10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set
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“No, never.” But, he did look like the man in the picture. As a matter of fact, so did the kids. “He does look similar to someone in a picture I have. It’s old. Probably taken in the 1950’s.” Holy moly! He was the man in her dream. How embarrassing.
“Mrs. Fairchild, what is today’s date?”
She tried to check her discomfort and turned her attention to the constable. Why, the old fool was checking her memory. “It’s September seventeenth, I think, 2007.”
He jumped to his feet. “I better leave you to rest.”
“But what about my questions?”
“Do not worry. I’ll be back this afternoon. You’ll have plenty of time to ask questions.”
He rushed out like his pants were on fire. Raised voices echoed down the hall and within five minutes several doctors and nurses were in her room.
“Mrs. Fairchild, I’m Doctor Forbes and these are my associates.” She didn’t catch their names. “We need to make a few preliminary tests to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself in the fall last night.”
They checked her eyes, all of her reflexes, looked down her throat and in her ears. One of the nurses handed him a rack holding a variety of bottles. He waved each one of them under her nose for her to identify. Most were easy to name— ammonia, lemon, peppermint, lilac, and the list went on. Several times she couldn’t identify the odor. It didn’t smell like anything except maybe water.
Next she was grilled with questions. Knowing Loren was from America, they focused on questions pertaining to that country. At her answers they nodded pleased she’d gotten them right. “Now, who is in the White House today?”
“George W. Bush.”
The doctor remained poker faced but his right eye twitched. “Can you tell me what year Harry S. Truman was President?”
“Why yes, if I remember my history correctly, he was elected just after WWII and served two terms. Dwight D. Eisenhower succeeded him in, I think it was 1953.”
“Please excuse us a moment.” They filed out the door, closing it so she couldn’t hear. She waited and waited. It must have been thirty minutes later when Dr. Forbes returned, alone.
He stood and chewed his lip a moment. At last he spoke. “I’ve not been able to determine anything conclusive with the tests we’ve administered. Your brain seems to be functioning correctly in identifying odors, and for the most part, except for a few discrepancies, your memory is intact.” He coughed. “We’ll also be doing motor skills tests and I’d like to get an x-ray of your head.”
“An x-ray? Why not do a CT scan or an MRI?”
A look of confusion crossed his face.
“Look, this really isn’t necessary. Just bring me my clothes and let me leave. I really feel fine.”
Dr. Forbes placed a hand on her shoulder, his kind face etched with concern. “Mrs. Fairchild, there is something wrong and we need you here to determine what it is so we can properly treat you. You believe it is 2007, is that correct?”
Concern rising in her chest, she nodded.
“I’m sorry, my dear. But the year is 1947.”
Loren laughed. “You’re kidding me. Call Molly at the cottage. She’ll pick me up and take me home.” Again, she tried to rise.
His strong arms held her in the bed. He called, “Nurse!” and then looked down at her. “I’m sorry, my dear. It is 1947 and the cottage you burst into last night belongs to Miles Chapeau.”
She screamed and fought to get free. This couldn’t be true. It was probably an alien abduction and she wouldn’t let them take her. Others flocked in to the room and held her while a band was tied tightly around her arm. The nurse held a syringe out to the doctor. Criminy! She’d never seen one like that. It was huge—a glass and metal monster. Unable to move, she turned her head as the needle slid into the vein of her arm. The world grew fuzzy. All she could think was they’re going to make an addict out of me.
*****
When Loren woke again, the constable was back with a nice looking man in a gray flannel suit. Brown hair, chocolate eyes, and a kind smile. His teeth were nice and straight in his tanned face. He looked good enough to eat. Her brow wrinkled in thought. She’d seen him somewhere before. Damn drugs fogged up her brain.
“Mrs. Fairchild, this is Miles Chapeau, the owner of the cottage. He wanted to see how you were doing today.”
“Sss my cottage.” Her mouth felt full of cotton. “Water.”
