WANTED (A Transported Through Time book) (23 page)

He tried to smile back. Slowly, he did and carefully moved up one hand to cover hers. He squeezed it.

The woman whom she’d spoken to returned to the room. She handed Sammie something and touched Sammie’s hair. The woman, Carla, was crying.

“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” the man said from behind Carla.

He peered over the women’s heads and rolled his eyes at Jesse. But the man didn’t look angry or contemptuous. He looked relieved. Jesse winked at him, which sent him out of view with a gasp.

Jesse looked back at Sammie. She beamed from ear to ear.

“You all are crazy,” the man behind her said.

Jesse grinned a little bigger. “I reckon we are.” He reached up to pull Sammie down for a kiss.

He was crazy, crazy for his Sammie.

She kissed him back, and if for one second he didn’t believe she was real, that this was possible. Well, if it wasn’t, may God strike him down right where he lay, wherever that was.

He sure would miss his sister, and he hoped she would understand how he had to take this blessing and keep it close to his heart for the rest of his days.

~~~

Epilogue

The water’s rush and gurgle echoed off the canyon walls, drowning out chattering voices in the distance. Samantha kept pace with Jesse, unsure what to say or do besides follow him.

“Even the damned Feather River has changed. I hardly recognize the place,” he’d said. It was how he’d said it. Heavily, like the words carried physical weight.

With only a few months having passed since she had yanked him into the twenty-first century, each day, her guilt grew. What could he be feeling? Nothing could be the same as the world he left behind, and while he continually assured her there was no place or time he’d rather be, she couldn’t shake wondering what she’d sentenced him to. Maybe today’s little hike back to his old stomping grounds would clear both their minds and help them face the future rather than the past.

Twigs and leaves crunched under his boots.

The past was all she heard about. Not that she blamed him, but every last thing was a comparison. Mostly good, some not good. Some plain bad. Like his asking her why women no longer respected themselves enough to demand being treated like a lady. How was she supposed to explain a hundred years of suffrage and equal rights when she wasn’t even sure he was wrong? Well, not entirely wrong.

He treated her like a lady. He was gentle but strong, and wanted only her happiness. However, his idle hands and all the adjusting were wearing down the walls of romance. She needed Jesse back. She needed him the way he was before. Cocky. Sure. Daring and a bit vulnerable. Last night, as she lay watching him breathe, the idea sprang into her head. Find some treasure!

She’d gotten her dad’s map back from Carla, who had outright refused to photocopy it and made her promise to handle it with the utmost care. Like she wouldn’t. That was Carla. Protective. Not only of Samantha, but of her father’s memory and legacy. A nice feeling. Foreign but nice.

Jesse halted at the riverbank, picked up a rock, and skipped it along the rumbling surface. Samantha stopped, giving him space. She tried to imagine what the river must have once been like. Higher? Mightier? Were the rocks she stood on once buried by the current?

She reached out her hand to touch his shoulder and let it fall. He was too far away, and the gesture seemed hollow, anyway. Feeling for the map in her backpack, Samantha sent up a small prayer for a little bit of magic today.

“There’s a tree here that should be marked?” She hated how hesitant she sounded.

Jesse turned his head. His profile, silhouetted by sunlight, struck her with its masculine beauty. He looked so rugged, so male. Her belly ached from the beauty of it, and her longing to return things to the way they once were grew stronger.

“Did you mark the tree yourself?” she asked, trying to engage him.

He shook his head. Still, no words.

Please, Jesse. “Do you know who did?”

He nodded. Samantha let out an exasperated breath. This was supposed to be fun. She dug deep, searching for another question.

“The shaman marked the tree,” Jesse finally said, his voice barely audible above the river.

“Shaman?” Hope sprang to life inside her.

Jesse turned, facing her. “The medicine man who gave me the whiskey helped me bury it. He marked the tree.” His gaze met hers. A half-grin tugged his cheeks. “He said it wasn’t for me but was for me. I was happy to see the thing buried.” He tipped his head a little. “Now I suppose I understand what he meant.”

As he walked to her, Samantha’s belly did a little flip. He laced his fingers in her hair and tilted up her face. She looked into his eyes, half worried, all hopeful. “You do?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” His eyes blazed with intensity, probed hers. “It was meant for you. You were meant for me.”

Unexpected tears stung her eyes. She nodded.
She hoped, wherever he was, her father knew she was sorry for resenting him. She loved him.

“Your father found it so I could find you.”

Samantha nodded again. Not because this was news or because she agreed with him, more to encourage him to continue, to reach farther, deeper, until he could find a place where he knew this was all for the best and never, ever had to live with a doubt or regret. He needed that. She needed that.

A slow, lazy smile spread across his features, and a gleam shimmered in his eyes. “Henry found the whiskey, but I’ll bet you gold he didn’t find the money.”

Samantha chuckled, adoring the teasing note in his tone. “What money? You mean you really did bury treasure here? You mean my dad didn’t find it but was this close to it?”

Jesse winked, and kissed her long and hard. The kind of kiss that tickled toes and warmed a worried heart. He pulled away, lowered his hands, and smacked her ass. “Exactly.”

Samantha giggled. “Exactly?” Giddiness leapt through her.

“He found the treasure, but I bet if you and I poke around a bit, we’ll find the money.”

“Do you think? Even after all these years? After all the construction, changes?” She regretted the last question almost before the words were spoken. The cabins along the riverbank weren’t much of encroaching civilization. She had seen worse, but still ... kids playing in the trees, couples on long walks, someone surely would have found something.

“You have little faith in the man you love, Sammie.” He took her hand and led her up the rocky bank into the trees.

No more than fifteen yards deep, Jesse stopped in front of a marked tree. Sammie’s mouth fell open. The drawing on her father’s map was identical and now moot, when she had with her the one who’d hidden the treasure. A circle with four half-circles breaking the line, facing outward. Jesse traced a finger over the deep grooves and pulled up her hand to touch it.

She did and looked at him in wonder. Her giddiness grew. She’d brought him here to find acceptance, never truly thinking it would lead them to any actual treasure. Part of her thought he must be toying with her, teasing her, the way he used to do. She loved it either way. Her Jesse was back. She would do whatever was necessary to keep him.

“Can you feel that?” he asked, looking at her in a strange way.

“I think so.” She was unsure of what he meant but suspected it wasn’t the indentation of wood.

He kicked the ground. “The whiskey was here.” Leaves and dust lifted and settled. Jesse glanced around. They were alone. “And the money is ...” He pulled her a little closer, sliding her fingertips up the rough bark. A breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of earth and water. Samantha smiled, mouth still slightly open, her gaze locked to Jesse’s. The mischief in them mesmerized her.

As their hands traveled upward, the rough bark rounded and smoothed slightly. What they searched for she couldn’t fathom. He must be teasing, but she wasn’t about to stop him. Her fingertips reached an apex. A deep crease where the trunk gave way to branches. Much farther, and her arm wouldn’t reach. She got onto her tiptoes, letting Jesse pull her up.

The crease stopped, and a small hole met her index finger. Her eyes widened. Jesse’s did too, his eyebrows arching and his smile broadening. “What have we here?” he whispered.

Samantha probed the hole, wondering how on earth it could hold any treasure. A soft, clicking sensation came from within the hole. A rustle of leaves brought her attention to the left, just beyond the tree. Jesse pulled her hand back down. Sammie furrowed her brow, following him around the tree. The ground looked the same other than a little dust until her gaze caught the discrepancy in the landscape.

Jesse knelt, gently tugging her with him. “How did you manage ...?” When he reached out and lifted the dirt-covered lid, she forgot the rest. Leaves, dirt, and rock spilled down, and a stream of sunlight snuck into what appeared to be a small buried vault. At the grayed, molded sack, her breath left her in a whoosh.

Jesse chuckled low. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I love you, Sammie. Lord, I do.”

Samantha shook her head, took back her hand, and tackled him to the ground in a squealing hug. “You thief! I can’t believe this.”

“Thief?” Jesse hardly sounded offended.

“Yes, thief,” Samantha said, waggling the loot. “You stole a lot more than this. You stole my heart, too.”

“Guilty as charged, darlin’.” He pulled her close and kissed the tip of her nose “Guilty as charged.”

~The End~

