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Authors: Madeline Baker

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J.T. swore under his breath. Of all the men in the world, why did he have to run into Cougar Johanson? The man was a rum runner, a man without scruples or morals, hated by the whites and feared by the Indians who traded furs and hides for rotgut whiskey.

He wrinkled his nose as the wind shifted, carrying the stink of Johanson’s unwashed body. The thought of the man touching Brandy with his filthy, calloused hands made J.T.’s stomach clench.

Slowly, silently, he lifted the rifle to his shoulder.

Thou shalt not kill.

J.T. blew out a sigh of exasperation. “Dammit, Gideon,” he muttered, “you’re gonna get me killed.”

Lowering the rifle, J.T. took a deep breath. “Hello, the camp!” he called.

Johanson sprang to his feet, his hands fisted around the rifle. “Who’s there?”

“J.T. Cutter.”

“Cutter!” Johanson uttered a colorful expletive. “I heard they hung you back in Cedar Ridge.”

“They tried,” J.T. said, stepping out from behind the bushes. “It didn’t take.”

“What you doing out here?” Johanson asked, his voice heavy with suspicion.

“Headin’ north, toward Canada.”

Johanson grinned. “Leavin’ the country, huh? Well, can’t say as I blame ya. Where’s your horse?”

J.T. jerked his head to the side. “Left him tethered a couple yards back.” He smiled conspiratorially. “Didn’t want to ride in until I knew who you were.”

Johanson grunted. “Smart.”

“All right if I help myself to a cup of that coffee?”

“Sure. Use my cup.”

“Thanks.” J.T. slid a glance at Brandy as he knelt beside the fire and reached for the coffeepot. When she started to speak, he shook his head, warning her to remain silent. It wouldn’t do for Cougar to suspect they knew each other. Cougar had staked his claim to the woman, and he wasn’t likely to give her up without a fight.

Hunkering back on his heels, J.T. sipped the coffee. It was hot and black and strong enough to float a horseshoe. “Who’s the dame?”

Johanson shrugged. “Don’t know. Some runaway squaw, from the looks of her.”

“What are you gonna do with her?”

A sly smile spread over Cougar’s face. “What the hell do you think?”

Disgust roiled in J.T.’s stomach. “Have you…?”

“Not yet.” Johanson scratched his crotch. “You wanna crack at her?”

“I might.”

Johanson looked thoughtful. “It’ll cost ya a sawbuck.”

J.T. nodded. “Sounds reasonable. But I don’t want your leavin’s.”

“Then it’ll cost you double.”

“All right by me.” J.T. drained the last of the coffee from the cup, then rose to his feet. “I’m gonna go get my horse and my bedroll.”

Brandy stared after J.T., wondering what he was up to, wondering if he was actually going to bed her in full view of the vile man sitting beside her. She closed her eyes, wishing she had a couple of aspirin to ease the dull ache in her head. Wishing this was all a bad dream, and that when she woke up, she’d be back in her own bed, safe in her own house, in her own time.

She squeezed her eyes to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. She wouldn’t cry! She was a woman of the nineties. She was supposed to be strong and self-reliant. Independent. Able to leap tall buildings with a single bound. But she didn’t feel strong or independent. Only very, very afraid. She remembered the mind-numbing panic that had engulfed her when she opened her eyes to find the Incredible Hulk towering over her. When she’d tried to scramble away, he had grabbed her by the hair and backhanded her across the face, hard. So hard it had brought tears to her eyes and made her ears ring.

A thousand times since then she had berated herself for leaving the Crow camp. At least with her mother’s people, she had been safe, respected. Protected.

She jerked her head up as she heard the sound of hoof beats, and then J.T. rode up. She had never been so glad to see anyone in her life, until he had agreed to buy a half-hour of her time.

He dismounted with fluid ease, then tethered his horse apart from the other two. Removing the blanket from behind the cantle, he draped it over his shoulder, then swaggered toward the fire.

He looked dark and dangerous in the light of the flames. His long near-black hair framed a face made up of harsh planes and sharp angles. The rifle cradled in his left arm looked to be a part of him. The long fringe on his shirt sleeves danced back and forth as he reached into his pocket, withdrawing the crumpled bills she had retrieved from his trousers when they were first captured by the Crow. He counted out ten dollars and handed the money to Johanson.

