“You’re much more graceful on skates than the back of a horse,” he teased as he skated in front of her.
Her skirts billowed out about her, but she found they didn’t inhibit her movements like she thought they would.
Nicholas was showing off by tipping forward, one foot lifted behind him in the air. She pushed him, catching him off balance. He wobbled and fell on his fanny.
“Alas, it’s too bad you’re not. Do you always end up on your as...derriere?” She stood in front of him to judge his reaction.
His grin was infectious, and she threw back her head and laughed, tossing all her dire thoughts to the wind. She turned and skated away, but he quickly caught up with her.
“Here, try this,” he challenged as he expertly turned in front of her, capturing her hands in his and resting one of them on his shoulder. With no apparent effort on his part, he skated backwards while guiding her into the steps of a waltz. Though awkward at first, she soon found she actually did move more gracefully on skates with all her petticoats than she did on dry land. She began to hum a tune in time to their movements.
“I cannot figure you, Jaci. You have no apparent skills; you have said yourself you were not reared in any of the womanly arts. Yet you adapt to almost any task set before you — cooking, teaching Amanda, riding; even dancing on ice. However do you manage?”
He spun her in a graceful circle, his movements bringing her closer. She knew they could only have a relationship based on honesty, and her newly awakened love made her reckless. She flashed him an impish grin as she answered his question. “Television.”
“What?”
She had to clutch his shoulder tightly to keep from tumbling when he jerked her tight against him. She had tried to explain before, but he always refused to listen; forever falling back on that age-old male doctrine that women didn’t know what they were talking about.
“Television. It’s a machine that shows moving pictures to educate. You know, I watch the cooking shows on PBS, ice skating at the Olympics, and all the old movies on Saturday nights.”
He stopped abruptly and she slammed into his hard chest. She curled her fingers around the lapels of his coat before bringing her gaze up to the silver gleam of his eyes.
“I think we have had this conversation before.” Puffs of frosty air punctuated his remarks. “I wonder perhaps if you will ever fully recover from your original injury. I doubt you would still spout nonsense about magic boxes and flying machines if you had.” He had not let her go; his arms circled her in a cocoon of warmth; his breath only adding to the heat of her blush.
Did he feel the electricity like she did; the need to touch him even when she knew she shouldn’t? She tilted her head back, her gaze taking in the wayward lock of black hair falling across his forehead, the gray at the temples that only enhanced his appearance. When she shrugged negligently to relieve the tension, he grinned, his full sensuous lips parting to reveal straight white teeth. She lightly tugged on his lapels to bring him closer.
As often as they had kissed recently, she should have been prepared. Even so, it amazed her at how quickly passion ignited in his gaze. His lips swiftly descended to hers, capturing the breath from her body and bathing her in warmth. She had always laughed at her sister’s description of jolts of electricity from a simple kiss, but now she realized it could happen — it was happening.
The buzzing in her head reminded her of the accident at the carousel, and she wondered if she would open her eyes and be back in Dallas. Perhaps becoming involved with a man from the wrong century was what she needed to return to her own time.
When the pressure on her spine and mouth lessened and she opened her eyes, however, she found Nicholas staring strangely at her. Her mittened fingers shook as they touched her mouth, still tender from his kiss; her heart pounded a rhythm too fast to count. She had remained in Nicholas’s time. Tears stung her eyes as she realized she was immensely glad she had not been transported.
“Uncle Nicholas, Miss Eastman — watch!” Amanda called for their attention and she didn’t have time to dwell on her mixed up emotions.
She did notice that Molly, who preferred not to skate, sat by the fire, her gaze carefully averted. Even so, Jaci blushed. She didn’t know how her actions looked to Molly. With a sigh, she switched her thoughts and attention to Amanda, who was turning tiny circles further out on the pond.
“Be careful, Muffin,” Nicholas called to his niece, ever mindful of their safety. Jaci heard the yearning in his voice, and knew he thought of Amanda as his own daughter.
“Oh, Uncle Nicholas, you know I am. Don’t be an old fuddy-duddy.”
