One-Click Buy: March 2009 Harlequin Blaze

by Alison Kent

“Not a damn thing.” Chester snorted. “Must have been expecting Margaret to buy her a wardrobe. Ask me, Margaret’s better off without her.” He shook his head. “Some of them whores from back East, they’re just more trouble than they’re worth.”

  Sam nodded in mock agreement, glad he had some time to think when the man went to refill another glass. Reese had come with nothing, which suited the story she told of traveling from another time. Hard to believe as it was, pieces of the puzzle fit together like nothing else did. Trouble was, if she hadn’t brought anything with her, what the hell was he supposed to be looking for?

  Whatever it was, it plainly wasn’t to be found. She’d left nothing behind, and he knew for a fact this place had always been the Golden Slipper, from the time it was nothing but a few sticks in the ground.

  He saw Margaret at the top of the stairs, trailed by a tall, big-bosomed redhead. Sam swore to himself at the same time the thought flashed in his mind that he might do well to get some relief. He started growing hard just thinking about the softness of Reese’s golden skin, how her hips curved just like a woman’s ought to. But Margaret’s whore was a little young for his tastes. She barely looked eighteen.

  She also wasn’t Reese. The unexpected notion shook him all the way down to his boots. The woman was gonna be the death of him. He gulped down the rest of his whiskey and pushed back from the bar.

  Lucky for him, two men stopped Margaret and the redhead at the foot of the stairs. The interruption granted him enough time to leave without causing a ruckus. Chester was at the end of the bar, and on his way to the door, acting on a sudden impulse, Sam asked, “What’s Margaret’s last name?”

  Chester eyed him as if he’d had one too many whiskeys. “Winslow,” he said. “Margaret Winslow.”

  SHE SHOULDN’T HAVE SENT him to the Golden Slipper. It had been a mistake. A huge mistake. Reese paced the length of the livery, stopping to pat Diablo’s velvety nose, taking a deep calming breath and hoping to dispel some of the nervous energy that had her so keyed up she couldn’t keep still. As she’d done every five minutes for the past hour, she edged her way to the entrance of the livery, and cautiously poked her head out far enough to check for any sign of Sam.

  Nothing.

  She should have found a way to sneak into the Golden Slipper and look for the book herself. If he found it, he’d probably look at it. He liked books. He’d be curious. And then he’d see his own picture, of him dead, propped up in a pine box. Oh, God. She couldn’t imagine his horror. What had she been thinking?

  Well, she hadn’t been thinking. That was part of the problem. Her mind was a muddled mess, bouncing from one thought to the next. She needed sleep and a decent meal. And what she wouldn’t give for a real bath.

  However, none of those comforts would help determine one vital decision she faced. If suddenly given the magic key, could she leave, knowing Sam was destined to hang? Could she return to the future and not torture herself over his fate? What happened now, or next week for that matter, was already history, she’d tried to reason with herself.

  The possibility also existed that he deserved to hang. He’d frightened her twice now. Right before her eyes she’d seen him change from a soft-spoken, thoughtful man to one who seemed as if he’d just as soon spit on her than help her to her feet. So why wasn’t she still frightened of him? Why did her heart thud with sick panic over his safety?

  Maybe she’d been brought here to save him. The thought had occurred to her more than once. If she didn’t fight the reality of actually being here, then perhaps she needed to consider the reason for her circumstances. Except giving in to lunacy wasn’t that easy.

  Shaking her head, she resumed pacing and noted the stiffness in her neck. What was keeping him so long? Stupid question. The Golden Slipper was a brothel, after all. And Sam was a man. He’d think nothing of sampling the wares. The mores were different here. The fact that it made her jealous was laughable. No, it was disgust, not jealousy, she told herself. Yet she’d given him the money to pay for the sex.

  She groaned loudly, startling the horses.

  There should be only one objective in her mind: getting back to the twenty-first century, where a lucrative career awaited her. Abruptly, the idea of being made up for a live broadcast sent an arrow of distaste straight through her middle.

