A Tumble Through Time

by Hutton, Callie

  Five years. The rape and murder had taken place right as the war had ended. He’d left the army only a couple of weeks after that and had never seen Otis Letterman again. The last he’d heard, the man had been hung for horse thievery. And Wes had paid the price for his silence ever since.

  His head pounded with regret and ‘what if’ questions. He padded to the kitchen and stirred the stove ashes to make coffee. After adding kindling and a block of wood, he watched the flames grow, his thoughts drifting back to the day after the crime, when he’d snuck away from the fort and buried the poor girl. After fixing a rough cross, he’d knelt and prayed, asking for forgiveness, but never receiving any.

  A search for the girl’s family had turned up nothing. Like every other war torn county, they’d most likely scattered.

  With coffee in hand, he wandered to the front porch where he settled on the top step and tried to enjoy the last of the night. Soon, thoughts of the woman who’d entered his life and turned it upside down crowded out the uncomfortable ones from the dream. He couldn’t afford to get too close to her. Decent women, the type you courted, married, and had a family with were not for him. He didn’t deserve to even touch one, and should never have kissed Anna last night.

  Once again, he dwelled on the mystery surrounding the woman. Her unusual arrival, strange way of speaking and dressing, the things she’d quickly snatched back from him yesterday, obviously embarrassed. What did it all mean?

  He sipped his coffee.

  And where the hell is Tulsa?

  All through the morning, Anna kept her eyes glued to the front door of the café, waiting for Big Ben to show up again. The breakfast rush was almost over when he entered, looked quickly around, and headed to the same table in the corner.

  Her heart sped up. So he was still in town. She approached him with a smile on her face. “Good morning.”

  The man grunted.

  “Coffee?”

  He nodded. Anna filled the cup sitting on the table. It had taken her a while to accept filling a cup that another diner had used without first washing it. “Breakfast?”

  “Flapjacks.” His abrasive voice dismissed her.

  Anna hurried away. She needed to leave the restaurant when he did so she could follow him. What excuse could she give Flossie?

  She chewed on her dilemma until Big Ben rose and threw a few coins on the table. Whipping off her apron, she tossed it over the counter and shouted to Flossie. “I need a break. Be back in a little while.”

  “What?” The woman responded from the kitchen. “You git your fanny back in here, or don’t come back.”

  “Sorry. An emergency.” She slipped through the door as Big Ben crossed the street, seeming oblivious to his surroundings. Anna followed him for a few minutes. He lumbered along, ignoring everyone and everything he passed.

  He soon led her to the outskirts of town, where houses and businesses stretched further apart. Could he be staying out here in some type of shack?

  Almost before she caught it, he’d ducked behind the side of a building. She leaned against the front of the building, and looked around the corner. He continued on, not glancing left or right. After a few steps, he turned the corner again, and she hurried after him.

  An arm snaked out from a doorway and wrapped around her neck, pulling her forward. “Why the hell you followin’ me, girlie?” Big Ben cupped her face and shoved her against the building, banging her head so hard she saw stars. The stench from his mouth made her turn her face.

  “I’m not following you.”

  He shoved her head again, tightening his grip on her neck, cutting off a good portion of her air. A long knife appeared in his other hand that he rested against the skin under her jawline. “Yeah, you are. I want to know why.”

  She gulped, unable to get enough air to speak.

  “You lookin’ for a little action?” He shoved his pelvis at her.

  Her stomach churned. She tried to turn her face away to no avail.

  “Well maybe I am.” He grinned, his broken stained teeth tightening her stomach further. Once more he pushed his hips at her, grinding against her until Anna was sure she would vomit all over him. Maybe not a bad idea if that would make him release her.

  All her training fled as the monster brought his mouth closer to hers. When she attempted to bring her knee up, he pressed the knife to her skin. The sticky warmth of blood trickled down her neck.

  Big Ben leered, then licked his large, crusty lips. “I heard all about yore fight in the saloon, girlie. You ain’t gettin’ near my cock.”

