A Trust Betrayed

Chapters 41-50

by Redwood

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.

Chapter 41

Victoria caught up to Nick where he stood staring at his father’s picture over the mantle in the study.

She placed her hands on his shoulders when she entered the room to stand behind him. She could feel the tension radiating through him, as he stood, hands on hips, struggling to pull his emotions under control.

For long moments, neither of them spoke. Then, he slowly turned to face her, and he enveloped her in his arms.

Again, neither one said anything. She kept her hands clasped across his back, across the broad, black leather of his vest, her cheek against his chest.

He reached up with his hand to stroke her silver hair at the back of her neck.

“This is my fault, Nick. As soon as he is up to it, I plan to talk to him. I can only hope it’s not too late,” she said quietly.

Nick hugged her to him, her words confirming what he had suspected for days. She blamed herself.

But, he couldn’t let her carry this alone.

He said, “No, Mother. It’s not your fault. I’m the one that took so long to accept him. I’m the one that left him here for two months to face all of the questions alone, armed only with his promise to me that he would not tell you why I had left. I’m the one that told Bentell Heath would be going with him. And, I’m the one that told Heath I’d like to be on his side about Anders, but wasn’t.”

He caught his breath and let it back out in a loud sigh, and he said, “He trusted me, and I’m the one that betrayed him the most, over and . . . .”

She raised her head and looked up at this tall, fiercely-protective middle son. Then, she raised her hand to his face and placed it over his mouth, stopping the onslaught of words, aimed not at her, but inside himself, toward his own heart.

She reached down with her other hand to take his in hers. She led him over to the red settee, tugging him by the hand. When he was reluctant to turn and sit down beside her, she placed her other hand on his arm and pulled, then turned sad, imploring grey eyes up to look at him.

When he finally complied, he hugged her close with one arm around her shoulders and, with the other, reached out to hold both of her hands in his.

They sat like that, each lost in memories, worries, and fears, for several minutes----each drawing strength from the other.

Finally, she spoke.

“You’re right, Nick. You, me, Jarrod, we each carry a measure of the blame, but it is my fault that it has come to this. Of all of us, I knew best the quiet pride of the father, and I should have understood the quiet pride of the son. I am about to lose Heath, to be the cause of his going, just like I was the cause of his father’s similar reaction years ago.”

She patted Nick’s knee, then stood and walked across the room to look up at Tom Barkley’s picture almost directly above her. She glanced behind her to see that Jarrod and Audra had joined them in the warm, wood-paneled room, to see the faces of all three of them looking at her, stunned at her words.

Then, she turned back and gazed into the eyes of the man she loved with all of her heart, the man she continued to love, though she lived each day now without him.

She spoke again, “It is true that his father, your father, went to Strawberry on business over twenty-five years ago, but there was another reason he left. We had just lost the baby born over two years after you, Nick, and we were both hurting inside. Instead of turning to him in my grief, instead of listening to his pain and sharing mine with him, I started trying to assert myself in every area of our lives, including the business end of things. In trying to regain control over what I had lost, I tried to force him into some financial decisions he didn’t want to make.”

She paused, then continued, with tears filling her voice, “I lost sight of what a strong, self-reliant man he was. I tried to force him to be someone he was not, could never be, should never be . . . It was after Strawberry, after he finally returned, that I realized how wrong I was. I expected too much compliance of him then, and I have been expecting too much of his son now.”

She turned back to look into the sorrow-filled eyes watching her. “I think that each of you should talk to your brother, to let him know how you feel about him, about the mistakes we have made where he is concerned. But, the fault lies with me. Heath made you a promise, Audra, one that I have no doubt he will keep. But, his promise gives me hope that we have time to make this right with him.”

She took a deep breath and said, “And, I have made a promise, too----a promise to your father. I promised my husband’s memory that I will make this right with his son, with the son that he has given me from beyond his grave to love. I will do everything I can to make this right with his son, with my son, with Heath. Somehow I have to convince him how very much I love him and how deeply sorry I am for not respecting him, for forcing him to go with Bentell, for trying to force him to talk to Anders.”

Then, she looked into the eyes of each of them and added with steel in her anguished voice, “But, know this. If he decides, despite what each of us has to say to him, that he no longer trusts us, that he wants to leave this family, . . . we will stop trying to force him. He doesn’t deserve that from us.”

She stopped, and the sob that threatened to escape made her voice crack when she continued. “ . . . If he is determined to leave, we will each honor his wishes. Whatever happens, no matter how much it hurts us, from here on, we will respect his choices.”

* * * * * * * *

Hoover and Wade had decided to play three hands of black jack to decide who had to go into town to the telegraph office. The smaller of the two smirked again as he thought about his partner’s face at losing two of the three times. The cursing had filled the small cabin as he had gathered his gear, before he had slammed the door behind him and left.

It had been four hours, plenty of time to ride into Stockton in the early morning, and slip back out again before that ornery sheriff was any the wiser.

Looking up from his cards, the man smiled again when he heard the approaching horse.

As he met his partner at the make-shift corral, the taller man nodded to him. “Yep. Jes’ like you thought. He’s dead, too. ‘Twas that lawyer what did it, him an’ his brother.”

“Which one? Heard he’s got two brothers----a real one, and a so-called brother. That one’s really his dead daddy’s woods colt that strayed in here a while back.”

“Don’t know, but the telegram said one’a them’s got dark hair----that’d be our high and mighty lawyer that wouldn’t let us at Anders----and the other one we want has light-colored hair.”

“Ain’t seen him ‘a’fore,” the small, smirking one responded.

“Don’t matter, though. ‘Wouldn’t hurt my feelings none to take care’a all three of ‘em while we’re at it---including that other dark-haired one, the loud-mouthed one with the rifle that we tangled with at the ranch. ‘Guess he’s the third brother.”

The smaller man shook his head and looked down at his boots, “Still can’t figure it. . . . Your cousin, Jamison, dead too, jes like Matt. ‘Giant of a man like him, ‘thought he’d outlive us all.”

“Me neither, but it’s too late now for him, ‘cept for one thing.”

“Yeah. Killin’ ‘em both what did it.”

Chapter 42

She caught her breath when she passed the open doorway of his room before lunch the next day.

It had been a quiet night, with Nick sleeping on a covered mattress on the floor by Heath’s dresser. This morning at breakfast, he’d said he had slept most of the night. His brother had only awakened once, very briefly.

The doctor had been both smiling and shaking his head when he had left Heath’s room a little later in the morning.

When questioned downstairs afterwards, he had told her, “Victoria, Heath has come a long way in the last three days. I never would have thought it possible. While he’s still passing signs of old blood, the swelling has gone down tremendously and makes me more sure than ever that his kidneys were not as involved as I first feared. He still has more pain to deal with than I would like, and, as you know, he refuses the laudanum, but he’s managing. And, to tell you the truth, I think he started to improve rapidly when he quit letting us give it to him.”

Taking her by the arm, the doctor said, “I’ve got some other rounds to make, so I need to get a move on.” He opened the door and moved outside with her as he continued, “Heath is still experiencing some dizziness, pretty constant headaches, and his arm is bothering him more than he will admit, but I am really very pleased. If you can manage to keep him in the bed for another week, that would be best. I’d prefer to know he’s not going to take another blow of any kind and aggravate his injuries. But,” he said to her with a twinkle in his eye, “I’d be willing to bet you won’t be able to keep him there even for three more days!”

He chuckled as he climbed into his waiting buggy, saying, “By the way, I checked Jarrod’s arm again this morning. He is healing nicely.”

“Thank you, Howard,” she said, waving to him.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” the kindly doctor responded as he turned his rig around. “Oh, Victoria,” he called as he brought the horse back to a stop after turning him, “I forgot to tell you. Heath asked me about Gil Anders this morning. He wanted to know how he was.” He reached down and patted the hand Victoria had placed on the side of his buggy at this news. “I told him that yesterday Anders was in better shape than he is, and, that in fact, he has now left town.”

Now, as she stood by Heath’s open bedroom door, Victoria shook her head at her stubborn son, a smile on her face.

Suddenly, however, a look of anguish replaced the smile, as she was hit by the memory of the night over a week ago when she had entered his empty room, visualized him sitting there, and had realized the wrong she had done to him.

Now, just as her memory had pictured him then, all she could see of him were his long legs clad in tan jeans and his sock feet propped up on the window sill. As so many times before, he was seated in the high-backed leather chair facing the open window.

How long had he been out of the bed? And, how had he managed to get himself at least partially dressed? Wondering if he had had an accomplice, she quickly turned and saw Jarrod’s door closing quietly.

Smiling to herself again, she knocked gently on the doorframe and entered his room.

As she approached, she saw that he was propped up with several pillows and that his eyes were closed. His bandaged head was resting against one wing of the chair.

Silently, she stood beside him, stroking his blond hair, and watched his face for any reaction. Seeing none, she brought the smaller wooden chair to the window from the writing desk across the room and sat down next to him.

After about five minutes of enjoying the soft afternoon breeze coming in, she turned back to him and saw his tired blue eyes studying her.

“Hello, there! I can see I’m going to have to keep a closer eye on you, young man!” She smiled and kept her tone light, so he would know she was only half-heartedly scolding him.

He smiled back at her and replied, “Yep, one eye ought’a do it. ‘Don’t feel much like escapin’ yet.”

She nodded. “Is there anything I can get you? Something to eat, some water?”

He started to shake his head, thought better of it, and just said quietly, “No, . . . thanks.”

“Headache?”

“Ummmm, . . . ” he mumbled, as he closed his eyes, and his hand came up to knead the area near his right ear and just below the bandage.

“The doctor left something for that, . . .” She started the sentence, but trailed off, knowing the answer before she mentioned it. His response for days had been the same as it was now.

“No. Thanks though.”

She started to protest, then stopped, suddenly unsure of herself with him. She needed, wanted, to start a conversation with him, but was determined to do what was best for him, not herself, no matter how much her heart needed to hear him say everything between them could be all right again.

She sat quietly, looking back out of the window for a few more minutes.

Then, though he remained silent, she looked back to see his eyes open to look at her again. She made up her mind that now was as good a time as any.

“Heath. I want to tell you something, something that’s been bothering me since the day I joined you in Harry’s saloon.” She hesitated, watching his face. Seeing no surprise nor agitation, she asked, “Do you feel like listening to me now, or would you rather I wait?”

He lowered his hand from his head and looked across at her, his light blue eyes reflecting the color from the sky beyond the open window. His eyes neither encouraged nor discouraged her from continuing.

But, quietly, he said, “I’ll listen, Mother.”

She swallowed hard, but forced her eyes to continue to look into the depths of his. “Heath, I was wrong.” She searched his face for any evidence of the effect of her words. She saw none, so she continued. “I should never have forced you to go with Bentell three months ago, and I should never have tried to force you to talk to Anders. There’s so much more I want to talk to you about, but that’s mainly what I needed to share with you now. I am so sorry, Heath. What I put you through was beyond my understanding at the time, and now. . . now, I have a better idea of what I did to you. I’m just so sorry!”

Half-way through her words, she had noticed his eyes drop to her hands. They had started out clasped in her lap, but by the end of the one-sided conversation, she had reached out with them both, reached out toward him, to grasp the arm of the chair he was in.

Now that she was finished talking, he slowly reached over to cover her smaller ones with one of his larger hands. With a lop-sided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he squeezed her hands and said, “Thank you for telling me. It helps to hear you say that, but. . . .”

He trailed off and closed his eyes again. The pain behind them was evident to her, though she was unsure if it was more of the headache, or her words, that caused it.

When he opened them again, he looked into her grey eyes and said, “Mother, I don’t understand why ya’ feel you need ta apologize ta me, or even why ya’ would change your mind now. . . . ”

Again he stopped and closed his eyes. A slight groan propelled him forward as he pushed his hands up to catch and hold his pounding head.

Unable to maintain her neutral posture of not forcing something upon him, even in this, she implored him, “Heath, please take the powder he left for you. It isn’t as strong as the laudanum.”

“No. I don’t want it. Please understand. I won’t get any better if I keep relyin’ on it.”

She blinked rapidly and went to stand beside him. “Alright, Heath. Alright. I have learned, finally, that I need to respect your wishes, that I need to trust you to make the best decisions for yourself. But, I will always be here for you. I will always want to reach out to support you. So, please tell me. How can I help you, Son? What can I do?”

