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

by Peggy L Henderson

  Chapter Two

  “Yup, that’s him. Fits the description all right.”

  “Sober him up, Jeb.”

  Strange voices echoed in Jake’s mind, even as the blood pounded in his ears. His head felt as if his skull would split in two, and the only other times he could recollect such a feeling were the mornings after Sandra’s all night drinking parties. Damn! He never wanted to touch another drop of liquor in his life. How did he end up hung over this time? He groaned and rolled onto his back, and something jabbed him between the shoulder blades. He forced his eyes open, just as a wave of cold liquid washed over his face and chest. Jake sputtered and coughed, and leapt to his feet.

  “What the hell,” he yelled, and swiped his hands across his face, then shook his head as water streamed off his hair.

  “Sober up, son, you got a job to do.” One of the voices rang in his ear. Jake blinked the water from his eyes, and stared into the face of a man who looked like he walked right out of an episode of Little House on the Prairie. His tan trousers, the bottoms of which were stuffed inside a worn pair of leather boots, were held up by leather suspenders over a blue flannel shirt. A weathered-looking cowboy hat sat on the man’s head. His face betrayed no emotion under his walrus mustache.

  “You sure this is the fella what’s gonna scout for us? He still looks wet behind the ears. I thought he’d be a mite older.” A second man stood alongside the first. He was dressed in a similar getup. A bushy black beard covered his entire face, and his huge belly protruded out and over his trousers. He hooked his thumbs through the straps of his suspenders.

  “He came highly recommended by Reverend Johnson,” the man with the walrus mustache said. “Told us he was the best scout the other side of the Missouri. The only thing we need to be watchful of is our women and our liquor.” They both chuckled.

  Jake stared from one man to the other. A horse neighed behind him, and shuffled through the thick straw bedding. His eyes narrowed. Where the hell was he? He’d fallen asleep on the uncomfortable mattress in his jail cell last night, thinking about his strange encounter with his new lawyer. He glanced around. He stood inside an old wooden barn, in a horse stall to be precise. The familiar pungent smell of horse sweat, manure, and hay permeated the air. The equine occupant of the stall chose that moment to blow hot air down Jake’s neck. He swatted an impatient hand at the horse’s nose to make the animal move away from him. He thought he’d seen the last of horses since leaving Montana. How did he get here?

  “Where the hell am I?” Jake managed to say. His voice sounded hoarse and raspy, and he coughed to clear his throat. His fingers rubbed at his throbbing temples.

  “Did you hear that, Jeb? He’s so dang hung over, he don’t even remember where he passed out last night.” The man with the mountain man beard said.

  Jake stepped forward, and happened to glance down at his feet. He wore what looked like leather moccasins. His eyes traveled higher. To his amazement, he was no longer dressed in his orange jail suit. Instead, he had on leather britches, and his loosely fitting shirt was an off-white cotton material just a shade lighter than the buckskin. A leather belt was draped around his waist, and a knife hung in a leather sheath off one hip, a tomahawk off the other side. A revolver that looked like it came straight out of the 1800’s stuck in the belt just next to the buckle. Jake did a double take when he glanced closer at the gun. He was pretty sure it was a Colt Paterson, one of the earliest revolvers ever made.

  “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?” Jake growled, and swiped an impatient hand across his forehead as water continued to drip down his face.

  “You’re Jake Owens, ain’t ya?” The black-bearded man asked, pointing a finger at him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Sober up, son. You need to attend the meetin’ before we head out. The wagon master wants to lay down the law before we hit the trail in the mornin’.”

  The other man stuck his hand toward him, and Jake eyed it for a moment before he offered his own hand for a shake. “I’m Jeb Miller, and this here is Elijah Edwards.” He jutted his chin out toward Blackbeard. “Us and our families are heading this outfit, and there’s twelve other families goin’ with us.”

