Chapter 8
" O kay, I'm confused." Cara blew out a breath. "How can your father be the owner of an old mine in the middle of a national forest?"
Michael leaned forward, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Cara had the distinct feeling that whatever he was going to say next, she didn't want to hear. "When did you paint The Promise , Cara?"
"A year ago or so." She tried to figure out what exactly this had to do with his father owning the mine.
"I meant what was the date?"
"I'm not sure of the day."
"The year, Cara?" His intensity was beginning to make her nervous.
"1998 or '99, I guess."
He released a deep breath, almost a sigh. "And when did you paint Lovers' Reunion ?"
This was getting surreal. "I told you."
"The year." He reached for her hand.
"1993. The year after you disappeared." She tried, but couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.
He stroked her hand lightly with his thumb. "When were you born, Cara?"
"1976, but I don't see what any of this has to do with —"
"I was born in 1860."
"Excuse me?" She tried to think, to make his words make sense. Surely, she'd misunderstood.
"My father discovered the Promise in 1880, the year after I found you in the snow."
"That's impossible." She stared at him, letting the significance of his words wash over her, thinking that any minute he'd suddenly laugh and say it a was all a joke. But he didn't. His face was deadly serious, and the look in his eyes told her that he was as overwhelmed as she.
"Two days ago I would have agreed with you, but now…" He let go of her hand, leaning back in the chair, a parade of emotions chasing across his face. "Hell, I don't know."
"But you're saying..." She broke off, unable to continue the thought. Somehow they'd gone from a miraculous reunion to an episode of the twilight zone.
"Cara, listen to me." He reached for her hand again, his eyes intense. "The truth is here somewhere. We just have to find it. Tell me what you remember about the morning after your accident."
She nodded, her trust instinctive. "I woke up in the tunnel and you were gone. I figured you'd left to find help."
"I was getting water."
She let her mind slip back to that morning in the cave. "It was cold, and my head hurt, the world was still all wobbly. But I wanted to get up. To…to find out what happened."
"Your parents."
She nodded. "They were dead. My grandfather identified the bodies, but they couldn't find me."
"The explosion killed them?"
"That—or the car wreck."
"Train car?"
"Automobile." She answered without thinking, her thoughts on her parents.
"Automobile?" If the situation hadn't been so dire, his expression would have been comical. "I've read about them, but never seen one. There aren't any in Silverthread..." He stopped, the impact of his comment hitting home. "…in my time."
She knew she ought to be questioning his sanity.
Or at least his story. But all she could think about was the fact that he hadn't deserted her.
At least not by choice. Somehow, if he was to be believed, she had crossed into his world or the other way around.
For one night they had occupied the same temporal plane.
And then somehow, they had been separated again.
By time.
Cara swallowed a sob. It was all so insane.
He must have heard her, or felt her pain, or just wanted the connection, because he moved to the sofa and pulled her into his arms. "It'll be all right.
We'll figure this out. The most important thing is that you found me again—whatever time we're in.
I'd have died without you, Cara. You saved my life. "
She nodded against his chest, tears threatening. "Just like you saved mine." She listened to the soft steady beat of his heart, drawing strength from it.
"I looked everywhere for you." His words were quiet, almost a whisper. "I couldn't understand where you'd gone—I worried about you, I…I cared about you."
"I kept telling them you were real, that you'd saved me, that I owed you my life.
" She rattled on, the tears falling in earnest now.
"They thought it was trauma, that the horror of witnessing my parents' deaths caused me to hallucinate.
Oh God, Michael, they convinced me that I made you up.
" She stared up at him, memorizing the curves of his face, trying to understand what was happening to them.
"They who?" His look was at once protective and questioning—angry and concerned. She marveled at his strength. She was sitting here falling apart and he was the one who had traveled through time.
"My grandfather, and my doctors." She frowned, remembering. "My grandfather was there when I left the tunnel. I insisted that they look, but you were gone—the mine was empty." She fought against a sob. "When I woke up in the hospital, they told me that you were a figment of my imagination."
