“Not exactly your style,” he agreed.
“Not even my size.” She leaned back, then startled to alert when he started the motor. “I have my car and I’ve got things to do.”
“Like what?”
She was too tired to argue that this wasn’t any of his business. “I’m going to find a place to live.”
He drove slowly from the parking lot, passing past the guard station with a familiar wave. “Your car will be safe here and you don’t need to start looking this afternoon. You’re too tired. You’ll go home with me.”
Somehow this was a welcome suggestion. She leaned back against the car seat and closed her eyes, too weary to try to work anything out, falling almost instantly to sleep as the vehicle moved past the highway and down the country roads toward Alistair’s ranch house.
Somehow she wasn’t allowed the luxury of sleep, but went straight into that other woman’s dreams. She heard Helen calling her and surfaced from the new book that her friend had loaned her with difficulty to call back, “In the bedroom. I’m in here.”
And then it wasn’t a dream anymore, but she was in the reality of that other time.
He was glad she’d gone to sleep. She’d worked all day after an interrupted last night. He’d be willing to bet she hadn’t gotten a wink after word of the fire reached her.
He shifted positions slightly so that her head could rest against his shoulder, all the anger he’d felt after their abrupt parting dissipating in an overwhelming tenderness as he glanced down at the silky dark hair and the peaceful features of the woman he’d loved and married.
He wanted the drive to last forever, but all too soon he was pulling down the long drive of pines his dad had planted years ago as a windbreak that came in handy on this day when the wind was definitely sweeping down the plains and across the mountains as well. When he pulled to a stop in front of the rambling ranch house that was his home, he whispered, “We’re home, Hart,” but she didn’t move.
He chuckled. She was really out. Well, no wonder, considering everything she’d been through. He went around to lift her into his arms and carried her inside and through the back hall to the guest bedroom where she’d slept the night before. The coverlet was still tossed from her hurried departure and scented with whatever floral cologne she’d worn.
He pulled off her shirt and pants, leaving her in her undergarments and tucked her in, touched her forehead with his lips, half hoping she would awaken. But she was still deeply asleep, so he turned off the light that had been left on the night before and closed the door softly before going to his computer to check out any incoming messages.
Stacia slipped easily into the body that fitted so much better than that other one she wore. Some people didn’t like to have red hair, but she’d always been pleased with her own. It marked her out as different and she liked that.
Other members of the family had touches of red, her brothers had the kind of orange-red hair that went with freckles, while Helen’s was what her sister called mahogany. But Stacia’s was the kind of red that looked good in the new Technicolor movies with the creamy skin that went along with it.
Curvy yet graceful of form, she’d grown up used to being told she should be a movie star and though her own down-to-earth mind told her that there had to be hundreds, maybe even thousands, of girls across the country more beautiful, she knew she was matchless in little Medicine Stick and that was good enough for her.
Mom told her that beauty came from within and she supposed that was true enough, but outside beauty had its own rewards. The one thing she would hate was being plain and ordinary.
And now, most of the time, that was what she was. Stacia, her exuberant personality quailed for the first time in her life, tried to remember for both of them. She could recall her own past from the time she was a little girl, past the moment that was now, and knew that somewhere in the very near future she was destined to be shot to death.
And at the same time, she could only remember that other girl’s life in spotty fashion. Most strongly, she remembered the time right before she’d gotten to know Alistair Redhawk for the first time. Oh, that girl had always known him, they’d grown up in the same community, but it wasn’t until Stacia stepped into her form, exchanged places with her, that it had happened.
She’d smiled. He’d smiled back. Hart had been attending some event at her nieces’ school when they’d changed places. This wasn’t exactly a shock. She and Hart been trading about willy-nilly as long as Stacia could remember and yet since they were never in the same place, it wasn’t like they were friends, but barely acquaintances with knowledge of each other through the wisps of memory that floated in their brains. At least that was the way it was for Stacia.
She’d tried to tell Mom about it when she was four or five, about being in that other girl’s body in a strange place and time.
Mom had laughed and told her she had quite an imagination. Later, when the stories continued, she’d seemed annoyed and told her to quit telling lies.
As she got older both Mom and Dad got to looking at her in a worried way and she’d caught on that they thought there was something wrong with her brain and afraid other people might notice and insist she be locked up in an asylum.
That became her greatest fear so that she did everything to cover up the mind switches and hid her knowledge of that other girl’s life as best she could.
Now she looked around at her family eating breakfast together, the boys scuffling over who got the last of the bacon while Helen slowly ate her way through a pancake. Her little sister looked about ten so she’d gone back into the past, her past, and was reliving a day there.
She tried to savor it, knowing they were all gone now, though the truth was, of course, that for anyone the people of a precise moment in the past would be gone. A mother reviewing her toddlers would know that those chubby babies were forever gone, replaced by young men and women who sometimes seemed to barely remember them.
She supposed she should feel blessed, she was consciously aware that her young looking parents, the siblings who were still children were infinitely precious. But that wasn’t how it felt at all, but more like she was an automaton moving through predetermined steps, or an actress in a movie.
