Now and Forever (37 page)

She stood there, gun in hand, staring at his bold, extremely masculine form.
You have to do something, Shannon. Pat him down at the very least.

Holding the gun in her right hand, she quickly patted him across his shoulders and down his back. She doubted her nerves could take much more. His musculature was impressive, to say the least, and she knew without asking that those muscles weren't the result of pumping iron in some fancy gym. He got them the old-fashioned way: through hard work.

The question was: what kind of hard work?

"Empty your pockets," she commanded. Not terribly original but it was a start.

"Is that part of frisking, mistress? Thus far it has been a pleasurable interlude."

"Just do it!"

"I have nothing of consequence to show."

"That's absurd. You must have something."

He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and removed a quarter, a cambric kerchief, and something he quickly slipped into the waistband of his breeches.

"What was that?"

"'Tis nothing of importance."

"I'll be the judge of that."
 

He handed her a laminated card. She turned it over. A photo of a pretty red-haired woman looked up at her. Emilie
Crosse, it read, followed by a New Jersey driver's license number.

"What on earth are you doing with this?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer. Maybe he was a carjacker and this was the only piece of evidence that could link him to his hapless victim.

"Return that to me," he ordered.

"I want an explanation."

"I have none I wish to offer."

"Where is Emilie Crosse?"

He said nothing.

She aimed the gun. "I want some answers, McVie, and I want them now."

"You are a comely lass," he observed, "but most unwomanly in demeanor."

She didn't know whether to laugh or shoot him. "I'm standing here with Emilie Crosse's driver's license and it's pretty obvious you're not Emilie so either you start talking now or I'm calling the police."

"You have a sharp tongue, mistress. 'Tis no wonder you and your husband are no longer wed."

"You're really pushing it."

He took a step toward her.

She held her ground.

He took another step.

"I'm an expert marksman," she said. "I hit what I aim for."

"'Twould be a sorry thing were you to miss at such close range."

"You're not funny."

"It is not my intention to be so."

"I'd like to give you the benefit of the doubt but you're making it impossible."

He lunged for the pistol, knocking her right hand to her side. Her fingers flexed open and the gun clattered to the floor. They both dove for it but Shannon threw herself on top of the pistol, trying to ignore the way it dug into her ribs when McVie landed on top of her.

He was strong. Too strong. She felt the sharp teeth of panic as memories crowded against her but she refused to acknowledge their power.
Take a deep breath,
she commanded herself.
You can handle this.
Three years of self-defense training had to be good for something.

She forced herself to go limp.

He hesitated.

She bucked her pelvis sharply, knocking him off balance, then flipped him onto his back and straddled him, pressing the gun against his Adam's apple.

"This is my home," she said, her voice taut. "I will not let you or anyone else take that away from me. Tell me what you're doing here or I swear to God I'll shoot you from here to kingdom come."

 
#

Andrew had no wish to meet his Maker at the hands of Mistress Shannon but neither did he wish the moment to end. The white robe had fallen from her shoulders, exposing her golden body to his roving eyes. Her breasts, covered only by that strip of yellow fabric, rose and fell to the rapid tempo of her breathing.

The delectable curve of her waist was plainly visible as were her flat belly and womanly hips. Her most secret self was shielded by naught but a band of cloth.
 
And -sweet Jesus! - her naked thighs grasped his hips, so tightly he could feel her muscles straining with the effort.

'Twould take naught but the slightest movement to topple her and regain mastery of the situation but no man worth his mettle would willingly forgo such a glimpse of paradise.

But there was the look in her wide aqua eyes to consider. This was her home, her land. She deserved the truth even if in the telling he put himself at risk.

"Emilie Crosse was a friend, mistress, and a good wife to the man she loved."

"What are you doing with her driver's license?"

"She has no need of it."
Do not ask more, mistress, for I do not know what that driver's license is about.

"That's what I was afraid of."

"Nay, mistress, 'tis not a cause for worry."

"Is she dead?" Her voice cracked on the last word.

He considered the question for a moment. In truth he could but say that Emilie no longer walked this earth but following that line of reasoning, it should not be possible for him to be drawing a breath in the year of our Lord, One thousand nine hundred and ninety three. "She was well and contented the last time I lay my eyes upon her."

The lass's relief was obvious. "I don't want to think the worst of you, McVie, but you're making it difficult to get to the bottom of this. All I know is that there was a hotair balloon festival today and you dropped onto my property. If there's anything else, I'd like to hear about it."

A festival? Was it possible the balloons were used for more than traveling through time? "'Tis a simple explanation," he began slowly, "but I am uncertain if you will accept it with ease."

