Using water from the canteen, she cleaned the wound as best she could. After drawing the knife from the sheath on his belt, she cut the white shirt into strips. She made a thick pad from one of the strips, which she placed over the wound, and then she wrapped several other strips around his middle to hold the pad in place. Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of her face, she shoved the leftover strips into his saddlebag, then sat back on her heels and heaved a sigh. She had done all she could. The rest was up to him.
Macie glanced around, wondering how far they were from town. When she looked back at the man, he was awake and watching her.
“Water.” His voice was deep, raspy with pain.
Macie retrieved the canteen, uncapped it, and held it for him.
He drank long and deep, then looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m the one who just bandaged you up. Who the hell are you?”
His lips twisted in a wry grin. “Ace Bowdry. Excuse me if I don’t get up, Miss…?”
“Jenkins.” She cocked her head to the side, studying him. Long dark hair hung past his shoulders. Dark eyes, high cheekbones, and skin that was more red than brown. “You’re an Indian, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “That a problem for you?”
Macie shrugged. “If it was, I wouldn’t have patched you up. Is it a problem for you?”
He groaned softly when he sat up. “Sometimes.”
“What happened?” she asked, gesturing at his wounded side.
“I got into a disagreement with a fella about the way he played cards.”
“You got shot over a card game?”
“Yep. Fella was dealin’ off the bottom. When I called him on it, he called me a name I won’t repeat in your presence, and then he pulled a gun on me.”
“Oh!”
Bowdry nodded. “He nicked me. I killed him, and then I hightailed it out of town.”
“What happened to your horse?”
“He took a stray bullet meant for me. He was a game little stud. I didn’t know he’d been hit until he dropped out from under me.” Bowdry glanced over his shoulder and there was a note of admiration in his voice when he said, “I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did. So,” he said, his tone brisk, “what the hell are you doing way out here, alone? And why are you dressed like that?”
Macie glanced down. What was wrong with the way she was dressed? True, her jeans had faded from red to a washed-out pink, her boots were a little run down at the heels, and her Grumpy sweatshirt was a trifle large…she blew out a sigh. So, she wasn’t at her best.
Shrugging, she said, “I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone.”
“Who’s the white-haired guy on the front of your shirt?”
“It’s Grumpy. You know, from “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”
Bowdry frowned at her. “Grumpy?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of Snow White?” she asked, then realized that, even if he had, the Disney version hadn’t been written yet. “Do you live around here?” she asked, changing the subject.
“No, I was just passin’ through.”
“Is there a town closer than the one I just left?” She glanced up at the sky, which had grown considerably darker in the last few minutes. Thick gray clouds scudded overhead, blanketing the sun and bringing the promise of rain.
“There’s a ghost town a few miles from here.” He swore softly as he gained his feet. Shrugging out of his blood-stained shirt, he tossed it aside, then stood there, one hand pressed against his side. “I’d be obliged if you’d give me a ride,” he said, then whistled softly when he noticed the stallion for the first time. “Is that Relampago?”
“Who?”
Bowdry shook his head. “It’s gotta be. Where’d you get him?”
“I didn’t ‘get him’. He just showed up at my house yesterday. Is he yours?”
“Nah. That stallion doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“Maybe it isn’t…what you’d say his name is?”
“Relampago. It means lightning.” Bowdry moved toward the stud, one hand out-stretched. “Hey, boy. My great grand-daddy told me about you.”
“What about him?”
“He’s a ghost horse, you know, magic.”
“A magic horse?” Macie said with a laugh. “Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. Legend says he appears to those in need, that he’s as swift as lightning, as sure-footed as a mountain goat, and as reliable as the sun.” Bowdry patted the stallion on the neck. “My people believe if you treat him right, he’ll always carry you away from danger.”
Macie frowned. Had Relampago brought her here to save Bowdry’s life? But that was silly. If saving Bowdry had been the horse’s mission, wouldn’t Relampago have just come here? There was no reason for the stallion to come after her. She hadn’t been in any danger—except from herself.
“You all right?” Bowdry asked. “You look a little pale.”
“What? Oh, I’m fine.”
Grunting softly, Bowdry pulled the chambray shirt out of his saddlebags. Macie moved forward to help him, but he waved her away. Next, he removed the bridle from his horse and slipped it over Relampago’s head, then draped his saddlebags over the stallion’s withers.
“Well,” Bowdry said, breathing hard from the exertion. “Whaddya say we get going? We’re gonna get mighty wet if we stay here.”
Macie thought he looked a little pale himself when he swung onto the stallion’s back, then reached down to offer her a hand up.
Once she was settled behind Bowdry, he clucked to Relampago and the stallion moved out at a brisk walk. A short time later, the horse broke into an easy lope.
Macie wrapped her arms around Bowdry’s middle, careful to avoid the wound in his side. It was rather pleasant, riding behind him. His broad back blocked the wind and made a nice pillow for her head.
