by Tia Dani
"What are you talking about?"
Libby heard his growl, but no longer cared. Frustration had steamed past the point of control. She doubled her hand into a fist and let it fly. Her knuckles hit solid flesh, and she heard a loud grunt.
For an instant, her impulsive action felt wonderful, but, it cost her. Waves of pain rippled up her back and clamped around the sides of her head. Tears formed behind her closed lids, and she swayed dizzily.
"Damn," she whispered. "I never faint. Now, in less than twenty-four hours, I'm going to do it twice."
Then, as blackness enfolded her, Libby collapsed to the floor in a heap of petticoats and blue taffeta.
Chapter Five
Matthew twisted in the hall chair and glared at Katherine's closed bedroom door. Since he'd deposited the injured woman on Katherine's bed, he'd been frustrated. Hell, from the moment he first met her, he'd been frustrated.
It didn't help when she'd fainted and he'd realized she'd been hit by a ricocheting bullet, a fierce desire to guard and protect her trampled out every other thought. He'd gathered her in his arms, cradling her limp body to his chest like she was something precious. Nothing else mattered. Not the marauding Indians outside the station, not Joseph watching him between every shot fired, not even the idea Sam lay hurt in the front room.
His irrational actions at the Way Station made him want to spit. In the heat of battle, he'd been as useful to his men as a green recruit. Maybe less, because he allowed his concern over a female's minor wound take precedence over Indians who could have killed them. Thank God, for Joseph and the other men's lethal shots. The raiders soon tired of their attack and rode off.
With the Indians gone, things should have quieted down, but they didn't. Joseph went to the cellar, checking on the woman's story about her wounded father. Matthew couldn't forget the surprise in Joseph's voice when he yelled through the floorboards, "There is a man down here. And a dead rattler big enough to swallow a steer."
While three men clambered down to assist Joseph, Matthew commanded the rest to saddle up and ready the stage animals to be taken with them. The woman had said her father lay hurt and he hadn't believed her. But, when he saw the snakebites, time became the enemy. The man in the cellar needed doctoring pronto, and the closest healer was Katherine.
When they arrived at the farm, Katherine snapped orders like a general. Before they knew it, Sam's shoulder had been dressed and poultices applied to the stranger's snakebites. Katherine now tended the girl.
Matthew sat back, letting the tension drain from his shoulders. Maybe he should do something more than sit on his butt. At least, ride to the fort with Joseph and his men to report the attack. He wouldn't feel as useless as a hound barking at a caterpillar. But he couldn't leave, not until he knew Katherine's last patient would be all right.
A need to protect her dug at him like a spur gouging him in the side.
He frowned at the thought. It wasn't only the need to see to her welfare, something else drove him. After she'd fainted, and her closed eyelids blocked those green eyes, the color remained fixed in his mind. Even now he could see her glaring angrily as she writhed beneath him. No doubt a woman like her could get into a man's blood and make him want—
A new tension bulged against the buttons on his canvas jeans, and Matthew shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat. Groaning, he tilted the chair back onto two legs and rubbed the palms of his hands against his temples. Maybe Joseph's comment about needing a woman brought it all on. One thing for sure, it couldn't be the vixen behind the door. She was too argumentative, feisty and mean-tempered to suit him.
The bedroom door opened and Katherine appeared. He snapped to his feet, but his knees continued to wobble. Katherine didn't miss a beat.
"You look pale. What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing, I'm fine."
"No, you're not. Come to the kitchen. I'll get you some tonic."
Matthew grimaced and followed her down the stairs. "Forget the tonic. I'm fine. How's the woman doing?"
Katherine shot him a disbelieving look then reached into a cupboard for her blue bottle. "If you mean Miss Strammon, she's resting comfortably."
Matthew's jaw dropped. "Miss who?"
"Miss Libby Strammon. Her father's name is Theodore."
"Strammon, like in Anthony Strammon?"
