A Tumble Through Time (3 page)

She quickly looked away. “How far to the jail?”

“Couple more streets.”

“Aren’t you actor types supposed to have a horse named Trigger or something that you ride off into the sunset with, the girl wrapped securely in your arms?”

He broke out into a grin that seized her lungs and caused her mouth to dry up. This actor must have a harem of girlfriends.

“By the way, marshal, you never introduced yourself. Who is it that’s haulin
g me off to jail?”

He tipped his hat, a slow, lazy smile this time. “Sorry, Miss Devlin. My name is Wesley Shannon, but people call me Wes−or just plain ‘Marshal.’”

“Is Wes your stage name or real name?”

His brows drew together. “It’s my real name.”

“Well, Anna Devlin is my real name, too. But everyone calls me Anna.”

Wes released her elbow and pushed open a door right below a hand-painted sign that stated
Marshal
. “We’re here. Why don’t you rest for a while? There’s a small cot in the other room that I use when I have to be here all night.”

“Marshal Shannon, or Wes, or whatever your name, real or imagined, you don’t seem to understand. I’m not crazy, not underdressed, not tired, and not sick. I don’t need a doctor or a cot to lie down in. I just need a phon
e so I can call my boss and have him pick me up so I can find my own car.”

“Miss Devlin−”

“Anna,” she interrupted.

“Anna. I don’t know what you mean by a ‘phone.’ And I really do think you need to either see the doc or lie down for a while.”

“No.”

Wes sigh
ed and took a seat behind a large scarred desk. He waved his hand at the rickety chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat.” He pulled open a drawer, withdrew a sheet of paper and a pencil. Licking the tip of the pencil, he wrote
Anna Devlin
across the top.

“Now. Let’s see if we can help you get home.”

Anna took the seat he’d offered and plopped her purse in her lap. This actor was carrying things a little bit too far. Didn’t know what a phone was? Once she was out of this stupid tourist town or movie set, or whatever, someone in charge would definitely hear from her. This was not funny−or entertaining.

Wes leaned back in the chair, the creaking sound like chalk on a blackboard. “Where did you say you were from?”

“I didn’t. But I’m from Tulsa.”

He tapped the
pencil on the desk. “And where is Tulsa?”

She inhaled, trying very hard to keep her patience. “Duh.
Oklahoma?”

He dropped the pencil and crossed his arms. “Where is
Oklahoma?”

Anna stood. “That’s enough. I’m truly done with this place.” She shifted her purse strap over her shoulder. “I’m leaving now, marshal. I’m going to find a phone, call my boss, and get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Sorry Miss, this is not Dodge City, it’s Denton. Maybe that’s why you’re confused?”

Anna narrowed her eyes. “Funny.”

Wes rose, and snagged her hand as she turned. “No, wait. I can’t let you leave. You obviously need help, and that’s my job.” He nodded toward the chair. “Please. Just sit back down, and we’ll figure this out.” He flashed that disarming smile again. Reluctantly she sat, but somewhere deep inside a niggle of fear prodded her. There was something wrong here.

“Tell me what you do in
Tulsa, Oklahoma.”

“I’m a bounty hunter.” When he raised his eyebrows, she hurried on. “But only until my hearing. Then I hope to get back into the police department.”

He swallowed, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Bounty hunter?”

Anna raised her chin. “Yes. Is there something funny about that, marshal?”

Wes grinned, and then outright laughed. A bounty hunter? This woman, with her men’s trousers and disgraceful shirt, from a place he’d never heard of, now wanted him to believe she was a bounty hunter? He really did need to get her to see the doc. Maybe it was time to draw a halt to this.

He studied her for a moment. “All right.” He pulled open his bottom drawer and took out a stack of
‘wanted’ posters. He slid the pile across the desk. “Show me.”

She coolly assessed him. “Show you what?”

He nodded toward the papers. “These men are all now behind bars. Show me which ones you brought in.”

She licked her lips and Wes felt another twinge in his lower parts. Anna Devlin might be crazy, or suffering from sunstroke, but she was sure a beauty. And that shirt! Or whatever that thing was she had on. A man would have to be dead to keep his gaze from drifting toward the gap where her firm breasts came together. Again he broke out into a sweat, but this time not for his usual reason.

“I can’t.”

Distracted by her body, he pulled his attention back. “Can’t what?”

She sighed. “I can’t pick out anyone I’ve brought in from those pictures.”

He leaned back in his chair. “And why is that, Miss Devlin?”

“You know precisely why,” she snapped, and pointed at the stack. “Because these are all fake.” She waved her arm around. “This is fake. You’re fake.”

