Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers: Destruction Of The Pink Ranger Part 8
by Cheryl Roberts (no sex)

Kim fell screaming through the time hole and landed face first in the sand.
The offending reptile was nowhere to be seen. Groggily, she picked herself
up and brushed herself off. It was early morning, the sun just peeking over
the horizon. Already it was unusually warm for early November. Stranger's
Rock was behind her, but the city of Angel Grove was not in front of her.
Below her vantage point and in the distance lay a collection of weather worn,
ramshackle buildings.

"Oh no, not again," Kim groaned, recognizing Angel Grove circa 1880. "How
will Tommy find me now?"

She had to remain calm and think. If Tommy and the others started looking
for her, they'd begin at the cave. Billy should be able to find the traces
of the time hole's energy--chronoton particles, he called them. The best
thing for her to do was to stay by the cave and wait.

She walked back up the hillside and into the arms of the crescent. Large
bushes grew up against the curve of the formation. Kim pushed her way
through the brush and found the opening to the cave. The cave was larger
than she had imagined, and when she entered it, she discovered someone was
living in it. There was a fire burning low near the entrance. She found
a straw pallet covered with blankets. On top of a tattered footlocker she
found a lantern, cooking utensils, a tin cup and plate, and a box of food.
The whole place smelled of horse. Fortunately, the cave's occupant was
not home. Kim knelt by the fire, grateful for the warmth. She found
kindling and tossed a few extra pieces on the fire. She then rummaged
through the box of supplies and discovered what appeared to be jerky
strips. She bit gratefully into one; she'd repay her unknown host for his
or her hospitality somehow.

Kim's adrenalin rush began wearing off, and she started dozing by the fire
when she heard the whinny of a horse; it was fairly close by the sounds of
it. She cautiously crept out of the cave, thinking it best not to be caught
inside. It could be a bandit's hide-out or something like that. She stayed
behind the scraggly bushes and peered out. A rider was approaching, but he
was slumped low in the saddle. The horse neighed loudly, rearing and
stamping about nervously. The rider was unable to hang on; he was thrown
and hit the dirt. He didn't move. Then, Kim heard an angry rattle.

Without hesitation, Kim grabbed the poker by the fire and dashed out to
help. The rider was obviously hurt and in danger of either being bitten by
the snake or trampled by his horse. Stones and barbed plants bit into
Kimberly's bare feet as she skidded down the incline. She spied the snake
close to where the rider lay. Kim launched herself forward, brandishing
the iron poker. The snake never stood a chance. With the reptile
dispatched, Kim's next task was to try and calm the frightened horse down
so he wouldn't step on his rider. She edged closer carefully.

"Easy, boy. Good horse. Come on; I'm not going to hurt you," she crooned
soothingly. "The nasty ol' snake is dead. There's a good boy. Yeah, good
horse." She kept talking and inching her way closer until she was able to
reach the reins and pet the horse. "Good boy. Now, let's see about your

The man lay on his side, his face obscured by his hat and his long brown
hair. There was something disturbingly familiar about his clothing, but
Kim brushed the thought aside as she noticed the bright red stain on his
right sleeve. Then she saw the blood-soaked trousers.

"Oh my gosh, he's been shot!" she gasped. Carefully she rolled him onto his
back. There was blood on the rock where he had hit his head. She pulled his
hat off to check his wound.

"Tommy!" she screamed, panicking. The name echoed across the open span
between the rock and the town.

"Gran, is that you callin'?" the fallen rider groaned. Hearing the heavy
drawl brought Kim to her senses. This wasn't her Tommy, but his ancestor,
the White Stranger.

Regardless of his identity, he needed help and fast. His face was far too
pale, and he was losing a lot of blood from his leg wound. Kim undid his
bandanna and wiped the blood from his face. Thankfully, the cut on his
forehead was small, but he had a fairly good-sized goose egg.

"Tommy, can you hear me?" she called, lightly slapping his face. This wasn't
Tommy, she had to remind herself. She wished Tommy had been a genealogy
buff, then she might know something about this particular ancestor of his.
However, a smile brightened Kim's face as the White Stranger's eyes flickered
opened. He had Tommy's devastatingly beautiful brown eyes.

"An angel," the White Stranger murmured. "Am I dead?" He suddenly began
struggling with Kim. "You can't take me yet! I won't go!"

