The Angel and the Outlaw

by Madeline Baker

  Stifling the urge to cry, she sat up, whispering his name.

  “Brandy?” His eyelids fluttered open and he blinked up at her. “Is that you?”

  He was alive! Crying his name, she ran her hands over his face and chest, assuring herself that he was really there, that he was truly alive.

  “Brandy? Am I dead?”

  “No.” She shook her head, tears of joy running down her cheeks. “Maybe I am.”

  He caressed her cheek, his eyes wide with wonder. “You don’t feel dead,” he murmured softly. “You feel wonderful.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’m not sure. One minute I was standing on the gallows, and the next thing I knew, I was talking to Gideon.” J.T. grinned wryly. “I guess I wasn’t quite ready for heaven. I have the feeling I’m on probation for the rest of my life.”

  Truer than you know, John Cutter.

  “Gideon?”

  Stay on the right path, the Life Path, Tokala,” the voice said. Cherish your wife. Love your children.

  “I will.” J.T. stood up, drawing Brandy with him.

  Remember, John,” the voice said, fading. Remember the lessons you have learned.

  “J.T.?”

  “Brandy.” He drew her into his arms, unable to believe that he was alive, that they were together. “Brandy, oh, Brandy.” He kissed her tenderly, exultantly, his heart pounding with the realization that he’d been given yet another chance.

  “I’m home, J.T.!” Brandy stood up, pointing at the buildings clustered along the street. “Look, there’s the high school, and the beauty shop, and the gas station.”

  Slowly, J.T. gained his feet, then turned to stare at the town. Bright lights glowed in the shop windows. The street, which had once been hard-packed dirt, was covered with some sort of slick black coating. Red, white and blue bunting hung over the main street.

  He frowned as he read the words written on the banner.

  CEDAR RIDGE CELEBRATES

  WILD WEST DAYS

  April 8th to April 10th, 1996

  He turned to stare up at the gallows, reached out to touch the body hanging from the rope. It wasn’t real, just a dummy wearing a black shirt and pants.

  “What the hell?” He studied the town. It looked the same in some ways. He recognized the blacksmith shop, surprised that it was still standing. Most of the buildings were new, of course. He frowned as he read the signs: Jerry’s Bowling Center, O’Reilly’s Mini-Mart, Myrna’s Beauty Salon.

  Slowly, he shook his head. Bowling alley? Mini-Mart?

  “You were right, J.T.,” Brandy said, her voice edged with wonder. “I made it home.”

  J.T. swore softly, not wanting to be believe what he was afraid was true. “You mean…”

  “Welcome to the ’90s, J.T..” She hugged him quick and hard, then stepped back. “It’s Wild West Days again,” she remarked. “That means I’ve been gone a year. I wonder…”

  She groaned as a sharp pain rocked her back on her heels.

  “Brandy, what’s wrong?”

  “I think I’m in labor.”

  J.T. shook his head. “No. It’s too soon.”

  “Maybe I miscalculated.” She clutched her stomach as another contraction took hold of her. She was definitely in labor.

  She stared at the high school. The annual Wild West Days dance was in full swing. She could probably find help there, but she wasn’t ready to face the townspeople, to listen to questions for which she had no answers.

  “The hospital,” she said, gasping. “Take me to the hospital.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s just a few blocks down Third Street.” She pointed over her shoulder. “That way.”

  J.T. glanced around. A lone horse stood hitched to a rail in front of the blacksmith shop. “Wait here.”

  Keeping to the shadows, J.T. ran down the street. Taking up the horse’s reins, he swung onto the animal’s bare back and rode back toward Brandy. Dismounting, he lifted her onto the horse’s back, swung up behind her, and followed her directions to the hospital.

  J.T. stared at the huge white building that rose up out of the darkness. Cedar Ridge Hospital, a large sign proclaimed.

  Dismounting, J.T. lifted Brandy into his arms and carried her up the flower-lined walkway. He felt his heart leap into his throat as the double doors opened as if by magic.

  Once inside the building, he stood beside Brandy, feeling like an idiot, while she answered questions and signed numerous papers.

