Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters in this work of fiction. No profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing and online posting of this story.
A/N:Thanks Suerum for the encouragement on my very first "Big Valley" fic; this was written for the h/c bingo square - hiding an illness/injury. This story is set early on in the series.
Heath pulled his hat off, and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He blinked at the sun, which felt like it was overly bright. It wasn't even noon yet, and here he was, sweating like a hog.
"Heath, you okay there?" Nick asked, patting him on the back. Though he hadn't put much force behind the action, it nearly sent Heath sprawling, face-first into the dusty earth.
"'M fine," Heath said, pulling away from Nick. He shook his head, ignored the dizzy spell that the action elicited, and pulled his hat back on. "Sure is a scorcher today."
"That it is," Nick said, grinning, and titling his hat back to get a better look at Heath. "Go, get some water."
Heath hesitated, not wanting to let the older Barkley boy see just how badly the heat was getting to him. Even though he'd been with the Barkleys for a good while now, Heath still felt like he had a lot to prove to them, especially to Nick.
Though Nick seemed to accept him as part of the family now – mostly Victoria's doing – Heath often felt like the man was looking down on him, and testing him, that Nick still saw Heath as an upstart, and nothing more than the bastard son of Tom Barkley, born in poverty and sin, out to take his unearned share of the Barkley wealth. Heath worked hard to show Nick, and Jarrod, that he wasn't like that. It was a matter of pride.
So, instead of going to the water bucket and taking a cupful of water and dumping it over his head before taking a drink, or two, like he wanted to, Heath bypassed it. He doubled back when he heard Nick heave a long-suffering sigh. The last thing he needed was for his overbearing brother to be breathing down his neck.
He dipped the ladle into the water, and took a drink of the lukewarm water. It eased some of the dryness of his throat, and, though he didn't feel much better than he had earlier that morning, he no longer felt as though a stiff wind would bowl him over.
Tilting his hat in Nick's direction, Heath gave his half-brother a smile, and went back to work, mending the fence. It seemed that all he did these days was mend the fences. It was getting to be mind-numbing, and Heath often fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, and woke with an ache – or several – that made him stiff and sore until he got started in on the day's work.
It was the life of a rancher, though, and Heath wasn't about to complain about it, especially not to Nick who expected Heath to do the work of at least two or three men by himself. Barkley pride, Victoria would've said, and she'd have given the both of them a piece of her mind for working themselves so hard.
Heath couldn't fault Nick on that, because the elder Barkley worked himself just as hard, if not harder, than he expected Heath to work, though to anyone else, it would look like they were competing with each other. That was part of it, sure, but there was more to it than that, and it wasn't something that, should they have been asked, Nick or Heath would have been able to explain.
About the only one who might be able to understand it would be Jarrod. The eldest Barkley boy was in the city, working for some big name client that Heath couldn't remember the name of off-hand. He didn't do much work on the ranch, but, when he did, he gave a hundred percent and then some.
Eugene was off at college, and Audra tended to things closer to their home, helping out her mother. Heath didn't know much about what the women did during the day, but he knew that they weren't sloughing off, lounging on the couch, and eating bonbons while the men were out working their tails off.
Bottom line was that every Barkley, no matter what he or she did, was a hard worker, and Heath would be damned if he'd be any different. Hell, even Silas, their butler, pulled his weight on the ranch. Heath was not going to let something like a little heat, and a bout of dizziness get in the way of what he needed to do. He didn't need pity or his brothers thinking that he was weak.
Heath wiped his brow with the back of his wrist and frowned – his forehead was damp and cool, his hair plastered, by sweat, to the brim of his hat. He took a deep, shuddery breath, and exhaled on a cough that made his lungs burn.
A shadow fell over him, and Heath flinched back as though he'd been struck. The sudden, looming shadow had brought back dark memories of his time spent in captivity during the war.
It was something Heath hadn't shared with the Barkley's, because he was both ashamed of what had happened, and worried about how the family he'd just started to get to know would react. It was too personal a story to share just yet.
"Woah, Heath, take it easy there." Nick's voice boomed in his ear, and the older Barkley boy gripped Heath's shoulder tightly.
There were a thousand comebacks, just on the tip of Heath's tongue, but, when he opened his mouth, the only sound that came out was that of a dry, hacking cough, accompanied by a wheeze. Nick tightened his grip on Heath's shoulder, and he knelt down beside his brother.
