West (History Interrupted Book 1) (4 page)

Lighting slashed across the sky and lit up his eyes. They were pale green, a striking shade of mint I had never seen before.

My cold hands were against his warm chest, and I curled my fingers instinctively, uncertain if I should be touching him yet startled by how solid and muscular his lean frame was. Shivering, I huddled closer to him until I was pressed to him, not caring what he thought.

One of his arms went around me. He spoke, but the words warbled through my mind as if I hadn’t quite awaken fully yet.

The man was confusing me, neither cowboy nor Indian, and dressed in the clothing of the eighteen hundreds when it was clearly past the tourist hours of Tombstone. On the plus side, he was built like someone whose lean strength was honed from daily use rather than the bulk of a gym. He had absolutely no body fat that I could feel.

This time when he spoke, it came out nonsense.

Or maybe, some Native American dialect.
I had only heard it in movies and had no idea for sure. Had I been blown out of my hotel and into a nearby reservation?

Another voice answered him before his attention returned to me.

“English?” I murmured.

“Who are you?” he demanded in a gravelly voice. “What’re you doing here?”

That I understood.

“J…Josie. Josie Jackson,” I managed.

There was a surprised moment of silence, and then, “Not again!” He released me and spun, stalking away, leaving me alone in the cold.

What the hell does that mean?

I watched him join two other men dressed from head to foot like Native Americans, who were mounted and waiting on horseback. He flung himself onto the horse with no effort – and no saddle. They appeared to be unaffected by the downpour. Muscular thighs pressed to the horse’s belly, and he picked up reins to a bridle much simpler than any I had ever seen during all my years of dressage.

“Let me guess. You’re John’s daughter.” The man I had never met before was
angry
with me.

“Yes,” I said. “How do you know that?”
My parents have been dead for twenty years!

Ignoring me, he spoke rapidly to the two Native Americans waiting.

I experienced a sense of being disconnected, like watching myself in a dream, except that all my senses were painfully aware. Shaking from cold, I rubbed my arms to warm them while attempting to process what the hell happened that I ended up
here
. 

It had something to do with Carter. I didn’t quite understand the instinct, except that we’d been talking about going back in time.

An odd feeling washed over me, one that sat heavily in my stomach. I was awake and aware but nowhere I could recall ever being. The clouds above had slowed from their frantic movement. The thunder was growing distant, and the rain was beginning to subside.

Dressed like cowboys and Indians after hours. Riding horses bareback. Some random stranger claiming to send me to another time in a dream.
Uneasiness went through me at the train of thought that was inching towards a possibility I didn’t feel was remotely plausible.

“For only trade,” one of the Native Americans said, motioning past me.

“Trade?” Unable to decipher his meaning, I watched him. “What do you mean?”

He held up a piece of the moldavite.

Understanding crossed through me. They knew it was worth something, which meant my plan to repay my student loans wasn’t going to work.

I turned away. Walking to the edge of the crater, I stared into it. It still steamed, and there was a plume of dust hanging in the air, as if the meteorite had recently hit. Chunks of mossy, glassy moldavite glowed in the occasional lightning, giving the place an eerie appearance, as if it wasn’t quite part of this world.

How had I ended up in the middle of a crater?

My skin was fevered but I felt cold inside, as if some part of me knew the world was no longer mine.

“We should go.” The curt direction from the cowboy with green eyes jarred me, reminded me that I wasn’t alone. He moved his horse close enough for me to feel its heat.

“So cold,” I murmured and huddled next to the great animal’s neck. “But I think I should stay here.”

“You’re trespassing on the Indians’ lands, ma’am,” was the calm if terse response.

“I’m on a reservation?”

“A what?”

Uh, oh.
I didn’t let my mind go down that path.

“You’ll catch your death out here,” he added, voice softening. “C’mon. I’ll take you home.”

“Really?” I asked. “You know where my home is?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t drag me off and murder me or something, right?”

