This Time for Keeps

by Maureen Child

  "Lord, that smells good," she said. "Nothing like cinnamon rolls on a cold morning.”

  Hannah frowned, then bent her head to the task of breaking eggs into a bowl.

  "Since when do you like cinnamon bread?" Seth asked quietly as he watched her walk to the stove and sniff the boiling coffee in appreciation.

  She shot him a quick look and lifted one shoulder in a careless half shrug. “Since today, I guess." Turning to Hannah, she asked, “Where do you keep the coffee cups?"

  The older woman stopped cold and looked at her. “Same place as always."

  Before Nora could say anything else, Seth pointed to the proper cupboard. She gave him a small, tight smile as she crossed the room. Taking down a cup, she walked to the stove, poured some of the strong, inky liquid, then took a seat opposite him at the table.

  He watched Nora's familiar features shift into an expression of pure delight as she inhaled the coffee's aroma before taking a long drink.

  Sighing, she whispered, “Perfect.”

  His eyebrows lifted. As far as he knew. Nora had never cared for the taste of coffee. And if she had, she wouldn't have drunk it straight. Hell, even her tea she doctored with cream and sugar.

  “Are you going to share that bread?" she asked, snapping him out of his imaginings.

  "Huh? Oh, sure." He slid the plate closer to her and watched in stunned silence as she smeared a slab of butter across the cinnamon bread then took a healthy bite. She practically purred as she chewed. His own appetite dwindled as she continued to eat.

  "There are compensations to every situation," she mumbled around a mouthful of bread.

  "Aren't you supposed to be eating broth?"

  She grimaced and shuddered violently. "For breakfast? I don't think so."

  Seth's frown deepened.

  "What's with you?" she asked in between bites.

  "Sorry?" His grasp on the coffee cup tightened.

  "I said." she repeated, licking excess butter from her fingers, "what's your problem? Haven't you ever seen me eat before?"

  Yeah, he'd seen her eat at least once or twice. A piece of dry toast. An apple. But he had never seen her dig into any of Hannah's specialties with the kind of relish she was showing today.

  "Stop talkin' like that," Hannah ordered her before Seth could speak.

  "What?" Nora shifted on the bench so she could look at the older woman. As she turned, Seth noted that her hair wasn't in its usual tight bun. Instead, she had pulled it high on her head, secured it with a length of string, and allowed the surprisingly pretty mass to hang down her back in what looked like a horse's tail.

  "I said," Hannah went on sharply, "of course he never sees you eat. None of us do. It's all I can do to force a crust of bread down your throat. You're forever fussin' about keepin' a tiny waist, drawin' that blasted corset another inch tighter."

  Nora grinned.

  Stunned, Seth stared at her. He'd never seen such a broad, silly smile on her face. The most amazing thing was how pretty she suddenly looked.

  "Well," Nora said, turning back to grab up another slice of cinnamon bread, “you don't have to worry about that corset any more. Hannah. I threw it out.”

  Seth choked on a sip of coffee. Eyes streaming, he coughed and gagged as he tried to catch his breath. Nora was up out of her seat in an instant. She rounded the table and slapped him on the back with more enthusiasm than the situation deserved. At last he caught his breath and moved out from under her helpful beating.

  "Jeezzz," she said. "Are you all right?"

  He nodded, still incapable of speech.

  "If you're sure," she went on, and slowly walked back around the table to reclaim her seat.

  "You threw your corsets away?"

  "You mean there's more than one of them?" Nora turned to look at Hannah again.

  "Three," the older woman whispered and hurriedly reached up to make a furtive sign of the cross.

  “Well, I'll get rid of the others, too," Nora said plainly and tossed another piece of the delicious bread into her mouth. "Those things are nothing but torture devices, pure and simple. Invented by some man, probably, to keep us in line."

  "In line for what?" Seth asked, intrigued despite the growing sense of worry developing in his guts.

  "Nothing," she told him. "Everything. Just in line. More coffee?" she asked politely as she stood up, cup in hand.

