Chapter Seven. No More Than Two Beers.
On Friday, the doctor came by for Nick's one-week recheck and reported Nick was coming along fine.
"So, we can go into town?" Nick asked.
"For a while. I don't want you sitting a horse yet, but if you travel by carriage and don't get into any trouble—" He eyed both men. "I don't see a problem. But no barroom brawls. No fistfights. No getting drunk and stupid. Got it?"
Nick looked baffled. "Me? Get in trouble?"
The doctor pointed at Heath. "And I hear you're responsible for making sure he doesn't."
Heath closed his eyes. Going into town was a bad idea.
"No more than two beers, Nick. Two." The doctor held up two fingers. "Two regular-sized beers."
Nick scowled at Dr. Merar. "I'm taking my babysitter with me. Isn't that enough?"
"I don't want your arm to swell. You need to keep it elevated and not jar it around. You're not out of the woods yet. And, if I think much more about it, I'll change my mind and insist you stay home for another week."
"We'll be good," Nick said quickly. "No more than two beers. Promise."
As soon as dinner was over, Nick was cleaned up and ready to go. "C'mon," he hollered at Heath. "I'm not waiting for you forever." He fastened his gun belt.
Heath tapped down the stairs. "Hold your horses. I'm ready." He grabbed his hat and gun belt.
Ciego had the carriage waiting for them, and it wasn't long before they parked the horse and carriage at the livery stable. "Hurry up!" Nick yelled while Heath paid the attendant.
"Nick, you're wearing me out," Heath said, jogging to catch up.
Nick strode through the swinging doors at Harry's with his usual swagger, already eyeing the sparse crowd. It was still early, but it would no doubt fill up soon, Friday being payday for most hands. He pointed at a poker game with an empty chair in the back corner.
Heath followed him in. He hadn't yet been in a Stockton bar and knew no one except for a few Barkley hands.
Nick stopped at the bar. "Better give us a bottle and two glasses," he said. "Just put it on my tab."
"No!" Heath grabbed Nick's left arm. "You promised the doctor you wouldn't have more than two beers,"
Nick swung around with a huge grin. "That's why I'm drinking whiskey. I didn't make any promises about whiskey."
"Nick . . . ."
"Hey, if you don't like it, go find someone else to babysit."
Heath shook his head but grabbed the glasses and followed Nick to the poker table. At least Nick was in a good mood for a change. He seemed to know everyone in the place. The Barkley hands gathered round to see Nick's cast and to check on how he was doing. Nick ordered another bottle of whiskey for the hands to share, and they went back to the tables they were occupying.
"Okay if we join you fine gentlemen?" Nick asked at the poker table.
"Nick Barkley!" The man with his back to the room jumped up. "I heard you had a little accident."
"How you doing, Clyde? Wasn't really an accident, though. My brother here decided to use my arm for karate practice."
Clyde, a huge guy with a bulbous nose, turned his attention to Heath. "That your new bastard brother?"
"My brother," Nick said, an edge to his voice. "Just my brother."
"I thought he was the old man's bastard." Clyde yelled over to the Barclay hands, "Hey! Ain't this guy the old man's bastard?"
Nick's left fist was tight.
"Nick, don't," Heath said, putting a hand on Nick. "It's not worth it. Just walk away. Be the bigger man."
"Uh-uh. He's twice my size. No way can I be bigger than him." Nick jerked out of Heath's grasp and slugged the big man in the jaw with his left fist.
"Oh, Nick." Heath shook his head. "We just got here. Ain't even had a drink—"
The big man staggered back to his feet and grabbed Nick's shirt collar. He pulled back his arm.
"Dammit!" Heath pushed Nick out of the way. He ducked the left hook, but a right jab was right behind it. Heath absorbed the punch and slammed his fist into big man's chin.
Clyde rocked, but his fists were still tight. He swung around, catching Heath's cheek.
Nick punched Clyde with his left fist.
Clyde faced him, ready to punch again.
But Heath had recovered. He again pushed Nick out of the way, taking the punch intended for Nick. And it was a good one. Heath landed six feet away.
