He grinned and leaned back in his chair.
Okay, maybe he’s a little too relaxed.
“Maybe we could—” Her phone buzzed. It was a text from her father.
Is Samuel there yet?
She wrote back. Who is Samuel?
I sent him to bring your birthday present.
Danielle looked up at the man sitting across from her. Her hopes for exclusivity crumbled.
Is it a computer? She texted.
Silence.
“Are you Samuel?” she asked, looking up at the man sitting across from her.
He nodded.
Where are you? She texted.
Stuck at the airport in Dallas. Thunderstorms.
“When was he going to tell me that?” She asked, rolling her eyes.
“I’m not sure,” Samuel said.
Danielle scowled at her phone. Who is Samuel? She typed.
My newest pilot.
Why is he here? In the process of moving. I took advantage of him being in Houston.
Danielle blew her bangs out of her eyes and ran a hand through her blonde hair.
She glared at Samuel who wasn’t smiling anymore. “You’re a pilot,” she said, unable to keep the accusation out of her voice.
“Right now I wish I wasn’t,” he said, straightening in his chair, one hand on the chair arm. “I can go,” he said.
Don’t go. “Wait,” she said.
He sat back, watching her expectantly.
“You work for my father,” she said.
“I started last week. But so far I’ve only flown once. Today he sent me to pick up your birthday present.”
She smiled. “That’s my father.” She glanced at the box in her floor. “Who wrapped it?” “I did,” he said.
“That seems like a lot to ask.” “Oh,” Samuel said. “He didn’t ask me to wrap it. He just asked me to pick it up from the Apple store and drop it off here. He said he didn’t have time to pick it up before he met you for lunch.”
She melted a little at the thought of this man – this handsome stranger – picking up wrapping paper for her gift.
“He’s not coming,” she said.
“It’s storming in Dallas,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said, checking her phone. No messages. She shoved it aside.
“Do you have alternate plans for your birthday lunch?” he asked.
She sighed. “I’ll just order something and have it delivered. I might use the time to set up this computer.”
“I can take you to lunch.”
Her eyes widened. The old Danielle Worthington would have jumped at the opportunity to have lunch with a pilot who looked like a model.
No. The new Danielle was under a dating moratorium. Maybe I should go to AA. Hi, I’m Danielle. I haven’t had a date in five weeks, four days, and ten hours.
Lunch technically wasn’t a date.
I’m Danielle. Please help me.
He was waiting for an answer.
“I’m—” I’m normally not this daft. “I can’t,” she said.
He was frowning again. “But… it’s your birthday. Surely you want company.”
“I do, but—” You’re too tempting.
The wave of nausea came out of the blue. It lodged in the back of her throat and she knew without a doubt that she was going to be sick. She held up a hand. “I’m going to be sick,” she said. I should not have skipped breakfast.
She slipped out of her chair onto her knees and, turning her head just in time, threw up in the wastebasket.
As she hunched over the wastebasket, gagging, she felt Samuel pull her hair back and hold it. He handed her a Kleenex and she wiped her mouth.
It was one of the most mortifying things she’d ever had happen. So much for impressing the handsome pilot – that she would not, absolutely would not go out with.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m better now.”
He put a hand under her elbow to help her up. After she was safely back in her chair, he placed a hand on her forehead. “No fever,” he said.
“You’re a doctor now?” She asked.
“No, but when I was five-years-old, my mother decided to give me three little sisters.”
“Wow. I don’t envy either one of you.”
“You don’t like children?” He asked, pulling the plastic bag from her trash can and tying it up.
“They’re okay. Just not for me.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said, leaving the room and taking the garbage can with him.
Danielle leaned back and closed her eyes – just for a moment. Then she pulled a mirror out of her handbag and quickly checked her appearance.
This was not good. First of all, she was rarely sick. But that wave of nausea had been overwhelming. This was October. Was there a bug going around? She’d felt okay… Then she remembered the nausea this morning while they were shooting. She was definitely coming down with something.
And second, it was not cool to throw up in front of hot model pilot. Even if she wasn’t dating right now – and she wasn’t, she could not be throwing up in front of him and having him hold her hair.
She groaned. And sighed. He’d held her hair.
And checked her for fever.
It was good thing she wasn’t open for dating.
Samuel came back into the room and placed a package of Saltine crackers on the desk in front of her.
“What?” She asked.
“They’re good for nausea,” he said. When she just looked at him, he reached over, opened the package and held it up for her.
She pulled a cracker from the sleeve. “Where did you get these?” She asked.
He shrugged. “My truck.” He set the crackers back on her desk.
Danielle nibbled the end off the cracker. “You keep crackers in your truck?”
“My mom has me keep some with me in case I forget to eat.”
Danielle finished the cracker and reached for another one. She swallowed a bubble of laughter. He was a mama’s boy. It was cute.
“Your mother is pretty smart,” Danielle said. “I feel better.”
