Meant to Be Read online

  Meant to Be

  Cheryl Pierson

  Smashwords Edition

  Meant to Be

  Presented by Western Trail Blazer

  Digital ISBN: 9781301506088

  Copyright © 2012 Cheryl Pierson

  Cover Art Copyright © 2012 Karen Michelle Nutt

  Produced by Rebecca J. Vickery

  Design Consultation by Laura Shinn

  [Revised Edition]

  Smashwords Licensing Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this ebook without purchasing it and it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Meant to Be is a work of fiction.

  Though actual locations may be mentioned, they are used in a fictitious manner and the events and occurrences were invented in the mind and imagination of the author except for the inclusion of actual historical facts. Similarities of characters or names used within to any person – past, present, or future – are coincidental except where actual historical characters are purposely interwoven.

  Meant to Be

  Robin Mallory is facing another Christmas all alone when she decides to surprise her aunt and uncle several hours away. A flat tire leaves her stranded near a desolate section of interstate. With a snowstorm on the way, Robin has no choice but to walk, hoping to find shelter before the storm hits full force. But the road she chooses leads her back in time, to a battleground she's only read about in history books.

  Confederate Jake Devlin, an officer in Stand Watie's Cherokee forces, is shocked when the spy he jumps turns out to be a girl. She's dressed oddly, but her speech and the ideas she has are even stranger than her clothing. Where did she come from, and what is he going to do with her? Will he be able to hold on to his heart? Is it possible for a love this strong to span centuries? It is, if it was MEANT TO BE…

  Chapter One

  The tire blew with a loud pop just as Robin crossed the bridge. She instinctively tightened her grip on the worn steering wheel, and tried to keep the ancient Ford F-150 from careening into the left lane.

  After the first moments of panic, she fought to right the blue pickup and keep it on the road as cars sped past her. The ruined tire thumped rhythmically as she steered the vehicle the last few feet across the interstate bridge and pulled over onto the shoulder.

  Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, she let her forehead rest on the steering wheel.

  Thank God, she'd somehow avoided a wreck with the black Camry who'd just passed her, blaring the horn at her the entire time. She'd managed not to go over the embankment into the Arkansas River, either, she thought caustically. Yet another blessing.

  She reached over to snap off the radio, the one thing that still worked perfectly in the rattle-trap pickup.

  Lifting her head, she heaved a ragged sigh. She was going to have to move a little farther off the road before she could safely get out and assess the damage. At best, a new tire was in her future. At worst…well, hopefully, the rim wasn't totally destroyed.

  A few yards ahead, a graveled access road ran parallel to the interstate before veering off into the wooded land nearby. She put the truck in gear and slowly limped to the exit ramp on the shoulder, turning onto it, and then onto the graveled road nearby. There were no other cars in sight. No businesses, no houses, no people. Robin opened the door and got out, her breath making vapor in the air.

  She walked slowly around the old truck. The passenger side rear tire was shredded. There would be no way to repair it. She was going to have to buy a new one. Dammit. She was miles from home, with no one to call for help. Aunt Martha and Uncle Henry weren't expecting her. She'd wanted to surprise them. She leaned her back against the side of the truck, shivering as a gust of cold December wind swept down from the north side of the interstate.

  Now what? December 23rd and a Saturday – not much hope of finding a garage open. And she'd had to let her road service membership expire a few months ago – when it came to paying the yearly membership fee or the monthly electric bill.

  Robin pulled her cell phone out of her jeans' pocket and flipped it open. Who would she call? Since her parents had passed away, she really had no one left in the world except dear old Aunt Martha and Uncle Henry, and as elderly as they were, there would be nothing for them to do but worry.

  "I can't stand here all night," she muttered to herself, closing the cover of the cheap phone. She opened the passenger side door to lock the truck, her most prized possession, then turned toward the gravel road.

  The road made a bend to run parallel with the Arkansas River, away from the interstate. She turned in a complete circle, looking to see if there were any tall billboards rising above the underbrush, announcing gas stations or rest stops. There was nothing of the kind – just a mix of trees and shrubs that grew wild, the concrete swath of interstate cutting through the sparse vegetation.

  Not so, down the gravel road, Robin noticed. She supposed the trees were thicker that way due to the nearby flow of the river. She'd passed a mileage sign five minutes before the tire had blown. Millerville was fifteen miles south on the interstate. That would be an all-night walk.

  Her heart hammered with her first few steps along the deserted gravel roadway. Not as well-traveled as the interstate, she thought, but maybe there'd be a Mom & Pop garage of some sort, or at the very least, someone's house. The cold front the weatherman had promised was moving in with a vengeance.

  Robin put her head down against the wind and tried to walk as quickly as possible. Full darkness would be no more than a couple of hours away. She had to find a house, soon.

  Then what? She'd used her last thirty bucks to fill her gas tank. She'd been so desperate to spend Christmas with her only remaining family. Look where desperation has gotten you, Robin. Walking along a lonely stretch of road in the cold…and if everything went like the weatherman said it would, and the snow started around midnight as he predicted, she'd be caught out in the first white Christmas in the past seventeen years.

