WANTED (A Transported Through Time book) (6 page)

Yeah. She would have fit right in. Right down to the uneven red lipstick and bad rouge. Samantha, on the other hand, would have gone mad by the age of sixteen.

Samantha was far too independent, not to mention clean, to have ever survived the Old West. Chamber pots, sponge baths, tuberculosis, smallpox, dysentery (or whatever diseases they had to contend with)? No, thank you.

Thinking of it made it a bit easier to relinquish her tight hold on the old documents. Carla smiled toothsomely and held the items with the care and reverence Samantha supposed her father would have been happy with. The same care he’d have given them.

Sorry, Dad. I don’t know if this was what you had in mind, but I’m grateful. I promise I’ll make you proud, wherever you are.

Her eyes suddenly welled up, and Samantha turned so Carla wouldn’t see. She didn’t want another hug, or worse, the woman to pity her enough to refuse selling the items. The deal was too good to walk away from now. Fifteen thousand now, the remainder when they sold at auction in the next three months, if she got the bid beyond their agreed price. Enough to cover tuition, books, and maybe a month’s rent. If Carla wasn’t exaggerating, Samantha would have plenty more coming in to cover the remaining two-plus years’ worth.

“Come here, honey,” Carla said, motioning Samantha with her dragon lady fingernails on hands that looked a lot older than her face. “I want to show you something.”

How could she say no? Well, she would have if she could have. But she hadn’t been paid yet or signed the contract and all that. Jeez, she hoped this didn’t turn into one of those old-person-telling-a-story-from-the-past-a-mile-long-down-memory-lane kinds of things. She didn’t have the patience. Not today.

Today, she had to pick up Charles from the airport, retrieve her dry cleaning, and call in to see if an extra shift was available. Remembering Charles would be home tonight helped her smile. God, she’d missed her best friend over the weekend. She couldn’t wait to hand him some rent money and see his face. He never said so, but Samantha knew he had his doubts about this plan.

Mostly, that he didn’t think she’d go through with it.

She followed Carla down the long hall, through the dancing dust in sun pouring through the high windows. They paused at the end, where Carla jangled a key in the lock. She held the other hand like it had a cigarette in it, though it didn’t. The door popped open to a dark, cavernous room.

“Now, where is that switch?” Carla said, key-hand fumbling, empty cigarette-hand flexing. “Aha.”

The light came on, and Samantha’s breath caught. Inside, shiny metal walls lined a large, deep room. What the ...? It looked like the set from a spy flick, replete with modern lighting, slick, clean space, and tables and gadgets she figured must be part of authenticating art and whatnot. Sneaky little Carla! She was all shabby country on the outside, pure brains and technology inside.

Carla smiled like the Cheshire Cat. If a little yellow feather escaped those lips and floated to the floor, Samantha would not be more surprised.

“Keeps the place looking honest,” Carla said, thumbing at the old Elks-lodge portion that had made Samantha feel not safe, but at risk, like a rookie gambler in a saloon full of high rollers. “Follow me. Don’t worry. You can’t break anything. But if you please, don’t touch all the same.”

Samantha nodded slowly and realized her mouth was hanging open. No wonder the woman could read her like a book.

“No, honey, I just can,” Carla said.

“What?” Samantha’s brows snapped together. Had she said that out loud?

“I said I can read people. Isn’t that what you were meaning?”

“Yeah, but, how did you know? ...”

“Like I said, I can read people. Gift and a curse and all that, but part of the business, I guess. You coming?” Carla gestured for her to follow deeper, and Samantha did.

Riiiight.
Samantha wasn’t touching that with a ten-mile pole. Nope. She would keep her mouth shut and get out of here as quickly as possible, before the woman whose help she needed caused the prickles up her spine to become full gooseflesh.

Carla smiled over her shoulder, laughing in a short, little huff. She didn’t speak again until they reached the rear corner of the metallic room. There she pressed a couple of buttons, and a clear encasement moved out of the wall like a drawer opening.