"Lay still; you're hurt," Kim grunted as she wrestled with him. "Damn it,
Tommy Oliver; I wouldn't let you die in my time. I'm not about to let you
die in this one."

"You're not? Who . . . the Pink Ranger?" He passed out.

It took some doing, but Kim managed to drag her patient back to the cave on
one of the blankets. She laid him close to the fire, then hurried out to get
some fresh water. She had some first-aid training -- enough to know that she
was way out of her depth with a bullet wound. Still, she knew to keep the
patient warm and clean the wound. She had used the White Stranger's bandanna
to make a tourniquet to help stop the bleeding. The White Stranger was like
a dead weight as she tried to remove his coat and shirt. She felt a sharp
warmth building within her, This isn't Tommy, she had to tell herself; this
wasn't the man she had been intimate with, but Lord, he sure looked like him!

The wound on his arm was superficial, but the leg was another matter. The
gaping hole in his thigh made her queasy. When she poured the water on it,
the White Stranger's body spasmed, and he gasped as he came around.

"I must be dreaming. Is that really you, Miss Kim?"

"Sure is, partner."

"But how . . . ?"

"I guess time holes like dumping me here. What year is it?"

"1882." The White Stranger tried to sit up, but the pain prevented him.
That's when he realized that his clothing, save for his underwear, were
missing. "Why don't I have any clothes on?" Incredibly, he was blushing.

"I had to get to your wounds to clean them. Lay still."

"Why aren't you wearing any clothes?" Kim glanced down at her still-wet

"It's a long story," she murmured, a little embarrassed.

"Check my footlocker," the White Stranger directed. Kim crawled over and
cleared the top off.

"Is this your hide-out? The horse came right in and made himself at home."

"White Lightning knows . . . ." A flare of pain interrupted him. Kim opened
the chest and found several changes of clothes.

"Help yourself."

Kim gratefully slipped on one of his spare shirts, which more than adequately
covered her, so she stepped out of her damp lingerie and set it by the fire
to dry. Next she rummaged through the chest to see if she could scavenge
something for bandages. Behind her, the White Stranger sighed with relief.
She found his reaction amusing.

"I still feel a mite uncomfortable being stripped to my drawers in the
presence of a lady," he mumbled.

"Don't worry about it; I've seen you in less than this," Kim answered
tiredly, not really thinking.

"Excuse me?" the Stranger gulped. It was Kim's turn to blush as she turned
back to her patient.

"Sorry. It's just that you look exactly like Tommy. I keep forgetting
you're not him."

"Who's this Tommy fella?"

"My . . . ." What to tell him? Boyfriend? Lover?

"Your beau?" the Stranger replied. Kim nodded. "Is that why you've been
calling me Tommy -- because I look like him?"

"Yes. I think Tommy's a descendant of yours."

"He's kin? This is getting stranger by the minute."

"Tell me about it. By the way, what do you want me to call you? I can't
keep calling you Tommy, and White Stranger isn't going to cut it. I
understand all about having a secret identity."

"Actually, my name is Thomas," he admitted sheepishly.

"All right, Thomas. I know a little first aid, but I'm not familiar with
bullet wounds. You're going to have to help me out; what do I need to do?"

"You did just fine with my head and arm, Miss Kim . . . . "

"Just call me Kim."

"Okay. The bullet is still in my leg. You'll have to dig it out."

"Ugh! No way," Kim refused emphatically. "If I go digging around in your
leg wound, I could damage your nerves, your muscles, or something like that,
possibly crippling you. You need a doctor to treat your leg. Is there
anyone you can trust who makes cave calls?"

"Doc Hart knows who I am and all, and he's had to patch me up on a few

"Hart? Not Zachariah Hart."

"Do you know him?"

"I've heard of him," Kim said evasively. "Where's the best place to find

"His surgery. White Lightning knows the way, just ask him to take you to
Doc's. But you can't go dressed like that," Thomas protested.

"Maybe not, but I can go dressed like you." Kim sorted through the footlocker
and located a second pair of white trousers, another jacket and a bandanna.
She commandeered Thomas' boots, suspenders, gun belt and hat. Everything was
too large and hung loosely on her petite frame.

"What in tarnation . . . ."

"I won't fool anyone up close, but from a distance . . . ." she let the
suggestion hang in the air. She covered Thomas with the blanket from the
straw pallet. "Get some rest. I'll be back with the doctor as quickly as
I can."

"You are something, Miss Kim," Thomas murmured appreciatively.


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