Stolen Legacy

by Helen

 This alternate scenario for Heath’s arrival at the Barkley ranch explores an interesting ‘what if….’

 The young cowboy stopped as he reached the sign and sat atop his horse gazing at the mansion in the distance.  It stood proudly amidst several well-kept auxiliary buildings, one of which he deemed to be a sizable barn, by the immense corral adjoining it.  He gave a low whistle, wincing slightly as the bruises on his face reminded him of that fight on the waterfront in San Francisco.  He’d won a fairly large sum of cash playing poker, but unfortunately, his opponent was a sore loser.  As he was returning through the darkened streets to the room he was renting, he was jumped and robbed by henchmen, no doubt sent by the man he’d cleaned up on.  It was the final straw – he decided to quit his job on the docks and return to what he liked best – ranching.  He’d heard tell the Barkley spread was the biggest and best in the Valley and that they were usually hiring.  It took him less than an hour to vacate his room and spend the last of his money on a worthy horse.   

He pulled himself up straight in the saddle and dug his heels into the horse’s sides, urging the beast forward.  As he neared the great house, he was struck by its imposing size and felt his stomach churn.  He suddenly wished there were a way to cover the bruises and abrasions on his face.  It dawned on him he might not look presentable enough to work at such a fine place.  His clothes were worn and ill fitting, emphasizing his thin frame, but they were the best he had. 

Tying his horse to a fence rail, he looked around hesitantly, trying to discern where to begin looking for the man who did the hiring.  He spotted a hand in the barn.  The man, of Mexican descent, was sweeping out stables.  The man spotted him as he stood in the doorway.

“Si, Senor.  May I help you?”

“Uh, yes.  I heard tell there might be work here, and I’d like to see the man in charge.”

“Ah, that would be Senor Barkley.  Nick.”

“Is he around?”

“Si.  He’s having lunch.  Should be out any time now.”

“Thanks.  I’ll wait if you don’t mind.”

“Not a problem,” the man answered, but he noticed the young man already walked away.  Ciego shook his head as he watched the boy look around, obviously in awe.  To him, he didn’t look much like a cowboy and his clothes and face said he’d seen a fair share of trouble.  He resumed sweeping and made a clucking noise.  He’d seen it before.  Everyone comes to the Barkleys for work, as if the place is their last hope.  Some get hired, some don’t.  Ciego was betting Nick would turn this young man away.

Hearing the kitchen door to the big house slam and the jingle of spurs, Ciego dropped into the shadows to eavesdrop.

“Howdy,” the boy said nervously.  The tall, strapping man dressed in black strode towards him and cast a shadow over the blond as he grew near.  Swallowing the butterflies threatening to fly right out of his stomach, he removed his hat. 

“Can I help you?” the man asked, all businesslike.  He didn’t smile.

“Lookin’ for work.  Heard tell you might be hirin’.”

Nick narrowed his eyes and studied the young man standing before him.  Nick guessed him to be about twenty or so years old, but his blue eyes told of experience beyond his years; of struggles and bad breaks. His face was marked with a bruise on his right cheekbone and a cut on his chin and above his left eye, indicating he’d seen some trouble recently, although that didn’t necessarily disqualify him in Nick’s mind.  He was tall, although not as tall as he, and unnaturally thin, and Nick wondered if the boy would have the strength for the demands ranching required.  Not only that, right now they were full, and he didn’t have need for another hand.  Still, for some reason, he was curious for more information.  The boy was obviously nervous, but Nick was impressed with how he stood tall and looked him right in the eye.

“What can you do?” Nick inquired.

“Little of everything. Herdin’, brandin’, breakin’, you name it.”

“Um hmm.  Well, Mr., what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, but it’s Thomson.  Heath Thomson.”

Nick rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  Surprisingly, he felt a twinge of regret at having to turn the boy down.  “We’re all full up right now, but in another month or so we’ll be getting ready for summer round-up.  Come back and see me then.”

In the barn, Ciego shook his head. Ha! I knew it. 

Something flashed across the young cowboy’s eyes.  At first, Nick would have labeled it disappointment, but it was more than that.  It was defeat.  For the first time since the conversation started, the young man looked down.

“Thanks.  I’ll keep it in mind,” Heath said quietly.  He wouldn’t beg.  If there were no work here, he’d find it someplace else.  He placed his hat back on his head.  “Have a good day.”

“Same to you,” Nick answered. As an afterthought he added, “Good luck, kid.  See you around.”

Heath swung easily into the saddle and gave Nick a small smile.  He nudged the horse forward and rode away without looking back.

Nick stood watching the stranger until he disappeared on the horizon unable to shake the feeling he’d just made a mistake.  As a man who often paid heed to gut instincts, Nick Barkley was puzzled.  It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time he’d ever turned a stranger away, but there was something about that kid that struck a chord in Nick.  What it was, he couldn’t figure.  Was it the boy’s obvious need?  No, Nick decided; nearly everyone who came here wanting work was in need.  Was it the way he swung into the saddle?  Could be, as it indicated despite his looks, the boy could ride.  But no, Nick decided; that wasn’t it either. 

It was the eyes.  Yes, the eyes…Nick had seen those eyes before.  Blue as the sky overhead, they were eyes that could communicate thoughts or feelings without their owner having to say a single word.  They conveyed honesty and sensitivity, defiance and anger, joy and pain, hope and disappointment.   

Nick reached into the recesses of his memory, trying to recall of whom the young man reminded him.  Nick shook his head at the thought that occurred to him…the only man Nick had ever known with eyes so expressive was his father.