  Her memory flashed to Sara Smith’s slick, beaming face as she held her newborn baby. Reese had enjoyed her work in the past couple of days. She’d literally saved lives. Even residency hadn’t compared to the hands-on gratification of bringing someone back from death’s door. But she’d have that same opportunity later on…in L.A. In a big, clean, modern hospital with all the latest technology. Twice a month she’d collect a nice fat paycheck. Nothing wrong with wanting it all.

  She thought about Doc’s dirty office and that pathetic shelf of castor oil and heaven only knew what else. Her stomach lurched. Even small changes could improve the survival rate of his patients. Still, there wasn’t much she could do but make suggestions and explain to him about CPR and the Heimlich maneuver and pray that he’d stay sober enough to retain the knowledge. It wasn’t as if she could forget her other life in another time and stay here. That wasn’t possible. The mere idea knotted her insides. Another idea registered. Would the decision even be hers? She pressed a shaky hand to her stomach and forced herself to breathe deeply, trying to rein in her thoughts, trying to keep from getting ahead of herself.

  Right now her goal was simple. She wanted Sam back. Here. Safe. With her.

  DOC’S HAND SHOOK SO BADLY he had to drop his blade into the basin of sudsy water or risk slitting his own throat. He angled his face to look at the reflection of his jaw. The stubble poked out worse most days, although he’d wanted to look respectable for Reese. She’d done real good helping bring Sara Smith’s baby into the world, and he aimed to buy her a restaurant-cooked supper. That is, if he could make himself look her in the eye.

  Shame and guilt bathed his skin in sweat. A deep yearning for the bottle he’d hidden under some rocks behind his office almost made him howl like an injured wolf. But he wouldn’t touch it. Not today. He wanted to keep a clear head and learn what he could from Reese. She knew things about healing he’d never heard of, and she hadn’t lost a single patient. Sam had described her outrageous claim about being from the future. Doc wanted to hear more. He wanted to discover her medical secrets. It’s what Martha would have wished.

  Just thinking about his wife stoked the urge to uncover the bottle and drown his misery. He clenched his teeth and wiped the sweat from his brow. Later. If he still wanted a drink after he talked to Reese, then so be it. For now, he could do this. Not take a drink. If only for an hour or two.

  He abandoned the razor and splashed his face with the cooling water. Things would be better if he shaved; a face without whiskers always made him feel like a new man. But he could only take one small step at a time. Might be that if he got some food in his belly, his hands wouldn’t shake so bad.

  He dried his face and hands, pulled down his cuffs and buttoned them, and then slipped on his coat and set his hat on top of his head. Too late he recalled he hadn’t combed his hair. It needed cuttin’ and tomorrow, God willin’, he’d go to the barber. Right now it was enough for him to put one foot in front of the other.

  Halfway across Main Street, he saw Sam coming from town, his strides long and quick, his face as dark as a thundercloud. Doc waited for him, wondering if his friend’s sour disposition had anything to do with a certain blond doctor of the fairer sex. He tried not to smile. Even with a head as big as a water trough and his mouth drier than a cotton ball, he knew better than to goad Sam when he was in a black mood.

  Doc waited at the entrance to the livery. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw movement near the stove. Likely it was Reese, no doubt wearing one of Martha’s dresses. Swallowing hard, he forced his thoughts away from the image. Martha would have been glad to share her clothes. She would’ve done anything for the w
oman.

  God, he wished she was here. Sharing his bed. Pressing a cool damp cloth to his forehead when the nightmares came. Martha had known everything about his past, and even when he’d forsaken himself, she’d loved him anyway.

  “Sara Smith had her baby last night,” Sam said by way of greeting. “A boy.”

  “I heard.” Doc nodded and walked with him into the livery.

  Sam stopped, frowning. “Who told you?”

  “Pete was in earlier looking for some castor oil.”

  “He say anything about Reese?”

  “Not a word.”

  Relief relaxed Sam’s features. Neither of them doubted Pete understood speaking in front of Doc was all right, but still, it had been a good test.

  “He did say that Sara hadn’t had an easy time of it,” Doc murmured, fresh shame washing over him. “Her mama had the same problem. The fifth child killed her. Hope Sara and Pete are more sensible about having too big a brood.”

  Sam’s dark gaze searched the back of the livery. “You seen her?”

