by Beverly Long
“I’m glad that you were there,” he said. “I’m sure Sarah. . .your friend. . .would have been grateful.”
“I’d like to think so. I miss her.”
He had to tell her the truth. She’d already spent a year missing her friend. “There’s something you should know,” he said. “I—”
“You know what really helped me when Miguel died,” she interrupted, “is that I knew that Sarah was already there waiting for him. I knew he wasn’t going to be alone. It’s the one thing that really gives me peace.”
Was it his place to rip that peace away from her? Could he tell her that her friend hadn’t drowned? That she’d been swept off the beach and traveled back to 1888 Wyoming Territory? That she’d met John Beckett there?
What would Melody think if she knew that George had met Sarah in a saloon? That he’d left his home in North Dakota months earlier and had been tracking a man who had killed his wife and unborn child, intending to avenge their deaths? Would she cower in fear again? Even though, in the end, when the man had been killed, it had not been by George’s hand.
He’d never seen two more miserable people than Sarah Tremont and John Beckett when it looked like Sarah was going to have to return to her own time to help Miguel Lopez and his family. Then the footprints had appeared—but not for Sarah or John. No, it had been George who had taken first one step, then another, and had been whisked up into darkness.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you. What were you saying?”
This woman had suffered two great losses but she’d obviously come to terms with both of them. If he told her the truth, would she miss her friend any less? Would it only cause her grief because the peace that she’d clung to for the past few months would disappear?
He knew better than most that peace was mighty hard to come by.
“Um. . .nothing.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
“I came here tonight to tell Sarah I was leaving. I thought she’d want to know.”
“What about your job at the school?”
“After Sarah’s disappearance, the school expected me to cover her caseload. I already had all I could handle. There was no way I could spend the time I needed to spend with Miguel and his family. I took a leave of absence but ultimately the school ended up replacing both Sarah and me. So there was no job to go back to.” She smiled at him. “It’s for the best. I really need to go home.”
“Where’s home?”
“My grandmother has a place about two hours north of San Francisco. In the hills of Napa Valley. Have you ever been there?”
He’d heard of San Francisco, had even had a neighbor once who’d traveled there and back again to North Dakota. But he had no idea what this valley might be. He shook his head.
“It’s a beautiful place. Even when the roads are jammed with traffic and there are tourists everywhere, it’s a special place.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I’m leaving early in the morning. I haven’t come back here since Sarah’s death but for some reason, I couldn’t go until I came tonight. And when the water kept edging farther up onto the beach, I wasn’t scared. It was like I was suddenly closer to her.” She stopped and shook her head. “You must think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think that.” Crazy was stepping into footprints and traveling a hundred plus years forward. Crazy was arriving a year too late. What the hell had happened?
Hannah had been there, directing, guiding. He was sure of it. She wouldn’t have led him astray. Never.
He stared up at the now-dark sky, dotted with sparkling stars and a quarter-moon. He’d never been a devout man, had counted on Hannah to take care of the praying for both of them. It didn’t seem right now to suddenly start, no matter how much he wanted answers. He gave the sky one last, lingering look before turning to face Melody.
She stared at him for a long moment and he couldn’t stop himself from staring back. She had strikingly strong features, everything from her expressive eyes to her high cheekbones to her full mouth.
“I guess I better be going,” she said.
He stood up and held out a hand to help her up. Her skin was warm and soft and when she swayed, as if she wasn’t quite steady on her feet, his heart thumped in his chest. He held on to her hand and her wedding ring felt warm against his palm. “Are you ill?”
She shook her head. “If I don’t eat every three hours, I get a little light-headed. I think I’m about a half-hour behind schedule. Once I get home, I’ll have some crackers and hot tea and I’ll be fine.”
Hannah had loved tea. Every night before bed, she’d brewed a cup. She drank it strong and very hot. He wondered how Melody Song liked her tea?
But that wasn’t his business. She had a husband who would know those things—would know whether she liked to sweeten it with sugar or cream, would know what cup she liked to drink from. “I imagine your husband will be worried about you,” he said, wanting to distance himself from her female charm.
“I don’t have a husband,” she said. She pulled her hand away.
His hand felt suddenly cold. Oh, hell. “I’m sorry.” He looked deliberately at the ring. “I didn’t realize you were a widow.”
“I’ve never been married.”
She said it without malice, without much emotion at all. He wasn’t at all sure what to make of it.
“I bought this ring just today. Got a good deal on it. Nobody wants plain wedding bands anymore. At least that’s what the guy at the jewelry store told me. I told him that I’d lost the ring that my husband had given me and needed to replace it quickly while he was out of town. I don’t think he believed me. Probably because I was stumbling over my words. But it didn’t stop him from selling me a ring, though.”
It was a rambling explanation but he thought he understood now why she was going home to family. “It’s not my place to judge,” he said quickly. “Will your parents meet you at your grandmother’s?”
She looked at her hands. “Sarah’s death was the second time that the Pacific has stolen from me. Fifteen years ago, during a rainstorm, just an hour north of here, my parents’ car slid off the road, right through a guardrail. They fell a couple hundred feet before they hit the ocean.”
