The Cowboy Encounter

by Kristy Tate

  “Sure. Great skiing.”

  Becca nodded. She’d never been skiing. “And fishing, too, right?”

  Joel shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose so. Why?”

  “My dad has—I mean had—a ranch in a place called Trouthaven. Doesn’t that sound like a good fishing spot?”

  Joel raised his eyebrow. “I’m not much of a fisherman.”

  “I know. Me neither.”

  Joel kept his eyebrow aloft.

  “It’s just…my dad died.”

  Sympathy flooded Joel’s expression. “Oh Becca, I’m so sorry.” He took her in his arms, which would have been great, but Becca wasn’t quite sure what to do with the plate of cookies in her hand. She wrapped one arm around his waist, and left the other extended, holding the cookies mid-air. She wanted to lean into him, enjoy the comfort of his warmth and nearness, instead, she felt stroppy and stiff.

  Too soon, before she could relax, he stepped away from her.

  “I have to go to Trouthaven, Colorado.” Becca shivered.

  “Can that be any worse than Bellflower?” His smile looked kind, and concerned, …as if he really cared.

  “I might have to stay awhile. And if I lose my job…”

  She searched his face, and finding nothing but sympathy, she dropped into a chair and put a cookie in her mouth.

  “What can I do to help?” He stood behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his touch tingled through her.

  Say, don’t go, or, I’ll miss you, or anything other than—

  “Do you need a ride to the airport?” Joel asked.

  #

  Becca spent the next day at the same place she spent every Sunday—and almost every day, for that matter, at the hospital. Her shift ended at three, and she came home bone weary. Although, she wanted to do nothing more than curl up on the sofa with a book and a cup of cocoa, she still needed to make her travel plans. She knew her Aunt Sally and Uncle Will needed her to make some decisions concerning the ranch, but how could she when she’d never even seen it?

  Talking with her relatives was a lot like talking to her patients. She wanted to spend time with sane people, but she was finding that increasingly difficult. Taking her laptop to the living room, she decided she’d make her travel plans while she watched old Twilight Zone episodes. But first, popcorn.

  She collided with Celia in the kitchen. Not liking the crazy look in Celia’s eyes or her strange dress, Becca asked, “Where are you going?”

  “I can’t tell you.” Celia tried to step around her, but Becca blocked her path.

  “Why not?” Becca asked, running her gaze over Celia, taking in the strange pink gown that looked like it belonged at a Renaissance Faire and not in Becca’s kitchen. And it wasn’t just the dress. Celia had her hair piled on top of her head in an elaborate up-do—which was weird. Especially since her hair was all dolled up, but her face was void of any makeup. Not even a touch of mascara or a hint of lip gloss.

  Celia put her hands on Becca’s shoulders and moved her out of the way. “Because you wouldn’t believe me,” Celia said over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

  Suspicious, and looking for another excuse to postpone making her travel plans, Becca grabbed her purse and sweater off the counter. “Take me with you.”

  Celia banged out the door, but Becca followed.

  “I don’t even know if I can get back,” Celia said as she climbed into her car.

  Becca got into the passenger side. “Get back where? And why are you dressed like that?”

  Celia put the car in gear and backed down the driveway.

  “Where are we going?” Becca asked.

  “First—the Witching Well.”

  “The Witching Well? You don’t really believe in that do you?” Becca remembered that the legend could be grounded in truth. A 1980’s study linked the hysterical young women that had spurred the Salem witch trials to the consumption ergot-tainted rye—the same alkaloids used in LSD. Somewhere nearby there was supposedly a spring of the tainted and hallucinogenic water. And Celia wanted to go there.

  Celia took a deep breath and launched into insanity.

  “I know you won’t believe me, and that’s okay. I wouldn’t believe me, either. Remember how I told you that I went to Cornwall, England and Jason was there?”

  “You didn’t mention Cornwall.”

