"For the first month, you will be able to contact us," Harry said. "After that, you're on your own."
"All right, thanks." She turned and started for the door again. Shoulders back, she straightened her spine and set off through the open doorway. As a curtain of clouds rose up and swallowed her, the three members of the Resettlement Committee looked at each other.
"Healthy and wealthy," Tom muttered, disgusted. “She should have asked for wisdom, too." Glancing at Harry, he asked, "And why did you tell her she could contact us during that first month?"
Harry shrugged. "I thought it might help her ease into the situation.”
"She's going to be angry," Dick said with a quiet sigh.
"It won't be our fault," Tom reminded him. He snapped his fingers and smiled when Tracy's empty wine goblet disappeared. "She didn't specify when she wanted to live."
Dick, his toga hopelessly wrinkled, sank into the chair behind his untidy desk. "I don't believe 1875 is ready for Tracy Hill."
THE WILDING RANCH, MONTANA, 1875
Tracy inhaled deeply and immediately regretted it. Her chest felt heavy, tight, as though a huge boulder was resting against her ribcage. She took another breath, shallower this time, and was pleased to note that the heaviness was passing. Although as that pain eased, she began to notice that it felt as though she was lying on a bed of rocks.
"My aching back," she muttered.
A chorus of startled gasps erupted around her. Opening her eyes, Tracy looked up into the faces of four very shocked strangers.
Levering herself up onto her elbows, she looked at each of them in turn before demanding. "What's going on here?"
A blond woman was standing beside the bed, wearing a dress that belonged in a museum. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, then keeled over silently.
Tracy looked from the woman lying in a puddle of silk to the three men staring at her. "Shouldn't one of you pick her up or something?"
"God damn it."
Tracy's gaze shot to the man who had cursed. Tall, dark haired, with harsh, lean features twisted in anger, he was dressed in worn jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt and a brown leather vest. In one hand, he held what looked like a cowboy hat and around his hips, he wore a holster and pistol of all things!
Tracy scowled at him, then quickly turned her attention to the other two men in the room. One of them, a good-looking blond, was dressed much like the dark-haired cowboy, except that his clothes looked less worn, more expensive, and he wasn't wearing a gun, thank heaven. The other, an older man, leaned over her with what looked like a metal straw with a suction cup attached. He set the flat disk against her chest and fitted the end of the straw to his ear. After a long minute, he straightened up again and smiled.
"A good strong heartbeat,” he pronounced.
“I should hope so,” Tracy shot back.
The blond stared at her, speechless for a long minute, then his features shifted and he laughed outright, the booming sound almost comforting in the otherwise still room. The dark-haired cowboy took a step closer to the bed, looked down at her and if anything, his expression became even surlier just before he stomped out of the room.
"See ya later," Tracy muttered, then glanced down at the woman still lying on the floor beside her. As she pushed herself into a sitting position on the lumpy mattress, Tracy decided that if the woman's friends weren't going to worry about her, why should she?
"Can somebody get me a burger and some fries?" She paused thoughtfully, then corrected herself. "On second thought, forget the fries.”
CHAPTER TWO
“I don't know what a 'burger' is," Doctor Hanes said as he closed his black leather bag, “or what it is you want fried. But I can tell you this, Nora Wilding. All you'll be getting for the next couple of days will be broth."
Broth? Gross. Her stomach grumbled a protest, but she ignored it as another thought struck her. "What did you just call me?"
Clearly surprised, the doctor blinked behind thick spectacles. "Nora. Nora Wilding. Your name."
The older man shot a quick, confused glance at the blond man still hovering at the end of her bed, but Tracy didn’t even notice.
Nora Wilding? Tracy thought about her new name for a moment or two, mentally trying it on for size, then decided that she could handle being a "Nora." Her favorite novelist's name was Nora, after all.
Thoughtfully, she looked at the two men watching her.
Doctor Hanes and the blond hunk was… Richard. That was his name. Richard Bonner. Now how in the heck had she known that? She leaned to one side to glance at the woman on the floor. Elizabeth. Richard's sister.
