Time Plains Drifter Read online

  “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”

  Cris nodded. “He’s my brother. He needs me.”

  “Think what you’ll be giving up!”

  ”You could step in, Beck. Any time.” Cris shrugged. “I may not live forever like you will, but at least I’ll be able to live with my conscience for whatever time I’ve got coming to me.”

  “You giving Rafe part of your powers just might insure you have no time left at all, Cris.” Beck’s expression was drawn, the lines in his face etched deep. “Are you willing to chance that?”

  “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same, Beck. If it was your brother. Wouldn’t you do anything to help him—to save him?”

  Beck looked away from the intensity in Cris’s obsidian eyes, returning his attention to the edge of the woods and the path that emerged, leading up to where they stopped beside the cave entrance.

  For a moment, just a brief instant in time, Beck’s thoughts flew back almost 60 years earlier to his own life. He saw himself standing beside the adobe walls of the mission compound, seeing Mexican soldiers flooding toward him and his cousin, Del. The realization death was imminent hadn’t frightened him—not for himself. Knowing Del was going to die beside him...that feeling of helplessness would never leave him. He could have done nothing for his beloved cousin, or for himself. If he had been able, he would gladly have given his own life to spare the man he loved as a brother. Yes. He understood how Cris and Rafael felt about each other.

  “Milo will be getting weaker,” Beck finally murmured. “That’s one thing we have over the Dark. He’s been up here too long to not be suffering a few ill effects. He’s still too strong for Rafe, and I know he’ll never let me close to him again.” His fists clenched at his sides. “I should’ve made short work of him while I had him. Cris, you could—” He brought his gaze to bear once again on Cristian d’Angelico’s worried features.

  Cris nodded, seeing Beck’s thoughts written clearly on his face. “Yeah,” Cris agreed. “I could end it with Milo myself. Maybe. If he’d let me get near enough.”

  “But not if you give Rafe part of your powers. You might not be strong enough. There’s only so many times—”

  Cris doggedly shook his head. “I’ll have to risk it, Beck. If something happens and you and I aren’t able to be there with him, at least he’ll have a fighting chance to protect himself—and Jenni.” He chewed his bottom lip, considering. Then, “No matter what, I’ve got to try to heal him—if you aren’t going to.”

  Beck wanted to say something, but in the end, he remained steadfastly silent, finally turning and taking the last few steps to the cave entrance.

  “Well, I guess that’s what I needed to know,” Cris quipped sardonically, following him. “Anything else you might tell me?”

  “There is one other thing,” Beck told him, placing a staying hand on Cris’s arm as he made to push past. “Demons have an aversion to water. Some say it’s because they truly burn inside, and water douses flame.” He smiled wryly. “In other words, water cleanses the evil, and with them, that means nothing’s left.”

  “Is that true?”

  Beck shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

  “Well, Beck, why don’t you stand here and pray for rain, while we wait on Bolton.” Cris’s tone was bitter. “I’m going to heal my brother—if I can.”

  Beck ignored his sarcasm. “Don’t give him too much of yourself, Cris. A little goes a long way.”

  Cris gave a disdainful snort. “Thanks for the...advice.”

  ~*~

  Milo smelled a trap. Cris d’Angelico and Beck Jansen were headed for the cave—toward what purpose, Hell only knew, and no one there was telling him a damn thing. He wished the lower echelons had been a bit more forthcoming with information. Jansen and Cris d’Angelico left the two boys and the preacher alone, standing beside the body of Josiah Kemp.

  As he watched, Murdoch Bolton leaned close to the boys and murmured something in a low voice. The demon strained to hear, becoming angrier with each passing second. Normally, he could’ve heard the slightest whisper among them. He’d been topside too long. Now, he couldn’t make out a single thing Bolton was saying!

