Wetand Wild

by Sandra Hill

  “Wow! You’ve got a whole lot of theories going there.” The one that bothered her most was the idea that Max might be going back to his own time, which was ridiculous, since she didn’t believe he’d ever come from that time.

  “I see your disbelief. What do you think, then?”

  She shrugged her opinion. “I think you got hit on the head during BUD/S, have a loss of memory, and hopefully will regain some or all of it when you are reunited with your family at the vineyard where you grew up.”

  He laughed and tugged again on the curl at her neck. “You think I’m demented, do you?”

  She smiled at him. “Only temporarily.”

  “And you love me still?” She could tell that he immediately regretted those words, even though he’d only been teasing.

  Not wanting him to go all serious on her, she teased back, “What’s not to love about a bald Viking SEAL wannabee with an ego the size of the Pentagon?”

  “Was that a yes?”

  Oh, yeah! “I am not going to answer that question, especially when you are playing these sex-deprivation games with me.”

  “Sex what?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. And listen up, buddy, I am on to you. You can deprive all you want, but I can hold out as long as you can.”

  “Oh, really? Is that a challenge?”

  “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it must be a duck.”

  “You will not win in any war with me, dearling. Best you surrender now, agree to a wedding date, and we can pull over to the side of the road for a quick swive.”

  Sounds good to me. “You are unbelievable,” she said, laughing.

  “ ’Tis one of the best things about me.”

  You male chauvinist Viking, you! “Do you ever have trouble finding hats that fit?”

  “Nay. Why?”

  “Because you have such a big head.” And other biggies, too.

  “Oh. You mean I have much conceit. Well, there are other things big about me, too.”

  “Puh-leeze!” He must be reading my mind.

  “I like it when you beg.”

  “Puh-leeze!” She took the next exit and said, “We’ll be there in less than an hour. While you’re basking in the glow of your own wonderfulness, and congratulating yourself on how you can seduce me into doing whatever you want, keep one thing in mind, darling.”

  After a speaking pause, he asked, “And what would that be?”

  “I’m not wearing any undergarments under this dress.”

  He glanced sharply at her and looked as if he’d swallowed his tongue. Once he recovered, he grinned. “Congratulations. You have won the battle.”

  “I know,” she gloated.

  “But the war is far from over.”

  If children are a gift from the gods, the Ericssons were overblessed …

  Magnus sat with his son Torolf on a wooden swing behind the house, watching the preparations for the day’s festivities. In all the chaos of his return, they hadn’t had much of a chance to talk yet.

  A farmer at heart, Magnus still relished the smells of earth and growing things. Sweet breezes. The warm sun. He led a good life with few regrets.

  His wife Angela, along with her elderly grandmother Rose and equally aged housekeeper Juanita, were laying a veritable feast of foods out on the tables that had been arranged nearby for the annual harvest celebration. He would go to help her soon. Despite being wed for more than ten years, he still liked to stay close to her.

  There would be plenty of Italian dishes, some Mexican, and even a few Norse ones, though Magnus had forbidden his wife to provide the hated lutefisk. His two sisters-by-marriage, Meredith and Maggie, had taken charge of the beverage arena, which would soon offer a tun of mead—a Viking requirement; wine—a Blue Dragon requirement; and Kool-Aid—a children’s requirement.

  His brothers Rolf and Jorund were playing croquet on the side lawn with the youthlings, whilst the teenagers and older children listened to loud music down by the pond. It was hard for him to credit that he had bred babes who now passed twenty winters, but then, he was nigh a graybeard himself, approaching the age of fifty way too fast. A band had already set up its instruments and would begin to play once their guests arrived later today.

  But this was a quiet time for him and his oldest son Torolf. Well, nay, Ragnor was one sennight older, but he was back in the Norselands.

  “Dost ever think of Ragnor?” Torolf asked him of a sudden.

  Magnus’s head shot up. “Do you read my mind now, son?”

