Journey to Yesterday (21 page)

His laughter echoed in the night as he drew her head down on
his shoulder. “Ah, darlin’, what did I ever do without you?” he whispered as he
brushed a kiss across her lips.

And what will I do if Fate takes you away?

* * * * *

It was nearing midnight the following night when they
reached the hideout.

A lookout hollered a challenge when they reached the narrow
passageway that led into the canyon. Alejandro answered with the password
Calder had given him and a few minutes later he led the way into the hideout,
which was located in a shallow valley surrounded by high canyon walls. There
were a half dozen shacks, a saloon, a stable, and a large peeled pole corral.
All the buildings were dark except the saloon.

“Are you sure this was a good idea?” Shaye asked dubiously.

“Sure, darlin’, don’t worry.”

“I can’t help it,” she muttered as they rode toward the
saloon. “It’s what I’m good at.”

Alejandro tethered their horses to the hitch rail in front
of the saloon, then lifted her from the saddle. She groaned softly as her feet
hit the ground, grateful for his hands at her waist. It was, she thought, the
only thing that kept her upright.

All activity in the saloon came to a halt when they walked
through the door.

Shaye took it all in in one long glance: the bar opposite
the door, the huge man standing behind it, the half-dozen rough-hewn tables,
the two painted women, the raw plank floor, the oil lamps hanging from the
ceiling.

“Well, I’ll be go-to-hell!” exclaimed the mountain behind
the bar. “Look who’s here!”

Taking a firm hold of Shaye’s arm, Alejandro walked toward
the bar and shook hands with the mountain. “How the hell are ya, Calder?”

Calder’s laugh was as big as he was. “Fine as a pig in
swill. Damn, Rio, I ain’t seen you in a coon’s age.” He glanced at Shaye, then
grinned at Alejandro. “I don’t have to ask how you’re doing,” he said.

“Take it easy, Calder.”

“Ah,” Calder said, “so that’s how it is. Pleased to meet
you, ma’am, whoever you might be.”

Shaye grinned at him in spite of herself. “Shaye
Montgomery,” she said.

“Jack Calder.”

He was even bigger than Moose, Shaye thought. His shirt
seemed in danger of bursting at the seams with every movement. He had a shock
of curly brown hair, pale-blue eyes, and a nose that looked like it had been
broken at least once.

When it was obvious that the newcomers posed no threat, the
other occupants went back to their own pursuits. Soon, a low hum of
conversation filled the air, punctuated by the slap of cards and an occasional
burst of feminine laughter.

“So, Rio, what brings you here?”

“I need a place to hole up for a few days.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Calder said. “I never figured you to
take to the owlhoot trail.”

“I didn’t,” Alejandro said curtly.

Calder nodded, the look in his eye saying he wouldn’t pursue
the matter now, but promising questions later. “Can I get you two a drink? The
first one’s on the house.”

“I could use some whiskey to cut the trail dust,” Alejandro
said.

“Me, too.” Shaye shrugged at Alejandro’s look of surprise.

“Whiskey, huh?” he said with a grin. “Well, I guess you
deserve it after the last two days.”

Calder placed two shot glasses on the bar, pulled a bottle
from underneath, and poured two drinks.

Alejandro downed his in a single swallow and asked for a
refill. Shaye took a sip of hers, coughed as the raw whiskey burned its way
down her throat. She had never been much for hard liquor, but she wasn’t sure
this stuff really qualified as whiskey. Paint thinner, maybe.

“You look all tuckered out,” Calder remarked.

“That we are,” Alejandro replied. “You got room for us?”

“Sure. The last cabin’s empty. Make yourself t’home.”

“Thanks, Jack.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Okay to leave our horses in the corral?”

“You can put ‘em up in the barn, iffen you want. There’s a
couple of empty stalls.”

“Obliged,” Alejandro said. “You ready to turn in, Shaye?”

She nodded, wondering if she would ever be able to speak
again the way her throat was burning.

Outside, Alejandro took up the reins of their horses, and
they walked to the barn. Shaye unsaddled her horse, then led it into an empty
stall and removed the bridle. Alejandro forked the horses some hay, picked up
her valise and backpack, and then they followed a dusty path to the last cabin.

“Don’t expect too much,” Alejandro warned as he opened the
door.

