Time Plains Drifter

by Cheryl Pierson

  “Rafe—please. I’m not defending him. What he did to you and Cris was inexcusable.” She rolled away from him and lay on her back so that they both stared at the ceiling. After a few seconds, she drew a shaky breath. “No. That’s too polite. It was terrible.” Not glancing his way, she continued. “But whatever possessed Josiah Kemp to do what he did—to betray you and Cris and the others—was...an unbearable burden to him, too.”

  Rafe snorted. “Yeah, for all of five minutes. He got his conscience eased by the bastards he’d thrown in with, and in short order.”

  “Whether it was just for the gold—only God knows what else would drive someone to kill four people who trusted him—or whatever else it could’ve been.” She turned on her side to face him, cupping his cheek in her palm. “Rafe, whatever it was, he’s not done dealing with it, if they brought him back, too. I have a–a feeling about all this. I may be wrong, but I think somehow, it’s a kind of test—for both of you. You were taken early, and there’s bitterness there inside you.”

  “You’re damn straight I’m bitter!” he all but yelled at her.

  She answered his sudden flash of anger with a gentle smile. “Well, you can bet Josiah Kemp is something too. Angry...bitter...worried—”

  “Crazy? Greedy? Evil?” Rafe gave a sharp laugh.

  Jenni looked away from him. She didn’t reply for a moment. Then, very softly, she said, “Something has brought him back here, Rafe. Maybe not the same thing that’s brought you back, but there’s something. Finding this child—that’s only the quest; the reason for him to be called back. His purpose is his own.”

  “And my quest, Jenni? To save this kid—the descendant of a man I despise with everything in me? To find out which one it happens to be and give them my—my protection? At what cost to myself?” He turned on his side to look at her. “You want to know what I think, Jen? I think this is all some game—some contest of the gods, so to speak. I think after Beck made his little mistake, and Cris and I took the fall, somewhere up there, someone decided to take an interest in this—this comedy. So now, it’s me against Kemp—good against evil—and they’re probably all sitting around up there placing bets on what’ll happen once we know which kid it is that needs saving.”

  “You know what I’ve a good mind to do? I’d love to just tell Becket Jansen to shove it; that I’m not going to participate.”

  At Jenni’s look of shock, Rafe fell back on the bed with a sigh, deflated. After a moment, he muttered, “I won’t do it, Jenni, don’t worry. I can’t do it, though I’d like nothing more. Now—”

  “Now, there’s me. Us.”

  Rafe’s lips quirked. “Yeah. And I find I wouldn’t give that up even for a chance to tell Beck to go to hell. I’ll do what he wants, and we’ll see how it all plays out. I’ll probably find I’ve been suckered again...but this time, I won’t even care. Because if it means five more minutes with you, I—” He broke off, his voice husky and raw with emotion.

  “Jenni—I’m sorry.” He suddenly felt as if he needed to apologize for everything, even though he’d had no more control over it than she had. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Didn’t mean to break your heart by having to leave you when this is over. Even though they might be running toward the end of their time together on winged feet, flying in the face of fate with their unconventional romance, it may be the only piece of destiny they could steal—and it would have to be enough to last her a lifetime; and to last him an eternity.

  Jenni screwed her eyes shut to hold the tears back. She turned to him and snuggled into his chest as his arm came around her. He pulled her to him tightly, wanting to hold her like this forever, to never let go of her. If there was a God in heaven, how could He separate them now?

  She kissed his chest. “Don’t ever say you’re sorry, Rafe. You couldn’t help—any of this—any more than I could. This was just meant to be. Sometimes, we can’t know why—we just have to accept that it is. I wouldn’t have traded one minute with you.”

  As Rafe held her against him, feeling her fear at losing him, listening to her breathe, he heard Beck Jansen’s words again, as if he were speaking them into Rafe’s mind: You haven’t learned yet, have you? You can’t know everything just because you want to, Rafe. These things take time to unfold. Even I don’t know everything...