As he started to shake his head and a stab of pain made him grab again for his head, she reached out, despite his silence. She touched his head, running the fingers of one hand through his hair, and using the other to knead the place he had been rubbing earlier. “If that’s not the place where it hurts, please show me,” she said quietly.

Hesitantly, he reached up with his eyes closed and moved her hand slightly. As she concentrated on the new spot, she murmured, “I’m here for you. If there’s any way I can help you since you don’t want the medicine, please tell me. I love you, and I want to help ease the pain, not cause more for you.”

Slowly, her hands reached him through the pain, and the single breath it seemed like he had been holding for hours, escaped through his lips. She smiled slightly at the sound of his sigh.

As his breathing became more regulated, she slowly let up some of the pressure. She moved the hand from his hair to the back of his neck, just at the hairline. Flattening out her fingers, she used the side of her hand to push into the area where his skull met his spine. Then, after a few moments, she used her strong fingers to rub the back of his neck, making small circular motions.

He began to relax, and again, she eased up some on the pressure of her fingers. Slowly, she stopped and watched his face.

With his eyes still closed, he leaned into the pillow beside him. Then, he cracked an eye open, and whispered, “Thank you.”

She eased back into the chair next to him and placed her hand on top of his as it lay on the arm of the wine-colored leather chair. She squeezed his hand and felt him turn his hand over to grasp hers in his larger one.

They sat like that for a good while.

Then, she said quietly, not sure if he was asleep or still alert enough to hear her. “Heath, it was not right of me to try to make you do something you were not comfortable with regarding those two men. You were there when the events of years ago took place; I was not. I had no right to tell you what to do.”

She stopped to see if he would respond, still unsure if he was hearing her or not.

He squeezed her hand in slow reply. His eyes remained closed.

“You are your father’s son. You are stubborn and willful like he was, and you have your own code of integrity that you must live by, just like he did, just like both of your brothers. That was one of the things I loved most about your father, but, just like I did to him once, I have tried to change your sense of integrity to match mine. He would never have taken that from me----he didn’t, in fact, and neither should you.”

His blue eyes, now open, were watching her, waiting.

She smiled at him, then looked out of the window toward the grave of the man she had buried years before. He squeezed her hand again.

“Heath, I don’t know what you want to do, whether you are willing to give me, give this family, another chance or not. But, I promise you that I will do my best to never put you in that situation again. You are my son, but you are your own man, as well. If I ever act like I am trying to force you into something, please remind me of that fact.”

She stood, holding his hand, and leaned over him, kissing him lightly on the cheek. Then, she returned to the wooden chair, her posture as straight as ever before. Somehow, with his hand still holding hers, and the words finally spoken aloud into the air between them, she felt better than she had in days.

No matter what he decided, she knew she would be grateful for the fact that he had listened to her now.

When he surprised her and started speaking, his voice was so soft, she was afraid she might have missed the first few words. “Mother, I would do anything for you. I’ve told you that before.”

He looked at her, as she nodded.

“I remember, Heath,” she breathed.

“It was a promise I made ta you then, the day of his ceremony, an’ it’s one I will not go back on, not ever. You’ve given me a home, a family, so much more than I ever dared ta dream of. I love you with all my heart.” He paused, and then he continued, “If there is something ya’ want me ta do, all ya’ have ta do is ask me.”

Then, he leaned forward carefully, his other hand seeking the tears that trailed down her cheeks as she listened to his quiet words.

Though he did not say it, she knew he was reminding her that it had not been necessary to force him into anything, not three months ago, not last week, not now.

She nodded again, her eyes seeking his, “I know, Heath. You’re exactly right. If I had asked, you would have given to me freely what I tried to make you give to me by force. If I had talked to you and quietly asked you to go with Bentell, you would have. If I had taken you by the hand and asked you to come with me up these stairs and talk to Anders, you would have that day.”

She paused, and took a deep breath, trying to hold nothing back, trying to be completely honest with him, with herself, “But, you know, I think in my heart, I knew it was wrong to ask you. It was wrong to use the power you had given me to gain your compliance.”

Then, she took a deep breath and said, “What I didn’t consider at the time was that the way I did it was just as wrong, maybe more so.”

She stood and reached across to draw him to her, hugging him awkwardly from his seat in the chair. She kissed the top of his head and said, “Another thing I have learned is to talk to you about what you want, what you need, and to ask you what I can do to help you, even if I do not necessarily agree with you.”

He smiled up at her and asked, “Like with my headache?”

She stroked his hair and replied, “Yes, Heath, just like with your headache.”

He nodded slightly. Then, he shifted in the chair and leaned back and to the left, into the pillows.

She stroked the side of his face and smiled down at him, “Get some sleep, Sweetheart. I’ll check back on you in a little while.”

Quietly, she walked from his room and down the hall toward her own. Once there, she eased her exhausted frame into her own upholstered chair by the window. Covering her face with her hands, she leaned over and let the tears fall.

Though she was very relieved at the conversation and its conclusion, though her heart felt lighter at the words she had spoken and at the way he had listened to her, she still felt a knot of fear curled up deep inside her.

The fear lay there, coiled and waiting, gathered around her worries, her lingering worries, her worries about all that he had left unsaid.

Chapter 43

Jarrod stared at his reflection in the mirror above Heath’s dresser. Though the wood surface he was leaning on was a deep red oak, and not the yellow-knotted pine of the cheaper piece in the hotel room in Coreyville, he had a momentary flashback of standing there, looking at his reflection, over a week ago. His brother had been on his mind then, as a result of the blow he had given Jarrod to his jaw, just as he was on his mind now.

The eyes in the mirror appeared almost as haunted now as they had been then. While he knew more now about why Heath had hit him that day, he was little closer to resolving his other worries where his brother was concerned.

“True,” he thought to himself, staring at the dark reflection of his own concerned blue eyes, “I have gained some ground by talking to Anders, but I’ve reached no such closure about Bentell. And, Heath and I have yet to talk about any of it.”

Focusing his eyes on the reflection of his brother across the room, Jarrod decided that if Heath wanted assistance getting downstairs today, he would suggest they go to the study and talk.

A movement in the mirror caught his eye, as he saw Heath roll onto his side and struggle to push himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Quickly, Jarrod turned and moved around to the other side of the bed. He pulled the chair over to face Heath and sat down.

He watched Heath’s concentrated efforts to slide his long legs into his tan jeans. At one point, he reached over to steady the blond before he toppled sideways. Heath grabbed Jarrod’s arm, righted himself, and, with a lop-sided grin, pushed the arm away just as forcefully. When he stood to complete the process of the buttons, he teetered for a moment and reached out to regain his balance by grabbing the back of Jarrod’s chair.

Then, he sat back down with a grunt of pain, and remained staring at Jarrod, trying to catch his breath.

“Damned fine thing, . . .” he panted, “When I can’t. . . even get dressed. . . without a, . . . a brother. . . hoverin’ around!”

Heath’s lop-sided grin was still in place, so Jarrod returned it with a smile of his own.

Heath continued, “Hoverin’ an’ circlin’ like a vulture. . . . What’re ya waitin’ for? . . . Go find . . . your own britches!”

Jarrod replied, “Actually, I am circling, but I’m waiting on the boots. If you can’t get them on, then maybe I’ll just take them back to my nest and give them to my young. Nobody else would be able to fit into those small boots anyway, if you can’t get them on!”

Heath smiled as he reached under the bed with great effort and groaned loudly as he pulled out the boots. Then, he sat back up, and began the arduous task of pulling on the first one. Again, when Jarrod reached out to help, he slapped the hand away. “Can dress . . . m’self, lawyer!” He said, then added, “Had these. . . boots for four years. . . fin’ly got them. . . broke in good. . . . And, not you, . . .not your vulture, . . . not the Yumas in the des-. . . .”

Suddenly, Heath stopped talking. The smile faded, and he looked down at the floor and, without another word, concentrated on getting his other foot in the remaining boot.

Then, the two of them sat in silence. Jarrod, leaning back in his chair, felt his heart aching for this brother that had been through so much in his short lifetime.

Yumas in the desert.

That meant thoughts of Willie Martin and Gil Anders were not far behind Heath’s lop-sided grin and good-natured banter.

Heath, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, now had his head in his hands, and he was staring down at the floor.

Jarrod leaned forward as well and put one hand on Heath’s shoulder. He grabbed the back of Heath’s neck with the other.

“Heath, I’m so sorry. I never meant any of this to be so hard on you. I can’t imagine what you went through in the desert with that boy because of Gil Anders. And, I can only imagine what you’re going through now.”

He took a deep breath and continued, determined to share his sorrow with his brother. “I’m sure you feel like we all betrayed you when we chose to help Anders, despite your anger about him. I know now we should have all sat down and talked about it. We should have found some way to help him without making you relive it all again. And, I . . . I was the worst. I was so eager to prove him innocent, I didn’t stop to try to understand his guilt for what he had done to you.”

Without raising his head, Heath said quietly, “But, you were right, Jarrod. He was innocent in Coreyville.”

“Yes, Heath, he was. But, he wasn’t innocent of his crime against you, and he wasn’t innocent of his crime against Willie Martin.”

Heath shook his head slightly, eyes still staring at his boots, “He didn’t deserve for those bounty hunters ta shoot him down like a dog at your feet, either. No one deserved that. An’, he. . . he was my friend at one time. I didn’t want that for him.”

Jarrod sucked in a deep breath and let it back out. Was this the time to tell Heath what he had done?

But, before he could say anything else, Heath started talking again, “Jarrod, I didn’t mind any of you tryin’ ta help Anders. Not really. Part of me wanted ta make sure he was alright after what they did to him. . . .”

Jarrod interrupted, bringing his hand up to tousle Heath’s hair, “I know. You are too compassionate a man to want to see him or anyone else harmed, Heath. I knew it then, I just got irritated with you for being so angry. In my mind at the time, it was like you were no different from those two blood-thirsty bounty hunters. . . .”

Heath looked up at Jarrod with pure anguish in his eyes, and he whispered, “No, Jarrod.” He shook his head, the pain at his brother’s words almost undoing him, bringing tears to his eyes.

Equally distraught now, Jarrod pulled Heath’s body forward until he was cradling his brother’s head against his chest. He said, “I was so wrong, Heath. I’m so sorry. I didn’t stop to listen to what you were trying to tell us about the hell that man put you and that boy through. I could only see my own blind quest for justice, justice at any cost.”

Heath’s head nodded against Jarrod’s chest, and they both moved back to sit separately again, one on the edge of the bed, one in the facing chair.

After another long silence, Heath quietly tried again to finish what he had started to say before. “Part’a me was glad that my family could be strong enough ta be there for Gil when I couldn’t.”

As he continued, his voice grew stronger, “An’, make no mistake, Jarrod, I couldn’t. Just knowin’ what he cost Willie, a future, a long, full life, . . . I couldn’t. But, I didn’t mind that he was taken care of. I just wasn’t goin’ ta be pushed inta betrayin’ Willie’s memory ta help Gil. It was askin’ too much, an’ Mother, . . . I. . .” He stopped, struggling for how he wanted to say it, “I wouldn’t be pushed inta goin’ against what I felt was right, . . . not again.”

Heath’s head came up, and he stared at Jarrod, unashamed of the single tear that trickled from the corner of one of his startling blue eyes and worked its way slowly down past the still-visible bruises on his face.

“I won’t be pushed inta goin’ against what I feel is right ever again, Jarrod, not even by my love for all of you.”

Jarrod reached over to place each of his hands on top of each of Heath’s forearms, where they rested across his brother’s knees. As he stared into Heath’s unwavering gaze, he nodded, and said, “We are all in agreement, Heath----Mother, Nick, Audra, me. We were wrong to push you. We were wrong when Bentell came, and we were wrong when Anders was here. We will never make that mistake again, Heath. I promise you that, Little Brother. I promise you it will not happen again.”

Then, he used his hands to pull Heath to his feet and hugged him to his chest. Slowly, he felt the tension in his brother begin to ease, and Heath finally reached up to hug him back.

After a few seconds, Jarrod turned Heath toward the doorway and said, “Let’s get you downstairs and out of this room for a while. You look like a man who could use an up-close view of a horse or two.”

* * * * * * * *

A little while later, Jarrod felt hope flare within his chest, as he again approached the open front door. He heard Heath’s soft, quiet drawl and knew his brother was engaged in a joyful conversation with his horse.

When they had come downstairs, Jarrod had asked Ciego to bring the little black Modoc around to the front for Heath. He knew the blond would be glad to see how she was faring after their exhausting escape from Coreyville.

