 
A Walk in the Garden

By Karen Guffey

Copyright 2011 Karen Guffey

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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CHAPTER ONE

"Haven't you had enough, Marie?"

"No," she replied, too busy looking around to spare her companion a glance.

"Your father will kill you if you get home past midnight. And me if he finds out where I've taken you."

"Don't worry, Tom--it's barely 11:00. We'll leave in half an hour."

Marie was entranced by the music and lights and laughter of the speakeasy. For months she'd been nagging her cousin Tom to bring her here. She wasn't quite daring enough to come alone or with a girlfriend; she knew that unescorted women were considered fair game for anything a man might have in mind. But she'd been dying to be in the middle of the excitement she was always reading about.

"Another drink?" a waiter asked them.

"I'd like--"

"Marie!"

She glanced down her nose at Tom and turned back to the waiter. "I'll have a Coca Cola." She shook her head, telling her cousin, "I'm not stupid, Tom--I know how easy it is to get drunk." She'd had one deliciously forbidden cocktail--alcohol had been illegal for seven years now--but that was enough to satisfy her curiosity and yearning for adventure. She felt pleasantly lightheaded, but she didn't want to get drunk.

They left at 11:30 as Marie had promised, and Tom was relieved that no one was awake at her house. Uncle Jefferson was extremely protective of her, trusting her only with Tom himself and with Davis Runyon, her beau. Tom didn't much trust Davis. He might not take her to a disreputable place like tonight's speakeasy, but Tom thought that Davis was a cold opportunist who saw Marie as part of a package deal--a high position in a successful company, a powerful father-in-law, a rich society wife. Tom could barely stand to be in the same room with him. An only child, he'd always considered Marie more a sister than a cousin. He'd adored her all his life, and that made it virtually impossible for him to refuse her anything--like an evening at a speakeasy. But it also made him very protective of her.

Marie fell asleep that night dreaming of Davis. He was tall and handsome, just like the heroes in the books she loved to read. His only flaw was that he preferred making money to having fun. She giggled sleepily as she thought of how horrified he'd be if he ever found out where she'd been tonight. But then, he had to be careful if he wanted her father's approval. Her father was very strict, and he would never let her marry a man who was frivolous. But after they were married . . . she gave a small sigh of pleasure, imagining herself doing the Charleston with Davis and going to parties--and maybe even traveling to Hollywood! That was her big dream. She longed to see Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford, to experience firsthand the fantasy of the picture shows.

Marie was dressed by 10:00 the next morning, anticipating a day of shopping. Adjusting her hat a bit, she tapped at her father's office door.

"Yes?"

She opened the door. "Oh, I'm sorry, Father. I thought you were alone."

"That's all right, my dear. Mr. Lawson and I were just concluding our business." He stood, addressing the young man who'd risen when Marie entered. "I don't believe you've met my daughter. Marie, this is Daniel Lawson. He's just bought that piece of land I'd intended to use for a warehouse a few years ago."

Daniel smiled at Marie, shaking the hand she'd extended. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Tranton."

"Likewise, Mr. Lawson."

"I'll have my lawyer send you the papers, Mr. Lawson," Jefferson Tranton said. He showed his guest out and then returned to kiss his daughter's cheek before sitting down behind his desk. "You look lovely this morning, my dear."

"Thank you. I didn't mean to interrupt. I didn't think you were going to be doing business at home this morning."

"Young Lawson is eager to close the deal as quickly as possible. Says he's going to build two houses on that property. Not a good location for houses, in my opinion, but who can tell young people anything these days? I hear that he bought two other pieces of land last month. Bad investment, in my opinion. Ought to invest in the stock market." He smiled at his daughter. "Never mind, my dear. What plans do you have today?"

"I'm going shopping. Do you have any pocket change to spare?" She received a nice allowance, but she knew she could always count on her father for a little extra.

"Let's see." He took out his wallet and pulled out a ten. "How's this?"

"Thank you, Father." She kissed the top of his head.

"Who are you going shopping with?"

"No one, but I'm meeting Mother for lunch. Good-bye." She headed for the door.

"Marie, you know that I don't approve of your going out alone."

"Father," she sighed, turning to face him, "I'm 23 years old. That's certainly old enough to go into town alone."

"Not for a decent young woman. Where's your mother?"

"At a committee meeting." She actually would rather go shopping with her mother than alone. Her mother had wonderful taste but still never tried to talk her out of some of the more outlandish items she wanted to try. They always had a good time together, and Marie had been disappointed to find her mother gone when she awoke.

"Call Tom then," Mr. Tranton suggested.

"He's playing golf. Really, Father, I'll be fine. There's nothing-"

"Why don't I take you?"

Marie whirled around to see Davis in the doorway. "Would you?" she breathed, thrilled at the prospect of spending the day in her beau's company. He usually worked on Saturday mornings.

"If you like." He smiled at Jefferson. "Your father and I were going to discuss business this morning, but--"

"But I think it's much more important for Davis to take you shopping. Go ahead, young man--we can put business off for a few hours."

Marie hung onto Davis' arm as they walked out to his automobile. "Thank you for taking me. I haven't seen you since Tuesday!"

"And you've missed me?"

"Terribly." Her heart flipped over as he kissed her hand.

He drove her to Boston's finest dress shop, sitting down to smoke and read the newspaper as she tried on clothes. "What do you think?" she asked, turning slowly in front of him.

"Very nice."

"But do you really like it? I don't have anything this color, but I like it." It was called blue lotus and was the predominant color in an Egyptian motif. She and her mother had attended a fashion show two weeks ago, and she'd loved the Egyptian patterns on the mannequins who'd modeled them. But the mannequins were thin women, and although she was slender, she had too many curves to be fashionable. Binding her breasts helped a little, but it was hard to hide her hips and derriere. And she was rather petite, which didn't help matters.

Davis smiled at her in the ugly, shapeless dress. "It's very pretty. But how could it not be, with you wearing it."

She blushed, pleased with his compliment. Deciding that the dress would be perfect with the scarab-shaped gold and turquoise choker Davis had given her for her birthday, she went to try on two other dresses. But now she liked the Egyptian pattern so much that the others didn't appeal to her. Maybe she could find a similar motif in a different color at another shop.

Changing back into her own dress and straightening the seams on her stockings, she emerged with the blue lotus on her arm. "I'd like this, please," she told the saleslady, reaching into her purse.

"I'll buy it for you, darling." Davis took out his wallet.

"Thank you, but Father gave me some money."

"Save it for something else." He laid some bills on the counter. "I love buying you pretty things."

Her heart fluttered. "Thank you."

He drove her to a café downtown. "My business with your father shouldn't take longer than two or three hours. You and I can have dinner afterwards and still have plenty of time to do something else. What would you like to do?"

She started to reply, but the waiter arrived then with her salad and his roast beef. Picking up her fork, she told Davis, "Dancing. Can we go dancing?"

"Mmm." He swallowed a bite of his meat. "Did you have any place special in mind?"

"No. Any place we can dance." She toyed with her salad. "Since we've been seeing each other for a while now, can I . . . would it be all right for me to tell you . . . a secret? Something personal?"

He gazed at her, intrigued. "What is it?"

She dropped her own gaze. "The reason I like dancing so much is that I like you to hold me."

He smiled at the pretty rosiness in her cheeks. Taking her hand, he leaned close to whisper, "One day--one day soon--I plan to arrange things so that I can hold you all night long."

Her blush deepened. She understood his allusion, and although she wasn't ignorant of what the marriage bed involved, she had no firsthand experience at all. And Davis wasn't some adolescent boy trying to touch what he shouldn't; he was her Prince Charming, and he'd all but proposed marriage to her. Daringly she entwined her fingers with his and raised her eyes to smile into his.

The evening was magic. Marie and Davis had dinner alone at the Locke-Ober Café, Boston's most exclusive restaurant, and then he took her dancing at a private club where she'd never been. It overlooked the Charles River, and when they left the club, they strolled along the river. It was a warm, clear April evening, a night right out of a romance novel. "Thank you, Davis," Marie said, squeezing his arm.

"For what?"

"For this evening. It's been perfect."

"I think so too. Well, almost."

"Almost?"

He stopped, turning to face her. They were in the dappled shadows of early blossoms, and he drew her into his arms to kiss her gently.

Marie's heart pounded as she kissed him back. His kisses were rare, so she savored each one, clinging to him and hoping that it would go on forever. But he ended this one all too soon, raising his head to gaze down into her sparkling eyes. "I love you," he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead.

Those words were even rarer than his kisses; she'd heard them only twice before. "I love you too, Davis." Caught up in the evening's enchantment, she gazed up into his eyes, hoping he'd kiss her again.

But Davis stepped back and turned to draw her arm through his, grinding his teeth. He wanted to throw her to the ground and tear off her clothes, and every time he was alone with this beautiful ingénue, his self-control took a tremendous beating. All that made him maintain it was the knowledge that her father would kill him if he laid a finger on her before marriage. He glanced at his watch; he'd get Marie home by midnight and then spend a couple of hours at Mae's establishment.

"Now it _is_ a perfect evening." Marie smiled. "Every night in Hollywood must be like this."

He laughed. "What makes you think that?"

"Hollywood is so romantic. And so exciting--dancing and parties and movie stars--we could have dinner with Pickford and Fairbanks and watch them film their pictures . . . I imagine there are always lights and music in the streets . . ."

"You have quite an imagination."

"Could we go there sometime? You and I?"

He smiled down at her. "An island cruise would be much nicer, I'm sure. In fact, I think it would make a lovely honeymoon trip."

If her heart did one more somersault today, it was going to fall right into her stomach.

Marie and Davis spent the next day with her family, and he promised to take her out for dinner and dancing again next Saturday. She suspected that he might propose soon.

"What do you think about a September wedding, Mother?" Marie asked as they had lunch alone together Friday.

Mrs. Tranton looked up in surprise. "Has Davis proposed?"

"No, of course not--you know that I would have come screaming to you right away." She smiled at her mother over her teacup.

"Then why are you considering a September wedding?"

"I think he'll propose soon. Don't you?"

Mrs. Tranton managed to maintain a pensive expression for a few seconds but then smiled at her daughter. "Yes. And I think a September wedding would be perfect."

They discussed bridesmaids and flowers and gardens. Marie would wear her mother's wedding gown, which had been carefully stored away for the last 28 years. Marie's grandmother had worn it as well, and when Marie took it off after her own wedding, it would go into storage for her daughter.

Davis chose the next day to approach her father. "Come in, my boy," Jefferson Tranton told him, waving the young man into a large, comfortable chair opposite his own in his den. "You seemed rather anxious when you telephoned last night."

"I have to confess that I was. Still am." He offered his employer a slight smile. "You and I have discussed this before, but never officially. I would like to do so now. Marie and I have been seeing each other for nearly eight months now, sir--"

"Davis, my boy, no need to be so formal. I know your intentions. I even helped design them." He chuckled at his own joke. "You want to marry my daughter."

"Yes, sir." He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. "I bought this two weeks ago." He handed Jefferson a small box.

The older man opened it. "Lovely, lovely." It was a large sapphire encircled by tiny diamonds. "I pay you a rather generous salary, eh?"

"You're very generous indeed, sir. And Marie deserves the best."

"Are you referring to the ring or yourself? No, no--just a joke, son." He returned the box to Davis. "My permission is a foregone conclusion. I'd dismiss you from the company if you didn't marry her." He chuckled again, taking two cigars from a box beside his chair and handing Davis one. "My plans certainly can't be a secret to you--or to anyone else, for that matter. Ever since my own son betrayed me . . ." He scowled at the cigar between his fingers, pained as always by the thought of his son. John had refused to let his father groom him for his company and had instead started a rival company. There was no real rivalry--John's company was too small and had too little capital--but the betrayal still hurt Jefferson deeply. "My only son turned his back on me," he continued, "leaving me in need of an heir. You have the stuff it takes to run a business, Davis. And I believe in keeping the business in the family, so when I made you vice president, it was with the assumption that I'd be grooming a son-in-law as well as the future president of the company." He rose, extending his hand. "You most certainly have my blessing, my boy. I'll give you my daughter's hand in marriage as soon as she and her mother can make all the arrangements--although that may take a bit longer than you might imagine, I'm afraid."

"Thank you, sir--thank you very much." Davis shook his future father-in-law's hand.

"I love my daughter dearly, but she can be quite a handful. A lot of romantic notions in her head, you know. That's why I keep such a tight rein on her, and I advise you to do the same. Of course, I'm sure that once she's married, she'll settle down and realize that life isn't like those picture shows and books that fill her mind with wild ideas."

"I'm sure you're right, sir." Davis had no intention of letting her get away with the things her father did. Of course, she had the old man fooled, but Davis wasn't so easily deceived.

Marie could tell that something was in the air that day. Her father and Davis kept exchanging looks over lunch, and they didn't shoo her and her mother from the table right after lunch so that they could discuss business. She suspected that Davis had something special planned for that evening, and when she caught her mother's glance over their teacups, she knew right away that her mother shared her suspicions.

He took her to a French restaurant in the Back Bay, not far from her house. "Is your veal good?" he asked her after sampling his own.

"Delicious. And yours?"

"Fine."

He seemed preoccupied, so she just concentrated on enjoying her food, the candlelight, and the music. The restaurant was a perfect choice. She just hoped he was taking her dancing after dinner.

"Ready for dessert?" Davis asked her as the waiter removed their plates.

"Not now, thank you. I don't want to be too full for dancing. We _are_ going dancing, aren't we?"

"If you like. But I'd still like you to have some dessert." He reached into his breast pocket.

"Maybe a bite of yours."

"No. This is all for you." He held the box out to her.

Her heart began to race. So this was the night! Wanting to prolong the moment as long as possible, she asked him, "What is it?"

"Open it and see."

She took it, glancing at his face as she raised the lid. The sapphire immediately caught the light, and she gasped. "This is beautiful!"

He reached out to take her hand. "Marie, will you marry me?"

She gazed at him for a moment before crying, "Yes!" and throwing her arms around his neck.

Gently disengaging her arms, he took the ring from the box and slid it onto her finger. "I love you, Marie."

"I love you too."

Marie walked and danced on air that evening. Davis had kissed her after putting the ring on her finger, and then he'd taken her to the same club they'd gone to the previous week. They ran into some friends of hers, and she introduced him as her betrothed. And he kissed her twice more--once as he helped her into his automobile when they left the club and again when he said goodnight to her. Now that they were betrothed, maybe he'd kiss her all the time.

CHAPTER TWO

"Lauri says to be there by 7:30 tomorrow night. We'll eat about 8:00."

Rick sighed. "Ted . . ."

"Don't worry--you'll like Sharon. She hates being set up as much as you do." Ted grinned at his friend.

Rick leaned back in his desk chair. "Then why did she agree to it?"

"Because Lauri's as good at badgering as I am. See you tomorrow."

Rick shook his head as Ted left his office. He knew his friend meant well, but he despised fix-ups. The last time he'd gone to Ted and Lauri's, Lauri had spent fifteen minutes scolding him for letting his date go home alone. She'd been a nice enough girl, but she'd had her own car at dinner, and it would have been totally ridiculous for him to offer to drive her home. According to Lauri, however, Beth would have accepted the offer and returned later to get her car, just for the chance to be alone with him. He was glad then that he hadn't offered. How could he respect a woman who would do something so silly?

Restless now, Rick began wrapping up for the day. He'd been a junior vice president at Ward and Lee Realty since 2008, a position that involved a great deal of paperwork. Sometimes he missed spending the entire day visiting properties and dealing, but the behind-the-scenes work had its own challenges. Besides, on the occasions that he did the actual dealing, it was always a prime piece of real estate and clients who were rich or famous or both. Boston was a terrific place to be a realtor.

Just after 7:00 Rick drove onto his own little bit of Boston in the Back Bay. He'd had his house built on a beautiful acre that was located on the southeast edge of the area inhabited by Boston's elite. Real estate prices there were outrageous, but Rick, with his connections and eye for property, had gotten this parcel for next to nothing. It was only a few blocks from the downtown area and considered too close for comfort by true members of the upper class. But for Rick it was perfect. Both his office and his neighbors were close but not too close, and he had a beautiful lawn in the front and a large patio and flower garden in the back.

Rick smiled as he walked into his kitchen, loosening his tie. Lauri moaned every time she walked into the garden. What a waste, she always sighed, looking at him with reproach. A woman would love having that garden, but what did a man know about flowers?

Truthfully, he knew very little, Rick mused as he set his cartons of Chinese on the counter and went to change clothes. He just knew that he enjoyed their beauty and scent. But he could never admit that to Lauri; she'd accuse him of being a romantic. He really was, deep down, he supposed. But he'd had so many bad experiences that he was rapidly becoming something of a cynic. He'd thought he'd been in love with Sabrina, but she'd been too demure, too clingy. He'd begun feeling smothered. Gina had talked of nothing but marriage from their fifth or sixth date until he'd broken up with her. She'd sobbed and told him over and over how much she loved him and begged him not to break up with her. A month later he'd read of her engagement to another man. He'd actually proposed to Kim, but once she had the ring, all she'd wanted to talk about was what pieces she was going to buy to refurnish the house and at which resorts they were going to spend their summers and how much of his money was in the bank and how much in land investments. He'd broken up with her six weeks after proposing. He'd never gotten the ring back, of course.

He was lonely. Rick sighed, setting down the carton of fried rice and leaning back. That was why he'd been foolish enough to ask Kim to marry him, he now realized. He was much more cautious now. In fact, Ted said he'd gone to the opposite extreme. But he'd finally realized that there were worse things than being lonely. He wouldn't have been lonely if he'd married Kim or Gina or Sabrina, but he wouldn't have been happy. Even sex was no longer enough to motivate him to get into a relationship like those. He wanted someone he could be completely at ease with. He wanted someone he could relax with when he came home from work, not someone he had to work to please. All his married buddies told him he was dreaming, that marriage was a strain, a series of trade-offs. But he couldn't help hoping there was something better than that. Or at least someone he could love so much that he wouldn't even notice the trade-offs.

Rick had planned to go to the office for a while the next morning, but his friend Dirk called to challenge him to a couple of games of racquetball. "Didn't wake you up, did I?" Dirk asked as they warmed up.

"No--I was in bed reading the paper."

"I was in bed too--and desperately needed to get out. Thanks for the rescue."

Rick shook his head. Dirk, at 28 three years younger than Rick, was as leery of marriage as Rick, but for different reasons. He liked having a variety of women to choose from, frequently juggled more than one relationship--if you could call them that--at once, and sometimes seemed to enjoy getting caught at it so that he could put his charm to a real test.

"I ran into Kim the other day." Dirk hit the ball.

"Kim who?" Rick had to run to get it.

Dirk missed it. "Kim. You know-- _your_ Kim."

Rick glanced at him. "Kim Logan?" His ex-fiancée. "She isn't _my_ Kim--not any more." It had been over a year since they'd broken up.

"Yeah. So I thought maybe she could be _my_ Kim. I ran into her at lunch downtown, and I invited her out for drinks that evening. She's good, Rick. It was the first time I'd been alone with her--you know, without you and my own date--and it took her less than ten minutes to figure out that I'm not exactly the marrying type. I still don't know how I gave myself away. It was a first."

"What happened?"

"She turned cool seven or eight minutes into the conversation, finished her drink, said thank you, and left."

"She knows what she wants. I suppose you have to give her credit for that."

That conversation left a bad taste in Rick's mouth, and he arrived at Ted and Lauri's that evening feeling wary. "Hi--I'm glad you said to dress casually," Rick greeted Ted, shrugging out of his coat. "I hate to get dressed up when it's raining."

"Sharon insisted. She said set-ups are awkward enough without all the formality." He hung Rick's coat in the closet.

"I might like this girl after all. Where is she?"

"Not here yet."

"Hi, Rick," Lauri called from the kitchen.

"Hi--what's for dinner?"

"Steak, baked potato, and salad--chocolate cake for dessert. Sharon insisted we keep it simple."

Rick smiled, accepting the cup of tea Ted had known he'd want. "I'm liking this girl better and better."

She arrived five minutes later, and Rick's earlier impressions held. She was pretty and slender, friendly but just reticent enough to convince him he wasn't being pursued. "Lauri says you're a paralegal," Rick said as they sat sipping tea and coffee before dinner.

"Yeah--in Charlestown."

"Is that where you live?"

"No--I live in the North End. It's not a bad drive unless the traffic is really bad."

The conversation was enjoyable, the dinner delicious, and Rick was glad he'd come. "Nice girl, huh?" Ted whispered as Rick and Sharon were putting on their coats.

"Yeah--I like her."

"Good. Make me the best man."

"Ted . . . "

"Sorry, sorry--I couldn't resist." He smiled over at Sharon, who'd been talking to Lauri. "Thanks for coming. It's been a great evening."

"I really enjoyed it too. Thanks for having me." She smiled up at Rick. "And it was nice meeting you."

"You too. Let me walk you to your car."

Sharon smiled at Rick again when Ted and Lauri closed the door behind them. "This is the first time I've actually walked out of a fix-up without breathing a sigh of relief."

"I know what you mean."

"It's usually so awkward, even if the guy is nice. But I felt comfortable tonight. I had a good time."

"So did I." Rick opened her car door. "If you were into racquetball, I'd invite you out for a couple of games tomorrow. How about tennis--do you like tennis?"

"Afraid not. I'm not much of an athlete."

"How about brunch and a movie then?"

"That sounds great."

Rick felt good about the evening and was looking forward to seeing Sharon again the next day. The only down side was the report that Ted would expect Monday morning.

"How'd things go yesterday?" was the greeting he got at exactly 8:47 Monday morning.

"Fine. I read and napped, watched a little TV. I'm all rested up."

Ted dropped into the chair in front of Rick's desk. "What are you talking about? Sharon told Lauri that you guys went out."

"We did."

"Then what's all this business about resting? I want to hear about you and Sharon."

"She's a nice girl. We had a good time."

"So do you think it'll go anywhere?"

"Probably to another date. What is this, Ted--are you and I two teenage girls?"

"No . . . but I have to report back to Lauri. What--you think all of this set-up business is _my_ idea?" He shook his head, leaning back. "Just wait. If one of these set-ups ever works out, you'll see what it's like when your wife hounds you to pump your best friend for information."

" _That_ really inspires me to want to get married."

The phone rang, and Ted left as Rick picked it up. "Ward and Lee Realty."

"Hi. What're you doing?"

"Working. How come you're not?" His sister Teri was an office manager in Charlestown.

"I am. I meant to call you last night and forgot. I wanted to tell you about a party we're having in two weeks, and I don't want you to say I didn't give you time to find a date."

"Who—you and Jeremy?"

"No—it's a benefit for the children's hospital." She was on the board. "It's a 1920s theme dance. We're going to dress up in period clothes and dance the Charleston. It's going to be a lot of fun."

"Hmmm."

"Really. I'm going to drop a book off at your office some time today. It's got pictures of people from the '20s, so you can get an idea of how to dress."

"Aren't we still having dinner Thursday?"

"Yeah. But I don't want you to use not having enough time to plan as an excuse." In the last few months, she'd tried to fix him up two or three times. Whenever she showed a friend a picture of her gorgeous brother, the girl would immediately ask to be set up. But Rick had refused every time. She hoped that getting him to commit to the benefit dance would at least force him to ask someone out. She knew he was lonely, and she couldn't stand seeing him shut himself off from any prospect of a relationship.

Rick would probably have refused to go if he hadn't met Sharon this weekend. He didn't feel particularly attracted to her, but she was a nice girl, and that was a big improvement over his last few experiences.

That evening he went out to the garden with the book Teri had given him. Sharon had been enthusiastic about the dance when he'd called to invite her. He'd told her he'd lend her the book, but she said that she already had some ideas about finding a drop-waist dress and a cloche hat.

Personally, he thought the clothes were rather ugly. The dresses were shapeless, and the men's pants were baggy. And he certainly wasn't going to wear a raccoon coat. He turned the page, noticing the stockings for the first time. He squinted at one pair of legs. There was a crossword puzzle design on them!

He turned the page, wondering if he could get away with wearing pleated pants. He had . . . a picture caught his eye. It was a large one of a family of four, all of them looking very sober with the exception of the daughter, a very beautiful young woman with a slight smile and a twinkle in her eye. She had dark hair and eyes and long, slender fingers. Her ugly dress hid the rest, but he could easily imagine that her figure matched her face. Looking at the caption, he saw that her name was Marie Tranton and that she'd been born in 1904. He looked for the date of the picture and found that it had been taken in 1926. So she was 22 in this picture. Hmmm . . . he would have thought that most 22 year olds in the 1920s would be married. Especially a girl as beautiful as this one. But Tranton was her family name, so she apparently wasn't. Scanning the text on the page opposite the picture, he found a little information about her. She'd gotten married at 23—a year after the picture had been taken. And she'd died in 1941. So young! She'd been only 37. Wondering what she'd died of, he turned the page and found more information about her.

"Jefferson Tranton handpicked Davis Runyon, heir to the Runyon publishing empire, as a husband for his daughter. Chandler Runyon had sold the business when his son was 19 years old so that, in actuality, Davis Runyon was heir only to the family fortune and to the power of wealth, not to the power of position. Eager for such, he courted both the young woman and her father. Tranton and his son had had a falling out when the younger Tranton had begun his own company in 1925, and because he had disinherited his son, Tranton began grooming Runyon to run his company as well as to become his son-in-law. In February 1927 Runyon became vice president of the import/export enterprise, and seven months later he married Tranton's daughter.

"The marriage was apparently an unhappy one. Marie, who had, in her youth, had a reputation as a vibrant, fun-loving, somewhat mischievous girl, was rarely seen in public after her marriage. Reports suggest that she was a victim of spousal abuse. The official cause of her death in 1941 was an infection contracted during the birth of her youngest child. However, that child was born in 1936, so it is highly unlikely that she had a terminal infection for five years. Rumors at the time suggested that her husband had transmitted a venereal disease to her."

Rick was shocked. He had a hard time picturing the young woman in the picture as a victim. Of course, even today women stayed with men who abused them, and it would have been much harder for a woman in the 1920s to escape. But why had she married him? Had she not seen what type of man he was?

He turned back to the picture. The article had said that she'd been vibrant and fun-loving in her youth, and he could see those qualities in her eyes. He would have liked to have known her. Well, before her marriage, anyway. He'd bet that she'd been a lot less complicated than the women he knew. And she was so beautiful.

Rick went to bed without having decided anything about an outfit for the dance. But for some reason, the young woman from the 1920s was still very much on his mind.

CHAPTER THREE

"I said no!"

Marie stared at her betrothed. All she wanted to know was why they couldn't at least have dinner together tonight. He'd said he had to work, but it was Friday, and he had to eat anyway. But her persistence had made him lose his temper, and now she was rapidly losing hers. "I'm sorry having dinner with me is such a burden on you," she snapped, turning to leave.

Davis grabbed her arm, pulling her around to face him. "Don't talk to me like that!"

"You shouted at me!"

"You deserved it."

She glared at him, trying to wrench her arm free. "You're hurting me."

"Maybe that will remind you not to talk back to me." He released her with a slight shove and turned to stalk off.

Marie's anger dissolved into pain, and she hurried to her room to hide her tears. She and Davis had been betrothed for just over five weeks, and during the last couple of weeks he'd lost his temper with her twice. Three times counting tonight. She didn't understand. Up until the last couple of weeks, he'd almost always been sweet and considerate. He had never been unkind to her before they'd become betrothed. Of course, both times before when he'd shouted at her, he'd come to her to--

"Marie?" Davis called as he tapped on her door. "Darling, I'm sorry. Please come out for a minute."

She went to open the door. "You hurt my feelings. And you hurt my arm."

"I'm sorry. I'm under a lot of pressure at work, and I took it out on you." He took her hand and raised her arm so that he could kiss it where he'd squeezed it. "Better?"

"Yes," she breathed. He'd never kissed her arm before.

When he was gone, she dropped onto her bed with a smile. But it slowly became a frown. She was beginning to think she didn't understand her betrothed at all. She'd never seen him get angry before he'd proposed. And she'd thought that being betrothed would mean they'd spend more time together, but they were actually spending less time together. He had dinner with her family two or three times a week, but he and her father always retired to her father's study for the rest of the evening. And they'd only gone out alone twice.

Considering the pattern of the past five weeks, Marie was thrilled when Davis told her that he was taking her out to dinner the next Friday evening. But it turned out to be completely unlike the night of their betrothal. Davis was in an abominable mood, complaining about the food, the service, even the color of the tablecloth. And he was too tired to go dancing after dinner.

"Can we at least go for a walk by the river?" Marie asked as they left the restaurant.

"I'm not up to it. I happen to have put in a long day of work while you were out with your friends. There's more to life than parties and shopping, Marie."

"I'm sorry." Partly for him but mostly for herself. What would he say if he knew that she sometimes went to a speakeasy? He'd probably kill her.

Davis, having missed the irony in her tone, took her hand. "Why don't we go back to your house and listen to the radio?"

That idea appealed to her very much. Her parents were out, so she and Davis would be alone. Normally, she wouldn't dare be alone at home with a man--her father would be furious. But he trusted Davis with her.

They sat close together holding hands as they listened to a mystery program. Marie wasn't paying attention. She was trying to think of a way to get Davis' arm around her. Or her head on his shoulder. Preferably both. Maybe . . .

She yawned. Her eyelids began to droop. Her head nodded. It grazed Davis's shoulder.

He looked down at her. "Are you sleepy?"

"A little."

He put his arm around her, drawing her head onto his shoulder. "I guess it's a good thing we didn't go dancing."

"Mmm." She snuggled up against him, smiling smugly.

He squeezed her closer, burying his nose in her hair. "Your hair smells nice."

"Thank you."

He'd never held her pressed so close to him. He'd been careful—he knew what her father expected of him. A virgin on their wedding night . . . but then she'd be his to do with as he pleased. September 18 . . . three months away. He had to have at least a small sample now.

Tilting her chin up, he smiled at her. "You're beautiful, Marie."

She caught her breath, unable to respond. To her delight, she saw that he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes, savoring the anticipation and then the sweetness of his lips on hers.

When, after a few seconds, he didn't end the kiss, her heartbeat sped up. He'd never kissed her this long before. But her eyes flew open when she felt his hand slide under her skirt to squeeze her thigh. Panicking, she tried to push him away. But he pinned her against the back of the sofa, his mouth becoming rough. She tried to break away from him because he was kissing her so hard that her teeth were cutting into her lips; she could taste the blood. But he wouldn't let her go. And then he pushed his tongue into her mouth, and shock and disgust fused with the pain to give her the strength to shove him away.

Marie could only stare at him as she raised trembling fingers to her bruised and bleeding lips. Davis was breathing hard. She didn't take her eyes off him as he stood up. "Make sure your mother tells you what your duties are once we're married." He strode out of the house, heading for Mae's.

Marie stared after him. She knew about sex. But-but . . . she'd thought it would be something pleasant. Was the harshness of his kiss indicative of what sex would be like?

She couldn't sleep that night. After tossing and turning for hours, she got up and took a long bath. By the time she'd dressed, it was dawn. She was restless, but she didn't know what she wanted to do. Finally she decided to go for a walk in the garden to see if the quiet stroll would help her sort out her thoughts and feelings.

Davis seemed like a different man since they'd become betrothed. He didn't have much time for her, and when they were together, he shouted at her. But he always apologized. Maybe that was part of being a wife--letting him take out his frustrations on her.

Marie stepped carefully around an azalea bush. It was so foggy this morning that she could barely see three feet ahead. Plucking one of the magenta blossoms, she raised it to her nose as she continued her stroll and her thoughts.

She loved being held. Last night was the first time he'd held her except when they were dancing and during their brief kisses. And she'd had to trick him into it. Didn't he like holding her? That was a silly idea—he loved her. And he certainly liked kissing her. Marie frowned. Last night's kiss hadn't been pleasant at all. It had hurt. Was that what married kisses were like? Her mother had told her that Davis would have a harder time controlling himself now that they were betrothed. Maybe he'd just lost control of himself.

Was that a patch of marigolds? She didn't remember any marigolds in the garden. She must have been strolling around the garden for at least an hour, and it was so foggy . . . could she have wandered into the neighbors' garden by mistake?

She retraced her steps, but everything looked even less familiar than the marigolds. She knew there were no white roses in their garden. She was sure that the house was in this direction. The pond should be right over there . . . but it wasn't.

Jittery, she stopped to try to get her bearings. She couldn't have gotten lost in her own garden! She'd just gotten turned around. Listening carefully, she could detect the sound of splashing water. So the pond must be over that way . . . although she didn't know why there would be splashing. She could worry about that when she got there.

She slowed down as the splashing grew louder. There was no pond here. The water was . . . the water was coming out of the mouths of stone frogs and splashing over stone flowers.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Rick gazed at his white roses as he sipped his morning tea. He'd planted them himself. He thought that his garden looked rather old-fashioned—maybe the way it had looked in the 1920s, he mused, smiling. His mind had been wandering to the 1920s a lot lately. He and Sharon had had a good time at Teri's dance, and the stereotypical costumes—drop-waist dresses, cloche hats, raccoon coats—had made him wonder what life had been like for Marie Tranton before she'd gotten married. Had she gone to lots of dances and parties? He wondered what radio programs she'd enjoyed and if maybe she'd preferred to read.

