Remnants of Trust

Chapters 1-10

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.

This story is the third in the “Trilogy of Trust” that began with “A Trust Betrayed” and was followed by “Stages of Trust.” Where the last story was mostly a Vic/Heath tale, this one returns to the “brothers” theme of “A Trust Betrayed,” and brings back at least one character from the early episodes.

Chapter 1

It was dark when he opened his eyes. He could not hear anyone near by, neither could he feel the ever present press of bodies as he lay still, waiting, listening, trying to make sense of the silence.

He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his vision, trying to bring something or someone, anything or anyone, into focus. Carefully, he turned his head, expecting to see the dark shadows of nondescript shapes lying on the ground all around him.

Suddenly, he closed his eyes against the sharp, burning pain that surged through his left arm, through his shoulder, up the back of his neck, and crashed through his head. He squeezed his eyes tightly against the hammering of his head. That sent more waves of pain thundering downward, backwards along the same path and throughout his body.

He panted for breath, waiting for the pain to stop colliding with itself, waiting for it to slow the blinding surges threatening to overwhelm him, before he tried to move again.

With his eyes closed, he tried to catch any sounds around him that would give him a clue as to where he was. But, his left arm was his only anchor. The shivering chill that passed through him, and the white, burning of his left shoulder, left him in no doubt that he was still in that hellhole of a prison, still at the mercy of that demon of a man.

But, rather than the moans and constant movement of soldiers lying crowded together, rather than the sounds of death, dying, and ever-present agony that was an eternal part of the long nights at Carterson, he could hear only his own ragged breathing.

Beyond him, after a few moments, as he consciously tried to control the pounding of his heart and the rasp of his throat as he breathed, he could just make out the soft ticking of a clock, somewhere in the darkness.

Fighting the confusion, he forced his eyes open again and blinked rapidly, trying to quell the rising nausea and the light-headedness that accompanied his blurry vision. Everything was shrouded in hazy darkness, and he felt panic begin to rise from deep inside. Closing his eyes again, he concentrated on taking deep breaths and pushing both the panic and the nausea back down.

A face flashed through his head, the sharp features and cruel smile framed with red hair in the pouring rain, made his breath catch in his throat.

Again, he blinked his eyes open slightly and tried to make sense of his surroundings.

His right hand moved, and he grasped the edge of the thick quilt covering him from the waist down. Slowly, he moved his head, turning toward the pain that threatened to push him back, looking for his own, white-hot knife that must be speared through his shoulder, pinning him to the dirt. As he groaned aloud at the pain crashing through his head at the slight movement, he brought his right hand up, and his fingers found the bandage wrapped around his other shoulder.

Suddenly, he heard movement nearby, and his attention was pulled toward a tall, blurry shape that moved quickly away from him. He tried to lift his head to follow the movement, but gasped instead, as the pain continued its assault.

Lying there, trying to still his breathing, trying to battle the sharp, blinding surge through his head, he could see just enough to make out the features of a darkened bedroom.

The silent questions and answers coming too fast now, he closed his eyes again at the onslaught, and fought to understand, fought to make sense of where he was through the vise-like pain.

Blinking rapidly, he tried to open his eyes and push himself up in the bed. As the sharp spike stabbed through his left shoulder again, he closed his eyes and bit down on his lip, trying unsuccessfully to silence the cry that escaped as his arm refused to hold him and he collapsed back to the bed.

Breathing harshly, he felt his head being lifted and heard a deep, calming voice. This voice belonged to neither of the devils from his past. This voice, he somehow knew, he could trust.

Struggling to clamp down on the pain that threatened to push him back down into the darkness again, he could not, at first, make out the words.

Then, slowly, the sounds seemed to merge together to make sense, and he heard the voice reaching out to him through the dark.

“Easy, Heath. Take it easy, now. Let me help you.”

Leaning back into the pillows propping him up now, he slowly cracked open his eyes, and, despite the sharp pain that cut into him from the dim light, he could make out a face framed with dark hair leaning in from above him, from his left.

“Here, now. Can you drink some water?” the deep, soothing voice asked.

Heath tried to respond, but no words could break through the rasping of his breathing. He felt the glass touch his lips, and he swallowed the cool liquid. The hand that supported his neck and the one that held the glass seemed to know when he had had enough, as they allowed him to rest after two sips, just when he could no longer handle any more.

His eyes closed completely again, and he felt the comforting coolness of a wet cloth pass across his face and chest, as he struggled to calm his rapid breathing, struggled to reach out past the pain consuming him.

He felt his right hand grasped by a small, cool one, and he tried to turn his head slightly, toward the person on that side. He grimaced at the effort the movement required, at the fresh wave of pain it inspired, and he again heard the deep voice to his left encouraging him, “Easy now. Just go slowly, Heath. Just breathe. We’ll be right here. We’re not going anywhere.”

Grasping onto the last word, he forced his eyes partially open once more and blinked to clear his vision. “Wher-r-re. . . .?” he managed to ask, before he began panting for breath to stem the rising tide of pain.

Squinting at the ceiling of the room in the near dark, his eyes focusing inward on the fiery agony only he could see, he did not notice the look exchanged by the dark-haired man and the beautiful young woman, one on each side of the bed.

The man’s voice seemed a long way away as it answered his question, “You’re home, Heath. Just rest, now. You’re home.”

As his eyes closed and the pain pressed him back into darkness, his lips moved and the constant crease between his eyebrows deepened in confusion as he whispered, “Home?” Then, he sagged down into the pillows, as his whisper faded, “Not. . . Straw-ber. . . ?”

When his hand relaxed in her grasp, Audra looked across her unconscious brother into Jarrod’s worried eyes. “He didn’t understand, Jarrod,” she whispered. Then, her voice rising, she added, “He didn’t even know us, did he?”

With a sad shake of his head, Jarrod responded, “No, Honey, I don’t think he did. Not this time.” He took a deep breath, and added, as much to reassure himself, as to comfort her, “But, he’s going to be alright, Audra. It’ll just take some time, Honey. Let’s just give him some time.”

She looked at him with tears brimming in her light blue eyes, the eyes so like Heath’s, and nodded as she leaned back in the chair and turned her face toward the stars clearly visible outside the window.

Jarrod stood from his place on the edge of the bed, walked around to her and covered her with the dark green blanket he picked up from its place over the footboard. He knelt beside her, stroking her face, catching the tears as they fell, and finally pulled her into his embrace. As she sobbed against his shoulder, he rubbed her back and soothed, “He’ll be alright, Honey. Don’t give up on him.”

Her muffled voice drifted up to him as she spoke into his nightshirt, “Jarrod, I’m so afraid he won’t remember us, that he won’t want to stay here with us. I just want my brother back!”

He sighed and held her even closer, “I know, Honey, I know. I’m sure we’ll find a way to reach him, to help him return to us. The main thing now is that he and Mother are both home. We’ve got to get him well, first. And, then, we can concentrate on helping him through the rest.”

She nodded against his shoulder, but she didn’t let go. He stood halfway, scooped her up in his arms, and turned around to sit in the comfortable chair, cradling his little sister against him in his lap. She clung to him and cried, while he returned his eyes to the face of his unconscious brother lying on the bed in front of them.

Though he kept his words to himself, not wanting to upset her, his thoughts cried out, “Hurry home to us. We all need you, Brother Heath.”

* * * * * * * *

Nick was pacing back and forth across the floor of the study, wearing out the rug in front of the fireplace, by the time Victoria and the doctor joined them downstairs late the next morning. Audra had long given up trying to get him to sit down while they waited. Jarrod knew better than to even try.

Nick looked up and speared the doctor with his glare as his mother and the physician entered the room. He opened his mouth to speak, but Howard saw his glare and held up his hand.

Howard said, “Hold on, now, Nick. I’m optimistic that he’ll probably be fine, but you’re going to have to be patient!”

Nick turned back around to the mantle and gripped it hard with both hands.

Jarrod spoke up, “Tell us, Howard.”

Doc Merar sighed and took the cup of coffee that Jarrod held out to him. He sat down wearily in the closest chair and closed his eyes for a few seconds. It had been a long trip out toward Cherokee Flats and back yesterday on the stage, and it had been an even longer night since then.

Everyone remained silent while they waited. Jarrod sat down on the red settee next to his sister and mother. Ogden Haverty, the friend of Heath’s that had accompanied them back to the ranch, stayed in the background by the French doors, while Nick remained with his back turned to the group.

After a sip of the dark, fragrant coffee, Howard set the cup and saucer on the round marble table in front of him and methodically delivered his news, “He’s still holding his own this morning, and I don’t see any signs of infection. His fever has come back down some since the middle of the night, and we’ve been able to get some liquids in him several times.” He looked around at their anxious faces and added, “Those are reasons for celebration, folks!”

Audra and Victoria exchanged smiles, and Audra grasped her mother’s hand in her own.

Sure there was more, however, Jarrod prodded gently, “But, you’re still worried?”

Glancing at the younger man, Howard nodded and sighed. “Yes, Jarrod, I am. Every time he’s come around, he has been able to stay conscious for only very short periods of time, and the swelling just doesn’t seem to be going down. He’s obviously in a great deal of pain that is more than just his shoulder wound, and I’m concerned that there might be bleeding . . .”

Nick slammed his open hand against the sturdy wooden mantle, startling them all, and whirled around to look at the doctor. He said loudly, frustration evident in every word, “AND, he doesn’t know us, AND he doesn’t know where he is! In fact, he doesn’t even know WHEN he is!”

The hazel eyes bored into the tired, compassionate eyes of the physician, as the older man nodded his head and said gently, “I’m afraid that’s correct, Nick. It is evident that he is confused by his surroundings and by all of us. But, it’s hard to know how much of that confusion is delirium and how much is caused by what he does or doesn’t remember. We’re just going to. . . “

Again, Nick interrupted, snarling, “I know, I know, we’re just going to have to give him more time!”

“Nick,” his mother spoke up, “Please, Nick. This isn’t easy on any of us.”

He turned back around to the mantle with a wounded growl, and stared up at his father’s portrait above him. In his head, he could hear his brother’s muttered words over the last few days and nights, hear his repeated references to Bentell, to Carterson, to Ogden, and to the stagecoach. Nick could hear Heath calling him Mason, and he could see his brother’s eyes the way they had looked each time Heath had tried to get himself or Victoria away from the threat he perceived----from him.

Each instance was slowly tearing Nick up inside. He knew he was being selfish, but more than anything, he needed for Heath to acknowledge him, to call out to him, to let him know that he remembered and trusted him.

Only then, would he be sure that his brother was really going to be all right. He would know then that Heath was not going to remain trapped in the past, held prisoner in the painful places where he had spent his days before he had become Nick Barkley’s little brother.

“Nick,” Audra stood up and crossed over to her hazel-eyed brother. She took him by the arm and gently pulled on him until he slowly turned and looked at her. She said quietly, but firmly, “Nick, we should all feel grateful that Heath is alive. He’ll be alright, Big Brother. He’ll come back to us. We’ve got all the time in the world. There’s no rush. Please, Nick! Let’s do as the doctor says. Just give him some more time.”

From behind her, Jarrod added, thinking aloud as much as trying to convince Nick, “When he left here with Mother, Nick, he trusted all of us again. We can build on that when he’s well again. I know we can.”

