Making a Rancher

Early 1863

Chapter 1

Traveling by boat, around the Horn from Baltimore to San Francisco had taken a long time, but when he started on the trip Jarrod thought it had been a good idea. It would give him time – time to think, time to cope, time to learn what he needed to learn, and more than anything, time to decide what would happen once he got home. Everything had changed on him in the blink of an eye, and he left Maryland feeling like he'd never adjust if he didn't give it a lot of serious thought and work. That was the way he'd been raised, after all – to think hard, to work hard, to take into careful consideration the facts and the ins and outs of any situation and make smart choices. His whole life up until he went off to war had been built around those tenets his parents had handed down to him, but this time, they really weren't working. This time, it turned out it that even a long boat trip home didn't give him enough time.

When the boat began to pull into the harbor at San Francisco, Jarrod realized he didn't plan on how seeing this place was going to tear him apart. He had already gone to school here, started law school here, started reading law with a firm here before he decided he had to go east to fight in that damned war. That damned war his parents had resisted him going to – It's an eastern man's war, boy, not yours, his father had said. But no, he had to go, thinking he knew what he was getting into. He really had no idea. Now he was coming back, and the only thing he had decided, the thing that solidified when he saw San Francisco harbor, was that he could not stay here. He could not go back to the life he had started before he went to war. All his plans and his dreams were pointless now, because he could never make them come true. He was not even 20 years old, and all his dreams were gone. Everything changed in a beautiful field of corn in Maryland, on a horrible day he could not handle remembering but could not stop remembering. It was a day when everything around him was horror he could not comprehend, and everything he had wanted for himself was ripped out of his hands.

When the boat docked, he bent to pick up his saddlebags. Someone else's hand reached, too. "Can I help you with those, soldier?" someone said.

Jarrod saw an old man, a grizzled sailor who was at least twice his age, bending to help him. To help him, when Jarrod knew he should be helping the old man. Growling, Jarrod said, "No, I can do it myself."

The old man shrugged and left him alone. Jarrod picked up his saddlebags and left the ship, finding the harbormaster's office as quick as he could, finding another boat to Stockton as quick as he could. He didn't want to stay here where all his dreams lay in ruins. He wanted out. He wanted to go home and shut the door on all of the plans and all of the memories and everything he had been once, when he lived here. He found a boat leaving in only a few hours, and he went straight to it. He put his saddlebags over his shoulder while he fumbled with his wallet to pay the fare. He at least had learned how to do that as he traveled here from Baltimore, to fumble with his wallet and get the money out successfully.

He settled in on the boat. The boat pulled out a few hours later, and as night fell, he saw the riverfront of Stockton come into view. The family didn't know he was coming. He'd have to find a way home, but he could still ride a horse just fine and he remembered where the livery stable was. The livery man recognized him immediately. "Jarrod Barkley!" he gushed and extended a hand, and then looked startled when Jarrod reached back.

Jarrod let the man's reaction go. "Sam, good to see you. Can you rent me a mount? I'll see you get it back tomorrow."

"Sure thing, sure thing, I'll saddle one up for you," Sam said and got to work, quickly, awkwardly.

Jarrod waited. It didn't take long. He threw his saddlebags up behind the saddle and mounted up. "Thanks, Sam. Put it on the bill, huh?"

"Sure thing, Jarrod," Sam said, and then said, "Welcome home, soldier."

Jarrod gave a small smile and headed out of town.

Jarrod had long ago gotten rid of his uniform and was in civilian clothes, but he knew anyone who looked at him would know he'd been in the war. It was glaringly obvious. Jarrod only accepted being called "soldier" because of how obvious it was he had been one. He wondered, as he headed home, how the family was going to take his appearance. He had written them about what happened, so that they could prepare themselves, so that they could prepare the little ones. Audra wasn't quite 6, Eugene not quite 5. Jarrod had been gone for nearly two years and wasn't sure they would even remember him, but more frightening was the look he expected to see on their faces when they saw him now. Not just a lack of recognition. Not just that they were looking at a stranger. They'd be looking at a strange stranger. Jarrod didn't know how he was going to take that.

