by Gina Lamm
A receptionist brought Jamie a box of tissues. “Here,” she said, rubbing her back. “He’ll be okay. We’ve got some of the best doctors in the state here. You’ve got to believe.”
Jamie nodded, holding the tissue up to her face. She couldn’t lose Baron. She’d already lost Mike; she couldn’t lose that silly dog too. She loved him, almost as much as she loved the guy that had saved him from certain death in the first place.
“Can you answer some questions for me, hon?” The redheaded receptionist’s voice was kind but direct. She had a job to do, and hysterics wouldn’t help a damn thing, especially not the hound who was in pain in the back of the clinic.
“Yeah, whatever you need,” Jamie said through her tears, trying to get it together.
“What’s your dog’s name?”
Jamie started to tell the receptionist that he wasn’t her dog, but then she realized that Mike had been dead for probably a hundred and fifty years or more at that point. She couldn’t explain what the sudden spurt of tears was about, but the receptionist rubbed her back until she could speak again.
“Baron,” Jamie whispered. “His name is Baron.”
“Okay. Baron. And he’s a greyhound, right? How old is he?”
“About a year,” Jamie said, trying like hell not to think of the man who’d told her that.
“And how was he injured?” The redheaded woman didn’t look up at Jamie as she continued to write on her little green clipboard.
Come on, Jamie. Tell as much of the truth as you can without getting thrown into a loony bin. She swallowed hard and mentally thanked Leah for her SCA days.
“We were at a Renaissance Faire, and a horse from the jousting section got loose and took off. It knocked us both down, and it must have stepped on his leg or something.”
“Wow, that must have been scary.”
“You have no idea.” Jamie laughed a little hysterically and wiped her nose with the wad of damp tissues.
“Okay, let me get this info to Dr. Vann. We’ll let you know something soon, okay?” The receptionist gave Jamie a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder.
Jamie glanced at her clipboard as she turned it to walk away. According to the time she’d written at the top of the sheet, three hours had passed in this time since Jamie had been gone. Mrs. K apparently hadn’t been that exact in her time-portation calibrating. It didn’t matter though; at least, it wouldn’t if Baron made it out of this okay.
Jamie paced through the waiting room, desperate to hear something. Other people came and went with their animals. Several of them gave her curious glances. She ignored them all, walking and crying and even praying. He had to be okay. He just had to be.
A full hour later, a tech escorted her into an examination room for the doctor to talk to her. When the vet came in, he propped two X-rays on the lighted box on the wall. Jamie hoped he was competent. He looked like he didn’t need to shave yet.
“Hey, Jamie, I’m Doctor Vann. We’ve been working with Baron. He’s pretty lucky.”
“Really?” Jamie said, tears welling again. “Is he going to be okay?”
“He should make a full recovery. We were worried about the possibility of a fracture, but it looks like a really bad skin injury. It occurred with a horse, you say?”
She nodded.
“It seems like either a nail or part of the horse’s shoe caught on his skin as it passed over him. Since these guys have such thin skin, it just kind of peels back. Looks horrible, bloody as all get-out, but with some stitches, it should heal okay. He lost a lot of blood, though. You must have had to come a ways to get here.”
“You have no idea,” Jamie said, shaking her head.
“We gave him a transfusion, and he’s being treated with some antibiotics. He’s really lucky. If that horse had stepped on him instead of knocking him down, it might be a very different story. We’ll keep him overnight, finish up the stitching, but as long as we can avoid infection, he should make a full recovery.”
Jamie hugged the too-young doctor and sobbed into the shoulder of his white lab coat. “Thank you so much. You don’t know how much that dog means to me.”
He patted her back and let her cry for a second, then pulled back.
“He’s awake. Would you like to see him before you go home? We’re giving him IV fluids and some pain medication right now.”
She nodded. “I’d like that.”
