Edge of Time (Langston Brothers Series)

by Melissa Lynne Blue

  The posse of ten men road cautiously into the woods, each man keenly alert for anything out of the ordinary. Not a soul spoke. The thicket was eerily quiet, with only the sound of crunching horses’ hooves on the dry, autumn leaves.

  “Over there!” The call alerted the riders to a shape lying on the ground. “Doc! Up front. Quick!”

  Craig kicked his buckskin to the head of the pack and saw the man lying motionless on the ground. He dismounted to perform a quick examination. Pressing two fingers along the man’s throat he checked for a pulse, and watched for signs of breathing. “He’s still alive but barely,” he reported. “We’ll need to get him back to town, now.”

  George Hudson strode quickly to the physician’s side. “It’s Rogers. What do you make of it Doc?”

  Craig opened his bag and grabbed thick dressings, which he bound to the deputy’s abdomen. “He was gut-shot.”

  “Haze! Miller!” Sheriff Hudson called. “Find what you need to help Doc Langston get Rogers back to town. The rest of us will stay out here and go over these woods like we’re looking for a needle in a haystack.

  During the thirty minute ride back to Charleston Craig’s mind swung between the plight of the patient he hoped to save, and thoughts of what could have happened to Marissa the night he’d found her in the woods. Rogers had been shot with deadly intent in the same place she and Craig had fought so heatedly that night.

  As the party eased to a halt at the hospital, Craig spotted Paul Christenson hanging around, taking a great interest in the goings on. “Get Rogers into the operating room,” he instructed, then turning to Mitchell Haze he said in an undertone, “will you go and bring my wife to the hospital?” He needed to see her, to know she was safe. “Take my horse for her.”

  “Sure thing Doc.” Without question the man took Jeb’s reins, swung his mount around and headed in the direction of the Langston house.

  James Rowe came instantly to Craig’s aid and quickly the doctors set about having the operating room prepared for emergency surgery. Craig couldn’t help but smile as he noted that even in Marissa’s absence, the hospital staff had maintained the standards she’d set. Laying Jesse Rogers upon the hard table, the surgeons quickly sliced the clothes from his body and set to work removing the bullet from his belly and saving the brave man’s life.

  * * *

  When Mitch Haze first arrived at her front door to ask her to accompany him to the hospital Marissa was certain Craig had been injured. Quickly Haze assured her, and on the ride to the hospital, filled her in. She assumed Craig needed her knowledge of advanced medical care. He often grilled her about techniques to come.

  It had been difficult to suppress an amused chuckle the first time he’d asked her about the controversial and experimental practice of slowly running saline into veins. When she’d explained the extent to which fluid replacement therapy was used he’d been astounded, and had the equipment been available to them, she was sure he would have quickly put the practice to use.

  “Thank you, Mitch,” she said hastily before hitching up her skirts and dashing up the front steps of the hospital.

  It had been several weeks since she’d been there and the realization of how much she missed working with people, helping people washed over her.

  “Excuse me, Bobby.” At the sound of her voice the orderly turned to her and beamed a welcoming smile. “Can you tell me where to find Captain Langston?”

  “He’s in surgery, Mrs. Langston.”

  “All right, then I’ll do what I can out here.” Looking around she quickly donned an apron and set to work. It felt good to be useful again. She wiped sweaty brows with damp cloths, changed unsightly, blood-soaked dressings, and comforted young men in pain. Several of the officers and orderlies came to tell her it was nice see her back and Major Bernstein even gave her a one armed hug.

  “Mrs. Langston, this place hasn’t been the same without you. It wasn’t until you weren’t working every day that I realized you do the work of about ten good men all on your own.” Lowering his voice the Major continued, “and I’ll tell you, losing you was as bad as losing one of my doctors. I hope this won’t be your only visit.”

  “Oh, Dr. Bernstein,” she bit her lip to conceal a pleased smile, “The hospital looks as though it has gotten along just fine without me here. In fact it looks no different from the last time I was here.”

  “Just the same, you do plan to come back to work on a regular basis?” The older man cleared his throat. “I understand that congratulations are in order, but we can still use your input.”