“No. Not fake. A flesh and blood man, and I brought in four of those bandits myself.” He gestured toward the pile.

“You’re scaring me.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper, hollow, timid. Unlike anything he’d heard from this feisty woman up to now.

He softened. Defiant Miss Devlin looked like a frightened rabbit facing the hunter’s gun. Her body was stiff and she rubbed her thumb up and down the strap on her pouch. If he touched her, he feared she would shatter, like delicate glass.

“I’ll tell you what. Let’s take a walk over to the café and have a cup of coffee.”

She stared at him, not saying a word. Wes rose and grabbed one of his shirts hanging from a hook over the cot in the other room. Anna sat very still, her hands in her lap, twisting the ring on her finger.

“Come.” He held his hand out, and like a sleepwalker, she took it and rose, staring at him, questioning. He wrapped the shirt around her, helping her into the sleeves, buttoning it up. The scent of something sweet and personal drifted from her body to his nostrils, teasing him, thickening his blood. His fingers tingled where the tips brushed over her soft skin. A powerful urge to take her in his arms, pull her to his chest and tell her everything would be all right seized him. Before he could act on that irrational thought, he jerked back and headed toward the door.

Anna was quiet on the walk to the café. Her eyes darted back and forth as she took in the sights around her, all the time fiddling with her ring, spinning the silver and black circle round and round. She continued to draw in deep breaths and chew on her lower lip, occasionally muttering ‘not possible’ under her breath, as if fighting an internal battle. Her natural color seemed to have paled, the light dusting of freckles more prominent.

Once they’d settled in their seats at the café and ordered dried apple pie and coffee, Wes rested his forearms on the table. “Tell me a little bit about this ‘Tulsa.’”

Anna cleared her throat. “It’s in
Oklahoma.” She flinched when he shrugged, still not sure what she was talking about.

“
Oklahoma. You know, the state south of Kansas?”

He narrowed his eyes. “The only thing south of us is
Indian Territory, then Texas.”

“No,” she whispered,
her eyes round as saucers.

Wes nodded at the waitress as she placed cups of coffee and two cuts of pie in front of them. She glanced at Anna, who stared straight ahead, taking in shallow breaths.

Once the waitress left, Anna nodded, as if she’d made a decision. “Wes, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

She looked him in the eye, seeming to draw strength from within herself. “What year is this?”

His forkful of pie stopped halfway to his mouth. “What?”

Anna licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Just tell me, please. What year is this?”

He frowned and lowered the fork. “It’s eighteen hundred and seventy. Why?”

Then he leapt forward as Anna’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and her slack body slid to the floor.

C
hapter Three

A
nna scratched at her nose. The tickle didn’t go away, so she turned her head and looked into two very big brown eyes.

“She’s awake!” A little girl with long blond braids, wearing a blue and white calico dress covered by a full white apron, jumped up and down, clapping her hands and chanting, “She’s awake, she’s awake, she’s awake.”

Anna wanted to slap her.

“How do you feel, Miss Devlin?” An older man with gray hair and a full beard, wearing old-fashioned eyeglasses observed her, his brows furrowed.

“I’m fine. Who are you?”

“I’m Doc Oliver.” He rested a hand on her shoulder as she started to rise. “No, little lady, you need to rest for a minute. You scared the marshal here to death when you collapsed at the café. He picked you up and carried you to my house.”

Marshal.
She glanced sideways at Wes who leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed as he studied her. Then it all came back in a rush. He’d told her it was the year eighteen hundred and seventy.
That’s impossible
. She closed her eyes and moaned. Could she have traveled to the past? No. This must be a very vivid dream. She opened one eye and caught the marshal—who might not be an actor after all−moving further into the room.

The annoying little girl kept chattering. Her nerves stretched to the limit, Anna knew she needed some peace and quiet, so she could think. “I’d like to get up now, doctor.”

Wes glanced at the doctor, who nodded.

The marshal slid a muscular arm under her back and eased her up. She still felt a bit lightheaded, but needed to be by herself, try to make sense out of this whole thing. Especially away from Wes, with his caring manner and distracting awareness. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, stood, and then immediately sank back down. “Wow. Just give me a minute.”

“I think you should stay here for a while.” Dr. Oliver peered at her over the top of his eyeglasses.

Anna glanced at the little girl who was singing a song and twirling around in circles, her hands out, and came to a quick decision. “No. I’ll be fine in a minute.” She took a deep breath, and feeling somewhat stronger, stood again and managed to keep her feet. “Thank you.”

What the hell do I do now? If this isn’t a dream, I’m in the past, with no money, no job, and wearing clothes that will probably get me tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail.

