A Tumble Through Time

by Hutton, Callie

  “I’ll pay.”

  Anna shook her head furiously. “No. I can’t let you do that.” Lord, what would the desk clerk think? In this time period, she would be marked a fallen woman. Not that she planned to stick around long enough to worry about her reputation, but it grated to have a man—this man—rescuing her.

  “Look, Miss Devlin. If you were a man, I could arrest you for vagrancy. You have no money, no place to live, no job.” Wes hooked his thumbs in his pockets, his fingers resting right above the belt slung low on his hips, and glared at her. “At least none that makes sense, anyway.” He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Since you’re a woman, I don’t like the idea of throwing you into jail, so this is my way of locking you up until you think of a plan.” When she continued to shake her head, he added, “The town will pay.”

  She studied him as she chewed her lip and fiddled with the ring on her finger. He had a point. One look at that jail back there, and she knew it wasn’t a place she wanted to spend any time. This was not what she considered comfortable, either, but better than the jail. She looked around the lobby of the hotel. The Holiday Inn, it wasn’t. Probably didn’t even have indoor plumbing. She frowned. Of course not. She’d have to use an outhouse. Or worse yet, a chamber pot. Gross.

  “All right. But,” she gave him another poke in the chest, the cuffs of his large shirt covering her entire hand, “I need a job, and you can give one to me.”

  Wes backed away. “Oh, no. Don’t start that bounty hunter stuff again.”

  Anna drew herself up. “I’m good at my job. Despite what you think, I’m a trained police officer.”

  He flashed her that lazy grin. “And I’m president of the United States.” With a firm hand on her shoulder, he led her to the desk. “Got that room, Charlie?”

  The man held out a key, never glancing up from his newspaper. “Seventeen.”

  Wes nodded at the clerk and took the key. “Here you go. Stay out of trouble, and I’ll stop by in the morning. See how you’re gettin’ along.” He tugged the brim of his hat, and left Anna standing there, mouth agape.

  Within two seconds he returned. “I’ll tell Flossie at the café you can take your meals there, until . . .” With a shrug, he turned and left.

  Well, damn it to hell. What was she supposed to do now? Live off the marshal’s dime? And how was she going to find her way home, and her hearing?

  “Oh, by the way.” He was back again. Maybe she should just invite him to her room. She flushed at that image, and shoved it permanently to the back of her mind.

  “I’ll have Sadie at the mercantile send you over something else to wear. Can’t have you parading around dressed like that. I like to keep a peaceful town.” Once more he tugged on his hat, then strode to the door, slamming it as he left.

  Anna counted to ten, waiting for him to make yet another appearance. When she saw him through the plate glass window crossing the street and heading toward the café, she suddenly felt a bit lost.

  “Seventeen.” She grasped the heavy iron key in her fist and headed up the stairs.

  Assuring himself Anna would be decently fed and clothed, Wes made the rounds of some of the businesses in town, then returned to the jailhouse. Leaning back in his chair, he rested his scuffed boots on the desk, his mind filled with thoughts of Denton’s newest resident.

  Something was off about her. Her clothes, her insistence that she lived among the Indians to the south. According to Slug, she’d appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the prairie. But the most alarming fact, the one that had his pulse racing and his stomach clenching, was his attraction to her. She stirred feelings in him dead for a long, long time. Things he didn’t want to feel, didn’t deserve to have.

  He’d stay away from her. Most likely she’d be gone in the morning, anyway. She didn’t seem the snake oil type, but you never knew. Women generally didn’t wander around Kansas on their own, what with the cowtowns’ rampages when the boys were in town, and stagecoach holdups on the rise. Most likely Anna had a partner who would sweep into town and the two would hit the next place down the road for whatever nefarious purposes they cooked up.

  Wes dropped his feet to the floor and opened his bottom drawer, once more perusing the stack of ‘wanted’ posters. Maybe he’d see Anna here, and then could legitimately haul her into jail until the circuit judge came around.