He gave a surprised chuckle. “No, ma’am, I won’t. I’m the local law. It’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

After a brief hesitation, I took the arm he held out to me. With ease that hinted at his strength, he pulled me onto the horse to sit behind him. I settled between his muscular frame and the horse’s rump, instinctively wrapping my arms around him.

“How did you find yourself out here, ma’am?” While polite, there was something in his tone that made me think he wasn’t as surprised as I was to discover me in the middle of a crater.

The horse began walking, and I debated what to say. My teeth chattered almost too much to speak.

“Take my coat,” my rescuer said. He pulled it from a saddlebag and handed it back to me.

I hugged it around me. The interior was soft from wear and smelled of the man it belonged to: leather, horses, rain, and his own dark, subtle musk. It was a natural, purely male combination with no trace of cologne or fruity soap like I used.

I rested my cheek against his back, absently breathing in his scent. It was oddly comforting, not quite familiar, but pleasant enough that it could be.

Like Carter.
There was no such thing as a time machine, no way in the world I was in the past. I didn’t even know why I considered it, except that being blown out of town by a meteor opened the door to other strange possibilities.

He waited until my shaking stopped before asking again how I came to be out in the rain.

“I don’t really know,” I said. I wasn’t about to tell him what I suspected. It was hard enough for me to humor the idea without speaking it aloud and ending up humiliated when we reached my aunt and uncle. “What did you mean when you said
not again
?” I asked.

“I usually find the town drunk in a hole in the middle of a storm.”

I frowned. He was hiding something. He’d uttered the phrase after I told him my name, not when he found me. Not about to lose my coat or ride, I didn’t challenge him.

“Rare day when you rescue a pretty girl out in the middle of the storm. Your governess know you’re out?” he added.

The man with amazing eyes called me pretty. I smiled. “Governess?”

He muttered something beneath his breath without answering.

Dressed in my usual pajama bottoms – an old pair of yoga pants – and a tank top, I hadn’t gone to bed thinking I needed a coat in the desert when I awoke. I was soaked, though the rain had turned to a light drizzle. Without his coat, I would catch a cold for sure.

In fact, I didn’t recall going to bed at all. I went to Carter’s office and then … passed out? Then who put me in my pajamas?

I twisted, a sliver of panic working its way through my system at the idea of missing time. While not out of the ordinary for a long night of drinking, I wasn’t certain why I didn’t recall stumbling into bed at least.

The dust plume above the crater was still visible. It was impossible to tell directions in the storm. There was no glow on any horizon to indicate a city was close, and the rolling hills of grass was more representative of the fertile Great Plains than the desert southwest.

Was it possible to have been thrown miles and miles away from Tombstone by the meteor without so much as a scratch?

My cell phone vibrated. Adrenaline surged through me at the reminder I had a way to call home or for help. I yanked it out of my pocket.

There was one message.

Don’t panic.
It was marked from Carter, a contact I hadn’t had in my phone earlier. It was possible I put him there when we were drinking, though.

A sense of the surreal was creeping up on me. It made my stomach turn and my insides shake.

I typed a response.
WTF happened? How did I end up in a crater?

Tapping send, I went through my phone’s contacts to call my aunt and uncle and make sure they were okay.

There was only one contact in my phone. All the other icons – those for internet, my apps, everything – were also gone. There was no content on my phone, aside from Carter’s number, listed as
undisclosed,
and his message.

I examined the device. It had the dings and dents that I recalled, just none of the information. It had no signal and no bars indicating battery power, either, and yet, the phone was on.

My hands were starting to shake, my head spinning. His response was quick.

Doctor Who, remember? Two-ish weeks to change things? I’m in a meeting. Just hang in there and play along. I’ll text later.

His message was accompanied by a smiley face.

“You’re in a
meeting
?” I demanded of the phone with a startled laugh. And what the hell did he mean by the reference to one of my favorite television shows? He couldn’t possibly be serious about …

“What?” The self-proclaimed lawman asked.

