Journey to Yesterday

by Madeline Baker

  He shook his head again. He had done a lot of traveling in the last ten years. He could have met her in any one of a dozen boom towns, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had seen her here, in Bodie. But when? And where?

  He shouldered his way through the crowd in the saloon, heading for his usual table in the back of the room. He had done James Rojas a favor a few months back. In return, Rojas let Alejandro have a table of his own for no charge. Five nights a week, Alejandro played poker with his own money. What he lost, he lost; what he won, he kept. On the other two nights, he dealt for the house. On those nights, Rojas covered Alejandro’s losses, which were few, and took a hundred percent of his winnings. It was a deal that profited both of them.

  Alejandro smiled at the doves as he moved through the room: Rosa, with her dark, knowing eyes; Frenchy with her dyed red hair and fake accent; Sally with her porcelain skin and pouty pink lips; Lucy, with her perfect figure; Alice, who had the face of an angel and the vocabulary of a mule skinner.

  He took his seat at the table, his back to the wall. Opening a fresh deck of cards, he spread them, fan-like on the table, indicating he was ready for business. In minutes, four men joined him and the night’s work had begun.

  He looked up as Nellie came to stand beside him. She was a new girl, probably the youngest dove in the place. She was a pretty thing, with curly yellow hair and dark blue eyes. She smiled at him and he smiled back. Nellie thought she was in love with him, but he was used to that. He’d always had a way with the doves, probably because he treated them like ladies instead of whores, and because he never bedded any of the women where he worked.

  “How about getting me a drink?” he asked, squeezing Nellie’s hand.

  “Whiskey?” She smiled at him again, her eyes glowing as she ran her hand over his shoulder.

  “Thanks, darlin’.” He winked at her, then turned his attention back to the game. “Cards, gents?”

  As the night wore on, he found his mind drifting all too frequently in Shaye Montgomery’s direction. Strange woman, that one, with her odd clothing and belongings. Pretty though, with her deep green eyes and delicate features. And those long, long legs…

  He shook her image from his mind when he lost the third hand in a row. He couldn’t concentrate on the cards and think about her at the same time.

  * * * * *

  Tired, but not sleepy, Shaye wandered around the small room. There was a comb and bristle brush on top of the dresser, a couple of poker chips, a deck of cards. Crossing the floor, she ran her fingers over one of his coats, impulsively slipped it on. And had the strange feeling that his arms were around her. Shaking her head at such foolishness, she took it off and hung it back up. Maybe Alejandro was right. Maybe she was addle-brained.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took off her shoes and socks, wiggled her toes. This couldn’t be happening, she thought, it had to be a dream. It had to be. She glanced at the newspaper on the bedside table. Feeling as though she were moving slow motion, she picked it up. Opened it. Searched for the date. Tuesday, June 17, 1880.

  She stared at the date, ran her hand over the paper, stared at the faint black smudge on her thumb. It wasn’t a copy, but the genuine article.

  So, it was true. Somehow, she had been transported into the past. But why?

  She had never been susceptible to suggestion, had never possessed any psychic abilities. She didn’t know when the phone was going to ring, or who would be on the line when she answered. She didn’t have hunches or “feelings”. She had always been grounded in reality, so why had she been thrust back in time? It should be Clark McDonald sitting here, she thought. He was the one who had done research on Alejandro. Heck, he was even related to the man. So, why had the Fates chosen her?

  She glanced around the room again. His room. Picking up her camera, she crossed the floor and opened the window. Pushing the curtains aside, she took a couple of pictures of the activity in the street below, then turned and took a picture of the room.

  Placing the camera on the dresser, she removed the rubber band from her braid, ran her fingers through her hair. She took off her tee shirt and shorts and slipped into her nightshirt, wishing she had brought something more substantial to sleep in, but then, she had never expected to find herself spending her nights in the homes of strangers. Folding her clothes, she put them on the bedside table.

