by MG Buehrlen
The moment we approached our campsite, my horse decided our ride was over. She dug her hooves in the dirt and almost bucked me over her head. I climbed down, taking the hint, happy to be rid of her too. I hoped I could ascend back to Limbo before I had to ride her again. The insides of my thighs and my tailbone felt battered and bruised. Part of me thought she rode roughly just to spite me.
The campsite was deep in a wooded valley, shrouded by thick evergreens, twisting vines and brambles. It was actually a great hiding spot. No one could see the fire that crackled at the center if they happened by, but they’d be able to smell the food cooking a mile away. I hoped the Carters knew what they were doing, cooking out in the bare woods. If it were up to me, it would be jerky, bread and apples for the entire trip. Not even a fire to warm the bones. It was just common sense. But maybe this was how they’d all get caught or killed in the next few months. Stupidity.
There were three small canvas tents set up around the fire. An iron kettle hung over its lapping flames. Soup bubbled inside, offering curls of steam up into the cold November sky. A fifth man I hadn’t met yet knelt at the kettle, head down under a wide-billed hat, stirring the soup. Cask, William, and Yates migrated toward the kettle, rubbing their cold hands together and commenting on how good it smelled.
Cask dropped his saddlebags against a fallen log near the fire. My eyes were stitched to its seams. The chest of coins was still inside.
“I guess you’ll be wantin’ to get out of that getup,” Judd said, walking past me. His eyes were fixed on his hat in his hands, dusting leaves and dirt from the rim.
“Um, I guess.” I looked down at my dress, not really sure what he meant. Did he mean I would want to put on a different dress? Or was that some kind of veiled suggestion to get naked?
I hated not knowing what people meant when I descended.
When I didn’t budge, he looked up, his eyebrows raised, then shot a quick glance at the canvas tent to his right. That tiny glance let me know which tent was mine. I strode toward it, head held high, like I wasn’t confused at all.
Inside, I found a bedroll spread out on the ground with a few blankets and pillows. A leather sack sat at its foot. I rummaged through the sack and found a pair of dark pants and a cream-colored long-sleeved shirt that looked to be my size.
So that’s what Judd meant. I guessed Shooter Delaney didn’t like to wear dresses. I smiled to myself as I unbuttoned my dress and peeled it from my shoulders. There were a few things I liked about my 1876 self so far. I was independent, strong, wore whatever clothes I liked, didn’t get bossed around by the likes of the Carters.
Shooter Delaney was shaping up to be my kind of gal.
Sort of.
If only I knew more about her. Me. Why did I decide to become an outlaw? Just to hack off my Texas lawman father? Had I ever shot anyone? Killed anyone? Did I have blood on my 1876 hands?
I let my hair down from its tight bun and wriggled out of my corset and petticoat. I stretched my arms over my head. I hadn’t realized how confining all that underwear was until my body could breathe again. How did women wear all that stuff back then?
While I was in mid-stretch, I heard a whistle from outside, followed by a few muffled chuckles. My head whipped over my shoulder. The flaps at the front of the tent were closed and no one was peeking in, but dammit. The light from the fire on one side of my tent cast my shadow in perfect precision on the other. The Carter Gang was enjoying their own private shadow peep show, courtesy of Alex Wayfare, time traveler extraordinaire.
I flopped down onto the bedroll and wrestled into my pants and shirt. My body burned red hot, through and through. At least one good thing would come from something so mortifying – sleeping out in the November cold would be a cinch.
After I pulled on a pair of worn-in cowboy boots, I sat in my tent, arms and legs crossed, face red, refusing to emerge. I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t walk out there and feel their eyes on me. Their teasing, hungry eyes, scraping and grating over my body.
They shouldn’t have watched. Gentlemen wouldn’t have watched.
I snorted a laugh.
I wasn’t dealing with gentlemen. I was dealing with outlaws. Of course they’d watch. Of course they’d steal a glance and not think twice. Of course they’d stare and ogle and take what wasn’t theirs. Of course.
“Dammit,” I swore aloud. In all my embarrassment, I’d forgotten to keep an eye on the coin chest.
