Side by side, they moved forward slowly, to the point where they had last seen the dog. First the nose, then moving up the head, ears, and down the neck, their horses began to
disappear. They stopped dead in their tracks, stunned, not believing what they were seeing, or more to the point, what they weren't seeing.
A totally bizarre image began to squirrel around in Katlin's brain, crystallizing into a scene that forced a nervous giggle from her before she could stop it. She could picture in her mind some unfortunate soul who might stumble upon the scene. They would believe they were seeing two riders on headless horses. A truly unique twist on THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN theme, to THE HEADLESS HORSE MAN story. Definitely a story to be passed down through the generations.
Thankfully, this last episode had catapulted Katlin's mind beyond the shock saturation point, and she was now functioning with some semblance of logic, twisted as it might be. She had a vague suspicion of what might be going on. This is what Sing had warned her was going to happen. The something she had done that would force her to tell Mitch the truth. Considering the options of what it might have been, this wasn't really so bad.
Mitch, unfortunately, had not handled the situation with her amused acceptance. His
reaction had been to vault from his headless horse and pull his gun. What he planned to shoot, Katlin had no idea. Ever so slowly, she backed the mare up and the missing parts reappeared. It was so obvious! The protective barrier of white light she'd put around the clearing before she'd been transported into the past was still in place. It was like an invisible shield. No one from the outside could see anything within it.
Katlin dismounted, took the reins of her mare in one hand, with the other reached for the reins on Mitch's Appaloosa. She then pulled the horses back into view. Leading both horses to Mitch, who was still rooted to the spot, gun drawn, she said gently, "Mitch, its okay. I can explain everything."
He was looking at her as if she'd suddenly grown another head herself. He'd gone pale, and there was a decided tremble in his gun hand. Respecting the Colt's infamous hair trigger, she knew if she wasn't careful, he'd accidentally shoot her, and he'd end up in the 1871 equivalent of a padded cell.
"Mitch, listen to me," she continued softly. "There is an explanation. I don't know how logical it is, but there really is an explanation. Trust me."
"Trust me," Katlin immediately chided herself for her poor choice of words, the red flag words, she called them. As a police officer, when someone said, "Trust me," she immediately began to wonder why they felt she wouldn't trust them in the first place.
Mitch began swallowing convulsively, taking deep breaths, and attempting to moisten his cotton dry mouth in an effort to speak. He'd faced down armed men in situations where he had little hope of surviving, but until now, he'd never been so scared in all his life.
"What are you, a witch?" Mitch asked when he could finally get the words out.
"I can't deny that I've been called one, a time or two. But a card carrying, caldron stirring, spell casting witch . . . I don't think so," she answered with a grin that was dangerously close to erupting into full scale laughter. If the truth be known, Katlin found this particular situation hilarious, but at this point, she didn't think Mitch would appreciate her sense of humor. She then whistled for Bart, who materialized from the clearing to join them.
"Let me put it this way, you can stay out here and risk that gang of goons stumbling onto you in the dark, or you can come to my camp, where they wouldn't be able to find you if they searched till doom's day."
She might as well have asked him if he wanted to set up camp in a field full of rattle snakes, but Katlin did note that he was regaining his composure and the tan was returning to his face.
"And you can explain all this?" he asked, holstering his pistol with obvious reluctance.
"Yes, I can explain. At least, I hope I can." Katlin recognized the advantage to the
surprising situation they'd ridden into. It was an occurrence sure to make him a little more receptive to the bizarre story she had been forced into telling him.
An hour later, Katlin had just finished clearing away the cooking and eating utensils, and Mitch sat sipping his whiskey laced coffee. He'd retrieved the whiskey bottle from his saddle bag half way through her unbelievable story.
Katlin refilled her coffee cup and silently warmed his before returning the coffee pot to the hook at the top of the tripod. She waited until she sat down beside him on her unrolled sleeping bag before asking, "Well, aren't you going to say anything?" Her voice, although quiet, seemed to echo in the silence.
