“Do you remember what name he wrote?” Rafe didn’t expect an answer from the clerk. He appeared so shaken from the momentary encounter Rafe doubted he could have even given a description of the almost-guest who had decided to take his business elsewhere at the last moment.
Surprisingly, the clerk gave a nervous bob of his head. When he spoke, there wasn’t the least bit of uncertainty. “Yeah,” he replied. “Josiah Kemp. But I don’t see it on here, now.”
~*~
Becket Jansen had been standing just inside the lobby behind Rafe for several seconds. Being an angel did have its advantages. He could move soundlessly across the floor if he wanted. Now, he let his boots fall heavily in order to make noise like an ordinary human being.
Rafe glanced over his shoulder. El bastardo esta aqui. The thought formed automatically in Spanish, and Rafe found he was not surprised to “hear” Beck’s voice respond in the same language, accompanied by a quirk of a sandy brow in silent question.
Aqui? En Oklahoma City?
Rafe turned to the clerk. “Did he say where he was headed?” Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. Kemp was not stupid.
The clerk shook his head. “No. An’ I didn’t ask him.”
“Thanks,” Rafe murmured. He headed for the door, Beck close behind him.
“Where you goin’?”
Rafe stepped out on the boardwalk, turning to look at Beck as the angel shut the door behind them.
“Okay, you said all I had to do is ask.”
“Yeah,” Beck drawled.
“Well, I’m askin’.” Rafe pinned him with a hard stare. “What the hell is going on here? No more games, Beck. I need to know.”
Beck rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. “Tarnation, I could use a shot of good, strong liquor right now. This is the first time in—in years—” he sputtered, “that I’ve wanted a drink!”
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Rafe muttered, “but that’s the least of our worries right now.” He fixed Beck with a level look. “Josiah Kemp is here, Beck. Now, either he wasn’t killed the same night as Cris and I were, or—” he took a deep breath. “Or—he’s been brought back. Like me.”
Beck nodded. “He was killed, all right. Been dead as long as you have.”
“That leaves only choice B.”
Slowly, Beck nodded. “Yeah. I reckon he’s back.”
Rafe leaned his arm against one of the columns at the entrance of the hotel. His eyes looked past the busy blur of colors, animals, wagons and people hurrying through the streets. His mind teemed with questions. “Why? Why is he here? And why am I really here, Beck?”
“From what I understand, it has to do with one of those—those people. The ones from the future.”
Rafe sighed, exasperated. “What about them? Which one of them is it?”
Beck cleared his throat. “That, I don’t know.” He held up a hand to forestall Rafe’s angry response. “Just hold on a minute, will you?” He took off his hat and smoothed his sandy hair, then replaced it. “All I’ve been told is—is what we have to do involves saving a child’s life. I’m not sure which of them. But—I do know why.”
Rafe forced his fingers to relax from around the smoothly carved wood of the column. Impatience could lead to disaster, as Cris had so often cautioned him. But, try as he might, he knew he would never be able to rid himself of that last remnant of having to know, having to act now.
He turned to Beck. “Why? What’s so important about this kid, anyway? What would be the thing that would cause you to come for me, and bring Kemp and me together now, sixteen years after we’ve been killed?” He wanted to ask again about Cris, but didn’t. He had to know this, first.
Beck looked uncomfortable; like he knew what he should say, but wasn’t at all sure of it any longer. He reminded Rafe of a man standing in quicksand surrounded by alligators.
“A soul.”
Rafe grabbed the front of Beck’s shirt. “Dammit, whose soul are we talking about, Beck?” he shouted. “Quit leading me around in circles!”
Beck’s eyes were icy calm, and Rafe suddenly felt like an idiot, standing there on the busy boardwalk with a fistful of Beck’s shirt wadded up in his hand. Slowly, he released the material.
“You haven’t learned yet, have you?” Beck shook his head, straightened his clothing. “You can’t know everything just because you want to, Rafe. These things take time to unfold. Even I don’t know everything!”
“You’ve gotta know who he’s after! You’ve gotta know which one of them it is, so we can protect them.”