He found a box of matches on the mantle and lit the lamp on
the kitchen table, then closed and barred the door.

Shaye grimaced as she looked around. The place had
definitely looked better in the dark. There was a small square table, two
rickety looking chairs, a shelf made of empty wooden crates. A narrow bed
covered with a dull gray blanket was pushed up against one wall. A faded blue
gingham curtain covered the single window, there was a rag rug in front of the
hearth.

“We won’t be here long,” he said. “Think you can stand it
for a day or two?”

She nodded, and hoped she wasn’t lying.

“Do you want me to wait outside while you undress?” he
asked.

“No.”

With a nod, he shrugged out of his coat and began to
unbutton his shirt.

Suddenly shy in spite of herself, Shaye turned her back to
him. Stripping off her dress and undergarments, she pulled her long cotton
nightgown over her head, then sat down on the edge of the bed and took off her
shoes and stockings.

When she looked up, Alejandro was standing beside her
wearing only the bottom half of a pair of long johns. He might as well have
been naked, she thought, the way they clung to him. He was beautifully formed,
from his broad shoulders and well-muscled arms to his flat stomach and long,
long legs.

She pulled down the blanket, more than a little surprised to
see that the sheets, while not Tide white, were at least clean. She scooted
across the mattress, her heart pounding as Alejandro extinguished the light,
then slid into bed beside her. It was a very narrow bed, barely big enough for
the two of them.

“I’m sorry, Shaye,” he said.

“Sorry? For what?”

“For getting you involved in all this.”

Turning on her side, she laid her hand on his shoulder. “I’m
not.”

“I don’t know much about the future,” he said, “but I’m sure
it’s better than this.”

“Everything is different, that’s for sure,” she said. “But
not everything is better. People are always in a hurry. They don’t take time to
enjoy life anymore. Everything has to be done faster than before. We have
microwave ovens that can cook a meal in no time at all, and cars to get us to
our destinations faster, and computers and calculators that can add and
subtract in the blink of an eye.” She shook her head. “You may not believe it,
in fact I don’t believe it myself, but I kind of like it here, in your time.”
She paused, her gaze moving over his face. “With you.”

He sucked in a deep breath, let it out in a long slow sigh,
and then he gathered her into his arms and held her tight. When he spoke, his
voice was so low she could hardly hear him.

“Dammit, Shaye, what am I going to do if you go out of my
life the same way you came in?”

“Rio…”

His arms tightened around her. “Don’t leave me, darlin’.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Shaye.”

His voice was filled with fear and longing, the same longing
she felt, the same fear that she would suddenly be sent back to her own time.
She clung to him, knowing, in that moment, that she didn’t want to live in a
world without him in it, that she would rather stay here and make do without
all the comforts she was accustomed to than go back to her old life.

She wrapped her arms around him, overcome by a sudden sense
of foreboding. What if she had been sent here to save him from the gallows?
What if, now that she had accomplished that, she was sent back to the future?

“Hold me, Rio. Hold me and don’t ever let go!”

“Shaye.”

Her name was a question. Her kiss was the answer.

Driven by the fear of separation, they clung to each other.
She moaned with pleasure as his hands and lips moved over her face, her
shoulders, her breasts, softly caressing, sweetly arousing. He drew her
nightgown over her head and tossed it aside. And she, suddenly bold and
unafraid, divested him of his long johns and sent them sailing across the room.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

“So are you.”

He laughed softly and then he was kissing her again, and
when the desire that had ever sparked between them could no longer be denied,
Alejandro rose over her, his dark eyes blazing. She lifted her hips to receive
him and now, joined to him heart and soul and body, she felt complete for the
first time in her life.

He moved within her, each stroke filled her with pleasure,
building, building, until she thought she might explode from the wonder of it,
the beauty of it, the unbelievable ecstasy. She was a writer. Words were her
forte, yet she knew she would never find the words to express the joy of his
touch, the sense of belonging, of having finally found what she had been
searching for her whole life. Alejandro… She cried his name as she tumbled over
the edge, her arms holding him tight, her body convulsing as wave after wave of
ecstasy pulsed through her. Alejandro threw back his head, his eyes closed, as
he reached his own climax, and then, his body still shuddering, he buried his
face in the curve of her neck.

