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  Unless…

  Unless something of magnitude had happened in our absence.

  My lungs compressed at the thought; my every instinct screamed that this was true.

  And whatever Fallon did must have been catastrophic.

  But what?!

  I imagined the worst, ill at the thought that he had killed someone in my family or Marshall’s; I could envision nothing more devastating. When last in Fallon’s presence, I had been a prisoner in his train car, rolling toward Chicago. There, he’d detailed an account of his own abilities, taking great pride in the fact that he could leap across centuries to harm those Marshall and I loved, including Marshall’s beloved mother, Faye. Horror further drained my self-control as I reconsidered what Camille’s presence in 1882 meant.

  Whatever Fallon did, your family knew about it before you. Somehow Camille knew where to show up to deliver a message. Even if she was swept back in time without her control, she knew when and where Fallon would appear.

  But how?!

  “I hate waiting. I fucking hate not knowing what’s happening!” The words flew like darts from my mouth, startling both Celia and Birdie to silence. I rarely cursed in front of them.

  Celia hooked an arm around my waist. “You and everyone else drawing breath at this moment, honey-love.”

  The afternoon sun inched along the sky’s western curve. Marshall, Axton, and Grant returned and gathered around the table in the kitchen – now free of biscuit dough – occupying their time by taking apart and cleaning their firearms, talking in low voices. I knew they chafed at the necessity of remaining all but hidden indoors, but Miles had died only a few yards from the front door of the house; to this day, despite several suspects, we didn’t know exactly who had fired the rifle that terrible morning. Grant’s men bristled with armaments, every last one of them on high alert; inside and out, the atmosphere was one of heightening tension but I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were all balanced on the edge of a blade, waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen.

  I sensed Fallon out there.

  I knew I wasn’t just imagining it.

  He knows.

  He knows Camille is here, he knows we’ve been warned.

  Enmeshed as we were in the midst of the longest days of the year, each hour lasted a tiny eternity, chipping away at our sanity. A rich purple dusk eventually settled over the land, the sun melting in a magenta river behind the mountains. Birdie and Celia served supper but no one was hungry. I paced the floor in our bedroom, drawn time and again to the window even though there was nothing to see. Marshall lay on the bed with both arms folded beneath his head, eyes closed though I knew he wasn’t really sleeping. Afraid, restless, and emotionally drained, I wanted to pick a fight if only to crack the tension in the air.

  “Sweetheart, come lay down for a minute. You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.” Marshall chose his words with care, sensitive to my volatile state; I knew he was really saying something along the lines of, Quit pacing before I go fucking insane, woman!

  “Camille is in this century, Marsh. Right now. I can’t believe she’s really here.” I rested my forehead to the window glass, which retained the day’s heat. “How did she get here? What happened to cause it?” Of course we had already exhausted every conceivable possibility; Marshall was every bit as terrified that someone we loved was already gone – that a death had spurred Camille’s journey to the nineteenth century. Speculation reached a point at which it became unproductive, if not outright maddening, and we were well past that point.

  Marshall dropped all pretense of resting, propping on his left elbow. The last of the daylight bathed his lean, handsome face with a bronze tint, gilding his features and highlighting his lips. A pulse of pure desire caught me unaware; this was hardly the time for lovemaking. I thought of how, under other circumstances, he and Axton would have been in Howardsville at this moment, to meet the new marshal. Another pulse – but this one of prickling awareness. My thoughts spun in a completely different direction.

  “What is it, angel?” Marshall studied me with a familiar crease of worry between his brows. “What did you think of?”

  I moved to sit on the bed, bending my left knee toward him, which he immediately cupped. “You and Ax weren’t supposed to be here tonight. If not for Malcolm’s telegram, you would have been in Howardsville.”

  Marshall sat straighter, nodding. “Leaving only Grant to protect the house.”

  “And there’s only ever two, maybe three, ranch hands not on duty at any one time. Most of them are out with the cattle, nowhere near the house,” I added. My thoughts flew back to the hour in Fallon’s train car. Parts of that encounter had since blurred; self-defense against the terror of the memory. But I recalled enough to know Fallon wanted me dead. I’d broken his arm, I’d sent him flying through the channels of time to God only knew what destination. Over a year ago now – and other than in the dark spaces of nightmares, I had not seen him since.

