He stood on the porch of the house, pleased with it's secluded location.  The modifications within had been carried out to the exact measure.  He nodded to the pair of brutes who carried in the supplies needed.  Big, strong men who would ask no questions and take orders without hesitation.  He entered the large living quarters, neatly furnished and proceeded into the kitchen.  The splintering sounds of the crates being opened in the pantry told him just how close he was to imminent retaliation.    

He took meat, cheese and some fruit over to the table.  He poured a mug of hot coffee and sliced some bread.  As he finished the meal, he thought on his mission.   Soon, very soon the missing elements would be filled in.  Then, he would reap his reward.  Payment in full...no less, no options, no appeals.  He smiled as many thoughts of the events to come filled his head.  Oh, sweet revenge, thy dawn is nearing. 

**********

"NICK!  Get a move on!" Jarrod hollered from the foyer. 

"Yeah, Yeah, hold your pants on Counselor," Nick replied trotting down the steps carrying two bags.  "He's in the bathroom."   

Nick finished Jarrod's glance at Heath's room.  Jarrod took one of the bags and tossed Nick his coat.  

"Is he sick Nick?" His blues eyes were disquieting. 

"I don't know.  I think maybe he tossed up his breakfast, what little of it there was.  It's not that far to the lodge.  He'll be okay.  We can't wait, and it won't be the same without him." 

"If Mother finds out..." Jarrod's voice trailed. 

"She won't.  She's not here," Nick reasoned before adding.  "Heath, let's go!" 

Jarrod was halfway up the stairs when Heath appeared, already in his coat.  Jarrod didn't miss the clouded eyes and blanched face before Heath recovered and grinned at him. 

"Let's go, Big Brother.  I got just the right tree picked out." 

Jarrod stopped him mid-stair and looked hard at him.  

"Heath, are you sure you're up to this?" 

"I'm okay, Jarrod.  I guess I should've skipped breakfast.  I'll take some crackers and biscuits with me." 

Heath bounded down the rest of the steps.  Jarrod followed more slowly, hoping the bad feeling he had would go away.  He picked up the remaining bags from the foyer and joined his brothers out front.  The door shut and the house was cloaked in silence.   

The Barkley brothers left for a special trip to the Sierras to get the perfect Christmas tree.  A time for them to share and bond, talking and joking, enjoying each other's company.  A trip they'd all been anticipating.   

"I sure hope we don't run into a storm.  Could get nasty up there," Nick commented, not knowing how much of a prophet he was. 

**********

By wagon, the journey from the ranch to the lodge would take the entire day and well into the evening.  Nestled high among the evergreens, near the town of Pine Meadows, travelers, vacationers, and hunting expeditions would take advantage of the scenic beauty of the mountains, while lodging within the log walls of the sturdy structure.  Fun and recreation was the trademark established by the man who had founded the resort town seventy-five years prior.  His sons and grandsons had kept the torch burning after his death, and Pine Meadows had grown into one of the largest and most frequented towns in the Sierras.  Besides the area's local residents, both the town and the lodge were a popular place for rest and relaxation, used by people far and near. 

The horses' pace was brisk as the wagon creaked onwards, beginning the gradual uphill climb as scattered pine trees dotted the hills and roadside.  The air had been fairly temperate down in the valley, but had cooled significantly as the elevation increased.  Scant patches of snow resided in the shaded areas and the breath from the horses' nostrils resembled the steam from a locomotive.   

Nick shifted the reigns to a single gloved hand, while he used the other to work the collar of his fleece lined jacket up around his neck.  Jarrod who sat on the seat next to him, thrust his bare hands deeper into the pockets of his coat.  Turning to sneak a glance in back of the wagon, he saw his youngest brother sacked out amid the blankets and supplies. 

"He's out cold, isn't he?" Nick commented as one of the wheels hit a sharp rut in the well traveled road.   

"That medicine Mother sent along for him must have quite a bit of sedative or alcohol or both," Jarrod replied.  "As eager as he was to get started, he didn't last long." 

"You got that right," Nick responded.  "And Heath ain't one for catchin' catnaps in the middle of the day." 

"You know," Jarrod lamented, "I'm almost kicking myself for not drugging him completely and leaving him back at the ranch." 

"You'd have to do more than that," Nick added.  "You'd have to hog-tie him as well.  We both know that brother of ours better than that.  Once he found out what we'd done, he'd be hot on our trail in no time." 

"And hot under the collar when he caught up with us," Jarrod concluded.  "Maybe we should have just bought a tree from the vendor in town this year.  That way Heath would be home recuperating in a warm house and you and me would be...." 

"Mending fences and catching up on paperwork," Nick finished for him.  "No, I don't think that Heath would have put up with that, either.  He's been lookin' forward to this trip more than the two of us put together, and you know how that boy gets when he has his mind set.  He was bound and determined to make this trip come hell or high water and there wasn't anything that anybody could do or say that would make him change his mind." 

"Yes, I guess you're right, Nick.  He's definitely got that Barkley stubborn streak coursing through his veins.  That alone brands him a true Barkely.  We might as well just make the best of it and try to keep a special eye out for him.  If he gets to hacking bad again while we're up there, I'm going to insist that he see the doctor in Pine Meadows." 

"And I'll back you, Mr. Lawyer Man," Nick chuckled.  "If it gets to that point, we just might end up havin' to hog-tie him after all." 

"Hey, what's all this talk about hogtyin'?" a sleepy voice mumbled from the back of the wagon. 