Shaye held him close, relishing his weight, pleased that he
was in no hurry to shatter the sweet afterglow of their love making. Josh had
always rolled away as soon as he was finished, often leaving her feeling
bereft. She stroked his hair, awed by the intensity of her feelings. She longed
to tell him she loved him, but something kept her from voicing the words aloud.

“I must be getting heavy,” he remarked after a while.

They were not the words she wanted to hear.

Rolling onto his side, he cradled her against him, one arm
around her waist, one hand cupping her breast. He brushed a kiss over her
shoulder, his breath warm on her skin.

“Sweet dreams, darlin’,” he murmured.

He did care for her, she thought. It was there in his eyes,
in his voice, whether he put the feeling into words or not.

“Same to you,” she murmured. A moment later, wrapped in the
warmth of his arms, she drifted to sleep.

Alejandro listened to the soft even sound of Shaye’s
breathing. For the first time since his mother passed away, he was content, and
yet even that contentment was edged with despair. What would he do if he lost
her? He had been a drifter his whole adult life, never settling long in any one
place, never sinking roots, never letting anyone get close to him, never
feeling the need for a forever woman in his life. Until now. From the first
time he had seen her, he had known she was the one he had been searching for
his whole life. The first time, he thought, and felt a chill slide down his
spine. He had been a ghost the first time he had seen her. His arm tightened
around her waist. Her skin was soft and smooth. Her hair was silky where it
fell across his chest. Her breast was warm in his hand. Shaye.

Her name was like the soft sigh of the wind whispering
through the cottonwood trees, reminding him of the carefree days of his
childhood with the Lakota. Long summer days when he had wanted nothing more
than to be a warrior like his grandfather, Elk-Who-Runs-in-the Night. He had
listened in awe to the old stories and to the tales of battle the men had told
around the campfire at night. In his mind’s eye, he had been one of them, a
seasoned warrior riding to war against the Crow, stealing ponies from the
Pawnee, hunting the curly-haired buffalo in the summer, boasting of his
exploits around the fire during the long winter nights.

And then his mother had died, and she had taken all the
security he had once felt with her. His mother. She had been the one constant
in his life. Whether at the ranch or the reservation, she had been there,
loving him, encouraging him, helping him to have faith in himself, assuring him
that he was as much a Lakota as anyone else in the tribe in spite of his mixed
blood. Right or wrong, he had measured his worth in her eyes, counted on her to
always be there. When she died, he had vowed never to depend on anyone but
himself.

He had gone back to his mother’s people in the summer of
’67. He had spent the summer there, in the Black Hills, gradually coming to the
sad realization that there was no going back. Nothing had been the same as he
remembered. His grandparents were gone, killed in the massacre at Sand Creek,
along with most of the other people he had known.

Shaye stirred against him, bringing him back to the present.
Nothing that had happened in the past mattered now. Nothing mattered but Shaye
and whatever time they might have together. He would take her to San Francisco,
he thought, buy her a house overlooking the bay.

It wouldn’t last, he knew that. Sooner or later, he would
lose her. Either she would realize he was no good for her, or Fate would send
her back where she belonged. But until then…until then, she would be his.

* * * * *

Shaye woke slowly, aware of a long, lean body pressed
against her back, of a well-muscled arm draped over her waist. Turning her
head, she saw that Alejandro was still asleep. Lord, but the man was gorgeous!
Just looking at him made her feel all soft and squishy inside. She smiled,
remembering how only a few months ago she had sworn she never wanted to have
anything to do with another man. Now, she couldn’t imagine a life without
Alejandro in it. She loved him, she thought, loved him desperately. She only
hoped and prayed that he felt the same.

She smiled as his eyes opened. “Morning.”

“Mornin’, darlin’.” He kissed the tip of her nose, the
corners of her mouth.

“You look beautiful in the morning.”

“Right.”

“I mean it. There’s a glow about you. It’s very becoming.”

“Well, if I’m glowing, Mr. Valverde, you’re the one who
deserves all the credit.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am,” he drawled.

“Thank you.” Happiness bubbled up inside her and spilled
over in a froth of laughter.

He looked at her, one brow arched in question. “Something
funny?”

“No, I’m just happy, that’s all.”

His arm tightened around her. “Me, too,” he said quietly.
And for the first time in more years than he cared to recall, it was true.

