice, sounding as cold and full of rage as he had ever heard it. “You put a bullet in me, and I'll die knowing you're gone, too, Hatch.”

A laugh from the rooftop came, but Nick ignored it. Turning, he saw his brother's blue eyes, blazing with fury. It had been a while, but he recognized all the signs of Heath's anger, and it warmed the older man as much as the threats had chilled him before. Heath continued to speak. “Fred, you listen to him, and I reckon you're gonna find yourself in bigger trouble than you've ever seen.”

“Son, he's got you both cold.”

“And he won't shoot to kill as long as you don't give up your prisoner. Let him go, and we're both dead men.”

Again the scornful laugh came from the rooftop. “Sheriff, this boy down here can't count. I shoot one; I've still got another.”

“That may be, but you shoot either one of them, and you're all dead men.”

A long silence came. Heath tried to move once, but the quick report of a rifle and the muffled thud of a bullet stilled him immediately. Nick glanced at him in concern but was met with a brief half-smile.

“Sheriff, it looks to me like we've got ourselves two bargaining chips. We want our man, and we want him now.”

Silence filled the town; a silence so deep that Nick grew to believe he could hear his own heartbeat pounding. He realized that once again, he was helpless and that his fate depended on another man's decision. Lying there in the street, he wondered what would happen if he simply stood up and walked towards the sheriff.

Nick had always liked things simple. Lying there in the street, he thought about the arguments he used to have with Jarrod, whose mind took pleasure in complicated things. His older brother enjoyed chess for the strategy; Nick enjoyed it for the pleasure of winning. Jarrod loved wine for the subtlety of the taste; conversely, Nick enjoyed whiskey for the bite and the quick warmth.

Opposites always, their tie came from blood, not similarities. Jarrod was a thinker; Nick, a doer. It was odd, Nick reflected, that his life, which had once been so straight and clear, was now a convoluted labyrinth worthy of the Aegean mazes. There had been a time when Nick would have fought with the single-mindedness which was, to all outward appearances, still the hallmark of his character. Only Nick knew that the simplicity had gone; only Nick was aware that what had once been reality had only been facade.

He glanced at his younger brother, lying still, watching for any chance to retaliate. He could almost feel the tension emanating from Heath, and the fury Nick had thought long gone was obvious. Heath's anger never came when he himself was hurt; it only came when others were downtrodden. Remembering Heath's volatile entrance into the rhythm and pattern of Barkley life, Nick suddenly realized that his brother's anger hadn't been because their father had left him without a name, but instead because Tom Barkley had given his family comfort and ease while Leah had suffered.

And then, when Heath had gone to check out the Barkley-Sierra mining interests, he had come back with that rage again. Reliving the event in his mind, Nick heard the words and realized again that Heath was angry because the miners were suffering, not because the Barkleys were wealthy.

What about Gil Anders? At the time, he had wanted to stand by Heath, for he had seen the justice in his new brother's argument. But there was that hate, that fury, and again the ability to kill. Again, the wrath burned not for himself, but because a boy had died needlessly.

Bentell was another incident. Heath's fury had frightened him then, had made Nick aware that this man could kill without compunction. Nick had thought the best thing was to follow Jarrod's idea. Here, Jarrod the thinker, the philosopher, had given credit to Heath's ability to think through issues logically, but Nick now knew that the philosopher had forgotten the other part of Heath, the part Nick was beginning only now to understand. Now, he realized that Heath's rage wasn't because he had been mistreated, but instead because Bentell had tortured men unnecessarily and had killed eighteen men instead of quelling the escape attempt peaceably.

It was obvious, in retrospect that Heath had come to terms with the issue, not Bentell himself. And unlike Jarrod, Nick now understood that for Heath, the issue was not the lives which had been taken needlessly but rather his place in the family. With a fresh wave of shame, Nick realized that Heath had never once stated a change in his beliefs but had only accepted the family's edicts. He, the one who should have stood by his brother, only now understood how every Barkley had failed Heath, but that Heath had never failed himself. Used to a life in the shadows, he had conquered his hatred but never rid himself of it, had accepted the Barkleys' terms but never changed his fundamental belief that Bentell was wrong.

So now, when Nick recognized the signs of Heath's rage burning again, he wondered what had kindled it. Heath, like him, was simple in his tastes, but he was more like Jarrod in his thinking processes. Where Nick saw the target and aimed straight at it, Heath loved the planning of the conquest almost as much as he did the winning. The dark-haired cowboy tried to think like his brothers, tried to picture what would cause the fire to burn again in Heath and came up with a conclusion which shocked him.

Heath wasn't angry because he was in danger of losing his life. He was angry because Hatch, a man who had taken the life of a young boy, stood a good chance of getting away. With a curious detachment, Nick realized that while Heath wanted to live, he would give his life freely rather than let Hatch go.

He wanted that nobility; he longed for the days when he assumed it was his. But now that he had remembered, now that the scenes of the kidnap were engraved on his mind's eye, Nick knew that there was a fundamental difference between him and Heath. Birth conferred status, but living gave purpose and definition to the potential of a man. As Nick lay there, helpless, hot shame swept him as he came to believe that the man born out of wedlock was more worthy of the Barkley name than he, the legitimate one, could ever be.

Exhaustion swept over him anew as he waited for life to go on in whatever form it would. He realized that the easiest way out of the dilemma would be for him to stand up and walk away. He would be killed, and the years he faced living a lie would no longer face him; it would be over. The temptation was overwhelming, but the new Nick, the one who had to learn to deceive in order to survive, refused the temptation.

Even though it would be easier for him, Nick realized that the choice would not only pass on the crown to Heath but also put an unforgivably heavy burden on his brother. If he chose to visit the undiscovered country of death, he would also choose to make Heath responsible to decide whether Hatch lived or died, and that was too much to ask. So, Nick determined to fight, and as he made that determination, he recognized the only possible choice. “Sheriff!”

“You all right, Nick?”

Nick realized that his thoughts, which seemed to have taken so long, had rushed through his mind as quickly as water drops cascaded down the mountainside to create a waterfall. Wryly acknowledging that the effect of his death would be as ephemeral as one of the drops of water, he shouted back to Sheriff Madden. “We're all right for now. Can you get Jarrod?”

Heath stirred restlessly as Nick asked the question.

“Nick, what are you aimin' to do?”

“Shut up, Heath. I'm trying to get us out of this with our hides in one piece.”

“Nick, you can't be thinkin'...”

Nick ignored his brother and called out for Jarrod again. “Nick, if you get him out here, Hatch has three hostages, not two!”

Heath was right, of course. Nick knew that. And yet, he had to talk to Jarrod,

The cowboy risked a quick glance; Fred still stood alone by his office door. He had to act now.

He dropped his gun. Hands in the air, he slowly stood, wondering with each move if it would be his last. Heath looked at him in shock. “Nick, what the...?”

“Throw down your gun, Heath.”

The blond man stared incredulously at his brother. Nick stared back, implacable. Finally, he heard the soft thud as Heath's gun joined his in the dirt of the street. Heath stood with him, his hands in the air.

Raucous laughter came from the rooftop as Hatch's men realized they had won. Nick's desperate gamble for life with a semblance of meaning then entered its second step as he heard the scramble of feet sliding down the roof and then the sounds of a man swinging down to the street.

He stared straight ahead as Hatch walked up to him, knowing that if he looked in the man's eyes, his gamble would be lost.

“Sheriff, now you remember my men have guns on both these fellas; you won't go chancing' their lives, will ya?”

Hatch's mocking voice burned through Nick like a caustic acid. Strangely, the sound clarified his mind, made it simpler to function. He chanced one look at Heath, who stood beside him, to all appearances calm. But Nick knew the rage was burning, and he counted on that to help them out. “Now, Mr. Nick Barkley, it looks as if you're gonna have to do things my way if'n you want to live, ain't ya?”

With this taunt, Hatch placed his gun at Heath's head. Nick bit his lip as he saw the action; he hadn't counted on putting Heath in that much danger. But it would still work; it had to. It just meant that he had to get over to the Sheriff's office with Heath, no matter what he had to do to get there. Once he was there, once he had his back to the wall, then they could move.

But the problem was still how to get there. Hatch was smart; Nick gave him credit for that. In all the possible scenarios they had sketched out, no one had figured on this type of ambush. Yet now, in retrospect, it was the obvious maneuver which would bring the most gain for the least amount of blood. Reluctantly, Nick accorded the man his due as a strategist. “All right, Hatch, you've got what you want. Now, let's get it over with.”

The man laughed softly as he ground the barrel of his gun into Heath's temple. Heath stood still, refusing to show pain, and Nick recognized the fire was building. He had to factor that in; when Heath gave in to his temper, he wasn't always as careful as he was when he was calm. To get him out of this mess alive, Nick knew he needed the ability to communicate, but he wasn't sure how to reach Heath and get him to cooperate. “Why don't you let him go? You've got me; you don't need two.”

“Oh, no, Barkley. You're one of those uppity-rich kind; you'd die yourself, but you'd never let your own brother be killed for you. No, sirree; where I go, this fine fella goes, too. Now, let's all just take a walk over to where that fat sheriff of yours is standin' and get on with the business at hand.”

Nick turned and slowly began the walk across the street. His back burned; he knew that for every gun he and Heath had pointed toward them, there was another gun pointed towards Hatch. Again, the weight of sovereignty pressed heavily on him; he recognized that as a leader, he had to make the decisions, and it frightened him to recognize just how many would follow, unquestioningly.

Choices...that's what it came down to in the end. He remembered talking strategy in the Army with his general, and that's what was drilled into him. The leader had to choose, and sometimes, that meant he had to choose who would die. Well, today, Nick had chosen, and he would see to it that his choice was honored. His brother would live, no matter what the cost.

The walk seemed eternal. He heard Heath grunt once but refused to look around, fearing a loss of clarity if he saw that the blond cowboy was hurt. He had to keep walking forward; he knew the only hope was to reach the sheriff's office. Looking not to the right or the left, he strode forward, recognizing that outwardly, he looked confident.

