

### IN LOVING MEMORY

### Stairway in Time Romance Novelette

By R. Barri Flowers

_IN LOVING MEMORY: Stairway in Time Romance Novelette_ is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

IN LOVING MEMORY

Stairway in Time Romance Novelette

Copyright 2020 by R. Barri Flowers

All rights reserved.

Cover Image Copyright Easyshutter, 2020

Used under license from Shutterstock.com

To the love of my life, in which time is forever in our corner. You have always encouraged me to put my best foot forward as an author, dreamer, husband, and best friend.

To fans of time travel romance fiction, I hope you enjoy this novelette exploring the timeless nature of love.

* * *

OTHER BOOKS BY R. BARRI FLOWERS

FICTION

A Reason to Live

Alive in the Rose City

Before He Kills Again

Dark Streets of Whitechapel

Dead in Kihei

Dead in Pukalani

Dead in the Rose City

Deadly Defense

Fractured Trust

Justice Served

Kaanapali Beach Paradise

Kauai Killer

Killer Connection

Killer in The Woods

Murder in Honolulu

Murder in Maui

Murder of the Hula Dancers

Murder on Kaanapali Beach

Murdered in the Gourmet Kitchen

Murdered in the Man Cave

Night Killers

Persuasive Evidence

Seduced to Kill in Kauai

State's Evidence

TEEN FICTION

Christmas Wishes: Laura's Story

Count Dracula's Teenage Daughter

Danger in Time

Daughter of Count Dracula

Ghost Girl in Shadow Bay

Out for Blood

Summer at Paradise Ranch

Teen Ghost at Dead Lake

* * *

PRAISE FOR R. BARRI FLOWERS

"MURDER ON KAANAPALI BEACH is among the best of his tales. This one deserves to be at the top of your must read list." — John Lutz, Edgar winning bestselling mystery author

"R. Barri Flowers gives readers a fine procedural along with appealing characters and great local color." — Bill Crider, Edgar winner and bestselling crime writer on MURDER ON KAANAPALI BEACH

"A top flight police procedural and a must read for all fans of suspense. The contrast of seamy crime to the beautiful paradise setting adds to the gripping tension." — Joe Moore, bestselling co-author on MURDER ON KAANAPALI BEACH

"R. Barri Flowers weaves a riveting crime tale set in Hawaii oozing with authenticity, grit, and drama." — Kim Cresswell, bestselling author on MURDER ON KAANAPALI BEACH

"A police procedural with a complex plot, told from multiple viewpoints. The reader gets the added benefit of a virtual vacation on Maui." — Laurie Hanan, mystery author on MURDER ON KAANAPALI BEACH

"Flowers delivers the goods. An exotic setting, winning characters, and realistic procedural details make MURDER IN MAUI a sure hit with crime-fiction readers." — Bill Crider, Edgar winner and author

"MURDER IN MAUI is a steamy, non-stop thrill-ride through the seamy underbelly of Hawaii." — Allison Leotta, Federal Sex Crimes Prosecutor and author

"Vivid details of police procedure one would expect from top criminologist. A gripping novel in what promises to be an outstanding series." — Douglas Preston, New York Times bestselling author on MURDER IN MAUI

"Gripping, tightly woven tale you won't want to put down. Author neatly contrasts the natural beauty of tropical paradise with ugliness of murder and its aftermath." — John Lutz, Edgar winner and bestselling author on MURDER IN MAUI

"MURDER IN HONOLULU is an exquisitely rich and masterfully constructed mystery. Flowers now lays fitting claim to the beautiful island paradise as his territory.... A savvy, smooth, and sumptuous read that's as hot as Waikiki beach sand." — Jon Land, mystery author

"Infidelity and murder in paradise lead to a one of a kind case for PI Skye McKenzie Delaney, and an enjoyable ride for the reader. Definitely put this one on your list." — John Lutz, Edgar winner and bestselling author on MURDER IN HONOLULU

"Flowers once again has written a page-turner legal thriller that begins with a bang and rapidly moves along to its final page. He has filled the novel with believable characters and situations." — Midwest Book Review on STATE'S EVIDENCE

"A clever mystery with many suspects.... Vividly written, this book holds the reader's attention and speeds along." — Romantic Times on JUSTICE SERVED

"A model of crime fiction.... Flowers may be a new voice in modern mystery writing, but he is already one of its best voices." — Statesman Journal on JUSTICE SERVED

"An excellent look at the jurisprudence system...will appeal to fans of John Grisham and Linda Fairstein." — Harriet Klausner on PERSUASIVE EVIDENCE

"STATE'S EVIDENCE will make the top sellers list because it's fast-paced, intriguing, satisfying, and I highly recommend it to you." — Romance Reader at Heart

"A rocket of a read. Not only a heart-thumping thriller, this is that rare novel that is downright scary." — John Lutz, Edgar winner and bestselling author on BEFORE HE KILLS AGAIN

"It gets no better than this! R. Barri Flowers has written another thriller guaranteed to hold onto its readers!" — Huntress Reviews on DARK STREETS OF WHITECHAPEL

"Selected as one of Suspense Magazine's Best Books." — John Raab, CEO/Publisher on THE SEX SLAVE MURDERS

**TABLE OF CONTENTS**

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Love Aboard the Titanic – bonus short story

A Reason to Live – bonus excerpts

About the Author

* * *
**CHAPTER ONE**

Jenna Malloy shifted her position in bed, hoping not to wake her husband Dylan, while wrapped in his strong, long arms. No small feat, as he was usually a light sleeper. But maybe this time his taut body was in need of rest. And his mind, too. They had spent much of the night making frenetic love in celebrating their fifteenth anniversary, still unable to keep their hands and bodies off of one another after so long together. They had met at Michigan State University, during her sophomore year and his junior year. She was an art major and he majored in history while being an aspiring writer. They connected quickly in spirit, soul, chemistry, camaraderie, and intimacy, and never looked back. Except in gleeful reminiscing. Not a day had gone by when she didn't feel that theirs was a timeless love. Dylan had doubled down on that belief, all but guaranteeing her that nothing could ever break them apart. In her heart of hearts, Jenna bought into that passionately, fully expecting to grow old together and add two or three children to their hectic lives in Lake Kane, a suburb of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

But that would come later. Right now, at thirty-eight, she had to focus on her busy life as a successful real estate agent and dedicated volunteer at a local senior center; just as Dylan put in long hours as a history professor and bestselling, prolific author of science fiction and fantasy novels. The somewhat paradoxical occupations seemed to perfectly suit his character as one rooted in the past, but ever interested in the future and all its possibilities, fictionally or otherwise. Whereas, she preferred to focus largely on the here and now and embracing all it had to offer—beginning with the greatest husband she could ever have asked for. She couldn't imagine having ever ended up with anyone else. Or, for that matter, Dylan with another woman as his wife. _Not in this lifetime_ , she thought.

Jenna eased out of his arms and quietly slipped out of bed. Gazing down at his handsome face, Dylan was still sleeping, while snoring lightly. His trimmed dark hair was a bit messy, making him look very sexy. Desire ripped through her body and she fantasized about jumping his bones as her version of a wakeup call. But reality sank in, as time simply wasn't on her side at this early morning hour on September 19th, 2020. This evening, though, they could pick right back up and continue their jubilee in bed.

Before she could head into the bathroom, Jenna was stopped in her tracks by the sensual sound of Dylan's sleepy voice. "Just where do you think you're going?" he asked, reaching out to her.

She faced him, watching as his deep blue eyes studied her ass the same lustful way she had become accustomed to, knowing full well she was just as guilty in reverse. "To work," she almost hated to say.

"I thought you were off today?" He half sat up on the crumpled sheets, giving her more of his finely tuned body to look at joyously.

"Think again." Jenna made a face. Did he really believe that? It was Saturday and definitely not a day off. "We have a team meeting this morning and I have a couple of showings scheduled."

"My mistake," Dylan groaned sheepishly. "Can I help it if I want you all to myself every day?"

"You mean other than when you're at work or writing?" she teased him, though warmed by the thought.

"Good point." He laughed, conceding defeat on this score. "Guess I'll just have to settle for a kiss, Mrs. Malloy."

That she could do gladly. Jenna moved back to the bed and allowed Dylan to pull her down onto his hard body for a passionate kiss that left her reeling and wanting more. She forced herself to pull away and uttered breathlessly: "Go back to sleep. After last night's marathon session, you must be worn out." The deep kiss suggested otherwise.

"Look who's talking," he responded playfully. "You gave as much as you took."

"Guilty as charged," she admitted knowingly. As if he would have wanted it any other way. Or her.

Dylan leaned on an elbow, regarding her affectionately. "I'd take that workout any day of the week, so long as it's with you."

"It better be." She beamed affectionately, wishing she didn't have to leave at this moment. She tried to soften the blow. "With any luck, I'll be out of there by early afternoon and we can have dinner at our favorite restaurant. Whatever happens after that will be up to you—"

He grinned lustfully. "I'll hold you to that."

She chuckled desirously, kissed him once more, and uttered truthfully: "I'm counting on it."

_More than you know_ , Jenna told herself shamelessly. Deciding not to extend this longing any further, she headed out of the room.

**CHAPTER TWO**

Dylan Malloy watched as his wife of fifteen years and counting glanced back at him blushingly for a long moment. It allowed him to take in the glow of her beautiful face with turquoise eyes and dimpled chin, all bordered by yellow hair in a blunt cut. Her nude body was streamlined with small but firm breasts and long, lean legs, teasing him with the perfection that came with her package. She turned away and stepped into the en suite bathroom. Only a year ago, they had purchased the Cape Cod style lakefront home with nearby walking and biking trails. It was a place they both wanted to settle in and eventually start a family.

Dylan set his head back on the pillow and put a big grin on his face. He couldn't help but think that, at forty, he was the luckiest man alive. At least it sure as hell felt that way. The fact that Jenna had chosen him in college when every horny male coed at Michigan State would have gladly taken his place continued to amaze him to this day. Even if he sometimes didn't feel he deserved her, he wouldn't change this for anything in the world.

Yes, like Jenna, he sometimes got too wrapped up in his work for his own good. But even with that, he never lost sight of the fact that his love for her made him whole and kept his life moving forward with enthusiasm. Though he could certainly use a little more shut-eye, Dylan doubted he would be able to go back to sleep. Not when Jenna had him charged up, wanting to hold her and never let go.

He climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom, where she was in the oversized shower. Her eyes were closed tightly as she soaped her body while water sprayed onto her. Stepping inside, he moved behind her. She didn't flinch, as though expecting him. "Couldn't sleep," he whispered. _Not without you in my arms_ , Dylan mused, taking the soap from her hand.

"Why am I not surprised?" Her voice had a sexiness to it as Jenna turned around. "What am I going to do with you?"

He ran the soap down her thigh while being showered with warm water and said eagerly: "Anything you want—"

She started to kiss him and he welcomed this by returning the favor zestfully. By the time they left the shower, both were hot and bothered, but didn't allow things to go further. Dylan watched Jenna get dressed and saw her off, kissing her one last time as if it meant something more than any other kiss. He wasn't sure what to make of that, other than maybe signifying the start of the next full year of marriage, while hoping they were fortunate enough to match his parents' forty-five years of matrimony and more.

For now, he was happy to have the love of his life as a wife and best friend and excited at what may lie ahead as they went on this journey together.

Wearing jeans and a sweatshirt he'd had since college, Dylan made some coffee and headed to his home office to get some work done.

* * *

Todd Ballinger was high on meth as he paced back and forth in his apartment. He'd been in rehab a couple of times, but had been unable to kick the nasty habit. He supposed it got started when he was with his ex-girlfriend and they both took to smoking the stuff for the rush. Now she was out of the picture and he was still getting high while trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life.