  The woman behind the desk looked up, a curious expression on her face, when Brandy told her his name.

  “Cutter? He’s not related to the famous one, is he?”

  “No,” Brandy said quickly. “Everyone asks that.”

  J.T. grinned to himself. The famous one, he mused. His humor was short-lived as he glanced around. Never, in all his life, had he seen anything like this. Huge glass windows. Shiny black and white floors that weren’t made of wood. Women in crisp white uniforms and strange looking shoes. He grimaced at the pungent smells that assailed his nostrils.

  He knew a moment of panic when one of the white-clad women brought a wheelchair for Brandy.

  “I’ll be all right, J.T.,” Brandy said. She took his hand in hers. “We never discussed this, but I’d like you to be with me during the delivery.”

  J.T. swallowed hard. “With you?”

  Brandy nodded, wincing as a contraction caught her unawares.

  “Is that…is that what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  How could he refuse her? “Very well, if you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  The woman, whose name was Nurse Winfield, according to a little square sign on her chest, smiled at J.T. as she seated Brandy in the wheelchair. “Someone will come for you as soon as we’ve got your wife settled in a room.”

  “Fine.”

  “J.T., would you do something for me? Would you call my parents?”

  “Call them?”

  “On the phone. Ask the nurse at the desk to call them. She has the number.”

  “Brandy, I…”

  “Please?” She grimaced as another pain engulfed her.

  “I will. Don’t worry.”

  She forced a smile as Nurse Winfield wheeled her down the hallway.

  Call her parents, J.T. thought, dazed. What did that mean? What was a phone? What number was she talking about? And what the hell was he supposed to say?

  Feeling like a fish out of water, he asked the woman at the desk to call Brandy’s parents. She seemed to understand what he meant, and he watched intently as she sat down in front of a peculiar looking black instrument, lifted half of it to her ear, then punched some buttons.

  “Mrs. Talavera?” the nurse inquired in a cheerful voice. “One moment, please.”

  J.T. took a deep breath as the nurse thrust the thing into his hand. Not knowing quite what to expect, he held it to his ear as she had done. And waited.

  After a moment, he heard a woman’s voice say, “Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?”

  He swallowed and said, “Hello?”

  “Who is this?”

  “J.T. Cutter, ma’am.”

  “Cutter? I’m afraid I don’t recognize the name.”

  “No, ma’am, we’ve never met. I’m…” J.T. swore under his breath. “I’m Brandy’s husband.”

  “Brandy?” The woman said, her voice rising. “You’ve got Brandy? Where is she? Let me talk to her!” The woman paused a moment, and then, in a stunned voice, said, “Husband? Did you say husband?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  There was a long silence. In the background, J.T. heard a man’s voice say, “Talina? Are you all right? You’re white as a sheet.”

  And then the man’s voice came over the phone. “This is Nick Talavera. Who’s this?”

  “J.T. Cutter.”

  “Cutter? Who the hell are you? What’d you say to my wife?”

  “I’m your daughter’s husband.”

  J.T.
grinned wryly as there was another moment of stunned silence on the other end of the phone.

  “Husband, you say?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What have you done to my daughter? We thought, hell, we didn’t know what to think when she vanished into thin air.”

  “I don’t have time to explain it to you now,” J.T. said. “Brandy’s in labor. If you want to see her, we’re at the hospital in Cedar Ridge.”

  He heard sputtering on the other end of the line as he handed the phone to the nurse.

  Just then, another nurse appeared at the end of the hallway. J.T. stared at the figure coming toward him. Was it a male nurse? No, he thought, his mouth agape, it was a woman in pants.

  “Mr. Cutter? We’re ready for you now.”

  Twenty minutes later, clad in a pale green gown, with funny slippers made of paper on his feet, and a paper hat on his head, he was ushered into a small room. Brandy lay on a narrow bed covered by a white sheet. A man he assumed was the doctor stood at the foot of the bed; two nurses hovered nearby.

  “Did you get ahold of my folks?” Brandy asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What did they say?”