Heath tried to shove Nick away, but his head swam and dark spots danced in front of his eyes. Heath attempted to stand, but the earth started swaying, or maybe it was he who was swaying. He careened into Nick, and feared that he'd cause both of them to fall, but Nick caught him, and eased Heath to the ground.
Cradling Heath's head in his lap, Nick tipped Heath's hat back, and placed the inside of his wrist against Heath's forehead. The sky looked like it was spinning, and half of Nick's face appeared to be consumed by black spots. He blinked to make them go away, but they didn't.
Heath reached out a hand to try to push the dark spots from his brother's face, and pulled it back when the black spots started overtaking his hand. His heart raced in his chest, and Heath wondered if the black dots were going to consume both Nick and him, and he started to panic. He had to warn Nick before it was too late.
"Spots," it was a monumental effort to force the word past lips that felt like they'd been branded with a hot iron. Heath tried to push the spots away again, tried to sit up, but Nick kept a hand firmly on his chest, and Heath was too weak to push his brother's hand away.
"Nick…" Heath blinked, and his brother disappeared in a mass of black. "No."
"Hanson, go get the wagon, now!" Nick sounded urgent, worried, and Heath wondered why his brother was barking out orders to the new cowhand.
"Easy there, Heath, just take it easy," Nick's voice was quiet and shaky, and Heath wished that he could see Nick's face. "Just how long have you been sick, anyway, huh, brother?"
Heath tried to process the question, but it felt like his mind was in a fog, and he was having a hard time understanding what it was that Nick was asking him. He wasn't sick. He'd been hot, and now he was cold. The sky had been spinning, and bright, and now it was dark, and Nick's face had disappeared in the darkness.
"Help me with him." Nick's voice sounded strained, and Heath's world titled, and he was being lifted. It felt like he was no longer inside of his body. It was a strange sensation, and Heath was happy when he was lowered onto a hard surface, and his body was no longer being carried through the air.
"Maybe you should stay back there with him, Mr. Barkley. I can get us there quicker'n you can say giddyap," Hanson's voice floated over Heath.
Shivering, Heath wondered what the big rush was, and why Nick climbed into the back of the wagon with him, once more cradling Heath's head in his lap. It wasn't the norm. There was still work to be done.
"It's okay, Heath," Nick said, smoothing Heath's hair back from his forehead. "Just rest. Hanson and I will take it from here, don't you worry none, little brother."
"The fence," Heath tried to protest, his voice sounding weak, even to his own ears.
Nick's hold on him was immovable, and Heath quickly gave up the fight. He closed his eyes, and allowed Nick to take care of things. He'd just take a short nap, and finish mending the fence afterwards. A catnap wouldn't set him too far back.
Heath's chest felt tight, and heavy – a sensation which had been slowly building up inside of his chest throughout the week. His lungs burned as he tried to draw in a deep breath, and he struggled upward, coughing so hard that it felt like he was coughing up a lung. It hurt, and he couldn't catch his breath, and it seemed to last forever.
It was only when he coughed up a green splotch of mucous, contrasting sharply with the white, embroidered handkerchief that was pressed to his lips, that Heath realized Nick was clapping him on the back, and frantically coaxing him to breath. Nick's voice was hoarse, and sharp with concern, and it caused Heath to shiver, even more than the coldness which had seemed to seep into his bones. Earlier, he'd been so hot that he wondered if he was in Hell, but now he was much too cold, and his lungs and body ached.
Now that the gunk was out of his lungs, Heath's breaths came easier. His chest still hurt, though, and he wanted nothing more than to lie back down and sleep until whatever it was that he had – heat stroke, the flu, or something worse – had passed. He hadn't been this sick since the prison camps where he'd suffered from dysentery, and some horrible flu-like sickness that didn't have a name that he knew of.
Heath felt Nick shift behind him, and soon, he was being propped up against Nick's chest. The position was much more comfortable, easing some of the pressure on his chest and lungs. He sighed, and was immediately wracked with another hacking cough that he tried to fight off, but was powerless against.
When the coughing finally subsided, Heath was clinging to the arm that Nick had wrapped around his waist. Nick was, once again, clapping Heath on the back, helping him to expel the crap from his lungs. Feeling weaker than he'd ever felt in his entire life, Heath laid his head back against Nick's chest. He ached, and knew that, if another coughing fit hit him, he'd be unable to make it through the onslaught.
