Royce studied his face in the mirror, ran his hand over his jaw, feeling the scratch of whiskers. Shaving everyday was a pain, but he couldn’t stand the dandified mustaches and beards so many men favored these days. If he started courting, he’d have to shave twice a day. He glanced over in time to see Judge Stokes in the big double window as he passed by the saloon. The judge’s daughter, Danielle, was still single. At twenty-eight-years-old, she was well into spinsterhood.
Just last week she’d made a point to speak to him and Garrett after the monthly Saturday social. She’d blushed prettily when she invited them to dinner. Before Pearl, he’d escorted Danielle to a number of social functions and considered marrying her. But he’d made that trip to San Antonio, met Pearl, and then no other woman would do. Odd Danielle had never married. She was a beautiful woman and well thought of in the community. He might just invite her to the upcoming July Fourth dance.
Hell, he’d ask her as soon as possible. It couldn’t be tonight though as he’d never approach a woman with the smell of Josephine’s clinging to his clothes. He grinned at the thought and shook his head. Tomorrow night he’d go home, clean up, and he and Garrett would ride out to the judge’s place. Maybe take her a handful of those gardenias she liked.
He finished his drink and laid money on the bar. “Thanks, Hans.”
“Anytime, Marshal.”
The heat, fueled by the high humidity of summer, hit him as he stepped outside. He tilted his hat forward a notch to keep the sun out of his eyes, yet allow him to see clearly. A man couldn’t be too careful on the streets, especially a lawman in a town nicknamed Six-Shooter Junction. Trouble could come from any direction. His eyes studied a stranger in the alley leaning against the wall of the hardware store, and then flicked to the angry cowboy riding by, whom last week Hans had tossed from his saloon into the street. Probably most dangerous was the cocky kid, spoiling for a fight and out to make a name for himself, ambling toward him now. He stayed alert as he passed the boy and walked toward the banks of the river.
The suspension bridge looked odd stretched out across the Brazos. Though completed ten years ago, it looked foreign and disrupted the stark beauty of the river with its grass and tree-covered banks. But industry was changing towns, and folks had to accept modern inventions or be left behind in the rush for prosperity.
He found a big oak, sat down, and leaned against its large trunk—a barrier for bullets, stray or otherwise. Its rough bark was uncomfortable against his sweat-soaked back, but he didn’t care. It would be dark before too long, then he’d go to Josephine’s. Prostitution was legal, but it went against the grain to be seen going in a whorehouse in broad daylight. He removed his hat, let his head rest against the tree, and closed his eyes.
Goodbye Pearlina, my lovely Pearl. Rest in peace.
Chapter Two
Texanna woke to see a mustached man wearing a three-piece, old-fashioned suit bending over her; a gaggle of curious faces were looking over his shoulder. Her eyes flicked from his to the watch chain hanging from the small pocket on his vest, and then back.
Mouth agape, he sputtered. “My God, she’s not dressed.” He shucked out of his jacket and laid it across her chest.
She shoved it away and tried to rise. The man took her arm and helped her to stand. She swayed as the floor beneath her feet rocked to a different beat—a clack-it-tee-clack unlike the sound of the train she’d boarded. If she wasn’t mistaken, burning coal generated the black smoke rushing past the window. What was going on here?
Voices and expressions of shock echoed around her.
“Well, I never…dressed like a harlot.”
“Never seen a camisole like that, especially one that color. Why that’s the pinkest pink I ever saw.”
“Cover yourself, young woman.” Mr. Mustache held the coat, trying to block her from view. Too shocked to do otherwise, she took it and held it across her chest.
A harlot? What was wrong with her clothes? Her pink tank top and jeans were nothing unusual. She turned ready to send them a rude gesture when, with a hand to her aching head, she saw the other people in the car. They were dressed in nineteenth-century clothing and looked like an old tintype photograph, not a smile among them. Too shocked to speak, she sat down on the hard, low-backed seat and pulled the carpetbag close. Gone were the plush seats and air-conditioning. Hot wind blew in from the open window, bringing black soot with it. Panic rose in her chest. Before she could assimilate what was happening, brakes screaming, the train slowed, pulled into the depot, and lurched to a stop.
