Here With Me (3 page)

It did seem like a hell of a mess. “What are
you going to do?”

She shrugged. “Well, I guess unless I find a
husband within the next twelve hours, I’ll have to tell her the
truth.”

He heard the forced lightness in her voice
and knew that Melody Song’s burden was heavy. “Your grandmother
will understand,” he said, hoping he was right.

“She will.” Her voice cracked at the end.
“It’s just that it’s going to hurt her so much when she finds out
that I’ve been lying to her. And then there’s the whole thing about
the baby not having a father. She’s really going to hate that.”

He was no expert on these things but he was
fairly certain that not everything had changed that much in a
hundred and eighteen years. “There
has
to be a father. Where
is he?”

“Long gone. Probably still running. He took
off about ten minutes after I told him I was pregnant.”

That kind of thing had happened in his time,
too, but George had never been able to abide a man who didn’t
handle his own responsibilities. “So, he left you and the child to
fend for yourselves?”

“We’ll be fine,” she said. “Look, this
probably sounds strange but I know that I’m better off without him.
He’s got. . .issues. What I know for sure is that he has no
interest in being a father to this baby.”

“Damn fool.” Man didn’t deserve what was
his.

“Do you have children?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“A wife?”

“I did,” he said. He realized it was the
first time that he’d automatically thought about Hannah in the past
tense. He suddenly wanted to tell Melody about his wife, not how
she’d died, but rather how she’d lived. But he couldn’t. She would
have too many questions, then too many doubts, maybe even fear.

That wasn’t how he wanted his time with her
to end.

He had perhaps just minutes. Sarah had told
him that the footprints in the sand, the ones she’d stepped into to
travel back to 1888 Wyoming Territory, had appeared around the time
the sun had set. She’d been at this very beach, perhaps in this
very spot. It could happen at any moment. He needed to make sure
Melody was safely off the beach first.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “I don’t want
to keep you.”

“Yes. I. . .” She stopped and then smiled.
Placing a hand over her stomach, she said, “
We
appreciate everything you did tonight.” She paused. “Well,
goodnight.”

She turned and walked toward the steep steps
at the rear of the beach. He watched her until she got to the top
and disappeared over the edge. Then he looked around. The moon had
slipped behind a cloud and the beach was even darker than before.
He could hear the rush of the water and knew that behind all that
noise was his world.

He felt very alone. He didn’t belong in this
strange place. Miguel was already gone. There was no reason to
stay. He had no work, no money, no place to live.

George started walking, looking for his path
home.

Hours later, when the sky was black with only
a quarter-moon to guide his path, when even the birds were quiet,
George was still pacing up and down the beach. For hours, he’d
walked a mile or so in one direction before turning back and doing
the same thing in the other direction. He hadn’t wanted to stray
too far from the spot he’d arrived at and that Sarah had departed
from. His stomach was empty, his ribs still hurt, and his soul
ached with worry.

Finally, exhausted, he lay down on the cold
sand, feeling more weary than he’d ever felt, even counting those
terrible days following Hannah’s death. He closed his eyes and
later, when he woke, the soft gray of early morning washed across
the still-empty stretch of beach. The sun was well over the
horizon, although not yet warm with heat. He closed his eyes and
continued to lay on his back, unwilling to let go of his dreams, of
the peace the memories had brought him.

He’d dreamed of John and Sarah, of all the
people he’d left behind. He’d dreamed of his job as sheriff of
Bluemont, North Dakota. And of Hannah and the baby she’d
carried.

He realized with a start that the last person
he’d dreamed about had been Melody. She’d gotten herself into
trouble and now had a babe on the way. In his time, there were few
choices for a woman on her own with a child. There’d be little
money and even less acceptance.

He hated the thought of any woman having to
struggle along with no man to help her. It wasn’t right.

“George. Excuse me, George. Mr. Tyler.”

His eyes flew open and he lifted his head.
Melody Song, her arm in the air, waving to him, was climbing down
the steep steps at the edge of the beach.