At the moment, he felt as though he was suffocating within those walls. He needed to go out for some fresh air. Maybe he'd go to the store and pick up a bottle of wine. Yeah, that might be just what he needed to get out of this funk. He found his keys and headed out the door, never bothering to put on shoes, as though not realizing in his state that he was without them.

Climbing in his gray Dodge Dakota SLT, Todd started it and backed out of his parking spot in the lot before driving onto the street. He felt anxious and restless, which lately had been par for the course.

**CHAPTER THREE**

Jenna sat back in her red Subaru Legacy as she drove to work. Wearing a navy dress suit and dark pumps, she smiled as she thought of Dylan complimenting her. Not that he hadn't before. Many times, in fact. Still, she never tired of hearing him say it, even after all these years together. Her mind wandered to their time in the shower. What began as mutual cleansing and caressing turned into quite a bit more. She tingled at the thought, while turning onto Flagstone Lane, normally one of the busiest streets in the city. But traffic was light on this weekend morning. She noted a middle-aged man walking his dog and a young female jogger offering him and the dog a smile as she passed them by. Admittedly, she enjoyed observing those around her and speculating on the ins and outs of their lives.

The chiming of her cell phone broke Jenna's observations as she looked back at the road. Slipping the phone from her open handbag on the passenger seat, she glanced at it and saw the caller was her coworker and best friend, apart from Dylan, Gail Vargas. Jenna and Dylan had celebrated part of their anniversary yesterday evening by having dinner at an Italian restaurant with Gail and her boyfriend, Pete Bianchi. Everyone was in good spirits and Gail even hinted that a wedding proposal could be forthcoming.

Putting her on speakerphone, Jenna said: "Hey."

"Hey back," Gail said. "I'm running late, but wanted to give you a buzz to see if the night ended with a bang. Or two...?"

Jenna blushed. She normally did not like to talk about her sex life, feeling that was between her and Dylan. But since she knew Gail would continue to press until she got some sort of satisfactory response, she decided to lay it on a bit thick when answering truthfully: "You could say that there were definitely fireworks in the air and more than one explosion."

"I expected no less." Gail chuckled. "If you had needed some time to recuperate today, I'm sure everyone would have totally understood."

"I've recuperated enough to attend the meeting and show some homes," Jenna told her and slowed down as she approached the light behind one other vehicle.

"Okay, just checking."

Jenna decided to turn the tables on her, recalling how she and Pete were all over each other at the restaurant. "Maybe you'll fill me in on what happened after you two headed home..."

"If you insist," Gail uttered coyly, then seemed to lose any inhibitions.

Jenna colored as her friend spoke graphically about her own sexual exploits, giving Jenna some ideas that she and Dylan might try out. Not that they needed any help sexually. They had always appreciated the adventure of a healthy sex life and were always open to experimenting.

When the light changed, she continued on her way.

* * *

Todd drank straight from the bottle of red wine as he drove down Hazelwood Avenue. He was admittedly enjoying the buzz that he got from the alcohol and meth, while at the same time feeling as if he was going in slow motion. He needed to put on some speed, fly like the wind that hit him in the face when driving his ex-girlfriend's green convertible. Pressing down on the accelerator, he darted past other cars like they weren't even there. Honestly, he didn't know where the hell he was going and didn't particularly care. All he wanted was to do something— _anything_ —rather than go back to those empty walls of his apartment and the dark memories that seemed baked in.

He pressed down harder on the accelerator, determined to see how fast he could get the Dakota to go, while daring anyone to get in his way.

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Jenna was three blocks away from her office and, once again, found herself stuck at a stop light. This time, she had no one in front of her. She noted a building with graffiti on the wall. Though it wasn't exactly her cup of tea and she imagined was the talented work of a bored juvenile, it did bring her back to her college days when she had once thought that art would be her forte in life. But somewhere along the line that dream fell to the wayside as little more than a hobby. Dylan had encouraged her to pursue it more, but there never seemed to be enough time in the day aside from work and quality time with him.

For some reason, at that moment, Jenna felt the need to hear Dylan's charming voice. She grabbed her cell phone and auto dialed his number, hoping he would pick up. He didn't, as it went straight to his voicemail. _Figures_ , she grumbled to herself, but wasn't surprised. She was sure he was busy on his laptop, carving out more pages of his latest novel about a time travelling adventurer. He was nothing if not very focused when it came to working on a book and meeting his deadlines. Every now and then, Jenna half convinced herself that Dylan's writing was more important to him than her. Of course, she knew this wasn't true. Any more than her work could ever be more important than the love she had for this man.

Putting her silly selfishness aside, Jenna left him a message, saying: "Hey, got bored at a street light and decided to call and tell you just how much I love you and am still thinking about last night, this morning, and what we have to look forward to tonight. Just something for you to think about between pages. Catch you later. Love you."

After disconnecting, Jenna saw that the light had turned green. It was 8:15 a.m. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, a pickup truck was on her tail impatiently and she was thankful the driver didn't honk the horn to tell her to get moving.

"Okay, okay," she muttered, acquiescing.

Pressing lightly on the accelerator, Jenna drove into the intersection. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted fast movement from the cross street of Hazelwood Avenue on the driver side. Before she could do anything, or even think about how quickly a life could be snuffed out, Jenna heard the tremendous sound of two vehicles colliding. Then everything went black.

* * *

Wearing glasses, Dylan sipped on coffee while wrapping up grading papers for his history class. He gladly opened the file for his latest novel entitled, _Does Time Stand Still_. A sequel to his previous novel, _Crossing Time_ , it was a time travel plot about a man overcome with guilt after ruining lives all around him who was determined to make things right by undoing history. Dylan found the concept intriguing, mirroring his own interest in the idea of being able to break the time barrier and change events. For better or worse was always the question and the answer was open for debate.

In this instance, the plan was for his protagonist to correct things and return to his true love at the end of the day and call it a night—hopefully together in this fictional world. Dylan grinned at that last intimate thought and considered his own life with Jenna and how he would go to the end of the earth and back if it meant saving her from a dark destiny. At least in theory.

He wrote a couple of chapters and was really getting into the nuts and bolts of the plot when he heard the doorbell ring. Damn, he thought, irritated that someone was breaking his concentration. Lately, they had been getting their fair share of solicitors popping up, hoping to rope them into one thing or another. Not today. He would get rid of them and get back to work.

Heading across the eucalyptus hardwood flooring, Dylan bypassed the vintage European furniture inherited by Jenna from her grandparents, and contemporary paintings adorning the plum colored walls. They were painted by Jenna, a hidden talent that needed to be brought out in the open for more people to appreciate. He reached the foyer. Peering through the peephole, he saw two men standing there in dark suits. They looked official, but looks could be deceiving.

Curiously, Dylan opened the door.

The taller of the two men, in his early fifties with receding gray hair, stepped forward and asked evenly: "Mr. Malloy?"

"Yes," Dylan answered cautiously.

He lifted up his identification. "Detective Avalon." He glanced at the other man, who was dark-haired, chunkier, and in his late thirties, identifying him as Detective Keystone. "May we come in?" Detective Avalon asked in an ambiguous tone of voice.

For the first time, Dylan felt concern as to the purpose of the visit, but refused to think negatively as he invited them in. He waited till they were standing in the living room before gazing steadily at Avalon and asking him: "What's this all about?"

When he hesitated, Detective Keystone responded with a question: "Is your wife Jenna Malloy?"

"Yes." Dylan got a sinking feeling. "Has something happened to her?" He recalled checking his cell phone and seeing Jenna's voicemail, which he had delayed opening while finishing a chapter.

Keystone deferred to Avalon, who spoke glumly: "There's been an accident. An out of control vehicle slammed into your wife's car—"

"How badly is she hurt?" Dylan's heart pounded as he imagined the extent of her injuries. "I have to get to the hospital..."

As if to prevent him from leaving them there in his rush to be by Jenna's side, Avalon grabbed Dylan's arm and said sadly: "Your wife didn't make it. I'm sorry."

Dylan jerked his arm away and glared at him disbelievingly. "Are you saying Jenna is dead...?"

Avalon paused and lowered his brown eyes respectfully. "I'm afraid so."

Dylan fell to his knees, overcome by the sheer force of being told what no husband ever wanted to hear. There were other words being spoken by the two detectives, but they went in one ear and out the other as Dylan was too consumed with pain to focus on anything else. _Jenna dead?_ a voice screamed in his head. How was that even possible? Less than an hour ago, she was very much alive and full of life and excited about the future. Their future. Was fate truly that cruel to take that away from her? Them?

He had no answer.

**CHAPTER FIVE**

The funeral was, as expected, a gloomy affair. Dylan could find no words to express his deep regret and utter pain in losing the great love of his life. And for what? A senseless act as a man high on alcohol and drugs went on a joyride, damn the consequences that resulted in his own death and Jenna's. Why such things occurred in a random nature and to someone who deserved to live a long and happy life was something Dylan would never be able to wrap his mind around.

He went through the motions as Jenna's parents, along with his own, and Dylan and Jenna's friends and colleagues, attended the funeral. All were in their own way just as broken up by the tragic loss. No one could find anything but nice words to say about Jenna, which Dylan fully expected, but it did little to lessen the emptiness he felt inside. That special place in his heart reserved for Jenna could never be filled, no matter what twists and turns in life occurred as he moved forward.

After the services, Jenna was laid to rest at the local cemetery on an overcast day, as if supporting the sadness permeating the air. It was all Dylan could do to hold up when the better part of him was no more. The fact that so many good people had been lost before their time did little to dull the ache that churned inside him and threatened to boil over.

When the final goodbyes had been said and done, everyone congregated at the house, in continuing to pay their respects and offer a shoulder to cry on. Dylan took them up on that, but only to an extent. It would be up to him alone to truly try and come to terms with what happened and find a way to carry on in Jenna's absence.

The last ones remaining were Jenna's friend, Gail, and the man she hoped to marry, Pete. Gail was the same age as Jenna, wiry thin and tall with curly red hair. Pete was a few years older, gray-haired and husky. They seemed very much in love. Dylan felt envious with what they were building for the future as something he'd already had and was cruelly taken away from him.

Gail seemed to pick up on his thoughts as she said sympathetically: "You'll get through this, Dylan. We'll be there to help you every step of the way as Jenna would have expected."

"For sure," Pete added, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We're here for you, Buddy."

"I appreciate that," Dylan told them sincerely. "It means a lot." _But not nearly enough_ , he thought miserably. There were no substitutes for the real thing: Jenna.

"Why don't I clean up the kitchen?" Gail volunteered.

"Thanks, but if it's all the same to you, I just need some time by myself."

"Of course." She nodded respectfully and took Pete's hand. "If there's anything we can do—"

Dylan offered a weak smile. "Thanks."

He saw them out the door and walked through the spacious empty house, wondering how he could possibly continue to live there by himself. Every which way he went reminded him of Jenna. He even seemed to pick up her scent in the air, as though she were somehow still there, waiting to rematerialize and reclaim her place as the lady of the house.

_I've been writing too much science fiction_ , Dylan told himself, dismissing the fanciful musings. What he needed right now more than anything was a drink. Maybe two. And to step outside this house, where he suddenly felt as though he were suffocating. Was this what he had to look forward to for the rest of his lonely life?

**CHAPTER SIX**

Dylan nursed a scotch on the rocks at the Westside Tavern on Grand Avenue, wallowing in his own self-pity while mourning the loss of his wife and best thing to ever happen to him. If only he had kept her at the house a little longer that morning, things might have turned out differently. Or maybe if she had taken a different route. Or not had a red light at the worst possible time. He realized what might have been did nothing to change what happened. Jenna was gone and there was nothing he could do to get her back.

_Face up to it_ , he told himself, _your life is never going to be the same again._ Not without Jenna. No one would ever take her place in his life. That stark realization only further dispirited him.

He pulled out his cell phone and replayed Jenna's last words to him in a voicemail: "Hey, got bored at a street light and decided to call and tell you just how much I love you and am still thinking about last night, this morning, and what we have to look forward to tonight. Just something for you to think about between pages. Catch you later. Love you."

