CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Horses, Trains, and Surreys

Nick spent the first hour of the train ride back to Stockton thinking about the situation at JR's. It was hard to believe so much had happened in just over two days. He grinned. He was glad Heath had asked Margaret to marry him. They hadn't known each other that long, but they'd spent more hours together—and probably knew one another better—than many who'd courted for months. And it was obvious they were truly in love. At least his trip ended on a good note.

Then his mind turned to the Barkley Ranch. And his Isabella. He couldn't wait to see her. And, again, he felt the twinge of regret that he'd left while they were arguing. It certainly wasn't their first argument, but it was the first time Nick had been frustrated and angry while they argued. He had a train to catch and was short on time. Instead of spending those precious moments loving his wife, he'd yelled, "This ain't over! We'll finish this argument when I get home!" And then he had stormed out of their bedroom, slammed the door, and left the house. Nick closed his eyes. That was the last image Isabella had of him. He hoped she hadn't dwelled on it while he was gone. Even though he still believed he was right, being right wasn't worth causing a rift between them. He wished he had time to pick up a gift for her to show how much he loved her.

Nick spent at least thirty minutes trying to think of a gift he could get for her in Stockton. But nothing came to him. And then he remembered. There was a new confectionary in Stockton. He hadn't even been in it yet. Isabella loved chocolates, and now he could get them in Stockton. In fact, he could also pick up some for the boys. And Mother. And Audra. And Sam's family. Nick smiled.

And then, finally, he remembered. He had secretly bought a matching bracelet and necklace to go with the pearl and diamond ring she had chosen in San Francisco. Nick smiled. That would be perfect. Chocolates and jewelry. Maybe that would seal his apology to his wife.

Then he thought of Levi and Andy, and his smile broadened. He missed those little guys!

Nick stretched out his legs and enjoyed the rest of the trip. It was nice to be away from the tension at JR's. Very nice.

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Sacramento

Jarrod drove the surrey while Heath and Margaret "visited" in the backseat. It wasn't exactly what he envisioned doing when he agreed to come and help out at JR's, but he wouldn't complain. It was quite obvious the couple in the backseat needed to be married. And soon.

As they entered the town, Jarrod pulled over. "Heath, do you know what doctor you want to see?"

"No," Heath answered. "I don't know none of 'em."

"I'd rather not go to the one who patched up Sweeny," Jarrod stated. "Let's just go down the street and you can holler if you see one that looks promising."

They hadn't gone too far before Jarrod saw a sign stating, "Drs Johnson and Johnson, General Practice." "How about this one?"

After a few seconds, Heath leaned forward. "What?"

Jarrod sighed and shook his head. He pulled in front of the doctors' office. He looked into the backseat. "Heath? Can you get untangled there so we can see the doc?"

Jarrod jumped down and tied the horses, then waited for Heath to help Margaret down. Heath's face was vermillion.

"You okay there, Heath?" Jarrod didn't even try to withhold his smirk.

Heath cast a dagger at Jarrod. "I'm just fine, Jarrod."

Jarrod chuckled and opened the doctor's door for them.

The office had a reception area with a middle-aged woman sitting behind a counter. "May I help you?" she asked.

"My brother was shot on Monday—just a flesh wound—but I'd like to have a doctor look at him," Jarrod stated.

"Have you notified the law?" she asked.

"About the shooting?" He shrugged. "Heath, did you notify the sheriff?"

"JR did," Heath stated.

"Have you ever been here before?" the receptionist asked.

"No. We're from Stockton. We're just, uh, visiting the area."

She handed him a piece of paper. "Fill that out. It will be three dollars for the examination. Any materials or medicines will be additional."

Jarrod nodded. Having a store front on Capitol Drive in Sacramento must've been expensive. He sat down and filled out the paperwork, asking Heath any questions he didn't know the answer to. When he finished, he turned in the paperwork to the receptionist. Even in San Francisco, he'd not seen a doctor that required paperwork before being seen.

The receptionist took them back as soon as Jarrod returned the paperwork.

