She needed a gun. Buying one shouldn’t be much of a problem, she mused, since everyone in town seemed to carry at least one. And, unlike modern-day Los Angeles, Bodie had no waiting period.
Walking down Main Street, she turned left on Green. She passed the Boone Store and went into Westlake’s Gunsmith Shop. Ten minutes later, she left the store, a derringer tucked inside her reticule.
Back at the hotel, she tossed her shorts, tee shirt, underwear, Nikes and socks into her backpack, as well as a change of clothes. She packed the shirt Alejandro had left in her room, too. It seemed a shame to leave all her new dresses behind, but there was no way to take them with her.
She glanced around the room, making sure she had packed everything she had brought with her from the future, then went to the window and stared down into the street. She was going to miss Bodie, she thought with some surprise. Even though she had only been here a short time, there was something about the town, both present and future, that appealed to her. She would miss Spooner and Digger and Henry, Philo Richardson, and even Miss Sophie, and that was odd, she thought, because she didn’t really know any of them very well. She was going to miss the noise and the crowds and the sense of always being on the brink of discovery.
Changing into one of her cotton everyday dresses, she grabbed her reticule and after putting the derringer under the mattress, she left the hotel. At the dry goods store, she bought a black skirt and a dark print shirtwaist. “All the better for blending in with the night,” she mused as she paid the clerk.
From there, she crossed the street and went to The United States Bakery and Chop Stand. Inside, she bought two loaves of bread and a dozen assorted rolls. Leaving the chop stand, she went to West and Bryant’s grocery store and bought a jar of jelly and some canned goods, a hunk of cheese, a dozen apples, some hard boiled eggs.
She was on her way back to the hotel when she passed a candy store. Pausing, she looked over the assortment of hard candy displayed in large glass jars, thinking she would give anything for a dark chocolate Milky Way or a Baby Ruth. In the end, she bought a bag of salt water taffy and a bag of peppermint sticks.
Once again, she felt a twinge of regret at the thought of leaving Bodie. Everyone was so friendly. Even the miners, as tough a bunch of men as she had ever seen, treated her politely, tipping their hats, holding doors for her, calling her ma’am.
She bought a satchel to hold her purchases and made her way back to the hotel.
In her room, she put her backpack and the satchel near the door, took off her boots, and settled down on the bed with a newspaper to wait.
* * * * *
Alejandro paced the jailhouse floor, his restlessness growing. The sheriff had come in earlier to bring him his dinner and let him know that his trial was set for tomorrow morning. He lifted a hand to his throat. According to Shaye, he had been hanged on August twelfth. He swore under his breath. She’d also said he would be arrested on the ninth, but today was only the fifth. If she was wrong about that, she could be wrong about the twelfth, too. Damn!
He went to the window, his hands wrapping around the bars as he stared out into the night. His old man had always predicted he would meet a bad end. Resting his head against the bars, he closed his eyes, his mind going back in time, back to those long summer days when he had spent his summers with his mother’s people. He had loved the Lakota way of life, where every day was a new adventure. He had learned to hunt and track with the other boys, how to survive off the land, how to skin game. His grandfather had told him the stories of Coyote the Trickster. His life would have been far different if he had gone to live with his mother’s people when he left home, he mused ruefully. He would have become a warrior instead of a gambler. He wouldn’t be locked in a cell accused of killing his ex-partner. Daisy. Who had killed her, and why? McCrory was the obvious answer.
He opened his eyes, his hands tightening around the bars. Dammit, maybe he was blaming the wrong man. Maybe he should be blaming himself for Daisy’s death. If he hadn’t sold his share of the Belle to McCrory, none of this would have happened.
Muttering an oath, he began to pace the floor again. “I don’t know what you’re planning, Shaye,” he murmured, “but you’d best do it right quick.”
* * * * *
It was a little before three in the morning when Shaye left the hotel carrying her backpack and satchel. She had changed into the dark shirtwaist and black skirt, tied her hair back in a ponytail, laced up her Nikes. The gun, pulled from under the mattress, felt heavy in her skirt pocket.
The town was as quiet as it ever got as she made her way toward King Street. In the background, like the heartbeat of the city, was the ever-present sound of the Standard Stamp Mill, punctuated by an occasional shout of raucous laughter.
No lights burned in the jail.
Two men speaking rapid Chinese hurried past her on their way to Chinatown.
The pounding of her heart drowned out every other sound as she neared the jailhouse window. What would happen if, instead of freeing Alejandro, she was caught? Would they put her in jail, too?
She thrust her fears to the back of her mind and concentrated on the task at hand. She had to get Alejandro out of here. Now.
But how? That was the question that came to mind as she put her hand to the door knob, and discovered that it was locked. How could she have been so stupid? Of course, it would be locked! Damn! She supposed she could knock on the door, but what business could she possibly have at the jail at this time of the morning?
