The Damaged Heroes Collection [Box Set #1: The Damaged Heroes Collection] (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream)

by James, Sandy

  Screw that. Who wore the pants in this family anyway?

  Duh. Since day one, Susan had, and she damn well knew it. Funny, but her take-charge attitude hadn’t bothered him much. Until recently. Hell, they’d both become more prickly after they lost the baby. James heaved another sigh and followed her.

  He caught the middle of whatever she was muttering. “…and we need to find out how far we are from the museum. And I need to know John’s safe.”

  She came to an abrupt halt that almost caused James to plow right into her back. The woman’s mind had to operate at a thousand miles per hour. She left him breathless—a trait he used to love. Now, he often felt like he was cruising down a highway, and without warning, someone threw the car into reverse. He just couldn’t keep up with his wife anymore, and he wasn’t sure who to blame—her for not slowing down some to wait for him or himself for not trying harder to match her speed.

  “There’s a guy with a badge on his vest.” She pointed across the dusty road.

  Susan hurried out into the street to follow someone James hadn’t even seen yet. But he did see something she obviously didn’t—the team of horses and wagon barreling her way.

  Running after his wife, he caught her around the waist and dragged her back before she went charging headlong into the path of the animals. After a couple of stumbling backward steps, she turned to say, “Thanks.”

  He wondered if his heart would ever settle back into a normal rhythm.

  “Well? Are you coming?” Susan had taken a few steps onto the now empty and dusty street.

  “Like I’ve got a choice,” he grumbled under his breath. James followed her as she chased down a short man walking ahead of them. In her usual no-nonsense manner, she stopped the guy by grabbing his shoulder.

  The man was a couple of inches shorter than Susan, but he outweighed her by a good fifty pounds. As James caught up with them, he also realized the guy hadn’t been anywhere near a shower in days. Maybe weeks. Judging from her scrunched up nose, his wife must have caught a whiff of the guy’s offensive odor as well.

  “Can you tell us where the phones are?” Susan asked.

  The man’s gaze swept her from head to toe, the contempt plain on his face, as plain as the crumbs of food that clung to his several days’ growth of whiskers. “Cain’t say as I know you folks. Must’ve missed today’s stage comin’ in. First time in River Bend? We don’t cotton much to strangers here.”

  Susan set her hands against her hips. “We’re not tourists. We’re lost. Can you point us toward a payphone?”

  The fake marshal rubbed his chin, dislodging some of the crumbs. “We ain’t got a telyphone out here yet. Saw one in San Francisco once though.” He hitched his thumbs into his waistband and rocked back on his heels. “Mighty fancy.” His hard eyes fell on Susan’s lower half. “Why you wearin’ pants, woman?” Then he gawked at her face. “What in tarnation happened to your hair? Looks like you lost a bet.”

  Susan glanced down as if seeing her clothes for the first time that day before she shot the man one of her don’t-mess-with-me looks. “You can drop the hick act. You’re overacting anyway. Where’s a phone?”

  “I told you, woman, we ain’t got one.” The man tapped the tarnished silver star pinned to the front of his soiled vest. James had a quick flash to the rent-a-cop security guys who acted like their badges actually meant something. “I asked you why you was wearing pants.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, for pity’s sake. Who gives a shit whether I’m wearing pants? I’m not one of your stupid actors. We need your help. We need to find a phone.”

  “I don’t take none to ladyfolk cursing.” The smelly man spit on the wooden walkway and shifted his accusing gaze to James. “She your woman?”

  This whole situation was so absurd it took every ounce of his strength not to bait the guy. “Yeah, she’s with me.”

  “I’m town marshal.” The man pointed to the silver star again. “We don’t take none to ladyfolk wearing pants ’round here, neither. Women needs to look like women. You gotta get her dressed proper. Cain’t say there’s much you can do about that hair, though. Maybe a bonnet might help hide it ’til it grows back to a proper length.”