Suddenly her scream rent the still morning. Horrified, Jaci watched as, in slow motion, Amanda began to sink through the ice.
“Amanda!” Nicholas bellowed a denial even as he raced toward the hole that had swallowed his niece. Jaci scrambled after him, her heart in her throat and her breath coming in short gasps.
Nicholas fell forward and slid the last several feet as he reached for Amanda. He paid no attention to the popping and hissing, but before her eyes, the ice cracked open further around the hole. She stopped well away from the turbulence, realizing she would do no good if she, too, fell through the thin sheet covering this part of the pond.
She watched, terrified, as Nicholas snatched Amanda from the jagged edges of the ice. Although time stretched interminably, he had reacted quickly and it was actually only seconds before he clutched a wet Amanda to his chest. He jerked his coat off and wrapped it around the little girl.
“Hurry, Nicholas, we must get her dried off,” Jaci yelled as Amanda coughed and wheezed, shivering violently. He struggled to his feet, but as he began to skate forward, an ominous crackling vibrated around them. Jaci reached out as the ice gave way with a mighty groan.
Nicholas threw Amanda forward, and Jaci grabbed at her. Together, they fell backward, Amanda’s wet dress and petticoats causing her to weigh twice as much as normal. She bundled the girl in her arms, scooting backwards on her fanny, digging the ends of her skate blades into the ice to give her traction. She scrambled around at the edge of the pond, keeping her gaze focused on Amanda’s breathing.
Sir Lancelot yipped, racing around in a tight circle by Jaci, trying to get closer to Amanda.
“Miss Eastman, Mister Westbrooke — he’s...” White faced, Molly pointed.
Jaci turned to scan the broken surface of the pond. Where was Nicholas? Where?
“Nicholas!” Even as she screeched his name, she thrust Amanda into Molly’s arms and scrambled back onto the icy surface. Sir Lancelot whined, grabbing a mouthful of her skirts and pulling, trying to keep her from leaving the bank. The pond was literally falling to pieces, and huge cracks now criss-crossed the surface. Suddenly Nicholas’s head appeared from where he had fallen through another weak spot.
“Sir Lancelot, go for help, now!” The dog only raced back and forth between Jaci and Amanda, whining and yipping.
“Sir Lancelot.” Amanda’s hoarse whisper stopped the dog in its tracks. “Go.” She pointed towards the house and the dog raced off, this time barking loudly.
“Wrap Amanda in a blanket and get her to the house! I have to help Nicholas!” Jaci flung the words over her shoulder as she stepped further out onto the ice.
“Oh, Miss,” Molly wailed, “I can’t drive a horse. I swear—”
“Molly, you can do it. You can do whatever it takes to fetch help for Mister Westbrooke. Do you want him to—” She caught a glimpse of Amanda’s petrified face and didn’t finish the sentence. Her thoughts must have transmitted themselves to Molly, however, for the girl hustled Amanda into the sleigh and grabbed the reins. The harness bells jangled as the horse trotted away, and Jaci sent a silent prayer for help to arrive before it was too late.
Regardless of the thin areas, the cracks, the threat of falling in herself, Jaci inched toward Nicholas. When she skated as close as she dared, she dropped to her knees and scooted forward on her fanny. For
once, she was thankful for all her petticoats as they insulated her against the cold.
Nicholas had dragged himself part way out of the icy water, his fingers digging into the ice. His face was taut with strain; eyes closed with the effort she knew it took to hold on.
“Nicholas, I’m here. Tell me what to do.” Her voice quivered. Further crackling echoed across the frosty air, and a vision flashed across her mind of her own dying. Though she might long to return to her own time, she didn’t want to die to do it. Nor did she want the man she loved to die. “Grab my hand. Let me pull you out.” She flattened out on her stomach and reached a hand to his.
“Get back.” His words hissed, as cold as the icy water in which he struggled. Though his words were only whispered, the ice cracked further, and she saw his gaze flash wildly around them.
“No, I won’t leave. I can help, I know I can. I’m stronger than I look.” She pleaded, “Nicholas, please.”
