Time Plains Drifter

by Cheryl Pierson

  After Reverend Bolton performed the marriage ceremony for Rafe and Jenni, Beck assured Rafe he would take care of everything.

  First, he planned to dispose of Milo’s “body” beside the river. Cris would be on his way soon to the twenty-first century, to try and convince Tori Dalton to return with him. Beck reiterated Cris would come to no harm, and with any luck, they should be reunited with not only Cris, but Tori as well, within the month.

  As for the Reverend, he and Cash would head back for the mission in Oklahoma City, and Beck and Lance would go on to Fort Sill to check on Joel’s well-being.

  “Head back north,” the angel had told Rafe, a twinkle in his blue eyes. “There’s a little cabin a few miles back up that way, just waiting for you two. A man could do a lot with a spread like that. It’s free and clear. All yours, to raise cattle and kids and—” He’d hesitated at Rafe’s dark look, his own face reddening. “Now, Rafe, I didn’t need to read your mind to know about that place—or what you’re gonna do once you settle down. No more marshalin,’ not with a missus and a baby on the way.” He nodded his head, his gaze going past Rafe to where Jenni stood talking to Cris. “Miss Jenni, she sure loved those morning glories.”

  Before Rafe could ask how in the hell Beck knew that if he hadn’t been watching every blasted thing they’d done, the angel excused himself to speak with Reverend Bolton.

  As Rafe lay on the bed listening to Jenni in the kitchen, the last remaining vestiges of his anger at Beck and the unbelievable turns his so-called “life” had taken in the past few days vanished completely. Still, he worried—more about his brother than anything else. He had to admit, he didn’t have the utmost confidence in Beck’s abilities. Somehow, Beck doesn’t seem to have much control over things. Yet, everything has come round as it should in the end, hasn’t it?

  As Jenni came through the door, all other thoughts fled Rafe’s mind. His whole body tightened, aching with anticipation. When she smiled at him, he felt as if his chest would burst.

  “Beck thought of everything, didn’t he?” she asked, holding a silver tray piled high with meats, cheese, bread, crackers and cookies.

  Rafe sat up and reached to take it from her. His thumb grazed the brass nail ring around her finger, and a secret smile curved his lips momentarily. “It seems that way. I guess I should have given him more credit.” He set the platter on the bed, as Jenni disappeared into the kitchen again. He could hear her alternately humming, then singing the words to a strange song amid the clatter of dishes and cups.

  “You’ve got to—kiss an angel good mornin’,

  An’ let him know you think about him when he’s gone,

  Kiss an angel good mornin’.

  An’ love him like the devil when he gets back home.”

  He was laughing in pure pleasure as Jenni re-entered the room carrying two beautiful crystal goblets and a pitcher of lemonade—with ice.

  “Now, this—this ice—is one thing I’ve missed more than—” She broke off and gave him an impish grin, setting the lemonade and glasses on the nightstand. “Are you laughing at my singing, Rafael?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am!” He shook his head quickly. “I love to hear you sing. It was more...what kind of song is that, anyway?”

  “Charlie Pride—” She bit her lip. “Well, you wouldn’t know him. He was a country and western singer that my grandma liked.”

  Rafe reached for the pitcher to pour their drinks, the smile fading. “It occurs to me I’ve got more than a hundred years of things to learn about, Jenni. This time must seem...pretty backward to you.”

  ~*~

  By the still solemnity in his voice, Jenni knew he doubted himself. He was wondering, she realized, whether she would eventually find him ‘backward’ as well.

  She reached to take the glass of lemonade from him. “Rafe, remember—remember when I told you that I wanted to go to graduate school?”

  “College. Yeah, I remember.” He took a sip of the liquid, then sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly looking ill at ease. “Sit down, Jen. You must be hungry.” He motioned to her.

  Jenni walked around to the other side of the bed and carefully sat down, leaning her back against the wall. Rafe did the same, the platter of food separating them. He reached for a piece of the thin sliced roast beef and handed it to her.

