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  “He’s bleeding out!” Malcolm growled. “He will die and you will be at fault!”

  Did he mean Cole?! Or Blythe?

  Dredd raged, “Let him die! My wife appears ill! She requires care!”

  Another voice I knew cut through Dredd’s anger, that of my father-in-law, Thomas Yancy. Colder than raw steel, exactly as I remembered, Thomas said, “Your wife is a common whore. You realize this, do you not? That bastard squalling in the wagon likely belongs to this fellow.”

  I imagined Dredd rounding on Cole. Effectively blinded by the wagon’s canvas covering, I had only their words to gauge what was occurring outside. My heart throbbed with agony, pulsing through every channel in my body. I strained to hear over the wind gusts.

  “Touch them and I will kill you,” Cole spit out, hoarse and raw – he was injured, I could tell by the distortion of his words.

  Monty’s screams pierced the brightening air, now several shades lighter gray.

  “Shoot him, son.” Thomas Yancy spoke with mockery, the tone he often used when addressing Dredd. I knew he considered his youngest a weakling, a helpless fop. Fallon was Thomas’s favorite, a ruthless businessman and killer, a son of which a man like Thomas Yancy could be proud. He goaded, “Shoot your wife’s lover right between the eyes and be done with it. You’ll never have a cleaner shot.” Undiluted contempt swelled in the loathsome man’s voice. “Ain’t that why we’ve come all this way?”

  “I know you for a better man than that, Dredd.” Malcolm spoke with a preternatural calm, belying his fury. “You are not your brother. You are not your father.”

  “Fancy seeing you here, young Carter.” Thomas sounded almost giddy and I pictured his pale eyes alighting on Malcolm. “Not so very far from the place where you took a shot at me, all those years ago.”

  “If I’d’ve aimed truer that night, you woulda been sent to hell long before now.” I envisioned Malcolm’s flashing eyes, his elevated chin. “It’s one of many regrets but I’m a better shot now, that I promise you, Yancy.”

  “I’ve no doubt. But you’ve been separated from your sidearm and you’ll be dead before the sun rises. Which, by my calculation, is in about a minute’s time.”

  “Hitch up this wagon,” Dredd instructed; I sensed he was stalling. “Go on now!”

  Someone scurried to follow his orders.

  “Take your shot, son, it’s your chance.”

  Dredd must have hesitated further.

  His tone drenched in ridicule and derision, Thomas brayed, “You worthless coward.”

  “I am no coward.” Dredd spoke with more conviction than I had believed him capable. “You are the coward, Father. A man was sent last summer to murder my wife in her train car, on your orders, do you deny this?”

  Thomas either made no reply or spoke too quietly for my ears to perceive.

  The moment balanced on the edge of a blade, precipitous, the slightest action poised to tip the scale toward certain catastrophe.

  You were foolish enough to believe escape was possible, Patricia.

  It was never possible.

  I would never be certain exactly what happened next; my imagination would later recreate the scene a hundred, a thousand times, each remembrance slightly different than the one before, constructed from an incomplete memory of the moment. Eyes closed, the world smeared gray-red with agony, I pictured the anger as it bloated within Dredd, stronger than the gusting wind, an ancient rage at last allowed release. A third gunshot, followed quickly by a fourth. By the time Monty’s cries subsided, the wagon was bumping at a brisk pace over the rutted prairie trail, hauling me and my son away.

  Chapter Nine

  Jalesville, MT - March, 2014

  “A GIRL,” CASE MURMURED, HIS LIPS BRUSHING MY TEMPLE.

  I snuggled closer to his delicious warmth, content but exhausted; dawn was threatening our window shade and we hadn’t slept more than an hour. His strong arms held my midsection secure, both of us naked; the bedding beneath our legs was rumpled and Case spread it out with a few dexterous movements of his ankle before I twined my calves around his knee and held fast, burying my nose against his chest.

  Mathias had ridden to town with Case last night after I’d requested a pregnancy test from the drugstore; I’d remained on the couch, wrapped in the afghan, stationed beside Camille while she nursed James, stroking his round peach of a cheek. I’d watched in a transfixed stupor, attempting to fathom that soon I would be the one cradling an infant to my breasts.

