Disclaimer: Jarrod, Nick and Heath Barkley and all of the characters and situations in The Big Valley are the property of their copyright holders and are, sadly, not mine. I'm only borrowing them.

Part Two

Jarrod crouched in the corner of his cell, forcing himself to stay on his feet until Heath and the sheriff were out of sight. He'd shot Nick. Shot him. Dear God in heaven. He couldn't think. Couldn't, couldn't think.

"Hey, Barkley."

Jarrod heard the whining voice from the other side of the wall.

"Barkley."

"Shut up, Hyatt," Heath snapped.

"No, listen—"

"You don't have to talk to him," the sheriff put in.

"I just wanted to tell you something," Hyatt said.

The sheriff huffed. "I've got work to do, Mr. Barkley. You can stay if you want. Pick up your gun belt when you're done."

Jarrod heard only one pair of boots walk away.

"What do you want, Hyatt?" Heath asked when there was quiet.

"Just to thank you for what you did. For saving my life."

"For all any of us care, you can rot."

"Now, no need to be uncivil, boy. I just want to thank you is all, especially after what happened to your other brother. You know, gut-shot and everything. It was a nice thing you did for me."

"We didn't do it for you." There was fierce anger in Heath's soft voice. "We did it for Jarrod."

Jarrod waited until the door between the cells and the sheriff's office opened and slammed shut before he slid down to the floor and drew his knees up to his chin, his mind racing. They hadn't wanted to save Hyatt. They'd wanted to save him. And he'd repaid them with what?

"Oh, Beth," he whispered, eyes burning, wishing for the millionth time since she had been killed that he could cry. But everything inside him was molten flame. Every tear had been boiled away by fury, by mindless, animal rage. And because he had let that rage drive him, Hyatt was still alive, and Nick—

"Barkley?"

Jarrod's whole body recoiled at the sniveling voice.

"I know you can hear me, Barkley," Hyatt called. "I could hear what your brother was telling you just now."

Jarrod didn't answer. Didn't move.

"You were right to tell that boy to get out, Barkley. Looks like being close to you is a dangerous thing. That woman wouldn't have died if she hadn't been yours. You know that, don't you?"

Jarrod buried his face in his arms. Hadn't he told himself that over and over and over again?

"And now your brother. What's his name? Nick? Yeah, Nick. Gut-shot, they say. That's too bad. I've seen it before. Bet you have, too. A man who's gut-shot rots from the inside out and dies slow and painful. It's too bad. But, yeah, you told that boy right. The farther he stays from you, the safer he'll be.

"Shut up," Jarrod muttered under his breath, knowing there was nowhere he could hide from the too-true taunts. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up."

"Barkley? Are you listening to me, Barkley? Hey, Barkley!"

Jarrod wrapped his arms around himself, his plea barely a whisper. "Make him shut up. Dear God—"

But the heavens were brass.

"Funny the two of us both being here, isn't it, Barkley. But maybe not, seeing's how we're so alike. I tried to kill you. You tried to kill me. But you've got me beat now. Sounds like you'll turn out to be the only murderer here."

Something inside Jarrod exploded, and he hurled himself against the bars. "You killed my wife!"

"Wasn't me, Barkley. I told you."

Jarrod could just see the smug face, the twist in the thick lips, the taunt in the china-blue eyes. "You admitted it! The whole town heard you!"

"But that was when you had a gun on me. Anyone would confess to anything at that point. That's what the jury will believe. I'll walk out of here, Barkley, knowing you can never come after me again. Free as air. Free to come watch you hang for murdering your brother."

Jarrod swallowed hard. It was what he had wanted. All this time since Beth died, he'd wanted to die, too. But Nick—

"They'll believe me, boy. After what you did, seven years ago and now. After what you did to him, your own brother. They'll know you didn't care whether or not I was guilty. They'll know you didn't need proof to hunt me down and try to murder me." He chuckled softly. "Funny how things change, isn't it."

Change. Less than three weeks ago Jarrod was coming home from Washington, eager to see his mother. His sister. His brothers. Nothing in his plans but continuing on with the life he knew. Then he had met Beth, and his life was new again, new and then gone, like the glorious streak of a comet. Now he was some kind of monster, some murderous thing with a lust for killing. It had been days since he'd looked into a mirror. Even for the funeral—

He shuffled back to the bunk and sank down on it. Even for the funeral, he hadn't looked into a mirror. He hadn't wanted to see death in the face that looked back at him. Nick had shaved him and helped him wash. Heath had tied his tie and put in his gold cufflinks. Mother had combed his hair, standing behind him as he sat slumped in a chair, and he hadn't even heard her words of comfort or felt her gentle caresses. And that had been just the beginning, now— Now what would he see if he passed a looking glass?

