“Think she's gone insane yet?"

Matthew tore his eyes away from the clock on the wall and angled a glare at his deputy. He’d been sitting on the edge of his desk, counting the minutes until he could barge into the back room and drag Lacey out of that cell. As far as he was concerned, she was already insane—she had to be to go back there on her own. And how stupid had he been to let her?

Larry suddenly sat up straight in his chair beside the potbellied stove. "Was that a scream?"

“Just a horse outside.”

Mayor Reginald Sterling tapped his walking stick against the hard wood floor. “Well, I for one am going to hold this office personally responsible if anything happens to that poor young woman."

For a man so desperate to get his bank money back that he’d fire the town marshal, Reginald Sterling seemed oddly against a plan that could work in his favor. Or maybe Sterling just felt more of an obligation than Matthew when it came to protecting the fairer sex.

"Ain't it been an hour yet?" Larry whined.

“Five minutes to go,” Matthew responded.

"And our generous marshal is determined to grant her every second of her torture."

Matthew clenched his fists to keep from lunging at the man.

“What the hell is wrong with that woman, anyway?" the deputy burst out. "No lady in her right mind would set foot back there with those two men, let alone demand to be left with 'em for an entire hour."

"Miss Guarder seems to have her own set of rules," Matthew growled.

“Well, I'm glad she ain’t my responsibility. A woman like that’ll drive a man to an early grave. Women are supposed to be sweet and retirin', like that sweet little Simmons gal you're seein'. Miss Simmons don't make demands, she don't curse a man out, and she sure as hell don't visit outlaws in jail. A man who hitches hisself up with a woman like Miss Simmons’ll live a long and happy life."

“It’s too bad the marshal won’t be around long enough to test that theory,” Reginald remarked.

Matthew turned to look at him. “Exactly why are you botherin’ to hang around, Sterling, if you're so sure this plan isn't gonna work?"

"Someone has to look out for Miss Guarder’s best interests."

“Well, now, isn’t that charitable of you,” Matthew stated.

Finally the clock began to chime the hour. Matthew was on his feet instantly and had his hand on the door before the sound of the gong had stopped reverberating through the room.

“Deputy, you best fetch the doctor,” he heard Reginald say. “That woman will be out of her mind with terror.”

The idea drove hard into Matthew's stomach as he strode into the back room and found himself assaulted by the sound of deep male laughter. He steeled himself for what he was about to see. He should never have let her do it. Despite her obstinance and goading, he should have stopped her from going through with this crazy plan.

He turned his attention to the cell on the left, expecting to see Miss Guarder huddled in a tight ball on her cot. She was huddled all right—in a tight little group with the Rawlins brothers at the center bars. All three of them were having a real good laugh.

Fury overrode all his senses. He strode toward her cell door, unlocked it, and yanked it open. He wasn't sure what was making him angrier, the fact that she apparently fit right in with the two scurrilous bastards, or that he'd actually spent the past hour worrying himself sick over her.

"Time's up," he snarled.

The laughter stopped. She raised her head and looked up at him with her captivating, tawny gaze. Her smile was wide, entrancing, her eyes sparkling with humor…and Matthew just about shot Henry and Ned Rawlins right then and there.

She pushed her hand through the front of her copper hair and gave it a shake. "Hello, Marshal," she said. "Is my time up already?"

He jammed his thumb toward the front office. "Out."

"Ah, come on, Marshal," Henry Rawlins pleaded. He made an unsuccessful grab for the back of Lacey’s yellow skirt as she turned away from him. "Just a little longer."

"I'll see you boys later," she cooed.

This must have been some sort of inside joke, because the two men broke into laughter again. "Yeah, see ya, Lacey," Ned said back.

"See more of ya," Henry added with a chortling leer.

Matthew clenched his jaw. Lacey brushed past him, smiling winsomely, and he followed her out of the room, shutting the door shut behind him. Once in the front office, he barely kept himself from taking her by the shoulders and giving her a good shake. If more had gone on back there than just a clandestine gathering of information, he damn well wanted to know about it.

