Page 5

I managed to land my vessel without any problems in a group of hundred-year-old oak trees on the outskirts of Purley. The short walk to the small town deemed unreportable.

The small country town in 1949 wasn’t much different than the small country towns in the present.

Ace and I stood outside a five and dime surveying the scene. There wasn’t any sign of Mortas. People milled about doing their daily errands. No one seemed ruffled by a recent chaos that disrupted their everyday lives.

“Why in the world would Mortas choose to come ’ere?” Ace huffed. “The man has no sense of fun. There’s nothing going on in this hick town and it’s hot. I’ve got sweat beads under me mustache. It’s going to ruin me dermal filler treatment I had done last week.”

I rolled my eyes at Ace. The vessel had dressed him in faded blue jeans, a tan button down, and a mustache that would have made Yosemite Sam jealous. In my book, he fit the slow-paced East Texas town, but Ace’s preferences were less Sam Elliott and more Rhinestone Cowboy.

“Honey, don’t roll those baby blues at me, you could use a few injections of Botox around the eyes. This job is taking a toll on you.”

I rubbed the corner of my eye. “My eyes are fine! Laugh lines show character.”

“Huh, this job will give you more than laugh lines. One day you’ll wake up to crow’s feet and forehead wrinkles. It’s the stress that does it by releasing harmful toxins into your body. For example, take your U.S. president.”

“The current president?”

“Any of them.” Ace wafted a hand at me. “He’s sworn into office looking all suave and debonair.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Hear me out, hon. When his four years are done, there’s an old man in his shoes. God forbid he gets reelected.”

“You don’t look so bad, and you’ve been doing this longer than me.”

“I take care of meself. Weekly facials, and I exercise every morning on the treadmill, followed by an hour of hot yoga twice a week.”

“I think I’ll pass. The training Jake imposes on me is enough.” I did my time at the gym. Not every day, but I managed to turn my spaghetti arms into toned, tanned flesh.

Jake saw to it I had the proper skills to measure up to the WTF standards and reduced my body fat to twenty-four percent. At least the last time I checked. I might have indulged in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, so I could have some extra.

“Let’s try and focus,” I said. “We don’t have much time. Something is going on, because Mortas is here and he wouldn’t risk his life getting stuck in the past for an entire travel cycle if it wasn’t important.”

“Where should we start, doll?” he asked, taking in the town. A Victorian style courthouse sat at the north end of the square. A hardware store, feed store, and the dime store we currently stood in front of ran the length of the buildings to the right of the courthouse. A second row of buildings stood perpendicular to us. A bar flanked by the library and a grocer, then ended with a barber. We stood on the northwest corner catty corner from the library. A Studebaker pickup and a Buick were parked at the dime store, but a handful filled the spaces in front of the bar.

“We should go across the street to the bar,” I said to Ace. I learned from past travels if you wanted information, the bartender and the barber knew everything. I had more bad haircuts than I could count trying to get the lay of the land from the barber.

The bartenders were inclined to be less chatty, equating their information to the confessions given to the local priest. I might have to throw back a few drinks to encourage the bartenders to loosen their lips about the secrets in this town, but I wanted to try them first and avoid a bad haircut.

Ace tweaked his mustache. “I like having the little ’stache—makes me feel mysterious.”

“I hardly recognize you,” I told him. “Is the mustache fake?”

“No, it’s the real deal.”

“I’m always amazed when you grow facial hair. The vessel did a great job making you fit in with the time.” I glanced down, admiring his alligator cowboy boots.

“You too, doll. That hat is to die for.”

My blond hair was done up in a bun at the nape of my neck and topped off with a straw hat adorned with plastic flowers. The blue floral cotton dress had cute capped sleeves and hit me mid-calf. I liked the dress; however, the padded shoulders made me feel like a linebacker. The ensemble was finished off with a pair of sturdy pumps. I couldn’t complain, because at least this outfit enabled me to move freely. Much better than the pencil skirts of the fifties or the eighteenth-century petticoats.

Ace and I stepped off the curb to walk the block to the bar. A man exited the bar and headed in our direction. His gray pinstriped suit and fedora felt out of place in the farming town. The Clark Gable mustache threw me off, but the casual lean to his stride sent off warning bells as he walked toward us.

“It’s Caiyan,” I said to Ace.

As he got closer, the frown that normally accompanied his discovery of me intruding on one of his missions didn’t appear. He tipped his hat in my direction, but we weren’t close enough to speak. I had a few things I’d like to tell him.

