Spring eased into an early, mild summer as weeks crept along at the speed of snails, and with each passing day, the aching void in Jess’s heart gnawed at him. He vacillated between anger at Corrie—her lies, her secrets—and anger at himself. In spite of this, he haunted places where she might go, the bittersweet sight of her adding to the ache. But he avoided the Café of Dreams. It held too many memories of their final argument . . . and of their nights together.
Too many dreams of what they had lost.
Jess slammed his hand on his desk. “I can’t stand it any longer. So help me, I’m going to beard her in her den.”
“Beard who, boyo?” Jack O’Riley asked groggily from the chair opposite. The Irishman was taking advantage of Jess’s recent largesse with liquor and spent more than his usual time in the police station. As a guest, not an inmate.
“Corrie, damn her eyes.” Damn her deep, velvety brown eyes and freckled nose and . . . Jess shot to his feet. “Sleep it off here, O’Riley. Don’t want the Major to see you the worse for wear.”
Jack drew himself up and glared at Jess with owlish eyes. “ ’Tis worse for wear I am? I’ll have ye know—”
Jess didn’t wait to learn what Jack would have him know, but hurried out into the cool evening air. The Café of Dreams was only a few minutes’ walk away—just long enough for him to reconsider his frontal attack. So, before entering, he paused outside the front window and scrutinized the interior.
His mother and sisters occupied a large table in the center of the restaurant, chatting and enjoying themselves, quite unlike the solemn, condemnatory harpies they had been toward him these last weeks. He was son and brother, but they had taken Corrie, a lying, time-traveling whore, into their hearts and placed all the blame on him.
If he told them the truth about her, they would recoil in horror, as he had. Wouldn’t they? But to do that was to deprive Corrie of much-needed support—the family she had never had and desperately wanted. Still, they were his blood relations and, by damn, he had the right to dine with his family. The tightness in his gut was hunger, not nerves.
Nevertheless, as he entered, his gaze snapped to the swinging kitchen door. Was she there? Would she come out? Would she speak even a few civil courtesies to him? He had never known how she would act.
And didn’t know now.
These past weeks, all she had done was ignore him, even to the point of walking around him with her head averted rather than speak. As if he was the liar, not her.
“Why, Jess, whatever are you doing here?” His mother’s stentorian tones overrode all other conversation, and the café dropped into relative silence.
Heat crept up his neck, and he resisted the urge to duck his head like a child. Approaching the table, he snagged an empty chair and placed it across from her, between Abby and Peggy. “Good evening, Ma.” He nodded to the rest. “A man has to eat. Here’s as good as any place.”
Peggy shot worried glances between him and their mother. This estrangement with Corrie had been especially hard on her, torn between her new friend and her favorite brother.
He patted her hand, and a tentative smile flickered across her features. As he turned his attention from her to the rest, the disapproving silence intruded upon his awareness. That and his sisters’ stony glares.
“Are you certain this is wise?” Abby asked.
Wise? No, but necessary. He shook his head and kept his gaze riveted on the kitchen door.
Maisie swept through, jerking to a halt when her gaze encountered his, then retreating quickly back the way she had come.
Shortly, a familiar figure appeared from the kitchen and stood, arms crossed over her chest, simply watching him. Had she always had that air of command about her? That aura of barely-contained energy?
Had the lamplight always glinted off the auburn highlights in her braid quite that brightly?
Corrie let out a huff and strode across the room. Several diners stopped her and praised her cooking, but she kept her gaze locked with his. As she drew closer, he saw dark smudges beneath her eyes and a gauntness in her cheeks that he had never seen there before.
Was it possible she missed him as much as he missed her? His heartbeat accelerated. Good.
She broke eye contact with him when she reached their table. Turning a smile on the rest, she asked, “How is everything, ladies? Did you save room for Lula’s shoofly pie?”
Bea, Peggy, and Deedee voted for dessert while the rest opted simply for coffee. Corrie studiously ignored Jess’s request for pie and coffee and spun on her heel to go.
Jess leaped up and grabbed her arm. “Corrie, please, at least—”
“Let go of my arm.” Ice held more warmth than her voice.