He looked at her face reflected in the firelight, and he thought, "This beautiful woman sitting beside me is either the bravest person I've ever met, or she's plumb loco. And, if she's crazy, then I am too because as impossible as it all sounds, I actually believe her." He didn't attempt to analyze why he found it easier to believe she was who or what she claimed to be than to go on believing his earlier opinion of her.
How could he not believe the amazing things she had shown him? He had seen them with his own eyes and heard them with his own ears. He was listening to music coming from a little box she called a portable CD player. Music she called Yanni, the likes of which he had never heard before, and he liked it. It was a definite improvement over Jim Crack Corn, and Little Brown Jug. He had even gone to the invisible wall, stepped through it, and looked back toward the camp. He hadn't been able to see a thing, couldn't even hear the music from the other side. He'd stepped back through and looked out. He could see from the inside out but not from the outside in. Mitch didn't count the number of times he'd stepped back and forth, but the damn thing was really there.
"Once the shock wears off, I'm sure I'll have all kinds of questions," he told her with a sigh of acceptance.
"Thank you for believing me, Mitch," she all but whispered. Katlin felt as if a giant weight had been lifted. She wasn't in this insanity alone. "And I'll try to answer your questions, unless the answer is something you'll be better off not knowing."
"I can live with that," Mitch told her as he reached over and tipped some whiskey from the bottle into her cup. If he'd been through all she'd been through today, he'd certainly need it. "So, what happens now?"
"Beats me," she answered, then sipped from her cup. The whiskey felt hotter going down than the coffee, but it warmed the pit of her stomach. She believed it was the first time she'd felt warm since this whole thing started. Had it only been a few hours? "Part of me still wants to believe I'm dreaming all this, and I'll soon wake up against this tree with a stiff neck and a sore behind."
"Oh you're here all right," he told her as he gazed into the flames. "The question is, why are you here?" No, his real question was, now that he had met her, despite the circumstances, how long would it be before she disappeared back into the future and out of his life? How could he care so much so quickly?
Katlin took another sip of her whiskey laced coffee, choosing her words carefully before answering. "Everything has happened so fast I haven't had time to think, much less sort it all out. My guess is that I'm here to correct a wrong that happened in this time period that has had an negative influence on mine."
"How is that possible?" Mitch asked then felt like a fool. If all this was really happening, he had to believe that anything was possible.
Katlin rose to her feet and went to her supplies and rummaged around until she found what she was looking for. Retrieving two packages of Hostess Twinkies she rejoined Mitch on the sleeping bag.
"I think you'll like these," she said as she tore open one of the packages and handed it to Mitch. She opened her own and took a bite before attempting to answer his last question.
"Let me give you an example. Let's say I had shot and killed one of those men who were after you, and that man was destined to be an ancestor of mine, say, my great great grandfather. If I had killed my great great grandfather before the child who was to be my great grandfather was conceived, then the
entire line from that point forward would cease to exist. I would cease to exist." Katlin looked up at Mitch who had already devoured one Twinkie and was starting on the second. She could already see that in his company her supply of junk food wouldn't last long. Oh well, there was always her supply of dehydrated goodies.
The thought of her Aunt Karen and her Uncle Ben popped into her mind. What if she couldn't go back? What if she never saw them again? Or, if she did, she would never see Mitch again. Why should she care? She had just met the man. Katlin forced the unsettling thoughts from her mind. "Don't go there, McKinnen," she told herself firmly. Those were questions she wasn't up to coping with right now.
"So you would just disappear?" He wasn't some ignorant cow puncher, but it was all too much for Mitch to comprehend. He abandoned his whiskey laced coffee and took a large swig directly from the whiskey bottle.
"That's the general idea," she answered. "But the opposite is also true. What if my being here prevented the death of someone who's descendant is destined to accomplish something great, something that will have a positive impact on the future?"
