Jolt

Hopeful that she had just run home, Tate turned Maisy around and headed there himself, certain that he'd pick her up on the way. He couldn't fathom why she would leave without him, but he reasoned that it must have to do with Dickson. He couldn't stand the thought of what he might have done to her to make her so frightened. Urging Maisy around a corner, he had a sudden remembrance of waiting out the storm at the church and her fear of lightning. He blew out a breath. That's probably the reason for her flight.

  The longer he drove without seeing any sign of her, another possibility crept into his thoughts, and his heart slammed into his chest. Running a hand through his wet hair, he refused to entertain the notion. He parked Maisy in front of the house and raced to his door, taking the steps two at a time.

  He burst in and was met by a wide-eyed Dr. Fischer coming out of the exam room. "Did you find her?"

  Tate leaned his mud-slicked back against the door, the chill of that question seeping deep down to his bones.

  Chapter 33

  Lalita groaned and rolled over, feeling like her skin was cracking off. She blinked her eyes open in the early light and sat, her head pounding. Closing them again, she tried to remember, but nothing she dredged up explained why she was sitting outside with dried mud all over her body when the ground around was dry—dusty even.

  She got her aching body into an upright position, and when the world stopped spinning, she looked around. She was in front of a two story four square house that seemed familiar. As she stood there staring, the door opened, and a young man walked out.

  He startled when he saw her and rushed forward. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

  She looked into his blue eyes, and a name popped into her head. Max. "I… I think so, although my head sure hurts."

  "Come on in the house, and I'll call the doc."

  She wasn't sure why, but she knew she did not want to go into that house. "Thanks, but I really just want to go home."

  "Okay. Where's home?"

  The fog in her head was starting to lift, but nothing was completely clear. "Dr. Cavanaugh."

  The young man smiled, and Lalita frowned, unsure of what seemed wrong about his face. "That's who I was going to call… Would you rather I took you there?"

  She nodded.

  He took a step back toward the house. "Just let me hitch up the wagon, and I'll tell Pa where I'm going."

  He disappeared around the house, and Lalita just considered walking home. Two wobbly steps toward the street changed her mind.

  As she waited once again for the ground to stop shifting, a voice behind her made her skin crawl. "Well, don't you look like somethin' the cat dragged in." She held her head and turned slowly to look into another familiar face, and this one came with memories. She stepped back, surprised to see that Dickson didn't follow. "Actually you look like you got fished out of the creek. Ran into some trouble, did you?"

  Lalita nodded slowly. The minute the man before her came into complete focus, she planned on turning and running as hard as she could.

  He squinted at her. "I guess you've got limited English." He looked to the left as the horse-drawn wagon drove around the house. "Well, Max will get you to the doctor."

  Before she knew what was happening, he was lifting her up to the front of the buckboard, and she sat by Max. Does all this mud make me unrecognizable?

  They rode in silence, and Lalita couldn't help feeling that the town looked different; then she was struck with another memory and turned to the young man beside her. "Max, your cast… your leg couldn't have healed that fast. You were on crutches just last night."

  Max looked at her, surprised. "You must have me mixed up with someone else. There's nothing wrong with my leg—either one of them."

  Lalita blinked and turned her attention back to the road, feeling completely off balance. "It must be my head," she mumbled.

  The boy nodded and didn't say another word until he pulled up in front of the Cavanaugh residence. Max helped her down, and more mud crumbled off of her as her feet hit the ground. She looked down at the dress she'd lengthened and wondered if it would ever come clean.

  Max escorted her up to the door, and when Lalita reached for the knob, he put his hand on hers. "I think we better ring the bell."

  He poked the button with his finger while Lalita explained. "It's okay, I've been living—"

  The door was opened by Tate, although Lalita had never seen him with his hair so short and slicked down. Did he get an early morning haircut? She wondered that he hadn't been looking for her, but then realized he probably thought she was still in bed. He looked surprised, and she knew she had some explaining to do.

