The second the proposal left Jared’s mouth, he regretted it. He hadn’t planned on saying it, but that wasn’t the reason for his regret. He didn’t know how or when it happened, but he had fallen in love with the exasperating woman.
No, the reason he regretted his impulsive words was the panic in Mac’s eyes. How often had she told him they only shared a physical attraction? But if it had simply been a case of sexual need, Jared could have taken care of that compulsion by visiting some willing woman at the Flower Patch. But he hadn’t wanted anyone but Mac.
“Say something,” Jared said, trying to keep his voice casual.
“Hell of an encore, Yates,” she said flippantly, though he could see the rapid pulse in her slender neck.
That wasn’t what he’d been expecting, but where Mac was concerned, expectations were rarely met.
“You should see my disappearing coin act,” Jared said airily.
She pulled out of his arms and hugged herself as if chilled. “Better than the disappearing woman act.”
“What’re you talking about?”
She seemed to curl into herself. “I can’t marry you, Jared. I won’t be sticking around here much longer.”
“Where—” His voice broke and he cursed his ill-timing anew. Had he frightened her so badly that she’d leave Hope Springs? “Where are you going?”
“Back home.”
“San Francisco?” He couldn’t stop the ugly derision that crept into his tone.
“Please, Jared, let’s not make this any more difficult.”
“No, I think you’ve made it about as difficult as it can be already.” Jared tore off the printer’s apron and sleeve guards and tossed them on the desk. He slung his jacket over his shoulder. “Good luck with your story. I’m sure it’ll keep you warm at night.”
He strode out, leaving a gaping emptiness. Mac shivered with the chill left in his wake, but inside, she was numb. How had the day gone from perfection to disaster in the span of five minutes?
Did she love him enough to marry him? She thought of the stupid love songs her mother had listened to for hours on end. True love. Everlasting love. Inescapable love.
Love had made her mother lose her mind, then her life. Mac wanted nothing to do with something that destroyed a person’s own self. To give so much power to another person was dangerous.
She had told Jared she trusted him more than she’d ever trusted another person, but that didn’t mean wholly. Love and trust were too fragile to toss around like a kiss or even sex. For most men, the physical deed was enough. Why wasn’t it enough for Jared? Why did he demand more?
Mac’s heartbeat spiked and her breath came in quick spurts. She had but one goal in her life: to best her father at his own game and expose him to the world for the bastard he truly was.
Then what?
All Mac could imagine was her father’s humiliation. There was nothing beyond.
Nothing but an eternity of darkness.
The bright sun of the early evening mocked Mac’s gray mood as she walked back to the boardinghouse after work. Four days had passed since she had declined Jared’s marriage proposal and her doldrums still remained. She hadn’t even been this upset when an investigative story she’d spent five months on had been tossed into file thirteen.
She spotted a familiar woman a block away and shaded her eyes to identify Esme Sparrow carrying a basket she used to tote her purchases. Mac hadn’t seen her for over two weeks, though she’d planned to visit her tomorrow. She’d asked for and received the next day off in preparation for her return to her own time.
Mac changed directions toward Esme as a man dressed in a fancy suit greeted her. Mac paused on the boardwalk to watch the two converse. Though she couldn’t see Esme’s face, she thought the woman was upset. Mac shifted her attention to the dapper man and frowned. It seemed as if she should know him.
Determined to find out why he appeared familiar, she continued walking. Mac was fifty feet away when the man glanced up to see her. He turned his head, said something to Esme and strode away in the opposite direction.
As Mac neared Esme, she noticed her pale face. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Esme replied, her voice and eyes distant.
“Who was that man?”
Esme focused sharply on Mac. “Do you know him?”
“I don’t think so, but he looked familiar.”
Esme relaxed, but Mac had the feeling she remained tense beneath the surface. “That was Granville Foster. He owns the Dolly Day.”
“So that’s the elusive owner,” Mac said thoughtfully. “Funny how he named the saloon after one of Stephen Foster’s songs and his last name is Foster.”
“Strange, isn’t it?”
Mac eyed her closely, but Esme’s gaze wouldn’t meet her own. There was something else going on here. “How do you know him? He doesn’t seem the type of man you’d associate with.”
