Stop crying. Drink coffee and think about all the things you’re thankful for.
Yeah, right. Like what?
How about the Clovis Point?
Okay, right. She was thankful for that. And she was grateful she didn’t have a broken foot.
But reminding herself of the things she was thankful for didn’t stop the tears.
Her dad told her when she was a little girl that it was okay to cry, but that sooner or later, the tears would stop, and whatever caused them in the first place would still be there.
And he was right. When the tears dried up, she still didn’t have any chocolate. But she could have a cup of dandelion root coffee.
While she sipped, she considered her situation rationally. She was more than likely stuck here for the rest of her life, and she had to start thinking about what kind of future she could build for herself once she reached civilization.
She was a single woman living in a time when women didn’t have the right to vote and were considered a man’s property. So, she needed a plan that didn’t involve marriage. She was a logical person, and she could figure out something.
But logic, according to Einstein, would only get her from point A to point B. Imagination could take her everywhere else. And she had a fantastic imagination. She’d grown up without siblings, so she had to depend on herself for entertainment.
She’d have to use every bit of her creativity to find a job once she reached the closest town. Towns had newspapers, and all publications needed writers and editors. She could do both thanks to her experience writing for Flyby, the flagship blog of The Harvard Crimson. Plus, she was a book editor.
All she had to do was convince a publisher to give her a chance.
14
The Badlands (1885)—James Cullen
JC emerged from the fog in the middle of nowhere.
Surrounding him was a broken landscape full of color, odd-shaped bluffs and serrated ranges of hills, and the occasional lone butte standing sentinel above the surrounding billowy grass country.
His first thought was: I arrived in the Badlands. But his second one almost dropped him on his knees: Oh, shit! I threw away the brooch.
He groaned loudly enough that Mercury’s ears popped up, and he sidestepped. JC patted the horse’s neck while replaying what happened in the forest. He didn’t throw the brooch away in a bedroom as others had done. Nope. His royal screwup was much worse. He’d thrown it away where none of the family would ever find it.
Dad will have my head unless Uncle David takes it off first.
And JC would deserve it. Why had he done this without consulting his family? Simple. JC wanted to protect everyone. But in fact, his choices would ultimately bring more attention to the clan, which could destroy them all.
What a fucking idiot. This situation was similar to what happened to him as a teenager when he unintentionally locked the wine cave door, and he couldn’t get out. It scared the hell out of him and his family.
What would Ensley say when she discovered he’d come to rescue her but had lost their ticket home? Ensley might take his gun and put him out of his misery.
JC dismounted and walked while he considered his options.
What options? He didn’t have any, but he had faith in his dad and knew he wouldn’t quit searching until he found JC. Paul would find the clues JC left, and Uncle David and Aunt Kenzie would figure out where he went and why.
But it might take them a while.
Right now, though, there was nothing he could do about going home. He had to focus on finding Ensley. Had she been here long enough to reach Elkhorn Ranch? Would Roosevelt even be there? If it was 1885, chances were he was preparing for a cattle drive to round up his herd and ship it off to Chicago. If it was earlier, say 1883 or 1884, TR would be hunting, and it would be harder to track him down.
JC looped the reins around a tree branch and reached inside one of the saddlebags for his topo map and compass. Finding his position in the field was second nature to him, thanks to Uncle Braham and Uncle David, who taught him and his cousins how to find their way in the wilderness. Then the training he went through the past two years had refined all those survival skills.
After he found the declination—the distance between the magnetic north and the true north—he oriented the topo map and rotated the bezel so north lined up with the travel arrow’s direction. Then he slid the baseplate until one of the straight edges aligned with the map’s right side. Holding the map and compass steady, he rotated his body until the end of the magnetic needle was within the orienting arrow’s outline.
With the map oriented correctly, he could identify nearby landmarks, and from that, find exactly where he was on the map and determine the distance to Elkhorn Ranch.
He took his time. He couldn’t afford a mistake. A few degrees off, and he could end up in Canada. Well, maybe not that far off, but still way out of the way.
According to his calculations, he was close to Spring Creek and Ensley’s ranch. If she landed near here, she would go there first. JC knew her ancestors started the ranch in the late eighteen hundreds, but he didn’t know if it was the 1880s or 1890s. If her ancestors were there, Ensley might stay there for a while.
He put the compass away and mounted up again. “Let’s go, Mercury.”
As Mercury carried him across the plains, the landscape became slightly familiar, but the absence of roads, power lines, and cars and trucks was disorienting. He consulted the map again and confirmed he
