Come Home to Me (Second Chances Time Travel Romance Series Book 1)

by Peggy L Henderson

  A sudden new awareness swept over her, watching Jake sit on his horse. She’d always admired the way he sat in the saddle, but something was different this time. He looked even more handsome than before. Her gaze lifted to his face, and a jolt of adrenaline rushed through her. His intense eyes swept over her.

  “I’ll be back, Rachel. See to the mules,” Thomas said from behind her, startling her. Her brother held a shovel in his hand, and Rachel caught the sharp look he threw at Jake. He seemed unperturbed by it, and dismounted his horse.

  “I’ll see to your mules, Rachel.” Jake stepped up to her, and her parched mouth dried out even more. Her heart hammered in her chest. “I told Wilson there’s a herd of bison about three miles to the north of here. I can already taste me a juicy bison steak.” He grinned, and rubbed his hands together. “I’ll get your animals unhitched, if you let me borrow one to use as a pack animal. I’m going hunting. We’re gonna have a barbeque tonight.”

  Rachel stared at him, not understanding his words. She couldn’t tear her eyes off him. His hair stuck up in all directions, as wild as ever. It had grown since she met him. A fine sheen of perspiration beaded his forehead, and above his lips. By the looks of his stubbled cheeks, he hadn’t shaved in several days. Rachel chewed on her lower lip.

  “Are you okay?” He raised an eyebrow. Then his face turned serious. His eyes darkened and locked onto hers, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. “What are you thinking when you look at me like that?” His voice was low and sensual, and he leaned forward. His hand reached out, just enough for his fingers to graze the back of her hand.

  Rachel swallowed. She could barely breathe. The rugged scent of him, the leather and musk, fogged her brain.

  Jake suddenly stepped back. His jaw clenched. “Your brother warned me to stay away from you,” he said between gritted teeth. He dropped his mare’s reins, and headed for the front of the rig. With jerky movements, he unchained the mules from the wagon shaft, unhooked the traces, and led the team forward. Rachel stepped up between the mules.

  “My brother doesn’t speak for me,” she whispered, and placed a trembling hand on his chest. The corners of Jake’s eyes twitched. His forehead wrinkled, and his gaze roamed across her face. Her pulse quickened, but she held his penetrating stare. Abruptly, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. If the mules stayed still, no one would see them sandwiched between the animals. Rachel reached up to touch his whiskered cheek.

  “Rachel.” Her name drowned in his throat as his lips descended on hers. She closed her eyes, and leaned into his embrace. He’d understood what she asked without her uttering a word. His soft assault on her mouth sent a hot flame shooting through her core, infusing her limbs in liquid fire. One of the mules shifted to the side, and Jake jerked on the reins in his hand. His grip around her waist eased up, and he pulled his face away from hers. His bewildered expression held a hint of wonder. Rachel ventured a soft smile, and cupped his face between her palms.

  “I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but whatever it is, I promise I’ll keep doing it,” he said. His lips curved in a grin. The mule stomped its foot, and lifted its head. His teammate sidestepped.

  “Damn,” Jake muttered under his breath. “Your brother’s gonna take a shotgun to me.” His grin widened.

  “He knows I’d never forgive him if he did,” she whispered. She didn’t want the spell she was under to end, but the mules began to prance in their eagerness to get to grass, and she scurried out from between them. She’d already taken a bold risk to be with him like this. There was no sense in getting trampled by a hoof or caught in the act.

  Jake cursed at the animals, and pulled them forward. Rachel stepped aside. He glanced over his shoulder in her direction, and the look in his eyes spoke of a deep longing. Rachel’s breath caught in her throat, and her lips tingled in the aftermath of his gentle kiss. It hadn’t come close to satisfying her curiosity, and only left her longing for more.

  Rachel touched her fingers to her lips, and a smile spread across her face, watching him lead the animals away to where the other stock already grazed the lush grasses along the river. Was Mary right? Could a man like Jake Owens stay in one place, and change his wandering ways? Was it worth risking her heart to find out?