His brother, though he was leaning heavily on the patient horse as he brushed her, was smiling as he talked.

Jarrod braced himself against the door frame, careful of his still healing arm, while he watched the pair.

The mare, one neat little black ear swiveled around toward Heath, was listening with interest as he praised her endurance, “Couldn’t no other horse beat you for stayin’ power, no Ma’am. You’re as fine as they come, Little Girl.”

Jarrod was sure by now that Heath knew he was there, and this was confirmed at his next words, “Gal, did ya ever think we’d have such a fine home as this? For all their talk of justice, loyalty, an’ fam’ly----you know?----I think they believe in it all even more than they say the words? ‘Makes me mighty proud ta wear their name, Little Horse. It sure does. ‘Course there is that lawyer-brother. ‘Guess we’ll have ta keep workin’ on him. For a man that talks about the power of the law, he sure could use some lessons in self-defense!”

Chapter 44

The pounding of the hooves merged with the beating of his heart as the pair flew across the open pasture and skirted the hills beyond.

His wild whoop of joy at the thrill of the wind rushing past, at the feel of the strong, muscular animal beneath him, urged the horse to careen even faster along the wide expanse.

Summer greens and browns meshed with the blue of the sky that matched his eyes, and the rays of the golden sun slashed through the thin white clouds high above.

He smiled broadly, eager in his anticipation of reaching his destination. The large bay barely slowed as they crested the hill on their way toward. . .

. . . But, suddenly, a shot rang out, followed by a loud roar that could only be multiple rounds, fired as one.

Heath suddenly opened his eyes, and he looked around frantically.

Where was the bay?

And, where had he been going with such joy?

His heart slowed.

He was in his room, and all was quiet.

Suddenly, he remembered.

The shots!

Where had they come from?

He lay still, listening, not knowing if the noise that had ended his heart-pounding dream was part of it, was just something remembered from the past, or. . . or something else.

Slowly, he turned his head.

Yes, the still figure was there, like a giant bear in its den. Though asleep, the bear guarded its cub from harm, ready to rise and fight for its life at a moment’s notice.

Heath smiled at the soft growling sounds emanating from the bear-like figure sprawled out on the mattress by the door. The protectiveness of this brother never failed to overwhelm him.

As he sighed, he suddenly realized that relief was also flooding through him. If Nick had not stirred, then the gunshots had been audible only in his dreams.

He lay back on the pillows, staring first up at the ceiling. Then, he turned his head toward the open window. It was still dark out, with a half-moon visible low in the sky.

Something didn’t feel right.

Something was out there.

He struggled to sit up, trying to be quiet, trying hard not to groan with the effort. Grabbing the arm of the leather chair beside the bed, he pulled himself forward and braced against it to stand. A movement in the moonlight caught his attention, and he watched as a single shape, a tall, thin man, darted across the open area between an outbuilding and the closest barn.

Turning, he sat down on the bed and, as quickly as he could, pulled his boots painfully out from underneath and onto his sock feet. Glad of the tan pants he was still wearing from when he had fallen asleep earlier, he didn’t bother with a shirt as he used the oak footboard to pull himself back up. Then, moving with difficulty, he made his way toward the dresser.

Bracing with one hand against the smooth wood, he lowered himself to his knees beside his sleeping brother.

“Nick!” Heath whispered, as he placed his hand over Nick’s mouth and shook him. “Nick, wake up!”

He felt the great bear of a brother rouse beside him. Nick’s confusion was quickly replaced with an alertness that sent waves of confidence, certainty, and strength coursing back through Heath’s bruised body. He placed a finger over his own lips in a signal requesting silence. Then, he reached back up to the dresser and hauled himself to his feet. He opened a drawer quietly and removed his weapons.

Nick was up and moving as soon as Heath was out of his way. He grasped Heath by the shoulders, trying to overlook the wince of pain his hand on Heath’s bare left shoulder caused his brother.

“What’s wrong?” Nick whispered.

“Someone down near the barn, tryin’ ta hide.”

Nick nodded and turned toward the open doorway.

When he realized Heath was right behind him, his holster and two pistols in his hands, he stopped and looked at him, his raised eyebrows visible in the dimness.

“Don’t say it.” Heath’s quiet, serious tone left no room for argument. “I’ll get Jarrod. We’ll be right behind you.”

Nick nodded again, and said, “I’ll check the front doors and go out that way. Get Silas to lock the ones in the back.” Then, he quickly moved down the hall to his room and toward his own firearm. As he descended the stairs quietly, he was grateful that he was not wearing his spurs. He started on the far side of the large, central sitting room, closing and locking the open doors as he worked his way across the front of the house.

Upstairs, Heath opened his oldest brother’s door and eased inside. “Jarrod!” he whispered as he shook him awake.

Jarrod was up and moving in an instant. He too, grabbed Heath, but was more careful of the injuries, and said, “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

Answering quickly, Heath filled Jarrod in and left him pulling on his boots, as he moved down the hall to his sister’s room.

“Audra. Audra, wake up, Little Sis!” he shook her gently and placed his hand over her mouth as her eyes flew wide, and she opened her mouth to scream at the dark shape leaning over her. “It’s Heath, Audra. Shhhhh! It’s okay.”

He held her to him briefly to calm her, then looked into her brilliant blue eyes. “Audra, go to Mother. There’s something goin’ on outside. We’re checkin’, an’ we’ll come back for you.”

He pressed a loaded revolver into her slightly trembling, but capable hands, and led her to the door with his hand under her elbow.

When he was satisfied that she had gone into their mother’s room a moment later and had closed the door, he moved as quickly as he could toward the back stairs. Jarrod was standing at the kitchen door, looking out, as Heath’s soft boots finally reached the last step.

“Silas?” Heath asked, his breathing ragged now.

“He’s locking up the back. Mother and Audra?”

Heath nodded, then signaled to Jarrod to open the door. As his brother eased out first, Heath shook his head at the dizziness that assailed him, grabbing the door frame to steady himself as he, too, exited the house.

Jarrod had moved off to the right, hoping to catch sight of Nick, so Heath moved to the left. He eased himself along the back of the house, using the darkness along its length as his cover. Unable to move very quickly, he struggled to stay low to present the least possible target.

Once he reached the corner of the second barn, the one that contained the forge, he slid down the wooden wall beside him and crouched on one knee behind some barrels. One contained water and would offer little resistance to a bullet, but the other, the one closest to the wall beside him, contained an abundance of nails.

He struggled to catch his breath as quietly as possible, watching the darkness beyond for any sign of movement.

Silently, he hoped that whoever it was had only been looking for quick loot for resale, for quick and ready cash, and had no more malice toward his family than that. But, he was aware that there was only one way to be sure.

Over an hour later, he knew he was losing the ability to keep his focus in the quiet night. Nothing had moved on this side since he had seen the silent figure from his window, running furtively across the yard. He was aware that Jarrod was over by the other barn, watching and waiting behind some large wooden boxes of farming implements. He had not seen Nick since they were upstairs.

Suddenly, he began to worry. How did he know Nick was alright? Though not likely, maybe someone had gotten the drop on him as he had left the house. There had been no sounds of a struggle, but then, he had been upstairs for a time and may not have heard. . . .

A sound behind him sent him spinning around, his back against the rough wood of the barn, one knee in the dirt and the other bent in a crouch.

With a smile, Heath grabbed the neck of the man sliding in beside him, and he wrestled the dark head to his chest. “Glad ta see ya’, Big Brother.”

Released from the hold, Nick grinned back at the blond, “Worried about me, were you?”

“Just about your stomach growlin, . . . ya big, hungry bear, . . . an’ alertin’ everyone ta your location.”

“I don’t know what you’re worried about, Heath. It’s still two hours before breakfast.” Nick whispered back.

“My point,” Heath said smiling, his eyes continuing to survey the grounds beyond them.

“Anything yet?” Nick asked.

“Nothin’. You?”

“No. I hate to say it, but whoever it was either left or. . . .” Nick looked at Heath and winked.

“Or, I’m still seein’ Coulter’s men. . . in the rocks, huh?” Heath asked, catching the implication. “Could be, Big Brother.”

They leaned against the barrels in companionable silence for a while, waiting for daylight and more information.

Finally, Heath broke the quiet again, “I’ve had some powerful dreams lately, Nick. . . . ‘Could be, I just . . . .”

Nick clamped down on Heath’s good shoulder with his hand. “It’s okay, Boy. Let’s give it a little longer to be sure.”

Heath nodded, keeping his eyes on the shadowy areas and glancing occasionally at the streaks of light working their way toward the horizon to the east.

“Jarrod?” he asked.

“He’s alright. ‘Got himself the soft spot on a hay bale behind those boxes. ‘Might hav’ta go wake him up in a little while.”

“Mother an’ Audra?” Heath questioned next.

“They’re fine, checked on them a little while back. They were having a tea party, and I expect to see feathers floating down from Mother’s window anytime.”

At Heath’s raised eyebrow, Nick responded, “You know, Heath, a pillow fight?”

Heath nodded in sudden understanding.

As the comfortable silence stretched out between them again, Nick’s mind carried him back to the night he had come across his two brothers on the road to Coreyville. He found himself still wanting to know the answers to his questions from that night. And, he decided to use the opportunity to approach Heath about how he had treated him since before then.

But, first, he was concerned about the exhaustion and pain-filled tension progressively emanating from the man next to him.

“Heath, I can take the watch for a little while. Why don’t you close your eyes for a few minutes? I’ll wake you a little closer to sunrise.”

“No, Nick. I’m fine. ‘Kinda glad ta be outside for a while, ta tell ya the truth.”

Nick nodded. Then, he asked quietly, “Heath, do you remember what happened in the rocks that night?”

Heath glanced at the dark-headed man beside him. He thought for a moment, then said, “Most of it, I think.”

Then, he stopped and gathered his thoughts, forcing himself to focus through the building headache. Quietly, he said, “I shot at you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Nick nodded anyway, his eyes remaining on the darkness around them. “Yes, but you missed.”

“No.” Heath replied. “I didn’t miss, Nick.”

The hazel eyes closed for an instant, and then found the crystal blue of those beside him.

“You knew it was me, Heath?” Nick asked, trying to keep from sounding anything but puzzled.

“No, I didn’t know, Nick. . . . But, there was something, I don’t know. Maybe your spurs? I . . . I knew there were two men in the rocks. You were closer, down low, right?”

Nick nodded.

“You were the easiest target. . . . I knew I had ta protect Jarrod. I should’ve taken you out first, then, waited for the other one ta show himself, but. . . .” Heath stopped.

He searched the sky for the signs of light and the darkness for signs of movement. Then, he continued, “I don’t know. I couldn’t shoot, well, not ta kill you, anyway. I just put two bullets nearby. . . ta keep you pinned ‘til I could get the other one. I was hurtin’, an’ I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly, Nick. . . . I just couldn’t take a chance on you gettin’ ta Jarrod, but, . . . I couldn’t shoot you, either.”

Heath sat back suddenly, slumped against the barn. He had been carrying those images around with him for days. He rubbed his bandaged head, trying to push the pain back down, back inside, as the memories of that night . . .

Suddenly, his eyes opened wide, and he said quietly, “Nick! I remember, now. I jumped ya, didn’t I?”

Nick’s slight grin, at the lingering memory of the previous words, grew larger at the new question posed. “Yeah, Little Brother. You were defending Pappy, and you thought I’d gotten close enough. I think you believed I was Bentell.”

Heath’s eyes widened even more at this information. Then, he closed his eyes and covered them with his hand.

He sat quietly for so long, Nick finally reached over and placed his hand on his brother’s knee.

“You okay, Heath?”

“Yeah,” was the only reply.

Nick turned back to the scene around them. As he waited, the threat seeming no more than minimal now, he thought about all he still wanted to say to this man beside him.

Slowly, he started speaking, “Heath, I’m so angry with myself for betraying you. First, I left you here to guard my back against the family’s questions for two months. Next, I told Bentell that you’d be accompanying him back to the logging camp, without even asking you----then, I was part of what we did, of forcing you to go with him after you made it clear how you felt.”

Nick stopped, and he looked over at his brother. Heath hadn’t moved. His hand still covered his eyes, and Nick could get no read on his expression underneath. He patted the tan-clad knee again.

