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  Alberta smiled and looked over Catalina’s shoulder. “Walter, tell your boss to get dressed and come downstairs.”

  “Thank you,” Catalina said, relieved. That had been close. Too close.

  “It never occurred to me, that after traveling with the Kid … oh, well. Come this way.” Alberta took Catalina’s arm and led her to a door at the back of the room, almost behind the stairs. She took a key that was hanging from the sash at her waist and unlocked the door, shoving Catalina through.

  It was a parlor, Catalina thought distantly, garishly decorated. Red and gold dominated, with red velvet chairs placed around the room, gilt-framed mirrors on the walls, tasteless cherubs — gold and marble — gracing small tables throughout. There was a plush red carpet on the floor, and one long couch upholstered in red and gold brocade. Even the walls were red and gold, covered in what could only be called whorehouse wallpaper.

  How on earth could they have expected her to sleep with the director? How could Alberta claim that she owed her? Before she knew what was happening, the bartender was at her elbow, and Alberta was gone.

  Catalina didn’t like the way the man looked at her, or the way he held her arm. She tried to wrest away from him, but the man held fast. A smile would fool him. She relaxed and turned a grin to the goon. She had knocked Jackson to the ground, and she could certainly handle this joker.

  Catalina turned her back on the massive creature and tried to flip him. Something was wrong. Her hands were tangled up and he was immovable. A rock. He only clasped her tighter.

  Alberta was back with two other men, and they led Catalina to the front of the room, herding her like a stubborn cow.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Catalina asked, trying to break free. One man tied a long black scarf to her wrist, and then tied an identical one to her other wrist. “Would you stop?” She tried for a commanding tone but fell far short.

  The barbarians were tying scarves at her ankles now, and she got in one good kick. The bartender yelped loudly, and Catalina smiled down at his bushy head.

  She was pressed against the wall, and first one scarf and then the other were tied to two gold rings mounted into the wall at shoulder height. Her legs were jerked apart and tied in the same way to rings almost hidden in the carpet, until Catalina found herself spread-eagled and effectively immobilized.

  Her feet were on the ground, but she was unable to move them. Her arms were spread wide, sticking out at right angles. For the first time in her life, she just knew she was going to faint. The corset, the whiskey, the fact that she was tied to a frigging wall …

  The room was filling quickly. Harold Goodman walked into the room still tucking his shirt into his pants, a less than happy look on his little boy face. He plopped down onto the brocade couch and leaned back almost sullenly, propping one boot on his knee. A few of the miners wandered in, but they hung near the back of the room. The gambler she had seen Juanita latch on to entered the room and took a chair facing her. He looked like a caricature, with his oiled hair and carefully trimmed mustache and silk vest. Like a gambler in a bad western.

  A miner slapped him on the shoulder and asked, “How you doin’, Lucky?” in an overly friendly tone. The gambler. Lucky, was less than pleased to be touched and acknowledged by the lesser man.

  The thought that finally sobered her was the certainty that they had done this before.

  “Gentlemen,” Alberta said smoothly, stepping to the front of the room to stand beside Catalina. “What we have here is a bona-fide virgin. A rarity in these parts, to be certain.” She glanced over her shoulder to Catalina and smiled. “And isn’t she lovely, our golden Cat. Untouched and pure. Her skin is soft and smooth, as though it’s never seen the sun. Her hair is abundant and silky… .” She went on, selling Catalina, pointing out all her virtues. And then Alberta turned back to the audience. “The bidding will start at two hundred dollars.”

  Catalina pulled against one of the scarves, trying to yank a gold ring from the wall. It wouldn’t budge. “You fat bitch,” she muttered loudly. “This is very illegal.”

  Harold Goodman quickly bid two hundred dollars. Another man entered the room. A sheriff. Thank God! A real sheriff, with a badge on his vest and a gun at his hip.

  “Sheriff,” Catalina said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice, “arrest this woman.”

  The sheriff spoke up. “Two hundred and fifty.”

  “You filthy pig!” she shouted.

