Now and Forever (52 page)

He was magnificent.

She stood stock still, car keys dangling from her fingers, unable to draw a breath.

Utterly magnificent.

There was no other word for the sight of him, stripped to the waist, as he split firewood in the back yard. She stepped beneath the shade of the silver maple trees and watched as the muscles in his back and shoulders flexed with each powerful swing of his axe.

This was the real thing, she thought, as hunger sprang to life deep in her belly. Bone-melting, heart-stopping desire. She closed her eyes against a wave of pure heat radiating outward from the center of her being.

This was nothing she'd sought, nothing she'd expected to be part of her existence, but there it was in all of its elemental glory. The magical, life-affirming need to join with another human being and cast your lot with the future. She smiled to herself. Or with the past, as the case may be.

There has to be a way to make this work,
she thought, watching him. She had wealth and position and influence. She could create for him a life that would surpass his wildest dreams if he would only let her.

The squeal of brakes brought her out of her reverie.
Please, not another emergency,
she thought as she hurried back toward the driveway to see who'd arrived. Sometimes they went weeks without seeing a soul then all hell would break loose, the way it had last night.

She rounded the corner of the house in time to see Dakota leap from her battered '72 Mustang, holding a book aloft.

"Where is he?" Dakota called out as Shannon approached.

"In the backyard."

"Good," said Dakota. "This is important. I don't have time to faint right now."

"Not funny," Shannon said, as prickles of apprehension nipped at the back of her neck.

Dakota glanced around. "Let's talk inside. This isn't the kind of thing you want anyone to overhear."

Shannon led the way into the kitchen then leaned against the counter and looked at her friend. "So what's with the book?"

"Page 127," Dakota said, handing the volume to Shannon. "First paragraph, second sentence."

Shannon checked the title. "
Forgotten Heroes.
" Her hands began to tremble and she prayed Dakota wouldn't notice.

"Open it," Dakota urged, her voice high with excitement. "There's something I think you should know."

"This isn't another one of those New Age books about a man who saved the world with squash blossoms or something, is it?"
You know what it is, Shannon. This has something to do with Andrew....

Dakota looked wounded. "I come to you with news that can change your life and you make a joke."

Shannon started to open the book then handed it back to Dakota. "I don't think I want to look at this."

"He's from the past," Dakota said, pushing the book back to Shannon.

"That's ridiculous." She pushed the book back toward Dakota.

"Page 127," Dakota said, practically leaping around the room with excitement. "It's all right there."

"I don't know how to break this to you, Dakota, but people don't time travel. That only happens in the movies."

"It happens," Dakota said sagely. "We just don't hear about it."

"Uh-huh," said Shannon, striving for nonchalance. "And Martians are working at Kmart."

"What you know about Kmart could fit on the head of a pin." Dakota wagged a stern finger under Shannon's nose. "Just because you don't understand something is no reason to make fun of it."

"Sit down," Shannon said, gesturing toward a chair. When in doubt, fall back on hospitality.
 
"It's hot as blazes outside. I'll pour us some iced tea."

"Nice try," said Dakota.

"I know what this is going to be," Shannon said as she grabbed the book back from Dakota and thumbed through the first few pages. "Some kind of crazy allusion to a guy with a Scots accent who--" She stopped, looked up, drew a deep breath, then looked down again at the torn page.

In an act of courage unequalled at that time in the War for Independence, Boston lawyer-turned-spy Andrew McVie staged a daring raid on British troops near Jockey Hollow during the winter of 1779-1780 and singlehandedly saved --
"Shannon?" Dakota touched her arm. "Are you okay?"

"No," said Shannon, sinking to the floor, "I don't think I am." Knowing Andrew was from the past was one thing. Seeing that fact right there in black-and-white was something else altogether.

"Are you going to faint?" Dakota asked.

"I never faint. You're the one who faints."

Dakota crouched down next to her. "Your aura's looking a little pale."

"Leave my aura out of this."

"You knew, didn't you?"

"About my aura?"

"About McVie. He told you, didn't he?"

Shannon struggled to regain her wits. "Andrew McVie is hardly an uncommon name. There must have been hundreds of Andrew McVies alive back then."

"Check out the painting on the next page. If that's not McVie I'll turn in my crystal ball."

With great trepidation Shannon turned the page and found a reproduction of an 18th century painting that depicted the Battle of Princeton. "I don't see anything."

Dakota leaned over her shoulder. "Right there," she said, pointing toward a figure in the lower left hand corner. "That's him."

Shannon looked. No doubt about it. That was Andrew right down to the stubborn jaw and muscular torso. "They say everybody has a twin."

"Did you see the caption?" Dakota asked. "It says his identity was kept secret until the end of the war so he could continue sneaking around, doing all sorts of heroic things."

Shannon was beyond coherent thought. Her brain felt like it had suddenly turned to mush.

"That's why I fainted," Dakota went on. "The guy has a force field you wouldn't believe. It's like he's carrying two centuries of baggage along with him."

Shannon grabbed Dakota's hand, all pretense abandoned. "You can't tell anyone about this."