"Hurry it up, would you?" Nick shouted angrily, and Heath, if he'd had the energy, would have laughed.
Nick was either hot or cold when it came to people. Heath just never figured that his brother would be hot toward him – he'd figured that the oft angry and volatile Barkley boy would never truly accept Heath as a true Barkley. He heard a loud crack as the reins were snapped, and the wagon lurched forward as Hanson urged the horses to go quicker. The wagon bounced along the rocky path at a much increased pace, and Heath hoped that it wouldn't overturn.
"We're almost there, Mr. Barkley," Hanson assured Nick, and another loud crack rent the air.
Heath was glad that he was braced against Nick's chest as they bumped and jostled their way to the Barkley home. Before Heath had a chance to get used to the fast clip, the wagon was slowing, and Hanson was shouting for Victoria and Silas.
As soon as they stopped moving, Nick lifted Heath with a grunt, and jumped from the back of the wagon. He shrugged off Hanson's and Silas' offers of help, and carried Heath into the house amidst loud protests that he was going to injure his back.
"I've got him," Nick insisted. "Just clear the path, and open the door. Mother, Heath's in a bad way, we'd better send for the doctor."
"Hanson," Victoria's voice rang with authority, and Heath knew that the woman, so much like a mother to him, even though he wasn't her flesh and blood, was taking care of matters, even though he lost the sound of her voice when Nick carried him up the stairs.
Heath tried to open his eyes, but that proved to be difficult, so he kept them closed. He felt foolish, being carried by Nick, wanted to tell the other man to put him down, that he could walk to his room on his own two feet.
"Nick, what's happened to Heath? Was there an accident?" Victoria's voice was filled with concern, and Heath felt her cool hand on his brow. He struggled anew to open his eyes, but couldn't. "I sent Hanson to fetch the doctor."
Heath felt his body being eased onto a soft, yet firm surface, and then his boots were being tugged off. A cough tickled the back of his throat, and Heath tried to swallow it down. He didn't think he had enough energy left to deal with another cough.
"What's wrong?" Victoria's voice was sharp, and Heath felt the bed dip slightly under her weight, the coolness of her hand on his face. "Nick, what happened to Heath?"
"I don't know, Mother," Nick answered.
"He's burning up; we need to get him out of these clothes. Go, fetch Audra. We need to try to cool him down," Victoria's voice was crisp, and Heath felt the button of his pants being undone.
A momentary panic settled over Heath. Though he'd come to regard Victoria as a surrogate mother of sorts, Heath didn't want her to see him in nothing more than his undergarments.
"Mother, why don't you go get Audra, I'll help Heath out of his clothes, and get him beneath the sheets," Nick suggested, and Heath felt some of his anxiety ease.
"Oh for goodness' sake," Victoria scoffed. "You boys and your modesty. It's not like I haven't seen you boys in your undergarments, and even less." The last bit was mumbled, but the bed did move as Victoria stood, and Heath listened to her footsteps as she left the room.
"Sometimes I think Mother doesn't realize that we're all grown up," Nick muttered.
He sat on the bed beside Heath, and heaved a great sigh. Heath chuckled, but quickly realized his mistake when it triggered a cough. Thankfully the coughing didn't last long, and Nick propped the pillows up behind him so that Heath was sitting somewhat upright, easing some of the pressure off his chest, like he'd done for Heath in the wagon.
Nick helped Heath out of his clothing, his movements quick and sure. It was all over in a matter of seconds, the sheets being tucked up around him and secured, before Heath even had time to be embarrassed about it.
"Are we womenfolk allowed in, now?" Victoria sounded amused, her voice muffled by the door that she'd closed behind her when she'd left.
"Yes, Mother," Nick said, and he grumbled something beneath his breath that Heath couldn't hear.
Nick stood when the door opened, and his weight was replaced by someone much lighter. Something cool was placed against his forehead and Heath sighed in relief. He hadn't realized how hot he was until the heat was being assuaged.
"Oh, you poor thing," Audra trilled, and Heath felt her hands on either side of his face. "How long has he been sick? You don't think it's the Spanish flu, do you?"