  The bidding continued, climbing in increments of ten and twenty and fifty dollars. A few miners spoke up early on but soon dropped out of the bidding completely. The sheriff, Goodman, and the gambler continued.

  And then Jackson appeared in the doorway. She had never been so glad to see any person in her entire life.

  “Help me,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes fixed on his face.

  He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “Four hundred dollars,” he said in that silky voice of his.

  “You … you … ” Catalina sputtered, aware that somehow … some impossible way … this was all real. It was the details that finally convinced her. The underwear she wore. Milford’s missing teeth. The hand-rolled cigarettes the gambler smoked. The horrid whiskey that had gone to her head. “Kid Cretin,” she all but spat, and several miners who had removed themselves from the bidding laughed. “You got me into this mess, you damn well better get me out.”

  He didn’t move. The gambler looked back over his shoulder to the doorway and waved his hands in surrender. He was out. The sheriff looked nervous and backed away a step as he withdrew himself from the game. Neither of them wanted to bid against Kid Creede. Only Goodman and Jackson remained active.

  Goodman bid five hundred dollars for her, but she saw beads of sweat on his face that hadn’t been there a moment earlier.

  Jackson stepped into the room, his spurs jangling softly with each slow step. He stopped in the center of the ostentatious parlor, removed his hat, and ran his fingers through that long dark hair. When he raised those pale blue eyes to her, Catalina thought she really would faint.

  He was no actor. He was Kid Creede. A hired gun, a killer. And he was bidding on her virginity like it was a fine horse or a piece of art.

  “One thousand dollars,” he said in a low voice. “But I want her for the week.”

  Goodman sputtered. “I don’t have that much with me.”

  “I do,” Jackson said smoothly. That was directed at Alberta, a businesswoman if ever there was one.

  Alberta lifted her arms to Jackson, palms upward as if asking for a hug. But he didn’t move. “Kid,” she said huskily. “She’s all yours.”

  “I want the blue room,” Jackson said, his eyes on Catalina Lane’s face. Finally she was scared. Being lost in the desert hadn’t frightened her. His reputation hadn’t moved her at all, but at this moment those whiskey eyes were wide and full of terror.

  “I’ve put Cat in the green room.” Alberta stepped forward, blocking his view of Catalina.

  Jackson lifted his eyes to the woman who had auctioned off her new girl without a qualm. “I want the blue room.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. “Clean sheets, a hot bath, and both keys.”

  Alberta smiled. “There’s a single key to each room. Kid, I assure … ”

  “Both keys,” Jackson repeated, and Alberta’s smile faded. Behind him, he could hear the last of the patrons leaving the parlor, shuffling their feet and whispering softly. He knew some of them turned their heads to get one last look at Catalina. He didn’t like it. Not at all.

  “Of course, Kid.” Alberta swept from the room, and he was once again afforded a full view of Catalina Lane displayed against a gold and red wall. With each breath she took her breasts heaved, and her pale face was flushed with color. Christ, she was the most luscious sight he had ever laid his eyes on.

  Jackson stepped slowly to the sofa that was positioned directly in front of Catalina and lowered himself with ease. What
now? Now that he had her, what was he going to do with her?

  “Are you going to get me down?” she said breathlessly, a slight slur in her voice. Jackson smiled. She was drunk, as well as frightened.

  “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

  “What difference does it make? Are you just going to leave me here?”

  Jackson shook his head slowly, and her face paled.

  “If you’ll just help me get out of here. I’ll pay you back. Every penny. There’s been a terrible mistake. I don’t belong here. I don’t even know how I got here.”

  “I found you in the desert and brought you here myself, Catalina. Pretending to be loco isn’t going to work anymore.”

  She pulled fruitlessly against one scarf, turning her head away from him for a moment. “What is the date, today?” she whispered harshly.

  “I don’t know. It’s September, I think.” The date? What was she trying to pull now?

  The efforts at freeing herself stopped, and Catalina faced him again. She looked down into his face, wide-eyed and frightened. He wanted to tell her not to worry. But he didn’t.

