Marshal's Law Read online

  “There, there sweet girl.” The soft voice turned to a scolding whisper. “Why on earth did you let Doc give her that horrid ether for a simple little cut, Aaron?”

  “It took six stitches, Ma. That’s more than a little cut. Besides, she was fighting and talking out of her head.” A deep, husky drawl—it was the marshal. She’d recognize that voice anywhere. “It was either that or laudanum, which would have been worse. He thought it was best that he get her stitched up and somewhere quiet to rest. Doc thinks the blow to her head may have damaged her brain.”

  “Poor sweet thing.”

  Janelle had never felt so sick. Her empty stomach roiled and rebelled at the slightest movement. Finally, she stopped heaving long enough to lie back against the pillows. Afraid to move in case the nausea returned, she lay perfectly still, concentrating on taking long, deep breaths in through her nose and out through pursed lips. When she eventually got the courage to open her eyes, she saw the worried faces of the marshal and an older woman staring down at her.

  “You’re awake, dear?”

  The woman was obviously related to the marshal; they looked so much alike. He’d called her ‘Ma’, hadn’t he? In a scratchy voice, she replied weakly, “Yes, ma’am, although the way I feel, I wish I were dead.”

  “Don’t talk that way, darlin’. The effects will soon pass.”

  Her gaze shifted to the marshal who stood at the foot of the bed. Janelle glared furiously at him, remembering the abuse she had suffered at his hands. “Don’t speak to me, you brute. This is all your fault. I asked you not to dose me with that nasty ether, and you ignored me.” Her agitation brought on another wave of nausea. Eyes watering and head throbbing painfully, she looked toward the woman seated at her side and begged her for help. “Please, ma’am, I just want to go home. Can I use your phone to call my parents? My cell phone was in my car.”

  “She’s still talking out of her head.”

  “Aaron, please. The poor thing is frightened half to death on top of being ill.”

  “That’s probably the ether. Doc says that’s expected.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked down at her in concern. She was too sick to care that she was a mess and probably stunk of vomit and sweat. If she’d had the energy, she would have rolled away from the big bully. How dare this stranger make decisions for her?

  “What’s your full name, sweetheart?”

  “My name is Janelle Prescott, and I am not your sweetheart.”

  The tension in the room was palpable, prompting the older woman to interrupt. “Janelle is a lovely name. I’m Leticia Jackson, but please call me Letty. Your rescuer here is my youngest son, Aaron. He is actually a very kind man, although you don’t appear to think much of him right about now.”

  She snorted and instantly regretted it as her head pounded. Pressing both hands to her temples, she grumbled sarcastically. “Rescuer… more like tormenter.” Seeing the startled look on Mrs. Jackson’s face, she was immediately contrite. Her eyes shifted to the marshal’s and noting his sour expression, decided he could glower until his face froze that way—the rat bastard. Ignoring his overbearing presence, she addressed his mother. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m not usually so irritable. Can you tell me where I am?”

  But the marshal wouldn’t allow her to shut him out and answered instead. “You’re at Silverbend, my family’s ranch near Laramie. We’re about forty miles northwest of Cheyenne.” Taking Janelle’s hand gently, he looked deeply into her eyes as he spoke. “I’m sorry we had to manhandle you, Miss Prescott, but it seemed the only option at the time. I assure you we had only your best interest at heart. I hope you can forgive Doc and me.”

  Standing, he nodded his head to her and his mother, “I’ll leave you in good hands for now. I don’t mean to upset you with my presence. I’ll check on you again later this evening.”

  Watching him leave, her throbbing mind was still able to appreciate how truly gorgeous he was. Moreover, he seemed genuinely concerned and honestly sorry for what he’d done. She flushed guiltily, embarrassed by her surly behavior.

  Looking around the room, she noticed she was in a wide, comfortable four-poster bed. The room was prettily decorated in pale blue, and the matching curtains were fluttering as a warm breeze blew in the open window. She could see the afternoon sun dipping lower in the sky. Soon it would be setting over the mountains in the distance. Her parents had expected her at 3 o’clock and would be frantic by now.

