Diamond in the Dust (Second Chances Time Travel Romance Book 3)

by Peggy L Henderson

  The reverend stepped forward in his calm manner, smiling at Morgan . . . Miss Bartlett? There was no husband? Gabe frowned.

  “How do you know my name?” she demanded, looking straight at the reverend. “Did my mother send you here?” Her glare shot to Gabe. “And you? How do you two know each other? Does this priest have something to do with you getting dumped in the desert?”

  Her eyes blazed with annoyance and determination, but also with a hint of fear. She stood her ground, glaring from him to the reverend. The old man held up his hand, and shook his head, smiling.

  “I assure you, Miss Bartlett, I have no dealings with your mother, nor am I responsible for Gabe’s condition. I am here to fetch Mr. McFarlain. He requires a guide while he adjusts to his new circumstances, and I’ve come to take him off your hands.”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed, and her forehead wrinkled. “Are you some sort of shrink?” She then pointed at Gabe. “He needs medical attention. I should have taken him straight to the hospital last night when I found him. He’s been talking some nonsense about coming from some time in the past.” She leaned closer to the reverend, and whispered, “Are you playing along with it to get him to cooperate?”

  Gabe stepped forward, his temper rising. “I done told you, I ain’t touched in the head, woman.” He glared at her, then tore his eyes away. The walls seemed to close in around him all of a sudden. He had to get away to clear his head. Yanking his hat from atop the parlor table, he headed for the door.

  “Where are you going, Mr. McFarlain?” Reverend Johnson called after him. “There is nowhere for you to go on your own at present.”

  Gabe ignored the warning and pulled the door open. A blast of hot air greeted him when he stepped out into the bright sunshine. With a determined set of his jaw, he rushed down the stone steps, and headed for, what appeared to be, a street. He moved around a large silver-colored contraption on strange black wheels.

  A vague memory rushed through him of Morgan coaxing him into this or a similar wagon in the darkness. What would happen if he climbed into this thing and let it carry him away? He almost laughed out loud. He’d most likely get hanged in this time for something similar to horse theft if he tried such a thing. Besides, he didn’t have any inkling as to how to operate this machinery from the future.

  He dismissed his silly notion, and stepped onto the hard surface of the road. Glancing in both directions, he headed for the end of the street. Several similar-looking whitewashed houses lined the street, with wire fences surrounding them. In front of almost all of the houses were similar vehicles to the one that stood outside of Morgan’s home, although her vehicle appeared to be of a higher caliber than the rest, much like a well-bred horse was easy to distinguish from a nag.

  “Mr. McFarlain . . . Gabe,” the reverend’s voice called from behind him. Gabe cursed under his breath. Sweat beaded his forehead, and one of the cuts above his eye stung. Damn, the air was hot and dry here. He coughed, and caught his breath. Looking ahead, there was only desert as far as the eye could see. Footsteps crunched close behind him, and Gabe stopped to turn.

  “Ain’t you through with your meddling, Reverend?” he said heatedly.

  Reverend Johnson came rushing up to him, his face flushed and looking winded. The old man’s eyes clouded with concern for the first time. He stopped in front of Gabe, and looked straight up at him.

  “My meddling, Mr. McFarlain, has prevented you from ruining your brother’s life, a man who has done nothing but good things for you. I will concede that I may have overstepped my bounds when I sent you here. I’ve never sent anyone to another time without an explicit task that they’ve agreed to complete. I had no choice, however. It was the only way to right a wrong, and reunite Laney with Tyler.”

  “Send me back to where I belong.”

  Gabe ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He clenched his jaw, the anger in him ready to boil over hotter than the sun beating down on him. All his life, he’d had to scrape and fight for everything, like a stray mongrel, on the streets of every dusty town where Cora and he had moved.

  Nothing had ever come to him the easy way. Even now, the reverend was telling him that he’d returned Laney to Tyler, just like that, but the old man couldn’t do anything to send him back to where he belonged. He had no idea where to go or what to do, but for the moment, he allowed his anger to guide him.