  Susan’s face flushed red. She was furious. He decided to step in before she sharpened that tongue of hers on this guy’s deserving hide. “Yeah, well…we don’t work here, so our appearance doesn’t really matter. We’re lost. You don’t have to stay in character with us.”

  As confused as the fake marshal appeared, he might as well have been crossing his eyes. “You folks been drinkin’?” He sniffed as if checking for himself—like he could possibly smell anything but his own disgusting body odor.

  Judging by how red her ears had turned, Susan’s temper was about to erupt like Mount Vesuvius. That sure wouldn’t help their situation any. “No, sir,” James replied as he snaked his fingers around his wife’s upper arm. “C’mon,” he whispered to her. “Last place we need to be is in that lame jail, and Barney Fife here looks like that’s exactly where he’d like to throw us.”

  She glanced from James to the marshal and then back again before giving her husband a curt nod.

  “There’s a boardin’ house over yonder.” The marshal pointed down the short row of buildings. “Don’t let me catch her hanging ’round the saloon. ’Pears she has some problems handling her whiskey.”

  “You stupid son of a—”

  James put his hand over Susan’s mouth before she could finish the thought. He hated the way the man had insulted her, but her rage was now the bigger problem.

  “We’ll steer clear of the saloon.” James walked away, dragging his infuriated wife with him. Once he was sure the marshal had moved on, James pulled Susan into an alley between two buildings and took his hand away from her mouth.

  Susan hugged herself as she glared at him.

  Shit, he hated that accusing stare of hers, the same one she tossed his way so often lately. He figured it had become permanent. Everything was always his fault. “What did you expect me to do? Let that idiot arrest you for yelling at him?”

  “I expected you to back me up.” He waited for the typical other shoe she always dropped. “For once.”

  James had expected her anger, but he sure hadn’t expected her tears. Suddenly, he had insight into his wife, and he felt stupid for having not figured it out sooner. Anger hid her fear. He reached out and brushed a tear away from her cheek. “It’s gonna be all right, Suz.”

  “How can you say that?” A loud sniffle followed the question. “We don’t know where we are. We don’t know how we got here. We can’t find anyone who wants to help us.”

  “You’re right.”

  The sniffling stopped as she raised her gaze to meet his. “I am?”

  He nodded, and then he grinned at her surprised reaction. Surprised was better than afraid.

  “Where do you think we are?” Susan asked.

  “Someplace like Dodge City.”

  “Why aren’t there any tourists?”

  “Maybe we’re in an asylum and today’s dress-like-a-cowboy day.”

  Her arms relaxed, and the tiny grin was reward enough for his lame attempt at humor. “Why aren’t there tourists?”

  “I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

  Susan’s more typical take-charge personality began to kick back in as she set her hands against her hips. “Let’s pretend for a minute we’re watching Little House on the Prairie.”

  “Okay. You’re the history teacher. We’re in Walnut Grove. Where do we go?”

  Putting a finger to her cheek, she seemed to think the whole thing over before she snapped her fingers. “The general store.”

  “Why there?”

  “Everyone in a small town like this goes through the general store. Farmers. Ranchers. Townsfolk. The people working there know everything that’s going on, all the best gossip. Don’t you remember Mrs. Oleson?” Susan stepped out of the alley and looked up and down the
street before pointing at a whitewashed building with large black letters on the façade spelling out Neal and Sons. “There it is. Maybe we’ll get some answers.”

  * * * *

  I’m insane.

  That was the only explanation for the absolutely ridiculous notions that now flew through Susan’s mind.

  I’m certifiable. Bring on the headshrinker and the Thorazine.

  Maybe her insanity came from reading too many paranormal romances. Maybe she’d lost her mind because of working with teenagers day in and day out. Maybe the miscarriage had caused some weird hormonal hallucination.

  Yep, she was crazy. Why else would she be thinking she and James had traveled back in time?

