“We ought to get married.”
“We are married.”
“I mean here, in town. I don’t want anyone calling my son a bastard because his parents weren’t properly married.”
There was an edge in his voice, a tinge of bitterness that made her wonder whether his father had married his mother. “All right, if you think we should.”
“I’ll see about it tomorrow, first thing.”
“That means another honeymoon,” she said, smiling at him in hopes of lightening his mood. “Although I don’t think we can top the last one, do you?”
He grinned at her, his eyes suddenly hot. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will,” she said, laughing softly. “I’m counting on it.”
* * * * *
True to his word, Trey arranged for them to be married the following afternoon. But first they had business to attend to. Trey took the horses to the blacksmith shop for new shoes; Amanda went to the mercantile where she picked up several bars of soap, a sack of Matoma Rice, a few cans of salmon, and a dozen lemons and tomatoes, as well as a variety of tinned meat and vegetables.
While she was waiting for the clerk to add up her purchases, her gaze fell on a dress. It was just a simple frock, with a square collar and a full skirt. The material was cotton, white with tiny blue flowers. Best of all, it was big enough to accommodate her increased size. She handed it to the clerk, telling him she would take the dress with her and pick up the rest of her order later.
She returned to the hotel, surprised that Trey wasn’t already there.
Taking off her old dress, she stepped into the new one, then brushed out her hair.
A moment later, Trey arrived. He’d been to the barber shop. His hair, still long, had been freshly trimmed. He’d had a shave, too.
“New dress,” he remarked, shutting the door.
She twirled around. “Like it?”
“You look pretty as a filly in a patch of clover.”
“You look mighty nice yourself.” She ran her fingertips over his jaw. “And you smell good, too.”
He grinned at her. “I told the barber to give me the best he had ‘cause I was marrying the prettiest girl in the territory.”
She blushed with pleasure.
“Ready?” he asked, offering her his arm.
“Ready.”
She hadn’t expected to feel so nervous, but standing in front of the preacher in the little white church at the end of the street, she felt like a real bride, getting married for the first time.
He introduced himself as the Reverend William Applegate.
The preacher’s wife, a tiny little woman with curly brown hair and gray eyes, stood in as Amanda’s maid of honor. The preacher’s teenage son, a tall, gangly boy with carrot-red hair and freckles, stood beside Trey, looking bored.
Amanda looked up into Trey’s eyes, warmed by the love she saw there as she said the words that made her his wife. There was no doubt in her mind that she had been made for this man and no other, knew that if she had married Rob or any other man, she would never have been completely happy. She would have spent her whole life yearning for the other half of her soul, searching for a way to fill the emptiness in her heart, an emptiness that only Trey’s love could fill.
She was surprised when Trey slipped a wide gold band over her finger. When had he found the time to buy one?
The preacher pronounced them man and wife.
Amanda gazed into Trey’s eyes, all else forgotten as he took her in his arms. “I love you,” he murmured. “Now and forever. Only you.”
“And I love you,” she repeated. “Now and forever. Only you.”
Lowering his head, he claimed her lips, sealing his love with a kiss.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sound of the preacher loudly clearing his throat brought Amanda back to the reality. She knew she was blushing when Trey released her.
The preacher’s wife signed the marriage certificate as witness, then kissed Amanda and hugged Trey.
“Such a lovely couple. I hope you’ll be as happy as me and the Reverend have been,” she said, beaming at them.
The preacher harrumphed, and Trey grinned.
After leaving the church, they went to dinner in the town’s finest restaurant. Strange as it seemed, Amanda was so nervous she could hardly eat. There was no accounting for the way she felt, all shivery and excited. After all, she had been sleeping with Trey for months now, but there was no denying that tonight was special. The Apache ceremony had been lovely but for some reason, this was different. Perhaps it was because they had been married in a church. Maybe it was the piece of paper in Trey’s pocket that proclaimed to all the world that they were man and wife. Or maybe it was just the intense expression in Trey’s deep brown eyes when he looked at her, a purely masculine look of desire and possession that spoke to everything feminine within her.
