Table of Contents
Excerpt
Time Twist
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
A word about the author…
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Christopher was certain his father had been using his device to travel back in time, committing more crimes to increase his fortune. Criminals such as his father were never satisfied—the desire for money never fulfilled, the thirst for power never quenched and the urge to spill blood never quelled. Christopher didn’t know how extreme his father’s lust for power and fortune had become, but in his heart, he feared the worst.
His own memories of the machine were hazy, at best. He hadn’t seen it, but he’d never forget the loud vibrations it had caused just before he’d slipped into complete darkness, back in London, then heard again vaguely when they’d landed in Colorado.
He and his partner drove to the address from the 911 call. His heart sank. This house, so near the city center, couldn’t possibly have anything to do with his father. It was probably a complaint about noisy kids or something. No. Christopher was certain Father had built the mansion—his family’s future home, Arianna’s current worksite—outside of Pueblo, where no one would be bothered by such noises.
New fear for Ari’s safety prickled his skin. What if the device was at the home already? What if she was there when Father decided to use it? What if he did something to Ari, then transported her to another time? Worry gnawed at him.
Time Twist
by
Jeanie R. Davis
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Time Twist
COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Jeanie R. Davis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Kristian Norris
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Paranormal Romance Edition, 2018
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2253-7
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2254-4
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
My daughters, Cassi, Kiera, BrieAnne and Ashlyn, who helped inspire this story
Chapter One
London, England—April 1814
Christopher tugged a ragged curtain open, letting the full moon light his room. He pulled out his pocket watch and discovered it was nearly two o’clock in the morning. Why he was fully dressed at this hour, he couldn’t say. A feeling? An omen, of sorts.
Movement outside caught his eye. He watched his father stumble up the cobbled drive, no doubt foxed.
No. Not foxed. Christopher peered more closely. He may have had a few drinks, but a large bundle on his back appeared to weigh him down, causing him to stagger.
Christopher’s impulse to rush to Father’s aid was quelled when a ray of light from a streetlamp glanced off his waistcoat. The coat, finely tailored for the son of an earl, had seen better days, but had never been soiled. Now it was. In what? In blood? Surely not his own. Christopher scowled, and his pulse quickened as bitterness oozed through his consciousness. The time had come.
How could Father have fallen so far? He was a man once. With property. With dignity. Now what had he become? Had he no concern for his family?
Christopher began to pace. How should he proceed? If he could slip from the townhouse unnoticed and fetch a constable… No. Protecting his mother, sister and brother must be his top priority. He couldn’t leave them. It had been too long since Father had been kind to any of the family.
The front door slammed shut. His father wheezed loudly enough to hear through the thin walls of the small townhouse they shared. Christopher stopped his pacing and cracked open his door to observe the scene in the candle-lit room.
“I need your help, Bea!” Father barked. His breath came out in loud puffs. For a man who’d divided his time between drinking and scheming, whatever he carried on his back obviously weighed him down.
Mother, clothed in a threadbare nightdress, rushed toward her husband, arms outstretched. “Oh, Benjamin, I have worried so.” She stopped short when her eyes landed on his stained fingers. “Your hands!” She dropped her arms and rocked back. “Your coat! Is that blood?” She sucked in a breath. “Are you injured?” Her face wrinkled in concern. It was all Christopher could do to rein in his impulse to jump to action and instead wait. He needed more information about Father’s scheme before charging forward. His heartbeat picked up a notch.
Ignoring her question, his father stomped his foot. “I said I need help!” A flame sputtered, causing the shadows to quiver.
Her gaze flew from his bloody hands to his face. “Help with what? …And what have you got in that bag?”
“That, my dear, is our future.” He dropped the bag onto the kitchen table, where the contents clinked and tinkled. Mother’s mouth gaped open, but before she could say anything more, Father cleared his throat. “Pay very close attention.” He waved a finger in her face. “You need to gather the family and meet me in the bookroom. We are leaving this shabby existence—forever.”
“But—”
Father raised a hand, quieting her. “If there are items of value, or anything you or the chi
ldren wish to see again, I suggest you bring them.” He pushed past her, exiting the room. “What are you waiting for, Beatrice? Pick up your feet and move!” he hollered back at her.
Shadows of worry, mingled with confusion, crossed Mother’s face.