  “At the time, I didn’t know I went to Cornwall. I thought the whole thing was a crazy dream. But since then, I’ve been to Merlin’s Cave, Tintagel Castle—”

  “You think you’ve actually been there?”

  Celia nodded.

  “Why? What changed your mind?”

  At a red light, Celia pulled a strand of emeralds out of her dress and showed them to Becca. They glistened in the moonlight. “I have to give them back or else they’ll hurt Jason.” Her voice quivered. “They may even kill him.”

  “Where did you get these?”

  “I told you,” Celia’s words came out in a long rush of breath. “I was riding in a carriage with some lady when a highwayman that had a spooky resemblance to Jason pulled us over. Before he could do his stand and deliver thing, the woman in the carriage gave me these. I tucked them into my garter and brought them home.”

  Becca didn’t say anything for a long moment as she tried to process Celia’s story. Reaching out, she touched the emeralds. They felt solid, real.

  “Where do you think Jason is now?”

  “I told you, he’s in Cornwall.”

  “Near Merlin’s Cave?” Becca finished for her.

  “Yes!” When the light turned green, Celia gunned the engine. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  Becca opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her mind raced over all her training and what to do when someone suffers a breakdown. “I believe that you believe your story.”

  “Just what does that mean?”

  “It means that you’ve been working really hard for a really long time—”

  “Oh my gosh! You think I’ve lost it!”

  “I didn’t say that. I just think—”

  “Okay! Come with me, then.”

  “What? Drink the water from the Witching Well?” Becca tried to laugh, but it sounded off. “No. I have a better idea. Let’s go to Jason’s apartment. We’ll probably find him asleep in his bed.”

  Celia shook her head and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. “I don’t have time for that. I have to get back before they hurt him…again. This is all my fault.”

  Becca placed one hand on the dashboard and grabbed the car door handle with the other. “How is this—whatever this is—your fault?”

  “I shouldn’t have ever taken the emeralds. They weren’t mine. I can’t believe that I actually thought I could use them to buy the shop.”

  Becca nodded. “I think we’re coming to a breakthrough here.”

  “A breakthrough?”

  “Tell me, sweetie, where did the emeralds really come from?” They looked real, but given their ginormous size, they couldn’t be.

  “I told you where I got them!” Celia looked as if she was about to explode.

  “And you’re willing to give them away to save Jason?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you remember that just yesterday you were cursing Jason West?”

  “Is that all it’s been, a day? What day is it?”

  But Becca wasn’t interested in answering Celia’s questions. “An hour ago, you hated Jason West. I think if someone told you of an opportunity to leave him for dead in Elizabethan—”

  “Regency,” Celia corrected her.

  “Regency England, you would have jumped at it. And now—you’re risking both of our lives to save him. What does this mean to you?”

  Celia bit her lip. “It means I’m a better person now than I was an hour ago.”

  Becca shook her head. “I think you’ve been that better person all along.” She held her breath while Celia passed a slow moving truck. “I also
think that you’ve been watching too many action films with car chase scenes.”

  “Do you have your phone?” Celia asked.

  Becca nodded. “Why?”

  “I want you to look up something for me. Jason thinks we met our ancestors. I want to know if I’m in anyway related to Percy and Honoria West.”

  “What? Seriously? How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Go to family search, or my family tree…I don’t know, but I bet there’s a thousand genealogy sites!” Celia’s voice carried panic and bordered hysteria.

  “Okay, calm down…and maybe slow down.”

  Celia shook her head. “I have to hurry. They might kill him.”

  “Sweetie.” Becca put her hand on Celia’s arm.

  Celia shook her off. “I know you think I’m crazy! But will you just do it?”

  “I will, if you’ll slow down. Take a deep breath.”

  Becca pulled her phone from her purse and found a bunch of family tree sort of sites. “This is kind of overwhelming,” she muttered.

  Celia threw her a frustrated glance. “Go to Family Search and use my mom’s account. I’ll give you the password.” She spelled it out.

