by Alison Kent
A brief knock sounded, and then the door opened.
She sighed with relief when she saw Sam. Tucking the razor into her skirt pocket, she got off the cot. “I was starting to worry.”
He closed the door behind him, then gravely looked her up and down. “The sheriff was here.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Hunting for me?”
“Should he be?”
“You heard that woman yesterday. She thought I was a witch.”
Sam studied Reese carefully, disappointment in his brown eyes. “How did you learn doctoring?”
“In school.”
His dark brows rose. He didn’t seem to believe her. “Back East?”
She hesitated. She knew what he meant. Regardless, Harvard was located on the East Coast. “Yes.”
“Why did you come here?”
She moistened her lips. “That’s a difficult question to answer.”
One side of his mouth went up in a mocking slant. “How did you get here?”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she hugged herself, as it suddenly chilled. “I could use some of that coffee you offered earlier.”
He looked as if he was going to ignore her request, and then grimly turned and left, leaving the door ajar. She moved so that she could see where he was going. Perhaps straight to the sheriff. The strange way he was acting concerned her. Something had obviously happened in the past hour to make him suspicious of her, but how could she possibly explain the events of the last twenty-four hours? He wouldn’t believe her. She didn’t believe it herself.
Just as troubling, she had no idea what to do next. If the dress was the key to normalcy, it wasn’t opening any doors. For all she knew, returning to the bordello would be instrumental in her getting home. In the meantime, she had no money, and no way of moving around town undetected. One thing for sure, no matter what, she’d need Sam’s help.
Between the back room and stables was a big potbellied stove where Sam stopped and crouched with his back to her. When he finally stood, he had a cup in his hand. After ducking out of sight for a moment, he headed toward her once more.
Reese quickly moved back to where he’d left her, dismayed at the weakness in her knees. Perhaps he was about to kick her out on her rear…. She breathed deeply, trying to maintain her composure.
He entered the room and glanced over his shoulder before closing the door, and then thrust the cup at her as though he thought she was contagious. Her fingers accidentally brushed his hand, and he hastily withdrew, as if she’d infected him.
“Thank you.” She wrapped her cold hands around the warm cup and took her first sip. Thick and strong, the coffee coated her mouth like motor oil, and she choked back a shriek of disgust.
She didn’t want to appear ungrateful, or hurt his feelings, so under his watchful eye, she pretended to take a second sip.
Suddenly, he closed the distance between them, and she flinched, anticipating an assault. But he walked past her to Doc’s wife’s clothes, stacked neatly in the box beside the cot. He snatched a white bonnet and brought it to her. “You should wear this.”
He was close enough that she got a whiff of whiskey on his breath. That shocked her. It was still early in the day, and she knew how he felt about Doc’s drinking. She set the cup on the three-legged stool beside the pitcher, and accepted the bonnet with a shaky hand. He seemed to notice and looked away.
“Thank you.” She’d really thought he was going to strike her, and considering that he’d been drinking, and what she knew about him being a horse thief, she was probably lucky he hadn’t. “I guess women cover their heads most of the time.”
He gave her an odd look. “Your hair is too short. You’ll get noticed.”
Her hand automatically went to the hair brushing the side of her jaw. It was no longer damp, and without the artistry of a flatiron, thick dreadful waves were putting too much spring in it. “I guess I should pull it back.”
Except she didn’t have any pins or an elastic band. She could use one of her shoelaces, but that could present another problem. She spied the wedding gown at the foot of the cot. Parts of the hem had come loose, and she could tear off a small strip of lace. She set down the bonnet while she found a piece that would do the least damage with its removal.
After she tied her hair back and placed the bonnet on her head, she turned for his appraisal. “Better?”
He frowned, staring toward her chin. “That’s not right.”
She touched her throat and peered down. “What?” After a stretch of silence she glanced up at him.
He visibly swallowed, and with his gaze fixed somewhere between her breasts and chin, he gestured with his head. “You’ve got skin showing.”