Christopher had heard enough. The anger flowing through his veins threatened to choke him. He must stop his father before someone got hurt. Reaching under his bed, he jerked out a satchel plump with his belongings. Uncertain of Father’s scheme, he had prepared for anything imaginable—including protecting his family. He tucked a sheathed dagger into his waistband.
Through the door he’d left ajar, he glimpsed Mother—a candlestick in one hand, a large bag in the other—rousing his brother and sister. She moved like a puppet, blindly obeying her husband’s demands. Christopher wondered for a moment why she retrieved his siblings first. After all, he’d acted as the man of the house for months now. Then the angry words he and Father had exchanged earlier hit him like a wall of ice crashing through his head. Mother had every reason to worry about his reaction. He let out a breath to calm his racing heart.
Sarah and Joshua were easily maneuvered, as if they were sleepwalking. Once they were out of his vision, he watched Mother scan their room, grabbing an armful of clothing; a miniature drawn of their family, which Joshua especially treasured; Sarah’s journal; some remnants—that hadn’t been auctioned off yet—from their former life at the estate; and a few other items.
Christopher nudged his door open, nearly running into his mother. “Christopher! I—I thought you were asleep. Your father wants—”
“I know, Mother. I heard him.”
“Why are you awake, son?”
“Never mind that. What has Father planned?”
Judging by the bewilderment on Mother’s face, she knew nothing of what his father had been up to. She was innocent—had always been innocent. Through all Father’s failures, drinking and conniving, Mother had remained in the dark.
“I do not know, Christopher. Only that it involves jewels which I’m certain were stolen. And”—she let out a shuddering breath—“there is blood on his coat.” A sob escaped her throat. “Oh, Christopher, I fear he has committed a grievous crime.” The floor creaked, warning them that Father wasn’t far away.
Christopher’s heart sank at his mother’s words. She didn’t deserve this. It must be the liquor causing Father’s lapse in judgment. He’d once treated his wife with respect.
“Son, your father will be angry if we tarry. Come. Bring anything you value.”
“I have it right here.” He patted his satchel, then followed Mother. As they neared the bookroom, his father stepped out, stopping them in their tracks. Christopher met the challenge in Father’s piercing gaze.
He would not be cowed by this man.
He gripped the handle of the hidden blade beneath his coat—his intentions were not to willfully injure, but protect.
“What have you done, Father?” Christopher stepped around his mother, shielding her.
“Do not take that tone with me.” Father sneered. “You were so piously unwilling to help me with my plan to save our family. You’ll have no say in matters now.”
“Unwilling? Unwilling to rob? Unwilling to murder?” Christopher moved closer to his father, his blood boiling. “Unwilling to save our family? What about the responsibilities you fell short on, plunging us into bankruptcy? Have you forgotten I have been helping? I’ve been the wage earner at this address. I left Cambridge prematurely to pick up the pieces you let fall—just as your very reputation has plummeted!” His voice hit a fever pitch.
Father’s crimson face twitched. A maniacal gleam entered his eyes, yet he spoke with an eerie calmness, raising the hair on Christopher’s skin. “You are a Somerset. My son.” He rubbed the onyx ring his late father had given him as if to send a message. “Sons aid their fathers. Had you helped me, spilling blood may have been avoided.”
“Do not use me to justify your actions.” Christopher held his ground, his heart beating thunderously.
“My invention has made us rich.” Father took a step toward Christopher, a crazed expression on his face. “No man’s mind is as clever as mine.” Christopher had once believed those words. Pain shot through his chest as if his father’s sins and failures and what he had become sailed on an arrow, piercing his heart. “And you will not defy me!”
Christopher tugged out the knife, ready to defend. Mother gasped, breaking his concentration and his eye contact. He caught movement from Father as the blunt force of something hard slammed down on his head. He groaned and fought for consciousness, wielding the knife futilely until his world darkened to black.
Chapter Two
Denver, Colorado—Present Day
Arianna Miller watched the red Corvette speed away, stunned. He loves me? Why would Zach say it if he didn’t mean it? And he couldn’t possibly mean it so early in the relationship. So taken off-guard, she’d opened her mouth, but couldn’t choke out the words. They’d come out something like: “I—I…lo—like you…a lot.” Sigh. Lo—like you? Horrible time to be tongue-tied. When and if she ever felt sincerely ready to say those three words, it would be to someone she’d shared her hopes and dreams with; shared good times and bad. Someone who would move heaven and earth to help her, if need be. And she’d do the same for him. Perhaps it would be Zach. Only time would tell. She was excited at the possibility.
