Free A Touch in Time by McKenna Chase Page B

examining her ribs, skimming the sides of her breasts as they moved on to her arms.
    Her eyes widened, stunned by the unexpected flicker of desire his innocent touch had caused.
    “You’re wearing pants,” he noted as if surprised as his searching fingers moved lower to the curve of her hips.
    She looked up at him, taking in the dark hair that curled out from under his hat and the five o’clock shadow that covered his firm jaw. His shoulders were wide and his arms muscular, no doubt from riding bulls. His sleeves were rolled up, displaying corded forearms sprinkled lightly with dark hair.
    She no longer felt the pounding in her head. Instead, her senses were centered on the feel of his large hands smoothing up one leg and then down the other and the pleasurable ache his touch had awakened. Something she’d never experienced with Alex.
    “I make it a habit to wear pants when I go out in public,” she said with a forced smile.
    He muttered something under his breath and shook his head. Then he pulled his hands away. “Nothing feels broken. You hurting anywhere?”
    Only if he counted the ache between her legs.
    “I...I’m okay,” she insisted. “I just feel like an idiot for falling over the railing and holding up the rodeo.” She attempted to sit upright but the world around her began to spin, drawing a groan from her lips.
    He slid a supportive arm behind her shoulders as she sank back onto the ground. “The rodeo?”
    Why was he looking at her like she was crazy? “As in clowns, bulls, hotdogs and cowboys in tight jeans. Any of that ring a bell?”
    His dark brow arched. “Lady, I think your bell’s the only one that’s been rung here.”
    She had taken quite a fall. And she was feeling a little lightheaded. She reached up to run a trembling hand through her hair. Had she struck her head when she’d landed? “Are you a doctor?”
    The cowboy gave a husky chuckle, revealing straight, white teeth. “I’m the closest thing you got to one. Doc Mitchell took on a rattler last week and lost. His replacement hasn’t arrived yet.”
    “He’s dead?”
    He nodded.
    “So how can you have a rodeo...” her words trailed off as her gaze shifted past his broad shoulders, for the first time really taking in her surroundings. There were no arena lights, only the fiery blaze of a hovering sun. No stands filled with cheering fans. No rodeo clowns. Nothing at all familiar.
    “Where am I?”
    “Cheyenne.”
    “Oh, thank God,” she said with a sigh of relief. “For a moment there I thought...” Her gaze dropped down to his lean, jean-clad hips, her eyes widening. “Are you wearing a gun?”
    “Last time I looked.”
    “Are you a cop?”
    “A what?”
    “An officer of the law.” Why did it seem like he was the one who’d landed on his head and not her?
    “No, that would be Sheriff Mathis. I’m Jake Dawson.” He motioned around him. “And this is my ranch, the Flying Ace.”
    “I’m on a ranch? Not at a rodeo?”
    His frown returned. “I have no idea what this rodeo is you’re talking about, but, yes, you’re on a ranch. My ranch,” he repeated not-so-happily.
    “I can’t believe I’m going to ask this,” she said with a frown. “What year this is?”
    A thick brow arched. “1868.”
    Her mouth fell open with a gasp. “As in eighteen hundred and sixty-eight?”
    He nodded.
    His worried expression was the last thing she saw before the darkness swept her away.
     
    A deep frown tugged at Jake Dawson’s mouth as he stared down at the crazy woman lying unconscious in his arms. Make that beautiful crazy woman.
    Most of what she’d been saying hadn’t made a lick of sense to him. How could she not know what year it was? Was she ill? She had fallen climbing over the corral fence. Chances were good she’d struck her head when she landed.
    He reached out to run his fingers through her hair and over her scalp again, still finding no sign of injury.
    Maybe it was his head he should be worried about.