A daguerreotype lay inside. Samantha didn’t have to ask who it was.

Her heart recognized him in an instant. It was him, her dream rescuer. Jesse Kincaid. A fluttery tremble raced from her belly up to her throat. She swallowed against it and forced her hands not to shake. She couldn’t stop them from reaching out to touch the encasement.

She couldn’t care less what Carla thought right now. All she cared about was getting a better look to verify what her mind said couldn’t be possible. Sitting astride a glorious black horse—one she could almost claim she knew—was the very same man she’d dreamed of.

At the memory, a current of warmth shivered through her. God, but he was nice to look at. Even with the sepia-toned, fading picture, she could almost distinguish the light green of his eyes, the near-black of his wavy hair. She closed her eyes a moment and let the full effect of him wash through her.

She missed him.

Strange, but true. She missed this dream hero and their single encounter. She’d hoped to relive it, dream of him again the way one does after watching TV or studying for a test. Even his smile, his sweet touch, even if it was out of context in her mind’s eye, she’d be happy for it. Simply to know he was there, somewhere still in existence.

Not merely one weird night brought on by stress and trauma, gone thereafter, never to be seen or dreamed again.

Not even the poster could comfort her. Not this picture. It should have comforted her. Seeing the likeness, the clear evidence she’d experienced unreality, the age of it should have given her a semblance of clarity.

It didn’t. Instead, she got a little peeved. She felt robbed. Part of her wanted to conjure up her fantasy man from her past—her father’s past—
the
past.

He was no more than a dead outlaw. With a gentleman’s smile and a seducer’s touch? Samantha shook her head and opened her eyes. She’d forgotten for a moment she wasn’t alone. Carla seemed unperturbed by her moment. Almost like she’d expected it. The woman stood in the same place, but busied herself thumbing through a dusty box of file folders.

Samantha looked down at the photo again. Her heart panged. Her trembling subsided into an ache. She said a silent good-bye. Turning her back on the encasement, she faced Carla, searching for the words that would wrap up this thing.

“Here,” Carla said, pulling out a folder. “Here we are. Eureka. X marks the spot.” Each phrase sounded more like a coo than an exclamation.

Samantha kept her brow smooth. Whatever this woman meant, she’d soon explain. The shining gleam in Carla’s eyes shouted as much.

Carla pressed the folder to her bosom, breathing in and out. Like it smelled of heaven or something. Then Carla jerked her head back toward the entry door. The encasement swooshed closed behind her, again concealed within the wall. Samantha resisted the urge to reach out and touch it one last time.

She’d been silly enough about this dream ... and in front of this woman. She followed Carla out, waiting patiently for her to lock the door and return to the foyer. They went through it, around the left side of the room, and up a small stairwell to the second floor. If Samantha weren’t so curious, she might have started asking questions.

Finally they ended up at a small metal table straight out of a 1970s Woolworth’s catalog.

“I’ll just get us coffee. Nothing like a kick of caffeine while you sign away. Cream? Sugar?”

Samantha nodded absently and stared at the thick and full-looking file folder, while Carla got each of them a cup of coffee.

She should be just signing and going, really. She didn’t quite have the luxury of time today. Not if she wanted to work tonight. And Charles would be at the airport, but she stayed. She waited for the cream, the sugar, for both cups to be stirred, for the spoon to be carefully laid on the saucers, and for Carla to bring over the cups.

All the while, not a single leaf of paper peeked out of the precarious-looking pile within the folder’s hug. Samantha wasn’t quite ready to look inside herself. Something told her that file wasn’t the sales agreement.

Carla took a long sip from her steaming china cup. Samantha followed suit. Wordlessly, the aging brunette opened the cover, letting the pile spill over the table.