  “Ma’am, may I use your phone? I need to call my parents and tell them what happened.”

  “My dear, I’ve heard of Mr. Bell’s wonderful new invention, but it won’t make its way to Wyoming for quite some time. We can ask Aaron to wire a message to your folks in the morning when the telegraph office opens.”

  “What?” Had she heard correctly? Mr. Bell’s new invention? Did she really say telegraph? Now that the fog from the ether and her head injury were beginning to lift, things began to click. The old clothes everyone wore, the ether and antiquated medical equipment, the two cell jail house. “Do you mean Alexander Graham Bell? He invented the telephone in the 1800’s around…” She struggled to remember her history, but Mrs. Jackson readily filled in the blank.

  “About two years ago, I believe, dear. In 1876, I’m almost certain. But they won’t have those wires run out to us for ages.”

  Those words were all it took for Janelle to lose it. She first squealed in alarm and then began to laugh. She laughed and laughed until the pounding in her head made her slow down to a giggle. Mrs. Jackson sat at her bedside with a worried expression, wringing her hands. When she stood, Janelle saw her “Little House on the Prairie” dress, and her near-hysterical amusement turned to sobs of confusion and despair. Dear Lord, somehow… some way, she had gone back in time, 135 years to be exact.

  Her sobbing didn’t stop as the woman murmured, “I’ll run and get Aaron.” Nothing, it seemed, would make her stop. Her world was in a state of upheaval, and her brain felt ready to explode at the absurdity—no, the sheer insanity—of her situation. She was truly and incredibly fucked!

  Her sobs had slowed to shuddering gulps of air when the door opened without even a hint of a knock. She heard heavy boots thump across the wood floor right before the mattress shifted under his weight as he sat behind her. She knew it was Aaron even before his big hand cupped her shoulder and he rolled her onto her back. When she saw the worried look in his eyes, the tears came again. “I want to go home. I don’t belong here.”

  “Hush now,” he whispered. Janelle didn’t even think to protest as he pulled her into the comfort of his strong arms. As he rocked her against his chest, a feeling of safety and security soothed her. She barely knew him, but this seemed somehow… right.

  “Everything is going to be fine, honey.”

  “How can you know that? It’s all so bizarre. I’ve got to get back home, to my time.”

  “Your time?”

  She pulled away and looked up at him, hesitantly. Should she tell him? If she did, would he have her locked up in a psych ward somewhere? Shaking her head, she twisted her fingers as she averted her eyes. “You’re going to think I’m crazier than you already do when I tell you this.” Restless, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, looking down in surprise as the rough material scratched her skin. Someone had put a white cotton nightgown on her. It was old fashioned, with long sleeves and lace ruffles at the cuffs. It wasn’t at all like something she would wear. The high neck was oppressively tight, and she pulled at it frantically, feeling like it was choking her. She turned panic-stricken eyes to the marshal in a silent plea for help.

  Her anxiety level was rising rapidly, and she felt like she was heading for a full-blown panic attack. As she pulled against the gown, her clawing fingers hooked inside the gold chain around her neck. It was her locket. Clutching it like a lifeline, she curled forward, knees rising to meet her chin as her stomach fluttered with sorrow. Her parents had given it to her when she’d graduated from high school. What she
wouldn’t give to see them right now, to have her dad’s strong arms around her and her mother’s comforting shoulder.

  Tugging the locket from her too tight gown, she held it tightly in her hand like a talisman as she slowly began to calm down. The memories the charm brought about had her lips quirking upward slightly as an idea came to mind. Her most cherished possession, it seemed, had grown priceless—and not just as a keepsake, but as tangible proof of her claim. Pulling the long chain over her head, she handed it to him. “My mother gave me this when I turned 18.”

  “It’s very nice.” He looked puzzled, and when he saw her roll her eyes, his lips dipped down into a frown.

  “Thanks, but I wasn’t showing it off. There is something inside I want you to see. Open it and read the inscription.”

