One-Click Buy: March 2009 Harlequin Blaze

by Alison Kent

  The stables weren’t much when he’d bought the place. Still weren’t. But he fixed them up as he could, mostly when he made some spare money helping Jacob, the town’s blacksmith, who sometimes got more orders than he could handle. Lately, with more and more folks from the railroad showing up, Jacob sometimes worked sixteen-hour days. Sam himself didn’t mind the extra work. He just didn’t like so many people nosing around town.

  For two years now he’d lived, worked, slept and ate here in the stables. Once in a while he’d take a drink at the Silver Nugget or eat a hot meal at the hotel. He’d stopped going to the Golden Slipper a year ago. The less he kept company with folks he didn’t know, the better off he’d be. No, his life started and stopped between the stables and Doc’s. Didn’t matter if the situation he’d carved out here was to his liking. It was more than he deserved.

  By the time he got back outside, the sheriff was gone. So was his worthless deputy. A few miners hung around the establishment, counting their coins or eyeballing their latest finds. Might be they were trying to figure out if they had enough for a bath, a meal and one of Margaret’s girls. But other than that, everything looked peaceful.

  Sam had reached the middle of the street when he saw Joe Weaver’s boy kicking up dust, running hell-bent for Doc’s office.

  “I need Doc,” the boy shouted as he got closer. “Where’s Doc?”

  “Calm down, son. What happened?”

  The boy doubled over, trying to catch his breath. He planted his hands on the front of his thighs and looked up with a fire-red face. “It’s Billy Ray,” he panted. “He’s behind the Golden Slipper and he ain’t breathin’.”

  THEY’D STOPPED HUNTING for her. At least for now. Reese sat on the hard ground behind a wooden barrel, her knees drawn up close to her chest, the once beautiful white gown now caked with dirt and grimy from her sweaty palms. Her head had mercifully stopped pounding, but her pulse remained in overdrive and her body shook so hard her teeth rattled.

  From her vantage point she could see the backs of two weathered wooden buildings, and farther toward the trees, a small boxy structure she imagined had once been an old outhouse. She desperately wanted to get a better glimpse of the incredible scene she’d glimpsed after escaping from Margaret. If she took another look she could prove to herself that there was no saloon called the Silver Nugget, no cowboys with guns slung low on their hips, no hitching posts, or horses with their heads lowered to troughs.

  Everything had looked so real. Nothing made sense. It was almost as if she’d been swept into a time vortex and sent back over a hundred years. Of course, that was ridiculous. The possibility didn’t exist. This was certainly an absurd but elaborate joke. There could be no other explanation. So why didn’t she just stick her head out? Show herself and tell whoever was responsible that their fun was over?

  She couldn’t move. She wasn’t certain she was even capable of standing. Hugging herself closer, she listened to the unfamiliar sounds and harried voices that loomed too close for her peace of mind. She was totally insane for buying into this charade. The sooner she put a stop to it the better, yet fear like she’d never known anchored her to the safety of the shadows.

  Afraid to close her eyes, she rested her head back against the unfinished wood, stared at the clear blue sky and replayed the events of the afternoon. Grandma Lily’s attic. The dress. The trunk. The photograph of the man—the horse thief. What was his name? Sam something. Oh, God. He’d opened his eyes. Or so she’d imagined. She’d fallen, and that’s when everything had gone crazy. Ellie. Where was her sister? She wouldn’t have participated in this prank. She hated practical jokes.

  Reese swallowed hard. For the first time she wasn’t so sure this was a joke. Yet her scientific mind battled the fantastic idea that time could be manipulated. Whether by a freak twist of nature or technology…

  A noise snapped her out of her preoccupation. It sounded like someone choking.

  Without thinking, she leaned forward. She saw him standing in the alley through which she’d fled. A child, about twelve, bent at the waist. Alone. Gasping for air.

  She hesitated, hoping someone would come along and help him. When he went down, she pushed herself to her feet, hearing the lace tear in her attempt to free her legs. She reached him in seconds, positioned herself behind him and slid her arms under his diaphragm. Two well-placed thrusts and a green marble flew out of the boy’s mouth.

