West (History Interrupted Book 1) Read online

  West

  A History Interrupted novel

  By Lizzy Ford

  http://www.LizzyFord.com/

  Cover design by Eden Crane Design

  http://www.EdenCraneDesign.com/

  Kindle EDITION

  West copyright ©2014 by Lizzy Ford

  http://www.LizzyFord.com/

  Cover design copyright © 2014 by Eden Crane Design

  http://www.EdenCraneDesign.com/

  Photography copyright © 2013 by Cathleen Tarawhiti

  http://cathleentarawhiti.deviantart.com

  Fleuron © spline_x - Fotolia.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events; to real people, living or dead; or to real locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Take a survey while you wait!

  Only three questions!

  Free $50 gift card!

  Fifty dollars was a lot when my bank account was close to zero.

  I stepped out of the stream of tourists strolling along the covered wooden sidewalks of Tombstone, Arizona, and paused before the table with an iPad laying next to the propped up sign. It was over a hundred and twenty degrees in the shade and even hotter in the brilliant midafternoon sun. The stores were packed. The beverage sellers at each corner of the tourist district wore heavy period clothing that made me feel sorry for them, as evidenced by the collection of overpriced water bottles weighing down my purse.

  The first page of the survey was pulled on the iPad’s screen, just waiting for someone to stop and fill it out.

  “Why isn’t this place crowded?” No one even glanced this way. Either it was my lucky day or I was the only person wondering how I was going to pay off student loans after graduating college. “My lucky day!” I placed my purse down on the table, picked up the tablet and glanced at the window of the store behind the survey.

  It wasn’t a souvenir or jewelry shop or western-themed eatery like every other business lining the sidewalks of the popular tourist spot. The pictures in the window were sad – of Old West pioneers burying their dead and Native Americans being marched in chains while flanked by cavalry members on horseback. It was a stark reminder of how gritty life back then had been.

  Every kid who was ever forced to take an American History class knew how the Old West was won and the natives suppressed, and I had read every book about the era I was able to find when I was in high school. I wasn’t certain why this store was in the heart of a tourist trap, unless the city was trying to keep things more authentic than the Old West souvenirs made in China.

  Seeing the photos made my heart hurt for the long dead people.

  “Are you interested in the history of the Wild West?” asked a male voice.

  I looked over, not expecting the stranger to be as stunning as he was.

  He smiled. Tall, trim and sexy, with sparkling blue eyes and dark hair, he wasn’t much older than I was, maybe the age of the Masters students in the university where I had recently graduated with my Bachelors in a field unrelated to the Old West: modern languages. He had charming dimples in both cheeks that gave him a boyish appearance, exotically high cheekbones and a tilt to his almond-shaped eyes.

  Déjà vu. I knew I’d never seen him before, but the sense we had met at some point was strong. Never one to pass up talking to a man stunning enough to be a Hollywood A Lister, I lowered the tablet and smiled.

  “I’m not really into American history anymore. I was obsessed with the Old West when I was in high school, but I grew out of it,” I answered. “I minored in European History in college.”

  “So you do like history?”

  “Yeah. Civilized history, I guess.”

  “Civilized?” He laughed. “Tell that to Genghis Khan when you meet him! I mean … if you meet him.” He blushed. “If you go back in time and …”

  He reminded me of my youngest cousin, a super brain who was awkward around women. It didn’t seem possible this man had issues with women, though, because he was absolutely hot. The fact I resembled the perfect blond haired, blue eyed, bubbly cheerleader drew all kinds of attention from men, but none had blushed quite like this.

  “It’s okay if you want to try that again,” I said, struggling not to laugh.

  “Thanks.” His cheeks were almost purple with embarrassment. “I meant to say, I don’t think there’s such a thing. If we were to go back in time, I think we’d find the past anything but civilized.”

  “Good thing we’re in the here and now.” I glanced at his nametag. Carter, History Interrupted, Inc. “You’re the one doing the survey?”

  “Yeah. It’s nice to meet you, Josie.” He stuck out his hand.

  “I’m …” I trailed off, realizing he’d already said my name. “… not wearing a nametag.”

  “Oh.” He turned red once more. “You look like a … Josie.”

  “No one looks like a Josie,” I said with a laugh.

  “Fits the period.” He appeared relieved I wasn’t freaked out, his smile large and dimples larger. “Lucky guess.”

  This is strange. “Nice to meet you, Carter, I think.” I picked up the tablet again. “Is this one of those surveys where you try to sell me a timeshare before you give me my gift card?” I was cute, petite and quick to smile; it was how I always managed to get away with talking to people the way I did.

  “It’s an absolute honor to meet you, Josie. And no, there’s no timeshare involved. Can I at least give you my pitch?” he asked hopefully. “I’ve always wanted to talk to you. To someone like you. To someone who …” He was flustered again.