"The same. I believe they are relatives of Anthony."
"You believe?"
Matthew couldn't stop the sharpness in his tone, and she gave him one of her famous don't-take-that-tone-with-me-young-man frowns.
He was about to apologize when she added unexpectedly, "They must be relatives, otherwise, why would they have the same unusual last name?" She reached for a spoon. "Now take this."
He waved a dismissive hand. "I don't want it."
"Nonsense. Do you want your bitters by the spoon or in a cup of coffee?"
Matthew gave up and opened his mouth, feeling like he was nine again, only this time he had to bend down to take the spoon. After a quick gulp, he shuddered and rasped, "Now I'll have a cup of coffee."
The tonic warmed his belly. Katherine was right. He did need the restorative. At least the tension in his jeans had disappeared. Matthew sat at the table and took the steaming cup from Katherine's hand. "Did she say what they were doing at the stage station?"
Katherine sat across from him. "No, and I didn't ask."
"Why not?"
"Because she needed rest, not questions. They'll be staying for awhile. You can ask her later."
"Staying awhile?" The possibility these strangers staying at Katherine's rattled him, especially, since he planned on coming back to run the farm. The father was an unknown, but having Miss Libby Strammon within arm's reach day and night might drive him crazy. Surely there was something he could do to change Katherine's mind about her newfound relatives. "Don't you think it's a bit suspicious they appear out of nowhere and have the same name as your late husband?"
"No. People have faraway relatives come visit."
"Not ones they don't know about. Maybe they're swindlers out to cheat you. After all, Anthony's violent death did make the papers in Kansas City. Anyone could read about his murder and plan to bilk his estate."
Katherine stared at him in amazement. "Matthew Domé. How could you think of such a thing? Why that poor girl is nothing more than a frightened and confused young woman."
"Frightened." Matthew snorted. "She sure wasn't frightened back at the station. She was ready to go outside and face the Indians all by herself."
"She was in shock. Her father had been bitten by a rattlesnake—twice. All she thought about was getting help."
"How is the old man, by the way?"
Katherine eyed him with displeasure. "The old man, as you call him, is weak, but he'll recover." As if to gain control of herself, she cleared her throat then said softly, "You were wise to bring them here rather than taking them to the fort. The extra distance and time might have done him in."
Matthew shrugged indifferently. Since he found out they called themselves Strammon, he wasn't so sure of the wisdom in bringing them here. "Maybe, but then again, maybe not."
Katherine's annoyance returned. "I declare, Matthew, what's come over you? I've never seen you act this way."
"Nothing's come over me."
He'd told Katherine an outright lie. Everything had come over him, but he wouldn't admit it. Nor would he acknowledge for the first time he'd lost control because an unwanted female had entered his life. If he confessed, Katherine would tell him it was a sure sign he needed to get married.
Matthew touched the tender bruise below his left eye and winced. As far as he was concerned, the idea of marrying a headstrong woman who thought she could handle everything by herself had as much appeal as hog-tying a bull buffalo.
"What happened to your eye?" Katherine asked, immediately picking up on his discomfort.
"The fool woman hit me with her fist."
"She did?" Disbelief shone in Katherin
e's face. "You have to be joking."
He probed around his cheekbone. "Believe me, I'm not joking."
"But why? What were you doing?"
"Me?" Matthew glared at her. It didn't sit right she assumed he was the one in the wrong. "I didn't do anything to her. She up and hit me for no reason at all."
"I find it hard to believe, dear. Granted I don't know her, but she doesn't strike me as the type who'd wallop a man for no reason. There must be more here than you're saying."
Before he had an opportunity to answer, she added unsympathetically, "You better put something cold on your eye. It's turning ugly."
Matthew swallowed an oath and stood. He hadn't even considered a black eye. Grumbling under his breath, he stormed to the water bucket next to the stove and grabbed up a dish rag. He squeezed the cold water out and stomped back to the table.