Sighing, Rick rose to go inside. He didn't feel like being alone all day. Maybe he'd call Dirk and go play racquetball. Or maybe—

He stopped and turned around, hearing footsteps. Footsteps? Who would be out here? A neighbor's child, maybe?

He decided to investigate, although the fog made it difficult. To his knowledge, no children had ever come here, but he wanted to be sure that no one was trampling the flowers.

He almost ran into the girl looking at his fountain. "Excuse me. The fog is so bad that I almost didn't see you."

She was so glad to see somebody. "I seem to be lost. Can you point me in the direction of the large white house with four columns that faces Meadows Street?"

Rick stared at the girl. If he didn't know better . . . no, that was silly.

Marie pressed her lips together, looking away from his stare. "Can you help me, sir?"

"Ummm, Meadows Street?" She was wearing a drop-waist dress in an odd design, and her hair was curled tight at the ends and flattened.

"Yes. Do you know the house?"

"No. What's your name?"

"Marie Tranton. My father is Jefferson Tranton."

Rick blinked as everything went dark for a second. This wasn't possible. Someone was playing a joke on him.

His silence was making her uncomfortable. "If you could just point me toward Meadows Street . . ."

He swallowed. "Do you know what year this is?"

She frowned. "What year?"

"Yes. You know, 1850, 1875, 1900 . . . This year is ..."

"1927."

Rick groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Things like this only happened in science fiction books.

Marie took a step backwards. "I-I should see if I can find my way home."

"Wait. Listen—I think you're more lost than you realize."

"What do you mean?"

How could he tell her what he couldn't believe himself? "I-I want to show you something. Come read my newspaper."

"We have our own." She turned to escape.

He caught her wrist. "Wait. I'm not going to hurt you. You-you don't know how to get home, do you?" When she didn't respond, he said, "Just come look at my newspaper. You don't have to come inside. Just sit on my veranda, and when the fog lifts, we'll-we'll see if we can find your house."

Afraid of becoming even more lost, she hesitantly followed him to some chairs and perched on the edge of one. The man ran inside, and before she could decide whether it was better to wait or leave, he'd returned with a newspaper.

Marie read one headline: "Obama Popularity Index Declining." Neither the words nor the picture meant anything to her. Then she checked the date: May 22, 2011. She raised her eyes to the man's. "This is a joke."

"No. I can't explain it--I don't believe in such things. But if _you're_ not playing a joke, you've somehow come 84 years into the future."

She shook her head. "Such a thing isn't possible. This newspaper . . . false newspapers can be printed."

"Come inside and see the things in my house."

She shrank back, fearful again. "No."

"It's the only way you'll believe me. Do you know what a television is? A blender? A microwave?" When her eyes grew larger with fear, he knelt beside her. "I won't hurt you, Marie. You don't know how to get back home, anyway. Just trust me a little."

She didn't want to. But he was right--she didn't know how to get home. Slowly she rose, not taking the hand he extended but following him inside.

"This is a microwave oven," he told her, patting a white and brown box. "It cooks things really fast--it can heat something like rice in less than a minute." When he saw her incredulous stare, he opened the refrigerator and took out a bowl of mixed vegetables. "Feel."

She touched the cold food. "How does the box work?"

"Frankly, I'm not sure. Invisible waves somehow heat the food from the inside out." He put the bowl in the oven and set it for one minute. "Do you have electricity?"

"My father had our house wired a few months ago."

"Do you have a television?"

"A what?"

"How about a radio?"

"Yes. And electric lights."

She jumped when the microwave beeped. Rick took out the bowl, and when he peeled back the paper, steam came out. He extended the bowl, and she touched the food. It was hot. She looked at him in wonder. "How can it be so hot so fast?"

He shrugged, putting the bowl back in the refrigerator. "We have a lot of conveniences we take for granted. We know what they do and don't think much about how they do it."

He led her into the living room and picked up the remote. "I bet you'll like this." He turned on the TV.

Marie gasped. "A talkie! Like `The Jazz Singer'! In your house!"

"Yeah. I have cable, so I get about 75 channels." He flipped through several, and Marie, transfixed, could only stare in wonder.

Rick turned it off. "Let's see . . . what else might be new to you? You have cars, I guess."

"Automobiles?" She was still staring at the now blank screen. "Yes." She finally tore her gaze from the screen to look around at the strange objects, the unusual furniture. This was the house of a mad inventor or . . . No. How could she have walked from her garden into the future?

Rick squeezed her arm. "I know. I'm confused too. This isn't possible."

She looked up at him. "Is this Meadows Street?"

"No. I don't know where Meadows Street is. This is Stuart Street."

"Oh--I know where that is! It's in the Back Bay, not far from my house!"

Rick looked skeptical. Even if that was true, it was becoming evident that she'd somehow stepped out of 1927 and into 2011.

"Do you have an automobile?"

"Yeah."

"If I give you directions, will you take me there?"

"OK. Let's go."

The automobile in the garage was different from any she'd ever seen. It--"Oh!" Marie exclaimed, jumping at the abrupt grating sound. "What's . . ." She stared at the garage door as it slowly rose. "Who's lifting the door?"

"Nobody. It's electric." He opened the car door for her.

She eyed the interior cautiously. "Don't you have to crank it up?" she asked when he got in without doing so.

"No." He turned the key, put the car in reverse, and backed out of the garage.

She gave him directions, trying not to notice how different all the houses in the neighborhood looked. "There--over there! That's my house!"

She jumped out before he could stop completely and ran up to the front door. Rick dashed after her, grabbing her arm before she could open the door. "We'd better knock."

"But this is my house."

"Let's ring, just in case. If someone you don't know answers, let me do the talking."

Annoyed, she stood straight with eagerness as he pushed a button that she had never seen before. A woman opened the door. "May I help you?"

"Mrs. Tranton?" Rick asked.

"No. I don't know anyone in the neighborhood by that name."

"Thank you--sorry to have bothered you."

Rick had to take Marie's arm and guide her back to the car. "Listen--we'll go to the library and see what we can find about time travel," he told her as he slid behind the wheel. "We'll figure out how to get you back. A lot of people are interested . . . Marie, don't cry. We'll get you back."

She'd covered her face with her hands and was sobbing. How had this happened? _What_ had actually happened? Was she losing her mind? Was this some fantastic hoax? Everything was so strange. How was she ever going to get home?

Rick put his key in the ignition but then turned to look helplessly at the terrified girl. "It'll be all right, Marie." He leaned over to hug her.

He was a stranger, and she knew she should push him away. But she needed so much to be held. She cried until she had no more tears, and then she sat up, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

Rick handed her his handkerchief. "It'll be all right," he repeated softly.

She took the handkerchief and blew her nose. "Do you have a mirror?" He pulled her visor down. She used the mirror to wipe the tears and kohl smudges from her face. Glancing at him, she said, "I don't know your name."

"Rick. Rick Newman."

"This must be strange for you as well."

"You can't imagine."

"I think I can." She raised the visor. "Can we go to the library now?" If this wasn't her home, she was going to find a way to get back.

CHAPTER FOUR

Marie sat beside Rick at the library, watching in amazement as titles of books and magazines appeared on a screen in front of him. Whenever he found something that he thought could help them, a machine in front of her would print the title and its number on a piece of paper. She'd thought it would take hours and hours to find a handful of books. But in only 45 minutes Rick had a long list of books and articles. He filled out request forms for the articles and led her into more rows of books than she'd ever seen. He pulled out book after book, stacking them in her arms. When both had as many as they could carry, they went to check them out.

"We have 17 books and 21 articles," Rick told her when they were back at his house with their materials spread out on the floor in front of them. "I don't even know where to start."

"Can we wait a while?"

He looked at her in surprise. "You want to wait? Why?"

"I'm so tired . . . and-and . . . hungry. I didn't eat breakfast."

"I'm sorry--I didn't even think about that. It's nearly 1:30—you must be starved. I'll make us some lunch."

"In your wave oven?"

"Microwave oven." He smiled. "It depends on what you want."

He made them a salad and put two frozen lasagna dinners in the microwave. It wasn't the best lunch he could offer a guest from the 1920s, but it was the only thing he could think of to prepare in the microwave. Marie seemed fascinated by it.

"Lasagna in ten minutes. Incredible." She touched a forkful to her tongue, finding that it was too hot. She blew it and then tasted it. "Delicious."

"Not really. But I'll make you a good dinner."

She enjoyed her lunch, the conversation as well as the food. Rick told her about how easy it was to get on an airplane any day and go anywhere in the world, about machines that made the house warm in winter and cool in summer, about telephones you could carry in your pocket. It was all so amazing. She'd always felt that she was living in very modern times—electricity, automobiles, the new talkie. The wonders Rick described seemed like magic.

They settled down on his sofa after lunch. "I'll start with the books. You do the articles," Rick said. "See if they say anything about the possibilities of time travel and how you'd go about it."

Marie found the articles fascinating . . . but unbelievable. Some were highly theoretical, suggesting that all times existed simultaneously but offering no suggestions on how to move through time. Some cited earlier experiments involving time machines. Some people claimed to have traveled into the past, but they had no real proof. If these scientists were so interested in time travel and believed they'd gone into the past, wouldn't they have known about people like her, people who'd come from the past into the future--their present? But there was no mention of that.

Rick noticed her glazed eyes. "Are you tired?"

"A little."

"Found anything helpful?"

"No. Well, maybe. A number of scientists--men who called themselves scientists, that is--have built different types of machines, but I don't think you and I could do that. They had no really provable success, anyway." She shook her head, turning a page. "I don't understand this at all. There's a man named Stephen Hawking--"

"He's a very well-known scientist."

"Then maybe what this article says could be helpful. But I can't understand it. It has all these strange words--wormholes, white dwarfs, odd things like that. I can't follow this at all."

"Let me see it then." He reached for it and then handed her a book in return. "This book is a little older than the others. It's probably easier to follow."

As he read the article, he understood why she'd found it so difficult. Everything was presented in a way that made it seem like accomplished fact when in reality it was all theory. It was based on Einstein's theory of relativity. These wormholes Marie had mentioned were passages formed around black holes, which were collapsed stars. And it was all based on the assumption that something besides light could travel at the speed of light. In one small paragraph he found that the entire article was theory upon theory: no one had ever found a black hole or a wormhole or anything that could travel faster than the speed of light.

"You didn't miss anything," Rick told Marie, setting the article aside. "Scientists think that it would be possible to travel through time by going through these wormholes the author mentions, but it's all theory. Nobody has ever discovered a wormhole, and none of this stuff has ever been proven."

Marie sighed. "This book isn't hard to follow, but I'm rather skeptical. The author says that thought is the way to travel through time. He says that if you concentrate hard enough on getting to the time you want to visit, you can do it."

"Yeah, I found some ideas about that in the other books I read. Maybe--"

"But that doesn't explain how I came here. I wasn't thinking about 2011."

Rick found his face growing red. _He'd_ been thinking about _her_. "Still, I think that's our best bet for getting you back to 1927."

"All right." She set aside the papers on her lap, closing her eyes. But seconds later she opened them. "I'm so tired–I don't think I can concentrate right now."

He glanced at his watch. "It's 5:45. Why don't you take a nap while I make dinner, and you can try after we eat."

"All right."

"Come on--you can sleep in a guest room."

"Wait." She pressed her lips together. "May I sleep here on the sofa? I-I'd rather not be so far from you."

"OK." He smiled, going to the linen closet and returning with a sheet. "Here you go. Yell if you need anything."

He went to search through the refrigerator and the cabinets. Barbecued chicken, baked potatoes, broccoli with cheese sauce . . . that should be OK. Dessert . . . hmmm. She'd probably like chocolate. There wasn't time to make anything, so chocolate ice cream would have to do.

He still couldn't believe that this had happened. He didn't believe in extraterrestrials, he didn't believe in ghosts, and he certainly didn't believe that people could travel through time. But here she was.

His mind reeled with the implications and unreality of it all. And the emotion that permeated his jumbled thoughts was guilt. He'd been preoccupied with thoughts of Marie ever since he'd seen her picture. Was it possible that his thoughts had somehow brought her here? But even if that were true, how could he have known that thinking about someone would cause her to appear? He'd loved studying history in school, and Abraham Lincoln had never appeared.

He scowled at the chicken as he took it from the oven. How was he going to help her get back? He didn't have much faith--

Marie's scream almost made him drop the chicken. Depositing the pan on the stove, he ran to the living room. She was sitting up, gasping for breath, a look of terror on her face. "What's wrong?" he asked, hovering over her.

"I want to go home! I don't belong here--I want to go home!" Her heart was beating wildly, and she was having a hard time catching her breath. The fear and panic that had faded with fatigue and the novelty of it all were suddenly back full force, and all she knew was that she was far from home and from everything she knew.

"Calm down. Calm down, Marie." He sat down, drawing her into his arms.

His embrace made her feel secure enough to swallow her fear. When her breathing had returned to normal, she pulled back to look into his eyes. "I want to go home."

"OK." He stroked her hair. "Why don't you close your eyes and just think about home? I won't touch you or say a word."

"All right." She closed her eyes and began thinking about Davis and how it felt to dance with him. She thought about her mother and father and brother and how they'd laughed and talked at meals before her brother had been disowned. She thought about Tom and the speakeasy.

She opened her eyes to see Rick watching her anxiously. She swallowed. "I'm still here."

"I'm sorry."

"Maybe I should go walk in the garden. That's how I got here, so that's probably the best way to get back."

"That's a good idea, but it's getting late. You shouldn't be wandering around out there in 1927 or 2011. Why don't you wait until tomorrow morning?" He smiled, taking her hand. "Come on--dinner's almost ready."

She enjoyed the meal he'd prepared, and her eyes grew wide with delight when he set dessert in front of her. "I love chocolate ice cream!" she exclaimed.

"I'm not surprised." He smiled as she ate with relish. Every woman he knew loved chocolate, and it was rather comforting to think that there were some things that transcended time.

After they'd finished their ice cream, Rick rose and began to clear the table. Marie stood as well, saying, "I'll wash the dishes."

"No thanks--I have a dishwasher."

"A maid?"

"No." He chuckled. "Watch." He quickly loaded the dishwasher, poured in the soap, and turned it on. "The door is locked, and hot water will blast the dishes."

She blinked. "How?"

He laughed. "I have no idea."

After listening to the water in the machine for a few moments, she turned to Rick with a shy smile. "Can we watch a picture?"

"What kind of picture?"

"What kind are playing? I like romances more than anything."

"Oh--you mean a movie. Let me think." He didn't have a big collection of movies, and he didn't think it would be a good idea to take her out to rent one right now. "Why don't we see what's on television?"

"The box?"

"Yes."

"Don't you watch talkies on it?"

"Well, sort of. The programs aren't like movies--well, some of them are. Most programs are shorter--half an hour or an hour." He went to get the TV guide and found the listing for Saturday evening. A western had come on at 9:00. That would be a good place to begin, since it was set before 1927. "I think you'll like this western," he told her, turning on the TV with the remote.

She stared at the little box in his hand. "Did that box make the picture appear?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

He shrugged. "I don't--"

"Know." She laughed. "What happens if these things break?"

"I call someone to fix them."

"Oh--so there is _somebody_ who knows how they work."

"Yeah." He grinned. "Just not me."

He turned up the sound on the TV and flipped to the western. Marie watched as a beautiful woman listened to a man's heart and then went home to dinner with her family and then kissed her husband when they were alone. It was all so real! It looked as if they lived in a small western town and were a real family. "Are that woman and man really married?" she whispered.

"No. She's married to the show's producer, I think. It's her fourth marriage."

"Fourth!" She didn't know anybody who'd been widowed three times.

Before her eyes, the scene changed completely. A man was in the shower, and someone was singing. There were quick images of a woman in the shower, then a little girl, now the mother was wrapping a towel about herself, now she was toweling the girl's hair . . .

Marie tore her eyes from the picture to stare at Rick. "What is that?"

"What? The commercial? It's an ad--an advertisement for soap."

"An advertisement? People wear nothing but towels in advertisements?"

"Afraid so. I guess we're used to it. Most people don't pay much attention to the commercials." If she was shocked by that commercial, he'd have to be careful about what movies he let her watch.

She sat spellbound until 10:00, drinking in the commercials as well as the program. "Is that the end of the picture?" she asked in disappointment as the closing credits appeared.

"Yeah. Are you sleepy?"

"No. I wish that we could see another picture."

"Let's see what's on now."

"You mean there's another picture now?"

He laughed. "There's something on 24 hours a day."

"Really?" She beamed with delight. "Is there something funny playing?"

He found an "I Love Lucy" rerun listed and changed channels. For the next hour he got more pleasure from watching Marie watch the program than he could possibly have gotten from the program itself. She didn't take her eyes off the screen, and because it was free of sexual innuendo, she understood most of the comedy.

"That was wonderful," she sighed when the show was over. "Imagine--being able to see a picture in your own house whenever you want."

"That's another thing we take for granted. Lots of times I have it on when I'm reading and don't pay any attention to it."

"Why would you have it on if you're reading?"

"Just for the sound. So I won't feel alone."

"Oh. Does your family live nearby?"

"My sister lives in Charlestown, but my parents live in Florida."

"You must get lonely often."

"Sometimes."

She gave him the same shy smile that had accompanied her request to see a picture. "Could we have some hot cocoa?"

"Sure."

"Heated in the microwave oven?"

He laughed. "Yeah."

She began yawning as she finished her chocolate. She looked at Rick with sudden concern. "I-I suppose I must spend the night here."

"I have a guest bedroom."

"I-I have no night clothes or . . . or . . ."

"I'll find you something. If you're finished, I'll take you upstairs."

Although it was summer, he decided he'd better dig out the shirt to the winter pajamas his mother had bought him. It was thicker than a summer shirt and would give her a greater sense of modesty. Still, she stared at the shirt in her hand before raising her eyes to his. "This-this won't even cover my knees!"

"There's no one to see you. Here." He took a bathrobe from his closet. "You can wear this over it until you get in bed and when you get up. Would you like to take a bath?"

"Yes, please."

He led her to the bathroom and turned on the water. "Here's a towel and washcloth," he said, taking them from the closet and handing them to her. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, thank you."

"If you need anything, just yell." He smiled. "Goodnight, Marie."

"Goodnight."

When he was gone, she listened at the door. The rug that covered the entire house made it impossible to detect his footsteps, but after several seconds she felt secure enough to undress. It wasn't that she didn't trust him; she just felt ill at ease disrobing with a man she wasn't related to just inches away.

She took off her dress and laid it carefully over the commode. Then she removed the binding that kept the straight line of her dress from being spoiled. She should wash all her underclothes, since they were the only ones she had. But where would she hang them? Surely there was a place in the bedroom.

She turned off the faucet and stepped into the warm water. At the moment this all seemed more like a dream than a nightmare. An electric machine that washed dishes, the microwave oven, moving pictures in the house all day long . . . who could ever have imagined such things? But it was all so strange. She'd walked 84 years into the future. She'd spent the entire day alone with a man she'd never met before.

She'd . . .

She frowned for a minute, trying to see all this from his point of view. It must be as strange for him as it was for her--a woman from the past had walked into his garden. He didn't believe in such things any more than she did, but he'd done his best to help her get back. And he'd been so kind and considerate, introducing her to the marvels of his time, seeing to her comfort, holding her when she was frightened . . .

He really was very handsome, she mused, sinking deeper into the water. She'd been too preoccupied to really think much about it, but now she reflected on his lovely blue eyes, his perfect features, his smile. And he was so kind. Her own betrothed fled at even a hint of tears, but Rick had held her and stroked her hair. That was a highly improper action, of course, but then, this was a situation for which no etiquette had ever been designed. And besides, it had felt so good.

The water was cooling, so she rapidly bathed, washed her clothes, and stepped out of the tub. The bath towel was big and fluffy and felt wonderful against her skin. She looked askance at the night shirt, however. She'd never worn such a thing. When she put it on, she found that it fit her like a tent. But oddly enough, she liked it. The big bathrobe almost reached her ankles, and she felt quite comfortable as she picked up her dress and wet clothing and went across the hall to the bedroom.

She found hangers in the closet and hung her clothes there. But once she was in bed, the dreamlike feeling dissolved. She was far, far away from home, in a strange place, and she didn't know if she'd ever get back. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she drew her knees up under the covers, her back against the headboard. She was too frightened to go to sleep. Walking in the garden was no longer safe--was sleeping? Would she wake up to--

A knock at the door startled her. "Y-yes?"

"Can I come in?"

She pulled the covers higher. "Yes."

Rick opened the door. "I saw the light on and wondered if something was wrong." He stepped closer. "You're crying! What's wrong?"

"Nothing new. I-I'm frightened, Rick."

He gazed down into those huge, shimmering hazel eyes and felt his heart melt. "It'll be all right, sweetheart." He sat down on the edge of the bed and drew her into his arms. "We'll get you back home. And until we do, I'll take care of you. I promise."

She drew comfort from his embrace for a few minutes. Then she drew back, trying to smile. "Why are you so kind?"

"A pretty girl from 1927 wandered into my garden. I could hardly put her out on the street."

"But it's more than that." She wiped her eyes. "You took me to the library, and you entertained me, and you made me laugh. And-and you held me to make me feel better." She slipped her hand into his, something she never would have done in 1927. "This has to be as strange for you as it is for me. But you've treated me so well, almost-almost as if you knew me."

He looked down at the small hand in his. "I, um, I-I've read a lot about the 1920s. When I finally realized that you really were from 1927, I-I thought it would be interesting to talk to someone from the '20s." He looked up with a smile. "What do beautiful 23-year-old girls do for fun in 1927?"

"It depends on the 23-year-old girl." She returned his smile. "Some like garden parties and cotillions. I like speakeasies. And I want to go to Hollywood."

He laughed. "Why?"

"It's so romantic--the moving pictures and the lovers and all the excitement. Is Hollywood still like that?"

"Well, there are still movies and lovers and excitement, but I wouldn't call it romantic."

"Why not?"

"Everyone takes drugs and gets drunk and has affairs."

"Oh."

She looked so chagrined that he regretted having spoiled her illusions. "Hey, don't look so sad." His thumb stroked her cheek. "If you were going to be around for a while, I'd find someplace exciting to take you."

She smiled then. "That's so thoughtful. But I suppose I won't have the opportunity, will I?"

"Nope. You're going home tomorrow." That thought made him sad. "Listen, Marie, do me a favor when you get back."

"What?"

"Really think about-about your marriage."

Her mouth fell open. "Why?"

"You're so fun-loving and free-spirited. Marriage to-to . . . certain types of men can . . . change that." He squeezed her hand. "Just think about it, OK?"

She nodded. Last night--had it been only 24 hours ago?--she'd considered that. Davis would never let her go to a speakeasy, much less to Hollywood. But he was so handsome and had many other wonderful qualities, and she was in love with him.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep?" Rick suggested.

"Can I leave the light on?"

"Sure. Why don't I go get a book and sit in here and read until you go to sleep?"

"That's not necessary . . . "

He turned back to look at her. "Would you rather I didn't?"

She smiled. "I'd rather that you did."

He returned with a novel that he pretended to read. His mind was replaying all the day's events, and he kept peering at Marie over the top of the book. She'd washed her makeup off, and she looked like a child, her lashes dark against smooth, rosy skin, one small hand beneath her cheek. She was such an innocent young woman and was, as he'd read, vibrant and fun-loving. Even her natural fear of having walked into the future was more often than not suppressed by her sense of adventure. He wanted to protect her, now and in the past.

When he was sure she was asleep, he went to his own room and took out the pages he'd copied before his sister's dance. Marie Tranton, born 1904 . . . It didn't tell the date of her death. That was odd--he was sure it had been in this section.

His heart began racing as he scanned those pages. There was no mention at all of her death--or of her marriage. The only information was her date of birth, the names of her parents and brother, and the general family history.

He knew that the other information had been there before, and after his mind had completely rejected the impossible--that the print had changed when Marie had stepped from 1927 into 2011 (another impossibility)--he rapidly considered the implications of such an impossibility. Maybe the information about the rest of her life wouldn't appear until she returned. And maybe she wouldn't marry Davis when she returned. What she did here might have an impact on how her life progressed in the past.

Rick closed his eyes. He wasn't used to theoretical reasoning. But there was one thing he was sure of: that sweet girl asleep in the next bedroom wasn't going to return to a life of misery if _he_ could help it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Marie woke up with a pounding heart. She wanted to go home--she had to get out to the garden right away. Jumping out of bed, she dressed as quickly as she could and ran downstairs and into the garden.

It was just past dawn and not as foggy as it had been yesterday. She made herself stop running, certain that speed had nothing to do with going 84 years backwards. She began walking in the direction from which she'd come yesterday. Or from which she thought she'd come, anyway. How would she know if she'd gotten back? Surely she'd be able to recognize her own home. But what if she got back to 1927 but not to her house? She could go up to someone's house and ask . . . what? What the year was? If they had a television?

But as the fog began to lift, she could tell that she was still in 2011. The house to her left didn't look like any house she'd ever seen before yesterday. And she was no longer in a garden--she was walking across a lawn. She wanted to keep walking, but with the fog disappearing and no garden in sight, she was afraid it was useless.

She turned around, eyes down as she headed back to Rick's house. How would she get back? Was she stuck here? Her parents must be out of their minds with fear. And Davis--he was probably tearing the city apart looking for her. Or would after he'd finished work for the day.

Now where had _that_ uncharitable thought come from? Davis loved her. And she adored him. If she couldn't find a way back, she'd never see him again. He'd marry somebody else. And she'd . . . she'd . . .

She looked up to see if she was close to Rick's house. It wasn't the house just ahead to the right, or the one beyond that. Had she come over that hill? Surely she couldn't have come very far.

Panicking, she began to run. A woman was coming out of one house, wearing very short blue trousers, and Marie ran in the other direction. She had to find Rick's house! Being stuck in the future was bad enough, but if she couldn't find Rick again, she'd--

"Marie!"

She turned toward his voice. "Rick?"

"Where are you?"

"Here! I'm lost!" But then she saw him and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. "I couldn't get back home!"

"Shhh, shhh--it's all right." He hugged her, rocking her gently.

"How am I going to get back, Rick? Am I stuck here forever?"

"Come on--let's go have some breakfast, and we'll see what else we can think of."

She let him lead her back to his house. Sitting at the table while he made breakfast, she wiped her eyes and cheeks and nose with a paper napkin. "I'm never going to get back."

"Sure you will."

"How? I walked and walked and didn't get back. All I did was get lost--I couldn't even get back here."

"You should have woken me up so I could go with you."

"Then you'd have gone back to 1927 too. If I'd succeeded."

"I could have just followed at a distance. Just so I could hear you if you needed me." He spooned scrambled eggs onto their plates.

"It doesn't matter now, anyway." She stared at the glass of orange juice he'd set in front of her. "What am I going to do now?"

"Well . . ." He took the bacon out of the microwave, worried because she hadn't even looked up when it beeped. "I know that there are people who study this sort of thing. Scientists . . . I think they're scientists. We could get the names of some of them, you could talk to them and see--"

"No." She shook her head. "That would become a circus. And I a sideshow. Scientists didn't make this happen, so I don't have much faith in their ability to undo it. I want to keep trying this--walking in the garden in the mornings. But . . ." She glanced up at him.

He looked up when she didn't finish. "But what?"

"I-I need a place to stay until I get back."

He smiled. "I think I can stand having you around for a while."

"I don't want to be a burden . . ."

"You won't be. I think it'll be fun."

She smiled then. "Can we watch television today?"

That pleasure was only one of many that day. First she loaded the dishwasher while Rick supervised, and she poured in the soap and started the machine herself. After a shower, she had lessons on the use of the food processor, the blender, and--delight of delights--the microwave oven.

"I can make lunch now," she proclaimed happily.

"Do you like to cook?"

"Yes." But her face fell. "To be honest, I don't know how. We have a cook. But I'd like to try."

"OK. I'll supervise until we're sure you're not going to chop off your fingers or anything." He smiled, taking her hand and squeezing it. "But it's such a beautiful day. Why don't we go out for lunch and then see a movie?"

"Wonderful!"

They went to a small restaurant for soup and sandwiches. "This is good," she said after swallowing a spoonful of clam chowder.

"Do you have it in 1927?"

"Yes--it's one of my favorites."

"What _don't_ you have?"

She laughed. "Well, we don't have shoe soup, but I imagine that you don't either."

"Oh, but that's one of _my_ favorites." His eyes twinkled. "I know. I bet you don't have all-you-can-eat buffets."

"All you can eat?"

"Yeah. You pay one price and eat anything you want from the buffet."

Her eyes were wide. "What's on it?"

"Depends. You can go to a Chinese buffet or a Mexican buffet or an American buffet. If it's American, there's usually a lot of salad items, chicken, potatoes, different kinds of meats and vegetables. Oh--and desserts. Tons of desserts--cake, pie, cookies, ice cream . . ."

"Mmm. I'm glad we're eating right now. If we weren't, I'd want to run out to one of those buffets."

"If you're around long enough, I'll take you to one." He froze, afraid his remark would make her start worrying again. But her attention was completely on her chowder. Relaxing again, he asked casually, "What do you do for fun in 1927?"

"It depends." She dabbed at her lips with her napkin. "If you do what you're supposed to do, garden parties and radio and reading and long walks and gossip are the extent of it. But if you have a male cousin under your thumb, you go to speakeasies and dance and drink cocktails and meet interesting people."

"I believe you mentioned last night that you fall into the second category."

"Of course." She smiled. "Will you be my 2011 cousin?"

He laughed. "Alcohol is legal now, and women can go anywhere men go."

"Anywhere?"

"Yeah. Well, not to the men's restroom. But anywhere else."

She stirred her tea thoughtfully. "And it's accepted? In 1927, women can go to speakeasies, but not respectable women."

"We don't have speakeasies like those in the '20s, but if you want to, I'll take you dancing one night. To one of the wild places where the kids go if you like--and you'll still be considered respectable."

They spent the next hour comparing their respective decades. She told him all about her favorite stars and pictures. She'd known one of the eight contestants in the first Miss America contest in 1921, and she'd followed the Scopes trial in 1925 with shocked fascination. He told her that all 50 states--"Fifty!" she exclaimed--had Miss America representatives in a contest that was televised every year, along with a Miss Universe contest, and that evolution was taught in most schools now, alongside creation in some parts of the country. She told him that she'd always wanted to see Josephine Baker's stage show and Louis Armstrong and his trumpet, and he told her that anyone truly talented and/or popular now eventually did a television special. She told him about the excitement over the discovery of King Tut's tomb in 1922, and as she was explaining how it had inspired the Egyptian motif of her dress, she glanced around and realized how out of style she was.

"Dresses are sometimes quite short," she observed, "but not all of them. And I never would have believed that women would wear trousers in public without causing a stir!"

"You should see the bathing suits."

"They're shorter than the dresses?"

He laughed. "`Short' isn't the word. There are no legs, no arms, sometimes no middle, and they're cut very low."

"And the men aren't-aren't . . . don't . . . stare?" She blushed.

"Oh, we stare." He grinned, but then his face grew sober; being able to see from her perspective made him realize that, as much as he enjoyed looking at women on the beach, the changes in modesty reflected a decay in morals that would probably make her uncomfortable. "Morals are one of the things that have changed a lot in the last 84 years. So I guess the 1920s have something on us." He swallowed the last of his tea. "Why don't we go buy you an outfit or two?"

"I can't. I didn't bring any money with me. Would it be accepted now, anyway?"

"Actually, it would probably be very valuable. You never see any money that old in circulation because coin collectors have it all. But you don't need any money. I'll buy what you need."

"No. I can't let you--"

"Come on." He stood up, taking her hand. "It'll be payment for the history lesson."

Marie exclaimed with excitement when she saw Faneuil Hall--she'd been there many times. But she didn't recognize the interior at all. It contained all kinds of shops with jewelry, candy, and a variety of other goods that she didn't have a chance to inspect because when Rick realized that there weren't any major clothing stores here, he led her back to the car, and they drove to a huge indoor shopping area he called a mall.

"Why don't we just buy you something comfortable for now?" he suggested as they went into the nearest store. "Something to wear around the house." He led her to the ladies' section. "What size pants should we try?"

"I have no idea."

He took a pair of soft jeans and held them up. "What do you think?"

"Maybe. They look a little small."

"We'll get one of the next size too."

"May I help you?"

Both Rick and Marie turned to the salesgirl. "We'd like to see some casual shirts for her," he said.

"OK--we have some really pretty ones that just came in." She led them to a rack. "There are some more in the corner over there." She smiled at Marie. "Cute dress."

Marie glanced down at her dress before responding with a puzzled, "Thank you." She knew it definitely wasn't in fashion now.