"Oh, nothin', Heath.  Nothin' at all," Nick quipped.  "I was just tellin' Jarrod here that when we go out dancin' New Year's Eve, I just may have to hog-tie Mellie Peters to keep her from followin' me around all evenin' long." 

"Say, Nick," Heath drawled, "since when did Mellie start masquerading' as a man?  I could've sworn I heard you refer to the person you were gonna hog-tie as a 'he'." 

"I think what Nick meant to say, Heath," interrupted Jarrod, using humor to change the subject, "is that Mellie will need to hog-tie Nick in order to get him to go to the dance with her." 

"No, that ain't what he said," Heath returned, playing along with Jarrod's game.  "He said that you and him were the ones gonna do the hogtyin', and the person to be tied was referred to as 'he'.  Now, just who is it that you two are plannin' to tie?" 

"Heath, why don't you just go back to sleep," suggested Nick.  "You were dreamin', Boy.  Do ya hear me?  Dreamin'!" 

"Maybe that elixir of Mother's has got him hallucinating," Jarrod teased. 

"I was hallucinating' all right," Heath grumbled.  "Hallucinating' that the two of you had me all trussed up and were cartin' me off to some doctor!" 

"Good night, Heath!" the two older Barkleys chimed together in unison. 

With a mock scowl, Heath snugged the blanket around himself and lay back down, smiling once his face was out of his brother's view.  Hey, he was on vacation and opportunities to nap during the day didn't come cheap. 

**********

It was close to ten p.m. when Nick pulled up the team and set the brake.  The lodge stood before them, festively decorated for the Christmas holidays.  From the sounds of music and laughter coming from within, the night was still young. 

"Jarrod, why don't you and Heath go in and secure us a table," Nick offered.  "I'll go over to the barn and stable up the horses.  I don't know about you, but I'm ready for somethin' besides jerky." 

"Well, since you're offering, Brother Nick, this is one time I'm not going to argue with you.  Come on, Heath," Jarrod said, slapping the blanketed shoulder of the horizontal form in the back of the wagon.  "Let's go inside where it's warm." 

"Oh, we're at the lodge already," drowsed Heath.  "How'd we get here so quick?" 

"Never mind about that, Heath," Jarrod supplied.  "Right now our job is to reserve a table for this hungry brother of ours.  Come on!" 

**********

Jarrod entered the massive lobby of the rustic lodge which was outfitted for the holiday season.  The fresh greens were in great abundance, trimmed with red velvet bows and icicle-like crystals.   

A huge fire roared in the hearth, seemingly calling the lawyer's name.  Travelers of every age and size gave the room a cozy, comfortable feeling.  Hefty pints of ale were being lifted as well as hot rum and cider.  An accordion player in the corner let his talented fingers work magic.  

"Jarrod!  Jarrod Barkley!  Well, now the season is officially open.  How are you?"

 Jarrod smiled before he turned to face his host.  Max Schmidt was one of the founder's grandsons.  Now in his early 60's, his stout body showed no signs of slowing down.  The thick white hair, mustache and beard gave him the look of St. Nick himself.  It didn't hurt that he favored red flannel shirts.   

"Max, if I didn't know better I'd swear your wife married Kris Kringle himself!" 

"Ahh, Herr Kringle should be so lucky.  My Elsa is heaven sent!" 

"I don't doubt it one bit.  I've been salivating at the thought of those heavenly creations coming from her kitchen." 

"I have just the table by the window, near the fire.  I'll have Gerhardt bring some steins over and some potato and bacon chowder to start with, and a basket of rye bread." 

"Boy Howdy, lead the way," Heath finally caught up to his oldest brother. 

"Young Mr. Barkley, it's good to see you again," Max pumped Heath's hand. 

"Same here Max.  Sure looks pretty.  You outdid yourself." 

"That is nothing.  Wait until you meet Anna and Laurel, cousins visiting from the old country.  Ahhh, two beauties as you've never seen.  Of course, Katrina has told them all about you." 

"Oh?" Heath blushed, remembering Max's dark haired niece, a beauty he'd met last year, and the cozy sleigh ride they had shared their last night. 

"Brother Heath, it would appear you've established a reputation among the local ladies," Jarrod teased. 

"Talk, talk, talk," Nick boomed with a hand on each of his brother's shoulders.  "Is that all you women can do?  Let's get movin', there's a pint and a plate of sausage waiting for me." 

"Did you get the bags taken care of?" Jarrod asked. 

"They're already on their way up to the three best rooms in the house!  Come on, my stomach is screaming," Nick urged. 

The three brothers settled into oversized chairs at the pine table.  The stout pints of ale disappeared quickly.  The thick soup and bread with rich, creamy butter gave way to a platter of German sausages.  Bratwurst, Bockwurst, Knockwurst and a healthy helping of Sauerbraten, a roast of beef marinated with vinegar and spices were piled high on the oversized platter.  Sauerkraut, mashed potatoes and spatzle, a small tasty noodle fried in butter, completed the meal.  Jarrod and Nick ate heartily.  Heath selected carefully, sticking to the potatoes and noodles, not wanting to rock the boat.  His stomach had settled down finally, although the smell of the tart sauerkraut wasn't helping.  

"Save some room for strudel, Boys.  Elsa's bringing it out now.  Coffee?" 

"Thanks, Max," Jarrod smiled, taking a steaming mug.  "Elsa's strudel is the real reason I come up here.  The tree is just a ruse."   

