“She’s the only one. The others are pretty mellow.”

  There were eight chickens—four in each stall. As Jay had said, the rest didn’t object when she took their eggs.

  He fell in beside her as she walked back to the house. “So, what’s for breakfast?”

  “Pancakes and eggs?”

  “And bacon?”

  “If you like. Oh! The water should be boiling by now.” She thrust the basket into his hands and ran for the back door.

  Inside, she took the pot off the stove and added coffee, wishing there was a Starbucks nearby. She would have given a week’s pay for a vanilla latte.

  Jay washed up, then set the table while she fixed breakfast.

  When it was ready, Rusty dished it up, then sat across from him. It was nice, she thought, sharing breakfast with a handsome man. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

  “The bay needs new shoes, the hinges on one of the corrals has to be replaced.” He let out a sigh. “And I should probably patch the hole in the barn roof.”

  “What should I do?”

  “I’ve got some shirts that need washing. And the sheets on my bed.”

  “Oh.” She’d seen two big wooden washtubs on the back porch, and a line strung out back between two trees.

  “You don’t have to do my laundry if you’d rather not.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” Western women had done it. How hard could it be?

  * * *

  Rusty felt a little thrill of excitement mingled with a sense of guilt as she opened the door to Jay’s bedroom to gather his dirty clothes and linen.

  She paused inside the doorway to look around. It looked pretty much like the other bedroom—a twin bed, small wardrobe and chest of drawers. But there were differences—his bed was covered with a patchwork quilt. A painted hide adorned one wall. A bow and a quiver of arrows hung from a peg behind the door, a pair of moccasins were half-hidden under the bed.

  She stripped the sheets from the mattress, found his dirty clothes in a large, woven basket beside the wardrobe. A deep breath carried his scent—earth and horse and something definitely male.

  An hour later, bent over a wooden washtub, she discovered just how hard doing laundry in the Old West could be.

  Jay had carried the heavy tubs outside and placed them on a long wooden bench while water heated in big copper pots on the stove. After he filled both tubs—one for washing, one for rinsing—she dumped the dirty laundry into the first tub and then scrubbed his shirts and sheets on a washboard that was exactly like ones she had seen in an antique store. She tossed some dirty towels she’d found in the tub, as well.

  Rusty decided she deserved a short break when the washing was done. Pressing one hand to her aching back, she spent a few enjoyable minutes watching Jay shoe the big bay gelding. He had removed his shirt, revealing an expanse of copper-hued skin and well-defined muscles that bunched and relaxed as he nailed a shoe in place. Her hands practically itched to touch that wide expanse of beautiful male flesh.

  Heaving a sigh, she turned back to the task at hand. Rinsing was quicker. When the clothes basket was full, she propped it on her left hip and carried it to the line. And then began the long process of hanging the clothes to dry—with wooden clothespins, the likes of which she had also seen in antique stores from time to time.

  When she was done, she wiped her hands on the sides of her jeans, then went to see how Jay was doing with his chores.

  * * *

  Jay wiped the sweat from his brow. After shoeing the bay, he’d decided to tackle the hole in the barn roof. He really needed to replace the whole thing, he thought glumly, but he didn’t have the money.

  He smiled when he saw Rusty come around the side of the house. Face flushed, her shirt and pants damp, her hair mussed, she was still the prettiest little filly he had ever seen.

  Descending the ladder, he grabbed his shirt and slipped it on. “Ready to take a break?”

  Rusty nodded vigorously. “And a nap!”

  “Nobody likes wash day.”

  “It’s a lot easier where I come from,” she said as they strolled back to the house. “We have machines that wash and dry our clothes so you can do the laundry, rain or shine. And we have material that doesn’t require ironing.”

  Jay grunted softly. “The future sounds like a remarkable place.”

  “Oh, it is. You can’t imagine all the amazing things that have been invented in the last hundred and forty-five years.” Email, iPhones, space ships, microwaves, computers, Wi-Fi, jet planes, IMAX movies, cars that drove themselves. It seemed like every day, there was some new invention.