Nick looked down at Audra, at her vibrant beauty, at her pleading blue eyes, and with an anguished cry, he reached out to pull her to him with both arms wrapped tightly around her.

She held him and whispered in his ear, “Don’t give up on Heath, Nick, and don’t give up on this family’s love for him. You’re not alone, and neither is he.”

Chapter 2

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, . . . .

Heath slowly opened his eyes . . . .

Just before the pain hit him, he wondered where had he been going, where he had been going with such joy in his heart.

Suddenly, the red heat of the shoulder wound and the searing surge through his head caused his heart to pound.

Pushing it all away as far as he could, he struggled to remember.

Where was he?

And, where had that shot come from?

He was lying on his back. The pain that held him hostage, unable to move, told him he had been hit, . . . but, he wasn’t in the middle of the road anymore, . . .

He blinked to clear his vision, and he looked around frantically, cringing as the light cut straight through his head.

No, he wasn’t in the road. In fact, he wasn’t outside at all.

But, Mrs. Barkley. . . .

Where was she?

As he struggled to roll to his side, trying to make sense of the dream, to make sense of what he remembered, to make sense of the pain crashing into him, . . . he suddenly saw her.

She heard his soft groan and realized he was coming around. Quickly, she moved from his dresser, where she had been pouring more water into a pale, yellow porcelain bowl, and she crossed the room to sit beside him on his bed. She reached behind him and placed several pillows to support his back as he rolled toward her on his side. She could see enough of his barely open eyes to know that the pain was intense.

His normally light blue eyes were dark and unfocused, and his breathing was coming in sharp rasps.

“Heath! Heath, hang on. Here, just try to relax, try to take deep breaths.” She grasped his right hand in hers and felt the immediate bearing down of his muscles as he fought to find her voice through the pain and confusion.

Though his eyes were open, he was squinting at her as if the light hurt his eyes, and she wasn’t sure if he could see her or not. His chest was heaving, and he struggled to raise himself up on his right elbow.

She moved to the floor, kneeling to place herself in his line of sight. “Heath! Heath! Just lie still and breathe. It’s okay, now. It’s over!” Her voice rose as she talked to him, trying desperately to get through to him, to keep him from getting up. It barely registered with her that he was hurting her hand, only that he needed her.

He blinked and sought her face with his eyes, trying to latch onto her words as he tried to haul himself away from the white-hot heat of his shoulder and the throbbing agony in his head. Dimly, he realized he was hurting her, and he released his hold, falling back and reaching up to grab his head in his hand instead.

“Mis-sus. . . Bark-ley?” he rasped.

“Yes, Heath, I’m here. Right here. Just relax. Just breathe.”

“Mas-on?” he asked.

Over her shoulder, she heard the approach of footsteps. But, though Heath was facing in that direction, his barely open eyes never left her face as she continued to talk to him. Unwilling to break eye contact to find out who had joined her, she answered, “He’s not here, Heath. It’s alright, Honey,” Suddenly, she was unable to stop herself from using the endearment.

She added, “You kept me safe, Heath. You didn’t let him hurt me.”

Watching her eyes, he latched onto the single word she had spoken, the single thought, the single objective he had held onto from the moment he had realized they were under attack on the stage.

He asked, as if from far away, “You’re . . . safe. . . ?”

Tears came unbidden to her grey eyes, as the memories of what they had been through together, of what he had endured to keep her safe, slammed into her with his simple question.

“Yes, Heath. I’m safe. You kept him away from me.”

Vaguely, she was aware that Nick was hovering behind her, uncharacteristically uncertain about his role, palpable waves of impatient anguish emanating from him as he shifted from boot to boot. As she heard the agitated jingling of his spurs with each movement, she knew he was remembering the two times that Heath, in his delirium, had confused him with Mason----and had fought against any contact with him.

Heath’s eyes closed, squeezing tightly in a grimace of overwhelming pain, and she saw a single tear escape from an outside corner of one eye and roll toward the pillow. He continued to breathe raggedly, his mouth open. Then, his right hand curled into a fist, before he dropped his arm and let it stretch out across the edge of the bed and lay there, reaching for something, his fingers clenching tightly and opening forcefully, over and over.

Unable to hold back any longer, Nick moved in from behind her and grasped Heath’s right hand in both of his, as he went down on one knee beside her.

“Heath.” Nick’s voice broke as he felt his brother’s grip clamp down on his hand.

The blue eyes cracked open again for just a moment, before Heath closed them again as if the light was just too much for him. He tried again to use his elbow to push up from the bed, but, as the pain overwhelmed him and he fell back, they both heard him breathe, “Ni-ick?”

“Right here, Heath. I’m right here. I’ve got you, and I won’t let go.”

Slowly, as Nick felt Heath’s grip relax, he realized the blond could no longer hear him. Nick bowed his head and stared at the floor, still squeezing Heath’s limp hand. He wanted nothing more than to gather his brother’s battered body to him and hang on, wrapping him in unending strength. It had taken all his willpower to avoid calling Heath, ‘Little Brother’ during his brief communication with him, and while his heart felt leaden with the knowledge that he could not do this yet, he was so overcome to finally hear Heath use his name, he could barely contain his own tears.

Victoria, her own sense of loss at being referred to as Mrs. Barkley warring with the relief she felt for Nick, reached out to her dark-haired son. As she placed her hand on his shoulder, she said quietly, “He’s unconscious again, Nick. You can let go now.”

She pushed off of Nick’s shoulder to assist herself in rising to her feet, and then she pulled up on Nick’s arm until she had his attention.

Finally, he released Heath’s hand and stood up beside her.

She wrapped her arms around him and said, “It’s going to be alright, Sweetheart. It’s going to take some time, but he’s going to be alright. You’ll see.”

Crushing her to him, Nick steadied himself against her, and then, turned toward the door. Gruffly, to cover the emotions coursing through him, he said, “I’m going to go find that doctor. He’s got to give Heath something for the pain. We can’t let him go through that every time he comes around.”

“Nick, wait!” she called, then sank down into the chair behind her and turned back to watch Heath. She leaned forward and stroked his bruised face with her hand, reaching up with one finger to trace the deep crease that remained between his eyebrows.

Maybe Nick was right. It would be better to keep him unconscious for a while than to let him wake up in such agony each time.

Then, she turned his head to the side and felt the remaining swelling in the back of his head and sighed. She knew then, that Nick’s quest to relieve Heath’s pain would be without success as long as Howard felt his head injury was the cause.

* * * * * * * *

While Howard gently wrapped her ankle, Victoria sat on the side of her bed with her face turned toward her open window, deep in thought. She did not hear the kindly doctor’s words to her.

Beside her, Audra squeezed her hand and whispered, “Mother. Doctor Merar is talking to you.”

Victoria slowly squeezed her daughter’s hand in appreciation and turned her head to take in the tired physician’s face. “I’m sorry, Howard. What did you say?”

“You need to get some rest, Victoria. If you don’t lie down in that bed and get some sleep, I promise you, I’m going to put something in your tea that will force you to!”

She smiled at him, and reached out her other hand to him, “Howard, I know you mean well, but Heath needs . . . .”

“No, Victoria,” he interrupted. “You will not do Heath or anyone else any good if you collapse from exhaustion. After all he did to get you home safely, he would not like to see you doing this to yourself now.”

He turned to Audra and said, “Turn down that lamp and help her into bed, Audra.”

Then, to Victoria again, he added, “I’m going to stay right here until you go to sleep, so if you want me to return to your son as quickly as possible, you’ll close your eyes and convince me you don’t need me like he does!”

She forced her tired eyes to focus on his serious face, as he leaned toward her from the comfortable, pale blue brocade chair beside her bed. Surprised at his words, she smiled slightly and shook her head at him. Slowly, she leaned over and kissed Audra on the cheek and said quietly, “Good-night, Sweetheart. Please wake me if Heath needs me.”

Then, she eased herself down onto the plump pillows and the cool white sheets. Audra pulled the blue coverlet up to her mother’s shoulders and leaned down to return the kiss. “Good-night, Mother. Call me if you need me. I love you, and I’m so glad you’re home.”

Audra eased back down to sit on the side of the bed. She watched as her mother’s eyes closed and the slight smile faded from her features. She stroked Victoria’s short silver hair, as the strong woman’s breathing softened and slowed in sleep.

After a few minutes of assuring herself that the petite form in the bed before her was really asleep, Audra rose quietly and turned to the watching physician. She took him by the arm as he stood. Together, they walked softly to the door.

Once outside, Audra looked at him wonderingly and said, “Why, Doctor Merar, I never would have believed she would given in so easily. I do believe you have your own version of her wooden spoon in your medical bag!”

Chapter 3

The doctor had finally gone down the hall to get some much-needed rest after spending the last hour fussing over Heath and talking to his two brothers and sister again.

After returning with Audra from Victoria’s bedside, he had first checked Heath’s breathing. Satisfied, he had shaken his head, as he had checked his patient’s heart beat and pulse, muttering about Barkley blood, while the other three, plus Ogden Haverty, had looked on. He had nodded over the bandages, pleased at the clear, minimal drainage from the shoulder wound. Then, however, he had turned serious again as he had checked Heath’s head.

The three Barkleys had accompanied him out into the hall afterwards, as he quietly left the room. Ogden had nodded at Jarrod’s hand on his shoulder and the silent question from the tall lawyer, responding quietly, “I’ll stay with him. You go talk to the doctor.”

Now, a good while later, Ogden sat in the soft light of the down-turned oil lamp, watching the steady rise and fall of Heath’s chest and wondering what the outcome of it all was going to be.

“The look of eagles. . . .” Ogden muttered as his eyes moved to Heath’s face.**

He could feel sleep creeping up on him, its foggy fingers reaching out to trick him into a soft security. He shook his head, and reached for the barely warm mug of rich brown coffee Silas had left beside his chair a while back, as he tried to stave off the grasp his tired, aching bones had on him.

Quiet footsteps from behind brought him more fully awake and a firm grasp on his shoulder, by a strong hand, brought a smile to his bearded face.

Jarrod asked softly, “How’re the two of you doing?”

“Fine, Mr. Barkley, just fine,” Ogden answered.

“How about if we dispense with the formalities and you call me Jarrod? There are too many Mr. Barkleys around here to keep us all straight.”

Ogden grinned, drinking a full swallow of the luke-warm brew. “Alright, Jarrod, if you’re comfortable with that, but I warn you, I don’t go by anything but Mr. Haverty from anyone younger than that lovely lady you call Mother.”

Jarrod smiled over at him from his seat on the other side of the bed, his hand resting on the side of his brother’s warm face. He asked quietly, “At least not from anyone other than Heath, right?”

Ogden glanced at Jarrod sharply, then down at the sleeping blond. He responded with a voice full of feeling, “That boy’s earned the right ten times over to call me whatever the hell he chooses!”

Jarrod nodded in understanding.

Brushing his hand through Heath’s hair, he asked, “He’s a very special person, isn’t he, Mr. Haverty?”

“Dang straight he is.”

Jarrod smiled again. Then, his eyes on his brother’s face, he said, “I am grateful for the chance to get to know him now, to know the man he is. But, I guess I’ll always feel cheated that I didn’t get to be part of his growing up, that I didn’t get to know him when he was younger.”

After another moment’s pause, Jarrod asked into the silence that followed, “What was he like when you first met him, Mr. Haverty?”