“Oh, right.” She’d left the top three buttons undone, but quickly fastened each one now, until the high, scratchy neckline irritated her skin and felt as if it would choke her. “How do I look?”
He said nothing, but his disapproving gaze went to her arms.
She groaned, then pushed down the overly long sleeves she’d rolled up, finally cuffing them at her wrists. The upside was that she could wear her watch again. She’d been worried about keeping it in the skirt’s roomy pocket and losing it. For now, though, she left the gold-and-diamond watch right where it was, because she didn’t think Sam was quite ready for one of the decadent marvels of the future.
After a quick visual examination, she tugged up her skirt again and slowly spun around for his inspection. “How do I look now?”
Sam took a long time to check her out, his eyes darkening a couple of shades. “You’ll pass.”
She grinned. “For what? A woman?”
He didn’t smile back. “A respectable one.”
Reese’s temper sparked, but she tried to tamp it down. Getting angry would get her nowhere. This was a different time, different morals. No matter how ridiculous or old-fashioned they seemed to her.
“Here.”
She stared at his outstretched hand, fisted so that she couldn’t see what he was holding. She opened hers, and he dropped some coins and two gold pieces into her palm.
“These are yours. From last night.” He moved closer to the door. “A stage will come through around three.”
With dread, she said, “You mean a stagecoach.”
He nodded.
“You’re kicking me out.” Panicked, she followed, clutching his arm. “Why?”
He tensed, but didn’t push her away. “There’s plenty for passage, a hotel and a hot meal or two once you get where you’re going.”
“What did I do?”
“Nothing. You did good.” He tentatively cupped his hand over hers, his callused palm scraping her skin. “You did what Doc couldn’t. We’re both grateful.”
She blinked rapidly, hoping to keep any stray tears at bay, terribly afraid she’d embarrass herself, because she never cried. Tears didn’t help. They only made a person look weak. “I don’t understand.”
He awkwardly patted her shoulder. “Nothing wrong with whoring. A woman’s gotta make a living, but if I—”
She reared back, jerking away from his hand. “Whoring? What are you talking about?”
“I don’t blame you for running. Margaret’s a hard woman, but she and the sheriff—well, I can’t hide you anymore. Doc and I don’t need any problems.”
“Sam, I’m not a whore. I never saw Margaret before yesterday. I’d never even heard of her.”
His brows dipped in suspicion. “Yeah, well, I heard that two of Margaret’s new whores arrived on the stage yesterday. Now one’s missing.”
“I’m not a whore,” she repeated. “I’m a doctor. You know that, Sam. You saw me work on those men last night.”
“That’s a fact,” he said, obviously confused. His gaze ran down the front of her blouse. “You wear whore clothes under there, and you don’t mind a man helping with your buttons.”
Reese sighed. She was not ready for this. After what she was about to tell him, she was mor
e likely to end up in a nuthouse instead of the local bordello. “Sam, I think you’d better sit down.”
6
SAM DIDN’T DRINK WHISKEY much, and he wished he hadn’t downed two shots with Doc. This woman was confusing enough without spirits muddling his brain. She wanted to talk, and he wanted her gone.
Truth be told, he didn’t want her gone all that much. She looked real pretty with her face scrubbed clean, and he kind of favored her hair wild and free. And if he lived to be a hundred, that image of her in the red lace binding would never leave his mind.
“I have horses that need watering,” he said gruffly. “Best you speak your piece and then get ready for the stage. I’m sure Doc won’t mind you taking some of Martha’s things.”
She moved toward him, and it took all his gumption not to turn tail and run. Especially when she touched his arm with a trembling hand, her eyes dark with fear.
“Sam, I swear to you that I’m not a whore. I really am a doctor. And I’m not crazy. At least I don’t think I am. Even though I’m about to tell you something that is so fantastic you won’t believe me.”
