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Jane’s heart seemed to grind to a halt. Without a second’s hesitation, she stepped into the room, snatched the baseball bat from where it leaned in the corner, lifted it and moved forward.
“Mom, no!”
Cody’s shout made the lunatic who held him pause and stiffen, as if just realizing someone else had come into the room. And Jane hesitated. Instead of bringing the bat crashing down on his head, she just held it there, ready, poised. Her throat was so dry that the words sounded raspy and harsh when she said, “Let him go. Let him go, right now, or I swear…”
And he turned very slowly, still hugging Cody tight, to face her. The movement bringing him out of the light, so that his face was in shadow. His brows drew together, and he seemed puzzled. Confused.
“Please,” Jane said, and her voice wasn’t quite as demanding or as confident this time. Her hands shook, and her grip on the baseball bat was none too steady. “Please, take whatever you want. Just don’t hurt my son.”
“Hurt him?” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Tormented, pain-filled, and weak. “No, I could never… I love him. He’s my son, my Benjamin, my…” Blinking as if to clear his eyes, he turned to stare at Cody’s small, frightened face.
Jane lowered the bat, reached out a hand, flicked on the light switch. She saw the man jerk in shock, saw the fearful glance he sent up at the light fixture on the ceiling above him. Then his gaze returned to the top of Cody’s head, because he held him too closely to see much else.
“He’s my son,” Jane said, calmly, gently, and her eyes were fixed to Cody’s. The man was obviously insane. “His name is not Benjamin, it’s Cody. He’s my son. Please…”
The man gave his head a shake. With deliberate tenderness, he clasped Cody’s small shoulders and moved the boy away from him, just a bit. Enough so that he could stare down into Cody’s face.
“You’re…you’re not Benjamin….” he whispered, and the pain in his voice had tears springing to life in Jane’s eyes.
“I’m Cody, mister. Cody Fortune. I had a dad once, but he died when I was a baby. That’s my mom.” Cody pointed. “Her name’s Jane.”
The man’s brows rose. He shook his head slowly, and tears filled his eyes. “Lord,” he whispered. “You’re not… But…I thought…” Blinking repeatedly, he gripped the bedpost, pulled himself to his feet, but remained bent over, his free hand pressing to his forehead. Finally, he straightened, and turned to face Jane fully, right beneath the overhead light.
She saw his face, and her jaw fell. She caught her breath, forced her shock into submission. But then she noticed the clothes he wore, and her heart flip-flopped all over again.
Dear God, he was the image of the man in the painting.
“I’m sorry,” he said, glancing down at Cody. Then facing Jane, he repeated, “I’m so sorry I frightened you both. I…” He took a step toward her, but swayed a little, and grasped the bedpost to hold himself up.
“Th-th-that’s okay,” Jane said, and she wiggled her hand at her son. Cody ran to her, and she held him tight, never taking her eyes off the stranger. “Um…look, how did you get in here?”
He frowned, and looked around the room as if for the first time. “It’s…it’s different.” He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
Jane gently pushed Cody behind her, then took a backward step. She forcibly ignored his resemblance to the inventor she’d been mooning over so recently, and refused to think about his clothes. “You’re, um…sick or something, aren’t you,” she said, almost as if to convince herself of it. “You’re disoriented and you wandered in here by accident. I understand, all right? I’m not going to press charges, or anything like that.”
The man’s eyes opened. They were a bit dazed, clouded with pain, but they were also intelligent, perfectly sane and utterly sincere brown eyes. Brown eyes that looked so familiar it was downright uncanny. “What year is this, Jane?”
What year—
Jane swallowed hard and refused to so much as allow the thought to enter her mind. “Nineteen ninety-seven,” she told him, as casually as if it were a question she answered every day. She nudged her son with her as she took another backward step into the hall.
The man’s head jerked up fast and his eyes widened. “Nineteen…” Then he looked above him, at the light fixture in the ceiling, and when he lowered his head again, he grimaced in agony. “No… No, I went the wrong way. I came forward instead of going back. This can’t be, I…” Still ranting, he lunged forward, toward Jane, but he never made it. He went down like a giant redwood, in a heap at her feet.