  They ate sliced roast beef and cheese for lunch and washed it down with fresh coffee. Rusty would have made sandwiches but there was no bread. And she had no idea how to make it, except in a bread machine.

  “What do you say we forget about the rest of the chores for today and go into town?” Jay suggested.

  “Sounds good to me.” Although she wasn’t looking forward to straddling a horse again.

  Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he said, “We can take the buckboard, if you like.”

  Rusty smiled her gratitude. “Just let me clean up the kitchen and change my clothes.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Rusty glanced at herself in the wavy mirror over the dresser. Attired in her new gingham dress, her hair neatly swept into a ponytail, she looked just like a nineteenth-century country girl, she thought with a grin. Except, of course, for her lacey black bra and bikini underwear. Which she needed to wash before she wore them again. Maybe she should have bought a few changes of underwear, a mistake she would rectify as soon as possible.

  Jay waited for her outside, looking as handsome as ever.

  Rusty smiled when she saw the buckboard. It didn’t look very comfortable, with its hard seat and low sides. The big bay stood patiently in the traces.

  “Ready?” Jay asked.

  At her nod, he handed her up onto the seat, then climbed up beside her and took up the reins.

  The buckboard wasn’t quite as bumpy as she had expected it would be. It was nice to be able to just sit back, relax, and enjoy the scenery. And the company.

  “Do you see your mother very often?” Rusty asked, after a mile or so.

  “As often as I can. She’s a medicine woman and greatly revered by our people.”

  “Do you have any other family?”

  “Just an uncle on my mother’s side. He scouts for the Army. How about you?”

  “I have an older brother, Danny. My dad is a veterinarian. My mom is as nurse.” Rusty sighed. “They must be worried sick about me. I was supposed to have dinner with them tonight. At least I guess it would be tonight. Does time work the same here as where I came from? I mean, if I spend a week here, will it be a week in my own time, too?”

  Jay shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  Rusty frowned. What if something she did here in the past changed something in the future? Was that even possible? How would she know? She needed to get back home and yet…she glanced at Jay. She really wanted to get to know him better, even if there was no future in it. She had never known a man like him. And likely never would again.

  She was still thinking about the possible consequences of doing something that might change the future when Jay pulled up in front of the mercantile. He went inside with her this time. The clerk pointedly ignored Jay, although he gave Rusty a faint welcoming nod.

  Jaw set, Jay moved to the back of the store where several shelves held canned goods.

  Rusty followed him. For the first time, she noticed that the bags of flour, rice, potatoes, and beans all had the tops rolled back to give customers easy access to the contents. Each sack held a large scoop to transfer the contents into brown paper bags, which were tied at the top with string from a nearby spool and weighed at the front counter.

  Baking powder, Arm & Hammer Baking Soda, salt and spices came in smaller amounts. Lard sold for six cents a pound, butter for fifteen. Jars of assorted sizes held honey and molasses, wooden barrels displayed crackers and dill pickles. Wheels of cheese occupied a table by themselves.

  She marveled again at the prices—corn and peas were four cans for twenty-five cents. Coffee was twelve cents a pound, sugar ten cents.

  Jay bought a dozen cans of vegetables, salt, sugar, flour, beans and baking soda, potatoes and onions, a wheel of cheese, a side of bacon, a bag of apples. He also bought butter and two loaves of freshly-baked bread made by the owner’s wife.

  Rusty added a bottle of syrup. “Is it okay if I buy a few more things?”

  Jay hesitated, then said, “Sure.”

  While he carried their purchases up front, Rusty quickly picked out five pairs of drawers, thinking they were the most unattractive things she’d ever seen, and five pair of socks to wear with her boots. She didn’t see anything that looked like a bra—only a short corset, which looked horribly uncomfortable. And then she saw what looked like a camisole. Since she wasn’t particularly big-busted, she didn’t really need a lot of support. She picked up five of those as well, and hurried toward the front of the store.