"And you believed them?" His voice was harsh, and she winced at the pain she heard there.
"No. Not at first. As soon as I was well enough I went back there, back to the tunnel. And I waited for you. I came every day, Michael. I was determined to find you. To prove to my grandfather that you were real. But you never came."
"But I did. I searched that damn mountain for you.
Had my family out looking, too. They were certain you'd died or gone back to where you came from.
But I was so sure you were out there, somewhere.
That you needed me. Then, when it became apparent that my family was right, I stopped searching, but I kept coming back to the tunnel, Cara.
On the off chance that you'd be there. That you'd come back. "
"But I didn't." Her voice cracked, and the anguish she felt was mirrored in the blue of his eyes.
"You couldn't."
"I wanted to believe in you, Michael. I wanted to so badly. But my grandfather thought I was using you as a crutch. A way to deal with the loss of my parents. He even sent me to a psychiatrist."
He raised a brow in question.
"For my head. To make me see the truth of it. And so, little by little, I began to accept the fact that I'd made you up."
His hand tightened around hers. "But you didn't."
She smiled at him through her tears. "No. I didn't."
Without a word, he pulled her tightly against his chest. She let the warmth of him surround and comfort her. She breathed deeply, letting his scent, so familiar, so foreign, fill her, soothe her.
He was a stranger. He was Michael.
And if they were right, he was lost in her time.
Michael closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her heartbeat, the soft silkiness of her hair.
How many nights had he dreamed about golden hair and green eyes?
And now she was here, in his arms. He tipped up her chin, looking deep into her eyes.
Her face was wet with tears, her expression a mixture of awe and fear.
With a gentle finger, he brushed away the moisture on her cheek, feeling her tremble in response.
Carefully, as though he might break her, he pressed his lips against hers.
She opened her mouth and what had started as a comforting touch, ignited into passion born of longing and joy. He circled her lips with his tongue, tasting the salt of her tears. All he wanted to do was hold her—never let her go. To prove to himself that he was alive, no matter the century.
He sighed, pushing away his need. No matter how badly he wanted her, this wasn't the time. He nestled his chin on top of her head. "Cara, we need to talk." He felt her nod, and gently released her. They sat facing each other, still holding hands, as if to be certain neither of them would disappear.
"This all sounds crazy." Cara ran a hand through her hair, her mind in tumultuous turmoil.
On the one hand, she wanted to throw herself into his arms, surrender body and soul.
On the other hand, she could hear her grandfather's voice warning her that things were not always as they seemed. It was almost more than she could bear.
"I know it does." He looked almost as confused as she felt. "But the reality is that a few days ago, I was riding line on Clune, trying to build a life for my family, a real home. And today, I discover that somehow I've leapt forward a hundred years and that the people I love are all long dead."
"Family?" Cara felt something tighten around her chest, impeding her breathing. "Are you…I mean do you have a…" She stopped, uncertain how to put her question into words.
Michael smiled. "Do I have a wife?"
She nodded mutely, waiting.
"No, Cara, I don't. I was speaking of my father and brother."
She exhaled in relief, surprised to find that she'd been holding her breath. "What about your mother?"
Cara watched as a parade of emotions washed across his face, anger, hurt, and then finally a cold mask that effectively shut her out. "She's gone."
"Gone?"
"She abandoned us." There was a finality to his voice that made her swallow her curiosity. Whatever his mother had done, it was still painful for Michael to talk about.
"Okay, so you were riding line," she said, moving them back to the topic at hand.
"Right. I'd been at it all day, checking stock and making sure our fences weren't down.
I'd finished with the high pastures, so just after sunset, I decided to head back.
By the time I got to the main road it was dark.
The moon hadn't risen yet, so it was hard to make out anything.
I could see lights from Clune in the distance, but it was still a good ways off. "
He paused, frowning at the memory. "The shot came from somewhere off to my left. I couldn't see a thing and I figured it was best to get the hell out of there."
"Why didn't you ride home?"
"There was nothing between me and the ranch but bare ground. I needed cover and I knew if I could make the trees I had a chance."