“You might want to take it easy.”
Frannie shook her head. No man had ever offered to do her work for her. She set the pitchfork aside and rushed as fast as was possible in her condition to Blanche’s stall. She pulled up her milking stool and the bucket, and set to work.
“Just let me use your phone and I’ll leave,” the man called from behind her.
Frannie worked her fingers along Blanche’s udder while the cow munched contentedly on her hay. Had he said foam? What did he mean by using it? She stared at the foam created by the milk in the bucket. The man wasn’t right in his head.
Her intuition telling her to tie him up had been correct. Now all she had to do was figure out how to proceed. If she released him, there was no telling what he might do. If she waited until Lester returned, there was no telling what her husband might do. She could be putting this man’s life in danger, or her own.
“Come on, stop with the games. It was cute for a minute, but it’s no longer funny.”
His voice grew louder and more insistent. The dull thud behind her, followed by a squeak of the metal ring in the wall, indicated he was working to free himself. Frannie’s heart rate increased. Hopefully her knot would hold.
Finished with the milking, she stood from the stool and lifted the bucket. It seemed to get a little heavier each day. She stepped out of the cow’s stall and glanced at the man. He stood with his head pressed against the wall. Alarmed, she set the pail on the ground. Guilt consumed her again.
“Are you all right?”
He slowly lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder.
“What do you think? My head’s about to split open and I’m standing in a barn, tied like some steer.”
“Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll . . . I’ll fetch some water and a rag for your head,” she stammered. “Perhaps you’d like some coffee and something to eat? That might ease the pain.”
“What I’d like is for you to untie me so I can get out of here. I have to be somewhere.”
Frannie shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
She leaned forward and picked up the pail again, then left the barn. The man’s angry curses followed her nearly all the way to the house.
She poured the milk over some cheesecloth to transfer it into a container to churn later, then poured a cup of the coffee she’d brewed first thing this morning in case Lester returned. She fried some eggs and bacon, then added a couple of biscuits she’d pulled from the oven earlier. Setting the full plate and cup on a tray, along with a small jug of water, she grabbed for a dishrag and headed back to the barn.
With each step she took, her heart sped up again. The stranger really didn’t look dangerous. He was angry, but rightly so. Still, it was better to be careful.
“I brought you something to eat.”
She entered the barn, the door squeaking on its hinges. Sunlight lit up the dim surroundings. Her eyes dropped to the hay, where he was curled up, holding his hands to his forehead. A quiet moan reached her ear.
“I brought some coffee.” She approached slowly.
He writhed on the ground, still moaning. The smell of vomit nearly made her sick. Alarmed, she set the tray on the milking stool. With the pitchfork, she removed the hay where he’d lost his stomach contents. Lester had woken once with this kind of a hangover, and he’d been meaner than a bull that day.
“I have some water and a cloth for your head,” she offered.
He glanced up, glaring at her with wide eyes. His large pupils made them look almost feral. Frannie’s gaze darted to the rope tied to the ring. It looked secure. If he got loose, there was no telling what he might do to her.
“I need you to untie me,” he growled. “I have to get the hell out of here. I need my medicine.”
“Medicine?” Frannie echoed. “I’m afraid there’s no doctor close by. The best thing to do is lie back and close your eyes. The sickness will pass.” It always had with Lester. These hangovers had never stopped him from binging at the saloon time and again.
“Lady, I need my pills, and then I’ll be better.” He gritted his teeth, staring at her while sweat beaded on his forehead. Simultaneously, a shiver raced through him.
“I can give you a small amount of alcohol. That sometimes helps, but it’s best to just suffer through it,” she offered.
The man tensed and yanked on the rope holding him tied to the wall. “I don’t need any damn alcohol. I need my medicine,” he shouted, sending him into coughing fits before he slumped back into the hay. His shivers became strong enough that his entire body began to shake.
“I’ll fetch a blanket,” she whispered, looking at this man with a scrunched forehead. Was he telling the truth? Did he truly need some kind of medicine, or he might die? This wasn’t how Lester acted when he was recovering from one of his binges. Although the anger and agitation were the same, in Lester’s case, that was simply his character. This man seemed agitated out of desperation.
Frannie eased herself to her knees, and poured some water onto the cloth, then wrung out the excess. Hesitating slightly, she reached forward and held it to the stranger’s forehead. He flinched, and jerked his arms up. Frannie pulled away, out of his reach.
The man opened his eyes to look at her, his pupils still as wide as they could possibly get. He continued to shiver uncontrollably while his skin glistened with sweat. Goose bumps covered his arms.
“Please, let me use your phone. I need to get my medicine,” he rasped.
Frannie leaned forward slightly to hear him. She shook her head. Phone? “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what that is.”
He gritted his teeth, the muscles along his neck growing tense. He laughed, but it was anything but a happy laugh.
“That woman is messing with my head,” he mumbled. “Somehow, she’s messing with my head, trying to make me believe that I’ve time traveled to the nineteenth century.”
