Sticks and Stones
Audra glared at Nick before she stabbed at her steak. Not a lady-like thing to be doing, and Mother would probably scold her later, but at the moment, she couldn't care less. Her obtuse, loud-mouthed brother, whom she typically loved, had done something unforgivable. He drove Heath away.
Her eyes flicked to the empty seat, wishing her new older brother sat there. His quiet, almost shy smiles she had come to appreciate. Heath was so different from each of her other three brothers, yet held elements of each. Like easy-going Eugene, Heath became her confidant. Both understood sometimes she only needed to vent about the limitations placed on her as a woman. With Eugene at Berkeley, in the past few months, she came to rely on Heath's patient ear.
Heath listened differently than her lawyer brother who seemed to be more of a father than brother lately. Pappy always wanted to solve her problem for her … but Heath asked her what she thought she should do or how she would solve the issue. Heath used words with extreme precision, just like Jarrod did when cross-examining a witness. Yet, Heath's thoughtful inquires allowed her to discover the core of the matter for herself instead of telling her his opinions.
Turning to glower at Nick beside her, she didn't want to acknowledge Heath and Nick shared any of the same qualities, but they did—both were men of action who protected their family. But as far as she was concerned Heath was worlds apart from her noisy second brother … who she'd like to disown at this very moment.
Unable to hold her ire in any longer, she pointed the serrated knife at Nick as she harshly demanded, "How could you?"
Nick jumped, and moved back from the blade's tip, then screwed up his face in confusion as he chewed. Once he swallowed, Nick said, "Put that down before you cut yourself or me. What are you talking about, Little Sister?"
Complying, not capable of stabbing Nick, Audra huffed indignantly as she set the utensil down. "You know full well what I mean. Your anger towards and mistreatment of Heath finally made him leave."
"Good riddance, to the bastard—"
"Nicholas Jonathan Barkley," Victoria snapped. "You will never use that disgusting term in conjunction with Heath again.
Audra withheld the smirk at Mother using Nick's full name—he was in for a long-overdue lecture for certain. She demurely set her hands in her lap, prepared to enjoy the well-deserved tongue lashing he was about to receive.
Conflicted as to which child … well, one a full-grown adult and the other almost eighteen … to censure for their abhorrent behavior first, Victoria focused on Nick—his offense more serious than Audra's poor dinner etiquette. "We have been over this too many times for you to still hold ill-will towards Heath."
Victoria drew a breath, stiffening her spine. "Your father, with all his wonderful qualities was only human and made a mistake. One I readily forgave once I understood the extenuating circumstances. Without the care of Leah, Tom would've died in that back alley and we might've never known what happened to him.
"Everything we have now, this ranch, our home, the respect of the community, and the twenty years additional we all had with Tom, is a direct result of that caring woman. Any man, and in this case one with amnesia, would've fallen in love with Leah. Heath, your brother, was conceived in love … just as you, Jarrod, Audra, and Eugene were. If Tom is guilty of anything, it is that he failed to check on Leah once he regained his memory and came back to us.
"Although Tom never said anything to me, he must've thought about the chance he fathered a child, but as far as I'm aware, he never reached out to validate. In that way, you are much like your father … you often choose to ignore what's right in front of your face because you are afraid to lose what you've worked so hard to build." Victoria's voice broke and she lifted her napkin to her lips.
"Mother?" Jarrod said softly into the quiet.
Victoria lowered her hand and redirected her gaze to her eldest son. "I'm all right." Returning her eyes to Nick, she continued. "What you fail to see is that Heath is a blessing. He will help us build upon the foundations your father set. His heart is in ranching as much as yours is. Jarrod and Eugene don't possess the same fervor for rounding up cattle, breaking horses … the daily running of a ranch.
"Their passions lay elsewhere," she flashed a quick smile at Jarrod, "which is also a benefit to our family. Jarrod handles all our legal issues, and Eugene will one day make a fine doctor … and with as often as you get into scrapes that will be a boon." Glancing at Audra, Victoria added, "Your sister's volunteer activities and kindness for others further demonstrate what it means to be a Barkley."
Not liking being chastised over dinner, Nick tossed his napkin on his half-eaten steak and rose. "I've heard enough. Yes, my siblings, my real ones, are all valuable. But that bas—" Nick adjusted his words upon his mother's glare, "that BOY isn't my brother and never will be. If father loved Leah as you said, and she wasn't just some two-bit whore who warmed his bed, he would've checked on her."