She heard the faint note of surprise in his voice. She
rolled over so they were lying face to face. Lost in the depths of his eyes,
she murmured the words she had been holding back for so long. “I love you.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

She brushed a lock of hair from his brow. “Does anyone ever
know why?”

“You’ve got a good heart, Shaye Montgomery, a good soul.”

It was by far the nicest compliment she had ever received,
and yet she couldn’t help wishing that he would say the words she so longed to
hear.

His finger traced the outline of her chin, her cheek, her
nose, drifting slowly over her lips. “And you’re beautiful, darlin’. So
beautiful.”

“So are you.”

He laughed at that.

“You are, and you know it. You turn heads everywhere we go.
Stop laughing! It’s true. Saloon girls, Addy Mae, Lily, Sophie…” Her voice
trailed off and she frowned at him. “Have you made love to a lot of women?”

He shrugged. “A few. I’m not a monk, and a man has needs,
you know.”

His gaze moved over her face, seeing the hurt she tried to
hide. “Shaye, darlin’,” he said fervently. “I’ve made love to other women, but
it’s never meant anything, until now.”

“Rio…”

He knew what she wanted to hear, but he couldn’t put his
feelings into words.

Gathering her into his arms, he kissed her, hoping somehow
that she would know how he felt. They were both breathless when he took his
lips from hers.

Lifting his head, he smiled down at her. “Will you marry me,
darlin’?”

“Marry you,” she exclaimed softly.

“Say yes, darlin’.”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!”

“Shaye!” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.
“Name the day, darlin’.”

“Is today too soon?” She loved the way his body felt against
hers, the way they fit together, two imperfect halves that made a perfect
whole. His hands moved over her back, his lips left trails of fire on her lips,
down her neck, across her breasts. She felt the evidence of his desire against
her thigh, saw his need reflected in the depths of his eyes.

He drew back a little, his gaze searching hers. “You mean
it? You’ll marry me today?”

“Of course I would. But it’s impossible.”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

He grinned at her. “I’m calling your bluff, darlin’.”

“What do you mean?”

“Calder’s a preacher.”

“An outlaw preacher?” Shaye asked dubiously.

“Yep.”

She grinned up at him, intrigued by the idea of being
married in an outlaw camp by a rogue minister. “I’m game if you are.”

He winked at her. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised, and
kissed her again.

“Rio…” Her hands clutched his shoulders, her own need
building deep within her, fanned by the intensity of his kisses, by the erotic
abrasion of his skin against her own.

He rose over her until all she saw was him, all she wanted
was him, for now, and forever…

Shaye snuggled against Alejandro. He had asked her to marry
him. The thought made her smile inside and out. By tonight, she could be Mrs.
Alejandro Valverde. She sighed with contentment, thinking how wonderful it
would be to spend the rest of her life in the warm haven of his arms. And then
realized that, as pleasant as the idea sounded, she had to get up.

“Hey!” Alejandro caught hold of her forearm when she sat up.
“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Nature calls.”

“Ah,” he said, releasing his hold on her arm. “It’s under
the bed.”

Grabbing the top blanket, she wrapped it around her
shoulders and slid her legs over the edge of the mattress, wishing, as she
pulled the battered chamber pot out from under the bed, that the shoddy little
cabin came with a nice, modern bathroom complete with hot running water and a
flush toilet.

“Turn around,” she said.

With a grin and a shake of his head, Alejandro rolled over
and faced the wall.

She grimaced as she made use of the chamber pot. Wherever
they eventually settled down, she was going to insist on indoor plumbing if she
had to install it herself. And one way or another, she was going to get her
hands on some toilet paper, even if she had to invent it. Grinning at the
thought, she ripped a page off the catalog under the bed. She could get used to
just about everything else, she thought, but she really missed toilet paper.

Her stomach growled as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I’m hungry.”

“I heard,” Alejandro replied. He rolled over, sat up, and
pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Let’s go see what Calder has to offer.”

Twenty minutes later they strolled into the saloon. The
place was practically empty. Jack Calder stood behind the bar, playing a game
of solitaire. Two other men were sitting at a corner table, playing blackjack.

Calder looked up as the door closed behind them. “Mornin’,
Rio. Miss Shaye.”

“Got anything to eat in here?” Alejandro asked.

“Lucy usually cooks for us, but she’s gone off to San
Francisco, visitin’ her sister.” Calder glanced at Shaye. “You’re welcome to
use the kitchen, if you’ve a mind to.”

