Hearts Out of Time (5 page)

All she knew for certain was that she needed to find a so-called
Christmas gift
to trade for her dad’s life. And she wouldn’t let anyone ask more of her because she didn’t want to save worlds.

Then her eyes fell on the wolfdog and she knew that everything would work itself to a happy conclusion. Although fear and confusion flowed in her veins, she’d been given a chance to see what no one else had, to experience the uniqueness of a world where unlikely characters breathed, talked, and lived.

They left the private dining room and went downstairs, the wolfdog on their heels. When they crossed the fabulous lobby, Weedon nudged her elbow while jabbing his chin toward the entrance of the hotel.

“See that man over there?” he asked.

She halted to take a better look at a man in his mid-sixties, maybe waiting for a room while reading a newspaper. “I do. Why?”

“That’s Mark Twain. He wrote a book called
The Adventures of
—”

“
Tom Sawyer
. Oh, my God.”

“Have you heard of him?”

“Of course. Kids study his works at school.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise, Weedon bobbed his head up and down without ceasing to stare at the older man.

Was such a famous author the equivalent of a movie star in this time and world? She wanted to gawk longer but Garrett fretted with impatience as he strode away to the Grand Court.

They all got on a carriage and Weedon gave an address to the driver. The streets appeared less busy at this time, coldness settling in. They rode about a mile before the horses stopped and White Fur jumped out to relieve himself on the base of a short, cast-iron lamppost.

Watching the animal with a grin, she touched Garrett’s arm and instantly felt his muscles contract.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

“Weedon is needed here. We’ll walk the rest of the way.”

For the first time since she arrived in this San Francisco, she recognized her surroundings. She made out the roundness of the hill ahead in spite of the falling darkness, the familiar shape of six other hills, the crisscrossing of the streets below. They were close to Nob Hill.

Weedon whispered beside her, “We’re being watched.” He whistled.

The wolfdog dashed past her, ran across the street toward a motionless shape, sniffed the tall man standing in the shadows about a hundred feet away, and came back briskly to pad beside her.

“Weedon, do you know that man?” she asked.

“He’s been around for a few weeks. I’ve seen him several times, not far from the house, but he seems no threat to White Fur. He’d have made his move by now if he were related to our current affair.”

She peered into the shadows, intrigued by the stranger who didn’t make much effort to conceal himself. “Unusual,” she murmured.

“Most uncommon I’d say, which is why I inquired rather extensively about him downtown. Nobody seems to know where he comes from or even where he lives. He’s always wandering alone, minding his own business. I’ve even heard he’s rescued a few damsels in distress.”

“Really?”

Her astonished tone obviously didn’t sit well with Garrett because his face went from cold to icy.

Chapter 5

“I do not see what’s so unusual about a drifter roaming a town,” Garrett said. “For all we know, he may be plotting against mankind.”

The tall stranger walked away from his post, wrapped up in a long black cloak. As he passed the entrance of a house, someone opened the door and a ray of light fell on his features.

He was watching her. With intent, without menace. Her bottom lip dropped when his dark as night gaze ran her through. Then quicker than a gust of wind, he vanished around the corner of the street.

“Did you get a good look at him, Miss Richardson? Are you satisfied?”

Garrett’s brisk tone startled her as much as the roamer’s stare. He spoke like a jealous husband, robbing her of any smart reply. An awkward moment ensued before Weedon took advantage of it to enfold her hands in his.

“This is where our paths split for now,” he said. “It’s been a delight meeting you, and I’ll see you later. In the meantime, try not to take offense at anything our grouchy friend here might say. He just takes his role very seriously.”

He delivered his speech with such a good-natured manner that she couldn’t help but chuckle.

Mumbling something indecipherable, Garrett grabbed her arm as though she belonged to him. “We must go forthwith. Good-bye, Weedon.”

Garrett wheeled her around and pretty soon, they were climbing a rather steep lane, willow trees lining up alongside the road. They made the rest of their journey in silence, up Nob Hill to an impressive Victorian mansion.

Asymmetrical with thick porch posts, the house featured a steep roof, shingled insets, and slanted bay windows. A turret looming over gave the mansion an air of grandeur. She admired the beautiful structure, this elegant house matching its owner.

At the threshold, Garrett stepped aside to let her in. He gave orders to the maid who opened the door before he led her up a grand flight of marble stairs. Down a corridor, he opened the third door.

“This is your chamber. Mine is across the hall, should you require my assistance. You’re safe and welcome here. I’ve asked the maid to bring you clean and appropriate garments, and she shall be with you shortly. In the meantime, should you like to freshen up, everything is at your disposal in the wash-down closet over there.”

“Thanks, Garrett,” she said.

