It was time to get back to the real world, time to forget about ghosts and Alejandro Valverde. She was a newspaper reporter. She didn’t have time to write a novel. She was on vacation, obviously a much-needed vacation. It was time to get on with it.
She didn’t see any other tourists as she walked down the dusty road. She thought that was odd, but maybe not. Clark had said there were days when hardly anyone came through.
It struck her suddenly how quiet it was. Not even a breeze stirred the air. It was like the whole town was holding its breath. In spite of the sun’s heat, she felt suddenly cold.
She had an inexplicable urge to glance over her shoulder, and an equally strong urge to run away just as fast as she could.
“You’ve been here too long,” she muttered.
When she reached the corner of Green and Main, the wind began to blow. She shivered, overcome by the strangest feeling that she had never felt a wind quite like this one before. The sky turned suddenly dark. Blowing sand stung her eyes and she squeezed them shut, wondering if there was a storm coming.
And then, as quickly as it began, the wind stilled. She adjusted her grip on her overnight bag and stepped into the intersection. It was then she heard it, the sound of a piano. It wasn’t her imagination this time. She took a few steps down Main Street and the music grew louder.
She paused a moment, and then continued on. She stopped in front of a two-story building on the left side of the street. A weathered sign proclaimed it was the Queen of Bodie Saloon. The music was coming from inside the building.
Shaye frowned. She didn’t remember seeing this place before, and she had walked through the town at least three times in the last couple of days. The Queen of Bodie. Suddenly, the name rang a bell. Of course! It was one of the saloons that Daisy had mentioned in her diary.
Wondering how she had missed it on her earlier excursions, Shaye stepped up on the wooden sidewalk, surprised that the swinging doors weren’t locked. Only a few of the buildings were open to the public.
She could hear voices now, a woman’s laughter. With a shrug, Shaye pushed her way through the doors.
The saloon was crowded with people, mostly men. Men dressed in faded red shirts and tall black boots. Smoke hung over the room like a thick gray shroud. She could hear the whir of a wheel of fortune, the click of dice, the solid clink of gold and silver coins.
A long bar stretched away from the door. There was a restaurant across from the bar, every stool occupied. She frowned, thinking the place looked vaguely familiar, and then shook it off.
She stared at the scene before her, her mind racing. Her first thought was that they were shooting a movie, but there were no lights, no cameras, and then she realized it had to be some sort of Old West reenactment. She wondered briefly why Clark hadn’t mentioned it to her, and why it was being held on a day when she seemed to be the only tourist in the park.
Still, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and she decided to make the best of it while she was there. Tucking her overnight bag under one arm, she worked her way through the crowd, wondering if it was okay to take pictures. Several of the men stared at her legs as she passed by, but she was used to that. She had nice legs.
Voices rose over the din. Male voices. Angry voices.
“You damned cheat!”
There was a sudden silence, as if someone had turned off the sound.
The crowd before her parted, giving her a clear view of the confrontation at the poker table in the back of the room.
A miner pushed away from the table and stood up, his body tense, as he glared at the man across from him. His face was almost as red as his shirt as he shouted, “Damn you, Valverde, that card came off the bottom!”
Shaye’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Valverde.
The gambler stood up, his movements slow, graceful, deliberate. He wore black trousers, a white shirt, a black broadcloth coat, which he swept out of the way, revealing a black gunbelt and holster. “I don’t have to cheat, Syler. You’re a piss-poor card player if I ever saw one.”
The miner’s face turned even redder. His hand hovered over the gun on his hip.
Another man, also wearing a red shirt, laid a hand on Syler’s arm.“Fred, don’t. He’ll kill you.”
“I ain’t afraid of him,” Syler retorted, yet even as he spoke, his hand fell away from his gun and he was backing away from the table.
She stared at the scene before her. It was familiar somehow, yet she knew she had never been there before. Slowly, afraid of what she might see, she glanced to the left, her gaze drawn to the picture over the bar. A shiver slid down her spine. She recognized the place and the buxom nude all too well. It was the saloon from her dream.