Interesting. She knew these people's names, but she didn't seem to know much else about them. What was going on here? Were there just enough of the old Nora's memories left in her body to identify the people in her life? Or was this some little trick of the Resettlement Committee's to help her fit in more easily?
Did she not only get to remember her own lives, but the old Nora's as well?
She invested a few more minutes into puzzling out the situation, but finally gave it up since thinking about it seemed to be bringing on a fierce headache.
Instead, the new Nora smiled to herself and took another moment to study what was apparently her bedroom. One eyebrow lifted as she noted the neatly chinked log walls, braided rugs, and old-fashioned, heavy furniture. Blue gingham curtains covered the windows and a veritable army of lit candles marched around the edges of the room. It all seemed vaguely familiar, yet at the same time foreign. A weird sensation, really. Like looking at an old family photo through a glass of water. You knew what was there, but everything appeared to be slightly out of focus.
She shook it off, telling herself that just because the old Nora Wilding had been big into country-style furnishings that didn't mean they couldn't be changed.
But first things first.
She knew her name, now she wanted to know what her new body looked like. “Can one of you hand me a mirror?"
Richard Bonner stopped in the act of bending over his sister's still prostrate form. He glanced at Nora curiously. “A mirror?”
"Is that a problem?" she asked and lifted one hand to touch her face, instinctively feeling around for some abnormality. Was she a twisted, scarred mess? Were they afraid that one look at her own reflection would send her sliding back to death's door?
"Course not," the doctor said gruffly. "Just that you never were one for vanity, Nora. Surprised us, is all."
Richard smiled at her reassuringly. It really was a great smile. He then scooped Elizabeth off the floor. The elegantly dressed woman lay as limp as a sack of potatoes in her brother's arms.
Nora shifted her gaze from them when the doctor thrust a silver-backed, oval hand mirror at her.
"Thanks," she muttered and steeled herself for her first look.
Okay, no deformities. That was good. With a critical eye, she studied the image looking back at her. Dark brown hair straggled around a narrow face. Pale skin stretched tight across thin, almost gaunt features. Thick brown eyebrows, which desperately needed plucking, lay above huge brown eyes that dominated her face and looked almost black when contrasted with the unhealthy pallor of her flesh.
She frowned. "Lord," she muttered and silently lamented the loss of her honey-brown tan, curly blond hair, and big blue eyes. Clearly, more than the furnishings of her new house needed an overhaul.
Well, she was supposed to be rich in this life, so she would get herself to the fanciest, priciest health spa she could find. Another quick look in the mirror. She shuddered. Oh, yeah. Health spa and tanning studio for sure.
Slapping the mirror down onto her lap, she slanted Richard a look. He was watching her as if he had never seen her before. The woman in his arms hadn't stirred.
"Are you going to stand there holding her all day?" Nora asked finally.
"Uh, no." He hefted his sister's limp body a bit higher and said, "If you're sure you'll be all right, I'll just take
her to her room.”
“I'm not sick," Nora assured him. "I feel fine. That is, I would if everybody would quit hovering.”
"Hovering?" Richard frowned slightly.
"You know," Nora told him. "You're both staring at me like you're waiting for me to keel over."
"You've been very ill," the doctor defended both himself and the other man.
"But I'm not now," she countered. "You said so yourself.”
"As your fiancé,” Richard started to say.
"Fiancé?" Nora stared at him. "You're my fiancé?" No, she told herself. No way. The Resettlement Committee had promised her that she wouldn't have to deal with love this time around. It wasn't fair of them to just hand off Nora's love life and expect her to pick up the ball and run with it.
"Don't you remember?" Richard prodded, his voice carrying just a twinge of anxiety. "The evening before you fell so ill, you agreed to be my wife.”
"That's a lie." A deep voice came from the open doorway.
