West (History Interrupted Book 1) Read online

  He hesitated, studying me briefly before he returned to his belly. I rolled onto my side, back to him, and gazed at the dancing shadows thrown off by the hearth.

  “You don’t scare easily,” he observed.

  “Not usually, no. I don’t feel like being alone tonight,” I replied. “Sometimes I think your brother is lucky in his cave. He knows there are shadows and darkness around him, inside him. I stumble upon them and see secrets no one should ever know. I want to believe good trumps evil but have started to doubt something I viewed as irrefutable before.”

  “Good and evil are relative.”

  “Like hanging men every Saturday?”

  “To keep a peace that doesn’t want to be kept. There are times when it takes evil to keep evil in check.”

  “I don’t want that,” I whispered. “It’s not who I am, not something I understand.”

  “You have a good heart, Josie. You charm everyone you come across, even Fighting Badger.”

  “Because I want to attract crazy murderers!”

  “I reckon it’s because you want to find the good in people.”

  I sighed. “You think that’s stupid?”

  “I think it’s admirable and a tad foolish.”

  The foolish part I understood. I didn’t know how to take admirable. It reinforced the idea he liked me and was in denial of the fact. I’d had one-night stands and boyfriends nowhere near as sexy as he was; it was a shame he was so … honorable towards women. “I don’t know if or how you’re supposed to help me, but I’m glad I’m here tonight,” I told him.

  “Maybe to keep you out of the well.”

  “Now that is inappropriate, Sheriff Hansen. How can you joke about what happened?”

  “My apologies, ma’am,” he replied solemnly. “But if you are in trouble, I want to be the first you come to.”

  Who else would I go to? “Will it cost me a favor?”

  “We’ll see, ma’am.”

  I smiled to myself. “Goodnight, Sheriff.”

  “You can call me Taylor,” he replied. “Goodnight, Miss Josie.”

  With the steady tap of rain on the tin roof, and the sexy sheriff inches from me, I fell asleep faster than I expected and slept well. For the first time since arriving in this time period, no dark dreams disturbed my sleep.

  “Josephine!”

  I was burning up and having trouble breathing. Assuming I was stuck under the covers, I pried myself loose from the cocoon of my blanket. The air outside my blankets was just as hot, and I sucked in a deep breath – then began coughing.

  I opened my eyes and batted away at the smoke hanging over me. Fire lit up one wall of the cabin, and I stared, slowly registering that the cabin was on fire.

  “Josephine!”

  Covering my mouth with one hand, I squinted in the direction of Taylor’s shout. It came from the bedroom. Fire was between me and the front door.

  Dashing to my feet, I shoved his door open and scrambled over the bed to the narrow space between bed and window. Fumbling with the window, I managed to shove it open and leaned out, sucking in deep breaths of rainy night air.

  “Taylor!” I called, disoriented.

  He appeared around the side of the cabin, bucket of water in hand. Dropping it, he hurried towards me and took my arms, hauling me out of the window.

  I coughed, the cold night shocking my overheated body. Taylor locked an arm around me, whisking me away from the burning cabin. I felt his heartbeat through his soaked shirt; it raced, and his wiry frame was tense, edgy.

  When we stood a safe distance from the cabin, he stopped and watched. I tugged at his grip until I was able to twist and see the fire. The entire cabin was in flames despite the steady downpour of rain. My feet sank into the cold mud and I grimaced, pulling them free. I found footing by standing on the sheriff’s boots and leaned against his warm frame.

  “What happened?” I breathed.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “I’d say you’re bad luck,” he said.

  I shivered, silently agreeing.

  “Might help knowing who’s after you,” he added.

  “I’m sorry about your house, but I really don’t know,” I responded.

  “Someone didn’t want you here tonight.”

  We were quiet, watching the cabin collapse in on itself. I felt even worse knowing he was losing everything he owned because of me. From the patchwork on his clothing and the sparse belongings I’d seen, I doubted he had a stash of money anywhere and knew there was no such thing as house insurance in this day and age.

