Agapē (unconditional love)

Night continued to turn into day, and day to night as the earth kept spinning, unmindful of the struggle to save a life within the small, former guest room of the Barkley Ranch. For six days, five people tirelessly worked in shifts and assisted whenever a second or third set of hands were needed. All the efforts compassionately expended kept the young blond somewhere between telluric pastures and heaven's gate. Every hour, minute, or perhaps second, his fevered body threatened to fail, but somehow, Heath managed to cling to the mortal plane by a gossamer thread.

The slim, muscular form, which had never carried an ounce of excess fat, began to wither, despite their ability to spoon feed him broth and steeped willow-bark tea … a two-person job. One would sit behind Heath, letting his back rest against their chest. The other would lift the lukewarm broth or tea to his mouth and part his dry, cracked lips before inserting the spoon and lifting his chin. The one propping Heath would then stroke his throat to encourage his swallowing reflex.

This process was repeated every few hours to ensure Heath remained hydrated and received a small portion of the nutrients necessary to sustain life. When not engaged in feeding him, they sponged his scorching skin with a soft cloth and cool water, doing what they could to bring down his fever and ease his discomfort. The men were in charge of bathing Heath when the bodily functions took place, all aware he would be embarrassed if Audra or Victoria did the necessary ablutions.

Dr. Merar had been summoned at least twice when fear ran rampant Heath would expire. The infection had sunk its teeth into Heath and, like a rabid wolf, refused to release its prey. Many tears were shed, by women and menfolk alike, though Nick and Jarrod only allowed the waterworks to flow while alone with Heath in the dark of night as they pleaded for him to keep fighting and come back to them.

By the sixth day, Eugene returned from university, having been summoned and taking a short leave to add his helping hands to the care of his new older brother. During his first shift, Gene wished he was further along in his studies so he might do more or find a way to heal a brother he desperately wanted to spend more time with. There was something so refreshing and different about Heath, yet also familiar and comforting.

Last evening, Gene finally realized what it was … Heath reminded him of his dear departed father … a man he hadn't gotten to know as an adult. He was only a young child when Tom Barkley was murdered, and Jarrod became the man he viewed as his father figure in the past years. The memories of the young boy for a father had long since been tucked into the corners of his mind.

But Heath's presence began to dust off the cobwebs of time and reignite the flicking flames of his childhood. Heath's laugh and smile reminded him most of Father. As a boy, Gene was on the receiving end of that laugh and wry smile more times than he could count. Although Father was a busy rancher, he always found time in the evenings after supper to dote on his only daughter and youngest son … playing cards, listening to them recount their days, or simply reading one of the many stories from the library collection.

Drawing the cool rag across Heath's fevered brow, Gene's eyes pooled with liquid again. Unlike his older brothers, his tears came forth easily, his emotions visible to all. Though not considered manly by most, his mother told him expressing his feelings was natural—a part of who he was, and she would never want him to change—so he let them flow in the privacy of their home.

"Please, Heath. Don't go. I know it is selfish, but through you, my father … our father lives again. I want to hear you laugh … and see you grin. I will always miss Father, but in some ways, you bring him back to me. Yes, you are your own person, and no, I would never expect you to be him … but there are pieces of you that are so like him I can't help but remember him."

Gene dipped the cloth and wrung it out before trailing it down Heath's chest. "I hate the fact you never knew him … and he you. If he were capable of selecting a favorite, which I doubt, you would've been the one he chose. It's true. Of his sons, you are the only one who has his looks, and your mannerisms are so similar. The way you sit a horse … the way you ride … the quiet way you think through issues … all like our father.

"Though Mother doesn't like to admit it, Nick got her feisty temper along with the dark hair. I think that is why she only halfway admonishes him when he comes in yelling. Can you just imagine if Mother and Father had been reversed? Would've created very different childhood memories for me." Gene sighed. He had kept up a litany of words and was running out of things to say, and now he had been reduced to babbling nonsensical thoughts.

Rinsing the washrag again, Gene started on Heath's left arm as a welcome midday breeze billowed the lightweight curtains in the open window. Fresh air and light kept the sick room from being unbearably gloomy, and Gene appreciated both during his stints caring for Heath while Mother and Audra rested. Nick and Jarrod had burned the midnight oil for over a week now, and they were all run down, which is why Gene considered extending his absence from school since his professors would allow him to make up the work.

With a sigh, he started talking again as he moved to the other arm. "I wish you grew up here with us. It makes me gut sick that you and your mother struggled needlessly. I reckon your mama didn't tell my father because she was afraid he might've taken you from her. But I still don't understand how she could've allowed her child to be treated so poorly when a simple letter to Father would've ensured you both had everything you needed and many things you wanted."

As Victoria entered the room, she overheard Gene and noted his tear-streaked cheeks. She went to him and settled a gentle hand on her youngest child's back and began a light circular motion to soothe him. "Love is the reason. Leah loved Heath … and your father."

