by Tamara Gill
“I'd like you to teach me how to drive a car,” she said at last.
“To . . .” He gave a startled laugh. “Not what one normally thinks of doing for a romantic beach vacation, but your wish is my command. My car is a stick shift, though, which will make things harder. We'll need to find an empty parking lot so you can learn to work the clutch—if you really want to do this.”
She nodded firmly, her charming face determined. “If I am going to live in this time, I'll need to learn the skills that go with it. And riding and driving—carriages, that is—were always passions of mine.”
With an effort, Logan stopped himself from making a comment about other passions he'd like to teach her. She stirred him so strongly it was far too easy to forget the cultural gap he'd have to overcome before she'd be ready for that kind of instruction. “We'll try to get in a lesson before dinnertime, then,” he said instead.
To Logan's amazement, Catherine proved an extremely apt pupil. He remembered the one disastrous driving lesson he'd tried to give Kathryn when she was fifteen. She'd been unwilling to listen, afraid of the car, and had stormed off after ten minutes, shouting that he had no business telling her what to do. By contrast, Catherine listened and appeared to absorb every word he said.
“So I should start pressing the accelerator before I've let the clutch all the way out?” she asked.
“That's right. Sort of ease off the clutch and ease onto the gas at the same time.”
She followed his directions and the car moved forward almost smoothly, with no bucking this time—and on only her fourth try. Logan recalled that it had taken him dozens of tries, when he'd first learned to operate a clutch.
“That's wonderful!” he congratulated her warmly, feeling a glow of pride in her accomplishment that he hadn't felt when it had been his own.
“May I drive back to the hotel now?” she asked eagerly after circling the large lot without incident, even shifting into second gear at his direction.
“Whoa. I don't think you're quite ready for traffic yet,” Logan cautioned her, though admiration for her spunk swelled within him. “This was just your first lesson. Maybe tomorrow or the next day you can take it on the road.”
Catherine pulled the car to an almost-smooth halt, with just one jerk at the end, and turned a glowing face to him. “Oh, Logan, I don't know how I can ever thank you for this! I feel as though all of my dreams are coming true.”
Again, he had to bite his tongue to keep from making a suggestive reply. “If you're happy, that's thanks enough, Catherine. Let's head back and have some dinner, okay? We'll continue your driving lessons tomorrow.”
They dined in the sumptuous hotel lounge overlooking the water and afterward went for a barefoot walk on the beach. Catherine had never imagined anything so romantic. Moonlight glittered on the waves and the sand was damp and coarse beneath her feet. Logan walked by her side, almost, but not quite, touching her.
She couldn't help remembering the two novels Annette had given her to read, a far cry from those of Jane Austen or even Walter Scott. Would Logan expect her to behave as the women in those books had? Would he do the things that those heroes had done? A shiver of anticipation and alarm went through her at the thought.
That was fiction, she reminded herself sternly. Annette had warned her not to take those novels literally. Still, she was more than a little bit disappointed when Logan left her with no more than a smile and a touch of his finger on her cheek when they retired to their separate rooms for the night.
She scolded herself for that disappointment, telling herself that she should be relieved. If he had done more—if he had kissed her—she knew she would have wantonly revealed the depth of her feelings to him. She might even have encouraged him to do things that would have compromised her irrevocably. And until she knew for certain that she would be staying in this time, she could not risk that sort of commitment.
Strangely dissatisfied, she got ready for bed.
The next morning, she was eager to continue her driving lessons. Somehow, she felt that if she could master the skills of this time she might be allowed to stay, illogical though she knew that was. In addition, she wanted to make Logan proud of her, and in that, at least, she seemed successful. After only an hour of additional practice he allowed her to drive his car out of the lot.
“We'll stick with this residential area for now, where there's hardly any traffic,” he said. “I can't believe how fast you've picked this up. You're the best student I've ever had.”
She glowed at his praise, glancing at him with a smile of thanks. Unfortunately, she swerved slightly at the same time.
“Steady, steady,” he cautioned. “Keep your eyes on the road.”
“I forget how much more responsive this steering wheel is than carriage horses,” she said ruefully, feeling a bit foolish. “Of course, a horse can be every bit as tricky when one is riding.”
“Really? I wouldn't know,” replied Logan.
She dared another quick look at him, this time keeping a firm grip on the wheel. “You don't ride?”
To her surprise, he looked slightly uncomfortable. “Never had a reason to learn, though Kathy tried to get me to, once or twice. She was gung-ho about it in her teens.”
“Well, then,” said Catherine, smoothly making a right turn onto another quiet street, “as soon as I graduate from this course, it will be your turn for some schooling. I will teach you to ride!” Logan looked less than enthusiastic, but didn't argue.
***
That afternoon, Logan pronounced Catherine fit for the open road. He still couldn't believe how quickly she had learned to drive, though she explained to him that she'd had quite a lot of experience with carriages, and that maneuvering in automobile traffic, though at higher speeds, wasn't all that different. “At least the pedestrians stay out of the road here,” she'd said.
