Time Plains Drifter Read online

“Dammit, I don’t care!” From the corner of his eye, Rafe caught a glimpse of Jenni as she hesitantly stepped back into the clearing. “Don’t you understand, Cris?”

  Their eyes locked for a long moment; Cris’s gaze somber. Rafe could see his brother did understand, completely. Finally, Rafe looked away, a guttural sound forcing its way past his throat. When he spoke, his words were thick, laden with the agony of wanting a dream he knew could never be his.

  “It’s all I have to give her, Cristian. My name. My protection. The promise that no matter what happens to me, our child will not be born a bastard. It’s all I have.” He turned back to look down at his brother. “Will you do it?”

  “All right,” Cris murmured after a pause. “But if you’ll wait, I have a feeling a real preacher’ll be here soon enough.”

  Rafe shook his head. “That’s a hard lesson we both learned. Don’t put things off. Not ever. If you do, it might be too late.” He looked over to where Jenni stood, patting the horses. “Give me a few minutes with her, brother; then I’ll—need you.”

  Cris nodded, rising. “I’ll be here.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “Jenni—can I talk to you a minute?” Rafe approached her slowly, watching as she turned to face him. He could tell she was uneasy.

  “I take it your brother wasn’t too excited about you and me—together.” Her voice was soft, hesitant.

  “It’s not that.” That’d be a helluva lot easier to explain than the truth, he thought. “Come over here and sit down with me.” He put his hand out to her, and she took it, as they started toward the fire. Rafe sat down and leaned back against a large rock, legs splayed. He pulled Jenni down to sit in front of him, her back pressed against his chest and stomach, her head resting just under his chin. She snuggled against him.

  “Are you leaving me?” she asked, so quietly that, at first, he wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

  He smiled faintly over the top of her head, then kissed her hair. “No. I’d never do that, Jenni. Not if I have any say about it.”

  “I know how much Cris means to you. I don’t think he approves—”

  “No, it’s nothing like that, sweetheart. He—just doesn’t want me to leave you in the lurch. But he and I have different ideas about how that might occur.”

  “He is your older brother. He’s just trying to look out for you.”

  Rafe could hear the teasing note in her voice, but didn’t return it. “I want to marry you, Jenni,” he said quietly.

  She twisted around to look at him. “What?”

  “I said, ‘I want to marry you .’” He watched her for any sign of denial. Her eyes filled with tears and she glanced away from him quickly. He put a rough finger against her cheek and gently turned her back to face him, knowing her fears. “I mean it, querida.”

  “Oh,” she breathed.

  For a moment, he lost himself in her eyes, watching as she obviously gathered herself to ask a question she might not want to hear the answer to.

  “Rafe—why? I mean, why now? You—are you allowed to do that?” She turned away from him, settling into her earlier position, her back against him.

  He thought of the child she was carrying. My child. “I figure I’m ‘allowed.’”

  She swallowed hard and made no comment for a moment. When she did speak, he could hear the ragged edge of tears. “Rafe, you don’t have to do this, you know. I’m gonna love you anyway, no matter how long we have.”

  The catch in her voice told him what she thought: that he wasn’t sure; that he wasn’t exactly marriage material in any case; and that, as he’d told her, he sure as hell wasn’t a ‘family man .’ He grimaced, glad she was turned away from him.

  “Jenni,” he began carefully, not wanting her to ever think he married her only because he had to. There was nothing further from the truth. “I can’t promise you anything. Hell, I can’t promise you tomorrow, much less forever.” He was silent a moment. Then, he added caustically, “It’s all out of my control, obviously.”

  She laid a hand on his thigh in silent comfort at his frustration, and he pulled her back closer into the solid strength of his body.

  “All I have to give you is my name,” he said in a low voice. “I know this is sudden. I’m not sure how they do things in your time, but...well, it’s quick, I guess, no matter what time we’re in. But it’s right, Jenni. I’ve felt it since we first met out in that field.”

  She nodded her agreement, but didn’t speak, and he knew she was considering his words.