Texanna’s breath rushed from her lungs at the scene outside the train car window. Traffic filled the dirt roads paralleling the wooden depot. The ripe scent of horse manure reached her nostrils making her nose twitch. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand. Oh dear Lord, please tell me I’m dreaming.
A voice at her side made her jump. “Ma’am, my coat if you please.” Numbly Texanna handed it to the mustached man feeling naked with nothing but the carpetbag to hide behind. He took it and left. The other passengers filed out behind him, each casting her a scathing glance as they passed.
Knees shaking, Texanna stepped off the train onto a wooden platform. Horse and mule-drawn wagons lined the street as people milled back and forth collecting luggage or stacking theirs to be loaded. Swirling dust caught on a breeze and blew in her face. She tried to brush dirt from her face and sneezed. Her chin quivered, and she bit her lip to still it as people gave her ample space and formed a wide circle around her.
She started across the street. The crowd parted but followed at a distance. Body tense, she fought the rising hysteria. This isn’t real. It’s a dream. There’s no such thing as time-travel.
Their words reached her ears.
“Oh my Lord, it’s, Pearlina Dyson.”
“My God. I can’t believe it. Look how she’s dressed.”
“Somebody get the marshal.”
A tall thin cowboy with a star on his shirt advanced toward her. When he touched her arm, she snapped. Remembering her Kung-Fu instructor’s teachings, she moved, and in a flash had his arm in a joint lock hyperextending it. He shrieked in pain.
****
A woman’s scream and the grunts of men fighting woke Royce. Maybe he’d been dreaming. But no, there it was again. This time a man’s yowl split the air.
As Royce hurried up the riverbank to town, Pete rushed toward him, agitation evident in his every move.
“Marshal, you gotta come quick.”
Royce quickened his step and wondered, what now?
A large crowd gathered in front of Hans’ Saloon.
“Shoot her in the foot.” He recognized the baritone immediately. It was Hans. “If you don’t, she’s going to hurt someone else. I think she’s already broke Jason’s arm.”
She? Royce broke into a run. What the hell was going on? They’d never had a woman cause trouble before.
A female resounded, “Don’t come any closer, leave me alone.” She attempted to sound controlled, but her voice became shriller with each word. But still not at all like what he’d expect of a woman gone wild.
Jason’s voice, filled with pain, broke through the mumbling of the crowd. “Stop…stay back…she’s scared. Royce will…be here…in a minute.” Jason’s statement ended with a groan.
“Yeah, well I’m not going to let the Missus’ hurt anyone else,” said Hans.
Royce shoved his way through the crowd. He glanced quickly at Jason to see if he was breathing, then turned to the woman the crowd had backed up against the boardwalk in front of the saloon. Hans eased behind her and quickly caught her under the arms and locked his hands behind her head. Head pushed forward, the woman fought to break Hans’ hold. She kicked backwards, but Hans lifted her off the ground and swung her from side to side so her feet couldn’t make contact.
“Hurry up, Marshal, get some cuffs on her. How else you gonna get her home?”
A quick scan of the woman indicated she didn’t have a weapon
strapped to her side or in her hands. His gaze moved from the unusual shoes she wore, up indecently clad legs encased in denim pants. How else could he describe it? When his eyes reached her torso, his body jerked in response. Beautiful breasts were fully outlined by a skintight blouse. Her pebbled nipples showed through the thin, pink fabric. His face burned with anger. It was downright scandalous. No decent woman would dress so provocatively. Then he noticed the flame-colored curls. Hans eased his hold, and her head jerked up toward him. His eyes met hers, and his heart stopped. God, she’s beautiful. He looked at her face again and thought he’d faint from sheer joy. His bliss quickly turned to rage.
With a growl, he bit out, “Get your hands off my wife.” At least, he thought it was his wife. The hair was the same, but her eyes were bluer, her nose thinner, and damned if she didn’t have kohl on her eyebrows and lashes.
Hans looked around for support. “Are you sure, Marshal?”