  After a half hour of gazing at one ugly face after another, he pushed the pile aside. The only woman in the batch was about thirty years older, and missing most of her teeth.

  “Evenin’, marshal.”

  He gripped for his gun, his heart speeding up.

  “My goodness, did I startle you?” Laura Martin stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. She wore a green and white striped dress, with a matching green ribbon around her straw bonnet, tied under her chin with a perky bow. She was all brightness and light.

  And she scared him half to death.

  Wes raised a shaky hand to smooth his hair back, and took deep breaths to calm his racing heart. “Yes, I’m afraid you did, Miss Martin. Sorry, I was deep in thought.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then with a wide smile approached his desk. “I thought I’d bring you some supper, since I know eating at the café all the time must get tiresome.”

  For the first time he noticed the picnic basket draped over her arm, a red and white checked napkin peeking out. Right now if he tried to swallow food, it would stick in his throat like a wad of cotton. He had to get himself under control.

  “Well, thank you very much, ma’am. I appreciate it.” Good. His voice sounded normal, not like the skittish coward he’d become.

  “Shall I spread it out here on the desk?”

  Oh Lord, she was going to watch him eat? “Sure. That would be fine.”

  Laura kept up a running dialog while she set out two plates, napkins and silverware. “This is my best recipe. Fried chicken. Why, my mama says I make the best fried chicken in all of Kansas.” She beamed at him, waiting for his nod of approval. Which he granted.

  By the time she had the chicken, cornbread, snapped green beans, oatmeal cookies, and a large jar of lemonade set out before them, Wes’s body had calmed and he felt the first stirrings of hunger. Laura was such a sweet girl, but not for him. Overwhelmed with guilt since the worst morning of his life, the darkness shrouding him would suck up her spirit in no time, destroying all that was good in her.

  “There’s a dance Saturday night at the church.” Laura wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked expectantly at him.

  How to get out of this one? “Is that right? I guess I’ll probably miss it since I have to keep an eye on things.”

  “Now, marshal. You need some relaxation. A night of dancin’ and fun is just the thing.” She peeked at him from underneath full, dark eyelashes; two bright spots of red appeared on her pretty face.

  Still not quite ready to take that step, he didn’t want to encourage her, but letting her down wasn’t going to be easy. “Maybe some other time, Miss Martin. Saturdays are especially noisy. I need to assure everyone has a good time at the dance, not worry about trouble. But I’m sure you’ll not lack for dance partners.” He gave her what he hoped was a genuine smile.

  “Yes, well, maybe the next time.” A true lady, she recovered quickly, and went on to talk about other events in the town. Soon she packed up the remnants from the supper, and gathered her belongings.

  Wes took her hand before she left. “Thank you very much for the supper, Miss Martin. Your mama is right, you make the best fried chicken in Kansas.”

  Laura smiled brightly. “You’re welcome.” She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something else, then dipped her head and left, closing the door softly behind her. Wes returned to his chair and leaned back, blowing out a large breath.

  Will I ever be normal again?

  Anna opened her eyes, rolled over on the hard mattress and groaned. It hadn’t been a dream. She was really stuck in the nineteenth century. Everything
in her expensive college-educated brain told her it was impossible, but nevertheless, here she was. And with no idea where the hell the ‘magic’ chair was that could get her back.

  Despite Wes telling her to take her meals at the café, she’d skipped dinner, unwilling to face what her brain fought so hard against. Shortly after sunset the evening before, a young girl had arrived at her door with a blue and white print dress over her arm. She’d blushed as she handed it to her, along with a pair of drawers, cotton stockings, a chemise, and a corset. Anna had giggled as she examined the cotton corset. Old-fashioned underwear was not exactly her bosom buddy. She’d groaned at the pun.

  Even though her attire was very unorthodox for the time period, the thought of putting on that long, hot dress had been the deciding factor for hiding in the hotel room. That, and fear of running into the marshal again. Furthermore, no way on earth would she squeeze herself into any corset not from the scented racks of Victoria’s Secret. For goodness’ sake, her own mother had stood on the courthouse steps and burned her bra during an ERA protest.