  Seth nodded blankly. This was not the woman they knew to be Nora Wilding. Somehow, some way, the fever that had nearly claimed her life had taken her mind instead. And if that was true, then this Nora was here to stay. A cold knot formed in the pit of his stomach. No, he wasn't ready to accept that yet. They just had to be patient, that was all. She would get over this… affliction. They just had to wait her out.

  "So Hannah," Nora asked, taking a peek into the mixing bowl on the work counter, "what's for breakfast?”

  The older woman looked at her, fear evident in her features. "You're still hungry?"

  'The bread was just a teaser," she replied easily. "Actually, I'm starving. Got any bacon?"

  “Bacon?" Hannah repeated, her voice quavering.

  "Why not?" Nora chuckled. “When in Rome, as they say… Damn the cholesterol, full speed ahead… .”

  "Lester who?" Hannah asked.

  A short, loud laugh shot from Nora's throat, and she gave the other woman a quick hug. "Exactly! Lester who.”

  Hannah took three small steps backward, shaking her head and staring at the woman she had raised since infancy as if she had never seen her before. A moment later, Hannah's bottom lip trembled, her pale eyes filled with a sheen of tears, and she covered her mouth with the hem of her apron. "Oh, my good Lord," she muttered through the fabric. "Your mind's gone."

  "Hannah, no,” Nora said, instantly sorry she'd upset the poor woman. Boy, she was getting off to a great start on her new life. "Honest," she went on, her tone soothing and anxious. "My mind is still working."

  The older woman shot Seth a quick glance, then looked back at Nora. She lifted the hem of her apron slightly to wipe away a stray tear. "You're talkin' strange, Eleanor Wilding. Like you was touched by that fever."

  One corner of Nora's mouth lifted. She couldn't help it.

  "It did more than touch me. Damn near finished me off." Fresh tears spilled from the woman's eyes. She backed up, shaking her head, and finally stumbled from the room, muttering to herself with every step.

  "Wow," Nora said after the woman was gone. "I didn't mean to scare her like that. Do you think she'll be all right?"

  "It's not Hannah I'm worried about,” Seth said quietly and waited until the stranger in Nora's body turned to face him. "It's you."

  "Me?" She laid one palm on her chest.

  "Yeah, you." Gripping his coffee cup so hard, it was a wonder the handle didn't snap right off the ceramic mug, he said thickly, "You hate bacon, Nora. Always have." He pointed at the nearly gone cinnamon bread. "You don't even like the smell of cinnamon.” He pulled a long, shuddering breath into his lungs before asking, "Just what the hell has gotten into you?"

  So subtlety wasn't her strong point. Maybe she should have taken a few days to ease into this new life. But that would have meant wearing a corset and starving herself, neither of which appealed to her in the slightest.

  Nope. Nora smiled inwardly. She was stuck in 1875— at least until she could contact the Resettlement Committee and lodge a formal protest— so these people had better get used to the new and improved Nora right from the start.

  She wasn't exactly delighted to be back in the nineteenth century, but if she had to put up with it, then the rest of these people could just deal with reality too.

  Reality. Like corsets.

  The minute she had spied that dreaded prehistoric girdle in her search for something to wear, old, ugly memories had resurfaced. She recalled all too clearly the feeling of holding onto a bed post while someone tugged and dragged at corset strings until it was nearly impossible to draw one satisfying brea
th. There was no way she would be stuffing herself into one of those contraptions again. If her clothes were too tight, then she would buy new things. After all, she was supposed to be wealthy. Wasn't she?

  Grimacing, she ran one finger around the inside of her ugly dress's high collar. Heck, she needed new clothes anyway. Everything the old Nora had in her closet was drab, uncomfortable, and generally hideous. Besides, since she intended to put some meat on her too skinny bones, very soon none of the clothes would fit her.

  With that thought, she announced, "I'm hungry.” Then, with a shrug, she added, "And I've changed my mind about cinnamon.”

  Seth didn't look convinced, but she wasn't going to worry about it. She had enough things on her mind without adding a suspicious cowboy to the list. First and foremost, she told herself, was hunger. It didn't look as though Hannah would be coming back anytime soon, so if she was going to eat, it would be up to Nora to fix it.

