Journey to Yesterday

by Madeline Baker

  He ran his finger over her lower lip. “I know darlin’,” he murmured.

  “Does your arm hurt very much?”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “Would you mind if I spent the night?”

  She batted her eyelashes at him in her best Southern belle style. “Why, sir, whatever are you suggesting?”

  “When I’m suggesting something, darlin’, you’ll know it,” he said with a wicked grin. “You won’t have to ask.”

  “Of course you can stay.” She unbuttoned his shirt, taking care not to jar his injured arm as she slipped his shirt off and tossed it on the chair.

  She unbuckled his gunbelt, coiled it around the holster, and laid it on top of his shirt.

  When she started to unbuckle his belt, he laid his hand over hers. “I think I’d better take care of the rest myself.”

  She nodded. Turning her back to him, she began to get undressed.

  He whistled under his breath when he saw her standing there clad in nothing but her bra and panties. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “This is what ladies’ underwear is like where I come from.”

  “Damn,” he muttered, “I’m gonna have to go there.”

  She made a face at him. Removing her under garments, she pulled on her nightgown, then drew back the covers and slid under the sheets.

  A few moments later, he crawled into bed beside her.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Alejandro remarked.

  “What I said about what?”

  “About your coming here from the future.”

  “Do you believe me?”

  “I don’t know.” He put his arm around her and drew her up against his side.

  “It seems impossible.”

  “But here I am.” She turned her head so she could see his face. “You’ll leave town the end of July, won’t you?”

  “If you’ll go with me.”

  She nodded, knowing she would gladly go anywhere he asked. “What about Daisy?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to take her with us.”

  “That’ll be a lot of fun,” Shaye muttered. But she knew he was right. They couldn’t leave Daisy behind. And once again, she couldn’t help wondering what effect, if any, all this would have on the future.

  She settled her head on his shoulder, thinking how right it felt to be lying there with him. Only a few days ago, she had been afraid she would never find her way back home; now she wanted to spend the rest of her life here, with him.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The days that followed passed quickly. She took Alejandro’s place at the poker table each night, sometimes dealing for herself, sometimes for the house. There were always men eager to sit in, certain they couldn’t be beat by a lady gambler. It never ceased to amaze her that she won more than she lost. Alejandro said she was a natural-born gambler, that she had a “feel” for the cards, an inborn sense of when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. It was something that couldn’t be taught, he said. You either had it or you didn’t.

  He was proud of her ability. She could see it in his eyes each time she won a hand. She had a feeling that he could take over, but when she asked him about it, he just shook his head and told her she was doing fine.

  “Maybe I should buy back my share of the Belle,” he remarked one night as they walked home. “Give you a place of your own.”

  “Me and Daisy under one roof?” Shaye had replied with a laugh. “I don’t think so.”

  His wounds were healing nicely. He had gone back to the doctor to have the stitches removed, but his arm was still tender. The cut over his ribs hadn’t been deep enough to require stitching. She hated to think of how close that knife had been to his heart. Just a few inches higher and he might have been killed. They stayed up late and slept late, eating breakfast at their leisure, spending their afternoons shopping or taking long walks, or just finding a relatively quiet spot on the outskirts of town to sit and talk. He asked endless questions about the future, seemed fascinated by the idea of television and cars. He asked if gambling was a way of life in the future, and she told him about the luxurious casinos in Monte Carlo and Las Vegas, horse racing at Santa Anita and Hollywood Park, the Lotto, the card clubs in Gardena, the bingo games on the Indian reservation, the riverboats in the South.

  “I can just imagine you on one of those floating gambling houses,” Shaye Had remarked, “all decked out in a pair of tight black slacks and a fancy white shirt with black cuffs, smiling that killer smile. Surrounded by women.”

  “I knew it!” he had replied. “I was born in the wrong time!” And then he looked at her, one black brow arched. “Killer smile?” he had asked innocently.

