But she needed to focus on the present predicament. Elizabeth fingered the fetish again, feeling its smooth, polished wood. It had to be the key. Somehow, her students had gotten an authentic Indian artifact and somehow, she had activated it.
What had she said? Elizabeth remembered using several choice invectives describing Edward. Her father would have washed her mouth out with soap. She remembered thinking—somewhere around a half-empty bottle of wine—that cowboys of the Old West were honest, honorable, and respected women. Ha! She’d managed to find the one man in Texas—probably the entire nineteenth century—who thought she was a hooker. Some respect. He was stubborn and wouldn’t believe her. Arrogant, too, just assuming she’d let him have his way with her. Never mind that she nearly went into meltdown at his touch. Who did he think he was? “The owner of this place?” a small voice inside her head inserted reasonably, “who’s given you a place to stay?” The annoying voice then added “And the most divinely sexual man you’ve ever met?” Elizabeth tried not to think about the pure animal magnetism that radiated from him when he had her nearly pinned against the stall. For a moment she thought she caught his soap-and-leather scent. Deep within, muscles contracted, sending coiled heat scorching delicate nerve endings everywhere. Sweet Mary. How could she be attracted to a man who though she was a hooker? Just one more reason she had to find a way back. Miguel was danger, spelled in all capitals.
“Please,” she said as she stroked the wood, “I want to go home.” Nothing happened. She tried to think if she had invoked any kind of Indian curse while she ranted at Edward. Nothing. Going to the window of her room, she looked out into the darkness. As her eyes grew accustomed, she became aware of the Milky Way, looking like a ribbon of diamonds against the black velvet of the sky. In her time, the stars were barely visible in the city. It was a beautiful sight she would remember when she returned to her time—if she returned to her time.
Elizabeth sighed and opened the drawer of the bedside table and dropped the fetish inside. No sense in encouraging the half-naked Indian boy by wearing it. Claim her as his woman indeed! Male chauvinism crossed cultural lines, it seemed.
However she’d gotten here—and for now, she had to accept that she was here and this was reality—this century was going to be challenging. Until she could figure a way to go back, she would have to play along with the amnesia ruse Miguel had brought up. Still. Two men who thought they could tell her what to do? Elizabeth lifted her chin. They were about to meet their first feminist, twenty-first century style.
CHAPTER THREE—SCHOOLMARMS
Miguel’s son, Raul, was waiting for him when he got back to the house, uncharacteristically quiet and subdued.
“What are you doing home early from school?” he asked.
Raul studied the floor as he handed his father a note from the new schoolmarm, Miss Parsons. Miguel sat down and read it quickly. It simply asked that he come by today to discuss Raul.
“This is the last day of school before Christmas,” Miguel said, “You couldn’t behave for one more day?”
Raul hung his head. “I didn’t do anything, Papá.”
Miguel eyed him suspiciously. When he acted meek, it was usually bad. “You didn’t put a snake or a frog in the teacher’s desk like you did with Mrs. Higgins last year, did you?” He remembered having to face Mrs. Higgins; the elderly widow had nearly swooned with fright.
“Oh, no! It was just…”
“Just what?” Miguel tapped the tips of his callused fingers on the oak table, dreading to hear the answer.
“A spider,” his son whispered. “Just a little one. It was crawling along the floor…and Gus dared me…”
Miguel sighed. Gus was Raul’s best friend, if that term could be used for one who aided and abetted his son’s shenanigans. In the rare event when Raul behaved, Gus easily thought of something to reverse that. The problem was, he reflected, that he had been just as bad at that age. Only instead of tormenting his teachers, he teased the girls. Then, older girls. Miguel’s thoughts began to roam. Teasing took on a whole new concept, especially when they let him know they liked it. He’d lost his virginity at the delicate age of thirteen to a girl five years older.
He took a deep breath. Somehow, the presence of the strange woman from the barn this morning had addled his brains. He couldn’t concentrate on anything except the vision of her nearly naked with all that luscious smooth flesh just waiting to be caressed. He wanted to bring her alive beneath his touch, to see her green eyes darken with passion and hear her breathing come fast and shallow. He wanted to tease her with kisses—abruptly, he forced himself back to the present.
