Here With Me

What Others Are Saying About
Here With Me

“This book makes you remember why you first
fell in love with romance. . . The elements by themselves might
seem standard, but the author folds them together so beautifully
you cannot resist being swept up into the story . . . This is a
deeply satisfying read..”

Bunny Callahan--
Romantic Times

“George and Melody are believable, enjoyable
characters with a story that is both heartwarming and
engaging.”

Wendy Keel--
The Romance Reader’s
Connection

***

Here With Me

By Beverly Long

Copyright 2012, Beverly Long

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com
and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work
of this author.

This is a work of fiction. All names,
characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual
names, events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.

***

Present Day

George woke up flat on his back, feeling like
he’d eaten a bad egg. He opened one eye, then the other, and with
the last bit of strength he had, he rolled to his stomach, pushed
himself up to his hands and knees, lifted his head, and in the
fading light of day, saw what had to be the ocean.

It was just as he’d heard it described and
yet, altogether different. More gray than blue. Bigger, for sure.
It went forever, until it reached a point where it bumped up
against the setting sun and was sucked up into the violet and
pink-streaked sky.

He hadn’t expected it to be so noisy, or so
angry. Tall waves rushed the beach, slapping against the rocks,
churning and foaming over the sandy shore. Birds, big silver-white
ones with wings spread wide, swooped low, letting loose with
high-pitched plaintive screeches. One erratically changed direction
and George turned his head to follow its path.

He winced when the strap of his camera, which
had somehow become wrapped around his neck, tightened. He untangled
himself and rested his hand on the sturdy case, feeling doubly
grateful—one, that the damn thing hadn’t strangled him along the
way and two, that it had come through time in one piece. It was
tangible proof that he hadn’t left everything a hundred-plus years
behind.

The beach, a patch of sand fifty yards wide
and stretching as far as the eye could see, was empty save a
solitary figure at the edge of the water. Three hundred yards
separated them, and the dwindling light of day combined with the
white straw hat on the person’s head made it difficult to tell if
it was a man or woman. All George knew is that given how close the
person sat to the rolling waves, his or her trousers had to be long
past wet.

His own trousers were dry although there was
a fresh hole in the knee, and they were stained with dirt. His
heavy shirt had rips that hadn’t been there when he’d slipped it on
just as the wicked bitch of a storm had started.

His journey had not been an easy one. He had
jagged memories of being sucked into utter blackness, of whirling
and banging into objects he couldn’t see or identify, of feeling
like his insides were being ripped from his body.

Just when he’d been sure he couldn’t take
another minute, he’d seen the hand, somehow visible in the
darkness. He’d recognized it immediately, because at one time he’d
held it in friendship, claimed it in love, and clasped it in
passion. His Hannah had not deserted him and he’d been desperate to
feel his wife’s touch one more time, to hold her in his arms, close
to his heart.

But when he’d attempted to reach for her, his
stupid arms and legs had refused to obey. His limbs had hung from
his body, useless. Hannah had tried. She’d wrapped her long,
slender fingers around his arm and tugged hard. However, the dank
and greedy darkness, a worthy enemy, had fought back and as seconds
had turned to minutes, her touch had grown cold and weak. Hope had
faded and a terribly emptiness had loomed.

Then, from out of the darkness, another hand
had appeared. Not Hannah’s. This one was that of an old woman’s,
with fingers bony and bent with age, and skin lined and spotted
from the sun. It had brushed up against Hannah’s hand, passing
through it in a flash of silvery light, and the sudden heat that
flowed from his wife’s fingers, into his upper arm, had warmed him
to the bone.

Then the old hand, its grip stronger than
he’d imagined possible, had grabbed his other arm, and working
together, Hannah and the Other had pulled him to the light.

Then they’d disappeared.

And it had been like losing Hannah all over
again. Only this time worse than that terrible day he’d buried her
in the cold North Dakota ground. Because this time, he’d known, had
felt it all the way through his battered soul, that she was leaving
him forever.

Her work was done. She’d brought him safely
into his new world, into this strange place, this strange time. He
was on his own to make of it what he would.

He guessed he best get to it.

He sucked in a breath, gathered his strength,
and stood up. And promptly fell flat on his ass again. He felt
dizzy and stomach sick and he thought he might have cracked a rib
or two on his journey through time. It hurt like a son of a gun to
breathe.

Damn it to hell and back. He’d promised Sarah
Tremont that he’d come forward to her time and help eight-year-old
Miguel Lopez but he wasn’t going to be able to help himself, let
alone a sick child, if he couldn’t keep standing.

Keeping his breaths shallow, he stood up, a
little slower this time, and while the dizziness didn’t leave him,
it did fade and he remained standing. He situated his camera,
letting the leather strap loop over one shoulder and the heavy box
rest at his hip.