  But he had seen me, I was certain. Camille’s arrival and Malcolm’s telegram had altered events, had somehow thwarted Fallon’s intentions.

  A knifepoint scoured the length of my spine.

  I stood in a rush, thrusting aside the urge to cower instead. “He’s out there, Marsh, right now.” Breathless, agitated, I returned to the window. Awash now in crimson light, the rippled glass appeared to glow with fire.

  “I know it. I can sense him waiting like a fucking ambush predator. I’ve felt it all day but he’s biding his time.” Marshall slid from the bed with his typical grace, joining me at the window and enclosing my waist in his arms. I wilted backward against the security of his chest, so grateful he was here with me tonight and not miles away in Howardsville; for whatever unfathomable reason, that journey was not meant to occur.

  “Where could he hide that we wouldn’t see him watching?” I shuddered and Marshall tightened his embrace, bending to hook his chin over my left shoulder, linking his fingers protectively over my lower belly. “Grant’s men are everywhere out there, Marsh. They checked the bunkhouse and the stables…even the outhouses.”

  “Fallon knows this area probably better than anyone, and that’s to his advantage. He knows Grant and I won’t leave the house unguarded, so we can’t go looking for him.” He inhaled, slow and meditative. “I keep thinking of the foothill caves where Garth and Case and I used to play. They’d be a perfect spot to hide out and wait.”

  “But what is he waiting for? Malcolm’s telegram said Fallon would reach us today but he has to know by now that we’ve been forewarned. He may not know how we were warned, but he knows.” Relying purely on gut instinct, I whispered, “Something was supposed to happen today, and it didn’t. I don’t know how I know this, but I do.” The upper curve of the sun sank from view as I spoke and I shuddered violently at the vanishing of the light. “Marsh…we can’t beat him. How can we beat someone who can jump through time?”

  “We can jump through time too, angel. I’ve been wondering all day if we should try to get back to 2014. No more delaying.” Marshall turned me around to receive the full impact of his serious gray eyes, his expression adamant. “This has gone too far. You’re carrying our baby. I want us home.”

  “But we can’t jump the way Fallon can. He has more control. And even if we could return home right this second” – and the thought of home, our real home, filled me with sharp, torturous longing – “Camille would still be in 1882. We have no idea how or why she’s here. We have to find her before we go. We can’t leave her behind. There’s too much we don’t understand.”

  And there was little else to do but continue to wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Montana Territory - June, 1882

  HOURS PASSED. WE VENTURED DOWNSTAIRS TO EAT, AT Marshall’s insistence, where I choked down a biscuit, dunking each subsequent bite in a cup of warm tea, recalling the months when Camille was pregnant with Millie Jo, many years ago. I’d been twelve at the time and hadn’t even gott
en my first period, but clearly remembered the terrible morning sickness Camille had suffered through, the way she couldn’t bear the lingering scent of fried fish in the cafe; perking coffee incited her gag reflex. I understood much better now, fighting waves of nausea as I studied the darkness pressing against the window glass, imagining my sister out there somewhere.

  Camille, I’m going crazy. Are you all right? Are you with Malcolm? I need to talk to you. I would give almost anything for a cell phone.

  The clock hands eventually swung around to midnight, taking us past the ‘tomorrow’ Malcolm mentioned in the telegram. Still nothing. Birdie, Celia, and the boys went to bed; Grant and Marshall stood talking with several of the ranch hands in the kitchen while Axton sat with me in the cramped living room at the back of the house; we hadn’t found a moment alone all day, and I was glad for his company.

  “Where do you think they are?” Ax sat facing me on the narrow sofa. The curtains were drawn and only one small lamp lit, but we avoided the windows all the same.

  I knew he meant Patricia and Cole. “I don’t know. Oh God, Ax, I wish I had a better guess. The telegram was sent from a city they’d already traveled through, according to Birdie, which suggests they’d backtracked. But why?”