Reginald minced toward her the moment she entered the office. "Well, she certainly looks all in one piece.” The man studied her carefully. "But who knows what kind of horrors have been done to her delicate mind. I'll take her to my office immediately and she and I will have a nice long chat—"

"Stand aside, Sterling," Matthew commanded. "She's not goin’ anywhere until she tells me exactly what went on back there."

"Well, thank you for your concern, Marshal," she said sarcastically. "It was a little messy at first, but I survived."

The sigh Larry heaved could have knocked over a sleeping cow. “Praise the good Lord.”

"You three looked awfully chummy,” Matthew stated. He sounded childish, but he didn't care.

"They were a little tough to play at first, but things went well in the end."

“How so?” Reginald returned. Then he laughed. “Frankly, Marshal, how can we even be sure that they didn't know Miss Guarder's ploy for what it was and feed her a tale taller than the pines?”

"They told me the truth. I’ve got all the information we need to recover the money."

Matthew should have been thrilled—elated—by that news, but her "we" took him by the scruff of the neck. "We need?" he echoed.

"That's right. I'll be joining you in the search."

"What?" Larry exclaimed. “But she’s a…a woman!”

Matthew gave her a hard stare. “That’s not gonna happen, so you can put that idea outta your head right now.”

She stepped closer to him, glaring stubbornly up into his face, and his nostrils filled with the sweet, spicy scent that always clung to her hair. "Like I said, Marshal, I've got all the information we need. The question is, how badly do you want it?"

* * *

"How badly do you want it," Nelson stated. "Those were her exact words, sir. How badly do you want it. The dastardly misbegotten is now using her mission as a bargaining tool."

Stella rolled her eyes at Nelson's dramatics. She’d been called into the department head’s private council chambers for an urgent meeting and this was the emergency?

She looked at Maximillian. “Sir, was I or was I not given the opportunity to turn this young woman around? It's scarcely been two days, for goodness sake."

"Gentle lady," Nelson patronized, “the heavens and earth were created in less time. Sir, based on this new information, I must now insist that Miss Guarder be put back where she belongs—in jail, in the twenty-first century."

"On what grounds?" Stella blustered. "That she's flirting with the man?"

"Flirting?" Nelson repeated incredulously. "If that's the woman’s idea of flirting then I'd rather be hit by a Mack truck! Sir, Miss Guarder is toying with this man's life. Mr. Brady is only trying to do his job, to lead a quiet, respectable life and fulfill his dying father’s last wish. These are noble aspirations! And this Guarder woman is knowingly—knowingly—standing in his way."

With a wave of her hand, Stella dismissed his claim. “Mr. Brady is being entirely too stubborn where Miss Guarder is concerned. I think it is reasonable that she expect her demands be met before she shares vital information with him. She’s being wise, not unscrupulous.”

“Reasonable?” Nelson blurted. "That woman wouldn't know reason if it sprouted horns and bleated in her face."

Maximillian rubbed his forehead. “You two are beginning to give me a headache. Has Miss Guarder done anything that has adversely affected the lives of anyone she’s come into contact with?"

"No.” Stella smirked at Nelson. “She has not.”

"But she's on the verge of it, sir. She has information that will lead Mr. Brady directly to his goal, and she is willfully withholding it from him."

Maximillian settled a serious gaze on Stella. "Is there a problem brewing, Stella?"

"The only thing my client is guilty of at the moment is playing with the man's mind. It's classic courting behavior. Not surprising considering their connection."

Nelson snorted. “It’s nauseating,” he grumbled.

Maximillian's brows arched in interest. "Have there been signs of spiritual connection?”

Stella hesitated. She'd hoped that Lacey Guarder would take one look at Matthew Brady, accept him as her soul mate, and fall head over heels in love. In fact, she'd been counting on the pair’s spiritual connection to help turn her client around. But so far she’d seen no signs of that happening, even after Miss Guarder and Mr. Brady had spent an entire night together under the same roof.

