He felt a strange wind blowing against his skin, a swirling of his senses, a little dizzy, a little nauseous. He held Marcie’s hand in a firm grip. The thought of losing her too much to bear.
His eyes opened and swept the land. No poles, no road, no cars rushing by, no glow of city lights illuminating the distance.
Marcie stood with him, smiling and solid.
“Glad you made it.” Tom sat astride his big black horse and held the reins of John’s horse in his hand. He shook his head. “I’ll never get used to that disappearing and reappearing out of thin air if I live to be one hundred.” He managed a strangled laugh. “Amanda has been on pins and needles.” He studied his hands. “Did you get the medicine?”
“I did.” Marcie beamed a smile to light the night. “The sooner Ava gets it the better.”
“Can you carry one of these bags?” At Tom’s nod, John handed him a bag.
He took the reins of his horse from Tom, lifted Marcie into the saddle, handed her the second bag and swung up behind her. He clicked his tongue, snapped the reins, and they headed for the ranch at a trot, then a canter, and then a gallop.
Amanda waited at the door wrapped in a quilt. “Marcie, Marcie,” she called. “Come quick.” She motioned with her arm. “Ava’s not doing well.”
Marcie slid from the saddle, running as soon as her feet touched ground. John’s long legs caught up with her, and they entered the house together.
Marcie pulled the vial of penicillin and syringe from her coat. “Bring the whiskey, John.” She felt Ava’s forehead. “She’s too hot. Hang on, Ava, Mama has medicine,” she murmured.
John handed her the whisky, and Marcie poured it over a patch of skin on her hip. “Little pinch,” she told her child and delivered the lifesaving drug, the miracle cure. A drug not invented for another forty years.
The adults gathered around Ava’s bed in front of the fire and waited. Waited for her breathing to ease. Waited for her temperature to drop. Waited.
His wife had fallen into a restless doze. John shook her shoulder to deliver the news. “She’s better, Marcie. Ava’s better.”
They fell to their knees beside Ava’s bed. Marcie put the stethoscope to her chest and listened. A grateful smile on her face, she ran her hand over her daughter’s forehead in affection and diagnosis.
“She’s going to be all right.”
John pulled her into his arms, and their tears mingled, joined in a trail of relief. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” John whispered.
“Merry Christmas.” She burrowed into the shelter of his arms.
Behind them Amanda hummed a hymn of faith, and they joined their voices. “Joy to the world,” they sang. “The Lord is come.”
John closed his eyes and gathered Marcie close and closer. His family was safe. His daughter would return to health. They had traveled to the future and returned to the life they lived and loved.
Joy would just about cover it. Yes, sir, his heart surged with it. It pulsed like molten heat through his veins.
Let heaven and nature sing.
Chapter 7
Christmas morning, 1898
Marcie
The four adults took to hugging one another like they’d invented it. Marcie and Amanda let their tears roll down their cheeks and soak the bosom of their blouses. John and Tom cleared their throats a might often, and their eyes glistened.
John smacked Marcie’s bottom and sent her scurrying forward. “Go change out of that saloon girl skirt, wife,” he commanded. “Don’t think I forgot you scheming behind my back. You know I might disagree with your ideas, but I’m always ready to listen.”
“I know. Ava’s illness threw me into a panic.” Marcie headed for their bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”
“The children are sleeping in there. Getting them settled was not an easy task with Santa coming tonight and all. We have a few hours left until morning. Let them sleep,” Amanda cautioned.
Returning in a skirt that brushed the floor, Marcie watched John nod in approval. “Come see what we brought back. We need to hide some of it before the children get up. I have surprises for them too.”
Marcie poured them all a cup of coffee and opened the first bag. She laid the bras on the table. “There’s ten a piece,” she counted out a little pile and pushed it to her sister.
