Well, she could change that, she thought, as she crossed the street. Besides discovering Jake’s secrets, she had an enormous curiosity about all things historic and firsthand experience was the best way to find out.
Smells of sweat, cloying perfume, even manure assaulted her the minute she pushed through the swinging doors. A haze of smoke hung low across the room, making her eyes water as she stepped further inside. She squinted, not sure she would even recognize Jake among the dozens of men slouched against the bar or tipped back in chairs, their hats hiding their faces as they surveyed the cards in their hands.
“Hey, sugar.” The man sitting to her left smacked her bottom. “Why don’t you go relieve Harry at the piano? He can’t play worth a damn.”
At first she was too shocked to speak, but then he pinched her behind. “Better yet, y’all just come sit right here.” He grabbed her arm and tried to pull her down on his lap, but her years of self-defense classes kicked in. Hooking a foot behind the leg of his chair, she jerked, sending him sprawling to the ground. While his companions guffawed, he swore and lumbered to his feet.
“You might got on a pair of britches, but I ain’t going to fight some woman.” He still took a menacing step toward her then another. He was well over six feet tall, with bushy black hair and a beard badly in need of a trim. Though his clothes looked clean, they were in need of repair as his bare thigh showed through a hole above his knee.
Bri didn’t dare shift her gaze to look for Jake. Always keep your eyes on your opponent, her instructor had repeatedly told her.
“Maybe I’ll just take you upstairs and show you why men wear the pants around here.” He reached for her arm and she stepped back, smack into the hard chest of another. Before she could scream for Jake, an equally hard arm circled her waist, anchoring her in place.
She was surrounded by rough frontiersmen, and it appeared she had traded one for another. She wiggled as she tried to remember how to get out of this particular hold, but the arm just tightened.
“The lady’s spoken for.” His voice was deep and dangerous, sending a shiver down her spine.
“Like hell,” replied the man who had accosted her.
“That’s where you’ll be if you don’t back down,” the stranger stated calmly, bringing a pistol up and leveling the barrel directly at the man’s chest.
The bearded man brought both hands up, palms out, but he grinned. “We could flip for her, but she’s too scrawny to be much comfort anyway.”
Though his insult stung, Bri certainly wasn’t going to argue, but neither did she want to stay in a stranger’s arms.
“Let go.” She wiggled.
Hot, whiskey laced breath wafted through her hair as he whispered, “Hold still, damnit, or you’ll get us both killed.” She recognized Jake’s voice then, but couldn’t reconcile his dangerous voice and attitude with the man she knew. He pulled her backwards, deeper into the saloon. “Step.” The one word command was followed by a shift in his weight and though Bri automatically stepped up, she hated allowing him to boss her around.
“Let go,” she stated again. “You’re as drunk as he is.”
He sighed quietly. “Look around you. Do you see anyone you’d rather be with because you sure as hell won’t get out of this place without a man.” He let go of her waist but grabbed her wrist, continuing to pull her up the stairs. He holstered his gun but never turned his back on the men below.
Men who were jeering. “Give it to her, gambler.”
“Show her who’s boss,” another shouted.
“I bet she likes it rough. I can sure help if you need!”
Bri pulled against his hold in earnest now, not to put on a show. She really didn’t know Jake that well. Would the men’s raunchy comments and the whiskey he had consumed incite him to take her against her will?
Jake stopped in front of a door, knocked twice and when there was no response, opened it. He pulled her inside. Only after he twisted the key in the lock did he release her. She rubbed her wrist, more of an automatic response than because it hurt. His grip had been surprisingly gentle.
He shrugged out of his coat, hanging it over the back of a chair. When he turned to face her, his gaze traveled up and down her body, pausing at her chest. “I wouldn’t say you were scrawny, exactly.” Then he grinned. “Maybe I could tell better if you gave me a kiss for my troubles.”
Bri began to shake with outrage now that the danger had passed. He was no better than the rest of those men downstairs. “I wouldn’t kiss you if you were the last man on earth.” Trite, she knew, but perhaps not in this century.
He frowned. “On second thought, you wouldn’t find me kissing you either, even if you were the last prickly, but available, woman.” He hesitated. “Well, maybe if you were the very last, but not if there were any other choice.”
His comment was ridiculous and Bri started to giggle. He was an enigma. He rescued her, fed and clothed her and had rescued her yet again tonight. But the whole time, it was like he didn’t want to be kind but couldn’t help himself. Still, his comment just now bruised her ego for she didn’t feel she was that poor of a female specimen.
“What do you want in a woman then?” She asked before she could stop herself.
He eyed her, started to speak, and then turned to pace the small confines of the room. “For a start she must be agreeable; docile and willing to abide by my wishes. She would be fair of face – no freckles – and definitely have a mouth meant for kissing, not spewing vile vindictive words at my head.”
Bri touched the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “You can go straight to hell.” His observations hurt, even as she told herself she didn’t care.
He stepped closer, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her snug against him. She pushed against his shoulders
“Then again, a woman with spirit most probably has fire in her veins instead of ice water, and would do well in bed.” He nuzzled her bare neck and despite her efforts to push him away, Bri’s legs grew weak.
