Come Home to Me (Second Chances Time Travel Romance Series Book 1)

by Peggy L Henderson

  Rachel swallowed. Her eyes narrowed. Since when did a man ask to be friends with a woman? She could only imagine what kind of friendship he was looking for.

  “I’m sure you have enough lady friends where you’re from, Mr. Owens. I don’t believe I would want to be counted among them.” Then why is his smile the last thing on your mind each night, Rachel?

  His jaw visibly clenched, and his eyes hardened. “Fine,” he said, the word clipped. “Believe what you want. Maybe someday you’ll see that I’m not the guy you seem to think I am.”

  He turned to his horse, and vaulted easily onto the mare’s back. Without a backwards glance, he galloped off toward the front of the line of wagons. Rachel inhaled a deep breath, and picked up the pace, gritting her teeth against the ache in her blistered feet. Why did she feel the need to act so disagreeable around him? He had been nothing but helpful to her since the day they met. If only he wasn’t so forward and brazen.

  “Jake,” she said softly, liking the sound of his name. A smile formed on her lips. It would certainly give Mrs. Edwards something to talk about if she overheard Rachel calling the scout by his given name.

  ****

  Jake knelt by the creek. He splashed water on his face and ran his hand over the sandpaper roughness of his jaw. Perhaps he ought to try shaving, but the idea of using a sharp knife blade on his face wasn’t too enticing. His lips widened in a slow smile. Maybe Rachel would like him better if he was clean-shaven. Or, maybe she preferred men with a full beard. Most of the men here sported some sort of facial hair, be it a full beard or a moustache. Her husband certainly didn’t bother shaving most days.

  Damn! He’d tried to stay away. For three days he avoided Rachel’s wagon. He watched her from afar, unable to keep his eyes and mind off of her. She walked tirelessly beside her wagon every day. Her boys took turns riding in the bed or up in the jockey seat. She had to be worn out. Thomas Parker drove their team, and he managed to hitch and unhitch the mules every day, but that was about all he did. Two nights ago, it had been Thomas’ turn at midnight watch. Unable to sleep, visions of Rachel kept Jake tossing and turning in his bedroll. He’d gone to check on his mare, and found Thomas snoring under a bush. Jake had sat up for the remainder of the night, waking Thomas when his shift was over. Barely aware, Rachel’s husband had shuffled off to his wagon.

  Jake clenched and unclenched his jaw. She deserved better. No sooner had that thought entered his mind, and he laughed. Someone like you, Owens? He shook off the crazy thought. What the hell was he thinking? In less than six months, he planned to be back home in his time, and he’d be free. No more worries about rotting in jail for something he didn’t do. No more sleepless nights, thinking about someone else’s wife.

  The sound of fiddle music drifted over the rise leading to camp. The emigrants were in high spirits. Someone had suggested an evening of music and relaxing. Jake had to admit that this first week spent in the nineteenth century had been easier than he could have possibly imagined. It wasn’t a whole lot different from the sort of stuff he was used to doing back home. He’d been on more cattle drives and campouts than he could ever hope to remember. There were a few modern conveniences he did miss at the moment, like an air mattress to sleep on. He silently thanked the reverend for the highly detailed satellite map he had provided.

  He wasn’t kidding himself, though. Crossing a few rivers and driving livestock through water wasn’t a problem. At least not yet. He’d dealt with quicksand before, so he was confident in what to do. But what if they met up with Indians? He knew it was only a matter of time. He didn’t know how to speak any Indian languages. He didn’t know which Indians were hostile and which weren’t. The Rocky Mountains loomed ahead hundreds of miles in the distance, as did miles and miles of barren land where food would be scarce for the animals, and water might be hard to come by. The people might be in a good mood right now, but what would happen when they faced some real hardships?

  Jake rubbed his chin, and headed toward the music. He might as well enjoy the evening with the emigrants. Frank Wilson sat with Elijah Edwards and Jeb Miller on overturned water buckets near one of several large campfires toward the center of camp. Jake had no desire to sit with the men. Wilson had been cordial since that confrontation at the Missouri, but Jake could sense the man was disgruntled with him for undermining his authority, and making him look bad in front of the people. Jake had stayed out of his way and gone along with the wagon master’s orders so far. He knew he wouldn’t hesitate to go against the man again, if he deemed it necessary.