  Great.

  At any other time, she might have been excited by the prospect. But not now. Was nothing going to go right? Her breath came in labored gasps. How long have I walked? She turned to look behind her. The road looked oddly altered. She had come far enough that a slight bend obscured her view of the pickup.

  The gravel seemed to be sparse, and when she turned to walk forward again, she noticed the road narrowed just ahead of her.

  "Oh, come on!" A dead end? She walked on, disheartened, and truly afraid now. Some Christmas this was going to be. There was no sign of civilization. If nothing else, she thought, there should be a car full of teenagers headed for the nearest town of any size. It was Saturday…but maybe it wasn't late enough yet…

  The hair prickled at the back of her neck. Was someone watching her?

  Oh, Dear Lord. Let me not be imagining things out here on this lonely stretch of road.

  A quick, furtive step sounded behind her. As she turned, she was knocked to the ground in the early evening twilight. A male body came atop her, rolling both of them down the gently sloping embankment, away from the road.

  She kicked and clawed, but wasted no energy in screaming. He'd knocked her small purse out of her hand. Her pepper spray was in that bag, but it would do her no good, now.

  Her assailant was strong. They'd come to a stop at the bottom of the small slope, near the bank of the river. Robin's right arm was grasped tightly, then her left, as he pulled them upward. The
man lay atop her, her hands above her head. That made her angrier than ever, pushing fear to the back of her mind.

  He stared down at her in the dimming light, his breathing hard and uneven. His obsidian eyes bored into hers, and dark, shoulder-length hair framed his face

  "You – you're nothing but a girl." Contempt filled his voice.

  Robin glared up at him. "I'm twenty-three years old! I gave up being a girl a long time ago."

  His sensual lips curved upward slightly. "I beg your pardon, ma'am. Ladies don't normally parade around dressed in men's pants."

  "Oh! You insufferable ass! Get off of me!"

  He made no move to comply, but Robin sensed he wouldn't hurt her. He was just trying to show her who was in control.

  A grin spread slowly across his mouth, a soft chuckle finally escaping. "I'll be damned."

  "You sure will if you don't get off me!" She shoved at him, but he held her easily.

  He laughed again, his dark eyes taking her measure, leaving her no doubt he was wondering what she planned to do if he didn't let her up, and half tempted to find out.

  "You shouldn't be out here." His tongue traced across his lips, hiding straight, white teeth for a brief moment. A gust of wind blew across where they lay, and Robin shivered.

  Instinctively, he pulled her to him, as if to offer her the warm shelter of his body. For one brief instant, she let him gather her to him, her face against the protection of his neck.

  His scent was all man; woodsy, as if he'd become part of the forest he'd materialized from; clean, as if he'd just bathed; and there was another essence Robin couldn't put a name to. But if safety and protection had a scent, she was pretty sure this man wore it. She was not afraid of him, though it was obvious he could overpower her, if he wanted to.

  "Come on," he murmured near her ear. "Let's get you out of this wind. You're half frozen, and there's snow coming."

  "So they say," Robin muttered as he moved off her, then stretched a strong hand down to help her up. "Weathermen are wrong sometimes."

  He gave her a questioning look. "Weathermen?"

  "Yeah, on the news. You know."

  He shook his head. "No."

  "You don't have television?"

  His gaze turned to one of concern. "Our camp's not far from here. You need to get warm."

  "You're camping on a night like this?" Robin struggled up the embankment against the mounting wind. Her companion put a hand back to her and she took it, glad for the strength he lent her so easily. She stopped to pick up her purse. The pepper spray reassured her, even though she didn't think she'd have to use it.

  "Don't have much choice, what with the War and all," he said caustically. "But don't worry," he went on, quick to reassure her, "you'll be safe there. General Watie has his rules." His eyes raked her as they reached the gravel road once more. "Even if you are a Yankee."

  "A Yan—I beg your pardon! I am not a Yankee. I was born and raised right here in Oklahoma."

  He turned to look at her. "Indian Territory." He started across the road into the woods he'd appeared from, and Robin followed, angry at his casual accusation.

  Re-enactors? What were they doing out here so close to Christmas?

  He sounded so serious. By the way he was dressed and what he had said, the only explanation was that he had to be some sort of Civil War re-enactor. Though he didn't wear a full gray uniform, there was enough to let her know he "fought" for the South; the gray cavalry jacket being her first clue. The hat he wore had, no doubt, matched the coat at one time, but had seen better days. Probably from too many days – and nights – in the harsh elements. These re-enactors took their hobby seriously.

  "I'm sorry. I don't mean to trouble you. I – I don't even know your name."

  "Jake Devlin."

  Robin nodded, putting out a numb hand as he stopped and faced her. Why hadn't she brought gloves with her? "I'm Robin Mallory."

  He took her hand between his, grimacing at the iciness of her skin. "I'm really not an insufferable ass, Miss Mallory."

  A flash of embarrassment ran through her. His eyes were warm in the growing darkness.

  "I – I—"

  "Come on," he said, laughter in his voice. "You're so cold you're starting to stutter."