Ace stopped short, grabbed my arm, and steered me away from my approaching ex-boyfriend.

I glanced at Caiyan as he passed. He practically ignored me. My breath caught as I smelled the familiar scent of cinnamon and fresh earth.

Caiyan turned and walked toward the Buick parked in front of the dime store.

I stood dumbfounded and took a deep breath to shout out a few deserving words I had stored up for him.

Ace clapped a hand over my mouth. “It’s not him.”

“It is him,” I said prying the hand from my mouth.

“No, hon. It was him, but a younger Caiyan. He’s the traveler in Pickles’s vision from another time. If he remembers you when it’s time for your little meet cute in Scotland, it could screw up your past tryst.”

Ace was right. There wasn’t a glint of recognition from Caiyan when our eyes met. His face lacked the hard lines Ace believed were acquired by years of time traveling. Was he older than when I first met him in Scotland? The time he took me for a roll in the hay and left me stranded.

Watching him walk away, he was leaner, and his stride boasted the arrogance of a younger man. Younger, I guessed, but couldn’t tell which man strode away from me. His scent hung in the air and my boy howdy tingled.

“Don’t stand gawking doll, he doesn’t forget much.” Ace pulled me across the street and into an alcove next to the bar. “Let’s hope his mind is preoccupied with other things.”

Caiyan’s playboy attitude preceded meeting me. A random woman on a side street in a town where he was obviously on a mission wouldn’t be exceptionally memorable. Besides, the hat shadowed my face and I was dressed like a woman in the nineteen forties.

When Caiyan first met me, I had an ugly brown toboggan over my then dishwater blond hair, sans a few highlights, and the inhibitions of a young female. I barely recognized the woman I had become.

“I can’t tell how old he is, or if he’s already met me.”

“Bloody ’ell. Based on that tight butt, I’d say it’s definitely the time he wasn’t working for the WTF.”

“Good, that’s before he met me,” I said. Glad I didn’t mess up my “meet cute” with the man of my dreams.

Caiyan started the Buick and passed us on the way out of town. “We need to follow him.”

“Hunting the pirate may not be a good thing. If he discovers us, we could cause problems back home.”

“My gut feeling tells me Mortas is looking for him, too.”

“It’s your call, doll, but let’s hurry ’cuz I don’t want to be stuck here wearing these knickers longer than necessary.”

I decided not to ask what he meant by that and searched for keys left in the ignition of the few cars in front of the bar. We came up empty. These farmers locked their cars. They weren’t taking any chances with the money they’d invested on their transportation.

“What happened to leaving the key in the ignition?” I tugged on the last door handle with no luck.

“That’s the fifties. These cowboys saved their pennies to buy these cars, and they’re not parting with them easily,” Ace said. “We could check out the hardware store and see if they have something to jimmy the lock.”

At the end of the row of buildings, a tall, chestnut mare was tied up to a hitching post located at the side of the barbershop.

“I’ve got a better idea,” I said and walked toward the horse. Ace followed.

“Oh no, I don’t do horses.” Ace stood hands on hips.

“What you mean you don’t do horses?” I asked. “I thought horseback riding was part of our training requirement?” I had spent three weeks at horse camp learning how to ride.

“I skipped that lesson,” he said.

“Ace, we’re in a hurry. We need to follow Caiyan before he gets too far ahead.”

“I’m not riding that beast.”

I put my foot in the stirrup and asked for a boost. Ace rolled his eyes and pushed my behind up onto the large horse. It wasn’t easy straddling the horse in my dress, but a girl’s got to make do.

“We need to find Mortas. I have a feeling Caiyan is the common thread here. We’re going to follow him. So, alley oop.”

He frowned up at me.

“Ace come on, this is not debatable.”

Ace stood his ground. “Everything’s debatable, hon.”

“What’s it going to take?” I asked, trying to keep the horse steady.

He paused. “Full day at the Shibui Spa with a facial, mani-pedi, and an aromatherapy massage by one of the hot guys, not one of the wimpy females with the small hands.”

“Done.” I held out a hand to Ace.

He put his foot in the stirrup, grabbed my hand, and I boosted him aboard.

The horse gave a snort at its new passenger.

Ace leaned into my back and huffed into my ear. “I should have held out for a microderm abrasion.”

After a few minutes, I became acquainted with the horse. As we trotted down the street, a man, most likely the owner of the horse, ran out of the barber shop, shaving cream on his beard, shaking his fist, and shouting profanities my way.

