Betrayals

To set the timeline, the year is 1870. Jarrod is 28, Nick 24, Heath 20 and Audra 14. Poor Eugene has again been relegated to non-existence.

Inspired by an idea in the forum from shiningamlinocji

Chapter 1

“Good job in there, Nick.”

His brother’s hearty slap on the back and words of praise made Nick Barkley puff up proudly. Combined with the heady accolade of being voted president of the San Joaquin Cattlemen’s Association at only twenty-four, Nick’s stride was almost a strut as he and Jarrod walked across the street to retrieve their horses.

“Thanks, Pappy,” Nick practically crowed as they swung into their saddles. The thunderous acclimation from his peers, men who were decades older than the young rancher still reverberated in his mind and Nick basked in the glory of his achievement as they headed for home. He wouldn’t have been able to wipe the cocky grin off his face even if he’d wanted to.

“Father would be very proud of you,” Jarrod added quietly after a few minutes. “All the hopes and dreams for his sons bundled into one big, bold package.”

Nick looked over to his older brother. Jarrod had a smile on his face, but there was a wistfulness in his blue eyes and a note of regret in his deep voice. Nick sighed. So caught up in the heady rush of his own achievement, he hadn’t given a thought to his brother’s feelings. Even though he was a well-respected and successful lawyer, Nick knew Jarrod felt that he had been a failure and disappointment to their father.

Tom Barkley had always dreamed of having his eldest son take over the running of the vastly successful ranch and become a leader of the valley’s landowners just as he himself had been. Nick could remember countless evenings, sneaking down the stairs after being sent to bed and listening to the increasingly heated arguments between father and son as Jarrod fought to follow his own star.

“He’d be proud of you too, Jarrod.”

Jarrod gave his brother a small smile. “As a man, maybe, but not as his son. Nothing else would do but for Tom Barkley’s oldest to follow in his footsteps. But, you, Nick,” he said with a forced cheer, “you are everything he wanted. And a damn good brother to boot.”

Nick accepted Jarrod’s sidestepping, but family was everything and he didn’t want to see his beloved brother beat himself up over something that couldn’t be changed. “And you’re a damn good man to have by my side, Jarrod. I don’t think I could’ve stepped into Father’s shoes without knowing you believed I could do it.” Nick let the matter drop, too pleased with himself to dwell on past disappointments. “C’mon, race you home. Can’t wait to tell Mother and Audra the good news.”

He dug his heels in his horse’s side and slapped him with the reins, letting out a raucous “Yee-ahh!” as Coco took off down the road. Jarrod smiled and urged Jingo after him and soon they thundered through the wrought iron gate leading to the house.

“Pay up, Nick,” Jarrod told the dark haired rancher as they dismounted and led their sweaty horses into the barn.

“And why would I do that?” Nick growled good-naturedly.

“Because Jingo beat Coco by a nose,” Jarrod pointed out as he loosened the girth and pulled the saddle from the sorrel’s back. “I think the typical wager is five dollars?”

“Well, that may be, but I know for a fact Coco and I were through the gate first,” Nick shot back. “Hey, Duke!” he called to the ranch foreman as the older man walked by the open door. “Did you see who was first?”

Duke McCall stopped and turned, pushing his hat off his weather-beaten face as he regarded the brothers in amusement, well aware of the friendly rivalry. “Nope, can’t say as I did. Hey, Thomson,” he called over his shoulder, “you were close to the gate, who came in first, the chestnut or the sorrel?”

“Reckon it was the sorrel,” came a soft drawl from somewhere outside, “chestnut’s stride seemed to be breaking a little.”

“Told you, brother Nick,” Jarrod laughed as he curried his horse’s red coat to a sheen.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick grumbled as he checked over his beloved Coco’s legs. “Just who is this Thomson anyway, Duke? Don’t recollect anyone by that name working the place.” Satisfied, he patted the dark chestnut’s shoulder before leading him into a nearby stall.

Duke shrugged. “Rode up this morning, looking for work. You know we’re shorthanded, so I hired him on the spot. Young, but seems hard-working enough.”

“Hmph.” Nick glanced over at Jarrod, who was making sure Jingo’s water bucket was full. “Might be hard-working, but he’s gonna hafta prove to me he’s not half-blind.”

Jarrod chuckled and clapped his disgruntled brother on the shoulder. “Sound’s like he’s got the eyes of an eagle to me,” he teased, rubbing it in “Let’s go, Nick, and tell Mother and Audra about your recent accomplishment.”

As they strode in the direction of the house, Nick caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye that made him stop and stare and gave his full attention to the young man loading posts onto the wagon. His shirt was plastered to his back in the heat, clinging to the muscles that rippled with every movement. As he bent over to grab another fencepost, Nick was treated to a full view of a well-rounded backside. How the devil did the young man fit into those tight pants anyway? They could have been painted on, the way his ass filled them out.

Nick’s lips took on a wicked curl. He wanted that ass. Wanted it so bad he could taste it. Or at least taste the sweet elixir that he could just imagine spewing out as he rammed his cock between those enticing cheeks. Nick chuckled to himself. He’d just have to nose around and see if the boy had any leanings that way. And if he didn’t… Well, Nick Barkley was nothing if not persuasive.

“And what’s so amusing, brother Nick?”

