[Jennifer Cloud 01.0] The Shoes Come First

by Janet Leigh

  “No, My Queen,” said the male. “We must get to the other side of the loch before dawn.”

  He called her queen, and their accents were so strange. Where on earth did that dumb outhouse bring me? I was contemplating a time continuum like in Land of the Lost and was secretly relieved I wouldn’t be chased by giant dinosaurs but concerned that maybe I was being held by Jack the Ripper. I thought my clothes had changed to blend in; maybe I should copy the accent until I figured out where I was and if my captor was friend or foe. I had taken four years of drama. It was a blow-off class, but I loved the acting. If I could just channel a little Mrs. Doubtfire, maybe I could buy some time with this creep.

  The voice in my ear said, “Just a few minutes more, and I will release you, aye.” He secured his grasp on my mouth, pulling me closer into him. His deep masculine scent engulfed me—a combination of the forest, the fresh smell of pine, and a hint of cinnamon. Although I was being held against my will, as I stood there, I felt like I was witnessing something magical.

  The woman gathered her skirts and was assisted onto her horse by the other male. They rode off into the night.

  I should have made more noise—that was probably my only way home—but once again a sexy male voice played with my sanity.

  “OK,” the voice said, “I’m going to let you go, but dinnae scream, aye?” His hand remained over my mouth like he was contemplating my release. “Because if you do, you will alert the scoundrels.” He paused a moment. “You promise?”

  I nodded my head yes and said, “I promise” into the hand. But I had my fingers crossed just in case. He released his grip, and as I turned around, the most handsome face appeared in my line of vision. As he pulled back from me, I realized he was tall—about six foot three. He looked slightly older than me, maybe around Melody’s age. It was dark, but I could still make out his rugged features and the square angle of his jaw, which sported a day’s stubble. He had dark hair that hung down to his collar in glorious waves. I couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, but they were dark, glistening pools reflecting the moonlight. Unfortunately there were little frown lines between his eyebrows. His lips were pressed together, forming a mad scowl.

  “What in the bloody hell are you doing out here at this wee hour?” he asked with anger on the edge of his voice.

  “If I knew where the bloody hell here was, I would tell you,” I stammered back, mocking his accent.

  “So, ye are lost?” he asked, raising one of his dark eyebrows in suspicion.

  “Aye,” I said, “I was walking and lost my way.”

  He looked at me curiously. “Where were you walking from?”

  Panic overcame me. I couldn’t think of a single town in Scotland, and who knows how far off I would be if I could think of one. So I did the only thing I could think of. I fainted. He cursed, then picked me up and placed me gently down by the tree. My ugly hat had fallen off, and my hair was blowing gently in the small breeze. I kept my eyes tightly shut, hoping he would go away. He reached up and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across my face, securing it behind my ear. Wait, he wasn’t acting like Jack the Ripper. I fluttered my eyes open, trying to look dazed.

  “Easy now. Are you OK, lassie?”

  I took a deep breath and tried to figure out if I should tell this totally handsome stranger how I arrived in the year of our Lord 1568.

  “Look, we don’t have much time. I have a job to do, and then I will help you find your way home. But you need to stay here in the shadows and keep very still and very quiet. Do ye understand?”

  I nodded. He squatted beside me and decided I was going to live. I heard the sound of another horse approaching. He put his finger to his lips, reminding me to be quiet. He pulled his hat onto his head and eased around the tree line, leaving me alone.

  The wind had picked up, and I drew my scarf close around me. I located my ugly hat and pulled it back down over my head. Small drops of rain were starting to fall. I heard the horse whinny, and I stood up, wondering where Mr. Sexy had gone. I peered around the tree and through the bushes. I could see a man dressed in—I couldn’t believe it, but he also had on Aunt Agnes’s tablecloth and an official-looking jacket with a badge embroidered over the right breast. He went to the well and inspected it. He knelt down and looked at the ground as if he could tell which way the previous riders were headed. The man must have been some kind of policeman. He could help me. I was about to step forward out of the shadows when—wham—Mr. Sexy hit the policeman over the head with a big rock. He went down like a sack of potatoes. I raced out of the bushes.