"I've sent for the doctor," Victoria answered, and Heath felt the bed dip at his feet.
"I'm not sure how long he's been sick," Nick admitted. "I should have been paying more attention. One of the ranch hands mentioned that Heath looked a little pale, but I didn't put much stock into it. To be perfectly honest, I thought it was a combination of the long days that we've been putting in, and the heat."
"In other words, you thought Heath needed to prove himself, and you let him work himself sick," Victoria summed up with a tsk. "Honestly Nick, the way you boys go around, trying to show each other up; it's disgraceful. Think what your father would say."
"Now, Mother," Nick interrupted.
"Don't, now, Mother, me, young man. Not when you men with your stubborn ways are what got Heath into this mess," Victoria cut him off, and Heath finally managed to pry his eyes open.
Victoria's eyes were flashing with anger, and her mouth was stretched in a thin line. Victoria's brow was creased with worry, as was Audra's, though his sister smiled down at him when she noticed that his eyes were open.
Heath licked his lips, and opened and closed his mouth several times before he was able to garner enough energy to speak. He was breathing heavily with the effort, and spots danced in front of his eyes again. He worried that they'd take over his vision again.
"It's not his fault," Heath croaked, and Victoria shook her head. "I…"
"You were being a bullheaded man, trying to prove yourself. How many times do I have to tell you that you don't have to prove yourself to anyone? Heath, you are just as much a part of this family as Jarrod, Nick, Eugene, and Audra are." Victoria leaned over and pinched one of Heath's arms. It wasn't hard, but it was enough to jar Heath from thoughts of having failed the Barkley's by making himself sick from overworking himself.
Audra stood, giving up her place beside Heath's head to her mother, and sat in the chair beside his bed. Nick was pacing at the foot of the bed, running a hand through his sweaty hair. Every now and again, he'd cast a worried, pained look in Heath's direction.
"What is it going to take for you to realize that you don't need to prove yourself to us?" Victoria asked, and she tenderly patted Heath's cheek. "Is this enough, Heath – your becoming sick as a dog and scaring me, and Audra, and Nick half to death?"
Heath swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, and he blinked back tears that threatened to fall. When he'd rode into town several months ago, in search of answers that he would probably never get, he hadn't expected to find a family, and love.
"None of that, now," Victoria said; her voice thick with unshed tears of her own. She brushed at an escaped tear, her thumb running gently across Heath's cheek, beneath his eye.
"Thanks, Mother," Heath whispered.
"Rest now, until the doctor comes," Victoria said, kissing him on the cheek, and replacing the now warm cloth on his forehead with a cool one that Audra handed over.
"Do as Mother says," Nick commanded, gripping the rail at the foot of the bed tightly enough to make it rattle slightly, when Heath opened his mouth to say something else. "You don't got to prove yourself to me, or Jarrod, or anyone else."
Heath swallowed back another lump in his throat and nodded. He was exhausted, and felt another cough building up in his chest. He closed his eyes, and grimaced. He didn't want to cough again, but knew that it was inevitable. It built up inside of him until he could no longer hold it back, and he doubled over with the force of it, hacking and wheezing.
The force of the cough burned his chest and lungs, and, when it was over, Heath was left dizzy and weak. Victoria's face had a pinched look to it, and Nick's hands were fisted at his side, as though being unable to help Heath through the worst of it was somehow his fault, that he should have been able to stop it.
Audra, apparently having left during the course of his coughing, returned with a fresh bowl of water and cloths, and a flushed looking doctor in tow. Heath opened his mouth to say that he was okay, but before the lie left his mouth, his eyes rolled to the back of his head.
Heath lost track of time between bouts of coughing that left him feeling like he'd run a foot race against a locomotive, blissful darkness, and terrifying dreams that put him back in the prison camp, or left him begging the Barkleys for answers and acceptance, or being faced with the ghost of his mother – disappointed and betrayed, because Heath had found a mother in Victoria.
Heath was unaware that, in his fevered state, he was muttering, at times shouting out, his disjointed thoughts, weaving a tale of pain, woe and misgiving that the Barkleys pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle. He didn't see Victoria's tears, or the way that her face contorted in pain, anger and sorrow for the young man who, in such a short time, had taken up residence in her heart as a son whom she loved just as much as those she'd given birth to herself.