She was trembling with anticipation when they left the restaurant, their footsteps quickening as they neared the hotel. At the foot of the stairs, Trey swung her into his arms and carried her up to their room.
She opened the door and he carried her inside, kicked the door shut with his heel. Still holding her in his arms, he kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding sensuously over her lower lip, causing the tinder of her desire to burst into full flame. She clung to him as he carried her to the bed, placed her on the soft mattress, and followed her down, his body covering hers, his hands as eager as hers as they undressed each other.
She ran her hands over his back and shoulders, up and down his arms, over his thighs, loving the way he responded to her touch, the way his muscles rippled beneath her hands, the heat of his skin, the brush of his hair over her breasts. She was ready for him in moments, ready and eager and wanting…wanting…wanting.
She sighed with pleasure as their bodies came together, moving slowly, rhythmically, to the music only their hearts could hear, moving ever faster as the melody soared, carrying them up, up, toward the last sparkling note…
* * * * *
“Missus Long Walker. Mrs. Trey Long Walker. Mrs. Amanda Long Walker.” She wrote across his chest with her forefinger, smiling as she tried out every variation of her new name that she could think of.
It was such a lovely chest, bronze and well-muscled, she couldn’t resist pausing from time to time to admire it, or kiss the man who watched her, his eyes alight with amusement.
“Mrs. T. Long Walker,” she continued, writing across his chest with a flourish. “Mrs. A. Long Walker. Mrs. Amanda Nicole Burkett Long Walker.”
“You forgot one.” His hand cupped the back of her head and drew her down for a kiss. “Mister and Missus Long Walker.” His hand slid down her neck, over her shoulder, to cup her breast.
“Hmm, that’s the best one of all,” she replied dreamily. “Mister and Missus Long Walker. Has a lovely ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. We’re all nice and legal now,” he remarked. “No matter what happens, you’ll always be mine.”
His words send a cold shiver down her spine. Easing up on one elbow, she stared down at him. “Why did you say that?”
“No reason.”
“Trey! Why did you say that? You think something’s going to happen, don’t you? Something bad. Trey…”
“Calm down, sweetheart.”
“What do you think’s going to happen?”
He drew her back down beside him, his arm tightening around her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“But?”
“I can’t forget that you don’t belong here, that I could wake up some morning and you’d be gone, and…”
She put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say that!” She had been so happy here, with him, she had put the possibility of being zapped back to her own time out of her mind, but the reality of it hit her now, and hit her hard. What if she had the baby, and then, somehow, she was sent back to the future, alone?
* * * * *
The unwelcome
thought haunted her for the rest of the night and on the long ride back home the following morning. And then she forced herself to think rationally. It could happen, but would it? She had tried to go back home before and nothing had happened. It didn’t make sense that she would suddenly be zapped back to her own time without rhyme or reason.
She smiled as they rounded a bend in the trail and their house came into view. It was a cozy little place, with the rock-lined path leading up to the front door and the flowers blooming on either side. Hens scratched in the dirt, digging up plump grubs for their chicks; the rooster sat on the top rail of the corral like a sultan surveying his harem. Next year at this time, they would have a real house with two bedrooms and wood floors and glass in the windows. And a baby…
She glanced over at Trey. “Next time we go to town, we need to buy a cow.”
“I was thinking about that,” he said. “Maybe we’ll get a couple of sheep, too, and a pig.”
She nodded, thinking what fun it would be to have a yard full of animals, and then she frowned. The animals wouldn’t be pets. They’d be for food. The thought gave her pause. She wasn’t sure she could feed an animal every day, watch it grow, and then eat it. She remembered how horrified she had been when she was a little girl and found out that the pork chops her grandmother served her for dinner had come from the cute little pig she had watched grow up on the farm.