********************

The family was seated in the parlor enjoying each other’s company, as was the after dinner ritual.  Victoria and Audra were engaged in needlepoint, while Jarrod and Nick were playing checkers.

“Another game, Nick?” Jarrod asked.

“Of course another game!  I’m just getting’ warmed up!”

“Warmed up?” Jarrod asked incredulously, “you already owe me three dollars.  I might suggest you cut your losses and quit while you’re ahead.”

Before Nick could reply, there was a knock at the door.  “I’ll get it,” he said while rising.

He strode across the huge foyer, spurs jingling with each heavy step.  He swung open the massive door. 

“Billy!  Come on in!  What brings you out this way?” Nick boomed.

The young deputy stepped into the foyer while greeting Nick.  “Sheriff sent me, Mr. Barkley.”

By this time, the rest of the family had joined them. 

“Mrs. Barkley, Audra, Jarrod,” the deputy greeted, nodding.

“Hello Billy.  Won’t you come in and sit down?” Victoria asked.

“No thank you, ma’am.  I’m on duty.”

“Billy,” Nick cut in impatiently, “you said Fred sent you.  What for?”

“Oh, yeah.  I’m afraid there was some trouble in town.  We’ve got about five of your hands in jail, and unless they pay their fines, they’ll be there for the next thirty days.”

“What?!” Nick exploded.  “Would you mind telling me what happened?”

The young deputy flinched at Nick’s outburst.  “There was a fight in the saloon and some furniture and glass got busted up.”

Nick shook his head.  “What was it over this time?”

“Well, some young guy playin’ poker didn’t like how John Hawkins was makin’ advances on Clara and stepped up to her defense.  Hawkins was three times his size, and some of your boys stepped in to help.  Seth got a busted hand, and the kid who started it got a bottle busted over his head.  Doc Merar’s been the jail to see ‘em.”

“All right, Billy, thanks,” Nick said.  “You go on and tell Fred I’m on my way.  I’ll be there shortly.  Let them boys sit for a while and cool off.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Barkley,” Billy said eagerly.  Being in such a fine house unnerved him.  He was anxious to get back to town.

Nick closed the door and the family returned to their activities.

“Come on, Jarrod.  We’ve got time for one more game.”

Jarrod smiled wryly.  “Sounds to me like there are going to be some unhappy fellows come payday.”

Nick sat down and cracked his knuckles before setting up the next game.  “Yep.  I’ll go down there and pay their fines, but it’ll come out of their pay for the next two weeks.”

Jarrod laughed. “Remind me to be in San Francisco on Friday.”

“You got nothin’ to worry about, Counselor.  They’ve pulled this before, remember?”

“Oh yes.  That’s why I’m going to San Francisco.  You know, Nick, it isn’t our responsibility to bail the help out of trouble, especially for repeat offenses.  Some time in jail might just be warranted. ”

“Make a move, Jarrod,” Nick said with a glare, “I need those boys for work tomorrow.  I can’t run this place short five men.”

Victoria shook her head and smiled inwardly at the exchange between her sons.  Nick would probably work the men twice as hard tomorrow, hangovers and all.  His father, no doubt, would have done the same thing.  Tom was proud of all of his children, and she wished he were here to see how well they’d done.  When he was killed, Nick was only nineteen, and Jarrod was just out of law school.  Still a boy, but possessing Tom’s leadership abilities, Nick took on the responsibility of running the ranch despite his own grief.  Jarrod, showing both maturity and intelligence, took over the business side of the family’s vast holdings.  Victoria knew Tom would be pleased.  His sons not only maintained the legacy Tom worked his life to build, they grew it, and they did it together.

As she often did over the past twenty years, she wondered about the son who didn’t survive.  Would he be a rancher working with Nick, or a professional following in Jarrod’s footsteps?  After all this time, the longing and ache for what never could be was still very much a part of her.  Time dulled, but never erased, the pain.  She supposed it was because she harbored some guilt over the baby’s loss.  If she’d stayed home that stormy night so long ago, would she have carried the child to term, and would he have lived?  She would never forget the intensity of her grief when she regained consciousness and the man handed her the tiny, still infant.  She remembered how her hand traveled to her stomach, hours before full of life, now empty and hollow, its purpose unfulfilled.  She gazed at her dead child.  He was a beautiful boy, with curly blond hair.  His eyes, though, she never saw.  His tiny eyes never saw his grieving mother, but hers saw his lost legacy.

He was christened Aaron James Barkley and buried in a shady glen on the North Pasture.  Fifteen years later, his father was laid to rest beside him. 

**********************

Nick Barkley strode into the sheriff’s office and addressed the man seated behind the desk wearing the badge. 

Fred Madden rose to greet the visitor, extending his hand.  “Nick, glad you could come. I figured you would want to get this taken care of before morning.”

“Well, you guessed right, Fred.  Jarrod didn’t agree, but after explainin’ to him he would have to lend a hand around the ranch tomorrow morning, he saw it differently.”

“What’s the damages?”

“Well, the fine is five dollars a piece, but I’m sure Harry is looking for some compensation as well for the damage to the saloon.  He mentioned pressing charges this time.”

Nick put his hand up.  “I’ll take care of Harry.  Billy said Seth broke his hand?” 

Fred chuckled.  “Yep.  Took a swing at Big John and missed.  Connected with the bar.  Merar’s been here to see him.”

Nick shook his head with disgust as he plunked the bills down on Fred’s desk.  He sat down in an empty chair to await the paperwork.

