Time Plains Drifter

by Cheryl Pierson

  She looked up at him quickly, then smiled at his teasing.

  “There’s nothing in there,” Rafe assured her. “But if you’d rather be out under the stars that’s fine by me. I’m used to it. Just thought you, bein’ a city girl and all, might want a shelter.”

  “I like looking at the stars with you, Rafe,” she answered quietly. “I do want to go see it, though, before it gets dark.”

  “We’ve got time. Let’s move our gear and the horses down here first. Then we’ll go have a look.”

  It didn’t take long for them to relocate their campsite. Rafe could feel Jenni’s impatience to go explore the cave, but before they left, he wanted to be sure they had enough wood gathered for a fire.

  “Can we go now?” Jenni asked, already heading toward the trail.

  “Hold on a minute. Let me grab a lantern. It’ll be dark in there, you know.” She shot him a caustic glance, and he laughed. “City girl.”

  They started up the trail that led to the cave, Rafe holding the lantern in his right hand, Jenni’s hand in his left.

  “You must’ve spent a lot of time in this area to know it so well,” Jenni remarked. “I thought you were raised in Texas.”

  “Not since I was twelve,” Rafe answered shortly. “When Cris and I left the mission that night, we put as much distance as we could between ourselves and any retribution the church might try to exact from us. We stole a couple of horses and some food, and we rode.”

  The ledge narrowed behind the waterfall for a couple of feet before widening again, so Rafe turned his attention to guiding them safely past that point. Before he could continue with his story, Jenni said, “I thought they hanged horse thieves...back then, I mean.”

  “They did. That’s why it was important to do the job right and get away fast. Being half Spanish, half gringo—being orphans—being killers of a priest...then stealing horses on top of everything else—”

  “Hmmm. I see your point. Hanging might have been too good.”

  “No ‘might’ to it. Staying there would’ve been a death sentence.” He gave a caustic grin. “Hell, Cris and I never would’ve made it to that train to be murdered all those years later.”

  ~*~

  Jenni turned to him as she gained solid footing at the entrance of the cave. She looked up at him, but his attention was on the cave entrance. Cool air met them as they stepped into the darkened recesses. Rafe knelt and struck a match, lighting the lantern.

  In the flare of the flame, Jenni recognized a familiarity in his expression...as if he had come home. Suddenly, it all made sense.

  “You lived here, didn’t you?” she whispered.

  He stood up without answering.

  “This is where you and Cristian ran away to, right?”

  A faint smile ghosted across his lips, but when he met Jenni’s eyes, the pain was almost intolerable for her to witness. He glanced away quick, as if it didn’t matter. But she knew that it did.

  “Home sweet home,” he muttered. He set the lantern down on the floor of the cave near the entrance. “For about two years, anyway.” He walked inside a few more steps and put his hand against the cool hardness of the wall. “We had to have a place to heal.” He closed his eyes tight. “The Indians even let us be. Called us crazy.” He made a fist, scraping his knuckles against the rough stone wall. “And, I guess we were. We’d lost everything—everything except each other. Thought we’d always have that—”

  From the pain in his voice, Jenni knew it was twisting him in knots to be here again. He shouldn’t have come here, she thought. He’d wanted to show it to her, but this place must recall the endless well of hurt inside him—full force.

  She crossed the few steps that separated them and wrapped her arms around his waist. Laying her head against the taut rigidity of his back, she whispered, “We shouldn’t have come here. It’s hurting you—”

  “No.” He shook his head, then slowly turned to face her. “This is a place of healing.” He pulled her close. “Guess I’m not done with that yet.” He kissed the top of her head. After a moment he said quietly, “Maybe that’s why they gave me a heart again. To finish healing. To mend it back together again. I just wish you could’ve met him, Jenni. Cris was...the best man I ever knew—even if he was my brother.”

  Jenni smiled and looked up at him. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known. I guess you two are a lot alike.”

  “Were.” He let go of her, dropping his hands to his sides. “We were...a lot alike.” His gaze wandered over each familiar ebb and flow of stone on the dark current of the walls and ceiling.