"Of course not," Dakota said with indignation. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"And you won't tell any of your psychic pals, or your mentor, or Dr. Forsythe."

"What about the
National Enquirer
while you're at it? I might be able to get a few thousand for the story." Dakota lifted her chin. "You insult me, Shannon. I'm not an opportunist."

Shannon rested her head in her hands. "I know you're not, but this is important. If it got out that Andrew's a time traveler, we'd be signing his death warrant. The media would eat him alive."

"I agree," said Dakota. She leaned closer to Shannon and lowered her voice. "So how did he get here?"

"Remember that hot-air balloon you saw him dragging across the backyard yesterday morning?"

"You're kidding."

"He landed in the woods during the balloon festival, just like I told you."

Dakota frowned. "But that's not possible. The first manned hot-air balloon flight wasn't until 1783...and it was in France or some place like that."

"I can't explain it. I can only tell you what happened." She hesitated then decided to go for broke. "He - he said he made friends with a couple who time-traveled back this summer."

"What were his friends' names?"

"I don't know," Shannon said. "Radcliffe, Rutledge. I think her name was Emilie."

"This is so exciting!" Dakota grabbed Shannon's hand and tried to pull her to her feet. "Let's go tell him about the book. I'm dying to see his reaction. I mean the man is living history--"

"No!"

"No? You
have
to tell him about it. Wouldn't you like to see your name in some history book and know you influenced the course of events?"

Shannon held firm.

"Oh," said Dakota, the light dawning. "He can't read, is that it? Don't worry, I'll teach him. What's one more student?"

"He was - I mean, he
is
a lawyer, Dakota. He can read."

"So what's the problem?"

"This." Shannon pointed to the date.

"The winter of 1779-1780," read Dakota. "So?"

She met Dakota's eyes. "Andrew left his world in August 1776."

"Time is fluid," said Dakota after a moment. "It might've happened."

"Time isn't that fluid," Shannon shot back. "Besides wouldn't he remember doing something heroic in the middle of a blizzard in the middle of a war?"

"But it's here in black and white," Dakota said. "How do you explain it?"

"You're the psychic. I was hoping you could."

"Maybe he goes back in time again."

Shannon felt a sharp stab of pain deep inside her chest. "Give me that book." She grabbed it from her friend and headed for the library.

"What are you doing?" Dakota ran after her. "That's Museum property."

"Not any more it isn't."

"Shannon! I'm in enough trouble with Dr. Forsythe. Bad enough I took the book out of the building. He already thinks I'm a flake. If he finds out the book's missing, I'm out of a job."

"I'll pay for it," Shannon strode across the library and climbed the rolling ladder in the far corner of the room.
 
"
Plutarch's Lives
. That's the ticket." She dropped
Forgotten Heroes
behind the tome. From the looks of the dust,
Plutarch's Lives
hadn't been touched in aeons. For once she was glad her cleaning service wasn't as thorough as they claimed they were.

She climbed back down the ladder, feeling quite pleased with herself, until she saw the look on Dakota's face.

"I can't believe you did that," Dakota said.

"I'll write you a check," she said defiantly. "I'll write you two checks. I'll buy you a house in Bermuda - whatever it takes to keep you quiet."

"You don't look like yourself."

"I don't feel like myself."

Dakota narrowed her eyes and peered at Shannon. "Your aura's changing again. I swear it's Day-Glo orange now."

Because I'm doing something for me,
Shannon thought.
Because I've waited all my life to find someone like Andrew and I won't let him go.
"You're not going to tell Andrew, are you?"

"I won't have to," Dakota said, placing a hand on Shannon's forearm. "This can't last, Shannon. This isn't his destiny. His future is somewhere else."

"You're wrong." Shannon backed away from her friend. "We make our own destinies and this is where he wants to be. It was his choice, Dakota. Not mine."

 
#

"That ain't gonna work." Scott looked up at Andrew. "You need a power screwdriver."

"It will work," said Andrew, considered the eaves of Shannon's house. He had not the slightest notion as to what a power screwdriver was, nor would he ask the children who had been watching his every movement since he found them in the woods. There was something unseemly about a man of thirty-three years seeking counsel of a child.

His attempt to engage their interest in physical work had thus far been for naught. They seemed strangely content to sit and watch him move about as if he were performing for their amusement. He was reminded of the moving picture cabinet in Shannon's house that thus far held little appeal for him.

"Where are your safety glasses?" asked Charlie, the oldest. "That guy on TV says you gotta wear them all the time."

"That guy don't know nothing," said blond-haired Angela. "My cousin's got a power saw in his basement and I never seen him wear glasses."

"That's 'cause he's stupid."

"Is not."

"Is."

"Sweet Jesus!" Andrew roared. "Lend some assistance where it is needed and cease that infernal racket now!" Four young faces stared up at him, mouths agape, but nobody moved. Andrew pointed toward Charlie. "You will hold the ladder while I climb. And you--" he singled out Angela "--will fetch nails for me. And the rest of you will stack the wood."