Her brows drew together in a delicate frown. “If you hold this, I’ll bring the stool to set the bowl on.”
“What? Oh, sorry.” He took the bowl from her, the aroma from the broth drifting up to his nose, and making his stomach growl loudly.
Rebecca turned away, but not before he saw her smile. “Kitty brought me biscuits for breakfast. If you think your belly will take it, you can dunk them in the broth.” She set the stool in front of him, and then brought him a small cloth-wrapped bundle.
Her gaze lowered to his chest, and she quickly looked away. He’d forgotten he wasn’t wearing a shirt, though there wasn’t much he could do about it.
“I assume there’s a store in town.” He picked up the spoon, suddenly famished. “Where I can buy a new shirt?”
She blinked. “I don’t expect the general store sells readymade shirts.”
He spooned some broth into his mouth, surprised at how tasty it was, and did everything he could not to pick up the bowl and slurp down the whole thing in one gulp. She unwrapped the cloth napkin for him and offered the two biscuits. He eagerly took one, not caring that it was as hard as a rock, and dunked it into the broth. It softened some, but he was too impatient to wait and bit into the firm little puck.
“Don’t eat too fast,” Rebecca cautioned with a gentle hand on his arm. “You need to keep the food down.”
He nodded, his gaze lingering on her tiny wrist and hand. As fragile as she seemed, her hands were working hands, with small nicks and faded scars on the backs of her knuckles. Made him wonder about the scar he’d seen on her wrist, concealed now by her cuff.
She quickly withdrew, hiding her hands in the folds of her skirt. “Kitty should be back soon,” she said unnecessarily, and then moistened her lips. “She’ll take you to the saloon.”
“Why?” He set down the spoon.
“There’s no room here.”
“No, I mean, why Kitty? Why not you?”
Rebecca’s gaze went to the window, fear haunting her face. “I have to stay with Mr. Otis.”
“Do you know him?”
She glanced over her shoulder at the unconscious man lying in the corner, and shook her head.
“Kitty knows him. Let her stay.” He was being totally selfish, he knew, but he didn’t want to leave Rebecca. He didn’t want her to leave him.
She wrung her hands together, her gaze nervously darting around the room. “You’ll have to wear your stained shirt for now but it’s clean. I can make you another one. If Kitty will get me some fabric, I’ll start this afternoon.”
“Rebecca.” He set the bowl down on the stool, half the biscuit still floating in the broth. “What’s wrong?” He started to reach for her but she looked so distraught, he stopped himself. The last thing he wanted to do was spook her. “Did I say something wrong?”
She visibly swallowed. “No. I don’t like going to the saloon.” She stared down at the bowl. “You have to eat. Get strong. Leave this town as fast as you can.”
The quiet desperation in her voice really got to him. “Why?”
She bit her lip. “Kitty says I talk too much.”
He smiled. “Right.”
Distrust lurked in the depths of her eyes, but damned if he knew how he earned that. “You smiled,” she said softly, and he realized it wasn’t distrust but surprise.
“I did.”
“I like your smile. It’s nice.” She was an interesting contradiction. Strong as steel one minute, and childlike the next.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
Pretty young, although he’d guessed younger. Maybe because she was so tiny. “You have family here?”
“No.” Abruptly she turned away and began folding rags from a heap on the dresser. “You must eat.”
He got the hint. No more personal questions. Fine. He had more important ones. He picked up the spoon, scooped up some of the soggy biscuit and shoveled it into his mouth. “I smelled coffee earlier. Any left?”
“I put the kettle back on the fire. The coffee should be hot soon.”
“What do you people have against microwaves?”
Rebecca stopped folding and frowned at him.
“Right. You don’t know what a car or truck or microwave is.” His annoyance ebbed when he saw the hurt in her eyes. Apparently she had no trouble understanding sarcasm. “What is that?” he asked, nudging his chin at what looked like a pamphlet that had been hidden under the pile of rags.
