“It doesn’t look like much,” J.T. muttered, lifting Brandy into his arms. “But it’ll have to do.”
Brandy nodded as she wrapped her arms around J.T.’s neck. Right now, she didn’t care about anything but a hot bath and a bed.
A moment later, a tall, buxom woman with iron-gray hair and sharp blue eyes answered J.T.’s knock. “What do you want?”
“I’d like a room.”
“I don’t rent rooms to no Injuns.”
“My wife’s expecting a baby,” J.T. said, stating the obvious. “We need a place to stay, at least for the night.”
The woman grunted softly. “She Injun, too?”
J.T. nodded curtly. He could feel his anger growing with each passing minute.
Brandy squirmed in J.T.’s arms, irritated by the woman’s surly attitude, and by the fact that J.T. and the woman talked about her as if she couldn’t speak for herself. “Put me down, J.T..”
“No,” he muttered. “Just hold still.”
“Put me down!”
“Hush, Brandy.” J.T. settled her more firmly in his arms as he waited for the landlady’s decision. A faint grin had softened the woman’s stern expression. He took that for a good sign.
“I don’t like Injuns much,” the woman said. “Don’t trust ’em, but since your missus is expectin’, I might make an exception, long as you don’t keep me up nights with yer quarrelin’. A room’ll cost you two dollars a day. In advance.”
J.T. swore, certain she was charging him at least three times what the room was worth. “I’m broke.”
The woman grimaced and took a step back, and J.T. knew she was about to slam the door in his face.
“Wait! Dammit, lady, do you want me to beg? My wife needs a place to stay.”
“I ain’t running no charity house.”
“I’ll work for our keep,” J.T. said, feeling desperate. “This place could use a coat of paint. I could fix that shutter. Repair your roof. Whatever you want.”
A muscle flexed in J.T.’s jaw as he waited for the woman to make up her mind. He hated begging, hated having to ask for help, but he’d get down on his belly and crawl like a snake if the woman asked him to, anything, so long as it would ensure a place for Brandy to spend the night.
“You’re in trouble with the law, ain’t ya?”
For a moment, J.T. considered lying, and then he nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“Well, that’s honest,” the woman allowed. “As a rule, I got no use for men. They’re trouble, and nothing but. Married two of the most worthless men to ever walk the earth, but, now that you mentioned it, I reckon this place could use a little fixin’ up.” She took a step back and motioned J.T. inside. “You can have the room upstairs at the end of the hall.”
“Obliged,” J.T. said, forcing the word through clenched teeth. “Do you think we could get some hot water for a bath?”
“Cost ya extra. You’ll find a tub in your room. I’ll heat the water for you, but I got a bad back, so you’ll have to haul it up the stairs yourself. My name’s Missus Thomason.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ma’am. I’m John Shayne, and this is my wife, Brandy.”
Mrs. Thomason nodded. “Supper’s in an hour.”
J.T. nodded. Relieved to have a place to stay, he carried Brandy up the stairs and down the hall.
“She’s got a hell of a nerve, charging two bucks a day for this dump,” J.T. muttered as he lowered Brandy to the bed, then closed the door.
Brandy nodded as she stretched out on the bed. The mattress felt like heaven and she decided then and there that the bed alone was worth two dollars a day.
* * * * *
Wrapped in a heavy blanket, with a shawl draped over her head, Brandy sat on the front porch, watching while J.T. pulled the weeds from Mrs. Thomason’s front yard. In the five and a half weeks since they’d been there, J.T. had painted the house, front and back, fixed the shutters, all of them, and repaired the hole in the roof.
Brandy sighed as she rested her hands on her swollen abdomen. The weather had been remarkably mild for February. It had snowed the day after they arrived in Copper Flats, but since then the weather had been cold and clear. J.T. hadn’t mentioned going to Cedar Ridge again, but she knew it was always there, in the back of his mind. As much as she hated the thought of leaving J.T., she knew he was right. She had to go back. Cedar Ridge had to be the key to unlock the door to the future. She didn’t want to stay here, in the past, without J.T.. If she couldn’t stay with him, share her life with him, then she wanted to go home where she could have their baby in a nice clean hospital, with her mother at her side.