“Good,” he said. “Let’s go get something to eat, then we can get this computer set up.”
“But…”
He shook his head. “There’s no way I’m leaving you now. You don’t get to throw up on your birthday, then eat by yourself.”
He must think she was pathetic.
“I had plans,” she said.
“Yes, I know. Your dad. But he can’t be here right now.” Samuel stood up, came around the desk, and held out his hand. “And since I work for him, I’m your alternate lunch escort.”
Danielle picked up her handbag and put her hand in his. It’s not a date. It’s an alternate lunch escort. He was right. She did need to eat. And it was kind of pathetic be eating alone on her birthday.
She wasn’t going to tell him that her plan for tonight was to have pizza delivered to her apartment. Alone.
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Love’s Second Chance Series
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Twist of Fate Excerpt
Twist of Fate
Once Upon a Time Series
Book 1
Prologue
Twist of Fate
Along the banks of the Mississippi
1714
“If you’re going to kill me, do it now.”
Lightning flashed and thunder shook the earth. Vaughn Dupre squinted through the blinding riv
ulets of rain washing over her and cowered among prickly brambles beneath the branches of a hickory tree.
An ancient white-bearded Indian dropped to his knees in front of her and stared into her eyes. His breath brushed her skin.
Vaughn clenched the valise holding her carefully folded wedding dress. She had been on her way to Fort Rosalie to meet the stranger she was to marry when the Indians attacked.
She had watched in horror as the Indians killed those in her traveling party, one by one. Only her best friend and companion had survived nearly as long as she had. Now she could see Mary’s brutalized body several yards away.
“Please,” she pleaded, “do it quickly.”
The old man shook his head and spoke slowly - deliberately. “There is only one way you can possibly survive. You must travel.”
He placed a roughened finger beneath her chin and waited a heartbeat for her eyes to focus on his. “You must travel,” he repeated, “through time. I must send you to a different time.”
Vaughn took a deep breath, fear searing her throat. He spoke in French, but she understood him. He was trying to help her. Though he was dressed like the other Indians, his skin tone was lighter and his kindly features were more like those of the French familiar to her.
“I can run,” Vaughn whispered, her throat closing as she spoke.
“It would do no good. The Natchee will seek you out and slice your throat as they did the others.”
An image of her childhood home in the countryside of France flashed through her mind. It was followed by a memory of the orphanage where she had spent the last ten years of her life. She had nothing to leave behind and no one to miss her. The man awaiting her would find another wife easily enough. There were plenty of desperate girls on their way who could take her place. She could only pray to God that they would fare better than she and Mary had.
Though it was incomprehensible that she could be sent to another time by this man, or anyone else, the alternatives were bleak, at best.
She knew only one thing - she did not want to die.
“I beg you… do whatever you can to help me.”
Now that he had her permission, the old man hesitated. “There is no guarantee. I know not where you will go or for how long. You may not even live through it.”
Looking back at the carnage of her friend and former traveling companions, she grasped his sleeve, ready now, to take the risk. “If you don’t try, I am certain to die.”
“I have seen strange things since I’ve lived with the Natchee.” He spoke slowly, as though his native language suddenly fell unfamiliar on his tongue. “Very well. I can help you, but I must warn you.
“Once the rip in time is made, it may take centuries for it to heal itself. Not only you, but those of your blood may pass through it. It will happen without warning. I warn you to be prepared.”
Her ragged breath scratched her throat. “How will I know?”
“You won’t.”
Suddenly the French Indian lifted his arms and stretched toward the Heavens. He chanted words she couldn’t understand and didn’t want to. The wind whipped around them in a fury. He held his arms high and yelled to the sky.
Vaughn looked around her. The Indians would find them now. There was no doubt. The old man’s incantation had to work.
The fierce wind sent debris flying. The clouds darkened. Thunder crashed over their heads. His focus was unaffected by the rain or the wind as his deer-hide robe was assailed by the fury of the wind.
Vaughn squeezed her eyes closed.
I am going to die.
She should never have come to this new world. Should never have listened to the call of adventure in her blood. Only by a twist of fate would that very blood not be spilled upon the ground of this wild, untamed territory.
Her ears rang, blocking out the commotion. Then she felt something that felt like the warmth of the sun on her skin. She opened her eyes. There was no sign of rain or wind or brambles… or the strange Indian.
Her clothes were soaked and her hair sodden. She still gripped her valise with the wedding dress in her hands. She stood up slowly and turned around.
She gasped. A young gentleman on a large black horse towered over her.
She blinked, clearing raindrops from her eyelashes. He was smiling.
“You seem to have had some sort of mishap. My name is Nathaniel Becquerel. Perhaps I can be of assistance,” he said, stretching his hand out to her.