  Standing up, she moved to the worktable and picked up a knife. Deftly, she sliced off several pieces of bacon, then tossed them into an already hot iron skillet on the stove. As the meat sizzled, sending a delicious fog of aroma into the air, Nora grabbed a fork and whipped up the bowl of eggs into a pale, yellow froth. Turning back to the other ready pan, she said, "Hope you like your eggs scrambled. I never could fry one without breaking the yolk."

  "You're cooking."

  "So?” She shot him a quick look, then turned her attention back to breakfast.

  "You don't know how."

  Nora paused for a moment, then offered, "I learned watching Hannah."

  "You never watch Hannah."

  Sighing heavily, Nora set her hands on her hips and turned to face him. "Do you want to eat or not?”

  "Yeah, I do."

  "Then quit bothering the cook, or I'll let you fix your own.”

  "Fine." he said, holding up both hands as if to surrender.

  "Good." She faced the stove and began turning the eggs. "Make yourself useful. Get some plates down."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  His boots sounded out on the plank floor, but Nora kept her attention focused on the stove. "Where's everybody else?"

  "You mean Richard and Elizabeth?"

  "Well, yeah," she said. "Don't they eat breakfast?"

  "I wouldn't know," Seth told her briskly. "I'm usually at work before those two start stirring.”

  "Late sleepers, huh?"

  "Yeah," he said. "Like you."

  She groaned. Apparently, the old Nora didn't do much of anything except sleep and get sick. Well too bad. She had always been an early riser and she saw no reason to lie in bed just to act a part. "I've changed."

  "So I've noticed. I just haven't figured out why yet."

  "What difference does it make, Roy?" She glanced at him and caught his wary frown. "Jeez, relax, okay?" Carrying the skillets one at a time to their places, she filled both of their plates, set the pans back on the stove, and carried the coffeepot to the table. Taking a seat opposite him, she refilled their cups, ignored the look of astonishment on Seth's features, and forked up some of her eggs. "You think Hannah will recover before the others come downstairs for breakfast?”

  He took a sip of coffee and narrowed his gaze to look at her. "They won't be coming down. They have Hannah bring them trays in their rooms. You know that."

  Nora swallowed the eggs, picked up a crisp piece of bacon, and bit off the end. Chewing, she said, "You mean to tell me those two slugs make poor Hannah trot up and down stairs to take them breakfast in bed?”

  “Slugs?" he repeated.

  "Unbelievable," Nora said and took another bite of bacon. “They expect a woman twice their age to cater to their laziness?”

  Seth's eyebrows lifted into high, black arches.

  She had a feeling she knew what he was about to say, so she said it first. "Let me guess. I ate off a tray in bed, too."

  He gave her a slow, thoughtful nod.

  "Well, at least I had an excuse, sort of," she said, though the knowledge that the old Nora had run poor Hannah's legs off was disquieting. "I was sick. Wasn't I?”

  "Damn sick."

  "There you go," she said, feeling a bit easier about it. "Well, Hannah's taken her last flight of stairs for those two, I can tell you. If they want to eat bad enough, they'll come downstairs.”

  Again, she noticed his gaze narrow as he watched her, but this time she thought she saw just a hint of admiration flash across his blue eyes. Her heartbeat quickened unexpectedly and Nora made a deliberate attempt to slow it down. Good-looking or not, Seth Murdoch wasn't her type at all. And if he was her type, she would be running in the opposite direction. She wasn't about to let her hormones and illogical heart get her into yet another disastrous situation. No more love. Not for her. In eight lifetimes she hadn't been able to get it right. She wasn't about to waste her ninth in another dismal effort.

  And no good-looking cowboy, no matter how great his butt, was going to change her mind.

  Nine lives, she thought absently.

  Just like a cat. Except, of course, that she hadn't landed on her feet. Ever.

  The next few minutes passed in silence as they both concentrated on their meals. Outside the lace-covered windows, the sky lightened with the rising sun. Warm yellow light began to creep into the room with soft determination.

  Nora set her fork down on her plate and reached for the oil lamp in the center of the table. Cupping her hand around the top of the chimney, she blew out the dancing flame, then turned to look at Seth.