“Hold on!” I shouted at Ace, and he wrapped his arms around my midsection. I gave the horse a good thrust with the heel of my shoe, and he galloped off down the road.

I headed the direction Caiyan took in the Buick and slowed the horse to a steady gait after I confirmed the angry owner wasn’t in full pursuit. Ace maintained a steady bitching about being saddle sore.

“How can you be sore already? We’ve been riding less than ten minutes.”

“My parts are sensitive.”

The horse slowed to a walk and tried to nibble at the grass alongside the road. Clenching my teeth, I did my best to keep him on the asphalt. Between the two of them, I wasn’t sure which one was more belligerent, Ace or the horse. Ace might be right. This job could definitely cause wrinkles.

A few miles up the road, I spied the Buick parked in the rutted dirt driveway of an old farmhouse. The small frame farmhouse sat a good distance from the road and had an orchard of wise pecan trees posing across the front pasture.

The Texas dogtrot style house had two identical sides with a breezeway that split it up the middle, the kitchen and main living area on one side and bedrooms on the other. My aint Ozona had one similar. The breezeway allowed a cross current of air to keep the bedrooms cooler and away from the heat of the kitchen. A wooden swing hung across the right end of the porch and swayed in the occasional breeze as if a ghost relaxed in the lazy summer evening.

We dismounted, and I tied the horse’s reins to a tree. I couldn’t have him running out into traffic. Checking up and down the road, there wasn’t another soul to be seen. The road stretched for a few miles in either direction.

When I was positive the horse was safely secured, we walked toward the house, keeping cover behind the rows of mature corn planted in the field adjacent to the house.

Caiyan’s car was parked at the far end of the driveway in front of the barn. He struggled with a bulky machine he lifted from the back seat of the Buick. I’d never seen one the size he carried, but I was positive it was some type of recording device.

He paused and cocked his head in my direction. We froze and waited while he scanned the area. When he decided we were mere cornstalks shushing in the breeze, he walked toward the house.

We hung back a bit and gave him time to put some distance between us. He approached the house from the rear.

The barn provided cover for us from the eyes of the old man sitting on the back porch, his rocking chair centered in the breezeway. When Caiyan focused on the man, we moved closer, allowing us to hear the conversation without being seen.

The man had a long white beard and held a pipe in his hand. Although it was ninety degrees, he wore a red sweater and cap. White hair stuck out from under the cap, reminding me of a wiry Santa Clause.

Caiyan approached the man. “You Samuel Raney?” he asked.

I gasped. It was the man from the newspaper clipping Jake had shown me at headquarters.

“Who’re you?” the man asked Caiyan.

Caiyan explained he was a reporter for the Dallas Morning News.

“I haven’t been to Dallas in sixty years,” the man said. “Last time I was there, I helped pave the streets with bois d’arc blocks. I suppose it’s growed some.”

“Yes sir,” Caiyan said.

“Nothin’ but a bunch of carpetbaggers in Dallas. Hear it still is.”

Caiyan gave the man an appreciative smile.

“You seem mighty familiar, have we met before?” the man asked.

“No sir. I never forget a face.”

Oh boy!

Movement caught my eye off to the right of the house. A man leapt over the fence separating the yard from the pasture. His height and athletic build disguised his age. As he approached, his weathered features placed him not as old as the man on the porch, but late sixties, possibly early seventies. The man on the porch introduced him as his youngest son, George.

“This here’s some feller from Dallas.” He pointed to Caiyan. “What’d you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, but my name’s John Smith.” Caiyan balanced the machine on his knee and extended a hand to George.

I snorted. Could he pick a more common name?

Ace shushed me. Caiyan explained he was doing a story on the Civil War. He was told Mr. Raney could still perform the rebel yell and owned an actual sword from the Civil War.

“Papa can, but it’s probably best if he don’t. The last time he done it, I believe, was seven years ago,” George said, scratching his chin. “It’s best if he don’t. He went to a coughing fit afterward, and he best not.”

Mr. Raney waved a hand at his son, and George grew silent. He offered Caiyan a chair. Caiyan set the recording machine down on the porch and joined the men.

Sweat trickled down from my temples as I strained to hear the conversation.

“We need to move closer,” I said.

Ace pointed toward the side of the house. It jutted out from the breezeway and we could see them through a cross window. If Caiyan didn’t return to his car, we were golden. We snuck around the barn and came up next to the weathered clapboard. Ace and I leaned against the house and listened to the story the old man told of the Civil War.

