She was tempted to ask what had happened to them, but the look in his eyes warned her to keep silent.
Pressure on her bladder had her sitting up and glancing around, then chiding herself for expecting to fi nd indoor plumbing in sucha primitive place. Murmuring, “Excuse me,” she hurried out of the room and out of the hotel.
The stallion whinnied at her as she ducked around the corner of the building and took cover behind a fat bush. If she had to go wandering through time, why couldn’t she have travelled to some place with indoor plumbing and toilet paper?
Bowdry was waiting for her in the lobby when she returned to the hotel. “Ready to go?”
“Where are we going?”
“Someplace with food and hot water.”
“Sounds good to me. How are you feeling?”
“Like I haven’t eaten in a week. Let’s go.”
It was dark when they reached the town of Whiskey Creek. Macie glanced from side to side as they rode down the street, thinking it looked like a twin to the town they had left behind.
Bowdry reined up in front of the Montecito Hotel. He dismounted, then lifted Macie from the horse’s back.
“I could have got down on my own,” Macie said, noting the fine lines of pain around his mouth.
“Yeah. Well . . .” He shrugged.
“Shouldn’t we tie the horse up?”
Bowdry shook his head. “He won’t go anywhere until his reason for being here is done. Let’s get something to eat.”
Macie followed Bowdry into the hotel dining room, a quick gaze taking it all in – the tables covered in red-and-white checked cloths, the cowboy hats hanging on the rack by the door, the rough attire of most of the occupants.
They found a table near a window and sat across from each other. A harried-looking waitress appeared a few minutes later. Bowdry ordered a steak “and all the trimmin’s” and after a moment’s hesitation, Macie asked for the same. She wasn’t a big meat eater at home but hey, this was 1880. Cows in this day and age probably weren’t shot full of hormones.
Bowdry leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “So, I’m still waiting to hear why you don’t know what year it is.”
“You really want to know? All right, I’ll tell you. When I woke up yesterday morning, it was April 8 2009.”
“No sh – I mean . . .” He shook his head, and then he frowned. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”
“I guess you don’t believe me. Not that I’d blame you.”
“No, I believe you.”
“You do?”
“There are stories among my people of medicine men who rode Relámpago through time.”
“Really? How did they fi nd their way back?”
“I don’t know. Same way they got there, I guess. Why? You in a hurry to go back where you came from?”
Macie thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No.”
Bowdry leaned forwards. “It’s said the only time Relámpago appears to most people is when they’re in danger. Were you in danger?”
Macie’s gaze slid away from his. How could she tell him she’d been about to commit suicide? Thinking about it now filled her with shame. There were people all over the world who had it much worse than she did. She lived in a free country. She had a nice house, her health, a car, enough food to eat and money in the bank.
“Macie?”
She blew out a breath. He was a stranger to her. They would part ways, and she would never see him again, so what difference did it make what he thought of her?