Nora leaned to one side to see past Richard and his inanimate burden. Somehow she wasn't surprised when the grumpy cowboy strolled into the room as if he owned it. This time though, her brain supplied a name to go with the man. Seth Murdoch. Tall and dark, his expression was no friendlier than it had been a while ago. Actually, he looked like a villain in a western movie. Or a young Clint Eastwood, minus the charm. Thin but muscular long legs encased in worn jeans that stacked up against the toes of his boots and draped down over the heels. His holstered pistol hung low over narrow hips and his stance was deliberately casual. Nora wasn't fooled. He looked like a man who was never relaxed.
Obviously the tall, surly, silent type. Well thankfully, she had always preferred men who were glib and entertaining. She never had been able to understand women who were attracted to dangerous men. Wasn't love dangerous enough?
"See here, Murdoch," Richard snapped and hefted the now gently murmuring woman in his arms to a better position.
Why doesn't he put that female down somewhere? Nora wondered.
"How is she, doc?" Murdoch asked, pointedly ignoring Richard.
"Far as I can tell, Seth," the doctor said with a smile for his ex-patient, "her health's better than it’s ever been.”
"But you said…" the cowboy started to say.
"I know what I said," Doctor Hanes interrupted him quickly. "And I can't explain what happened. But there she sits, as bright as a new penny."
"If you don't mind," Nora spoke up and waved her right hand in the air to get their attention. "I'd appreciate it if you two would quit discussing me as though I wasn't here."
If anything, the cowboy's expression became ever surlier. Murdoch crumpled the brim of the hat he held in his right hand and shifted his gaze to Nora. "I thought you died. We all did."
She felt the sting of reproach in his words and almost shivered from the blast of ice in his pale blue eyes. Nora scowled at him. "Sorry to disappoint you, cowboy."
He inhaled sharply. "I didn't say I was disappointed. I said-"
"No one cares what you said, Murdoch," Richard broke in.
"Look, you," Murdoch told him. "I've been a part of the Wilding ranch since long before you showed up. I don't need you to-"
"Ranch?” Nora asked sharply. "Did you say ranch?"
Murdoch gave her a look that clearly said he thought she had lost her mind. "What would you call it?”
"Trouble," she snapped and threw back the quilts covering her.
"Now see here," the doctor demanded. “You cover up this instant."
“I'm fine," she insisted as she swung her legs to the floor and stood up. If her vision seemed a little blurry around the edges, she ignored it.
Glancing up at Richard Bonner, she saw the stunned expression on his face, but chose to ignore it too. Marching around the wide four-poster bed, she walked straight to Murdoch and stopped when she was right in front of him.
"You said ranch. Just where is this ranch?" she demanded.
“Where?" he asked. "Where it's always been. Montana."
A cold feeling began to snake through Nora's veins. Something was wrong. She just knew it. Ranch. Cowboys. Holstered guns. Braided rugs. Museum quality dresses on women who got the vapors. Doctors with antique stethoscopes.
Maybe Nora Wilding wasn't into modern day country style furnishings. Maybe Nora had decorated with what was available.
Swallowing back a rising tide of anger and uneasiness, she forced herself to ask a question she was afraid she already knew the answer to. "Tell me something, Prince Charming," she said to a stunned Murdoch. "What year is this?"
Instead of answering, he half turned to glare at the doctor before nearly shouting, "I thought you said she was all right."
“Don't talk to him," Nora said and grabbed his arm to pull him back to face her. “Just answer the question. What year is it?"
“Damn you Nora, if this is a game, it ain't funny."
"Am I laughing?" she asked.
He stared at her for a long minute. Finally he said, "The same year it was yesterday. And this morning. And the same year it'll be tomorrow. 1875."
Damn it.
She'd been had.
#
What the hell was going on here anyway? Seth Murdoch stared down at the woman he'd known for ten years and saw a complete stranger. Oh, her features hadn't changed any. But there was a difference nevertheless. For instance, the Nora he knew would never have paraded around in her nightgown in front of three men.
Something was wrong, whether that old fool of a doctor knew it or not.