A little while later Marie took the jeans and several blouses into the dressing room, removing her dress and putting on her favorite of the blouses, a navy blue one with red stripes. It was so soft! After admiring it in the mirror for a moment, she reached for the smaller pair of trousers. The material felt comfortable, but they were so tight! Were they supposed to be this tight?

Rick would know. She felt queer walking out in these clothes, but after having seen how women of this decade dressed, she knew she'd draw more attention in her Egyptian-motif dress than in this outfit.

"Rick," she said, drawing his attention away from the people browsing in the store, "is this what they're supposed to look like?"

His eyes grew big as he stared at her. The jeans revealed slender thighs, smoothly rounded hips, and, as she turned just a bit, a perfectly shaped little derriere. He started to reply to her question but found he had to clear his throat before he could speak. "You look great."

"Really? Are they supposed to be this tight?"

"That's-that's the style."

"And this is considered comfortable? I don't know if I can even sit down with them on!"

With regret he put his own wishes aside. "Is that the bigger pair? If not, let's get some bigger ones."

"No--these are the small ones. I'll go try the others."

They bought the bigger pair and two shirts, and Marie wore the jeans and the red and navy shirt from the store. "Thank you for the clothes, Rick," she said, smiling up at him.

"You're welcome. Do you like them?"

"Very much." She sighed. "But I suppose I shouldn't take them back with me."

"Why?"

"I could never wear the trousers." She laughed softly. "Davis would die of apoplexy if he could see me now."

"He's not the adventurer you are, I take it."

"Hardly."

Rick wanted to seize the opportunity and led her toward a frozen yogurt stand so that they could sit down and talk. "I bet you don't have frozen yogurt in 1927."

"No," she replied, intrigued. "What is it?"

"It's like ice cream but better for you. The flavors are on that board. What sounds good to you?"

She couldn't make up her mind between chocolate-covered cherry and chocolate almond, so he asked for a sample of each. When she at last chose the former, he ordered a waffle cone of it for her--inspired to have M & Ms added at the last minute--and a cone of pecan praline for himself.

"What do you think?" he asked after they'd sat down and begun eating.

"Mmm." She swallowed and licked her lips. "This is heavenly. Would you like a bite?"

"No thank you. But try some of this. See if it's as good as the chocolate."

She let him feed her a bite. "It's good," she decided, "but it can't compare with chocolate."

He smiled as she resumed eating her own yogurt with obvious pleasure. Scooping and molding his yogurt, he asked, "What do you and your . . . fiancé . . . do together?"

"Not much. We go to dinner and then dancing. Sometimes we listen to the radio, he goes to church with my family and has meals with us frequently . . ." She sighed, taking a bite of yogurt. "He works hard. We really don't spend much time together."

"Do you miss him?"

"Yes. He must be out of his mind with worry."

"Why do you love him?"

Her eyes flew to his face. "What do you mean?"

"What is it about him that made you fall in love with him?"

She stared at her spoon thoughtfully. "He's so . . . so . . . romantic. I mean . . . he _looks_ romantic. He's tall and handsome, just like Douglas Fairbanks, and he makes me feel romantic. Especially when we dance. When he lets me choose what to do, I always choose dancing so that--" She glanced at Rick. "Well, I like it when he holds me."

"And he only holds you when you dance?" Rick stopped pretending to eat.

"Well, yes. After all, as you said, morals are higher in 1927."

"But-but . . . everybody needs to be held! That's not immoral!" He leaned toward her. "I've held you a number of times. Was that wrong?"

She dropped her gaze. "Well, no. Not proper, really, but not immoral."

He reached out to squeeze her hand. "Listen to yourself, Marie. You're describing a crush, not love. He's tall, he's handsome, he makes you feel romantic--you don't love him! He's like a movie star."

She withdrew her hand, her eyes flashing. " _You_ don't know. He works with my father, he's already like a member of the family--"

"Let him be a brother. Romance isn't everything, Marie, and if that's all you have, it doesn't even last very long. You need to enjoy everything together, going to-to speakeasies, going for walks, playing games, or just being together while you read. You've said he doesn't spend much time with you because he works so much. That's ridiculous. If he loved you, he'd make time for you. If you were _mine_ , I'd leave the office every evening as soon as I could. If you were mine, I would want to spend every minute of every day with you, and I'd want to hold you every chance I got. If you were _mine_ \--" He stopped, realizing how agitated he was getting and how chagrined Marie looked. "I'm sorry," he told her. "I didn't mean to get so excited. I just really care about you, and I don't want you to mistake infatuation for love and end up hurt."

They finished their yogurt in silence. Rick threw their napkins away, and they began wandering toward the mall exit. "I'm sorry, Marie," he repeated. "It's really none of my business."

She was quiet for a few moments. Glancing up at him, she asked, "Would you really spend every evening with me if-if I were . . . yours?"

He smiled. "I'd start wrapping work up at 4:30, and at 5:00 I'd be out the door. In fact, if you're still around tomorrow afternoon, I'll probably be home by 5:30."

"Why?"

"You're a lot of fun to be with."

Her smile lit her face. "Really?"

"Yeah. I've had a terrific time this weekend."

"So have I."

"And if you were mine," he continued, happy that she wasn't angry, "I would hold you every time you let me. I guess that if I lived in 1927, I might have to be subtle about it. Like . . . I might see some lint on your shirt that needed to be brushed off. Like this." He turned to face her and reached behind her to brush off the imaginary lint, his arm drawing her close.

Marie laughed. "I think there's lint a little lower on my back."

Reaching lower meant he had to draw her closer. "Hmmm--there's a piece at the top too." His free hand slid along her waist and up to her shoulder blade, the result being an embrace. "Now you're lint free."

She laughed again. "You might have lint on your back too." She put her arms around him. He smiled down into her face, which was now tantalizingly close to his. He quickly pressed his cheek to her hair, tightening his arms for just a moment before releasing her. "Come on--let's go see what else we can find."

He took her to a drugstore, handing her a 20-dollar bill and wandering off when he realized that there were some toiletries she needed but was too embarrassed to pick up while he was watching. When she was done, he took her to a jewelry store, thinking she might like that, but there was jewelry in 1927. She was much more interested in the electronic gadgets next door, and she spent ten minutes exclaiming over the effects of a blacklight. When he bought her one, her face came alive with delight. "It'll make your rug glow!"

"Just what I always wanted: fluorescent purple carpet." But he grinned as he took the bag from the cashier.

"Thank you so much, Rick," she said, beaming up at him.

"I think you're more excited about the blacklight than the clothes."

"I love the clothes--they're beautiful. But the light . . . that's like getting roses. Or diamonds!"

He laughed. "I've never met a girl so easy to please."

As they were leaving the store, Rick happened to glance down and notice Marie's shoes. They were bulky, ugly black things, and he insisted on buying her a pair of sneakers. She loved the way they felt and ran into the parking lot ahead of him, bouncing in them.

"What'll we do now?" she asked as they walked into his house.

"Take a nap. You've worn me out."

"No, no . . . I know! Show me how to use the blacklight!"

He screwed it into a lamp in the living room. When he turned it on, she clapped her hands. "It's beautiful!"

He laughed. "I'm going to go make dinner while you amuse yourself."

"Don't use the microwave without me!"

After dinner they spent the evening watching TV. For Rick, it was almost like watching TV with a child: Marie had questions about everything. It was fun to watch the wonder on her face and the avid attention she gave the programs.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to go to bed, Marie. I'm worn out, and I have to get up early tomorrow," Rick told her when the movie ended at 11:30.

"Oh." Tomorrow she had to get up early too. She had to get to the garden before the fog lifted. She'd had fun today, but she had to get home tomorrow. While she was having fun, her parents were in a panic over her. She had to get back to them.

But what if she couldn't? She hadn't been able to this morning. Swallowing, she looked up at Rick. "What will happen if I can't get back tomorrow?"

"Then you'll try again Tuesday morning." He squeezed her hand. "Don't worry, Marie. You'll get back sooner or later. And until you do, I'll take care of you. I promise."

She went upstairs with him and said goodnight outside her bedroom door. But her heart began pounding with panic as she thought about the day she'd just spent in 2011. She'd worn trousers in town, and she'd embraced a man in public. And now she was spending the night alone with him in his house! Davis would have a fit if he ever found out she'd been to a speakeasy; he'd refuse to marry her if he found out what she'd done today.

But there was no way he could find out. Tomorrow she'd be back home, and he'd be ecstatic that she was all right. He'd be sorry he'd lost his temper with her and hurt her with his kiss. He'd spend more time with her. They'd . . . they'd . . . go out to lunch? Davis always had to work during his lunch hour. Go to a picture? Davis thought they were a waste of time.

Marie climbed into bed with a frown. She and Davis were going to have to have a serious discussion. She didn't intend to have a husband whom she saw only at meals and at bedtime.

CHAPTER SIX

Marie awoke at dawn the next morning and jumped into her clothes. She was halfway down the stairs when she remembered she'd promised Rick that she'd wake him up so that he could stay within earshot of her. "Rick," she called, tapping on his door. "Rick."

"Just a minute." Seconds later his door opened, and he blinked down at her sleepily. "You're already dressed?"

"Yes." _He_ wasn't. He had on pajama trousers but no shirt. She stared in fascination at his broad chest. She'd never seen a half-naked man before.

"Let me get on some shoes and shorts."

She waited downstairs for him, anxious about her attempt to get back. She'd looked outside and seen that it wasn't very foggy out. Would that make it impossible to get back? Was it--

"Ready?"

She jumped. "Oh. Yes."

He followed her outside. "When you think you've gone far enough, yell. If you're lost, I'll find you."

She nodded and started to turn to go into the garden. But Rick caught her hand, stopping her. He gazed down at her. "I hope you get back, Marie. But if you do, I'll miss you."

Her throat was suddenly sore. "I-I think you have some lint on your back." She embraced him, whispering, "Thank you for everything. I'll miss you too."

She gave him a smile before turning and walking into the garden. When she found herself at the edge of it, she veered right, seeing that it extended farther in that direction. She deliberately tried to lose herself, since that was how she'd gotten to 2011. And she knew that Rick would find her if she didn't get back to 1927.

It wasn't working. She could tell--there wasn't enough fog to hide anything, and she could see that nothing had changed. She was still in 2011. "Rick!"

She could hear him hurrying toward her, and she turned to meet him. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, hugging her close.

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she choked back a sob. She missed her mother. She loved television and the microwave and blue jeans, but she wanted to exclaim over them with her mother. And she wanted to cuddle up next to Davis as they watched television together. Her father would buy them one. Well, if there were televisions in 1927, he would. Maybe she should see if she could carry one back.

That thought made her chuckle. Rick drew back to look down at her. "What's so funny?"

"I was thinking that I should take a television back with me."

He smiled. "You might have a hard time explaining that." Taking her face in his hands, he wiped her cheeks with his thumbs. "We'll try again tomorrow, OK?"

"OK."

"I need to go get dressed now--I have to go to work."

"To work?"

"Yeah. Come on--I'll make you some breakfast, and you'll feel better."

He took her hand and led her back to the house. Her fear had returned. Not fear of being stuck in 2011 but of spending the day without Rick. What would she do?

She showered while Rick did the same in his bathroom, and she washed her hair with some shampoo she found on the edge of the tub. It smelled nice, and she found herself wishing for some perfume or some bath oil. She should have thought of that yesterday.

After toweling her hair dry, she combed it, bound her chest, and put on the blue-green blouse and her jeans. Rick was coming down the hall as she emerged from the bathroom. "Hi--feel better?" She nodded. "Hey, let me show you how to use my blowdryer." He went back to his bathroom and returned with something that looked a little like a gun and had a long cord hanging from it. "You can use this to dry your hair. Let me show you."

He plugged it into the wall and turned it on. It made a terrible noise, but she laughed when he aimed it at her head. It blew hot air at her. "Do you use this to warm yourself in the winter?"

"No--it's just for drying hair. Here." He handed it to her. "Comb your hair as you blow it--that'll make it dry faster. And this is how you turn it off. I'm going to go make breakfast. Come down when you're ready."

The hot air felt good, and it was making her hair fluffy. Unfortunately, she didn't have any curling tongs, and her too-long hair, now perfectly straight, hung past her shoulders. With a sigh, she parted her hair in the middle and went downstairs.

"Hair all dry?" Rick asked. "Hey--your hair looks great! It looks longer now."

"It was curled before--that makes it look shorter. I need to get it cut."

"No!" A bit embarrassed by his exclamation, he explained, "I like your hair better the way it is now. It's pretty."

She thought about the women she'd seen yesterday. "Some women have their hair bobbed now."

"Yeah . . . but a lot have long hair. I think long hair is . . . more . . . feminine."

She smiled, pleased with his response. "Should I let it grow longer?"

"Definitely." He smiled. "Have a seat--breakfast's ready."

She sat down and poured milk on her cereal. "Mmm--this is delicious."

"Good. Do you want milk or juice or both?"

They chatted as they ate, and only when she began loading the dishwasher did she remember that she was going to have to spend the day alone. "What should I do while you're gone, Rick?"

"Whatever you like. You can see if I have any books that interest you, or you can watch television. There are frozen dinners in the freezer that you can put in the microwave for lunch. Just be sure to read the directions and remember not to put anything metal in it. I'll show you how to call me at work in case you need something."

"What time will you be home?"

"Well . . . last week I never got home before 9:00." Her eyes widened, and he grinned, continuing, "But today I'll be home by 5:30. I promise."

She wandered around the house restlessly after he'd left. His house was big, and he had a lot of interesting things, but she didn't like being alone. It just made her miss her family and friends and Davis that much more. Hoping that television would provide the illusion of companionship and take her mind off her homesickness, she went to the living room and turned it on.

That was where Rick found her at 5:30. "Hi--how was your day?"

She turned off the TV and looked at him with wide eyes. "Do you know how many women there are who have love affairs with their husbands' brothers?"

Rick groaned. "You've been watching talk shows."

"There was one woman who was having an affair with her husband's 15-year-old brother! And she was 32!"

"Don't watch that garbage. Those people are poor and uneducated and have no morals, and people watch that stuff to be horrified and make fun of them. Most people aren't like that."

"But-but . . . there was this other type of picture. One woman was expecting a baby and didn't know whether her husband or her father-in-law was the father! Another man was on trial for the murder of his sister's beau, and a woman had been kidnapped--"

"A soap opera." He dropped onto the sofa beside her. "Those programs are designed to appeal to our baser instincts. They're sensationalistic. I'll get you some old movies to watch."

"Get me some?"

"Yeah--we'll rent some."

"Rent?"

"Yeah--there are stores where you can pay a couple of dollars and take the movie home for the night."

"Really?"

He smiled, taking her hand and squeezing it. "I'll find something good--`Gone With the Wind,' `Casablanca.' Classics."

"Can we go get them now?"

"In a little while. What would you like for dinner?"

He grilled steaks outside and made some steak fries. "Mmm--this is delicious," Marie told him, closing her eyes with pleasure. "You cook better than restaurant chefs."

"Thank you."

"If I keep eating like this, I'll get fat."

"I doubt it." He reached for another slice of French bread. "But if you want some exercise, I'll show you how to use the treadmill. And see if I can find an exercise tape."

"Treadmill? Exercise tape?"

"You'll see."

That night he showed her how to use the treadmill and how to work the VCR. He rented an exercise video and the two movies he'd mentioned, and Marie found herself looking forward to the next day.

She was up at the crack of dawn, and after she got dressed, she was tempted to go walk on the treadmill before she woke Rick. Walking but never moving was an interesting experience. But the fog might not last long, and she had to get back today.

But this time she didn't go charging headlong through the garden. She'd gotten here by strolling through it thinking about Davis. She'd been thinking about the kiss that had hurt and horrified her.

Would he be sorry he'd done that now that she was gone? Surely he'd realized he'd hurt her. She'd tried to push him away, and her lips had been bleeding.

Marie frowned. He always apologized for shouting at her, but that hadn't stopped him from shouting at her again. He'd apologized for hurting her arm, but that hadn't stopped him from hurting her with his kiss. Would her life with him be like that? A series of angry words or painful grasps or bruising kisses followed by apologies?

She was still wrestling with that question when she realized that the fog had lifted and she was still in 2011. Dejected, she went back to Rick. "It didn't work."

He stood up, taking her hands. "I'm sorry, Marie." He hugged her, murmuring, "We won't give up. And one morning when you least expect it, you'll walk back into your own garden."

Marie closed her eyes, drawing strength from Rick. She just hoped he was right. And she hoped it would happen soon.

After Rick had left for work, Marie walked on the treadmill for nearly 45 minutes and then made herself a cup of tea. Rested, she opened the box containing the exercise movie Rick had gotten her and with delight put it into the BCR. No--VCR, she corrected herself. She got so involved in the exercises and then exploring the house that she'd only watched one of the movies--"Gone with the Wind," which made her laugh sometimes and cry sometimes and held her spellbound the entire time--by 5:30, when Rick got home from work.

"Would you like me to get you some more movies for tomorrow?" Rick asked Marie as they prepared dinner together.

"I still have that other one to watch. 'Casablanca.'" She handed him the green peppers she'd just chopped. "What next?"

"Mushrooms." He handed her a carton.

Rick added some seasonings to the sauce he was stirring. Glancing at Marie, he saw that she had a mushroom on the cutting board but was just staring at it. "Is something wrong?"

"What?"

"You're staring at that mushroom pretty intently."

"Oh. No—I was just thinking." She began slicing the mushroom.

"About what?"

Shaking her hair out of her face, she looked up at him. "Why do you think this happened to me? I mean, we've tried to figure out how I can get back, but we don't even know why it happened."

"I don't know, Marie. I still can't really believe it happened. If you hadn't been scared half to death, I would have thought you were playing a joke on me."

She smiled a bit. "If _you_ ' _re_ playing a joke on _me_ , I want to take one of your televisions home with me." Returning her attention to the mushroom, she frowned. "And that's another thing—why 84 years in the future? Why not five years? Or 100 years—at least that's a round number. Why the year 2011?"

Her questions made him reflect uncomfortably. The fact that he'd read an article about her just days before she'd appeared couldn't be a coincidence. He couldn't begin to explain the how or the why, but the when made sense. _He_ knew what her future was going to be, so maybe _he_ could help change it. But he didn't know if it was a good idea to tell her that right now. As soon as she went to bed, he'd get the article out and reread it.

Rick heard a sniffle. He looked in time to see Marie take a swipe at her eyes. "Please don't cry, sweetheart," he said, taking the knife and mushroom from her and drawing her into his arms.

"It's just so confusing and frightening." She hid her face against his chest. "I don't know how I got here, I don't know _why_ it happened, and worst of all, I don't know how to get back." Her body shook with sobs.

Rick's heart broke for her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, stroking her hair. As her sobs began to subside, he tightened his arms around her and pressed his lips to her ear to whisper, "Maybe you came to 2011 because there's someone here to help you and care about you."

She pulled back a little and managed a small smile for him. "At least that's an explanation I can live with." She took the handkerchief he offered her.

He kissed her temple. "Why don't we put all this stuff up and have it tomorrow? I'll take you out to dinner tonight."

"You don't have to do that."

"I bet you'd like to try out one of those buffets I told you about."

Her eyes widened. "A buffet? With lots of desserts?"

He chuckled. "I know just the place."

Rick's attentiveness calmed her, and she went to bed that night with a full stomach and an odd sense of security. Nothing about what had happened to her made sense, but Rick was right. If she had to walk out of 1927 into another time, she was fortunate she'd walked into _his_ time.

The week went by quickly. Marie always began the day with a walk in the garden, and Rick always hugged her and dried her tears when she returned. When he left for work, she'd exercise and watch movies he'd rented for her and clean the house with the supplies she'd discovered. In the evenings they'd eat and talk and watch TV, but he promised to take her to the shore Saturday.

"The first thing we have to do is buy you a bathing suit," Rick told Marie as they strolled through the mall after dinner Friday evening. "Be prepared, OK? I think you'll find them a little immodest."

She tried to prepare herself, but she was shocked by the outfits she was shown. The material was thin, and they all had plunging necklines, and some were cut so that the edge of the leg hole was almost as high as the arm hole. But she managed to find two, one red and one black with pink flowers, that were less shocking than the others and took them to the dressing room.

These weren't going to work. She'd chosen the two with the least amount of décolletage, and they still wouldn't work. They wouldn't completely hide her chest binding.

She left the dressing room shaking her head. "These don't fit, Rick."

"Are they too big?"

"No. They're . . . they . . ." How could she tell him?

"What?" When she looked around uncomfortably, he asked, "Would you rather talk to the salesgirl about it?"

"No! No . . ." She couldn't go to the shore without a bathing suit, and she really wanted to go. She glanced up at Rick again. She'd much rather suffer the embarrassment with him than with a stranger. "It's-it's . . . my binding."

"Your what?"

"My binding--my . . . chest binding. The bathing suits don't cover it."

"Chest binding?"

"Yes!" she hissed, her face red. "So-so that my dresses . . . hang . . . right."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. She bound her breasts to flatten them? She was so small and slender that he'd just assumed she was small busted. Why would any woman want to flatten her breasts? "Women don't do that now, Marie. They like having . . . being . . . voluptuous. Haven't you noticed?"

She had, but she'd assumed that those weren't decent women, that they were the type to have love affairs with their husbands' brothers. Some women in 1927 frequently showed cleavage, but not as much as she'd be showing in these bathing suits. And their legs weren't completely uncovered at the same time. Swallowing, she considered. If this was the norm, she could adjust. It wouldn't be easy, but she did want to go to the shore.

Bravely she returned to the dressing room, took off her clothes and her binding, and put on the black bathing suit. It fit . . . she thought. It was tight but not uncomfortably so, and it was pretty. But she blushed at her profile. She filled the front of the bathing suit, and the curve of her hips was all too apparent. To her eyes, she looked bulky.

She didn't want to go out there and ask Rick's opinion. She blushed again at the thought of people seeing her like this. But people would see her at the shore tomorrow, so she pushed the curtain aside and stepped out. "Rick?"

He looked around. And his mouth fell open. She had a fantastic body. He never would have guessed it. Well, except for the time she'd tried on the jeans. She had shapely legs--

"Rick?" She was growing redder as he continued to gape at her.

"Hmmm?"

"Does it fit? Is this how it's supposed to look?"

"Oh. Yeah. It looks great."

"Are you sure? It feels odd."

"But it looks terrific. Really terrific." He finally met her eyes.

Marie was intrigued by the look in his eyes. "This-this bathing suit," she whispered. "It makes you . . . it . . . you like seeing me in it, don't you?"

He swallowed. "Very much."

Pleased, she returned to the dressing room, feeling better about the bathing suit.

Rick found a chair and dropped into it. She was gorgeous, absolutely the sexiest and most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. But there was more to her beauty than that incredible face and body. She was . . . fun-loving and vibrant, just as the article had said. The thought of the article sobered him. He loved being with Marie, but he had to remember that she was going back to 1927. The closer he felt to her, the more he'd miss her when she was gone.

"I like this one best." Marie had emerged from the dressing room carrying the black and pink suit.

Rick looked up, managing a smile. "OK." He bought it for her, looking forward to seeing her in it again tomorrow. He noticed that she'd bound her breasts again. "Listen, Marie, there are a couple of other things I want you to get."

"What?"

"Let's go in here." He led her into a large department store and began searching for ladies' lingerie. While Marie looked around at all the lacy, sometimes colorful articles, Rick found a saleslady. "My friend over there, for reasons I won't go into, may not know her sizes. Will you help her find a couple of bras and some underwear?"

"Of course--I'll take care of her."

The lady could tell Marie's underwear size with no problem. But when Marie came out of the dressing room complaining that the 32B was too tight, she wondered how she'd missed the girl's bust size by such a margin.

Marie found that she loved shopping for modern lingerie. She liked lace and rich colors and chose black, emerald, fuchsia, and royal blue underwear. It really didn't matter, she supposed, what her underwear looked like. But she couldn't wait to get home and change into her new things.

"Thank you for-for . . . the new clothes, Rick," she said shyly, taking his arm as they walked away with their purchases. "Now I won't have to wash my clothes every night."

He looked down at her with chagrin. "I didn't even think about that. I'm sorry, Marie--we should have gone shopping sooner. And I should have shown you how to use the washer and dryer. I'll do that tomorrow."

"But we're going to the shore."

"I'll show you when we get home. Come on--let's go buy you some more outfits."

He insisted on buying her a pair of pants, a dress, two t-shirts, and two pairs of shorts. "But Rick, what if I get back to 1927 tomorrow?" she protested as he paid the salesgirl.

"Don't worry. I'll save the clothes for the next girl from 1927 who wanders into my garden." As he handed her one of the bags, he saw the consternation on her face. "I'm sorry, Marie," he told her as they left the store. "I didn't mean to make light of your predicament."

"No . . . no . . . it's not that."

"What's wrong then?"

She frowned. "Do you think another girl from the past might come into your garden?"

He laughed. "I doubt it. Of course, I would have bet my life that not even one girl from the past would walk into my garden." He glanced down at her again. "Why? Would that bother you?"

"Yes." She'd become so accustomed to being honest with him that she didn't even think about dissimulating.

"Why?" When she merely glanced up at him and quickened her pace, he caught her arm. "I'm sorry--don't be mad. I'll buy you some frozen yogurt. That'll make you feel better."

She gave him a small smile, but when they reached the yogurt stand, she said that she didn't want any. She was quiet during the ride home, and after a few attempts to draw her into conversation, he left her alone, unable to figure out what was bothering her.

"Do you want to watch TV?" he asked when they got home.

"Yes--no. I don't know." She was close to tears.

He took her shoulders and drew her into his arms. "What's wrong, Marie? Why are you so upset?"

Her tears spilled over. "I don't want any other girl to walk into your garden."

"None will. Honey, what happened was some kind of aberration, some-"

"I shouldn't care. I've only known you for a week. And-and I'm betrothed. I shouldn't care what you do--I shouldn't . . . shouldn't . . ."

He squeezed her closer. "You know me. You trust me. You've spent more time with me than you spent with your fiancé in a month--"

"Three months."

"--and you have a certain right to feel possessive." He kissed the top of her head. "We'll leave it at that for now, OK?"

"OK."

After a few moments, he raised his head and pulled away slightly. When she looked up at him, so beautiful and trusting and fragile, he bent his head to kiss her. But she turned her face away. "I'm sorry," he whispered, kissing her temple instead of her lips, her full, soft, luscious red lips . . . "Let's find something funny to watch."

They found an "I Love Lucy" rerun, but for once Marie couldn't pay attention to the television. Rick was sitting back in the corner of the sofa, and she was leaning against him with his arm around her. How could she be so comfortable with a man after only a week? They always sat like this now, and they frequently embraced during the day. And she loved it. She didn't have to trick him into holding her, didn't have to dance with him to get his arms around her. He liked holding her. And he'd been home at 5:30 every day, just as he'd promised--just because he wanted to be with her. Davis had never rearranged his schedule for her. Rick spent every moment of every evening with her. He'd even refused to play racquetball tomorrow with a friend who called last night because he wanted to spend both Saturday and Sunday with her.

Marie blinked back tears of confusion. She was betrothed to Davis. But it was getting harder and harder to remember why she'd fallen in love with him. He didn't spend much time with her, didn't hold her very often, didn't do anything really fun. And he wasn't nearly as handsome as Rick. Rick had beautiful blue eyes and-and a broad, muscular chest that she got to see every morning if she woke up before he did. In her dreams, he never had on a shirt, and he was always smiling.

That dream might change now. Right now the image in her mind was of his face as it had come closer and closer to hers. She'd wanted him to kiss her. But she was going to marry Davis--she couldn't kiss another man!

"Are you hungry, honey?" Rick asked when "I Love Lucy" went off.

"No. But I-I don't feel like watching TV any more right now. Could we do something else? Will you show me how to use the washing machine?"

After they'd put in a load of clothes, they had some ice cream and then returned to the living room to read. Rick had gotten her the Dragonriders of Pern series, since those books were about a world that was new to all readers and had very few offensive elements. She'd wanted some romances, but he was afraid that they'd be too explicit for her. And, fortunately, she'd found that she loved the Pern books. She was almost finished with the second one.

Rick had just risen to make them some tea when the phone rang. "Hello?" he said, carrying the phone into the kitchen.

"Hi, Rick. This is Sharon. Are you busy?"

"No. How are you doing?"

"OK. I haven't seen you for a while, and I was wondering if you'd like to come over for brunch Sunday."

"I'm sorry—I can't. I have a friend staying with me."

"Bring him."

Rick froze. "Uh . . ."

"Oh. Is it a 'her'?"

"Yeah. She's not an old girlfriend or anything, but—"

"But things can be complicated. I understand. Give me a call sometime if you like."

"I will. Thanks, Sharon."

She really was a very nice girl, he mused as he made the tea. But he hadn't given her a thought since Marie had walked into his life.

Marie looked up when Rick came back into the living room with their tea. "Thank you. I thought you were talking on the telephone."

"I was. But it wasn't anything important."

"You didn't turn down another racquetball game because of me, did you?" His refusing the game had both thrilled her and made her feel guilty.

"No—no racquetball game." When she quirked an eyebrow at him, he admitted, "A brunch."

Her eyes widened. "Are you seeing a young lady? Rick, I—"

"No, no." He sat down beside her. "She's just a friend. We've gone out a few times."

"Still, I don't want to disrupt your life. You should accept her invitation."

"I don't want to. I'd rather be with you."

She smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek, but she could no longer concentrate on her book. How could it be that a man she'd known only a week wanted to be with her all the time when she'd gone four or five days at a time without seeing the man to whom she was betrothed? Could it be that Davis' job was harder than Rick's? No—it wasn't just that Rick didn't spend half the evening at his office. He'd even chosen to be with her rather than with a girl he'd known longer than he had her, a girl from his own decade.

Confusing thoughts and feelings kept her from being able to fall asleep quickly that night. She'd had so much fun this week, watching pictures and using the microwave oven and wearing blue jeans, but she missed her parents and her brother and Tom and Davis. They had to be out of their minds with worry and grief. They probably thought she'd been kidnapped. She wished that she could let them know that she was all right. And that someone was taking care of her. She'd only known Rick a week, but she already trusted him. More than she trusted Davis. Rick had kept his promise and come home at 5:30 every day, and he'd apologized for trying to kiss her. The last time she'd seen Davis, he'd kissed her so hard that her teeth had cut her lips. And he certainly hadn't apologized. She touched the ring that Davis had put on her left hand, twisting it. Could she spend her entire life with a man like that?

CHAPTER SEVEN

In spite of her lack of sleep, Marie awoke early the next morning. She couldn't wait to go to the shore. After her walk through the garden, Rick wanted to go back to bed for a while, but she begged him to leave right away. Excitedly she put on her bathing suit, glad that there was no full-length mirror in her room. Rick had assured her that her bathing suit was very modest for 2011, but she still felt apprehensive as she stepped into the hall. "Rick! Are you ready?"

"Just a second."

He came out moments later in shorts and a shirt. "You're not ready!" she exclaimed in disappointment.

He gazed at her for a few seconds, his eyes taking in every delicious curve, before replying, "I _am_ ready. These are my swimming trunks."

"And you swim with the shirt on?"

"I'll take it off when we get there." How could she be so small and have such an incredible body?

Marie glanced down at herself self-consciously. "You said that this was very modest."

"It is."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?"

He swallowed. "I've never seen anyone who looks as good as you in one."

She smiled then, reaching for his hand. "Come on--let's go."

"Wait. You need to put on shorts and a shirt over your bathing suit."

"Oh. OK." She went to do as he said.

Marie had been to the shore before, but it had been years ago. Her father didn't think it was appropriate for a young woman of her position to be parading around half naked. If only he could see her now, she thought with a grin as she took off her shirt and shorts.

There were only a handful of other people on the beach. Rick and Marie went for a stroll--or rather, Rick strolled while Marie ran into and out of the surf. When they returned to their blanket an hour later, she was tired enough to be talked into sunbathing for a while.

"Put some of this lotion all over your skin so you won't get burned." Rick handed her a bottle.

"Mmm. It smells like coconut pie."

She rubbed it all over her exposed skin and then stretched out on her stomach. Rick took the bottle. "I'll rub some on your back."

"Oh." She hadn't even thought about that.

He rubbed lotion into her smooth, flawless skin. She was so small that when he used both hands, they almost completely covered her back. He liked touching her, and he spent so much time rubbing her back that he was afraid she was growing suspicious. But she hadn't uttered a single word. Dropping a light kiss on her shoulder, he moved away.

Marie felt drowsy with pleasure and wished he hadn't stopped. But as he stretched out beside her, she realized how very much she wanted to return the favor. Pushing herself up, she reached for the bottle of lotion. "Turn over, and I'll put some on your back."

He flipped onto his stomach, closing his eyes in anticipation. Ahhh. Those soft, slender hands imitated what she'd felt him do to her, rubbing and caressing. He only wished he could get her to do his chest as well so that he could gaze up at her as she ran her hands over him.