  “It’s funny,” Torolf began tentatively, “but ever since my accident, Ragnor has been on my mind constantly. I even dream of him.”

  Magnus nodded. “I do, too. What do you think it means? Is he in some trouble? And what could we do from here?”

  “I do not know.”

  “Was I wrong to leave Ragnor and Madrene behind?” He blinked back the tears that misted his eyes.

  Torolf squeezed his arm. “Nay. You did what you thought best, and we intended to go back. Besides, it has turned out well for all of us, hasn’t it?”

  Yea, it had. Torolf had gone to college and entered the military. Kirsten was a teacher at a college, where she studied the old Norse ways. Storvald, at twenty-four, worked with his uncle Rolf at Rosestead, a replica of an old Viking village, where he made fine wood carvings to decorate homes and ships. Dagny, only twenty-three, was an artist whose oil paintings sold in local galleries. Njal, ever the mischievous son, was still a mischievous man at twenty; though he was still a student in college, young women called here all the time for him. And seventeen-year-old Jogeir, bless his heart, intended to try out for the Olympic running team this year … and this the boy who had been born lame. Hamr had finally gotten his bow and arrow, but at sixteen was more interested in football and wenches. Kolbein, the shy one, was still quiet and studious at fourteen; Angela thought he might have a religious vocation one day, but Magnus could hardly imagine any child of his being a priest. Lida was still the joy of his life at twelve and spoiled beyond belief, but no more so than ten-year-old Marie, the child he and Angela had created together.

  And things had worked out well for his brothers, too. Rolf and Meredith had two children who brought them great joy, thirteen-year-old Foster and eleven-year-old Rose, even though Meredith had thought she was barren. Ah, well, the Ericsson men ever were known to be virile. Meredith had quit her college teaching job last year and worked alongside her husband at Rosestead now.

  Jorund was the one who’d surprised them all. He’d wed a head doctor, who’d already had two children, twins Suzy and Beth, now twenty and studying to become doctors themselves. Jorund and Maggie had three children of their own, ten-year-old Eric and the eight-year-old twins, Mack and Mike. Jorund, a famous warrior, now taught exercising to demented people.

  Life is strange.

  “Yes, it is,” Torolf said.

  Magnus must have spoken aloud. “But tell me, Torolf, what have you been doing? I must admit to being hurt that you did not invite us to your graduation.”

  “Huh? What graduation?”

  “From SEALs training. Yesterday.”

  “Father! I was forced to drop out of training when I got the head wound almost two months ago. I’ll be resuming training with the next class. Probably I’ll be given another Navy assignment for the interim, now that I’m feeling better.”

  “Then where in bloody hell have you been all this time?”

  “Hog Heaven, I told you before. I lost my memory for a while, but now it is back.”

  “Methinks it is not as back as you say. Kirsten said you were about to graduate and that you would not know us if we arrived for the ceremony; in fact, we might do you harm.”

  “And Kirsten knew all this … how?”

  “By talking to your woman friend, Alison.”

  “Aaarrgh! I have no woman friend named Alison.”

  “She is a physician, I believe, and she went to Kirsten on your behalf to study the stor
y of our family.”

  Torolf frowned some more. “Alison? A physician? Bloody hell! She couldn’t be referring to Lieutenant Alison MacLean, could she?”

  “That is the one.”

  Torolf laughed uproariously. “Father, Alison MacLean wouldn’t give me the time of day. She told me to drop dead one time. Does that sound like a woman friend?”

  “Nay. Mayhap Kirsten will have some reasonable explanation when she arrives.”

  “ ’Tis more likely that you misheard her, being in your dotage and all.”

  Magnus gave his son a playful punch in the arm at his teasing, then rose to his feet. “Let us go help the womenfolk. They must needs have a man to direct them, though they would never admit such.”

  Torolf wrapped an arm around his father’s shoulders and squeezed. “You are so out of touch.”