She followed his gaze, and when she saw what he was looking at, sighed. “It’s Kitty’s. She wants me to learn about society.” Rebecca slightly stumbled over the word, as though it were foreign to her.
That alone drew Jake’s interest. He’d only wanted to change the subject, but he stared at the thin publication that looked like a magazine supplement. His pulse picked up speed. If Kitty was concerned about Rebecca learning about society, that supported his theory that this was a cloistered religious sect or cult. Maybe that’s why Rebecca had urged him to leave here as fast as he could. Maybe she wanted to go with him.
“May I see it?” he asked casually.
Rebecca giggled. “It’s for ladies.”
Jake smiled. “I know.”
She hesitated, and then passed it to him, her cheeks turning pink. “I’ll get the coffee.”
The publication consisted of one large sheet folded in half to make four pages. The printing was crude, and the title read Home Journal. Published in 1877.
Jake blinked, thinking, hoping he wasn’t seeing clearly, but his vision was just fine. Okay, so the periodical looked new and in good shape, but that didn’t mean it didn’t belong to a collector.
He scanned the small room, his heart pounding faster as he absorbed small details like the shelf of castor oil and two bottles labeled calomel and jalap, a package of mustard plaster, and for the first time he really got it. This wasn’t a modern-day religious sect, or even an elaborate hoax.
Someway, somehow, he’d fallen through a wormhole, or a portal or a nightmare, and had spiraled through time, ending up in 1877 Texas, one of the worst periods in Ranger history.
The thought chilled him.
6
JAKE SQUINTED as the brisk air blew down Main Street and stung his face. The town wasn’t much. A two-story hotel butted up to the saloon which took up the entire corner of the dirt street. Three other rickety wooden buildings Jake couldn’t identify separated the general store and telegraph office from a rambling white clapboard structure that Kitty pointed out as Isabella’s boardinghouse.
Even if Jake wanted to deny the mounting evidence that he had somehow crossed a time barrier, the pungent earthy smells hovering over the dreary town would undercut his rebuttal. Good thing he had a strong stomach.
They stepped from the sagging, creaky boardwalk into the street, Rebecca supporting Jake on the right, while Kitty stayed close on his left. The light meal he’d eaten had revived him considerably, and he didn’t need the help, but for Rebecca’s sake, he said nothing. Clearly, she hadn’t wanted to leave Doc Davis’s place, and although she tried to hide her fear, Jake felt the tension radiating from her body.
A man approached on horseback, not bothering to slow down as he passed, and left them in a wake of dust. Kitty sputtered and swore. Man, she had a mouth on her.
In front of the saloon, Kitty stopped to dust herself off and fix her upswept hair. Rebecca clung tighter to his arm, and stared warily at a pair of geldings tied to a hitching rail.
Kitty apparently sensed her apprehension, and said, ”That roan belongs to Will Stevens, a boy that works for Otis. He’s probably hanging around to find out how his boss is doing.” She shook her head. “But I don’t reckon Doc is going to know anything until tomorrow. As far as the other horse, I don’t know who it belongs to, but it’s okay, honey. It’s early. The saloon’s quiet.”
Rebecca didn’t reply, just straightened her spine and lifted her chin.
Damn, Jake hated depending on
them, or anyone. He’d checked his pocket, and his wallet and cash were still there, but his currency meant nothing. Not in 1877. He still couldn’t believe this was happening. What was worse, being crazy, or getting sucked back into time? The jury was still out on that one.
“Wait,” he said just as Kitty was about to push open the swinging saloon doors. “This woman who runs the boardinghouse, you think she might let me stay there in exchange for doing some work around the place?”
Kitty’s brows raised in surprise. “Sugar, you’re not well enough to be doing much of anything. Anyway, Isabella’s all full up. Come the end of the week, the hotel will be, too. Word is that we got some railroad men coming.” She looked apologetically at Rebecca. “We’ll all be mighty busy then.”
Rebecca made a small sound of distress that Kitty either didn’t hear or chose to ignore, as she guided them through the doors of the saloon.
