by Mae Clair
He inhaled sharply. “Annie.”
“I need you to start at the beginning. I need to know about Seth and Rick, how you got here. About Gettysburg.”
“Fair enough.” He wrapped his fingers around hers. For a moment he looked uncertain, a crease forming between his brows. She wanted to smooth it away and tell him not to worry, that she’d listen with an open heart and mind. She could do no less for the man she loved.
“Weathering Rock was my home,” he said at last. “I grew up here. Later, I received an appointment to West Point against my father’s wishes. I graduated a second lieutenant and was assigned as an aide in Washington. By the time the Civil War broke out, I was already a major. My closest friend, Seth Reilly, was a captain.”
“Daphne’s Seth?” Arianna’s pulse skidded into overdrive. Exactly how many people were entangled in the impossible web that spanned three centuries? “You mean…you mean he’s from the eighteen hundreds, too?”
Caleb nodded.
“What about Wyn?”
“No. He’s a direct descendant, a nephew several times removed through my brother’s line. He’s the one who found me. For the last three years he’s looked out for me, helping me to adapt while keeping my secret safe.”
“But how is…” She shook her head, struggling to wrap her mind around the implausibility. She’d never viewed the world in strict boundaries of black-and-white, but in fluctuating shades of gray. Even then, the foundation had been concrete, based on unshakable laws of science and nature. In order to believe what he told her, she had to abandon reason for theory. “How is such a thing possible?”
“I don’t have an answer, Annie. I wish I did, but I don’t understand it any more than you.” Releasing her hand, Caleb slumped into the corner of the couch, sprawling one arm over the backrest. “I think it’s connected to Seth and the ball lightning, but I’m not certain.”
Arianna remembered the lightning rods she’d seen jutting from the roof. In the stark wash of daylight that spectacle had seemed distinctly gothic, out of place. It reminded her of superstitions and folktales, a crudely primitive means to harness a naturally occurring element. “Is that why there are lightning rods on the roof?”
“Yes. I thought if I could attract a shower of ball lightning, I could go back again. But it doesn’t work that way. I think Seth has to be there too.”
A cold knot formed in her stomach. She didn’t want to think about him “going back.” Returning to his own time meant he’d be leaving her, dying before she was ever born. He’d become a part of history, a name on the Pennsylvania Monument at Gettysburg, his life expired by the time she read the inscription. It wasn’t fair. Not when she’d fallen hopelessly in love.
“Seth and I grew up together,” Caleb explained. “We were close when we were young, like brothers, but our bond frayed as we got older. Seth’s family struggled to make ends meet while mine was comfortably wealthy. That wasn’t an issue when we were children, but I think he resented me as the years passed. After West Point, everything changed. I graduated near the top of our class. He finished in the bottom third. If it hadn’t been for my father’s intervention, he never would have received an appointment at all.”
He paused, a frown tugging the corner of his mouth. She guessed he was thinking about his father, comparing the man he knew to the splashy individual who’d shown up at a summer costume party in an outlandish zoot suit. Richard DeCardian, Rick Rothrock. She couldn’t fathom the time anomaly that connected the two.
Caleb cleared his throat, shaking aside his distraction. “Once my father realized I couldn’t be swayed from West Point, he petitioned to have Seth accepted too. After graduation, we were assigned to the same troop. Eventually, I became Seth’s commander. When I was promoted ahead of him he grew insubordinate, testing to see if I would report him.”
“Did you?”
“I had no choice. If I’d let Seth go unpunished for insolent behavior, I would have lost the regard of my men. He presumed too much on our friendship.”
She squirmed, not entirely comfortable with the answer. “That isn’t why you attacked him tonight.”