  When past and present collide, hold on, baby …

  They had just turned off the highway onto a road with a sign that read “Blue Dragon Vineyards.” The narrow lane they traveled on now was a scenic corridor with tall trees, a low stone wall, and bright flowers in picturesque urns adorning both sides. Wildflowers covered the extensive lawns. To one side there was a pond with willow trees. Up ahead a considerable distance was a great white house with black shutters. Behind it were many, many hides of land covered with orderly rows of grapevines.

  None of it was familiar to him, and yet Ragnor felt every fine hair on his body stand to attention. His heart raced madly, and he could swear he heard his blood roar in his head. He was more fearful than he’d ever been afore a battle, more fearful even than when confronted with Madrene in a nagging rage.

  “Pull over,” he ordered Alison.

  “No way!” she said with a laugh. “That’s the tenth time you’ve asked me to pull over since I told you I’m naked under this dress. We are not going to have roadside sex.”

  He shook his head, wanting to tell her seduction wasn’t his goal right now, though the image of what lay under that little wisp of a garment tantalized him mightily and he would not mind some roadside rutting, regardless of his odd mental state. But his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth.

  The stubborn wench did not stop until they reached the clearing afore the front of the house where other vehicles were parked, even a motoring- cycle. In the side yard, Ragnor could see several dozen people—adults and children—playing games and lounging about. Music provided a raucous backdrop.

  “Are you okay, Max?”

  He shook his head.

  “Was this a mistake? Should we leave?”

  He could tell he was scaring her. Holy Thor, he was scaring himself. But, nay, he had to find out what was here. It must be important.

  He undid his seat belt and got out of the car. Walking slowly toward the side yard, he saw several people stop and stare at him. One young woman put her hands to her mouth and cried out, “Oh, my God!” A little girl started to rush forward, but a youthling boy held her back.

  Stoically, Ragnor plowed forward, leaving Alison behind.

  Coming around the back side of the house were two men … one older and one about his age. Both were blond, though one had long hair rippled with gray, while the other’s was cut short, military style.

  Ragnor stopped in his tracks.

  They did the same.

  He cocked his head to the side in puzzlement.

  They did the same.

  The older man’s eyes went wide with sudden understanding. Then he started to weep as he stepped forward, arms outspread in welcome.

  “Father?” Ragnor inquired tentatively. How could this be? It was impossible. Wasn’t it?

  The older man nodded and grabbed him into a mighty hug, nigh cracking his ribs with the vigor of his embrace. “Praise the gods! My son Ragnor, my son Ragnor! I have missed you so.”

  The younger man stepped up then, a mirror image of Ragnor except that his hair was blond and his eyes brown, while Ragnor’s hair was black and his eyes blue. “Torolf,” he said joyfully. “I ne’er thought we would ever be reunited.”

  “You are a sight for sore eyes.” Torolf kept hugging him and pulling back to look him over, then hugging him again. In the end, he held him at arm’s length, then observed, “You wear a Navy shirt, and your head is practically bald. Why is that?”

  “Because I have just completed Navy SEALs training. I am beginning to wonder … hmmm … perchance were you in that program? And didst you leave of a sudden?”

  Torolf nodded slowly.

  “By the gods, I underwent all this torture in your place. Now it finally makes sense.”

  Torolf slapped him on the back, laughing. “Oh, this is rich. I get to go to the SEALs teams without all the hard work. That is better than any prank we played as young men back in the Norselands.”

  There was no time to puzzle it out then as Ragnor was overrun with all his brothers, sisters, stepmother, cousins, uncles, and aunts … some of whom he had not seen for eleven years, some of whom he’d never met. It was overwhelming.

  But not so overwhelming as it must be for Alison, who stood at the edge of the parking area, watching the reunion unfold. How could he have forgotten about her? He walked over and took her hand, leading her to the group.

