Betrayals

A/N: I just can’t seem to stop borrowing dialogue from “Palms of Glory”

Heath left as soon as he knew Nick was asleep, needing to get out of there. God, what had he just done, what had he just allowed to be done to him? Head throbbing, chest pounding, injured shoulder crying in pain, Heath forced one foot in front of the other, driven by the sole need to escape.

He stumbled, crying out as he gashed his knee on a rock. He struggled to his feet, needing to keep moving. He had to get away from there, had to get away from what just took place. He staggered on, uncaring of the pain wracking his body, fuelled only by the desperation to get away. But his thoughts followed him; no matter how far he got and how fast he pushed his battered body, they were still there, taunting him, leering at him.

He could still feel Nick’s hands on him, stroking and caressing him. He could still feel Nick’s lips brush against his skin, his warm breath on the back on his neck. He could still feel Nick pushing inside of him, filling and stretching him and the unimaginable sensations it brought. Heath stumbled again as he shuddered in revulsion, not just from what had happened, but from his own reactions. The remembered feel of Nick’s caresses only sent shivers of longing through the young man, a longing that both excited and disgusted him. How could he want something like that, something so perverted and amoral? Men like Nick Barkley were just out to slake their carnal lusts; they didn’t care who they got it from or who they hurt. But Heath could still feel the warmth of those touches, the gentle strength in Nick’s hands. It was almost as if the other man truly cared for him, truly cared about Heath’s pleasure and well-being.

Heath shook his head, trying to get rid of the unwanted feelings. No, Nick was the same crude, obnoxious cowboy Heath thought him when they first met. He didn’t care about Heath, no one cared. Gotta get away, he thought, get far away from Nick, go somewhere… He suddenly thought of a green cabin surrounded by a little picket fence.

Home, he thought, home to see his mama. He’d borrow a horse from the Barkleys; he’d return it when he had a chance.

Heath stumbled on, one word giving him strength. Home.

*

Jarrod rode through the gate of his home, dejected and tired. He’d spent just over a week in the state capitol to accomplish nothing. Less than nothing, since he probably would’ve achieved at least something by heading out to Strawberry instead and confirming his suspicions that Heath Thomson was his father’s son.

“Ah, Señor Jarrod!” A portly Mexican came up to take the reins of his horse.

“¡Hola!, Ciego.” Jarrod tried to keep the weariness he felt out of his voice. “¿Cómo estás?”

“Estoy bien, señor,” Ciego replied affably. “How was Sacramento?”

“Cold and dreary,” Jarrod told him, removing his saddlebags and slinging them over his shoulder.

“Well, if it’s heat you want, we’ve got it here.” The stableman looped the bay’s reins around his arm. “This horse is to be returned to the livery in town, no?”

Jarrod nodded. “Sí.” Then he noticed the unfamiliar wagons pulled up near the house. “Ciego, what’s all this about, these wagons?”

“Señor Sample and Señor Swenson, they hear you are coming home today and are wanting to talk to you. I sent them to wait in the house.”

Jarrod sighed and clapped Ciego on the shoulder. “Thanks, Ciego.”

He walked into the house and set the saddlebags on the floor before taking off his hat, which was immediately taken out of his hand.

“Hello, Silas,” he greeted the long-time friend and retainer.

“Mr. Jarrod, how have you been?” The warm smile on the older black man’s face gave Jarrod’s spirits a much-needed lift.

“Fine. I swear you’re getting younger every day,” he said, returning the smile.

Silas smiled wider then cautioned, “Shhh, your mama, she’s sleeping.”

“Oh.” Jarrod glanced up to the top of the staircase to make sure she hadn’t been disturbed and then turned back as Silas said, “You’re looking fine, Mr. Jarrod, just fine. Your guests, they’re in the library.”

Jarrod nodded and, bracing himself, headed through the double oak doors.

“Sig, how are you?” he greeted the grey haired man, shaking his hand before turning to shake the hand of the other man. “Frank.”

“Ain’t you something to see?” Swenson said eagerly.

“Say, you really gave it to them up there, didn’t you?” Sample added, almost as enthusiastically.

“Sure he did,” Swenson asserted firmly, “I told you that.” He turned back to Jarrod. “Well, Jarrod, did you make those high and mightys eat crow?” His face fell as Jarrod didn’t meet his eyes, just walked slowly across the room to stand in front of the fireplace. “You saw the governor…”

Sample took a few steps forward. “You said you were going to meet with him.”