Strange, she wasn’t more upset about finding herself in the Old West with a complete stranger, one who had recently killed a man. But then, there was no reason to be upset. She was only dreaming, after all.
Chapter 3
The ghost town rose up out of the prairie like a mirage, shimmering in the light of the setting sun, only to fade to dull gray as the sun dropped below the horizon.
Macie shivered as Bowdry reined the stallion to a halt in front of a dilapidated building. The sign over the door read The Palace Hotel. She thought it a rather pretentious name for a hotel stuck out in the middle of nowhere.
The town itself had been little more than a block long. Judging by the number of saloons, the inhabitants had quite a taste for whiskey. Besides the saloons and the hotel, the only other businesses in evidence had been a blacksmith and a barber.
Swinging his leg over the stallion’s withers, Bowdry dismounted.
Refusing any help, Macie slid off the horse’s back. “Is it safe to stay here?”
Bowdry shrugged. “I reckon so. I don’t see anybody else around, do you?”
“No, but…” She shivered as a chill wind blew a tumbleweed down the middle of the dusty street. “It feels, I don’t know, eerie.”
“Well,” Bowdry said with a grin. “It is a ghost town.”
“Maybe our ghost horse will protect us,” Macie muttered.
“Maybe so,” Bowdry said, chuckling.
“Shouldn’t we tie him up or something?”
Bowdry shook his head as he slipped the bridle from the stallion’s head. “He’s not going anywhere.”
Puzzling over his reply, Macie followed Bowdry into the hotel. As was to be expected, the floors were covered with dust, as were the chairs and the registration desk. Lacey cobwebs dangled from the corners of the ceiling.
The steps creaked as they made their way up the stairs. Bowdry opened the door to the first room they came to.
“I’ll take the next room,” Macie said, though she wasn’t looking forward to being alone with night coming on.
Bowdry shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I’ve o
nly got one blanket.”
Macie stared at him. “I don’t suppose you’d let me have it?”
“Sorry, but I’m willing to share.”
She stared at him a moment, her thoughts racing. Sleep alone and be cold, or share a bed with a remarkably handsome, sexy man and be warm. It really wasn’t much of a choice.
Bowdry stifled a grin as she followed him into the room. She was a pretty thing, slender and not too tall, with a mess of dark brown curls, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and eyes as blue as the Pacific.
Bowdry obligingly shook the dust from the faded sheet and the lumpy mattress while she swept the floor with an old broom she found in a hallway closet. A stub of a candle provided a bit of light.
Wincing, Bowdry dropped his gear on the foot of the bed. Rummaging in his saddlebags, he pulled out a sack of tobacco, and a package of papers. Under Macie’s curious gaze, he proceeded to roll and light a cigarette.
“I’ve never seen anyone do that,” she remarked.
“People don’t smoke where you come from?”
“The smart ones don’t. Smoking’s bad for your health, you know.”
“Says who?”
“Doctors.”
He grunted softly. “Just where do you come from, anyway?”
“California.”
He arched one brow. “You’re a long way from home.”
“Longer than you think. Where am I, anyway?”
“South Dakota.”
“South Dakota! What year is this?”
“Don’t you know?”
“Would I ask if I did?”
“It’s 1880.”
She blinked at him as she tried to absorb that. South Dakota. 1880. Imagine that.
He regarded her curiously a moment, then said, “How is that you don’t know what year it is?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Frowning, he glanced down at the bright red stain that was spreading over his shirt front. Jaw clenched, he dropped his cigarette on the floor, stubbed it out with his boot heel. After taking off his shirt, he removed the bloody cloths wrapped around his mid-section and tossed them aside.
“Here, let me.” Using water from his canteen, Macie pulled a clean strip of cloth from his saddlebag, wet it, and washed the wound.
Bowdry held up one hand, staying her when she would have bandaged it again.
She watched in amazement as he chewed a handful of tobacco, then pressed it over the wound.
“Okay,” he said, his voice tight with pain, “bandage it up.”
Muttering, “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she wrapped the last strip of clean cloth around his waist.
Delving into his saddlebags once again, he pulled out two hunks of beef jerky and handed one of them to Macie.
Sitting at the head of the bed, Macie nibbled on the dried meat. It didn’t taste anything like what she was used to back home.
“I don’t know about you,” Bowdry said when he finished eating, “but I’m tuckered out.”
“If that means tired, you’re not the only one,” Macie admitted. She glanced at the narrow bed, then up at Bowdry. Her stomach quivered when he smiled at her.
With every nerve on edge, she stretched out on the bed, as close to the edge of the mattress as she could get without falling off.
Bowdry chuckled as he stretched out beside her, then covered the two of them with the blanket. “Relax, pretty lady,” he murmured as he closed his eyes. “I’m too sore, and too tired, to bother you tonight.”
He was snoring before she could come up with a good retort.
Macie doubted she would get much sleep, lying beside a strange man in a strange bed in a strange century, but the next thing she knew, it was morning. When she opened her eyes, Bowdry was propped up on one elbow, watching her.