  “They says you shoot and ride better’n any man, and can read trail and talk to the injuns. We’s lucky you agreed to sign on with us and guide our wagons to the Oregon country,” Blackbeard chimed in.

  Jake stared blankly from one man to the other. Comprehension began to dawn on him. This was some sort of re-enactment troupe, retracing the Oregon Trail. He’d heard of such groups. Some of them went all out to make it as authentic as possible. What he still didn’t understand was how he ended up here without his knowledge. If he was truly in Iowa, how did he get here?

  He suddenly remembered that cup of water the lawyer had offered him yesterday. Had he somehow been drugged? Jake cursed under his breath. This was the second time he’d allowed someone to drug him, and he’d woken up in a place without any recollection of prior events. He eyed the pistol sticking out of his belt. Had he shot someone else without his knowledge?

  These two men in front of him didn’t give any indication that he’d committed a criminal act, only that he’d passed out drunk in this barn. Another thing he didn’t recollect; drinking. Jake clenched his jaw and cursed his lawyer to hell and back. Something had to have been in that water. Jake’s fingers tingled, and he pictured wrapping his hands around the man’s neck and squeezing.

  “Who is Reverend Johnson, and where can I find him?” Jake asked. These men had said the reverend recommended him for something. Maybe the man could give him some answers.

  “He’s over at the church, I reckon,” Jeb Miller replied. “Said he’d be out after the meeting to bless the wagon train.”

  “And where’s the church?”

  “Just up the street, past the mercantile.” Jeb pointed with his finger. “But the meetin’ is the other way.”

  Jake didn’t give a damn about any meeting. He hurried past the two would-be pioneers, and pushed the barn door open. He squinted into the bright light, and held his hand over his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.

  He coughed at the dust in the air. Horses whinnied, and the sound of hooves on dirt greeted him, along with the jingle of harness. An old wooden buckboard pulled by a team of mules rolled past him, and Jake blinked several times. This couldn’t be a real town in Iowa. He’d never been there before, but he was reasonably sure that the cities in this state didn’t have dirt streets, and mules heading down the road.

  This was a pretty impressive re-enactment town. People on the streets were all dressed in 1800’s attire. Men rode horses up the street, and several more wagons passed him. Jake strode out into the middle of the road and looked both ways. A large cross atop a log structure at what appeared to be the end of town stood out against the rest of the buildings.

  Jake hurried toward the church. One thing he didn’t notice as he passed storefronts was tourists. Usually places such as this teemed with out-of-town vacationers eager to soak up what the re-enactors were doing. He didn’t see a parking lot or cars, either, as he approached the end of town.

  The church was a one-room log building, and Jake took the four wooden steps leading to the front door two at a time. He slowly opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. Six rows of pews lined either side of the room, and a small wooden pulpit with a simple wooden cross mounted on the top stood at the front. Several lit candles flickered along the back wall, and the only other light in the room came from the sun’s rays streaming in long golden ribbons through one large glass-paned window on the left wall.

  Walking into this building gave Jake an uneasy feeling. It had been a long time since he’d set foot inside a church.

  “Reverend Johnson?” he called tentatively, even though he didn’t see anyone in the room. A man in a black suit materialized from between the first two pews, groaning and shuffling on the wood floor.

  “Y
es?” he called, and turned his head. The preacher groaned again and stood to his feet.

  “You!” Jake rushed to the front of the room. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was his lawyer!

  “Jake Owens. Glad you could make it,” the reverend said cheerfully. His blue eyes traveled up and down Jake’s physique. “Those buckskins look good on you.”

  Jake clenched his jaw, and balled his hands at his sides. His muscles tensed with the urge to grab the man by his white collar and demand some answers. It was just that white collar that stopped him from carrying out his thoughts.

  “What the hell is going on here, Reverend?” Jake ground out between clenched teeth. “What did you put into that glass of water yesterday? Or should I ask how long I’ve been passed out?”

  “Take it easy, Jake,” the reverend said calmly, and scooted out from between the pews and into the center aisle. “Have a seat.” He motioned to the first row of benches.