“Thank you, thank you,” Amanda chanted. “The only thing better than a bra from the future would be—”
Marcie broke in, “Feminine products?” The sisters fell into a hug, laughing, gasping, hysterical with wonder, as she pulled two large packages of the miracle solution to monthly troubles from her bag and added one to her sister’s pile.
“These gloves are for John and Tom. Your hands won’t be stiff and blue from working outside this winter,” Marcie said.
“Show Tom the very best present of all,” John encouraged.
A pile of condom boxes littered the table. Tom’s mouth dropped open and his eyes bulged. “Well, look at this. Lubricated, ribbed, and these here are purple.” Tom picked up the boxes one at a time and turned them over in his hands.
John smiled like the cat in the cream. “You’re gonna be mighty happy with these. I can vouch for that, I surely can.”
Amanda laughed. “You found time to try them?”
“On a waterbed,” John added that final, glorious detail.
“Waterbed?” Tom frowned.
“Yup, it’s a mattress full of water. It rolls and rocks like a boat in a storm.” John waggled his eyebrows. “The more movement, the bigger the waves.”
“I sure would like to see that.” Tom looked at his brother-in-law with one eyebrow cocked. “Did you like the future, John?”
“Well, the trip saved Ava, and, for that blessing, I’d go to hell and back,” he said. “But the future is too noisy and too bright. There are little machines to do near everything. It makes people lazy, and they didn’t seem any happier, any more content than we are.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “All in all, I’m happy to be right where I am. We have a good house, wives to love and cherish, fine horses, beautiful and healthy children.” He motioned to his daughter whose breathing eased with each passing minute. “We have family, and for that I thank God every day.”
Marcie put her arms around John’s stomach and squeezed with all her might.
“Amanda, I have one more surprise.” Marcie pulled the packet of pictures from her pocket and spread them on the table.
“Mama and Dad. Oh, Marcie,” Amanda’s voice quivered.
“You take some home, and I’ll keep some. We can trade every now and then,” Marcie pushed some photos towards Amanda’s pile of goodies.
“We have to hide all these things before the children wake, and then we can fill their stockings. I have hats and mittens and oranges and chocolate and nuts.” Marcie gathered her contraband from a century not yet lived.
Tom buried their items deep in his saddlebags, and John put theirs on the highest shelf behind Marcie’s bags of flour and sugar. They buried the Target bags in a little hole by the barn and returned to the heat of the house.
Happiness flowed like warm honey as the four adults sipped coffee and nibbled gingerbread. The children would wake soon, and the real joy of the day would commence.
“Mama?” Ava’s voice was weak as a spring sapling. “I’m thirsty.”
“Papa will get you a nice cold drink, darling. How do you feel?” Marcie brushed her daughter’s damp hair from her forehead.
“I dreamed I couldn’t breathe,” she whispered. “But I can. I can breathe.”
Marcie swiped at her face with the back of her hand.
“Don’t cry, Mama. It’s Christmas.”
“Indeed it is. The best Christmas ever.” Marcie kissed her daughter’s cheek and brought the cup to her daughter’s lips.
The door to the bedroom flew open and children entered the room like sparks of bright light. Adam skidded to a stop at his sister’s side and studied her with anxious eyes.
“Merry Christmas, Adam.” Ava reached for his hand, and he knelt beside his twin. They spoke in their own private language. One, Marcie suspected, that had begun in the womb.
A chorus of jubilant shouts began. “Santa’s been here. Merry Christmas. Can we open our stockings?” Their little voices created a cacophony of excited sound.
Laughter bright as a noon day sun in the height of summer shot through the room. “First, you need to bundle up and use the outhouse. Then we’ll have hot chocolate, stockings, and we’ll sing to the joy of the day.”
The older children helped the younger ones into their coats, and they stampeded out the door.
Marcie and Amanda busied themselves in the kitchen heating milk and laying out platters of toast, strawberry jam, and gingerbread. The two women perused the table with pride. The bread had been kneaded with their own hands. The jam was made with the last of the summer’s strawberries, and, while they’d purchased ginger at the Mercantile, the sweet treat was their own creation.