  How had it come to this? He’d been so confident, so sure, this mission would be successful. Instead, he was standing here in a forest glade with his human legions—handpicked—suddenly beset by indecision! Beck was full of tricks. This was not the first time they’d tangled; not the first time the demon had seen the display of his formidable power. The demon enjoyed the cat and mouse game he played with Jansen, but he knew Beck had his limits—and he would not push him too far. He’d almost done it, earlier, when Jansen had his hands wrapped around his neck like an iron vise. Yes, he and the angel were equally matched. It would end in a show of power one day, Milo knew, and the stronger of them would prevail. He had to acknowledge his own feeling of grudging respect—of sorts—for Becket Jansen.

  No doubt Beck and Cris would be going to the cave—but to what purpose? Standing guard? As some sort of protection for the two humans within? That brought a smile to his lips, to think of them standing sentry over a cave none of them could enter. The smile faded quickly as realization dawned. They weren’t going up there to guard the cave, they were going to help Rafe and Jenni escape!

  He stood straight, stiff, his eyes narrowing as he watched the preacher and the boys start to make their way across the clearing, toward the trail that led to the cave. Becket Jansen couldn’t be in two places at once. Maybe, just maybe, he’d take his chances and apprehend the preacher. He’d find out soon enough if Jansen had an ace up his sleeve. It sure beat the hell out of sitting around waiting. Without looking back, the demon raised a well-manicured hand and snapped his fingers. They had work to do this night.

  ~*~

  Murdoch Bolton tried not to glance back. They were there, following, and he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. It was all happening, just as he had laid out in his earlier plan. The boys were nervous, though Lance seemed more at ease than Cash. Like vultures, Hell’s men skulked behind them, but the preacher forced his steps into a measured, steady pace. He licked his dry lips.

  Suddenly, the demon appeared before them, blocking the path to the cave. In a showy flash of flame and smoke, he towered above them. A blue and orange ball of flame appeared. Cash, Lance, and Bolton jumped back.

  Well, the preacher thought, this is where it happens—for the three of us, anyway. “The Lord is my Shepherd,” he said quietly. “I shall not want.”

  Cash’s breath had left him, and he couldn’t seem to find it. He panted rapidly, his eyes wide with terror as the demon stood looking down at them from his towering height. Lance was completely still, barely even blinking.

  “He leadeth me beside the still waters,” the preacher forced the words out between his bloodless lips. “He restoreth my soul.”

  “You think to protect yourself with that—that drivel?” the Dark One roared.

  The sound of his voice filled the woods around them, and Bolton faltered briefly, closing his eyes. He regained his composure, and continued, his own tone growing steadily stronger as he spoke. “He preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies—”

  “Cease and desist, you bloody fool!”

  Bolton reached for Lance’s and Cash’s hands and they formed a small circle, clasping their grips tightly.

  “I don’t know the words,” Cash muttered. “I don’t know the words!”

  Lance squeezed his hand and Cash looked at him. “Say your own prayer,” Lance told him.

  “Yes, say your prayers, boys. You’re going to need them!” Milo’s voice echoed all around them in a mad cacophony. He began to laugh.

  Cash and Lance bowed heads as Murdoch Bolton intoned, “I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me.”

  “Say it again, Reverend,” Cash whispered hoarsely. “Please!”

  “You say it with me. ‘I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me.’”

 
“Oh, do tell!” Milo screamed. “Where? Where, preacher? No one is with you—not now. No one! Becket Jansen and Cris d’Angelico are gone! Left you high and dry, didn’t they, Bolton!”

  The preacher lifted his gaze to meet Milo’s bright electric green one. He couldn’t look away. He saw something he hadn’t expected to find. Milo was afraid.

  “My God is here with me, you hellspawn. Here! With us!”

  “Where?” The demon roared again. Lance and Cash flinched. Bolton held his ground, never looking away.

  Calmly, Bolton spoke. “Right here, you sorry son of a dog. Good will prevail.”

  Milo smirked. “You humans always think that. It makes you overly confident. If you’ll look behind you, you’ll see my men. You’re outnumbered, preacher, and my army is ready for blood...ready to prove themselves to me for a special place in my domain. They’ll gladly rip you and the boy here limb from limb—very slowly.” He smiled ferally and looked down at Lance. “As for you, I’ll handle you personally—son. It’s hard to be a hero when you’re dead, isn’t it?” he taunted.

