“All right.” Maybe she could persuade him to leave the gun in the car, once she showed him that it could be locked away safely. “Just let me grab my bag.”
He followed her outside, his expression puzzled when he glanced around the yard. “How are you aiming to get to town? I don’t recall seeing a buggy in the barn. And the only horse here is ‘Pago. You planning on us riding double?” He flashed her a roguish grin. “Not a bad idea at that, especially if you hang on real tight.”
She felt a rush of heat sweep into her cheeks. “We’ll take my car, of course.”
“Car? What sort of animal is that?”
“You’ll see. Wait here.”
Leaving him waiting on the porch, she went down the stairs and crossed the yard to the garage. Opening the door, she went inside, smiling as she imagined his reaction.
The Jag was only a year old. Her uncle had bought it on a whim. She had tried to talk him out of it. Sick as he was, he rarely left the house except to go to the doctor, but he had insisted. He had always intended to buy one before he died, he had told her, and time was running out. He had let her pick it out. She had chosen the cheapest one available, which was far from cheap, but he had waved her choice aside. Pretend you’re buying it for yourself, he had said. Which one would you choose? Without hesitation, she had picked a convertible. Platinum, with butter-soft ivory leather interior, walnut trim, walnut gearshift knob, wood and leather steering wheel, all for a mere sixty-six thousand dollars before tax and license. Uncle Joe had insisted on chrome sports wheels. Another twelve hundred and ninety-five dollars. Premium Alpine sound system with six CD disc auto changer? Only eighteen hundred dollars.
When she saw the total, with tax and license, she had almost fainted dead away. The Jag cost more than three times what her parents had paid for their first house! Uncle Joe had waved her protests aside. “It’s only money,” he’d said with a grin. And while that was true, it was more money than most people made in a year.
She ran her hand over the hood. She had considered selling it after her uncle died, but not for very long. Sleek and silver, it was poetry in motion. And fast. So darn fast. It looked like it was moving even when it was standing still. “A silver bullet” the salesman had said. Something like zero to sixty is less than seven seconds. She had gotten a ticket for speeding the day she drove it off the lot.
Sliding behind the wheel, she slipped the key into the ignition, put the top and windows down. The engine purred like a well-fed cat as she backed out of the garage.
Trey was staring at the car, eyes wide, when she drove up.
“Well,” she called, “what do you think?”
“What the hell is that?” he asked, backing away from the edge of the porch.
“It’s an XK8 Jaguar convertible. Come on, get in.”
He looked dubious as he descended the stairs and walked around the car to the passenger side.
She leaned across the seat and opened the door for him. “Well? Are you going to get in?”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Hell, no,” he retorted. “Just figuring out how to mount this thing.” He slid into the passenger seat and jammed his worn boots one at a time into the passenger side footwell.
He was a good liar, she thought, smothering a grin. “This is the steering wheel,” she said, tapping it with her finger. “This is the dashboard. This is the radio.” She sighed, thinking of all the things he had to learn. “A radio plays music.” She turned it on, and the voice of Conway Twitty filled the air.
Trey frowned as music surrounded them. “How is that possible?” he asked.
“It comes from a radio station. A building. A place that has to do with air waves and radio signals, and…oh, I don’t know how to explain it. Kind of like a telegraph without wires, I guess. You did have telegraphs back then, didn't you?”
“I know what a telegraph is,” he said grimly. “But they don't play music!”
She turned the radio down. “This is a CD player. It plays music, too.” She slid a Kenny Rogers CD into the player. “This is the temperature gauge. And this,” she reached across him. “This is a seat belt. You fasten it like this.”
“What’s it for?” he asked, tugging on the strap across his chest.
“To keep you from flying out of the car if we get in a wreck.”
“Wreck?”
“An accident,” she said, putting the car in gear. “Don’t worry about it. I’m a good driver.”
He muttered an oath as she pulled away from the front of the house.
“Hang on.” She grinned as she accelerated, loving the feel of the wind in her face and hair.
He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. He didn’t look scared, exactly, more like wary.
He had just settled back in his seat when a plane flew overhead.
“What the hell is that?” he exclaimed.
“It’s an airplane. A jet. It’s a way to travel when you’re in a hurry, or you’re going a long way and you don’t want to drive, or take the train.”
He shook his head. “I see it, but I don’t believe it. People are in that contraption?”
She laughed. “Yes, lots of them.”
“Voluntarily?”
She wanted to laugh harder, but one look at his face changed her mind. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know it's an awful lot to take in, especially all at once. I know I'd never do as well in your time if our situations were reversed.”
His answering smile was her reward.
The road was straight for the first few miles, lined by imported trees that had been planted years ago as windbreaks. The rolling desert alongside the road was in full bloom after the winter rains. There was a wide pleasant hollow off to the right. She always expected to see the delicate desert whitewall deer for which the area was noted browsing there, but she never had, though she had seem them in other places now and then.
“Nice looking buck,” Trey commented as they sped by. “Too bad I didn't bring my rifle.”