Mr. Chapeau held a straw to her lips and she sucked, drawing cool liquid into her mouth. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She liked his voice. It was warm and sexy. Lord, sexy? Was she losing her mind? If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she’d heard his voice before. He returned the glass to the bedside table.
“Tell me, Mrs. Fairchild, what happened last night?” asked Constable Jones.
She turned her head toward the constable. “I left the cottage and went for a walk.” She tried to lift her arms. “The wind bleewww. Hard. Rained and rained. Had to fight the wind to get to the door.” She pointed at Miles and shook her fist. “Someone nailed me out of the gazebo. I had to climb the fence in the pouring rain.”
Miles didn’t know what to think. This woman thought it was the year 2007 and her father owned the cottage. Life couldn’t get much crazier for him. “I don’t know how you got onto my property, but my family built the cottage in 1920 and one of us has lived there ever since.”
She squinted at him. “Chapeau, Miles Chapeau. Your wife disappeared in 1947.” She shook a finger at him. And you took up with a dark headed harlot.”
He staggered back. What the hell was she talking about? “Yes, my wife did disappear, yesterday morning. Do you know where she is? Have you seen her?” He moved close to the bed and bent down, face next to hers. “If you know, tell me. Miriam has the mind of a six-year-old and needs constant supervision.”
Loren patted the hand he didn’t realize grasped her arm. A jolt of energy shot through him, and he jerked away from her. “Your wife is fine, Mr. Chapeau, just fine. Yesterday she wandered onto my property. She scared poor Molly to death.” Loren snickered. “Snuck up behind her and grabbed her in a hug. When Molly screamed, the blonde lady laughed and laughed.”
Miles didn’t know whether to believe her or not. The woman she described definitely sounded like Miriam, she thought it fun to sneak up on Irene.
The patient waved her hand. “I feel kinda drunk.” She shook her finger at Constable Jones. “No more of those drugs, you hear?”
The constable shrugged. “We have to do whatever the doctor orders, Mrs. Fairchild.”
“Bullshit. Man doesn’t know one end of a horse from the other.” She grabbed Miles’ shirtfront and pulled him closer. He breathed in her scent and didn’t like his body’s reaction. He didn’t like her vulgar mouth either. “Shhh, listen. Constable Sanders had her taken to a hospital for observation. Don’t you worry now; they’ll take good care of her in 2007. Medical technology has come a long way.”
He didn’t know whether to sigh with relief or shake more information from the woman. Touching her wasn’t good. He didn’t like his body’s response. Plus, she greatly favored the woman in his dream—the one he’d had that morning. They’d been making love on the knoll above the pond.
She’d been eager for his touch. Her breasts were lovely and he’d held them, taken the dusky nipples into his mouth, and she’d cried out with pleasure. When he’d entered her, she’d not let him go slowly, but had arched into each thrust. He’d awoken with an erection and before he could control it, he’d ejaculated against the mattress. It was a wonder his moan hadn’t woken the household.
He wasn’t one to remember dreams but due to his condition on waking, it’d been hard to forget. Probably the lady in his dream resembled Mrs. Fairchild because he’d seen her last night. She’d been on his mind. For hours he’d pondered where she’d come from and if there was a connection between her arrival and Miriam’s disappearance. And because it had been so long since he�
�d had sex, his body could no longer deal with the pressure. There was no connection between the woman and the dream. It was just coincidence. And he would not be taking up with a dark-headed harlot.
Chapter Three
Miles walked from the hospital with Constable Jones. The officer shuffled along quietly, hands in his pockets, apparently deep in thought. They stopped at the curb and Miles asked, “What are you thinking, Sir?”
“I’m thinking this is a very strange situation. Your wife disappeared yesterday morning, and then last night, a woman appears at your back door. She claims you’re in her cottage and insists the date is 2007.”
“You’re right,” said Miles. “2007. The idea is crazy. She has to be mentally unstable. That’s sixty years from now.”
“I totally agree,” said the constable. “So odd that it makes me wonder if something unnatural is going on.”
