Lone Star Lover by Debbi Rawlins Page B

go.”
    “Bossy woman,” the doctor muttered. “It’s a wonder you ever have any customers.”
    “I could always use one more.” Kitty winked at him, and laughed when he gave her a long-suffering shake of his head.
    Selfishly, Jake wanted the doctor to stick around and answer a few questions because he’d likely be more helpful than either of the two women. Hell, he had a lot more than a few questions, but until he figured out what was going on, he needed to stay low key.
    Doc Davis stopped and gave Jake a once-over. “You’re looking better, son. Still, sorry to have to kick you out of your bed. I have only two other rooms, one is my office where I see patients, and the other is my living quarters. Kitty, you know if there’s room at the boardinghouse?”
    “Honey, don’t you worry about handsome here. There’s room over the saloon. Me and the girls will take care of him.”
    “ I’ll take care of Jake,” Rebecca said in a prickly tone that drew all eyes to her. She blushed. “I only meant that there’s no need to bother the other girls.”
    “True enough,” the doctor said with an amused glint in his eyes. He sobered just as quickly. “I forgot that I’m turning you out, too.”
    “Don’t you fret none, Doc. I have a place where neither of them will be bothered.” Kitty gave him a gentle shove. “You get some rest.”
    “I suppose we could put Otis in my room,” the doctor murmured absently.
    “Hush, you old fool. You’re not gonna do nobody any good if you start ailing because you’re bone tired,” Kitty said with gruff affection, and escorted him through the narrow door past the stove.
    As soon as they were gone, Rebecca went straight to the stove, removed a kettle and set a pot over the fire. Then she busily began picking up rags, tidying up the ointment and bandages the doctor had left, and then mopping up where water had sloshed over the rim of the basin.
    Jake watched her work, his thoughts splintering in several directions. He felt good, mentally at least. No more brain fog or blurred vision. He was still dehydrated but not as badly as yesterday. A few times when Rebecca had dozed off in the middle of the night, he’d slipped out of bed and helped himself to the water she kept in the white pitcher. And then he’d bided his time, waiting for the morphine to completely leave his system before he let her know he was awake. He didn’t blame her for giving him the drug. She’d only been following the doctor’s orders.
    Even his memory had improved considerably, to the point that he recalled being ordered out of his truck by one of Wellesly’s thugs, shot at, and then rolling his truck into the desert. The only murky part in his recollection was the couple of minutes before he’d blacked out, the sense of drowning he’d experienced, as though he were being sucked down by a powerful ocean undercurrent. Right. In the middle of the desert.
    But even that weirdness didn’t account for his inability to reconcile what he’d witnessed in the past twenty-four hours. Or these people’s claim that they were living in 1877. Was this some sort of cult where they’d been brainwashed? He was actually beginning to believe that they believed they lived in the past. Hell, someone had actually tried to hang that poor bastard.
    The one thing he had trouble with was the location. Texas was a big state, but not so big that these people could be isolated from the truth. Hell, they’d have to have seen a plane fly overhead at some point, or wander far enough away from town to run across a normal human being or a highway or an ATV or a dirt bike. Nowadays the rich kids were always looking for new places to ride their toys.
    There was another possibility. He’d hit his head hard enough that he’d gone friggin’ crazy. This whole thing could be one big hallucination. While the accident was now vivid, the past twenty-four hours not so much.
    “I hope it’s hot enough.” Rebecca broke into his