Time travel runs in the family. If Beverly hadn’t bought into the line of thinking that the travelers before her were crazy she wouldn’t be so surprised when she leaps from Boston to the Wild Wild West. One sexy Native American Indian, a few bad cowboys and being claimed as a mate isn’t going to deter this modern woman from trying to find a way home. Or will it?
“I’m not yours.”
“You are. I claimed you before I brought you here. I will claim you again in a traditional ceremony. You are mine now.”
“Not even,” she snapped. “Look, I am from Boston where we have running water and bathrooms and…houses. I need to get home. I don’t belong here. Where is here anyway? Why are you dressed like that? Start talking or start walking,” she stood up and at eye level with him she gave her fiercest glare.
“These are our scouting clothes. You are in what they call California. You,” he said to her. “Are different. Why?”
“California?” She started to pace. “What year?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because this is crazy. I was just in Boston. Wait, I am clearly still in Boston. I’m either in a coma having a world class crazy dream, or I died down in that hole.” He looked at her as if she were speaking Russian or something. Clearly he had to understand her dilemma. This just couldn’t be real.
She stopped pacing and started laughing—hard. “That’s it. I was trying to put a Wild West adventure getaway together for a client. I must have hit my head when I fell out the chair and I’m just dreaming. Yeah, it’s just a dream.”
“You speak nonsense.” He touched one of the curls of her hair that fell across her shoulder. “Did you come for the gold too?”
“Yes, the gold. Many of them came this way. They travel seeking it.”
“Gold? As in the 1848 gold rush? Seriously, when I have dreams I have whoppers.” She knocked his hand away.
“You are not dreaming,” he resumed his previous position of being fascinated with her hair. “This is not a dream. I,” he stepped closer to her, “am not a dream.”
She inhaled sharply the smell of pure man filtered through her nose. No, he wasn’t a dream, which meant this was real because she was fairly sure dead people didn’t feel pain, or pleasure. The touch of his hand on her, the looks he had given her, all of it stoked a flame for a fire she was not ready to see blaze with a fury. She had to calm herself. She had to figure out how she got here, and more importantly, how she was going to get home.