“Never heard of that, either,” Jake mused. “And what’s a TV?”
Alaynia rolled her eyes skyward and breathed out an infuriated breath. Though massive trees shaded each side of the dirt road, the sun beat down mercilessly on the opening where she stood. She glanced over at Shain, who sat a dozen feet away on his huge, black horse. His hair hadn’t frazzled in the heat. Indeed, she didn’t even see one bead of sweat on his face.
He raised his eyebrows inquiringly, firing her anger further, and Alaynia clamped her teeth shut before she could childishly stick out her tongue at him. Realizing Jake had moved, she turned to see him poking his head inside the driver’s door.
“Look,” she said to Jake’s bent back, deciding to ignore his idiotic question about a television. “Will you please just take me to the nearest phone so I can call Triple-A? My cell phone’s on the blink, too.”
“Which thing’s that?” Jake asked over his shoulder.
“That black receiver on the seat!” Alaynia almost screamed.
Jake backed out of the car with her phone in his hand. “This?”
At Alaynia’s nod, he turned the phone over and over, then pushed a couple of the buttons. She snatched it away from him and held it up to his ear.
“See?” she said. “There’s just static.”
“Sorry,” Jake said with a shake of his head. “Unless my ears are getting bad, like my eyes, I don’t hear a thing.”
Alaynia pressed the phone to her ear. Dead silence. She lowered it, pushed the On button, and tried again. Silence.
Tossing the phone past Jake, onto the seat, she said, “Figures. Do you have a telephone at your place I can use?” When Jake stared at her with a contemplative look, she softened her tone. “Please?”
“Miss ... Alaynia, did Shain say your name was?”
“Alaynia Mirabeau, and I apologize for acting like such a bitch,” she replied, noticing Jake’s frown of disapproval the instant she uttered her last word. “What’s wrong now?”
“Well, you have to admit, Miss Mirabeau, that your language is rather ... ah ... colorful for a lady.”
“I’m hot and tired, damn it! All I want right now is to get back to my hotel and soak in the bathtub. Forget this day ever happened and start all over again tomorrow.”
“Have to go to Chenaie if you want a tub bath,” Jake told her, a speculative gleam in his eyes. “Zeke and I make do with a wooden wash barrel. And you’re not going to like me saying this, but I’ve got no idea where the closest telephone is. Where in the world did you come from, Miss Mirabeau?”
“Boston,” Alaynia said with a tired sigh. “And I wish I’d never left.”
“What year?” Jake asked.
“What ... what year? Why on earth do you want to know that?”
“What year?” Jake repeated patiently.
Alaynia bit her bottom lip worriedly and backed away a step. Crazy. Crazy Jake, and he was just as crazy as the man sitting behind her on that huge horse, wearing outdated clothing.
“Miss Mirabeau,” Jake said soothingly. “There are no telephones right now—just telegraphs. And no horseless carriages like your car here. I’m working on a steam-powered harvest machine to use in the hay fields, but it’ll be a while before I’m ready to apply for a patent on it. Miss Mirabeau, the year right now is 1875.”
“No,” Alaynia breathed, shaking her head and holding her hands out in denial. Good God, he sounded serious. “It’s 2005. I’ve got proof. I’ll show you!”
She shoved past Jake and bent inside the car to grab her briefcase, then ducked back out of the car in time to see Jake gesture to Shain. Shain dismounted and, after tying the horse’s reins around a nearby bush, sauntered up to the car. She swung the door shut and laid the briefcase on the car roof.
“Here.” Alaynia turned with the sheaf of papers in her hands, shaking them under Jake’s nose. “Here’s the deed to Chenaie that Miss Tilda’s lawyer sent me.” She shuffled through the papers to the last page and held it out. “See? Right there, the date. It says June 29, 2005. It’s signed by her lawyer as personal representative of Miss Tilda’s estate. He recorded it and sent me a copy.”
Shain stared over Jake’s shoulder. “That’s what it says, Jake. What do you make of it?”
“I’m no lawyer,” Jake replied, “but a 2005 deed doesn’t seem to me to be worth the paper it’s written on in 1875.”