“No.” He rubbed grit from his eyes, the headache clamoring against his temples. Behind him, the grandfather’s clock struck the half-hour with a silvery chime. “Everything fell apart at Crinkeshaw. I was a major at the time. It was shortly after Bull Run, my troop already depleted. We were headed into an area with rumored rebel activity and I needed someone to lead a scouting party. Normally I would have sent my sergeant, but he was laid up with dysentery and my corporal had been injured in battle. I ordered Seth to take a group of soldiers and patrol ahead. He balked, arguing it wasn’t a captain’s job. When I threatened him with arrest, he did as ordered but never forgave me for pulling rank. His scouting party rode into an ambush, and Seth took a minie ball in the shoulder. By the time I arrived with the rest of the company, most of his men were dead.”
“How horrible!” Arianna knew the cost of war. She’d read about countless skirmishes and battles, but it had always been in the context of history. The men who perished had represented names on the pages of a textbook. To hear a firsthand account from someone who’d sent men to their death left her trembling. A single glance at Caleb told her the pain in his eyes had little to do with his headache.
“It turned bloody. We fought for over two hours, driving the Confederates back. It’s how I got this–” He hooked a finger over his collar, tugging the edge back to expose the diamond-shaped scar on his neck. “Shrapnel. I would have willingly taken more if I could have brought back those men. And Seth.” He shook his head. “I helped hold him down while they cut out the slug in a field hospital. He screamed his head off. Almost died that day from the trauma and loss of blood. Afterward, his arm was useless. I went to see him at home several weeks later, but he cursed me. They’d promoted me two grades, directly to a full colonel after Crinkeshaw, citing some rubbish about valor and leadership in the face of impossible odds. He hated me for that, not that I blame him.”
“You couldn’t have predicted the ambush,” Arianna protested. “And his arm…it looked fine at the party.”
Caleb shifted uncomfortably. “It healed eventually.”
She had the distinct impression he glossed over something vital, but didn’t press the issue.
“Or at least enough for him to return to battle eight months later,” Caleb continued. “He’d been promoted to major by then and was reassigned to my unit. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he’d already turned traitor, conspiring with Copperheads.”
“Northerners who sympathized with the South?” Arianna clarified.
He nodded. “I followed him from camp one night and caught him rendezvousing with a known Confederate spy. The reb took off, but I tackled Seth before he could run. We fought, he got away, and I drew my gun. I had him dead in my sites and couldn’t pull the damn trigger. I let him go because of our friendship. Because of what I’d done to him.” He shook his head. “I should have shot the son-of-a-bitch.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“He was a traitor, Arianna. He deserved to be shot. As commander, it was my duty to see justice carried out.”
“Not that kind of justice. You’re not a killer, Caleb.”
He looked at her steadily. “Are you so naive as to believe I went through the war without taking a human life?”
“That’s different.” It was one matter to envision him fighting at Gettysburg, another to imagine him with blood on his hands. She remembered the stains on his uniform in the photograph and suddenly couldn’t stop her mind from whirling out of control. Had he killed someone? Involuntarily, her eyes strayed to the picture abandoned on the coffee table.
Caleb followed her gaze.
“My bugler,” he said, interpreting her thoughts. “His name was Stan Hipplewhite. He was nineteen and wanted to marry his childhood sweetheart, Molly. Instead, he died in my arms, coughing his lungs out from a rebel bullet on the secon
d day of battle.”
Arianna felt a sudden sting of tears. “Caleb, I’m sorry.”
He raised a hand, gently brushing the hair from her forehead. “It was a harsher time, Annie. One I pray you’ll never face. After Gettysburg, my regiment was ordered to New York to put down the Draft Riots.”
She knew there’d been an uprising mid-July brought on by the Union’s enactment of a Conscription Law, subjecting men age twenty to forty-five to the draft. The rich had avoided it by buying their way out or paying some destitute soul to take their place. The poor had no choice but to serve. Infuriated by the double standard, Irish immigrants in New York City started a bloody riot. It was a tumultuous and ugly time in a tragic war.
