That mental reminder of her circumstances made her stiffen. There was that, pesky time travel business again.
She had almost forgotten about it for a second as she talked to Cole Brady. She suddenly wished she had paid more attention to Earl's impromptu history lessons over the years. If she knew more about San Francisco's past, she might be able to tell if her surroundings were accurate. If there were flaws in the illusion, if this was just a distorted version of what she thought San Francisco might have been like, then she would know that it was all in her imagination.
Maybe she was back there in the cave, dreaming the whole thing.
The cave! She remembered the wrenching sensation that had woken her from her sleep. That was when it must have happened, she told herself. That was when the very fabric of time and space had shifted around her and thrown her back over ninety years in time . . .
"Pseudoscientific gibberish," she muttered.
"Beg your pardon?" Cole asked, leaning forward a little and frowning in concern.
Annabel waved a hand again and said, "Nothing. I'm just trying to make sense of everything."
"That's hard to do sometimes, isn't it?"
"Damn right."
The words were barely out of her mouth before she saw his eyes widen a little in surprise. Of course, she told herself. It was 1906. He wasn't used to such blunt talk from a woman. In this day and age, women were supposed to be demure, soft-spoken creatures whose only concerns were frills and lace.
Baby, Cole Brady would have been in for a shock, she mused, if he had found himself in her era instead of the other way around!
That thought brought a laugh bubbling to Annabel's lips, and she said, "I'm really freaking you out, aren't I?"
Cole toyed with the brim of his derby for a minute before he said diplomatically, "I'm not completely sure what you're asking, but I reckon it's safe to say I find you a tad . . . uncommon, Miss Lowell."
"Well, at least you didn't say I was crazy. I suppose I should be thankful for that."
He was looking worried again. "Maybe when we get to the Ferry House, it would be a good idea to take you to see a doctor after all. You could have been hurt—"
"Hit my head and lost my mind, you mean?" Annabel shook her head. "No, I'm fine. I don't have amnesia, and my mental processes are quite clear, thank you."
"Well, if you're sure . . ."
Annabel looked down at the fire suit and said, "What I could really use is a bath and some clean clothes."
Cole started blushing. He was probably thinking about her in a bathtub, Annabel realized. That was sweet.
Clothes were going to be a problem, she suddenly thought. If this was really 1906—and while she wasn't ready to admit that it was, she supposed she had no choice except to proceed as if it were true—then her apartment wouldn't be there. The building might be; she wasn't sure when it had been constructed. But all of her clothes and her other belongings certainly wouldn't be.
Which meant she didn't have any money or other resources, either. What she had on her represented the sum total of her earthly possessions.
That was a sobering realization. How was she going to function in this era with no money, no job, no friends?
That last thought made her glance once more at Cole Brady. He had befriended her—or at least, taken pity on the poor madwoman he no doubt thought her to be. The idea of accepting even more help from him went against the grain for her; she had always taken care of herself. But until she figured out exactly what was going on and what to do about it, she had to have somebody on her side. And Cole seemed like a nice enough man. She might feel guilty for taking advantage of his gentlemanly nature, but there was nothing else she could do, Annabel decided.
"I. . . I really hate to impose on your generosity, Mr. Brady," she said, trying to phrase her words carefully so that she wouldn't accidentally slip in any end-of-the-millennium, postmodern brittleness, "but I find myself in a . . . a vexing situation."
"I'll be glad to do whatever I can to help, Miss Lowell."
She took a deep breath. "I said that I live in San Francisco, but the truth is I. . . I really don't have a place to stay. And I only have a little money."
Two twenties tucked inside her billfold, in fact, and they wouldn't do her a bit of good here because they were those blasted newly designed bills that looked like Monopoly money. No one in this day and age would recognize them as the real thing. And her credit cards were now just worthless pieces of plastic.
"So, if you . . . if you could do me the kindness of a small loan," she went on, "I would appreciate it so much. I swear to you, I'm not a . . . a gold digger or anything like that." Was that word in use yet? she asked herself. Or did it date from the Roaring Twenties or some other era? Blast it, she wasn't an expert on words!