Hannah stepped away, but the area was crowded and she bumped into a chair.
“You ... you little whore." He lunged at her and lifted a fist, and for one awful instant, Hannah knew he was going to punch her.
Yesterday’s Gold: Chapter Thirteen
"That'll do, Slater."
Logan materialized at Hannah's side, his tone quiet and lethal.
Now Slater lurched towards Logan, fist still raised, and faster than seemed possible, Logan had hold of him. Somehow Slater's arms were pinioned behind him and Logan was two-stepping him towards the door.
The entire assembly had fallen silent, and everyone heard Slater grunting and swearing as he was propelled along the hall and out the front of the Nugget. A stream of curses and then the slam of a door sounded.
A moment later Logan walked back into the dining room and surveyed the rough male faces all turned towards him. "The women staying at the Nugget are under my protection," he said in a no-nonsense tone. “Anyone not prepared to conduct himself in a gentlemanly manner will answer to me."
No one moved.
"That’s settled, then.” Logan nodded and sat down, and after a moment everyone began talking and eating again.
Heart hammering, her entire body trembling, Hannah bolted into the kitchen. Daisy, busily filling plates, was unaware that anything had happened. “I think it's going well, don’t you, Hannah? They all seem to like my food.”
Hannah swallowed hard and found her voice. “Yeah, everyone loves it, Mom." She filled a glass with water and drank it down, and in a few moments she was calmer. Soon she was able to go on serving, but she was aware that the men avoided looking directly at her, and apart from polite thank-you’s, there were few attempts at conversation.
Now the only eyes that followed her every move belonged to Logan.
Elvira walked in when Hannah and Daisy were washing the dishes, and it was obvious she was in a better mood than she’d been in earlier. “I’m starting work at the hospital tomorrow morning,” she announced briskly. "I’ll take my things with me in the morning, since room and board are included. I saw our old friend Billy. He sends his regards. He’s no cleaner than he was the other night. I warned him I’m giving him a carbolic bath first thing in the morning. Lordie, that hospital's primitive beyond belief. It’s like something out of the Middle Ages."
She grimaced. "I keep forgetting this is almost the Middle Ages,” she added. “But Doc Carrol seems easygoing. He did say I ought to wear a uniform, although where one might find such a thing in this town is beyond me."
In chorus, Daisy and Hannah said, "The barber shop.” They giggled at the look on Elvira’s face, and Hannah explained about the clothing she’d bought for each of them at Moses’s shop, and why she felt it wise to wear what was customary for women of the time.
To her surprise, Elvira agreed. "Just walking along the street today, I realized pants are not the thing here. Not that we'll be here that long, but it makes sense to fit in if we can,” she said firmly. "I'm sure in a short while we’ll find some way to get back home. I’ve been thinking about it, and it doesn’t seem logical that if we came one way, we can’t find a way to go the other.”
Hannah didn’t comment. She no longer felt optimistic about that possibility, but she didn’t want to discourage Elvira at the moment because the other woman had cheerfully taken over the task of drying the dishes Hannah was washing.
"Elvira, can you remember the exact date of the Barkerville fire?” Daisy was sitting with her feet propped up on a chair, fanning herself with a tea towel.
“Mid-September," Elvira said. She stopped drying and pursed her mouth in a silent whistle. "September 16th, 1868, if I recall. Just over two months from now.” She resumed drying. “We'll be long gone before that. But we’ll have to warn people all the same, even though we won’t be here.”
Elvira put the plate down and picked up a bowl, polishing it with the towel. “No one was killed in the fire, but most people lost everything they owned.”
"Nobody's going to believe us if we do tell them," Hannah warned, scrubbing at the soup pot. She felt cranky, tired, and out of sorts. “We're better off not talking much about how we know things like that."
Daisy nodded. “We’ll tell Logan, though, won’t we?”
“Tell me what?” Logan came through the door from the dining room. He added a stack of plates to the dishwater, and Hannah scowled at him.
