Prologue

Nerves had bested him after the gunfire had ended. His shaking a testament of that fact. Of course, Heath had always remained calm as the fighting happened. It was the after that caused him to shake. It never failed. The shaking.

Heath wondered if the calm came from the voices inside his head. Those voices whispered to keep in control. Not to fear under any circumstances or death would be lurking in the background. Death, in his dark cloak, holding his scythe with blood dripping from all those lives stolen from this world, waited on him.

He wondered if his mama's blood stood out against the cold steel of death's metal. He doubted it. Human blood mainly looked the same at least to most folks. Heath knew that to be fact. He had seen enough blood seeping out of the human body. He had even seen his mama's. Heath didn't care to think about that. When he did, it caused other type voices to whisper in his ear.

Some folks mourned in the spilling of blood, others took pleasure in it, and some felt indifference. Heath supposed it depended on whose blood was being spilled.

His mind clicked shut on that subject. Other things could be dwelled on to put the bad voices in their hidden canverns in his mind.

He remembered the loud mouthed one's warning. It echoed in his head even now. He had called him 'boy'. A title Heath loathed when spoken as he spoke. Then the warning. "If I ever lay eyes on you again, I'm going to finish what I started tonight."

Heath figured the tall, loud one meant every word too. What was his name...Nick? That was it. Remembering things was easy for the blonde cowboy. His mama said it was a gift from God to be thankful for. Hannah said it could be a curse at times if he wasn't careful. Rachel said she had heard of that type memory. She never elaborated what that was supposed to mean if it were supposed to mean anything.

Heath thought his memory was like taking a photograph and putting it away in a file. If he wanted to retrieve the file, he could. If not he'd keep it filed away.

Heath remembered the very outfit each of his brothers wore that day. The cowboy had to snort at the word 'brother'. That was a joke even he knew the irony of.

The oldest one must not have been to bed yet. His nice expensive suit still on, minus the jacket. Every hair was in place. Heath wondered if Barkleys just woke up looking spiff and perfect. It wouldn't surprise Heath any if that were true. Rich folks probably didn't wake up as bedraggled as the poor folks. Heath wasn't sure at the time which name the man carried be it Eugene or Jarrod. But he was sure those were the names loudmouth bellowed out. He knew the one named Jarrod now. Knew him very well. But that he didn't dwell on. Not his name anymore no how. Heath reminded himself. Still a fancy talker though.

The youngest one had entered in the room in a long john shirt tucked neatly in his pants. Heath wondered if it was normal for rich folks to come to a fight making sure your shirt was tucked in properly. Heath chuckled at his musing. He'd done the same thing but only because he had no clue what the loudmouth was making him dress for. Had he known, he'd have cared less if he looked all tucked in.

The rancher, loudmouth, Nick, all the same name as far as Heath was concerned. He was in a darker brown shirt than when Heath first saw him. Nick also wore a pair of dark brown pants rather than the gray he wore earlier that day. Boy Howdy, wearing a change of clothes in one day must be nice. Expensive duds at that even if they were for a rancher's frame.

He remembered the beginning of a bruise just under Nick's lip. Heath smiled slightly thinking he got in at least one good lick. He remembered the lawyer's condescending words and the youngest one's confused gaze at his older brothers.

The young man even remembered every detail of the gunfight at Semple's farm. Heath could probably recant who died on each side and what men took his bullet causing their death. He remembered the smell of gunsmoke in the air mixed with vomit and blood. Blood was a smell Heath so often wanted to forget. He'd smelled the copper smell too much in his short twenty three years of life. Almost twenty four, he reminded himself for no reason.

Heath breathed out through his nostrils after inhaling deeply through his mouth. That blasted gunfight was fought to prove something to them all. He'd taken up the challenge of his father's widow. Her presence was now so deeply ingrained in his mind. She was demure and regal like. Straight and petite yet such a strength that very few women of her small stature possessed. She had challenged him and he'd taken up that challenge. Yet, all it got him was rattled nerves and a blasted cigar because of those darned shaky hands after the fight.

A cigar given to him from that proud acting older brother of his. But that was all he got for his taking up the mantle of the challenge. A cigar. At least it was a good expensive one. Well, that and the three hundred and twenty-five dollars that he had retrieved from the whiskey glass. Of course, one must not forget the hat full of fruit and the whiskey itself. Even with the staleness of the money floating in the drink, the whiskey was still a mighty fine taste that he'd never be able to afford again because they had denied his claim and sent him away even after the fight. The fight that the classy step mother had laid out for him as a challenge to prove his claim...his birthright.

The murmurs around him brought him out of his reverie. Another irony was the thoughts were more pleasant than his life now. A crowd was starting to gather. Heath didn't much like crowds. Crowds usually brought about other memories that he'd rather keep placed back in the darkest hidden files of his mind.

An older gentleman's voice caused Heath to blink a couple of times. He could already feel his hands starting the familiar jittering. Therefore, Heath slid his gun in his holster and placed his fingers in the loops of his pants. The twin holsters dipped low on his hips accentuating the danger that the young man possessed.

"He's dead." The older man sighed out. It was a relieved sigh. "The town owes you, boy."

Boy. There was that word again.

Heath stared at the man before stating in a low monotone voice. "Done paid me."

There was that smell again. The smell of blood that seeped from the dead man twenty feet from him. The too familiar smell of death penetrated the blonde cowboy's nostrils. Heath thought he'd have gotten used to that smell by now. If anyone could get used to something so disturbingly comforting in a familiarly odd way.

"I guess you earned it." Stated a saloon girl perching her arms on the wooden banister in front of saloon. Her goods hanging out of her bright red dress teasing any man to take a gander. Sort of like his twin holsters showing off his chosen profession. The pretty red headed gal added with a hint of admiration in her shrill squeaky voice. "You're real quick with a gun, boy."

That blasted word echoed through his head.

If I am such a boy, why did the same woman gladly bed me for free the night before. The way she had screamed out in pleasure should have her calling me a man by now.

No use dwelling on the girl. That statement was a stupid one though. If I wasn't quick with a gun, there would be no use in making a living with one.

Heath thought but never voiced. Instead, he mounted on his new horse. The same horse he'd broke and trained himself. Yet, he had to buy because it was caught while working for a small spread out the Nevada way. At least the money allowed for a stronger body horse so his little Modoc could live in luxury now back in his hometown of Strawberry. His Aunt Rachel and Hannah would make sure of that.

A young boy ran along beside him. The boy was having a bad case of hero worship since Heath had road into town promising to rid it of the trouble of the gunfighter, who had taken up residence there. He laughed at another irony of that as well.

"What's your name mister?" The freckled face boy asked breathlessly. "My pa would like to thank you personally."

Heath glanced down at the boy as the words hit him. Today was full of ironies. The boy's pa wanted to thank him. Him. A child of none.

"Been paid." Heath told the boy before kicking his large bay horse into a gallop.

He road out of that town heading for any other town. There would always be men wanted dead and money paid to him to do it.