Marie liked touching him. He was big and muscular, and she'd thought that just looking at him without his shirt was a great pleasure. But that was before she'd gotten to run her hands over him.

After a few minutes she stopped and lay down with a sigh. The beach was beautiful, and the air smelled so good. She liked being here with Rick. All morning he'd looked at her like she was a goddess. Or a cone of ice cream. She giggled at the thought. Wondering if Rick had heard her, she glanced over at him. He hadn't moved. Raising her head, she leaned a little closer to him. He was asleep!

She lay there for a few more minutes, but she was too restless to keep lying still, especially with no one to talk to. So at last she jumped up and ran into the waves.

Rick woke up slowly with no idea of how long he'd been asleep. It had been an exhausting week, and he'd gotten less sleep than usual. Of course, he'd had much more fun than usual too, he thought with a lazy smile. He turned to see if Marie was asleep.

She wasn't there! Springing to his feet, he looked around. The beach had become crowded while he was asleep, and he didn't see her anywhere. "Marie!" he called in a moderately loud voice. Maybe she'd gone for a swim. His heart pounded as he ran toward the waves. He hoped she had enough sense not to go out very far.

Just as he ran into the surf, he heard a familiar laugh. He turned to see Marie jump to catch a frisbee. She threw it to one of three--no, four--guys surrounding her.

"Marie!"

She turned to wave to him. "Hi, Rick! Do you want to play frisbee?"

"No." He watched her play for a couple of minutes and then headed back toward the blanket.

Marie ran after him. "Don't you want to play?" she asked, clinging to his arm.

"No."

She could tell he was angry. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He dropped onto the blanket.

"Yes, there is." She knelt beside him. "What is it?"

After a few moments he turned to face her. "Do you know why those guys kept throwing the frisbee to you?"

"To watch me jump and bend." When his eyes showed surprise, she told him, "I know I'm naive, Rick, but I'm not totally stupid. After all, _you_ stared at me all morning."

"That's different," he muttered, glancing away.

"Why?" When he didn't answer, she took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. "They tried to make a game of picking me up and throwing me into the waves, but I wouldn't let them. I didn't let them touch me. Not even to help me up." She played with a damp, curling lock of his hair. "I'm still a woman of the '20s. I don't let men hold my hand or embrace me or touch me in any way . . . unless I know they truly care about me."

He turned to her, reading trust and honesty in her eyes. Without a word he slid his arms around her, burying his face in her neck as he hugged her.

She coaxed him into the water, where they swam and floated on gentle waves. He stayed in until his stomach was rumbling loudly enough to frighten the fish, and then he convinced Marie to leave the water by promising her a hot dog. It was a treat she rarely had. So he bought her one with the works, along with onion rings and a Sprite. She'd never had either of those two, and she sighed and rolled her eyes as if she were feasting on ambrosia. Since she'd had Coke but never heard of Sprite, he assumed that Sprite hadn't been invented by 1927, but he wondered if maybe the fact that she'd never had onion rings was due to her social class. Times had definitely changed where food was concerned. You had to be extremely wealthy and travel in very exclusive circles if you'd never had onion rings or--

"Pizza!" she exclaimed when she saw a girl walk by with a slice. "I've seen the commercials on television. Is it really good?"

"Fantastic. We can call and order some tonight."

"Call and order?"

"Yeah--pizza places deliver to your house."

"Really?"

He smiled at her surprise, leaning over to wipe mustard from the corner of her mouth. "Really."

It was nearly 4:00 before he could talk her into going home. She'd built a sand dragon with a group of people, and then both she and Rick had played volleyball. She claimed that she could keep going, but she fell asleep on the way home.

They were too tired to do anything but watch TV that evening. They went to bed early, but still, she didn't wake up until almost 9:00 the next morning. There was no use walking in the garden this morning, she decided with a yawn. She listened carefully but didn't hear Rick's shower or any noise in the kitchen. It was past his usual breakfast time, so he'd be starved when he got up. She could have breakfast ready for him, maybe even serve it to him in bed.

Jumping up, she pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and ran downstairs. She didn't know how to make very much, but she could scramble some eggs, prepare bacon in the microwave, and make some toast. It didn't even take very long. She put a glass of juice and a cup of tea for Rick on the tray and a glass of milk for herself. Carefully she carried it upstairs.

Rick was still asleep when she nudged the door open. She went in, set the tray on the floor, and then sat beside him. "Rick." She played with a curl on his forehead. He turned away from her hand, so she tickled his ear with her fingernail.

His eyes finally opened, and he blinked up at her, smiling lazily. "Good morning."

"Good morning."

"Time to go walking in the garden?"

"No--it's too late for that. I overslept. Are you hungry? I made you breakfast."

"You did? I'll go down as soon as I get dressed."

"I brought it to you." She went to pick up the tray.

"Wow." He sat up, arranging his pillows behind him. "That looks great."

She was happy when he began eating with gusto. "What are we going to do today?"

"I don't know. Whatever you want."

She smiled. "Go to the shore again?"

He groaned, pulling the blanket just low enough for her to be able to compare the skin his swimming trunks had covered with the red skin above it. "I don't want to even see the sun."

"I thought that was what the lotion was for."

"So did I." He picked up his fork. "At least it worked for you." She'd been slightly pink yesterday, but today she was a lovely golden brown.

"I was in the water more than you." She licked jelly from her lips. "Would you like me to go get you more juice?"

"No thank you." He took a sip of tea. "No one's ever served me breakfast in bed before."

"Really?" She smiled. "I'm glad I'm the first."

He glanced at her left hand. She'd taken off her engagement ring yesterday before they'd left for the shore, and she hadn't put it back on last night. She wasn't wearing it this morning, either. He wondered if she realized it but decided not to ask her.

Setting his cup down, he said, "How would you like another new experience?"

She smiled in delight. "What?"

"Washing my car."

Her face fell. "I could do that in 1927."

"But have you?"

"No." She laughed. "Come on--let's go do it."

He hadn't considered the fact that the water hose would be a new toy for her. "Time to rinse, Marie."

"OK. Look--it's making a rainbow!"

Smiling, he shook his head. "See if it'll make a rainbow on the car."

"Good idea." She sprayed the car, but no rainbow appeared, so she adjusted the nozzle to make a wider spray. Inspired by the fine drops that shot out, she pointed the nozzle straight into the air. "Rain!"

"Hey!" Rick backed out of the spray.

Laughing, Marie pointed the water at him. "Have a drink!"

"Marie!" He tried to run away, but she chased him. Thoroughly soaked, he changed tactics and ran toward her. She screeched and started to run, but he seized her around the waist and grabbed the hose. "You're in trouble now." He released her and then squirted her.

Laughing again, Marie twirled in the spray. "This is fun!"

Rick shook his head, grinning. "What am I going to do with you?" Dropping the hose, he went to hug her. "You're absolutely incorrigible."

"Who, me?" She leaned back to smile up at him. "Is it my fault you have all these wonderful toys?"

He smiled, removing a wet strand of hair from her face. "I'm glad you're having a good time."

"I am. Thank you, Rick."

He swallowed, his eyes locked on her face. "Do you know how incredibly beautiful you are?"

"I'm a mess."

"No. You're beautiful."

She lowered her eyes. "Thank you."

Rick tilted her chin up, making her meet his eyes. When she didn't pull away, he lowered his mouth to hers.

Marie's heart pounded, her hands clutching convulsively at his wet shirt. Her eyes fluttered shut, but his lips had barely touched hers when she pulled back. "Rick--"

"Marie." He brushed his lips over hers and nuzzled her cheek before burying his face in her neck.

He was holding her so tightly and her heart was beating so hard that she was sure he could feel it. She wanted to kiss him more than she'd ever wanted anything . . . but it wasn't right. She was betrothed to Davis. She couldn't kiss another man.

Reluctantly she pulled away. "I guess we should finish washing your car."

"OK." His eyes focused on her lips. His tiny bit of contact with them had been electric. He suspected that if he persisted, he could break down her resistance, but he cared about her too much to do that.

Marie couldn't stop thinking about Rick's kiss. It had been brief, but she could remember everything about it in vivid detail. She closed her eyes as she stood in the shower, reliving the moment. In her mind she could see his face as he told her she was beautiful. Her heart had sped up then but nothing like when he'd tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. She'd known then that he was going to kiss her, but she'd been unable to turn away. And then his lips had touched hers. She shivered beneath the hot spray as she remembered the pleasure she'd felt. But that pleasure had frightened her, because it was wrong. She was betrothed to Davis.

When she was dressed, she put her betrothal ring back on. She shouldn't have left it off last night. And she should have asked Rick to set an alarm for her so that she could have walked in the garden this morning. She shouldn't skip any mornings; she never knew which day might be the one when she'd find herself back in 1927.

When she went downstairs, Rick was watching television. "Want to watch `Bonanza'?" he asked.

"OK."

He glanced at her, bemused, when she sat down on the far end of the sofa. "You can come closer. I don't bite."

"I'm not worried about being bitten."

"So you're worried I'll try to kiss you again?"

She glanced at him. "Will you?"

"Not if you tell me you don't like it."

She wished he hadn't phrased it that way. "I'm betrothed, you know."

"I know." That thought wouldn't stop him.

"And I'm going back to 1927."

That thought would. Sobered, he told her, "I'll miss you, Marie."

"Really?"

"Very much."

She moved to sit beside him. "Do you see a lot of girls?"

"You've been living with me for a week. What do you think?"

She smiled. "One called this week."

"Did I go out with her?"

Her smile faded. "You should have. I don't want to disrupt your life, Rick."

Briefly he considered trying again to kiss her but instead took a lock of her hair to play with. "You haven't disrupted it. You've made it better." He put his arm around her, squeezing her shoulders. "Anyway, today alone has been a perfect date."

"What do you mean?"

"Breakfast in bed, washing my car, now watching TV."

"You call that a date?"

"Yeah. What do you call a date?"

"You know--going out to dinner and then dancing or to a concert or something."

"I'd rather wash my car and have a pizza delivered."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because we have a better chance to get to know each other." He took her hand, kissing the back of her fingers. "This week we've exercised, done laundry, shopped, gone to the beach, cooked, watched TV, and talked the whole time. Well, except when we were watching TV, and even then your questions helped me to get to know you."

She laid her head on his shoulder, pleased but confused. Rick was so different from Davis. She wished that she could talk about him with her mother. But when she could again talk with her mother, there'd be no point. Rick would be gone. That thought brought tears to her eyes, and she snuggled closer to him, wishing she could have everyone she cared about in the same decade.

They spent the afternoon watching TV, reading, and napping. "I feel so lazy," Marie said, stretching as she yawned.

"It's nice to have a day like this every now and then, though."

"Yeah." She looked at his arms with concern. "How does your sunburn feel?" she asked him.

"Still a little sore. I should have put some lotion on this morning."

"Go do it now."

"I'm feeling too lazy."

"Tell me where it is, and I'll get it for you."

Following his instructions, she went to his bathroom and got the lotion. Opening the bottle, she sniffed it as she descended the stairs. It didn't smell as good as the sunscreen, so she wasn't tempted to rub any onto her own skin.

"Thanks, honey--this'll feel great." He rubbed some on his legs and then stripped off his shirt.

Marie watched in fascination as he applied the lotion to his arms and chest. When he was finished, she told him, "I'll do your back."

"Thanks."

She used both hands, slowly rubbing the lotion over every inch of his back. She couldn't even imagine touching Davis like this, and she didn't think it had anything to do with morals. She just didn't feel comfortable enough with him to do something this personal. Yet here she was running her hands all over the back of a man she'd known only a week. Was it a difference in morals? Or times? Or was it Rick? She'd never known a man so warm and kind and open.

Feeling a surge of affection, she slid her arms around his waist, laying her cheek against his back. "How does that feel?"

"Better than you could ever imagine." He sucked in his breath, standing perfectly still. He didn't want to be released from her embrace.

But moments later she pulled away from him. "I'm hungry."

"What do you want to do for dinner?"

"I don't know. More pizza?" She'd loved the pizza they'd had last night. It had been thick and gooey and messy. She'd found it both delicious and fun to eat.

"Maybe tomorrow night. I think we need something a little less fattening tonight. Why don't I barbecue some chicken?"

She wrapped potatoes and put them in the oven while he got the grill going. "Do you barbecue in 1927?"

"My family doesn't. Other people do."

"Really? What do you do at all those garden parties?" He laid the chicken on the grill.

"Gossip and eat little sandwiches and sip tea."

"Sounds like fun." He rolled his eyes.

She sat down in a lounge chair on the patio. "Life should be terribly exciting for me. Having fun is important in 1927--dancing, music, pictures--all kinds of merriment. And my father is wealthy. We have enough money to do anything we want. But all he wants to do is earn more money. When I was 19, we went to a new resort in Palm Beach. For months I looked forward to it, but it was a terrible disappointment. Father went only because a man with whom he had business was going there for the Christmas holidays. And he wouldn't allow me out. He's very protective."

"And you didn't sneak out?" Rick asked with exaggerated astonishment.

"Of course I did." She grinned. "But I didn't get as many opportunities as I would have liked. Still, I love my father very much. I miss him. And my mother. And--" Her voice caught in her throat, and she looked away.

Rick leaned forward to take her hands. "I'm sorry, honey. I know it's hard for you. But I bet you'll walk back into 1927 when you least expect it." That thought depressed him.

She saw the sadness in his eyes and leaned forward to lay her hand on his knee. "I enjoy being here with you, Rick. If I'd met you in 1927 . . ." If she'd met him in 1927, she'd probably have felt every bit as much confusion as she was feeling now.

He took her hand, pressing his lips into her palm. "If you belonged in 2011, things would be different." He stroked her fingers thoughtfully. If she belonged here, he would be pursuing her relentlessly. But she wanted to go back to 1927. So there was absolutely no point in falling in love with her.

Marie found herself thinking about Rick all the time that week. He was always smiling, always kind and gentle. He showed her new things he thought she'd like and took her places and bought her gifts. But what she enjoyed most was just being with him. He made her feel special. And he was protective without making her feel confined. He called her every day at lunch and sometimes later in the afternoon. Last week he'd been concerned about her, worried about how she was getting along in a strange place. But now they chatted and made plans for the evening. And he was always home by 5:30.

All day long she looked forward to 5:30. One of her newborn fantasies revolved around Rick's afternoon return. She imagined him walking through the door, exclaiming that he couldn't stand it any longer, sweeping her into his arms, kissing her. Her favorite, though, was having him tiptoe into her room in the morning to play with her hair until her eyelids fluttered open and then bend over her to kiss her. He wouldn't be wearing a shirt, and, miraculously, her breath would be fresh and sweet.

Those dreams were silly, of course. Not because they couldn't happen but because they could. Marie frowned as she poured soap into the washing machine. She wanted very much to kiss Rick. But she was betrothed to Davis. She shouldn't be kissing other men. But it was getting harder to remember that. Rick filled both her days and her thoughts.

Marie wanted to go to the shore again the next weekend, but Rick's memories of his burn the previous weekend hadn't faded as fast as the burn. "Suppose I teach you to drive instead?" he suggested as they drove home Friday night after dinner and a movie.

"Drive? Your automobile?"

"Sure. Would you like that?"

"I'd love it!" She almost choked on her Slurpee, the first she'd ever had. "Where can I drive to?"

"From one end of the parking lot to the other."

"A parking lot?"

"I'll take you to a big, empty parking lot somewhere and let you get the feel of it. When you feel comfortable, I might let you drive around some quiet neighborhoods, but you need to study the rules of the road so you can get a license. Then we'll see about trying out the streets downtown and the highways."

"You have to have a license to drive?"

"Yeah--it's illegal to drive without one."

"How do you get one?"

"You have to study the rules and pass a written test, and then they take you out on the road and see how you drive."

"When can I do it?" She couldn't wait to get her hands on the steering wheel.

"Like I said, I'll let you drive in a parking lot tomorrow. I'll pick up a booklet for you to study one day this week."

She woke up so excited the next morning that she jumped into her clothes, ran through the garden, and was racing up the stairs less than ten minutes after she'd awakened. "Rick!" she called, running into her bedroom to get her bathrobe. "Rick, wake up! It's almost 8:00!"

Rick groaned, wishing he'd told her that driving wasn't allowed before 10:00 a.m. He turned over and went back to sleep, but 15 minutes later, after her shower, she pounded on his door. "Rick, are you up? I'll be ready in 20 minutes!"

He couldn't help smiling as he rubbed his eyes sleepily. She was so excited about everything. He'd better not let her have tea before she got behind the wheel.

"OK, I turn the key, right?" she said, almost quivering with excitement as she slid behind the wheel.

"Yeah, but take a minute to calm down. Take a deep breath." He covered her hand with his, smiling. "Now turn the key until you hear the car start and then let go."

She turned it and let go as soon as she heard a noise. But then the noise stopped. The second time she held the key longer, jerking her hand away when she heard a grinding sound. "What did I do?"

"You kept the key turned too long. It's OK--you'll get the feel of it. The motor's running, so put your foot on the brake. OK, now press the button in on the handle there and move it to D." When she'd done that, he said, "Now let your foot off the brake."

She did so. "Oh! We're moving!" She tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

"Relax. Just turn in the direction you want to go." For a few seconds they rolled forward, and then Rick saw her relax. "OK, press on the gas pedal. Just a little. Not--" he grunted--"like that." She'd pressed it a little too hard and then, panicking, stepped hard on the brake.

"I'm sorry." She bit her lower lip.

"It's OK. We have this whole parking lot--you can't hurt anything. Just relax and take your time."

It took a while for her to get the hang of it, but an hour or so later, she was cruising around the parking lot, making reasonably smooth starts and stops. Rick was glad to see that her initial difficulties had made her cautious. That should curb her excitement when she got out on the road.

They drove a little the next day, and Monday Rick picked up a booklet at the DMV. Marie spent all day Tuesday studying it and was sure that she could pass the test. Rick had found out, however, that she couldn't get one without a social security number. Marie was disappointed, of course, but Rick wasn't sure it was a good idea for her to drive alone, anyway, and she'd eventually want to do that if she had a license. Besides, he was putting together a surprise for her that he knew would take her mind off driving.

Marie was doing laundry Thursday afternoon when the phone rang. Putting down the lid and turning the machine on, she ran to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hi, sweetheart--how is everything?"

"Fine. I'm doing the laundry."

"I have a blue shirt hanging on the bathroom doorknob--"

"I found it. It's in the dryer."

"Thanks--you're terrific. Listen, I called to tell you that I may be a little late tonight."

"Why?"

"I have a lot of things to wrap up before the weekend. But I have a surprise for you that'll make up for it."

"It will have to be a really special surprise."

He laughed. "It is. And I'll pick up a pizza for dinner. I'll try not to be very late."

He was still smiling as he hung up. She was incredible. The last three weeks had been wonderful. She was so much fun, and he loved knowing that she'd be waiting for him when he got home. Sometimes the intimacy of living with her was a strain--sleeping and showering under the same roof, shopping for underwear and doing laundry, lazy evenings when he held her close. She was beautiful and sexy, and he ached to kiss and caress her and make love to her. But he cared about her too much to press her.

"Marie!" he called when he got home that afternoon.

"I'll be down in a minute!"

He went to the kitchen and set the pizza on the table. As he was filling glasses with ice, she padded into the kitchen. "Hi. I thought you'd be later." It was only 6:30.

"So did I. But I hurried--I couldn't wait to get home." He smiled at her. "We need to add a bathrobe to our shopping list, don't we?" She was wearing his, obviously having just showered.

"No. I like wearing yours."

"Do you want to run and get dressed before we eat?"

"No. I want to know what the surprise is."

He laughed. "You remembered that, did you?" He filled their glasses with Coke. "Well, I'll probably have to work late tomorrow too."

She stared at him in dismay. "That's the surprise?"

He laughed. "No. I have to work late because of the surprise. I have quite a bit of vacation time coming, and I thought I'd take some next week. Since I'm not giving much notice, I have a lot of things I have to take care of tomorrow."

If a vacation was the surprise, it must include her, but she didn't want to make any assumptions. "What plans have you made for your vacation?"

"I thought we'd spend Saturday shopping for whatever you may need, and we'll leave Sunday morning."

"Leave for where?"

"Los Angeles."

She frowned. "Los Angeles?"

"Hollywood."

Marie screamed, almost knocking Rick off his feet when she leapt into his arms. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can't believe it!" She hugged him hard and kissed his cheek. "Do you mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. That would be a terrible joke."

"Oh, Rick, thank you so much! I'm going to go pack." She turned to go upstairs.

"Whoa." He caught her hand, chuckling. "It's three days before we leave. I think you can sit down and eat first."

But she was too excited to eat. "Will we get to meet any stars?"

"I don't know. They guard their privacy. But we'll do the Paramount and Universal tours."

"The what?"

"Tours of Paramount Studios and Universal Studios."

"Really?" she squealed. "Will we get to be in a movie?"

"No." He reached out to squeeze her hand. "Listen, sweetheart--Hollywood probably isn't what you imagine. Everyone in the world would love to be in the movies, and there's a lot of lying and cheating and scheming to get ahead in the industry. Hollywood's specialty is illusion. I don't want you to be too disappointed."

"How could I be? I never even thought I'd get to go! Thank you so much, Rick." She jumped up to kiss his cheek again.

Marie couldn't sleep that night. She was going to Hollywood! She wouldn't be able to see Mary Pickford or Douglas Fairbanks, but maybe she'd see some of her new favorites, like Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts.

She managed to doze a little but was wide awake before dawn. Deciding to do an aerobics tape until it was light enough to walk in the garden, she put on her workout clothes and went downstairs.

She didn't know how she was going to be able to wait two entire days. She was so excited that she felt like she could run all the way to Hollywood. After 45 minutes of aerobics, she still wasn't tired! She wouldn't be able to sit still and watch TV today. She'd do all their laundry and clean the house from top to bottom and have dinner ready when Rick got home. She glanced at her watch and decided to get everything ready for breakfast so that it wouldn't take long to cook it for Rick as soon as they got back from her walk.

She froze in place. What if she got back to 1927 today? She wouldn't get to go to Hollywood.

Dropping into a chair, she drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. She wanted to go to Hollywood more than she'd ever wanted anything. Well, not more than she wanted to go home. She was having fun here, but it was as if she were on holiday. She missed her mother and father and friends, and she didn't think she could bear it if she thought she'd never get back. What if she skipped her walk in the garden today and today turned out to be her chance to get back? But she knew that no one in 1927 was going to take her to Hollywood. She smiled, remembering with pleasure the moment when Rick had said he was taking her to Hollywood. Her heart sped up again at just the memory. Hollywood! Rick was giving her her dream. He'd known her only three weeks and was taking time off from his job to take her where she wanted to go. No one had ever been as sweet to her or as thoughtful as Rick.

"Morning."

Marie jumped, looking up at Rick. "Good morning." She glanced out the window and realized she must have been sitting there for nearly 30 minutes.

"Have you been out to the garden already?"

"No." She stood and went to him. "I want to go home--"

"I know, sweetheart." He caressed her hair, wishing he knew how to comfort her.

"I want to go home, but I also want to go to Hollywood."

He chuckled. "Do you want to cut out the walk in the garden until we get back?"

"I'm afraid--oh." It had just now occurred to her that she wouldn't be able to walk in the garden for the whole week they were gone. But she just couldn't pass up the chance to go to Hollywood.

She'd compromise. She'd walk today and tomorrow, and if she got back home . . . well, at least she'd be back home. That thought filled her with an astonishing sadness. Sadness, not just disappointment over Hollywood—-because she'd miss Rick.

"Afraid of what?" Rick stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"Hmmm? Oh. Nothing." Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. "I'll go change clothes and be right back."

She wished she could wear her sneakers, she mused as she roamed through the garden in her bulky black shoes. But she couldn't very well walk into her house wearing shorts and sneakers. She did, however, have on black lace underwear that she'd gotten at the mall. No one would know about that, and it would be a reminder of her adventure in 2011.

She wandered full circle and, for the first time, wasn't disappointed when she saw Rick's fountain. He stood up when he saw her, and she walked into his arms. "What do I need to do to get ready for Hollywood?" she asked, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder.

She spent the day washing and ironing and folding clothes and cleaning the house. While the lasagna she'd made for dinner baked, she made a list of what she wanted to buy the next day. They needed new beach towels and more sunscreen and aloe vera lotion. She wanted a nice dress to wear in the evening, but she hesitated about putting it on the list. She didn't want to ask Rick for anything frivolous, and she'd probably get to wear the dress only once or twice. But she didn't want him to be embarrassed by a companion who wasn't dressed appropriately. Well, she'd ask him where he planned to take her and what she should wear.

"Why don't we find you a nice, simple dress?" Rick asked the next day after they'd bought towels and lotions and visors and sunglasses.

She smiled, hugging his arm. She hadn't even mentioned the dress. "Thank you. I was hoping I could get one."

He glanced down at her. "Sweetheart, you can get anything you want."

With delight she browsed through racks of dresses and then tried on half a dozen. "I like the black one the best," Rick told her.

"Really? You like it better than the red?"

"Yeah. The red one is very pretty, but the black one is elegant and sophisticated."

"OK. I'll take it."

They bought the dress and matching sandals. As soon as they got home, Marie spread out all their purchases, looking at them with delight. "I can't wait!" she exclaimed, smoothing her dress over the arm of the recliner.

Rick smiled. "Do you think we have everything we need?"

"Yes. Thank you so much, Rick." She flung her arms around him.

She packed for both of them and finally, unable to find anything else to do, dropped onto the sofa beside him. "I'm excited."

"I hadn't noticed." He squeezed her shoulders. "Are you ready to watch `E.T.'?" He'd rented the movie because of the "E.T." ride they'd see at Universal Studios.

"Yeah." She sighed, snuggling closer to him as he pressed the remote button. "Thank you, Rick."

"For the movie?"

"No. For the trip. I can't believe you're taking me to Hollywood. I can't believe you're going to Hollywood just for me."

"I'm going to have as much fun as you are." He stroked her hair. "I love being with you, Marie. And I love seeing your excitement. Every time I see you get excited about a microwave or a dishwasher or a blacklight, it makes me want to think of something else I can show you or give you."

Her heart tightened. "Thank you." She tilted her head back to look up at him. "Thank you so much, Rick."

He stroked her cheek with his forefinger. "I'd do anything for you, sweetheart." When she didn't look away, simply continuing to gaze into his eyes, he slowly lowered his mouth to hers, brushing his lips over hers. She didn't pull away. Gathering her closer, he kissed her gently.

Marie's pulse raced as Rick's lips moved over hers. This . . . this was nothing like Davis's kisses. Rick's kiss was making her tremble. She returned it briefly and then pulled away, hiding her face against his shoulder in confusion. How could she like Rick's kiss more than Davis'? How could his kiss make her feel so hot and weak?

Rick drew in a shaky breath, laying his cheek against her hair. That one small, hesitant kiss had been so exciting that he knew he'd be lost if she ever kissed him the way he wanted. And he knew himself well enough and was honest enough to admit that it wasn't just because she was beautiful and sexy. He was in love with her.

Marie's pulse rate was almost back to normal, but her mind was still racing. "Rick," she began without looking at him, "if I told you that your kiss hurt me, what would you do?"

He tilted her chin up to look at her anxiously. "Did I hurt you? What did--"

"No, no--you didn't hurt me." She caressed his cheek. "But what if you did? What if you kissed me so hard that-that my teeth cut my lips? What if--"

"I would never, ever hurt you." He caressed her hair. "If I ever do anything that hurts you or that you don't like, tell me, and I'll stop. Right away. I care about you, Marie, and I'd rather never kiss you again than hurt you."

She laid her head on his shoulder again. She believed him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

"How does the airplane get in the air?"

They were on the plane waiting for takeoff. Marie was in a window seat, squeezing Rick's hand as she looked out the window.

"The plane goes really fast down the runway until the air lifts it."

"It's so big and has all these people in it. How does it stay in the air without falling?"

"I don't know much about aerodynamics."

"About what?"

"What keeps the plane in the air."

Marie couldn't wait to feel the airplane move. It was hard to believe that it could stay up in the air. She'd seen airplanes before, but she'd never been in one. She didn't even know anyone who had.

The plane began rolling forward! Squeezing Rick's hand harder, Marie listened carefully as the flight attendant explained what to do in emergencies. When she'd finished, Marie pointed to an overhead panel and asked Rick, "Is this where the oxygen masks fall from?"

"I think so."

"Haven't you ever put one on?"

"No. Traveling by plane is really safe, sweetheart. Far fewer people are killed in plane crashes than in car crashes."

She sat back when she felt the airplane pick up speed. She was looking out the window, so she both saw and felt the plane leave the ground. "We're in the air!" she gasped.

"Just wait until we're above the clouds. They look like a bed of cotton."

She was quiet until they were flying through the clouds. "They don't look like cotton. I can't see anything--how can the pilot see where he's going?"

"He has instruments to help him. We'll only be in them for a minute. Then you'll see what I mean."

She did, marveling at the beauty of perfectly clear blue skies above and white powder puffs below. The clouds looked so soft and fluffy that she wished she could bounce on them.

The trip was exciting. The flight attendant brought them peanuts and Coke, and Rick bought them headphones so that they could watch a movie. And then she brought them dinner! It wasn't very good, but Rick said that they could get some pizza as soon as they got to Hollywood.

At the airport they got their luggage and rented a car. Marie looked around eagerly as Rick drove to the hotel, but so far it didn't look much different from 2011 Boston. "Where are the studios we'll be touring?" she asked.

"One's downtown, and the other is to the northwest of the city. Our hotel is right off the highway--we're almost there."

"When will we see the movie studios?"

"One tomorrow, one Tuesday. We'll get some brochures at the hotel and see what else sounds good to you for the rest of the week."

They pulled up to the hotel minutes later. They checked into their rooms, which were side by side, and Rick suggested that Marie unpack while he ordered a pizza.

"I don't feel like unpacking and sitting around. Can't we go out for dinner?"

"Aren't you tired?"

"No! I wish we could do something right away."

"The studios will be closed, but we can go dancing if you like."

"Wonderful!"

Each took a quick shower and changed clothes. Rick would have taken her to a nice restaurant, but she had her heart set on pizza.

"Mmm--this is delicious," she said after a bite of the pepperoni slice.

"Everything will probably taste better in Hollywood." He winked at her.

"Can we eat at the studios?"

"Probably. But remember, sweetheart, it's probably not what you're expecting. It's not all glamour."

"But at least I'll get to see for myself. Thank you, Rick." She reached out to squeeze his hand.

"You're . . . welcome . . ."

He was looking past her, and she turned around with a frown. "What are you looking at?"

"That guy over there--the tall blond one. Do you recognize him?"

She frowned at the blond for a moment and then gasped. "He's on that lawyer show we watch!"

She stared, and Rick smiled at her awe. She didn't turn back around until the actor was gone. Looking at Rick with wide eyes, she said, "You told me we probably wouldn't see any movie stars."

"We were lucky."

"Maybe we'll be lucky again!"

And they were--that very night. They went dancing, and in the middle of the floor was a young actor from one of the newer shows. He was the center of attention, making all sorts of wacky dance moves. Occasionally he'd draw one of the girls from the crowd surrounding him and dance with her for a minute or two. To Marie's astonishment and euphoric delight, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the center of the crowd to dance with him.

"Did you see that? Did you see us?" Marie exclaimed breathlessly when she returned to Rick. "He danced with me! I danced with a movie star!"

"I saw." He smiled, stroking a damp tendril of hair from her face. "Was it fun?"

"It was incredible! I can't believe I danced with him!"

"Come sit down for a minute and have a Coke."

He managed to keep her still for less than five minutes. They danced almost non-stop for the next hour and a half, and then Rick declared he'd fall asleep behind the wheel if they didn't leave. Marie could have gone on, but about five minutes after getting in the car, she was yawning.

Rick opened her hotel room door for her and gave her the key. "I'm not going to have them wake us up. Just come knock on my door whenever you get up."

"OK." She smiled up at him dreamily. "This evening has been like a fairy tale. Even if we left tomorrow, I'd be happy."

"Good." He stroked her cheek with one finger. "That's all I want."

Her heart began pounding when she realized he was going to kiss her goodnight. His lips were light, almost teasing, as they touched hers. When he raised his head, she couldn't look away from him.

Rick smiled at her somewhat dazed expression. "Sleep well, sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Rick." She gave him a quick smile before slipping into her room.

Rick's smile had become a frown by the time he was in his own room. He wasn't sure this trip was such a good idea after all. Sharing her dream was going to make him fall even more deeply in love with her. And when she left, he'd be devastated. But remembering the excitement on her face as she'd danced with the actor, he couldn't regret it.

The next day they went to Universal Studios. "This is set up like an amusement park," Rick told her as he bought their tickets. "So even if it isn't authentic, I think you'll enjoy it."