  “Not yet. Where’ve you been?”

  “The Golden Slipper.”

  Doc stared in disbelief. “What the hell for?”

  The corners of Sam’s mouth twitched as he headed toward the stove and stooped to get the coffeepot. “Reckon I don’t have to explain that to you, Doc.”

  “And here I suspected you were sweet on the lady doctor.”

  Sam’s head jerked up, his eyes narrowing dangerously. He shot a look toward the back before fixing Doc with a menacing glare.

  Chuckling, he held up a placating hand. “Now, I’m certain she’s sweet on you, so why you’d find the need to go to the Golden Slipper—”

  “She sent me.”

  Doc’s amusement abruptly fled. “She sent you?”

  “Yep,” Sam assured him, with a smugness that made no sense.

  The door to the back room creaked, claiming both their attention as Reese walked out. She gave them each a quick look and blushed.

  Doc cleared his throat. Hell, he hadn’t meant for her to overhear. “Afternoon, Reese.”

  “Hello, Doc.” Her anxious gaze went to Sam.

  “You didn’t leave anything behind,” he informed her, his gaze on the coffee he poured into a cup and passed to Doc.

  “How do you know?” She moved toward them, wearing Martha’s favorite blue blouse with the eyelet trim around the collar.

  Doc stared into his murky black coffee, willing the pain and resentment away. Wouldn’t do any good to fault Reese for being here when Martha couldn’t be.

  “I asked the bartender.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe one of the women picked up something—”

  “Chester knows everything that goes on there.”

  She heaved a shaky sigh and clasped her hands together. “Did you find out anything useful?”

  “Nope.” Sam poured Reese a cup, his focus on his chore. He was holding something back. Doc wasn’t sure what was going on, but he’d known Sam for nearly half his life. He spoke as plainly as any man Doc had ever met. Not now.

  “You were gone a long time,” Reese said, with a dose of accusation in her tone. She quickly glanced down at the cup Sam had handed her, her fingers wrapped around it so tight her knuckles looked white. “Never mind.”

  Doc sipped his coffee to hide his smile, then, to break the awkward silence, said, “I reckon you’re trying to get your belongings back from the Golden Slipper.”

  She looked at Sam. “Apparently, I traveled light.”

  “I told Doc.” Sam scrubbed at his face. He looked tired, and Doc felt renewed shame over being out cold last night when young Sara needed him. “About where you say you’re from.”

  “I figured.” She met Doc’s eyes. “I know it sounds crazy. Sometimes I don’t believe it myself. But if there’s another explanation for me suddenly appearing here out of thin air, I’d love to hear it.”

  Doc considered the earnestness in her lovely green eyes. He sincerely hoped she wasn’t out of her head. She just might be the woman who could pull Sam from the pit of hell. He needed goodness and sunshine in his life, and a week ago, Doc would’ve sworn on Martha’s grave that there wasn’t a woman on God’s green earth that Sam would allow himself to feel anything toward. But these past two days Doc had seen a spark in his friend’s eyes that had never been there before.

  “You know, I believe our last conversation got interrupted. I’d still like to hear about what you did for the boy the other day,” he said, and offered her his arm. “How about I buy you a nice steak supper at the hotel?”

  Her startled gaze darted to Sam. “I’d love to discuss medicine with you but—”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Sam interjected. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  She gaped at him, her eyes blazing.

  “I thought you told the sheriff she’s a friend of mine,” Doc said, all innocence. “No harm having a quick supper.”

  “The hell you say.” Sam dumped out his coffee. “The woman is staying here.”

  Reese’s hands went to her hips. “The woman will make up her own mind.”

  Doc watched the two of them eye each other like wildcats in heat, and gleefully sipped his coffee again, suddenly not missing his whiskey at all. Now that he’d stirred the pot, no telling what would come to a boil.

  11

  DEEP DOWN Reese knew Sam was trying to protect her. Protect him and Doc, too, because if she got caught, the sheriff would want to know who’d been hiding her. Not that she’d ever breathe a word, but she understood where Sam was coming from. What she wasn’t willing to accept was that he thought he could lord it over her.