Their steps echoed on the concrete flooring as she followed the vet to a room in the back. Several shiny metal kennels lined the walls, most of them with IV bags and tubing hanging from the doors. Dr. Vann knelt by one of the largest ones and opened the gate.
Jamie crawled up to Baron and rubbed his silky head.
“Hey, bud. Are you getting some good drugs there?” Her throat welled again. “You stay strong for me. I need you. I’ll be here first thing in the morning to see you, okay?”
He licked her hand softly.
“I love you, you stupid dog,” Jamie sobbed. After dropping a kiss on his nose, she stood, wiping her tears with her sodden tissues. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
He nodded and had one of the techs show her out.
Jamie left her home number at the front desk. Her smartphone was still in 1816. She’d probably never see it again.
She got back in the truck and headed back to the storage building, wondering how the hell she was going to explain any of this to Pawpaw Milton; how in the hell she was going to sleep tonight, worrying about Baron; and how the hell she was going to live without Mike.
***
Pawpaw was at the storage building when Jamie got back. His wiry, gray-bearded jaw dropped at the sight of her bloodstained taupe walking dress.
“What in the hell has been going on here? What are you wearing, girl?”
Jamie shook her head at him. “It’s a long story. You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.” She pointed at the back corner of the storage building. “How much for that bureau?”
“What in the world do you want that for? That thing is two hundred years old.”
She sighed and raked stray pieces of hair behind her ear. “I know. Chippendale. 1816. I need it. How much?”
Pawpaw argued with her for a long time, but she refused to take no for an answer. Eventually, he gave in and sold her the bureau on a payment plan. She didn’t even raise her eyebrows at the price. She’d have to either sell some more music soon or take a job at a fast-food joint to afford it. She didn’t know antique furniture could cost so much, but she couldn’t stand the thought of someone else having the bureau that Mrs. Knightsbridge had brought her through to meet Mike. She knew he’d never come. Even if he would give up on the earldom, he’d made a promise to Miss Lyons now. Engagements weren’t usually broken as quickly as theirs had been. Besides, she’d nearly gotten his dog killed and then taken his beloved hound away from him forever. Mike was sure to hate her now, and honestly, she sort of felt like he deserved to. I kind of hate me too.
Pawpaw arranged to have some guys help him deliver the bureau later that afternoon. Jamie thanked him, then headed on home to change and clear out a space for it.
Where the hell was she going to put a giant piece of antique furniture, anyway? It didn’t matter. It was staying with her for the rest of her life. The rest of her lonely, godforsaken, miserable life.
It took forever to shed the layers of her clothing without Muriel’s help. She ended up ripping buttons on the back of her bloodstained dress. The corset was much the same. Petticoats with red-brown spotted blood pooled on her deep-gray tiles. The bloomers that she’d hated so much looked ridiculous on top of them.
Jamie stood naked in front of her bathroom mirror and removed the brown-feathered cap. She pulled out hairpins and let the mess fall where it would.
There.
My name is Jamie.
Whoever the hell that is.
She didn’t enjoy the shower she took. She cried through the whole thing. Shaving her legs, her under
arms, applying deodorant, using the hair dryer—all of it made her even more depressed.
When she came downstairs to answer the knock, she was finishing a crying binge. Leah took one look at her and hustled her into the kitchen for a private conversation while Pawpaw Milton and his movers positioned the bureau next to her computer.
“What the hell happened to you, James? Pawpaw said you took his truck and you came back dressed in some kind of fancy old getup?”
Jamie looked at the ceiling. “That’s not the half of it.”
Leah sat down, giving her the “spill the beans or I will kill you” eye.
Jamie sighed and sat at the table beside her best friend. She never said a word during Jamie’s long story; she just let her get it all out. When the movers were done, Leah said a quick word to Pawpaw, and the men left quietly out the front door without talking to her. When Jamie resumed sobbing, Leah grabbed a roll of paper towels and handed her a wad. Jamie finished the story, right up to rushing Baron to the vet, and Leah nodded.