"I know I will." In reality, she wasn't sure. The term "amusement park" conjured up visions of carousels and ferris wheels. Those were fun in 1927, but she expected more from 2011.

She wasn't disappointed. First they went to the "Water World" show. Marie gasped as some-some . . . motorcycles on water crisscrossed the lake. "How do they do that?"

"Do what?"

"Those motorcycles. How do they go on the water?"

"They're jet skis. They're made for the water."

She watched as the actors climbed towers, rode hand trolleys on cables, jumped from shattered platforms into the water. And when the heroine shot the villain, causing his jacket to catch on fire, Marie screamed. It was so real, and she gripped the edge of her seat as she waited to see what would happen after he fell into the water.

The villain jumped up on the platform to make his bows with the rest of the cast. Marie raised wide eyes to Rick's face as they stood to leave. "Was that man who was on fire hurt?"

"No. He'll do another show in a couple of hours."

"How do they do that?"

"The jacket is made out of some kind of special material."

That was the most amazing stunt she saw that day, but there were dozens of special effects and props that filled her with wonder. They took a tour of the movie lot, and Marie was excited to see the sets of some of the movies Rick had rented for her. The tram they rode crossed a bridge that shook as if it would collapse, and she screamed, clutching Rick's arm. A giant shark swam up to the tram as it crossed a river, and as they later emerged from a forest, it began raining, and a flood rushed toward them. With so many children on the tram, Marie knew that these "disasters" were just tricks, but she was still glad she could huddle in Rick's arms when the tram seemed to be in danger.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you, sweetheart?" Rick asked as they stood in line to ride the "E.T." ride.

"No. I don't think so. This doesn't go higher than our airplane, does it?"

Rick laughed. "No. But it isn't enclosed. Just close your eyes if you get scared."

But she was fascinated, not scared. The cart made to resemble a bicycle took them through the air above a moonlit village, and she squeezed Rick's hand in delight rather than fear. She enjoyed it so much that they got back in line and rode again.

But as much as she enjoyed the "E.T." ride, it couldn't compare to the "Back to the Future" ride. That was really like flying--even more than in the airplane. It was more like having wings of her own, soaring high and low, below bridges and over mountains. "We really never left the ground?" she asked Rick as they waited to ride it a second time.

"No. The car just jerks us around, and that combined with the effect of the picture makes you feel like you're flying."

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah--it was fun. But the best part is seeing how much _you_ enjoy it." He squeezed her close to his side.

It was nearly 7:00 when they left, and Marie was all in favor of pizza in the room this time. "I don't think I can wait," she told Rick when he hung up the phone after ordering the pizza.

"Do you want me to go get you a candy bar?"

"No. I'm going to go take a shower while we wait."

After her shower she rubbed on some rose-scented lotion. Her skin was hot from her day in the sun and just a little red. She'd put sunscreen on this morning so that she wouldn't get burned. Dropping the bottle onto the bed, she went back to Rick's room calling, "Is the pizza here yet?"

"Not yet," he replied as he emerged from the bathroom, still toweling his hair dry.

Marie stared. He was wearing only a pair of shorts. Drops of water sparkled on his shoulders, and his skin glowed from the recent scrubbing. She swallowed. "I . . . I . . ." Her face grew red as he looked at her expectantly. "I . . . you . . . the sun. Do you want some of my lotion?"

"I brought some." He went to take a bottle from a drawer. "I'm not as red as I was last Saturday."

"Do you-do you want me to-to rub some on you?"

He glanced up, on the verge of asking her why, since it was only his arms, not his back, that needed the lotion. Instead, he silently handed her the bottle.

Marie squeezed some lotion into her hand. Starting at his wrist, she rubbed his arm, working her way up. When she reached the tan line where his sleeve began, her hands glided up to the red spot just below his neck. "You-you must not have put sunscreen here. It's really red."

He gazed at her averted face as she rubbed lotion on his chest. He was sure she could feel the pounding of his heart when her hands strayed from the sunburnt spot. Swallowing, he said hoarsely, "You like touching me, don't you?"

Her eyes met his briefly and then returned to follow the action of her hands. "Yes," she whispered.

Rick's arms slid around her waist, and he bent his head to kiss her. Marie's hands continued to move over his chest as she returned his kiss. His lips were warm and strong, and his kiss made her heart flutter. She didn't feel the shyness she'd felt when they'd kissed before, and she was disappointed when Rick ended it.

"Pizza," Rick muttered, gazing down into her dazed face.

"Hmmm?"

"Pizza's here." He released her to go open the door.

Marie turned away to collect herself as he paid the delivery man. She hadn't even heard the knock. Her face grew scarlet as she thought of the way she'd touched him. And she'd even admitted that she enjoyed it! How could she have acted that way?

Rick set the pizza on the table and picked up some change to go get them some Cokes. He knew Marie would be embarrassed. Women of 1927 weren't supposed to be so forward with a man, even if they weren't, as she was, engaged to another. But her kiss and the way she'd touched him made him think that maybe he could win her love. Maybe he could convince her to stay in 2011 with him.

He returned to the room with the Cokes and opened the box. "Mmm—it smells great." He put a slice on a plate and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she mumbled, not looking at him.

"Marie." He caught her free hand and squeezed it until she looked up at him. "It's OK. We're friends, we like each other--nothing should make us feel uncomfortable with each other, should it?"

She smiled then. "Did they give us napkins?"

They went to bed early that night because they had to be at Paramount at 7:00 the next morning. Marie, fortunately, didn't question the earliness of the hour. The surprise he had for her hinged on the word of a friend of a friend, and he didn't want her to find out about it and then have it fall through.

Traffic was terrible the next morning, but he managed to find the gate he'd been told to go to. The attendant had his name on a list and gave him directions to stage three.

"Why did your name have to be on a list?" Marie asked him.

"That's the only way to get in."

"How did you get your name on the list?"

"I-I called. Here--I think this is it."

He hurried her inside the building and asked the first person he saw for Eric Waite. Fortunately, the man was only a few yards away, talking to a cameraman. He looked up as Rick and Marie approached. "Mr. Waite, Steve Reynolds spoke to you about a--"

"You're Rick Newman, right? I'm great with names." He turned to Marie. "And this must be our little star." He winked at Rick and smiled at Marie. "If I'd known what a knockout you were going to be, I would have tried to find something better. Run along and get your make-up done--it's at the end of that corridor. We start shooting at 8:00."

He turned away before Marie could say a word. Rick took her hand and led her away toward the make-up room.

"Rick, what's going on?" she asked.

"Now don't get too excited--you're just an extra. It's not--"

"I'm going to be in a movie?" she squealed.

"You're going to be an extra. You won't say anything, and it'll only be a couple of minutes. It's really not much, but it's hard to--"

"I'm going to be in a movie!" She turned and threw her arms around him.

She was in a party scene, one of six people that formed a group with the star. She wasn't supposed to do anything but smile and sip her drink, but when the star gave her a smoldering glance during rehearsal, the director decided he wanted to film it. The result was a split-second close-up of her face, and the star kissed her hand. Marie felt as if she were going to burst from excitement.

They were allowed to watch filming until lunch, and then they were given a tour of the rest of the studio. Marie heard obscenities and shouting, and she saw two different actors storm off two different sets in the middle of their scenes. But it was wonderful. The actors and actresses were very attractive people, and many of them were nice to her.

"Today was magic, absolute magic," Marie sighed as they ate steak and salad that evening.

Rick smiled. "You weren't disappointed then?"

"Not in the slightest."

"It was what you expected?"

"No, not really. But it was just as exciting." She smiled, poking at her steak. "When we were filming that scene and the star looked at me, I felt like Clara Bow."

"Who?"

"Clara Bow." She looked up at him. "You know--the `it' girl."

"The what girl?"

She stared at him. "I can't believe you haven't heard of the `it' girl!"

"Is she an actress?"

"She's more than that. You know. She's-she's the `it' girl."

"What does that mean?"

Her face reddened. "You know. `It.' She's-she's . . . she makes men want . . . think about-about . . ."

He grinned. "I think I understand." He reached out to squeeze her hand. "I've never seen a picture of her or even heard of her, but I'd bet money that she's not as sexy as you." Her blush deepened, and his grin mellowed into a loving smile. He took her hand and pressed his lips into her palm. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world, Marie."

This evening was a wonderful end to a wonderful day. Like the day before, what Rick had enjoyed most was seeing Marie's pleasure. She'd wanted to see everything, experience everything they'd let her try. Everyone had treated her like an eager tourist, little realizing that she was seeing it all from the perspective of someone who'd seen debuts of Hollywood's earliest offerings.

"Would you like to go dancing?" Rick asked as he paid the bill.

"I don't think so. I'm rather tired, and I think I'd just like to relax and think about all that happened today."

"And dream about your debut?" He smiled. "We'll go see the movie as soon as it comes out. And buy the video when it comes out." He was thrilled when she didn't say she'd probably be back in 1927 before then.

She was quiet during the ride home, remembering the scene she'd done. And how she'd peered through a camera. And sat in a director's chair as he walked his sitcom actors through a scene. It hadn't been a page out of a fairy tale like she'd expected, but it had been exciting nevertheless. And a dream-come-true.

"I feel gritty. I think I'm going to jump in the shower," Rick told her when they got back to the hotel.

"Me too." She would have preferred a bath, but she was afraid she'd fall asleep in the tub.

Rick was stretched out on the bed watching TV when she returned to his room. "I'm exhausted," she told him, dropping onto the bed.

"So am I." He took her wrist. "Lie down here with me and watch this `Mad About You' rerun."

His arms went around her when she settled down beside him. She sighed and was instantly asleep.

The last thing Rick remembered was Murray, the dog, drinking out of a toilet. When he opened his eyes again, the news was on. He yawned, wanting to stretch but finding that Marie lay on one arm. He looked down at her, smiling. Her cheeks were golden and rosy, her long, dark lashes like fans against them. Her dark hair fell over his arm and onto the pillow, and he reached up with his free hand to caress it.

Marie stirred, moving closer to Rick. She blinked and found him hovering over her. As she gazed up into his eyes, she felt as if she were in a dream. This was just like one of her fantasies. Except that he was wearing a shirt.

"You fell asleep," he whispered, his face moving closer to hers.

"Yes."

"Me too." His lips brushed over hers. "Your lips are red from the sun."

"Mmm." Her hand slid to the nape of his neck, gently pulling his head closer.

He kissed her again, enjoying the sweet warmth of her lips, the eagerness of her response. He felt her slender fingers stroking his neck, and remembering how she'd run her hands over his chest yesterday evening, he wished he'd taken off his shirt.

Marie sighed into Rick's mouth. This was better than any fantasy. Rick was . . . his kiss . . . Her eyes flew open when she felt the tip of his tongue graze her lips. What . . . Was he trying to put his tongue in her mouth like Davis had? Remembering how awful that had been, she broke away.

Rick buried his face in her neck. Moments later he began kissing and nibbling on her skin.

"Oh!"

Rick raised his head to look at her. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing. That . . . that felt good."

He chuckled, dropping another kiss on her neck. "I think you'd better go back to your room." He was afraid she'd run if he moved too fast.

"Oh. All right." Somewhat dazed, she went to her room, only to find that she'd left her key in Rick's room. She returned, glancing up at him sheepishly when he opened the door for her. "I forgot my key."

He retrieved it from the dresser and handed it to her. He kissed her lips lightly. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight." She went back to her own room, wishing that she could sleep next to him all night.

They drove down to Tijuana the next day, and Marie was delighted with all the shops and stalls and stands. People would wave things under her nose, and it was hard to say no. But Rick had told her just to walk away unless it was something she really wanted. So she'd grab onto his arm and let him lead her away.

"Do you like silver?" he asked her.

"I love it. Especially bracelets."

She watched in fascination as he talked a merchant down to $8.00 from his asking price of $20.00 for a delicate silver bracelet. "We never do that when we shop in Boston."

He laughed. "Only when you're shopping for cars. But in Mexico and a lot of other countries, it's the custom."

"Thank you," she said as he fastened the bracelet on her wrist. "Can I try negotiating for something?"

"Sure. What would you like to buy?"

They wandered around, and what caught her eye was not all the silver, gold, turquoise, and leather that the natives thought an American tourist would want but the colorful things like serapes and bajas--Mexican blankets and pullover jackets.

She found a pink and turquoise baja that she fell in love with. The price was ten dollars, and Marie talked the owner down to six dollars.

"I did it!" she exclaimed, taking her baja from the bag.

"You did a good job."

"This is fun. Why don't we get you one of these?"

After buying Rick a baja, they bought a multi-colored blanket and a leather purse. Marie loved bargaining, but the only other thing she saw that she wanted was a little glass carousel that she managed to get from ten dollars down to five.

"Can't we eat here somewhere, Rick? I'd like to try the food."

"No, you wouldn't," he said as they approached customs. "The water down here is contaminated. Ever heard of Montezuma's Revenge?"

"What?"

"Montezuma's Revenge. The water makes you sick, and you spend a lot of time in the bathroom." He smiled down at her. "We'll get something to eat in San Diego. I'm sure they have some authentic Mexican restaurants."

They had two days left, and Marie chose to spend Thursday wandering around downtown Los Angeles, buying trinkets in the shops and the Farmer's Market on Fairfax and watching glamorous people walk by as she and Rick ate lunch at an outdoor café on Rodeo Drive. But her choice for their last day in California was quite a change from that: she wanted to go to Disneyland. Mickey Mouse hadn't been around in 1927, and she found the whole idea of a fantasy land for children exciting. And she loved Splash Mountain.

"Are you sad to be leaving?" Rick asked that evening as he watched her pack.

"Yes. This has been a dream-come-true, and I'd like to stay in the dream." With a sigh she folded her baja and put it in her suitcase.

He stood, placing his hands on her shoulders from behind. "If we get a chance, we'll come back."

She turned around, gazing up at him anxiously. "I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. I've had a wonderful time, and--"

"Shhh--it's OK." He reached out to caress her hair. "I'm glad you've had such a good time here that you don't want to leave."

"It's been magic, Rick. Thank you for bringing me. And for getting me into a movie. And for doing everything in your power to make this trip special for me."

"You're very welcome." Sliding his arms around her waist, he added, "It's been special for me too."

She knew he was going to kiss her; she'd known it the second she'd felt his arms go around her waist. When his lips touched hers, she clutched at his shirt, but then her hands slid around his waist and up his back. His kiss was sweet, warm, loving, and when his lips left hers, she was disappointed. But his mouth immediately covered hers again. Her fingers dug into his back as the kiss grew more and more intense until at last, breathless, she pulled away. "You make me feel like a princess," she murmured, rubbing her face against his neck.

"Too bad."

"`Too bad'?" She raised her head to look at him in surprise.

"Yeah. I want to make you feel like a queen."

"Oh." Smiling, she laid her head on his shoulder, relishing his tight embrace. He was every bit as much a dream as Hollywood.

CHAPTER NINE

Marie awoke late Sunday morning, pulled the covers over her head, and turned away from the sun. She felt as if she could sleep forever.

An hour or so later she awoke again. Mmm . . . bacon. Rick must be making breakfast. Or lunch. She had no idea what time it was.

She went to brush her teeth and take a shower. She decided the shower could wait until after breakfast, though, when her stomach began rumbling. She hoped Rick was making pancakes too.

He was in the hall when she opened the door. "Morning."

She smiled up at him sleepily. "Good morning."

She was wearing only his pajama top and looked unbelievably sexy. Drawing her close, he bent his head and kissed her.

Marie sighed with pleasure as she returned Rick's kiss. She'd never dreamed anything could make her feel this way.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, kissing the tip of her nose.

"Starved." She hugged him.

They went downstairs with their arms around each other. "Did you make pancakes?" she asked.

"Yeah. I'm starved, and I figured you would be too. So we're having pancakes and bacon and eggs and juice."

"Mmm—that sounds great. And it smells even better." She sat down, poured syrup on her pancakes, and dug in. "Delicious," she said, swallowing.

"Thanks. I thought we'd go to the grocery store after breakfast and get some more eggs and some milk and a few other things."

"OK. And then take a nap."

He smiled. "You're feeling what we call 'jet lag.' Your body got used to California time, and it thinks it's 8:00 in the morning instead of 11:00."

"Really? When do I catch up?"

"You'll probably be back to normal by tomorrow."

It was such a beautiful day that she almost asked him if they could go to the shore. But she was still a little sleepy, and she was sure he was too. It would be nice just to lie around all day napping and watching TV.

She looked out the window at the roses in the garden as she poured herself some more juice. They were so pretty, and she loved smelling them . . . when she walked . . .

She swallowed hard as a wave of anxiety struck her. She hadn't walked in the garden for a week, and she hadn't even thought about it last night or this morning. Her parents would still be frantic, and Davis . . . She swallowed again, remembering every kiss she and Rick had shared. It was as if Hollywood had been a separate world, a world in which she'd been . . . queen. But she was back now. Davis was her fiancé, and she had no business kissing Rick, no business sitting in his kitchen in nothing but his pajama top.

Reddening, Marie set her glass down and headed for the stairs. "I'm going to take a shower."

She couldn't believe what she'd done. She could almost excuse herself for kissing Rick in Hollywood, say that he'd been part of the dream. But this morning . . . this morning she hadn't even thought about walking in the garden, she'd kissed Rick as casually as if she did it every morning, and she'd worn nothing but his pajama top to breakfast without giving it a thought. She'd acted as if . . . as if they were married. Her blush deepened, and she scrubbed her skin frantically. She was betrothed to Davis. She lived in 1927. She was going back. Then she'd be able to talk to her mother about any confusing feelings that might linger.

She put on her Egyptian-motif dress, her ugly black shoes, and even her 1927 underwear. Rick, thankfully, was in his own shower when she went downstairs and out to the garden. She didn't really think she'd be able to get back on a clear, bright afternoon, but she needed to put herself closer, emotionally at least, to home.

"Marie?" Rick called as he searched the house for her. She wasn't in the living room or kitchen. He went upstairs and looked in her bedroom. Where else could she be? "Marie?"

He finally went out to the garden. She was way over by the pink roses, and he was surprised and dismayed to see her wearing her 1927 clothes. "Marie!" He ran over to her, but something about her stance when she looked up at him kept him from sweeping her into his arms like he wanted. "What are you doing?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Trying to get home."

His heart plummeted. "Why didn't you come tell me?"

She just shrugged again.

"I-I'll go sit on the patio and wait for you."

"That's OK. I'm obviously not going to get there today."

He walked silently at her side. When they were back inside, she didn't go upstairs to change. Instead, she went to the living room and sat in a corner of the sofa, erecting an invisible wall between them. Bewildered and a little hurt, he sat down on the opposite end and turned on the TV.

After a few minutes of channel surfing, he pressed the mute button. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked, turning toward Marie. "Are you homesick?"

"Don't call me that." She stared at the TV screen.

"`Sweetheart'? Why?"

"I'm betrothed to Davis."

His heart constricted. "Are you missing him?"

"He's my betrothed. Shouldn't I be missing him?" She burst into tears.

Rick felt awful, but he didn't know if he felt worse for himself or for her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he told her, scooting closer and putting his arms around her tentatively. When she didn't resist, he drew her closer. "I'm sorry. I wish I knew what to do to help you."

"Stop being so nice to me," she sobbed into his shoulder.

"What?" he asked, bending his head closer to hers.

"Stop being so nice to me!"

He frowned. "You don't want me to be nice to you?"

"No." She sat up and held out her hand for his handkerchief.

He gave it to her. "Why?"

"It confuses me."

"How?"

"It just does." More tears slid down her cheeks. "I wish I could talk to my mother."

"I wish I could help you with that, sweetheart." When she glanced up at him sharply, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I-I . . . care about you. You're very special to me. And I can't help being nice to you. When you're happy, I'm happy, and when you hurt, I hurt."

"Oh, Rick." Her tears began coming faster.

He tried to draw her closer, but she stiffened and then stood up. "Where-where are those books about time travel?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

"In my office."

"I want to look at them again to see if I can find something that we missed."

"OK—I'll help you."

"No." She shook her head, glancing at him but unable to meet his gaze. "I-I need to do it alone, OK?"

"OK."

He watched her go, his heart heavy. He couldn't stand to see her so unhappy, but he didn't want her to leave. He loved her.

He headed upstairs to make sure she'd found all the books and articles. She was coming out of the office with a load of them. "I'm going to look at them in my room," she told him.

"You can use the office. I don't care."

"No—my room is fine."

The light reflected off her diamond as she turned away from him. Rick's stomach clenched. Her going back to 1927 would be bad enough. Her going back to her fiancé . . .

All at once he remembered the article about Marie. He dug it out of the bottom drawer of his desk and read it again. All it contained was her birth date and the general information about her family. He wished the information about her marriage to Davis hadn't disappeared. He could have shown her what her life would be like if she married him.

But why couldn't he just tell her what the article had said originally? She could draw her own conclusions about what the change in the article meant. Excited, he stood and headed for her room. But when he reached her door, he hesitated. Would she believe him about the article? She still felt loyal to that jerk, and she might not believe him. Especially since it was pretty obvious that he himself had something to gain by convincing her that she shouldn't marry Davis. His sister had once told him that a girl usually wouldn't even believe her best friend if she told her that her boyfriend was cheating on her.

He went back to his office and read the article again. He should have shown it to Marie before he'd fallen in love with her. But he was afraid to tell her he'd known of her before she'd walked into the garden. What if she thought _he'd_ done something to cause it?

Marie was growing increasingly frustrated with the books she was reading. There were all kinds of theories about how to travel through time, but there was absolutely nothing that could explain how _she'd_ traveled through time. She hadn't gotten in a time machine, hadn't been near a dead star, hadn't been thinking about 2011. That was another thing—most of the articles talked about traveling _back_ in time, not forward. How could she have been thinking about 2011 when she knew nothing about it?

She picked up a book with a chapter on traveling through time by thought. Like most of the others, it was about traveling backwards, so it couldn't explain how she got here, but now she _was_ trying to travel backwards. It said you should surround yourself with objects from the period you wanted to go to and eliminate any evidence of the present and then think about a scene from the period. That was pretty much what she'd been doing . . . but she'd worn her new underwear most days. And she'd had a hard time keeping her mind on 1927. She needed to wear her old underwear and lose herself in thoughts of home. And she needed to walk without waking Rick up first. If she knew he was waiting for her, she'd have a harder time detaching herself from 2011.

Marie awoke before dawn the next morning—as she had the morning she'd walked into 2011. She put on all her 1927 clothes, even the stockings that she'd stopped wearing once she'd gotten used to her comfortable 2011 clothes. She headed for the stairs but then stopped. Quietly she approached Rick's door and opened it just a little. Rick was sprawled on his back, a sheet covering him from the waist down. Tears filled her eyes. She'd miss him so much.

The sky was turning a dark gray when she walked into the garden. Grace, their cook, would be getting up soon. Her father liked to have a cup of coffee as soon as he woke up. Her mother usually got up to have breakfast with him unless it was raining. She said she couldn't drag herself out of bed when it was so gloomy.

Marie decided she'd ask Grace to make her a waffle this morning. She'd like cherries and whipped cream on it. She'd go shopping with her mother and maybe have lunch in town. After lunch she'd come home to take a nap. The house would be hot in the afternoon.

"Don't forget to pick up the dry cleaning!"

Marie jumped, looking up to see who'd yelled. A car door slammed, and she saw a sleek gray car back out of a driveway. She'd wandered far from Rick's house . . . but she was still in 2011.

She took a minute to get her bearings and then wandered back toward Rick's house. He was perched on the edge of a chair and sprang to his feet when he saw her. "Are you all right, sweetheart?" he asked, taking her hand.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry you didn't get home."

Tears filled her eyes. "I tried so hard. I have on all my 1927 clothes, and I didn't think about anything but what's going on at home."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." He led her into the kitchen. "But maybe that's not all there is to it. I looked at some of the chapters you'd marked. One of them says that the relative positions of the sun and moon and earth are important."

"Yes, I saw that. I tried to figure it out, and it seems like the best time would be in September. But I can't wait until September! And what if that book isn't right?"

Rick hugged Marie, wiping away her tears. He led her inside and made her breakfast, which she barely touched. Nothing he said drew much of a response from her. He hated leaving her when she was so upset, but after a week's vacation, he had a ton of work at the office. "Call me if you need anything, sweetheart," he told her, kissing the top of her head just before he left.

Marie watched him leave and then, with a sigh, rose and went to the living room, still wearing her 1927 clothes. She'd tried so hard to get back this morning. She'd worn only her 1927 clothes, and her mind hadn't wandered to 2011 at all. What more could she do?

Well, one thing she wasn't going to do was give up, she determined as she played with the hem of her dress. She'd strolled through her garden countless times without walking into 2011, so who knew how many times she'd have to walk in the garden to get back to 1927? She wasn't going to give up.

Rick, still concerned about Marie, left work at 4:30, making a quick stop to pick up a surprise for her. To his dismay, he found her huddled in a corner of the sofa, still wearing her 1927 clothes.

"Hi, sweetheart," he greeted her, going to sit beside her. "Are you feeling better?"

"I'm all right."

"I brought you something." He handed her a plastic bag.

She took it and reached inside. "Wow!" she exclaimed as she withdrew the 16-ounce Hershey bar. "I've never seen a chocolate bar this big."

"Me either. It was part of a promotional display."

She tore it open, breaking off a chunk. "Mmm—this is so good."

He smiled. "Better be careful, or you'll ruin your appetite for dinner."

"I'm starved—I didn't have lunch."

His smile disappeared as he reached out to stroke her hair. "Have you been sitting here all day?"

She nodded. "I just—I just didn't feel like moving. And I wanted to keep my 1927 clothes on."

He was quiet for a moment. "Would you let me take you out to dinner?"

She looked at him, considering. "Are you trying to get me to put on 2011 clothes?"

"No. You can wear what you have on. I don't care—I just want to feed you and cheer you up."

Tears shimmered in her eyes. Blinking them away, she glanced at the chocolate bar. "I think I'd rather have this."

"You can have that later. Just eat some meat and vegetables first, and then you can eat the whole thing if you want."

She took another bite and then wrapped the bar up. "Can we go to a buffet?"

After dinner, Marie was too full to touch her Hershey's bar. "I think I'll take a shower and go to bed," she said, combing her fingers through her hair.

"Are you tired?"

"Not really. I just don't feel like doing anything else."

He took her hand, squeezing it. "I didn't succeed in cheering you up, did I?"

She returned the squeeze. "There's really nothing you can do. I'm just so discouraged. I tried so hard this morning. I don't know what else I can do."

He was quiet for a moment. "Did you ever walk in your garden before that morning you walked into my garden?"

"Of course. I love to walk in the garden."

"So that one morning, there was just a-a door or something. All the other mornings there wasn't. So just because you tried hard this morning, that doesn't mean that trying hard tomorrow or the next day or the next won't work."

She smiled. "That's true."

"So you'll keep trying."

"Yes."

"Now _I'm_ sad." He met her eyes and then looked away.

"I'm sorry." She hugged him, laying her head on his shoulder.

"I just wish _I_ could make you happy."

"You do." She raised her head to look at him. "You do make me happy, Rick. It's just that . . . that . . ."

"Davis makes you happier."

"No." She shook her head. "He doesn't. He doesn't spend much time with me or try to comfort me when I'm upset. He-he doesn't—" She swallowed, her face turning red as she thought, his kisses don't make me hot like yours do.

He caressed her cheek. "Maybe it's something you should think about." He ran his thumb over her lower lip. "You deserve better, Marie." He tilted her chin up, touching his lips to hers. When she didn't pull away, he repeated the feather-light touch. He felt her breath, the quivering of her lips. He kissed the corner of her mouth and nuzzled her cheek. Gathering her closer, he began taking her lips in one soft kiss after another. But as her response grew warmer, his kisses became hungrier.

Marie was growing hot and felt almost drugged by Rick's kisses. She ran one hand over his chest, wishing that his shirt had buttons so that she could undo one and slip her hand inside. If--oh! The tip of Rick's tongue was touching her lower lip. But she wasn't repulsed. Rick had said he'd never hurt her . . . maybe she should see what it would be like . . .

Even as she thought it, she opened her mouth a bit. Rick's tongue darted inside. And the flame that it created shot through her entire body, surprising her with its power and heat. Her body ached with a pleasure that seemed too intense to bear. Intoxicated, she wrapped her arms around Rick's neck, moaning.

Powerfully aroused by that moan, Rick slid one hand down her back to press her closer. She shuddered with pleasure as he began kissing her neck. He undid the first button on her dress. "I want you, Marie," he rasped, raising his head to look into her eyes.

Marie gazed into his eyes for a moment. "I can't!" she whispered hoarsely. "I can't do it. I can't do it!" She turned and ran to her room.

Rick hurried after her. "I'm sorry! Marie, I'm so sorry!" Her door was locked, so he knocked. "Marie?" When she didn't respond, he leaned against the door, sliding to the floor. He dropped his head into his hands. How could he have done what he did? How could he put doubt in her mind about her fiancé and then-then . . . try to seduce her? He loved her and desperately wanted to make love to her, and her response to him was passionate and unrestrained. But she was confused--he knew that. And he knew that she was a virgin. He'd felt her initial hesitation when he'd tried to coax her lips apart, felt the shock go through her body when his tongue had touched hers. The fact that she'd found the kiss exciting didn't change the fact that she was an innocent. Or that she was far from home. Or that she was engaged to another man. He had no qualms about wooing her away from her fiancé, but how could she be anything but confused when she couldn't even talk to the man?

Heavy-hearted, he finally got to his feet. He could no longer hear her sobs, but he knew he needed to give her some time alone. He wanted to give her a gift of apology, some flowers or something. But there were lots of flowers in the garden. He picked up his car keys so that he could go find something nice.

Marie was huddled in the middle of her bed sobbing. When her tears were at last exhausted, she dragged herself off her bed and went to wash her face with cold water and brush her teeth. Then she changed into shorts and a t-shirt. There was no point in pretending that she was in 1927. The clothes couldn't change what had happened. Even getting home tomorrow wouldn't change what had happened, what she'd finally realized tonight.

She went downstairs and turned on the TV, wondering where Rick was. She felt bad for running away from him. She knew she must have hurt him, and the last thing in the world she wanted was to hurt Rick. He was the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful man in the world, and he couldn't help it if his kisses confused her, made her . . . made her . . . She grew hot as she relived his kisses, remembering how he'd tasted, how he'd made her feel, how--

"Hi, sweetheart."

Marie jumped, whirling to see Rick come in the door. "Hi. Where've you been?"

"Shopping." He handed her a gift-wrapped box.

She looked up at him in surprise. "What's this for?"

"To apologize."

"For what?"

He turned red. "For-for pushing you. For taking advantage of you." When she just looked at him in bewilderment, he nudged the box. "Open it."

She tore off the paper and stared at a rectangular gadget with several buttons and what looked like a small TV screen. "What is this?"

"A Gameboy. You can play different games on it. I bought you four." He opened a bag and took out four small cartridges.

Marie watched as Rick made bricks of different shapes fit together, laughing when he got stuck in a pattern and all the bricks piled up to the top. "Let me try."

The bricks piled up as she tried to manipulate the buttons. But by the time she began her third game, she'd mastered them, and she got over 5000 points. "I love this!"

"Good." He stroked her hair, smiling at her excitement as she began a fourth game.

His caress sent a shiver through her, and she turned off the Gameboy. "Thank you," she said, turning and kissing him on the cheek.

"You're welcome." He gazed into her eyes. "Marie, I'd never intentionally do anything to hurt you."

"I know that. It isn't your fault."

He frowned. "What isn't my fault?"

She blushed. That your kisses make me hot, she thought. That your warmth and tenderness and thoughtfulness have made me dissatisfied with the man I'm supposed to marry. That I feel more comfortable with you than I could ever hope to feel with Davis.

Rick watched the emotions play across her face. "What isn't my fault?" he repeated, his forefinger tracing a path along her throat up to her chin.

She swallowed. "That-that I can't go through with it."

His finger froze. "I'm sorry--I should never have pushed you. I know that you're engaged, and I know--"

"But that's it. That's what I'm talking about. I can't marry Davis."

His eyes widened, and he seized her in his arms. "Oh, sweetheart, that's fantastic!" He took her face in his hands and rained kisses on her mouth. "I couldn't bear to lose you." He threaded his fingers into her hair, nuzzling her temple.

"L-lose me?" she breathed.

He raised his head to look at her. "Don't you know how I feel about you, sweetheart? Why I took you to Hollywood? Why I want to make your dreams come true? I love you, Marie."

Marie's breath caught in her throat. "I-I . . . I don't . . ."

Rick's heart fell. "Please don't say you don't love me." He cupped her jaw, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I know that you have to sort things out now that you've decided not to marry your boyfriend. But please give me a chance." He slid both arms around her, gathering her close as his mouth covered hers.

His kiss was almost irresistible, but she was hurting too much to stay in his arms. Breaking off the kiss, she stood and turned away from him as tears poured down her cheeks.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Rick stood, putting his hands on her shoulders.