  Maybe it was only fair that she took a turn at staring, Seth told himself. But it was damned uncomfortable all the same. Standing up, he started for the back door. "Got to get to work," he told her over his shoulder.

  "I'll come with you," she said and snatched up a shawl from the wall peg near the door. Throwing it over her shoulders, she stepped out into the still brisk morning air.

  Seth headed for the barn. All he wanted to do now was get to work. He'd learned long ago that when his brain was figuring out a problem, the best way for him to handle it was to throw himself into a job. More often than not, left to wander, his mind would figure out a solution all by itself. Entering the barn, he went straight to his horse’s stall and threw a blanket over the animal's broad back. Then, lifting his saddle down from the stall wall, he set it in place and bent to grab the cinch strap.

  Nora stepped up to the stall door, where she propped folded arms on the top rail. "I've been wondering about something,” she said.

  Only one thing! Hell, he had half a dozen wild thoughts racing through his mind. But he only asked, "What's that?" He tightened the cinch, buckled it, then dropped the stirrup into place. Turning his head to face her, he silently waited for her to go on.

  "Okay," she said. "I guess I can understand why you keep looking at me like you're expecting my head to start spinning on my shoulders."

  "Huh?"

  "Forget it." She inhaled deeply and added, "There's something else I need you to explain to me."

  Warily, he nodded.

  "When I woke up yesterday," she started, her voice slow and thoughtful, "Elizabeth fainted and Richard smiled. Heck, even the doctor looked pleased. But not you."

  He shifted his gaze from hers. Running the palm of his hand along the horse's neck, he blankly stared straight ahead. He knew what was coming.

  "You cursed like you were disgusted to find me still alive, then stomped out of the room. I want to know why."

  "Forget it, Nora. It's over and done. Best left alone."

  “I'll decide what I should leave alone, cowboy," she said. Even the tone of her voice was different. It wasn't only the things she said, it was how she said it. A note of confidence rang in her voice now. And Lord knew, Nora had never been confident about anything.

  Except maybe her feelings for Richard.

  Seth scowled in disgust. Why was it women were so eager to fall at the feet of some handsome charmer with more words than honor?

  "C'mon, Clint,
" she prodded. "Spill it."

  He half turned to face her. Leaning a forearm across the top of the saddle, he cocked his head to one side and watched her for a long, silent minute. To give her her due, she stared right back at him— which was one more strike against her. Different. Even her dark brown eyes were different. Not the color so much as the spark of life in them.

  "You were disappointed that I didn't die, weren't you?"

  "Yeah," he admitted, "I was."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "That's a hell of a thing to say to anybody," she snapped.

  Seth blinked. It wasn't the first time she'd cursed that morning, but it still surprised him to hear her. Splotches of indignant red color appeared on her cheeks, and he couldn't take his eyes off her as she stepped around the edge of the stall to stand directly in front of him.

  Poking him in the center of his chest with the tip of her index finger, she said, "Okay, Kemosabe, what's your story? Why would you want me dead?” She paused a moment, cocked her head, and looked at him through wary, suspicious eyes. “What? Is there a will somewhere leaving you this precious piece of nowhere if something should happen to me?”

  "What?" Somehow, the single word managed to scrape past the knot of outrage in his throat.

  "You heard me," she went on, clearly oblivious to his rising temper in the face of her own. “I'm surprised you didn't have a backup plan. Hell, for that matter, why didn't you just wait around for the doctor and the others to leave and then slap a pillow over my face?”

  That did it. He reached for her. Grabbing her shoulders, he gave her a good, hard shake and watched that silly, yet somehow attractive horse tail hairdo of hers fall down around her shoulders. Then he released her and took a safe step back. Lord, he couldn't even remember the last time he had really lost his temper. Sure, he got mad once in a while— usually at some lazy cowhand who wasn't doing his share of the work. And God knew, he'd been pushed pretty hard here lately, what with Richard butting his nose into everything.

  But it had been years since he had felt the flash of red hot rage that was burning through him now. Seth had worked long and hard at putting a rein on his temper. When he was a fool kid, his short fuse had gotten him into all kinds of trouble. He had thanked his lucky stars more than once that he had somehow managed to avoid jail during his growing up years.