As he walked, he recalled countless times in the past when he had appeared to be confident, in charge, but he began to see that the flaws he now knew he held had always been apparent. He had been blind; he had refused to look. But they were there. Well, he'd not give in this time; no, this time, Tom Barkley's son would be as honorable as he had once thought his father was.

They arrived at the boardwalk where Fred was standing. The sheriff's gun was down, and his face was serious as he watched the three men approach. Nick slowly stepped up to the boardwalk and then turned to face Hatch, who still kept the gun at his brother's head. He refused to look at Heath, refused to think about the consequences of a mistake. He only focused on his plan. “Hatch, I need to talk to my brother Jarrod. It's obvious you've got the upper hand; now, give him safe passage so that we can make arrangements to get what you want.”

“Nick!”

Heath's protest was cut off immediately as Hatch's arm closed around his throat. The two men, equal in height, stood there; helpless, Heath stopped trying to talk. “Now, Barkley, why do you want that lawyer fella out here? Seems to me that'd be too good to be true, havin' all three of you out here.”

“We need him to help you get safe passage out of here. As you said, he's the lawyer; he'll know how to get it done.”

“Well, now, ain't that interestin'? A Barkley concerned about my brother's skin...or is it just that the Barkleys are scared about their own skins?”

Hatch's soft laughter roared in Nick's ears, but he refused to focus on the taunts. He dared to look at Heath and was satisfied to see the blaze of those blue eyes, satisfied to know the anger was still there. Now, if only he could figure out a way to get Heath on the sidewalk beside him.

“Does he get safe passage or not?”

Hatch released his hold on Heath, although he did not drop his gun. Almost casually, he called back to his men, ordering them to let Jarrod through without incident. Nick breathed a soft sigh; maybe his plan would work after all.

Jarrod walked from the courthouse in the company of two deputies. All three men kept their hands carefully away from their guns, but Nick noted the fact that all three had their guns loose in the holsters, ready to draw. He had counted on that and was grateful he had been right. As Jarrod walked by, Heath moved slightly forward without being checked by Hatch. Nick watched carefully, thinking about the number of steps it would take for Heath to reach to boardwalk. The lawyer's cool tones disrupted his thinking. “All right, Hatch, what do you want?”

“Seems your brother here thinks he needs you to set up safe passage for me, my brother, 'n' our men.”

“Nick, what in the..."

“Jarrod, it's the only way; you know that. He's got us cold.”

Nick had been easing back, and now he was almost against the door of the office. One leap, just one, and he would be inside. Heath was beginning to move, but Hatch was coming with him. That gun was still there; Heath's life still stood in the balance. One more step, and Heath stood on the boardwalk, to the left and slightly in front of Nick. “That's right, MISTER Barkley. I've got ya all, got ya cold.”

Hatch's laughter came again. Jarrod stared at Nick, who stared back implacably, willing him to come up on the boardwalk with him. Slowly, the lawyer moved towards his dark-haired brother. Heath stayed steady, but Nick figured that, with his strength and agility, he could make it into the office from where he was. Jarrod was still the question mark. “He's right, Jarrod. There's no use fighting. We can't win.”

It was working; Jarrod was coming closer. But he still wasn't close enough. Nick offered up a quick thought towards Heaven and began to play his trump card. “Jarrod, look at the situation. We're held down; we can't get free. As much as I hate to admit it, Hatch wins. Maybe we can get him later, but now, we have to let him go.”

It worked! Jarrod was right beside him now; it was going to work. It didn't matter that Jarrod had moved out of anger; what mattered was that there was a gun now, and if he played his cards right, there was a chance.

He continued to look at Hatch, continued to keep the derisory smile on his face. He stole a quick glance at his brother, who looked back at him, saying nothing. He thought of the loyalty Heath showed him and prayed that his brother would understand that what he was doing would prove that he returned that loyalty. At the same time, Nick faced the fact that this act of fealty could be, probably would be misinterpreted, and while he was trying to save his brother's life, he very probably was driving nails into the coffin of their relationship. But he had made his choice; Heath's life had to be saved.

Hatch stopped laughing, and a flicker of uneasiness came over his face. Jarrod stood by Nick, staring at him. As the lawyer opened his mouth, Nick continued the attack. “You've got us cold, Hatch, but if you take one of us, you'll have a whole town to deal with on your hands. Looks to me like we have a draw here.”

It all turned now on Heath. If he understood Nick's plan, if he saw the way clear to jump, then there was a chance. Nick glared at his younger brother, willing him to understand, willing him to make the leap.

The moment was tangible; for the first time, Nick realized that time could be felt. With every second that ticked away, a memory rose in his mind. He and Heath wrestling; Heath teasing him. Playing poker, riding trails, fixing fences, fighting over girls. Checkers. Breaking horses. Walking to the house. Supper, breakfast. Eyes locked, both refusing to give up the piece of steak, and Jarrod, the negotiator, cutting the piece of meat so that both could win.

As his eyes locked with Heath's and the memories marched through his mind, Nick wondered what his brother was thinking. Was he remembering their first fight, the night he had come to the ranch? Was he thinking of how Nick had forced him to reveal who he was? Distractedly, Nick wondered what would have happened if he hadn't forced that issue; would Heath have taken a look and ridden on? He wanted to know; he needed to know, but to know these things, Heath had to live. For that matter, so did he.

“Nick's right, Hatch.”

The voice was soft, the face was granite. No expression, no shade of what his brother was thinking. Even his eyes, normally so expressive, were hooded; he watched Hatch and ignored Nick and Jarrod. Nick couldn't read him, couldn't decipher whether he understood..

Hatch laughed nervously.

“Now, Fella, you're just joshin' me, tryin' to get an advantage.”

Another silence, even heavier. Nick watched Heath and waited. “You can gamble on that if you'd like, but I'd be thinkin' about how high the odds are against you.”

The gun in Hatch's hand wavered as Hatch reflexively uncocked it. Nick and Heath both took the moment. Nick grabbed Jarrod's gun as Heath threw himself at the outlaw. Nick pushed Jarrod inside the jail and joined Heath in fighting Hatch. A fierce exultation flooded the tall cowboy's mind; Heath had understood!

The fight was fairly simple, as such fights go. The men who held guns were afraid to fire; the marauders never had a clear shot at either Barkley, and the hands and deputies didn't dare risk shooting either Nick or Heath. For a brief minute, Nick savored victory. Dragging Hatch up, he held the bandit as if he were a shield. He glanced to his right, where Heath was getting up, and he grinned. It was over.

The next few seconds proved him wrong. As Nick dragged Hatch back towards the sheriff's office, bullets began to fly. In the cowboy's mind, all the bullets were aimed at Heath, who fell prone in the street. Hatch's laugh raked the corridors of Nick's mind as he watched his brother lie there, helpless. “Stop your shooting! I'll do what you want; just stop it!”

“Then let me go, Barkley. They'll only stop if they know I'm all right.”

Nick looked at Jarrod and then back at Heath's body. Slowly, tasting the bitterness of defeat as never before, he released Hatch. The bandit stepped forward and waved his arms. The events which happened next moved as slowly, in Nick's opinion, as sorghum moves out of a bottle. Pushing Jarrod and Hatch aside, he ran to Heath, who lay still. Frantically, he turned him over, searching for bullet wounds.

As he checked, Heath stirred. There was a little blood on his face; alarmed, Nick checked the blond cowboy's head. “Dang it, Nick, let me be!”

As he spoke, Heath sat up and rubbed his head.

“Are you hit?”

“Just grazed, I reckon. You wanna tell me why you gave up?”

Nick stared at his brother, who glared back at him.

“I mean it, Nick. You had him; you could have gotten him in the jail. Now, why'd you stop?”

“Well, now, isn't that a pretty question. I let him go, you idiot, because your life was on the line.”

“Seems to me that you made a choice I should have made, Nick.”

The blue eyes were blazing still; the anger was not quelled. Sick at heart, Nick recognized that now, the anger was turned towards him, and no matter how he tried to explain, Heath would accept no excuses. Slowly, he stood; extending his hand, he reached down to help Heath up. The blond ignored the proffered hand and stood on his own. Shaking his head, his shoulders hunched, Heath reminded Nick of a bull ready to charge an enemy which was no longer there. “Barkley, if you wanna live, I'd be gettin' up here now.”

Hatch's voice gloated over his triumph as Nick saw his plan fall apart. Once again, the leader's flaws had kept him from victory, and Nick now realized that he had to live out that day again. He saw that acquiescence was necessary to save his brother's life; he only hoped that Heath would see the truth and understand, but it didn't look promising.

Sighing, he walked towards Hatch, who had taken Jarrod's gun. Fred still stood there; the deputies showed their frustration as well. There was no choice, however; they had to surrender.

Nick was right. Just as he had left town before as a prisoner of Hatch and his gang, now he was, once again, in their power. The only difference was that last time, he had been with a sixteen-year-old boy; now, his fellow prisoner was his brother.

The negotiations went smoothly; before long, Nick and Heath were on their horses. Their hands were tied in front so they could hang on to the horns of their saddles; as the parade left, Nick glanced to his left. There he saw his mother and sister; Audra, of course, was crying. Victoria stood still, calm and regal, showing no expression. Looking to his right, he saw the tension in his brother, felt the anger emanating from him, and in his disappointment, he translated that anger to disgust and disdain, all targeted at him.

Before, he had been thrown in a wagon. Now, he was riding, but members of the gang were holding the reins of both horses. Bleakly, Nick wondered just how long he had to live and determined again that this time, if there were a death, it would be his.

Riding silently by his brother, Nick watched the hooves of the horse in front of him hit the ground. His face burned as he strove to keep from looking at anything...or anyone...around him. No matter how hard he tried, however, he knew they were looking. He felt Jarrod's eyes boring into his back; when Audra cried out, he heard his mother hush her and felt her dark eyes pierce his heart.

The beat of the hooves echoed in his mind. Guilty. Worthless. Your fault Guilty. Worthless. Your fault Guilty. . . . Shaking his head angrily, Nick forced himself to focus on the problem of survival. He sneaked a glance to his left; Heath rode beside him, his shoulders hunched, his head high. The older man knew that if he were to see his brother's eyes, they would brand his soul with their cobalt fire.