  “Don’t worry, Major,” Marissa smiled. “I plan to be back.”

  At last Craig and James Rowe emerged from the operating room looking decidedly haggard and talking quietly between themselves. It was impossible to hear what they were saying but when James shook his red head Marissa couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Craig,” she strode quickly to stand beside him and squeezed his arm compassionately. “What happened?”

  “Deputy Roger’s was shot and—“

  “Yes, yes, I know that. Is he going to make it?”

  “He’s still alive for the moment.” He held up a forty caliber slug. “Right now I’m not sure he’ll even make it through the night. I would say that if he survives the next two days, he’ll live as long as infection doesn’t set in.”

  With a nod Marissa opened her mouth to ask, but Craig held up a hand to stop her. “Yes, my dear, we used only sterilized surgical instruments and have orderlies busy re-sterilizing them even now, in case they’re needed again tonight.” He held his hand up once again. “And we scrubbed before operating. And—” This time he raised only a finger. “We cleansed him as best we could, too, scrubbing his skin all around the wound.” Rocking back on his heels Craig cocked his head to the side. “Is that acceptable, Dr. Langston?”

  “Very acceptable, but don’t call me doctor. You know I hate that.”

  Edge of Time 230

  Twenty-one

  Over the course of the next few days Deputy Rogers regained consciousness and strength and it looked as though he would make a full, if slow, recovery.

  “Well, who shot him?” Genie asked, hands, as usual, planted on her hips.

  “The sheriff still doesn’t know,” Craig replied, taking a sip of his so-called-coffee. “Jesus, Genie that’s hot!”

  “Doesn’t know? Did Deputy Rogers not see the man?”

  Craig just shrugged, pushing the mug of hot liquid away.

  “It’s not that bad,” Marissa said, testing the contents of her own cup as she smiled at her tired husband.

  “Then you drink it.”

  “Are the two of you even listening to me?”

  “What?” The couple asked in unison.

  “Oh.” Craig shifted in his straight backed chair. “Genie, all Rogers knows is that he saw something in the woods and went over to check it out. It was black as pitch so all he saw was a muzzle flash, and the next thing he knew, he woke up two days later in the hospital.”

  “Damnation!” Genie slumped onto a chair and held her head in her hands. “What am I going to do? I can’t go home because there is some madman cavorting about my woods shooting people!”

  Rising, Marissa moved to her friend and wrapped sympathetic arms around her. “I know this is hard, but Sheriff Hudson and the other deputies will catch a break soon.”

  * * *

  “I said I am coming with you.” Marissa stood, arms folded, tapping her foot agitatedly. Men she thought.

  “And I said you’re staying home.” Craig stood with equal adamancy before the door. “You need to stay home and rest.”

  “Why?” Marissa shot, showing no sign of backing down.

  “Because,” Craig was at a total loss. “Because I said so.”

  “Hah! You don’t even have a good reason why I can’t come.�
�� Because I said so, indeed.

  Craig threw his hands up in the air. “I said you’re not coming. You’ve only been feeling better for a few days and I just want you to rest. Please?” Attempting a change of tactics he looped his arms about her waist and pulled her close, cajoling. “What if I tell you it’s doctor’s orders?”

  “I am not an invalid, and I’m bored. I don’t care what you say or how much you beg I’m coming with you and that’s final. That poor woman probably needs some good, old-fashioned girl-talk.” Breaking out of his arms she stomped past him and threw over her shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”

  “Women,” Craig muttered, following after her in defeat.

  “I heard that.”

  The buckboard had been readied in front of the house and they were headed out of town to pay a visit to a woman prescribed bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. Considering his wife’s delicate condition, Craig would’ve preferred she not see a woman undergoing pregnancy complications, but when Marissa set her mind to something it was like trying to stop a hurricane or other force of nature.

  In companionable silence, listening the creaking of the wagon, they rolled through town and along the road that passed by Genie’s farmhouse. Suddenly, a sharp snap sounded from somewhere beneath the wagon and it lurched to the side as the left back wheel groaned in protest. Drawing the horse to a stop, Craig set the brake and swung to the ground.

