by Lisa Norato
And with that thought, she fell asleep in his arms. It was the most peaceful, blissful night of her life, but come morning, her arms were empty once again.
Chapter Seventeen
Shelby galloped through the darkness on a small, white-faced sorrel named Cameo. She crouched low in the saddle, burying her face in Cameo’s mane, in search of comfort as well as protection against the cold night wind. Through the stream of strawberry blond horsehair, she watched the mist as it hovered over the tall meadow grasses in the moonlight, undulating on a breeze. The mist swirled before their path as they rode in shadow, across rolling plains as wide and far-reaching as the sea, always moving, always changing.
A great sense of loneliness enveloped her. Shelby thought she sensed a presence ahead, waiting in the distance. A man. I know he’s out there, she thought.
A cool breeze caressed her face, and as it swept past her ear, Shelby thought she heard a rich, masculine voice whisper, “Come closer.”
Still, no matter how far they traveled, no matter how fast, the farther from her he seemed. Then suddenly the skies began to brighten. The fog burned off and Cameo slowed to a walk. Suddenly, Shelby saw him. Tall, like the beautiful mountains on the plains. A prince. No, a common man. Yet not just any man. A cowboy with a hard, shadowed jaw and a thick black mustache, his face hidden by the brim of a black hat.
She approached cautiously on Cameo until she felt close enough to touch him, but as she reached down, he vanished. Gone, as though he were never anything more than an illusion.
Shelby woke with a start. Her heart beat wildly in her breast.
She lifted her head and peered around the small room. Ruckert and all of his belongings were missing. Gone.
Suddenly, she had difficulty breathing. She strove for rationale, asking herself why the panic? Did she actually think he’d abandon her?
Hoss Man, known throughout Laramie for his compassion towards the least of God’s creatures, leave a woman alone and defenseless on the open range?
Shelby grinned. No way.
It was the dream. That dream had put a scare in her and Shelby knew why. It revealed what she was afraid to admit. That now she’d fallen in love, fate would play a cruel trick, and whatever miracle had brought her to Ruckert would reverse itself and transport her back to the present day.
Fortunately, however, that was not the case this morning. Otherwise, what was she still doing inside this nineteenth-century line shack?
And if she’d been separated from Ruckert, then who had lit the potbellied stove? It glowed with warmth and infused the cabin with the smell of wood smoke. And oh, that delicious aroma of coffee brewing. Shelby could hear the plop-plop of it boiling.
In her panic, she’d failed to notice these things, but fully and pleasurably aware of them now, she dropped her head back on her pillow with a sigh. No need to worry. Ruckert had probably stepped outside to answer a call of nature.
She lay on her back, idly gazing at the heavy wooden beams overhead, and waited for his return. Last night everything had turned around for her and Ruckert. Their relationship had not only been restored, but they now shared an emotional bond. Wow, she was in love with a man eleven years her junior. Yet, curiously, over a century older than she. A rugged man, deep and pensive, who, despite a few minor communication issues, was secure enough in his strength that he did not shy from exposing his kinder, more sensitive side.
But what about the life she’d left behind? What about her townhouse, her teaching job, her sister? What would happen to them if she stayed in the past? Shelby didn’t have answers. She longed for what had been lost to her, yes. Her sister, especially. But her heart was here with Ruckert. That much she did know.
So, why hadn’t she told him how she felt last night when she’d had the chance? Fear, she supposed. Afraid to take that risk. Afraid of heartache. Rejection. Whatever. She’d fallen just the same, and now she was afraid of losing him. If she ever saw Ruckert again– No, when she saw him again . . . this morning, in fact, she was going to say it.
I love you.
She couldn’t wait to be back in his arms.
Moments stretched into minutes, long and uncertain, and when Ruckert still hadn’t materialized, Shelby snapped out of her love haze and hauled her sore, tired butt out of bed. Wrapped in a blanket, she gritted her teeth against her screaming leg muscles and forced one foot in front of the other as she approached the wood-burning stove. She opened the blanket, allowing her achy body to soak up its warmth, and noticed a pot of water simmering on the burner.