As he forced himself to calm down, he began to wonder where they were going. Surely Hatch had a plan...but the more he thought about it, the more difficulties occurred to Nick. He realized that they were leaving tracks and found himself wishing for a brief moment that it had been Jarrod they had taken and Heath who had been left. Heath's ability to follow a trail had annoyed the lanky cowboy at first; he had always considered himself a superior tracker, but Heath's abilities left him back at the grammar school, waiting for the recess bell to ring.

He smiled ruefully as he recognized how things had changed in his mind. The rivalry, the urge to push himself as the older, wiser, better man had disappeared. Instead, he felt a fierce surge of pride as he thought of how skilled Heath was and how easy it would have been for him to track the outlaws. But things weren't the way they should be, and they were well out of town now. Soon, Hatch would have to make a decision.

Almost as if Nick had spoken aloud, the gang halted. Nick raised his head to see the barrel of a gun coming closer to him. “Barkley, we're gonna ride hard now, and we can't be havin' any trouble. If either of you tries somethin', the other gets it, understand?”

The contemptuous tone the thief used scorched through Nick's pride. He began to bristle; as he took a deep breath, however, the gun barrel switched to his left. Mesmerized, his eyes followed, and he realized that Hatch meant what he said. If he fought back, Heath would die.

Defeated before he even truly began, he nodded in acquiescence. As his head went down, he wondered how he could have ever been so arrogant as to think he could outwit this man. It hadn't happened before, and it sure wasn't happening now. Look at him: Nick Barkley, king of the Valley, wearing the crown of cowardice and the mantle of failure.

Swiftly, the gang split up. The Hatch brothers sat back in their saddles as they watched Heath and Nick see how difficult it would be for the sheriff to track, because they were going in so many different directions. They jerked on the reins of the captives' horses and urged their mounts to a faster pace.

Nick hung on grimly, waiting to see where they had chosen to hide. As they rode, incredulity rose in him so high that he swore he could taste it. Of all the places he would have guessed...and bile rose in his throat as he realized that it was very likely Fred and Jarrod wouldn't think of it, either...this was the only location he would never have suspected. They were going back to the grove where Tony Rawlings had died, back to the place where Nick had learned the truth about himself.

As they rode, he began to realize what a master tactician Hatch truly was. Not only were there five separate sets of tracks to follow, but so many had come to or been at the grove that the ground was marred with the marks of multitudinous horses' hooves. It would be difficult indeed to decipher any new tracks. There was water and shelter there...at least for a short time. With a cold chill, Nick began to realize that the outlaws might have chosen the grove for safety, but they would still have to make their way out of the valley eventually. He wished he could talk to Heath, could figure with him just what the plans were, but one glance showed him the impossibility of that. No, he'd just have to hold on and wait for what might come.

Arriving at the grove, the two Barkleys were pulled roughly from their horses. Shoving them to the ground, the older Hatch grinned at Nick.

“Bring back some memories, Boy?”

With a raucous caw of laughter, he shoved the barrel of his gun into Nick's temple. Grinning wolfishly, he nodded at his younger brother, who sliced through Heath's bonds with a long, sharp knife. Quickly, he pulled the blond cowboy's hands behind him and tied them tightly. He bound the hapless man's feet and reared back, holding up his hands as if he were roping a calf at a rodeo.

Nick watched in defenseless anger as his brother was trussed; quickly, the two outlaws changed places, and as the gun barrel ground into Heath's head, Nick suffered the same treatment. Rolling over, he winced at the tightness of the ropes. Realizing that Hatch was enjoying the evidence of pain, he quickly steeled his face and began to prepare himself for a long siege of terror.

As he lay there, the two outlaws busied themselves. Dispassionately, Nick watched them unsaddle the horses; he gritted his teeth at how roughly they treated their mounts. Glancing to his left, he saw Heath watching, and as Charger received the same rough treatment, he saw his brother's muscles stiffen. “Easy, Heath. Take it easy.”

“Ain't no way to do that now, is there, Big Brother?”

The clipped tones and biting sarcasm of his brother's voice added to Nick's load of guilt. He wondered if there would ever be a moment when he could talk to Heath again, when he could tell him what he had learned. On a moment's reflection, however, he realized that there was nothing to tell, because he was nothing himself. Sighing deeply, he rolled over and tried to find a comfortable spot.

It wasn't long before the outlaws were done with the horses. The younger bandit glanced over his shoulder and laughed as he saw Heath's expression. “What's the matter, Barkley? You look like you wanna say something.”

“Those horses need water. They've been ridden hard.”

“The horses need water, do they, Rich Boy? Well, they'll have to find it themselves; any water around here goes for us, not them.” As he spoke, he took the canteen from Charger's saddle and drained it in front of the stallion.

With a muffled oath, Heath struggled to get up. As the blond cowboy struggled against his bonds, Nick felt that fierce pride again. The kid was a Barkley, for sure. Shame rushed through him, bringing back a sense of defeat. Heath was a Barkley, but he was the only one there worthy of bearing the name. Again, Nick vowed that if it came to a showdown, he would acquit himself differently than he had before.

Nick watched the two outlaws as they made themselves comfortable and wondered how anyone could be so at ease when they were the objects of a massive manhunt. As he pondered, he realized that, to many, he seemed as confident as did the Hatch brothers. Thinking through the events of the past few days, the dark-haired cowboy experienced once again the acrid taste of self-realization, of knowing all he thought he had stood for was sham. What was it Jarrod had said once about his temper? The lawyer had quoted Shakespeare. Nick could see his older brother standing in front of him, eyebrow quirked, and those dulcet tones replying, “Nick, your words are ‘full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.’” At the time, he had been offended; with a new-found humility, Nick wished fiercely for one more moment, one chance to tell Jarrod how right he had been.

A restless movement on his left captured his attention. Heath was working his bonds, trying to find one loose strand. Nick realized that once he would have been the leader in trying to escape; now, he simply waited to discover if his presence at the grove was a strange twist of fate or the place where not only the charade of Nick Barkley but also his physical life would cease to exist. Watching Heath work, he vowed once again that if he were given another chance, he would conduct himself with honor.

Words, he thought, have so much more impact than people realize. Take the word honor, for instance. He had, until recently, always considered himself to be honorable, to be worthy of respect. Now, because of the past few weeks, Nick admitted to himself that he had never taken the time to look beyond being Tom Barkley's son, the one who carried on with the ranch, and discover what it meant to live a life of honor.

What did it involve? Well, there was truth...not only spoken to others, but a habit of inner truth, of seeing oneself clearly, without adding any frills. Glancing at Heath, he acknowledged that, unlike himself, this younger brother had no problem in this area at all. If there was ever a person who knew himself, it would be Heath. Or would it? Nick's mind wandered back to the first days of sharing a house with this new Barkley, of getting to know him. He remembered the fierce pride, the quick anger, the invisible fences that raised automatically when anyone got too close.

Mother had broken down the fences, and Nick hadn't liked it at all. He had, he now admitted, been jealous. Here was someone whose existence had torn their lives apart, had caused them all to rethink the honor of their father, and the woman most wronged was offering the most love and support. It hadn't set well with Nick, not at all. Now, looking at those days from the perspective of a couple of years, he realized that what he had fought was not Victoria's reaching out to Heath, but the fear that Victoria wouldn't be there for him. Yet he had always gone to Father, not her; of course, he loved her and she loved him, but his allegiance had always been first to Tom Barkley.

What pride he had taken as he walked down the streets of Stockton, knowing that people recognized him as Tom Barkley's son! How he had preened himself because of his name. Heath's existence had not only tarnished that image but had melted it into a liquid pool of glistening silver; every time Nick looked into the pool, he saw himself reflected. As he pondered the issue, he realized that not only he had changed since that eventful day when he and Heath had met on the bridge and taken their unplanned swim; Heath had changed, too. From someone who had almost dared anyone to try to come close, he had become a man who welcomed Nick and Jarrod's company and enjoyed family life.

So did Heath know himself? Yes, Nick thought, he did. Giving himself a mental shake, he forced his mind to come back to focusing on the concept of honor as it related to him, not others. A month earlier, he would have been convinced that he lived with honor; now, he knew it was not true, and he feared it had never been so.

Well, he was still alive, and as long as he lived, he could change. A man of honor faced himself unflinchingly. What was it Father had always told him? “Son, everyone makes mistakes. The small man blames others; the real man expects to fail on occasion and understands that it's in those times that he learns the biggest man is the one who knows how small he really is.”

At the time, he hadn't understood; now, Nick realized that Tom Barkley was talking to him with the memory of adultery on his mind. Was he trying to tell his son about his time with Leah Thomson, or was it just a father-son talk? He would have said before that it was just a piece of advice; now, he really felt that his father wanted him to know that those who create heroes out of humanity build castles on air.

The clouds began to swirl and darken; lightning slit the fabric of the sky. Ominous mutterings of thunder played their tympani accompaniment to the regular obligato of fat raindrops. Nick ignored the splat as they fell on his face; he noticed it, but the rain seemed inconsequential to the storms within himself.

What else was involved with honor? Was there a difference between honor and truth? Without truth, he thought, honor could not exist, but even with truth, there was more to the concept of honor. An honorable man not only walked in truth, but also in kindness. He knew the truth, but there were times he held his tongue.

Nick winced as he reflected on the times he had not held his own tongue, when he had given himself the luxury of exploding so that he would feel better. How many times had those explosions hurt others? He remembered the time Audra had gone into his room and had moved things around, trying to make them “pwetty, Nickie.” He had been angry, but the way he had vented that anger had hurt his little sister. He remembered their mother holding her and Jarrod's rebuking him. Where had Father been? He had no recollection of his being involved at all.

He saw the young ten-year-old boy he had been, standing there sullenly as the fourteen-year-old had lectured him. He felt remembered waves of anger as he fought to keep his hands to himself. He felt the shame hot upon him again as he listened to the background of his sister's sobs and he remembered how badly he wanted to hold Audra, to comfort her, to tell her he had been wrong. But he hadn't. Instead, he had simply listened to what he already knew and taken his punishment like a man.