  “The axel broke,” he called from beneath the wagon. “Damn. Well, Genie’s barn is just up the road so we’ll have to go see if there is another wagon we can borrow until I can get some supplies out here to fix this one.” He stood, brushing the dust from his trousers before lifting Marissa from the seat and unhitching the horse from the traces. “Do you want to walk or ride old Joe?”

  Marissa wrinkled her nose. “I’ll walk. You know I can’t ride without a saddle.”

  “Right,” he said, leading the horse. “I forgot you have fancy cars in the twenty-first century.”

  Twenty minutes later they were cutting across the field toward the barn. The perpetual swirling eerie mist of the woods came into view and Marissa couldn’t fight a sense of unease. With any luck they’d be out of there in ten minutes, and moreover, nothing had happened out here in weeks. It was presumable the killer was gone. After Rogers was shot, the sheriff and his deputies had found a stash of loot and bodies, but no one to blame.

  As they passed the chicken coop, the old rooster, Toughie, glared and Marissa stopped to toss him and his harem a few a handfuls of dried corn.

  “I don’t know why Genie hasn’t beheaded that monster,” Craig grumbled shooting the old bird a wary look. “The first time I came out here a few years ago I thought the damn thing was going to kill me. I’m glad Genie keeps him penned up now.”

  Marissa laughed. “I think she likes him. If you haven’t noticed, Genie has a Toughie story for every day of the week.” As they walked into the barn Marissa continued, “If I remember correctly there should be a little cart behind the barn door and it’s just about the right size for two people.”

  The cart was exactly where she remembered and a quick survey revealed that it would be more than serviceable for the remainder of their errand. As Craig pulled it out and turned to secure old Joe into its traces, the animal whinnied and backed nervously toward the door.

  “Easy, boy,” Craig murmured soothingly. “Easy.”

  With a sense of growing unease, Marissa turned a slow circle, surveying the interior of the barn. She jerked around at a sound that came from... where? The horse bucked again and tossed his head wildly, dragging the long leather reins through Craig’s fingers.

  “Did you hear that?” Marissa whispered.

  “No,” Craig ground out, as he struggled to hold the quivering horse. At that moment Toughie began to crow with fervor, which only served to further aggravate the horse. A metallic scraping followed by a loud crash sounded from the hay loft, fully terrifying old Joe. He reared, his slashing his hooves narrowly missing Craig’s head.

  “Watch out!” Marissa screamed as a large barrel rolled from the hayloft and collided sickeningly with her husband’s head. Dodging the flailing hooves of the horse as he thundered from the barn trailing the reins, she rushed to Craig’s side. Dropping to her knees, she gingerly lifted his head onto her lap. Her stomach lurched as his head lolled lifelessly to the side and a dark trickle of blood ran from a deep gash in his scalp just below the temple.

  Another metallic scrape and the heavy thud of footsteps sounded in the hayloft and Marissa searched frantically for some sort of weapon. She spied a heavy pitchfork. Feeling as though she’d stepped into the climax of a bad horror film she laid Craig’s head down gently and ran as silently as possible to lift the weapon to protect Craig, cursing that he’d neglected to bring a sidearm on this particular outing.

  “Hello, lady doc,” a gravelly voice said from the shadows.

  Marissa jumped, gulping back a scream as she tucked the pitchfork behind her. Oh, please God, no she thought as the man, who was almost totally obscured in darkness, stepped over the motionless form of her husband and into the light from the open barn door. It took her less than half a second to recognize Paul Christenson.

  Craig had been right all along.

  “I’m tired of you snooping around out here.”

  “Wha-what?” she stammered, silently praying that Craig would begin showing some signs of life.

  “My life would have been so much easier if I’d got you and the doc the last time you were in my woods.”

  Ice cold dread washed over Marissa as the full realization of his words dawned on her. She cast an apprehensive glance toward Craig looking for some means of distracting Paul Christenson before he could finish what he’d started. “Your woods?” she said, her voice too high. “Those are Genie Harris’s woods.”

