The Last Cavalier

by Heather Graham

  One thing she knew for certain, though, and she should have realized it from the beginning. No matter what she told him—and whether he believed her or not—he wouldn’t act against her in any way. She was going to have to put some faith in him.

  Either that, or gag Jason. She wasn’t sure that that was possible.

  She felt like laughing hysterically. She actually smiled at Jason. “A spaceship. You know, flying around in outer space. Men have walked on the moon, you see.”

  He shook his head. “Men have walked on the moon?”

  She nodded gravely, still smiling. This was so ridiculous. There were moments when she couldn’t fathom the fact that she had decided to believe all this herself. She looked at her grandfather.

  “He’s from the war, Gramps. The real one.”

  Gramps sank into his chair quickly, staring up at Jason. “‘The war. The real one,’” he repeated.

  “Before God, sir, it’s the truth,” Jason said. He spoke softly, but there was a passion in his voice that rang sincere. Gramps stared at Vickie. She stared back.

  He shook his bald head, at a loss. “How?” he said at last. “You know…that just can’t be.”

  “But it is,” Jason assured him. “And I don’t know how, not exactly. I think that there is some kind of a doorway within the arch of a number of trees. I think that I’ve been through it twice, and I’m convinced that I can find it again. I don’t think I really believe all of this myself, except that I’ve come from a raging battle to see dozens of horseless carriages lined up in a field. Now I’ve seen strange lights and that thing you call a refrigerator or freezer. It really can’t be true. I don’t believe any of it—except that it’s happened to me.”

  Gramps was just staring at him. Vickie held her breath. Then Gramps began to speak slowly. “If such a thing were going to happen—and I’m not saying for a minute that it has—the time would be right. These are the exact same days in which the battle and skirmishes were fought all those years ago. They’ve even fallen the same—Sunday is Sunday, and so forth. The weather is the same, the place is the same,” Gramps murmured. “And there were storms. Strange and powerful electrical storms, like we’re having now. So maybe, if a door were to open, it would open now.”

  “So you believe him?” Vickie breathed.

  “I didn’t say that at all!” Gramps warned her. He stared at Jason, frowning. “By the saints!” he muttered suddenly. “If what you’re telling me is true, then…to you, it has all just begun. Stonewall is yet to come in to fight here. He’s yet to—”

  “Die,” Jason said flatly.

  “And the war—”

  “Is yet to be lost,” Jason finished.

  Gramps nodded. “I’m sorry, young fellow. Truly sorry.”

  “I’m going to go back,” Jason said. “I’m going to find the passageway. It exists. I was there, I know I was there. But we were outnumbered, and Vickie was with me. I didn’t dare stay. But I must go back.”

  Gramps was shaking his head suddenly, vehemently.

  “No. The South loses. It would be foolish for you to go back. And maybe that passageway is gone now. Have you thought of that? It has to be an extraordinary happening. If such things do open, then they must close, too.”

  Vickie clenched her teeth suddenly, fighting the chill that had seized her. There were moments when she truly questioned her sanity and wondered if she had imagined the events on the mountainside. There couldn’t really be Yankees; they couldn’t really have been shooting at her.

  But even that battlefield hadn’t been as frightening as the feel of the wind. Gramps was right—if there was a passageway from one time to another, it certainly was extraordinary. And if it opened—it would close. It was filled with a strange, dangerous violence, with a wild wind, with a frightening, gripping chill. It had seemed to enclose her as if it wanted to hold her there, in the wind and wicked darkness, forever.

  She stared at Jason and spoke very softly, “Gramps is right. The South loses. What is there for you to go back for? Think about it, Jason. There’s nothing back there except for fear and horror and…maybe death.”

  “I have to go back,” Jason said firmly.

  Gramps arched a brow high. “You’ve got a wife?” he said suspiciously.

  “My wife is dead.”

  “Don’t go back,” Gramps insisted.

  “He’s right!” Vickie cried. “What’s back there for you? Loss and pain. You can’t change things—”

  “Maybe I can.”

  They were all silent for a minute. Maybe he could change things, with what he knew now.

  And what would that mean?

  “You can’t—tamper—with history.”

  “I have to go back. My brother is caught on that mountain, somewhere back in time, dying.”

  “Wounded?” Gramps said.

  Jason nodded. Gramps drummed his fingers on the table. Then he jumped up suddenly. “Maybe you can do something. Maybe you can’t. It’s darn sure, though, that you can’t find your way back now. Dusk is almost here, and it goes black on the mountaintop after that. I’ve got to go out. Vickie, let him finish his beer. Draw him a nice hot bath. Give him some clean clothing to wear. I’ll be back by the time you’re both spruced up.”

  “Where are you going?” Vickie demanded.

  “To the library. And now, you—Never mind! I’ll see you soon. Real soon.” He started out, but paused at the door, looking back. “I’m not saying I believe a word of this, you know!”

  Then he was gone. Vickie stared after him, then hurried to catch up. She left the taproom, came back into the entry of the house and stood by the screen door.

  There was Gramps, patting Max on the nose. She felt Jason behind her. They both watched while Gramps inspected Max’s feet, then patted him on the nose again.

