by Alison Kent
“Mornin’, Sam.” Doc looked past him. “Where’s the woman?”
“Best you call her Reese. She gets a might testy if you don’t.”
Doc noticed the slight upward curve at the corners of Sam’s mouth, something a body didn’t see much. “She still here?”
“Asleep, I suspect.” He handed Doc a cup of steaming black coffee.
“She say anything about leaving?”
“Nope. She was dead-tired last night.”
Doc sipped the strong brew even though he would have favored another shot of whiskey. “You say she did good last night.”
“She surely knows something about healing.” Sam went to the window and looked out toward his livery. “What do you make of her, Doc?”
“She’s got spunk.”
“Yep. Anybody ask about her?”
“If they had, don’t you reckon I would’ve told you by now?” Doc snapped. Immediately regretting his sour tone, he put a hand to his throbbing forehead.
Sam slid him an irritated look. “I didn’t force that whiskey down your throat last night.”
“That I could never accuse you of, my friend.”
Sam smiled, but just as quickly grew serious again. His chest heaved with the deep breath he took. “I’ve got a big favor to ask you, Doc.”
“Go on.”
Sam tilted his head to one side as if to relieve a kink, then shifted. Whatever he had to ask wasn’t coming easy. “I suspect Reese has nothing to wear but that marriage dress. It’s got some bloodstains on the sleeves. That’s not so bad, but if a person is aiming to find her…” He shrugged.
When the full weight of what Sam was asking hit Doc, he gripped the cot for support. Sweet Jesus in heaven. Martha’s clothes. He had yet to touch a single thing that belonged to her. Her clothes and bonnets remained as they’d been the day she took her last breath. Her hairbrush and looking glass still sat on the small oak vanity he’d made for her the first year they were married.
“I know what I’m asking, Doc. It ain’t easy for me. I expect it’s hell for you.”
Nathan swallowed around the lump that blocked his airway. “Makes sense,” he said hoarsely, scarcely recognizing his own voice. “I’ve been meaning to clear out that room.”
The sympathy in Sam’s eyes was almost too much to witness. Doc turned away and drained his coffee, ignoring how the hot liquid blistered his lips.
“Need a hand?” Sam asked quietly.
“Get me a box.” Doc headed for the back room. He’d pack up Martha’s things, and then he was gonna go to the Silver Nugget and buy the biggest bottle of whiskey they had.
He’d hide the bottle good so Sam wouldn’t find it. Try as he might, his friend couldn’t erase the judgment in his eyes.
Him and Sam, they’d been to hell and back. They’d seen unspeakable things that burned a tragic image in a person’s memory. And although his friend likely knew him better than anyone else, there was one thing Sam never could understand. Doc didn’t drink when he wanted to drink anymore. He drank when the monster inside of him wanted to.
SUN STREAMED IN through the cracks and warmed Reese’s face. She slowly opened her eyes. Her shoulder hurt, the pain burning a path all the way down her back along the right blade. She gingerly moved her arm and suddenly remembered last night. Remembered why she ached so much. Doc’s small, antiquated office had received as many gunshot and knife wounds as an L.A. emergency room.
She sat up and immediately saw the bloodstains on the once beautiful lace. Her gaze went to the white antique bowl and a large-mouthed pitcher sitting on a small trunk. Except the bowl wasn’t antique. Not yet. Yesterday hadn’t been a dream. Oh, God. What the hell was she going to do?
She swung her feet to the bare floor, careful with the full, lacy skirt even though the dress was already ruined, and pushed herself off the narrow cot. Her mouth was incredibly dry, and she’d kill for a glass of water. Toothpaste would be equally nice, but she wasn’t counting on it.
She got half her wish. On a three-legged wooden stool someone had left a smaller pitcher filled with water, and a tin cup. Presumably Sam, the tall, quiet cowboy who’d rescued her from the crowd and given her shelter.