Samantha’s gaze first distinguished a headline, patent and gripping: “Jesse Kincaid Found Murdered.” Her vision warbled, the world tipped, and Samantha decided she was definitely about to faint. As she slumped to the pale-green linoleum floor, she hoped she didn’t break Carla’s pretty teacup.

~~~

Chapter Six

Samantha opened her eyes. She looked up, focusing on the face hovering above her saying, “Miss? Miss, are you all right?” Samantha squinted, and the face came into focus. It wasn’t Carla’s face, but could have belonged to her younger sister.

Bolting upright, Samantha looked around her. The little metal and vinyl table was gone, along with the linoleum. In its place were roses on white lace and cotton, and plain oak chairs. Under her hands
was
dusty, grit-covered wood. Good God, what had happened?

“Where’s Carla? Who are you? Where am I?”

“Oh, no. She’s hit her head but good,” the woman said, but not to her.

Samantha looked around for who else might be listening.

“Tommy!” the woman called in a booming voice that made Samantha jump. “Tommy Echavaria, get in here. Now.”

The loud thump of footsteps neared, running. A short, burly man with brown curls and dingy suspenders burst through the door. “Ginny? What is it? Is the baby okay?”

“Yes, Tommy. Yes. The baby’s fine,” Ginny said. She gestured to Samantha. “The woman you found on the road woke up in the while you took getting Doc Vernor to come on over and see her.”

“She’s okay?” Tommy seemed unperturbed by Ginny’s tone.

“Clearly not.”

“No, I’m fine. I just fainted, I think.” Samantha tried to stand. She didn’t know where she was or who these people were, but she knew she was getting the hell out of here fast. The room spun and forced her to sit back down. Where pain stabbed mercilessly through her head, her hand covered it.

“Help me get her onto the table, Tommy. You should have put her there in the first place.” Ginny was definitely in charge.

Tommy scooped Samantha up in his arms, and Ginny cleared clattering dishes from the table. She wasn’t going to throw a fit. She wasn’t about to argue. She could tell, even from the quick, sidelong glance she’d managed, this woman might try even harder to keep her here. Plus, her body felt like Jell-o. She couldn’t stand on her own yet.

Tommy laid her down. Samantha’s calves dangled off the table’s edge.

“What’s she wearin’, Ginny?”

“Mind your eyes, mister, and don’t worry about what she is and isn’t wearing.”

She looked up at Ginny and Tommy, a cute couple, actually, perfectly sized and suited for one another with different versions of brown hair and blue eyes. Each assessed her and the table in their own ways. Tommy with his arms crossed and head tilted. Ginny with her hands on her hips and eyebrows up. Up high.

Samantha couldn’t remember what she was wearing. Hopefully, panties at least. Probably jeans and a blouse.

“Get Jesse,” Ginny commanded finally.

“I thought you wanted me to get Doc Vernor,” Tommy said, none too submissively.

Ginny shook her head. “No. Changed my mind. Get Jesse.”

Samantha blinked her eyes. Even if it was lunacy to hope for it, to even think it, nonetheless, her belly flip-flopped with expectation. Somehow, had she fallen into a new dream? Of him? Boundless delight lit up every fiber of Samantha’s dreaming body.

Jesse.

Yes, Tommy, go get Jesse.

Let him be as perfect as she remembered.

*

A whir sounded as Jesse sliced the axe into the small log, a thud as it stuck in the stump. The halves drummed to the other pieces piling up. He settled another into place. Daylight dwindled down, and the afternoon sunshine warmed his bare shoulders. A sheen of sweat formed over his body from his exertion, cooling his skin under the tease of the late summer breeze.

Work felt good, shut his mind and opened his limbs to the rhythm and press of the axe. Lift, swing, slice. Didn’t need the wood. Not for months. He needed the work.

If he didn’t keep his mind blank and closed down, she’d end up wandering into his thoughts. She’d spent far too much time there as it was. For no good purpose. For no good reason.

She had no business showing up there, in his mind. Sneaking like a ghost from the grave, stealing his sanity. He needed his sanity. Craziness had him beginning to contemplate a way to get back to Winnemucca, track her down, and make her his again and again until his body was purged of all need and want of that smooth skin, those daring eyes.