Time's Enemy: A Romantic Time Travel Adventure (Saturn Society Book 1) (29 page)

The pink in her face deepened. “I just wondered.” She glanced at her cigarette case, lying on the table next to her purse. “You said you hoped I could answer your questions.”

Shit, too close to the truth. Like his mom and sister, she could see through him. “Well yeah, there is that.” He smoothed his pants again, molded them to his legs, pressed each wrinkle out.

“Why didn’t you ask the person who answered—”

“Because he wouldn’t answer any more. Not unless I joined some club... some cult he was in. And I didn’t want to.” All true. Why couldn’t he think of some bullshit to give her?

“What kind of club? Others... like us, perhaps?” Why did she ask, when she knew all about the Saturn Society? Was she testing him?

“Supposedly. But they wanted to take my money. And I didn’t agree with all this guy’s beliefs.” Truthful enough.

“Oh.” She started to reach for her neckline again, then let her hand flop into her lap, twisted a wrinkle in her dress instead. “What... did you find problematic?”

“The idea that changing the past in any way is wrong. That you’re playing God if you do. Some people would even think my saving your life was interfering in the natural order.”

Looking down, she ran a finger along the seam of her skirt.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Should I have let you drown?”

“No!” She jerked her hand off the fabric. “Of course not. And I’m thankful you didn’t. But if you’re talking about changing the past for your own benefit...”

“I guess it depends on what one considers one’s own benefit.”

She jumped up and flipped off the radio. “I know! My friend Theodore would be much more qualified to answer your questions. He’s usually home in the evenings, I’ll go ring him to let him know we’re coming.”

The air in Tony’s lungs froze. She was going to call Pippin.

He found his voice as she disappeared into the kitchen. “Charlotte! Wait!”

“Tony?” Charlotte asked Friday evening after the newscast. “How long does this go on?”

“How long does what go on?”

“So many people out of work.”

Tony studied the wall where it met the ceiling. How much should he tell her? “A few more years.” Vague enough to be safe.

Thankfully, he’d managed to talk her out of calling Pippin by faking an upset stomach, but how long would it be before she suggested it again?

They spent their waking hours together. As long as he stayed away from the topic of jumping within his own life, things were companionable. He felt contented. Surprisingly so.

Too comfortable. Especially when the pull would jerk him back to the twenty-first century in another week or so.

Especially when he was only here for answers.

And especially when he was a wanted man, and the strength of Charlotte’s ties to the Society remained unclear.

“Oh my heavens. What- how does it end?” she asked.

Tony hesitated. “I don’t know how much I should tell—”

“What can I do? One woman?”

“Well...” Didn’t Saturn Society Code preclude sharing details of the future with people in the past? Yet if she was encouraging him to do so, maybe she wasn’t in with them as deeply as he feared. Still, there had to be danger in telling.

“Is it President Roosevelt’s programs?” she asked.

“That’s—” He caught himself. “Yeah. The WPA, FDIC, Social Security, unemployment compensation...”

She stared at him with a rapt expression, like a student trying to absorb every shred of wisdom she could from a revered teacher. When Tony didn’t continue, her eagerness melted into apprehension. “There’s more, isn’t there?” He didn’t answer. “War,” she whispered. “Isn’t it?”

He drew his finger across his chin. Shit, why did he have to be so transparent? “Yeah.” Might as well tell her.

She twiddled her gold chain. “When?”

A feeling he was doing something wrong gripped his chest. “Look, I don’t think it’s right for me to tell you stuff like this.” Especially when every time he tried to get some answers, she grew evasive.

He had to push her harder, lay a guilt trip on her if that was what it took—after all, she owed him her life. But he’d raised her guard. He’d best work back to the topic slowly, get what he needed, then split. The longer he stuck around, the harder it would be to keep his hands off her.