And the man at the table, the one slowly turning in her direction, was a dead ringer for Alejandro Valverde.
Her blood ran cold, then hot, then cold again as his gaze met hers. She felt suddenly lightheaded. She closed her eyes a moment, and when she opened them again, she seemed to see everything through a blue-gray haze. A loud buzzing filled her ears, she felt herself falling, watched helplessly as the floor rushed up to meet her, and then everything went black.
Chapter Five
Alejandro darted forward and caught the woman just before she hit the floor. Swinging her into his arms, he headed for the stairway. “Rosa, bring her bag.”
He took the stairs two at a time. In his room, he laid the woman on his bed, then stood staring down at her.
“I’ve never seen a woman dressed like that,” Rosa said. “Who is she?”
“Damned if I know,” Alejandro replied, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had seen her somewhere before.
“Well, hombre, holler if you need anything else,” Rosa said. She dropped the woman’s valise on the floor near the door, then flashed him a sultry smile. “Anything at all.”
Alejandro grinned as she sashayed out of the room and quietly closed the door. Of all the doves at the Queen, Rosa was his favorite.
He frowned as he turned his attention back to the woman in his bed. Who was she? And why did she look so familiar? And why was she dressed so strangely? She wore some sort of sleeveless black shirt with writing across the front and a pair of white trousers cut well above the knee. Her feet were encased in a pair of short black stockings and blue and white shoes unlike any he had ever seen. He eased her out of the odd-looking pack on her back and dumped it on the floor near her valise.
He stared at her shirt, at the strange drawing of two faces, one white, one red, beneath the words Jekyll and Hyde, also written in red and white. But it was the woman herself who held his attention. Her skin was nicely tanned, smooth and clear. She had a lovely mouth with a full lower lip, a softly rounded jaw, a nice nose, delicate brows, thick lashes. He knew somehow that her eyes were green…
And even as the thought crossed his mind, her eyelids fluttered open and she was staring at him. “What happened?”
He shrugged. “You fainted.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve never fainted in my life.”
He shrugged again. “First time for everything, I reckon.”
Her gaze moved over him. Dark skin, long black hair, dark brown eyes, high cheekbones. Sort of a cross between David Duchovny and Antonio Bandaras. Not a bad combination, she mused.
“Where am I?” she asked, glancing around.
“My room. I keep one here in the saloon.”
Her mouth went dry. “Did you bring me here?”
He nodded.
“Why?
A faint smile curved his lips. “I guess I could have left you on the floor.”
“Who are you?”
“Alejandro Valverde.”
“No, I mean who are you, really.”
He lifted one black brow. “Alejandro Valverde.”
“You don’t understand…”
“I think it is you who do not understand.”
“I know you’re playing him, but what’s your rea
l name?”
He frowned. “Playing?”
Shaye sat up, and the room seemed to spin. The man was instantly beside her, his hand on her shoulder, steadying her. It was a large hand. Heat suffused her, his touch making her skin tingle, his nearness making her heart pound.
“All right. Stay in character. I’ve got to go.”
He looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Or I will be. I’ve got to go.” She couldn’t stay there, couldn’t think with him staring at her like that. His resemblance to Alejandro Valverde was uncanny, which was no doubt why he got the part. She stood up, swaying, and again felt his hand on her shoulder as he steadied her.
“Sit,” he said. “I’ll get you something to drink.”
She started to protest, but he gave her a gentle push, easing her backward until she sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Stay there.”
Something in his tone warned her not to move.
He regarded her a moment, then left the room.
Shaye tapped her foot impatiently for a few moments, then stood up. The chair in the corner looked like one her grandmother used to have. She moved toward the dresser across from the bed, ran her hand over the top. She had seen similar looking pieces in her mom’s antique shop. She opened the top drawer. Inside, she found a white shirt, neatly folded. She ran her hand over the material, frowned as she felt something hard beneath the cloth. Moving the shirt aside, she discovered a small revolver, and three boxes of ammunition.
