Twisted Time

by Amii Lorin

  “Dammit, is somebody down there?”

  “Yes!” she croaked on a sob of relief. “Yes, I’m down here. Please, can you help me get out?”

  There came a low, rough mutter—a curse?—and then a sharp-voiced reply. “Damned right, I’ll haul your carcass out of there.”

  What was he mad about? She wondered in confusion, for the anger lacing his tone left no doubt that the man was as mad as a disturbed hornet.

  Biting her lip in consternation, she peered at the opening. After what seemed like an hour, a weak, wavering glow illuminated the hole.

  “I’m lowering a rope,” her irate savior shouted. “Can you see it?”

  She could, just barely. It curled and coiled like a long, skinny snake. Telling herself it was not a viper but her lifeline, she called back, “I see it.”

  “Good. Grab onto it and hold tight,” he said. “I’ll pull you up. Have you got it?”

  Looping the straps of her backpack over one arm, she clutched at the rope. “Yes.”

  There was a quick tug on the rope; she tightened her hold. Then slowly the line and Laura were drawn upward. She felt a rush of fresh air an instant before her head cleared the opening. Strong hands grasped her upper arms, steely fingers dug into her soft flesh, and she was literally plucked from the mouth of the hole. She was swung in a half circle and deposited on the ground with bone-jarring force.

  Since Laura had seriously begun to fear that the cavern would be her final resting place, she felt too grateful to her rescuer to take umbrage at his rough handling of her. She didn’t even object when he continued to grasp her arms in his hard-fingered grip. Weak-kneed with relief, she welcomed his support.

  “Thank ... you,” she sputtered between gasps of sweet, sage-scented night air. “I can’t begin to—”

  “How did you find it?” he cut her off in a harsh-voiced demand.

  “Find it?” She frowned and peered through the darkness, trying to see his face. The wavering light she had seen from the cavern floor had been cast by an old-fashioned oil lamp with a handle, quite like the kind railroaders had used years ago. The lamp still sat near the rim of the hole, behind her less-than-congenial rescuer. All she could make out was his size—large, shadowy, intimidating. “Find what?”

  “You know damned well what,” he shot back in an angry snarl. Releasing her, he made a half-turn to indicate the hole. “The entrance.”

  Entrance? Laura shook her head in confusion. She didn’t have a clue as to what this uncivil man was talking about, and at that moment she didn’t much care. The effects of prolonged fear were taking their toll. Shivers cascaded the length of her body, and she was exhausted, her mind numb.

  “That hole?” she asked blankly.

  “Yes, dammit, that hole,” he barked.

  Laura was close to losing her patience, and to the edge of hysteria. “What about it?”

  “What were you looking for down there?”

  “Why would I be looking for anything in a hole in the ground?” Then, abruptly, the last vestige of her energy drained. She went crashing to her knees on the hard ground.

  “What the hell!”

  In a flash his strong hands were grabbing her once more, hauling her up, more gently this time. For such a big man, he moved swiftly, Laura thought with vague detachment, past the point of caring.

  “Are you all right?” The harshness was gone from his voice, leaving it still raw, a little rough, but deep and surprisingly attractive.

  “Yes. No.” Laura immediately corrected herself. “I... I...” She took several gulping breaths, then gasped a startled “Oh!” when the earth spun as she was suddenly swept off her feet into his arms. “What are you doing?” she demanded, struggling against his tight embrace. “Put me down.”

  “Why, you like falling?” he asked, not unkindly, holding her close to his hard chest.

  “I won’t...” Laura began, then broke off, startled when she felt the muscles in his arms contract.

  “Why are you wearing pants?” he asked in what sounded to Laura like disbelief and shock.

  “Why not?” She frowned when his muscles contracted again.

  “It’s indecent, that’s why.”

  She stiffened. “I beg your pardon?” she said, feeling both baffled and insulted.

  “You should,” he muttered, beginning to walk away into the darkness.