As Fred completed the forms, he remembered the boy.  “When the young man who started the whole thing wakes up, he’ll be surprised to find an empty cell.”

Nick grunted.  “He the one Billy says got clocked with a bottle?”

“The one and only.  Doctor Merar put fifteen stitches in his head.  The kid’s going to have quite a headache in the morning.  Good thing he wasn’t drinking.”

“Wasn’t drinking!  He took on a man three times his size stone cold sober?”

Fred gathered up the papers and handed them to Nick, who stuffed them in his vest.

“Sure did.  It was a good thing your fellas were around to help him out,” Fred said, reaching for the keys.

Nick followed Fred back into the jail’s cellblock area.  The Stockton Jail held two good-sized cells, each capable of holding two men comfortably.   Any more than that was considered crowded.  Nick tried to maintain a straight face.  Each cell contained over five men.  No wonder Fred wanted the fines paid this evening!

The jangling of keys in the lock of the cell brought the Barkley hands to their feet, looking contrite.

Garrett Thomas spoke for the group.  “Sorry, Nick.”

Nick looked stern.  “You know this will come out of your pay.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“As long as we’re clear.  Now go on, all of you.  Get back to the ranch.  Remember, the day starts at six sharp.”

The men silently shuffled out.  Remaining in the cell, hunched in the corner either asleep or unconscious, was the familiar form of the alleged perpetrator of the incident.  Nick’s eyes widened in surprise as he took in the large bandage wrapped around the boy’s head and the bloodstains on his shirt.  The fresh bruises on his face looked purple and painful.  Nick winced.

Fred saw the recognition flash across Nick’s features.  “You know who he is?”

“Uh, yeah,” Nick stammered.  “He was out at the ranch earlier today looking for work.  Calls himself Heath.  Heath Thomson.  I had to turn him away…” Nick’s distracted voice trailed off.  A thought struck him.  “Say Fred.  You plannin’ to hold him all night?”

Fred nodded.  “Probably a lot longer.  He doesn’t have any money.”

“Good.  Just in case, hold him until I get here in the morning.”

Fred’s brow furrowed in puzzlement.  “Whatever you say.  I doubt he’s going anywhere anyway with the headache he’s gonna have when he wakes up.”

Nick strode into the cell and gestured.  “You plannin’ on movin’ any of them into here?”

Fred shook his head.  “No.  They’re the other side,” he said wryly.

“All right,” Nick said, grasping Heath under the arms, “help me get this guy on a bunk.”

"Doc said he's all right?" Nick asked as he and the sheriff lifted the wounded man in one motion.  Heath's pale complexion made the bruising appear serious.

Fred shrugged, still puzzled by Nick's concern and interest in the young man who apparently was a drifter.  If he worked for Nick Barkley, it would be a different story.  The Barkleys took care of their employees.  But this fellow…well, for whatever reason, Nick Barkley was evidently taking personal charge.

"Says he might have a concussion, but other than that seemed to think he'd be fine."

Nick nodded approvingly.  "Well, I best be headed back.  I plan to be up early to get those boys busy with the special day I have planned out for 'em."

Fred laughed.  "Special day, Nick?  You mean you're gonna give them a reward for their

escapade here?"

Nick smiled slyly.  "Let's just say they won't forget tomorrow for a long time."

"Night, Nick.  See you tomorrow."

*******************

As Heath’s consciousness surfaced, his first thought was that he was going to throw up.  His second thought was that his head had exploded and he was dead.  He opened his eyes and realized he was lying on a bunk, and he wasn’t dead, although his headache made him wish he were.  He tried to recall what happened the night before, but everything was indistinct and disjointed.  He remembered the saloon, a lady, and a huge beast of a man.  Then there was a fight…a fight…he lifted his pounding head and saw the bars.  He groaned.  He was in a cell all by himself.  If he recalled correctly, he’d been jailed with several other men.  Where were they?  Why was he the only one here? 

Then it dawned on him.  The others must’ve paid their fines, and he hadn’t.  The awful truth was, he couldn’t. 

Heath reached a hand up and felt the bandage wrapped around his head.  What the hell happened last night?

With a grunt, he forced himself onto his side, and then slowly started to push himself upright.  The higher he got, the more his head pounded and the nausea intensified.  He fought it down and got himself to a sitting position, lowering his feet to the floor.  Now what?

He heard a door open and close, footsteps, voices, then more footsteps.  Heath turned toward the sound, causing a new wave of nausea. 

“Thought you were going to be out all day.  Was just about to call the doctor back to look at you.”

The badge told Heath the man was the sheriff.  He would know what happened to the other men, as well as the day and the time.

“Did the others ante up?” Heath asked.

“Yes.  The men you were locked up with were released into Mr. Barkley’s custody late last night.”

Heath groaned.  “Barkley?”

Fred remained nonplussed.  “Yes.  Nick Barkley.  You know him?”

Heath looked forlorn.  “No, not exactly.  Don’t reckon I ever will, now.  Was hopin’ to get a job at their spread.”

The sheriff felt terrible for the poor kid.  He looked like he’d just lost his only friend in the world.  Suppressing a smile, the sheriff tried to cheer the young man.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.  Nick Barkley has seen his share of saloon brawls, and isn’t likely to think less of anyone who gets involved in one.”

Fred leaned his arms on the bars, suddenly understanding why Nick Barkley had taken such an interest in the boy. There was a certain quality...a sense of truth in his character.

“You got any family, son?”