“What?” Her foot lifted off the accelerator. “Where? I didn’t see…”
“Back there a ways,” he said. “Bedded down by those cactus on the ridge.” He grunted softly. “A long ways back now, fast as we're going.”
“I've never seen any deer there!”
“You’ve gotta know how to look,” he said, and grinned at her. “I guess there are some things I could teach you after all.”
For once, his comment didn't seem to have a double meaning, and she smiled. “I guess there are.”
The wildlife was one of the reasons she had bought the house. She had grown up in the city, where the only wildlife she had seen had been a dead possum in the road from time to time. But here, there were deer, javelina, ground squirrels, raccoons, eagles, and an occasional coyote. In the short time she had lived here, she had seen them all, and heard the coyotes singing at night. The forty-five minute drive to town seemed a small price to pay.
They rode in silence for a while. She glanced at Trey’s stern profile. “You okay?”
“Just thinking. Does everyone have a…” He gestured at the car. “One of these?”
“Most everyone. Cars replaced the horse and buggy in the early part of the twentieth century. Horses are a luxury few people can afford these days. Mostly they’re used for pleasure riding and horse racing. Oh, and some of the police departments have mounted divisions.”
He fell silent again as he pondered that. Once his initial trepidation wore off, he found himself enjoying the ride. The speed was exhilarating. He ran his hand over the outside of the door, tapped it with his finger.
“What is your…car…made of?”
“Gee, I’m not sure. Aluminum, maybe? I really don’t know.”
“Whatever alum-inum is,” he muttered, and then asked abruptly, “Why do you live alone?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“In my time, young women di
dn’t live alone unless they were…” His voice trailed off.
“Go on,” she urged. “Unless they were what?”
“Never mind,” he said gruffly.
“I live alone because I prefer it,” she said. After spending two years being with her uncle almost day and night, she needed the solitude.
His next question caught her off guard. “Why aren’t you married?”
“Why aren’t you?”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“Are you?” It had never occurred to her that he might be married. She wasn’t sure why. Thinking of it now stirred something within her, something that felt very much like jealousy.
“No.”
“Too busy robbing banks?”
He glowered at her. “That’s none of your business.”
“And my marital status is none of your business. But, if you must know, I’m engaged.”
She slowed as the road curved. When they rounded the second bend, the city came into view. It was a pretty sight, nestled in a valley among the trees and red cliffs. The sun played hide and seek behind a scattering of fluffy white clouds that drifted across the powder-blue sky.
Trey jerked his chin toward the town. “Is that where we’re headed?”
“Yes. That’s Canyon Creek.”
“I’ve been there a time or two.”
She grinned at him. “Well, I’ll bet it’s changed some since you saw it last.”
He grunted. “Reckon so.”
Ten minutes later, she pulled into a parking place on Main Street. “Well,” she said, switching off the ignition. “We’re here.”
He grunted softly. On horseback, the journey would have taken hours.
Unfastening her seat belt, Amanda took the keys from the ignition. She started to get out of the car, then paused.
“Trey?”
“Yeah?”
“We can put your gun in the trunk and lock it. No one will know it’s there, or be able to get it out.”
He glanced in the backseat, which wasn’t big enough to hold a satchel, let alone anything bigger. “What trunk?”
“Come here, I’ll show you.”
He got out of the car and followed her around to the back. She slid a key into a lock and lifted a part of the car. “See?”
He blew out a breath. “You never let up, do you? All right, this one time.”
He pulled the Colt from under his shirt and put it in the trunk. She smiled her thanks as she closed the lid. Grabbing her handbag from the backseat, she dropped the keys inside.
Trey he glanced around. There were buildings on both sides of the street, a street that, in his time, had been dusty in summer and muddy in winter. Now, it was covered with some hard black substance. There were cars parked up and down the street, different in shape and size and color from Amanda’s. He noticed most of them had tops of some kind.
The sidewalks were crowded with people. He stared at a woman who passed by clad in a bright orange dress, the hem of which was shorter than any whore’s costume. Her hair, an outrageous shade of pink, was short and spiky. Her shoes were the same color as her dress, but unlike anything he had ever seen before.
He saw men in city suits, women in pants that were cut off well above the knee, men in short pants and sleeveless shirts and tinted glasses, women in sleeveless dresses with full skirts. A few of the men were dressed as he was, in trousers, shirt, and boots.
As Amanda had said, none of the men wore guns, or weapons of any kind, that he could see.
She moved up beside him. “Well, here we are. What do you want to see first?”
He shrugged. He felt naked without his gun, lost in a town that was familiar in some ways and totally foreign in others. He recognized the courthouse at the end of the block. A building that had once been a brothel had been painted white. A sign on the side of the building read, “Nelly Blue’s Bed and Breakfast. Cable in every room.” The firehouse across from the courthouse was still red. But the fire wagons behind its big open doors looked far too heavy for the stoutest draft horses. A sign on one roof proclaimed “Cobb’s Steak House”. There were hitch rails in front of some of the stores, but no horses to be seen anywhere.
