Carousel (2 page)

By the time he reached the turn-around where they exercised the horses, MacAdoo had unharnessed Wind Dancer. The trainer handed the lead rope of Nicholas's prize black stallion to a stable boy. One by one, the other thoroughbreds were released and led away as he cautiously watched their movements.

It took some time for his heartbeat to return to normal. His entire livelihood centered on the thoroughbreds he raced and the colts they sired. He couldn't afford to have even one of them injured.

"What should we do with him?" MacAdoo asked, bent over an inert form lying face down in the mud, right in the middle of the exercise ring.

"Good God in heaven," Nicholas muttered in vexation. "How on earth did he get under the horses? He's quite lucky not to have gotten hurt."

MacAdoo agreed as he turned over the unconscious lad. "What should we do with him when he comes to?"

Nicholas Westbrooke, Pennsylvania born gentleman and horse breeder, had no idea what to do with some wayward youth, although he was curious as to how he had ended up in the horse pen. "Since it appears he likes being under foot of the horses, we could put him in the barn shoveling manure." Even in the most trying situations, his humor usually came through.

"Boss, I don't think that would be a good idea."

Nicholas flashed a glance at the youth but his real concentration remained on the horses, reassuring himself none had been hurt by the haphazard appearance of the lad into their midst. Suddenly, an abundance of blonde hair registered in his mind, and his gaze snapped back to the limp figure on the ground. He quickly skirted the harnesses to kneel beside his friend.

"Well, I'll be damned. It's a girl?"

"I think--hard to tell with all the mud on her face."

But Nicholas knew. The strange shirt she wore, though much too large, still outlined the high, firm curve of her breasts. As he gently wiped the mud away, his handkerchief revealed a straight nose, high cheekbones, and full lips. Feathery eyelashes lay against pale cheeks, concealing the color of her eyes.

Disregarding the mud now splattered on his lawn shirt and buff riding breeches, he gently lifted her from the muddy ground. Long strides carried him to the house, where he called to his housekeeper while climbing the stairs.

"Mrs. Jeffrey, come to the guest room at once. And bring warm water and clean towels."

The housekeeper quickly appeared by his side, five-year-old Amanda peering around her skirts. She placed the necessary supplies on a table before she even glanced at the bundle Nicholas placed gently on the bed. When she did, she inhaled sharply.

"Mister Nicholas, pardon my saying so, sir, but wouldn't it be better if you or Mister MacAdoo were to do this?"

"Why on earth would I want to do that, Mrs. Jeffrey? It would seem to me this falls under your area of expertise. Amanda can help get these dirty clothes off and find some sleep wear." He stood back, surveying the unconscious form.

"Amanda, sir? I must put my foot down. No child of her tender years and sensibilities should--"

"What
are
you prattling about?" He scowled across at his housekeeper, who was normally a sensible woman.

"Why, sir, I did powder your behind when you were just a wee little thing, but you were family. I don't think it at all proper for me to bathe this young lad, not knowing him, if you see what I mean." Nicholas watched her blush fiercely as she placed the pitcher of warm water on the table near the bed.

"Young lad?" He laughed. "If you look closely, you'll see you are mistaken. This boy is a girl, or rather a woman, I would imagine. She is dressed rather strange, though, don't you think?" He fingered the odd cap that had covered her very short hair.

As soon as she realized her mistake, Mrs. Jeffrey wasted no time shooing Nicholas out of the room. He turned towards the door, hearing her cluck like a mother hen over the girl, though she remained unconscious.

He couldn't fathom why any woman would wear the odd looking trousers and shirt this one had on. No explanation came to mind for her extremely short hair, either. Certainly her unusual mien, not to mention her sudden presence at Wildwood, indicated she was no lady. He sighed, knowing his questions would have to wait for answers.

As he closed the door to the guest room, he heard Amanda, her voice full of curiosity. "She looks like a fairy princess, Mrs. J. Will she disappear if we leave her alone?"

Nicholas would have to make sure the impressionable five-year-old didn't spend too much time with the strange, but beautiful, golden-haired woman. Not until he found out more about her.