  “Oh, look!” Becca said after a moment. “According to this, you really are related to Honoria and Percy West! You and Jason must be long lost cousins or something.”

  “It shouldn’t matter, right?” Celia asked. “It was so long ago.”

  Becca tried not to look shocked. One of the first things they learned in school was to never look appalled or horrified at what comes out of a patient’s mouth, but this was too much. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of having Jason West’s babies!”

  Celia flushed. “Just tell me about Percy and Honoria.”

  Becca went back to her phone, keeping her face averted, and trying to hide her worry. “Well, they lived to be very old.”

  “That’s good! Did they have any children?”

  “Just one.”

  “All they need is one.”

  “But look! That one, Zacharias West, had ten children.” Becca wiggled her eyebrows. “It looks like the West men are very virile.” Becca’s tone turned serious. “I don’t know how you knew about Percy and Henrietta.”

  “Honoria,” Celia corrected her.

  “But…none of that matters. You don’t need to risk our lives by speeding. You don’t need to drink unfiltered water. You don’t—”

  “Come with me,” Celia interrupted her.

  “What? Drink the drugged water?” Becca asked. “No, thank you.”

  “How about this? Call Jason, and if he doesn’t answer, you’ll come with me.”

  Becca frowned out the window.

  “Okay, call Gabe, and if he doesn’t know where Jason is, then will you come?”

  Becca looked down at her clothes and came up with an excuse. She knew from her schooling that she needed to humor Celia, let her know that Becca loved and respected her. “How can I go to England wearing this?”

  “There’s a bunch of dresses right there.” Celia threw a glance over her shoulder. “Go ahead, put one on.”

  “This is crazy talk.” Becca’s training went out the window. It was a whole lot easier to be objective and detached when the person having a breakdown wasn’t your best friend. Maybe going to Colorado right now wasn’t the best idea. She should probably stay here and keep her eye on Celia.

  “I could use your help.”

  “That is the first sane thing you’ve said today.”

  “So, put on a dress.”

  Becca looked at the collection of dresses in the back seat. She always loved all the dresses from Celia’s grandmother’s shop, and here was her chance to put one on. Which was crazy, right? This whole thing was delusional. Maybe she could run up Celia’s blood work, see if her hormones were out of whack. After another look at Celia’s hands white-knuckling the steering wheel, Becca chose a baby blue prom dress that was two sizes too big. After risking her life by unpopping the seatbelt, she slipped the dress on over her head without taking off her clothes. She patted the dress into place and buckled her seat belt.

  Tires squealed in protest as Celia swerved without slowing, throwing Becca against the car door. Her head banged against the window. Sitting upright, Becca glanced in the side-view mirror at the man with the black cowboy hat standing in the center of the road, watching her.

  “What a lunatic!” Celia said.

  “Yes…” Becca thought Celia was calling the kettle…or hat…black.

  Celia turned the car down a dirt driveway. Immediately, Becca knew they were at Judson’s family farm, the home of Celia’s old boyfriend. Interesting.

  Celia threw the car into park between a shiny black Porsche and a U-Haul truck. Light shone through the barn’s windows and out the wide open door. Voices came from inside.

  “Come on.” Celia took Becca’s hand. “We have to hurry.”

  Becca opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again and hurried after Celia, knowing that she couldn’t let Celia loose in the woods in her delusional state.

  Should she call for help?

  Early evening—they had to be out of there before dark. She ran after Celia, barely able to keep up. Her thoughts flitted back to how she’d intended to spend her night with Rod Sterling and the Twilight Zone. Becca stumbled as she ran, her breath caught in her chest. She pushed herself faster and harder until she caught up with Celia at the top of a hill.

  “There it is.” Celia breathed the words.

  “There what is?” Becca asked as she gulped for air.

  “The Witching Well.” Celia lurched toward it.

  “Wait.” Becca grabbed Celia’s hand, but Celia shook her off. “Celia! Stop!”