~~~

Irish Moon

By Amber Scott

Chapter One

Tir Conaill, Ireland 1315

“Quiet, Finn. I canno’ hear with all your purring.” Breanne pressed her ear back against the gap between the heavy door and the stone wall. She swore the cat was doing it apurpose, goading her into leaving. He did not quiet
,
so she barely heard the voices discussing her future.

Finn licked his chest, ignoring her, but at least he remained in his wood floor seat this morn. Nearly every other one for the last fortnight they’d come to her mother’s chamber door to listen. And each became a waste when Finn grew restless and left, forcing her after him empty
-
handed. Her mother’s only rule of tolerance for the large cat taking residence with them was that he never be left on his own, a sure opportunity for mischief and destruction.

Today he stayed, and Breanne’s ever patient eavesdropping sounded as though it might bear fruit. For once, her instincts might prove accurate.

“I see no reason to press her,” her mother, Ula, said.

“She is well past a marrying age. Good men have asked for her hand. I am running out of excuses to give them.”

Breanne O’Donnell strained to hear her mother come to her defense. Soon, Niall would be Ula’s husband and have fatherly authority over Breanne. For now, he spoke merely as guardian and chieftain.

Ula replied softly but clearly. “She is interested in her studies and has only half completed her apprenticeship with Heremon. Allow her two more years to completion. Then, I promise, we’ll see her settled.”

“Two more years? She’s seen nineteen already,” Niall said, his voice rising. “You encourage the lass too much. Following the old ways puts her at risk.”

Breanne winced,
b
ut pressed her ear closer, careful not to breathe so loudly. It was worse than she’d feared.

“But, she may not be able to tell a husband of her training and I can’t deny her Ovate status, not when she’s so close. Even Heremon has come to agree it is her calling.”

“She is a healer. It is well known that Heremon is tutoring her in herbs and tonics. Why shouldn’t a husband be aware of the same? Dinna’ forget, there is her inheritance to be seen to.” Niall’s voice rose to a bellow.

Breanne pulled her head away a moment. She chewed her lip, knotted a strand of strawberry blonde hair around her finger. Her stomach clenched at the memory of her childhood home, left so many years ago.

“The keep is hers to do with as she will. Why not discuss the property with her instead? Mayhap she will rent it or even take residence in it, taking a guard along to protect it.”

“A husband will protect her.”

She would protect herself. Were she born a few hundred years before, she’d be allowed a hermit’s life if she wished. She’d be allowed to fight as a warrior, though she’d never choose to. The damned English Pale seemed to be influencing even their own northern tuath nowadays. Before long it might spread across the Giant’s Causeway to encroach the Highland clans.

“Ula, she’s been asked for again. If I excuse her unmarried state much longer, people will think me soft or worse of her.”

Breanne wanted to walk in and demand answers. Who had asked? Quinlan
? A
nother? When had she been asked for?