The miles were going far too slowly for Nick's taste and naturally impatient inclinations. He had to make a couple of detours to avoid washed out areas in the road. The full moon still held sway high above their heads, lightening the vast landscape in an eerie silvery light. Nick felt that he should have a sense of the vastness around him, instead he felt a sensation almost akin to claustrophobia. No, maybe it was more like being trapped in a maze without an exit.
Heath's reappearance thrust him into his least favorite type of situation – the kind where he didn't yet know the rules and felt little control over the circumstances. The biggest of which was sitting unsteadily in front of him with a death grip on the saddle horn. Heath had uttered not a single word as they rode as quickly as possible away from the threatening words that followed them over the rolling hills. Nothing further had happened since that bastard had hollered, "An eye for an eye."
Nick could see that all of Heath's energy was woven into his effort to keep his seat. He was trying so hard, Nick didn't have the heart to put his arm around Heath to steady him. One of the many things that Nick respected about his brother was that he was an independent cuss. Some had said the same about Nick. He allowed himself a small smile. They were brothers after all.
As Heath's breathing became more labored, Nick knew that he no longer had the luxury of allowing Heath his pig-headedness.
"Heath, you're too weak to hold yourself up straight enough to ease those ribs. You've been hunching over more and more. You'll drive that rib right through your lung any time now."
Heath's only answer was to straighten up. A gasp escaped before he could prevent it. Damn, he hated to show any weakness. But not for the reason that most would think. In the past two years, Nick had proven to be a man that you could depend on. Moreover, he had shown the depth of his devotion to his family and to his newest brother - time and time again. Heath knew, under that brusque exterior, beat a heart that would lead Nick's head off a cliff for the sake of one that he held dear. If they were still in danger, Nick needed to think with his head. Heath had seen Nick's heart in his eyes when he's seen Heath hurt before. He'd seen Nick attempt rash actions in his defense, that were only prevented by cooler heads. He desperately believed he needed to prove to Nick he would be all right. Trouble was, he was not anywhere near all right.
His voice soft and husky with concern, Nick cajoled, "Heath, boy, you can't keep this up much longer. You need to rest." Softer, in a voice that almost sounded like he was himself in pain, Nick pleaded, "Please, Heath, lean on me. I'll never let you fall."
"Know that…brother Nick. Juss' would hate …if someone saw us. Think… we're going… steady."
Rolling his eyes as if for divine intervention, Nick chuckled, "Give me patience."
Nick knew this touch of humor was Heath's graceful way of giving in. He wrapped his free arm around his brother's waist as gently as possible, drawing Heath back to lean against his chest. As if he regretted admitting relief, a shaky sigh escaped from Heath's lips as his brother took his weight. For the first time Nick realized that Heath's frame was shaking as if he were standing in the teeth of a bitter winter north wind. The night was temperate, though damp. This was not good. Either Heath was in shock, fevered, or worse yet, both. Nick got a partial answer as soon as his brother's back made contact with his chest.
The heat from his brother's body scalded Nick's chest and paradoxically sent an icy stab of fear through the big man's heart. A raging fever. How much more could Heath's body take. Nick had to get him home and now they were so close. There was only one thing to do. Break the minimal cover of the shrubs and trees along the path and head straight across the openness of the south pasture. No worries now about sinking in a hole at least. Coco knew the south pasture like he knew the planks is his own stall. Nick's faithful horse would get them across get them across.
Soon Heath's breathing slowed, but with an agonizing little gasp with every breath. When the effort seemed too much for him, Heath's head also started to rest on his brother's shoulder. Nick looked down to check to see if Heath had passed out. A sheen of perspiration coated his face. Nick always thought that though Heath's eyes could sparkle with wicked amusement, they often seemed to reflect the world weariness of a soul that lived longer than Heath's twenty-four years should allow. Closed, Nick was surprised at how youthful and vulnerable Heath seemed.
Heath's voice interrupted Nick's contemplation. "Kind'a thirsty, Nick…Gotta canteen?"
"Sure Heath, got it right here." Nick reached over to where he had it tied to his saddle. Knowing Heath was down one arm, he unscrewed the cap and handed it to his brother. Heath tried to raise the canteen to his lips, but almost full, it was too heavy for his flagging strength. Nick gently grasped the shaking hand that held the canteen and boosted it up the remaining distance. Heath took no more than a couple of sips before his head rested back on Nick's shoulder.
"Need 'ta tell ya somethin'…'fore we get home and…all hell breaks…loose. Feelin' kinda poorly, Nick. Don't want somethin' to happen and not tell 'ya…"
"Shhh, Heath. Save your strength. I know everything I need to know, brother. Known it for a long time now." Nick then looked down with a fond smile.
"Well you're gonna hear it…anyway. Know…it all…pain in the…neck."
"Fine."
"These past two years…been the best. Even the bad parts…'cause I had you and the family. Somethin' happens to me…'s not your fault… y'hear? That bastard said… wanted you to know what it felt…to have me die in your arms."
Nick gritted out, "Heath, no…"
"Don't worry. Not giving up with…out one helluva…fight. But…if it happens, need 'ya to know… there's no place…no where…I'd rather…be. Want the family… to know. Need you to tell 'em."
