The Cowboy from Christmas Past

by The Cowboy from Christmas Past (lit)

  "Not possible. I know for certain it wasn't a magical earring. I bought it in a store in California. Nothing unusual or fantastic about it. Just a guy going into a store to buy something for his wife."

  "Still, go get it."

  "No, thanks," he said. "I told you, I don't believe in magic."

  "Time travel's not magical?"

  "Look, an earring is no more magical than a kiss. It's all fairy tales."

  She wrinkled her nose. They didn't have the first clue about how to send him back. Maybe he was meant to stay here forever. "A kiss always worked in the fairy tale. Some people think they're powerful in real life."

  "I'll show you that a kiss isn't magical outside of books," he offered, "if you must be convinced."

  "All right," she said with a put-upon sigh, "make it a fast one, though." Of course she was fibbing—she was dying to do more than a drive-by on Dillinger's chiseled lips—but for the sake of modesty she had to act as though she was doing him a huge favor. "I'll be very disappointed when nothing happens, though."

  "So will I. It'll mean I'm kissing the wrong woman."

  She was about to try to come up with a return zinger when she felt his lips cover hers in the most hot, possessive way she could have imagined. The baby between them didn't move, but everything inside Auburn moved like crazy, and then she heard a howling wind, felt herself being thrown into Dillinger's arms.

  When Auburn awakened, she was very, very cold.

  She sat up. Rose was between them, sleeping peacefully. The soft blankets were gone, and so was the Hilton hotel room.

  Dillinger sat up, too, turned on a gas lamp on a table next to him. He stared at her, his dark blue eyes angry.

  "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

  Chapter Eight

  Auburn jumped from the bed, looked wildly around the room. It was smallish and spare, with just a spindle bed and two plain nightstands for furniture, the walls a rough-hewn wood. Her clothes were the same as she'd been wearing, a pair of comfortable Victoria's Secret sweats and a soft pink fleece shirt. She had on the same half-bootie Uggs she'd lain down on the bed with, not feeling comfortable stripping with a man she barely knew, and not knowing when she'd have to jump from bed in the night to help with Rose.

  Dillinger, on the other hand, was shirtless now, and maybe more considering he was covered with a sheet. And he looked oh so achingly beautiful. But she didn't want to be in a weird place with him gazing at her strangely, even if it meant possibly getting to see him in the buff. "Blast!"

  His face held annoyance, but zero recognition. "Why are you in my house?"

  Dear God, please tell me I'm not in 1892! "Where am I?"

  "Get out," Dillinger said. "Now."

  "Oh, my goodness," Auburn said. "Dillinger, please!"

  He frowned. "How do you know my name?"

  "Because I—Because you brought me here!"

  "I assure you I did not."

  That kiss was turning into the worst idea she'd ever had, even worse than thinking she should marry Bradley, which had been dumb in retrospect, but now seemed fairly harmless in her gallery of bad decisions. "Dillinger, you were in Texas with me, in the twenty-first century. My name is Auburn McGinnis. We kissed, and somehow ended up back in your house. Don't you remember?"

  "I know I was sound asleep until you shrieked. Good thing you didn't wake the baby. She's a light sleeper."

  Auburn gasped. "Light sleeper! Rose has been sleeping like a rock ever since I met you."

  He got out of bed, long and lean and yet muscled from hard work. And he wasn't nude; he had on a pair of long johns that did nothing to hide the strength and form of well-developed legs. Auburn didn't have time to admire the scenery. "You can't throw me out. I can tell it's cold outside." There was clearly no central heating in the house, which meant it was even colder outside.

  He eyed her, frowning at her sweats. She glanced down to see what had caught his gaze, realized the sequined peace sign on the side of her leg must seem very odd to him. "Look, I helped you in my century, so you can't toss me out on my backside."

  "I don't take in gypsies. But you can sleep in the rocking chair next to the fireplace until morning," he said begrudgingly.