But she didn’t want to think about that now.
J.T. stood up, stretching his back. Mrs. Thomason was certainly getting her money’s worth, he thought. He’d been working like a field hand ever since they arrived, but he couldn’t really complain. Once they had got to know each other, Leona Thomason proved to be a decent woman. She made a fuss over Brandy, cooking Brandy’s favorite foods, insisting Brandy take a nap every afternoon. She had even volunteered to do their laundry so Brandy wouldn’t have to bend over a washtub.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Brandy sitting on the front porch, watching him. He felt his heart quicken when she smiled and waved at him. Lord, he was going to miss her. Even Heaven, should he be lucky enough to find himself there, would be a lonely place without her.
He returned her smile, then turned his attention to the army of weeds choking Leona Thomason’s flower beds, ever conscious of Brandy’s gaze on his back.
More and more, he found himself wondering if he had done anything to redeem himself in Gideon’s eyes. True, he didn’t miss his old life, didn’t miss the gambling, the lying, the stealing. Maybe, if things had been different, he would have made a good life for himself. Considering the fact that he was part-Indian, it wasn’t likely that he would have been considered a pillar of the community, but given half a chance, he might have raised horses for a living instead of stealing them.
J.T. swore softly. He had given up stealing and cheating, mainly because Gideon had always been looking over his shoulder, but that was about all. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t really changed. What would Gideon say when they met again? Would his guardian angel be pleased with how J.T. had spent his probation, or would J.T. find himself wandering the furthest reaches of Hell, in endless torment knowing he would never see Brandy again?
And where on earth had Gideon been these last few months?
J.T. frowned as he yanked a weed from the earth. It was February twenty-third. Assuming Gideon intended for him to have one whole year, he only had forty-five days left. If the weather held, the journey to Cedar Ridge would take about a week, give or take a day.
He swore under his breath as he jerked another weed from the ground. Forty-five days, and then Brandy would be lost to him forever. And what if she couldn’t get back to her own time? How would she survive on her own, with no one to look after her and the baby?
Damn! He lifted his head and gazed up at the sky. “Are you there, Gideon? Can you hear me? Tell me she’ll be okay, that she’ll get back home. Tell me that I haven’t ruined her life the way I ruined mine!”
He sat there for several minutes, staring into the vast blue vault of the sky, waiting for an answer that didn’t come.
Some guardian angel, J.T. mused sourly. Hell, maybe he’d imagined the whole thing. Maybe he was really dead and Heaven, or Hell, was nothing more than one long dream…
J.T. lifted a hand to his throat. He hadn’t imagined hanging, and he hadn’t imagined that celestial white light. And Brandy was as real as anyone he had ever known. Brandy…
He sensed her presence and when he glanced over his shoulder, she was standing behind him, a cup of hot coffee in her hand.
“Here,” she said, “I thought you might need something to warm you up.”
“I’d rather have you in my arms for that,” he drawled, “but this will do for now.
Thanks.”
He stood up, his fingers brushing hers as he took the cup from her hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” She patted her stomach. “I think Junior’s doing somersaults. Here, feel.” She took J.T.’s hand and placed it on her belly.
A surge of love flowed through J.T. as he felt his son move beneath his hand.
“Does it ever hurt?” he asked as he felt one tiny foot kick his palm.
“No, it feels wonderful, although sometimes it’s hard to believe there’s a real person living inside me, that he eats and sleeps. I hope he’ll look just like you.”
“That’s a terrible curse to hang on an innocent kid.”
“It is not! You’re the handsomest man I’ve ever known.” Better looking than Kevin Costner, Brad Pitt and Mel Gibson all rolled into one, she thought, grinning as she pictured J.T. on the cover of People Magazine. J.T. Cutter, The Sexiest Man on Earth.
