Time Plains Drifter

by Cheryl Pierson

  It was until I got murdered. Now, it’s not so bad. Now I’d live every day of it over again—the good and the bad—if only I could.

  Rafe smiled to himself. “Probably no harder than being a school teacher. You’ve got a slew of rowdy boys on your hands. I imagine that bunch is pretty hard to handle at times.”

  Jenni gave a rueful laugh. “I didn’t plan on that for my life’s work. What I wanted to do was—” she broke off, her thought going unspoken.

  Rafe glanced over his shoulder at her. “Was?”

  “Go to graduate school,” she responded

  By her tone he understood that she recognized there was no place here in this time for her, a woman, to continue her studies. A good part of what she had learned so far in her own time had either not happened yet, or hadn’t begun to be studied. “To be a teacher?” he asked, hoping she’d open up to him.

  “Yes, but at the college level.” After a moment, she went on. “I love school. I guess I’d end up a ‘professional student’ if I weren’t careful.” He shook his head, and she gave a self-conscious laugh. “What?”

  “I hated it,” he admitted. “School, I mean. I went to a Catholic mission school in Santo Domingo.” He gave her a sidelong grin. “In Texas—my brother and I. It was...” he broke off, searching for a way to put it delicately, “harsh.”

  The smile left Jenni’s features and she became somber. She put her hand on his arm for a moment, in a gesture of sweet comfort. “It sounds like you’ve had a rough time of it your whole life, Rafe,” she murmured.

  “I survived.” Life...and death. Now, I’m back for more. Don’t even know why I’m here.

  “What about your brother?”

  “He didn’t survive.”

  Jenny bit her lip at the curt tone in his voice. “I’m sorry. I—I shouldn’t have—”

  Rafe swore under his breath and turned in the saddle to look at her. “Jenni—” he gritted his teeth, then went on. It needed to be said. “Jenni, you ask me anything. I’ll try to be honest with you.” He stopped the horse, turning his gaze into the distance at the plodding riders. “Can you feel it, Jen? This—whatever it is—between us?” She let go a sigh of relief, and he knew he’d done the right thing.

  ~*~

  “I don’t—understand it,” she half-whispered, her voice tinged with awe. “From the minute I saw you—I’ve never felt like this.” She was babbling. She sounded idiotic. But, miraculously, he dipped his dark head in silent affirmation. He understood.

  “This is crazy,” she said instead. “I don’t even know you. Maybe I’m not really here. Maybe this is all just one of my nutty dreams, and I’ll wake up and—”

  “Do you want that, Jenni?” Rafe’s voice was brittle, as if he would shatter into a million pieces if she were to answer anything other than “no.” Her eyes narrowed, and just as she was sure she was misunderstanding everything, he asked, “Do you want to...wake up?”

  “All my life, I’ve been responsible, Rafe,” she answered slowly. “I had to grow up fast, take care of my little sister—I just want everything to be okay. I’ve been sent backward in time a hundred and twenty years and I find myself in charge of seven students in a place I don’t know—”

  “Jenni.”

  She broke off at the quiet seriousness in his tone.

  “It’ll be all right. You’re safe with me. I’m not going to leave you in a fix.”

  He covered her fingers with his own strong grasp, then patted her hand as if he knew every chaotic thought in her head. With a touch, he calmed her; with a word, he quieted her; and they rode on together toward whatever destiny might hold.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Dark One’s eyes looked like hard blue bits of frozen ocean, set deep in a mirthless face that had seen the dawn of ages. They were depthless pits that even the bravest of creatures dared not meet and engage for more than a few seconds. He lifted his finely-chiseled chin a notch, looking down the bridge of his very aristocratic nose. Dark brown hair fell rakishly across his forehead. He sat slouched in a cushioned chair at a massive mahogany desk. The hollows and planes of his face gave away nothing: neither plan, nor device, nor the timeless orchestrations he had, until as of late, so enjoyed.

  He steepled his fingers, thoughtfully, and watched Josiah Kemp squirm. They all did, the first few times I summon them, no matter the centuries that came and went in between.

  The demon smiled. Kemp tried to calm his nervousness. He took a long, deep breath.