Brandy stared up at J.T., truly afraid of him for the first time. Desire smoldered in the depths of his dark brown eyes as he grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to her feet.

She jerked away when he placed a wet kiss on her cheek.

“C’mon, honey,” J.T. murmured, “let’s go get acquainted.”

Johanson took a step forward and laid a restraining hand on J.T.’s arm. “Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”

J.T. glanced pointedly at the hand resting on his arm, then fixed his gaze on Johanson’s face.

A muscle worked in Johanson’s jaw, then he dropped his hand. “I don’t want you out of my sight.”

“Then forget it,” J.T. said with a shrug. “For ten bucks, I want some privacy.”

Johanson weighed that for a moment, his shaggy brows drawn together in a frown. “Leave the rifle here. And don’t go too far.”

Face impassive, J.T. tossed his rifle to Cougar Johanson. ”Just don’t come spyin’ on me.”

Johanson stared at J.T., then nodded. “Half-hour, Cutter. One minute over, and it’ll cost ya another sawbuck.”

J.T. grunted. Wrapping his hand around Brandy’s arm, he dragged her into the darkness.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Brandy hissed.

“I’m trying to keep your virtue intact, what the hell do you think?”

“Then you’re not going to…to…”

“No. Just keep quiet.”

Keeping a tight grip on her arm, J.T. guided Brandy through the darkness, pausing now and then to listen for any sound that would indicate Johanson was following them.

He swore under his breath when he heard the faint but unmistakable sound of muffled footsteps. Damn the man! Throwing his blanket on the ground, J.T. sank to his knees, dragging Brandy down beside him. Wrapping his arms around her, he eased her down on the blanket, covered her body with his, and began to kiss her.

“What are you doing?” Brandy gasped.

“Fight me.”

“What?”

“Do what I say. Fight me. Kick. Scratch. This has to look real.”

Hearing the urgency in his voice, Brandy began to struggle, weakly at first, but then, as J.T.’s hands grew rough and his kisses grew brutal, she began to fight in earnest. It was all his fault that she was here, in this place. She had touched him, and been catapulted into the past, away from everyone she knew, everything that was familiar. Resentment surged through her, and she raked his cheek with her nails, pummeled his back with her fists, heard him grunt with pain when her knee caught him in the groin.

“I want to go home!” she cried. “Damn you, I want to go home!”

“Brandy, that’s enough. Brandy! Dammit, stop!”

Breathing hard, she stared up into his face.

“He’s gone.”

She blinked up at him, then took a deep breath as reason returned. ”Now what?”

“I’m gonna try to sneak up behind Cougar and knock him out. I want you to make your way to the horses. If anything happens to me, you take the horses and ride like hell for the Crow camp, you understand?”

“But…”

“We don’t have time to argue, Brandy. Just do as I say, all right?” At her nod, J.T. rolled off her and stood up.

Taking Brandy by the hand, he helped her to her feet. He looked at her a moment, his knuckles caressing her cheek, and then he stepped away. “Go on.”

Moving quietly, J.T. made his way around behind Johanson. Cougar was sitting with his back against the log. He had a cigar in one hand, a coffee cup in the other.

J.T. glanced longingly at his rifle, but there was no way to reach it without being seen.

And then he decided to brazen it out. Fumbling with his fly, he stepped into the firelight.

Johanson looked up. “Done already?”

“I was anxious.”

Cougar fixed J.T. with a single-eyed stare. “Where’s the woman?”

“Cleanin’ up.” J.T. laughed. “Don’t worry, she ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“Long as you’re done, I guess I’ll just go take a turn myself.”

J.T. nodded. “Try to keep it quiet, will ya? I’m gonna get some shut-eye.”

Cougar stared at him hard for a moment, then picked up his rifle and headed for the darkness beyond the trees.

As soon as Johanson’s back was turned, J.T. dived for his own rifle, rolled to his feet, and jacked a round into the breech. “That’s far enough!”

Johanson whirled around, then went suddenly still. “What the hell’s goin’ on?” he demanded, glaring at J.T..

“I’m taking the woman. She’s mine.”

Johanson grunted. “One quick bang in the dark don’t make her yours.”

“I mean she’s my woman. We’ve been living together. We had a fight, and she ran away.”

