Weathering Rock

by Mae Clair

  Caleb had always known there was something different about him, how he occasionally slipped into another mode of speaking, rattling off phrases that made no sense, or how he predicted the outcome of future events with uncanny accuracy. Even his method of discipline had been uncommon, reasoning through an issue when Caleb did something wrong as a child, rather than physically punishing him. He’d been an abhorrently horrid farmer but had known how to manage and motivate men. He had a mind for business that amazed even the brightest contemporaries of his day.

  Yet the man Caleb met at Lauren Talbot’s party bore no resemblance to the father he knew. Richard DeCardian was caring, a man of warmth and compassion. Even when they’d disagreed, their opposing ideas leading to heated arguments, Caleb had never doubted his father’s love and affection. By contrast, Rick Rothrock seemed superficial and self-centered. It was hard accepting the idea the two men were one and the same.

  With a sigh, he stepped from the stall into the barn, giving Ranger a parting pat. After three years, he had a stronger connection to the horse than the man he was expecting. The Rick Rothrock of the twenty-first century felt like a stranger.

  “You’re good stock,” he told the horse quietly. “If I’d had you at Gettysburg, you’d have made me proud.”

  “Like you did your mother and me,” a man said in a startlingly familiar voice.

  Caleb froze. If he closed his eyes and shut out his surroundings, he could easily imagine the words spoken by his sixty-three-year-old father. Steeling himself, he turned to face the man in the doorway.

  Cloaked in the dusky gray shadow of early morning, Rick Rothrock appeared as a tall, lean silhouette, faceless until he stepped into the light.

  Caleb stared, unable to breathe. The man before him was hauntingly familiar, awakening an ache of longing he’d deliberately shuffled to the past. For three long, tumultuous years, he’d been cut off from the family he loved. Part of him had feared he’d never see his parents or brother again. He’d forced himself to accept that, yet his father stood only a few feet away.

  His father.

  The reality shook him to the core, rattling his customary poise. He flexed his hands, sweat prickling on the surface of his palms. “I…” The words wouldn’t come.

  Rick gave a short snort of laughter. “That’s one for the record books. My oldest son speechless. You were always opinionated, Caleb. To the point of telling me you’d damn well do what you pleased, with or without my blessing. That was our first argument over West Point.”

  Caleb swallowed hard. “Third. I gave you the benefit of the doubt the first two times.”

  “Ah!” Rick grinned. “Deferring to your father, a nineteenth century code of conduct. Sons did what was expected of them.”

  “You weren’t like that. You weren’t that kind of father.”

  Caleb tried to relax, but his heart wouldn’t stop pounding. His werewolf-enhanced senses kicked into overdrive. He heard the whisper of the breeze rustling through the grass outside, smelled the apple-browned redolence of hay so smoky sweet it threatened to turn his stomach, heard the soft inhalation of Ranger’s breath. A trickle of sweat soaked into the hair at the nape of his neck. He wet his lips, unnerved by his father’s youthfulness. More unsettling was the change that had overtaken Rick Rothrock since Lauren’s party.

  The man Caleb met two days ago had been terrified by their encounter, in adamant denial of the blood he sensed between them. He was calm and collected now, more like the father Caleb remembered. He seemed sure of himself, confident and poised. The air felt charged with an undercurrent of electricity, each painfully aware of an invisible line holding them separate.

  “Do you…” Caleb drew a halting breath. “Do you remember?”

  “I remember everything.” The words came fast, chased by the vivid blue intensity of Rick’s eyes. “I remember holding you in my arms when you were born, so proud I thought my heart would burst. I remember how your mother and I sat by your bedside through the night when you were eight and came down with a fever. We took turns holding your hand and bathing you with a cloth to keep you cool. I thought my world was going to end that night. Even the doctor was unsure you’d recover.”

  Caleb fought for air, his chest contracting. He remembered the fever, how he’d twisted with sweat and chills, the bed-sheets damp beneath his body, his mind a white haze of crippling pain. He remembered his father’s touch, the soft sound of his mother’s voice cutting through the delirium, assuring him he wasn’t alone, that he was cherished and loved.

