Now and Forever (73 page)

They must have been halfway to the next state by the time they caught up with the kid.

"No!" the girl shrieked as he scooped her up with his free arm. "I won't go! I won't! You cannot make me!"

He strode toward his horse with Dakota tucked under his right arm like a football and Abigail under his left. You had to admire a man whose legs didn't buckle beneath the weight. Most twentieth century men would be muttering about cross-training and knee braces.

"Not a word," he said, "from either one of you. We ride in silence."

He swung Dakota up onto the horse.

"About this horse stuff," she began.

"Silence."

"I almost fell off before. Maybe--"

His look was almost enough to do the trick. So maybe silence wasn't such a bad idea.

Was she imagining it or did a smile flicker briefly across his handsome face?

No matter. It was gone before she could be certain.

"No!" Abigail shrieked, clutching her father tightly about the neck as he swung her onto the saddle in front of Dakota. "I won't! You cannot make me!"

"Silence!" he ordered in that voice which brooked no argument. "Isn't it enough that you waste my time with your foolish tantrums?"

"She's only a child," Dakota piped up. "Why don't you--"

"Your opinion is unwelcome, madam."

"Are you joining us?" she asked sweetly as she patted the saddle in invitation.

By way of answer, he took up the reins and started toward the clearing.

Abigail cast a series of worried glances over her shoulder at Dakota, as if she were calculating her odds of survival.

"Enough with the dirty looks," Dakota said. "We're both freezing to death. Why don't you sit back and share this cape with me?"

"N-no!" The kid's lips were turning blue from the cold but she had her righteous indignation to keep her warm.

"I don't like this any more than you do but I'm willing to share."

She could see the wheels turning inside the poor kid's head. Freeze to death or cuddle up with a monster? Talk about a tough choice. Against her better judgment her heart went out to the child once again.

"I promise I won't bite."

Which was obviously the wrong thing to say because the kid opened her mouth wider than Dakota would have thought humanly possible without a submarine sandwich in the vicinity and screamed.

"Damnation!" Devane roared. "What in the name of Providence is going on?"

Dakota fixed him with an evil look. "She thinks I'm a monster."

He stared at her, uncomprehending.

"You heard me," she snapped. "Your daughter thinks I'm a monster right out of a fairy tale."

Abigail bristled with indignation. "
You
said you were my fairy godmother."

"I was being sarcastic. As you pointed out, fairy godmothers are pretty."

"Great God in heaven, cease your infernal racket!" Devane bellowed. "Is it not enough that a blizzard is unleashing its fury upon us?"

"A blizzard?" Dakota looked up toward the sky. "What do you mean, a blizzard?"

"You are unfamiliar with the word?"

"This is a minor snow storm, not a blizzard." She couldn't contain her snicker of amusement. "I just can't believe you'd call a few snow flurries a blizzard."

#

Her words were innocent but Patrick knew her meaning was not. Had no one ever told her that a pleasant temperament was a most agreeable quality in a plain woman?

"The signs are inarguable, madam."

"
Un
arguable," she said. "Trust me on this one."

She infuriated him beyond endurance. "I graduated William and Mary," he said through clenched teeth.

"Did you see
1776
? That's exactly what Thomas Jefferson said to John Adams."

It was not the response he expected. First she asked about the year of Our Lord 1776, then she compared him to the farmer from Virginia. At no time did she express regard for William and Mary. The mere mention of the illustrious center of classical education should render a normal man or woman speechless with admiration.

"You have heard of William and Mary, have you not, madam?" Mayhap she was from the country and ignorant of such things.

"Of course I have," she said, as if astonished he could think otherwise. "I graduated--" She stopped abruptly, pressing her lips together until they formed a thin line.

"Do not stop, madam," he urged as they reached the edge of his property. "From which esteemed academy of learning did you graduate?"

She glanced toward Abigail who was wide-eyed at the exchange, then back again at him. "It's a good thing your daughter is here, Mister Devane, or I'd give you a piece of my mind."

"I do not doubt that," he drawled. "but have a care, madam, for soon you will have given all away."

#

Pompous dimwit.

As if graduating from William and Mary made him Master of the Universe. She'd come this close to telling him she'd graduated Harvard. The words had been burning a hole in her tongue and it had taken every single ounce of self-control she possessed to hold them back.

Oh, what she would have given to see his smug and perfect face go slack with disbelief. Too bad it would be another two hundred years until women would be admitted to the University's hallowed, lousy-with-Y-chromosome halls.

Get a grip, Wylie
, she admonished herself. Bad enough she looked like an alien. If she sounded like one as well, God only knew what Devane would do with her.

He was a disagreeable, argumentative sort without a sense of humor. She couldn't imagine going through life without, at the very least, a healthy sense of the absurd. But not Patrick Devane. He was humorless, literal to the extreme, and quite obviously heartless, as well.