“I’ve made many mistakes in the eight months you’ve been here, Heath. I want you to know how sorry I am, from forcing you to put up with Barrett, to not speaking up to side with you about Anders. I know what I need to do now, Heath. I need to listen to you more. I need to show you the respect that I have for you, and I . . . I need to. . .”

Nick trailed off. He looked down at his hands, wanting so badly to reach out to offer his brother his hand and ask him to forgive him. At that moment, he felt spineless, more cowardly than a broom-whipped dog. Then, he gathered himself and finished his sentence, knowing he just wasn’t ready to ask Heath for what he could not grant himself.

“Heath, . . . I love you, Little Brother.”

He reached over to the blond and pulled him away from the side of the barn, away from his slumped position of lonely, overpowering feelings that had resurfaced with the name, spoken aloud moments ago, the name of Matt Bentell. Nick pulled his brother toward his chest and wrapped the younger man in both of his arms. “I love you, Heath. And, I’ll always be here for you. I won’t ever betray your trust in me again.”

Heath’s arms came up, and he returned the hold, “. . . Love ya, too, Nick,” he whispered. Then, through the haze that had filled his head and body, he felt Nick gently lean him against the side of the barn once more, the rough wood solid against his back.

His eyes remained closed, and he let his head and shoulder slump against the barrel beside him.

The next time he cracked open his eyes, he was being pulled up by his good arm, and he felt a strong shoulder lifting him. With his arm draped across Nick’s shoulders, he was able to watch his own feet move slowly toward the back door of the house. He did not protest when Nick was joined by Jarrod, and his sore left arm was carefully lifted across the strong shoulders of his oldest brother.

Then, the two of them lifted him from the ground, each with a muscular arm joined by their hands beneath his knees, and they carried him up the back stairs to his room.

From somewhere beyond his closed eyelids, he heard a deep, growly, bear-like voice say, “Dang Fool Boy! I think he got us all out of the house in the middle of the night, just so he’d have an excuse to get outside too!”

Chapter 45

Jarrod had stayed close to the house the whole day.

As soon as it was daylight, he and Nick had looked around outside, and despite the hard, sun-baked earth, they had found signs that someone had indeed tethered at least one horse among the trees closest to the largest barn. Heath had been right, someone had been out there, but the reason was not yet evident.

Nothing had been stolen, and nothing had been damaged.

However, with conditions as dry as they were, tracking the culprit was impossible, so they had no way to find solutions to their questions.

Neither he nor Nick wanted to be very far away from the house after the events of the night before, but Nick had a couple of crews he had to see about. Jarrod had not yet returned to his office in Stockton since the trip to Coreyville, and he decided to stay away at least another day, just in case some unknown person tried anything at the ranch.

Before he left, Nick posted a few additional men in the area, as well.

But, there was another reason Jarrod stayed close. He knew from his mother that Heath was now aware that Anders had left Stockton, and he felt that Heath needed to know from him what had led up to the departure.

Doc Merar had been by mid-morning and had assured them that Heath would be fine, that he just needed to rest, and, despite the protests, he confined Heath to his bed for a few more days. Jarrod silently wondered how long they would be able to make the stubborn young man do as the doctor had said.

So far, though, Heath had remained in his room throughout the day. Each time Jarrod had checked on him, he had been asleep. The events of the night before had seemed to drain all the reserves of strength Heath had been beginning to regain.

However, about an hour before dinner, Jarrod, who was just coming in the front door from talking with a deputy outside, saw his youngest brother slowly descending the stairs.

“Heath!” he yelled uncharacteristically.

The shout brought Heath’s head up and made him almost miss the next step. He froze with his hand on the banister, unreadable blue eyes on Jarrod.

Jarrod hurried forward to climb the stairs and stand in front of his brother.

“Jarrod,” Heath said quietly, “It’s lots easier ta go down than up. ‘Mind if I keep goin’ ta the nearest chair?”

Quickly, Jarrod moved aside and let his brother pass. Then, he turned to follow him, as Heath made his way to the mahogany secretary at the foot of the stairs and eased down onto the petite, gold upholstered chair he pulled out from under the small desk.

While Heath caught his breath, Jarrod said, “How about a drink, Heath? You’ll be more comfortable in the study than sitting here.”

Heath nodded and stood slowly. Jarrod, not wanting to offer unwanted help, led the way.

A few minutes later, an audible sigh told him how glad Heath was to reach the red cushions of the settee in the center of the room. He carried over two whiskeys and sat down on the chair across from his brother.

Each silently enjoyed the sharp flavor of the first swallow. Heath, however, leaned forward and set his glass on the marble-topped table before him, without drinking all of it. Then, he tiredly let his head rest on the curved back of the settee, his eyes half closed.

Jarrod finished his drink. Then, he stood and walked over to the large desk that had belonged to his father. He lay the sheet of stiff paper in his hand on the desk, then he quickly picked it back up. He returned to sit on the edge of the low table, in front of Heath.

He looked to see if Heath was watching him, but his brother’s eyes were closed. Wanting to talk to him about the paper in his hand, but realizing he would have to wait, Jarrod set it on the table before him and placed his brother’s unfinished drink on top of it. Then, he reached down to gently remove Heath’s boots, one at a time, and to put them under the table out of the way.

For several days, Heath had been growing increasingly impatient and irritated with all of the “molly-coddling” he felt everyone was heaping upon him. But, now, he never moved nor reacted to Jarrod’s assistance. Instead, he only sighed again, when Jarrod pulled him sideways on the settee to lay his head on a pleated, gold pillow that matched the heavy drapes. Carefully, Jarrod lifted both of Heath’s legs to place them on the other end with his knees slightly bent.

With Heath resting comfortably on his side, Jarrod walked back around to sit in his previously claimed chair. He waited, watching over Heath as his brother slept, but wishing with all of his heart that he could get this conversation over with as soon as possible.

* * * * * * * *

“JARROD!”

The voice calling to him from the front of the house was enough to rattle the glass in the frames of the French doors at the other end of the room. Shaking his head, the oldest Barkley son set his book on the marble-topped table, before standing and walking quickly to the open double wooden doors to the hall. Stepping out into the hallway beyond, he saw Nick striding purposefully toward him.

“Jarrod, where is everybody?” Nick spoke loudly, but not, thankfully, with as much exuberance as his previous yell.

“Nick, do you mind if I wait to answer you when I can hear again? At this rate, my ears will be ringing for another month at least!” Jarrod’s exasperation, though evident, was apparently not cause for concern, as Nick, plowed past him and entered the room beyond.

“Join me for a drink, Big Br-. . ., Oh,” he quickly tried to lower his voice when he noticed Heath’s sleeping form further inside the room. Turning to Jarrod, he continued in his best attempt at a whisper, “You didn’t tell me he was here, asleep. I wouldn’t have yelled!”

Jarrod rolled his eyes at the ceiling, imploring to be given some sort of assistance in dealing with his loudest brother. “Nick, for the love of. . . . Just hold it down, will you?”

“Sure, but he’s not supposed to be down here, is he? I thought the doc told Mother he had to stay in bed another couple of days.”

Again, Jarrod rolled his eyes. He quickly walked over and poured Nick a drink and thrust it into his brother’s waving hand, “Here, drink this and be quiet!”

Then, Jarrod tried again, “Nick, Mother and Audra went to visit some. . . .”

Nick’s question cut him off, “Now? Did you send some men. . . ?”

Just as forcefully this time, Jarrod interrupted, his irritation finally getting the best of him, “Yes, Nick, I sent some men with them. And, no, Heath’s not supposed to be down here, but he knows his own mind, so will you leave it alone?!”

Satisfied now, Nick nodded, swallowed his drink and sat down in Jarrod’s chair. Then, he polished off Heath’s drink as well.

Watching him, Jarrod just shook his head and poured himself another, before moving around behind him to sit in the other chair. Nick turned sideways to better look at both of his brothers, and he propped one bent knee over the armrest.

“Have you talked to him much today?”

“No, Nick,” Jarrod said quietly, “He’s been asleep almost all day. We haven’t had a chance to talk yet. But, with you in the house, I’m sure it won’t take long now for him to wake up.”

Nick looked at Jarrod quizzically, one eyebrow raised, but Jarrod just lifted his glass in salute and then took a swallow.

They sat there in silence for all of two minutes, before Nick began shifting restlessly around in his chair. “I’m going upstairs to get cleaned up. But, Jarrod, I can’t wait until this boy’s back on his feet and fighting with me for the bathtub again!”

Quickly, the tall rancher stood, crossed the floor to lightly tousle the hair of the sleeping blond, and left the room with long strides, the sound of his spurs signaling his rapid exit.

Jarrod smiled slightly at the incongruity of Nick’s loud bluster compared with his compassionate, caring nature.

Then, just as he leaned forward to pick up his book from the table, Jarrod heard a soft, familiar drawl.

“Boy howdy, Nick’d give a whirlwind a run for its money.”

With a smile, Jarrod said, “Yes, Brother Heath, that he would.” He watched as the blue eyes cracked open a slit, and he saw the pain fleetingly flash across Heath’s face. Hidden as rapidly as it had appeared, its remnants were visible only in the deep crease between his brother’s eyebrows and the quickly closed eyes.

Remaining still and giving his brother a little time, Jarrod waited and watched. Heath forced himself to take several deep breaths, held them for longer than usual, and pushed the air back out forcefully. After a couple of minutes, he opened his eyes again, and looked around the room. When his eyes found Jarrod, he offered a weak, half-smile, and began pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Sure that his assistance would not be tolerated, Jarrod stood and crossed to the desk to set the book on its highly polished surface. He remained there for a few minutes watching Heath from behind and from across the room. He saw the hands come up to hold the bandaged head, and he saw the effort it took a moment later for Heath to lift his head from his supporting hands.

Then, before he could stop him, he saw Heath reach for the paper that Jarrod had left lying on the table a little while ago. Too late, he realized he had forgotten he had left it there, and he almost said something, anything, to try to prevent the inevitable.

But, instead, he remained silent, knowing it was already too late.

He had wanted to show it to Heath, knew he needed to share it with him, but he had planned to talk to him about it first.

Now, he feared his brother’s reaction.

What if Heath read it and interpreted it as another act of betrayal?

Jarrod silently cursed his carelessness, as Heath turned, and Jarrod saw the piercing, pale ice blue of his brother’s eyes staring back at him from across the room.

Chapter 46

“Heath, I. . . ,” Jarrod started, and then just as quickly stopped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear his head of the look in his brother’s eyes.

When he opened them again, he saw Heath struggling to stand up, one hand reaching out for a better grip on the chair, and the other arm wrapped around his waist. Jarrod opened his mouth and then closed it, took one step forward and then stopped, again unsure of how much to help, how much to say.

Suddenly, Heath was standing in front of him, the letter crushed in his left hand. His light blue eyes were slightly narrowed, but Jarrod was not sure if it was due to physical pain or suppressed anger.

Not knowing what to say, Jarrod swallowed and waited. No amount of courtroom confidence, nor any amount of experience from the difference in their ages, prepared him for the way he found himself feeling------standing there in front of the brother he barely knew, the brother he felt he had betrayed when his actions had mattered the most.

He waited, his eyes searching the depths of Heath’s, trying to decide if he saw the same cold look that he had closed his eyes to avoid back in that Coreyville hotel room, or if what he saw, here before him now, was enough to give him hope.

Slowly, Heath brought his right hand up from where it rested against his bruised left side. He lifted it until his work-worn fingers briefly touched the still visible bruise along Jarrod’s jaw. He gave Jarrod two light taps on the jaw with his fingers and, then, dropped his hand to squeeze Jarrod’s shoulder in a tight grip.

Surprised, Jarrod continued to stare into the eyes of his brother until he saw the slightly lop-sided grin tug at one corner of Heath’s mouth.

“Don’t know whether ta slug ya’ for tryin’ ta fight my battles for me, or thank ya’ for goin’ ta all the trouble. But, since I’ve already thrown my fist at ya’ once ‘cause’a Gil Anders, I guess this time, I’ll just say, ‘Thanks, Pappy,’ an’ offer you my hand, instead’a my fist.”

Heath’s right hand dropped back down to waist height, but this time, instead of grabbing his side with it, he extended it toward Jarrod.

Releasing the breath he had been holding without realizing it, Jarrod offered his brother a huge smile, his dark blue eyes sparkling now, and he returned the solid handshake.

Other than that, all he could do was nod at the now grinning blond.