Ogden sat back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. He was tired out from the events of the last few days, but was feeling good about his chat with Mr. Matthews, the stage owner earlier in the morning when the man came by to check on the Barkleys. Though he was excited about the prospects for his future that they had discussed, he was not yet ready to talk about any of it with Heath’s family members.

However, his buoyancy over the ideas he and Mr. Matthews had tossed about were making him feel expansive.

He stared over at Heath, and he saw the obvious care in the way his dark-haired brother was using a dampened cloth to cool him down. He made up his mind.

“Have you ever seen someone try to break a horse that wouldn’t be broken?”

Puzzled and unsure of how this answer fit in with his question, Jarrod nodded. “Yes. I might not have grown up with Heath, but I have had the pleasure of living on the same ranch as stubborn horseman, Nick Barkley. I’ve seen ‘wouldn’t be broken’ meet ‘wouldn’t be denied’ many times over the years.”

Ogden kept his eyes on Heath as he smiled briefly and continued, “Once I saw a man down in Tulsa try to rough break a two-year old colt that had grown up half wild. It was too young to bear the weight of a heavy stock saddle and a man that size for long, so it was a right easy bet as to who would win. The heartless fool was 300 pounds if he was 10, but that little horse was just too stubborn for its own good. It should have been over in a couple of minutes. But, it wasn’t. Not by a long sight.”

He glanced at Jarrod to ensure that he had his attention. “They had them a go. Took five tries, cause that colt just wouldn’t give in. But, by the time that man finally stopped, the fire seemed to be pretty much gone out of that horse. In effect, the jasper had all but ruined the colt, or so I thought. The colt’s head was hanging down and his eyes had the blank look of resignation in them. The man removed his saddle and hobbled away, ‘cause he’d taken his share of licks, getting thrown hard several times in the process. We all thought it was over, that the colt’s fate was sealed, no reason to think otherwise.”

His eyes took on a far away expression, as he shared the next part, “But, you know, when one of the hands came to lead that colt out of the corral, the durnedest thing happened. The colt suddenly lifted his head and stared out past the fences at something in the far distance only he could see. He planted his feet and trumpeted his shrill call out across the corrals, out across the flat, dry land beyond the fences, his pride and his challenge evident to anyone who cared to look or to hear. Then, he reached out, bit the fool out of the man and reared up, pulling the wrangler with him as he clung to the halter. The man had the good sense to let go just as the colt stood back and cleared that blamed five-foot fence like he had suddenly sprouted wings.”

Ogden paused for breath, and he said, “Once he was outside, he snorted and tossed his head, just daring anyone to come after him. Then, he took off across the ranch yard and headed for the desert, clearing another fence as if he were jumping over his shadow. All of us just stood there staring after him, until one by one, the men watching all started cheering for him.”

Somewhere along the way, Jarrod had spread out the wet cloth across Heath’s chest and just sat, staring down at his brother’s bruised face as Ogden’s story continued. His eyes were bright, even in the dim glow of the lamp, with unshed tears.

“They say some great horses have that look---the look that little horse had when he raised his head and gazed out across that desert at the distant mountains-----just before he cleared that fence. I’ve heard tell it’s called ‘the look of eagles,’ and, let me tell you, if you’ve ever been privileged to see it, it’s a rare sight to behold.”

In the silence that followed, Jarrod blinked hard and slowly resumed his task. Then, he stopped again, and looked over at the old man, whose compassionate eyes stared back at Jarrod’s stunned and agonized blue ones.

Ogden clarified then, answering the unspoken questions, though not the pain, he saw there. “When I first saw your brother as he came down out of the high country and headed into Tamarack one day, he had every reason to be beaten down into the ground like that colt. He was too young for the things he’d seen, the things he’d had to do in his lifetime. By all rights, he should’ve had the air of a broken-down, busted-up, old-before-his-time, drifter------or a trail-sour, overburdened, ol’ packhorse. But, he didn’t. Instead, he had the same defiant air about him as that little horse. His pride in who he was shone through the sorry state of his clothes, of his saddle, of the six-foot frame that so desperately needed to be filled out and muscled in. His horse and his guns were better cared for than he was, but he had a sparkle in his eye that would not be denied. Even before I heard his soft, but defiant drawl, it stood out to anyone, who cared to look or listen, just how special he was.”

Ogden paused again, watching Jarrod’s eyes to gauge his reaction, before he finished.

“It wasn’t ‘til two months later that I saw the rest of it though, saw it for myself.”

Puzzled, Jarrod asked, “Saw it? What do you mean?”

Ogden nodded, “Before I truly saw the look of eagles in those blue eyes of his. By then, he was helping me up at Ebbet’s Pass, and I’d nursed him through a bout of pneumonia that almost killed him. Fool boy that he was, trying to do the work of three men despite a terrible cough and then getting caught out on a ridge in a soaking storm. . . .”

He stopped and looked hard at Jarrod before asking, “You ever seen him down with a bad illness? I mean before this?”

Jarrod shook his head, “No, he’s been shot a couple of times, but the closest was when he was badly beaten not too long ago.” Jarrod shivered at the memory of what had happened among Renegade Rocks almost a month earlier.

Ogden looked at the dark-haired man closely, “He was delirious with a fever then?”

Jarrod nodded.

“So you know he does most of his talking under those conditions. Fever seems to be the only thing that loosens his tongue, am I right?”

Again, Jarrod nodded, a small smile crossing his face.

Ogden continued, “Well, let’s just say, I learned things about his past during that week that I would have hoped no ten men together would ever have to live through, let alone one young boy barely grown into a man.”

Jarrod closed his eyes and, then, opened them to stare at Ogden again.

But, Ogden shook his head. “Those are not for me to tell. We never spoke of them, so I’m not sure he’s even aware that I know them. Better that way. I could be there to support him without him feeling like I was tunneling in beneath him to leave him trapped over a thin, unstable crust of earth.”

Jarrod sat silently, waiting for the rest.

“It was after that, when I saw it for sure-----that look. He was still weak from being so sick, but he wouldn’t stay inside no more, said it ate away at him, said he had to get out for a while. I followed and found him on a rock on the west-facing slope down below the pass. As soon as I came out of the trees, I could see him, so I stopped. He was standing out on a rock ledge that stuck out from the slope like the bow of a fine clipper ship. He was breathing hard, his hands on his knees, and he was bent over double from the exertion. Suddenly, he stood up straight, stock still, and just stood there, staring out at the horizon below us, staring at something I couldn’t see. The sun was still high, weren’t nowhere near dropping, so he wasn’t there looking at the sunset. He stood like that for the longest time, just staring out there, like he could see his destiny, his future out there somewhere. Then . . . , well then, he let out this raging war cry that made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. Afterwards, he stood still again, watching through the distance. I half expected him to get an answer, but I was mighty glad he didn’t. I didn’t think I would ever sleep again if, all of a sudden, a gathering of eagles appeared on the horizon to come spirit him away.”

At Jarrod’s amazed glance, Ogden added, “It was the same look of eagles that little horse had. I’ve only witnessed it several times in my life, but all those that had it were something special, I can tell you. Like that little horse, your brother has heart. His is full of a pride and a powerful spirit that won’t quit, not for any normal reasons, anyway. He’s a fighter, this boy is, and he has even more to live for now, than he did then.”

Jarrod took in a ragged breath and closed his eyes tightly, willing the old man’s words to be true.

When he opened them again, he was alone in the room with his unconscious brother. Ogden Haverty had shared all he cared to for one night, and he had made a quiet exit to get some sleep, leaving Jarrod with only the words of the story and his own silent, thoughtful response for company.

It was only when he reached the guest room down the hall, that the old man remembered he had not asked the very quiet Jarrod Barkley what the doctor had said to them a little while before about their brother.

Chapter 4

Silas moved quietly around the large, cheerful kitchen as he prepared fresh coffee and gathered the ingredients for the cinnamon rolls he planned to make. He gave the silent, brooding figure, hunched over the honey-colored pine table in the center of the floor, a wide berth as he moved from wood-stove to pantry to smooth, wooden counter-top.

Without realizing it, as the windows began to show the first signs of dawn peeking through, he began to hum a low, sad melody that brought comfort to his soul.

As he worked, kneading the dough with his dark hands, his ears barely registered the deep, growly voice from behind him, so filled were they with the sound of his own song.

Suddenly, his hands stilled, and he turned to look over his shoulder at the man sitting there with his back to him. “Did’ja say somethin’, Mister Nick?”

The man sighed heavily, but did not turn around. Then, Silas heard the pain in the voice as Nick asked, “This is Heath’s favorite time of day, isn’t it, Silas?”

Silas looked out of the window to his right and nodded, though the man behind him could not see his gesture. He answered, “Yes, Sir, Mister Nick, I reckon it is. That boy sure loves to watch the sun greet the mornin’, that’s a fact.”

Silently, he returned to the task he had set for himself.

After he placed the rolls on a shiny, silver pan and pushed it inside the toasty oven, he warmed the now cold coffee in the half-empty cup on the table. As he turned away to replace the pot on top of the stove, he heard the dark-haired man mutter something else. Silas glanced back over his shoulder.

Nick’s face was turned toward the floor, and his elbows were propped on the edge of the table, his hands supporting his forehead. As he slightly lifted his head and one hand came up impatiently to push back the dark lock of hair that fell forward across his brow, Silas could see the anguish in the unfocused hazel eyes.

He clearly understood the next words Nick said.

“Silas, last night the doc said that Heath could die. . . .”

Nick shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to clear his head of the images that came with the words, images that had plagued him all night. He could not believe that they had found his mother and Heath, gotten them both the Doc, and brought them home, only to lose his brother now.

To lose his brother, the one he had just begun to know, like this, after so short a time. . .

No!

He just couldn’t contain this possibility inside a heart threatening to burst with images of the two of them together, the two of them. . .

Nick stood abruptly, knocking over his chair, and stormed across the room. He veered from his path just enough to avoid plowing into Silas, but he wrenched open the door and charged out of the house, his spurs vibrating angrily in his wake.

Silas stood looking after him, watching him stalk across toward the barn in the dim light, knowing this tall, dark-headed son of the man who had befriended him years ago, would only find comfort in hard riding and hard work, out on the ranch he loved.

Slowly, he walked over and closed the door. Then, he turned to retrieve the basket of eggs he had already gathered, earlier this morning in the darkness before dawn, when he, too, had been unable to sleep.

* * * * * * * *

The sun was just high enough to create liquid pools of light on the floor just inside Victoria’s bedroom doorway, when Audra entered the room carrying a tray laden with food, coffee, and flowers.

She froze when she realized the room was empty.

Turning around, she carried the tray down the hall toward the boys’ rooms and paused just outside Heath’s slightly open door. Hearing the soft murmur of voices, she sighed and forced a smile to her face. Then, she pushed open the door with her hip, just wide enough to enter without upsetting the tray still clasped between her hands.

“Good morning, Mother!” she said as cheerfully as she could.

As she walked into the room, she brushed past the bed where her brother lay so still, but she stopped short of placing the tray on her mother’s lap as she had intended. Instead, she turned back toward the dresser beside the doorway, placed the heavy tray on one end, and returned to her mother’s side. Dropping down beside her on her knees, she grasped the tiny woman’s hands in both of hers and gazed up into Victoria’s distraught eyes.

