CHAPTER EIGHT

RESPECT?

SATURDAY

The day couldn't have started better. Sunshine, cool breezes, dry ground, and breakfast, hot and ready.

A couple of the drovers eyed Eugene and Jarrod, and most noticed the bruises on the three younger Barkleys. But no one said a word.

"How you feelin', boy?" Nick asked.

"Better than yesterday. Could've used a bit more sleep though."

"You'll get plenty of sleep—when you're old and gray." Nick put on his hat. "I'm gonna head on into town and make sure all is ready. Heath, I'll leave Eugene here to help you divide everyone into two groups and get those cattle on the way. Jarrod can come with me."

Heath nodded.

Unlike the day before, everything went right. By two p.m., the cattle were loaded. By three p.m., the camp was cleared, the men were paid, and everyone headed to town.

"I'm going to catch the first train to Stockton," Eugene said.

Nick laughed. "Oh, no, you're not."

Eugene stared at him. "Nothing for me to do here. I want to go home."

Nick shook his head. "Nope. Not my fault you outdid yourself yesterday. But you're gonna stay here with us today."

Gene looked at Jarrod.

Jarrod shrugged. "Nick is the boss." He scratched his head. "Although I do recommend you behave yourself today. I'm pretty sure the sheriff won't be amused by a second visit so soon."

"The last thing I want to do is drink today. I just want to sleep. If you won't let me go home, I'll get a room."

"Nope." Nick grinned. "You're sticking with us, little brother. All day."

Gene glanced at Heath, hoping for someone to come to his aid.

"Sorry," Heath said. "But how often do the four of us get to spend the day relaxing together?"

Nick put his arm around Gene. "C'mon. We'll get a good meal first, and then we're gonna go have some fun—and you will have fun, whether you want to or not."

XXXXX

Jarrod chose the bar this time. He wanted one that served scotch—good scotch. Of course, those bars weren't usually as rowdy as the common bars. He bought a bottle and took it and four glasses to a table.

Nick poured a drink for Gene.

"Do I have to drink it?" Gene asked.

"Yep," Nick said, placing it in front of him. "Bite the hair of the dog that bit you."

"Do what?"

The older brothers laughed.

"In medieval times, when someone was bitten by a rabid dog, they believed if you made a paste using the same dog's hair and placed it on the bite, the person wouldn't develop rabies," Jarrod explained.

"That makes no sense," Gene argued. "And I wouldn't want to be the one pulling hair off a rabid dog while it growled and snarled and dripped saliva all over me."

They all laughed again.

"Gene," Heath said, "It just means that if you got a hangover, taking another drink will make you feel better."

"It'll make me throw up," Eugene said.

"We'll see." Nick pointed at the drink and then to Gene's mouth, his eyebrow raised.

Gene downed the entire shot. "And if I do, I'm aiming it at you."

"I don't recommend that," Nick said.

Jarrod poured him another one.

Gene shook his head. "C'mon. Just leave me alone."

"Not gonna happen," Nick said. "You're getting by damn easy as it is, but you ain't gonna go on a drunk during a drive and not have to pay the piper. I can't fire you, and I don't wanna tan your hide, so I suggest you drink up."

"Jarrod, as my attorney, can you give me some advice here?" Gene asked.

Jarrod smiled. "Eugene, my boy, I have to agree with Nick that you're getting off damn easy. Trust me, if you pulled a stunt like that with Father, you'd be in a world of hurt. I think you'd best just do as you're told."

"Ha!" Nick said. "Father would've tanned his hide the second time he let a steer escape. Not to mention when he decided he was done and was goin' home."

Jarrod's eyebrows rose and he glared at Eugene. "He was going home?"

Nick nodded. "He turned around and thought he was leaving—even taking a remuda horse with him."

Jarrod stared at Gene. "Seriously?"

Gene scowled. "Nick wouldn't get off my ass."

Jarrod shook his head. "Sounds like someone needed to be on your ass. You're damn lucky—and I do mean damn lucky—you were dealing with Nick and not Father."

"Drink," Nick ordered, pointing at Gene's glass.

Gene looked at Jarrod.

Jarrod nodded, his face stern.

Gene made a face but took a drink. The others did as well.

Nick leaned back. "We need to tell Jarrod some of the highlights of the week."

Heath smiled. "Tuesday morning, we put a snake in Gene's boot."

