Now and Forever (40 page)

 
He's still here,
she told herself as she started the coffee. Dakota had picked up his vibes and, despite her general distrust of all things psychic, she had a grudging and mystified respect for Dakota's abilities. Besides, didn't most people believe exactly what they want to believe no matter what common sense had to say about it?

"Your countertop is filthy," Dakota remarked, drawing her index finger through a layer of reddish brown dust. "What did you do, repot your geraniums in here?"

"It's a long story," Shannon said, pouring them each a glass of orange juice.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She handed Dakota a glass. "He jumped up on the countertop last night."

Dakota's big brown eyes widened behind her granny glasses. "Any particular reason?"

"He--there was something wrong with the recessed lighting."

"So he's a balloonist and an electrician too? What a guy."

Shannon glared at her friend. "Will you stop it?" she snapped. "The man's weird, okay? Case closed."

She busied herself taking the milk from the refrigerator and finding two clean cups in the cabinet. Dakota wandered over to the back door and looked out toward the pool.

"We have company," Dakota drawled after a moment.

Shannon raced to the door in time to see Andrew McVie dragging a gondola and a deflated crimson balloon from the woods.

"Stay here," she said, wiping her hands along the sides of her robe. "I'll go help him."

She darted out the door, hoping against hope that Dakota would stay where she was.

 
#

"Good day, Mistress Shannon!" Andrew called when he saw the beautiful dark-haired woman hurrying across the yard to greet him. She wore a filmy, flowing gown and cloak and looked much like the women of his acquaintance...except for the fact that her limbs were plainly visible through the sheer fabric. "'Tis a fine summer morning, is it not?"

"Go away!" she said, her words at distinct odds with the friendly smile upon her lovely face. "Go back into the woods and wait for me to call you."

"I am in need of a place to store these objects," he continued, assuming her greeting was perfectly normal for the year 1993. "It would be most unlikely that I should need them again but they may help another some day hence."

"I don't give a damn about that blasted balloon," she said, in a tone of voice more heated than before. "Just go now!"

He looked over her shoulder and saw a woman of medium-size running toward them and he felt his mouth gape open in surprise. She wore a long, flowing skirt in a brightly colored print, a frilly white blouse, heavy black boots that were better suited to a shipbuilder, and a tiny pair of spectacles that Ben Franklin might have favored. Huge earbobs of shiny silver dangled from her lobes and about her neck and wrists she wore clanking chains of silver and gold. Each of her fingers was encircled with a ring of varying style. Her black hair, what there was of it, was cut close to her head, framing her face in soft curls that were short as a child's. Yet it wasn't the strange hair style or the display of jewelry that most amazed him; it was the tiny tattoo of a heart on her right shoulder.

He turned to Mistress Shannon. "A tavern wench?"

Shannon groaned out loud. "That's my friend Dakota. She's going to ask you a lot of questions. Don't answer them, McVie, not if you know what's good for you. If people find out your life won't be worth a plug--"

"Introduce us, Shannon!" Dakota stopped right in front of Andrew. "I'm dying to meet your new friend."

Shannon grimaced. "Andrew McVie. Dakota Wylie." She turned to Dakota. "Don't you have to go to work?"

Dakota smiled guilelessly. "Not until noon."

"Damn it," Shannon murmured under her breath.

Dakota extended her right hand. "A pleasure."

McVie looked skeptically at Dakota's hand then at Shannon who nodded.

"An honor, Mistress Wylie."

Dakota's eyebrows lifted toward the sky.

Shannon could almost see Dakota's psychic antennae going up.

McVie clasped Dakota's hand in greeting and Shannon watched in horror as Dakota crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Andrew reacted more swiftly than Shannon. He scooped Dakota up into his strong arms and carried her into the house while Shannon brought up the rear.
This is a nightmare,
she thought. He had no idea what his life would be like if news of his two-century balloon ride got out.

Not that Dakota would ever deliberately do anything to harm another living soul. It was just that Dakota was a slave to her emotions, prone to outbursts of psychic gossiping that left mere mortals gasping for air.

"She is unwell?" Andrew asked as he set her down on the living room sofa.

"It's the heat," Shannon offered. "Would you bring me a glass of cold water?" He stood there unmoving. She turned and saw the look of puzzlement on his face and her heart went out to him. "The glasses are in the cabinet to the right of the window--" She stopped abruptly. This was all well and good but it didn't explain how to find the cold water. There wasn't time to detail the inner workings of the refrigerator. "The sink in the bathroom," she said at last. "Turn the handle to the right and pull up for cold water."

He vanished down the hall. Shannon looked down at her friend and wondered what it would take to make Dakota vanish that easily.

 
#

...a lighthouse with its tower dark...a tall red-haired woman and a man of size and stature...a sense of danger everywhere but that danger was mingled with a deeper sense of commitment to a cause...but what cause?

Dakota felt herself pulled back into her body. She fought it the best she could but the force was stronger than her will to resist and her eyes flew open as she struggled to sit up.

