Out of Time (Lovers in Time Series, Book 1): Time Travel Romance Page 5

  Jack grimaced. "I think I liked you better when you were a gun-toting skeptic."

  "How ironic. I like you much better as a helpless time traveler than a burglar, rapist, mental institution escapee or spy with a fetish for my clothing. But I'll go back to ordering you out of my presence at gunpoint if you'd truly prefer that. Of course, you would have to leave without the stake... or my clothes."

  "You win," he said, giving her a mock bow. "I am momentarily helpless, as you say, and thus at your mercy."

  "Heh-heh-heh," she cackled and rubbed her hands together. "Just what I always wanted—a man at my mercy. What shall I do with you first?" Her first thought was of something functional like window washing but that was immediately kicked out of the way by an image of him dropping to his knees at her feet and performing a very personal service—

  Jack let out a soft whistle. "Unless I'm misreading that look, I'm guessing the free-love movement really caught on. But since shaking hands nearly killed you, I think you're going to have to come up with a less intimate payback."

  Kelly hadn't even realized she'd drifted off let alone revealed her lascivious train of thought. That damn dream again. "Don't be ridiculous," she said bluntly. "I was thinking of having you wash the windows. But just so you know, the free-love movement did not catch on. In fact, with all the sexually transmitted diseases, there's a movement supporting celibacy. Are you hungry?"

  He grinned. "Nice subject change. It sounds like there are a few things I'll have to catch up on. And yes, I'm starving."

  "There are sandwich fixings in the fridge and snacks in the cabinets. You can help yourself. The stove runs on propane gas so, considering the electrical charge you're carrying, I'd suggest you stay away from it. If you'll give me your sizes, I'll drive back to town and pick up a few things for you to wear."

  "Wouldn't it be easier if I went with you?"

  She laughed. "We're in the backwoods of Georgia. You're barefoot, wearing shorts that hardly cover your butt and a shirt that announces that you have PMS. I don't think so."

  He looked down at the phrase on the shirt. "What is PMS anyway?"

  She had to remind herself that if he really was who he said, he knew nothing of the years between 1965 and 2016. "Pre-menstrual syndrome. An age-old female annoyance that someone gave a name to."

  He gave her his sizes and another promise to pay her back and she was ready to go again. At the last second, she remembered the gun and stuck it in her purse.

  Jack frowned. "I thought you believed me."

  "I almost do. But you're still a man. Therefore, I may believe what you say but I know better than to trust you with my life."

  * * *

  As Jack watched Kelly drive away, he couldn't help but wonder why she'd say such a thing. The reporter in him always listened very carefully to what people said aloud then he guessed at what they were actually thinking. When Kelly had accused him of spying, she'd mentioned three men's names. He'd bet at least one of them was responsible for her derogatory comment.

  Under different circumstances, he would have automatically been tempted to pick up the gauntlet she'd unwittingly thrown at his feet. Given time, he had no doubt he could get her to trust him.

  Then again, his methods of changing a woman's mind usually involved considerable physical contact, something that was completely out of the question at the moment.

  He supposed that was a good thing. He needed to keep his mind on what he was supposed to be doing... whatever that was.

  At the moment, however, he didn't have anything but questions and his mind slipped right back to the luscious creature who held some, if not all, of the answers. Even with Kelly wearing a boy's cap, unflattering clothes and pointing a gun at him, her femininity had stirred him in spite of the confusing circumstances. The loose-fitting blouse failed to hide her D-cups, and tight jeans—which were apparently still in style, thank God—showed off a full, well-rounded bottom. If it wasn't for his little electrical problem, he'd definitely have acted on whatever she had really been thinking about when her expression had turned so dreamy.

  He didn't agree with her conclusion that this was all a miracle manifested in order for him to set things right, but as long as it put her in a mood to help him he wasn't about to argue with her. On the other hand, if a miracle had occurred, he genuinely believed it was because God knew he was an innocent man who deserved a few more years in this life. Just in case that was the explanation, he looked upward and mouthed, thank you.