* * *

Jaci tried, without success, to open her eyes and move her limbs. The fall on the carousel may not have broken anything, for she didn't hurt other than a headache, but she felt as though she floated on a cloud. Through her half-conscious state, she heard voices, and tried to concentrate on their sound, although the accent sounded foreign to her ears.

"We found her. Can we keep her, Uncle Nicholas?" A child's voice, full of enthusiasm and excitement, made Jaci think of Mandy many years ago.

"Of course not." The rough, deep timbre of a man's reply reminded Jaci of the giant in
Jack and the Beanstalk.
She tried not to flinch or react in any way that might indicate she was awake, for she didn't feel ready to confront the person who owned that particular voice.

"But we kept Sir Lancelot."

"A dog is different. You don't keep people, child." The male voice, still deep and distinguished, was now laced with humor. Jaci thought perhaps he was not an ogre after all.

"She looks like a fairy princess. Maybe if you kiss her, she'll wake up."

"A-m-a-n-d-a."

Jaci drifted back into a void, the stern voice creating images of dragons and swamp monsters in her mind.

* * *

The buzzing in her head finally quieted, though it still hurt abominably. She cautiously opened her eyes but found it difficult to adjust her vision to the darkness of the room. Turning her head to the side, she searched for a night light beside the bed. Instead, she found herself staring into the curious gaze of a little girl.

A memory floated to the surface of her muddled brain--a child's voice requesting a kiss to awaken the sleeping princess. Jaci smiled. The child's countenance immediately changed from studied intensity to brilliant sunshine as she returned the smile. She silently offered Jaci a glass of water.

Jaci slowly scooted to a sitting position, careful not to move her head any more than necessary. Even so, the pounding continued.

The child shifted from one foot to the other as Jaci scrutinized her over the rim of the glass. She wore a bright blue dress that came clear to the tops of her shoes, covered by a somewhat wrinkled white pinafore. Of course, it didn't help any that the little girl kept twisting the cloth between her chubby hands as she watched Jaci with wide eyes.

Her long hair reminded Jaci of Shirley Temple--all ringlets and curls--much too much hair for a youngster.

Jaci's gaze darted from object to object around the room. She sensed there was too much of everything here. The room contained an abundance of fancy furniture, frills and lace. The bed even had a ruffled canopy.

The little girl glanced nervously at the closed door. She turned back and burst into rapid speech, as though afraid of not saying all she needed to before someone caught her.

"Hello, my name is Amanda. Did you know you look like a fairy princess? I wish I could cut all my hair off like you, but Uncle Nicholas would be
so
angry." She popped her hands to her mouth, eyes wide. "I must get him. He said I could sit here as long as I called him immediately upon your waking." The girl turned to leave.

"No...wait." Jaci reacted without thinking, leaning forward to grab the child's arm. "Augh!" She fell back against the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the pain.

"But he said--"

"Please." Blindly, she held out her hand.
Think
, she chastised herself as she sucked in a breath. She couldn't believe such confusion resulted from simply falling off a carousel. Nothing made any sense--the girl's clothes, her speech, this room and its antique furniture.

There had been talk of building a reenactment village to draw more tourists to State Fair Park. Had she been taken there? If so, Jaci mused silently, why did she have the instinctive feeling that something was terribly wrong? Since the child appeared less threatening than an adult, Jaci wanted to question her.

She softened her tone. "Please stay; just for a moment."

The child hesitated, glancing over at the door before looking back at her. "All right." Jaci took a deep breath. "Where am I?"

"Why, Wildwood Manor, of course."

Was that the name of the reenactment village? Jaci couldn't recall. "Why is all the furniture old? Why are you dressed oddly?" Her breath came in short gasps; her hands trembled as panic clawed its way to the surface. She concentrated very hard on the pattern of the coverlet until her vision cleared.

"Is not old! Uncle Nicholas just bought this bed because he's going to marry soon."

Jaci moaned and rolled her eyes at the little girl's story.

"Amanda, I thought I told you not to bother our guest." The gruff voice came from across the room.