  Laura was on the point of demanding an explanation for his remark, but abrupt motion drove the question from her mind and raised another one. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Back to my place.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not!” she exclaimed, beginning to struggle, this time in earnest. “I’m not going anywhere with ...” Her voice faded as a large shape loomed ahead, barely discernible in the pitch darkness. “What’s tha—” Once again her voice failed as she was swung away from his warm body, high into the air, then plopped unceremoniously onto what she realized was the back of a horse.

  “A horse?” Laura was barely aware of speaking aloud, too busy grabbing for the saddle horn to notice.

  “What does it look like? A humpless camel?”

  She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing reply, but closed it again, because he was gone, striding back toward the hole.

  Damn the man. A horse, of all things! Who did he think he was, the Lone Ranger?

  For all her fascination with the Old West, by choice Laura had never been on the back of a horse, simply because she thought them too high off terra firma, too skittish, and too dangerous. She was pondering the proper, and least dangerous, method of getting down from the animal when her irascible rescuer returned.

  “This pack yours?” he asked, holding her backpack aloft for her inspection.

  “Yes, thank you, she answered with genuine gratitude; she had completely forgotten it. She reached to take it, then shook her head. “Will you help me down first, please?”

  “No.” Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he shoved one foot into a dangling stirrup, grunted as he heaved his body off the ground, and swung the other leg over the horse. “Make room,” he ordered, wedging his hips against hers.

  Her protest died on her lips as his lower body nudged her posterior. A gasp of shock lodging in her throat, she wriggled forward, away from the hard, too-intimate pressure.

  “I don’t think...” she began stiffly, holding her body rigidly still.

  “Good,” he said, reaching around her to gather the reins looped to the saddle horn. “Keep it that way till we get to the house.”

  He made a clicking sound. The horse moved, and she clamped her lips together and grabbed for the horn.

  Chapter 3

  Fortunately, it was not a long ride. Even so, Laura’s bottom was feeling abused by the time he brought the animal to a halt in front of a shadowy building.

  “Is this your house?” she asked, hating the uncertain, tremulous sound of her voice.

  “Hmm,” he murmured, in what she had to assume was assent. He stood in the stirrups, and Laura inhaled sharply when his body dragged against hers as he dismounted. “Now I’ll help you down,” he said.

  Before she could respond, he raised his hands to her waist and lifted her from the saddle. Her feet made contact with the earth, and her legs buckled. She was forced to hang onto him to keep from falling. The next instant she was swept off her feet again and into his arms.

  “You’re the most falling-down female I ever came across,” he said, striding to the front door. “You got some sort of affliction or something?”

  “Of course not,” she answered, glaring at him—to little effect, since he couldn’t see her expression in the dark. “It’s just that... well, I’ve never been on a horse before,” she blurted out. “It’s left me feeling—”

  “Never been on a horse?” he said, his voice sharp with surprise.

  “Well, no,” she said defensively. “Riding isn’t an everyday occurrence for most people back East, you know.”

  Her explanation stopped him i
n his tracks. ‘‘You’re from back East?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You can put me down now.”

  “In a minute.” Stepping to the door, and nearly crushing her against it, he shifted around until he could grasp the latch, lift it, and push the door open.

  A door latch? Laura mused. How quaint.

  “Where back East?” he asked, moving inside. He set her on her feet just inside the door.

  “Pennsylvania,” Laura told him absently, locking her knees to insure against falling again. “You can let me go, I’m all right now.” She glanced around and saw ... nothing. The darkness was complete. Afraid to move, she pleaded, “Could you please turn on a light? It’s darker in here than in that darned hole in the ground.”

  “Stay put,” he advised her, his boots scraping against the floor as he moved away from her.

  A moment later Laura blinked as another scraping noise was followed by the flare of a match. Her eyes widened as he held the flame to a wick inside an oil table lamp.

  No electricity? she thought, probing her memory to recall if she had noticed electric lines strung along the rutted dirt road leading to the ghost town. She hadn’t.