Then, as one, they broke their hold on each other, and Heath slowly moved to return to the settee. Jarrod brought two more glasses of whiskey, and, this time, they raised their glasses to each other before they savored the first swallow.

“Jarrod, this letter,” Heath started. “Will ya’ tell me what he’s talkin’ about?”

Heath glanced down at the letter, now lying on the table, its center crumpled from his earlier grasp. Then, he looked up into his brother’s face, looking for the explanation that the words on the page had not provided.

“Heath, the deputy delivered it this afternoon. Apparently, Anders left it at the hotel and requested that it be given to me. Since I didn’t go to the office today, I guess they decided to bring it out. It gave me a chance to fill the deputy in about what happened here last night, so it worked out well for everyone.”

Heath nodded, and then, he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands, fingers rubbing the throbbing on the right side that had grown steadily worse since he had first been awakened by Nick’s voice.

He asked softly, piecing together what he could from the letter, “So ya’ went ta see him, an’ ya’ told him he shouldn’t try ta find me again?”

“Yes, I did. I know you may feel like I took the decision away from you, but I took that chance, thinking that seeing him again, having to talk to him about it all, would be worse for you than if he just left.”

Heath nodded slightly, then, referring to the letter again, he said, “He thanked you for what ya’ gave him, an’ he told ya’ he was goin’ ta go talk ta Willie’s parents first. What did he mean?”

Jarrod took a deep breath. Then, he replied, “In talking to him, I found out he did not know Willie had died in the desert because of what he had done to the two of you. He was overwhelmed when he found out from me. In fact, he couldn’t believe that you and I had tried to find out about Coreyville, that our family had helped him at all knowing what he had done. He almost welcomed your anger, and he said he would never have come looking for you if he had known about Willie. . . .”

Heath glanced up at Jarrod, stopping his words. He spoke slowly, incredulous at the idea of it, “He didn’t know?”

When Jarrod shook his head, Heath took a few moments to think all the way through about what this probably meant for Anders. Then, his head pounding worse than before, he asked, “Did he ever say what he wanted from me?”

“Yes, he started this long, one-sided conversation, almost as if he had practiced it for months, in which he said he wanted to ask if you would believe that he would give his life to be able to go back and change what he did in the desert that day.”

Jarrod watched Heath’s hands move from his temples, to cover his eyes. No longer able to just observe his brother’s pain from across the table, he quickly stood and moved around it to sit beside Heath on the settee. He placed his arm across the broad shoulders and pulled Heath’s upper body sideways, just enough to hold him until the tremors that passed through his brother had stopped.

Then, as Heath nodded, Jarrod pushed him back into an upright position and, imitating Nick, he grabbed Heath on the back of the neck and lightly shook him. Heath smiled lopsidedly.

Jarrod continued his explanation, “You wanted to know what I gave him. I left him some money, and I gave him some addresses.”

At Heath’s questioning look, Jarrod said, “When I started, I of course wasn’t aware that he didn’t know Willie had died. But, I did wonder if he might not have had any contact there. I made some inquiries before I left for Coreyville and, when I returned, I found out that Willie’s parents still live near Bakersfield. They have a store there that has not been doing very well lately. They are both elderly. Apparently, Willie was their only child. There is no one to help them, and the business is slowly going under. I just thought that. . . . well, that. . . .”

Heath’s eyes had grown wider the longer Jarrod talked. Suddenly, he reached over to touch Jarrod’s arm, stopping him. He looked into Jarrod’s eyes and shook his head. “Are all lawyers like you? You always find a way, don’t ya’?”

Not at all sure if his idea would work, Jarrod shook his head. “I don’t know, Heath. When I heard that about those two old folks, I just wondered if, . . . if Anders could somehow help them in their son’s place. I have no idea if they will accept help from him, or if he can even give them any, but . . . .”

“Jarrod,” Heath said, “Thank you for offerin’ Gil a way ta find the self-respect he apparently knows his actions cost him. An’, thank you for helpin’ me, too.”

At Jarrod’s puzzled look, he continued, “I’m learnin’, Jarrod. With your help, I’m learnin’. All I had before was me. If I got angry or if I left wherever I happened to be, whatever town I was in at the time, it hurt no one but me. Now, I’m beginnin’ ta understand that when I respond that way, I hurt the people I care about.”

He took a deep breath and let it back out raggedly before continuing, “An’, whether Gil makes this chance work or not, whether the Martins accept his assistance or not------well, that doesn’t really matter. You found a fittin’ way ta make justice possible, an’ that shows me that there are other ways ta handle things, ways I never had reason ta consider much before-----I just have ta look harder than I have been ta figure out what they are.”

He met Jarrod’s eyes, smiled with a shake of his throbbing head and said, “Thank you, Big Brother, an’ I won’t forget what you’ve gone ta the trouble ta teach me.”

For Jarrod, the thaw had started yesterday as he and Heath had talked upstairs. Then, Jarrod had felt more warmth and hope creep in as he had listened to Heath talk to his horse afterwards. And, a little while ago, he had believed that everything would be all right as he watched his brother extend his open hand toward him instead of watching Heath’s fist flying toward his jaw.

And, now, the warmth from Heath’s smile finally banished the remnants of ice from the place inside Jarrod’s heart, the place that had become chilled in fear, over a week ago, on the stage to Coreyville.

At Heath’s words, he realized that his brother had continued to have faith in him, and he realized that Heath’s faith meant more to him than Jarrod could ever have thought possible eight months before. That this brother that had come to them with so little in the way of possessions, could continually reach out to share so much of himself with them, left the normally eloquent man both speechless and in awe.

His brother had not lost faith in him.

He had not lost his brother’s trust.

Heath still believed in him, and that knowledge breathed life back into Jarrod’s troubled heart.

Slowly, Jarrod shook his head, “No, Brother Heath, it is I that am the pupil here, and you that are the teacher. That you can look past your own pain and anger, that you can still care about that man after all that he did to you, leaves me feeling, . . . well, I hope you don’t mind if I say this, but it leaves me feeling like I am sitting here listening to Tom Barkley, like I am watching and learning from my father all over again.”

Heath glanced over at Jarrod, then up at the portrait hanging above the mantle. He kept his eyes on the man in the picture as Jarrod said, “I’ve never forgotten what he once told me, and I am reminded of his words as I listen to you now.”

Heath waited, his eyes studying those in the picture.

Jarrod quietly finished the thought, sharing the words of his beloved father with the one son that had never even heard his father’s voice.

“Sometimes, you have to forgive and forget in order to give the future a chance.”

Heath nodded, knowing that most of the time, he believed those words. Though he doubted if they would ever apply where his feelings toward Matt Bentell were concerned, and he wasn’t sure he would ever completely forgive Gil Anders, he acknowledged that he was pleased now to know that Gil would have a chance at a future.

Silently, Jarrod shook Heath’s neck again. Then, he stood and left the room, leaving his brother gazing up at the portrait and deep in thought.

Chapter 47

“Silas,” Victoria asked as she left Heath’s room and headed down the hall, “Have you seen Heath?”

“No, Ma’am, Mrs. Barkley,” the older gentleman responded with a shake of his head. “I haven’t seen him since I carried a tray up to him at dinner. He’s not in his room? That boy’s supposed to be in bed for another day yet.”

“You’re exactly right, Silas!” she responded, “And, if you know he is, and I know he is, why doesn’t Heath know it?! I think I’m going to have to break out my liniment bottle for him, yet!”

“Liniment, Ma’am?” Silas asked, clearly puzzled. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mrs. Barkley, but isn’t it a little late for liniment on those gashes? They’re starting to heal nicely.”

“Not the old gashes, Silas. The new ones he’s going to have if I find out he’s left this house again!”

Shaking his head as he headed down the hall to collect the rest of the wash, Silas muttered, “Sure do hope that boy’s got wings! He’s gonna need them to escape that little bitty woman this time!”

* * * * * * * *

Nick and Jarrod heard the commotion coming from the bunkhouse as they emerged slowly from the barn, deep in conversation.

“It’s kind of early for a card game, isn’t it, Nick?” Jarrod asked. “Maybe we’d better check it out.”

“Sure sounds like fun, though, huh, Jarrod?” Nick replied with a grin at his older brother.

Both were dusty from time in the saddle, Nick from the range, and Jarrod just in from the road between Stockton and the ranch.

As they turned to head in the direction of the cheers, Audra came dashing up to them. She quickly gave Jarrod a kiss on the cheek and grabbed Nick’s hand. “Have either of you seen Heath?”

Halting in surprise, both turned fearful eyes toward her.

Immediately, she explained, “No, no. Everything’s alright, except, well, he only ate part of the dinner Silas carried up to him, and now he’s not anywhere we can find, at least not in the house. You need to find him, both of you, and get him back inside! Mother’s ready to tie him to the bed!”

Nick and Jarrod exchanged looks over their sister’s head.

Jarrod took her by the elbow and led her a few steps back in the direction of the house. He leaned down and whispered, “Thanks, Audra. We think we know where he is. We’ll get him back upstairs shortly. Oh, and will you take this, Honey, and head on back in?”

She nodded, took his leather brief binder, and gave him another quick kiss before running lightly toward the back door.

Turning, Jarrod pointed toward the bunkhouse and asked, “I take it all back, Nick. It’s not too early for cards, is it?”

“Not when the warden let down her guard, so to speak, and the escapee is our little brother!”

Laughing, they walked across the hard-packed earth toward the first bunkhouse, temporarily putting aside their worries about the news Jarrod had just shared, the news about the two bounty hunters still being in the area.

Just before reaching the steps of the porch, however, Nick stopped and grabbed Jarrod by the arm. “Hold on, Jarrod. We need to let Heath know about what you found out. If the sheriff has one of those men locked up, the other may be mad enough to come here and try to carry out the threats made against the two of you.”

“I agree we need to tell him, Nick. But, if we wait until we have him back inside under Mother’s sharp eyes, he’ll be that much less likely to try to come back out here after dark and help you keep watch, don’t you think?”

“True, Jarrod, very true. I have a feeling Mother’s going to be more than enough of a match for whatever plan our little brother can think up to escape next time!”

Together, they crossed the porch, and Nick entered the open doorway, closely followed by Jarrod. Letting their eyes adjust, they saw more than 15 men gathered around the rough wooden table closest to the back windows. Quickly, the men cleared a path for the bosses.

The two of them heard Heath’s voice as he said, “Your ten, an’ ten more, just ta keep out the horse thieves.”

Nick edged up behind the blond sitting with his back near the wall. It was all he could do to keep his eyes from widening at the hand his brother was guarding. Nick leaned in, placing his foot on a rung of a nearby chair. He knew just how to rile his younger brother, and he wanted to make sure Heath knew he was there before he spoke.

“You boy’s can’t beat kings, you’d better drop,” Nick said with quiet authority.

Everyone in the room, including Jarrod, turned to look at this dark-haired Barkley boss, amazed that he would intrude on the game in this way.

“I ought’a bust you right in the teeth,” said Heath.

“You just go ahead and try. You’re the one that placed two shots near me in the dark just to pin me down, then attacked me like a wildcat. Yeah---I’d like a chance to tear you apart from top to bottom!”

Heath glanced up at Nick’s smiling face, and a lop-sided grin slowly replaced the initial flash of anger that had surfaced at Nick’s intrusion.

“Alright, Big Brother.”

Nick leaned in and stopped Heath from rising. Then, he said for only Heath to hear, “The story is there’s a little, silver-haired spitfire of an angry woman that is looking for you. She’ll more than likely be the one to tear you apart from top to bottom if we don’t get you back in the house! But, if that doesn’t worry you any, don’t let her interfere with your card game!”

Nick turned and lightly pushed Jarrod back toward the door of the crews’ quarters. Then, they stood just outside on the porch and waited.

A moment later, Heath emerged, tucking his winnings into his shirt pocket. He glanced at the two of them and growled, “What’re ya waitin’ for?”

With a huge smile on his face, Nick tugged on Jarrod’s arm to follow, and replied, “Nothing!”

They caught up to Heath, who was picking his way slowly across toward the house. But, instead of going straight through the open area near the barn, he unexpectedly veered off course and made his way toward the outer corral, suddenly drawn like a thirsty man toward a beckoning desert mirage.

Seeing his path, Jarrod was puzzled, and he started to follow. But, Nick, the wide smile returning to his face, grabbed his older brother by the wrong arm and held him back.

Jarrod, a painful retort on his lips, swallowed it instead when he saw Nick’s smile and his nod toward their brother. Confused, Jarrod turned back to watch Heath, who was approaching the white, wooden fence.