  In the meantime, he needed Kelly's assistance to get on his feet, so he would go along with whatever she had in mind. Once he figured out how to survive in this time on his own, however, he'd take off, disappear into a crowded city to quietly live out the bonus days he'd been granted and leave the lovely Miss Kirkwood to her world of make-believe.

  * * *

  "Did you hear that, Gabriel?" Jezebel shouted toward the light above. "You may have tricked me with the circumstances for his test but it won't make any difference. He'll never stick around long enough to fall in love with her."

  "That was no trickery," the Archangel replied calmly. "Setting the stage was my right under the challenge." A puff of black soot let him know how she felt about his scenario choice.

  "But there was interference, which means I—"

  "What are you calling interference?"

  "The dream. There is no question it helped her accept his story. It had all the markings of your handiwork."

  His delight with her frustration caused the light around him to glow a bit brighter. "I didn't do that. Considering her past experience and her present circumstances, the dream can be explained."

  The responding exhale of smoke was tinged with crimson. "The fact remains that he'll run from her as soon as possible. Give up now, Gabriel and I promise not to remind you of your loss any longer than, say, a millennium."

  Gabriel ignored her taunt. It was too soon to give up on Jack. Kelly Kirkwood had every attribute Jack was usually attracted to and more. Why, he hadn't even seen her glorious hair yet. Besides, the fact that Jack couldn't touch Kelly would make her seem that much more desirable to him. Fortunately, Jezebel had overlooked that little interference, for if she had accused him of that he would have had to confess and Jack Templeton's soul would have been lost forever.

  It was only the first hours of the man's test. There was still plenty of time and he still had a few tricks under his wings.

  * * *

  Kelly parked her Camaro but didn't get out. It hadn't occurred to her until now that Charming didn't have a store large enough to stock much of a selection of shoes or clothing. On top of that, when she was here an hour ago and went into the drugstore, two people had greeted her by name. She'd only been into the mini-town three or four times but she supposed that was often enough, especially with several of her books on sale in the drugstore.

  Her intuition told her it was a bad idea to let anyone see her shopping for clothes for a man. She should go elsewhere.

  As she pulled out of the parking space, she saw something she'd failed to notice before. The faded wooden sign over the drugstore read O'Neill Drugs & Sundries.

  Could that be O'Neill, as in Ginger-the murder-victim O'Neill? If so, it was a place to start asking questions about what happened here in 1965. Next time.

  As she drove toward Buford, a considerably larger small town, she gave some thought as to how she should proceed with her Jack Templeton project and came up with the simplest solution possible. She would proceed as though she were actually writing a book based on Ginger O'Neill's murder. Considering her reputation, no one should be suspicious of any ulterior motive on her part and most people were very helpful when she told them why she wanted to interview them, especially if she promised them a mention in her book.

  That decided, she made herself think about her parting remark to Jack.

  Did she believe that was his name? Maybe. Maybe not. It was better than calling him that-man-who-shocked-the-hell-out-of-me.
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br />   Could he truly be who he claimed? Did he actually travel through time? Were all the coincidences only that or had a genuine miracle occurred? Maybe. Maybe not. Her overactive imagination was leaning toward the miracle, as usual.

  The bottom line, however, was summed up in one question. Could she refuse to believe any of it and send him away? No. Absolutely not. The miracle theory was too enticing not to follow up, if for no other reason than to see how the story ended.

  So that was it. From this moment on, she would stop doubting that Jack Templeton was the man she'd been researching. She would accept him at face value, regardless of the impossibility factor. As a precaution though, she would continue to keep her gun close at hand. After all, he had been convicted of rape and murder, whether he denied his guilt or not.

  Just outside of Buford, Kelly spotted a freestanding discount department store, which would have been satisfying in itself but the name of it gave her an eerie shiver.