  "Oh, thanks," she snapped, thinking of her penthouse apartment and the Hilton bed she'd shared with him. "Your generosity must be legendary." Why had she ever thought kissing him would be such a swell idea? A few seconds of pleasure, and she'd landed in cold hell. "What's the temperature outside, anyway?"

  "Probably somewhere around ten degrees, which is the only reason I'm not booting you out. That, and the fact that snow is up to the windows. You'd never make it in those—In what you're wearing." He cocked a rifle, laid it by the bed. "Think twice before you come back into my bedroom."

  "Are you insane?" she demanded, gasping.

  "No. Just don't plan to have a thief stealing from me."

  She blinked. "I have no reason to steal anything. I have plenty of money." She reached for her Louis Vuitton bag to show him and groaned. Of course that hadn't made the little time jaunt with her. She was penniless, had no documents to prove who she was or where she was from, and the cause of her dilemma intended to kick her out in the morning.

  With a glare at the man she was beginning to wish she'd never met, Auburn stalked off toward the den and the rocking chair next to a nearly burned out fire in the stone fireplace.

  Funny how it had all looked so cozy when she'd seen him sitting here with Polly. At the moment, it looked anything but cozy, and Auburn was none too happy about it as she tried to get comfortable in surely the stiffest rocking chair ever put on earth.

  * * *

  DILLINGER UNCOCKED THE RIFLE, but kept it near the bed. The woman in rags clearly had no place to go, but how dare she sneak into his house? He might have shot her, and no one could blame him.

  They would, of course, blame him, based on his reputation, but that was the life of a gunslinger. He checked Rose, a smile coming to his face. She was sleeping like an angel, and he almost hoped he didn't find her mother anytime soon.

  His brow knitted. Unless the unhinged woman in the other room was her mother. Surely she hadn't left her baby on his porch, then sneaked back in to get her. They looked nothing alike. Rose was blonde and delicate, the whiskey-haired woman somewhat coarse and yet not unattractive in her own way, if her hair weren't so wild. He'd never seen such unkempt curls, as if she'd been blowing across the Texas desert, tumbleweed-style. He preferred straight hair. Polly had possessed hair of the glossiest ebony, beautiful when light shone on it.

  Dillinger got back into bed, snuggled up next to the baby to keep her warm, and tried not think about the poor woman sleeping in the next room, and how she'd pretended to have kissed him in another time.

  As if he'd believe such a mad fairy tale.

  * * *

  WITH AUBURN'S LOVE OF four- and five-star hotels, it really wasn't that difficult to find her rose convertible Mercedes parked outside the only decent hotel on the highway. Bradley had no idea why she would be traveling along such an ugly, barren road; there were certainly no signs of city sophistication around. He hated it here.

  The obvious answer was that she'd thought he'd never look for her in a backwater like this. She was clearly bent on avoiding him at all costs, a fact that stung his already wounded pride. No doubt she didn't want to be caught with her married boyfriend.

  She was busted now.

  Bradley went inside, explained to the young and inexperienced desk clerk that he'd forgotten his key. She asked for his name and he started talking about his wife and their baby—his wife had wonderful whiskey-colored hair and was so petite he had to order her clothes—and they were traveling with her brother in that custom-painted rose-red Mercedes out front.

  He could tell the clerk knew exactly who he was talking about, so he slipped her a hundred dollars to encourage her to bend the rules and give him a pass card to Auburn's room. His blood ran a bit cold at the thought of what he m
ight find there, preparing himself for the sight of a naked Auburn in another man's arms. Bradley was afraid he might kill them, but of course, there was no reason to do that. Calling the loans on her company would be enough to destroy her emotionally, a much more satisfying revenge.

  Quietly, he stuck the card in the keypad, swiped it. No sound of concern came from the other side, so they hadn't heard him. With a triumphant shove he flung open the door.