Chapter 1
Twist of Fate
Something was wrong. The minute she walked through the door, Erika Becquerel sensed it. Chandelier lights reflecting off the polished mahogany floor blended with the musty odor of the house to bring back a deluge of jumbled, but familiar memories.
But the silence struck her like a cruel blow.
The grandfather clock stood with a blank expression.
Silent.
“Jonathan?” she called out, but a rumble of thunder drowned out her voice. As the noise faded, she set down her bag and dripping umbrella and called out for her grandfather again – louder this time. “Grandpa?”
No response.
Frowning, she stood in front of the nearly black rosewood clock and looked up into the faded dial. Its case was decorated with ornate columns. The clock’s face wore a battle scar from the Civil War in the form of a jagged rip between the Roman numerals six and seven.
The first thing Jonathan did each morning was wind the two-hundred-year old family heirloom. It was one of his prized possessions. His ancestors had brought it with them when they left France to settle in the colonies.
Something was wrong.
A sense of panic gripped her. Jonathan could lie here for days before anyone discovered him. He could die and no one would know.
She started toward the kitchen, but a sound on the stairs caught her attention. Relief washed over her. Jonathan was alright. She, however, was the victim of an overactive imagination.
She turned with a smile, but the smile quickly faded.
Stepping briskly into the foyer, a woman in a loose, flowered kimono glared at her through a pair of narrow glasses.
“Who are you?” Erika asked.
“That’s a good question. Who are you?” the woman echoed, folding her arms across her ample chest.
“Where is Jonathan?”
“I will not discuss Mr. Becquerel until I know who you are.”
Erika took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Her leather ankle boots resounded as she walked across the hardwood floor toward the woman and stopped inches in front of her.
“Where is he?” she demanded, looking down into the woman’s cold dark eyes.
The woman retreated back a step, her gaze darting toward the stairs. Erika immediately closed the gap between them. Her hands clenched at her sides as the tension and fear for her grandfather returned, stronger than before.
“I want to know who you are and where my grandfather is.”
Jerking her head up, realization spread over the woman’s face and her skin blanched to a deathly pallor. For a moment Erika thought she glimpsed fear in her eyes. Then she blinked and the harshness was back. “I’m Mable,” she said, “Jonathan is upstairs in his bedroom. I’ll bring your luggage in, Erika.”
Erika didn’t respond. The woman’s sudden change worried her. Yet even more disconcerting was the fact that this stranger knew her name. She’d never known Jonathan to hire help.
Erika sprinted up the stairs, turned left, and stopped in front of her grandfather’s bedroom. A weak cough answered her knock.
Pushing the door open gently, she stuck her head around the corner. Darting past her feet, Smokey, her grandfather’s large gray cat, pounced onto the bed and went to stand on the pillow behind Jonathan’s head.
Jonathan Becquerel lowered the handkerchief from his nose. He blinked and a smile spread across his wrinkled face, lifting for a brief instant the veil of sadness in his silver-gray eyes. Almost immediately, it settled back into place. As
she hurried to his side, he struggled to push himself up on the pillows. “Ah, Erika,” he said, “you do look so much like my Vaughn. For just a moment, I thought….” He shook his head.
His words sent a stab of pain through her heart. Vaughn. Her grandmother - her friend.
“Are you sick?” she asked, kneeling on the floor beside the bed, pushing threatening thoughts of her grandmother back into the shadowed depths of her mind.
In the six months since his wife’s death, Jonathan had seemed to grow old quickly. Instead of months, he seemed to have aged years. The sparse hair on his balding head was silver and his eyes were lackluster. Even his skin had taken on an ashen shade.
“No. No. Just a bit under the weather,” he said with a smile that seemed more like a lopsided frown.
“Who is that woman downstairs?”
“Mable?”
She nodded.
“She’s the one your mother hired to take care of me,” he said, studying her curiously.
“Really?” Erika replied, forcing a calmness into her voice she didn’t feel. She placed her wrist against his forehead. His skin was cool. “What do you mean she’s taking care of you? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t seem to shake this darned flu. It’s probably just old age settling in.” He paused to squint into her eyes, as though to read her thoughts.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” he added suddenly. “You haven’t been to see me since the… since Vaughn…”
“I know. But I’m here, now. I’ll take care of you.” She stood up and leaned over to place her arms around his thin, feeble shoulders. Swallowed the lump in her throat. He’d grown so frail since she’d seen him last at the funeral service. I should have come sooner.
He patted her back and reached for his handkerchief. “The doctor is coming on Monday. I’ll be ok until then. And Mable is here. Your mother and you and Brad all have lives of your own. I don’t want to be in your way.” There was no self-pity in his voice. She knew he was just stating the facts as he saw them.
At Vaughn’s memorial service, he had been in good physical condition for a man of seventy-three. The deep sadness in his eyes had been there, though. It had become a part of him.
“Maybe you could stay until Monday though,” he said, his face brightening with the idea.
Love Again: Love's Second Chance Series Page 18