  Rafe sighed. He wasn’t saying this very well, and he knew it. He’d never been one to speak his thoughts and feelings. He’d done it more in the last two days than he had in his whole life...because of this woman and the way she made him feel.

  “What I’m tryin’ to say is...” He broke off with a low curse, wondering just how to say what he felt. He was dead. He wasn’t a living breathing human who could offer her a damn thing. He’d told her he couldn’t promise her tomorrow, but the truth was, he couldn’t even say for sure he’d be here ten minutes from now. He let his breath out slowly.

  “I love you, Jen. More than I’ve ever loved anyone—in this life or the past one. I don’t know why the forces that be brought us together, but—I’m damn grateful they did. I can’t help but think there’s a reason for that, too. Even if it was just—just so I’d know a taste of heaven, if they leave us together; or, what hell truly is, should they separate us when this is all over.

  “Marrying you—that’s my way of giving you the only thing I’ve got to give. Myself. For however long we have. But I have to admit, I’m being selfish about it, too.”

  “I can’t imagine that, Rafe,” Jenni murmured. “You haven’t been selfish since the moment I met you.”

  He smiled. “I just realized what was important to me, Jen. It’s been nagging at me since the minute we walked into that little cabin.”

  “What—What is it?”

  “I want—a home. To settle down—with you.”

  He felt her uneven breathing where her body rested so sweetly next to him, and her hand tightened against his thigh. He could sense the care she was taking to rein in her emotions. She wanted to believe him, to trust him, but she’d been hurt badly, he knew.

  “What about what you—what you told me before? That you didn’t think you’d be a good family man?”

  He smiled, leaning forward to put his cheek next to hers. “I still may not be, Jen,” he whispered in her ear. “But I’m willing to try, and it’s what I want. Do you feel like—like taking a gamble on me?” Just give me the chance, he thought, and in the same instant, realized he wasn’t just asking that of Jenni, but of whoever was in control of all this.

  “Rafe—” she shook her head. “It’s not a gamble. My love for you...it’s the strongest thing I’ve ever known.”

  He couldn’t speak. His fingers tightened around her waist and he closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her skin.

  “What changed things?” she asked softly. “For you, I mean?”

  He wanted to say it right. He had to make her know he meant it. Finally, he said, “Spending the night in that cabin, I guess.” He smiled, thinking of it. “Do you suppose that place was magical, Jenni? I swear, I didn’t want to leave there, I kept thinking—” He broke off abruptly, torn between continuing to tell her about what he’d hoped—and dreamed—and just leaving well enough alone.

  “What?” She twisted to face him. She disengaged herself from him and turned around completely. Taking his hand in hers, she knelt in the V of his legs.

  His lips lifted slightly in a crooked smile at her earnest expression. There was no turning back, now. “I wanted it to be real,” he said huskily. “I kept thinking how perfect that cabin was...couldn’t understand why they left it. Maybe—” he hesitated. “Maybe they left it for us.”

  She smiled. “Are you sure it’s what you want?”

  He nodded. “I am now.”

  “Because, Rafe, if you ask me to marry you
, and we do—” Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and her chin quivered. She couldn’t bear to finish the thought, so he did it for her.

  “I will never, never leave you, Jenni.” He leaned forward and brushed an errant strand of coppery hair away from her face, cupping her cheek as he did so, rubbing his thumb across the high ridge of cheekbone. “I won’t hurt you. As long as you want me, I’ll be here. I’ll hold on to whatever Heaven will allow...and I’ll treat it with the utmost care.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “I promise you,” he whispered.

  She looked into his face and he knew she was searching for any trace of uncertainty.

  “Even if we have...children?”

  He kept the smile of anticipation from his eyes. He knew Jenni. If he told her they were expecting a baby, she’d think—she’d think he wanted to marry her out of duty. And it wasn’t that. Duty never had melted him like her smile managed to, every time. He loved her. And he would tell her—when the time was right.

  Which it wasn’t, right now.

  He nodded in response to the question in her expression. She was remembering the words he’d spoken before about not having children. “I promise, Jen. I promise with everything in me.” He pulled her to him, then put his mouth to hers. “Trust me.”

  ~*~

  Cash pushed open the mission door, and Beck followed him inside.

