Journey to Yesterday (5 page)

She read on, unable to stop. There were fights and harsh
words through a long cold winter. It culminated in mid-December. The entry for
the fifteenth was stained with tears:
Rio told me today that he sold his
half of the Belle to Dade McCrory. I can’t believe he would do such a thing
without discussing it with me first. He said he doesn’t like owning a saloon,
that it involves too much responsibility. He said he talked to Rojas over at
the Queen of Bodie, and he’s going to start dealing there tomorrow night. Well,
he can just take Maddy Brown with him, because tomorrow she’ll be out of a job!
Maybe I’m being too hasty. If I keep Maddy here, maybe he’ll come back to see
her…

The next few pages were tear-stained, filled with the pain
and heartache that only the very young can feel.

The entry for January 1, 1880, read: A New Year. I wonder
what it will hold for me.

The entry for January 31 was only four words that conveyed a
world of sadness:
Will winter never end?

Shaye quickly read the succeeding entries, which talked
about Daisy’s new partner. As Clark had said, Daisy wrote that she was certain
McCrory was skimming the profits. In February, she started drinking with the
customers, something she had apparently never done before. By March, she had
graduated to whiskey. In April, she was taking men to her bed again, sometimes
for money, sometimes for “love”. In May and June, there were more references to
McCrory.

It was in June that she found the nerve to confront McCrory.
The entry for the seventh read: “He can deny it all he likes, but I know he is
Stealing money from the cash drawer. We have more customers than ever and
should be making a bigger profit. Dade said it was my fault, that I was
drinking up our profits. The Bastard. I told him if it didn’t stop, I was going
to ask Rio for help.”

June 20. I went to see Rio this morning. I wore my new
dress. I didn’t have anything to drink last night. I was very nervous about
seeing him again, but he was very Kind and Gentlemanly. I told him that I was
sure Dade is cheating me, and he said he would have a talk with Dade. He said
he was sorry things hadn’t worked out better with Dade, and that he would take
care of everything. And then he told me how pretty I looked, and I threw myself
in his arms and told him I loved him. I begged him to come back to the saloon,
to give me another chance. He smiled down at me, not with love, but with Pity
in his eyes. How could I have done such a thing? I have never been so mortified
in my Life.

There were several other entries. She mentioned a new
shipment of crystal glasses from New York City, a letter from her sister
informing her that her mother had died.

The entry for thirtieth took Shaye completely by surprise. I
can’t believe it! Dade asked me to Marry him! He went down on his knee and
declared he loved me. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I told him I
couldn’t marry him, that I didn’t love him. He told me I was a fool, that Rio
would never marry a girl like me, and stormed out of the house.

And then, abruptly, the entries stopped. The last one, dated
July 4, 1880, read: I can’t stop loving him, but I know he will never love me.
I don’t want to go on living without him…

With a sigh, Shaye closed the diary and put in on the table
beside the bed, then turned out the light. She couldn’t think of any reason why
Valverde would have killed Daisy. McCrory seemed to be the only one with a
motive.

Slipping under the covers, she closed her eyes. Love, she
thought. Was there really such a thing? And did it ever last?

It was a typical Old West saloon, as big as a barn. The bar
was to the left of the swinging doors, and ran the length of the building. The
obligatory picture of a nude hung over the bar. The woman in this one was
plump, with long red-gold hair that fell over her ample breasts. Across the
room from the bar there was a short-order restaurant with a long counter and a
number of stools. The rest of the room was filled with gambling tables. Most of
them seemed to be faro games. Grim-faced dealers sat behind the tables. She
stared at the stacks of gold and silver piled on the tables. Hundreds and
hundreds of dollars worth, she thought, or maybe thousands.

Miners in faded red shirts, canvas pants, and high black
boots rubbed shoulders with dapper gamblers clad in white linen shirts, silk
cravats, and black city suits. The smell of cigar smoke, unwashed bodies, and
cheap perfume mingled with the scent of bacon and onions.

She moved slowly through the crowd, and then she saw him. He
was sitting at a poker table with four other men, his expression bland, his
eyes narrowed as he opened a fresh deck, shuffled the cards, and dealt a hand.
She couldn’t draw her gaze from his face. His skin was innately dark. His hair
was thick and black and fell past his shoulders. He had a proud nose, a firm
jaw, straight black brows. His lips were full, sensual. He grinned at something
one of the men said, and she saw the hint of a dimple in his cheek.

A woman walked over to the table, her hips swaying in bold
invitation as she came to stand behind him. She laid a hand on his shoulder in
a gesture that managed to be both casual and possessive as she bent over to
whisper something in his ear, revealing a generous expanse of powdered flesh.

He laughed and waved the woman away. And then he looked up,
and his gaze met hers. There was a flicker of recognition, of disbelief. He
spoke to one of the men, then laid his cards face down on the table. Rising, he
walked toward her, a predatory gleam in his dark, dark eyes.