John swept the table with an appreciative glance. “This looks mighty fine, ladies,” he said. Lowering his voice so Ava could not hear, he asked, “I suppose all this could be purchased already made from where you come.”
They nodded. “But it wouldn’t taste so fine or make me proud.” Marcie took her husband’s hand. “I’m happy here, John. Content and satisfied.”
“Then I’m a happy man, sweetheart.” John went to Ava’s bed and swept her into his arms. He sat with his healing daughter in his lap and rocked her as he had when she was small.
The children burst in from the cold and threw off their coats. Sitting on the floor around the fire, they emptied their stockings. Soon every little head wore a new hat and every little face wore chocolate.
Adam came and snuggled into the chair with John and Ava. He peeled his orange and held a little slice for his twin to eat. She smiled, and Adam popped the juicy fruit into her mouth.
When the table looked as if it had been raided by locusts, and the children lazed in a haze of satisfied exhaustion, Marcie began to sing. She began with Jingle Bells, and moved on to Hark! The Herald Angels Sing. As the children settled, Marcie began Silent Night. She sent a silent message to Tom, who had a beautiful voice, although he rarely used it.
He dropped a little wink, stood and rubbed his hands down the sides of his pants. Then his voice soared, “O holy night, the stars are brightly shining.” By the time he reached, “Fall on your knees,” the children were transported and the adults went right along for the beautiful ride.
A pan of chicken and dumplings bubbled, and the smell of fresh bread wafted through the air when the family gathered for dinner and bowed their heads. John held Ava on his lap and Adam squeezed into the embrace.
“Dear Lord.” John lowered his head. “Thank you for the bounty of our table and for the health of all gathered around it.” He pulled the twins close and kissed the top of each head. “Our hearts are full today with love for each other and for the blessings of this holy day. The mamas have made a mighty delicious dinner, and we’re thankful for that too. Dig in. Amen.”
A few giggles greeted the end of his grace, but forks were lifted. Quiet descended while the families set to the serious work of filling stomachs.
Marcie rose from the table. “These children need to play outside for a bit.”
“I’ll go with them,” John declared. “The dogs have been outside all day, and they will surely love to have company.” He lifted Ava and carried her to her bed. “You need to stay warm today, little love,” he whispered. Ava’s eyes drifted shut. She had a way to go before she was really, truly well.
There was a rush for coats and each child donned their new mittens and hat. When the door opened, the little group was met with three barking, spinning, jumping dogs, ready to run.
Marcie and Amanda, with their arms around each other’s waists, watched through the window.
“Are you in trouble?” Amanda asked.
“Maybe,” Marcie acknowledged. “I should have trusted John with my plan, but I was afraid. I was wrong. It’s wrong to hide things from him. It was sneaky.” She rubbed her bottom with her free hand.
“It’s only a spanking, after all. Tom always assures me no one ever died from having their bottom roasted.” Amanda shared this sharp shard of wisdom.
The barking reached frenzied proportions as the dogs chased sticks and returned them with tails wagging and tongues hanging.
“I deserve it,” Marcie sighed. “John will remind me of the rules.”
“What was it like going back to our old time?” Amanda queried.
Marcie turned away from the window and began carrying dirty dishes to the kitchen. “I’m glad I had a chance to see the future once more. I didn’t much care for it. I’d rather be here, waiting for my husband to spank me into next Sunday, than in that bright, noisy, lazy life.”
“You’re about ready to prove it. John is headed back to the house, and I’d recognize the set of that jaw anywhere. He’s coming to set his house to rights.” Amanda pulled her coat on. “I’ll go play with the children.” She patted her sister on the shoulder and stepped through the door.
“Marcie.” John put his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “I’ve given this some thought. I know you kept your plan from me because of your worry for Ava, but I was every bit as worried. It wasn’t your problem; it was our problem. You should have shared your ideas.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” Marcie began to sob.