Nick grabbed a chair and smashed it over Clyde's head. Clyde fell like a pine.
Nick turned and looked at Heath. "You okay?"
Heath's nose was bleeding and his eye that was mostly healed from Nick's punch from the previous week was quickly swelling shut. "Yeah," he said a bit nasally and picked himself up. He poured himself a drink, but before he got it to his lips, a voice demanded, "Okay, who started it?"
"Nick and his brother," the bartender said.
The sheriff shook his head. "When will you ever learn?" He took Nick by the left arm and Heath by the right. "C'mon, boys. Let's go visit your private suite."
"But we didn't even get a drink yet," Nick protested.
"Tell it to the judge," the sheriff said tiredly. "C'mon."
Once they were in the cell, the sheriff tossed a towel at Heath. "Better try to stop that nosebleed," he said. "Do you need the doc to come over?"
"No," Heath said, accepting the cloth.
"Can you send for Jarrod?" Nick asked. "I think he's still in his office. He didn't make it home for dinner."
"In the morning," the sheriff said.
"But ain't drunk. Didn't even get a sip!"
The jail's outer door opened, and the sheriff turned to check who it was. "Oh, Jarrod, they were just asking about you."
Jarrod shook his head and walked into the cell area. "Really?" he said in a scolding voice. "It's not even eight o'clock yet."
"What were you doing? Following us to see if we got in trouble?"
"No. Just working late."
"At Big Annie's, huh?" Nick asked.
Jarrod pointed at Heath. "What happened to your face?"
"I hit a fist with it," Heath answered.
Jarrod smiled. "Anyway," he continued. "I saw the sheriff escorting you two down this way."
"Just get us out of here," Nick said. "Save the speeches for later."
Jarrod glanced back at the sheriff. "I might as well take them now."
"Only if you accept responsibility for them, pay the damages at Harry's, and take them straight home. You know they can't go back to the bar."
"I know." Jarrod stepped into the sheriff's office. "How much is their bail?"
The sheriff told him, and Jarrod paid.
The sheriff unlocked the cell. "You go straight home," he warned Nick and Heath. "Straight home."
Heath nodded.
Jarrod looked at Heath's eye and nose. "We better get some ice on that."
"When you get home, Jarrod," the sheriff said testily. "I'm releasing them into your custody on the condition you take them straight home."
"I know. I know."
As soon as they were outside, Jarrod looked at Heath. "What happened?"
"Just tried to protect my big brother."
"You did good, too," Nick said, slapping a hand on Heath's shoulder.
As they neared Harry's, which had filled up in the brief time they'd been gone, Nick said, "We need to go in there and finish the bottle we didn't even get to taste."
"Oh, no, you don't!" Jarrod said firmly. "You heard the sheriff. Straight home with you."
Nick stepped in front of Jarrod. "Pappy, it's been three weeks since we've been able to come to town. Three weeks! And we didn't do anything wrong. Clyde was in there with his big mouth, and he called Heath a bastard, so I slugged him. You would've done the same."
"Probably," Jarrod agreed, "But you heard the sheriff."
Nick didn't move from in front of Jarrod. "Why don't we go to that quiet little place over on the next street? Louie's, I think it is. There's hardly ever anybody there. We can have a drink, relax, and then we can all go home together."
Jarrod looked at Heath.
Heath wanted to shake his head, but his eye had already swollen shut and his nose throbbed, and a whiskey would dull the pain. He nodded slightly. What could it hurt?
"Louie keeps that place quiet. One fight in there and you're banned for life," Jarrod warned. "So, we should be able to stay out of trouble there. But we don't go anywhere else, and we don't fight. At all. Got it?" Jarrod said in his pappy voice.
"Yeah, yeah," Nick said, turning and leading the way to Louie's.
And it was quiet. Just a poker game going on at the next table.
"Bottle of whiskey," Nick said to Louie. "Top shelf. Three glasses. And if you have any ice for my brother, that would be great." He tossed money on the bar with a large tip, then followed Jarrod and Heath to an empty table.
