“I think that’s my cue to go to work,” she said, standing up.
“Oh,” Bradley didn’t try to hide his disappointment. “Is it ok if I stay?”
She smiled at him. “I’d like that. Stay here so I can come talk to you in between customers.”
He returned her smile. And watched as she went to work.
She moved in the costume as though it was second nature.
She served the two men drinks, then true to her word, came to stand in front of him, a glass of water in tow.
“Have you worked here long?” he asked.
“No. This is my first season.”
“You seem to be good at it.”
“I practically grew up here. My brothers and I spent a lot of time here during the summers growing up.”
“As children? Here?”
She laughed. And he was mesmerized.
“During the daytime,” she clarified.
“Then your family… owns it?”
She nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
He hadn’t heard anyone call her. Maybe he’d asked too much too soon.
If her family owned the bar, that certainly explained a lot. She looked more like a guest than an employee. Even in costume, she looked as though she were going to a gala instead of to work. Perhaps it was the way she carried herself. Her self-assurance.
A few minutes later, she came back and sat down next to him. She laced her fingers beneath her chin. Again, he longed to see her face beneath the mask.
“Tell me about you,” she said.
“I’d rather talk about you,” he said.
“You have new clothes.”
She’d noticed. He beamed. “I do. I apologize for being so underdressed last night. I just sort of wandered in.”
She smiled. “It’s a good thing you had too much.”
He laughed. He loved it that they already had a private joke. “Do you always dress up or is it because of Mardi Gras?”
“I’m not really dressed up,” she said, running a hand over her hair.
“You know…” he said. “It doesn’t really seem fair.”
“What doesn’t seem fair?”
“It doesn’t seem fair that you’ve seen me without my mask, but I haven’t seen you without yours.”
Her lips curved into a bow, but she shook her head. “I can’t,” she said.
“It doesn’t come off?” he asked, leaning forward. “Is it tattooed on there?” He reached out to touch her mask.
She slapped his hand down. “No! It’s not tattooed. Of course it comes off.”
“Then why?”
“I promised my father.”
Bradley leaned back. “Your father is a wise man.”
She smiled, pride evident in her face.
The door opened and another group of men came into the door. “My cue,” she said, standing up, “to go to work.”
He watched her movements behind the bar. She smiled and chatted with the men as she took their orders. One of them addressed her as Miss Lafleur. Perhaps her father only thought the mask served the purpose of keeping her in disguise. Nonetheless, their comments were respectful.
He picked up the book she was reading, flipped through the pages. The book felt new and was in excellent condition.
His gaze turned back to Camille. She sent a quick smile in his direction as she opened a bottle of wine.
Her smile sent a tingle through him down to his toes. And put a smile on his lips.
He flipped open the front cover of the book. There was writing on the first page.
For Camille Lafleur,
All my best,
J. Fennimore Cooper
May 1834
Bradley’s thoughts twisted and collided upon themselves. He was still staring at the autograph when Camille came back and sat in front of him.
“Where did you get this?” he whispered, his voice unsteady.
“My father got it for me when he went to New York a few years ago.”
“It has your name in it.”
“Sure. My father asked him to sign it for me.”
“Your father knows him.” His voice was barely audible.
“I think they met. Why? What’s wrong?”
Bradley looked up into her eyes. “This book was signed a few years ago?” he repeated.
She nodded. “Yes,” She turned the book toward her. “1834.”
“He signed it to you.”
She nodded. Shrugged.
Bradley grabbed the edge of the table with both his hands.
His theory had been right.
It was true.
Camille’s gaze darted around the room, then back to Bradley’s face. He looked as though he might be ill.
She took his arm to get his attention. “Are you well?”
He lifted his gaze to her. His expression looked like… the time her brother swore up and down he’d seen a young girl jump off the balcony of his room. In this very house. Of course, he’d been twelve.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out and put a hand lightly on her cheek.
She shivered. And closed her eyes.
Then he took her hands in his and squeezed. He squeezed until she opened her eyes and looked into his. “I…” he began, then stopped, glanced away, then reclaimed her gaze. “I need to ask you something and it’s very very important.”
She nodded.
“What is today’s date?”
“March 2.”
“Good,” he said, “But what is the year?”
“1838.”
He closed his eyes. Opened them again, searching her face for… something. Then he took a deep breath. “I know you’re doing the costume thing and all. But I mean the real and true year.”
He was daft. “1838,” she said again.
He released her hand and leaned back in the chair. Scrubbed his hands over his face. “Who’s the president?” he asked.
“Martin Van Buren,” she said easily. “He was elected last year. Normally I wouldn’t keep up with such things… but…”
Bradley was laughing. He was laughing so hard, his eyes were moist.