She thought for a moment, confused, until something caught her eye and she moved to the old pine table where she discovered a broken hunk of soap. Ah, now she understood. Bathwater. How thoughtful was that?
See? Nothing to worry about, Shelby told herself as she folded one corner of her blanket around the pot handle and carried it to the table. She splashed the warm water over her face, let it trickle down her arms and bathed her sore thighs. Then she dressed, pulled on her boots and headed for the cabin door.
Just as well she’d been granted a moment of privacy. She needed to find a bush.
And yet, the first thing Shelby did as she stepped outside was to close her eyes and fill her lungs with brisk mountain air. The storm had passed and the wind blew with pine-scented freshness across her uplifted face.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and her vision widened with the vastness of the Wyoming sky. And there, from the pine forest to the snowy peaks of a distant mountain range, stretched one of the brightest, most beautiful rainbows she’d ever seen. Yellow, orange, crimson, green, blue and violet—brush strokes of color so dazzlingly vibrant they left her breathless.
She stared in awe. Awareness of everything but her small place in nature drained away, and Shelby stood humbled. The longer she stared, the stronger a sense of oneness with creation grew inside her. The land beneath her feet, that forest beyond the corral and possibly even this cabin would survive time. They would continue to exist into the century she’d left behind and their presence comforted her like an old friend.
She missed her sister. Things like electricity and hot running water. Bubble baths and scented body lotions. Her favorite television shows. Caramel lattes instead of that hair-raising, cowboy espresso she was forced to drink. She was going to need her highlights done in a few weeks. What then, huh?
She didn’t belong to this Wyoming. Knowing what she did of the modern world and its advances, from medicine and technology to fashion and cuisine, she might never fully adjust. Why couldn’t Ruckert have been born in her time?
It messed with her psyche. She didn’t understand.
But as long as she had Ruckert, she knew she’d be okay.
Speaking of nature, it reasserted itself and Shelby was reminded of why she’d ventured outdoors in the first place. She leaned over the fence and bade good morning to Chongo and Buck on her way into the pines, and it wasn’t lost on her that Chongo’s presence meant Ruckert hadn’t wandered far.
When she returned to the cabin, she poured herself a cup of coffee and sipped it in the open doorway while she waited, feeling less and less philosophical and more and more fretful as the minutes wore on. As a diversion, she tried to recall some notes from the melody that’d come to her last night, but having nothing to write them down with, she soon gave up.
A twig snapped. Shelby turned, startled by the sound, and watched a cottontail dash from behind a rock, bound across the grass, then disappear into a cluster of juniper bushes. Rocks and crags jutted from a southern pasture that sloped down to a creek lined with box elder. On the wind came the faintest tinkling of wind chimes. Her body sagged with relief as a rugged, lanky figure emerged up the craggy incline carrying a large trout at his side. He climbed with long, sure-footed strides, his boots lost in high clover and their yellow blossoms.
Ruckert reached up and waved with his free hand. Her heart swelled and everything within her yearned to run to him, but the best Shelby’s exhausted leg m
uscles could manage was a hurried limp. As she ambled forward, Ruckert quickened his pace to meet her.
Morning,” he greeted in his bass drawl. He dropped the trout and scooped her into his arms in a big bear hug that lifted her feet off the ground.
Shelby hugged his neck, giggling into his handsome face, and wished him “Good morning” in return. His gray-green eyes softened with love beneath the thick black lashes. A smile crinkled their corners.
Without releasing her, Ruckert lowered her to the ground and moved in for a kiss. Shelby angled her face up to his and found his lips beneath the mustache. They kissed, their lips clinging desperately to each other. A sweet, slow kiss. A kiss that knew no time restraints. A kiss that could have easily gone on forever. At least as far as Shelby was concerned.
She fingered the blue-black curls at his nape. He smelled woodsy and fresh, of lye soap and pine-scented mountain air. His face was smooth; the black stubble gone. He must’ve washed and shaved in the creek.
Giving her a squeeze, Ruckert moaned his reluctance before releasing her lips.
