Chapter Text
Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are. ~Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

Jarrod inwardly groaned when he looked at the time. It was well past 10 o'clock and he had to be up to catch the early train to Sacramento in the morning. Maybe he could catch up on his sleep in the berth in his car, he thought as he buckled on his gunbelt and retrieved his hat. But he really didn't think that would happen. He knew he'd be running the details of his testimony over in his mind the whole way there and resigned himself to trying to call it an early night after he met with the state Attorney General tomorrow afternoon.
Jarrod locked up his office and made his way across the darkened street to the livery. The lamp was burning inside as he entered and the grizzled old hound that Jeb kept to watch over the place just whined a greeting when he recognized the intruder. Jarrod gave the dog a pat on the head before going to back Jingo out of his stall. He easily retrieved his gear and saddled the sorrel, stowed his case in the saddlebag and led Jingo outside before mounting.
As they headed for home, Jarrod's mind again replayed the details over in his head. He'd been working on a case, another instance of big business trying to strongarm a small rancher off his land. The culprit was a newcomer to California, otherwise he would have known the Barkley reputation and never approached Jarrod with a bribe to overlook certain details of the case. The attorney hadn't made a commitment one way or the other, as he'd wondered about something like that ever since he started investigating. Harper Grant had made too many questionable deals that were overlooked by the state for Jarrod not to wonder if there was some sort of corruption higher up. He took his suspicions to a good friend on the bench, who alerted the Attorney General. Jarrod had been asked to take the bribe and from the information he became privy to, Grant's house of cards had come tumbling down. Other evidence had come to light since, but he had started it all and Jarrod felt an obligation to be at his best.
A shot rang out in the dark. Jingo pulled up abruptly and half-reared, but Jarrod managed to control him until another shot was fired. Agony seared through his shoulder, causing him to drop the reins and Jingo bolted. Jarrod hung on as best he could, but when his mount jumped an old fence, he lost his balance and tumbled from the saddle. His head exploded with fiery pain before everything went black.
*
Nick looked at Jarrod's closed door. He knew his brother had to be up to catch his train, but he hadn't been home when the family turned in last night, and there was still an hour or so before Jarrod had to leave, so Nick refrained from waking him. He greeted Silas in the kitchen and thanked him when he was handed a cup of coffee. Nick drank it quickly and headed outside to go over the list of things to be done that day. It was quiet, but the rancher had risen extra early, as he knew he had to check on the cattle at the farthest corner of the ranch.
He stopped when he rounded the corner of the barn and saw Jingo in front of the closed doors. The sorrel's coat was plastered with dried sweat and when Nick approached closer, his heart stopped when he saw blood on the horse's flank.
"Easy boy," he said in a quiet voice, but Jingo only flicked his ears forward and let Nick inspect the wound without complaint. The dark rancher knew a bullet graze when he saw one as he hollered, "Ciego!"
The portly Mexican came around the corner a moment later. "Señor Nick, what is wrong?" he asked before he saw the horse. "What happened?"
"That's what I'm gonna find out," Nick growled. "Jingo's been hurt. Take care of him, all right?"
"Si." Ciego took Jingo's reins and spoke soothingly to the sorrel as he led him into the barn.
Nick hurried back into the house and, not bothering to knock, threw open the door to Jarrod's room. It was as he'd feared; Jarrod's bed was empty and there was no evidence his brother had made it home the previous night. Cursing under his breath, Nick left the room to see Heath disappear down the back stairs. Nick followed and caught up with him as he was grabbing a fresh biscuit off the tray Silas had just removed from the oven.
"Either of you see Jarrod this morning?" Nick asked, even though he was sure he already knew the answer.
Silas shook his head. "No, Mr. Nick. Maybe he left already? He sure wouldn't want to miss his train."
Nick ran a hand through his dark hair. "Jingo made it home, but I don't think Jarrod did." Both men looked at him in concern. "Heath and I are gonna go find him. Don't let Mother worry, okay, Silas?"
"But what am I supposed to tell her?" Silas asked as Heath stuffed the remains of the biscuit in his pocket as he followed Nick outside.
"Jingo was in front of the barn with a bullet wound," Nick said as they strode to the barn and their own horses, "and Jarrod's bed wasn't slept in."
Heath just nodded. They didn't need to voice their fears; they each knew what the other was thinking. Ciego knew that they would being going to look for their missing brother and already had Coco and Charger saddled and ready.
"Bring him home safe, señors," he said as he watched the brothers gallop away.
Nick and Heath slowly traversed the road to Stockton, looking for any sign of Jarrod.
"Nick, over here."
Nick moved Coco over to the side of the road and dismounted to stand behind where Heath was crouched down.
"Blood," Heath said, pointing at the small dark patch in the dirt.
Nick carefully looked around. "There's a break in the bushes over here." He took a few steps and bent down. When he turned, he was holding a tan hat.
Without any other words, the brothers remounted and rode slowly off the road. They followed the trail of broken branches and trampled grass for a few minutes, and then spotted the light brown fabric at the same time. Practically jumping from their saddles, they rushed to their fallen brother's side.
Blood soaked the fabric over Jarrod's left shoulder and the ground under his head was saturated with more blood. Nick placed his hand on Jarrod's chest and let out a sigh of relief. "He's still breathing."
"And it looks like the bleeding's stopped," Heath observed. "Let's bind his arm over his jacket so it doesn't open up." The blond cowboy took off his shirt and began tearing it into strips as he said, "I know you'll be good for a new one, big brother."
Nick tried, but couldn't even crack a smile at Heath's attempt at levity. He had just rolled Jarrod onto his back and got his first good look at the head wound.
"Oh, Jarrod," he whispered. The left side of Jarrod's head was matted with blood. It wasn't merely a gash, which by itself could account for the amount of bleeding. Nick looked to where his brother's head had been and winced at the size of the rock Jarrod must have collided with. He took the strip of cloth Heath offered and gently bound Jarrod's head.
"Charger's faster than Coco," Heath said and for once, Nick didn't argue. "I'll go for the doc. Think you can get him home? The ranch is closer than town."
"I'll get him home," Nick vowed. It took both of them to get Jarrod securely in the saddle in front of Nick and with his arms wrapped around his brother, Nick urged Coco into a smooth walk as Heath spurred Charger to a fast gallop towards town.