  “I hope it’s twins,” Camille had joked, stretching a hand to pat my stomach. She added, with glee, “Twin boys!”

  “Oh, Jesus,” I’d muttered, shying away from her teasing touch. “We need a bigger house.”

  Sunlight cleared the horizon now, hours later, and painted the cramped interior of our bedroom with a warm, dusty gold. Mathias, Camille, and the baby had returned to Clark’s, where there was ample sleeping space; Case and I had promised to venture there for breakfast. Thinking of my sister’s words about twin boys – if I remembered correctly, Brantley and Henry had experienced terrible colic for the first three months of their infancies – I infused my voice with certainty and whispered, “Yes. A sweet baby girl.”

  I had been operating for many weeks now with a sense of trepidation at the thought of future events, the notion that if I anticipated too far ahead it was not only futile but dangerous. Next week could bring devastating news, let alone a time two seasons from now. What if Ruthie and Marshall weren’t home by next autumn?

  What if…

  Case spoke with determination, warding off my despairing thoughts. He kissed the top of my head before murmuring, “Everyone will be so excited, sweetheart, think of that.” Camille and Mathias had promised not to divulge the news, at least until I had a chance to call Mom, Aunt Jilly, and Grandma and Aunt Ellen. “And you can spend all summer eating for two.”

  I made a sound somewhere between a snort and a giggle. “Right now that sounds terrible. No wonder I haven’t felt hungry.”

  The best I could figure was that I was roughly eight weeks along; my last period had occurred in January, which gave us a tentative due date of mid-October. Case and I had been in Chicago for Robbie’s funeral at the end of February and I vaguely recalled thinking that I was overdue; in the ensuing stress, I’d missed what should have been obvious.

  “Do you remember last summer after we made love for the first time, with no protection?” Case’s voice was a low, tender rumble. His hands were warm on my bare skin as he caressed my shoulder blades, then swept his touch downward to massage my lower back. I shivered in blissful response, tucking closer.

  “Of course I do,” I whispered, gliding my hands to capture his ass, smoothing my palms over the sensual familiarity of my husband’s body.

  “I told you that our baby would come to us when she was ready, remember? And now is that time, my sweet love, for our baby.” His voice thickened with emotion and his arms tightened around my torso, hugging me closer. “I’m so happy, sweetheart. You don’t know how much I’ve longed for our family. No matter where we go from here, even if we lose our land, we’ll have each other. Nothing means more to me than that in the entire world, Tish.”

  “I know, honey. I’m so happy, too.” Tears seeped from my eyes and wet his skin. “I am, I promise. Even if…” I choked back the words, biting savagely upon my lower lip, restraining sobs.

  “We have to believe that they’re happy out there, wherever they are.” Case knew what I needed to hear. And to a great extent, I recognized he was not just speaking words to comfort me; he also believed what he said. “Even if they never return to us, they’re together. Ruthie is the one person Marsh refuses to live without and she would say the same of him, I’m certain.”

  You’re right, I tried to say, but I could do nothing but cry, muffling the sounds against Case. Maybe it was selfish, but I wanted my little sister. I wanted Marshall, who was like the brother I never had; I was not yet ready to let the universe
claim them. I refused to accept a reality in which we never saw them again. Because I couldn’t manage words, I let my actions speak for me; I needed Case inside of me, our bodies linked as closely as possible. I never ceased to believe that in those moments our souls meshed as intensely as our physical forms.

  “I’m right here,” he murmured in understanding, rolling me to my back with extreme care, parting my lips with his in order to kiss me deeply; I was ready at once but he eased within in gentle increments, never breaking our kiss, building the pleasure by degrees. Case knew me down to the tiniest detail, knew how to draw out an orgasm until I was panting with need. He continued his unceasing motion, on and on, slowing when I was close, tasting hot, salty paths over my flushed skin – finally, the sun well above the horizon, I could hold back no longer and was wracked by pleasure, crying out as I clung to him for dear life. And it was only then that he allowed his own release, groaning as he filled me with jolting bursts of wet heat.

  When I’d returned to my senses, slick with sweat and still trembling, I muttered, “Show off.”