  I glanced up at him, my gaze lingering on his chiseled face. He was grim but not openly angry, and my confusion deepened. Nothing seemed to surprise him, not me falling out of the sky or even his house burning down.

  “You’re giving me that look again,” he said without taking his eyes off his home.

  One of my feet slipped off his boot, and he tightened his grip around me. I remained where I was, in no way uncomfortable being pressed against his warm, solid body. There was no denying he was sexy in a rugged, roughened way of an outlaw. It was as much his lean frame and bright eyes as his quiet confidence and strength, the direct gaze that stopped me in my tracks and saw through my flimsy attempts to lie or deceive him.

  Is he trembling in his boots being so close to a woman? The thought, and the sudden urge to laugh, were ill timed.

  “I’m sorry you lost your stuff,” I murmured.

  “We’re safe. The rest don’t matter.” His grip tightened around me.

  I relaxed against him. He didn’t seem to be in the mood for talking or letting me go. I could almost see why the other girls sought him out. Protective and strong, he was sharp, focused – and determined to figure out what was going on. A familiar flutter of attraction warmed my blood. In a way, it was a relief to be around someone whose history and memories I wasn’t able to access. He was too distracted to be aware of how he held me, as if we were already intimately acquainted and not strangers.

  “Let’s get you home,” he said with reluctance. “Nothing we can do for it now.” He released me and moved away. “Wait there. I’ll get a horse.”

  I inched closer to the fire to keep warm. Who had set it and why? I clenched my phone, wanting to ask Carter more about Taylor and why my chip didn’t work around him. I expected my flaky handler didn’t know much more than I did about the man.

  “Are you well, Talks to Spirits?”

  I whirled. Fighting Badger was outlined against the fire. He remained a safe distance away and was armed with a bow and knives at his hips. It was far too muddy for me to get far running and besides, where would I go? My mouth went dry at the sight of him.

  “I tracked him here,” Fighting Badger said quietly. “I will find him and make him pay.”

  “Who?” I squeaked.

  “The man who did this.” He motioned towards the fire. “He came from town.”

  It registered that Fighting Badger, the psychopath who killed for friendship, was telling me he hadn’t set the fire.

  “My brother will take care of you.” He turned away.

  “Wait. Did you see his face?” I asked.

  “No. He moved with stealth. Trained hunter.” He tilted his head and regarded me curiously before he moved closer. “Can you see him?” He tapped his head.

  Needing to know who it was, I approached until his memories reached me. I hugged myself, terrified by the images in my head. Fighting Badger’s churning shadows morphed to show me the distant shape of a man he had tracked. Fighting Badger had been scouting the area around the sheriff’s cabin, spotted the man heading from the direction of town, and pursued cautiously.

  By the time he crested the hill beside which the sheriff’s home sat, the cabin was already ablaze. Shadows interlaced with the memories, but I was able to make out something else. The sheriff had hinted Fighting Badger was able to relate to me, but he didn’t mention the madman was tracking me. I saw pe
eks of my day at the house and my escape last night in his mind.

  “You told your brother I was on your land,” I said, looking up at him. “Why are you following me?”

  The shadows from the fire rendered his features sinister, his eyes holes in his face. “The spirits warned me when you came. They said there was danger.”

  How is this possible? I didn’t know what to say or how to process the idea a serial killer wanted to protect me. Our shared gift was a light in his otherwise dark mind. I could see in his thoughts how deeply it touched him after a lifetime of exile.

  I didn’t think I’d ever been so scared in my life as I was, standing in the rain beside him.

  “Did you see him?” he asked with some impatience.

  “Not clearly,” I murmured. “He went that way.” I pointed past the barn into the rainy darkness. “One man on foot and …” Was there a second man? I focused on the image. It was even blurrier than the rest of his memories but I thought I saw two.

