The Angel and the Outlaw (27 page)

J.T. stood on the gallows, his gaze fixed on the hotel. It was April 10th, 1876. Only a year ago he’d stood in this place, he thought grimly. A year ago, while he hadn’t been particularly eager to die, he’d had nothing to live for. But that wasn’t true anymore. For the first time in his whole miserable life, he had something to live for, someone to love.

Brandy… He felt a lump rise in his throat as he thought of all he was leaving behind.

Brandy, be well. I love you. I love you…

An old familiar fear uncoiled deep in his belly as the hangman stepped forward. “Any last words?”

J.T. shook his head. “Just get it over with.”

He fought down the urge to vomit as the hangman dropped the thick black hood over his head.
There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’ve been here before. A quick jerk, and then it’s over.

Nothing to be afraid of.
He couldn’t still the trembling that shook his body as the hangman slipped the rope around his neck. Fear rose up within him, only to be swept away by regret.

I love you, Brandy, I love you…

He summoned her image to mind, held it close as a sudden stillness settled over the crowd.

He took a deep breath, wondering where Gideon was.

His last thought, before the trap was sprung, was of Brandy, and then he was falling, twisting, spiraling downward.

He waited for the rope to hit its end, waited for the horrible pain, the smothering darkness that had preceded the ethereal light, but there was no darkness, no pain, just the light drawing him upward. Warm and soft, it enveloped him in an aura of love that transcended mortal man’s comprehension.

“Welcome home, John.”

“Gideon?”

The angel stepped out of the light, looking exactly as J.T. remembered.

“You’ve done well,” Gideon remarked. “Much better than I dared hope.”

J.T. took a deep breath. The hood and the rope were gone. His hands were free. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, but you did. You have learned much in a short time, John. You learned the value of love, of giving, of service, of self-sacrifice. We are pleased with you.”

“So, now what? I mosey on into heaven, get fitted for wings, take harp lessons?”

“John, please,” the angel said, looking offended. “I am far too busy to have time to sit and play a harp. And angels have no need of wings.” Gideon smiled benignly. “I fear you have much to learn about heaven.”

“No doubt.”

“As I said, John, you have done well, but you are not yet fit for heaven. Indeed, no mortal attains purity in a lifetime. The road to perfection is an eternal struggle. But you are on the right path now, John, the one that leads upward to celestial life.” Gideon smiled. “For now, Paradise awaits you.”

J.T. nodded. He supposed he should be glad he wasn’t bound for the flames of hell, but all he could think of was Brandy. He wanted her. Needed her.

“Most people would be pleased to know they had saved themselves from an eternity of unhappiness,” Gideon remarked thoughtfully, “yet you do not seem to be happy.”

“How can I be happy?” J.T. demanded angrily. “For the first time in my life, I had a woman who loved me. I was about to be a father. Dammit, I mean, darn it, for the first time I had something worth living for, and now it’s gone, and you expect me to be happy.”

The angel folded his arms across his chest, his expression thoughtful. “I think perhaps I might have made an error in judgment.”

Alarm skittered down J.T.’s spine. “An error?”

“Indeed. Some souls need more tenderizing than others. I fear yours may be one of them.”

Fear left a brassy taste in J.T.’s mouth as visions of an endless fiery hell rose up in his mind.

“What do you mean?” Darkness coalesced around J.T., drawing him away from the light. “Gideon? Gideon!”

“Stay on the right path, John, and we will meet again.”

“Gideon!” A hoarse cry erupted from J.T.s throat as he felt himself falling, endlessly falling, through time and space…

* * * * *

With a cry, Brandy ran toward the body dangling from the end of the rope. The townspeople were gone, the sun was setting, and the whole earth seemed to be holding its breath.

I’ve done this before
. The thought crossed her mind as she reached out to touch J.T.’s leg, reeled back as a jolt of electricity ran up her arm. For a moment, everything went black and then she was plunging into a dark tunnel, spinning out of control, just as she had before.

Only this time she wasn’t alone.

When the darkness passed, she opened her eyes to find herself lying on the ground. And there, lying beside her, she saw J.T..

Stifling the urge to cry, she sat up, whispering his name.

“Brandy?” His eyelids fluttered open and he blinked up at her. “Is that you?”

He was alive! Crying his name, she ran her hands over his face and chest, assuring herself that he was really there, that he was truly alive.

“Brandy? Am I dead?”

“No.” She shook her head, tears of joy running down her cheeks. “Maybe I am.”

He caressed her cheek, his eyes wide with wonder. “You don’t feel dead,” he murmured softly. “You feel wonderful.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure. One minute I was standing on the gallows, and the next thing I knew, I was talking to Gideon.” J.T. grinned wryly. “I guess I wasn’t quite ready for heaven. I have the feeling I’m on probation for the rest of my life.”

Truer than you know, John Cutter.

“Gideon?”

