“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 gotten 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