  The lantern light flickered and danced, and Jenni thought the shadows seemed even more pronounced than they had been five minutes ago. Or had it been ten? She could suddenly understand how two young boys could have come to this place and lost themselves to its power for two years. She wondered how long she and Rafe had actually been inside the cave. The sky was still light outside, but she had the strange sensation that it could be the dawn of a new morning just as well as it could be the evening sky they’d left only a few minutes earlier.

  “Rafe?” she murmured. She felt a prickle at her spine. She wasn’t afraid, only aware. She shivered. Someone else was here.

  “Yeah, I’m comin’.” He lifted his head, looking around as if he, too, expected to see someone. He glanced at Jenni. “Did you—hear something?”

  She shook her head. “No. Felt someone would be more accurate.”

  “Me, too.” He shot her a grin. “Indians used to say this place was haunted. That’s why they called us crazy—for living here.” Unhurried, he walked to where the lantern set and bent to pick it up. “Guess we better be thinkin’ about supper, huh? Those fish didn’t set too well with you—” He broke off abruptly, going to his knees in the cool semi-darkness.

  ~*~

  The adrenaline rushed through his body. Every nerve ending tingled and jumped, and sweat beaded his forehead instantly.

  “Rafe? What’s wrong?”

  He reached down for the gleaming metal that had caught his eye, drawn him up short. He knew it by the shape, before he ever touched it—a federal marshal’s star, warm, as if it had just come unpinned from a shirt worn by a living, breathing person. Not just any badge though. This one was gold. Engraved with the initials “C. d’A.” A special badge presented to his brother for valor just one year before he’d been murdered. One of a kind. Cristian d’Angelico had worn it to his own killing, sixteen years ago.

  “Cris,” he whispered hoarsely. “Where are you?”

  ~*~

  Josiah Kemp sat on a bar stool in the Gold Nugget nursing a shot glass of rotgut whiskey, still a very far cry from the good stuff he’d been promised.

  He swirled the amber liquid this way and that, trying to ignore the hunger that ate at his belly, and the overwhelming urges to smoke and piss—he wasn’t sure which one was stronger. He’d been miserable before when he was alive, but nothing quite compared to this.

  The only thing keeping him sane was the liquor that bastard allowed him to have...doling it out, as though he were God Himself.

  Kemp slammed the glass down on the bar. The nervous bartender hurried over, bottle in hand. He lifted it and cocked it sideways, though not far enough for the precious liquid to pour out. No, first, he looked to the Gambling Man running the faro table, waited for a judicious nod, and the humiliating sign of “two fingers only”. Then, and only then, did the barkeep let it flow.

  Kemp felt the anger burn within him. He realized, after this afternoon, that the Gambler needed him, and needed him desperately.

  To kill a kid. Not just any kid. My own flesh and blood. The more he had thought about the idea of having a great-great-grandchild, the more morose he became.

  At first, he hadn’t cared; not much, anyway. He figured it had to be Joel, just like Milo had said. There were some coincidences there, for sure. If it was one of the girls, he would’ve flat refused. He’d done some despicable things in his life but
he had never, never killed a woman. Or a child, for that matter.

  He had no choice, though; not really. The Gambler was purely evil, and he was strong. Too strong for him to buck, for sure. The only thing giving him the tiniest ray of hope was that—that feeling—he’d known earlier, when Milo had tried to pry into his mind, to know his thoughts.

  Kemp had felt that. And he stopped it—slammed the lid shut. The demon had been, surprisingly, unable to lift it.

  Milo raised his gaze to Kemp once more. This time, there was only anger; muted, yet terrible to behold. There was no mocking smile, and the cocky tilt of his head had vanished.

  Knowledge is power, Kemp had heard once.

  As the gaze of the demon’s green eyes raked him, he had an idea that Milo, the Gambler, had just remembered it, as well.

  ~*~

  Rafe and Jenni made their way back to the camp in silence, both lost in their own thoughts as they descended the incline. Rafe had blown out the lantern before they started down. He’d given Jenni a questioning look almost as soon as they left the cave’s entrance. She hadn’t understood it, at the time; now, she did. The smells of wood smoke and meat cooking were in the air. The nearer they drew to camp, the farther behind they left the cave...and safety.