  “What did you do that for?” I questioned abruptly. Mr. Sexy looked up at me with a shocked expression on his face, almost as if he had forgotten I was there.

  I heard horses in the distance. “Help me get ‘em, lassie,” he commanded as he started to pull him toward the trees.

  “I most certainly will not help you commit a crime!” I said, stomping my foot.

  Mr. Sexy grabbed him by the arms. The man was shorter than Mr. Sexy, but he was stocky and probably outweighed him by thirty pounds. Mr. Sexy struggled to pull him into the tree line. He propped the man up against the tree’s trunk, giving him shelter against the rain.

  He returned to the well and took the rope off the basket used to gather the water. He tied the man’s hands together behind his back and secured his legs.

  “Give me your scarf,” he demanded.

  “No!” I said. The rain was coming down harder, and the sound of horses was growing closer. He walked over to me and yanked my scarf from around my neck. He put it over the man’s mouth, making a gag.

  “Let’s go,” he said, then he proceeded to climb up on the man’s horse.

  The rain was coming in buckets, and I was freezing. “I’m not g-g-getting up on that thing, and I’m not s-s-stealing a horse.” My teeth chattered.

  “C’mon, lassie, don’t be like that—I cannae leave you oot here; they will jail you for crimes against the queen.”

  Holy crap, that sounded bad. What were my choices? Get up on the big horse with the extremely attractive guy, or wait to see if I would be put in jail? I held my hand out, and he pulled me up behind him onto the horse. I wrapped my arms around his waist. He was pleasantly warm, and I pulled myself in tight against his back.

  “I haven’t committed any c-c-crime,” were my last words as we rode away into the soggy night.

  I didn’t speak during the ride. The rain had settled into a slow drizzle, making conversation difficult without yelling. I wasn’t exactly sure how to explain where I came from, so silence seemed like the best choice. After what felt like an hour, the rain had stopped and the trail we were riding on narrowed and forced us to ride through a small wooded area. The vast amount of trees and brush blocked the moonlight, enveloping us in the pitch-black night.

  “Is this safe?” I asked. “I mean, riding in the dark like this?”

  “Aye, the horse knows the way. They see better in the darkness than we do. Don’t tell me ye have never ridden a horse before?”

  “Oh, um, sure, lots of times,” I lied. “I just never rode in the dark.”

  “Where are ye from then, lassie?”

  Here came the moment when I would have to try to explain myself. As I chewed over the best way to describe the twenty-first century to this common Scottish thief, or whatever he was, the trees closed in on us, causing the brush to scrape against my legs. The horse kept moving, and I heard a buzzing noise close to my ear. I swatted at the pesky insect, and a small light appeared in front of my eyes.

  “A firefly,” I said.

  He made an “mm-hmm” sound of noninterest, but when we rounded a bend in the trail, the trees widened, emptying us into a space filled with the glowing creatures. Small bursts of light fluttered around us; it was like we were riding through a shower of lights.

  “It’s so beautiful,” I said, laughing at a firefly that had settled on the man’s shoulder.

  “Yeah, see the ones
on the leaves of the bushes? They are the females, and they are brighter than the males.”

  “Why are they brighter?” I asked.

  “To attract the males. The females cannae fly, so they attract the males’ attention with their lights.”

  “Are you a biologist?”

  “Noo, I’m a male.” We both started to laugh, and the tension seemed to melt away.

  As we came out of the woods, the rain began again, starting in a light drizzle and gradually increasing to a steady downpour. The trail began to widen and eventually turned into a country road. A small farm came into view over the crest of a hill. Mr. Sexy clicked his tongue, and the horse trotted up to a tree. I went to step off, except there wasn’t a step, and I slipped off and landed with a hard thud right on my ass.

  “Are ye all right then?” he asked.

  I nodded, feeling a slight flush crawl up my face.

  “Next time you should wait for me to help ye.” He looked down at me; a slow, sexy smile spread across his face in amusement as the rain dripped off his hat.