He frowned, curious as all get-out, and hoping this wasn’t some kind of trick. The way her lower lip quivered and her slender fingers curled around his arm made it hard for a man to think straight. “I’m listening.”
Slowly, she lowered her hand, clasped it with her other one, lacing her fingers together. “I’m not from here.”
Sam stared, not sure if he should be mad at her foolery or pity her.
“That’s obvious, I know. What I meant is that I’m not from this—” The breath left her in a whoosh. “Oh, I—” She briefly squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m going to ask you one more time and then I swear I’ll never bring it up again. Is this a joke? Is someone playing a prank on me?”
“You’ll miss the stage,” Sam said, and turned to leave.
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm, and he stopped but wouldn’t look at her.
She swept around to face him, the pleading in her green eyes enough to make a man do things more foolish than listening. “Have you ever heard of someone traveling through time? Jumping from one century or even decade to the next?”
“In books?”
“In real life.”
Sam sighed. “Maybe I should get Doc.”
“He’ll never believe me, either,” she groaned. “I can’t believe it myself.”
“Yesterday. You fell—”
“I know. I thought of that, but I only hit my knee. Anyway…” She gestured with her hand toward the stool and cot. “I couldn’t possibly imagine all this. I was a miserable history student. I don’t even like Western movies.” Her eyes widened slightly. “No offense.”
Sam didn’t know what the hell to think. By now Doc likely wouldn’t be much use. Maybe after he slept off the whiskey. “You haven’t eaten. I’ve got some biscuits—”
“Look at these.” Reese pulled up the hem of her skirt so that the funny looking red-and-white shoes showed. “Have you ever seen anything like these?”
Except his interest didn’t rest on the strange shoes. She’d yanked the front of the skirt all the way up to her knees. She wore no stockings. His heart slammed in his chest. Slender yet curvy, her bare calves were silky smooth and hairless. He’d seen a woman’s legs before, but only those belonging to whores. In the Golden Slipper they walked around in underwear a lot, to tempt and save time. But Reese was different. He’d started to think she was a lady. He could barely swallow.
“Look.” She balanced on one foot, lifted the other and showed him the patterned sole of the shoe. “Have you ever seen anything like that before? Look at the detail,” she said, pointing to the fancy, even stitching.
He squinted for a better look. Damn if the red-and-white material didn’t look like leather. “Sometimes it takes awhile for the new styles to get here from back East.”
She let out a strangled laugh and set her foot back on the floor. She stumbled, and he caught her arm. Her bones were tiny and fragile, and as much as he found that he liked touching her, he loosened his grip.
“All right,” she said excitedly, and reached into her pocket. “What about this?”
He stared in astonishment at what was in her outstretched palm. Gold gleamed and sparkled. Not like the rough, sharp pieces of gold the miners brought into town. This was all polished, nice and pretty.
She turned it over and he blinked. It looked like some kind of timepiece. Much smaller than a pocket watch. The tiny clock was attached to a band. In a circle around the clock gemstones sparkled like stars in a midnight sky.
“Diamonds?” he murmured to himself. Maybe. He’d seen one only once, years ago.
“Here. Take it. Look closer.” Reese shoved the timepiece at him. “It’s called a wristwatch. They’re made in Switzerland by a company called Rolex.”
“Switzerland? In Europe?” The workmanship was so fine he was afraid to touch it.
“Yes, but they make watches everywhere now. Even in China.”
He lifted his surprised gaze to her. “Chinamen make these?”
She smiled. “Not exactly like this, but yes, they make watches that go around your wrist. Clocks, too.”
Sam frowned at the perfectly carved ridges all the way around the band. Too small to fit a full-grown person’s wrist, even hers. That’s how he knew she was lying. But the finish…how could anyone make gold this smooth and even? He was tempted to pick it up. Measure its weight. Maybe it wasn’t real gold.
She pinched at something and the band parted. “See? This is how it works.”