  Jenni wasn’t quite sure why she associated the shelter of the cave with the feeling of being protected, or from what. Twice, she almost asked Rafe to turn around, to go back to the cave, the feeling was so overwhelming. She tamped it down, convincing herself that she was being foolish.

  Rafe stopped at the edge of the clearing, putting his hand back to make sure she stayed behind him. They could see their camp in the dusky twilight, and it was now apparent where the odors of wood smoke mingled with meat were coming from. Someone had lit their campfire, and a rabbit roasted on a green branch spit.

  At the far edge of the clearing where their horses were tied, a tall figure stood partially obscured by the darkness of the gathering shadows. Rafe’s body tensed.

  “You stay here, Jen,” he murmured, not taking his eyes from the other man. “I’ll let you know when—if—it’s safe to come in.”

  “Rafe—let’s just wait a minute,” she pleaded. “Just stay here with me a little longer—”

  He looked at her quickly, as if her words held a kind of foreboding. “You know I can’t do that.” He pulled her to him, his warm lips brushing hers in a quick kiss. Then moving out of her embrace, he started across the clearing while there was still some small amount of daylight.

  She watched as he walked, the .45 in his hand, his steps sure and confident. The other man looked up, watching Rafe steadily, and Jenni let her breath go. He was well within range if the other man intended to shoot. Rafe stopped for a moment, as if he recognized the stranger, then continued on.

  Jenni bit her lip. She had no gun, no weapon at all—and the stranger would know Rafe was camping with someone; there were two horses. She closed her eyes briefly, whispering a prayer for their safety. When she opened her eyes, she could have sworn the shadowed figure was looking in her direction.

  She gripped the lantern handle tightly, the flame long extinguished, the glass barely containing any hint of its previous warmth.

  Rafe stopped abruptly, standing a few yards from the other man. Jenni could almost feel the tension crackle and snap in the air. Rafe took another hesitant step forward, his shoulders set and rigid.

  Finally, the stranger emerged from the shadows, his stride long and measured, identical to Rafe’s. As he came to stand a few feet in front of Rafe, the firelight illuminated his features and Jenni would’ve recognized him anywhere, even though she’d never laid eyes on him before.

  “Think you’ve got something of mine, mi hermano,” he said quietly. “My badge.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “Cris? Dios—” Rafe’s voice was husky with mingled disbelief and wonder. He holstered the Colt, and reached to grasp his brother’s arms.

  It’s really him, Rafe thought. The voice, the face, even down to the crow’s feet at the corners of his sun-weathered face and the slight crookedness of his nose, the mark of more than one saloon brawl in their younger days. There was a small scar on Cris’s right cheekbone. The white mark was the result of the slash of a drunken outlaw’s blade as they attempted to capture him. A very close call. And Rafe, who had always felt guilty about not holding the ruffian’s hand tightly enough at the time, found he was thankful to see the distinguishing reminder on his brother’s cheek.

  Cris was the real thing. And Rafe could tell that Cris had been searching Rafe’s face for the same reassuring details. Cris pulled his brother into his rough embrace. He squeezed his eyes shut then, the firelight marking the traces of errant tears that made it past his long dark lashes. They stood, frozen, for several seconds, then drew back to look at each other once more.

  “God, what a sight you are for sore eyes, brother!” Rafe still gripped Cris’s arms in his hands, unable to let him go.

  Cris gave him a faltering grin as they stood eye to eye, and Rafe released him as he lifted a hand to smudge away the betraying moisture at his eyes. He glanced, toward the woods where Jenni waited. “You can call her in, Rafe.”

  Rafe turned back toward the woods and gave a shrill whistle. “C’mon in, Jen.”

  Cris grinned widely. “I’ve been watching you, hermano. You and Jenni— está bien.”

  Rafe looked back at his brother, drinking in the sight of him. “Yeah,” he responded. “Not just ‘good,’ Cris. She and I—we’re perfect. We’re—” he grinned, thinking of her words to him in the cabin, “—everything.” Rafe motioned her forward, taking her hand in his as she drew near. “Jenni, this is my brother, Cris.”