“My regiment, once one thousand, forty-six men–” Caleb said, increasingly weary, “had been reduced to four hundred and twenty after three days of fighting Lee and Longstreet at Gettysburg. I lost another forty in New York. Near the end of July, we headed back through Pennsylvania, passing close to Weathering Rock. I didn’t know it at the time, but Seth had cut a deal with the Confederacy. They’d promised him a position in the new cabinet under Jefferson Davis for selling Union secrets. He set an ambush for my troop. I lost three-fourths of my remaining regiment in that assault. All because I hadn’t pulled the trigger on that bastard when I had the chance.”
“I did my best to kill him that day. I wanted to kill him. Then, when I thought I couldn’t fight anymore, there was an explosion of ball lightning. At first I thought it was cannon fire. The next thing I knew, Seth and I were alone in the field. I don’t remember passing out or him taking off. I just remember Winston bending over me, asking if I was hurt. Somehow, I’d ended up in this century. Seth too.”
“It was pure chance Winston stumbled over me when he was out for a walk. He told me later the only thing that kept him from taking me to a hospital was because I was carrying authentic dispatches addressed in my name. The DeCardian name. Coupled with the way I was dressed and the fresh powder burns on my uniform, he took me to Weathering Rock instead. I’m sure I sounded delusional, talking out of my head about my troop being ambushed. He could have dismissed me as crazy, but didn’t.”
“What about Seth?” Part of her clung to the hope she was dreaming and would wake from the mind-boggling fantasy. The other ventured tentatively ahead, embracing the impossible reality. “That means he’s been in this century for three years too.”
Caleb nodded. “Until today I hadn’t crossed paths with him. I’m assuming he’s had to adapt the same way I have, but he’s been careful to avoid me. Gut instinct tells me he hasn’t been in the immediate vicinity until recently.” His eyes narrowed. “How did your sister meet him?”
“I’m not sure.” Arianna thought back to what Daphne had told her about Seth. “I didn’t pay attention when she was talking about him. I think she said he was from New Jersey. I do remember she said he was well connected.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Caleb rubbed the point between his brows, still trying to suppress his headache. “Seth would have attached himself to someone powerful, likely criminal. I’m not certain why he’s chosen to surface now, but I don’t think it’s coincidental he’s with your sister.”
“You think he’s using her?”
“Possibly. He’s seeing her, I’m courting you. He had to know sooner or later our paths would cross.”
Courting. The term was endearingly antiquated, much like his speech. “There’s really nothing you can do, Caleb. He’s stuck in this century the same as you.”
He lowered his hand, his mouth thinning in a tight line. “He’s directly responsible for the death of my men.”
“That was almost one hundred and fifty years ago. I understand your anger, but–”
“It was three years ago,” he snapped, his gaze hard. “At least for me.” Exhaling wearily, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s cursedly complex. I don’t want you involved.”
“But I am involved. How can you kiss me and touch me, then shut me out of something so vital? Women no longer demurely do whatever a man tells them. You’re in a different century. Times have changed.”
She expected him to be angry, at least annoyed. Instead, the corner of his mouth curled in a slow grin. “So I’ve noticed. I believe the correct expression, according to Winston, is ‘no shit.’”
She blinked, surprised by his unexpected humor. She knew it was a blatant attempt to divert her from the matter at hand, but couldn’t help grinning. “Somehow that doesn’t sound right coming from you. I’d expect something more along of the lines of…” Squaring her shoulders, she tucked her chin close to her chest and deepened her voice. “Curse the whole infernal mess.”
“Hades, woman, I do not sound like that!”
“See?” Arianna laughed out loud, waving a finger under his nose. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“You’re impertinent.” He caught her wrist and yanked her into his lap. He did it so smoothly, it took Arianna a moment to realize what had happened. Not that his lap was a bad place to be. The feel of his thighs pressed tightly against her bottom sent a shivery thrill racing up her spine. A spark of humor warred with the fatigue in his eyes, the hint of something sensual smoldering underneath.
