Now and Forever: Time Travel Romance Superbundle

by Bobby Hutchinson

  It was obvious the Fletchers were as shocked by Paige's running strip as she was by their clothing.

  Clara took one horrified glance at Paige's legs and her round cheeks turned bright red. After that she kept her eyes carefully on Paige's face, although Paige caught Theodore shooting interested glances at her legs whenever he thought she wasn't looking.

  Paige was exasperated. This was utterly insane; they acted as if they'd never seen a woman in shorts and a tank top before. They were making her self-conscious and uncomfortable.

  Even the policeman seemed ill at ease, for heaven's sake.

  "I told Miss Randolph you might have some clothing she could borrow, Mrs. Fletcher," he said. "Then we must be on our way."

  "By all means," Clara agreed eagerly. "In my trunk in the back of the wagon, I'm sure there's something that will be suitable, Miss Randolph."

  Paige was losing patience. "Really, there's no need for that, I'm staying not far from here and….”

  But before she could finish protesting, Clara had let down a small set of steps on the back end of the wagon and climbed inside, obviously intent on finding her some clothes.

  Beginning to feel a little desperate, Paige turned to Rob Cameron. "Look, there must be some way you could get in touch with my brother. His number is 445-6226. If you'd just give him a call I know he'll drive over and get me."

  Cameron didn't answer. He and Theodore exchanged a look that Paige didn't begin to understand. This whole thing was making her really uneasy.

  "Miss Randolph," Clara called from the back of the wagon. "There's a blouse and skirt here that I'm sure will fit you. Would you like to come and try them on?"

  Paige blew out an exasperated breath and was about to refuse when Rob Cameron said in a pleading voice, "It might be the best thing, Miss Randolph. There's no way to contact your brother from out here. We'll have to proceed to the fort, there's a telegraph there, ye see, but it's a fair ways from here. That sun's hot; you'll burn without cover."

  It was the first thing any of them had said that made sense to her. Of course she was conscious of the dangers of the sun, but she figured she'd never met such a bunch of prudes in her entire life.

  She stomped around and climbed into the wagon. It was filled with trunks and wooden boxes and hopsack bags, with only a small central area to move around in. She had to stoop almost double, and it was so hot and airless inside she could hardly breathe. Flies buzzed and bounced against the canvas, and it smelled of turpentine or something else pungent.

  Paige yanked off her terry headband and sweated and swore under her breath as she struggled into the white cotton blouse and long dark skirt Clara offered.

  There was a stack of underwear which Paige ignored; she slipped her running top off and pulled the blouse on over her bra. The blouse had long, full sleeves and a neckline that buttoned right to the chin. Paige groaned and left the top four buttons undone, and shoved the sleeves up past her elbows. She stripped off her running shorts and struggled with the skirt, a cumbersome deep green affair made of some stiff sort of fabric.

  It was tight around the waist and came four inches from touching her ankles. Her Nikes looked ridiculous, sticking out the bottom.

  Clara had busied herself folding things back into the trunk, turning only when Paige was dressed.

  "I didn't know whether you'd care to use my undergarments," she said hesitantly, gathering up the underwear Paige hadn't bothered with and stuffing it into the trunk. "You're much taller than I am, Miss Randolph. I'm afraid that skirt's quite short on you. You're sure you don't want to try some stockings?"

  Paige blew out an aggravated breath and shook her head.

  The woman was nuts. It was already at least 80 degrees outside, and the stockings weren't even pantyhose. In fact, they looked like hand knitted wool, of all the god awful things.

  "This is just fine, thanks." Paige thought with longing of the cool blue sundress back in her suitcase. "Lord, let's get out of here before we have heatstroke." Paige hiked the long skirt up and climbed down, Clara close behind her.

  The men looked her over, their eyes lingering on her neck and ankles this time, but they didn't say anything.

  Well, they were one and all a hell of a strange lot, Paige thought in disgust.

  "Move along, now." Cameron climbed on his horse and Paige found herself sitting on the high wagon seat beside Clara as they rumbled off across the prairie.

