A Tumble Through Time

by Hutton, Callie

  “Sorry, but I have work to do.” She stepped around him, but the man captured her arm.

  “Don’t rush off, girl. I have plenty of money to pay. Just tell me how much you want, and we can get down to business.”

  “How dare you!” She shifted the bundle under her arm, and with her other hand poked him in the chest. “What I want is for you to let me out that door. I’m not about to stay here to ‘get acquainted.’ Now move out of my way.”

  He gripped her arm and pulled her to him. “This will change your mind.” He brought his head down just as Anna raised her knee. He moved his lower body back, and held her at arm’s length. “No, ya don’t. I heard all about you. You’re that little wildcat. Well, I’m about to tame ya.”

  Once more he yanked her forward. Anna reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out her pistol. “Back off.” She pressed it against his chest.

  The man chuckled. “You think I believe you’d shoot me?”

  Anna moved backward, both hands on the gun. “Yes. I will shoot you if you don’t let me out that door.”

  “Do you know who I am, girl?”

  She shook her head. “Makes no difference. To me you’re just another grubby cowboy, and if you come any closer, I’ll shoot.”

  “Well, let’s just see about that.” He moved forward, and Anna continued to back up. Shooting Big Ben after he’d assaulted her and tried to kill Wes had been easy, but looking straight at this man, his eyes boring into hers, she hesitated.

  He took a quick step forward, she moved once more, and her knees hit the back of the bed. She bounced as she landed on the mattress, and the gun went off.

  “Goddammit!” The man grasped his leg and howled. “You little bitch, I’ll see you hanged for this.”

  Anna jumped up, shoved the gun into her pocket and raced for the door. Halfway down the stairs, she collided with Mr. Mason. “What the hell’s goin’ on up there?” He motioned to the top of the stairs. “I heard a gunshot.”

  “He tried to attack me.” She waved her arm in the direction of the second floor.

  “Who? What’re you talkin’ about, girlie?”

  Just then the door opened and the man limped out, holding his leg. Blood dripped from between his fingers, pooling in small spots on the floor. “That bitch shot me. I want her arrested.”

  Mr. Mason paled. “Mr. Grayson, I’m sorry.” He turned to Anna. “What the hell have you done?”

  “He tried to attack me.”

  “Take her to the marshal,” Mr. Grayson shouted. “Then get me the doctor.”

  When Mr. Mason continued to stare at him, slack-jawed, Grayson shouted. “Move, man.”

  Her boss grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the stairs.

  Anna struggled, but he held firm. “I’m gonna have to take you to the jailhouse.”

  “Aren’t you listening? He tried to attack me!” She yelled.

  “Don’t make no difference. He’s an important man in this here town, and my best customer.”

  For an older, skinny man, Mr. Mason had a lot of strength. He marched her across the street, and to the corner. No matter how many times Anna protested, he just tightened his grip and continued on. When they reached the marshal’s office, he opened the door and shoved her in.

  Anna stumbled forward, and stopped her fall by grabbing the edge of Wes’s desk with both hands. He was sitting behind the desk, writing, a stack of ‘wanted’ posters in front of him. He looked up, and sent her a quick smile. “What happened now?”

  Mr. Mason charged forward and pointed a finger at Anna. “This here girl just shot my best customer, and he wants her arrested.”

  Chapter Nine

  As Wes’s smile faded, he dropped his head in his hands and groaned. After a few beats, he glanced up from between his fingers. Yep. They were both still there. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. Anna’s belligerent stance, and the way she glared daggers at Mason was all he needed to know she was in trouble again.

  Lord, the woman would drive him loco yet. “Start talking.”

  Mason and Anna both shouted at the same time.

  “Hold up!” Once Wes had their attention, he gestured to Anna. “You start.”

  She drew herself up, and wrenched her arm from Mason’s grip. “I was minding my own business, making beds at the hotel.”

  Wes’s eyebrows rose. “Making beds?”

  “Yes,” she snapped, “my new job.”

