Betrayals

A/N: And here’s the last of the episode “Palms Of Glory” retold for this AU. The rest is all mine.


Nick sat on Sample’s porch in the bright early morning sunshine. “I tried to run for cover,” he told his rapt audience, gesturing for emphasis, “but these claws were ripping right into my back, and the teeth were hitting my neck. I've been up against some cats before...”

“How’d you get out?” one of the men asked.

“Her husband came home.”

Nick gave his older brother a glare as Jarrod walked up behind him to lean against the post. Most of the men were already there, checking their pistols, loading their rifles, making small talk as they accepted cups of coffee from Mrs. Sample, trying to distract themselves from what was about to come.

Nick crossed his arms. “What time is it?”

Jarrod reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. He opened it, glancing briefly before returning it to his pocket and squinting off into the distance. “Ten minutes to eight.”

Nick slouched more heavily against the rail and smacked his black-gloved hands together. Ten minutes before Jordan’s deadline. He’d seen the quality of the hired guns the railroad brought in and as much as he knew they had to take a stand, he wasn’t looking forward to this fight. Give him a good brawl any day, fist against fist, muscle against muscle, but anyone could get lucky with a bullet. Or unlucky.

“Jarrod. Nick.” Frank Sample nodded in the direction of town and both men turned their heads towards the sound of approaching riders.

Nick jumped from his perch on the porch rail, moving to stand behind it while Jarrod stepped out in front. Rifles and pistols were readied as almost two dozen men rode into the yard.

“Nettie!” Sample called to his wife and she came slowly out of the house, her eyes never leaving the approaching men. “Where are the kids?”

“In the cellar.”

“Get with them,” Sample told her. Nettie glanced at him before moving to do his bidding.

The men pulled their horses to a halt, milling restlessly in front of the house. Sheriff Lyman dismounted and approached.

“That’s far enough, Harry,” Sample told him, the determined farmer slowly walking towards Stockton’s sheriff. The air was silent, only the snort of a horse breaking the stillness.

The sheriff slowly pulled a piece of paper from his pocked and unfolded it. He started to read. “ ‘At 8:00 a.m., by order of the governor of the state of California’...”

“We know what it says, Harry,” Jarrod broke in, his posture deceptively casual.

Harry continued reading. “ ‘And the power vested in me as sheriff of this county’...”

“We know what it says,” Nick repeated belligerently.

Harry folded the paper, regret in his eyes and turned at the sound of more hoofbeats. Everyone else turned with him and Jarrod and Nick exchanged a glance as they recognized the rider.

The sheriff tried again. “Frank, these people have been empowered as agents of the Coastal and Western to take possession of your property.”

“I’ll be dead first.” The normally genial farmer’s eyes were cold.

“Now, Frank, you listen.” The sheriff’s voice was almost desperate, pleading with the assembled men. “All of you, listen.”

The bay horse galloped through the assembled riders, stopping at the house as its rider jumped from the saddle, pulling the rifle from its sheath and hurrying onto the porch. Heath held the rifle firmly as he took a position beside his brothers.

“These men have been duly sworn and deputized, and every one with the right to do as they see fit if they're defied.” Harry Lyman looked from the men assembled on the porch to those who would use whatever force necessary to take that land away before turning back. “Frank, you've got family. Now that must mean something. You think of your people.”

No one spoke, not a muscle twitched. He turned to appeal to the men whose father had been a leader in the valley. “In the name of God, Jarrod, Nick!”

Everyone stared, unmoving, not speaking. The leader of the hired men took a look at his watch and up a finger to indicate one minute.

“You have no way!” the sheriff tried again. “Jarrod, tell them!”

“Get out of this, Harry,” Nick warned, not wanting to see an old friend get killed for just doing his duty.

“You men are asking to be killed!” It was as if Lyman was talking to a stone wall. “You're fighting for something you haven't a chance of winning!”

“There’s a motion being heard by the Supreme Court,” Jarrod offered, taking one more chance to avoid bloodshed. “Will you wait?”

Sheriff Lyman looked to the railroad’s men, undecided. Pistols were loosened from holsters, rifles were readied and Jarrod slowly removed the safety loop from his gun. Without warning, the leader drew his gun and shot Sample dead in the chest, the unfortunate farmer flying backwards to lie unmoving in the dirt.

Nick jumped over the porch rail and pulled his gun, firing as bullets started flying in all directions. Men started falling and Nick was too busy trying to keep himself alive to worry about the men he was killing.

Harry Lyman moved in a circle, as if still trying to find a way to stop the altercation. Jarrod watched in horror as a stray bullet felled his friend and fellow upholder of justice. He looked up as Cody Miller, long-time employee of the Barkleys, was hit and fell from the barn loft, clutching his chest and the lawyer finally pulled his gun, picking several men off their horses. Pain ripped through his arm and Jarrod fell back, clutching at the gunshot wound. He felt someone come off the porch and crouch down beside him as he regained his composure and sent a few more shots into the fray.

Taking careful aim, Heath used the skills he’d learned as a sharpshooter in the Union army to pick off several of his opponents before he saw Jarrod fall back against the steps. He quickly leaped to his brother’s side, thankful to see Jarrod hadn’t been seriously wounded as the other man resumed firing. Heath took aim and felled a man who looked to be taking advantage of Jarrod’s momentary incapacitation. He took no pleasure in killing and knew he’d be an emotional wreck after all was said and done. But it was his brothers he was fighting beside that day, for a cause that Heath knew was right and that made all the difference.

Nick glanced over to see his two brothers fighting side by side. All Tom Barkley’s sons fighting together, as it should be, he thought, looking back at the chaos. It was then he noticed the rider taking careful aim, his intended target Nick’s newest brother, the man to whom he’d lost his heart and soul. Time slowed to a crawl, Nick’s only focus getting to Heath and he threw himself in front of the bullet that was about to take the blond’s life, an explosion of fire bursting in his chest as the piece of lead found him instead. “Heath,” he whispered as pain overcame him and the world faded to nothingness.

The hired guns turned tail and ran, knowing they had been beaten as Jarrod and Heath crouched beside their fallen brother. Men helped wounded comrades to ride double, followed by a few more shots fired from the defenders as Heath tore open Nick’s shirt to expose the hole that was rapidly oozing blood. Nettie Sample rushed from the house to the side of her slain husband as Jarrod ripped off the sleeve where the bullet had grazed his arm, holding the fabric tightly to Nick’s chest in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

“He needs a doctor.” Jarrod stated the obvious as Heath’s eyes were fixed on Nick’s pale face. “Mother was going to ask Dr. Merar out to the ranch until this was all over, since our place is closest.” Heath nodded, blindly groping for and gripping Nick’s hand. Jarrod took Heath’s other hand and pressed it to the makeshift bandage. “Keep pressure on. I’ll be back with the doc as soon as I can.” He clasped Heath’s shoulder and Heath felt him move away.

“You gotta live, Nick,” Heath whispered in anguish. “I can’t have just found you only to lose you like this. I need to see some of that Barkley courage your mama was telling me about. Live, Nick, fight.” He continued to hang on to Nick’s hand, to keep pressure on the gaping hole in Nick’s chest, offering up a silent prayer for the life of his brother, the life of the man he loved.