What would MacGyver do? Reaching into her backpack, she found her wallet and withdrew her VISA card and slid it, very carefully, between the doorjamb and the edge of the door. There was a lot of room and she wiggled the card up and down until she freed the latch. Success! She smiled as she shoved her credit card back in her pack. She just hoped there wasn’t also some sort of bar in place.
Hardly daring to breathe, her heart pounding wildly, she took hold of the handle and gave a careful push, blew out a silent breath of relief as the door opened.
Taking a step inside, she glanced around the room. In the faint light filtering through the open door, she saw a potbellied stove to her right, the jail cells to her left. There was a large desk directly in front of her, with a chair behind it. Beyond the desk, she could just make out the shape of a man sleeping on a cot. And sleeping soundly, she thought, if his snoring was any indication.
A key, she thought, she needed the key to the cell door. On tiptoe, she crossed the floor toward the desk, grimacing when one of the floorboards creaked beneath her foot. She paused, fearful of being discovered, then moved on. She ran her hand lightly over the desk top, encountering papers, a tin mug, a set of handcuffs. But no key.
“Shaye!”
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Alejandro peering at her through the bars.
“Where’s the key?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. Try the top desk drawer.”
Moving as quietly as she could, she moved the desk chair out of the way.Biting down on her lower lip, she eased the drawer open. She was searching the contents as quietly as she could when she heard the cot squeak. She froze, her heart pounding wildly.
“Who’s there?” There was the scent of sulfur as the sheriff struck a match. Light from a stub of a candle filled the room.
“Dammit, woman, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”
She searched her mind for some plausible reason.
The sheriff frowned at her as he swung his legs over the side of the cot. “Speak up, what are you doing here? Are you in trouble?”
“Yes. No.”
“Well, which is it?” He glanced at the door. “How the hell did you get in here, anyway?”
“Oh, hell,” Shaye muttered, and sticking her hand in her skirt pocket, she withdrew the derringer.
The sheriff looked momentarily astonished, and then he laughed. “You’re Rio’s gal, ain’t ya?” he asked, and laughed again.
“What’s so funny?” Shaye demanded.
The sheriff gestured at the gun in her hand. “Hell, gal, you can’t hit anything with that popgun.”
“Maybe not,” Alejandro said, “but I don’t think I can miss with this.”
The sheriff looked at Alejandro, his face suddenly pale.
Perplexed, Shaye glanced over at Alejandro, surprised to see him holding a revolver. “Where did you get that?”
Alejandro pointed at the chair she had moved away from the desk. The sheriff’s holster, now empty, had been draped over the back. “Damn, Shaye, I can’t believe you brought a derringer to a jail break.”
“Well,” she retorted, “it’s my first one. I’ll do better next time.”
“Right,” Alejandro said drily. “Next time. Get the key.”
Shaye looked at the sheriff. “Where is it?”
“I ain’t sayin’.”
“And I’m not asking you again,” Alejandro warned.
The sheriff snorted. “What’re you gonna do, shoot me? Go ahead. Somebody’s sure to hear the shot and come arunnin’.”
“It won’t matter to you, you’ll be dead. Anyway, I don’t think anybody will pay any attention. Boys have been setting off left over firecrackers all night.”
Shaye glanced from Alejandro to the sheriff. For all his bold talk, the lawman didn’t look very confident. She didn’t blame him. There was a hard cold look in Alejandro’s eyes that she had never seen before.
“Open the damn door,” Alejandro said.
The sheriff hesitated a moment. Shaye could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Apparently decided that Alejandro meant what he said, the sheriff reached into his pocket, withdrew a large brass key, and opened the door.
Alejandro motioned the lawman into the cell. “Face the wall. Shaye, bring me the handcuffs on the desk.”
Slipping the derringer back into her skirt pocket, she did as he asked.
Taking the cuffs, Alejandro handed her the sheriff’s gun. “If he twitches, shoot him.”
She held the gun in both hands while Alejandro handcuffed the sheriff’s hands behind his back, securing him to one of the iron bars.
“If you run, it’s the same as saying you’re guilty,” the sheriff remarked.
“Shut up.”
“Think about what you’re doing, Valverde. If you run, they’ll hang you for sure when they catch you.”
“I didn’t run the last time, and they still strung me up,” Alejandro muttered. Removing the lawman’s kerchief from his neck, he stuffed it in the lawman’s mouth. That done, he grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and exited the cell. Shutting the door, he turned the key in the lock. He buckled on the sheriff’s gunbelt, took the revolver from Shaye’s hand and slid it into the holster. “Come on,” he said, taking her by the arm, “let’s get the hell out of here.”
Outside, he dropped the key into the horse trough, shrugged into his coat, and then headed for the stable.
Shaye grinned. She remembered overhearing a tourist remark that having the stable next to the jail might be a right handy thing.
She waited just inside the doorway while Alejandro went inside. She heard the sound of a scuffle; a short time later, Alejandro appeared leading two horses, both dark in color. It occurred to her that she probably should have mentioned that she hadn’t been on a horse since she was nine or ten and her mother took her horseback riding at the park. But there was no other alternative for a quick getaway. There were no stages leaving at three in the morning. A wagon would be too slow. She only hoped that riding a horse was like riding a bicycle, something that, once learned, was never forgotten.