Esme’s composure slipped, but she quickly righted it. “We knew each other as children.”
Mac’s suspicions were lighting up all across the board. “Here in Hope Springs?”
“No.”
Mac waited, expecting her to expound but she didn’t. Deciding a stalling tactic was in order, she smiled. “It’s good to see you. I had planned to come up to the resort tomorrow.” She leaned closer. “The solstice.”
“That is why I came to town this evening. I had hoped to speak with you, too.” Esme motioned to the small café.
They found a table in a corner with nobody near enough to overhear their conversation and ordered coffee.
“Have you determined what must be done?” Esme asked quietly.
“No, and I haven’t found the damned handcuffs either.” Mac tamped down her frustration. “I’m not afraid to tell you I’m getting nervous.”
“You still have a day.”
“I’ve had nearly six months and haven’t figured it out yet. Who says I’ll be able to pull everything together before midnight tomorrow night?”
“Do you wish to return to your time?” Esme asked.
Mac glanced away, her thoughts taking her to Jared. She’d already estranged him, though not without regrets. Mr. Banks would survive without her. Who else would miss her? Nobody.
“Yes,” she replied.
Esme seemed to wilt before her eyes. “Then you shall have your answers.”
Stunned, Mac asked, “You’ve known all along?”
“No, but you have.” Esme rose. “I must return to the Chesterfield.”
Mac couldn’t let her leave. She needed more information. “You haven’t had your coffee yet.”
Esme laid her hand on Mac’s. “Trust in yourself.” Then she was gone.
Everything always seems to come back to trust. The waitress arrived with two cups of coffee, and Mac motioned for her to set them both in front of her. “I need the caffeine kick.”
The girl looked confused, but attempted a smile before scurrying away.
Left alone, Mac leaned back and took a sip from the first cup. The brew was hot and bitter this late in the day, but she didn’t mind. She tried to concentrate on her mysterious mission, but her thoughts kept returning to Jared.
She remembered the Garden Room and the moonlight that had made their lovemaking magical. The day she lost her job at the Chesterfield seemed an eternity ago, but her seduction of Jared that same day was clearer. So much clearer.
And the last time. The bathtub. Hot water. Hotter mouths and bodies straining together, sharing their ecstasy at the same moment in time. Each time they had made love, it had been better than the time before. If that were true, then surely the next time would kill them both. But it would be a happy ending.
So what kind of ending are you looking for, Mac?
If Esme was right, then Mac would be back in her own century in less than two days. Her Pulitzer story about a killer who leaped through time to choose his victims awaited. But would they believe her? Hell, she didn’t even think Jared would believe her. How could she expect millions of strangers to believe her wild claim?
Mac entered the boardinghouse cautiously and listened until she was certain Jared wasn’t nearby. She climbed the stairs, placing her toes on the part of the wood that didn’t creak. She had never lived in a place long enough to get to know its secrets so well.
Once inside her room, she gave in to the sigh poised on her lips. One more night here. She should be celebrating. So why wasn’t she?
Unwilling to dwell on it, Mac went into the bathroom and ran water to fill the tub. A hot bath would relax her muscles and allow her to sleep. She had a feeling she’d need all the help she could get tonight.
Mac counted the quiet chimes of the grandfather’s clock in the parlor—ten . . . eleven . . . twelve. Midnight, and she was still wide awake.
Only one more day until the solstice—one more day to discover the answers that Esme assured her she’d find. But that wasn’t what made her toss and turn in her lonely bed. It wasn’t even the stifling summer heat that made her feverish and restive.
Jared Yates lay less than fifty feet away, separated only by thin walls and doors that opened both ways. And this would be the last night the living vital man existed in her lifetime.
Her perspiration-dampened body hummed with need and tingled for Jared’s masterful touch. Would one last night be so terrible? Would he even want her after she had turned him down? There was only one way to find out.
She rose and pulled on her robe, tying the sash around her waist. Though nobody else should be awake at this hour, Mac cracked open her door and peeked into the hall. Empty. She tiptoed out of her room and down to Jared’s. The doorknob turned easily in her hand and she was inside his room.
