Falling Through Time: A Lighthearted Time Travel Romance (Knights Through Time Romance Book 13)

by Cynthia Luhrs

  When they met at the restaurant overlooking the intra-coastal waterway, Violet winced before she could stop herself.

  Mitch was not over six feet tall. He did not in fact have a thick head of hair. The muscles in the photo? Nonexistent, almost as if he’d used someone else’s picture. And he was late. Twenty minutes late.

  If it had just been one of those things, she could have let it go. After dating online for the past six months, Violet quickly realized most men fudged their details.

  But the phone with its incessant dings? No way, no how. The fear of missing out addiction was a deal-breaker.

  Since she had no plans to see the guy again, Violet suggested splitting the check, but he insisted, making a big loud deal about it. Then he had the nerve to be mad when she said, no, thank you, she did not in fact wish to see him again.

  Mitch looked her up and down and sneered. Told her she might be skinny with a pretty face, but she ate like a pig and no guy wanted to watch a girl stuff her face. Violet wasn’t going to lie, that part hurt.

  So maybe she’d been so busy designing cotton nightgowns trimmed in eyelet all day that she’d forgotten to eat.

  It wasn’t her fault she loved food. Nor was it her fault she had a fast metabolism. This wasn’t the first time a potential boyfriend had commented on her eating habits.

  Why were people so judgmental? It wasn’t as if she ate junk all the time, though who could turn down a homemade brownie? No, she ate healthy meals with dessert in moderation.

  Usually.

  Okay, sometimes.

  Fine, she liked her junk with a side of vegetables.

  Life was too short not to have pizza and dessert.

  A few weeks ago on a Friday night, she’d looked around the restaurant and had to sit on her hands so she wouldn’t sweep all the dishes on to the floor and run screaming from the place.

  There must have been six or seven other couples on dates, and all the women picked at their food. They were obviously hungry.

  Violet knew a hungry woman when she saw one. But they pretended to eat tiny amounts, thinking it made them look dainty and ladylike when in reality it totally skewed how men thought women really ate.

  Didn’t the guys figure out if they were hungry, the women they were dating were probably hungry too?

  Nope, she didn’t have time to waste dating. And if sometimes she was lonely? It was the price she had to pay so she wouldn’t end up like her mom. Violet pushed the empty plate away and stared at the water.

  She was going to take the fashion world by storm and show her parents she could hold her own with any fancy designer they used. With a sigh, she took a book out of her bag and smiled at the server.

  The server refilled her water glass.

  “We’ve got homemade chocolate chip cookies for dessert today.”

  “I’d love two cookies, thanks.” Violet took a sip of water and leaned back in the chair. This time of year there weren’t many tourists, the restaurants weren’t crowded, and the weather was perfect.

  A few minutes later, the delicious smell wafting through the air made her sit up and sniff.

  “I know you said two but Ken said he knew how much you loved his famous cookies so he put three on the plate.” The server laughed. “I ate three before my shift started.”

  “He knows me well.”

  Violet took a bite of the still warm cookie, closing her eyes and chewing. “Even better than I remember. Thank you.”

  “Enjoy the book. I finished that one last week. Wait until you figure out the twist.”

  “I love a good twist.” Violet took another bite of the cookie.

  The server left the check and went to seat a group of men dressed in suits.

  The breeze off the intra-coastal ruffled the pages of her book as she read and nibbled on a cookie. Her e-reader was dead, so she’d brought a paperback with her today. Lost in thought, Violet was too late to save the last cookie.

  A gull swooped in, snatched the cookie and with what she swore was a laugh, flew off, several of his friends giving chase.

  Oh well, she didn’t really need that third cookie. She left a generous tip for the server, gathered up her things and biked to the shop. The boutique was normally closed to customers except for a few times a year when they opened to sell their limited collections.

  Located in the downtown historic district, the boutique took up the corner of the street and had been there as long as she could remember. Her grandmother started the shop before Violet was born, then made a fortune in New York City before selling out to Violet’s parents but she kept the boutique. Gram closed the small shop except for a few invitation only openings.

  Her grandmother wanted to see every corner of the world. Once Violet learned the business, Gram quit designing and left that task to Violet, though she had the final say in the collection pieces.

  Gram said without her husband by her side, designing wasn’t fun anymore. Lately, her grandmother been traveling more than she was home.

  Grandmother told Violet stories of how she’d been a little girl sitting on the cutting room floor designing doll clothes. She’d learned to sew before she started kindergarten.

  By the time Violet was in high school, her grandmother let Violet design her first collection. Two pairs of shorts, two t-shirts, a swimsuit coverup, and two summer dresses. She’d been hooked when she heard two teenage girls exclaiming over her designs during the Winter Collection party and had been creating clothes ever since.

  Her parents had grown their company into an empire while Violet and her grandmother sold a resort collection, a summer collection, and a winter collection. All small collections sold out of the tiny boutique that always sold out fast.

  Amelia, her grandmother, laughed a lot. She was always tan, had silver hair, and wore lots of diamonds on her fingers. There was no man in her life.