Still, his daughter loved him. She supposed that was a point in his favor, even if he treated the child like she was so much excess baggage.
Don't you know what you have?
she wondered.
Don't you know how lucky you are?
A child's love was a precious gift. He should be down on his knees thanking God that he was lucky enough to be Abigail's father. She was a brat but she was his brat. They were so much alike that Dakota felt sorry for the girl.

"Papa!" Abigail cried out. "Look!"

Dakota twisted around in the saddle and looked in the direction the child was pointing. Two men on horseback galloped toward them. The combination of darkness and driving snow made it difficult for her to see more than that.

Devane swore under his breath and abruptly stopped walking.

"What's wrong?" Dakota asked. "Are we in danger?"

He ignored her question.

"Soldiers," said Abigail, casting a look in her direction.

"Our side?" she asked.

"Papa hates soldiers. He says--"

The child's words faded as a buzzing sounded in Dakota's head. Squinting, she tried to focus through the snow on the approaching riders but it was like looking through a windshield without wipers. She removed her glasses and quickly dried them on the inside of the cape.
Contact lenses,
she thought. Now she understood why people loved them. Slipping the granny glasses back on, she zeroed in on the soldiers.

Men in uniform had never done much for her on a personal level, but she had to admit the sight was pretty darned impressive. They sat tall in their saddles which made her wonder if perfect posture was the norm around there rather than the exception it was in her own time. Both wore buff-colored breeches and waistcoats, high boots, and a navy coat with turnings at collar and lapels made of the same buff colored material as the breeches.

She knew those uniforms. Just last month she'd helped put together a new display at the Museum. She'd dressed three aging Princetonians in reproductions that had been authentic right down to the worked buttonholes.

"Halt!" The soldier on the right angled his horse in the roadway some ten feet in front of them, blocking their way. "Who goes there?"

Devane dropped the reins and stepped forward. "You trespass, sir. State your business."

The soldier's hand hovered near the hilt of his sword. Dakota tensed, drawing the cloak more tightly around herself and Abigail in a gesture more instinctual than practical.

This isn't a re-creation,
she told herself as the two men faced off. The two soldiers were patriots. Every freedom she took for granted had been hard won by men and women just like them. And, unless she missed her guess, it was all happening right now before her very eyes.

Devane's voice pierced the cold. The man really was good at growling his dialogue. "...will not allow my home to be turned into a Continental circus!"

Abigail started to speak but Dakota placed a hand over the child's mouth to stop her. She couldn't afford to miss a word of this.

The second soldier dismounted. Dakota spotted a green ribbon pinned to his waistcoat. She was fairly sure that meant he was an aide-de-camp but wished she'd paid more attention to detail when she'd had the chance.

The soldier nodded at Devane. "You will ask your family to dismount."

Family? She swallowed hard. If Devane turned her over to the Army she'd probably end up hanged for treason, sold into indentured servitude, or enlisted. The thought of trying to explain her attire--not to mention her haircut--was enough to make her weep.
Why shouldn't he turn you over to the Army? He can't wait to get rid of his own daughter. He'll be ecstatic to get rid of you.

"I will not inconvenience them."

"We must insist."

Abigail squirmed and the cape shifted. Dakota managed to pull it back into position a millisecond before the words
Jurassic Park
were exposed to one and all. She met Devane's eyes and he held her glance. His eyes were beautiful, a dark and wondrous shade of blue, but she could read nothing in them.

Time slowed around them.

One of the horses whinnied with impatience.

Say something, Wylie. This is your chance.
At least she knew which side the soldiers were on, which was more than she could say about Devane.

His expression gave away nothing. Would he hand her over to the soldiers? Leave her alone in the woods to fend for herself? Take her home and lock her in the attic like the mad wife in
Jane Eyre
?

Drawing in a deep breath, she willed herself into his head, but all she could hear was the sound of her heart beating and her own jumbled thoughts. Nothing in his expression betrayed his thoughts and she found herself longing for the abilities she'd taken for granted.

The second soldier dismounted and started toward Dakota and Abigail.

"No." One word. A single syllable. But the power in Devane's voice stopped the man in his tracks. "My wife and child are tired and cold. You will not inconvenience them with your nonsense."

The second soldier bowed low to Dakota and the child then held out his hand. "Madam, I will assist you and your daughter."

Abigail, as if on cue, burst into noisy, shrieking tears that made both soldiers wince.

You're good, kid. I take it back. Shirley Temple couldn't have done better herself.

Dakota whispered a silent prayer then plunged in. "It has been a difficult journey," she said with the proper amount of deference, "and I have an injured foot. I beg your indulgence, sir, just this once."

The two soldiers looked at each other.

"A terribly difficult journey," she repeated, wishing she had her sister's talent for crying on command. To think she used to believe speaking French was more important.

"We will grant your request," the first soldier said with a neck bow.

"Move," Devane commanded. "You have wasted enough of my time already."

"There is still the matter of housing to be considered," said the first soldier. "His Excellency regrets any inconvenience to you and your--" he cast a peculiar look in Dakota's direction "--family, but the housing problem in Morristown--"