Journey to Yesterday

by Madeline Baker

  Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her, hoping somehow that she would know how he felt. They were both breathless when he took his lips from hers.

  Lifting his head, he smiled down at her. “Will you marry me, darlin’?”

  “Marry you,” she exclaimed softly.

  “Say yes, darlin’.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!”

  “Shaye!” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. “Name the day, darlin’.”

  “Is today too soon?” She loved the way his body felt against hers, the way they fit together, two imperfect halves that made a perfect whole. His hands moved over her back, his lips left trails of fire on her lips, down her neck, across her breasts. She felt the evidence of his desire against her thigh, saw his need reflected in the depths of his eyes.

  He drew back a little, his gaze searching hers. “You mean it? You’ll marry me today?”

  “Of course I would. But it’s impossible.”

  “Is it?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  He grinned at her. “I’m calling your bluff, darlin’.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Calder’s a preacher.”

  “An outlaw preacher?” Shaye asked dubiously.

  “Yep.”

  She grinned up at him, intrigued by the idea of being married in an outlaw camp by a rogue minister. “I’m game if you are.”

  He winked at her. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised, and kissed her again.

  “Rio…” Her hands clutched his shoulders, her own need building deep within her, fanned by the intensity of his kisses, by the erotic abrasion of his skin against her own.

  He rose over her until all she saw was him, all she wanted was him, for now, and forever…

  Shaye snuggled against Alejandro. He had asked her to marry him. The thought made her smile inside and out. By tonight, she could be Mrs. Alejandro Valverde. She sighed with contentment, thinking how wonderful it would be to spend the rest of her life in the warm haven of his arms. And then realized that, as pleasant as the idea sounded, she had to get up.

  “Hey!” Alejandro caught hold of her forearm when she sat up. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Nature calls.”

  “Ah,” he said, releasing his hold on her arm. “It’s under the bed.”

  Grabbing the top blanket, she wrapped it around her shoulders and slid her legs over the edge of the mattress, wishing, as she pulled the battered chamber pot out from under the bed, that the shoddy little cabin came with a nice, modern bathroom complete with hot running water and a flush toilet.

  “Turn around,” she said.

  With a grin and a shake of his head, Alejandro rolled over and faced the wall.

  She grimaced as she made use of the chamber pot. Wherever they eventually settled down, she was going to insist on indoor plumbing if she had to install it herself. And one way or another, she was going to get her hands on some toilet paper, even if she had to invent it. Grinning at the thought, she ripped a page off the catalog under the bed. She could get used to just about everything else, she thought, but she really missed toilet paper.

  Her stomach growled as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m hungry.”

  “I heard,” Alejandro replied. He rolled over, sat up, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Let’s go see what Calder has to offer.”

  Twenty minutes later they strolled into the saloon. The place was practically empty. Jack Calder stood behind the bar, playing a game of solitaire. Two other men were sitting at a corner table, playing blackjack.

  Calder looked up as the door closed behind them. “Mornin’, Rio. Miss Shaye.”

  “Got anything to eat in here?” Alejandro asked.

  “Lucy usually cooks for us, but she’s gone off to San Francisco, visitin’ her sister.” Calder glanced at Shaye. “You’re welcome to use the kitchen, if you’ve a mind to.”

  “How about it?” Alejandro said. “You think you could rustle us up something to eat?”

  “I guess so.”

  Calder jerked his thumb toward the door behind him. “Kitchen’s in there. Help yourself.”

  “This should be interesting,” Shaye muttered. Walking around the bar, she opened the door.

  It was a kitchen like no other she had ever seen. The walls had a thin coat of whitewash. There was no curtain at the single window. The stove was a black behemoth. A battered wash tub atop a long wooden counter served as the sink. There was a supply of canned goods on a rickety shelf. She found flour and sugar in sacks on the floor. There were a dozen eggs in a cracked blue bowl, no doubt provided by the red hens she could see scratching out in the yard. There were a couple of loaves of bread in a tin bread box. She found a crock of butter, a pot of honey.

  “French toast it is,” she muttered.