Life had dealt Melody Song her share of hardship. Sarah had told him about the square metal boxes on wheels that they called cars. The things must be hard to control. It made him realize that while he’d left a world that was sometimes hard and unforgiving, he’d perhaps come to a time of even greater dangers.
“After they died, I went to live with my grandmother,” Melody said, looking at him once again.
“Does she know that you’re with child?”
“She does. She’s delighted. Of course,” she added, shaking her head slightly, “she also thinks I’m married.”
He was grateful for all his years of being a sheriff and the many times he’d had to piece together bits of a story. It helped him now. “Because you told her that.”
She rubbed a hand across her mouth. “I’m twenty-eight years old and I swear, it’s the craziest thing I’ve ever done. But it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
“Why?” He’d met this woman less than thirty minutes ago but he felt like he had a right to know. He’d dragged her from the ocean, after all.
“My grandmother means everything to me. And while she’s a very modern-thinker, Grandmother hangs tight to a few of the old traditions, the old beliefs. And of all the things she feels very strongly about, legitimacy of a child is right there at the top.”
“And that’s wrong?”
“Oh no. Trust me, she has very good reasons to feel that way. But I’m sure you’re not interested in all that. Anyway, now she’s. . .ill. Very ill. My aunt Tilly called a few days ago and said that Grandmother wanted me home. She wants to meet my husband.”
It did seem like a hell of a mess. “What are you going to do?”
She shrugged. “Well, I guess unless I find a husband within the next t
welve hours, I’ll have to tell her the truth.”
He heard the forced lightness in her voice and knew that Melody Song’s burden was heavy. “Your grandmother will understand,” he said, hoping he was right.
“She will.” Her voice cracked at the end. “It’s just that it’s going to hurt her so much when she finds out that I’ve been lying to her. And then there’s the whole thing about the baby not having a father. She’s really going to hate that.”
He was no expert on these things but he was fairly certain that not everything had changed that much in a hundred and eighteen years. “There has to be a father. Where is he?”
“Long gone. Probably still running. He took off about ten minutes after I told him I was pregnant.”
That kind of thing had happened in his time, too, but George had never been able to abide a man who didn’t handle his own responsibilities. “So, he left you and the child to fend for yourselves?”
“We’ll be fine,” she said. “Look, this probably sounds strange but I know that I’m better off without him. He’s got. . .issues. What I know for sure is that he has no interest in being a father to this baby.”
“Damn fool.” Man didn’t deserve what was his.
“Do you have children?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“A wife?”
“I did,” he said. He realized it was the first time that he’d automatically thought about Hannah in the past tense. He suddenly wanted to tell Melody about his wife, not how she’d died, but rather how she’d lived. But he couldn’t. She would have too many questions, then too many doubts, maybe even fear.
That wasn’t how he wanted his time with her to end.
He had perhaps just minutes. Sarah had told him that the footprints in the sand, the ones she’d stepped into to travel back to 1888 Wyoming Territory, had appeared around the time the sun had set. She’d been at this very beach, perhaps in this very spot. It could happen at any moment. He needed to make sure Melody was safely off the beach first.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “I don’t want to keep you.”
“Yes. I. . .” She stopped and then smiled. Placing a hand over her stomach, she said, “We appreciate everything you did tonight.” She paused. “Well, goodnight.”
She turned and walked toward the steep steps at the rear of the beach. He watched her until she got to the top and disappeared over the edge. Then he looked around. The moon had slipped behind a cloud and the beach was even darker than before. He could hear the rush of the water and knew that behind all that noise was his world.
He felt very alone. He didn’t belong in this strange place. Miguel was already gone. There was no reason to stay. He had no work, no money, no place to live.
George started walking, looking for his path home.
CHAPTER TWO
Hours later, when the sky was black with only a quarter-moon to guide his path, when even the birds were quiet, George was still pacing up and down the beach. For hours, he’d walked a mile or so in one direction before turning back and doing the same thing in the other direction. He hadn’t wanted to stray too far from the spot he’d arrived at and that Sarah had departed from. His stomach was empty, his ribs still hurt, and his soul ached with worry.
Finally, exhausted, he lay down on the cold sand, feeling more weary than he’d ever felt, even counting those terrible days following Hannah’s death. He closed his eyes and later, when he woke, the soft gray of early morning washed across the still-empty stretch of beach. The sun was well over the horizon, although not yet warm with heat. He closed his eyes and continued to lay on his back, unwilling to let go of his dreams, of the peace the memories had brought him.
He’d dreamed of John and Sarah, of all the people he’d left behind. He’d dreamed of his job as sheriff of Bluemont, North Dakota. And of Hannah and the baby she’d carried.
He realized with a start that the last person he’d dreamed about had been Melody. She’d gotten herself into trouble and now had a babe on the way. In his time, there were few choices for a woman on her own with a child. There’d be little money and even less acceptance.
He hated the thought of any woman having to struggle along with no man to help her. It wasn’t right.
“George. Excuse me, George. Mr. Tyler.”
His eyes flew open and he lifted his head. Melody Song, her arm in the air, waving to him, was climbing down the steep steps at the edge of the beach.