Heath hesitated.  The only family he knew of he hadn’t seen in seven years, since the day he spat in his uncle’s face and left.  It was Heath’s own personal Independence Day.  The years since had been rough, but none as bad as before he left his bitter, abusive uncle.

He shook his head.  “No Sir.”

“How old are you, Son?”

“Twenty.  I’ve got a birthday coming up in May.”

“No family…how long have you been without kin?”

Heath shrugged.  “’Bout seven years.”

Fred gave a low whistle.  “Seven years.  That’s a mighty long time to be alone.”

Heath shrugged.  It was seven years of not getting beaten and verbally abused.  “Don’t bother me much, I get by fine.”

Fred sighed.  “Well, Son, here’s the thing.  Unless you’ve got the money to pay your fine, you’re going to be here for a spell.  Now, I got no problem with that, seein’ how you don’t have no place to go and your head is all banged up.”

“How long is a spell?”

“’Bout a month or so.”

Fred watched the relief cross the young man’s features.  “Good news for you?”

Heath smiled.  There was still a chance…Barkley had said the round up would be in about a month.  In the meantime, jail wouldn’t be so bad except he’d get out of shape.  He could sell his horse and pay his fine, but then, how could he get a job at the ranch?  Of course, it would only take one good night at the table, and he could get another horse.  It might be green, but that never stopped him before.

“Barkley said he might be hirin’ in a month.  I’d be out in time, but I might start gettin’ soft.  I got a horse I could sell to pay my fine.”

“If you sell your horse, how are you going to get a job as a cowboy?”

“Gotta plan.”

“Tell you what.  Why don’t you think the whole thing out while I get you something to eat.”

Fred wasn’t sure if the young man heard him. He seemed to be lost in thought.  Fred left the cellblock area and returned to his office.  Nick Barkley rose.  Fred motioned for him to step outside.

“Don’t know what you wanted to hear, Nick, but I hope the conversation helped.”

Nick smiled and patted Fred on the shoulder.  “You did fine.  I wanted to learn a little more about the kid.  Gotta hunch, Fred, that boy might have some talent,” Nick said confidently, “you should have seen him vault into the saddle.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Pay his fine and hire him on – or hire him on and pay his fine, however you want to look at it.” 

Fred shook his head and smiled.  “It’s your money, Nick, but you heard what he said, didn’t you?  He’s got no kin.  He’s a drifter.”

“Fred, if he can ride, rope, and brand, he can be anything he wants.  Let me in there to talk to him.”

Thirty minutes later, Heath was on the way to the ranch, riding next to his new boss, Nick Barkley.

*************************

Two weeks later, Nick leaned against the corral fence and nodded approvingly as Heath rode a skittish horse around the corral.  He now realized the merit of having taken the chance on the young cowboy.  His instincts once again proved true, Heath Thomson was proving to be a good find - a real asset to several aspects of the Barkley horse and cattle operations.  The young man seemed to have a way with animals, and was proving to be an efficient and productive worker.  Nick was impressed.

He sure was quiet though!  Often, he responded with only a nod of his head.  For Nick, this was taking some getting used to.  Nick was the type of person who thrived on verbal interaction, and rather enjoyed the sound of "Yes, Sir!" when he addressed an employee, especially if he caught them slacking.  This Thomson fellow was different.  The more Nick shouted, the quieter he became.  Nick was surprised by his reaction to Thomson's reticence.  For some reason, Nick found himself accepting of Thomson's nods and gestures.  More than once in the past few weeks, the boy actually anticipated Nick's next assignment and would have a task nearly completed before Nick ever issued an order.  Nick was feeling a sense of camaraderie he hadn't felt since working side by side with his father.

He felt a clap on the shoulder and turned.

“Well, Counselor, what brings you out here?”

“Oh, I was on my way to town and thought I’d see if I could get a look at this new hand you’ve been raving about.” 

Jarrod had been in San Francisco since the day after Nick hired Heath until two days prior and hadn’t yet met him. 

Nick nodded towards Heath.  “There he is, Jarrod.  Watch how he handles that horse.”

The two men watched as Heath spoke softly to the animal.  His soothing tone wasn’t lost on the mare, and soon her movements became smooth and responsive to her master’s gentle guidance.

Jarrod nodded approvingly.  “Impressive, Nick.”

Nick smiled broadly.  “What did I tell ya?  I’ve got an eye for talent.”

Noticing Heath dismounting, Nick called to him.

“Heath! Come over here, Boy.”

Heath pulled a kerchief out of his pocket and wiped the dust and sweat from his tan face.  He’d begun to fill out, and had spent his last two paychecks on keeping up with his expanding waistline.  The bruises that once graced his features were nearly gone, and his healthy complexion and full cheeks made the vivid sky blue of his eyes strikingly deep. The sun had burnished his hair an even lighter gold.  Nick was amazed at the difference in the boy. 

“Sure Nick. Whatcha need?” Heath asked.

“I want you to meet my big brother, Jarrod.”

Jarrod extended his hand to the handsome young man, and was immediately struck with a strange feeling of familiarity.  It was almost unnerving; like he was looking at someone he’d met before, but couldn’t recall the time or place.

“Nice to meet you, Heath.  Nick speaks highly of your talents.”

“Thank you, Sir.  I’m glad he found room to bring me on,” Heath said sincerely.  He did mean it.  For the past two weeks he’d worked harder than he ever had in his life, but his belly was full and he had a place to bed down at night.  The pay was good, and for the first time in his young life, the future looked promising.

Jarrod was having trouble taking his eyes away from the boy’s face and the resulting awkward silence made Heath shift his gaze to his boots.

