Chapter Text
"GET OUT!! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE AND NEVER COME BACK!! THIS FAMILY'LL BE BETTER OFF WITHOUT YOU!!"
Jarrod picked himself slowly up off the ground. Every breath he tried to take caused a stabbing pain in his chest and he tasted the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. His head spun as he staggered to his feet and leaned against the fence, fighting down the nausea that threatened to send him back to his knees.
"You show your face around here again and you're a dead man. I swear, I'll kill you."
Knowing what he'd done and seeing the look of fury in Nick's eyes, Jarrod wasn't sure if he should be thankful or not that his brother didn't just finish the job right there.
"I'm sorry, Nick." Jarrod's voice was barely audible. The pain in his cheek was like fire when he spoke and he knew the words were too little, too late, but he had to say them anyway.
"You're sorry?! With Mother and Heath lying upstairs, not knowing if they're gonna make it and you're sorry?!" Nick's wrath turned into an icy coldness. "Just get out of my sight," the tall rancher spat and he stalked across the yard to the house, never looking back. Jarrod stood, swaying, trying to get his body to co-operate, and the beaten and abandoned lawyer willed one foot ahead of the other in the direction of the barn.
Reaching the side of the building, Jarrod leaned against the wall heavily and tried to catch his breath, tried to control the dizziness as he struggled to retain the contents of his stomach. He hadn't fought back as Nick pounded him, pummeling his face, ribs and abdomen, and took each blow as the punishment he deserved for bringing such torture to his family.
Taking as deep a breath as the excruciating pain in his chest would allow, Jarrod stumbled his way to Jingo's stall. He managed to get the blanket on, but the sorrel snorted uneasily. Jarrod's side screamed in pain as he hoisted the saddle onto Jingo's back and he had to pause and lean into his horse's shoulder as a shudder of agony almost overcame him. Painfully, he tightened the cinch and dragged the bridle over Jingo's head. Clutching his side, the injured man found a bedroll, canteen and saddlebags, kept ready in case they were ever needed in a hurry.
Jarrod gazed at the height of the sorrel's back after fastening the supplies to the cantle of the saddle and wondered if he'd actually be able to mount. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed onto the saddle horn, placed his foot carefully in the stirrup and pulled himself up. His hand slipped as another surge of dizziness hit him, but he grimly hung on and forced his other leg to swing over. Jingo shifted restlessly as Jarrod sat still, fighting off wave after wave of nausea and pain before he finally managed to give his mount a nudge in the side and rode slowly out the gate in front of the stately mansion he called home.
He rode for what seemed like hours, the sun finally rising to beat mercilessly on his bare head. Jarrod hadn't thought to grab a hat when he left, but right now, that seemed of little importance. Barely holding on to consciousness, all he could see was the blood on Heath's shirt, the despair in his mother's eyes before…
He shook his head and tried to banish those images from his mind. That action almost undid him and he barely maintained his hold on Jingo's back so he wouldn't fall out of the saddle. It was then he noticed his horse had stopped and Jarrod blinked a few times to focus on why. They were standing in front of a small building, and Jarrod realized foggily he'd guided his mount to a line shack on the farthest edge of Barkley property.
Sliding from Jingo's back, Jarrod grabbed at the stirrup when his knees buckled and hung on until the dizziness passed. He looped the reins around the rail and staggered to the door. As he forced it open, Jarrod lost his precarious hold on the world and pitched forward though the opening as blackness overtook him.
Several hours later, Jarrod awoke to a burning thirst. His body screamed in agony as he sat up, knives stabbing into his chest and his cheek throbbing to the same beat as his heart. He figured he had several broken or cracked ribs and knew moving around wasn't a good idea if he didn't want to risk puncturing a lung, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was less than he deserved after what he'd done.
Painfully dragging himself to his feet, Jarrod moved outside and saw Jingo pulling on his reins to try to reach a nearby clump of grass. More guilt washed over Jarrod as he realized that he'd left his mount out in the sun for how long he didn't know without caring for him.
"Sorry, Jingo, old boy," he whispered as he untied the sorrel. He made his slow way to the small creek that ran close to the shack with Jingo trailing behind and the horse immediately stuck his nose in the cool water and drank greedily. Jarrod unlooped the canteen from the saddle, sank to his knees to fill it and took a long drink himself.
Suddenly, his belly clenched and the water came back up. Jarrod retched until there was nothing left and his body was on fire with the pain in his ribs and face. He stayed on his hands and knees, shuddering, and tried to breathe. When he felt capable, Jarrod pushed himself up and recapped the canteen. Jingo hadn't moved away and Jarrod was able to grab the stirrup and haul himself into the saddle. He knew he should stay and rest, but he wasn't welcome there anymore. He slowly mounted and Jingo obediently set off.
*
"Mister, you need a doctor."
Jarrod turned bleary eyes on the owner of the young voice but couldn't make them focus.
"Doc Millar's just down the street. I'll run and fetch him."
Jarrod leaned heavily against his horse's side. Not sure where he was or even how long he'd been travelling, the only thing he was sure of was if he moved away from the support, he'd be lying face down in the dirt.
"Okay, son, just lean on me." Jarrod was aware of his arm being placed around someone's shoulders and a strong hand grabbed the back of his belt. "One step at a time, easy does it and we'll have you lying down and take a look at you. Jake, why don't you take this man's horse to the livery while I get him settled at the hotel, then bring his gear up to the room." The voice was gruff, but gentle and soothing and Jarrod felt himself half-walking, half-carried until his battered body was set on a soft surface. "Now just lie back so I can have a look."
He felt his shirt being removed and gasped as probing fingers worked their way over his side.
"Nothing broken, you're lucky there's only a few cracked ribs," the voice said. "How'd this happen?"
"Just… got in a fight," Jarrod muttered, not offering any details and gasped again as the fingers prodded his cheek.
"Could be a small break here, eating's not going to be much fun for the next little while." Efficient hands turned him carefully and bound his ribs and Jarrod clenched his teeth tight against the pain.
"Brought his things, Doc," the younger voice announced, "and Harvey sent some water up."
Jarrod felt his head lifted and a glass held to his lips. Remembering what happened the last time, Jarrod only took a few small sips.
"Now you just rest and I'll be back to check on you later," came the doctor's voice. "You're extremely dehydrated, so drink as much as you can keep down. There's a full pitcher of water on the table beside you."
"How much… I owe you, Doc?"
Jarrod received a reassuring pat to the shoulder.
"We'll settle that later. You're certainly in no shape to skip out of town any time soon. Now rest."
Jarrod heard the door close and sank back into a fitful slumber.