  “Not anymore, girlie,” Mason growled.

  Wes sighed. “Continue, Anna.”

  “Some horrible man came into the room, and attempted to assault me!”

  “Assault you? You mean he hit you?”

  Anna rolled her eyes. “No, marshal. He tried to sexually assault me.”

  Wes felt the heat rise to his face. Anna had the most interesting way of saying things.

  “He was just being friendly.” Mason pointed a finger at Anna’s chest, and she whacked it away.

  “How would you know? You weren’t even there,” she countered.

  “I know Mr. Grayson. He’s the friendly type. And he woulda paid ya’ well.”

  “You see what I mean?” Anna flung her hands up, then slammed them on her hips. “How dare you! I am not that kind of a woman. I was hired to clean rooms, that is all.”

  “Well, you must’ve given Mr. Grayson other ideas because—”

  Wes stood and placed two fingers in his mouth, then let out with a shrill whistle.

  Blessed silence reigned. “Anna. Get to the shooting.”

  She tugged on the sleeves of her dress, and smoothed her skirt. “Yes. Well, when he tried to get friendly,” she scowled at Mason, “I told him I was not interested, and he refused to let me leave the room.”

  Wes nodded. “Go on.”

  “I pulled out my pistol.” She peeked at him under her eyelashes. “But he kept coming at me, so I backed up, and my legs hit the bed. When I fell, the gun went off.” She glared at Mason. “Accidentally.”

  “How badly was he hurt?” Wes fought to hold in a sudden chuckle.

  “He’s bleeding all over the floor. She shot a hole right in his leg.” Mason shook his fist at Wes. “And he’s my best customer.”

  Wes closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you send for the doctor?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Well, I suggest you leave Miss Devlin to me, and you fetch the doctor, or your best customer will be headed for the undertaker.”

  Startled into action, a pale Mason hurried from the room. As he opened the door, he shouted over his shoulder, “Mr. Grayson wants her locked up.”

  Wes flapped a dismissive hand at him. “Let me take care of it. You see to your customer.” He returned his attention to Anna. Her body was stiff, her arms crossed over her chest, and she tapped the floor with her foot. And he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. Righteous anger had colored her cheeks red. Her eyes still flashed, and clumps of hair had fallen from her top knot, surrounding her face with a riot of curls. She chewed her lips, right where he wanted to place his. He chided himself. Anna Devlin was not the woman for him.

  But oh, if she were . . . he’d lock the front door and have her naked and draped across the desk in no time. He’d take hours kissing and nipping every inch of the body he’d undressed in his mind for days. Everything about Anna would catch a man’s attention−her face, her curves, and even her reckless manner. No wonder she was always in trouble with the men.

  “Didn’t I tell you to stay out of trouble?”

  She leaned over the desk. “This was not my fault.”

  “Sit down, Anna.”

  Like a regal queen, she smoothed her hair back, then perched on the edge of the chair and folded her hands in her lap. The picture of a perfect lady.

  Wes held out his hand. “Give me the gun.”

  She shook her head.

  “Anna. Give me the gun.”

  “No.”

  He rose to his full height and glared at he
r. “As a Federal Marshal I order you to give me your gun.”

  Anna snorted and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a gun he’d never seen the likes of before. He took it from her and turned it in his hand, examining each part. “Where did you get this?”

  “I bought it.”

  “Where?”

  “Tulsa,” they both said at once, their eyes meeting.

  He sighed and removed the remaining bullets, then placed the gun in his desk drawer. He would study it some other time. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Well, you’d better put me in jail because it seems not only am I out of work again, but I’m sure Mr. Mason has already tossed my things out of my room,” she retorted.

  Wearily, Wes sank into his chair. He was not in a frame of mind to deal with Anna’s mischief today. Since he’d risen that morning, his body had flashed hot and cold, and he had the rare desire to go home and climb into bed. He’d pushed away his breakfast. Just the thought of food made him queasy.

  “I’ve told you before, I can’t put you in jail. I have no provisions for a woman.”