Louie came over with the bottle and glasses, a rag-covered chunk of ice, and a deck of cards. "Give you fellas something to do," he said.
"Thank you," Jarrod said. He poured them each a drink.
Nick handed the ice to Heath. "Better put that on your eye. Get the swelling down some."
"Thanks," Heath said and gently placed it over his swollen-closed eye.
"We do make a group tonight, don't we?" Nick asked. "One-armed me, one-eyed Heath, and one-brained Jarrod."
"My one brain works better than your scattered brain," Jarrod said, passing out the drinks.
Nick picked up the cards with his left hand. Scowling, he fought to remove the sling.
"Better keep that on," Heath said.
Nick glared at him. "I'm taking a vacation from it, okay?"
"Whatever," Heath said. "Want me to shuffle the cards for you?"
"Hell no."
Nick finally got out of the sling and flung it across the room. But even with the sling off, he couldn't shuffle the cards. He threw them across the table.
"Settle down," Heath said calmly, picking up the cards. "It's not a big deal. I'll shuffle 'em and you can cut 'em, okay? And you can still call the game."
Nick picked up his whiskey and took a long drink.
Jarrod gathered the cards while Heath recovered the flung sling.
When Heath returned to his seat, Jarrod handed the deck to him. He shuffled, then set the deck in front of Nick.
Nick didn't bother to cut them. Leaving the deck on the table, he dealt with his left hand. "Five card draw. Aces to open. Two-dollar ante."
Jarrod anted up.
Heath leaned back. "Deal me out."
"Why?" Nick demanded. "Don't you play cards?"
"Yes, but . . . ." Heath's face burned. He put the rag of ice over his face to hide his blush.
"But what, boy? But what?"
"I only got forty-five cents."
Nick shook his head. "What do you mean? You ain't been nowhere to spend your pay. What did you do with it?"
"My pay?"
"Yeah. You know, the pay you get on Friday nights?" Nick stared at him.
"Where do I get that?"
"Nick or McColl. One of them hands it out on Fridays." Jarrod grinned. "You haven't picked up any of your pay, have you?"
"I didn't know I was supposed to."
Jarrod glared at Nick but spoke to Heath. "Your boss should've explained those things to you."
"My boss can be a pain in the ass," Heath said, making Jarrod laugh.
Nick scowled at Jarrod. "I thought you had set him up an account like we have."
"I will. I just haven't done it yet. Maybe on Monday Heath can go to the bank with me and we can do that."
Nick took a stack of bills out of his pocket and handed them to Heath. "There. That's a loan."
"How much is here?"
"I don't know. Count it."
Heath did. "Eighty-five dollars! That's a lot of money!"
Jarrod grinned and took a long drink. "Okay, Heath. Two dollars to you." Heath moved his drink back. He wouldn't mind having some cash on him, and he needed to be sober to win. He peeled off a couple of dollars and put them in the middle of the table. Instead of looking at his own cards, he studied his brothers while they examined their cards.
Nick took the first hand and Jarrod the second, but that was as Heath wanted. He needed to call them and see what they were holding so he could put their body language with the cards they held. Heath took the next few hands, then Jarrod took one when Heath folded before drawing. Jarrod had a good poker face—and had also greatly slowed his drinking pace—but Heath had learned quickly that Jarrod tended to tap a coin on the table when he was nervous. And being nervous this early in the hand only meant he held at least the beginnings of a good hand. Nick was easy. If he drew what he wanted, his eyebrow twitched.
Nick emptied his glass for the second time and scooted it toward Jarrod for a refill.
"The doctor said Nick can't have more than two drinks," Heath stated.
"Jarrod, you're closer to him than me. Would you smack him for me?"
"I'm responsible for you!" Heath said.
"And I'm responsible for both of you," Jarrod said.
"He said for me not to have more than two beers. Does this look like beer? Well, does it?"
Jarrod raised an eyebrow. "Nick, don't make me sorry I let you talk me into this." But he moved the bottle next to Nick so he could refill his own drink.
And Nick was more interested in drinking than playing cards. He was out of money quickly. He looked at Heath, who had a stack of bills in front of him—most of it won from Nick. "About that loan . . . ."
