Bushedwhacked Groom (15 page)

Damnation! Nothing was making any sense.

Except the possibility—indeed, the probability—
that he
was
living in another time now, insane as that sounded. Of course he could ask Cole to take him by his grandparents’ old homestead, but that was another
long ride out of the way, and frankly, he couldn’t bear
the possibility that his beloved childhood home was
no longer there, either.

These crazy people were right. In fact, maybe they
weren’t so crazy after all. His entire existence was
gone now, and he was lost in time, trapped in some
never-ending nightmare or bizarre alternate world. It was unnerving.

“Well?” Cole prodded.

Lucky sighed. “Okay, guess I’m convinced.” He cast
Cole a surly look. “Does that mean shotguns and flow
ers by sundown?”

Cole chuckled. “We’ll proceed a bit more cautiously
than that.”

“Oh, yeah. That’ll go over just swell with your lovely
daughter,” Lucky drawled.

“Son, believe it or not, Molly doesn’t have the final
say in my household.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t believe you.”

Cole broke up laughing as the two men turned their
mounts homeward.

***

By the time Lucky and Cole guided their tired horses
back onto the main street of Mariposa, a cold dusk
had fallen and gaslights were winking on. At the edge
of town they passed the small community church—
the one Lucky had seen absent a roof only days be
fore, now totally intact in its clapboard splendor. He watched the parson emerge, a portly little man with a
trim mustache and balding head; he was attired in a
traditional black suit with a clerical collar.

The preacher spotted the riders and waved. “Well,
hello there, Cole! Who do you have with you?”

“Evening to you, Pastor Bledsoe,” Cole called back.
“This is our houseguest, Lucky Lamont. My daughter Molly has taken something of a shine to young Lucky,
and as it happens, we may be needing your services
soon.”

“Oh?” As Lucky hurled Cole a nasty look, the little man
stepped forward with an expression of avid interest.

“Yeah, looks like Lucky and Molly may be getting
hitched soon.”

“Well, splendid! Congratulations, young man!” the parson gushed to Lucky.

“Preacher, save the moonlight-and-magnolias routine,” Lucky grumbled back. He turned to Cole. “I
thought you said this wasn’t set in stone as yet.”

As the clergyman gave first Lucky and then Cole a
perplexed look, Cole explained, “Yes, Lucky here has
needed a bit of a nudge.”

“Like with your shotgun?” Lucky provided with a
sneer.

“A shotgun wedding, eh?” Glancing at Cole, the min
ister laughed nervously. “I’m not exactly unfamiliar
with that term myself.”

“Oh, yeah,” agreed Cole with a grin. “We had us a
fine shotgun wedding with you and Cousin Edwina
Ann, eh?
”

“Thanks to you and your brother Billy,” the parson re
joined with a stiff smile.

Good Lord, this preacher was as crazy as the rest of
these lunatics, Lucky thought with horror. To the
preacher, he drawled, “That’s right. Good old Uncle Billy
regaled me with stories of all the shotgun weddings in these parts as he held me at gunpoint yesterday. Looks
like the Reklaw brothers may have stuck it to you, too.”

With a self-conscious chuckle, Pastor Bledsoe approached Lucky. “But young man, that shotgun wedding was the best thing that ever happened to me and
my Edwina.”

“Yeah, just like an overdose of arsenic, right?”

With a bemused expression, Bledsoe turned to Cole.
“You know, Cole, perhaps some counseling might be in order here for the happy couple—”

“Happy!” Lucky exclaimed.

“—and as your community pastor, I’d be delighted
to provide it.”

Lucky’s mouth dropped open.

“Hey, that’s a splendid idea,” agreed Cole. “You could
impress on young Lucky here how serious this busi
ness is.”

“You think I’m not taking it seriously now?” Lucky
demanded.

“It will be my pleasure to advise him,” gushed the minis
ter.

“Oh, brother,” muttered Lucky.

“Then I’ll bring him by when we come back to town
to see to the marriage license.”

“Marriage license?” Lucky repeated, aghast. “Now
you’re talking about a marriage license?”

“Son, Mr. Reklaw is right,” put in Bledsoe. “You really
should get the paperwork started if you wish to wed in the foreseeable future. Old Dinkle, the county clerk, is
slower than Christmas.”

Cole nodded firmly. “So, after we run by the court
house tomorrow—”

“Tomorrow!” Lucky shouted.

