The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance (62 page)

“Who?”

Bowdry shook his head. “It’s gotta be. Where’d you get him?”

“I didn’t ‘get him’. He just showed up at my house yesterday. Is he yours?”

“Nah. That stallion doesn’t belong to anyone.”

“Maybe it isn’t . . . what did you say his name is?”

“Relámpago. It means lightning.” Bowdry moved towards the stud, one hand outstretched. “Hey, boy. My great granddaddy told me about you.”

“What about him?”

“He’s a ghost horse, you know, magic.”

“A magic horse?” Macie said with a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true. Legend says he appears to those in need, that he’s as swift as lightning, as sure-footed as a mountain goat and as reliable as the sun.” Bowdry patted the stallion on the neck. “My people believe if you treat him right, he’ll always carry you away from danger.”

Macie frowned. Had Relámpago brought her here to save Bowdry? But that was silly. If saving Bowdry had been the horse’s mission, wouldn’t Relámpago have just come here? There was no reason for the stallion to come to her. She hadn’t been in any danger . . . except from herself.

“You all right?” Bowdry asked. “You look a little pale.”

“What? Oh, I’m fine.”

“Well, whaddya say we get going? We’re gonna get mighty wet if we stay here.”

After gathering what gear he could carry, Bowdry swung on to the stallion’s back. Macie thought he looked a little pale himself when he reached down to offer her a hand up. She couldn’t blame him. Even though the wound wasn’t serious, it probably hurt like the devil.

Once she was settled behind him, Bowdry clucked to Relámpago and the stallion moved out at a brisk walk. A short time later, the horse broke into an easy lope.

Macie wrapped her arms around Bowdry’s middle, careful to avoid the wound in his side. It was rather pleasant, riding behind him. His broad back blocked the wind and made a nice pillow for her head.

Strange, she wasn’t more upset about finding herself in the Old West with a complete stranger, one who had recently killed a man. But then, there was no reason to be upset. She was only dreaming, after all.

Three

The ghost town rose up out of the prairie like a mirage, shimmering in the light of the setting sun, only to fade to dull grey as the sun dropped below the horizon.

Macie shivered as Bowdry reined the stallion to a halt in front of a dilapidated building. The sign over the door read
THE PALACE HOTEL
. She thought it a rather pretentious name for a hotel stuck out in the middle of nowhere.

The town itself was little more than a block long. Judging by the number of saloons, the inhabitants had had quite a taste for whiskey. Besides the saloons and the hotel, the only other businesses were a blacksmith and a barber.

Swinging his leg over the stallion’s withers, Bowdry dismounted.

Macie slid off the horse’s back. “Is it safe to stay here?”

Bowdry shrugged. “I reckon so. I don’t see anybody else around, do you?”

“No, but . . .” She shivered as a chill wind blew a tumbleweed down the middle of the dusty street. “It feels, I don’t know, eerie.”

“Well,” Bowdry said with a grin, “it
is
a ghost town.”

“Maybe our ghost horse will protect us,” Macie muttered.

“Maybe so,” Bowdry said, chuckling.

“Shouldn’t we tie him up or something?”

Bowdry shook his head. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Puzzling over his reply, Macie followed Bowdry into the hotel. As was to be expected, the floors were covered with dust, as were the chairs and the registration desk.

The steps creaked as they made their way up the stairs. Bowdry opened the door to the first room they came to.

“I’ll take the next room,” Macie said, though she wasn’t looking forward to being alone with night coming on.

Bowdry shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I’ve only got one blanket.”

Macie stared at him. “I don’t suppose you’d let me have it?”

“Sorry, but I’m willing to share.”

She stared at him a moment, her thoughts racing. Sleep alone and be cold, or share a bed with a remarkably handsome, sexy man and be warm? It really wasn’t much of a choice.

Bowdry stifled a grin as she followed him into the room. She was a pretty thing, slender and not too tall, with a mess of dark brown curls, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and eyes as blue as the Pacific.

Bowdry obligingly shook the dust from the faded sheet and the lumpy mattress while she swept the floor with an old broom she found in a hallway closet. A stub of a candle provided a bit of light.

Wincing, Bowdry sat on the foot of the bed. Rummaging in his saddlebags, he pulled out two hunks of jerky. He handed one to Macie, then reached into his saddlebags again and pulled out a sack of tobacco and a package of papers. Under Macie’s curious gaze, he proceeded to roll and light a cigarette.

“I’ve never seen anyone do that,” she remarked.

“People don’t smoke where you come from?”

“The smart ones don’t. Smoking’s bad for your health, you know.”

“Says who?”

“Doctors.”

He grunted softly. “Just where do you come from anyway?”

“California.”

He arched one brow. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Longer than you think. Where am I anyway?”

“South Dakota.”

“South Dakota! What year is this?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Would I ask if I did?”

“It’s 1880.”

She blinked at him as she tried to absorb that. South Dakota, 1880. Imagine that.

He regarded her curiously a moment, then said, “How is it that you don’t know what year it is?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Frowning, he glanced down at his side. A bright red stain was spreading over the cloth wrapped around his middle. Jaw clenched, he dropped his cigarette on the floor, stubbed it out with his boot heel. Lifting his shirt tail, he removed the bloody cloth and tossed it aside.

“Here, let me.” Using water from his canteen, she pulled a clean strip of cloth from his saddlebag, wet it and washed the wound.

Bowdry held up one hand, staying her when she would have bandaged it again.