Her heart began to pound with fear, trepidation, excitement…

“Shaye, if you’re awake, breakfast is almost ready.”

The soft spoken words woke her with a start. She closed her
eyes, wanting to go back to the dream, but it was gone.

With a sigh, she sat up. “Thanks, Clark, I’ll be right out.”

She dressed quickly in a pair of white shorts and a black
Jekyll and Hyde tee shirt, brushed her teeth, stuffed her dirty clothes in her
overnight bag, made the bed, then went into the kitchen. A glance out the
window showed it was going to be a beautiful day.

“Morning,” Clark said. “I hope you’re hungry.”

She didn’t usually eat breakfast, but today she was
starving. “I am. Anything I can do to help?”

He shook his head. “Want some coffee?”

“Please.”

She sat down, thinking how nice it was to have a man wait on
her. Josh wouldn’t have thought of fixing her breakfast any more than he would
have thought of making the bed. She had always wondered why making the bed was
her job. After all, he had slept in it, too. She pushed his memory from her
mind. It was over and done. She was never going to give a man the power to hurt
her again.

“Hey?”

She looked up. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

He laughed softly. “Your breakfast is getting cold.”

“What?” She looked down at the plate in front of her. “I’m
sorry.”

“Where were you this time? Back in the past again?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But this time it was my past.”

He grunted softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“I’m a good listener.”

Suddenly, she did want to talk about it. “Are you married?”

“Not any more.”

“Divorced?”

Clark nodded. “Three years.”

“Me, too. I guess no one stays married anymore. Why did you
get divorced?”

“No reason. Lots of reasons. Heck, I don’t know. We got
along fine until we got married, and then it was just one fight after another.
We split up for awhile and found out we were both happier that way, so…” He
shook his head. “I guess some people just can’t live together.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What about you?”

“I was away on an assignment. I came home early, and found
him in bed with a friend of mine.”

“That’s rough.”

She shrugged, as if it wasn’t important. “It was my own
fault. I should have seen it coming. He hated my job. He wanted me to quit. He
thought I should stay home and be a housewife, like his mother.”

Clark sat back, his expression thoughtful. “No, I can’t
picture you doing that.”

“I couldn’t either.”

“So, you divorced him?”

She nodded. “He married her a week after the divorce was
final. They had a baby six months later.”

“Are you sorry you left him?”

“No!” She stared down at the eggs, now cold, on her plate.
She wasn’t sorry she had left Josh. She could never stay with a man who had
been unfaithful to her. And contrary to what had Josh believed, she did want a
home and a family. But they had both been young. She hadn’t wanted to get
pregnant until she could stay home with the baby, and she hadn’t been ready to
quit her job. It was fun, exciting work, and she loved it. Maybe she had loved
it too much. Maybe she hadn’t loved Josh enough. “I don’t know,” she said with
a sigh. “Maybe it was my fault.”

“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that it takes two to make a
marriage,” he remarked.

“I suppose.”

“Do you want me to warm those eggs up for you?”

“No, thank you. I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought.”

“The least I can do is warm up your coffee.” He stood up and
got the coffee pot.

It was nice to be waited on, Shaye thought, nice to have a
man who thought of her needs, too, instead of just his own. She drank her
coffee, accepted a refill.

“I guess you’ll be leaving today,” Clark said.

She nodded. “I’m on my way to Plumas Pines.”

“Pretty place,” he said. “My folks used to take me there in
the summer. I haven’t been there in years. Good fishing, as I recall.”

“The best,” she said with a sigh. “I should probably be on
my way.”

He nodded, but neither of them moved.

Shaye looked out the window. “Maybe I’ll spend another day
here,” she remarked. Maybe she really would write that book. The longer she
stayed here, the more fascinated she was by the town, by the story of Alejandro
Valverde.

“Well, I’ve got to get going.” Rising, Clark carried his
plate to the sink and rinsed it off. “If you decide to stay another day, you’re
welcome to stay here. I’ll be at the museum the rest of the day. If you decide
to go, try to stop by before you leave.”

“I will.”

“If I don’t see you before you leave, have a safe trip.”

“Thank you. Now that I know where you live, maybe I’ll send
you a postcard.”

“I’d like that. Lock up when you leave, will you? And don’t
worry about the dishes. I’ll do them later.”

Shaye stood up. “Thanks for everything, Clark.”

“My pleasure.”

They stood a few feet apart, not quite friends, but no
longer strangers.

“Well,” Clark said, “I’d better go.” He closed the distance
between them, started to take her hand, and then gave her a quick hug instead.
“Maybe you’ll stop by on your way home.”

“Maybe. Thanks again, for everything.”

He nodded, then grabbed his hat and left the house.