  “I remember the last time I saw you,” Rick continued. “It was right after Gettysburg. You came to the house with blood on your uniform and your mother nearly fainted at the sight, afraid you’d been wounded.”

  Pained, Caleb glanced away. He’d been in too much of a rush to understand her anguish. What was left of his regiment was straggling to New York, battered and limping along, headed into new conflict. He’d spent three days of hell under the hot July sun, fighting to keep himself and his men alive. Two hours had been all he could spare. The last two hours he would spend with his parents before being catapulted into another century.

  “You looked half-dead,” his father said, caught up in the memory. “Thin and haggard, like you hadn’t seen sleep or a decent meal in days.”

  “I hadn’t.”

  Rick drew an uneven breath and stepped closer. “I knew the war wasn’t ending. I knew it would drag on for another two years. Every time you rode into battle, I held my breath and prayed you’d survive. Then I’d curse myself for all the years I’d spent building a dynasty, only to realize none of it mattered. You didn’t care about it. You weren’t like Charles. You insisted on finding your own way, being your own man. As angry as I’d get, I was proud of you. You need to know that. I was always proud of you, son.”

  Son.

  Caleb dragged a hand through his hair. The name spurred him into motion, sending him pacing to the other side of the barn. He could feel his composure cracking, the stoicism that sustained him threatening to snap. “Don’t call me that.”

  “Why? You’ve had as much time to get used to the idea as I have. You’ve been uprooted and transported to another century, the same as me. You understand what I went through going backward in time–”

  “I don’t understand any of it.” Caleb batted the idea aside. His emotions danced dangerously close to the surface. The memory of his childhood and that last fateful day after Gettysburg had shaken him to the core. “One minute I’m in the middle of an ambush fighting for my life, and the next I’m one hundred-plus years in the future.”

  “Your mother and I thought you’d died in that ambush,” Rick told him. “For awhile we were afraid you’d been taken to Libby Prison. We did everything we could to reach you. When the war ended and you didn’t come home…”

  Something cold and bitter curdled the lining of Caleb’s stomach. It seemed all he’d been capable of doing was causing his parents grief. “I’m sorry. I never meant for you–”

  “I know that.” Rick took a faltering step forward. “I just wish I could change it. Your mother died thinking you wasted away in a Confederate prison, or that your body had been abandoned on some desolate battlefield. If she’d only known.”

  “But you could tell her.” Caleb latched onto the idea. “You can’t stay here. In this time. Eventually, you have to go back, otherwise I couldn’t come forward.” He frowned, irked he couldn’t wrap his head around the anomaly. “Hades, I don’t understand any of it.”

  “I don’t either, but I’ve had time to think. Look at it this way, Caleb.” Rick inched closer, only a short distance separating them. “Time fluctuates like any other element, and with each fluctuation, ripple effects alter what went before. Drop a stone in the water, and the surface changes. When I went back in time, I had no knowledge or memory of you, because you hadn’t been born. When you came forward in time, you altered my going back. You weren’t here when that happened initially, so you’ve changed t
he whole playing field.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning that somehow, someway, I still have to go back. I want to go back. I know it can’t happen the same way it did initially, because time itself has changed. The surface of the water. Your presence in this century is responsible for that. When you touched me at Lauren’s party, it opened a conduit between us. That’s why I have clear memories of you and my life in the past. I think we’ve been caught up in some kind of time loop. I wish I understood it better, but I don’t.”

  Caleb considered, trying to sort through the logic. “So when you do go back to the past–which will actually be for the second time–it won’t be under the same circumstances as before?”

  “How could it?” Rick spread his hands wide. “Everything is different. Weathering Rock didn’t exist then. I built it in the past. You weren’t here then, we never had this discussion. I never met you at Lauren’s party. I never realized…” He faltered, his voice threatening to crack. “That the son I thought dead for so long was actually alive.”

