West (History Interrupted Book 1) (10 page)

“Have a seat, Miss Josephine,” the sheriff said a little too casually.

With a deep breath, I turned and sat the best I could in the snug bodice in what I hoped was a proper sit. I had missed loosening one of the ties, though, shifted twice and soon found myself leaning again to relieve the pressure around my chest.

The sheriff was studying me. “You all right, ma’am?”

“A little tired.”

He looked me over but said nothing else about my odd position.

“Let’s start with what happened a year ago, when you disappeared,” he said, resting his hands on the desk behind him in a stance that was deceptively relaxed. His dark hair was mussed from the hat, and the six shooters he had slung on his hips rested against the desk.

He looks like a real cowboy,
I thought, momentarily mesmerized by the combination of quiet strength, handsomeness and low, quiet command. The exotic slant of his cheekbone and chiseled features were straight out of a movie.

“I don’t remember,” I replied.

“Convenient.”

My eyes narrowed. “You aren’t interested in what happened a year ago,” I assessed.

My empathic memories weren’t working. Nor were the historical records I was supposed to be able to access. Without either, it was going to be harder to figure out what the sheriff wanted. Philip’s motivation was clear: he wanted my land, money and me lying dead in a ditch.

Such things meant nothing to this stranger, but he was after something from me.

“You’re right. I’m not,” he replied calmly. “I am interested in how you keep appearing every few months and leaving again. Every time a little different. A little lost.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We suspected the other girls were after John’s wealth. They must’ve heard about his missing daughter and were trying to take advantage. John’s mind is too far gone for him to understand this.”

I listened. “So you want to interrogate me to protect John. That’s very sweet of you.” For some reason, that made me feel a little better about being there.

“Partly true.” The enigmatic sheriff offered a half-smile. “And partially because I want to know what’s really going on.”

I wanted to be the real-Josie for John because he needed peace of mind before he died. With the sheriff … well, it was more of a survival instinct. The man was dangerous and too quick to sentence people to hanging.

“I appreciate you looking after my father in my absence. But I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said firmly. “The doctor will verify I have no memory of the past year. My dear cousin Philip and governess will verify that I have knowledge only I can possess.”

The sheriff studied me, hard gaze never leaving my face. I didn’t recall ever meeting anyone quite this intense before. The silence grew tense and awkward, and I dropped my focus to his desk.

“Taylor Hansen,” I read his wooden nameplate aloud. “
You’re
Taylor Hansen!” Did Carter know the man I sought would find me instead of me finding him?

“Funny thing, ma’am, the other girls got that same look on their faces when they heard my name,” he replied dryly.

Carter would’ve told me if he sent others back.
I didn’t believe the sheriff’s tales about other girls fully. It sounded like entrapment to me, though it did make sense that conniving people would try to take advantage in an era where a woman was defined by her father and husband’s money and status. Itching to text my handler, I clasped my hands in my lap to keep from snatching my phone.

“Who were these other girls?” I asked carefully. “Why do you think I’m one of them?”

“What should concern you more is what happened to them. No one saw them leave town.”

A chill went down my back. Was the good sheriff threatening me or warning me? From his expression, I wasn’t certain. The tension between us was thick enough to make me uncomfortable, and he watched me like he might a bluffing poker player while I tried not to stare at one of the most attractive men I had ever met.

“If there’s something I need to know, ma’am …” He trailed off.

“Not to my knowledge, Sheriff,” I replied. “You found no trace of the other girls?”

“None.”

“And they just appeared at random?”

“From the sky. Like you did.”

I stared at him. Now
that
made me want to hide in a cell and call Carter. It was one of the rare moments in my life where I was speechless. What was worse: I suddenly recalled why I hadn’t taken a third drama class in college – because I was a terrible liar and an even worse actress.

“Sheriff.” Philip’s intrusion couldn’t have come at a better time. “What business do you have with my cousin?”

I almost sighed.

The moment he stepped foot in the office, the empathic memories began working. I tried not to react to the scenes flowing from my faux-cousin, not when I knew how closely the sheriff was watching.

