He rolled hard to his left and up on to his knee to get off Nick, to free Nick to get to his handgun if he was able. As he rolled, he grabbed a piece of the cottonwood littered all about the ground and threw it as he came up. He saw Leg Wound turning toward him as he came up and threw. He watched the gun come around in the weak morning light, watched the sights line up. He really wished he'd not had to trade his handgun in for that wood plane in Pinecrest. He was thankful to hear Nick's gun fire just as the sights of that other gun lined up on his chest.
As soon as he realized he wasn't going to die, he wrapped his arms around his sore ribs and let his head fall to his chest. He slowly lay down on the ground on his back, his arms still around his middle and closed his eyes.
"Heath, Heath, are you okay? MY GOD BOY. Heath, you okay?" Nick was all over him, his hands on his shoulders, lifting him up bending his sore middle.
"You saved my life," he said to Nick, the wonder of that moment clear in his voice, in the small smile on his face.
"I SAVED YOUR LIFE. YOU IDIOT. WHAT HAPPENED TO DUCKING? DID YOU REALLY THROW A LOG AT HIM? Are you okay?" Nick was holding him up supporting him with an arm around his shoulders, this big brother who had saved his life.
He laughed. It hurt his ribs but he couldn't help himself, he laughed. "Don't have a side arm."
Nick joined in his laughter, the two of them sat there, laughing at cowboys without side arms and not being dead on a beautiful morning. Nick's arm supporting him, forgotten as the two laughed at the absurdity of not being dead.
"You're okay then?"
"Yeah, just sore ribs." He pulled away from Nick and started to get his feet organized for standing up.
Nick moving faster with his not sore ribs, got to his feet and offered him a hand up, grabbed under his elbow and supplied the lift he needed. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
They walked over and looked at Leg Wound. He was dead. Shot in the chest. Nick liked the chest shot, nothing wrong with that. Shoulder Wound wisely remained silent.
"I'm thinking, I'm just going to take one of these gun rigs," he said to Nick. After the fright he'd just gotten, his brother nearly killed, he'd better get himself a handgun.
"Yeah. I think you better." He couldn't see that well in the early light but he thought Nick was smiling at him. On the chance that Nick was, he smiled back.
They had the last of the ham and stale biscuits for breakfast and spent almost an hour sorting out horses and bodies before they got going to Jackson. The rest of the trip passed easily, mostly with Nick reminiscing about previous trips to Jackson and up toward Truckee. Heath rode in silence, listened to Nick and enjoyed the morning.
Nick knew the sheriff in Jackson and their business with him passed without mishap. Shoulder Wound was locked up and the rest of the bodies passed on to their final rest. The sheriff expressed no concern about Heath's appropriation of the revolver. An hour after their arrival in town, they had the three mares turned out in a corral at the livery and were eating lunch at the saloon, each with a cold beer at hand.
"We'll have to come back and testify in a week or so when the circuit judge comes through," Nick said into the silence that followed the two of them wolfing down a mediocre beef stew like they hadn't eaten in a year. Nothing like nearly dying to make you appreciate stew. Nick had pushed back his chair and was concentrating on his beer.
"Way I see it, we got two choices here. We can stay the night and ride all day tomorrow and the next day and get home around dark. Or we can start now and sleep on the trail, be home the next night." Nick looked at him quizzically.
This struck Heath as an absurd reduction in the number of choices they had and he sat silent, studied his empty dish.
"I'd normally opt for sleeping in the hotel and getting an early start. But I know Mother, Audra and Jarrod are very anxious for us to get home. So I think we should start now."
Heath looked up at the soft tone of Nick's voice.
"Come on, boy. It's time to go home."
He closed his eyes for a moment, lost in a sea of emotion. In those few moments, eyes closed, he could see a life, a life as a Barkley with brothers and a sister and a home, a life of such endless possibilities and hope. A dream of brothers, of family. Then he opened his eyes and smiled at Nick with such gratitude he could hardly speak.
"Thanks, Nick."
"Well, that's settled. Let's get going."
He shook his head gently. Nick lived in such a simple world of want and have, decide and do.
"I can't, Nick. But I thank you for the offer."
"What do you mean you can't? NOW HOLD ON a minute here." Nick brought his voice under control with a noticeable effort. He leaned forward toward him as if to make up for his lack of volume by proximity. "I admit I didn't believe you were my brother at first. I just didn't think my father could have… well, I just didn't think it was possible." Nick stopped again. "But, well after the last day… and… well, I think you're my brother, I believe it." Nick sat back, satisfaction evident in both his face and his whole way of holding his body. Nick was satisfied.
He smiled at him gently. "Nick, it doesn't matter what you believe. I'm not going back with you."