  She’d had to laugh at that.

  She grew to love him more with every passing day. It grew harder and harder to tell him good night at her door, to settle for a few lingering kisses and sweet caresses when she wanted so much more. He hadn’t asked to stay the night again, and though she was sorely tempted to ask him, she never did, all too aware that she could be zapped back to the future at any minute. Every time she walked into the Queen of Bodie, she held her breath, wondering if she would suddenly find herself back in the twentieth century, walking down Bodie’s deserted main street. It would be painful enough to leave him now; if they made love, she knew the separation would break her heart beyond repair. She had known him only a short time. How had she fallen so hard, so fast?

  The morning of the Fourth of July bloomed bright and clear. Alejandro had told her Bodie celebrated the event in grand style, and he hadn’t been exaggerating.

  A thirteen-gun salute roused the town.

  A short time later, Alejandro was knocking at her door. He swept his hat off when she opened the door. “Good morning, fair lady,” he said.

  “Good morning, sir,” she replied, smiling. He was like the sunshine, she thought. Just seeing him warmed her clear through. He was so handsome. He wore a white shirt, a burgundy cravat, a black broadcloth coat with a velvet collar, black trousers. And a black vest embroidered with gold fleur de lis.

  She looked up at him, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Shaye, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…”

  “That vest…”

  He glanced down, only then recalling that she had described the vest once before, that she claimed to have seen his ghost wearing it in the jail, over a hundred years in the future.

  He settled his hat on his head, wondering if his face looked as pale as hers.

  “Rio, I’m scared.”

  He drew her into his arms and held her close, aware of a tightness in his chest, a tingling in his skin. The air around them seemed heavy somehow. He could hear the beat of his heart, imagined he could hear hers, too, pounding as loudly, as wildly, as his own.

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and scared. “Rio…”

  “Yeah, I feel it, too. I think maybe you’re right. Maybe we should leave town.”

  “Today?”

  “There won’t be any stages leaving today. The town is celebrating.” He smiled down at her. “We might as well enjoy it.”

  Shaye nodded. He hadn’t been arrested until August ninth. They had plenty of time.

  They ate a quick breakfast then went outside to join the crowd. Shaye put her fears behind her, determined to do as Alejandro had suggested and enjoy the day. There was nothing to worry about. They would leave town tomorrow. Even is she was sent back to her own time, at least Alejandro would be all right.

  About ten-thirty, the celebration officially began with a parade composed of several hundred townspeople. Both sides of the street were lined with thousands of men, women, and children all dressed in their Sunday best. Kids holding flags ran up and down the sidelines. More people stood on the balconies of the hotels, waving and cheering.

  Shaye stood beside Alejandro, caught up in the excitement as the parade began. The Bodie Band marched a
t the head of the parade, the music punctuated by the pop of firecrackers and an occasional gunshot. The Grand Marshall and his aides rode in a carriage behind the band, followed by members of the Veterans of the Mexican War, Officers of the Day, President, Orator, Reader, and Poet of the Day.

  Shaye nudged Alejandro. “Poet of the day?”

  Alejandro grinned at her. “Yep. Never let it be said that Bodie lacks class.”

  Happiness bubbled up inside her as she grinned back at him.

  There were representatives from the Miners’ Union, the Odd Fellows, the Masons, and Mexican Patriots, Veterans of the Civil War. There was even, to her surprise, a baseball team.

  Shaye pulled her camera from her reticule and took several pictures of the men attired in the faded gray uniforms of the Confederacy as they passed by. Strange to think that, in this time and place, the Civil War had ended just fifteen years ago.

  “Are you going to take pictures of everything?” Alejandro asked.

  “Darn right,” she said, and snapped a picture of a wagon carrying thirty-eight little girls, each carrying a flag representing a state of the union.

  Alejandro squeezed Shaye’s hand. “Did I tell you how pretty you look today?”

  “Why, no, sir, you did not,” she replied in her best Southern drawl.