"Speaking of which, I know just the spot.  I remember seeing a nice big pine, just a few miles south down that road, waiting for me," Nick boasted. 

"As I recall, there were some pretty spectacular trees further up the ridge," Jarrod challenged. 

"Seems to me you fellas forgot all about that spot we passed gettin' the tree last year.  It's north, up the side of the mountain apiece," Heath replied. 

Three steaming plates of strudel, filled with apples, raisins, nuts and cinnamon drenched in creamy hot vanilla sauce arrived, interrupting the discussion.  Heath declined the rich dessert, munching on gingerbread men instead. 

"Oh, Man, this is sinful, it's so good," Nick garbled through a mouthful of the wonderful dessert. 

"Elsa, you've outdone yourself," Jarrod said, poking at the pastry, allowing the steam to escape. 

"I'll tell you, if you were forty years younger, I'd give Max a run for his money," Nick smiled at the attractive hostess, still pretty and slim at sixty.   

"Nick, you just earned seconds on the house!" she laughed. 

"No thanks, I'll never get out of this chair."   

Elsa had been married to Max almost forty years.  A good union that produced four fine boys, all married and settled in the area.  Max and his brother Carl, were the surviving grandsons of the town's founder Otto Schmidt.  Carl and Annette, his wife, along with their six children, were helping to build an empire on the mountain. 

Otto Schmidt came to the Sierras in search of a dream.  The youngest son in a large family from a small town nestled at the foot of the Alps, he had little hope of achieving success in the old country.  He came to America and spent many years traveling across the country until he saw the magnificent Sierra Nevada Mountains.  Taking in the spectacular beauty, he knew he was home.  He started with a small cabin and utilized his many talents.  He sent word home, and soon they began to trickle in... German, Austrian and Swiss immigrants.  His initial foray into the lumber business was a boom.  He quickly bought up land, lots of it.  Pine Meadows sprung out of his dream to recreate the little town of his birth.  It's streets were dotted with alpine cottages, cafes, inns and shops.  The houses in the hills also reflected this alpine heritage.  It was a quaint and charming town, whose popularity had grown by leaps and bounds over the years.  Otto married late in life and had one son, Ernst.  Ernst, like his father, was a dreamer.  The lodge, large, warm and inviting, was his creation.  Now his sons carried that tradition on and their sons would after them.  

"More coffee, Boys?" Elsa offered. 

"No thanks, but tell Gerhardt another round of ale, please," Jarrod answered as she retreated. 

"How about you two puttin' your money where you mouth is?  I got some greenbacks here sayin' I got the perfect tree," Nick boasted, enjoying how Jarrod's eyes lit up at the challenge. 

Jarrod loved a good wager.  He returned Nick's devilish smile and offered a hand rolled Cuban cigar to his smug brother.   

Nick took the cigar Jarrod offered and lit up, watching the smoke curl.  He knew Jarrod loved betting and any kind of wager would spark his attention.  He leaned back and smiled impishly at his oldest brother. 

"You sure you can afford it?" 

"A hundred dollars says my tree is the winner," Jarrod proclaimed confidently. 

"Easiest money I ever stole from you, Counselor," Nick grinned and smacked Heath's arm. 

"What about it, you in?" 

Heath sighed and looked from one brother to the other. 

"Real shame, just purely criminal," was his only response. 

Nick sat forward and leaned over towards the blond, scowling at his brother's waving hand, clearing the offending smoke from his face. 

"Just what is THAT supposed to mean?" 

"Well, don't seem fittin' to take advantage.  I mean you being a bit short and all." 

"Short, is it?  How 'bout double or nothing, Boy?  Not only is MY TREE gonna be the one we tote home, but I bet I'll out punch your dance card by the time we leave.  So, come on, youngster," Nick's brushed his thumb across his fingers, "put up or shut up." 

Heath grinned broadly and shook on it, as did Jarrod.  The wager was on.  It was agreed that each would mark the tree of their choice with a scarf.  Max, the judge, graciously donated three wool scarves of red, green and blue.  The brothers would set out in the morning, early, after breakfast and meet up at two p.m.  The trio would accompany Max to each tree, not revealing who's selection it was.  Max would determine the winner.  

Heath started to fade after the next round of ale.  His eyes were fighting him and he excused himself.  Getting his key from Nick, he bade his brothers goodnight.  The two dark haired man watched him leave.   

"He seemed better, don't you think?" Jarrod inquired watching Heath's back. 

"Yeah, he's okay.  Will you quit worryin'? You're worse than Mother.  I'm surprised you're not chasing him with a spoon and that foul stuff he's been gaggin' on." 

"One of us has to be mature." 

"Very funny," Nick derided.  Then spotting two blond beauties, smiling coyly, he nudged his brother's ribs.  "Now, don't crowd me, Jarrod.  They're both waving this way, at smiling Nick Barkley," he boasted, returning their smile. 

"What makes you so sure they're looking at you?"  

"You're kiddin', right?  Ten bucks says I'll be wearing one on each arm before this evening's through," Nick grinned, smacking Jarrod's back.  "Open that wallet and let them moths out." 

Jarrod laughed and nodded to the two pretty girls as he stood.  Nick followed behind, wearing his best Nick grin. 

