"Sure? Thanks." He wolfed down the last of his own and started on hers. "You've got to admit it's easier to believe you just went bonkers than it is to accept your story."
"Yeah, I know. There are times when I actually catch myself wondering if Tony's right, if the time I spent back then was only a dream." She put a palm on her belly. "But this isn't any dream, is it, Sam?" She fingered the wide wedding band on her left hand, the diamond and emerald engagement ring that rested beside it. "Or these." She touched Madeleine's locket at her throat. "Or this."
It was a routine she'd fallen into during the past days. They'd become her talismans, her visible links to the reality of that other life. Sam wiped mayonnaise from his mouth and held up a hand, palm out. "Hey, you don't have to convince me. I believe you, remember?"
Paige nodded. Sam did believe her, and he was the only one who did. Her brother, her sister-in-law, the police— they'd listened to her story two or three times, and they'd all concluded that she was mentally deranged and pregnant to boot.
Not dangerous, or a threat to society, but definitely a fruitcake, found wandering around in the middle of a farmer's field dressed up as an Indian, wearing a worn pair of Nikes, clutching a fortune in gold coins and babbling her head off about time travel and the Riel Rebellion.
She'd realized quickly that she was an embarrassment to Tony. As soon as she could, she'd left her brother's house and flown home to Vancouver. She'd learned an important lesson those first couple of days. She stopped telling people the truth about what had happened to her. She learned to mumble something vague about a breakdown and amnesia, and she soon found that everyone accepted it.
Everyone except Sam.
Dear Sam. She'd had a panic attack when she arrived at the Vancouver airport, the stress of flying, the realization that she really had not one close friend she could get in touch with, that she no longer had an apartment to go to, or even an office—she knew even before Tony pointed it out that Sam would have had to activate the clause in their partnership that dealt with death or disappearance.
He couldn't operate the business alone, he couldn't possibly afford to wait around for her to turn up, of course he'd had to hire someone to take her place. But it hurt, all the same.
Sweating, shaking, nauseous from the flight and totally freaked by the crowds, the noise, the confusion, the speed of the modern day world compared to the one she'd left, Paige had called Sam from the airport, and he'd walked out on an office full of patients to come and collect her.
He'd loaded her into his turquoise Jeep and given her a smacking kiss on the cheek before he pulled out of the ambulance zone where he was parked.
"You look different." He'd reached over and patted her tummy. "Nice going, bringing home work for the firm just when things are slow. So where the hell you been, partner? I missed you."
She'd started to mumble the story about the breakdown and amnesia, and he'd put a hand over her mouth.
"C'mon, Paige, that's bullshit, right? Tell me the truth here. I'm a big boy, I can handle surprises. We worked together, remember?" He pointed at her pregnant belly and then to her wedding ring. "Who is he, Paige? He's got to be quite a guy to win you. And where is he? He's gotta be a louse to turn you loose alone in this condition. If you want me to hire a hit man and kill the bastard for you, I will, but I've gotta know the real story."
So she'd taken a deep breath and told him, and he'd asked questions, dozens of questions, in between taking her to a quiet hotel, booking her in, carrying her single suitcase up to the room, prying her new shoes from her swollen feet, ordering toast and tea for her and a giant size pizza and a large coke for himself.
When she'd run out of both words and tears and he'd finished the pizza, she said without much hope, "Do you believe me, Sam?"
He'd raised one crooked eyebrow and given her a look. "Of course I believe you. It's just too damned farfetched not to believe. You were a great ob-gyn doc, but you never even read science fiction." He'd reached over and taken the toast she'd been unable to eat, smeared marmalade on it, and munched it down.
"Besides, I've got a cousin out at UBC who figures it won't be long before him and his partner have a working prototype for a time travel device. You're just a little ahead of them, old girl. He's gonna be some excited when I drop the news about these crop circles on him."
She stumbled to her feet, upsetting the teapot, sending her cup flying to the carpet. Her whole body was trembling. "Then I could go back. I wouldn't have to wait, they could send me back right away, me and the baby—"
"Paige, hey, hold on there, this thing of theirs is a long way from being workable." Sam looked stricken. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. Leo's a scientist, you know how those guys operate, ten years is nothing to them. Last I heard, that's about what he figures it's going to take to even build the contraption."
She sank back into the armchair, her disappointment so overwhelming it made her dizzy. She couldn't wait ten years.
She clung to Lame Owl's promise to try to bring her back in the spring, but right now, spring seemed forever away.
"Try taking things one day at a time," Sam had advised, and she'd been doing just that. One day at a time, day after day—and now her baby would be coming tomorrow.
Sam swallowed the last of her sub and glanced at his watch.
"Gotta run, kid." He got to his feet and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "Don't forget our early morning date, will ya?"
"Not a chance."
She waddled back to the parking garage and squeezed behind the wheel of her rented car, mentally listing the things she needed to do before she checked into the hospital.
She'd have to throw out the perishables from the fridge, and buy some shampoo. Pack an overnight bag, buy a paperback—what about baby clothes? She'd bought very little for the baby. Some superstitious part of her had refused to allow the purchase of all the things she knew the baby would need.