There must be some purpose to this, some reason. Always before she’d been progressing, moving ahead in her own life or even in the few minutes she spent in Hart’s, but now this scene seemed to play on and on, a mixture of torture and delight.
She wanted to tell them how much she loved them but instead she went on eating breakfast, arguing with one of her brothers, then going outside for the walk to school. She was more of a visitor to this version of Stacia then the person herself.
She was almost relieved when she felt herself going back, the last look at the little town with the trail of youngsters heading to Medicine Stick School, even a glance at the long-legged red-haired teen who was herself at fourteen and then the familiar seconds of non-being and she was once again back. For a minute she was confused. The last she remembered she’d been slumped at Alistair’s side inside his police car and he was taking her back to the ranch house.
She peered through darkness to see shadows of familiar furniture and knew she was in the comfortable bed in his guest room. She was a long time falling asleep because of the ache where her heart should be.
When she woke in the morning it took only seconds to recall who she was and where she was. She got up to shower Hart Benson’s body and dress it in the clothes she’d worn the previous day, joining Alistair for a breakfast of toast and juice while he ate bacon and eggs and fussed about how she didn’t eat enough to keep a bird alive.
“I called in for you,” he said. “Told the warden you wouldn’t be in today as you had to do some things pertaining to the fire.”
She looked at him with distaste. “Who died and left you my boss?”
He only laughed. “You can’t go around looking like a scarecrow in clothes that don’t fit you.”
>
She accepted the truth of that in silence. He needn’t think she was going to accept having decisions made for her, but she did need a day off to restart her life. Or Hart’s life. Whichever.
The dreams of the night before, forcefully she decided to think of them as dreams, had answered one question and brought another to the forefront. She had seen herself as she left fourteen-year-old Stacia behind so now she knew what had happened when she’d been shot. She’d left Hart there to face her death. Hart Benson had died in her body.
“What happened last night?” she asked abruptly. “The last I remember we were driving home.”
“You tumbled right off to sleep,” he said matter-of-factly. “I couldn’t get you to wake up so I carried you into bed.”
She hadn’t been wearing her exterior clothing when she’d awakened so he’d done a little more than that. With rising indignation, she told herself that he still thought of himself as Hart’s husband which was something of an excuse for such actions.
Then new memories stirred in her brain. Had she only dreamed she’d remembered seeing him smile at her and the first feelings as they got to know each other? She’d always thought it was Hart he’d married, but she didn’t have Hart’s memories. And she was beginning to remember falling in love with Alistair Redhawk.
Chapter Fifteen
The experiences of being back in her own body had changed her. Instinctively she knew that Hart Benson had been quiet, reserved, intensely passionate, but not forcefully so. Somehow through whatever had happened to send her into the coma and forgetfulness of her own past had left her still pretending to be that strong, but introverted young woman.
Stacia Larkin was something else. Now as she began to remember who she was, she swung her legs in a long stride as she walked, her voice was louder and slightly deeper, and her personality expanded so that when she walked into a room others looked up. Stacia was no wallflower, no hovering in the background shy violet.
Worst and best of all, she was intensely conscious of Alistair Redhawk in a purely physical way. Her body reacted to his presence, becoming more alert and intensely alive. She found herself day-dreaming about being in his arms and as for her night dreams, well, if she were easily embarrassed, then she would be embarrassed.
But Stacia looked forward to those dreams and enjoyed every minute of them. But until she remembered being married to him, she wasn’t sure which of them he loved. Was it her or was it Hart?
Though these days she tried to think of herself as Hart. If Hart had died in her body as she suspected, then the rest of her life would be spent as Hart. It was the only option and Stacia was a woman geared to face reality.
Not Stacia, she reminded herself. Hart.
“You seem different today,” gentle little Mr. Jeffers commented after creative writing class. “More sure of yourself.” His wrinkled face was puzzled and he spoke tentatively as though he was afraid of offending her.
“I’m not hiding under Hart’s bushel basket any longer,” she agreed and then laughed. That statement would mean absolutely nothing to him and the last thing she wanted to do was give the elderly prisoner, who had so many phobias, anything else to worry about.
The worst one he had was fear of open spaces. Mr. Jeffers had adapted so completely to a lifetime spent within prison walls that he was afraid to go outside. She’d suggested a field trip for the three men interested in creative writing to hear a regional author speak and he had declined hastily. “Oh, I really couldn’t, Miss Benson. I’m sure the warden would never approve.”
She had a feeling he just might. And the youngest of the three men was in his sixties. Surely, no matter what they’d done years ago, they deserved to see a little of life before they died.
She shrugged. She supposed the only way she’d get Mr. Jeffers out of here was if she dragged him, but she thought the other two men might be more amenable.
When she mentioned the proposed outing to Alistair over supper at Pizza Plus that night, he didn’t seem to think it was such a good idea. “You’ve have to take a guard, Hart, but I doubt that you would get approval.”
