Come Home to Me (2 page)

“I’m offering you a second chance, Jake. A chance to make things right, and for you to start over.”

“And how are you gonna do that if I’m gonna be sittin’ on death row?” Jake raised his eyebrows in a mocking gesture.

“I have a group of families that need to go on a trip from Iowa to Oregon. I need someone to act as their guide. There’s one young lady in particular who can use a little looking after. Get them safely to their destination, and your troubles here will disappear.”

It was Jake’s turn to stare at the older man sitting across from him. There was no hint of mockery on his face, nothing to indicate he was joking.

“How are you gonna do all that? For starters, I’m in jail, and no one is bailing me out.”

“Oh, I’ll bail you out of jail. That’s the easy part,” the lawyer said brightly, and casually waved his hand in front of his face.

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “If I make bail, I can’t leave the state until my trial.”

“Let me worry about the details, Jake. Right now, I need to know if you’re willing to take the assignment I’ve offered.”

“Take a bunch of people cross-country? What, like on a road trip?”

“Something like that,” the lawyer said evasively. “The families’ safety is important, but even more important is that the young lady I mentioned, Rachel Parker, makes the journey safely. She needs someone special to look after her.”

Jake smirked. Yeah. He was just the person to make sure a woman’s safety was ensured.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” he said impulsively, and shrugged his shoulders. “When are you gonna get me out of here?”

“Tomorrow morning,” the lawyer said. He poured two glasses of water from a pitcher Jake only now noticed sitting on the table off to the side of the lawyer.  Taking a long drink, the gray-haired man pushed one glass toward him. He held his glass up in a mock toast, and waited. Jake reached for the glass and drained the contents in one gulp.

The lawyer extended his hand to Jake again. “Get a good night’s sleep. You’re going to need it. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day. If you succeed, you just might discover the life you’ve been searching for. If you fail –” the lawyer shrugged, and picked up his briefcase from the table. “If you fail, you’ll probably spend the next twenty or more years on death row.” He smiled one more time, then left the room without a backwards glance. Jake stared after him, and waited for the warden to take him back to his cell.

Chapter 2

“Yup, that’s him. Fits the description all right.”

“Sober him up, Jeb.”

Strange voices echoed in Jake’s mind, even as the blood pounded in his ears. His head felt as if his skull would split in two, and the only other times he could recollect such a feeling were the mornings after Sandra’s all night drinking parties. Damn! He never wanted to touch another drop of liquor in his life. How did he end up hung over this time? He groaned and rolled onto his back, and something jabbed him between the shoulder blades. He forced his eyes open, just as a wave of cold liquid washed over his face and chest. Jake sputtered and coughed, and leapt to his feet.

“What the hell,” he yelled, and swiped his hands across his face, then shook his head as water streamed off his hair.

“Sober up, son, you got a job to do.” One of the voices rang in his ear. Jake blinked the water from his eyes, and stared into the face of a man who looked like he walked right out of an episode of
Little House on the Prairie
. His tan trousers, the bottoms of which were stuffed inside a worn pair of leather boots, were held up by leather suspenders over a blue flannel shirt. A weathered-looking cowboy hat sat on the man’s head. His face betrayed no emotion under his walrus mustache.

“You sure this is the fella what’s gonna scout for us? He still looks wet behind the ears. I thought he’d be a mite older.”  A second man stood alongside the first. He was dressed in a similar getup. A bushy black beard covered his entire face, and his huge belly protruded out and over his trousers. He hooked his thumbs through the straps of his suspenders.

“He came highly recommended by Reverend Johnson,” the man with the walrus mustache said. “Told us he was the best scout the other side of the Missouri. The only thing we need to be watchful of is our women and our liquor.” They both chuckled.

Jake stared from one man to the other. A horse neighed behind him, and shuffled through the thick straw bedding. His eyes narrowed. Where the hell was he? He’d fallen asleep on the uncomfortable mattress in his jail cell last night, thinking about his strange encounter with his new lawyer. He glanced around. He stood inside an old wooden barn, in a horse stall to be precise. The familiar pungent smell of horse sweat, manure, and hay permeated the air. The equine occupant of the stall chose that moment to blow hot air down Jake’s neck. He swatted an impatient hand at the horse’s nose to make the animal move away from him. He thought he’d seen the last of horses since leaving Montana. How did he get here?

