“A what?” His head ached; deception did not come naturally to him. And he knew Ellen hadn’t believed his story about his late wife’s sister arriving suddenly for a visit.
“Land sakes,” muttered Ellen, slamming the fire door after shoving another stick of wood into the stove.
“A boogie-woogie,” Trista clarified, and it was clear from her shining face that she enjoyed just saying the word.
Just then, Elisabeth came somewhat shyly down the back stairs and Jonathan’s sensible heart skittered over two full beats when he saw her. She’d pinned her hair up in back, but it still made soft, taffy-colored curls around her face, and she was wearing a blue-and-white-flowered dress he didn’t remember seeing on Barbara.
She smiled as she advanced toward the kitchen table, where Trista had set a place for her. “Good morning.”
Remembering his manners, Jonathan rose and stood until Elisabeth was seated. “Ellen,” he said, “This is my—sister-in-law, Miss Elisabeth McCartney. Elisabeth, our housekeeper, Ellen Harwood.”
Ellen, a plain girl with a freckled face and frizzy red-brown hair, nodded grudgingly but didn’t return Elisabeth’s soft hello.
Jonathan waited until Ellen had gone upstairs to clean to ask, “What in the devil is a boogie-woogie?”
Elisabeth and Trista looked at each other and laughed. “Just a lively song,” Elisabeth answered.
“A very lively song,” Trista confirmed.
Jonathan sighed, pushed back his plate and pulled his watch from his vest pocket to flip open the case. He should have been gone an hour already, but he’d waited for a glimpse of Elisabeth, needing the swelling warmth that filled his bruised, stubborn heart when he looked at her. He could admit that to himself, if not out loud to her. “If you’re ready, Trista, I’ll drop you off at the schoolhouse on my way into town.”
His daughter cast a sidelong glance at their strange but undeniably lovely guest. “I thought I’d walk this morning, Papa,” Trista answered. “Elisabeth wants to see where I go to school.”
Jonathan narrowed his eyes as he regarded Elisabeth, silently issuing warnings he could not say in front of Trista. “I’m sure she wouldn’t be foolish enough to wander too far afield and get herself lost.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” Elisabeth said wryly, watching him with those blue-green eyes of hers. Their beauty always startled him, caught him off guard.
Jonathan left the table, then, and took his suitcoat from the peg beside the back door. Trista was ready with his medical bag, looking up at him earnestly. “Don’t worry, Papa,” she confided in a stage whisper. “I’ll take very good care of Elisabeth.”
He bent to kiss the top of her head, then tugged lightly at one of her dark pigtails. “I’m sure you will,” he replied. After one more lingering look at Elisabeth, he left the house to begin his rounds.
Elisabeth marveled as she walked along, Trista’s hand in hers. In the twentieth century, this road was a paved highway, following a slightly different course and lined with telephone poles. It was so quiet that she could hear the whisper of the creek on the other side of the birch, cedar and Douglas fir trees that crowded its edges.
A wagon loaded with hay clattered by, drawn by two weary-looking horses, and Elisabeth stared after it. By then, she’d given up the idea that this experience was any kind of hallucination, but she still hadn’t gotten used to the sights and sounds of a century she’d thought was gone forever.
Trista gazed up at her speculatively. “Where did you go when you went away before?”
“Back to my own house,” Elisabeth replied after careful thought.
“Are you going to stay with Papa and me from now on?”
Elisabeth had to avert her eyes, thinking of the fire. She’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to come up with some way to evade fate. For all she knew, it could not be changed.
Again, she took her time answering. “Not forever,” she said softly.
Trista’s strong little fingers tightened around Elisabeth’s. “I don’t want you to go.”
In that moment, Elisabeth realized that she didn’t want to leave…ever. For all its hard realities, she felt that she belonged in this time, with these people. Indeed, it was her other life, back in twentieth-century Washington state, that seemed like a dream now. “Let’s just take things one day at a time, Trista,” she told the child.