Heath didn't see the way that Nick paced the length of Heath's room when he watched over him, didn't hear the man alternately rail at him for getting sick, and beg him to get better. Didn't see the angry tears that Nick quickly dashed away with knuckles clenched in silent rage for some of the indignities that his half-brother had suffered at the hands of others.
Heath didn't know that Audra often slipped into his room late at night, when one of the others who was supposed to keep watch over him had fallen asleep, and that she'd run her fingers through his hair. He didn't hear her whispered pleas that lightheartedly begged him to, "Please be okay. I was just starting to like you. Besides, I need a brother closer to my age around the ranch. Nick's an old stiff, and Jarrod and Eugene are hardly ever around." He didn't hear the broken sob that accompanied her words, or feel her lips brush across his forehead in a kiss that, not only gauged his temperature, but also comforted her.
Heath didn't realize that Eugene had taken time out of his studies to spend a week beside him, spelling the others whenever anyone needed to rest, and going into town to fetch the doctor, or more medicine, or whatever else was needed. He didn't hear his younger brother regaling him with stories of his adventures at college, and confessing how much he missed the ranch, and his family, and how Heath needed to get better so that Eugene would know that there was someone else that his mother, and Nick, could count on to help with the multitude of duties on the ranch.
Heath was barely aware of being spoon-fed medicine and broth from time to time, by faceless hands, and of being carried to and from the bathroom, being bathed in water so cold that it made the teeth rattle in his head, and had him fighting to free himself from the arms that held him down. Sheets were soiled and changed, and one day blended into the next as the Barkleys took turns sitting vigil by Heath's sickbed.
When Heath was next aware of more than mere shadows of thought that he couldn't quite grab hold of long enough to understand, and the sifting sands of time, he woke to find moonlight streaming in through his bedroom curtain, a slight breeze blowing the curtains into his room, making them billow. His chest didn't feel tight, and, though he felt weak and shivery, his lungs no longer held fire. He could breathe. Smiling to himself, Heath turned his head, and stifled an exclamation of surprise.
Jarrod was there, slumped in the chair that sat beside Heath's bed, lightly snoring. There were dark circles under his eyes. His hair was disheveled. It looked like he hadn't slept in over a week, and Heath frowned at that.
Heath shifted, putting weight on his elbows in an effort to push himself up into a seated position. He had to go to the bathroom, and didn't want to wake Jarrod. He was more than a little confused, because, the last Heath had heard, Jarrod was in town, working on a big case, and he hadn't been expected back for several weeks.
Heath knew that he'd been sick. He remembered, with embarrassment, how he'd practically collapsed at Nick's feet while working on the fence, and how he'd been rushed to the house in the back of a wagon, with Nick cradling him like a baby. He didn't think that the cough he'd had, though it had hurt his chest, and made his lungs burn, was bad enough to warrant Jarrod returning home early, and the thought that he'd been in bed long enough for Jarrod to have returned home from his big case – two to three weeks – was unfathomable.
Heath was panting and slightly dizzy by the time he'd managed to swing his legs over the side of the bed, and he sat there for a minute, catching his breath. He was so focused on the goal of making it to the bathroom, eyes focused on his feet, as though he could make his feet work by force of will alone, that he didn't hear Jarrod stir until the man heaved a heavy sigh.
Heath's head jerked upward at the sound, and his eyes widened at the look that Jarrod was giving him. It was a cross between brotherly pride and fatherly chastisement. The elder Barkley boy shook his head, and raised an eyebrow. He kneeled on the floor beside Heath, so that they were eye-to-eye, and he laid a hand on Heath's knee.
"Heath, you shouldn't be out of bed." The whispered words were strained, and Jarrod squeezed Heath's knee as though to emphasize his words.
Heath frowned and his shoulders slumped as he dropped his gaze away from Jarrod's. "I need to…you know," he said, and he felt the heat of a blush burn in his cheeks.
"Oh," Jarrod said, and when Heath looked up, he could see the heat of a blush coloring his eldest brother's cheeks. "Here, let me help you up, though we mustn't tell Mother, or she'll have my hide."
Jarrod pulled Heath to his feet, and then wrapped an arm around Heath's waist, and draped one of Heath's arms around his shoulder. Heath would have protested the indignity, but, as the room was currently dipping and swaying around him, he allowed Jarrod to walk him to, and then from the bathroom. When he returned to the room, he was worn out, and practically collapsed onto his bed, but he felt infinitely better having emptied his bladder and cleaned up some.