Like a man! Nick recognized the irony; even at ten, he was trying to walk in bigger boots than he was fitted for. Had it changed? No, he acknowledged; all his life he had been stumbling and tripping, not over his own feet but the boots he insisted on wearing.

With a start, he felt the ropes give way on his feet. Looking up, he saw the hated face of the man who had murdered Tony Rawlings smiling at him.

“Barkley, get up nice and slow, and just remember this: You make one false move, and this brother of yours gets it.”

Nick looked over and saw Heath being yanked up into a kneeling position. The second outlaw, the one called Rufe, held a knife at his throat. Heath's face showed no emotion, but Nick read the anger in his eyes. The older Barkley slowly began the process of getting to his feet; as he did, Rufe dragged Heath to a standing position. The blond man stood, striving to keep his balance, as the knife blade caressed his throat.

Nick stood, feeling the circulation come back to his feet. He willed his face to remain expressionless as the sharp needles reminded him of what Heath would feel before the blade bit his life away. He had no more time for meditations; his brother's life was the only thing that mattered now. He felt the ropes on his hands fall away as he heard the grating voice of the man who had entered his life and changed it forever. “That's right, Big Man. Slow and easy, just like before. Seems to me we've danced this tune before, haven't we?”

Nick forced himself to focus on the fact that this wasn't Tony Rawlings standing helpless before him; this was Heath. His brother. He was living out his nightmare; he even knew when the brutal man would laugh. Heath moved slightly; the knife blade sank into the skin of his neck and a slow trickle of blood mixed with the rain and stained his blue shirt.

“Hatch, you picked the wrong bait this time.”

With shock, Nick listened to Heath's voice. Hatch held up a warning hand as Rufe started to increase the pressure of the knife. The outlaw's gloating smile stayed fixed as he held Heath firmly in his grip. “I don't think so, Barkley. I saw what he'd do for a kid he didn't know; I figure he'd do a lot more for blood kin, especially a brother.”

“See, that's where you're wrong, Hatch. If you had taken the lawyer, now, things might have been different, but you picked me. What you don't know is that Nick here, he's not too thrilled about my bein' alive, and he just might welcome the chance to get rid of me.”

Heath's eyes bored into Nick's, demanding his silence. Nick stood, listening, as his brother continued. “See, I go by the name Barkley, but I don't own it like Nick here does. He was born all nice and proper, grew up in the big house. Me, I'm just Tom Barkley's woods colt. The Barkleys took me in and let me play at bein' a Barkley, but Nick'd be the first to tell you it wasn't easy. I'll bet he could tell you lots about how he hated even the thought of me bein' alive; like I said, you made a big mistake today.”

Nick shook his head in mute protest as he watched Heath's words attack the Hatch brothers' confidence. The moment arrived. The knife's pressure lessened visibly. Nick exploded into action as Heath dropped his shoulder and drove his body back against Rufe's. The grove became a kaleidoscope filled with the explosion of Hatch's gun, the flash of the knife, the feeling of the mud under him as he thudded into Hatch's gut, and the panicked feeling as he wondered if he or Heath would live to talk about Heath's words.

He became a demon of anger as he fought not only the two men who had taken Tony's life but threatened now to take Heath's, but also the fears and doubts he had faced and learned to welcome and hate at the same time. He heard Hatch's ribs snap as his pile drive landed them both on the ground; somehow, he managed to kick the gun away as his hands found the outlaw's throat and lifted the man's upper body before slamming it back down again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hatch's head loll as he collapsed; turning, he went for Rufe next.

Heath's attack had made Rufe fall, but it had also felled the still-bound cowboy. Nick grinned as he watched Rufe come towards him; the two men circled each other, each waiting for an opening.

The moment came; Nick attacked. He hammered blows on the outlaw; it seemed as if time stood still as each punch jolted Hatch's entire frame. Gradually, he came to his senses and heard Heath frantically calling him. Shaking his head, Nick let Rufe's body fall and turned to help his brother. “They alive?”

“I don't know. You all right?”

Heath nodded as he rolled to give Nick access to the ropes which still bound him. Nick looked around for the knife; finding it, he made short work of freeing the man who had helped him so freely.

Heath grunted his thanks as he massaged his hands; wincing, he looked up at Nick, kneeling beside him, and grinned. Nick returned the smile as he reached out his hand to help Heath begin the process of standing. Bruised and battered, both men ignored the blood and pain as they stood in triumph over the bodies of the men who had tried to gain freedom by taking the freedom of others.

Heath limped over to Hatch. Leaning down, he felt for a pulse. Shaking his head, he straightened and drawled, “Can't say I feel real bad about his dyin'; how's the other one?”

“Gone.”

“Then it's over, Nick.”

Nick stood, facing his brother. The two men stayed there, silent, as the reality soaked in. The threat was over; both leaders of the gang were dead.

Heath was the first to move. He stretched carefully and walked over to the horses. Rubbing Charger's head, he murmured to the stallion softly as he brought the reins up and over the steed's neck. Charger nickered softly and nuzzled Heath's neck and shoulder; nodding, he stepped back nervously at the unfamiliar scent of Heath's blood. “Easy now, easy. It's just a little blood. Everything's all right now.”

Nick watched his brother settle the horse with a smile. The moment crystallized his awareness that things were different now, different forever. Just as Heath had been the catalyst which drove Nick to awareness that their father had feet of clay, so Hatch had been the catalyst which drove Nick to understand that he could no longer perform a masquerade. He needed to spend time with his brothers, to talk about his discoveries. Now, thanks to the teamwork he and Heath had shown in getting the upper hand on the outlaws, there was time, all the time in the world.

As Nick stood there, smiling, Heath glanced back at his older brother. Giving Charger one last, reassuring pat, he turned to face the taller man.

“You know, Nick, it's real nice that it's all over, but we got some cleanup to do. I reckon it'd go a sight easier if you'd think about helpin' out here.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THINK ABOUT . . . “ The roar was automatic; the control needed to stop was new. Nick glanced at Heath, abashed, and was startled to see the familiar half-smile come and go. He watched at the younger man retrieved both the outlaws' horses and brought them closer to where Nick stood. A smile tugged at his lips as Heath pointedly looked at the horses and then back at his brother.

“Well? You gonna stand there all day, grinning' like a fool, or are you gonna help me get 'em up and taken in?”

“Well, now, Heath, it seems to me you're doing fine on your own. How 'bout I just mosey on over and check out Duke while . . . “

As he expected, Heath shook his head. He pointed to the bodies and then to the horses. Together, the brothers began the task of getting the bodies of the dead men slung over the saddles and tied down for the ride into town.

With one lift of his eyebrow, Heath asked Nick which reins he wanted to take. Nick paused only for a second before taking the reins of the horse which held the remains of the man who had killed Tony Rawlings. Heath nodded and without saying a word, picked up the reins of the horse which held Rufe's body. He picked up the gunbelt he had taken from the dead man's waist and hitched it over his shoulder. With a grunt, he mounted Charger and wheeled him to face back towards town. Nick joined him, and the two men rode in silent companionship back to Stockton.

As they rode, Nick stole glances at Heath. He remembered the ride into Stockton when he had lost his memory; he thought about the times he had wanted to say something then, but his confusion and fear had precluded any casual conversation. Now, he wanted to broach a new topic. He wanted to talk to Heath about the strategy the blond cowboy had used to break the Hatch brothers' confidence. Yet, even though he realized he had to talk about it, Nick admitted that he was afraid.

Afraid of what? As Nick pondered the notion, he realized that he feared learning new truths. He was afraid that Heath meant every word he had said; he was afraid that his younger brother really felt only half-accepted, and he feared that if this were true, there was nothing he could say to fix the problem.

Even if he had enough courage to start the conversation, how did a man ask another man such things? “Oh, Heath, by the way, you don't really think I hate you, do you?” No, that would never work. And it seemed worse, to him, to think of other ways to start the talk he knew they needed to have. How about, “Ummm, Heath. You might have been right about everything you said back there, but on the other hand, things are different now.” No, that wouldn't work, either. He tried way after way of bringing up the topic, rejecting each as worse than the last idea.

Finally, he mustered enough courage to start. Just as he took a deep breath, however, he heard the sound of horses' hooves behind him. Noting that Heath had his hand on the outlaw's gun, he turned to see who was pursuing. To his relief, he recognized the distinctive features of Jarrod's horse, Jingo.

As the posse rode up, there were exclamations and questions galore to answer. Each one was welcomed and hated simultaneously by Nick. He wanted it all to be over, but when it was, he knew he would have to face his brother, and he had a feeling that would be the hardest task of all.

Fred's deputy rode on into town ahead of the posse. By the time the majority of the men had returned, the streets were lined with people applauding and laughing. Sure enough, as Nick had figured, Audra and Victoria were standing by the sheriff's office, waiting and smiling. Dismounting, the two former captives went to the women and held them closely.

Victoria held Nick longer than he could ever remember. When he leaned back out of the embrace, he was surprised to see her eyes brimming with tears.

“Hey, now. What's all this? Everything's all right now.” His voice was as gentle as he knew how to make it as he attempted to comfort his mother. “Is it, Nick? Are you all right now?” Her eyes searched his in an effort to see beneath the confident exterior. Evidently what she saw brought her peace, because her worried face relaxed into a smile.

Turning to Audra, he laughed as he saw her hold Heath as if her life depended on it. Tapping her shoulder, he moved into his sister's embrace and, out of the corner of his eye, watched Heath's reunion with the woman they both called Mother. Tenderly, Heath bent over her; with a glad cry, the diminutive woman reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. As he listened to Audra's exclamations and prattle, Nick kept an ear open to pick up the dialogue between Heath and Victoria.

His purposeful eavesdropping bore no fruit, however, for as Victoria leaned back to check on her son, she noticed the blood on his shirt and the cut on his neck. Her exclamation caused Audra to jump back, and Victoria's maternal eye found the cuts and bruises on Nick's hands. “You both are going straight inside and Jarrod is getting Dr. Merar!”

“Now, Mother, it's just a cut. No big problem. I'd be thinkin' Fred here might need to talk to us.”

The ploy was useless. Smirking, Fred replied that any conversations could wait.

