Time Plains Drifter

by Cheryl Pierson

  “What about—the baby? You said—”

  “Ah, hell, Jenni.” His breath caught in pain, and Jenni reached for his hand. After a moment, he murmured, “I—I know what I said. I just hadn’t found the right person then. I’m not claiming I’ll be the perfect husband, or father—but I’ll do my best. That’s a promise to you.”

  Once more, he stopped and took a deep breath before he could continue. “There’s nothing I want—nothing more—than to be your husband. I want a place like—” He looked away from her quickly. He’d dreamed about that cabin ever since they’d spent the night there together. It was damn near all he’d thought about, and now, it was so close to being a reality he was afraid to want it for fear of having it snatched away.

  “—like the cabin?” Jenni ventured shyly.

  “Yeah.” He returned his puffy gaze to her. “The cabin. With that crop in the field I—I swore I’d never plant, and no more marshaling; the job I swore I’d never give up for anything—” His expression altered subtly. “You’d be givin’ up something too, Jen.”

  She nodded. “Just trading, Rafe. I’d be the wife in the kitchen, fixing your meals—washing your clothes—” She broke off and looked down. “I swore I’d never do that, either, back when going to grad school meant everything—back before I knew what I really wanted. You, darling. I want to be your wife—” She raised her eyes to meet his again and took a deep breath. “And I want kids. Does—that fit in with your idea of...Because—”

  Rafe nodded, his look rueful, even through the pain. He squeezed her fingers. “Yeah. Kids fit in just fine, now that I— About—ten of ’em. The ones I said—said I never wanted.”

  Jenni smiled at his words and shook her head. “Turn over and let me see to your back. We’ve gotta get you healed if we’re going to take care of all these plans we’ve made.”

  Rafe moved carefully to comply, but his thoughts had taken a much darker turn that he would not share with her. He suddenly doubted he could ever have the dreams he craved so badly. He had to protect Jenni and their unborn child—no matter what. As soon as he was able, he had to find Milo and destroy him. Jenni and their child would never be safe if he failed—and he most certainly would die in the effort. Being human did have its drawbacks. He lay silent and still as Jenni’s fingers moved lightly over the torn flesh of his back. There was only one way to do what he had to do.

  Once again, he was going to have to become an angel. He would do that, for Jenni; embrace an existence that for him, was an ironic hell. In doing so, he would leave his Heaven behind.

  CHAPTER 33

  “What’re we waitin’ on, Boss?”

  The demon whirled, facing the unfortunate subordinate who had dared to voice the question. “You’re waiting, dear boy, for orders. From me!”

  Leon Holder’s eyes betrayed not only his impatience, but his anger, as well. The rest of his features were carefully blank, but the flash of dissension was not lost on the demon, and angered him beyond measure.

  “When can we expect that to happen?” Holder pressed.

  It crossed Milo’s mind to just do away with this one. He might prove to be a liability. He stared at Holder, his odd, bright green eyes intense.

  Holder turned away quickly, heading for the deep woods. “I got to piss.”

  When, indeed? the demon mused as he watched Holder disappear into the trees. He smiled. He would have allowed his men to go after Beck’s little party long ago, but it seemed too easy. Something held him back. It wasn’t like Becket Jansen to come unprepared.

  Milo sighed. Letting Rafael d’Angelico make it to the cave entrance had been a major faux pas on his part. He feared he’d lost Jenni Dalton and her unborn child for good. He couldn’t stay topside indefinitely. He felt his own power flagging, having been up above so much in the past few days. But he’d had so much to do—so very much that couldn’t be done from below, and no one to trust to take care of things up here .

  His expression turned sour as he thought of Josiah Kemp. Kemp had proven to be a sorry disappointment. He’d also outfoxed him, Milo had to admit. Whoever would have thought that Kemp had it in him—to stand defenseless before the man he’d killed in that earlier life, and let himself be so tidily done away with? To allow Rafe to shoot and kill him, without even drawing his own weapon, in order to save Jenni? Then to actually convert at the last minute, and become a Believer? That certainly added insult to injury.

