Out of Time (Lovers in Time Series, Book 1): Time Travel Romance

by Marilyn Campbell

"Out!"

  "You're making a big mistake," he said as he backed toward the door. "This guy's not in your class. He wouldn't even shake my hand."

  "That just proves he's not a phony like you."

  "But a longshoreman, Kell? And since when did you start picking up hitchhikers? You could be in mortal danger alone out here with somebody like him."

  She glanced at Jack but he kept his narrow-eyed gaze pinned on Will. "That reminds me," she said, giving Will a glare of her own. "I assume you badgered my mother until she told you I was picking up mail in Charming but how did you find this cabin?"

  His mouth curved in a cocky grin. "It was rather ingenious actually. For some reason, the people in town are being overly protective of your privacy but I found a kid who'd seen the pretty redhead and heard his mother talking about where the famous author was staying. For five dollars, he gave me very good directions. Shows you what dumb hicks these people are. He could have held out for twenty."

  Kelly gritted her teeth. It was so typical of Will to be proud of having taken advantage of someone's naiveté. "In case I haven't made myself absolutely clear, I want you to listen very carefully to my next words. I am extremely happy, in fact, I'm ecstatic, that you are no longer my husband. I would volunteer as a crash dummy before I would consider getting back together with you. Do I need to continue?"

  Will spun on his heel and strode out. To make sure he didn't do anything childish like key her car, Kelly watched him from the doorway until he drove away.

  "A longshoreman?" she asked incredulously as she turned back to Jack. "What in heaven's name made you say that?"

  He chuckled. "I was trying to make him believe I was too mean to tangle with and that was the first job that came to mind. Not that I couldn't take him in a normal situation; I just didn't want him to find out about my electrical charge."

  "Oh, of course," she replied, not quite suppressing a laugh. "That would explain the no handshake comment. But you didn't need to worry about tangling with Will. He's never been much of a straightforward fighter. Guerilla warfare is more his style. Actually, he would have been much more intimidated if you'd said you were a brain surgeon or some other highly paid professional. Still, you being a longshoreman isn't nearly as bad as you being a hitchhiker that I picked up."

  Jack made a face. "I am sorry about that. I knew how bad it sounded as soon as it was out of my mouth but I'd sort of boxed myself in with my employment. He wanted to know how we met and I didn't think you'd been hanging around any loading docks recently. It was just a good thing that your explanation didn't contradict mine. How did you figure that I'd implied we were, uh, sleeping together?"

  Those two simple words caused a quivery sensation in her lower abdomen. She had been so focused on Will she hadn't noticed that Jack was bare-chested... again. The smears of calamine lotion barely slowed down her libido. The way his new jeans hung low on his lean hips drew her attention from the sprinkle of dark hair on his chest to his exposed navel and the small line of hair that—Dragging her gaze away from where that line headed, she said lightly, "I used my psychic powers."

  She went to the refrigerator for a soda and, when she looked back at him, her thoughts were under control again but he was eyeing her warily. "I'm kidding. I just have a well-developed sense of intuition when it comes to men."

  "He told me you were getting remarried."

  Her eyes rolled heavenward. "Oh gawd, you didn't believe him did you?" His momentary hesitation disappointed her. "Geez, Jack, after everything I told you—"

  "You said it yourself. He's very good at lying and I... well, it was only a momentary doubt. Then I used my instincts to hear what he wasn't saying and decided he was a horse's ass who needed to be brought down a peg or two."

  "So you implied that I picked you up off the street and we've barely been out of bed since." The look she gave him was part reprimanding, part appreciative.

  "I'm sorry if I caused more problems for you."

  He looked so adorably penitent, she wished she could tell him how sorry she was that they couldn't make his fib a reality. "Don't be sorry," she said as she sat down across the table from him. "I should thank you for providing me with a reason that he'd understand. You know, that was the very first time I told him exactly what I was thinking. It felt good. If he bothers me again, I might even throw in some foul language."

  Jack studied her face for a moment. "Now I understand. Last night, when you were talking about him, I thought you sounded awfully bitter for someone who'd been freed from a bad marriage. It occurred to me that you weren't really happy about being divorced."

  "If I sounded bitter, it was only because I resent all the lost years."

  His expression remained thoughtful. "I gather you never got mad and yelled at him, let alone gave him something he really deserved, like a punch in the nose. It's all been festering inside you. I'm surprised you could write like that."

  She gave a dry laugh. "I haven't written a single page worth reading in months."

  "Then it's definitely time you told him off. Of course, the next step's even harder."

  "What's that?"

  "Forgiving him and yourself and getting on with your life."

  "Did you say you were a reporter or a psychologist?"

  He grinned. "I once did an in-depth piece on recovering from divorce; interviewed several doctors, therapists and veteran bartenders. That research provided me with a whole new subject on which I could be conversant at cocktail parties."

  "So, tell me, did you 'forgive and get on' with regard to Ginger O'Neill?"

  He thought about that for a moment. "The circumstances aren't comparable. I was so angry about being framed for her murder that being lied to and dumped wasn't all that important, especially since she ended up dead because of our involvement."