Curious, she picked up the weapon and turned it over in her hand. It was heavier than she expected for such a small weapon, and looked very real. The initials AV were worked into the design on the butt of the gun.
“I’d be careful with that, if I were you. It’s loaded.”
Startled, she almost dropped the gun. He was beside her in a heartbeat. Taking the derringer from her hand, he put it back in the drawer and slid it shut.
“Here.” He handed her a glass filled with dark red liquid. “This will calm your nerves.”
“What is it?”
“Wine. It’s good for the blood.” He lifted one brow. “I assure you it’s not poisoned.”
She took a drink, relaxing a little as she sipped the warmed wine.
Head tilted to one side, his gaze ran over her in a long, assessing glance. “What’s that getup you’re wearing?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
He made a gesture that encompassed her tee shirt and shorts. “I’ve never seen a lady dressed in such revealing attire.”
“Revealing?” Shaye glanced down at her outfit and frowned. A sleeveless shirt and a pair of walking shorts were hardly revealing.
“Your arms and legs are…exposed.”
“Exposed?” She started to laugh, then realized he was quite serious. “You really have buried yourself in the part, haven’t you?”
He frowned at her again. “Part? What part? What the hell are you talking about?” He shook his head. “You are obviously addle-brained. Maybe I’d better send Rosa for the doctor.”
Shaye thrust the glass into his hand and stood up. “I am not addle-brained, and I don’t need a doctor. Now, get out of my way. I’m leaving.”
She pushed past him, grabbed her overnight bag and her backpack, and made her way down the stairs, careful to keep hold of the banister. Several men turned to stare at her as she made her way to the door. She came to an abrupt stop as the doors swung closed behind her.
Where there had once been only a few scattered buildings decayed by weather and time, there now stood hundreds of buildings, most of them white-washed. The street was clogged with people and wagons. The air was thick with dust. She could hear hammering from nearby, the chiming of a clock as it struck the hour, the crack of a whip, and a low, roaring sound she didn’t recognize that seemed to come from the mines up on the hill.
She was suddenly aware of a presence beside her. Turning her head, she saw the man claiming to be Alejandro Valverde.
She looked up at him, looked deep into his eyes, felt the spark of recognition clear down to her toes.
She stared at him, her mind refusing to accept what she knew to be true. He wasn’t a man playing a part. He really was Alejandro Valverde. Alive. In the flesh.
She glanced at the scene before her again, and felt fear’s cold fingers slide down her spine. It wasn’t possible.
“Do you have a place to stay?” he asked.
She shook her head as the world spun out of focus and she fell into darkness once more.
When she came to, she was on a bed in a room. A different room. She lay there a moment, staring at the whitewashed ceiling. She had never fainted in her whole life, and now it had happened twice in one day. Of course, if what she suspected was true, she had a good reason.
She sat up, her back braced against a pillow propped against the brass headboard and surveyed the room. It was square, about ten by ten, simply furnished with a double bed, a tall, four-drawer chest made of dark oak and topped with an oval mirror, and the round table beside the bed. There was a folded newspaper on the table, as well as an oil lamp. White lace curtains covered the room’s single window. A couple of suit coats hung from pegs along one wall; two pairs of boots, one pair black, one brown, stood neatly side by side.
It was his room. She knew it as surely as she knew her name. The other one was probably a place where he stayed from time to time, but he lived here.
Overcome by a sudden, nameless fear, she stood up. She had to get out of here. Right now. Before it was too late. Before…
Before what she didn’t know. She was trembling all over as she opened the door and stepped into a dimly lit, narrow corridor. The walls were covered with flowered paper. A dark green runner muted her footsteps. She glanced up and down, then walked toward what looked like an exit at the far end of the hallway.