  He lifted a hand and made a sign. Bolton turned to see the dregs of humanity advancing on them—Hell’s army. The demon was right—they were vastly outnumbered.

  “Dear God, protect us,” Bolton murmured under his breath.

  Cash swayed unsteadily, his knees threatening to give way. Lance squeezed his eyes shut, gripping Cash’s arm, his lips moving in silent prayer. The preacher forced himself to bow his head, to not look, to accept whatever came to them. He was ready.

  Suddenly, it was as if a thousand torches sprang up in a protective circle around the three Believers. But there was no flame, only a beautiful rose and orange light that came from nowhere and everywhere, surrounding them, shielding them from the fast advancing minions of Hell.

  Mild surprise showed on Bolton’s angular features as he lifted his head, opening his eyes. He’d known Help was nearby, hoped it would come in time, but he hadn’t known how. He hadn’t expected this. He looked at Cash. There was a kind of wonderment on his face, but relief as well, and Bolton thought briefly perhaps it reflected what was written in his own expression. Lance’s glare of defiance at the defeated demon was unmistakable. Milo had been wrong. Maybe not about everything, but he’d missed the most important thing of all. Despite his best efforts, it seemed that Good was going to prevail. At least, on this night.

  As Bolton watched the interplay between Lance and Milo, it registered with him just exactly where this miracle had come from. It hadn’t been either of the senior angels who created their beautiful protection...it was the novice!

  The soft glow flickered and whirled in a brilliant colored vortex around them, sheer and opaque. It provided a warm light, yet not so bright they couldn’t look through it.

  Lightning flashed through the forest, setting a far tree ablaze with an ear-splitting crack, followed by a crash. The wind escalated to a gale, blowing back the army of men into the forest. The noise was painful to human ears, as Milo’s soldiers were blasted like stick figures, screaming, through the air. They flew, catapulted like a handful of smarmy, dirty marbles. Bolton, Lance and Cash stood together inside the light, untouched, their hands still clasped tightly as they ducked against the noise and the blast.

  Bolton felt Cash’s fingers squeeze painfully against his as the fury of the unnatural storm raged outside their walls of safety. He knew what the boy needed. He began to repeat it, his voice the calm within the raging storm. He recognized he was the anchor the boys were depending upon, even as he and Cash looked to Lance for their protection. They needed his enduring faith...and after this day, he thought, he would never have any doubt—not the least bit.

  “Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me,” Bolton intoned, his eyes going to Cash’s frightened features. “Say it with me again, Cash,” he told him patiently.

  Cash stood looking at the ground. “I’m so scared.”

  Lance glanced up through the swirling, smoky rose and saffron hues surrounding them. “He’s gone.” Lance’s voice held no hint of surprise at the fact—only reassurance for his friend. “He can’t hurt you, Cash. Not—Not now. I can protect you...all of us.”

  Bolton looked at Lance closely, understanding the stumbling comfort the boy offered was a manifestation of Lance’s own recently discovered belief. He laid his hands on the boy’s shoulders, lifted his own gaze up through the misty swirls. “No, he can’t hurt us. Not with Lance here. Now, we need to pray for Rafe and Jenni. I have a feeling that’s where he’s gone.”

  ~*~

  Beck watched Cris approach the mouth of the cave, heard Rafe’s name on his lips. If Cris healed Rafe, Beck knew Rafe would go after Milo immediately. He would see destroying Milo as the only way to protect Jenni and the child she carried—and maybe it was the only way. Yet, there was her sister, Victoria, who was most assuredly already in danger. Was there any way to force Milo to disclose what he had set in motion? Beck didn’t think so.

  He knew something else, without understanding it fully—yet. It wasn’t just Rafe who was in danger here. Before this was all over, Cris would need something—some kind of help from him, as well, and that was the true reason for his own hesitancy to heal Rafe.

