Author's Note: "I'd do anything for you. Anything. You know that, don't you?" –Heath Barkley to Victoria Barkley, Season 1, Episode 3: Boots with My Father's Name.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, except in the sense that love is ownership.
Now:
As Heath bent to check the mare's hooves, the palomino bent her golden head down to his and blew a whuffling breath in his ear. He turned in amused surprise and impulsively kissed her cheek. Nothing was more comforting when you felt blue than equine affection. "You want to come home with me, darlin'?" He wasn't sure how practical the coat color was, she could be too easily sunburnt, Nick might not be pleased, but she had magnificent conformation and a very pleasant disposition; he wasn't sure he could bring himself to leave her. Especially today. He needed something beautiful today.
The very last thing he had expected, eleven years after leaving Carterson Prison, and in the middle of an introduction to the much admired logging foreman Mr. Todman, was to be faced with Matt Bentell! Heath had reacted purely on instinct: he had slugged the man. He had long ago sworn to kill him—
Blessedly, the palomino distracted him again by nibbling at his hair.
"I think she's in love with you, Heath," the breeder joked. "I've never seen her take to anyone like that."
He would buy the palomino, and if Nick cut up rough, he'd suggest they send the lovely mare to Jim Barkley up at Abbottsville. Uncle Jim's palominos were gorgeous, fit companions for this elegant creature.
He paused to marvel that he had an Uncle Jim. The man had been more than gracious when the family visited, he'd acted as though Heath had always been there, just another of his nephews. As accepting as Mother had been.
Mother.
He'd disappointed her. Badly.
She didn't understand.
He rose and buried his face in the mare's blonde mane a moment, breathing deeply of its sweet scent. It shouldn't hurt as much as it did. His heart ached as though Bentell had climbed into his chest and lashed it with a whip.
'Matt Bentell is upstairs in the guest room,' she'd said. 'Is it really in you to go up there and kill him?' Mother's voice had broken on the final three words, horror and disbelief audible in her normally gentle tones. No son of hers could possibly be capable of such a thing.
In that moment, Heath had known that no matter what he felt, no matter what terrible things had happened at Carterson, no matter what he had sworn, if he said yes, if he offered her guest any further violence at all, she wouldn't understand that either, and she would never forgive him.
The realization had been like a wet blanket thrown down to smother the fire of his anger. He needed time to think before he forfeited the love and acceptance Mother had offered him so freely.
"Are you all right, Heath?" The horse breeder's hand came to rest lightly on his friend's shoulder.
Heath straightened up and did his best to smile. "Fine, John. She's a beauty."
"That she is," John Tyler stroked the mare's pale mane lovingly. The Virginian's horse ranch, some two hours south of Stockton, was named after the homeplace of his mestizo wife who hailed from the Santa Ynez Valley. "Will you be taking her with you today?"
Heath blushed smilingly and nodded.
"I'll get the bill of sale ready for you."
The trip had really been to buy him time as much as to buy a mare, but once he was on his way home, he had to decide. He hated Bentell. He didn't think that would change, because he didn't want it to. But being part of a family was not the same as being on your own.
His place in the family had been Mother's gift to him. He owed her.
And he was a fool, anyway. He obviously couldn't kill anyone in Mother's house.
He knew what he had to do to make things right with her.
And he would do it.
But he didn't expect it to be easy.