Jake found Rebecca’s hand and gave it a light squeeze. He felt like crap for putting her through this. He wasn’t sure what was going on with her, and he’d been too wrapped up in his own problem to pay much attention. But he had a feeling her fear had a lot to do with the Rangers.
Which really killed him. Modern Rangers were held in high esteem. They were an elite few, the cream that rose to the top. Not only were hundreds of applicants turned down each year, most of them were well-qualified applicants. To be a Texas Ranger really meant something. But he was also aware of the agency’s tarnished history. Corruption and brutality had blemished their name for a brief stint in time. Just his luck that’s where he ended up.
They stepped into the dimly lit saloon, crowded with wooden tables and empty chairs, and on one wall, an oil painting of a half-naked woman. At the back was a staircase leading to a balcony and a series of doors. Only three people were in the place, the bald bartender and two customers sitting at the bar, all of whom turned their way as soon as they came through the swinging door. The disinterested bartender went back to polishing a glass. One of the two cowboys stared anxiously at Kitty while slowly pulling off his hat.
She shook her head at him. “Sorry, Will, nothing yet,” she told the tall lanky kid not quite out of his teens. “I reckon Doc Davis will know something tomorrow.”
As if to hide his grief-stricken face, he abruptly went back to his beer.
The second cowboy really pissed Jake off. The older man turned away from the bar and leaned back against it, elbows up while insolently checking out Rebecca. His mouth curved in a lewd smile and he made a kissing sound as they passed him.
She tensed, and Jake jerked away from the women, intent on facing the bastard. Kitty quickly grabbed his arm, the back of her wrist jabbing against his ribs. Pain shot through him. He struggled to catch his breath, doing everything in his power to keep from doubling over.
“What’s wrong with you?” she snarled, and hurried them past the piano toward the stairs. “You start chasing away customers, and Captain Wade will put a bullet right between those pretty blue eyes of yours.”
Jake muttered a curse. From the pain. But mostly from feeling so damn helpless. He knew his ribs weren’t broken, but they were badly bruised. He didn’t care, because he knew he’d heal, but he was useless to Rebecca. Unless he could get his hands on a gun.
She looped an arm through his. “Once we get upstairs, you can stay there,” she said, her voice soft and pleading. “No one will bother you.”
“I’m not worried about me.”
Rebecca’s eyes remained carefully noncommittal as they met his. “You need to rest.”
“Come on, you two. Get your asses upstairs.” The usually unflappable Kitty seemed agitated. “I’ll be up after I grab a bottle of whiskey. Rebecca, you know which room.”
She picked up her skirt so that the hem cleared the stairs, and promptly took the lead with remarkable agility. Jake still smarted from the jab to his ribs and had to use the handrail, but he wasn’t in so much pain that he didn’t notice her slim ankles and the sexy curve of her calf.
“So, that’s him.” The unfamiliar feminine voice came from the balcony.
Jake looked up to see three women in various stages of undress, leaning over the railing, sizing him up. The one with the dark hair, olive skin and abundant cleavage flashed him a flirtatious grin. “You can stay in my room, amante,” she said with a slight Spanish accent. “Lola will take very good care of you.”
The other two blond women laughed. They all seemed to be in their midtwenties, but it was hard to tell for sure with the heavy black makeup around their eyes and their garishly red tinted lips.
“Ruby, did ya get those sheets changed?” Kitty had already made it to the end of the bar, where the bartender had set down a bottle of booze and a couple of glasses.
The taller, thinner blonde, wearing what Jake assumed were bloomers and a corset, twirled a long tendril of hair around her finger. “Yes, ma’am, I did.” She winked at Jake, and then switched her attention to the men at the bar. “You boys gonna drink all day, or you wanna come up and visit me and Trixie.”
Jake didn’t see the men’s reaction, but they apparently weren’t interested because Ruby shrugged and leaned one hip against the rail while she watched Rebecca lead Jake to the second door.
“When you get better, you come see me,” the blonde said. “I’m the fifth door.” She gave him a bored smile, sashayed to the end of the balcony and then disappeared behind the designated door.
