Hans looked around for support. “Are you sure, Marshal?”
No one spoke. Hans shrugged. “All right, Marshal, but look out.”
Royce’s eyes never left Pearl’s. “Jason, are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. She’s scared to death, Royce. She didn’t recognize me. And be careful. Her feet and hands can move faster than anything I’ve ever seen.”
Royce handed his shotgun to Pete then held out his hand to her. “Pearl?”
Her eyes flicked from his hand to his face. “I’m not Pearl. I’m Texanna.” She backed up a step. “And I’m sure as hell not your wife.”
The crowd gasped at her language, and Royce felt his face heat. His wife didn’t talk like this woman. He frowned, tamping down his anger. Regardless of who she was, it was his responsibility to see she got help, and put on some decent clothes.
“Watch your mouth, young woman.” Royce took off his jacket. “Here.” He tossed it to her. “Put it on. You’re not dressed proper.”
Damned if her chin didn’t shoot out an inch, but she caught his jacket. He stretched out a hand to her. “Come on now—let’s go somewhere and talk.”
Royce watched her.
She’s scared but doing a darn good job of hiding it. Something’s definitely wrong.
Of course there is or she wouldn’t be dressed so, or have been gone for four years.
Had she been held in captivity and those were the only clothes she owned? His throat clogged with emotion. God, what if it wasn’t Pearl, just someone who looked like her playing a cruel joke on him? Or it was Pearl, and she’d lost her mind.
He started toward her. Before he took a step, she threw his jacket at his head and took off running. She was fast. Shock filled him, as did a sense of pride. Wherever she’d been, she’d not let them beat her down.
“Somebody give me their horse.”
In less than a minute, he was riding after her. When she heard the horse pounding close behind her, she turned back to look and tripped. Royce caught her by the waist of her pants before she fell and sat her sideways in front of him on the saddle.
She screamed and fought, but Royce pinned her arms and pulled her body against his. “Stop it, it’s all right. I won’t hurt you. You’re safe now.”
Her screams turned into sobbing mumbles. Something about time-travel, Pearlina, and going crazy. She stopped shrieking and fighting but remained stiff in his arms. Taking a chance, he loosened his hold on her arms. She pulled free and grabbed his shirtfront in her fist. “You’ll never believe me. I can’t believe it myself.” She dropped her head to his chest and moaned. “Oh God, I want to go home.”
He eased an arm around her waist. “It’s okay, Pearl, we’ll straighten everything out.” Tears gathered in his eyes as he held her close and patted her back. He so wanted this woman to be his wife, but he just wasn’t sure.
Royce turned the horse and walked it back toward the jail. He needed to know if she was his wife before he took her home for Garrett to see. Except for an occasional sniff, accompanied by a shudder, she remained quiet.
When he lifted her off the horse in front of the jail, she balked and tried to pull away from him. Dammit, he’d had enough of this. He tossed her over his shoulder and walked into the jail with her pounding on his back. The minute he sat her feet on the ground, she took his arm and the next thing he knew he was on his back in the floor. He rolled and reached for her foot but missed. Pete caught her at the door.
Royce scrambled to his feet. “Put her in a cell.”
Pete gaped at him.
“You heard me, put her in number one.” His deputy didn’t look happy but did what he’d been told.
The carpetbag the woman had been carrying sat on his desk. He opened it and pulled out a packet. It was addressed to Tom Syler, one of Waco’s many lawyers. Pete came out of the holding area and locked the door. Royce tossed him the packet. “Take these down to Tom, will you? Tell him if he needs to talk to me, I’ll be here a couple more hours.”
“Sure thing, Marshal, but I’m here to tell you right now I don’t appreciate the way you’re treating your wife. It’s disgraceful.”
Royce ignored the comment, and Pete stormed out of his office. He continued to search in the carpetbag and pulled out two dresses he recognized. They were Pearl’s, as were the shoes and nightgown. The gown still carried her sweet lilac scent. At the very bottom, he found the tintype of them on their wedding day.
He sank heavily into the swivel desk chair. If this woman wasn’t his wife, how had she gotten hold of these items? She could’ve killed her and was now trying to pawn herself off as Pearl. Well, dressed as she was, she sure as hell wasn’t getting off to a good start.