  CHAPTER 18

  Beck stood just outside the Reverend’s office door, his hand raised...but the knock never came. He needed to know things the boys might never tell him. They were afraid of him, now. He could feel them shrink away from him since the showdown with Satan’s man in the saloon.

  So, instead of making his presence known, he bowed his head a moment with a short prayer for invisibility and invincibility, and passed through the heavy wood of the door without ever turning the handle.

  Lance and Cash sat across from Murdoch Bolton, all three wearing somber expressions.

  Beck watched the three of them steadily for a full minute, just to be certain that none of them were aware of his presence. He noted, with surprise that Cash did seem to feel something...a shift in the air. Coincidence? Beck truly didn’t think so. The boy was very perceptive, it seemed.

  Cash seemed to draw tighter into himself, his eyes going to the door, to the very place where Beck stood. It was as if he recognized what had just happened...that Beck was with them.

  Now, he held his breath as Cash spoke, though he needn’t have bothered. Humans could never hear anything so fragile as the breath of an angel. Most never even realized the moment of their own redemption until much, much later.

  “I...don’t want to go back to—that place,” Cash said quietly. “Never again.” He was speaking not only of going back to the hotel, but also of going back to that memory. The moment in time when he’d almost gambled away his soul to the devil.

  Reverend Bolton stood up and walked around his desk, coming to stand directly in front of Cash. He hunkered down to where he could look into the boy’s anxious face. “You don’t have to go back, son. Not unless you want to. Sometimes, though, it’s best to face our fears.” The preacher, Beck thought, was wise enough to understand that Cash’s memory of the event, though painfully frightening, was invaluable in his resistance to the Dark.

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Cash muttered thickly. “But I’m afraid—”

  “Don’t be,” the preacher said. “Do you understand what happened in that bar, Cash?”

  Cash shook his head. “No. I don’t want to think about it, Reverend.”

  “Why not?

  “It—It scares me. I’m turning into a—a damn pussy!”

  “It’s all right to be frightened,” the preacher said. “Every one of us has been afraid of something in our lives. When you were little, maybe you were afraid of the dark...or of falling, when you were learning to walk. But we have to face it and fight against it.”

  Cash nodded slowly. “Now, I’m afraid again, preacher. I’m afraid of—” he broke off, dodging the reality of what had almost happened to him.

  “Of what?” Bolton asked gently. “I’m here, Cash. I won’t let any harm come to you. But we must speak of it...face it, at some point.”

  Cash sat up straight, nodding reluctantly. “I know, Reverend.”

  “Then, tell me, son. What are you afraid of?”

  Cash’s lips lifted in a parody of a smile, though there wasn’t a trace of the usual cockiness. His voice was heartbreakingly, wrenchingly desolate. “The same things I was afraid of then, Mr. Bolton. Falling...and the Dark.”

  ~*~

  At least, Bolton thought, the boys were protected here in the mission house. No minion of Satan could enter the walls of a church, and he intended to call on the Lord to protect all of them from the presence of lurking evil tonight, when he preached.

  Bolton sighed and started for the door. “All right, Cash. I’ll tell you what. You and Lance stay here and I’ll walk back over and tell Mr. Jansen you boys are going to stay here at the mission house. He’s ne
arby, and you boys’ll be safe with me.” He eyed Cash for a long silent moment. “You know, Cash, Mr. Jansen can protect you, too. He did keep you safe, earlier.”

  “That’s different,” Cash muttered. “He’s—” He shook his head.

  “He’s—of God,” Bolton said gently. He looked into the boy’s face, watching him think. Of God.

  “An angel, you mean?” The hazel eyes were haunted, fraught with incredulity, and something else. Cash was afraid to believe.

  Bolton nodded. “Yes. I believe he is.”

  “And the Marshal?” Lance asked, leaning forward. “What about him?”

  The Reverend’s lips curved upward. “I don’t know, Lance.” He shrugged. “I can’t prove it. But—I can’t prove God Himself exists—I only know what I believe.”

  Lance nodded.

  Bolton could see the beginning of acceptance in his features.