  Bemused by the idea of a person living in the back of beyond without the basic amenities, she watched as he lit two more lamps.

  “Incredible,” she murmured. “Simple but incredible.”

  “What?” Straightening, he turned to her, his face and body bathed in light. Seeing him banished all coherent thoughts but one from her mind.

  Her rescuer was one breathtaking sight to behold, even taller than she had first thought, whipcord lean, and handsome in a rough-hewn way.

  “Name’s Jake Wilder,” he said, eyeing her narrowly. “I own all the land around here. Do you have a name?”

  His taunting voice snapped Laura out of her introspection.

  “Well, of course I have a name,” she said, bristling as she stepped boldly forward, her right hand extended. “I’m Laura Brand, and I want to thank you again for rescuing me from that cavern, Mr.... May I call you Jake?”

  Though he hesitated, slanting a wary look at her hand, he finally reached out to engulf it within his own. “Uh, sure, if you like. May I call you Laura?”

  “Certainly,” she said briskly, withdrawing her suddenly warm and tingling hand. “I... ah, guess I can consider myself pretty lucky you happened along when you did,” she rushed on, feeling odd, disoriented by the intimate sensations that had spread up her arm to her shoulder and down, permeating her entire being. “If you hadn’t come along,” she babbled on, “I might have had to spend the night down in that dank hole.”

  “The night?” His dark, naturally arched eyebrows inched up his forehead, and a distinctly sardonic smile accented his hard, masculine mouth. “You may have had to spend one helluva lot more than one night down there ... Laura.”

  “What do you mean?” She frowned as she cast a quick look around her. Even with the three lamps lit, the interior “of the room was shadowy. But the light was sufficient for her to note the sparse furnishings, the rustic appearance.

  “It might have been days before I had reason to ride out to that section.” His harsh voice captured her wandering attention. “I don’t often go out to that... hole,”

  Her frown deepened at the emphasis he had placed on his last word, and she felt sick knowing she had been right to think she could have died. She stumbled to a ladder-backed wooden chair she had noticed during her brief perusal of the room.

  “You gonna fall down again?” he asked, sounding both impatient and disgusted.

  “No!” she snapped, tossing him a fulminating look. “I’m going to sit down. If you don’t mind,” she added, sinking onto the chair without waiting for permission,

  He shrugged, bringing his shoulder and chest muscles into rippling play, and causing her breath to catch at his casual motion.

  “Don’t mind at all,” he said dryly. “Save me from having to pick you up again.”

  “How very gallant of you.” She began to feel downright put upon by his attitude.

  “Never claimed to be gallant,” he retorted. “You’re the trespasser here ... remember?”

  “Well, I do again beg your pardon,” she returned with feigned sweetness. “But I didn’t try to fall into that damn hole, you know.”

  “Didn’t you?” he shot back. “What were you doing poking around there?”

  Suddenly the effects of her experience overwhelmed her, and her fatigued body sagged in the hard chair. It required a supreme effort to reply. ‘Trying to get to a flowering plant on the other side of it,” she finally answered.

  His eyebrows made a return trip up his forehead. “A plant? Don’t make the mistake of taking me for a fool... Laura. Who sent you here?”

  “Nobody sent me.” She frowned, wondering what in hell she had gotten herself into.

  “How did you get here?”

  “A Cherokee.”

  “You came with an Indian?”

  “Only the four-wheeled variety,” she said, waging an inner fight to remain upright in the chair.

  “Huh?”

  His expression of baffled consternation was comical, except that Laura wasn’t laughing.

  Weariness placed her far beyond seeing the humor in his obvious confusion.

  “My vehicle, four-wheel drive and all. You know?” she said tiredly. “It’s a Jeep Cherokee. It’s red. You probably missed seeing it in the darkness.” She sighed, making a vague motion with her hand. “I parked it a few hills back, near that ghost town.”

  But her explanation seemed to increase his confusion, and suspicion blazed from his glittering dark eyes.

  “Jeep? Red?” he repeated, shaking his head as if to clear his muddled thoughts.