Jarrod looked down, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I saw the governor,” he told them regretfully.

“Oh my god, no.” It was almost as if Swenson deflated as the light went out of his eyes.

Jarrod looked from one defeated face to the other. “He wouldn’t do anything. I’m sorry.”

“Well, it ain’t legal!” Frank Sample protested, “It can’t be!”

“Not by any moral standard, I know,” Jarrod concurred, “but as things stand, it’s legal.”

“But twenty-five dollars an acre!” objected Sig Swenson. “How am I ever going to raise that much money? And in three days!”

Sample’s eyes grew cold. “How many men do you have under hire, Jarrod?”

Jarrod regarded him skeptically. “Why?”

“Thirty-five, forty?” Sample demanded, turning to his neighbour. “We could match that, Sig, you know we can.”

“For what, Frank?” Jarrod’s expression turned hard, afraid he knew what the farmer was suggesting.

“Fight them, Jarrod!” Swenson agreed fervently. “He’s right. Just like we did before, with your daddy!”

“And who do you think you’d be fighting, Sig?” Jarrod asked acerbically. He’d just come from town and knew the streets were crawling with hired guns; the word on the street said the men had been hired by the railroad for just the reason the other men were proposing. “A half-dozen mud hogs off a flatcar?” He shook his head. “No. Go into town and take a look; it’s crawling with them. They’ve hired themselves an army,” Jarrod concluded reluctantly.

“Are you asking us to give into it, Jarrod?” Sample asked, the fire dying in his eyes. “Is that what you’re asking? Give up all we own? My house, my field? My oldest boy’s buried by that house,” he said, almost desperate. “I give that up?”

“Frank, I think you know me better than that. I’ve already filed an injunction. We’ve still got three days to hear back from the Supreme Court before we have to make any other decisions. We’ll meet again then.” Jarrod walked over to the table when a few crystal decanters sat. “Now how about a drink before you go?”

“Drink?” Swenson repeated, shaking his head, walking past. “No, I’ve gotta wet a field down.”

Jarrod put a reassuring hand on Sample’s shoulder as he walked them out. “I’ll let you know,” he promised, “Thursday morning at the latest.”

“Sure, Jarrod.”

Jarrod returned slowly to the library and poured himself a glass of scotch.

His father might have been right in fighting for the rights of the people of this valley and it still might come to that again, but what sort of resolution had that brought? Here they were, only three years later, going through the exact same thing. They needed a lasting solution, one that would bring a stable peace. He didn’t really think an answer was going to come soon enough from his appeal to the courts, but dammit, the law had to be good for something or everything he’d done was a lie and everything his father said was right. Jarrod tossed back the scotch, feeling it burn on the way down and poured himself another.

Jarrod wandered to the French doors, looking out to across the ranch. He wasn’t against progress, but there had to be a way for people’s rights not to get trampled at the same time. His eyes caught movement out by the edge of the barn and he looked more carefully, wondering what it was. The figure stumbled, catching himself at the last minute before he fell into the dirt.

“Heath,” Jarrod breathed, setting down his glass and running outside. “Heath, what happened?” he asked, grabbing the young man under the shoulders and helping him stand upright.

The blond feebly tried to push him away. “Leave me alone, Jarrod,” he mumbled, “just gotta get outta here.”

“Where, Heath?” Jarrod demanded. “Why?”

“Gotta get away from here,” Heath repeated. “Going home, need to see Mama.”

Jarrod’s eyes took in the bandaged head, the blood-spattered shirt and the deep shadows lining Heath’s face. “Heath, you’re in no shape to ride all the way to Strawberry. I’ll hitch up a wagon, take you there myself…” he started, knowing he had his own reasons to go to the old mining camp up the Stanislaus.

“No!” Heath snarled and Jarrod felt himself flying backwards from the unexpected right cross, blackness enveloping him as he hit the ground.

*

“Jarrod? Hey, Jarrod!”

Jarrod blinked, brushing away the hand that was patting his cheek. “I’m all right, Nick. Help me up, would you?”

Nick extended a hand and Jarrod grasped it, pulling himself to his feet.

“So who’s mad at you today, counsellor?” Nick teased.

