As soon as Jarrod's eyes laid on the piece of paper Nick had handed him, he knew what it was, the article Peter Doolin had written when their father had been shot to death, four years before. He didn't need to read it, he knew it word by word.

His father's face, so uncharacteristically serious, almost sad, looked back at him from the article picture eliciting waves of rough emotions and unpleasant memories. Jarrod's mouth instantly turned downward, his typical expression of when he was very worried and lost in deep thought. For a fleeting yet very intense moment, he was hauled back in time, to the day the Barkleys were suddenly deprived of their beloved husband and father, of the man who had given them guidance, advice, and support under any circumstance, the unwavering rock they all clung to.

They had thought Tom Barkley was invincible, that he was immortal. That day they faced an all different reality and learned the hard way how very human Tom Barkley really was. Their family, their certainties, their very lives fell apart in one fatal moment, and the ordeal they endured left them lost and broken-hearted. But, in time, they had been able to build on that loss, learning to lean on one another and tightening their iron bonds. The Barkleys stick together, he heard his father's deep warm voice, so much like his own, say.

Then, Jarrod's eyes shifted on the handwritten words, and his eyebrows plunged into a frown. He raised his eyes and gazed at his silent family. Victoria was sitting in her favorite armchair, her eyes downcast, her hands holding onto the armrests tightly. Audra's china-blue eyes were open wide, glossy and staring at him, like he had all the answers. Finally, Jarrod's eyes stopped on Nick, who in the meantime had taken his usual stance standing by the fireplace, a hand on the mantel, his eyes staring at the amber liquid in the glass he was holding in his other hand..

"What is this and where did it come from?" Jarrod inquired, referring to the paper clipping he still held in his hands.

Nick gulped down his whiskey, laid the empty glass on the mantel and turned toward his brother. "Sabrina," he just said, like if his wife's name alone could explain the whole situation.

"Sabrina? Would you care to elaborate, Nick?" Jarrod questioned impatiently, an eyebrow quizzically raised.

Nick sighed and blinked repeatedly. "The paper clipping was in Sabrina's hands. I assume Thomson gave it to her." He explained.

"Alright. What does Sabrina have to do with Thomson, and where is she now?" Jarrod pressed, as he visualized in his mind the kind face of the young man, the new ranch hand his brother held in so high esteem.

"She's in her room. She's been there for two days, since all this happened, and won't come out," Audra chimed in worriedly.

"What she has to do with Thomson is a mystery, my dear brother," Nick added bitterly. "She went out last night while we were sleeping. To meet him, I must assume." Nick said disgustedly. "She wouldn't tell us. She just threw that paper clipping at us."

Jarrod's eyes went back to the handwritten lines.

My dearest Heath, I honored my promise. Now you know who your father was. I love you, my son. Leah Thomson.

Does this mean… Jarrod quickly dismissed the pesky thought. For the moment. "Where is Thomson, now?" he inquired.

"Gone. Disappeared into thin air. Without a word. He didn't even collect his pay," Nick informed, beginning to pace up and down the room.

"Lloyd told me his former boss, Turk, hired him, and that they left that very morning," Audra added. Jarrod had been wanting to ask his sister about her beau, but he decided, right then and there, to procrastinate the matter indefinitely.

Nick stopped his pacing to point his finger at his brother. "I tell you, Jarrod, it is clear the two of them are up to something. Blackmail us, most likely. What a fool I was! I trusted that boy. I trusted my wife, damn it!" Nick cursed, slapping his thigh as to underline his point.

"Nick, that'll be enough," Jarrod rebuked, his eyes eloquently turning toward their mother, who didn't even raise her white-haired head.

"Oh, Nick, you don't think that Heath and Sabrina…?" Audra's voice trailed off as she saw the sufferance etched on her brother's face.

But it was too late, and Nick answered her question. "She had something that belongs to him and he's gone. Put two and two together, little sister," he said in a more subdued tone than she expected.

"Oh, no, Nick, you're wrong. Heath is the kindest…" Audra defended, but Jarrod raised his hand to silence her. He had heard enough from his siblings. There was only one person he wanted to listen to, because the questions crowding his mind right now weren't about what had happened between Sabrina and Thomson, they were about what had happened between his father and Thomson's mother.

Victoria raised her head to meet Jarrod's concerned blue eyes. "Mother?" He was sure his mother knew perfectly what he was thinking and what his unspoken question was all about.

Victoria remained silent, but her expressive eyes filled up with tears, and Jarrod knew the answer was "yes".

Jarrod nodded. His pragmatic lawyer's brain began to work, sifting through facts, discarding hypotheses, making connections. His head spun as he examined the possible consequences. That man, Heath Thomson, could be his brother.

"Oh, no, Jarrod, not you, too!" Nick burst out. "You don't buy that story, do you? " He pleaded shaking his head in frustration, pointing his finger to the paper clipping Jarrod was still holding.

Jarrod didn't reply, still searching for answers in the depth of his mother's eyes. "Come on, Pappy, come to your senses!" Nick insisted. He turned his head toward his sister. "Audra?" he asked, but all he obtained was a quizzical shake of the blonde head.

"What's the matter with you all, are you out of your minds?" he shouted.

Exasperated, Jarrod got to his feet and faced his brother. "Hush up Nick, let me think!" He snapped.

Audra rushed to her mother's side, a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, you two," she cried. "Can't you see how hard this is on Mother?" she reproached.

Suddenly, Victoria rose from her chair. "Stop it now, all of you," she shouted with firmness, but with such underlying anguish that her children winced. She closed her eyes for a moment. Then, she spoke calmly, staring blankly into space.

"He was an imperfect man, my husband... your father… and in so many ways that could hurt. But he never destroyed, only built and gave life. And then, one day, he made a terrible, wretched mistake, he died... before anyone really understood."

She paused and shifted her eyes first on Jarrod, then on Nick, finally on Audra and then back on Jarrod. "If that young man – Heath Thomson - were my son, I would say to him, 'Be proud, because any son of my husband has a right to be proud.. Live as he would live, fight as he would fight, and no one… no one! Can deny you his birthright." She gazed Nick intensely as she stressed these words.

Then, she lowered her eyes and spoke again, her voice now feeble, choked by the tears that were fighting their way outside her eyes. "That's what I would say to him... if he were my son."

In the astonished silence that followed, they all helplessly watched as the strongest woman they knew collapsed back into her chair, sunk her face into her hands, and began to softly sob.

Jarrod kneeled in front of her, reached out his hand and lifted her chin, searched into her sad, watery eyes. "Mother, I know you made it clear, but I have to ask again, are you sure?"

Victoria solemnly nodded her head.

So, it is true. Heath Thomson is father's son. He is… He is…

"…my brother," he murmured out loud.

Jarrod's heart trembled at his own inadvertently spoken words.

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