Lady Outlaws

by Lady outlaws (NCP) (lit)

  Romano, however, remained visibly shaken.

  “Cecia’s beauty lives in Rosa,” Antonio said, placing his hand on Romy’s shoulder. “Take comfort in this.”

  Romy nodded and lifted melancholy eyes to Sara. Stretching his hand, he motioned for Sara to join them by the fire. She did, drifting to his side, her smile one of compassion and acceptance. Brandi thought how they all had secrets, and one by one these secrets were opening up. The exposure was cementing emotion. The final test came with Romy’s proposal.

  “I ask Sara to be my wife,” Romy said softly. He was looking at her even though his words were meant for Antonio.

  Brandi’s heart overflowed with joy. They looked the perfect couple, standing together by the fire, holding hands. It seemed an odd twist how Sara was less than enthusiastic to even spend a week on a Western resort and now that this strange wrinkle in time had folded over them she was the one who had found love and commitment first. Brandi sat on tenterhooks waiting for Sara’s reply.

  “Will you marry me?” Romy asked.

  The whole room seemed to holding its breath.

  “Yes, Romy,” Sara said. “I will.”

  The breath exhaled, none with more relief than Romy. He swept her into his arms, pure ecstasy washed over his face.

  “Magnifico!” Antonio cheered, genuinely pleased. “Happiness has found our home again! Magnifico! What could be more joyous than a celebration like this?” His voice rose as he called for his wife, sharing the good news of an upcoming ceremony. She squealed with delight and raced away to tell others.

  Lost in the excitement that followed was Devon’s disappointment. He neither smiled nor joined in the congratulations.

  Romano’s loyalties had shifted. Devon had lost his partner.

  Chapter Six

  The bedroom allotted to Devon and Brandi was not as luxurious as the living quarters. Necessity prevailed. A bed, wardrobe cabinet with linen, water pitcher, chamber pot, lanterns hanging from the walls and ceiling. Over the bed was a wooden cross. Brandi crawled under the blanket; the sheets were frayed yet clean and dry. Easily described as stark, but colorful compared to Devon’s solemnity.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. Then he just sat.

  Brandi crawled closer and rubbed his shoulders. He was knotted and tense.

  “What’s wrong?” She guessed the answer but thought perhaps if he talked it out it might help his mood.

  “Nothing.”

  “Dev,” she soothed. “It’s me you’re talking to here. Something’s troubling you.”

  He wrenched away from her massage to stand by the small window, peering out into the courtyard. “Wherever the two of you came from, I wish you had stayed there.”

  Brandi slumped at the hurt. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Hell I don’t.” He braced one shoulder against the window frame. “Where did you come from, Brandi? Or should I be callin’ you Bonnie?” He threw her an icy glare. Quick, penetrating, angry. She had become the focus of his frustration over Romy’s shift in loyalty, and she felt lost, uncertain what to say, if anything. Especially when he was in a mood like this.

  Her stomach dropped. What could she say? “Brandi is a nickname I gave myself.” It was the truth. “Lot’s of people go by nicknames.”

  “You mean like ‘Professor’?” His eyes never left her face.

  “Professor?” Her rescue. The paper clipping. Fritz. She struggled to make sense of it all. How did Devon know this Professor? “I don’t understand.”

  Devon thrust his hand into a pocket and threw a lighter on the bed. It bounced, landing at her side.

  Brandi picked it up and gasped, reading the inscription aloud. “Professor Fault Class of 99. Oh my God. He taught at the college.” She remembered him now. He had been pegged an eccentric because of his love for science fiction: HG Wells, Arthur C Scott, Stephen Hawking, quantum physics and time travel. He advocated the truth behind the fiction and was extremely zealous in his teaching. He was the one who had given the newspaper clipping to Fritz. He was the one who could travel freely through time. Her flesh crawled. His name was Fault, Anthony Fault. Everyone just called him Professor.

  She read the inscription over and over, her fingers trembling.

  “You do know him then?”