Beck shook his head and let a deep sigh go. “But I don’t. All I know is that we’ve got to be—vigilant. Especially, now that we know Kemp is back, too.”
Rafe gave him an incredulous stare. “Do you mean to tell me you didn’t know Josiah Kemp was going to be involved in this little—play we’re performing?”
Beck’s expression became hard. He laid a hand on Rafe’s forearm. “Rafael, whatever you do, make no mistake about our situation. This is deadly serious. It isn’t a game...or a play. We’re all here for a purpose; even Kemp. He’s been chosen, evidently to prevent us from doing what we need to do.” He shook his head. “I just never figured him to be quite that cold.”
Rafe gave a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah. He’s cold, all right. He killed the four of us without batting an eye. What’s to stop him from killing a kid?”
Beck didn’t answer for a moment. “You, Rafe. You’re going to stop him.”
Rafe slapped a hand against his thigh in frustration. “I can’t believe this.”
“It’s his own kin, Rafe. His great-great-grandchild.”
“How fitting,” Rafe shot back caustically. “Why are we on opposite sides, Beck? Why aren’t we helping him?”
Beck looked at him aghast; speechless.
Rafe sighed. “Relax, Becket. You have to know I wouldn’t ever kill an innocent child, even if it was the offspring of that bastard. I just wonder what else I don’t know.”
Beck’s eyes turned shrewd. “Things aren’t always what they seem, Rafe. Don’t ever forget that. Not for one minute.”
CHAPTER 13
“I’m going to do it!” Joel’s voice raised excitedly as Beck and Rafe re-entered the hotel lobby. The other boys remained silent, as the cavalry officer’s hard blue gaze swept over each of them.
“Do what?” Rafe asked.
“Become a member of the U. S. Cavalry. Sergeant Kersey, here, says it’s easy to join up. Just say, ‘I do’ and ‘I will’ when he asks the questions!”
Rafe turned to the sergeant. “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake here, Sergeant. We appreciate your time, but—”
“Marshal, this boy says he’s willin’ to serve! You can’t tell him otherwise!” The sergeant protested.
“He’s too young,” Rafe said, pushing past the group.
“I am not!” Joel challenged.
“We take ’em at sixteen, Marshal.”
“You’ll have to set your sights elsewhere, Sergeant,” Rafe responded easily. “These boys are all fourteen.” He went up the stairs as Joel swore and threw him a murderous glare, leaving Beck behind to clean up the mess.
Rafe tapped lightly on Kip’s door and pushed it open.
“Come in, Marshal,” Reverend Bolton said. He stood at the foot of Kip’s bed. Kody and Anna stood in front of him a few feet, Jenni just to the right of Anna.
Kody looked flushed, but not the least bit reluctant. He grinned broadly at Rafe. “You’re just in time for a wedding, Marshal. Will you do us the honor of standing with me—as my best man?”
The request surprised Rafe, and touched him. “Well—uh, sure. But wouldn’t you rather have one of your friends—”
“No.” He shook his head. “This is the beginning of a new life for all of us. Anna and I...” he reached for her hand, “we’re with our friends right now. Elizabeth, and Miss Dalton—and you.”
~*~
Jenni watched Anna
and Kody say their vows with a reverence that would have been foreign to them in their own time. Watching them here, now, she felt at peace about their future. Her eyes strayed to Kip’s inert form on the bed behind the preacher. She closed her eyes and said another silent prayer for him. I’m responsible. Oh dear God. I’m responsible. Please let him get well.
When she opened her eyes, Rafe was looking right at her. His lips curved upward as he caught her glance. She couldn’t help but smile back at him—hesitantly, uncertainly, but a smile all the same. It was as if he was telling her he understood, not to worry, that it would all work out. The assurance was there, bold and blatant, and she wished she could let herself believe it.
“Do you have a ring for your bride?” the preacher asked.
Kody shook his head. “I’m sorry, Reverend. We only just decided.”
“Here, son.” Reverend Bolton pulled two shiny circlets from his inside coat pocket.
Kody took the thin band of brass and examined it. “It looks like a nail.”
