Time After Time (4 page)

"Paul!"
she screamed, struggling against the hands that held her tightly. "Stop that! Damn it, you stupid cowards, let him go!"

The sound of her voice drew the two men's attention away from Paul. Giving one last kick each for good measure, they turned and moved in her direction, smiling at her in boyish good humor.

"Paul, are you all right?" she asked, panicking when he didn't move. "Paul?"

Slowly, painfully, he rolled to his knees, then rose to his feet, swaying slightly. "I'm fine," he said. His voice was thick and hoarse, as though speaking were an effort for him. Then he glanced over to where she stood. "They—" He broke off to draw a deep, raspy breath, then gave her a weak grin. "They wouldn't have beaten me so easily if I hadn't tripped over my skirt."

When he began to move toward her, the two men who had kicked him raised their iron-tipped spears, holding him at bay.

"Okay, chaps, you've had enough playtime."

The mocking comment came from a large, dark soldier with a deep scar on the side of his neck. Until

that moment he had stood back against the outcrop of rocks, out of their line of sight. He was dressed like the other men: leather breastplate above a short white skirt and a red robe clasped at the neck and thrown back over both shoulders. But Leah realized immediately that he was not at all like them. Authority was in his every step.

The other men began to mutter, "The captain's here. Look, it's the daptain," and moved automatically out of his way as he walked toward Leah.

"Now it's my turn," the captain said, grasping her chin to turn it toward him. "Nice... very nice."

"Wait a minute," Paul said loudly as he wiped the blood from his mouth. "I didn't have a chance, with half a dozen of you and only one of me. There's no challenge in that," he chided, shaking his head. "But—" he glanced at the man who still held Leah's chin, the man who was obviously the group's leader "—you.. .now
you
look like a sporting man. How about a race? I'll bet I could win a chariot race against you any day of the week.''

"Cor," one of the soldiers whispered, his eyes widening. "The man's a bloomin' idiot."

The captain turned his head slowly and looked at Paul for several taut seconds. Then he threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter. "Alf's right; you're insane," he said, then turned back to Leah, who shrank instinctively from the look in his eyes.

"Well, of course, if you don't think you can beat me..." Paul said, shrugging.

When the other soldiers began to mutter among themselves, the leader's face grew purple with fury. Swinging around sharply, he walked to where Paul was being held and grasped his toga with one meaty fist. "No one can beat me in a chariot race!" he roared.
"No one!"

"Put the beauteous maid where your mouth is," Paul said, his voice calm and unconcerned. "Winner takes all."

The captain glanced back toward Leah and hesitated for a moment, then clenched his teeth and said, "Done."

Leaving one man to guard her, the other soldiers whooped and laughed and, obviously considering the challenge worthy of celebration, began to pass around the wineskin again.

When the two chariots were lined up side by side on a dirt road nearby, Leah's guard moved toward the vehicle with the rest of the men, dragging her along with him.

She had by now stopped struggling against her captor. Paul was in charge, and she thanked her lucky stars. It was no use telling herself this was only a dream. It was no use saying the whole thing was a product of her warped psyche. Dream or not, psyche or not—Leah didn't want to think about what would have happened to them if Paul hadn't challenged the Roman captain.

The soldier guarding her reached out and grabbed the wineskin away from one of his companions. As

soon as he tilted his head back to drink, Paul moved casually around the area until he stood beside her.

"How do you feel?" she asked, her brown eyes showing concern.

"Fine, I think." He moved his shoulder muscles tentatively, then raised one brow in surprise. "Not an ache or a bruise. This dream business isn't all bad."

She relaxed slightly. Then, studying the two chariots and the row of horses pawing the ground in front of them, she frowned and whispered, "Paul, I'm sure you know what you're doing—honestly, 1 don't doubt you for a minute—but... do you know how to drive one of those things?"

"Depends on whether it's automatic or standard shift," he said absently as he glanced from the crowd to the black chariot that was nearest them. "Look, Leah—" He broke off abruptly as the captain joined the group behind the chariots.

"I've put two men three kilometers down this road by the crooked oak tree," he told Paul. "When I reach it first, as I most certainly will, I'm going to pull over and beat the hell out of you for your insolence."

Paul chuckled, saluting sharply. Then, glancing over the captain's shoulder, his eyes widened in horror. "Oh, my God! Would you look at that!"

Everyone swung around, including Leah, which meant she wasn't prepared when Paul grabbed her around the waist and hauled her willy-nilly into one of the waiting chariots.

By the time the inebriated soldiers could react, Paul had whipped the four gray horses into a wild frenzy

and he and Leah were speeding away in the sleek two-wheeled wagon.

After a stunned moment, Leah gave a victorious shout. The trees and small structures lining the road became a brown-and-green blur as the chariot traveled swiftly past. The wind whipped her face, and excitement sped through her bloodstream, causing her to laugh in sheer exhilaration. It was like nothing she had ever felt. It was like flying!

Suddenly a low noise intruded, and Leah's laughter died in her throat. The noise grew louder until it was a rumbling, thunderous sound that filled the air. Gripping Paul's waist tightly, she glanced over her shoulder.

It was not one chariot that followed them, but three, and several riders on horseback, every single one of them in ardent pursuit. And as she watched with wide eyes, the distance between them grew noticeably shorter.

"They're getting closer!" she shouted.

"Yes," he acknowledged. His voice was loud, but still as calm and steady as ever. "I think we might have ticked them off just a tad."

"A tad?" She rolled her eyes expressively at the understatement. "They're going to boil us in oil. Oh, but, Paul, you were
wonderful."
She pressed her face to his broad back, tightening her arms around his waist in an impulsive hug. Seconds later she raised her head again, standing on tiptoe to get closer to his ear. "What kind of stale trick was that, anyway? 'Oh, my

God, look.' It sounded like something from an old Crosby-Hope movie," she said, giggling helplessly.