Nick turned to see Jarrod looking at him curiously. “Oh, nothing, Pappy,” he replied, trying to appear nonchalant. Jarrod followed Nick’s gaze at it returned to the blond cowboy in the tight tan pants and raised an eyebrow.

“Uh huh.”

Nick tried to look innocent, but the problem was, Jarrod knew him all too well. His lust for men as well as women was the one thing Tom Barkley’s second son knew his father would’ve been deeply disappointed in and he’d never forget the time Jarrod had burst in on him and one of his lovers, warning him that their father was headed for that little-used storage shack at the edge of the main yard. He never asked and Jarrod had never told how he came to know what Nick was up to and where, but after his initial fury and embarrassment at being found out, Nick was forever grateful for Jarrod’s intervention and discretion.

“What?” Nick demanded, putting on his most innocuous expression. “I was just figuring that must be the new man Duke was talking about. Thomson, I think he said.” He paused for another view of the firm young body. “Looks to be a hard worker.”

“And let’s leave him to his work,” Jarrod advised pointedly. “I’m sure you’ll get to know him when you’re repairing that stretch of fence on the north pasture tomorrow.”

“That is a fact, counsellor,” Nick agreed with a grin, thinking just how well he could get to know the boy and the two brothers continued on to the house.

*

“Good job, Thomson.”

The blond steeled himself, not betraying the fact that he hadn’t heard the foreman come up behind him, the older man’s words almost making him jump out of his skin. Calmly, smoothly, he turned an impassive face to his boss.

“You worked up quite a sweat.” Heath tried not to flinch under the other man’s appraising look, casually removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Y’know no one’ll mind if you take off your shirt when it’s scorching out here like this.”

“Thanks, but reckon I’ll keep it on just the same, Mr. McCall.”

Duke McCall shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He eyed the wagon, fully loaded with wooden posts. “Seeing as you’re done, why don’t you head in early and clean up for chow. We’ll be taking this load out in the morning. The fences in the north pasture aren’t quite up to the boss’ standards.” He gave Heath a companionable slap on the shoulder, the young cowboy tensing under the contact but not letting on how much he hated to be touched. “See you at supper.”

Heath watched McCall walk away and carefully surveyed the yard. A few people over by the smithy, but that seemed to be all. Throwing his shoulders back, posture strong and confident to deter anyone from stopping him, Heath strode across to the pump on the far side of the barn. With another quick glance to make sure no one was around to see, Heath quickly stripped off his shirt and worked the handle, ducking his head under the water that poured out. He moved further under the cold stream, letting the refreshing water run over his neck and shoulders until he finally felt cool. Heath stood and tossed his wet hair back off his forehead, then grabbed the shirt he’d thrown over the pump, rinsing and wringing it out before hastily donning and buttoning the sodden garment.

Heath headed to the bunkhouse, cautiously opening the door and looking around. It was still a bit early and none of the hands were back yet. Going to his bunk, Heath pulled a dry shirt out of his saddlebags and traded it for the wet one. He glanced at the footlocker under the edge of the bed and quickly discarded the idea of unpacking his belongings. Keeping his gear rolled and stowed in his well-worn saddlebags meant he could leave at any time without anyone noticing.

The scent of meat and bread wafted to his nostrils and Heath’s stomach gurgled restlessly. Making his way to the cookhouse, Heath stood in the doorway for a moment before approaching the short bald man working diligently behind a large wooden table.

“Howdy,” the man greeted, not looking up from his task of slicing the loaf of bread. “What can I do for you?”

Heath shrugged, not letting on how hungry he was. It had been four, no, five days since his belly was last full and the savoury smells from the large pot on the fire were enough to drive him to distraction. “Name’s Thomson. Just hired on today.”

The wizened man nodded and wiped his hands on his apron before extending one across the table. “Cookie,” he offered. “Nice to meet you, Thomson.”

Heath took a deep breath before shaking the proffered hand quickly. “Yeah, same.”

Cookie indicated the pot behind him with a nod of his head. “Stew’s pretty much done. Haven’t rung the bell yet, but you’re welcome to a bowl now if you’re hungry.”

“I could eat,” Heath said noncommittally as he grabbed a bowl from the nearby stack.

Cookie took the bowl and filled it, giving a gap-toothed grin as he handed it back and pushed a slice of bread into Heath’s hand. “Coffee’s on that stove over yonder. Come back for more if you want. Barkleys don’t stint on the grub.”

“Thanks.” Heath took his dinner over to a side table and ate his stew deliberately, chewing each succulent bite thoroughly, relishing the hot meal. He was about to go up for the offered seconds when Cookie stepped outside to ring the dinner bell. Snagging just a slice of bread instead, Heath left before the rest of the hands descended on the place for their dinners. He quietly slipped across the yard to stable where he’d left his black Modoc earlier in the day.

The mare whickered softly when she caught his scent and Heath slipped into the stall beside her, rubbing her nose as he leaned his head on her glossy black flank.

“Reckon we’ll stay here for a bit, Gal,” he confided in a low voice.
“Pay’s good, food’s edible, foreman don’t ask too many questions. And only a day’s ride to Strawberry if I get some time off.” Heath straightened up and, spying a brush on a nearby shelf, proceeded to groom his horse lovingly. “You and me, little Gal, we’re a team. Friends forever.”

Heath spent the next couple hours with his faithful companion, leaving only when he figured everyone would be asleep and he could slip into the bunkhouse unnoticed.