Jarrod helped him settle in, and though he felt foolish, and childish, he was grateful for the help. Jarrod returned to the chair that Heath had found him sleeping in when he'd first woken. Heath opened his mouth to suggest that Jarrod go sleep in his own room, when the man leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"It's good to see you awake and alert," Jarrod said.
His eyes, normally sparkling with delight or laughter, were boring into Heath's, as though he was studying a particularly puzzling case, and the lines of his face were etched with a seriousness that Heath rarely saw in the older boy's countenance. It made Heath feel self-conscious and nervous.
He had no idea what Jarrod was talking about, and when he tried to think past the last few minutes – waking and visiting the bathroom – all that Heath could recall was that Audra and Victoria had been bathing his face with cool cloths as they'd waited for the doctor to arrive, and he wasn't even certain of that memory. There were darker memories, slippery and cast in shadows that Heath's mind seemed incapable of penetrating, which he couldn't clearly recall.
"Wha…" Heath coughed, and was grateful when it didn't lead to a long, labored jag of coughing. He swallowed, and tried again. "What happened?"
Jarrod frowned, and blinked at him. "You don't remember?"
Heath shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. The length of his hair alone told him that he'd been in bed longer than he should have. "I had a cold, or something."
Jarrod barked out a dry laugh, and shook his head. He looked out the window, the muscles in his jaw twitching and jumping. When he turned back to Heath, his eyes were sparking with something that Heath rarely saw in the oldest Barkley's eyes – anger.
"Mother called for me the day the doctor left. Apparently you'd passed out just as he arrived, and, due to other complications, the doctor spent two days at the house, tending to you, before entrusting your care to the family," Jarrod spoke quietly, his words terse and clipped.
Heath didn't know what to say, and even if he had known what to say, his mouth and throat were too dry to form any words. He'd had no idea that he'd been that sick, that he'd been that much of a burden on the Barkleys. Heath couldn't remember beyond Nick carrying him to the room, and Victoria giving both of them a tongue-lashing for being foolhardy men.
When his throat and mouth decided to work again, Heath uttered a quiet, heartfelt, "Sorry, Jarrod, I didn't mean to be a burden to all of you."
He made to sit up again, thinking that maybe it'd be best for everyone concerned if he left the Barkley ranch once and for all. Jarrod pushed him back down into the bed, and stood. He started pacing the length of the bed, and it was easy for Heath to picture the man standing in front of a jury, pleading his client's case. When Jarrod finally stopped, and spun to face Heath, Heath's heart caught in his throat.
The man looked livid, and Heath wondered how quickly he could leave town. Just the thought of getting out of bed, though he'd been ready to attempt it until Jarrod had pushed him back without exerting much effort, made him dizzy. Like it or not, he was still too weak to do anything on his own.
"You almost died, Heath," Jarrod said.
Though is voice was barely above a whisper, the man's words were spoken so fiercely that they almost seemed to echo in the room. Jarrod paced in front of Heath a few more times – Heath didn't dare take his eyes off of the man – and then he collapsed, as though boneless, into the chair.
"You almost died," Jarrod repeated tiredly. "Audra and Mother were inconsolable, and Nick…" Jarrod looked away for a few seconds before piercing Heath with a soul-searing look. "Nick blames himself for what happened. Thinks that his rivalry with you pushed you too far, gave you pneumonia."
"Pneumonia?" Heath whispered the word.
"In both your lungs. The fact that you kept working, even when you weren't feeling well…" Jarrod shook his head. His lips were pressed together in a thin line of disapproval, and he was practically shaking with aner. "You almost died."
Jarrod surged forward suddenly, and pulled Heath into a hug. It was so unexpected and uncharacteristic that, at first, Heath struggled against the older man, but when he realized that Jarrod was hugging him, shoulders shaking slightly, he hugged the man back. The hug didn't last long, and Heath averted his eyes when Jarrod swiped a hand across his face.
When Heath looked up again, Jarrod was composed, and his eyes were no longer sparking with suppressed anger. He looked almost like his old self.
Jarrod scrubbed a hand over his face, and took a deep breath. "You weren't a burden, Heath. Family isn't a burden. You're as much a Barkley as I and Nick are."