Gene stopped his ministrations and peered up at his mother as he swiped the wetness from his eyes and cheeks. "Love? That isn't love. Heath lived in poverty and was ostracized by everyone because he was fatherless."

"There are many forms of love. You are young and have not experienced enough to comprehend the full spectrum of love." Victoria sat on the bed's edge and took Heath's overly warm, limp hand in hers before she gazed at Eugene.

"Help me understand, Mother."

Victoria allowed a slight upturn of her lips. Gene and Audra both wore their hearts on their sleeves and were still quite naïve in the ways of the world, but each also possessed a sharp mind and sought knowledge. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Victoria shifted her gaze to Heath's lax face, hoping for a glimpse of his blue eyes—which had yet to open of their own accord in the past week.

Returning her focus to Gene, she said, "Most often people only think of love as the passion between a man and woman or the abiding love within a family."

"Yes, Eros and Storge, I read about the Greeks' words for love, but categories or names for love don't help me comprehend how Leah could allow Heath to be hurt in such a manner."

Victoria's fledgling smile bloomed. "I believe you will find your answers in Agapē."

"Universal love? How?" Gene dipped the damp cloth in the water again and resumed trying to cool Heath.

"I never met Leah, but I believe, as exhibited by Heath's character, that she was a compassionate soul who showed loving-kindness to all living things without question. She did so knowingly, without expectations for anything in return. Leah possessed a pure and conscious love."

"Mother—"

"Please hear me out."

"Alright. Sorry for interrupting."

"Leah gave of herself without seeking a reward. She found your father in the back alley and nursed him to health. Yes, I genuinely believe she experienced Eros for Tom, and he for her, until his memory returned … and perhaps even after. However, Tom would never abandon us, and as far as he knew, nothing came of his short liaison with Leah.

"Again, I cannot be entirely certain but believe when Leah learned she was expecting, she made the conscious choice not to hurt Tom's other children or me by exposing the outcome of their time together. Leah loved Tom enough to ensure she didn't tear his family apart. She loved Heath too.

"Heath wouldn't be the man he is today without the tender, guiding hand of a loving mother. The hardships they faced only reinforced their bond. And while you are equating being poor with Leah not loving him … the two don't go hand-in-hand."

Victoria's expression turned wistful. "Some of my best memories of your father is when we struggled to make ends meet while starting this ranch. Although you only recall living in this house and never going to bed with an empty stomach … there were times we did exactly that … and our love deepened as we leaned on one another to make it through the tough times.

"I expect much the same thing happened with Heath and his mama. Please, Gene, don't ever measure someone's ability to love by their bank account. Some of the wealthiest people are bankrupt in compassion, while the poorest in a monetary sense possess the horn of plenty when it comes to unconditional love. If I had to choose either living in luxury or having the love of my family … there would be no doubt in my mind … family first … family always."

Tears formed as she squeezed Heath's hand. "And Heath is family … he is your brother and my chosen son."

To some extent, Gene comprehended, but his father wouldn't have taken Heath away from Leah, so the woman's fears of losing her child were not valid in his mind. But perhaps his mother was right, and he didn't possess enough life experience to understand yet. As he continued to contemplate all his caring mother said, Silas entered, carrying a tray.

"Time for Mr. Heath's willow bark tea." Silas placed the small tray on the bedside table.

"I'll hold him upright, Mother." Gene set the rag down, preparing to assume the position behind Heath when the jangle of spurs announced Nick. He paused and turned to the doorway. "What are you doing here? Thought you had work to do."

Nick registered surprise in his little brother's tone, so although the words could be taken several ways, he accepted them as simple disbelief to find him in the house in the middle of the day. "Decided to send a few men with Barrett to the north pasture—I trust them to round up the stragglers."

Moving into the room, Nick removed his gloves. "Has Heath woken at all today?"

"No," Gene replied as he began to lift Heath's shoulders with Silas's help so he could slip in behind him.

Victoria rose, recognizing Nick needed to be here and do something to help. "Nick, would you please take over for me? You are the best as getting Heath to swallow, and there are a few household chores needing my attention."

Nick grinned at the blatant lies but didn't call her out on them. First, she got the most tea or broth down Heath's throat—and he got almost as much on Heath's chest as in his mouth. And second, they all knew the house could fall apart around them, and she would still prioritize the needs of Heath or any of her children's needs over chores. Instead, he said, "Alright, Mother. Happy to help."

Once Eugene was settled in place with Heath resting on him, Silas hurried out to start another batch of willow bark steeping.

Victoria waited in the doorway for a moment as Nick pulled the chair close and sat. She turned, wearing a grin as her second son's booming voice blustered at Heath, though his brother remained insensate.

"Now, boy, you will drink every drop of this horrible tea. And if you don't, well, let me tell you. When you are on your feet again, you're going to be working extra shifts to make up for it."

