Somewhere in Time (The Crosse Harbor Time Travel Trilogy)
Page 26
"Damn," she whispered. If only she could home in on Shannon and Andrew's whereabouts. For weeks she'd felt as if they were Siamese triplets, attached at the psyche. But now there wasn't so much as a blip on her internal radar screen. The balloon had been in trouble when she bailed out. Were they in the same century? The same country? Were Shannon and Andrew still alive?
She closed her eyes and emptied her mind of all but the image of her two friends. If they were anywhere nearby, certainly she'd pick up something. A vibration, a sound, a deep sense memory that could lead her to them.
The silence within was profound.
Her hands began to shake and she dragged them through her short, curly hair. Calm down. This isn't the end of the world. She'd just fallen out of a tree. That would be enough to shake up anybody's neurons. She'd try again in a few minutes. All she had to do was give her aura a chance to settle down and she'd be back in business.
Besides, she had more pressing problems to deal with. Survival, for one. If she laid there much longer she'd be a prime candidate for hypothermia. She had no intention of ending her days as a bear's Tastee-Freez.
She sat up, trying to pretend her ankle wasn't throbbing like crazy. Her immediate wish list wasn't that difficult. She needed shelter; she needed clothing; she needed to find a bathroom.
When she'd asked where the child lived, the girl had pointed beyond the clearing, toward the west. That was as good a place to start as any. She didn't know what she would say once she got there, but time was running out. Her ear lobes ached from the cold; her fingers and toes were numb from it. Her brain would be the next to go.
She tried to stand up but her ankle gave way. "Damn," she whispered. "Damn damn damn." Are you going to let a little thing like a broken ankle slow you down? The snow was beginning to stick, both to the ground and to her person. Think past the pain. The pain doesn't exist. Just get moving!
She scrambled to her knees and was about to go for broke when she realized that wasn't a woodpecker she heard in the distance but a horse's hooves, and they were coming closer.
Dakota Wylie's First Rule of Survival: when in doubt, run for cover.
She dove into a huge pile of leaves and began to pray.
#
Patrick's chestnut hated the snow. The stallion was skittish in the best of times and the accumulating snow made him almost impossible to manage. Patrick breathed a sigh of relief when they left the town proper and plunged into the woods. The multitude of evergreens formed a natural shield from the worst of the storm and the nervous beast quickly calmed.
Moments later, to Patrick's dismay, a white-tailed deer leaped from the bushes and bounded across the path, directly in front of them.
The chestnut whinnied and reared; Patrick fell backward and landed in a huge pile of leaves.
The chestnut, unperturbed by his predicament, stood a few yards away, rooting through a mound of snow-frosted grass in search of something edible.
"Watch it!"
Patrick tilted his head. The voice sounded to be that of a female but there was something sharp about the tone that was most unattractive. A young man, perhaps. One too youthful to grow whiskers but too old for the nursery. The chestnut rooted more deeply into the leaves, tail twitching with interest.
"Cut that out!"
Spies abounded everywhere. They worshipped at the First Presbyterian Church; they lifted a glass to General Washington's health at Arnold's Tavern; more than one had dined at his own table.
And unless the chestnut had developed the power of speech, one was hiding in the leaves.
#
Dakota held her nose as warm equine breath gusted toward her. Haven't you ever heard of dental hygiene? And the breath was nothing compared with the thought of big yellow horse teeth poking at her ribs. Did horses bite? Except for the appendix, nature rarely gave creatures body parts they didn't need. Those teeth were probably huge for a reason and it wasn't just to eat carrots.
And that wasn't the worst of it. Unless she'd dropped down onto the Ponderosa, horses didn't wander around without riders and she'd bet her last jelly donut that this horse's rider was somewhere close by.
She lay there, scarcely breathing, listening to the sound of her heart beating in her ear...and footsteps crunching through the snow, heading straight toward her. A nervous laugh struggled to escape.
The footsteps sounded angry and male. Brimming with testosterone. She tried to focus in on those footsteps and conjure up a picture of the man responsible for them but her mind screen was still blank.
For the first time in her life, she was on her own.
#
Patrick Devane was no man's fool. These were dangerous times. A body did not hide himself in a pile of leaves unless he wished to escape notice. He cursed the fact that he'd left his pistol in his study. The Colony of New Jersey was a hotbed of infidels and opportunists and the best way to deal with any and all of them was from the right side of a weapon.
He stepped between the chestnut and the coward who lay quaking beneath a pile of brittle maple leaves.
"Show yourself, man!" His voice filled the clearing. No boy still wet behind the ears would best him, no matter the situation.
The leaves fluttered but there was no response. A wry smile twisted his lips. The sorry bastard was trembling, more likely than not. An unworthy opponent but he would see it through. He dug the toe of his riding boots beneath the leaves and nudged the coward.
"My patience grows thin," he warned, thinking of the encroaching darkness and the missing child.
He nudged harder.
"Once more and you lose the foot," came the voice from the leaf pile.
He watched, open-mouthed, as a person of indeterminate age and gender sat up in the fallen leaves and stared at him.
"Sweet Jesus!" He stepped back. His eyes darted from one indescribable part of the stranger's body to another. Black hair shorter than a newborn babe's. Round spectacles with light blue lenses. Trousers of a faded blue material. A thin shirt with the foreign-sounding words Jurassic Park embroidered across the breast. The stranger wore enormous silver earbobs that dangled on its shoulders, their lacy pattern looking for all the world like tracings of ice on a windowpane.
He narrowed his eyes. The breasts seemed too full to belong to a boy but not full enough to belong to a grown woman. Still he was reasonably sure the stranger was female.
"You're staring," the stranger said.
"I am," he said, not seeking to avoid the truth, "for I have not seen the likes of you in this or any other life."
~~end of excerpt of DESTINY'S CHILD~~
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BARBARA BRETTON is the USA Today bestselling, award-winning author of more than 50 books. She currently has over ten million copies in print around the world. Her works have been translated into twelve languages in over twenty countries and she has received starred reviews from both PUBLISHERS WEEKLY and BOOKLIST.
Barbara has been featured in articles in The New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal, Romantic Times, Cleveland Plain Dealer, Herald News, Home News, Somerset Gazette,,among others, and has been interviewed by Independent Network News Television, appeared on the Susan Stamberg Show on NPR, and been featured in an interview with Charles Osgood of WCBS, among others.
Her awards include both Reviewer's Choice and Career Achievement Awards from Romantic Times; a RITA nomination from RWA, Gold and Silver certificates from Affaire de Coeur; the RWA Region 1 Golden Leaf; and several sales awards from Bookrak. Ms. Bretton was included in a recent edition of Contemporary Authors.
Barbara cooks, knits, and writes in New Jersey.
How to contact Barbara:
Barbarabretton.com - Website
BarbaraBretton - Facebook -Twitter
Wickedsplitty - Ravelry
Barbarabretton AT gmail DOT com - E-mail
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