The Promise

by Dee Davis

  She knew she ought to be questioning his sanity. Or at least his story. But all she could think about was the fact that he hadn't deserted her. At least not by choice. Somehow, if he was to be believed, she had crossed into his world or the other way around. For one night they had occupied the same temporal plane. And then somehow, they had been separated again.

  By time.

  Cara swallowed a sob. It was all so insane.

  He must have heard her, or felt her pain, or just wanted the connection, because he moved to the sofa and pulled her into his arms. "It'll be all right. We'll figure this out. The most important thing is that you found me again—whatever time we're in. I'd have died without you, Cara. You saved my life."

  She nodded against his chest, tears threatening. "Just like you saved mine." She listened to the soft steady beat of his heart, drawing strength from it.

  "I looked everywhere for you." His words were quiet, almost a whisper. "I couldn't understand where you'd gone—I worried about you, I…I cared about you."

  "I kept telling them you were real, that you'd saved me, that I owed you my life." She rattled on, the tears falling in earnest now. "They thought it was trauma, that the horror of witnessing my parents' deaths caused me to hallucinate. Oh God, Michael, they convinced me that I made you up." She stared up at him, memorizing the curves of his face, trying to understand what was happening to them.

  "They who?" His look was at once protective and questioning—angry and concerned. She marveled at his strength. She was sitting here falling apart and he was the one who had traveled through time.

  "My grandfather, and my doctors." She frowned, remembering. "My grandfather was there when I left the tunnel. I insisted that they look, but you were gone—the mine was empty." She fought against a sob. "When I woke up in the hospital, they told me that you were a figment of my imagination."

  "And you believed them?" His voice was harsh, and she winced at the pain she heard there.

  "No. Not at first. As soon as I was well enough I went back there, back to the tunnel. And I waited for you. I came every day, Michael. I was determined to find you. To prove to my grandfather that you were real. But you never came."

  "But I did. I searched that damn mountain for you. Had my family out looking, too. They were certain you'd died or gone back to where you came from. But I was so sure you were out there, somewhere. That you needed me. Then, when it became apparent that my family was right, I stopped searching, but I kept coming back to the tunnel, Cara. On the off chance that you'd be there. That you'd come back."

  "But I didn't." Her voice cracked, and the anguish she felt was mirrored in the blue of his eyes.

  "You couldn't."

  "I wanted to believe in you, Michael. I wanted to so badly. But my grandfather thought I was using you as a crutch. A way to deal with the loss of my parents. He even sent me to a psychiatrist."

  He raised a brow in question.

  "For my head. To make me see the truth of it. And so, little by little, I began to accept the fact that I'd made you up."

  His hand tightened around hers. "But you didn't."

  She smiled at him through her tears. "No. I didn't."

  Without a word, he pulled her tightly against his chest. She let the warmth of him surround and comfort her. She breathed deeply, letting his scent, so familiar, so foreign, fill her, soothe her.

  He was a stranger. He was Michael.

  And if they were right, he was lost in her time.

  *****

  Michael closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her heartbeat, the soft silkiness of her hair. How many nights had he dreamed about golden hair and green eyes? And now she was here, in his arms. He tipped up her chin, looking deep into her eyes. Her face was wet with tears, her expression a mixture of awe and fear. With a gentle finger, he brushed away the moisture on her cheek, feeling her tremble in response. Carefully, as though he might break her, he pressed his lips against hers.

  She opened her mouth and what had started as a comforting touch, ignited into passion born of longing and joy. He circled her lips with his tongue, tasting the salt of her tears. All he wanted to do was hold her—never let her go. To prove to himself that he was alive, no matter the century.

  He sighed, pushing away his need. No matter how badly he wanted her, this wasn't the time. He nestled his chin on top of her head. "Cara, we need to talk." He felt her nod, and gently released her. They sat facing each other, still holding hands, as if to be certain neither of them would disappear.

