Wakening the Past: A Time Travel Romance (Medicine Stick Series Book 2) (14 page)

“We didn’t mean to kill him, but just to hurt him the way he’d hurt us,” Terry spoke up. “It seemed only fair.”

“But it felt so good,” Bill added smugly. “I just kept on pounding him until Terry pulled me off, told me it was over, it was done. And then we heard you coming and we run.”

Mrs. Harris watched Bill with a mouth agape. Then she turned to Nolan, reaching for his hand and not seeming to notice that she knocked dominoes to the floor in the process.  “All these years, I thought you did it because he was so cruel to your friend. And you didn’t do it, you were innocent. Nolan
.Can you ever forgive me.”

He patted her hand, ignoring the rifle thrust against his shoulder. “It was only what everybody believed.” He glanced across at the man who had been his childhood friend. “And Terry told them he’d seen me going up to the smokehouse where his dad was working. He cried and said he supposed it was his fault in a way ‘cause I was only defending him.” He grinned wryly. “You were so convincing, I almost believe
d you myself.”

Terry muttered something incoherent and Bill gave Nolan a sharp jab with the rifle. “We had to stick together,” he said.
“That’s what I told Terry. We was scared they’d give us the chair seeing as how we’d killed out own father.”

B.J. Harris was too angry to be scared. “And you let Nolan go to prison in your place? You let him spend all those years locked up? You took him away from me?”

Nolan smiled gently. “Dear Bonnie Jo, I never even guessed you knew I was alive.”

Their eyes met and on each
face was an expression to break anyone’s heart. At least that’s how Bobbi was seeing it.

She had known that old people loved each other. She just hadn’t realize
d they could still be in love.

The night was dark, cold and wet, but she had a coat and was pretty sure she wouldn’t melt in the rain. Having failed at either getting her car out of the ditch or reaching someone with her phone, she felt compelled to get out and walk down the little road to where she thought the Maxwells’ grandfather had lived so long ago.

So very long ago. Doubt stirred within her, even though she knew many out here lived on farms that had been in their families since before statehood.

Bobbi had said she was being held in an old house somewhere along the river. And she’d heard that faint wisp of a call. It was enough to keep going.

Buttoning her coat up to the chin, she wished she had a cap or a scarf, but since she didn’t, got out of the car and climbed up the side of the ditch to the road, stomping through puddles as she found her way to the west. Five or six miles to what had been the Maxwell homestead, if she was right. No more than a moment or two if you were driving a modern automobile, a long way when you were walking through hard-falling rain on a dark night.

The world encased in clouds, she couldn’t see the light of as much as a single star overhead. At least the rain would keep nocturnal hunters hidden in their wild haunts instead of out here targeting her as their prey.

She hoped they weren’t so hungry that they would dare the downpour in their search for dinner.

She’d heard stories: wolves, wild pigs,
snakes . . .no, snakes wouldn’t like this weather, they would be in hiding. Her principal fear was of the big cat legend oft told about the river area. Some people even said there were animals larger than the native animals, jungle cats that had been kept in domesticity until they become uncontrollable and then were released in this wild river country.

Just stories people like
d to tell. She was almost certain that was all they were.

The bobcat Bobbi had shown her would be scary enough, but she reminded herself that cats didn’t like to get wet and they avoided people whenever they could. But Bobbi had said Mitten was half-pet and Hart remembered her dad saying that more people were killed by ‘tamed’ wild animals because they had lost their fear of approaching
humans.

She would have given a dollar or a thousand dollars, she decided as she crept through the darkness, if she’d brought the practical-minded Serena with her. Her fears building with each step she took, she decided she would offer up all of the fortune Hart had inherited from her grand
parents to have Alistair show up about now.

What might have been an adventure if she’d had company was a night of terror out here by herself.

It was early evening yet, but the night was black as midnight when Alistair got a call from Deputy Joey Harding that he’d found a supposedly abandoned house showing faint lights.

He wanted orders before approaching whoever was in that house.

“It’s down near the river, a few miles from Oc
ina,” Joey said, “neighbors tell me nobody has lived there for years, but they’ve seen people around down there for the last few days. People don’t poke around much because they might run into something they’d rather not.”