  Anna closed her eyes seconds before the click of a gun hammer broke the silence.

  “Drop the knife, Coates, and back away−real slow.” Relief flooded her at Wes’s deep voice.

  “Suppose I kill her first, marshal?” Ben spat out the side of his mouth.

  “I’ll put a bullet in your head before you go two inches. Put the knife down. Now.”

  Big Ben pushed harder on her neck with his fingers, then dropped the knife and spun, smacking his hand against Wes’s gun. It went flying, bouncing along the prairie dirt.

  As Anna slid to the ground, gasping for breath, Wes knocked Ben to the dirt with a blow to his stomach, followed by another under his chin. The outlaw shook his head and rolled, coming up fast, another knife he’d seized from inside his boot flashing at Wes’s midsection.

  Wes jumped back, the knife barely missing him. They circled each other like two animals, Ben’s knife blade catching the sunlight as he lunged forward and side to side.

  Anna scrambled to her feet and leapt for the gun. Ben had Wes backed against the wall, the knife pointed at his chest. She knelt in the dirt, arms straight out, then pulled the trigger, hitting Ben squarely in the back. The man’s head snapped back as the bullet slammed into him, then he crumbled to the ground.

  Wes bent over, his hands braced on his thighs, breathing deeply. Anna slowly stood and walked to him on shaky legs. He straightened and grabbed her, hugging her close, crushing her to his chest. His entire body shook, and he tightened his grip until she thought he’d snap her ribs. “My God, he almost raped you.”

  She didn’t answer, just continued to hold him. When the shaking didn’t stop, she pulled back and peered into his face. He was ash white, his pupils dilated.

  “Wes? What’s wrong? It’s over, I’m fine.”

  He released her and walked away, his head down, hands on his hips. Anna’s fingertips traced the dried blood under her chin. Now that the excitement was over, the slight cut stung, and her head pounded.

  She stepped to his side and he jumped when she touched his shoulder. “We need to get the body moved.”

  Wes sucked in a deep breath and turned. Although he smiled, his body coiled like a spring, and lines bracketed his mouth. He nodded. “I’ll send the undertaker for him.”

  Anna easily picked up on his tension. This was more than a normal reaction to what had just happened. There was so much pain in Wes’s eyes, she felt the need to offer comfort. She rested her hand lightly on his arm. “Can you talk about it?”

  “What?”

  “Your reaction to this.” She waved her hand toward the man sprawled on the ground.

  “It’s nothing.” He took her by the hand, twining their fingers together. “Come on, I have to fill out paperwork. I’d feel better if you go along with me to the jailhouse.”

  Not wanting to leave him in his present state, she went with him. He clutched her hand the entire walk to the undertaker, and then on to his office.

  Wes’s heart had finally settled into a normal rhythm, and now his body felt sluggish, exhausted. He had every intention of chewing Anna out about her reckless behavior, but right now he needed to think of a reasonable explanation for the way he’d fallen apart. She’d given him curious glances since they’d left Ben’s body growing cold and stiff on the ground behind the abandoned building.

  Sweat beaded his forehead every time the image of Coates pressed against Anna, with the full i
ntention of taking her right there against the wall, flashed in his mind.

  They reached the jailhouse and Wes opened the door, escorting Anna inside. She stood in the center of the room, her hands clasped together, her index fingers tapping against her lips. “Do you have a way to make coffee?”

  “No. But if you want some, we could go to the café.”

  “I’d rather stay here.” She smiled slightly. “Besides, I think I got fired this morning.”

  Wes circled the desk and took his seat. Anna settled into the hard wooden chair on the other side of the desk. His gaze flicked over her neck and he inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. You’ve been cut and we need to get you cleaned up. Do you want to go to the doctor?”

  She touched the spot under her chin. “No. I’ll clean up when I get back to the hotel.” After a minute she leaned forward. “I can’t tell you why I know this, but I have a feeling something happened to you that has you twisted in knots most of the time, fighting demons.”