"Then by saving me from those bushwhackers, you've already changed history."
"You've got it."
"Which brings us back to the original question. Why are you here, Katlin McKinnen?"
"My guess, Ranger Cameron, is that you have a new partner."
To say that her suggestion stunned him was putting it mildly. "No way in hell, lady. I work alone."
"So do I," she responded firmly then reached for the whiskey bottle. Picturing his lips on the bottle just seconds ago, her eyes caught and held his as she placed her own lips on the bottle and took a swig herself. She could almost feel the warmth of his lips on the glass and wondered what those same lips would feel like against her own. The whiskey was like liquid fire, burning all the way down to the pit of her stomach and to points beyond as she watched the flames from the fire reflected in the depths of his eyes.
With a great effort of will, Katlin pushed what she believed were her whiskey induced thoughts and physical responses to the, "Don't go there, McKinnen," regions of her mind and forced her mind back to the matter at hand.
"Whether we like it or not, Ranger, The Powers That Be seem to have other plans. And considering everything that has happened today, I for one don't intend to question what they have in mind. Do you?"
"Hell fire and damnation," was Mitch's only response as he took his bottle back. He too eyed the bottle, remembering the firelight reflected in her eyes as her lips closed around it. Only it wasn't the bottle he had imagined her lips around. He felt like his insides were being sucked up inside a Texas twister. He took another large swig from the bottle hoping the liquid fire wood cool his flaming desire for this feisty female from the future.
Unlike Katlin, who refused to analyze her powerful physical attraction to Mitch, he felt the need to rationalize it away. It had simply been too long since he had bedded a female, and a man has needs. Needs that if ignored too long, did strange things to a man's way of thinking and reacting. It wasn't her, he tried to convince himself. At this point any passably attractive female would have the same affect on him. Mitchell Cameron had never allowed any split tail to tie his insides up in knots, and he didn't intend to start now. If things continued the way they appeared to be, he'd take what she offered. If not, his first night in Abilene would be spent in the section just outside the city limits known as the Sin Den. A night with Randi's luscious body and lusty appetites, and he would be just fine.
Feeling confident that he had his strong passion toward Katlin figured out, Mitch took another swig from the bottle and offered to pass it back to her. Katlin eyed the bottle warily then, with a negative shake of her head, she got to her feet and began to pace. Passing the bottle back and forth had become too intimate a gesture for her peace of mind, and, for someone who rarely drank, she had already had too much.
Remembering something she had wanted to ask him earlier, Katlin paused in her tracks and turned to face Mitch. "When I had you at gun point back at the boulders, you didn't believe I'd shoot you. Why?"
"Six shots, Kat," Mitch didn't know why he'd called her that, but, with those green cat eyes of hers, it seemed to fit. "You'd already fired six shots. Your gun was empty."
A smile twisted her lips, and an I know something you don't know sparkle entered her eyes. She reached beneath her shirt, pulled out her revolver, and extended it toward him.
"Police issue, Smith and Wesson, semi automatic, fifteen shots per round. Never assume anything, Cameron, it will get you killed." She then proceeded to pick up the white cardboard square from one of the Twinkie packages, tossed it into the air, and began to fire.
The white square danced in the air five times before it fell into the fire and went up in flames. "Christ Almighty," was the only response Mitch was capable of giving. He took another drink from the whiskey bottle.
"HE, had nothing to do with it," Katlin couldn't resist teasing. "As for me being here, that is another matter. One we need to discuss."
With a heavy sign of resignation, Mitch removed his hat, put it in his lap to disguise the evidence he didn't think she would appreciate at the moment, and leaned back comfortably against the tree. "Okay, Kat, lets have at it. I reckon if you hadn't showed up when you did, I'd be buzzard bait by now. I'm honor bound to do my part. I just wish I knew what my part is supposed to be."