Dylan sucked in a deep breath and fought back tears as he downed the rest of his drink. He was about to ask for another when, seemingly out of nowhere, he noted there was a man sitting next to him.

"Looks like you could use a friend," the man said, apparently offering this.

Dylan glanced at him. He guessed the man, wearing a charcoal suit and black derby shoes, had to be pushing seventy-five, if a day. Cusps of white hair were tucked beneath a gray tweed wool flat cap and a weathered face lifted proudly. His crusty blue eyes peered at Dylan, as though they were old acquaintances.

"Thanks, but I'm not in the market for friendship," he told him politely.

The man seemed undaunted. "I'm guessing you've lost someone dear to you...?"

Dylan cocked a brow. _Is it that apparent?_ he asked himself. "My wife," he admitted.

"Sorry to hear that." The man looked genuine in that regard. "Been down that road myself."

"Then you must know how much it sucks," Dylan said flatly, pursing his lips.

"Yeah, I know all about that." The man stuck out his hand. "Alfred McCall."

"Dylan Malloy." Reluctantly, Dylan shook his hand, still not really interested in company right now.

"You're the author," Alfred said, admiration lighting his eyes, deepening crow's feet.

"Yep, that's me." Dylan downplayed it, even if he'd worked hard to establish himself in a crowded field of science fiction and fantasy authors.

"I read your last novel," he claimed. "Should have recognized you from the photograph on the back. I'm a big fan of time travel fiction."

"Glad you liked it." Dylan assumed that was the case by his words and expression.

"Certainly. What struck me most was the notion of a man willing to cross the expanse of time for what he considered to be a worthy cause. Everyone should have such an opportunity."

"Tell me about it," Dylan grunted. "Unfortunately, it's not possible in real life."

"How can you be so sure?" Alfred angled his face perceptively. "Perhaps if you were to follow the lead of your protagonist, Kyle Winston, you just might be able to break through the barrier of time and give your wife a chance to live the long life you'd envisioned for her—"

Dylan wondered where this was going. Was this man toying with him? Playing with his emotions by suggesting he could somehow become a time traveler and save Jenna's life? "I'm not sure I follow you," he said suspiciously.

Alfred did not flinch. "It's not really complicated, Dylan. Reach back deep in your heart and do what you were meant to do. I must warn you, though, there are no absolutes when it comes to altering history. One thing could impact another. Or it could all right itself over the course of time. If you're willing to roll the dice, so to speak, let yourself believe in the impossible just like your fictional character and see what happens. Otherwise, you'll never really know what might have been and be left in the sorry state you're in at the moment."

_Was he for real?_ Dylan rolled his eyes with cynicism. The idea of becoming a time traveling knight in shining armor and somehow preventing Jenna from being killed like in a novel or television movie seemed like a huge mountain no real-life, grieving husband could ever hope to scale.

On the other hand, was there anything that he wouldn't do to bring Jenna back to life and resume the happy world they had created together till disaster struck, were the opportunity to present itself. Including traveling back in time. If only he could.

Dylan resisted having another drink. It would only cloud his judgment that much further and push him away from reality. Not that this was a bad thing. He would rather live in a dream where Jenna was alive and well, if given a choice. So maybe he had been given that choice in some bizarre way.

Why not humor the old man? _What do I have to lose by playing along?_ Dylan mused. Especially when, on some level, he did believe that anything could be possible no matter how improbable.

He shut his eyes and tried his best to concentrate on going back to that morning of September 19th before Jenna left home. Dylan opened up his mind like never before, hoping against hope that it would not prove all for naught.

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

When Dylan opened his eyes, he was stunned to find he was no longer sitting at the bar with the old man. So where was he? Definitely not Lake Kane. Yet there was an air of familiarity as he stood on grass near a body of water. Then it hit him. The Red Cedar River. He glanced around him on a sunny day and, looking at the buildings, realized he was on the Michigan State University campus where he attended college in East Lansing, Michigan.

But how was this possible? He hadn't been back to his alma mater since he and Jenna attended his ten-year college reunion five years ago. And he certainly hadn't magically appeared there. Was he dreaming? Had the mysterious elderly man somehow slipped something into his drink that had Dylan hallucinating?

Or worse, poisoned to death? _Am I dead?_ he asked himself. If so, was this some bizarre version of heaven?

Dylan took a moment to regain his equilibrium as best as possible. He recalled now that he was supposed to be going back in time to save Jenna's impending death. Was that what this was all about? But how?

He began walking, dodging bicyclists and others heading to and from classes, while realizing that the campus seemed less like the one he had last visited and more like the one he recalled as a student, before the inevitable changes occurred over time. Unsure what to make of it, Dylan found himself in front of Akers Hall, where he spent his first three years as an undergrad. And where he had met Jenna.

Curiously, he went inside. The lobby was bustling with students coming and going, chattering and what not. Dylan turned to the small wooden table that held a stack of the student newspaper, _The State News_. Grabbing one, he looked at the date. It was September 19th, 2003.

This gave him a start as Dylan tried to process it. He had apparently traveled seventeen years back in time when Jenna was still a junior. How could that be? Was it some weird quirk in time like in his novels, where the best laid plans could be thrown off course?

Only now did he look at the front desk, remembering it was where Jenna worked part-time to make some extra money to supplement her full scholarship. There she was. The twenty-one-year-old version. Alive and well. She was gorgeous with that long blonde hair clipped at the sides just as he remembered and green-blue eyes sparkling with optimism. His heart skipped a beat in that moment.

_What now?_ Dylan asked himself. Was this how he was supposed to save Jenna in the future? Was it even possible, given the time differential and unpredictability of the next seventeen years?

_I have to try_ , he told himself, believing that this was the reason he was there. The fact that he had no idea how Jenna might react to him or anything he had to say was something Dylan brushed aside, knowing his wife's life—or future—hung in the balance.

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

Jenna Kanaly sat bored out of her mind at the front desk. Yes, she was happy in her junior year to be able to earn extra money by passing out mail and answering general questions of students and visitors alike. But, honestly, she would much rather be cozying up somewhere with her boyfriend, Dylan, making love or dreaming about tomorrow. If that failed, she could always hang out with her roommate and best friend, Cheryl Rennard, doing whatever college students did for excitement from one day to another. _Oh well, you can't have everything you want_ , she told herself realistically. Besides, she only had an hour left before it was time to go to her next class, Studio Art. The idea of becoming a big-time artist with her works in great demand excited Jenna, even if she knew that it would be anything but easy to make a decent living doing what she loved best. No harm in dreaming, though.

Her thoughts were distracted when she spotted some movement on the other side of the counter. Looking up from her desk, she saw a tall, dark-haired, and well-built man standing there. He appeared to be in his late thirties. Maybe early forties. He wore a red flannel shirt and jeans. Nothing out of the ordinary. He was staring at her with the most amazing blue eyes. They reminded her of Dylan's eyes.

Indeed, as Jenna gazed back at him, she realized that the eyes weren't the only thing about him that was reminiscent of her boyfriend. If you aged Dylan by about fifteen or twenty years, including cutting his hair a bit, this was exactly what she imagined he would look like.

Collecting herself, Jenna said with an almost blushing smile: "Hi. Can I help you?"

_You've already helped me more than you could possibly realize_ , Dylan thought, wanting to pinch himself to believe he was standing there looking at his then-girlfriend and soon to be fiancée. It amazed him just how little Jenna would change over the years, a product of determination, diet, exercise, and good old-fashioned genes.

He homed in on the yellow scoop neck sweater she wore with brown slacks on a slender frame. Incredibly, Jenna still had the sweater, wearing it from time to time as one reminder of the good old days. Gazing back at her eyes, he willed himself to speak: "I'm not exactly sure how to say this, but I could use some assistance in a kind of unorthodox way, Jenna—"

She reacted. How did he know her name? Had he been stalking her? "Have we met...?" she had to ask for her own peace of mind.

Dylan stiffened. How did he answer that without totally freaking her out? "I've seen you around," he answered lamely, knowing it was wholly insufficient.

Jenna wasn't sure she bought that. Was he a professor? Was he hitting on her? Was he searching for something—or someone—to latch onto? There was something unsettling about his words. Still, she found herself responding: "Just how unorthodox are we talking about here?" _Did I just give him an opening that I could live to regret?_ she mused nervously.

Dylan leaned forward, knowing that if he screwed this up, he might never get his own Jenna back. Not to mention possibly altering this Jenna's future in an unintended way. But this was his moment to prevent a tragedy for them both and he would be damned if he passed up the totally unanticipated but welcome opportunity. "I need you to hold onto a date in time, even if it sounds crazy—"

She didn't understand where he was coming from, but asked as if compelled to do so: "What date?"

"September 19th, 2020," Dylan told her without preface.

Jenna met his unblinking eyes curiously. "What's so special about that date...?"

He hesitated, trying to decide how best to answer the question with the stakes being so high. "When I tell you, all I ask is that you keep an open mind. Can you do that?"

She had always considered herself to be open-minded about most things, but something told Jenna that this was no ordinary request. Nevertheless, she agreed, even if unsure she could live up to that.

"It's the day after you and Dylan will celebrate your fifteenth wedding anniversary," he told her evenly, watching her eyes widen at the news.

"Do you know Dylan?" Jenna ignored for the moment the amazingly optimistic forecast of her future with Dylan. Though they had been dating for more than a year, there had yet to be any engagement. Much less, serious talk about a future together. So who is this man? He certainly looks enough like Dylan that she could see him being a relative.

"We've met," Dylan told her simply, which was probably about as close to the truth as he should say for the moment.

"Did Dylan put you up to this?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. Was it her boyfriend's way of proposing by finding an older lookalike to do the work for him?

_No, an enigmatic old man did_ , thought Dylan. But he couldn't exactly tell her that. "This isn't about Dylan," he pointed out in a harder tone than intended. "It's about saving your life—" _And my own, for all intents and purposes_ , he thought.

Now Jenna was starting to worry. Was he threatening her? Should she call the campus police? 911?

Dylan could almost read her thoughts, and understandably so, given how he must have come across to her. Why couldn't he have simply been able to go back to the day in question? Or the day before and change history—or Jenna's tragic future?

He had to do something or he'd lose this chance to stop the accident before it happened. "I'm not here to hurt you," he blurted out. "Just the opposite. I happen to know some things about the future that I'm trying to prevent. Don't ask me to explain. There will be a car accident on September 19th, 2020. All I ask is for you to lock that date in your mind, as if your life depended on it. Avoid going out at all when that days comes... Please—"

Jenna tried to still her rapidly beating heart. He seemed to be forecasting her death. How could he possibly know she would be in a fatal car accident in seventeen years? And where was this supposed to occur? Was this some kind of sick joke? If so, she wasn't laughing. Looking at the man, the sadness in his eyes suggested he truly believed this. But should she? "I don't know what to say..." she managed ill at ease.

As a last-ditch effort to make this work, Dylan pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. It had Jenna's last voicemail on it. "I'd like you to listen to this message on my cell phone. Please note the date..."

Jenna studied the red cell phone that was more streamlined than any she had seen. And a bit more sophisticated too. She saw the voicemail and noted that it was supposedly recorded on September 19th in the year 2020 at 8:14 a.m.

_How odd_ , Jenna thought, and quite hard to fathom as a rational human being. Would it be so difficult in this modern day and age to manipulate a cell phone to portray something that allegedly hasn't happened yet? Though her skepticism was strong, she pushed play to listen to the message that was left by...Jenna—

In what chillingly sounded like her own voice, the caller said: "Hey, got bored at a street light and decided to call and tell you just how much I love you and am still thinking about last night, this morning, and what we have to look forward to tonight. Just something for you to think about between pages. Catch you later. Love you."