  Violet’s grandfather died when she was little and her grandmother never remarried, though she always seemed to have a gentleman friend, as she called them. It was sad. Her grandmother had a better social life than Violet.

  The bell jangled over the door as she let herself inside. Not bothering to turn on the lights, Violet made her way through the shop and upstairs to the atelier as her grandmother called the large studio space. This was where the magic happened.

  As they designed a new collection, they’d put pieces in the window along with a calendar to generate excitement. The winter collection was over, so Violet had spent the past week creating a new window. It would be the resort collection for all the cruise ladies.

  The scene looked like the deck of a ship with mannequins dressed in cocktail dresses, pants in corals and teals with floral blouses, swim coverups that looked like sundresses in various shades of yellow, pink, and purple. There were tiny bejeweled purses and oversize embroidered tote bags. Huge sunglasses in the blackest black to the softest pastel pink, and lots of shoes.

  There were heels, flats, cute sandals, and sparkly flip flops. Violet had even set up what looked like a swimming pool in the second window, with the mannequins reclining on bright beach towels, cocktails in hand, scarves wound around their heads. It was fun and festive and made her wish she had someone to go on a trip with, other than her grandmother.

  The music playing in the background faded as she tuned everything out and let the muse take over. The resort collection needed something special. Violet added long flowing cotton nightgowns trimmed in eyelet. She was calling them nap dresses. Something pretty enough to lounge around in all day, to work in the garden, or just relax and read.

  When the alert went off on her phone, Violet jumped.

  “Alexa, stop.” The music abruptly shut off. She opened her phone and looked at the weather app.

  “Great, just great.”

  The newscaster was live on the beach, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. The hurricane that was supposed to hit Mississippi changed direction and was forecast to make landfall in Naples.

  Here in Pel
ican Beach they could expect days of high wind and torrential rain as the slow-moving storm traveled up the gulf and then petered out over the Carolinas.

  Time to close up shop. Violet texted Sam, the handyman she and her grandmother used, and asked him to board up the windows of the store. The store was three miles from the beach so surge wouldn’t be an issue, but the high winds could send palm trees and debris through the windows.

  He quickly texted back, telling her he’d already purchased the boards and would have it taken care of today. He’d already finished her grandmother’s house, and did she want help with hers? She texted back no, thanking him. It would be too dark inside, and she didn’t think she had to worry about her windows breaking.

  A quick text to her grandmother and parents and Violet cleaned up her workspace. She could work on the swimwear ideas on her tablet from home until the storm passed.

  Yesterday, she’d gone to the store and stocked up on groceries so she didn’t have to worry about toilet paper or other essentials.

  Though now she wished she’d let Sam install the small generator her parents were giving her for her birthday, but no, instead she’d wanted to remodel the back bedroom into a small home studio.

  A text dinged from her grandmother, asking if she needed anything. Violet filled her in and told her to have fun in Spain, and she’d let her know if there was any damage. Usually her grandmother didn’t pay for internet access on board the cruise ship, so she must be in port.

  Her parents lived in New York City for so long they brushed off the storm but told her they’d have the generator installed as her Christmas gift. Violet texted back a thank you with three heart emojis. Her parents used money and gifts as a replacement for the time they didn’t have to spend with her.

  While the weather was nice, Violet decided she’d better secure anything that might blow away in the wind. She biked home, noticing people outside preparing for whatever the storm might bring. Her small house was on the intra-coastal with a small white dock out back. The two bright blue chairs would go in the garage so they wouldn’t end up in the waterway.

  It was her favorite place to sit and look at the water, along with the herons, turtles, and alligators. Once the gators grew too big, someone would come and take them to the everglades to live out their happy gator lives.

  The trash cans went in the garage along with the chairs from the dock. On the lanai, she pushed all the patio furniture against the wall and put the cushions for the chairs in the garage on top of the washer and dryer. The plants went in the garage so they’d be safe from the wind. She hoped debris wouldn’t tear through the screen of the lanai, especially since it was brand new.

  Satisfied she’d done everything outside she could, Violet went inside and double checked the pantry, fridge, and freezer. Plenty of food and water, not to mention toilet paper.

  The phone, tablet, and laptop were all charged, so she’d have power for at least a couple of days if she rationed her usage. She also had a power pack if the power was out longer than a day or two.

  What else was there to do? She hadn’t checked the mail in days since no one ever sent anything, and the delivery people left any packages at the front door.

  Violet opened the mailbox and smiled. Among the junk mail was a tiny package. It was from her grandmother, mailed from some port along the way on her month long cruise.

  There was a small box, worn around the edges inside the wrapping. When she opened the lid, Violet gasped. The ring was beautiful.

  Antique, made of silver with thistles engraved all around the band, it had a pale blue stone inset and it looked like there was writing inside. She tried to read the words, but they had worn away. When she slipped it on her right hand, the ring fit perfectly on her ring finger.

  There was a note. Her grandmother wished her a happy, belated birthday. The shopkeeper told her the ring belonged to the wife of an outlaw who’d loved her so much he sailed to the ends of the earth to find her when she disappeared during a storm. It was so romantic. Grandmother knew she’d love it.