As she sashayed down the hall, a soft sound of mirth passed her lips at Gene's shocked response to his older brother's haranguing of their ill brother. Gene didn't quite understand the change in Nick's attitude towards Heath, but she did. From the moment she laid eyes on Heath, she knew in her heart that her middle sons would become the closest pairing of brothers and life-long partners in running the ranch. Each man possessed what the other brother required—someone who matched their passion for horses and cattle and provided a counterbalance to the other.

Pleased Nick tapped him to lead the men today, Barrett rode between Wickham and Rogers at the head of eight men sent to round up stragglers in the north pasture. So far, no one was the wiser to his deed, and every day he expected the news the bastard was dead. How he hung on for so long Barrett didn't quite comprehend, but since there was no improvement and the infection raged, it wouldn't be much longer. "The bastard will be dead soon," he muttered his thoughts out loud.

"What?" Wickham asked at the same time as Rogers said, "Not soon enough."

Barrett smirked at Rogers, a like-minded man. "Today would be fine."

Rogers laughed. "Yes, twould be, I reckon."

Wickham half-listened to Barrett and Rogers disparaging the newest Barkley. At first, he hated the newcomer, mostly taking his lead from Nick rather than any particular thing Heath did or didn't do. And certainly not because he was a bastard—'cause that would be the pot calling the kettle black since he had no real last name. Richard picked Wickham for himself once he ran away from the orphanage at ten years old.

Instead of outing his roots, or lack thereof, he went along with all the crass remarks Barrett and the others flung about regarding Heath. Though if honest with himself, Richard was actually envious of Heath. For many years as a child, he deluded himself with daydreams of a rich father coming to retrieve him from the hellhole he'd been dumped in after his whore of a mother died of syphilis.

But his dreams never came true, and he would go to his grave, never knowing who sired him, which is why it was easy to fall in line with everyone when they badmouthed Heath. But in the past week, something changed in his boss. He witnessed the dark circles under Nick's eyes and the extreme fatigue that came from staying up all hours of the night caring for Heath.

He'd seen that once or twice before while working for the Barkley's, most notable after Mr. Barkley died. Nick ran himself ragged caring for his mother, sister, and young Eugene while never slacking off around the ranch—putting in untold hours trying to keep things running after Tom Barkley's murder. Oh, Jarrod was no slacker either, but everybody knew the ranch would one day be run by Nick—and that day came earlier than anyone expected.

To witness both brothers in the same deteriorated physical state and the reason being them caring for the new brother made Richard reconsider his position on Heath. If Nick now accepted Heath, his intense, family-oriented boss would not take kindly to the derogatory remarks being flung about. If Barrett and Rogers weren't careful, they might be looking for new jobs—and it would be a huge step down from working on the Barkley ranch. The family took care of the hands, paid a high wage, and treated everyone fairly and with respect.

His musings ended as he overheard something that twisted his innards. It was a damned-good thing he had one helluva poker face, and he used it as he asked, "Did I hear you right?" He released a slight chuckle before judiciously choosing his words, "Barrett, I'd be cautious who you tell that to. Ya never know who might use it against you for leverage when you take over for McColl."

Barrett scowled. "Is that a threat, Wickham?"

"No, not from me … you know my feelings about Heath."

"Heath, is it? Not going soft on him now, are you?" Rogers asked.

Scoffing, Richard shook his head. "Just figured you and Barrett used the day's allotment of 'bastard'—the word is becoming worn-out. You gotta come up with some new things to call him." Judging by the turn in the conversation between the other two, Richard successfully hid his true thoughts and distracted them with a new activity—coming up with terms such as snake-in-the-grass, miscreant, good-for-nothing reprobate, lowlife, scalawag, rat, skunk, dirtbag, and whoreson.

As they continued to ride, Wickham made plans—he needed to talk to Nick soon—they had a cold-blooded murderer in their midst.

The sun was now low on the horizon, and Nick kept his vigil at Heath's bedside, giving Gene a break to catch up on school work. Wiping the damp rag over Heath's face, he noted a difference in his temperature. A smile formed as he realized Heath's fever had broken—he was cool to the touch.

About to yell for Mother, Nick halted when blond lashes fluttered upward. He didn't want to startle Heath and make him move—would be painful because they hadn't given him any laudanum since he had remained unconscious. But, upon spying glassy, unfocused blue orbs, Nick's heart sang halleluiah, and he thanked the Lord for not allowing Heath to die.

Again, unlike him, Nick kept his volume soft as he said, "Welcome back, Brother. You had me scared there for a while. Thought I'd lose my right-hand man."

Heath blinked, his mind and body not on the same page, as the image of a dark-haired man began to focus. His voice rough from disuse, Heath mumbled, "Who are you, and where am I?"

.

Notes: Again, sorry for the extended time between chapters ... I hope everyone who celebrates holidays at this time of year enjoyed them and the coming new year is prosperous and brings you joy.

And, no, the evil muse isn't sorry for the little cliffy at the end. But I hope not to leave you hanging too long.