“Faith, where in god’s name are you?”
Standing in the shadows of the enclosed stairway, Faith froze in the act of hanging the shawl over the last peg on the wall.
Was she losing her grip on sanity? Hearing voices? His voice?
Her heart racing, needing to look yet almost afraid to do so, Faith slowly turned around.
Pres stood in the doorway, the bulging leather bag clutched in one hand, an expression of baffled wonderment on his handsome face.
Breathless, unable to move, certain he was an illusion created by her bereaved, deranged mind, Faith watched him as he glanced around, examining the room in exactly the same manner she herself had a short time ago.
She saw his sharp-eyed gaze take in the electric candles flickering in the windows, the smooth plaster concealing the chinked log walls. She saw his gaze drop to the crèche on the garland draped mantelpiece, and a faint smile touched his lips when he shifted his attention to the tall Christmas tree standing majestically next to the fireplace, decorated with electric lights and glass balls.
“It is just as she described it to me.”
His whisper broke the spell holding Faith immobile. Joy burst like a glorious sunrise inside her!
“Pres!” Launching herself from the shadows, Faith flew across the room and into his arms. “Oh, Pres, oh, darling, I can’t believe it!” she cried, skimming her fingers over his face, his lips. “You’re here. You’re really here!”
Pres kissed her fingertips, then lowered his head to crush her mouth with his. “We are in your time period,” he said, as he raised his head and glanced around. ‘This is your Laughing Fox Inn, the one you told me about?”
“Yes,” she answered, laughing and crying at the same time. “This is incredible! I thought I had lost you, and now here you are.”
“Yes.” A shadow flashed over his face.
“Are you sorry?”
Pres frowned at her. “Sorry... for what?”
“That you’re here.” Dreading his reply, she rushed on. “I know how dedicated you are. .. were, to the cause and to Washington. Are you sorry you won’t be there?”
“No.” The shadows in his eyes were banished by a teasing gleam. “As you pointed out, General Washington won the war without me.” He arched his dark brows. “Did he not?”
Faith smiled with tender understanding. “Yes, darling, I promise you he did. But something is bothering you. I saw it in your expression a moment ago. What was it?”
His frown was back. “You told me you were going to lose this beautiful inn.” Pres raised the hand gripping the bag. “I was wondering if, perhaps, these might help you in any way?”
“Your grandmother’s jewels!” Faith exclaimed. “Pres, they’re worth a fortune.”
“They are yours.”
Faith shook her head. “I can’t accept...”
“I insist.”
“Thank you.” Faith gave in gracefully. “They will save the inn for us.”
“If I am still here,” he said, cautioning her.
The joy dimmed inside Faith, “What do you mean, if you’re still here?”
“My love, you were whisked back to your time,” he reminded her. “How can we be sure that I will not be whisked back to mine?”
Faith bit her lip, and then an idea struck her, an odd but wonderful idea. “Pres, I can’t be certain, of course, but I think—I truly believe—that we were meant to be together.”
The light of hope flared in his dark eyes. “I pray you are right,” he murmured fervently. “But... why would you believe that to be so?”
Faith was quiet for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “If you recall,” she said, “I told you that on the night I was ... er, transferred, I pleaded with God to guide me. Pres, I... I now believe He sent me to get you.”
“Yes!” Pres said in a tone of awed belief. “Faith, when you did not return to the bedroom, I also called out to the Lord, begging Him not to take you from me!”
Faith was crying again, in thankfulness for the miracle. “Oh, Pres, I’m certain He sent you here because we belong together.” Faith paused, beginning to frown. “But darling, how did you get here?”
“Oh, my sweet Faith, cut me some slack,” Pres said, grinning at her.
“But how did you?” she persisted, laughing.
“I simply followed your footsteps in the snow.”