Wanted
Page 16
Maybe this was Hell.
Maybe she hadn't jumped through more'n a hundred years and dragged him with her. Maybe they'd died in each other's arms and were paying for their sins. It certainly felt like Hell, his body being raked across some torturous device.
A door opened. He could tell by the gasp a woman had joined them.
"I can't believe it. Oh my word, I just can't believe it. How did you do it? Is he okay? Is he dead?"
"No, he's not dead, but I'd appreciate a little less gawking and a lot more help here,” Sammie said, out of breath.
Feet scuffled. They laid him down on a cold wood floor. The last round of aches subsided, and Jesse breathed easier. Carefully, slowly, he opened his eyes. The bright light stung them, and he shaded them with his hand.
Samantha's face appeared above him. As she smiled into his eyes, a large sheet billowed over his body. She wiped his brow.
"Can you speak?” she asked.
"Where...” he croaked.
Her face scrunched up in the same way it had at the camp, when she'd tried to explain, and he'd thought her a liar, an actress. He wasn't sure he was going to like what she had to say.
"I brought you with me, Jesse. I didn't know I could, and I never really asked you, but...” She put a hand over her mouth. A sob pushed past it. “You're here. You're in 2007 with me."
Her hand went from her mouth to her throat. Her gaze searched his. Even if he were able to speak, he didn't know what to say. It was true, then. All of it.
Dummy. Of course it was true. Sammie wouldn't lie to him, and she wasn't crazy.
"Ginny,” he said.
Sammie's face fell. She gasped and covered her mouth again. “Oh, God, I'm so sorry. I didn't even remember your sister."
From above her, a blanket came down over her shoulders.
"Who...” he said.
"Oh, that's just Charles ... and Carla."
"Just Charles?” the man behind her said, but he didn't sound mad. If Jesse had known the man, he might've said he sounded rather pleased.
He watched Sammie adjust the blanket, wave the man off.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she was smiling too.
"Can you get him something for the pain, Carla?” she asked without looking up.
As a round of cramping came on, not nearly as unbearable as before, Jesse bit down. He closed his eyes, clenched his brow.
"I should have asked, Jesse. If you ... well, if you want to go back to Ginny ... I understand."
He could hear in her voice that she didn't understand. Neither was she trying to manipulate him. She simply wanted him.
He waited for the pain to subside.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her very soul seemed to shine from her face.
He was wrong. This wasn't Hell.
This was Heaven.
"No,” he said, the only word he could manage.
"No?” she repeated and seemed to hold her breath. She cupped his face with her hands. “Do you mean you want to stay with me, Jesse?"
He tried to smile back. Slowly, he did and carefully moved up one hand to cover hers. He squeezed it.
The woman whom she'd spoken to returned to the room. She handed Sammie something and touched Sammie's hair. The woman, Carla, was crying.
"I don't know what all the fuss is about,” the man said from behind Carla.
He peered over the women's heads and rolled his eyes at Jesse. But the man didn't look angry or contemptuous. He looked relieved. Jesse winked at him, which sent him out of view with a gasp.
Jesse looked back at Sammie. She beamed from ear to ear.
"You all are crazy,” the man behind her said.
Jesse grinned a little bigger. “I reckon we are.” He reached up to pull Sammie down for a kiss.
He was crazy, crazy for his Sammie.
She kissed him back, and if for one second he didn't believe she was real, that this was possible, well, if it wasn't, may God strike him down right where he lay, wherever that was.
He sure would miss his sister and hoped she would understand he had to take this blessing and keep it close to his heart for the rest of his days.
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Epilogue
The water's rush and gurgle echoed off the canyon walls, drowning out chattering voices in the distance. Samantha kept pace with Jesse, unsure what to say or do other than follow him.
"Even the damned Feather River has changed. I hardly recognize the place,” he'd said. It was how he'd said it. Heavily, like the words carried physical weight.
With only a few months having passed since she yanked him into the twenty-first century, her guilt grew each day. What could he be feeling? Nothing could be the same as the world he left behind, and while he continually assured her there was no place or time he'd rather be, she couldn't shake wondering what she'd done to him. Maybe this little hike back to his old stomping grounds might help clear both their minds and help them face the future rather than the past.
The past was all she heard about. Not that she blamed him, but every last thing was a comparison. Mostly good, some not good. Some plain bad. Like his asking her why women no longer respected themselves enough to demand being treated like a lady. How was she supposed to explain a hundred years of suffrage and equal rights when she wasn't even sure he was wrong? Well, not entirely wrong.
He treated her like a lady. He was gentle but strong, wanted only her happiness. However, his idle hands and all the adjusting were wearing down the walls of romance. She needed Jesse back. She needed him the way he was before. Cocky. Sure. Daring and a bit vulnerable. Last night as she lay watching him breathe, the idea sprang into her head. Find some treasure!
She'd gotten her dad's map back from Carla, who had outright refused to photocopy it and made her promise to handle it with utmost care. Like she wouldn't. That was Carla. Protective. Not only of Samantha but of her father's memory and legacy. A nice feeling. Foreign but nice.
Jesse halted at the riverbank, picked up a rock, and skipped it along the rumbling surface. Samantha stopped, giving him space. She tried to imagine what the river must have once been like. Higher? Mightier? Were the rocks she stood on once buried by the current?
She reached out her hand to touch his shoulder and let it fall. He was too far away, and the gesture seemed hollow anyway. Feeling for the map in her backpack, Samantha sent up a small prayer for a little bit of magic today.