  Overcome by the pain he knew his father felt, Caleb closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t seem to stop apologizing, didn’t know how to fix the tragedy he’d caused in the past. None of it was his fault, but that didn’t stop him from feeling guilty. He’d caused his parents pain, left them floundering under the mistaken assumption he’d been killed. “I wish I could change–”

  “To hell with it.” Rick tugged him into a fierce embrace. “You owe me this, Caleb. God, I thought you were dead.”

  Caleb choked back a sound, tensing at the feel of his father’s arms around him. His mind rebelled at the touch. For a second, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to melt into the unyielding embrace or lurch free. Just as quickly, a cloak of warmth engulfed him, shattering his stiff control. He swallowed a lump, unnerved when the hot sting of moisture filled his eyes.

  Curse it all to hell.

  He was a commander, a decorated colonel in the Army of the Potomac, accustomed to concealing his emotions. He’d done it almost daily from the time he’d entered military service, priding himself on discipline and outward poise. He’d made it a practice never to let others see what he was feeling. And he certainly never broke down like some weak-kneed sap and cried in another man’s arms, even if that man was his father.

  Only he couldn’t stop the tears now. The events of the last two days crashed over him in a punishing wave: the grueling transformation of having his body forced into that of a wolf, the panic he’d felt at having Arianna learn his secret, the horror of knowing he’d hurt Wyn and the terror of thinking he might have killed someone. Coupled with his father’s affection, it was too much. Pressure built in his chest, sending a hot cascade of moisture spilling over his lashes.

  “Caleb?” Sensing the change in his body, Rick cupped the back of his neck, holding tighter. “Son, it’s all right. Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you? How much I love you?”

  It was the last straw. Returning the embrace, Caleb clung tightly. Relief, elation and love poured into him. He dropped his brow to his father’s shoulder, allowing himself a rare moment of unguarded vulnerability. For a time he didn’t move, not trusting his voice, content to let his father’s affection wash over him. He’d forgotten what it felt like to surrender the lead and let someone else be strong in his place.

  Rick kneaded the back of his neck. “Caleb?”

  “I’m fine now.” With effort he composed himself, disentangling his arms and drawing back. His lashes felt wet and clumped together, a telltale betrayal that left him feeling awkward until he realized Rick’s eyes were damper still. With a half-grin, he rubbed the tracks of moisture from his cheeks. “So what do I call you?”

  Rick smiled, swiping at his eyes. “Father would be nice. Unless we’re around someone who wouldn’t understand, in which case Rick works fine. I realize we’re about the same age, so if that makes you uncomfortable–”

  “No.” Caleb shook his head. He wasn’t sure why he’d felt nervous before, or why he’d considered age such a troubling factor. Whatever else he might be, there was no doubt in Caleb’s mind Rick Rothrock was his father.

  “Father is fine.” He grinned deliriously, cleansed by the tears he’d shed. “God, it’s good to see you!” Unable to restrain himself, he gripped the other man’s arm, needing to assure he was flesh and blood. “I have so much to ask you. So much I want to know.”

  Rick grinned. “Same here. How about we go outside and take a walk? I feel like I’m on an adrenaline rush and could use the air. I had no idea how you were going to react to seeing me. I’m not sure if I need to puke up a ball of nerves or get drunk.”

  Caleb laughed. “I think Mother would have something to say about either.” He sobered, thinking of the woman they both loved. He thought of the gold medallion she’d given him before the battle of Bull Run, the words God go with thee inscribed on the back. Her own mother had carried it on the long voyage from Norway.

  “Let it be a reminder of my love and God’s protection,” she’d said when she’d given it to him. “Bring it back to me, Caleb. Promise you’ll bring it back. That you’ll come home safe after the war.”

  “You really loved her, didn’t you?” he asked his father.

