Mark said, “Hi, Quinn.”
Quinn answered, “Hi, Mark.”
“I knew you’d pull through,” Mark added, again affecting nonchalance. “We’ve got a lot of stuff to do.”
Quinn kept his eyes on Houston, still smiling. “We sure do.”
Houston said shakily, “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”
Quinn opened his arms to her. She flew into them.
They held each other tightly, so tightly that it hurt. She felt his breath on her neck and his strength enfolding her, and happiness bubbled up inside until she couldn’t contain it; holding his face between her hands, looking into his eyes, she laughed out loud with pure, unadulterated pleasure. Quinn laughed, too, and releasing her a fraction, he beckoned to Mark with one arm. Mark bounced on the bed and they all embraced again and didn’t even look around at the sound of the door closing, or of someone discreetly clearing his throat.
The throat clearing came again and Houston reluctantly disentangled herself from the embrace, expecting to see a disapproving doctor or nurse. It was Morgan, and she looked distressed.
“Morgan, it’s okay,” Houston said, holding Quinn’s hand tightly. She couldn’t stop smiling. “He’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“No,” Morgan said unhappily, “it’s not. That’s what I wanted to tell you before.”
She took a step closer to the bed, her hands clasped tightly before her, looking at Quinn. “I’ve been monitoring your test results. While it’s true you have developed antibodies for almost every disease and toxin known to this century so that it’s highly unlikely you’ll ever succumb to the kinds of ill effects you’ve just experienced…you no longer have immunity to the conditions that exist in your time period. And you’ve become a carrier for several of the deadliest viruses known—viruses that if released into the twenty-fourth century could decimate the population.” She took a deep breath, seeming to fortify her strength. “You can never return to your own time,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
For a moment no one spoke. Then Mark asked, “Do you mean you don’t have to leave?”
And Houston asked, “You can survive in this time—but not in your own?”
Quinn smiled, and put an arm around each of them, drawing Mark and Houston close. “What did I tell you, Morgan?” he said with satisfaction. “You can’t change history.”
Sinking against his chest with the purest contentment she had known for a long time, Houston was very, very glad.
THREE DAYS LATER they took Quinn home from the hospital. Morgan waited until then to make her own departure, claiming she wanted to make sure to be able to include all the details in her report. Houston thought it was because the other woman was merely curious, and because, perhaps, she had discovered a few things about the twentieth century she liked. Morgan had become a lot more human over the past few days.
The discharge nurse escorted them out of the hospital, but Quinn was strong enough to walk to the car. He stood for a moment beside the car, breathing deeply of the fresh air and turning his face toward the sun. Houston loved him more in that moment than she ever had.
Then he ran his hand lightly over the hood of the car and said, “I suppose I’ll have to learn to operate one of these things properly if I’m going to stay.”
“I suppose you will,” Houston agreed, eyes twinkling. “But you won’t be doing it today.”
She escorted him to the passenger side and opened the door. Mark got in the back seat, and Quinn waited for Morgan to join him.
Morgan shook her head, smiling regretfully. “This is where I leave you.”
“You’re welcome to stay with us, as long as you’re able,” Houston said. And she meant it. She had rather grown to like the other woman.
“No,” Morgan said, “this time is for you—and Quinn. I won’t intrude. Besides, I do have a life waiting for me in the twenty-fourth century—although I must confess, it’s not nearly as interesting as yours.”
She turned to Quinn. “There were some things of yours I had to destroy. I hope you don’t take offense.”
Quinn nodded. “I would have insisted on it.”
“It has been an honor to know you, sir.” She hesitated, then added, “You were the last of your kind, you know.”
“No,” Quinn answered quietly. “I didn’t know that.”
Morgan smiled and looked around. “It’s rather a shame. This time travel has a lot to recommend it.”
“Perhaps the practice will be revived,” suggested Quinn.
“I doubt it. There aren’t enough men—or women—like you left.”
Quinn extended his hand to her. “Thank your people for me. And Morgan—” he clasped both hands over hers “—thank you.”
She smiled. “Good luck, sir.”
Quinn looked at Houston. “I don’t need it,” he said. “I’ve got something better.”
Morgan walked with Houston toward the driver’s door. But when they reached the back of the car, Houston stopped.
“Morgan…” She glanced toward the window, where she could see Quinn and Mark engaged in conversation. She lowered her voice a fraction. “I was wondering… When you first met Mark, you said something that puzzled me. Do you know something about his future?”
Morgan smiled. “It would be unethical of me to answer that.”
“From what Quinn tells me,” Houston answered craftily, “the best adventurers make up their own rules as they go along.”
A spark came into Morgan’s eyes. “On the other hand, you are his mother. It might be to your advantage to know.”
“I’m sure it would.” Houston’s heart was beating hard.
Morgan said, “The truth is…do you remember I told you we have a way to retrieve television and radio signals now? Without Mark Malloy, we would not be able to do so. In a way, Mark is the reason I am here.”
Houston couldn’t contain a gasp of delight. “Mark does that? I knew it! He grows up to be a scientist! I knew it!”
Morgan shook her head. “Not a scientist,” she corrected. “A writer. A science-fiction writer. His books are classics in my time, mostly because of their prophetic nature. No one has ever been able to adequately explain why he addressed the subjects that he did—time travel, for instance—or how he knew we would one day need a method to recover our past. But it was his theories, which were presented so clearly in fiction, that inspired the research that eventually led to our discovering what happened to Quinn—and coming back to rescue him.”
“So,” Houston said softly, turning back to look at the two men—her two men—through the car window. “He did change history, after all.”
“Did he?” Morgan smiled. “Maybe it was simply meant to be.”
Houston leaned forward and embraced the other woman. “Goodbye, Morgan.”
“I am honored to have known you,” she answered. “I shall never forget you.”
Houston got into the car and closed the door. But when she looked back to wave one last goodbye to Morgan, the other woman was already gone.
She turned to Quinn and looked at him long and lovingly. “Life,” she said, “is fascinating.”
Quinn slipped a hand around the back of her neck, stroking. “That it is.”
From the back seat, Mark said in mild disgust, “You guys aren’t going to start kissing, are you?”
Houston laughed, and Quinn leaned across to kiss her on the lips. “Of course not,” he said.
Houston returned his kiss, and Mark groaned.
Houston started the engine, grinning. “Ready?”
Quinn sat back. “Ready,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
REBECCA FLANDERS has written over seventy books under a variety of pseudonyms. She lives in the mountains of north Georgia with a collie, a golden retriever and three cats. In her spare time she enjoys painting, hiking, dog training and catching up on the latest bestsellers.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8400-9
QUINN’S WAY
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right © 1994 by Donna Ball, Inc.
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