  He felt the blood leave his face. How could she see through him so clearly? And how could he ever admit to this woman that he was a coward, a half-man crying out in his sleep, and skittish as a scared rabbit when approached by another human? That his emotions were so out of control he would have killed Ben with his bare hands had the man not pulled a knife?

  “Please let me help you,” she whispered.

  He stiffened. “There’s nothing to help with.”

  Anna sat back. “I don’t believe you.”

  Wes studied her. No sliver of condemnation showed on her face, which would soon change if he related his story. How a soldier didn’t have the guts to save a young girl, and then to protect his own hide never reported what his commanding officer had done. No, this was a burden he had to carry alone.

  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Let’s get the paperwork done, so I can send it off. You’ll have to sign it since you . . .”

  “Oh, no you don’t.” Anna rose and leaned across the desk. “You don’t seem to understand. I can help you.” She reached out and covered his hand with hers. “Let me in, Wes. I promise nothing you tell me will go any further.”

  Absolutely nothing about this woman made sense, so different from any other he’d ever met. Strong, compassionate, and brave enough to shoot an outlaw dead. And instead of having hysterics at her ordeal, she wanted to help him. But no matter how compassionate she was, no one could ever erase the horror of that morning, and his part in hiding it.

  Lips tightened, he reached for paper and pencil.

  Anna collapsed into the seat across from him again and sighed. “All right, then, let’s get this paperwork done. I have to find another job today.”

  Wes frowned, his tightened stomach reminding him of the lecture he’d put off for too long. “Before we do that, let’s talk a little bit about why you were following Ben Coates this morning.”

  She chewed her lip. “To bring him in.”

  “Damn it, Anna. I don’t want you hauling in outlaws. It’s dangerous.” This woman would drive him crazy. That she thought she could drag in criminals irritated the hell out of him. Indeed, her bringing down the cowboy in the bar, and having the presence of mind to shoot Ben before he could kill him, had earned Wes’s grudging respect, but that was a far cry from dealing with desperate bandits to earn a living.

  “I can do it. I told you I have experience.”

  “I have no idea what kind of experience you have, but I’m ordering you, as marshal of this town, to no longer attempt to bring in outlaws.”

  She went slack-jawed. “You can’t do that.”

  “I certainly can.” His mouth tightened. “Don’t make me lock you up to keep you from getting into trouble.” The thought of having her next to him in the jail all day brought both terror and joy, definitely not something he wanted to deal with.

  “Well, in that case I better go find another job, marshal.”

  Wes stood as she did and reached for her. “Wait.”

  “What?”

  He clasped her hand. “You scared the hell out of me out there.”

  Anna studied him, her features softening. “I’m sorry, and thank you for arriving when you did.” She’d opened her mouth to continue when the door flew open and Marcus Heard, the town blacksmith, rushed through the doorway.

  “Marshal, they just brought Slug in. He’s been shot.”

  Wes dropped her hand. “What happened?”

  Marcus gasped, “The stage got held up. None of the passengers was hurt, but Slug tried to shoot one of the outlaws, and got hisself shot instead.”

  Wes headed toward the door, Anna on his heels. “Where is he now?”

  “They brought him to the doc’s house.”

  Chapter Six

  The three hurried along the boardwalk, Anna having a hard time keeping up with the marshal’s lengthy strides. “How often does this happen?” She puffed out the words.

  “Hasn’t for a while. I thought the gang that was holding up the stage coaches around here a few months back had moved on. I guess not.”

  “Could be a new gang.”

  Wes nodded as they turned the corner and headed for the blue and white clapboard house that Anna had visited with Wes several days ago. He flung open the door, and Anna followed him in.

  She took in the scene before her. Blood had dripped onto the floor from Slug’s wounds. The doctor worked on the pale-faced man, cutting away the pants plastered against his skin where a gaping hole oozed blood.

  “Is he conscious?” Wes approached the table Slug rested on, his eyes closed.

