He sighed. He hadn’t gone back in time. But he hurt. All over. “Are you sure I’m not dead?” he said on a moan.
She pinched his cheek. “Can you feel that?”
“Feel what?” he pretended not to notice her touch.
A moment of panic flashed in her eyes until she realized he was fooling her. “Don’t scare me like that.”
He liked the look of tenderness on her face and he especially liked being in her arms. “It hurt like hell.”
“I know. I’ve done it myself, although I still don’t understand why it knocked you to the ground. I wonder if I should have someone come check it. Maybe there’s more current going through it than there should be.”
“There’s obviously too much for a man.” He grimaced as he tried to move.
“You are okay, aren’t you?”
He was tempted to say no, for he enjoyed seeing the tender, caring side of Hannah Davis. “I’m okay,” he told her, carefully sitting forward.
“You make a good nurse. You have a gentle touch.”
She released him abruptly, as if suddenly embarrassed that she had been holding him, shoving her hands into her pockets.
He held his hands out, palm upward. “Don’t put your hands away. Put them here, on mine.”
When she hesitated, he said, “Go ahead. I want to show you something.”
She placed her hands directly over his, leaving about an inch between their palms.
“Go on. Set them on mine,” he urged.
She did as he instructed, then met his eyes. “They’re tingling.”
“As are other parts of my body.” It was true. Wood felt as if every part of him tingled and not from the electricity that had coursed through his body. There was no longer any point in pretending. He wanted Hannah.
“Touch me here.” He brought one of her hands to his chest and placed it against the pocket of his chambray shirt. “Can you feel it?”
“Your heartbeat is racing.” She held his gaze. “It must be from the electrical shock.”
He knew if he were wise, he’d agree. But he wasn’t wise. He was entertaining foolish notions. “You’re the reason it’s thumping as if it wants to punch a hole in my chest. It was doing that before I ever grabbed the fence. All it took was for you to walk toward me in those trousers.”
She sat back on her heels. “That is not the proper way to talk to your boss, Wood.”
It was a weak-hearted protest. He knew it and she knew it.
“There are times when a gentleman must not worry about propriety,” he murmured.
“And this is one of those times?”
“I do believe it is.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re a lady in distress.”
She chuckled. “You’re the one who’s in distress, and I’m not a lady. I’m your boss. Remember?”
“All I see is a lady. A beautiful lady.” Before she could utter another word, he had pulled her to him, his mouth urgently seeking hers in a hungry kiss that told her in no uncertain terms did he care that she was his boss. Nor did it matter that she hated men or that she was a woman from another century. All he could think about was the desire stirring in his loins.
Wood savored the taste of her, his tongue searching the interior of her mouth as she opened her lips, inviting an intimacy he hadn’t expected. Although she felt tiny and fragile in his arms, there was nothing delicate about the way she made him feel. Or the way her hands drifted across his shoulders to his chest, toying with the buttons on his shirt until they worked their way inside to his warm flesh.
When he pushed her back against the ground, her voice was husky as she said, “This could be dangerous. Now I’m tingling, too.”
He could see by the gleam in her eyes that she was teasing him, and he liked it. Gone was the tough, independent female boss. In her place was a sexy, self-confident temptress.
Once more he covered her mouth with his, amazed by the intensity of feelings she aroused in him. As the kiss lengthened, she pressed closer to him, her body soft and warm next to his. Wood loved the way she felt in his arms. She filled his senses, intoxicating him until all he could think about was touching her in every soft, sweet place he could find.
Whimpers of pleasure emerged from her throat as his hands molded her to him, sliding over her hips in a tantalizing exploration that had her arching toward him. With a boldness that came as no surprise to Wood, Hannah began her own intimate exploration. Fingers that had traced circles on his chest now made a descent down his abdomen. When they slipped inside the waist of his jeans, he could feel his self-control slipping away.