  *****

  "This all sounds crazy." Cara ran a hand through her hair, her mind in tumultuous turmoil. On the one hand, she wanted to throw herself into his arms, surrender body and soul. On the other hand, she could hear her grandfather's voice warning her that things were not always as they seemed. It was almost more than she could bear.

  "I know it does." He looked almost as confused as she felt. "But the reality is that a few days ago, I was riding line on Clune, trying to build a life for my family, a real home. And today, I discover that somehow I've leapt forward a hundred years and that the people I love are all long dead."

  "Family?" Cara felt something tighten around her chest, impeding her breathing. "Are you…I mean do you have a…" She stopped, uncertain how to put her question into words.

  Michael smiled. "Do I have a wife?"

  She nodded mutely, waiting.

  "No, Cara, I don't. I was speaking of my father and brother."

  She exhaled in relief, surprised to find that she'd been holding her breath. "What about your mother?"

  Cara watched as a parade of emotions washed across his face, anger, hurt, and then finally a cold mask that effectively shut her out. "She's gone."

  "Gone?"

  "She abandoned us." There was a finality to his voice that made her swallow her curiosity. Whatever his mother had done, it was still painful for Michael to talk about.

  "Okay, so you were riding line," she said, moving them back to the topic at hand.

  "Right. I'd been at it all day, checking stock and making sure our fences weren't down. I'd finished with the high pastures, so just after sunset, I decided to head back. By the time I got to the main road it was dark. The moon hadn't risen yet, so it was hard to make out anything. I could see lights from Clune in the distance, but it was still a good ways off."

  He paused, frowning at the memory. "The shot came from somewhere off to my left. I couldn't see a thing and I figured it was best to get the hell out of there."

  "Why didn't you ride home?"

  "There was nothing between me and the ranch but bare ground. I needed cover and I knew if I could make the trees I had a chance."

  "So you hoped you'd lose your assailant?" She'd never actually used the word assailant in conversation before. It made her feel queasy to think that someone had actually been trying to kill him.

  "Right, or least keep him well behind me. Unfortunately, I hadn't gambled on how badly I was hurt. It was slow going and I could hear him behind me. I knew it wouldn't be long before he caught up with me. So, finally, I jumped off Roscoe."

  "Roscoe?"

  "My horse." He shrugged. "I figured the man trailing me would follow Roscoe back down the mountain. Or see that his saddle was empty and assume I was dead."

  Cara shivered again.

  "I knew I was close to the old tunnel, and if I could just make it there, I was pretty certain, he wouldn't be able to find me even if he came back. So I waited until I heard him go after Roscoe, and then managed to crawl inside. You pretty much know the rest."

  She nodded, her teeth worrying the soft inside of her lower lip. "And you don't have any idea who's trying to kill you?"

  "None at all. Could have been a road agent. I can't think of any enemies. Truth of it is, there's no way to know—especially now." He grimaced, and again she realized just how difficult this must be for him.

  "Your family must be worried sick."

  "I'm not certain my father will be sober eno
ugh to know I'm missing." Sharp-edged bitterness colored his voice.

  "But your brother?"

  "He'll think I'm dead."

  "Maybe not. Maybe…" she trailed off, wishing she knew what to say.

  He shook his head. "It's rough out there, and I was supposed to be back by nightfall. Patrick knows I'd never break my word—unless I had no choice."

  "Well, maybe there's some way to get you back." She was surprised how much the thought upset her. She'd just found him. The idea of letting him vanish from her life again, was not appealing, but she had to think of his needs first.

  "How?" The single word sounded so hopeless it brought tears to her eyes. "Cara, we don't even know for certain how I got here."

  She swallowed her emotions. This was not the time. She had to be strong, to think clearly. "Well, we can be fairly sure it has to do with the mine tunnel where you found me."

  "True, but it has to be something more than that. We've both been in it numerous times and not a damn thing has happened." There was an edge to his voice, a note of desperation.