  “Wait, stop there! Let me put you out of your misery.” I smiled, taking pity on the socially awkward man. “Tell me about the survey or your project or whatever it is you’re doing.”

  There’s something odd about this guy. Not in a bad way, just like a lost puppy that clung to the first human to show it kindness. The combination of Hollywood looks – but no clue how to talk to women – and his over the top enthusiasm about meeting me were endearing. I liked him almost immediately.

  “What if I told you that all this,” he waved at the pictures on the window, “could’ve been prevented? That one man started a chain of events that ended with the near destruction of the native peoples of North America?” His eyes glowed, and he became animated, his hands complementing his words with flourishes. “Just one man. Someone who may not have known the impact of what he did? Maybe he made one tiny choice, like you did this morning when you put on black yoga pants instead of jeans.”

  I wasn’t able to stop my smile. His passion was apparent. “I’d say that’s an amazing discovery. But … does it matter now?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Have you ever seen Doctor Who?”

  I laughed. “Yeah.”

  “Just … pretend I’m the Doctor and you’re my companion and we can go back to any point in time. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “One man in the eighteen forties made a single choice that forever changed the landscape –”

  “His pants,” I said, grinning.

  “– right or something else. Whatever it was, he did it on September twenty fourth, eighteen forty-two. So he does
this one thing, and bam. The lives of nearly a million Native Americans and tens of thousands of pioneers are lost over the course of a century.”

  My eyes returned to the pictures. This … speech, if it could be called that, was a bit morbid. I understood his point, even if I didn’t really get why we were playing this hypothetical game.

  “What would you do if you could go back in time?” he asked. “Would you stop him if it saved a million lives?”

  “Yeah. Who wouldn’t?”

  “There are some people who think history is chiseled in stone, that it shouldn’t change, even if we could.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t agree with that at all. I mean, assuming we one day had the ability to time travel, why shouldn’t we go back and help those who didn’t have a chance? We could do so much good, save the planet from all the abuse we’ve caused during the globalization age, stop men like Hitler. Of course I’d change things.”

  He was smiling. “Good. You’re very idealistic.”

  “My uncle says the same,” I said and rolled my eyes. “I’m not totally naïve. I know there are bad people who might try to go back and change things to make themselves billionaires or get revenge on the Homecoming queen who rejected them or whatever. But I’d like to think humans are naturally good and if given such a power, we’d use it wisely.”

  Carter looked at me a little too long, his features glowing again. I was always friendly, especially since he was starting to remind me of the guys in The Big Bang Theory, who were uncomfortable talking to other humans in general. “Is that … it?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to stare.” He shifted feet like an excited child on Christmas Eve. “Just if you could, take the survey, so I get credit for something today. It’s only three questions.”

  “What kind of research are you doing?”

  “It’s a relatively new discipline of history. There’s a lot of psychology that goes into determining how our outlooks of our world have changed over the years. What we once viewed as moral and just is now barbaric, and so on.”

  “That sounds interesting,” I said. But not my thing at all. Such a complex subject seemed right up the alley of the man I suspected was a genius behind all his blushing.

  “It’s so beyond fascinating, I could spend days … but I won’t. I’ll let you complete the survey.” He moved way to give me space.

  Amused, I turned my attention to the iPad, unable to shake the sense of déjà vu. After I filled out the portion for my name and age, I swiped to the second screen.

  If you could go back in time to prevent atrocities such as the Trail of Tears experienced by the Native Americans, and the massacring of pioneers caught between native warriors and the Calvary, would you?

  I glanced at the pictures on the windows, once more touched by the visible pain. The people gazed at me in silent desperation, suffering clear on their features. “Sure, why not?” I selected the green button on the survey and was taken to the second screen.

  If you could save the lives of a hundred thousand people TODAY, would you do whatever it took?

  “Duh. Who wouldn’t?” Tapping the button, I read the next question.

  If you could go back and change history, would you?

  “Only if there’s a modern sewer system, espresso and AC,” I quipped and then sneaked a look at the images looking over me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I said to them quietly. “I’m hot and irritated. I would go back and save you all, if I had the power.” I swiped to the last screen and entered my email address.

  Carter was waiting patiently nearby.

  “That’s it?” I asked loudly enough for him to hear, perplexed by the simple questions. I replaced the iPad on the table.

  “It is!” Carter beamed and joined me once more. “Well … except …” He cleared his throat, ears red. “Would you maybe want to … get a drink tonight at the Victorian Vittles Saloon?”

  “Ah, I’m sorry, Carter. We’re leaving in an hour or so.”

  “Oh.” He appeared surprised. “I thought you were staying here.”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Okay. Thanks for letting me down easy,” he flashed a dazzling smile. “If you change your mind or … decide to stay in town, I’ll be there shortly. I’m packing up soon to leave.”

  “Sure. Sounds good.” I picked up my purse and offered my hand. “Nice talking to you.”