  I crab-walked backward out of the horse’s way. Getting to my feet, I brushed the grass from my wet clothes. He dismounted and secured the horse to the tree. We crept up closer to the house to get a better look. Apparently the occupants were fast asleep, because the house was completely dark.

  “This way, love,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me behind him.

  There was a barn behind the house, and we slowly pulled the door open and went inside.

  “This is a barn,” I said.

  “Aye, but you’re out of the rain now.”

  He was right. I was dripping wet, my nose was running, and my teeth were still chattering, but I was out of the rain. The full moon was forcing its way through the dark sky and illuminated the barn from an opening above the hayloft. I could make out the animals’ stalls, a pitchfork, and other equipment stacked neatly in the corner of the barn. He walked over and picked up a horse blanket and laid it down in the hay. He wrapped another one around me.

  “This should keep you warm, but you should take off your wet clothes and let them dry.” He removed his long riding jacket, revealing a black silk shirt that buttoned up to his neck. The shirt clung to his muscular body, and I could feel my tongue practically roll out of my mouth. He had on black riding pants and boots. He looked dry and warm.

  “You need to turn around,” I demanded.

  “Are ye shy?” he asked, the corners of his mouth turning up in a wicked grin.

  “No, but I don’t know you,” I said.

  “Here, let me introduce myself,” he said as he came close. I noticed a small scar that cut through the end of his right upper lip. He pulled me into his arms and brought his lips to meet mine. His mouth was warm, and he tasted like cinnamon as he stroked my tongue with his own. His eyes were heavy, and my insides lit up on fire. The cold was no longer noticeable. I melted in his arms.

  He lowered me to the hay and reached under me to pull away my stockings. I couldn’t speak. My mind was saying no, but my body was full of want and wonder. His mouth was closing around mine, and I was feeling light-headed. He drew away my skirt, and even though it was dark, I could feel his taut, muscular body pressing up against mine. I decided I must be having one of those dreams that feel real and then you wake up and say, “I can’t believe that wasn’t real.” If that was the case, then what the hell—it was my dream.

  I responded to his kisses, allowing his tongue to caress mine and moving my hands around his back, pulling the silk shirt free from the back of his trousers. I tried to unbutton his shirt, but he pulled my hands away and pinned them down to my sides as he worked his way down to my inner thighs. The heat really began to kick up. It soared up my arms and wrapped me in a cocoon of warmth. Pulling my shirt up from the bottom, he worked his way upward until he found my mouth. He was kissing me hard, and his hands were roaming over my breasts. My heart was beating in time with his as he stroked me, which increased my desire for him. I felt like we were climbing higher and higher. As the bomb went off inside my body, he slid inside me. I felt a sharp pain, and then my whole body exploded in a frenzy of sexual need. I ran my hands through his thick hair, wrapped my arms around his neck, and matched his desire.

  I woke the next morning feeling incredible. I looked around, and reality hit. My escapade from the night before wasn’t a dream; it was real. I was lying on a bed of hay covered with a horse blanket. Where was Mr. Sexy? My skirt and stockings hung over the horse stall. I was still wearing my blouse buttoned up to my neck; however, a few of the bottom buttons were missing, lost in passion and hay. How embarrassing—my first real love affair, and I wasn’t even wearing my Victoria’s Secret panties, but some kind of grandma underwear. I located the atrocious underwear, haphazardly thrown over a nearby hay bale. My legs were saddle sore, and it took all my energy to pull on my stockings and skirt. My hair was a disheveled mess, so I pulled the ugly toboggan down over the damage and waddled outside to figure out what had happened.

  The horse was gone. Mr. Sexy was gone. I, however, was stuck. How was I going to get home? The rain had stopped, and the sun was peeking up between the green hills. The surroundings were breathtaking. If I weren’t in such a predicament, I might have enjoyed the lush grass glistening with morning dew or the pasture across the road filled with furry black sheep grazing lazily in the sunshine. I heard a rumbling sound in the distance and saw a wagon approaching, captained by a weathered old man. A big gray donkey was leading the wagon filled with straw. They were passing my way. I waved a hand for them to stop and described the big hill from the previous night to the farmer.