  The museum exhibits on the Wild West had only fed the psychosis. The stupid stories Harry had told about the people who lived during those times and that damned destiny rock had only made things worse. But as she marched into the general store, Susan could come up with no other explanation for what was happening. There was only one thing she sought now. A calendar, some proof she wasn’t in the twenty-first century anymore.

  James followed her, stoically quiet as usual. God, she hated him for being so in control while the world was crashing down around them, just like when they lost the baby. What she wouldn’t give to see him let loose of those emotions bubbling beneath the surface of that calm exterior.

  He’d always been expressive while still being stalwart. Maybe now there wasn’t anything inside him to get to. Maybe her husband didn’t feel things in his heart with the same passion she did in hers.

  Susan had expected her marriage to be like the one her parents had. When they were mad, they shouted. When they were happy, they laughed. When they were sad, they cried. James’s temper seldom strayed from an even keel, and she couldn’t understand how he managed to keep it all bottled up inside. Heaven knew she couldn’t. She’d never even bothered trying, fearing if she didn’t get some of her emotions out of her system, she would simply explode. Perhaps James had become passive aggressive. His reaction to almost any emotional situation was usually dry sarcasm that did nothing but piss her off more.

  A bell jingled as Susan pushed the door open. The store looked exactly as she’d expected. A man in a white apron waited on a pair of older ladies who fussed over several bolts of fabric. Calicos. Broadcloth. Stiff denim. Two men about Harry’s age sat in chairs on opposite sides of a large cracker barrel where they’d placed a wooden checkerboard. Their contemplative silence probably meant they were pondering their next moves.

  James tapped her shoulder. “What’s that?” He pointed out a huge red urn with a big wheel on the side, the likes of which she hadn’t seen since she’d been a child visiting her grandparents in their tiny Illinois hometown.

  “It’s a coffee grinder.” She let her gaze wander, enchanted by all she saw. Every wall was made up of shelves, and each shelf held a variety of items from canned goods to farming supplies to children’s toys. The place was simultaneously very quaint and horribly creepy in its authenticity. Probably because the place was…authentic.

  Yep. She was definitely nuts.

  Her mission was clear—finding a calendar so she could see the date and then get hauled away in a straightjacket. She scanned the walls, seeing nothing that would help her in deciding whether she had actually lost her mind. She didn’t notice one of the old ladies had come to stand next to her until the woman reached out to touch Susan’s jeans.

  “Land’s sake, child. Where did you find that cloth?” She ran her hand over Susan’s hip and around her backside. “It’s so soft.”

  What does one say to an elderly lady with her hand on your ass? “May I ask you a question?”

  The lady seemed so entranced with Susan’s stonewashed denim, she didn’t reply.

  “Please?” Susan tried again. “Can I ask you something?”

  Standing back to her full height, slight though it was, the lady nodded. Then her eyes flew wide. “Oh, child. What on earth happened to your hair?”

  Enough with the damn hair. Susan indulged herself in James’s typical sarcasm. “I cut it and sold it to buy my husband a watch fob for Christmas for his gold watch, but then I found out he’d sold his watch to buy me a hair comb for my long hair.”

  James threw her a smirk. “‘Gift of the Magi’?”

  She would have chuckled at his perception if she hadn’t been in the middle of a nasty nervous breakdown.

  The woman grabbed Susan’s hand and patted it. “That’s such a sweet story and so sad, too. You should write about it and send it to Harper’s Monthly.”

  Susan took a deep, calming breath. It didn’t help much. “Do you know the date?”

  “Let me see. Yesterday I put up my beets in jars, and I had to come to town for more lids. And I usually come into town on Tuesdays. But it wasn’t Tuesday. Still, I needed lids…”

  A slow count of ten kept Susan from losing what little of her temper she still held as the lady rambled on.

  “Of course, I saw Gladys and she had to tell me all ’bout her newest grandbaby. Such a sweet little boy, but ugly as a mule’s behind. And then I…”

  James flashed one of his charming smiles to the woman, the same smile that had made Susan accept his offer for a date the first time they’d met. She’d wondered lately if that smile had disappeared, never to be seen again. But there it was, being given to a lady old enough to be his grandmother. “Ma’am?” he asked.