  “Genie’s old man and me had a good thing going here until he up and got kilt. I was carryin’ it on just fine until you and the law started pokin’ around in my business.” His mouth contorted into a menacing sneer. “It’s only a matter of time before people figure out it’s me working in those woods. I’ve wanted to get rid of you all for a long time, before the sheriff gets any closer, but I couldn’t do it right in Charleston. I’ve been biding my time, watching, waiting for you to come back out here.”

  He pulled a gun from his pocket. “Prepare yourself little missy, cuz after I shoot Langston here I’m going to have a little fun before sendin’ you to meet the almighty with your pretty faced husband.”

  Convulsively she gulped. “He’s already dead,” she blurted, desperately trying to buy more time. “You killed him with that barrel.”

  For a moment the man seemed to consider her statement as he gazed down at Craig’s inert form. “I don’t really care if he’s dead or alive. I just want to shoot the bastard and finish what I started before.”

  “What?”

  “Who do you think shot him in Charleston, Missy? I’d thought to do away with him while everyone thought he was a Yankee.” A cruel grin twisted his lips as he cocked the pistol hammer. “Third time’s the charm, eh?

  Her mind spun as she began to realize how closely he’d been watching them. She needed to buy some time. “Do you work alone out in those woods?” Hastily she took a step back, finding the pitchfork again with one hand, but frantic to find a better weapon. The pitchfork wouldn’t be enough. “There are ghosts out there, you know.”

  “What?” the madman barked. “What ghosts?”

  “I--I, there are stories. You must be brave if you work alone.” Clutching the pitchfork behind her back she plunged on, desperate to distract him. “Your work is very, um, complicated, I’m sure. Do you manage it alone or do you have another partner?”

  With a superior leer Paul ambled a few steps away from Craig. “I hire help when I need it and then I dispose of them when their services ar
e no longer needed.” He tossed his head back to laugh. “Your uncle was the only partner I ever had.”

  Uncle?

  Her heart went cold. “You mean Jim Harris?”

  Paul grinned. “Of course Jim Harris. I needed access to the bog behind the house. I think the bog is a part of hell, or mayhap purgatory.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, still stalling for time.

  “Fer fifteen years Jim and me been stashin’ loot and bodies back there, but them woods is haunted, jes like you say, or bloody cursed or something cuz we’d bury our loot and sometimes it’d be there and other times it’d be like a shovel had never touched the dirt.”

  He stepped forward with a smirk. “A course it made for the perfect hiding place what with the bodies fadin’ in and out. If anyone ever came pokin’ around there was usually nothin’ to find. Until you.”

  Marissa mind whirled. This explained everything. The ghosts, never finding sign of digging until the afternoon she’d been looking for her window to the future She’d been right!

  Paul stepped forward again. “Umm,” she swallowed, “Wha-what about Jim’s wife? Didn’t you worry about her finding out?”

  “Nah,” he shook his head almost jubilantly, relishing the opportunity to gloat about his conquests. “Genie Harris never once went back in those woods and all Jim had to do was give her an excuse to keep her from asking questions. She’d believe the sky was green if Jim said it.”

  “Oh, Genie,” she whispered, but Paul was getting dangerously close, almost within arm's reach. With the gun in his hand trained on her she didn’t dare attempt to use the pitchfork. The man had already said he didn’t intend to kill her right away and if she could just prevent provoking him for a few more minutes…

  * * *

  It felt as though a railroad tie had been rammed through his temple. Craig opened his eyes and blinked a few times, grossly disoriented. With a low moan he started to move but stopped as pain and nausea overwhelmed him. As he lay still as possible, the sound of voices slowly began to penetrate his aching skull. Third time’s the charm…three was a damned unlucky number… Jim Harris… partner… loot… bodies… bodies? With enormous effort Craig heaved himself upward and staggered, nearly falling backward as a wave of dizziness sent his senses reeling. The sight of Paul Christenson backing his wife into a corner with a gun pointed at her galvanized him. Ignoring the blinding pain in his head he hurled himself across the barn toward the man.