He sat up. For a minute, he thought maybe he was still dreaming. She was practically upon him before he grabbed hold of his senses. He scrambled to his feet, feeling like a clumsy fool.
She’d changed her clothes. She had on a bright yellow blouse which was snug at the top but loose enough lower down to provide space for her growing baby. She had white trousers that ended at least six inches above her ankles and she wore some crazy kind of shoes that showed her toes.
The woman had nice feet. Small and smooth, with toenails painted pink.
The early morning breeze blew her hair across her face and she pushed it out of her face. “Good morning,” she said.
Christ. She was real. He’d imagined that her hair was dark. But it was much lighter. It was the color of winter wheat, a rich honey, and it fell in thick waves past her shoulders. “What are you doing here?” he asked, and got embarrassed when his voice squeaked like that of a young boy’s. It didn’t surprise him though. Melody Song, with her smooth skin, her shiny hair, and her full breasts, made him feel as inept as a twelve-year-old.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice subdued. “I got up early this morning knowing I needed to be on the road if I was going to make my grandmother’s house by lunch. I was driving by, had almost passed the Fayetteville exit, and all of a sudden, I just knew I had to check. I had to know if you were still here.”
“I am,” he said, trying hard not to let her hear the desperation he felt.
“Do you know that I almost caused a freakin’ wreck? I crossed two lanes of traffic without even looking.” She waved an impatient hand toward him, like it was somehow his fault. “I never drive crazy. I’m a very careful driver,” she added, like she might be trying to convince herself.
He couldn’t stop looking at her hair. “You look different,” he said. “Your hair.”
“Took me a half hour in the shower last night to get it clean. Between the saltwater and the french-fry grease from work, it had taken a beating.”
French-fry grease? From work? None of what she said made any sense. She’d said she lost her job at the school. “Where do you work?”
“I have a friend who owns a little restaurant, sort of upscale sandwiches and fancy desserts. I’m a waitress there.”
“Seems like that might be hard work for a woman who’s carrying a child.”
“I was grateful for the job. But you’re right,” she said, smiling at him. “It’s getting harder and harder to lift those trays. Plus, I really need to find a position that offers insurance for me and the baby.”
It sounded like Melody intended to work soon after the child’s arrival. He wondered how she would manage. She’d be trying to juggle her new position, a new baby, and a sick grandmother. “Is there anyone to help you at your grandmother’s?”
“Well, there’s Tilly and Louis. They’re my aunt and uncle and they have lived with Grandmother for the past seventeen years, ever since my grandfather died. They came for the funeral, stayed for lunch, and then never left.”
“They must have been good company for your grandmother?”
“Yes, well, let’s just say that generally I’m glad they were there. There’s my great aunt Genevieve, too. She’s a couple years younger than Grandmother. Very independent, sort of a free spirit.”
She talked fast but he thought he understood. It was, however, damn hard to concentrate on what she was saying. She was pure pleasure to watch. Her eyes seemed more blue than violet this morning and her face glowed with the healthy sheen of motherhood. Her bare arms we
re tanned from the sun and were sleek with feminine muscle.
When she gracefully sank to the ground next to him, his heart skipped a beat until he realized that she wasn’t fainting, that she was just getting comfortable. She lifted her head and looked up at him. He felt awkward standing over her and there was no good reason for her to strain her neck. He sank down next to her.
“You slept on the beach,” she accused.
It didn’t seem to make much sense to deny it. “I’ve slept in worse places,” he said.
She looked concerned. “You’re lucky you didn’t get mugged. The beach isn’t safe at night.” She stared at her pink toes. “Do you. . .uh. . .live around here?”
Not hardly. “No. Just passing through.”
She stopped looking at her feet and instead looked at him. Her scrutiny made him uncomfortable. He figured he must be a sight. He had sand in his hair, stubble on his face, and his clothes were ripped and torn.
“If you need a ride somewhere,” she said suddenly, surprising him, “I’d be glad to drop you off. Just tell me where you want to go.”
He had no where to go. He had to stay. Had to wait for the footprints.
Go. Go with her.
“Did you hear that?” he asked.
She blinked her pretty eyes. “What?”
Christ. “Nothing,” he said. The damn wind was talking to him, making his heart jump and his skin heat up.
She needs you.
He rubbed his temple. She was going home to family. Her grandmother might not approve but she’d welcome her. That’s what families did. “You get along with your grandmother?” he asked.
“Uh. . .yes,” she said, obviously confused at his question. “She’s wonderful, the best really. She has. . .” she paused and furiously blinked her eyes, “. . .cancer. My aunt says it’s very serious. Her doctors say that chemo wouldn’t make a difference. She’s had some radiation treatments but they didn’t really help.”
What she said made no sense to him but he knew that whatever this cancer was, it must be a ravaging beast. He hurt for her. Barely knew her, but still, hurt on her behalf. He watched her grasp a handful of sand and hold the weight in the palm of her hand. Then carefully, deliberately, she spread her fingers, letting the grains fall through. “She’s going to slip away from me,” she said, her voice heavy with emotion. “Like sand through my fingers.”