"It'll need to be colder if you want it to do any good. You'd better get a chunk of ice from the ice house."
Katherine said it matter-of-factly. He ground his teeth in frustration. He expected more sympathy than she gave.
"Maybe, I don't wanna get a chunk of ice," he retorted peevishly. "Maybe I want it just the way it is." He dropped into his chair with a thud. Propping his elbow on the table, he slapped the wet rag against his injured eye and glowered at her with his good one.
Katherine sighed loud and long. Her fingers tapped on the table top with irritation. "Quit acting like a spoiled little boy. It doesn't become you." She leaned forward in her chair and glared at him. "Besides you know what I think about spoiled little boys."
Matthew jerked his head upward. The rag on his face fell to the table with a splat. Something about Katherine's expression bothered him, and for a moment he couldn't figure out what it was. Then, he knew. It was her eyes.
Hell, it was happening again. Even without thinking about her, the frustrating woman managed to invade his mind and his body.
* * *
Within the confines of the bedroom, Libby's eyes snapped opened with a start. It happened again. Every time she relaxed into the soft mattress, his face appeared in her mind like the proverbial bad penny. She flung her arm over her face as if the crook of her elbow could shield her eyes from his image.
"Lieutenant What-ever-your-name is," she grumbled, "find someone else to bother. I don't need you messing with my mind. I have enough to worry about."
"Libby?"
Libby lifted her arm away from her face and struggled to sit up, trying hard to ignore the dull pain raking across her left shoulder. "It's me, Dad. I'm coming."
"My God. I didn't dream all this. How did we get here?"
His voice sounded hoarse and strained, but certainly stronger than it had been in the cellar. Libby inhaled slowly, willing her pain to lessen while she shuffled across the small room to his cot. Her father tried to raise his head. She patted his shoulder, needing to touch him, needing the comfort his closeness had always provided. "It's all right, Dad. Don't tax yourself."
He pointed to the wrappings around his wounds. "What's this stuff on my leg?"
"It's some sort of drawing poultice. I think I got most of the poison out, but I figured it didn't hurt for the woman to go ahead and place them on your leg. She said it works wonders."
"What woman?"
Libby understood his confusion. When she'd regained consciousness, her mind had reeled with the same sense of lost reality.
She placed her fingers on his neck and sighed with relief at the steady rhythm of his strong pulse. "You don't know her. We're in her bedroom." Her smile slipped as she reached for his hand. "Uh, Dad, you're going to have a hard time believing this, but—"
"We've gone back in time, haven't we?"
Nothing he could have said would have shocked her more. "You know?"
"Yes, I suspected it the minute I looked around the room."
"But how could you possibly know? I only accepted it because...because..." She trailed off, not knowing where to begin.
"The wardrobe."
She'd noticed the large wardrobe against the far wall earlier but hadn't given the piece of furniture much thought. It was intricately carved with fish-like grotesques. Two overly-large doors carried bevel-glass mirrors. "I don't understand. This one piece of furniture told you we went back in time?"
"Yes. This wardrobe belonged to my great-grandmother Strammon. The family brought it from Russia in the early 1800's. It has been handed down generation after generation."
Libby glanced at it again. "I've never seen it before."
"It was destroyed in a flood." He paused. "Let's see, I was about ten when it happened. I'll never forget how upset my mother was when they found it completely buried in mud."
Libby touched the polished wood in awe. "How do you know it's the same one?"
"Because of that chunk of wood missing on the upper right-hand corner. I remember my mother telling me how it got there."
A deep gash ran along the grain. Libby ran her finger over the mark. "How did this happen?"
"My great-great-grandfather threw his knife at a target drawn on the wall and missed."
Libby smiled. "Are you sure this could be the same piece of furniture? Really, Dad, there are probably lots of furniture with gashes in them."
"Look around the side up near the gouge. Tell me what's there."