“Well, hell,” Johanson said affably, “why didn’t you say so before?”

J.T. leveled the barrel of his Winchester at Cougar’s broad chest. “Drop the rifle, Cougar. And shuck that knife you keep tucked inside your left moccasin.”

Johanson smiled expansively, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth, as he shifted the rifle in his hands, his fingers inching toward the trigger. “There’s no need for this.”

“Humor me.”

Johanson hesitated a moment more; then his jaw clenched, he dropped the rifle. Keeping one eye on J.T., he pulled the knife from the sheath inside his moccasin and tossed it toward the fire.

“That’s better,” J.T. remarked pleasantly. “Now, turn around.”

“You gonna back-shoot me, Cutter?”

“Maybe.”

Face dark with rage, Johanson turned around. Taking a firm grip on the rifle, J.T. struck Johanson across the back of the head, no easy task, since the man was a good four inches taller than he was.

Cougar grunted softly, then pitched forward.

“He looks like Goliath,” Brandy remarked, stepping out of the shadows.

“Yeah.” J.T. rummaged through Johanson’s saddlebags until he found a length of rawhide, which he used to tie the man’s hands behind his back. That done, he poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, drank it down, then refilled the cup for Brandy. She took it reluctantly, hating to think that Johanson had used it, but a cup of strong coffee was just what she needed. She sipped the bitter brew slowly, watching while J.T. saddled the pinto. He took Johanson’s saddlebags and both of his canteens, but left the man’s rifle and horse.

“You ready?” J.T. called.

Brandy nodded.

“Bring the coffeepot and the cup.”

Minutes later, they were riding away from Johanson’s camp.

“You should have taken his horse,” Brandy remarked.

“I know.” J.T. shook his head ruefully. He should have killed the man for daring to put his hands on Brandy, but even as the thought surfaced, he heard Gideon’s voice echoing in the back of his mind, the words ringing loud and clear:

Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not kill.

J.T. swore softly as he urged his horse into a lope. Having a guardian angel was no picnic.

Chapter Ten

 

“Where are we going?”

J.T. glanced at Brandy. They had spent the night in a shallow draw and now she rode beside him, mounted on the stolen pinto. Her doeskin dress was hiked up to mid-thigh, revealing a pair of well-shaped calves encased in knee-high moccasins.

“You still wearin’ that fancy black underwear?” The question sent a slow flush creeping up her neck and stained her cheeks with crimson, giving him all the answer he needed.

“You didn’t tell me where we’re going,” Brandy remarked. She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him.

“You didn’t answer my question, either.”

She felt his gaze sweep over her, hot and intimate. “Of course I’m wearing it!” she snapped. “It’s all I’ve got. And stop looking at me like that!”

J.T. glanced away, his imagination running wild as he pictured her reclining on a big brass bed wearing nothing but those two scraps of black lace and a come-hither smile.

“I’m gonna try to find my mother’s people,” he finally replied in answer to her question.

Brandy turned to stare at him. “The Sioux?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you think? The Crow and the Lakota have been enemies for as long as anyone can remember. Besides, I want to go home.”

“Let’s not argue about that again.”

“You said you’d never spent any time with your mother’s people,” Brandy remarked. “You said you didn’t
want
to spend any time with them, that they didn’t know you, and you didn’t know them.”

“Do you remember everything I say?” he asked irritably.

“Pretty much. So, why this sudden urge to go looking for your progenitors?”

“My what?”

“Your ancestors.”

J.T. shrugged. “Call it a lark.”

But that’s not what it was. Spending time with the Crow had stirred J.T.’s curiosity about Lakota. If he was ever going to pay a visit to his mother’s people, it had to be now, before it was too late. Spending a few precious weeks of whatever time he had left with the Lakota, perhaps finding his grandparents, suddenly seemed important.

“I don’t want to go visit the Lakota,” Brandy said. “I want to go home.”

“Not now.”

“They won’t want me there.”

“Your people accepted me well enough.”

“Yeah, but you never told them you were Lakota.”

J.T. shrugged.

It was useless to argue with him, she thought irritably. Useless to point out that the Lakota might not want
him
there, either. After all, in spite of his ancestry, he was a stranger. She had always been told the Sioux were a blood-thirsty tribe, making war on just about everyone they met. What if they didn’t give J.T. a chance to explain who he was? What if they just killed them both out of hand?