“Damn it, it’s 2005!” Alaynia said with a stamp of her foot. She turned her glare on Shain, but he shook his head in both rejection of her assertion and confirmation of Jake’s contention.
“Miss Mirabeau, have you been assisting someone who’s working on a time travel machine?” Jake asked. “If so, I’d be mighty interested in spending a while with you before you return to wherever you came from.”
For a brief second, Alaynia closed her eyes. The combination of the heat, her dead car, and the frustration of having to deal with two males obviously trying to delude her drained her stamina totally. What on earth could they be getting out of trying to scare her like that? They had their act down so pat, she’d even felt a tinge of belief for a second.
Opening her eyes, she said stubbornly, “It’s 2005. You two can cut the crap now. One of you go call a mechanic for me, or else get the hell out of my way so I can go myself.”
Jake stepped in front of her in a movement Alaynia took as threatening rather than protective. She gasped in fear, stared past the smaller man at the larger barrier Shain’s muscular body made to any escape attempt she might make, and fell back against the car door. She covered her face with trembling hands, but despite her attempt to trap it in her throat, a sob escaped. Another one followed, and she clenched her fingers tighter, tears continuing to trickle past her hold.
* * * *
“Damn it, don’t.” Shain moved around Jake and pulled Alaynia into his arms. She buried her head against his chest, shoulders heaving and sobs escalating, and he glanced helplessly at Jake as he patted her on the back.
Jake’s explanation made about as much sense as anything he’d heard so far. She had appeared out of thin air—amid a screech and cacophony of sound and smell that defied any other rationalization. She hadn’t passed Fitzroy on her journey—the carpetbagger’s horse would have bolted back toward Chenaie, if it had encountered her car.
He didn’t believe some of the rumors circulating about Chenaie, but Jake seemed definite about the possibility of this time travel concept. The things she had with her—how could they be explained otherwise? Her clothing—or rather lack of it. His palm brushed the bare skin on her back, the jolt of sensation triggering his groin’s tightening and the swelling against his trouser front once again. Damn, did all women where she came from exude the type of sexuality that could bring a man to readiness so quickly—or was there something special flowing between the two of them?
He groaned under his breath and, after a glance at the thing on the ground she’d called a cooler, shifted his leg around to position it between her thighs as he continued to hold her. She snuggled even closer, and the hot streak of desire spread from his groin through the rest of his body. Only Jake’s presence kept him from making a total fool of himself as a vision of her spread out on the back seat of that car with her bare legs wrapped around his waist flashed through his mind.
With a supreme effort, he dredged up some semblance of control. “She’s had too much to handle today,” he told Jake in a quiet voice. “I’d better take her to Chenaie. Do you really think she got here through a time machine?”
Alaynia pushed back in Shain’s arms and pounded on his chest. “I. Flew. Here. On. A. Plane!” She punctuated each word with a thump, swiped the heels of her hands beneath her streaming eyes, and continued, “I stayed at a hotel in Baton Rouge last night and rented a car this morning from Hertz! I was supposed to meet Miss Tilda’s lawyer at ten o’clock, but I got lost! I ... I ...”
Suddenly Alaynia’s mouth dropped open and her tear-misted blue eyes stared up at Shain, f
illed with deepening alarm. “The mirage. It ... it couldn’t have been. Could it?”
“What mirage?” Shain asked.
After a calming breath, Alaynia appeared to get a slight measure of control over her emotions again. Instead of replying to Shain, she looked down the road at the wagon. The dappled mule was on its feet, and the elderly black man stroked its neck.
She turned toward Crazy Jake, who met her gaze without evasion, paying close attention to every word she spoke. That left Shain, and he stood patiently as she cautiously removed his arms from her waist and stepped back to study him.
Then she pinched her wrist severely.
“Don’t do that!” Shain grabbed her hand and held it. “You’ve already got enough scratches and bruises on yourself.” He tenderly traced a darkening spot on her arm. “What happened there?”
“I hit it on the cooler when I fell,” she answered distractedly.
