He slept, he woke, he coughed and he slept again. He had no sense of day or night, just pain. Sometimes the pain was terrible and he couldn't think, it burned the thoughts out of his head. Other times it was just pain and he would hold it close where he could try and make it smaller, where he could think around it. Always there was a soft murmur of voices, cool cloths on his face, gentle hands lifting him, helping him, soothing him.
He opened his eyes and found the pain small enough that he could pull it close and hold it to one side so he could think and see. He saw that blue ceiling and knew he was back in the fancy Barkley bedroom. He tried to remember past the pain to how he came to be where he had left weeks ago, lifetimes ago.
"Here, drink a little of this." He turned his eyes and saw Mrs. Barkley and a glass coming at him. She had the glass at his mouth before he could say anything and he dutifully swallowed some of that wonderful orange juice. He smiled at that and she returned his smile.
"Silas said you really liked the juice," she said, looking pleased with something.
"Yes, ma'am." He was amazed that soft, hoarse voice was his. He tried to clear his throat and she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Your voice is rough, you've been doing a lot of coughing. Don't worry." Then she was wiping his face with a damp rag. He closed his eyes, mortified this fine lady was wiping off his face.
"I'm fine, ma'am." He would have reached up his hand and stopped her, but he could hardly move it. He tried to remember how he ended up trapped in this bed with this fine lady yet again.
"You were shot in an ambush and beat up. Your chest was injured. That's why you're having trouble breathing."
He remembered Barrett and Nick and the mares. He remembered Nick pulling Barrett off the top of him, beating Barrett, yelling at Barrett. Then he remembered the ride back to the ranch, Nick holding him in the saddle, taking care of him.
"I remember." He remembered his brother saving him, holding him, keeping him.
"That was three days ago. You're doing much better; you're going to be fine if you keep doing as you're told. But you're not fine yet." Now she had a big smile on her face and he gave her a small smile in return.
"No, ma'am. Guess not."
She gave him some water and a little bread and honey and after a bit he dozed again, her still sitting there on the edge of his bed. When he woke it was dark, the room lit in shadows by the lamp at the head of the bed.
"Here, boy, drink some of this." Nick lifted his head up and offered him a glass of water. He drank it, his throat dry and sore.
"You need to cough and clear out your lungs now," Nick said, taking the glass away.
He looked at Nick's face and then quickly looked away at the sorrow he saw there.
"I'm sorry, Heath. It's the coughing that clears out your lungs. Prevents pneumonia." Nick messed with the blankets, freeing his hand and giving him a rag, guiding his hand to his mouth. "You can do this for yourself now. You just need a good cough and you're all finished."
He recognized that tone in Nick's voice, the same one his mama used when she was trying to dose him with the castor oil. "Just a little swallow, Heath, and you're done," a mother's tone from a brother. He closed his eyes and coughed.
After an age of coughing, Nick helped him sit up again and replaced the pillows to hold him half sitting in the bed. He took the now awful rag and threw it into a bowl under the bed. Then, as gently as his mother, Nick wiped his face for him and gave him another drink of water.
"Thanks, Nick."
"You okay, Little Brother?" Nick rested his hand on Heath's head, brushing his hair back smiled at him. When he made no reply, Nick asked, "You want something to eat?"
He shook his head 'no', feeling weary from the coughing and the pain.
"How about the laudanum, more of that?"
"Better not," he told him, meeting his eyes now, knowing that, like him, Nick had seen the result of too much laudanum in the war and would understand his care.
"I know it doesn't feel it right now, but you're doing much better. Doc's coming back out tomorrow take another look at you." Nick was sitting on the edge of the bed with his hand resting on Heath's forearm, the pressure slight, the warmth and contact surprisingly welcome.
He nodded, almost too tired to speak, and smiled slightly at Nick, at the help with the coughing, at the warm hand on his arm. "Thanks for Barrett."
"That, Little Brother, that was absolutely my pleasure." Nick laughed and then stopped suddenly. "Don't you start laughing now."
He smiled at Nick who again began laughing out loud. Nick eventually managed to stop laughing and took a few minutes to tell him that Barrett and the other ambusher, a man named Lewis, were sitting in the jail in Stockton. "So now, boy, you got outlaws in jail in Stockton and Jackson. You're a one man Provost Corps, cleaning up California." Nick smiled at him. "That's nice work. Good job, kid."
He closed his eyes for a moment, smiling to himself. That had been even finer than he had imagined, Good job, kid.
"What are you smiling about?" Nick asked him.
"Just feeling…." He looked at Nick, feeling surprised. "Happy."
"See." Nick smiled at him, a bit smugly he thought, and said, "Family makes you happy. Don't forget that, boy."
He just smiled back at Nick and then closed his eyes and went to sleep.