It really wasn't sneaking downstairs. Not really. You could call it enjoying emancipation from undue supervision. Heath smiled to himself at the thought. With his good right arm firmly grasping the banister, Heath crept down the back stairs as stealthily as a banged up cowboy could. It was 5 am, his normal waking up time. He had sort of enjoyed his first non-drug induced sleep last night in five days. He had to put his foot down with his mother who was more intent on following the letter of the doctor's orders in regard to anything involving one of her children's health. Heath had to admit to himself that the aches and pains woke him up during the night. But it was so good to wake up without the cotton wool-wrapped brain as he had for the last few mornings.
The only member of the family that he couldn't fool was standing at the bottom of the back stairs in the kitchen with a cup of coffee already poured and waiting.
"Mr. Heath, yor mama find out that you up and about this early and I'll not be hang'n around to protect you." Silas handed Heath the coffee cup, served up black as a witch's heart, and the settled into a companionable silence as Silas readied breakfast for the rest of the sleeping Barkleys and Heath eased himself into a chair. Another note of mild revolt was the fact that he was not wearing a sling this morning. Silas gave a pointed look at the blonde's shoulder and then looked the boy in the eyes with a note of censure that even Victoria would approve. Heath favored him with a lopsided grin and produced a perfectly hemmed scrap of material that seemed to have been cut from the same maroon cloth as his shirt. He waved it half-heartedly like a flag of surrender.
"Don't remember dat doctor say'n you could go without that, Mr. Heath."
"Not you too, Silas? I need to move it around some or it'll shrivel up like a twig and then there goes my career as a concert pianist."
Heath heard Silas harrumph in annoyance and grumble something about how Tom Barkley bred himself some cheeky young'uns. Soon the conversation turned to what had been going on at the ranch while you cowboy had been in bed. Silas was a font of information as usual. His abiding ways coupled with his keen observation often helped Heath gain perceptions on trouble brewing with one of the hands. Though Heath had breakfast with his family on occasion, he enjoyed his time with Silas. The butler had an innate sense for when the newest Barkley needed some space or a friendly ear. Nick had never quite mastered the gentle art of companionable silence. He seemed to think that quiet was a vacuum and like nature, he abhorred it and used his own voice to fill it. Jarrod could sit quietly for hours but Heath sometimes thought that he could actually hear his thoughts grind on like well-oiled gears. There is nothing comforting about a lawyer's silence, Heath thought with a gentle smile. He wondered if his father would have been so intimidating in his silence. Tom Barkley had the penetrating look of someone who knew how to make an errant boy squirm.
Then, too, Silas would not bug him for more details of the shooting that he didn't have. The time out on the porch last night had been followed by a family powwow in the parlor. Heath had filled the family on all of the details of what had happened to him on his way back from Sonora. He lost count of how many times Jarrod made him recount the details. He was sympathetic to their frustration, but was beginning to think they didn't realize that he was just as perplexed – and he had been thinking about it for a lot longer then they had.
After Nick had asked for the hundredth time, "Are you sure you didn't get a look at his face? Recognize his voice, " Victoria saw her youngest son's remarkable patience start to give way.
"No and No. But if you ask me that one more time, Nick, I swear there won't be any problem identifying the guy who shoots you."
Nick grinned broadly with a smile that said "Moi?"
Always the peacemaker, Victoria soothed, "Nick, I don't think there is anyone in this room that would like more to identify the man that shot him than Heath."
"I know mother, I just thought that with that bump on the noggin, this poor boy could use some help shaking those memories loose." Heath's eyes rolled first to his mother and then to his oldest brother. No immediate assistance was forthcoming to deal with his annoying brother and, in fact, Jarrod seemed to be trying, unsuccessfully, to suppress his own grin. Instead, Heath got up stiffly and pleading exhaustion, said that he was heading for bed.
Immediately, Heath could see that Nick thought he'd said something to truly annoy him, since the doubt and regret was etched clearly on his big brother's face.
Heath was truly tired and sore since he had stopped taking the pain medication that same day. He looked up at the stairs and they looked as hard to scale as a sheer cliff wall.
Standing in the doorway, he though back over his shoulder, "That's power lot of stairs for this poor boy to climb. What are ya' waiting for Nick? You may not be as good a ranch hand as me, but your one bang up nursemaid."
Nick affectionately grumbled as they made their way up the stairs. However, when Heath faltered halfway up the stairs, a brotherly arm snaked out swiftly around the younger brothers waist and steadied him as they continued their climb. The gesture was not lost on Victoria, Jarrod or Audra as they exited the parlor, as well.
Now, Heath contemplated the plate of eggs, ham and biscuits that Silas put in front of him. And he realized he wasn't the only one breaking the rules. The doc had said 'light' foods and lots of liquids through the weekend – and he knew that Silas heard it as well. Heath arched an eyebrow at his friend.
"Well that's what you came down here for – b'sides keep'n ol' Silas company. Eat up boy or are you fix'n to get us both in trouble with yor mother?"
Heath closed his eyes as he forked a piece of ham and eggs into his mouth. After almost a week of soup and porridge, the ham tasted like ambrosia. "No sirree, Silas. We're in this together. MmmmMmm. Jus' keep it comin."
