A Tumble Through Time (10 page)

Of course, there probably was no reason to bother him with the details of who was assuming his job. He would just fret, and that could delay his recovery. Armed with righteous determination, she wished Arnold a good day, a speedy recovery for his wife, and then proceeded to the jailhouse.

The lingering smell of fried chicken, along with leather and the man who usually occupied the space, greeted her as she entered the room. Without his presence it all appeared naked, empty. Dust motes danced in the stream of sunlight pouring through the window over the marshal’s desk. She wandered around the office, taking in the rifles neatly lined up on the gun rack on the wall, a large ring of keys on a hook, alongside another hook holding a shirt similar to the one Wes had wrapped her in that first day when she had no idea what was going on. A mix-matched pitcher and bowl shared space on a small table with an oil lamp. For as many times as she’d been in the jailhouse, these minor details had escaped her.

Anna settled into the large leather chair behind the desk, her body barely taking up half the space that Wes normally filled. After rifling through the middle desk drawer, she produced a dull deputy badge that she rubbed on her chest as she’d seen done in numerous movies. Grinning like a small child, she pinned the piece of metal to her dress and leaned back.

So, this is how it feels to be a deputy marshal in the old west.

She almost expected to see John Wayne or Henry Fonda burst through the door, guns waving. Chiding herself for her overactive imagination, she pulled open the bottom drawer and withdrew a stack of
‘wanted’ posters.

For over an hour she shuffled through the papers, learning nothing more than how downright ugly these outlaws were. Missing teeth, nasty scars on their faces, bulges in most of their mouths where wads of tobacco had been stuffed. She shivered, imagining how unpleasant it would be to stand downwind from most of them.

One outlaw caught her attention. He appeared to be no more than fourteen or fifteen years old. Nothing yet to shave off his face, and free of scars. But the eyes were what hit her. Even with a few years of law enforcement under her belt, she’d never seen eyes like this. If the devil did indeed pick humans’ bodies to occupy, there was no doubt in her mind this was one of them. Hatred, venom, and anger flashed from eyes in a cherub face.
Noah Mather.
She shivered slightly and shoved the pile back into the drawer.

Perhaps it was time to take a turn around town, check things out. Except she felt utterly ridiculous wearing a deputy badge and a long dress. It was highly unlikely she’d garner any respect from the townspeople dressed as she was.

If Wes were laid up for a couple days, she’d put herself back into her jeans, and wear the marshal’s shirt she’d never returned. She guiltily thought of how many times she’d slept with it under her pillow.
So juvenile
.

The front door flew open as she was in the process of re-loading her gun that she’d retrieved from Wes’s desk. Before she had a chance to view her visitor, a deep voice shouted, “Goddammit!”

Holding the gun in her hand, Anna looked up into the enraged eyes of the man who’d tried to rape her.

“What the hell are you doing out of the jail cell?” He stormed closer, limping as he shifted the bulk of his weight onto the crutch he held tucked under his arm. His eyes narrowed and he stared at her chest. “And why the hell are you wearing a deputy badge after you
tried to murder me?

C
hapter Ten

“
W
ell, son, it looks to me like you’re gonna be laid up for a little while.” Doc Oliver packed his supplies into his satchel and snapped it close. “You want to get as much rest as you can, and drinking lots of water might help.” He gripped the bag and headed to the door. “Best if you can get one of the ladies in town to make you some chicken soup.”

“So it is influenza?” Wes croaked from his bed, the sheet drawn up to his chin.

“Epidemic,” the doctor said. “Got dozens of people down with it. Strange for this time of year, but there it is. Just take care of yourself. You’re a healthy man, so that helps. It’s the young’uns and older folks I’m worried about.”

The sound of the front door closing signaled the doctor’s exit. Wes groaned and hunkered down further into the blankets, shivering fit to shake the bed. Every inch of his body hurt. It even pained to blink.

The next time he opened his eyes, the shadows in the room suggested several hours had passed since the doctor had left. He vaguely remembered Laura Martin standing by his bedside at one point, chattering on about soup she’d left for him. A white china bowl sitting on the table next to him still held a full serving. Obviously he hadn’t eaten any of it.

Lord, he felt sick. So sick, in fact, that he just now remembered he’d left the jailhouse without ensuring things would be looked after. Hopefully, for once Anna did as he asked and got Arnold to step in for him.

He fell into a fitful sleep.

“Wes?” A soft feminine voice startled him awake. His body was drenched in sweat, and for as cold as he’d been before, now he wanted to strip off his pants and drawers to cool his skin. Since the deep brown eyes watching him belonged to Anna, best to remain clothed.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I got thrown off my horse
right before he stomped on me.”

“Did the doctor come?” She drew up a chair and sat next to him. “I asked him to look in on you.”