In the corner of the room, watching and eavesdropping, a motley trio sat sipping on hot spiked beverages.  With heads bent low and hushed voices, they went over the final touches of 'the payback party'.  Discussing each detail precisely, the invitations for the three guests of honor were practically signed, sealed and delivered.  Each host had a specific job to do, and timing would be of the utmost importance.  Suits and ties would not be required, the RSVP was affirmed and irreversible, and refreshments would be on the house.  Tomorrow would be a day that neither they or the partygoers would ever forget. 

**********

Heath rubbed the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.  A fitless night of hard sleeping had really done his body good.  He pushed himself off the mattress and felt his bare feet touch the polished, wooden floor.  Looking down at his wrinkled clothes, he made his way to the chair where he had left his bag, and fished out a razor.  If he was going to go down to breakfast looking like he had slept in his clothes, he at least wanted to be clean shaven.  After all, what were a few creases and crinkles?  Nothing that a day in the mountains wouldn't cure.  He'd save the dry change he'd brought along for the dance tonight.  Last night Nick had baited him and he went ahead and bit.  The wager the two had made was a fairly tidy sum of cash and he didn't plan on returning home empty handed.  Nor did he care to spend the trip home being serenaded by his brother's boasts and the tinsel grin that was sure to go with it.  

**********

Down in the dining area, Jarrod pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time.  He was amply dressed to survive the coldest weather and waiting inside the cozy lodge for his two straggling brothers was making him sweat.  At least Heath had a decent excuse, but Nick...well, that was an entirely different story.

"Mornin', Jarrod."

 "Oh, good morning, Heath!  You slept well, I trust?" 

"Yeah, reckon I really needed it.  Without the roosters here to wake me up, guess I really overslept.  Where's Nick?" 

"That, my dear Brother, is a very good question.  When I finally turned in last night, or was it early this morning...well, whenever it was, Nick was still wide awake and heavily engrossed telling war stories to a captive audience." 

"You don't need to tell me the rest," Heath moaned.  "Did this audience happen to be of the female gender?" 

"That's a true statement, Brother Heath, and you know our brother as well as I do." 

"Boy Howdy, I sure do.  And if I know Nick, he had himself painted the swashbucklin' hero in every one of them stories, too." 

"Well, to be quite honest with you, Heath, I couldn't hear every word that was spoken.  But by the way his face was all animated and lit and by his theatrical hand gestures, I could just about hear the musket and cannon fire myself." 

"And I suppose them gals he was tellin' it to were just gobblin' it all up." 

"I guess that would be a fairly accurate analogy of describing how they reacted." 

"He wasn't punchin' reservations on his dance card, was he?" 

"I'll let you ask him that yourself.  Here he comes now." 

Heath glanced behind him and watched as his disheveled brother approached the table.   

"Good morning, Nick," Jarrod greeted.  "It's about time you decided to join us." 

"Don't give me that," Nick gruffed groggily, "the day's just barely started." 

"I guess that's all a matter of perspective," Jarrod returned.  "Here, why don't you help yourself to some coffee?  It'll make opening your eyes a little easier." 

"Yup," interjected Heath, "You're gonna need all the help you can get findin' that tree, and you can't do it with your eyes closed." 

"I'll have you know, Little Brother, that I know these hills so well I could find my way around blindfolded if need be!" Nick piped up, suddenly feeling much perkier.  "And that goes for locatin' the winnin' tree to boot!" 

"How 'bout the dance floor?" Heath asked, a sly tone rising in his voice. 

"What?" replied the befuddled Nick, wondering what his younger brother might have up his sleeve. 

"You think you can find your tree blindfolded, do you figure you can also find your way around the dance floor blindfolded?" 

"Well, I'd like to at least know what I'm dancin' with!" 

"That's where I come in," Heath baited.  "You just stand in line with your blindfold on, and I'll hand those beauties to you one by one.  You'll have your dance card filled in no time flat!"

"Oh, no.  I ain't fallin' for that maneuver!  The day I trust you to..." 

"All right!  That's enough!" Jarrod exclaimed.  "I, for one, am leaving to go find this year's Christmas tree!  Now, are you two going to come along, or do I win the bet by forfeiture?" 

"Okay," Nick agreed, downing the last of his coffee and rising, "I'm with you, Counselor.  Lead on!" 

**********

The gray sky glowered an ominous warning of things to come.  Jarrod urged the black stallion, from the stable at the lodge, onward.  Maybe he should have been riding harder.  His leisurely pace of the last few hours could be picked up some.  Looking at the placid beauty of the surrounding area gave him time to think about the upcoming holiday season.  More and more, as his business increased in San Francisco, so did the social commitment's, occupying more of his time.  He loved the city by the bay, and knew one day it would be his home.  He would be leaving for 'Frisco on the twenty-sixth, with parties and socials taking him right into the new year. 

His life in Stockton was a relaxing contrast. The informal, comfortable bonds of the family and the ranch gave him time to pause.  He enjoyed the ranch and was looking forward to the next week of holiday festivities.  Taking in the stately trees laced with snow, and the solitude of the area, he saw himself as an eight-year old boy.  He remembered that day as if it were yesterday.  The first year he'd come up here with his father, just the two of them.  In reflection, it was an important passage.  His father's guiding hand, strong persona and the pride he took in his firstborn he had felt for the first time.  Jarrod still remembered beaming at the breakfast table the day they left.  What a wonderful feeling it was for this father and son.  Those five days, just the two of them, talking and listening.  Jarrod didn't remember the words, but would never forget the deep feeling behind them.  He was the firstborn, the heir, and the pride in his father's voice.   