  Riding on the wagon was anything but smooth. They bounced and banged along, and Paige grabbed the side more than once for fear of falling off the high seat. Clara sat between Paige and Theodore, quite relaxed and obviously accustomed to the rough ride.

  As they jolted along, Paige began to look around, and she seriously wondered if she could possibly still be unconscious and dreaming all this.

  As far as she could see in every direction, there was still no sign of civilization. There were no houses, no power poles, no roads, no fences. There were no tractors pulling harvesting equipment, because there were no cultivated fields. There were just miles of undulating, open prairie with a few groves of trees here and there. She tipped her head back and stared up at the endless arc of blue sky, her eyes watering from the intensity of the sun.

  Surely there ought to be an airplane or two up there, a jet stream dividing the heavens in half? There was nothing except a pillow of white cloud, floating along all alone at the edge of the horizon.

  A sick feeling began to grow inside of her, a controlled panic. Where on earth was she? What had happened while she was unconscious? She'd obviously been out far longer than she'd thought, because somehow she'd been transported from Tony's field to here. Which was ... where? And who had brought her? She wasn't anywhere near Tony's fields, so how had she arrived?

  "Where are you from, Miss Randolph?" Clara's pleasant voice was a welcome relief, tamping down the hysteria building inside.

  "Vancouver. I'm from Vancouver. And why not call me Paige? We're not very formal where I come from." She tried for a smile.

  "Vancouver." Theodore sounded interested. "That's out on the West Coast, Clara." He raised his voice to be heard over the rumbling of the wagon. He held the horses' reins in one big fist, but the animals seemed to need little steering. They plodded along at a steady, jolting gait, following Sgt. Cameron's lead.

  "I've heard of Fort Vancouver," he stated. "It's quite some distance from here, with the Rocky Mountains between. Am I right, Miss Randolph? ... Ah, Miss Paige?" He sounded pleased with himself, knowing where Vancouver was. They might have been talking of an obscure city in Asia, for lord's sake.

  "On the West Coast, yes, that's right," Paige confirmed, growing more confused by the moment. "I've never heard it called Fort Vancouver, but I guess technically it did start as a fort. As for the Rockies, they're certainly between here and the coast, all right." She knew she sounded a trifle sarcastic, and she modified her tone. "I haven't personally driven through the mountains, I've only flown over them, but I understand they're breathtaking. I've never had time to drive. I've always been too busy." She was babbling, but it kept her from thinking things that brought that panic rising in her throat again. "I'm a doctor, a gynecologist, actually." She wondered again where in heaven's name these peculiar people were from. Wherever it was, the twentieth century had certainly not reached out and touched them.

  Both Clara and Theo stared at her and then exchanged long glances.

  "A doctor? I've never heard of a woman doctor before," Clara said at last, uncertainty evident in her tone.

  Now this was absolutely ludicrous. Where had they been living?

  "Where are you and Theodore from, Clara?"

  "Oh, we're Canadians."

  Brilliant.

  "We both grew up in Norwich, Oxford County."

  Paige had never heard of it. "Theo worked on his father's farm and I was a seamstress," Clara went on, "but it was hard to get ahead. We decided to join a group of settlers heading out west to work in the coal mines in British
Columbia, but when we reached Winnipeg, Theo fell in love with the wide-open country, didn't you, Theodore?" Clara smiled at her husband, and the look he gave her was caring and tender.

  Paige was sorry she'd been critical. Here was love, and love was rare.

  "So we decided to come out here and homestead," Clara continued. "Theo's uncle Lester is a Mounted Policeman in Ottawa, and he suggested this location, and Lester was kind enough to send word out to the fort that we were coming, and then Sgt. Cameron came to escort us in." She was rather breathless when she finished.

  Well, it didn't sound as though they were part of any religious settlement, anyway. Paige was more puzzled than ever.

  "My brother has a place near here," Paige remarked. "The price of land's dropped since Tony bought his farm, which will benefit you as buyers, but you should keep in mind that the price of wheat's fallen as well. Still, farming's a great way to live. It's a good place to raise children. Tony has two boys."