Like now. They sat on the sofa and listened to the radio. It had already become an ingrained routine. In the mornings and early afternoons, he helped at the restaurant—Irving had grudgingly offered him a buck-fifty a day plus meals. After work, Tony helped Charlotte around the house doing things like mowing and weeding the garden. She told the nosy woman who lived next door that Tony was working off part of his board.

Evenings were the hardest. Each night, it grew more difficult to restrain himself from taking her hand or slipping his arm around her like he’d done the other night. Yet every evening it seemed they sat a little closer on the sofa as they listened to some radio show.

He wanted to touch her, God did he want to. He wanted to touch her like he hadn’t touched a woman in over two years.
Why now?
And why her? Why not one of the women at the office? Why not one of those at Mulroney’s?

Easy. The women at work were too much like Dora. The women at the bar were either gold diggers or just looking for a good time. His sister would say he was attracted to Charlotte because she was unavailable, and therefore safe. Maybe she was right.

But he longed to hold Charlotte in his arms, the way he had in the attic. This time, not because she was cold and frightened, but because he wanted to.

She’d been quiet all day. Her silence unnerved him, and he feared his hunch was correct, she knew something about him. But when he’d questioned her as they walked home from Irving’s, she’d told him she was just worried about Elmer. She’d expected her former boyfriend to get over his anger and call on her, but he hadn’t.

Guilt crawled over Tony. All his fault. “Guess you’d be at the dance right now if you hadn’t blown Elmer off.”

“Blown Elmer off?” Confusion knotted her forehead.

“Told him to get lost.”

She stared down at her skirt and picked at a fraying thread on a buttonhole. “It was my choice, Tony.”

“You sorry?”

Her jaw tightened for a second. “Not for a minute.” Her voice was firm. “Elmer wasn’t the man for me. I just... I hope he’s all right. That he found someone else to take to the dance. And I shall miss going myself, but not because of Elmer.”

“You and I could go.” Tony wanted to smack himself. Where had that come from?
Too late now.
“If you don’t mind going with a guy who doesn’t have a clue how to dance.”

A grin slid across her face. “I would be delighted!” At her reaction, something happy and bubbly rose inside him, along with trickles of warning. It was too much like a date. Hell, it
was
a date.

One date couldn’t hurt. Might be fun. He’d at least try to dance. To feel her waist beneath his hand, to move with her...

“I could show you a few steps,” she said. “Or we could just socialize.” The clock chimed nine times. “Oh dear, it’s nine o’clock, admission will be a quarter now. Elmer and I always try to get there early, then it’s only a dime—”

Tony chuckled. “It’s okay, I can afford it.”

“Then I’d best get ready.” She jumped up and dashed for her bedroom, then returned a few minutes later wearing the violet-print dress he’d bought for her. He stood. The happy-bubbly feeling solidified into raw desire. “You look fantastic,” he breathed. He wanted to sweep her into his arms right there. If only they had more than a week together... She twirled, and the skirt flared out in a wide circle. His eyes followed her. It wasn’t the dress, but what was inside. Pride swelled in him. He’d be the envy of every guy in the place.

He tipped his head toward the door. “Shall we?”

As they reached for their hats, someone knocked on the door.

“Who on earth?” Charlotte lifted the curtains to peer out the window. “Theodore!” She dropped the curtain.

Pippin? Holy shit!

Tony’s gaze darted around the room, and he almost forgot to breathe. There was no way he could escape out the side door without Pippin seeing.

Charlotte rushed to the door and reached for the knob. Tony bolted for the only other exit: the bathroom. He bolted inside and turned the lock as the front door squealed and Charlotte greeted her guest.

“Theodore! What brings you this way tonight?”

Me
.
Tony studied the window above the bathtub. The opening was just large enough for him to squeeze through. He leaned over the tub and tugged on the sash, but it didn’t move. Great. The damn thing was stuck.

He pulled harder. The window didn’t budge. Tony’s head whipped toward the locked door. What would Pippin do to him?

He strained to hear Charlotte. She’d lowered her voice to a mumble. “...working on it... I need a little more time... Please...” What was she talking about?