“So, now’s probably the part where you tell me I’m completely insane, right?” Jamie sniffed as she wiped her eyes.
Leah shook her head. “Nope. But I am going to call you a dumbass.”
Jamie’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“You had a Colin Firth–lookalike earl interested in you, and you didn’t drag him back here with you? What the fuck?”
“I tried, but he wouldn’t listen to me…”
“You should have made him.”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “I tried. He was sure that he’d failed me, and no matter what I said, he wouldn’t listen. Besides, he doesn’t love me anymore.” She tried to stifle more tears, but they kept right on coming. My tear factory: powered by Energizer.
Leah’s palms splatted down on the table. “I don’t believe that for a second. So, your lady is a witch, and she knows you’re both in love, right?”
Jamie nodded, wiping her dripping nose.
“We’ll have to keep watch on that big old piece of furniture then. Hopefully your housekeeper witch will confess the truth, shove him through the mirror into your living room, and everything will be good from there.”
Jamie hugged Leah close, breathing in the familiar vanilla and coconut smell of her. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Hey, don’t cry. You’d do the same for me. Now, come on.” Leah’s chair scraped back and she grabbed Jamie’s arm. “Let’s clear out this living room so Mike doesn’t think he’s landed in the city dump.”
With the help of the best friend in the world, Jamie cleaned out her living room. She even threw a blanket over that ugly-ass couch Logan had picked out, to make it look more like the living room she’d set up for her and Mike’s first date. They did laundry, threw out garbage, and put all Jamie’s comics and magazines in the spare bedroom. At nearly eleven, Leah took off, after a promise to stay at Jamie’s house in the morning, just in case Mike showed up while she was with Baron at the vet.
Jamie cleaned up the kitchen when Leah had gone. Jamie didn’t even recognize most of the junk that she had accumulated. It was awful, gross. And so cold. She turned the A/C off completely and opened the windows to let the summer-night breeze in. She felt nearly naked in her shorts and T-shirt, but she kept on cleaning. Mind-numbing chores were the only thing she could stomach at that point.
At two in the morning, she heard a noise coming from the living room. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she ran to see what it was.
There was nobody and nothing in her now-clean living room. Her computer had received a new IM from Kurt. She’d missed tonight’s dungeon run.
Jamie shook her head and walked away without replying.
By six o’clock that morning, the kitchen was clean, her bathroom was spotless, and the garbage man was going to be cursing her name for years to come. The vet clinic would open at seven, so she hightailed it upstairs to get ready.
She reached into the shower to turn it on, but she stopped before her fingers touched the metal knob. Instead, she grabbed a washcloth and a bar of soap from the bowl of seashell-shaped “guest soaps” that had previously been only for show. She ran some water in the tub, which had rarely ever been used. She stepped into the bath, closed her eyes, and wished she was in a tiny copper tub in a lemon dream of a bedroom, readying herself for a phaeton ride in the park with her love.
She missed her earl so much.
***
Jamie walked into the vet clinic, waiting while a couple passed by with a long-haired tortoiseshell cat. When they’d gone, she talked to the receptionist.
“Hey, I’m Jamie Marten. I’m here to see Baron?”
The woman wrinkled her forehead, typing on her computer. “Marten…Marten…and you said the dog’s name is Baron?”
Jamie nodded, nerves clogging her throat.
“Hm. Having a hard time finding you in here. I’m kind of new here, so it’s probably just me. Hold on…Sheila?”
A whispered conference at the other end of the counter gave Jamie the shakes. Was Baron okay? Had his injuries been more severe than Dr. Vann thought?
A green-scrub-wearing vet tech came through the doors of the back room. “Miss Marten? You can follow me.”
Her smile reassured Jamie somewhat, and she followed the tech through to the back of the clinic.
“Baron!” Jamie knelt by the cage the girl had swung open. His back leg was a swath of white bandages, and he had one of those giant lampshade cones around his neck.