  Anna peered into his eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing, why?”

  “Your eyes are red. Do you feel sick?”

  “I’m just fine. It’s you and your troubles we need to concern ourselves with.”

  She left her chair and circled around his desk. Her soft palm gripped his chin, and she moved his head back and forth, then laid a cool hand against his forehead. “You’re burning up with fever.”

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  Anna sighed. “I’m not changing the subject. Well, okay, maybe I am, but Wes, you’re sick.”

  “It’s probably a cold or something.” He shooed her away. “We still need to decide what to do with you.”

  She rested her backside against the edge of the desk and studied him. “You should go home and get into bed. I think you may have the flu.”

  “Nonsense. I’m fine, and stop trying to distract me.” He pushed at her hand when she attempted to feel his forehead again. “Stop it. I don’t need mothering.” Wes pointed to her chair. “Go sit down.”

  They both turned as the door opened. Laura Martin stood in the doorway, clutching a basket. “Oh, I’m sorry, marshal, is this a bad time?”

  Wes groaned under his breath. Just what he needed. One woman trying to be his mother, and another one vying to be his wife. “No. Not at all, Miss Martin. Please, come on in.”

  She hesitated briefly, and nodded at Anna.

  Wes stood. “Miss Devlin, this is Miss Martin.”

  Both women eyed each other, making him wish he had gone home and crawled into his bed. Could the morning get any worse?

  “I thought I would bring you some more of my fried chicken, since you enjoyed it so much the last time.” Although she addressed him, Laura smiled in Anna’s direction.

  “I love fried chicken.” Anna returned the smile, but to Wes it looked more like a challenge.

  Two cats hissing and spitting and pulling out their claws seemed cordial compared to the tension visible between the two women.

  “Well, I guess there’s enough here for three,” Laura groused as she set the basket on the edge of the desk. “After all, I don’t eat very much.” She beamed at Wes.

  Already the smell of the chicken was turning his stomach. Maybe Anna was right, and he was sick. Once he got both women off his back, he’d head on over to the mercantile and see if Arnold could sit in for him this afternoon. Whatever it was that ailed him would most likely be cured with a few hours away from the jailhouse. And Anna.

  The silence was deafening as Laura emptied the basket and placed the food on his desk. She made a great fuss of lining everything up just so. He swallowed a few times, trying to keep from disgracing himself, but swung his head to the side and clutched the edge of his desk as a wave of dizziness overcame him.

  “Marshal, are you all right?” Laura peered at him in alarm. “You don’t look too well.”

  “See, I told you.” Anna stood and studied him.

  Lord, he needed to get away from these two. “I’m fine. Stop fussing, the both of you.” He moved around his desk, fighting the dizziness once more. “I’m going for a walk.” He stumbled as he reached the door, and within seconds the two women had their arms wrapped around his waist from either side. Much to his chagrin, he doubted he would stay upright if they moved away.

  “We have to get him to the doctor.” Laura whispered as if he couldn’t hear her.

  “No, I think he has the flu. We should bring him home and send for the doctor.” Anna whispered back.

  “I can hear you. I may be a bit sick, but deafness is not one of my troubles,” he growled.

  “Men are such poor patients,” Anna said.

  Luckily, his house was merely a few steps from the jailhouse, so his humiliation wasn’t visible to the entire town. Once they’d dragged him into the front door, he attempted to stave them off, but the stubborn creatures would have none of it, and insisted on bringing him right into his bedroom.

  “Out. Both of you.” He took a deep breath as he landed on the bed.

  Laura flitted around, pulling down covers and fluffing his pillows. Anna left the room and returned with one of his cooking pots. “I’ll just leave this here in case you feel, you know, sick to your stomach.”

  Wes groaned and closed his eyes. “You may leave now.”

  Both women backed away, toward the door.

  “I’ll make you some chicken soup,” Laura said.

  “I’ll get Doc Oliver to look in on you, and I’ll watch the jailhouse.”