As Heath buttered his last biscuit, the back door banged open and Nate Bailey, one of the stable hands, came running into the kitchen. Well, Heath amended, at elven years old, Nate was more of a stable boy, but no one would ever hear that from Heath. Nate's dad had been a ranch hand on a neighboring ranch, when he was killed protecting the herd from rustlers last winter. Heath had run into the boy at the livery, practically begging for odd job. Heath found out that he and hi mother were left almost penniless and the small bit of money the rancher had settled on them had long since run out. The boy had elected himself the breadwinner to replace his father and his mother was trying to find a job as a cook in town, but neither had much luck. It didn't take much fancy talking to convince Jarrod that they could use Rachel Bailey to cook and look after the bunkhouse. After some grumbling about 'running a working ranch and not a boarding house," Heath's appeal to Nick's soft heart on behalf of the Bailey's was successful. For six months, the boys in the bunkhouse had been spoiled rotten with great home cooking. They even helped the young widow out by paying her to do their wash. Nate went to school every day on his owe pony, but took his responsibilities as 'breadwinner' quite seriously. Every morning before classes and when he returned, Nate helped out in the barn caring for the horses.
"Mr. Barkley, Charger's putting up a bit of a ruckus and I cain't calm him down to get in the stall and see what's worry'n him. Da ya' think you could take a look?"
Heath had barely opened his mouth when Silas replied instead, "Now look her Nate. Mr. Barkley's been feeling poorly. Go find you one of the hands."
"They're all eating Mr. Silas and I wouldn't be here if'n one of them would come with me."
"Now, Silas. Moseying over to the barn won't hurt me a bit. I could use a stretch of the legs."
"All right, Mr. Heath. But you wear that sling right now and take care. If yor not back in fifteen minutes…"
"Sure, Silas. Send out the cavalry."
Silas fussed a bit and helped Heath settle the sling around his neck. Heath was actually a little relieved to have it on, since his shoulder was throbbing again from .
Nate's eyes glowed as he looked back at his employer. Everything good that happened to him in the last six months was associated with the blonde cowboy. He had a fair share of hero worship for Heath, who treated him just like one of the other hands. Nate loved to watch Heath work with Charger and badgered him for tips so that he could be a top wrangler too.
"Come on Mr. Barkley."
"It's Heath, Nate, for the last time or I'll not be following you anywhere, pardner."
"All right… Heath," Nate tried it out and smiled like he'd just been given his first beer. "But you're gonna half to tell my mom it's OK or she'll think I'm getting familiar."
Heath laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. "Why after six months, you'd better be familiar by now."
When they reached the barn, Heath immediately could tell that something was wrong with Charger. Concerned about Charger's restlessness, Heath told Nate to stay outside the stall. The boy scrambled up the side of the stall wall so that he could get a look at what Heath was doing.
Heath could tell that Charger's nicker of greeting had an edge. The way that Charger was holding his left hoof gingerly and running it along the ground made him think that something was wrong with that leg. Settling down awkwardly on one knee, Heath ran his right hand up and down the horses leg, feeling for hot spots. It felt sound, so he tapped the back of the horses leg and the well-trained Charger lifted his hoof to present it to his trainer. Immediately, Heath saw the problem. Wedged in the hoof was a splinter of wood that Heath extracted without too much trouble.
"Just a splinter, Nate. Funny though, there doesn't seem to be any fresh gouges in the wood of chargers stall. Has anyone taken him out, Nate?"
Heath was just attempting to get to his feet when he heard an ominous sound and pivoted slightly. In the corner of the box, half concealed by the straw was a rattlesnake looking rather annoyed. Awkwardly frozen in a half crouch, Heath warned Nate in a gentle whisper, "Don't move."
Just as Heath was mentally running down his very short list of options, Nick's voice bellowed from the barn door.
"Heath Barkley, consider yourself summoned into the presence of our very annoyed mother."
As Nick approached the stall, something didn't feel right about how Nate was perched on the stall wall without even moving his head or hollering a friendly greeting. Nick was in the doorway of the stall before he even saw Heath frozen in an awkward position, his good hand wrapped in Charger's mane as if to pull himself up.
Heath looked over pointedly at his brother and whispered only one word, "rattler."
Nick slapped his hand to where his gun would have been if he had buckled it on. He'd only been going out to the barn to see Heath before sitting down to breakfast. Nick had no inkling that he would need it so desperately this morning.
Before Nick could think of an alternative plan, all of his options were taken away from him.
The rattler sounded his deadly warning yet again and Charger's instinctive fear got the getter of him. The horse reared up as if trying to find a way to climb out of his stall. Loosing his grip on his horse's mane and shoved off balance by the horses jostling, Heath's precarious balance was lost and he started to fall forward and into the striking range of the deadly snake.
With no time to even think, Nick did the only thing that he could to protect his injured brother. He dove into the stall, placing his body as a shield between Heath and the coiled serpent. Like a scaly bullet, the rattler struck Nick's thigh, sinking his fangs deep into the unresisting black denim and flesh.
TBC…