The jolt from the fence seemed like nothing compared to the current of desire that arced through him as she teased and tempted him. Wood couldn’t get enough of her, the taste of those sweet lips, the smell of her orange scented hair mixed with the fresh aroma of hay.
She didn’t stop him when his hand moved between them to her breast. Through the knit fabric of her shirt he could feel the nipple press against his palm. With each stroke, she purred in delight, pressing herself unashamedly against his throbbing hardness.
He lost all sense of time and place. All that mattered was the woman in his arms. When her hands moved inside his jeans, he didn’t know how he would bear the excruciating pleasure.
But then she stopped.
It only took a moment for Wood to understand why. A brisk wind carried the first drops of rain. He rolled over and stared up at the ominous clouds hanging over them.
Hannah wasted no time in scrambling to her feet. “We’d better take cover.”
Wood paid no attention. As lightning streaked the sky he realized that this was what he had been waiting for ever since Jeremy had shown him the Nelson forty. A thunderstorm.
“Wood, get in here!” Hannah shouted from the barn.
He didn’t move, but stood in the pouring rain, watching the lightning dance across the sky, wondering if this storm could possibly be the vehicle that would take him back in time.
“Wood, come inside!” Again she screamed at him.
A bolt of lightning produced a crash of thunder that nearly shook the ground he stood on. As the storm crashed around him, he tried not to think about the wisdom of what he was about to do. If he was to return to 1876, he was going to have to risk his life.
Raindrops stung his skin, his heartbeat nearly choked him. He had to go back. To his sister. To the life he knew. He hesitated only a moment, then headed for an ash tree.
“Wood, what are you doing? Come inside, don’t stand under the tree,” Hannah screamed at him but he paid no attention. “Wood, get in here,” she ordered him.
Again lightning flashed and thunder crashed. He thought about his sister, then he looked toward the barn and saw Hannah. She was running toward him, a look of panic on her face. When she reached him, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into the barn.
Her clothing soaked, her hair plastered to her head and water dripping over her face, she panted as she said, “Are you nuts! Don’t you know how dangerous it is to be out in a storm and to stand beneath a tree?” She made a sound of disbelief and turned away.
“I’m sorry, Hannah. I—” Wood tried to apologize but she cut him off, spinning around to face him.
“Just when I start to think you’re a normal guy you go and do something so stupid!” she shouted.
He tried to pull her into his arms, but she jerked away from his touch. “Oh, no you don’t. You stay away from me, Wood Dumler.”
“Hannah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“That’s the third time you’ve kissed me and it’s going to be the last,” she declared emotionally. “I am your boss and you will not forget it.” She took several steps backward, then added, “Now when this rain is ended, you will sweep out the corn bins and you’d better pray that the crop hasn’t been ruined because if it is, I won’t need you, and you’ll be history.” With those parting words, she spun around and went to the opposite end of t
he barn to wait out the storm.
Wood could only shake his head. If only she knew that he truly was history. Or was he? As he stared out at the stormy skies, he realized that he was more of a misfit than anything else. He didn’t fit in the twentieth century yet he couldn’t get back to the nineteenth.
And for the first time since he had discovered that he had time traveled through one hundred and twenty-two years he faced another dilemma. Did he want to go back to his old life? One look at Hannah reminded him that life in the twentieth century had something he never had found in 1876. A woman he could love.
Chapter Nine
True to her word, Gabby gave Wood driving lessons. After the first session Wood figured it probably would have been easier to go to the driving school rather than learn from a woman who called the turn signal that blinkie thing and got confused as to which position was reverse and which was drive on the shift lever.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Wood wanted to visit the historical society, he wouldn’t have risked learning to operate Gabby’s car. However, he knew that the only way he could go without arousing suspicion would be to go alone. And without any other means of transportation, he had no choice but to accept Gabby’s offer.
Wood had checked out several books from the library, including one on meteorology which explained the causes and effects of lightning. Instead of giving him hope of finding a way to use lightning to travel through time, he had only become more doubtful that he would survive should that be the vehicle to take him back.