**CHAPTER NINE**

In the blink of an eye, Dylan found himself standing in the middle of an oceanfront garden. It took him only a moment to recognize the tropical setting with palm trees and plenty of blue sky as the Big Island of Hawaii. He and Jenna had spent a week there on their honeymoon. They had been meaning to come back ever since. Sadness swept over Dylan that they had been denied this opportunity by the cruel hands of fate.

In this surreal world he had entered in another blow to his sense of time and place, Dylan moved toward a bench, where the only person in sight, an elderly woman, sat, seemingly caught up in her own world. Her slender frame was covered in a floral print midi dress worn with slide sandals. She turned his way as he approached. He guessed her to be in her early seventies. She had attractively swept back gray hair with blonde highlights. Her thin, tanned face was striking and green-blue eyes assessed him unblinkingly.

A soft smile crossed her lips as she said: "You haven't changed a bit."

He raised a brow in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Not since your surprise visit when I was a junior in college fifty years ago."

Dylan felt his heart racing as her words registered with incredulity. "Jenna—?"

"Yes, it's me." Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Not exactly the twenty-one-year-old coed you last saw, but at least I'm still the same person on the inside on September 19th, 2053."

He studied her, seeing through the fine lines around her eyes and aging of the face to find the woman he fell in love with and married. She was still beautiful, even if it took him a moment or two to reconcile the differences. "How is this possible?" he asked, more confused than even before in assessing the notion of being in the year 2053.

"I only wish I knew," Jenna told him. She had been asking herself the same question for half a century. Or ever since her life-changing experience with the good-looking man who would become her husband. Seeing him now as she did that fateful day at Akers Hall was a shock to the system, even if she had been expecting it. The fact that she had grown old, passing him by in age, didn't make things any easier. "Not a day has gone by that I haven't thought of you and your dire warning about September 19th, 2020. As you can see, I survived the accident—"

"How?" Dylan sat beside her, overjoyed that his unexpected efforts as a time traveler had achieved its intended objective in saving Jenna's life. Yet he still found himself straining to try and wrap his mind around that and what it meant for his past and future in the strange twists and turns of time.

"By making sure I wasn't anywhere near a car, much less driving one," she explained. "I figured it was better safe than sorry. It worked. Here I am, as healthy as one might expect for a seventy-one-year-old woman."

He grinned, euphoric with that reality. "I couldn't be more thrilled."

"I have something that belongs to you." She took a cell phone out of her handbag. "You left this behind before we could even say goodbye half a century ago—"

Dylan took the cell phone, never realizing he didn't have it with him. He studied it as if a long-lost artifact.

"I saw the photographs of you and...me...over the years that you'd taken with the phone," Jenna said with amazement. "They were quite revealing in so many ways."

"I'm glad," he said, knowing it made things that much easier for her to try and come to terms with it to the extent possible when dealing with time progression and time travel.

"Me too," she uttered spiritedly. "It was probably the only way I could have understood, on some level, my destiny."

Only then did it occur to Dylan that his future version would also be much older than his current age of forty. Or had he been fortunate enough to still be in the game at the age of seventy-three? He almost hesitated to ask, but needed to do so: "Am I...or is he...Dylan, still alive?" He found himself holding his breath, as if hanging on for dear life while waiting for her response.

Jenna smiled. "Yes, my Dylan is still very much alive."

Dylan glanced about, almost expecting his older self to come join the party. At the same time, the thought of talking face to face with himself for the first time unnerved him, not knowing if this was permitted within the unpredictable rules of the time travel universe.

Detecting his mixed and uneasy emotions, she told him: "It's just me. Dylan is at a writer's conference in Honolulu. We retired to the Big Island five years ago. Ever since our honeymoon, Hawaii's always been a favorite place to visit. We decided to make paradise our permanent location. Dylan...er, my Dylan, is now a professor emeritus. However, he continues to write science fantasy and fiction novels and occasionally lectures to that effect. Time travel themes remain his specialty as his special gift to mankind."

Dylan took in her words intently while considering a future with Jenna in Hawaii with satisfaction. Meeting her eyes curiously, he asked what couldn't be put off any longer: "Does he—your Dylan—know about our get-togethers?"

"Not from me." Jenna shifted her body nervously. "I never bothered to tell him of our first encounter. Nor will I of this one. Call it selfish, but I suppose a small part of me likes having the knowledge of you—and us—all to myself, to enjoy and cherish, even if I can't explain it."

Dylan smiled, warming at the thought. "I'm glad this is just between you and me," he told her sincerely. "Losing you damned near broke me—and it was the only reason I embarked on this unlikely journey in time and space."

"And for that, I'm very grateful," she told him compassionately. She put her hand upon his. "I've never stopped loving you, no matter the version."

"I feel very much the same," Dylan said, wrapping his fingers around her frail hand. "You've always been the love of my life since we first met."

"I know." Jenna put her other hand atop his, feeling the warmth pass between them. "That's why you need to go back. I'm sure she's waiting for you, anxious to pick up right where you left off."

The idea of his Jenna being alive and well again thrilled Dylan to no end. Yet, gazing into the captivating aquamarine eyes of the woman she would become, remarkable in her own right, it pained him to let her go, as if he would once again be losing a part of himself.

Picking up on his thoughts, Jenna said softly, knowing she had to let him go for both their sakes: "She needs you and you need her. I have my own version of you to take good care of me and vice versa."

"All right." Dylan's eyes watered. He had to get back to his own time, even if he wasn't exactly sure how it worked.

Jenna removed her trembling hands from his and cupped his cheeks. On impulse, she pressed their lips together, feeling as though they were kissing for the first time. In an odd way, they were. But in her heart of hearts, she knew the kiss crossed the boundaries of time and would be replayed again and again. For that, she was overjoyed with the knowledge that their journey of love knew no boundaries.

**CHAPTER TEN**

Just as Dylan was returning the soulful kiss his wife of the future had laid upon him, feeling it was right, all things considered, he found himself whisked away from the moment and was now back at the Westside Tavern. On the stool beside him at the bar was Alfred McCall, the mysterious man who had seemingly sent him on this incredible trip in time. Or had he?

The old man's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Welcome back."

"Was I dreaming?" Dylan felt his head spinning, while trying to make sense of what he had experienced.

"Not to my knowledge," he responded equably.

Glancing at the empty glass on the bar, Dylan peered at Alfred suspiciously and asked bluntly: "Did you put something in my drink? Are you a hypnotist, or what...?"

"The answer is no to both suggestions," Alfred spoke calmly. "What you've experienced is all about you—not me."

Dylan furrowed his brow doubtfully while considering his bizarre undertaking. Had any of it really happened? Had his grief combined with interest in history and sci fi somehow merged in some out of body experience?

"It seemed so damned real," he muttered thoughtfully.

Alfred patted him on the shoulder. "Who says it wasn't?"

"How was it even possible?" Dylan questioned.

"Anything is possible," insisted Alfred knowingly.

Dylan jutted his chin. "Are you saying that Jenna is really alive?" His pulse raced with the possibility that this had been the end result of his traveling backward and forward through time.

A frown crossed the old man's face as he touched the brim of his flat cap. "Not exactly..."

"Meaning?" Dylan's hopes started to diminish, his moist hands quivering on the counter.

After a beat, Alfred looked him directly in the eye and said: "Let's just say that you changed the past and altered the future successfully. But the present—well, there's still work to do..."

"What kind of work?" Dylan held his gaze unsteadily.

"Take a look at your cell phone," Alfred said.

Taking it from his pocket, Dylan turned the phone on, perplexed at what he might find.

"Look at the calendar..."

Dylan did just that and stared at it as his brain registered what it showed.

"Today is Saturday, September 19th, 2020," Alfred pointed out. "Does that ring a bell...?"

_How the hell could it not?_ thought Dylan, even as he voiced in disbelief and sadness: "It's the day that Jenna died—" He narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you telling me I've come back to my time—or just before—only to have to relive my greatest sorrow?"

"Quite the contrary." Alfred met his eyes coolly. "Look at the time..."

Dylan glanced at the numbers and letters on the cell phone. They read 7:50 a.m. His brows arched with shock as the implications hit him like a lightning bolt.

"If my calculations are correct," Alfred said matter-of-factly, "you have approximately twenty minutes to save your wife from disaster..."

Without even beginning to try and make sense of it, Dylan knew what he had to do. The universe was giving him a chance to finish what he had started in the past and build upon in the future. Now, if only he could get to Jenna and complete the cycle before it was too late.

As he raced from the tavern, Dylan heard Alfred say, as if knowing it was needed: "Good luck—"

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Dylan felt his heart pounding as he sped down Flagstone Lane, his burgundy Lincoln Nautilus darting from one lane to the next. He glanced at the time on the dashboard. It was 8:03 a.m. Tapping Jenna's number on his cell phone, Dylan listened to it ring and pleaded frantically: "Pick up, pick up, Jenna..." She did not, much to his chagrin, forcing him to leave a message. "When you get this, Jenna, stop the car—wherever you are. Please! I'll explain later. I'm on my way—"

He wrinkled his nose in frustration and pressed down on the accelerator even more, knowing that time was of the essence. He had to get there before Jenna crossed into that intersection. _I can't let that bastard kill my wife—not again_ , he told himself. Through the bizarre laws of nature, time, and space, he had been given an unlikely opportunity to right a definite wrong and breathe new life into Jenna and the loving marriage that had been so cruelly snuffed out like an out of control blaze.

_I have to make it count_ , Dylan mused with determination. Or he'd be left forever wondering how his past and future could be secure while his present remained shattered for all time. As he exceeded the speed limit, it dawned on Dylan that in the process of his mission, he was taking his life in his own hands but didn't care. He owed it to Jenna to give it everything he had to make this work.

And so he pressed on as the clock continued to tick dangerously.

* * *

Jenna sat back in her Subaru Legacy as she drove to work nonchalantly. She smiled as she thought of Dylan complimenting her before she left, as if for the first time. In truth, it was just the opposite. Still, she never tired of hearing him say it, even after all these years together. _I love it when you tell me I look nice, darlin_ g, she thought happily. Her mind wandered to their hot time in the shower. What began as mutual lathering and stroking turned into quite a bit more. She tingled at the thought, while turning onto Flagstone Lane, normally one of the busiest streets in the city. Traffic was rather light, though, on this weekend morning. Good thing, as it meant she would get to the gallery with time to spare. She noted a middle-aged woman walking her dog and a young male jogger offering her and the dog a smile as he passed them by. Admittedly, Jenna enjoyed observing those around her and speculating on the ins and outs of their lives. More importantly, she simply loved life and seeing others embracing it as well, in one manner or another. That was the way it was supposed to be, right? She focused again on the road.

* * *

Todd Ballinger drank straight from the bottle of red wine he'd purchased as he drove down Hazelwood Avenue. He was admittedly enjoying the buzz that he got from the alcohol along with being high on meth while, at the same time, feeling as if he was going in ultra-slow motion. He needed to put on some speed, fly like the wind that hit him in the face when driving his ex-girlfriend's green convertible. Pressing down on the accelerator, he darted past other cars like they weren't even there. Honestly, he didn't know where the hell he was going and didn't particularly care. All he wanted was to do something— _anything_ —rather than go back to those empty walls of his apartment and the dark memories that seemed baked in.

He pressed down all the way on the accelerator, determined to see how fast he could get the Dakota to go, while daring anyone to get in his way.

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

It was 8:10 a.m. and Dylan found himself stuck behind a Volvo sedan that was going at a snail's pace. With the other lane having a steady flow of vehicles, it was difficult to get over. He honked his horn twice and the driver seemed to ignore it as if it was nothing more than some irritating background noise. _Dammit_ , he cursed as desperation set in.

Having not a second to waste, Dylan drove up on the sidewalk, ignoring the normally accepted rules of the road, sped past the Volvo and back onto the street. Glancing at the dashboard clock, it read 8:13 a.m. In two minutes or less, Jenna would start to cross Hazelwood Avenue and history would tragically repeat itself. _I can't let that happen_ , he thought, feeling his armpits grow sweaty and his stress level go through the roof.