“Corrie, I—” He stopped, uncertain what he wanted to say. The reality of what she was—a time traveler—and what had passed between them—love and lies—silenced him.
Her gaze raked him head to toe, settling on his hand on her arm. “Let go of me if you want to keep that.”
He released her as if he’d been burned. “If that’s the way you want it.”
Rotating her face away from him, she gritted out, “You were the one who left, not me.”
She hurried across the dining room, then paused to look back for an instant. Her eyes glimmered in the light, awash with tears.
And a pain that mirrored his own.
Jess forced himself to stay through dessert—which he was never served—then bade his family good-bye, and made his way to Teddy’s small house. While he waited for the door to open, he jammed his hands in his pockets, his mind roiling like his gut. And his heart . . .
Damn it.
“Come in,” Teddy said with equanimity, not the least put out by this late unannounced visit. Unusually perceptive, he made small talk as he poured them drinks and directed Jess to a comfortable chair by the empty fireplace. Silence settled on the room like a shroud, broken only by the clink of glass as Jess refilled his tumbler.
The second brandy burned away his reticence, and Jess exploded. “Why in hell did I have to fall in love with her?”
Teddy sipped his own drink and merely shrugged.
“It’s not as if she’s a beauty. A little, dowdy brown duck—that’s all she is.” Restlessness of mind spilled over into restlessness of body, and Jess rose to pace Teddy’s study. “I can name a hundred girls far prettier.”
“Mmm.”
“And as for grace! Did I tell you she almost fell when she was presented to the Karakovs? She’s beyond hope.”
Teddy raised an eyebrow.
“Has no idea how to dress, and her hair—” Her hair was like silk in his hands as he plunged them through her curls when they made love. Jess subsided into his chair. “Oh God, Teddy, what am I going to do?”
The gas sputtering in the chandelier was the only sound as Teddy considered his answer.
Jess accepted his brother’s slow, thought-out ways, but this was maddening. “Well?”
Teddy took another sip of brandy before answering. “What do you want to do?”
“I want to shake her senseless.”
“Not very productive.” Teddy raised his glass and studied the mellow golden liquid. “And not what you really want to do.”
“You’re right. Strangling her also comes to mind.”
Teddy raised his other eyebrow. “If it moves you to contemplate violence, whatever she did must be all-fired unbearable.”
Jess slugged down another mouthful of brandy. “It’s unbearable, all right. And unbelievable.”
“What’s so unbelievable?”
Did he dare tell Teddy of Corrie’s origins in the future? What would prosaic Teddy make of a time traveler? Would his brother believe him, or would he call Dr. Jones to give him a sedative? Damn it, why did Corrie have to complicate his life, not only with her own self but with her secrets and lies?
“I asked, what is so unbelievable?”
Jess emptied his tumbler and placed it on the table. “She lied to me. Kept secrets from me.”
“She’s not carrying another man’s child, is she?” Teddy’s voice held a note of reserve.
“What?” Jess scrubbed his face with his hands. “No, nothing like that.”
“Then what’s so horrible about keeping secrets?”
“It’s the type of secrets she kept—the kind of lies she told.” No, he couldn’t share her story with Teddy.
His brother scrutinized the remaining liquor in his glass for several minutes before he lifted eyes full of gentle reproach to meet Jess’s gaze. “Have you told her what happened seven years ago? During that last battle?”
Fire erupted in Jess’s gut. “Hell, no.”
“Then how can you expect her to share all her secrets with you? And why should she?”
Jess scrubbed his face again, then stood and wandered to the window so he wouldn’t have to meet his brother’s gaze. Was Jess being unreasonable to expect complete honesty from Corrie when he wasn’t forthcoming himself?
How different were their two secrets? Time travel was certainly a momentous one, but was his any less so?
At least she’s not responsible for anyone’s death.
He heaved a sigh and turned toward Teddy, who waited with his accustomed patience.
With a benign gaze, Teddy asked, “If you want her to be honest with you, don’t you think you should be honest with her? Can you really expect her to conform to a different standard of honesty?”