She swung the door open to Johnson and Tate Design Firm. The smell of potpourri lightly scented the air of the century-old, cottage-style house-turned-office complex. She glanced around the empty waiting area and couldn’t imagine having a better job. She smiled at the meticulous detail of the furnishings—professional, yet comfortable.
Before she found her desk, Maggie’s head popped up. “How was lunch? How is Zach? Did you—”
Arianna laughed. “Yes, I brought you a soda. What are friends for?”
“Good. That’s all I really cared about.”
“I don’t believe you for a second.” Ari handed Maggie the drink. “And your pregnancy cravings change every day. Yesterday it was pretzels.”
Maggie shrugged and took a sip. “Yeah, and I used to go running with you in the mornings.” She patted her swollen belly. “Now I’m a hippo with cravings.” Her eyes twinkled. “So, tonight’s the art fair benefit. Is Zach still taking you?”
Ari frowned. “He had to cancel. Work meeting.” She scooted up to her desk. Perhaps that’s why he’d said he loved her—guilt.
Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “Dentists have work meetings at night?”
“That’s what he said.” Ari shrugged. She didn’t know why Maggie always acted suspicious of Zach. She was lucky to have such a perfect boyfriend—rich and handsome.
“Your phone’s buzzing.” Maggie pointed at Ari’s purse. “Maybe he’s reconsidered.”
Arianna plucked her phone from her bag and read the text. Hey babe. My night freed up. I’ll be over at seven. Wear that slinky number you wore last weekend. For a split-second Ari stared at her screen, confused. Then realization dawned, and nausea threatened to send her to the restroom. This text wasn’t meant for her. She didn’t even own a “slinky number.” She wanted to scream.
“You’re pale, Ari. Is the text from Zach?”
“It’s from him, all right.” She handed Maggie the phone. Tears stung her eyes, but she willed them away. Zach didn’t deserve them.
“I don’t get it.” Maggie’s eyes scanned the text a second time. “He’s free now? Slinky number? But I thought you two were taking things slow—” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
“He doesn’t call me babe and I didn’t see him last weekend, either,” said Ari.
Maggie gulped. “He thought he sent this text to someone else!”
Ari’s voice rose the angrier she became. “We were just together ten minutes ago. He even told me he loved me! I wonder how long he’s been seeing this…this tramp!”
A red-faced Mr. Johnson stormed thro
ugh the room, glaring at her. “Do I need to remind you that this is a place of business, Miss Miller? Keep your personal life at home, and never raise your voice in front of our customers.” He stomped into his office.
“How does he do that? He comes in here ranting and raving, and nobody takes notice. Whereas I raise my voice once, and the whole state of Colorado hears me,” she whispered. “Besides, there’s nobody in the waiting—”
Maggie motioned toward the front.
Ari peeked up to see several seated clients, staring in her direction. She let go of a sigh. It had been empty after lunch—ten short minutes ago. “Did I really just lose it in front of everyone?”
“You really just did, but you were justified.” Maggie flicked a lock of auburn hair over her shoulder, her eyes still on the text. “Wait—he said he loved you?”
“Yes, not that it meant anything. But seriously”—keeping her voice low, she motioned to the words on the screen—“can you believe that?” She tilted her head to urge a response from her friend.
Maggie handed back the phone and turned to face her. “Zach’s scum. You know I’ve never trusted the guy.” She appeared to have more to say.
“But?” One thing she loved and sometimes hated about Maggie was her honesty.
“Well, do you realize that you’ve been dating him for a month now and the most you’ll give him is a kiss?” Her eyebrows drew up in an arch. “In fact, with your super-model looks you could have your pick of all the bachelors in Denver. But none of them are good enough.”
“What’s your point, Mags? Just because I have higher standards than some doesn’t mean I should settle for less, does it?” She returned the pointed look.
“Some girls? Try every girl we’ve ever met.” Her voice had begun to rise. She cleared her throat and lowered it again. “Honestly, Ari, I hate what Zach did, but you’re becoming a prude. I think you’ve read way too many of those books, those—what do you call them?”
“Regency romances.” Ari loved history and had even minored in it in college. She spent any spare time reading and had developed a fascination with the romantic English stories. “You mean when the men were gentlemen and girls were ladies? When it wasn’t even proper to kiss until you were practically married?”
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