  “It might be only Malcolm who backtracked,” Axton speculated.

  “That’s true. He wrote that they were ‘safe,’ which doesn’t necessarily mean they were still in his company.” I tried again to imagine Camille interacting with Patricia and Cole. But most especially with Malcolm. I pictured the photograph of him Camille had kept on her nightstand for many years, the one she routinely kissed and held, cherishing it like a talisman.

  Camille, I understand more than you could know. Malcolm is Mathias, just like Miles was Marshall. But I didn’t realize until it was too late. You already know.

  I could only imagine what might have happened if I’d recognized my true connection to Miles – but it was best not to let my thoughts stray in that direction.

  Axton lowered his voice. “Did you know your sister could travel through time, same as you?”

  I grasped his hands and squeezed; they were hard and warm and he returned the pressure. “No, I had no idea. I can’t believe she’s here, Ax. It makes me wonder what else I don’t know. What happened in the future that caused Camille to come here, looking for Marshall and me?”

  “I wish I knew.” Ax studied my face for a heartbeat. “Ruthie, you’re exhausted. You have shadows like big pools under your eyes. And besides that, you’re expecting.”

  “I’m not ready for bed,” I argued, glancing toward the kitchen, reassured by the sight of Marshall’s right shoulder and arm, all I could see of him around the corner of the wall. He clutched his rifle by the barrel, the stock resting on the floor.

  “Just try to rest a spell. I promised Marsh I’d try to coax you up to bed,” Ax tattled, with a hint of his natural good humor.

  “Is that so?” I muttered. I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation in the kitchen, conceding that Axton was right; I was helping no one by staying up well past the point of fatigue. Maybe I could claim a few hours of sleep before morning. Maybe by morning there would be additional word from Malcolm and my sister.

  I hugged Axton. “I love you so much.”

  Axton kissed the top of my head. “I love you too, Ruthie. Try to get some sleep, all right?”

  I climbed the back steps, avoiding memories of the night I’d skulked up the back staircase at Rilla’s, the whorehouse where I’d lived after arriving in Howardsville. I’d been on a mission that night, along with Axton and Cole, to save Patricia from the Yancys; we hadn’t saved her that particular night and I prayed that this time was different, that she and Cole were indeed safely away from harm. My vision swam with dizzy fatigue as I closed the bedroom door, not bothering to light a lantern.

  None of you are safe from harm, not so long as Fallon is alive.

  In the gray gloom I unbuttoned my blouse and shed my corset, skirt, and underskirts with disturbing realizations undulating across my mind. A full moon had long since set, drawing its bright radiance behind the horizon. Nude, I leaned over my side of the bed in search of my nightgown and clunked my shin on its wooden frame.

  “Ouch. Dammit.”

  “Not a sound.” He materialized from the shadows, closing in behind me before I could draw my next breath, let alone scream for help. “I’ll cut you from ear to ear.”

  I believed his every word, blinking rapidly, adrenaline sharpening my senses before panic could obliterate them. Fallon wrapped his left arm below my breasts, maintaining an unbreakable hold; he clutched a knife in the opposite hand, its blade poised under my left ear, just where my jawbone met my skull. The metal felt obscenely warm against my skin, as if he’d already used it to spill blood tonight. His breath thundered hot against the side of my face; he stayed close so I couldn’t buck his hold, his hips against my backside. He was hard. I could feel it through his pants and my stomach lurched; I tasted bile, sour and acidic.

  “Ruthann. I told you we’d meet again. You knew I was here waiting, didn’t you? Your heart is beating so fast.” He spoke with a lover’s tone and my horror multiplied, scattering my focus. Did he intend rape before killing me? I heard the muted voices of the men in the kitchen downstairs. I couldn’t risk calling out but maybe I could knock something over…a crash to draw their attention. My wide eyes darted in a frantic circuit of the room, seeking options; no weapons, the door on the far side of the bed.