Nick thought Jarrod’s behavior odd and decided to intervene.  “Heath, its almost lunch and you’ve put in a pretty full morning.  Why don’t you take a break.”

“Sure, thanks,” Heath said quietly, then added, “nice to meet you, Jarrod.”

“Same here, Heath.  Don’t let Nick work you too hard.”

Heath smiled.  “He’s a good boss.  I don’t mind doin’ my share.”

Nick clapped his shoulder.  “Go on, get goin’.”

After Heath was out of earshot, Nick turned to Jarrod.  “What was that all about?  You stared at the kid like he was a ghost or somethin’?”

“I’m sorry, Nick.  How much do you know about him?”

Nick shrugged.  “He don’t talk much.  He was in that saloon scuffle a couple of weeks ago and Fred managed to find out he’s about twenty years old, and has been on his own since he was about thirteen, which explained why he was so damned skinny.  Why?  You seen him before?”

“I don’t know, Nick.  When he shook my hand, for a minute I had the feeling I’d met him somewhere or at some time.” 

Nick shook his head and laughed nervously.  “I know what you mean.  What gets me are his eyes.  It’s like he talks with ‘em.  Reminds me of Father.”

“Of Father?”

“Yeah.  Strange, isn’t it?”

Jarrod stared in the direction of the bunkhouse, where Heath disappeared through the doorway.  He turned and looked at Nick.

“Yes.  Did he say where he’s from?”

Nick thought for a minute.  “Um, I think I heard him say Strawberry, but I’m not sure.  The kid’s been around.”

“Strawberry?” Jarrod asked.  The family used to have interests there.  “Has Mother seen him yet?”

Nick looked warily at Jarrod.  “No, and just what are you gettin’ at?  You’re not thinkin’…”

“I’m not thinking anything Nick.  I ’m just curious.”

Nick narrowed his eyes.  “Don’t think, Jarrod.  That boy is the best hand I’ve got right now.  Whatever it is, you’re dreamin’.”

Jarrod sighed.  “You’re right, Nick.  I guess it’s hard for me to leave the courtroom behind sometimes.  I’ve got to get to town.  See you at dinner?”

“Yeah,” Nick answered.  He watched Jarrod leave and felt an odd sense of foreboding creeping into his belly.  Just what did Jarrod think?  Was there possibly a connection between the boy and their father?  Nick dismissed the thought.  That would mean…?

“Impossible,” Nick grumbled aloud, “he’s seein’ things.”

Satisfied, Nick decided to have lunch in the mess with the men.  But no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t quite get the conversation with Jarrod out of his head, or his stomach.

*******************

Dinner proved to be an uncomfortable affair.  Jarrod kept glancing Nick’s way with a knowing look until Nick finally threw his napkin down in disgust and stormed out of the room, leaving Victoria and Audra sitting stunned.

From that point forward, Nick made a mission of avoiding Jarrod as much as possible by eating either before or after regular mealtimes and leaving for work early and returning late.  Whatever Jarrod was thinking or doing in regards to Thomson, Nick wanted no part of it.

Jarrod made several attempts to explain his position to Nick, but the hotheaded rancher refused to listen.  Jarrod finally gave up trying after he and Nick had a heated argument in the North Pasture that nearly came to blows. Jarrod managed to track him down one afternoon and found him working alone repairing a fence.  Jarrod rode up and dismounted, but Nick didn’t look up or stop what he was doing.

Jarrod pushed his hat back on his head.  “Nick, I’d like to talk to you.”

“I’m busy, Jarrod,” Nick said tersely.

“Look Nick, I know you don’t approve of me digging into Thomson’s background, but even you have to admit, his resemblance to Father is rather uncanny.”

“It is a coincidence, Jarrod!  Nothing more!”

“I feel it is more than a coincidence.  You know, when we were young, Father spent a great deal of time traveling to oversee the mining and timber operations.”

Nick whirled, his anger acute, his eyes burning with rage. “Damn you!  How can you even think such a thing?”

“I’m not any more thrilled about the possibility than you are, but we have to know for certain the boy isn’t really here to cause trouble.  Think of what this could do to Mother.”

Nick advanced on Jarrod with a look that actually caused a stab of fear in the lawyer.  He stepped backwards.

“Now you listen to me,” Nick growled, “I don’t have the time to stop you from doin’ what you’re gonna do, but hear this.  I want no part of what you’re up to.  You got no right.  Father wouldn’t cheat, and if you don’t believe that, then that’s your problem.  Leave me out of it!!”

The stared at one another for a long moment, then Jarrod, realizing the futility of trying to reason with Nick, turned and walked back to his horse and rode away.  Whether Nick liked it or not, he was going to get to the bottom of this, for all of their sakes.

Victoria did not miss the tension between her sons, although she’d been hard pressed to get either one to sit still long enough to inquire as to what was going on between them.  Finally deciding to take the bull by the horns, she strode out to the corral where Nick was supervising a group on men breaking new stock.

Nick recognized the scent of his mother’s perfume before he felt her tiny hand on his back.  He flinched involuntarily.  The hands were holding an unbroken stallion while Heath adjusted his gloves, preparing to mount.  Nick whirled at her touch and placed his body in her line of sight.

Victoria shifted and tried to look around Nick, but Nick shadowed her movements with his broad body until she finally threw her hands up in disgust.

“Nicholas, really!  What on earth is the matter with you?  You have been sneaking around and moody for the past few days.  Is something bothering you Sweetheart?”