Heath counted out eight-five dollars. "There's your money back." He counted out another fifteen dollars. "And there's your interest."
"I don't charge interest."
Heath smiled. "I always pay interest."
"Yeah, I know." Nick rubbed his face and scooped up the money.
By the time the bottle of whiskey was empty, Heath was up over five hundred dollars.
Nick stood uncertainly and staggered a few steps.
"Where are you going?" Heath asked, jumping up to steady him.
"To get nother boddle," Nick answered.
"No," Heath said. "You've had enough. Too much."
Nick tried to pull away from him. "Jarrod!" he hollered.
"He's right, Nick," Jarrod agreed. "We'd better get you home before we're all in trouble."
"I'm not go home!" Nick said, swinging his cast around. He accidentally hit a chair with it, then, for emphasis, hit it again, harder, intentionally.
"Stop it, Nick," Heath said firmly.
Nick swung his cast towards Heath.
Heath dodged and the cast hit a support pole.
Nick lost his balance and fell.
"We're leaving, Nick." Jarrod took a tight grip on Nick's left arm and pulled him to his feet, then dragged him out of the bar, Nick fighting the whole way. Heath grabbed his right arm above the cast from behind, digging his fingers under his biceps, his other hand holding Nick's sling.
"Let me go!" Nick bellowed. "Let go!"
They walked back to the main street, half-dragging the kicking Nick, who continued yelling loud enough to be heard blocks away.
"I'll ride in the carriage with you," Jarrod said to Heath. "You're going to need help handling him."
"Thanks," Heath said.
Their progress was slow, as every step was a battle with Nick, who continued trying to twist out of his brothers' grasps and yelling nonstop.
"Okay, hold it right there."
They all stopped—even Nick.
It was the sheriff. "I thought you boys were heading home."
"We're going there right now," Jarrod said.
"No, you're not. You know the deal I made you. I only let them out early because you promised you'd take them straight home. So, all three of you, march to the jail."
"C'mon, now, Joe," Jarrod said. "We didn't get into any trouble—"
Nick jerked out of Jarrod's grasp. "I ain't going!"
"Yeah, I can see you didn't get into any trouble." The sheriff pointed at Nick. "You want to go in handcuffs, or do you want to behave yourself?"
Jarrod got another grip on his brother, and they all marched to the sheriff's office.
When they reached the office, Jarrod eyed the sheriff. "What charges do you have against me, Joe? It's not illegal to walk down the street."
Joe scowled at Jarrod. "I released them into your custody, and you promised you would take them home. So, your crime is lying when you've been appointed a custodian. You can either get in the cell with them, or I can file a complaint with the bar association."
Jarrod sighed. "I'm sorry about that, Joe. Lock us up."
Jarrod sighed again, louder, as the cell door locked behind them.
Heath sat quietly on the floor in the corner, leaving the two cots for his brothers. What was Victoria going to say to them? It was bad enough to have Jarrod bail them out, but who would come now? Anyone?
Nick was still on a rant, standing at the bars and yelling as loud as he could—which was probably heard for miles—although it wasn't clear about what he was complaining.
Heath's head pounded, likely from Clyde's fists, since he'd only had two drinks the entire evening. He tried to block out Nick's hollering, but if Nick was anything, he was loud. Just when Heath thought he couldn't take it anymore, Jarrod jumped up and stood behind Nick.
"Shut up!" Jarrod bellowed over Nick's loudness.
"Just make me!" Nick swung around and got in Jarrod's face.
Jarrod grabbed Nick by the collar and shoved him against the bars, hard. "If you hadn't been making so much noise, we could've gotten out of town without the sheriff being any the wiser. But, no, you had to make sure everyone in town heard us." His large eyes twitched with anger. He shook Nick, bouncing his head against the bars. "Now, you can either go over there and sit down and shut up, or my fist is going down your throat. Which is it?"
"I'll quiet," Nick said softly.
Jarrod turned Nick toward the cot and shoved him roughly.