“An angel swooped down from the heavens and saved me from a hero’s death,” Mr. Raney said.

“An angel?” Caiyan asked.

“She was a beauty. Her white hair blew in the wind. Pink flowers scattered in it, and she wore my colors. I remember her as clear as it was yesterday.” His gaze looked far beyond the pasture behind the house. “She told me it wasn’t my time to go yet, I had lots of living to do. I have six children, twelve grandchildren and fourteen great-grandchildren, thanks to my angel. My first great, great will be born this August”.

“That’s a lot of kids.”

“You have any young’uns?” George asked.

I craned my neck to see Caiyan’s response.

He shook his head. “No sir. I’m not cut out to have kids.”

My heart sank. Caiyan and I never talked about kids, but I was pretty sure I wanted some…eventually.

“You gonna be missing a lifetime of happiness. My wife, God rest her soul, was the firm hand, and I was the easy goer. Was the most blessed time of my life, raising those young’uns.”

“Tell me about the angel,” Caiyan said.

“I was in the middle of a fierce battle. Most of my regiment had been used as cannon fodder. Bullets and guns blazed around me. I was hit in the abdomen and knew my time would be over soon. Them damn Yankees shooting at us from behind the stone wall would be upon me. I’d be taken prisoner, or, worse, my life would be ended by one of the angry ones. We heard tale of them. They robbed your belongings and shot the soul dead out of you. I called out for help, but it was no use, everyone around me was dead.”

I swallowed hard at the man’s story.

“Then a bright light and the beautiful face of an angel lit my soul. She swooped down and helped me toward the safe place.”

He ended the story with the fact he’d turned one hundred and three this year.

Ace’s eyebrows lifted, and he lowered his voice. “I need to know the man’s secret. He looks fabulous!”

“No Botox or spa treatments around here,” I said, causing Ace to frown at me.

“How old were you when you entered the military?” Caiyan asked.

I didn’t know if Caiyan was asking questions to substantiate his cover, because he seemed legitimately interested in the man’s story.

“I was sixteen when I joined up. My first action was in the battle of Murfreesboro. I lived in Tennessee back then. The older boys was joinin’, thought I’d go along with them. It was a fight in fire. The cannons set the cedar trees afire. The band played, and we charged.”

The old man threw his head back, cupped both hands around his mouth, and let out a guttural opera-singer quality high note followed by an angry elephant scream. There was a deep, throaty holler, then a falsetto echo back as if a mountain lion, coyote, and a screech owl sang in chorus.

The yell ended in a bout of convulsive coughs and the sound of Caiyan patting the old man on the back while his son ran to the well to fetch his father a dipper of water.

“Sorry about that,” Mr. Raney said after he regained his voice. “Gets harder every time I give it a go.”

“I’d like to record the rebel yell.” Caiyan said, his phony drawl sending a sexy sensation skipping down my spine. “Do you think you could do it again for me?”

“I can try,” he said.

“Where can I plug in this recorder?” Caiyan asked, holding up a two-pronged plug.

“Mr. Smith, we ain’t got no power,” George said. “We never did tie onto the REA to get the electricity.”

“You’ll have to go buy some batteries.” Mr. Raney motioned toward the town as he started another coughing fit.

“I think Papa best not try again.” George held the dipper of water to the man’s mouth.

“How about letting me take a look at the sword from the Civil War?”

“Sure,” Mr. Raney said.

George helped his father stand, and they made a right inside the small farmhouse.

Ace and I looked at each other. “Go. Go!” He swished his fingers at me.

We scooted around to the front of the house and planted ourselves in a hedge of Red-tipped Photinia under an open window.

The sound of Mr. Raney’s graveled voice floated outside with the floral curtains as they blew in the lazy breeze.

I snuck a peek between the curtains. The men were in the main room of the house. Mr. Raney sat in a patched fabric chair. Caiyan and George stood examining a shiny sword racked above the fireplace.

“Take ’er down gently now, son, no sense in losing a finger. She may be old, but she still has a bite.”

“Don’t worry, Papa, the sword’s in its scabbard.”

“Right. My eyesight ain’t what it used to be.”

George removed the sword hanging above the mantle of the stone fireplace and handed it to Caiyan.

Caiyan held the sheath out at arm’s length and gave a long, low whistle. “May I?” he asked Mr. Raney.

The older man nodded. Caiyan unsheathed the sword.

“It’s a beaut. Ain’t it?” George beamed at Caiyan.

