*
Trish towel-dried her hair, thankful to be home and out of the downpour. She had brushed Yedi before putting him in the corral.
"Here, drink this. It will warm you up. I still can't believe it." Rhea set a steaming cup of her own home brew of herbs and lemon in front of Trish. "I swear, I never believed your grammy's stories. Are you sure you actually traveled in time?"
Trish appreciated her mother's skepticism. She hadn't been a true believer, either, until last week. Now she huddled at the kitchen table, thankful for the electric lights and warm home without the draft. The year of 1887 was fine for a visit, but she didn't want to grow old there. "What I can't believe is that Yedi went with me. Did Grammy ever tell you stories about taking anything or anyone along with her?"
"No. Are you sure your horse is okay?"
"I'm sure he's okay. I put him in the corral before coming in."
Rhea pulled out a chair and sat down, resting her elbows on the table. "You said something terrible happened. Did you change history?"
"A man, Albert Jackson, was killed. I don't think I caused it, but he did die in my arms."
Rhea stared at her, "You're serious."
"Very."
"And you're okay with that?"
"Believe it or not, that isn't the biggest problem I've had to deal with." Trish began her narration of the last week, complete with the danger, whoring, and awkward moments. She carefully deleted Quinn's kiss. Her steaming brew had cooled enough to drink it and she finished it before she ended her narration.
"Well, I must say. If you were a child, I'd be torn between lecturing you for your tall tale and praising you for your vivid imagination."
"You don't believe me? You think I went on a crazy drug binge for a week and wanted to cover it up so I made all this up?"
"I didn't say that. But you not passing the bar exam had me thinking you'd done something drastic."
Trish chortled, reminding herself of Zelda. "Oh, Mom, I did do something drastic. You could even say I went off the deep end or at least the edge of the gulley, but you of all people know I lack the imagination to make this up. You could ask me details and I could answer them. Try me."
"Okay, what color were the fellow's eyes, the one that rescued you?"
"His eyes are blue."
"You said he was dark."
"I said his hair is dark, not his eyes or even his skin."
"Well." Rhea exhaled slowly. "There is one sure way to find out. What year did you say?"
"I think it was 1887. The newspaper I got a glimpse of may have been smudged. It might have been 1889."
"Okay. Tomorrow we go to the newspaper and check."
"Do they have papers that old?"
"Sweetheart, Karl may not be a first-rate newspaperman by big city standards but he has often told me his family's been here forever. He also claims that his granddaddy and his granddaddy's daddy were the best newspapermen on the planet. Let's put him to the test first thing tomorrow."