  Violet wrote a handwritten thank you note she’d mail after the storm. While she loved to text and email, her grandmother said nothing beat a handwritten note.

  Satisfied that everything was in order, Violet double-checked that the flashlights had fresh batteries, that there were plenty of candles and matches, and she put the solar lanterns outside to charge. Once they charged, she’d put one in the living room or sunroom as her gram called it, one in the bedroom, and one on the lanai after the storm passed.

  Worn out, she poured a soda and curled up on the sofa with her book. The server at the restaurant was right. The twist was one she hadn’t seen coming.

  The storm would pass, Violet would finish designing her swimsuit collection, be content with her career, and forget about love.

  4

  As Hurricane Martha inched closer to Naples, the streets were empty of the usual traffic. Everyone was busy preparing for the storm.

  Violet found a solar shower in the garage from when she’d gone through a camping phase while dating John. It was the only good thing to come out of the relationship.

  The water would still work, but it wouldn’t be hot if the power went out and there was nothing like a hot shower to get you going in the morning. So Violet put the shower on top of the dryer in the garage. The side of the house had a row of hedges separating her from the neighbors that would work perfectly.

  The freezer was full of ice and popsicles. She had plenty of fruit, crackers, and bottled water. Her new large screened-in porch, or as one of her neighbors called it, the lanai, had two chaise lounges, two chairs, and four tables.

  Once the storm passed, she would put the cushions back out, assuming the screening was intact, and could sleep out there if the power went out. It would be too hot to stay in the house without air conditioning. It might be October, but the forecast was calling for high humidity and high eighties all week.

  Violet took a long hot shower, washed her hair and shaved her legs. Dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, she was confident she was as ready as she could be.

  Outside, the water in the intra-coastal waterway was high for this time of year, but even if it crested, her house sat far enough up on the bank that she shouldn’t see any flooding.

  An old hand cranked solar powered radio was in the box with the miscellaneous camping stuff. Violet cranked it up to see if it worked, then listened to the forecast. The weather people said Martha would hit Naples as a category 2 storm. She hoped everyone that needed had evacuated and taken their animals with them.

  As the afternoon faded to dusk, Violet’s phone rang.

  “Hey, mom.”

  “I don’t have much time, your father and I have a dinner tonight but I wanted to tell you to be safe.”

  “Thank you.” It was unlike her mom to worry about a storm, even if it was a hurricane. The woman lived and breathed fashion, and not much else penetrated her brain.

  “I have news. Your father and I discussed it and we’re going to give you a chance. Send me your best dress designs. Summer and Fall. And if they’re good enough, I’ll add them to our upcoming collections.”

  Before Violet could shriek with joy, her mom went on.

  “But sweetie, don’t mess up. I need them in two weeks. My designer had the nerve to marry some guy in Canada, and now she’s going to have babies and quit working. Honestly, what is wrong with women today? Those who have the gold have the power.”

  As her mom was on a rant and didn’t really want an answer, Violet pulled up the portfolio on her tablet and scrolled through her designs. There were a couple that would definitely work. She’d been planning to use them for the boutique, but this was a huge chance. Two weeks was more than enough time, she could design two more dresses to wow her parents. Her mom wound down from her rant and Violet jumped in.

  “I really appreciate the opportunity. I won’t let you or dad down.” Violet would work nonstop for the next two weeks to perfect h
er designs. After all, it wasn’t like she had a boyfriend in the picture who’d be demanding her time. Work was all that mattered. Who had time for love?

  When Duncan woke, he was hot and wet. He was no longer in the wood and there was no snow on the ground.

  Was he in Hell? What place was this? The air was heavy and warm, the rain warm on his skin. He remembered falling a great distance. A terror he’d never known flooding through him.

  Sharp rock pierced his tender body as he lay on the rocks and stared into dark water. A great black beast appeared from the water like the monsters that lived in the lochs.

  It had a long body and a long tail as it moved silently through the water. The eyes were as red as the fires of hell. The black monster turned and swam towards him.

  Duncan fumbled for his sword, but ’twas gone. His fingers touched cool steel as he gripped the blade in his boot.

  “Try to take a bite of me, ye foul beast.”

  The kelpie grinned a toothy grin from the river of the damned and swam closer.

  The storm had turned again, now coming directly for her beloved town, and would make landfall as a category one.

  Violet woke from a fractured sleep to the sounds of the house creaking, the palms brushing the windows, and the wind howling and moaning.

  Why did the hurricane have to hit at night? When what sounded like a palm tree hit the house next door, Violet threw off the sheet and padded to the living room.

  It was pitch black. She couldn’t see anything so she curled up in a chair facing the window, lit a candle and tried to read, but after reading the same paragraph three times, gave up.

  While she contemplated what to do to keep her mind off the storm, the wind briefly died down, the house stopped creaking, and all was quiet. The eye of the storm must be over them.

  A sound made her listen, maybe a shout? She was about to go to the kitchen when she heard it again. Was Mr. Carmichael outside again?