I do NOT own The Big Valley nor any of the original Big Valley characters. Thanks to my Beta Reader, though all mistakes are my own.

End of the Rainbow

Chapter Two

"Patrick Barnes," Cat stood in the door way to the bedroom with her arms crossed, "just what do you thinks you be doin'? Doc said for you to be stayin' in bed for a good three days and it's barely been over a day. Back in bed with you!" 'Patrick' would have argued, but a pain had shot up his side and it was strong enough to force him to lie down.

"See," Cat hurried over by his side when she saw the look of sheer pain that came upon his face, "I be right and so be the doctor." She laughed as the man growled softly; he reminded her of her own father when he got hurt. He had never liked being confined when there were things to be done. Apparently, the man before her was the same way.

"I have to do something to earn my wage 'round here." Patrick looked at the woman who had saved him from who knows what. "I can't just lie around."

Cat put her one hand on the headboard and the other one on her hip. "Listen 'ere lad." She had to hold back a laugh at the raised eyebrow the man gave her when she called him lad, probably had something to do with the fact that he was, most likely, older than she was. Oh well, he could live with it, "there' be plenty of work for you when you're whole again; after all, 'tis a workin' farm I 'ave 'ere, and every one that takes shelter under this roof is expected to work."

Patrick started at the words she spoke; there was something familiar about them, but there wasn't. His head started to hurt as he tried to remember. The more he tried to remember, the worse it hurt. In fact, it got so bad he actually grabbed his head with his hands. Cat flew to the cupboard and took down some medicine she kept in store for such occasions. Before long her patient had some relief from the pain.

"Now, you won't be movin' will you?" Cat once again folded her arms and looked sternly at the man before her. She figured if the man was going to act like a stubborn mule, she could too.

Patrick couldn't help but stare. There was something awfully familiar in the woman's stance and in the way she held her ground. But what? It was obvious she had no clue to who he was, so it couldn't because they'd met before. "Yes, ma'am." He answered.

Cat chuckled, "Name's Catraoine O'Brian, Miss O'Brian or just plain Cat, but not ma'am. I'm not bein' your wife and I 'm not your bloomin' mother! I'm just a cousin you be stuck with for now!"

Now it was Patrick who chuckled. She spoke the truth, guess he could oblige her. "Yes, Cat." He knew if the two of them were to continue passing him off as her cousin, he had to call her by her first name, and there was no way he was going to try to say Catraoine. If he had known who was visiting the Millers at the time, he would have changed his mind.

Heath and Jarrod stood outside the three bedroom home belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Miller. Mrs. Miller, a friendly Dutch woman, shook her head as her visitors explained what they were doing at her home. "Naw, I've seen no new faces around here. My Paul, he went over there to the O'Brian home," she pointed to the small home off in the distance, "to help Cat with her cousin the other day, but Mr. Barnes is the only 'new member', as it were, to this small community. From what he, my husband, says, the man is hurt and mending so if ya are thinking to go there, I'd think again. That poor woman has it hard enough tending to that there farm and a hurt cousin without worrying about keeping an eye out for anyone."

Remembering the name from the day before, they both recalled the young woman saying she was keeping quite busy tending to her injured cousin and had no time for much else. That being the case, they mounted their horses and rode the other way. By the time night fell, they'd had no choice but to send a telegram to the family telling them Nick had gone missing and they were going to continue looking in the next town down.

The stars shone through the slightly opened window, sending a nice, cool, gentle breeze though the room. Patrick, who was propped up against the extra pillows Cat had brought in to him, was again looking at the boots, the black vest hanging on the wall, the spurs and the black Stetson that set on the dresser, "The items be yours…" "What about Patrick Barnes? Me mum's sister, she lives in New York, married a man by the name of Barnes. Can ye be livin' with that name until ye 'as your own back, lad?" He would have to live with it for now.

From his bed he could see, and hear, Cat singing while she worked on supper; the bedroom door was opened and the kitchen was right in view. While he truly appreciated the compassion the young woman was showing him, and he did love the words to the song, he wished there was a polite way to ask the woman not to sing. As it was, it sounded like every animal within hearing range knew the same song. He was more than grateful when she quit and brought him his supper. Her cooking turned out to make up for the bad singing; bangers and mash seemed an odd thing to call sausages and mashed potatoes, but it was delicious, so much so he even asked for seconds.

Seeing how she wasn't that hungry, Cat walked over to the small chest that set up against the window and opened it. 'Patrick' was surprised when she pulled out a flute and sat down. How was he to know it was her nightly habit to play the instrument? "Hope she plays better than she sings," he couldn't help but think. He was amazed as she began playing, any animal who thought they'd found the perfect spot to sing had to leave. Cat's ability to play the long silver instrument was a definite improvement over the singing. He didn't realize it, but he'd been frowning. Now, a smile slowly spread over his face as he allowed himself to get lost in the beautiful music coming out of the instrument.

As if she could read his mind, Cat stopped playing for a second and smiled, "Don't worry, next time I cook, I'll be findin' some cotton to plug your ears with." He stared at her as she laughed and went back to playing the flute. No one had to tell her how bad her singing was; she already knew!