He lifted his head again, then his gaze dropped to her belly. The tension eased from his body. He reached his bound hands out, but he couldn’t reach far enough to touch her. The anguish that passed through his eyes where there had been anger just a moment ago was puzzling. He looked her in the eyes, and smiled.
“It’s all right. The baby’s going to be all right, Amber.”
Frannie pressed her hand against the wall to help her get up off the ground. She stood over him, holding a protective hand over her belly.
“My name’s Francine Eaton. You’ve got me mistaken with someone else, mister.”
She backed away. His words made absolutely no sense. The tender, grateful look in his eyes was more than she could bear to see at the moment. This man was clearly confused, and he was ill. Perhaps it was best to turn him loose and let him fend for himself. When Lester came home, he’d most likely kill him, and possibly beat her for enticing a man to come to the farm. At least that’s how he’d see it.
The man shivered again, and curled up in the hay. She had to do something. This was more than his body trying to get rid of the alcohol in his system. She’d only seen one other person with symptoms like this before; her Uncle Harry.
He’d suffered a broken leg in a mining accident, and the doctor had given him laudanum for the pain. Over the months, he’d become agitated whenever he didn’t have the medicine, even after his leg had healed. He’d insisted that he was in pain from the accident and needed more laudanum to the point of becoming belligerent when he ran out. When he’d had more of the medicine, he was as nice as always.
That same winter, they’d been snowed in for several weeks without supplies coming through, and Uncle Harry had gone nearly mad. For several days after the last of his laudanum was gone, he’d been feverish, then cold, sick to his stomach, and he’d had that same crazy look in his eyes as this man.
Uncle Harry had even gotten so agitated that he’d been in a fight with her father. However, as the days had passed, he’d gotten better, and within a few weeks, he’d been completely normal again. His leg had no lo
nger hurt, and he wasn’t asking for any more medicine.
Could this be what this man suffered? She had no laudanum to give him. She simply had to keep him tied up until the effects of the medicine left his system. The only difference between this man and her uncle was that Uncle Harry hadn’t lost his mind with crazy talk of being in a different time.
“I’m going to fetch that blanket so you’re more comfortable,” she said quietly. The man leaned against the wall, curled almost into a ball, and continued to shiver.
Frannie left the barn for the third time this morning. In her bedroom, she opened the trunk that stood at the foot of the bed and pulled out one of several blankets she kept there. She stiffened at the sound of hoofbeats outside, and her heart sped up. Lester was back. How was she going to explain the man in the barn?
Frannie stuffed the blanket back into the trunk and shuffled into the kitchen. Somehow, she had to get back to the barn and untie the man, before Lester noticed him. Guilt washed over her again for having tied up him in the first place, but as crazy as he’d been acting, surely it had been for the best.
She glanced around, looking for something to do to appear busy. When a loud knock sounded on the door, she nearly dropped the frying pan she’d grabbed to put on the stove.
Lester wouldn’t knock, but who had come to pay a visit at the farm?
“And why today of all days?” Frannie whispered.
She set the pan on the counter and wiped her hands before shuffling to the door. She glanced out the window. Two horses stood tied to the porch rail. Frannie’s eyes widened. One of the horses was Brownie.
The knock came again before she had a chance to reach the door. Pulling it open slightly, she peered out. An older man stood before her. Frannie’s eyes fell to the tin star on the man’s vest. He removed his hat, revealing salt and pepper hair to go with his gray moustache.
“Sheriff Frank Stanton, ma’am,” he greeted. “Would you be Mrs. Lester Eaton?”
She hesitated before nodding. What had Lester gotten himself into that the sheriff had come to call? The man rubbed at his jaw while his gaze dropped to her swollen belly.
“I hate to bring bad news, ma’am, but there’s no good way to say this.” He hesitated, and cleared his throat. “Lester was found along the old creek road late yesterday afternoon. Looks like his neck snapped. Doesn’t appear he suffered, and went real quick. Someone found his horse tangled in the bushes, and then Lester a short distance away. I’m truly sorry, ma’am.”
Frannie stared at the sheriff. His words seeped into her mind like thick cream being pushed through cheesecloth. They didn’t want to sink in. A feeling of sadness came over her, then foreboding. What was she going to do now? Would she have to leave the farm? She had a child on the way and no husband. No husband. Lester was dead. She was free.
“His body is at the undertaker’s place in town,” the sheriff continued. “His friends were planning a funeral in a couple of days for him, with your permission, of course.”
With her permission? Frannie nodded. “Of . . . course,” she stammered.
“At some point, you’ll also have to come into town and take care of some paperwork with the judge, and probably the bank. Far as I know, Lester owned this place outright, and as his widow, it’s now yours. But nothing to concern yourself with at the moment.”
Frannie blinked. This farm now belonged to her? Lester was dead? The idea would take some time to get used to. Try as she might, sadness wasn’t one of the emotions flowing through her right now. The sensation of a weight being lifted from her shoulders became stronger by the minute. She caressed her swollen belly when the baby gave a light kick, as if he was celebrating the news he’d just heard.