Trey reined his horse to a halt. Leaning forward, he folded his arms over the pommel. “We need to build a smokehouse,” he mused, “and maybe a springhouse, over there.”
Dismounting, he lifted Amanda from Relámpago’s back. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She arched her back and stretched her shoulders. “Just a little tired.”
“Here.” He turned her around and began to massage her back, his big hands gentle, soothing.
She closed her eyes, her head lolling forward. “That feels wonderful.”
He massaged her shoulders, then, turning her to face him, he kissed the tip of her nose.
“Go on inside and sit down,” he said with a wink. “Put your feet up. I’ll bring the supplies in after I put the horses away.”
She smiled up at him, thinking how sweet he was. “Thanks, love.”
She watched him head for the barn, admiring his long-legged stride, then hurried toward the house, eager to take Trey’s advice.
She paused, her hand on the latch, at the sound of hoofbeats coming fast. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw three men riding toward the house. She didn’t recognize any of them.
“Amanda!” Trey was running toward her, leading the horses. Grabbing her around the waist, he lifted her onto Relámpago’s back and thrust the reins into her hand. “Get the hell out of here! Now!”
Gut wrenching fear swept through her. “What’s wrong?”
“Bounty hunters,” he replied, and slapped the stallion on the rump.
Relámpago sprang forward. Clinging to the saddle horn, Amanda looked over her shoulder, her heart pounding wildly.
She saw Trey swing onto the back of the mare. He slammed his heels into the bay’s flanks, drew his gun, turned and fired at the men pursuing him as the mare broke into a gallop.
Answering gunfire came in a series of sporadic pops, lost in the vast outdoors, the sound was not nearly as loud as in the movies. But this was the real thing. Trey fired again and one of the bounty hunters tumbled over the back of his horse.
Amanda gave the stallion its head and Relámpago lined out in a dead run, the mare close on his heels. Amanda shrieked as a bullet whizzed by her cheek, so close she could feel the heat of it.
She looked back at Trey, her eyes widening in horror as a bullet struck the mare in the neck. The bay stumbled and went down. Trey rolled free and scrambled to his knees, his gun leveled at the two men riding toward him.
Relámpago raced toward a distant hill, his long legs eating up the ground. She pulled back on the reins, but the stallion didn’t respond. Taking the bit in his teeth, he surged forward.
She tugged on the reins again, harder this time. Trey was in trouble. She couldn’t leave him. She looked back again. Trey fired, and one of the riders slumped forward in the saddle. The second rider slowed his horse, sighted down the barrel of his rifle and squeezed the trigger.
Time seemed to crawl to a stop.
The gunshot echoed and re-echoed in her mind. She whispered, “no, oh no” as the world around her seemed to grow fuzzy around the edges. Long fingers of swirling gray mist rose up around her, blinding her to everything else. A familiar soft, buzzing noise rang in her ears.
And then everything went black.
* * * * *
She was home. She looked behind her, hoping to see Trey, but there was no sign of him.
She stared at the house in disbelief. Her house.
“No, it can’t be. It can’t end like this!”
She reined Relámpago around and rode toward the place where past and present had come together the last time. Nothing happened. Again and again, she tried to find the corridor that led into the past, but to no avail.
Hours passed. The sun was beginning to set when she gave up and returned to the house.
Dismounting, she led Relámpago into the corral. She unfastened the girth, removed the saddle and dropped it over the top rail of the corral, spread the blanket beside it. The stallion nudged her as she removed the bridle and draped it over the saddle horn. She scratched the stallion between the ears for a few minutes, then, with a final pat, she left the corral.
She was home. Slowly, her feet feeling like lead, she climbed the stairs. The front door was closed and locked. She kept an extra key buried in the dirt beside the porch. Retrieving it, she opened the door and stepped inside. After living in an Apache wickiup and an adobe shack, the house seemed enormous. She moved slowly, woodenly, from room to room, turning on the lights, the TV, running her hands over the back of the sofa, the table tops, the mantle. Everything was coated with a fine layer of dust. She saw a residue of black powder on various surfaces here and there. Where had that come from?
