Jarrod and Heath are on a road trip together when Jarrod is hurt in a fall from his horse. Heath takes him to the nearest farm for help, where he discovers a familiar farmer and runs into a familiar problem one more time.
Another Passage
Chapter 1
Heath reached for the coffee pot on the rock at the campfire and added some coffee to the trail hooch in his cup. "I really didn't think our brother was gonna take it as well as he did, you and me hitting the trail without him."
Jarrod was leaning back against a rock, sipping his own spiked coffee. "Well, Heath, you've been with us for three years now. You ought to know Nick blows hot and cold and can be as sweet as apple pie when you least expect him to be."
"We tossed a coin to see if it was gonna be him or me on this trip, you know – before you decided to come along."
"I didn't know but I figured you did," Jarrod said. "But since you were going to Turlock to see some stock and I was going to talk to the Mitchells about some land a client of mine is buying, I figured why not go together?"
"Even with Jingo on the sick list?"
"Big Louie over there is doing me fine," Jarrod said and looked toward the big black who was named after one of the hands who had caught him a few years earlier, only to be killed when his namesake threw him while the human Louie was trying to break him. Nick finished breaking him, and Big Louie the horse turned into a reliable mount.
"Turlock's one of those places I never spent much time in," Heath said and rested back against the same big rock. "The Mitchells are a big name there, huh?"
"The biggest," Jarrod said. "I've met John Mitchell once or twice and he makes me feel like the orphan boy at a picnic."
Heath chuckled.
"People say the Barkleys own Stockton," Jarrod mused. "Well, the Mitchells really do own Turlock."
The Barkley men had planned to be in Turlock by tomorrow night. They could have taken the train, but since Jarrod was meeting the Mitchells on one side of town and Heath was checking out stock a few miles away on the other side, they'd need horses and decided to just make a bit of a vacation out of it and ride down. "Do you have a set time to see these Mitchells?" Heath asked.
"No," Jarrod said. "I'll just head out to their place at some point. I thought I might like to check out that stock with you first. You can settle in at the local saloon while I talk to the Mitchells if you don't want to talk real estate."
"I'll take you up on that," Heath said. "I'm glad you decided to come along, though. You and me don't get to spend a lot of time together without looking after Nick being a part of it."
It was Jarrod's turn to chuckle. "There's still a lot of kid in Nick, but he's outgrown a lot of it too. You notice the number of brawls has gone down over the last year or so."
"Yeah, he is reining it in somewhat. You don't think something's wrong, do you?"
"I think when Miss Eleanor dropped him last year after he had that big to-do with one of the Morton's over her, she told him why she was dropping him and it made an impression. Miss Eleanor Briggs is not a woman to be fought over like a piece of property, and she's definitely not a woman who wants to spend much time taking the astringent to her man's split lips."
"Yeah, I kind of agree with you on that," Heath said, "and I think you're right. I think Nick is getting the message that he's not 25 anymore and the women who interest him aren't either."
They were quiet for a while, the silence broken only by the howl of a coyote far away. Modesto was up ahead about an hour's ride but they had opted to camp out just for the peace and quiet of it, so they enjoyed it. Tomorrow, through Modesto and by the end of the day, Turlock. The weather looked like it would be good so there shouldn't be anything to delay them.
The silence was broken when Heath tossed the little bit he had left in his cup into the fire and it sizzled. "Well, I'm turning in," he said and moved to curl up where he had made a bed of his saddle and blanket.
Jarrod said, "Good night," but did not turn in yet. He was more of a night owl than Heath was, used to working late or staying up late reading while Heath was more of a morning man. Jarrod just watched the stars for a while, fed the fire a little, thought about his meeting with Mitchell and planned it out in his head.
The next day found them up bright and early and on the road. It was a road, but not all that well-traveled today. When they stopped to rest the horses in Modesto and refill on coffee, they still hadn't run into anyone else. They kept on toward Turlock and stopped by a stream after a while to rest and water the horses. They still hadn't run into even a stage coach. A hawk of some sort was annoyed with them and gave them a scolding from a branch high above, but that was the only sound. Not even the sound of a train far away.
"The wind is blowing the wrong direction," Heath decided. "Either that or the train is held up again somewhere."