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WHY NOT?" Nick flew forward in his chair again, clearly exercising some considerable self-control in not reaching out with his hands to grab and shake him. "OF COURSE YOU'RE COMING HOME!"
"Think, Nick. What happens after I get to your home?"
"Well, we have dinner. You move back into your room. We work the ranch together. You're a Barkley. It's what Mother said: You're entitled to your share of Father's legacy." Nick smiled at him encouragingly.
"It's a nice dream, Nick, but I'm not your brother. I'm your father's bastard." He was again reminded of how naïve all of these Barkleys appeared to be, naïve about the danger in the world and about what moving through it not a Barkley required.
"NO. You're my brother, and don't use that word."
"What happens when your mother goes to town or your sister's friends won't speak to her? How will you feel about your long lost brother when someone turns their back on Audra and walks away without saying hello? Snatches their skirt away lest it brush against your mother's because she welcomed a bastard into her home?" He stood up, suddenly angry with these foolish, dreaming Barkleys and threw two bits down to cover his lunch.
He leaned forward toward Nick and rested his hands on the table. "Don't be a fool. I'm not the prodigal son coming home. I'm the sin of the father given flesh." Then remembering himself and what anger cost, he gave Nick a small smile. It had been so generous of this brother to offer his home, his family, his dream. He nodded at Nick and walked out of the saloon. Nick was impetuous, obviously, but he wasn't a fool. He would think. He would realize.
He stopped in the general store and bought a small bag of coffee beans. He'd missed that on the trail but his remaining coins wouldn't stretch to a very large bag. He bought a box of shells for the new handgun. He would need to spend a little time shooting to make sure he understood the weapon and could use it easily. It would take at least one box of shells before he was really comfortable with it. He wished he had enough cash for a second box but it was coffee or shells and weak soul that he was, he went with the coffee.
He wasn't really surprised to find Nick standing outside the livery, holding their two horses, saddled and ready to ride. Nick wouldn't give up without more talk. "We'll have to catch the mares," Nick said when he walked up to him.
He took Gal's reins and nodded his thanks. He walked over to the saddlebag, dropped the shells and beans in the bag and tied it shut again. His best plan was still River Pines or at least a nice meadow on the way to there. A place Gal could find enough grass and he could find enough rabbits, happily the two usually went together.
He stepped carefully into the saddle, still mindful of his ribs, not feeling any improved after the previous night's rolling on the ground. Gal remained rooted, Nick's hand on her bridle.
"I'm not sure how to argue with someone who doesn't speak," Nick said. "I guess all I can do is not let go."
"I spoke," he said. "I explained. Didn't you listen?"
"Yeah. I heard you. I don't agree."
He looked at Nick and replayed the conversation in the saloon in his head. There was nothing he'd said that wasn't true and obvious. There was nothing said to disagree with. He hoped he wasn't going to have to fight this man again. Would Nick really beat him senseless and drag him back to Stockton slung over the back of his horse?
"Let her go, Nick."
"No. I rode most of a hundred miles to find you. I want you to come back to Stockton with me. Come back and speak to my mother and brother. If you don't want to stay then, go. But come back. Talk to them."
This was the closest he'd ever seen Nick come to asking another person for something. Not demanding it as his right or ordering it because he wanted it so, but just asking as if the other person had a choice. He didn't know what was right to do here.
"Look, I need help getting these mares back. My mother asked me to find you. I'm asking, Heath. Come back and speak to her. Please."
He knew that last bit had hurt. Nick wasn't a man who asked easily and he had asked there, twice. He nodded to him. He'd go back. He didn't think it was wise but he couldn't see how he could say no to Nick asking. Nick let go of the reins and turned to his own horse. While Nick was mounting, he rode around to the back of the livery to catch the mares. They soon had the three horses roped and were on the trail by shortly after the noon hour.
With only the mares to lead and no wounded outlaws to worry on, they were able to move at a slow, ground-covering jog. The three mares were much more trail broke after three days of riding and readily followed the saddle horses. They were also getting distinctly foot sore, being unshod and unaccustomed to traveling such long distances. He figured they would be lucky to get in twenty miles before the mares started going lame on them.
The winter rains were now well past and the perfect weather of spring made the afternoon a delight, bright sun, a cool breeze and a perfect clear sky. He settled in the saddle and let his mind wander as his eyes scanned the passing country and Gal covered the miles.
He hadn't thought long on why Mrs. Barkley could possibly want to see him so much that she'd sent Nick all the way to River Pines to find him when Nick started in talking again. He was back on the many reasons why Heath should live with the family in Stockton. He listened, half amused and half amazed, as Nick revealed his simple worldview in his plans for Heath's future. He guessed maybe the man had never met a bastard before, was the only explanation he could come up with.
