I'm so sorry that it's been a while. RL and massive writer's block have conspired to keep me away from my writing and my computer.
Chapter 24As Lily walked to the barn, she knew that she was fixing for a fight. On one level she could understand that she was unreasonably annoyed with the blond cowboy. She wasn't so old that she couldn't remember what it was like be on the receiving end of a bit of harmless flirtatious teasing.
That last thought brought her up short. Flirtatious? Suddenly Lily felt her skin burn right from her collar to the roots of her hair. In the last four years, Lily had redefined herself. When her husband died she thought that that part of her that could be affected by the teasing comments of a man had been buried with her husband. The few men that had crossed her path had easily been ignored or outright repelled. Maybe she was mad at Mr. Barkley because there was something about him that she couldn't seem to easily ignore.
Lily could almost hear Agnes say - wouldn't be 'cause that boy is right pleasin' to the eye now?
Lily ruefully smiled to herself. Could be Heath Barkley was more "pleasin' to the eye" than any man she'd ever known. She felt a pang of regret - maybe she was betraying her Paul's memory. Her husband had been solid, earthy and honest like the fields that he had loved and tended. No one would call him handsome - not in the same league as this newcomer. But the light in his dark eyes as shared his dreams with her, held his baby girl in his arms or just held her close, would make her heart swell with love.
Well, he'd be moving on tomorrow, she thought as she placed her hand on the barn door. If she were half honest with herself, Lily mused, she'd have to admit that maybe she'd enjoyed verbally crossing swords with the cowboy. Maybe her annoyance was just about traveling an old road that no longer had any familiar landmarks. She could at least be civil and enjoy the stranger's beguilingly crooked smile. She smiled to herself. Rose had drawn a full-fledged grin from the cowboy. She wondered what it would take to get one of those for herself? Somehow, she didn't think that telling Barkley he was "pretty" would work for her as it had for Rose. Even if she had secretly agreed it was true. Lily's lips curled in another smile of her own that soon ended in a soft sigh. In five minutes she's have his stitches out and a few hours after that he'd be on the road headed away from their little cottage. No sense in making a moon-eyed fool of herself. She schooled her features and entered the barn.
A single lantern illuminated the area around the cowboy with its meager golden light, revealing him stooped over the cot spreading the blankets that she had given him a short time ago. Lily was surprised that Barkley had put his shirt back on and buttoned it up again, though the tails this time were not tucked into his pants. She'd only been gone ten minutes. The men she'd met had rarely shown any modestly much less concern for her feminine sensibilities. Lily was fast beginning to believe that this man was different from most she had known.
Not realizing that she had stopped, Lily was surprised when the cowboy turned suddenly. Upon seeing her, his head tilted to the side and he favored her with a rueful half smile.
Half concerned that he'd think she was ogling him - maybe she was just a little disconcerted - she addressed he in what her ears recognized as her "annoyed mommy voice."
"Mr. Barkley."
Almost in the same instant, Heath addressed Lily as well.
"Miz Stuart. I…"
Recognizing that he paused thinking that he had interrupted her, Lily raised a quizzical brow and waited for him to proceed.
Recognizing the opening, Heath forged ahead. Inexplicably, Heath found himself a bit tongue tided in this lady's presence. His hand reached up to loosen his collar. When it reached his throat, Heath realized that it was already unbuttoned.
Clearing his throat, Heath started awkwardly, "Uhh, Miz Stuart. I owe you an apology. The banter between your family reminded me of my own. Guess I got a bit too forward. Hope you can find a way to forgive me, ma'am."
"Your family?"
"Two older brothers and a younger sister."
"We reminded you of them?"
There was that little smile again. "Have to admit Mrs. Stuart is a one of a kind. But Rose kinda reminds me of my brother Nick."
"My little girl reminds you of your older brother?"
"Nick speaks his mind. There isn't a shy bone in his body."
"Some might not think that's a very attractive trait in a little girl."
"It's refreshing to hear a woman speak her mind and not defer to others or retreat to her sewing."
Suddenly, Lily was not so sure that they were talking about Rose anymore.
Realizing that his tongue had taken a left turn again, Heath quickly added, "Anyway, there's no sense in you going to the trouble to take out the rest of the stitches. I'll get them taken out by the doc in Markleeville."
BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBV
Heath seemed to pull his shirt off reluctantly. Lily mused that he may only have complied because of the scissors she wielded. As she gazed at the well muscled back, she smirked to herself that it was most unlikely that Heath Barkley was worried about an attack from a woman half a foot shorter and a world of muscle lighter. For some inexplicable reason, she regretted his discomfort.
Lily laid a hand just above the bullet wound, her fingers splayed over the taught, tense muscles of Heath's back. At her touch, the cowboy took in a hitched breath.