Stay on the right path, the Life Path, Tokala,
” the voice said.
Cherish your wife. Love your children.

“I will.” J.T. stood up, drawing Brandy with him.

Remember, John
,” the voice said, fading.
Remember the lessons you have learned.

“J.T.?”

“Brandy.” He drew her into his arms, unable to believe that he was alive, that they were together. “Brandy, oh, Brandy.” He kissed her tenderly, exultantly, his heart pounding with the realization that he’d been given yet another chance.

“I’m home, J.T.!” Brandy stood up, pointing at the buildings clustered along the street. “Look, there’s the high school, and the beauty shop, and the gas station.”

Slowly, J.T. gained his feet, then turned to stare at the town. Bright lights glowed in the shop windows. The street, which had once been hard-packed dirt, was covered with some sort of slick black coating. Red, white and blue bunting hung over the main street.

He frowned as he read the words written on the banner.

April 8th to April 10th, 1996

He turned to stare up at the gallows, reached out to touch the body hanging from the rope. It wasn’t real, just a dummy wearing a black shirt and pants.

“What the hell?” He studied the town. It looked the same in some ways. He recognized the blacksmith shop, surprised that it was still standing. Most of the buildings were new, of course. He frowned as he read the signs: Jerry’s Bowling Center, O’Reilly’s Mini-Mart, Myrna’s Beauty Salon.

Slowly, he shook his head. Bowling alley? Mini-Mart?

“You were right, J.T.,” Brandy said, her voice edged with wonder. “I made it home.”

J.T. swore softly, not wanting to be believe what he was afraid was true. “You mean…”

“Welcome to the ’90s, J.T..” She hugged him quick and hard, then stepped back. “It’s Wild West Days again,” she remarked. “That means I’ve been gone a year. I wonder…”

She groaned as a sharp pain rocked her back on her heels.

“Brandy, what’s wrong?”

“I think I’m in labor.”

J.T. shook his head. “No. It’s too soon.”

“Maybe I miscalculated.” She clutched her stomach as another contraction took hold of her. She was definitely in labor.

She stared at the high school. The annual Wild West Days dance was in full swing. She could probably find help there, but she wasn’t ready to face the townspeople, to listen to questions for which she had no answers.

“The hospital,” she said, gasping. “Take me to the hospital.”

“Where?”

“It’s just a few blocks down Third Street.” She pointed over her shoulder. “That way.”

J.T. glanced around. A lone horse stood hitched to a rail in front of the blacksmith shop. “Wait here.”

Keeping to the shadows, J.T. ran down the street. Taking up the horse’s reins, he swung onto the animal’s bare back and rode back toward Brandy. Dismounting, he lifted her onto the horse’s back, swung up behind her, and followed her directions to the hospital.

J.T. stared at the huge white building that rose up out of the darkness. Cedar Ridge Hospital, a large sign proclaimed.

Dismounting, J.T. lifted Brandy into his arms and carried her up the flower-lined walkway. He felt his heart leap into his throat as the double doors opened as if by magic.

Once inside the building, he stood beside Brandy, feeling like an idiot, while she answered questions and signed numerous papers.

The woman behind the desk looked up, a curious expression on her face, when Brandy told her his name.

“Cutter? He’s not related to the famous one, is he?”

“No,” Brandy said quickly. “Everyone asks that.”

J.T. grinned to himself. The famous one, he mused. His humor was short-lived as he glanced around. Never, in all his life, had he seen anything like this. Huge glass windows. Shiny black and white floors that weren’t made of wood. Women in crisp white uniforms and strange looking shoes. He grimaced at the pungent smells that assailed his nostrils.

He knew a moment of panic when one of the white-clad women brought a wheelchair for Brandy.

“I’ll be all right, J.T.,” Brandy said. She took his hand in hers. “We never discussed this, but I’d like you to be with me during the delivery.”

J.T. swallowed hard. “With you?”

Brandy nodded, wincing as a contraction caught her unawares.

“Is that…is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

How could he refuse her? “Very well, if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

The woman, whose name was Nurse Winfield, according to a little square sign on her chest, smiled at J.T. as she seated Brandy in the wheelchair. “Someone will come for you as soon as we’ve got your wife settled in a room.”

“Fine.”

“J.T., would you do something for me? Would you call my parents?”

“Call them?”

“On the phone. Ask the nurse at the desk to call them. She has the number.”

“Brandy, I…”

“Please?” She grimaced as another pain engulfed her.

“I will. Don’t worry.”

She forced a smile as Nurse Winfield wheeled her down the hallway.

Call her parents, J.T. thought, dazed. What did that mean? What was a phone? What number was she talking about? And what the hell was he supposed to say?

Feeling like a fish out of water, he asked the woman at the desk to call Brandy’s parents. She seemed to understand what he meant, and he watched intently as she sat down in front of a peculiar looking black instrument, lifted half of it to her ear, then punched some buttons.