He continued to hold her close, however, tucking her head beneath his chin. “Now why can’t every morning be as f-f-fffine as t-this?” he inquired of the universe.
Shelby wrapped her arms around his waist and together they admired the rainbow. Now that everything was cool, Ruckert hadn’t fallen off the face of the earth or anything, which meant the knots in her stomach had been for naught, she began to get a little peeved. How unfair he remain blissfully carefree when, until this moment, she’d been on the verge of hysteria, worrying, wondering what had become of him. Given the week she’d had, anything was possible . . . including the supernatural.
Pulling away, she gazed up at him. “So, where’ve you been?” she carped. As if the dead fish at her feet weren’t a clear indication.
He drew back even farther to pin her with a hard, questioning stare. Obviously, he’d picked up on the abrupt change of subject, or perhaps even her accusing, shrewish tone. In typical male fashion, he chose not to acknowledge either. He bent instead to retrieve his pole and catch, which he displayed with more than a little pride for her inspection. Shelby guessed the glistening rainbow trout at nearly a foot long.
“I woke craving a red-hot meal and got started pronto on catching us b-both some b-b-b-breakfast.”
“You went fishing?”
He cocked a brow and his sharp glare alone enabled Shelby to read his thoughts, Well, this trout didn’t drop from the sky.
Aloud he said, “Yup. Caught me red-handed. I went fishing.”
Then, before she could ready a comeback, he added, “Suppose you tell me what’s got you so full of ginger? If you’re disinclined towards trout, just say so, because I reckon you should know I’d planned on some biscuits in tomato syrup to eat alongside.”
“Well, I wish you would have let me know where you were going. I woke and you were nowhere to be found.”
He frowned beneath the mustache, pensive, and Shelby thought, a touch horror stricken. “D-d-d-did you think I’d leave you?”
“I really didn’t know what to think,” Shelby admitted in a needy whine she immediately regretted.
“Yet it crossed your mind whether I’d up and left you here . . . alone?”
His tone was wounded and incredulous. Shelby had to admit, spoken aloud, it did sound totally insulting.
“Well, not without m-m-m-my horse, I wouldn’t!” From beneath the black hat brim, Ruckert’s brows knitted in a cross, dark look.
Standing upwind, the smell of dead fish wafted over her. Shelby quivered with distaste, for more than just the odor. All right, she might have deserved that, but Ruckert’s sarcasm was beginning to annoy her.
“Okay! I’m sorry. Stupid question. Really stupid question to ask you, of all people, my self-appointed body guard who just recently saved my life. You’re an upstanding and honorable man. My hero. They don’t make them like you anymore, believe me. I totally get that, but after the week I’ve had, aren’t I entitled to a little paranoia?”
His stern look turned perplexed, at which Shelby quickly added, “Don’t answer that.”
“I didn’t want to w-w-wake you from a sound sleep,” he explained, moving on. “But I knew you’d need to come outside sooner or later, and when you d-did, it was just ffff-fifteen paces out the door, and you’d have seen me down yonder at the creek.”
Tilting her head to one side, Shelby glanced beyond Ruckert and downhill, confirming the creek was indeed clearly visible from where she stood. “Oh.”
She swept her uncombed hair behind one ear and hid her embarrassment behind a frown. “So, it’s my fault I didn’t know there was a creek down there? For someone not involved in the cattle-raising end of the business, you seem to know your way pretty well around a line camp.”
“I know this place because, growing up, this is where I’d come to be alone,” he explained, pressing closer. Beneath his penetrating glare, Shelby felt her cheeks warm.
“I hated st-st-stuttering. Some days I grew sick and tired, always wondering what kind of fool I’d sound like every time I opened my mouth. I felt guilty bringing embarrassment and shame to my folks. So I’d come here. Hide out. I’d talk to the stars, to the horses, even to myself. But I reckon I don’t care to hide anymore. Not with you. And neither will I let you hide from me. It’s your turn now to do the talking. Today. There’s lots of things that don’t add up, and dang, if’n the closer I get to you, the more puzzling you become. What sort of lady goes about wearing scandalous undergarments under men’s clothes? Where is it you really come from? And don’t tell me Cheyenne, because I’ve been to Cheyenne, and I have never known a woman there to dress such as you. Nor have I ever known a pair of trousers to be fff-f-fastened by some odd metal contraption.”