  “You make one sound before I order it and your blood will paint this floor. Do you hear me, you little fucking whore?” He shifted almost seamlessly between an unnatural calm and seething rage, far more frightening than one versus the other. When I didn’t at once respond, Fallon rotated the knife so the pointed tip created a burning pinprick in the flesh beneath my ear. He spared a second to sweep his thumb down the side of my neck, showing me the dark smear of my own blood before swiping the wetness across my lower lip. “Nod if you understand.”

  I nodded, once, twice; two jerking bobs of my head.

  Mouth at my ear, he hissed, “Tell me how Malcolm Carter knew to warn you. I know it was him, I saw the bastard’s message from Muscatine. Who is the woman?”

  I tried to shake my head, to indicate I didn’t know what he meant.

  “Tell me.”

  I could not force sound past the boulder of fear in my chest.

  “How the fuck did he know? Who is the woman? Tell me or I will kill you and everyone in this fucking house.”

  If I die, my baby dies…

  Oh God, don’t let him hurt the baby…

  Fallon gripped my right breast as he spoke softly in my ear, the pendulum of his voice swinging back to eerie calm, a man boasting his own accomplishments. “No matter. Malcolm and his whore are as good as dead by now. By my reckoning, Vole and Turnbull caught up with him earlier this very day. I told them to kill the woman but hold off killing Carter, if they could manage it. He’s a slippery bastard, you see, and I want the privilege of killing him.”

  Something overrode the sound of my panicked breaths – that of Marshall’s footsteps advancing on the stairs. Fallon felt my muscles go rigid with agony and whispered, “Make a sound and he dies first.” Swift and effortless, an action completed a thousand times, Fallon sheathed his knife and drew his gun, pressing the small barrel to my temple just as the door swung inward.

  “Are you awake, sweetheart? Ax said you came to bed.” Having come from the lantern-lighted kitchen, Marshall’s eyes hadn’t yet adjusted; he propped his rifle on the floor, letting it lean against the dresser as he spoke.

  A choking whimper wrenched free of my lips and Fallon increased the pressure at all points of contact on my body.

  Marshall froze, eyes locked on the unimaginable – his naked, pregnant wife with a gun to her head.

  “Not a word. Shut the door, Rawley.”

  Marshall obeyed, not removing his gaze from us. He was in what amounted to
his calm before the storm – calculating, honing, preparing. If Fallon made even the slightest wrong move there would be nothing left to identify as human once Marshall finished with him. I held perfectly still, watching Marshall. If Fallon’s life was directly threatened I knew he would vanish, a sort of self-defense mechanism with which he was equipped. Part of me expected to feel the pull of time at any second, dragging me out of this moment just as it had the winter night when my Buick crashed on I94 – but perhaps the threat was not yet pronounced enough.

  “Toss that piece to the bed,” Fallon commanded. “Slow, or she’s dead. You go for that rifle and she’s dead.”

  I watched as Marshall unbuckled his gun belt and pitched it gently to the surface of the mattress. “Let Ruthann go and I’ll do anything you want.”

  I heard the rampant distress just under the surface of Marshall’s voice and prayed Fallon did not.

  But of course he did; I sensed his lips part in a smile as he whispered, “You’ll do whatever I want or you’ll watch me bend her over the bed while I fuck her. Tell me how Malcolm knew to warn you. Who is the woman with him?”

  “She’s Ruthann’s sister, from Minnesota. She came from the future to warn him you were on the way. Malcolm sent a telegram last night, from Muscatine, Iowa.” Marshall spoke without hesitation, advancing a step toward the bed.

  “That’s far enough. How did the sister know?”

  “We don’t know. We haven’t talked to her.”

  Fallon removed his left hand from my breast and slid it down my belly, clutching my pelvis in an unrelenting grip. A growling protest rose from my throat even as I dared not struggle. Marshall hissed a low, enraged breath, hands fisted. The surge of violent energy radiating from him was nearly visible in the air.

  “You’re lying,” Fallon said calmly.

  “I will break every fucking bone in your body.”

  “You’ll tell me the truth.”

  “You fucking son of a bitch, I will kill you…” Teeth bared, feral with rage, Marshall was at breaking point and Fallon knew it.