Wes nodded and immediately regretted it when his eyes seemed to roll around loosely inside his head. The dizziness was worse than any bottle of whiskey had ever caused. “Said it was influenza. Apparently the town has an epidemic.”

“I heard that.” Anna chewed her lower lip, and fidgeted with her fingers in her lap, which caused the small hairs on the back of Wes’s neck to rise. He had a strong feeling she was about to give him less than joyful news.

“What’s wrong?”

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“You’re lying.” He might he sick, but he wasn’t stupid. His eyes narrowed. “You did get Arnold to come down to the jailhouse, didn’t you?”

Anna hesitated. “Um. About that
. . .”

Wes groaned and closed his eyes. “I specifically told you to get Arnold to step
in for me.”

She blew out a huge breath. “Before you go all crazy on me, I did try to get Arnold.”

“Try?”

“Yes,
try
. He couldn’t come because his wife is sick−probably has the flu, too−and he couldn’t leave the store.”

“I don’t suppose it would be worth my while to ask if you tried to find someone else−another man−to help out?” Lord, if luck was on his side, she wouldn’t burn down the jailhouse, or get herself raped and murdered.
In addition to the fact she was still his prisoner.

“I’m perfectly capable of h
andling things while you’re laid up. I am a trained officer of the law.”

“Woman, I have no idea what you’re talking about when you say things like that. All I know is if you go around shooting people, or destroying their manly parts with your knee, there’s
going to hell to pay when the circuit judge comes around.”

“Yeah, about that . . .” Before Anna got any further, a loud pounding on the front door interrupted her.

Wes glanced at Anna and mumbled, “Why do I think this is more bad news?”

“Marshal?” Not waiting for an answer, Win
nie Grayson hobbled into the room, and narrowed his eyes as he pointed his crutch at Anna. “That woman should be behind bars. She shot me for no reason, and I want her held until the circuit judge gets here.”

His bedroom was becoming more popular than the saloon. A man couldn’t even be sick as a dog in peace.

“Mr. Grayson, I would appreciate you speaking in a lower voice since my head is already pounding.”

“I apologize, m
arshal.” Grayson quieted his voice. “I can appreciate you’re feeling under the weather, but I when I went down to the jail earlier today to file my complaint, not only don’t I find this clabberheaded woman locked up, but there she sits behind the marshal’s desk wearin’ a deputy badge.”

Wes glared at Anna who
merely gave him a slight smile.

“Grayson, I’m afraid I’m not up to dealing with this issue at the present time. However, once I’m back on my feet again, I’ll be happy to look into the shooting incident.”

“There ain’t no looking into anything, marshal. She shot me clear through the leg.” He lifted the injured limb and lost his balance, almost tumbling onto Wes’s bed. Anna grabbed Grayson’s arm to steady him, which got her a glower in return.

“Marshal, did you eat some of my soup?” Laura Martin’s eyebrows rose to her hairline when she passed through the doorway and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of everyone hovering over the bed.

Perhaps we should invite the mayor in, and then we can have a town hall meeting.

Wes raised himself up on his elbows, fighting the nausea and dizziness. “I want everyone to clear out.” He nodded at Laura. “No offense, ma’am.” Then he turned toward Grayson. “I will deal with your problem in a day or two. I can assure you Miss Devlin won’t be skedaddling out of town anytime soon.”

Having used up the little bit of strength his anger had wrought, he eased himself down on the sweat soaked pillow, and looked in Laura’s direction. “Thank you so much for the soup, Miss Martin. I will be sure to have some of it in a short while. However, I must ask you to return home now because I don’t want you to catch influenza.” He nodded at Grayson. “That goes for you, too.”

Anna opened her mouth to speak, and he held up his hand. “I need to have a word with you, Miss Devlin.” Then he turned to Grayson and Laura, making it obvious he intended for them to leave.

Once the two had left, he narrowed his eyes at Anna. “You are not my deputy marshal. If Arnold can’t help out, then please send a Western Union to Hickok over in Abilene and see if he can dispatch someone to come to Denton for a day or two to tend to things.”

“Very well,” she sighed.

Wes immediately went on alert. She’d given in much too easily, and her soft-spoken demeanor didn’t fool him for one minute.

Anna picked up the bowl of soup, spooned out a bit, and held it to his lips. “Here. You told Laura you would eat her soup, and chicken soup is good for the flu.”

Wes turned his head away from her. “What I really want is to be left alone.”

She studied the back of his head, the sweat drenched strands of dark hair curled over his neck. Something shifted inside that set her heart to pounding. Even flat on his back, and miserable with the flu, his nearness caused her body to react. She fought the urge to comfort him, take care of him. “Wes.”

He turned toward her.

“I’ve had the flu before, so I know how miserable you feel. Why don’t you try to get out of bed and I’ll change your sheets? Then I’ll heat up this soup. I promise that will make you feel a little bit better.”

