Badland Bride (4 page)

Settled on the ground, she ran both hands under the tight curls at the back of her neck and lifted her hair, hoping a cool breeze would float over the sweat trickling down. Had Skeeter seen her enter the house from the top of the hill? Perhaps he'd been hollering at her through the deep tunnel, giving her instructions of where to find the key. She shook her head, letting the curls flip back into place. That was crazy, the tunnel was too long. Not even his deep voice could carry that far. But then again, there is no such thing as ghosts, or answered prayers—is there? She snuck a quick side glance.

He ran a hand over the five o'clock shadow across his jaw, once again looking deep in thought. The gesture, along with his swanky, lanky frame, gave him that genuine cowboy appearance—a very good-looking cowboy. The wind tugged at his wayward curls, forcing them to flip and fall across his forehead in a carefree manner, and his clothes fit him like aged-old jeans Tom Cruise would pay a fortune for. A wave of heat racing up her neck made her pull her gaze away. There was nothing fake or store bought about his image. All in all it made her stomach gurgle with enchantment. The sensation made a frown tug at her brows. Ghost or no ghost, another man was the last thing she needed in her screwed up life.

"L-i-l-a...” He stretched her name out, made it sound longer than a ten syllable word.

The sound tickled her funny bone. She let out a small laugh and dragged his name out just as long. “S-k-ee-t-er..."

A cocky grin flashed across his face, one that made her heart flip, before he grew serious. “What year were you born?"

She tilted her head and met his gaze. “If you want to know how old I am, I'll tell you, that way you don't have to do the math. I'm twenty-two."

"That's good,” he said with an obligatory nod. “It's a right fine age,” his face grew somber again, “but what year were you born?"

His genuineness made her forehead crinkled. She relaxed the tight muscles and answered, “Nineteen-eighty-five."

He let out a slow whistle.

Taken aback, she huffed, “What? It's not like I'm an old maid or something, nor some teenage chick either."

He held up one hand in defense. “No, no, you're definitely not an old maid, nor a chicken.” The cocky smile was back, brightening his face in a charismatic, magical way that warmed her heart.

"Chick, not chicken,” she said, giggling at his delightful, dry sense of humor. Apprehension no longer distressed her body, a result of his friendliness. He most likely could make a nervous turkey feel at ease the day before Thanksgiving.

"Yes, chick. All righty then...Well, Lila..."

"Yes, Skeeter...” His conversation game was as charming as his humor. She probably shouldn't be enjoying it as much as she was, but it had been sometime since she'd been able to have fun verbally sparring with a man. And something about him made her want to flirt with earnest.

"What would you say if I told you I was born in eighteen-fifty-nine?"

She laughed, and purposely elevated her eyebrows. “I'd say you look damn good for your age.”
He was a character.

His cute, crooked smile displayed Crest commercial teeth. “Well, twenty-three ain't all that old,” he said, shrugging his broad shoulders casually.

"No, it's not,” she quickly did the math, trying to keep the banter going, “but that would mean you were born in nineteen-eighty-four."

"No.” He shook his head. A curl fell over one eye and he pushed it aside. “I was born in eighteen-fifty-nine.” His gaze had grown serious, somber even.

Something inside Lila flipped. She wasn't sure if it was her heart or her stomach, but something in the way Skeeter looked at her said he told the truth. The temperature of the summer air had to be close to one hundred degrees, but she all of sudden she could have sworn she stood in the middle of a January blizzard. “H-how can that be?"

Skeeter took a deep breath. Being a ghost had been hard, but telling an adorable, half-naked girl she's in eighteen-eighty-two, why that's almost impossible. It was all kind of farfetched, even to his open mind. “It's a long story—” the daze clouding her eyes made him rethink his explanation, “I'll try to make it as short as possible."

"No.” She shook her head. “No, I think I'd like the long version."

She was even prettier now that he was alive again. Her eyes were a brighter green than spring grass, and the wind tossed the red-tipped curls about her head like petals on a flower. Several fluttered across her forehead, catching the sunshine. They sparkled brighter than icicles on a roof top in December. The shape of her face was flawless, gracefully curved and each feature naturally flowed into the next with perfection. Every time she spoke, shiny lips framed tiny, white teeth, and when she smiled, his heart kicked harder than an ornery old mule.

