Hearts Out of Time (3 page)

Right. The twenty-first century was over a hundred years ahead and events from her past hadn’t yet occurred. Although she had trouble keeping a straight face, she dropped the subject. He couldn’t understand the innuendo.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

They were walking again, this time at an easier pace. At least, he wasn’t a total jerk. Being on the move felt good, and it took her mind off her filthy, anachronistic appearance. Where did girls shop in this century? Did rich women send their maids to purchase beautiful dresses for them?

“To meet a friend. We scheduled a social gathering for this morning before I received the message regarding your father’s whereabouts. If we hurry, we shan’t be too terribly late, no thanks to your untimely arrival.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, she was the one lagging behind while he marched ever onward like a real Lord, she got that.

Wiping soft specks off her cheek, she spotted a woman wearing a corseted outfit with tight sleeves and small puffs capping the shoulders. The dress didn’t seem comfortable, yet the man beside her with a pointed beard and generous moustache appeared even more rigorous in his suit. How would those people react if shown modern mini-skirts or bathing suits? What about G-strings?

Giggles rose up her throat but she held them back. She’d better focus on keeping up with Garrett.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked. “Is he going to help us?”

Chapter 3

“Certainly,” Garrett responded. “He pledged himself to the cause. All of us did.”

Did groups of people in 1899 San Francisco have a cause she’d never heard of? Another secret she’d have to uncover.

“What do you mean?” she asked. “Who’s ‘us’?”

“Come.” He seized her arm and suddenly pulled her forward to avoid a cable car made of solid oak and brass.

Just like the good old days. So engrossed in the conversation, she hadn’t seen the cable car coming down the street. “Phew!”

“Do you ever pay attention?” Garrett frowned at her.

“Sorry about that, but everything is so confusing and vivid here. I’m going to need some time to adjust to . . .”

She made a sweeping gesture that implied
all this.
The time period, the weird surroundings, the shock of a new reality. Her genuine answer seemed to hit home because Garrett’s features softened and he let go of her arm.

“I apologize,” he said. “Have no fear, our destination is at hand and we shall answer your questions as best we can.”

Before she could thank Garrett for his remarkable sensitivity, she found herself being roughly jerked from behind into an alleyway and pushed against a smelly wall. Blood rushed in her veins as she hit the hard surface. She gasped and tried to scream, but the short burly man holding her up muzzled her with a greasy palm.

Twisting her body didn’t achieve anything as he pressed on her mouth even harder and the wall grated the back of her head. Sweat coating her neck, she winced from the sharp sting while uttering a cry that nobody heard.

“Shut up, missy, or your man dies.”

Scared and a bit dazed, she still experienced an odd sensation in her belly on hearing the words
your man
. Would she like Garrett to be her man? Would she enjoy lying naked on a bed next to his lean body, his dark gaze set on her mouth while he caressed her breasts and the inside of her thighs? That would have been a train of thought worth pursuing if they hadn’t been under attack.

Three men had already lunged on Garrett. He struck his fist at the biggest one who went sprawling in the dirt and didn’t get up. Had they been fighting one-on-one, he’d have overcome his opponents easily, but while one stayed down, the other two pounded on him like trained boxers punching a heavy bag. He seemed to protect his head though, the blows landing mostly on his ribs and back.

She had to do something. Frustration invading her senses, she attempted to push her assailant again. He retaliated, his other hand shooting to her chest right before he pinched her nipple with savagery.

“Don’t move!”

Her eyes watered and a yelp died in her throat as her nostrils flared to gulp in air. Worse than the pain, revulsion coursed through her when he didn’t let go but started rubbing her breast. His gaze took on a glassy look while he kept kneading her. She felt his erection against her navel.

“Feels good, missy,” he said in a husky tone, “how about giving ole Barney a little treat?”

Perhaps over her retching body. Trying to ignore the nauseating sensation gripping her bowels, she focused on breathing and cast a glance over her assailant’s shoulder.

Garrett was having the shit beaten out of him by three men. Who were these guys? What did they want? Despite the blows raining down on him, Garrett remained on his feet.

Her heart sank. There would be no way out. Nobody knew they were there. Nobody would spot them in that shabby alleyway.

But her legs were free and she refused to be helpless. As the burly man continued his revolting motions on her breast, she kicked him as hard as she could. He didn’t budge but tightened his grip on her mouth. She could taste his stinking skin, and another shudder of revulsion hit her stomach.