Amanda's back stiffened, but her eyes still held a pixy light. In a whisper she said to Jaci, "He likes to use his big voice, but not to worry, he really is a very nice person." She made a dash for the door, only pausing briefly to curtsy before the tall figure.

Jaci's gaze followed the pixy as she scampered across the room, but now she studied the man who remained leaning against the doorframe. Her gaze slid up neatly tailored trousers encasing long legs, a trim waist, and arms crossed over a chest covered in a brown brocade vest, snowy shirt and darker brown jacket. His clothes, like those of the girl, appeared quite old fashioned.

That thought flew as her gaze reached his face. His eyes held a hint of anger and his stance was anything but relaxed, and still she couldn't help noticing how handsome he was. He also looked familiar. She knew she should recognize those gorgeous silver eyes, his dark hair and finely chiseled chin. Her artistic eye noted the contradiction between his youthful face and the gray threading its way through the darker hair at his temples.

His full lips, puckered in thought, now gave way to a voice as dark and intriguing as the man himself. "Good afternoon. My name is Nicholas Westbrooke. I suppose I should welcome you to Wildwood, though you most certainly dropped by in an unexpected manner."

Jaci had felt the tension increase the moment Amanda left the room, and would have called her back if only her brain would function properly. She tried to speak, but her mouth pinched in a terrible grimace and she squeezed her eyes shut in pain. Her manner must have appeared unduly strange, because when she finally opened her eyes, she saw him hesitate.

"A lady will most usually return a gentleman's introduction by at least acknowledging it, if not by allowing him the pleasure of her name in return."

She nervously plucked at the bed covers as she crossed and uncrossed her ankles beneath the sheets, but she still didn't speak.

"You clean up quite pretty." The comment must have slipped out on accident, because she saw him clamp his lips quickly together.

The panic she had felt earlier quickened. Her gaze flickered from him to the window and back.

"I doubt you would get far."

Startled, she stared at him. How could he possibly know she contemplated jumping to escape his presence?

"I'm sure you're right, since I don't even know where I am." She finally spoke, feeling the panic curl into a tight knot in her stomach before slowly creeping upward, threatening to choke her.

"Here, drink this." The strange man handed her the glass he had brought in with him. Without thought, she downed half the water, hoping it would ease her cottonmouth.

"How did you get here?" His question seemed innocent enough, but it still confused her. "Where, exactly, is
here?
"

"
Here
is Wildwood Manor, precisely sixteen miles west of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Here is Monday, the fourteenth day of October in the year of our Lord eighteen seventy-four. Exact enough?"

"There's no reason to be rude." What he said made no sense, and she didn't like his tone. She tried to get up, determined to leave this room and go home.

"I may have bumped my head when I fell, but I'm not crazy. I know what year it is." Funny, but her limbs didn't want to cooperate. Try as she might, she couldn't get out of bed.

"I must leave now to be home in time for dinner." Even as she said the words, she laid back, her brain a muddle. Perhaps she should rest a little longer.

The man who called himself Nicholas Westbrooke stood beside her. He took away the glass and set it on the table. She squinted, trying to concentrate on his face. He wasn't quite as frightening now. In fact, a gentle smile lifted the corners of his mouth and softened the lines around his eyes. His change in expression made her feel bad about yelling at him.

She started to apologize but his image faded. When she tried to bring him back in focus, the thought haunted her that she should know him. His dark brows came together over silver eyes as he scrutinized her in turn. Just as she faded into unconsciousness, she realized who the man was. Yet before she grasped the memory, the connection disappeared, leaving her in blackness.

Chapter Two

The annoying buzz in Jaci's head gave way to voices; fuzzy at first, but gradually becoming more distinct. Two men spoke, their accent more eastern than her slight Texas drawl. She focused on the more gentle of the two voices, the rhythm of his words reminding her of the soft cadence of the carousel.

Even as she listened, she couldn't rouse herself enough to speak. She recalled weird dreams--children asking for kisses to wake princesses, a very handsome, but strange man, pretending to be someone from another century. She did recall falling on the carousel, and must have hit her head harder than she thought.