He looked closer and saw that it had stretched so she could slide it over her hand. Once it was in place on her wrist, she snapped something that tightened the band. She straightened her arm for him to see. A shaft of sunlight creeping through one of the cracks in the wall set the gemstones to sparkling.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” she asked.
He shook his head. “But I’ve never been to Switzerland.”
Reese sighed. With two fingers, she pressed the side of her temple, briefly closing her eyes. When she opened them, she stared at him with curiosity. “How do you know about Switzerland? Did you study about Europe in school?”
“I’ve never been to school.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Not at all?”
“Nope.”
“You have books….” She gestured toward the cot, which riled him some. The books weren’t in plain sight.
“I can read.”
“Did your mother teach you?”
Sam took off his hat and hit it against his thigh, making her jump. The woman didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. What was wrong with her that she’d ask a stranger so many personal questions? Even if he ever had a mother or father, what made her expect he’d want to talk about them? “That timepiece work?”
“Yes.”
“The stage leaves at three,” he said, and left the room before she started shooting off her mouth again.
REESE CAREFULLY HID the wedding dress under the cot behind Sam’s clothes and books, adjusted her skirt to make sure the running shoes were concealed, and then rearranged the white bonnet to hide her hair, and fortunately, half her face. The stables were quiet, save for the occasional neighing of a horse. She listened a minute longer before yanking open the misshapen door.
No sign of Sam. Or anyone else, thank goodness. A restless horse whinnied in the nearby stables, startling her, but she took a deep breath and ventured over the threshold toward the smell of burning wood and strong coffee.
Besides the back room, which she realized was nothing more than a poorly constructed add-on to the livery, there was a cavernous space with a dirt floor and high dilapidated roof that had to leak buckets when it rained. But the area did its job separating the living quarters from the stalls, and housing a huge pot-bellied stiove where Sam kept a kettle of coffee heated. Next to it was a pile of logs, a rickety-looking chair and a stump that probably served as a b
ench. Against the wall was a sideboard on which sat an iron skillet, a big black pot and two tin cups. Sam’s version of a living room and kitchen combo, she thought wryly.
After that, the livery started in earnest. Basic tack hung on the wall to the left behind a small buggy with a missing wheel. Several feet away a pitchfork leaned against a narrow set of steps that led to a half-story loft, jutting out over the rows of stables that lined both sides of the shoebox-shaped building. Despite the dirt floor and the hay strewn about, Sam kept the place surprisingly clean and smelling no worse than the stables she’s frequented as a young girl.
Satisfied that it was safe to do so, she moved closer to the heat, rubbing her palms together, trying to get them warm. The air wasn’t nearly as chilly as when she’d woken this morning, but nervousness always made her hands and feet cold.
She smiled, thinking about how Ellie used to tease her when they were kids. Science or math exams had always been a breeze for Reese, but when it was time to cram for history or English, she had worked herself into a bundle of nerves, certain her ineptitude in those areas would prevent her from being accepted to medical school.
Ellie never doubted Reese’s success for a moment. They’d often stayed up until midnight, Ellie rubbing Reese’s cold hands, making her hot chocolate and quizzing her until neither of them could stay awake another second. A girl couldn’t have a better sister than Ellie.
Reese sniffed. Would she ever see her sister again? She moved closer to the fire until her skin smarted from the heat. Feeling sorry for herself would get her nowhere. She had to stay focused.
Except she had no idea what to do next. She wouldn’t be getting on that stage, that was for sure. Her stomach rumbled, although she wasn’t really hungry. That was another sign of nerves: her appetite always disappeared. But she hadn’t eaten in well over twenty-four hours and she knew better than to let herself get run-down.
A white napkin had been spread over a tin pan and she lifted the corner of the cloth and peeked underneath. There were two golden-brown biscuits about the size of her fist. Sam had offered them to her earlier, so she didn’t feel bad about snitching one now.