  “It’s your turn to come to a decision, Mr. McFarlain,” the reverend continued. “Remain here and allow me to help you learn to live in this time, or, as Miss Bartlett has kindly suggested, you will be incarcerated as a mentally ill person.”

  “This don’t concern her.” Gabe’s voice lowered menacingly. The last thing he wanted was for Morgan to get involved with this preacher. “I don’t want anything from you, old man,” he added. “You’ve meddled with my life enough. I’ve done everything on my own for as long as I can remember. I’ll get along just fine without you.”

  “I urge you to reconsider, Mr. McFarlain,” the reverend said, his eyes wide. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  Gabe advanced on the reverend. “I said I don’t want anything from you. Unless you can send me back to where I belong, get out of my sight, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  Fighting off a wave of dizziness, Gabe turned on his heels, and headed briskly in the direction that led out of this town.

  * * * * *

  Morgan rushed to her bedroom. Logan had started crying right after Gabe stormed out of the house. The strange priest, or preacher, or whatever he was, had apologized profusely for causing such a disturbance, and said he needed to go after Gabe. Morgan had closed and locked the door behind him, her heart still pounding. She’d glanced out the window, watching Gabe march up the street. The guy was insane. It might be a good idea to call the cops and let them know what was going on. If the clergyman had come to take Gabe back to whatever mental facility he’d obviously escaped from, he might need some help.

  Logan fussed in his crib, pulling himself to a standing position, and reaching up his arms to her. Morgan lowered the safety rail, and lifted him onto her hip.

  “I think I need to make a phone call,” she mumbled, and sat Logan on her bed. After a quick diaper change, she reached for her phone on the nightstand. The LED display showed that she had several messages and missed calls. Two were from Ashley, and three from her mother, and another call from an area code she didn’t recognize.

  Morgan frowned, and carried Logan into the kitchen. Her mother had probably called to let her know that she’d frozen the trust fund, but listening to her voicemails would have to wait. She’d have to deal with her mother later.

  Filling a sippy cup with water, she handed it to Logan, then headed for the living room. She set him on the floor, intent on dialing 9-1-1, when the doorbell chimed again. Her heart rate accelerated. She glanced from the phone in her hand to her son on the ground, then to the door. This day couldn’t get any weirder.

  “Miss Bartlett. I need to speak to you, please.” The strange reverend’s muffled voice came from outside.

  Don’t do it, Morgan.

  Morgan unlatched and opened the door, her phone firmly in her hand. “I was just about to call the police,” she said, facing the old clergyman. “I think you may need their help to apprehend Gabe.”

  The reverend shook his head. “The last thing he needs right now is an altercation with the law, Miss Bartlett. I believe that you are the one who can be of assistance.”

  Morgan’s forehead wrinkled. “Me? You’re kidding, right?” She laughed nervously. “I don’t know how to deal with crazy people. I have my son to think about. I should never have brought Gabe here in the first place. He belongs in a mental institution.”

  “No, Miss Bartlett.” The reverend smiled calmly. “Gabe McFarlain is as sane as you and I. A little misguided, perhaps, but his mind is sound.”

  Morgan laughed. “The guy thinks he’s from the eighteen hundreds. I feel bad about
what happened to him, and I hope the people who beat him up and left him to die get caught, but I can’t get involved with this.”

  The reverend smiled again. “Allow me to explain, Miss Bartlett. Please.”

  Morgan stared into the old man’s blue eyes. She’d never seen anyone with such light-colored eyes before. They seemed to reach straight into her soul, as if he knew her every thought.

  “I understand your hesitation, Miss Bartlett. You are concerned for your son’s safety, and your dealings with your mother and Logan’s father have you on edge.”