“He’s going to be alright, Mother. I just know he is. You brought him home to us. He’ll be alright. You’ll see.” Audra’s blue eyes pleaded with grey to believe, to trust.

Victoria squeezed her daughter’s hands, then freed one of her own to reach up and pull her youngest child into an embrace.

She tried to speak, “Audra, Howard is afraid he’s. . . ,” but she couldn’t continue as her voice broke.

Audra whispered, “I know, Mother. He told us last night. But, none of us are going to give up.” She looked behind her at the bed, took in the still face of her brother, then gazed into the doctor’s worried eyes. She said to the older man on the other side of the bed, “You’re not giving up on Heath, are you, Doctor?”

His attention on Heath, the doctor shook his head, and he replied, “No, Audra. I’m not giving up on him.”

Audra nodded, then hugged her mother’s shoulders again. Victoria smiled up at her and said, “Thank you, Sweetheart. Thank you for being here with me. I really had hopes that he was getting better, but. . . now? I just wasn’t at all prepared for this news this morning.”

Audra held onto her hands and moved back a step to sit on the edge of her brother’s bed, still looking deeply into the sad, grey eyes. She broke her gaze from her mother’s face and looked toward the doctor.

Her mother’s voice asked the question Audra had wanted to voice, “Will you explain it to me again, Howard? What makes you so sure Heath is getting worse?”

Howard Merar looked up from checking the back of Heath’s head again. He eased the blond back to the pillows and sighed, “Victoria, I just can’t be sure. But, the swelling is still there, and it is so difficult to wake him. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

Victoria was watching the doctor’s face. She saw the furrowed brow and the slight shake of the man’s head. She asked, “But, what else can we do, Howard? There must be something!”

The doctor shook his head again. “When he comes around again, I need to know where the pain is. I need to know what he can see, how well he can tolerate light, if he can remember anything, how well he can talk, if his neck hurts, if he’s having any weakness in his arms or legs, . . . .”

He sighed and just shook his head, trailing off. Then, he added, “There’s so much we don’t know about head injuries, and I’m afraid that he’s bleeding inside, where we can’t see it. The fact that he seems to be getting worse, staying unconscious so long---the fact that he was in so much pain the last time he came around. . . . all those are very bad signs, Ladies. I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you right now.”

Victoria nodded, “We understand, Howard. And, we appreciate all that you’ve done. You’re a good friend, and we don’t mean to make any of this harder on you.”

Having regained his composure, Doctor Merar nodded at the gracious woman before him. How like her to be worried about his feelings in the middle of her own sadness and grief. He said, “Thank you, Victoria. I’ve thought Heath was a fine, very brave young man from the first time I met him, and this is never easy to see with any patient. Though I know I’ve upset everyone by trying to prepare you all for the worst, . . . like Audra says, none of us have given up on him yet. We won’t either. He’s obviously very tough, or he would not have made it home.”

Both women’s eyes brimmed brightly with tears as they turned their eyes to each other, and Victoria reached out to touch the side of Audra’s face.

Suddenly, Audra reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand, before she jumped up and ran from the room, with her mother’s eyes following her.

Victoria felt a tear roll down as she silently stood and moved carefully to the side of Heath’s bed.

With her back to the doctor, she picked up Heath’s left hand in hers and held it up to her cheek. Quietly, she asked, “Howard, how long do you think it will be before we know for sure if he’s going to get better or. . . or continue to get worse?”

After a long silence, she heard his voice from behind her as the man answered, “He’s been unresponsive since yesterday afternoon, Victoria. So first of all, I would say it depends on if he regains consciousness today or not. If he doesn’t, then I tend to think he will just slowly slip away as the blood continues to build up under his skull. If he does wake up, but he has trouble tolerating lots of light, and he complains of a stiff neck, I don’t think there will be any doubt that is what is happening, even if he’s conscious.”

She shook her head, her eyes never leaving Heath’s face, “I know doctors always speak in terms of using a patient’s complaints to determine what is wrong with them. But, in this case, that is a very poor choice of words. Heath will not give you any specific complaints, Howard. If you need to know the answers to all those questions you mentioned, you’ll have to drag them out of him, as you well know.”

Nodding, Howard marveled at this woman’s love and pride in the young man whose hand she sat holding, marveled at the strength of character that allowed her to find anything positive in the words he had just shared, and marveled at the force of will that had already helped her find everything positive in her relationship with her husband’s son.

He chuckled, “You’re right, Victoria.”

Then, he said, mixing hope with honesty, “But, you know, if there is some bleeding, a little, understand, if we can just keep him conscious and resting quietly, he has a chance to survive this. It will all depend on how much bleeding there is, how deep it is, and how much damage it causes before it dissipates.”

She turned and looked at him, incredulously, “Do you mean, that even if he is bleeding inside his head, he could survive it? . . . And, what do you mean about damage?”

He took a deep breath and said, “People have survived such things. During the war, I even knew of men to occasionally survive being shot in the head. It is possible. It just depends on how much damage there is.” Then, he added another caution, “Sometimes patients recover, but they are different afterwards.”

Seeing her alarmed look, he said, “Usually, they have a more volatile personality or have weakness in one side of their body. Or speech and memory losses persist. I wish I could be more specific, but I just don’t know, Victoria. Right now, from where I sit, he appears to be getting worse, not better, but anything’s possible. I would say we should know by tomorrow which way it’s going to go.”

She reached across the bed, across the still form lying between them on the bed, and took the doctor’s hand in hers. “We’ll deal with any of that as it comes. We just want him to be here with us.” Then, she added, “Thank you for being honest with me, Howard. Though I’m still very worried about his chances, you have rekindled this mother’s hope for her son.”

Chapter 5

The sound of the spurs punctuated the silence.

Howard and Ogden watched from the two chairs in the room as Nick paced back and forth by the foot of the bed. Finally, the doctor rose wearily from his chair and said to the old man across from him, “I’m going downstairs to get some coffee. Do you want some?”

“Sure, Doc,” Ogden nodded. The doctor avoided Nick’s glare and exited from the bedroom.

It was mid-afternoon, and the longer the young man on the bed remained unconscious, the more agitated the hazel-eyed rancher became.

Though he had remained silent since then, Nick had interrogated the doctor over an hour ago, his impatience and anger at his own helplessness overflowing in demanding, accusing questions.

“How is it that he was well enough to get up and fight with me, Doc, and now he’s flat on his back, unaware we’re even here in the same room? Before your announcement last night, we all thought he was getting better!”

Howard had sighed loudly and turned from checking Heath’s breathing. He had replied carefully, but at great length, “Nick, head injuries don’t always act like other injuries. Sometimes bleeding that we can’t see starts slowly, and it’s only when too much accumulates that it becomes a problem. You know yourself he hasn’t been right for days, but the fact that he’s getting worse tells me that the blood is gathering somewhere inside his skull and putting pressure on his brain. Sometimes that kind of bleeding doesn’t cause problems for over a week after an injury, sometimes two.”

Nick had stared at the doctor, then, his eyes widened at the details of the answer. He hadn’t pictured blood on the inside of his brother’s head, thinking that Heath’s condition was all related to the gashes he had seen on the outside. Thinking back quickly to the night before, he realized the doctor had probably explained it to them then, out in the hall outside Heath’s room, but all he had heard were the words that had been spoken to try to prepare them for the worst, the ominous words that had sent him spiraling down into despair. In his anger and disbelief, he had missed the specific details.

An hour ago, with the heat of the day upon them all, Nick had finally asked quietly, “Can’t you open him up and let it drain out or something, Doc?”

Howard Merar had shaken his head sadly, “No, Nick. I wouldn’t know where to begin to do that. The bleeding could be anywhere. We’ll just have to hope I’m wrong and that he will wake up soon without other complications.”

Though the doctor had tried to awaken Heath several times over the many hours since he had slipped back into unconsciousness, he had had no success. Now, with the temperature, and the temper, in the room rising, the doctor had left Nick alone with Ogden to keep their vigil.

All Nick could think about was the time he had wasted, the time he had refused to acknowledge the brother that he now knew he needed beside him, the time he had denied Heath’s claim to a piece of his heart.

The more he paced, the more agitated he grew. He began beating the gloved fist of one hand into the gloved palm of the other with every step.

Why? Why had he waited so long to accept his brother? Why was Heath being taken from him now, now that they had finally come to understand the kind of love and trust he needed from them?

From the dark leather chair by the bed, Ogden watched the agitated pacing. He watched the man’s face as it contorted with the emotions passing through him, watched as his lips moved and the man muttered to himself words that only he could hear. Ogden raised one eyebrow when the sound of leather on leather joined the strident sounds of the spurs.

Finally, he spoke quietly, watching the dark-headed man to see if his words would have any effect. Much of the gruffness and the high country slang was gone from his voice.

“Heath once told me that the one thing he had wished for all his life was the one thing that he knew he would never have.”

He continued, his voice carefully neutral, but his eyes waiting for any sign that the man pacing before him was even listening.

“It was knowing that he would never have it, even at a very young age, that helped him accept the differences between his life and that of the other folks he saw around him. He explained to me that he finally figured out he had two choices. He could accept the life he had and focus all his efforts and dreams on doing the best he could with what he had been given, or he could continue to wish for something he would never have---and grow bitter about everything else he didn’t have----in the process.”

Ogden took a deep breath, sure now that he had at least one ear of the glaring, growling rancher, at least half the attention of this man who was trying to bend the future toward his will, with the force of every agitated footstep.

He watched Nick and continued, “I guess he was saying that he learned early to survive by making the best of what he had ‘stead of by constantly coveting or fighting over what would never be.”

Then, Ogden paused and added, almost thinking out loud, “I don’t think he was saying he could ever settle for less, but, rather that his determination would be aimed at getting the best from what he had, from what he could do, not from going after what he could not have. It was a lesson he taught himself early on, once he figured out he’d never have the one thing he wanted most. It was a lesson he always lived by.”

Slowly, Nick stopped his pacing. He stood at the foot of the bed, grasping the oaken footboard in his hands and gazing into the face of the unconscious blond. He winced at the bruises and bandages visible above the clean, white border of the sheet folded back over the forest green of the blanket that covered the rest of the bed.

As he listened to Ogden’s words, to the cadence of the man’s voice, he thought back over all the times he had heard Heath just tell him calmly, “C’mon, Nick. Let it go. It’s not worth gettin’ all riled over. It’s not anythin’ I’ve not heard before.”

How many times had he wondered how this quiet, but very proud, man beside him could just ignore the scathing words of others, words that caused Nick’s very blood to boil with each and every utterance. The only times Heath got riled were over slurs aimed at his mama or his new family.

He thought back over all the fights the two of them had had before that. He knew he, himself, was the instigator of all of them, though he could recall times when Heath had been the first to throw a flurry of punches if Nick made the mistake of saying something Heath took as an attack against his mother.

As if he were reading Nick’s mind, Ogden spoke up again, “I saw a deep calm in him, an ocean of silent self-assurance that he used to keep the boiling current of anger pushed down deep. Oh, the anger was there, no doubt about it, and it would erupt to the surface if anyone challenged his right to be the man he was, or if anyone aimed an insult at the woman he loved above all others. But, he had found a way to tap into that anger inside to gain the strength it offered, to survive----without letting it control him. That alone made him pretty special in my book. Yeah, the anger was there, all right, but it was like a core of iron that ran through him, and he covered it with a compassionate nature that was more and more noticeable the longer I was around him.”