  His big hands handled the delicate heart-shaped locket with care as he pressed the latch with his thumb. It sprung open, revealing a brightly-colored picture of Janelle with her parents. She watched with anticipation as his eyes swept over the picture. The details of the familiar image were forever stuck in her memory: an older couple who she resembled so closely, her mother with her delicate features and blonde hair, her father with his brilliant blue eyes. She knew when he read the inscription because his brow furrowed deeply, and his eyes quickly flashed to hers before they returned to the words etched into the gold.

  With love on your graduation day,

  Always, Mom and Dad

  2007

  “2007?” he questioned. His voice had dropped to a low rumble.

  “Your mother said it is now 1878.”

  Stunned, he looked up at her. “That’s impossible, that would mean you are from…” He paused, obviously doing the math.

  “135 years in the future.” Leaning forward, she wrapped her hand around his much larger one as it tightly gripped the fragile piece of her past. “I swear to you, Marshal, when I woke up this morning and packed my car, when I read the newspaper and fed my fish, and when I unwrapped my Egg McMuffin and drank my latte, I swear the year was 2013.”

  He just stared at her, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I understood about half of that.”

  “Where did you find me? I have to get back there. Maybe the time portal or wormhole or whatever the hell kind of time warp I went through is still open, and I can go back.”

  “Don’t cuss.” He said this quietly as he stood and wandered to the window, deep in thought.

  “I tell you I’m from the future, and that’s all you can say? ‘Don’t cuss’?” Irritated as hell, she climbed out of bed and started looking around for her clothes. “I can’t stay here.” She staggered around the edge of the bed toward the chest of drawers.

  “Get back in bed before you fall,” was his order as he grabbed her arm just as she stumbled and barely missed bashing her head against one of the bedposts. He lifted her again and put her back in bed. “You can barely stand, let alone walk. You aren’t going anywhere.”

  “You believe me, don’t you?’

  “I don’t know what to believe, Janelle. To travel through time seems impossible.”

  “Where are the rest of my things?”

  He looked at the chest of drawers. “Ma probably put them away or plans to wash them. The bloody shirt you were wearing was ruined.”

  “Can you get them? There’s something I want to show you.”

  He went to the chest and opened the top drawer. Looking down at the contents, he paused for a moment before he gathered the neatly folded stack of clothes and brought them back to the bed. Setting the pile in front of her, he gave her a strange look, as if he was seeing her for the first time. Janelle realized why—sitting right on top was her lacy purple bra and matching thong panties.

  Grabbing her underthings off the top of the stack, she shoved them behind her, mumbling to herself. “Crap. That should be enough proof, right there. I bet no other woman on earth right now has a purple lace bra and matching thong panties from Victoria’s Secret.” With a face she was sure was a brilliant shade of red, she reached for her jeans to get what she had originally intended to show him. Digging into her front pocket, she pulled out the wad of money she had put there after buying her McDonald’s breakfast.

  She smoothed out the wad of bills and started sifting through the coins. “This is more proof if you need it; a 2010 penny with Abraham Lincoln; a 2008 nickel with…” She paused to study it closer, then shrugged. “I guess that’s Thomas Jefferson. Here’s a dime from 2005 with Franklin Roosevelt. He’ll be president in about 50 years or so.” Next, she unfolded her paper bills. Pulling one from the small stack, she held it tautly between both hands to show him. “Look at this one; this is a fifty dollar bill with Ulysses S. Grant. He’s president now, isn’t he?”

  “No, the president is Hayes.”

  “Who?”

  “Rutherford B. Hayes. He succeeded Grant and was inaugurated this year.” He looked at her as if she should know that.

  “Sorry. I wasn’t the best history student, and the reconstruction was actually kind of boring. But I think I remember Garfield following him, and he’ll be assassinated.”

  “What?” he questioned, his expression stunned and wide-eyed.

  Janelle looked up at him in chagrin. “Maybe I should keep some of those things to myself, huh?”

  “Yeah, maybe that would be best.” Shaking his head, he began gathering her money, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief, which he folded around the coins and bills. “I think we need to put this somewhere no one will find it. Can you imagine what they would think?”