  “I want some answers, and I want them now,” Jake demanded heatedly. “I don’t take kindly to being drugged. You should know that.”

  “I didn’t drug you. Not the way you’re thinking.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. “But you did put something in that water,” he accused.

  “Only to get you here,” the reverend said in his calm and casual tone that grated on Jake’s nerves worse than nails on a chalkboard. “Believe me, son, it’s a much smoother trip when you’re not aware of it.”

  “Aware of what? Where exactly is here?”

  “You’re in Kannesville, Iowa. You agreed to lead some families to Oregon, remember?”

  “How did I get here without my knowledge? You never mentioned this was some kind of re-enactment troupe I’d be dealing with. I thought you knew I was tired of dealing with a bunch of city folk playing cowboy.”

  “Who said anything about re-enactment, Jake? These people are all honest, hardworking farmers and their families who want a new start in a new land. They might even teach you a thing or two.”

  Jake laughed. “You’re talking as if this is all real.”

  The reverend smiled softly, indulgently. “It is real, Jake.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Did my brother put you up to this?” It would be just like Tom to try and teach him a lesson.

  The reverend slowly shook his head. “This is your doing, Jake. You wanted a new life. You’ve been wandering, searching for something, and I thought I’d give you a hand before you slip even more off the beaten path.”

  Jake laughed. “How can I slip even more when I’m looking at the death penalty? How much worse can my life get?” Despite himself, Jake lowered himself onto the bench, and rubbed at his throbbing temples. How did this man know that he had been struggling with finding himself?

  “There’s a meeting called by the wagon master in a few minutes, and you, as the hired on scout of this outfit, are expected to attend.”

  Jake raised his head. The reverend stood before him, looking down at him like his mother always did years ago when he hadn’t completed an assigned chore.

  “You misled me. I don’t want to do this. I wanted to get away from the old ‘lets pretend we’re in the 1800’s’ lifestyle. If you know so much about me and what I want, you’ll know that this is exactly what I don’t want.”

  “You have no choice now, Jake. It’s too late to turn back. The only way you can return to your time, and be rid of all your troubles there, is to complete this assignment.”

  “My time?” Jake sat up straight. The reverend took a seat next to him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Jake, this is Iowa, 1848. No one here is pretending anything. This is the real deal.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Jake scoffed, and jumped to his feet. “I’m heading back to that barn I woke up in. Maybe another nice nap, and I’ll wake up from this nightmare.” He headed for the door.

  “The only way you’ll return to your time, Jake, is to get these folks, and especially Rachel Parker, to their destination. There is no other way home,” the reverend called to him.

  Jake stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He clenched his jaw, and his hands fisted tightly at his sides. His head pounded worse than before. If he hadn’t been standing in a house of worship, he would hurl a few choice words at the crazy old man behind him.

  “You’ll be back to hear me out, but until then, do yourself a favor and go along with what people say to you.”

  Jake stopped, and listened to the reverend without turning around to face him.

  “Don’t try and convince anyone that you’re from the future, or you’ll most likely end up in jail here as well.”

  Jake pulled the door open, and headed out into the bright sunlight. He had to get away from this crazy nightmare. He glanced left and right, trying to decide what to do and where to go. There had to be a phone around here somewhere. The church was the last building in this little town. A dirt road marred by countless wagon ruts led to . . . he had no idea where. There was nothing but open prairie in that direction. The other way led through town.

  Jake decided to head back toward the barn he’d woken up in at the other end of town. Maybe the parking lot was in that direction, and he could ask someone for a ride to the nearest real town. This re-enactment town looked to have been erected out in the middle of nowhere.

  He dodged riders, and horse or mule-drawn wagons as he walked up the street, glancing at the log buildings on either side. He didn’t spot a payphone anywhere. Men and women walked along the hard-packed dirt roads, all dressed in authentic-looking period outfits, carrying on as he would expect townsfolk in the 1840’s to do.