  “Thank you. So much.” He was nearly gushing as he clasped mine in both of his.

  Overwhelmed by his enthusiasm, my cheeks grew warm, and I laughed instead of answering. Pulling away, I waved and started towards the direction towards where I was supposed to meet my aunt and uncle. The tingling instinct that I knew him lingered. Not one to ignore my intuition, I halted.

  “Wait, Carter, can I ask you something?” I asked, turning.

  “Of course.”

  “Have we met before?”

  He looked like I’d agreed to go on a date with him. His unguarded expressions were something I expected from a kid, not a full-grown man. “Does it feel like we have?” he asked with hushed awe.

  My brow furrowed. I gave another small laugh, uncertain how to take his strange reaction. “Sorta. Like déjà vu.”

  “We haven’t,” he said. “But I’m really glad we did.”

  “Me, too.” And I was, without really understanding why. His innocent, boyish charm made me want to tease him the way I did my youngest cousin or maybe, to ask him if he needed help doing his homework. I couldn’t explain it, except that it wasn’t physical attraction per se, more of a sense of being kindred spirits. My aunt believed in past lives and how we met the same souls over and over again throughout our many lives. I could almost believe it about Carter. “Bye.”

  Hopping off the raised wooden sidewalk, I strode across the street and glanced over my shoulder. Carter, the table and survey sign were gone.

  Then I realized I had left too quickly to get my gift card. “Broke for another week.” I sighed. “Oh, well.”

  I spotted my aunt – a slender woman with bleach-blonde hair – and jogged towards the middle of Tombstone. My uncle was short and squat in comparison, a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon with a warm smile and a wife he turned from pretty into an ageless beauty.

  “Great news, Josie,” my aunt started. Her loud words were like her dress – exaggerated. From the obscenely wide-brimmed hat to the bug-eyed sunglasses and fuchsia cowboy boots, there was no chance of my over-the-top aunt fitting into the dusty, laid back environment of Tombstone. “We’re staying here tonight!”

  “Here? Where?” I asked.

  “Your uncle won a drawing for a free night here in Old Tombstone!” she exclaimed.

  “Oh, okay,” I murmured. Looks like I’ll be able to meet Carter for a drink after all.

  My quiet uncle appeared proud of himself while my aunt beamed him an adoring smile. As different as they were, they’d always been a doting couple. I viewed a relationship like theirs as enviable, even though they used to embarrass me when I was younger.

  “You have time to look at more rocks,” my aunt added.

  “Yes, because that’s all a rock hobbyist is interested in,” I said with a sigh. I had given up explaining why I became an amateur geologist. My aunt had never gotten past the fact I was more interested in rocks than jewelry and accessories. “I do love them, though,” I added, excited about the multiple rock shops I’d visited already. I had too many interests. I barely had the credits to escape the dreaded, generic liberal arts degree to obtain one in modern languages.

  “I’m sure there are some fascinating specimens in these shops,” my uncle added. “They have a lot of dinosaur fossils here, too.”

  “And meteorites. Maybe there’s some space peridots,” my aunt said.

  We stared at her, surprised she’d noticed something about a gem that wasn’t a price tag or whether or not her wealthy neighbors already owned something similar.

  “Come on!” she said, oblivious. “Let’s fi
nd our bed and breakfast. It’s supposed to be authentic!”

  “I really hope that doesn’t mean we’re peeing in buckets,” I said with a laugh, recalling the first tour we went on when we arrived to Tombstone.

  “You and me both.” My uncle smiled then led us down the road to an intersection. His warmth always melted my impatience with my aunt, a reminder of how much I had always wanted a real father when growing up. My uncle was as close as I had gotten, and he’d always been sweet and supportive – but not really mine. He had three other kids that called him father while I called him uncle.

  Orphaned when I was young, I was grateful that my aunt and uncle had taken me in and treated me as family. None of my cousins were roped into this crazy trip across the southwest in search of some kind of rare turquoise my aunt had heard about. Of course, none of them were geological hobbyists who could help her find what she wanted.

  My uncle guided us around one of the buildings to a three story, restored Victorian house that appeared to deliver on the promise of being authentic by its wooden façade. The ground floor was a saloon with a sign hanging in front that read, Victorian Vittles Inn and Saloon.

  Another sense of déjà vu washed over me as I stepped onto the porch. I had never been here before, but like Carter, it was almost familiar.

  Shaking my head, I followed my aunt and uncle into the foyer dividing the saloon from a more formal dining area. To my surprise, Carter was already seated at the bar. I looked twice, not sure how he managed to get here before us, but curious about him to the point I didn’t really care.

  “Hey, I’m gonna grab a drink,” I said to my uncle.

  “Here.” He handed me a twenty.

  I accepted it and walked to the bar. “Mind if I join you?” I asked and plopped down beside Carter.

  “I thought I’d see you here,” he said with another excited smile.