  Murdoch Bolton smiled at Cash, and placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Are you tired of soup yet?”

  “Nope, not yet. And I’m starved.”

  Bolton chuckled. “Help yourself, son.” He gestured toward a vacant table. “Let’s sit, Beck.” Bolton pulled out a chair. “I guess I’ve got a few questions for you, too.”

  He leaned toward Beck, the expectation of honesty in his eyes. “What can I do to help?”

  Beck sat silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “Murdoch, I’m not sure what’s going to happen.” He shook his head, the worry lines at the corners of his eyes belying his concern. “I can’t ask you to put yourself in jeopardy—”

  Bolton smiled. “You haven’t asked me, Beck. I asked you. In this world, there’s so much to be done,” his eyes twinkled, “and just not enough angels down here to do it all.” His expression became serious. “I’ve been searching...” His face reddened.

  Beck nodded. “Questioning isn’t always bad, Murdoch. Gets you to thinkin’ ’bout things. Sometimes, makes a man’s faith even stronger than before, whether those questions get answered or not. Sometimes, it’s just the wondering; the asking. Makes you look into yourself.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been doing quite a bit of that since you came to town.” Bolton’s lips quirked as his penetrating gaze met the angel’s. “Suppose you tell me what’s really going on here, and what we need to do. How can I help? With the Dark Angel here, too, there’s bound to be a showdown at hand soon—”

  Beck smiled, a hint of sadness in his expression. “Cash tells me he was...able to come inside here.”

  Bolton shook his head, grimacing at the memory of his own inattentiveness. “I served him soup.”

  “He’s very powerful,” Beck murmured, almost to himself. He glanced up at Bolton again. “Cash and I rode out to the Bar J. Everything looked okay, but I still have an uneasy feeling...I just don’t understand why they took Lance out there—it doesn’t make sense.” He shrugged. “We watched him walk down to the bunkhouse for dinner, and he seemed fine. I think he’s safe enough,” he went on slowly. “Milo knows he’s not the one we’re looking for.”

  “But do you know, Becket? Do you know which one we’re looking for? And, really, the question is, how can we thwart their plans?” The preacher leaned closer to Beck, his eyes intent. “Exactly who are ‘they’?”

  Beck debated with himself a moment. He took a deep breath. “The other day, when you asked for the touch of the angel to heal Kip—you were right.” He sighed. “I gave it to him. That’s—what I am.”

  “And Rafe?” Bolton prodded.

  Beck smiled. “He is—but he doesn’t want to be. He’s what you might call—reluctant.”

  “Well, maybe he can’t get used to the idea of getting his wings.”

  “It’s not like that,” Beck assured him, grinning at Bolton’s teasing.

  “Suppose you tell me everything, Beck.”

  “Oh, I aim to, Preacher. It’s just gonna take awhile.” Beck sat quietly for a moment, then he said, “Sixteen years ago, I was supposed to be watching out for the d’Angelico brothers, but I was new at this. I made an unforgivable mistake...”

  The story unfolded, Beck omitting nothing in the telling of it. When he finished, both men were silent.

  “You’re taking a terrible risk by throwing in with me, Murdoch,” Beck stated softly. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “I’m ready for it, Beck.” Bolton met his eyes, his look hard as steel. “I’m only sorry I didn’t recognize him when he was here.”

  “You couldn’t ’ve done anything—”

  “But he was here! In God’s house!”

  “Let that idea go, Reverend. Evil can travel anywhere, anytime.” Beck dropped his gaze and amended, “Well, almost anywhere. There are...a few special places where neither good nor evil can penetrate. Neutral places. But this is not one of them. And that kind of thinking has been the death of many a good Christian.”

  Bolton looked at him, aghast. “What are you saying?” he breathed. “That we are not safe—even in a house of the Lord?”

  “He got in, didn’t he?”

  “Yes...but—could he have hurt someone in here? In this sanctuary?”

  Oh, yes. Beck thought of Father Ignatius, and the abominations he was responsible for in the very bowels of the mission. “Murdoch, you just don’t realize how apocalyptic true evil is...in reality. This is not theory; not conjecture. It’s not a theological debate. It’s real, and it’s going to start to unfold at any minute.”