Heath nodded, though there were still some doubts in his mind as to just how much of a Barkley he was, and if Nick felt the same way that Jarrod did. He somehow doubted that.
"How long have I been sick?" Heath asked.
"A little over a month now," Jarrod said. "It was touch and go for awhile. Eugene came and sat with you for a week."
Heath blinked at that information. He had no clear memory of Eugene's visit, though bits and pieces of a story involving good buddies and a school prank that almost resulted in an expulsion, came to mind, he didn't recall hearing it.
"The doctor said that, once you woke up with a clear mind, it would be at least a month, maybe a little more, before you regained enough strength to be up and about," Jarrod said. "At least two months before you can go back to work."
Heath's heart hammered in his chest, and he fisted his hands into the sheets. Shaking his head, he stubbornly refused to believe that it would take him that long to be back on his feet. "I'll be back on my feet in less than a week," he declared.
Jarrod laughed, and shook his head. "Sure you will, little brother. It's a wonder that there's enough room in this house for everyone, what with the big heads that you and Nick have."
Heath scowled at his older brother, and crossed his arms over his chest. He was tired, almost down to the bone, even though he'd just woken up, apparently a month after he'd first fallen sick, but Heath was ready to prove to Jarrod that he could make good on his word.
"Easy there, Heath, I don't want Mother getting on my case for getting you all riled up, and setting your recovery back." Jarrod chuckled when Heath glared at him.
The door creaked open, and both men, jumping slightly, turned toward it. Audra slipped into the room, and started when she saw both men looking at her. It took her a few seconds to realize what was different about this night from all of the other nights that she'd snuck into Heath's room in the wee hours of the morning. When it finally dawned on her that Heath was awake, she squealed in delight, and launched herself at her brother, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that threatened to steal his breath from him.
She kissed him on the cheek, and squeezed him tightly. "You're awake, I've got to get Mother, and Nick, and Silas, and the doctor's got to be fetched." The words tumbled over each other, and Heath found himself laughing at his sister's enthusiasm.
"I think the doctor can wait until morning," Jarrod said dryly. "But, you'd better go wake Mother and Nick."
Audra disentangled herself from Heath, and socked Jarrod in the arm, hard enough that Jarrod rubbed the spot afterwards. "And just why didn't you wake me right away?"
She placed her hands on her hips and tossed her head back as she squared off with the oldest boy. Sometimes Audra reminded Heath of a highly spirited palomino. He stifled a laugh when Jarrod squeaked out a protest as Audra punched him in the arm again. Jarrod caught her by the wrist when she pulled back to hit him a third time, and he spun her around toward the door, pushing her out into the hallway with a command to get Mother and Nick.
Heath yawned as the tiredness that he'd been holding at bay by sheer force of will settled over him, and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open and focused. He blinked his eyes open when Jarrod tapped his cheek. Jarrod helped him sit up a little straighter, fluffing the pillows, so that he was more comfortable.
"No falling asleep just yet," Jarrod ordered. "Let Mother and Nick see that you're awake and alert, and then I'll shoo them all out, so that you can go back to sleep. You'll need your rest to be up and about in a week's time."
"A week's time?" Victoria's voice, incredulous and trembling slightly, rang out in the room, and before Heath could crane his neck around Jarrod's frame to catch sight of her, she'd pushed the oldest boy aside and sank down onto the bed beside Heath. "The doctor said it'd be at least a month."
Jarrod shot Heath an, I told you so look, and rolled his eyes. Heath shook his head in return.
Framing Heath's face in her hands, Victoria peered into his eyes, and she drew in a shaky breath. The smile that graced her face was filled with such joy that Heath's heart stilled momentarily, and a lump formed in his throat. Tears pricked his eyes, and he blinked them back.
"I'm sorry," he gulped, knowing that the words were not nearly powerful enough for what he really wanted to say to the woman who'd opened her heart and her home to him.
"You ever scare me like that again, and you will be, Heath Barkley," Victoria said sternly, kissing him on either cheek, and then letting her lips linger on his forehead for a few seconds. Heath felt himself blushing, but no one seemed to notice, or maybe they just knew better than to comment.
"You've still got a slight fever," Victoria pronounced with a frown. "But," she let her eyes roam over Heath's face, and smiled again, "thank god you're over the worst of it." She suddenly pulled him into a hug, and held him tightly, patting the back of his head, and kissing his cheek once again.