  Jake stood in the shadow between two wagons, and observed the festivities. A man played the fiddle, and another joined him with a harmonica. The tunes they played were lively, and unfamiliar to him. Many of the younger children laughed and danced in the center of the camp. A few adult couples joined them. Jake’s eyes narrowed when he spotted Marcus Powell among a few other men. The man had given him a wide berth since their confrontation that first day, and so far he’d heeded Jake’s warning to stay away from Rachel.

  Jake’s eyes scanned the crowd, searching for her. Rachel occupied his thoughts more than he wanted to admit. She sat off to the side of the rest of the people near her rig, her toddler on her lap. She tapped her feet, a wide smile on her face. The little boy laughed, and she held his hands, clapping to the music. Jake’s eyes remained fixed on her. The music faded in his ears, and everyone else disappeared around her. She was beautiful. Her smile was radiant, but Jake also detected a sadness in her eyes.

  He had to talk to her. He tried to stay away. He couldn’t stay away any longer. To hell with her husband. Reverend Johnson had made her Jake’s responsibility, and with good reason. Thomas Parker was useless. What had she ever seen in the man to marry him?

  Jake was about to step out from between the wagons, when a hand on his arm stopped him. He spun quickly around, only to stand face to face with Annabelle Edwards. The girl smiled up at him.

  “Mr. Owens . . . Jake,” she said, her voice soft and almost seductive. “Would you ask me to dance?” The girl boldly ran her hand up his arm, and stepped closer. Reflexively, Jake grabbed her wrist to lift her hand away from him. Startled for a moment, his head turned toward the camp, and to where Rachel sat. His heart sank. She stared directly at him. Could she even see him in the shadows? Judging by the disapproval in her eyes, she saw him, and he could only imagine what the scene must look like to her.

  “Damn,” he uttered under his breath. He glared at Annabelle, and peeled the young girl’s hand from his arm. Without saying a word to her, he disappeared behind the wagons, allowing the darkness to swallow him up.

  Chapter 8

  Rachel stoked the coals in the fire pit with a wooden stick, and blew air on them until they glowed a bright orange. In the darkness of predawn, the warm colors belied the chill in the air. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, and added kindling to get the fire going, then set the coffee pot over the flames. She straightened her back and listened. A few wagons away, someone snored loudly. An owl hooted from a nearby tree. The occasional snort of a horse or soft bellow of one of the oxen had become familiar sounds to her.

  Rachel sat on a tree stump, and waited for the water in the pot to boil. She rubbed at her aching temples, and flipped her long braid over her shoulder. She sighed, and rubbed the grit of fine silt between her fingers. What she wouldn’t give for some clean water and a full bath. After over a week on the trail, she’d barely managed to wash the dust from her face most evenings before bed. Most of the streams and rivers they had encountered so far were muddy from the sand and silt the water carried through the current. She strained the river water through cloth as best as she could, trying to rid it of as much sand as possible before she used it for cooking or drinking.

  A loud grunt and groan reached her ears from under her wagon. Thomas shifted in his bedroll, then gave a loud snore. Rachel clenched her jaw, and inhaled a deep breath through her nose. Anger flooded her body, and heat rose up her neck. Th
omas should not be asleep right now. It was his turn at midnight watch. She couldn’t believe how he had completely given himself over to his grief. He used to be a man so full of life. That had all changed on that fateful day. . .

  If she had any sense at all, she would pack up the children, and head back to Ohio. She’d given Thomas a fair chance. Two years of grieving his loss had to be enough time. Instead of getting his life back in order, however, he seemed to be getting worse. Rachel couldn’t live her life like this anymore, putting him and his needs before her own. Perhaps she could return home, and make a fresh start for herself and the boys. With a regretful shake of her head, she knew it was too late to turn back. They had sold everything in Ohio to buy the wagon and supplies. There was just enough money left over for the journey, and to hopefully buy a plow and equipment for a new farm in the Oregon territory.

