“We have to get to a town with a telegraph in an all-fired hurry. On horseback we can make it before nightfall. But not with the wagon.”
Cole stowed the reins and jumped from the wagon seat, calling for Patricia. Malcolm reached to help me from Aces; his touch on my waist blazed all across my skin, there was no denying. Flustered, I avoided his gaze, instead hurrying around to the back of the wagon, following Cole.
“Ruthann’s sister is here?” a woman inside asked, her voice low and rough.
“Darlin’, come here.” Cole climbed on the tailgate to assist her and Patricia’s face appeared in the oval opening. I gasped, I couldn’t help it – she looked so much like Tish that my spine prickled. Pale and drawn, shadows deep beneath her electric-blue eyes, exactly the way Tish had looked earlier this very morning, at Shore Leave.
“Oh, dear God. You are Camille, are you not? I would know you anywhere.”
Tears glided over my cheeks; the second she was on the ground, supported by Cole, she flung her arms around me, squeezing as tightly as was able in her weakened state. Her skin burned with fever and there was a faint tremble in her limbs, and I took care to keep my hug gentle. We drew apart but I cupped her elbows, afraid she might tumble over.
“What must we do?” she whispered. “Where is this descendent of the Yancys?”
Derrick approached and Patricia assessed him with the imperious nature of a queen. Of course he noticed how much she looked like Tish; I could see it all over his face. “Ma’am,” he stumbled.
“You do not look like a Yancy.” Her tone was an exact replica of Tish’s, the way my sister sounded when employing her lawyer voice.
I almost expected Derrick to drop to one knee but he straightened his spine instead.
“Your eyes,” she whispered, before he could reply. “There is no ruthlessness in them.”
Reclaiming Patricia’s attention, I said, “I apologize for all of this, I know it’s a shock. But we have no time to waste.” Names and facts spun through my head. “By this time tomorrow, Dredd will shoot Thomas Yancy and then blame Cole for the murder. Cole will go to jail. Someone in Dredd’s group will shoot and kill Blythe.” I paused for a quick, gulping breath, ignoring everything but the need to impart facts, including Blythe’s obvious shock at this news. “Fallon is here in 1882, but he’s in Montana. Tomorrow night he will burn the Rawleys’ home to the ground, killing Miles’s son, Jacob, and destroying that branch of the Rawley family. We have to get word to them.”
Patricia’s skin drained of all color, leaving her so ashen she appeared lifeless. “Ruthie…where is Ruthie? How do you come to be here with this information?”
“She was returned to the future about a week after the fire, but it isn’t the future she remembers. Fallon’s actions created an offshoot in our timeline, an alternate reality. A nightmare I can’t even describe. Ruthie knew we had to warn you and she tried to return here this morning, but she couldn’t. It’s like she was blocked.” I struggled to recall those moments – Derrick had vanished almost at once while Ruthann’s body jerked and flopped, as though caught in a violent current. I had rushed forward, mere steps ahead of Tish – and woke here.
It was your connection to Malcolm. The strength of what binds your two souls drew you here to this place in time. There is no other explanation.
“She is safe? What of Marshall? What of…Axton?” Pain cut a trench across Patricia’s face.
“I left Ruthie behind in 2014. But I think she’s still here too, in this time.” I looked to Derrick for help.
“As far as we know they are all still in Howardsville, Montana,” he supplied. “Ruthann and I intended to arrive here two weeks ago in order to reach them with time to spare. We know that Marshall and Axton will be in Howardsville by tomorrow evening, but obviously they would be unable to return in time to prevent the fire at the Rawley homestead.”
I witnessed the play of thoughts across Malcolm’s mind as he considered our options at lightning speeds; I marveled again, struck to my very core, how much he reminded me of Mathias. Despite physical differences, most notably the shade of his eyes, Malcolm’s every movement, his mannerisms, his mouth and eyebrows and posture were achingly familiar.
Be very, very careful, Camille.
To claim I was not in love with Malcolm Carter would be a lie of immense proportions; I had loved Malcolm since the first winter I held his picture in my hands. I loved him to his very soul, my own crying out with recognition of our connection. But the fact remained that he was a different man; Malcolm was not my husband. I could not find room for guilt over imagining making love with the man standing before me, making love until our souls were fully sated and all sadness, all pain, vanquished forever.
Stop. There is no way you can let that happen.
“Cole, listen up good,” Malcolm ordered. “Get Patricia and the baby out of here. The Yancys are coming from Chicago, that we know, and expect us to be on a northern route. They are still a day from our current position, so that gives us time to flee.”
“West,” Cole said at once. “We’ll head due west, aim for the nearest settlement. Windham can’t be more than twenty miles.” He gathered Patricia to his side and kissed her tangled hair. “I am so sorry, love, to ask this of you. I know you’re ill.”
“I am well,” she assured. “Hard travel could never be worse than what Camille has just described.”
“Go as fast as you’re able,” Malcolm said. “Waste no time.” He paused, briefly considering. “Blythe, if you would accompany them and help