“I’d best get going.” The sheriff nodded and put his hat back on his head. “Can I send someone to look in on you? One of the ladies in town?”
Frannie shook her head. She didn’t know anyone in town or any of her neighbors. She plastered a smile on her face. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”
The sheriff tipped his hat. “I’m sorry again for bringing the news. I’ll send someone to fetch you for the funeral. If you need anything else, come and see me sooner.”
“Thank you, Sheriff Stanton,” she said for lack of better words. Her mind was numb. Should she have invited him in for some coffee or something to eat?
The sheriff stepped off the porch, then turned to her.
“One more thing, Mrs. Eaton. Be careful, and lock your door. A stranger was in town yesterday, and he got into a fight with your husband. They both left town heading the same direction. One of Lester’s friends thinks maybe this man had something to do with Lester falling from his horse. Just wanted to warn you to keep an eye out.”
Frannie glanced toward the barn. Her heart sped up again. She shook her head.
“I will. Thank you, Sheriff.”
After the sheriff had disappeared, Frannie waddled to the barn. Her legs barely supported her. Everything seemed like it was straight out of a dream, and she couldn’t wake up. The man had shifted while she was gone. He sat, looking straight at her as she walked in. Frannie lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. She met his dark stare.
“Did you kill my husband?”
Chapter 5
Chris stared up at the girl, blinking to focus. Since last night, the pounding in his head had gone from barely tolerable to nearly unbearable as the day wore on. The girl’s mouth moved, but her words didn’t register. Had she asked him if he’d killed someone? Why did everyone have to keep bringing it up?
Because it’s your fault he’s dead.
“It’s my fault Eric is dead,” he rasped, echoing the thoughts in his head that hadn’t given him peace in nearly six months.
He stared through the pain in his pounding skull at the outline of a woman standing a short distance away. Her image came in and out of focus, but there was no mistaking her very pregnant shape. Anger gripped him. Anger and desperation for what had been taken away from him.
“It’s because of you that we got in that car that day,” he hissed. The pounding in his head increased. “Eric is dead because he was doing me a favor. I shouldn’t have asked him, but my truck wouldn’t start so he offered to give me a ride. We were coming to get you.”
Chris fought against the restraints on his hands, and tugged on the rope keeping him tied to the wall. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he cursed at the stinging sensation.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” the woman said, her voice calm, like the trickle of a mountain stream.
Chris laughed.
“You don’t understand? Why am I not surprised? All you ever think about and care about is yourself. And now Eric is dead, and he didn’t need to die.” He lunged forward, pointing at the girl’s pregnant belly.
She backed up several steps, well outside his reach.
“I will bring you a blanket, and you can rest,” came her response right before she turned and walked away. “It will take a few days, but you’ll feel better soon.”
Chris leaned into the rope, cursing. “Come back here. I’m sorry, Amber. Eric is gone, but I’m glad nothing happened to the baby. Come back.”
He slumped back to the ground, gritting his teeth. He hung his head, letting his bound hands support the weight. His angry outburst had made a mess of things. Walking away when things didn’t go according to her plans had always been Amber’s solution. She’d been the worst mistake he’d ever made, and he’d live with that regret for the rest of his life. Despite that, he’d been ready to take responsibility, while she’d clearly had no regard for anything and anyone but herself.
Chris coughed, and he sank fully into the straw. He hugged his elbows to his sides and curled up like an animal. Everything that had happened in the last few days was confusing. Had it been days? How long had he even been here, tied up in this barn? The jumble of emotions racing through him was going to drive him mad, messing with his mind and his ability to think straight.
Women’s voices tormented his thoughts. Amber’s harsh words the last time she’d spoken to him resonated in his ears, telling him it was her choice to make, and there was nothing he could do about it. Then it was the woman at the diner, offering him a place to rest for a while. The spinning of her watch drove him crazy. He’d finally found peace after falling asleep on her couch, only to be plagued again after waking up in a place that was the same, yet different.
“Moira has sent you to the past, Mr. Hawley. This is the year 1880. I’m sure nothing looks the way you remember from your time, and that is the reason.”
What if it was all true? What if he really had been sent through time by nearly 150 years? Had he finally gone crazy, or was it real? Maybe he’d finally died and gone to hell.
“Get some rest, and when you wake up, I’m sure things will look a whole lot different than they do right now.”
Moira’s words suddenly took on a whole new meaning. Chris blinked. If only his head would stop pounding and he could think more clearly. He’d been going about this the wrong way. While he’d been desperate to get to Coopersville, or whatever the name of the town was, and see that doctor who’d refill his prescription, he should have stayed in town and demanded that the woman, Cissie, stop playing games with him. She’d know how to get him home. Then he could get the medication he so desperately needed.
Chris closed his eyes. His wrists were raw from fighting the ropes that tied his hands. His mind raced as if a dozen tabs had been left open on a computer, each performing a different task, but unable to focus on any of them clearly. The face of the girl who’d tied him up and kept him prisoner haunted him.
Timeless Healing (Timeless Hearts Book 4) Page 4