  She thought wistfully of her nephews. Matthew and Jason would be wondering where she'd gotten to. And it was going to be too late by the time she got back today to change her reservations and fly out. Well, maybe tonight Sharon would change her mind and let Paige take them all out to supper. That might ease the tension a little. She'd have to talk to Sharon about it. She would, the moment she came to a place with a phone.

  "That's what we thought," Clara was saying, excitement in her voice. "We just knew that the West would be a wonderful place for children to grow up." She turned toward Paige and said in a low, confiding tone, "I was concerned at first because of my condition—after all it's so isolated out here—but Sgt. Cameron assures me there's a doctor at Battleford, which is most fortunate."

  Clara's round cheeks flushed at even this oblique reference to her pregnancy, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "You see, Mr. Fletcher and I married rather later in life than most, and because of my age, I'm a little worried."

  "I'm sure there's a fine clinic and a first-class hospital as well in Battleford." Paige gave Clara a warm smile, pleased to be able to reassure this bashful, eccentric woman about something at which she was an expert. "Nowadays a lot more women are waiting until later in life to have babies," she went on. "You'd never believe how many of my mothers are already in their forties. I even had one mother two years ago who was fifty. But with the advances in medical science and the improvement in neonatal care, the risks are minimal. I deliver just as many older mothers as I do women in their twenties."

  Clara's powder blue eyes were wide as she stared at Paige.

  "Oh. I see. How ... ummmm ... how enlightening, Miss Paige."

  It was obvious Clara found any discussion of childbirth disconcerting.

  How on earth, Paige wondered, was the woman ever going to get through labor with a hang up like that?

  Discouraged, Paige gave up on conversation and silence fell, broken only by the sound of the wagon and the steady clip-clop of the horses. The sun rose higher in the sky, and the heat intensified. Even the breeze was hot, and Paige began to long for a cool drink.

  Her headache was getting worse, probably because she hadn't had anything to eat yet today. And even if there was a restaurant in sight, she thought dismally, she didn't have a credit card or a penny on her anyway.

  At last, they did stop for a hurried lunch. The back of the wagon was on hinges, and it lifted down to form a convenient shelf for the contents of the wicker basket Clara produced.

  Paige stared in disbelief at the food the other woman laid out on the clean red-checkered cloth. Even though she was hungry, the items looked anything but appetizing.

  There were cold roasted potatoes, cold baked beans, and hard, round biscuits. There was some dry, roasted meat that Paige thought was beef until Clara told her it was antelope.

  "Sgt. Cameron shot it two days ago. It was most fortunate because we were out of meat. I salted it down so it would keep."

  Paige believed her. She took one bite and it was all she could do to swallow, the stuff was so stringy and salty.

  There was no cheese, no butter, no salad, no cold soda or beer, no thermos of coffee—none of the things Paige had always assumed were standard fare for a picnic lunch.

  These people were terribly poor, she concluded. How kind and generous they were, to share what they had with her.

  The men ate with honest hunger. Paige had beans and a potato and chewed with determination on one of the biscuits, avoiding the heavily salted meat. She thought someone should tactfully explain to Clara the danger of so much salt in the diet, but Paige didn't want to hurt the other woman's feelings. In spite of her peculiar ways, Clara was warm and friendly, urging more food on everyone, particularly Paige.

  Everyone shared cups from a canteen of the same lukewarm, foul tasting water that Sgt. Cameron had offered earlier, and Paige listened in disbelief to the conversation the men were having.

  "Has there been much unrest among the Indians lately, Sgt. Cameron?" Theo was downing his second plate of food.

  "Nothing too alarming. The Indian agent reported sixty braves had deserted a few weeks back from Poundmaker's reserve, but we followed them and managed to bring them back."

  Paige couldn't believe what she was hearing. "That's disgusting," she burst out at last. "I thought the native people were free to come and go as they liked, just like any other Canadian citizens. I had no idea they were still confined to reservations out here. That's nothing short of barbaric."

