Across the Winds of Time (11 page)

I shrieked at the sound of the male voice behind me and jerked. Slipping further into the tub in a panicked attempt to cover myself, I banged the back of my head on the hard rim.

“Get out! Get out of here! I have a gun!” I screeched as I ignored the pain in my head and rotated onto my knees below the water line to face my attacker.

Darius leaned against the bathroom doorsill, his back to me. He glanced over his shoulder for an instant before averting his face. The adrenaline surging through my body barely allowed me to see that his cheeks were reddened. Before I could yell at him, he raised his hands above his shoulders in mock surrender.

“A gun! Good gravy, Molly! Since when did you own a gun? You hated those things.”

I crouched below the water and covered whatever body parts I could. A sense of the surreal surrounded me once again. I thought I had imagined him. Was I hallucinating...again?

“How did you get in here?” I choked out. “Who
are
you?”

Darius stole a sideways glance over his shoulder—as if to see that I indeed did not have a gun aimed at him—before turning his face away.

“It is I, Molly. The same man you met two weeks ago. The same man you loved over a hundred years ago.”

“You’re nuts!” I spit out. “You’re not here. I’m just imagining things.” My knees were aching, and I shifted awkwardly in the tub to dive under the water again, keeping my neck twisted to watch him. I couldn’t stay in the bathtub all night. I felt so vulnerable—even if this was a hallucination...or a fantasy.

“So, since you’re not really here, you wouldn’t mind keeping your face turned away, so I can get out of the tub, would you?” My heart pounded, the rhythm matching the pounding in my head from smacking it on the edge of the tub. “Please?” I couldn’t keep the quiver from my voice.

“Certainly. It is not proper for me to be standing here at any rate. I simply came upstairs to see if you were here, and there you were—in my tub—a vision of bubbles and curly brown ringlets.”

I pressed a hand to my damp ponytail. A sudden warmth in the pit of my stomach contradicted the cold grip in my chest.

“Go away,” I pleaded. “I may want to daydream about you, but I don’t know that I want to actually
see
you. It’s too confusing. You can’t possibly be real. If you’re not a dream, then you’re a gho...” I choked on the word.

“As you wish, Molly. But I can assure you...I am quite real, although you are right. I may very well be a ghost.” He threw another quick glance over his shoulder, and his mouth curved into an embarrassed smile before he moved away.

I watched him disappear and panicked.

“Wait,” I shrieked. “Wait!”

“Yes, dear?” He backed up to the edge of the door again, still keeping his face averted.

“Wait for me downstairs. Don’t go yet. I’ll be right there.”

Darius inclined his head slightly to the side where I saw his profile, and I could have sighed when a single golden-brown curl fell forward in his face.

“Very well. I will be downstairs in the kitchen.”

I waited until I could hear his footsteps descending the stairs and then I jumped out of the tub and grabbed my towel with shaking hands. I scrubbed myself dry with vigor before peeking down the hallway to see that all was clear. With the towel wrapped around me, I tiptoed lightly past the stairs and across the hall to my bedroom.

Easing the door shut, I scrambled onto my knees to rifle through my open suitcase on the floor for a bathrobe. I slipped it on, yanked the sash as tightly as I could and thrust my feet into my slippers. I opened the door and tiptoed out into the hallway again.

Pausing at the top of the stairs to listen for sounds below, it occurred to me that Darius was able to get into the house because I hadn’t bothered to lock the door. A silly mistake for a girl from a big city like Seattle. How could I have fallen for the “innocence” of country charm?

But then again, if he was Darius Blake Ferguson, and it seemed likely he was, this really was his home, and he would know how to get into it anyway. And if he were a ghost, which also seemed likely, keys and locked doors probably weren’t an issue. I swallowed hard and ignored the shiver down my back.

Calling 911 was not an option at the moment. My phone was downstairs in the living room. Should I need to call for help for some reason—though the idea seemed far-fetched at the moment as I couldn’t imagine Darius ever hurting me—I would encounter Darius again long before I could get to the phone. And hadn’t I dreamed him up anyway? What if
help
came? What if—after listening to my bizarre tale of cemeteries and ghosts—they took me away, ostensibly to keep me from injuring myself or some such thing?