“You might as well save those tears until you need them,” he said.
Marcie seized his hand like she was drowning, and he’d thrown her a lifeline.
He pulled her toward their room. “My rules are simple. Don’t risk your heath or your safety, and don’t say or do anything that weakens our marriage or our family.” His stern face made her stomach clench, but also sent heat, hot and moist, rushing to her private place.
“We haven’t done this for quite a spell, but I reckon we know how it goes.” John lifted her skirt. “I’m glad you don’t like bloomers, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “Over you go.”
Marcie lay over her husband’s muscular thighs and memorized the pattern on the rug. His big hand rubbed circles on her white bottom. She knew when that comforting massage ended, her spanking would begin. With the inevitability of water running to the sea, it did.
Sharp slaps landed left, right, and continued in a circle until her bottom stung. Marcie wiggled in her pain, but John held her firm against his body and began the journey of spanks over, and over once more before he lifted her to his lap.
She nuzzled into his embrace.
“Merry Christmas.” John tucked her under his arm and patted her flaming bottom. “Thank you for saving our daughter.” His voice was a painful croak.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered into the shelter of his shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip on the front of her husband’s shirt. A lump rose in her throat, and she swallowed around it. “You and the children are the best gifts. Three beautiful children we made in this very bed. I love you.”
He grinned a little half smile that landed like a punch low and deep in her stomach. “Care to give this little beauty a spin?” He patted the bed and commenced to unbuttoning her blouse.
Marcy gave a startled laugh. “Where did you hear that?”
“On the television at the bar. Brett said it was an ad for a fast car.” Her blouse was gone, and John had moved on to the buttons of her skirt.
The past was her future, and she loved the quiet rhythm of these days. But, sometimes, she felt a need for speed.
“Let’s go, cowboy,” she whispered. “Start your engine.”
And he did.
The End.
Victoria Phelps
Victoria Phelps lives in northern California with her two best friends: her handsome husband and her Goldendoodle, Max. She has two daughters, two sons-in-law, four granddogs and one grandcat. That’s a lot of fur!
Victoria, who has always loved the written word, taught literature and writing. Now that she has the opportunity to write full time, she is in wordsmith heaven. She enjoys playing tennis, quilting, and reading, reading, reading.
Visit her website here: www.victoriaphelpsromance.com
Visit her on Facebook at: Victoria Phelps Romance
Don’t miss these exciting titles by Victoria Phelps and Blushing Books!
Texas Time Travel Series:
Home On The Range - Book One
Meeting John Wayne - Book Two
Wyld Woman Book - Three
Lone Star Love Series:
Troubled Water - Book One
Strict Santa
12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2018
Sue Lyndon
Chapter 1
Marry me. Marry me and let me have your babies.
Professor McDreamy from across the hall wasn’t just hot – he was so breathtakingly handsome that Megan turned into a stammering fool whenever they crossed paths. Heat would sear her cheeks and her heart would thump rapidly in her chest. Her palms would break into a sweat and all rational thought would flee. Honestly, it was a wonder she had never swooned in his presence.
As she stole a sideways glance at his masculine profile in the elevator, tingles of pleasure washed through her body. A certified silver fox, he had a well-trimmed salt and pepper beard, a full head of wavy hair to match, and he usually wore fancy suits that hugged his tall, broad and muscular physique perfectly. He wasn’t old though, maybe in his middle forties. But his hair color gave him a distinguished look that never failed to make her tummy flutter.
Today, however, he was wearing dress pants and a festive looking red sweater, which very much intrigued her. With his whitening hair and the red sweater, he looked like a sexy version of Santa. All he needed was a hat. Oh yeah, she would totally sit on his lap and whisper into his ear what she wanted for Christmas.
12 Naughty Days of Christmas 2018 Page 34