They rounded a wide bend in the road and there was the brick schoolhouse—nothing but a ruin in Elisabeth’s day—with glistening windows and a sturdy shake roof. The bell rang in the tower while a slender woman with dark hair and bright blue eyes pulled exuberantly on the rope.
Elisabeth stood stock-still. “It’s wonderful,” she whispered.
Trista laughed. “It’s only a schoolhouse,” she said indulgently. “Do you want to meet my teacher, Miss Bishop?” The child gazed up at Elisabeth, gray eyes dancing, and dropped her voice to a confidential whisper. “She’s sweet on the blacksmith, and Ellen says she probably won’t last out the term!”
Elisabeth smiled and shook her head. “It’s time for class to start, so I’ll meet Miss Bishop later.”
Trista nodded and hurried off to join the other children surging up the steps and through the open doorway of the schoolhouse. A few of them looked back over their shoulders at Elisabeth, freckled faces puzzled.
She stood outside, listening, until the laughter and noise faded away. Being a teacher herself, she relished the familiar sounds.
The weather was bright and sunny, and Elisabeth had no particular desire to go back to Jonathan’s house and face that sullen housekeeper, so she continued on toward town. As she neared the outskirts, the metallic squeal of a steam-powered saw met her ears and her step quickened. Even though she was scared—her situation gave new meaning to the hackneyed term “a fish out of water”—she was driven by a crazy kind of curiosity that wouldn’t allow her to turn back.
Her first glimpse of the town stunned her, even though she’d thought she was prepared. The main street seemed to be composed of equal measures of mud and manure, and the weathered buildings clustered alongside were like something out of a Bonanza rerun. Any minute now, Hoss and Little Joe were sure to come ambling out through the swinging doors of the Silver Lady Saloon….
There were horses and wagons everywhere, and the noisy machinery in the sawmill screeched as logs from the timber-choked countryside were fed through its blades. Elisabeth wandered past a forge worked by a man wearing a heavy black apron. and she sidestepped two lumberjacks who came out of the general store to stand in the middle of the sidewalk, leering.
When she saw Jonathan’s shingle up ahead, jutting out from the wall of a small, unpainted building, she hurried toward it. There was a blackboard on the wall beside the door, with the word In scrawled on it in white chalk. Elisabeth smiled as she opened the door.
A giant man in oiled trousers and a bloody flannel shirt sat on the end of an old-fashioned examining table. Jonathan was winding a clean bandage around the patient’s arm, but he paused, seeing Elisabeth, took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and tucked them into his shirt pocket.
A tender whirlwind spun in her heart and then her stomach.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
Elisabeth was feeling a little queasy, due to the sight and smell of blood. She groped for a chair and sank into the only seat available—the hard wooden one behind Jonathan’s cluttered desk. “No,” she answered. “I was just exploring Pine River.”
The lumberjack smiled at her, revealing gaps between his crooked, tobacco-stained teeth. “This must be the lady you’ve been hidin’ away out at your place, Doc,” he said.
Jonathan gave his patient an annoyed glance and finished tying off the bandage. “I haven’t been hiding anything,” he replied. “And don’t go telling the whole damn town I have, Ivan, or I’ll sew your mouth shut, just like I did your arm.”
Ivan stood and produced a coin from the pocket of his filthy trouser
s, but even as he paid Jonathan, he kept his eyes on Elisabeth. “Good day to you, ma’am,” he said, and then he reluctantly left the office.
Jonathan began cleaning up the mess Ivan and his blood had made. “Coming here was probably not the most intelligent thing you ever did,” he observed presently.
Elisabeth’s attention had strayed to the calendar page on the wall. April 17, 1892. It was incredible. “I was curious,” she said distractedly, thinking of a documentary she’d watched on public television recently. “In a few more months—August, if I remember correctly—a woman in Fall River, Massachusetts, will be accused of murdering her father and stepmother with an ax. Her name is Lizzie Borden. She’ll be acquitted of the crime because of a lack of evidence.”
His gaze held both pity and irritation. “Is that supposed to have some kind of significance—the fact that she has the same first name as you do?”