Nick realized the ridiculousness of what he’d just done to his mother and inwardly groaned.  She knew he was hiding something.  The wheels turned in his head.  What better way to prove Jarrod was wrong than to have Mother meet Heath?  Then it would be settled once and for all.  Nick was confident his mother would find nothing unusual or familiar about the boy, and then things could get back to normal. 

He chewed his bottom lip nervously.  “Well, uh, nothing’s wrong, Mother.  I’ve just been busy, is all.”

“I see,” Victoria said, stepping around him and approaching the fence.  “Is that the new hand of whom you’ve been speaking so highly?”

Nick watched her expression carefully for any flickers of recognition.  So far so good, from a distance anyway.

Nick turned and leaned on the fence.  “Yeah.  That’s him.  He’s good.  I was lucky to get him.”

They watched approvingly as Heath made efficient work of the stallion.  Nick found his heart was hammering the wall of his chest.  Should he call the boy over?  He decided yes, then no, a hundred times in a second. 

Finally, he waved Heath over.  “Heath, come over here!”

Nick watched his mother’s face as the young blond cowboy sauntered over.  At first, his heart rose, as he saw nothing change in his mother’s expression.  But the closer Thomson got to where they stood, he saw her blink, then her mouth dropped open, and then she gasped, her hand involuntarily moving to her mouth. He heard his mother utter one strangled word.

“Tom?”

Nick’s airborne heart crashed back to the hard, unforgiving earth and shattered.

Victoria Barkley tried to gather herself as the handsome young man grew near.  He was slighter in height and build than Nick, but imperceptibly larger than Jarrod.  Where their hair was dark, this young man’s was fair, like her daughter’s.  Those traits alone indicated no definitive commonality to her children.  No, what marked this child her husband’s were his walk and his eyes.  And what marked this child her own was the definition in his cheekbones and his mouth.  But he was definitively more Tom than any of the other three children combined, and for a brief moment wondered why none of her children noticed.  Had Tom been gone so long they’d forgotten?  Then it dawned on her.  This boy wasn’t the image of the Tom her children remembered.  He was Tom in his youth, and naturally, Jarrod, Nick, and Audra wouldn’t have known him then.  Perhaps Jarrod would, if he reached into the deepest depths of his memory, but Nick and Audra, no.

Nick cleared his throat.  Victoria was pale and Nick was afraid she would faint.  Heath was already too close to send away. 

Nick braced himself.

“Uh, Heath, this here is my mother, Victoria Barkley,” he stammered.  This was a nightmare.

Heath extended his hand to the beautiful petite lady standing before him.  She had white hair that belied her youth, and the way she carried herself told him she could be a force to be reckoned with.  Like the lawyer a few days before, she was eyeing him with a strange mix of curiosity and recognition.  What was the matter with these people? Thank goodness Nick was the one running the ranch, because the others seemed too eccentric for such a demanding task. 

He felt her palm slip into his and felt a twinge.  He didn’t know why, but he had a sense of…completion…for the brief moment their hands touched.  When they withdrew, the feeling was gone.  Now it was his turn to feel strange. 

“Nice to meet you Ma’am,” he said, peering deep into her gray eyes.  He was searching their depths…for what? 

“You as well,” she managed, barely above a whisper. She tore her gaze from his.  “If you boys will excuse me, I have some things to do in the house.”

The words were barely out of her mouth before she turned and walked away, her heart pounding and her stomach inside out.  Visions of a stormy night, twenty years ago, whirled through her mind.  She struggled to recall the painful event she’d long ago tucked away in the recesses of her heart and soul, and now, as then, the images carried no greater clarity.  Yet…now she’d seen proof.  Living, breathing evidence of what her heart had all these years told her to be true.

Nick glanced between Heath and Victoria.  “You stay put,” he said to Heath as he pursued his mother.  Reaching her, he grabbed her arm.

“Mother.”

Victoria looked at him, but said nothing.  She had to confirm what she’d seen.  If it was true…

Nick lowered his voice.  “Mother, what is it?  What is going on?  First Jarrod, now you.”

So Jarrod suspected as well.  She looked at Nick, his face riddled with confusion, and she felt a pang of guilt.  She couldn’t tell him, not yet.  When all the answers were known, everything would have to be revealed carefully and in its own time.

“Nothing.  Its warm out here, and I feel faint.”  She knew he saw through the excuse, but it wasn’t entirely a lie.  She felt weak, and sought only to return to the refuge of the house without further confrontation.

God, how Nick wanted to believe her feeble explanation, but he knew in his heart and soul something was going on.  Now was not the time, nor the place, to argue about it.  He released the hold on her arm and relaxed his expression.

“Oh, well, guess you oughta go inside,” he said.  His eyes bored through hers, searching for the truth.

“Yes, I should,” she said, “don’t work too hard, Dear.”  She stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Nick stood and watched her until after she went into the house.  So Jarrod had been right after all…well, whatever it was, he was going to do some investigating of his own.

Remembering Heath, he whirled.  The boy was still standing in the corral.  Nick winced.  Heath had seen and heard the exchange between them.  His face was expressionless, but his eyes reflected confusion and hurt.  Those damned eyes!  Nick walked over and leaned on the fence, and without looking at the boy, his voice toneless, he issued an order.