  The nighttime chill crept up her spine, replacing the heat of her anger from a moment ago, and Rachel pulled her wool shawl more firmly around her shoulders. She reached for the tin cup she had set on the ground. Wrapping the tail end of her apron around her hand, she picked up the handle of the coffee pot, and poured steaming liquid into the cup. The air around her became infused with the rich strong smell of coffee. It smelled good, even if she didn’t drink the stuff. With a determined lift of her head, she left the camp and headed in the direction of where the livestock grazed.

  As darkness enveloped her, she wished she had brought a lantern. There was only a half-moon in the night sky, and she could barely see where she was going. She followed the soft sounds the animals made, hoping she wouldn’t lose her way. A heavy hand on her shoulder startled her. Coffee spilled over the rim of her cup.

  “Rachel?” Jake Owens’ surprised voice was close to her ear, sending a renewed shiver down her spine. “What the hell are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

  She swallowed back her sudden nervousness. “I brought you some coffee,” she whispered, unsure of how far her voice would carry. She certainly didn’t want someone else to hear her.

  “Coffee? How’d you know I was here?” He sounded pleasantly surprised.

  Rachel turned, shrugging off his hand that still rested on her shoulder. He stood so close, the heat from his body seeped right into her. His breath blew hot against her cheek. She held the cup up, pushing it against his chest. “Take it,” she said firmly. “Thomas is asleep under the wagon. You’ve taken his shift at night watch again.”

  Twice before, Rachel had awakened in the middle of the night to find Thomas lying next to her when he was supposed to be watching the livestock. Twice she had seen Jake Owens walk into camp when the morning bell clanged on those same occasions, looking rather tired. Tonight, she decided to act on her suspicions that Jake was covering for Thomas. Her hunch had obviously turned out to be correct.

  There was a silent pause, then Jake took the cup from her hand, his fingers lingering over hers. “Thank you,” he said, his voice unusually demure. Rachel eased her hand away. The tingling sensation crawling up her arm, originating where he touched her, was too unsettling.

  She shouldn’t be here, seeking this man out in the darkness of night, but she couldn’t stand by, knowing that he sacrificed his own sleep to cover for Thomas. Everyone was expected to pull their weight, and Thomas certainly wasn’t doing his part.

  “No. I thank you,” Rachel said, and took a step back. “I don’t know why you’re doing this for us, Mr. Owens, but I do want you to know that I’m grateful.”

  He slurped loudly at the coffee. “I told you the other day. Someone’s gotta look out for you.”

  She pressed her lips together. Yes. She remembered that day. That same day she’d also seen Jake Owens standing in the shadows of two wagons, his hands on Annabelle Edwards. Had that been the first time they met in secret? Mr. Owens did take a lot of his meals at the Edwards wagon. Apparently, the young naïve girl had succumbed to his good looks and charm. Had Annabelle been his latest conquest? Rachel clenched her jaw in frustration, the image of Annabelle pressed up to Jake fresh in her mind.

  Why did this even bother her? He hadn’t approached her since the evening he rode off in a huff. He certainly did move fast. Had he finally gotten the message that she, unlike Annabelle, wouldn’t be one of his female acquisitions? Her hands knotted tightly in front of her. The man was nothing but a scoundrel. A wickedly handsome scoundrel, who wouldn’t leave her thoughts no matter how much she tried to push him from her mind.

  “Good night, Mr. Owens,” she said curtly, and turned to leave. Her toe caught on a root jutting out of the ground, and she lurched forward. Her hands shot out in front of her, anticipating her fall, when a strong hand hauled her back. In the next instant, she was held flush against a solid body. Her heart stopped beating momentarily, and then raced full speed into her throat. Her knees trembled, and if he released her now, she’d surely sink to the ground.

  “Careful, Rachel.” Jake Owen’s sensual voice tickled her ear. Tremors raced up her spine, and her breath caught in her throat. With wide eyes, she stared up into the darkness, unable to make out his face. Only dark shadows greeted her, but his warm breath on her cheek told her how close he was.

  “Release me,” she hissed. She could barely get the words out. Why did it feel so good to stand so close to him? Why did he make her feel that even if the world crashed down around her, no harm would come to her while she was with him?

  “Not until you stop shaking.”