  He led the way through the woods, showing her where to step, guiding her through the trees, until finally she was able to see the faraway orange halo of welcoming firelight in the distance.

  "It's not much farther," Jake said, seeming to sense her relief.

  Her lungs had begun to burn. It was nearly full dark now, even though it was barely evening. She was in the woods with a man she didn't know, headed for an encampment of strangers. Her truck had a flat that she had no spare for, and she had no money to buy a replacement tire. She tried to look for a silver lining, but really, how could there be one? Normally resilient, right now, Robin couldn't think of a time when she'd been in a worse place, physically, financially, and emotionally. If she came to a bad end, no one would know – not for months. Maybe years.

  "You're quiet."

  She took a deep breath. "I have to concentrate on walking." She wondered again how he managed to make it look so effortless, while not even breathing hard. "How do I know I can trust you?"

  "You can."

  She could hear his smile in his words.

  He turned to look at her. "I'd never hurt a lady, and you are that, it's plain to see." Briskly, he started off again. "You're doing fine. We're almost there. General Watie will have some questions for you, Miss Mallory, but don't be nervous. He's a fair man."

  "Who plays the part of General Watie?"

  "What do you mean – 'plays the part'?"

  "In your re-enactors' group."

  Jake didn't answer for a moment. His steps slowed, then halted. Robin could see the tantalizing orange glow only minutes from where they stood. Jake turned to her, and she had no trouble reading the worry in his eyes, even in the dim light.

  "No one plays a part, Robin. General Watie is…himself. I'm not sure what a re-enactor is, but everyone you'll meet is just who they seem to be. We're not pretenders."

  If she'd felt chilled to the bone before, it was nothing to compare with the cold that penetrated her at Jake's calm words. She faltered in her breathing, remembering the way the gravel road had seemed to change when she'd looked back for her truck. Little things, like the sudden proximity of the river bank, the total absence of interstate sound, and the authentic look of Jake's clothing were adding up to a very uncomfortable conclusion.

  "Jake, could you tell me – what year this is?"

  "Stop playing with me, pretty girl." He squeezed her hand. "This cold's affected your head. Or maybe you need to eat. There'll be stew—"

  She clutched his arm as he turned to go. "No. No, I'm not playing, Jake. Please, I need to know. Where are we, and – and what year is this?"

  He stared into her face as if trying to determine her intent. When he spoke, the teasing tone had left him, as had the smile. "1864, Robin. Indian Territory. How could you not know that?"

  Chapter Two

  How, indeed? Robin swallowed hard. Hadn't she figured it out already? Jake was only confirming what she'd known, deep down, ever since the road beneath her feet had become less gravel and more dirt; ever since she'd looked back and seen a vista she was unfamiliar with, even though she'd just walked there not ten minutes earlier.

  "1864? December, 1864?"

  "Of course." He smiled, as if to let her know all would be well as soon as she warmed up and ate. "Christmas is day after tomorrow."

  Well, at least she was still living in the right day, the right month, if not the right moment in time!

  "Yes."

  "Come on." He put an arm around her shoulders in comfort. "I'll bet you're hungry. I know I sure as hel – heck am."

  The smell of stew wafted to where they stood as if on cue, and Robin felt her stomach tighten in preparation of an outright growl. She was hungry. With a jolt, she real
ized she'd been in such a rush to leave that morning she hadn't taken time to eat anything. Now, the day had almost slipped by her completely.

  "I am. And Jake, I'm really grateful."

  This had to be a dream. Although Jake Devlin was only a handsome figment of her imagination, she wanted to be certain she didn't leave him with a poor impression when she woke up and he went…wherever figments went when the dream ended.

  He flashed her another quick smile. "No call for that, Miss Mallory."

  Robin watched as he glanced toward camp. Voices floated to them as they moved forward again. Although he'd gone all formal on her again, Robin liked the way he held her close, steadying her footsteps the last few yards, until they reached the edge of the shadowy woods where the dimmest rings of firelight fell. Then, reluctantly, he released her with a final squeeze of her hand.

  "Don't be nervous. General Watie is stern, but he is fair."

  Robin nodded wordlessly. Right now, if she'd opened her mouth to answer, her teeth would chatter so badly she wouldn't have been able to form the words. There must be a reason Jake had mentioned General Watie's fairness twice in the short space of time she'd known him. She only hoped it were true.

  They stepped into the clearing together, and Jake moved lithely ahead of her.

  * * * * *

  In the center of the camp, a fire blazed cheerily, two pots of stew bubbling over a smaller fire pit at the outer edge. Several men sat on the ground talking and laughing, some of them already eating while others were gathering their camp gear and heading toward the pots.

  All noise stopped as Jake strode toward a man who stood at the far end of the camp. Robin forced her legs to work harder to keep up. Unease descended, falling heavily around her shoulders under the watchful eyes of the men. She kept her head down, her eyes on the ground, only glancing up to see where Jake was so she wouldn't run into him. She shivered, missing the warmth of his arm thrown casually around her shoulders. The trees blocked the wind to some extent, but she cast a wistful glance at the roaring fire, wanting nothing more than to go and stand beside it to warm herself.