  The room was empty. He let out a sigh of disappointment and walked inside. The bed was made, a rollaway folded up. Auburn's clothes were there, as well as a bag of Pampers and some baby formula, and her Louis Vuitton purse, which she'd bought in Paris. He couldn't imagine why she'd leave without her purse, and decided maybe she'd gone for a walk. Maybe the baby had needed soothing.

  A golden earring lay on the floor. He picked it up, admired the tiny bells connected to a fishhook-style wire.

  Pretty, but not something he would have imagined Auburn wearing. She tended to stick to demure pearl studs. But maybe it was a gift from her traveling companion, a thought that made Bradley's blood freeze.

  Maybe he hadn't known Auburn as well as he thought he had.

  He sat down on the bed to wait.

  * * *

  "EXCUSE ME," AUBURN said to the grouchy male who walked into the den with the baby against his wonderfully wide chest, "can you tell me where the bathroom is?" Her bladder was complaining bitterly, but she hadn't dared awaken the grouch to ask him the location of his potty.

  He glowered at her, his black brows lowered. "I assume you mean the outhouse."

  "Outhouse? In ten degree weather? You're kidding, right?"

  He crouched in front of the fire with the baby, reaching to stir the embers with an iron poker. She gasped, snatching Rose from him. "You don't stoke a fire with a baby in your arms. What if a spark jumped out and hit her?"

  He grunted, which she took for unwilling agreement, and threw a couple of logs onto the fire. It would have been a pleasure watching his back muscles ripple and his trim waist flex if she hadn't been so annoyed.

  "Have you changed the baby yet?"

  "I just awoke. And you're not going to be here long enough to worry about drying the baby."

  Rose had other ideas, setting up a din loud enough to shake the rafters. "Oh," Auburn said, her tone sweet, "here's your baby back."

  He tried feeding the child, which worked for a while, and Auburn fumbled with the fire, doing her best to imitate what she'd seen the cowboy do, while he sat in the other rocker, trying to calm his angel. He got a rather unsatisfactory burp from Rose, then started pacing with her, his steps growing more frantic as the baby's wails became louder.

  "I don't know what she wants," Dillinger finally said.

  "Well, I know I need to use a ladies' room," Auburn reminded him, "and I'll bet she wants her diaper changed. We women tend to feel very irritated when things aren't going well for us in that department."

  "There's a chamber pot in the guest room you can use," he finally said, looking panicked.

  A chamber pot? If she was in 1892, and there was no reason at this point to think she wasn't, indoor plumbing on a remote ranch wasn't an option. "Thank you," she said. "I'll be right back and then I'll help you with Rose."

  He didn't say anything, but his eyes communicated that she should hurry. Auburn smiled and went to find the guest room. A chamber pot was there, as well as a washbowl on a wooden stand. She wondered what she'd do with the pot once she finished, decided she'd dump it out the window for the sake of cleanliness. It was only pee, right? "I'll deal with the other track later," she muttered, "once I figure out the dreaded chamber pot."

  Five minutes later, she went back into the main room, where Rose was still sobbing her eyes out. "I wonder if you've got a stuck bubble or a gas pain," Auburn murmured, taking her from Dillinger, who seemed relieved. "Did you change her?"

  "Not yet." He looked a bit worried. "I don't have any diapers."

  "We had Pampers—Oh, that's right." Auburn glanced around. "And since the baby was left on your porch—that's still the story, right? It hasn't changed now that we're here and you seem to have developed convenient amnesia where I'm concerned?"

  "Right," he said, with a growl that conveyed his irritation. "I found her on my porch yesterday. I would have taken her to town to see if anyone knew whose baby she is, but as you can see by looking out the window, the snowfall would impede any progress past the front door. I could make it to the forest if I had to, but it would be hard work."

  Snow was banked up to the windowsill and flurries continued to drift down from the sky. "Well, get a sheet, then," Auburn said. "We'll just have to be creative."