Nick nodded at the old man’s words, letting them wash over him, reminding him of the calmness Heath shared with him every day. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, noisily.

He glanced over at the old man, and he saw the bright eyes watching him, the wild white hair and beard enhancing the vivid blue of his eyes.

Nick nodded again and turned back to look at Heath.

Then, he asked quietly, “What was it that he wished for years ago, Mr. Haverty? What did he want then, that he knew he would never have?”

The question hung in the air, unanswered for long moments.

Restless, Nick moved around to sit on the edge of Heath’s bed, and he swiped his gloved hand through his brother’s hair. Then, he pulled off the glove with his teeth and held his hand against the too warm face. He was lost again in his worry over losing Heath, when he suddenly realized that the old man had walked around the bed and was standing at his left shoulder.

Ogden Haverty clamped his strong fingers down on Nick’s shoulder. Then, he released the man from his grip, turned and walked toward the doorway.

As he opened the door, he stopped and turned back to the figure sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. Quietly, he answered the now almost forgotten question.

“A brother.”

When the door was closed and the old man gone, Nick raised his eyes from Heath’s face and turned toward the now empty room, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

Had he really heard the old man say the word brother?

Or had he only heard an echo of his own thoughts, of his own desires for a little brother all his life?

He looked back at Heath and reached down to pick up the hand lying across his bruised chest where the doctor had left it a little while ago.

“Heath. . . .” Nick’s voice was thick with emotion, and it was the only word that could make it past his fast-closing throat.

He felt the salt tears stinging behind his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. He gripped the hand tightly with his glove and wiped at his eyes with his uncovered hand.

“Heath.”

His voice was more forceful now, and he shook Heath’s right arm with the strength of his grasp on his brother’s hand. It was all he could do to leave the blond lying in the bed and not gather him up . . . .

Suddenly, with a sob, Nick leaned down, wrapped his arms around Heath’s upper body, and pulled him to his chest. He tried, even in his anguish, to avoid jostling the injured left shoulder, as he held his unconscious brother against him. He crushed the sweating chest to his and cradled Heath’s injured head against his neck and cheek. Unable to stop the tears, he stroked his brother’s hair with his bare hand and rocked him gently.

“Heath! Heath, come back to me, Little Brother. Please come back to me. I need you, Heath.”

Chapter 6

The heat inside the tent was making it hard for him to breathe. He struggled to push the thick, humid air in and out of his chest, the crushing weight of it threatening to push him back down into the blackness that had surrounded him for too long. He could hear his name, someone calling to him over and over, and he fought to open his eyes and respond to the demanding summons. The only reply he could make was to lift his good arm and shove at the weight pressing him down into the soaked, scratchy blanket of the army cot.

He knew his other arm was in ruins. The fear of what the doctors may have done drove him upward, kept him struggling toward the surface. The burning pain had been replaced with a heavy numbness that chilled him to the core. He needed to open his eyes. He needed to see for himself that his hand and his arm were still there, still attached to his shoulder. He fought again with the crushing weight, trying to breathe, trying to see. It had to be there. They couldn’t have . . . .

Nick continued to rock his brother, calling for him to stay with him, pleading with Heath, his tears mixing with the beads of sweat dripping from his brother’s hair.

What had the old man said? That more than anything, Heath had told him he had wanted a brother?

“A brother.” Nick uttered the words aloud, as he held Heath close and shook his head at the thought that they had both been looking for the same thing, when they had found each other.

“I can’t lose you now, Little Brother. Please Heath. Don’t leave me.”

Suddenly, he froze. He stopped rocking Heath against him and just held him still, trying to quiet his own ragged breathing.

He pushed Heath’s forehead into the base of his neck, struggling to regain control of his own emotions, trying to rein himself in.

There.

He felt it again.

Heath’s head had moved. He was sure of it.

“Heath,” Nick said loudly into the closest ear. “Heath! Wake up. I’ve got you. Wake up and look at me, Heath.”

The blond head moved again, and this time, Nick felt the weak motion of Heath’s hand trying to push against his chest.

Nick started laughing, as a muffled voice growled, “Niiicck, . . . get . . . off. . . .”

He hauled in a deep breath and said gruffly, “Only if you promise to wake up and get to work, Boy!” Gently, he lay the weak young man back against the pillows and reached for a glass next to the bed. He lifted Heath’s head carefully, wincing at the furrow of pain that suddenly appeared between Heath’s eyebrows, and placed the glass against his lips.

“Here, Heath, drink this.”

Though his eyes were not open, Heath drank a small swallow, followed by a larger one, before he tried to move his head away from the glass.

The exertion took a toll, and Nick eased him back into the pillows.

But, suddenly, Heath began to get very agitated, tossing his head back and forth, and trying to sit up again. His eyes cracked open just slightly, and he seemed to be trying to reach his right hand toward the left side of his body.

He kept muttering something, but Nick couldn’t catch it.

“Easy, Heath. Easy, now. It’s alright, Boy.”

“Niiicck. . . ?” Heath panted, his eyes almost closed, but clearly searching for something he could not find.

“It’s okay, Heath. I’m right here. You’re home, Heath. It’s over.”

Heath’s hand finally made it to his other side, and he reached up and clamped down on his left shoulder, causing his back to arch in pain. A sharp cry left Heath’s lips, but Nick was puzzled to see the small smile that followed it.

“Arm. . . ,” Heath’s chest heaved with the effort, “M’ arm. . . hurts. . .”

“Just lie still, Heath. You were shot and . . . . But, it’s healing now.”

The smile grew, though the pain was still evident in the deep crease between his almost closed eyes and the tremors that shook him.

“Shot . . . ? I don’t. . . . “

Nick didn’t understand how he could be hurting so much and still be smiling. When Heath trailed off, Nick asked, “What are you grinning at, Boy?”

His own smile was wide with the relief of seeing Heath’s. He pushed his fingers through Heath’s soaked hair as he spoke.

“M’. . . arm’s . . . still there,” he sighed with the effort of speaking. He closed his eyes completely and struggled to get his breathing under control, tried to fight down the pain he had caused himself. The pounding in his head was unrelenting, but not as blinding as before.

Nick continued to talk to him, raking his fingers through the sweaty hair, “Of course it’s still there, Heath. Where did you think it was? You’re addled, Boy. But, that’s okay, ‘cause I’m sure glad to see you awake.”

Then, alarmed slightly, Nick asked, “Heath? You’re still awake, aren’t you, Boy?”

Heath cracked his eyes open and looked at the anxious face, “Not . . . a-sleep. . . , Nick. . . Too nois-y.”

Relieved, Nick said, “Yeah? Well, I’ll just show you noisy the next time you decide to tangle with a gang of thieves again single-handedly.”

Heath’s eyes looked at him in confusion, “Gang of. . . ? You’re. . . the one’s. . . addled, Nick. I’m not. . . single-hand-ed. . . . “ He lifted the fingers of his left hand a few inches from the bed and said groggily, with a slight, lop-sided smile, “See? . . . Got . . . two hands.”

Nick’s laugh rang out, bringing the doctor quickly back into the room from the hallway, his coffee cup still in one hand. He moved around to the opposite side of the bed, placed the warm cup on the bedside table, and sat down next to Heath.

Heath kept his barely open eyes on Nick and asked, “Your . . . mother? She’s . . . not hurt?”

Nick closed his eyes at the evidence that Heath’s memory had not returned, but quickly fought down this heart-piercing knowledge in favor of his relief that Heath was even awake.

Heath’s heavy eyes watched Nick, and he felt his heart drop, as the dark-haired man’s face told him something was very wrong. “Nick, . . . I’m so. . . ‘m so sor-ry. . . .I tried . . . ta. . . keep her safe. . .” He struggled to push himself up from the bed, the bright hot pain in the back of his head slamming into him and forcing his eyes closed, the prolonged groan tearing at Nick, as he and the doctor reached up to ease Heath back down onto the bed.

“Whoa, there, Heath. She’s fine. You did keep her safe. She’s just down the hall resting. Just lie back now, Boy.”

“Safe?” Heath’s eyes opened again slightly, searching Nick’s face, as he fought for breath. “She’s . . . safe?”

“Yes, Heath. She’s safe.” Nick turned his eyes to the doctor, who rose quickly and left the room.

Nick continued to talk to his brother, to reassure him, “Heath, you just rest easy, now. The doc went to get her. She’ll want to see that you’re alright. She’s been very worried about you.”

“Don’t want. . . any wor-ry,” he said, trying to shake his head, but wincing at the dizziness the motion caused.

“Here, Heath, let’s try some more water.” Carefully, Nick assisted as the blond drank several swallows, then eased back into the pillows.

Heath closed his eyes and fought the pounding behind them by trying to concentrate on the faces he could see inside his head.

His mind drifting away, he tried to focus on the confusion of images that pummeled him. He saw faces from the past, one hated above all others. He could see two women----his mama’s smile and Mrs. Barkley’s sparkling grey eyes. He saw a cruel man with dark eyes and red hair, and a different man, proud and feisty with a mane of white. Just as an image of a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl and another dark-haired man came to him, he felt the soft touch of a cool hand to his face.

Easing his eyes open, he smiled slightly at the face that greeted him.

“Heath! It’s so good to see you smiling at me!” Victoria told him in relief.

He slowly raised his right hand to wrap his fingers through hers. He glanced up at Nick standing behind her to make sure he had no objection to this.

Then, he gathered himself and said, “Thank ya’, Ma’am. . . . It’s good . . . ta see you. . . . ‘Sure was . . . worried ‘bout ya.”

He didn’t miss the slight loss of composure his words caused her, and his mind was jolted back to the stage ride and how puzzled he had been at her continued concern for him. Then, he released her hand and closed his eyes, his right hand coming up to knead the severe headache between his fingers.

He remembered the way he had felt connected to her somehow.

He remembered the strength her trust had given him when he needed it the most, just before she was put on that horse, her hands tied before her.

At her fingers touching his face again, he opened his eyes and smiled at her again. He had no words for what he didn’t understand, but he knew she would be all right with that. Instead, he asked, “They didn’t . . . they didn’t hurt you?”

“No, Heath. You got me away from them. You sent me to Ogden, and he took care of me until we could get back to you.” She continued to stroke his face, her grey eyes smiling at his blue ones once more.

“Ogden?” he asked, puzzled. Then, he remembered the white hair and blue eyes again, and he realized the man must have. . . “The stage?” he asked.

“Yes, he helped us get you home on the coach.”

Softly he asked, “Home?”

“Yes, Heath, back to the ranch.” Though his simple question unsettled her, she didn’t miss a beat as she added, “Ogden’s here somewhere----probably downstairs with Silas. They’ve started a good friendship, those two.”

Heath smiled at this, then his eyes clouded over again, the pounding in his head pushing his eyes away from her. The pain crashed through him, and he closed his eyes tightly.

Victoria and Nick looked at the doctor with alarm, but Howard just shook his head as he listened to Heath’s heart with his stethoscope.

Nick swallowed hard, his hands gripping his mother’s shoulders as they waited. Then, he demanded, “Doc?”

Howard shook his head again and looked up at them. “He’s still with us. He’s just in pain. Give him a minute.”

