A/N: Welcome to my newest Big Valley tale. This is one that took me a long time to complete, much to the chagrin of my younger sister. But here it is, and I'm excited to share it with you all.
Disclaimer: I do not own Big Valley or any of the characters associated with the show. I do, however, lay claim to the original characters that will shortly join the Barkley family.
…The roar of gunfire that was everywhere...terrified screams of injured men around him...the sharp smell of blood mixed with dust and gunpowder...a pair of wide, frightened eyes in a small faced streaked with dirt..."Heath, help me!"..."Run, Nat, run!"...the crack of a single rifle shot..."Heath!"
"Heath! Mister Heath!"
Someone was shaking him. With a start, Heath Barkley opened his eyes. It took a moment before he recognized the older man who was leaning over him with the dark sky overhead. Breathing out, Heath tried to relax his tense muscles as the cook pulled away. The fair haired young man slowly uncurled his hands from the fists he hadn't realized he'd been making.
"Must have been some dream."
Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Heath watched Cooky move towards the fire. Some time in the night, more wood had been added, and the flames were burning brightly. Running one hand over his face, Heath felt the beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead. He breathed out again, grateful that at least he hadn't woken anyone else.
"Want to talk about it?"
While the cook's voice was low, there was the chance that they would be heard, and Nick for sure would be irritated for hours. Cooky was pouring out a cup of coffee from the pot that had been kept out for those on watch. "Nope," Heath responded, making sure to keep his tone just above a whisper. He left his bedroll, getting slowly to his feet as his muscles protested. The branding they were in the middle of was hard work, and nightmares didn't help the matter.
"Figured you'd say something like that," Cooky remarked, holding out a cup of the hot liquid for the younger man. "If you're not going to sleep, might as well enjoy a cup."
Settling down by the campfire, Heath accepted the cup and sipped the coffee. For several minutes, the two men sat side by side, listening to the sounds that could be heard at night: the chirp of a cricket, the crackle of the fire, the low hoot of an owl. On the horizon, the briefest hints of light was beginning to show itself.
"Who was Nat?"
Stiffening, Heath looked over at the man with the corner of his eye. "You never let things go, do you?" he asked, annoyance winning out over amusement.
"You kept saying it over and over," Cooky remarked, ignoring the question. "I finally figured out it was a name the third time you said it. Before that, I thought you were unusually bothered by tiny bugs."
His words prompted a smile, though Heath was quick to wipe it away. He finished off his coffee, estimating just how long it would be before the man would need to get the food prepared for breakfast. The rest of the men would be rousing themselves right after that, drawn by the smells of the food. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be soon enough to rescue him from the inquisitive man's questions.
"So, are you going to tell me?"
"You're as bad as Jarrod or Nick."
Cooky snorted. "You learn a thing or two when you've worked for a family as long as I have. So, you may as well tell me now. What's eating at you?"
Memories of the war, always too close to the surface in the early morning, flooded Heath's senses. He closed his eyes as he remembered the smell, sounds, emotions that he tried so hard to keep out of mind. "Nat was a drummer boy for my regiment," he admitted, when he couldn't chase the image of those wide eyes from his mind. "He was nine or ten years old."
"What happened to him? You sounded desperate when you were calling out his name."
Clenching his jaw, Heath shook his head. "The last time I saw Nat, it was a desperate situation," was all he could bring himself to say. He didn't like to talk about the war. Only when he could see no way around it. While he knew that many who worked on the ranch, including both of his older, half brothers, had seen the horror of war, few to none had ever experienced the humiliation of being captured by the enemy.
"Was he taken to Carterson?" Cooky's voice was softer than even Heath had expected and the question startled him. He hadn't even known that anyone outside of his family had heard about the prison or that he'd been there.
"I didn't see him, or his brother, there," Heath answered, hearing one of the men stirring nearby. He remembered the relief of not seeing the scrappy kid in the prison but how he'd been left wondering if his little friend had even survived the last fight. "I don't know what happened to either of them. Nat shouldn't have been in the middle of it all in the first place.
There was a pause. "There are ways you could find out, you know," Cooky offered. "Mister Jarrod would know."
Reaching over, Heath poured himself more coffee, reckoning he'd be needing every drop he could drink to feel ready for the day of hard work ahead. "Well, first we have to get those bovines branded," he said, determined to change the subject. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to learn the truth, not if the truth was that Nat had died in that last battle. He'd rather be left wondering than know that as fact. "They won't do it themselves."
Cooky nodded, seeming to accept that the early morning confidences were finished. "What are you two jawing about at this time of day?" Nick demanded, rolling out of his bedroll with his usual level of grumpiness. "Some people need sleep to get in a full day's work, you know."
"That's what we were just talking about," Heath answered simply.
"Work? Is that all you ever talk about?" Nick asked with a grumble in his voice. He got to his feet and stretched his arms out. "Sometimes I wonder about you and what goes on in that head of yours, Heath. There are other things in life."
Rolling his eyes, Cooky moved away from the brothers. "And if I said I was thinking about all those treats Mother has planned out for Eugene, you'd say I was daydreaming and needed to get my head out of the clouds."
A grin on his face, Nick chuckled. "Maybe I would at that," he said. "Poor me a cup of that coffee, if you haven't finished it all off."
Shaking his head, Heath picked up a cup and offered it to his brother as a peace offering. "I'll drink to being back in a soft bed."
"Here, here," Nick concurred, his voice loud. There were groans from the hands. "Hey! What are you complaining about? Get your lazy bones off the ground already! We have work to get done today!"
A wry smile tugging at his lips, Heath shook his head at his brother's method of rousing the men. He reckoned he should be grateful he'd woken himself up before having his brother's wake-up call. Eugene was going to regret not staying longer in San Francisco!