  Sighing with relief, she released him. But he collapsed into a boneless heap in the dirt.

  Reese crouched beside him and felt for a pulse, first at his neck and then inside his wrist. Life was there, but it was dangerously weak. She rearranged his head and shoulders, preparing him for CPR.

  “What are you doing to that boy?” A stocky woman in a long dress and white bonnet barreled down the alley, shock and fear contorting her face. “Leave him alone.”

  “I’m trying to help him.”

  “You ain’t helping him.” The woman stood over them and peered down with horror in her eyes. “You’re—you’re a—God help us.”

  “Trust me. I’m a doctor.”

  The woman gasped in disbelief, then spun around and screamed for help.

  Reese knew what would happen if she stayed, but she couldn’t leave the child. Not when she could save him. But she had to act fast. He’d gone from red to pale to a pasty gray. Ignoring the hysterical woman, Reese placed one hand over the other, and with the heel of her right palm, started chest compressions, while silently counting.

  Several more people rushed down the alley and gathered around her and the boy. They murmured and whispered, but no one tried to stop her. She mentally blocked them out and continued with her work, noticing that the child’s color still wasn’t good.

  A man wearing a black coat and hat and carrying a leather satchel knelt beside her. His breath stank with the foul smell of cheap booze. “I’m the doctor,” he said, eyeing her curiously before transferring his attention to the boy. “I’ll take care of Billy Ray.”

  “Best you move aside, miss.” A hand rested gently yet firmly on her shoulder.

  She turned to the owner of the deep rumbling voice. Her own heart nearly stopped. It was the man in the photograph. It was Sam Keegan.

  3

  TOO STUNNED TO MOVE, Reese stared at the man. Tall, lean, dark hair, brown eyes. He looked like Sam Keegan, but he couldn’t be….

  “Ma’am, please.” The doctor touched her arm.

  She looked away from the mysterious man and shot a glance at the boy, who was deathly still, his gray pallor ominous.

  “Sam,” the doctor said quietly, and the dark-haired man took her by the shoulders.

  She flinched under his touch, but was too shaky to rise to her feet, so she got on her knees and managed to move a foot away from the doctor and his patient. Somewhere in her foggy brain she knew this was the time to run, get away while the anxious crowd waited for the doctor to revive the boy.

  But her attention went back to the doctor, who’d checked the child’s pulse and sat back on his haunches with a resigned expression.

  He sadly shook his head. “It’s too late.”

  The crowd murmured.

  “No.” Reese roughly elbowed the man and, caught off guard, he fell backward. “No. It’s only been a few minutes,” she said, and resumed chest compressions.

  Behind her a collective gasp rose from the crowd.

  “What are you doing?” the doctor asked tersely.

  “Says she’s a doctor, too.” It was the woman’s shrill voice, and then a man muttered, “This ain’t right. Somebody’s gotta stop her.”

  “That so?” The doctor leaned close and spoke low enough for only her to hear. “You studied medicine?”

  She ignored the boozy breath that fanned her cheek, and nodded curtly as she gave her all to administering the CPR. Hands gripped her shoulders hard, but she wouldn’t stop.

  “Let her be,” the doctor said quietly.

  She slid a look at hi
m and met his puzzled blue eyes. His brows dipped in a frown, his wary gaze going back to the boy.

  The child they called Billy Ray sputtered and coughed. His body jerked and he coughed again.

  The crowd jumped back.

  Reese sighed with relief, gave the boy a hand and pulled him to a sitting position.

  The sudden deafening silence around her deflated the brief joy she’d felt. Her gaze went back to the man in the black coat, whose weary face expressed total disbelief.

  “What did you do?” he asked unevenly.

  “It’s called CPR—cardio pulmonary resuscitation.”

  The boy pushed to his feet and dusted his hands together. “Why’s everybody standing here?” he asked, looking around, his freckled nose scrunched up in confusion.

  The doctor gave Billy Ray a cursory glance. “You’re quite the lucky young man, son,” he said, and then turned back to Reese, his bloodshot eyes serious and probing.