Four years later, when eight-year old Nick first made the trip, something changed. Jarrod loved having his little brother along, but missed that special time.  That was the year he and his father really talked for the first time about Jarrod's future.  Jarrod had known that the ranch wasn't in his future, that he was being called to a different vocation.  His father knew it, too, and the first night on the mountain, after Nick fell asleep, they had talked.  The firm grip on the shoulder, the reassuring tone in the deep voice and the warm embrace did more to fuel Jarrod's drive to succeed than any college or professor could.  

His father was proud of the courage he felt the boy showed in being direct and honest.  Now grown, he knew what his father must have felt holding his firstborn as an infant.  Putting your hopes and dreams in the tiny fist that was gripped.  That running the vast empire would be passed by his blue-eyed, visionary of a son.  But his father hadn't seen it that way.  He was proud of Jarrod and the intelligence the boy possessed.  A talent and strong hands that would be needed to ensure the financial success for the generations to come.  "I'm proud of you, Son," Jarrod recalled how those five words and the embrace that followed, meant as much to him today as it did to the awestruck twelve year old boy, whose father seemed larger than life.   

A severe pick up in the wind drew the lawyer back to the present.  His trek for the perfect tree was now forgotten.  Within minutes, the strong gusts increased, accented by driving snow.  Jarrod strained to see ahead.  His vision impeded by the gusting snowflakes, he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him.  He slowed  down the pace of the horse, as the roads were very slippery.  He urged the horse back in the direction of the lodge. 

**********

Every year when they made this trip, Nick took time to remember.  The quiet, timeless strength and beauty of this mountain embraced him.  This ritual represented more than selecting the right Christmas tree.  It was during these five day treks that Tom Barkley and his sons had shared something very special.  To a small boy, the great man seemed so strong and powerful.  How proud he was walking with Tom Barkley, that hand on his shoulder, the smile that never left his face as he felt the respect his father commanded.  He so wanted to make that man proud of him.  He remembered when he was fourteen and it was Jarrod's first Christmas home from college.  Jarrod went to the town dance one night with a pretty girl from the area.  Tom and Nick spent that night talking about the future.  Nick felt the awesome power for the first time.  That one day, the keys to the kingdom would be his.  He remembered the night they came home, overhearing his father speak to his mother.  "He's quite a boy, Victoria.  I'm so very lucky to be so blessed.  That fire in his heart shines right through his eyes.  It's his ranch, by God, and I'll be by his side, watching him grow with it."   

He smiled through the flurried activity on the road he traveled.  With a pang, he remembered the Christmas of '65, after the war.  What a great time they'd had.  Perhaps he wouldn't realize the very depth of a father's love until he had his own child. How at one point, his father simply embraced them, gripping hard.  No words were spoken.  Too many fathers buried their sons or were only left with a memory; the body lying in an unmarked grave in a battlefield far away.  He thanked God every day his boys came back safe.  That Christmas, Nick found him to be especially sentimental.  The bite of the wind and the increase and speed of the snow falling, changed his mind about the tree.  He turned the horse around and headed back to the lodge.  It could be a bad one, and this mountain's beauty would turn deadly.   

**********

Heath tied the red scarf high on the tree's base.  It was a real beauty, he could see the decorations, bows and garlands dressing it up.  Maybe if Nick didn't eat all the gingerbread men, they'd have a place on the tree too.  He sat for a moment on a rock by where the horse was tethered.  He winced as he swallowed back the raw pain in his throat.  He rubbed a hand across his aching head, and frowned at the heat on his face.  He'd better be quick about getting back.  If he could get to that medicine and hit the bed, he could avoid his brothers dragging him to a doctor.  He loved coming up to the mountain with his older brothers.  It wasn't just for the tree, or the jousting they enjoyed, like all brothers did, but for something much more.  Maybe it was the look in their eyes when they spoke of Tom Barkley.  How these five days alone with his boys, over the years, had left such a strong imprint on Nick and Jarrod.   

He peered through the snowflakes and thought about his father.  How would Tom Barkley have seen him?  If he'd come up here as a youth, what would those strong hands have meant to the angry young boy?  He could hear Tom Barkley's voice in Nick and Jarrod, very clearly at times.  Maybe that was enough, knowing the depth of his brothers' feelings...that through them, he'd found his place with Tom Barkley.  Looking at the gray sky overhead, through the swirling, white shower, he nodded and smiled, feeling Tom had given him, through his brothers strong arms, a solid embrace. 

Pulling his throbbing head and chest onto the horse, he headed back to the lodge.  Soon riding became difficult as the storm picked up.  The gusting wind and driving sleet and snow bit into his face.  He wasn't aware of how long it was taking or if this was even the right road.  Just fighting to keep his eyes open and pushing back the lightheadedness in order to remain upright, was all he could concentrate on.  He urged the steed forward, hoping it would carry it's fevered master back to the lodge. 

**********

The slick roads and increasing depth of the snow made it difficult to proceed.  The horse slid and buckled, sending it's rider deep into the snowbank.  He was exhausted, so much that he made no attempt to throw off the cold, wet blanket that hugged him.  Finally, he used all the strength he had and pulled himself upright, climbing back onto the road. The horse was gone and the icy fingers of fear gripped his heart.  He was alone on this mountain, with no idea where to go.  He plodded onward, through the shin deep snow, his eyes closed, one foot following the other.  He stumbled to his knees and remained a stationary post, beyond shivering, beyond the cold. 