"Tell 'em yourself. I can see the house from here, Heath."
"Loosing the fight…with the dark, Nick. Think… Think I'll take a little nap. You tell 'em, Nick. Love 'ya all… too much." His last reserves exhausted, Heath let the threatening darkness finally claim him.
"Trying to get the last word again as usual, little bro? Rest now. I have a few things that I need to tell you. And I will. Big brother's prerogative, Jarrod likes to say – setting little brothers straight on things. I can see the light in Jarrod's study from here. Mother's room, too. We're almost home."
Wrapping both arms to support his brother's dead weight, Nick knew he could rely on Coco to find his way home without guidance.
bvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbvbbvbvbvb
It seemed ironic to Jarrod that he really didn't start to worry about Heath until Nick had left to go find their missing brother. Maybe trying to temper Nick's impulsiveness distracted him from his natural inclination to worry as well. Once Nick left, all his rational arguments seemed to scatter like so many leaves in the wind. He'd been to bed. It was well after midnight now, but sleep would not come. So he went down to the library and tried to woo sleep with a snifter of cognac and a dreary legal journal. So far, he had read the first paragraph of the first article countless times.
Jarrod could hear the floorboards creak in the level above as well. Mother was just as restless and had come down stairs to check on him once already. Their anxiety fed off each other and magnified as they reflected on the other's concern. So as to not make matters worse, they had agreed without the necessity of words to return to neutral corners. So Jarrod worried in the library and mother in her room. Not a great improvement in the situation, but in the very least they were less likely to wake up Audra.
Before barely finishing that last thought, all hell broke loose. As usual, it was heralded by a shout from Nick.
"JARROD, MOTHER! I NEED HELP! HURRY!"
By equine clairvoyance or from just the wisdom and experience of being a Barkley horse, Coco knew to head for the house and not the barn. Nick tried to rouse his brother, but Heath was down for the count. He'd have to wait until others arrived to hand down his delicate burden. Jarrod came barreling out of the house, his mother and a sleepy-headed Audra in his wake. Men were pouring out of the bunkhouse pulling on clothes as fast as they could.
Jarrod took in the scene in an instant. Normally, Nick would have vaulted off his horse, stomped up the steps and blown through the front door of the house like a Pacific ocean typhoon. Instead, he sat quite still upon Coco, their youngest brother cradled in his arms.
"Nick, what happened?" cried Victoria.
"Not completely sure, Mother, and the telling of what I do know will have to wait." Nick looked back to Jarrod. "Let me hand him down to you. Heath's got at least one busted rib and I'm afraid that it will do more damage if we're not careful."
Snapping into action, Victoria directed one of the men to get one of the planks they used for mending the shed last week. In less than a minute, the breathless ranch hand was back and laid the board on the ground next to Coco. Hands reached up and relieved Nick of his burden with amazing gentleness. Silas had already taken action and returned from the kitchens with strips of towels the men tied together to form belts that would hold the injured man in place under his arms, waist and knees.
Nick drew some of the other men who were standing back toward him.
"The man that did this to Heath is out there." Nick punctuated his words with a wide sweep of his arm that encompassed all the darkness that lay beyond the light pouring from the house. "He's threatened to finish what he started. I need some volunteers to set up a guard around the house."
The outsider two years ago that had fought for the respect of this crew would have been honored to see that every man in the group stepped forward and raised his hand to assist.
Nick busted out in a true grin for the first time all evening. "All right then. Jake, Rizzo and Mahoney, set up a perimeter and rotations for the watch. Ciego, I need you to saddle up and head to town for Doc Merar and the Sheriff. You all have my families deepest gratitude – and mine." Nick turned on his heel and ran into the house, vaulting the steps in his hurry to return to Heath's side.
Jarrod and three other men each had a corner of the board that held Heath and they were cautiously negotiating the stairs. The two men near the top held the head of the board near their waist, while Jarrod and the other man on the lower steps held the board chest high, ensuring that the injured man was held level.
Once they safely reached the top landing, Nick took the steps two at a time and beat them into Heath's room only to find his mother finishing turning down his bed. He needed something to do and fortunately Victoria knew her son only too well. "Did you send someone for the doctor?" Nicked nodded assent. "Audra is gathering bandages. Go to Silas and get a basin of warm water, soap and towels." Nick raced out of the room just as the other men brought Heath.
As carefully as possible, the men laid Heath on his bed. She could barely recognize her son under all the mud and blood. His clothes were torn in places and she decided it would be easier if she simply cut them off. There was nothing to salvage. She would need to bathe Heath and clean his wounds, Victoria thought. His clothes were torn in places. Sadly, with so much experience, Victoria had known to layer a blanket between sheets under her son. Once they'd cleaned him, the soiled sheet could be stripped and the clean one left beneath so as to not disturb her son.
Nick arrived with the basin. Victoria insisted that the water was replaced over and over and Audra moved like a ghost through the room changing the water before it could be requested. While in the room, his little sister's eyes rarely left Heath's face and her stricken look was almost too much for Victoria. She focused her concentration back to her son lying so still on the bed. Each rasping breath, both a blessing and a curse. Blessed because each breath kept him with them while the labored sound reminded all within earshot of the gravity of his injuries and illness. Nick picked up another towel and helped as much as he could, but left his brother's wounds to her sensitive touch.