Marie shrugged his hands off. Wiping her face, she turned to look at him. "If I'm in love with you, how will I bear it when I go home?"

He stared at her. "Go home?"

"Yes. I missed Davis when I first came here, and I never felt for him like--"

"Marie." He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. "I don't want to cause you pain. But I can't help it that I love you. And that I want you to stay here with me."

Her body shook with sobs. Rick scooped her up and sat down with her on his lap. "Please don't cry, sweetheart," he pleaded, kissing her hair. He opened his mouth to tell her that she might not even be able to get back, since she'd been unsuccessful so far. But that would just hurt her more. Still, the thought calmed his own turbulent feelings.

When her tears were exhausted, Marie rested quietly in Rick's arms. If they had been in 1927, everything would be different. Rick was so much warmer, so much more thoughtful and loving and fun than Davis. She would never have given Davis a second glance if she'd known Rick in 1927.

At last she sat up. "I need to go wash my face."

"Wait." Rick took both her hands in his. "I would never do anything to hurt you."

"I know."

He raised her hand to his lips. "I just can't imagine not having you here with me."

She squeezed his hands. "I don't belong here, Rick. I love--I love . . . 2011, but I miss my mother and father and brother. I miss . . . I miss my home."

"I'm sorry, honey. I didn't realize you were so unhappy."

I'm not. But that's because it's been like a holiday, a visit. If I thought that I weren't going home--" Her voice caught.

"I understand." Rick nuzzled her temple. "But now that you're not going to marry Davis, will you at least stop feeling guilty when we kiss?"

She smiled. "I like your kisses."

"I like yours too." He pressed his lips to hers.

Marie nestled close to him, hoping he'd kiss her like he had last time. But then she hiccupped.

Rick, startled, pulled back. "I've never kissed a girl with the hiccups before," he said, chuckling.

"I'm sorry." She turned red and hiccupped again.

He laughed. "Why don't you go wash your face and then get a glass of water?"

She didn't want to get off his lap, but she couldn't kiss him while she had hiccups. So she kissed his cheek and then headed for the bathroom.

Rick leaned back with a sigh. He understood her mixed emotions. But he knew he could make her happy if she stayed here with him. She was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing her. Surely it would be easier to convince her to stay now that she'd decided not to marry Davis. He knew she was extremely attracted to him. Her response to him this afternoon had been passionate and unrestrained. And now he knew that when she'd said that she couldn't do it, she hadn't been talking about making love with him but about marrying Davis. And if he made love to her, she'd feel tied to him and be more likely to stay. If he slowly increased the heat of his kisses and caresses, made her so hot that she stopped thinking altogether, made her so wild with desire . . .

Rick closed his eyes, flushed with both desire and chagrin. He'd just told Marie he wouldn't do anything to hurt her. She was a virgin and planned to be one until her wedding night. How could he take that from her? How could he use an act of love to manipulate her into staying with him? And if she decided to go home anyway, how could he let her go home with the shame he knew she'd feel? He couldn't do it. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he wanted to make love to her and keep her with him, he couldn't do that to her.

By the time Marie had washed her face and redone her make-up and brushed her hair, the hiccups were gone. Good. She could go kiss Rick. She smiled to herself, thinking about how sweet he was to her. Already she was feeling better about ending her betrothal to Davis. She wanted a man who would spend time with her and hold her and make her feel safe and cherished. A man like Rick.

Tears filled her eyes yet again, and she snatched up a tissue to dab at them to keep from ruining her make-up. Rick loved her. And-and . . . she loved him. But she couldn't stay here. The thought of never going home, of never seeing her parents or brother or Tom--

A sob caught in her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to go home, but when she left Rick, her heart would break. Would she be trading one misery for another?

CHAPTER TEN

Marie dressed slowly the next morning. She hadn't felt such an ambivalence about her walk since . . . since the morning they'd left for Hollywood. Had that been only nine days ago? It seemed like a long time.

Rick was in the hall waiting for her. She blushed when she looked into his eyes. She'd spent the previous evening cuddled up to him, returning the gentle kisses he'd kept raining on her lips. Rick had kissed her more times last night than Davis had the entire time they'd been together, and she couldn't look at him without thinking of those kisses.

Silently Rick took her hand and led her downstairs. In the garden, he took her face between his hands, kissing her softly. "If you get home, I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," she whispered, hugging him.

She made herself focus her mind on her parents as she wandered through the garden. She missed talking to her mother. She knew her mother would understand about Davis. All she wanted was for Marie to be happy. She'd always been nice to Davis, but she'd never treated him like a son. But she'd love Rick. Rick was so warm and funny, and her mother would feel comfortable with him.

She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut. She couldn't stop thinking about him. Even when she thought about her family, Rick somehow surfaced in her mind.

Rick glanced at his watch. She'd been in the garden for 20 minutes. It was foggier than usual--was that an indication that there'd be a door or window or whatever back to 1927? Now that he'd told her he loved her, had opened his heart to her completely, he couldn't bear the thought that she might not walk back into his arms.

So when he at last saw her moving through the fog, he ran to snatch her up. "Marie," he sighed into her hair.

She could barely breathe but didn't want to be released. When he at last set her down, she continued to cling to him. "I wish you didn't have to go to work today."

He was surprised by her words. "Do you want me to call in sick?"

She drew back to look at him. "Would you do that?"

"If you need me, sure."

She smiled. "I need you. But I don't want you to miss work. I'll finish the laundry and dust. We need to go to the market when you get home."

He hugged her again. "How would you feel about inviting my sister and her boyfriend for dinner one evening this week?" he asked as he walked her back to the house. Last night it had occurred to him that she might feel more inclined to stay in 2011 if she had friends here.

"All right." She looked up at him. "Are you going to tell her about me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to tell her I'm from 1927?"

"Are you kidding? She'd think I'd lost my mind. I'll just tell her that you're my girlfriend."

She smiled, but all at once her smile dissolved into an uncomfortable blush. "Rick," she began hesitantly, "will you have to tell her that-that I'm living with you?"

"No." He raised her knuckles to his lips. "I'm sorry, sweetheart—I never considered that living here with me might make you uncomfortable."

"It doesn't. I feel as safe with you as I do in my own home. I just--it's just that no one else would understand."

"Well, don't worry about Teri. I won't tell her, and she's going to love you."

They went into the kitchen to fix breakfast. Marie glanced at Rick as he poured juice. When he noticed her glance, she dropped her eyes to the bread she was buttering. "Rick," she began at last, "do you remember when you first kissed me?"

"With perfect clarity." He grinned at her.

She smiled a bit, her eyes on her knife as she spread the butter. "I wanted you to kiss me then."

"I know." When she looked up in astonishment, he explained, "I wouldn't have kissed you if you hadn't wanted me to. Like I told you that night, I'll never do anything you don't like."

"But how did you know I wanted you to kiss me?"

"By the way you were looking at me."

"How was I looking at you?"

"Like you wanted me to kiss you." He grinned again as he reached for the eggs.

She frowned, trying to remember what expression she must have had on her face that night. But she hadn't been thinking about how she looked; she'd been thinking about how _he_ looked. And how his lips would feel on hers.

It was as they were cleaning up after breakfast that inspiration struck her. Handing him a tub of butter, she caught his gaze, holding it as she thought about the way he'd kissed her yesterday afternoon.

Entranced by Marie's beautiful hazel eyes, Rick drew her close and bent his head to kiss her. Seconds later, he was startled by a giggle that interrupted their kiss. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

"It works!"

"What works?"

"I thought about kissing you while I was looking at you, and you kissed me!"

He shook his head. "So you were experimenting. You didn't really want to kiss me--you just wanted to see if you could get me to do it."

"Oh, Rick, that's not true!" she cried, afraid she'd hurt him. She laid her hands on his chest, leaning into him as she looked up at him. "I really did want to kiss you. I couldn't have gotten that look on my face if I hadn't wanted to kiss you."

He drew her closer. "Prove it."

"How?"

"Kiss me."

She blushed, but after a moment, she stood on tiptoe and raised her face to press her lips against his. She wasn't sure how to begin a kiss, but that obviously wasn't going to be a problem: his lips began moving over hers the moment that they touched.

When Rick released her, she gazed up at him anxiously. "You aren't upset, are you?"

He caressed her cheek, dropping a light kiss on her lips. "No. I'm not upset."

They went to the grocery store that evening and bought ingredients for the next day's dinner. Rick had called his sister, and she'd been thrilled Rick had a girl he wanted her to meet and mad that he hadn't invited her sooner. If Marie was going to make dinner at his house, they'd obviously been dating long enough to feel pretty comfortable together.

"I shouldn't have made garlic bread. All evening my breath will smell like garlic," Marie told Rick as she finished making dinner the next evening.

"So will everyone else's."

"Are you sure Teri likes garlic?"

"She loves it."

"What about Jeremy? You don't know him that well--maybe he's a vegetarian." They were having meat lasagna. "Maybe I should make something else, some spaghetti or--"

"Shhh." He took her face in his hands, making her look into his eyes. "Everything'll be fine, sweetheart. You're a terrific cook, and they'll love what you've made." He brushed his lips over hers.

Marie didn't relax until everyone had tasted the lasagna that evening. It was good, and she smiled when Rick winked at her over his second forkful.

"Do you cook a lot?" Teri asked Marie.

"Not a lot. Four or five times a week."

"I'd call that a lot. I usually cook twice a week and have takeout the rest of the time."

"Oops."

Everyone looked at Rick, who was using his napkin to dab at a spot on his shirt. "I hope this doesn't stain."

"I'll soak it tonight and wash it tomorrow," Marie told him.

Teri looked from Rick to Marie. "He has you doing his laundry?"

Marie blushed. "I-I just . . . I mean, I'll do his shirt with my laundry. In-in case he doesn't get around to doing it himself right away."

"She does her laundry here sometimes," Rick said. "There's not a hook-up in her apartment."

"Oh. I know a lot of grad students, so I know what that's like." They'd told Teri and Jeremy that Marie was working on a master's degree in history at Boston College.

As they headed for the living room, Rick slid his arm around Marie's waist, leaning close to whisper, "You're doing fine, sweetheart."

She glanced up at him. "It's so hard to pretend we don't live together."

He kissed her hair. "That's because it's become so natural to you."

Rick sat in a chair across from Marie rather than joining her on the loveseat so that they wouldn't appear too familiar with each other. He was glad his conscience had gotten the best of him and kept him from seducing her Monday night. If having Teri and Jeremy suspect that they were living together embarrassed her, losing her virginity before marriage would devastate her.

"So how did you like my sister?" Rick asked Marie when their guests had left.

"She's really nice. So is Jeremy. I'd like to have them over again next week."

He waited for her to add, "If I'm still here." When she didn't, he released a slow sigh of relief. "OK. You probably won't be so nervous about it next time."

She smiled, joining him on the sofa. "I might even use garlic again. But I have to admit that I sneaked upstairs to brush my teeth after we ate."

He tilted her face up so that their lips were almost touching. "So did I."

She felt his breath in her mouth. "I can tell."

He nibbled at her lips. "I was very proud of you tonight."

"Really?" She clutched at his shoulders, her breath coming faster.

"Yeah." He wove his fingers into her hair and began pressing kisses along her neck. "You were the perfect hostess. And you looked so incredibly beautiful."

"I-I'm sure that thought didn't-didn't cross Teri's mind." She arched her neck, her heart racing wildly.

"It crossed mine more than once." He raised his head to look into her eyes. "I love you, Marie."

"Rick," she breathed, her hands sliding to his neck, squeezing, pulling him to her. His mouth covered hers, his kiss slow and hot and thorough. She wrapped her arms around him, trying to get closer to him. When he raised his head, she whimpered, wanting his mouth on hers again. But she gasped with pleasure as he began nibbling on her earlobe.

Rick wanted to do much more than kiss her, and she was making it difficult to resist. He'd never held a woman so eager, so responsive to his slightest touch. But he had to stop. He had to stop _now_.

He raised his head, straightening and pulling away. But Marie clung to him, rubbing her face against his neck. "Kiss me again, please," she murmured, raising her head to press her lips to his.

He couldn't resist her, and his mouth began moving over hers again. But at last he forced himself to break away. "Marie, we have to stop," he told her, literally holding her at arm's length.

"Why?" she panted. "Why don't you want to kiss me any more?"

"I want to--I just can't. Let me cool off a minute."

"I don't want to cool off." On the contrary--she wanted more of the kisses and caresses that had set her on fire. But when she tried to put her arms around him, he held her away. Hurt, she stood up and whirled around to go to her room.

"Marie, wait. Please. Sit down and let's talk about this."

Her body still throbbing with the pulse he'd made race, she perched on the edge of the sofa. "I didn't want you to stop."

"And I didn't want to stop. But sweetheart . . ." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. Was he a fool? Shouldn't he have just gone on and on until--unless--she told him to stop? But he was willing to bet that she had no idea where they'd been headed, and she was so passionate that she might have yielded to him without even thinking. And despised both herself and him when it was over.

Marie pressed her lips together, trying to read Rick's expression. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no--you did everything right." He sighed, taking her hand. "Marie, do you know what a man and woman . . . when they're in love . . . do you know . . . what happens on-on your wedding night?"

"Of course. My mother told me about it."

"Is that what you wanted to happen between us tonight?"

"No! Of course not! How can you even think that?" She stared at him in shock.

"I don't think that. What I'm trying to tell you is that kissing like that is where it begins."

She frowned, too puzzled and curious to be embarrassed by the conversation. "So you stopped kissing me because you didn't want to-to . . . be like we were married?"

"No." He raised her palm to his lips. "I want to make love to you more than I want anything in the world." He watched her face grow red. "But I knew that you wouldn't want to."

She held his hand in both of hers, playing with his fingers. "And-and it feels as good as--as good as kissing?"

"Better. Much, much better."

She grew warm imagining a pleasure greater than what he'd made her feel a few minutes ago. "I wish--" She stopped, swallowing and closing her eyes.

"You wish what?" When she didn't respond, he tilted her chin up, making her look into his eyes. "Stay here, Marie. Marry me. We'll have a wedding night more exciting than anything you could imagine."

Her breath caught, and tears filled her eyes. "I-I can't, Rick. I have to go home." She squeezed his hand. "My home, my family, everything I know is in 1927. My mother has been saving her wedding gown for me. It was my grandmother's too. And-and I want my own daughter to wear it." But she wanted that daughter to be Rick's, she realized with despair.

Rick kissed her cheek, his heart aching for both of them. "I understand, sweetheart. But I want you to know that I love you and that if you ever change your mind, I'll make you my wife and make you so happy you'll never regret your decision."

He kissed her then, but she found the pleasure too painful to bear and ended the kiss, pressing her face into his shoulder as she cried. His declaration that he wanted to marry her had torn her apart. She loved him so much. But she didn't belong here! She had a home, a mother and father and brother and friends . . . but she loved Rick!

She finally cried herself to sleep, and Rick carried her up to bed. He felt guilty for trying to get her to stay, but he was sure she loved him as much as he loved her. She wouldn't be so upset if she didn't. Laying her on her bed, he smoothed her hair. She had been here for over four weeks, and she'd had no indication that there was a way back to 1927. She could be here for the rest of her life, but he knew that until she accepted that, until she decided that she _wanted_ to stay here, she'd never be totally his. And he wanted her to be his, heart, body, mind, and soul.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"I like the white one. It really shows off your tan." Rick watched as Marie turned in front of the mirror, inspecting the white sundress. She looked sweet and sexy at the same time.

"But I don't have any shoes to wear with it."

"We'll buy you some." She'd been so depressed the day after their conversation about lovemaking that he'd told her they'd go shopping tonight and to the beach tomorrow--and even Sunday, if the sunscreen worked.

She went to him, looping her arms about his neck. "Thank you," she said, raising her lips to his.

She seemed to have recovered, Rick mused as he watched her try on white sandals half an hour later. He never would have believed he could enjoy shopping, but he loved watching her discover new styles and new toys. He'd bought her a pocket calculator on the way to the shoe store.

They were going to Teri's for dinner the next evening, and Marie showered and put on her new white dress and sandals when they got back from the shore. "How do I look?" she asked Rick when she joined him downstairs.

"Beautiful." She was even darker than she'd been yesterday when she'd tried on the dress, and the contrast the dress made with her hair and skin was striking.

"I can see where you two have been," Teri said when they arrived at her townhouse.

"Yeah. Doesn't Marie's tan look great?"

"Yeah--I wish I tanned that prettily."

As she'd promised when she'd invited them, Teri had made a Chinese meal. "House rules: you have to spend at least 15 minutes using chopsticks," she told them as they sat down to dinner. "After that, you can have a fork if you want."

Marie had eaten in Chinese restaurants in 1927, so she managed with the chopsticks. The meal was enjoyable, but she couldn't keep her thoughts from wandering to Rick. His neck looked so warm and inviting. She wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Did he like being kissed on the neck as much as she did? Just the memory of his kisses made her heart race.

They had coffee and dessert in the living room. "What a pretty sculpture," Marie said, admiring a small porcelain garden filled with flowers and a water wheel.

"Clap your hands," Teri told her.

"What?"

"Clap your hands."

Marie did so, and music played as water began to make the water wheel turn. "Oh! It's a fountain! How does it work?"

"It runs on battery, and it's sound-activated."

When the music and water stopped, Marie clapped her hands again. "How clever!"

"Where did you get it?" Rick asked his sister.

"Target."

Marie smiled at Rick. "Can I go with you when you buy it for me?"

Rick chuckled. "What makes you think I'm going to get it for you?"

"I know you." She took his hand, squeezing it. "He spoils me terribly," she told Teri and Jeremy.

When Marie excused herself later in the evening, Teri didn't waste a second. "This really is serious, isn't it?"

Rick smiled, shrugging. "There are some problems, but yeah, it's serious."

"Good. I like her."

It was nearly midnight when they left. "Thank you for the little fountain," Marie told Rick as he unlocked her car door.

"I haven't bought it for you yet."

"But you want to. You decided to as soon as I admired it. Thank you." She linked her arms around his neck, smiling into his eyes and then raising her face to kiss him.

His hands wandered over her back as he returned her kiss. "Wow," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. "I predict our house is soon going to be full of all kinds of knickknacks and gadgets."

Smiling, she pulled him closer for another kiss. He was constantly thinking of her, buying her gifts and designing adventures for her. Sighing, she leaned into him as their kiss went on.

Rick was lost. She held nothing back in her kiss, making him hungrier for more. He pinned her to the car, pressing his body full length against hers.

Marie gasped, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. She would never have dreamed that being pinned beneath Rick's body would feel so incredibly . . . incredibly . . . She moaned, letting her head drop back against the roof of the car as he began kissing her neck.

"I love you, Marie," he whispered, nuzzling her ear. He raised his head, wanting to see her face. And then he realized that Teri's porch light was on and that she was probably watching to see when she could turn it off. Stroking Marie's hair, he pressed a final kiss to her lips. "I think we'd better go."

"Hmmm?" She ran her hand up his neck and into his hair.

"We need to go home. Teri--" He caught himself. Marie would be embarrassed if she thought Teri and Jeremy had seen them kissing.

"Mmm." She kissed him again.

Rick returned her kiss and then gently disengaged her arms. "It's getting late. We need to get home." He helped her into the car.

"I think I like 1927 cars better than 2011 cars," Marie said as Rick slid behind the wheel.

"Why?"

"I could sit right beside you in a 1927 car."

"You have a good point." As soon as he'd pulled out of the driveway, he took her hand. "Did you have a good time tonight?"

"Mmm." She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

Rick was glad that the trip home was long enough to give him a chance to cool down. If they'd been alone at home instead of leaning against his car in his sister's driveway, he would have had a hard time stopping.

So when they got home and Marie put her arms around his neck, obviously ready to pick up where they'd left off, he held her away. "We need to talk about this."

She kissed his chin. "About what?"

"Kissing. Touching. Let's sit down."

They sat facing each other on the sofa, and Marie reached out to caress his face. "Couldn't we kiss and touch instead of talking about it?"

He took her hand from his cheek, squeezing it. "Don't you remember what we talked about? About how-how passionate kissing can lead to lovemaking?"

"But Rick, can't we kiss at all?"

He raised her hand to nibble on one delicate fingertip, trying to resist the nearly irresistible impulses that the frustrated desire in her eyes and voice stirred in him. "Not like we were tonight. Don't you understand, Marie? When our kisses get that hot, it's hard for me to stop. I don't want to stop. I want to make love to you."

Her face grew fiery, and she was silent for a few seconds, staring down at her hands. "I-I don't know what to say. I-I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry. You just need to know exactly what's happening. What _can_ happen."

She toyed with his fingers as she said, "I imagine you . . . that is, you've . . . you've . . . made love . . . before."

"Yes."

She was horrified when two tears spilled out of her eyes, and she tried to wipe them away before he could see. But he noticed right away. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" She shook her head, but he reached out to tilt her chin up. "What's wrong?"

She sniffed. "I don't like to think of your-your . . . touching . . . anyone but me."

He gazed at her for a moment. "I love you, Marie. And if you'd stay here with me, I'd promise you that I would never, ever touch another woman."

His words filled her with anguish. She could have him, but only if she stayed here. And she couldn't do that. She had to go home. To have Rick, she would have to give up her parents, her friends, her home. She loved Rick with her whole heart, but how could she . . . how could she give up everything she'd ever known?

Rick handed Marie his handkerchief. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry that you feel torn. But I have to tell you that I'd give anything in this world to have you stay here with me. I love you so much."

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, and she laid her head on his shoulder. She dabbed at her tears with Rick's handkerchief, noticing that it smelled like his cologne. She was going to keep it and take it back with her. She'd remember every kiss they'd ever shared whenever she smelled it. And grow hot as she remembered. Rick's kisses were unlike anything she'd ever imagined. She could have spent her whole life watching romances and still never have been able to dream of anything as exciting as Rick's kisses and touches. Rubbing her cheek against his shirt, she whispered, "Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something that I maybe shouldn't?"

"What?"

"I really like it when you kiss my neck."

Chuckling, he dropped a kiss onto her neck. "Any other secrets?"

"Yes," she whispered. "When-when Davis . . . put his tongue in-in my mouth, I didn't like it. But you--with you, I like it." She twisted her head about to kiss his throat. "I think about you all the time. I think about kissing you and touching you--with your shirt off." She kissed him, her hands moving restlessly over his chest. Nuzzling his ear, she told him, "It's probably wrong for me to tell you these things. But I want to tell you everything. I want you to know how I feel."

Rick pulled her onto his lap and began devouring her mouth. If he didn't know better, he'd swear she was the most cunning seductress he'd ever known. Her innocence combined with her confession was a powerful aphrodisiac. She was so trusting and yet so passionate, her mouth as hungry as his, her hands caressing and clutching and clawing at his chest and shoulders and neck. Hadn't she understood a word he'd said?

Rick let the embrace go on for as long as he could. Then he ended it abruptly, setting her on the sofa and holding himself away from her.

"Rick," she gasped, reaching for him.

"No. No, no, no," he groaned, refusing to let her put her arms around him or kiss him.

"I want more, Rick. Please kiss me again."

His groan was deeper this time, and he turned away from her, dropping his head into his hands. "Please go to bed, Marie."

"But Rick--"

"Just go to bed. Please."

He didn't look up when she finally complied. He'd never known such ecstatic misery. He wanted her so much that, 20 minutes after she'd gone, his hands were still trembling.

Was he a fool? She'd begged him to keep kissing her. She'd been so caught up in their kisses and caresses that she probably wouldn't have stopped him no matter how he'd touched her. He could have made love to her. Yet he'd stopped.

But he couldn't regret that decision. She'd probably let him make love to her, but she'd be devastated when it was over. Her morals were deeply ingrained, and the guilt would eat away at her. He loved her far too much to put her through that.

But they couldn't go on like this. He'd always prided himself on his self-control, but living under the same roof with a woman he loved, a woman who begged for his kisses--that was too much. But he knew Marie didn't really understand. She thought that they could just kiss forever.

If only he could convince her to stay here with him. He was sure that she'd eventually come to accept the fact that she wasn't going to be able to get back home, but he was afraid they'd end up making love before she'd reached that point. And while making love on their wedding night would be a wonderful, earth-shattering experience for them both, he knew that making love before marriage would probably have disastrous results for her--and therefore for him. So he had to convince her to stay. And to marry him.

Sighing, Rick rose and went to take a cold shower. Marie's door was closed, and the light was off, so he assumed she'd done as he'd suggested and gone to bed.

Marie _was_ in bed. Quietly crying into her pillow.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Marie dressed quickly, hoping she could get to the garden before Rick woke up. She didn't know how she could look him in the eye this morning. She'd been so hurt last night when he'd refused to kiss her and told her to go to bed, but now she was embarrassed when she thought about how she'd pleaded with him to keep kissing her. But . . . but if-if they were married, she wouldn't have to plead. He'd keep kissing her and kissing her until-until . . . they made love. Her face turned red at the thought. She didn't know very much about making love, but if it was even better than the way Rick had kissed her and caressed her last night . . . She shivered. She would give anything to be able to make love with Rick. Well, almost anything. She had to go home.

She jumped when she heard Rick's door open. Glancing at him, she turned and headed downstairs.

Rick followed her, wondering if she was mad or embarrassed or confused. Most women would never again speak to a man who had rejected her touch. But most women would have known exactly what they were doing. Marie had simply been yielding to the pleasure of his kisses and touches with no intention of giving up her virginity. He'd never known a woman so passionate.

When they walked out into the garden, Marie headed for the fog without a backward glance. Rick grabbed her hand. "Marie, wait." He pulled her close, gazing down at her. "Are you mad?"

"No. Not exactly."

He stroked her hair. "I don't want you to go into the garden mad."

She smiled then. "I'm not mad."

"Good." He drew her into his arms, bending to kiss her. Her mouth tasted so good, felt so warm and soft. He'd give anything to keep her here with him, to marry her and make love to her and spend the rest of his life with her. Remembering that she'd said she liked being kissed on the neck, he moved to press his lips to her neck, kissing, nibbling, sucking.

Marie gasped, threading her fingers into his hair. His hands slid down her back, pulling her hard against him, reminding her of how he'd pinned her against his car last night. Moaning at the pleasure of the contact, she wrapped her arms around him, wanting to get even closer to him.

Rick covered her mouth with his again, his kiss so hot and thorough and demanding that it elicited more moans from her. He ended the embrace with a series of quick, hard kisses and then eased his hold on her, panting. Marie started to reach for him again, but then her eyes narrowed. Pushing against his chest so hard that he stumbled back, she whirled and stormed off into the fog.

How dare he! How dare he use his kisses to try to keep her from going home! It was already hard enough just to look at him in the morning before she walked in the garden. He knew that whenever they kissed, she didn't want to stop, that she'd kiss him forever. Just last night he'd told her that they couldn't kiss like that unless they got married. And this morning he dared to kiss her that way, knowing that it would make her all but forget her walk!

When she returned to the house nearly half an hour later, she stormed past him and up to her room. Rick knew for sure that she was mad this time, knew why, and knew he'd been wrong to do what he'd done. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry," he called running after her. "I shouldn't have done it. I just wanted you to know--" He heard her door slam. Going upstairs to knock on it, he called, "Marie, please come out and talk to me." He paused. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you like that. I just love you so much, sweetheart. I don't want to lose you." When he didn't get a response, he turned toward the stairs with a sigh. He'd known exactly what he was doing when he'd kissed her, and he'd known it was unfair. He couldn't blame her for being angry.

Marie wanted to throw something. Or hit something. She settled for snatching up her pillow and slamming it against the bedpost. She was confused enough already--she didn't need him making everything worse. She loved her family and missed them. But she also loved Rick. And 2011 wasn't so bad . . . but it wasn't home.

Rick went down to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He'd wait an hour and see if Marie wanted him to make her breakfast. He hoped she'd forgive him soon. He'd hate to waste a whole Sunday fighting.

He took his tea out to the garden. Gazing at the white roses, he sighed, wishing Marie would come down and share the beauty of the morning with him. He couldn't blame her for being mad, but he was getting desperate. He felt as if he were in a race to convince her to marry him before they reached a point where they were unable to stop themselves from making love. He couldn't keep pushing her away forever. It was a wonder he'd been able to stop himself--and her--this long.

Being here was like being on vacation, she'd told him. He sipped his tea, trying to imagine what this was all really like for her. He remembered his first trip to Europe, the summer after he'd graduated from college. He'd spent a month in Great Britain and had loved it. But if he'd had to stay there forever, he would have been unbearably homesick. He would have missed his family, his home, the comfortable familiarity of the city and country where he'd grown up. And how much worse would it have been if he'd been snatched away against his will? And unable to communicate with his family and friends?

His heart began to ache for her. She had parents she loved, parents she knew were worried about her. She found everything here new and exciting, but there was a lot to be said for old and familiar. If she were home right now, she'd probably be sitting at her kitchen table with her mother planning a shopping trip or a luncheon or . . .

Rick blinked hard. Something was wrong. The fog, which had been dissipating, was getting denser. It shrouded most of his garden, including his electric fountain, which he could no longer hear.

It was 1927. Rick caught his breath, trying to see through the fog. He knew that the door . . . or window . . . or whatever . . . had opened. He'd been thinking about Marie's life in 1927--just as he had been when she'd walked into his garden and his life. _He_ was the key.

Rick squeezed his eyes shut, thinking about television and microwaves and airplanes. When he opened them, most of the fog had evaporated. Everything seemed normal. The water was gurgling from the frog's mouth.

Jumping up, he ran inside and up the stairs. "Marie?" he called, knocking on her door. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. Please come out."

Marie zipped and buttoned her shorts and looked at her hair in the mirror. Part of her wanted to stay mad at him, but she didn't want to waste a Sunday fighting. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she opened the door.

Rick snatched her up, hugging her fiercely. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I just love you so much."

The words "I love you too" formed in her mind, but his tight embrace had knocked the breath out of her and kept the words from slipping out. "Rick," she gasped, "please put me down."

He set her down and then took her face between his hands, raining kisses on her lips and cheeks and eyelids. "I love you so much."

She put her hands on his chest and pushed away. "Let me catch my breath!"

"I'm sorry." He caressed her cheek. "Do you want to go to the beach today?"

"Really? You hate to go both Saturday and Sunday."

"But you love it." He took her hand, pressing his lips into her palm. "Go put on your bathing suit."

He'd always had a hard time keeping his eyes off her at the beach, but today it was impossible. She was so gorgeous. He watched as she rubbed lotion on her lovely legs, her silky dark hair falling forward as she did so.

Marie, not noticing any difference in his stare, smiled as she handed him the bottle. "Will you put some on my back?" She stretched out on her stomach.

He ran his hands up and down and around her back, massaging and caressing. Her skin was so soft. He dropped a kiss onto her shoulder. "Does that feel good?"

"Mmm," she murmured sleepily.

Moving her hair aside, he kissed the nape of her neck. Then he moved down, slowly pressing kisses along the length of her spine.

Marie's toes curled, her body on fire. "Rick," she whispered hoarsely when she could at last breathe. "That-that makes me . . . makes me . . . I want . . ."

"Shhh." He caressed her hair. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone. Relax and take a nap."

Not likely, she thought, her body still tingling.

Rick propped himself up on an elbow, gazing at her. Her eyes were closed, her face still flushed. He knew that she wanted him, and he didn't think she'd respond to his touches and kisses the way she always did if she didn't love him. He could make her happy if she stayed here with him. They'd get married and make love day and night. And soon they'd have children. She'd have a family here, and that would make up for the family she had in 1927.

They swam and played in the surf, but Marie thought Rick seemed very sober. Did he think she was still angry with him? Maybe he wasn't feeling well. Taking his hand as they returned to their blanket, she asked, "Are you feeling all right, Rick?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Why don't we go home so you can rest since you have to go to work tomorrow?"

"It's still early."

"We've been here several hours already. Let's go home and read the paper and nap and order a pizza tonight. Then maybe you won't feel tired tomorrow."

He slid his arm around her waist, pulling her against him. "I love you so much," he said as he bent to kiss her.

They went home, but Rick couldn't read, couldn't rest, wasn't hungry. All he could do was think about how much he loved Marie, how desperately he wanted her to stay here and marry him. The thought of her walking through the garden, back into 1927, out of his life forever . . . He shuddered.

"Are you sure you're feeling all right?" Marie asked him, having seen his shudder. "Maybe you had too much sun this weekend." She leaned over to feel his forehead. "Hmmm. You may have a slight fever. I'm going to get you some aspirin and juice."

He watched her go. She was so sweet and loving. When she returned, he took the aspirin and drank the juice, obeying when she insisted that he lie down on the sofa so that she could bathe his face with cool water.

Marie patted his forehead with the washcloth, dipped it into the bowl of water, wrung it out, and then patted his forehead again. "Maybe a good night's sleep will help ward off a cold." She kissed his temple.

He took her hand, pressing his lips into her palm. "Lie down here with me."

She stretched out beside him, and finally, with Marie in his arms, he fell asleep.

