Time Plains Drifter

by Cheryl Pierson

  His grip eased, then tightened, and he felt his legs tremble slightly. Jenni took his arms in her hands, as if she was trying to steady him. A dizzying wave of nausea washed over him, violent in its sudden intensity, and he dropped to his knees in front of the cave, shaking.

  “Cris?”

  Jenni’s voice sounded like she was saying his name from the bottom of a deep well. He found himself staring at the small pebbles strewn along the narrow pathway, a crowding sense of darkness encroaching from the edges of his vision. His gaze strayed momentarily over the lip of the path...down. Down where the water swirled and tumbled and plunged; where there was no sight of either Milo, or of Rafe.

  Had Rafe survived the fall? He damn well better have, Cris thought grimly. That thought was followed closely by another, just as sobering. Rafe had been right to be concerned. Cris had to admit he had probably been too free with the amount of healing he let fly into his brother...with how much of himself he’d given Rafe. It had made him dizzy and sick. He felt weak as a newborn kitten. No wonder Beck was worried.

  His mind careened wildly down first one path, then another, seizing on a thought with a desperate hold, then allowing it to escape when the next one came along. I’m going to be sick. I have to help Rafe.

  He crawled forward a few inches, just until he could look down over the edge. Still no sign. He swallowed, hard, shook his head to clear his vision. The blackness was leaving him only a tiny pinhole of clear sight.

  Without warning, even that bit of light was gone as darkness embraced him. He felt his arms and legs turn to rubber, his body pitch forward and begin the long drop over the rim of the trail. He never heard Jenni scream his name as she grabbed for him, his blue shirt ripping in her hands as he tumbled downward through the shimmering clarity of the waterfall and into the river below.

  ~*~

  “Cris!” Jenni yelled, horrified as she watched Cris plunge headlong through the waterfall into the churning water. She dropped the tattered remnant of his shirt at her feet and frantically began to unlace the high-topped kid boots she wore, kicking out of them.

  She balked only a moment as she stood looking over the ledge; then, taking a deep breath, she dove through the waterfall herself, barely aware of the sudden cold water in her singleminded purpose. Rafe is down there. Rafe and that damned demon. I have to get to him. Have to help Cris first. He’s drowning...dying—

  As she hit the water below cleanly, she realized she had been wondering what lay beneath. She breathed a sigh of pure relief as she surfaced, thankful the pool of water at the foot of the cliff was deep and unencumbered by rocks or any kind of deadfall accumulation.

  She wiped the water from her eyes, looking for any sign of Cris. He was weak from what he’d done for Rafe. She couldn’t be sure if he was completely blacked out when he fell, or just lacked the strength to keep himself from going over the edge. I should have held on tighter.

  She knew he wouldn’t be able to stay afloat, to keep his head above water, in either case. The water was too murky to see below the surface.

  From the corner of her eye she saw further downstream the bob of a patch of blue. She began to swim toward it, hampered by the long skirt weighing her down and catching on sticks and rocks below the surface. Impatiently, she stopped and unfastened the closure at the waist, kicking free from the material before she once again started swimming toward the floating body.

  The current was swift, but she was a strong swimmer, and within a few seconds was close enough to grab Cris’s shoulder. She pulled his head out of the water, gasping at the huge purple bruise across his forehead.

  “Cris? Cris!” She gave him a shake, desperate for him to make some sign of response. There was none. She didn’t want to think about the possibility he was dead. She wouldn’t think of it—not now, she told herself, pushing it from her mind.

  Turning him around in the water, she pulled and twisted his unresisting frame until she was able to get him in the position the Red Cross instructor promised would allow rescue, and swore would save lives. She never had to use her training—not until this moment, when it would be more important than anything else she had ever done in her life.

  She got him to the shore, staggering up from the water. It was all Jenni could do to drag him onto the bank just far enough away from the river’s coursing pull. Dropping to her knees beside him, she turned him, then began to try to pump the water from his lungs.

  She glanced around her, looking for any sign of the demon and Rafe. Or Beck. Where were they?

  Jenni rolled Cris heavily onto his back and began the rhythmic pumping just under the breastbone.

