ARC: The 57 Lives of Alex Wayfare

by M. G. Buehrlen

  “Turn your attention to the safe in the last car,” I said, flicking my gun behind me. “There should be a chest in there with enough gold coins for all of us to retire. Not that I’d want to,” I said, pulling the ribbons loose from my little yellow hat. I handed it to a young girl seated just up the aisle who couldn’t tear her frightened eyes away from Cask and Judd. She seemed to calm down when I helped her situate it on top of her caramel-colored hair. “I’m quite in my element being a bandit,” I told her. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  She nodded, smiling.

  I took Cask and Judd by the arm and ushered them toward the back door of the train car. As I passed Perfume Lady again, she tried to hand me my coat and purse. I thanked her but let her keep them.

  “Shooter Delaney,” I heard her say. Her voice was round with awe. “The famous Shooter Delaney.”

  SOUP. IT’S WHAT’S FOR DINNER.

  I kept Cask Carter and the chest of coins in my sights all afternoon.

  It was a small wooden chest, small enough to balance in one hand and stuff inside a saddle bag. When he’d knifed it open on the train, the shine of the coins lit up each of our faces. I knew from my research there were at least four priceless coins in that chest. I wasn’t about to let Gesh get his hands on them.

  After we left the train behind and melted into the deepening shadows of the woods, we came across five horses tied to trees. I stopped, too timid to go any closer, even though I could sense which horse was mine.

  She was a black mare, strong and sleek, with a white patch on each of her flanks. Her saddle was padded and made of supple leather. She snorted at me, but I didn’t step up to her.

  I’d never been on a horse before.

  But it would be just like driving the Corvette, right? I’d just let my host body do its thing and everything would be fine.

  “Still scared of that filly?” Judd asked me. He hefted himself on top of his charcoal-colored stallion.

  “Still?”

  “We told you she didn’t like women.” Judd grinned, showing his teeth for the first time that day. His bandana was now nestled around his neck. One of his front teeth overlapped the other. “But you insisted on takin’ her anyway. You never listen, do ya?” He laughed and turned his horse around, ready to ride off.

  Cask, William, and Yates had all mounted their horses too. And they didn’t look like the types to wait for me to get my bearings.

  Taking a deep breath and flexing my hands, I untied my horse and pulled myself up into her saddle. I wedged my feet into the stirrups. The ground rocked beneath me. It was so far down. Remembering that Judd said I’d fallen off her the day before didn’t help matters. I vowed to keep my chin up and eyes on the horizon, otherwise I was sure the forest floor would pull me down to meet it in a wave of dizziness.

  I struggled with my skirt until I could straddle the horse properly, then nudged her in the belly with my heels. She took off after the others at a jolting trot. I closed my eyes and held on. Thankfully, we didn’t ride for long.

  The moment we approached our campsite, my horse decided our ride was over. She dug her hooves in the dirt and almost bucked me over her head. I climbed down, taking the hint, happy to be rid of her too. I hoped I could ascend back to Limbo before I had to ride her again. The insides of my thighs and my tailbone felt battered and bruised. Part of me thought she rode roughly just to spite me.

  The campsite was deep in a wooded valley, shrouded by thick evergreens, twisting vines and brambles. It was actually a great hiding spot. No one could see the fire that crackled at the center if they happened by, but they’d be able to smell the food cooking a mile away. I hoped the Carters knew what they were doing, cooking out in the bare woods. If it were up to me, it would be jerky, bread and apples for the entire trip. Not even a fire to warm the bones. It was just common sense. But maybe this was how they’d all get caught or killed in the next few months. Stupidity.

  There were three small canvas tents set up around the fire. An iron kettle hung over its lapping flames. Soup bubbled inside, offering curls of steam up into the cold November sky. A fifth man I hadn’t met yet knelt at the kettle, head down under a wide-billed hat, stirring the soup. Cask, William, and Yates migrated toward the kettle, rubbing their cold hands together and commenting on how good it smelled.

  Cask dropped his saddlebags against a fallen log near the fire. My eyes were stitched to its seams. The chest of coins was still inside.