“That this town’s going to burn flat to the ground in two months' time," Elvira said dramatically.
“Oh?" He raised one eyebrow and leaned back against the table. “It’s certainly possible. Fire’s always a danger when buildings are so close together.”
"It's not just possible, Logan, it’s an historical fact." Hannah rinsed the last of the plates and slammed it onto the counter. "I know you think we’re all nuts when we talk about coming from the future, but it’s a matter of history that Barkerville burned on September 16th, 1868.”
She dried her hands. "Also, you're going to have to hire somebody else to help my mother, because I’m starting work at Pandola's General Store tomorrow morning, and Elvira will be working at the hospital.”
"Yes, ma'am." Logan grinned and pretended to salute.
Hannah gave him a scathing look and headed for the back door. "I'm going outside for a while. I need some fresh air and privacy." She slammed the kitchen door behind her, hoping he'd get the hint. Ever since the incident with Slater, Logan had been like a shadow. He'd done it unobtrusively, acting the part of the perfect host, helping seat people, putting everyone at ease, and even clearing away dishes when it was necessary, but Hannah was conscious of him at her elbow.
She should have been grateful that Logan was watching out for her, but instead she found it unsettling. Having him close bothered her, she admitted now, sitting down on the steps and trying to ease the ache in her shoulders and arms. Maybe she was just hungry and didn't realize it. Watching dozens of men bolting their dinner was a great appetite suppressant. It was a wonder The Biggest Loser hadn’t thought of it in her own time.
She was too conscious of Logan, she told herself, too aware of the way he looked at her, of the way her treacherous body reacted when he accidentally brushed against her or touched her arm. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? She was in love with Brad, but he'd never made her so embarrassingly conscious of her sexual self.
Then again, maybe her response to Logan was simply an emotional reaction to the fright she'd had earlier in the dining room. She shuddered, knowing she’d have to see Slater again. He lived at the Nugget. Slater aside, at this particular moment there wasn’t a single soul she did want to see. Being with people every minute made her feel claustrophobic.
In the past few days, there’d been someone around day and night, and it was making her crazy. She needed to get away for a while on her own, think things through.
What she needed was a good long walk, she decided. The sun had set hours ago, but Barkerville was so far north, the twilight lingered until well past ten these summer nights.
Hannah got up and trotted down the steps and across the backyard. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the gate, turning left on a footpath that meandered along beside the creek. The rush of water was soothing, muffling the sounds of dogs and horses and waterwheels and men hollering to one another.
Even this late in the evening, Barkerville was noisy, much noisier than Victoria had ever been. She smiled to herself, thinking how ironic it was that a modern-day city would be quieter than a small town in the 1800s.
For a while she hurried along, but soon her steps slowed and she began to relax. It was wonderful to be alone, to leave the town behind. Soon she was out of the main part of Barkerville, on a narrow path that wound through poplars and pine trees. It was growing darker, but there was still enough light to see, and she ambled along, allowing the peace and quiet to envelop her.
She rounded a corner, and from behind, rough, powerful hands grabbed her. Befor
e she had time to react, her arms were pinioned to her sides, throwing her off balance so that she tumbled to the ground.
Terrified, she screamed, but the sound was cut off by the force of the hard-packed earth coming up at her. The man’s body landing heavily on top of her knocked her half-senseless, and the world swam and buckled.
Logan glanced out the kitchen window just in time to see Slater duck out the back gate and hurry along the path beside the creek. What the hell was he doing skulking around the Nugget after he’d been told in no uncertain terms to pack his things and get out?
Logan went to the back door and glanced around the yard looking for Hannah, and when it was clear that she was nowhere in sight, he hurried into the hall for the leather vest that held his derringer.
Tugging it on, he leaped down the back steps and ran across the yard, turning in the direction he'd seen Slater go. Over the noise of the stream, Logan heard a single scream, high and terrified. He cursed under his breath and began to run.
