She was the opposite of Amber – gentle, with a sweet voice. Was she even real? Or was Amber toying with him again? Chris cursed and fought the restraints on his wrists, sending pain up his arms and a burning sensation where the skin had been rubbed raw. He yelled out every foul word he could think of at Amber. Ultimately, it was because of her that he was in this mess.
Chris laughed and shook his head. No. Ultimately, it had been his own fault. He should have never gotten involved with her. Amber was not the kind of girl who liked being tied down to anyone. She was immature and only cared about herself, and had no sense of responsibility. He’d already planned to tell her it would be best if they stopped seeing each other, but then she’d dropped that bomb on him . . .
The hinges on the barn door creaked, and a stream of bright light dragged across the floor. Chris lifted his head. How long had he been in this barn? He’d dozed off at one point, and when he’d woken, darkness had settled in. Vague images of a soft-spoken woman played in his mind. She’d bathed his heated face in cool water, soothing his pounding head, and murmured words that he would soon feel better.
The pretty girl with the soft voice appeared. He sat up fully, despite the shivers that still wracked his body. A blanket fell from his shoulders, sending an instant chill through him.
The girl approached slowly, hesitating. The shotgun she’d pointed at him earlier was back in her grasp.
“I don’t know what to do about you,” she said, standing just out of his reach. “I can’t keep you tied up in this barn any longer.”
Chris scrambled to stand. His knees were weak as rubber. “I agree,” he rasped. “How long have I been here?”
She looked away for a second, staring at something on the ground before her eyes lifted to his.
“Since yesterday morning.”
“Cut me loose and I’ll get out of here. I need to get to a town called Coopersville.”
The girl shook her head. “I’ve never heard that name. The closest town is Heartsbridge, and it’s a good ten miles from here.”
Chris groaned. How far was ten miles? He could walk it, but it might take an entire day, especially as sick as he was feeling.
“I don’t think you’re in any condition to go anywhere at the moment. Your body is fighting to rid itself of the medicine you’ve been taking. At least that is what I think.”
Chris gritted his teeth. “The medicine is what keeps me from feeling this way. I have to get to the doctor to get more, then I’ll be fine. Don’t you understand?”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe that any medication that would make you this ill is good for you.”
Chris squeezed his eyes shut. The headache hadn’t gone away. Neither had his body aches and chills. He kept quiet, fighting the urge to raise his voice and demand she cut him loose now. He’d quit arguing many months ago with people who thought they knew better. This girl was just like everyone else, and didn’t understand.
She took a tentative step closer. “Did you know my husband?”
Chris frowned. “I doubt it.”
“Lester Eaton.”
The name sounded familiar. He’d heard it before. Chris shook his head, unable to put a face to the name.
“The sheriff said you had a fight with my husband two days ago in town,” she continued.
A vague memory materialized, of a man stepping out of a saloon, then punching him in the jaw for no reason. That bastard was this quiet girl’s husband? Chris laughed.
“Now I remember. I wouldn’t say we met on good terms. Is that why you’re keeping me tied up? So he can finish what he started?”
Her eyes widened. Chris blinked to keep her features from becoming a blur. For whatever reason, keeping his focus on her face calmed the jitters inside him.
“My husband was found dead along the road yesterday,” she said, shaking her head. “Brownie must have stumbled, and he fell from the saddle. No doubt he was drunk.”
Chris stared. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. That’s all he’d been saying lately. Sorry for Eric dying when it should have been him, and sorry because he couldn’t get to Amber in time after she –”
“There’s no need to be sorry.” The girl’s voice had turned cold. “He had it coming for a long time.” She took another step closer. “I’m going to cut the rope, and you can be on your way.” Uncertainty passed through her eyes.
Chris nodded. Despite the fog in his head, there was no mistaking the fear displayed in the girl’s eyes. What did she say her name was? Francine. He’d confused her with Amber at one point. Must be the headache and not having his pills that made him think crazy thoughts.
“Thank you,” he said, forcing away the annoyance at the girl for tying him up in the first place. If he got angry again and lost his temper, she might change her mind.
He held out his hands. Hesitating, she propped the gun against the wall and produced a knife from the pocket of her apron. Her soft hand grazed along his wrist as she worked the blade under the rope to cut it, sending an almost electrical charge up his arm.
Chris gritted his teeth. His skin erupted in goose bumps while his sweat-soaked shirt clung to him. He inhaled the fragrance of some kind of flower when she moved even closer to cut through the rope. It was a soft smell, and it suited her.
She continued to saw through the binding. The knife was clearly dull and probably couldn’t cut through more than soft butter. He flinched when her pregnant belly grazed his side. She stopped, staring up at him with her soft eyes. He could drown in those eyes. Chris clenched his jaw. His muddled head was toying with him again.
When the rope finally fell away from his wrists, Chris expelled a groan of relief. He rubbed at the raw skin.
“I have some salve for that.” Francine sounded apologetic.
Chris didn’t respond. The burning sensation in his skin was nothing compared to the pounding in his head and the overall awful, sick feeling throughout his body. He tested his legs and headed for the sunlight coming from the barn door. The faster he was gone from here, the better, and then this nightmare could end.