"Hey, looked at that!" Tinsley hollered over the gale.  

His large companion, known only as Bear, climbed down and approached the solitary figure.  Jarrod looked up, was it real or a hallucination?  No, it was real, two riders, maybe all wasn't lost after all. 

"Help me," he croaked, unable to raise himself. 

He felt the strong arms lift him, but his initial elation quickly disappeared.  The cold eyes mirrored the smile as his hopes dissolved.  A solid punch to the midsection took the little air he had left.  His confused stare was met by evil laughter. 

"Yeah, we can help you.  We got just the right place waiting just for you."   

His numbed face couldn't feel the blows it received.  The last image he had was of the ground as he was dumped over the back of a horse and the terrific pain from something hard hitting his head.  The two celebrated their good fortune all the way back to the small fortress which would be their captive's nightmare. 

**********

The spacious parlor area of the Pine Meadows lodge clamored with activity as weary guests made their way into it's cozy interior.  Trails of moisture marked the way to individual tables and seating areas as the patrons stomped their snow-covered feet and shed their heavy winter jackets.  Max hustled around the room, greeting the stragglers as they came in, trying to account for every guest listed in the registration log.  From across the room he spied the stable boy entering the lodge, dusting the snow off his padded sleeves.  Hastily, the proprietor made his way over to the young man. 

"Abe, is there anyone left out in the barn?" Max questioned in his thick accent. 

"No, Sir, Mr. Schmidt.  There are still three horses out, but the riders haven't returned yet.  All the stocks bedded down with fresh hay and I left the lantern going out front so that they'll be able to find their way there in the dark.  It just got so cold, I wanted to come in and warm up a bit." 

"You did about all that you could do for now," the kindly gentleman reassured him.  "Who is it that's still out in a storm like this?" Max continued, looking worried. 

"It would be those three brothers that call themselves 'Barkley'.  You know; the ones that took off this mornin' in search of a tree." 

"Sweet Mother Mary, I would've thought that they of all people would have sense enough to head back when the sky darkened up like it did." 

"They seemed to know the hills fairly well.  The one seemed a little soft, but I'm sure his two brothers will be watching out for him.  At least that's how they came across." 

"Well, you're probably right, Abe.  Go over and have Elsa fix you up with some hot rolls and coco.  You look chilled to the bone!" 

"Thank you, Sir!" the lad smiled as he headed over to enjoy the warmth of the fire. 

Max sighed deeply, so lost in worry over his young friends that he didn't hear his son Jon calling him.  He turned at the hand on his back. 

"Papa?  Why so worried?  What's wrong?" his eldest's asked, his blue eyes reflecting the sincerest concern. 

"The Barkleys are missing.  It will be dark soon and the temperature's dropping.  If they don't come back..." 

"They're not greenhorns, Papa.  They know the terrain.  They'll probably be here any minute," Jon reassured the older man in a calm and steady voice.  "The telegraph wires are down and most of the roads impassable.  We need a plan.  Let's find George and Peter," Jon continued, referring to two of his younger brothers.  "Gerhardt, we'll be in the office.  Please send word if there is any news." 

The burly steward nodded from his post at the bar as he continued to fill mugs of hot cider and coffee for the frozen guests.   

It wasn't long after that the door burst open and a frosty figure stumbled in, seemingly formed from the frozen tundra itself.  He was covered head to toe in snow and ice.  Gerhardt raced from his post and guided the shivering man to the fire.  Peeling off the layers of frozen clothing, his fingers retracting at the painful bits of ice, he saw the lips moving and leaned in, spotting at once who the snowman was.

"Stefan," he called out to Carl Schmidt's son, home on college break, "get your Uncle Max from the office and tell him to come quickly!" 

As the youth ran through the lobby to the hallway, Gerhardt had peeled the outer layers off and the frozen socks.  Maria, Max's daughter-in-law, came with a blanket and a thick pair of dry socks.  She rubbed the frozen feet briskly and the close proximity of the fire did the rest.  The socks were put on and the blanket secured.  The eyes finally opened and looked around the room, frantically searching. 

"M-m-m-m...m-y-y...Br...br...br...broth...," the frozen form stammered. 

"Take it easy, my friend," Gerhardt soothed, holding a glass of brandy to the chattering jaw.  "Drink this, go on." 

The rich liquid burned a path from his mouth down to his stomach and he welcomed the warmth.  He turned as Max knelt beside him.  Before his lips could inquire on his brother's whereabouts, the elderly man's face told him the answer. 

"Max?" he hoped against the inevitable. 

"I'm sorry, my friend, they're not back yet.  As soon as the storm lets up, I'll send men out." 

The comforting words and reassuring hands did little to ease the fear and chill in the heart.  His eyes found the window outside and the screaming wind, coupled with the biting ice storm, gave him little hope.  He closed his eyes and shut them all out. 

**********

Max left the hot bowl of soup by the stunned Barkley, knowing it wouldn't be eaten. He made his way to his wife's side and drew her into an embrace.  They stood together for several minutes, comforting and drawing strength from each other.  Finally, she kissed his cheek and returned to the kitchen.  There was much to do in the kitchen, due to the added number of unexpected guests staying over. 

The elderly gentleman wandered over to the large front window and peered outside through the frosted glass.  All he could see was a white blur.  He certainly wouldn't want to be out in this blizzard, and especially so late in the day.  Through the haze he saw three figures approaching and the lodge's wooden door burst open.  Two white faced men trudged in carrying a third.  They dropped him on the floor and Max rushed over to remove the man's scarf.    

