Looking for a Hero (11 page)

He leaned against the refrigerator and crossed his arms resolutely over his chest. “I wonder, Kate
…would you want to scream when no one believed that you'd traveled through time?”

“Time travel's impossible.”

“But what if it were not? How would you react?”

She shook her head. “I don't know.”

“Then I will tell you. You would find yourself amazed that something so incredible could happen. You would marvel at the differences between your time and the one you find yourself in. And then you would long for the things familiar to you. You would want, with all of your heart, for someone to believe you were telling the truth.”

For the longest time she stared over his shoulder at one of Casey's pictures stuck to the refrigerator, unable to meet his eyes. Her brain screamed at her not to believe in time travel, but her heart told her he was telling the truth. Finally she looked at him and tried to smile. “If I did believe you, what would you need from me?”

“I only wish to know more of your time. I need to know what happened between seventeen-oh-two and now. I need to know how I can go back.”

“Do you really want to leave?”

“My life is in the past, not here. If I can go back to my own time, I can teach others about the wondrous things here and now. Perhaps I could change what happened before.”

“And take the chance of altering the future?” she asked. “Not that I believe any of this is possible, but if you were to change things that happened
three hundred years ago, today might end up being different.”

“Have you considered the possibility that me coming forward in time has already altered what was to be?”

“I haven't thought about it at all. I don't want to think about it, either.” She turned to the window and stared out at the cloudy early evening sky. “I'd rather believe that you've had the sense knocked out of you, and that pretty soon you'll remember who you are.”

She heard his footsteps behind her. Felt him moving close. Could sense the heat of his body through the silk of her dress. “I am a pirate, Kate.” He moved to her side, and the ties at the front of his shirt brushed against her arm, sending an unexpected quiver through her stomach.

Tilting her head, she looked up into his intense blue eyes.

“I have taken lives,” he said. “I have burned villages, captured ships, and stolen precious gold and jewels.” He looked out the window, his gaze far away, as if he were seeing into the past. “At one time I was a gentleman. I was destined to be a landowner, a grower of sugar cane in the West Indies, but that life ended abruptly—and savagely.”

Again he looked at her. “I do not belong in your world, and I want to go back to mine. That is the truth, Kate, whether you choose to believe it or not.”

She sighed, concentrating on the intricate cross
resting on his chest, on the laces of his shirt, on the silver buckle on his belt. All his possessions looked as if they belonged in a museum, and he himself looked and acted like no modern man. With every passing moment, she was finding his far-fetched tale a little easier to believe.

“Okay, what do you want to know about first?” she asked. “The Revolutionary War? The Civil War? World Wars I and E?”

“Wars are nothing new to me and are of little interest at the moment. 'Tis your vehicle and the others I have seen that interest me now.”

Kate looked nonchalantly out the window at the faded green '57 Chevy parked in the garage. “It's just a car.”

“I know nothing of these
cars
except that they have no sails to catch the wind or horses to pull them. I would know how they move along the roads.”

“It's complicated, and I'm the last one on earth who could explain something so technical to you.”

“Then show me. Take me for a ride.” Morgan tugged on her hand, pulling her toward the kitchen door.

“You can't go out in public,” Kate exclaimed, coming to a dead stop at the threshold.

“And why not?”

“You're dressed like a pirate. People will stare.”

“'Tis no concern of mine what other people do.”

“Well, I care. I know too many people in this
town, and if they see me with you, they'll think I've lost my mind.”

His infectious laughter rumbled through the room. “Let them think what they will, Kate.” His hand tightened around hers as he pushed open the screen door.

“Wait a minute,” she said, tugging against his pull. “We can't go anywhere without keys, and I need my driver's license, and some money, and—”

He put a silencing finger to her lips, and a burning tingle raced through her insides. “You make too many excuses, Kate. Get your keys and the license you speak of, then meet me at the vehicle. There is much I want to see and do, and you are the only one I want to see and do these things with.”

His finger brushed lightly over her mouth, and just as abruptly as he'd stilled her words of protest, he drew his hand away and strolled from the house, letting the screen slam behind him.

Kate touched her lips, the place that still burned from his caress, and watched his resolute and powerful walk as he headed for the garage. She liked the movement of his long muscular legs, the power radiating from the wide set of his shoulders, and his hair, so thick and lustrous, hanging down his back.

A smile tugged at her mouth as she plucked her key ring from the rack mounted near the door. Being lonely was a far worse fate than spending
the evening with a gorgeous, although possibly deranged, pirate.

Morgan was sitting behind the big green steering wheel, tracing the glass-fronted speedometer and the temperature and fuel gauges when Kate entered the garage. His eyes were bright with wonder, like a little boy with a brand new toy. “'Tis a beautiful vehicle,” he said. “I am most eager to drive it.”

“Oh, no. You're not driving it anywhere.”

“I'll have you know, madam, that I have captained the finest sailing vessels in the world, and until that blasted storm, I'd had nary a mishap. I have—”

“Move over,” she said adamantly. “This isn't a ship and it isn't a carriage. It's a car. You've never driven one, you don't have a license, and I'm not about to go anywhere with you behind the wheel.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking as if he was going to argue.

“Move!” she ordered.

His devilish laughter echoed through the garage. “Aye, madam. As you wish.”

He slid to the passenger seat and Kate took his place behind the wheel. Turning the key in the ignition, she watched the play of emotions on Morgan's face when the souped-up engine roared. Worry lines formed between his eyes. His chest rose and fell heavily, and he gripped the edge of the seat as if the car was a ship bucking on a turbulent sea.

Unconsciously she reached across the empty space between them and put her hand over his. “There's no reason to be afraid.”