He squinted when he stepped outside, and held his hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the bright morning sun. Something squeaked in a predictable cadence off to his left. A windmill’s blades turned in the breeze. The thing looked rusted and ready to fall over any minute. Chris let his eyes roam the surroundings. The barn looked in worse shape from the outside than it was on the inside. The run-down farmhouse stood a little ways off from the main yard. Several horses grazed in a grassy field to his left, and chickens cackled as they pecked at the ground.
Distinctly absent was a car or anything that looked like farm equipment or machinery. There should be at least a tractor parked in the yard somewhere. What farm didn’t have one of those? Chris looked up toward the house. Something else was missing, and it took a moment to realize what it was. There were no powerlines leading to the house. This place was completely off the grid . . . or else he had stepped back in time.
Chris groaned. For months, he’d wanted out. He’d wanted to run away from himself in order to forget all that had happened with Eric and Amber, and he’d often thought of ending his life. Why had he survived the crash, and Eric had to die? It should have been the other way around.
“Where will you go?”
Chris turned to the sound of the soft and soothing voice. The girl had followed him out of the barn. Her eyes were filled with apprehension, and she clutched the old shotgun in her hand. In the sunlight, the thing looked old and dirty. He laughed out loud. It probably didn’t even have any bullets.
The girl took several steps back, raising the gun and staring at him with her wide and mistrustful eyes. She was scared, but there was kindness and compassion in her gaze, something he didn’t deserve.
“What year is it?” he blurted.
Her forehead scrunched. “Year?”
She looked at him as if he’d sprouted horns and a tail. Finally, she shook her head. “It’s
1880.”
Chris cursed. Somehow, he’d already convinced himself that Cissie in town hadn’t lied to him. Now that Francine had confirmed it, there was no reason not to believe it. He raised his head to look up at the sky. This was worse than dying. At least then, he’d have found peace. Here, he’d have to suffer without his meds.
Despite the warm sun beating down on him, his body shook from shivering. He was cold, while his skin was clammy with sweat. A wave of nausea washed over him, and he swallowed back the urge to vomit. He needed his meds. He couldn’t last much longer without them. Perhaps that was the plan all along. Kill him slowly, and make him suffer as much as possible.
“What year do you think it is?”
Chris glanced at Francine, taking in her softly spoken question.
He scoffed. “Yesterday, I was still in 2017.”
Chris nearly laughed, confronting the disbelief on her face. Damn she was pretty, now that the sunlight shone on her face, making her hair shimmer like gold. There wasn’t a trace of make-up on her face. She was pure and natural, and she was honest. So unlike Amber. He shook his head to get his ex-girlfriend out of his mind. He’d been sent to the past, but for what purpose?
Chapter 6
Frannie gripped the gun in her hands. There was nothing she could do if this man decided to overpower her and take it away. She’d lain awake last night, thinking about Lester, trying to come to terms with the fact that he was dead. She’d cried, but she hadn’t been sure why. She’d barely tolerated her husband. Now he was gone, and he could never hit her or abuse her in other ways again.
Clutching the covers up to her chin, she’d even wondered if the sheriff had been playing a cruel joke on her. The notion that she was free of Lester’s abuse hadn’t completely sunk into her head. She’d flinched at the slightest sounds all night, sure it was Lester coming home and he’d be angry with her over something.
If she was a widow now, she was free and on her own. According to the sheriff, she owned the farm, so at least she had a roof over her head and a home for her child. She would make this work somehow. After her baby was born, she’d work the farm and fix things up to where they looked nice again and not neglected. Lester had barely brought in a crop the year before. He certainly hadn’t cared about maintaining the house or barn. He’d bought and sold a few horses, and the money he’d earned from that had financed his drinking habit.
There were four horses on the farm. She could sell them and use the money to fix up the place, although she’d probably keep Brownie. The mare’s colt might not bring as much money unbroken, but she had only basic knowledge with horses. She certainly didn’t know enough to ride one that hadn’t been broke to saddle.
Along with thoughts of the future, guilt had also kept her awake as she lay in bed. The man in the barn would have to be dealt with, too. He’d talked gibberish most of the time while she’d tended to him throughout the day. He’d gotten downright mean and hostile at times, then remorseful and solemn at others.
At one point, he’d nearly cried, apologizing to her for something that had made no sense to her. Frannie had done what had seemed the sensible thing and not argued with him, while keeping him comfortable as his body fought the poison inside him.
One thing had become clear as she’d stared up at the dark bedroom ceiling. The stranger couldn’t remain tied up in the barn. In her condition, she was having enough difficulty tending to his most basic needs. Besides, it wasn’t proper.
The sheriff had also planted a nagging seed in her head. What if this man had something to do with Lester’s death? He’d admitted to having fought with her husband in town. She’d thought about it, and then dismissed it. As little as she knew about him, this man was not a killer.
His angry outbursts had been similar to how Uncle Harry had acted when his body was craving laudanum. Hopefully, her assumption was correct, and the absence of his medicine was truly why this stranger behaved the way he did.