  “What is he doing?” Vickie murmured softly.

  “Looking at the way he’s shod. Inspecting the saddle and the saddlebags. He’s a smart old fellow,” Jason said. He was quiet for a minute. “Imagine. He believed in me right away,” he said softly.

  Vickie swung around. He was standing so close behind her that she was less than an inch away from him when she faced him. His warmth seemed to flood over her. She could feel the magical energy of his strength, feel his heat. He was impossible, unerringly courteous, so damned protective, it was irritating. No, it wasn’t really irritating. It was different. And if she admitted it, she had been loved like that once before. Maybe it had been the twentieth century, but Brad had loved her like that, the way in which he cast himself between her and danger at all times. She was a twentieth-century woman, but that feeling of being cherished was a good one.

  And maybe it didn’t matter, with a man, just what era he’d come from. Jason Tarkenton was stubborn, set and determined.

  But she didn’t want him to go away. It was incredible. He had become so very much to her so quickly.

  She swallowed hard. He was going back, with first light. When he could find his archway through time. No matter how extraordinary—or frightening—it was. And she had to let him go. He came from a world where battle still roared. He had lived all of his life believing that honor and loyalty were everything. She couldn’t stop him from going.

  And neither could she be sorry that he had come.

  “Gramps is very special,” she said quietly. “I owe him everything. He has always been there for me.” She was suddenly convinced that she would burst into the strangest outpouring of tears if she wasn’t careful. She pushed against his chest, determined to get by him. “I’ll get some clothes for you. Brad was about your size—”

  “Brad?”

  “My husband. There’s a bathroom at the top of the stairs, towels are in the linen closet in the hallway. Go on up and I’ll find you something. If you’re going to go back, you can leave with a full stomach, a hot bath and a good night’s sleep behind you. Maybe that will help you change history.”

  He was staring at her. He winced, and she saw
the pain and worry in his eyes. She knew that he was feeling a certain guilt for having strayed so far from his brother.

  But she knew, too, that he was also fascinated by the time that he was spending with her.

  “Jason!” she murmured suddenly.

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve got to start—”

  A tawny brow arched high. “I’ve got to start what?” he demanded.

  “I’m not helpless. I can take care of myself. You have to start being—careful.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You don’t have to protect me so much, that’s all.”

  He lifted her chin, staring into her blue eyes. “I can’t change the truth, and I’m sorry. I found it impossible to lie to a man like your grandfather—and I’m sorry again. Where I come from, we honor our commitments.”

  “But you can’t honor anything, don’t you see?” Vickie whispered. “Because you’re going back!”

  He stepped away from her. Maybe that was a truth that he had never seen. “I have to,” he murmured painfully.

  No! Vickie’s heart seemed to cry. There had to be a way for him not to go back.

  He suddenly lifted a piece of hair from her face, smoothing his knuckles over her cheek.

  “Then there’s nothing to honor.”

  “Maybe there is.”

  “How—?”

  “You could come back with me,” he said.

  “What?” she barely formed the word.

  He smiled. “I guess not. I’m going back to a war—and a country that loses that war. And through…through that tunnel. You’ve got hot dogs and microwaves. It would be incredibly foolish, wouldn’t it?” He paused a moment, then brushed her lips tenderly with his. “This bathroom of yours is at the top of the stairs?” he asked.

  She nodded. He turned around then and silently followed the instructions she had given him before, walking up the stairs to the second floor of the house.

  She let out a long breath, watched him go and then hurried up the stairs behind him.

  Take care of things, she thought. Don’t think!

  She had given most of Brad’s things to charities when he had been killed, but there were still a number of his jeans and shirts in the back bedroom. She didn’t sleep there. She hadn’t slept near anything of his once he had died, not since the night she had cried all night because she’d had one of his shirts in her hands. That had been a long time ago now. She could do this.

  She found a comfortable worn pair of light blue jeans and a tailored cotton shirt in a soft warm maroon. She walked down the hall to the front bathroom and suddenly heard an oath explode.

  “Jesu!”

  There was a burst of water.

  She knocked lightly and opened the door. He was stripped of his uniform with a white towel knotted around his waist and for a second it seemed that her heart stopped, then plummeted onward again. Bronzed and so taut-muscled. She felt a flare of color rushing to her cheeks. She itched to touch him. Longed to open her mouth and say that she was so very afraid that she had missed something before, could she please inspect him from head to toe.

  He didn’t seem to notice that she was staring at him. “How do you manage these damned things?” he inquired of the faucets.

  She smiled, and turned them both down. “Bath or shower?” she asked him.

  A spark touched his eyes. His lips curled up slowly. “Well, I don’t know. That depends. Are you joining me or not?” His hands were upon her. Touching her shoulders. Drawing her near to him. And then his mouth was on hers. She could feel the fire burning his flesh, the strength in his fingers. She stroked his arms, his chest, felt the fever seep like lava into her body, warming her, with each liquid sweep and caress of his tongue.

  Oh, yes…!