  Feeling chilly, she went to the dresser and opened the drawers, one by one, until she found an old flannel shirt that looked soft and comfy. She slipped it on and then crawled under the covers, turned onto her stomach, and closed her eyes. His scent clung to the blankets, the pillow, his shirt. Surrounding her. Alejandro Valverde. She fell asleep with his image in her mind.

  * * * * *

  It was well after midnight when Alejandro returned to the hotel. He’d had every intention of spending the night at the Queen, but Fate and Rojas had conspired against him.

  The woman was asleep in his bed. She had left the lamp burning, and the light fell across her cheek and cast gold highlights in her hair, tempting his touch. He moved quietly across the room and stood looking down at her, again overcome by the certainty that he had seen her before.

  With a shake of his head, he sat down on the chair and removed his boots. It would come to him, sooner or later. He never forgot a face, especially one like that.

  He unbuckled his gunbelt and placed it on top of the dresser, shrugged off his coat, removed his shirt. It had been a long, but profitable night, once he’d got his mind off the woman and back on the cards where it belonged.

  He started to shuck his trousers, then thought better of it. Putting out the light, he slid into bed, acutely aware of the woman sleeping beside him. Muttering an oath, he put his back to her and closed his eyes.

  Sleep was a long time coming.

  Shaye woke slowly, reluctant to leave the dream behind. Reluctant to leave the man behind. It had been so real, the feel of his arms around her, the warmth of his breath on her skin, so real, she could feel it, even now…

  With a start, her eyes flew open. “You! What are you doing in my bed?”

  His gaze moved over her, heating her skin wherever it touched. Oh, Lord, what if her dream had been reality? What if it had been his breath on her skin, his lips on hers?

  His smile was slow and devastating. “It is you who are in my bed, querida.”

  She started to deny it, and then felt a flush heat her cheeks as she remembered where she was. “But…but I…you said you had a room at the saloon. I thought…”

  “Rojas hired a new dove last night. I had to move out.”

  “A new dove?”

  “A new saloon girl.”

  “Oh.” He was too close. And too handsome. She stared at his shoulders, visible above the blanket, and wondered if he was naked from the waist down, too.

  “You have beautiful eyes,” he murmured.

  “Thank you.”

  “Soft skin.”

  Mesmerized, she watched his hand move toward her, felt her heart skip a beat as his fingertips stroked her cheek. She should tell him to stop, she thought, but couldn’t seem to find the words. His hand was big and brown, yet his touch was gentle.

  “So soft,” he repeated, and before she knew quite how it happened, she was in his arms and he was kissing her.

  Her eyelids fluttered down as heat flowed from his lips to hers, spreading through her like liquid sunshine, warming every place it touched. She put her hands on his chest, intending to push him away. Instead, her fingers drifted slowly over his skin, sliding up over his shoulders and down his arms, settling on his biceps. She had always had a weakness for well-muscled arms, and his were firm and solid.

  She was breathless when he took his mouth from hers. Breathless and aching for more and terribly afraid that what little resistance she possessed would vanish if he kissed her again. She was grateful for the two layers of clothing that kept her modesty intact.

  He cupped the back of her head in his
hand, his eyes dark with desire.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she gasped.

  “This,” he replied softly, and kissed her again.

  His second kiss was as soul-shattering as the first. She might have melted into his arms, might have done any number of foolish things if the sound of gunshots hadn’t jolted her back to reality. With a gasp, she pushed Alejandro away and scrambled out of bed.

  She stared down at him, the reality of where she was washing over her and with it the knowledge that, in another few minutes, she would have let him make love to her.

  She turned away from him, stunned by what had almost happened. She hadn’t let a man get close to her since her divorce. Walking to the window, she stared down into the street. A look at her watch showed it was barely seven-thirty, yet the streets were already crowded. Wagons churned the dust. She saw a woman clad in a red silk wrapper leaning over the balcony of the saloon across the street.