“Where the hell am I?” Jake managed to say. His voice sounded hoarse and raspy, and he coughed to clear his throat. His fingers rubbed at his throbbing temples.

“Did you hear that, Jeb? He’s so dang hung over, he don’t even remember where he passed out last night.” The man with the mountain man beard said.

Jake stepped forward, and happened to glance down at his feet. He wore what looked like leather moccasins. His eyes traveled higher. To his amazement, he was no longer dressed in his orange jail suit. Instead, he had on leather britches, and his loosely fitting shirt was an off-white cotton material just a shade lighter than the buckskin. A leather belt was draped around his waist, and a knife hung in a leather sheath off one hip, a tomahawk off the other side. A revolver that looked like it came straight out of the 1800’s stuck in the belt just next to the buckle. Jake did a double take when he glanced closer at the gun. He was pretty sure it was a Colt Paterson, one of the earliest revolvers ever made.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?” Jake growled, and swiped an impatient hand across his forehead as water continued to drip down his face.

“You’re Jake Owens, ain’t ya?” The black-bearded man asked, pointing a finger at him.

“Yeah.”

“Sober up, son. You need to attend the meetin’ before we head out. The wagon master wants to lay down the law before we hit the trail in the mornin’.”

The other man stuck his hand toward him, and Jake eyed it for a moment before he offered his own hand for a shake. “I’m Jeb Miller, and this here is Elijah Edwards.” He jutted his chin out toward Blackbeard.  “Us and our families are heading this outfit, and there’s twelve other families goin’ with us.”

“They says you shoot and ride better’n any man, and can read trail and talk to the injuns. We’s lucky you agreed to sign on with us and guide our wagons to the Oregon country,” Blackbeard chimed in.

Jake stared blankly from one man to the other. Comprehension began to dawn on him. This was some sort of re-enactment troupe, retracing the Oregon Trail. He’d heard of such groups. Some of them went all out to make it as authentic as possible. What he still didn’t understand was how he ended up here without his knowledge. If he was truly in Iowa, how did he get here?

He suddenly remembered that cup of water the lawyer had offered him yesterday. Had he somehow been drugged? Jake cursed under his breath. This was the second time he’d allowed someone to drug him, and he’d woken up in a place without any recollection of prior events. He eyed the pistol sticking out of his belt. Had he shot someone else without his knowledge?

These two men in front of him didn’t give any indication that he’d committed a criminal act, only that he’d passed out drunk in this barn. Another thing he didn’t recollect; drinking. Jake clenched his jaw and cursed his lawyer to hell and back. Something had to have been in that water. Jake’s fingers tingled, and he pictured wrapping his hands around the man’s neck and squeezing.

“Who is Reverend Johnson, and where can I find him?” Jake asked. These men had said the reverend recommended him for something. Maybe the man could give him some answers.

“He’s over at the church, I reckon,” Jeb Miller replied. “Said he’d be out after the meeting to bless the wagon train.”

“And where’s the church?”

“Just up the street, past the mercantile.” Jeb pointed with his finger. “But the meetin’ is the other way.”

Jake didn’t give a damn about any meeting. He hurried past the two would-be pioneers, and pushed the barn door open. He squinted into the bright light, and held his hand over his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.

He coughed at the dust in the air. Horses whinnied, and the sound of hooves on dirt greeted him, along with the jingle of harness. An old wooden buckboard pulled by a team of mules rolled past him, and Jake blinked several times. This couldn’t be a real town in Iowa. He’d never been there before, but he was reasonably sure that the cities in this state didn’t have dirt streets, and mules heading down the road.

This was a pretty impressive re-enactment town. People on the streets were all dressed in 1800’s attire. Men rode horses up the street, and several more wagons passed him. Jake strode out into the middle of the road and looked both ways. A large cross atop a log structure at what appeared to be the end of town stood out against the rest of the buildings.