A chill went through Elisabeth; she hadn’t thought of that. “No. Besides, nobody ever calls me Lizzie.”
“I do,” Jonathan answered flatly, pouring water into a clean basin and beginning to wash his hands.
“I’m glad to see that you’re taking antisepsis seriously,” Elisabeth said, as much to change the subject as anything. She still had that jittery feeling that being around Jonathan invariably gave her. “Most disease is caused by germs, you know.”
Jonathan leaned forward slightly and rounded his eyes. “No,” he said, pretending to be surprised.
“I guess maybe you’ve figured that out already,” Elisabeth conceded, folding her hands in her lap.
“Thank you for that,” he answered, drying his hands on a thin, white towel and laying it aside.
Just then, the door opened and a tall man wearing a cowboy hat and a battered, lightweight woolen coat strode in. He needed a shave, and carried a rifle in his right hand, holding it with such ease that it seemed a part of him. When he glanced curiously at Elisabeth, she saw that his eyes were a piercing turquoise blue. Pinned to his coat was a shiny nickel-plated badge in the shape of a star.
Wow, Elisabeth thought. A real, live lawman.
“’Morning, Farley,” Jonathan said. “That boil still bothering you?”
Farley actually flushed underneath that macho five-o’clock shadow of his. “Now, Jon,” he complained in his low drawl, “there was no need to mention that in front of the lady. It’s personal-like.”
Elisabeth averted her face for a moment so the marshal wouldn’t see that she was smiling.
“Sorry,” Jonathan said, but Elisabeth heard the amusement in his voice even if Farley didn’t. He gave her a pointed look. “The lady is just leaving. Let’s get on with it.”
Elisabeth nodded and bolted out of her chair. They wouldn’t have to tell her twice—the last thing she wanted to do was watch Jonathan lance a boil on some private part of the marshal’s body. “Goodbye,” she said from the doorway. “And it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Farley.”
“Just Farley,” rumbled the marshal.
“Whatever,” Elisabeth answered, ducking out and closing the door. There was something summarial in the way Jonathan pulled the shades on both windows.
Since her senses were strained from all the new things she was trying to take in, Elisabeth was getting tired. She walked back through town, nodding politely to the women who stared at her from the wooden sidewalks and pointed, and she hoped she hadn’t ruined Jonathan’s practice by marching so boldly into town and walking right into his office.
Reaching Jonathan’s house, she found Ellen in the backyard. She’d hung a rug over the clothesline and was beating it with a broom.
Elisabeth smiled in a friendly way. “Hello,” she called.
“If you want anything to eat,” the housekeeper retorted, “you’ll just have to fix it yourself!”
With a shrug, Elisabeth went inside and helped herself to a piece of bread, spreading it liberally with butter and strawberry jam. Then she found a blanket, helped herself to a book from Jonathan’s collection in the parlor and set out for her favorite spot beside the creek.
She supposed Janet was probably getting worried, if she’d tried to call, and the Buzbee sisters would be concerned, too, if they went more than a few days without seeing her. She spread the blanket on the ground and sat down, tucking her skirts carefully around her.
A sigh escaped Elisabeth as she watched the sunlight making moving patterns on the waters of the creek. She was going to have to go back soon, back where she belonged. Her throat went tight. Before she could do that, she had to find some way to convince Jonathan that he and Trista were in very real danger.
The book forgotten at her side, Elisabeth curled up on the blanket and watched the water flow by, shimmering like a million liquid diamonds in the bright sunshine. And her sleepless night caught up with her.
When she awakened, it was to the sound of children’s laughter echoing through the trees. Elisabeth rose, automatically smoothing her hair and skirts, and left the blanket and book behind to follow the path of the stream, walking beneath the covered bridge.
Presently, she could see the schoolhouse across the narrow ribbon of water. The children were all outside at recess. While the boys had divided up into teams for baseball, the girls pushed each other in the rustic swings and played hopscotch. She spotted Trista and wondered if the plain little girl at her side was Vera, who would eventually give birth to Cecily and Roberta Buzbee.