“My pleasure.”

She was glad for the respite, however brief. She needed some time to relax, to take in this awesome and weird day.

“It’s very kind of you to look after me.”

He acknowledged her words with a polite nod, and his severe expression didn’t waver as he took a step back. “Dinner is to be served in an hour, I shall escort you. I must introduce you to some people, for we may be in need of their help.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Then he left her alone.

By the time he knocked on her door, she had managed a thorough scrub in the bathtub despite the mild temperature of the water, the lack of high-pressure shower, hydro massage tub, or soothing whirlpool spa.

The maid had set her up, fastening her borrowed dress and styling her hair in the local, nineteenth-century fashion. Standing in front of a tall mirror, a not-quite-familiar person looked back at her.

She wore a long and graceful, cream-colored gown that brushed the ground. A pigeon breast corset, emphasizing her narrow waist, gave an impression of an even slimmer, elongated silhouette.

Her hair was piled high upon her head, but she discarded the very broad hat. The accessory might damage her hair-do and she wasn’t supposed to go outside tonight. At least, Garrett didn’t mention the possibility during their silent walk to the mansion.

She opened the door, twirling around to show her delight. “So, how do I look?”

Her tacit invitation encouraged him to enter her bedroom. It took him a few seconds to pronounce a single word. “Ravishing.”

“Thank you.”

He stared at her with an expression she didn’t expect to see on him. Her belly fluttered as his appreciative eyes traveled slowly over her exposed throat and the full roundness of her breasts. The neckline was so low-cut and daring, she felt close to naked under his disturbing scrutiny.

“Please, allow me.” Matching gesture to offer, he came to stand behind her to place his hand on her bare shoulder.

She shuddered, a twinge of desire running through her veins, wondering why she responded with such intensity to this severe man, foolishly hoping his warm hand would come down to cup her breast.

It didn’t, of course. With a slight chill, his fingers relinquished their claim. A pearl necklace glistened around her neck, enhancing the silver one from her father. The one she could not, would not take off.

“We ought to go, Miss Richardson,” he said.

The moment was over and she bit her lip. Was he referring to the people waiting for them downstairs, or to the fact that they were alone in the bedroom? Struck with an unexpected bout of embarrassment, she felt incapable of looking him in the eye. He offered her his arm and she took it with grace. Together, they cleared the long hallway before descending the grand staircase.

Passing through the gray entrance hall, she marveled at the splendor of the mansion, the high decorated ceilings, the marbleized woodwork, the grained finishes, the thick walls resembling blocks of stone.

Thanks to her diligence during her four years spent at San Francisco Academy of Art, she was able to pick out and appreciate the various styles, mostly Second Empire, Queen Anne and Shingle.

Three people and a wolfdog awaited their arrival in the dining room. Weedon Welsh raised his half-full glass in salute while White Fur trotted to her and licked her hand, his tail wagging.

Taking up three quarters of the back wall, a massive gothic fireplace drew her attention. An ornately decorated sideboard appeared to be the focal point of the room, along with a dense oak table and six chairs. A dark walnut chandelier lit the space, giving it an air of luxury and comfort.

A person observed her. In his late-thirties, well-built and medium height, the very good-looking man took a resolute step toward them. He moved about as if he owned the place while she took in his roguish countenance, riveting blue eyes, and the bewitching smile creating a dimple in his chin.

He wore black, tight leather pants, a brown vest with golden embroidery over a white shirt, and a black tie. Around his waist, a leather gun belt with bullet holes held a Colt hanging from a holster on his hip.

She’d watched too many movies not to be impressed, and she instantly labeled him as a bad boy from the Wild West. Her amazement caused her to stare at him openly when Garrett presented him.

“Miss Richardson, allow me to introduce Mister Jake Cooper. A gunslinger and agent of the United States.”

The man working for the government deepened his smile while he bent over her extended hand.

“Well now, If His Highness starts throwing my titles around, we should spend a quite pleasant evening.”

The slightest hesitation stalled her as his tone verged on irony, but he looked so foxy that she let it go.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mister Cooper.”

She couldn’t believe she was meeting a real gunslinger from the Old West. If she hadn’t been so anxious about her dad, she’d have fully enjoyed all the fantastic things happening to her, from the noisy, muddy streets of 1899 San Francisco right down to this fabulous mansion and its guests.

“The pleasure is mine.”

He raised her hand to his mouth again, letting his sensual lips linger a little too long on her skin.

“My friends call me Jay, and I can already say without a doubt that you and I are going to be very good friends.”

Letting go of her hand, the bad boy winked at her before proffering a devilish smile. She felt a tightening in Garrett’s grip on her forearm. He didn’t appear to like this warm greeting in the least.