  Rusty felt her cheeks grow hot as she added her undergarments to the other things, stood beside Jay while the sour-faced Mr. Howard weighed and totaled their purchases.

  Outside, she helped Jay load their parcels into the back of buckboard.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Yes, a little.”

  “Come on. There’s a restaurant in the hotel down the street.”

  “Tired of my cooking already?” Rusty asked with a teasing grin.

  He shook his head. “Tired of beef and chicken. “They serve pretty good pork chops and potatoes at the restaurant. And fresh apple pie.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” Jay might be too polite to say he was tired of her cooking, Rusty thought, but she certainly was.

  The hotel restaurant was a pleasant surprise. The tables were covered with clean white cloths and napkins. The chairs were upholstered and comfortable. A hostess invited them to sit wherever they liked. A waitress brought menus and asked if they would like coffee before dinner, which they did.

  There were only four choices on the menu: Steak, chicken and dumplings, pork chops, or beef stew.

  Jay ordered pork chops with all the trimmings, and after a moment, Rusty decided on chicken and dumplings.

  “This is a nice place,” she remarked when the waitress left to turn in their orders.

  “Yeah.”

  Since it was still early evening, only a few tables were occupied. Rusty noticed several glances in her direction. They weren’t hostile, merely curious, no doubt wondering who she was. Or maybe what she was doing, dining with a half-breed. She shook the uncharitable thought away, but there was no disguising the looks of disapproval cast in Jay’s direction. How did he stand it? He looked Indian, yes, but he didn’t look like some wild, painted savage ready to scalp them between dinner and dessert.

  Their meal arrived a short time later. As Jay had said, the food was excellent, as was the service.

  Halfway through the meal, Rusty laid her fork aside. “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  “I…” She bit down on her lower lip. “I feel bad, making you buy all that stuff for me. Is it going to…?” She broke off again.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll make enough from the sale of the cattle to cover the added expenses.”

  She nodded, relieved.

  It was dark when they left the restaurant.

  The land, which looked so beautiful in the bright light of day, looked cold and forbidding in the scant light of the moon. Rusty had almost convinced herself there was nothing to be afraid of when three dark shapes materialized out of the shadows at the end of town. Two of the men were mounted. Guns drawn, they blocked the road home while the third—a scar-faced man wearing a black hat—sauntered up and grabbed hold of the bay’s bridle.

  One of the mounted men growled, “I wouldn’t,” when Jay leaned over.

  It was then that Rusty noticed the rifle at Jay’s feet.

  The man who had been holding the bridle moved up beside him. “I’ll take that rifle.”

  Jay hesitated a moment, then surrendered the weapon. “What do you want?”

  “We’re gonna teach you a little lesson,” Black Hat said, tossing the rifle aside. “You got no business ridin’ around town with a white woman.”

  Rusty shivered at the implied threat.

  Gesturing with his gun, the man said, “Climb on down, redskin.”

  Moving slowly, Jay did as he was told.

  The other two men holstered their weapons and dismounted. Coming up behind Jay, they each grabbed an arm and held on tight.

  “This is just a warning,” Black Hat said, sliding his Colt in his holster. “Next time, you won’t walk away.”

  A wordless cry rose in Rusty’s throat as the man drove his fist into Jay’s stomach and face. She glanced around, seeking help that wasn’t there, then turned away, not wanting to watch. It was then that a shaft of moonlight glinted on the short-handled shovel in the back of the buckboard.

  Climbing quietly over the seat, Rusty grabbed the shovel, then crept over the back end and tiptoed up behind the two men holding Jay. Black Hat was so intent on inflicting as much damage as possible, he never noticed her.

  Using all the force at her command, Rusty struck the man on the left across the back of his head as hard as she could. Before he hit the ground, she struck the other one.

  As soon as Jay’s hands were free, he lunged at Black Hat. There was a loud squishing sound as Jay broke the man’s nose, then drove his fist into his solar plexus. With a grunt, the man doubled over as the breath whooshed from his body.