No one spoke. Hans shrugged. “All right, Marshal, but look out.”
Royce’s eyes never left Pearl’s. “Jason, are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. She’s scared to death, Royce. She didn’t recognize me. And be careful. Her feet and hands can move faster than anything I’ve ever seen.”
Royce handed his shotgun to Pete then held out his hand to her. “Pearl?”
Her eyes flicked from his hand to his face. “I’m not Pearl. I’m Texanna.” She backed up a step. “And I’m sure as hell not your wife.”
The crowd gasped at her language, and Royce felt his face heat. His wife didn’t talk like this woman. He frowned, tamping down his anger. Regardless of who she was, it was his responsibility to see she got help, and put on some decent clothes.
“Watch your mouth, young woman.” Royce took off his jacket. “Here.” He tossed it to her. “Put it on. You’re not dressed proper.”
Damned if her chin didn’t shoot out an inch, but she caught his jacket. He stretched out a hand to her. “Come on now—let’s go somewhere and talk.”
Royce watched her. She’s scared but doing a darn good job of hiding it. Something’s definitely wrong. Of course there is or she wouldn’t be dressed so, or have been gone for four years. Had she been held in captivity and those were the only clothes she owned? His throat clogged with emotion. God, what if it wasn’t Pearl, just someone who looked like her playing a cruel joke on him? Or it was Pearl, and she’d lost her mind.
He started toward her. Before he took a step, she threw his jacket at his head and took off running. She was fast. Shock filled him, as did a sense of pride. Wherever she’d been, she’d not let them beat her down.
“Somebody give me their horse.”
In less than a minute, he was riding after her. When she heard the horse pounding close behind her, she turned back to look and tripped. Royce caught her by the waist of her pants before she fell and sat her sideways in front of him on the saddle.
She screamed and fought, but Royce pinned her arms and pulled her body against his. “Stop it, it’s all right. I won’t hurt you. You’re safe now.”
Her screams turned into sobbing mumbles. Something about time-travel, Pearlina, and going crazy. She stopped shrieking and fighting but remained stiff in his arms. Taking a chance, he loosened his hold on her arms. She pulled free and grabbed his shirtfront in her fist. “You’ll never believe me. I can’t believe it myself.” She dropped her head to his chest and moaned. “Oh God, I want to go home.”
He eased an arm around her waist. “It’s okay, Pearl, we’ll straighten everything out.” Tears gathered in his eyes as he held her close and patted her back. He so wanted this woman to be his wife, but he just wasn’t sure.
Royce turned the horse and walked it back toward the jail. He needed to know if she was his wife before he took her home for Garrett to see. Except for an occasional sniff, accompanied by a shudder, she remained quiet.
When he lifted her off the horse in front of the jail, she balked and tried to pull away from him. Dammit, he’d had enough of this. He tossed her over his shoulder and walked into the jail with her pounding on his back. The minute he sat her feet on the ground, she took his arm and the next thing he knew he was on his back in the floor. He rolled and reached for her foot but missed. Pete caught her at the door.
Royce scrambled to his feet. “Put her in a cell.”
Pete gaped at him.
“You heard me, put her in number one.” His deputy didn’t look happy but did what he’d been told.
The carpetbag the woman had been carrying sat on his desk. He opened it and pulled out a packet. It was addressed to Tom Syler, one of Waco’s many lawyers. Pete came out of the holding area and locked the door. Royce tossed him the packet. “Take these down to Tom, will you? Tell him if he needs to talk to me, I’ll be here a couple more hours.”
“Sure thing, Marshal, but I’m here to tell you right now I don’t appreciate the way you’re treating your wife. It’s disgraceful.”
Royce ignored the comment, and Pete stormed out of his office. He continued to search in the carpetbag and pulled out two dresses he recognized. They were Pearl’s, as were the shoes and nightgown. The gown still carried her sweet lilac scent. At the very bottom, he found the tintype of them on their wedding day.
He sank heavily into the swivel desk chair. If this woman wasn’t his wife, how had she gotten hold of these items? She could’ve killed her and was now trying to pawn herself off as Pearl. Well, dressed as she was, she sure as hell wasn’t getting off to a good start.
