Chase the Lightning

by Madeline Baker

  And he blushed like a kid caught with his pants down behind the barn.

  “Well, come on, tell me,” she said, grinning.

  “We’d better stop here.” He slid over Relámpago’s rump, and then lifted Amanda from the stud’s back.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  “My back’s a little sore.” It wasn’t the truth, but he couldn’t tell her that, couldn’t tell her that her nearness was playing havoc with his senses.

  She sat down on a flat rock. “Tell me about your life,” she said. “I don’t know anything about you.”

  He sat cross-legged on the ground, facing her. “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Oh, come on. A bank robber from the past, and there’s nothing to tell!”

  He grunted softly.

  “You told Rob you’re Apache,” she remarked. “On whose side?”

  “My mother’s. Is that a problem?”

  “No, I’ve always loved Indians.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded. “They fascinate me. Their way of life and beliefs. I’ve read a lot about them.”

  “It’s a good way to live.”

  “Why did you rob that bank?”

  As briefly as possible, he told her about Hollinger, and how the banker had refused to grant his father an extension on their loan. “And then, when I had the man in my sights, I couldn’t do it,” he said, his voice thick with self-disgust. “I couldn’t pull the trigger.”

  “I’m glad.”

  He looked at her askance, one brow raised.

  “Bank robbery is one thing, murder is another.”

  “Hollinger murdered my old man, and no one did a damn thing about it.”

  “Trey…”

  “Why would they?” he said bitterly. “He was just a drunk, a squaw man.”

  Leaning forward, she placed her hand on his knee. “I’m sorry, Trey.”

  He looked up and met her eyes, and suddenly the past didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but now, and the woman sitting across from him, her green eyes dark with compassion.

  “Are you gonna marry that tenderfoot?”

  Amanda stared at Trey. It was a question she had asked herself ever since he rode into her life.

  She was still trying to form an answer when Trey dragged her onto his lap and kissed her. At the first touch of his lips on hers, her eyelids fluttered down, her heartbeat increased. The world and its troubles fell away. Her arms went around him, holding him tight. His tongue slid over her lower lip, tantalizing, softly entreating, and she opened for him, shivers of delight coursing through her. She pressed against him, wanting to feel the hardness of his body against her own. Her hands moved restlessly up and down his back, then slid under his shirt, reveling in the touch of his skin, the way his muscles rippled beneath her fingertips.

  She drew back as her hand encountered the bandage swathed around his middle. “Did I hurt you?”

  He groaned deep in his throat. “I’m hurting, sweetheart, but not there.”

  He wanted her. The knowledge filled her with pleasure and a sense of power. She dragged her fingertips lightly up and down his spine. When his hand brushed against her breast, she moaned with pleasure, leaning into his touch, wanting more. More.

  She shifted uncomfortably as her hip pressed against the butt of his gun and she burst out laughing.

  Trey drew back. “What’s so funny?”

  She shook her head, unable to stop laughing. “Is that a gun in your pocket,” she gasped, wiping the tears from her eyes, “or are you just glad to see me?”

  He frowned at her. “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s an old joke.”

  “Heck of a time to be making jokes,” he muttered.

  But it had come at just the right time, she thought, before things between them went any farther. There was too much standing between them now, and Rob was the least of her worries. She was afraid she was falling in love with Trey, afraid he’d suddenly disappear from her life, and take her heart with him. That would be bad enough, but if they were intimate…she shook her head. Now was not the time to be falling head over heels into his arms. Not until she knew if he felt the same. Not without some kind of commitment, though promises of forever seemed out of the question, given the circumstances.

  Rising, she brushed off her jeans. “I think we’d better go.”

  He rose to his feet in a lithe easy motion. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Trey…”

  He waved a hand, silencing her. “You changed your mind. Hey, I understand.”

  “I don’t think so,” she muttered drily.

  He moved toward her, a hungry look in his eye. “Wanna explain it to me?”