  “Yes, but…” She wanted to cry. Devon was scaring her. She sensed he was drifting away and she’d never be able to make him understand, coax him back.

  She dropped the lighter to bury her face in her hands. “Oh, Devon,” she whimpered. “You’d never believe me.”

  “Try me.” His voice didn’t sound quite so severe.

  Still, panic had closed Brandi’s throat. The truth was the last confession she could make.

  “He ... talked to you?” she garbled.

  Devon nodded. “He told me not to go after you. He told me where Romano was and that I was to go to them and wait for you to meet up with us.”

  “He ... has a glass eye,” she said, remembering how it added to his eccentric personality as far as his students were concerned.

  Devon nodded again. “And he said he loved you.”

  She cracked a laugh. Nerves. “He doesn’t even know me. How could he…?” Brandi felt her jaw drop. Fault. He was a descendent of Devon’s. It was the only reason for the interest in their plight. But Devon had no children. Her hand brushed her stomach. Not yet. And if she was correct in her assumption then it meant she would never travel freely in time like the Professor. She was here to stay. Strange as it was, this insight renewed her courage.

  Despite the new sense of valor her mind seemed to be soaked like a sponge, heavy and slow to absorb anything, except that Devon was accusing her of something. She was innocent of whatever he was thinking, but how was she going to make him believe?

  “Fate brought us together, Devon. We were meant to be. I guess this Professor is our guardian angel.”

  “That’s what I wouldn’t believe, guardian angels?” Devon scoffed. He darted a quick glance to the cross on the wall before examining the courtyard again.

  Brandi tiptoed to Devon’s side, sliding her hand round his waist. Never had she loved as she loved that very moment. “All I know is that I want you to be happy. I can make you happy, Devon, if you let me.”

  Celebratory voices rose from the other side of the wall. Devon tensed at the sound. Brandi could feel the loss of hope that shivered through his body. He had depended on Romy to be there for him and now he was going to marry Sara, likely stay here, the two of them becoming a part of a wider family unit.

  “Maybe this is the sign you needed,” she said, wrapping both arms around him. “Maybe now is the time to let the past go, think about your own future. With me.”

  “I’m tired, Brandi,” he confessed, his palm warming a spot on her back.

  “I know,” she whispered. “So am I. It’s late.” She tugged him toward the bed. “Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

  He sat, pulling off the dusty boots, unbuttoning his trousers. Once he had kicked out of his clothes he curled against her body, resting his head against her breast. She wrapped the blanket round them both, stroking his hair, assuring him of her deepest devotion. He clung to her comfort, food for his weary soul. He remained awake she knew because she felt his lids flicker against her skin.

  “He shares my name,” Devon whispered.

  “Lucky him,” Brandi said, fluttering a quick kiss into a strand of Devon’s hair.

  “I was worried. I thought I had lost you. Then he just appeared, out of nowhere, to tell me you were safe and that he’d send word to you.”

  “We owe him a lot,” she said absently.

  There was a long pause.

  “He reminded me of my father, the way he moved, his voice. I guess that’s why I trusted him.”

  Brandi screwed her lips together, saying nothing so Devon could ramble, work through his thoughts, and come to his own conclusions, ones she dared not add to.

  “He talke
d like he knew you so well. I figured he and you…”

  “No,” Brandi interrupted. “I love you and only you.”

  “A professor,” Devon mumbled. “I ain’t smart like that.”

  “You’re smart in other ways. Now shut up and go to sleep.”

  The lash continued to tickle her skin.

  “We could go to California. Even Horn wouldn’t follow us there.”

  “We could go anywhere.”

  “I’ve failed, Brandi.” A deep sadness emanated from Devon’s voice. “I tried but I failed.”

  “Shush,” she soothed, tightening her arms to cradle him closer. “You haven’t failed anyone.”

  “This ain’t the way I had things planned.”

  “I know. But maybe it’s for the best. Life has a way of sorting things out for us, whether we ask for it or not.”