I crawled to the tent flaps and peeked outside. A deep-blue sky peeked through a canopy of naked treetops, but dark, black night had settled on the forest floor. Wind rustled in the evergreens and swayed bare branches. The four members of the Carter Gang were seated around the fire, spooning soup into their mouths from shallow tin bowls. The light of the fire licked the leather of Cask’s saddlebags at his feet. The chest must still be inside. Why else would he keep the bags so close?
The fifth guy, the one I hadn’t met yet, sat with his back to me beside Judd. I watched as my horse, a wisp of black movement amid the black night, stepped up to the fifth guy and nudged him with her nose. She nickered low and soft. He stroked her forehead, then handed her a carrot from his pocket. She devoured it in less than a second, then snuffled his coat pockets for more. He laughed and pushed her head away, telling her to “get.”
Note to self: If you have to ride that horse again, make sure you have carrots. And lots of them.
I took a deep breath and left the safety of my tent, pulling a thick wool coat over my arms. Not only did I want the extra bulk around my body, but I wasn’t as immune to the cold weather as I thought I’d be. (I would’ve given anything for a pair of warm sweats and a stocking cap.) I’d also found a holster in my sack and fastened it around my hips. I figured the Carters would know I’d keep my pistol close, but I didn’t want to flaunt it. It made me feel safe to have my gun snug against my hip, hidden.
I wrapped the coat tight around me, shivering, and strolled up to the kettle. All eyes fell on me, followed by cat calls, laughter, and whistles. The red hot heat in my gut found its way to the surface of my skin again and spread out in a thin sheen of sweat. I tried to summon the sass and strength of my host body. I got the feeling Shooter Delaney wouldn’t be embarrassed by anything. Not even an accidental peep show. She wouldn’t have let them see her sweat.
I stuck out my chin and reached down for the lid on the kettle. The fifth guy jumped to his feet and snatched the lid off before I could. A puff of steam wafted up between us.
“Here, let me.” He ladled the soup – chicken and potato – into a bowl. He handed it to me, along with a spoon, through the cloud of rising steam.
I reached out and took it from his hands. My palms grazed his knuckles. The steam swirled and lifted, then dissipated, leaving clear, cold air between us. He looked up and met my eyes, and for the first time that night, I saw his face.
I dropped my bowl into the soup with a splat.
It was Blue.
Again.
In 1876.
CHAPTER 22
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
“How?” I said, my hands trembling over the kettle.
Blue knitted his brow together. His hair was a lot longer this time, almost down to his jaw, and he was thinner, yet still muscular. His skin was bronzed from a life spent working outdoors, but his eyes were the same striking blue-green. Truth be told, he was even more handsome than ever before.
And it totally pissed me off.
“How?” This time I demanded an answer. But he only looked more confused.
All the other guys were sitting up and staring now. Yates twisted one end of his handlebar mustache, his eyelids making slits. There was a blob of soup on William’s chin. Cask’s heavy brow shadowed his eyes so darkly, it looked like he was wearing a Lone Ranger mask.
Blue grabbed a long-handled spoon and tried to fish my bowl out of the soup. I watched him, my mouth hanging open, unable to feel my body. I was numb, barely standing, shuddering from the inside wi
th shock. How could he be here? How?
“Answer me.” The words scorched my tongue.
“I’m not sure how you dropped it,” he said, carefully lifting the bowl out of the hot soup with his forefinger and thumb. “You just… dropped it.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
He looked up at me, no longer confused but annoyed. “You and your attitude,” he said, shaking his head. He slung the excess soup off the bowl and onto the ground. Some splattered on my boots, but I barely noticed.
“I’ve tried to be cordial and accommodatin’,” Blue said over his shoulder to Judd, “but she’s just got it in for me, and that’s all there is to it.”
“You ain’t the only one,” Cask mumbled into his bowl, his mouth full.
Judd gave me a look that said be nice. Blue refilled my bowl and stuck it out to me, his eyes fixed on something – anything – off to my right. Why wouldn’t he look at me?