  Jack walked to the refrigerator, took out a soda for himself and carried it back to the table. "New topic please. I used the last of the baking soda and calamine."

  "I bought more. It's out in the car, with the clean laundry. I was in such a hurry—I'm sorry. I didn't even ask. How do you feel?" She walked behind him to look at his back. "Oh, this isn't bad at all. You're lucky."

  "I itch but it definitely eased up since last night. Your computer's encyclopedia kept my mind occupied so well, I barely thought about it. Then your dear ex showed up and made my skin crawl again."

  "I can empathize with that," she said as they both sat down at the table. "I'm glad you enjoyed your research. I'm curious. What's the most fascinating thing you've discovered so far?"

  His smirk suggested that it should have been obvious to her. "Without a doubt, a negro in the White House! What an enormous step from my time. When I looked up the presidents and saw that Ronald Reagan—an actor who had been upstaged by a chimp—had been elected as the leader of the greatest country in the world, I thought that was a sign that things had gone completely to hell in a handbasket. What were people thinking?"

  She shrugged. "Television changed things. For a person to be elected he has to be appealing to the public's eyes and ears."

  "Like with Kennedy."

  "And our current President."

  "Yeah, I guess I was too shocked to notice that. I mean, I had hoped the whole civil rights movement would be successful but I sure didn't see something like that coming so soon. It broke my heart to learn about the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy but if it helped wake people up to the problem..." He sighed and shook his head. "You know, I remember when Lester Maddox closed his restaurant rather than obey the court order to serve negroes. It wasn't surprising that there were enough Georgians who considered him a hero that he wound up in the governor's office."

  "Now, don't be so hard on them. If you read a little further, you'd have found out that only six years later a black man was elected mayor of Atlanta. And by the way, we don't use the word 'negro' any more. Black or African-American is PC."

  "PC?"

  "Short for politically corre
ct. We're very big into acronyms now."

  "Makes sense, I guess. I saw the words 'high speed' a few times." He chuckled. "For me, those words either have to do with cars or drugs, not communication."

  She smiled at his ability to find humor in all sorts of things. "What else?"

  "After civil rights, I'd have to say the biggest changes seem to be about technology. I didn't really understand most of it. The last articles I wrote were hammered out on a typewriter that used finger power and I used carbon paper to make a copy."

  She laughed lightly. "Don't worry, I have a feeling you'll catch up fast once we get into Atlanta."

  Rather than respond, he continued with his review. "I am disappointed in the space program, though. By now, I had expected America to have a colony on the moon. But there were a lot worse things than that."

  "Such as?"

  "I only picked up the highlights of all the wars and conflicts and the rise of terrorism. No one from my time would ever believe some little shithole of a country could attack us here. I'm anxious to do more research on that. Oh and the environmental problems! That is truly frightening. I definitely want to read more about that."

  "When we get to my house, you'll be able to use the internet and find out whatever you want in an instant. And from all sides too. I'll be very interested in hearing your thoughts."

  "Are you a student of politics?" he asked with a slightly surprised look.

  "No, I study people and your opinions help me understand you better."

  He angled his head at her. "Why do you want to understand me better?"

  "Didn't I tell you?" She smiled slyly. "You're the hero of my next book."

  "Hmmph. I think Ginger would disagree with your referring to me as a hero. Instead of rescuing her, I probably got her killed."

  Kelly pursed her lips. "And therein lies another reason to set things right."

  He acknowledged that he'd walked into that one. "Anyway, how did I end up becoming a fictional hero?"

  "Actually, the more correct term in a suspense would be male protagonist. Female leads in today's stories don't require rescuing like they used to. Sometimes they even get to rescue the men. As to your question though, I've definitely decided to go forward with your story... with certain embellishments, of course. After all, no real man could compare with the traditional hero of a romance novel."

  His chin lifted indignantly. "I'll have you know, I can be very romantic."

  "I'm sure you can," she said smiling. "But a hero is more than a man who brings women flowers or knows the right words to say in the moonlight."

  He leaned forward and propped his chin on his fist. "I'm all ears. Go on."

  After a multitude of interviews, she was more than prepared to expound on this subject. "A hero anticipates his lady's needs and finds little ways to make her hectic life easier without her having to ask for help. He also understands that there are times when she'll appreciate his cooking or doing a household chore more than an hour of lovemaking, no matter how skilled he is. And speaking of skills, today's hero always makes sure his partner is completely satisfied, maybe even more than once, before he sees to his own pleasure."

  Jack held up hands as though surrendering. "Okay, okay. I get the point. And I still think I'm a pretty romantic fellow. But what about the heroine, aren't there some things she's expected to do to make his life happier also?"

  She shrugged. "Most men are perfectly happy if their mate just enjoys having sex with them... often. Add a little kink and he'll think she's a goddess. But it's also a plus if she doesn't nag him constantly over little things or object if he watches sports for hours on television or plays tennis every Sunday morning with his buds."

  "It sounds like the heroines have it a lot easier than the heroes," he said with a frown.