  Chapter 14

  Jake reined in his mare some four hundred yards from the enormous black sea of bison that stretched out before him. It was impossible to see where the herd ended. He guessed the animals stretched across the prairie for at least a mile. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought to ever see such a spectacle.

  The mule he ponied beside his horse brayed loudly in protest. The ornery beast had fought him the entire three miles to get to the herd from where the wagon train camped. Not that Jake could blame the animal. Everyone, man and beast, was worn out and hungry after a long day on the trail. Jake needed the mule, however, to carry back meat from the bison he planned to shoot. One kill would be enough to feed every family for days. Jeb Miller pulled his horse up alongside him, and three other men rode up as well. When word spread of bison in the area, everyone had eagerly agreed that fresh meat would be a welcome change from their usual evening fare of beans and bacon.

  “How many you reckon are there?” Jeb asked, and whistled through his teeth.

  “Tens of thousands,” Jake said in awe. “I never thought to see something like this.”

  Jeb leaned forward in his saddle and peered over at him. “You ain’t never seen a herd this big? Ain’t there usually this many? I expect you’re used to seeing buffalo.” His forehead crinkled in surprise.

  Jake cursed under his breath. Of course he was expected to have seen bison in such great numbers. “I meant I never expected to see a herd so small,” he replied lamely. “There’s usually more.” He dismounted his mare, and pulled his Sharps rifle from the saddle.

  “Hold the mule, Jeb,” he said, and handed the lead rope to the older man. He loaded the weapon, and moved slowly forward.

  “Are we all gonna shoot one?” one of the men asked from atop his horse. Jake glanced over his shoulder.

  “We only need one to feed everybody. Any more than that, and the meat will spoil before we can eat it all. There’ll be plenty of chances to hunt more bison.”

  “You’ll do the shootin’, then?” the same man asked.

  “I might need one of you to back me up if I don’t get a clean shot.” Jake faced his companions. “So one of you needs to be ready with a loaded rifle.”

  These men were farmers, not hunters. For him, this was completely different than going elk hunting in Montana, but he was reasonably sure he could bring down one of these massive beasts. He had to make sure his shot hit the heart, to bring the animal down with one bullet. Trying to aim for the brain would be impossible at this distance and without a scope.

  The last thing Jake wanted was a stampede of these animals in their direction. If they were anything like cattle, they’d run when he fired his gun, but hopefully in the opposite direction from where the sound came. The prairie was so level, there was no place to take cover. At their present distance from the bison, he was sure they wouldn’t spook, but he wanted to get closer to make his shot count. Crouching low, he slowly made his way toward the herd, scanning the animals to pick out the one he would bring down. He finally settled on a cow grazing at the periphery of the main herd.

  Jake dropped to his stomach, still a good hundred yards away, and leaned on his elbows. He pointed his weapon at the unsuspecting beast, and took aim. The cow ambled along slowly, picking at the prairie grasses as she moved closer in his direction. Jake followed her movement with his rifle. She stepped forward with her right leg, and he fired. A split second later, the bison dropped to the ground like a felled tree, and at the same time the startled herd took flight seemingly as one unit. The ground shook from the thunder of thousands of hooves as the beasts charged away from the sound of the gunshot.

  The men behind him whooped and hollered. “Ni
ce shootin’,” Jeb Miller called. Jake breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been completely sure how this would play out. If the bison ran in their direction, they’d all get trampled.

  “Let’s get this beast butchered, and head back to camp. My mouth’s already watering,” he called.

  An hour later, with the sun setting to their right, Jake rode his tired mare into camp. Joyful shouts came from the wagons, as women and men greeted the returning hunting party. The mule was heavily laden with meat. Jake’s eyes scanned the people. There was only one face he sought out. Visions of Rachel had consumed his mind during the ride back to camp. Hell, she was in his thoughts on the way to the bison herd as well. It was a small miracle that he’d even been able to concentrate on his shot.