  Minutes ticked away. She stroked his cheek.

  “I ain’t smart like him, Brandi. That professor, you and him talk the same way, educated like.”

  She puffed a laugh into his hair. “You’re smart. A man doesn’t have to be a bookworm to be educated.”

  After another pause, Brandi sighed. “Devon,” she whispered. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

  He twisted, peering into her face, looking a little frightened.

  “That night in the barn, when we first ... well, you said you didn’t think I was real. That I was a picture in a dream. What did you mean by that?”

  His blue eyes turned sultry. “Brandi, I done seen you in my dreams, a sassy girl with short hair dressed like a fella. It started when I was just a kid and then lately you were there, almost every night. I’d wake up feeling ... happy. Like somethin’ real special was gonna happen.”

  “Premonition. I guess I felt that, too.” She scrunched down, her cheek flat on the pillow beside Devon. “We were meant for each other.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Guess it’d be kinda stupid to keep wonderin’ why.”

  “Guess it would.”

  The gaze between them spoke of magic and unanswered questions. Their kiss was of mutual consent to let the mystery lie. Mouths still touching he whispered softly, “I’m gonna make love to you fer the rest of my life.”

  “And I’m going to let you.”

  With a gentle push he stretched over her. His eyes were wide as he smiled down at her, his thumbs stroking her shoulders. “I…” he started but she cut him off.

  “No,” she whispered. Worming her hand under the blankets, under him, she took hold of his erection, wrapping her fingers around the silk covering of sheer rock. “No more talking.”

  His lids fell. And he arched slightly, silently welcoming the pulling motion. “Oh,” he said softly. “Oh, yes. That feels so good.”

  With all her heart she wanted nothing more than for him to be pleasured. Hers was secondary although she knew that once he was in the full throes of lovemaking she couldn’t help but succumb to bliss.

  As lovers they were learning each other’s wants.

  “Harder,” he muttered.

  She tightened her grip, doing as he had asked, and he moaned deeply. His lip curled against her cheek.

  “I love the way you touch me,” he said, exhaling a deep breath.

  “Tell me,” she returned. “Tell me what and how, and I’ll do for you.”

  He shivered. “Damn,” he said, propping up again. “The things you say.”

  While her hand continued to work she kissed him, her own groan vibrating through their mouths. And then he was inside her. She clutched his hip, pushing, soliciting renewed force. Her forehead bumped into the brawn of his shoulder. All she could think about was the wave of gratification that rocked into her.

  “Hold me,” he said. “Hold me tight.”

  “Oh, Dev,” she cried, hugging him as sturdily as she was able. She pushed into his gyrations, meeting each with an energy that reflected his growing need. Ecstasy crashed through her womb and she pressed a deep kiss into his mouth as the aftermath flowed.

  A hard moan and he, too, shook, the last thrust letting go. Heat grew inside her. Finally he relaxed, and they lay together, listening to the night sounds. Then he slipped from her, rolling over.

  Devon twisted, propping himself up on one elbow. His eyes were streaked with fatigue, yet beneath them hope shimmered. “I didn’t mean it before,” he said. “I’m glad you came into my life.”

  “I’m glad too.” Brandi ran her finger over the contour of his jaw.

  “California, then?” He offered a resolved smile.

  “I’d be safe and warm,” she sang softly, “If I lived in L.A. California dreamin’, on such a winter’s day.”

  Devon fell back into her arms and sighed contentment. “You say the strangest things,” he said. And as she continued to coo the song his lids finally fluttered closed.

  Chapter Seven

  The new day was a rebirth for all of them. Former troubles hadn’t followed them to this oasis of friendship, joy and relaxation. Children laughed and played, women discussed preparations for the upcoming wedding, and Antonio never again spoke of his distrust and hatred from past assaults. Even Devon seemed at peace with the new plan to leave revenge behind. After a late breakfast he and Romano and Antonio sat together in the shade of the ranch’s front door to talk together.