  Jenni. That woman was a thorn in his side, as were the d’Angelicos and Jansen. If only he had just kept her—he shook his head, chastising himself. No, he couldn’t have done that, anyway. He didn’t have the power to take the life of a human outright, though he could make one’s existence quite miserable. Nor did he have the power to hold a living one below indefinitely.

  Jansen still has something up his sleeve. He was quite sure of it. Now, the question was, what?

  Milo smirked. Maybe all was not lost. There was still a chance he could lure Jenni from the cave. Had Kemp killed her, the black magic would have been much more potent—but...this could still have a decidedly good outcome, for him.

  He let his gaze go to where Becket Jansen stood talking to Cris d’Angelico and Murdoch Bolton.

  What would Rafe d’Angelico do to be with his brother once more? And just how far would Cris go to see Rafe well and happy again?

  Maybe it was time to find out.

  ~*~

  Jenni understood hate as she never had before. As she began to delicately clean the bruises and lash marks across the broad expanse of Rafe’s bronze skin, she remembered his halting confession of killing the “priest”—and why. The scars that had lain white and raised across his back had been obliterated—by further abuse.

  Rafe held himself as still as he could, but as she cleaned the deep grooves cut by the demon’s most horrific imaginings, he was unable to quell the occasional hiss of his indrawn breath, the slight involuntary movement the pain caused.

  The flesh was torn deep and jagged, still seeping crimson as she carefully washed his injuries. He flinched from her touch. It brought a lump to her throat.

  “Rafe?” she whispered. “You don’t have to stay so strong. I—I know it hurts. Yell, if you want.”

  “Oh, I want, all right,” he responded after a minute. “But I...I won’t.”

  “It’s just us.”

  Rafe smiled at that. “Yeah. Just us in here—but it doesn’t mean that bastard can’t hear what’s going on, if he’s camped outside the entrance.” He shook his head doggedly. “I’m okay. Just do what you have to do, Jen.” He swallowed hard as she touched a raw welt. “It’s not like I don’t know—what’s comin’ next,” he added in a low voice.

  She didn’t speak—couldn’t, for the tightness closing her throat like a huge, tightening hand holding her in its grip. Finally, she said, “I’m so sorry, darling. I hate this—hurting you—”

  He looked back over his shoulder at her. “I know.” His tone told her there was no apology necessary. “I ’ppreciate you—what you’re doin’.”

  “I’m almost done,” she said, not able to meet his swollen gaze.

  He looked away. “Jenni, you’ll need to—use the carbolic acid.”

  She stopped, surprised. “The salve won’t be enough?”

  “They’re...too deep.”

  Her lips tightened. “I hate him! Oh, Rafe, look what I’ve brought to you!” She shoved the rag aside, squeezing her eyes shut as the tears burst through.

  He turned to her swiftly, almost lying flat on his wounded back against the floor of the cave. Jenni instinctively put a hand out to stop him. He gave a short groan of pain at his own sharp movement.

  “Jenni—” His eyes captured and held hers. “Don’t ever say that again. Ever.” He moistened his lips, rolling slowly back to his side so that she could apply the carbolic acid. “Finish this, will ya? I’ve got some things I want to say.”

  ****

  Rafe let his mind wander as Jenni’s skilled fingers
moved across his back. He’d always been practical—no room for fanciful dreams and imaginings. This could be no exception. He realized that now. Only, it was too late to stop himself. He’d already allowed himself a luxury he never should have permitted. His love for Jenni was going to end up costing them both dearly.

  A baby. A son or daughter he’d never live to see, he felt sure. An innocent child that had to be protected against whatever Hell had to throw at them. He was the only one who could stand between Jenni and the demon. He didn’t know how he was going to do it.