  Her surprising behavior earlier had shocked the hell out of him. Why had she suddenly allowed him to kiss her? In broad daylight no less, almost in the middle of camp. Granted, everyone was busy with their rigs, but . . . Two days ago she’d seemed skittish when he wanted to kiss her by the creek. He’d tried to stay away, but it was impossible, just like every other time he told himself he needed to keep his distance. Asking Tommy to go out scouting with him had been his excuse to get near Rachel. That he would hold her and kiss her that very same day was the last thing he expected to have happen. Jake vowed that the next time, they wouldn’t be standing between a team of ornery mules.

  His quick response to her silent request only left him hungry for more. What had prompted her to walk up to him between two mules and lay her hand on his chest? The longing and want in her eyes had been unmistakable. Jake’s insides heated at the memory. The quiet and proper nineteenth century farm girl had shown him a brief glimpse of a passionate side she kept well hidden.

  Goddammit, Owens. Jake gnashed his teeth together. For the thousandth time, he reminded himself that Rachel was his assignment, someone he was told to protect. Had the reverend known he would fall in love with her?

  Love? He was in love with Rachel. The revelation made his heart leap in his chest. You’ve known it since that night she came to bring you coffee, when you held her for the first time. A slow smile spread across his face, and he rubbed his cheek where she slapped him after his first attempt to steal a kiss. Warmth spread through his body. Someone tapped him on the knee, and Jake nearly fell out of the saddle.

  “You gonna sit there all night, daydreamin’, Owens? Let’s get to cookin’ some meat.” Jeb Miller smiled up at him. Jake absently handed him the reins to the pack mule. Looking up, another jolt of electricity hit him. Rachel stood a few yards away, little David balanced on her hip. He stared. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. New awareness hit him. Not a minute ago, he gave a name to his intense feelings for her. All he wanted to do at this moment was sweep her up into the saddle, and ride far away from the rest of the camp. Away from prying eyes and gossiping tongues, so he could have her to himself, and tell her how he felt about her. And that nothing can ever come of it, because you live in another century, and won’t be around once you get to Oregon.

  Jake tore his eyes away from her, and guided his horse toward the pasture where the other animals grazed. He let out a scornful laugh. Being with a girl and walking away later had never been a problem before. His appetite for bison steak suddenly vanished.

  *****

  Rather than sit at their family campfires and share a quiet supper after a long day, the emigrants had built several large fires within the circle of their wagons, and large chunks of meat hung on skewers over the flames, sizzling and dripping fat. People laughed and carried on lively conversations. A couple of men played the fiddle, and a harmonica soon joined in. Children laughed and ran around camp. The delicious aroma of meat, mixed with other mouth-watering smells from dishes the women prepared infused the air. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood. Everyone but Jake.

  He sat with Jeb Miller, Elijah Edwards, Ben Holland, and Thomas Parker around one of the large fires, watching the flames dance in front of him. He only half listened to their conversation. Discreetly, his eyes scanned the camp. Rachel leaned over a cooking fire near her wagon, and carefully pulled the lid from the Dutch oven that sat in the coals. Her braided hair was coiled on top of her head. Jake’s finger tips tingled as he imagined unwrapping that coil, pulling her long dark strands free of their constraints, and running his fingers through her hair. He groaned silently, and forced his eyes in a different direction.

  Standing off in the shadows between one of the fires and a wagon was Annabelle Edwards. She smiled and giggled at the person standing next to her. Marcus Powell. Jake scoffed. Had she found a new victim to lavish her attentions on? Good riddance. He sure wanted nothing to do with the little flirt. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind when Annabelle darted a look his way. The smile left her face, and she batted her lashes in an overly exaggerated motion and stuck her little nose in the air. She stepped closer to Powell, touched her hand to his arm, and glanced Jake’s way again. He almost laughed out loud. Her pathetic attempt at making him jealous was . . . pathetic. Where the hell was the girl’s mother? Harriet Edwards had some nerve, talking dirt about Rachel, when her own daughter was nothing but a little hussy. Jake spotted her near her own wagon, leading an animated conversation among several other women.