And that was when she noticed the gold wire-rims on the floor beside him. The satchel in the middle of Cody’s bedroom floor. The little black box. She swallowed hard and told herself she was letting her imagination run wild. She bent down over him, reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the pocket watch—the exact same pocket watch she’d seen in the painting. And then she looked more closely at the small black box on the floor. An odd-looking remote control that looked an awful lot like the box the inventor was tinkering with in the painting.
“He asked what year it was. Said he’d come forward,” she muttered. And she mentally revisited what Sheriff O’Donnell, and the library books, had told her about the genius scientist who’d lived here. That he’d claimed to have invented time travel…and then he disappeared.
“But that just can’t be…”
“Mom?”
She rose, and turned to face her son.
“Can we keep him?”
Jane braced her hands on the edge of the bed, bending almost double as she tried to catch her breath. The man was no lightweight, that was for sure. Getting him into the bed had been no easy job. And whoever he was, he could use a shower, a shave and a clean change of clothes.
None of which, she reminded herself, was her problem. All she had to do was go downstairs, call Sheriff Quigly O’Donnell and have this intruder taken away to a jail cell.
Except that she hadn’t placed that call just yet. And she was in no hurry to, for some reason.
“Mom, is he sick?”
She glanced at her son, shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably. You’d better go wash your hands, Cody. It might be catching.”
Cody didn’t go. “Maybe he’s not sick, Mom. Maybe he’s hurt.”
Jane slipped her arm around her son’s shoulders and squeezed. “You must have been scared to death.”
“Nah. At first I thought he really was my dad. That he’d come back somehow—even though I know that’s impossible. The way he was hugging me and all.” His chin lowered just a bit. “It was kinda nice.”
Jane’s throat tightened. Time to change the subject. “How did he get in here, sweetheart?”
Cody shook his head. “There was this big light, right in the middle of my room. Round. Like…sort of like a train tunnel, only light instead of dark. Really light. It hurt my eyes.” Jane frowned, but her son kept on talking. “Then the light was gone, and he was laying on the floor.”
“Lying on the floor,” she said automatically, her gaze pinned to the man in her son’s bed.
“That’s what I said. Mom, you think he’s a ghost?”
“No, Cody, I don’t think he’s a ghost.” She frowned at her son. “And I didn’t think you believed in anything as non-scientific as that.”
“I don’t. But what about—?”
“Come on,” she said, feeling uneasier by the second. A train tunnel, indeed. “Let’s go call Sheriff O’Donnell.”
“Mom, we can’t!” Cody pulled his hand free. “He needs help! He’s sick or hurt or something! You can’t go putting him in jail!”
“Honey, he broke into our house—”
“He’s my friend!” Cody crossed his arms over his chest, lower lip protruding.
“How can he be your friend? You don’t even know him.”
“He hugged me,” Cody said firmly. “And he said he loved me. And I’m not going to let you put him in jail.”
Jane closed her eyes and sighed. “Codester, sweetie, we can’t just keep him.”
“Why not? He could help with the tree house I want to build in the backyard. When he’s better, I mean. It would be great. And we could—”
“For all we know, Cody, this man could be a dangerous criminal. We can’t just let him stay. He could be—” She looked down into her son’s huge green eyes and felt like Attila the Hun. “Cody…”
“Please, Mom? We at least have to find out who he is, where he came from. What that flash of light was all about. I think he needs help, Mom.”
She sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
Cody smiled. Then he yawned and rubbed his eyes.
“Come on. You’d better get some sleep now. In my room, okay?”
“Okay.” Grinning, Cody raced down the hall and shot right into her bedroom.
Jane looked at the man who slept in her son’s bed. There was, of course, no way she was going to let him stay here. She’d simply have to wait until Cody went to sleep to call the sheriff. She’d figure out a way to explain it to him later. Meanwhile, she wouldn’t take her eyes off the guy. If he so much as glanced in Cody’s direction…
She picked up the baseball bat and pulled up a chair. She’d give Cody fifteen minutes to fall asleep. Then she’d place that call.