“Can you speak Lakota?” she asked.

“Some,” J.T. replied, and then frowned. He hadn’t had any call to speak his mother’s tongue in almost twenty years.

“Please take me back to Cedar Ridge.”

“Are you crazy? There’s nothing waiting for me there but a rope.”

“You can drop me off on the outskirts of town.”

“No.”

“But…”

“Dammit, I said no!” Unconsciously, he massaged his neck.

She couldn’t blame him, not really. And, deep inside, she knew, without knowing how she knew, that she would never get back to her own time without his help.

They rode all that day, passing through some of the prettiest country Brandy had ever seen. No wonder the Indians had fought so hard to hold on to the land, she mused. The sky was a bright azure blue, the trees were tall and green, the streams ran cool and clear. She thought of her own time, of the pollution that was killing the trees and poisoning the oceans. Recalling a trip she had made to Los Angeles a year ago, she grimaced as she remembered the graffiti painted on the walls and freeway overpasses, the smog that had burned her eyes. If the Indians had known the havoc the whites would inflict on their homeland, they would have killed the pilgrims and burned the Mayflower.

J.T. made camp at dusk. He chose a spot on a wooded rise where he had an clear view of the ground below.

“Get some wood,” he said curtly. “I’ll look after the horses.”

She didn’t argue this time. Humming softly, she dug a shallow pit, then gathered an armful of wood and twigs. She had a small toasty fire going and coffee cooking by the time J.T. finished unsaddling the horses.

For dinner, they ate jerky and cold biscuits looted from Cougar Johanson’s saddlebags. As she chewed on a strip of dried meat, Brandy thought longingly of the quick, easy meals she had taken for granted back home, spaghetti and meatballs and warm Italian bread, chicken and vegetables served over fluffy white rice. Even the microwave dinners she sometimes ate were better than this.

Sipping a cup of hot bitter black coffee, she wondered again how her animals were doing, what Gary had thought when she missed their date, what her parents would think when she didn’t call. She wondered how Nancy Leigh was doing with her spelling, and if Bobby had ever paid for the candy bar he’d stolen from the cafeteria.

But, most of all, she wondered if she would ever get home again.

J.T. sat across the fire from Brandy, his left arm resting on his bent knee. It didn’t take a mind reader to know where her thoughts were. She was thinking of home, likely hating him because he refused to help her get back. As if he could. Still, the thought of her hatred caused a sharp pain in the region of his heart. He didn’t try to analyze it; didn’t want to examine his feelings too closely for fear he might have to admit that he was beginning to care for the ebony-haired woman sitting solemn-faced across the fire. He had known prettier women, even bedded a few, but none had fascinated him quite like this one. The firelight turned her hair to flame and tinged the curve of her cheek with a splash of gold. His gaze moved to the rise and fall of her breasts, and he wondered what she would look like wearing nothing but black lace and firelight.

With a start, he realized she was watching him from under the veil of her lashes. “Something wrong?” he asked brusquely.

“No.” Her voice was smooth and warm, like the liquor she was named for.

“It’s getting late,” he said gruffly. “You’d better turn in.”

“You’re staring at me. Why?”

“Why?” He looked at her blankly. Why, indeed? It had been months since he’d been intimate with a woman.

He frowned at the memory. He had spent three weeks in jail waiting for the circuit judge to come and try him. In all that time, the only person he’d seen other than the sheriff had been Nora Vincent, the lady who owned the hotel. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve Nora’s friendship. Before his arrest, he’d stayed at her hotel a couple of times, that was all, but she’d brought his meals twice a day. She’d come to the hanging, too, the only friendly face in the crowd.

Before that, he’d been on the run, dodging a determined posse rounded up from some little cow town where he had stolen a couple hundred dollars. He’d had no time to think about finding a woman, no time to think of anything but getting away just as far and as fast as he could. But he couldn’t shake the disquieting feeling that, even if he had just made love to the most beautiful woman in the world, it wouldn’t do a thing to ease his yearning for Miss Brandy Talavera, schoolmarm.

“Stop staring at me.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, “but there’s not much else to look at.”