"Don't you ever do that to me again," she repeated, and then she slapped the back of Heath's head, and wiped at the tears that had fallen down her cheeks.
"Okay, Mother," Heath promised. "I won't."
"You'd better not, or I'll wallop you so hard that you won't be able to sit for a week," Nick's voice boomed, and Heath raised his eyes to look at the brother who'd been opposed to Heath being considered a real Barkley from the very beginning.
Nick was standing at the foot of the bed, gripping the iron railing tightly, jogging a memory from Heath that didn't seem real. Not trusting his voice in the midst of all of the raw emotion in the room, Heath nodded. Though Nick's lips were pursed, as though in anger, his eyes were sparkling with good humor, and relief.
"You gave us quite a scare there, little brother," Nick said a little more quietly. "It's good to have you back."
Heart swelling and tears still pricking at his eyes, Heath nodded. "It's good to be back."
"I'd hate to have to start training in another man to take over all of the work that you do around here," Nick said. It was as much of an apology for working him too hard that Heath was going to get, and he accepted it with good grace, laughing, and beckoning Nick forward.
"Who are you kidding, you couldn't find anyone to do all of the work that I do," Heath said. "I'm indispensible." He tugged Nick down into a quick hug, and tried to stifle another yawn.
Jarrod caught Heath's eye, and the nod that he gave his oldest brother. "Alright, everyone out," Jarrod ordered, and he started pushing and shoving the Barkleys out of the room amidst a great deal of protest.
Before she was pushed out of the room, Victoria gave Heath another kiss, and a quick hug. "Rest," she ordered. "I'll be back later in the morning."
Heath nodded, and yawned, and, when the last Barkley, aside from Jarrod, had left the room, he let his eyes close and his head fall back against the pillows. He didn't even move when Jarrod shifted the pillows, but mumbled a, 'thanks,' in response. When Silas popped his head in to check in on him and see for his own eyes that Mr. Heath was okay, Heath opened his eyes briefly, and smiled at the man.
"Good to see awake, sir," Silas said. "I'll make sure that all of your favorites are served for breakfast."
"Thanks, Silas," Heath said, though he doubted that he'd be eating much in the morning, or for many days to come. Even the thought of food didn't stir up any hunger pangs.
"Night, Mr. Heath," Silas said, ducking out of the door, and closing it behind him.
Heath uttered a warped sounding, "Night," around a yawn. He blinked a couple of times, and finally, with Jarrod urging him to sleep, he closed his eyes, and slept.
Though Heath worked hard – according to the doctor and his family, too hard – he was not out of bed in a week's time, as he'd told Jarrod he would be. It took two and a half weeks for him to get back on his feet, and that was through pure power of will, and Nick's help.
For the next month and a half, he tired far too easily for his liking, and wasn't much use out in the field. Heath worried that the Barkleys would see him as a burden, and cut him loose, but, they didn't. Instead, they surrounded him with love, and kept him busy, and helped nurse him back to health.
"I don't think I can repay all of you for what you've done for me," Heath said to Victoria, as he saddled up his horse for the first time in almost three months.
He was going out to the north field where they'd lost some of their cattle who'd slipped through a part of the fence that needed mending. It was a scorcher of a day, and, though the sun had only been up for a few short hours, sweat had already begun to pool beneath the brim of his hat.
"You listen here, Heath Barkley," Victoria said sharply, and she grasped Heath's face, forcing him to look her in the eye, fingers digging, almost painfully into his chin. "You are family. Family don't repay family." When Heath nodded, she released his chin and smiled up at him.
"Now, it's a hot day, be sure to drink plenty of water, and watch out for your brother, make sure that he doesn't work himself too hard. Why I'm bothering to tell you this is beyond me," Victoria muttered the last part to herself, already walking back toward the house. "You're just as bad as he is."
Chuckling to himself as he listened to Victoria – the woman who'd earned the title of mother in his life – mutter to herself about foolish, ungrateful sons, Heath mounted his horse. With a last look at his second mother, who was gesturing, raising her hands up in the air as she talked to herself, or god, he rode off at a quick gallop, eager to join Nick and the others at the north side of the field. It would be good to get back to work, to feel like a Barkley again.
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