"Bitch. Whorin’ bitch. Burn me, willya?" Slater straddled her, his body impossibly heavy, his ugly crimson face inches from her own. Hannah tried to draw in a breath and couldn’t. She tried desperately—once, again— with no success. It felt as if her lungs had collapsed.
Time seemed suspended. She was aware that Slater was ripping at her blouse, ripping at the fastening at the waist of her jeans, muttering obscenities, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t fight.
Couldn’t breathe ... She had to breathe....
She was aware of his hand closing painfully around her breast, fingers digging cruelly into her tender flesh, and still she couldn’t move, couldn’t begin to get air into her lungs. A roaring began inside her head. A red haze formed in front of her eyes, a welcome barrier between her and her attacker, and Hannah began to slide into unconsciousness.
And then Logan was there. She caught a glimpse of the rage on his face, heard the low growl he gave in the instant before Slater’s crushing weight was torn from her. She was able to draw in a single, shallow, agonizing breath, and then another. She rolled to her side, and then into a sitting position, gasping and wheezing, aware that Logan had dragged Slater to his feet, and that in one smooth motion, his fist had connected solidly with the other man’s jaw.
Slater grunted as his legs gave way. He fell to his knees, and his right hand dropped to his waist. Hannah saw then that he wore a gunbelt. He fumbled at his holster, and Hannah tried to call out, to warn Logan, but her voice wouldn’t work.
"Don’t try it, Slater, or you're a dead man," Logan warned. He, too, had a small gun in his hand, and it was pointed directly at Slater’s head. Cautiously, he reached down and removed the other man’s weapon from its holster, then threw it as hard as he could into the underbrush.
Slater was still balanced on his knees, and with a muffled oath Logan shoved his derringer back inside his vest, reached down, knotted a handful of Slater’s shirt in his fist, and dragged him to his feet. Logan drew his arm back and swung, connecting solidly with Slater’s nose.
Slater screamed and blood gushed down his face. Logan hit him again, this time in the midsection, and Slater dropped forward on the ground, arms over his head, alternately vomiting and blubbering.
Logan stood over him, breathing heavily, staring down at the man with a murderous
look on his face. “You've got two choices, you craven coward." His voice was almost a snarl. "Either we go see the constable and ask him to lock you up until Begbie decides to horsewhip you, or you clear out of town within the hour. Which will it be?”
Slater staggered to his feet, holding his ribs. His voice was thick and indistinct. "Not jail, please,” he whined. "I’ll leave town. I was goin’ anyhow."
Logan’s fists were still curled, and Hannah thought for a moment that he was going to hit Slater again.
“Get moving," he finally spat. "I’ll be looking for you, and if you’re not long gone by the time I get back into town, this is only a taste of what will happen to you."
Still holding his ribs, Slater stumbled to his feet and, crablike, scuttled off down the path.
Logan hurried over to Hannah. “Are you hurt bad? Can you get up?" With trembling hands, she pulled her torn blouse together and tried to get to her feet.
He bent over her, taking her hands in each of his to lift her, but nausea suddenly washed over her in a sickening wave. She tried to move away but he wouldn't let her. He supported her as she bent over, retching. She was grateful now that she hadn't eaten dinner, mortified that Logan was watching her vomit.
"Did he hit you?" His voice was quiet, but there was an ominous undertone.
"No. He... he knocked me down. Hard." Hannah found that her voice, like her legs, was shaky, but working. "I'm ... I think I'm ... okay. I... I couldn’t breathe."
His lips tightened and he glared down at her. "Breathe, hell. In another two minutes, he would have raped you or worse!” The harsh tone of his voice and his angry words told Hannah that he was in a rage. He’d slid his hands up to her forearms and now he gave her a shake. "Have you no sense whatsoever, woman, wandering around out here alone in the dark? Didn’t I warn you about miners?"
He had, and she knew he had every right to be furious with her. She was grateful to him and mortally ashamed of her own carelessness. But she was also emotionally and physically bankrupt, and she sagged in his grasp.