  Morgan gaped at the old man. “How do you know all this?” she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

  The reverend shook his head. He reached for her hand, and gave it a light squeeze. “Miss Bartlett, I’m afraid that Gabe told you the truth. I understand this is a rather difficult thing to digest. Under normal circumstances, I only reveal the ability to time travel to the person doing the traveling, and don’t involve other people. Since you made contact with Mr. McFarlain before I could find him in this time, and his unwillingness to cooperate with me, I’m afraid I have no choice but to include you. I apologize that you had to get mixed up in this.”

  Morgan’s forehead wrinkled, and she shook her head again. Time travel? She nearly burst out laughing.

  “I think you need to leave, Reverend, before I call the police on you.” Morgan reached for the door.

  Before she could open it, the reverend continued, “I offer second chances to people who have lost their way, Miss Bartlett. I’m afraid that, in Mr. McFarlain’s case, I may have made a mistake in how I’ve handled things, but my hand was forced, in a way. As you’ve seen, he is not happy with his current circumstances or with me. I believe he may be more receptive to you. I would like to ask that he remain in your care for a few more days, until he comes to terms with things.”

  “Comes to term with things?” Morgan echoed.

  She raked her fingers through her hair. Indecision tore at her. Gabe and the old man were both crazy. But how did this reverend know so much about her?

  This is all information he could have gotten from John Spencer. They could all be playing you.

  Morgan mentally shook her head. It didn’t make any sense. There was no way John Spencer could have known she would stop her car in the exact spot where she found Gabe. It couldn’t have been staged. His injuries were too real.

  “You already feel a connection with him. You believe you were meant to find him.” The reverend looked directly at her.

  Morgan swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat.

  “How can you know this?” she whispered in disbelief. How could he possibly know what she’d been feeling and thinking?

  The old man smiled indulgently. “Gabe McFarlain comes from the year 1872, Miss Bartlett.” The old man’s calm voice reached beyond the pounding of her heart in her ears. “I know this may be difficult to grasp at the moment, but if you spend any time with him, you will see that I’m telling you the truth.”

  The reverend stared straight at her. “And, I don’t have to tell you that things are much different now than they were in the nineteenth century. He can’t be out there on his own, until he adapts.”

  “Is Gabe dangerous?” Morgan blurted, already regretting where her thoughts were heading. She didn’t buy into the time travel story. Ridiculous! But there was just something about Gabe and this old man that compelled her to want to help. She’d already had these crazy vibes that she was meant to find him last night in that ditch, just as the old man said.

  The reverend shook his head. “No, Miss Bartlett. He holds a lot of anger inside him, but I have no reason to believe that you or your son are in any danger from him if he stays here. I will return soon when he is more agreeable to hear me out.”

  The reverend reached into his waistcoat pocket, and retrieved a large, brown manila envelope.

  “This contains documents and papers he requires to be a legitimate citizen in this century – birth certificate, social security number, high school diploma, and so forth. If you still don’t believe me, there are some personal belongings of his from his time that I was able to procure – a few coins, a photograph of his mother, one of him and a few wranglers at the last ranch where he worked, among a few other items. I trust you will keep all of this safe. I will ask that you do not reveal what I have shared with you to anyone.”

  Morgan glanced at the envelope the reverend held out to her, then back at the old man. She shook her head, and laughed nervously. Words failed her.

  “Go ahead, take a look at the pictures,” the reverend coaxed.

  Morgan clutched the manila folder in her hand, then tentatively reached inside, pulling the photos out. They looked and felt old, almost like the ones she’d seen of her great-grandparents once, but these things could be faked.

  She studied the picture of a woman sitting in a high-backed Victorian-looking chair. She wore an off-the-shoulder light-colored dress that didn’t look like a modest dress a nineteenth century woman would wear. Didn’t women in those days wear dresses that buttoned up to the neck? This woman even wore, what looked like, a corset around her waist. The poor-quality picture hid most of the details, but it was still obvious that the woman wore make-up, especially rouge on her cheeks. Her dark hair was curled into ringlets and styled to one side. Something that resembled a peacock feather stuck out at the side of her head.

