Journey to Yesterday (16 page)

The days that followed passed quickly. She took Alejandro’s
place at the poker table each night, sometimes dealing for herself, sometimes
for the house. There were always men eager to sit in, certain they couldn’t be
beat by a lady gambler. It never ceased to amaze her that she won more than she
lost. Alejandro said she was a natural-born gambler, that she had a “feel” for
the cards, an inborn sense of when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. It was
something that couldn’t be taught, he said. You either had it or you didn’t.

He was proud of her ability. She could see it in his eyes
each time she won a hand. She had a feeling that he could take over, but when
she asked him about it, he just shook his head and told her she was doing fine.

“Maybe I should buy back my share of the Belle,” he remarked
one night as they walked home. “Give you a place of your own.”

“Me and Daisy under one roof?” Shaye had replied with a
laugh. “I don’t think so.”

His wounds were healing nicely. He had gone back to the doctor
to have the stitches removed, but his arm was still tender. The cut over his
ribs hadn’t been deep enough to require stitching. She hated to think of how
close that knife had been to his heart. Just a few inches higher and he might
have been killed. They stayed up late and slept late, eating breakfast at their
leisure, spending their afternoons shopping or taking long walks, or just
finding a relatively quiet spot on the outskirts of town to sit and talk. He
asked endless questions about the future, seemed fascinated by the idea of
television and cars. He asked if gambling was a way of life in the future, and
she told him about the luxurious casinos in Monte Carlo and Las Vegas, horse
racing at Santa Anita and Hollywood Park, the Lotto, the card clubs in Gardena,
the bingo games on the Indian reservation, the riverboats in the South.

“I can just imagine you on one of those floating gambling
houses,” Shaye Had remarked, “all decked out in a pair of tight black slacks
and a fancy white shirt with black cuffs, smiling that killer smile. Surrounded
by women.”

“I knew it!” he had replied. “I was born in the wrong time!”
And then he looked at her, one black brow arched. “Killer smile?” he had asked
innocently.

She’d had to laugh at that.

She grew to love him more with every passing day. It grew
harder and harder to tell him good night at her door, to settle for a few
lingering kisses and sweet caresses when she wanted so much more. He hadn’t
asked to stay the night again, and though she was sorely tempted to ask him,
she never did, all too aware that she could be zapped back to the future at any
minute. Every time she walked into the Queen of Bodie, she held her breath,
wondering if she would suddenly find herself back in the twentieth century,
walking down Bodie’s deserted main street. It would be painful enough to leave
him now; if they made love, she knew the separation would break her heart
beyond repair. She had known him only a short time. How had she fallen so hard,
so fast?

The morning of the Fourth of July bloomed bright and clear.
Alejandro had told her Bodie celebrated the event in grand style, and he hadn’t
been exaggerating.

A thirteen-gun salute roused the town.

A short time later, Alejandro was knocking at her door. He
swept his hat off when she opened the door. “Good morning, fair lady,” he said.

“Good morning, sir,” she replied, smiling. He was like the
sunshine, she thought. Just seeing him warmed her clear through. He was so
handsome. He wore a white shirt, a burgundy cravat, a black broadcloth coat
with a velvet collar, black trousers. And a black vest embroidered with gold
fleur de lis.

She looked up at him, a sinking feeling in the pit of her
stomach.

“Shaye, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a
ghost…”

“That vest…”

He glanced down, only then recalling that she had described
the vest once before, that she claimed to have seen his ghost wearing it in the
jail, over a hundred years in the future.

He settled his hat on his head, wondering if his face looked
as pale as hers.

“Rio, I’m scared.”

He drew her into his arms and held her close, aware of a
tightness in his chest, a tingling in his skin. The air around them seemed
heavy somehow. He could hear the beat of his heart, imagined he could hear
hers, too, pounding as loudly, as wildly, as his own.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and scared. “Rio…”

“Yeah, I feel it, too. I think maybe you’re right. Maybe we
should leave town.”

“Today?”

“There won’t be any stages leaving today. The town is
celebrating.” He smiled down at her. “We might as well enjoy it.”