The memory of him made her shiver. Not out of immediate fear, because he’d been kind and a total gentleman. And unlike most other men she’d come across here, Sam didn’t carry a gun. But she remembered that look he’d exchanged with Hank last night, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this man could be dangerous. Especially to her. The photograph of him she’d found in Grandma Lily’s attic seemed to have set all this insanity into motion. Had he somehow summoned her to cross time barriers to come to him?
Reese sighed. Obviously a night’s sleep had done nothing to diminish her aberrant bout with whimsy. So much remained unexplained that yesterday’s headache threatened to return. God, she could not think about this right now. First, she wanted to feel human again. Although under the circumstances that might be a stretch.
Finding that the large-mouthed pitcher had also been filled, she pushed back her sleeves as far as they would go. Then she noticed a small container of white powder. She sniffed it and, realizing it was baking soda, giddily used it to clean her teeth. Soap and a towel had also been left, the latter a dingy white, but clean. The water and air were both cool but she didn’t care. She washed up as best she could without taking off the dress.
Not only did she have nothing else to change into, but privacy was limited in the tiny room. Gaps between the boards allowed anyone passing by to peek inside, if so inclined. The only door was useless, the warped wooden panel so misshapen it didn’t close correctly.
Yet this stark room was where Sam obviously lived. Besides the narrow cot and decrepit trunk, there were a couple of personal items, including a straight-edge razor and a comb. Yet no dresser or wardrobe for clothes, which made her curious. Tilting her head, she saw that he’d stashed some things under his cot. She crouched for a better view and was surprised to find two stacks of books.
She was about to reach for them when a noise came from beyond the door, and she turned her head, praying it was only Sam or Doc. After a moment’s silence, she heard a horse whinny. That’s right, she remembered, her pulse slowing. Sam owned the stables.
The light knock at the door recharged her heart, and she quickly stood.
Swallowing hard, she moved away from the cot, scanning the small room for a weapon. “Yes?”
“It’s Sam.”
Relief spilled through her. “Come in.”
He pushed the door open with his boot. Today he wore a hat, which barely cleared the top of the door frame. He still hadn’t shaved, and she kind of liked his rough-hewn look. His arms full, he silently walked past her and placed a box next to the cot.
“What’s that?”
“Clothes.” He stepped back and removed his hat, leaving an indention in his dark wavy hair. “Might be too big.”
Reese picked up a blue skirt made of yards and yards of fabric. Her initial instinct was to balk, but she wanted out of the wedding gown so badly. Besides, she’d be less conspicuous dressed like the other women. “Where did you get these?”
He hesitated, and then said tightly, “Doc.”
“Doc has a wife?”
Sam’s mouth drew into a tight line. “She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded, already backing toward the door. “I got a needle and thread if you need them.”
Sighing, Reese picked up a white shirt. Well, if she could stitch a patient, she supposed she could learn to mend a dress.
“I’ll be out here. There’s coffee on the stove.” He turned for the door.
“Sam. Wait.” When she had his attention, she showed him her back. “I need help with the buttons.”
5
SAM STARED AT HER BACK, not sure what to do. He could tell she’d have trouble reaching the buttons, but it wouldn’t be proper for him to see a respectable woman’s corset or, heaven forb
id, bare skin. But he sure wanted to. Was she as soft all over as her cheek and neck? Of course, asking for help with the buttons wasn’t the same as inviting him to touch her.
“Sam?” She looked over her shoulder at him.
He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, set his hat back on his head to free up his hands, and walked toward her. She smiled and turned her head away. His gaze went to her waist, small and perfect, before her hips flared out. He knew she didn’t wear a bustle and that pleased him. No sense in hiding the perfection she’d been given.
She lifted her hair off her neck. “Thank you for the clothes, by the way. That was very thoughtful.”
He stared at the small patch of skin that had been hidden under her hair. Pale and without blemish. Soft looking. He wiped his clammy palms down the front of his Levi’s. “Hold still now.”
“They’re only buttons. They won’t bite.”
Frowning, Sam found the first tiny pearl button, too small for his large, clumsy fingers. He fumbled with it before finally freeing it from the loop. There were a whole mess of the tiny pearls running all the way down to the curve of her bottom. He swallowed hard and forced his attention to the second one.