Victoria was frightened for her son's life. Most of his injuries looked to be at least a day old. The edges of his shoulder wound were an angry red and telltale streaks were snaking away from the wound. She did not need to be a doctor to diagnose the signs of blood poisoning. His fever caused glowing red spots on a face far to pale from the loss of blood.
Heath's head wound was just above his left temple. His hair was matted with dirt and blood, so Victoria dipped her cloth in the solution of water and carbolic soap and held it as gently as possible over the gash so as to loosen the dried matter. As she did this, Heath tried to turn his head away. Hoping that he might be coming around, Victoria urged, "Wake up Heath. Come back to us, sweetheart. We're all here waiting for you."
Nick, ever the most direct of her offspring, rephrased her cajoling words into an imperative. "Stop keeping us waiting, boy. Open those baby blues and stop scaring our mother." Victoria shouldn't have been surprised Heath started to respond. His eye's opened, betraying confusion, before focusing on his brother Nick's face. Like seeking out the North Star, it seemed Heath's awareness and recollection coalesced the moment he set eyes on his older brother.
Heath felt tender hands smooth back his hair and dab at the gash on his head. Though her actions caused him some pain, the tender repetitive movements, the ever-familiar light lavender scent she wore and simply her loving presence gave him a feeling of homecoming and security that almost two days ago he feared he might never experience again.
Heath tried to speak, but a sudden fiery band of pain around his chest robbed him of breath. With his effort to communicate frustrated, Heath's breathing became more strained. As he struggled for breath, all of his movements became more agitated and Victoria feared that he would do his injuries more harm.
"Nick, he seemed to respond to you. We need to calm him down."
Pull a chair up to the left side of Heath's bed and took his hand. "Ok, Heath. Remember out on the trail. Breathe for me now – slow and easy. Slow and easy – that's it Heath." Looking down at his brother he saw the pleading in his eyes and knew that he needed something. "Don't try so hard, Heath. Catch you breath and give yourself a minute. I'm not going anywhere."
Heath's breathing settled and he attempted again to tell Nick what he needed so desperately. Barely above a whisper, he asked, "My shirt." Nick looked at him confused until Heath moved his hand just enough to point out the remnants of his shirt lying on the floor in a forgotten heap. "Please, Nick… shirt." Nick walked across the room in confusion, but picked up the shirt and brought it over to his brother. Heath motioned down and Nick laid it across his chest. His hand struggled through the folds with agonizing slowness. Jarrod arrived at the door, leading Doc Merar, when they paused to watch the scene unfolding in the room that had everyone else's rapt attention.
Heath's hand found his breast pocket and encircled the small package within. Almost instantly, he knew that something was wrong. The silk material was stiff with blood and it seemed so much thinner than before. No, dammit no, he thought, as he pulled the small package from his shirt pocket. Laying it on his chest, his shaking hand tried to open the edges of the material, but the blood had dried and stuck the folds together. Closing his eyes, he tried to hold back the tears of frustration when he heard Nick's stricken voice – an echo of his own thoughts. Both his brothers new how important this gift was to Heath. "Oh, Heath. The anniversary present." If anything, hearing his brother put into words what he couldn't, seemed even more demoralizing. And then he felt the lightest of touches on his chest. He opened his eyes to see his mother cradle the small package as if holding a tiny injured bird in her palm as she peeled back the stained material.
Victoria looked down at the delicate golden hair comb. She could still make out what had been delicate dangling fushia attracting the attention of two tiny hummingbirds with jeweled eyes. Heath knew that she tended hanging baskets of her favorite flower just for the pleasure of sitting out on the veranda and watching the tiny birds sip their fill of the sweet nectar. From the damage, she knew that Heath must have fallen, crushing the intricate filigree, his blood painting the design like unintended enamel work. As she lifted her eyes, she met devastated blue ones, glassy with unshed tears.
The room was so still that all heard the words that were barely uttered louder than a whipster. "Mother, wanted my…my present to be…special. Show you how much… how much I love you….ruined…'m so sorry."
Victoria grasped the ruined comb to her heart and knelt beside her son's bed, cupping his cheek. Her own tears slowly coursing down her cheeks. "Heath, sweetheart. How could you be so wrong? The greatest anniversary gift your father or anyone else has could ever give me is to be surrounded by the four children that God saw fit to give me. Dear one, you here and safely in my arms is the only gift a mother's heart could ever hope to desire." She bent over and kissed his forehead. When she looked up, she was rewarded with a smile tugging at her son's lips in one of Heath's lopsided smiles that so reminded her of Tom.
Dr. Merar cleared his throat to announce his presence and maybe also to relieve the tightening in his throat that he felt upon witnessing the exchange between mother and son. Pointing to the young man in bed, he remarked, "This package looks like it's been roughly handled as well. Everybody out - except Victoria. I have my work set out for me to make sure that your mother's gift stays in one piece.
TBC…