There wouldn’t be any teasing at this meeting with Miss Parsons. He’d have to be respectably serious and stern. And he’d have to create an impression on Raul, too. He stood and motioned to his son. “We might as well get this over with. Tonight, when you get home, you can look forward to a switching.”
Raul winced, but to his credit, he didn’t cry. “Yes, Papá.” Then a light flickered in his hazel eyes and he grinned mischievously. “But you should have seen the look on Miss Parsons’ face!”
• ♥ •
Miguel felt like a fool, standing in front of the schoolmarm’s desk, his hat in his hands, listening to her explain how disappointed she was in Raul’s behavior. Raul had already apologized, and it even sounded sincere, although Miguel knew that would be only until the next time something caught his son’s attention, which could be anything that would create a diversion from his studies.
“Are you listening to me, Mr. de Basque?” Miss Parsons asked.
He refocused. She was standing with her hands on her hips, her eyebrows arched delicately. She was a pretty-enough little thing, her blonde hair piled high on her head with those little sausage-looking curls around her face. The neckline of her dress was a little low, even though a white tucker edged the top of it. It fit snugly, accentuating the swell of her breasts and her small waist. His mind flitted to Elizabeth. What would she look like in clothes?
“Yes, ma’am.” He bowed slightly. “He’ll get a switchin’ as soon as we get home.”
Her expression changed instantly. She looked at Raul, who was wearing a perfectly angelic expression on his heart-shaped face. She turned back to Miguel, her eyes round and her voice soft. “I didn’t mean that you had to hit him. I don’t believe in striking children.”
Miguel groaned inwardly. He was going to have to do some serious talking with his son tonight. “Then, what would you like me to do with him?”
She considered Miguel for a moment, head perched to one side, perfectly still. He had the distinct impression that she was about to pounce, much like a mountain lion. And he was the prey. He’d seen it often enough. The sudden stillness of the big cat, the slow, low crouch, the switch of the tail—briefly, he wondered what was under the huge bustle that she wore—and then, the spring. And here he was, cornered. In a manner of speaking.
Then she gave him a brilliant smile, which he didn’t trust, and put her hand lightly on his arm.
“Sadly, Raul has no mother. Perhaps I could spend some individual time with him. Being his only parent, I think you might need some help.” She added, “If you would stop by after school on a weekly basis, I would be more than willing to work with you.” She looked demurely down, her eyelashes touching her cheeks before she looked back up at him. Ever so lightly, she squeezed his arm before she dropped her hand.
The corner of his mouth twitched. If there was one thing about women he did understand, it was when one wanted him. But Miss Parsons had a predatory air about her, and he’d learned long ago to stay away from women who were planning to be the mother of his next child. Translated, that meant wife. There wasn’t going to be another wife.
“Ma’am, I think—"
“Call me Abigail, please, since we’ll be working together for Raul’s sake.” She smiled prettily and took a small step toward him. “May I call you Miguel?”
He felt like she
was a cougar moving in for the kill. Even her eyes were golden like the big cat’s. He had to be careful not to jeopardize Raul’s education.
“I reckon I’m not going to have time to be payin’ visits at school, Miss Parsons.”
Momentarily, she looked hurt, then she rallied. “Perhaps you’d permit me to call on you at home, then. That might be better. I’d have a chance to see what your home is like and make some suggestions…” Miguel raised an eyebrow and she quickly said, “You know. Little things like where does he do his homework? Is there a quiet place for him? He really does need to concentrate more on his homework…” Her voice trailed off.
Miguel found himself holding onto his temper with an effort. There was nothing wrong with how he ran his home. He had Olga there to see to it. And for some totally illogical reason, he didn’t want to insult Elizabeth by bringing a real schoolmarm into his house. He’d probably be in for another lecture on being a parent if Miss Parsons knew he had a lady-of-the-evening staying with him. He almost laughed at the irony. If Miss Parsons weren’t a schoolmarm, he’d think her one of the brazen hussies who stood in front of the saloon doors in San Antonio. Somehow, though, he couldn’t picture Elizabeth in the same way.