  She had to do something. She covered his mouth with hers, tilted his head back and forced air into his lungs. Putting her ear just under his nose, she could hear no responsive breathing. Frantically, she began to pump his chest again, her lips moving in a prayer.

  Again, her mouth covered his, her own breath filling and expanding his lungs. She listened. No response. A frustrated sob escaped her throat. How could this happen? She was exhausted. She’d been through her own private Hell, and now she couldn’t manage to even save one life! Cris needed her to help him, and she couldn’t. How would she ever be able to face Rafe and tell him she had failed his brother?

  Doggedly, Jenni placed her hands atop one another on his bronze chest and began to push once more. She was going to save Cris d’Angelico’s life.

  “No one is going to stop me,” she muttered. Her hair swung suddenly around her as she bent to breathe into his mouth again, ignoring the beginning ache in her own shoulder muscles. She lifted her lips from his, but there was no answering breath.

  “Damn you, Cris!” she said hoarsely. “You can’t die, damn you!” She began to pump his chest again, when Beck’s voice drew her up short.

  “Here, now, Jenni,” he said, hurriedly walking toward her from the river. “What’s the trouble here?”

  Jenni wanted to fling herself into Beck’s arms as he approached.

  “I—I can’t make it work—the CPR! I can’t get him to breathe again, Beck!” Her voice carried an edge of hysteria. Beck drew nearer and she moved back, away from Cris’s inert form.

  ****

  The huge, livid bruise across Cris’s forehead told Beck all he needed to know. It wasn’t Jenni’s CPR methods failing. Cris had not drowned. He died when his head struck whatever object had been in its path.

  Beck took a deep breath. So this was why he hadn’t felt he could save Rafe earlier. Greater love hath no man, but he lay down his life for his—damn! Cris had made sure Rafe would have his chance—his chance to destroy the demon. In the process, he’d weakened himself...fallen off of the cliff, because of it.

  Beck had seen it happen, watched helplessly as Jenni jumped in after him—risking her own life and that of her baby to save the brother of the man she loved; the man who had given up all chance of his own happiness to protect her and his unborn child.

  Beck dropped to his knees beside Cris.

  “Hurry, Beck! Please! If Rafe loses Cris again—” Jenni’s voice was a fragmented whisper.

  Beck nodded, but didn’t look at her. Yes. He knew. He’d seen too much pain in Rafael d’Angelico’s eyes in the short time he’d known him, and it was all his fault. His mistake. Maybe, this time, he could fix it for all of them. No matter the consequences to himself, he had to do this. Perhaps it would be considered meddling, but he had to be able to live with his conscience, as Cris had said, for whatever time he had coming to him. If any.

  He leaned over Cris, putting his mouth across the younger man’s, letting his breath fill Cris’s lungs. One time would be enough, he knew, for the breath of an angel was healing to any wound a human could receive.

  Cris’s midnight-dark eyes slowly opened, accompanied by an agonized groan. Beck leaned back on his haunches, watching as Cris put a hand to his head. By the time his fingers probed for the purple bruise, it disappeared completely.

  Cris sat up suddenly and
swiped a hand across his mouth. “Perdition, Beck! What are you doin’? Did I dream this, or did you just try to kiss me?”

  Beck grinned. “Well, if I did, it’d be a damn sight better’n what you deserved after pulling a fool stunt like you did.”

  “What ‘stunt’ would that be?” Cris sat up, catching sight of Jenni. “What? Did I—fall?” he asked, meeting her worried eyes.

  “You blacked out. I tried to grab you, but your shirt ripped. I couldn’t hold you.”

  He shook his head grimly. “I don’t remember—” He rose to his feet, making a grab for a nearby sapling to steady himself. “We’ve gotta find Rafe. Any sign of them?”

  ~*~

  Jenni looked at him curiously, stepping toward him. “Your head—” She stretched a arm out and touched his forehead in gentle wonder. “It was—” she gulped when she thought of it, “bruised.”

  “Never mind, Jen,” Cris said, distractedly. “We’ve gotta get to Rafe.” He took a long stride forward, his eyes narrowing, then headed down the riverbank.