With a sigh, he stuffed the items back in the bag, everything except for the tintype. He slipped it in his shirt pocket. For several years now he’d feared in his soul Pearl was dead, but had never given up hope. And now, here was this woman who looked almost like her twin. People changed over time, he knew that, but... Could he have forgotten the color of her eyes, the tilt of her nose, the shape of her face? He didn’t think so.
The tintype was a good likeness but didn’t reveal her facial characteristics or the color of her eyes and hair. If only she’d been smiling, but her face was as sober as his own. Too bad Pearl didn’t have a mole or birthmark for identification. He studied the tintype again hoping for something to erase his doubt.
By God, he wanted some answers. He opened the steel door to the holding area and went inside. She jumped up off the cot and stared up at him belligerently. His heart thumped with emotion at the tears pooled in her eyes. He wanted to open the door, take her in his arms, and comfort her. And hell yes, he wanted to kiss those sweet lips, run his fingers through that thick mane of hair, and become reacquainted with her beautiful body.
He pulled the chair from the corner in front of her cell and sat down. “Who are you? Why are you carrying my wife’s things?”
She lifted her chin. Her eyes drilled his. “I’m Texanna Keith. The carpetbag, clothes, and picture belong to your wife Pearlina Baines Dyson Thompson who is ninety-four-years-old. I call her Miss Pearl. She lives next door to me in San Antonio. I’ve spent a lot of time at her house learning to paint. I love her dearly.”
He snorted and shook his head, then thought. Ninety-four would be the age of Mrs. Baines’ mother. Did Pearl have a grandmother still living? Not to his knowledge. A year after Pearl’s disappearance, her mother passed on. Her illness and the shock of being unable to find her daughter broke her heart. Mr. Baines followed shortly after. To his knowledge, their three sons were the only family left.
“Pearl didn’t have a grandmother named Texanna.” He’d bluff the truth out of her. “So try again.”
“I know that. My neighbor, Pearlina Baines Dyson Thompson was your wife. She left here on June 15, 1876, to see about her mother in San Antonio. When she arrived, it was 1936. For years she tried to get back to you and Garrett but couldn’t.”
He balked. How could she know the date Pearlina left unless she was his wife? Her story got crazier by the minute. Doubt and worry made his belly clench. No, she was plain out lying.
He tried to keep his eyes above her shoulders but the needy things dropped for a minute, and he saw the locket, the locket he’d given Pearl when Garrett was born. It held the piece of turquoise that had been in his family for generations. On Garrett’s second birthday, they’d had his picture taken to put inside.
“She traveled forward in time.”
At her words, he jerked his eyes back to her face. Did she think he’d buy that bit of nonsense? At the sheer absurdity of her remark, he threw back his head and laughed. He couldn’t stop himself.
She strode forward and grabbed the bars. “Laugh, you fool, but it’s the truth.”
He rose from his chair. “That locket is Pearl’s. Give it to me.”
She covered the locket with her hand drawing his attention to the wedding ring on her left hand. Voice harsh, he ordered. “Give me the locket and the wedding ring.”
She backed away from the bars. “No, Pearl gave them to me. I didn’t believe her ridiculous story about time-travel either, but she wanted me to wear these. Guess to help make you believe.”
“Fine, keep ‘um, but when I charge you with theft, you’ll wish you’d handed them over. May charge you with murder, too.”
“Murder?” Her shrill screech echoed off the bare walls. It was hard to keep a straight face. “I’ll have you—”
“Marshal.” Pete appeared in the doorway.
“Yeah.”
Pete handed him the packet he’d just sent over to Tom. “Tom says these are for you.” He coughed. “From your wife.”
****
Royce read and reread the letters from Pearl. The handwriting in the one, supposedly written on June 15, 1940, was undeniably similar to Pearl’s. The paper was yellowed with age and delicate. The script in the other, dated June 14, 2008, was completely different, shaky and uneven. The writing paper was unfamiliar. It felt different between his fingers as he rubbed, trying to find a clue to this dilemma.
He picked up the first letter and reread her parting words.
Forgive me, my love. I’ve tried multiple times without success to return to you. My only means of survival in this crazy modern world is to marry. I’ll always love you and our precious child.