"So do I, Mitch. So do I," she answered with a weary sigh and began pacing again. "We're both reasonably intelligent people. Let's sort out what we do know. First, you're obviously part of this or I wouldn't have been brought here at the exact time you needed my help. I kept you from being killed, but if that was the only reason, I wouldn't still be here. At least I don't think I would." Katlin paused in her agitated pacing to rub at the knot of tension at the back of her neck that threatened to give her a rip roaring headache.
"Come here, Kat," Mitch insisted softly, then patted the spot on the sleeping bag in front of him. "The least I can do is rub your neck for you."
"Not a good idea, McKinnen," she warned herself silently, even as her feet moved to do as he has suggested. Kat, he had called her Kat. Why wasn't she furious? A few men had called her that in the past, or in the future to be more precise. They hadn't called her Kat a second time. Yet, coming from Mitch . . . .
Mitch stretched his legs out in front of him, making room for her to sit between them, wisely keeping his hat in place, separating her firm little backside and the stubborn erection he felt he had been sporting practically from the moment he met her. "This was not a good idea, Cameron," he groaned inwardly as she fitted herself closer to the hat separating them, causing it to rub against him.
Katlin felt Mitch's hands settle on her shoulders from behind as his thumbs began making little circles from the base of her skull to the top of her spine. With a soft moan that sounded more like a purr, she dropped her head forward and closed her eyes. "That feels so good," she whispered.
Mitch was thankful she couldn't see the pained expression on his features. God, how could someone who was as emotionally strong as this female, feel so fragile beneath his hands. He could feel the muscles coiled into tight knots of tension along the back of her neck and shoulders.
Swallowing convulsively, then, in an effort to distract himself from the little purring sounds she was making in the back of her throat, he asked, "Can you think of anything other than saving my worthless hide that might have brought you to this particular time?"
Katlin raised her head, opened her eyes, and took a deep breath as Mitch continued to massage the back of her neck and shoulders. His hands felt so incredibly good on her, so right. She found it all too easy to imagine those magic, massaging hands sliding under her arms and reaching around her to cup her aching breasts. She wanted, no, she needed so much more than she had a right to need.
She had been brought here for a purpose. A purpose she had to believe was of the utmost importance, or she wouldn't have b
een sent over a hundred years into the past to accomplish it. She couldn't allow herself to be sidetracked or distracted by romantic fantasies. Fantasies that would devastate her when she accomplished what she was sent here to do, and she was sent back to where she belonged. If only she could be more like her friends who routinely had casual, short term holiday affairs and returned home with no regrets or emotional hang ups.
Resolve stiffening her spine, Katlin moved forward and felt Mitch's hands drop from her shoulders. "Thanks, Mitch. That helped a lot." She couldn't bring herself to turn and face him, to look into those disturbing blue eyes that pulled at something inside of her she had never experienced before. If she did . . . .
She wrapped her arms around her bent up legs and rested her chin on her knees as she looked out over the pond. It would be totally dark soon. Stars were already beginning to dot the evening sky.
"The only other connection I can think of is Abilene," she said, not so much to Mitch, as if she was thinking out loud. Abilene, Kansas in 1871. That had to be it. She was no historian, but thanks to her Uncle Ben and his stories about his great great grandfather and Abilene in this time period, she was practically an expert. That is, if time had not colored and distorted the actual events.
She turned around to face Mitch, who had been surprisingly silent. She didn't attempt to disguise the excitement sparkling in her eyes. "Mitch, is there a saloon in Abilene called the Bull's Head?" Before he could answer her question, she asked another, "And, is it owned by a man named, Ben Thompson?" Katlin saw Mitch stiffen and sensed his withdrawal.
"What's he got to do with this?" was all he was willing to offer, but it was enough. He'd answered her question.
"He may have a lot to do with it, Mitch, or maybe not much. I don't know for sure. But he is another connection to this time period. Do you know him personally?" she asked earnestly. "Is he a man who can be trusted?"
The Bond Unbroken Page 6