The horse was magnificent, a dark bay just over sixteen hands with a small, but distinctive spot of white on his back, as if an errant cloud had dripped on him once from above. His near hind pastern was also dipped in white, as opposed to the full-length black stockings shared by all the others.

But, the most distinctive thing about the horse was his movement.

As Nick and Jarrod watched, they saw that Heath was entranced by the springy stride of the well-put-together animal trotting around the enclosure. Their brother’s eyes never left the horse, even when they moved to stand one on either side of him.

Though both were enjoying their brother’s reaction, they knew they had to get him inside before their mother came after him.

Jarrod spoke first, “Uh, Heath, I hate to be the one to interrupt this new love interest, but I don’t know if Mother would consider a horse enough of a reason to go against Doc Merar’s strict orders.”

“Alright, Jarrod,” Heath replied, but he never moved.

Amused, Nick tried next, after his smiling hazel eyes met Jarrod’s concerned blues, as they faced each other with Heath between them. “You know, Heath. This horse isn’t going anywhere. He’ll still be here when the doc says you can get back to work. C’mon, Little Brother, let’s get you inside.”

But, Heath, recognizing that the horse was somehow very familiar, only nodded.

Exasperated, Jarrod shrugged his shoulders and said more forcefully, “Heath, we have some things to discuss with you. . . .” At the lack of response, he decided the best way to get their brother’s attention was to tell him the full extent of their concerns. “The sheriff arrested one of the bounty hunters that were after Anders, Heath. The other one is still loose somewhere in the area, and . . .”

He trailed off as his brother’s sky blue eyes finally left the restless horse and glanced his way.

“. . . And the one in the jail has been hollering threats against me for protecting Anders from their search and against you for shooting the other one’s cousin,” Jarrod finished.

“Cousin?” Heath asked, quietly.

“A man in Coreyville, apparently a very large man, by the name of Jamison?” Jarrod asked. “Heath, could that have been the man that held onto me in the hotel room?”

“Yeah, Jamison was Matt Coulter’s hired hand, his right hand.”

Suddenly, Nick had a mental image of the dead man among the trees, the huge, hulking giant that had been one of the ones that Heath had shot over a week ago, the man that must have almost beaten his brother to death. He took in a deep breath and noisily pushed it back out.

Beside him, Heath had finally turned his head to look at Jarrod straight on. “The man I saw the other night?”

Jarrod nodded, “Yes. The one in the jail boasted loudly about how they’ve already checked out the ranch, and it won’t be long until one or both of us are dead.”

All three turned back to watch the horse, but this time, none of them were concentrating on the fluid motions of the trotting animal.

Heath lowered his head to let it rest against the top rail of the fence. His head was pounding, and the truth was, he was glad his brothers were going to be beside him when he tried to make it the rest of the way toward the house.

Concern at his movements brought an instant response from Nick, “C’mon, Heath, let’s go.” He placed his left hand on Heath’s back.

Heath stood and nodded.

Suddenly, the white wood of the top fence rail between Heath and Jarrod exploded into pieces of jagged shards. The sound of a single shot shattered the silence, as effectively as the near-miss had shattered the board between the two brothers.

As one, all three Barkley brothers pulled their handguns, spun low, and fired into the growing gloom, just beyond the second bunkhouse’s steps.

In the aftermath of the roar of the three guns, a lone figure toppled from a horse, his rifle still in his hands.

Duke McCall and their hands slowly emerged from the bunkhouse, heads turning first toward the man on the ground, then toward the three brothers.

McCall saw them there by the fence, still in their crouched stance. Then, slowly, two began to rise, pulling the one in between to a standing position.

McCall sent two men to check the unknown man on the ground, the one with the rifle, and he ran toward his bosses. “Are you alright?” he hollered.

“Yeah, Mac,” Nick responded, his attention on Heath. “C’mon, Boy. Let’s get you in the house before you drop.”

As Heath swatted his hand away, growling under his breath about brothers, nurses, and vultures, he slowly started his long journey toward the back door of Silas’ kitchen.

Over his shoulder, as he followed Heath, Nick asked McCall, “We think there was only the one of them, Mac, but, could you. . . ?”

“Sure, Boss, the men and I will fan out and be sure.”

“Oh, and Mac,” Nick added, the smile back on his face. “Could you get someone to fix that fence? We don’t want this boy’s new horse to decide to hightail it out of here before he has a chance to break him in.”

He and Jarrod exchanged looks again when the words failed to produce a response from the blond. Even from the back, the younger man’s fatigue was evident.

Nick stopped Jarrod for a moment as his brother turned to follow Heath. “Jarrod, I’m going to double-check that it was one of those bounty hunters. See if you can get him upstairs, and I’ll be in to talk to him in a little while, if he’s still awake.”

Jarrod nodded and quickly caught up to Heath.

They were suddenly joined by Victoria and Audra, as, alerted by the shots, they were now running toward the two of them.

Audra turned immediately to tuck her arm through Heath’s as they walked slowly toward the door. Watching them go, Victoria reached out for Jarrod and asked, “What happened? Is anyone hurt?”

Jarrod spoke up, “It was one of those bounty hunters. Nick went to go make sure, but we think there was only one. He’s dead. Come on, Mother. Heath’s exhausted, and I think you’ve got some serious tucking in to do for your youngest son.”

Chapter 48

A little while later, Nick eased into the darkened bedroom and tapped a tired Jarrod on the shoulder. He tried his best to be quiet as he brought the desk chair over to place it beside the leather wing-back where Jarrod sat beside Heath’s bed.

“Is everything okay down there, Nick?” Jarrod asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Fine, Jarrod. It was that taller of the two bounty hunters. He was alone, and he’s definitely dead.”

Something in Nick’s relatively quiet voice made Jarrod stop rubbing his tired eyes and glance over at him. He raised one eyebrow and waited for Nick to continue.

When he didn’t, Jarrod said quietly, “What is it, Nick?”

Nick shook his head, then nodded toward the bed. “He’s some shot, Jarrod. All three of our bullets are in that man; he died before he ever hit the ground. But, . . .”

“But?” Jarrod asked.

“But, Father always taught us to aim for the largest part of the target, right? And on a man you have to bring down, he said to always aim for the chest. So both of ours caught him in the chest, right?”

Jarrod nodded. Then, he asked, “The third bullet, Nick?”

But, Nick was now thinking about the night he had found his brothers on the road to Coreyville. He was remembering the men he had discovered, including the giant called Jamison that turned out to be the reason for the attack tonight. He was remembering how they were killed, shot by one wounded brother defending the other.

Then, with a deep breath choked in his throat, he looked at the sleeping blond in the bed before them. “Jarrod, you know he killed those men among the trees near Coreyville, and then, he killed the one above you both, the one trying to climb down on you from up in the rocks?”

Nick’s strangled voice made this into a question, so Jarrod nodded, watching him.

“Do you remember that I told you Heath fired at me in those rocks that night?”

Again, Jarrod nodded.

“Well, I knew he had remembered it, because he said something about it several days ago when he was still pretty out of it. He asked me if I was there in the rocks. I had assumed he had missed me and was counting myself lucky after seeing the others he killed. But, something he said made me wonder, so I asked him about it when we were down by the barn two nights ago.”

“What did he say?” Jarrod wondered aloud.

“He told me he didn’t miss, that he put the bullets right where he intended.”

Jarrod raised both eyebrows and looked back at Heath.

Nick continued, “He said he didn’t know it was me, but something made him think twice about killing me like the others. He wasn’t sure, he said maybe it was my spurs.”

Jarrod shook his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked at Nick and said, “I remember, you told me he was hurt, that he was on his knees defending me, that he could hardly hold his gun by then. What if. . . ?” He didn’t finish the thought.

“Jarrod, the third bullet hit that man between the eyes tonight. It had to be Heath’s shot. And he wasn’t in much better shape down by the corral than he was a week ago. Back there in those rocks, if he had wanted to. . . .”

Nick trailed off, swallowed hard, and reached over to run his fingers through Heath’s hair.

“Did you have any trouble getting him upstairs tonight?” he finally asked.

“No, Nick,” Jarrod responded, “He was worn out, but he managed to make it with just Audra’s help. One thing’s for sure, though, he didn’t put up much of a fuss.”

“You know, Jarrod, he’s my brother, he’s been here with us for,” Nick paused to think, “for eight months now, and I don’t even know when his birthday is? Do you know?”

Jarrod thought about it, and sadly shook his head.

“On my last birthday, I went to Barbary Red’s without him. I always go out with the boys on my birthday, and he just didn’t seem to be around much during the last few months. I didn’t think much about it at the time. I just went when the fellas asked me. Then, when we got shanghaied, he wound up having to come after me. He risked his freedom and his life to come after me.”

He watched Heath quietly for a moment, then he added, “He knows more about losing his freedom than any man I’ve ever met, yet he came after me, Jarrod.”

Nick fought to keep his voice down, but he could no longer control the anger running through him. Halfway through his words, he had jumped up from the chair and started pacing the floor of the small, but comfortable room.

Suddenly, he stopped, and he propped up first one foot on the wooden chair, then replaced it with the other, quietly removing his spurs. He held them up in the limited light coming in through the window and said, “If it hadn’t been for these, my brother might have put a bullet between my eyes that night in the rocks. If it hadn’t been for my brother, I would probably be on a slow boat to China right now, with no hope of returning to this ranch, to my family, with no hope of ever needing these spurs again.”

Again, he swallowed hard, his eyes on Heath’s sleeping form. He watched the soft rise and fall of his brother’s bare chest, visually traced the fading bruises covering the left side of the muscular frame.

Then, he looked back at Jarrod. “I bought that bay horse out there in that corral on my last trip down to Modesto over a month ago. I bought the horse for Heath. But, I got side-tracked with the land purchase I was trying to make. It took longer than I thought, and I didn’t get to go back to pick up the horse before I had to get back here. I remembered a couple of weeks ago and finally got around to sending Billings down there to get the bay the day before I left to find you. I still hadn’t put it all together, about how distant he had been lately, about how much. . . about how much he means to me. If I had, I wouldn’t have waited another month to get the danged horse brought home to him!”

Nick smacked one hand in the other and resumed his agitated pacing. Without the spurs, now hooked together and lying across the top of the wooden chair, his steps were much quieter.

Jarrod glanced at Nick, then back at Heath, half expecting to see his youngest brother’s blue eyes open. Realizing that Heath’s exhaustion had him in a deep sleep, he turned his body around so he could snag Nick during his next pass.

“Whoa, there, Nick. Heath is fine, and I’m pretty certain he has no desire to leave here. He seems to be coming around as far as this situation with Anders goes. In fact, we had a long talk about it yesterday afternoon, and I was truly amazed at his compassion. . .”

Quietly, Jarrod added, dropping his hand from Nick’s shirt where he had grabbed him, “He reminds me so much of Father sometimes, Nick. I just wish they could have gotten to know each other.”

He shook his head, and looked back at his sleeping brother.

Nick took a deep breath and turned the other chair around backwards to straddle it and rest his head and hands on the back, next to his dangling spurs. He, too, watched Heath sleep.

Neither said a word for quite some time.

Both thought about their father and their brother, the similarities and the differences.

Then, Nick said quietly, “He’s not Father, though. He’s not anyone but himself, Heath Barkley. I don’t want any of us to try to stuff him into anyone else’s boots, not ever. He’s earned his freedom to be his own person, and he’s earned my respect, for the man he already is.

And,” Nick added with a grin, “When it comes to aiming his handgun, I’m just glad he’s on our side!”

* * * * * * * *

When he awoke, he was facing the window, and it was still dark. Silently, he eased himself up, grateful that he could move with less pain than he could only a few days ago. Then, as soon as he placed his hand on the familiar leather chair to pull himself to his feet, he realized that the chair was occupied.

He reached out in the dark toward the occupant, and he smiled when he touched the leather of Nick’s vest. Patting his brother’s chest, he then moved past Nick to sit in the window sill looking out.

As his eyes adjusted, he could see the area of the shooting earlier in the evening. Like a shadow moving through a darkened cave, the memory of yet one more killing cut another notch of sadness deep inside him. But, like a lighted torch that first sears the eyes in order to light the way out, he knew that what he and his brothers had done had been the only thing they could in the situation.

He and his brothers.

He sure liked the sound of that.

