Heath's self-protective shell dissolved at the mention of Hannah's name, and a wide grin appeared. "She's here?"

Jarrod stepped out of his way when Heath ran past him to the edge of the porch. The boy slapped the railing twice in his excitement before running to her. "Hannah!"

"Heath!" she called back happily. "Look at me! I'm drivin' a fancy team!"

The fancy team was a pair of old mules with bells on their harnesses that jingled in time with the rhythm of their hooves.

Heath climbed into the seat beside Hannah and gave her a one-armed hug. When he let her go, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Jarrod turned his attention to the approaching Mariano.

"I had a much better breakfast in town, my friend," Mariano said noticing the dry uneaten biscuit in Jarrod's hand.

As he rode up to the porch and dismounted, Jarrod stepped down to meet him.

"How's Nick?" Mariano asked.

"Hanging in there," said Jarrod. "You may have saved his life by bringing that wagon. And looks like you may have saved another besides." He nodded at Heath who's relief at having Hannah nearby was palpable.

Mariano's smile faded when he turned back to him. "Jarrod, I'm very sorry this had to happen. I was there when Tennant first spread those...lies about your father. I stopped the fight between Nick and Bill Tennant back at the ranch. I did not want to open this wound in your family, but when I found that ransom note and discovered that Nick was truly missing...I had to involve myself for his sake, you know?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, Mariano," Jarrod told him. "Except maybe when you two knuckleheads ended up here instead of turning back for home when you should have."

"Your brother isn't the only one with the hard head." Mariano said, "You are the thinker, and I see your point. I'm sorry for carrying this too far. I just never fully realized the consequences of what we were doing until it was done."

Mariano was genuinely remorseful and Jarrod could not hold another grudge with so much more on his plate than he could possibly deal with. "You're forgiven, Mariano," he said.

His friend smiled. He slapped Jarrod companionably on the shoulder. "I'll get that wagon to the barn."

Once Heath was out of the room, Nick asked, "What do you think of him, Father? As a person? Well, I mean if he wasn't-"

"You mean, if I could imagine for a moment that he wasn't my son?"

"Yes," Nick was guarded, as if he wasn't sure what would come next. "He's a tough kid, but he's got a lotta heart."

"That he is, Nick. Tough. He's also a very angry boy."

"I can understand that," Nick said. "Can't you?"

Tom sat in the stool by Nick's cot and was touched by the sight of Nick's black hat and Heath's white one side by side on the floor beneath the cot. Heath had made a positive impact on Nick for which Tom was deeply grateful. God had given him a slight emotional reprieve. At least one family relationship seemed to flourish.

"Nick, I should have fired Tennant long ago. If I had, he couldn't have done this to you."

"Then I wouldn't know Heath," said Nick. "That would be a damned shame."

Tom lifted a brow. "Would it?"

Nick frowned in thought. "Father, this is going to hurt you most in the long run. I know it. Don't let the hurt stand in the way of getting to know him. He's well worth your best efforts, just like the rest of the family. Your best. This is no time to feel sorry for yourself."

"I don't feel sorry for me."

"Don't you?" Nick folded his arms to ward off a chill. His eyes flicked up to Jarrod who just now re-entered the house. "Even after what happened yesterday between you and Jarrod?"

"Lie down Nick, you're trembling."

Nick didn't move. He wanted to face him. "You hit him for something you did...and I'll be the first to tell you, it didn't hurt just him."

Suddenly, a sick feeling washed over him and Nick felt as if he just couldn't say anymore. He sank down on his side, curling up for warmth. In a moment, he felt the chilling breeze of a blanket being unfurled over his body and drifting down to cover him. Father then placed a clean cloth over the wound and Nick shrank from the touch.

"Hurts?"

"Like the devil." With that, Nick drifted off.

If anyone suffered most openly over Tom's past choices, it was Nick. Tom tucked a corner of the blanket under Nick's arm and his fingers touched the metal cuff still attached to his left wrist. It was hot to the touch. He felt Nick's cheek and forehead-too warm. Anger had him wanting to rip that band off, but it had to remain for now. There was no way at this moment to remove this physical reminder of the abuses his son endured.

Nick was right about a lot of things, but most especially about the growing rift between Tom and his eldest. Jarrod was Victoria's boy. Always had been. He would demand more than just an apology and rightly so, but still Tom knew things would never be quite the same between them again.