Reverend Bolton chuckled. “That’s because it is. I carry a few of these with me just for, well—times like this. I stop by the smithy shop every once in a while and have Harry make me up a few.” He shrugged at Anna’s look of wonder. “It’s not very elegant, but it’ll do fine until you can afford something better. That might be awhile.” He smiled kindly. “But the love—it’s all the same.”
~*~
Just as Kody bent over Anna, taking her in his arms, an urgent tap sounded at the door. Beck stuck his head inside, his expression one of solemn concern. “A word with you Marshal, if I might?”
Rafe kept his features impassive, deliberately banishing the “what now?” light from entering his eyes—but he thought it.
As Beck pulled the door shut behind them, he said softly, “I know. It seems like nothing’s going to go right.”
“What is it?”
“That dadblamed Sergeant Kersey!” Beck responded vehemently. Rafe looked at him uncomprehendingly. “Well, he took that—that boy! Joel! Said he looked sixteen to him and they need men real bad. Asked if his parents would care, and Joel ups and says he ain’t got no parents—just like that! And that sergeant, he says, ‘Well, get your gear,’ and Joel says, ‘Ain’t got none of that either.’ So, Kersey points him out the door, and says, ‘Let’s go.’”
“And?”
“Well, they—they went!”
“Dammit, Beck! You’re supposed to be an angel! Do you mean to tell me you couldn’t have stopped that?”
“No! Of course not! Angels can’t interfere like that,” he whispered. “We can’t—change things. Not on our own.”
Rafe raked his hand through his dark hair impatiently. “Couldn’t you have at least told him no?”
Beck snorted with disgust. “Think I didn’t try that? He stood right up to me. Said he was, by God, sixteen and he’d go wherever he wanted, and he wanted to go to Fort Sill to fight Injuns, and couldn’t nobody stop him.”
Rafe drew in a sharp breath. He studied the roses in the carpeted pattern of the hallway. Finally, he said, “Is he the one?”
Beck stood silent for a moment, then, “I don’t know. It could be any of them.”
A thought occurred to Rafe that rendered him speechless for a moment. “Even the girls?” he asked quietly.
Beck’s eyes widened momentarily, and Rafe knew it hadn’t entered his mind until that second. He swallowed hard and nodded. “Reckon so. Guess maybe I never—never thought of that. I suppose it could be one of the girls.”
“I’m going after him.” Rafe turned away.
“Rafe, wait!” Beck dogged his footsteps. “Hold on, now—we need to come up with some kind of plan.”
Rafe pivoted and pinned him with a harsh glare. “A plan? Beck, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do!”
“You will...when the time comes.”
Rafe gave a grating laugh. “If I’m supposed to be preventing Josiah Kemp from killing his—” he stopped and gave Beck a questioning look. “Are you sure Kemp knows this—this soul he’s after is related to him? Maybe he doesn’t know all the facts, either.”
Beck’s expression became thoughtful. “Maybe not. Maybe he’s not sure yet which one he’s after, either.”
“We can’t chance it. You stay here with Jenni and the others, and I’ll—” He broke off at the sound of a door closing behind them, then soft footsteps.
“Rafe? Beck? What’s going on?” Jenni stood behind Beck, and Rafe knew he was going to have trouble. He needed to be gone already. There was no time for explaining to Jenni what was happening. He’d have to leave soon if he was going to catch Sergeant Kersey and the boy.
“Jenni—”
“Don’t try putting me off again, Rafael d’Angelico.” Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms. “I need some answers, and I want them now.”
Rafe held up a hand. “Can you manage to stay on a horse by yourself?”
Jenni blinked uncomprehendingly at his sudden change of topic. “Can I—well, sure, I guess I can.”
Rafe reached around Beck and grasped her wrist, pulling her forward. “Beck, you’re gonna have to see to things here for a while.”
“Well, wait a minute, Rafe! Uh, maybe I should go after Joel and the sergeant—”
“Joel!” Jenni exclaimed. “Where is he?”