Nick stormed out, leaving a wide-eyed, speechless Audra, a saddened mother, and an irritated Jarrod in his wake.
"Dear Lady, I'm sorry Nick spoke to you in such a manner. He deserves to be taken out to the woodshed and switched for his behavior," Jarrod said.
Victoria sighed and met Jarrod's gaze across the long side of the table. "One of Nick's best qualities is he doesn't mince words and expresses his feelings. You always know where he stands. It's also his worst quality because he often says things in the heat of the moment, which he later regrets. I'm certain this will be one of those times.
"Apparently, Nick needs more time to accept Heath is now part of this family. He's still grieving the bigger-than-life, do-no-wrong hero he created of his father in his mind. And Heath is the personification of the fact the man Nick idolizes was as fallible as any of God's children."
Finding her voice, though still shocked by Nick's venomous attitude, Audra asked, "How are we going to find Heath? I don't want him to leave … but he's been gone all day, and didn't tell anyone he was going. Not even McColl knows, and Heath always tells him if he's going out to one of the farther pastures."
Victoria patted her daughter's hand. "Perhaps Heath only needed a short break from Nick. I'm sure he wouldn't hurt you by missing your birthday."
"Mother, … my birthday isn't the issue … that's still a month away." Audra wouldn't confess it crossed her mind, but she refused to give it a voice for fear of sounding shallow. And in fact, it wasn't her first thought. She'd grown to love Heath as much, and maybe a tad more than her other brothers.
Heath always treated her as an equal. He never held her gender against her, and believe she could do whatever she set her mind to. A small notion niggled at the back of her mind … everything except cooking. She was indeed horrible at it and didn't think she would ever be interested in that particular domestic activity. Heath, bless his heart, always smiled and ate anything she baked whenever Silas attempted to teach her the basics. Meanwhile, Nick and Eugene would turn their noses up at her offerings and Jarrod would make thinly veiled remarks along the lines of not wanting to be poisoned.
His appetite now gone after the family discord; Jarrod neatly folded his napkin then rose. "I'll go speak to McColl. If Heath doesn't return tonight, tomorrow I'll send a few men out to check the line shacks and town."
Audra pouted. "By then he could be anywhere. Send someone out tonight."
"In the dark, they could miss him. Better in daylight," Jarrod countered. Though part of him wished to follow Audra's plea, he must keep the safety of their hands in mind too. Riding at night with no moon presented many perils. And if Heath didn't want to be found, as Jarrod suspected, his little brother would use the darkness to his advantage.
Pursing her lips, Audra kept silent as the wheels in her mind began to whirl. If Jarrod isn't willing to go after him … I will.
Though consciousness slowly returned, with it came ungodly pain and disorientation. Only one other time in his life had Heath experienced this level of agony … but this time it came from his head and gut, not his flayed back. With no inclination to move, lying on his stomach, his right cheek in the dust, Heath cracked his eyes open—half expecting to find himself in Carterson.
All he saw was dirt, and some scrub grass not too far away. No mud, no stench of dying men, and sewage, so not the Confederate prison camp. Cognition returned in increments … he had been walking … no Gal … head wound … shot in the side, the bullet still inside. That's where it ended. Try as he might, Heath still couldn't recall how it all happened or why.
Recognizing the sun now sat low in the horizon, Heath wondered how he survived for hours without bleeding out. As he shifted, the reason became clear … his numb right arm lay beneath him, likely acting as a pressure point to stem the blood loss.
Unsure he possessed the energy to stand, Heath hoped someone, anyone from the ranch would ride by. Well, not anyone. There were a few cowhands who would use his incapacity to their advantage. He did everything in his power to work with them, to get along, to earn their respect, but some men never saw past the bastard moniker to a person's character. They believed it gave them license to insult and taunt him because he was somehow less than them.
He'd been dealing with the likes of them ever since he was a child and comprehended a fatherless child born out of wedlock was inferior in most people's eyes. Somehow tainted from birth and not fit to be around polite society. Heath never cared what people said about him or what they called him, Mama was partially right … sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me.
However, that saying didn't apply when someone disparaged his sweet mother. She was goodness and light and never an unkind word passed her lips. The fiery words hurled at him about his mama burned Heath just the same as a hot branding iron. The pointed barbs dug in and tore his flesh as easily as the nasty barbed wire some ranchers used to fence off their lands.