Jared lay diagonally across the mattress, facedown, with only a sheet covering his backside and legs. The moonlight gilded his thick hair and smoothly muscled back with silver light. He appeared vulnerable in repose, with one hand tucked beneath his pillow and the other resting beside his head. His lips were parted slightly and an occasional snore gently rumbled across them.
How could she leave him?
How could she not?
Mac shrugged out of her robe, letting it drift to the floor behind her. She fingered her nightgown and without hesitation, drew it over her head to join the other garment at her feet. Stepping out of the pool of silk, she padded to the bed and lay down beside Jared.
Heat radiated from his lean body, and she was instinctively drawn to it.
She breathed deeply, inhaling his masculine scent, imprinting it upon her for the lonely nights ahead. Then she dipped her head toward his shoulder and caressed him with her lips.
Jared moaned and shifted, but didn’t awaken.
Mac continued her trail of kisses to his spine then downward to where the sheet hid him from her greedy eyes. With a trembling hand, she lowered the sheet, skimming her palm across one muscular buttock. The hard muscle flexed beneath her hand.
She couldn’t deny the heat that licked through her veins, channeling toward her belly and pooling between her thighs.
“Jared,” she whispered, the pain she’d been trying to hide rising from her heart and soul.
Jared’s breathing changed, signaling his awakening. When he lifted his head to stare at her in shock, Mac merely kissed him deeply, fully, saying what she couldn’t speak aloud.
They separated and Jared rolled onto his back, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her so she lay full length upon him.
“What are you doing here, Mac?” he asked softly.
She laid her forefinger on his lips. “Please. Don’t talk. Just love me.”
And Jared did all she’d hoped for . . . and more.
Later, Mac lay with her head on Jared’s damp chest, her body slowly spiraling downward. It was time to leave. She tried to push herself up, but Jared’s arms refused to release her.
“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered.
And Mac did what he asked because she couldn’t think of any other place she’d rather be . . . in any time.
Jared awakened slowly, his body languid and his mind tranquil, unlike most mornings when dark thoughts plagued him. A warmth against his left side and a weight upon his shoulder made him turn his head and open his eyes.
Mac’s sleep-tousled hair and flushed face brought back the memory of the night’s activities with startling swiftness. It hadn’t been a dream. Mac had come to him in the middle of the night and they had made love, the first time with something akin to desperation after the months spent apart. The second time had been slower, each of them giving and receiving with equal measures of tenderness.
Why had she come to his bed? Why now, after the past few days of trying to ignore each other?
She moved, her left leg sliding down his until her delicate foot rested upon his larger one. The feel of her silky skin gliding across him brought the blood rushing to his groin.
This woman had become an addiction, one he would be loath to lose. But she was leaving unless he could convince her to stay.
She shifted again, her breath growing more shallow as she moved to wakefulness. He watched her, unable to look away, and was rewarded with the blinking of sleepy light brown eyes. For only a moment, they reflected panic; then it was gone and she smiled wryly.
“Morning,” she greeted, then clapped a hand over her mouth and wrinkled her nose. “Sorry. Morning breath.”
He chuckled. “If you can put up with mine, I can put up with yours.”
“You’re a brave man, Jared Yates,” she said, lowering her hand.
He tightened his arms around her slim naked body. “No braver than you, Trish McAllister.”
“Are you referring to my unexpected visit?”
“No, but I have to admit I wasn’t expecting it.”
She shrugged, the movement of her breasts against his side sending pleasurable sensations skating through him.
“I wasn’t either,” she said.
“Then why?”
She settled her forehead in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “I wanted you.”
The simplicity of her answer left him reeling. Women said “I love you,” while a man, if he was honest, would say “I want you.” Yet it was Mac who tried to keep the emotions from their lovemaking. Why? She cared for him, maybe even loved him as much as he loved her, but she couldn’t admit it aloud. Could she even admit it to herself?
His lips caressed her hair. “I love you,” he whispered.
She stilled and even her breathing stopped. Then she shot up off the bed before he could react. She turned her back to him as she tugged on her nightgown, covering her slender back, nicely rounded derriere and long legs.