He tried calling Jenna again, praying that she would pick up in time. No response. Was he already too late? The thought sent chills through Dylan's body as he floored it, holding his breath as he approached the fateful intersection.

* * *

For some reason in that moment, Jenna felt the need to hear Dylan's charming voice as she sat at the stop light with no one ahead of her. She grabbed her cell phone and was about to give him a quick call, when she noted he had left her a voicemail. She listened to it:

"When you get this, Jenna, stop the car—wherever you are. Please! I'll explain later. I'm on my way—"

She found the message odd, to say the least. Had something happened to him? She glanced in the rear-view mirror, as if expecting to see Dylan's Nautilus. Instead she saw a black pickup truck right behind her. Further back, there was no indication that her husband was on the road.

Though she found the ominous voicemail unsettling, Jenna rejected the idea of staying put once the light changed. What could possibly be so important that it couldn't wait until she reached the gallery less than three blocks away? _I can't exactly hold up traffic for no clear reason_ , she told herself.

Still, she sensed something was up. She quickly left Dylan a voicemail of her own. "Hey, got your message. Sounds serious. What's up? Should I be scared? Or is this your weird way of telling me how much you miss me and want a repeat of what happened in the shower this morning? Will call you as soon as I get to the art gallery. Love you—"

After disconnecting, Jenna noted that the light had turned green. It was 8:15 a.m. Glancing again in the rear-view mirror, she saw that the pickup truck was now on her tail impatiently and was thankful the driver didn't honk the horn to tell her to get moving.

"Okay, okay," she muttered, acquiescing.

Pressing lightly on the accelerator, Jenna started to move toward the intersection when out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a car. Turning, she saw it was Dylan's Lincoln. He had pulled right beside her and was honking on the horn nonstop. He was yelling something at her. What?

Reading his lips, Jenna could tell that he was screaming: "Don't move that car!"

Instinctively, she pressed down on the brake, stopping the car from moving forward. Surprisingly, the pickup behind her did not hit her, as if watching everything unfold patiently. Jenna saw Dylan leap out of the car, waving his arms frantically. At the same time, she looked toward Hazelwood Avenue and saw a gray Dodge Dakota barrel its way through a red light before spinning out of control and smashing into a parked vehicle. The driver of the Dodge was thrown violently from the car and landed hard onto a clump of bushes as others rushed to his aid.

Shaken to the core, Jenna let Dylan into the passenger side of her car and was immediately bombarded with kisses to her forehead, cheeks, and finally lips before he asked nervously: "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she managed with a deep sigh. Jenna eyed her husband intently while assessing the close call with the Dakota. Could she have possibly survived had it smashed into her car? "How did you know?" she asked tentatively, shaking.

Dylan took a moment to weigh how to respond as he took in his wife's beautiful face, ecstatic that he had saved Jenna against all odds. How could he begin to tell her about his time travel adventure? Would she believe it when he had a hard time doing so himself, in spite of going through the unlikely jaunt.

"I just had a very bad feeling," he told her with a straight face. "I prayed I could get to you before—"

Before the car collided with hers, Jenna finished thoughtfully. She wondered if there was more to it. Had intuition really motivated him to leave home to come to her rescue? It was almost as if this was one of his time travel novels where the past or future could be altered. Only this was the present and very real. Jenna's heart was still pounding as her life flashed before her. She could only imagine how despondent Dylan would have been had she died and both been deprived of growing old together.

She held him tightly and cried: "Thank you for following your instincts."

He held her just as tightly, his own eyes watery, before pulling away, aware of where they were. Grinning sideways, Dylan said: "Why don't we get off this street."

Jenna nodded and then glanced at the accident victim, who appeared unresponsive. "Shouldn't we wait and see if he's—"

"There's nothing we can do about that one way or the other," Dylan voiced levelly. He wasn't sure if Jenna's survival would mean the same for the driver of the totaled Dodge. Could he too be given a new lease on life to get his act together? That wasn't up to them. The laws of time travel and second chances would decide that. Facing Jenna, Dylan said comfortingly: "I'll follow you to the real estate office to make sure you get there in one piece."

"Real estate office?" Jenna gazed at him strangely. "I was on my way to the art gallery owned by my friend, Elaine Serano. She's going to be showing some of my paintings today. Or have you forgotten already?"

Hoisting a brow, Dylan was given a turn. His rewriting history apparently changed some aspects of their lives. Jenna had realized her dream of being an artist after all. He wondered what else was different this time around. "It had slipped my mind," he muttered lamely. "Chalk it up to this crazy premonition or whatever—"

"It's okay," she told him understandingly. "Of course, as you know, I've pushed the real estate agent to part-time status ever since my art took off last year."

He nodded, as though it were obvious, while resisting the urge to smile in admiration. Hating to let her out of his sight, Dylan placed his trust in Father Time, Mother Nature, or whatever, to keep Jenna safe after having reached across the dimensions of time and space to lend him a helping hand. Dylan couldn't imagine that hand being taken away so cruelly like this was nothing more than someone's sick joke.

Dylan ran a hand across the side of Jenna's lovely face, relishing the touch of her skin. He smiled softly, kissed her again and said: "See you at the gallery."

After making sure Jenna made it to her destination safe and sound, Dylan took a curious look inside the gallery. Amazingly, he saw new and remarkable paintings by his wife, alongside familiar ones. While coming to grips with this reality, he drove back to the Westside Tavern to confront Alfred and see exactly where he fit into this incredible equation. But the old man was nowhere to be found. It made Dylan wonder if Alfred had been a figment of his imagination. Or was there more to his story in the scheme of things?

**EPILOGUE**

That night, Jenna and Dylan made love like never before. Or at least it seemed that way to Jenna. She could not remember a time when her husband had been so attentive and accommodating to her needs in bed, in spite of being a fantastic lover overall. Whatever had gotten into him, she could not have been more pleased. In turn, it only motivated Jenna to up her own game in making sure Dylan came away just as satisfied. From his bodily reaction, she knew she had achieved her objective and then some.

When it was over, they cuddled and simply enjoyed the moment of togetherness. Jenna truly did believe that their love would always survive the test of time. She was definitely thrilled at the prospect. _What would I ever do without my husband, best friend, and rescuer?_ she mused dreamily while resting her head comfortably on his chest. She never wanted to find out.

Dylan felt very much the same as he took in Jenna's sweet scent, arousing him physically and mentally. He wanted to spend every waking hour enjoying each moment with her, knowing full well just how easy it was to lose. Instead, feeling relaxed and contented in her arms, he fell asleep, as did she.

In the morning, Dylan got up and made breakfast: blueberry pancakes and scrambled eggs, both favorites of Jenna's, along with orange juice and coffee. He had intended to serve her in bed, but she showed up in the gourmet kitchen before he could do so, looking sleepy and sexy as hell in a lime-colored nightshirt and barefoot.

"Something smells good," she uttered with a big smile on her gorgeous face.

"That's a good sign," he said, flipping the pancakes on the griddle. "Let's hope these measure up."

"I'm sure they will." Jenna observed him, looking fit in a black V-neck T-shirt and gray lounge shorts. She couldn't help but kiss him. "Hi," she cooed blushingly.

"Hi." He tasted her on his lips. "Breakfast will be served shortly."

Her eyes twinkled. "I can hardly wait. My stomach is growling." She grabbed one of the glasses of orange juice off the countertop and took a sip, wetting her throat while recalling last night's sexual adventure. _Maybe I need to have a brush with death more often_ , Jenna thought jokingly. In all seriousness, she hoped to never, ever again have to experience being in the crosshairs of a driver high on meth and alcohol that could quite easily have killed them both. Instead, she walked away just a little shaken up and, last they heard, he was going to pull through and eventually make his way to rehab, along with dealing with any legal issues from driving under the influence.

Dylan's cell phone on the counter rang, startling them both. Busy with the eggs, he glanced at Jenna and said: "Can you get that for me?"

"Sure," she told him and grabbed the phone. "Looks like someone sent you a picture—"

"Really..." He tossed a pancake on the plate. "Check it out."

Jenna opened it and saw an elderly couple who looked very much in love, by the glow in their eyes and the aura they gave off. They looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn't put a finger on it. Perhaps she had seen them somewhere. Neighbors? Maybe at one of Dylan's signings. She widened the photograph and held it up to him. "Friends of yours...?"

Dylan nearly dropped the spatula in his hand as he stared at the seventy-one-year-old version of his wife. Beside her was a man in his seventies, wearing a gray tweed wool flat cap. Alfred McCall, the strange man from the tavern. Gulping, only then did the name connect. It was the protagonist's name in the first novel Dylan had ever written. Who else would have expected him to remember that other than another version of himself? He was somehow the linchpin connecting the past, present, and future that determined both Jenna's destiny and his own, giving Dylan more to chew on than he would ever have thought possible as he planted his eyes lovingly on his wife for all time.

# # #

LOVE ABOARD THE TITANIC

The following is a bonus historical romance short story by R. Barri Flowers

My story begins with arguably the grandest luxury liner ever to take to the seas: the Titanic. Certainly, it was the most impressive of its time. Built in 1912 by a British shipping company called the White Star Line, the Titanic was eleven stories high, four blocks long, and equipped with the very latest in safety devices. Indeed, she was billed as "unsinkable" thanks to a double bottom construction and sixteen watertight compartments of which two could actually flood without the ship sinking.

With this imposing backdrop, on April 10, 1912 the Titanic set sail from Southampton on her maiden voyage to New York. The passenger list included such prominent names as Allison, Astor, Thayer, and Carter. In all, these prominent people represented about $250 million.

My entry into the picture did not begin until April 11, when the Titanic stopped at Queenstown to pick up more passengers, including me. A native of Detroit, Michigan, I had spent the last year attending Oxford as a graduate student of linguistics. For the return home, I couldn't resist the challenge of saying I was there when this mighty ship first crossed the Atlantic. And so, with the help of a distant cousin, I gathered my meager savings to purchase a second-class ticket for this once-in-a-lifetime journey. I was one month removed from my twenty-fifth birthday.

When the Titanic left Queenstown at 2:00 p.m., it carried 1,316 passengers, 891 crew members, and perhaps just as much excitement and anticipation for what lay ahead.

I was roomed with a twenty-six-year-old Irish woman named Kathleen McMurphy. This was her first trip to America where she hoped to find work in New York as a dressmaker.

"What happens if there are no such openings?" I asked her with dread as we lay on our tiny beds in our small room.

She laughed. "I expect I'd have to set up me own business. I'm told anyone can do anything in America if they try hard enough."

I sneered. "You wouldn't want to do just anything, Kathleen. Without trying to scare you half to death, many young, overly ambitious women—and men—come to the States with great expectations only to end up selling their bodies just to survive."

"You mean hookin'?"

"Yes."

She laughed again. "Aye, maybe that wouldn't be so bad, especially if they're good looking blokes."

I widened my eyes. "You can't be serious?"

"I'm not," she teased. "And don't you be either. I'm a survivor. What's meant to be will be."

In less than a day, I felt as if we had known each other for years. I wished I could be more like Kathleen—brave, funny confident, and shapely—instead of shy, serious, uncertain, and far too thin for my liking.

* * *

After dinner that evening, we went for a walk on the promenade deck to mingle with others and enjoy the fresh, chilly air.

"Isn't it funny," whispered Kathleen, "how much alike we second classers look. Do you suppose those filthy rich people up there or the filthy poor ones below us share a similar resemblance?"

I chuckled. "Only in the money they have or don't have."

Class lines on the Titanic were clearly drawn, giving the very real appearance of three different worlds within one. The first-class passengers were wealthy, prominent members of the upper class and used to being catered to; third-class, or steerage passengers, were primarily immigrants moving to the U.S. or Canada, and likely happy just to be on board. The second-class passengers probably reflected the norm of the early 20th century—having just enough money for respectability, but desiring more.