But when he awoke the next morning, she wasn't there. Panicking, he jumped up. "Marie! Marie!"

She was coming out of her room as he raced up the stairs. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he gasped, sweeping her into his arms. "I-I just got worried when I woke up and you were gone."

"I decided to get dressed and make breakfast before I woke you up. I wanted to let you sleep as late as possible."

"Is-is there still time for you to walk?"

"Yes. It's barely 7:00." She pushed away from him, looking up at him anxiously. "How are you feeling?"

"OK."

"I haven't had a chance to make breakfast. Since it's so early, why don't I do that before we go out to the garden?"

He started to say that he wasn't hungry, but he wanted to put off her walk in the garden as long as possible. So he helped her make breakfast and then managed to swallow most of his.

Out in the garden, he took her hands, gazing down at her. "I won't kiss you like I did yesterday. But I want you to know how very much I love you."

She smiled, raising her lips to his for a brief kiss.

As she wandered off, Rick focused his mind on the TV shows they'd watched last night. He replayed all the details of the plots, being sure that he saw, in his mind's eye, all the colors. Then he began thinking about planes, remembering his trip with Marie to Los Angeles. Then he thought about all the computer programs he used and how to troubleshoot them. He'd just started listing microwave products in his mind when Marie returned.

He rose and went to hug her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, immediately kicking himself for his hypocrisy.

She sighed, letting herself be comforted by his embrace. August was just around the corner now, and she and her mother normally spent August at Cape Cod. Her father joined them on weekends. They wouldn't go there this year—not with her still missing. She'd been gone five weeks now. Five weeks and two days. And they had no idea what had happened to her.

"I love you, sweetheart."

She smiled, his words bringing her out of her reverie. Yesterday he'd told her he loved her more times than he had the previous four or five days combined. And that was saying a lot.

He hated having to go to work this morning. What if, now that he was trying so hard not to think about anything in 1927, his mind wandered to it? He knew he wouldn't be able to bear it if he went home and found that she had disappeared.

After nearly four hours of trying to concentrate on his work, he gave up and told his secretary that he wasn't feeling well and was going home. On his way there, a shop window caught his eye, and he slammed on his brakes, causing the driver behind him to lean on his horn. He circled around and dashed into the store.

Marie had just sat down in front of the TV with a dish of ice cream when she heard the garage door open. How odd--why would Rick come home in the middle of the day? Remembering how he'd seemed to feel ill yesterday, she set her ice cream down and ran to meet him.

Rick was just getting out of his car. "Hi, sweetheart."

"Hi. What are you doing home so early? Are you sick?"

"No. I-I've just had something on my mind. There's something I need to ask you."

"Why didn't you just call?"

"It's too important for that." He took her hand, gazing into her eyes as he raised it to his lips. "Let's go inside."

They sat down on the sofa, and Rick held both her hands in his as he faced her. "I love you, Marie. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone in my life. I want-I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He released her hands to reach into his pocket for a small box. Opening it, he took out a diamond ring.

Marie gasped, staring at the ring. It was gorgeous. But surely . . . surely he wasn't going to ask--

"Will you marry me, Marie?"

She looked from the beautiful ring to his anxious face. Tears filled her eyes. "I can't, Rick. I have to go home. I-I miss my parents. I-I just—I have to go home."

He swallowed, looking down at the ring. "I thought maybe you loved me too. I thought--"

"I do love you." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

His eyes blazed. "Do you really mean that?"

"Yes. Oh, Rick, it's been so hard not to tell you I love you. But I was afraid that telling you would make it harder to leave. And I was right." Her tears spilled over.

"Then stay here with me. Marry me." He took her hand, sliding the ring onto her third finger.

She shook her head, gazing at the ring as tears ran down her cheeks. "Just over five weeks ago, I had a fight with Davis. I was confused and didn't have a chance to talk to my mother about it. I needed to and was going to, after I'd walked through the garden and thought about it and it was time for her to be awake . . . but instead I walked into _your_ garden, into 2011." The tears began flowing faster down her cheeks. "But I don't belong here. It's as if-as if I've been abducted from my home and put in prison. A beautiful prison, yes--but still a place where I'm trapped."

Rick stared at her, his throat thick and sore. "Is-is that how you feel here with me?"

"Yes--no." She looked up at him, sliding her hands into his. "I love you, Rick. And I'm not unhappy here. In many ways, I'm very happy. But I feel . . . lost. Misplaced. Homesick." She squeezed his hands. "I want to listen to my father's jokes, even though they're not funny. I want to sneak off to see my brother and to go to a speakeasy with my cousin Tom. Most of all, I want to talk to my mother. And--" She choked back a sob. "And what I want most to talk to her about is you. I want to tell her how much I love you, how wonderful you are, how getting to know you made me realize that I could never spend my life with Davis. I want to tell her how thoughtful you are, how loving. I want to tell her how-how. . . hot . . . your kisses make me and ask her about-about making love. But there's no point to it! I won't have you any more!" She took the handkerchief he'd just pulled from his pocket, wiping her face. "It's so horrible. If-if I were to keep this beautiful ring, the first thing I'd want to do would be to run to my mother and tell her all about it. But I can't go to her. And when I can finally run to her, I won't be wearing this ring." Slowly she removed the ring from her finger. "I love you, Rick. I feel torn apart. But I have to go home!"

Rick drew her into his arms, feeling torn apart himself. He couldn't bear the thought of losing her. But he hated seeing her miserable. "Marie," he said softly, stroking her hair, "you've been here for over five weeks. You've walked in the garden almost every morning. What if you can't get back? What if--"

"Don't say that!" She sat up, looking at him in horror. "I can't even imagine never seeing my family again! Do you know how upset they must be, how terrified they must be wondering what happened to me?" She closed her eyes, catching her breath. When she opened them, she was calmer. "I do love you, Rick, and I enjoy being here. But if I thought I could _never_ go home--" She shuddered. "When I'm missing my family, thinking about seeing them again and thinking how ecstatic they'll be is the only thing that keeps me from complete despair." She opened the hand clenching the diamond and held it out to him. "I'm sorry, Rick. I love you, but I can't marry you."

Reluctantly he took the ring, pocketing it as he watched her rise and head for the bathroom. She didn't know what he did—that she could go home tomorrow. She'd calm down, and then things would go back to normal. Eventually she'd accept that her life was here now. She'd _have_ to accept it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Marie wanted to make Rick a special meal that evening. She felt terrible for having rejected his proposal. She looked through the two recipe books he'd bought her but couldn't find anything that appealed to her. Maybe she should just prepare something simple and have candlelight and flowers from the garden. No--that seemed silly. How could she plan a romantic evening when she'd just told him that she couldn't marry him?

She closed the book with a sigh. She loved Rick with a passion she'd never imagined. She wanted to marry him. But she wanted to go home too. She missed her family. And she wanted to see Davis again--so she could tell him off. She wanted to tell him that now she knew how she should be treated by a man who really loved her. She'd tell him she knew what it was like to be comfortable with a man, to be able to snuggle up to him when she wanted to be held and to put her arms around his neck when she wanted to be kissed.

She smiled, thinking about Rick's kisses. There was nothing in the world she'd rather do than kiss Rick. When she got home . . . a lump formed in her throat, making it sore. Once she got home, she'd never be able to kiss him again. She'd never again spend the evening snuggled up in his arms. She tried to swallow the lump. Rick would be gone from her life forever.

Tears formed in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. She could easily imagine the excitement of her return home, but she _couldn't_ imagine not having Rick any more. He'd become the center of her life. She--

"Marie?"

Her eyes flew open, and she looked up to see him standing by the sofa. "I-I was just trying to think of something to make for dinner."

"Why don't we go out?"

She shook her head. "I really don't feel like going out." Walking to him, she linked her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry, Rick."

"For what?"

"For not being able to accept your proposal."

He rested his forehead against hers. "I love you so much, Marie."

"I love you too."

"Do you?"

"Yes." She pressed her lips to his.

He drew her closer. "Would it be so bad if you couldn't get home?"

"Yes!"

She pulled away, looking so stricken that he had to glance away from her eyes. "I'm sorry." His arms fell away from her. "I just--I'm . . . I'm selfish. I don't want to lose you."

"I don't want to lose you either. Do you know what it feels like to be torn in two? To desperately want two things when you can only have one?"

"No." He glanced at her. "I just wish I was the one you wanted most."

She caught her breath, covering her mouth with her hand and running from the room.

Rick hated himself for pushing her like that, but he couldn't seem to help it. He was desperate. He knew now that he could keep her here, but how could he do that when she wanted so much to go home?

He ordered Chinese, and Marie came down just after it arrived. She saw the cartons and silently went to pour two glasses of tea.

Rick slid his arms around her from behind. "I love you."

She didn't respond, pulling away from him to carry the glasses to the table. With a sigh he took plates from the cabinet.

Marie put two wontons on her plate. "Did I ever tell you about my wedding gown?"

"Your mother's?"

"Yes. It's beautiful. It's covered with lace and pearls, and it has a 15-foot train. But the important thing is that it was my grandmother's. She wore it, and then my mother wore it. I've always known that I'd wear it when I get married."

He frowned. "It means that much to you? You want to go home so that you can be married in that dress?"

"No--not just for the dress. It's-it's family and tradition and what I grew up thinking about and everything that's a part of me." She toyed with a wonton. "What do you do at Christmas?"

"Until last year, my sister and I would go to my parents' house on Christmas Eve for dinner. Then we'd open gifts and then have hot chocolate and cinnamon rolls and watch home movies. Teri and I would always spend the night there, and we'd all go to my grandparents' house on Christmas morning and have lunch with all the aunts and uncles and cousins."

"What happened last year?"

"My parents sold their house and moved to Florida. They came here, and Teri did too, but it wasn't the same. We--" His eyes flew to hers.

She met his gaze. "And what if you hadn't even been able to be with them at all?"

He swallowed. "I would have been very upset."

Both picked at their food in silence. Rick glanced at Marie surreptitiously, wanting to gobble her up with his eyes but not wanting to explain his stare. He loved her so much. He couldn't imagine living without her.

He stabbed at a wonton. How could he say he loved her and deliberately keep her here against her will? How could he put his wants above hers?

Standing up, he raked his fingers through his hair. Marie looked up at him with concern. "Are you all right?"

"No." He closed his eyes. "What would you say if I told you you could go home tomorrow?"

"I'd jump for joy. Why?"

He squeezed the back of his chair, refusing to look at her. "Yesterday morning, after you went up to your room, I sat in the garden thinking about what your life in 1927 was like." His arms began to tremble. "I suddenly realized, when I looked out into the garden, that it was 1927."

She gasped. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I-I must be the key. The-the door or whatever must open when _I_ think about 1927."

"But why would _you_ be the reason?"

"I—" He cleared his throat. "I-I read an article about you. Before you walked into my garden."

"An article about _me_?"

"Yeah. You and your family. A group Teri works with threw a 1920s party, and she gave me a book about the 1920s. There was a section about you."

"What did it say?"

"It had information about your father and his business and how he disinherited your brother. And it said that you married Davis and had three children and-and . . . died when you were 37."

Her eyes widened, and her face paled. "37? I-I'm going to die in 14 more years?"

"No!" He looked into her eyes. "No. Davis . . . he mistreated you. Cheated on you. Gave you an infection. But now you aren't going to marry him. And-and the article changed."

"Changed?"

"Yeah." He raked his fingers through his hair again. "I read it again after you came here, and it had changed. Now it just gives general information about your family and your birth. It doesn't mention your death or-or anything about marriage or children." He paused. "I thought that maybe . . . maybe that's because coming here would change all that."

She blinked, trying to absorb what he was telling her. Her life was already on record? She was going to have three children? But no—not any more. At least not with Davis, because she wasn't going to marry him. So . . .

Looking at Rick, she asked, "Do you still have the article?"

"Yeah. Upstairs."

She followed him to his office, where he took the article out of a desk drawer. Without a word, he handed it to her.

The picture was one she and her parents and John had posed for just days before her father had disinherited him. The article with it was short. It was strange to read about herself, although, as Rick had told her, it didn't say much. "Are you sure it originally said all that about Davis and our having children and-and . . . my death?"

"Yeah. That-that's part of what made me start thinking about you. That and your picture. You were so beautiful, and I couldn't imagine anyone treating you the way Davis had. The article said you were vibrant and fun-loving before your marriage. That captured my imagination, I guess, and I was sitting in the garden drinking tea and thinking about you, imagining what you were like and what your life must have been like before your marriage. And then-and then you walked into my garden."

"Incredible." She stared up at him. "But how? I mean, how did that . . . open the door or whatever? Had you ever done that before?"

"No." He shrugged. "I was really lonely and falling in love with a girl in a book. Maybe God decided to take mercy on me."

"Oh, Rick." Her eyes filled with tears. "I've fallen in love with you too. But I have to go back." She sniffed, reaching out to squeeze his wrists. "Can you really open the door?"

"Apparently so."

Marie's heart raced, soared, plummeted, and soared again. She couldn't wait to see her mother! She'd be leaving here, going home, saying good-bye to Rick, seeing her family . . . She swallowed, concentrating on trying to get her heart under control. "I can't believe it! I-I'm really going to just walk back into 1927, just go back the way I came. We've been doing it right all along—except that _you_ had to be the one thinking about my home."

"Yeah."

Marie stared at him, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Rick? Are you-are you crying?" Not giving him time to respond, she threw her arms around him. "I'm sorry." She covered his face with kisses. "I love you, Rick. I love you so much. I don't want to hurt you."

His arms whipped around her. "Then don't leave me."

She looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears. "I have to. I-I just have to. I have to go home."

They stayed locked in each other's arms, her tears soaking into his shirt, his tears dripping into her hair. At last, Rick, feeling weak and shaky, took Marie's hand and led her to the living room. They sat down on the sofa, and he drew her close. "I love you more than anything in the world," he whispered into her hair.

"I love you too. But Rick--"

"I understand. But I don't know how I'm going to bear it."

They were quiet for several minutes. Playing with Rick's fingers, Marie tried to grasp what was happening. She was going home. She was going to be with her family again. She should be ecstatic, and she was . . . but she was also . . . Sad? Frightened? Torn, definitely. She loved Rick. She wanted to marry him. But she wanted to go home too. "I hope my mother doesn't faint when she sees me."

"You really miss her."

"Yes. There have been times in the last five weeks when I really needed her. Needed to talk to her."

"When you get back, what are you going to talk to her about?"

"You." Fresh tears ran down her cheeks.

He tilted her chin up, wiping away her tears. "Won't you consider staying here with me? Marrying me?"

Her throat tightened, and she pulled her chin free, shaking her head. "I can't." She gripped his hands. "It's like a lifeline. I love you, and I love 2011, but if I let go of my home, I'd be lost."

Rick reached into his pocket, taking out his handkerchief and handing it to her. She started to wipe her face with it but then stopped. Rick frowned as she stared at it. "What's wrong?"

She went to the bathroom for some tissue. "Marie?" Rick called after her, standing up. He started to follow her, but she returned seconds later. "What's wrong?"

"I don't want to use your handkerchief. I want to keep it and take it home with me. It-it smells like you."

He smiled, stroking her hair. "Is there anything else you'd like to have?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Could I have one of your t-shirts?"

"Of course. Do you want to take your clothes with you?"

"No. I could never wear them except when I'm alone, and when I'm alone, I want to wear your t-shirt. Will you go change into one now so that it will . . . will . . . smell like you?"

"OK." He kissed her lips softly and went to change.

Marie went to the kitchen to get a cold wonton to nibble on. She couldn't believe she was going home! She'd spend all day tomorrow talking to her mother, and her father would probably come home from work at a reasonable hour. And she'd get Tom to take her to see her brother this weekend.

She didn't know how she was going to explain her disappearance. She couldn't very well tell them she'd gone 84 years into the future--they'd think she'd lost her mind. Maybe she could pretend to have amnesia. No--she was going to tell her mother all about Rick. She knew that she wouldn't be able to keep quiet about him even if she wanted to.

Rick joined her in the kitchen. "How about this one?" He was wearing a plain blue t-shirt.

"Yeah." She leaned close, inhaling. Then she raised her face to nuzzle his neck. "You put on fresh cologne."

"I wanted to be sure I had on enough for the t-shirt to absorb it."

She kissed his neck. "Do you want me to heat up the food?"

"I'm not hungry."

She took a wonton and held it to his lips. "Sure?"

He let her put it in his mouth, feeling her fingertips brush his lips. "Hmmm." He chewed and swallowed. "Maybe if you feed me."

She put all the food in bowls and heated it in the microwave while he poured fresh tea. "Is this pork or chicken?" Marie asked as she set a bowl on the table.

"Chicken. Is that OK?"

"Yeah." She loved sweet and sour chicken.

When they sat down, Rick told her, "I want to start with fried rice."

She laughed. "You were serious about being fed!"

"You'd better believe it."

She fed him a forkful of fried rice. He returned the favor, and within ten minutes the table was covered with grains of rice and bits of food they'd spilled. "Let me have some of that sweet and sour chicken," Rick said. He shook his head when she speared a piece. "No. With your fingers."

"It's too messy!"

"Fingers."

Relenting, she picked up a small piece with the tips of her thumb and forefinger. Rick ate it slowly, closing his eyes. "That's the best bite of sweet and sour chicken I've ever had."

Chuckling, she took another piece and fed it to him. "This really is messy."

Rick grabbed her wrist when she started to reach for a napkin. He leaned forward, taking her forefinger into his mouth and licking off the sweet and sour sauce.

Heat flooded Marie's body. She watched, helpless, as Rick continued to suck on her finger, his tongue caressing it. He raised his eyes to hers as he freed her finger. "Better?"

She felt paralyzed. How could his sucking her finger make her feel the same way his kisses did? She caught her breath when he raised her hand again to lick the sauce from her thumb. "Rick," she moaned at last, tugging her hand free. "This is one thing I have to talk to my mother about."

"What?"

"How your touch makes me feel." She released a shaky sigh, hiding her hands in her lap. " _Everything_ you do makes me feel this way. When you kiss me, when you kiss my neck, when you pressed me against the car. And yesterday when you kissed my back. No one else has ever made me feel like this. How can it be that your kissing my back makes my heart pound harder than Davis' kissing my lips?"

"Because you love me." He would have loved to answer all her questions, but he knew she'd be embarrassed.

She shook her head, still unable to understand how having her finger in his mouth could make her entire body throb and burn. Needing to push the feeling away, she rose and started to clear the table.

"Don't." Rick took the dishes from her. "We're not going to spend our last hours together doing dishes."

She swallowed, running her hands over his t-shirt. "I wish I had something from 1927 to give you."

He stroked her hair. "You could leave your dress and go back in your bathing suit."

She smiled. "I'll have enough to explain as it is." Inspired by the way he was toying with her hair, she asked, "Would you like to have a lock of my hair?"

"That's a great idea." He bent to inhale its fragrance.

She took scissors from a drawer and reached for a lock on the back of her head. She snipped one off and handed it to Rick. "We should find a ribbon to tie it so that the strands won't come lose."

He fingered the silky lock. This was all he'd have left of her. Swallowing, he nodded. "I don't have any, but I'll buy one. For now I'll put it in a book."

They went to the living room, and he put it in her copy of _The Dragonriders of Pern_. Drawing her down with him onto the sofa, he asked, "Is there anything special you want to do tonight?"

"My last night here." Her heart soared and then plummeted, bouncing around erratically just as it had when he'd first told her he could help her get home. "I don't know. I'll miss TV and the microwave and the blowdryer, but the only thing I'll really have a hard time doing without is _you_. I love you, Rick. You've changed my life. You've _saved_ my life. If it weren't for you, I'd be marrying Davis and dying in 14 years." She shuddered at the thought. Snuggling up closer to him, she sighed. "If it weren't for you, I'd have no idea that it's possible to be so comfortable with a man. And your kisses . . ." She blushed just thinking about how they made her feel.

He kissed her lips softly. "Do you know what _my_ life was like before you came? I'd dated half the women in Boston, I think, trying to find one that I wanted to spend my life with. I was really lonely, but I'd just about given up. It just wasn't worth the effort." He squeezed her hands. "And then _you_ walked into my garden. We spent time together, got to know each other . . . fell in love." He raised first one hand and then the other to his lips. "I want to spend my life with you, Marie. I understand about your wanting to go home. But when you go home, you'll have your family and friends and the excitement of being back, while all I'll have is an empty space where you used to be."

Her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Rick. It-it probably would have been better for you if I'd never walked into your life."

"Don't say that!" He hugged her. "I don't know how I'm going to live without you, but I can't imagine never having loved you. And I'm so glad you told me that you love me."

"I do. I love you with all my heart." She pressed her lips to his neck and felt his pulse quicken. "You like being kissed on the neck too, don't you?" she whispered into his ear.

"I like it anywhere you kiss me."

She pressed kisses along his neck and then across his jaw, finally reaching his mouth. Their kiss was slow and sweet, and Marie sighed into his mouth. "It's so nice," she murmured.

"What?" He tangled his fingers in her hair as he bent to kiss her neck.

"Being able to kiss the man I love whenever I want instead of having to wait for him to kiss me."

"You can kiss me any time, anywhere you want." He nibbled on her neck. "Day or night." He touched the tip of his tongue to the hollow of her throat.

Marie caught her breath, clutching at Rick's shoulders. Her fingers dug into them as his tongue traced a path up her throat to her chin and then to her mouth, teasing her lips until she gripped the back of his head to pull it to hers, needing his mouth hard on hers.

Rick's kiss was passionate, possessive. Alternately he savored the taste and feel of her and then devoured her, feeling her passion and hunger grow. Almost without thinking, he slipped his hand inside her blouse just to touch the soft skin of her midriff, but he withdrew it when he heard her gasp. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No . . . no," she breathed. "I like it when you touch me."

Rick groaned as she kissed his neck. When he touched her midriff again, he felt her muscles clench in response. Her skin was softer than anything he'd ever touched . . . and he knew that there were even softer places to touch. He also knew she was on fire. She would let him touch her any way he wanted, and all she'd do would be moan and grow hotter.

With his arm around her shoulders, he eased her down onto the sofa. She writhed beneath his weight, moaning.

She'd never be able to leave him once they'd made love. His mouth ravaged hers as he pressed her deeper into the cushions. Panting, he raised his head and pulled back enough to unbutton her blouse. Marie gazed up into his eyes. "I love you, Rick."

He froze. Her eyes were clear and loving and . . . trusting. She trusted him not to hurt her, to do what was best for her.

Groaning, he rolled off her. Marie immediately pushed herself up and over to lie on top of him, her mouth claiming his again. He couldn't help returning her kiss, but when she began kissing his neck, he croaked, "Sweetheart, please stop."

She paused for just a second. But then she ran her hand over his chest, nibbling on his earlobe as she whispered, "I don't think I can."

He groaned again. It had taken all the strength he had to make himself stop. If she kept kissing him, no power on earth, no amount of love or guilt would be able to make him stop. "Marie," he began, his voice cracking, "do you want to make love?"

She froze. Make love? All she knew was that she wanted more of Rick--more of his kisses and his touches. She felt like she couldn't get enough. All at once she realized that getting enough meant making love. She would have blushed if her entire body weren't already on fire. Rick wasn't her husband. And he never would be. For that reason, she shouldn't make love with him . . . but for that reason, she _wanted_ to make love with him. But how could she do that and then leave him forever? How could she give herself to him so completely and then walk away from him?

With effort, she made herself roll off him, but she couldn't resist cuddling up against him. "I wish I could say yes. I love you, Rick."

He didn't respond for a few moments, needing to let his desire ebb. "If I hadn't asked you, if I'd just gone on kissing you and touching you, we would have made love. You wouldn't have stopped me."

This time she did blush. "You're probably right." She thought about his words, frowning. "Ever since I was 16 or so, my mother has told me not to allow a young man to take liberties. But ever since we came back from Hollywood, I've let you-let you . . . kiss and-and . . . touch me . . . in ways that were inappropriate, because whenever you kiss and touch me, all I can think about is how exquisite it feels and how I want more. I think-I think you're right: I think that you could have touched me any way you wanted, and all I would have done would have been catch my breath and beg for more." She rubbed her face against his arm. "So if I was supposed to stop you, and you knew I wouldn't, why did you stop?"

"Because you looked into my eyes and told me you love me." He sighed. "If you had moaned it in a moment of passion, if your eyes had been closed . . ." He swallowed. "You are an incredibly passionate woman, Marie. I could have made love to you and said that it was your fault as much as mine. But you let me kiss you, let me touch you not just because you want me but because you trust me. You've said that you've never kissed anyone the way you've kissed me. You've said that no one has ever made you feel the way I make you feel. Do you know how much responsibility that puts on me? I have to take care of you. I can't take advantage of your love for me. I have to-have to . . . protect it."

Tears slid down her cheeks. "I love you so much, Rick. I wish-I wish I could say let's just forget about everything else and make love. But I-I just can't."

"I want to make love to you more than I want to take my next breath. And if you said yes, I'd stop thinking altogether and spend all night making love to you. But when all I had left was my memories, I'd feel guilty that I'd taken your virginity and let you go back to 1927 with the guilt I know you'd feel. And-and I'd never know if maybe you were pregnant." The horrifying thought gripped his mind. "If we'd made love, you might have gotten pregnant and then gone back to 1927, and I would never have known that I had a child." That thought cooled his desire faster than anything else could have. He thought she might have changed her mind about staying if they'd made love—but what if they'd made love and she hadn't?

Marie began sobbing. "I'd love to have your baby."

"I couldn't bear wondering. And you'd be shamed. In 1927 you'd-you'd have a hard time finding a man to marry you and raise the baby as his." He squeezed his eyes shut but was unable to keep tears from seeping out at the thought of Marie married to someone else.

"I don't want to marry anyone else!" Her sobs became louder, and she wrapped her arms around him.

"But you will. And so will I. We're both young. We'll end up settling for someone we love less than we love each other, just so we won't be alone."

"No!" She began crying so hard that she became ill and had to jump up and run to the bathroom.

Rick got up and followed her. He wet a washcloth for her and one for himself. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, handing her a washcloth as she straightened. "I should keep all these disturbing thoughts to myself."

With trembling hands, she began washing her face. "I feel torn completely in two. I don't think I can ever be happy again. When I go back, I'll be miserably lonely for you. But if I were to stay here, I'd miss my family, my home, my roots. I'd feel misplaced. I'd worry about my family and how upset they are and how they'd always wonder what had happened to me." She took her toothbrush and put toothpaste on it.

"I understand. But that doesn't make it any easier." Tossing his washcloth into the clothes basket, he picked up a brush, and when she straightened after having brushed her teeth, he began smoothing her hair with long, slow strokes.

Marie closed her eyes, tears seeping from them. She stood still for as long as she could, but finally, unable to bear the tenderness of his touch, she turned around and took the brush from him. "I'll never be able to go to the shore or drive a car or-or shop for bathing suits without feeling pain because it'll make me think of you. I don't want to have to stop brushing my hair."

He smiled just a bit. "I don't think I'll ever go to the beach again." He took her hands, his face growing serious. "And I swear to you that I'll never go to Hollywood with another woman."

She turned to reach for a tissue. "Please don't make me cry again."

They went back downstairs and lay on the sofa again. They talked quietly until they dozed off and then awoke, talked, and fell asleep again. A weak light was filtering into the room when Rick opened his eyes again, his heart heavy. In just an hour or so, he'd lose Marie forever.

Marie opened her eyes to find Rick gazing down at her. "Good morning."

"Morning."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

They were quiet for a few minutes. "Rick," Marie finally began, "maybe I should wait another day."

He didn't respond right away. "It won't be any easier tomorrow. And I can't promise I'll be able to stop myself if we start-start kissing again."

He was right. And she didn't think she'd stop him even knowing that they would end up making love.

Half an hour later Marie sat up. "I guess I'd better go get dressed."

"OK."

"I'm not going to take a shower. I've lain with you all night, and I want to have your scent on me as long as possible."

He smiled a bit. "I'll go take this shirt off and put it in a bag."

She went to her room and put on a set of black lace underwear and a set of emerald on top of that. Now that she knew Rick was the key to opening the door, she wasn't worried that clothing from 2011 would keep her from getting back. She wanted to wear the black dress they'd bought for their trip to Hollywood, but she put on her Egyptian-motif dress, not wanting to shock her parents. She tucked Rick's handkerchief into her bra--bras--and then put on the silver bracelet he'd bought her in Tijuana. Finally she took Davis' betrothal ring from the little porcelain dish where it had lain since the night she'd realized she couldn't marry him. In a few hours she'd take it off and hand it to him.

Rick was outside her door when she opened it. He handed her a paper grocery bag, telling her, "This bag is kind of big, but all the others are plastic and have `Walmart' written on them."

"Thank you."

They went downstairs hand in hand. "Do you want some breakfast before . . . before you go?"

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

Rick hesitated at the kitchen door, glancing at Marie. He wanted to beg her to stay with him, to get down on his knees if he had to, cry, plead. But that would just make both of them miserable. She'd already made her decision.

He led her into the garden. "I'll sit here and think about your life in 1927. I think if you just walk straight out that way, you'll get home."

She linked her arms around his neck, still clutching the paper bag. "I love you with all my heart, Rick. This is tearing me apart. I want to spend my life with you. But I have to go home."

"I'll never love another woman the way I love you. I can't even imagine how I'm going to deal with the void you're about to create."

Tears sparkled in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

He kissed her then, slowly, sweetly, longingly, trying to memorize the taste and feel of her mouth. He wanted to deepen the kiss, to evoke the passion he knew only too well that she was capable of, but such a kiss would be torture for both of them.

Marie at last ended the kiss. She gazed up into his eyes for a moment. "I love you, Rick."

"I love you too, sweetheart."

Slowly she backed out of his arms. She wanted to say something else . . . but there was nothing else to say. Swallowing, she squeezed his hand and turned away. As she walked into the garden, she was tempted to turn and look back. But that would just heighten their pain. With tears running down her cheeks, she quickened her steps.

Rick watched her disappear into the fog. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to think about 1927. He pictured Marie calling out for her mother, running into her arms, crying with joy at the reunion. He imagined her going with her cousin Tom to a speakeasy, ordering a cocktail simply because it was forbidden, dancing the Charleston. He pictured her putting on his t-shirt, holding his handkerchief to her nose, crying as she thought about him.

He thought about 1927 as long as he could and then remained there, frozen, his mind numb. He hoped that he'd been wrong, that he hadn't opened the door to 1927, that any minute now she'd come back to him. Finally he looked at his watch. It was 11:25. It had been 7:45 when they'd come into the garden. She was gone.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Tears were streaming down Marie's cheeks when the fog began to lift. She was in her own garden. She ran to her house, tearing open the door and dashing upstairs. She paused at her room long enough to toss her bag onto her bed and then dashed to her parents' room. "Mother! Father!" She banged on the door.

The door opened, and her father stared at her in shock. Her mother, however, jumped out of bed with a cry of joy and threw her arms around Marie. "Marie! You're all right! I can't believe you're all right!"

Mr. Tranton at last recovered and wrapped his arms around both women, laying his cheek against his daughter's hair. He'd thought he'd been in control of his world until Marie had disappeared. He would have given that world to have her back.

Marie pulled back a bit when she heard her father sniff. "Father, I've never seen you cry!" she said, laughing with happiness and relief.

"I've never before lost you for five weeks and three days."

She turned to put her arms around him. "I love you, Father."

"I love you too, darling. Where have you been?"

Marie caught her breath. In her misery over leaving Rick, she hadn't gotten around to thinking up a plausible story. "I-I'd rather not talk about it."

"Not talk about it?"

Mrs. Tranton shot her husband a warning glance. Marie had surely been through a very traumatic experience, and they shouldn't make her talk about it until she was ready. "Why don't I have Louise make us some breakfast, and we can talk," Mrs. Tranton suggested.

"If you can take your hands off our daughter long enough."

Mrs. Tranton smiled. She'd been caressing Marie's hair and shoulders and arms. "You seem to be having a problem with that yourself."

He grunted, stroking Marie's cheek and then tilting her chin up. "We have been out of our minds with fear. We had no idea what had happened to you."

"I know. Thinking about how worried you'd be was the worst thing about being gone."

"Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"I'm fine. I-I was held against my will but-but in a very nice place. He--they were good to me."

"Why were you kidnapped? We never received a request for ransom."

"I don't know. Um, Mother, could we have some cocoa?"

Mrs. Tranton hugged her daughter. "You could ask us for the world right now, and we'd get it for you."

Marie laughed. "Just cocoa, thanks."

They sat at the table drinking coffee and cocoa while they waited for Louise to serve them breakfast. "What's the first thing you want to do now that you're home?" Mrs. Tranton asked.

"I'm doing it."

"Drinking cocoa?"

Marie laughed. "No. Talking to my parents."

"Life has changed since you've been gone. We've grabbed the phone the minute it rings. Your father offered a $50,000 reward for your return. We--"

"Really, Father?"