“You don’t have to leave,” Jared said quietly.
“Yes, I do.”
Her short answer told him what he already suspected. “Why are you running away?”
She donned her robe and, as she tied the belt, turned to face him. “It’s what I do best.”
Before he could come up with a reply, her gaze latched onto his dresser and he followed her line of sight to his handcuffs. She crossed over to them and picked them up. Her eyes glazed and her mouth gaped.
“These are the ones,” she whispered, then asked in a stronger voice. “Are these yours?”
Puzzled, Jared nodded.
She held them up with a trembling hand. “Why are the initials EJY on them?”
“My first name’s actually Everett. My father has the same name, so everyone called me by my middle name, Jared.” He rose from the bed and noticed her gaze flicker to his groin. Her cheeks reddened and he bit back a smile. He donned his own robe. “Why are my handcuffs so fascinating?”
She blinked. “I thought only cops had handcuffs.”
“Most Pinkerton detectives do, too.”
“Can I borrow them?”
“Why?”
“I need them.”
“For what?”
“Please. I-I’ll give them back to you tomorrow.”
Every instinct told Jared to refuse her and he hadn’t survived this long in his line of work by ignoring his gut feelings. “What do you need them for?” he repeated.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Raking a hand through his hair, he growled in frustration. “I’m getting damned sick of that excuse, Mac. Tell me what the hell I won’t believe.”
She looked as if she was about to bolt. Just as Jared got ready to lunge for her, her shoulders slumped. She shuffled over to his bed and dropped down, looking like someone who had just lost her best friend.
He lowered himself to the mattress beside her and laid his hand on her clasped ones, which rested in her lap. “Tell me, Mac. Trust me,” he said quietly.
“I trust you, but you’re not going to trust me after I tell you the truth.”
Apprehension rippled down Jared’s back, but he smiled gently, encouragingly. “Go ahead.”
“I’m not from here,” she began.
A wry grin tugged at his lips. “That’s pretty obvious.”
She turned to meet his eyes and the desperation in hers tore the breath from his lungs. “You said I’m different. Well, there’s a good reason for that. I’m not from here, not from this time. I shouldn’t even be born yet.”
Jared was trying to follow her rambling, but she had ceased to make sense. “What do you mean?”
“Remember the night on the train when we met?”
He nodded.
“That night the Piano Man Killer, the murderer who’s been strangling those women, had taken another victim. I was there to cover the story and I happened to see a man watching us from the cover of some trees. I chased after him, but I lost him when the snow got too heavy. I took shelter in this old ruined resort called the Chesterfield.”
Jared could hardly breathe as his heartbeat reverberated in his head. “You’re saying you’re from the future?”
“Got it in one.” She smiled but it was a weak caricature.
“And the killer is also from the future?” he asked hoarsely.
“Or else he’s from your time. It’s hard to say unless we learn for certain who and when his first victim was.”
Unable to sit still, Jared rose on legs that trembled. Yes, he had known Mac was different, but from the future? She had to be crazy. What other explanation could there be? Then why did she sound so sane?
Remembered snatches of conversation swirled through him. “Those women weren’t killed in San Francisco, were they?”
She shook her head. “They were killed between Hope Springs and the remains of the resort in my time.”
Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was still sleeping and had imagined Mac in his bed and now this deranged conversation.
“What do my handcuffs have to do with this . . . ?” He wanted to add “crazy story,” but he restrained himself for her sake.
“I saw them in my time in a chest that was in the ruins. They were rusty and broken, and I could make out the etched letters. It was while I was holding them that I ended up here,” she explained.
Jared took a deep breath. “So what you’re saying is that you followed the killer to the Chesterfield, which in your time is nothing more than ruins. There you found this chest with my handcuffs in it and when you picked them up, you ended up on the train where we first met.”
“Close enough.” She frowned. “You don’t believe me.
“So does all this have anything to do with why you slipped into my bed last night?” he asked, ignoring her comment.
She nodded and stood to face him. “June twentieth is the solstice and my theory is the killer is traveling between time periods with the solstices. I think that’s how I got here, too.”
Jared thought back to that night six months ago. “But that was December nineteenth.”
