by Alison Kent
She bit into the hard dry roll, fearing for her teeth. If Sam cooked his own food it was a miracle he wasn’t emaciated. Definitely not the case. She’d felt his arms, and he was in fine shape. Muscular without being obnoxiously so, and had she seen him at an L.A. restaurant, his shoulders were broad enough to earn a second look.
Reese thought back to the many movie sets she’d visited over the years, and she had to admit there was no better actor to play the lead in a Western. Sam was exactly what everyone expected a cowboy hero to look like. Tall, a few inches over six feet, lean, rugged without being scruffy. He had dark, wavy hair and intense brown eyes. And if there was such a thing as a perfect butt, the man had it.
Despite the fact that she had enough of her own problems, his close relationship with Doc really had her curious. He practically babysat the man. Lucky for the town. She cringed at the thought of Doc’s craving for booze and the detriment it was to his practice. But whether Sam’s sympathy was for his friend, or for his unsuspecting patients, Reese was counting on Sam’s compassion to help her find her way home. He knew the town, he could move about freely, while she couldn’t.
At least for now.
The picture of him in the coffin popped into her mind and made her shudder. Sam, a horse thief? It didn’t make sense. Was that why she was here? To prove that he hadn’t done what he’d been accused of doing? But that didn’t make sense, either. He was one man. How many innocents had been wrongly hanged through the centuries?
The sound of a horse trotting sent her scurrying toward the bales of hay stacked in the corner. She ducked behind them and clenched the rock-hard biscuit she still had in her hand. Sarcastically, she figured she could use it as a weapon if need be. Keeping perfectly still, she listened as the horse and rider stopped at the entrance to the livery.
“Hello? Anyone here?” It was a man’s voice. He hadn’t called Sam by name so she hoped he was merely a customer. “Hello?”
After a tense silence, she heard footfalls and then Sam’s deep rumbling voice. “Afternoon, mister. What can I do for you?”
“I need my horse boarded.”
“Got one stall left.”
“Good. Good.” He’d apparently dismounted, judging by the annoying screech of leather rubbing on leather. His voice differed from the ones she’d heard since yesterday. More crisp, perhaps citified. “I’ll be staying at the hotel. Three days, maybe four.”
“He’s a fine animal,” Sam said quietly.
Imagining his long lean fingers stroking the side of the horse brought a flush to her skin, a sudden yearning that made her breasts tingle. Her inappropriate reaction startled her. Yeah, Sam was hot, but she was in too much trouble to be distracted that way.
“Yes, he is. You take good care of Goliath and there’ll be an extra dollar in it for you.”
“I take good care of all the horses, mister,” Sam said with a faint trace of resentment in his tone.
“Yes, I heard. Good man. I’ll be at the hotel.” Reese heard a clink of coins, and then the man added, “The name’s Barnett, by the way, Hastings Barnett.”
She knew that name. She’d read it in the caption. Hastings Barnett was going to accuse Sam of stealing his horse. For that, Sam would hang.
Reese’s knees gave out, and she sank to the dirt floor.
HAVING HEARD THE NOISE coming from behind the hay, Sam hurriedly walked the man toward Main Street. Barnett plainly wasn’t from around these parts, most likely from somewhere back East. But Sam figured if that was Reese making the racket, better no one saw her, not even a stranger.
There’d been enough talk of the runaway whore over at the Silver Nugget this morning. Some claimed she was a witch, others reckoned she was a spy for Stanley Hopkins, who was opening a new brothel at the other end of town. Margaret was certain that she was her mail-order whore from back East, who’d accepted stage fare to come West and now would rather find a husband than work.
Wrong or right, Margaret’s belief was enough to get the sheriff involved, or else she’d make him start paying to go upstairs, like every other man who found pleasure at the Golden Slipper.
Sam took Goliath to his stall and then went to check behind the bales of hay. Reese sat huddled there on the ground, staring up at him, her small heart-shaped face whiter than newly fallen snow.