  He watched the flames dance until they became an orange and yellow blur, then closed his eyes. For a moment, the outline wavered and shifted in the blackness of his eyelids. He savored Jenni’s nearness despite the pain. He tried to form what he would say to her in his mind, but couldn’t hold on to it. He hurt all over, the bullet wound throbbing with each beat of his heart, both eyes nearly swollen closed, and his ribs catching agonizingly with every breath. His back felt as if it was on fire, and she hadn’t even used the carbolic acid. But she was preparing herself for that moment, too, he supposed, as he felt her stop cleansing the deep grooves and welts. Her slow, indrawn breath as she reached for the vial told him exactly what was on her mind. She began to unscrew the cap.

  He didn’t open his eyes. He was listening to her breathe, her movements slow and deliberate as she unconsciously tried to delay the inevitable.

  He couldn’t be sorry. He’d loved the time they’d had together. Even now, he could feel the way their bodies had interlocked as they’d made love, and later, as they’d slept, the satiny warmth of her skin next to his own rough, hard maleness.

  He couldn’t help thinking what an unlikely pair they made, and yet, how they suited one another so perfectly. Maybe their differences were what made them so right together; that they came from different centuries seemed to be the very smallest part of their worries, he thought.

  But he was certain there was only one solution to the problem: He had to get rid of Milo permanently. The only way to do that, Rafe knew, was to do exactly what the demon had taunted him with earlier—give up his soul. Unthinking, he pressed his lips together and flinched at the sudden pain it caused. No, it would be much easier to part with his soul than with Jenni. And his child.

  He’d be selling his reality to protect his dream. A knot formed in his stomach that had nothing to do with Jenni’s soft apology as she liberally soaked a bandage with the carbolic acid and began to apply the liquid fire to his torn flesh. The pain of the acid was minimal in comparison to the death of the dream he’d held out hope for.

  It had been foolish from the start, he knew. But he hadn’t been able to shake the idea he might be permitted some measure of happiness this time around, seeing as he’d had so little of it when he’d been alive. When he’d realized he was human once more, he had felt no trepidation; rather, he’d been elated at the discovery.

  His breath hissed inward at the harsh burning. He muttered a curse. Jenni breathed a quiet apology, but he knew there was nothing she could’ve done any differently. Just as there was no choice for her, there was none for him. He was going to have to seek the demon out and give him whatever he asked—short of Jenni and the baby.

  Boy or girl? The thought flitted through his mind with what he recognized as a minor bit of curiosity. It was crushed soon after with the realization he would probably never know. What difference did it make? Sooner or later, that child would be no more, either, unless he could destroy Milo.

  The physical pain suddenly blocked all other thoughts as Jenni tipped the vial and let the liquid run into the deepest of the raw furrows across his back.

  Resolutely, he clamped his teeth across the groan that tried to force its way past his lips.

  Jenni’s care was sure to begin the healing for him. When he’d regained a small measure of strength, he’d be ready to try to deal with the demon.

  He’d do whatever he had to do.

  CHAPTER 34

  Why won’t you just heal him? Cris couldn’t keep his thought to himself. It had been batting around inside his brain ever since he and Beck started to make their way up the trail together. They’d chosen not to fade—to be sure Milo had seen them head that way. They let him have a good look, knowing he’d follow soon. It wouldn’t be long now, Cris knew, before Murdoch Bolton and the boys started this way...set Bolton’s plan into motion. Cris raised his eyes to Beck’s somber blue stare as he let the question be silently asked and acknowledged.

  “If I did that, he would try to fight Milo on his own, Cris. Even healed, he’s still human. Although Milo can’t actually kill, he can sure enough cause some powerful wounds.” Beck stepped around a large rock on the trail. After a moment, he said, “I’m hoping we can settle it before he knows it. Rafe’s not going to be in any shape to take Milo on. Not as a human.”

  “Then we’ll have to fix that, won’t we, Beck?”

  Cris’s tone made Beck meet his eyes once more. The silence between them was sudden, and uncomfortable. Beck raised a sandy brow. “I know what you have in mind, Cris. But—I’ve never done it...and I’m not sure I want to try it. Don’t underestimate Milo. Not for a minute.”