Why did they work for Philip but not the man identified by Carter? Was the sheriff testing me the same way Philip had?

“My business, Philip,” the sheriff responded, ignoring the wealthy man’s pointed tone.

“Consider it over.”

“For now,” the sheriff allowed.

I rose quickly and went to the door. Dislike of my cousin was second only to fearing the sheriff knew something he shouldn’t about me.

Worse, I had found one of the men Carter sought but didn’t dare talk him long enough to find out what he was doing here.

“G’day, ma’am,” the sheriff called after me.

I waved over my shoulder, anxious to be away. Nell waited outside the office. Snatching her arm, I tugged the woman with me back towards the carriage.

“Cousin,” Philip called.

I rolled my eyes but turned.

“If he bothers you, you tell me. He has no right to be questioning a lady about her doings,” Philip said firmly.

“You’re absolutely right, cousin,” I replied. “Thank you. I will let you know.”

Philip appeared pleased by my admission. Quelling the urge to run, I smiled at him.

“If you’ll excuse me, Philip, I am feeling unwell,” I continued. “Nell will see me home.”

“I will call on you tomorrow.”

I turned away, all but dragging Nell towards the carriage.

“We need to go,” I whispered.

“I told your father today was too soon for you to be out,” Nell said, worry in her voice. “He said you loved to go to town and wanted you to buy something special for your return. I told him, she’s not right yet, Mr. John, you can’t -”

“I’m fine,” I said, glancing back at my cousin. “I hate that man.”

Nell followed my gaze. “You best keep that to yourself, Josie. He’s powerful and wealthy. When your father is gone – God bless him – you will have to be careful of your cousin.”

I guessed that a society that valued a man’s opinion over a woman’s was going to be difficult to navigate, if I wasn’t out of there after John’s death. I was going to ignore Philip as much as possible, and not pry into his mind again. Uncertain what to do about the sheriff, the only thing that came to mind was seeking guidance from Carter.

My attention was caught once more by the crowd at the edge of town. Every fiber in my body wanted me to run home before the sheriff tracked me down, and yet, I was drawn in the direction of the market.

“You’re right, Nell,” I said. “That man will never set foot in our house, once my father is gone.”

“I reckon it’ll take a shotgun to keep him out,” Nell said.

“I think that can be arranged.”

My nanny gave a rare smile.

“Before we leave, I’m going to see the savages,” I said and started forward, determined to learn the location of where I had landed in case I needed to return to the spot.

“Miss Josie, it’s –”

“Puh-lease, Nell. Everyone saw me almost pass out. They’ll assume I’m confused.”

Nell pursed her lips and trailed. I slowed when I reached the edge of the market, taking in the goods displayed on the back of wagons or spread out on blankets. Nell was right about there being a mix: a bearded old man with gold teeth grinned as I passed a wagon bed filled with dented bronze candelabras. Two Native American women ceased talking when I reached their display of leather decorative items. Roughly hewn furniture, lanterns, horse tack, handmade blankets … there was a little bit of everything in the nineteenth century version of a flea market.

The handmade, hammered silver jewelry with polished rocks displayed by a little Indian girl caught my eye, and I did my best to crouch without grimacing to see better.

“Did you make all this?” I asked.

The girl’s eyes widened. She shook her head and pointed to a sloppily woven, leather bracelet adorned with wooden beads that lay among several others of much better skill.

I smiled and picked it up. “It’s beautiful.”

“I sew better than I braid. I make clothing, too.” The girl smiled hesitantly.

I opened my purse and dumped coins into my palm, not recognizing any of them. Standing, I turned to Nell.

“What are these?” I asked.

Nell sorted them in my palm. “Half cent, full cent, half dimes, dimes, quarter, half dollar, dollars.”

“So if I give her a quarter?” I asked, struggling to follow the different sizes.

“A quarter?” Nell appeared appalled. “Ain’t worth the half-cent she’ll charge!”

“I’m not following you at all,” I said.

“The quarter is worth fifty of the half-cent,” Nell explained.