"Skeeter?” Concern filled her eyes, and she rubbed both hands over her upper arms, as if warding off a chill.

The sight brought his galloping mind to a halt, and the urge to comfort her fear forced him to recall their conversation. “Uh, oh, all right, the long version. Well, let's see. My older brother Kid, he married Jessie about two years ago now. She's a right fine gal, we all love her.” His cheeks burned a touch at the declaration. He shook off the flush and continued, “Like a sister, we all love her like a sister. Anyway, her brother, Russell, well, you see, he wasn't treating Jessie very well, and to save Kid from killing him, I took Russ out to check some land. I knew Kid wasn't interested in more land, he owns half of Kansas now, but I wanted a little time alone with Russ to explain how he should be treating his little sister. It didn't take long for Russell to figure if he wanted to live to a ripe old age, he'd better shape up.” Realizing he was blabbing like the town drunk, Otis Murphy, on a Saturday night, he glanced at Lila to make sure she followed his story.

She gave him a little nod, but a frown still pulled on her face. A faint, tiny band of freckles dotted her nose right below a wrinkle the grimace caused. Regret, knowing he was causing her grief, bubbled in his guts.

He sucked in a breath in order to rush through the rest of his tale. “Well, while Russell and I were out and about, we met a guy traveling to the Badlands and tagged along with him. Once we got here, we found all kinds of things,” he dug in one pocket and drew out several small, black teeth, “including shark's teeth and dinosaur bones."

"Mosasaurs,” she interrupted with the same tone Ma used when she was correcting their speech.

"What?” he asked as she plucked one tooth from his palm.

She pinched the tooth between her thumb and forefinger, examining it closely. “You said shark, but actually they're Mosasaurs. They were the predecessor to the modern day shark."

Her explanation caught him off guard. “Mosasaurs, you say?” He glanced at the other two teeth in his hand.

She nodded and replaced the tooth with the other ones.

None of the fossil's they found had been named Mosasaurs, or at least none he knew of. “I'll have to remember that,” he mumbled, stuffing the teeth back in his pocket. Her self-assured gaze encouraged him to make a mental note to write a letter to Russell.

"Anyway,” he continued, “this guy we'd met up with, he was all excited about our findings, and took off for New York to put together an expedition to come back. I figured whoever owned the land would make money from all these folks digging stuff off their property. Kid wasn't interested in owning the land, so I came back to find out if it was part of the land run or not. It just so happened it was, but no one had claimed it ‘cause a band of Sioux had been keeping everyone off it."

"Sioux, like in Indians?” Her eyes had grown as round as silver dollars.

He'd hope to make even the long version short, but her startled look told him she needed as much information as possible. “Yes, Indians,” he used what he hoped was a calming tone, knowing some folks still feared the Sioux. “I put a claim down, and started to befriend The People. Not that long ago this part of the plains had every clan of the Redman roaming it, but since the Army drove most of them into Oklahoma, there's only a few tribes here and there.” He paused for a moment. “Just those strong enough to keep one step ahead of the Army.” Knowing how badly Buffalo Killer's family had been treated by the army never failed to irritate his craw. He swallowed the foul taste it always created in his mouth, squelching it for now. “Every trip out, I bring things for them, beads and such. They're good folks, and I thought we were getting along quite well, until this trip that is."

"What happened?” Her eyes shot across the badlands as if she expected a raid at any moment.

"Don't worry. We're still on friendly terms.” A begrudged smile twisted his lips at the thought of what he'd experienced. “At least until I see Buffalo Killer again, once I settle the score with him, his clan may not be too happy with me."

The sound of her gasp split the air like a stray bullet.

He cringed, hadn't meant to frighten her again, and patted her knee. Smooth, bare skin filled his palm, and then a sting, sharper than a hornet's, shot up his arm. Instantly, he pulled the hand away. A woman's skin had never stung him before. He glanced at his palm sure he'd find a red welt. Finding no sign of injury, he formed a fist, tightening the muscles around the zing shooting up his arm.