He sat up. For a minute, he thought maybe he
was still dreaming. She was practically upon him before he grabbed
hold of his senses. He scrambled to his feet, feeling like a clumsy
fool.

She’d changed her clothes. She had on a
bright yellow blouse which was snug at the top but loose enough
lower down to provide space for her growing baby. She had white
trousers that ended at least six inches above her ankles and she
wore some crazy kind of shoes that showed her toes.

The woman had nice feet. Small and smooth,
with toenails painted pink.

The early morning breeze blew her hair across
her face and she pushed it out of her face. “Good morning,” she
said.

Christ. She was real. He’d imagined that her
hair was dark. But it was much lighter. It was the color of winter
wheat, a rich honey, and it fell in thick waves past her shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, and got embarrassed when his
voice squeaked like that of a young boy’s. It didn’t surprise him
though. Melody Song, with her smooth skin, her shiny hair, and her
full breasts, made him feel as inept as a twelve-year-old.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice subdued.
“I got up early this morning knowing I needed to be on the road if
I was going to make my grandmother’s house by lunch. I was driving
by, had almost passed the Fayetteville exit, and all of a sudden, I
just knew I had to check. I had to know if you were still
here.”

“I am,” he said, trying hard not to let her
hear the desperation he felt.

“Do you know that I almost caused a freakin’
wreck? I crossed two lanes of traffic without even looking.” She
waved an impatient hand toward him, like it was somehow his fault.
“I never drive crazy. I’m a very careful driver,” she added, like
she might be trying to convince herself.

He couldn’t stop looking at her hair. “You
look different,” he said. “Your hair.”

“Took me a half hour in the shower last night
to get it clean. Between the saltwater and the french-fry grease
from work, it had taken a beating.”

French-fry grease? From work? None of what
she said made any sense. She’d said she lost her job at the school.
“Where do you work?”

“I have a friend who owns a little
restaurant, sort of upscale sandwiches and fancy desserts. I’m a
waitress there.”

“Seems like that might be hard work for a
woman who’s carrying a child.”

“I was grateful for the job. But you’re
right,” she said, smiling at him. “It’s getting harder and harder
to lift those trays. Plus, I really need to find a position that
offers insurance for me and the baby.”

It sounded like Melody intended to work soon
after the child’s arrival. He wondered how she would manage. She’d
be trying to juggle her new position, a new baby, and a sick
grandmother. “Is there anyone to help you at your
grandmother’s?”

“Well, there’s Tilly and Louis. They’re my
aunt and uncle and they have lived with Grandmother for the past
seventeen years, ever since my grandfather died. They came for the
funeral, stayed for lunch, and then never left.”

“They must have been good company for your
grandmother?”

“Yes, well, let’s just say that generally I’m
glad they were there. There’s my great aunt Genevieve, too. She’s a
couple years younger than Grandmother. Very independent, sort of a
free spirit.”

She talked fast but he thought he understood.
It was, however, damn hard to concentrate on what she was saying.
She was pure pleasure to watch. Her eyes seemed more blue than
violet this morning and her face glowed with the healthy sheen of
motherhood. Her bare arms were tanned from the sun and were sleek
with feminine muscle.

When she gracefully sank to the ground next
to him, his heart skipped a beat until he realized that she wasn’t
fainting, that she was just getting comfortable. She lifted her
head and looked up at him. He felt awkward standing over her and
there was no good reason for her to strain her neck. He sank down
next to her.

“You slept on the beach,” she accused.

It didn’t seem to make much sense to deny it.
“I’ve slept in worse places,” he said.

She looked concerned. “You’re lucky you
didn’t get mugged. The beach isn’t safe at night.” She stared at
her pink toes. “Do you. . .uh. . .live around here?”

Not hardly. “No. Just passing through.”

She stopped looking at her feet and instead
looked at him. Her scrutiny made him uncomfortable. He figured he
must be a sight. He had sand in his hair, stubble on his face, and
his clothes were ripped and torn.