“Don’t believe I’ve ever seen one in such fine condition.”

I had. It was the same sword Caiyan had stolen from a museum in New York and stashed in his treasure collection. I recognized the fancy handle.

I remembered there had been some engraving on the blade, but I couldn’t recall reading the inscription. I was annoyed with Caiyan when he showed me his treasure room, and so I didn’t pay attention to the minor details.

Mr. Raney started another coughing fit. “Let me get you another drink from the well, Papa,” George said, leaving the room.

Caiyan pulled something from his pocket and palmed it in his right hand. When Mr. Raney started to cough again, he ran his hand across the blade several times. A rough sound of rock against metal added to the coughing. Caiyan slid the sword back into the scabbard.

The son returned from the well, and the man took a long drink from the dipper.

Ace cringed next to me. “Blimey.” Germs were not his thing.

I put a finger to my lips, “Shush it.”

If Caiyan caught us, we could jeopardize the entire mission. He had damaged the sword, and I had a good idea why. It was the information to a key.

“That’s a mighty fine sword you have here, Mr. Raney,” Caiyan said. “It should be in a museum.”

Mr. Raney cleared his throat. “A good friend gave me that sword. He was a doctor.”

“How about I purchase this sword from you and take it to a museum?” The urgency in Caiyan’s voice had me worried.

“I don’t know…” Mr. Raney said.

“We sure could use the extra money, Papa. Crops haven’t been producing as well, and my granddaughter needs that operation for her feet,” George said.

“I reckon it’d be better off hangin’ in a museum than here.”

“How about five hundred dollars?” Caiyan asked. “And I’ll make sure it has a placard with your name as the donator underneath.”

George’s eyes grew wide at the amount Caiyan offered.

“I believe that’s a fair price,” Mr. Raney stroked his beard.

Caiyan pulled a wad of money from his pants pocket, peeled off the bills, and handed them to Mr. Raney. I was curious to know who he stole the money from. There was no way he could transport that amount between his cheek and gum. Of course, there were other ways one could use to bring small present-day items to the past, but not any I would participate in.

The roar of a car engine sounded in the distance, and I turned in time to catch a four-door sedan turning into the long driveway. I pulled Ace quickly back into our hidey hole.

Footsteps moved above us, and I caught the tip of a finger as it pulled the curtain aside to view the driveway.

“I trust you will do as you say, young man,” Mr. Raney said.

“You have my word.” Caiyan promised he’d return in a day with his tape recorder, batteries installed, to make a full recording of the rebel yell.

I heard movement above me like young Caiyan was gathering up his tape recorder. He thanked the men and made a hasty good-bye. The screen door slammed as he left out the back.

From my viewpoint between the Photinia bushes, the Cadillac came to a full stop in the driveway with Mortas behind the wheel.

“Uh oh,” Ace said. “The bad guy’s here.”

We hunkered down to avoid our arch enemy’s evil gaze.

I couldn’t see Caiyan’s car parked behind the house at the end of the drive, but I assumed, based on his speedy exit, he knew a brigand was arriving. I prayed they didn’t have a meet cute. If something happened to the young Caiyan, our meet cute would never take place.

I let out the breath I was holding when Mortas cut the engine, exited the car, and took the steps up to the front porch.

His dark hair was slicked back and tucked under a cowboy hat. The corners of his eyes showed a few lines probably caused from his constant evil glares. He rapped on the door. This was the Mortas I knew and despised. The Mafuso from my time.

George opened the screen door and stood in the doorway.

“It’s been a spell since we had this many out-of-town visitors,” George said after Mortas introduced himself as a collector from New York City.

Mr. Raney shuffled to the doorway. “Who’s this feller?”

“He’s from New York, says he’s a collector.”

“Ain’t never been to New York,” Mr. Raney said.

George didn’t invite Mortas into the house. Both men stepped out onto the porch, inches away from our hiding place.

“Can’t say I ever have the notion to go up thataways,” Mr. Raney gave Mortas the once over.

“It’s quite spectacular,” Mortas said.

“Not sure if I can do the rebel yell for ya, havin’ been I just did it,” he said.

“The rebel yell?” Mortas questioned.

“Why yes, Papa’s the last man alive can do the yell. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“Uhm, no.” Mortas seemed confused, “I’d like to know if you have any Civil War relics?”

The sound of a car’s motor engaging rumbled at the side of the house.

Mr. Raney shook his head. “Sorry son, just sold the only souvenir I had from them awful days. Proud to have served alongside my friends, but the reminder of the ones who died, I reckon, would be better displayed in a museum.”