Alistair could understand that. Most rural people had guns, even if just to keep varmints from the farm animals, and they protected their privacy. Slipping up on them in the dark might not be wise.

Quickly he got directions to the abandoned dwelling and promised he would be there with backup as soon as possible. Then he radioed Deputy Long and sent him to the same location with firm orders to sit tight until he joined the two deputies.

He radioed the Beckham County Sheriff’s office of his suspicions and got the go ahead to investigate the house in their county and was promised that aid was on the way.
He advised them that he was investigating the possible kidnapping of a young girl and recommending they contact his office for further information.

With a quick turn, he whirled the car about and turned on his emergency lights, though he refrained from using his siren for fear of alerting those he’d rather not know of his approach.

“I’m coming, Hart,” he said aloud.

Hart had hit the ditch once more at the sight of oncoming lights, not certain that whoever was approaching was good news or bad. But when the car abruptly wheeled around so that she only saw the rear lights, she called out in distress. “Help! I need help.”

When the car began to flash with red and blue lights, she screamed in frustration, “Alistair! It’s me. Don’t go away.”

It was too far for her to be heard and the rain fell too thickly for her to read any possible identification on the car, but somehow she was certain it was her husband come looking for her. He’d followed her here and come within hardly more than a quarter of mile of finding her.

No doubt he’d gotten an emergency call that had summoned him elsewhere so that he drove away with no inkling that he’d come so close to finding her.

Her clothing soaked through to her underclothes, the shoes that had not been designed for walking sloshed with each step and she could feel blisters burning their way into her ankles and on her toes. She was cold, so cold.

Hart felt like falling in a heap and sobbing, but she was a grown woman trying to rescue a child, the girl who was quickly coming to feel like the closest she had to the sister she’d lost forever.

She stumbled to her feet, managed to climb back up from the ditch which was quickly filling with water, and to walk stubbornly on to her destination.

Only sheer determination kept her moving, that and the knowledge that exercise was the best way she had of warming her chilled body. At times she jogged, only slowing to a walk when exhaustion forced her to a slower pace.

Finally she rounded a bend and down lower toward the river, she saw windows palely lighted. She guessed the light was cast by candles or perhaps a battery-operated lantern as it didn’t seem bright enough to be electrical.

As she crept closer, she could see a shack of a house, its wooden walls worn of paint, or perhaps never painted, but a newish tin roof on top and the windows and front door still in place. Back of the house was a shabby barn and within it she got the dark glint of an old pickup truck.

This had to be it! Bobbi must be inside. She crouched  low to the ground, feeling a little like a woman who has caught a dangerous beast in her bare hands and wondered what to do next.

Staying low to the ground, she moved up next to the uncovered window and peered through the edge of the dirty pane.

She recognized Nolan Jeffers seated at a rickety table, the hand of the woman who must be B.J. Harris tucked in his. The other two men had to be Terry and Bill Maxwell, a long gun in the older man’s hand pointed against Jeffers’ shoulder.

She drew in a sharp breath and wiped rain water from her face, her gaze searching the room for some sign of Bobbi.

There she was. Asleep in a big chair, a fusty looking blanket tucked around her. Poor kid, good thing she could sleep; she’d be terrified if she was awake to see what was going on.

Just then she heard the scream of a good-sized cat from down back of the house. Having grown up in wild country, she recognized the voice of a bobcat, the shrill wailing cry that could sound like a human being in absolute agony.

Mitten! The Maxwells’ watch cat knew she was here and would be coming to investigate. She glanced around in the darkness for something, anything to use as a weapon to defend herself.

Alistair Redhawk drove up to the through road that led east to west across the rolling prairie that lay above the river breaks, knowing he’d make better time and not get lost on the hard surfaced roadway. Seemed like nobody but him was out on this miserable night, but he kept an eye out for any deer that might stray into his path.

Hitting one of the beautiful, muscular bucks wouldn’t do his car or his mission any good, not to say what it would do to the deer and
since this country had a plentiful amount of wild life these days with so few people living in this part of the state, such an encounter was highly likely.

