by Webb, Peggy
Colt hurried to her side, knelt beside her, and chafed her hands.
"You're cold."
"I'm stunned. I feel as if I'm living in two different worlds. I keep expecting to be zapped back in time. I go to bed wondering if I'm going to wake up in New York or New Orleans . . . Colt, what are we going to do?"
"I have a plan."
The plan took shape as he talked. Not that he hadn't thought about their dilemma. But his thinking took a different turn from hers. He wanted the love of Ann Debeau in the twentieth century, but he also wanted the added richness of their shared history.
"Do you think it will work?" she said.
"We won't know until we try." He pulled her out of the chair and held her close for a moment. "Now, show me to those boxes. There's work to be done."
His good humor was infectious. Ann dragged boxes from the storage closet and put him in charge of packing up her studio.
o0o
A week later Ann was in Fairhope surveying the house she'd come to love. The restoration to the house was grand, but Ann's heart hurt when she looked at the devastated rose garden.
Margaret came to help unpack, wearing a bright red shirt and hammered silver necklace that had belonged to Gilly Debeau.
"I've been so excited since your call, I couldn't see straight. It just wasn't right not having a Debeau living in this house. Where do you want this clock, honey?" Margaret wasn't one to judge. If Ann wanted a tacky plastic clock among her fine antiques, she wasn't going to be the one to say otherwise.
"I'll take that. It belongs in the bedroom."
"I'll take it up. Which one, honey?" Flushed with excitement, Margaret prattled on before Ann could reply. "The front room, I hope. Lordy, it's about time somebody used that beautiful carved rosewood bed."
"Did Aunt Gilly ever sleep there?"
"Lordy, no. You'd have thought that room was a shrine the way she acted. Kept the door locked the whole time she was living here, except when she went inside to dust. She said her sister-in-law always kept it that way, and she wasn't about to desecrate Charlotte Ann's memory. It seemed a waste, if you asked me."
"It was a waste." But not in the way Margaret meant. "But I'm using the bedroom across the hall, at least for now."
Ann's color and Margaret's curiosity rose at the same time. The doorbell pealed, giving new meaning to the phrase, saved by the bell.
Colt strode in, the sun inked in dark gold on his skin and the smell of freshly cut grass caught in his clothes.
"Miss Margaret." He tipped his butternut baseball cap in her direction, then swiveled and tipped it toward Ann. "Miss Annie."
Ann felt rejuvenated, as if she were standing in front of a stiff breeze off the bay. All of a sudden, Colt swept her up and twirled her around.
"No more work for you today, young lady."
"You have a better idea, I suppose."
"I hear three chocolate malts calling our names, and then there’s a couple of fine fillies that need riding."
Margaret got her purse and the hat she'd taken to wearing in order to live up to Gilly's fine jewelry.
"I like a man who knows the emotional value of ice cream," she said.
"A woman after my own heart." Colt set Ann down, put one arm around her, the other around Margaret, and led them out the door. "And how do you feel about horses, Miss Margaret?"
"I think a ride on the back of a horse is about the next best thing to sex, and best left to the young." She tilted her head and winked at Colt. "Wish I were young."
o0o
Racing across the meadows on Star Fire, Ann had to agree with Margaret. The hypnotic rhythm of the horse combined with the sweeping, majestic view, the warmth of the sun, and the nearness of Colt mesmerized her, seduced her.
Colt reined in beside a brook, then lifted her from the saddle and held on. His arms felt exactly right, and she gave herself up to the beauty and the wonder of the place, of the man.
"Annie." He buried his face in her hair, then leaned back to look at her. "I'm so glad you're home."
"So am I, Colt."
Desire built quickly between them, as it always did, but Ann pulled back and walked to the brook to toss stones into the water. Not that she didn't want him. Far from it. But until she was certain of her own mind, she didn't want to cloud the issue.
"What are you thinking, Annie?"
"That I could stay like this forever, just you and me in this tranquil spot with nothing between us except a wonderful friendship and a kind regard."
"For now, that's enough."
He knelt beside the brook and plucked a stone out of the cool water.
"Close your eyes and hold out your hand, Annie."
She felt the press of the cool, wet stone in her palm, the warmth of Colt's hand closing around hers.
"What is it?" she said.
"No, don't open your eyes, not yet."
"It's a stone, a rock."
"It's more than that. Guess again. Be creative."
"Magic?"
"That's close. Feel the shape of it. No peeking. Keep your eyes closed."
She hefted the rock, judging its weight. She squeezed it, judging its mass. Then with one finger she traced the outer edge.
"It's a heart." Her voice was filled with wonder. She opened her eyes so she could see this man who could be so many things—a strong protector, a kind-hearted friend, a patient suitor, and a little boy with magic in his soul.
"It's my heart, placed in your keeping, Annie."
Too full to speak, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Smiling, he tugged her back to their horses.
"Pete will be waiting for us with a big pot of chicken soup. I'll race you back to the house."
o0o
By the time he drove her back to Windchime House, a quarter moon hung so low, it looked as if it were caught on the branches of the magnolia tree, and stars spangled the sky. In the darkness the bay and the sky merged, and except for the brightness in the heavens it was hard to tell the difference between sky and sea.