"You're worrying about nothing. My mother and Audra really want you to come back to the ranch. They want you to live there. If my father were still alive, he'd want you there as well. It's where you belong." At this last, patently untrue, statement, Nick threw his hand wide to include, he guessed, all of California or at least all the Central Valley as the place Heath belonged.
The gesture was too much for one of the young mares and she took exception, backed away and half reared. This so confused the other mare jogging next to her that she stopped as well. The two of them stopping at the same time was enough to almost pull Nick out of the saddle. Happily, when Nick's horse felt him falling backwards, the good old gelding put the brakes on and saved Nick the ignominy of falling off a nearly walking horse.
He smiled at that. Nick caught his eye and had the good grace to laugh at himself. Then still chuckling softly, he gave the two horses a gentle pull on their lead ropes and their cavalcade started back down the road. He decided that good-natured laugh deserved an answer.
"Nick, you don't know how folks react to a bastard. Just because your family decides they want me living there isn't going to make an end to the facts of my parentage." He had another go at explaining life to his older brother. He guessed all these Barkleys just thought the world would change to be the way they wanted. All they had to do was want and it was so. Strange way of looking at the world. He wondered how much money you had to have before everything looked so possible; the world looked so easy to you.
"My family wants you living there and we don't care what the rest of Stockton thinks about it." Nick glowered at him and he could only give him a half smile in return. He had no way to explain reality to this man who had lived all of his life protected from the real world by his wealth and his family. He wondered, did the Barkleys have enough money and prestige to protect them from the reality of Heath Thomson? Could he be wrong? Could the Barkley world really be different from the world he'd lived in all his life? Then he remembered Audra in Stockton and Jarrod at Sample's and Nick riding into that ambush. No, he decided, the real world was still the real world. He guessed Barkleys had just been very lucky so far, or when they got unlucky, they had a Heath Thomson around to save them from their naivety.
"How long is that going to keep you warm on a cold night?" he asked.
Nick looked at him confused and he guessed Nick maybe hadn't known any cold nights. He wondered how long all this Barkley desire to welcome the bastard at the hearth would last once their friends started crossing the sidewalk to avoid them? He didn't intend to stay long enough to be asked to leave. But maybe they did deserve more than he had given them. Maybe they were entitled to something in exchange for the memories of family they had given him.
He didn't want to talk to this family. He had nothing to say and nothing he wished to hear from them. He had what he needed for his life. He had wanted to see these people, to know about them, but he didn't want to live with them. He loved playing the 'what if' game. What if he had been born a Barkley? What if this was really his brother? But he was no Barkley to believe in fairy tales. This was not his family. This was not his brother. He had a family, a dead mother, Rachel and Hannah. He couldn't afford the pain of this fairy tale and he didn't think the Barkleys could either.
Nick spent the afternoon talking about the ranch and cattle and horses. He listened to him with half an ear, thinking. He rode silently beside his brother, tried to think of some way this would end without pain for all of them and could think of no happy ending that didn't involve him riding away at this very moment.
They rode until about 5:00 in the evening by which time the horses were more than ready to stop and Nick claimed he could eat a grizzly bear. They stopped by one of the many seasonal streams that were still running down out of the Sierras. He took the gelding and the lead ropes from Nick, led the horses to the water and watched Nick gather firewood while he waited for them all to drink. He again hobbled the mares and turned them out along with Gal. Nick groomed his gelding himself and hobbled him as well, talking all the while about what he would make for supper.
He wondered yet again about Nick's constant need for noise. The man couldn't go more than five minutes without talking about something. He kept half an ear tuned to him in case he said something important and otherwise let the sound wash over him. He found he enjoyed it, the stories, the small humorous comments on passing scenery, the remembrances of past trips and events. He found himself smiling often as the early evening passed, enjoying this conversation of brothers.
Nick proved to be a generous, if untalented, camp cook. He fried half a dozen slices of bacon and then threw in two cans of beans. The result was greasy from the bacon fat, hot and plentiful. Nick offered up fresh bread he had acquired at the saloon and it was all washed down with water. He thought it was a shame to waste all that good bacon and beans in such a haphazard fashion but it was a nice change from rabbit.
After washing up the dishes and pan, he walked back over to the fire, sat on his bedroll and leaned back against the underside of his tipped up saddle. He pulled out his makings and began working on a quirley while he listened to Nick tell him about how his brother had this great house in San Francisco and did all this law work there. He smoked and listened and thought how much of the world he would never see in his one short life.
"Okay, boy. I've been talking at you for six hours. Now it's your turn," Nick said, surprising him. He looked at Nick and waited to see if he had a question. He sure enough wasn't planning on talking at Nick for six hours.
"Well. What have you got to say for yourself? Where'd you grow up? Where'd you go to school? You got any family around here? Tell me about yourself. I'm curious to know about my new brother."