With the stare which always quelled her three sons' rebellions, she waited. Heath looked helplessly at Nick and shrugged. Grinning, Nick wrapped his arm around his younger brother's shoulder and turned to watch Jarrod obey their mother's commands.

While they waited, Victoria pressed Audra and the sheriff into action. Heath was told to sit in the chair and Nick perched on the corner of the desk. He watched in amusement as his mother took a practiced look at his battered hands and sighed; with secret glee, he rejoiced as she turned her attention to the cut on Heath's neck. Audra was told to bathe Nick's hands; Fred was bidden to bring cloths for the women to wash away the blood and dirt from the men's wounds. Heath, unaccustomed to such ministrations, turned red with embarrassment as Victoria insisted that he remove his shirt so that she could check for other wounds.

The cut didn't look bad to Nick, but it was still bleeding. From experience, he recognized that his mother would insist on observing the doctor's treatments and would, very likely, follow it up at home with her favorite liniment. He winced in empathy as he imagined how the bite of the liniment would feel along Heath's throat.

“Am I hurting you?”

Audra's concerned voice brought him back to the present; looking down, he realized that he wouldn't be imagining the bite of Mother's liniment but feeling it himself.

“Nick, are you all right? I'm not being too rough, am I?”

He smiled at his lovely sister and shook his head. “It's just not like you to be so quiet.”

“Perhaps we should enjoy the moment, Audra.”

The lawyer's cool tones interrupted the busy scene in the sheriff's office. Nick grinned at his older brother, who raised an eyebrow in surprise at the cowboy's uncharacteristic silence.

“Heath, did our brother receive any other injuries that aren't obvious?”

Jarrod's question was asked in a bantering tone, but Nick recognized that there was real concern behind the question. He understood that, normally, he would have been the center of attention, but for now, it was enough just to be with his family. Wryly, he admitted to himself that watching Heath blush as Victoria worked over his cuts and bruises was extra enjoyment, but the real reason for his silence was just to give him a chance to bask in the realization that he still had time to become the man he had always thought he was.

With the doctor's deft hands, treatment was swift but not painless. Both men sighed with relief when he pronounced them ready to go home. Heath quickly put on his shirt and buttoned it...very firmly, Nick thought. He wondered if anyone had ever cared so gently and tenderly for his brother before and added the question to his growing list of queries about Heath's life.

Fred's questions were brief; Jarrod paid close attention to the description of the fight in the grove. Nick realized that the lawyer knew his two brothers were leaving out anything but the basic information, and he also realized that there would come a time when Jarrod would question them for more. He warned himself to remember that when the time of questioning came, Jarrod was only seeking knowledge, not cause for censure.

The ride home was far more joyous than the ride which had brought them to town only that morning. As the brothers rode behind the buggy, Nick listened idly to his sister's prattle and his mother's occasional reply. Jarrod joined in the conversation, but Heath remained silent. Nick allowed himself to drop behind just a bit; watching the family travel, he recognized yet again that he had always believed himself to be not only a part of the group but also, in many ways, the focus of the family. Again, he remembered his anger when Jarrod would rebuke him; his frustration with his little sister, his wrath when Heath had invaded his castle.

Now, watching them ride towards home, he began to understand that Tom Barkley's actions had, to a large extent, made him the man he was, and slowly, his mind began to open to a new idea. If Tom and Victoria had been the primary catalysts in his development, then who or what had shaped Heath? What made him the silent man, the one who preferred to stay in the background? It wasn't that Heath was naturally peaceful; no, Nick knew better than that. He had not only seen his brother's temper but also had felt the brunt of it at times.

What did make a man who he was? How did a Jarrod and a Nick come from the same home? He remembered Heath calling their brother a crusader. Well, that fit him. Nobility sat lightly on Jarrod's shoulders, and he handled tough causes with ease. How had he, rough-and-tumble Nick, come out so different from Jarrod? And how had Heath managed to fit in so well with both of them?

A falling star caught his eye; as it flashed through the heavens, memories showered his mind with sparks of enlightenment. He saw Heath playing chess with Jarrod and racing horses with him. He saw the three of them playing billiards, poker, and checkers, and saw Heath's half-smile as he, Nick, had insisted on rematch after rematch. Winning seemed all-important to Nick; why didn't it matter to Heath?

The younger man had talked about Hannah and a woman he called Aunt Rachel, but he never spoke of any man being involved in his childhood. Thinking back through the years, Nick saw himself, so young he wasn't even speaking clearly, and he saw his father patiently teaching him how to ride and care for his horse. With a shock that was almost physical, he recognized that he had always focused on Tom Barkley, the hero, and found his pride in his father's leadership. With that pride, however, he had missed the fact that his father had painstakingly taught his children not only how to manage the legacy he knew he would leave but had also given them the gift of his time and attention so that he could teach them how to live.

Nick had hurt so badly when his father was killed. The emptiness had threatened to consume him. He wanted one more day, one more hour, even five more minutes...any space of time possible so that he could tell his mentor, his hero, that he loved him. Had he ever said the words? He had said them to his mother, but when did he ever say them to his father? He couldn't remember a time.

New waves of shame washed over him as he saw how carelessly he had accepted what had been given so freely. His mind flashed through picture after picture of his father teaching him, step by step, how to be a rancher, and he realized that Tom Barkley had done the same for Jarrod. Nick saw that the man had recognized that his eldest son's interest would lie with the business end of things, and he had nurtured that and supported Jarrod as he walked away from the ranch and into the law.

With all those memories cascading as dramatically as the shooting star colored the sky, he began to try to pair them with what Heath might have experienced as a child, and shame engulfed him again. He began to see why Heath was so careful with his tools and his belongings; he had never had the luxury of knowing that there was always another shirt if he tore the one he owned. What, he wondered, had Heath thought during the countless times he had ridden him to move faster, to make decisions more quickly? Had there ever been a time when Heath had bitten back words of anger rather than fight with him? Nick didn't know, but he was sure of one thing, he was going to find out.

The brothers saw the women go inside the house and moved to care for the horses before they went inside. Nick watched Jarrod; quick, efficient movements and a suitable pat on the rump for Jingo were enough before the lawyer whistled his way out the door and to the house. Heath first cared for the horses in harness; Nick moved to help him as he began to curry them. Watching furtively, Nick saw that Heath's gentleness was not only with Charger. He inspected their stalls, made sure they were given new hay and fresh water, and along with the care, he provided plenty of head rubs and neck patting. Before he turned to Charger, Nick watched him run a careful hand over each horse's legs, checking to make sure there were no incipient problems.

As Nick curried Duke, he made sure he could watch Heath with Charger. Soon he saw that he had been wrong; the other animals had received plenty of affection...affection that Nick admitted had always been lacking from himself. Charger, however, came to Heath when he whistled like a dog runs to his master after a long day. The blond cowboy murmured to his horse all the time he was readying him for the night, and the stallion obviously returned the love which was so freely given.

Finishing with Duke, Nick leaned against the stable door and watched the ritual which had infuriated him so many times before. This time, however, he was watching with new eyes. He began to understand that he would have enjoyed Charger, but he would have expected him to be a magnificent horse, because that was what Nick Barkley rode.

Heath was different. Nick began to understand what the younger man had meant when he told Audra one day that it wasn't all bad, growing up poor. Audra had questioned him and he had simply said, “Poor people know how to be grateful.”

Nick had been impatient at the time, but the man who had been given back his life was a different man from the Nick Barkley who had snorted with impatience. He began to see that watching life through the eyes of a rich man just might make that man someone who was more poverty-stricken than a beggar who had unexpectedly been given a meal. Finishing finally with his beloved mount, Heath looked up and saw Nick watching. The familiar half-smile tugged at his mouth as his easy stride ate up the distance between him and his brother. Blowing out the lamp and checking to make sure it was safe, he joined Nick, and the two men walked in silent companionship to the place that they both called home. Tomorrow, Nick thought, tomorrow I'll talk with him.

Morning dawned, and with it, Nick's newfound resolution found itself causing the cowboy unusual problems. He was determined to talk to Heath before Jarrod's inquisition, but he found five different excuses to avoid running into either of his brothers. After changing shirts, shaving, combing his hair, changing his socks, and leaning over to check his appearance in the mirror, Nick realized that his delaying tactics were only making matters worse. With a sigh, he straightened and walked to the door of his room. Hand on the doorknob, he turned to look at the palatial space and vowed that before he slept in the room again, he would have taken steps to earn the right.

Instead of bounding down the stairs as he usually did, Nick walked cautiously. He recognized the symptoms of nerves; he had just never expected to experience the sensation himself. At the end of the staircase, he paused briefly; squaring his shoulders, he marched out the door to find his brother.

The search was over almost immediately. Nick wasn't at all surprised to see that Heath had been up for quite some time; the sacks of feed which they had brought from town a couple of days ago were in the process of being neatly stacked. Walking in the stable door, Nick leaned against it for a moment, watching Heath's smooth motions and economical work style. He realized that in this task, as in so many things, they were polar opposites. Nick would have heaved the sacks in a pile; as long as they were out of the way, he would have been satisfied. Come to think of it, Nick realized that he'd be far more likely to order the work done by a hand.

Heath, however, had other methods. Nick looked at the neat stacks of feed sacks and marveled at their symmetry. Shaking his head, he smiled in newfound appreciation of the way their differences complemented their teamwork.

“And what's got you so happy this fine mornin'?”

Heath's question shook Nick from his reverie. Smiling, the tall cowboy stretched his frame against the door and folded his arms. “Just enjoying the pure beauty of watching you work, Boy. Makes me hungry to watch you.”

“That so? Well, Big Brother, I've got me an idea about how to get you even hungrier.”

“You don't say. What would that be?”

Enjoying the banter, Nick failed to notice that Heath had picked up another feed sack until it came sailing through the air at him. Leaping to catch it, he almost fell; looking up, he glared at his brother who smiled seraphically at him. “See what I mean? Just one little sack and already you're gettin' the picture. What say you put it where it belongs...right over here, if you can get it that far.”