People would most likely give way to his flashing lights, but wild animals would only be bewildered. He thought about his granddad and the people before him who had lived out here before the whites came. What a strange sight they would think his car moving through country where once their
buffalo hide dwellings had set and their ponies had galloped. It was easy enough tonight to believe as his wife did that past and present rode together across this bit of the southern plains.

His deputy’s car set concealed behind a cluster of cedars and he pulled in behind it, gesturing young Joey Harding to join him in his car for a conference. The deputy, working hard to appear calm, got in, pulling his slicker more closely around him so that he spread water across the front seat like a setter shaking his coat.

“It’s an old house,” he said in a low voice as though he feared being overheard. “Hasn’t been lived in for years and with the old shelter belt running alongside, somewhat concealed from the road. A good place for a hideout.”

Two more cars pulled in behind them, Long’s Wichita County car and a man and a woman in a Beckham County vehicle. It was getting to be a convention. If the rain and wind hadn’t covered the sounds of their motors, they would already have been betrayed.

Alistair got out, Joey jumping from the other side to run around and join him as he confronted Deputy Long, the oldest of his men, and the man and woman deputies from Beckham County.

This might be their territory, but it was his stolen kid they were trying to save. “We’ve got to move carefully,” he said. “They may have the missing girl in there.”

The male half of the twosome didn’t look too happy to be told what to do in his own county, but the woman nodded. “The main thing is to see her safe,” she agreed.

Weapons drawn, they edged past the cover of the cedars and toward the front of a little old stucco house that had seen its best days long ago. Moving swiftly, they approached the door, which Alistair kicked open with one powerful motion, not willing to use hands needed to point his gun.

“Sheriff!” he called as he led the way in, bringing his gun down to point meaningfully at two scared looking middle-aged men who immediately raised their hands.

Dammit! They’d caught something all right, but it wasn’t kidnappers. He recognized the scent and activity in front of him immediately.

The Beckham County man moved past him to take  charge. “Meth lab,” he announced to the world. “We’ve caught ourselves some genuine outlaws.”

Alistair stared disgustedly at the two men who had the dried-out stringy look of people who not only made meth, but used it as well. He’d never seen either of them before.

His deputy had led him on a false lead and who knew what could be happening to Hart and Bobbi in the meantime.

Bobbi listened to the low-toned conversation still going on between the four at the dominoes table. They no longer focused on the game as B.J. Harris repeated her accusation. “You let your friend spend his life in prison for a murder you committed.”

Bill gave a little growl of anger, but he lowered his gun, letting it rest once more on the table between him and his brother. “Wasn’t our fault. Didn’t mean to kill our pop.”

“So you let Nolan pay the price?” B.J. seemed too angry for caution. Bobbi wished she would remember the gun and the fact that both Bill and Terry were a little drunk. “Don’t you think a jury would have listened to you when they found out how your father abused you both over the years?”

“Nobody knew,” Terry muttered.

“Of course they knew,” B.J. came back. “Everybody knew.”

Terry seemed to shrink and wither before their eyes. “If they knew, why didn’t they stop it? Why did they let it go on?”

Even B.J. didn’t seem to have an answer for that question. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes closed in sadness.

Finally Nolan Jeffers spoke. “It
’s okay, Terry,” he soothed. “It’s long over, all of it, so we can put it behind us.”

Bill spoke up. “And that’s why we’re here Nolan. To fix things. To make it right?”

“How can you possibly do that?” B.J. asked wearily. “Can you give Nolan back the years he lost? Can you give us back the life together you took away?”

Bobbi didn’t like the way the talk was going. Couldn’t they all see that they were pushing Bill further over the edge? He was half out of his mind
; maybe that was what happened when a man lived his whole life with a terrible secret. If they kept pushing, no telling what would happen.

She lay very still, suddenly aware that Hart was close. Her lashes lifted and she saw a white-faced woman with midnight hair peering in the window.

Her heart pounded. Hart had come to save her. Then she looked again at that rifle on the table and tried frantically to think of a way out of this that wouldn’t get them all killed.

Slowly she pretended to awake, stretching and moaning under her evil-smelling blanket, then pushing it aside to stand, stretching more as she lifted her hands in the air and straightened her back.

The woman and three men turned to look at her as though they’d forgotten her presence. “Had a good nap,” she said brightly as though these were normal circumstances.