  Rachel pushed a hand against his chest, and a shudder passed through him. In the next instant, he released one of her arms, only to slide his calloused hand along her cheek until his fingers raked through her hair at the nape of her neck. Rachel fought for a lungful of air. She tried to step back, but his other hand held firm to her arm.

  “Why did you come here in the middle of the night, Rachel?” His hand cradled the back of her head, his thumb stroking her cheek. “I think under all that primness is a girl ready to let her hair down. Tell me, doesn’t your husband keep you satisfied? He pays more attention to that bottle he keeps under his wagon seat than he does you or your boys.”

  “How dare you,” she hissed, mortified he should make such insinuations. Rachel snapped out of her trance. “Take your hands off me,” she said firmly.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are?” His voice was low and raspy, and his breath kissed her cheek. His words were like a soft caress.

  “I bet you told Annabelle Edwards the same thing the other night. How many other women do you flatter with those words? I told you I won’t be one of your conquests.”

  Jake inhaled a deep breath, and his hands fell away from her. He took a step back. Relief swept over her. Or was it regret? A cool breeze seeped through the fabric of her clothes where seconds ago Jake Owen’s warm body shielded her from the chilly night air.

  “Believe what you want about me, Rachel. Just understand that I have no interest in fourteen-year-old girls. She came on to me. What you saw was me pushing her away.”

  “Your carousing habits don’t interest me, Mr. Owens,” Rachel hissed. “Just stay away from me.” She picked up her skirt and turned, more carefully this time. In the next instant, his arm snaked around her waist and she found herself hauled up against his solid chest again. Too shocked to move, she was too late to realize his intent. He pressed his lips against hers, and heat exploded within her. Shocked at her reaction to his advances, she braced both hands against his chest, but her arms had gone completely weak to even try and fend him off. A split second later, he pulled away from her, as if he realized his mistake. He released her completely.

  “Dammit, don’t you think I’d stay away from you if I could?” he growled, his breath labored. Rachel brought her hand up, and swung her arm back. A loud crack filled the air as her palm connected with his cheek. Her hand stung as she wheeled around and ran as fast as she dared through the darkness, back to the safety of her wagon. She couldn’t suck enough air into her lungs, and tears streamed down
her face. Tears of shame, for her lips still tingled from his kiss, and she wished it hadn’t ended so abruptly.

  *****

  “Dammit all to hell!” Jake kicked at the dirt on the ground, his foot connecting with the tin coffee cup he’d dropped when Rachel stumbled and nearly fell on her pretty face. He rubbed at the stinging sensation in his cheek, and cursed the fate that had brought him to this time and place. He cursed Thomas Parker, and finally Reverend Johnson. It was all the old man’s fault. He’d known exactly what he was doing when he told Jake that he had to look out for Rachel. Was this his punishment for something?

  Jake scoffed. He hadn’t been sent here for a second chance. He’d come straight to purgatory. Why else would Johnson have told him to see to Rachel’s safety? The old man knew things. There was no doubt in Jake’s mind that the reverend knew that Jake would fall for her, a married woman, a woman he couldn’t have, a woman who lived in a different time than his own.

  Jake’s head snapped up from staring at the darkness on the ground, and his jaw dropped. Was he falling for Rachel? He laughed, a short, pitiful laugh to match the distant bark of a coyote. Over the years, he thought himself in love with lots of girls. It never lasted beyond a few dates. He clenched his jaw. The last one was Sandra. He quickly shook his head. Rachel was nothing like Sandra. These feelings, these thoughts about Rachel, were different from anything else he ever experienced. None of the others had ever brought out such strong protective urges in him. Sandra had set his body on fire, but beyond that, Jake couldn’t recall a single feeling of tenderness. He didn’t think about her constantly, or see her smiling in his mind before drifting off to sleep each night.

  Just looking at Rachel sent his heart galloping in his chest. Standing close to her doubled that reaction. And now that he’d held her in his arms, and kissed her . . . there was no describing the sensations her soft feminine body, or the subtle fragrance of the soap she used to wash her hands, evoked in him. He’d briefly taken leave of his senses when the urge to kiss her had become more powerful than any rational thought he possessed. He’d realized his mistake instantly. If he’d pursued the kiss, intensified it, prolonged it any further than for the second or two their lips touched, he was sure he would have lost his mind.