  The conversation came to an abrupt halt. Again, all three of them gave her that strange look and exchanged glances with each other that she didn't understand, and Paige lost her temper.

  "Surely even you people have heard of aboriginal rights," she fumed. "No wonder there were all those problems a few years ago out in Quebec if this is your attitude toward natives."

  Not one of them answered her. The men looked uncomfortable and embarrassed, and even Clara wouldn't look her in the eye.

  After a few awkward, silent moments, Clara reached out and gently touched Paige's hand.

  "Would you like to go for a little stroll with me, Miss Paige?"

  It took a moment to figure out that Clara probably had to go to the bathroom. Paige did too, and they walked a discreet distance away from the wagon and shielded each other with their wide skirts as each woman took turns squatting in the grass.

  Back at the wagon, Clara wiped off the plates and cutlery and then, to Paige's amazement, meticulously cleaned them with sand from the earth before packing them back into her basket, and the moment the back of the wagon was in place, Sergeant Cameron had them on their way again.

  Paige gave up trying to figure things out. The afternoon was hot, a dry, blazing heat that absorbed every ounce of energy from mind and body, leaving her feeling lethargic and slightly sick to her stomach. The rolling, empty prairie stretched unbroken in every direction, and by late afternoon Paige had given up searching the horizon for power poles or cars or buildings.

  She and Clara, stiff and bruised from the bumpy ride, climbed down from the wagon every now and then and walked beside it, but Sgt. Cameron soon urged them back up on the wide seat; he and the wagon would have to slow up so as not to leave the women behind, and he seemed obsessed with getting to Battleford.

  The sun dropped with agonizing slowness toward the horizon, and a dusty haze seemed to settle over the prairie. Paige had sunk into an exhausted stupor, neither awake nor asleep, when Cameron's cheerful shout rang out.

  "Battleford just ahead, Mr. Fletcher. We've arrived safely."

  She sat up straight and strained her eyes, searching for the city, and her entire body began to tremble as the wagon crested a hill and the settlement came in sight.

  It couldn't be. A wave of dizziness and nausea made Paige clutch the side of the wagon, and the uncertainty and strangeness she'd felt all day intensified until she thought she was about to pass out again.

  Below them lay a deep green valley situated between the Saskatchewan and Battle rivers, the
site of what Paige knew ought to be the bustling small city of Battleford. But there was no city. There were no lights, no welcoming billboards advertising motels and restaurants, there were no cars, there were no streets on which to drive them.

  The modern community Paige had been expecting all day didn't exist; instead there was a Hudson's Bay Company store close to the river, a saloon, and a scattering of frame and log buildings. One building was impressive, a two-story structure up on a hillside.

  "That's Government House," Rob explained when he saw her staring at it. "They transferred territorial government to Regina in eighty-two, so it's not in use now."

  Paige didn't remember hearing a word about it, but she was too stunned by the entire vista to comment.

  They bumped across a flimsy wooden structure that bridged the Battle River, and Sgt. Cameron led the way up a hill and into a large stockade made of posts set vertically into the ground. The heavy gate was open wide.

  Inside, Paige could see a large two-story frame house constructed of hewn logs which Rob said was the residence of Inspector Morris, commanding officer of the fort. Numerous other buildings, made of logs as well but much less impressive, were built around the periphery of a large open area where at least 15 or 20 Indian tipis were erected. Figures in blankets and buckskin crouched around small cooking fires, and the dusk was full of the smell of roasting meat.

  There seemed to be people everywhere, most of them male.

  There were dozens of men in scarlet uniforms and black, shiny boots. Some were leading horses across the compound, and a group of them were lined up in perfect rows, doing some sort of drill. The spectacle was straight out of one of the countless western movies Paige had gone to with Tony when they were little kids, and she found it difficult to believe that she was inside the scene rather than watching it on a movie screen.

  Everyone stared at the newcomers, and a great many of the men smiled at Paige and bowed, lifting their caps.

  She could hardly breathe. Her blood seemed to hammer in her ears and her thoughts were a confused jumble. What was going on here?