"Coming into town tonight, big brother?"
Jarrod looked up from the papers on his desk to see his brother with a wide dimpled grin on his face, hair freshly washed and slicked back off his forehead. Nick Barkley looked confident and self-assured enough to take on the world and Jarrod wasn't sure if he was willing to try and measure up.
"I don't think so, Nick," he said, indicating the ledgers on his desk. "I've got all these payrolls from the lumber camps to go through, plus Judge Adamson needs the papers filed on the Palmer case first thing Monday morning."
Nick perched on the edge of the desk. "Aw, c'mon, take the night off. Remember, all work and no play makes Pappy a dull boy."
Jarrod had to smile at the heartfelt invitation. "You go on, Nick. Maybe I'll join you later."
"I'll give the girls your regrets," Nick said wickedly, hazel eyes dancing. "Don't worry, I'll be there to console them when they start pining for you." He settled his black Stetson at a rakish angle and gave Jarrod a wink as he left the library.
Jarrod sighed as he looked back at the books in front of him. Not likely any of the girls at the saloon would be pining for him, not while Nick was ready and available. Truth be told, he didn't feel like playing second fiddle to his younger, ruggedly handsome brother.
Whenever Nick Barkley entered a room, he was inevitably the instant focus of attention. Not that Jarrod usually minded; he knew he could charm and dazzle the ladies with the best of them, he just wasn't usually their first choice when Nick was present. Jarrod closed his eyes, feeling sorry for himself for a moment and then felt foolish. He knew he was a more than competent lawyer, well respected by his peers and the citizens of Stockton and easily able to find female companionship whenever he wanted.
Jarrod blamed his current melancholy on Nick's coup at wrangling the presidency of the Cattlemen's Association, a position held by their father until his death. He wasn't precisely jealous, but Nick's success just brought back bitter memories of how he'd disappointed their father by not turning out to be the man Tom Barkley had hoped he'd be.
The conversation from the last time he'd spoken to his father echoed back to Jarrod.
Dammit, Jarrod! While you were up in that hick town, defending some no-good rustler, Jordan managed to get a judge to back his actions! You're a part of this family, boy, a Barkley, and our interests come first! I'm head of this family, Jarrod, and you are living under my roof, so you just need to…
I need to what? I'm not one of your lackeys; I'm my own man! I worked hard to get where I am without touching a cent of your money and I'll be damned if I let you dictate my life! And if living under your roof means taking your orders… well, that's easy enough to fix!
Jarrod felt the familiar wrenching of his gut that happened every time that conversation came back to haunt him. Those words spoken in the heat of anger were the last words he'd said to his father. Tom Barkley was dead less than two hours later, shot in a standoff in the same dispute with the railroad that he'd berated Jarrod about not doing enough to stop. Not for the first time, guilt at his father's death washed over Jarrod and the dark haired attorney hung his head in regret.
Suddenly, he needed some air, and, snagging a cigar from the box on his desk, Jarrod threw open the French doors and walked across the yard, not stopping until he reached the corral fence. Resting his foot on the bottom rail, Jarrod bit the end off his cigar, lit it and took a long drag. The peaceful atmosphere washed over him; horses whickering quietly, the far off lowing of cattle pastured not far from the main house, a solitary cricket chirping somewhere near the barn. The air was scented with the musky aroma of livestock and the sweet smell of freshly stacked hay. He did love this place, even loved the hot, dusty work of branding time and roundup, the feeling of pushing his body to the limit working the ranch bringing a sense of satisfaction like no other. Jarrod sighed, inhaling deeply of his cigar and letting the smoke back out, watching it curl away into the night sky. He should have tried harder to make his father understand that his passion for the law in no way diminished his love for the land.
A subtle movement out of the corner of his eye caught Jarrod's attention. He turned to spy a dark figure at the corner of the barn. It was unusual for one of the hands to be still around the place on a Saturday night and Jarrod was suddenly intrigued. Moving closer, he saw that it was Heath Thomson. The young man had finished rolling himself a cigarette and was patting his pockets with a disgusted look on his face.
