During the time spent in Heath's room, Nick couldn't settle down. He couldn't keep his mind still. There were too many contingencies to think about. Too many what-ifs. He paced around like a caged panther. He longed for the sun to rise so he could be on his way,to get out from under this dark cloud that had hung over him since yesterday. Heath didn't move nor make a sound. He was deep in that drug-induced oblivion the doctor had put him in, and so was unaware of the turmoil Nick was going through.

It killed Nick to see Heath this way. He didn't resemble the healthy young man he had been only a few hours ago. Just this side of death, his skin was of a pallid hue, but for around his eyes, where they were dark and sunken in appearance.

When last they spoke, the air was crisp and the sun was bright. Heath was in high spirits. they'd talked about the future of the ranch, speculated on the new hires they would need in the spring, and even talked about which girl each of them wanted to take to the harvest dance in October, getting a laugh out of the fact that the girls they picked turned out to be sisters.

Jarrod had been right that leaving Heath to dig a few fence posts alone wasn't anything unusual and was nothing for Nick to think twice about. It was just a job. But if he had been there to help his brother out, the Wilsons likely wouldn't have shown themselves at all. One man alone and unprepared to defend himself had proven to be an easy target.

Nick's feet itched to be moving. He already gave those Wilson boys enough time to get their carcasses clear across into Nevada if they had a mind to run, which they probably did. He moved to the open window where the curtains billowed lightly in the morning air.

Outside, a band of pink sky edged the horizon. Small morning birds called and answered each other. It wouldn't be long before sun-up and the household would be functioning again. Soon, he could be on his way.

He was about to turn from the window, to set into his pacing again when he heard the soft clopping of hooves. He looked out. He couldn't see who it was that approached the house, but it was a single rider. Couldn't be Jarrod, not this soon. Sacramento and back was a good day's ride. He watched a form take shape as it came closer to the house. Nick braced his hands on the windowsill and squinted against the shadows to see who this lone rider was. Then recognition came. "Son-of-a-bitch."

He was down the stairs and out on the porch just as the visitor arrived. He was about 55 years of age. He looked a good ten years older from living hard, but Nick had no room for any kind of sympathy for the man who had sired two killers. "Now, you just stay up on that old plug of yours," said Nick, "and ride on back where you came from. I don't have a quarrel with you. At least not yet."

Wilson removed his hat. He did look like a sorry, tired old fellow with a week's worth of beard and covered head-to-toe with dust from the road. He combed calloused fingers once through his stringy salt and pepper hair. He swallowed. "M-mornin', Mr. Barkley."

Nick gave a wry laugh. "'Mornin', Mr. Barkley.' That's what you rode all the way out here to say?" He wanted to yank the man off the horse and shake him until his teeth rattled. "You've got a lot of gall coming here after what you're boys did to my brother."

"That's why I come here, to make peace. If'n I can."

"Why aren't those cowards with you, Wilson?" Nick countered. "You buying time so they can skedaddle out of town and save their skins?" He stepped off the porch. His hands balled into fists. "You just ride on out of here. I don't mean to come after you, but if you're protecting those two devils you call sons, then I'll just have to—"

"Nick!"

He winced and muttered a curse.

Mother stood at the doorway, clutching her robe together at the throat. Righteous anger showed in the way she carried herself, rod straight, sending Nick a warning look.

He felt the wind go out of his sails, and put his hands on his hips.

"Come in, Mr. Wilson," Mother said, curtly, "You must understand my son; we've had a most troubling night."

Nick shook his head at the ground as Wilson Sr. climbed down from his horse and shuffled by. He glared at the old man as he stepped onto the Barkley porch, and Mother invited him inside.

"Well, now doesn't this just beat all?" he muttered. He climbed the steps and stalked in behind them.

Once inside, Victoria spoke first, leaving no room for Nick to start in again. If he frightened Mr. Wilson too badly, she would never learn what she needed to know…if the Wilson brothers had actually committed the crime. She did not invite the man to sit down. "Mr. Wilson, I will not mince words with you, too much has happened between our families to pretend civility can still be intact."

"No ma'am, I reckon it's not."

"My son is upstairs with a hole torn through his gut from a bullet shot by one of yours. He could be dying."

"I know. ..and I'm sorry for what my boy done. I truly I am."

Victoria's heart went to her throat. She'd thought it would take a few more minutes to get the truth if it was to be had, but Wilson apparently was all too eager to lay down his burden.

"That's what I come to tell you, Mrs. Barkley. Willie Clay…my older boy, I took him in to Stockton early this mornin'. He's sittin' in the jailhouse right now. He told me what happened. He told me everything, how he and Eli were makin' those awful threats the week before. How they was tellin' anybody who'd listen that they were gonna make the Barkley's pay." He shook his head vehemently. "That piece of land. It aint worth what happened to your boy. I never claimed such, never wanted any of this to happen, but Willie Clay—he's cut from a different cloth. Like he aint my boy sometimes. He can go crazy, do things a decent man would never think of. He was always trouble for me and his ma, God rest her soul. We tried to teach him right from wrong, and now this." He crumpled the brim of his hat and cast his gaze to the floor. "He's a grown man. There's nothing I can do but let the law take its course."

"So, let me get this straight," Nick said, putting himself between Victoria and Wilson. "Willie Clay told you he rode onto this ranch yesterday and shot my brother, and you, being the upright man you are, just up and took him to the Stockton jail. Willie Clay obliging in all of this, I suppose. And now, that's the end of it. Do you really expect us to swallow such a heap of lies?"

"It's the truth. All of it." Wilson looked up, gave Victoria an imploring look. "I'm sorry, truly I am."

Victoria turned away, suddenly sick to her stomach to have that man pleading and acquiescing so completely. It seemed too easy, too clean to have a confession so soon and Heath's attacker neatly placed behind bars…and by his own flesh and blood. "Please leave this house, Mr. Wilson." Her voice broke. "May God have mercy on your son."

She didn't turn nor look back, but walked away into the parlor. When Wilson left the house, and she could no longer hear the sound of the horse's hooves, she spoke. "Nick."

The sound of Nick's slow boot steps came back from the entryway.

"I want you to ride into town. See for yourself if that boy is in jail like he said."

"And if he isn't?"

"Then," Victoria said, turning to face her son, eyes blazing and wet with tears. "I want you to do what you believe is right."