At times, he’d been a reasonable and even compassionate man. He grieved the death of a friend, and he’d blamed himself to the point that he’d even said he’d killed him, but he’d been full of remorse. Frannie’d had a hard time deciding what parts of his slurred talk had been truth, and which parts had been made up in his muddled mind.
When he’d called her Amber, there had been pain and sorrow in his words, even when he spoke of her in an unflattering way. Perhaps Amber had been his wife, or his intended, but the woman had clearly done something to hurt him deeply.
Before the rooster crowed, Frannie had come to the conclusion that she was going to release the stranger first thing. She hadn’t even found out his name, and it was probably better that way. He could go on his way and she wouldn’t have to concern herself about him anymore. She had bigger things to worry about.
It had caught her off guard when he’d asked about what year it was. Even in his unstable state of mind, conjuring up ideas that he’d come from many years in the future seemed rather far-fetched. Who thought of such things? The sooner he was gone from the farm, the better.
“Which way is Heartsbridge?” The man’s question tore her from her thoughts.
Frannie glanced up at him, squinting into the sun. He didn’t look at her, but stared at his surroundings and wobbled on unsteady legs. She pointed past the barn at the road, which disappeared among a thick grove of cottonwoods.
“Are you sure you’re in any condition to get back to town?” The words were out before she’d had time to think. Frannie held her breath. It was silly to entertain the notion he should stay here. Offering him a horse to ride was out of the question. She couldn’t afford to give up her horses.
“I have to get back to where I came from,” he said. “The quicker the better . . . for several reasons.”
“So you can get your medicine? Are you sure that’s such a wise idea?”
He stared at her. He looked angry at first, then his eyes softened and he shook his head. He scoffed. A shaky hand raised to run his hand over his dirty face and through his disheveled dark hair that could use a good washing and combing.
“Yes, I need my medicine. And if this is 1880, I’m also clearly in the wrong century.”
Frannie studied him. He wouldn’t last a day in Heartsbridge, if he got that far. The sheriff would lock him up for being crazy. Why she even cared was a mystery. He was a stranger, someone who wasn’t right in his mind and could be a threat to her. So why did she feel compelled to help him? She ought to be glad he was leaving.
She glanced from him to the path that led away from the farm. She was no stranger to feeling lost and alone. This man needed help, at least until his mind was clear again. He could have hurt her by now, but he hadn’t even made an attempt to reach for her weapon. It wasn’t in his nature, of that she was as certain as knowing the sun would set tonight.
She had no answer as to why she was so convinced of it, or why she was willing to gamble her safety to find out for sure. Being with Lester had taught her to be on guard around men at all times, but also how to recognize bad character. She shook her head. Perhaps she was the crazy one.
He looked at her. His lips formed into a strained smile.
“Thanks for cutting me loose.” He nodded, then took several unsteady steps, holding his hand against his stomach.
“I don’t even know your name,” Frannie called after him. She bit her lip as her heart sped up.
What are you thinking, Frannie? Let him be on his way.
She lowered the shotgun and cradled her stomach with one hand. She had her unborn child to think about, not helping a stranger. The man stopped, glanced over his shoulder, then said, “Chris. Chris Hawley. It’s been nice knowing you, Francine.” His gaze locked on hers for several seconds, then he turned and continued walking.
Frannie stared after him. The sound of her given name on his lips sent an unexpected tingle up her spine.
Let him go on his way. He’s not your concern.
She blinked and looked away. Whe
n Brownie nickered in the pen by the barn, Frannie turned and headed for the mare. Her colt trotted along the fence that separated the larger pasture from the small corral, calling to his mother. It was probably a good idea to let the mare out with the other horses.
Setting the gun down by the fence, she unlatched the gate to enter Brownie’s pen. There was another gate that opened into the field. The high-spirited colt pranced along the fence. Frannie waved her hand at him to shoo him away when he crowded the gate. Behind her, Brownie stood patiently, waiting to be let out.
The tight latch budged after several attempts, and Frannie leaned against the gate to push it open. At that exact moment, the colt crowded the fence, making the gate swing toward her. Frannie stumbled, losing her balance as the heavy wood knocked against her stomach. She backed into Brownie’s shoulder, making the mare move out of her way. The colt pushed his way into the pen, knocking Frannie fully to the ground.
“Francine.”
The alarmed call of her name didn’t fully register as she hit the ground. Frannie scrambled to avoid the horses. While Brownie would step away from her, the same couldn’t be said of the untrained colt. Protecting her belly, Frannie crawled to the fence to pull herself up.
A man yelled at the horse, and in the next instant, strong arms lifted her to her feet. Frannie’s eyes shot to Chris Hawley, who maneuvered her against the fence while keeping himself between her and the rambunctious horse.
“Are you all right?”
He breathed hard, perspiration making his forehead glisten. While his eyes still looked unfocused, they were filled with a sense of alarm. His body smelled of someone who was in desperate need of a bath, but at this moment, there was nothing more comforting than his arm holding her steady.
Wordlessly, she nodded in answer to his question. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch a breath. She glanced into the yard. How had he appeared so quickly? He’d barely been able to move out of the barn a short while ago.
Timeless Healing (Timeless Hearts Book 4) Page 5