Shaye nodded. He hadn’t been arrested until August ninth.
They had plenty of time.

They ate a quick breakfast then went outside to join the
crowd. Shaye put her fears behind her, determined to do as Alejandro had
suggested and enjoy the day. There was nothing to worry about. They would leave
town tomorrow. Even is she was sent back to her own time, at least Alejandro
would be all right.

About ten-thirty, the celebration officially began with a
parade composed of several hundred townspeople. Both sides of the street were
lined with thousands of men, women, and children all dressed in their Sunday
best. Kids holding flags ran up and down the sidelines. More people stood on
the balconies of the hotels, waving and cheering.

Shaye stood beside Alejandro, caught up in the excitement as
the parade began. The Bodie Band marched at the head of the parade, the music
punctuated by the pop of firecrackers and an occasional gunshot. The Grand
Marshall and his aides rode in a carriage behind the band, followed by members
of the Veterans of the Mexican War, Officers of the Day, President, Orator,
Reader, and Poet of the Day.

Shaye nudged Alejandro. “Poet of the day?”

Alejandro grinned at her. “Yep. Never let it be said that
Bodie lacks class.”

Happiness bubbled up inside her as she grinned back at him.

There were representatives from the Miners’ Union, the Odd
Fellows, the Masons, and Mexican Patriots, Veterans of the Civil War. There was
even, to her surprise, a baseball team.

Shaye pulled her camera from her reticule and took several
pictures of the men attired in the faded gray uniforms of the Confederacy as
they passed by. Strange to think that, in this time and place, the Civil War
had ended just fifteen years ago.

“Are you going to take pictures of everything?” Alejandro
asked.

“Darn right,” she said, and snapped a picture of a wagon
carrying thirty-eight little girls, each carrying a flag representing a state
of the union.

Alejandro squeezed Shaye’s hand. “Did I tell you how pretty
you look today?”

“Why, no, sir, you did not,” she replied in her best
Southern drawl.

He swept his hat off his head and held it over his heart.
“Forgive me, fair lady,” he said, his fake drawl as thick as molasses in
winter.

Shaye grinned at him. “I forgive you, sir.”

“Ah, you are too, kind, ma’am.” He settled his hat back on
his head; then, taking her hand, he kissed her fingertips. “The parade seems to
be about over, Miss Montgomery. Perhaps you will allow me to buy you a piece of
Miss Maybelle’s cherry cobbler and a glass of lemonade.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Valverde.” She tucked the camera into
her reticule, then placed her hand on his arm. “That would be most kind.”

Side by side, they strolled down Main Street toward the
Miners’ Union Hall. Shaye nodded and smiled at everyone they passed by.
Alejandro tipped his hat to the ladies, greeted the men he knew. All the
saloons were open and doing a brisk business. She supposed most of the town’s
male inhabitants would be drunk well before nightfall, and that the girls who
occupied the little cabins along Maiden Lane would have more business than they
could handle.

As they passed one of the saloons, a girl with dyed red hair
called Alejandro’s name. He turned and waved at her.

Shaye slid a sidelong glance at Alejandro, wondering if, or
how often, he visited Maiden Lane.

He met her gaze and lifted one brow. “What’s that look for?”
he asked.

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering….never mind.”

Alejandro frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” It was none of her business if he spent every night in
one of those horrid cribs.

“Dammit, Shaye, what’s wrong?”

“Have you ever…do you…never mind.”

He shook his head, his dark eyes alight with amusement.
“Still jealous, I see.”

“Should I be?”

“No, darlin’.”

“So you’ve never visited any of the doves in their…um…never
bought their services?”

He looked offended. “Darlin’, I’ve never had to buy it.”

“Bragging, are you?”

He shrugged. “Why, no, Miss Montgomery, just stating a
fact.”

She punched him on the arm, careful to make sure it wasn’t
his injured one.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“No. You probably have to beat the women off with a stick.”

“Well, not quite,” he said, laughing.

“I’ll bet.”

“Well, darlin’, just in case you were wondering, I’d never
beat you off with a stick.”

“Thanks a lot.”