  “The year, Kid,” she said, licking her dry lips. “What year is it?”

  She was going to try playing the lunatic again, trying to scare him away. “Last time I checked it was 1896.”

  “Eighteen ninety-six,” she repeated. “That’s not possible.”

  Jackson didn’t answer her. He wasn’t going to play this game. As soon as the blue room was ready, he was going to cut her down and carry her up those stairs. No matter what she said.

  “Listen to me very carefully,” she said slowly. “When I was left at the altar, when I was a librarian in Indian Springs, when I wandered away from the gas station … it was 1996.”

  Jackson placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward slightly. “This isn’t going to work, Catalina,” he assured her.

  “I swear it’s true,” she said desperately.

  Jackson leaned back, never taking his eyes from the picture before him. He could almost swear that she believed what she was saying to be true. No one could lie that convincingly.

  Alberta swept into the room, and Catalina’s eyes jerked up. She was almost more frightened of the madam than she was of him. Almost.

  “The blue room is ready,” Alberta said, placing a single key in his hand. Jackson waited, letting the key lie on his open palm. He didn’t even look at Alberta. A moment later she laid the other key atop the one he held. “Your bath is ready, and I took the liberty of placing a bottle of my finest whiskey and a bowl of stew by the fireplace.”

  “Your finest whiskey would eat a hole right through this rug.” Jackson tapped his foot lightly. The stew probably wasn’t much better, but Catalina would need something to eat.

  “Do you need any help with our Cat?”

  “It’s Catalina, you stupid cow.” Her face paled as soon as the words were out, and Catalina pursed her lips and watched the madam, waiting for a reaction.

  For a thousand dollars Alberta was willing to take all kinds of abuse. She continued to smile, ignoring the insult.

  “I think I can manage,” Jackson assured Alberta, hoping it was true. She’d flipped him once, but she’d caught him off guard then. That wouldn’t happen again.

  He untied the lower scarves first, leaving the knotted silk at her ankles. Then the rings to her sides, again leaving the knots at her wrists. He kept his body close to hers as he worked, pressing Catalina against the wall, giving her no opportunity to run or to get a good hold on his arm as she had in the desert. He expected her to fight him, to struggle, but she was deathly still, even when she was finally free.

  “I’d be careful if I was you,” Alberta warned. “Harold was right pissed.”

  Jackson looked down into Catalina’s face. Pale and trembling, she stared at him with her fear and confusion crystal clear in her eyes. Whiskey eyes, with flecks of gold, he noticed, like sparks of light. Gold dust and whiskey.

  Then he lifted her unceremoniously and tossed her over his shoulder. The scarves that were still tied to her wrists and ankles hung to the floor, and she finally began to struggle.

  “Put me down,” she insisted. “You can’t buy a person. Not for a night or a week or a lifetime.”

  Alberta whispered, words meant for Catalina but reaching his ears. “Don’t worry, Cat,” she cooed. “Better the Kid than Harold Goodman. Talk about the blind leading the blind … ”

  Jackson left the parlor, taking long, slow steps that carried them into the main room of Alberta’s saloon. He was accustomed to curious eyes, but not to the catcalls that followed him through the room and up the stairs. Catalina was still, at least, finally giving up her futile fight.

  The blue room was on the third floor and had a door that opened up to a small balcony that overlooked the street. It was at the end of the hall, approachable from only one direction.

  The bathwater was steaming, and a fire had been lit in the fireplace. On a small table sat a full bottle of whiskey and a bowl of stew. Neither one looked particularly appetizing.

  The bedspread, a sapphire blue satin coverlet, had been folded back, and clean sheets gleamed brightly in that dark corner of the room.

  Jackson tossed Catalina over his shoulder to land on the soft bed, and she bounced once lightly before she tried to leap from the mattress. He was on top of her before she could get very far.

  “Kid Cretin,” she called him again, and he tried to hide a smile as he tied the scarves that were still attached to her wrists to the headboard. She did try to fight him this time, but with all his weight on her she could barely move, much less struggle.