“Damn it all. I’ve been a fool.” Worn down by the days of conflicting emotions, Jess sagged into the chair. God, he wanted to take Corrie into his arms and never let her go. “When did you get to be so smart?”
Teddy chuckled and slipped deeper into his chair. “When you weren’t looking, little brother.”
The next morning dawned way too bright for Corrie’s comfort after a night of recriminations and nightmares. Two days remained—only two—until the summer solstice and her return to the twenty-first century.
The weather was becoming uncomfortably warm, especially given this damned corset and all these petticoats. She tugged at the neck of her seersucker dress and squinted down the railroad tracks against the sun. Air-conditioning; that’s what she wanted right now.
That and the biggest, most super-sized Coca Cola she could lay her hands on. With lots and lots of ice.
Shorts and a tank top sounded great, too.
A train whistle hooted in the distance, and she tilted the brim of her straw boater to better shade her eyes and stepped to the edge of the station platform at the same time she crossed the fingers of her other hand.
Please let them be on the train. Please.
She glanced over her shoulder at the massive burgundy and blue Chesterfield carriage with its three triple-seats and the baggage cart behind it Would it hold all of them? Or would none of them show up?
See what caring gets you, Webb? Worry and wrinkles.
And heartache.
She shoved that thought away as the train rumbled closer. Several men hung out the windows and the doors and looked toward those on the platform, but Corrie figured she wouldn’t recognize anyone anyway, so she stepped back.
This had to be the most lame-brained, insane idea she’d ever come up with.
Amid much smoke and cinders and screeching brakes, the locomotive drew to a halt and disgorged its passengers. Uncertain down to her toes but knowing it was too late to back out now, Corrie held up a piece of paper with one word printed on it in block letters: GARRETT.
Almost every man who disembarked tipped his hat as he passed her but none stopped. She chewed her lip as the passengers slowed to a trickle. Damn it, they hadn’t come. So much for her bright idea.
Then a cluster of tall men descended the steps of the next-to-the-last car and her heart skipped a beat. At least half sported the dark hair and blue eyes of the Garrett clan. All of them carried themselves like the cops back in her time did—proud and aware of their power. Yet, like the best of modern cops, these men also exuded a certain gentlemanliness, as if they were as accustomed to rescuing a child’s kitten as catching the bad guys.
Very like Jess.
There was no need to lift the sign for them to read. These were the Garrett men.
The oldest, whose dark hair sported bold dashes of distinguished silver, moved to the head of the entourage and touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Excuse me, but are you Miss Webb?”
Corrie raised the hand not carrying the sign. “Unfortunately.”
Eyebrows climbed their foreheads.
Oops. “Sorry. I mean, that’s me—that is I—oh, hell.” She gave herself a mental thwap to the head and amended, “My name’s Corrie Webb. You have to be the Garretts or I’ll turn in my chef’s knife.”
“Some of us,” the man said, dimples flickering at the corners of his mouth.
“You,” she said, sticking out her hand to shake, “must be Zelda’s husband, Max.”
The smile widened, and his eyes twinkled as he grasped her hand with barely a beat of hesitation. “That would depend on what she has told you.”
Chuckling, Corrie said, “Ask her about that.” Her gaze drifted to the others in the group. “Now, who are each of you?”
A blond giant stepped forward and clasped her hand in a paw the size of a grizzly’s. “I am Abby’s husband, Erik. This”—he dragged a slightly smaller version of himself forward—“is my brother Sven, Deedee’s husband.”
“I’m Jess’s brother, Patrick, not to be confused with my Uncle Pat,” a somewhat softer version of Jess said.
“Charles Garrett here,” one of the older men offered. “Uncle Charlie to most of these boys.”
“Bertie Smith here,” a gangly young man with a sweet smile said from behind the two blond bears. “I belong to Bea.”
That caused a ripple of laughter to circle through the group, and soon she was acquainted with all of them and their relationships to Jess. A round dozen, all told.
“Is that our conveyance?” Max asked with a jerk of the head toward the carriage.
Corrie nodded. “But I don’t think you all will fit.”