  “I did, do, and always will.” Rick slung an arm around his shoulders, steering him from the barn. “She’s the love of my life, Caleb. The only woman who ever mattered, even when I didn’t know her. I, uh…” He colored, his perfect salon tan deepening with a flush of red. “I guess you’ve probably heard a thing or two about me in this century. I mean, look at me.” With a grimace of disgust, he waved at his designer clothing and perfectly trimmed white-blond hair. I’m a fucking poster child for the vain.”

  “Well, you always did like to hobnob with the elite. I remember some of the parties you threw at Weathering Rock. Politicians, bankers and lawyers. Mother used to say your only weakness was an occasional burst of vanity. Of course, she probably never realized you slept with half of the women in Sagehill before you met her.” Caleb grinned, not entirely ready to let his father off the hook. It felt strange balancing a tightrope of respect, yet being able to talk to Rick as an equal. Their closeness in age shifted the balance of power, putting them on the same playing field.

  “Don’t get glib. I know a thing or two about sex and the Civil War and I’m guessing you were far from an angel off the battlefield. The difference is, I found someone who means the world to me. From the moment I set eyes on your mother, I never looked at, or wanted, another woman. I’ll do whatever it takes to get back to her.”

  Troubled by the admission, Caleb lowered his eyes. His father’s hand was still looped around his shoulder. The barn fell away behind them as the rambling fields of Weathering Rock unfurled in a rolling expanse of green and gold. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, enjoying the companionship of the man beside him. Who better to relate to his star-crossed love for Arianna?

  “What would you sacrifice for her?” He raised his head, his glance unnaturally sharp. “Would you abandon your century?”

  “I did and would. Without your mother, time has no meaning.” Rick narrowed his eyes. “She’s my life, Caleb, the other half of my soul. I’d sacrifice everything and anything to have her back again.”

  “But what if you can’t?” Caleb’s voice faltered. He stumbled over the words, no longer thinking of his mother, but a woman with raven-black hair and luminous green eyes. “What if you can’t tell her how much you love her, how much she means to you?” He imagined Arianna’s scent, her body spooned against his as they lay twined together in bed.

  Rick stopped walking. His hand fell away as he turned to eye Caleb. “Arianna?”

  Caleb glanced toward the horizon. “It’s more complicated for me. It’s not just a matter of where I belong, but who I am. What I am.”

  “You’re going to have to explain that.”

  Caleb inhaled. As a child and adolescent, he’d shared most everything with his
father, their relationship one of openness and trust. That hadn’t changed as an adult, only grown difficult as life choices and distance separated them. Now reunited, there was no question of keeping his lycanthropy a secret. He knew Rick couldn’t magically solve his problem, but the thought of having his father’s advice made the ugly situation easier to bear.

  “It starts with the ambush. And Seth. This may take some time, Father.”

  Rick nodded. “I have all day.” With a grin, he looped his arm over Caleb’s shoulder, urging him to start walking. “For my son, I have the all time in the world.”

  Chapter 26

  Arianna stood at the kitchen window contemplating the barn, a steaming mug of coffee cradled between her hands. She would have given anything to be a fly on the wall, eavesdropping on the reunion between Caleb and Rick. It wasn’t that she wanted to pry, but waiting made her antsy.

  “They’ve been in there a long time,” she worried aloud, biting her lip.

  Wyn joined her at the window. He didn’t seem anywhere near as frazzled, solid evidence men were clueless when it came to emotion. “It’s not every day you encounter your father one hundred plus years after he would have died. I don’t think ‘how’ve you been’ is going to cut it.”

  He was right, but that didn’t stop a herd of elephants from rampaging through her stomach. She bounced on the balls of her feet, edgy with the need to do something. Anything. She was about to suggest they investigate, when Caleb and Rick stepped from the barn.

  “There.” Grinning, Wyn raised a hand as if to say See? No big deal.

  Engrossed in conversation, Rick had his arm slung over Caleb’s shoulders, his face turned toward his son as he motioned expressively with his free hand. Caleb walked with his head bowed, thumbs hooked in the back pockets of his jeans. He looked as relaxed as Arianna had ever seen him. Rounding the barn, he and Rick struck a leisurely path away from the house.