  "Hey, that's only in the fictional world. Things are tougher than ever for women in the real world. You'll have to look up the women's liberation movement also. Women fought for equal rights also but the proposed amendment granting those rights has yet to be approved all these decades later. With few exceptions, women are still expected to do all the old housewife and mother things, even if she has a demanding career. That kind of goes back to the impossibility of legislating opinions. Despite all that, I'm confident we'll see a woman President one of these days." She stopped herself and exhaled heavily. "Anyway, don't worry, your fictional counterpart will have a great time no matter how much effort he has to put into winning his lady's love."

  "I'll hold you to that promise. So, do I get to choose what the lady is like?"

  She reached for the pad and pen. "Sure. How would you describe her?"

  He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. "Strawberry-blonde hair, the longer the better, brownish-greenish eyes that sparkle when her imagination is in overdrive and she definitely has to have some meat on her bones. No Twiggy figures for me."

  She clucked her tongue at him. "Are you being a smartass or is this your way of proving how romantic you can be?"

  Placing his palm over his heart, he swore, "I'm being perfectly serious. If I'm the hero, you should be the heroine."

  "The heroine could be an author and there's always a little of me in all my characters but she can look any way you'd like. Describe your fantasy woman."

  He leaned forward again and held her gaze with his. "I just did."

  She felt her heart take an extra beat and lowered her lashes. Again she had the strong feeling that the way he was looking at her was familiar but it also filled her with sadness, which didn't make any sense. "Please don't tease, Jack. I'm not very good at flirting." His hand moved toward hers then cautiously hovered a few inches away. The fine hairs on her arm lifted in response to his electricity, giving her a slight shiver.

  "I wasn't teasing. I think you're incredibly beautiful and so would any other man with half a brain."

  She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "I see. We're back to playing amateur psychologist. You figure because my husband didn't want me while we were married, I'm suffering from low self-esteem. Well, you're wrong on this one, pseudo-doc. I know very well that a lot of men look at me and their libidos kick into high gear but that doesn't make me feel proud. I don't work at my appearance." She suddenly realized how defensive she sounded and figured he was analyzing that too. "Let's change the subject, okay?"

  "Will you write the heroine to look like you?"

  She shook her head. "It's a bad idea."

  "You said I could choose. Why would it be bad if she looked like you?"

  She searched for an innocuous explanation but decided honesty would be more efficient with him. "Transference. Our situation is peculiar enough without the possibility of getting the fictional characters mixed up with the real people.

  "I don't understand," he said, furrowing his brow. "Give me a for instance."

  She was thinking of the romantic involvement, specifically the love scenes, but since she was trying to get out of the hot water, not deeper into it, she hedged. "The... emotional issues could... create complications."

  His expression softened and his gaze drifted to her mouth. "And we certainly can't afford to get... complicated, can we?" He slowly moved his hand up toward her shoulder, causing the shivery sensation to follow.

  She held her breath as he moved the palm of his hand over her chest and held it in the space near her heart. Although there was no spark, she felt her heart respond to his power. The expression of awe on his face suggested he was aware of it too. Using his index finger, he traced the outline of her mouth in the air between them.

  Somehow it was even more seductive than if he was actually touching her. He leaned closer and she could almost feel his lips caressing hers, punctuating the fact that the complications had already begun despite their handicap.

  He looked as though he had something important to tell her but then his eyes filled with regret and he withdrew his hand. After a moment he shook his head and returned to the discussion of what he'd le
arned that afternoon. "Anyway, I have a lot more reading to do before feeling caught up with the times."

  "Did you get into the medical area?"

  "Not yet. Anything special I should look for?"

  She had to think for a moment. "Organ transplants, genetic and stem cell research would give you a good start. Oh, and AIDS too."

  He scribbled down her first two suggestions. "What was the last thing?"

  "A-I-D-S, acquired immune deficiency syndrome. By the time you're finished catching up on the last five decades, you may be desperate to find a way to get back to the sixties."

  He grinned. "I thought you said you weren't going to bring that up again."

  She shrugged. "I can't help it if I have a very strong feeling about you needing to go back. Like you have a mission to accomplish. And somehow it's my job to make you see that."

  "A mission?" he asked with one raised eyebrow. "Okay. Then tell me this. How do I go back?"

  "I don't know."

  "If I travel back, how do I set things right?"

  "I don't know that either. But I believe you'll figure it out when the time comes."

  He huffed. "I looked up time-travel today."

  Kelly's eyes widened. "Really? What did you learn?"

  "Apparently, from a purely scientific standpoint, it's possible. But there are a lot of different theories about what would happen if someone actually did it."

  "Did one feel right to you?"

  "I read one that supports my argument about not going back." He grinned. "It said that if something is fated to happen, it will, although minor details may change. For example, going back and killing Hitler would make no difference in what happened during World War II. Someone else would do what he did. What is written in stone cannot be altered."

  "Hmmm. All right. But if Ginger's death and your execution were written in stone, why were you transported to a cabin where an author was researching your case and determined to help you correct a terrible injustice? Wouldn't you have just died in the chair and be buried? Nope, I don't buy that one. At least not in this case. I'm leaning toward the new timeline theory. If you go back to a time before Ginger was murdered, you instantly create a new timeline where you can do things differently because you have advanced knowledge."