  “You’re wondering, aren’t you, Joe?” The voice was deceptive. Iron garbed in silk; anger wrapped in congeniality; evil, scantily clad in civility.

  Kemp’s voice was thin and reedy when it finally emerged. “Yes. I guess, maybe I am, Sir.”

  “Do you question?”

  “No. I’ll do—whatever you need me to do.” Kemp’s eyes didn’t meet the blue orbs that threatened to consume him.

  Long fingers drummed on the mahogany desk. The sensual lips formed a smirk of raw cynicism. “You are pathetic.” The voice was hoarse and graveled, and the words scalded across Josiah Kemp’s consciousness, searing him to the core.

  “S—Sir?”

  “As if I need you...for...anything.”

  Joe Kemp swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his throat tight. Then why am I here? The thought sprang to his mind, uncontrolled. He closed his eyes, afraid the demon would strike him down for his impertinence in an ending much worse than he’d suffered the first time around.

  Because I wish it! The voice reverberated in his mind, and he winced at the force of it. He stopped himself just short of cowering.

  Laughter filled the room, and Kemp peered through slitted eyes at the demon lounging so unconcernedly across the desk from him. Hatred washed over Kemp, drowning the fear for a moment. The laughter abruptly stopped.

  “Good, Joe,” the silky voice purred. “Hate is good. I thought you might’ve forgotten how.” He regarded Kemp calmly once more, a caustic smile still hanging upon his lips. “This matter concerns your great-great grandchild, as you are—already aware.”

  Kemp nodded, trying to appear outwardly calm while he kept his thoughts blank.

  Milo waved a negligent hand. “Aren’t you the least bit...curious, Josiah? Don’t you want to know what your—assignment is?”

  Kemp’s gaze locked with the evil greater than his own. “You know I do.”

  The blue eyes hardened once more, his lips tightening for a moment. “Yes. I know you do,” he mocked. The demon stood up and slowly came around the end of his desk, resting a hip against the dark wood. “One of those—humans—is descended from your blood. How is that possible?” he sneered.

  Kemp’s lips curled up. “Well, that’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you. I think you’ve got the wrong man. Hell, when I was livin’ I never had any family. I never married, never loved a woman, and damn sure never made a kid with any of ’em.”

  A flash of pity crossed the hooded expression, then it was gone, replaced by the cold stare that had been trained on Kemp since he came in. “As I said earlier, you are—pathetic.”

  Kemp was beginning to agree. Never loved. Never cared about anything or anyone, other than himself. Never had children or a wife. He shrugged mentally. It was too late now—for any kind of regrets—had he been so inclined.

  “You could have another chance at it, you know,” Milo told him cagily. “That’s why you’re here.”

  Kemp’s thin lips twisted at that, a sardonic chuckle escaping him. “You want to see how truly bad I am? Is that it?” He leaned back in his chair, relaxing for a moment. “I killed a lot of men when I was alive—men I didn’t have to kill.”

  “Like Cristian and Rafael d’Angelico?” Milo’s honeyed voice brought a flash of anger to Kemp’s chest. His gaze flared briefly, but became empty again as he met the crackling blue stare of the demon who, even now, tormented him.

  “They weren’t the only ones. There were—several others.”

  The Dark One’s m
outh curved upward in caustic response, but only after a long, long, moment. “I’m wondering, Josiah, just what kind of a man you’d be if I turned you loose on the world again.”

  “I...thought you already did that.”

  He was interrupted by a harsh bark of laughter. “Oh, no, Josiah! No, indeed! That little—excursion—topside was just to let you remember what it was like to live and breathe and—” he stared at Kemp’s chest where the cigarettes rested inside the jacket, “smoke.”

  Kemp didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The anger was growing inside him with each passing second he sat here in the presence of this—this being. The demon was toying with him, and there wasn’t one damn thing he could do about it. I feel so fucking helpless.

  “Rather like the d’Angelico brothers felt, I would imagine—don’t you?”

  Kemp came to his feet in a lightning swift movement that brought soft laughter from Milo’s throat.