“Perhaps we should test this theory so I have some basis for comparison when I decide to search for a wife.”
Was he deliberately trying to make her angry or was it the whiskey talking? While she found him attractive and in different circumstances might have considered kissing him, seducing a drunk just wasn’t in her evening plans. She pushed hard, wiggling out of his grasp as he fell backwards onto the narrow bed.
Without thinking, she turned the key in the lock and stepped into the shadowy hallway. Groaning, she leaned against the wall as the noise from below reminded her exactly where they were. She couldn’t even run away properly. She glanced to the other end of the hall, but there were no neon exit signs glowing in the dark to show her the way.
“Exactly,” she whispered as she slipped back into the room. Like it or not, she wasn’t home and she needed Jake. She didn’t have to care for him, or have stomach flip-flops whenever he entered the room. She shouldn’t wonder what it would be like to kiss those firm lips, regardless of what she had said. Those things were not for her; not in this time. Unbeknownst to him, he was her guide and she couldn’t afford to do anything that would distort history and decrease her chances of getting back home.
She looked across the room to see Jake sprawled on the bed, sound asleep. Or passed out. She turned the key in the lock but as a precaution slid the small dresser in front of the door.
* * *
Jake woke with a hellish headache and a sour taste in his mouth. Moaning as he turned to sit on the side of the bed, he kept his eyes closed until the spinning stopped.
“You really should stop drinking if you can’t hold your liquor.” The caustic voice grated on his nerves, and his scalp prickled.
He knew that voice, but it wasn’t one to which he awoke in the morning. He had made sure of that. Slowly he opened one eye then the other, surveying unfamiliar surroundings. It took him a minute to remember what had transpired last night.
“Did we…?�
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“No!” she exclaimed.
Under normal circumstances he might have been affronted by her vehemence, but his head hurt too much to care. “Ah, yes. You wouldn’t even kiss me.”
She stood from the small cane chair and moved over to the window. “Can we just get back to the boat?”
Christ; the boat. He quickly stood, then cursed as his head felt like it fell off his shoulders. Pulling out his pocket watch he realized they had little time to get back before the Arabia pulled away from the dock. A long low whistle confirmed it. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out the door and down the stairs. He flipped a coin on the counter for the room as they walked past the now deserted tables in the saloon and out into the bright sunshine of morning.
He groaned, holding his head rigid, looking neither left nor right as they hurried down the street to the dock, boarding just as the crew prepared to pull up the gangplank.
He thought he might be sick if he didn’t get some coffee and food into his stomach but when he finally got the cabin door open, he stopped short of pushing her in and locking it behind her so he could go eat.
Paper wrapped parcels were piled high on the bed.
“It’s a good thing I found a game last night. A dress or two would suffice for the length of your stay, would it not?” His head pounded and he sucked in a deep breath to quiet the thought that something was wrong. “Just how long do you intend to stay?”
She looked lost. Until now he had thought someone would come along and claim her, or she would simply get off the steamboat at one of the many towns along the way and disappear. Now, given the number of parcels on his bed… “How long? I don’t know.”
He could barely hear her whisper. “What? Look, you fell in the river but you must belong somewhere.”
“Kansas City; no, Westport. Or maybe Parkville.”
“Parkville? That’s a ways yet. Did you board the Arabia at Saint Louis and are on the way home?” His whiskey soaked brain wasn’t making any sense of her ramblings. “I don’t remember seeing you before Washington when I fished you out of the river.” Something wasn’t right, but in his current state he couldn’t put a finger on it.
She walked to the other side of the bed before turning to face him.
“I don’t know. I just know I don’t belong here.” She let out a sob and fell across the bed. It was the first sign of weakness he had seen, for she was normally railing against him and saying all manner of things he didn’t understand. He reached out a hand, but stopped short of touching her. Miss Brianna Blake was getting under his skin. He had spent two years building the wall around his heart and he wasn’t about to let it crumble. Though his head pounded, he opened the door to leave, reminding himself once again there was a very good reason he shunned humanity.
Bri lay still until the door closed and she was alone. She didn’t know why she had broken down, but everything suddenly seemed out of control. She was happy to be back on the boat even if she shared the cabin with Jake. She was stuck in the wrong century and her only lifeline was a man she didn’t understand at all. He gambled all night, as though trying to give away his money, but then he complained if she spent some of it. He held himself aloft from the other passengers, in fact from people in general, except for the necessary interactions of playing poker.
Regardless of how he acted, Bri felt there was an innate goodness about him. After all, he had taken her in when she was unconscious. He had protected her from the scrutiny of the boat’s captain and crew; had fed her and given her a place to stay, even if he did grumble about sharing his bed. And last night he had been her gallant knight. On the one hand, he acted like he didn’t care, and yet he refused to throw her to the wolves. She had grown up around men; had made her own way in the world; but in this world she was at a complete loss.
She gazed at the packages on the bed. She generally lived in jeans and tee shirts, but in 1856 that wasn’t exactly the dress code. She had gotten enough looks in town to last her quite a while. Even wearing one of Jake’s vests to hide her breasts hadn’t prevented several men from ogling her.