  She held out her hands to hold him off. “Trey, this is all happening way too fast. And…”

  “Not too fast for me,” he replied, a wicked gleam in his eye.

  “And we don’t know how long you’ll be here…”

  “All the more reason to hurry.”

  “No!” She stamped her foot. “Listen to me!”

  “Sweetheart, you’re not saying anything I wanna hear.”

  “Trey, I can’t just fall into your arms. I want more than just a…a…quick roll in the hay.”

  He came to an abrupt halt. “Is that what you think this is?”

  “I don’t know.” She lifted her chin. “Is it?”

  Trey muttered an oath. Women always wanted to talk at the wrong time.

  “I don’t know what to tell you. All I know is I want you, and as near as I can tell, you want me. Why complicate it with a lot of talk?”

  “I don’t know what kind of women you’re used to,” she retorted, her cheeks flushing, “or what kind of woman you think I am, but I’m not in the habit of falling into bed with every dusty cowhand who rides up to my door.”

  Trey held up both hands. “Easy now.”

  She took a deep, calming breath. “I think we’d better go back, before we both say things we might regret.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “I think you’re right.”

  He lifted her onto Relámpago’s back, and swung up behind her. Taking up the reins, he clucked to the stud.

  It was a long, quiet ride back to the house.

  There was a battered red pickup truck with a dented fender parked near the barn when they rode into the yard.

  Amanda frowned. “Wonder who that belongs to,” she murmured.

  Trey shrugged. He was about to dismount when he noticed two men dressed in baggy overalls standing in the shadowy interior of the barn.

  A third man, dressed in faded blue jeans, a black tee shirt, and a battered felt hat, stepped out of the house onto the front porch.

  “What are you doing in my house?” Amanda exclaimed. Trey’s arm tightened around her waist. She could feel the coiled tension in him.

  “Just waiting for you to get home,” the man drawled. He glanced at Trey.

  “Where’s the bounty hunter?”

  “Rob?” A shiver of unease slid down her spine. “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Bolander,” the man on the porch said.

  Bolander! Amanda shifted uneasily in the saddle. She felt Trey’s breath fan her cheek as he whispered, “Easy, sweetheart.”

  The man on the porch smiled, revealing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth. “Name rings a bell, I see. Why don’t you two just step down from that there horse and we’ll have us a talk about old Langley?”

  “We’re fine right here,” Trey said over Amanda’s head. “Say your piece.”

  She saw the man’s expression go flat and hard. “Tough cowboy huh?”

  “Please…” she said. “What do you want?”

  “I ain’t the Bolander that Langley went after if that’s what you’re wonderin’,” the man said grimly. “I’m his brother, Nate. And that there’s our brother, Arnie, and our cousin, Cletus.” He scowled past her, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Trey. “Name mean anything to you, cowpoke?”

  “Is it suppos
ed to?” Trey drawled.

  “It will,” the big man promised. “It will.”

  Amanda glanced at the two men standing near the barn, then looked back at the man on the porch. “What do you want?” she repeated, hating the frightened quiver in her voice.

  “Where’s the bounty man?” Nate demanded. “Tell us now, and we’ll be on our way. Otherwise…” He crossed the porch and started down the stairs.

  She felt Trey move behind her, heard the oily snick of his Colt being cocked.

  “No,” she murmured.

  “He’s not coming over here to shake your hand,” Trey muttered, “and neither are those two hombres.”

  It was then she saw what Trey had obviously noticed earlier. One of the men was holding a sawed-off shotgun down along his pant leg, the other was carrying a short rifle the same way, one-handed. Her eyes widened and her heart seemed to jump into her throat. She swallowed hard.

  Trey lifted the reins just a little. She heard him murmur something to Relámpago in what she assumed was Apache.