He came to an abrupt halt, drew her into his arms, and
kissed her full on the lips, right there, in the middle of Main Street. Heat
suffused her, flooding her cheeks with warmth, flowing like sun-warmed honey
through her veins, until she thought she might melt beneath the onslaught of
his kiss. She moaned softly, aware of nothing at that moment but his mouth on
hers.

When he let her go, she stared up at him, only dimly aware
of the whistles and catcalls from the men around them. “Kiss her again, Rio!”
someone shouted.

“My pleasure,” he murmured, and claimed her lips a second
time.

And everything else faded away…the crowd, the noise, the
dust, the heat. It didn’t matter that she didn’t belong here, that she might
wake up and find herself back in her own time, nothing mattered but his lips on
hers, the feel of his arms holding her close, the heat and hardness of his body
pressed intimately against her own. Alejandro…

He drew back, his gaze hot, his dark eyes smoky with desire.
A thrill of anticipation ran through her as he brushed a kiss over her cheek,
then slid his tongue over her earlobe.

“You’re the only woman I want, darlin’,” he said, his voice
low and husky, “and I mean to have you.” He grinned at the crowd gathered
around them. “But not here.”

As Alejandro took her hand in his, a flash of movement
caught Shaye’s eye. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Daisy Sullivan turn and
run down the street, but not before she saw the tears glistening in Daisy’s
eyes.

The Miners’ Union Hall was a long, narrow building with
windows on either side of the door, and windows along the walls. There were at
least two dozen tables set up inside, each one laden with iced cakes and
cupcakes, a variety of cobblers and pies, cookies and gingerbread men, cinnamon
rolls and flaky biscuits, as well as jugs of apple cider and bowls of punch and
lemonade. Red, white, and blue bunting was draped on the walls. Streamers and
balloons hung from the ceiling.

The food and drinks had been donated by the ladies of the
town; the proceeds would go into the Miners’ Fund for Widows and Orphans.

Alejandro bought two plates of cherry cobbler, a cup of
lemonade for Shaye, a cup of cider for himself. There was no room to sit down
inside, so they went outside and found a place in the shade behind the
building.

The cobbler was delicious and gone too soon.

“That Maybelle Carpenter is a mighty fine cook,” Alejandro
remarked.

“Yes, indeed,” Shaye replied.

He leaned forward and licked a bit of cherry filling from
the corner of Shaye’s mouth. “But I’ve never tasted anything as sweet as you.”

She felt herself blushing, she who rarely blushed. What was
there about this man that caused her to react as if she were a naïve young girl
instead of a woman who had been married and divorced?

Several shouts rose above the noise and confusion around
them.

“What’s that?” Shaye asked.

“Some of the Mexicans are showing off their riding skills,”
Alejandro said.

“Can we watch?”

“Sure.”

They put their dishes in one of the big wash tubs set out
for that purpose, then walked down street. The cheering grew louder as they
approached.

Shaye’s eyes widened at what she saw. A live rooster had
been buried in the ground; only its neck and head showed. About twenty riders
were lined up some fifty yards away.

Shaye gasped as one of the riders spurred his horse forward.
He leaned far over the side of his mount, his fingers skimming the ground as he
made a grab for the rooster’s head, but the frightened rooster dodged out of
his way, and the man came up with a handful of dirt and a few feathers.

She took several pictures, dismayed when she reached the end
of the roll.

Betting was hot and heavy, the odds rising higher and higher
as one rider after another tried to pull the rooster from the ground, and
failed.

Shaye seemed to be the only one present who felt sorry for
the rooster.

Feeling as though she were being watched, she glanced across
the way, and met Daisy Sullivan’s gaze. There was no mistaking the jealousy in
the girl’s eyes, or the quiet yearning when Daisy looked at Alejandro.

Feeling a wave of sympathy for the girl, Shaye tugged on
Alejandro’s arm.

He looked down at her and smiled. “Are you ready to go?”

“No.” She inclined her head in Daisy’s direction. “Maybe you
should go say hello to her.”

Alejandro grunted softly when he saw Daisy. “I don’t think
so.”