  When he approached the livery at the other end of town, Jake noticed more than a dozen or so Conestoga-type wagons parked in a field some 100 yards past the outskirts. A large white tent was erected off to the side, and several men and a few women mingled around in front. He recognized Elijah Edwards with his bushy black beard and huge beer belly as one of the men, and Jake preferred to avoid him.

  Was the parking lot somewhere beyond the wagons? Jake headed for them, hoping to see some signs of modern civilization. Maybe one of the re-enactors had a cell phone. A few men, but mostly women and children, moved about. Women tended to cooking fires, children ran around chasing each other, and a few men inspected wagon wheels or axles. Wooden crates, burlap sacks, furniture, and other items were piled along several of the wagons.

  Women glanced up from their chores, frowns on their faces when he walked past, and several young girls put their heads together, giggling. A couple of men nodded to him. Jake didn’t stop to talk to anyone. Looking beyond the last wagon parked in the field, he scanned into the distance and all around. Nothing. No road, at least not the paved kind, no cars, and no sounds of anything modern. Cows, sheep, and oxen grazed the lush green grasses further off in the distance.

  A child yelled out, and Jake turned his head in the direction of the noise. Along the side of the last wagon sat three small children, playing with sticks in the dirt. The youngest, a little boy Jake judged to be no older than two, adamantly grabbed for a piece of wood that another boy, probably twice his age, pulled away. The little kids weren’t what caught Jake’s attention, however.

  A woman stood, fastening something to the side of the wagon. She turned to give her attention to the crying boy at her feet. She looked young. Jake figured she couldn’t be older than nineteen or twenty. His gaze dropped to the kids in the dirt, then back up at her. Wisps of her chestnut hair came loose from her long braid that fell down her back nearly to her waist, caressing her face in the breeze. Unlike the rest of the women he’d seen, she didn’t wear a bonnet. She shook her head, and stood into the wind so that her hair blew out of her face. Her plain brown cotton dress hugged her legs as it fluttered in the breeze.

  Jake stood, mesmerized. She smiled and laughed with the little kids. Jake wished he stood close enough to see what color her eyes were. She glanced up, still smiling, and her gaz
e met his for the briefest of seconds. The smile froze on her face, and she quickly looked away. Something in Jake’s chest constricted at that moment.

  What the hell are you thinking? After that disaster with Sandra, you’re already ogling another female.

  “Mr. Owens,” a stern voice grumbled next to him. Jake tore his eyes off the pretty girl, and looked down at a squat man who barely reached Jake’s shoulders in height. He wore a brown cotton suit, and clutched a hat to his head, trying to prevent it from blowing off in the wind. Jake raised his eyebrows expectantly at the man.

  “Mr. Owens, Mr. Wilson, the wagon master wants to get the meeting started, and asked me to find you. Your presence is requested to put the minds at ease of some of the men about the journey. The meeting is over yonder, in that white tent.” The man pointed in the direction Jake had just come from.

  Jake glanced at the girl by the wagon again. She knelt down, wiping at the smallest little boy’s face with a white rag.

  “You’d best not get caught looking at the ladies on this trip, Mr. Owens,” the squat man said in an authoritative voice. “Especially not the married ones. We’ve all heard of your reputation, not only as a scout, but also with women.” He jutted his chin in the pretty girl’s direction.

  “Who is she?” Jake asked, despite the obvious warning.

  “That’s Mrs. Rachel Parker.” The squat little man emphasized the Mrs.

  Rachel Parker! Jake stared at her again. The girl he was supposed to get safely to Oregon? She was married? Just his dumb luck. He could see himself staring down some jealous husband’s rifle barrel just for looking at her. Why did Johnson say that she needed looking after if she had a husband?

  Jake stopped his train of thought. He wasn’t going to Oregon. He wasn’t leading a mock wagon train. He was getting the hell out of here.