“—I’ll bring Lucky by the parsonage.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Cole waved a hand at Lucky. “Well, you heard the
man. We need to rattle our hocks, since the clerk is
slow as Christmas.”

“But—
tomorrow!”

“Maybe some stern talk from the good pastor will
calm you down a mite,” Cole added.

Lucky groaned massively. He was getting damn tired
of everything being out of his control. “And what about
sweet little Molly? Seems to me she could use a good
scold—I mean, a good counseling, too.”

Cole grinned and slapped him across the shoulders.
“Great idea, son. We’ll bring her along, as well. Put you
two lovebirds together and let you hash out your dif
ferences, eh?”

“Indeed!” seconded Bledsoe.

“0h, hell,” Lucky muttered.

“Then they’re both all yours,” pronounced Cole.

As Bledsoe beamed and effusively thanked Cole, Lucky wondered why he felt no sense of righteous
vindication.

Chapter Twelve

Back to Contents

At least the moon and the stars are the same
. . .

Af
ter the two men arrived home and tended to their horses, Lucky decided to avoid the house and the cer
tain gloating of his “fiancée,” telling Cole he needed a
walk to clear his head and would return shortly. Cole, seeming to recognize that his guest needed some time
alone, voiced no protest, merely nodding and striding
toward the warm lights of the house.

Lucky climbed up the hillside and looked back
down at the hollow where the farmstead lay slumber
ing. A chill had settled over the landscape, and Lucky pulled the sheepskin coat Jessica had given him more
tightly about himself.

For long moments he gazed up at the sky, so clear
and sparkling with thousands of stars. That luminous heaven was his touchstone, the most familiar and
comforting respite in an alien world. How had he
strayed so far from everything he held dear?

Since he’d arrived here, Lucky had somehow managed to hold off his overwhelming feelings through
anger and defiance, through fighting his fate and re
fusing to believe he could actually be living in the year
1911. But now that he could no longer avoid the truth
of his plight, the enormity of what had happened to
him staggered him like a two-ton weight.

Of course, back in the present he had read—and
seen—stories of time travel. But that was science fic
tion, right? Everyone knew that time travel wasn’t
really
possible. Yet he’d somehow done the impossible and
now seemed to be living a science fiction story—or
was it horror?

Whatever joke the Fates had played on him, he
wanted out, he wanted away—he wanted
back
—but
there was no escape in sight. As far as he knew, he
would be stuck here in Old West limbo forever.

He couldn’t be meant to be here, as everyone kept insisting. He couldn’t be destined to marry that little
she-devil, even if she did stir his lust. He felt forlorn,
adrift, without a friend or a path to guide him . . .

“Lucky, talk to me.”

At the sound of a female voice, Lucky whirled, ex
pecting to see his adversary standing there. He ex
pelled a sigh of relief as Jessica stepped up to join
him; she wore a dark woolen dress and a heavy
shawl.

“Evening, ma’am,” he muttered. “For a moment there I thought you were your daughter.”

“And you were not pleased?” she asked ironically.

Lucky stabbed the ground with the toe of his boot.
“No comment, ma’am.”

She smiled.
“
I guess you must have received a mas
sive shock today when Cole took you into town.”

“Now, there’s an understatement,” he concurred
dryly. “But the bigger setback came when I saw that the
town where I was raised no longer exists.”

She touched his arm and regarded him with keen
sympathy. “I know, Lucky. Cole told me, and I’m sorry
you had to see all of that to be convinced. Just remem
ber that I, too, was totally confused and disoriented
when I first arrived back here, in the year 1888.”

“The year 1888,” Lucky repeated cynically, still not
certain he believed her. Nonetheless, he felt com
pelled to ask the question that had been nagging him
for days now. “So you are the
real
Professor Jessica Gar
rett, the one who disappeared from the year 1999?”

“I am indeed,” she confirmed with a dry laugh. “Then
you’ve heard of me?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. There was an article in our local
newspaper about how you disappeared—and how
your colleagues reappeared a few days later with your
journal.”

She gasped. “So my associates all made it back
okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m so relieved to hear that. Do you know if they got my journal to my family up in
Greeley
?”

“I’m sure they did, although I really don’t remember
that many details.”

“I understand.” She sighed. “You and I do seem to
have a lot in common, Lucky, in that we both came
here in the same stagecoach.”

He nodded. “Though my ride was a trifle rougher
than yours.”