In Wood’s stack of books were several biographies of Jesse James as well as eyewitness accounts of the James Gang’s raid on the bank of Northfield. Nowhere did he find any mention of his sister.
So far his search for information on his sister had been fruitless. From a visit to the county courthouse he had learned that there were no death records for a Hannah Elizabeth Harris or a James Woodson Harris.
Wood knew the historical society might be his last hope. Although Gabby had offered to take him there once harvest was over, Wood knew he couldn’t wait. He left a note for Hannah and borrowed the keys to Gabby’s car.
Wood wasn’t sure which was the greater risk—driving an automobile on roads he had never traveled, or skipping out on working for Hannah. However, once he was at the historical society, he forgot about both. It was there he found the personal diaries of the Nelson family. Wood avidly searched for any mention of his sister Hannah. It was there in a journal entry dated September 22, 1876.
It was written by George Nelson’s son, a doctor who had returned home from New York after his father’s death to settle his estate. He wrote that he had met the woman of his dreams, a Miss Hannah Harris from St. Louis, Missouri. There was only that one entry. Nothing more.
Wood read on, hoping to find another mention of what happened to Edward Nelson. Had he courted Hannah and made her his wife? Was she living as a doctor’s wife in New York? They were questions which haunted Wood, as did his own fate.
The only mention of George Nelson’s murder occurred in an entry where Edward stated that his parents’ murderer had escaped justice. Did that mean that Wood was still the person they thought had killed them?
Wood was about to leave the history center when he noticed a museum display titled “Making Journalism History.” Curious, Wood stepped inside. In the center of the room were various printing presses. Also on display were typewriters and telegraphs and other office furniture from the early days of publishing.
Lining the walls were front pages of newspapers throughout Minnesota’s history. Wood paused under the numbers 1876 and his heart nearly stopped. There on the front of the St. Paul Tribune was his photograph beneath a headline that read, “Missouri banker suspected of killing two.”
Wood would have read the entire article, but a couple of women were about to step beside him. Worried that they’d recognize him, he left the display and returned to the resource room. Within minutes, the information clerk had shown him how to find the microfiche of the newspaper and make a photocopy of the article. Wood folded the paper, tucked it in his pocket and took it back to the farm.
HANNAH WAS GOING to fire Wood. The man was out of his mind. He had to be. Ever since he had arrived at her farm he had pulled one crazy stunt after another. Now today he had left her high and dry. And for what? To run personal errands? From what he had told her, he didn’t have a personal life. So where had he spent the day?
While Gabby prepared dinner, Hannah paced in the kitchen while she waited for his return. Fuming. Fussing. Ready for a fight.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have left if it wasn’t important,” Gabby said in Wood’s defense.
“Nothing is more important to me than getting that crop in,” Hannah tossed at her. “Or have you forgotten that we could lose the farm if we don’t get it to market?”
“We’re not going to lose the farm,” Gabby said with an annoying calmness. “If I know Wood, he’ll work twice as hard tomorrow to make up for today.”
What Hannah didn’t need was for her aunt to defend the man she was about to can.
Only she didn’t fire Wood. She couldn’t. When he walked through the kitchen door, looking like a stray puppy in need of a place to lay his head, Hannah’s anger dissolved. She couldn’t hit a man when he was down—and he definitely was down. He looked as if he had lost a huge battle.
But it wasn’t just sympathy that kept Hannah from letting him go. Another emotion had coursed through her when he had walked through the door. Relief. Ever since she had found his note that morning she had harbored the fear that he might simply drive away in Gabby’s car and never return. It was a possibility she hadn’t wanted to face. And not because she’d be shorthanded for harvest. Or because he had Gabby’s car.
She wanted him to be a part of her life. And that was a problem for a woman determined to rely on no man.
“I would be grateful if you could forgive me for my absence.” His voice was flat, his face expressionless.