He put his hat on and tipped it to her as he turned to go. “Ma’am,” he said, “I’ll keep that in mind.” He could almost see her claws retracting as she smiled. For a moment he hesitated; he hated turning down an easy opportunity for sex. Then almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. This one would be clingy, and Katy had done enough damage. He’d not let a woman get close to him again, except in bed. Just let one try.
• ♥ •
As Miguel unsaddled Diablo, he realized how much he was looking forward to seeing Elizabeth again, even with clothes on. Having seen the rounded ivory mounds of her breasts and the satin expanse of her smooth hips and thighs, it would be intriguing to see her in clothes. And imagine taking them off—slowly.
So he was disappointed when he arrived in the dining room that evening, freshly bathed and clean-shaven, to find her chair empty.
“Where’s Elizabeth?” he asked Cactus Flower as she joined him and took a seat.
“She asked to be excused this evening. She said the bump on her head was hurting and she needed to rest.”
Miguel frowned. “If she’s in that much pain, I should take her to the Army doctor in the morning.” He saw Cactus Flower grimace at the idea. Indians didn’t place much store in the white man’s medicines, and Cactus Flower dabbled with healing herbs. “Do you have something that would work?”
“I can make a poultice,” she replied and then hesitated, “but I don’t think that’s why she won’t come to the table.” She looked down, refusing to meet his gaze.
Was the little vixen trying to stir his blood further by withholding her presence? Clever of her. She put the bait under his nose this morning and then pulled it away once he’d caught the scent… Her scent, he remembered, slightly exotic yet comfortingly familiar, like cinnamon and vanilla blended together. Yes, very clever of her indeed, to let him glimpse so much lovely, silken flesh and inhale her fragrance and then keep herself hidden. He wondered where she had received her courtesan training. In Europe perhaps? Her accent was strange. Two could play this game and he was more than ready. “So,” he said with a grin, “does she wish for me to take dinner to her?”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Olga scolded as she bustled in from the kitchen bearing a large platter of roasted meat. “If the poor girl doesn’t know where she came from, the best thing for her memory is peace and quiet. I’ll take her some broth and fresh bread later.”
Miguel opened his mouth to protest that this was his house, but the stern look Olga gave him let him know she knew exactly what he really wanted to do. He had never been able to fool her, even when his own mother was still alive. And Olga was the only one who could make him feel like a small boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He turned to Cactus Flower.
“And where is Swift Hawk?”
For a moment she didn’t answer, then she said softly, “I told him to stay away.”
Miguel raised an eyebrow. Since Swift Hawk rarely joined them unless coerced, the question had been rhetorical, more of a cover-up for his lustful thoughts. “Why would you tell him that?” She didn’t answer immediately, and he was about to repeat the question when she spoke.
“He’s the reason Elizabeth is staying in her room.”
“What? Why?” Surely, she couldn’t be so sensitive—given her likely profession—that she took so much offense at the boy trying to kiss her earlier. Miguel was sure nothing more had happened.
“He has claimed her for his woman, don Miguel. She fears him.”
He almost laughed, but stopped when he saw her serious face. “He has no right to do that, Cactus Flower. You both know it.”
She shrugged. “White man’s laws are different from ours. The son of a chief can choose for wife any woman he wishes. Even a married one, though he would have to fight her husband for her.”
A momentary vision of himself fighting with Swift Hawk for Elizabeth filled Miguel’s mind and he quickly dismissed it. Where had that thought come from? He didn’t want a wife, damn it. But he would put a stop to this notion of Swift Hawk’s.
He went looking for the boy right when they finished their meal. Usually, Swift Hawk could be found in the barn, crooning to the horses in his native tongue, or sometimes, just sitting silently near one of the stalls. But tonight, the barn was empty as was the room off the stable where Swift Hawk kept his pallet and a few personal items.