He stared into his cup. "Of course. I raised it from $25,000 after the second week. Small price to pay to have my daughter back. Very small indeed."

She rose and went to lean over him and hug him. "Thank you, Father."

He grunted. "`Thank you' indeed. You're my daughter."

"Were--"

"Marie!"

She looked up in shock to see her brother in the kitchen entrance. "John!"

He ran and grabbed her, twirling her around. "Where did you come from?"

"It's a long story." When he set her down, she pushed back to look up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't this my home too?" He grinned at her.

"It wasn't five weeks ago!"

He laughed, hugging her again. "There's nothing like a tragedy to draw a family together." He smiled at his parents.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." He stroked her hair as he gazed down at her. "We were all out of our minds with terror and grief. None of us could just sit still. I kind of oversaw the private investigators that Father hired. And we felt better being all together. Somewhere along the way Father and I worked out our differences."

"That's wonderful! I'm so glad." She slid her arm around John and smiled at her parents. "There's nothing that could make me happier than being with my whole family."

"We need to call Davis," Mrs. Tranton said.

Marie's face fell. "That can wait. I'd rather it be just the four of us for a while."

"Soon it'll be the six of us."

She frowned up at her brother. "What do you mean?"

"We might just have to make it a double wedding."

Her mouth fell open. "You're betrothed?"

"No, not yet. Carolyn and I are very serious, but I just couldn't think about proposing to her while you were still missing. But now . . . well, Mother has told me she's ready to give me the ring the moment I ask."

Mrs. Tranton smiled. "My son proposing with the family diamond and my daughter getting married in the family wedding gown. A mother's dream."

Marie tried to smile, but the thought of that wedding gown, that symbol of tradition and family and home, upset her. Yesterday it had made her long for home. Now it made her long for Rick. She wanted to wear it for him. She certainly wasn't going to wear it for Davis.

After breakfast Mr. Tranton went to call his daughter's betrothed. Marie was in the living room with her mother and brother, and they jumped when they heard him begin shouting. They'd had only enough time to look at each other in bewilderment when Mr. Tranton joined them. "Young Runyon will be here within the hour."

Understanding dawned, and Marie said quietly, "He didn't want to come until after work, did he?"

"There's a big account and . . . well, as I said, he'll be here within the hour."

To Marie's amazement, after her father had bathed, shaved, and dressed, he rejoined them in the living room with a cup of coffee. "Aren't you going to the office, Father?"

"The day I get my daughter back? Not likely."

John stood then. "May I assume then that it's permissible for me to take the day off, Father?"

Marie stared at her brother. "You've joined Father's company?"

"Yes. He bought my small business, and I began in the middle. Not at the bottom, because I do have a good deal of experience, but not at the top either. I want to earn it."

"And you will, young man."

Marie knew that the stern look her father gave John was intended to mask the love and pride he felt. Her own heart tightened with love. She never would have dreamed that her disappearance would bring her family closer together.

John and Mrs. Tranton went to get dressed, doing so in record time. The four were in the living room discussing a late August trip to Cape Cod when the doorbell rang. Marie's hands shook as she set her teacup aside. She rose just as Davis appeared in the living room.

"Darling!" He crossed the room to draw her into his arms, kissing her cheek. "What happened to you?"

"We're not discussing that right now, Davis," Mrs. Tranton said. "We're just enjoying having her back."

"Of course." Davis took her hand, and they sat on the sofa. "How have you been, darling?"

Marie gaped at him. How had she been? That was all he could say to her when he hadn't seen her for the past five weeks? "Fine, Davis. I've been fine." Freeing her hand, she moved away from him and retrieved her tea.

The warm family atmosphere was suddenly replaced by an awkwardness that was only relieved by a lively business discussion among the three men. Marie caught her mother's glance, and the two ladies went to the kitchen to get some pastries and coffee.

"Don't worry, Marie--the two of you just need some time alone together to talk."

"No." Marie shook her head. "I'm not going to marry him."

"What?!"

"I don't love him, Mother. I never did, really." She turned to look at her mother earnestly. "When you love someone, you should feel comfortable with him all the time. You should be able to put your arms around him whenever you want without having to fear rejection or disapproval. You should feel secure enough with him to know that no mistake you might make will make him stop loving you. And if he loves you, he should want to spend as much time as he can with you. He should cherish you, make you feel like you're everything to him, not just a part of his life with no more importance than any other part."

Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and her mother took her hands, examining her eyes anxiously. "What happened to you, Marie? Did you run off with a man?"

"No! I would never run off and leave you wondering what had happened to me." She hugged her mother. "I love you, Mother. And I need--"

"Marie? Davis is leaving." John had come in search of them. "Are you all right?"

"We're just having a mother/daughter talk," Mrs. Tranton said as Marie reached for a napkin. "Tell Davis she'll be out in a minute."

Marie wiped her face. "Well, I guess I have to go face him."

"Are you sure you want to end your betrothal, darling?"

"Absolutely."

They returned to the living room, and Marie walked Davis to the door. "I have something to tell you."

"What?"

She removed the ring from her finger. "I'm not going to marry you."

"What?!" He gaped at her.

"I'm not going to marry you. Over the past five weeks I've come to realize that we don't love each other."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course we love each other."

"No, we don't. You love your job, and I love . . . I was in love with a dream." She held out the ring.

He ignored it. "You're just confused because of what happened to you. What did happen to you, by the way?"

"I came to my senses. Take your ring, Davis."

"Listen, Marie, you don't know what you're saying. We can push the date back a bit, get married in October instead of September."

"What part of `I don't want to marry you' do you not understand?" She grinned, because he was obviously taken aback. "Yes, I've changed. It's over, Davis."

He was beginning to get worried. With John and his father having reconciled, he _had_ to marry Marie to solidify his position in the company. "Just give us a chance to get reacquainted. We'll have dinner--"

"No. I'm not marrying a man who makes me ill when he puts his tongue in my mouth. Good-bye, Davis." She stuffed the ring in his shirt pocket and marched off.

All three people in the living room stopped talking and looked up when she returned to the living room. "Did you end your betrothal?" Mr. Tranton asked, standing.

"Yes. I'm sorry, Father. I know that Davis--"

"Don't be sorry. I just want you to be happy, darling."

Marie was too stunned for a moment to move. Finally she walked into her father's embrace, glancing at her mother, who simply smiled at her. Apparently she'd prepared her father and brother well.

They decided to leave for Cape Cod two weeks from Friday. Marie thought about the bathing suit Rick had bought her. Her father would kill her if he ever saw her in such a thing, she mused with a smile.

"What are you smiling about?" John asked her.

"Hmmm? Oh, nothing. When do you think you'll get married?"

"I don't know. I'll leave that up to Carolyn after I propose. Mother, I'd like to invite her over for dinner tonight if that's all right. I'd like for her and Marie to get to know each other better."

"Why don't we wait until tomorrow? I think we should give Marie a chance to rest and readjust."

"I'm fine."

"No, Mother's right. Tomorrow will be better."

They ate lunch at 12:30, and Marie could tell that both men were feeling a little restless. "Why don't you two go to the office for a few hours?" she suggested.

"Nothing pressing there. Why don't we go for a drive?"

"We can do that after dinner. Really--I know you'd feel better if you checked in at the office. Anyway, I should probably take a nap." She smiled. "Just try to come home early. We need to make a shopping list so that Mother and I can buy what we need before we leave for the Cape."

They didn't need any more encouragement and headed for the office. Marie smiled at her mother. "That's the longest Father has ever stayed away from the office."

"This is the first time he's had a missing daughter return." She hugged Marie. "Go on up to your room and take a nap."

"No--let's go back to the living room."

"Aren't you tired?"

"A little. I didn't get much sleep last night. But I'd rather talk."

"All right."

Arm in arm they returned to the living room and sat on the sofa. "Can you tell me anything about what happened, darling? If you were hurt or starved?"

Marie sighed, wishing she could tell her mother everything. But she'd think that Marie had been so traumatized that she'd lost her grip on reality. "I wasn't hurt or starved. In fact, I was treated very well." She pressed her lips together. "I accidentally ended up far away from home and couldn't get back. I met someone who took care of me and tried to help me. We finally found a way."

"This friend--he was a man?"

"Yes."

She looked her daughter in the eye. "Did he treat you properly?"

"Yes. Oh, Mother, I wish you could meet him. He's the kindest, most thoughtful man I've ever known."

"Is he the reason you ended your betrothal?"

"In a way. I didn't have a chance to tell you about the last time I was with Davis. You and Father were out, and we came here to listen to the radio. He kissed me, which was wonderful at first. But then he started kissing me so hard that my teeth cut into my lips, and I tried to push him away, but he wouldn't stop. And he put his hand under my skirt to touch my leg. I was finally able to push him away, and all he said was to make sure that you told me what my duties would be once we were married."

Mrs. Tranton's eyes blazed. "Your father is going to kill him. Marie, no man should treat any woman that way, even his wife. Kissing--"

"I know. And it's because of Rick that I know."

"Rick? That's your friend's name?"

"Yes. Mother, he's wonderful. We were attracted to each other almost immediately, but the first two times he tried to kiss me, I pulled away. And he let me. He even apologized the first time. And when I did let him kiss me, he said he'd rather die than ever hurt me."

Mrs. Tranton reached out to play with a lock of her daughter's hair. "Is that why you think he's wonderful?"

"That's just part of it. He spent every evening with me and all weekend. He even came home from work earlier than he had been just to be with me. And he took me--places." She'd started to say to Hollywood, but her mother might start asking questions about exactly where she'd been and why she hadn't been able to get home. "We-we went to the--we went shopping. He bought me clothes and all kinds of interesting things. And he held me, Mother." She looked into her mother's eyes earnestly. "Whenever I was frightened or sad, he held me. It became so natural to move into his arms for consolation. And I felt so comfortable with him. I was more comfortable with him after five weeks than I would have been with Davis after five years of marriage."

Mrs. Tranton frowned a bit. "Marie, are you . . . are you still a virgin?"

"Yes. But Mother--" She stopped, biting her lip. Her mother had enough to think about now. She'd better wait a few days before telling her about how Rick's kisses had made her feel. "I'm a virgin, Mother. But I love Rick with all my heart."

Mrs. Tranton swallowed, twisting her hands. "Will you be going back to him?"

Marie's eyes filled with tears. "No. I-I can't. My choice was to stay with him and never come home again or come home and never see him again."

Mrs. Tranton couldn't suppress a sigh of relief as she hugged her daughter. "I'm sorry you can't have both, darling. But I'm so glad to have you home again."

Marie went to her room to change clothes and lie down. What an emotion-packed day. She'd been reunited with her family, learned that her father and brother had reconciled, broken up with Davis, and spent an entire weekday morning with her father. She smiled as she reached into her closet for a housedress. She would have sworn that her father was more like Davis than like Rick, but she was pleased to realize that he really was more like Rick. He'd stayed home from work to be with her, and he'd held her. And he hadn't been upset that she'd broken up with Davis. He just wanted her to be happy.

That was what Rick wanted for her. Tears tightened her throat as she remembered the anguish on his face when he'd told her that he was the key to the doorway to 1927. He'd desperately wanted to keep her with him, to marry her, and he could have kept his discovery to himself and never told her he knew how to help her get home. But he'd wanted what was best for her.

Hanging the housedress in the closet again, she stripped off her dress and extra set of underwear and put on Rick's t-shirt. Curling up on the bed, she stroked one sleeve. She wondered what Rick was doing right now. Had he gone to work? She suspected that he'd been too upset to work. He'd probably sat in the garden until he'd known for sure she was gone. He might even still be there, hoping she hadn't gone back, that she was lost somewhere in 2011 and would eventually call out to him to come find her. Tears began to run down her cheeks.

She fell asleep and dreamed that she, her parents, her brother, and Rick were at Cape Cod. When she awoke a couple of hours later, she felt feverish. Frowning, she felt her forehead. No . . .

When a breeze stirred the curtains, she realized that it was just the heat of a late July afternoon. She'd become accustomed to air conditioning. She needed to go bathe and put on some shorts and--

No, she didn't have shorts in 1927, she reminded herself. Well, she'd have to put on her thinnest cotton dress. She'd like to just keep Rick's t-shirt on. No, she thought, stripping it off. She didn't want to get her own perspiration on it. She shouldn't wear it. She should get a big doll or stuffed animal and put the shirt on it. Then she could sleep with it in her arms.

The evening out with her family was wonderful, but when she awoke the next morning, it was with the same confused mixture of happiness and panic that she'd felt when she'd thought about leaving Rick and coming home. Her breathing shallow, she sat up and tried to calm herself. She and her mother were going shopping today, and it would be an exciting day. She was certain to run into most of her friends while they were in the shops or at lunch, and they'd all make plans to get together. Tom was coming over for dinner tonight. She'd talk him into taking her to a speakeasy this weekend. Everything was back to normal.

But that thought didn't erase the hollow spot in her heart. Today would be the first day in more than five weeks that she wouldn't see Rick. As much as she was looking forward to seeing Tom, that wasn't the same as knowing Rick would be home at 5:30, would kiss her and ask how her day had been, would hover around her as she made dinner.

She just needed to get used to her life again, she told herself as she got dressed. She was where she belonged. Her-her . . . journey . . . had been some sort of strange magic, some sort of accident. She was lucky everything was back to normal.

"I believe your taste has changed, darling," Mrs. Tranton said as she watched Marie examine her latest selection in the mirror.

"Really? Perhaps you're right." She no longer cared for the stylish clothes that had appealed to her before. What she had on now was a simple black dress very much like the one Rick had bought her.

"And I see that you've decided not to . . . that is, you've chosen a more . . . natural . . . look."

Marie smiled. She hadn't even thought about binding her chest again, a convention that her mother had never understood or liked. She'd always thought she was too well endowed to look good in any of the clothes she liked, but now she couldn't imagine binding it. Besides, she liked wearing the lacy bras she'd brought from 2011.

"Marie," her mother said quietly, taking her daughter's arm as they left the store, "does the young man you met have anything to do with your decision to stop binding your chest?"

"He just told me that that's not the style in--where he lives. He bought me clothes, and they looked and fit better without the binding."

"Why didn't you bring any of those clothes with you?"

"They-they aren't in style here." She thought of the shorts and jeans and white sundress Rick had bought her. She definitely wouldn't have had any use for them here. And of course, the bathing suit. Marie grew warm as she remembered how Rick always stared at her whenever she wore her bathing suit. He'd told her she was beautiful and sexy.

"Marie?"

"Hmmm?"

"I asked where you'd like to have lunch."

"Oh. I don't care. I'm not very hungry. Just a hamburger would be fine."

"A hamburger?"

Marie forced her mind back to the present. Or the past, depending on one's point of view. She and her mother couldn't just pop into the nearest fast food restaurant. There was no nearby fast food restaurant. "I mean, tea and cucumber sandwiches would be fine."

At the tearoom her entrance was greeted with cries of disbelief and happiness. Everyone was amazed that she looked perfectly healthy and whole, and they were polite and desperately curious when she said she didn't want to talk about what had happened. She'd love to know what rumors were going to be flying about, but she knew none would be as fantastic as the truth.

Several friends invited her to parties and dinners planned for the weekend, but she declined all of them, saying that she wanted to spend some time with her family. The truth was that she felt incapable of simply picking up where she'd left off. She loved being with her family again, and she was having a wonderful time with her mother, but it felt as if something were missing. And she knew Rick was that something. As glad as she was to be home, she felt incomplete without him. It was as if her whole morning had been a series of peaks and valleys. She and her mother would exclaim over a dress that was perfect for her, and then she'd realize that she wouldn't be able to wear it for Rick. She'd see an elegant necktie that would be perfect for Rick and then realize she could never give it to him. She'd known she'd miss him, but she'd thought that the excitement of being home would lessen that feeling. She was wrong.

"Where would you like to go now?" her mother asked her when they'd finished their lunch.

"Home."

"Home? We've only been to two shops."

"I'm a little tired. I'd just like to go home."

She felt a little anxious as she walked into her house. She wanted Rick to hold her, to caress her hair and kiss her temple and whisper that he loved her. But she'd never have that again. When she'd chosen to return home, she'd given him up forever.

She managed to hold herself together until she was in her room. Then she burst into tears.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Would you like some more broccoli, Marie?"

Marie shook her head. "No, thank you."

"She's too excited about seeing me again." Tom grinned at his favorite cousin.

She smiled at him. "So you're saying you've made me lose my appetite?"

"I wouldn't phrase it like that."

She loved seeing Tom again. He'd obviously missed her as much as John had, and as he'd escorted her in to dinner, he'd whispered that he'd pick her up at 8:00 Saturday to take her to a speakeasy.

"Maybe you could join us at the Cape one weekend, Tom," Mrs. Tranton suggested.

"Oh? Are you leaving soon?"

"In two weeks. Marie and I are going to spend three weeks there, and Jefferson and John will drive out on the weekends. You could come with them."

Marie had been looking forward to going to the Cape, but listening to her mother talk about it, she wasn't so sure she was up to going. She needed the familiarity of home.

She went up to her room soon after Tom left. She hadn't bought a stuffed animal for Rick's t-shirt, so she spread the shirt over a pillow. After she'd changed into a nightgown, she clutched his handkerchief in her fist and sat down in the rocking chair by her bed. She wished she'd gone to the library today--she'd like to have something to occupy her mind. She--

There was a tap at her door. "Marie?"

"Come in."

Her mother opened the door. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes. Just tired."

Mrs. Tranton sat down on the bed. "You miss him, don't you?"

"More than I could have imagined." She closed her eyes, trying to hold back her tears. "So much that it hurts."

"What does he look like?"

Marie smiled, dabbing at her eyes with Rick's handkerchief. "He's gorgeous. He's very tall, and he has a broad chest and shoulders. His hair is light brown, and his eyes are blue. He's so gentle and sweet. He never kissed me unless I wanted him to, and whenever we did kiss--" She shivered, glancing at her mother and then away. "Mother, when Father kisses you, do you feel it all over?"

Mrs. Tranton smiled. "Sometimes." She smoothed the bedspread. "Did Davis make you feel that way?"

"Never. Oh, I enjoyed his kisses, yes. But Rick . . . I completely lost myself in his kisses." She caught her mother's look and smiled. "Yes, I really am still a virgin. But I'll admit--to you and to no one else, Mother--that that's just because Rick is a gentleman. And because he always put what was best for me before what he wanted. We would kiss and kiss and kiss, and then he'd stop and tell me we had to stop, or we'd end up making love. And I was never the one to stop, Mother. The more passionate the kisses became, the more I wanted. I-I really didn't understand until my last evening with him that we couldn't just kiss forever, that eventually kisses wouldn't be enough. If he hadn't stopped, we would have gone on and on and on until--" She caught her breath, biting her lip and fixing her eyes on the handkerchief she was clenching.

Mrs. Tranton leaned forward, putting a hand on her daughter's knee. "I understand."

Marie glanced up. "I love him, Mother."

"Are you sure you'll never see him again?"

Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over. "Positive. I had to make a choice: stay with Rick and never come home again or come home and give him up forever."

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry." She took Marie's hand and drew her from the chair to her side on the bed. "I love you so much, and I would have been devastated if you'd never come home, but I'm sorry it cost you so much. I'm sorry it's causing you so much pain."

They sat with their arms around each other for a long time. Mrs. Tranton at last gave her daughter a final squeeze. "Would you like to go downstairs for some tea or lemonade?"

"No, thank you. I think I'll just go to bed."

Mrs. Tranton rose. "Would you like me to put your handkerchief in the laundry?"

"No!" Marie recoiled. "This is Rick's. Please don't ever let Hattie wash it or the shirt." She nodded toward the t-shirt on the pillow.

Mrs. Tranton gazed down at her for a moment. "I'm sorry, darling." She kissed Marie's forehead and left.

Marie curled up next to Rick's t-shirt still clutching his handkerchief. She felt so empty.

She didn't sleep well that night but woke up early nevertheless. After bathing, she put on her emerald underwear and a simple white dress and went out into the garden. It didn't look so different from Rick's, she decided. They didn't have any white roses like he did, nor an electric fountain, but they had red roses and azaleas, just as he did.

She wished she'd brought back a picture of him. But a picture wouldn't help much, she knew. She wanted to be in his arms, kiss him, touch him. She wanted to lie in his arms as she had their last night together. She wanted to make love with him and fall asleep with him and wake up with him.

Sounds of breakfast preparations brought her out of her reverie, and she realized she'd been crying. Wiping her eyes, she went inside.

She was sipping orange juice at the table when John came down for breakfast. "Good morning," he said, bending to kiss her cheek.

"Good morning."

"I'm starved. Louise, are there any hot rolls yet?" he called into the kitchen.

Their cook hurried in with a basket of pastries, setting them in front of John, who was pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Want one?" he asked, pushing the basket toward Marie after helping himself to an apple danish.

"No thanks."

"Carolyn's coming to dinner tonight." She hadn't been able to come the previous evening.

"Good. I'm looking forward to seeing her again."

"Do you remember her brother Matthew?"

"Yes."

"I thought I might invite him as well."

"That's fine." She was in the process of raising her glass to her lips when her eyes met his. "No." She set her glass down. "I don't want to be paired with anyone."

"He loves going to the pictures, just like you do. And he has a very good job with--"

"I don't care, John. I'm not interested in seeing anyone."

"I know you just broke up with Davis two days ago, but a family dinner--"

"It has nothing to do with Davis. I just-I just want to be with my family for a while." The thought of being courted was revolting. Rick had said that they'd both eventually settle for someone else and get married, but she had no intention of marrying anyone else. She would never stop loving Rick.

After breakfast Marie felt restless and agreed to her mother's suggestion that they go shopping. But they'd no sooner begun browsing through the first shop than she began feeling panicky. She made herself look at dresses while her mother made her selections, but she wasn't paying attention.

"I'm going to buy this one," Mrs. Tranton said, holding up a navy blue dress.

"It's lovely."

"Haven't you found anything you like?"

"No."

"Well, maybe next door."

But once Mrs. Tranton had paid for her dress, Marie said, "Mother, do you mind if we go home? I'm not feeling well."

"What's wrong, darling?"

"I-I just have a headache."

At home Mrs. Tranton handed Marie some aspirin and a glass of water and suggested she go to her room for a nap. Marie went upstairs but didn't feel like lying down. Instead, she sat on her bed with her back against the headboard and her arms wrapped around her knees. Why did she feel so frightened? This was almost how she'd felt when she'd wandered into 2011. But then she'd been in a strange place; now she was home. She should be ecstatic. She'd tried for over five weeks to get home. Tuesday she'd spent a delightful day with her family, the best of her adult life. Her father had amazed her by showing her his love in a variety of ways. He and her brother had reconciled. She'd had several of the heart-to-heart talks with her mother that she'd longed for. She should be happier than she had ever been in her life.

But she wasn't. She was more _miserable_ than she had ever been in her life. All she could think about was Rick. As hard as it was to admit, she missed him more than she'd missed her family. When she'd walked into 2011, she'd been frightened out of her mind. It had been so fantastic, so strange and sudden. She'd needed to make everything right, to make her life . . . normal . . . again. But if she'd met Rick here, fallen in love with him, and then had to-to go to China or somewhere with him and never seen her family again, would she have done it?

She hugged her knees, tears flowing down her cheeks. She knew without a doubt now that she would have. If she could have said good-bye to her family, let them know that she was safe and happy, she would have stayed with Rick. She realized now that she hadn't clung to the hope of getting home because she loved and needed and wanted her family and home more than she loved and needed and wanted Rick; she'd clung to that hope because of the feeling that she'd been . . . been . . . kidnapped, because of the need to right a world that had without warning gone fantastically awry, because of the need to reassure her parents. The change had been so abrupt and surreal. But now she knew that she would have adapted. She would have married Rick and had children with him and developed the sense of home that she'd missed.

Marie rocked on her bed, sobbing against her knees. Why couldn't she have realized all this before she'd had the opportunity to return?

She was still in bed, awake but numb, when her mother tapped on her door the next morning. "Marie? Are you awake?"

"Yes. Come in, Mother."

Mrs. Tranton went to sit on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"All right." She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face.

"Your father and brother have already had breakfast. Would you like me to bring you a tray?"

"No, thank you. I'm not hungry."

Mrs. Tranton gazed down at her daughter for a moment. "Are you sure you can't go . . . go back to him?"

"Positive."

Mrs. Tranton plucked at the bedspread. "Do you sometimes wish you'd . . . you'd . . . slept with him?"

Marie's eyes widened, but then she turned her face away. "Yes."

Her mother nodded. "When I was 17, I met a young man named Andrew. I was staying with my aunt on Martha's Vineyard for the summer, and his family had a cottage not far from my aunt's. He was a student at Harvard during the year, and he was planning to be a doctor. We were inseparable from the moment we met. We went out to dinner, went to parties, sometimes just sat quietly reading together. But best of all, we would walk or sit on the beach for hours talking. He was wonderful, and I loved him with all my heart." She paused, smiling as she reached out to touch a lock of Marie's hair. "Every time we kissed, I felt it all over."

Marie's eyes flew to her mother's. "Why didn't you marry him?"

Mrs. Tranton's face sobered. "He died. He drowned trying to save his little cousin." She drew in a deep breath. "I believe in strong morals, but for a long time I wished that I had given myself to him. I wished I'd had the memories of that to sustain me. And I wished--" She stopped, pressing her lips together.

Marie looked at her. "You wished he'd gotten you with child."

Mrs. Tranton nodded, finally meeting her daughter's eyes again. "It would have made life difficult, and it would have been a shame and an embarrassment to my family. But I would have had a part of him. And I would have loved that child with every fiber of my being." She took Marie's hand, squeezing it. "I don't know if it's any comfort, but I understand how much you're hurting."

Marie burst into tears, hugging her mother. "I love him so much."

"I know."

After a few moments, Marie drew back to wipe her eyes. "What about Father?"

"I met him two years after I lost Andrew. Your father is a good man, Marie. He doesn't have the passion or sweetness Andrew had, but I do love him. And he gave me you and John, so I'd certainly never regret having married him."

"But you've never loved him like you did Andrew."

"There are different types of love."

"But you understand when I say that I don't want anyone else, that I could never love any other man the way I love Rick and that I don't want to settle for anything less."

"Yes, I understand. But--"

"No. If I can't have Rick, I don't want anyone." She cried against her mother's shoulder until her tears were exhausted. Was Rick as miserable as she was, she wondered. Was he sorry he'd made it possible for her to go home? Was he wishing they'd made love? Did he sit for hours just as she did, paralyzed with misery and loneliness, constantly thinking about her as she was constantly thinking about him?

"Why don't I get you some juice, darling?"

"No, thank you."

"I don't want you to get sick. I'll go get you some juice and a roll, and then we'll go for a drive."

Marie watched her mother leave. She'd drink the juice, but she didn't want to go out. All she wanted to do was sit here and think about the man she'd given up.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Luuuucy! You not goin' to play in the band tonight."

Rick watched without seeing and listened without hearing as Ricky and Lucy fought. It had been Marie's favorite show.

She'd been gone four days. He'd sat in the garden until nearly 9:00 Tuesday evening. He'd slept hardly at all that night, but he dragged himself to work anyway, not wanting to spend all day alone in the house. He'd gotten practically nothing done, and coming home at 8:30 had been torture. He'd spent that evening and yesterday evening doing exactly what he was doing tonight: sitting in front of the TV, not seeing, not hearing, not moving.

How could she have become so much a part of him in only five weeks? He'd been engaged to a woman who hadn't been as deeply imbedded in his heart and soul as Marie. How could his life ever be complete again without her?

He wondered if she was feeling the same way. Was she finding that home wasn't the same as it had been before she'd fallen in love with him? Did she wonder how she could ever feel complete again?

But no--she was dead! The agony of that realization pierced his numbed heart. This was 2011; she'd gone back to 1927, been reunited with her family, probably gotten married and had children. Now she was dead. And she'd lived her life without him.

Tears ran down his cheeks. The thought was too painful to bear.

Around 1:00 he dragged himself upstairs, even though he knew he'd be unable to sleep. He took three Advil and lay down, throwing his arm over his eyes.

He dozed fitfully, finally coming wide awake just after 6:00. He wished he could sleep. Sleep would be an escape. He couldn't bear the images that had come on the heels of his newest realization--images of Marie surrounded by children, making dinner for them, for a husband, kissing him, making love with him . . .

His breath caught on a sob of pain. He sat up, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. He wished he could stop thinking. He wished--

All at once he remembered the pages about Marie he'd copied from the book Teri had lent him. They'd told about her life, her children--but that had been before she'd come here. Then the pages had changed. Now that she'd gone back to 1927, would the article have changed again? Not back to the way it had originally been, because he knew she wouldn't have married Davis. Would she? She would have been lonely and vulnerable when she'd gone back. Could Davis have won her back?

Although he knew it would be torture, he went to his desk and dug out the pages about her. He scanned them for the information he wanted. Born 1904, daughter of Jefferson Tranton, one brother . . . The pages hadn't changed since the last time he'd read them. There was no mention of her life after age 23.

He read the material more carefully, and then he reread it. He was actually rather relieved that he didn't have to read about her husband and children, but it seemed odd that the pages hadn't changed when she'd gone back. He snorted, shaking his head. What was really odd was that the pages had changed to begin with, that the information about her marriage had disappeared when she'd walked into 2011. And that, of course, had been the biggest oddity of all. Still, she _had_ come 84 years into the future, and the parts about her husband and children _had_ disappeared. He'd been sure that the pages had changed because her 84-year trip would affect the choices she was to make in 1927, so it made sense, now that she'd gone back to 1927, that those pages would change again to include the name of her husband or at least something about her adult life.

Shaking his head, he put the papers back. He'd never know what had happened to her. Maybe, eventually, not knowing--

Rick staggered, everything suddenly going black. Gasping, he gripped the edge of the desk and then turned to jerk the drawer open again and grab the papers. Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed.

He threw the papers onto the desk and ran downstairs and out into the garden. Forcing himself to calm down, he closed his eyes and began to think about 1927. He imagined Marie in the dress she'd worn to and from 1927, imagined her in a speakeasy, imagined her listening to the radio in a room without a TV. He had a hard time concentrating and remaining calm, but he continued to conjure up the images, trying to fill in details . . .

"Rick? Rick?"

He opened his eyes and stopped breathing. Marie emerged from the fog and started running toward him.

"Rick!" She leapt into his arms, laughing and crying.

"Marie." He buried his face in her hair, tears spilling into it.

She began covering his face with kisses. "I was so afraid that I wouldn't be able to get back to you.

"How long have you been trying?"

"Just this morning. Yesterday it occurred to me that if you were thinking about me the way I was thinking about you, you might open the door. I told my parents good-bye last night, but I really didn't know if I'd ever be able to get back. But here you were, thinking about me!"

"I haven't stopped thinking about you." And when he'd read the pages about her and realized they hadn't changed, he'd wondered if maybe it was because she hadn't stayed in 1927, had come back to 2011. Or rather, _would_ come back to 2011. He tightened his arms around her. "I love you, Marie."

"I love you too. And I want to marry you. How soon can we get married? And where's my ring?"

He laughed, setting her back to look at her. "We'll go inside and get it. But you have to tell me what happened. You wanted so badly to go home." He gazed down into her eyes. "You loved me, and you were completely torn apart, yet you wanted to go home so badly that you left me. What happened?"

Tears shimmered in her eyes. "I was miserable. I mean, I was really happy to see my family, and we felt closer than ever. They thought I'd been kidnapped at first, but when there was no ransom request, they were afraid I'd been murdered. They were out of their minds. When I walked back into our garden, I ran up to my parents' room. I thought my mother's screams were going to bring the police. And then I spent the whole morning with them—it was wonderful. But . . . but . . ."

Rick touched her trembling lips. "But what?"

"I was miserable without you, Rick. I realized that if I could just-just finalize things, say good-bye to my family and let them know I was safe and happy, then I wanted to be with you. I love my family and my home, but you're the man I want to spend the rest of my life with."

His eyes were glistening as he nuzzled her temple. "Maybe you can visit. Maybe--"

"No. I don't want to risk going back to visit and being unable to get back to you. Mother understands. She'll explain it to Father." But she was sure her mother wouldn't tell him exactly why she understood.

Rick took her face between his hands, kissing her over and over. "I love you so much," he murmured, claiming her mouth again.

Marie pulled away. "How soon can we get married?" she asked breathlessly.

He laughed. "Will Monday morning be soon enough?"

"I don't know." She didn't think she could resist his kisses for another second.

He smiled slightly, stroking her hair. "Are you sad you won't be married in your mother's gown?"

"I almost brought it back with me. But it belongs in 1927 with my family. My brother is getting married, and I think his fiancée should wear it. But I'd like to buy a gown for our wedding. I want to save it for our daughter."

Rick's breath caught. "Our daughter." He hugged her. "Thank you. Thank you for giving up everything to be with me. I love you with all my heart, Marie, and I promise you that I'll make sure you never regret your decision."

Tears slid down Marie's cheeks. She was finally home.