Zach awoke in the darkened room. His son’s bedroom, of course. He must have tired himself out working today, and fallen asleep reading to the boy. It was a wonder Ben hadn’t shaken him awake to get him to finish the story, the way he usually did.
But where on earth was Benjamin?
He closed his eyes, shook his head. Of course. Benjamin was still visiting his grandparents in Boston. How could he have forgotten?
Well, then, as long as he was awake, he might as well get some work done.
Oh, bother.
Zach poked into his shirt pocket in search of his spectacles, but didn’t find them there. He reached to the small stand beside the bed for an oil lamp, but he must not have left it there. All he had to go by was the moonlight streaming in through the window behind him as he scanned the room in search of the lamp. But what was this? There was an incredibly beautiful young woman asleep in a wooden chair beside the bed. She wore a pale nightgown, with short sleeves that revealed her shapely arms. Her head was tipped sideways, resting upon her shoulder. And her hair rolled in waves of red-brown satin, halfway to the floor. My word, she was something. But what on earth was she doing here? How had she…
Slowly Zach recalled his colleagues Wilhelm and Eli, and their penchant for practical jokes. They’d been teasing him about working too hard, about having no life, no interests, aside from his son and his work. He’d once been something of a rogue, engaging in affairs with some of the town’s most notoriously improper young women. But he’d been slacking off lately, and devoting all his time to the current experiment. One that would change the world, if he ever made it work.
Once, those two clowns had suggested he’d been so long without a woman that he wouldn’t know what to do with one if she showed up in his bed. So they’d decided to hire some doxy to prove their point, had they? My, she was beautiful. Unfortunately, he wasn’t so desperate to prove his manhood that he’d risk disease to do so. He much preferred to choose his own lovers. A shame, such a shame.
He sighed. No doubt she’d report back to those two childish pranksters that he’d failed to show any interest in her…charms.
Well, he could at least avoid the ribbing he’d take over that.
Sliding from the bed, wondering only briefly why he felt so weak and slightly dizzy, he tiptoed to the chair where she slept, nearly tripping over the baseball bat his son must have left lying about. Amazing he hadn’t spotted it before. He shoved it out of the way with his foot and stepped closer to the trollop, and touched that long hair, rubbed it between his fingers. Soft as down. He bent slightly, inhaled her scent and smiled. Oh, they’d gone all out. Must have paid extra for a clean and lovely girl. This one looked as fresh as a daisy, and smelled even better.
As he stood bending over her, she sighed and moved a bit. Her lips parted and her head tipped back. And Zach realized with a pang how very long it had been since he’d kissed a woman. And, aside from the common cold, perhaps, he didn’t fear catching anything by kissing this one.
So he did. He bent lower, lifted her chin with the tip of his forefinger and fit his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm and moist and pliant, and they felt good beneath his. Better when a gentle sigh escaped them, one he inhaled. He nudged those soft lips apart, to taste more of her, and they opened willingly, easily. She was starting to come awake now. Starting to respond, kissing him back. He slipped his arms around her small waist and pulled her to her feet, cradling her between his legs and against his chest as he deepened his kiss. Her drowsy response ignited feelings in him that he’d long since forgotten. Feelings he hadn’t thought he’d ever know again. Passion flared in his veins, and her body pressed closer, head tilted farther, lips opened to his questing tongue. Her hands crept up his back, clung to his shoulders, and his heart beat a wild tattoo in his chest. No, none of his halfhearted dalliances had produced this strong a response in him.
Not since Claudia…
And then a mighty shove sent him staggering backward, and Zach was too surprised to even wonder why he was so weak that a mite of a woman could send him flying.
She stood panting, glaring at him. “That’s it,” she fairly growled at him. “That’s it. I was thinking about going easy on you, mister, but you’ve pushed me too far.”
“Rough or easy,” he told her, “doesn’t much matter. I’m not interested in having sex with you, Miss, so you might as well be on your way.” It was a lie, of course. He was very interested. If only he had one of those condoms on hand, he might even oblige her.