  “Joe. Joe.” Milo shook his dark head. “Not only are you a sorry excuse for a man, you happen to be one of the most entertaining playthings I’ve had for quite some time.” He looked pointedly at Kemp’s balled fist. “Just what do you intend to do, anyway? Beat me to death?” The thought sent him into laughter once more. “Do—Do sit down, Josiah.”

  Slowly, Josiah Kemp relaxed his fist and let his knees bend. Unseeing, he sank back into the plush overstuffed red velvet chair he could not properly appreciate. He couldn’t feel the comfort the chair offered. He wasn’t dead any longer, but neither was he alive. His gaze went immediately to the demon’s face—to his eyes that were like sparking blue shards of glass set in a face that was too handsome to be real. Of course, Milo could be anything he wanted. Josiah understood that. “What do you want?”

  Milo’s expression went somber. “Prove yourself to me, Josiah. That is what I want.” His eyes narrowed. “You were eager enough before—when I sent you up to parley with Becket Jansen.”

  “That was before I knew everything!”

  Up until that moment, the talk of his existing descendants had flown from his mind completely. But at the demon’s wolfish grin, Josiah Kemp knew immediately what was required of him. At his recoil of shock and distaste, Milo chuckled softly.

  “Nevertheless, I want that cub, Joe. Deliver him to me—dead or alive—and I’ll reward you well. Otherwise—” Milo bent a cold smile on him. “It’s up to you to figure out which one of them it is...Grandpa.”

  Kemp sat, staring ahead blankly, revolted by what the demon had set for him to do. Did he have to do it?

  Lightning scorched into the room, bare inches from where he sat. It struck the floor beside his chair, making the hair on his arms and neck stand up. He met the Dark One’s eyes once more and shrank back from the terrible hot fury there.

  “Oh, yes, Josiah,” The mesmerizing voice assured him. “You will do it. It will be the only thing that keeps you safe—from me.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “A bath would be heaven right now.”

  At Jenni’s softly spoken words, Rafe glanced over his shoulder as they rode. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the sprawling young city just ahead of them. “Besides getting a good meal,” he added. “That’s gotta be the first order of business, I reckon.” A sudden gust of wind whipped the red dirt all around them.

  Jenni buried her face against Rafe’s back. “This wind—some things never change,” she said after a moment.

  He was glad to hear the note of amusement in her voice. Glad, also, to realize what she said was true. He wasn’t in his own time, either. The things he would see as progress, Jenni would view as “old-fashioned.” He wondered what she thought about him. He imagined to her, he also seemed out-of-date.

  “I’ll bet a few things have, though,” he muttered, kneeing the horse forward to catch up with the rest of the group. He comforted himself with the thought she had a deep love for history. It was a good thing, since he was a living, breathing antique—after a fashion.

  As he rode abreast of Beck, he heard one of the boys complain about being hungry followed by a chorus of resounding agreement from the others.

  Rafe surveyed the group of young people, then twisted in the saddle to look at Jenni. “What did I tell ya? First order of business.”

  Jenni laughed lightly. “I can say I’m in complete agreement with them this time.”

  Rafe glanced at Beck before he asked, “Anybody like steak?”

  Once again, “complete agreement,” as Jenni had said. Rafe smiled, listening to the hungry kids’ replies. He tipped his hat back and met Beck’s cobalt gaze. “You buyin’? I’m fresh out of money,” he added wryly.

  Beck shook his head. “Check your pockets. I don’t think you’ll ever come up short.”

  Rafe’s smile faded as he stood in the stirrups and snaked a hand deep into his back jeans pocket. He pulled out his wallet. By the padded feel of it, he knew there was plenty of money inside.

  He met Beck’s imperturbable blue eyes once more. “I take it this paper money is good.”

  Beck nodded. “Of course. This is 1895. Those Reconstruction days are long past, Rafe.”

  Rafe looked thoughtful for a moment. “This money—is it good for anything I want to use it for?”

  Beck’s gaze became shrewd. “‘Anything’ within reason. Just consider it...pennies from heaven.”

  Rafe replaced the wallet. “That’s what I thought.”

  Beck grinned. What did you have in mind, Rafe? Buying in on a thousand dollar poker hand? Still thinking about a woman for the night?

  “No!” Rafe scowled

  Beck gave an innocent shrug. “No, what?”