  Brandi and Sara helped to clean up the morning dishes, trying best they could to chat with some of the women. The language barrier was causing difficulties and when they tried to speak a few words of Spanish the women giggled. Antonio’s wife, Maria, was the only one who could speak some English, which was painfully broken. Brandi wanted to get Sara on her own, but held back, not wanting to insult her hostess.

  Once the kitchen was cleaned Sara was ushered to another room where she was wrapped in long strands of white cloth and lace as clever fingers sewed, creating a gown that would awe the guests for a religious ceremony steeped in culture. Becoming the boss’s sister-in-law also required a party of mammoth proportions. Maria was taking her obligation very seriously and fell quiet while she concentrated on sewing the lace.

  Brandi picked up needle and thread, not because she enjoyed sewing--quite the opposite--her intention was to snatch a few words of conversation.

  “Settling in nicely, I see,” Brandi said with a wide smile as she looked up to Sara, standing with her arms upright as not to get pricked by the flashing needles. “I guess he really did get your Mojo going,” she chuckled.

  “I could say the same.” Sara threw down an annoyed look even though Brandi knew she was pleased with how her relationship had developed.

  “So,” Brandi drawled, carefully pulling the thread on the hem. “Would you go back home, if a way presented itself?”

  “If you know something then out with it,” Sara demanded.

  Not wanting to raise Maria’s suspicions Brandi talked quickly, telling Sara about Fritz and the letter he produced, about the mysterious man known as Professor who had approached Devon, the lighter, the inscription, and the obvious doorway between two eras in time. Sara listened, eyes closed, her lips a thin line.

  Maria wasn’t paying the slightest attention to the constant flow of rapid English. She was by far too occupied with directing the creation of this perfect gown. Brandi finally gave up attempting to be a seamstress, passing her needle to another, finding a seat nearby to watch rather than participate. Only then did she notice Sara, staring at her with a frightened, vacant expression.

  “What is it?” Brandi asked.

  “I have something too,” she whispered. “It must be the same man.” She retold her story: the tussle at the saloon, the stranger who intercepted and the newspaper clipping left with the hotel attendant, the warning that Horn was close by. But she never did get a good look at him.

  “So he is our guardian angel,” Brandi muttered. “He knows when danger is close by and appears out of nowhere to help.”

  “Why?” Sara squeaked, her brow furrowed. “If he holds some
kind of key he’s the only one who can get us home.”

  “We’re doing what was meant to be. He’s just giving us a helping hand to see that history proceeds as it should.”

  “Oh,” Sara sighed. “I don’t get any of this. Why us?”

  “It can’t be a coincidence his name is Fault. We must have some part to play in his destiny. It’s the only explanation I can come up with.”

  “No,” Sara snapped, causing the seamstresses to glance up and complain in Spanish. “You have something to do with his destiny. Why have I been dragged into this?”

  “I don’t know. We need to talk to him.”

  “Right. Let’s go into town and see if the post office has a fax machine, and we’ll contact him at the university. Then he can beam himself in and explain it all with crystal clarity.”

  “He might still be here,” Brandi said, ignoring the sarcasm.

  “Wait a minute,” Sara said. “If his name is Fault, and he has a vested interest in your survival, that means you’re going to have a baby. No secret as to what you two have been up to then.” An amused smile pinched one corner of her mouth. Then dropped. “Oh no.”

  “What?” Brandi said. “Having a family with Devon is far from a negative thought, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “No, that’s not it. I have to show you the letter I have.” The sizing of the dress was nearing completion but Sara wasn’t permitted to move.

  “Tell me,” Brandi coaxed. “What did he say in it?”

  “We wanted to stay at the hotel another night but the letter said that Horn was closing in. For our sake, and the sake of my baby, we had to run. But it’s written oddly for a professor. I mean, he capitalized certain letters out of context in a sentence. I want you to read it yourself and tell me what you get from it.”

  “It’s obvious he needs both of us to survive, then, for his own sake,” Brandi said. She rubbed her forehead. “I’m getting another headache.”