  “I guess you’ll be wantin’ to get out of that getup,” Judd said, walking past me. His eyes were fixed on his hat in his hands, dusting leaves and dirt from the rim.

  “Um, I guess.” I looked down at my dress, not really sure what he meant. Did he mean I would want to put on a different dress? Or was that some kind of veiled suggestion to get naked?

  I hated not knowing what people meant when I descended.

  When I didn’t budge, he looked up, his eyebrows raised, then shot a quick glance at the canvas tent to his right. That tiny glance let me know which tent was mine. I strode toward it, head held high, like I wasn’t confused at all.

  Inside, I found a bedroll spread out on the ground with a few blankets and pillows. A leather sack sat at its foot. I rummaged through the sack and found a pair of dark pants and a cream-colored long-sleeved shirt that looked to be my size.

  So that’s what Judd meant. I guessed Shooter Delaney didn’t like to wear dresses. I smiled to myself as I unbuttoned my dress and peeled it from my shoulders. There were a few things I liked about my 1876 self so far. I was independent, strong, wore whatever clothes I liked, didn’t get bossed around by the likes of the Carters.

  Shooter Delaney was shaping up to be my kind of gal.

  Sort of.

  If only I knew more about her. Me. Why did I decide to become an outlaw? Just to hack off my Texas lawman father? Had I ever shot anyone? Killed anyone? Did I have blood on my 1876 hands?

  I let my hair down from its tight bun and wriggled out of my corset and petticoat. I stretched my arms over my head. I hadn’t realized how confining all that underwear was until my body could breathe again. How did women wear all that stuff back then?

  While I was in mid-stretch, I heard a whistle from outside, followed by a few muffled chuckles. My head whipped over my shoulder. The flaps at the front of the tent were closed and no one was peeking in, but dammit. The light from the fire on one side of my tent cast my shadow in perfect precision on the other. The Carter Gang was enjoying their own private shadow peep show, courtesy of Alex Wayfare, time traveler extraordinaire.

  I flopped down onto the bedroll and wrestled into my pants and shirt. My body burned red hot, through and through. At least one good thing would come from something so mortifying – sleeping out in the November cold would be a cinch.

  After I pulled on a pair of worn-in cowboy boots, I sat in my tent, arms and legs crossed, face red, refusing to emerge. I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t walk out there and feel their eyes on me. Their teasing, hungry eyes, scraping and grating over my body.

  They shouldn’t have watched. Gentlemen wouldn’t have watched.

  I snorted a laugh.

  I wasn’t dealing with gentlemen. I was dealing with outlaws. Of course they’d watch. Of course they’d steal a glance and not think twice. Of course they’d stare and ogle and take what wasn’t theirs. Of course.

  “Dammit,” I swore aloud. In all my embarrassment, I’d forgotten to keep an eye on the coin chest.

  I crawled to the tent flaps and peeked outside. A deep-blue sky peeked through a canopy of naked treetops, but dark, black night had settled on the forest floor. Wind rustled in the evergreens and swayed bare branches. The four members of the Carter Gang were seated around the fire, spooning soup into their mouths from shallow tin bowls. The light of the fire licked the leather of Cask’s saddlebags at his feet. The chest must still be inside. Why else would he keep the bags so close?

  The fifth guy, the one I hadn’t met yet, sat with his back to me
beside Judd. I watched as my horse, a wisp of black movement amid the black night, stepped up to the fifth guy and nudged him with her nose. She nickered low and soft. He stroked her forehead, then handed her a carrot from his pocket. She devoured it in less than a second, then snuffled his coat pockets for more. He laughed and pushed her head away, telling her to “get.”

  Note to self: If you have to ride that horse again, make sure you have carrots. And lots of them.

  I took a deep breath and left the safety of my tent, pulling a thick wool coat over my arms. Not only did I want the extra bulk around my body, but I wasn’t as immune to the cold weather as I thought I’d be. (I would’ve given anything for a pair of warm sweats and a stocking cap.) I’d also found a holster in my sack and fastened it around my hips. I figured the Carters would know I’d keep my pistol close, but I didn’t want to flaunt it. It made me feel safe to have my gun snug against my hip, hidden.