Jarrod rubbed his tender jaw. “Heath,” he said slowly.

“Heath?’ Nick asked, looking around in concern. “Where is he? Have you seen him?”

“No, Nick,” Jarrod answered sarcastically. “He knocked me cold when I wasn’t looking. Of course I’ve seen him.”

Nick grasped Jarrod’s arm. “Well, when? Where’d he go?”

Jarrod shrugged out of Nick’s grip, pushing his brother away. “He said he was going to Strawberry, but I doubt if he’ll make it in the shape he was in. Damn stubborn fool.”

“Strawberry?” If Jarrod didn’t know better, he’d have sworn Nick looked almost, well, heartbroken. “Why’d he slip out like that? Why’d he take off without saying a word?”

Suddenly, Jarrod had a sinking feeling and he knew why Heath left. He grabbed the front of Nick’s shirt, jerking him closer until they were almost nose-to-nose. “Couldn’t leave him alone, could you, Nick?” he snarled. “Once you saw him, you just had to have him any way you could, didn’t you? Big, bad Nick Barkley, doesn’t take no for an answer!” Jarrod shook Nick roughly. “What did you do to him, Nick?”

“It wasn’t like that, Jarrod!” Nick protested hotly. “He was hurting, needed someone to comfort him and that’s all I did. Why the hell does it matter to you, anyway?”

Jarrod gave Nick a hard shove, knocking him onto his ass in the dirt. “Because that boy who came limping in here looking like he’d just walked through hell and back, that boy you just couldn’t keep your hands off of, is most likely our brother!”

Nick sat there, blinking uncomprehendingly. “What the devil are you talking about, Jarrod? That boy’s no more our brother than I’m a... a… trained bear!”

“Have you looked at him, Nick?” Jarrod growled, advancing menacingly. “I mean, really looked at him, as a person, not just a nice ass in a pair of tight pants? Haven’t you noticed something familiar about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on? Or have you just been doing all your thinking with your cock instead of your brain!”

“Now that’s just uncalled for, Pappy!” Nick bellowed, picking himself out of the dirt. “What do you think I am?” He shoved Jarrod back. “And you still haven’t told me why you think Heath is our brother! That’s just absurd!”

The two men stood, chests almost touching, blue and hazel eyes snapping furiously.

“Go into the library, Nick,” Jarrod said more calmly, getting a firm rein on his temper. “Take a close look at the picture of Mother and Father on the desk and then tell me you don’t think Heath Thomson could be our brother. You know as well as I do Father wasn’t the most faithful of husbands, I’m sure he took you to a few of his favorite sporting houses when you were on cattle buying trips together.” Jarrod could see that Nick was calming down and starting to consider his words carefully. “You were only four when he came back from Strawberry after being gone all that time. You probably didn’t see it or don’t remember, but I saw the tension between our parents when he returned.”

Nick sagged back against the side of the barn. “God, Jarrod, what have I done?” he asked in an anguished whisper. “I swear, I didn’t force him to do anything. That black Modoc of his, the one he’s always fussing over, well, we were out for a ride and she took a fall and broke her leg.” Nick looked up at Jarrod, eyes full of remorse. “He put her down himself, Pappy, pulled the trigger and then he just collapsed. I got him to one of the line shacks and he just sat there, shivering, and I just wanted to comfort him, help him, y’know?”

Jarrod reached out and put a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder, knowing full well the big heart Nick’s brash demeanour concealed.

“I was just holding him, and one thing just led to another and…” Nick’s words choked off in a sob. “I think I’m in love with him, Jarrod, and now you say he might be our brother?”

Jarrod pulled his younger brother into a warm embrace. “Why don’t we grab our gear and head after him?” the elder brother suggested softly. “We can make sure he stays in one piece and maybe find some of the answers to our questions when we reach Strawberry.”

Nick nodded, dragging a hand across his face to rid it of any lingering tears. “Okay, Jarrod.”

Jarrod kept his arm around Nick’s shoulders as they walked to the house.

“Oh, by the way,” Nick asked suddenly, “how’d things go in Sacramento?”

“Not well, Nick,” Jarrod admitted. “I should probably stay back and plan for what we’re going to do, but right now, this is more important. And we should be back by the time the deadline hits.” And yes, Father, he told himself, I am focusing on the business of this family. Something it seems you failed to do.