  After washing the frying pan and the utensils, and after much trial and error and more than a little cussing, she managed to produce five slices of edible French toast, three for Rio and two for herself. She poured two cups of coffee, added sugar to hers, put everything on a tray, and carried it into the other room.

  Alejandro was sitting at a table, playing a game of solitaire. “What’s this?” he asked as she set a plate in front of him.

  “French toast.”

  “Looks good,” he remarked. He cut off a piece. Took a bite. And grinned at her. “Tastes good.”

  “Thank you.” She sat down across from him, wishing she had some cream for her coffee.

  Calder walked over to take a look. “What in blazes is that?” he asked.

  “French toast,” Alejandro replied. “Want some?”

  “Sure,” Calder said.

  Alejandro cut a slice in half. Shaye was about to offer to get Calder a fork, but before she could say anything, he picked the bread up in his fingers and took a bite.

  “Damn!” he declared. “Iffen that don’t taste like a piece of heaven. How’d you like to take over the cookin’ chores while you’re here?”

  “Me?” Shaye exclaimed. She hated to cook and ate most of her meals out.

  Calder nodded vigorously. “For something like this, I could charge double. Is there any more in the kitchen?”

  “No, but it’s easy to make,” she said. “Only takes a few minutes. I’ll show you how, if you like.”

  “I surely would. What was it you called it again? French toast?”

  Shaye nodded.

  Calder ate the last bite and smacked his lips. “Yep,” he muttered, smacking his lips. “Pure heaven.”

  Shaye grinned as he went back behind the bar. Who would have thought something as ordinary as French toast would be such a big hit?

  “I asked Calder if he’d marry us,” Alejandro said, “if you’re still game.”

  “Oh, I am.”

  “Tonight, after supper?”

  “Tonight,” she agreed.

  Later, while Alejandro was sitting in on a poker game, she took Jack Calder into the kitchen and showed him how to make French toast. She watched in disbelief as he cooked up five slices and wolfed them down one by one.

  “Damn!” he declared, dragging his hand over his mouth. “I never tasted nothing like this in all my born days.”

  “Well, I’m glad you like it. Are you really a preacher?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I surely am.” He looked at her, a lopsided grin on his face. “Don’t you worry none. It’ll be all nice and legal. So, what’re you gonna fix fer dinner?”

  “I’m not a cook, Mr. Calder,” Shaye protested.

  “Well, now, that makes two of us. I know you ain’t planning to stay here long, but maybe you could give the boys a treat tonight. I know they’re plumb tired of my cookin’.”

  Shaye shook her head. “Really, Mr. Calder, I wouldn’t know where to begin. At home, I usually eat out.”

  He brushed her excuses aside. “Just do the best you can.” He laughed. “Hell, you can serve ‘em that there French toast. They won�
�t complain none.”

  “Do you have any ham or bacon?”

  “Sure, got some ‘round here somewheres. Got some beef, too.”

  She looked around, but there was no refrigerator, no ice box. “How do you keep it from spoiling?”

  “We pack it in snow in the winter. In the summer, we keep it in a bucket of buttermilk down in the cellar.”

  Shaye nodded. “All right. French toast for dinner. We’ll need more bread, though.”

  “Got a batch rising now,” he said.

  “You make your own bread?” Shaye asked.

  He nodded. “I worked in a bakery in Pittsburgh back when I was a young’un. Bread’s the only thing I recollect how to make, though. Must have made a thousand loaves in my time.”

  “Well, I’m impressed,” Shaye said, meaning it. “I never could get the hang of it.”

  And after trying a time or two, she had given up and bought a bread machine. All the fresh-baked goodness with none of the fuss.

  She glanced around the kitchen, amazed that anyone would eat anything prepared there.

  Calder cleared his throat. “It’s a mess, ain’t it?”

  “Oh, no…”

  “Sure it is. I tried to get the girls to do the cookin’, maybe clean up in here a little, but hell,” he said, shrugging, “they work all night.” He reached into a drawer and plucked out a book. “We had a cook for awhile. She left this behind when she took off.”