  O'NEILL'S. Could there be a connection?

  O'Neill's was a successful retail chain in Georgia. She'd shopped in one of the Atlanta stores not long ago. The goose bumps on her arms told her this was important.

  She found everything she was looking for inside the department store, including an informant in the men's clothing department. The sales clerk, whose name tag identified her as Mrs. Lawson, was pleased to be of assistance.

  "I've just moved to Georgia," Kelly told her with a bright smile. "But I've seen O'Neill's stores all over the state. In fact, I was passing through a little town called Charming and saw a drugstore with that name."

  "Why that was Mr. O'Neill's first store. He opened it in 1964, as a wedding present to his wife."

  "How romantic," Kelly said taking her cue from the soft expression on the older woman's face. "It must have been very exciting to watch the business grow over the years. Do they still live around here?"

  "Mr. O'Neill still lives in the same house where he grew up as a boy. In Charming. 'Course he's fixed it up a lot from what it was like back then. He comes in here once a month, just like he visits every one of his stores. The years have hardly slowed him down. Unfortunately, his wife never saw the success he made of it." Mrs. Lawson clucked her tongue.

  Kelly forced her expression to remain passive as she realized who the wife probably was. "Oh? Why not?"

  The woman leaned forward to share her knowledge and spoke in a lowered tone. "She was murdered when they were barely married a year. Tragic story, really. Raped and strangled in her own home. I was just a young girl but I remember the hullabaloo. Of course, no one speaks of it anymore."

  Kelly gave her an appropriately sympathetic look. "How awful. Did they ever catch the murderer?"

  "Oh, yes. Right away, in fact. And he was electrocuted right away too."

  "Well, thank heavens for that. Not that justice could ever bring back a loved one. I suppose, after such a tragedy, Mr. O'Neill must have put all his attention into expanding his business."

  The woman nodded. "He never remarried. They say his wife took his heart with her when she died."

  "Boy, someone should write a book about Mr. O'Neill."

  "Why, that's a very good idea, miss. Someone should do that."

  * * *

  "Marv, go see if there's a problem down on the floor or if Mrs. Lawson's doing her socializing on company time again. She's been jawin' with that customer in the baseball cap for five minutes now."

  Junior Ramey took his position as manager of the Buford store very seriously. He had to. Between having a criminal record and a face that made babies cry, his options were limited. If it hadn't been for Reid O'Neill, he might have ended up in a gutter somewhere.

  At five years old, he'd knocked a skillet of hot bacon grease off the stove, severely burning the right side of his face. After high school, the only one that would hire him was Mr. O'Neill. It didn't matter that the work was menial and that he had to stay out of the public eye. It was a paying job that freed him from his father's tyranny.

  Mr. O'Neill even let him come back to work after serving time in the looney bin. He proved himself to Mr. O'Neill and, in return, was promoted from stock room to office as the business expanded. With the help of an assistant manager like Marv, Junior was now able to run a profitable store without frightening the customers away. Maybe the best part about working for Mr. O'Neill was that he was a firm believer in letting loyal employees work as long as they were capable. Even though he would be seventy years old next year, Junior had no fear of being put out to pasture. The boss himself was still putting in at least forty hours a week at eighty-six.

  Marv returned with a smile on his plump face. "It's okay, Mr. Ramey. The customer is new in the area and was asking a lot of questions. She's got about three hundred dollars worth of merchandise in her cart."

  Junior returned the smile as well as his distorted face allowed. "Well then, we must remember to commend Mrs. Lawson for her friendly, courteous service."

  "Will do. You might get a kick out of this. She said they were talking about how Mr. O'Neill's life story is so interesting someone should write a book about it."

  The hairs on Junior's neck twitched. "You said the woman was asking a lot of questions about the area. How did Mr. O'Neill's life story come up?"

  Marv shrugged. "Damned if I know. You know how Mrs. Lawson likes to talk."