  “Come on,” Jay gasped, his left arm wrapped around his middle. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Rusty scrambled onto the seat, her heart pounding as she watched him toss his rifle into the back, then haul himself up beside her. She didn’t miss the tight lines of pain around his mouth, or the blood dripping down the side of his face as he collected the reins and clucked to the bay.

  “Are you all right?” she asked anxiously.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice tight.

  “Who were those guys?”

  “They work for McNaughton. He owns the biggest spread in the valley. His wife and son were killed by Comanches a few years ago.”

  “That’s awful! But what does that have to do with you?”

  “One Indian’s the same as another where McNaughton—and most of the town—are concerned.” He slapped the reins against the bay’s flanks and the gelding broke into a canter.

  Rusty glanced over her shoulder. The three men were still sprawled in the dirt. “Are you just going to leave them lying there?”

  “What do you think?”

  “They’ll be all right, won’t they? The two I hit?”

  “Most likely have a helluva a headache.”

  “And the man you hit? He was bleeding.”

  Jay shrugged. “He had it coming.”

  She couldn’t really argue with that, Rusty thought with a sigh. Truth be told, she wished she’d hit the other two harder.

  * * *

  At home, Rusty bit down on her lower lip as she watched Jay unhitch the gelding. Wanting to help, she led the horse into one of the stalls and tossed it some hay, then hurried back to the house.

  Jay was inside, sitting at the kitchen table, one arm wrapped around his middle. He had a bloody nose, the beginnings of a black eye, and a split lip.

  After filling a pot with water, Rusty washed the blood from his face. She winced every time he did.

  “Are your ribs broken?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. Just sore as hell.” He jerked his chin toward a lower cupboard. “There’s a bottle of whiskey in there. Get it for me, will you?”

  She hesitated a moment. In every Western she’d ever seen, Indians went wild after only a couple of drinks. Taking a deep breath, she found the bottle, uncorked it, and filled half a glass.

  “Thanks.” He sipped it slowly, wincing again as the liquor stung his cut lip.

  “Does that happen often?” Rusty asked, taking the chair across from his.

  “Often enough.”

  “How do you stand it?”

  “It’s getting harder. McNaughton wants me out of here. I guess he’s through asking nicely.”

  “Why does he want you to leave?”

  “Why?” He looked at her as if she wasn’t too bright. “I’m Lakota. That’s reason enough. Plus he wants the land.”

  Rusty didn’t blame Jay for not wanting to leave. It had belonged to his father, and it was a lovely place, but she didn’t think it was worth a fight. Then again, it was Jay’s home. Sentiment counted for a lot. She wondered what he’d think if she told him that the day would come in the not too distant future when Custer’s troops would discover gold in the Black Hills. It would be the beginning of the end for the Indian way of life. There would be war on the Great Plains. Custer and his men would be massacred. Indians would he hunted relentlessly until they were forced onto reservations. Crazy Horse would be killed at Fort Robinson in Nebraska. Sitting Bull would flee to Canada.

  Her sigh drew Jay’s attention. “Is something wrong?”

  “What? Oh, no.” She saw no reason to tell him what the future held. What good would it do? Besides, he had enough to worry about. “It’s just been a busy day. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll go get our stuff and put it away.”

  He didn’t argue.

  Under the light of the moon, she took the clothes off the line, folded them and put them in the basket, then carried it into the living room. Outside again, she gathered up their purchases. When she returned to the house, the kitchen was empty. After setting the packages on the table, she went to look for Jay. She found him sound asleep on his unmade bed.

  Moving quietly, she pulled off his boots, then covered him with the quilt. She stood there a moment, just looking at him. In spite of the bruises and his black eye, he was still the most handsome man she had ever seen. She yearned to brush his hair away from his brow, run her fingertips over his cheek, lean down and brush her lips across his. But she did none of those things.

 

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