  When both her hands were tied, he sat on the side of the bed and looked down at her. She tried to kick at him, and Jackson stretched across her legs, stilling that movement.

  “Now, I can tie these scarves at your feet to the foot of the bed, or I can leave them loose. That’s up to you.”

  She froze immediately, and Jackson sat up again. Catalina’s legs didn’t move, and he gave them a good, long look. Nicely shaped legs, encased in tight black stockings.

  “I was telling the truth, Jackson,” she said, her voice pleading. “Please, I don’t belong here.”

  Jackson stood and turned his back on her. What the hell was he going to do with her now that he had her? He couldn’t leave her here, and he certainly couldn’t take her with him. He’d bought her for the week, so that gave him a little time to consider the possibilities.

  He locked the door first, and placed both keys on the top of the dresser. Then he placed a chair beneath the doorknob. He wouldn’t put it past Alberta to have three keys. She’d given him that second one too easily.

  Then he took off his gunbelt and draped it across the footboard. His hat went sailing to the chair at the door, and he started unbuttoning his shirt. It had been too long since he’d had a real bath, with soap and hot water and a soft towel for drying afterward.

  He couldn’t even hear Catalina breathing, she was so quiet. Jackson turned his head and caught her staring at him with those wide eyes and trembling lips. Finally terrified of Kid Creede.

  “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said with a smile, shucking off his shirt as he turned to her. “I’m just going to take a bath.” He leaned over the bed, purposely placing his face close to hers. “I don’t bed virgins.”

  Six

  *

  Catalina stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the muffled sounds of Jackson Cady undressing. His boots dropping to the floor, the rustle of heavy-duty fabric as he removed his pants. Each breath she took was an effort as she tried to make sense of what had happened.

  Eighteen ninety-six. It was impossible, but undeniably real.

  Open your heart and your mind, and all things are possible.

  The old man’s words came back to her, along with her wish to live in another time, the glow of the wulfenite, the sandstorm that had stolen her breath. And stories. Stories she’d heard in her years i
n Indian Springs, of locals and tourists who claimed to see into the past, there near the ancient red rocks. She’d never taken those claims seriously, but had explained them away as delusions brought on by too much sun, too much excitement, and way too much imagination.

  But what if there was a door there, a door that allowed some to see into the past … and others to step through?

  She heard the splash of water as Jackson stepped into the tin tub, and the satisfied sigh that followed, and Catalina turned her head to watch him. His head rested against the rim of the tub, and he’d closed his eyes. Jackson Cady. Kid Creede. One of the last gunslingers to make a name for himself in the West. One of the last gunfighters to die in a bloody shootout on a dusty street.

  “You have to leave Baxter,” she said softly, and Jackson opened his eyes and glanced at her.

  “Not before the week is out,” he said, turning his face away from her and picking up a bar of soap from the floor.

  Catalina scooted up into an awkward sitting position, thankful that Jackson had at least left her legs free but mortified to find herself in such a predicament.

  “I know it’s hard to accept that I come from 1996, but it’s true. You must believe me. Kid Creede was killed in Baxter, ambushed and shot a dozen times. Maybe if you leave town that won’t happen.”

  Jackson ran the bar of soap over his arms, giving that task all his attention.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  Jackson dropped the soap into his bathwater with a splash and turned a hardened face to her. “You can stop this … this loco act of yours. I’ve already told you I don’t bed virgins, so there’s no reason to pretend … ”

  “I’m not pretending!”

  “Besides … ” Jackson lowered himself slightly into the water and closed his eyes, “I can’t leave Baxter until I decide what to do with you.”

  What to do with you. Those words had a slightly ominous ring to them that Catalina tried to ignore.

  “Take me with you,” Catalina suggested quickly, knowing — in spite of her current awkward situation — that staying with Jackson was best for her. She couldn’t possibly remain here at Alberta’s, and what else was there for her in Baxter? Nothing. She had to reach a big city, a place where she could blend in while she decided what to do.