“Ooohhh. That I understand.” I plucked the quarter free and replaced the rest of my change. I held it out to the little girl, whose eyes bulged larger than the coin offered.

Satisfied with myself, I continued onward, the bracelet in my hand.

We reached the end of the small market, and my focus shifted to the horses being herded into a corral nearby by men who appeared to be authentic cowboys.

Amazing.

“Miss Josephine.”

I turned at the unfamiliar voice to see the Native American who had accompanied the sheriff to John’s approaching, the little girl trailing him with a look of distress on her features. He held out the quarter.

“We do not need your pity,” he said firmly. His dark eyes flashed with fire, and his features were taut. He wasn’t scowling, but he wasn’t friendly either. He regarded me as if I were an alien.

“It was not pity,” I said. “Kindness. You brought me back to my father.”

“He repaid us in full.”

“But I didn’t, and it was my life,” I said. “It’s for her, to buy herself a present.”

His hand dropped. He was close enough for me to start to see his memories. He was thinking of his family, including his niece, the little girl I had bought the mal-formed bracelet from.

“If I may ask, what were you doing out there last night with the sheriff in the first place?” I asked. “When you rescued me?”

The man’s jaw tightened. His mind was racing, and I didn’t quite get how all the images I saw were connected. Compared to Nell and Philip, his memories were disjointed. There was no flow, only flashes.

“Your uncle is ill,” I said, tilting my head to the side. “He has little longer than my father, which means …” I trailed off, the images in my mind troubling me. They weren’t his memories as such but encyclopedic style historical accounts of the slaughter I was there to stop. There was no obvious connection between him and the accounts, and the disjointed picture forming confused me long enough for me to realize I was being stared at by more than one person. “Are you Running Bear?”

“I am.”

My mouth dropped open. Carter was brilliant. He dropped me off in a spot where the two men I sought rescued me!

“Miss Josie, we must go,” Nell said.

I waved her off and continued addressing Running Bear. “We need to talk,” I told him.

He stepped back. These images were memories. My eyes … they reminded him of the daughter he had lost several years before during a cavalry raid. She also had blue eyes. The disjointedness flickered, and his thoughts unfolded in a logical flow before once again breaking into flashes.

“You know who hurt your family but told your uncle, the Chief, you didn’t,” I said.  “Maybe because you feared he’d talk you out of what you might be planning? A raid ... or …” I wasn’t able to tell the full story or reasoning. The empathic memory was a hodgepodge of facts and patchy memories, some of which didn’t match up at all, as if the recorded accounts about him were different. Almost like his family’s slaughter happened. And then didn’t. The history books didn’t know, but his memories were clearer.

“What are you that you know things you should not?” he managed, searching my face.

“A starman,” his niece said, smiling. “Like the shaman says. You came from the sky and landed in my uncle’s –”

“Hush, Blue Stream,” the man said harshly enough for the girl to jump. She peered up at him.

Despite his gruff rebuke, the girl held only admiration and love for her uncle, her memories of them playing earlier that day.

“What are these starmen?” I asked curiously. “You’ve seen people fall out of the sky before?”

“Yes, we – ” the girl started.

“Stay away from my people and my land,” Running Bear ordered in a voice that left me no doubt what would happen if I crossed him. He pushed the girl away, and the two of them rejoined several natives standing a few feet away.

Starman.
How many people had they seen fall from the sky? I burned to ask the girl but feared her uncle after what I had seen in the empathic history. The sheriff’s claim about there being more than one woman sent back to play the part of Josie returned.

I barely knew Carter. Did he purposely
not
tell me I wasn’t the first? Or was this another of his failure-to-relate-to-other-humans issues?

Running Bear met my gaze once more, and I saw it. The strange spark that lit up his aura for a split second, a sign from whatever crazy stuff Carter put in my head. Why didn’t Taylor glow like this, if he was part of whatever event was supposed to happen on the twenty fourth?

I ached to pursue and yet was afraid to after his warning.

“You, savages, keep your distance,” Philip snapped, waving his cane at them. “You will not sully the daughter of my uncle.”