Or maybe being called
His Highness
by a cheeky cowboy wasn’t his idea of a good joke. Whatever, anyone in a one mile radius could have figured out the two men were at daggers drawn.

“Good God, Jake.”

Weedon’s exclamation interrupted the stare down. He set his glass down on the table and motioned at her.

“Tracy has just arrived. Don’t start on her.”

“Where are your manners, Welsh? A beautiful lady must be treated with the utmost respect. I wouldn’t dream of—how did you put it?—starting on her.”

The handsome gunslinger sounded offended, but she had a hard time telling if the tone was real or teasing.

“I take it you don’t think I’m beautiful? That isn’t very flattering.”

Startled, Tracy shifted her gaze to the young woman standing beside Jake who seemed displeased and pained by the gunslinger’s flirting behavior.

Jake Cooper pivoted toward the slighted lady, took her chin between his fingers, and raised it a little.

“Don’t be jealous, dearest. You know you’re the one and only.”

His words might have passed for romantic if not for the mocking tone that prompted the girl to stretch her neck. Garrett continued his shortened introductions, probably to lighten the bizarre atmosphere lingering in the room.

“Miss Richardson, this is Jessica Harring. She’s a private agent as well as daughter of the infamous vampire hunter Gabriel Harring.”

A vampire hunter? Did vampires really exist in this parallel world? Given that none of them seemed shocked at the mention of fictional creatures of the night, she finally understood her dad’s reference to
unlikely characters
.

“Will you stop teasing me, Garrett?” Jessica said. “I’m glad to meet you, Tracy.”

“Likewise.”

The girl’s direct gaze moved off her to settle on the men, with the exclusion of Jake Cooper.

“Father can’t be here tonight,” Jessica said, “so I’ll act as his representative. He sends his regards and wishes he could be with us, but he must remain in London for the time being. The last I heard, Count Dracula was on the move again, and Dad’s about to follow his trail.”

Count Dracula? Tracy mentally scoffed. Seriously? Her own father rightly assessed this universe, without doubt filled with extravagant and colorful characters. Adoring the idea of mingling with them, she paid attention to the hunter’s daughter.

Dressed in a similar fashion to herself, Jessica’s long, pink dress flowed in sparkling swathes around her, encrusted with tiny stones. She was a stunning young woman, although she oozed strength and harshness. Watching her speaking to Garrett, Tracy felt an alien pang of jealousy stab through her.

They all talked over dinner, the locals getting to know her while becoming reacquainted with each other. When Jake Cooper didn’t focus his increasingly annoying attention on her, small talk flowed, easy and relaxing after such an uncommon day. The meal proved first-class, delicious roast and vegetables followed by an outstanding cake.

But after a butler brought dessert, the bad boy began to drown her in flattery, making everyone uncomfortable again. A grim Jessica picked at her food while Garrett’s frown became deeper by the minute.

Attuned to the heavy atmosphere, Tracy leaned toward Weedon on her left, asking the question for his ears only. “What’s with Garrett and Jake?”

Weedon’s gaze fixed on the gunslinger’s face. He shrugged before bringing his lips a little closer to her ear. “They used to be good friends. Something went on between them recently, but I don’t know what, and I didn’t probe. That’s Garrett’s business, you know, but since then, they’ve been either avoiding each other or bickering over trifles. I don’t want to take sides, but I must admit Jake hasn’t been himself lately.”

“How so?”

“How can I put this? He’s always been charming with women, but never intrusive like he can be now. He met Jessica the year before last, and they fell in love right off. Mind you, I’d never seen Jake in love before. I was back in Yukon Territory when I got word that he’d proposed. When I returned from Canada last week, they weren’t married and they argued most of the time.”

When a troubling thought crossed her mind, she prayed Weedon would give her a negative answer. “So, is Jessica in love with Garrett now?”

A mischievous glint lighting his eyes, Weedon observed her for a long second before grinning. “No. They get on well but, if you want my opinion, she regards him as a big brother, nothing more. Besides, she’s not Garrett’s type.”

Relief washed over her. Her heart stuttered, urging her to wonder about the cause of this abrupt emotion that she pushed away. “Whose type is she?”

“Jess is a warrior, and she’s been raised to fight. As long as the job gets done, she gives no care to etiquette. High-and-mighty people shun her because she lives like a man, but I assure you she’s an extraordinary woman. It’s no surprise Jake fell for her. I have the impression they’re still together, but I can’t really say.”

She didn’t have time to ponder his words. Instead of taking care of Jessica, Jake put his hand over hers and gawked at her breasts. The man was exasperating.

Seeing this tactical maneuver, Garrett banged his plate on the table, breaking a glass in the process, his features taut with frustration and impatience.