Nick tripped and stumbled onto the cot. He grunted, then sat down. He pulled his right arm closer to his chest and held it with his left.
Heath had never seen Jarrod angry before. Even on the day Heath arrived when Nick had confronted him and gotten everyone out of bed, Jarrod had stayed calm and simply asked questions. And now that he thought about it, Jarrod had told Nick to shut up that night. And Nick had.
Heath eyed Nick, who still sat quietly. Then he looked at Jarrod, who was scowling at Nick. "Impressive," he said.
Jarrod shook his head. "I shouldn't let him get to me." He turned to Nick. "But he knows when he gets Pappy riled, he'd better back off."
Twenty minutes later, Nick still hadn't moved or said anything. He cradled his arm, biting his lip.
"You okay, Nick?" Heath asked.
"Leeb me lone," Nick said.
"We better get this sling back on you," Heath said. He went to Nick, and, surprisingly, Nick simply let Heath tie the sling in place. Nick said nothing the rest of the night.
None of them slept much. Heath stayed in the corner on the floor. Nick remained sitting on the cot. Jarrod tried to rest on the second cot, but there was no way to get comfortable.
The next morning, the sheriff brought breakfast for them.
"Would you send someone out to the house for us?" Jarrod asked.
"Your mother was in here a little bit ago," he answered.
"How did she know?" Jarrod asked at the same time Nick asked, "Where is she?"
"I guess some of your hands saw you being brought here last night and told her." He raised his eyebrow. "She wasn't happy."
"She go to the bank?" Nick asked. He still sat on the cot, holding his arm.
"No. She said she was going back home. She wanted to verify if you were here as well, Jarrod."
Jarrod rubbed his throbbing forehead.
"When I assured her you were, she said to leave you here. All of you. She didn't want to deal with you."
Nick's shoulders dropped. "We're in trouble," he said softly.
Heath still sat on the floor in the corner. He chewed his busted lip.
"Any chance we can get some coffee?" Jarrod asked.
"I'll bring you some."
It was late in the afternoon before the sheriff came back and unlocked the cell.
Nick was still sitting quietly, holding his arm, obviously in pain.
"Mother come back?" Jarrod asked.
"No. McColl bailed you out." He followed them into the outer office.
"Thank you," Jarrod said, shaking the foreman's hand. "Mother send you?"
"No," he answered. He eyed them all. "Some of the men let me know you were in here. I stopped by and asked Mrs. Barkley if she wanted me to come and get you out. She said she didn't care what I did." He raised his eyebrow. "I'm not sure you fellows should go home quite yet."
Heath had been watching Nick. As much as he was trying to hide it, it was obvious he was in pain. "Nick, do you want to see Dr. Merar before we go home?"
Nick shook his head. "No. I don't want him hollering at me too." He still cradled his arm. "I just wanna sneak in the back door, go to my room, and disappear."
Jarrod raised an eyebrow. "You know you're not going to sneak past Mother."
"I know," Nick said quietly.
Victoria was not happy. She was disappointed in her three older sons. Especially the oldest. She paced the living room, knowing they'd be coming in soon. Well, this time, they weren't going to avoid her wrath.
The door opened tentatively, and her sons walked in quietly, eying escape routes.
"Get in here," she ordered.
Jarrod went over and kissed the top of her head. "Hello, Mother."
She swung around and glared at her sons. "I hope you had a good time last night," she said, her tone contradicting her words.
"I'm sorry, Mother," Jarrod said.
"I'm disappointed in you, Jarrod. The sheriff told me you lied to him."
Jarrod sucked in a deep breath. "It wasn't quite intentional, but I did. I'm sorry."
"What possessed you to give up your integrity? You, of all people, know how important keeping your word is."
"Mother, perhaps you and I can discuss ethics later? Privately?"
"Seems to me the three of you are in this together. Thick as thieves."
She spun on Heath. He sported a new black eye and a swollen nose. "So, you got in a bar fight? I expected better out of you than this."
But Heath wasn't looking at her. His eyes were on Nick, who stood in front of him and who was swaying slightly.
"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!"