  Jenni started to follow, then turned to face Beck. “Was he...dead, Beck? I mean, would the CPR—would it ever have worked?”

  Beck shook his head and looked down. “No. It wasn’t you, Jenni.”

  “Then—”

  Beck moved away from her, effectively cutting her off. He followed Cris’s lead, close behind him down the riverbank. “We’d better get going. Rafe’ll need some help.”

  Cris’s lips turned up in a sardonic half-grin as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Milo will be the one in need of help, once Rafe gets his hands on him.”

  They started back along the uneven edge of the river, moving as quickly as possible. Jenni stopped and peeled off her stockings. She couldn’t help grinning to herself as Beck and Cris averted their eyes. She supposed she made an odd picture to them, traipsing along the muddy bank in nothing but her blouse and petticoat, her copper hair falling about her shoulders in streaming, sodden masses.

  “You okay?” Cris asked, turning to help her over a particularly slippery place where the dirt was crumbling into the river.

  “I’m fine.” She took his hand. “What about you?”

  He shrugged, a familiar glimmer of laughter in his dark eyes. “I guess there really is some truth to that saying ‘only the good die young.’ It seems I’m not ever going to stay dead for long.”

  Beck shot him a glance. “You better work on staying alive; keeping out of danger. I’ve done all I can do for you, Cristian.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Means what it means.” Beck’s voice was measured. “That once is all I can do—what I did—for you.”

  Cris met his blue gaze head on. “Fair enough.”

  “More than fair, I’d say.” Beck turned away from him to push on, down the uneven bank beneath their feet.

  Cris stopped, and Jenni almost ran into his back “Say what you mean, Becket,” Cris demanded in a low tone. “I don’t like riddles. If you didn’t want to save me, why did you?”

  Beck turned to face him once more. “Because, Cris, you left me no choice! After what you did, healing Rafe, you made yourself weak—too weak. I warned you about that, but you paid no heed.”

  “He needed me,” Cris replied levelly.

  “Yes, he did. But you let too much of yourself go.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  Beck nodded. “Yeah, I know. I had a feeling something was going to happen to you, but didn’t know what. That’s the reason I chose not to heal Rafe. Because if I give too much of myself right now, none of us will be able to see the end of Milo. We need all the power we have. You can’t be—impetuous. If you get into another jam, I won’t be able to help you.” Beck began the trek again, his eyes scanning the distance.

  Cris sighed. “Twice oughta be enough for anyone,” he muttered.

  Beck rounded on him, anger flashing in his eyes. “It’s all you’ll get! Do you understand, Cristian?”

  Cris stopped, automatically putting an arm back to keep Jenni from walking into him. There was no word spoken, no sound from any of the three of them for a long moment. Finally, he gave a curt acknowledgement. “Yes. I understand. And I would not ask it of you again.”

  Beck’s expression was grim. “You never have. I did it for—others. Because there is still something left for you to do.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Rafe had shoved the demon away from him as they began their fall, thwarting Milo’s attempt at using his blade. Somehow, during their descent, Milo lost his grip on the knife. He hit the water just scant feet from where Rafe had landed.

  Rafe came up from the depths swiftly, swimming hard toward the demon. His anger and the lingering effects of Cris’s healing touch lent him a superhuman strength as the adrenaline rushed through his body.

  Milo tried to swim away from Rafe, darting quick glances back over his shoulder. The water was deeper here, with no solid footing, and it was a battle to stay afloat as the rapid current drew them in.

  The demon had no chance to stop, to try to let his powers be restored. He had to keep ahead of Rafe, but Rafe was gaining on him steadily. Each time Rafe’s dark head disappeared beneath the surface, he came up closer to Milo than before, until finally, his rough grip came down on the back of the demon’s shirt collar. With a desperate cry, Milo turned to do battle, still cloaked in the likeness of Cris d’Angelico.

  Rafe noted the demon’s cut and swollen lips, and the shiner he’d given him when he’d yanked the demon inside the cave, sending his fist crashing into the face that was his own brother’s. Now would be the time. The time to kill. Rafe’s fingers closed around Milo’s neck, and it felt good. Heavenly.