  “You know what?” She held his challenging gaze and took a couple of steps toward him to make sure he knew she wasn’t afraid of him and that she meant business. “It might be the custom here to tell a woman what to do, but in my time it doesn’t fly.”

  He frowned, and too late she realized it might also be a custom to slap a mouthy woman. But she wouldn’t back down. Not now that she’d drawn her line in the sand. Besides, she felt safe with Doc here.

  But Sam didn’t look angry. Confused, maybe. Probably wasn’t used to a woman talking back to him. Doc, on the other hand, looked as if he was enjoying himself a tad too much.

  “Lucky for you,” she continued, “I intend to be reasonable.” She shook her head at Doc. “I wouldn’t be comfortable out in public. But thank you for your offer.”

  Doc smiled. “Sam might have a point. Better we don’t have to answer any questions. I can bring some food back. I reckon you’re tired of Sam’s cooking by now.”

  “Honestly, neither of us has had time to cook or eat,” she said, and noticed Doc flush a dull red. She certainly hadn’t meant to remind him of his neglect. “You look good today, Doc,” she added softly, and reached over to squeeze his big rough hand. “I hope tonight isn’t too busy. We can have a nice chat.”

  “Monday night. Should be slow.”

  “Good.” She included Sam in her smile, and then tried to keep any hint of the ridiculous jealousy she felt out of her voice when she asked, “Do you have any money left from the Golden Slipper for our supper?”

  Wordlessly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins and a couple of gold pieces. She didn’t know the exact amount she’d given him, but he couldn’t have used much, if any. The relief she felt was silly. Made not a bit of sense. If he wanted to screw every woman in town, it was none of her business. Nor did she care. Maybe it would improve his disposition.

  Her gaze lingered on his large, callused palm, and she wondered about what kind of lover Sam would be. Was he generous? Or did he take what he wanted, quickly, without thought of pleasing his partner? Annoyed at the direction of her thoughts, she snapped her gaze to Doc.

  “I don’t know what things cost, but will that be enough for all of us?” She refused to look at Sam, even though she felt his troubled eyes burn a hole right through her.

&
nbsp; Doc chuckled. “Yes, indeed. But I’m buying. I suspect you should keep that in a safe place in case you need passage.”

  Reese sighed as she watched Doc walk toward the street. He still didn’t believe that she belonged in the future. If he did, he would understand that she didn’t need passage. She wasn’t going anywhere, unless it was through some weird time vortex. What about Sam? If he didn’t believe her, either, had he done his best to find evidence at the Golden Slipper?

  She turned to discover him watching her, his brooding expression totally unnerving. “Do you believe what I told you about where I’m from?”

  “Yes.” He said the word quietly and without hesitation.

  “What changed your mind?”

  “Margaret,” he said, “from the Golden Slipper. Her last name is also Winslow.”

  Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. “Margaret? Scary Margaret?” Reese decided she needed to sit down. “Damn.”

  Sam’s dark eyebrows shot up.

  She vaguely registered that he wasn’t accustomed to a woman using such language, and then took the only stool near the stove, her thoughts racing so fast she felt dizzy. On the bright side, the news helped validate her claim. But why did it have to be Margaret? The woman gave her the creeps.

  “Why didn’t you tell me right away?” Reese asked, watching him throw another log onto the fire.

  Crouching, he used a poker to stir the ashes and reposition the wood. “Reckon I should have.”

  That hardly answered the question, but there was little use pushing him. She stared at his strong, stubborn profile. He was a very attractive man. Obviously well-read. Why did he tie himself to this place, practically living like a hermit? She knew from Doc that Sam hadn’t been married but, had he, like Doc, lost someone he deeply cared about? Had the loss made him bitter? “Did you speak to Margaret?” she asked.

  “No point to it.”

  She stared down at the thick black goop coating the bottom of her cup, and murmured, “No, I guess not.”

  Okay, now what? At least she hadn’t imagined that the Golden Slipper looked like Grandma Lily’s house. As disgusting as the thought was, Margaret most likely was Reese’s grandmother with four or five greats in front, or possibly a distant great-aunt who’d bequeathed the home to her brother. Reese liked that possibility much better and was sticking to it.