He didn’t answer. She glanced around for something to use to help them, but the few loose pieces of wood had been thrown on the fire. Just then, she saw a wagon appear across the far side of the pond. Too far away for the bundled figures to be recognized clearly, she thought it must be the twins.
“Toby! Travis! Help!” Even as she yelled, she felt the ice vibrate beneath her, and realized her mistake before Nicholas said anything.
“Don’t...yell,” he gasped, and she could only wonder at how cold he must be. She had no idea how long someone could stay in the icy cold water and survive; nor even how much time had already passed. But she did know the longer he stayed submerged, the less were his chances.
“If my yelling will crack this whole damn pond, I’ll do it. Then you can walk out of the water instead of me dragging you up from the bottom.” She didn’t know where she had the strength or determination to sass him at a time like this, but it did bring forth a watery smile, and for that she was glad. She glanced back to the far side where the boys had whipped the horse into a canter, the wagon bouncing precariously over the frozen trail.
“God, I wish I had a telephone.” The thought came unbidden to her tongue, but when she glanced guiltily at Nicholas, she noted his eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping. Sleeping? She knew that was the worst thing for someone in the cold. She shook his arm and urgently called his name. Every movement she made caused the ice to quiver, and it was only by chance that it didn’t give way.
“Jaci?” His voice was weak, but he was aware of her presence and Jaci took that as a good sign. “What is a telephone?”
Oh, dear, now she had done it. He had little patience for her stories of what he called imaginary misfortunes of her still rattled mind. But she had to do something, so she started talking. She voiced what she hoped were the most incredulous of all inventions. Anything to keep him alert.
“Where I come from, we have telephones, and telegraphs, and television. There are also satellites that fly through space...and videotape machines. If I had a video camera, I’d take pictures of how ridiculous you look...” She wanted to keep it light, but she sobbed, and fresh tears froze on her cheeks the moment they fell. She cautiously released one of his arms and raised her hand to his wet hair to brush it back from his forehead. God, he was so cold.
“Pictures? We have pictures. You know George Eastman...” His voice, already weak, faded until only a puff of white frost indicated he still breathed. His head lay sideways on one arm, his skin deathly pale. Jaci caressed his cheek with her hand, which she had removed from her mitten since it was wet anyway.
“No, silly. Moving pictures, not photographs.” The ice beneath her cracked again, and she clutched his arm with both hands.
“Let me go, Jaci.” Defeat and resignation edged his words. “Just let go and save yourself. This...ice won’t hold...” His eyes had been glazed but focused on her face. They now closed, the lids blue with cold, eyelashes spiked with ice crystals.
“No!” Her anguished cry of denial echoed against the silence of the woods.
In that single moment before his eyes closed, Jaci realized why Nicholas had always looked familiar. Those very same silver eyes had stared out at her from the glossy paper of a photograph; one she had taken at the carousel. That night in her dark room, what seemed like years ago instead of only months, Nicholas Westbrooke had cried out to her in pain; begging her for something that, at the time, she couldn’t identify.
Now, she understood. She had met her destiny and nothing she did would change that. Regardless of what Nancy Schaffer said, Jaci knew she did have a purpose for being here. She had come to save Nicholas.
Over the sound of her sobs, she heard someone call her name. She turned her head as far as she dared without releasing Nicholas, and saw Toby and Travis at the near edge of the pond.
Toby cautiously walked out onto the ice. When it popped beneath his weight, he looked helplessly at Jaci.
“Throw me the rope, Toby. I’ll get it around him. Get the wagon ready to move.” She knew the longer they waited, the higher the danger to Nicholas. Even now, his breath was extremely shallow and his arms shook beneath her grip. He had lost consciousness, and she dared not let loose of him for fear he would sink beneath the surface.
It took Toby two attempts to get the rope close enough that she didn’t have to let go of Nicholas to reach it. Her own limbs were numb with cold, and she prayed she could make the rope secure enough to bring Nicholas out of the water. She knew she couldn’t hold him if he started to slip. Her hands shook with fear as she tied the rope around him and yelled at Travis to start pulling.