  The easiness between them returned, and Rafe grinned at her. She took the meat from him and raised it to her lips, her eyes holding his as she took a small bite. “Not just ‘college .’ I’m done with that part of it. Graduate school is—well, more of an in-depth study; a specialty.”

  Rafe cocked a dark brow. “Women do that in your time, huh?” He shook his head. “That’s hard to believe.”

  Jenni giggled at his obvious surprise. “Know what my area of study was going to be?”

  He pretended to be thinking as he munched a cracker. “Hmmm. Well, it had to do with teaching—I remember that—but what? Sewing? Cooking? No, wait—swimming?”

  She whacked him lightly on the shoulder and he dodged playfully. “No, none of that.”

  He turned to reach for his drink. “Just a tease, Jen. Knowing you, it was something terribly serious; medicine or science or something.” He looked at her expectantly. “What was it?”

  “History.”

  “History? But—why?”

  Jenni smiled. “Because I love it. But my area of concentration—what I chose to make my life’s work—was teaching history. History of this very time period we’re in—in this very place.”

  “What do they call it—in 2015?”

  She struck a pose, affecting a clipped accent, holding a cracker like a cigarette. “The History of Lands and Cultures of the Western United States of the 1800s.”

  Rafe laughed. “Come on, Jen. People really want to know about that?”

  “I did,” she answered, suddenly serious. “And,” she added almost shyly, “I still do.” She reached for a piece of cheese, unable to meet his eyes. “So you see, Rafe, you’re—” she swallowed hard, raising her eyes to his, “—stuck with me. I’m right where I want to be—with who I want to be—for ‘whatever time Heaven will allow.’” Her lips curved up as she repeated his words. “Instead of spending my life studying it and teaching it, I’m going to be living it—with you.”

  ~*~

  Rafe picked up the platter of food and set it beside the lemonade pitcher on the nightstand. Then, looking into her uncertain expression, he knew the time to be completely honest—about everything—had come.

  “Do you know what scares me, Jen? More than—more than what we talked about in the cave—about not being together—” How could anything be this hard to talk about? He sank his teeth into his lip, and found he was unable to continue to meet the trusting, sweet light in her eyes. “I don’t...want to—to be a disappointment to you—later on.” His voice was gravelly and quiet, rough and gentle all at the same time.

  “You could never be that, Rafe.” Jenni clasped her hands in her lap. “Besides, you’re a gift to me. One that I can’t turn down—considering what you cost.”

  “A gift? How do you mean?”

  She looked up at him. “Kemp gave you to me. He—died, so that we could be together.”

  Rafe chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “I—I know. Don’t think I don’t feel badly about that, Jen. He never cleared leather, and I don’t understand...why.” He sighed heavily, looking across the room, out the window at the gathering darkness. “We used to be friends, back in the old days, you know? That’s why his betrayal hurt so much—”

  “He told me something. Three things, actually.”

  At Rafe’s questioning look, Jenni hurriedly explained. “When he took my hand, he put some—thoughts—into my mind.”

  Rafe sat up slowly, reaching to touch her arm. “Are you sure?” Rafe had gone over it a thousand times—the cryptic message Kemp had tried to give him. He was still unsure as to what happened when they drew on one another. Had Kemp deliberately not gone f
or his gun? Had the demon caused it? If what Kemp put in Jenni’s mind agreed with the message Rafe believed Kemp had tried to give him, a lot of questions could be answered for him.

  Jenni smiled at his obvious concern, her hand closing over his in reassurance. “I’m sure. He—was your friend—and Cris’s, ’til the end.” She looked down. “Three things, Rafe. It was all he had time to give me. ‘Forgive me. Love him. My gift to you.’” Her voice was soft.

  Rafe was silent for a long moment. Kemp had purposely not drawn on him. He’d let Rafe shoot him—his final gift to both of them—his life for theirs, and that of their unborn child. Accompanied hand-in-glove with his plea for forgiveness for what he’d done—in that other lifetime that seemed so long ago.