The partially gray doctor looked from one to the other. "Which of you is the patient?"

"I am," Heath stated.

"Okay, then you can sit up here." The doctor patted a cot. "What's your name?"

"Heath Barkley."

"I'm Dr. Johnson. Tell me what happened."

While Heath described what had happened, the doctor removed Heath's shirt and the loosely-wrapped gauze.

"Why was someone shooting at you?" the doctor asked.

Heath looked at Jarrod. His arm hurt—as did his head. He didn't want to go through all the details, and he wasn't even sure which details he should give.

"Heath had to fire three men who were drinking on a cattle drive. They are after revenge," Jarrod answered.

The doctor nodded and glanced at Jarrod. "What is your relationship to the patient?"

"I'm his brother."

"Older brother, obviously. Still looking after him, hmmm?"

"That's why we call him Pappy," Heath stated.

"Pappy, hmmm?" The doctor turned on a bright lamp and examined Heath's skin through a magnifying glass. He studied it for a long time, then sighed.

Margaret and Jarrod exchanged worried glances.

"You were definitely lucky. The bullet cut away the entire epidermis layer—all five sublayers. It also scraped the dermis in places, which is why the pain is so severe."

Margaret looked at Heath. "You never said you were hurting."

Heath shrugged. "I've had worse."

"I assume you poured whiskey over it?"

"Yes," Margaret stated.

"I'll bet that hurt."

"A little bit." Heath kept his eyes on his hands.

"I don't see any infection, which, of course, is the primary issue we're concerned about," the doctor said. "I'll give you some ointment to put on it. I'd like you to keep it open as much as possible, but anytime you're outside, do wrap it lightly as you did to come here." He rested his hands on Heath's shoulders. "I can give you some laudanum for pain."

"No, thanks," Heath answered.

"You can take it with you for when it's bothering you."

Heath shook his head. "I'd rather hurt."

"That's your choice." Dr. Johnson leaned back. "You know what to look for as far as infection, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you a ranch hand?"

Heath looked at Jarrod again.

"Our family owns a ranch," Jarrod answered. "Heath is one of the bosses."

"I don't want you on the ranch or doing any ranch work—except paperwork—for two to six weeks," the doctor said. "Without any skin on there, you're ripe for infection. You need to keep that perfectly clean until at least the skin grows back. That could take up to six weeks. And I want to see you again before you do any type of dirty work."

Heath said nothing, but his jaw clenched.

The doctor looked at Jarrod. "Big brother, do you understand? Can you keep him from losing his arm or his life?"

"I'll do my best." Jarrod turned to Margaret. "It's going to take all of us to keep that boy out of the dirt."

Heath rubbed his chin. "I can't sit around for six weeks!"

"One day at a time, little brother," Jarrod said. "One day at a time."

The doctor turned away to get the ointment and dressing. He spread the ointment over Heath's arm, then lightly dressed it with gauze. "Keep a clean shirt on and keep the sleeve over that when you're out and about. When you're at home, take the dressing and the shirt off. And the more air—clean air, that is—that gets to that, the better."

Heath nodded.

"May we get an extra jar of that ointment?" Jarrod asked.

"Most certainly." The doctor put two jars of the ointment and extra gauze in a box for them and escorted them to the reception. "I'm the big brother, too," he confided to Jarrod. "My younger brother practices with me, but he's vacationing more than working."

"I guess I'm lucky, then. All three of my brothers are hard workers. They just tend to be stubborn—and sometimes they need someone to look after them."

Dr. Johnson smiled. "You're a good brother."

Jarrod returned the smile. He was a good brother. He cherished his role of being the oldest. Even though he sometimes got aggravated with his brothers, especially when they called on him to bail them out of trouble, he adored them. And he was pretty sure they loved him in return.

He paid for the appointment while Heath held tight to Margaret. Jarrod would've said something to Heath about paying attention, but he did believe the boy was in more pain than he'd admit and wasn't quite in his full mind. Not to mention he was dealing with a lot of other problems. So, Jarrod simply did what he did best—he took care of things.

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