  Junior stared at the gossip-loving woman through the one-way glass of his upstairs office. What had gotten her talking about Mr. O'Neill's interesting life? The last thing he or Mr. O'Neill needed was people dredging up the past.

  Anything interesting about the past was long dead and deeply buried. And there was absolutely nothing he wouldn't do to make sure it stayed that way.

  * * *

  "We have to talk," Kelly announced even before she closed the cabin door behind her.

  Jack glanced up from the book he was reading. "Give me a few minutes. I want to finish the chapter."

  "What are you reading?" she asked as she walked over and deposited the shopping bags on the sofa next to him. "Oh, you found the time-travel story I brought with me. How do you like it?"

  He made a face at her. "You didn't mention that it was a love story."

  "Don't worry," she said with a chuckle. "You won't turn into a woman by reading it. In fact, you might even gain a little insight. Women's fiction has changed drastically since your time. It all started in the early seventies, when—"

  "Okay," he said, closing the book and setting it aside. "I can take a hint. What do we have to talk about?"

  "Details. I need to know everything about your case. Everything you know about the people of the town. Even details that don't seem to have anything to do with you or the murder."

  "Why?"

  "For the new book I'm plotting."

  "Do you still think you're supposed to help me set things right?"

  "Yes. But since you don't agree, I won't bring it up again. However, I do insist you help me with my plot and characters while you're still here."

  "Fine. Can I see what you bought first?"

  She opened one bag and dumped the contents out. "This should do you for a while—jeans, t-shirts, underwear, sneakers, a toothbrush, razors, shaving gel... There's some ointment in there which should help your burns. I also bought a copy of today's newspaper, just in case you still had any doubts about when and where you are. You go ahead and browse, change if you want. I'm going to fix myself a sandwich. Then we can get started."

  "Good God," Jack muttered when he found the receipt. "I once bought a car for this much."

  Kelly laughed as she pulled the deli meat and cheese out of the fridge. "Believe me, this stuff was cheap. If I'd gone to one of the mall department stores in Atlanta, the bill would have been at least twice that."

  "But can you afford this? I was serious about paying you back but I'm starting to wonder if I spoke too soon."

  "It's nothing. Really. I'm considering it an expense of my new book." He didn't look convinced. "Hon
estly, I'm a very successful author. One of my books might even get turned into a movie."

  "No shit! Oh, excuse me. I mean, I'm impressed. Why don't you have any of your books here?"

  She carried her plate and glass of iced tea over to the arm chair by the sofa and sat down. "I don't live here. I'm only using this place as a sort of retreat for a few weeks, which is just one of the many strange coincidences about this whole situation. Anyway, they have some of my books in town. I'll pick one up for you if you'd like."

  "I would," he replied sincerely.

  "But you have to promise not to fall in love with me."

  "Huh?"

  She waved her hand at him. "Nothing. Private joke." When he didn't respond, she realized he hadn't even heard her. He was totally focused on the front page of the newspaper.

  After a few seconds, he looked at the sales receipt again. "Amazing. It really is August 24, 2016."

  "Yep. And I'll be happy to fill you in on what changes have occurred besides inflation after I interview you."

  "Would you mind if I took a shower before we get to work? I fell in the bushes outside and I feel cruddy."

  "You're welcome to use the bathroom but there's no shower. Only that old copper washtub that someone fitted with plumbing about a century ago. You'll be a little cramped but it's functional."

  Kelly had finished her sandwich and was waiting impatiently to get started questioning Jack, when he called out.

  "Kelly? I think you need to see this."

  He sounded worried. She walked to the closed door but the fact he hadn't opened it himself made her hesitate. She didn't like surprises. "If you found a mutant cockroach, you have my permission to kill it."

  "Please. Just open the door."

  His voice sounded so strange, she thought he might be playing a joke on her. She lightly touched the metal doorknob in case he was holding the other end, but she felt nothing unusual.