I didn’t take the soup. Instead, I half-stumbled my way over to sit on a log beside Cask, unable to fully feel or control my limbs. Cask eyed me suspiciously and pulled his saddlebags closer to his side. I dug my elbows into my knees and tried to steady my breathing. I stared at my boots. There were bits of leaves and sticks and dirt stuck to the splattered soup. I let my coat hang open like a blanket over my shoulders. The cold November air made its way inside to ruffle my shirt. It tangled in my long hair.
I was numb to the core.
If this was descending – seeing Blue each time I traveled back to the past – then I didn’t want to do it anymore. It was enough to drive anyone insane. It was a knife prick to the bone. A reminder of our night together, the one that no longer existed. Would I experience the torture every time? Again and again and again? It felt like seeing a fresh bruise each morning on Audrey’s pearl-white skin. Or seeing Mom’s red eyes at the dinner table, knowing she’d been crying again, but never knowing why. Always wondering if it was me – if I was the cause of her misery.
I watched Blue lower himself to the ground beside Judd, his back propped against the flat side of a rock. He looked up at me, his eyes finding mine. Firelight played on his sun-dark skin. The flames flickered and flashed at the corners of his blue, narrowed eyes. He had never directed such a distasteful expression my way.
He didn’t like me in this past life. In fact, I was pretty sure he hated my guts. I tried to tell myself it was Shooter Delany he didn’t like, but that didn’t help. Shooter Delany was me, after all.
It made me feel sick to see him look at me like that. So sincerely bothered by me. As Jack Baker, at least he was agreeable and sympathetic, even if he was a ghost sent to haunt me. Now what was he? Still a figment of my imagination? What would Porter say when I told him I saw the same Nick again? Would he tell me I was still grieving?
I placed my clammy hands on my knees to steady their trembling. I wasn’t grieving for Blue anymore. No, I was past that. Now I was livid. And I wanted answers.
I deserved answers.
I dared to look at him again. He was still watching me, but his expression had changed. Instead of distaste, he looked like he was in deep, tormented thought. There was a struggle going on inside him. It bent his shoulders. It fisted his hands.
Was it Shooter Delaney who tormented him? Or Alex Wayfare? How was I going to get him alone to find out?
Judd glanced back and forth between Blue and I, his forehead puckered. Then he set his finished bowl aside and heaved himself up on his towering legs. “Mind if I have a word?” he asked me.
My legs were still wobbly, but I followed him as he strode tall into the woods toward his horse. Darkness slid over us. He rummaged in his saddlebags, then pinched a tiny, hand-rolled cigarette between his lips. He struck a match and cupped his hands around it as it lit. He pulled in a few puffs, then snuffed the match with a wave of his hand and dropped it to the ground. He took a deep drag and blew a long tunnel of smoke out the side of his mouth. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”
“What do you mean?”
“With Heath. Why are you givin’ him such a hard time this week?”
Heath? Was that Blue’s name in 1876? “I wasn’t aware I was.”
Judd quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t believe me. And I wasn’t about to argue. Keep the conversations short.
“I’m sorry. I’ll lay off of him if that’s what you want.”
Judd blew another tunnel of smoke over my head, his lips curved into a smile. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Is that all?” I glanced over my shoulder at Cask. He was laughing about something with Yates and William. His saddlebags rested against his calf. Blue watched Judd and I out of the corner of his eye.
“I guess so,” said Judd. He flicked the finished nub of his cigarette to the ground and smashed it with his boot. “I’m tuckered. Headin’ to bed. You comin’?”
My eyes snapped back to him. “What? With you?”
“Well, yes. Unless you want to sleep out here with the horses.” He chuckled to himself.
“I…” I glanced at the tents by the fire. Only three. Of course we’d all be doubling up. How had I missed that? “I still haven’t eaten. I think I’ll sit up for a while yet.”
“Suit yourself.” He moved closer to me, and his hands found my hips. He smelled like tobacco and chicken soup. “I ain’t forgotten, you know.”