Nick went down on one knee beside his mother, who was still sitting on the bed. They both watched Heath’s face anxiously. The ragged breathing supported the doctor’s words that he was conscious, but hurting.

“Can’t you give him something, Doc?”

“No, Nick. We need him awake.” From his place on the other side of the bed, the doctor called to his patient, “Heath. Heath, can you show me where the pain is the worst?” When he received no reply, he called again, “Heath!”

They saw the blue eyes crack open again, and Heath glanced at the doctor in confusion, as if seeing him for the first time.

“Doc?” he breathed.

Doctor Merar smiled slightly, reaching up to touch Heath’s injured shoulder lightly. “Is this where you hurt the most?”

Heath started to shake his head and thought better of it. “No, . . . glad of that hurt. . . .”

The doctor opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Nick supplied the answer. “I think he thought you’d had to take it, Doc.”

“Take his arm?” Howard responded, clearly perplexed. “No, Heath, I never once thought you would lose your arm.”

“Thanks, . . . Doc. ‘Sort’a ‘ttached to it, . . . now,” Heath slurred.

Howard looked over at Nick and shook his head, clearly puzzled, before he responded, “That’s fine, Heath,” and patted the sweaty chest. Then, he asked, “What about your head. Show me where it hurts, Heath.”

Groggily, the blond answered, smiling lop-sidedly, “Yeah, Doc, . . . m’ head hurts.”

Nick was grinning broadly now, remembering one of the few times he had seen Heath drunk and how difficult it had been to get him to answer questions, then.

Victoria elbowed him, trying to keep a straight face herself, at Heath’s earnest, but inadequate attempts to follow the doctor’s questions. She had known this part wouldn’t be easy, but she hadn’t expected to find it funny. Perhaps it was just the rush of relief at knowing he was finally coherent after so long.

Howard Merar was trying not to get frustrated, as he dropped his chin to his chest and then brought his head back up, having decided to change tactics. “Heath, does your neck hurt? How does it feel?”

“M’ neck?” Heath answered tiredly. He wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep, but the doctor just wanted to keep asking him ridiculous questions.

“Don’t ya want ta know. . . what day it is . . . or somethin’, Doc?. . . ‘S m’head that hurts.”

Nick burst out laughing at that, and the doctor pierced him with a glare. “Heath. I need to know if your neck feels okay or not. Just answer the question.”

“Sure, Doc. . . ’S fine.”

Howard Merar tossed both of his hands in the air in exasperation. How many times had he treated Heath for some fairly serious wound or other, only to hear him say he was fine?

“Heath! Can you move your neck without it hurting?!”

Heath’s eyes widened a little, and he said, “Ya don’t. . . ya don’t hav’ta yell, Doc. . . . Nothin’s wrong with . . . my ears.” He took a couple of deep breaths and moved his head around, despite the pounding. Slowly he added, “See, ’s fine.”

Heath started pushing himself up from the bed then, and both Nick and the doctor grabbed hold of him.

“Whoa, Heath. Just hang on there, now.”

“Nick, I gotta. . . check my mare. . . . Haven’t seen her . . . too long.”

“No, Heath. You’ve got to lie right here and get well. Gal’s fine. So is that bay. I checked on them myself this morning.”

Heath’s eyes were closed again, and Nick lightly tapped his face.

“Hey, Boy. I don’t think the doc is through with you, yet. Answer his questions, Heath. C’mon, now.”

“Tired, . . . Nick.”

“I know. He’ll let you sleep in just a bit, won’t you, Doc?” Nick looked at the weary physician.

“Just one more question, Heath. I promise. Does the light hurt your eyes any?”

Heath’s eyes were closed, but he raised his eyebrows and mumbled, “Light? Jes’ the r’flection. . . off’a . . . Nick’s spurs.”

Nick’s laugh that echoed through the room was joined by a relieved chuckle from the doctor and Victoria’s pleased, “Oh, Heath!” as the blond smiled lop-sidedly, eyes still closed, and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 7

Assuring them that the results of his conversation with Heath, though not as informative as he had wished, had alleviated some of his fears, the doctor prepared to leave the sleeping blond in the hands of his family for the rest of the afternoon and night.

He nodded as he spoke to Nick and Victoria. “All of this gives me hope that, I must tell you, I was beginning to lose. He’s not out of the woods yet, but his chances seem much better now.”

No sooner did the doctor utter the words than Nick slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand and let out a loud whoop of joy.

Victoria reached out to grasp Nick’s arm, and she began nodding her head at Doctor Merar’s words.

With an eyebrow raised at Nick’s exuberance and a quick look behind the tall rancher at his sleeping brother, he continued, “He wasn’t in as much pain that time, and he remained alert longer than I’ve seen him since I caught up with your stage. Keep trying to get liquids in him, don’t give him anything for the pain-----and that includes Jarrod’s best scotch, Nick!-----and whatever happens, keep him lying down in that bed until I get back.”

“Thank you, Howard. We won’t give him anything but juice, water, and some of Silas’ good chicken broth, until you tell us differently. Thank you for all you have done for us, all of us.” She grasped the man’s hand with hers and squeezed it, her appreciation shining brightly from her eyes.

He nodded at her as she released them both and said, “Nick, stay with Heath, please. I’ll go tell Jarrod, so he can let everyone know. Come with me, Howard, I’ll see you out. You need to head home to your wife. Please tell Helen how much we appreciate her sharing you with my family for the last few days.”

“You go ahead, Victoria. Talk to Jarrod. I can see myself out. And, I’ll tell Helen.”

She leaned up and kissed the grey-headed man’s cheek, before hurrying from the room, her ankle not seeming to bother her too badly as she went in search of her oldest.

Standing at the dresser, packing his bag, Howard was joined by the tall, dark-haired man. He patted Nick on the back as he turned to leave.

“I don’t know what you did up here, Nick, while I went to get that cup of coffee, but I must say I’m very relieved to see how responsive he was when he finally came around.”

Nick asked anxiously for the third time, “You’re sure he’s just asleep, Doc? He’s not unconscious again?”

“No, Nick, he’s not unconscious. You saw how he responded when I touched his injured shoulder just a minute ago. He felt the pain I caused and moved away from my hand. He’s just asleep. When he wakes up, don’t let him get out of that bed, just in case he still has bleeding or bruising we can’t see. But, I feel much better about his chances now, than I did yesterday.”

Nick nodded vigorously, but the doctor waited patiently for the question he knew the dark-headed man needed to ask.

Nick did not disappoint him.

“Doc, what about his memory? Do you think it will come back?”

“Nick, you know my answer by now. Just give him time. But, please, don’t rush him. Don’t force things on him. He’s going to be confused, and the best thing you can do to help him is just be there to reassure him that everything’s going to be fine. Who knows, maybe he’ll be able to teach you a thing or two about patience before it’s over with.”

At that, and without waiting for a reply from the stunned rancher, Doc Merar left the room, gathered his hat, and climbed into the buggy Ciego had left out front for him. He smiled as he picked up the reins, anxious to spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on the news in Stockton and enjoying a quiet evening with his wife.

It had been a long few days, but he was delighted with the turn of events. When he had asked to borrow a rig a little over an hour ago, he had sadly thought that his patient would be in much worse shape by his return the next morning.

* * * * * * * *

When Howard Merar returned the next day after breakfast to check on his patient, he was greeted at the front door by a brightly beaming Audra.

“Just wait, Doctor!” she said, tugging on his arm as she hurried him toward the stairs, “You won’t believe how much better he is. Come see for yourself!”

Her twinkling blue eyes drew him forward as much as the insistent hand on his arm. He dropped his hat on the round foyer table, and they hurried up the broad, curving staircase to Heath’s room.

As he entered, he was pleased to see his patient’s pale, blue eyes and to hear his soft drawl as he spoke to Victoria.

The silver-haired woman turned to him with a brilliant smile, “Good morning, Howard!”

Then, she quickly turned back to face the young man on the bed. “Heath, you remember Doctor Merar. He’s been checking in on you for a few days now.”

“Doc,” Heath nodded, his eyes bright with the remnants of a rapidly improving fever.

“Heath, it’s good to see you awake, Son.”

He sat down on the closest side of the bed, on the opposite side from Victoria, and as Audra and her mother looked on, he pulled out his watch and picked up Heath’s right wrist. After a few moments, he asked, “How’s the shoulder?”

Heath’s quick answer did not surprise the physician, “Fine, Doc.”

Howard smiled slightly, exchanging a wink with a smiling Victoria, and replied, “Umm-hmm. Well, let’s just have a look at it, shall we?” He reached out and felt of Heath’s forehead, noting the slight dampness and elevated temperature, but nodding to himself that it was much lower than the previous day. Then, he and Victoria helped Heath sit up and lean forward slightly, as they carefully unwrapped the bandage covering his left shoulder.

He saw Heath grimace once or twice, but otherwise, the young man made no comment about their handiwork.

Once it was unwrapped, Howard came around to the other side of the bed and began nodding as he checked the wound. “The drainage appears to be mostly clear, and there’s less redness today. It’s closing nicely back here.”

After another moment of checking the front, he was feeling pleased with the progress he saw there as well. “This is looking much better, Heath,” he said. Then, he added, “Victoria, you and Audra are doing a wonderful job of keeping dry bandages on it. Let’s try leaving it unwrapped, except for a light dressing in the front to catch the drainage.”

As the tiny woman nodded and said, “We’ll do that, Howard,” Heath’s eyes found his.

“How long, Doc?”

Answering the question in the eyes as much as the voice, Doctor Merar stated, “If you’re asking how long until your arm heals and you can use it again, I’d have to say another week or so before you need to use it for lifting anything heavier than those spurs of Nick’s. If you’re asking how long until you can get out of that bed, I’d say that depends.”

Heath looked at him curiously, with one eyebrow lifted, “On?”

“On the rest of this exam.”

He gently turned Heath’s head to the side and probed the swollen area at the base of his skull. Watching the blue eyes intently for a reaction, he gauged the extent of the tenderness. He was pleased to note that the swelling was going down, though he would not be satisfied until it was completely gone.

“Heath,” he started, “How are the headaches?”

“Okay, Doc,” the blond muttered, “Not as bad.” Then, he repeated his original question, “How long?”

Howard nodded, not sure if he believed Heath’s answer, but willing to accept it for now. “How about if you just rest right now, and let me ask the questions?”

At the reluctant, slight nod, he suggested, “Just lie back here, and let me do the talking.”

As he spoke, he was leaning over, probing with expert hands over each tanned shoulder, first the left, then the right, then the left again.

“Heath, I want to ask you something about your left shoulder. I noticed it on the stage when we were bringing you here, and I still feel it.” Heath’s sky blue eyes were waiting, watching him as he explained. “There is a slightly depressed area in the front of this shoulder, like the muscle has had some damage done to it.”

As he touched the area an inch or so to the side of the still open wound, he watched Heath’s face, waiting for any response. “Does that hurt, Heath?”

Heath’s eyes slid past him, and he stared up at the ceiling, losing focus. As they all three watched him, his face visibly paled.

When he didn’t respond to the description, nor the question, the doctor tried again, “Heath. Heath, are you alright? Did I hurt you, Son?”

Alarmed, Victoria reached up and tapped Heath’s face with her hand, “Heath! Heath, look at me.”

