Betrayals

A/N: This part contains some more dialogue borrowed and modified from the series pilot, “Palms of Glory”

Jarrod looked up from his book when a low moan came from the bed. He was determined to sit vigil throughout the night with the young man his heart told him was his brother even thought his lawyer’s mind continued to tell him the idea was absurd.

Father, how could you? Jarrod’s thoughts screamed silently as he went to the side of the bed to check on the injured blond. How could you betray Mother, betray all of us like that? Heath tossed restlessly and Jarrod thought he felt a bit warm. He grabbed a towel and wet it in the basin beside the bed, using the cool water to bathe Heath’s brow.

The blond only shifted again, his movements becoming more agitated. Thinking to calm him, Jarrod placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Heath, you’re---“

Heath bolted upright in the bed, lashing out at Jarrod and knocking him back several feet. “Get your filthy hands offa me!” he snarled, but the growl turned into a moan of pain as he tried to move away.

Jarrod picked himself up off the floor, shaking his head to clear it. In the dim light of the lamp, he noticed the wariness in the eyes of the man on the bed and cautiously approached him. “It’s all right, Heath,” he said as calmly as possible. “No one’s going to hurt you here, I promise.”

“Ya don’t sound like a reb,” the other voice said hesitantly after a moment, and Jarrod knew Heath was lost again in some other time and place.

“No, I’m not,” Jarrod replied cautiously.

“What unit?”

The seemingly innocuous question confirmed Jarrod’s suspicion that Heath had indeed served in the War in spite of his young age and the older man was appalled. Heath couldn’t have been more than eleven or twelve when hostilities broke out between the North and South.

“Ninth Cavalry.”

“Ninth Cavalry? How’d ya end up in a hellhole like this?”

Jarrod’s mind flashed back to the marks on Heath’s back. He knew he had seen scars like that before, on the backs of prisoners liberated from Libby and Andersonville at the end of the war, caused by lashes from cruel whippings left untreated or attempted to be cleaned with the polluted mess that was the only water the prisoners had access to.

“You’re not there anymore,” he tried to assure Heath, cringing at the thought that a brother of his might have been subjected to horrors Jarrod could only imagine. “The war’s over, you’re safe now.”

Heath’s blue eyes looked at him suspiciously. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would ya, Yank?”

“Never, Heath,” Jarrod told him, his voice unshakeable with conviction. Heath closed his eyes and sighed, the tension draining from his face. “How about some water?”

“Sounds good.” Heath accepted Jarrod’s help in taking a few sips from the offered cup before sinking back against the pillows to fall asleep.

Jarrod slumped back into his chair. Suddenly, the regret he’d carried around for years, regret at failing his father and not living up to his expectations turned into rage. How dare his father judge anyone? How dare he tell his son he’d let the family down by not following in the great Tom Barkley’s footsteps? Jarrod snorted in disgust. The family founder had let them all down more than he’d ever accused Jarrod of doing.

“I’ll make it up to you, Heath,” Jarrod whispered. “However our father failed you, I’ll make it right, I swear.”

*

Jarrod went to his office in town early the next morning. He had a few pressing things he needed to take care of so he could be gone for a few days. Last night, he determined he needed proof of his suspicions before broaching them to anyone else. Heath had told him he was from Strawberry and Jarrod figured that was probably the best place to start. Tom Barkley had owned a silver mine there once, right about the time Jarrod assumed Heath was conceived.

Jarrod had only been eight at the time, but even though he had been too young to understand, he remembered the sadness of missing his father, his happiness at Tom’s return marred by shouting and tension between his parents. He remembered the word ‘Strawberry’ yelled in anger and remembered the relief he felt when he overheard they were selling the mine in the little town.

The dark-haired lawyer shook his head, saddened by the pain he knew he’d be bringing to his mother when he proved his convictions. But he knew Victoria Barkley; knew she’d be the first to urge him to find out the truth. Now Nick, on the other hand…

Jarrod sighed. Nick had idolized their father; practically worshipping the ground the man had walked on. He was going to take his father’s infidelity hard and Jarrod knew his proof would have to be irrefutable before Nick would accept it. Add to that the hunger Jarrod noticed in the rancher’s intense hazel eyes whenever he looked at Heath and Jarrod knew he was going to have a devil of a time with his volatile younger brother.

Jarrod thought about waiting until Nick got back from trying to catch that stallion and talk to him, tell him his suspicions before Nick had a chance to act on his urges. But Jarrod knew he needed that proof before he’d have a hope of Nick believing him and just prayed the Barkley luck would hold until Jarrod came back and keep Nick away from Heath. It was only a couple days to Strawberry and back, after all.

A light tap came on the door and Jarrod’s secretary poked her head in. “Mr. Barkley, Misters Swenson, Sample and Worth are here to see you. They say it’s urgent.”

“Send them in, Anna.” Jarrod stood and walked out from behind his desk to greet the long-time friends and neighbours of the Barkleys. “Sig, Frank, Abe,” Jarrod said, shaking each man’s hand in turn. “What can I do for you?”

Sig Swenson slapped a paper into Jarrod’s hand. “Hannibal Jordan just had these papers served to each of us. It says I have to pay twenty-five dollars an acre, for my own land or they take it out from under me!”

Jarrod perused the paper as Swenson continued. “I was going to feed this thing to my goat, but I figured, hey, I oughta show it to you first, for a laugh.” The smile faded from the grey-haired man’s face when he saw Jarrod wasn’t laughing.

“You each got one?” At the other men’s nods, Jarrod gritted his teeth. “I knew it couldn’t be over that easily,” the lawyer muttered bitterly, handing the notice back to Swenson. “I’m just surprised it took the railroad this long to make their next move. I guess a three years’ truce is all my father’s death managed to accomplish.” He looked at each of the farmers, men who had come to the valley at the same time as Tom Barkley, who had toiled and sweated to make a life for themselves and their families. “That gives a deadline of two weeks from now. I’ll take the next train to Sacramento, get an appointment with the governor and put a stop to this.”

“I knew we could count on you, Jarrod,” Frank Sample said, shaking the younger man’s hand fervently. “Our daddies fought and died for this. Let’s show them we’re our daddys’ sons and we’re not afraid of what they can do.”

“Keep up that attitude, Frank, and Jordan and the railroad won’t stand a chance. I’ll let you know what happens, gentlemen. Now, I have to get our case ready to present to the governor.” Jarrod knew it wasn’t going to be that easy, but he had to put on a brave front and give them a feeling of hope. He walked the three men to the door and shook hands in farewell before turning back to the bookshelves lining the wall and selecting a volume on property law. His trip to Strawberry was going to have to wait.