As if he were reprimanding her, he kicked, a solid wallop against her ribs that made her gasp.
Okay, so we'll go shopping for them together. After you're born, we'll go get you everything a baby could want or need.
Except your father. She rested her head on the steering wheel, swallowing hard against the anguish that threatened to overwhelm her, trying with her mind to send a message across endless space and time.
Myles, it's time, and I'm so scared. I'm going to have your baby within hours now, and I'm so alone. Myles, oh God, I miss you, I love you. I need you, my dearest love. Make sure that crazy old woman keeps her part of the bargain, won't you?
Myles knelt inside the tipi beside the body of Lame Owl, frail now in death, and a feeling of utter hopelessness engulfed him, a desolation so deep he felt as if his very soul had died within him.
The old woman had been his only link to Paige, his only hope for the safe return of his wife and his child.
Now she was gone, dead in this terrible epidemic of scarlet fever that had raged through Poundmaker's camp for the past several weeks, taking many lives. The Indians had no natural defenses against diseases like scarlet fever.
You were right, old woman, when you said your race was disappearing, and it was the fault of the white man.
With Lame Owl's passing, the village was without a shaman. Eventually, they would probably ask Tahnancoa to fill the role, but for the moment they were putting their trust in western medicine, and Myles felt unworthy of that trust.
He got heavily to his feet. There were others to tend to, and he must see to them. He'd have to tell Tahnancoa her grandmother was gone. So far, she and little Dennis and a few of the other natives had avoided infection, and he hoped that the strict sanitary rules he'd imposed and the quarantining of the sick in this one area of the village would keep the disease from infecting many more people. He was following Paige's example, putting into effect the things he'd learned from her about bacteria and infection. Tahnancoa was working with him, implementing the treatments he suggested, adding t
o them her own herbal potions.
A bond of friendship had formed once again between him and Tahny, stronger than it had been. Now they were both alone, both mourning the loss of their beloved partners.
She'd been the one to send him word that day that the ceremony was successful, that Paige was gone. She'd also been the one to send for him when Lame Owl became ill. Because of Paige, Tahnancoa had respect for western medicine.
Could Tahny have learned enough from Lame Owl to repeat the time travel procedure? He was too tired and drained to even hope anymore.
He stood at the opening of the tipi, looking out at the rain that had been falling now for several days. It was the last day of September, and the prairie was sad and wet and lonely.
Had his child been born yet? Had both Paige and the baby survived the birth? Would he even know if anything happened to her, far away in that other time? Surely he'd feel it, he'd sense that she was no longer alive on this green earth.
At this moment, he longed for whiskey the way a man parched by the desert longed for water. He wanted nothing more than the awful, mindless forgetfulness it afforded.
What good was he doing here, anyway? He had none of the magic drugs that Paige had spoken of so often. He could ride back to Battleford, to the saloon—
A small hand grasped his sleeve and tugged, and anxious obsidian eyes peered up at him from a small brown face. "My mother asks that you come to our tipi. My father is sick with the fever."
He couldn't turn his back on these people. He was all they had in the way of hope.
He took the boy's hand in his and attempted a smile. "Lead the way, son."
The anesthetic sent her spinning down into thick darkness, and Paige struggled through the corridors of time, searching for Myles. He was here somewhere, if she could only find him…..
"Madame docteur, this way, this way." The urgent voice guided her, and then she was back in the caves on the river, and Madeleine was having a baby, but the baby was dead-dead-dead.
"Paige, wake up. You have a fine son, and he wants to meet you. Wake up now, Paige, your baby's here, he's a great big boy."
She forced her eyes to focus. Sam stood beside her, still in his green scrubs. His mask was down and his smile stretched from one ear to the other.
"Did he—" Her throat was parched. "Did my baby breathe?"
"Breathe? You bet. He was bawling before we even had him properly out. Told you this kid of yours was a heavyweight. He's nine pounds fifteen, healthy as can be, went right off the scale on the Apgar, obviously inherited his mommy's brains. Both of you did really well. You awake enough to meet him?"
Paige nodded, and Annette Evans, who'd insisted on being present when Paige's baby was born, held up a bundle swathed in flannel.
Paige stared at her son. His hair was as dark as her own, but she could already see Myles in his features, the elegant bone structure, the way his eyes were set, the shape of his ears.
Was she still dreaming? She reached out a hand toward him, aware that there was an IV in her arm.
It was real. Her baby was here, and he was alive.
Myles, you have a son—my love, we have a son.
Annette wound up the head of the bed and placed him in Paige's arms.
"You look just like your daddy," Paige whispered to him, tracing the tiny face with one trembling finger. She touched his cheek with her lips, marveling at the feel and smell of him. He was warm and squirming, opening his eyes and closing them again, batting his fists.
Her son. Myles's son. He made a tiny sound and turned his mouth eagerly toward her flesh, already wanting to eat, and the nurse laughed.
"Famished already."
The enormity of the feelings that rolled over Paige made her close her eyes for an instant.
The overwhelming love she felt for him was frightening in its intensity. Nothing must ever harm him. She had to keep him safe, and the responsibility of it was entirely hers.