Shain placed a finger under her chin and gently drew her gaze to his. “You’ve had a rough day, Alaynia,” he said quietly. “I’ll take you to Chenaie, and you can rest. Get a bath and something to eat. But I’m afraid you’re still going to have to wait out of sight until I can get you something decent to wear from my sister, Jeannie.”
And as soon as he got her off his hands at the manor house, he was going to turn right back around and have a nice, long, private talk with Jake. Either the inventor had gone completely bonkers, or maybe, just maybe, Jake was right. After all, Jake had come up with his explanation without even seeing Alaynia’s arrival himself, though he had informed the inventor of the aspects of it.
* * * *
Alaynia’s mind whirled. Better to just go along with them. Find some way to get back to Baton Rouge and sanity. Maybe that old black man will take me in his wagon.
Shain’s clothing reminded her of what those almost-too-handsome-to-be-real men wore on the covers of the historical romance novels she loved to read. The first thing she had thought of when she received the letter notifying her that she was the sole surviving heir of Miss Tilda’s estate had been how exciting it would be to actually live in one of those old Southern mansions.
But not in the actual year of one of the time periods she enjoyed reading about!
This had to be some sort of farce. She was probably still lying over there in her car—knocked unconscious despite the airbag.
She hesitantly looked over at the car seat, almost expecting to see a twin to her own body slumped over the wheel. Empty. Well, shoot, yes, the seat was empty. She’d been in and out of it a dozen times today. That didn’t mean anything, though. She never saw herself in her dreams—she only experienced the sensations in the nighttime delusions.
Mentally exhausted with trying to battle her confusion and ever-increasing fear, she had no choice but to go along with the charade the men were obviously acting out—at least until she could get back to ...
Back to where? her mind asked. Surely she wasn’t starting to believe that crazy inventor. Somewhere there had to be a sane person in all this madness.
“What—?” Alaynia cleared her dry throat. “What sort of clothing does your sister wear?”
“Like I said, something decent,” Shain replied. “Something that covers her up ten times more than what you’re wearing.”
Alaynia stiffly brushed his hands aside and walked over to the car. She reached inside for her key ring and carried it with her to the trunk, where she inserted it in the lock and twisted it. The trunk lid lifted to expose a clutter of garment bags, suitcases, and boxes. She pulled her large suitcase toward her and unsnapped the clasps.
“I had Patti, a seamstress friend of mine, make these for me before I left Boston,” she said. “I had some stupid idea that I’d feel more at home in Miss Tilda’s house dressed like a simpering Southern belle.”
She removed a light, cotton, floor-length gown covered in tiny, pink rosebuds and shook it out before she held it up in front of her. “Will this do?” she asked Shain.
“Do you have some petticoats and proper underthings?”
“I am not going to swelter myself in this heat,” Alaynia said with a determined tilt of her chin. “And, before you ask, I did not bring a corset with me. Patti also makes costumes for some of the playhouse wardrobe mistresses, and I tried one of those damn things on once. You can forget that! No wonder Southern women were always swooning. I’ve even read that corsets were the reason so many women died in childbirth. The blasted things were laced so tight they sometimes broke women’s ribs and they healed crooked. Broke again in childbirth.”
“Can you maybe tone down your language a little?” Shain asked in an amused voice. “Southern women don’t curse.”
“I’ll try,” Alaynia promised as she looked around for a place to change clothes. “Think you guys could turn your backs?”
“I’m glad to see modesty has still survived in the future,” Shain said with a chuckle as he complied.
Glancing around the trunk lid, Alaynia saw that Jake had returned to his eager examination of the engine compartment and had his head buried inside it again. Still, she kept the trunk lid raised while she slipped off her soiled clothing and shimmied into the gown. One thing she had insisted that Patti change from actual adherence to earlier fashion was zippers instead of buttons up the backs of the gowns. She managed to slide the gown closed on her own, then lifted the hem to stare at her shoes.