The relief that seeped through him because she hadn’t left, even though he’d told her to, gave him a shock. She meant trouble. Plain and simple. He needed her on that stage and not hiding in his livery next time the sheriff came poking around. “You’re gonna miss the three o’clock.”
“That man who was just here…how long did he say he was staying?”
Sam frowned at the peculiar question. “Three or four days.”
“Oh, no.” She made no move to get up.
“Why?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He saw the biscuit sitting on the straw beside her. She hadn’t eaten much of it, only a bite. After her hard work last night, she had to be weak. Maybe that had caused her crazy talk.
“Here.” He took her hand to help her up. Her palm was smooth and soft, without a single callus. She hadn’t done much outside in her life.
She struggled to her feet, and to his amusement, kicked at the folds of the skirt in a most unladylike fashion. When she finally steadied herself, she blinked at him, disbelief on her face. “You just smiled.”
Sobering, he released her hand. “You can still make it if you hurry. The stage is at the hotel.”
She sighed. “I’m not leaving, Sam. I know you don’t believe what I told you, but it’s the truth. That means I can’t leave Deadwood until I find out how to get back to my time.” She drew her lower lip into her mouth and then added, “I’ve been thinking about it and the key might be tied to my grandmother’s house. The place is over a hundred thirty years old, which means it exists now and should be somewhere near town.”
Sam stared at her, not knowing what to say. He wished Doc would get here. Unless he was too drunk by now, but Sam calculated he’d caught him in time. Doc had certainly been fascinated by Reese’s far-fetched time-traveling story. He was about the only living soul Sam had the gumption to pass on the tale to. Mostly because he hoped Doc could help her.
“What are you thinking, Sam? That I’m crazy? I don’t blame you.”
He felt the heat climb up his neck, and turned away from her. “Doc’s going to want to talk to you. Best you go back to the room so no one sees you.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he grumbled. “I still mean to get you on that stage tomorrow.”
She laughed softly and touched his arm. He didn’t want to look at her, but it was as if he couldn’t control his body, and he turned toward her. She rose up on tiptoes, tugged at his arm until he got her meaning and lowered his head slightly. She stretched up higher and kissed him warmly on the cheek.
His insides quaked. Like the time he’d gotten too close to one of the mines on exploding day. His hand went to the spot she’d kissed. He hadn’t shaved in days. No telling how bad his scratchy whiskers felt under her full, soft lips.
Could be it was his imagination, but she looked a might out of sorts herself. Color stained her cheeks, and the tip of her tongue swept her lower lip. Her hand tightened on his arm and when she tilted her head back to look at him, the bonnet slipped, uncovering her shiny blond hair. He desperately wanted to feel its silky smoothness between his fingers, and forced himself to step away before he made a damn fool out of himself.
“You ought not to kiss a strange man like that,” he said in a hoarse voice.
She gave him a smile that could melt stone. “You’re not a stranger, Sam. You’re my hero.”
He stiffened. The woman didn’t know what she was talking about. What would she say if she knew the truth about him? That he was a killer. A cold-blooded son of a bitch who had snuffed the life out of husbands and fathers and brothers. He’d left countless orphans across three states
to fend for themselves. God only knew what had become of them. Maybe they’d all ended up like him. Heartless. Miserable. Wondering why he bothered to take his next breath.
Damn her for reminding him what a bastard he was.
“Sam?” Her face full of worry, she touched his arm again.
He stared at her small, fragile hand, knowing he could crush it with one squeeze. He’d never hurt a woman before. And he sure didn’t want to start now, so before he picked her up and threw her onto the stage, he brushed by her and headed toward Main Street.
He wasn’t sure what the hell to do about this woman. One thing he did know. He was no fucking hero.