"Mm," Jarrod agreed. He looked around. There were patches of trees but mostly open ground. No cattle or horses, just some grain crops. The road was passing through a farm here, and not far ahead was a lane that went back through the trees, probably to the farm house. Other than that, there wasn't much around.
They mounted up and started on again, when suddenly Jarrod's horse inexplicably stumbled. The horse went down, Jarrod was thrown – and landed head first against a rock.
Heath pulled up and ran to help. Jarrod's horse was up again but limping. Jarrod was moving, but barely, and moaning. Heath got beside him, saying, "Take it easy, don't move."
Jarrod didn't move much. There was blood pouring down the side of his face and he was basically senseless.
"Jarrod, can you hear me?" Heath said as he pulled a clean kerchief out of his pocket the started trying to keep up with the blood, but as usual with head wounds, it was flowing considerably.
Jarrod didn't say anything.
Heath tied the bandana around the wound as best he could and got up to check on the horse. It was limping, but its bad leg was not broken. The horse still couldn't carry Jarrod though, and Jarrod wasn't staying upright anyway.
Heath looked at the lane that went off through the trees. The closest help had to be down that lane, maybe not very far. "Jarrod, come on, can you get up?"
"Mm – " Jarrod said.
Heath helped him up but he couldn't stand. He was able to help get himself up onto Heath's horse, and Heath mounted up behind him, grabbing the reins of Jarrod's horse. Jarrod went limp just after Heath turned down the farm lane.
Heath moved as fast as he could and hoped whatever farm house was down here wasn't five miles away. He got lucky. In only about a mile, a small house and barn appeared. There was a woman in the yard, a young woman plainly dressed like any farmer's wife, who saw them coming and retreated to the porch, but stopped there when she saw they were in trouble.
Heath pulled up, and just as he was about to ask he saw that the young woman was very far along in a pregnancy. He asked anyway. "Can you help us? My brother took a fall when his horse here stumbled."
The young woman came down from the porch, and Heath took it as a signal to dismount. She tried to help as Heath eased Jarrod from the saddle, but Jarrod was too big a man for her to keep upright on her own. "Let's get him inside," she said.
Between the two of them they got Jarrod into the house and into a bedroom and a bed. By now he wasn't even groaning when they put him down and the young woman began to undo the bandana bandage.
That was when another woman came in, and Heath saw her – and straightened like a bolt of lightning had hit him. The older woman recognized Heath too, and her face took on pure distress, but she only hesitated a moment before she said, "I'll get some hot water and a towel," and then she went back out into the kitchen.
Heath looked down at Jarrod on the bed. His brother was flat out unconscious, and Heath was almost glad about that. He wasn't going to like what he found when he woke up. "I take it you're Mrs. Grant," Heath said to the young woman sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to get the blood flow from the wound stopped.
The young woman looked up with big brown surprised eyes but said only, "Who are you?"
"My name's Heath Barkley," Heath said. "This is my brother, Jarrod. And you're supposed to be in Mexico."
The woman looked startled, confused. The older woman came back in, carrying a bowl of hot water and a towel. She and Heath locked eyes again before the young woman stood up, took the bowl of water and set it on the night table beside the bed. "Mr. Barkley, you better see to your horse. There's room in the barn for both. We'll look after your brother."
Heath nodded, but before he left the room, he looked at the older woman and asked, "Where is Mr. Grant?"
"Out in the field," Eliza Grant said.
Heath just nodded and went out to take care of the horses, to see what he could do with Jarrod's injured horse, but now he had a boatload of problems in his lap. Jarrod's injury, the injured horse and of all the farmers to run into – the Mormon Hebron Grant, his wife Eliza, still in California, and now – another second wife?
Another plural marriage, illegal in California. Heath knew that's what was going on here. And when he woke up, Jarrod would know it, and they would be right back into the mire they'd slogged through not quite a year ago in Stockton.
This was going to take some sorting out, but one thing at a time. Heath took the horses into the barn and unsaddled both of them before he took a look at the injury to Jarrod's horse. But he was distracted when someone came into the barn, blocking the sunlight coming through the door.
Heath looked up at Eliza Grant, who just said, "Hebron should be back in another hour or so. Mr. Barkley is unconscious – I fear he might need a doctor and we – " She stopped.
Heath said, "You don't trust a doctor. Nobody knows you're out here living like this, do they?"
Eliza slowly shook her head. "No."