"Now you're the murderer," Hyatt said from the other side of the wall. "Isn't that right, Barkley? Barkley! Hey, Barkley!

Jarrod dropped his head into his hands.

OOOOO

Heath braced himself against one of the posts in front of the doctor's office, knowing he wouldn't be any use to Nick or anybody else, not shaking as bad as he was. In the time he'd known Jarrod, he'd seen him sick and hurt and furious and too tired to stand, but the man in that jail was someone he didn't recognize. Someone terrifying.

He knew Jarrod had loved Beth, adored her, delighted in her. He'd known it from the first minute he'd seen them together. Even now, he couldn't imagine the fathomless well of grief his oldest brother had been plunged into. But for him to shoot Nick—

Heath had been frozen in place, the tension electrifying the air as Nick told Jarrod he'd have to shoot him to get to Hyatt. Evidently, Hyatt had thought that moment, when everyone seemed to have forgotten he existed, was a pretty good time to try to escape. Heath had glanced down at the slight movement, and in that instant, Jarrod had fired two shots. Heath had looked up to see both of his brothers crumple to the ground. The sheriff was standing over Jarrod, his gun turned backward in his hand. Blood was already pooling around Nick. Everything was over.

Heath looked out into the purples and oranges of the setting sun, helpless to know what to do for either of them. Nick was bad off. If the doctor hadn't said so anyway, Heath would have known it. It wasn't right for his boisterous brother to be so deathly still. And Jarrod—

Heath squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the terrifying fury in his oldest brother's red-rimmed eyes. "Get out of here, Heath, before I kill you." They'd cheated him, he and Nick, they'd cheated Jarrod out of the only thing that meant anything to him anymore. Hyatt's death. Nick had paid for that already. Heath couldn't be sure that Jarrod would stop there. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

"Mr. Barkley?"

Heath turned to face white-haired Dr. Saxton standing in his office doorway.

"You'd better come in."

Heath had to force his shaking hand to relax it's hold on the post before he could release it, but then he followed the doctor inside.

The doctor led him to the small room off the back of the office where he evidently kept patients who needed full-time care. Nick was there, lying on the bed, his eyes closed, his mouth slightly open. Helpless. Vulnerable. The blanket was pulled up to his waist. Above that, Nick was swaddled in bandages, his right arm and shoulder immobilized, his middle—

He'd been hit on the right side just below his rib cage, and Heath hadn't believed the amount of blood that had already poured into the dirt before he could get to him and plug up the welling hole with Nick's bandana. The sheriff had dropped to one knee, pressing two fingers to Jarrod's throat before standing again and turning his gun the right way around.

"All right, Hyatt," he said, his voice low and angry. "Get over here before I save the county the cost of a trial." He grabbed Hyatt's arm when the man shambled over to him and pressed the barrel of his gun into his still-wet back. "Hiram, get Doc Saxton over here, while I lock this one up."

Evidently this Hiram had done as he was told, because the next minute the doctor was hurrying across the street.

"Let me see," he said, pulling Heath's hands away.

At that, Nick gasped and his eyes flew open. "Jarrod!"

Crouched beside him, Heath had grabbed his flailing hand, holding him still as best he could. "Nick, it's all right. Shh. The doctor's here. He's going to take care of you. It's all right."

Nick looked around, dazed, terrified. "Jarrod shot—"

"It's all right."

Nick's eyes finally lighted on Jarrod, still lying in the street where he'd fallen. "Dead."

The word came out on a breath, and then the hazel eyes fluttered closed and Nick was still. Heath looked frantically at the doctor.

"Passed out." The doctor seized Heath's hand and shoved it against the wad of bandages under Nick's rib cage. "Keep pressure on that. All you've got. Two of you men, help us."

They got Nick over to the doctor's office, into his back room, and then the doctor's wife came in to help. It seemed a long time before the worst of the bleeding stopped.

"You'd better get out for now," the doctor said then. "I'll send somebody to get you when I know something."

"But—"

"You'd better see to that other brother of yours. I don't know if there's much to be done for this one."

Helpless, Heath thought now in the deepening twilight, looking down at one brother, thinking of the other, knowing he could do nothing for either of them. Nothing but pray.