The loud bang and biting Arctic blast roused the frozen man out of his stupor.  He glanced sideways at the door and then jumped up, wincing at the pain of the circulation racing through his numbed legs.  He staggered across the room and dropped down, embracing his unconscious brother. 

"Heath! Heath!" he called, his finger's instinctively seeking a pulse.   

Nick sighed in relief and took the towel he was handed.  He wiped the windburned face of his youngest brother.  Turning at Max's strong hands on his shoulders, Nick could only nod, words wouldn't come.  He collected himself and took charge.  

"Help me get him to his room.  We'll need some extra blankets and towels. " 

Max watched them carry the unconscious blond man up the broad staircase.  He wondered where the eldest Barkley was.  He'd known Jarrod for...well, let's see.  Jarrod was eight years old when he came for the first time twenty-two years ago.  Such a fine man...what a devastating loss it would be for the family if....  Max didn't finish the thought.  Instead he sent a prayer heavenward, hoping for a miracle.  He turned as the men who'd assisted Nick stood by his side. 

"Two in safely, one still lost in the cold.  Where did you find him?" Max asked, looking up at the angels of mercy who had packed the half frozen Barkley in to safety.  

"Oh, about two hundred yards from the barn," the tall man panted, trying to catch his breath.  "Poor devil must've been out pretty far when the storm hit.  I'm guessin' it took all he had just to make it as far as he did.  If me and Jim here hadn't happened along, he'd be frozen by morinin', sure!" 

"And I'm glad that you did!  Those men have a brother that hasn't returned yet.  Any sign of him?" 

"No, that boy was all that we come across.  You want us to go take another look?" 

"Why don't you thaw for a few minutes.  If he isn't back within the hour, I'll bundle up and go out with you." 

**********

Nick stood staring into the black of night. The snow had slowed, but the awful gusting wind remained.  It seemed to scream at him...or did it only seem to be Jarrods' cries for help echoing in his tormented mind.  Hoping for a miracle, Nick waged an inner battle with himself.  No one could have survived this long in the bitter cold and icy storm; yet Nick refused to believe that Jarrod was gone.  He must have survived somehow, maybe finding shelter in the wilderness.     

He turned at the knock on the door.  His long strides made the trip a short one.  He nodded mutely as Elsa came in, bearing a tray of food and a large bowl of soup.  Setting the tray on the wooden table, she walked over to where Heath lay unconscious on the queen sized bed.  Her year's of motherly experience told her, before she even put a hand to the flushed face, that this boy was very ill.   

"Nothing yet?" 

"No, he hasn't come around at all.  His breathing's good, he ain't coughing.  I think maybe he's not as fevered." 

"You must eat, Nick.  You can't help either of your brothers by refusing food.  You need to be strong."  Her forceful words and strong hands guided him to the table.   

"Yeah, thanks, Elsa."  He took a spoonful of the rich stew and began to eat, not tasting a thing. 

"If he wakes, you let me know," she frowned taking her hand from Heath's forehead.

 Nick surprised himself at how hungry he was and cleaned the tray.  He took a seat next to Heath, but that lasted only minutes.  His restless nature took over and his spurs made a rhythmic pattern as he paced the room.

Heath swam through the mud.  He didn't remember getting separated from his outfit.  God it was warm here.  The mud was so thick he couldn't breath.  He lifted his head out of the murky, swamp and saw Major Harris nearby.  His legs wouldn't work; he was sinking. 

"I'm over here, Sir, I can't breathe."

"Huh?" Nick turned at the sound of the muttering groans.

He crossed the room and leaned town watching Heath's pant frantically.  His blue eyes raced around, Nick realized his brother wasn't in the room with him. He pushed against Nick's arms in a weak attempt to leave the bed.

"Take it easy, Heath.  You're okay...calm down"

"Major Harris, I'm stuck in here.  I'm sinking, I can't breathe..."

Nick sat on the bed and grabbed the confused shoulders.  He shook them hard and then tapped the face forcefully.

"HEATH!  You ain't in any battle, you're with Nick.  Can you hear me?  Come on, now, snap out of it," he commanded forcefully.

Heath blinked and closed his eyes, swaying.  He looked again and saw the swamp disappear and Major Harris' blue wool uniform changed to a white shirt.  He followed the buttons up past the chin and his relief and shock were audible at the face that looked back at him.

"Nick?  How'd you get here?  What happened?"

"That lousy storm is what happened," Nick said easing Heath back on the stack of pillows and handing him a glass of water.

Heath heard the howling wind and the ice pelting against the window.  He savored the water and sank back, welcoming the pile of blankets Nick covered him with.  He closed his eyes and felt the hand ruffle his hair.

"I'm gonna get you some soup.  You need to eat.   I'll be right back," Nick promised

"Nick," Heath called after the broad shoulders, "Where's Jarrod?"

Nick's hand froze on the doorknob.  His shoulder's slumped momentarily.  Recovering, he straightened up and turned back towards the bed.

"He's, uh...not back yet."

Nick's pained eyes met Heath's shocked ones, so easily hurt and it showed.  He turned the knob and opened the door.  Heath looked back at the terrific storm that teased him from the other side of the glass. 

"God, please, let him be safe.  Maybe somehow, he's just ...he can't be out there."