  It was a cookbook. There was no cover; the pages were creased and torn.

  Shaye glanced at the table of contents: Cowboy Muffins, Irish Soda Bread, Johnny Cake, Lumpy Dick…she shook her head as she turned the pages. She had to know what Lumpy Dick was. The recipe called for four cups of milk, a half cup of butter and one cup of flour.

  “Cut butter into flour (as for pie),” she read, “leaving butter in pea size lumps. Bring the milk to a boil. Add butter and flour mixture all at once. Reduce heat and cook until thick. Do not stir. Lumpy Dick tastes best when the butter is left in lumps. Serve with cinnamon and sugar, cream or milk.”

  Somehow, it didn’t sound very appealing. She turned the page, and found some Handy Household Hints, among them how to clean the keys of a piano using alcohol, how to remove fly-specks from wood using water and skim milk. She learned that hot sour milk would put a shine on silver, and that lemon juice and salt would remove rust.

  She closed the book and handed it back to Calder. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

  With a nod, he dropped the book back in the drawer.

  Shaye went out into the main room. Alejandro was still playing cards. He smiled at her as she approached the table.

  “Hey,” one of the men said, “looks like old Calder finally hired himself a new filly.”

  “Watch your mouth, Dawson.” Alejandro said mildly.

  “What’d I say?”

  “She doesn’t work here.” Alejandro caught Shaye’s hand in his. “She’s my woman. Got it?”

  “Sure, sure,” Dawson muttered. “I didn’t mean nothing.”

  Alejandro looked up at Shaye. “Wanna sit in, darlin’?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Damn right,” Dawson said. “We don’t need any women at the table.”

  Shaye glared at Dawson. He had shaggy dark-blond hair and pale-brown eyes. Lines bracketed his mouth, making her think that a scowl was his perpetual expression.

  “I suppose you’re one of those macho jerks who think a woman’s only place is in the kitchen or on her back in the bedroom!” She spoke without thinking. There was complete silence at the table for a moment, then Alejandro and the other man, who had been quiet until now, burst out laughing.

  “That’s telling him, honey,” the man said. He patted the chair beside him. “Come on, join us.”

  “Thank you, Mr….?”

  “Jim Hoffman,” he said.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hoffman. I think I would like to sit in,” Shaye said sweetly, “Thank you for asking.”

  “Call me Jim.”

  “Jim.” Ignoring Dawson’s scowl, she sat down.

  Alejandro pushed half his stack of chips toward her, then handed her the deck. “Deal for me, will ya, darlin’?” he asked with a wink. “My arm’s getting sore.”

  She smiled at him, knowing he was giving her a chance to show off. And that’s just what she did. She shuffled the cards expertly, then slid the deck in front of Dawson, who was sitting to her left. “Cut?”

  Dawson cut the cards, and Shaye dealt the hand. She stared at her cards in complete astonishment, unable to believe her eyes. Four jacks. What were the odds?

  “Cards, gentlemen?” she asked.

  Alejandro took one, Hoffman took one, Dawson took three.

  Alejandro tossed a twenty-dollar chip into the pot.

  “Your twenty and five more,” Hoffman said.

  Dawson scowled at Hoffman and raised it another ten.

  Shaye met the last raise and raised it ten more.

  Alejandro looked at her a moment, and raised it ten more. Hoffman folded. Dawson raised it another ten.

  “Five more,” Shaye said calmly, and tossed a chip into the pot.

  There was the faintest of smiles on Alejandro’s face as he tossed his cards on the table.

  “I call,” Dawson said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Shaye laid her cards on the table, one by one. Four Jacks, and a trey.

  Dawson stared at her cards, muttered a crude oath, and slapped his cards down on the table.

  “Looks like you won,” Hoffman mused.

  “Looks like,” Shaye agreed. She raked in the pot, then looked at Alejandro, who grinned at her.

  “Guess that makes it my deal,” Hoffman said. Scooping up the cards, he shuffled them, offered the cut to Shaye, and dealt the hand.