  She reached for his hand. "We've just got to think it through. The two times something did happen we were together."

  "True."

  Cara recognized the emotions she saw swirling in the blue depths of his eyes and she was fairly certain her own reflected his turmoil. She took a deep breath. "Okay, so we know there is some relationship between you and me and the tunnel. Is there anything else?"

  "There has to be, but damned if I know what. Maybe it's just coincidence. Maybe those were the only times we were actually in the tunnel at the same time."

  Cara shook her head, stroking the smooth silver of her pendant. "No, it has to be more than that because when you found me, I was outside the mine. Remember?"

  "You're right." He frowned. "Maybe it's just proximity."

  "Maybe." A thought occurred to her. "Or maybe it has to do with need."

  He shot her a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

  She concentrated on putting her thoughts into words. "When you found me, I had just survived the car wreck that killed my parents. I was disoriented and lost in my grief. I had no coat and no idea I was in the middle of a blizzard. Without you, I wouldn't have survived on that mountain."

  He cocked his head to one side, understanding spreading across his face. "And I would definitely have died if you hadn't found me in the tunnel."

  "Got it in one." She smiled at him as if he were a prize pupil.

  "So you're thinking that it's adversity that brings us together?"

  She blew out a breath. "I don't know what I'm saying, really. I just know that when I needed you, you were there. And then, after all this time, despite the fact that I no longer—" She stopped, embarrassed at the direction her thoughts had taken her.

  "After you no longer believed I existed."

  She nodded miserably.

  "Cara, it's all right. I'm not sure that I'd have reacted any differently given the circumstances."

  She shot him a tremulous smile, grateful for his support. "Anyway, after all this time, the bottom line is when you needed me I was there. All I'm saying is that there's definitely a powerful connection between us."

  "I can't say that I disagree with that." His slow smile made her bones dissolve like a spoonful of sugar in hot tea. She barely knew him, but his power over her hadn't lessened in the nine years since their first encounter.

  If anything, it was stronger, pulling at her like a magnet. She wanted to crawl inside him, to find shelter in his steely strength. She wanted… well she couldn't put a polite name to that. She felt the heat of a blush staining her cheeks.

  "What about you?" he asked.

  "What about me what?"

  The smile broadened, telling her he had correctly determined the train of her thoughts. "Surely after all this time there's someone in your life. Nick?" He sobered, his face tightening at the thought of her recent guest.

  "No, not Nick."

  "Well there must be somebody."

  "No. Nothing serious anyway. It costs too much to give your heart, Michael. That's a lesson I've learned very well. Promises are made to be broken. First with my parents, then with you…" She trailed off, embarrassed.

  "I'm real, Cara." The fire in his eyes sent a shiver of desire coursing through her.

  "I had no way of knowing that. And it just all hurt so badly. But gradually, in time, I began to heal, and I threw myself into my art. Painting was everything for me. Emotional involvement at a risk-free level." She shrugged, turning away from him. "Only there's no such thing."

  "What happened?" Michael's voice was gentle.

  "I got an offer to work in New York with a painter named Adrian DeBeck. Grandfather wanted me to stay in Colorado. Attend university. I was young and stupid and certain that I knew what was best for me. He just wanted me to be nearby. We quarreled." She paused, groping for words. Michael stroked her palm, the gesture at once soothing and stimulating.

  She looked up to meet his eyes and was amazed at the compassion there. "I walked away without looking back. And a year later he was dead." She tried to stop the tears, but they seemed to have a will of their own. "He gave me everything and I walked away without even saying thank you. Three months after that, I found out that Adrian had been selling my paintings as his own. That he'd…that he'd been using me for months. So, in the end, Grandfather was right."

  The sympathy in his eyes was hard to bear. "If we could only see the future, we'd all handle things differently."