"There's a tree here that should be marked?” She hated how hesitant she sounded.
Jesse turned his head. His profile, silhouetted by sunlight, struck her with its masculine beauty. He looked so rugged, so male. Her belly ached from the beauty of it, and her longing to return things to the way they once were grew stronger.
"Did you mark the tree yourself?” she asked, trying to engage him.
He shook his head. Still, no words.
Please, Jesse. “Do you know who did?"
He nodded. Samantha let out an exasperated breath. This was supposed to be fun. She dug deep, searching for another question.
"The shaman marked the tree,” Jesse finally said, his voice barely audible above the river.
"Shaman?” Hope sprang to life inside her.
Jesse turned, faced her. “The medicine man who gave me the whiskey helped me bury it. He marked the tree.” His gaze met hers. A half-grin tugged his cheeks. “He said it wasn't for me but was for me. I was happy to see the thing buried.” He tipped his head a little. “Now I suppose I understand what he meant."
As he walked to her, Samantha's belly did a little flip. He laced his fingers in her hair and tilted up her face. She looked into his eyes, half worried, all hopeful. “You do?"
"Mmm-hmmm.” His eyes blazed with intensity, probed hers. “It was meant for you. You were meant for me."
Unexpected tears stung her eyes. She nodded.
"Your father found it so I could find you."
Samantha nodded again. Not because this was news o
r because she agreed with him, more to encourage him to continue, to reach farther, deeper, until he could find a place where he knew this was all for the best and never, ever had to live with a doubt or regret. He needed that. She needed that.
A slow, lazy smile spread across his features, and a gleam shimmered in his eyes. “Henry found the whiskey, but I'll bet you gold he didn't find the money."
Samantha chuckled, adoring the teasing note in his tone. “What money? You mean you really did bury treasure here? You mean my dad didn't find it but was this close to it?"
Jesse winked, kissed her long and hard. The kind of kiss that tickled toes and warmed a worried heart. He pulled away, lowered his hands, and smacked her ass. “Exactly."
Samantha giggled. “Exactly?” Giddiness leapt through her.
"He found the treasure, but I bet if you and I poke around a bit, we'll find the money."
"Do you think? Even after all these years? After all the construction, changes?” She regretted the last question almost before the words were spoken. The host of cabins along the riverbank weren't much of encroaching civilization; she had seen worse, but still ... kids playing in the trees, couples on long walks, someone surely would have found something.
"You have little faith in the man you love, Sammie.” He took her hand and led her up the rocky bank into the trees.
No more than fifteen yards deep, Jesse stopped in front of a marked tree. Sammie's mouth fell open. The drawing on her father's map was identical and now moot, when she had with her the one who'd hidden the treasure. A circle with four half-circles breaking the line, facing outward. Jesse traced a finger over the deep grooves and pulled up her hand to touch it.
She did and looked at him in wonder. Her giddiness grew. She'd brought him here to find acceptance, never truly thinking it would lead them to any actual treasure. Part of her thought he must be toying with her, teasing her, the way he used to do. She loved it either way. Her Jesse was back. She would do whatever necessary to keep him.
"Can you feel that?” he asked, looking at her in a strange way.
"I think so.” She was unsure of what he meant but suspected it wasn't the indentation of wood.
He kicked the ground. “The whiskey was here.” Leaves and dust lifted and settled. Jesse glanced around. They were alone. “And the money is...” He pulled her a little closer, sliding her fingertips up the rough bark. A breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of earth and water. Samantha smiled, mouth still slightly open, her gaze locked to Jesse's. The mischief in them mesmerized her.
As their hands traveled upward, the rough bark rounded and smoothed slightly. What they searched for she couldn't fathom. He must be teasing, but she wasn't about to stop him. Her fingertips reached an apex. A deep crease where the trunk gave way to branches. Much farther, and her arm wouldn't reach. She got onto her tiptoes, letting Jesse pull her up.
The crease stopped, and a small hole met her index finger. Her eyes widened. Jesse's did too, his eyebrows arching and his smile broadening. “What have we here?” he whispered.
Samantha probed the hole, wondering how on earth it could hold any treasure. A soft, clicking sensation came from within the hole. A rustle of leaves brought her attention to the left, just beyond the tree. Jesse pulled her hand back down. Sammie furrowed her brow, following him around the tree. The ground looked the same other than a little dust until her gaze caught the discrepancy in the landscape.
Jesse knelt, gently tugging her with him. “How did you manage...?” When he reached out and lifted the dirt-covered lid, she forgot the rest. Leaves, dirt, and rock spilled down, and a stream of sunlight snuck into what appeared to be a small buried vault. At the grayed, molded sack, her breath left her in a whoosh.
Jesse chuckled low. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I love you, Sammie. Lord, I do."
Samantha shook her head, took back her hand, and tackled him to the ground in a squealing hug. “You thief! I can't believe this."
"Thief?” Jesse hardly sounded offended.
"Yes, thief,” Samantha said. “You stole my heart."
The End
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About the Author
Amber's favorite thing about writing erotica is discovering and exploring new (and old) fantasies. That and the fact that few ever guess her to be so naughty under her good girl exterior. Like many writers, she is living her childhood dream as an author. She also writes Historical Paranormals and lives in Scottsdale, AZ with her two very snotty cats, Cinnamon and Lulu.
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