  “I will find him.” The cold, soulless glint in his eyes made me instantly regret telling him where the man had gone. Fighting Badger started away but not before I got a glimpse of what he planned to do.

  “He’s not for your collection!” I called anxiously, horrified by the idea of putting out a hit on the unknown man.

  “I do not want him for my friend.”

  Oh, Jesus. How do I talk sense to a man like this? “Please, Fighting Badger! I need to know why he wants to hurt me, and if he hurt the others that came before me!”

  “I will ask him before he dies.” The native melted into the night.

  Holy shit. I stood, staring after him. As with the first time we met, my pulse raced hard enough that I felt ill, and I had trouble breathing. No singular event or person in my life – aside from the death of my parents that I only vaguely recalled – had ever impacted me the way dealing with him did. The urge to weep was almost overpowering. It came as much from the knowledge of what he’d done as acknowledgment that such darkness existed in the world. I was unaware of how obliviously naïve I had been.

  Someone else was there. The memories were too fleeting, too far for me to pin down, but I sensed the second shadow I’d seen in Fighting Badger’s mind. Twisting to face the direction of the hill, I knew without understanding how that whoever it was, was there. Watching.

  “You all right?” Taylor asked, studying me as he returned with two horses.

  Quivering on the inside, I nonetheless managed to smile. “Yes. A little shaken.” I took the reins of one horse and turned away from the hill.

  “Let’s get you home.”

  My eyes strayed once more in the direction that Fighting Badger had gone. For the first time since arriving, I almost didn’t care why I was here. I wanted to leave. Now.

  “Can we swing by where you found me?” I asked with a glance at the sky. The drizzle continued, though the lightning had subsided.

  “Not tonight.”

  I pulled myself up on the warm horse. “Just for a minute?”

  Taylor glanced at me. Something passed through his gaze. He was hiding something. For all I knew, his mind was as twisted as Fighting Badger’s.

  “No,” he replied. “We need to get you home.” Wheeling his horse, he started away.

  I didn’t object. I had left John’s house in a panic to change history and go home. There was no longer lightning to take me back to the future, and I had done nothing to alter the course of history. If anything, I learned that I just might need someone like Fighting Badger to protect me.

  Unsettled, I followed Taylor obediently into the darkness and cold rain, unable to piece together exactly who was after me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Similar to my first night, I made it to my room moments before Nell knocked. The sheriff had gone to find the lead stable hand to discuss caring for his horses while I fled to my room.

  For some reason, I felt safer knowing he was here. He said he was going to ask to stay in the barn until he had somewhere else to live.

  Moving close to the fire, I released a deep breath. My head ached and my nose was stuffed. I checked for blood quickly, grateful not to see any. It was a cold and not an issue with the implants in my brain. About to read my messages from Carter, I froze when the floorboards outside the door creaked.

  Nell slammed the door open as she balanced a tray of breakfast in her hands.

  “My god!” I exclaimed, heart jolting. “You scared me, Nell.”

  “No more than you scared your father!”

  “What?” I hugged a blanket around me. “I think I’m getting sick.”

  “It would serve you right, Miss Josie.” Despite the heated words, Nell cast me a worried look. She set the food and pot of tea on the table near the fire. “Drink some herbs. I expected you’d be ill today after you were out in the rain last night.”

  “Oh. You knew?”

  “I did not, but your father saw you leave last night and the sheriff return with you this morning. He’s displeased.”

  “I didn’t worsen his condition, did I?” I asked.

  “You did. He has not left his bed once this morning.”

  Dammit, Josie. I hadn’t noticed anyone watching me leave and prayed no one saw me sneak in. That John was awake and witnessed both stung. The good man didn’t deserve such worry, especially on his deathbed.

  Nell was lecturing me in the tone I had quickly learned required no response. I had learned to tune out in the short time we’d been stuck together, but the last few words caught my attention.

