I took his hand. He gripped mine with both of his and deftly lifted me out of the crater. I swung one leg to the edge of the pit and then the other.
He released me.
I wobbled.
The stranger steadied me with his hands on my arms. Startled, I looked up, expecting to find Carter or one of the hotel workers holding me. Lighting illuminated his features.
He was a man I had never seen before whose face was hidden beneath a layer of dark paint that appeared impervious to the rain. He wore a combination of cowboy and tribal Indian period dress: workpants that might've been the predecessor to jeans with a gun belt slung low over narrow hips, and a leather vest and band around his forehead to keep medium length hair in place. Face paint over the upper half his features hid what he looked like.
Lighting slashed across the sky and lit up his eyes. They were pale green, a striking shade of mint I had never seen before.
My cold hands were against his warm chest, and I curled my fingers instinctively, uncertain if I should be touching him yet startled by how solid and muscular his lean frame was. Shivering, I huddled closer to him until I was pressed to him, not caring what he thought.
One of his arms went around me. He spoke, but the words warbled through my mind as if I hadn't quite awaken fully yet.
The man was confusing me, neither cowboy nor Indian, and dressed in the clothing of the eighteen hundreds when it was clearly past the tourist hours of Tombstone. On the plus side, he was built like someone whose lean strength was honed from daily use rather than the bulk of a gym. He had absolutely no body fat that I could feel.
This time when he spoke, it came out nonsense.
Or maybe, some Native American dialect. I had only heard it in movies and had no idea for sure. Had I been blown out of my hotel and into a nearby reservation?
Another voice answered him before his attention returned to me.
"English?" I murmured.
"Who are you?" he demanded in a gravelly voice. "What're you doing here?"
That I understood.
"J…Josie. Josie Jackson," I managed.
There was a surprised moment of silence, and then, "Not again!" He released me and spun, stalking away, leaving me alone in the cold.
What the hell does that mean?
I watched him join two other men dressed from head to foot like Native Americans, who were mounted and waiting on horseback. He flung himself onto the horse with no effort - and no saddle. They appeared to be unaffected by the downpour. Muscular thighs pressed to the horse's belly, and he picked up reins to a bridle much simpler than any I had ever seen during all my years of dressage.