He looked uncomfortable as he cleared his throat, then darted a disapproving glance at her jeans.
Odd metal contraption? Baffled, Shelby glanced down when suddenly it hit her. “Oh, you mean a zipper? Come on, you must’ve seen . . . a . . . a . . . oh.”
Suddenly she understood his confusion.
“I have been wearing trousers a lot longer than you, and never in my various experiences have I ever come across any such device as a zzzz-z-zipper till I found one on y-you,” he stated with an angry glare.
“Yes, well, that’s correct. Zippers haven’t been invented yet.”
His scowl deepened. “I can’t figure you, only that it seems since you got here you’ve been running scared, and I’m determined to find out why. If stuttering has done me any service, it’s made me sensitive to the feelings of others in that I can recognize when folks have got something to hide. I might not be much at jawing, but I’m a plumb good listener.
She slipped her hands in the back pocket of her jeans. “You seem pretty comfortable speaking out all of a sudden.” She also noticed he was stuttering less, hardly at all, though she wasn’t about to make him self-conscious by drawing his attention to the fact.
His broad shoulders slumped with his shrug. “Things have ch-changed bbbbetween us. You’ve found me out. I’m a doomed man, for I’ve no choice but to be myself with you, because as soon as I open my mouth, you’ll be reminded I’m far from perfect. So I’ll not try to impress you, but hope for the best. One thing’s for certain. I keep my word g-good, and when I said I loved you, I m-m-m-m-meant it. Believing otherwise is right down foolishness.”
Shelby felt her smile grow from deep within. She removed her hands from her pockets and stepped closer to press them to his chest. She nodded. “I love you, too,” she said. And the way Ruckert stared at her, like she’d never looked more beautiful, made her blush like a nineteenth-century new bride.
He’d seen her at her worse. And still, he proposed to love her. Here she was, at her most vulnerable, and still, she hadn’t scared him away. Ruckert deserved the truth, she supposed. As bizarre as it was. And the timing was perfect. They were alone. She really couldn’t put it off any longer.
“I never told you my secret for the same reason you didn’t tell me yours,” she admitted. “I was afraid. In my case, afraid you wouldn’t believe me. Or worse, afraid you’d think I was crazy.”
With his free hand, he swept the hair off the side of her face. “Shelby McCoy, I already reckon you for a bit of loco blossom, but don’t take that to mean I love you any less.”
“Ha, ha, funny,” she bit out dryly. “But if you think having a stutter makes you an outcast . . . well, you haven’t heard anything yet.” She backed away. “I think maybe you should sit down for this. Why don’t we eat first?”
“Suit yourself, but we’re not leaving this place till you let me in on what it is you’ve been hiding. I’m determined to know all there is about the real McCoy.”
He smiled. He’d unwittingly made a joke, and Shelby thought, cute. Sweet, actually, though she couldn’t seem to summon more than a weak smile. Her gut twisted with worry. How to explain the concept of time travel to another when she didn’t understand it herself?
Chapter Eighteen
Her moment of truth loomed, despite her misgivings, sometime later, as Shelby sat across a campfire from Ruckert in the open mountain air, breakfast balanced on their knees. The trout, filleted and skinned, had been coated with cornmeal, then tossed into a sizzling skillet of melted, salt pork fat, until it had absorbed the flavor of wood smoke.
The result was quite tasty. And the best part was, Ruckert had done the cooking. He’d even produced a batch of biscuits with Cookie’s famous tomato syrup. Warm, sweet, tomato-y jam married with hot, flaky biscuit on her tongue to reveal just a hint of maple syrup. Mmm, if only she could relax and enjoy. If only she didn’t have a shocking confession hanging over her head.
She observed Ruckert, his jaw working as he chewed his trout. He, in turn, observed her, waiting. He hadn’t hounded her. Oh, not aloud, but Shelby could feel the pressure.