She flashed a playful smile. “Is that the best compliment you have? I thought men of the nineteenth century quoted poetry to the women they courted.” Two could play the sensual game. Wriggling deliberately, she wrapped her arms around his neck, fully aware he felt the intimate press of her backside in all the right places.
He dropped his head against the sofa with a moan. “You’re shameless.” His breath caught, a flash-fire spike of desire in his gaze. Clasping a hand on either side of her waist, he locked her in place and opened his legs to better appreciate the snug curve of her bottom.
She nuzzled his throat, pleased to find his pulse thrumming as madly as her own. The knowledge sent a bolt of giddy excitement boomeranging from her head to her toes. She plucked at his shirt, freeing the remaining buttons.
“Annie.” He snagged her hand, bending forward to capture her lips, kissing her hard. Just as quickly he drew back, his eyes fueled by passion. “We’re alone. No party, no intrusions. If you keep doing what you’re doing…”
She slid her palm under his shirt, the tantalizing shock of skin-on-skin flaming through her like a live wire. “I know what I’m doing, Caleb.”
Did she?
She felt a change in his breathing, his chest rising and falling sharply with each ragged inhalation. Her head spun, a warm rush of blood pooling against her temples. She gave a startled gasp, shaken when he skimmed his palm up her thigh, his touch heated and slow. Cupping her bottom, he squeezed with a boldness that left her quivering.
She wanted him now, to hell with what tomorrow might bring. She’d fallen in love with him, knew she’d go insane if they didn’t physically consummate that love this second!
Did he feel the same about her?
He’d hinted as much, but had never made an outright declaration of those three earth-shattering words: I love you. With other men, she’d never wanted to hear them, but it was different this time. He’d stolen her heart, reduced her to an infinitely smitten, lovelorn fool. If circumstances sent him back to the past tomorrow, she wanted him to make love to her tonight.
She never wanted to forget him, to lose him.
He cupped her cheek. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head and pushed his shirt wide, inhaling the scent of him, savoring the tautness of lean muscle and sinew beneath her hands. He smelled of male musk, a whisper of fatigued perspiration and something she couldn’t name. A raw, unchained element, wild and dangerous as a brewing storm. It reminded her of the wind, pulsating starlight, and blackest moon shadow on a hot summer night.
He caught her hand and drew it to his lips. “We shouldn’t behave this way. Not here.”
She froze, shocked he would retreat when he’d always been the aggressor. “Why?”
&n
bsp; His fingers contoured the dip and swell of her hip, conflict evident on his face. There was no question he wanted her as badly as she wanted him. “Winston might return and find us together. It’s not…” He frowned, struggling for the right word. “Proper.”
“Excuse me?”
“It would be different if we were somewhere else. Someplace we stood no chance of being interrupted. Remember that yokel at the party? Annie, I would never sully your reputation.”
Sully. She felt the urge to laugh and hug him at the same time, touched by the sweetness of his concern. As much as he wanted her, as much as he’d always wanted her, he couldn’t abandon the morals that had shaped his life in the nineteenth century.
“Caleb, I know you’ve slept with other women.”
“Not one I loved.”
Her heart banged fiercely. Had he just admitted to loving her? It was difficult to breathe. His hand on her thigh burned with the touch of sun-heated mercury. His fingertips skimmed higher, rounding her shoulder. She felt his fingers slip beneath her hair, curling possessively behind her neck.
“If it were up to me, I’d take you upstairs and make love to you until neither of us could think straight.”
Her mouth went dry, but somehow she managed an enticing smile. “Promises, promises.” Her gaze dipped, fixating on his mouth. She thought of how much she enjoyed kissing him and being kissed in return. “Wouldn’t you like to take my clothes off?”
He inhaled sharply. “You’re not helping.”
“But I’m volunteering to let you sully me.” She leaned closer and nipped his bottom lip, pulling away before he could capture her mouth with his. “I like the sound of that word. Sully. It paints a delicious picture of what you might do if I let you.”