Five doors, five women. His insides coiling like a spring, he looked at Rebecca. She kept her face averted, but he saw her hand tremble as she turned the doorknob. So it hadn’t been the morphine confusing him, and Corbin hadn’t been blowing smoke when he’d called Rebecca a whore. Damn.
REBECCA HADN’T BEEN in her room for over a week. Not that she even considered it her room. She’d only used it for three nights after the Rangers had first brought her to Diablo Flats. Nothing here belonged to her. Not the hard narrow bed, or small dresser missing a drawer, or the washbasin and towels. She didn’t even own the hairbrush or borrowed red dress draped over the poorly made oak stool.
Even the dress on her back belonged to Trixie, who was two inches taller and ten pounds heavier. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a pair of unmentionables hanging on the back of the door. Mortified, she quickly snatched the ruffled white pantalets off the hook and balled them up behind her back before Jake could see them.
“Who does this room belong to?” he asked, his gaze going to the chamber pot shoved halfway under the bed, before returning to her face. He looked disappointed, almost as if he’d already passed judgment over an answer she’d not yet given.
She took a deep breath. “No one.” She wasn’t lying. Not really.
“Who does that dress belong to?”
“Trixie.”
He seemed surprised. “But this isn’t her room.”
Rebecca shook her head. “I’ll fetch some water,” she said, scooping the dress off the stool. “Cook is making beans and cornbread for supper, but if you’re still hungry I’ll check if there’s more biscuits and broth.”
“Rebecca.”
She tried to move past him to the door but he blocked her way. She stared at the floor. “I won’t be long.”
“I’m not judging you.”
That made her look up. “I don’t understand.”
“I know what you do. How you make your living. I imagine it’s difficult being a woman alone here.”
Their eyes met, briefly, and then she had to look away. He could deny his disappointment but she saw it lurking in his eyes. He didn’t understand her situation, how she’d ended up in this hellhole, but to explain to him would make everything worse. If he knew where she’d been, what she’d done, he’d hate her. He’d push her as far away as he could.
He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
She couldn’t speak. How could he be so kind? How could there be tenderness in his eyes when he kne
w what she was?
Kitty had warned her. Men treated whores differently than other women, some men even treated their horses better than they did a whore. But not Jake…he was kind and gentle and…
Oh, God. The sting of tears pricked the back of Rebecca’s eyes. She quickly lowered her lids, but it was too late. Jake used his thumb to wipe away the moisture that seeped from the corner.
“Ah, Rebecca, am I making you cry?”
She shook her head. “I’m not crying,” she whispered, her voice thin and uncertain.
“Okay.” He smiled. And then he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. Lightly, as light as the wings of a butterfly.
To her amazement, she leaned toward him, her entire body responding to the gentle kiss. She hadn’t even known she’d moved until she found her palms flat against his chest and the heels of her boots off the floor. He slanted his head ever so slightly, his lips parting. Rebecca strained a bit higher, her sudden eagerness sending a tingle down to her toes. She felt her own lips parting, her eyes drifting closed.
Her boldness shocked her. Shamed her to her core. She stumbled backward, and in her haste, shoved him away harder than she’d intended. Without looking at his face, she hastened out the door. Jake was a decent man, like none she’d ever met. She’d been made a whore, and he hadn’t judged her for it. But how forgiving would he be if he learned she’d been an Indian’s whore?
KITTY SET the tray of whiskey and beer on the table to pass out to the three men. Impatient as always, Corbin picked up a shot off the tray, brought it to his lips and threw his head back. Some of the liquor, along with half his supper, ended up in his shaggy beard. He was a revolting pig, and she could barely stand to set eyes on him anymore.
Bart and Moses exchanged looks of disgust, but neither man said anything. They left Corbin alone when Wade wasn’t around to keep tempers from burning too hot. He didn’t even have to try. Nobody crossed Wade, plain and simple. Even when Corbin was drunk, he had enough sense to keep his mouth shut when the boss was around.
Lone Star Lover Page 6