“Meaning I would be permanently stuck in another time. Why?”
“Sparing you hours of technical jargon, let’s just say the universe is constantly in motion and leave it at that. We’re working on broadening that window.”
“Suppose I didn’t want to come back?” he asked, turning to look at her.
Cara tipped her head down, her dark, blunt cut hair swinging to hide her features as she spun her wedding ring on her finger. “I guess if you didn’t show up at the appointed time and place, it would be pretty obvious that either something happened to you or you decided you didn’t want to return. There would be nothing we could do about it in any case, save send someone after you and we wouldn’t do that.”
Morgan paced the room for several minutes before picking up his beer and chugging it. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he slammed the empty can on the table.
“I’ll think about it,” he finally replied before plopping on the couch and picking up the remote.
She knew the conversation was over and left the room. A week later he shocked her with his answer.
“I’m in,” he said gruffly when she walked in the door. “I’ll let you know where I want to go after I’ve given it some more thought,” he called over his shoulder as he turned back to the TV.
Emotion swamped Cara and she quickly left the room without speaking. Elated that all her hard work was about to come to fruition, yet at the same time knowing once and for all how little she meant to her husband left a bitter taste in her mouth.
The ease with which he moved from one plane of existence to another shocked him to his very core. One moment he was standing in the research lab in western garb, complete with Stetson, boots, and a Colt 45, and the next he was several hundred yards from a well-traveled dirt road. The vortex of screeching wind and flashing lights he’d imagined never happened. Instead it was a silent, breezeless passing, eerily quiet and unemotional. For a brief moment, he saw Cara through a thin veil as she dropped her head in her hands. He reached toward her in indecision and she was gone.
CHAPTER 2
“Morgan? Morgan Whittaker is that you?” the man asked, pushing the brim of his hat back and squinting in the bright sunlight. “As I live and breathe,” he continued, jumping down from his wagon and striding directly to the tall man who was once his best friend.
“Where in hell’s creation have you been all these years? We all thought you were dead, killed in the Indian wars,” he continued, reaching out to shake Morgan’s hand before pulling him into a man hug and pounding his back. “And what in tarnation are you on foot for? Get throwed?”
“Um, yeah,” Morgan replied. Apparently this man knew him, although how that could be possible he didn’t know. Cara told him he was taking a chance going to rural Kansas where his ancestors had settled back in the 1800’s. It appeared she was right, as he obviously looked enough like his predecessor to be mistaken for him.
“Well, come on,” the man said, heading toward the wagon. “Never thought I’d live to see the day you got pitched off your own nag,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You want I should try and find your horse? I guess that fightin’ took more out of you than is right.”
“I guess so,” Morgan agreed, climbing up on the seat and looking around at the countryside. “No, he was an ornery old cuss anyway, so good riddance to him.” Acres and acres of wheat, as far as the eye could see, waved gently in the breeze. He hoped the man would continue to carry the conversation because frankly, he was almost speechless. Weeks of watching old episodes of ‘Gunsmoke’ would only take him so far.
“I’ll take you out to the homestead,” the blond haired man beside him said, giving the reins a snap that set the horses in motion, “but I better stop at the house on our way or Missy will never forgive me. That little sister of yours is sweet as a honeycomb until she gets a bee in her bonnet, then watch out. We been married nigh on three years now and I’ve only had to take a hand to her a few times, but let me tell you that woman can hold a grudge like no female I ever met. Best not to rile her up if I can help it,” he said, grinning.
“You hit my sister?” Morgan asked, feeling strangely angry despite the fact that he had no idea who ‘Missy’ was.
“Hell no! You know me better than that, Morg; I just tan her hide when she gets out of hand. Nothin’ you wouldn’t a done yourself if you’d been around. If anyone knows what kind of trouble that gal can get into, it oughta be you.”
Morgan nodded and digested this information. So, he had a sister. Well, the other Morgan Whittaker did, and Lord knew where he was. Maybe he was dead. This man was married to Missy, his sister, and apparently it was permissible to spank your wife. A tiny smile tilted the corner of his mouth.
“Your ma sure will be glad to see you, Morgan. She ain’t been herself since she got word you were wounded. At first she figured you’d surely be home quick, but as your brothers staggered home, she began to think you’d perished of your injuries. After your pa died of influenza a couple of years back, I think she give up hope of ever settin’ eyes on you again. Gosh, Morg, I’m sorry, I guess you couldn’t have known. I’ll bet seein’ you again will put a spark back in her eyes.”
“Ah, how are my brother’s?” Morgan asked, trying to sort out all this information and come up with a plausible story for his ‘new family’.
“Fine, fine, Matthew come home first, but Becky Sue Linders had already up and married a fella from Texas. Weren’t none of us surprised ‘bout that. She said she couldn’t be sure Matthew hadn’t gone off and got hisself killed and she wasn’t gonna take the chance of endin’ up an old maid. They got a little farm on the outskirts of town and they just bought old man Thompson’s place that adjoins it. Matt went plum loco for a while,” Cole said, shaking his head. “He always was crazy for that gal. Mead come next, had a pretty bad leg on him, but you can hardly notice the limp anymore. He’s got a good job at the bank, even took a room in town so it was more convenient. Tried ranchin’ but the long hours in the saddle made him worse and it ‘bout broke him to have to give up on his dream.”
“I imagine so,” Morgan agreed, understanding exactly what that was like. “What’s wrong with his leg?” he asked, wondering if he knew anything that would help Mead. He wasn’t a medic by any means, but he’d seen enough wartime injuries to have a fair idea what was possible with the proper treatment.
“Took a bullet in his leg, and I guess it plumb shattered part of the bone. The doctors wanted to amputate, but he wouldn’t let ‘em and thankfully his commandin’ officer agreed. Saved his leg, but ‘taint right. He wears a brace now.”
The team clipped along at a good pace and it wasn’t long before Morgan could see a white farm house up ahead. Set back from the road, it had a wide porch, complete with wooden rockers. There were two large barns behind it. The dust the wagon raised in the road almost choked him as the man slowed, but instead of turning in, he rested his arms on his legs and held the reins.
“I reckon I better tell you somethin’ else before we go on up to the house,” he sighed, turning his head and looking at Morgan. “You ain’t asked me about Lilly,” he remarked, clearing his throat.
“Lilly?”
“Lillian Piersal. Jesus, Morgan, how hard you hit your head when that horse threw you?”
“Pretty good I guess,” Morgan replied, rubbing the back of his head. An injury might come in handy in explaining any memory lapses.