Her fingers tingled from the warmth beneath and something else Lily was not ready to identify. The feeling in her fingers traveled to lodge in her chest. An odd, heavy feeling lurched in region of her heart, making her consciously aware of the thrum of blood racing now through her veins. Her touch, so more sensitive than before, made her aware of fine, raised ridges beneath her fingers. Her eyes followed her touch. With more careful scrutiny, Lily could make out an entire network of scars that crisscrossed this man's back.
Almost without conscious thought, she lifted her hand and one lone finger traced its way down one of the scars.
Heath felt the hummingbird touch of Lily's finger as it traced an old wound. He flinched ever so slightly as the heat of her finger brought back an echo of pain from long suppressed memories. Self conscious, with years of fielding awkward and longwinded queries, Heath was taken off guard by this gentle young woman's response.
"Bastards."
Of all the responses that Heath could have anticipated, this was not one of them.
"What?" Heath turned his head, expecting to see the same emotions reflected in Lily's eyes he'd seen in so many others...pity, sympathy or revulsion. What he saw made Heath sense something in Lily that went deeper than physical beauty.
Her face locked in anger, was met with a rueful smile from Heath.
"I guess I have to agree with that."
Suddenly embarrassed, Lily realized that her choice of nouns was less than lady-like.
"I, uh, I meant... It's just that I can't imagine the kind of animal...I don't usually use that kind of language."
"I think you got it just right. War has a way of bringing out the worst in some men. Sometimes…the best. I saw both."
The rest of Heath's body turned around until he was facing Lily. The anger in her eyes that had been so evident a moment before was replace by a wide-eyed confusion.
"But you couldn't have been more than a boy."
Heath's steady gaze was a surer confirmation than any strongly voiced affirmative.
Suddenly the child of the man appeared in her mind's eye - tow-headed and slim, not yet filled out into the promise of the man before her. A dark specter appeared behind the youth, a whip descending toward the unsuspecting boy destroyed the imagine in Lily's imagination as surely as the young man's childhood had been shattered by the winds of war.
For the second time, Lily swore under her breath and turned away in embarrassment as she felt a betraying moisture in her eyes.
"You must think I'm a silly watering pot of a girl."
"I can't recall a time when a lady got angry to the point of cussing," one of those sweet, wry smiles flickered across his face again, "…at least not on my behalf." Heath knew that he was playing with fire, but one hand, almost of it's own volition, reached up to wipe a crystalline bit of moisture shed on his behalf.
Emerald eyes as deep and fathomless and rain drenched forest met his and cast a spell that held him in a moment of timelessness. Heath returned to reality moments later when he felt the gentle pressure of a small hand on his arm push gently to turn him around again. After a few more gentle snips from the scissors and gentle fingers smoothed a salve on the healing wound. Heath held his breath. He didn't release it until he heard the latch on the barn door drop gently into place.
Just as well, Heath thought. I'll be leaving in the morning
BVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVBVKnuckles were not designed to be punched through stall doors, Nick thought grimly as he eyed the results of his moment of unbridled frustration with his missing brother. He'd stalked out to the barn because watching the concern and fear grow in the faces of his loved ones in the house was almost impossible for him to endure. He was a man of action with every avenue for forward momentum in his search for Heath blocked by panned out leads and unanswered inquiries.
He was just about to leave when he happened to look up at a shadowed corner that held his saddle on a stand. An envelope lay on the seat of a saddle. The now too familiar and dreaded script indicated the contents were intended for him.
Most who knew the dark-haired rancher would have been shocked at the momentary panic that gripped Nick. As much as he wanted to know where Heath was, he dreaded what he might find out about Heath from the stalker's letter.
His need to know quickly overcame his dread as he picked up the letter and viciously ripped it open.
Mr. Barkley,
You don't seem to be very good at keeping an eye on your brother. Lucky for you, I'm much better at keeping him in my sights. If you want to see him alive one last time, you better take the road to Markleeville.
I'll know if you bring company.
Don't disappoint me. I'd just hate to disappoint you.
If you're not alone, you'll soon have the company of one very dead little brother.
Nick's fingers crushed the paper in a grip that spoke of his desire to do the same to the phantom writer's neck. He was no fool. This was a trap and Heath could already be dead.
Grimly, his hope was placed in the vicious threat of the killer that wished him to be there when Heath died. If that truly was his intention than heath was still alive. If Nick could get the jump on the killer, than they had a chance.
Ironically, Nick feared that if he found his brother before he dealt with the killer – he would be sealing Heath's fate and likely his own.
The crumpled paper fell from nerveless fingers to the barn floor – forgotten…
for now.
TBC…