Nick's knees buckled. Heath grabbed him around his ribs, trying to avoid his right arm. "Jarrod!"
Jarrod ran over and helped Heath move Nick to the sofa.
"Is he still drunk?" Victoria demanded. But when she looked at her middle son, she knew something was wrong. His face was pallid and damp with sweat. "What is wrong with him?"
Heath pushed the sling back. Nick's fingers were purple. The skin on either side of the cast had swollen over the edges. His stomach turned. No wonder Nick was being so quiet.
"Heath, go get some ice. Jarrod, go get something to cut this cast with, and send someone to town to get the doctor."
By the time McColl returned with Dr. Merar, Jarrod had sawed the cast off Nick's arm and Victoria held ice to it. Nick was conscious, but still noticeably quiet. Heath dotted Nick's face with a cool wet towel.
Dr. Merar glanced at his arm, then picked up the cast and examined it. "What did you hit with the cast?" he asked.
"I don't remember," Nick mumbled and closed his eyes.
"He was throwing a fit because he didn't want to leave Louie's," Heath said.
Nick nodded slightly. "I forgot."
The doctor turned his glance to Heath. "What did he do to the cast?"
"He accidentally hit it on a chair."
"There's at least three dings I see on it."
"Well, that made him mad, so he hit the chair intentionally."
Dr. Merar sighed impatiently. "And the third one?"
Heath chewed his lip. "He was mad at me because I was trying to get him out of Louie's. He took a swing at me with his cast. I ducked, and he hit the support pole."
The doctor pointed toward bruising on Nick's upper arm. "How did he manage to do that?"
Heath thought. "I probably did that. I had my fingers dug pretty deep in his arm to hold onto him."
Dr. Merar shook his head. He studied Nick's face. "I take it you had more than two beers last night."
"No beer," Nick said softly, his eyes still closed.
"I can smell stale alcohol on you, Nick," the doctor said sternly.
"Whiskey," Nick admitted. "No beer."
Dr. Merar scowled. He took Nick's arm and felt the bones.
Nick paled, sweat beading his forehead.
"Take it easy there, doc," Heath said. "He's hurting."
Dr. Merar looked at Heath. "That's a shame, but I can't give him anything for pain when he has so much alcohol in his system." He looked at Victoria. "Fortunately, I don't think the bones have been knocked out of alignment. We just need to wait for the swelling to go down and then re-cast it." He looked at Nick. "And, until that cast is on there, you are to stay in bed. I don't want you getting up for anything. Nothing. That arm cannot be moved. At all. You got it?"
Nick nodded.
"Can he have some laudanum?" Heath asked. "We still have some left."
"No. Not while he still has alcohol in his system. Opioids and alcohol can be a deadly combination."
The doctor stood. "I'll be back tomorrow." He pointed at Nick. "And if you don't do as you're told, you're going to have to find a new doctor. I'm not going to waste my time and supplies to take care of someone who does the exact opposite of what they are instructed."
"Yes, sir," Nick said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"You're going to be sorry if you end up losing that arm because of your foolishness." The doctor turned and strode out of the house.
"C'mon, Nick," Heath said quietly. "Let's get you to bed." He took Nick's left arm and guided him toward the stairs.
Nick didn't even try to escape his grasp—something that was noted by all those watching.
Heath helped Nick undress and get into bed. "Can I get you anything?"
"Water?"
Heath nodded and poured Nick a fresh glass of water.
Nick took a couple of sips, then handed the glass back. He fell asleep immediately afterwards, and Heath reclined in the chair next to his bed and also snoozed.
Silas brought beef stew up a few hours later. Since so much was going on at supper time, they had forgone a formal meal. Heath woke Nick and helped him sit up. "You need to get something on your stomach."
Nick didn't fight. The pain had taken away his appetite, but he was cooperative and ate as much as he could.
"Feel any better?" Heath asked.
"Some." He looked at Heath. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For what you did last night. And for putting up with me."
Heath shrugged. "Seems like that should be what brothers do." He put a pillow under Nick's arm.