The door opened onto a narrow wooden staircase that led into an alley. She hurried down the stairs and around the side of the building. It took her a few minutes to find Green Street, and then she was running, not caring that people stared at her, not caring about anything but reaching her car and going home. She knew a moment of panic when she realized she had left her backpack and her keys behind, quickly followed by a wave of relief when she remembered that she had an extra key hidden under the left front fender of the Rover for just such an emergency.
She paused when she reached the corner of Green and Fuller where the Methodist Church should have been. Had she gone the wrong way? But no, there was the barn, looking new now. A man stood outside, currying a horse, while two other men looked on. She could hear the ring of a blacksmith’s hammer from somewhere in the distance.
She waited for a break in the seemingly endless flow of wagons and carts, then darted across the street.
She started running again, faster now, turning up the hill that led to the parking lot. Soon, she thought, soon she’d be safe in her car and this nightmare would be over.
Only the parking lot was gone. The blacktop was gone. Her Rover was gone. There was nothing there but dirt and sagebrush and the backs of several buildings that hadn’t been there before.
She shook her head. “No. No. This can’t be true!” She turned around, looked down at the town below, at the flood of wagons in the street, at the hundreds of people milling about. She heard what sounded like an explosion, the echo of gunshots, which didn’t sound nearly as loud as they did in the movies, the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer, the rumble of ore carts carrying ore to the mill. Dozens of men in red shirts could be seen scurrying over the hillsides. She knew then why the church wasn’t there. It hadn’t been built yet, hadn’t been built until 1882.
It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real, and she was part of it. Part of a boom town that had been dead for over a hundred years.
Chapter Six
Alejandro stared at the empty bed, wondering where the woman had gone. Not far, he muse
d, since she had left her belongings behind.
He stared at the strange dark-green cloth bag she had worn on her back. Curious, he picked it up, looking for an opening, but found none. He ran his finger over a thin row of metal, toyed with the small bit of metal dangling at the end. He took hold of it, wondering what it was. He wiggled it back and forth, surprised when, with a faint ripping sound, it made a small opening. Lifting one brow, he drew the tab back further, still further, disclosing the inside of the bag.
Sitting down on the foot of the bed, he dumped the contents onto the mattress, only to stare at them in complete bafflement. The only things he recognized were a ring of what he thought might be keys, although they were much smaller than any he had ever seen before, a comb made of some strange slick material, and a bright-red hair brush. He had never seen a hair brush that color, never seen a brush made of anything but wood and boar bristles. There was a small, round tube of something called Wine With Everything, a box-like thing with a tiny glass window showing the number four, a small gray canister, three containers with blue, white and pink labels that read Evian Natural Spring Water. From the French Alps. He tapped on the container. It was clear, like glass, but it wasn’t glass. He picked one up and turned it around in his hands.
“Sodium Free. Bottled by S.A Evian Co. at Evian 74503 France.” He frowned, wondering if she was French. There was some other writing, some numbers, an odd looking symbol. “Recyclable. Check to see if facilities exist in your area.” He shook his head. “What the deuce does that mean?”
He put the container down and examined the other items. There was a pair of spectacles with blue frames and dark gray lenses. There was also a small purple object with the word Nokia across the top and buttons numbered one through zero, and other buttons labeled Pwr, Send, and End.
He tossed each item on the bed after he inspected it, then picked up a leather wallet unlike any he had ever seen. Inside, he found several small cards made of some strange hard paper. He pulled one out of its slot. It had the woman’s photograph in one corner. The word California was printed across the top in large blue letters. Below that he read “Driver License Class C” and below that, some numbers. A line printed in red ink said, “Expires 03-19-04”, and, in very small print he read, “This license is issued as a license to drive a motor vehicle. It does not establish eligibility for employment, voter registration, or public benefits.” Below that was a name. Shaye Montgomery and an address of some kind. And below that, two more lines of print:
Journey to Yesterday Page 5