  She nodded, wiping angrily at her tears. "I'm okay. I don't know why I told you all of that. It's just that there isn't anyone in my life. It hurts too much when you lose them."

  "Not everyone leaves, Cara." His gaze met hers, his eyes intense.

  She looked away, glancing at the clock, trying to ignore the tangled emotions building inside her. "It's late. We've been talking for hours. I shouldn't have let you go this long without a rest and something to eat." She eyed him guiltily, knowing she was babbling.

  "And we need to change your bandage. Maybe you could start with a shower." That always made her feel better when she was sick. Not that he was sick exactly. In fact, at the moment, he looked remarkably healthy. Oh, Lord. She stood up, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt.

  He stood, too, catching her restless fingers between his palms as he pulled her closer. She wanted him so badly she could actually feel it burning in her gut, but she was also aware that her batting average with men was zero. What if she let him down? Or worse, what if he only wanted her for now. She wasn't sure she could give herself to this man without knowing it was forever.

  Her brain reiterated all these thoughts as her body melded to his. His heat seared through her and she thought she might not survive the sheer joy of touching him. She tipped back her head and met the question in his blue-black gaze.

  With an almost super human effort, she pushed away, her head winning over her mutinous body by a nose. She shuddered as they separated, the ache inside shifting from her gut to her heart.

  She pasted on what she hoped was a carefree smile and tried to ignore the flash of hurt in his eyes. "Come on, I'll show you how to work the shower."

  She turned away, trying to keep her emotions in check.

  Michael Macpherson wasn't forever—couldn't be forever.

  CHAPTER 9

  "He would have liked it up here." Owen's voice was hushed, almost reverent, as he looked out across the valley.

  Patrick followed his gaze. The grave was situated in a tiny meadow at the top of what Michael had always called the hump back, a high bumpy cliff hanging out over the river. From here the ranch was visible, spreading out across the valley floor, and more important really, the mountains swooped down to the ridge, inviting a person to climb higher, deeper, into their waiting purple majesty. His father had always been drawn to the mountains.

  "He spent a good part of his life in these mountains, made and lost a fortune here. I thought it only right he be b
uried here." Patrick looked at the grave marker, his voice filled with sorrow and a trace of bitterness.

  "He was a good man, and he wouldn't want you to waste time grieving."

  Patrick shrugged. "It's hard, especially when Amos Striker seems to believe that my brother murdered my father for the plunder from some non-existent silver strike."

  "Now, Patrick, you have to admit that from Amos' point of view the facts fit. He's just doing his job." Owen's words were meant to be comforting, but Patrick didn't feel a bit better.

  "The only way I'll ever believe Michael murdered anyone is if he tells me so himself." Patrick held the older man's gaze, surprised when he turned away.

  "I expect all the talk will come to nothing. With any luck, Michael will come riding in here with some wild story, and the whole thing will be over."

  His eyes searched the valley floor, almost as if Owen's words could somehow conjure up his brother. "I hope so. But that won't change the fact that my father's dead."

  "No. It won't." Owen straightened the brim of his hat, and sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't get out here sooner. I meant to, but things just got away from me. Seems there was a little excitement in town yesterday. Some whore decided life wasn't all it was cracked up to be."

  "I know, I was there."

  Owen frowned. "At the cribs? Jesus, Patrick, how many times have I told you about those places?"

  Patrick let out a harsh laugh. "God, Owen, what do you take me for? I lose my father and brother in one fell swoop and then head off to the cribs for a little carnal merry-making? Sounds more like something Amos Striker would do."

  "Why would you say that?" Owen queried, brows drawn together in confusion.

  "I don't know. No solid reason, really. He just seems the type. Speaking of which, any idea where our fair-haired boy was yesterday? I tried to report the death, but he was nowhere to be found."

  Owen shook his head. "I've absolutely no idea. The last time I saw him was with you."

  Patrick shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. Doc handled things. I just thought he ought to be informed about the death."