Suppressing a smile, Nick stalked to the stack and placed the feed sack on top. Turning, he caught Heath's frown at the crookedness of the sack but chose to ignore it. He held up a hand to warn the blond not to continue his task; quietly, Heath leaned against the pile of sacks and waited for Nick to speak. “Heath.” Nervously, he cleared his throat. Heath waited. “Uh, Heath.” Why wasn't it coming easier? Nick felt like a fool, and judging from the noncommittal expression on his younger brother's face, it was quite likely because he was sounding like a fool. “Heath.”

“That is my name, Nick. Now, if you're wantin' a rundown on family names, I'll be glad to help you, but if you just want to practice by yourself, I've got work to do.”

Heath's face was serious, but the sparkle in his eyes showed his amusement. That same sparkle warned his brother that he wasn't going to help him through what he wanted to say. Familiar impatience burned Nick's mind. Why couldn't it be simple? Why couldn't he just have gone ahead and mentioned yesterday himself? Surely he hadn't forgotten it already! “Uh, Heath. . . . “ He was beginning to feel like a parrot; no matter how he tried, all he could do was say his brother's name. Clearly tiring of the strange conversation, Heath looked pointedly at the pile of feed sacks and back at his brother. Nick took a deep breath and tried again. “Heath, about yesterday . . . uhhh, I just thought we oughta ... well, we oughta talk about it.”

“All right.”

Leaning back against a corner of a stall, Heath reached up and behind his head and captured a clean piece of hay. Keeping his eyes on the hay, he examined it carefully. Finally seeming to pronounce it clean, he placed it in the corner of his mouth, tilted his hat back off his face, folded his arms, and waited. Nick stared at him, willing the words to come out of his mouth. “What you said there, in the grove, I just wanted to know . . . “

Why wasn't Heath making this easier? Nick remembered when he had apologized to him for his ham-fisted way of handling the trouble with the hands during the big cattle drive. Then, Heath had been looking away from him and it was so much easier. Thinking about it, however, Nick realized that it hadn't been easier; he hadn't really even apologized. At least, he thought, he hadn't given a formal apology...not a fancy one like he had learned from Victoria. So why would this be easier? Wryly, Nick admitted that swallowing pride came hard no matter what the seasoning. Looking up, he saw Heath in the same pose, but the sparkle was gone from his eyes. His jaw was set, and the blue eyes, usually pale, were darkening.

“I, umm, I just wanted you to know that it wasn't true.”

“Truth's truth, Nick.”

Now why was Heath not making it simple? All Nick wanted to say was that it might have been true, but it wasn't anymore. Things were different now. He had been angry...so very angry...but that was before he got to know Heath. Now, well, things were . . . different. “So you're sayin' that you think everything you said is truth?”

Slowly, Heath relaxed. His eyes, so much the giveaway of his emotional state, began to sparkle again. The familiar half-smile came and went. “It depends.”

“On what?”

Nick waited, wanting to hear words of absolution from the man he had hated and now called brother. Heath said nothing for a while; the silence around them was so loud that Nick turned to the sanctuary of memory for surcease. Memory, however, failed him; looking around, he remembered the first time he and Heath had been together in this building. He remembered the blaze of fury he felt when the stranger swaggered in, offering to dance to the tune Nick hummed. The fight had been a hard one; to this day, Nick didn't know when he'd had one harder. And to tell the truth, to this day, he didn't know which one of them would have won if Heath hadn't told him why he was on the ranch. Shaking off the past, he waited to for the sentence that the present would pass on the future. “I reckon it depends on how you look at it.”

“Heath, there's nothing in the world that can't be answered by that. Now, answer me!”

“Nick, what I said...it can't be denied.”

“I can. For me, it's over.”

“That's fine for you, Big Brother, but for me, it can't be.”

“So you think that I ... that I still feel . . . “

Heath discarded the straw and stood straight. His level gaze sought out Nick's. With a long sigh, he shook his head. “No, I don't think that, Nick. Not any longer.”

“But you did.”

“No more'n you.”

“Heath, that's the past.”

Heath nodded once.

“So you're sayin' that for you, the past can't be buried?”

This time, Nick swore he could reach out and touch the silence. He began to see that this new quest of his would be more costly than he had imagined. He condemned himself for his arrogance, for thinking that as long as he, Nick Barkley, wanted to break down walls and get to know Heath better, everyone and everything else would fall into line. Now, he realized that it would take more than his willingness; Heath would have to want it, too, and he wondered why he had assumed it would be so easy. “Well, Heath? Can it be buried?”

“I reckon it has been, Nick. Only thing is that once somethin's buried, there's a grave to visit now and then.”

“Family visits them together.”

Heath's head snapped up; for once, it was obvious to Nick that he had penetrated beyond Heath's self-control. The expression on his brother's face made that obvious. “Is that what you want?”

Heath's voice was soft, almost tentative. Nick couldn't read his expression; after the first reaction, all the shields were back. The dark-haired cowboy knew a lot was riding on his answer. He thought carefully about how to word it; he recognized that he could ruin everything if he responded carelessly. “Yeah, Heath. That's what I want.”

Heath nodded once. The half-smile came and went; wiping his hands and face with a bandanna, he walked to the door of the stable. Nick watched him lean forward, his arms stretched out, holding on to the edges. “Fine day, ain't it?”

Weather? Nick had worked this hard to build a bridge, and Heath talked about weather? Frustration grew again, but this time, Nick willed himself to stay under control. Walking to the door, he stood beside his brother. “Sure is, Heath. Fine day, indeed. Especially for fishing up at Sky Meadow.”

Heath carefully kept his eyes ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw the muscles in his brother's jaw tighten. “You sure?”

“Yep.”

In mutual accord, the two men walked across the stable yard towards the house. Nick realized it wouldn't be easy, this trip with Heath, but it would be worth it. The next hurdle, he realized, would be to get Jarrod to go with them.

As they walked, Nick began to make a mental list of what they would need. He figured they might well make a good trip; say, two or three days. With McCall still down, that meant he would be doing something he'd never done before. Leaving the ranch just to spend time with family without an experienced foreman in charge was as foreign an idea to him as the concept of taking flight would be. He realized, however, that the past few weeks had been more than a single experience; they had been the impetus for a journey of self-exploration.

He snorted in amusement as he realized what new territory he was treading. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother's head turn. When he chose not to speak, however, Heath kept on walking, obviously willing to accept the fact that Nick could have a private thought without needing to share it. Another new thought to put on the list, Nick realized, another way we're different. Me...I'd be pushing until I was satisfied, but him...he's not like that. He doesn't push unless it matters too much for him to hold it in.

Still thinking about the differences, he failed to note that he had stopped until he heard Heath clear his throat. Looking up, Nick was startled to see that they had reached the door and that he was barring the way.

“You wantin' me to go through you or the window?”

“You could try, Heath, but you'd stand more chance with the window!”

“Maybe so, Big Brother, but I'm not aimin' to explain that one to Mother without you. So why don't you just stop your daydreamin' and let us in?”

Laughing, Nick swept off his hat and performed a bow from the waist he had learned in dancing school as a child. Heath cocked an eyebrow in amusement and sidled around him. As Nick followed him, he saw Silas enter the room and automatically hold up a hand; Heath laughed and tossed his hat to the butler. “Your mama, she's beginning' to wonder if you both were gonna go without breakfast this mornin'.”

“Not likely, Silas, not the way Nick makes me work. Now, I reckon he could do without a day or two of food, but since I do the work for two . . . “

“Since you are so downtrodden, Brother Heath, I suggest that you totter into the dining room while I hold Nick back. Perhaps that way you can get some nourishment before he thinks of new ways for you to demonstrate your ability to do his work and yours both.”

Jarrod's sally caused Nick to grin as Heath casually saluted and went towards the dining room. The lawyer started to follow, but Nick held him back.

“Yes, Brother Nick?”

“Uh, Jarrod, I'd like to ask you a favor.”

Well, this was at least a little better than the way he started the conversation with Heath. He was speaking in full sentences, which was great improvement. Jarrod waited, obviously curious.

“It's just that a lot has happened, and I thought that . . . “ Words failed him as he realized the fact that fear was filling his throat. What if Jarrod didn't agree? What if he refused to go? Taking a deep breath, Nick began again.

When he had finished, he waited. Jarrod remained silent, obviously thinking. Nick realized that this trait was common to both his brothers, and with both his brothers, the habit drove him crazy. He wanted an answer, and he wanted it NOW! Forcing himself not to push, he willed the lawyer to speak. “So you think that Heath is ready to go with us?”

“Yeah, Jarrod. I do. I guess the question isn't so much that as . . . “ Nick's voice died off as the obvious ending to his sentence hung between them.

“ . . . As whether we're ready to open that door?”

Nick nodded, miserably afraid that Jarrod would refuse. Looking up, he saw his brother's eyes twinkle and began to relax. “Yeah, Pappy. But I think it's a door we need to open.”

“You may be right, Nick. But I'd advise that we tread carefully.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, whether or not you're right, we're all three committed to this. But it's not going to be easy to talk about Father teaching us to fish and hunt while Heath is sitting there, listening, now is it?”

The familiar pressure of anger rose in Nick again. He wanted to shout, to tell his supercilious brother that Heath was a man, a man who deserved a heritage not only in name, but in fact as well. Just as he began to speak, however, he realized that Jarrod might not be meaning what he had immediately assumed. “Don't you think he should hear about all that?”

Jarrod looked at Nick quizzically. “Yes, Nick, I think he should. But I don't know, if I were in his boots, if I could take sitting there, hearing about our happy childhoods, and remembering what I didn't have. It seems to me that if I had been cheated of so much, I'd have some problems with the ones who had what I deserved.”

Taking time, Nick thought, taking time to listen really paid off. Jarrod hadn't been talking down to him; he had been thinking of Heath. How many times have I shortchanged people by refusing to hear them? How many fights could I have avoided if I had just listened?

Taking a deep breath, he pushed those questions down. Wonder filled Nick as he understood that he couldn't touch the past and alter it, but he could learn, and he could change.

“That might be so, Pappy, but we're all he's got. And I think it's time we tried.”

