Joan Johnston - A Little Time In Texas

“What pictures?”

“You backed up against a sheer rock wall, that white gold hair of yours flying in the wind. The way your breasts looked straining against that damned excuse for a shirt you’re wearing. The sight of those blue eyes of yours flashing defiance against impossible odds. I haven’t stopped wanting you since the first moment I laid eyes on you, lady. If you’re smart, you won’t provoke me into taking what you’ve got to offer.”

“I should’ve known you were just like all the others,” she hissed. “Texas Ranger, my eye. Where’s your badge, Dallas? I had hold of your shirt pocket, and it wasn’t there.”

“I took it off.”

“What for?”

“I’m on a leave of absence.”

“Why?”

He hesitated, then said in a stark, quiet voice, “A friend of mine, another Texas Ranger, was killed three days ago saving my worthless hide.”

“I’m sorry,” Angel murmured.

His grasp tightened on her. “Sorry doesn’t help, Angel. If I’d been the one who was killed, there was nobody to give a damn. Cale left a wife and two kids behind. And I lost a friend who was like a brother to me.

“I walked into this cave trying to figure out some reason why he’s dead and I’m still alive. Alive enough to want a woman. Alive enough to want you!”

“Dallas, I—”

It was too late for words. His lips found hers in the dark, and this time he wasn’t gentle. The same mouth that had been so soft was hard with unrestrained need. Ravaging. Plundering. Taking instead of giving.

Behind the need Angel felt his anguish, and she responded to it. Her arms circled him in comfort. Her body softened against his, offering solace. As suddenly as it had begun, the desperation receded, leaving only the need.

He could easily have taken what he wanted from her. She couldn’t have resisted him; he was much bigger, much stronger than she. But as reason returned, his mouth left hers. His arms surrounded her, and he lifted her off the ground as he hid his face in the fall of silky hair at her shoulder.

Angel felt the strain in his body as he fought his grief. He shuddered once, and she felt him swallow hard. She reached up a hand and smoothed his hair back from his brow.

“It’s all right,” she crooned. “It wasn’t your fault. I know you must have done everything you could. Why, you rescued me today without a whisker of thought for your own safety.”

He didn’t answer her, but he didn’t push her away, either. She murmured comforting words, words she knew would not bring back his friend, but which might make him believe his was not such a worthless hide, after all.

For the first time in her life Angel was grateful for the dark. It had allowed this stranger to seek her out; it had allowed her to comfort him. Yet neither had to face the other when he at last lowered her to the ground and stepped away from her.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

Dallas took her hand again, and they began to walk. He kept close to the wall to maintain his bearings, until at last the darkness gave way to gray shadows.

“I can see light,” Angel said.

Dallas began to move faster, but Angel wasn’t about to be left behind now. They were almost running when he suddenly stopped.

There it was. The entrance to the cave. The sun was shining. The grass was bright green except where spring wildflowers left splashes of orange and yellow.

Angel’s heart skipped a beat. That was wrong. There shouldn’t be any spring flowers. It was fall. An unusually early frost had already turned the grass brown. But perhaps these were fall flowers; and maybe the frost hadn’t caught this particular glen.

She stayed beside Dallas as they left the cave. Bees buzzed. Birds sang. The mesquite blossomed.

Angel held tightly to Dallas’s hand. “It’s very pretty here.”

“It’s always like this in the spring.”

Angel frowned and looked up at Dallas…and caught her breath when she saw his face in the light. How could he have called those eyes brown? They were hazel, dancing with flecks of green. His hair might have been brown once upon a time, but the sun had streaked it with chestnut and gold. His face wasn’t handsome, nor was it plain. But the wide-set eyes, the cheekbones, the strong jaw were undeniably appealing. And the mouth…

“Don’t look at me like that,” Dallas said. “Not unless you’re willing this time to finish what you start.”

Angel’s gaze left his mouth and met his eyes with their ridiculous curly lashes. “I know this has been a trying few hours. But did you just say that it’s spring?”

“It is,” he said.

“It’s not,” Angel contradicted.

His brow furrowed. He reached out and gently brushed aside the hair that covered her bruised forehead. “Are you all right?”

She brushed his hand away. “When you carried me into the cave it was October.”

“It’s April.”

“October,” she argued.

He shook his head. “No, Angel. I’m afraid not.”

“I don’t understand.”

He thrust a hand through his sun-streaked hair. “Maybe you blocked things out—the shock of being attacked and all,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “I remember everything that’s happened to me since the minute those six cowboys cornered me against that rock.”

“Look, maybe I’d better get you to a doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Angel insisted. “You do.”

“Yeah, well, maybe—”

Dallas had been urging Angel forward beyond the hills that framed the cave opening. As the terrain leveled, she stopped dead at the sight of something extraordinary in front of her. “What’s that?”

“What?”

She pointed. “That thing. What is it?”

Dallas looked worried. “Look, maybe you bumped your head in there worse than you thought.” He reached out to the small lump on her forehead.

“No. I’m fine,” she insisted. “It’s just a scratch.” She stared at him expectantly, then looked over at the strange black object.

“You really don’t know what that is?”

“No. I really don’t. Do you?”

“It’s my pickup truck.”

“So? What is it?”

Dallas stepped away and looked long and hard at her. “If this is some kind of joke, it isn’t funny.”

“Why would I joke about something like this?” she demanded.

“Where have you been living? This is the twentieth century. Everyone knows—”

She grabbed his arm so tight her nails dug into his flesh. “Did you say the twentieth century?”

“Yes. So?”

Angel swallowed hard. “That isn’t possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s 1864.”

This time it was Dallas’s turn to stare. “It’s 1992.”

Angel shook her head in denial. “You’re wrong. When you dragged me into that cave, it was October 3, 1864,” she insisted.

“When I stepped in from this side, it was April 14, 1992,” Dallas countered.

Angel’s eyes went wide as she backed away from him. “How could that be?”

“I don’t know,” Dallas said. His lips flattened into a thin line. “But if what you’re saying is the truth—” he paused, and it was clear he wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not “—there’s sure as hell no going back the way you came. If you are from the past, it looks to me like you’re trapped here with me—in the future.”

Angel felt the sunlight dimming around her, forming a single tunnel of darkness. It sucked her down, like a whirlpool, and she felt herself surely, inexorably sliding into it.

Dallas had faced a loaded gun with calm, but when Angel fainted, he panicked. Somehow, in the time they had spent together in the cave, she had touched some inner part of him that had been held inviolate since his youth. When he saw her collapsing, it was as though something dear to him, something necessary to his very existence, was threatened. Adrenaline flowed, and with superhuman effort he leapt forward and caught her before she hit the ground. Unsure what had caused her to lose consciousness, terrified that she had hurt her head far worse than either of them had suspected, he lifted the slight weight of her limp body into his arms and held her close.