Why did muggers always have to be skuzzy and horny, and why the hell did it have to be about her? She was going to die here, robbed of the chance to help her father and without seeing him one last time.

She suddenly caught a glimpse of whiteness from the corner of her eye. A sharp whistle stabbed the air and the white mass rushed into the struggle. It launched at Garrett’s attackers, full speed.

The sounds of skin ripping, bones crunching, and screams bouncing off the alley walls. The thing was so fast and vicious that she only made out a blur of bodies while blood and mud splashed in all directions.

Against her, the burly man faltered. He removed the hands stuck on her mouth and chest while taking a hasty step backward.

“Shit, I ain’t paid for that.”

Paid? Who rewarded him for assaulting her?

New hope filled her lungs. Surely someone must have heard their screams. She remained motionless as he deserted his bellowing compatriots without a backward glance and fled the slaughter. Yet nobody, not even the police, came to assess the situation.

Free and at last breathing fresh air, she witnessed the three attackers strewn across the ground, now silent and drenched in blood. Garrett leaned against the wall, getting his breath back while rubbing his left arm.

Beside him, a dog observed her. A thick, red liquid dripped from the chops that it licked with a sweep of its tongue. A dog or a wolf?

“Garrett, are you all right?”

The unfamiliar voice sprang from her left. A man with an engaging face stood a few feet away when she turned her head toward the sound.

As Garrett came up to him, the newcomer smiled at them both.

“Unlike you, old chap,” the man said, “it seems like I am right on time.”

“You definitely are, Weedon, and I’m grateful to you for not taking leave. I admit I wasn’t expecting a trap so soon.”

You don’t say.
Tracy bristled. Garrett’s words confirmed he’d imagined some kind of ambush. Were the muggers tied to her mysterious caller as well as her father’s disappearance? The worst part was that she couldn’t interrogate them because they were all unconscious, half killed by a lethal animal.

Standing so close to the bleeding men and with her sneakers soaked in mud, 1899 San Francisco abruptly felt more threatening than exhilarating. Why did her dad have dealings with those people?

Garrett straightened gingerly. “Miss Richardson, please meet my good friend Weedon Welsh and his faithful companion, White Fur.”

A white-furred dog called White Fur? To say the least, Garrett’s friend displayed a weird sense of humor. Upon hearing its name, the wolfdog pricked its ears, but kept on staring at her. She could sense this animal had savage, predatory, deadly faculties and, coming out of nowhere, it had saved their lives.

The animal’s stance brought clear pictures to mind. A solitary beast, cruel and ferocious when threatened, but also intelligent, lithe of body with iron-like, powerful muscle. On impulse, she crouched before it and extended her hand.

“Don’t!”

Too late.

As Garrett and Weedon shouted in unison, the wolfdog padded to her, jaws still crimson. The animal had never met her before, yet didn’t attack. Instead, he licked his chops clean then sniffed her hand for a heartbeat then gently lowered its muzzle.

Smiling, she scratched its head all the way to the back of its ears. There, she stroked the thick fur before she glided her hands along firm ribs, feeling the soft, heavy texture of its coat under her fingers. When the wolfdog nuzzled up against her neck, both men let out a deep sigh.

Pleased to hear Garrett’s relieved sigh, she riveted her gaze to the icy blue eyes of the dog.

“Good boy. Thank you for saving my life. I’ll always be grateful to you, and I’m proud to be your friend.”

The way he cocked his head seemed as if he understood her, or sensed a connection between them. She straightened, but not before he licked her hand and padded back to his master with a wag of his tail.

“Blimey. I’ve never seen White Fur act this way with a total stranger. He’s put his trust in you, hasn’t he?”

“Rather unbelievable.” Garrett’s voice bordered on surprise, and her insides softened. She got him this time, didn’t she?

Weedon Welsh walked to her, hand outstretched, a huge grin on his friendly face. She took a liking to the newcomer at once.

“I’m very happy to make your acquaintance, Miss Richardson,” he said. “Sorry we had to meet in such dire circumstances.”

“I’m glad to meet you, too. Please, call me Tracy. Garrett insists on using my full name, but he’s pretty uptight, isn’t he?”

Startled for a second, Weedon roared with laughter while bobbing his head. A very comforting sound after what they’d been through. Peals of laughter bursting from him, he clapped Garrett on the back. “Dear Lord, this one
is
for you.”