Then, his eyes took in the bunkhouse roof, and he remembered the poker game filled with comfortable tension and easy laughter. Glancing over at Nick, he remembered his own flash of anger at his brother’s words, and how good, how right, it had felt when he had just as quickly realized the man watching his back was only baiting him good-naturedly.

His brother.

The man watching his back.

He glanced beside him toward his sleeping brother.

Smiling now, he returned his eyes to the ranch yard spread out below. The motion of the horse in the outer corral drew his eyes and held them. The smooth movements almost took his breath away, as he suddenly realized why the horse was so familiar.

He had awoken yet again to the same dream. Only this time, there were no gunshots. There was only the feel of the powerful horse under him and the freedom of the open sky, the valley spread out before them. The bay had carried him over the ground effortlessly, the two of them gliding over the earth as if free from cares, free from worries, free from the past.

His eyes followed the bay below, mesmerized by the potential he saw there.

Slowly, he turned and looked at his brother, knowing that he would see Nick’s eyes watching him.

Heath nodded and smiled lopsidedly.

Nick’s uncharacteristically quiet voice asked, “Do you like him?”

Heath watched Nick’s face and nodded. “He is sure something, Nick.”

“Heath, when’s your birthday?” he asked, dreading the answer.

Puzzled now, Heath responded, “It doesn’t matter, Nick. ‘Never been much for noticin’.”

But, Nick wouldn’t be deterred. He wanted to know, needed to know. “When, Heath? Please tell me when!”

Quietly, Heath nodded and said, “May. May 9^th.” He stood and walked away from the window, behind the chair where Nick sat, and moved around to the other side of the bed. He crossed to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Removing something, he returned to sit on the edge of the bed, facing away from Nick.

At the strangled gasp that he suddenly heard from behind him, Heath turned and looked at Nick. His brother was leaning forward in the wing-back chair, his face covered by his hands.

As quickly as he could, Heath moved around to sit on the bed in front of his brother. He lay the frame down next to him on the bed and reached up to pull Nick’s hands away from his face.

“Nick!” Heath said with urgency and sternness in his voice, “Nick, look at me!”

He held on to Nick’s hands in his and looked into the anguished hazel eyes. He shook his head. “Nick, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Here, look at this.”

With one hand, Heath reached down to pick up the frame and pushed the picture into his brother’s hands. “Nick. Look!”

Slowly, Nick lowered his eyes from Heath’s face, comforted somehow by the lop-sided grin he saw there. His eyes then touched each face in the family picture taken some months ago, the picture he now held.

He looked back up at Heath, the questions in his eyes.

Heath took a deep breath. “This is all that matters, Nick. Nothing else does. Nothing, not Bentell, not Anders, not birthdays, Nick. This is what I care about. It took my whole life ta find you, my brother, my family. I’m not goin’ anywhere, Nick. As long as I know each of you love me for who I am, that I have your love, your respect, an’ your trust, nothing else matters ta me.”

He paused, staring straight into Nick’s eyes, “Those two men, they did things ta others, ta me, that I’d rather forget, things I’m not sure I’ll ever be able ta forgive them for, but I’m not gonna let them come between us anymore. If I do, then I let them take away from me the one thing that matters, I let them take away my family.”

Nick reached out and touched Heath’s chest, laying his open hand over his brother’s heart. He said, his voice choked with emotions his words could not express, “I missed your heart, Little Brother. I wasn’t listening like I should’ve been, and I didn’t realize it was gone until a little while back, but I missed it as soon as I realized I couldn’t hear it beside me, inside me, anymore. I missed your heart, Heath, and I want to know if you can forgive me. Can you forgive me for not realizing what I had lost, for not standing beside you when you needed me the most?”

Staring into Heath’s eyes, he added, “I promise you, I will never betray you again. If you’ll let me, I’ll stand beside you no matter what, from here to hell and back if necessary.”

Heath grasped the hand that held his heart in its palm, and he reached out to touch Nick’s chest in the identical spot.

He nodded.

Then, Heath reached out and pulled Nick into a fierce hug. The only thing between them was the picture held up in Nick’s hand. He pounded his brother on the back twice, returning the gesture that Nick so often used on him.

As they broke apart, Heath took the picture and stood. He walked back around to the other side of the bed and sat down. Then, almost reverently, he returned the frame to its place on the small table by the bed, standing it up carefully beside the picture of his mother.

As he leaned back, he heard Nick say, “In case you didn’t hear me say it before. . . . That horse, Heath. He’s yours.”

Heath turned around and looked into Nick’s dark eyes, the unspoken questions reflecting between them from the blue to the hazel.

Nick answered what he knew Heath needed to hear. “I bought him for you over a month ago while I was in Modesto. But, I . . . I got distracted with the land deal, and everything else, . . .” Slowly, he added, “I got distracted, and I forgot to send someone to pick up the horse. I finally sent Billings to get him after you left for Coreyville. It took him longer than we thought, and he just got back today.”

Taking a deep breath, Nick continued, “When I saw him, I knew he was the animal for you. He’s got the size that Gal doesn’t, and, I don’t know, he’s got that floating kind of action. . . He just looked like he belonged to you.”

Nick stopped and shook his head, “When the rancher there asked why I was buying him, I said it before I thought about it. I told him he was a birthday present for my brother.”

He took a deep breath. “It wasn’t until later that I realized I had no idea when your birthday was.”

Finally, Nick added, “It hurt so bad, Heath. You’re my brother, and I didn’t even know when your birthday was.”

Heath nodded. Then, he said quietly, “Thanks, Nick. I don’t know what ta say.”

Then, he extended his right hand across the bed, and Nick leaned forward to shake it, just like he had wanted to do for days.

The two smiles lit up the darkened room.

Silently, Nick squeezed his brother’s hand again and then let go. He reached down to toss a pillow at Heath and said gruffly, “You’d better get back in this bed now, and you’d better plan to stay in it all day tomorrow. If I know Mother, it’s the safest place for you to hide from her wrath. We’ll work on the bay together as soon as it’s safe to come out, okay?”

“Okay, Nick.” Heath sighed, as he eased back into the bed.

Nick patted his shoulder, but felt his hand swatted away in the dark when he attempted to tousle the blond hair.

Grinning, he picked up his spurs and crossed to the doorway. He jingled them once purposefully in his hand and turned to say, “For my own protection, I don’t think I’ll be very far away from these as long as your heart and your handgun are at my side, Little Brother.”

Heath smiled into the dark, and said, “Then, I guess you’ll have ta wear ‘em to the grave, Big Brother.”

Chapter 49

When he entered the study with Audra on his arm after dinner, he was very grateful that Victoria had warned him a few hours before that she wanted to talk with him, with everyone, that evening. It was a few nights following the poker game in the bunkhouse and the shoot-out by the corral, and he was feeling much stronger. However, he was well aware that a family discussion was about to begin, and no matter how recovered he felt, he was not looking forward to it.

There was no doubt in his mind, thanks to her warning, that she would be bringing up the very name he would find most difficult to hear, that of their logging foreman, Matt Bentell.

He stopped just inside the doorway, and he took in the uncomfortable nonchalance of each person’s pose------how Nick stood with arms crossed just in front of the tray set out with drinks, how Jarrod stood at the cold fireplace, a drink in one hand and the other tapping the polished wood of the mantle. Though he tried to make eye contact with each one of them, Victoria, from her place on the settee, was the only one who would look at him. Audra, sweet Audra, gave his cheek a quick kiss, and she moved off to stand beside Nick, feigning interest in what he was now saying quietly to her.

Victoria, her eyes still on him, calmly patted the place beside her, indicating that he should sit.

He felt, somehow, like he was entering the lioness’s den, but he took a deep breath and walked purposefully toward her. He eased down carefully to perch on the edge of the settee, and he willed his heart to slow its staccato rhythm.

As soon as he was seated, Nick turned to quickly place a drink in his hand, and Audra swooped to sit at his feet, arranging the folds of her pale green frock around her. Heath nodded at Nick in acknowledgement, but leaned forward just far enough to place the glass on the marble surface in front of him without tasting it.

He did not want the relaxing of his tension that the whiskey would inspire.

Then, Jarrod locked eyes with him as he turned from the mantle, as Nick came to sit across from him on the chair on the other side of the low table. Both offered their support without saying a word.

Slowly, Heath turned his eyes to Nick and gazed into the face studying him. He flashed Nick a quick, lop-sided smile when he saw Nick wink at him.

“Heath,” Victoria spoke quietly, reaching out to place one small hand over one of his, where it lay resting on his knee. She released his hand, slid his drink over, and quickly moved around to sit on the edge of the marble table in front of him, her posture proud and perfect. Then, she reached back out to take his hand, and she began speaking again, “Heath, several months ago, in this room, I stood facing you in front of the fireplace where Jarrod is now. You were angry. I was angry. You had a right to be; I did not. I think we were both afraid, as well. I was afraid for what I saw as a difficult future for you if you did not deal with your anger. You, well, I think you were afraid of being forced to relive the pain of your past.”

She was looking into his eyes, pleading with him to give her a chance to finish. She held onto his hand and could feel the emotions surging through him. She could see his battle to stay seated, could see the difficulty he was having in remaining there with his hand in hers, could see the war he was waging inside, all of it clashing with his love and respect for her, and all of it blatantly evident in his expressive blue eyes.

He swallowed hard and pushed it all back down inside, all of it back down deep--------- except his love for her-------for the woman who had given him acceptance and love when none was expected.

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

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

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

Her sob caught in her throat, as the tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, Heath,” she said, her voice breaking, as she reached out to touch his face, “I let my anger and my fear overwhelm my willingness to hear and understand what I was demanding of you. When I told you to show us some of Tom Barkley’s guts that night, I did so without thought of what you had already been through at that man’s hands. I did so without respect for what you had already endured, the guts you had already proven you possessed tenfold. I did so without respect for who you are, partly because of those things.”

He slowly stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, as he focused totally on her, on her words, struggling to keep the images buried for just a little longer to allow her to finish. The only memory that he permitted to surface was that of her flashing grey eyes boring into him as she had hurled the challenge at him in this room three months ago. He allowed her words now to ease some of the hurt she had caused him with her implication then, the implication that he had not lived through every day since his childhood with his own version of his father’s stubborn, innate pride and selfless, abundant strength.

“Heath, what I said, what I made you do, . . . I was wrong. And, I wanted the whole family to hear me tell you that, just like they heard me say those words to you three months ago. Thank you for letting me say it again, here in this room, in front of everyone. Thank you for sharing your courage with me.”

He nodded at her, unable to speak.

She reached up and stroked his face and said, “I am so sorry, Sweetheart!”

Then, she took a deep breath, smiled at him, and said, “Heath, I want to offer to you now, some of the choices I denied you then.”

She squeezed his hand and rose effortlessly. Then, she walked quietly to the desk in the corner of the room, removed something from the drawer to the left of the large leather chair, and circled behind the settee to return to her place beside him.

She handed him a letter.

It was from her, and it was addressed to Matt Bentell.

As he took it from her and read it, he could no longer successfully keep the memories of years ago from rising to the surface. He felt the room close in on him as he stopped in the middle and closed his eyes, fighting to keep from feeling the sting of the lash, the weakness of constant illness, the pounding through his brain of images and voices he wanted so badly to forget.

She held onto his arm, gripping him tightly, and she watched in concern until his sky blue eyes opened.

He looked at her, then, returned his eyes to the page, trying to slow his thundering heart.

When he finished reading, he looked into her eyes again, and he just shook his head. Unable to speak, he then turned his eyes toward the floor, and struggled silently with what he wanted to say to her, to all of them.

Nick shifted restlessly in his chair, and Audra caught Victoria’s eyes and held them with her own compassionate blue ones. Jarrod turned from his vantage point by the fireplace and looked up at his father’s eyes in the portrait above him.

They all waited quietly, even Nick.

For long moments, they all waited for his response.

Finally, he raised his head and looked at each one of them for the briefest of seconds, with his eyes coming to rest on the grey eyes of the silver-haired, Barkley matriarch beside him.

He shook his head again.

Then, he said, his voice so soft, Jarrod almost had to lean in to hear him, “I understand what you’re all tryin’ ta do, an’ I appreciate you for it. But, . . . No. If you’re givin’ me a choice, a say in the matter, my answer is No.”