I crept down the stairs, peering over the rail to scan the dining room—empty of furniture since I had none for the space. I looked over the other rail toward the living room. A light shone from the kitchen, and I descended the stairs. I caught sight of my purse on the coffee table and debated whether to grab my phone...just in case. The unmistakable sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing caught my attention, and, anxious to see what was going on in the kitchen, I ignored the phone and turned in the direction of the kitchen. What was the man doing? I peeked around the edge of the doorsill. I smiled to see that Darius stood in front of the refrigerator, pulling the handles on the refrigerator doors, bending down to peer up into the icemaker, poking and prodding its handle.

“It’s an icemaker,” I murmured. If he wasn’t the most adorable thing... He looked like a little boy, albeit a tall one, playing with a machine he’d never seen before.

Darius turned to me with bright interested blue eyes. I had underestimated how gorgeous they really were.

“Indeed? This is truly remarkable. Certainly better than the small wooden icebox which once stood here. And do you still have your ice delivered from the hardware store? Nesbitt’s Hardware, if I remember correctly.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed outright. Darius turned a startled look on me, and I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle another laugh. When I regained some control, I answered.

“No, we don’t have ice delivered anymore, Darius.” I nodded toward the refrigerator. “The machine makes it—though not at the moment. I’m waiting for the plumber.”

Darius cocked his head and turned back to open the doors once again. He peered in.

“How?” As men have done through time immemorial, Darius pressed and released the button to turn the light off and on.

I watched him with amusement.

“Water is piped in through the back.” I grinned and gave a slight shrug, suddenly wishing I knew more. “Some combination of magic occurs inside the refrigerator involving electricity, and the ice is formed.” I chuckled. “That’s all I know about the mechanics of it.”

“It’s wonderful,” he breathed like a kid in a candy store.

He turned to survey the rest of the kitchen, running his fingers lightly along the edge of the single basin porcelain sink. “This room was meant to be filled with children and laughter, the smell of cooking and good food.” His face darkened for a moment, taking on a distant look as he gazed out the kitchen window. “It did not happen as I dreamed,” he said quietly.

“Darius?” The shadow of regret on his face broke my heart. If I’d had the courage, I would have wrapped my arms around his waist to comfort him. But I couldn’t make myself move.

In response to my voice, he gave himself a slight shake and faced me with a tender smile.

“Please forgive me, Molly. I do not wish to cause you distress. It is foolish to dwell on a past that is gone. This is a joyful time...now that I have seen you again.”

I blushed and lowered my head. I didn’t know who I was supposed to be to him, but I desperately wanted to be her, to bask under the light in his bright eyes.

“And what is this?” he asked in an amused tone. I turned to see him study my apartment-sized, round, glass-topped breakfast table—completely out of place in this homey Victorian kitchen with the faded remnants of an ivy-patterned wallpaper on the walls. I seriously doubted that Darius had put the wallpaper up.

“That is certainly an interesting piece.” He moved over to touch the surface. The sight of his tanned, sturdy fingers running gently along the smooth glass made my knees wobble.

“It’s the furniture from my other house. It doesn’t seem to fit in here, I know.”

Darius turned to me with a smile that brought a charming crinkle to the corner of his eyes.

“I apologize for frightening you upstairs. I knocked on the front door, but there was no answer. The door was not locked, and I entered as you can see,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “I planned to wait in the living room for you, but your yellow-eyed spotted kitten stalked me mercilessly. And the orange cat ran inside the house when I entered. Surrounded by felines of unknown temperament, I found myself retreating up the stairs, and suddenly there you were!”

His cheeks bronzed only slightly less than mine burned. He rubbed an unsteady hand over his jaw and contemplated the top of the table once again.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” I whispered as I tightened my robe. I rushed on in a louder voice, hoping he hadn’t heard. “Can I offer you something to drink? Some hot chocolate?”

Darius inclined his head. “Yes, please, that sounds wonderful.” He turned to survey the new white electric range and stove that had been delivered that afternoon. “This certainly doesn’t look anything like the wood stove I put in the house.” He touched the surface, again with long, masculine fingers that seemed to gently explore the texture of the smooth enameled surface.