Miguel sighed. He knew the boy was honor-bound not to run off, for it would bring disgrace to his father, but there was other trouble that a lone Indian could get into if he fell into the wrong white man’s hands. His talk with him would have to wait, but he’d make sure Elizabeth had no cause for fear. It was the least he could do.
CHAPTER FOUR—SPARKS
“What do you mean, you didn’t hire her?” Miguel crossed his long legs in front of him and leaned back in the well-padded arm chair in Lily’s private chambers the next day. He accepted the brandy one of the girls brought, but declined both the invitation of her nearly exposed breasts and the cigar.
Lily arranged the soft, woolen shawl around her shoulders and adjusted her spectacles so she could look over them at Miguel. “Just that. I’ve not even interviewed a new girl in a long time. It takes so much time to train them to my standards.”
Miguel grinned. Her candor was one of the things he liked about Lily. He’d met her in New Orleans, where she’d owned a brothel for nearly fifteen years before she moved out here. She managed this bordello like any man would run a business. Straightforward and up-front. Her clients knew exactly what they could do and not do. No young Army recruits bedded her girls without a talk with Miss Lily first.
“Then why is she here? If you could have seen what she was wearing…”
Lily held up her hand. “So you’ve told me. Three times. I don’t know where she got that clothing. Maybe you should ask her. Some of my girls would be interested.”
He knew what Miss O’Malley would say. They’re from the twenty-first century, just like I am. He hadn’t even had an opportunity to talk to her since she claimed to be ill, and Olga had robbed him of his chance to see Elizabeth last night. This morning, he’d ridden out early to get to Lily’s. Now what was he going to do?
“What do you make of her crazy talk about the future?”
“I don’t know.” Lily stirred her tea in its china cup and looked thoughtful. “I had a girl who worked for me in New Orleans who thought she was a queen from another lifetime. She was quite sane except for that notion. She called herself Gwen. Short for Gwenevere, I think.”
“King Arthur’s wife?” Miguel laughed. “How ironic…there were some who called her Britain’s Great Whore.”
Lily shrugged. “I don’t know the story. She insisted that one day a man would come for her and take her away from this.”
For a minute, Miguel allowed himself to be sidetracked. “Did someone?”
“Well, yes, now that I think of it.” Lily sat up straighter. “A tall, dark stranger. No drifter, though. His eyes were too penetrating. We thought he was a lawman probably. I remember he wore a military sword as well as a side-arm.”
In spite of himself, Miguel was intrigued. An oddly similar incident had occurred following the massacre of the Council House meeting in 1840. Chief Buffalo Hump had gone on the warpath, raiding and burning all the way to the coast, then turned back and fled north. He was finally routed at Plum Creek, but the interesting part was that a tall, dark-haired man wearing a uniform no one recognized and brandishing a sword had come to the aid of the army just in time to save General Huston’s life. The man had disappeared before anyone could get his name. Looked like a lawman, everyone had said.
“What happened?” Miguel asked Lily.
“The stranger stood in the doorway and scanned the room, like he was looking for someone. Several of the girls went over to him—actually, he drew them like a magnet—but he didn’t even notice. He just stood there like a statue, commanding silence without saying a word.” Lily closed her eyes and smiled. “I remember Gwen appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘I knew you’d come,’ she said, and walked right down the steps like she was floating. Their eyes never left each other. He just put his arm around her and they walked out the door.” Lily opened her eyes. “I’d forgotten about that. It is kind of romantic, isn’t it?”
Miguel tipped his brandy back. “Did you get his name?”
“No. By the time we’d recovered and gone to the door, they were gone. She left all her things, but I never heard from her again. Why?”
Miguel felt a small chill quiver down his back. It couldn’t be true. First of all, no one had ever been able to prove that King Arthur or Queen Gwenevere had ever existed, although his own French ancestors certainly claimed Lancelot as one of their own. Even so, they could not have travelled through time from the sixth century. It wasn’t possible.
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