He secured her carpetbag behind the cantle of the larger horse, strapped her backpack behind the saddle of the second animal, then offered her the reins to the smaller of the two horses.
“You can ride, can’t you?” he asked when she hesitated in taking them from him.
“Well…” She shrugged. “I haven’t for a long time.” One thing that had been drummed into her head was that you didn’t ride in tennis shoes. You wore boots with heels to keep your feet from slipping through the stirrups.
He muttered something that sounded like a curse, then picked her up and set her in the saddle. He quickly adjusted the stirrups, then handed her the reins. “Just hang on the best way you can,” he said, and swung effortlessly into the saddle.
He reined his horse around and rode north, past Chinatown, past Mastretti’s Warehouse, toward Bodie Canyon, which led to Aurora, which was about seventeen miles away. Aurora was another boom town. She recalled reading in one of the books she had bought at the museum in Bodie that Mark Twain had lived in Aurora sometime in 1862, where he had held a major interest in the Wilde West mine.
Seventeen miles over rough country on horseback. If only they could go to the parking lot and get her Rover. She thought longingly of the six-pack of cold Seven-Up waiting for her in the ice chest in the back seat along with the dark chocolate Milky Way awaiting her pleasure in a Tupperware container so it wouldn’t melt or get wet.
Her mount followed Alejandro’s without any urging. She grabbed the saddle horn as the horse moved forward. Telling herself to relax, she tried to remember the riding lessons she had taken so many years ago. Hold the reins lightly. Sit down in the saddle, back straight but not stiff, arms bent, elbows close to her sides.
She had always loved horses even though she was a little afraid of them. Every birthday, every Christmas, she had begged for a pony. Finally, her parents had given her riding lessons and after that, her mother had taken Shaye riding once a week. Her interest in horses had ended when she discovered boys.
Leaning forward, she gave her horse a pat on the neck. This one seemed docile enough and had a smooth, steady gait.
The sound of the stamp mill followed them for several miles until, gradually, it faded away. The night closed in around them, dark and quiet.
“Are we going to stay in Aurora?” she asked.
“No. That’s the first place a posse will look.”
“Where will we go from there?”
“Damned if I know. Hang on,” he said, and put his horse into an easy canter.
Shaye grabbed the saddle horn as her horse bounded forward. It took only a few minutes to find the rhythm and she relaxed once again. She had forgotten how much she’d loved riding, although she wasn’t sure she cared for it in the dark.
She took a deep breath in an effort to calm her fears. The horse seemed sure-footed enough, and Rio seemed to know where he was going. No doubt he’d been this way before. Still, she couldn’t help being apprehensive. Better riders than she had been injured when their horse went down.
She thought about Daisy instead, and wondered if she had inadvertently been the reason for altering Daisy’s date with destiny, wondered if there hadn’t been something she might have done to prevent the girl’s death. Wondered, in the back of her mind, if this was all a dream that wouldn’t end. Maybe she was in a coma somewhere, and none of this was real…
After a time, Alejandro slowed his horse to a walk again, and they rode side by side.
“How long before they come after us?” Shaye asked.
“Depends on whether Conner can work that gag out of his mouth and holler for help. If he can’t, we’ll get a good head start. O’Brien doesn’t come in to relieve him until after nine.”
“What time do you think it is now?”
He glanced up at the sky. “Right around five. You all right?”
She smothered a yawn with her hand. “Yes. Just tired.”
“We’ll rest a few hours in Aurora.”
“How long will it take us to get there?”
“We should be there in another four hours or so.”
She groaned softly. They had only been riding for about three hours, and she was already feeling it in her back and legs.
“Thanks, darlin’, for getting me out of there.”
He smiled at her and she smiled back, more certain than ever that he was the reason she was here, that they had been destined to be together long before she was born, and that her journey into the past was Fate’s way, however bizarre, of bringing them together.
When they reached Bodie Creek, they paused to rest for a short time. Alejandro helped Shaye dismount and she leaned into him, grateful for his nearness, his warmth, his strength.
She looked up at him, and he kissed her, the touch of his lips chasing away every other thought. She was in his arms, where she belonged, and nothing else mattered.
His arms went around her, holding her close. With a sigh, she snuggled against him, her hands locked behind his neck.
“Dammit, Shaye,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Darlin’, you feel so good.”
“Hmm, so do you.”
He had to have her, he thought, and soon, or he’d go crazy. Even now, knowing there was no time to waste, certain Conner would come after him as soon as he was able, he was tempted to spread his saddle blanket on the ground and make love to her there and then. But she deserved better than a quick roll in the sagebrush. He wanted their first time together to be something she would never forget.
He rested his chin on the top of her head and grinned. On sagebrush or satin sheets, she was never going to forget it, he would see to that.