  He swept his hat off his head and held it over his heart. “Forgive me, fair lady,” he said, his fake drawl as thick as molasses in winter.

  Shaye grinned at him. “I forgive you, sir.”

  “Ah, you are too, kind, ma’am.” He settled his hat back on his head; then, taking her hand, he kissed her fingertips. “The parade seems to be about over, Miss Montgomery. Perhaps you will allow me to buy you a piece of Miss Maybelle’s cherry cobbler and a glass of lemonade.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Valverde.” She tucked the camera into her reticule, then placed her hand on his arm. “That would be most kind.”

  Side by side, they strolled down Main Street toward the Miners’ Union Hall. Shaye nodded and smiled at everyone they passed by. Alejandro tipped his hat to the ladies, greeted the men he knew. All the saloons were open and doing a brisk business. She supposed most of the town’s male inhabitants would be drunk well before nightfall, and that the girls who occupied the little cabins along Maiden Lane would have more business than they could handle.

  As they passed one of the saloons, a girl with dyed red hair called Alejandro’s name. He turned and waved at her.

  Shaye slid a sidelong glance at Alejandro, wondering if, or how often, he visited Maiden Lane.

  He met her gaze and lifted one brow. “What’s that look for?” he asked.

  “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering….never mind.”

  Alejandro frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” It was none of her business if he spent every night in one of those horrid cribs.

  “Dammit, Shaye, what’s wrong?”

  “Have you ever…do you…never mind.”

  He shook his head, his dark eyes alight with amusement. “Still jealous, I see.”

  “Should I be?”

  “No, darlin’.”

  “So you’ve never visited any of the doves in their…um…never bought their services?”

  He looked offended. “Darlin’, I’ve never had to buy it.”

  “Bragging, are you?”

  He shrugged. “Why, no, Miss Montgomery, just stating a fact.”

  She punched him on the arm, careful to make sure it wasn’t his injured one.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “No. You probably have to beat the women off with a stick.”

  “Well, not quite,” he said, laughing.

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Well, darlin’, just in case you were wondering, I’d never beat you off with a stick.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  He came to an abrupt halt, drew her into his arms, and kissed her full on the lips, right there, in the middle of Main Street. Heat suffused her, flooding her cheeks with warmth, flowing like sun-warmed honey through her veins, until she thought she might melt beneath the onslaught of his kiss. She moaned softly, aware of nothing at that moment but his mouth on hers.

  When he let her go, she stared up at him, only dimly aware of the whistles and catcalls from the men around them. “Kiss her again, Rio!” someone shouted.

  “My pleasure,” he murmured, and claimed her lips a second time.

  And everything else faded away…the crowd, the noise, the dust, the heat. It didn’t matter that she didn’t belong here, that she might wake up and find herself back in her own time, nothing mattered but his lips on hers, the feel of his arms holding her close, the heat and hardness of his body pressed intimately against her own. Alejandro…

  He drew back, his gaze hot, his dark eyes smoky with desire. A thrill of anticipation ran through her as he brushed a kiss over her cheek, then slid his tongue over her earlobe.

  “You’re the only woman I want, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and husky, “and I mean to have you.” He grinned at the crowd gathered around them. “But not here.”

  As Alejandro took her hand in his, a flash of movement caught Shaye’s eye. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Daisy Sullivan turn and run down the street, but not before she saw the tears glistening in Daisy’s eyes.

  The Miners’ Union Hall was a long, narrow building with windows on either side of the door, and windows along the walls. There were at least two dozen tables set up inside, each one laden with iced cakes and cupcakes, a variety of cobblers and pies, cookies and gingerbread men, cinnamon rolls and flaky biscuits, as well as jugs of apple cider and bowls of punch and lemonade. Red, white, and blue bunting was draped on the walls. Streamers and balloons hung from the ceiling.