“Not a problem, little lady,” one of the uncles said and hefted his carpetbag and himself into the baggage cart. “A couple of us can ride back here. You soft-living dandies can have the coach.”
In the good-natured ribbing that followed, Jess’s father pulled her to one side. “I want to thank you for inviting all of us here. No one in the family has had the guts to try.”
A blush heated Corrie’s cheeks, but she notched her chin up a bit. “You might want to save the thanks until after you talk with Jess.”
Max tilted his hat back on his head and shoved his hands into his pants pockets, very like Jess did. “Why do I have the feeling Jess is unaware of this reunion?”
“Because he is? Unaware, I mean.”
He blew his breath out between pursed lips and ran an assessing gaze up and down her length. “Zelda said you have guts. She didn’t say just how big a dose of them, though. Lord, girl, I know that stubborn son of mine. He’s going to be ready to shoot fire when we show up.”
“I’m sure he will. I’m counting on you guys to shoot some back.”
Max guffawed and slapped her on the shoulder. “Zelda was right when she said Jess had caught him a bright one. You’re going to be a fine addition to the family.”
A chill settled over her. “I’m afraid Zelda misled you, sir. Jess and I—” Her mouth was dry as an overcooked filet, and she licked her lips with no appreciable improvement. “Jess and I aren’t . . . together. We’re not a couple . . . anymore. I just couldn’t leave without trying to help all of you straighten out this rift with Jess.”
“But Zelda said—”
“Zelda doesn’t have all the info—information.” Corrie firmed her quivering chin. “I’ll be leaving in a few days. I hope by that time you guys will kiss and make up.”
“Kiss and make up?”
There I go again. “You’ll reconcile your differences. Make everything better between all of you and Jess.”
“Hey, Max,” Uncle Charlie called. “You can talk up to the hotel. Get on in here. I’m hungry.”
“He’s always hungry.” Jess’s father gave a sad shake of his head as he waved to his brother. “But I fear you bit off a hunk of hurt when you took on this mission.”
“Probably.” Absolutely, in more ways than you know.
“We wouldn’t have made the trip if we weren’t ready to extend the olive branch to my son.” Max closed his eyes. “God knows, I’ve missed him.”
“He’s missed you, too.”
“Has he?” Hope sparked in Max’s eyes as he opened them. “Then maybe we can—how did you phrase it?—kiss and make up.”
“I hope so.” Corrie walked with Max to the impatient group in the carriage and cart.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” Max asked when she refused a hand up into the carriage.
She shook her head. “I’ve arranged with Teddy for Jess to meet you in a parlor in the hotel this evening at ten. Ask for Rupert Smith, one of the porters. He’ll direct you.”
“You won’t be there, I take it?” Max kept her hand clasped in both of his.
“No. You guys have to work this out among yourselves.”
“I hope we are worthy of your faith in us.” He released her hand , then swept off his hat to her. He stepped into the carriage and it lurched forward.
I hope so, too. Please, let it work.
As she waved good-bye, she fought to keep her stomach out of her throat. What made her think someone like her, with no family, could patch up a broken one?
That evening, Jess ambled up to the Chesterfield on King while Teddy plodded along on his latest nag. After Teddy shifted in his saddle for the tenth time and cleared his throat, Jess drew to a halt. He knew his brother too well to ignore the signs.
“Do you have a boil, or is there something you want to tell me?”
Teddy gave a start. “What? Why? Uh . . .”
“Not a boil.” Jess leaned forward. “What is it you need to tell me?”
“Dang your hide. Can’t a man adjust himself without you interrogating him?”
“If that was what you were doing, you would be going blind by now. So what is it?”
“Ah, hell, Jess . . .”
“Don’t let Ma hear you swearing.”
“She isn’t who I’m worried about.”
“Then who?” Jess stared at his brother, still shifting in his saddle. He jerked his thumb toward his shirtfront. “Me?”
Teddy would not meet his gaze. “Sort of.”
“What would this ‘sort of’ have to do with me?” Kicking his horse into a canter, Teddy shot ahead. King plunged after him with barely a nudge, but only caught up as they hit the graveled drive of the Chesterfield. By the time Jess dismounted, Teddy was sprinting up the steps.