I have a time machine.
Carter had said.

What if it was more than a drunken boast?

“Nothing.” I pocketed the phone. My baffled thoughts tried to make sense of what had happened. I struggled to recall exactly what Carter told me in the dream.

Thank you for volunteering.
But for what exactly had I volunteered? Time travel? How was that remotely possible?

“What year is it?” I asked cautiously.

The lawman didn’t answer for a moment. “You know your name but not the year.”

“Rough night,” I said in what I hope was a cheerful voice. “Help a girl out?”

“Eighteen forty two.”

“Of course.”
There’s no way.

We reached the crest of one of the rolling hills and halted.

The idea Carter had somehow sent me back in time didn’t catch footing until I saw the town nestled in the valley below. Lanterns glowed in houses and stores along a main strip while smoke curled out of squat, brick chimneys. The roads were dirt, the buildings wooden, the posts in front of each occupied by horses or wagons.

The tiny town was like something out of an old western movie, only worn, rustic and realistic, designed for function rather than as a tourist destination or movie set.

Authentic.

A stab of pain went through my skull. Carter’s warning about having a headache returned. Did he really do brain surgery on me, too? Was that worse than being sent back in time? A vacation I could almost agree with but
brain
surgery?

Tunnel vision clouded my vision while ringing filled my ears. I slumped against the man in front of me.

“I’m not feeling so well,” I murmured. “Might be … a brain … chip … issue …”

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

A man of few words and rare emotions, Sheriff Taylor Hansen twisted to catch the woman before she tumbled off his horse to the ground. All but dragging her in front of him, he shook his head when one of his companions, a seasoned Choctaw named Running Bear, asked if he needed help.

There’s nothing you can do for this one,
he replied silently. Unlike Josie Jackson, he understood why she seemed to magically appear in the prairielands near the natives’ village.

“We shall not speak of the latest starman,” Running Bear said, referring to the word the natives used to describe the people who came from the sky in a bolt of lightning. “That makes six, including you, brother.”

“Five too many,” Taylor grunted.

He jostled her until he was somewhat comfortable and balanced. He guided the horse with his legs and found himself once more looking down into her face.

Josie Jackson was flawless with large blue eyes and soaked blonde hair framing a heart-shaped face. Clearly lost, she was nonetheless a potential danger, one that he alone understood. He didn’t believe her shell-shocked story about how she got to be in the middle of the grasslands. He knew better than to trust any word she ever told him, and hoped she came to her senses before it was too late, like it had been for many others.

Trained to observe first and act quickly to protect the natural course of history, his duty was to wait and see why she was there before he determined the course of action required.

“Let’s get her home,” he said.

“Again?” Running Bear asked with quiet humor. “Can you not tell your starmen to stop sending Josie Jacksons?”

“If I had any way of doing so, I would,” Taylor said, eyes lingering on the beauty in his arms. “I can’t keep buying coats like this.”

“Our niece can make you one. Better than the white man’s stitching.”

“Blue Stream is growing up too fast.” Taylor smiled at the thought of the thirteen-year-old girl. The first of six to fall from the skies, and the sole traveler with Choctaw blood, he had been found wandering a nearby field and adopted by the mother of Running Bear. His adopted brother taught him everything he knew about hunting and tracking. Ten years older than him, Running Bear remained his confidante and friend, a solid bridge between the often-tricky relations between the settlers in the area and the natives inhabiting Indian Territory.

The distant growl of thunder drew his attention to the woman in his arms once more, and unease replaced his amusement.

She may not have been the first Josie Jackson to magically appear out of the sky, but if he had anything to do about it, she would be the last.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

I stretched luxuriously beneath the warm blankets. The crackle of a fire almost put me back to sleep if not for the sunlight streaming through a window onto my face. For a moment, I was back in the dream where I had been blinded by a ball of light.