Our stroll along the deck was interrupted when I literally bumped into a man, or perhaps it was the other way around.

"Excuse me," he said with an East Coast American accent. "I suppose it's hard for me to look and walk at the same time."

"Perhaps you shouldn't try then," I suggested and smiled at Kathleen.

"Perhaps you're right," he said, chuckling. "However, it was the only way I could think of to get to talk to someone I've been admiring from afar." A half smile played on his lips.

My instincts told me that he must be referring to Kathleen. Then, looking directly at me, he said, "Hello. My name's Henry Patterson."

He was tall and slender with pronounced features, deep blue eyes, and dark wavy hair. He wore a suit, white shirt, and string tie. I guessed him to be in his late twenties.

"I'm Judy Gladers," I said, "and this is Kathleen McMurphy."

"Nice to meet you both," he said, though his gaze rested solely on me.

"Aye, I'm getting kind of hungry," Kathleen told me with a wink. "I think I'll go fetch a bite and then meet you back in the room."

I felt rather awful to see her go, but would have done the same were the situation reversed.

"That was decent of her," said Henry candidly. "Did you come on board together?"

I told him of our first meeting in cabin B-87.

"I met my own cabin mate in London," he said. "We hit it off well and decided we could put up with each other at least till we arrived in New York." He put his hands in his pockets. "Shall we walk?"

"If you like," I said awkwardly.

"You know, I really have been admiring you from a distance. I saw you when you first came on board and immediately thought to myself: she's an attractive one and doesn't seem to be taken." He lowered his eyes at me. "Are you?"

I am certain my face reddened like a ripe apple. "No," I admitted, "but I'm afraid I'm not very experienced when it comes to men—"

"I think you'll find that most of us don't bite," he said with amusement. "We're just mere flesh and blood mortals seeking the same in women."

"So much for the mystery and intrigue of it all," I quipped, suddenly feeling more at ease.

"Oh, I think there is still enough mystery and intrigue to go around."

We smiled at each other and continued our walk in silence.

* * *

"He's a buyer for Gimbel's department store," I explained to Kathleen later.

"Sounds impressive," she said. "Looks like you've landed yourself a decent one."

"We haven't gotten engaged to be married or anything," I said defensively. "I hardly even know him."

We met the following day in the Café Parisian, a lively restaurant on B deck that catered mostly to the younger crowd.

"How did you end up doing your graduate study at Oxford?" Henry asked me while sipping hot lemonade.

"They offered me a fellowship," I explained, "and the opportunity to tour Europe. I could hardly turn it down."

He smiled. "No, I suppose you couldn't. Obviously, it didn't hurt your cause to be very intelligent."

I tasted my hot chocolate. Being intelligent had always seemed to be my most distinguishing characteristic—to my displeasure.

"Do you visit England often in the course of your work?" I asked curiously.

"This is my first time to cross the Atlantic," he admitted. "The store thought it was time I got my feet wet, in a manner of speaking, to assist in upgrading their wares."

I smiled and watched amusingly as lemonade dribbled down his chin.

We spent two hours talking, then another hour walking. He gave me my first kiss that night and it cemented what I had already suspected but found hard to believe—I had fallen in love with Henry Patterson in the space of two days!

I knew this to be true because I had never before experienced such lightheadedness, pounding heart, and sweaty palms when being in the company of a man. In fact, I mistakenly had come to believe these things only occurred in romance novels.

"You barely even know the bloke," said Kathleen with a look of astonishment on her face. "Such thoughts can only get you into trouble."

"Weren't you the one who said he seemed decent enough?" I asked her.

"Decent, yes, but I wouldn't let me guard down just yet. At least not till you can be sure you won't end up with a broken heart."

As far as I was concerned, my heart was already in a state of fragility and there was nothing I could do now but follow it.

Henry introduced me to his roommate, an aspiring writer named Douglas Leonard, who sported a wide smile and even wider torso. An attempt to double date with Kathleen proved to be disastrous. She believed that Douglas was not equipped with the intelligence to know how to treat a lady decently.

* * *

By day five of the Titanic's maiden voyage, Henry and I had sort of become boyfriend and girlfriend without the formal declaration. There were lots of discreet and not so discreet kisses, holding hands, and pleasant, witty conversation. But, thus far, neither one of us seemed daring or reckless enough to go any further.

In the evening, we took a walk on deck. The cold air was biting, but with Henry at my side it somehow became tolerable. We found a secluded spot and gazed out at the calm, dark sea and then into each other's eyes.

"A perfect setting for romance," Henry said and then he kissed me long and hard. When he moved his mouth away, he said earnestly, "Come to my cabin tonight, Judy."

I felt a knot in my stomach, as much from curiosity as fear of the unknown. "I've never..." I stammered.

"At the risk of sounding redundant and patronizing," he said levelly, "there's really no great mystery to it, per se. Men and women being together is a natural act that can be quite wonderful and should be when both parties are willing."

Despite some reservations about what I was getting myself into, I felt drawn by Henry's charm, the love I had come to feel for him, and the romantic aura of the magnificent Titanic.

It was just after ten p.m. when we ended up in front of Henry's cabin. I could tell by the look in his ocean blue eyes that he was just as nervous as I was.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," I said. In my year at Oxford, I had never seriously considered going into a man's room, let alone having sex with him. That was to be saved for my wedding night and married life. But then, I had never met anyone like Henry before.

"It's all right," he said gently. "Douglas will be in the smoking room for at least an hour."

He opened the door and nudged me in.

Although the cabin was like ours—small and efficient—it somehow seemed different. There was a masculine feel to it. The room even smelled manly.

"It's not much," explained Henry, "but at least it gives us some privacy. May I take your shawl?"

"Only if you promise to return it," I said, laughing nervously.

"I give you my word as a gentleman," he said as he removed it from my shoulders.

I suddenly felt cold, but did not dare allow him to remove anything else. I sat on the bed closest to me. "Is this your bed?"

He smiled. "How'd you guess?" He sat next to me, landing on the bed with a thud.

After a moment or two of uneasy silence, he said, "You really are wonderful, Judy."

I looked at him with some misgiving. "I'll bet you tell lots of girls that before..."

"Don't say it," he interjected, "because it simply isn't true. You're different than other girls—women—that I've known."

Did that mean he had experience with lots of other women, I wondered with a strange mixture of envy and resentment.

Henry leaned over and kissed me. It started off gentle, but grew stronger. I wished we could stay like that for hours, but knew better. While battling my own impulses, I managed to pull away.

"Can I ask you a question?" I mumbled.

"Certainly."

"If we are together tonight, can you honestly tell me that you'll respect me tomorrow? Or the day after? And the days beyond that?"

At this point, I wasn't sure I cared, but I wanted to know anyway.

He took my hand. "Judy, I will never judge you to a degree lower than I judge myself. I promise you that I'll always respect you as a decent, kind, smart, and most attractive lady."

I was taken in by his magical words and good looks more than ever before. Then I let my feelings slip out when I said, "I think I love you, Henry."

He smiled uncomfortably. "No one can be sure what they feel. It's probably best not to speculate unless one is absolutely certain—"

I was quite certain, but elected not to say as much for fear of scaring him away.

"Shall I turn out the light then?" he asked.

I nodded and wondered what the experience would be like that I'd often read and heard so much about over the years. Would it really leave me seeing stars and him panting?

I could hear Henry removing his sweater and trousers. Then he sat back down next to me.

"Will it hurt?" I asked tentatively. I needed to know as a practical matter, though I doubted he was in a position to provide a knowledgeable answer.

He allayed my fears somewhat by saying: "I promise I'll be gentle."

"What about pregnancy?" This was another consideration that obviously could not be overlooked. I knew at least two women whose lives were effectively ruined by pregnancy and, in one instance, an abortion.

Again, Henry provided a believable answer: "Don't worry, Judy, you can't get pregnant the first time."

He gently held my shoulders and eased me down onto the bed and pushed my dress up. The rustling sound of my undergarments being removed left me feeling rather exposed and vulnerable. But I managed to cast this uneasiness aside, wanting only to please the man who, for better or worse, had stolen my heart and soul.

We kissed a lot and then I felt a brief, uncomfortable sensation as if I had been pinched below before it was all over in a matter of minutes.

A feeling of disappointment swept over me like a shadow that my virginity had been taken so quickly without me being overcome with sexual bliss. If Henry was disappointed, he didn't show it.

"You were terrific, Judy," he gasped.

"So were you, Henry," I felt obliged to say. At least I felt some contentment in being taken by the man I'd fallen in love with. The fact that my first time took place on the Titanic's maiden voyage would surely conjure up exaggerated tales of romantic delight years later. "Can you just hold me for a while?" I asked him. "Please...?"

Silently, Henry cuddled me in his strong arms while I wondered what the future held for us. Would he ask me to marry him? Was he the marrying type? Was it too much to expect that he could love me and want to spend the rest of his life with me and no other woman? After all, we had only known one another for a matter of days.

Such thoughts drifted into the background as sleep invaded my consciousness. Along with it came the most peaceful, loving dream of Henry and me living a long and happy life together, complete with a family of children and their children. Somehow it seemed almost too good to be true, but I chose to think otherwise.

* * *

Suddenly I was jolted awake by a grinding noise.

"Did you hear that?" I whispered to Henry.

He mumbled groggily, "Only your heartbeat."

My instincts told me it was far more than that. I reached across him and switched on the bed lamp. The clock on the bed stand read 11:41.

Henry was rubbing his eyes, half covered by the bedspread.

"Doesn't it seem awfully quiet all of a sudden?" I asked, alarmed. I no longer felt the ship's steady vibration or heard the creaking woodwork. Even the rocking motion of the mattress had stilled.

Henry dismissed any real concern. "Probably just an engine problem they're getting the kinks out of," he said. "I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

I was not convinced. For now, I had other concerns.

"I must go," I said anxiously, "before your cabin mate returns."

No sooner had the words left my mouth when the door opened. It was Douglas. Although I was still fully clothed, my first impulse was to cover up abashedly.

There was no time to ponder his thoughts as he said uneasily, "Sorry to break up the party, but there's a rumor going around that we've struck an iceberg..."

Henry jumped to his feet. "You can't be serious?"

"Mind you, I said it's only a rumor," Douglas said. He walked to the porthole, put a finger in his mouth, stuck it out the window, and said, "No breeze. It looks like this great ship has come to a halt."

I refused to panic, let alone display it. After all, this was the Titanic. And it was unsinkable! What could possibly be wrong that couldn't be fixed?

Suddenly I no longer cared that I was in Henry's bed for Douglas's possible amusement and fantasies. I got up, went for my shawl, and said to Henry as calmly as possible, "Please walk me to my cabin."

By now he had slipped on his clothes. "I would be happy to," he said politely.

"Are you coming?" Henry asked Douglas.

"I'll meet you on deck," he said. "I'd like to jot down a few notes on this new twist in the journey...in case it happens to be true." He smiled. "Goodbye, Judy."

"Goodbye, Douglas," I said, and thought it had an eerie sound of finality to it.

* * *

Apparently more than a few people were at least mildly concerned about the condition of the ship and its implications. On the way to my cabin, we encountered explorers and curiosity seekers searching for satisfactory answers.

"Don't let any of this talk about icebergs scare you," Henry said protectively as we walked down the corridor. "Even if true, what's the worst that could happen? That we'd have to stay on board for an extra day or two while they get the ship repaired." He chuckled. "Sounds like that could be fun."

"Are you always this confident?" I asked, slightly annoyed.

He grinned. "Sure. Why not? We do enjoy each other's company, do we not?"

If it were only mere enjoyment I felt, it would be so much simpler. But my feelings ran much deeper than that.

"Are we going to see each other once we get to America?" I asked straightforwardly. "Or does it all end when the Titanic docks in New York?"

He looked surprised at the question. "Most men I know prefer to be the aggressor in any worthwhile relationship."