“You sold it? To who?” Mortas asked.

“A reporter from Dallas. He’s going to give it to a museum and put my name underneath as the donator.” The old man puffed his chest out. “Mighty proud to be donating to a museum.”

As Mr. Raney finished his sentence, Caiyan zoomed past in his Buick, window down, flipping Mortas the bird, and crowing out his version of the rebel yell. The anonymous donator from the information in the yellowed newspaper clipping wasn’t being very anonymous.

“Son of a bitch!” Mortas shook his fist at him and stood staring as Caiyan barreled down the driveway engulfed in a cloud of dust.

“There goes the big to-do,” I whispered as Caiyan sped away.

“He did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.” Mr. Raney chuckled.

“Where did the sword come from?” Mortas asked.

“Found it in the salvage wagon after the war.”

“Thank you for your time.”

“Don’t you want to hear the rebel yell?”

“No, I have a feeling I’m going to hear it plenty in the near future.”

Mr. Raney huffed. “I thought I’s the last one who knew how to do it?”

Mortas started to leave and then turned. “Did the sword have any words inscribed on the blade?”

“I can’t say I recall,” Mr. Raney said.

George piped up “I think…”

Mr. Raney began one of his coughing fits.

The brigand’s face darkened and a displeased expression twisted his mouth.

“Sorry sir, Papa needs to sit a spell. When he’s had one of his coughin’ fits he best not speak to anyone for a while.”

Mortas stomped off toward his car.

“I’m fine son, just let me rest here and enjoy the breeze.” Mr. Raney sat down on a porch swing hung at the opposite end of the porch.

We watched Mortas enter his car, make a U-turn, and spit dust as he drove away.

George asked his father, “Papa why did you lie to that man about the sword?”

“He ain’t nothin’ but one of them damn Yankee treasure hunters. I can smell them a mile away. If’n he wants to know, he can go see it at the museum. Maybe in his search, he’ll learn a thing or two about the war.”

The porch swing squeaked with the weight of the man and his son as they rocked gently, talking about the nice young reporter from Dallas. Geesh.

Ace and I were stuck in the bushes until the men went inside. My stomach ached with a subtle cramp. A sign the moon cycle creeped to a close and we needed to hurry back to our landing point.

“Would they go back inside already?” Ace companied, “Me ass is sore from sitting here, and I can’t be stuck in this hick town. I’ve got a date tonight.”

“Your ass gets tired easily,” I replied, keeping my voice low.

“I might have had some work done.”

“What kind of work?”

“The surgical kind.”

“You know the WTF doesn’t allow cosmetic surgery, right?” I arched an eyebrow at him.

“I don’t plan on getting shot in the ass.”

“What did you have done?”

“I had a few implants to make me bum a little fuller, like Beyoncé.”

I looked behind him and he huffed, “You can’t see it when I’m sitting down. I need to stand for you to see its magnificence.” I thought about the fact Ace had missed the last moon cycle. He told Jake his grandfather was ill.

Mr. Raney and his son finally retired to the house. “Coast is clear,” Ace said.

We tiptoed to the end of the house and stood, stretching our legs.

“What do you think?” He lifted his shirttail.

I noticed his behind was a bit rounder at the top, but I didn’t think it was enough to warrant surgery or risk Jake’s wrath.

“I’m impressed, but what if you get fired?”

“They can’t fire me, doll. We have so many brigands trying to muck up the past they need every available traveler. We don’t have enough defenders to chase them all, and even fewer transporters.”

I agreed. We did have the WTF by their short hairs. They needed us, which made negotiating some things simple. The last few travels, the transporters were restricted to base. We mutinied, and Jake relented, petitioning General Potts to make allowances for the transporters to travel with their defenders instead of being summoned.

Now, I was under the microscope to prove I can travel and not muck up things in the past. Bending the rule made watching Marco’s back easier and my sleepless nights disappear. I had to ensure I didn’t screw up.

The sun showed pinks and oranges as we made our way to the middle of the pecan grove. The Raneys long inside, we didn’t have time to return to the clearing we landed in originally.

With Mr. Raney’s poor eyesight, I felt safe to call my vessel at a respectable distance from the house. As my vessel appeared, I turned for one last look.

“Let’s go doll, I need to ice me buns,” Ace said, stepping into my outhouse.

I followed him, but there was a gnawing feeling in my gut that this wasn’t the last time I would meet Sam Raney.