Jarrod nodded as the two turned towards the dining room. Entering, they were greeted by an obviously curious Audra. Nick glanced at his mother; she was sitting in her usual position, waiting calmly. Heath sat on her left, drinking a cup of coffee, obviously content to wait.

As the men sat down, the family bowed their heads in preparation to give thanks for the meal. Victoria prayed; as her words ascended to God's throne, memory crashed down on Nick. He remembered when Father had died and his chair was empty. He had always sat by Jarrod; Audra had been alone on the other side.

Mealtimes had been a major problem; the empty chair was the unspoken focus of the entire family. Every time Nick had seen it, the rage and bitterness had grown; hatred of the men who had murdered his father burned in his belly, and no matter what was said, he refused to be comforted.

Then, one morning, he had come down and found Jarrod in Father's chair. Remembering his reaction, he chalked up another memory of the mistakes which could be made through impetuous reactions. He had not known about Mother's request to Jarrod; he had not known how hard it had been for Jarrod to assume their father's place. He had only known that it was wrong, and in typical fashion, he attacked.

At least, Nick thought, at least Mother's voice got through to me before I killed Jarrod. Wincing in remembered pain, he felt the lash of her commands reach through his rage and quell his response. Jarrod had helped him up, and the meal had been silent, as had many meals after that before he had come to terms with the fact that life had to continue.

Suddenly aware that the room was silent, Nick looked up. Only Heath was maintaining a straight face; the rest of them were obviously trying not to laugh. He wondered how long his head had been bent in an attitude of prayer after his mother had said “Amen.”

He looked over at Heath, hoping for rescue, but he was beginning to learn that the straighter Heath's face was, the more important it was to look at his eyes. The gleam in them was the brightest Nick had seen.

Yep, he thought. I've made a fool of myself again. Instead of embarrassment, however, he recognized a new feeling, a new ability to laugh at himself. As the silence grew, he looked around; Audra, as usual, was the first to break. With a snort which was definitely not ladylike, she buried her face in a napkin. Nick grinned at the sight.

“I guess Nick got religion when he saw how much work I'd already done for him this mornin',” Heath said.

His innocent tone belied the intent Nick knew he had, but he didn't care. Yes, the trip might be hard, but Father had always taught them that the things worth having were the hardest to obtain. Peace settled on him as he realized the trip to Sky Meadow was something well worth the time and effort.

That night, as Jarrod and Heath peacefully slept, Nick sat and marveled at the absurdity of ever thinking that he would be at peace. The three had traveled to Sky Meadow; the fishing had been great. Heath and Jarrod had obviously enjoyed themselves. So why, Nick asked himself, why is it that I'm sitting here, all by myself, wanting something and not knowing what it is I want? Angrily he shook his head, trying to shake off the demon of depression which threatened to discourage him even more. “You all right, Nick?”

The lanky cowboy looked up quickly to see Heath crouching beside him. The younger man waited patiently for an answer to his question. If Nick had anyone to bet with, he would have wagered the ranch that Heath would wait there for hours and not once raise a sweat. Well, he thought, he can just wait. I've done all this ... I've pushed so hard, and nothing's changed. Nothing!

Somewhere, a voice of reason warned Nick not to push that thought too far. Choosing to ignore it, he merely grunted in response to Heath's question and leaned forward to pour himself another cup of coffee.

“Any left?”

Still angry but not understanding why, Nick grunted again. Heath leaned forward and picked up the coffeepot. Pouring himself a cup, he sat back on his heels and sipped.

“Hot still.”

“Yeah.”

Nick knew he was being ungracious, knew he was acting like a child, but he couldn't stop himself. It had all seemed so right, so good, so necessary. They would all come here, they would fish, and they would . . . what?

That was the question. It had seemed so important to him that he fight for this trip, that he and Jarrod take Heath up here where Father had taken them. Well, here they were, but Heath hadn't acted any different than he ever did. It seemed to Nick that this new brother could have...should have realized what he intended by the invitation. It seemed to him that Heath should have acknowledged that this was the place Father had taken both his sons to relax. But Heath hadn't even cared enough about the place to ask Jarrod or him any questions about Father. The more Nick thought about it, the more the anger surged, and the more he wanted to belt Heath right in the mouth. The churlish thoughts seethed in him until he didn't think he could contain them much longer. How dare he? Didn't he understand...

“Understand what, Nick?”

Startled, Nick looked up.

“Huh?”

“You asked me somethin' about understandin'.”

“Never mind.”

Heath settled back, leaning against a fallen log. Nick glanced at him and felt anger grow again. There he was, looking as comfortable and relaxed as if he were in his own room, leaning back, no care in the world, as if he didn't seem to know what this place meant to his own brothers. With an impatient shake of his head, Nick got to his feet and stalked down to the lake's edge. Picking up stones, he began to skip them over the surface of the lake; with each toss, he mentally berated himself for thinking that Heath would care about their childhood; that he would care about what kind of man their father had been.

He heard footsteps coming up behind him and recognized the familiar sound of Heath's walk. He continued to throw rocks, willing, almost daring, his brother to interrupt his foul mood. “You feelin' a mite restless tonight?”

Nick knew better than to open his mouth. He knew that if he responded, he would explode and he didn't know why.

He felt, rather than saw, Heath pick up a stone and sail it across. It skipped gracefully across the surface of the water. Despite himself, Nick grinned.

Heath picked up another stone. Nick glanced at him; the younger man was weighing the stone in his hand, tentatively getting the feel of it.

“You come down here to ride herd on me?”

Heath tossed the rock from hand to hand, taking his time before he answered.

“No, Nick, I'm here because I want to be.”

Despite his resolve, Nick felt himself giving in to his brother's tactics. He knew that before long, they'd be talking ... or he would be talking and Heath'd be listening. Sighing inwardly, he squatted down to pick up another handful of stones. As the pebbles ran through his fingers, he saw all his resolve slipping away. He had dared to dream that this trip would open doors for all three of them, would give them a comfortable place to talk about their father, would give Heath insight into what kind of man his father was. Wrong again, Nick muttered.

“Wrong about what, Nick?”

The older man stared at his brother, wondering what to say or how to say it. How did one man tell another about his dreams? How could he say that he had given up the last part of his childhood, trying to include Heath, but Heath hadn't entered the door? How could he say that he felt . . . betrayed? Men ... real men ... didn't think those things. They just kept on doing what needed to be done.

Helplessly, he swung his arm wide, waving it over the lake and the trees. Couldn't Heath see? Couldn't he understand? The voice of mockery echoed in his mind again, taunting him with yet another failure. “Nick, you gotta help me here. I'm not understandin' what you want.”

“What I want? What about the fact that we're here, at this place, all three of us?”

“What about it?”

Heath's calm question enraged the man. He turned and faced his brother. “Well now, I'd think you'd be curious. After all, he was father to us all.”

“That's where you're wrong, Nick.”

“And just what does that mean?”

“Some things got no answers, Nick, and some answers got no questions.”

“If you aren't the most exasperating piece of work I've ever met, I don't know who is! Just what is that supposed to mean?”

Heath sighed as he bent to pick a rock from Nick's stack. Effortlessly skipping it across the lake, he watched the ripples grow. “It's kind of like that water did with the rock. It was there, and we saw it, but now it's gone.”

“The rock's there, Heath; we just can't see it.”

“And that's what I'm meanin' to say, Nick. He was your father, but he fathered me. Reckon I can't say it no plainer than that.”

Nick bent down to get a rock, willing himself to remain silent. His battle didn't last longer than it took to send another rock after the one which had sank only seconds ago. “Heath, I know that it must have been hard for you, but now that's all in the past and things are different now. Those old things...what Father did...that's over now, right?”

“I'm here.”

“I know where you are, Heath. I asked you a question.”

Clouds scudded across the sky, and with their movement, moonlight gleamed on the silver lake. The reflection brought light to the darkness, and Nick took advantage of it to glance at his brother. A slight twist of Heath's mouth might have indicated a smile, but Nick wasn't sure. He watched the blond carefully, waiting for an answer. “I said what I gotta say, Nick. I'm here.”

“So this visit, this trip to Sky Meadow means you're willing ... you want to learn about Father?”

Heath sighed. As Nick waited, the blond squatted to pick up some more rocks. “I reckon that if it's important to you, it's all right with me.”

“Boy, I can't understand you at all! What do you mean, important to me? Don't you want to know about him? Don't you care?”

The moon leached all color from the scene. Nick looked at his brother's face and recognized that there was going to be a silence before an answer came. Hands on his hips, he waited. “It all depends, Nick.”

“You've said that before, Heath! Depends on what?”

Heath rose to his feet. Looking directly at his brother, he inhaled deeply. “It depends on how you look at things. To you, this is a place where you learned how to be a man; to me, it might be different.”

“That's right, it might be, but I'm tryin' to make it the same.”

Heath sighed. “Nick, you're wantin' to do somethin' that can't be done.”

“I don't think so. I just want you to know what it was like ... having him as your father.”

“I already know what that's like, Nick.”

Heath's words hit Nick like a bucket of cold water on a sleeping drunk. He snapped his head around to look at this younger brother, who met his gaze calmly.

Now Heath did smile, and Nick felt even more confusion.

“Nick, ain't nothin' ever gonna do what you want. You 'n' me, we started out different, and there's no way we'll ever catch up, 'cause there ain't no way we can change the beginnin'.”

Nick stared at his brother, who looked back at him, as calm as if they were discussing a game of horseshoes.

“So you don't care.”

“I never said that, Nick. I care...I care a lot, but my reasons for carin' are always gonna be different from yours.”

Futility took on a whole new meaning in Nick's mind. His mind raced back over the past few weeks and he saw that this journey that Hatch and his bank robbery had started had no easy endings. He thought he understood what Heath had said, but he wanted to know more. As he discovered that desire, however, he also discovered that there were only certain lengths to which he could go, and he had reached his limit for the day.

“Just tell me one thing, Heath.”

“If I can.”

“Why did you come up here with us?”

Now it was Heath's turn to look at his brother, and as the level blue gaze met his own hazel eyes, Nick wondered what the answer would be.

“I came so’s I could get to know the living, Nick, 'cause I don't figure I can ever know the dead.”