"You're not pregnant, are you?" Shannon asked, handing her the glass of cold water.

Dakota took a long sip. "No, I'm not pregnant. You need a man to get pregnant." She met Shannon's eyes. "It was him. His touch."

Andrew McVie stepped into her line of vision. "I am not always aware of my own strength, mistress. I offer my most humble apology."

She glanced at Shannon. "He's not joking, is he?"

Shannon looked decidedly uncomfortable. "We're not accustomed to good manners here," she said to McVie by way of explanation.

 
Dakota finished the glass of water then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She glared at Shannon. "You know darn well what I'm talking about. It's him. Something isn't right."

McVie tapped his temple with a forefinger then turned toward Shannon who looked as if she were barely suppressing laughter.

"She's not crazy," Shannon said. "She just has an over-active imagination."

McVie nodded and Dakota had the overwhelming urge to knock their heads together just to hear the sound their skulls made.

"I'd like to know what the two of you are up to," she said, bristling with indignation.

"You know I'm only teasing," Shannon said with a smile.

"I don't know anything," Dakota shot back, "except the fact that there are some damn strange vibes around here and I intend to find out exactly what they're all about."

"Vibes?" McVie came closer. "Say again. I am not familiar with such a word."

"I know you're not," Dakota said, "and I intend to find out why."

Chapter Six

"Friend or foe?" Andrew asked as Dakota slammed the front door behind her.

"Friend," Shannon said with a sigh. "Strange, psychic friend."

"Physick?"

"Psychic. She can see the future."

"My mother had second sight," Andrew said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

"Dakota has more than second sight," Shannon continued. "Sometimes I'd swear she can read minds."

He fixed her with a steady gaze. She tried not to notice the burnished gold flecks in his hazel eyes. "You chose not to reveal the details of our acquaintance. If she can read thoughts, that should not have deterred her from obtaining the truth."

"I know," said Shannon ruefully. "I'm still working on that one." And thanking her lucky stars for the reprieve.

"Why is it you wish to keep such knowledge for yourself?"

"Because it's a cold, cruel world out there, McVie, and they'd eat you alive."

"I do not understand your meaning."

"People today thrive on gossip," she went on, pacing the living room. "If it got out that you were from another century, you'd be pulled apart by television producers, movie directors, reporters from all around the world. You'd end up a prisoner of your own miracle." And why any of this should matter was beyond her.

A smile broke across his craggy face. "You believe I am of my own time, mistress?"

She sighed. "I believe, Mr. McVie. God help me, but I believe."

 
#

The fact that she believed him should not have mattered to Andrew. Her belief in his story altered nothing. Yet he knew deep in his soul that with her words, "I believe," everything between them had changed.

"Mark me well, I have no wish to be a burden upon you, Mistress Shannon. I need only to be pointed toward the town of Princeton."

"You need more than that."

His brow lifted. "Explain yourself."

"Look at you." She pointed toward his garments. "If you went out on the street dressed like that, you'd be arrested for vagrancy."

"In my time the Mistress Wylie would be pilloried for her attire." He dared not discuss the wanton yellow outfit Mistress Shannon wore the previous day.

"Then you understand what I'm saying."

He looked down at his clothing. "There is nothing wrong with my choice of garments."

"They're two hundred years old."

"They provide warmth and coverage."

"They're beyond shabby."

His brow lifted higher.

"They are," Shannon continued, spots of color staining her cheeks. "And they don't smell that great either."

"Mistress, 'tis a difficult task to remain spotless in the woods."

"I understand, but if you intend to make a life in my time, you're going to have to make a few changes." She wrinkled her nose in a comic fashion. "Preferably beginning with your wardrobe."

She was a most disarming lass, even when she was criticizing his person. "I know only one way of dress."

"What about your friend who came from the future? What kind of clothes did he wear?"

"I do not recall in detail, mistress, but that tells me the difference between us was not great."

She squared her shoulders. "And that tells me it's time we begin introducing you to the 20th century."

"I am most eager to learn."

"There's no time like the present."

"Aye," he said. "Wherever the present leads you."

 
#

Thirty minutes later, after he had discovered the miracle of a standing shower, they sat down to breakfast on the patio and the first lesson began.

"Your table manners are atrocious," Shannon said bluntly. "Don't shovel your food into your mouth."

He looked up from his plate of eggs and ham. "I eat with dispatch and efficiency."

"You eat like a pig."

"This is not Fat George's table laden with silver and china," he observed. "'Tis a common table and I eat like a common man."

"Well, not here you don't. We don't hold our forks that way any longer. You look like you're digging for gold."

He leaned back in his chair and folded brawny arms across his chest. "Show me then how it is since you hold the key to such wisdom."

"Fine," she said, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with her linen napkin. "I will." She speared a tiny piece of egg with her fork and raised it to her mouth, then made certain to chew at least thirty times. She swallowed, then offered him a dazzling smile. "That, Andrew McVie, is how it's done."