  He scratched his head and then said, “Oh, ye mean Bernardi Hill? I’m headin’ in the direction. I could drop ye if ye like.”

  There was only one seat up front, so I climbed in the back of his wagon, and after about an hour of bumping along, my ass hurt and my legs were itching from the hay poking through my stockings, but we were back at the big hill.

  I thanked him and gingerly hopped out of the wagon. The man looked around and then looked back at me. His eyes were questioning my choice of destination.

  “Don’t worry, I am going to meet someone,” I explained.

  “Good day to ye, lass.” He tipped the brim of his straw hat and gave the donkey a giddyup with the reins and lumbered off down the path.

  I slowly made my way down the gravel road looking for the poor man Mr. Sexy had confined in the night. No man was tied up in the trees; only the remnants of the rope remained. No Mr. Sexy was lurking about either.

  “I can’t believe I don’t even know his name,” I said in exasperation. “I am a careless little slut!” I reprimanded myself out loud. I have wonderful Jake at home wanting to be my first real boyfriend, and what do I do? Roll in the hay with some arrogant asshole who leaves me stranded in the year of our Lord 1568.

  “Where is that Scottish bastard? Where is that damn outhouse?” As soon as I said the words, it appeared out of nowhere in the same spot it had abandoned me in the first place.

  “Great!” I said. “You disappear and then you reappear. What kind of crappy magic toilet are you, anyway?” I got in, sat down, and held on for dear life.

  “I just want to go home.” I repeated the magic word, “Hanhepi.” My necklace started to do its Care Bear thing, and off we went. The second trip wasn’t so bad. I didn’t get the wind knocked out of me, and when we landed, so to speak, I didn’t get thrown out the door.

  I expected my parents to be frantic with worry, cops to be out in search of me. Poor Jake, he would be the clueless suspect, last seen with the missing person. But when I opened the outhouse door, it was dark outside; I was in my blue dress, not a single hair out of place. I looked down and almost cried—there on my feet were my Jimmy Choo stilettos. Life was good once again.

  Chapter 5

  Jeez. Snap out of it, Jen. I looked at the clock. Crap, all this reminiscing had made me late. If I were lucky and didn’t hit any traffic,
I might make it to work on time.

  I caught Interstate 635 and drove in to work, trying to avoid traffic accidents triggered by a recent downpour. Parking was always a chore at the mall, but I managed to find a spot outside Neiman’s. Damn, due to the traffic, I was late. My small red umbrella was tucked under my seat. I grabbed it and opened my door. The rain was coming down sideways and pelted me right in the face. I poked my umbrella out and pushed the automatic-open button. Poof! The umbrella opened in one swift motion as a big gust of wind came and carried it away. My red umbrella went tumbling down the parking lot with me in hot pursuit. I tackled it an inch from the front door.

  As I stepped inside, umbrella in hand, a puddle formed around my new Steve Stone heels. An older saleslady covered head to toe in a yellow rain slicker came in after me. If I didn’t know any better, I would say she escaped off the Morton’s Salt box.

  “Honey, you look like a drowned rat.”

  I caught my reflection in the glass door. Gads, she was right. My updo was down. I tried to wring out my wet hair.

  “Are those new Steve Stone shoes?” she asked.

  “Why, yes,” I said proudly, holding my soggy foot out so she could get a better look.

  “Too bad Mr. Stone was such a crook; I loved that store.”

  “What do you mean loved?” I always figured he was a little sketchy in the law-abiding-citizen role, but the man was a genius when it came to shoes.

  “Didn’t you see the news this morning?”

  Like, no, I sleep until noon. I never watch the news. I shook my head.

  “They took the guy out in handcuffs,” she said, clicking her tongue while taking off her raincoat. “Yep, led him right through the food court…tax evasion or something.”

  Oh my God. Not Mr. Stone. Surely she was mistaken. I sprinted off through the mall. Rain droplets flew off me as I passed nearby shoppers. By the time I arrived at the store, my clothes were almost dry from the run. My hair was sticking out like a troll’s, and I was wheezing. I desperately needed an exercise program. There were people everywhere. The store manager, Evelyn, was standing at the register crying into a hankie.