“They seem to be spending all of their time together bickering,” she answered truthfully. "But, as I said, it has only been one day. These things take time.”

“Sir, Mr. Brady's guide has asked me to make it very clear to you that he is growing concerned about his client's continued exposure to Miss Guarder. So far the woman has proved to be nothing but a nuisance."

"And you'd know a lot about nuisances, wouldn't you," Stella grumbled.

Maximillian frowned at her, and Stella realized how much this case was getting to her. She wanted so desperately for Miss Guarder to succeed.

Maximillian sighed and sat back in his chair. "Stella is correct. Unless something truly dire happens, her client shall be given ample opportunity to complete her mission."

"But sir—"

"And minor flirtations between a man and a woman are not dire, Nelson. Do you understand?"

The tall defender scowled. “Yes, sir."

"Furthermore, you will remind Mr. Brady's guide of his oath to prevent his personal opinions from unduly influencing his client."

“But, sir—”

"I don't expect to see you in my office again, Nelson, unless the world has exploded and Miss Guarder's hands were on the plunger."

“Very well." With a final glare at Stella, Nelson turned and left the room.

Stella nodded at her superior. “Thank you, sir. I’m sorry to have bothered you with this.” She turned to leave, but Maximillian stopped her.

"A word, Stella," he said. "You know, it is entirely possible that Mr. Brady and Miss Guarder's paths together have been irreparably damaged by her altered evolution in the twenty-first century. You must prepare yourself for the possibility that they may never recognize each other."

Stella nodded. But the idea of Lacey Guarder living the rest of her life without her one true love was just too sad to contemplate, let alone accept.

* * *

Lacey slammed out of the jailhouse and onto the deserted street. The day had warmed up a little since her ride into town that morning and the calf-deep snow was beginning to melt, turning into a gray slush mingled with mud holes and patches of horse manure. She made it a point to avoid both of those things as she marched angrily toward Hazel's restaurant across the street.

"Maybe I don't believe you got a single bit of information out of them!" the marshal shouted at her from his office doorway. "Maybe that's why you're not telling me anything!"

"And maybe you're an idiot!" she tossed back over her shoulder. “Stubborn jack-ass,” she added to herself.

What she'd learned from Ned and Henry Rawlins could keep until the marshal had learned some manners. She was sick of him constantly being suspicious of her—before she'd even given him a reason to be. “I’ll be happy to tell you what Ned and Henry told me just as soon as you apologize for being a pigheaded bastard!"

"Oh, now I'm supposed to apologize?"

She heard him march across the street after her. He cursed, and she knew he hadn't been as lucky as she about avoiding those hidden mud holes and dung piles. She turned and faced him head on. “Yes, you are! Because you’re wrong—again!”

He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt and replied evenly, "Tell me what they said."

"Apologize. And then agree to let me go after the money with you."

He threw his hands in the air. "What the hell is the matter with you? This isn't a game, Miss Guarder! This town's future—not to mention my own—is at stake, here!”

"And to think you're letting two little things like an apology and a tiny compromise stand in the way of saving it." She turned and continued toward the restaurant.

"Don't you walk away from me!" he shouted at her. She heard him sloshing through the wet snow after her.

"Touch me," she warned, walking onward, "and you'll pull back a bloody stump."

Out of nowhere, her spiritual guide appeared beside the restaurant door. Lacey stopped in her tracks. The little woman was frowning, as if Lacey had done something wrong. Lacey opened her mouth to ask what the problem was, and that’s when the wet snow beneath her feet magically turned into a solid sheet of ice.

Lacey’s feet slid out from under her. Her eyes flew open wide. She let out a startled shriek. The angel smiled at her and vanished as quickly as she'd appeared.

Lacey made a grab for the nearest stable object, and that stable object happened to be Matthew Brady.