I tipped my chin down. I didn’t want to give him any invitation to kiss me, if that was his intention, although I could tell my host body wouldn’t have minded. “Forgotten what?”
“The house on the hill.”
I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. So I pretended. “Oh?”
“Cask said that chest is worth at least eight thousand dollars. Once we get our share, I’m gonna fulfill that promise I made. We’ll leave all this behind. Head to California. Just you and me.” He moved in closer. His breath mingled with my hair. “We’ll buy a piece a’ land. And men’ll come from all over and pay us to pan our creeks.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
It made my heart ache.
Judd would never make it to California. By this time next month, he’d be caught by the Pinkertons outside Mobile, Alabama. A few weeks after that, he would die in his jail cell, cold and alone, from pneumonia.
And I couldn’t warn him of it. I couldn’t say a word. I had to stand there beneath his hopeful smile and keep still.
“Well, don’t stay up too late,” he said, giving my hips a squeeze. “We’ve got a long ride tomorr–”
When he didn’t finish his sentence, I looked up. His face was slack, the smile slowly dripping from his jaw. He stared over my head, his muddy eyes vacant and unblinking.
“Judd?” I tugged at his vest. “Are you all right?” Was he having a seizure?
He blinked. Twice. Then he looked down at me like he was surprised to find me standing so close. He took a step back, lifting his hands from my hips. He rubbed the scruff on his chin. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”
“You said you were tuckered. You were headin’ to bed.”
“Right. Right.” He glanced around at the campsite and the horses, almost as if he didn’t recognize his surroundings.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked.
“Course I am. Walk with me?”
He offered his arm, and I took it. We walked to my tent, though I seemed to lead him more than he led me.
“Goodnight,” he said, stooping and disappearing through the tent flaps.
“Good… night.”
When I turned around, the guys around the fire were all staring at me. Especially Cask and Blue.
“I don’t think he feels too well,” I said, returning to my seat beside Cask.
“Must’ve been the soup,” Cask said, aiming a grin at Blue. Blue kicked a shower of dirt at Cask, and Cask threw his spoon at him.
“My soup ain’t the only thing around here that can sour a stomach,” Blue said, tossing a glare at me. Cask’s booming laugh ech
oed throughout the rocky valley.
I rolled my eyes and stared at the fire. I had to try to keep my mind on my mission. I could deal with the Blue Situation later.
“Well, I think I’ll go for a walk,” Cask said, standing and stretching his back. He pulled the brim of his hat down over his already-shadowed eyes. “Don’t no one go followin’ after me, now.” He rested a palm on the revolver slung at his side. He handed each of us a pointed look. Especially me.
We all got the hint. Except I was the only one fool enough not to take it.
He hefted his saddlebags over his shoulder and started off into the night. He melted away, silent as a shadow, leaving me alone with Blue, William, and Yates, who all continued to stare at me. I had to move fast, or I’d lose sight of the chest for good.
“I think I’ll go stretch my legs, too.”
I made a show of heading the opposite way toward the horses, where I’d had my conversation with Judd, and then, when I knew they couldn’t see me anymore, I backtracked to follow Cask. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear his footfalls. He wasn’t exactly trying to be quiet, and I figured he didn’t have to be. No one in his gang would dare follow him, unless they wanted tonight to be their last. Or they were out of their right mind.
I guess both of those applied to me.
I fingered the cool steel of the pistol at my hip. It held a full round; I checked before I holstered it. Not that I planned on shooting Cask. I only wanted to see where he hid the chest. I wasn’t even going to move it like I moved the Raphael. If the chest had never been found in Base Life, then it was most likely still resting in the same hiding place. All I had to do was tell Porter where to find it. My gun was only a backup – in case I wasn’t very good at trailing someone silently in the dark.
Thankfully, the moon gave off enough light for me to pick my way through the trees. I stepped gingerly over fallen limbs and gnarled roots, taking care to avoid loose rocks and sticks that might snap. I thought I was doing well, but after a few minutes, Cask’s footsteps stopped. I froze in my tracks, then slowly dissolved into the shadow of a tree to my left.