Camille glanced around to make sure they weren’t being watched. Had he escaped from the insane asylum?
The one time she takes someone under wing, he turns out to be insane.
He sobered. Wiped his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just so… outlandish.”
She scowled at him.
“I think I’ll take that drink after all.”
Bradley had believed his sister, Erika. Truly he had.
He had spent countless hours contemplating the possibilities of time-travel.
He had even entertained the possibility that Camille was in the past – especially after he had been unable to find the bar during the day. Hell, he’d even bought a tux and a mask in order to try and blend in just in case he was able to step back through that door.
But now…
Now that he had actually stepped back through that door… And was looking at the possibility that Camille did, indeed, live one hundred eighty years in the past…
His world was turned upside down.
He needed to talk to Erika. He needed to talk to his sister.
“Here’s your whiskey,” Camille said, setting a glass on the table in front of him.
“Thank you,” he said, automatically, but only stared at it.
I have to fly tomorrow.
What if he couldn’t get back?
His sister had traveled into the past and, as far aa he knew, she had only been able to return one or two times. To the best of his knowledge, she was here. In the past. Now.
His heart tripped up a notch at the possibility of seeing her again. For all intents and purposes, she had been dead to him for the past year.
Another group of men just walked into the bar. There was a card game going and tonight’s group seemed louder than last night’s.
What would happen when he walked out that door?
Would he go back to life as he knew it or would he walk out into a 19th century world? That thought sent a wave a panic through him. An airplane pilot in the 1800s. Would be a little difficult to find a job.
“You aren’t going to drink that, are you?” Camille asked.
Bradley returned his gaze to Camille’s green eyes. He’d worked all day just to see her again and here he was going down a rabbit hole.
He reached out, placed his hand over hers. “I apologize profusely. Please forgive me.”
She flushed.
Bradley remembered, too late, that he’d probably just committed a faux pas just by touching her. He jerked his hand back. Brushed it through his hair.
Sighed.
But whatever may be, this was the girl he could not take his eyes from for more than a few seconds. He’d only had this butterfly in the stomach feeling one other time in his life. It was in third grade during a summer camp. It had been a camp for boys, but there were two college girls doing volunteer work during the days. Their job was to teach the boys manners – things like how to pull out a chair for a girl or how to walk on the outside of the sidewalk. Bradley had never even spoken to her as far as he could remember. He’d just nodded mutely as she had gently taken his arm and changed sides on the sidewalk.
Savannah Richards.
She had been the woman of his dreams throughout his adolescent years. The crush had faded, of course. And he had never seen her again.
But that feeling was one he had never completely forgotten. He had just never had it happen again.
Until yesterday.
Camille Lafleur was his new Savannah Richards.
Only this time, he was old enough to do something about it.
He smiled what must have been a rather wolfish grin because her eyes widened.
“Tell me something about you,” he said.
She tore her gaze from his, a flush spreading over her cheeks. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Do you have any brothers and sisters?” he asked. He wanted to know anything. Everything.
She nodded. “I have two brothers. But they are in Texas fighting Comanches.”
“Comanches?”
“Indians.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of them.” I’ve just never heard of anyone fighting them. Only in the movies. “You must worry about them.”
She sighed. “I worry about them all the time.”
“It’s hard when you’re the one left behind,” he said, again thinking of his sister. And the fleeting thought that perhaps, just perhaps he could see her again.
Her eyes grew misty with unshed tears. “I wanted to go with them, but they refused to let me. When I threatened to follow them, my older brother made me promise not to. He said if he was worried about me, he’d probably not pay attention and get himself killed.”
“I can only image that was enough to keep you here. It would be enough for me.”
“It was,” she whispered. A tear slid from her right eye. She had her back to the room. No one was watching them.
Bradley leaned forward and caught the tear with his finger. Then he swept a finger beneath her mask at her hairline near her ear.
Her breathe hitched.
“Maybe…” he said. “Maybe you should take this thing off for a little while.”
She didn’t move. Almost seemed to be holding her breath as they gazed into each other’s eyes.
She nodded. Perhaps he imagined it, but it was enough. Before she could change her mind, he swept the mask over her head.
Any thoughts he may have been having came to a dead stop.
He wanted to devour her. Right then and there.
Camille was the most gorgeous female he had ever seen. Her features were perfectly delicate. Her skin flawless.
He put a hand back on her cheek. Soft. That was the only coherent thought that registered in his befuddled brain.
He swayed toward her. They were inches apart now. Her lips were parted.
There was movement behind her.
Though every cell in his body protested, he whispered, “You’d better put this back on.”
She didn’t move.
“Hurry,” he said.
Spurred into action, she put her mask back on as someone called her name.
“My father,” she murmured.
A stab of fear shot through Bradley’s heart.