With a sigh, he stuffed the items back in the bag, everything except for the tintype. He slipped it in his shirt pocket. For several years now he’d feared in his soul Pearl was dead, but had never given up hope. And now, here was this woman who looked almost like her twin. People changed over time, he knew that, but… Could he have forgotten the color of her eyes, the tilt of her nose, the shape of her face? He didn’t think so.
The tintype was a good likeness but didn’t reveal her facial characteristics or the color of her eyes and hair. If only she’d been smiling, but her face was as sober as his own. Too bad Pearl didn’t have a mole or birthmark for identification. He studied the tintype again hoping for something to erase his doubt.
By God, he wanted some answers. He opened the steel door to the holding area and went inside. She jumped up off the cot and stared up at him belligerently. His heart thumped with emotion at the tears pooled in her eyes. He wanted to open the door, take her in his arms, and comfort her. And hell yes, he wanted to kiss those sweet lips, run his fingers through that thick mane of hair, and become reacquainted with her beautiful body.
He pulled the chair from the corner in front of her cell and sat down. “Who are you? Why are you carrying my wife’s things?”
She lifted her chin. Her eyes drilled his. “I’m Texanna Keith. The carpetbag, clothes, and picture belong to your wife Pearlina Baines Dyson Thompson who is ninety-four-years-old. I call her Miss Pearl. She lives next door to me in San Antonio. I’ve spent a lot of time at her house learning to paint. I love her dearly.”
He snorted and shook his head, then thought. Ninety-four would be the age of Mrs. Baines’ mother. Did Pearl have a grandmother still living? Not to his knowledge. A year after Pearl’s disappearance, her mother passed on. Her illness and the shock of being unable to find her daughter broke her heart. Mr. Baines followed shortly after. To his knowledge, their three sons were the only family left.
“Pearl didn’t have a grandmother named Texanna.” He’d bluff the truth out of her. “So try again.”
“I know that. My neighbor, Pearlina Baines Dyson Thompson was your wife. She left here on June 15, 1876, to see about her mother in San Antonio. When she arrived, it was 1936. For years she tried to get back to you and Garrett but couldn’t.”
He balked. How could she know the date Pearlina left unless she was his wife? Her story got crazier by the minute. Doubt and worry made his belly clench. No, she was plain out lying.
He t
ried to keep his eyes above her shoulders but the needy things dropped for a minute, and he saw the locket, the locket he’d given Pearl when Garrett was born. It held the piece of turquoise that had been in his family for generations. On Garrett’s second birthday, they’d had his picture taken to put inside.
“She traveled forward in time.”
At her words, he jerked his eyes back to her face. Did she think he’d buy that bit of nonsense? At the sheer absurdity of her remark, he threw back his head and laughed. He couldn’t stop himself.
She strode forward and grabbed the bars. “Laugh, you fool, but it’s the truth.”
He rose from his chair. “That locket is Pearl’s. Give it to me.”
She covered the locket with her hand drawing his attention to the wedding ring on her left hand. Voice harsh, he ordered. “Give me the locket and the wedding ring.”
She backed away from the bars. “No, Pearl gave them to me. I didn’t believe her ridiculous story about time-travel either, but she wanted me to wear these. Guess to help make you believe.”
“Fine, keep ‘um, but when I charge you with theft, you’ll wish you’d handed them over. May charge you with murder, too.”
“Murder?” Her shrill screech echoed off the bare walls. It was hard to keep a straight face. “I’ll have you—”
“Marshal.” Pete appeared in the doorway.
“Yeah.”
Pete handed him the packet he’d just sent over to Tom. “Tom says these are for you.” He coughed. “From your wife.”
****
Royce read and reread the letters from Pearl. The handwriting in the one, supposedly written on June 15, 1940, was undeniably similar to Pearl’s. The paper was yellowed with age and delicate. The script in the other, dated June 14, 2008, was completely different, shaky and uneven. The writing paper was unfamiliar. It felt different between his fingers as he rubbed, trying to find a clue to this dilemma.
My Heart Will Find Yours Page 2