Macie frowned as a rush of color warmed her cheeks. “What are you staring at?”
He shrugged. “Nothing much else to look at.”
At a loss for words, her gaze slid away from his.
“I guess I owe you my thanks,” Bowdry mused.
“You’re welcome.”
“You never told me where you were from.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Right. California.” He grunted softly. “I’ve been to California a time or two, but I never saw anyone quite like you.” His gaze moved over her again. “Or dressed quite like that.”
“You just weren’t there at the right time,” Macie retorted with a grin, and then frowned, wondering how she could make Relampago take her back to her own time.
“You got a first name?” Bowdry asked.
“Macie.”
“That’s an odd name for a pretty girl.”
“Ace Bowdry is an odd name for an Indian.”
“My mother named me after my old man.”
“My mother named me after her mother.”
Macie’s cheeks grew hotter under Bowdry’s regard, even as wings of excitement fluttered in the pit of her stomach. There was no denying he was an incredibly handsome man, just as there was no denying that he looked exactly the way she had always pictured the man she would marry, from his long black hair and deep brown eyes to his tawny skin and six-pack abs. The fact that he was an Indian intrigued her, which prompted her to ask, “What kind of Indian are you?”
“Cheyenne, on my mother’s side. White on the other.”
“Oh. Are your parents still alive?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
A muscle throbbed in his jaw.
She was tempted to ask what had happened to them, but the look in his eyes warned her to keep silent.
Pressure on her bladder had her sitting up and glancing around, then chiding herself for expecting to find indoor plumbing in such a primitive place. Murmuring, “Excuse me,” she hurried out of the room and out of the hotel.
The stallion whinnied at her as she ducked around the corner of the building and took cover behind a fat bush. If she had to go wandering through time, why couldn’t she have traveled to some place with indoor plumbing and toilet paper?
Bowdry was waiting for her in the lobby when she returned to the hotel. “Ready to go?”
“Where are we going?”
“Someplace with food and hot water.”
“Sounds good to me. How are you feeling?”
“Like I haven’t eaten in a week. Let’s go.”
* * * * *
It was dark when they reached the town of Whiskey Creek. Macie glanced from side to side as they rode down the street, thinking it looked like a twin to the town they had just left behind.
Bowdry reined up in front of the Montecito Hotel. Swinging a leg over the stallion’s withers, he dismounted, then lifted Macie from the horse’s back.
“I could have got down on my own,” Macie said, noting the fine lines of pain around his mouth.
“Yeah. Well…” He shrugged.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t tie him up?”
Bowdry shook his head. “He won’t go anywhere until his reason for being here is done. Let’s get something to eat.”
Macie followed Bowdry into the hotel dining room, a quick gaze taking it all in – the tables covered in red-and-white checked cloths, the cowboy hats hanging on the rack by the door, the rough attire of most of the occupants.
They found a table near a window and sat across from each other. A harried looking waitress appeared a few minutes later. Bowdry ordered a steak “and all the trimmin’s” and after a moment’s hesitation, Macie asked for the same. She wasn’t a big meat eater at home, but hey, this was 1880. Cows in this day and age probably weren’t shot full of hormones.
Bowdry leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “So, I’m still waiting to hear why you don’t know what year it is.”
“You really want to know? All right, I’ll tell you. When I woke up yesterday morning, it was Ap
ril 8, 2010.”
“No sh… I mean…” He shook his head, and then he frowned. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”
“I guess you don’t believe me. Not that I’d blame you.”
“No, I believe you.”
“You do?”
“There are stories among my people of medicine men who rode Relampago through the mists of time.”
“Really? How did they find their way back?”
“I don’t know. Same way they got there, I guess. Why? You in a hurry to go back to where you came from?”
Macie thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No.”
Bowdry leaned forward. “It’s said the only time Relampago appears to most people is when they’re in danger. Is that what happened with you?”
Macie’s gaze slid away from his. How could she tell him she had been about to commit suicide? Thinking about it now filled her with shame. There were people all over the world who had it much worse than she did. She lived in a free country. She had a nice house, her health, a late model car, enough food to eat, and money in the bank.
“Macie?”
She blew out a breath. He was a stranger to her. They would part ways, and she would never see him again, so what difference did it make what he thought of her? But she couldn’t admit the truth, so she shrugged, and said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He looked at her curiously for a moment, then shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it.”
Macie was relieved when the waitress arrived with their meal. She didn’t know why she cared what Bowdry thought of her, but she did. “You were the one in danger,” Macie said after a time. “Why didn’t he appear to you?”
“I don’t know,” Bowdry said, and then he grinned. “Maybe he brought us together for a reason.”
“Yeah? What reason would that be?”
“Well, since you found me, I thought maybe you’d know.”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“Maybe if we spend some time together, we’ll figure it out.”
His words, combined with the teasing expression in his deep brown eyes, sent a wave of heat spiraling through her. Spending time with Ace Bowdry certainly wouldn’t be a hardship in any sense of the word.
Tales of Western Romance Page 2