  He went to do as she asked. "Now cut it into diaper-size rectangles. Just cut one, and let's see how we do with it. We may need to rethink our pattern."

  She gently laid Rose on the rag rug in front of the fire. "Just a minute, sweetie, your cowboy is going to make you a wonderful little diaper, and once you're clean, you're going to be so happy."

  "I hope so," Dillinger said, handing her a decent-looking rectangle, even if there were some ragged edges.

  "I hope you have pins," Auburn said, and he went to take some from what looked like a sewing box. It was probably Polly's, and Auburn made a note to dig through that later for more information on how a woman survived in these conditions. She pulled up Rose's little nightgown. "See?" She pointed to the baby's bottom. "A Pamper!"

  He came close to look. "A tiny girdle," he said, his voice amazed. "Where can we buy those?"

  "You can buy them in the twenty-first century, but not here," Auburn replied. "They haven't been invented yet. This proves you were with me in my century!"

  He looked at her. "It doesn't prove that. There's no such thing as time travel. It's a tale, just like in all those books." He pointed to his impressive collection of leather-bound books on a ledge near the fireplace: Shakespeare, One Thousand and One Arabian Nights, King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table and many others, just as he'd described.

  "Where's Polly's earring?" Auburn demanded.

  "On the desk," Dillinger said, watching her wrap Rose in the diaper. "How do you know about my wife?"

  "You told me." She glanced toward the writing stand. "And there's only one earring on the desk, just as we both knew."

  "We did?" he asked, frowning again. "Did you take the other one?"

  "No, I didn't." Auburn sighed and raised the baby to her chest after she was satisfied with her diaper job. "It's in your duster pocket, as it was in the future."

  Looking at her as if she had two heads—and she was feeling as if she did by now, and maybe three—he went to check his duster. He sent a suspicious look Auburn's way. "There's nothing here. You must have stolen the other earring to convince me of your story."

  "Oh, holy smokes!" Auburn got up, handed Rose to him and headed toward the front door. "I've had enough of you to last me for three centuries."

  "Where are you going?" Dillinger demanded, following her. "You won't make it past the forest edge."

  "Trust me, cowboy, I'll be fine. I'm from New York, remember? This isn't the first time I've seen snow."

  "It's ten miles to town," he warned.

  "I'll have really awesome glutes by the time I get there then," she retorted.

  He sighed. "I don't like opinionated women."

  "I don't like men who are jerks and who accuse me of stealing!"

  He took a long look at her face, studying her. "You can stay until the snow clears enough for me to take you to town in the sleigh," Dillinger finally said, "if you mind the baby."

  Auburn blinked. "You want me to be your babysitter?"

  "I think I can trust you to have Rose's best interests at heart," he said slowly. "Although I don't want you getting in my bed again, no matter if it drops below zero outside. Sharing body warmth isn't done between strangers, at least not in this house."

  "Don't worry, buster," Auburn snapped, "there isn't a fairy tale
written that could convince me to sleep in the bed of a true warlock."

  He scowled at that. "You may use the guest room."

  "You are generous indeed, my knight in shining armor."

  "I prefer a more dulcet tone when being spoken to," he said, and Auburn just laughed. He didn't know how lucky he was that she hadn't beaned him with that fireplace poker—an idea she hadn't completely abandoned.

  Chapter Nine

  Something about the woman's story niggled at him, though Dillinger couldn't say exactly what. She bothered him, for one thing, probably since he was used to being alone. And she was noisy, always humming, which was going to irritate him with the three of them shut up in the house. But the baby seemed to like it, so he didn't voice any complaint. The woman kept to herself, and though he'd kept a careful eye on her at first, she'd gone about the business of feeding, rocking and playing with the baby. She'd come up with a unique system of triple-wrapping Rose's diaper so nothing flooded out inconveniently, and cut down one of his undershirts to make a tiny nightgown for the little one. When she'd used Polly's sewing box, he'd started to protest, then asked himself why it mattered as long as she was tending the child.