“Are you having trouble?” She looked over her shoulder again, and he met those pretty green eyes.
His fingers slipped. “I asked you to hold still,” he grumbled.
“Sorry.” She turned back around.
After some doing he unfastened five more buttons. He was getting a little better at the chore, especially with some of the looser pearls, but only when he kept his mind off what each freed button exposed. After two more, he saw the red silk. Was she wearing a corset, after all?
His gaze fixed on the skin above the silk. Golden, not pale like a woman’s skin ought to be. He fumbled with the next button and again had to force himself to concentrate. About a minute later he’d released all the buttons down to her waist, where things got all fouled up again.
The dress parted, and he stared at the strip of red silk across her back. It wasn’t a corset. Skin on the top, skin on the bottom…Like nothing he’d ever seen before.
His heart thundered, and no way on earth was he gonna get his fingers to work again. Sam lowered his arms, feeling as helpless as a newborn babe.
“What’s wrong now?” She twisted once more to look at him, and the dress slid off her right shoulder, revealing a lacy red strap that went who knew where.
“Sam?”
He raised his eyes to hers. She frowned prettily, her eyes even greener than before. He shook his head. She talked funny, dressed peculiar and wore her hair too short. She had to be from back East. Those gals who came from NewYork and Boston were a puzzle. “I think I’ve done all I can do,” he said, his voice scratchier than a new bar of soap.
“What do you mean? Are the buttons stuck? I won’t be able to get this dress off.” She tugged at the right sleeve and then turned all the way around, and his heart damn near stopped altogether.
The red strap ended at the top of her bosom. Some scarlet binding covered her breasts, but not by much. He suspected he should be looking elsewhere, but he couldn’t seem to make himself.
Reese laughed. “Haven’t you ever seen a bra before? Oh, well, maybe you haven’t.” She reached behind herself to the buttons, her breasts thrusting at him.
He should leave, but he couldn’t move his feet. Just stood there like a halfwit, his brain powerless to form a single thought.
“There.” She sighed, bringing a hand around to hold up the front of her dress, the fitted waist going slack. “I have another favor to ask.”
He took off his hat and held it in front of his fly. “Ma’am.”
She shook her head in disgust, but he suspected that was only because he’d called her ma’am. “The boards aren’t flush and I’m afraid someone might see inside.”
His gaze went in the direction of her free hand, to the gaps between the planks. “We’re at the end of the line here. No one comes this far unless they want to board their horse, and then they come to the front.”
She wrinkled that pretty little nose of hers. “I’m not exactly popular around here. If someone gets curious…”
He caught her meaning. “I’ll put up a board or two.”
“Thank you.”
He paused for a moment, wondering if he should ask about her plans for leaving. Then stiffened in shock, when that thought weakened his knees. Before he could think again, he heard the sound of hoofbeats, which slowed as they approached.
“Someone’s here,” he said. “Best you keep quiet.”
The solemn way she nodded made him nervous. They needed to talk. If she was running from a husband or anyone else, he should know. Sam made sure the warped door closed as well as it could, and then set his hat back on his head as he strode out to the front.
The sheriff was riding toward him, his beady eyes keen with curiosity as he scanned the stables and haystacks. Sam didn’t much care for the man. He was more crook than lawman, but he kept some order and mostly stayed away from the livery. Sam wondered what brought Sheriff Ames this way. He hoped it wasn’t Reese.
“Mornin’, Sheriff. What can I do for you?” The words weren’t all out of his mouth when from the corner of his eye he saw the bedroll he’d left in the empty stall. He moved quickly, hoping to cut the sheriff off before he saw it and started wondering.
“Nearly full up, ain’t you?”
“Yep. Got room for only one more.”
The sheriff craned his neck, trying to look past the large wood stove Sam used for heat and cooking. “Is that coffee I smell brewing?”
“Sorry, Sheriff, it’s just about gone,” he lied, wishing the man would speak plain and move on. He wasn’t one for paying social calls. At least not to Sam.
Ames reined in a foot in front of Sam. “I’m looking for a woman. A stranger. Traveling alone, I reckon.”