  J.T. grinned. “Well, they were kind of surprised to hear from me, I can tell you that. They asked a lot of questions I didn’t answer.” He shook his head. “I told them you were having a baby and then gave the…the phone back to the nurse. I figured there’ll be plenty of time to answer their questions when they get here.”

  “I wish I knew the answers to those questions.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” He took her hand in his. “How are you feelin’?”

  “I’ve been better.” She gasped as a contraction claimed her. “It hurts.”

  “I know. What can I do?”

  She shook her head, her nails digging into the palm of his hand as another contraction knifed through her.

  “They’re coming…closer,” she said with a groan. “I didn’t think it would hurt so much.”

  He stood beside her for the next five hours, holding her hand, rubbing her back, wishing he could endure the pain for her. And then, when he thought he couldn’t bear to hear her cries a moment longer, the baby’s head emerged.

  “One more good push,” the doctor urged, and a short time later, their baby was born.

  J.T. stared at the tiny red-faced infant, and felt a surge of love like nothing he had ever known before.

  “Brandy, love, it is a boy,” he murmured, his voice edged with wonder. “Just like Tasina Luta said.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “Perfect,” J.T. said. “Perfect and beautiful, just like his mother.”

  “Mr. Cutter, would you step outside for a few minutes, please?”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. We just need to clean up the baby and take care of the afterbirth. It won’t take long.”

  He nodded, then bent down and kissed Brandy’s forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as they let me.”

  Brandy nodded. “Hurry.”

  “I will.” He kissed her again, then left the room.

  “Mr. Cutter, the waiting room is just down the hall. There’s a coffee machine next to the elevators. I’m afraid the cafeteria is closed.”

  J.T. nodded, wondering what the hell she was talking about.

  With a sigh, he walked down the hall until he found a small room. He didn’t know if it was the waiting room or not, but it was blessedly quiet and he suddenly needed a few minutes alone. Sinking down in a chair, he closed his eyes.

  He was a father. He had a son.

  A few minutes later, he heard footsteps in the hallway, and then a man and a woman entered the room. He knew without being told that they were Brandy’s parents. Talina Talavera was tall and slender, with long black hair and black eyes. Nick Talavera had a shock of dark-blond hair and gray eyes a shade lighter than his daughter’s. He wore boots, Levi’s, and a tan-colored shirt that had a picture of Geronimo on it.

  J.T. grinned as he read the words printed on the shirt: My heroes have always killed cowboys. And then he took a deep breath. Nick Talavera was a big, broad-shouldered man with legs reminiscent of tree trunks and the biggest hands J.T. had ever seen. He could easily imagine those hands around his throat, finishing the job the hangman had started, when Talavera learned who he was.

  Gathering his courage, J.T. stood up. “Mister and Missus Talavera? I’m Brandy’s husband.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  J.T. felt like a stud horse at auction as Brandy’s parents scrutinized him from head to foot.

  “Where’s my daughter?” Mrs. Talavera asked, her tone betraying her anxiety. “Where’s Brandy?”

  “She’s fine, ma’am,” J.T. replied. “We have a son, seven pounds three ounces, twenty-one inches long.”

  “You’re sure she’s all right?

  “Yes, ma’am, mother and son are both doing fine.”

  “Where did you meet my daughter?” Nick Talavera demanded, somewhat brusquely.

  “Here, in Cedar Ridge,” J.T. replied. He didn’t bother to add they’d met in a different century.

  “When?”

  “A year ago.”

  “Why haven’t we heard from her in all this time?” Talina Talavera asked.

  Why, indeed, J.T. mused ruefully.

  “Are you sure she’s all right?” Nick Talavera asked, obviously still suspecting that something was amiss.

  “I said she’s fine,” J.T. replied impatiently, “And she is.”

  “You’re part-Indian, aren’t you?” Talina remarked.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m a quarter-Lakota.”

  “Lakota!”

  J.T. nodded. Apparently some things never changed, he mused, like the ancient animosity between the Crow and the Lakota. It was obvious, from the pinched look on Talina Talavera’s face, that she was less than thrilled at the thought of having a Lakota son-in-law. But that was the least of his worries. How would they ever explain things to Brandy’s parents? Would they believe the truth? Hell, it was hard for him to believe it.