  He drew her closer and closer, molding her to his length. She could feel the muscled pressure of his thighs against hers, despite the towel, despite her dress. She could feel more. Insinuative, explicit, exciting. The rise of his desire, hard and pressing, against her. Sweetness reaching around her, creating a stirring hunger. She returned his kiss, hungry, wanting more….

  She could feel the tension that suddenly gripped his body. The shudder that seemed to shake him from head to toe.

  And he groaned, deep in his throat.

  And then suddenly, he was pressing her away from him.

  “Oh,” he breathed, eyes a silver fire that riddled her.

  She shook her head.

  “It’s your grandfather’s house,” he said quietly.

  She stepped back herself. Gramps would understand. Probably. She was well over twenty-one. He knew that she knew all about the birds and the bees. He’d known that she’d been married….

  And he’d been longing to find the right someone to match her up with for ages.

  But this was his house. And he might be back any minute. And it was simply a matter of…

  Respect. The kind of thing that meant so very much to Jason Tarkenton.

  A shudder ripped through her. No. She couldn’t let him leave without touching him again. Without being held in his arms. Without creating another memory to hold fast to through the lonely nights that stretched ahead.

  She knotted her fingers into her palms at her sides. She was not reaching out for him. She swung around. “I’ve a shower in my room. I’ll see you downstairs.” She indicated the pile of Brad’s clothing. “I hope these things fit you. There’s a one-hour cleaner in town. We can get your things back tonight.”

  “A cleaner?”

  She shook her head. “A laundry.”

  She closed the bathroom door thoughtfully. It was good that he was going! They didn’t even speak the same language; they just thought that they did.

  Vickie hurried down the hallway to her bedroom and into her own bathroom. She stripped off her long dress and stepped blindly into the shower, jumping when a cold wall of water came down upon her.

  The water was startling, cleansing.

  It helped. A little.

  Go back with him….

  That was impossible. Absolutely. Blindly she found the soap. Mechanically she began to wash.

  Impossible! He didn’t understand, truly couldn’t understand. This world had penicillin, pasteurized milk.

  AIDS. Bombs that could kill a million people in one single explosion….

  This world had Gramps in it, and that was all that mattered.

  But maybe she could convince Jason to stay. Maybe Gramps had found some records. Maybe…

  Maybe he could prove that John Tarkenton would live whether Jason went back or not. Could such a thing be?

  She didn’t know.

  She stepped from the shower, toweling herself strenuously. She walked on into her bedroom, dug through her drawers and found soft old jeans and a pink knit shirt. She had barely crawled into the clothing when she heard something pelting against her window.

  She walked to it, drawing back the drapes.

  Jason was down there. She opened the window.

  He had looked striking in his cavalry clothing, tall, commanding, assured.

  Yet, in a way, he was more striking now. His tawny hair remained long and shaggy, just curling over the collar of the tailored shirt. The worn jeans hugged his form, trim hips, long hard legs. His hands were shoved into the pockets. The shirt was opened a button or two at his throat.

  His eyes were alight, startlingly silver. And he was smiling. For once the incredible tension was gone. In the twilight below her, he could have easily been of her world, a part of it.

  No, for the way that her heart leapt, it seemed that he was her world at the moment.

  He smiled at her, his lips curling slowly, ruefully.

  “I wouldn’t feel right about the house,” he said softly. “But I noticed a great barn out here. Clean, sweet-smelling hay. Good blankets.”

  She stared down at him blankly for a moment, wishing that she could freeze him there.

  For all time.

  “Well, all right,�
� he continued, “maybe I’m being a little presumptuous. And then again…” He paused, and then his voice was deep and husky and passionate when he continued. “And then again, maybe I can’t quite make myself care if I’m being presumptuous or not. There’s the very good possibility that I might run back up the stairs and burst into your room. And carry you on out to see just how wonderful that old barn can be.”

  She inhaled sharply. Her knees were trembling. She closed her eyes for a moment. She should have been thinking that he was wearing Brad’s clothes.

  She had loved Brad so very much. She hadn’t even managed a decent dinner with anyone else.

  Until now.

  And Brad, she thought, would be glad.

  “Vickie!”

  She moistened her lips.

  He started to turn. “I’m coming up!” he warned her.

  Her fingers gripped the windowsill. “No! No!”

  He paused.

  She smiled, biting into her lip. “I’m coming down!” she called softly, and spun quickly away to do so.

  CHAPTER SIX

  There were wonderful, incredible things to this new world.

  None of them was more wonderful than Vickie.

  Jason saw her slow smile at the window, and he saw her turn. He turned his eyes to the door of the old house—old by either of their standards—and he waited for her to emerge.

  In seconds, she did so, the wealth of her hair streaming behind her, catching the last drops of sun, shimmering with red lights. She was wearing pants now, the same manner of pants he was wearing himself, and they hugged her hips, outlining with a fascinating clarity their curve and shape, the length of her legs, the subtle slimness and agility of her.

  Hmm. So that was progress. People had ceased to wear as much clothing.

  On Vickie, it was progress, he determined.

  And as she approached him, he discovered again that everything else faded, the reality of a war that disappeared, the numbing incredulity that he had stepped into a different time. Everything faded for those precious moments, everything but the uniqueness of the woman.