Now, though, he'd have to live up to the other half of the bargain and learn to ride a horse—something he wasn't looking forward to. He'd rather spend their remaining time here walking on the beach, gradually breaking down the cultural barriers separating them, though going so slowly was nearly killing him. On second thought, maybe horseback riding lessons were safer.
They found a stable the next day that was willing to rent them two horses by the hour without sending anyone along with them, once Catherine showed that she knew how to handle a horse by saddling and mounting one unassisted. Logan was suitably impressed and knew he made a poor showing by contrast, climbing up the side of his mount as if it were a wall.
“These poor brutes don't have enough spirit to teach you much,” Catherine said to him once they were out of earshot of the stable workers, “but at least you can learn the basics. Let go of the saddle and pick up your reins, so. You're not directing that horse, you know, it's just following mine.”
She was half turned in her saddle, smiling back at him, effortlessly guiding her own beast, Logan saw with appreciation—and a touch of envy. That must be what his driving had looked like to her, he supposed. He picked up the reins.
“Now, we'll just walk a bit before trying a trot,” she said as he pulled up almost even with her. “I rather doubt we'll be able to coax them much beyond that.”
“A trot will be plenty,” he quickly assured her. She laughed, a sound he knew he'd never tire of hearing.
By the time their hour was up, Logan felt almost comfortable on the back of the horse, though he knew he hadn't made a fraction of the progress Catherine had in the same time behind the wheel. If things went as he hoped, he'd make sure she had a horse of her own in the not-too-distant future, since she so obviously loved them. Maybe he'd buy one for himself, too.
***
Catherine hated to leave Hilton Head two days later, when it was time to check out of their wonderful hotel. She couldn't imagine ever being so happy anywhere else. Still, it was probably just as well. Logan—his face, his voice and, yes, scandalous as it was, his body—seemed to be all she could think about. Pe
rhaps away from the magic of the island she would be able to think rationally again, to consider what she should do about the future, hers and Kathryn's.
They reached Charleston a mere two hours after leaving their hotel and Logan drove directly to the restored section of the city, parking the car at a garage on Meeting Street. “Let's walk a little,” he said obscurely, earning a curious look from Catherine.
Once they turned the corner of the parking garage, she understood. It was as though she had been transported back in time again. She had been in Charleston only twice before, on her trips to and from London, but she could swear that this portion of it was just as it had been. In Columbia she had seen two or three restored mansions that she remembered, but here entire blocks had been preserved.
She said little as they walked past the beautiful single and double houses that she had seen before—was it weeks ago, or nearly two hundred years ago?—but she trusted that Logan knew her well enough by now to understand how touched she was that he would bring her here.
“Thank you,” she said when they returned to the car an hour later. “I see now that the past really isn't gone, after all.”
Logan smiled down at her. “I hope this is all you'll want of it, Catherine. I can't stand to think that you might be taken away from me now.”
Catherine's heart skipped a beat. It was almost a declaration. She'd longed to hear it, but he had to know the truth before she could accept it. “I want to stay more than anything,” she said, her heart in her eyes. “But . . . what about Kathryn?”
He frowned. “Kathryn? I'm sure she's doing fine—”
“Logan, there's something I have to tell you,” she interrupted, determined to see it through before she lost her nerve. He cared for her, she knew that now, but how much? “I think there may be a way I can change back with Kathryn.”
“How?” He was eyeing her warily now, suddenly tense.
“One night—” she couldn't bring herself to say which one “—as I was walking past the grandfather clock, I felt a sort of tug. I . . . pulled back. I suspect that if she and I were to both stand by the clock long enough, we might manage to switch again.” She watched his face anxiously, but it told her nothing.
“Do you want to go back?”
Catherine dropped her eyes. “No,” she said in a small voice. “I don't. Is that very selfish of me?”
“If it is,” he said tenderly, “then I am every bit as selfish.”
She looked up hopefully to find a wealth of emotion in his earnest gaze.
“Whatever is going on with Kathy—and I've convinced myself that she's all right—I can't stand the thought of losing you, Catherine. Please promise me that you won't try out your theory. It probably wouldn't work, anyway.”
“But—”
He stopped her with a kiss, touching her cheek with gentle fingertips. It was the first kiss they had shared since that night they'd seen Star Wars. She reveled in it, responding eagerly. They clung together for a few brief seconds before awareness of their surroundings pulled them apart.
“Come on,” said Logan when he released her. “It's time we checked into our hotel.”
He lifted out their overnight bags, and they walked the short distance to the lovely antebellum-style hotel overlooking Meeting Street where he had reserved their rooms. After that kiss, Catherine found herself wishing, again, that they would be sharing a room, but she dared not say so. She felt she could tell Logan almost anything, but not that.
He installed her in her room, which at first glance might have been that of 1800s Charleston, and told her to be ready for dinner in half an hour. While she dressed, the illusion of the past became so strong that Catherine began to fear she had somehow been pulled back to her own time, even without the clock. It was with profound relief that she found the modem bathroom adjoining her room, which proved to her satisfaction that she was still in 2013.