“What do you mean? I assure you that—”
“No, no, I mean something like all this UFO nonsense that people are so stirred up about. Objects in the sky, flying saucers.”
“I’m sorry, Constable. I can’t believe in such nonsense. Mrs. Fairchild is not an alien from Mars.” He chuckled. “That’d be like believing in the Loch Ness monster,” said Miles.
Constable Jones threw back his head and laughed. When he could stop, he scoffed. “Yes, I’m with you there, old man. But it does make a body wonder if any of it could be true.”
Miles believed in what you could see and hear. The laws of nature didn’t include traveling from one time period to another. The woman had to be lying. “What do you think of Mrs. Fairchild, Constable?”
He scratched his chin for a moment, thinking. “For one thing, she is American and educated. She doesn’t come from a poor family or have to work for a living. Of course, she could have a professional job of some kind as her hands are soft, the nails well taken care of and her clothing is of good quality.” He thought for a minute more. “I think she truly believes what she’s saying is the truth. And there is the dilemma.”
Miles suspected the constable’s assessment was right on. She might honestly believe her story. How long would she have to be hospitalized for the doctors to rid her of her delusional thoughts? Maybe her entire life. He didn’t like the thought of her being here without family, someone to look after her.
For some reason he was drawn to her, which pricked his conscience to no end. It felt like he was cheating on Miriam. He was devoted to his wife and wouldn’t betray her. Perhaps it was because of the dream, she reminded him of the woman on the knoll. That and the fact that his body flared to life each time they touched. What was it about her that so attracted him? She wasn’t beautiful, but pretty in a fresh way. Her auburn brown hair accented her coffee colored eyes and ivory skin. He certainly didn’t want to get involved with another woman, in particular one having delusions. But those eyes of hers gleamed with intelligence. He didn’t know what to think.
Constable Jones asked, “When did you put the boards on the door in the pergola, Mr. Chapeau?”
“Late yesterday afternoon. I worried that the children might get out unattended and fall in the pond or wander off.” With his wife’s disappearance, he’d become concerned that his children might also vanish without a trace.
“Smart idea, I’m sure.” The constable cleared his throat. “Mr. Chapeau, you know Mrs. Fairchild’s appearance at your cottage will lead to talk and speculation. Because of your wife’s condition, it will only lead to more questions.
Miles bristled. “I assure you—I don’t know that woman, where she came from, or how she ended up on my property. She has no claim to the cottage. You only have to look at the deed to verify that.”
He stopped to breathe and loosened his fisted hands. “As for my wife, even though we no longer had a real marriage, I love her deeply, like another child and would do all in my power to protect her,” he said. “And the comment Mrs. Fairchild made about me taking up with a dark headed harlot? I assure you I don’t associate with that kind of woman.” The very idea of anyone thinking such a thing made him furious. Harlot, indeed.
“Yes, well, I just want you to be forewarned,” said Jones. “If the doctor releases Mrs. Fairchild, a decision will have to be made as to what to do with her, where she can stay.”
“Surely, the system has places for individuals like her.”
“To be sure we do. Not ideal places, but they serve their purpose. We will continue the search for your wife.” He extended his hand. “Thank you for coming today, Mr. Chapeau. I hope you’ll come again. The lady seems to open up more with you, and perhaps you can help us make sense of her story.”
Miles shook Jones’ hand. “Thank you, Constable. I don’t see how I can help, but if you wish, I’ll do what I can.”
Constable Jones nodded and turned to walk away, then turned back. “By the way, what did she say to you when she grabbed your shirt front and whispered to you?”
Miles stopped in mid-stride. “She said Constable Sanders had taken my wife to a hospital in 2007, and that she was being well cared for.” He thought for a minute. “Then she added that technology in medicine had come a long way.”
Jones’ eyebrows shot up. “Did she for a fact?”
