Free Mittman, Stephanie by Bridge to Yesterday

was ridiculous.
    He
felt the woman's forehead. She didn't have a fever, wasn't delirious. The baby
was fidgeting, no doubt hungry, and he knew he had to get a move on.
    "I've
got to leave you, now, Sweet Mary. I've got to go." Still she held on to
his shirt. He tried to take a step toward his horse, and she took one, too.
    "You
can't come along, Sweet Mary, and I ain't got time..."
    "Then
are you going to waste it arguing?" she asked as if she'd suddenly come to
her senses.
    "No,"
he said. "You can't come." He set her away from him, but when he got
to the horse, she was there.
    "They're
murderers. Are you really going to leave me to murderers? And you need me,
anyway. You don't know the first thing about taking care of a baby."
    She
put her foot gently on the instep of his good leg. It threw him off balance and
he leaned against her for a moment. For all her thinness, she was softer than
he'd expected. She snatched the baby out of the sling and hugged him to her
body.
    "You
need me," she repeated, reaching out and pushing him softly. He nearly fell,
but caught himself against the horse, who shied away. If she hadn't got off his
foot and grabbed his arm, he'd have fallen, and she knew it. What a sorry
excuse for a man he'd turned out to be. Before Emily Tate there weren't ten men
in the whole damn territory that would have dared push him, let alone a woman.
Now some little wisp of a thing could knock him off his feet. But need her?
    "Damn
you! Don't you know better than to anger a gimp?" He pulled away from her
and grabbed the horse's reins.
    "And
I'll be riding upright this time," she informed him with that slight Irish
lilt to her voice. She left her hand on his arm; with the other, she cradled
his child.
    He
debated the idea in his head for just a moment, and then he put his left foot
into the stirrup and hauled his stiff right leg around with a low curse.
    "Hand
me up the kid." She moved closer to the horse but then hesitated. She held
his son protectively, as if she could shield him from the elements with her
arms, alone.
    "You
can't get up here with the babe in your arms, now can you?" He raised his
eyebrows.
    "And
if I hand little Paddy up to you, what's to say you won't just ride off with
him in your arms and leave me here?"
    "Little
Paddy? I thought you said his name was Horace," Sloan responded, thoroughly
confused.
    "I
couldn't stand it, either," she admitted, a girlish giggle escaping with
the admission.
    "Well,
if you don't hurry up onto this horse, all three of our names'll be followed by
'Rest in Peace,' honey. Let's go."
    The
sound of horses' hooves echoed against the mountains surrounding them. Sloan
reached down, grabbed the baby, and tucked him back against his chest. The
woman stared intently at him, daring him to go back on his word.
    Reluctantly,
his hand went down and clasped hers. In one easy stroke she was seated behind
him.
    "You
weren't kidding, were you?" she asked. "About it being 1894?"
    He
shook his head. The land bridge had been right near where he had lain in wait.
What was it the Indians called it? The Bridge to Somewhere Else?
    "It's
1894, Sweet Mary," he said.
    "My
name is Mary Grace O'Reilly," she corrected. He liked Sweet Mary better.
    "Sloan
Westin," he replied, as if they were introducing themselves at some church
social.
    The
clatter of hooves grew louder still.
    "If
we can hear them..." Mary Grace warned in Sloan's ear.
    "Shit,"
he replied.
    ***
    "Will
you be able to keep him quiet?" Sloan whispered in the darkness.
    Mary
Grace nodded, then realized he couldn't see her, and made a tiny affirmative
noise. Fear sent goose-bumps up and down her arms, and if she hadn't had the
baby to cling to, she might have hugged herself until she broke in two.
    She
felt Sloan's arm go around her, guiding her against his warmth. "You're
shivering." He ran his hand up and down her arm, trying to warm her. "Put your hand in
here," he said, taking one of her hands and putting it inside his