He gave the person at the water’s edge one
more lingering look. He or she was huddled over bent legs, head
down. It dawned on him that the person had no doubt come to the
beach, expecting solitude, and he had no right to intrude. Plus it
wasn’t like he didn’t have any of his own business to attend to.
He’d come to this time so that Sarah Tremont could stay with John
Beckett. The love between those two had been so real that only a
fool could have missed it. But Sarah had been torn, believing that
she had to leave, had to come back to her own time, to fulfill her
promise to the Lopez family. She’d had information that the family
needed, information that would help the young boy.

George had come in her place. Somehow.
Someway. And he’d managed to survive it. Now, he needed to find
Miguel and his mother. He shifted his eyes, looking upward at the
sky. It would be dark soon. He needed to get the lay of the land
before the light was completely gone. Before he’d left Sarah, she’d
told him about her house, saying it wasn’t far from the beach.

He turned away from the person and walked
toward the rocky cliff at the back edge of the beach. He found the
steep steps leading skyward. Halfway up, his boots heavier with
each passing second, he had to stop to catch his breath.

And coming from behind him, he heard a
scream. He whirled around, so fast he almost slipped. The beach was
empty and he caught a glimpse of white tossing around in the dark
waves.

George scrambled down the stairs, his arm
clenched to his side, holding his aching ribs. He ran and tried to
keep the person in his sight. His camera banged against his hip and
he dropped it in the sand along the way. He charged the water like
a mad bull, not stopping until the water was waist-high and pushing
at him, like it hoped to drag him under, too. Just when he thought
he was too late, the wild beast of an ocean tossed up its bounty
and he saw a flash of pale skin.

George dove into the water and grabbed. The
person’s arms were kicking and flailing and Christ, if he wasn’t
careful, he was going to get knocked silly. He grabbed the person
tight into his body and kicked his feet hard. Three more kicks and
he’d made enough progress that there was sand beneath the water. He
staggered toward the beach, crawling the last three feet on his
knees.

His eyes burned, his chest hurt, and his ribs
ached worse than the time he’d been kicked by a cow. He ignored it
all and sank back onto his haunches to look at what he’d dragged
out of the sea.

Mother of God. It was a woman. With long dark
hair plastered flat against her head. Her eyes were closed, her
face pale, and she wasn’t breathing.

He deposited her on the beach, rolled her
over to her side, and rapped her sharply between the
shoulder-blades. It seemed to take an eternity but water gurgled
out of her mouth and she started coughing and sputtering. He
thought he’d never heard a more beautiful sound.

“You’re safe,” he assured her and felt bad
when her body jerked and she fell flat on her back. Her wide-set
eyes were open now and dark with fear.

“I mean you no harm, ma’am,” he said. He
braced his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. She
wore dark trousers and a white blouse and both were molded to her
body. She put her hand over her stomach, her eyes flashing wildly,
and he saw the slight swell of her stomach. “Oh, Jesus,” he
whispered. “You’re with child.”

She licked her lips and swallowed. “I’m five
months pregnant.”

He started to shake. Felt like a damn fool
but couldn’t stop. He wrapped his arms around his body and prayed
that he’d stay upright and not embarrass himself further by falling
face down in the sand. He had saltwater rolling around in his
stomach and fear chilling his blood. It made for some severe
unpleasantness.

“You saved my life,” she said. “My baby’s
life.” Her soft voice trailed off at the end.

The thought of what might have happened if
he’d been even a minute later made him shake all the more.

“I was so stupid. I got too close to the
water and this huge wave came and it just wouldn’t let go.” She
looked at him like she had just noticed his shivering. “You must be
freezing,” she said.

“I’m not cold,” he said. “You scared me,” he
admitted.

She laughed, a light musical sound that
drifted above the heavy dampness of the evening air. It calmed him.
If she could laugh, surely she and her babe were not hurt.

She sat up and pushed her wet hair behind her
ears. He saw how fine-boned her hand was and it made him worry that
he’d rapped her back too hard, that he’d hurt her.

“I’m sorry if I was rough with you,” he
said.

“Oh, please,” she waved her hand, dismissing
his concern. She extended her arm, almost hesitantly. “I’m Melody
Song, by the way.”

It was an odd name and he had the strangest
sensation that he’d heard it somewhere before. It was the kind of
name that stuck with a person.

He gave her small hand a gentle squeeze.
“George Tyler, ma’am.”

He could feel the tension in her small hand
relax and when she smiled at him, the genuineness of it reached her
eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “You know, you could
have drowned right along with me.”

He supposed if he’d taken time to think about
it, he could have reasoned that out. When he’d heard the scream and
realized what had happened, he’d known time wasn’t a luxury the
person had. “I suspect that’s true enough,” he said.

“Well, I’m sorry that my carelessness almost
got you killed.”

He didn’t respond. He’d stopped caring six
months ago whether he lived or died so it didn’t seem right now to
pretend to be worried about what might have happened.

“I really should have known better,” she
said. Her voice dropped and he could hear something in her tone
that hadn’t been there before. “Especially here,” she added.