Finally, the blond blinked and brought his eyes to find hers. The look in his eyes was slightly dazed. He hauled in two or three deep breaths, before he turned his head away from them.

As if from far away, they heard him say, “It happened in the war, a prison camp, name of Carterson.”

While Audra gasped, Victoria and Howard exchanged concerned looks, struggling with their own emotions and the knowledge that they already had of Heath’s time there. They realized that among the memories lost to him must be the knowledge that the Barkleys already knew of his internment in the camp.

The doctor nodded then, bringing himself back to the present and trying to focus his patient there as well. “Heath. You’re telling me that the difference I feel in your shoulders is the result of an old injury, then----not related to what happened to you on the stage this week.”

Confused blue eyes found his, but, when he didn’t answer, Victoria added, “Heath, Mason didn’t do that to you?”

Heath closed his eyes and responded, “Mason. . . . ? No, Ma’am. The devil that did that went by the name of Bentell, an’ I hope you never have ta set eyes on him . . . .”

Suddenly, at the sharp intake of breath that he heard from her, he stopped talking.

He opened his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it. He said, “No, wait, . . . it was Mason, . . . with my knife. . . .” Then, he stopped again in confusion, before he said, “No, . . . ”

Then, he groaned and rolled away from them, cradling his left arm against him, holding it close with his right hand. His eyes stayed closed, but his breathing was ragged. By the time they made it around to the other side of the bed, Heath had drawn his body up as if to protect himself.

“. . . Not sure. . . ,” they heard him mumble, followed by another groan.

Audra, reaching him first, had grabbed for a bowl. The doctor took it and held it for him, while Victoria and her daughter steadied a very sick Heath.

When it was over, Victoria wiped his sweating face, as the doctor eased him back onto the pillows. She murmured to him, as she passed the cool cloth across his forehead and held it against the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, Heath. Just rest, now.”

His eyes cracked open, and he looked at her. “Thank you,” he whispered, as he closed his eyes again.

She glanced over at the doctor worriedly, and asked, “What just happened, Howard?”

“I’m not sure, Victoria, but I think the pain he is in and the questions I was asking just collided over some very bad memories.”

“Heath, can you hear me?” she asked gently.

His eyes cracked open again, and he groaned, but blinked several times, trying to keep her in focus.

“Is it your head?”

“Yes’m. . . . ,” was all he could say.

She looked up the doctor, fear growing inside her again. “Hang on, Heath. Just try to relax and breathe, Sweetheart. I know it hurts.” She reached down for his hand and squeezed it, bringing it up to her lips. She kissed his hand, then continued using the cool cloth with the other.

Slowly, she saw the color begin to return to his face and heard his breathing ease some. She saw Doc Merar nodding at her from his place behind Heath’s back, where he now sat listening to his patient.

Then, as the doctor removed the stethoscope from his ears, they both heard Heath say with more certainty than before, “They told me. . . I might never use my arm after Bentell. ‘Thought they’d have to take it once or twice . . . in that hospital. . . . “ He paused for breath, then added, “‘Didn’t keep it all this time. . . ta lose it. . . ta Mason . . . there on that road, Mrs. Barkley, but. . . .”

His eyes were still closed, so he couldn’t see the tears that ran down her face as he spoke, but he heard the catch in her voice as she said, “Heath. I knew some about Carterson, but I didn’t know about what Matt Bentell. . . . “ She trailed off, swallowing hard and fighting to stop the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

She took a deep breath and said, stroking the side of his face, “ I know that Mason stabbed you with your own knife after he shot you. He wanted to hurt you. I know he wanted to. I don’t know what else he did to you, Heath, but I’m quite sure you made him focus on you instead of letting him come charging after me, didn’t you?”

When he didn’t answer her, she continued, “I know you. I know the kind of man you are. You would have given him your arm or your life, there in that road, if it would have kept him from chasing me.”

He opened his eyes a crack and reached slowly up with his right hand to grasp her fingers. After a moment, he said, “Couldn’t let him. . . hurt ya’ . . . Too much like . . . like my own mother.”

She clutched his hand in hers and cried then, not afraid to let him see how much she cared about him, not afraid to finally let him see her love.

Chapter 8

Audra’s hand tucked under his arm, Howard Merar and the blue-eyed young lady slipped quietly out of Heath’s room to give Victoria some time alone with her son.

A little later, the doctor returned, balancing two cups of hot tea that Silas had offered to him as he had stood at the railing overlooking the foyer below.

He had handed her a cup and now sat perched on the chair behind Victoria, watching as Heath’s weary blue eyes slid slowly away from her face and in his direction.

Howard repeated his question, “Heath, do you know where you are?”

They watched his eyes drift around the room and return to her.

“Your ranch,” he responded tiredly, his eyes blinking slowly.

“Howard, don’t you think he’s had enough for now?” Victoria asked gently, her hand holding Heath’s once more.

“Just a few more, Victoria.”

She nodded reluctantly.

“Heath, where do you live?”

Perplexed, Heath replied, “Here, Doc. I live here, . . . an’ I work with Nick.”

“And since you live and work here, where is it that you sleep, Heath?”

“Sleep? Doc, I. . . ” He stopped, confused, trying to bring forth any memory that would help him answer the question. He did not offer any answer for a long moment.

Suddenly, however, Heath’s eyes lost his confused look and opened wider, a slight twinkle in them. He replied more forcefully, “Ya’ know, Doc, this is a workin’ ranch. We don’t sleep.”

Then the doctor heard a snarl from behind him and the jingle of spurs coming through the doorway. The sight of Heath’s smile caught in Victoria’s throat as she realized he had heard the familiar sounds of the larger-than-life figure coming down the hall before they had.

Heath was struggling to one elbow, trying to rise, when Nick swooped down on him and pushed him carefully back down. “Heath, I swear, if you don’t stay put, I’m going to hog-tie you to this bed. And, what is this complaint I hear about no one ever getting any sleep around here?”

Heath feigned a yawn and turned over on his side away from the grinning cowboy, as he mumbled, “Guess that bunkhouse’ll be a might too quiet after sleepin’ last night in the same room with that grizzly bear growlin’ you pass off as snorin’!”

Nick froze, his smile of joy at having Heath joke with him again, squeezed in the vise of his heart, at the implication that Heath apparently thought he would be returning to the bunkhouse when he was well.

Heath turned back, having expected to hear a sputtering remark from his boss in reply. When, he saw Nick’s face, he immediately believed he had crossed some line that he shouldn’t have.

“Mr. Barkley, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said. . . .”

But, by now, he was talking to Nick’s back, as the door slammed behind him, and the spurs carried the dark-headed rancher swiftly from the room and down the back stairway.

Confused and worried about whatever he had said wrong, Heath’s eyes remained locked on the closed door, the hurt strangling him.

“Heath!” she reached out to him and turned his face toward her. “Heath, it’s not what you think. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

But, he closed his eyes without comment, and she knew he must believe that Nick had just rejected him.

“Heath, look at me.”

She waited until he opened them again, and she gazed into his troubled eyes. Her heart hurt for both of them, and she said, “Heath, it’s not you.”

He nodded slightly and said, his voice level, “It’s okay, Mrs. Barkley. I shouldn’t have said what I did.” He turned away from her and closed his eyes again, the furrow between his eyebrows back in place.

She patted his right shoulder and settled the blanket up around him. Then, knowing Heath wasn’t the only son who would need her, she stood up and looked at the doctor.

She said, “Howard, I’ll send Audra up to sit with him. Please ask Silas to find me if you need me.”

The doctor nodded, thinking hard about what had just happened. He watched his patient and weighed the consequences of saying too much versus saying too little.

* * * * * * * *

Jarrod heard her coming and was waiting for her at the foot of the back stairs as she descended. “Mother, he’s already ridden out.”

Victoria stopped, both hands on the banister, and she shook her head. Jarrod pulled out a chair and assisted her into it, sure that her ankle was probably throbbing by now.

She sat down and sighed, glancing up at Jarrod as he placed a cup of Silas’ excellent coffee in front of her.

“Oh, Jarrod,” she said sadly, “I thought we would be alright for a while longer before we had to decide how to handle all of this, at least until Heath was up and around.”

He looked at her quizzically. “Nick didn’t say anything as he charged past me, unless you count a loud, wounded growl as a conversation. Maybe you had better start at the beginning, Lovely Lady.”

She sighed again, then said, “Jarrod, I’m just so grateful that Heath appears to be doing better. I wasn’t ready to deal with the issues of his memory yet. But, Howard was trying to determine what he remembers so we could come up with a plan for helping him, when Nick and Heath stumbled right into each other. Both of them came away hurting from the exchange that started as just a simple comment.”

Jarrod looked at her over the coffee cup he held in both hands, waiting for her to say enough for him to piece it all together.

She looked at his deep blue eyes, saw the comfort he offered her from within their depths, and clarified, “Howard determined from Heath that he remembered living and working here at the ranch, and then he asked Heath where he sleeps. Heath seemed confused. I could almost see him trying to find some memory to hold onto. Then, he must have heard Nick coming. He quickly made a comment about not sleeping on this working ranch, and Nick came in and jawed back at him. He seemed so happy to have Heath sparring with him, until. . . until Heath said something about Nick’s snoring and how the bunkhouse was going to be quiet in comparison. Nick looked like Heath had knocked his legs out from under him, and Heath realized he’d said something wrong. He tried to apologize. But, without knowing it, he was just making it worse for Nick, who stormed out of the room.”

“What do you mean, he was just making it worse?” Jarrod asked cautiously.

“He didn’t call him Nick.”

Jarrod sat back in his chair, his eyes closed and the coffee in the cup, now cold and forgotten, resting on the table in front of him.

Quietly, he asked, “He called him Mr. Barkley?”

“Yes.”

“Mother, you check on Heath. I’ll go after Brother Nick. I have a feeling this, on top of Heath confusing him with that man Mason for two days, has to be hitting him pretty hard. Don’t worry. I’ll find him and bring him back. Meanwhile, I think you had better prepare Doc Merar for our insistence that Heath be told the truth as soon as possible.”

He stood up, then leaned back down and kissed her on the top of the head. She reached up and squeezed his hand, as he said again, “Don’t worry. The main thing is that Heath is getting well. The rest of it will work out, you’ll see.”

She nodded and said, “Thank you, Jarrod,” as he headed for the door.

Chapter 9

Jarrod sat his horse in the shade of a small oak, the slight breeze through its leaves making a dry, rustling sound above him. He watched the figure over 100 yards in front of him wrestling doggedly with the broken fence post tangled in wire.

In a leisurely manner, Jarrod removed his canteen from his saddle horn, unscrewed the top, and took a long, replenishing swig of the cool water. Then, he closed the canteen and looped it back over the horn.

He pushed back his hat from his forehead, wiping the sweat from his face with his sleeve. Sighing, he kept his eyes on the rough movements of his younger brother.

Calmly, he wondered what Silas had prepared for lunch and contemplated how long he could wait to talk to Nick if they were going to be able to return to the house and enjoy the meal together.

He shook his head and pulled his boot out of his right stirrup, draping his leg over the saddle in front of him.

Then, a little while later, he pulled a cigar from his left shirt pocket, fumbled within the same pocket for a match, and placed one end between his teeth. After looking out at his brother for another long moment, he struck the match against the sole of his boot and lit the cigar.