She watched in amazement as he chewed a handful of tobacco, then pressed it over the wound.

“OK,” he said, “bandage it up.”

Muttering, “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she wrapped the last strip of clean cloth around his waist.

Sitting at the head of the bed, Macie nibbled on the beef jerky. It didn’t taste anything like what she was used to back home.

“I don’t know about you,” Bowdry said when he finished eating, “but I’m tuckered out.”

“If that means tired, you’re not the only one,” Macie admitted. She glanced at the narrow bed, then up at Bowdry. Her stomach quivered when he smiled at her.

With every nerve on edge, she stretched out on the bed, as close to the edge of the mattress as she could get without falling off.

Bowdry chuckled as he stretched out beside her, then covered the two of them with the blanket. “Relax, pretty lady,” he murmured as he closed his eyes. “I’m too sore, and too tired, to bother you tonight.”

He was snoring before she could come up with a good retort.

Macie doubted she’d get much sleep, lying beside a strange man in a strange bed, but the next thing she knew, it was morning. When she opened her eyes, Bowdry was watching her.

Macie frowned as a rush of colour warmed her cheeks. “What are you staring at?”

He shrugged. “Nothing much else to look at.”

At a loss for words, her gaze slid away from his.

“I guess I owe you my thanks,” Bowdry mused.

“You’re welcome.”

“You never told me where you were from.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Right. California.” He grunted softly. “I’ve been to California a time or two, but I never saw anyone quite like you.”

“You just weren’t there at the right time,” Macie retorted with a grin, and then frowned, wondering how she could make Relámpago take her back to her own time.

“You got a fi rst name?” Bowdry asked.

“Macie.”

“That’s an odd name for a pretty girl.”

“Ace Bowdry is an odd name for an Indian.”

“My mother named me after my old man.”

“My mother named me after her mother.”

Macie’s cheeks grew hotter under Bowdry’s regard, even as wings of excitement fluttered in the pit of her stomach. There was no denying he was an incredibly handsome man, just as there was no denying that he looked exactly the way she had always pictured the man she would marry, from his long black hair and dark eyes to his tawny skin and six-pack abs. The fact that he was an Indian intrigued her, which prompted her to ask, “What kind of Native Amer– Indian are you?”

“Cheyenne, on my mother’s side. White on the other.”

“Oh. Are your parents still alive?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

A muscle throbbed in his jaw.

She was tempted to ask what had happened to them, but the look in his eyes warned her to keep silent.

Pressure on her bladder had her sitting up and glancing around, then chiding herself for expecting to fi nd indoor plumbing in such a primitive place. Murmuring, “Excuse me,” she hurried out of the room and out of the hotel.

The stallion whinnied at her as she ducked around the corner of the building and took cover behind a fat bush. If she had to go wandering through time, why couldn’t she have travelled to some place with indoor plumbing and toilet paper?

Bowdry was waiting for her in the lobby when she returned to the hotel. “Ready to go?”

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace with food and hot water.”

“Sounds good to me. How are you feeling?”

“Like I haven’t eaten in a week. Let’s go.”

It was dark when they reached the town of Whiskey Creek. Macie glanced from side to side as they rode down the street, thinking it looked like a twin to the town they had left behind.

Bowdry reined up in front of the Montecito Hotel. He dismounted, then lifted Macie from the horse’s back.

“I could have got down on my own,” Macie said, noting the fine lines of pain around his mouth.

“Yeah. Well . . .” He shrugged.

“Shouldn’t we tie the horse up?”

Bowdry shook his head. “He won’t go anywhere until his reason for being here is done. Let’s get something to eat.”

Macie followed Bowdry into the hotel dining room, a quick gaze taking it all in – the tables covered in red-and-white checked cloths, the cowboy hats hanging on the rack by the door, the rough attire of most of the occupants.

They found a table near a window and sat across from each other. A harried-looking waitress appeared a few minutes later. Bowdry ordered a steak “and all the trimmin’s” and after a moment’s hesitation, Macie asked for the same. She wasn’t a big meat eater at home but hey, this was 1880. Cows in this day and age probably weren’t shot full of hormones.

Bowdry leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “So, I’m still waiting to hear why you don’t know what year it is.”

“You really want to know? All right, I’ll tell you. When I woke up yesterday morning, it was April 8 2009.”

“No sh – I mean . . .” He shook his head, and then he frowned. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”

“I guess you don’t believe me. Not that I’d blame you.”

“No, I believe you.”

“You do?”

“There are stories among my people of medicine men who rode Relámpago through time.”

“Really? How did they fi nd their way back?”

“I don’t know. Same way they got there, I guess. Why? You in a hurry to go back where you came from?”

Macie thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No.”

Bowdry leaned forwards. “It’s said the only time Relámpago appears to most people is when they’re in danger. Were you in danger?”

Macie’s gaze slid away from his. How could she tell him she’d been about to commit suicide? Thinking about it now filled her with shame. There were people all over the world who had it much worse than she did. She lived in a free country. She had a nice house, her health, a car, enough food to eat and money in the bank.

“Macie?”

She blew out a breath. He was a stranger to her. They would part ways, and she would never see him again, so what difference did it make what he thought of her?

“It doesn’t matter.”

“If you say so.”

Macie was relieved when the waitress arrived with their meal. She didn’t know why she cared what Bowdry thought of her, but she did. “You were the one in danger,” Macie said after a time. “Why didn’t he appear to you?”