In the kitchen, she ran her hand over the faucet, turned on the tap, and marveled when the water gushed forth and began to turn warm. The water and electricity still were connected!
How long had she been away? Had time here passed at the same rate as it had in the past? If she’d been gone more than a month or so in this time, wouldn’t the utility companies have shut off the gas and electricity?
Turning on the cold water, she filled a teapot, put it on the stove and turned on the flame. So easy, so quick. No need to hunt for wood or coax a reluctant fire to life.
She opened the fridge. It was empty, save for a big dish of baking soda on the top shelf to absorb odors. Someone had been here to clean it out.
Leaving the water to heat, she went upstairs to her bedroom. Had it always been this big? The whole adobe shack would have fit inside her bedroom. She opened her closet and looked at her clothes, ran her hand over the coverlet on her bed, gasped when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. How different she looked! It wasn’t just her old-fashioned dress or the fact that her skin was now a deep golden-brown, or that her hair was longer. She looked…older. Grown up. Sad. She placed her hands over her belly. Pregnant.
The whistle of the tea kettle took her back downstairs. She made a cup of tea, sipped it while she stared out the window. She felt numb inside, all her senses dulled. She was home, but there was no joy in it.
She put her empty cup in the dishwasher, then walked down the hallway to the guest room. There were more of those black smudges here and there; some kind of dust storm, she wondered? She stood in the doorway, staring at the bed where he had slept as memories engulfed her: Trey, thinking she was in danger from a man on a TV show; trying on jeans in town; rescuing her from the snake; holding her in his arms, whispering he would love her forever…
Sobbing his name, she threw herself on the bed and cried out her grief. She wondered if he had
been killed by the bounty hunters. But whether he was dead or alive in the past, he was lost to her now and she feared she would never see him again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Trey gained his feet, the acrid odor of gunsmoke filling his nostrils as he stared at the three men he had killed.
He punched the spent cartridges from his Colt, reloaded, then went to check on the mare. She was lying on her side. Blood pumped from the wound in her neck and even as he watched, she made one last effort to rise, and then lay still.
He regretted the death of the beautiful mare more than the three men.
Where was Amanda?
He peered into the distance. Relámpago had done his job once more, carrying her away from danger. At least she was safe. Holstering his Colt, he considered the three bodies. The least he could do was bury them before she
returned.
Only one of the gunmen’s mounts had stayed close by, its reins trailing. He caught up the reins of the gray gelding, speaking to it quietly, adjusted the stirrups for his long legs, then loosened the rope coiled on the horn and dallied a loop over the hindquarters of the dead mare.
He dragged the carcass a mile out into the desert to spare Amanda the sight of what the desert scavengers would do to it. Then he rode back to the house, got a spade, and found a spot far from the house to bury the bodies.
He cursed J. S. Hollinger as he worked. He’d just been kidding himself. As long as there was a bounty on his head, he’d never be able to settle down, never be able to make a home for Amanda and the baby.
Pausing, he wiped the sweat from his brow. Where the devil was she? How far had ‘Pago run?
He used the rope to drag the three bodies to the crude gravesite, filled it in, and covered it with rocks to discourage coyotes. Then he tracked down the other two horses. They hadn’t run far.
He stripped the rigging from the other two horses and turned them out in the corral. Taking up the reins of the gray, he swung into the saddle and went in search of Amanda.
He had no trouble following the stallion’s tracks. The trail was clear and easy to read until it simply disappeared. He sat there for a long time, staring at the place where the stallion’s tracks ended. He had put her on Relámpago, knowing the horse would carry her to safety. He hadn’t figured on the stallion carrying her back to her own time.
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