  Jake tried to focus his attention on Jeb and Elijah’s conversation. Apparently while he was gone this afternoon, the wagon train had passed some graves along the river, and the people speculated what could have killed the unfortunate emigrants who passed by here before them. Jake recalled the warning from the Sioux from several days ago. A sudden wave of dread washed over him. What if those people had died of cholera? The entire stretch of river could potentially be contaminated.

  Jake tried to recall all he knew about the devastating disease. He knew that wagon trains had been inflicted at some point in history. He remembered helping his mother several years ago, taking medical supplies onto the Flathead Indian Reservation to help out a friend who worked there as a nurse. A cholera outbreak on the reservation had left the doctor and his one nurse short-staffed. He remembered the disease spread via contact with infected water and food sources. The ominous feeling in his gut intensified. What if people on this train had been exposed?

  He didn’t have time to explore his thoughts any further. Rachel headed in his direction, carrying her Dutch oven. Her arms trembled, and she walked slightly stooped over, carrying the heavy pot. Jake rose from his seat and headed her off.

  “Can I get that for you?” he asked, his eyes slowly traveling up to her face. She blinked and raised her head at him, then nodded with a slight curve of her lips.

  “Thank you,” she said. His fingers grazed hers when she handed off the heavy cast iron. She didn’t jerk her hand away as he expected her to do, and his gut tightened painfully.

  “What’s in here?” He forced a grin on his face. They stood in the middle of camp, and he groped for his hold on sanity. He focused his mind on the scent of cinnamon coming from the pot. “Smells mighty good.”

  “Back home we called this washday cobbler. It’s a dessert I made to go with the buffalo meat.” Rachel cleared her throat and stepped back. “I have another one in the fire. If you could set this one over on the bench by the Holland’s wagon, I’d appreciate it.”

  Jake did as she asked. A couple of flat boards had been laid across two water barrels to serve as a makeshift table. Steaming pots of food already lined the boards. He glanced around camp after setting the Dutch oven next to a skillet filled with fried potatoes. Rachel was back at her campfire. This might be his only chance to get her alone. He had to talk to her. Skirting behind the Holland wagon into the darkness, he circled around the rigs until he came to the back of Rachel’s.

  “Rachel,” he called in a hushed tone. Her head snapped up, and she turned in his direction. “Can we talk?” He wasn’t going to step out of the cover of darkness. Thomas or someone else might see him, and he hoped she would meet him willingly. She shot a hasty look to the cente
r of camp, then wiped her hands on her skirt. His heart leapt to his throat when she moved toward him. The second she was close enough to touch, he reached for her hand and pulled her into the shadows behind the wagon. Feeling like a teenager sneaking out to a clandestine meeting with a girl sent an exhilarating wave of heat through him.

  Certain that the darkness swallowed them up, he wrapped his arms around her, and pushed her up against the side of the wagon. All reason left him. He’d only planned to talk to her, find out about her uncharacteristic behavior earlier, but the memory of the kiss he stole that lingered in his mind all day prompted him to throw caution to the wind.

  “Jake.” She gasped his name in surprise, and grabbed his shoulders. He didn’t give her a chance to tell him to stop. He inhaled a deep breath, the scent of peaches and cinnamon filling his senses, and he brought his lips down on hers. Her body stiffened, and he eased his hold on her slightly. For a split second, he regretted his heated actions. What if he misread her body language from this afternoon? When her grip on his shoulders softened, and her curves pressed against him, the air left his lungs. With a groan, he renewed his kiss, moving his lips against hers, coaxing her to do the same.

  A soft whimper escaped her throat. Rachel’s arms reached up and snaked around his neck. Jake was sure his heart would break through the confines of his ribs. Never before had a woman in his arms ignited such an overwhelming rush of emotions as what coursed through his veins at this moment. His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her to him. He couldn’t get her close enough. His lips parted, and his tongue slid along the softness of her mouth. Her body trembled as she leaned into him, and his arm around her waist molded her up against him.