  She was about to begin, when he turned his attention to Max. "What do we have here, Max? Is the young lady injured?"

  Young lady?

  Lalita jumped in, suddenly feeling near tears. "Doc, I'm so sorry. I should have never gone out alone."

  The doctor put a hand to her shoulder and stepped back to allow her entrance. "What happened, Miss?"

  She scowled at his formality, but realized he must be doing it for Max's sake. "I…" She looked back at Max. She didn't want to elaborate on his father's bad behavior in front of him. "Thanks for the lift, Max. I'll be okay now."

  He nodded and jogged down the steps as Tate closed the door, guiding her into the exam room. He pulled his stool over to her and bid her sit. "Now, can you tell me what happened to you and if I can be of assistance."

  Lalita didn't want to sit. She wanted his arms around her. "Tate, we're alone now, you don't have to be so proper."

  His eyebrows lifted, and she blamed the mud for his distance. "I'm sorry I'm a mess. I'll get in the tub in a minute." She pulled her purse over her head, causing more mud to hit the floor. "Sorry, I'll clean it up. I just need to show you what I got from Dickson."

  "Seth Dickson?"

  She gave him a look. She was in no mood for him to be suddenly dense. "Of course, Seth Dickson." She stuck her hand in her bag and pulled out her phone. She sighed. It was dead. "Damn it!"

  As she went back to digging in her purse once again, Tate laid a hand on her shoulder, gently pressing her to the stool. "Please have a seat. There's no reason to be upset. I'm here to help you."

  Lalita stopped searching for her charger to look up into his concerned face. A face that looked so professional, so calm, so not like her Tate at all.

  She was still staring when someone appeared at the door. Lalita gave a screech and leaped to her feet. She knew this woman, although only from a picture.

  Augusta.

  ***

  Tate didn't know what to make of the woman who had shown up at his door. She acted like she knew him—had even called him by his first name, but he didn't recognize her—even after a bath. She was obviously of Indian ancestry, although probably no more than his brother and sister. He sat in his leather chair in the parlor, the corner of his mouth quirking up. No more than me.

  Perhaps she had been a friend of one of his younger siblings, but how she came to be here with nothing but the dress on her back—covered in mud, at that—and a bag with a few strange items in it, was anyone's guess, and she wasn't providing any explanations yet. The appearance of his wife had seemed to send her into some kind of shock.

  He could find no head injury, although she had bruises on her wrists and soreness around her rib cage that suggested that she had met with violence of some kind. She had not wanted to talk to the marshal, however, so there wasn't much he could do for her except give her headache powders and a cool cloth for her head and let her rest in his exam room in one of Augusta's nightgowns.

  Augusta had taken the girl's dress outside and was beating it with the rug beater to get all the mud off. How did she get in such a state, and what does Seth Dickson have to do with it?

  Sitting in the parlor across the hall, he cataloged the injuries he could assess in his medical journal along with what she had said when she arrived. He looked at the name at the top of the page. Lalita Torres. She had seemed on the verge
of tears when he had asked her name.

  Augusta appeared in the doorway with the dress over her arm, looking disturbed. "Tate, except for the border around the bottom, I have a dress just like this."

  He gave her an indulgent smile. His wife was prone to anxiety over the littlest things. "Is that right? Well, it must have been popular in Denver. I have a feeling that's where this woman is from."

  She stepped into the room. "No, Tate. It was tailor-made, and it is exactly the same right down to the lace on the collar."

  Tate was having a hard time getting concerned. "It just shows that you women think alike."

  She turned. "Well, I'll try to get it clean…"

  "That's all you can do." He had a flash of Augusta wearing the dress she was talking about, but he decided that it must have been some time ago. All she wears these days is gray.

  She lingered at the door, twisting a blond curl near her face around her finger. "Has she said any more?"

  Tate shook his head. "She's resting."

  "How long will she be here? I should cancel with the Harrisons."

  Tate closed his eyes, trying not to appear vexed. "There's no need to cancel yet. Their party isn't until tomorrow."