She took a bite of salad and debated, “Why not? Lots of towns have prisoners working on public projects. What’s the difference?”
He seemed preoccupied as though he was having trouble focusing on the subject at hand. “Those are people locked up for non-violent crimes and not considered dangerous to the public.”
“Poor old Mr. Jeffers and his buddies?” she questioned scornfully.
“Don’t know about the buddies, but your Mr. Jeffers went on a rampage and brutally killed a neighbor. Was originally sentenced to die, but because of his youth the sentence was eventually changed to life in prison.”
“How old was he when this allegedly happened?”
“Fifteen or sixteen. I wasn’t around then, but it was an infamous and terrible crime.”
“That’s so long ago. People change, Alistair.”
“Sometimes,” he agreed cautiously, “but not enough that I would want to trust your life or that of anyone else with the possibility. Some people start out troubled and stay that way. Anyway, I won’t have you getting involved in such a project.”
She stared at him. “And just why do you get to decide?”
“Because I’m your husband,” he said quietly but with thunderous undertones.
Somehow the statement that should have enraged her instead rather amused her. “Gallant male protecting his mate,” she teased, confident enough in her own ability to take care of herself not to be challenged by this attitude. “And anyway, we’re not exactly married.”
He didn’t argue, but rather glumly chose another slice of pizza.
She felt almost normal, like any other woman out with a date, eating pizza and drinking pop. That was before she saw Tommy and family walk in. The girls ran to her for hugs, then went back to join their parents at a booth as far away as possible.
Tommy was still furious with her for staying out at the ranch house with Alistair until she found a place of her own and Nikki backed him up. She said it wasn’t decent.
“I need to tell you something,” Alistair said once the girls had left.
The solemn tone put her on alert. “What is it?” she asked quietly enough to be heard only by him.
“I talked to Helen Larkin’s daughter. She’s going to rent a car when she lands in Oklahoma City and will go by the lab to contribute DNA to help identify the bones we have.”
She was unable to eat another bite. Helen’s daughter. Her sister’s daughter. This was a dimension of reality she didn’t know how to face. The last time she’d seen her sister, just last night, Helen had been only ten. “Do I have to see them?”
He shrugged. “Certainly not. They don’t really have anything to do with you, but under the circumstances, I didn’t want to catch you by surprise if you ran into them. They’ll be leaving DNA samples at the lab in the city so we can determine if the bones are those of their missing relative.”
She chewed at her bottom lip. He didn’t believe anything she’d said about being Stacia, of course. He was a logical man still looking for a reasonable answer.
It was time to change the subject.
“I believe I’ve found a place to rent,” she said.
“In Mountainside?”
She shook her head. “Nothing here. This is in Wichita, a nice old couple who want to rent out their garage apartment.”
He looked interested. “Don’t tell me. Not the Gordons?”
“Sallie and Henry Gordon,” she agreed, “out on west sixth.”
“Hart, you can’t rent from them.”
“Why not? Why is it any of your business who I rent from?”
“They were cooking meth in their garage apartment up until the laws were changed making it hard to do undetected buys of the necessary allergy meds. We haven’t been able to prove that they are continuing to deal through the drug cartel, but it’s only a matter of time. But I guess the sheriff’s wife
would provide a satisfactory cover.”
“Oh.” She settled back in her chair. She had become somewhat familiar with terms from the drug world in her short time as a prison librarian. “That nice old couple?” she asked plaintively. “You’re joshing.”
He shook his head. “Anyway, until I’m sure you’re not at risk, I’d prefer you stay in my guest bedroom.” He grinned and leaned closer. “Unless you’d rather a closer relationship.”
She wouldn’t admit to being tempted. After all, it was legal and all that. She’d been brought up by a generation that professed commitment to old values. Mom always told her daughters that she’d not permitted her husband as much as a kiss until they were safely engaged, but Stacia had experienced the war years that had shaken so many standards. Couples had married with little courtship, knowing they could be saying goodbye forever while others hadn’t even taken time for the formalities. As for herself, she had been cut off from most companionship with men her own age as the boys went away to war and she was left in little Medicine Stick.
Several of the girls from town had gone away to jobs building planes for the war over in west Texas, but her parents had said there was plenty to do right there at home. And she’d feared slipping loose from herself somewhere when she didn’t have close kin to anchor her.
By the time she was adult, she’d known full well that the way she lived wasn’t exactly common. The flashes of time when she saw a dark-haired girl with a face more striking than pretty as her own reflection in the mirror began to frighten her.
Alistair waved a long, slim hand in front of her eyes. “Where are you, Hart?” he whispered.
She came to herself with only the slightest of jerks. “Right here.” She managed a flirtatious smile. “Where else would I be?”
All his days were busy, but this one was downright chaotic with activity so that he forgot about Stacia Larkin’s family members coming to Wichita County until his secretary peered around the door into his office somewhere in mid-afternoon. “Serena Hudson and Bobbi Lawrence here to see you.”
Wrong Face in the Mirror: A Time Travel Romance (Medicine Stick Series) Page 10