The expression on her father's face caused her to step closer to the wardrobe. There was definitely something there. Her eyes strained trying to make out what the faded lines were. "Hmm…looks like a shape of some sort. A horse maybe?"
"And are there initials?"
"Yes. I can read them. J S carved on the side of the horse."
"Don't tell me there's lots of furniture with great-great-grandpa's signature on them."
Libby stared at her father. "You're serious. We've time traveled."
"I believe we have."
"I considered it true but this is crazy," she muttered under her breath.
Theo chuckled. "According to my mother, my great-great-grandmother cried for days after they discovered it ruined."
"I can see why, it's a lovely piece of furniture. It's a shame it was destroyed. I would have cried, too, but if...oh, my word..." She stared at the closed bedroom door in horror. "Do you realize what this means?"
Theo chuckled again. "The woman helping us might be an ancestor? Yes, I have."
"This isn't funny." Libby shook her head in censure. "There's a good chance we've gone back in time, and you're acting as if it happens every day."
Her father gave her a deep, piercing look. "Of course, it isn't funny, I'm sorry." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Libby, there's something I should tell you. For a long time, I expected this was bound to happen."
"You what?"
Libby's world began to tilt again. All her life, her father, predictable and normal, had been a steady, down-to-earth, simple farmer, nothing more. The idea of him believing in, let alone readily accepting, the premise of time travel shocked her through and through. She collapsed on the chair beside his cot. "But, why?"
"Why do I believe in time travel? Or why did I expect something like this to happen?"
Numb, Libby absently waved her right hand. "Both, I guess. I only considered it because I got shot during what was supposed to be a scene in the film."
"Shot." Her father struggled to sit up.
"Don't move." Libby placed a hand on his shoulder. "Remember, you're not supposed to get upset. I'm fine. I was only grazed."
"Who shot you?"
"Indians."
"What Indians?"
Libby sighed. Her father was definitely upset now. "Real Indians were attacking the soldiers at the station when I went upstairs to get help. You know," she said, frowning. "You surprise me. You take my news about going back in time without batting an eye, but when you hear I got shot, you come unglued. How come?"
"You might have been killed."
"I wasn't, so you can relax. I'm in one piece." Libby wiggled her fingers in fron
t of his face. "See?"
When he finally relaxed, Libby looked around the room. "To tell the truth, the only reason I haven't gone stark-raving mad is because, after doing some heavy thinking, it occurred to me time travel might be plausible."
"Oh really?"
"Uh huh." She turned back to him. "Remember the TV show we watched the other night? You know, the Twilight Zone where Cliff Robertson left his wagon train to get medicine for his son, and he walked over the hill, down a paved highway and into a present-day cafe? Then he went back to his time by walking back over the same hill?"
"Yes."
"If Rod Serling could write about it, maybe there might be some truth to it."
Theo smiled. "I doubt time travel is plausible because Rod Serling wrote about it."
The bedroom door squeaked and opened a crack. From around the edge peered a tow-headed boy, not much more than five. His brown eyes sparkled, wide with curiosity.
Libby smiled. "Hello, who are you?"
"James. I live here." He continued to peer around the door, not moving an inch. "You better now?"
Libby hesitated at his question and realized for the first time she was free of pain. She glanced down at her father in amazement. "You know, I actually do feel better." She touched her bandaged shoulder. "Whatever is in the salve sure took the pain away."
"Grandmother Katherine's secret rem...reme...ity. It always helps." James leaned farther around the door, using the black metal knob to keep him from falling into the room.
Libby eyed the flimsy knob with misgivings. "Don't you think you'd be more comfortable coming on into the room rather than hanging on the knob?"
"Huh uh. Grandma Katherine says I'm not supposed to come in and bother you."
Libby could see the child took his instructions literally. His feet were still planted firmly on the floor outside the room while he hung across the threshold. She exchanged a grin with her father. "Where's Grandma Katherine now?"
"Saying goodbye to Matt."
"Ah, I see, and who is Matt?"