“Indeed.”

“I’d take you to see the vehicle, but it’s a pile of rub
ble now.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Wish it could take me back home,” he added wistfully.

She appeared about to respond to that but bit her
lip instead. “Well, I did want to tell you I was fit to be
tied when I first arrived here—kidnapped off a stage
and forcefully brought to this ranch by the Reklaw
Gang, only to have Cole and his four brothers decide
to fight over me, even as I was struggling to compre
hend and accept the incredible things that had just
happened to me.”

“No kidding,” Lucky replied. “Cole told me some of
your family history today.” He regarded her quizzically.
“But after you got here, you decided this is where you
belong?”

“0h, yes,” she replied fervently. “Lucky, it took me
quite a while to accept my fate, but I finally realized
that I belonged with Cole, that he was my destiny.”

“Good old destiny again,” Lucky drawled.

“Not that my feelings weren’t torn,” she continued.
“And I’ll admit there are things about the time I left be
hind that I sometimes still miss.”

Lucky was pleasantly surprised. “Yeah? Such as?”

Her expression turned poignant. “Well, indoor
plumbing, fast food, automobiles, air conditioning,
watching TV, cruising the Internet, travel. And although our iso
lation here has its advantages, sometimes I miss the in
stant communication of living in a world connected
by satellites and CNN.”

As she’d spoken, Lucky’s jaw had slowly dropped
open.
“
My God! You really
are
a fellow time-traveler—
bizarre as that sounds.”

“I know, Lucky. It’s a very difficult notion to accept.”

“Amen. But—how could you leave a world of cell
phones and day spas and be happy here, in a world of kerosene lanterns and outhouses?”

She gave a rueful laugh. “Well put. I’m not saying it
wasn’t a sacrifice, but ultimately it was one I gladly
made. However, I do miss my family, and sometimes I
wonder what happened to the world I left behind.” She glanced at him tentatively. “You know, don’t you? I
mean, at least you would know about the five years
that passed after I left—and before you did.”

He stared at her for a long moment, not certain how
to respond. Days earlier he never would have dreamed
he’d be having this conversation with Jessica. Should
he tell her about the horror and tragedy of 9/11, the
wars in
Afghanistan
and
Iraq
? Or even about the fun
changes, such as Harry Potter fever sweeping the
country and big-screen plasma TV’s becoming the lat
est rage? He couldn’t exactly discuss the sweet without
the bitter, he realized.

At last he gently replied, “Ma’am, I think there’s some
things you’re probably better off not knowing.”

She gazed at him with concern and puzzlement.
“Well, we won’t press the issue for now. But please, just
tell me what I can do to help you, Lucky.”

He shook his head in irony. “Help me? Ma’am, I’m
lost. I’ve lost my world, my faith, the grandparents I
loved, and now I’m caught in some hellhole in time,
engaged to marry some wildcat who only wants me as a sperm donor.” Watching her flinch, Lucky added,
“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Lucky, I know you’re frustrated,” she replied pa
tiently, “but please don’t allow your stubbornness to
make you discount all the possibilities you have here. I
was really hoping you’d see much sooner than I did
that you’re only hurting yourself by fighting your fate.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“Besides, deep down, you and Molly are a lot
alike—”

“Sure, like oil and water.”

“You might balance each other out, teach each
other something.”

“We’ll kill each other first.”

“Lucky, I think you and Molly belong together, just as
Cole and I did, and still do,” she continued sincerely. “That’s surely
the reason the Fates brought you here. You can’t avoid
Molly forever, or deny what’s happened to you.”

“That’s quite true,” Lucky rejoined cynically. “Tomor
row your husband is taking the spitfire and me to town
to apply for a marriage license—and for pre-marital
counseling with the charming Pastor Bledsoe.”

She fought a smile. “Yes, Cole told me.”

Lucky angrily waved a hand. “And you didn’t say
anything to stop him? You’re just gonna let me be bush
whacked all the way to the altar?”

“I don’t think either of us can fight destiny, Lucky—”

“Lady,
please,
give it a rest,” he pleaded.

“I’m sorry, but I do think it’s preordained.”

“So much for your helping me,” Lucky rejoined bitterly.

Jessica started to respond, but then, with a sigh, she turned and walked away. Lucky felt a twinge of guilt
for being short with her, and almost went after her to
apologize. Instead, feeling helpless, he stood staring at the stars for a long, long time.