  “Father, I would have you meet my betrothed, Alison MacLean.”

  Alison was making that cute little gurgling sound of hers again at the word “betrothed.” Come to think on it, Vikings were especially good at making women gurgle.

  His father’s jaw dropped. “In such a short time, you have met a woman you want to wed?”

  “Not just that, but we are going to have a baby,” Ragnor blathered on.

  Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle!

  “I can’t believe it. Already you are outdoing me,” Torolf complained, a grin on his lips. “Betcha her brother Ian is livid, especially if he thought you were me.” He grinned at that statement, too.

  “A grandfather? Me? I am too young,” his father proclaimed, but the smile on his face showed his great pride. He hugged Alison warmly, and Torolf gave her a little wave of greeting.

  Everyone else was offering congratulations afore Ragnor thought to glance Alison’s way.

  She glared at him.

  Uh-oh!

  Leastways she no longer gurgled. He just smiled back at her and hugged her to his side. I know the best way to make her smile again. It involves siren dresses and bare skin … and, well, what we Vikings do best to make a maid smile. I wonder if they have any broom closets here.

  She bared her teeth and growled at him.

  On the other hand …

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Talk about older men, younger women! …

  Alison didn’t know if she was more angry or confused.

  Well, the anger was only a small part of her roiling emotions of the moment. What else could she expect from the arrogant louse she had come to love? After all, he’d made the same outrageous announcement to her father and Ian. And, yes, she did love the arrogant louse. She’d known that for weeks now.

  But confusion? Lordy, Lordy! Everyone talked at once. They appeared to be family … all two dozen of them. Father, stepmother, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins. They were a veritable Norse version of the Beverly Hillbillies. One of them was almost a twin to Ragnor … that was what they called Max … except for the difference in their hair and eye colors. And it sounded as if Torolf had explained that he’d been injured, which she was well aware of, but that he’d left Coronado and suffered a memory loss while off at a hog farm or something. Meanwhile, Ragnor had just bopped in and completed BUD/S for him. Simple as that. Ha, ha, ha! Amazing! Impossible! But still, amazing!

  The most alarming, confusing thing of all was that, if she accepted that all these people were who they claimed to be, then Ragnor Magnusson truly was a time-traveler. She had made love with a freakin’ thousand-year-old, albeit remarkably well-preserved man. Eeew!

  Ragnor had gone off with his father and uncles and Torolf to chat
some more and probably chug down beer. Alison was helping the stepmother Angela, the two aunts Meredith and Maggie, and the newly arrived Kirsten to set the tables for the upcoming feast. She’d already spoken at length with Maggie’s twin daughters, who were in pre-med at Berkeley. They had lots of questions about her own practice, especially since it involved Navy SEALs, always an appealing subject for twenty-year-old females.

  “I don’t understand any of this,” she said in an aside to Kirsten, once all the tables had the appropriate china plates, silverware, and cloth napkins.

  “The feast? Our fancy way of eating outdoors? Or the time-travel?”

  “What do you think?” Like she would care whether they used Royal Doulton or supermarket paper plates.

  “Let’s sit down,” Kirsten suggested. The other women came over, too, probably knowing all too well how Alison was feeling. They sat down on blankets that had been arranged on the grass, and Angela brought them glasses of the new wine.

  Alison declined hers, and Kirsten asked her, “You really are pregnant?”

  “Yep. I know some people think wine is okay in moderation, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Good thing the world isn’t pregnant or we’d be out of business,” Angela remarked drolly.

  “When’s the wedding?” Meredith asked.

  “There is no wedding. Max … I mean, Ragnor … is jumping the gun a bit.”

  “Oh?” the three of them said at once.

  “Now, there’s a surprise,” Meredith said. “A Viking taking things for granted.”

  They all laughed.

  “He did ask you to marry him, didn’t he?” Kirsten wanted to know, as if every man who got a woman pregnant did the “right thing.”