  But her appetite had returned full force this morning, encouraging her to relent, though she ditched the underwear and put on her panties that she’d rinsed out in the wash bowl provided by the hotel. Skipping her morning shower sucked. Well, when in Rome . . .

  A half hour later she entered the café, buzzing with morning diners. Mostly men, and mostly dressed as if they were heading off to tend to the cows. What exactly did people do in the eighteen seventies? The Civil War had ended five years ago, Oklahoma wouldn’t be opened up to settlers for another nineteen years, and if her history lessons had stuck, the Chisholm Trail was very active, bringing all sorts of crime with very little punishment to Kansas cowtowns.

  “Mornin’, Miss Devlin.” An older woman with steel gray curls that seemed cemented to her head greeted Anna. “The marshal said you’d been comin’ in for meals.”

  “Yes. Good morning to you, too.” Anna followed the plump woman to the back of the restaurant. Thank goodness hoop skirts had already gone out of fashion. She didn’t think she could deal with that obstacle.

  “My name’s Flossie. You can park it there,” the woman gestured to a table in the corner, “and I’ll bring ya some coffee.” She stopped and narrowed her eyes at Anna. “Unless yore one of them tea drinkers?” She made it sound like a hanging offense.

  “No. Coffee is fine. Thank you.” Anna smoothed her skirt over her bottom and sat, feeling foolish dressed like this, but excited at the same time. If this was real, she was getting a look at what people were really like in the old west. Smelly. Dirty. Missing teeth. Men covered with facial hair. Now that she thought about it, the marshal didn’t have what seemed to be the requisite handlebar mustache or beard.

  Almost as if her thoughts could conjure up the man, the door opened and Wes entered the room. He glanced around and headed straight for her. Why was her heart speeding up? Yes, he was hot. But he’d already been dead a hundred years or more in her time. As she took in his long, lanky stride, his lips tilted in that sexy grin, he sure as hell didn’t look dead now. Her brain ordered her body to behave.

  “Mornin’, Miss Devlin.” He took off his hat, tempting her fingers to run through the brown wavy hair that fell over his forehead. Wes pulled out the chair across from her, and nodded at Flossie as she set two cups in front of them.

  “Mornin’, marshal.” She grinned at him. “The usual?”

  “Absolutely.” He eyed Anna. “You order yet?”

  “Nope.” She turned to Flossie. “Do you have biscuits and gravy?”

  “Sure do. House specialty.” The woman swiped the table with a dirty cloth, then waddled off.

  Well, that’s sanitary. No wonder they died young. She turned her attention to Wes, who studied her carefully.

  “Has your memory returned?” He heaped several teaspoons of sugar into his coffee and stirred.

  “There isn’t anything wrong with my memory.” She took a sip of the coffee and almost spewed it across the table. What the hell did they put in this? No wonder Wes had drowned it with sugar. Anna eased the cup back down and slid it away with one finger.

  “Let me put it another way. Did you figure out where ‘home’ is?”

  Anna crossed her arms and leaned on the table. “I know precisely where my home is.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m beginning to believe you can’t get there from here.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

  “Amazingly enough, yes.”

  “What will you do now?”

  She shrugged. “Get a job.”

  “Where? What can you do?”

  The man was as thick as the coffee she just pushed aside. “I told you what I do.”

  Wes blew on his coffee. “No.”

  “Why not?” Anna impatiently tapped the table with her spoon.

  He nodded at Flossie as she set two plates in front of them. “Thanks.”

  Anna poked at her breakfast with the fork. Hopefully this wouldn’t be as bad as the coffee. She cut off a piece and gingerly raised it to her mouth. And groaned. It was the most delicious biscuits and gravy she’d ever tasted. They must have used a pound of butter and a quart of heavy cream in each serving. Paula Deen would be proud. And her own thighs would grow inches with each bite.