“Hold on there,” Jess called, tossing his reins to a groom. But Teddy kept on at a near run through the lobby. While his brother skirted to the right toward the tower, Jess made a more decorous progress, pausing to nod and bow to acquaintances. He reached the newest addition to the hotel, the elevator, as it rose to the floor above.
Muttering curses under his breath and following the elevator’s sound from floor to floor, Jess hurried up the stairs. Finally, he heard the contraption stop and skidded to a halt in front of its doors as they opened.
“Jess!” Teddy had the temerity to sound surprised. “I thought you were dawdling far behind me.”
“He’s here, my boy. That’s all that matters,” a well-remembered, well-loved, voice said.
“You never were a good liar, brother mine.” Jess turned toward his father. Then he saw the others in the suite’s parlor and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Good evening, gentlemen. What brings you here?”
Corrie released a sigh and desultorily helped wash the dishes after the café closed for the evening. Part of her mind registered how adept she had become at using nineteenth-century technology—or lack thereof—while the rest of her mind ran in circles of depression and pain.
Pain . . . and Jess . . . and memories.
Somehow, all this ordeal was triggering more dreams—no, the night terrors—of her childhood. The walls between memory and sanity that she had erected so carefully and with so much effort barely existed anymore. Sleep proved elusive night after night, and when she did sleep, she awoke sweat-drenched and trembling. She hadn’t slept well since Jess had held her through the night.
But at least Jess would have a chance to make things right with the men in his family. She was able to leave him that. If she was lucky, someone might even remember to let her know how the reunion had gone.
“Corrie, honey.” Maisie’s voice drew her back to the kitchen and dishes. “You’re all worked out, girl.”
Corrie swept the damp curls from her forehead with her arm and dredged up a weak smile. “Just a few more and we’ll be done.”
Maisie took the plate from her and guided her toward the stairs to the apartment. “You’re done now. Get on up there and get some rest.” Maisie gave her a little shove. “And don’t you be coming down to fix breakfast. We will handle that. You sleep in.”
“But—”
“Go on, now. Upstairs. Right now,” Maisie commanded.
“But—”
Maisie framed Corrie’s face with her strong, capable hands and directed an assessing gaze at her. Gently, Maisie brushed her thumbs across Corrie’s under-eye area and tsked a couple of times.
Warmth flooded Corrie’s cheeks and she dropped her gaze. “Pretty ugly, huh?”
“Pretty pitiful, more like,” Maisie retorted in a bracing tone, then nudged Corrie’s head up. “Is he worth it?”
Tears, a frequent visitor, welled up. She had asked herself just that question a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times these last weeks. With the same answer.
“Do you love him?”
“Oh, yes.” Corrie’s lips trembled, and she gladly sank her face against Maisie’s comforting shoulder when the woman pulled her into her arms.
“Then what’s the problem, child? You love him. It’s clear as day he loves you.”
Unwilling to lie more than she already had, Corrie merely shook her head and pulled away to run up the stairs. She quickly undressed and crawled into her jumbled bed, clutching a pillow to muffle her sobs.
Why hadn’t she told Jess the truth? If she trusted him enough to love him, to make love with him, to let him see her during her nightmares, why hadn’t she told him about from where and when she came? If only . . .
You blew it, Webb. Irrevocably . . . for all time.
The hands dragged at her again, blocking her air, smothering her while the pain continued down there. She felt herself rip inside and screamed against the pressure on her mouth. “Mama, help me! It hurts, Mama. It hurts!”
Fetid breath filled her nostrils as the hand shifted a bit and she gasped for air.
“Got you now, little bitch.”
The voice—she knew the voice. “Mama, help!”
“Your mama ain’t gonna help you.”
The pain almost made her pass out, but she struggled against the blackness of unconsciousness. Somehow, she knew if she fainted, she would never wake up.
Never be allowed to wake up.
A loud sound, not of her nightmare, intruded, and Corrie, drenched in sweat and tangled in the sheets, fought her way out of the nightmare.
What’s going on?
Her heart pounded in her ears as the knocking came again. Insistent. Urgent.