  She wondered where the shots she’d heard earlier had come from, and even as the thought crossed her mind, she saw three men carrying a body out of the saloon.

  “Another man for breakfast,” Alejandro drawled.

  Shaye glanced over her shoulder. “What?”

  He grinned. “Bodie has a man for breakfast just about every day.”

  “I hardly think it’s anything to laugh about.”

  “Sometimes it’s more than one.”

  Shaye blew out a breath. In a town where ten thousand men had access to guns and booze and women twenty-four hours a day, she supposed it wasn’t surprising that there would be arguments that ended in gun play.

  “Why don’t you come back to bed?” Alejandro suggested.

  It was tempting. He was tempting. Far too tempting, with his broad shoulders and muscular arms and roguish grin. Her gaze moved over him. He was lying on his side, his elbow bent, his head resting on his hand. Long black hair framed the most handsome face she had ever seen, his deep brown eyes held the promise of ecstasy.

  She shook her head. “No. I need to…” To what? Find her way back to her own time? Find a place to stay until she did? She needed to find a job, since her credit cards wouldn’t do her any good. And clothes, she thought. She definitely needed a change of clothes so she wouldn’t stand out from everyone else.

  Alejandro sat up, stretching, and she looked away. The man had far too much appeal for his own good or her peace of mind.

  She didn’t hear him move, but suddenly he was standing behind her. She went rigid as his arms slid around her waist. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” he asked.

  “No. No, we haven’t.”

  “I’ve seen you somewhere before. I’d bet my last dollar on it.”

  What would he say if she told him the truth? Would he think her insane? Addle-brained, he had called her before. Telling him she had come here from the future would only convince him she was one brick short of a load. He would never believe it. She didn’t want to believe it, either.

  She moved out of his arms, ran a hand through her hair. “Mr. Valverde…”

  “We just spent the night together,” he said with a wry grin. “I think you can call me Rio.”

  “We did not spend the night together…I mean…never mind. I need to…to…”

  He lifted one brow. “To?”

  “I need an…an outhouse.”

  “There’s a chamber pot under the bed.”

  “No thanks.”

  He grinned at her. “Down the back stairs. Turn right.”

  She muttered a quick thank you and left the room, only then wondering what people in the past had used for toilet paper.

  The visit to the outhouse made her long for home as nothing else had. She had done a lot of traveling for the newspaper, but she had never encountered such crude facilities. The smell alone had almost made her decide to find a nice clean bush somewhere but, clad only in what she had slept in, she had decided she’d better stay close to the hotel. And pages from an old mail order catalog were a poor excuse for toilet paper.

  When she returned to the room, Alejandro was standing in front of the dresser, shaving. She felt a ripple of pleasure as she watched him drag the razor over his jaw. There was something terribly intimate about watching a man shave. Especially when that man wasn’t wearing a shirt. Especially when he had a muscular chest sprinkled with curly black hair.

  His gaze met hers in the mirror and he smiled. It was a decidedly knowing smile. She had a sudden, overwhelming urge to stick her tongue out at him.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  Shaye nodded. She was starved, she thought. But not for food.

  “I’ll be finished here in a minute.”

  She nodded again, mesmerized by the sight of the razor moving over his skin. It was a wicked-looking blade. Josh used an electric razor. She had never seen him shave, though. He hadn’t liked her to be in the bathroom when he was there.

  Alejandro wiped the remaining lather from his face with a towel, which he then tossed on the chair. Pulling a dark blue shirt from the second drawer, he slipped it on, tucked it into his pants, buckled on his gunbelt, reached for his coat. “I’ll wait in the hall while you dress,” he said, and then, catching sight of her shirt and shorts on the table, he shook his head. “You can’t go out in those.”

  “Well,” she said, tugging on the hem on his shirt, “I can’t go out in this, either.”

  “I’ll be right back,” he said, and left the room.