  She closed her eyes as she savored another taste. Running her tongue around her lips, she peered at Wes, and all her blood froze, then raced around her body like the Indy 500. He stared at her open-mouthed, his fork halfway to his lips. His eyes had glazed over, and she swore his breathing had picked up.

  Her own fork clattered to the table. The last time a man had looked at her like that, they’d spent the following twenty-four hours practicing gymnastic moves in bed. “What?” Her voice resembled a frog’s.

  Wes shook his head as if to clear it. “Nothing.”

  They finished their meal in silence as Anna continued to soak up the atmosphere. No John Wayne movie or history book could have prepared her for the reality of the eighteen hundreds. People were much thinner, almost wiry. Several women sported pock marks from childhood diseases. Teeth were not well cared for, and deodorant was obviously not a big seller. Soap, either.

  And the dimness. Without electric lighting, the large windows provided the only light. Oil lamps stood in the center of each table, which were probably only lit after darkness had descended. Clothes were serviceable, not stylish.

  But despite it all, people were still people. They worked, played, reproduced, socialized, and lived their lives much like the twenty-first century.

  “Are you really not going to give me a job?” Anna scraped her plate and sucked in the last of the gravy.

  “No. Bounty hunting is not a woman’s job.”

  “It is where I come from.”

  “Among the Indians?”

  Anna stood. Dealing with men in her own time was hard enough, but more than a hundred years before the ERA, it was impossible. Women couldn’t even vote at this point. “Thank you for the breakfast. I’ll be on my way now.” She swept past him, her head high.

  “Where you headed?”

  “Where do you suppose?” She swung around and scowled at him. “I have to find a job.”

  For the next few days, Wes stayed as far away from Anna Devlin as he could. He’d checked on her by stopping at the hotel to make sure she was still in town. Why he cared, he didn’t want to dwell on. If she took off, it would be the best thing for him, and he suspected, the town as well. He still wasn’t convinced she didn’t have some dishonest reason for being here.

  As the sun sank behind the buildings, he snatched his hat from the hook by the marshal’s office door and headed to the saloon. Although he wasn’t much of a drinker or gambler, the company helped on those days when he felt unsettled, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts.

  From about half a mile away, he could hear music and shouting from The Next Stop Saloon echoing off the buildings. Some of the cowboys must’ve gotten paid a
nd were drinking and gambling their money away. Hopefully it would remain a peaceful night. Wes checked the gun at his side, as he did numerous times a day.

  The boardwalk was deserted, every decent person behind locked doors, eating supper and dealing with families. A lady of the night staggered away from the saloon on the arm of a bear of a man. He recognized her as Bertha Sinclair, just another of the women in Denton without a man, trying to make a living. His stomach tensed. He never did determine what sort of work Anna had ended up doing. Tomorrow he would make it a point to find out. Only to assure himself it was something honest.

  Wes pushed the batwing doors open and came to an abrupt halt. Anna stood in the middle of the room, wearing the scanty red satin dress of a saloon girl, her hands on her hips, glaring at a dusty cowboy with his arm slung over her shoulder. “You keep your hands off me, mister, or I’ll flatten you.”

  Chapter Four

  Wes groaned as he strode into the room, headed for the confrontation. Then to his amazement, Anna spun into action and all hell broke loose.

  That little slip of a woman stomped on the cowboy’s foot, then fisted her hands together and elbowed him in the stomach. With the heel of her hand she smashed his nose as she brought her knee up to his groin with a vengeance. Every male in the room, Wes included, winced at the last movement.

  The man dropped to his knees, all the blood leaving his face. He gripped his privates and with a groan, fell face-first onto the floor, curling into a ball. All sound, including the tinny piano, had ceased.

  What in tarnation did she just do?

  Her breasts heaving, threatening to spring from the low-cut bodice of the satin dress, Anna stared down at the hapless man, her hands resting on her hips. “I warned you.”

  Jake Stewart, the bar owner, scooted around the counter and confronted Anna. “You’re fired.”

  “Fired?” She glared at him, open-mouthed.

  “That’s right. I don’t want to get a reputation of my girls beating up the customers.”