  “They made everything all right for us.” Lance didn’t look at the preacher. “It seemed like—like we all felt a kind of peace, like even though we’d been thrown backward in time, we were going to be fine. Without them, we might still be out in that field.” His gaze met Bolton’s. “And we never would have met you, Reverend.”

  He hadn’t thought about it quite like that, but Lance’s assertion made perfect sense. Everything happens for a reason. Was God letting him know, suddenly, what he expected of Murdoch Alan Bolton? Or had Satan brought this fight to his door? Either way, it was a challenge he could not ignore.

  CHAPTER 19

  Early sunlight filtered through the trees as Jenni and Rafe rode away from the little cabin in the clearing. The terrain was becoming more rugged, Jenni noted, the foothills of the Wichita Mountains lying just ahead of them—or so it seemed.

  Jenni hated to leave the cabin. Knowing the previous owners had felt the same way made their own departure even more bittersweet. Someday, she promised herself silently, she would come back to this place.

  She realized she’d begun to make plans for building on, planting a garden, and seeing to the construction of a chicken coop. As they rode away, Jenni could have sworn she heard a child’s happy laughter following them into the thicket of trees through the dappled dark and light patterns of the nearby woods.

  They rode in silence for a while until they came out of the densest part of the woods. Jenni mastered the art of staying in the saddle somewhat better than she had the day before, and even though her back and thigh muscles were already protesting, she felt good about her progress.

  As they came out of the woods into the rolling grassland again, Jenni caught up to Rafe and rode by his side. He looked at her and flashed her a grin.

  “You okay?”

  Jenni nodded, coloring at his question. By his expression, she knew he was not referring to her equestrian abilities. “I’m fine, Rafael,” she murmured, a hint of teasing in her own voice. “I’m stronger than that.”

  He shook his head in mock wonder. “Three times? Four? And yet, you’re able to ride.”

  “What’s wrong, Marshal d’Angelico? You worried about—tonight?”

  He laughed aloud. “No, Jenni.” The grin still curved his lips as he met her eyes. “I don’t worry. Not about that.” His expression turned serious, his gaze wandering once more to the distant hills and gullies ahead. “Last night, the way you gave yourself to me...the way you looked when I—when I came into you...I meant everything I told you. Daylight—morning—doesn’t change anything—not the words we spoke, nor the feelings—”

  Jenni swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to touch him, to reassure him. He needed a reaffirmation from her.

  “It won’t ever change, Rafe. I’ll love you ‘til the day I die...” she trailed off, realizing what she’d said only after it was too late to call it back.

  Rafe was silent a moment, then he murmured, “Don’t let it end there, Jenni. Love me forever. Maybe then we can sort this mess out and—ah, hell.” He turned to her and shook his head, as if in self-reproach. “We’re not in much of a bargaining position, are we, sweetheart? Guess we better hope—and pray—that Someone Up There’ll have a little mercy this time around.”

  He glanced away from her, and when he looked back, his expression was shuttered and remote, as if he’d drawn a veil across his emotions, walling himself away from her. He kicked the horse into a gallop and rode on ahead of her. Jenni understood. He needed to be solitary, to put some distance between them...to think.

  But understanding didn’t keep it from hurting. She wanted to tell him she did love him, would always love him—no matter what. But she couldn’t find the words. She followed him, alone again.

  They rode through the foothills, Rafe turning back to look at her often to be sure she kept up, but not slowing enough for her to catch up to him completely. The sun rose higher. Eventually, Rafe drew his mount to a halt and waited for her.

  As she drew abreast of him, he said, “You must be starving, Jen.”

  She shrugged. “We don’t exactly have a bag of provisions handy—and there’s no McDonald’s in sight.”

  “McDonald’s?”

  “Never mind. It’s a kind of restaurant in—in my time. You’re right. I am hungry. Very.” She gave him a quizzical look. “What made you think of it, Rafe? Angels don’t need food, do they?”

  Rafe winced at that. “I—guess I’m just not good at being dead, yet, Jen. I’m pretty hungry, too.”

  Her smile faded and she put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

  He shook his head, looking away, across the terrain they still had to cover. “No. It was true. At least, according to Beck, if I don’t give in to these “bodily urges” I will become more—angelic.” He grinned at her. “I keep tellin’ him that isn’t possible.”

