About the Book
A Time Travel Romance
by Jodi Bowersox
Genre: Time Travel Romance
When the summit of Pikes Peak is beset with a summer storm, Lalita Torres thinks the embarrassment of trading her shorts and tank top for a touristy union suit to keep warm is the worst that could happen.
She was wrong.
A lightning strike sends her back a hundred and twenty-three years and into the care of Dr. Tate Cavanaugh.
Lalita thinks she's in a reality TV show. Tate thinks she's lost her mind.
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After several books, he and Nellie looked through the rest of Augusta's dresses to see what else might fit Lalita, all the while acknowledging she might not be with them much longer if the marshal had some knowledge of her or her family. Still, she needed something to wear for the trip to the marshal's office.
Opening a trunk of dresses that Augusta had packed away, he found her smaller sizes. He was flooded with remembrance of the earlier years of their marriage, but there was no real longing for days past. Their life together had never been all that he had hoped.
He hung a couple dresses out on the balcony to air out and had just come back into his bedroom, when Lalita sailed by on her way to the bathroom.
He and Nellie went down to the kitchen and had a hearty breakfast of ham and eggs ready for her in the dining room when she returned. His brows rose at the sight of her in his dressing gown.
She slid into a chair at the table across from him. “I hope you don't mind my wearing your robe, Doc. After yesterday's sweaty business, that dress reeked. I don't suppose you have any lady's deodorant around the house, or would that be historically inaccurate?” She scooped up a too-big bite of eggs and washed them down with a swallow of tea. She lowered her voice. “I really need some clean undies, as well.” She grinned. “Does Manitou Springs have a Victoria's Secret?”
Tate's surprise had turned into embarrassment, then utter shock, and finally confusion. He counted himself among the enlightened, intelligent men of his time, but one conversation with Lalita had him wondering if he had spent his life thus far with his head in a hole.
With a glance at Nellie, who was offering her doll a cracker, he wondered how best to rein Lalita into the rules of respectable society. The thought that she needed reined in, however, took him back to another time—another woman he'd tried to make fit in to no good end. And yet, there were basic manners that even Nellie understood.
Sitting straight, he gave her a slight smile. “Miss Torres...”
She waved a hand as she skewered a bit of ham with her fork. “Please, Doc, I can't take another minute of this 'Miss Torres' business. Please call me Lalita.”
“Lalita,” he continued, “while I would never try to suggest that you need to please someone else with your... manners, there are a few society rules that preserve the boundaries of good decorum.” He took a deep breath, hearing his own voice raised in anger at a young woman who had been unable to negotiate the often murky waters of social interaction. “If you wish to fit in... what I mean to say... you must try to... to...”
She stared at him fumbling for words and set down her fork. “Okay, I get it. If I'm going to be a part of the show, I need to get into character, but that's why I'm asking about deodorant and underwear and such. So I can do it like you all do it here in 1892—that's what the calendar says in your kitchen, right?”
Tate nodded slowly, more frightened than ever for her mental state. “Yes, the year is 1892. Did you forget that along with your visit to Pikes Peak?”
She grinned. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
“You have made quite a change in attitude over the last several days. From wanting to flee to believing me to be a quack doctor—”
“Oh, I'm sorry about that, Doc. You are obviously a real doctor, and that was obviously a real pregnant lady with a real baby coming out of her.” She laughed. “A billionaire must be financing this reality show! It doesn't seem like Warren Buffet's style or even Bill Gates, but maybe Donald Trump. And you! You're amazing! You never break character even for a second. Makes me wish I'd taken some theatre classes in college.”
“Theatre. So you now believe that you are part of some grand production.” Tate leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “Tell me, Miss Torres, what does real life look like where you're from?”
She smiled, looking from corner to corner in the room.
Tate turned in his chair, following her gaze but could see nothing out of the ordinary. “What are you looking at?”
She leaned toward him. “Just wondering where the cameras are,” she whispered.
Then she sat back, stiffly taking her cup of tea in hand and taking a sip. “Well, Dr. Cavanaugh,” she began with a wooden gesture, “the time I come from is very different than yours. For instance, we have—”
“Excuse me, did you say the 'time' you come from?”
“The time. Not the place.”
“Well, the place is different, too, since I'm not from around here.”
“Where are you from?”
“Missouri. Close to Kansas City.”
He leaned in again. “When are you from?”
She spread her hands dramatically. “The early 21st century.”
Tate just stared.
Lalita nodded. “That's right, man from the 19th century,” —she gave an exaggerated wink— “you're looking at a 21st century woman.”
Suddenly she pushed back from the table, rose, and struck a pose with one hand in the air and one on her hip. Then she started to sing. “I can bring home the bacon” —she moved her hips a quick left and right— “fry it up in a pan” —she slinked toward him, spinning the cord tie at her waist— “and never ever let you forget you're a man,” —she sat right on his lap, throwing her arms around his neck— “ 'cause I'm a woman.”
Tate was speechless, but Nellie clapped, and Lalita was biting her lip, trying to keep from laughing. She put a hand to the side of her mouth as she whispered, “I don't know how much competition there is for airtime, but that should keep us off the editing room floor.”
Tate's heart sank. This beautiful, young woman was absolutely off her chump.
About the Author
Jodi grew up on a farm in Nebraska, then spent most of her life in the sweltering summer humidity of NE Kansas. Her experience working for an interior design shop--Jane Bateman: The Interior Store in Lawrence, Kansas--became fodder for her first romance, Interiors By Design.
Her farm and small town background helped with the writing of her second novel, Horses, Adrenaline, and Love.
Living close to Kansas City for 27 years gave her the setting for her third novel, a romantic suspense entitled Cinnamon Girl Explains It All.
A recent move to the Colorado Rockies has removed the humidity from her life (now she's bathing in vats of lotion), and the mountains have already provide new inspiration for writing. Her Rocky Mountain Series is set in Colorado Springs.
She reads an eclectic mix of Christian non-fiction, Sci Fi, and Romance, and loves playing Settlers of Catan and Ticket to Ride with her husband and sons.
Four cats in the house keep life interesting.
Connect with Jodi: Website