“He did fine, but he keeps chewing at the bandages.”
Jamie laughed, rubbing the long nose as he thumped his tail against the side of the metal crate. “It’s a good look for you, bud.” He licked her hand, and she could swear she felt it all the way down in her heart.
Jamie leaned down, touching his cold nose to her warm one. “I love you, stupid dog.”
He lapped her right on the lips, and she sputtered, laughing. “Guess I deserved that.”
Dr. Vann met with Jamie, explained the different medicines she was to give Baron for the next couple of weeks, and after paying a bill that made her Visa wince, they headed back home to meet Leah. Jamie knew Mike wouldn’t be showing up, but she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the bureau alone, just in case.
Leah met them at the door, shaking her flame-colored hair at Jamie.
“Not a peep. Sorry, lady. If you need to go anywhere else, let me know, and I’ll stay here with it, okay?”
“Thanks, Leah.”
She gave Jamie a quick hug, patted Baron, and left.
Jamie spent the rest of that day sitting on the floor next to Baron’s giant pile of blankets, rubbing his ears and staring at the bureau. Every now and then, she’d stand up and press her palm against the glass, hoping it would give. Nope. Cold, solid mirror every time.
She gave up and ate dinner, then resumed her vigil.
Her computer dinged again, but she didn’t even touch it. It wasn’t important to her anymore. She couldn’t enjoy herself in a fantasyland when reality was kicking her ass.
She slept on the couch that night, facing Mike’s bureau the whole time.
Thirty-One
He’d planned to spend the rest of the day making social calls, visiting his solicitors’ offices, and perhaps purchasing a shiny bauble for his new fiancée. Instead, Micah moped around the park, remembering riding through it with Jamie. How she’d laughed with him, how she’d kissed him, how she’d shared her life with him in little glimpses over the past month. He’d seen her only hours ago, in the music room, but the gaping hole in his life was there just the same.
There was no peace to be found in the park, especially once the ton began riding there, making use of the unusually fine weather to see and be seen. Word of his engagement to Miss Lyons was already spreading, despite that it hadn’t been announced in the Gazette yet, and he accepted congratulations from several well-meaning couples before he bolted for home. Surely Jamie knew by now. He’d made sure to loudly announce h
is intentions to Thornton with Muriel in earshot. The maid would have told Jamie quickly, of that he was quite sure.
When Micah mounted the steps of the townhouse, heart heavy and feet leaden, the frantic shouts within were the only thing that could pierce his malaise.
“What do you mean by that, Thornton? Come out, say what you’re implying!”
“They went upstairs with you, and then they were gone. I may be old, Mrs. Knightsbridge, but I am not daft. What have you done with the young lady and Baron?”
“You daft old tosser, I have told you, I have not done a thing with Miss Jamie nor the dog!”
“You must have. I demand that you confess!”
“I shall not!”
“Silence,” Micah roared as he came through the door. The housekeeper and the butler, who had been facing off in the foyer, fell silent. “Whatever has happened?”
Thornton stepped toward Mrs. Knightsbridge, who brandished a candelabrum to ward the old butler off. Micah stepped between them before motioning to the butler to speak.
“My lord, Miss Marten came running into your home with Baron in her arms. The hound was gravely injured. She dashed up the stairs, and Mrs. Knightsbridge”—Thornton gestured at the housekeeper accusingly—“followed her. For several moments there were loud voices, and then silence. Moments later, Mrs. Knightsbridge came down the stairs alone. She has done something with the maid and the dog, your lordship, but she refuses to confess as to what.”
Micah turned to his housekeeper. She’d set the candelabrum down and stood with her hands fisted by her sides. Brownish-red streaks of blood marred her apron.
“He is right up to a point. Yes, Miss Marten and Baron have gone. She will take care of him, my lord, you needn’t worry for that.”
“Your, your apron,” Micah choked. “Is that…”