The air had a crisp bite to it, a harbinger of fall.
"In New York the leaves would be turning by now," Ann said.
"Will you miss the city?"
"Not the city. Perhaps the entertainment, particularly the opera." She sat down in the swing and patted a place beside her. He pushed off with his left foot, and they swayed for a while in silence and perfect harmony.
"Hear that?" he said. Ann listened to the sound of the wind in the trees. "Nature's symphony."
"I'll have to admit it runs a close second to Pavarotti." She looked out over the bay.
"It must have been just such a night that my grandmother and Anthony swam together in the moonlight."
Colt reached for her hand. "We'll swim in the moonlight."
Ann was glad he didn't add again. She had fallen in love with Colt Butler. Not the way her grandmother had tumbled for Anthony Chance, but in a quiet, meandering way that felt like taking a leisurely walk through the meadow with the sun warming your skin. It was a refreshing, reassuring, life-affirming kind of love that would endure. And underneath it all was a simmering passion that could be ignited with little more provocation than a touch, a look, a smile.
True, the attraction had been there from the beginning, but when Ann let herself love this man completely, it would be Ann Debeau loving Colt Butler.
"I'm ready," she said. One of the reasons she loved him was his patience. He waited quietly for her to elaborate. "I'm ready to carry out your plan."
"You're certain about this?"
"Absolutely certain."
"Then what are we waiting for?"
He scooped her up and carried her across the threshold, and Ann added spontaneity and a sense of fun to her growing list of Colt's assets.
Not that she needed lists. Her heart clamored with the truth, and she knew it was time to follow her heart.
o0o
The ancient clock waited for them in the attic. Colt carefully glued the bott
om half—the feet and tail— back to the top half—the head and the body that held the clock face.
While they waited for the glue to dry, Ann slipped behind the screen and donned her grandmother's white dress.
In Anthony's pants and shirt, Colt waited for her. A single candle burned beside the clock, and the moon laid a bright path across the dusty floor.
There was a rustle of skirt. Annie looked like a bride coming toward him.
"You can change your mind," he said.
"I won't."
She joined him in the circle of light and reached for him. Her hand was as fragile as a baby bird nesting in his.
"This might not work, Annie."
"I know that, but if I don't try to go back I'll always live with the fear that it might happen spontaneously. And I'll always wonder what would have happened if I had tried."
"Whatever happens, Annie, know that I love you." He cupped her face. "You, Annie Debeau, not some romantic notion, but the flesh-and-blood artist who walked into my life one fine summer day and demanded that I unhand her Felix the Cat clock."
He felt the tremors that ran through her, saw the light shining in her eyes, and he kissed her. Lips and hearts blended, and the moon took on an added radiance. There was magic in the air—and music, faint far- off strains of "It Had To Be You."
And in that moment Colt learned that it was possible to travel through time and space with nothing more than a touch of the lips. With Annie, other worlds opened to him, and he tasted love accumulated through the centuries, love as familiar to him as the tattered cap he put on first thing every morning and yet as startlingly fresh and unexpected as an exotic flower blooming among yellow spring daffodils.
Just this, he thought. This is enough for today.
They lingered, the sweet, tender joining giving them both strength and courage for the test that lay ahead. And at last when they broke apart, her face was as radiant as the moon.
Colt took her hand, and they knelt beside the clock.
"Hold tight, Annie. I won't let you go."
Her smile was rich with wisdom. "I know."
Together they reached toward the clock. Fingers contacted plastic, dust swirled like fog, and the moon faded. The air was electric with anticipation. Colt's heart raced, and he squeezed Annie's hand.
She squeezed back.
Outside an owl called, his haunting two-note melody echoing through the attic, and in the distance a dog howled. There was a crash, then the shattering of glass.
Colt held his breath, expecting at any minute to feel himself set down in unfamiliar territory. But the attic walls stood firmly around him; the creaking floor stayed beneath his feet. And under his hand was the old clock. He rubbed the black plastic. He thought of Anthony Chance and Charlotte Ann Harris. He pictured the iron balcony in New Orleans and the sun-dappled bed where they'd first made love.
But nothing happened. No amount of thinking or wishing or hoping would transport him to another place, another time.
"Colt? I don't feel anything. Do you?"
"Only you, Annie." He squeezed her hand. "I guess we've learned all they had to teach us."
Suddenly she began to laugh, and then she pulled him up and began to waltz around the room, humming, "It Had To Be You," off-key.
Her gauzy dress billowed around her legs, and his white shirt glowed in the flickering candle. Except for their full-bodied laughter, they might have been ghosts swaying and swirling and dipping.
Annie started up the song once more, then ended in a wheeze of laughter.
"You sing," she said.
And he didn't ask how she knew he could; he merely took over in a mellow baritone that filled up the attic with song.
Their waltz took them past the shelves where they'd first found the clock, and there, toppled to the floor, was an old glass canning jar, and they began to laugh again.