  Fortunately, a nurse appeared just then. “Mr. Cutter? You can see your wife now.”

  “Obliged. These are my wife’s folks.”

  “Hospital policy is to allow only two visitors at a time,” the nurse advised.

  J.T. nodded at Brandy’s parents. “You two go on,” he said. “I know she’s anxious to see you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Cutter,” Talina Talavera said.

  “J.T. will do.”

  Talina offered him what might have been a smile, then hurried out of the room, followed by her husband.

  J.T. paced the floor, his nerves taut. Brandy had seemed to fit so easily into his world, why did he feel so awkward in hers?

  He felt as if he were viewing everything through spectacles that were out of focus. He saw things he recognized, yet nothing was really the same. The town looked familiar yet it was completely different. It even smelled different. Gone was the scent of sage and pine and in its place were heavy odors he didn’t recognize.

  Clothes seemed to be the same—ladies wore dresses and men wore pants and shirts, yet they weren’t the same at all. Skirts were scandalously short, revealing most of a woman’s legs. And one of the nurses had worn pants. J.T. shook his head. He had never seen a woman in pants before. At first glance, he had thought she was a man with an exceptionally pretty face.

  He studied the lights overhead, wondering what made the long narrow tubes glow like that. He had seen candlelight and gas light, but this was something new.

  He glanced at the clock on the wall. Something else that was different yet the same. It was after ten. With a sigh, he reached for one of the newspapers on the rickety-looking table, his gaze fixed on the date. April 10, 1996.

  He swore softly as he crumpled the paper in his hand. It hit him then, really hit him for the first time. He had come forward in time
a hundred years. Everyone he had ever known was long dead. Everything that was familiar was gone, and there was no going back.

  And then he thought of Brandy, and their son, and he smiled. He had no reason to go back to his old life, and nothing to go back to. Everything he had ever wanted, everyone he loved and cherished, was right here.

  Whistling softly, J.T. walked down the hall toward his wife’s room. His future, his life, his whole world, was waiting there, behind the door.

  Epilogue

  Brandy sat in the shade, nursing her daughter. It was so good to be home, she mused. To her relief, her parents hadn’t sold her house or anything else. Instead, they had rented it out to an elderly couple who had agreed to look after Brandy’s pets for a slight reduction in their rent.

  She knew an overwhelming sense of contentment as she watched J.T. instruct their son in the proper way to shoe a horse. At three, Johnny was the spitting image of his father. She knew he was going to be a real heartbreaker when he grew older.

  Brandy let out a sigh as she gazed into her daughter’s face. Lissa was a pretty baby, with her mother’s black hair and her father’s brown eyes. At six months, she was already daddy’s little girl.

  It had been a busy three years. It had been no easy task, getting J.T. accustomed to life in the ’90s. He’d had so much to learn—how to drive a car, load a washing machine, run the microwave, work an ATM machine, balance a checkbook.

  On top of everything else, they’d had to explain Brandy’s disappearance, not only to the whole town, but to her mother and father, as well.

  Her explanation to the townspeople had been easier. She had simply told everyone who asked that J.T. had swept her off her feet the night of the dance, and that they had eloped. The good people of Cedar Ridge thought it was the most romantic thing they had ever heard—doubly so because she had fallen in love with a mysterious stranger named Cutter during Wild West Days when they had been celebrating the notorious outlaw’s demise.

  Brandy hadn’t liked the idea of lying to her parents, but she had been afraid to tell them the truth. At first, she had told them the same story she told the town, but her father shook his head and her mother flat-out refused to believe it. Next, she had tried to come up with a plausible lie to excuse her year-long absence, but, in the end, she had told her folks the truth. Her father had been skeptical, but her mother, a firm believer in mysticism, had recognized and accepted the truth for what it was. Eventually, even Brandy’s father had come to believe that the impossible had happened, that she had traveled back through time, met and fallen in love with J.T., and that they had been reunited in the present.