“Afraid?” he said incredulously. “Nay, madam, you mistake my excitement for fear. I have ridden the fastest of horses, driven carriages over rutted English roads, but I have never been in a vehicle such as this. 'Tis fascinating…and daunting.”

She smiled softly, remembering her own fear-filled excitement the first time she'd driven a car. “When I was twelve, Joe—my husband—let me sit beside him and turn the steering wheel while he drove to the beach. I thought it was the most thrilling thing in the world. Would you like to try?”

“Aye.”

Morgan seemed to relax as he moved to the center of the seat, and without any instruction, he put his hands close to hers on the wheel, his arm brushing lightly against her breast. She sucked in a deep breath as a tingling sensation rippled through her chest and down to the center of her being. She'd nearly forgotten how good it felt to have a man touch her breast, even accidentally, and for one brief moment, she wondered how good it would feel if Morgan Farrell touched her on purpose.

Don't think about it
, she told herself.
Concentrate on the fact that you're giving him his first driving lesson, not getting swept up in foreplay
.

“See where my right foot is?” she asked. He looked down, his gaze skimming the length of her
body before it rested on her foot. “The brake's on the left,” she told him, swallowing back the nervousness she felt with his powerful body pressing against her arm, her hip, her thigh. “The gas pedal—the one that makes the car go—is on the right. You have to touch them easily or else the car will jerk.”

He crossed one leg over the other and settled his right foot close to hers on the brake.

“Now what?” he asked, and when he tilted his head she could feel the warmth of his breath whispering over her cheek.

“You have to shift the car into reverse,” she said, and his strong, long-fingered hand followed hers, warmly closing over her knuckles as she touched the stick. She fought for control of her senses while she explained about park, reverse, neutral, drive, and low. Absently he drew lazy circles over the back of her hand, his callused thumb feeling more like velvet than sandpaper.

Hoping he couldn't feel the trembling in her fingers, she finished her explanation, and then he squeezed her hand. “'Tis a simple concept,” he said, shifting nonchalantly into reverse, as if the emotion-packed interlude had meant nothing to him. “Now, do I put my foot on the gas pedal?”

She nodded, laughing inwardly at letting herself get caught up in the moment, and lifted her foot from the brake as he moved his boot to the gas. He touched the pedal lightly and the car rolled back an inch or two. A grin crossed his face. He drew in a deep breath, just like a first-time
driver, and confidently pressed the pedal again.

The car shot backward, screeching out of the garage onto the crushed shell-and-gravel drive.

“Bloody hell!”

His foot flew off the pedal and Kate trounced on the brake, bringing them to an abrupt and jarring halt.

“I said you had to do it easily!”

“That was my intention, madam.”

“Well, you didn't succeed! Now, try it again.”

She watched the hard set of his jaw as his teeth ground together in determination. Again he touched the gas pedal, his fingers tightened on the wheel, and he backed slowly and skillfully to the end of the driveway, moving his foot to the brake, and pressing it slowly when they neared the road.

Kate looked at him and smiled. “Are you sure you haven't done this before?”

“Never. What do I do now?”

“Look both ways, and if there are no other cars coming, or people or animals or anything else in the street, you back
slowly
onto the road, turning the wheel as you go.”

“Which way do I turn the wheel?”

“I'll show you.”

He twisted, his hair brushing lightly over her bare arm as he looked into the darkened street. Again, she was conscious of every move he made, every touch of his body against hers, every breath he took. She was being silly. Morgan Farrell was more interested in her car than he was in her. She supposed that was the way it ought to remain,
especially since he would be leaving soon.

Especially since she wasn't interested in getting romantically involved with another man—even though Morgan Farrell was causing her to have second thoughts on the matter.

Pressing a foot on the gas, he backed onto the road, and Kate guided his hands as they turned the wheel.

“Now stop,” she instructed, and he braked the car gently.

“Put it in drive.”

He followed all her directions, and in a few moments they were moving along St. George, heading toward the center of town. They crawled at a speed of about five miles an hour, and Morgan's eyes were in constant motion as he watched for other cars. He braked easily at stop signs, looked both ways, and crept like a tortoise across the intersections. She couldn't help but smile. It was like teaching Casey how to ride a bicycle or thread a needle—things that were new, different, and simple, but always a thrill the very first time.

“Where would you like to go?” Kate asked, guiding the steering wheel a bit to the left when Morgan veered too close to a parked car.

“I saw much of your city that first day I was here. I walked past cathedrals, taverns, and many a shop in my search for you. 'Twas all new and different, yet I saw these things through my eyes only. 'Twould be good to see them through yours, to know what you feel when you look at places that are familiar.”

“I never get tired of this city,” she told him. “I've lived here all my life, and even though everything's familiar, I have special memories about most every place.”

“Tell me about them,” he said, easing away from the steering wheel and letting Kate take over the driving. He leaned casually against the passenger door where the wind blew through the open window, ruffling his shirt and hair. Breathing came easier for Kate with him sitting further away.

She parked in front of Flagler College, pointing out the fountain, the stained glass windows, the places where she'd hidden when she and other children had played hide-and-seek. She told him how she'd wanted to go to school there, to someday be a teacher, but that she'd gotten married right out of high school instead.

“All I wanted to do was be around children,” she said. “Lots of them. Joe and I had always hoped to have more.”

“Perhaps you will have others one day.”

“I don't think about it much anymore. What I wanted was all part of another life, and that ended.”

He nodded, understanding evident in his faraway smile.

As they wove through the narrow streets, she told him about her childhood, about being taken in by Evalena, finding it easy to tell him about the rejection she'd felt when her mother and father abandoned her. “I don't think my parents realized
that love was more important man money or material possessions.”