“Not…interested… Sex?” She blinked as if in shock.
“Oh, it isn’t you, love.” He smiled at her, reached out a hand to smooth her hair out of her eyes. She only stood there, apparently too shocked to move. “Actually, I’m more tempted than I’ve been in a very long time. You’re lovely. But I’ve no wish to expose myself to… Well, you understand.”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t understand, and I don’t think I want to. Listen, you’re nuts. You’re certifiable. I’m taking you downstairs right now, and I’m calling the sheriff. But don’t bother waiting around for him, okay? Just get out.”
He frowned, tilted his head. “Pardon?”
“I said get out,” she told him. She was grating her teeth and her fisted hands were shaking at her sides. “Get the hell out of my house. Now.”
“My word,” he told her. “You really should consider a career in the theater. I’ve no idea what you’re up to, darling, but this is my house, and it’s you who really ought to be leaving.”
She blinked. The anger was rapidly fading. It was fear he saw replacing it in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, thinking perhaps she’d be beaten if it became known she’d failed. He almost reconsidered his decision to abstain. Sex with this fiery woman would have to be something to experience. “What if I let you stay a couple of hours, hmm? Will that be enough to convince them we had ourselves a good tumble?”
Her hand connected with his face in a streak, and he didn’t have time to duck it. It thoroughly amazed him when her blow knocked him off balance. He landed on the bed, blinking up at her. Lord, why was he so weak? So dizzy? Had he been ill recently?
“Get out,” she ordered.
“Enough,” he said softly, still baffled by his physical state. “Are you daft? Must I prove to you that this is my home? Shall I send for the sheriff to have you carried out? Is that what you want?” He shook his head, lifted a hand and pointed toward the table near the window, its shape just visible in the darkness. “There is a worktable. Not the main one, of course, but I do keep one here in Benjamin’s room. Some of my experiments are there. My tools. My notes. They’re secret, naturally, but a common doxy like you could make neither heads nor tails of them anyway, so go ahead and look.” He pointed to the far wall. “There is the hearth, and upon the mantel are a pair of oil lamps and some matches. Do light one, so you can see for yourself where you are, woman. And then kindly remove yourself. I have work to do.”
The woman only stared at him, completely puzzled. And then, slowly, she moved to the wall. She touched an appendage there, and the room was suddenly flooded with light. Zachariah Bolton nearly fell on the floor in shock.
Three
J ane searched the floor, spotted the baseball bat and snatched it up again as she watched an apparently bewildered man gazing around Cody’s bedroom as if in disbelief.
“What is this?” he shouted. “Where is the slate board? My notes? Lord, woman, who installed this confounded electrical illuminator in here, and what have you done with my notes?”
“Look,” she said, holding the bat up in front of her. “I don’t know who the hell you are, or what you’re talking about, but—”
“My tools!” he yelled, turning this way and that, pushing a hand through his nearly black hair. “What in tarnation have you done with my tools? And my worktable? Woman, where is Aunt Hattie’s credenza?”
The man was sick. And not just mentally, either. His face was pale, and thinner than it should be, and dark circles ringed his deep brown eyes.
“Thank heavens,” he said at last, and fell to his knees on the floor, grasping that small box. “The device is safe, at least. The device…” He looked even more confused than before. “But…but I hadn’t finished it yet.”
She wanted to run from the room. Right that second, run down the hall to grab Cody, and then take him right out of this house. But the man on his knees in the center of the floor was looking at her, and she thought, maybe, he was remembering… The pain that slowly shadowed his face said more than words could. But he spoke all the same, staring hard at her.
“You’re Jane.”
She nodded, not moving. Telling herself to leave, call for help. And telling herself not to go to him and try to ease the confusion from his brow.
“And the boy…he’s your son… He’s not Benjamin.”
“That’s right. You remember, then,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes. “I remember. Benjamin…my little Benjamin…he’s…” His head bowed, and his shoulders began to shake. “He’s dying. How could I forget that, even for a moment?”