  Rafe slid down in the bed, resting his head on the pillow. Finally, he murmured, “I forgive, Jenni. He’s paid up with me. I came out so much better this time—than before.”

  Jenni moved close to lie beside him, her head on his chest, his arm around her shoulders protectively. “Me, too,” she whispered, snuggling against him. “Much better than before.”

  “You’re not having any second thoughts, are you, Mrs. d’Angelico?” he teased, but Jenni could see the flash of uncertainty in his eyes. He went on, haltingly. “I’m older than you, Jenni, in years, but you know so much more—”

  “About my world, yes—” Jenni reached to trace the worried lines just under his left eye. “But we’re not in my world, Rafe; we’re in yours. You are the teacher, here.” She waited for him to meet her mischievous eyes. “And I am a most—willing—student. In any area you might care to explore.”

  He reached out and pulled her to him with a low laugh. He was going to love this life...this love...this teaching, and learning. Her hands moved up under his shirt against his skin, and he knew she was making sure he was unhurt—easing her mind again. He lowered his head, his mouth covering hers as he rolled atop her, and his fingers began to unbutton her blouse.

  Can you still read my mind? Do you think Beck can see us?

  Jenni’s rapid-fire questions slammed into his languorous thoughts like a bucket of cold water. He deepened the kiss. Must be losing his touch already if she was wondering about things like that—

  But in a moment, he lifted his mouth from hers, his hands still busy. “Yes, and probably.”

  A slow smile spread across her face. “Kiss me again, Rafe. I’ve got something I want to say to you—something I want to show you.”

  His lips were already close, and he needed no further urging. After a moment, he drew back, his breath almost deserting him. A glimmer of laughter overrode the hot anticipatory light in his gaze. “All that?” His voice was a husky whisper when he spoke.

  Jenni’s eyes sparkled with love for him. She gave him a teasing grin. “What’s wrong, Rafe? Afraid you can’t deliver?”

  He shook his head, paltry words failing him for a moment as he thought of the wealthy gift she had just shared with him—the crystal vision of her dream of what was to be for them—their home, their children...their love. All the things they’d talked about and planned and wished for together—becoming a reality for them in the not-so-distant future.

  He bent to kiss her again, lifting himself for a moment to gently slide the material away from her skin.

  “No, Jenni. I’ll deliver. Anything’s possible—as long as you believe in dreams.”

  She nibbled at his lower lip, so close they shared the same breath. “I do,” she whispered, moving under him. “I really, really do.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  About the Author

  Cheryl was born in Duncan, OK, and grew up in Seminole, OK. She graduated from the University of Oklahoma and holds a B.A. in English.

  She has eight published novels, including five western historical romances: Fire Eyes, The Half-Breed's Woman, Gabriel's Law, Time Plains Drifter, and The Remington Brides: Sabrina. Her contemporary romantic suspense novels include Sweet Danger and Capture the Night, and Ride the Wild Range is her YA coming-of-age western tale. All are available at Amazon.

  Three of Cheryl’s stories have been nominated in the Best Western Short Fiction category of the Western Fictioneers Peacemaker Awards. Her paranormal western short story "The Keepers of Camelot" was nominated in 2013. In 2014, her story "It Takes a Man," featuring her characters from the Wolf Creek series, was a finalist. “Hidden Trails” made the list of finalists in 2016.

  Cheryl also has contributed heavily to the western collaborative effort known as Wolf Creek since it came into existence. Anthologies of short stories round out this collaboration.

  Cheryl has also served as the President of the Western Fictioneers, a professional organization for western authors.

  Writing is so much a part of her life that she and long-time friend Livia Reasoner opened Prairie Rose Publications. PRP now offers five other imprints: Painted Pony Books, Tornado Alley Publications, and Fire Star Press, Prayers and Promises, and Sundown Press.

  For more information:

  PRAIRIE ROSE PUBLICATIONS WEBSITE: http://www.prairierosepublications.com/

  FACEBOOK:

  https://www.facebook.com/cheryl.pierson.92