Now, she fingered the soft cotton of the petticoats and undergarments. The dresses were calico and rather plain in design with scooped necks. The waist was fitted and had a long tie on each side to make a bow in the back. Bri thought that except for the length, she would look just like she had on her very first day of kindergarten.
One by one, she put on the clothes Mrs. Warren had helped her choose. The underwear was ridiculous, with long legs and three rows of ruffles just below her knees. The bra apparently hadn’t been invented yet, but she had a chemise, which covered her breasts and snugged around her waist. But when she slid the blue calico dress down over her hips, she realized something was wrong.
“What the...” she mumbled just as someone knocked at the door. It opened, and then she heard Jake and someone else mumbling before it clicked shut again. She flipped the curtain aside and stepped out.
“Something’s wrong with this dress. It doesn’t have a top.” Two inch wide straps went over her shoulders, but the front, or lack of, scooped a lot lower than the chemise, which was definitely low enough. She tugged and shrugged but the top of the dress wouldn’t cover and kept slipping down her chest.
“Didn’t you try it on before...?”
Bri watched as his eyes widened and he stopped in the middle of the floor, the meal cart rattling to a stop.
“What? What’s wrong?” She subconsciously crossed her arms over her breasts.
He fiddled with the covered dishes on the cart, refusing to meet her gaze. “Did you get anything else?”
Bri pawed through the other packages she had purchased. “The only other thing was a nightgown.” She held up the long white cotton gown, gathered loosely at the neck and along the short sleeves. “This will take some getting used to,” she muttered, thinking of her red teddy.
“Oh, for the love of God. Did no one teach you how to dress?” He finally looked at her. “That is a camisole. It goes on before the dress.”
“How do you know what goes on first with women’s clothing?”
He gave her a wolfish grin. “Because I know what comes off first.”
She could feel her cheeks heat under his scrutiny. His penetrating gaze set butterflies fluttering in her stomach and her heart pounded rapidly in her chest. Regardless of how he tried to ignore her, and the fact that she knew she must do the same, there was chemistry between them. He was the most confusing man and if she had any other way around it, she wouldn’t continue to share a room with him.
She tossed aside a pile of ruffles and lace trying to ignore the way he made her feel. “How many slips is one person supposed to wear for heaven’s sake?” she muttered under her breath.
“Slips?”
“Slips; petticoats, whatever you call them.” When silence met her rampage, she straightened and turned. He stood, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. His tie was loosened, but his vest and coat where neatly in place. He was so together and at that moment she hated him because he knew exactly who he was and where he belonged, while she was still unbalanced by her surroundings, not even able to dress herself.
She ran her hands through her hair, knowing it was a mess and curling every which way. At her gesture she heard his sharp intake of breath and her gaze jumped to his face. He was staring at her with unmistakable hunger, his dark eyes slowly caressing her from shoulders down. She could feel a flush begin at her cheeks, following the path of his gaze.
Why did he have to be so attractive? Couldn’t she have been rescued by some old man, who might have tossed her back into the river? She might have drowned, or maybe she wouldn’t have been drawn through the hole in time where she presently found herself.
But no, Jake had to play the hero, and now they were both suffering for it. She knew he didn’t want her here, although she didn’t understand why. He held to some deep sense of denial and tried to isolate himself. Bri was too busy worrying about herse
lf and how she was going to get back to her own time to try and figure him out.
He cleared his throat and turned away, spreading his hands on the dresser and hanging his head with a sigh. Well, part of him was easy to figure out. He wanted her, regardless of how they both tried to deny it, but she had no idea of the rules by which she played. Did everything have to remain the same in this time as if she really weren’t here? She didn’t want to do anything that would hamper her chances of getting back, but he was one, hot looking man. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t be so hesitant.
“Three should be sufficient.” His voice was deep and she heard a slight quiver as he poured himself a drink and downed it in two swallows.
“Three what?” She had lost the thread of the conversation.
He waved a hand at the bed but didn’t look at her. “Petticoats.”
She stepped back behind the curtain, reorganized herself with camisole, petticoats and dress, and then emerged.
“Can you tie this?” She presented her back to him.
She looked over her shoulder as he studiously worked on the bow. His hands stopped, but remained on her waist. She looked toward the mirror and saw the pain etched on his face, yet his gaze was vacant, as though he were looking beyond the mirror to some dark and horrid place. He wasn’t even in the room with her at that moment, and a shiver went through her. What was he thinking? Who was he thinking about?
“Jake?”
Her voice brought him back from wherever he had been and he yanked his hands away from her. “Do you think you can possibly manage the rest on your own? I need a drink.” He headed for the door.
“You just had a drink.”
“I need another.” The door slammed behind him only to open a minute later. “Do not leave this room without me. You’re a disaster waiting to happen.”
Bri stared as the door banged closed a second time. A disaster? Of all the nerve. She turned to face the mirror, muttering to herself. Granted she wasn’t exactly an expert on clothes from 1856 but…
The Lost Knight of Arabia Page 5