“Simon and Charlie will finish this up.  Hitch the buckboard and load the supplies for fence repair.  You and I are going to the South Meadow for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, Sir,” Heath responded, a feeling of dread washing over him.  For a brief moment he thought of packing his things as fast as he could and riding out, but he knew he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and besides that, why should he?  He didn’t know who these people were, and to his recollection had never laid eyes on them before.  They were obviously mistaking him for someone else.  Someone they used to know who was perhaps dead or missing.  No, he didn’t understand what was going on, but Heath knew it involved him in some way, and he felt like he was being left out of a private secret; the thought made him angry.  Heath knew Nick was taking him to work alone to get some answers.  Well, Heath had nothing to hide.  In fact, what he had to impart on Nick Barkley pertaining to his past would probably make the man squirm with pity and guilt, as rich folks often did when faced with the less appealing side to life.  He’d answer Nick Barkley’s questions, and Nick would see whatever it was, it was all a misunderstanding. 

He clenched the hand Victoria Barkley held a few moments before into a fist, marveling how it still stung from her fleeting touch.

********************

Once the heavy front door to the mansion slammed shut behind her, Victoria broke into a run, heading straight upstairs to her bedroom.  The exertion only served to make her furiously beating heart race faster.  She raced for the drawer where she kept the family photographs.  Finally, hands shaking, her eyes fell on the image she was seeking.  It was a picture of Tom standing proudly on the site for this very house.  He’d insisted on hiring a photographer for the occasion; a symbol of the luxury they could now afford.

She gazed at the image of the man she had loved and made her life with and compared it to the young man she just met by the corral.  It wasn’t an exact match, but the striking similarities left little doubt as to the boy’s heritage.  Now, how could that be?  Had Tom been unfaithful?  She dismissed that thought immediately.  Surely she would have known or suspected something as serious as infidelity, wouldn’t she?

She closed her eyes and tried to distinguish the images on the backs of her eyelids.  She could see rain...and the glow of a fire…she heard a clap of thunder…and a cry…

Victoria knew she needed more information, but from where?  Strawberry…she should start in Strawberry. 

Victoria jumped at the knock on the door.

“Mother?”

“Yes, Jarrod.  Come in.”

“Mother, I came back for some papers I left in my suit coat and…” Jarrod stopped, seeing his Mother’s pale face and tormented expression.  He noticed she was sitting on the edge of the bed, with a photograph in her trembling grasp.

His mother’s expression almost frightened him. 

“Mother, what’s wrong? What happened?” Jarrod asked, sitting down on the bed beside her.

Victoria couldn’t find the right words, so she showed him the picture of Tom.

Jarrod gently took it from her trembling fingers, and knew immediately the matter involved one Heath Thomson, the photograph in his hand, and his mother.  Heath Thomson, the blond cowboy in their employ, was the spitting image of the young Tom Barkley.  Nick said Thomson came from Strawberry, and the Barkleys once owned a mine there. The eyes…Nick said they reminded him of Father.  Jarrod continued to gaze at the photo.  There was something else…

Jarrod blanched.  Had Tom Barkley engaged in an affair?  When? How? His mother was obviously already aware of the possible connection between Heath and the Barkleys, and apparently had more information than he’d been able to uncover himself over the past few days.

“Mother?  Heath Thomson looks like…?”

Tears no longer in check, Victoria nodded. 

“Jarrod, do remember much about when Aaron was born?”

Jarrod reached into the depths of his childhood memories.  He could recall bits and pieces of that time.  Tom was away a lot, and he remembered his parents were expecting a baby, and he recalled the sadness that seemed to last forever after they buried the little brother he never knew. The baby was born in Strawberry.  What could Aaron possibly have to do with Heath Thomson?  Surely, they weren’t one and the same?

“I remember how sad it was, especially for you and Father.  Father was hurt, and he didn’t make it home for the funeral.”

Victoria nodded.  “That was perhaps the darkest time in our marriage.  Neither of us, your father or I, knew how to cope with the loss of the baby.  I felt guilty, and he was angry.  Since I blamed myself, I thought he was angry with me for having foolishly traveled.  To some extent, he was, but most of his anger was directed at God for taking his son.”

“Mother, what exactly are you trying to tell me?”  Jarrod asked, confused.

She looked up at her oldest son and met his gaze.  “Jarrod, I need to go to Strawberry…now.  Will you help me?  I’ll explain what this is all about on the way there.”

Without a word, he nodded.

********************

Nick and Heath rode in strained silence out to the South Meadow.  Nick Barkley’s mind and stomach churned with only one question…who was Heath Thomson?  He drove the wagon looking straight ahead. His hands were clutching the reins so tightly his knuckles were white.

Heath sat miserably beside Nick resisting the urge to jump off of the moving wagon and run.  Heath knew Nick was mad; though not necessarily at him, but mad nonetheless and it made him uncomfortable.  He tried to focus on questions Nick might hurl against him.  Nick would want to know where Heath was born, raised, and where he’d been.  Those were easy.  Nick would also want him to answer why his mother and brother seemed to think he was familiar.  Now there was a question he couldn’t answer, and it made him angry to think he was going to be put through an inquisition for something he knew nothing about.  Heath latched onto this anger and grew it until they reached the section of fence Nick purposed to mend.

Each man grabbed a hammer and some nails, and began working, not one word passing between them.  To someone passing by, this would not seem unusual, but on closer examination, one would find the tension between the two men palpable. 

After setting a post, both stopped to wipe the moisture from their faces.  Unable to contain himself any longer, Nick took the first shot.

“Who are you?”

Heath felt his stomach tense.  The question was asked in an almost sneering tone.  Nick’s eyes were hard and narrow.  Heath stared at him for a long moment, watching Nick’s ire build as the silence lengthened.

“You know who I am,” Heath answered evenly and unblinking.