"Try me." How was it a woman so finely made could sound forbidding as a man twice her size?

"I am not part of your world."

"Tell me something I don't know."

He frowned, unable to discern her meaning. "I detect a note of irony but fail to understand its source."

This from the man who flushed toilets for entertainment? If he'd spouted Kierkegaard, Shannon couldn't have been more surprised.

"You already told me you're not from Scotland." She swallowed hard. "So where are you from?"

His hazel-gold eyes met hers. "My last home was in New Jersey."

"This is New Jersey."

"I passed much of the summer on a farm near Princeton."

"Princeton isn't far from here."

"Nay, mistress, the Princeton I know is long gone."

Let him talk...you know he's telling you the truth, Shannon...don't be afraid....

His expression darkened yet still she felt no fear. Strangely enough, her courage did not come from the gun but from some inexplicable sense of connection she felt with this stranger.

"When I awoke this morning, it was the year of Our Lord seventeen hundred and seventy-six."

A buzzing began in her ears and she shook her head to dispel it. "I must be going crazy," she said with a short laugh. "I thought you said 1776."

"Aye, mistress, 'tis what I said."

The buzzing grew louder and she started to tremble as well. "That's not possible."

"I am proof that it is."

"You're not proof of anything. You don't look more than thirty-five."

He winced. "Thirty-three the fifth of May last."

"No," she said, beginning to laugh, "if what you're telling me is true, you're two hundred and fifty years old."

"That does not bear closer consideration."

She stopped laughing as abruptly as she'd begun. "Are you telling me you found Emilie Crosse's New Jersey driver's license in 18th century Princeton?"

"Aye."

"Do I really look that gullible?"

"I have no knowledge of that word nor do I wish to upset you but in truth Mistress Emilie and her husband came back to my time in a hot-air balloon."

"Right," she said, beginning to think of things like rubber rooms and straitjackets. "And you jumped into the same balloon and flew it right into my backyard?"

His face was transformed by his smile. "'Tis the way it happened."

"Give me a break." She stood up, making certain to keep the gun pointed in his general direction. "You expect me to believe you used a hot-air balloon like some kind of time traveling cab service?"
He's telling the truth...the unvarnished, unbelievable, undeniable truth....

"Believe as you will, mistress. I can do naught to convince you, save present the story as it is."

She considered him for a long moment. "Why would anyone in his right mind come to our time?"

"Mistress Emilie's husband described a world of wonder and riches."

"For the fortunate few."

"He said man has walked on the surface of the moon and traveled toward the stars."

"Did he tell you about homeless families sleeping on the streets or old people living alone and in squalor?"

"In the United States of America any man can amass a fortune if he is willing to work hard for it."

He said it with such conviction that her heart seemed to turn over inside her chest. The last time she'd heard such starry-eyed optimism it had been from the Korean grocer in town who still believed in the American dream. "True in theory but the reality is less rosy."

"You live in splendor," he said, gesturing toward the art work on the walls, the soft carpet on the floors.

"But I'm not happy."

 
#

The words hung in the air between them. To Andrew it seemed as if they had not only sound but form and substance as well.

"Why not, mistress?" he asked softly. "'Twould seem you have all a lass would need for happiness." If a woman needed more gifts than beauty and wealth and intellect he could not imagine what they might be.

"I don't know why I said that." She turned away from him. "Forget you heard it." The robe she'd used to cover her form dipped low on her shoulders and as she moved to pull it back up he saw a crescent-shaped scar.

He moved toward her. "A knife wound," he said. "How is it you suffered such an injury?"

She adjusted the collar on her robe but kept her face averted. "An old story and a boring one. I'd rather hear more about you."

"Someone hurt you."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"I wish to know."

She turned to face him, a defiant glare in her eyes. "Why don't you call someone? It's time you were on your way."

"'Tis no one to call to, mistress, but I will take my leave if that is your wish."
 

She felt his words pulsing through her body.

She was wary and he had no stomach for being the cause of her discomfort.

"Tell me," she said, voice low and urgent. "Level with me just once and I'll help you. Don't tell me this nonsense about traveling through time--"

"I can tell you no story but the truth and you must choose what it is you wish to believe."

"It's not that I don't want to believe you," she said. "It's just that I'm finding it difficult."

"I cannot believe man has walked on the moon yet I am willing to accept it as fact."

"It's not the same thing."

"Mayhap it is."

She shook her head. "'Mayhap.' I really wish you'd stop saying things like that. Nobody talks like that."

"As you wish." He started for the door.
I would not hurt you, Shannon. Not in this life or any other.