  She picked up the hair brush, wondering where he had gone while she ran it through her hair, remembering how she had stood staring at him while he shaved, watching like some idiot schoolgirl who had never seen a man without a shirt before. In all fairness, she had to admit she had never seen a man quite like this one before.

  Putting the brush aside, she washed her face with the water left in the pitcher. If she ever got back home, she would never again take flush toilets and hot running water for granted.

  He returned about ten minutes later. “Here,” he said, “this should fit you.”

  Shaye took the dress from his hand. It was a garish orange and yellow stripe, with a low-cut bodice. “Where did you get this?”

  A smile twitched his lips. “It belongs to one of the doves over at the Queen.”

  “I see.” Interesting, she mused, that wearing a prostitute’s borrowed dress was more acceptable than her own shorts and shirt. She waited for him to leave the room, then shook her head. “Would you mind waiting outside?”

  “Oh, right.”

  She took off his flannel shirt and put it back in the drawer, pulled her nightshirt over her head and put on her bra, grimacing when she stepped into the panties she had worn the night before. She slipped the dress on over her head and smoothed it over her hips. It fit her like a second skin, revealing every curve, and more cleavage than she was comfortable with. The only good thing about it was that it was long enough to hide her shoes.

  She took a look in the mirror and shook her head. Even if he hadn’t told her, she would have known where the dress came from. “People will think I’m a hooker,” she muttered. “But at least my arms and legs are covered up.”

  Siting on the bed, she pulled on her Nikes and laced them up. She started to reach for her backpack, then realized there was nothing in it that would be of use to her here.

  Taking a deep breath, she stood up and left the room.

  Alejandro was waiting for her in the corridor. His eyes widened when he saw her. “Ready?”

  “I guess so. And stop looking at me like that.”

  “Like what?” he asked innocently.“Never mind,” she muttered, “let’s go.”

  On the street, men and women alike stared at Shaye. “I’ve got to get a change of clothes,” she muttered.

  “I’ll take you to the dry goods store after we eat,” Alejandro offered.

  “It won’t do any good. I don’t have any money.”

  “I do.”

  She started to refuse, then thought better
of it. No one would take her seriously or give her a job until she had some decent clothes to wear. And he could afford it. She remembered the entries in Daisy’s diary where it stated he had given Daisy a hundred dollars on two separate occasions. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”

  “Afraid to be beholden to me, are you?”

  “I prefer to pay my own way.”

  His gaze moved over her, hot and slow, like warm molasses. “I can think of a way for you to repay me. Won’t cost you a cent.”

  Shaye glared at him, wishing the offer wasn’t quite so tempting.

  Alejandro tipped his hat as a woman clad in a white shirtwaist, green skirt and straw bonnet approached. The woman offered him her hand and he bowed over it. “Buenos Dias, Miss Lottie.”

  “Good morning to you, Alejandro.” The woman looked Shaye up and down. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Miss Lottie, this is Miss Shaye Montgomery. Shaye, this is Lottie Johl.”

  Lottie extended a gloved hand. “Any friend of Rio’s is a friend of mine.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Johl,” Shaye replied. The name rang a bell in the back of her mind.

  “Will we see you at the Fourth of July dance, Rio?”

  Alejandro smiled. “I’m afraid I’ll be working at the Queen that night,” he replied.

  “And I was so looking forward to dancing with you.”

  “Another time,” Alejandro said gallantly.

  “I’ll hold you to that, Rio. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Montgomery.”

  Shaye nodded. She glanced over her shoulder as the woman swept past. “Lottie Johl…isn’t she a…never mind.”

  Alejandro chuckled. “She was indeed, but she’s a respectable woman now. She’s achieved some recognition as an artist.” He looked at her speculatively. “How did you know?”

  “I…um, someone mentioned it to me.”

  “Uh huh. Well, here we are,” he said. Moving ahead of her, he opened the restaurant door for her. Even at this early hour, the restaurant was crowded. Harried-looking waitresses moved from table to table, taking orders, refilling coffee cups, clearing away dirty dishes.