“I’ll explain in a minute,” Rafe told her, then turned his attention back to Beck. “No. We’ll go after him. You’ve got more—power than I do. If Kemp stays here—you’re the best protection these kids have. One, in particular.”
CHAPTER 14
It was the most miserable half-hour Jenni could ever recall. They were heading in a southwesterly direction. If she remembered correctly, they would be crossing over the foothills of the Wichita Mountains at some point. Sitting astride the big bay alone, managing the maneuvering of the reins with more luck than skill, she wished—just for a moment—she had stayed behind in Oklahoma City.
She could tell Rafe wanted to push ahead even faster. He was holding back because of her. He slowed and came to a stop, turning to watch as she rode toward him. Every vertebra in her spine felt jarred out of place, and her tailbone ached after less than an hour in the saddle.
His smile was hesitant. Jenni nodded at him. “Oh, you might as well let go with it, Marshal. I know I must make a humorous sight. I always wished for a horse as a child, but now—” a grin spread across her mouth, “It’s probably just as well that never happened. You can see, I’m not a born horsewoman.”
Rafe chuckled. “It’ll come. You’re doing remarkably well for someone who’s never ridden before.”
“I rode with you earlier,” she reminded him.
“That was different. You were holding on to me.”
Color washed over her face and neck. She looked away and one hand went to her hair, pushing it back, fidgeting. “Yes, well—I guess that was different.” She looked up abruptly, meeting his dark eyes. “I’m not used to having anyone to hold on to. So you’d think I’d pick this horseback thing up a little more quickly.” Her chin notched up, her eyes holding a hint of challenge.
Rafe smoothed his moustache. “You’re not alone anymore, Jenni.”
Jenni bit her lip. “I know.” She sighed. “I’m not ungrateful, Rafe. I’m just—scared.”
“It’ll be all right.”
She wanted it to be. For once, she wanted things to work out in her favor. She was damned tired of trying to reach for dreams that never quite materialized. She gave him a wistful look, as she tried to keep her unguarded hope in check. “Will it?”
~*~
Josiah Kemp had just settled into one of the best rooms available in the Gold Nugget. He’d chosen the Gold Nugget because it boasted a fine saloon—and because the demon had strongly suggested that he take room six just at the top of the elegantly curved stairway.
He stowed his gear under the bed, and sat down on the mattress. There was something in his pocket—something he ha
dn’t noticed before. He stood up and slowly pulled out a wallet. He recognized it as being his—from “before.” When he opened it, he discovered he was carrying more money than he’d ever owned in his entire life.
A greedy tongue flicked out. He knew exactly how he would spend a good deal of it. There was a blonde barmaid who had caught his eye the minute he’d started upstairs. Now, he could buy her for the entire night.
“No, you won’t.”
Kemp jumped and turned toward the silky voice. “H-How did you get here?”
The smile told him how perfectly inane his question was. “I go wherever I wish.”
Kemp put the wallet away quickly.
The Dark One slid off the dresser and sauntered toward Kemp. “You will not buy that woman, because she will make you weak.” His scathing glance raked disdainfully over Kemp, from head to foot. “Weaker than you already are.” He turned his back on Kemp and paced slowly across the small room on soundless feet. “Becket Jansen is a powerful angel. You’ll need—whatever strength you can gather—to fight him.”
“I—but—I thought it was me against d’Angelico!” Kemp sputtered.
The demon turned, pinning him with a baleful glare. “Oh, please.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Josiah, you must learn to put away these—earthly differences—you have with the d’Angelico brothers. That is merely a trifle. Rafe d’Angelico could be powerful—if he chose that path. Fortunately, he has been unable to quash his rebellious spirit—and his indulgent tendencies.” His eyes narrowed. “Much like your own, but with loftier purpose.”
Kemp cocked his head. “So, what do I have to do? And what’s in it for me?”
“What’s in it for you? Well, perhaps, if you do a good job,” the demon replied condescendingly, “you might be allowed some...earthly pleasures. That barmaid, for instance; a bottle of good liquor—not that rotgut you always want.” He noted the greed in Kemp’s gray eyes. “But, that’s only if you do a good job.”
Time Plains Drifter Page 9