“Do I?  My brother and mother seem to think you’re a ghost from somewhere.  Now, I’m gonna ask you again, and I expect an answer.  Who are you, Boy?”

“A nobody,” Heath mumbled.

“What was that?  I didn’t quite hear you, Boy,” Nick sneered. 

Heath saw red.  A lifetime of pain and struggle and emptiness coalesced and burst forth.

“NOBODY!” Heath shouted, then quieter, pulling himself straight, blue eyes on fire,  “I’m nobody.  I was born almost twenty-one years ago, I don’t know where…I was left on some man’s doorstep without so much as a note…the man’s sister raised me until she died when I was five…then he took me in.  He was a sonuvabitch who worked me until my fingers bled and beat me and cursed at me and told me I was no good…that nobody wanted me…NOBODY WANTED ME!”

Nick Barkley stood, mouth agape.  “I don’t…”

Nick intended to say he didn’t understand, but Heath, in his fury, assumed Nick didn’t believe him.

“You don’t believe me?  Well, here…here’s your goddamned proof,” Heath said as he ripped at his shirt, some of the buttons popping off.  He roughly yanked the garment away and threw it angrily on the ground.  He turned so Nick could see the scars on his back; once angry red welts, now old and muted more subtle reminders, but evidence nonetheless, then whirled back around.

Nick flinched.

“There’s your proof of what I’m sayin’.  But wait, it gets better…I thought the woman who died was my mother until I was nine.  Then he,” Heath spat, “he told me what really happened.  I was nine years old, and I found out when I was born, I wasn’t wanted so they left me…left me on his doorstep, and he made sure he reminded me every single day of that fact.  My whole life was a lie.  The woman I thought was my mother really wasn’t!  Do you know what that’s like?  When you were nine, did someone tell you that?”

Heath was panting, and he wasn’t quite finished, though he’d stopped shouting and was speaking in a tone laced with bitterness, his eyes still ablaze.

“I put up with it until I was thirteen, and one day I’d had enough.  I spat in the sonuvabitch’s face and I left, and I never looked back.  So you see, unless I’ve polished your rich brother’s shoes in San Francisco, or mucked out his horse’s stable, or cleared the table at some fancy luncheon of your mother’s, they don’t know me.  I’m nobody.  My goddamned name ain’t even mine.”

Heath stared into Nick’s eyes for a few moments, but Nick’s eyes only showed compassion.  Heath looked down, feeling exhausted, his rage spent.

Nick felt terrible.  His heart ached from what he’d just heard.  Nick thought it hardly seemed fair his own life was full of warmth and love while others lived life devoid of these gifts.  He was angry with himself for putting Heath in the position where he felt he was forced to divulge these painful secrets, and in another sense, he felt the better for it.  Once again, Nick’s instincts hadn’t failed him.  The young man standing before him was someone special.  Someone who’d had a hard life and made his own way, meeting the world head on.  Someone possessing pride and courage, and who persevered against the worst of circumstances.  Heath Thomson stood tall in Nick Barkley’s eyes.  

Bending down, Nick picked up Heath’s discarded shirt and held it out to the blond man. 

“I’m sorry,” Nick said quietly.  “Let’s call it a day.”

Still looking down, Heath reached out and took the shirt and shrugged it back on.  After loading the wagon, they rode back to the ranch in silence.  Heath was numb, dazed with exhaustion and humiliation.  Although contrite, Nick was intent and focused on confronting Jarrod and his mother.

**********************

When they reached the ranch, Nick saw that Heath made it into the bunkhouse.  He was concerned about the stupor Heath seemed to be in, and of course, felt responsible.

“Get some rest.  I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nick said quietly, clapping him on the shoulder.

Heath nodded slightly in response and entered the bunkhouse.  Nick felt somewhat encouraged, but decided he’d stop in later to see how Heath was doing.

Just before Nick turned to go to the house, he spied Jake Wright approaching.  Jake was not only the Barkley ranch foreman, but also the unofficial spokesman for the men.  He must have seen how sluggish Heath seemed.

“Everything all right, Nick?”

Nick stiffened and didn’t look at the older man when he answered. 

“It will be, Jake,” Nick said flatly.  He started to step away when Jake’s voice stopped him. 

“What about the boy.  Is he all right?”

Nick let out a barely perceptible sigh.

“He’s fine, Jake.  Leave him be, all right?”  Nick knew Heath didn’t need or want to be bothered right now, no matter how well intentioned the other men might be. 

Jake studied Nick, trying to determine what happened between the two men, but he couldn’t read anything in Nick other than resolve.  Jake was left with no choice but to follow Nick’s order and see to it that the men did as well.

“Yes, Sir.”

Nick felt himself winding up as he entered the kitchen door.

“Mother! Jarrod! Audra!”

Silas jumped where he was working in front of the stove.  “Mister Nick, you sure know how to scare a body,” he said shaking his head.

“Sorry Silas.  Is anyone here?”

“Your mother and Mister Jarrod left just after lunch in the carriage.  Miss Audra is in the parlor.”

“Left?  For where?”

“They didn’t say exactly.  Just said to tell you they’d be back when they could and not to wait up.”

Nick looked thoughtful.  “Uh, thanks Silas.  I think I’ll get cleaned up and meet Audra in the parlor.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nick strode into the parlor.  “Audra,” he said as he approached the table holding the liquor decanter.

“Hello Nick.  I heard you come in,” she giggled.

“Huh?”

“Nothing, Big Brother.  Is something wrong?”

“No…did Mother and Jarrod tell you where they were going?”