"It's stale in the 1980s," he yelled back to her. "In Roman times it is probably fresh and new and different. Who cares? It worked, didn't it?"

"You're right. It doesn't—" As they rounded a tree-lined curve, she broke off with a panicky squeal.

There, in the middle of the road, a road with no shoulders and no passing lane and no off-ramp, was an ox-drawn cart overflowing with caged chickens.

"Oh, hell,"
Paul breathed in awe as he jerked back on the reins.

In the second before they collided with the cart,

bells began to ring wildly, filling the air around them. * * *

Leah groaned, her fingers fumbling blindly on the bedside table to find and turn off the alarm. When she succeeded only in knocking it to the floor, she pulled a pillow over her head to drown out the noise.

Then, slowly, she removed the pillow and sat up, her eyes still slightly unfocused from sleep.

What a crazy, freaked-out dream, she thought, resting her chin on her blanket-covered knees. A gurgle of husky laughter escaped her. Paul—no, Mr. Gregory, she corrected herself silently. Mr. Gregory in a Roman toga?

Only of course it hadn't been Mr. Gregory at all. Her subconscious had put his face—it was undoubtedly a compelling face—on a dream man. It was impossible for her to imagine the oh-so-stiff and oh-so-

correct VP rescuing her from a band of drunken Roman soldiers.

Later, in the shower, she began to laugh again, remembering his expression when she had suggested jumping off a cliff, remembering the way he had wrestled with the toga to adjust the straps on his sandals. He had been funny and fascinating, this man her dreams had built.

Then, even later in the morning while she rushed around the bedroom gulping down a cup of coffee as she got ready for work, she cursed that man. He might have been fascinating, but that was no excuse for making her late.

At last she managed to pull herself together. She held a piece of toast between her teeth as she opened the door to leave. Then, abruptly, she stopped, frowning as she pulled the toast out of her mouth. Something was wrong. Glancing around the living room, she saw her briefcase lying on the coffee table. She had almost walked out without it. That had never happened to her before. Shaking her head ruefully, she quickly retrieved it.

Ordinarily Leah left for work early in order to avoid the murderous traffic on Central Expressway. Today, even though she was only fifteen minutes later than usual, it was bumper to bumper.

Move two inches and stop. Move two inches and stop. The frustrating rhythm continued the entire fifteen miles she had to travel to work.

By the time she reached the Universal building and found a parking place—at exactly three minutes to

eight—the Roman dream was forgotten and the only thing on Leah's mind was getting her hands on a helicopter so she would never have to set tire to Central Expressway again.

Leah pushed the glass door aside, her heels clicking sharply on the marble floor as she headed for the group of people in front of the elevators. She shifted her shoulder bag restlessly and stared, along with everyone else, at the lights over the elevators, following the progress of each of them to determine which one to stand in front of.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw her boss standing several feet away and turned toward him, smiling politely. "Good morning, P—"

Leah broke off in dismay, quickly swallowing his first name. When he stared at her as though waiting for her to continue, she cleared her throat noisily. "Powerfully nice weather we're having, isn't it?" she substituted lamely.

Powerfully nice weather?

Quick thinking, Leah, she told herself with disgust as she stepped into the elevator along with a half-dozen other people. Once again the old glib tongue amazes with the power and swiftness of its rapier wit.

Mr. Gregory had looked at her as if she had had a few bricks missing. As well he might, she thought ruefully. She could have said anything. She could have said Pi-R-squared, or Pigs fly at night. Either one would have made more sense than what she had actually said. It was that stupid dream again, she told

herself as she stalked into her office. First it had made her late; then it had tripped up her tongue.

By sheer determination she managed to put the incident and the dream that had caused it out of her mind. As soon as she became caught up in her work, it was easier. She had sent to Mr. Gregory's office the figures she had worked on the night before. When he didn't summon her to rake her over the coals, she assumed they were acceptable.

At one-thirty Leah was still leaning over her work, a sandwich in one hand, a pencil in the other. She glanced up when Charlotte walked in and stood in front of her desk.

"Mr. Gregory's secretary called." The tall, thin woman was slightly hesitant. "He wants you to go with him to DFW Airport to talk to Mr. Jacobs."

Leah wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. Carl Jacobs was Universal's local PR man. He was excellent at his job, and she had met with him often in the course of her work, but ordinarily he came to headquarters for meetings, not the other way around.

Leah nodded, her mind only partially on what Charlotte was saying as she looked down at her work and made a quick correction. "Did Norma say when he wanted to leave?" she mumbled through a bite of ham-salad sandwich.

"Now."

Leah glanced up, choking on her food, and Charlotte gave her a sympathetic smile. "She said he would meet you in the lobby in five minutes."

Sighing, Leah gave the sandwich a last, longing look, then dropped it back on the paper plate. After scooting back her chair, she stood and stepped into her shoes.

Thirty minutes later she and Mr. Gregory were in his car, heading west on the airport freeway. He had carefully explained what he wanted to accomplish, and since then neither of them had spoken.

No idle chitchat for the VP, she thought as she stared out the side window. Out of sheer boredom she began to read the billboards on the side of the freeway, concentrating on them as though they were world-class literature, studying them as though she hadn't seen them a thousand times before.

Fun in Hawaii. Paris in Spring. Budget Fare to the Orient. Their competitors' signs were singularly uninspiring, she thought, pleased that Universal had so far not seen fit to use that particular means of advertisement.

Then a billboard caught her eye, and she turned her head, staring at it until they were past. Experience the Glory That Is Still Rome, it read.