Tears sprung to his eyes at the hardships the woman described, but it was a story, fiction, not word from his wife. Time travel wasn’t possible. Royce tossed the letter aside and picked up the crisp new sheets.
I’ve lived a good life, learned to love my husband, but had no children. Yet you and Garrett were often in my thoughts. When John passed on in 1980, I began to research time travel and ten years ago learned the turquoise in the locket was the key. I won’t go into all the details, but felt I must send word to warn you.
The woman in his jail cell was allegedly Pearl’s neighbor’s child, or so he was supposed to believe. She was here to warn him about a bank robbery in early August of this year where he’d be shot and killed. Lord, this was the craziest situation he’d ever run across. This was nothing but an elaborate scheme to...to what? He wasn’t rich. Yes, he could provide a good home to a woman, but not finery, world travel. Or, was the woman in his cell truly his wife, and this was her way of explaining away the years? Was she ashamed to tell him the truth?
****
Texanna curled up on the cot with her face to the wall. Her lip trembled, and she bit it to keep from wailing. This had to be a nightmare. She’d wake up any minute.
At the sound of the steel door opening, she rolled to a sitting position and wiped the tears from her face. Royce stood outside her cell with a cup of coffee and a plate of food covered with a dishtowel.
“Pete brought you something to eat.”
She stood up and walked to the bars. He passed the plate through the available slot and handed her the cup.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned and left the room but didn’t close the outer door.
The food smelled delicious, and, despite the anxiety that churned in her stomach, she was hungry. Pearl had gotten her into a crazy mess, and she’d need all her strength to cope with it. She wouldn’t let Royce have the locket and ring. The locket was her ticket home. She placed her cup on the floor and sat on the cot with the plate in her lap. Her stomach growled in response to the mouth-watering aroma of the fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and cornbread on her plate. She took the wooden-handled fork and started eating. It was filled with fat and calories, but she didn’t care.
When Royce returned, her plate was clean except for the chicken bones. He took it away and returned with the coffee pot. After filling both their cups, he sat down in the chair he’d left and placed the pot on the floor.
She inched back toward the cot and plopped down while keeping her eye on her cup. He didn’t speak but watched her, his brows furrowed. Damn his hide, he was good-looking, his blue eyes dark with concern. According to her wristwatch, his five o’clock shadow had turned into nine o’clock darkness. It only added to his stark sex appeal.
Texanna started when he stood. He took papers from his breast pocket and walked toward her, hand outstretched. “Read these.”
She sat her mug on the floor, half-rose, and reached out to take them. There were two letters. One appeared old, the paper yellowed, and she opened it first and started reading. It was dated 1940, just before Pearl married Mr. Thompson. Her words were poignant, and by the end of the first page, Texanna brushed tears from her cheeks. On the last page, her tears turned to sobs of grief for what the woman endured.
Royce watched her carefully. He had to admit her tears appeared genuine. Either that or she was a damn fine actress. He cleared his throat. “Read the other letter.”
She carefully folded the fragile paper and slipped it into the envelope before opening the other letter. As she read, her tears stopped, and at one point, a look of resignation crossed her face. Lips pinched, she finished the letter and handed them back through the bars.
“So, what am I to believe? You look a lot like my wife.”
She sputtered. “Didn’t you read the letters? How can you have any doubts after reading Pearlina’s words?”
Whoever she was, she showed spunk, and he liked that about her. His wife didn’t have near the grit, but people did change, and it’s possible she’d had to. He studied the woman before him—her clear complexion, blue eyes, and strawberry blond hair. He didn’t like it cut short. It didn’t even reach her shoulders. The lack of weight made it curlier, an aspect he did like. It curled around her face, emphasizing her eyes, making them look larger and mysterious. Well, hell, she was mystifying for a fact.
“Yes, I read it, but don’t think I can accept as truth that my wife traveled forward in time, or that you’re from the year 2008. I don’t believe in time-travel.”
She jumped up and gripped the bars, her voice harsh and loud. “Well, hell, neither do I, but here I am in this one-horse town, in a jail without an indoor toilet or running water, talking to a man who looks like a pirate.”