  “He was until a minute ago when two cowpokes dropped him on this table. Screamed like a banshee before he passed out.” The doctor turned to Anna. “Little lady, go wash your hands and come back here. I need someone to help me, and my wife’s gone visiting. Damn poor timing,” he grumbled.

  “I’m going to question the passengers. Where are they?” Wes glanced toward the man who’d brought the news.

  Anna watched as the blacksmith shoved a chunk of tobacco in his mouth and started chewing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t spit on the floor right next to the patient. Some operating room.

  “They was pretty shook up. Especially the ladies. I think they done gone into the café.”

  Wes nodded and left.

  For the next hour, Anna fought her gurgling stomach as she witnessed surgery in the nineteenth century. The man who’d come with them left shortly after Wes.

  Anna’s CPR and First Responder classes didn’t look a thing like this. Barbaric. That was the only word she could conjure up. After stripping away the ruined wool pants and gray-tinged drawers, Doc Oliver proceeded to pour some type of liquid into the hole. Even in his unconscious state, Slug had flinched. Then, taking long pinchers, that he−thank goodness−washed under hot water, the doctor poked and prodded until he found the bullet, and extracted it.

  Feeling a bit lightheaded herself when he held it up like a trophy, she took in a deep gulp of air and held on. The stitching wasn’t much different than what she’d witnessed before, but instead of disposable, sterile suture material, the doctor used thread off a spool that looked as though he’d fetched it from his wife’s sewing supplies. Mercifully, the patient remained unconscious throughout the ordeal.

  As soon as the wound had been cleansed once more and bandaged, the doctor turned to her, as if seeing her for the first time. “What happened to your neck?”

  Anna reached up and touched the crusted line where Big Ben had cut her, all of that seeming to be days ago, instead of early that morning. “I ran into a little trouble and got cut.”

  “Sure looks to me like it was more than a little trouble.” He studied her under craggy eyebrows. “I heard you like to beat up cowboys. That so?”

  Anna flushed. Life in a small town was certainly different from anything she’d experienced before. These people didn’t need the internet; news traveled from ear to ear just fine. “Yes.” She raised her chin. “I didn’t like the way h
e was touching me.”

  The doctor’s eyes twinkled, and he grinned. “Let me took at that cut before you race out of here. I can see you’re fixing to go chasing after the marshal and get in his way.”

  She huffed a response, but allowed the doctor to clean her up−after making certain he washed his hands again. He swabbed some liquid on the cut that had her shooting up out of the chair like she’d been thrust from a cannon. “What was that stuff?”

  Doc Oliver waved her off. “Something to help you heal.”

  She blinked away the tears from the sting and hurried to the door.

  What a morning it’s been so far. Wes flung his hat on the desk and collapsed into his chair. First Anna almost got herself raped, and then the stage was held up. He had a dead body to contend with, reports to fill out, a gang to capture, and a woman who was driving him crazy. What happened to his peaceful life?

  The interview with the passengers on the fated stagecoach hadn’t helped much. According to reports, there were either four or five outlaws. One was big as a horse, or they were all skinny and scrawny. They all wore a red bandana, or two of them wore black ones. They all had black hair, or one of them was blond, two had mustaches, or they all had beards. He sighed. Witnesses never agreed on anything. His best bet was to go to where the hold-up took place and see if he could find any clues.

  He no sooner settled into his chair when the door swung open and Anna hurried in. Wes groaned. The look on her face told him all he needed to know about what she planned to ask him. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “No.”

  She stopped abruptly. “No, what?”

  “Whatever it is your determined look tells me you want.”

  Anna sat in the chair facing him, one leg tucked under her in a most unladylike fashion. “What did you find out?”

  “About what?”

  “Come on, Wes, don’t play games with me. What did the passengers say?”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his fingers steepled as he regarded her. “This is no game. If they’re the same gang that wreaked havoc a few months back, we’re talking about some dangerous men. I’m just amazed they left all the passengers alive.”