“No. I don’t want you to catch this blasted thing from me and end up sick. Just go. I’ll take care of myself.”

Anna stood and straightened the twisted sheets. “No. I’ve had my flu shot, so I’m good. Let me help you.”

“Flu shot?”

“Er . . . yeah.” She shifted her glance toward a large wardrobe across from the bed. “Is that where you keep the clean sheets?”

“Don’t change the subject. What do you mean by a flu shot?”

“Nothing.”

His warm hand reached out and grasped hers. “Sit down.” He tugged with remarkable strength for a sick man. “I’m probably far enough out of my mind right now to believe anything.”

Anna
clenched and unclenched her hands. The time had come to face her dilemma head on. Yet, a sense of relief swept over her at the thought of finally unburdening herself. Not that Wes would be able to help, but at least one other person beside her could appreciate the bizarre situation she was in. With a deep breath, she looked into a pair of curious, yet sympathetic eyes, and her heart melted.

When had she started to feel more for this man than was smart? They were from different times, had different values and experiences. What was considered perfectly acceptable in her time was downright scandalous here and now. And what if she could never get back?

Curious how that thought no longer brings the jolt of panic it once did.

“Tell me.” His voice was low and soothing, as if he spoke to a frightened animal.

She shook her head, the brief sense of relief vanishing, leaving her unable to form the words that would make it all real. Speaking of it would give the entire tale credence, stripping her of any illusion that her predicament was a dream.

His thumb moved back and forth over her knuckles. “Anna? Talk to me.”

She chewed her lip and her eyes darted back and forth. “If I tell you, promise you won’t think I’m crazy?”

“I already think you’re crazy.”

“Yes, well, that’s probably true.” She straightened her spine and took a deep breath. “I was born in nineteen ninety.” When he continued to stare at her without changing expressions, she added, “One hundred and twenty years from now.”

Either she’d shocked him into silence or the flu had taken away his hearing. She squeezed his hand. “Say something.”

“Go on.”

She swallowed a few times. “I was traveling back from visiting my aunt in Kansas when I stopped at an Indian store and met a strange woman with a tattoo on her neck who seemed to know all about me, even though I’d never laid eyes on her before.”
The sentence all came out in a breathless rush.

Wes nodded encouragingly.

“I was going through a difficult time. The week before, I’d caught my fiancé cheating on me−with my best friend, I might add.” She shot him a glance. “I mentioned I was a police officer, which is not exactly true. I left the department when my partner sexually harassed me. A hearing is scheduled in little over a week from now to determine whether I get my job back. And the only employment I could get−as a bounty hunter−sucked.”

His eyebrows disappeared under the damp curls on his forehead. “‘Sucked?’ What kind of expression is that? And what do you mean he
‘sexually harassed’ you?”

“It means he tried to force me to have sex with him.”

“He raped you?”

“No. He kept suggesting it, and he touched me too often.” She sighed. “It’s difficult to explain, but I wasn’t comfortable working with him.”

Wes’s lips tightened, and his hand fisted in the sheets.

She gestured in dismissal. “Anyway, this Indian lady told me to go find a ‘peace chair’ behind her store, and sit there. I did
−and fell asleep. When I woke up, everything was different. After wandering around in confusion for a while, Slug and his stagecoach almost ran me over.” She sat back, releasing his hand. “And you know the rest.”

Wes studied her for a minute, and then aske
d, “You’re telling me you traveled through time?”

“See, it’s a good thing you already think I’m crazy. Now I’ve just confirmed it.” The smile she attempted didn’t quite make it. Unable to sit still, she jumped up and
retrieved the bowl of soup from the table. “I’ll heat this up for you, and be right back.”

Wes
watched the perplexing woman flee the room, soup sloshing over the edge of the bowl as she hurried away.

The future.

Had he been most people, he’d likely be thinking about having Doc Oliver find a place to lock her up for her own safety. But the history he’d learned from his mother’s Potawatomi family had instilled in him an appreciation for the unknown, the unexplainable. Given his heritage, the fact that it was an Indian woman who’d sent her here seemed fitting.

His Irish father, a longtime trading partner with the Potawatomi, had been granted permission to marry the beautiful Sings Like Angel when his mother was barely sixteen years of age. Shortly after his birth, she died of white man’s fever, leaving a heartbroken Mike Shannon to raise his only child.

Each summer Wes and his father traveled from their winter home in the mountains to the Potawatomi camp. There, Wes learned the ways of the tribe. Every night after the last meal of the day, he would join the other children in a circle around the fire and listen to tales from the elders. Dozens of stories of unusual happenings and mysterious legends left him with a deep respect for things that had no reasonable explanation. Added to that the tales from his father of faeries in Ireland, and he’d been convinced from an early age to accept things most people would not.