  Nodding, she left the room, and Tate returned in thought to the mysterious patient across the hall.

  ***

  Lalita was lying with her eyes closed, but she wasn't sleeping. Or maybe she was, and this was a nightmare. She couldn't decide.

  With the easing of her headache, her last memories had returned. She remembered running from Dickson in the rain, Tate throwing a punch, and then the lightning flash. If she wasn't sleeping or just plain crazy, it had happened again. She had been thrown back in time.

  She didn't know how far back, but it would have to be less than three years; Max had looked younger, but not drastically so. I'll know more when I see Nellie.

  The big question, of course, was how close was Augusta's death? She didn't know if she should warn Tate, although she didn't know specific dates, and why would he believe her anyway? Her phone with all the evidence was dead and the charger was missing. Is this now my responsibility—to make sure Augusta doesn't die? She knew that Tate wasn't even happy with Augusta, but how could she let her die if she could somehow prevent it? If she dies, and I could have done something, I may as well be a murderer. She rolled to her side. But if she lives, I lose Tate.

  Tears came to her eyes as she recalled his very professional examination of her body—so close she could smell his aftershave, but as far away from her emotionally as he had ever been. He doesn't even know me, and if Augusta lives, he never will.

  She clenched her eyes tight against the tears. She knew that no matter how hard she cried this time over what she had lost, Tate would not scoop her up on his lap and comfort her.

  This time she was all alone.

  Chapter 34

  "I'm pleased to meet you, Nellie. How old are you?" Lalita sat on the side of the exam room bed, trying to control her emotions.

  The youngster held up three fingers but was instantly corrected by her father. "Put up another finger, Miss Nell. You just celebrated a birthday, remember?"

  The cute curly-headed blonde, with one arm wrapped around her doll, added her pinkie to the finger count, and Lalita couldn't help but smile. She noted that the doll looked newer than the last time she'd seen it. "Did you get Arabella for your birthday?"

  Nellie nodded and held it out for Lalita's inspection. She gave the doll a good looking over then handed it back to the little girl who hugged it to her chest as she left the room.

  Tate sat on the stool and put his stethoscope to Lalita's back. "I didn't realize that you and Arabella had already met. Nellie must have sneaked in here without permission."

  Lalita realized her error and scrambled to get Nellie out of trouble. "Oh, no, I'm the one who sneaked. To the bathroom, that is. I… I was embarrassed to ask. I talked to Nellie and her doll for just a minute on the way."

  He put a finger to his lips and the bell of his stethoscope on her chest. Lalita sat as still as a stone, looking at those lips he'd drawn her attention to, remembering how they felt against hers. He smiled and removed his finger. "I do need you to breathe, Miss Torres. Deeply. Just don't talk for a minute."

  She closed her eyes and breathed him in, and she couldn't help it when she choked on a sob.

  He removed his stethoscope and gripped her upper arm. "Are you quite all right? Is there more you wish to tell me about last night's assault?"

  She shook her head, unable to speak for the lump in her throat.

  He sat back on the stool studying her. Finally he spoke. "Are you hungry? Augusta can make you a tray."

  She nodded, and he patted her knee and rose. She heard the clanging bells of the wall phone, and he started toward the door. "It will be just be a minute or two," he threw back over his shoulder as he left the room.

  Even though she rose and moved closer to the door, straining to hear, she couldn't make out anything until "I'll be there as soon as I can."

  With the clack of the receiver being placed in its holder, she scurried back to her bed and sat as he appeared at the doorway. "I have an emergency to take care of—a railroad incident—but my wife will see to your needs while I'm gone." He left and returned a split second later. "Your heart and lungs sound fine, by the way, so as soon as you feel up to it, and your dress is dry, you can be on your way. Just leave your address with Augusta." He gave her a smile. "And it was nice to meet you, Miss Torres."

  He turned away, and Lalita clutched the nightgown over her heart, certain that it would never be fine again.