  I wrapped the coat tight around me, shivering, and strolled up to the kettle. All eyes fell on me, followed by cat calls, laughter, and whistles. The red hot heat in my gut found its way to the surface of my skin again and spread out in a thin sheen of sweat. I tried to summon the sass and strength of my host body. I got the feeling Shooter Delaney wouldn’t be embarrassed by anything. Not even an accidental peep show. She wouldn’t have let them see her sweat.

  I stuck out my chin and reached down for the lid on the kettle. The fifth guy jumped to his feet and snatched the lid off before I could. A puff of steam wafted up between us.

  “Here, let me.” He ladled the soup – chicken and potato – into a bowl. He handed it to me, along with a spoon, through the cloud of rising steam.

  I reached out and took it from his hands. My palms grazed his knuckles. The steam swirled and lifted, then dissipated, leaving clear, cold air between us. He looked up and met my eyes, and for the first time that night, I saw his face.

  I dropped my bowl into the soup with a splat.

  It was Blue.

  Again.

  In 1876.

  CHAPTER 22

  WHAT’S IN A NAME?

  “How?” I said, my hands trembling over the kettle.

  Blue knitted his brow together. His hair was a lot longer this time, almost down to his jaw, and he was thinner, yet still muscular. His skin was bronzed from a life spent working outdoors, but his eyes were the same striking blue-green. Truth be told, he was even more handsome than ever before.

  And it totally pissed me off.

  “How?” This time I demanded an answer. But he only looked more confused.

  All the other guys were sitting up and staring now. Yates twisted one end of his handlebar mustache, his eyelids making slits. There was a blob of soup on William’s chin. Cask’s heavy brow shadowed his eyes so darkly, it looked like he was wearing a Lone Ranger mask.

  Blue grabbed a long-handled spoon and tried to fish my bowl out of the soup. I watched him, my mouth hanging open, unable to feel my body. I was numb, barely standing, shuddering from the inside with shock. How could he be here? How?

  “Answer me.” The words scorched my tongue.

  “I’m not sure how you dropped it,” he said, carefully lifting the bowl out of the hot soup with his forefinger and thumb. “You just… dropped it.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  He looked up at me, no longer confused but annoyed. “You and your attitude,” he said, shaking his head. He slung the excess soup off the bowl and onto the ground. Some splattered on my boots, but I barely noticed.

  “I’ve tried to be cordial and accommodatin’,” Blue said over his shoulder to Judd, “but she’s just got it in for me, and that’s all there is to it.”

  “You ain’t the only one,” Cask mumbled into his bowl, his mouth full.

  Judd gave me a look that said be nice. Blue refilled my bowl and stuck it out to me, his eyes fixed on something – anything – off to my right. Why wouldn’t he look at me?

  I didn’t take the soup. Instead, I half-stumbled my way over to sit on a log beside Cask, unable to fully feel or control my limbs. Cask eyed me suspiciously and pulled his saddlebags closer to his side. I dug my elbows into my knees and tried to steady my breathing. I stared at my boots. There were bits of leaves and sticks and dirt stuck to the splattered soup. I let my coat hang open like a blanket over my shoulders. The cold November air made its way inside to ruffle my shirt. It tangled in my long hair.

  I was numb to the core.

  If this was descending – seeing Blue each time I traveled back to the past – then I didn’t want to do it anymore. It was enough to drive anyone insane. It was a knife prick to the bone. A reminder of our night together, the one that no longer existed. Would I experience the torture every time? Again and again and again? It felt like seeing a fresh bruise each morning on Audrey’s pearl-white skin. Or seeing Mom’s red eyes at the dinner table, knowing she’d been crying again, but never knowing why. Always wondering if it was me – if I was the cause of her misery.

  I watched Blue lower himself to the ground beside Judd, his back propped against the flat side of a rock. He looked up at me, his eyes finding mine. Firelight played on his sun-dark skin. The flames flickered and flashed at the corners of his blue, narrowed eyes. He had never directed such a distasteful expression my way.