  Jenni’s lips curved up as she let herself be cajoled, teased back into the earlier lightness they shared. Right now, it was what Rafe needed, she thought.

  He took his hat off, letting the breeze ruffle through his dark sweat-damp hair, his eyes constantly scanning the land around them.

  “Rafe, Beck came by a lot of supplies somehow...not to mention the horses. Can—you do that, too?”

  He shook his head. “No. He’s been at it a whole lot longer than I have. I, uh—haven’t had a chance to read the ‘Rulebook for Angels’ yet. Somehow, it seems—” he fell silent, lost in thought for a moment, “it seems that I break all the rules without even knowing them.”

  “Beck should’ve done better by you,” Jenni was quick to defend. “He should’ve taught you—”

  Rafe sighed. “He’s tried, Jen. Trouble is,” he laughed shortly, “I don’t want to be an angel. I don’t want to be dead. I just want to be back on that train with my brother and come out behind Josiah Kemp this time, instead of in front of him...so things would work out like they should’ve.”

  “Everything happens for a reason—”

  “Even angels making mistakes?” Rafe asked, with clear disgust. “If Beck hadn’t made a mess of things, Cris and I would still be alive—” he looked away again, his dark eyes awash with the pain of his memories. “I miss him, Jenni.” His voice was so quiet she had to strain to hear the words.

  “Beck could tell you, couldn’t he? Doesn’t he know where Cris is—I mean, uh—if they brought him back—” She was stumbling for the right words, the necessary thing to say to stop the pain for him—and was failing miserably.

  “He won’t say,” Rafe responded curtly. He raked his hands through his hair . “He knows...about my brother. Says he’s not ‘allowed to tell,’” he finished quietly.

  “I’m so sorry, darling,” Jenni murmured. Automatically, she reached to lay a comforting hand on Rafe’s forearm.

  “That sounds better every time you say it—‘darling.’ Never had anybody call me that, Jen.” He looked up at her, with a spark of a smile in his dark eyes. “Still love me?” he asked in a husky whisper, as if the magic they’d created might have somehow suddenly evaporated wi
th the encroachment of reality into their conversation.

  Jenni kissed her fingertips and touched his lips lightly. “With everything in me, Rafe d’Angelico. Don’t ever doubt it.”

  “Keep looking at me like that, Jenni,” he murmured, “and I never will.”

  ~*~

  “How sweet,” Milo mocked.

  He and Josiah Kemp stood less than a hundred yards away, watching d’Angelico and the schoolteacher. Invisibility did have its advantages, though it did expend a huge amount of energy. It was taxing, but well worth the effort.

  One could learn so many interesting things...if one couldn’t be seen. Milo’s lips curled into a sneer, as close as he could come to a smile at this point.

  D’Angelico was going to be so easy. He’d thought of all kinds of scenarios, just to add a bit of spice to the game. A gunfight would be entertaining. He hadn’t done one of those for several years now. He could even discard some of his own powers temporarily for a little more ‘humanity’ and even the odds some, so to speak. Add to the excitement.

  D’Angelico possessed a power even he did not realize, the Gambler thought, remembering the way twelve-year-old Rafe wielded the knife—the ritualistic dagger—against one of the most powerful minions of Satan himself—the supposed Catholic priest, Father Ignatius. He sighed and shook his mane of auburn hair. A pity, that. Father Ignatius had proven himself in many ways. He was totally corrupt. A poetry of evil. Until young Master d’Angelico had surprised him, guided by angels’ hands down, down through the pitch black tunnels faster and faster, until he’d come into the sacrificial chamber where young boys’ blood had run red for centuries, keeping the flames of Hades burning brightly in the most unbelievable place—the bowels of a Catholic mission. He smiled to himself again, grateful to whoever the poor sot was who started the rumor that the Dark Side couldn’t enter the Light. Such foolishness. But, through the ages, it had proven a most useful tool, that little misguided belief that Christians held dear to their hearts.