“How about it?” Alejandro said. “You think you could rustle
us up something to eat?”

“I guess so.”

Calder jerked his thumb toward the door behind him.
“Kitchen’s in there. Help yourself.”

“This should be interesting,” Shaye muttered. Walking around
the bar, she opened the door.

It was a kitchen like no other she had ever seen. The walls
had a thin coat of whitewash. There was no curtain at the single window. The
stove was a black behemoth. A battered wash tub atop a long wooden counter
served as the sink. There was a supply of canned goods on a rickety shelf. She
found flour and sugar in sacks on the floor. There were a dozen eggs in a
cracked blue bowl, no doubt provided by the red hens she could see scratching
out in the yard. There were a couple of loaves of bread in a tin bread box. She
found a crock of butter, a pot of honey.

“French toast it is,” she muttered.

After washing the frying pan and the utensils, and after
much trial and error and more than a little cussing, she managed to produce
five slices of edible French toast, three for Rio and two for herself. She
poured two cups of coffee, added sugar to hers, put everything on a tray, and
carried it into the other room.

Alejandro was sitting at a table, playing a game of
solitaire. “What’s this?” he asked as she set a plate in front of him.

“French toast.”

“Looks good,” he remarked. He cut off a piece. Took a bite.
And grinned at her. “Tastes good.”

“Thank you.” She sat down across from him, wishing she had
some cream for her coffee.

Calder walked over to take a look. “What in blazes is that?”
he asked.

“French toast,” Alejandro replied. “Want some?”

“Sure,” Calder said.

Alejandro cut a slice in half. Shaye was about to offer to
get Calder a fork, but before she could say anything, he picked the bread up in
his fingers and took a bite.

“Damn!” he declared. “Iffen that don’t taste like a piece of
heaven. How’d you like to take over the cookin’ chores while you’re here?”

“Me?” Shaye exclaimed. She hated to cook and ate most of her
meals out.

Calder nodded vigorously. “For something like this, I could
charge double. Is there any more in the kitchen?”

“No, but it’s easy to make,” she said. “Only takes a few
minutes. I’ll show you how, if you like.”

“I surely would. What was it you called it again? French
toast?”

Shaye nodded.

Calder ate the last bite and smacked his lips. “Yep,” he
muttered, smacking his lips. “Pure heaven.”

Shaye grinned as he went back behind the bar. Who would have
thought something as ordinary as French toast would be such a big hit?

“I asked Calder if he’d marry us,” Alejandro said, “if
you’re still game.”

“Oh, I am.”

“Tonight, after supper?”

“Tonight,” she agreed.

Later, while Alejandro was sitting in on a poker game, she
took Jack Calder into the kitchen and showed him how to make French toast. She
watched in disbelief as he cooked up five slices and wolfed them down one by
one.

“Damn!” he declared, dragging his hand over his mouth. “I
never tasted nothing like this in all my born days.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it. Are you really a preacher?”

“Yes, ma’am, I surely am.” He looked at her, a lopsided grin
on his face. “Don’t you worry none. It’ll be all nice and legal. So, what’re
you gonna fix fer dinner?”

“I’m not a cook, Mr. Calder,” Shaye protested.

“Well, now, that makes two of us. I know you ain’t planning
to stay here long, but maybe you could give the boys a treat tonight. I know
they’re plumb tired of my cookin’.”

Shaye shook her head. “Really, Mr. Calder, I wouldn’t know
where to begin. At home, I usually eat out.”

He brushed her excuses aside. “Just do the best you can.” He
laughed. “Hell, you can serve ‘em that there French toast. They won’t complain
none.”

“Do you have any ham or bacon?”

“Sure, got some ‘round here somewheres. Got some beef, too.”

She looked around, but there was no refrigerator, no ice
box. “How do you keep it from spoiling?”

“We pack it in snow in the winter. In the summer, we keep it
in a bucket of buttermilk down in the cellar.”

Shaye nodded. “All right. French toast for dinner. We’ll
need more bread, though.”

“Got a batch rising now,” he said.

“You make your own bread?” Shaye asked.

He nodded. “I worked in a bakery in Pittsburgh back when I
was a young’un. Bread’s the only thing I recollect how to make, though. Must
have made a thousand loaves in my time.”