  ***

  Lalita had no intention of eating alone in the exam room while her adorable Nellie and that Debbie Downer mother of hers ate in the dining room. She headed toward the kitchen as soon as Tate was out the door.

  Augusta seemed surprised that she was out of bed, but allowed her to carry the bowl of potatoes to the table. They sat, and Augusta offered a stilted blessing over the food before cutting up Nellie's meat and pouring gravy over her potatoes. Now that Lalita was sitting across from her, she recognized the gray outfit Augusta was wearing as the one she'd turned into riding bloomers.

  "So," Lalita began, feeling awkward, "how did you and the doctor meet? It was back in Denver, right?"

  Augusta narrowed her eyes. "Were you friends of the Cavanaughs? Tate seemed to think you came from Denver also."

  Lalita decided then and there that she was a friend of the Cavanaughs. She remembered the name of his sister from the family portrait and nodded. "I was a friend of Nettie's." Never had she considered herself a compulsive liar until she had started zipping around through time.

  Augusta seemed to relax a little bit. "I liked Nettie, although that brother of his was more than I could take most of the time. He had such a chip on his shoulder and was so jealous of Tate." Lalita nodded as if she understood completely, and Augusta continued in a low voice. "And I never thought Tate's mother cared for me."

  Lalita reached across the table and touched Augusta's arm. "Surely you're mistaken."

  Augusta raised her cup to her lips. "No, she made it very plain." She took a sip and set it back down. "I was not what she expected. She thought a doctor's wife should be more… more high society." She scooped up a bite of potatoes on her fork. "And frankly, I don't know why anyone would want to be friends with those people. They'll eat you alive and spit out your bones."

  Lalita was astonished at the fervor behind her words. "I didn't realize… Does Tate expect this too?"

  Augusta paused a moment, chewing, and Lalita could see that she was trying to form an acceptable answer. Finally she wiped her lips and spoke. "He has become more understanding over time, but he still thinks he has some kind of societal role to live up to."

  They ate in silence for a few minutes; then Augusta asked her a question. "What happened to you last night? The bruises on your wrists… Someone mistreated you."

  Lalita couldn't t
ell her that Seth Dickson had attacked her a year from now. She pulled something out of the air. "I had a falling out with the man I was traveling with. He said he wanted to marry me, but it turns out, he just wanted to rob me. We were camped along the creek, and when I woke up and saw him digging through my purse, we had a tussle, and I fell into the water."

  Augusta reached for her hand. "Oh, you poor dear! He took your money?"

  Lalita nodded. "I don't have a thing." She felt tears forming that were not by any means an act. "Your husband said I could leave anytime, but…"

  Augusta gave her hand a squeeze. "You've got nowhere to go. Of course you're welcome to stay until arrangements can be made. Perhaps your family can wire you some money."

  Lalita gave her a tiny smile. "Perhaps. They were pretty angry with me for going off with…" —she said the first name that popped into her head—"Alphonse."

  She grimaced at the name, but Augusta took her expression as a commentary on her situation. She leaned forward over her plate as if struck by an idea. "You know, sometimes I need help around the house. Sometimes I… I can't do everything that's expected. Would you be willing to stay and help me? I'm sure Tate would pay you, and then you could get back on your feet again."

  Lalita swallowed. She had actually been hoping for a hand-out so she could get a room at a boarding house and look for a job. Can I stay here with Tate and Nellie and his wife and not fall completely apart? As she looked into the pleading blue eyes across from her, another piece of her memory fell into place. She didn't die by accident. She killed herself.

  "Yes," she heard herself saying. "Yes, I'd be glad to help you."

  ***

  Tate had to make a stop at the pharmacy to pick up a few antiseptic supplies that he was running low on before heading to the railroad accident site.

  As he was settling up with the cashier, his ears pricked at a rattling cough from somewhere in the building. Collecting his supplies, he quickly searched out the source. He discovered the woman on a side aisle with a handkerchief held to her mouth as her lungs spasmed relentlessly. She looked up as he approached and tried to catch her breath.