  The woman with the white bonnet grabbed Billy Ray’s bony arm and pulled him to her bosom. “She’s one of those witches from back East I read about.”

  Another gasp came from the crowd.

  “Hush, Mrs. Higgins.” The doctor waved an impatient hand. “Explain this CPR.”

  Someone murmured something about getting the sheriff, and someone else agreed. Agitation spread like wildfire and had Reese struggling to get to her feet. She gathered the folds of the gown and lifted the hem, preparing for flight, and everyone’s gaze went to her red-and-white designer running shoes.

  Taking advantage of their apparent shock, she fled down the alley.

  “Wait!” It was the doctor’s voice. “Sam.”

  Just hearing his name, she stumbled and nearly fell, but then righted herself and ran around the corner. She didn’t see the two steps leading up to the boardwalk. She hit the wood planks with a loud thud, causing pain to shoot through her right knee. Someone grabbed her arm. Without looking, she knew who it was.

  Sam’s hand tightened as he helped her up. “You hurt?”

  She shook her head and then lowered her gaze to avoid the curious stares of two older women hurrying off the boardwalk and crossing the road. The truth was, she couldn’t look at him, either. Not until she cleared the craziness in her brain.

  “Where are you headed?” he asked, his hand still clamped around her upper arm.

  “I, uh…” She tried to put weight on her injured knee and winced. “I’m not sure.”

  “You are hurt.”

  She could scarcely deny it, limping as she was. She chanced a look at him, met his whiskey-brown eyes, and her insides started to flutter.

  “How about we head for Doc’s office?” Sam paused and glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll be safe there.”

  Reese swallowed and then nodded jerkily. How much choice did she have? She didn’t want to end up back at Margaret’s. God, this was nuts. If, and that was a gigantic if, she had somehow traveled through time, how was she supposed to find her way back?

  “Best you put this on,” Sam said, and she turned to see him lifting a black coat draped over his arm. “This is Doc’s.” Sam’s gaze briefly lowered to her breasts. “That marriage dress is a might conspicuous.”

  Reese slipped into the coat before testing her walking skills, because with her knee throbbing as it was, she feared she’d need all her attention to keep from falling on her face. Sam waited patiently, but his jaw was clenched tight and his gaze kept darting back toward the bordello. On Doc the coat came to mid-thigh, but on Reese’s five-two frame the hem skimmed her calves.

  Sam took her arm again, and she didn’t protest. For all she knew he could be the enemy, but she was pretty sure Doc was curious enough about her CPR ability that he truly wanted an audience with her.

  She and Sam walked to the end of the boardwalk, and if they received more stares she didn’t know, because she kept her face forward and her back straight. Sam stayed quiet and that suited her just fine. She did wonder where the doctor was, though, and why he hadn’t followed. Maybe she should be worried about that, but she was too drained.

  Anyway, she’d sensed enough interest on the doctor’s part that he’d make sure nothing happened to her, at least until she explained the principles of CPR. She needed somewhere safe to go where she’d have time to think. And if he was willing to hide her for an hour or so, she’d accept the offer.

  “SIT RIGHT DOWN HERE.” Doc offered her the only chair in the room and then dragged over a wooden crate that he kept his supply of bandages in.

  She slowly sat down, her confused gaze shooting to the shelf of calomel, jalap, castor oil and plasters. When she spotted Doc’s stethoscope and forceps, her eyes got bigger than a ten-dollar gold piece, as if she wasn’t sure what she’d just witnessed. Funny thing, since she claimed to be a doctor.

  “Sam, go get another crate for yourself,” Doc suggested, while lowering his tall, thin body onto the wooden box, his attention on the woman.

  Sam didn’t want to sit. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, folded his arms across his chest and tried not to stare. Something about her bothered him. Even with the silly short blond hair she was a looker. Small, though, not much bigger than a child, but she wasn’t that young. Closer to his own age, he reckoned, which meant she likely had a husband on her heels.