She longed for Myles, ached as never before to have him see and hold this beautiful child they'd made between them, but she shuddered when she thought of her recent dream, of the caves, of how near her son had come to being born into that primitive world. The dangers to babies back then were endless.
Like a waking nightmare, she saw children with tuberculosis, diphtheria, felt again the helplessness, the galling frustration of not having drugs or facilities to treat them.
She counted the months in her mind, and apprehension filled her. He'd only be seven months by spring. Would he be old enough, strong enough, to withstand the dangers?
"What's his name?" Annette's voice finally penetrated.
"Alexander," Paige said. "Alexander Myles Baldwin. After his father."
"Well, c'mon, young Alex." Annette scooped him up. "Your mommy needs to rest a while, and then she can try feeding you."
Paige reached out and squeezed Sam's hand. "Thanks, partner. You did a great job."
He reddened and bent to plant a kiss on her cheek. "Nothing to it. I'll be in to see you a little later, as soon as they get you back in your room. Rest now."
With the miracle of her son's tiny face in her mind, she slid into sleep.
There were carnations and roses when she awoke, from Sam and the nursing staff. They brought rattles and stuffed toys and baby pajamas and popped in at all hours to ooh and aah over Alex.
Paige knew they were trying to make up for the fact that she had no other visitors during the days she spent in hospital, and she was both touched and grateful to them for their thoughtfulness.
There were no doting grandparents hovering over Alex's crib, no husband to hold on to and sympathize when she took the first, painful steps after surgery, no friends sneaking burgers and fries into her room.
The strange thing was that she noticed, but she didn't really care, because her world revolved around one tiny boy. All the years she'd been an obstetrician, all the babies she'd delivered, hadn't prepared her for the way she felt about Alex. Time after time, she unwrapped him, examined every inch of him, reassuring herself again and again that he was perfect.
He was more than perfect, he was the picture of health. From the beginning, he drank prodigious amounts of her milk, slept regular hours, and gained weight at an incredible rate.
She took him home when she was strong enough, and the apartment that had been so quiet and lonely was filled with the music of a baby's hungry cries. She bought a rocking chair and sat in front of the window, nursing him. She talked to him, telling him about his father, about that other world where he'd been conceived, and outside the window she watched the bustle of a modern city and compared it to Battleford.
October became November, and on the sixteenth, Alex was six weeks old. She knew it was crazy, but she made a cake and celebrated by buying him a stroller so they could go for walks.
On November 16, 1885, Louis Riel was hanged as a traitor, despite petitions for his pardon from France, England, Ireland, and the United States. Even Queen Victoria asked for clemency for him, but the prime minister would not be moved.
"Riel shall hang," Sir John A. Macdonald declared, "though every dog in Quebec bark in his favor."
The news flew over the telegraph wires from Ottawa to Battleford, and Myles spent that long night alone with a bottle of whiskey, trying to obliterate the savage loneliness in his soul and his disillusionment in his fellow men.
"You grow fine babies, Paige," Sam pronounced, grinning down at a wriggling Alex and trying to refasten his diaper. "This fellow's in perfect health, and you're not far behind yourself. You've made a great recovery in three months. All that walking you're doing is paying off. You're thin as a rail again. Damn, now this thing's too tight, the poor kid's fat little belly is all squashed. Here, you do it." He gave up on the diaper's tabs and stepped aside so Paige could take over. "So when are you going to get bored and come back to work?"
Paige stuffed Alex's plump legs into his red terry playsuit and shot Sam a surprised look. "I'm pretty busy with Alex. Besi
des, I thought you didn't need a third doctor here, Sam."
He looked embarrassed. "Actually, we don't just yet. But a friend's starting a woman's drop-in clinic downtown, right after Christmas, and there's a good nursery right next door. He's a colleague of ours, you remember Nathan Fielding? I mentioned you to him, so if he calls you'll know what it's all about. It's regular hours, no night calls, you could pretty much decide how much or little you wanted to work. It'd ease you back in, and then later on, if you wanted to come back and work here—or are you still going to try to disappear again, come spring?"
Paige didn't meet his eyes. "I think so. I don't know. I haven't really made up my mind yet." Her love for Myles was counterbalanced now by her urgent need to protect her son from the dangers of that earlier time.
She picked Alex up and cuddled him, burying her nose in his soft curly hair. Each time she thought of taking him back she became anxious and uneasy, and yet the thought of never seeing Myles again was unbearable, a physical pain in her chest.
"I miss Myles, but Alex is still so little. And my chances of getting back are slim at best."
It was the truth, but what she didn't tell Sam was how she'd begun to question whether or not she wanted even to try. Instead of abating, that first powerful reaction she'd had when Alex was born was now growing stronger, the overwhelming desire to give her son all the advantages of modern medicine and modern times.
Sam didn't comment. "The only reason I asked, besides the job, of course, is because of my cousin Leo. You remember I told you about Leo, the scientist out at the university? Well, I've mentioned you to him, and he keeps bugging me to introduce him. Because of the machine he's working on, he's really keen to hear firsthand about your experience."
She frowned at him and shook her head. "Oh, Sam, I don't know. You're the only one I feel comfortable with talking about it."
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