Her praise washed over J.T. like liquid sunshine. Finishing the coffee, he laid the cup aside and drew Brandy into his arms. “I feel like there’s a basketball between us,” she said, laughing.
“What’s a basketball?”
“It’s a big brown ball used to play games with.”
J.T. grunted softly. There were so many things about her time he didn’t know, would never know. So few days left to spend with her, to hold her, touch her, hear her voice, the sound of her laughter, his name on her lips.
“Brandy…”
“What?”
“I need you,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Now.”
She smiled up at him and batted her lashes. “Have I ever denied you anything?”
“I’m serious,” he growled.
“So am I,” Brandy replied softly, and taking him by the hand, she led him into the house, up the stairs, to their room.
After closing the curtains, she drew back the blankets on the bed, then began to unbutton J.T.’s shirt. Tossing the garment aside, she let her hands roam freely over his chest and shoulders. Such a nice chest, she mused, running her fingers through the light sprinkling of dark curly hair that arrowed down to his waist and disappeared beneath his trousers.
J.T. groaned softly as she removed his belt and began to unfasten his pants. He didn’t wear anything underneath.
“Here, let me take my boots off,” he said.
With a grin, she stepped away from the bed and he sat down on the edge of the mattress and pulled off his boots and socks, then removed his trousers.
“Don’t you feel a little over-dressed?” he asked, grinning up at her.
“No, I just feel fat.”
“Come here.”
She went to him willingly, running her hands over his broad shoulders as he drew her down beside him and began to undress her.
Her skin was warm and smooth, like satin kissed by the sun. Her hair was as black as ink, soft beneath his cheek. Her breasts were heavy in his hands, sweet to his lips as he kissed one and then the other, trying to imagine what it would be like to watch his son nurse at her breast. He ran his hands over the hard mound of her belly, felt the pressure of a tiny, exploring foot.
Only forty-five days left…
The words seemed to echo in his mind like a death knell as he caressed her with his hands and his lips until, at last, he joined his flesh with hers.
He kissed her then, felt the dampness of tears on her cheeks, and wondered if they were hers, or his.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brandy stood at the window, watching J.T. paint the picket fence that surrounded the boardinghouse.
Their days had settled into a pleasant routine, with J.T. working during the day while she sewed baby clothes. Often, Leona Thomason joined her. Together, they had made a blue and pink quilt for the baby.
Sometimes, she went shopping with Leona. Their landlady’s gruff exterior disguised a heart as soft as butter and after the first week, she had handed J.T. an envelope, declaring that he deserved to be paid for his hard work. She had lowered their rent, as well, her cheeks flushing when she admitted that she only charged her other boarder four bits a day.
Often, in the evening, J.T. took her for a stroll through town. One Sunday morning, he even took her to church. Brandy smiled with the memory. He had looked downright uncomfortable when the preacher started talking about the wages of sin, but she’d seen a look of hope in his eyes when the reverend went on to talk about forgiveness.
With a sigh, she pressed a hand to her back. Sometimes she forgot that they weren’t here to stay, that J.T. had a date with destiny. What would she do without him? It wasn’t fair, she thought hopelessly. It just wasn’t fair. Time was going by so fast, she wished she could rope it and make it stand still. Another three months, and the baby would be born. She contemplated the event with mixed emotions. She could hardly wait to see J.T.’s son, and yet, by the time her child was born, J.T. would be gone.
She felt the tears well in her eyes and blinked them back. She’d have plenty of time to cry later.
“You feelin’ all right?”
Brandy glanced over her shoulder and smiled at Leona Thomason. “Fine. My back hurts now and then.”
Leona Thomason nodded. “I remember. Come here and sit down, and I’ll rub it for you.”
“Oh, no,” Brandy said. “I couldn’t let you do that.”
Leona Thomason made a gesture of dismissal with her hand. “Don’t argue with me, girl.”
Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Brandy sat down on a footstool, her head bent forward, while the older woman rubbed her back and shoulders.
“Hmmm,” Brandy said, “that does feel good.”
“I remember my Henry doing this for me. We had four young’uns. Three girls and a boy.”
“What a nice family,” Brandy remarked. “Do you see them often?”
“No. My girls all got married and moved away. My boy died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. My little Henry Junior was the prettiest baby you ever did see. He died of the pneumonia when he was just three. Ain’t nothing like having a baby. Holdin’ that little child in your arms, knowing you’re the most important thing in its life.”
“Is it…does it hurt very much, having a baby?”
“Well, now, that depends. Some women don’t seem to have any trouble at all, while others labor for days. I don’t reckon you’ll have too much trouble. You got nice hips for child-bearin’.”
She ran her hands over Brandy’s back one last time. “How’s that feel now?”
“Much better, thanks.”
“You been married long?”
“No. Less than a year.”
“That man treat you all right?”
“J.T.? Yes.”
Leona Thomason grunted softly. “I’ve got bread raisin’ in the kitchen. You sit there and put your feet up, and I’ll bring you a nice glass of lemonade.”
“Would you mind fixing a glass for Mr. Cutter?”
“No, I don’t mind. He’s a good worker.”
The words, “for an Injun” seemed to hover in the air. Mrs. Thomason made no bones of the fact that she didn’t have any use for Indians, but Brandy suspected the woman was growing fond of J.T. in spite of her continued gruffness.
She thanked Leona for the lemonade, then carried the glasses outside.
“Hey, there,” she called. “You ready for a break?”
J.T. put the paint brush down and wiped his hands on his trousers. “I hope one of those are for me.”
“Both, if you want,” Brandy said, handing him one of the drinks.
J.T. drained the glass in three long swallows, then put it aside. “Thanks.”
“Leona made it.”
J.T. grunted. “Mine’s probably poisoned.”
“I think she likes you, J.T..”
“Yeah? She’s got a funny way of showing it. Every time I go into the dining room, I expect her to hide the silver.”
“She rubbed my back for me today
.”
“She did?”
“Uh-huh. Did you know she has three married daughters? And that she had a little boy who died when he was just three years old?”
“Sounds like you two are getting pretty friendly.”
“I think she’s lonesome.”
“Like you?”
“I’m not lonesome. I’ve got you.”
But for how long? J.T. thought, and when he met Brandy’s gaze, he knew she was thinking the same thing.
Taking the empty glass from her hand, he put it next to his on the ground, then took her hand in his. Such a small hand, he mused. Her fingers were long and delicate. Graceful. Gentle.
He took a deep breath. “I think we should leave for Cedar Ridge next week.”
“So soon?”
“Yeah. I want to see you settled somewhere soon, before…” He cleared his throat. “Before it’s unsafe for you to travel.”
“We could stay here.”
“No. I’m taking you back to Cedar Ridge.”
“But…”
“No buts. That’s where this all started, and that’s where it’s gotta end. You know I’m right.”
She wanted to argue. She wanted to curse Fate. She wanted to beg J.T. to find a way to stay with her forever. But she knew that saying those things would only make him feel worse because she knew he wanted to stay. It wasn’t his fault that he had to leave her, that he had no control over his future.
With a sigh, she stepped into his arms and rested her head on his chest. “I’ll do whatever you think is best, J.T..”
“Next week, then, if the weather stays clear.”
“Next week,” Brandy repeated quietly, and knew it was the beginning of the end.
During the next week, Brandy turned every moment into a memory. She woke up in the middle of the night and memorized the way J.T. looked when he was asleep. She ran her hands over his body and through his hair, imprinting feelings and textures on her mind. She fervently wished for a camcorder so she could capture J.T.’s image on tape. What a wonderful gift that would have been for their son, to be able to see what his father had looked like, to be able to hear his voice!
The Angel and the Outlaw Page 25