Anna pulled Wes’s shirt tightly around her, the smell of horses, leather and man drifting toward her nostrils. All of a sudden, a chill ran down her spine, spurring her to move. She stuck her hand out to the startled doctor, anxious to put some distance between her and these people. “Thank you for your help. I wish I could pay you, but
. . .”

“It’s all right. I’m not sure I should let you leave, though. You still seem a bit woozy.”

“No, really, I’m fine. Just . . . fine.” Her eyes filled with tears.

Wes stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m afraid I can’t help you get back to your home, since I’m not sure where it is, but I’d be happy to take you to the hotel where you can stay until you sort things out.”

Anna picked up her purse and crushed the strap in her hands. No hotel would take her debit or credit cards, and if she flashed the money she had, the marshal would most likely start asking questions she wasn’t quite ready to answer. “No, thanks. I’ll just go now.” She turned and quickly headed for what she hoped was the front door and not a closet.

“Wait up, Miss Devlin.” The marshal was at her heels.

She held out a restraining hand, trying desperately to keep from crying. What would she do now? She had to get back to her life, to her hearing in three weeks.

Wes
grasped her arm as she started down the stairs. “I can’t let you just walk off.” He pulled her around to face him. “Where will you go, what will you do?”

She chewed her lip and shrugged, battling to keep her emotions in check.

“Come on.” He linked her arm in his, just like the good old-fashioned man he was, and led her down the street, gracious enough to ignore her attempts to wipe tears from her eyes.

Anna hated this sense of being out of control. She’d spent her life searching for who she was, where she should go, and how to get there. Now she was in a very strange place, clinging like a giddy teenager to a handsome alpha male, who made her feel things she had no time for.

They entered the dim lobby of a hotel. Although she still didn’t know precisely
where
she was, she certainly believed
when
she was. Despite near hysteria, her natural curiosity kicked in. She studied her surroundings, amazed at how new this old stuff looked.

“Charlie, got a room?”

The desk clerk looked up from the newspaper he read and raised his eyebrows. “For two, marshal?”

Redness crept up Wes’s face and his jaw worked. “No. This is Miss Devlin, and she needs a room. Alone.”

Anna tugged at his sleeve and dragged him a few feet beyond the desk. “I don’t have money to pay for a room.”

“I’ll pay.”

Anna shook her head furiously. “No. I can’t let you do that.” Lord, what would the desk clerk think? In this time period, she would be marked a fallen woman. Not that she planned to stick around long enough to worry about her reputation, but it grated to have a man—
this man
—rescuing her.

“Look, Miss Devlin. If you were a man, I could arrest you for vagrancy. You have no money, no place to live, no job.” Wes hooked his thumbs in his pockets, his fingers resting right above the belt slung low on his hips, and glared at her. “At least none that makes sense, anyway.” He raised his hand as she opened her mouth to speak. “Since you’re a woman, I don’t like the idea of throwing you into jail, so this is my way of locking you up until you think of a plan.” When she continued to shake her head, he added, “The town will pay.”

She studied him as she chewed her lip and fiddled with the ring on her finger. He had a point. One look at that jail back there, and she knew it wasn’t a place she wanted to spend any time. This was not what she considered comfortable, either, but better than the jail. She looked around the lobby of the hotel. The Holiday Inn, it wasn’t. Probably didn’t even have indoor plumbing. She frowned. Of course not. She’d have to use an outhouse. Or worse yet, a chamber pot.
Gross
.

“All right. But,” she gave him another poke in the chest, the cuffs of his large shirt covering her entire hand, “I need a job, and you can give one to me.”

Wes backed away. “Oh, no. Don’t start that bounty hunter stuff again.”

Anna drew herself up. “I’m good at my job. Despite what you think, I’m a trained police officer.”

He flashed her that lazy grin. “And I’m president of the United States.” With a firm hand on her shoulder, he led her to the desk. “Got that room, Charlie?”

The man held out a key, never glancing up from his newspaper. “Seventeen.”

Wes nodded at the clerk and took the key. “Here you go. Stay out of trouble, and I’ll stop by in the morning. See how you’re gettin’ along.” He tugged the brim of his hat, and left Anna standing there, mouth agape.

Within two seconds he returned. “I’ll tell Flossie at the café you can take your meals there, until . . .” With a shrug, he turned and left.

Well, damn it to hell. What was she supposed to do now? Live off the marshal’s dime? And how was she going to find her way home, and her hearing?

“Oh, by the way.” He was back again. Maybe she should just invite him to her room. She flushed at that image, and shoved it permanently to the back of her mind.