It was only a mask. He swallowed a bubble of laughter. He felt like he’d violated her. But it was only a mask.
Now he could see why her father insisted she wear it while she worked in the bar. Or as she called it, the tavern.
Camille’s feet were frozen in place. Her father was a reasonable man. Mostly.
But at the moment, he was being most unreasonable.
Camille, as the accountant of the tavern, had determined to waive Bradley’s membership fee. Could her father just override her like this? He could, of course, since he was the owner, but must she allow him to?
“Your name is not on the roster, Sir,” her father was standing toe to toe with Bradley. They appeared to be evenly matched in height and stature.
“I apologize,” Bradley said, “I only just recently learned of the membership fee. Your daughter was very kind to not pressure me on the matter.”
“My daughter doesn’t worry herself overly much with money.”
Surely her father jested. She prided herself on keeping very accurate books.
Her father must have seen the shock and insult on her face. “She allows the kindness of her heart to take precedence,” he added quickly.
“I can assure you that I’m good for the money,” Bradley said.
Her father was partially right. Camille’s heart broke for him. He obviously didn’t have money. His clothes were embarrassingly out of style. Where did he even find such things to wear? Even his shoes had no heels.
“Very well, then,” her father said, glancing between the two of them. “I’m sure my daughter had a good reason for making an exception. I will trust her judgment. However, I must ask that you bring the funds – twenty dollars - with you when you come back into the tavern.
“Of course,” Bradley said.
“It’s settled then,” her father said, turning away and, as they watched, chose a table and joined a card game.
“I’m so sorry,” Camille said, quietly, so only Bradley could hear.
“No. He’s right. There should be no exception made for me,” he turned his head to meet her gaze.
Her heart fluttered. For a moment, before her father walked up, she’d thought he was going to kiss her. He’d boldly removed her mask, touched her face, and… she had been going to allow the kiss. In fact, she wanted the kiss.
Even now, she longed to remove their masks again and perhaps he would be inclined to try to kiss her again.
She chastised herself at the thought. Her father was there, watching them. If her father saw Bradley kiss her, he would probably challenge him to a duel and one of them would die. That could certainly not be allowed to happen.
She loved her father, despite her current annoyance with him. And Bradley, well… she certainly didn’t want to lose him.
“I should go,” Bradley said.
She shook her head. She didn’t want him to go.
“I don’t want to anger your father.”
“Will you come back?” she asked softly, holding her breath, waiting for his response.
“Yes,” he said, staring deeply into her eyes. “I will do everything in my power to come back.”
She nodded. Bit her lower lip.
“If I don’t come back, know that…” He raised a hand, then seemed to think better of touching her. “Know that it was not from a lack of trying.”
He held out his hand and she placed hers in his. He pressed his lips against her skin, sending shivers up and down her spine.
“I will see you, ma chère.”
He released her hand, and, turning, walked away from her.
She watched as Bradley neared the door. Only a few steps more, and he would disappear into the night. She may never see him again.
That thought left her with a hollow ache and he wasn’t even out of her sight yet.
She needed to tell him… something… though she knew not what.
Suddenly spurred into action, she picked up her skirts and raced through the room, dodging tables, and chairs.
Earl Harps stepped out in front of her. “Excuse me, Sir,” she said, putting a hand on his arm to practically shove him aside.
“Is there a fire?” he asked, with a loud laugh, still blocking her path.
“No,” she said, turning and taking a different route. She had no time for banter.
It was difficult to see in the smoke, but she kept her eyes on Bradley.
As he reached out to touch the door, she called his name.
She was three feet from him now.
He turned back as his hand pushed the door open, and he stepped through.
She slowed as her eyes met his. He raised a hand to reach for her.
With their gazes locked, he vanished.
Chapter Three
Camille was still moving forward. She grasped the door with one hand and reached out with the other. However, her hand swept through nothing but air.
She stepped out into the cool night air. The cool, clear night air. Without the cigar smoke, she had a clear view up and down the street. Other than a horse and buggy making its way through the mud on the other side of the street, the street was deserted.
She slumped against the open door.
Her mind blank.
Then racing. What was this?
A ghost?
Her heart hitched.
A figment of her imagination?
But no… her father had seen him, too. Her gaze shot back to her father, leaning back in his chair, laughing with his friends, completely unaware that her life was coming apart at the seams.
She certainly couldn’t tell her father about this. He would think her daft, or worse, put her in the insane asylum.
Either way, he would not believe her. He would say I told you not to talk to strange men.
And he would no longer allow her to work in the tavern.
That thought alone was enough to shut down the idea of telling her father about Bradley’s sudden evaporation.
“Camille,” her father called, standing behind her.
When the Stars Align Page 3