*****
Carlisle, UK, September 2007
Molly stood on the stoop, nervous as a cat, waiting for Constable Sanders to show up. When his Ford Focus pulled into the drive, she ran down the steps to meet him. “I’ve looked everywhere, Sir. Nothing of hers seems to be missing.”
“Now, now, Mrs. Withers, she might be out sightseeing somewhere. She probably rented a car and is having a grand old time.”
What he said made sense, but . . . “The bicycle is still in the shed. How would she have managed to get to town and rent a car?” Molly asked.
“She probably rang up a rental company and they came to pick her up.”
“I just can’t believe she wouldn’t call or leave a note if she was leaving, especially knowing I’d be in today.” Loren didn’t appear to be one to cause others to worry. She’d leave a note. What would she do if Mr. Haywood called and she didn’t know Loren’s whereabouts? “And her luggage is still in the closet. No woman leaves town without a change of clothes.”
He remained quiet for a moment, then said, “If it will ease your mind, I’ll check with the car rental companies in town”
Molly breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Sir. That would be most helpful. I may be worrying about nothing, but with the other lady showing up and all, I guess I’m a might on edge.”
“That’s understandable,” said Sanders. He got in his car and closed the door.
Molly approached the window. “Any news on the lady in the hospital?”
“They are running tests and will contact us when they know something. Her picture is in the newspaper and being shown on the telly. Hopefully someone will recognize her. It’s odd that no one has reported her missing.”
He waved and backed out of the drive.
Yes, it was very odd, indeed. The average person would be frantic with worry and scouring the countryside. If it were her loved one, she’d be driving people crazy trying to find her.
*****
Loren decided to submit to the x-rays, but as the nurse wheeled her into radiology and she saw the equipment, she balked. The antiquity of the machine nothing less than shocking compared to those of modern day.
“I changed my mind. There is no way you’re going to send radiation to my head using that machine. It’s an antique.”
“Now, Mrs. Fairchild. This is perfectly safe and the newest in medical advances.” She wheeled the chair closer to the large device. “Now hop up here and lie back.”
Perfectly safe? Yes, if this were really 1947, it would be very helpful in diagnosing many problems, especially those of the skeletal system. In the next few years fluoroscope machines would be in many shoe stores and touted as a way to get the perfect fit. Eventually medical experts warned of the hazards of exp
osure to radiation. In high school, in physical science and chemistry, she’d learned the gruesome details of prolonged overexposure to radiation. Many x-ray pioneers from the 1920s, who’d received massive doses in their experiments, died horrible deaths as a result of exposure. Their deaths were highly publicized and mother’s became cautious about allowing their children to use the machine.
Dr. Forbes walked in. “Are we about ready, Mrs. Fairchild?”
“No, we are not, Dr. Forbes. You are not going to expose me to the radiation that machine emits.” She huffed and crossed her arms. “I’ll glow in the dark like a neon sign.”
He chuckled. “You can’t believe all that rubbish posted in the dailies. Young scientists trying to slow down technology by scaring people.”
“I’m not stupid, Doctor.”
He flushed. “Well, yes you’re correct in that one shouldn’t be over zealous in using the machine. I assure you I know what I’m doing. We’ll only take two quick views of your head.” He took her hand and helped her up. “I promise. We’ll use very little radiation.”
She surrendered and thirty minutes later was back in bed in her room.
Nothing showed up that would cause her delusions as the doctor called them. Dr. Forbes was baffled. She wanted out of the hospital, but where could she go? She’d worry about that later, after she was released.
Her only way out of the sterile place would be to lie, pretend it was 1947 and that she’d just lost her memory for a short period of time. Would Dr. Forbes believe her? Regardless, she’d have to give it a try. If she couldn’t make them believe she was herself again, they’d put her in a mental institution. She shuddered at the thought of the conditions of mental wards in those days.
There was the problem of an address. The only one she had was the cottage—or her home in Houston. And she had no money. Shoot! Wait! She had a couple of twenty-pound notes in her jeans pocket. She looked around the room. Where the heck were her clothes?
“Ah Hum. Mrs. Fairchild.”