  The woman stopped talking and stared up at James. A huge grin spread over her wrinkled face. “Hello, young man.”

  Young man? Susan snorted a laugh.

  James ignored her and kept grinning at the little old lady. “I was wondering if you might help the lady and me out.” A nod at Susan.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. What in the hell was he up to?

  The old woman actually blushed before she batted her eyes. “Why, of course. What can I do for you?”

  It took every ounce of Susan’s self-control not to laugh at the two of them for their outrageous flirting.

  “I was wondering if you could tell me the date.” James’s voice had taken on a slight Southern drawl. “The real date, not the day of the week.”

  Susan opened her mouth, but before she could, the woman answered, “Why would I pretend today isn’t real? Honestly.”

  “The date, ma’am?”

  “Why, I do believe it’s September fifteenth.” She turned to wave her embroidered handkerchief at the other old woman at the front of the store. “Hila! Yoo hoo, Hila! Isn’t today September fifteenth?”

  The second woman came walking toward them. “I do believe it is, Madalyn. I do believe it is.” She stopped short when she saw Susan. “God’s hooks! What happened to your hair?”

  James saw the explosion building in his wife’s eyes. He tried to cork it with a little bit of humor. “Now, ladies. I know it’s the fifteenth of the warm month of September. What this beautiful woman and I would like to know is what year we’re in.”

  It wasn’t like he thought the question served any real purpose. The actors sure didn’t look like they wanted to drop character. But for some odd reason, the information seemed important to Susan.

  Madalyn and Hila exchanged surprised glances before Hila turned back and stared at Susan. “Why in heaven’s name would you need to know the year?”

  James tried to draw on the flirty charm Susan always said women liked. “We’ve been wandering quite a while, and we’ve lost track of the date as much as we’ve lost track of our location.” Thank God, he’d never had to use that type of syrupy stuff on his wife. She didn’t need any silly romantic gestures. Their relationship had always been easy because she didn’t expect flirting or flowers or cards. None of those things other women always seemed to like. He’d never had to fight for Susan’s love.

  Shit. Could that be part of the problems they were having? He didn’t want to think about that now.

  Susan put her hands on her hips, obviously at the end of her typicall
y short patience.

  James was about to ask the women again when Hila blurted out, “It’s September fifteenth, 1880, you silly boy.”

  Chapter 4

  James didn’t believe it. Not for a single second.

  Turning back to his wife, he meant to tease her about how deeply these actors sank into character when he noticed his wife was looking a bit…green.

  “Thank you kindly, ladies,” he said as he hurried Susan out of the store. She was gagging before he could get her to a spot between the buildings, and he held her shoulders while she threw up.

  It reminded him of when, at her insistence, they’d gone sightseeing through the arts and crafts shops in Brown County the year she’d been pregnant with John. The heat had gotten to her, and she’d spent a lot of the day vomiting. James had practically begged to take her home, but she’d been in nesting mode and wanted to find the perfect things for the baby’s room. Why she was sick now had nothing to do with the day being overly warm. Their strange circumstances had obviously taken a toll.

  Funny. None of it was getting to him. James had to admit that, despite the fact Susan felt ill, he was actually starting to enjoy himself. Things would get put to right eventually, but how often did people have a chance to be so immersed in a long gone era? These actors were truly gifted, seemingly going about their business as if they really lived in this little town of River Bend. The only caution whispering in his mind was that he still didn’t know how he and his wife had gotten here. Having such a good time, he could easily brush aside any concerns.

  Susan straightened up, wondering when God had decided to suspend the rules of time and space. Oh, she’d read enough paranormal romance novels to know exactly what was going on here. Somehow the two of them had been transported to 1880.

  Her stomach heaved, and she figured she might just throw up again.

  Then an interesting notion struck her. Hard. If they were stuck in a romance novel…