"I'd say you were very much the aggressor this evening."

Henry rubbed his nose and smiled sheepishly. "Can't argue that point, can I?" He sighed. "Nor am I prepared to make any promises that I may not be able to keep."

I pouted. "Well at least you're honest."

"I'm afraid not entirely," he said with a catch to his voice.

"What does that mean?"

We were interrupted by a steward who told us sharply and without explanation, "Everybody on deck with life vests on at once!"

"Have we collided with an iceberg?" I asked him, my pulse quickening.

He looked at Henry, then me, and said after a moment or two, "Yes, I'm afraid so."

"But how?" Henry asked.

"It doesn't really matter now, does it?" the steward replied tonelessly. "I suggest you head up on deck without delay." Then he sped off to tell others.

"This is incredibly unbelievable," muttered Henry, shaking his head.

"I have to go to my cabin," I told him.

He grabbed my arm. "You heard the steward—everybody on deck."

"Not until I check to see if Kathleen has been told."

Henry did not try to talk me out of it.

When we arrived at my cabin, we found Kathleen lying on her bed casually reading a book, apparently oblivious to the happenings elsewhere.

"Aye, there you are! I thought you'd gotten lost," Kathleen said with feigned distress. "If you hadn't come back by midnight, I expect I would have gone to look for you. Obviously, Mr. Patterson must have taken good care of you. I can't wait to hear all the intriguing details."

I hated to dampen what should have been a delightfully girlish chat were Henry not present, but I had no choice. I told Kathleen about the iceberg and the orders to go up on deck.

"And just as me book was gettin' interesting," she whined. "You don't suppose we'll be saying our goodbyes before daybreak, do you?"

"Not if we keep collective cool heads," Henry said unevenly. "Now let's go!"

He had suddenly established a take-charge attitude, which I both respected and sorely needed.

I changed quickly into some warm riding slacks I'd purchased in London, a sweater, high button shoes, and a woolen coat. Kathleen was more conservative in her cold weather attire, settling for a woolen dress, my shawl, and low boots. I lent Henry a heavy cardigan sweater I had purchased for my father. Appropriately, it was a perfect fit and obviously more useful for him at the moment.

Although I kept telling myself this was not a doomsday forecast, my stomach continued to do somersaults. I brought my Bible with me that I had taken from home a year ago and never seemed to find the time to read. Kathleen grabbed two oranges, stating half-jokingly, "It's the only things I have that are perishable."

* * *

On deck, it was a mass of confusion bordering on hysteria, as people braved the frigid temperatures, squeezed into life jackets, saw their lives flash before them, and waited for orders.

"Have you seen Douglas yet?" I asked Henry.

"He's up here somewhere," he said confidently. "Probably trying to get an exclusive interview with Captain Smith himself."

The night was darker than dark, but still quite calm. There was no visible sign of the iceberg that had brought the mighty Titanic to a screeching halt. This perhaps gave us all a false sense of security.

It didn't last for long, for we were ordered up to the boat deck. Women and children were to be the first ones loaded into boats. The Titanic was apparently sinking.

"Do they really expect us to survive in the middle of the ocean in rowboats?" Kathleen asked skeptically as we looked over the rail, the water seemingly miles below.

"It doesn't look like we have a choice," I told her, though I was equally apprehensive.

Henry continued to be the one source of courage amongst us. "Believe me we'll be much more likely to survive in rowboats than on a ship that has obviously lost the confidence of even the crew."

At least Henry had used the term we, I thought. Since men were to be the last to leave the ship, it occurred to me that they were also at highest risk to never leave the ship. The mere thought of never seeing Henry again after tonight was terrifying. I tried hard to turn my attention elsewhere. I knew that no one's safe passage to New York was assured.

* * *

The boats were slowly filled and lowered to the sea one by one. When Kathleen was told she would be the last person to enter a boat, she hedged.

"I won't go without you, Judy!" she declared.

"Don't be silly," I said. "You have to."

She persisted. "You're my first American friend. Wouldn't it be a pity if I made it to your America and you didn't?"

The officer intervened. "I'm afraid you can't pick and choose your boat, Miss. You must go when your turn comes."

"I'll be all right," I tried to assure her. "There are more boats..."

Reluctantly, she accepted the hand fate had dealt us. We hugged, promised defiantly to reunite in America, and I watched her climb into the boat.

Henry took my hand. "Don't worry about her. That fierce Irish blood will get her through any obstacles she'll face in the future."

What about our future? I wondered. Would there be one? If we survived this ordeal, would he want a future with me?

There was no time to ponder such thoughts amidst the confusion and real uncertainty of the moment.

As the boats continued to fill and become fewer, more and more men were overcome by fear and cowardice and rushed the boats. This usually proved to be futile, largely due to the threat of being shot.

"Why do they waste such time and energy?" Henry said with disdain. "Any man who would seek to save himself before women and children is not much of a man."

Did that mean he was willing to sacrifice himself? I suddenly became terrified and began to shiver. Henry noticed.

"Tell me we'll both make it," I pleaded.

"I can't," he said. "But we'll give it our best effort, won't we?"

He gave me a chin-up smile and warmed me with his body so close to mine. I secretly wished he would kiss me but, quite understandably, he seemed too preoccupied with the moment at hand.

Only two boats were left. It was my turn to enter the first—number 4—along with several other women and children.

Henry walked with me as far as he could. For the past twenty minutes there had been an eerie silence between us—almost as if there were no words that could suffice for what had happened and what would.

"Well," he said with a sigh, "it looks like this is where we say goodbye."

"There's one more boat," I said on a wing and a prayer.

"And I intend to be on it," he assured me. Just as quickly, he began to sound more pessimistic. "I can't say it hasn't been a pleasure making your acquaintance, Judy."

I felt tears well up in my eyes. "We'll surely see each other again—"

He smiled courageously. "Of course we will. Now why don't you give me a great big hug?"

I embraced him, holding on for dear life, not caring about others looking on curiously and perhaps with empathy.

Henry whispered into my ear, "I told you earlier that I had not been entirely honest with you. It only seems appropriate that I am now..." His breathing quickened. "I fell in love with you, Judy, the very first time I laid eyes on you. Nothing that has happened since then has changed those feelings, other than they have intensified, if that's possible."

I pulled back and stared into his face, trying to digest his heartfelt words. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid to even tell myself before now." He sucked in a breath, looking away and back again. "I just wanted you to know—"

"Then you must know that I feel very much the same way," I said, crying shamelessly.

He nodded reluctantly and kissed me on the mouth. Neither of us seemed to want to pull away. Henry finally did. He took my hand, kissed it, and placed it on his chest. I could imagine his heart beating erratically, matching my own.

"You better go now," he said courageously. He checked me from saying anything more.

Our eyes locked for a long moment, and then I bit down on my lower lip and turned away from Henry, lest I break down completely. I quickly moved toward the deck chairs, which served as stairs, looked back, and could no longer see Henry.

By the time the lifeboat dropped to the sea, it was apparent that the Titanic was going to sink into the depths of the ocean.

I never saw Henry again, to my deep regret. It was almost as though what we had never existed. Yet it had and for that brief moment in time I was more thankful than I could ever express in mere words.

* * *

In the course of the ship's fateful journey I had found friendship, love, and tragedy. I would never know what fate might have had in store for us had Henry survived the Titanic's sinking. I strongly suspect we would have had the most wonderful life together I could imagine. I do know that a big part of me went down with him on that cold early morning of April 15, 1912.

Precisely nine months later, I gave birth to a baby boy. I named him Henry after his father, ensuring that what we had seemingly so long ago would live on for years to come.

A postscript to this story. Kathleen became one of America's best-known designers and my best friend for more than half a century. Douglas also survived. He went on to find great success as a novelist and reporter and won the Pulitzer Prize for an article on a maritime disaster years later involving another famous ocean liner—the Andrea Doria.

As for me, I was never to marry, feeling no other man could ever suffice after giving my heart and soul to Henry Patterson. Instead, I chose to concentrate on a career in teaching, raising my son, and enjoying my grandchildren and great grandchildren. Where I achieved my greatest comfort was in the memories of my fairytale romance aboard the Titanic where a few precious days of happiness were able to extend over a lifetime.

# # #

A REASON TO LIVE

The following is a bonus excerpt from this contemporary romance novel

by R. Barri Flowers. The book is available in eBook, print, and audio.

Chapter One

Nora Sheridan put her sketch pad atop the wooden paddock fence and clicked her new square toe Western boots together as though to break them in. _Might that actually do the trick?_ she wondered whimsically. No such problem with the well-worn skinny ankle jeans that fit snugly on her slender frame, along with a red short sleeve scoop-neck top. She lifted the brim of her straw cowgirl hat, careful not to release the mounds of thick blonde hair stuffed haphazardly within and panned the springtime surroundings with deep blue eyes. There were rolling hills, green meadows, aspen and pine groves, and open spaces that stretched as far as she could see, along with terrific mountain views. She and her husband Dan had purchased the property in Akers Ridge, Oregon, forty miles from Portland, a decade ago. It was a working horse ranch with Appendix, Appaloosa, Arabian, Mustang, Palomino, Pinto, Pony, Quarter Horse, and Thoroughbred breeds.

Now known as the Sheridan Ranch, the equestrian estate was a safe and nurturing environment for horses and included rescuing and healing abused horses, boarding and training of horses, and trail riding. They also gave riding lessons, tours, and provided an idyllic setting for everything from recreation to weddings.

But most importantly, Nora considered this a dream home for her family and one she embraced with all her heart just a few days from celebrating her thirty-fourth year of life. She turned her attention to the paddock, where Dan stood calmly, surrounded by two horses. At thirty-seven, he was the picture of perfection—tall, lean, and brown-eyed, with a full head of salt and pepper hair beneath a black retro felt cowboy hat. It went well with his red flannel shirt, indigo twill jeans, and handcrafted brown Western leather boots. They had been married for fifteen years, having met on a blind date and never looking back.

They had been blessed with two beautiful girls, Suzie and Kristin. Nora gazed at Suzie, who was riding a Foundation Quarter Horse. At nine years of age, she was already an accomplished rider and they often found it hard to pull her off her favorite horse named Wonder. Nora considered Suzie a child version of herself, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. She was wearing her typical horse-riding attire, including a helmet and paddock boots.

The same was true of Kristin, her seven-year-old, who was atop an Appaloosa named Cotton. Guided by Dan, Kristin resembled her Dad and had his eyes, while having her very own long black hair that was currently tied in a ponytail. She had overcome her fear of riding horses, which Nora had also gone through in childhood, before finding her stride while spending some summers at her grandparents' farm in Mississippi. Now both girls were comfortable with horses and vice versa.

Nora began to sketch her family, something she loved to do in making the most of her skills as an artist. She had attended art school and once had dreams of becoming a famous artist, specializing in landscapes and portrait art. But these dreams had been put on hold while raising a family and dealing with the demands of a horse ranch.

"You're doing fine, honey," Dan encouraged Kristin. "Just hold on tight."

Kristin broke into a wide grin. "I won't fall," she promised.

"Neither will I," Suzie said, as if feeling left out.

"You never fall," Kristin told her, frowning.

"That's because she's two years older and a little more experienced," Nora said gingerly, not wanting the girls to ever feel the need to compete against one another.

Dan flashed his eyes at her teasingly. "You know, if you want to put that pad down, you're free to join us and show your daughters how it's done."

Nora smiled, tempted, as she loved riding, and even more, when they could do so as a family. But she had many years of that to look forward to before Suzie and Kristin reached adulthood and ultimately moved on to start their own lives and families apart from their parents.

"Thanks, but I'll take a pass on that this time," she said, continuing to sketch. "Especially when I'm on a roll."

Dan nodded, understanding how important her art was to making her life complete. "I had to try."

"And I love you for that." She blew him a kiss, which he accepted by returning in kind, before turning back to Kristin and leading Cotton around in circles.