  His laughter tickled my stimulated skin and he kissed my closed eyes, one after the other. Low and teasing, he rumbled, “That was nothing. Wait ’til tonight.”

  Breakfast at Clark’s led to a day spent at the Rawleys’, all of us lounging on the couches in the living room while the kids played, ranging in and out of the house. Wy, caught somewhere between child and young adult, pretended exasperation when Camille’s girls begged him to play “monster” but gave in every time, leaping from the couch with a roar as they shrieked in delight, racing to escape his clutches. It wasn’t difficult to see that Millie Jo was especially infatuated with him, her pretty eyes bright with joy when he caught and subsequently threw her over his shoulder, upside-down. Meanwhile, Mathias, Camille, Case and I shared with Clark, Sean, and Quinn everything we’d discussed last night.

  “I thought that from the first,” Sean said, pounding an emphatic fist against the rounded leather arm of the sofa. Marshall’s brothers resembled him so much it hurt; it seemed inconceivable that Marsh wasn’t about to lope around the corner from the kitchen, complaining that there was nothing to eat. “Together we have to pull them back here where they belong. It’s up to us.”

  “But how, exactly? Do we sit in a circle and hold hands, like a séance?” I was not attempting to sound facetious, only trying to make sense of something beyond all logic.

  “I don’t think that seems totally unreasonable,” Mathias said, accepting the sleeping bundle of his youngest into his arms. Camille, who’d just rejoined us after nursing the baby, slid beside him and kissed his jaw before settling into a more comfortable position. Smoothing a hand over the length of Camille’s thigh, Mathias went on, “Both of us feel closer than ever to the past now that we’re out here. Just like the time we drove this way together, back in 2006, when we first met you guys.”

  I sensed Camille’s increasing but unspoken concern the way I would a change in the air; the sudden, inescapable chill that pierces through summer warmth, warning of a tornado beyond the horizon. She didn’t have to speak a word for me to understand her fear; so quickly could someone be robbed of another. In a matter of seconds life could change course. Time plodded onward in a forward march, not back –

  But maybe not always. Obviously, under the right circumstances, it moves of its own accord. Fluid rather than fixed.

  “Could it work right now? Should we give it a try?” Quinn’s forehead wrinkled in a speculative frown.

  Case leaned forward earnestly, his face graced by an expression almost stern in its sincerity; his serious gaze held each of us in turn. “We should, but not here. Out by the foundation of the old homestead, that’s where I’d put my money.” Dressed in faded jeans and an untucked flannel shirt of dark blue plaid, his hair still a little messy from my questing fingers, I wondered if there had ever been a more desirable man to walk the earth since the beginning of time. He elaborated, “Marsh said the first time he ever felt the force field of the past, that’s what he called it, it was out by the old foundation.”

  “You’re right.” Excitement swelled in my blood. “If Ruthie and Marsh found the Rawleys in the nineteenth century, like we believe, that’s where they would be. Here, but not exactly here.” It was such a strange thought; I curbed the desire to peer over my shoulder, as if the Rawleys from another century hovered like ghosts near the hearth or along the edges of the spacious room, watching us in silent reflection.

  “They seem so close.” Camille unconsciously echoed my thoughts, her gaze alighting on the west-facing windows, toward the site of the old homestead; her longing for knowledge of not only Ruthie and Marsh, but of Malcolm Carter, flowed from the very depths of her soul. I saw it and I knew Mathias saw it, and understood. Her voice was very soft, almost as though she was not speaking as much as thinking aloud. “What separates one time from another? What stands between them and us? Is it a physical barrier? A wall? A freaking mist cloud? Why can some people pass through it?”

  “Aunt Jilly believes that time is ongoing, all around us,” I said, and Case’s grip on my ankle, bent toward him on the couch between us, instantly tightened. The memory of Ruthann dissolving before our eyes remained visceral and terrifying; the thought that I might disappear in such a fashion plagued him, even though I assured him I had never felt the bizarre pull of the past. Recognizing that not everyone knew what I meant, I explained, “Time never stops existing but most people are totally unaware of its presence. Most people are fixed in their original timeline, with no awareness of any other. To most people it would seem like science fiction, certainly not something they would take seriously.”