"I thought it was the attic window," Annie said when they stopped for breath. "I kept expecting to end up in the New Orleans Public Library or on Bourbon Street or on the streetcar."
"I was thinking of the apartment in the Quarter, the wrought-iron railing, the sun falling across the bed."
The air became electric once more, not with the mysteries of time travel but with the mysteries of love. And suddenly she was in his arms, his lips on hers, her hips fitted closely to his.
There was hunger in the kiss, hot and insistent, and desire so raw, it took their breath away.
"Do you know how much I wanted you when we were stuck here for three days?" he said when he could speak. "I thought I would go crazy lying beside you and not being able to have you."
"I wanted you, too, but I was honor bound to another man."
He had never loved her more than in that moment, for he knew that a woman bound by honor was a treasure beyond compare.
He pulled her into his arms and they kissed until they were both breathless. Moonbeams caught in her dark hair and turned her skin to silver, and she stepped into the bright path, eyes gleaming. One by one she unfastened the tiny pearl buttons on the front of her bodice. Colt's heart slammed into his ribs.
The fabric whispered over her skin. Until that moment he'd never known that a woman could literally crawl inside a man's skin, that the blood of lovers could merge and flow together in a singing river, that breaths could blend and form angel wings that stirred the air around them.
The ring lay between her breasts, chain gleaming, jewels shooting fiery sparks.
He kissed the ring, then tenderly placed it back in her cleavage and slid her dress over her hips. Her panties were a wisp of lace that invited his attention. He molded the silk, wet it with his tongue, then pressed inward and upward. Silk, heat, friction, dampness.
She tangled her hands in his hair and held him close.
"I love you," she said.
"Who do you love?"
"You."
"Say my name."
"Colt Butler. I love you, Colt Butler."
And then there was no more conversation, for they were driven by a passion so strong, it had survived two lifetimes.
Colt pulled the antique quilt from the trunk and spread it on the floor. Her dress pooled at her feet, and his clothes joined the heap. Then, taking her hand, he led her to the quilt and lay down beside her. Facing, they traced each other with hands and lips, tasting, touching, admiring, exclaiming.
She caressed him with her hands, seared him with her lips, and wave after wave of passion crashed through him. He wanted every inch of his skin touching hers. He wanted to be melded to her so that it was impossible to tell where he left off and she began.
Lifting her hips, he dipped his tongue inside. The tremors started in her belly, spread downward through her legs, and she cried out her pleasure as the hard shudders racked her.
"Please, please," she said, reaching for him. "Now."
He slid into her. At last he had come home.
With a rhythm as old as time, Colt Butler claimed his Annie.
And in the heavens two stars merged, coming together to form a bright orb as big as a baseball.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lying on the quilt, the ring nestled between her breasts, Colt's arm around her shoulder, her cheek on his chest, Annie felt rich and full and truly loved. She sighed with contentment.
"I don't know why I waited so long," she said.
Colt chuckled. "You always save the best for last, Annie."
She kissed the indentation right over his heart, lingering long enough to inhale his clean male scent. The fine sprinkling of dark hairs tickled her nose, and she sat up, smiling.
Through the window, the moon beckoned.
"You know what I'd like to do?" she said.
"Tell me."
"Down at the end of the walkway and around the curve there's a hidden cove.”
"What are we waiting for?"
Laughing like naughty children, they dressed, then ran hand in hand to the beach. When they reached the hidden cove they cast aside
their clothes and raced into the water.
"Brrr. It's cold." Ann wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. "Whose idea was this?"
"Minx. Come here. I'll warm you up."
Legs and arms tangled, bodies touched, floated apart, made contact once more.
"And just how do you propose to do that, I wonder?"
"Do you want me to tell you or show you?"
"You could put it in a letter." Laughing, she wrapped herself tightly around him. "Or you could ..."
Her eyes widened, and she had neither time nor desire to finish the sentence. They rode the waves, rode each other, their hunger driving them to new heights of passion. They cried out their completion at the same time.
Back on the beach they dressed hastily and he held her tightly until the urgent rhythm of their hearts slowed. The moon bathed them in a luminescence, and Ann tipped her face upward to his kiss.
"I want to marry you, Annie."
"The answer is yes." She traced the dear lines of his face. "Yes, yes, yes."
They sealed the promise with a kiss that heated them both up enough so they didn't notice the chill of the night breeze off the bay. Then slowly Annie unfastened the chain from around her neck and slid the antique ring off.
Colt studied her face for a long time, and she nodded. There was no need for words between them; the ring said it all.
With the ring Anthony Chance had given to his Annie Harris, Colt pledged his love to his Annie Debeau. He slid it on her finger, then kissed her knuckles.
"I love you, Annie. Forever and always."
The new star sent a shaft of such brilliance over them that they felt as if they'd been touched by fire.
"Look," Annie said, pointing upward.
"I consider that a good sign."
Her white dress whispered secrets as they walked back to Windchime House, hand in hand.
o0o
Pete was the first person to hear the news.
The day after he'd proposed, Colt picked up Annie and drove her to the ranch. Pete was in the barn rubbing down the newest addition to their string of polo ponies, a stallion as black as night.