The hardest part was yet to come, for as the rope became taut, Nicholas’s clothes hooked on the ice. Instead of pulling him up out of the water, they only succeeded in breaking more ice around him. She rapidly scooted back before she yelled at the twins to pull quickly enough to jerk Nicholas above the ice and out of the water.
Once they reached shore, she scrambled to her feet as Mackey and one of the stable boys came running down the hill. Together, the men lifted Nicholas from the frozen ground. Toby whipped the horse into motion as soon as they were all in the wagon. She removed her skates while Mackey piled warm blankets around Nicholas’s shaking body. Even so, his skin was blue with cold, and he mumbled incoherently. When Mackey started rubbing Nicholas’s arms beneath the blanket, she cried out.
“Don’t do that!” At Mackey’s look of surprise, she softened her tone. “Rubbing his skin is the worst thing you can do. It will damage the nerves.” Mackey’s incredulous expression said he doubted her word. She knew, however, from location shoots she had done, the effects of frostbite and exposure. How was she to make him understand?
“We need to keep him warm, and once we get back to the house, we’ll bring his body temperature up gradually. Too great a temperature change will shock his system.”
“What about pneumonia?” Mackey was clearly concerned about his employer’s condition, but she couldn’t reassure him. She wasn’t a doctor.
Instead she asked, “How’s Amanda?”
“I’m not sure. That mangy dog raced into the yard barking and grabbing my pant leg, and then here came Molly, driving that horse hell bent—” He cleared his throat. “Well, I imagine Mrs. Jeffrey’s got her bundled up in bed already. She didn’t stay in the water too long, did she?”
“No, not as long as Nicholas,” Jaci whispered. The old trainer’s gaze returned to Nicholas’s face. Her thoughts paralleled his, for she knew he wondered, too, how long was too long in the freezing water?
Chapter Twelve
Jaci wouldn’t go to her own room to change until she had been reassured that Dr. Stillwell had been summoned. She told Selkirk to get Nicholas’s clothes off as soon as possible, and what to do until the doctor arrived. Even so, chaos reigned by the time she entered the room.
Toby and Travis were hovering at the foot of the bed, twisting their caps and shuffling their feet. Selkirk fluffed the pillow beneath Nicholas’s unconscious head, straightened the covers,
and fluffed the pillow again.
Feisty Mrs. Jeffrey was arguing with Mackey, who said they should massage Nicholas’s legs like they did the horses.
“Miss Eastman said cold water towels, and that’s what we shall do until the doctor gets here.” She yelled at the crusty old trainer as she removed a towel from Nicholas’s leg and replaced it with another.
Jaci was happy to see someone carrying out her instructions, although she had no idea if it would help. She only knew what wouldn’t, and that was hot water and rubbing. She seemed to recall that too drastic of temperature changes for frostbite was like getting the bends when scuba diving.
It had been more peaceful in Amanda’s room when she stopped to check on the child, but then, Amanda wasn’t in danger of losing her life. Nicholas had grabbed her so quickly she hadn’t had much time to catch cold. Molly sat with her to make sure a fever didn’t develop, but Jaci felt Amanda was in fairly good shape. Unlike Nicholas, who had been willing to sacrifice his life for his niece’s.
She moved quickly to the side of the bed, placing her hand on top of Selkirk’s. The butler jerked, but when she met his gaze, she saw how troubled he was. “He’ll be alright, but we have to let him rest.” Selkirk appeared relieved someone had taken charge, for he nodded and left the side of the bed to take up a vigil by the twins.
“How’s he doing?” She asked Mrs. Jeffrey.
“He’d be a lot better if everyone would leave him be.” Even though her words were crusty, the housekeeper’s voice trembled.
“Has someone gone for Dr. Stillwell?”
“Yes, Miss,” Toby answered, “but with the icy roads, it may be awhile.”
She looked from face to face. Nicholas commanded respect and loyalty from his employees, and now she saw the true concern they felt for him. It appeared he was much more than these people’s source of income. What would they do if —
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