Jarrod appeared and crouched beside him. "Nick?" He said softly.

"He's asleep."

"Mariano brought a wagon. It's a jolt wagon, but it will get us all home."

"A ride like that might kill him," Tom said.

"And you wanted us to fix that other no good excuse for a wagon out there?"

"That was for carrying the dead!" Tom whispered harshly. "Not for moving Nick!"

"How's he to get home then? In a saddle?" Jarrod responded. "That's not happening."

"Aw!" Nick's face scrunched up. "I'll ride in the wagon! Just..." he flipped his hand to shoo them away. "Argue somewhere else."

"Sleep, Nick! For God's sake!" Father stood and moved to the fireplace where the coffee pot kept warm.

Jarrod followed him. "How is he getting home then?"

"We're waiting for the doctor first. If he says it's all right for Nick to travel in the back of that wagon, then we'll do it. I won't have him moved otherwise. We'll stay right here."

Jarrod laughed at the futility of it all. This time and didn't worry about his father striking him first. His fists were ready. "In the middle of nowhere? With rancid well water and-and spiders?"

Calmly, Father poured coffee into a tin cup. "I can make this place better if I need to. I have the resources."

"You can make anything better. Isn't that right?"

"Not everything." Father looked at him, coffee mug poised for a sip. "Son, I admit I made mistakes."

"They're easy to admit when they're so damned obvious!"

"Jarrod, I know I was wrong to hit you. It was...it was a weakness."

Jarrod let out a breath and looked away, knowing a confrontation was inevitable. "It wasn't weakness. It was cruelty. I knew you had it in you. I've seen it sometimes outside the house where you're well-known for your 'fists first' attitude. Nick is the same way. Always thinking with his fists or his sidearm." He looked at his father again, but he had no fear of him. "Maybe that's why he's special to you. Maybe that's why you'd bring civilization here to him, rather than risk taking him to it. Always moving heaven and earth for-" he stopped. Jealousy had reared it's head again and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "It's irrelevant. If you want to move everything to him, if that makes him well again, I'm all for it. Just don't tell me it was weakness that made you hit me yesterday. It was loss of control." Jarrod felt the dizzying effect of his rapid heart rate, but it only fueled his anger. "I'll be there when you see Mother again, when you tell her about this-this bastard son of yours. I'll make sure that she won't be hurt by your so-called 'weakness'. "

The cold look returned to Father's eyes. "I will never harm your mother!"

Jarrod returned a cold look of his own. "You already have!"

The two men stared at each other, neither making a move of retreat.

It was only Hannah's voice that broke the tension. She and Heath had just entered the house. "My oh my, Heath! I'm so glad I brought my medicines. We'll have that arm feelin' better before you can say pancakes."

"Pancakes," Heath said with a laugh.

"Oh, you're just too fast for your own good!" She hugged him gently, squeezing him to her side.

The force that kept Jarrod locked on his father, suddenly vanished. He turned and pushed a hand through his hair.

"Good day, to the two Mr. Barkleys," Hannah said. "Thank you for takin' care of my Heath and keepin' him safe."

Jarrod acknowledged her with a quick nod, not yet able to speak. He let out an unsteady breath.

"The tension in this room," she said and her face was solemn, "can be sliced with a stick." She saw Nick asleep on the cot. "Is this your brother, Heath?"

"It's Nick," Heath said grabbing her hand and taking her to him. "He's the one who came to find me."

She bent and touched the top of Nick's head. "He's burnin' up."

"I'm all right," Nick murmured but he didn't stir.

"No you're not," she said firmly. "Heath, we're going to need some hot water."

Heath went to grab the coffee pitcher.

Tom set his mug on the floor and moved toward her. "Ma'am, just a minute."

"Oh I don't have a minute," she said as she examined Nick's wound.

"You're the deputy, right?" he asked. "What do you know about medicine?"

She looked him in the eye and without hesitation said, "Mr. Barkley, when you raise a boy like Heath, you'd darn well better be a healer." She winked at a grinning Heath, who shrugged at the dubious compliment and went out to dump the coffee and retrieve fresh water. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to help your other son?" She smiled prettily and went back to the business of examining Nick's wound. "Lord have mercy! We must not waste any more time."