From the Ashes: Time Jumpers Series Book One

Chapter Two

Chelsea Sinclair had disappointed her filthy rich parents by turning up her nose at the high society lifestyle they had wanted her to lead. Instead, she'd thrilled her equally rich grandmother by following the older lady's example and using her money for good.

Grandma Beth had instilled within Chelsea a need to help those who were less fortunate. During high school, Chelsea's teenage peers had taken trips to foreign countries in the summer to party it up, but she'd helped organize food drives for the downtrodden in Dallas, Texas.

Now, she ran a homeless shelter and soup kitchen. She also helped people get back on their feet by providing job applicant training and even gave them a work clothing allowance. Part of her work included seeking out those who had no place to call home and making sure they at least had one decent meal a day.

That was how Chelsea had come to be serving supper in a place she went to regularly, passing out soup and sandwiches to a group of people she'd come to know well. They were always glad to see her, not only for the food, but because of her kindness and ability to give them hope. She and her team always brought blankets for everyone to help ward off the cold winter weather.

That night, she'd been dipping beef vegetable soup into bowls while Scott, one of her assistants handed out tuna salad sandwiches. Over a couple of the children's heads, Chelsea saw a man she didn't know stumble his way into the firelight. His head was bloody, his face dirty, and he was underdressed for the December weather. Just as she was passing a bowl of soup to Connie, another assistant, the man mumbled something and crumpled to the ground.

Chelsea hurried to him, turning him over with considerable effort. He wasn't a small man by any means, looking to be over six feet tall by Chelsea's quick calculation. She pulled off a glove and felt along his neck for a pulse. Finding a steady, if slightly weak throb, Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention to the blood that had dripped down the man's face and dried along the way. Following the trail it had left, Chelsea soon located the source of the blood. The gash along the right side of his head had clotted thankfully, but it needed stitches.

"Chelsea! What's going on with this guy?" Scott asked, kneeling next to her.

Chelsea shook her head. "I'm not sure. Call 911. He needs to go to the hospital. He might have a concussion."

Scott felt around in his coat, found his phone and dialed. "Hi, this is Scott Hansen from the Hope Shelter. We're out doing some community work and we found a guy here who really needs an ambulance. He's unconscious right now, but breathing. We're around the back of 215 Reed Street." Scott paused a moment. "Yeah, we'll be here." He put his phone back in his coat pocket. "They're on their way."

"Good. I don't understand why he's out here. He's not one of our regulars, and he doesn't have a coat. Get a couple of the blankets from the van, please," Chelsea requested as Connie came over to see what was going on.

"Where'd he come from?" the young woman asked, her blue eyes full of curiosity and compassion. "Holy crap! He has a gun!"

Chelsea hadn't noticed it because she'd been so concerned with the man's physical state. The gun belt he wore looked like something straight out of the Wild West.

Scott carefully extracted the gun from the holster. "Wonder what the heck was doing with this. Hey, he's got a badge on his vest."

The silver star badge read "Deputy".

Chelsea asked, "Is the gun real? It looks really old. So does that badge. Maybe he was at a costume party or something?" That idea didn't sound plausible at all, but the man's mode of dress was unusual. He wore jeans, but they weren't like any jeans she'd ever seen before.

"I doubt it. This isn't exactly the kind of neighborhood where someone would be throwing a party like that. Besides, it's not Halloween," Scott said. "His shirt looks a little singed, but there's no fire around here. Where the hell did he come from?"

"No clue. He doesn't look familiar to me at all. How about you?" Chelsea took the wool blankets that Connie had brought her, spreading them over the stranger to start warming him and to attempt to ward off shock.

"Nope. Never seen him before, Chelsea," Connie replied. "But even with all that blood on him, he's still a hottie."

Chelsea rolled her eyes. "Only you would be thinking about that right now," she chided the girl.

"No crime in looking, is there?" Connie protested.

"He's way too old for you."

The wail of a siren cut off further discussion and flashing lights could be seen between the buildings they were behind. Scott ran through the alleyway to the street, waving the ambulance down. Leading the paramedics to their location, Scott gently shooed the crowd of homeless people out of their way.

"Wow, you guys made it fast," Chelsea commented to Sydney Thompson, one of the paramedics she knew from the 58th Precinct. She moved to give the paramedics room to work.

Sydney said, "You caught me and Trent on the way back to the station, so we weren't far away when the call came in," she answered, kneeling beside the stranger and beginning to take vital signs. She and Trent worked for several minutes, conferring with each other and inputting information on their iPad. They completed their assessment, cautiously lifted the patient onto a litter, and loaded him into their ambulance.

"I'm riding along," Chelsea announced, hopping up into the vehicle behind Sydney. "Scott, you and Connie finish up here and then go back to the shelter. Thanks for all your help tonight. I'll see you in the morning."

Scott nodded. "Okay, Chelsea. Good luck!"

Sydney closed the doors, and soon they were motoring down the street on their way to Dallas Memorial Hospital. Chelsea looked at the unconscious man and decided that Connie had been right. With his wheat-blond hair and chiseled features, he was extremely handsome. Judging by the way he filled out his shirt and jeans, he was an athletic man.

She watched Lexi put an IV in his arm, clean the wound on his head, and check his vitals again. Chelsea couldn't say why, but she felt drawn to the stranger and hoped that he had strength to hang on until they got to the hospital.