Shaye stared after him. She thought about Clark as she
filled the sink with hot water and washed their few dishes. He was a nice man.
If she’d had time, and if he lived closer to Los Angeles, she might have liked
to get to know him better, she thought, and then shook her head. No way. She
didn’t need another man in her life. At least not now.

She dried the dishes and put them away, grabbed her
overnight bag and her backpack, and left the house, being careful to lock the
door.

It was time to get back to the real world, time to forget
about ghosts and Alejandro Valverde. She was a newspaper reporter. She didn’t
have time to write a novel. She was on vacation, obviously a much-needed
vacation. It was time to get on with it.

She didn’t see any other tourists as she walked down the
dusty road. She thought that was odd, but maybe not. Clark had said there were
days when hardly anyone came through.

It struck her suddenly how quiet it was. Not even a breeze
stirred the air. It was like the whole town was holding its breath. In spite of
the sun’s heat, she felt suddenly cold.

She had an inexplicable urge to glance over her shoulder,
and an equally strong urge to run away just as fast as she could.

“You’ve been here too long,” she muttered.

When she reached the corner of Green and Main, the wind
began to blow. She shivered, overcome by the strangest feeling that she had
never felt a wind quite like this one before. The sky turned suddenly dark.
Blowing sand stung her eyes and she squeezed them shut, wondering if there was
a storm coming.

And then, as quickly as it began, the wind stilled. She
adjusted her grip on her overnight bag and stepped into the intersection. It
was then she heard it, the sound of a piano. It wasn’t her imagination this
time. She took a few steps down Main Street and the music grew louder.

She paused a moment, and then continued on. She stopped in
front of a two-story building on the left side of the street. A weathered sign
proclaimed it was the Queen of Bodie Saloon. The music was coming from inside
the building.

Shaye frowned. She didn’t remember seeing this place before,
and she had walked through the town at least three times in the last couple of
days. The Queen of Bodie. Suddenly, the name rang a bell. Of course! It was one
of the saloons that Daisy had mentioned in her diary.

Wondering how she had missed it on her earlier excursions, Shaye
stepped up on the wooden sidewalk, surprised that the swinging doors weren’t
locked. Only a few of the buildings were open to the public.

She could hear voices now, a woman’s laughter. With a shrug,
Shaye pushed her way through the doors.

The saloon was crowded with people, mostly men. Men dressed
in faded red shirts and tall black boots. Smoke hung over the room like a thick
gray shroud. She could hear the whir of a wheel of fortune, the click of dice,
the solid clink of gold and silver coins.

A long bar stretched away from the door. There was a
restaurant across from the bar, every stool occupied. She frowned, thinking the
place looked vaguely familiar, and then shook it off.

She stared at the scene before her, her mind racing. Her
first thought was that they were shooting a movie, but there were no lights, no
cameras, and then she realized it had to be some sort of Old West reenactment.
She wondered briefly why Clark hadn’t mentioned it to her, and why it was being
held on a day when she seemed to be the only tourist in the park.

Still, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and she
decided to make the best of it while she was there. Tucking her overnight bag
under one arm, she worked her way through the crowd, wondering if it was okay
to take pictures. Several of the men stared at her legs as she passed by, but
she was used to that. She had nice legs.

Voices rose over the din. Male voices. Angry voices.

“You damned cheat!”

There was a sudden silence, as if someone had turned off the
sound.

The crowd before her parted, giving her a clear view of the
confrontation at the poker table in the back of the room.

A miner pushed away from the table and stood up, his body
tense, as he glared at the man across from him. His face was almost as red as
his shirt as he shouted, “Damn you, Valverde, that card came off the bottom!”

Shaye’s heart slammed against her rib cage. Valverde.

The gambler stood up, his movements slow, graceful,
deliberate. He wore black trousers, a white shirt, a black broadcloth coat,
which he swept out of the way, revealing a black gunbelt and holster. “I don’t
have to cheat, Syler. You’re a piss-poor card player if I ever saw one.”

The miner’s face turned even redder. His hand hovered over
the gun on his hip.

Another man, also wearing a red shirt, laid a hand on
Syler’s arm.“Fred, don’t. He’ll kill you.”

“I ain’t afraid of him,” Syler retorted, yet even as he
spoke, his hand fell away from his gun and he was backing away from the table.

She stared at the scene before her. It was familiar somehow,
yet she knew she had never been there before. Slowly, afraid of what she might
see, she glanced to the left, her gaze drawn to the picture over the bar. A
shiver slid down her spine. She recognized the place and the buxom nude all too
well. It was the saloon from her dream.

And the man at the table, the one slowly turning in her
direction, was a dead ringer for Alejandro Valverde.

Her blood ran cold, then hot, then cold again as his gaze
met hers. She felt suddenly lightheaded. She closed her eyes a moment, and when
she opened them again, she seemed to see everything through a blue-gray haze. A
loud buzzing filled her ears, she felt herself falling, watched helplessly as
the floor rushed up to meet her, and then everything went black.