“For a few moments, I felt that I was going to walk outside and find that I was back . . . back then,” she couldn't help saying to Logan as they stepped out into the early dusk settling over the city. “The past seems so close here. Too close.”
Logan put an arm around her shoulders and drew her against his side possessively. “We'll be out of here in the morning. Then I can promise you you'll have no doubts at all about what century you're in.”
She looked up at him curiously, surprised at the fierceness in his tone. She decided to save any questions for later.
They dined at a restaurant in a restored house in the historic district, which would have been more charming for Catherine if Logan had not constantly pointed out small anachronistic details, such as the ice floating in their water glasses, that would not have existed when the house was built. He muttered something about McDonald's as they were leaving, but she was unable to coax him into repeating the remark.
Walking slowly back to their hotel they said little, each delighting in the physical closeness of the other. Their hands met, as if by chance, and clasped. Outside their rooms, they lingered in the hallway, making inane remarks about the buildings they had seen, as both tried to postpone the inevitable parting for the night. Catherine longed to invite Logan into her room, but could think of no pretext for doing so.
“What time do we leave for Washington in the morning?” she asked, stalling.
“Our fl—that is, we need to leave the hotel by eight-thirty,” replied Logan, the twinkle that had been strangely absent during the evening returning to his eyes. “It's time you really experienced the modern world.”
“Logan, what are you planning?” she demanded, more curious than ever.
“You'll find out in the morning. Good night, Catherine.” He bent his head to kiss her in parting, but neither of them were prepared for the shock that went through them as their lips touched. The kiss in the parking garage had been nothing compared to this. Catherine's arms went around his neck of their own volition and he clasped her tightly to him. At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Logan swore softly under his breath and released her.
“Catherine, I . . .” he began shakily. She looked up at him expectantly, ready to do whatever he asked. “Never mind. Good night.” He backed away quickly and disappeared into his room, leaving her trembling and confused.
Her hand shook as she fitted the key into the lock of her room. Why had he left her like that? Why? She was sure he had wanted her as much as she wanted him. Perhaps he was unwilling to commit himself, knowing that she might not stay, she thought, leaning against the inside of her closed door.
I'll have to convince him the bond between us is strong enough to transcend time. He's the one I've waited for—the reason I came here. I know that now.
***
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Is Washington a very large city now?” asked Catherine as she and Logan drove away from their hotel the next morning. “I remember Leslie Allerby telling me that her mother visited it once and thought it a grubby, muddy place not fit to house the President. Of course, Mrs. Allerby was from Philadelphia, so she probably had reason to be biased.”
“Well,” Logan said, laughing, “there are still those who would say it's not fit to house the President, but it's grown enormously since your time. I'm taking you there mainly for its educational value, though. There's a museum there I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy. By the way, how long would you say it took to travel to Washington in your day?” His eyes danced wickedly.
“You love doing this, don't you? I'm not sure, but certainly several days. I never traveled there myself. I suppose it can be done in less than a day now?”
“Well, it's actually a full day's drive from here, but I expect we'll make it in under two hours.” The sideways glance he gave her was full of fun, and she could not resist rising to his obvious bait.
“Do you mean we're not driving? How are we getting there, Logan?” They were on Interstate 26 now, going north at nearly sixty miles an hour, by the speedometer. He was right; even at a mile a minute it would take man
y hours to reach Washington by car.
“Look up ahead,” he said in answer. She looked and saw a large sign that read Charleston International Airport. Logan took the exit indicated and smiled smugly at her. “Didn't I say I had a surprise for you?”
The word airport meant nothing to Catherine, so she remained silent for a few minutes until she saw a huge silver object rise above the buildings they were approaching. “Look! Logan, look!” she cried, pointing. “Is that a rocket ship? Is that what the men rode in to the moon?” She had scarcely believed that portion of the history book, but here was the evidence before her eyes.
Logan tried unsuccessfully to turn a guffaw into a cough, which earned him a reproachful glare. “I'm sorry, Catherine, really I am,” he said contritely. “But no, that's not a rocket. It's an airplane. That's my surprise.”
“An airplane?” The picture of an airplane she'd seen in the history book had looked nothing like that. In fact, it only held one person. “But it is so big! Annette pointed one out to me in the sky once, and it looked quite tiny. Is it like a rocket?”
“Well, a little bit, I guess, but it doesn't go into space, just up in the air. And it can carry a lot more people. You'll see. I'll let you form your own opinion.”
He had no intention of so much as hinting that some people were afraid to fly; he wanted her to enjoy the experience. She certainly didn't look fearful, he thought, studying her face as they got out of the car a moment later. Instead, Catherine was looking around eagerly, apparently hoping to glimpse another airplane.
The airport was not particularly crowded at that hour of the morning, and they were able to check in quickly and proceed directly to the boarding gate. Catherine would not sit down to wait, to Logan's amusement, but stood with her face pressed to the glass of the huge windows, watching the planes land and take off.