The hair on the back of Sam’s neck stood up. He searched his mind for the right reply and carefully met the man’s shrewd eyes. Did he know about Reese’s doctoring work last night? Most of the men she’d patched up had been miners or ranch hands. None of them had anything to do with the sheriff.
Sam shrugged. “I haven’t seen anyone suspicious. But no one comes back here except to board their horse.”
The sheriff’s cold gaze stayed on his face, making him sweat. What in the hell kind of trouble had Reese brought on him and Doc? Shit, too many people had seen them with her.
“Doc had a friend visiting yesterday,” Sam volunteered. “Another healer.” He forced a laugh. “I never met a woman doctor before.”
The sheriff narrowed his eyes and sat up straighter in his saddle. “So you did see the stranger?”
“Well, she’s no stranger to Doc. So I didn’t reckon that’s who you were looking for.”
Sheriff Ames’s lips thinned. “I don’t need you to do my thinkin’ for me, Keegan.”
“No, Sheriff, I wouldn’t do that,” he said evenly, tensing when the man pulled up on his rein, about to turn his horse around. “She was a looker. Blonde, green eyes. Too bad Doc got so stinkin’ drunk that he run her off.”
The sheriff stopped in his tracks. “She’s gone?”
“Yep. Before sunup.”
Frowning, he picked his Stetson up and pushed a hand through his thinning hair, then reset the hat on his head. “She keep a horse here?”
“Nope.”
“How did she leave?”
Sam shrugged. “I’m headed to Doc’s now,” he said, real calm like. He and Doc had to get their stories straight fast. “Maybe he knows.”
Sheriff Ames snorted. “Old Doc’s over at the Silver Nugget. He won’t be making much sense for a spell.”
Relief mixed with disappointment. The miners were still in town and as soon as they woke up, there was bound to be more violence. But he should’ve known Doc would be looking for comfort. Going through Martha’s things had to weigh heavy. Sam hoped Reese was worth that.
“The woman you’re looking for…who is she?”
“A runaway whore.”
Sam’s belly clenched. “Wish I could help you, Sheriff.”
With a knowing smile, Sheriff Ames drew his horse in a wide circle and looked down the alley on the side of the livery before cantering back toward town.
Sam stayed rooted to the spot. Reese was a whore. The strange fancy underthings made sense now. So did her lack of modesty. She hadn’t given a second thought about asking him to help her undress.
A whore.
Nothing wrong with a woman trying to keep a roof over her head, he told himself. Not a damn thing. He cursed under his breath, and went to join Doc at the Silver Nugget.
THE SKIRTS AND DRESSES were all too long by a good three inches, as were the sleeves, but the bodices and waists fit pretty well. Since Reese finally figured out there would be no handiwork with a needle and thread in her near future, she chose a dark blue skirt that she rolled up at the waist until the hem cleared the floor, but still obscured her running shoes. She had to forgo the complementary white blouse for a drab brown one, fearing her red bra would show through. The more she blended in the better.
After folding the remaining clothes and finding a place for them near the cot, she examined the ruined wedding gown, checking each loosened pearl, the different lace patterns. As sad as it was that the beautiful gown and exquisite workmanship had been damaged, that wasn’t her chief concern. The dress was her only link to Grandma Lily’s attic. More importantly, to the twenty-first century. The key to returning home had to be here, in the dress somewhere. She just couldn’t see it.
She checked her watch, abruptly realizing she’d have to tuck the gold Rolex away, and wondered what was keeping Sam. She’d vaguely heard him talking to someone earlier, but that had been over an hour ago. She didn’t dare step outside. Not by herself. As much as she wanted a cup of coffee, she stayed perched at the edge of the cot, her gaze glued to the warped door.
Just as she thought about snooping through the books she’d seen stacked under his cot, she heard the horses neighing. Which either meant Sam was back or she was about to find herself in deep trouble. Or maybe it simply meant the horses were restless. Nevertheless, she put her hand on the straight-edge razor she’d found earlier and now kept in the folds of her skirt.