He swallowed hard and turned to take Victoria’s hand in his. He lifted it and held it close to his heart, while staring into her eyes. “Mother, I know you think,” he shifted his eyes around to catch the eyes of each of the others, “I know you all think what I’m feelin’ is all about, . . . about Matt Bentell. But, it isn’t, at least not all of it. I appreciate the offer you’re makin’, the offer ta send him this letter an’ let him know that I am completely in charge of the loggin’ operations, of what decisions are made about his future, about workin’ for this family or not. I appreciate it. It means a lot ta me that you would offer, but, I don’t want that.”

He seemed to gather confidence as he spoke, his voice becoming stronger. “I’ve learned so much from all of you, so much about what it means ta be part of a family. None of the other decisions about what happens with Barkley interests are made completely by any one person in this family, an’ it’s not right that this part of the operations should work that way either.”

Again, he shook his head, and he said emphatically, “I won’t accept this.”

Then, he looked at each of them again, “But, I would like the chance ta go back up there in a while, ta check inta what’s goin’ on up there. An’, I’d like ta know that we can all talk about what I find out, an’ that, no matter what, we can decide t’gether what ta do about it.”

He paused and looked back into Victoria’s eyes, before saying quietly, “I’d like for it ta be that way from now on.”

With eyes that suddenly brimmed with tears, she knew, with that one, concluding sentence, he had just shared two very important messages with her, with all of them.

First, he was letting them know, in his own quiet way, that he would have appreciated that kind of consideration before-----that he would have preferred that they had all talked about the situation with Anders, and with Bentell before him, and had decided what to do together. She knew that it was probably as close as he would come to telling them that they had been wrong to force a decision, any decision, on him.

And, second, as her heart suddenly surged with joy, she realized he had just implied that he would always be there to discuss decisions with them!

She gathered both of his hands in between hers and held on, her eyes shining as her tears blended with her pleased, and very relieved, smile.

The others reached the same conclusion, the same relief that he was not going to leave them, not going to go his own way. Audra all but leapt from the floor and into his arms to hug him and place an excited kiss on his cheek, while Nick leaned forward and smiled broadly, extending his arm across the table to shake his brother’s hand. Jarrod, for his part, calmly walked around behind Heath to grip his shoulder strongly with one hand.

He leaned forward and said with a smile and twinkling blue eyes, “Welcome home, Brother Heath. Welcome home.”

Then, Nick jumped up, moved to stand beside Heath, and he reached out to tousle Heath’s hair. He had already figured out from Heath’s comment last night, that Heath intended to stay.

Now, he slapped Heath on the shoulder, saying, “I’ll go with you to that logging camp, Heath, and if we don’t like what’s going on up there, I’ll help you toss Bentell into the finished section of his flume, and we’ll watch him ride a loose log all the way down the mountain, and plunge into the river below!”

As Jarrod raised his eyebrows and Victoria cleared her throat, Nick hastily added, “Oh, right, Heath. We’ll be sure to discuss it with the rest of the family first. Then, we’ll throw him in!”

Chapter 50

Audra and Nick were engaged in a lively game of checkers, a game more full of good-natured teasing than serious competition.

“It’s your move, Nick!”

“Now hold on, Audra! Just give me a minute,” Nick replied.

“Well, I don’t see why! It’s not like you have a choice or anything!”

“Yeah, well it may look like that to you, but I always have options,” he said emphatically.

Her reply was quick and was said with her blue eyes sparkling vividly, “Right, Nick. You are exactly right. You do have a choice, make the move and lose that piece, or knock the board over and lose the whole game!”

He glared at her, his chin in his hand, as he reluctantly moved the red checker.

“Ha!” she exclaimed triumphantly, as she swooped in and captured it with one swift jump.

As he began to grumble about little sisters and having to always let them win, Victoria glanced over toward the open doors and the welcomed breeze that she felt from that direction.

She was surprised to see that Heath, who had been standing in the open doorway looking out into the growing dark only a few minutes ago, was no longer inside the room. She reached over and tapped Jarrod on his boot, which was extended in her direction across the marble tabletop. He was seated in the armchair on the other side of the table, and he was thoroughly engrossed in a book.

At her touch, he looked up slowly. She stood and moved toward him.

The checker game continued loudly behind her, while she leaned down and whispered to him, “Heath went out.”

Jarrod moved to stand up, suddenly intent on checking on his brother. But, Victoria lay a quieting hand on his shoulder, “Wait, Jarrod. Let’s give him a few minutes. He handled all of this tonight with his usual quiet calm, but we all know this has been incredibly hard on him. I’ll go after him in a little bit.”

He nodded, and she left the room, headed toward the kitchen.

After checking with Silas about preparing a late coffee and dessert, she slipped out the back door and moved toward the nearby wooden bench. She sat down gracefully, wanting to give her eyes a few moments to adjust to the deepening dark, and her son a few more moments to allow the solitude to ease any remaining turmoil.

Then, in no hurry, she made her way toward the furthest corral. Sure that she would find Heath talking to the bay enclosed there, she was not disappointed. However, she did not want to intrude upon his thoughts. She only wanted to lend her support.

She walked closer, but stopped well back. Reaching out for the closest post of the nearby shelter extending from the storage shed, she leaned back against it and willed herself to remain quiet and calm, though her heartbeat was suddenly anything but.

For all at once, she had the strangest sense that she had stood like this looking out across the corral at this time of day, in this direction, many times before. She could just see Heath standing there by the fence, his back to her. As she watched him and listened to his soft murmuring to the attentive horse on the other side of the fence, she could easily envision, even in the half-light of the setting sun, two men standing there.

She saw again, as in her dream, the two young men as they stood talking and laughing by the corral fence next to the barn. She saw again their similarities, both tall and muscular, both sandy blond, and both blue-eyed with a lop-sided, half-smile all their own.

She saw again the one, long buried, as he had once been in his youth, as the young man she had fallen in love with and married years ago.

She saw again the other, newly discovered, as he had been on his happiest of days, working beside his brothers or sharing a laugh with them by the fire.

Suddenly, she was unsure of her place there.

If she made her presence known, would he welcome her support and love, the love of a mother for a son, or would he reject her?

In her remembered dream, she saw herself reaching out to them as the two men stood and talked together, wanting to join in on their easy, relaxed relationship. She saw them turning away, walking away from her, excluding her from their closeness, denying her access to their hearts.

She tried to prepare herself for the onslaught of despondency and despair that she knew would wash over her when they did.

But, then, she remembered.

The last time, the time she fell asleep by Tom’s grave, the same day Nick had brought Jarrod and Heath home to her, that last time the dream had not been the same.

That time, the dream had ended differently--------instead of sorrow, it had given her great joy.

Her memories washed over her. . . .

. . . Just as the two men had turned away from her -----she saw it.

The simple gesture was small, and at first, she was unsure as to whether it had been there every time, and she just had not noticed it before, or . . . .

No, she was sure it hadn’t been there before. It hadn’t been there because she had not been willing to listen before; she had not been willing to see. She now knew that she was ready to do just that, to listen to him, to see through his eyes. She was ready to open her heart to him, to try to understand, as she had failed to do before----and she knew that her very willingness, her strong desire to do so, had now made the difference.

Now that she was finally ready, she saw the small, but meaningful, gesture that she was sure had not been there before for her eyes to see.

Now, as she stood leaning against the post, she saw Heath turn slightly in her direction. Though he did not say a word, she knew he was aware that she was there, behind him in the near darkness.

Slowly, with her heart pounding, she saw him turn his back, she saw him turn away.

Just as he had in her dream the last time, he stood with his back to her.

Then, her son Heath, her son as much as the others in every way that counted now, glanced briefly back over his shoulder and extended his hand behind him----toward her.

With ever so slight a movement of his hand, he motioned for her to join him as he talked to the horse.

Just as in her dream, the dream in which she had vowed to find a way to let him know she would never betray his trust again, she now walked confidently forward.

When she reached his side by the corral fence, though his back was still to her, she felt his hand fold hers into his. They stood together quietly, watching the large bay as he moved off into the dark.

Then, Heath turned toward her, and he pulled her to his chest, enveloping her in both strong arms. He leaned down to kiss the top of her silver hair, then lay his cheek against the top of her head.

Softly, he said, “Thank you for giving me your love, for giving me a mother’s love again.”

With tears trickling down her face, she leaned back slightly to look up at him. She saw the tears filling his eyes, and she reached up to lay her hand along the side of his face.

“You are his son, and you are my son. I will always be your mother.”

As he turned her toward the house and tucked one of her arms through his, he led her toward the light shining through the window of the kitchen door.

But, just before they reached the door, just before he placed one hand on the door handle, he stopped.

With a lop-sided smile, he squeezed her hand and turned her toward him.

Then, as she held her breath. . .

. . . Heath bent down to kiss her cheek.

* * * * * * * *

Victoria Barkley sat at her dressing table, brushing her silver hair with the embossed, silver-handled brush that her husband had given her years ago. As she looked into the mirror, she suddenly stopped in mid-stroke.

Her own words, from the afternoon spent beside her husband’s grave days ago, floated back to her.

“Tom,” she whispered, through lips that barely moved, with words barely spoken beyond her heart. “Thank you, my love, for all that you have helped me see. I don’t know how, yet. But, I promise you, I’ll make this right with him, somehow. I’ll make this right with your son.”

She reached up to touch the place on her cheek where Heath had kissed her earlier in the evening.

And, she closed her eyes and whispered, “My promise is kept, my love. Thank you for bringing him back to me. And, I now promise to you that I will always keep him as close in my heart as I hold our other children. I will never betray him, nor your love for the two of us, again.”

* * * * * * * *

He sat his horse and looked out at the summer greens and browns of the land below him, the valley floor stretching into the beyond, as far as his eyes could take him.

The colors meshed with the blue of the sky that matched his eyes, as the rays of the golden sun slashed through the thin white clouds high above.

Suddenly, he urged his horse forward.

His wild whoop of joy at the thrill of the wind rushing past, at the feel of the strong, muscular animal beneath him, urged the horse to careen even faster along the wide expanse.

The pounding of the hooves merged with the beating of his heart as the pair flew across the open pasture and skirted the hills beyond.

As the hooves ate up the ground below, his laugh seemed to trail behind them, like the black tail of the horse streaming out as a flag in their wake.

He smiled broadly, eager in his anticipation of reaching his destination. The large bay barely slowed as they crested the hill on their way toward. . .

This time, it wasn’t a dream.

This time, there were no gunshots.

There was only the feel of the powerful horse under him and the freedom of the open sky, the valley spread out before them. The bay continued to carry him over the ground effortlessly, the two of them gliding over the earth, free from cares, free from worries, free from the past.

And, now he knew.

Now, he knew where he had been going with such joy in the vivid dreams that had captured his heart for the last few months.

He slowed his horse to a controlled lope, and, as they approached the last hill, he brought the bay down to a walk. A few moments later, he halted the horse and breathed in the sight that spread out below him.

The red barns surrounded by the pristine, white fences and corrals stood out against the landscape of greens and browns. The impressive white house beckoned to him, a symbol of all that he loved, all that he desired to be a part of.

A lop-sided smile and a raised eyebrow above twinkling sky-blue eyes hinted of his thoughts as he took in the view that he cherished above all others.

With the perspective of time----of the almost twelve months since she had died, with the perspective of recent events------of Bentell, of Anders-----and with the influence of his new family, he knew now that his choice of fierce loyalty to her, rather than forgiveness for the one man she had wanted him to love above all others, had hurt his mama more than she had ever said.

And, he knew now that similar choices had kept him apart, even if only in his own heart, from his new family.

He understood now, that his options for action, once thought to be so limited, were no longer so restricted.

The irony was not lost on him.

During the last three months, he had had to work through disturbing memories from the past, from times when he had had no options. And, in both situations, first with Bentell, then Anders, he had felt his family had also given him no options, that they had even betrayed his trust by not respecting his choices-----though those choices were made based on the limited options enclosed by his past.

And, he had begun to close off his heart to them as a result.

But, in the end, they had grown in their respect for him and in understanding for the influence his past had had on him.

And, they had helped him understand that, with their love and support, the options he had now were only limited by his willingness to look for them.

No, the irony was not lost on him.

They had given him no choices at first, but then, together they had helped him find unlimited options, through their love and respect for him.

With pride in his chest . . . ,

With hope in his heart . . . ,

With options and choices in his future. . . ,

His shout of pure joy echoed across the valley. . . ,

And, he spurred his willing mount toward the illusive destination from his dream.

He and his bay galloped toward his family, . . .

. . . toward home.

THE END