  “You and I, Beck—we could give Rafe some part of our powers—just lend them to him.” Cris spoke in a low voice. Beck returned his gaze to the trail as they continued up the slope.

  “Okay. Fine. You don’t want to help me, I’ll do this alone,” Cris seethed. “Don’t know what I’m doin’, but at least I’m gonna try it. Which is more than I can say for you, Beck. You fucked up our lives, now you’ve fucked up our deaths—and you won’t take responsibility for either thing!”

  Beck stopped and rounded on Cris in an uncharacteristic gesture of impatience. “What do you want from me?” His blue eyes blazed.

  “I want your help, Beck!” Cris’s voice rose in a sharp whisper. “I’m not going to leave Rafe unprotected. I don’t expect you to, either!”

  “Jenni Dalton is my primary concern.”

  “Well, she’s not mine, Becket! Not by a long, long shot!”

  Beck stood staring at him. Cris could tell he’d never counted on him choosing his brother over Jenni—the one they were supposed to be protecting. That was almost...human of him.

  “If you throw him part of your powers, Cris, you know the risk you’re running,” Beck said evenly.

  Cris nodded, not looking away. “Yeah...I reckon I do know. But even if it makes me completely human again, Beck, or if I die—again—for it, I have to do it. He’d do it for me. Wouldn’t think twice about it.”

  Beck gave him a faint smile. “Evidently, neither would you.”

  Cris remained silent, a muscle flexing in his jaw as he ground his teeth in impatience. Beck was the superior here, with powers to spare. If Cris threw part of his power to Rafe, he could become totally human once more—or worse. But what choice did he have without Beck’s cooperation?

  “He’s my brother,” Cris said finally. “And—there are things you don’t know.”

  “You’re damn sure right about that,” Beck flared, as he turned and began walking again. He glanced toward the cave, then looked at Cris again. “what kinds of things, Cris? What are you talking about?”

  “Milo,” Cris muttered, his long strides easily keeping up with Beck’s hurried ones. “He—He posed as a Catholic priest. In the mission where Rafe and I had to live after Milo arranged for the deaths of our parents.”

  “I don’t understand. There are certain things that demons—and angels—are not allowed to do. Limits they cannot exceed. This cave is one example, but there are many others. Killing outright—a human—”

  “He didn’t, Beck. He just arranged it.”

  Beck shook his head. “No. Father Ignatius was real enough, Cris. A real human. But he—he must have been in league with Milo. A Christian and a Satanizer.” He gave a disgusted sigh. “The very monstrosity draws them. Good becomes Evil. I’ve heard of such.”

  They stopped as th
ey reached the ledge where it was necessary to walk single file. Beck turned, searching Cris’s eyes.

  Cris lowered his head as he remembered, fighting the dreaded memories, finally embracing them as he knew he must in order to heal. Beck reached to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Cris flinched away from him with a groan, as if the other angel’s touch was too painful to bear. As if his skin was laid open beneath the soft cotton of his shirt, as it had been so often under the bloody cane rod of Father Ignatius...Milo. The truth made him want to puke. Sweat stood out on his face and neck, and he took a deep gulp of air, fighting back the nausea.

  “So, was the priest possessed? By Milo?” He looked at Beck. “It was Milo who offered me the chance to—sacrifice myself for Rafe—”

  Beck nodded slowly. “Seems that way, doesn’t it, Cris?”

  “Where was my protection, Beck?” His voice was a shaky whisper. “We were kids.”

  “How do you think Rafe got to you in time? Who do you think woke him up? You were never alone.”

  “It sure as hell felt like it! We had no one—except each other. Then—and now, it seems.” Cris shook his head bitterly. “We damn well oughtta get somethin’ out of this fuckin’ ride we’ve been on. I feel like a French whore—been used by ever’body ‘til I’m damn near used up.” He passed a hand over his face, holding it there across his eyes for a long moment.