  “Nothing,” Rafe said tightly, noticing the strange looks he was getting from the group of youngsters. “Let’s go eat.”

  Jenni’s hands tightened around his waist as he spurred the horse toward Oklahoma City.

  ~*~

  They stopped just at the end of Main Street. The wind had kicked up again, blowing the red dirt in swirls all along the street.

  “Wow.” Anna breathed aloud.

  Rafe quirked a dark brow at Beck, indicating he should lead. With the stiff way the kids held themselves on their horses and their eager curiosity, Rafe was aware of the odd picture they presented. Beck kneed his horse and led off, parading them down the dusty thoroughfare.

  Beck drew rein in front of a well-kept restaurant, the “Cattlemen’s Kitchen,” and dismounted. He began helping the novice riders down from their horses, showing the boys how to loop their reins around the hitching rail in front of the establishment.

  Rafe swung down from the saddle and reached up for Jenni. She took his hand with a look of gratitude, and he helped her down.

  “Man, something smells,” Cash complained.

  Rafe grinned to himself. Never thought the smell of stockyard cow pens would be so welcome. He glanced up to see Beck looking his way, a clear warning in his expression. Rafe defiantly took a deep breath, and Beck shook his head, turning his attention back to helping Kip up the front steps.

  Jenni gripped Rafe’s fingers tightly. As they reached the last step, he put his arm around her, and she melted into his side, as if she belonged there, and always had.

  Another backward warning glance from Beck.

  Rafe pulled her even closer momentarily, and rubbed her shoulder in a brief gesture of comfort.

  The dining room was not large, but accommodated at least fifteen checkered-cloth tables. As they entered, Beck gestured to the waiter and the man immediately pulled three of the larger tables together so their group would have plenty of space and could sit together.

  “Hey, Mr. Jansen, could we get beer here? If we wanted to, I mean?” Cash cast a glance at the huge kegs behind the bar.

  Before Beck could answer, Joel said, “I could sure use a cigarette, too. Where would we get smokes?”

  “Now, hold on a minute.” Beck looked around at each eager face turned his way. “How old are you kids, anyway? Fourteen?”

  The
indignant chorus of “Sixteen!” made him grin. “Sixteen! Well, you’re plenty old enough for beer! My goodness, I thought—”

  “No!” Jenni half-rose from her seat, ignoring the angry glares arrowed her way. “What I mean is, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  “Yeah, well, it really doesn’t matter what you think now, Teach.” Cash’s eyes narrowed, his mouth set grimly. “Here’s the thing. We’re stuck here—plain and simple. Kip’s never going to drive his Mustang again. We’re never going to hang out on the Strip on Saturday nights—and we’re never going back to school. That means you, too, Miss Dalton.”

  No one spoke. All eyes were on Jenni. Her green gaze snapped fire. She opened her mouth. But before she could let the choice words spew across Cash, Rafe leaned forward, compelling the boy to look at him, his dark gaze arresting Cash’s hazel glare, forcing it to soften until finally Cash had to look away.

  “Now, you listen to me.” Rafe’s voice was quiet, tinged with the barest trace of the lingering Spanish accent. He looked around the table, meeting each pair of eyes. “You will show Miss Dalton the respect she deserves as your teacher...and as a lady. You will still be taking your orders from her, or—you will answer to me.” His gaze flicked Cash once more. “Whether you like it or not.” Cash looked down, and Rafe continued.

  “This isn’t easy for any of you, so let’s all try to just—just take it slow and get our bearings, and work together.” As Rafe looked at the incredibly young faces around him, he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Whatever was to be, whatever the comet had caused, would affect one of these kids. As his gaze shifted to Beck’s, he knew he was right.

  CHAPTER 11

  After he got them settled into a nice hotel, Rafe thought, he was going to get the answers he needed from the angel in charge of this...whatever it was. Fiasco, was one word that kept coming to mind. Debacle was the other.

  “Hey, Mr. d’Angelico—I mean, uh, Marshal—” Joel looked flustered as he tried to untie his horse’s reins from the rough wooden rail. The leather was drawn taut against the wood. He’d been fumbling with it, pulling it tighter in the process.