  “Sorry, what?” I asked.

  Nell shot me a look. “Your father has decided that you will marry before he dies.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “You should be worried. Your cousin Philip is the ideal husband.”

  I froze. John was sick, and Philip was a rapist if not a murderer. How long would it take for me to change history and leave?

  John doesn’t have long. “I think I should talk to my father,” I whispered. “Can his mind be changed?”

  “If anyone can change it, you can,” Nell replied. “He is very worried about you, Miss Josie.”

  “Okay. Let’s get me dressed.”

  Nell didn’t argue. The lines around the woman’s eyes were tight, an indication of her stress. I pitied her as much as I did John, wishing my appearance didn’t cause anyone else such strain. Whatever happened, I couldn’t get married off before I changed history. It was probably not the change history needed, and I definitely didn’t know how I was going to survive this world without making a mess by refusing to adhere to the customs of this era. Women weren’t taken seriously, and Philip was likely to kill me if I got in his way of taking over John’s land and wealth, which I would, because he was a dick and John’s servants didn’t deserve to suffer the way Philip’s did.

  Half an hour later, I walked into John’s bedchamber. He appeared worse this day than the last, and guilt made my stomach twist. He was paler, fragile. The sight of his state wore down more of the barrier I was trying to keep between me and this place, to remain focused on what I thought really mattered. It was impossible not to pity him, especially knowing that he’d never see his real daughter again.

  “Father?” I ventured and went to the bed, sitting beside him. “Are you awake?” I took his gnarled hand.

  His eyes opened, and his features broke into a smile that brightened everything about his sickly appearance. “Hello, daughter,” he said softly. Even his voice was weaker this day. If he were angry, he didn’t show it. His blue eyes glowed with warmth and happiness, the way they did every time he saw me since I arrived.

  Why did I want to cry for a man I didn’t know?

  I cleared my throat. “Hello, Father. How are you today?”

  “I fear I do not have much longer.”

  “Nonsense,” I said and forced a smile. “You’re getting stronger by the day.”

  “I wish it were so, my beautiful Josephine.” He was thinking of his late wife,
recalling the day his daughter was born and the happy childhood years before his wife died. The memories flowed through my mind as well, and tears stung my eyes.

  I’m such a horrible person lying to him. But the more I saw of his mind, combined with the knowledge he was likely senile, the less I wanted him to know the truth. There was a selfish element to it, too. The little girl in me who had never known the love of a father wanted to bask in his adoration for once in her life.

  “About last night,” I started. “I am so sorry to have worried you.” I sought out some sort of excuse that sounded reasonable to someone in this time of history about why an un-chaperoned, unwed woman left her home in the middle of a rainstorm at night.

  “Since you returned, all I have thought about is what happened if I lost you again,” he admitted. “My heart cannot take such worry.”

  “I’m here, Father. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I know. I fear the doctor is right, though, my Josephine. Your mind is not well.”

  I looked down at my hand. The flare of surprise his words elicited was quickly replaced by understanding. Whoever the real Josephine was, she was an absolute bitch to leave a father who cared so much for her. She had no idea what she was missing, but I did.

  “Josie, I wish to see you wed and comfortable, before I pass away.”

  I cringed at the words. “I understand, Father,” I managed in a calm voice. “But can we not wait a little longer? You won’t die on me anytime soon. I can feel it.”

  He smiled. “Nonetheless, you must have someone to take care of you. I have prepared …” he stretched for a piece of paper on the nightstand and sagged.

  Alarmed by his frailty, I reached for it and handed it to him.

  “Thank you,” he murmured. “There are names there of suitable husbands. Read them and tell me who you choose.”

  The man loved his daughter enough to give her a choice. I swallowed the lump in my throat, understanding how unusual it was for a wealthy father to grant his daughter a choice in this era. I read through the names. Philip and the names of seven others were listed in shaky handwriting that was at times, illegible.