She had two pair of flimsy slippers in the bag, which she had bought after studying some old Godey’s Lady’s Books, Peterson’s, and Graham’s that Patti loaned her from the theater’s research material—and a pair of riding boots to match the habit Patti had made for her. The long gown would cover her footwear, though. After glancing at Shain’s back, she dug in another bag for her running shoes and replaced her heels with them. Smoothing the dress skirt, she called around the trunk lid, “I’m ready. Will you at least take my bags with you?”
“Maybe you’d better just put what you think you’ll need in that one large case there,” Shain replied. “We’ll have Jake drop that one off at Chenaie, and take the rest of your things over to his place.”
“Why?” Alaynia demanded. “I’ll need my clothing, and it’s scattered through all my bags.”
“You better just pick out the clothing you say you had your friend make and whatever’s suitable for our servants to see. They’re in and out of the bedrooms cleaning.”
Alaynia muttered her dislike of his mandate, but bent back into the trunk and spent a few minutes transferring articles into the large suitcase. When she finally snapped it shut, she inserted her luggage key and locked the case. Swiping backhanded at the beads of sweat covering her forehead, she lifted the heavy suitcase to the ground and slammed the trunk shut.
“Miss Mirabeau?” Jake walked up to them, seeming unaware of her change in attire. “I’d be glad to borrow another mule from Shain and tow your machine to my place. Keep it for you until you’re ready to use it again.”
“It’s not going to do me any good like that,” Alaynia said. “Go ahead. But I want all my things kept safe.”
“I’ll take care of them.” Jake rubbed his hands together, probably in anticipation of having privacy to study the machine he for some reason thought came from the future. “And you can come over anytime you want to see your ... uh ... car.”
“I’ll do that,” Alaynia promised in a stern voice. “So don’t you dare remove anything from it—or take anything apart. Somehow, that thing’s got to get me out of here, after I figure out how it brought me here. Unless,” she added in a voice lacking conviction, “you two are willing to admit you’ve been making a fool of me about what year it is and help me get back to Baton Rouge.”
“I’m sorry, but it really is 1875,” Jake told her solemnly, though he couldn’t quite hide the excitement in his bright eyes. “But I promise that I’ll take very, very good care of your car.”
“Please do,” Alaynia breathed in tired resignation.
Jake turned away
and motioned to Shain. “Let me show you the engine in this thing,” he said. “Then we can load her things in the wagon.”
As soon as the men both bent their heads beneath the hood, Alaynia took a deep breath, hiked up her skirts, and ran.
Chapter 6
It had to be here somewhere. Alaynia kept running, eyes searching ahead of her for the mirage. Not that she really believed those demented men who thought she’d traveled through time, but the mirage had to be connected somehow to the confusing events of the past hours. It was the last thing she’d seen on the asphalt road, which just had to be here somewhere, too. Surely the paved highway would lead her back to sane civilization.
After several hundred yards, a stitch jabbed in her side. Darn it, her three-times-weekly jogs around the inside track at the air-conditioned health club hadn’t prepared her for the exertion of running through this heat. She jammed a hand against the pain in her side and kept going.
Her mind told her there was no way the asphalt road could be this far away—even traveling at highway speed, her car couldn’t have slid this distance. Sweat poured down her face and her chest heaved, her breasts straining against the tight dress bodice. Still the dirt road stretched ahead of her, and she passed no opening that could have been a driveway leading to a house somewhere.
Bright dots danced in front of her eyes, and Alaynia stumbled to a stop.
“Stupid,” she murmured around her gasps for breath. “You just suffered one bout in this heat, Mirabeau. Next thing you know, you’ll end up in a hospital.”
Even her head was pounding. Swaying unsteadily, she reached around and lifted her hair from the back of her neck to let the perspiration evaporate. The pounding grew louder, and she groaned under her breath as she recognized hoofbeats. As surely as though she had eyes in the back of her head, she knew what the noise meant. Turning, she faced the rider on the black horse defiantly.
Shain pulled the horse to a halt. He dangled the canteen he’d had when she woke up in his arms by the strap. Temptingly, he swung it back and forth.
Witch Angel Page 6