  The other photo showed five men standing in front of a wooden barn, with two others on horseback. They all wore clothes similar to what Gabe had on. Morgan studied the picture closely, until her eyes fell to one of the guys on a horse. He was leaning forward over the animal’s neck, his forearm casually draped over the saddle horn. A wide smile left dimples in his cheeks. The cowboy hat he wore couldn’t hide his nearly jet-black hair. Gabe! He was absolutely, no question about it, swoon-worthy. Morgan stared at the picture until the reverend cleared his throat.

  “Does that help you believe what I’ve told you?”

  “I don’t know what to believe.” Morgan shook her head. If she had any sense at all, she’d slam the door in this man’s face, and call 9-1-1. Gabe’s haunted eyes when she’d helped him to her car, the confusion on his face in the kitchen, his manner of speech, and now these photos; did it all add up that he was from the eighteen hundreds? Or that he was simply crazy?

  Morgan inhaled a deep breath. Maybe she was the one who needed her head examined.

  “Okay, Reverend. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter Six

  Morgan started her car, rolled down all the windows, and cranked up the air conditioner. Leaving the car idling in the driveway, she hurried back into the house to get Logan.

  “We’re going for a ride, little man,” she said with false enthusiasm.

  The last thing she wanted to do right now was get into a sweltering hot car with Logan, but it was better than chasing after Gabe on foot.

  “My brain must be fried from this heat,” she mumbled under her breath, strapping Logan into his car seat after testing that the harness wasn’t hot. The whole idea of time traveling, and that Gabe had actually come from the past, that he truly was a cowboy in every sense of the word, was just too crazy.

  She couldn’t come up with a single good scenario as to what kind of con he and that reverend might be pulling on her. Aside from seeing those photographs, that preacher had made too many personal comments that no one, not even her mother, would know, to be brushed off as coincidence.

  Logan, who was usually shy around strangers, had reached up to the old man when he’d kneeled down to him. Her son had even held up his stuffed horse to the reverend, and hadn’t made a fuss when the kind old man had accepted it from him.

  “Looks like you are quite the horseman already,” the reverend had said with a laugh. He’d glanced up at Morgan. “He sure does love horses, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, he does,” she’d stammered, her forehead wrinkled. How could he make such a statement based on one st
uffed toy? And what did he mean by already? Could he predict the future, too? “He’s always been fascinated with pictures of horses and any toys that look like a horse.”

  The reverend’s smile had widened. “Good. Good,” he’d said.

  Morgan gaped at the old man. “Logan’s father’s family owns horses, but Bryce isn’t involved with them at all. He’s more interested in his real estate dealings.”

  “These things can skip a generation sometimes,” he’d said dismissively.

  The reverend had handed the stuffed horse back to Logan, and stood. He’d clasped her hand between his warm palms.

  “I’d best be on my way, Miss Bartlett. Mr. McFarlain couldn’t have gone very far, yet, especially in this heat.”

  “I’ll do what I can, but if he doesn’t want to come back here, I can’t really force him, now can I?”

  The reverend had walked to the door, turned, and smiled at her. “I have a feeling you can be quite persuasive where Mr. McFarlain is concerned.” He’d bowed his head, then left the house, leaving Morgan to stare blankly after him.

  After questioning her sanity again for the umpteenth time, Morgan climbed behind the wheel of her car. She rolled up the windows, and backed out of the driveway. Logan happily banged his sippy cup and stuffed horse against the sides of his car seat, babbling loudly. She slowly drove up the street in the direction she’d seen Gabe walk off.

  When she came to the first intersection in this quiet neighborhood, she leaned forward and glanced both ways. She didn’t hesitate, and rolled through the four-way stop, heading toward the main highway. The road followed a slight bend up a short incline, then straightened out again.

  About fifty yards up ahead, a lone figure wearing long pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a cowboy hat, walked along the side of the road, stirring up dust. The asphalt up ahead gave the illusion of waves on a wet road, and Gabe looked to be weaving rather than walking a straight line. Looking at her dash, the outside temperature read 113.