Weedon continued to chortle, seemingly even more delighted by the nonplussed expression on his friend’s face.

Garrett frowned. “Er . . . Let’s leave here, shall we?”

“Sure, my friend.”

Tracy watched Garrett slightly shift on his legs and tilt his head. Was this a sign of embarrassment? Probably not. He studied the body-strewn alley with a cold expression.

“We ought to retreat to a safe place,” Garrett said. “Miss Richardson is in no condition to be remarked upon.”

Although he pointed at her splattered jeans and atypical sneakers, he carried on speaking to Weedon. “Moreover we cannot delay discussing our immediate options. Perhaps the Palace. What say you?”

“It sounds good to me. We shouldn’t wait around in any case. On my way to you, I passed two police officers. They’ll find these cutthroats soon enough. A pity White Fur didn’t finish them off.”

Determined to forget the last image of the three bloodied men in the alleyway, Tracy rubbed her arms. “What’s the dog’s real name?”

Garrett eyed her with a worried expression, as though she didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘sanity.’

“Well, now,” he said, “White Fur. I most certainly recall telling you.”

“You most certainly did. I just thought you were kidding.”

Without letting him comment on her sarcastic tone, she turned to the much friendlier Weedon. “He’s such an exceptional animal.”

“I thank you on his behalf,” Weedon said. “Don’t say that too much in front of him, though, it might get to his head.”

When Weedon winked at her, she realized he was playing with words. Her cheeks heated up at the idea that Garrett also got the joke and mulled over being called an exceptional animal. She dropped her gaze while they walked and counted up to a hundred until her surroundings began to make sense.

The large building across the road looked somewhat different, yet she’d gone past it often enough in her own time period to recognize the Palace Hotel. She stood on the corner of Market and New Montgomery Street.

Eyes peeled, she stared at the magnificent structure destroyed by the devastating 1906 earthquake then rebuilt on the same spot a few years later.

She’d been inside only twice in her life, her friends being unable to afford drinks there, let alone a meal. But this was the real deal, the original Palace that would house wealthy patrons for another six and a half years. Should she tell Garrett and Weedon about the upcoming disaster?

In science-fiction and time-travel movies, characters were always warned about the dramatic consequences of disrupting the course of natural events. Maybe she’d better keep her mouth shut.

“Are you coming, Tracy?”

Weedon’s question broke into her thoughts. With a nod, she followed her companions inside the Palace then gasped when they entered the lobby. Who stayed in this unbelievable hotel and how much did a room cost?

“Miss Richardson?” Garrett said.

“Yeah.”

She wrenched her gaze away from the beautiful sight. Struck with the overwhelming need to visit this fabulous hotel, she winced as pins and needles danced along her calves.

“We ought to—” Garrett said.

“We don’t ‘ought’ anything because I want to see this place,” she said. “Come on, give me the grand tour.”

“Dallying may not be—” Garrett said.

“Oh, don’t be such a drag.” She motioned toward the building.

Weedon chuckled behind her. Probably spurred or pissed by his friend’s reaction, Garrett looked down at her, reminding her of her not-yet-in-fashion and splattered-in-mud garments. Surely she’d attract the wrong sort of attention.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “I forgot about my clothes.”

With a super-irritating and confident air, Garrett offered his arm. “No one shall bother you in my company.”

Really? Did his ‘Lordy’ attitude shield him from respecting rules in such a sumptuous establishment? A shiver slid up her spine when she rolled her fingers around Garrett’s sleeve. His forearm muscle contracted instantly and his gaze darkened, but not in anger.

They stared at each other for an endless second, the noise and chattering around her being replaced by the loud hammering of her heart. Moistness touched her panties and she held her breath as his square jaw twitched.

Did Garrett feel it too? Was he fighting the same desire piercing her belly and drying her mouth? Pulse beating against her temples, she licked her lips right before he broke eye contact and cleared his throat.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she replied.

He then nodded at Weedon before leading her toward a wide opening. On the other side, she barely suppressed a boisterous “Wow” as she discovered what could only be called a carriage entrance.

“This is the Grand Court,” Garrett said.

Sunrays streamed through the sky-lit open center of the building, shards of brightness enhancing the beauty of the large patio overlooked by seven stories of white-columned balconies. Goose flesh rising over her arms, she marveled at the magnificence of this symbol of world-class elegance.