  Bolton’s eyes were haunted. “Are you telling me evil is greater? Greater than—than good?” He swallowed hard.

  “I’m telling you—it can be.” Beck let his breath out slowly, measuring the disappointment in Bolton’s angular face, wondering how much damage this meant to his faith. “I’m saying good doesn’t just happen, and it doesn’t always prevail because it is good, rather than evil. There’s a constant war being fought between those forces, in all times—and in all places. Now, I guess, what you have to ask yourself is this, Murdoch: Are you willing to help me at the cost of losing this life—trading it for another kind? That could very well happen. You’ve done lots of good work here, and now with Cash…” He broke off, his gaze going to the front door as the screen opened, then bounced shut.

  Bolton glanced in that direction and smiled. “Just the wind—” He turned his attention back to Beck, the smile fading at the angel’s look of shock.

  “Beck? What’s wrong? It’s just the wind. You look like you’ve seen a ghost—”

  “I...I have.” Beck leaned forward and put his head in his hands, feeling suddenly very tired. Slowly, he turned to the empty chair at his right.

  Lance Dennis sat down in it, regarding Beck through hazel eyes that had aged a century since the last time Beck had seen him just this afternoon...when he’d been alive.

  ~*~

  Josiah Kemp kept the lid pulled down tight on his thoughts, even foregoing the question that so badly begged an answer—why were they actually riding southward toward Clear Boggy Creek rather than fading?

  It wasn’t long before the answer became painfully apparent. As they rode, they were steadily joined by reinforcements, appearing from nowhere and everywhere—and they were human—barely. The dregs of humanity, Kemp thought, startled to find himself in such company. Ragged and filthy they came; men with no home and no conscience, each of them looking to make his mark as Milo’s segundo. The first man rode in from the east, falling in with the demon and Kemp wordlessly, the only acknowledgement of his presence a quirk of the Dark One�
�s lips.

  He didn’t worry about it much...until two more riders joined them from the west, bringing their mounts up at the rear of the group without a faltering step, as if they knew exactly what their purpose was and where they were headed to accomplish it.

  As they rode, they picked up other riders—some waiting patiently at the side of the road, falling in behind as they thundered past, others riding in from all directions, until their number was well over ten, and Kemp stopped counting. He glanced over his shoulder from time to time only to see they had added one or two more men to their steadily growing band.

  A sideways glance at the demon let Kemp know he’d get no answers unless he asked outright—and he refused to give Milo that satisfaction. Time would tell, he figured; and there wasn’t much room for talking at the speed they were keeping. Suddenly, he knew what the Dark One wanted him to do; lift the tight hold he kept on his thoughts, allow him to mind-speak as they rode.

  He grinned to himself. That was never going to happen. His thoughts were his own, and he wouldn’t be bullied into sharing them with Milo. It was the one power he held over his own fate, small though it seemed.

  His growing reluctance to help the demon with his plans to end Jenni’s life—and the baby’s—seemed inconsequential now. Whether Milo had summoned this extra help to bring the final battle to a dark conclusion for the others involved—the d’Angelicos and Becket Jansen—didn’t matter, either. The one thing that Josiah Kemp couldn’t put from his thoughts remained, turning over and over in a gleaming death-dance, a double-edged sword: the demon needed him. Somehow, Milo needed him to be the one to end it all for Jenni and her unborn child.

  The choice was his, still; though the Dark One would’ve said otherwise. He could be Jenni’s doom—or her salvation.

  ~*~

  “Rafe.” Cris’s voice was low, but Rafe could hear the underlying tension.

  Rafe lifted his lips from Jenni’s and for an instant, there was only the two of them, kneeling knee to knee, spiraling into each other’s eyes with no words needed.

  The world seemed to be encroaching in the form of his brother, and Rafe knew from the very calmness of his tone that, very literally, all hell was about to break loose. He rose slowly, then helped Jenni to her feet. Tearing his gaze from the anxiety in Jenni’s face he turned to Cris. “Something?”