  Celia dropped to her knees at the well’s edge, scooped up a handful of water and drank.

  One moment Celia knelt at the edge of a bubbling spring, and the next moment she was gone.

  Becca blinked, praying that when she opened her eyes, Celia would reappear.

  No Celia.

  Becca registered a number of things all at once. Birds singing, a cold breeze blowing, the sun fading, shadows growing. Still no Celia. Becca pitched to the edge of the spring, tripping on the hem of her too long, two sizes too large dress. Peering into the black water, she saw nothing but her own wide-eyed, pale reflection in the black water.

  “Celia?” Becca called, her voice plaintiff. “Celia!” she called again, this time angrily.

  “So not funny,” Becca muttered, wondering if Celia had somehow staged an elaborate gag. But why would she? And pulling pranks wasn’t something Celia would do. Celia, like Becca, took life seriously. A disappearing act was completely out of Celia’s repertoire.

  Concern quickly superseded anger and surprise. Becca dropped to her knees at the side of the spring, leaning forward, she peered into the water again. Thinking she saw something rippling just below the surface, she reached in.

  Cold fingers tugged on her hand.

  Shocked, Becca called out, “Someone help!” She didn’t know if she screamed because Celia was the one pulling her hand and Becca needed help to pull Celia out, or if something, rather than someone, had a hold of her hand and was pulling her into the well.

  Mid-scream, Becca fell with a splash. Paralyzing cold and fear enveloped her. Water filled her nose, mouth, and ears. Looking up through the water to the shimmery surface, Becca tried to swallow her panic, but instead, ended up with a mouthful of water from the Witching Well.

  CHAPTER 2

  She kicked and thrashed, but the dress tangled around her legs. Her lungs felt on fire.

  I’m going to die, she thought. Her mind went to her parents. First her mom and then her dad. Would she see them? And would seeing her parents again be just like all of her past Christmas’ when she had to walk a balancing beam between her warring parents? Her time carefully allotted, weighed, and measured, so as not to look as if she favored one over the other. Would they be there to meet her? And where, exactly,
was there?

  As a scientist, Becca didn’t really believe in heaven or hell. Her mother had taught her that faith was for the weak and gullible, while her father believed in spending his Sundays worshipping with a fishing pole, although he did have a healthy respect for his religious parents and siblings. Strange how her mom dismissed faith as a weakness while her father considered the faithful strong. She’d have to ask them what they thought now—now that they were on the other side of life as she knew it.

  If there was another side.

  Becca’s mind raced as her lungs threatened to burst. She couldn’t reach the surface, although she could see it, just beyond her fingertips. Reaching for the light, her hand caught hold of another. Someone or something pulled her up.

  She surfaced, gasping, swallowing air in large gulps.

  A man hauled her to shore. She wanted to thank him, but she couldn’t find the words. Flopping on the bank, she starred up at the sky, so grateful to simply be alive that she took little notice of anything or anyone around her.

  She closed her eyes against the sun, relishing the feel of the breeze on her skin, and loving the way the air filled her lungs.

  “Well, this is about the strangest catch I ever landed,” a voice above her said.

  Becca peeked open an eye to see a man with a leathery face smiling down at her. He wore a straw hat, a pair of overalls, a plaid flannel shirt and looked like how she imagined Paul Bunyan.

  Becca closed her eyes again, wondering if the next time she opened them she would see a blue ox or if she’d find herself back at the edge of the spring in the woods outside of Woodinville, Connecticut.

  She had nearly drowned. The shock of that alone was enough to send her mind into a tail spin. Couple that with the recent death of her father, and the ongoing, seemingly relentless stress of her work at Bellflower. No wonder she was experiencing this…lapse. With her eyes still closed, she considered sitting up and thanking the woodsman-guy, after all, he had saved her life, even if he was just a figment of her imagination. But she was so tired…exhausted really…she could do little more than flutter her eyelashes.