“I needed you today, Wood. Where were you?” There was no anger in Hannah’s voice, just concern.
“I would appreciate you not inquiring about my personal life,” he answered politely.
“I believe I have a right to know when it affects your work here at the farm,” she kept her voice even, despite feeling hurt by his reply.
They stood facing each other until Gabby stepped between them. “It’s time for dinner. I’m sure Wood will feel more like talking after he’s had something to eat.”
Hannah didn’t think so, judging by the look on his face. Although he said nothing as to his whereabouts, he did behave like the gentleman he always was at dinner. Despite her request that he not treat her like a lady, he pulled out her chair for her, then fussed over Gabby in his usual manner.
“We’ll need to work after dinner,” Hannah announced.
“Wood, you look tired,” Gabby remarked, giving Hannah a look that asked how she could even suggest such a thing.
“I am capable of working this evening, ma’am,” he answered.
“What about my game? Last night you said Wood could play basketball with me after dinner,” Jeremy reminded his mother. “You promised.”
Hannah had always made it a point not to break her word to Jeremy. Therefore, she had no choice but to agree to one hour. “But only one hour,” she specified.
While Hannah and Gabby cleared away the dishes, Wood and Jeremy played basketball. As much as she tried to avoid glancing outside, Hannah was at the window more than she was the sink. Jeremy patiently demonstrated different shots to Wood, who listened with the same attentiveness he always gave Hannah whenever she explained the work around the farm.
“They’re having fun, aren’t they?” Gabby commented as the sound of laughter spilled into the kitchen.
“Jeremy loves basketball,” Hannah said wistfully.
“He likes Wood. Go ahead. Admit it.”
Hannah sighed. “Yes, he .likes Wood. There. I’ve said it. Are y
ou satisfied?” She stepped around her great-aunt to retrieve the broom from the closet.
Gabby grinned smugly and folded her apron neatly before slipping it into a drawer. “It’s good for Jeremy to have a man around the house.”
Hannah paused in the middle of her sweeping, leaning on the broom handle to ask, “I’m not going to fire him. Are you satisfied?”
“You’d be foolish to let him go when you don’t know how long Barry will be gone. Besides, he fits in here. I know you don’t want to admit it, but he does.”
Hannah was beginning to think Wood might fit in at the farm. It seemed crazy to her that she should want to trust someone who had arrived under such bizarre circumstances and had exhibited rather odd behavior, but the truth was, despite everything, her intuition told her Wood was a good man. However, she wasn’t quite ready to admit that to Gabby.
“We both know you’re going to have to replace Barry. Why can’t that someone be Wood?”
“Oh, Gabby, it’s not as simple as you think,” Hannah said on a sigh.
“Oh, I think it is,” she said with a giddy look on her face. “He’s a man of character. It’s there in his nose.”
Hannah hoped her aunt was right.
WOOD WAS NOT HAPPY with the way history remembered him. He wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer or even a thief, which is what the newspaper article had insinuated. His mysterious disappearance left a cloud of suspicion that had folks not remembering that he had been a man of integrity whom they’d often turned to for help, but wondering if he had stolen and killed to save his sister.
Not the way any man would choose to be remembered. If there was one word that he would want etched on his tombstone it would be honest.
Not that it mattered now. There probably was no tombstone. Why would there be? With the exception of a couple of cousins in Chicago, Hannah was his only kin. More than likely his disappearance had simply emancipated her from what she regarded as an interfering brother. She certainly wouldn’t search for him the way he had searched for her.
Falling off that horse and through time may have saved him from death, but it had put him in a predicament no man would envy. Using another man’s identity and deceiving the people who had shown him kindness. What irony it was—in 1876 he had lived as an honest man only to be regarded as a man without honor. Now in 1998, he lived a lie yet Gabby regarded him as an honest man.
Mail Order Cowboy (Harlequin American Romance) Page 14