As Heath finished the sentence, he turned and walked back to the campsite. Nick sat down by the pile of rocks he had built and, as his emotions roiled his mind, carefully and methodically destroyed the pile. Dawn found him still sitting there, still thinking. “You're up early, Brother Nick.”

Nick jumped at the sound of lawyer's voice. He nodded briefly and said nothing. Staring at the lake, he saw the reflection of the sunrise and marveled at how the world could contain such beauty when the people who walked the surface of the planet could experience such bleakness that the beauty failed to move them. “Heath says that we can fish for breakfast or have beans.”

Forcing a smile, Nick nodded.

“Well now, I reckon one of us'd better get to work and pray the fish are biting.”

“It would seem that our younger brother agrees with you. Take a look.”

Nick glanced to where Jarrod was pointing. There, standing to his brothers' left, was Heath, adding in a large trout to an already full line. The blond held up the trout and from the nod he gave, seemed to be satisfied. He turned and went back to the campsite, whistling off-key. “See? Even he doesn't like his beans.”

The attempt at humor fell flat. He could feel Jarrod's keen gaze trying to pierce the facade with which the cowboy was attempting to cover himself, and he willed himself to try to behave as normally as possible. Hurrying to the campsite, he offered to finish cleaning the trout; with a raised eyebrow, Heath gladly left the task to him.

Breakfast was quiet; all three men were hungry and ate the fish with enjoyment. As they finished, Heath took the plates and went to the lake to wash them and the pan in which they had fried the trout.

Watching him walk and squinting through the sun's rays as the day came to its full glory, Nick yawned. “Shall I make some more coffee, Brother Nick?”

“Good idea.”

As Jarrod filled the coffeepot and placed it on the fire, Nick watched his brother glance covertly at him. Yep, he thought, today's the day he's gonna try to get it all out of me. The cowboy welcomed the quiet return of their younger brother, who carefully put the tin plates away, along with the frying pan.

“I gather you didn't sleep well last night.”

Nick grunted, warily recognizing his older brother's tactic of maneuvering to learn what he wanted to know. The cowboy glanced over to Heath, whose face remained impassive. The blond leaned over and picked up the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. He lifted the pot in invitation; Nick nodded and held out his tin cup.

“Remember the first time you had coffee?”

Nick laughed as the memory hit him.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“You badgered Father until he gave in and poured you a cup. He warned you but . . . “

The familiar memory made Nick laugh.

“But I wouldn't listen...not when he told me how hot it'd be or when he told me how bitter coffee was if you weren't used to it.”

“I don't know who laughed harder, Father or me, when you spit it out and ran down to the lake. When you jumped in, I thought I'd separated a rib. Your face was so shocked when you came up for air.”

“That water was cold, Big Brother!”

“And all the time we were trying to dry you off and get you warm, you kept on saying, 'I'll get you, Jarrod; I know you made that coffee taste bad.'“

Nick's laughter turned to silence as the memory of his father became almost tangible. He saw himself sitting on the shore, wrapped in blankets. He saw Jarrod leaning against a tree, and he saw their father bending over a foolish boy with black hair and hazel eyes. Nick remembered how Father had worked to warm his younger son, chafing his feet with his large, work-roughened hands. Jarrod had still been amused, but Father had become serious when he saw how blue Nick's lips had become. The cowboy closed his eyes as he inhaled the scent of the water, the trees, and longed to feel his father's hands again. “Those were good times.”

“That they were, Jarrod. That they were.”

“Better than the times we've had lately.”

Nick grunted, unwillingly coming back to the present.

“Nick, a lot more went on in that grove than you told Fred.”

“You think so?”

“Something had to happen to make a killer like Hatch lose concentration; something you said or did, maybe?”

Nick moved slightly and cradled the warm cup in his hands. He glanced over at Heath, who sat still, moving only to sip his coffee.

“Nick, what happened?”

“Jarrod, what does it matter? They're dead. They deserve it. That's all that's important.”

“Nick, a lot's happened to you in the past few weeks! Think just for a minute! You were kidnapped. You saw a sixteen-year-old boy murdered. You even lost your memory because of the kidnapping. Now you listen to me, Nick! It's important for you to understand that...”

“Understand? What in the world do you know about understanding? You weren't there, Jarrod! You didn't go through all that!”

“I know that, Nick, but if you talk about it, then maybe it'll be over for us all.”

“Over? It'll never be over! I lived it, Jarrod, and I know that there are some things that'll never end. This is one of those things.”

“Nick, I know it was hard, but . . . “

“You know it was hard? Well now, do you really? Do you know what it's like to be a captive, to be helpless, to know that no matter what you do, you're gonna die? Do you know what it's like to watch a boy begging for his life so that he can care for his mother? Do you know how it feels when the monsters who took you both toss a coin to see which one of you dies? Do you? Do you know what it's like when it comes down heads and you realize that a boy will die because of the flip of a coin? And do you know . . . “

Nick's outburst clearly took the lawyer aback. The cowboy breathed in deeply, trying to control the frustration, the rage, and the fear that came as he realized he had almost betrayed his deepest secret. Ducking his head, he noticed that in his outburst, he had thrown his coffee cup to the edge of the fire. Heath leaned over and picked it up and poured his brother another cup. “Do I know what, Nick?”

“Let it alone, Jarrod.”

“Nick--”

“He said to let it alone.”

“Heath, with all due respect . . . “

“Respect be hanged. Let him alone.”

“I'm just trying...”

Nick moved impatiently and jumped into the conversation. “You're just trying to fix it all, Jarrod, and as I learned last night, some things can't be fixed.”

Heath glanced at Nick and gave that half-smile which disappeared as fast as it came. Nick felt strangely warmed “No, Nick, not all things can be fixed. But when you go through the things you've had happen, it's only natural that your family be concerned. We all understand that it's over, but still, it's important that...”

“That what? That you find out the reason I lost my memory?”

“Nick, we all know why you lost your memory. Watching Tony die couldn't have been easy for you.”

“Jarrod, I didn't lose my memory because I watched Tony die. I lost it because I couldn't face the fact that when the coin came up heads, I was glad! I was relieved that I wasn’t the one who was going to die. I lost my memory because I couldn't live with knowing who I am, no matter how true it is. And it's true.”

There. It was done. He had finally told them. The silence was all that he had expected it to be and more. Finally, Jarrod spoke. “Nick, I'm sure that you're exaggerating things a bit.”

“No, he's not. He's tellin' you the truth.”

“Heath, no one could be glad to know that a boy would be shot!”

“You're right, Jarrod, but anyone could be relieved to find out it wasn't his head that'd have a bullet through it.”

Nick stared at Heath. The man who he thought he knew would have been disgusted at his cowardice; this man showed no such feelings.

“I'm sure you're right, but . . . “

“But nothin'. You've never been in that place, Jarrod. You wouldn't know.”

Nick looked over at Jarrod. The lawyer's face showed his conflicting thoughts. The lanky cowboy felt the rejection of what he had confessed, felt the recoil of a man who lived by principle alone, felt his older brother withdraw from him. “No, Heath, I've never been in that position, but I'm sure that what Nick is saying is not quite the way it really was.”

“Jarrod, you really don't know what you're talkin' about. There's a difference between doin' and feelin'; Nick didn't do anything wrong. He just had a normal reaction when he found out he was gonna live. I'd bet you that right after he had that feeling, he offered his life for Tony's.”

The ice inside Nick's chest started to thaw. Heath actually understood! There would be no judgment from him. “Am I right, Nick?”

Nick nodded wearily.

“And ever since then, you've been tryin' to hide the fact that you wanted to live. No wonder.”

“What do you mean, Heath?”

Jarrod's voice was cautious. Nick realized that the lawyer was out of his element and trying very hard to walk carefully as he sought understanding.

“I mean, Jarrod, that it's no wonder a man like Nick wouldn't be able to handle that alone. Seems to me that you both have this idea that because you're Barkleys, you've gotta be above life as it is.”

“Heath, again, with all due respect, I'd say that you're a bit off the mark there. Yes, our father reared us to stand up for right and fight wrong, but he didn't force us to throw out our lives and live only for the Barkley name.”

“But then he died. A hero, fighting for the rights of the weaker man. And you both picked up the gauntlet and fought on for the same ideals.”

“Would you say that's wrong, Heath?”

“No, but I'd say that every man has to come to an understandin' of reality. If we could go back in time to when the railroaders shot Tom Barkley, I say we'd see a man who wouldn't back down but who wasn't real happy over dyin', either.”

The simplicity of Heath's statement silenced his two brothers. Nick watched the thoughts flicker across the lawyer's face and smiled. Jarrod tentatively returned the smile. “Can you tell me why you kept this a secret, Brother Nick?”

“I could, Jarrod, but you'll have to figure it out on your own. I've got me some thinking to do.”

“Are you going down to the lake?”

“Well, Pappy, what do you think?”

“Whenever you were upset, you'd come here and skip rocks. Father used to say I should let you alone, that you did your thinking by moving, and it was easier to have you throw rocks in the water than through windows.”

Nick laughed despite himself. “Yeah, I guess I broke a few of those, didn't I?”

“My memory calls up more than a few, Nick.”

“And of course, you didn't break any.”

“How could I? I was too busy trying to figure out what you'd be up to next so that Father wouldn't tan my backside for not watching over you better.”

“I'll bet that happened a few times.”

“It did, Brother Nick, indeed it did. But I do believe that Father gave me some bad advice.”

Nick looked at the lawyer intently. The criticism he had seen earlier was gone. “What advice would that be, Pappy?”

“I think you know. May I accompany you?”

The two men stood. Nick bent and placed his coffee cup by the fire. Heath remained still. Jarrod began to walk towards the lake. Nick turned and grinned at his younger brother. “Betcha I'm gonna catch more than both of you together.”

The half-smile came and went. Heath stood and in silent companionship, walked with his brothers to the lake shore. As they walked, Nick fell naturally between the two men, realizing that he was where he belonged. And for the first time in his life, he realized the gift Tom Barkley had given them all encompassed more than a name, more than a way of behavior. He had given the three men life, and that was the most precious gift of all. The Sojourner had come home.

The End