Times too numerous to count, he'd gone toe-to-toe against larger boys, then men, often more than one tormenter at a time, to defend his mother's honor. As long as he drew breath, no one, absolutely nobody, would ever not pay for speaking hurtful words about his mama. More times than not, especially early on when learning to fight, the other boys got the better of him, but they all left bloodied too.
As his mind wandered from present to past then back to the here and now, Heath slowly realized someone on the ranch must've done this to him. Wishing he could remember, every time he reached for a memory of this morning beyond mounting Gal and riding out, he drew blank.
With determination forged from adversity, Heath refused to die here in the dirt without fighting for his life. Using his left arm, he pushed up from the ground, wavered halfway up as vertigo assaulted him. The precursor to vomiting, the production of saliva became a welcome moistening of his parched mouth, but he swallowed hard, aware becoming sick would sap him of his energy.
Several deep breaths later, Heath lifted his head and peered down the road, trying to calculate the distance he must travel to reach help. The pounding in his head made doing calculations impossible, so he gritted his teeth and strove to rise. Ungainly lurching, he managed to find his feet under him and began the slow and painful trek while he repeated an often-used mantra to get through impossible situations … It's just a scratch. I'm fine.
Nick leaned on the fence, watching the horses in the pasture as the sun began to set. Ashamed of the way he lashed out with his mother and sister present, he chided himself for not choosing softer words … ones more suited to the delicate sensibilities of females, but he'd never be a smooth talker like Jarrod and Eugene.
What he didn't regret were his feelings. Heath would never be more than a hired hand in his mind, no matter what the other family members did or said. Heath didn't deserve to share in the riches his father built … if Heath was so valuable, Father would've claimed him … but he never did.
Voices of some of the hands floated to him from behind the barn in the quiet twilight. He didn't pay much heed until he heard one say, "Nick won't have to put up with Mr. Barkley's backwoods colt any longer. That whoreson will think twice about coming back … if he can think at all now. More likely he's now in hell where all bastards belong."
Something seized Nick's heart and churned his gut when the remark was punctuated with malicious laughter. He pushed off the wood, intending to find out which man made the comment. It sounded a bit like Barrett, but he couldn't be sure given the distance. After taking two steps, Duke urgently called to him from just inside the stable.
Switching directions, Nick headed for the Barkley's longtime foreman. Duke McColl had worked for his father almost from the time Tom acquired the land and the first cattle. He appreciated the older man's insights, especially after his father was killed in the railroad dispute. It would be a sad day when Duke finally hung up his spurs, and hopefully, by then, Nick would have cultivated a trusted relationship with a younger man who he could rely on as Tom did Duke.
When Duke disappeared inside, Nick quickened his pace, his gut screaming at him something was terribly wrong. He didn't often get those sensations, but they occurred often enough he learned to pay attention to them. He had the same feeling the day his father died.
He also experienced it the afternoon when then eight-year-old Eugene snuck out to prove he could break a wild horse, had been thrown, and nearly trampled. And the time Audra lost control of the buggy when the reins snapped—he had to race after her and jump on the horse's back to bring them to a stop before they ran off the cliff. The last time was when Jarrod got shot at Sample's farm. Thankfully the wound was more of a graze, but Nick realized this gut-churning dread only came about when one of his family was in dire trouble.
Entering the darkened stable, Nick's eyes had to adjust to less light. "Duke?"
"Over here."
Nick strode forward upon spotting Duke in front of one of the stalls. His steps faltered as he recognized the horse within. "That's Gal. Did that boy come back and not bother to tell anyone?"
"Nick, there's blood on the saddle … a lot … and she came in riderless, about ten minutes ago. I stabled Gal and was coming out to get you when I noticed you at the fence."
The ominous words he just overheard filtered back into his mind as Nick spied the stained leather. Reaching out to stroke the muzzle of Heath's agitated horse to calm her, an intense pain zinged through Nick's head and right side, causing him to double over.
"Ah, Duke, there you are … needed to ask you if Heath's returned—" Jarrod halted as he noticed his brother bending over. "Nick?" He rushed forward grabbing Nick's arm to keep him from falling and moved him to a hay bale to sit.
Nick stared at the bloody saddle before his eyes met Jarrod's. Loath to admit this, he couldn't ignore the visceral reaction touching Gal caused. "I think Heath's in trouble. We need to go find him."