  At the foot of the stairs, Nate Bolander reached under his shirt and produced a flat black automatic pistol. Before Amanda could quite take it all in, the stallion leaped forward. Nate let out a cry and fell back, his gun going off with a flat crack. But it was too late. The stallion was on him, slamming into his shoulder, tossing him back on the stairs.

  A rifle barked from the direction of the barn, and Trey’s revolver exploded thunderously from behind her.

  Amanda screamed, her hands going over her ears. She fell back against Trey’s chest as Relámpago broke into a dead run away from the house. Trey’s rein arm steadied her like a living band of warm steel.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder. Nate and Arnie were running for the truck. The third man, the one who had held the rifle, was on his hands and knees in the yard, rifle forgotten, his head hanging low.

  The men running for the truck didn’t spare a glance for their fallen comrade. The engine roared to life. The man on the passenger side leaned out the window, his shotgun tracking them.

  It was hopeless, she thought. Relámpago would never be able to outrun the truck.

  Trey’s left arm stretched out to its full length and the Colt in his hand barked twice in quick succession; she saw the windshield on the passenger side of the truck web with cracks and sag inward. She couldn’t seen the man who had been hanging out the window any more. Had he been hit?

  The Apache war cry rose up in Trey’s throat as he cranked off another round that ricocheted off the side of the cab.

  Amanda felt suddenly numb. This couldn’t be happening. Things like this happened to other people. She read about it in the paper every day, saw it on the news every night.

  She screamed again as the truck drew closer. She could see the contorted face of the driver as he closed in on them, the concentrated fury in his eyes. He was going to ram the stallion with the truck!

  They were going to die. The reality hit her with stunning force. She clung to Relámpago’s mane, her ears ringing loudly from the gunfire and the roar of the truck’s engine. Abruptly, uncannily, the noise in her head faded to a soft buzz, like bees in a field of wildflowers on a sleepy summer afternoon. Long fingers of swirling gray mist rose up out of the ground. And then everything went black.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Amanda shook her head. Awareness of her surroundings returned slowly. The buzzing inside her head faded and she became aware of the sound of Relámpago’s hoofbeats, walking now, not galloping wildly. The thick gray mist had disappeared. She was aware of Trey’s arm, still around her, though not as tight as before.

  There was no sign of the truck that had been pursuing them.

  Amanda glanced around. The landscape looked the same, yet not the same. The most startling change was the grass, stirrup high, spreading off around them, dotted with clumps of creosote and sage, and the ever-present, towering saguaro. She remembered a local environmentalist telling her that the patchy grass and bare eroded earth of the desert near her home were the result of a century of overgrazing. She had never seen the grass this lush, this high.

  She shook her head again. It had been late afternoon before; now, the sun was just climbing in the sky. How was that possible? Had she been unconscious for more than a day?

  Feeling more than a little disoriented, she looked over her shoulder at Trey. “What happened? I felt so strange for a minute there. Kind of dizzy.”

  He shook his head, looking as confused as she felt. “I’m not sure, but…”

  His arm fell away from her waist and he leaned back a little, bringing his left arm behind her. In between the muffled thud of the stallion’s hooves she heard a snick-snick as he rotated the cylinder of his gun, one chamber at a time. Empty cartridges rained down the saddle leather and disappeared in the grass below. The cylinder snicked through its cycle again and she knew he was reloading. A moment later, his arm slid around her waist again.

  “But what? Tell me.”

  “I had that same feeling once before.”

  A shiver went down her spine. “When was that?” She felt compelled to ask, though she was sure she didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “Just before I showed up in your yard.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “Those old boys vanished in a heartbeat when that mist came up,” he said. “Just like that posse that was chasing me did the last time. I think we’re back, Amanda, back where I belong.”

  “Oh, no. No.” She shook her head in denial. Glancing around again, she tried to find something, some point of reference, that would prove him wrong. She couldn’t, but she couldn’t accept it. “What makes you think we’re in your time?”

  He laughed softly. “I don’t know. It just feels… right.”