Jarrod raised his eyebrows. "We? I can't see Nick helping much with that."

"He kept his distance," Heath said. "And then Tuesday night, Gene put rocks under our bedrolls."

"I forgot about that," Gene said.

Heath took a sip of his scotch. "And then sometime during the night Tuesday night, Gene had a visitor."

"A visitor?" Jarrod asked.

"Yep. Left a lot of tracks all around. Lady prints, Jefferies called 'em. Of the genus common woman."

Nick pointed at Gene's drink and then at Gene's mouth.

Gene reluctantly took a drink. "On Thursday morning, we put a rope in Nick's bedroll."

"A rope?" Jarrod asked.

Heath smiled. "Yep. With a string attached to it so Eugene could make it crawl and dance, and Perez let me use his rattlesnake rattles."

Jarrod laughed. "And what did Nick do?"

"Oh, he just danced around a bit and got tangled up in his bedroll and fell on his butt twice. The men—who were all gathered around waiting for the show—were quite entertained," Heath answered.

"I owe you for that one," Nick said. "I think everyone was in on it. The night before, Perez even said they'd seen rattlers in the woods behind us."

"Sounds like you had a fun week." Jarrod sipped his drink.

"Yeah," Eugene said. "If you like being saddle sore, hot, sweaty, and dusty, and being yelled at every minute, it was loads of fun."

"Yelled at?" Nick raised his chin. "I only yelled at you when you lost a steer."

"I couldn't do anything to make you happy!"

Nick just shook his head.

Eugene chewed his lip. He glanced from Nick to Heath and back. He probably had acted like a spoiled brat. And he did have trouble keeping his mind on the job. He didn't even realize how important it was that he pay attention. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Oh, Genie-boy." Nick stood and went behind Eugene and rubbed his shoulders.

Gene shoved him away.

"Hey, take it easy there, boy. I came over here to tell you that you done good."

"With what?"

"The drive."

Gene stared at him. "I couldn't do anything right."

"Yeah, you did. I was impressed that you figured out the herd was getting too loose and went up to help. And you were great at cutting those ornery steers back in."

Gene shrugged. "I don't feel like I did much."

"Maybe the things you didn't do was the best things you did," Nick said. "You didn't complain, even though I know you were saddle sore and exhausted. You didn't ask for special favors because you were a Barkley. You didn't punch anyone—well, at least nobody on the drive—except for that tree trunk that looked like me—even though I know you wanted to. But, mostly, you didn't give up. Even though it was hard and you weren't comfortable, you stuck with it. I'm proud of you, boy!"

"You did do a good job," Heath said.

Eugene smiled. He had survived the drive, but, more importantly, even though he didn't think they were paying attention, his big brothers had noticed—and they now treated him as an equal, as an adult, as someone deserving of respect. Warmth surged through his veins. Maybe this entire miserable week had been worth it.

Nick returned to his seat and raised his drink. "To Eugene. Who, despite daydreaming, despite trying to runoff, and despite getting drunk on my time yesterday, finished the drive."

"Next drive, we should have some new guys, so they'll ride drag and you can ride flank," Heath said. "How about that?"

Gene shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll be happy if I never go on another drive. Ever."

Nick looked at Heath and Jarrod. "By the time we're through with him today, he'll be happy if he never goes on another drunk."

"I don't want to drink," Gene said.

"Oh, you're gonna drink." Nick raised his eyebrow.

"Just don't tease him about Sally Jane," Heath added. "That makes him feisty."

"Sally Jane?" Jarrod asked. "Is that who he was blabbering about in his sleep last night?"

"I didn't say anything!" Eugene yelled, his face turning red as his brothers laughed.

"Drink!" Nick ordered, pointing at Gene's scotch.

Gene shook his head. "In a minute. Let me have a break, will you?"

"Now. Before I pour it down your throat." Nick stood with his arms crossed in front of him.

Yep, his brothers had a great deal of respect for him now. Gene took a tiny sip.

"A real drink!" Nick yelled. "Jarrod, hold him there, and I'll show him what a drink is."

"Why don't we get some cheap whiskey for him?" Jarrod asked. "I hate to waste good scotch on someone who's just going to throw it all back up."

Eugene sighed.

A great deal of respect. No doubt about that.

XXXXX

THE END

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