"I’m sorry,” she managed to croak. "I'm really sorry, Logan. Forgive me, please." The honest contrition in her voice must have registered, because his hands loosened their angry grip. He let go of her, just long enough to loop an arm around her waist.
"Let's get out of here. Can you walk?"
She nodded, and Logan marched her down the path, half carrying her at times. Hannah stumbled along, her brain numb, her body stiff and beginning to register bruises and scrapes. He didn’t pause until they were in the backyard of the Nugget. There was a lamp on in the kitchen, and Hannah could see Daisy through the window.
"Logan, wait. I don't want my mother to see me this way.”
"I didn’t intend she should." He drew her to the door of one of the outbuildings.
"Come in here." Inside the door was a lantern, and he struck a match and lit it, illuminating a well-ordered workshop with a wood stove and two cots covered in blankets, one in each corner. There was a basin on a wooden table and a pail of water, and he gestured to it.
Hannah washed her face and hands and rinsed out her mouth. She smoothed her hair as well as she could. She became aware of her torn blouse and tried to pull it together. Most of the buttons were gone, and finally she just knotted the ends at her waist. Her lacy bra was partially showing, but there was nothing she could do about it.
He’d hung the lantern on a nail and now, with a hand on her back, he guided her to a chair.
"Sit,” he ordered, and she did, aware that her entire body was shaking as if she had a fever. She felt icy cold.
He took one of his flannel shirts from a nearby nail and draped it around her shoulders. Then he reached under a shelf and extracted a whiskey bottle, pouring a generous amount into two tin cups, handing her one and taking a long drink from the other. There was a chair nearby, and he reached for it and plunked it down a scant two feet from where she sat. He straddled it, elbows balancing on its back.
"Drink. It’ll make you feel better."
Hannah had to hold the cup with both hands to keep it from spilling. She tipped it up and took a mouthful. It tasted smooth and smoky on her tongue, but when she swallowed, flames seemed to lick at her throat.
She gasped and choked and coughed, and the whiskey burned its way down to her empty belly. Tears streamed from her eyes, and she raised a hand to wipe them away.
Logan was watching her. He fished a handkerchief from a pocket and reached across the narrow distance separating them, gently wiping her eyes.
"You’re not much of a drinker," he commented. He didn't smile, but a gleam of amusement shone in his eyes for a moment, and she
was relieved to see he wasn’t angry anymore.
"Take another swallow. It’ll calm your nerves.”
She did, and this time the liquor still burned, but she didn’t choke. A pleasant warmth began to spread through her, and the shaking gradually diminished. As her fear subsided, a sense of outrage rose in its place.
“He tried to rape me. We should have taken Slater to the police instead of letting him go, Logan. He’ll probably do the same thing to some other woman. Men like him usually do."
He looked at her for a while and then nodded. "You’re right. We probably should have had him jailed." His voice hardened. "He assaulted you. John Bowran would undoubtedly have thrown him in lockup until Judge Begbie returns in August, but there’s a problem with that. See, if Slater goes to jail, Hannah, you’re responsible for paying his keep until Begbie returns.”
Yesterday’s Gold: Chapter Fourteen
Hannah thought at first that she’d misunderstood.
"What do you mean, his keep?"
"The expense of housing him in the lockup. His food and lodging."
“I’d be responsible for that? But that's... that’s ridiculous." Hannah couldn’t believe she’d heard right.
Logan shrugged and sipped his whiskey. "Ridiculous or not, that’s how the law operates here. Billy Renton’s in the hospital, but if he wasn’t, Dutch Charlie would have to pay to keep him in jail. There are no government funds available to pay for criminals, so the victim pays."
He studied her, his eyes hard. “Slater would also claim you led him on, Hannah. He’d insist your clothing enflamed him, that he couldn’t help himself, that you deliberately enticed him, that you knew when you walked that path by yourself that he would follow. I hear that Begbie is a harsh, unpredictable judge. It’s impossible to say how he’d rule.”
Now and Forever: Time Travel Romance Superbundle Page 50
