Dedication: For Tauna Petit-Strawn

Author's Note: I owe nothing to my brothers, nor do I gather debts from them. – Ayn Rand, Anthem

Disclaimer: I don't own this, and this part I'm writing because Tauna wished it.

Epilogue

It was far too early, but Jarrod could smell breakfast.

The light coming in between the window frame and the shade was strong: full daylight. He fumbled for his watch. Two hours of sleep was not enough, but the smell of coffee from the sitting room called to him, and he rose and ventured into the sitting room of the hotel suite.

Heath sat alone at the table, a coffee pot at his elbow and a huge platter of food before him.

Jarrod looked at him, puzzled. "Did you order that?"

Heath laughed. "No, Silas brought it up. He said he thought I'd be hungry by now."

Jarrod's brow furrowed. It was well before the time they normally ate at home.

"Yeah," Heath replied to his brother's unspoken thought, "Well, I usually get up and have a bite with Silas about five a.m., then I come back and eat again with the family at eight."

"It looks good," Jarrod said.

"You want some?" his half-brother offered. "There's plenty here for two." He rose and walked over to the credenza where he'd left his saddlebags, and pulled out a speckled enamel tin coffee cup. He filled it from the coffee pot and offered it to his brother, then looked around and brought one of the water glasses to the table before sitting back down. He poured half the orange juice into the waterglass and pushed it across the table. He offered Jarrod the fork and picked up the spoon to use himself.

"Do you always carry an extra cup with you?" Jarrod asked bemused. He smiled at the younger man, seated himself at the table, and began cutting the steak into bite-sized pieces.

"Yeah, pretty much." Heath gave a chuff of a laugh. "Never know when it might come in handy." He winked at his big brother, then took a spoonful of grits, followed by a spoonful of eggs.

Jarrod finished cutting the steak, put down the knife, picked up the tin cup again and sipped at the strong, dark brew. "I can hardly dispute you."

Heath took a sip of orange juice from the half-full stemmed glass next to him and spooned up a bite of steak. "Bit early for you, isn't it? Couldn't you sleep?"

Jarrod speared a bit of the meat himself. "I did for a little while."

"But not now?" The food was terrific. Heath ate another spoonful of the buttery grits. Silas knew just how he liked things. "I hope you don't offend my asking," he continued, after he'd swallowed.

"Not at all," Jarrod said. He sighed. "I think I forgot something in all this hoopla over Nick's homecoming."

Heath shook a few drops of the mushroom catsup onto to the bit of scrambled eggs nearest him, then spooned it up and into himself. What is this stuff made of? "What's that? We did everything we talked about when we were planning it at home."

"You."

Heath paused, his piece of toast suspended in the air. He met his brother's eyes. "You didn't forget me, Jarrod, I'm sitting right here."

Jarrod licked his lips and swallowed, though he hadn't had any food in his mouth just then. "Heath, I shouldn't have slapped you. I had no right to do that, and I deeply regret it."

Heath's eyes lowered as he set down the toast, then rose again to consider the blue eyes, which had been so angry that day, but this morning were again the calm and wise eyes of his big brother.

"Thank you, Jarrod. I appreciate you saying that." He paused a moment to think of what else he should say. "Apology accepted." He picked his toast up again and ate it.

Breakfast continued without much conversation, a little awkwardly as they were sharing plate and utensils and neither wanted to be thought to be snatching the food from his brother's mouth.

"Do you want that last bite of steak?" Jarrod asked.

"Not if you want it," Heath replied obligingly.

Jarrod chuckled. "Back to that, are we?" He picked up the knife again, cut the bit of meat in two, and pushed one of the halves Heath's way. His brother spooned it up happily.

"Jarrod, you don't think—" Heath stopped himself and shook his head.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." His half-brother poured himself more coffee as a cover for his feelings. "It's stupid. More coffee?"

"Okay," Jarrod said. When the tin cup was full again, he asked gently, "Please tell me, Heath."

Heath glanced at him, then looked away, across the room. He couldn't look in those blue, blue eyes and say this. "You told me a gentleman apologizes when he wants to repair a relationship that's been damaged."

"That's right," the older brother confirmed.

Heath changed his mind and turned back to the impossibly blue eyes of his big brother. "Do you think our relationship has been damaged then?"

Jarrod stared. "Brother Heath, we've just eaten breakfast together off the same plate. A relationship can't get any stronger than that!"

Heath picked up his cup and smiled down into his coffee. "Good. You know, Jarrod, this being a brother thing isn't as easy as falling off a log."

"No," his brother agreed. "But it's worth it."

"Yes, it is. To brothers," Heath proposed, holding out his mug.

Jarrod brought his tin cup up to clink gently against the mug. "To brothers."