Betrayals

“Coming into town tonight, big brother?”

Jarrod looked up from the papers on his desk to see his brother with a wide dimpled grin on his face, hair freshly washed and slicked back off his forehead. Nick Barkley looked confident and self-assured enough to take on the world and Jarrod wasn’t sure if he was willing to try and measure up.

“I don’t think so, Nick,” he said, indicating the ledgers on his desk. “I’ve got all these payrolls from the lumber camps to go through, plus Judge Adamson needs the papers filed on the Palmer case first thing Monday morning.”

Nick perched on the edge of the desk. “Aw, c’mon, take the night off. Remember, all work and no play makes Pappy a dull boy.”

Jarrod had to smile at the heartfelt invitation. “You go on, Nick. Maybe I’ll join you later.”

“I’ll give the girls your regrets,” Nick said wickedly, hazel eyes dancing. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to console them when they start pining for you.” He settled his black Stetson at a rakish angle and gave Jarrod a wink as he left the library.

Jarrod sighed as he looked back at the books in front of him. Not likely any of the girls at the saloon would be pining for him, not while Nick was ready and available. Truth be told, he didn’t feel like playing second fiddle to his younger, ruggedly handsome brother.

Whenever Nick Barkley entered a room, he was inevitably the instant focus of attention. Not that Jarrod usually minded, he knew he could charm and dazzle the ladies with the best of them, he just wasn’t usually their first choice when Nick was present. Jarrod closed his eyes, feeling sorry for himself for a moment, then felt foolish. He knew he was a more than competent lawyer, well respected by his peers and the citizens of Stockton and easily able to find female companionship whenever he wanted.

Jarrod blamed his current melancholy on Nick’s coup at wrangling the presidency of the Cattlemen’s Association, a position held by their father until his death three years ago. He wasn’t precisely jealous, but Nick’s success just brought back bitter memories of how he’d disappointed their father by not turning out to be the man Tom Barkley had hoped he’d be.

A conversation from right in this very room echoed back to Jarrod, the last time he’d spoken to his father.

"Son, I want you to stop all this nonsense with criminal cases! If you’re not gonna be actively involved with running the ranch, at least focus on the business of this family! If you’d been concentrating more on that and not defending some low-life rustlers, this business with the railroad trying to steal our land wouldn’t have gotten this far!"

"I’m my own man, Father! I worked hard to put myself through school without touching a cent of your money and I’ll be damned if I let someone else dictate my life! I swear I’ll be there anytime the family needs me, but I’ll take the cases I want, the ones I feel are important and no one’s going to stop me, not even you!"

Jarrod felt the familiar wrenching of his gut that happened every time that conversation came back to haunt him. Those words spoken in the heat of anger were the last words he’d said to his father. Tom Barkley was dead less than sixteen hours later, shot in a standoff in the same dispute with the railroad that he’d berated Jarrod about not doing enough to stop. Not for the first time, guilt at his father’s death washed over Jarrod and the dark haired attorney hung his head in regret.

Suddenly, he needed some air, and, snagging a cigar from the box on his desk, Jarrod threw open the French doors and walked across the yard, not stopping until he reached the corral fence. Resting his foot on the bottom rail, Jarrod bit the end off his cigar, lighting it and taking a long drag. The peaceful atmosphere washed over him; horses whickering quietly, the far off lowing of cattle pastured not far from the main house, a solitary cricket chirping somewhere near the barn. The air was scented with the musky aroma of livestock and the sweet smell of freshly stacked hay. He did love this place, even loved the hot, dusty work of branding time and roundup, the feeling of pushing his body to the limit working the ranch bringing a sense of satisfaction like no other. Jarrod sighed, inhaling deeply of his cigar and letting the smoke back out, watching it curl away into the night sky. He should have tried harder to make his father understand that his passion for the law in no way diminished his love for the land.

A subtle movement out of the corner of his eye caught Jarrod’s attention. He turned to spy a dark figure at the corner of the barn. It was unusual for one of the hands to be still around the place on a Saturday night and Jarrod was suddenly intrigued. Moving closer, he saw that it was their newest employee, Heath Thomson. The young man had finished rolling himself a cigarette and was patting his pockets, a disgusted look on his face.

“Light?” Jarrod offered as he walked closer, holding out a match. The blond regarded him warily for a moment, then gave a curt nod. Jarrod struck the match on the side of his boot and held it to the end of the cigarette, cupping his hand so the slight breeze didn’t extinguish the flame.

“Much obliged,” the other man said and made to move off.

“Not in town with the others?” Jarrod asked, not really wanting the blond to leave, feeling the desire for a little company.

“Don’t go in much for that sort of thing,” was the quiet reply. “Man needs a little peace and quiet now and then.” He leaned on the fence, taking a puff of the quirley. “You?”

“Same as you tonight, I guess. Peace and quiet can be hard to come by when you live in the same house as my brother Nick.”

“Reckon that’s the truth.”

Jarrod glanced over and saw a small grin quirking at one corner of the cowboy’s mouth. “Well, Nick’s not all brag and bluster,” Jarrod conceded with a smile of his own, “but no one’s ever called him quiet.”

The two men stood, leaning against the fence, neither displeased with the silence.

Jarrod was the first to speak up. “Talked to Duke this afternoon. Said he was quite impressed with your work, Mr. Thomson.”

“Never been a mister to no one, Mr. Barkley,” the other man said after a moment. “Name’s just Heath.”

“And mine’s just Jarrod. I wanted to let you know we appreciate hard work. If Duke’s right, you’ve got a place here as long as you want it. And I’ve seldom found Duke McCall to be wrong.”

Heath took another drag of the cigarette. “Well, reckon I’ll stay on for a while. Don’t hear much but good things about working for the Barkleys. As long as you don’t cross the big boss man.”

He flashed another wry grin Jarrod’s way and the older man had a sudden sense of déjà vu. He knew he’d never met Heath Thomson before the young man had hired on, but somehow, that distinctive look set off a strange combination of warmth, longing and regret in Jarrod. Then the brief smile was gone and the feeling along with it.

“Well, don’t let my brother get to you,” Jarrod advised. “He’s used to having his own way, but he’ll respect you if you stand up for your own ideas.” He thought back to his conflict with his father and added quietly, “If a man doesn’t believe in his own ideals, he can’t call himself much of a man.”

“Reckon I’ll keep that in mind.” Heath glanced at the spent cigarette and dropped it to the dirt, grinding it out beneath the toe of his boot. “Thanks for the light.” He gave Jarrod a slight two-fingered wave before strolling back towards the bunkhouse.

Jarrod remained where he was until the cigar was mere ashes and the butt was relegated to the same fate as Heath’s before the lawyer made his way back to the house and the work he had waiting for him.

*

Heath lay down on his bunk, staring at the underside of the mattress above him. After encountering Jarrod Barkley by the corral, he was rethinking his decision to leave. Something about the older man touched a chord, a longing for companionship that Heath thought had been lost forever. He sensed in the eldest Barkley a quiet, reflective soul not unlike his own and in spite of his usual aversion to the company of other human beings, he found himself drawn to the dark-haired lawyer. A strong contrast to the disquieting intensity he found in the other brother, the undisputed king of the Barkley ranch. Where Jarrod made Heath want to bare his soul, Nick made him want to run for cover before the man’s raw appeal caused him to bare more tangible parts of himself. Heath pulled his blanket over his head and hoped his decision to stay wasn’t going to be one he’d regret.