“At midnight, it became December twentieth,” Mac said softly. “The winter solstice.”
Yes, it had been after midnight when he had first seen her. Was he actually considering her story to be true? If so, he was as crazy as she was.
“Look, I know this is a lot to swallow, but I can prove it.”
She took hold of his hand and tugged him to the door. He didn’t resist, but followed her to her room where she released him and knelt down beside her bed. She leaned over, and if Jared hadn’t been so dazed by her confession, he would have been able to appreciate the view of her shapely backside.
Mac withdrew a bag from beneath the bed and placed it on her mussed blankets. After rummaging around, she said, “Ah ha.” In her hand, she held a small purse, but it didn’t look like any reticule Jared had ever seen before. Another moment of digging around and she produced an odd card and handed it to him. “This is my driver’s license.”
Jared stared at the shiny card with a small color image of Mac that appeared lifelike. He saw the town Staunton written there, as well as Virginia, then noticed her birth date. The date could be someone’s idea of a joke. However, being a Pinkerton, he was fairly well versed in technological capabilities and knew this object had not come from this place.
Nor this time.
Jared sat down hard on the bed and Mac followed him, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“Now do you believe me?” she asked quietly.
He had dozens of questions clamoring in his head. “How does it happen? This time traveling?” he finally asked.
Mac shrugged. “I wish I knew. As I said, it’s tied to the solstice but damned if I can figure it out.” She paused. “Esme Sparrow knows. She knew I was from the future when I first saw her at the depot that night. She was the one who came up with the cousin story.”
“Esme?”
Jared’s voice nearly squeaked and Mac hugged him. She didn’t have to imagine how he must feel having his whole world tipped off-kilter—she knew firsthand.
“She told me that for me to return to my time, I had to accomplish two things. First, I had to find the object I was touching the night I was brought here, which I did.” She held up the handcuffs she’d managed to hang on to. “Second, I had to complete some unknown mission, which I’ve also figured out.”
“What is it?”
Mac was pleased to see some color had returned to Jared’s face, making his dark morning whiskers appear not quite as stark. “To catch the Piano Man Killer, the murderer who’s been killing innocent young women in both of our times for the last few years.”
Jared flinched. “How do we do that? I’ve been after the son of a bitch for a long time and I haven’t even seen him.”
Mac nibbled at the inside of her cheek. “I told you I saw him, but I still haven’t been able to remember what he looked like. His face is blurry.”
“Does he know you saw him?” Jared suddenly asked.
Mac started, understanding exactly what Jared was inferring. “I think so. But he’s had six months to get rid of me and he hasn’t done it.”
“Maybe he’s planning on your being his next victim.”
The naked worry in Jared’s face brought moisture to her eyes and she looked away before he noticed. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure all the victims had something in common besides being young and pretty. They were all pure. Untouched.”
“Virgins,” Jared said.
Mac’s somber expression eased. “And we both know I don’t fit that criterion.”
Jared’s cheeks reddened. She loved how this big tough Pinkerton detective could blush. She also loved how he made her feel when they were in bed together, either making love or merely cuddling.
After tonight, he would find some other woman to share his bed.
Mac’s heart skipped a beat and her throat grew thick. No, she wouldn’t cry. She had anxiously awaited this day for six months—the day she could return to her own time, her own apartment. Her own empty bed.
Her hands fisted, but the metal handcuffs within her palm made her wince.
“So tonight, if we can catch the killer and you’re holding my handcuffs, you can return to your own time at midnight,” Jared finally said.
She nodded, incapable of speech.
Jared stood and glanced down at his handcuffs, but he didn’t reach for them. “I’m going to wash up and get dressed. I’ll meet you in the dining room.”
He started to the door, but Mac’s hand on his arm stopped him. “What’re we going to do?”
A kaleidoscope of emotions sifted through his eyes, but when he spoke, his voice was steady. “We’re going to catch a killer, and then you can go home.”
He stalked out of her room as Mac remained standing rooted in place. Wasn’t this what she wanted? Jared believed her and he was going to help her get back to her time.
So why did she feel like burying herself in her bed and not coming out until after the solstice?