Deciding that her presence would just raise a lot of awkward questions for Trista, Elisabeth slipped away and, after fetching the blanket and Jonathan’s book, went back to the house.
By this time, there was a nice stew simmering on the stove and fresh bread cooling on the counter under a spotless dishtowel. Ellen had apparently left for the day.
Relieved, Elisabeth opened the icebox and peered inside. There was a bowl of canned pears left over from breakfast, so she dished up a serving and went out onto the back step to eat them. She was enjoying the glorious spring afternoon when Jonathan pulled up alongside the barn, driving his horse and buggy. He sprang nimbly down from the seat and walked toward her, his medical bag in one hand.
Elisabeth felt a sweet tightening in the most feminine part of her as he approached. “Must have been an easy day,” she said when he sat down beside her.
He chuckled ruefully. “‘Easy’ isn’t the word I would use to describe it,” he said. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Elisabeth.”
Elisabeth drew a deep breath, and suddenly her heart and her spirit and all of her body were full of springtime. She lifted one eyebrow and forced herself to speak in a normal tone. “I suppose you were wondering if I was chasing poor Ellen all over the farm with an ax.”
Jonathan laughed and shook his head. “No, I’ve considered doing that myself.” His expression turned solemn in the next moment, however, and his sure, callused hand closed over one of Elisabeth’s. “Who are you?” he rasped out. “And what spell have you cast over me?”
Never before had Elisabeth guessed that tenderness toward another person could run so deep as to be painful. “I’m just a woman,” she said softly. “And I wouldn’t have the first idea how to cast a spell.”
He stood slowly, drawing Elisabeth with him, discounting her words with a shake of his head. She knew where he meant to take her, but she couldn’t protest because it seemed to her that she’d been moving toward this moment all of her life. Maybe even for all of eternity.
She closed her eyes as he held her hand to his mouth and placed featherlight kisses on her knuckles.
Once they were inside the house, he lifted her easily into his arms and started up the back stairs. Elisabeth buried her face in his muscular neck, loving the smell and the strength and the substance of him. She looked up when she heard the creak of a door and found herself in a version of her room back in the world she knew.
The bed, made of aged, intricately carved oak, stood between the windows facing the fireplace. The walls were unpapered, painted a plain whi
te, and Elisabeth didn’t recognize any of the furniture.
Jonathan set her on her feet and just as she would have found the wit to argue that what they were about to do was wrong, he kissed her. So great was his skill and his innate magnetism that Elisabeth forgot her objections and lost herself in his mastery.
He unpinned her hair, combing it through with his fingers, and then very slowly began unbuttoning the front of her dress. Uncovering the lacy bra beneath, he frowned, and Elisabeth reached up to unfasten the front catch, revealing her full breasts to him.
Jonathan drew in his breath, then lifted one hand to caress her lightly. The pad of his thumb moved over her nipple, turning it button hard and wrenching a little cry of pleasure and surrender from Elisabeth.
She tilted her head back in glorious submission as he bent his head to her breast, pushing the dress down over her hips as he suckled. Elisabeth entwined her fingers in his thick, dark hair, her breathing shallow and quick.
When both her nipples were wet from his tongue, Jonathan laid her gently on the bed, taking no notice of her sneakers as he pulled them off and tossed them away. She crooned and arched her back as he slipped her panties down over her legs and threw them aside, too. He caressed her until she was damp, her body twisting with readiness.
His clothes seemed to disappear as easily as hers had, and soon he was stretched out on the mattress beside her. The April breeze ruffled the curtains at the windows and passed over their nakedness, stirring their passion to even greater heights rather than cooling it.
Elisabeth moaned as Jonathan claimed her mouth in another consuming kiss, his tongue sparring with hers. Her fingers dug into the moist flesh on his back as he moved his lips down over her breasts and her belly. Then he gripped her ankles and pressed her heels to the firm flesh of her bottom. Boldly, he burrowed through the silken barrier and tasted her.
Elisabeth’s head moved from side to side on the pillow. “Oh, Jonathan—please—it’s too much—”
Linda Lael Miller Bundle Page 28