  A jolt of panic swept through him, and he roused himself, leaning up on both elbows. “Miss Devlin, you will not watch the jailhouse. You will go to the mercantile and get Arnold to watch the jailhouse.”

  When she didn’t answer, he growled, “I mean it, Anna. Did you forget you’re under arrest?”

  Laura turned to her with widened eyes.

  “That’s not true. It must be the fever talking,” Anna mumbled in Laura’s direction as she yanked the woman through the doorway and closed the door.

  Wes collapsed with another groan. Whatever the hell was wrong with him had better cure itself fast. There was no telling what trouble that woman would get herself into with him laid up.

  Anna grinned as she left Wes’s house. Here was her opportunity to prove she could work side-by-side with him. Then she came to an abrupt halt, and stared at her reflection in the drug store window. The long dress, the high button shoes, her hair in an attempted topknot. Her shoulders slumped. Who am I kidding? I don’t belong here.

  Twice in the past few days she’d borrowed a horse from the livery, and rode out to where she thought Slug had picked her up. No ‘peace chair,’ no oasis, no adobe Indian store. As she’d wandered around, she’d tamped down rising frustration, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight with her hand. The scene before her had revealed miles and miles of prairie, but no highways, no shopping malls or fast food restaurants dotting the landscape.

  Would she never return to the future? Instead of catching nineteenth century outlaws, she should be concentrating on getting back to her life. To her modern life−French fries, movie theaters, her reinstatement hearing. New apartment. Her ex-fiancé. Her real life.

  Why was there none of the usual enthusiasm for what she’d left behind? Anna stiffened her spine and crossed the street, heading to the mercantile. This was not her time or place. As much as it sucked, her life in the future was hers, and she needed to get back to it.

  Arnold nodded briefly at her as she wove her way past barrels of pickles, cornmeal, flour and sugar. Several women, with shopping baskets over their arms, examined merchandise and selected various items from the shelves as the store owner wrapped a parcel for an older woman at the counter. He wished the woman a good day and turned to Anna. “What can I help you with, Miss Devlin?”

  “The marshal sent me over. He’s
taken ill, and had to go home, and he’d like you to take over for him.”

  Before she’d even finished her sentence, he was shaking his head. “Sorry, I can’t help him out right now.” He slid a shopping basket across the counter that a young woman set there, and began writing a sales slip. “My wife is sick, too, and she can barely take care of the baby.”

  “Oh. What’s wrong with her?”

  “Fever, aches and pains. I just hope whatever it is the baby doesn’t come down with it.”

  It appeared the influenza bug had hit more than the marshal. A small spark of delight prodded her. She’d done her duty. Asked Arnold to cover for Wes, and he couldn’t do it. Wes was sick, in bed most likely with the flu, and the jailhouse was unmanned. Or unwomaned. She raised her chin and squared her shoulders. There was no choice. She had to do what was right, and take Wes’s place.

  Of course, there probably was no reason to bother him with the details of who was assuming his job. He would just fret, and that could delay his recovery. Armed with righteous determination, she wished Arnold a good day, a speedy recovery for his wife, and then proceeded to the jailhouse.

  The lingering smell of fried chicken, along with leather and the man who usually occupied the space, greeted her as she entered the room. Without his presence it all appeared naked, empty. Dust motes danced in the stream of sunlight pouring through the window over the marshal’s desk. She wandered around the office, taking in the rifles neatly lined up on the gun rack on the wall, a large ring of keys on a hook, alongside another hook holding a shirt similar to the one Wes had wrapped her in that first day when she had no idea what was going on. A mix-matched pitcher and bowl shared space on a small table with an oil lamp. For as many times as she’d been in the jailhouse, these minor details had escaped her.

  Anna settled into the large leather chair behind the desk, her body barely taking up half the space that Wes normally filled. After rifling through the middle desk drawer, she produced a dull deputy badge that she rubbed on her chest as she’d seen done in numerous movies. Grinning like a small child, she pinned the piece of metal to her dress and leaned back.