Heath heard the door shut and continued to pray in the silence, the crackling sound of the fire his own companion.

**********

Dinner was finished and the trays cleared away.  Nick sat nursing a large stein of ale, looking into the blackness outside.  He heard the clock strike ten and eased himself off the chair.  To his surprise, Heath was still awake.  He made his way over to the bed, stopping for the brown bottle.  Gripping the cork with his teeth, he pulled the stopped and seated himself on the edge of Heath's bed.

"I thought you sacked out a while ago."

He handed Heath the bottle and watched as his brother took a healthy swig of medicine.

"Good," Nick commented, "that should put your lights out real quick."

"I don't want to go to sleep.  I..."

Heath's voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.  Lifting the bottle from his brother's hand, Nick fingered the label, unable to meet Heath's eye.

"I know, Heath.  A part of me don't want mornin' to come either.  If he's still out there, he's...he'll be...gone."

He felt the hand grip his knee and looked up to the flicker of hope in the pale blue eyes.

"We'll find him, Nick.  He ain't dead.  He can't be."

Nick sighed and rose, turning off the light.  He opened the door and in the light from the hall, Heath saw the despair painted on Nick's normally confident face.  His older brother's voice was determined.

"Either way, I'm bringin' him home."

The door closed and Heath welcomed the blackness.  The strong, bitter potion caressed his mind and he allowed the despair to lull him to sleep.

**********

"You're not going and that's final!"

Nick's voice was gruff as he picked up Heath's boots and shoved them inside the armoire.  From his perch on the side of the bed, Heath knew that there was no argument that would change his brothers mind, but figured it was worth a try.  If Nick still refused to budge, then he'd just have to use an alternate plan.

"Nick, he's my brother too.  I have just as much right to be out searchin' as you do, and a good lick more than those fella's down in the lobby.  Now, are you gonna give me my boots back or do I have to go get 'em myself?" Heath challenged, pushing himself up on his feet.

"Okay, Heath, okay," Nick reasoned, using a gentle push to settle his brother back down on the bed.  "I guess you have a good point there, but first I want you to try and eat something.  You just sit there and rest for a couple of minutes and I'll be back with some coffee and rolls."

"You ain't plannin' to sneak out on me, are you?"

"No, Heath.  I'll be back in just a couple of minutes.  You got my word on that."

"All right, then.  I'll be gettin' myself ready.  Just don't go gettin' lost on your way back up here."

"I've traveled these stairs a hundred times," Nick reassured his suspicious brother.  "I reckon I can find my way back up again."

Nick pulled the door tight behind him and made his way down to the bar. 

"Mornin' Gerhardt," he greeted the husky man behind the counter.  "How 'bout a couple of coffees and some kind of breakfast roll to go with it."

"You got it, Mr. Barkley.  Will that be for down here?"

"No, I'll take it up to Heath's room if you don't mind."

Soon the tray of crescent rolls and steaming mugs of coffee were sitting on the counter in front of Nick.  Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out a small glass bottle.  Pulling the stopper, he carefully metered out some of the white powder into one of the mugs.  Gingerly, he dipped his pointer finger into the hot liquid and carefully stirred until all the powder was dissolved.

"Sweet dreams, Little Brother," he cooed under his breath.

Wiping the finger on the back of his pants, he picked up the tray and headed back up the stairs.

"Room service is here!" he greeted, setting the tray down.  "Eat now or eat it cold!"

"I don't care how I eat it," Heath grumped, "but I wanna get movin', so let's hurry it up."

"Here," offered Nick, handing Heath the doctored mug of coffee.  "A little caffeine will help keep the bite outta the cold!"

"Thanks," mumbled Heath, accepting the warm cup and bringing it to his lips.  "This ain't the best coffee I've ever tasted.  Seems a bit bitter."

"Maybe your taste buds are still froze," Nick suggested light heartedly.  "Better hurry and down it, time's wastin'!"

Tilting his head back, Heath drained the last of the comforting beverage before shuffling over to the armoire for his boots.

"For as cold as it is outside, it sure seems warm in here," he commented sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

"You've got a point there, Heath.  In fact," Nick exclaimed, "it's so warm in here that I forgot to put on my long-johns.  Why don't you just relax a minute or two longer while I run change into them."

"What's got into you anyway," Heath questioned, the annoyance he was feeling quite evident in his tone.  "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were either stallin' or senile."

"Well, you know I ain't stallin'," Nick replied.  "I'm as anxious as you are to get the search started.  Guess maybe all the stress has got me a bit unraveled.  Don't go away, I'll be right back."

Heath finished pulling on his boots and settled back for a quick breather.  No sooner did his head sink comfortably into the large down pillow, than the sweet land of sleep welcomed him to her distant shores.

A couple of minutes later, the door slowly opened as Nick peeked carefully inside to confirm his suspicions.  Yes, the medicine had taken it's affect.  Tiptoeing into the room, Nick smiled smugly at his brother's sleeping form as he gently tugged at Heath's boots.  He slid the worn, brown leather boots under the bed and pulled the bed's coverlet up over the slumbering body.  It was going to be a day of rough, bitter riding.  He had enough concerns without worrying about Heath as well.  Sure the boy would be raging mad when he awoke, but hopefully by that time, all three brothers would be enjoying the comfort of the lodge, and Nicks wily cunning would be forgotten.  Taking slow, careful strides as to not jingle his spurs, Nick gently opened the door and made his escape.  Stillness fell over the room as Heath slept soundly.