A/N: Not back to canon yet. Got a few more twists coming up... :)

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Jarrod smiled at the sight of this tiny woman who had raised him mothering Heath.

She checked his bandages, fussed over his covers, and inquired about his pain, talking nearly as much as Audra would be if she were in the room.

Heath squirmed under the attention, glancing over at Jarrod in the armchair more than once to seek help. Jarrod just shrugged—amused by his brother's discomfiting situation.

Satisfied that he was as comfortable as she could make him, Victoria glanced at the plate of cold food on the dresser—breakfast Silas had tried to force into Nick.

"How about something to eat?"

Heath smirked, about to test his charms. "Like steak?"

Jarrod laughed; Victoria didn't.

"No, not like steak." The Barkley matriarch turned for the door. "Jarrod, keep an eye on your overambitious brother."

"I won't let him go anywhere."

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As the room grew quiet in Victoria's absence, Heath glanced at the glass on the nightstand. "Is there anymore water in that glass?"

"While your steak substitute is being fetched?"

"Real funny."

Jarrod held the glass to Heath's lips, his scrutinizing gaze taking in every detail.

Heath shifted to take a drink, wincing at the additional pain that stirred through his chest with the slight movement.

"You're probably due medicine." Jarrod turned and grabbed a glass bottle and spoon from the dresser. "I knew you were lying when you told Mother the pain was minimal."

Heath eyed the medicine with suspicion. "Let's skip that. I want to be able to think, at least until I figure out what world I woke up in."

Jarrod chuckled and took a seat, placing the bottle of laudanum on the bedside table. "The real one—sorry to disappoint."

Heath tried to smile, to conceal the agony he was in. Every breath in, no matter how gentle, caused him to wonder if he could draw in another without blacking out. He settled back against the pillows, breathing slowly and blinking away the spots that danced in his vision. "Quit studying me like I'm some sort of puzzle to solve."

Jarrod's forehead wrinkled as he straightened, realization registering in his dark-ringed eyes. "Sorry. It's been over a week since you were lucid enough to carry on a conversation." Clearing his throat, he glanced away and then right back. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty lousy," Heath mumbled. He reached up with his left hand to tenderly finger the bandages bound around his chest and shoulder. Although the foggy haze in which he'd been trapped was waning, he couldn't remember anything related to what had transpired to land him in this sorry shape.

Jarrod sank into the armchair that had been dragged near the bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Heath observed the exhaustion in the stoop of his older brother's shoulders, the pain in his eyes. And he swallowed before voicing the question.

"What happened?"

Jarrod eyed him a moment longer before speaking. "Remember anything about the past few weeks?"

Heath slowly shook his head. Wait… Something filtered through his mind, a fragment of a memory. Music. A scream. And…cake?

"There was a party here a few weeks ago for—"

Party. The pieces clicked together. "Audra's birthday. And that…that lout that attacked her." Heath's heartbeat quickened at the recollection. "He threatened the family, didn't he?"

Fingers steepled under his chin, Jarrod leaned back in the chair. "Last week, you and Nick went onto Miles land to retrieve a few cows they confiscated—Wally told some fabricated story about a broken-down fence. He and his men started shooting, first at your feet. But someone must've thought that wasn't enough, because you went down before the two of you were more than a few yards beyond the property boundary. Nick swears it was Evan."

As Jarrod's words trickled into Heath's mind so did the memories of that day. His eyes drifted closed as he relived the moments. The panic in Wally's voice when Nick called his bluff… The craze in the kid's features as they'd approached… The cold look in his eyes as he'd shouldered the rifle…squinted down the barrel…

"I'm not sure what to think. Wally seemed remorseful at the time, and then Jenny came over and talked to Mother. We haven't saw anything of Evan. Good thing, because it'd probably take half a dozen men to get Nick off of him if—"

"It was Evan."

Jarrod paused, didn't answer for half a minute. The usually quick-minded attorney missed his meaning—or didn't want to believe it. "What?"

"I said it was Evan."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

Jarrod sworn under his breath. The chair creaked with the loss of his weight and footsteps sounded as he began to pace the length of the room. "I knew the chances were scarce, but I'd hoped that Nick was mistaken about Evan."

Heath opened his eyes again to see Jarrod patrolling the strip of carpet at the foot of the bed, possible scenarios of what was to come undoubtedly racing through his mind.

"I wish I was. I've doubted many things in my life, but not this. It was him, and he isn't going to just let it go."

"Don't worry; we're keeping an eye out."

"I'm not worried for me, Jarrod. It's Audra he wants. She doesn't need to be going anywhere alone. I hate to think what he'd do to her, seeing as how he aimed to kill me without a second thought."

Jarrod paused, hands on his hips, staring across the room and nothing in particular. "He about succeeded."

Heath blinked, waited, wondering if Jarrod would continue or if he even realized he'd thought aloud. Had he really came as close to death as everyone seemed to think? When no answers came, he spoke. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Still nothing. Heath glanced over to where Jarrod now stood near the window, staring out at the barns, corral, and field beyond.

"Jarrod, what are you not saying?" Rolling up onto his elbow, he bit back a groan and gripped his right arm against his chest. Passing out wasn't a favorable thought, but he needed answers.

"You just might be more stubborn than Nick." Jarrod sighed and walked back toward the bed. "You need that pain medication, Heath."

"Not yet." Heath stayed propped on his elbow and squeezed his eyes shut. Dang, he was weak. "Not until I sort this all out in my mind."

"Fine." Jarrod dropped back into the chair. "What do you want to know?"

"Why everyone acts like I'm a talking corpse would be a good start."

Jarrod clasped his hands together and leaned forward, his serious blue eyes meeting Heath's. "The doctor didn't expect you to make it from the beginning. The bullet broke a rib, which then penetrated your lung. He was able to stitch-up the puncture, but you nearly died just from the blood loss. Dr. Merar thought you were a likely candidate for a transfusion though, and Nick volunteered."

Heath's head jerked up. Maybe he was more drugged than he'd realized. "Nick? Gave me blood?"

"Yes—Nick. He cares more than you realize, little brother."

Heath swallowed, breathed through a fresh wave of pain. The Barkley that had most resented his interruption of their family life, the smearing of their father's name that his existence caused…cared that much whether he lived or died?

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