“Come on,” Amanda said.
He fell into step beside her and they walked down the sidewalk, stopping now and then to peer into the shop windows.
One thing hadn’t changed. The Four Deuces was still a saloon. He’d been in the place several times in the past and he stepped inside, hoping to find something familiar. He stopped just inside the batwing doors and glanced around. The curved mahogany bar and brass foot rail were still there, but everything else looked different. The gaming tables were gone, replaced by small walnut tables and long-legged chairs. The wagon wheel chandelier was still there, but the candles were gone, replaced by electric lights. A couple clad in jeans and cowboy shirts danced in a corner of the room.
“Do you want something to drink?”
He turned to see Amanda standing behind him.
“I’m going to get a Coke,” she said. “Do you want anything?”
“Coffee,” he said, and followed her to the bar.
They stood there a moment, sipping their drinks while they watched the couple on the dance floor do the two-step.
The song ended, and the strains of Amarillo sung by George Strait filled the air. It was one of her favorite songs.
Amanda placed her glass on the bar, then tapped Trey on the shoulder. “Would you like to dance?”
He had never been big on dancing in the white man’s way, but he was in favor of anything that put Amanda in his arms. Setting his coffee cup down, he took her hand and led her onto the tiny dance floor. There was no awkwardness between them. He held her close, his hand spread across the small of her back. She followed his lead effortlessly and they glided around the floor as though they had danced together for years instead of minutes.
Amanda had always loved dancing, and never more than now. She rested her cheek against Trey’s shoulder, thinking how natural it felt to be in his arms. He was a wonderful dancer, light on his feet. His hand was warm and firm against her back, she felt a tingle of desire as his body brushed against her own.
The song ended all too soon, the ballad replaced by a lively tune by Brooks and Dunn.
“That’s beyond me,” Trey said, watching the line dancers take the floor again.
“Shall we go?” she asked. “There’s lots to see.”
With a nod, he followed her outside. They strolled down the sidewalk, passing several stores before Amanda tugged on his arm.
“Let’s go in here,” she said.
The sign said, “Carl’s Cowboy Corral.” Frowning, Trey followed her into the store. The first thing he noticed was the head of a white buffalo mounted on the wall across from the door. Shirts hung from round metal racks. Dozens of shirts, long-sleeved and short, in checks and plaids, wool and chambray. Levi’s hung from racks or were folded on shelves. Another rack held dusters in black or tan, another rack held a variety of jackets: jean jackets lined with flannel, leather jackets, sheepskin jackets.
One wall was lined with rows and rows of boots. He stared at them in disbelief. Black and white boots that looked like the hide of a cow, red boots, blue boots, boots with fringe, boots with stars. He shook his head. What the hell kind of cowboy would wear boots like that?
Another wall held hats: black, tan, brown, gray, blue. Red! Trey ran a hand through his hair. He’d lost his battered old slouch hat somewhere along the way.
Crossing the room, he plucked a black Stetson from the shelf and settled it on his head. It had a low crown and a braided band. He ran his hands along the edge of the brim, curling it down a little in front.
“Looks great,” Amanda said, coming up behind him. “You should buy it.”
“Yeah?” He quirked a brow at her, thinking of the loot that had mysteriously disappeared from his saddlebag. “With what?”
“I’ll buy it for you. Think of it as a kind o
f ‘welcome to the twenty-first century’ gift.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“What kind of man do you think I am?”
“One who doesn’t have any money.”
“Yeah, I meant to ask you about that,” he said. “Where’s the money that was in my saddlebags?”
“Safe at home. You couldn’t spend it here anyway,” she said, and before he could argue further, she plucked the hat from his head and carried it to a counter in the front of the store.
Trey followed her, frowning as she handed the clerk a piece of what looked like hard paper. “What’s that?”
“My VISA card. You can use it instead of cash.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a credit card. I charge all my purchases on it, and then I get a bill at the end of the month.”
“Do you not use money any more?”
“Oh, yeah, for some stuff.”
The clerk handed Amanda a piece of paper and a funny looking shiny pencil and she signed her name, then handed the paper and pencil back to the clerk. “I’ll just put this in a bag for you,” the clerk said.
“Never mind,” Amanda said. “He’ll wear it.”
The clerk smiled. “Here you go, sir.” He handed Trey the Stetson, gave Amanda a copy of the receipt. “Thanks for shopping at Carl’s.”
Amanda smiled at him. Tucking the receipt into her bag, she started for the door, then stopped. “You need some new jeans, too.”
“What’s wrong with these?”
“Well, aside from the fact that they’re over a hundred years old, and out of style, nothing at all.”
He could see she had her mind made up, so he followed her to where the Levi’s were and rummaged though a stack, holding up one pair after another until he found a pair that looked about right. She insisted he try them on, and pointed him toward a tiny room at the back of the store.
Off with the old, on with the new. At first, he thought he had the wrong size, they were so snug, but they didn’t feel too tight in the waist. The material was different from anything he’d ever felt, and seemed to move when he did.
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