  He studied the soiled marriage dress. Might be she’d run out on her wedding ceremony. That would be a fine thing to do to a man’s pride. But whatever happened between her and her betrothed was none of his business. Sam sure didn’t need trouble. Neither did Doc.

  “What’s your name?” Doc asked, the line between his brows deep with curiosity.

  “Reese.”

  Doc smiled. “What’s your first name?”

  She couldn’t seem to stop inspecting Doc’s healing things, but then she met his eyes. “That is my first name. Reese. Reese Winslow.”

  Doc frowned, probably thinking the same thing as Sam. Strange name for a gal. She had to be from the East. “I’m Nathan Ballard. But everyone calls me Doc. That’s Sam Keegan,” he added, inclining his head in Sam’s direction.

  Sam nodded politely, but she barely looked at him. Seemed to want to look everywhere but. Fine by him.

  “You say you’re a doctor. I heard women were starting to take up the practice,” Doc said thoughtfully. “Did you go to school?”

  She blinked. “Of course.” Her gaze went to Sam then, but only for a second before her eyes narrowed on Doc. “Didn’t you?”

  He noisily cleared his throat. “You must’ve gone to Women’s Medical College of Pennsylvania.”

  Frowning, she slowly shook her head. “No, Harvard.”

  Doc laughed. “Harvard?”

  “Yes, it’s a fine school,” she said defensively.

  “Indeed it is.” With his disappointment plain, Doc glanced at Sam, who knew nothing about schools, but could tell something about this Harvard had put Doc off his feed.

  Or maybe he’d just figured out what Sam had already considered. That maybe this woman, pretty little thing that she was, wasn’t right in the head.

  She lifted her small, dainty chin. “My specialty is cardiology.”

  Doc smiled politely. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”

  “Is this a joke? Please tell me this is a joke.” She stood all of a sudden, went to the small window and pushed the faded curtain back to look outside. “Where’s Ellie?”

  Doc pinched the bridge of his nose, his hand starting to shake, and then peered at Sam. “Ellie? Sounds familiar. Is that Herman Miller’s wife?”

  Reese spun around. “She’s no one’s wife. She’s my sister, and I demand to see her right—” Her voice broke off, her mouth still open as she stared at something on the floor near the head of the cot.

  Sam cricked his neck to see. Five empty whiskey bottles sat neatly on the floor. A sixth one was half-full of amber liquid. He glared at Doc, who turned as red as a late summer tomato.

  “I’m having me a dr
ink and I don’t wanna hear a word about it.” Doc got to his feet and kicked the wood crate aside.

  Sam pushed away from the wall. “Come on, Doc. Think that’s wise? It’s near sundown. You know what’s gonna happen.”

  “What?” The woman wrapped her arms around herself, her eyes full of alarm. “What happens after sundown?”

  Doc snorted. “They’ll be coming down from the mines like mules in heat.” He set out an unwashed glass and uncapped the whiskey bottle. “If they wanna spill each other’s brains all over Main Street, not much I can do about it.”

  “Holy crap.”

  Sam and Doc both looked at the woman.

  “This can’t be real,” she muttered to herself, plainly agitated. “It can’t be.”

  She pushed a hand through her short hair, looked out the window again and then shook her head. “You don’t seriously work on patients in this room.” When neither man spoke, she added, “It’s filthy, unsanitary, for God’s sake.”

  “Look, ma’am.” Doc poured a double shot of whiskey. “Can’t say I wasn’t impressed with what you did for the boy, but I don’t take kindly to your high-handedness. I do my best here. This is Deadwood. Not New York City.”

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t look it. “I shouldn’t judge you.” Her tongue darted out and swiped at her lower lip.

  Sam’s body reacted in a way that horrified him. Made his thoughts go where they shouldn’t. Could be Mrs. Higgins was right about the woman being a witch. He crossed the room and snatched the whiskey bottle out of Doc’s hand. “We had a deal.”

  “Sam,” he said wearily. “Give me the bottle.”

  “Tonight. I can help.” Reese ran her palms down the front of her lacy dress. “But I need a place to stay.”

  Doc snorted. “I’ve got just one cot and one room in the back. Sam, you can put her up in your livery.”