  “You’ll never know...about Tori Dalton—” the demon gasped, panicked.

  “That won’t change—” Rafe gritted between clenched teeth, “whether you’re dead or alive.”

  Weakly, Milo struggled against Rafe’s crushing hold at his neck, but he could not free himself. “Rafe—how can you...kill me? Look—at my face! I’m your...brother—”

  Rafe shook his head, slinging water. “Won’t work.”

  “Please...don’t—” his words were raspy, eyes bulging. “Rafe—”

  “Die, you bastard! You’ve ruined everything! Everything!” Rafe yelled, his grip unyielding. Death was too good for what the demon had stolen from him. His dream of life here, with Jenni and their baby, was over. At any moment, he expected to be jerked out of this time, this place, and be deposited back in the world of the dead that he’d been awakened from just days earlier. After I do what I’m supposed to do right here. After they’re done using me. He was getting damn tired of being expendable to...whomever was in charge of this chess game.

  He would end it, here and now...at least leave Jenni and the baby safe.

  Milo’s eyes turned green, his features changing from Cris’s dark handsomeness to the Gambler’s foppish existence, and countless others, all under Rafe’s harsh, choking grasp that never faltered. Milo was trying to regain his dark powers, call them back into himself, but the cleansing water prevented the complete transformation. The visions of the disguises stopped with the old man who had led Lance to the Bar J, to his doom. The wrinkled old mouth opened, and Milo’s eyes glinted sharply with his refusal to admit defeat. “Damn you, Rafael...” Finally, his eyelids slid shut, and he went slack under Rafe’s punishing grip.

  “Rafe! Rafe!”

  Cris’s voice penetrated the killing mist around him, and he finally tore his gaze from the dead man in his hands to his brother, standing beside Beck and a very worried Jenni on the riverbank.

  So it was over...finally over. He should feel elated at what he had done—killed the demon...kept Jenni and their child safe; but all he could think of now was having to go through another goodbye. Go through losing her yet again. Will it never end?

  Rafe looped an arm around the body and slowly made his way to shore to join them. He was breathing hard from his
struggle with Milo; could feel some of the extra strength lent through Cris’s healing touch already beginning to desert him.

  Beck reached to take hold of the demon’s body, heaving it up onto dry land. Cris put out his hand to his brother, pulling him from the water as it streamed in rivulets from him, carrying away all the dirtiness, the ugliness of the last few hours. In spite of having to leave Jenni again, he felt a sense of cleansing and renewal. He stood panting with the exertion, dripping river water on his brother, who didn’t seem to notice. They clasped forearms, steadying one another for a moment, making sure they were, each of them, real; together at last—for the final time, Rafe thought with a crushing sadness.

  Reluctantly, Cris let go and jerked his head in Jenni’s direction. “Someone’s waiting for you who’s far more important in your life than I am now, brother.” He stood aside.

  Rafe caught Jenni to him as she ran into his waiting arms. He hugged her close, the water from their bodies mingling as it ran to the ground.

  He closed his eyes and swore he could detect the fragrance of honeysuckle in the damp tresses of her hair. Or was it wishful thinking? A smile crossed his lips just as Jenni boldly reached to turn his mouth to hers.

  Her lips took possession of his forcefully, wantonly, and Rafe’s grin broadened. Had there ever been anyone else like her? Not in his lifetime—then, or now. She was one of a kind.

  A thought spun through his mind as he stood there in the late April sun. How long will I be allowed with her this time? Maybe this was their final goodbye kiss. Maybe as soon as their lips separated, he would just cease to be again. Jenni tried to come up for air, but he wouldn’t let her.

  Beck cleared his throat. “It—uh, doesn’t—ahem—work like that, Rafe.”

  Stop reading my mind, Becket.

  Let the girl breathe, Rafe.

  I don’t want to let her go...not again. I don’t want to leave her. His fingers threaded through the strands of her hair.

  You don’t have to.

  “Huh?” Rafe broke the kiss abruptly and turned to face Beck. “What?” He was afraid to believe what he thought the angel was saying, and wanted it in the ‘plain language’ Beck always claimed to speak.