7
SHE COULDN’T JUST sit there and hope Sam returned soon. In fact, he’d looked so angry Reese wasn’t sure he would come back. At least not without the sheriff. She had no idea what she’d said to set him off, but he’d changed into a different man right before her eyes. His face had darkened, his fists had seemed to involuntarily clench, and his murderous glare left its mark in her queasy stomach. She replayed their last conversation twice, but still didn’t get it. If anything, she’d complimented him. He looked as if she’d slapped him across the face.
The bigger problem was now he wasn’t about to help her. She set the bonnet back in place, making sure her hair was completely tucked beneath the crisp white cotton. The blouse’s voluminous sleeves covered the gold watch, and the long skirt brushed the ground and hid her running shoes. Now if she could only remember not to lift the hem, and still stay on her feet.
Two of the horses neighed as she passed the stalls. Goliath was one of them. She knew because his stall had been empty before Hastings Barnett showed up. Reese also knew horses, and the animal was truly magnificent. She’d been given riding lessons and a sweet-natured roan for her thirteenth birthday. She’d found that she loved riding and even won several competitions.
The rigors of college and then medical school had precluded extracurricular activities, so she hadn’t ridden in years, but she still recognized an exceptional horse. She stopped to stroke the side of the bay gelding’s velvety face. He snorted and nuzzled her hand.
“I’m sorry. I wish I had an apple for you,” she said, and it took only seconds for him to lose interest. She smiled sadly. “You are beautiful. Is that what’s going to tempt Sam?”
She moved away, shaking her head. Why would Sam steal this horse? Or any horse. He seemed to have a good business here, and then there was Doc. Sam obviously cared about the man too much to up and leave him. But what did she really know about Sam? His abrupt change in attitude and manners were proof enough that she knew little of him.
At the entrance of the livery she stopped to make sure no one saw her walk out. She inched around the door frame, angling her head first, surprised to see how far they were from the actual town. Her second surprise was the large crowd on Main Street. There had to be a hundred people out there. Both men and women swarmed the boardwalks on either side of the street, some walking purposefully, others leisurely visiting or gazing into shop windows. Several little boys played tag on the street, kicking up an appalling amount of dust.
Reese studied the scene with initial dismay, but then quickly realized that a crowd could help her blend in. Yes, there were more people who might be curious about her, but if she kept her face averted and stayed close to the store-fronts, maybe she could make it to the other end of town, or Grandma Lily’s house, whichever came first.
Of course, it made more sense that it wouldn’t be in town, that it sat on the outskirts just as it did in her own time, but she had to try. She took a step into the sunlight, just as a sudden thought struck with such force she nearly ran back into the livery for cover.
The bordello. Some of the furnishings. The Currier and Ives print. There had been an undeniable familiarity. Why hadn’t the idea occurred to her before now?
Because it was silly. She shook her head, checked her bonnet and hurried toward the boardwalk a block away. The Golden Slipper was definitely located in town, while Grandma Lily’s house was situated over a mile away from the tourist trappings. The geography and street plan of Deadwood couldn’t have changed that much.
She approached a young couple carrying groceries, and quickly averted her gaze, focusing on the window of the local newspaper office. They might have a list of residents. She couldn’t go in and ask, but maybe Doc would be sober enough later to help out. Maybe even Sam would have cooled off. That last incident still puzzled her, but she couldn’t dwell on Sam. One tiny mistake and she could end up in the sheriff’s office.
After passing the barbershop, the telegraph office and a shop advertising laundry service, she recognized the alley where she’d hidden yesterday. Across the street were the hotel, saloon and general store. She felt her pulse race, knowing she was nearing the Golden Slipper and that horrible Margaret. Reese stopped to gather her wits, pretending interest in a yellow ruffled dress displayed in the window of a seamstress shop.
She inhaled deeply and then forced her feet to move in the direction of the bordello. Unless she crossed the street, she had to pass the place in order to see what was on the other side of town. Since leaving the boardwalk would only call attention to herself, she stayed on course and prayed no one from the Golden Slipper would recognize her.