Tony gripped the window handle and pulled again. Dried paint on the wooden frame cracked, and it gave a little. The front door clicked shut.

Footsteps came, sharp clacks on the living room’s hardwood floor. One set. Charlotte’s. “Tony? Are you all right?”

He released the window handle, and his adrenaline rush dissipated. Pippin was gone.

“I’m fine, just thought I’d better, uh, unload some of that coffee before we take off.” Not the most graceful excuse but the best he could come up with on short notice. He regarded his trembling hands, palms up. A thick reddened stripe slashed across the right one from pulling on the window handle.

He unlocked the door. Her wide eyes and tense features contrasted with her calm voice. “Who was at the door?” he asked.

“Theodore stopped by. He was in the neighborhood, wanted to know how my project was coming—” She snapped a finger. “Oh, drat! We could have asked him your question, I didn’t even think about it.” She hurried to the front door, as if she was going to call Pippin back.

“No!” Tony rushed to follow. “It’s okay. My question can wait.” It would have to, if Pippin was around. “Actually, I’d forgotten all about it, thinking about going to the dance with you.” He touched her shoulder as she reached for the doorknob. She turned around, her face bright.

It was true. He really had forgotten about Bethany for a few moments, forgotten about warping...

He couldn’t let it happen again. He had to keep his eyes open, his mind on his goal—and on the threat of Pippin. That kind of lapse would land him right in the Saturn Society’s lap. “Ready—” he began, but stopped mid-sentence.

They couldn’t go to the dance now. Not if Pippin might still be in the neighborhood. “Uh, you know, I was really looking forward to going out, but I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well... maybe I’d better stay in tonight after all.”

The lighter-than-air feeling in Charlotte’s stomach snapped, dropping her back to earth. He’d wanted to take her to the dance. Enough he hadn’t tried to ask his alarming question yet that evening, as he’d tried every night so far. But now... “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Tony looked her in the eyes as his breathing slowed to normal, although his expression remained wary. He rubbed his stomach. “Nothing major, just a little heartburn.”

“Oh dear. You’re sure? Perhaps a glass of milk would help.”

“Uh, sure.” Although sure was the last thing he sounded, she dashed to the kitchen.

He was lying. Why? Did he know what Theodore wanted? She dumped the last of the day’s bottle of milk into a glass, then hurried back to the living room.

Tony had moved to the sofa. She handed him the milk. He took a small sip, then dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “Sorry I ruined your plans.”

She shot a glance at the curtained window and sighed. “I suppose it’s just as well.”

He looked up, questioning. “It would look strange for me to show up with a man who’s supposed to be just my boarder,” she said. “Betty Clark from down the street goes every week with her sweetheart, she’d tell her mother and next thing you know... And next week, others would wonder what happened to you, why you’re not there after... you know.” After the pull took him away. She didn’t want to think about it.

“You’re right. I’m still getting used to this whole time travel deal. Coming here was easy.” His thumb squeaked in the condensation as he drew it around the glass. “And the time I went back two years. That was even easier, but... I’ve never been able to repeat it. Why?”

“Why do you want to?” She thumbed her quarter through the fabric of her dress. The low neckline barely hid it.

She waited while he sipped his milk. Tiny sips. Like he was trying to make it last. “Tony?”

“You know, I think I’ve heard this song before,” he said. The Waldorf-Astoria Orchestra had begun playing a melodious, slow number. She looked at Tony, then the radio, then at Tony again. She should bring up the Society, try to turn the conversation around and suggest going to the House.

Her mouth wouldn’t form the words.

He stood, his eyes never leaving her, and held out a hand. “Miss Henderson, would you care to dance?”

A thousand tiny wings beat against Charlotte’s heart, blowing away all thoughts of Theodore and her obligation. It was just a dance. What could be the harm? The fluttering slowed, and she forced calm into her voice. “I’d love to.”