  “Right? How can it be right? If you’re right, I don’t want to be here! Turn around. Let’s go back.”

  “I’m not sure it works like that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know if I can go back and forth at will. It wasn’t something I was trying to do before, and it wasn’t something I tried to do this time. It just happened.”

  “How did it happen before? You never told me?”

  “I was running from a posse.”

  “So that’s how you got shot.”

  “Yeah. Almost as soon as I did…it happened. It was like ’Pago knew how to get me out of danger. I know that sounds crazy, but my grandfather told me ‘Pago would always carry me to safety. I guess ‘Pago knew you’d look after me.”

  “Well, turn Relámpago around. Let’s go back to where it happened this time and at least try.”

  He did as she asked. Wheeling the stud around, they followed their back trail.

  The wind stirred the tall grass, a cactus wren flitted across the sky.

  Nothing else happened.

  “Try again!” she said.

  He reined the stallion around, and did so. Again, nothing happened.

  He tried it again, unbidden. And yet again.

  “It’s no use,” he said. “Maybe it's still dangerous back there. That fella driving that truck was…crazy. And I'm only sure I got one of them. The other one, the one with shotgun, he might still be alive and kickin’.”

  “But I don’t want to stay here,” she wailed. “You don’t even have indoor plumbing.” Or toilet paper, she thought.

  “Sure we do,” he said, grinning. “We call them chamber pots.”

  “Very funny.”

  He reined the stallion around once more, and struck off in a new direction. She thought it might be south, but she’d never had a very good sense of direction.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Canyon Creek.” He glanced up at the sky. “If we ride hard, we can be there by nightfall.”

  “But…” Canyon Creek! For a moment, she thought it might be fun to see the town the way it had been over a hundred and thirty years ago. But only for a moment.

&
nbsp; He looked at her and grinned. “Don’t know what we’ll use for money, since you took all of mine.”

  “It wasn’t yours,” she retorted.

  “Sure as hell was. I stole it, didn’t I? And we could use some of it now.”

  Before she could argue further, he clucked to the stud and Relámpago broke into an easy, mile-eating lope.

  Amanda watched the countryside slip by. It couldn’t be real. She couldn’t have been transported to the past. It was unthinkable, impossible. And maybe it wasn’t true anyway. Just because Trey said “it felt right” didn’t make it so. Maybe she was just imagining that the landscape looked different. Maybe the recent rains had caused the grass to come back so strongly. Though she hadn’t noticed it on their earlier ride. And maybe it was true. Trey had been transported into her time.

  They rode for several hours, not saying much. Her legs and seat began to ache from the unaccustomed saddle. But that was minor compared to her whirling thoughts. What if it was true, and she was in the past? How would she ever get home again? What about her house? The door was wide open. And her car? And what about those awful men who had come looking for Rob?

  She shuddered at the thought of one or more of them lying dead on her property. The survivor or survivors would probably take the body. Would they trash her house for revenge? Take the Jag? And Rob, he was in danger. She had to get back, had to warn him! But how?

  Her thoughts chased each other endlessly. When the buildings of a town finally showed in the distance, she realized that she was very tired. She stared at the town blankly. “That can't be Canyon Creek!”

  Trey chuckled softly, his breath warm on her neck. “Yep, that’s it. Just the way I remember it.”

  It was near dusk when they reached the outskirts of town. It didn’t look like much from a distance, and looked even worse the closer they got. A sign read, “Canyon Creek. Population 853.” The dirt road they had been following for the last hour or so widened out, rutted like an old washboard. Fresh wheel tracks scored its surface. Wagon wheels, not tire tracks. Buildings lined both side of the street. Most of the buildings were made of raw, unpainted wood with false fronts and fancy names. The Monarch Hotel. The Emperor’s Saloon. The Bon Ton Millinery Shoppe. She shook her head. They were in an untamed Western town, for crying out loud, not New York City. At any other time, she would have laughed, but not now, not with the reality of her situation bearing down on her.