“Mrs. Talavera?” the nurse inquired in a cheerful voice. “One moment, please.”

J.T. took a deep breath as the nurse thrust the thing into his hand. Not knowing quite what to expect, he held it to his ear as she had done. And waited.

After a moment, he heard a woman’s voice say, “Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?”

He swallowed and said, “Hello?”

“Who is this?”

“J.T. Cutter, ma’am.”

“Cutter? I’m afraid I don’t recognize the name.”

“No, ma’am, we’ve never met. I’m…” J.T. swore under his breath. “I’m Brandy’s husband.”

“Brandy?” The woman said, her voice rising. “You’ve got Brandy? Where is she? Let me talk to her!” The woman paused a moment, and then, in a stunned voice, said, “Husband? Did you say husband?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was a long silence. In the background, J.T. heard a man’s voice say, “Talina? Are you all right? You’re white as a sheet.”

And then the man’s voice came over the phone. “This is Nick Talavera. Who’s this?”

“J.T. Cutter.”

“Cutter? Who the hell are you? What’d you say to my wife?”

“I’m your daughter’s husband.”

J.T. grinned wryly as there was another moment of stunned silence on the other end of the phone.

“Husband, you say?”

“That’s right.”

“What have you done to my daughter? We thought, hell, we didn’t know what to think when she vanished into thin air.”

“I don’t have time to explain it to you now,” J.T. said. “Brandy’s in labor. If you want to see her, we’re at the hospital in Cedar Ridge.”

He heard sputtering on the other end of the line as he handed the phone to the nurse.

Just then, another nurse appeared at the end of the hallway. J.T. stared at the figure coming toward him. Was it a male nurse? No, he thought, his mouth agape, it was a woman in pants.

“Mr. Cutter? We’re ready for you now.”

Twenty minutes later, clad in a pale green gown, with funny slippers made of paper on his feet, and a paper hat on his head, he was ushered into a small room. Brandy lay on a narrow bed covered by a white sheet. A man he assumed was the doctor stood at the foot of the bed; two nurses hovered nearby.

“Did you get ahold of my folks?” Brandy asked.

“Yeah.”

“What did they say?”

J.T. grinned. “Well, they were kind of surprised to hear from me, I can tell you that. They asked a lot of questions I didn’t answer.” He shook his head. “I told them you were having a baby and then gave the…the phone back to the nurse. I figured there’ll be plenty of time to answer their questions when they get here.”

“I wish I knew the answers to those questions.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He took her hand in his. “How are you feelin’?”

“I’ve been better.” She gasped as a contraction claimed her. “It hurts.”

“I know. What can I do?”

She shook her head, her nails digging into the palm of his hand as another contraction knifed through her.

“They’re coming…closer,” she said with a groan. “I didn’t think it would hurt so much.”

He stood beside her for the next five hours, holding her hand, rubbing her back, wishing he could endure the pain for her. And then, when he thought he couldn’t bear to hear her cries a moment longer, the baby’s head emerged.

“One more good push,” the doctor urged, and a short time later, their baby was born.

J.T. stared at the tiny red-faced infant, and felt a surge of love like nothing he had ever known before.

“Brandy, love, it is a boy,” he murmured, his voice edged with wonder. “Just like Tasina Luta said.”

“Is he all right?”

“Perfect,” J.T. said. “Perfect and beautiful, just like his mother.”

“Mr. Cutter, would you step outside for a few minutes, please?”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, no. We just need to clean up the baby and take care of the afterbirth. It won’t take long.”

He nodded, then bent down and kissed Brandy’s forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you.”

“I’ll be back as soon as they let me.”

Brandy nodded. “Hurry.”

“I will.” He kissed her again, then left the room.

“Mr. Cutter, the waiting room is just down the hall. There’s a coffee machine next to the elevators. I’m afraid the cafeteria is closed.”

J.T. nodded, wondering what the hell she was talking about.

With a sigh, he walked down the hall until he found a small room. He didn’t know if it was the waiting room or not, but it was blessedly quiet and he suddenly needed a few minutes alone. Sinking down in a chair, he closed his eyes.

He was a father. He had a son.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps in the hallway, and then a man and a woman entered the room. He knew without being told that they were Brandy’s parents. Talina Talavera was tall and slender, with long black hair and black eyes. Nick Talavera had a shock of dark-blond hair and gray eyes a shade lighter than his daughter’s. He wore boots, Levi’s, and a tan-colored shirt that had a picture of Geronimo on it.

J.T. grinned as he read the words printed on the shirt:
My heroes have always killed cowboys.
And then he took a deep breath. Nick Talavera was a big, broad-shouldered man with legs reminiscent of tree trunks and the biggest hands J.T. had ever seen. He could easily imagine those hands around his throat, finishing the job the hangman had started, when Talavera learned who he was.

Gathering his courage, J.T. stood up. “Mister and Missus Talavera? I’m Brandy’s husband.”