  She just nodded. Feeling as if she had convinced him that she was telling the truth and not crazy, she lay back on the pillow, her head throbbing. “Do they have aspirin in 1878?” She cracked an eyelid and figured not when she saw his puzzled look. “Never mind. Aspirin is headache medicine.”

  “Doc left laudanum if you need it.”

  “That’s opium, isn’t it? I think I’ll pass.”

  He sat quietly for a moment, studying her. She could almost see the wheels turning. As a lawman, he was probably studying all the facts and evidence, trying to piece everything together. Finally, he rubbed his face before raking his hand through his thick, wavy hair.

  “It hurts your brain just thinking about it, doesn’t it?” she asked, but he just regarded her, head cocked, intelligence clear in his eyes—obviously deliberating his next move.

  “Janelle, I’m going to go back into town and get my deputy to show me where he found you. I’ll have a look around and see if I can find any kind of door or portal.” Clearing his throat, he looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Criminy, I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth.”

  “I should come with you. What if it’s closing? I saw a movie just like this once, and the portal or whatever only stayed open for a little while.” The thought terrified her, and she looked at him through a film of tears. “I’ll be stuck here forever and never see my family again.”

  “Settle down; let me see what I can figure out before you start talking about nevers and forevers.” He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek, catching her tears. “Will you rest here while I go check?”

  “Okay, but hurry, Marshal. I have a feeling time is running out.”

  Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Trust me, sweetheart. And call me Aaron.”

  * * *

  “It’s right up here, behind Elvira Meyers’ place.”

  “Of all the places for her to collapse…”

  “Mrs. Meyers wanted her arrested for trespassing and theft.”

  “Theft? What was she supposed to have taken?”

  “Mrs. Meyers said when she came home, her door was open, and someone had been in her house. She was supposed to be checking to see what was missing.”

  “Damn and blast,” Aaron mumbled. “That’s all she needs is for Elvira Meyers to press charges.”

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. How much further?”


  “I found her wandering in the woods back there, bleeding and talking funny, like you saw.” Jeremy pulled up his horse, pointing to the line of densely wooded trees and brush. “It was right over there where I first saw her—right by that tree.”

  Aaron dismounted and tied his horse to a branch. “We’ll search the whole area.”

  “What exactly are we looking for?”

  “I don’t really know. Look for anything unusual and call out if you find something.”

  They searched for two hours until it was dark. In that time they’d found Janelle’s leather satchel and a few drops of dried blood, but no magical portal or passageway into the future. Uncertain what to make of the bizarre situation and their mysterious visitor, Aaron headed back to Silverbend, knowing Janelle would be frustrated and upset.

  It was nearly 10 o’clock when he walked up the stairs and softly knocked on her door. Not getting an answer, he opened it quietly in case she was asleep. The oil lamp he carried cast a soft light over her beautiful face, and he noticed her cheeks were a rosy pink, most likely due to the warmth of the room. He noticed her hair was damp, with curling tendrils framing her face. It looked clean and shiny as it lay in golden waves across her pillow. As he remembered how unsteady she’d been on her feet earlier that day, he thought of her trying to manage in the tub alone, and he hoped she’d allowed Ma to help her.

  Standing by her bed, watching her sleep, he saw her shift restlessly and kick off the covers, exposing the long modest nightgown she wore. It was far from prim and proper, however, as it was currently twisted around her hips, showing off smooth, shapely legs and a whole lot more. His eyes traced over the rest of her curvaceous body, taking in the rounded hips and full breasts clearly outlined by the thin cotton. Feeling like a peeping Tom, he bent and retrieved the sheet, reluctantly covering her before moving to the window and raising the sash, allowing more of the cool night air to enter the uncomfortably warm room.

  Pausing to stare pensively out the window, he tried to comprehend what was happening. Believing himself an intelligent man, he still found himself perplexed by the forces at work here. What powers had randomly plucked this little spitfire out of her time and delivered her into his lap? Was it chance, fate, or Divine Providence? He might never know. Less than anxious to tell her about their unproductive search, he decided it was best to let her rest. She’d learn tomorrow that she wasn’t going anywhere, at least not anytime soon.