Still wanting to ease her fear, he said, “Don't worry, I'm not really gonna hurt him. All of us Quinter boys like to think we're mean, but in all honesty, we pretty kind-hearted.” Blood, hotter than the sun above, raced into his cheeks. He bit down on his tongue.
Damn!
The stupid thing got away from him sometimes. Not only was his hand on fire, but he was as tongue-tied as a school boy in a brothel. A new wave of embarrassment washed over his neck, and this time he closed his eyes. Why the hell was he thinking of brothels? She wasn't the kind of gal in one of the houses in Dodge.

Lila let out a little giggle. It floated on the breeze, tickling his ears.

There was one thing for sure though—this little woman had him ready to jump out of his skin. He peeked at her with one eye.

Her face had lit up like a firefly. All shine and sparkle. “What happened? What did Buffalo Killer do to you?” she asked.

His skin shivered from head to toe. Dragging in a fortifying breath, he willed control. Thinking quick, he pointed to where his horses grazed in the shade of several tall buttes, hoped she'd take the twinkling gaze of those green eyes off his stinging cheeks. “Since my horses are still here, no worse for wear, I figure I wasn't a ghost for no more than a day or so.” He took a deep breath to dispel the lingering cobwebs in his head. “It sure seemed longer.” His gaze settled on the horses. Worry about who'd take care of them had been foremost on his mind while being a ghost. They were fine animals, and he'd hated the thought of them left to their own.

"They're very pretty,” she said, but a new frown had formed. Actually she looked quite shocked.

"I've been here about three months this time. My family lives over by Nixon,” he explained.

"Nixon?"

"Yes, down on the White Woman,” he said.

"Oh, I've never heard of Nixon, I thought Scott City was near the White Woman basin,” she said.

"Nope, it's Nixon. Anyway, this time when I gave Buffalo Killer the gifts I had and said I was going to be scouting the land for the next few months, looking for a site to build on, he asked if he could help. I said sure.” He searched the corners of his mind, trying to recall as much as possible. “What I'm assuming was last night or maybe the night before he came by for another visit.” He pointed in the direction of the tall sandstone structure. “His tribe claims the area around Castle Rock has magical powers, and he knows I like hearing the stories. Well, he came by with some whiskey he got from the Army, and he also brought along peyote."

"Peyote buttons?” Her eyes grew wide. “That's what was in the bowl isn't it?"

"Yes, those are some nasty little things.” He shook away the quiver racing up his spine. “Buffalo Killer called it a ghost dance. Said I'd see unbelievable things. He was right. I saw unbelievable things."

Something akin to excitement lit her face. “G-ghost dance? What happened? What did you see?"

"I don't really know how it all happened. One minute I was eating the awful tasting cactus, and the next minute, I was a ghost floating around an old house. I couldn't get outside the building, other than the tunnel I showed you. I couldn't get back into the cave either. It was the tunnel or the house. Those were my only choices.” He scratched his head, looking back at the cave. Had it really happened? When his gaze fell back on Lila, he concluded it must have. She was proof.

Lila stared at him, face puckered, and blinking like she was trying to understand what he'd said. Pointing one finger at him, she asked, “You were a ghost? Or you are a ghost?"

He folded his hands onto his lap, and thought for a moment, took in all the sensations rippling his body and mind. “Was a ghost. I'm definitely human again now. There was a calendar on the wall in the kitchen. It said nineteen-thirty-nine, so I figured I had died and had been a ghost for over sixty years. The first time one of those horseless carriages pulled in, I almost died all over again. If that was possible,” he added with a chuckle.

"A horse—oh, you mean a car?"

"Is that what they're called?"

She nodded.

"But yours said Mustang on it, and Good Year."

She smiled. “A Mustang is a kind of a car, and Goodyear is a brand of tires."

"But the other c-cars I saw had wagon beds."

A frown formed over her eyes for a moment before she said, “Oh, those would be pickup trucks."

"Like the one that guy chasing you had?"

"Yes, what happened to him? What happened to me? How'd I travel through time?” Her eyes grew wide. “How do you know it's not two-thousand-eight?"

This time Skeeter couldn't stop his hand from giving her knee a consoling pat. The soft, smooth skin made his calloused fingers tingle, but didn't sting him. “Whoa, one question at a time.” He lifted the hand and pointed to the horses. “My horses, all my stuff in the cave.” He shrugged. “I can only speculate on most of this, but I think this place is magical. I think when someone travels through that tunnel, they travel through time."