A Tumble Through Time

by Hutton, Callie

  “Why not? What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

  He waved his hand toward her. “You’re wearing men’s pants. And you’re missing most of your shirt.”

  “My shirt isn’t missing anything.” She glanced down. Men’s pants? “I don’t get it. Is this a movie set or something?”

  The marshal rubbed the back of his neck and peered at her, frowning. “Movie?”

  “Okay, maybe a tourist town? And you’re the big, bad marshal?”

  “Big bad marshal?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Could you say something else besides repeating my questions?”

  The annoying yet exceedingly handsome man, with the ‘Marshal’ badge pinned to his muscled chest, glanced over her head. Anna turned in time to see the old driver making circles with his index finger along the side of his head. The marshal nodded. They thought she was crazy?

  “All right. I’m done with this game. Where’s the Indian store? And where the heck is Route 83?”

  Wes pushed back the brim of his hat. “Miss Devlin, are you here to work with Miss Ethel?”

  “Nope. No idea who Miss Ethel is, but if she’s waiting for someone to arrive, it’s not me.”

  His shoulders slumped as if disappointed in her answer. “Why don’t you let me take you to the doctor’s house? It’s a short walk from here, and you can lie down. I think you may have been in the sun too long.” The hunk grabbed her elbow and attempted to move her forward.

  She yanked her arm from his hand, rubbing the spot where heat sizzled her skin. Her thoughts clouded for a moment, but then she snapped, “Now wait a minute. I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine. Y’all are crazy. Dressed up like a movie set, trying to make me think this is for real.” She pointed her finger at him. “Believe me, I’ve had my problems lately, but I sure as hell haven’t lost my mind.”

  Both men sucked in air. “Miss, we don’t allow cussing in public. Especially from ladies,” the marshal said.

  Anna shifted her purse strap up on her shoulder and tried to calm her racing heart. “Look. marshal. I have no idea where I am. I left the Indian store, found the damn peace chair, sat there for a while and fell asleep. When I woke up it was all gone. And your buddy here,” she nodded with her chin toward the driver, “gave me a lift to the nearest town in the strangest mode of transportation I’ve ever ridden in.” She turned slowly, her gaze taking in the facades, the boardwalk, and the prairie beyond the end of the street. “And this town looks like something from the old west.”

  “Come on, Miss Devlin.” The marshal grasped her upper arm and moved her forward. “Let’s pay the doc a call.”

  Heat again on her arm where those strong fingers wrapped around her, racing this time to her middle where the dance of the butterflies began. Anna glared at him, more confused by his touch than her surroundings.

  “I told you I don’t need a doctor. Just direct me to the nearest pay phone, and I’ll call . . . someone.” Lord, who could she call? Certainly not Robbie. Maybe her boss, Lenny. He’d have to get up off his lazy ass and come get her. Satisfied with the solution, she tapped her foot. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “Where’s the nearest pay phone?”

  The marshal rotated his neck, took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. Longish, thick and wavy. Dark brown with golden highlights. And whiskey colored eyes that seemed almost transparent in the sunlight. Damn, this must be a movie set. This guy is too good looking to be anything but an actor.

  “All right, Miss Devlin. If you won’t go to see the doc, then let’s take a stroll to the jail.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You’re arresting me? For what?”

  He replaced the hat. “No. Not arresting you. Just want to get you off the street with that getup on.”

  Honestly, the man was a prude, but his heated gaze increased the tempo of the butterflies in her stomach. “Do you have a phone I can use at the jailhouse?”

  “Come with me.” Ignoring her very reasonable question, he once again grasped her elbow and hauled her forward. Didn’t this knuckle-dragging Neanderthal know she could slap a lawsuit on him for manhandling?

  Anna glanced at his hand. Long, tanned fingers, a thin, lighter line, most likely a scar, on one finger. Strong. If this man was an actor, he spent a lot of time at the gym. She took in his long legs, a gun resting in a holster wrapped around his slim hips, and anchored to his bulging thigh with a thin strip of leather. With her knowledge of guns, she’d bet it was real, but not like anything she’d ever seen. What kind of a tourist town or movie set would allow an actor to parade around with a real gun?

  Anna finished her perusal of his body. Trim waist, broad shoulders. He stood a good six feet or more. She glanced upward, and found his mesmerizing eyes staring at her, with a smirk on his face. Gawd! Just want she needed, to fan the flames of an actor’s already overblown ego.

  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 hauling 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 phone 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 sighed 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 he
lp, 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.

  Chapter Three

  Anna 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.”