Victoria knocked at the door and walked in without waiting for an answer. Heath stood and gave her the chair next to Nick's bed. "Sit down," she ordered, and paced around the room.
Heath was afraid he might be sick. He hated that Victoria was angry with him—and it was obvious from her demeanor that her anger was still roaring. "I'm sorry, Mother," he said contritely.
"I am disappointed in you," she said. "You were supposed to keep Nick out of trouble, not help him get into trouble."
"Hold on," Nick said. "Heath didn't do anything wrong."
"So, he just got punched in the face a few times because he was behaving himself?"
"Yes, that's exactly what happened. We went to Harry's. We hadn't even had a drink yet—not a sip. Clyde Wickham was in there—you know, the big guy—"
"I know who Clyde is." Victoria crossed her arms in front of her.
"Clyde kept calling Heath my 'bastard brother.' I corrected him a couple of times, but he kept doing it. Heath kept telling me to let it go, but I couldn't. So, I slugged him." Nick looked evenly at Victoria. "You probably would've too."
Victoria didn't respond.
"Anyway, Clyde came after me and was going to hit me, but Heath put himself between us. To protect me. And he took the punch aimed at me." Nick continued his steady look at his mother. "So, I jumped back in and hit Clyde again. And Clyde was mad. He came after me with vengeance. And, again, Heath pushed me aside and took the hit intended for me. Heath never threw a punch." Nick lowered his eyes. "And then I broke a chair over Clyde's head, and that was when the sheriff showed up." He again met his mother's glare. "We didn't even have a drink."
"You were pretty drunk for not drinking." Victoria pressed her lips tightly together.
Nick leaned forward. "But we—"
"So how did Jarrod get involved?"
"Jarrod came to bail us out. He was supposed to take us home, but I hadn't been out of the house in two weeks and I didn't even get a drink, so I talked Jarrod into letting us go to Louie's, which is over on Elm Street. It's a quiet place—Louie don't tolerate no fighting or misbehavior. So, the only thing we did was sit and play cards. The only thing. Well, and we drank a bottle of whiskey." Nick paused. "Okay, I drank most of it. I don't think Heath or Jarrod had more than two drinks."
"So why how you get arrested—again?"
Nick grimaced. "I don't really remember. I just know it was my fault. Jarrod was furious with me." He cocked his head. "He must still be mad at me. I haven't seen him since the doctor got here."
"He went for a nap once the doctor got here."
Nick looked at Heath. "It takes a while for Jarrod to get riled, but once he does, he stays riled for a long time." He sighed. "And I did cause him some trouble with the sheriff."
Victoria turned to Heath. "You were supposed to make sure he didn't get in trouble."
"Mother," Nick said firmly. "Heath did everything he could. But you know how I am when I get ornery. I had Heath and Jarrod both worn out. Heath did nothing but try to keep me from getting hurt."
Victoria studied Nick for a few moments, then looked at Heath.
Heath didn't want to lift his eyes, but he could feel her gaze on him. "I'm sorry, Mother."
Victoria strode over to him. "Stand up."
Heath stood and stiffened, waiting for the slap.
Instead, Victoria's arms wrapped around him and pulled him against her tightly. "Thank you, Heath. I'm sorry I blamed you. I know how hard-headed Nick is and I know how hard you've been trying. Please forgive me."
"I, uh, there's nothing to forgive."
She continued to embrace him. "I appreciate what you've done for your brother." Finally, she released him and stepped back. "And we need to get some ice on that eye of yours. It's still swollen."
"Yes, ma'am—Mother."
She raised her eyebrow and tilted her head. "Keep practicing," she said with a slight smile. "I'll send Silas up with some ice. We should probably get some fresh ice on Nick's arm as well." Victoria turned to Nick. "At least your color is looking better and the swelling is down some."
"I'm trying to be a good boy." Nick's dimples appeared before his grin.
Victoria took a deep breath. "You have always been trying, Nick. Always." She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I'm glad you're feeling better." She squeezed his left shoulder. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning. Good night."
"Good night, Mother," Nick said at the same time as Heath.
Victoria gave them a smile, then walked out the door.