I turned away from ogling his hands to grab some bottled water from the refrigerator, following which I ransacked one of the cardboard kitchen boxes for two mugs and two packets of instant chocolate. I filled them with water and put them into the microwave. So far, the little apartment-size microwave had coaxed the old wiring to give it just enough juice to make hot water. I hoped it would hold up for two more cups before it fried the entire electric circuitry of the house.

Darius turned to watch me. “And what is that?”

“A microwave,” I murmured self-consciously. “I don’t know how it works either, but it heats things up fast.”

“You do not use wood?”

I shook my head.

“No, no wood.
I
don’t.” I jabbed a thumb toward my chest. “Maybe some other people do. I don’t know what they do out here in the country.”

Darius eyed me and chuckled. “And I have no idea what they do in the city...or even in this century for that matter.” He crossed the room to take a seat at the breakfast table, perching carefully on the orange-cushioned, black pseudo-wrought iron chairs that went with it.

The microwave beeped, and I poured the packets of instant chocolate mix into the cups. It wasn’t my favorite sort of hot chocolate, but it sufficed in a pinch. I stirred the contents and brought the mugs over to the table where I took a seat opposite Darius. I lowered my gaze, wishing we were at opposite ends of a massive wooden dining room table so I could admire him from a distance. Just not so close.

“You purchased my house,” he murmured in a voice of wonder, almost under his breath.

Startled, I looked up to find him watching me steadily—a warm expression on his face.

I squirmed under his gaze, and I took a quick sip of chocolate before responding.

“I did. It’s a beautiful house. You did a wonderful job.” I looked around the kitchen...anything to avoid his disturbingly intimate gaze.

“It took over a year to build. I built it for you, you know. For us.” He exhaled as he spoke, almost like a sigh, and I thought I might faint from the rush of bittersweet emotion his words elicited. I dropped my gaze again and struggled for control of my modern day sensibilities—fighting the sensation of being swept away in a romance that could have no happy ending.

“Perhaps for someone who looked like me, Darius. It couldn’t have been me.” I took another practical sip of hot chocolate. “I don’t see how that could be possible.” But I desperately wanted it to be.

Darius reached for my hand and covered it with his.

“It
is
possible, Molly, and I think you are not as much of a skeptic as you think. I see it in the way you try to hide your eyes from me. You are frightened, and you do not understand what has happened. Nor do I. But I know that you loved me and you were going to marry me.”

I clenched my fist under his, fighting the irresistible warmth of his touch. I pulled away gently and stuffed my hand into my deep robe pocket.

“How could I be alive then and now? Are you suggesting reincarnation? And what about you? Are you alive? I thought you were just a dream.”

Darius shook his head with a bemused smile.

“I do not know, Molly. But you are as I remember you. Your sweet voice, the sparkle in your eye, the soft brown of your hair.”

I thrilled to his words.

“I cannot attest to whether I am alive or not,” he repeated as he grinned and ran a hand down the front of his dark gray vest. “I
feel
alive. I feel pain and hunger and thirst.”

Hunger and thirst?
I jerked my head in his direction and stared at him.

“What? Where have you been for the past two weeks? Since I last saw you at the cemetery? Where have you been staying?”

“Here,” he said.

“Here?” I sat forward. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve been in the house this whole time?”

“Well, yes, I am afraid so. I needed shelter.” He smiled apologetically.

I gulped. “Do you mean you can’t go back to...to wherever you came from?”

“It appears not. I am still here.” Darius shrugged his shoulders and regarded me with a half smile.

“But...but how have you been eating?” I stammered. “Do you even need to eat?”

“Apparently, I do,” Darius murmured. “I have been very hungry lately.”

“How did you get food?” My eyes widened and my stomach rolled over. “You
have
been getting food, haven’t you, Darius? Please tell me I didn’t walk off on you and let you starve.” I covered my mouth with my hands and leaned on the table. “I didn’t know,” I mumbled against my palms while I stared at him, horrified.