  He didn’t like me in this past life. In fact, I was pretty sure he hated my guts. I tried to tell myself it was Shooter Delany he didn’t like, but that didn’t help. Shooter Delany was me, after all.

  It made me feel sick to see him look at me like that. So sincerely bothered by me. As Jack Baker, at least he was agreeable and sympathetic, even if he was a ghost sent to haunt me. Now what was he? Still a figment of my imagination? What would Porter say when I told him I saw the same Nick again? Would he tell me I was still grieving?

  I placed my clammy hands on my knees to steady their trembling. I wasn’t grieving for Blue anymore. No, I was past that. Now I was livid. And I wanted answers.

  I deserved answers.

  I dared to look at him again. He was still watching me, but his expression had changed. Instead of distaste, he looked like he was in deep, tormented thought. There was a struggle going on inside him. It bent his shoulders. It fisted his hands.

  Was it Shooter Delaney who tormented him? Or Alex Wayfare? How was I going to get him alone to find out?

  Judd glanced back and forth between Blue and I, his forehead puckered. Then he set his finished bowl aside and heaved himself up on his towering legs. “Mind if I have a word?” he asked me.

  My legs were still wobbly, but I followed him as he strode tall into the woods toward his horse. Darkness slid over us. He rummaged in his saddlebags, then pinched a tiny, hand-rolled cigarette between his lips. He struck a match and cupped his hands around it as it lit. He pulled in a few puffs, then snuffed the match with a wave of his hand and dropped it to the ground. He took a deep drag and blew a long tunnel of smoke out the side of his mouth. “You wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With Heath. Why are you givin’ him such a hard time this week?”

  Heath? Was that Blue’s name in 1876? “I wasn’t aware I was.”

  Judd quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t believe me. And I wasn’t about to argue. Keep the conversations short.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll lay off of him if that’s what you want.”

  Judd blew another tunnel of smoke over my head, his lips curved into a smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Is that all?” I glanced over my shoulder at Cask. He was laughing about something with Yates and William. His saddlebags rested against his calf. Blue watched Judd and I out of the corner of his eye.

  “I guess so,” said Judd. He flicked the finished nub of his cigarette to the ground and smashed it with his boot. “I’m tuckered. Headin’ to bed. You comin’?”

  My eyes snapped back to him. “What? With you?”

  “Well, yes. Unless you want to sleep out
here with the horses.” He chuckled to himself.

  “I…” I glanced at the tents by the fire. Only three. Of course we’d all be doubling up. How had I missed that? “I still haven’t eaten. I think I’ll sit up for a while yet.”

  “Suit yourself.” He moved closer to me, and his hands found my hips. He smelled like tobacco and chicken soup. “I ain’t forgotten, you know.”

  I tipped my chin down. I didn’t want to give him any invitation to kiss me, if that was his intention, although I could tell my host body wouldn’t have minded. “Forgotten what?”

  “The house on the hill.”

  I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. So I pretended. “Oh?”

  “Cask said that chest is worth at least eight thousand dollars. Once we get our share, I’m gonna fulfill that promise I made. We’ll leave all this behind. Head to California. Just you and me.” He moved in closer. His breath mingled with my hair. “We’ll buy a piece a’ land. And men’ll come from all over and pay us to pan our creeks.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

  It made my heart ache.

  Judd would never make it to California. By this time next month, he’d be caught by the Pinkertons outside Mobile, Alabama. A few weeks after that, he would die in his jail cell, cold and alone, from pneumonia.

  And I couldn’t warn him of it. I couldn’t say a word. I had to stand there beneath his hopeful smile and keep still.

  “Well, don’t stay up too late,” he said, giving my hips a squeeze. “We’ve got a long ride tomorr–”

  When he didn’t finish his sentence, I looked up. His face was slack, the smile slowly dripping from his jaw. He stared over my head, his muddy eyes vacant and unblinking.

  “Judd?” I tugged at his vest. “Are you all right?” Was he having a seizure?

  He blinked. Twice. Then he looked down at me like he was surprised to find me standing so close. He took a step back, lifting his hands from my hips. He rubbed the scruff on his chin. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”