“I’ll have Sadie at the mercantile send you over something else to wear. Can’t have you parading around dressed like that. I like to keep a peaceful town.” Once more he tugged on his hat, then strode to the door, slamming it as he left.

Anna counted to ten, waiting for him to make yet another appearance. When she saw him through the plate glass window crossing the street and heading toward the café, she suddenly felt a bit lost.

“Seventeen.” She grasped the heavy iron key in her fist and headed up the stairs.

Assuring himself Anna would be decently fed and clothed, Wes made the rounds of some of the businesses in town, then returned to the jailhouse. Leaning back in his chair, he rested his scuffed boots on the desk, his mind filled with thoughts of
Denton’s newest resident.

Something was off about her. Her clothes, her insistence that she lived among the Indians to the south.
According to Slug, she’d appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the prairie. But the most alarming fact, the one that had his pulse racing and his stomach clenching, was his attraction to her. She stirred feelings in him dead for a long, long time. Things he didn’t want to feel, didn’t deserve to have.

He’d stay away from her. Most likely she’d be gone in the morning, anyway. She didn’t seem the snake oil type, but you never knew. Women generally didn’t wander around
Kansas on their own, what with the cowtowns’ rampages when the boys were in town, and stagecoach holdups on the rise. Most likely Anna had a partner who would sweep into town and the two would hit the next place down the road for whatever nefarious purposes they cooked up.

Wes dropped his feet to the floor and opened his bottom drawer, once more perusing the stack of
‘wanted’ posters. Maybe he’d see Anna here, and then could legitimately haul her into jail until the circuit judge came around.

After a half hour of gazing at one ugly face after another, he pushed the pile aside. The only woman in the batch was about thirty years older, and missing most of her teeth.

“Evenin’, marshal.”

He
gripped for his gun, his heart speeding up.

“My goodness, did I startle you?” Laura Martin stood in the doorway, her eyes wide. She wore a green and white striped dress, with a matching green ribbon around her straw bonnet, tied under her chin with a perky bow. She was all brightness and light.

And she scared him half to death.

Wes raised a shaky hand to smooth his hair back, and took deep breaths to calm his racing heart. “Yes, I’m afraid you did, Miss Martin. Sorry, I was deep in thought.”

She hesitated for a moment, then with a wide smile approached his desk. “I thought I’d bring you some supper, since I know eating at the café all the time must get tiresome.”

For the first time he noticed the picnic basket draped over her arm, a red and white checked napkin peeking out. Right now if he tried to swallow food, it would stick in his throat like a wad of cotton. He had to get himself under control.

“Well, thank you very much, ma’am. I appreciate it.” Good. His voice sounded normal, not like the skittish coward he’d become.

“Shall I spread it out here on the desk?”

Oh Lord, she was going to watch him eat? “Sure. That would be fine.”

Laura kept up a running dialog while she set out two plates, napkins and silverware. “This is my best recipe. Fried chicken. Why, my mama says I make the best fried chicken in all of
Kansas.” She beamed at him, waiting for his nod of approval. Which he granted.

By the time she had the chicken, cornbread, snapped green beans, oatmeal cookies, and a large jar of lemonade set out before them, Wes’s body had calmed and he felt the first stirrings of hunger. Laura was such a sweet girl, but not for him. Overwhelmed with guilt since the worst morning of his life, the darkness shrouding him would suck up her spirit in no time, destroying all that was good in her.

“There’s a dance Saturday night at the church.” Laura wiped her mouth with a napkin and looked expectantly at him.

How to get out of this one
? “Is that right? I guess I’ll probably miss it since I have to keep an eye on things.”

“Now, marshal. You need some relaxation. A night of dancin’ and fun is just the thing.” She peeked at him from
underneath full, dark eyelashes; two bright spots of red appeared on her pretty face.

Still not quite ready to take that step, he didn’t want to encourage her, but letting her down wasn’t going to be easy. “Maybe some other time, Miss Martin. Saturdays are especially noisy. I need to assure everyone has a good time at the dance, not worry about trouble. But I’m sure you’ll not lack for dance partners.” He gave her what he hoped was a genuine smile.

“Yes, well, maybe the next time.” A true lady, she recovered quickly, and went on to talk about other events in the town. Soon she packed up the remnants from the supper, and gathered her belongings.

Wes took her hand before she left. “Thank you very much for the supper, Miss Martin. Your mama is right, you make the best fried chicken in
Kansas.”

Laura smiled brightly. “You’re welcome.” She hesitated, as if she wanted to say something else, then dipped her head and left, closing the door softly behind her. Wes returned to his chair and leaned back, blowing out a large breath.

Will I ever be normal again?