A Tumble Through Time Read Online Free Page B

the facades, the boardwalk, and the prairie beyond the end of the street. “And this town looks like something from the old west.”
    “Come on, Miss Devlin.” The marshal grasped her upper arm and moved her forward. “Let’s pay the doc a call.”
    Heat again on her arm where those strong fingers wrapped around her, racing this time to her middle where the dance of the butterflies began. Anna glared at him, more confused by his touch than her surroundings.
    “I told you I don’t need a doctor. Just direct me to the nearest pay phone, and I’ll call . . . someone.” Lord, who could she call? Certainly not Robbie. Maybe her boss, Lenny. He’d have to get up off his lazy ass and come get her. Satisfied with the solution, she tapped her foot. “Well?”
    “Well, what?”
    “Where’s the nearest pay phone?”
    The marshal rotated his neck, took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his hair. Longish, thick and wavy. Dark brown with golden highlights. And whiskey colored eyes that seemed almost transparent in the sunlight. Damn, this must be a movie set. This guy is too good looking to be anything but an actor.
    “All right, Miss Devlin. If you won’t go to see the doc, then let’s take a stroll to the jail.”
    Her jaw dropped. “You’re arresting me? For what?”
    He replaced the hat. “No. Not arresting you. Just want to get you off the street with that getup on.”
    Honestly, the man was a prude, but his heated gaze increased the tempo of the butterflies in her stomach. “Do you have a phone I can use at the jailhouse?”
    “Come with me.” Ignoring her very reasonable question, he once again grasped her elbow and hauled her forward. Didn’t this knuckle-dragging Neanderthal know she could slap a lawsuit on him for manhandling?
    Anna glanced at his hand. Long, tanned fingers, a thin, lighter line, most likely a scar, on one finger. Strong. If this man was an actor, he spent a lot of time at the gym. She took in his long legs, a gun resting in a holster wrapped around his slim hips, and anchored to his bulging thigh with a thin strip of leather. With her knowledge of guns, she’d bet it was real, but not like anything she’d ever seen. What kind of a tourist town or movie set would allow an actor to parade around with a real gun?
    Anna finished her perusal of his body. Trim waist, broad shoulders. He stood a good six feet or more. She glanced upward, and found his mesmerizing eyes staring at her, with a smirk on his face. Gawd! Just want she needed, to fan the flames of an actor’s already overblown ego.
    She quickly looked away. “How far to the jail?”
    “Couple more streets.”
    “Aren’t you actor types supposed to have a horse named Trigger or something that you ride off into the sunset with, the girl wrapped securely in your arms?”
    He broke out into a grin that seized her lungs and caused her mouth to dry up. This actor must have a harem of girlfriends.
    “By the way, marshal, you never introduced yourself. Who is it that’s haulin g me off to jail?”
    He tipped his hat, a slow, lazy smile this time. “Sorry, Miss Devlin. My name is Wesley Shannon, but people call me Wes−or just plain ‘Marshal.’”
    “Is Wes your stage name or real name?”
    His brows drew together. “It’s my real name.”
    “Well, Anna Devlin is my real name, too. But everyone calls me Anna.”
    Wes released her elbow and pushed open a door right below a hand-painted sign that stated Marshal . “We’re here. Why don’t you rest for a while? There’s a small cot in the other room that I use when I have to be here all night.”
    “Marshal Shannon, or Wes, or whatever your name, real or imagined, you don’t seem to understand. I’m not crazy, not underdressed, not tired, and not sick. I don’t need a doctor or a cot to lie down in. I just need a phon e so I can call my boss and have him pick me up so I can find my own car.”
    “Miss Devlin−”
    “Anna,” she interrupted.
    “Anna. I don’t