Unfortunately, the marshal’s situation wasn't any better than hers. He ice-skated in place for a moment, arms spiraling. He grabbed for her and found a solid grip on the sleeve of her coat.

"Don't move," she commanded.

She crouched to balance herself, but her left foot betrayed her and began to slip sideways. She did an odd little dance but somehow managed to stay on her feet.

"I thought we weren't supposed to move," he remarked.

She glared at him. "Back up.”

"If I fall, I take you with me."

"Then let go," she said tightly.

He shrugged and did as she asked.

Her feet instantly began a slow horizontal slide in opposite directions. She was forced to take hold of the front of his jacket. “Are you just going to stand there and let me fall?"

“I’m considerin’ it."

Lacey's indignation got the better of her survival instincts and she gave him a little shove. He arched backwards. His left foot slipped out from beneath him. The two of them did a shimmy, a slow slide, and then gravity finally won out and they both landed, hard, on their backs.

Lacey tried to catch her breath. “You lumbering ox!" she shouted. "Why did you have to grab hold of me! Like I could hold up a two-ton elephant like your sorry ass! What are you trying to do, kill me! And haven't I told you about a thousand times not to touch—" A glob of slushy snow came flying through the air and hit her in the chest.

"Would it be possible for you to shut up?” the marshal demanded. “If I'd known you would be my punishment for leading a questionable life, I would have entered the damn clergy.”

Lacey gritted her teeth and struggled to her knees. She scooped up a handful of snow, packed it into a tight, hard ball, and then turned to him. “Hindsight’s twenty-twenty.”

"Don't you dare—"

Her snowball hit him smack-dab in the center of his forehead where it shattered and crumbled down the sides of his face and neck. He brushed the ice away, smiling coldly at her. Then he crouched down and began to pack another missile of his own.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she said to him. “We’re even.”

The marshal straightened, grinning maliciously, and hefted up the granddaddy of all snowballs. It was as big around as his head. Seeing a concussion in the making, Lacey scrambled to her feet and began backing up toward the restaurant. She forgot about the mysterious ice patch—until her feet went flying out from under her and she landed on her back again.

The marshal loomed over her, his gigantic snowball clutched tightly in his hands. His hair was wet and dripping into his eyes. His forehead was red where she'd hit him with her iceball, and his breath was coming hard and fast.

Lacy covered her face with her hands.

"Matthew Brady!" came a sharp retort.

Lacey let out a relieved sigh. It was Hazel, come to save her. She sat up as the woman strode toward them from the doorway of the restaurant looking fit to kill.

"What in tarnation do you think you're doin'?" Hazel demanded.

"Gettin’ even," the marshal returned between gritted teeth.

"Not in front of my restaurant you're not. And not with my houseguest." She slipped her hands beneath Lacey's arms, and hauled her to her feet as if picking up a rag doll. "I swear, you two act like a couple of children when you get together. Come on inside where it's warm, Lacey, honey."

The marshal tossed his snow boulder aside and pointed at Lacey. “We’re not finished with this conversation.”

Lacey ignored him and followed Hazel into the restaurant.

The establishment was decorated victorian style with glass chandeliers and linen table cloths. There was a cozy fire burning in the hearth and the dining room was currently packed to overflowing with customers.

Enchanted, Lacey stripped off her coat and hung it on a rack by the door. “This place is wonderful.”

Hazel sighed and shoved a stray hair from her face. Thank you, dear, we do our best.” The woman looked flustered.

"What is it?" Lacey asked.

“Oh…” Hazel waved a dismissing hand. "Things are sorta hectic today. The restaurant's packed full to capacity for some odd reason and one of our waiters is out sick. George and I just don't seem to have enough hands," she finished with a laugh.

After all George and Hazel had done for her, Lacey didn't hesitate with her response. “Consider yourself two hands stronger. Toss me an apron."

Hazel gave her a startled look. "Oh, no, Lacey. You're our guest. Me and George would never ask ya to—"

"You're not asking. I'm offering."