  “But that doesn’t stop other timelines from existing simultaneously,” Mathias said, and I nodded, thinking of my conversations with Aunt Jilly. I wished she was here, too.

  “I think it seems more like a river or something,” Quinn said, addressing Camille. “Flowing without stopping, I mean. And we’re all caught in the current but some people can sort of, you know, bob out of the current.”

  “Right. Like Marsh and Ruthie,” Camille said.

  “And this Franklin fellow, the imposter,” Clark mused. Dear Clark, possibly the sweetest man alive, a kind and quiet soul who had never remarried after the death of his beloved wife, Faye. I wanted to see Clark smiling and jovial again, as he’d been when I first knew him. It seemed the lines of worry and distress carved into his forehead would never again be smoothed away. It was grossly unfair to lose a spouse so young, but another wrong entirely for a father to lose his son. And Clark had now experienced both.

  “Derrick has insisted on more than one occasion that Franklin, whoever the hell he really is, is dangerous,” I said, gaining steam. “And after having met him, I believe it. He was armed, for Christ’s sake, there on the street in Chicago headed for a funeral. And Franklin knew us. How could he have known us, unless…” My thoughts whirled, seeking something that defied reason.

  “Unless he knows who you used to be. That has to be it.” Camille’s eyes were now intent upon mine. Awareness crackled between us, sending shivers radiating to my fingertips and toes.

  “Cole,” I whispered. Before I knew I had moved, I was clutching my midsection. “Franklin knows Cole Spicer, I’m sure of it.”

  “That’s who Case used to be, right?” Sean asked. No question seemed too strange these days.

  “That’s what we believe,” I affirmed, unable to look away from Case. “And Cole is who allegedly shot and killed Derrick and Franklin’s ancestor, Thomas Yancy.”

  “He no doubt deserved killing,” Clark said, and I felt another rush of vindication; I could not have loved the Rawleys more if they were my own family. Their loyalty and devotion was unparalleled.

  “We planned to head back to Minnesota next weekend,” Mathias said, his wide shoulders rising with a deep inhalation. Determination radiated from his posture and his eyes; he made a fist and cupped it within his other hand, knuckles form
ing ridges. Rarely had I seen him appear so grave, mouth solemn rather than grinning; I’d always associated lighthearted cheer with my brother-in-law. He added, “So I say, let’s do this.”

  “No time like the present,” Quinn murmured, with a half-smile acknowledging the irony.

  “Tomorrow night is the full moon,” Clark said, lacing his fingers as though to prevent tense fidgeting. “And it’s supposed to be clear.”

  Case said, “We’ll be ready.”

  The front door burst wide, emitting a blast of chilly air along with Wy, Millie Jo, Lorie, and the twins. Their screaming, laughing presence effectively ended the conversation but something had taken root in my heart as potently as the baby had taken root in my womb.

  Hope.

  Chapter Ten

  Jalesville, MT - March, 2014

  UNWILLING TO PART FROM EACH OTHER’S COMPANY, CASE and I met Mathias and Camille at The Spoke that night; Garth and Becky intended to join us later in the evening. The Saturday night mood was raucous, the familiar little bar noisy and crowded, bathed in neon and good cheer. The Spoke was owned by Clark’s younger sister, Julie Heller, and her husband; their daughters, Pam, Lee, and Netta, ran the entire show. After hugs and congratulations, (along with a glass of 7UP for me), Pam made sure we had a constant supply of beer. The band tonight was a local father and son duet, and within two songs they’d persuaded Case and Mathias to join them on stage. It didn’t exactly take much arm-twisting; both of our men were at home singing and making music.

  “They look so right up there,” Camille said, beaming and clapping as Mathias sent her a wink as he accepted both a cowboy hat and the microphone. Clad in a fitted turquoise-blue sweater and faded jeans tucked into snow boots, the dark cloud of her hair spilling over her shoulders and down her back, Camille looked all of about seventeen years old, and determined to enjoy the evening. “I swear it was just yesterday that Mathias was up there for the first time, singing with Case and Marsh and Garth.” She looked my way, her lips softening into a fond smile. “Even that night I realized you and Ruthie should be here with me. That our men were up there, singing, and you guys weren’t even here to see it.”