Nora finished the sketch, hoping to use it later as the basis for a painting. At least that was the plan. Some of her sketches had made it to canvas, while others were still works in progress. For now, she had to think about what to have for supper. Dan had promised the girls pizza. But she had a better idea, preferring something more wholesome, such as lasagna.

"Am I too late to get in on the party...?" Nora heard the distinctive raspy voice.

"Grandpa!" Kristin voiced happily.

Nora turned to see George Sheridan come up beside her. Dan's father was tall like him and of medium build with brown-gray eyes, crinkled at the corners. After losing his wife of four decades three years ago, he had left his home in Eugene, Oregon, some two hundred plus miles away, and moved to Akers Ridge to be closer to the only family he had left. They had all been supportive and gave him his own space with a cottage on the property to come and go as he pleased.

"Hey, sweetheart." He gave Kristin a big smile, and then directed it at Suzie, who beamed back at him.

At sixty-seven, George was the quintessential cowboy, from his slate Stetson cowboy hat to leather vest over his checkered shirt, to a weathered work belt holding up suntan colored dungarees, right down to his dark brown steel toe work boots. Having sold his own horse ranch, George had stepped right in as the ranch manager, freeing up Dan to concentrate more on his other job as an architect. The girls loved having their grandfather around and so did Dan, still reeling from the death of his mother Clare. Nora could relate to this, having lost her own parents when she was very young. She could only imagine how difficult it would be were anything to ever happen to Dan or the girls. Fortunately, that was the farthest thing from her mind as they were all the picture of health and had decades ahead of them.

"Can I get in on that sketch or what?" George got her attention.

Nora smiled. "Of course. But it's just a rough draft."

He peered at the drawing. "Looks pretty good to me."

"That's what I'm always telling her," Dan said. "If I had half of Nora's talent, there's no telling how far I could go in life."

She blushed at the effective tag team approach, appreciating it while considering the sources and the fact that Dan was very great as an architect, having won awards to that effect. When had she?

"With that in mind, I better get back to work on this, so as not to disappoint. Better get in there, George."

"Will do." He cracked a grin and laid a calloused hand on her shoulder. "Knowing my son and granddaughters as I do, you could never disappoint them or me."

"Couldn't have said it any better myself," Dan followed.

"Me neither," Suzie said as she trotted around the paddock. "You're the best Mom!"

Kristin made sure she wasn't left out, uttering: "In the world!"

Nora refused to let this sudden show of affection go to her head, even if it felt nice to be cherished by those she cherished with all her heart. "And you're the best family in the world!"

She watched George step inside the enclosure and make everyone laugh when posing for the sketch while taking the reins of Kristin's horse from Dan, who happily stepped aside. Suzie climbed off her horse and joined them.

By the time she finished the sketch, Nora was satisfied that it seemed to capture the moment in a way that somehow was apropos in ways she couldn't begin to imagine.

* * *

Dan Sheridan had a long arm around his wife's slender shoulders as they stepped away from the barn, where the girls' horses were safely back in their stalls. Nora leaned her head against his shoulder while they walked toward the house, with Suzie and Kristin running and playing up ahead. The three were his pride and joy, and so much more. They made the efforts it took to turn this magnificent property into a welcoming home for them and some amazing horses more than worthwhile.

Having his Dad, who was sometimes too stubborn for his own good, finally agree to stay with them, made life at the Sheridan Ranch even better. Losing his Mom had been one of the toughest things he'd ever had to deal with. The heart attack had come without warning, as was so often the case, and no one even got a chance to say goodbye—least of all, his father. He had somehow blamed himself for her death, believing that if he had only gotten to the house sooner, it could have made a difference.

Dan rejected this argument, knowing that her time had just come and nothing could have changed it. His father seemed to have come to terms with this when selling his ranch and relocating to Akers Ridge. But Dan sensed that it still wasn't easy to let go, in spite of his father having fit in very well and keeping himself busy running the ranch, by and large.

_I won't fight him on that_ , Dan thought, cuddling Nora a little bit tighter. If the shoe were on the other foot and he'd lost Nora, he knew his father would have been there for him every step of the way in supporting him any way he could.

The main house was just off a quiet country road with a circular driveway. Two stories, it featured bay windows, vaulted ceilings, and glossy maple hardwood floors throughout. He had custom designed it himself, putting all his knowledge of architecture to work in wanting it to be the dream home he and Nora could spend the rest of their lives in and the girls could always come back to.

"Do they have to grow up?" Dan asked, as Kristin and Suzie bounded toward the front door.

Nora laughed. "I'm afraid we can only have them for so many years."

He frowned. "Too bad."

"Look at the bright side—that leaves us with at least a decade to enjoy their presence and growing before our very eyes."

Dan smiled. "Guess I'll just have to settle for that."

She faced him. "At least you'll be stuck with me to keep you company forever and ever."

"Now that's something to look forward to."

Her eyes twinkled. "Good response." She tilted her chin upward and kissed him.

He reciprocated in kind, hoping to go further on this later.

Chapter Two

Nora loved her house with its rich architecture and open floor plan. There was a formal and casual dining area, a contemporary chef's kitchen that included granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, a gas range, dine-in counter on a center island, and much more to relish. The formal Great Room and relaxed family room both had natural stacked stone wood burning fireplaces and a combination of rustic and traditional furnishings. There was a circular antique stairwell leading to the upstairs where there were two master suites and separate rooms for the girls, allowing them to enjoy their own individual styles and space.

Nora's land and seascapes were on display on stucco and stone walls throughout the house. She hoped to someday have her paintings in an art gallery. But for now, she happily settled for expressing her talents to those she most cared about and valued.

She made dinner with George pitching in, known for his ability to make the tastiest chicken dishes—having picked up the skills from his wife, who had learned to cook from her own mother.

Afterward, she cleaned up the kitchen and read Kristin a bedtime story, grateful that her youngest daughter still enjoyed what Suzie had outgrown. She tucked Kristin in and glanced around the purple colored room with all the personal touches and items of a seven-year-old girl, before shutting off the light.

Across the hall, she peeked in on Suzie and saw that she was sound asleep. The riding had apparently worn her down, even if she was in good shape at her age. Through the muted light, Nora eyed the contents of the rose colored room—including a small desk, laptop, and collection of print books, which Suzie preferred over eBooks. Her daughter had indicated that she wanted to one day become an author and Nora had no doubt she could do anything she put her mind to.

Closing the door, she headed down the hall to the master suite Nora shared with Dan. He'd designed it with her input, including dramatic angles and a combination of soft ambient and task lighting, along with accent lighting that highlighted her artwork that adorned the walls. There was a bay like sitting nook where, during the day, they could watch the horses grazing out in the pasture. A stone fireplace complimented the impressive surroundings, and a stylish en suite included two walk-in closets, a walk-in shower, and separate soaking tub.

She found Dan sitting on the old-fashioned sleigh bed, working on his laptop. He looked up through his glasses, smiling at her. "Are the girls in bed?"

"Yes." Nora moved closer to him. "They both look like angels."

"That's because they are," he said. "Just like their mother."

She warmed at the love that radiated from him. "We have you to thank for that."

"Ditto." He closed the laptop. "Been waiting for you..."

Nora flashed him a teasing smile. "Oh really?"

"Yes, really." He put the laptop and his glasses on the nightstand. "Come here."

She loved the desirous tone of his voice and was eager to be with him. Taking off her black chiffon wrap robe, there was a teddy underneath. The moment she slid next to him, it came off too, as did his short pajamas. They cuddled and began to kiss. It was slow and deliberate before they started making love.

Nora lost herself in the man and the moment, barely realizing when she had reached the pinnacle of pleasure. Dan had waited for her body to react and only then did he allow himself to complete their lovemaking with his own powerful release.

Afterward they held each other and whispered sweet thoughts before falling asleep.

* * *

Jason McIntosh sat on the bathroom floor of his sister's crib getting high on crystal meth, which he'd snorted up his nose. He closed his eyes as the drug took effect. His body shook all over and his heart pounded incessantly like a drum. His breathing was choppy and came in and out of his nostrils and mouth. He felt as though he might throw up. Or maybe pass out.

For an instant, he wondered if his sister would even give a damn if he dropped dead from an overdose. Maybe that would be a good thing. Then he wouldn't have to sponge off of her. And she wouldn't have to make excuses for her no-good eighteen-year-old brother who had dropped out of school, been kicked out of their parents' house, and seemed totally lost as to what he would do with his life.

Except get high and hang out with his friends and girlfriend Lucy. In fact, he was supposed to be meeting her at that exact moment. But he had needs that simply couldn't wait. She'd understand, wouldn't she?

He squeezed his eyes shut again and bit down on his lower lip as the bad part of the high subsided and the good part started to kick in. He was beginning to get back to himself. Or at least the person he had become since getting hooked on meth.

After sucking in a deep breath, Jason stretched his long arm over the toilet and flushed it, if only to suggest that's what he'd been doing in there all that time.

He climbed to his feet and looked at himself in the mirror. His blonde hair was disheveled and his blue eyes were sunken in like a vampire. There were blotches on his face like he had the measles or something. He definitely wasn't a sight for sore eyes.

He cut on the water and splashed some on his face, making a half-hearted attempt to at least make himself look decent so he wouldn't get the third degree from his sister Gwen. Not that she needed any excuses for getting on his case. He only put up with it because he had nowhere else to stay at the moment. As soon as that changed, he was out of there.

After wiping his hands on his jeans, Jason cut off the light and opened the door. Already he felt the need for more meth, but would have to force himself to hold off. At least till after Gwen went to bed.

He stepped out into the hall right off the living room of the small apartment. His sister was sitting on the couch watching television. Or pretending to. He suspected she'd been snooping. Or was it his imagination? She had more time on her hands now when not at work as a nurse, after kicking her no-good boyfriend to the curb. The scumbag had cheated on her and practically threw it in her face. She was better off without him.

"Are you all right?" she asked, as if believing otherwise. She ran a hand through layered and dyed crimson hair and shifted her plump body around.

"I'm fine," he replied, unsure if he was convincing or not.

"Do you want something to eat? There's leftover spaghetti."

Actually, he was starved. Or was that craving he felt for something else?

"I'll heat it up later," he said, trying not to look like he was standing on shaky legs. "I have to go to Lucy's."

Gwen gave him a suspicious look. "You should eat first."

He checked himself from having an outburst. Maybe he should eat something. That way he wouldn't look like he was running on fumes when he saw Lucy.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll heat up the spaghetti."

He headed for the kitchen before she could pry any further about his comings and goings. Grabbing the cell phone out of his pocket, he texted Lucy to say he'd be there shortly. He could only hope she wasn't too pissed to welcome him with open arms, all things considered.

# # #

**ABOUT THE AUTHOR**

R. Barri Flowers is the bestselling author of relationship, mystery, and thriller fiction, as well as young adult novels.

Relationship and romance novels include A Reason to Live, Kaanapali Beach Paradise, Aloha Fantasy, Christmas Heat, Forever Sweethearts, Graduate Circles, Pleasure in Hawaii, and Private Luau.

Mysteries and thrillers include Alive in the Rose City, Before He Kills Again, Dark Streets of Whitechapel, Dead in the Rose City, Dead in Pukalani, Deadly Defense, Kauai Killer, Night Killers, Murder in Honolulu, Murder in Maui, Murder of the Hula Dancers, Murdered in the Gourmet Kitchen, and Murdered in the Man Cave.

Teen novels include Christmas Wishes, Count Dracula's Teenage Daughter, Danger in Time, Daughter of Count Dracula, Ghost Girl in Shadow Bay, Out for Blood, Summer at Paradise Ranch, and Teen Ghost at Dead Lake.

The author's books can be found in audio, eBook, and print.

Follow R. Barri Flowers on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, Goodreads, LinkedIn, LibraryThing, and www.rbarriflowers.com.