"I don't believe this," she muttered and turned to walk across the room. She stopped at one of the two windows and threw back the gingham curtains. Cloud-mottled sunshine sifted into the room, outlining her too-thin body under that nightgown of hers.
"We had an agreement," she whispered and Seth barely heard her. She lifted one hand to her forehead and seemed to sway slightly.
"You had an agreement?" he asked. "With who?"
Her fingers curled into the starched cotton curtains. She shook her head fiercely. "It doesn't matter. I'll take care of it later."
"Nora dear," Richard interrupted. "Perhaps you should get back into bed until you're stronger. Everything will look better after a rest.”
She turned her head and looked at him over her shoulder. A wry smile curved her lips. "Will it? Somehow I doubt that."
"What in heaven is wrong with you men?" A woman's voice sliced into the strange conversation. Seth glanced at Hannah Miller, the housekeeper, and almost sighed with relief. If anyone could take Nora in hand, it would be Hannah. "Eleanor Wilding," Hannah snapped and set the tray she was carrying down on the top of a mahogany chest of drawers. "You step out of that spray of sun this instant."
Instead, Nora, looking surprised, glanced down at herself, then slowly lifted her head to glare first at one man, then another.
“Enjoying the view, gentlemen?" she asked, just before dropping into a dead faint.
#
Seth ran a currycomb over the old stallion's flanks. The big horse shifted lazily and damn near purred under the attention. "Too bad people ain't as easy to please as you are," he muttered, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smile that died before it could take hold.
And too damn bad he didn't understand people the way he understood horses. Seth added silently. If he did, maybe he could figure out what had happened to Nora. He snorted in disgust, slapped the old black's hindquarters affectionately, then stepped out of the enclosure.
He walked down the center aisle of the big barn, his practiced gaze moving over each of the horses now settling in their stalls for the night. Familiar, comforting sounds hushed in the quiet: animals shifting, rubbing against the wooden partitions, hooves gently stamping the straw-covered ground, and from somewhere outside, the echoing cry of a wolf prowling his territory.
Seth reached the front of the barn and stood in the open double doorway, staring toward the main house across the yard. No lamp
s burned. In the darkness, the place looked deserted. Empty. Then the moon scuttled out from behind a layer of clouds and silver light glimmered against the windowpanes. His gaze moved unerringly to the curtained windows of Nora's room.
Alive, he thought. Somehow, that sickly little body of hers had fought death off once again. But how many more times could she do it? How many more times would she have to lay in bed struggling for every breath?
His grip tightened on the currycomb. And just how much more damage could her frail body stand up to? For years, she'd battled her own infirmities, fighting her way back. Today though, he'd had to face the knowledge that perhaps this latest brush with death had unhinged her mind.
Why would she pretend not to know the year? Why would she look at him like he was a stranger? And why wasn't that fool doctor worried about her? After she had fainted, Doc Hanes had declared her to be all worn out and ordered everyone to let her sleep. Like sleep was going to fix whatever had rattled loose in her brain. Scowling, Seth walked to the shelves hammered into the front wall and set the currycomb back into its place.
Disgusted and damned tired of his own company, he left the barn, carefully closing the doors behind him. Maybe all he needed was to go to the bunkhouse and join in a game of poker. Get his mind off Nora for a while. Hell, nobody else seemed worried. Why should he be?
A flicker of movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He half turned in time to see Nora slip from the house and hurry across the yard to the far paddock. Foolish woman. The spring night was cool. Too cool for her to be out running around with only a shawl thrown over her nightgown. Didn't the damn woman know she'd nearly died of pneumonia?
Muttering furiously, Seth followed after her.
#
"All right you guys," Nora whispered angrily, her gaze fixed on the brightest star she could find in the night sky. Her fingers squeezed the gold ring through the fabric of her plain cotton nightgown. "We have to talk."
What were things coming to when you couldn't even trust heavenly beings to keep their word? Tugging the ends of her crocheted shawl up around her neck, she shivered slightly. She stamped her bare feet against the rocky ground and winced as a stone stabbed her arch. Blast all of you guys, she thought.
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