Bawdy laughter and the cloying odor of stale tobacco and cheap booze drifted out the door. Luckily, heavy velvet drapes shuttered the windows, blocking the view of both the customers and people on the street. That was the only reason she felt safe stopping to stare at the building.
Air seemed to whoosh out of her lungs. The Golden Slipper and Grandma Lily’s house looked remarkably alike. There were obvious differences, such as the lack of a porch, but the basic architecture was the same. The off-center door, the large, triple windows, even the bay window on the left, jutting from the eat-in kitchen. She would have to step out into the middle of the street to see if the small second-story balcony existed, as well as the Victorian-style turret that was part of the attic, but she wasn’t willing to expose herself like that.
She glanced across the street and saw that people were beginning to stare curiously at her. A seemingly respectable woman standing idly outside of a bordello would naturally attract attention. She gathered her skirt, remembered the sneakers and promptly released the fabric. Before she could take a step, someone put a hand on her shoulder.
She jerked away, the reflex having more to do with the man’s foul odor than the actual touch. Spinning around, she faced him, and glared in warning. His long stringy hair hadn’t been washed in weeks, and his wild reddish beard looked as if it hid an army of roaches. The two missing front teeth made for a charming grin.
Wicked amusement glinted in his watery blue eyes. “Look here, honey. My gold is as good as the next man’s.”
“Your what—? No.” She stepped back. “No. I don’t work here.”
“I like my women spirited.” Grinning, he reached out a bony hand and, through the cotton, pinched her right nipple.
She gasped and stumbled backward. “You stupid son of a bitch. Touch me again and I’ll break your damn hand.”
The older man chuckled and took a silver dollar out of his pocket. “Yep, you’ll do just fine.”
He made another move for her, and loath as she was to touch him, she grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back until he yelped. She’d taken several self-defense classes and had done some kickboxing as an undergrad, but she backed off, not wanting to draw any more attention.
“Why, you little bitch.” The man turned toward her with a meanness that alarmed her, and she drew back her arm, ready to lay him out.
Someone stopped her with a hand on her forearm and another at her waist. She twisted around, to be drawn against Sam’s broad chest. His grip on her arm tightened in silent reproach before his gaze went to her assailant.
“Old man, you best not be bothering my wife,” he said in a quiet but stern voice.
“Your wife?” The
man narrowed his gaze at Reese. “She ought not be idling alone in front of Margaret’s place like a common—”
“Mister,” Sam interrupted, in that low warning voice that brooked no argument.
Reese opened her mouth to have her say, but Sam glared down at her. “Honey, shut up,” he said, and pressed his warm, firm lips to hers.
She whimpered deep in the back of her throat, but he got his way. She couldn’t have said anything if she wanted to.
Abruptly, he released her. The bearded man had already disappeared. Sam pulled his hat lower over his eyes, and with one arm around her waist, steered her back in the direction of the livery.
Remarkably, there didn’t seem to be many people on this side of the boardwalk. They tended to gather closer to the general store and the saloon. She didn’t kid herself, though. Several people had seen the commotion, but Sam had been careful to keep his voice low so that no one but the old miner could’ve heard his claim.
Still, being seen with her was enough to get him in trouble, probably the reason he promptly released her. She didn’t argue with his forcefulness, just stayed by his side and kept walking. As much as she hated guns, she hated more that the other man had one and Sam didn’t. If anything had happened to him because of her…
She shivered at the thought and wrapped her arms around herself. But it wasn’t cold, far from it. The morning chill had given way to a sticky heat. That was partly due to the massive amount of clothes a woman was expected to wear, with barely any skin showing. It made her wonder how many people had died of heatstroke back in early times.
Then again, maybe the heat flash had more to do with the kiss. Ridiculous, because as far as kisses went the encounter had been brief and quite chaste. Mentally reliving the feel of Sam’s lips against hers would last far longer. Reese swallowed. One lousy kiss meant only to shut her up. She had no business reacting, or giving it another second’s thought. Especially not with the danger she was in.