  Cris stepped forward and took Jenni’s hand in his. “Nice to meet you, Miss Dalton. I know you’ve had a pretty rough time of it lately—being blasted backward in time and then ending up with my brother.” He dodged Rafe’s playful cuff and chuckled. “Bet you’re hungry. I know Rafe caught fish for lunch—he was always better than I was at catching them by hand. Always had quicker reflexes. Even though I taught him everything he knows.” He started toward the fire to turn the meat.

  “Cris—” Rafe began.

  “Food first; questions later,” Cris admonished teasingly.

  Rafe laughed. “Make the sign of the cross for me. Over your body, like we used to do.”

  Cris knelt by the fire and reached for the spit to turn the meat one last time, then crossed himself, slowly and deliberately. A glimmer of laughter shone in his eyes at Rafe’s caution—and at his obvious relief.

  “You are an angel, aren’t you?” Rafe questioned.

  Cris grinned at Rafe. “I thought I’d never hear that from your lips, brother!” He moved the meat away from the flame before he answered. Then, “An angel of sorts, I guess. I’m still working on it.” He shot Rafe a glance. “I’ve lasted just a bit longer than you.” He was silent a moment before adding, “And it’s good to be careful—the Dark One can be anybody he wants.”

  Cris reached for a fork and knife to cut a hunk of meat, and Rafe held Jenni’s plate steady as it fell onto the metal. He handed it to her and picked up his own.

  “‘Lasted longer’ than me—what’s that s’posed to mean?” He didn’t look at Cris, keeping his eyes trained, instead, on the next portion of meat Cris guided onto the plate. He set it aside, his hand moving toward Cris’s empty dish.

  “None for me, thanks.”

  Rafe’s head came up quickly, his gaze seizing Cris’s, so like his own. A long moment passed between them, the air tense. Then Cris answered the earlier question. “Means we’ve got some talking to do, Rafael.”

  At Cris’s words, Rafe sat back on his haunches, not touching the meat on his plate.

  “Better eat,” Cris told him, with a nod toward the cooling rabbit meat. “May be all you get for a while.”

  Rafe’s eyes riveted on his brother. “So that’s your choice, huh?” He took a bite, and made himself look down, to
relieve the intensity of the invisible force between them. “Gonna be an angel. Forever.”

  “So far, it hasn’t been half bad. It sure beats the alternative.”

  “Or maybe you just didn’t realize there was more than one, Cristian.”

  “Maybe I just like this one best.”

  “Oh, come on! How can you even possibly consider that—that existence better than being human again, Cris?” Rafe set his plate down hard and leaned forward intently. “Look at me! I’m riding a horse, feeling the wind in my face and loving every minute of being alive again. I don’t know how long I’ve got, but I plan to spend every second of it with this woman. At least this time when I get taken out, I’ll leave no regrets behind me.”

  Cris shook his head. “That’s just it, Rafe. You don’t know—” he broke off, choosing his words carefully. “You don’t know how long you’ve got. You have no right to—”

  Rafe came to his feet, eyes blazing. “Dammit, Cris, don’t tell me what rights I have! If Becket Jansen had been doing his job that night, everything would’ve been different! We wouldn’t be having this conversation because we wouldn’t be dead! It wasn’t supposed to happen like it did. I want my life back—and I intend to take as much of it as I can while I’m here.” He turned away from the unfathomable darkness of his brother’s gaze, wounded that Cris seemed unable to grasp what he was feeling inside—and there was something between them that wasn’t being spoken. He could feel it.

  Cris sighed and stood up, walking to where his brother leaned against a rough oak tree. He laid a big hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you, Rafe. I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “I know.” Rafe’s voice sounded tired, resigned, even to himself. This wasn’t the way I envisioned a reunion with my brother.

  “Me, either,” Cris muttered absently.

  Rafe turned to face him. “Don’t do that, Cris. I hate the mind-reading bullshit.”

  “Didn’t mean to. It’s just—your thoughts are so strong, and we always had that bond between us anyway...guess it just happens. I’m really not trying to do it,” he insisted, at Rafe’s dubious stare.