  The food and drinks had been donated by the ladies of the town; the proceeds would go into the Miners’ Fund for Widows and Orphans.

  Alejandro bought two plates of cherry cobbler, a cup of lemonade for Shaye, a cup of cider for himself. There was no room to sit down inside, so they went outside and found a place in the shade behind the building.

  The cobbler was delicious and gone too soon.

  “That Maybelle Carpenter is a mighty fine cook,” Alejandro remarked.

  “Yes, indeed,” Shaye replied.

  He leaned forward and licked a bit of cherry filling from the corner of Shaye’s mouth. “But I’ve never tasted anything as sweet as you.”

  She felt herself blushing, she who rarely blushed. What was there about this man that caused her to react as if she were a naïve young girl instead of a woman who had been married and divorced?

  Several shouts rose above the noise and confusion around them.

  “What’s that?” Shaye asked.

  “Some of the Mexicans are showing off their riding skills,” Alejandro said.

  “Can we watch?”

  “Sure.”

  They put their dishes in one of the big wash tubs set out for that purpose, then walked down street. The cheering grew louder as they approached.

  Shaye’s eyes widened at what she saw. A live rooster had been buried in the ground; only its neck and head showed. About twenty riders were lined up some fifty yards away.

  Shaye gasped as one of the riders spurred his horse forward. He leaned far over the side of his mount, his fingers skimming the ground as he made a grab for the rooster’s head, but the frightened rooster dodged out of his way, and the man came up with a handful of dirt and a few feathers.

  She took several pictures, dismayed when she reached the end of the roll.

  Betting was hot and heavy, the odds rising higher and higher as one rider after another tried to pull the rooster from the ground, and failed.

  Shaye seemed to be the only one present who felt sorry for the rooster.

  Feeling as though she were being watched, she glanced across the way, and met Daisy Sullivan’s gaze. There was no mistaking the jealousy in the girl’s eyes, or the quiet yearning when Daisy looked at
Alejandro.

  Feeling a wave of sympathy for the girl, Shaye tugged on Alejandro’s arm.

  He looked down at her and smiled. “Are you ready to go?”

  “No.” She inclined her head in Daisy’s direction. “Maybe you should go say hello to her.”

  Alejandro grunted softly when he saw Daisy. “I don’t think so.”

  Daisy looked at Alejandro, naked longing in her eyes, before she turned and walked away.

  “We’ll make her leave town with us, won’t we?” Shaye asked.

  “Sure, darlin’, even if we have to hogtie her.”

  Shaye squeezed his hand, her attention drawn back to the contest as, with a triumphant shout, a young Mexican riding a wild-eyed bay pulled the rooster from the ground.

  “Well,” Shaye exclaimed, “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  Alejandro grinned at her. “Guess they don’t do that in the year two thousand.”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Come on, let’s go get a beer. All this dust has given me a powerful thirst.”

  Members of The Miners’ Union were dispensing beer from a keg in front of the firehouse. Alejandro got two glasses. Shaye sipped hers slowly, amazed, once again, to find herself in this time and place. Women in long dresses and their Sunday best bonnets stood in small groups, talking about babies, exchanging recipes, complaining about the dirt and the dust. A bunch of men were playing horseshoes across the street. Someone was playing Oh, Dem Golden Slippers on the piano at the Sawdust Saloon down the street. And overall hung a haze of dust, and the ever-present sound of the Standard Stamp mill.

  There were games and contests throughout the day—a pie-eating contest, a shooting contest, a wash tub where kids bobbed for apples, a cake walk. The Poet of the Day recited a dozen poems. A barber shop quartet sang My Old Kentucky Home and Silver Threads Among the Gold and Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair. There was a baseball game between the Odd Fellows and the Masons.

  And that night, there was a dance.

  “Don’t we have to go the Queen tonight?” Shaye remarked as they went back to the hotel to change.

  Alejandro shrugged. “And miss a chance to dance with the prettiest girl in town?”