Half-a-smoke later, as he continued to watch Nick, he began to mentally revise his earlier estimate.

His brother’s determined, angry movements, as he yanked and kicked on one particularly ornery post, made it clear that he was nowhere near ready for Jarrod to approach him with any brotherly advice, nor even to offer him Pappy’s listening ear.

He settled in for a long, quiet wait, wondering what Silas had planned that night for dinner.

* * * * * * * *

She met Howard Merar coming out of Heath’s room when she was three steps away from the door. She knew Audra was with Heath, so she stopped in the hallway and waited for him.

“Heath is asleep, Victoria,” the doctor said with a smile, his hand touching her arm gently.

Gratefully, she nodded at him.

Without a word, they turned and headed back down the broad, gold-carpeted staircase to the sitting room below.

As she pointed him toward the matching grey chairs, she said, “I’ll be right back, Howard. Make yourself comfortable.”

At his nod, she walked quickly back through the double width of the doorway leading toward the dining room and the kitchen beyond. There, she requested that Silas bring them some coffee, and she returned to the doctor.

Lowering her slight frame into the armchair, she arranged the folds of her pale yellow dress, gathering herself mentally in the process. It was clear to her what she must do. What was not so clear was how she would convince her family friend and kindly physician to help her.

“Howard, I,” she began, but immediately trailed off at his look and raised hand. He clearly knew exactly what he wanted to say, while she didn’t quite no where to begin. She waited, looking at him quizzically.

“I’m sorry, Victoria, I just need to tell you two things. First, I apologize for alarming you yesterday with my concerns about Heath.”

Though she began shaking her head, he continued talking, “I am so pleased to see how much better he is. I couldn’t be happier about it, and I’m so relieved to have been wrong about everything.”

Quietly, she asked, “You’re sure, Howard, that he is going to get better? You’re sure that he won’t suffer the bleeding inside that you thought he was going through yesterday?”

The doctor shook his head and said, “Until he is back on his feet and feeling fine----not just saying he is fine, mind you,” he shared a small smile with her, “I won’t speculate any more about that young man. He’s surprised me too many times already. But, I am much more optimistic about his recovery today than I was twenty-four hours ago. He does not seem to have the stiff neck and the light sensitivity that accompanies the large amounts of bleeding under the skull I was so worried about. He could still have a small amount, but the fact that he has been conscious, even alert, for greater periods of time with less pain is very encouraging.”

Her smile, that had grown with his heartfelt reassurances, faded only slightly at the mention of the continuing possibility of bleeding. “He doesn’t seem to be in quite as much pain as he was, does he? And, you really think he’s going to be alright?”

“I am very hopeful at this point, anyway.”

She nodded and turned to look over her shoulder at Silas, who was entering from behind her with the silver tray of coffee and warm pastries.

“Thank you, Silas. The doctor was just saying that he feels much more hopeful for Heath’s recovery.”

As he placed the tray on the low marble tabletop, Silas looked at her, “That’s sure good news, Mrs. Barkley. It sure is.” Then, nodding his head, he left the room, a smile on his face.

She poured the steaming coffee into a fine china cup for the doctor. As she handed it to him, he said, “Victoria, I also wanted to discuss Heath’s memory, and what happened this morning with Nick.”

Nodding she said, “I am very concerned about that, as well, Howard.”

He held his saucer and cup toward her as she poured in a bit of cream for him, then shook his head to dissuade her from dropping in a cube of sugar. As he stirred the cream, turning the rich brown, dark brew to a lighter, caramel color, he said thoughtfully, “Earlier, you, Jarrod, and Nick made a good case for telling Heath the truth about his place in this family as soon as he is well enough. I also talked with Audra about it a little bit just now.”

He paused, thinking back on their conversation. “She explained a little of what has gone on in the last few months. I hope you don’t mind, but it really helped me understand everyone’s distress with keeping anything from Heath about who he is, his place in this family, and what he means to all of you.”

He stopped talking and watched the silent woman beside him, as she stirred her coffee without looking at it, her grey eyes staring into the empty fireplace as if she saw memories there that disturbed her.

“Victoria?” he asked quietly.

Slowly, she shook her head and blinked, as if to rid herself of worrisome images.

“I’m sorry, Howard. No, of course I don’t mind that she told you. I guess you needed to know. I feel like we have done things to cause Heath to question our love for him, as well as the trust he had placed in us, and we had just begun to make that right with him when this happened. It’s very complicated. . . .”

She trailed off. Then, with a sigh, she picked up the thread of her conversation again. “He obviously doesn’t remember that we know about the months he spent in Carterson, or that he is the one who told us, albeit reluctantly.” She shook her head and continued, “He doesn’t remember about our logging foreman, Matt Toddman, who turned out to be Matt Bentell, the prison commander he does remember that he hates so much. Now all this about his arm, . . . ”

She stopped talking in mid-sentence, her mind thinking back to Heath’s words and the implication that Bentell had almost cost him his left arm. She shuddered and closed her eyes, trying to push away the images his words invoked of a very sick young soldier lying in a hospital bed and struggling to cling to life. She took a deep breath and felt the doctor reach over and squeeze her arm. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

Trying to smile through the eyes full of unshed tears, she said, almost in a whisper, “When we-----when I-----forced him to go to the logging camp and assist the man, he did it----but, . . . the way we refused to listen to him, the way we gave him no choice, was all part of the trust that we broke with him, Howard. We’ve all made our apologies to Heath, and I think we were just beginning to all feel whole again after we almost forced him away from us, but. . . “

She leaned forward and placed the fine chinaware on the table with an uncharacteristic clatter, as she reached out for the doctor’s hand.

With her voice breaking, she added, “Oh, Howard, don’t you see, we can’t live a lie with him now by not telling him everything as soon as possible----including all that we did to him in the last few months.”

As she gripped the doctor’s hand, she abruptly sat up straight and fought for composure.

Then, she looked across at him and said, “Help me, Howard. Please help me figure out what is best for my son. We’ve come so close to losing him to these injuries, and we don’t want to make his recovery more difficult. But, what happened upstairs between my boys will do just that, make his recovery more difficult, if this is allowed to continue. And, just as worrying to me, if we don’t tell him the truth, tell him everything that he is to this family and everything that has happened between us, he’ll be lost to us as surely as if he never returned from Ebbet’s Pass! We owe it to him to tell him the truth, all of it----and soon.”

Chapter 10

As Jarrod approached the snarling, cursing figure single-handedly tackling the mangled fence line in the rising mid-day heat, he shook his head for the fiftieth time in the last couple of hours.

He had known better than to approach Nick until his brother had had a chance to take out some of his anger and frustration on the work before him. But, that knowledge hadn’t made it any easier to sit back and watch the man struggle with one downed fence post after the other, making the whole job tougher than it had to be by the way he slammed, yanked, and wrestled with each strand of wire, each post of wood.

Finally, he had decided it was reasonably safe to approach the raging wildfire that was his younger brother.

Dismounting a little ways off, he tied Jingo to a fallen tree trunk, next to Coco. Patting his faithful friend, whose ears had absorbed his own quiet words of worry over the last few hours, Jarrod turned and walked toward Nick.

However, he stopped a few yards away and, instead of looking at or addressing Nick, he calmly began assisting with wrapping the wire and pulling fallen limbs away from the fence.

First ten, then fifteen, minutes passed, as the two men worked at their separate tasks.

No words were exchanged, and Jarrod focused strictly on the work at hand. He knew if he could just keep working, not offering his advice, not making eye contact, Nick would be unable to keep quiet for long.

If he could just. . . .

Suddenly, Nick yanked off his hat, wiped his wet forehead with his sleeve, and replaced his Stetson. “You’d better not pull too hard on that wire without gloves, Pappy. You know Father would’ve sent you packing for trying to handle this job without them.”

Nick’s voice was a little flat, but he was as loud and direct as usual. Jarrod glanced over at him and asked, “Have you got an extra pair, Nick?”

Without answering his brother, Nick placed both hands on his hips, tilted his head to one side just slightly, and looked closely at Jarrod for a moment. Then, he shrugged and said, “Sure.”

Nick turned and strode to his horse, lifted a flap on the saddlebags, removed a spare pair of sturdy leather gloves, and returned to the fence line. He raised one eyebrow and bored into Jarrod’s dark blue eyes as he handed over the gloves. Then, silently, he turned back to the post at his feet.

As he worked this time, Nick was much calmer than he had been before. He seemed to adjust himself to Jarrod’s pace a little, and though he could easily re-set a fence post in his sleep, he began to pay attention to his own movements, and his brother’s, as they worked, closer together now.

He silently noted the way they each seemed to ease back into the patterns of their younger days, working side by side in the heat, each taking on a task to which he was more suited-----Nick to the heavier lifting and pulling, Jarrod to the more frustrating tediousness of untangling the existing wire or filling in the holes as Nick replaced the posts. Though Jarrod did not have the powerful shoulders and almost greedy, physical stamina for the work that Heath did, it was almost like working beside . . . .

Nick suddenly froze for a second. Then, he slowly reached out and propped his arms up on top of the post partially set in the hole Jarrod was in the process of filling with the shovel. He just looked out across the gently waving, tall grass that covered the slightly sloping land as it curved upward toward the distant hills.

With Nick’s boots basically blocking his attempts to finish shoveling the last of the dirt into the hole surrounding the rough wooden post, Jarrod straightened in exasperation, opening his mouth to aim a few choice words in his brother’s direction.

Suddenly, Jarrod also froze.

He stood less than four feet away from Nick, the shovel grasped in both hands. Searching his brother’s hazel eyes, he saw the faraway, yet terribly intent, look. Turning, he then searched the distance, trying to see what his brother was staring at.

Puzzled, he looked back at Nick, ready to reach out and shake him.

Then, from the back of his mind, he heard Ogden Haverty’s words from a few nights before. He recalled and savored again the images the words had conjured----of a colt looking out over a corral fence, of Heath standing on a ledge along the rugged slope of a mountain.

He stood still, then, watching Nick.

The lively hazel eyes had not lost their focus. It was as if Nick was looking out across the land he loved, looking for someone or something, with an unwavering gaze.

Jarrod shook himself and glanced back over his shoulder, almost expecting to see an eagle swooping down toward them, its talons and wings extended.

He took a deep breath and walked back toward his horse. As he removed his canteen and took a few steps to sit down on a low rock nearby, he continued to watch Nick----who had not moved.

As he removed his hat and again wiped the sweat from his hair with his sleeve, he thought about the look of eagles, and he had the simultaneously unsettling, and concurrently comforting, thought that his two brothers had a similarity, a connection between them, of which even they were unaware.

As he took a swig from the canteen, he contemplated the irony that two men who had only known each other for less than a year needed each other so much, that two men who each had such heart, somehow needed the heart of the other to balance and complete them both.

To be continued…

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**Note (from Chapter 3): Growing up, I read just about every horse book available in the local library, written by incredible authors like Marguerite Henry and Walter Farley. I have to credit the phrase “the look of eagles” to writer/illustrator of classic horse stories, C.W. Anderson. However, in his book, of which the name escapes me, he was talking about a famous racehorse, not a two-year old colt on a ranch in Tulsa. The latter is my own application of the phrase, which I have associated with meaning having introspective confidence and great heart, ever since.