  His action distracted her, drawing her attention, and her unwilling admiration, to his dark hair. It was long and a bit shaggy, but deeply waved and lustrous, with russet strands gleaming in the flickering light. Her fingers itched to delve into those dark locks.

  The impulse startled her, for she couldn’t recall ever having experienced anything like it before. The sad truth was, she had long ago accepted that she was not a sensuous person. Unlike most of her female friends, she simply never noticed male attributes like terrific hair, fantastic eyes, great pectorals, or heaven forbid, slim, tight buns.

  “Answer me, dammit!”

  Distracted by her unprecedented reaction to the allure of his hair, not to mention his other equally impressive features, Laura gasped and nearly leaped from the chair at his impatient demand.

  “You don’t have to shout!” she yelled right back at him. “What was the question, anyway?”

  Jake looked about ready to explode, but he managed to keep his voice even by speaking through his gritted teeth. “I asked you what ghost town?”

  She grimaced; she couldn’t recall another ghost town in the vicinity on the map. “How many are there?”

  “Not a damn one that I know of,” he said, his voice hard with absolute certainty.

  “Oh, come on,” she said, sure he was amusing himself at her expense, and past the point of tolerating his apparently skewed sense of humor, “You know full well that I’m referring to that old mining town a couple of hills west of here.”

  “Old mining town?” he repeated, scowling. “You mean Sage Flats?”

  “Yes, that’s it,” she said, suddenly remembering the name of the town in the guidebook and on the map. “Sage Flats.”

  Once again his narrowed eyes glittered with suspicion. “Sage Flats ain’t old, and it sure as hell ain’t a ghost town. I wish it was.”

  That did it. Laura had heard enough. “Look, Mr. Wilder, I’m too tired to play your funny little game ... whatever it is. I’m exhausted, I’m hungry, but more than anything else, I’m parched. I emptied my canteen hours ago.”

  Though Jake had frowned at her remark about him playing games, her subsequent complaints wiped the frown from his face and galvanized him into action.

 
“Why didn’t you tell me you were thirsty?” he growled, striding to a doorway set into the far wall. “You don’t fool around with thirst out here.”

  “I don’t fool around with thirst anywhere,” she retorted, too weary to make an issue of it. But it didn’t matter; Jake Wilder wasn’t listening. In fact he was no longer in the same room. He had disappeared through the far doorway.

  Laura’s eyelids were already drifting closed when seconds later he strode back carrying a tumbler of water and a thick slice of bread.

  “Oh, thank you,” she said, heaving a sigh. “That tastes so good.” She raised the cup to her lips again, starting when his strong fingers curled around her wrist.

  “Slowly,” he cautioned. “Eat some bread.”

  She heaved another sigh of dwindling patience. “Look, I know all about dehydration and all that, but I wasn’t even in the sun down there.” Despite her protests, she took a bite of crusty bread. “Mmmm, this is good.” She took another bite. “Tastes like homemade bread.”

  “It is bread.” He stared at her, confused. “What did you expect it to taste like?”

  “Certainly not like home-baked.” She took another bite, her teeth crunching through the crust. “Oh, yummy, I haven’t had bread this good in …” She broke off, her brows crinkling in consternation. “Come to think of it, I’ve never had bread this good before.”

  “They don’t make good bread back East?”

  “No way.” She washed the bread down with a sip of water. “Mass-produced bread is pretty tasteless.” Her eyes widened at a sudden thought. “Did you bake this?”

  He shook his head. “No, I brought it back with me from Virginia City.”

  “You were in Virginia City?” she asked impolitely around the bread she was happily munching.

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I told you you were lucky. If I hadn’t been lookin’ for my damn horse, I wouldn’t have been near that... er, hole,” he said, starting for the other room. “Finish the bread while I fix you something hot to eat.”

  “Horse? What horse?” she asked, still chewing.

  “That damned bay that keeps breaking out of the lean-to,” he stated from the other room.