“I don’t care. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it isn’t polite to stare?”

“Not that I recall.”

She studied him through the shimmering light of the fire, admiring the stark beauty of his profile. And suddenly she wanted to know more about the enigmatic man who had so abruptly changed her life.

“Tell me about yourself, J.T..”

“I thought I already did that.”

“Not really. What kind of childhood did you have? Did you go to school?”

“School?” J.T. snorted softly. “The fine upstanding ladies of San Antonio were like to faint when they heard my mother had the gall to send me to school with their little darlings. They booted me out so fast it made my head spin.”

“But that’s not fair!” Brandy exclaimed, her sense of right and wrong outraged by the thought of a child being denied the right of an education.

“Well, fair or not, that’s the way it was. Didn’t matter where we went, it was always the same.”

“Where did you learn to read and write? I mean, you can read and write, can’t you?”

“Well enough to get by.” He picked up a stick and threw it into the fire, staring at the little fountain of sparks that rose from the coals.

“Did your mother teach you?”

“No. She didn’t know how.” He glanced up, his gaze meeting hers squarely. “But she was friendly with a man who’d been a teacher in the East before he got caught drinking on the job. Real friendly, if you get my drift.”

Brandy nodded. She understood exactly what he was saying. J.T.’s mother had prostituted herself so her son could learn to read and write.

“She must have loved you very much.”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So, what about you? What were like as a little girl?”

Brandy stared into her coffee cup. How could she tell J.T. about her childhood when his had been so miserable?

“C’mon, Brandy, ’fess up.”

“I had a wonderful childhood,” she admitted. “I was an only child, my parents spoiled me rotten, and I loved it.”

When she was young, she had been glad she didn’t have any brothers or sisters, that she didn’t have to share her parents’ time or love with anyone else. But, as she had gotten older, and less selfish, she had often wished for a big brother to protect her from the bullies at school, for a sister to share confidences with.

“I guess you had all the toys and clothes a kid could want,” J.T. remarked, his voice bitter as he recalled the time his mother had taken a bad fall down a flight of stairs.

Unable to work, she had taken him to the local church, where they had been given shelter until she recovered. It had been Christmas, and two of the town’s rich ladies had come to the church, bringing gifts for the orphans and poor folk. He would never forget the way they’d looked at him, their eyes filled with pity for the “poor little Indian boy” in the ragged pants and too-small shirt, or the way they had looked at his mother, as if she was dirt. They had given him a shiny new top and a shirt of soft blue wool. He had smashed the top to pieces, thrown the shirt into the fireplace when no one was looking.

“My folks were very generous, but then, I was their only child,” Brandy replied, remembering the numerous presents that had awaited her on her birthdays and at Christmas.

“How come your folks never had more kids?”

“My mom had a bad pregnancy. The doctors told her it would be dangerous for her to have another child. She wanted to try, but my dad wouldn’t hear of it.”

“He must have loved her a lot.”

“He still does.”

“How long have they been married?”

“Thirty-five years.” It was an odd discussion to be having with a notorious outlaw, Brandy mused.

“I guess they’re probably worried about you. Wondering where you are.”

“Yes.” She felt a sudden surge of hope. Perhaps now, when he knew how close-knit her family was, how worried her parents must be, he would agree to take her home.

J.T. looked at her across the fire. “It doesn’t change anything, Brandy. I’m not going back to Cedar Ridge. Not for you. Not for anybody.”

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she let it out in a long sigh of disappointment.

“I’m sorry, Brandy.”

“If you were sorry, you’d take me home!”

“Dammit, woman, even if I was fool enough to take you back to Cedar Ridge, there’s no guarantee you’ll make it back to your own time.”

“But it’s a chance.”

“A damn slim one.”

“But it’s the only chance I’ve got.”

J.T. shook his head. “Forget it.”

“I hate you.” The words were quiet and laced with venom.

“Most everybody does,” he replied flatly. And turning his back to her, he rolled up in his blankets and closed his eyes.

Brandy stared at him, suddenly ashamed. What if he took her back to Cedar Ridge and he was arrested? Hanged? How could she live with that on her conscience? And yet, how else was she ever to find her way back home?

And then a new thought occurred to her, one that chilled her to the bone. What if it didn’t matter what she did? What if there was no way back?

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