  It was amazing, Shaye thought, how quickly the time passed. One hour became two and then three. Dawson called for a whiskey, Alejandro and Hoffman ordered a beer. Shaye didn’t really want a beer, but the only other beverages Calder had to offer were water and goat’s milk, neither of which sounded tempting, so she opted for a beer, too. Calder brought them some hard boiled eggs and bread along with the drinks, and then decided to sit in for a hand or two.

  The chair creaked as Calder lowered his bulk onto it. The chair must have been a lot sturdier than it looked, she decided, since it didn’t shatter under his considerable weight.

  Calder was a talker. He told them about his Army days, when he had been in the Seventh Cavalry. “Rode with old George Armstrong Custer hisself, I did.” He picked up his cards, studied them a moment, and tossed a twenty-dollar chip into the pot.

  “Custer!” Shaye exclaimed. “Really?”

  “Sure ‘nuff. I was with Reno’s command at the Little Big Horn. That was some fight, I can tell you. I never thought any of us would get out alive.”

  Alejandro sat forward, his dark eyes alight with interest. “Go on,” he said. “Start at the beginning.”

  Calder dragged a hand across his jaw. “Old Custer, he was in an itching hurry to meet the Sioux. He’d testified in a government investigation about some scandal that involved President Grant’s brother, and Grant declared Custer wouldn’t be allowed to accompany his troops. Custer begged Grant to reconsider, and the president allowed as how Custer could go in command of his own regiment, instead of commanding the entire column. I reckon Custer figured a major victory would be a right good thing about then.

  “He never believed there were as many Injuns as his own scouts claimed there was, and when we was about fifteen miles from where the village was s’posed to be, Custer sent Benteen and his men off in one direction and Reno in another. That was the last we saw of Custer and his men.”

  Calder shook his head. “The battle might have turned out differently if Custer hadn’t split his command, and if Reno hadn’t retreated, but then again…” He shrugged. “We was badly outnumbered. If we’d stayed with Custer, I reckon as how we would have all bee
n killed.”

  Alejandro sat back, his expression thoughtful. Shaye knew what he was thinking as clearly as if he had said it out loud. If he had stayed with his mother’s people, he would have been at the Little Big Horn.

  Alejandro rose abruptly, reaching for her hand. “Let’s go outside. I need to stretch my legs.”

  “You’re not sorry you missed the battle, are you?” Shaye asked as they left the building.

  “Not as sorry as I used to be,” he said with a wry grin.

  “Men! I’ve never understood their fascination for war and fighting.”

  “It’s a way for a man to prove his courage.”

  “It’s a good way to get killed.”

  “There are worse things than death.”

  “Maybe,” she said, but at the moment, she couldn’t think of any, couldn’t think of anything but Alejandro, the brush of his thigh against hers, the warmth of his hand. She looked up at him, trying to imagine how he would look in a loincloth and moccasins, with a feather in his long black hair and his face painted for war.

  He looked down at her, his gaze meeting hers. He arched one brow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Is that right? Looks like something to me.”

  “I was just trying to picture how you’d look…” She lifted one hand and let it fall. “How you’d look in a loincloth and feathers.”

  “Well, darlin’,” he said with a wink, “someday I’ll show you.”

  As Calder had predicted, the men loved her French toast, loved it so much she’d been afraid she was going to have to spend the rest of the night cooking it. Most of them had four slices, some five, Calder had six, not to mention the bacon and coffee that went with it. By the time she finished up, she didn’t think she would ever be able to look at another piece of French toast as long as she lived.

  She left the dishes for Calder. She had done the cooking, she thought as she carried their plates into the kitchen, he could do the cleaning up. Besides, she couldn’t worry about anything as mundane as dirty dishes now. She was getting married!

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  She was getting married. The inside of a dilapidated cabin wasn’t exactly the setting most brides dreamed of, but it didn’t matter. Shaye saw nothing but the man standing beside her. And if she was dressed in cotton instead of white satin, well, that didn’t matter, either. She had worn white to her last wedding, she thought ruefully, and look how it had turned out. Maybe black would bring her luck.