"Light?" Jarrod offered as he walked closer, holding out a match. The blond gave him a crooked grin and a slight nod. Jarrod struck the match on the side of his boot and held it to the end of the cigarette, cupping his hand so the slight breeze didn't extinguish the flame.
"Much obliged," the other man said and made to move off.
"Not in town with the others?" Jarrod asked, not really wanting the blond to leave and feeling the desire for a little company.
"Man needs a little peace and quiet now and then," came the soft reply. He leaned on the fence and took a puff of the quirley. "You?"
"Same as you tonight, I guess. Peace and quiet can be hard to come by when you live in the same house as my brother Nick."
"Reckon that's the truth."
Jarrod glanced over and saw a small grin quirking at one corner of the cowboy's mouth. "Well, Nick's not all brag and bluster," Jarrod conceded with a smile of his own, "but no one's ever called him quiet."
The two men stood, leaning against the fence, neither displeased with the silence.
Jarrod was the first to speak up. "Talked to Duke this afternoon. Said he was quite impressed with your work. If he's right, you've got a place here as long as you want it. And I've seldom found Duke McCall to be wrong." Then he added, "I didn't know being a deputy was good practice for ranch work."
Heath raised an eyebrow. "Reckon I've been more than one thing in my life." He took another drag of the cigarette. "But I'll stay on for a while. Don't hear much but good things about working for the Barkleys. And it's good to work for a man you can trust to have your back."
He flashed another wry grin Jarrod's way and the older man had a sudden sense of déjà vu that had nothing to do with the fact he'd met Heath before. Then the brief smile was gone and the feeling along with it.
Heath glanced at the spent cigarette, dropped it to the dirt and ground it out beneath the toe of his boot. "Thanks for the light." He gave Jarrod a slight two-fingered wave before strolling back towards the bunkhouse.
Jarrod remained where he was until the cigar was mere ashes and the butt was relegated to the same fate as Heath's before the lawyer made his way back to the house and the work he had waiting for him.
.
.
Heath stared at the bottom of the bunk above his. When he made the decision to come to Stockton after his mama died, he didn't have a clear plan in mind. He hadn't been sure if he was just going to see what could have been his or if he was going to reveal that he was Tom Barkley's son from the wrong side of the sheets and demand a piece of what he was entitled to.
He wasn't sure what he expected when he met his father's family, but he didn't think it was this. To find one of his brothers, the man in charge of the ranch, to be someone with a sense of humour he could appreciate and the obvious respect of his men, was a pleasant discovery. He got the impression that he and Nick were alike in all the ways that mattered and there was a good chance they could become fast friends if Nick could get around the fact that Heath was his father's bastard if and when he told him.
Heath smiled as he thought of his encounter with Audra at their father's grave when he'd first arrived a few days ago. His little sister was quite the spitfire and the way she wielded that little whip had surely been a sight to behold. Heath was glad she'd told him she was Tom Barkley's daughter when she had or he was sure he would have kissed her right then and there.
Then his thoughts wandered to the other Barkley brother. Heath hadn't expected the Jarrod he'd met tracking down Cooper Watkins to be Tom Barkley's eldest son, but it wasn't an unpleasant surprise. He knew firsthand that what he'd heard about the lawyer, how he was ruthless in defending his family and upholding the law and how he was likely one of the fairest minded men on the west coast, was true. Not many men of his position would go to such lengths to right a wrong he thought he'd committed, even though from what Jarrod told him that day on the trail, it wasn't through any real fault of his own. The witness to the earlier charge was a known liar and even the town's sheriff thought Watkins' story rang true. The lawyer had done his job, defended his client to the best of his ability and Heath didn't see the fault in that. He'd thought he'd met his end when his gun jammed after they caught up with Watkins, but Jarrod was sure and steady when he stepped between Heath and the outlaw to pull the trigger.
Sighing, Heath was conflicted. He'd come to Stockton full of hate and resentment for the family of the man who'd got his mama with child and abandoned her but instead found people he'd be proud to be counted as one of. But staking that claim would cause a whole new set of problems. He didn't have to make a decision right then though, so Heath closed his eyes and decided to wait and see what the future would bring.