And he hadn't been able to tell his family exactly when he'd appear at the front door, so they wouldn't be expecting him tonight. This homecoming was going to be difficult all the way around. Maybe he should have stayed in San Francisco for a couple days and wired ahead. But no, he couldn't do that. That was the problem – he knew a lot more about what he couldn't do than what he could.

He rode into the familiar stable yard and found the familiar groom there waiting to take his horse. Ciego had put a few pounds on, but he still had that welcoming grin. "Senor Jarrod!" he said as he took the bridle.

But then the staring started as Jarrod climbed down and pulled his saddlebags down. "How are you, Ciego?" he asked, and for a moment wished Ciego was like the English translation of his name – blind. Ciego's expression had gone into shock.

"I am fine, Senor," Ciego said, more quietly. Then, awkwardly, "Welcome home."

Jarrod gave him a smile anyway and carrying his saddlebags over his shoulder, headed for the front door.

He stopped, wondering if he should knock or just go in. It had been such a long time and things had changed so much that suddenly he didn't feel like he belonged here either. He started to knock, then left his hand up against the door, then rested his forehead against the door. He tried his best not to cry and pulled his hurt back in. He didn't want them to see his hurt.

It was bad enough they were going to see his empty left sleeve.

The door opened abruptly. Silas was there, looking up at him, startled. Jarrod tried a smile. "Hello, Silas, how are you?"

"Oh, Mr. Jarrod," Silas said. There was a storm of feelings in his eyes.

Jarrod could see it all – the pain for the boy he had watched grow up, the grief for what the boy had lost, the sorrow that he had lost it so that the new law freeing Silas's own people could come into being, the pity for what Jarrod was going to have to endure now. Jarrod tried another smile as he stepped in through the door. "Don't worry, Silas," Jarrod said. "I know you weren't expecting me. You don't have to set another place if there's not enough dinner – just give me a hunk of bread and some coffee and it'll be just like being back in the army."

Jarrod stopped inside the foyer. His parents, his brothers and sister were all there in the parlor, all looking joyful and awkward at the same time. The little ones clung to their mother, keeping her from rushing to her oldest son's side when she obviously wanted to. Nick came forward first, extending his hand tentatively. "Jarrod, old man, welcome home."

Jarrod dropped his saddlebags onto the floor and took Nick's hand. "By golly, Brother Nick, you've shot up six inches!"

Nick laughed. "Only five."

Tom Barkley extended a hand to his oldest son. "Jarrod, son, it's good to have you home."

They hadn't really parted on good terms when Jarrod left. Tom Barkley did not want his son to go to war. But if that wasn't completely forgotten right now, it at least wasn't getting in the way. Jarrod shook his father's hand, saying, "It's good to be home, sir."

Then he looked at Audra and Eugene. They ducked behind their mother. Victoria tried an awkward smile. "They just don't really remember you, Jarrod," she said.

"And they've never seen anybody with one arm before," Jarrod said it out loud. He tried a wink and a grin for the two littlest Barkleys. "It's all right," he said. "I gave it to some people who really needed it."

"Come on, you two," Nick said and tried to round them away from their mother. "He doesn't bite. He's your brother, just like I am."

Nick herded them forward a bit. Jarrod stooped down, and he offered his hand to little Eugene. "You were a baby when I left, and now you're a man," Jarrod said.

Eugene took the hand Jarrod extended but shook it only briefly. Audra still shied away from him.

Jarrod stood up. "It's okay. You'll get used to me. Hello, Mother."

Victoria had drawn closer. Jarrod pulled her into his arm, aching over the inability to encircle her with the other one. Victoria put both her arms around him and held on tight, the tears leaking out. "I'm just so grateful you're home alive," she said.

Jarrod held her as tightly as he could, his own eyes tearing up. He thought, Well, I've made it through the tough welcome. Now what?