Jake hurried toward the church. One thing he didn’t notice as he passed storefronts was tourists. Usually places such as this teemed with out-of-town vacationers eager to soak up what the re-enactors were doing. He didn’t see a parking lot or cars, either, as he approached the end of town.

The church was a one-room log building, and Jake took the four wooden steps leading to the front door two at a time. He slowly opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. Six rows of pews lined either side of the room, and a small wooden pulpit with a simple wooden cross mounted on the top stood at the front. Several lit candles flickered along the back wall, and the only other light in the room came from the sun’s rays streaming in long golden ribbons through one large glass-paned window on the left wall.

Walking into this building gave Jake an uneasy feeling. It had been a long time since he’d set foot inside a church.

“Reverend Johnson?” he called tentatively, even though he didn’t see anyone in the room. A man in a black suit materialized from between the first two pews, groaning and shuffling on the wood floor.

“Yes?” he called, and turned his head. The preacher groaned again and stood to his feet.

“You!” Jake rushed to the front of the room. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was his lawyer!

“Jake Owens. Glad you could make it,” the reverend said cheerfully. His blue eyes traveled up and down Jake’s physique. “Those buckskins look good on you.”

Jake clenched his jaw, and balled his hands at his sides. His muscles tensed with the urge to grab the man by his white collar and demand some answers. It was just that white collar that stopped him from carrying out his thoughts.

“What the hell is going on here,
Reverend
?” Jake ground out between clenched teeth. “What did you put into that glass of water yesterday? Or should I ask how long I’ve been passed out?”

“Take it easy, Jake,” the reverend said calmly, and scooted out from between the pews and into the center aisle. “Have a seat.” He motioned to the first row of benches.

“I want some answers, and I want them now,” Jake demanded heatedly. “I don’t take kindly to being drugged. You should know that.”

“I didn’t drug you. Not the way you’re thinking.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “But you did put something in that water,” he accused.

“Only to get you here,” the reverend said in his calm and casual tone that grated on Jake’s nerves worse than nails on a chalkboard. “Believe me, son, it’s a much smoother trip when you’re not aware of it.”

“Aware of what? Where exactly is
here
?”

“You’re in Kannesville, Iowa. You agreed to lead some families to Oregon, remember?”

“How did I get here without my knowledge? You never mentioned this was some kind of re-enactment troupe I’d be dealing with. I thought you knew I was tired of dealing with a bunch of city folk playing cowboy.”

“Who said anything about re-enactment, Jake? These people are all honest, hardworking farmers and their families who want a new start in a new land. They might even teach you a thing or two.”

Jake laughed. “You’re talking as if this is all real.”

The reverend smiled softly, indulgently. “It is real, Jake.”

Jake rolled his eyes. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Did my brother put you up to this?” It would be just like Tom to try and teach him a lesson.

The reverend slowly shook his head. “This is your doing, Jake. You wanted a new life. You’ve been wandering, searching for something, and I thought I’d give you a hand before you slip even more off the beaten path.”

Jake laughed. “How can I slip even more when I’m looking at the death penalty? How much worse can my life get?” Despite himself, Jake lowered himself onto the bench, and rubbed at his throbbing temples. How did this man know that he had been struggling with finding himself?

“There’s a meeting called by the wagon master in a few minutes, and you, as the hired on scout of this outfit, are expected to attend.”

Jake raised his head. The reverend stood before him, looking down at him like his mother always did years ago when he hadn’t completed an assigned chore.

“You misled me. I don’t want to do this. I wanted to get away from the old ‘lets pretend we’re in the 1800’s’ lifestyle. If you know so much about me and what I want, you’ll know that this is exactly what I don’t want.”

“You have no choice now, Jake. It’s too late to turn back. The only way you can return to your time, and be rid of all your troubles there, is to complete this assignment.”

“My time?” Jake sat up straight. The reverend took a seat next to him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Jake, this is Iowa, 1848. No one here is pretending anything. This is the real deal.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Jake scoffed, and jumped to his feet. “I’m heading back to that barn I woke up in. Maybe another nice nap, and I’ll wake up from this nightmare.” He headed for the door.