“If you need a ride somewhere,” she said
suddenly, surprising him, “I’d be glad to drop you off. Just tell
me where you want to go.”

He had no where to go. He had to stay. Had to
wait for the footprints.

Go. Go with her.

“Did you hear that?” he asked.

She blinked her pretty eyes. “What?”

Christ. “Nothing,” he said. The damn wind was
talking to him, making his heart jump and his skin heat up.

She needs you.

He rubbed his temple. She was going home to
family. Her grandmother might not approve but she’d welcome her.
That’s what families did. “You get along with your grandmother?” he
asked.

“Uh. . .yes,” she said, obviously confused at
his question. “She’s wonderful, the best really. She has. . .” she
paused and furiously blinked her eyes, “. . .cancer. My aunt says
it’s very serious. Her doctors say that chemo wouldn’t make a
difference. She’s had some radiation treatments but they didn’t
really help.”

What she said made no sense to him but he
knew that whatever this cancer was, it must be a ravaging beast. He
hurt for her. Barely knew her, but still, hurt on her behalf. He
watched her grasp a handful of sand and hold the weight in the palm
of her hand. Then carefully, deliberately, she spread her fingers,
letting the grains fall through. “She’s going to slip away from
me,” she said, her voice heavy with emotion. “Like sand through my
fingers.”

He’d slid through time, like sand through a
crack. Now he waited to be swept up by the wind, like wayward sand,
and carried home, left to settle back into a world he knew.

His problem was that he’d never been
especially good at waiting. He was a man of action and he didn’t
need any damn wind telling him what was the right thing to do. “You
said yesterday that you were looking for a husband.”

She cocked her head to the left. “What?”

“You said that you told your grandmother that
you had a husband and she’s expecting you to bring him home. That’s
what you said, right?”

She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip.
“That’s what I said.”

“I’ve been a husband. It wouldn’t be like
starting from scratch.”

Keeping her head tilted, she patted the side
of her head with the palm of her hand. Then she made a production
of leaning her head to the other side and repeating the motion
before sitting up very straight. "I must have water in my ears
still.”

Now that he’d decided, he wouldn’t be put
off. “You need a husband. I’ve got a little time on my hands. We’d
be helping each other out.”

Her cheeks showed bright spots of color. “Oh,
good grief. You don’t know what you’d be getting yourself into.
You’ve got to have better things to do.”

What was there to do when a person was a
round peg in a square hole? “My offer stands,” he said.

“I’d be asking too much. Look, this isn’t a
weekend trip home. I don’t know how long I’m staying.”

That made two of them. He just needed to stay
prepared, to be ready when the footprints back appeared. “If I need
to leave, if something comes up suddenly,” he said, “you can always
give them an excuse. By then, they’ll believe I’m the real
thing.”

She stood up, her movements less graceful
than before. She started walking, making small circles around him.
“This is nutty,” she muttered, waving her delicate hands. “It’ll
never work.” Another circle. “It’s too much for me to expect.”
Another circle.

Christ, he was getting dizzy. But he couldn’t
stop watching her. The wind blew across the ocean, making her hair
fly and pushing her loose shirt tight up against her frame, and he
saw the slight evidence of her child.

She stopped walking. “What’s in it for you?”
she asked.

A sense of purpose, perhaps. He’d had that
when he was sheriff and had the responsibility of taking care of a
whole town. Had certainly had it when he’d been chasing after
Hannah’s killers. He’d been spurred on by the need for vengeance.
But now, a hundred plus years later, he had no town that needed
him. And the one remaining man of the three who had hurt his
Hannah, was certainly long dead. He had no reason for continuing on
other than to help Melody Song.

But she had every reason for questioning his
offer. After all, by what she’d shared, there had already been one
man who’d charmed her into his bed, only later to desert her. This
was a woman who would be on guard, who would question a man’s
motives.

“My pockets are empty and I’ve got no job and
no place to live,” he said.