  Beck sighed heavily. The best thing he could do now was to fade. Even though Bolton had been willing to be the ‘bait’ galvanizing Milo into showing himself again, forcing the action in this showdown, Beck knew the preacher was at great risk—being a man of the cloth. He shook his head, his thoughtful gaze going once more to where Cris stood. The feeling washed over him again that Cris was soon going to need him as much or more than the preacher did. He closed his eyes for a moment as he began to fade, hoping for a clue as to what the trouble might be, what he might need to do for Cris. What kind of help? He’d be damned if he knew. But from past experience, he knew he’d find out soon enough.

  CHAPTER 35

  Rafe lay on his side gingerly, his back still burning from the carbolic acid as if it were literally on fire. His ribs ached like hell, overshadowing the thrusting, rhythmic pain of the bullet wound with each beat of his heart.

  Jenni had long since finished applying the carbolic, followed by the soothing salve. She had decided against any bandaging other than wrapping his ribs, probably for lack of enough gauze, he thought caustically. Not that it mattered, anyway. He watched the flames, then his gaze moved farther away to where the firelight wove patterns with the darkness on the wall of the cave. It was lighter in here, he thought. Daylight wasn’t far behind. He needed to talk to Jenni about what that meant for them.

  His arm encircled her as she lay close in front of him, facing the fire, as well. He sighed, trying to decide what he wanted to say to her first, suddenly feeling exhausted.

  “You’re going after him, aren’t you?” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

  Rafe moved his hand, catching a tendril of her hair between his fingers. He didn’t answer for a long, long space of time. Finally, he said, “I have to.”

  She carefully turned to face him, and reached to touch his cheek. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of love and loss and sorrow that made his chest tighten. But, he could do nothing other than what he planned. He had to finish Milo off in order to protect her. Couldn’t she understand that?

  Rafe watched the careful way she suddenly seemed to hold herself, the veil she tried to slide over her features. It didn’t work. He already knew her too well, and he didn’t need any special powers to be able to read her mind. Not this time.

  “You—you won’t be coming back.”

  He cupped her cheek, the copper silk of her hair resting across his knuckles. His thumb rubbed gently across the high cheekbone and down the side of her face, her silent answer.

  She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. “We knew it couldn’t last, didn’t we?” She tried to smile, finally looking at him. He pulled her to him and she began to cry.

  “I�
��ve got to do it,” he murmured.

  “Why? Why does it have to be you?” Her voice was muffled against the warm shirt she’d helped him slip back on.

  He smiled against her hair. “Because you’re mine, Jen. I take care of what’s mine. However—I have to do it. So that means, you and—” he laid his hand across her stomach, stroking in a gentle caress, “—and her—or him—are my responsibility; and that, I don’t take lightly.”

  “But, what about Beck? He has the power to end it with Milo. Why can’t he do it—or Cris—”

  Rafe shook his head against her, the barest trace of the Spanish accent filtering into his words as he spoke. This was important. He felt her take a deep breath, fighting a losing battle to steady her nerves. “Jenni, don’t you think if it was easy I’d let it happen that way? There’s—something else. I don’t know what or why, I just know I have to be the one to do it.” His thoughts turned to Cris’s tortured expression when they’d spoken earlier of what happened all those years ago at the mission. “This is something I can’t ask Cris to do. Or Beck. It’s my job, Jenni. No matter what comes of it. Can you try to understand?”

  She managed to nod.

  Rafe let his breath out, his fingers clenching in her hair. “Jenni—” he started. His voice was raspy, catching on her name. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Raise him right,” he whispered. “Tell him...his father loved him, and his mother—above all else. That someday—” he broke off, and took in a slow breath, then released it just as slowly. “I’ll be waiting,” he finished. “For both of you.”

  Jenni’s fingers clutched against him as he spoke, as if to keep him near. “I wanted—wanted it to be real,” she sniffed.

  Rafe stiffened against her. “Me too, mi amor.” His voice was husky. “I wanted—thought—that maybe...since I was human again—” He forced himself to take a deep breath, quelling the sudden shaft of anger that rose up inside him. “I don’t want to be an angel again, you know that. I hate the very thought of it.” He drew back to look at her. “This is about as ‘real’ as it ever will get, Jen. Here...now...you and me.”