 
### Edge of Time

### Melissa Lynne Blue

### The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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### Edge of Time

### Copyright © 2012 by Melissa Lynne Blue

### Cover Design by Rae Monet

### ISBN-13: 978-1479222537

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### All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

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### For more information: www.melissalynneblue.com

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### Dedication

### For my husband who never settles for second best... And Amanda... Fly Me To The Moon is for you and Makayla.

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### One

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### Was it possible to just pick up and start a whole new life?

The question weighed heavily on twenty-six year old Marissa McClafferty's mind as she prepared to leave the war zone her work place had recently become.

Or better yet, just drop off the face of the earth entirely?

The oversize wall clock behind the nurses' station read eight-thirty and angrily Marissa kicked the blood spattered white shoes from her aching feet. She should have been out of there an hour ago. Her shift had ended at seven-thirty but as usual disaster struck at the stroke of seven and here she was preparing to trudge home late and microwave another lonely TV dinner.

Wearily she shrugged a light jacket over her pale blue scrubs, the second set she'd changed into that day, and stuffed her feet into the worn brown shoes that would carry her home. Slipping through a side door behind the emergency department Marissa made her way through the ever darkening parking lot. As if her day hadn't been bad enough, Brian had dropped by that afternoon to inform her that if she didn't get the rest of her "stuff" out of his studio by the end of the week he was going sell it or dump it.

As if she'd had the time! Brian knew how busy she was and how much stress she had been under lately. Oh well, Marissa sighed, it didn't really matter anymore. It was over between them and with her two weeks of vacation starting tomorrow, she would have plenty of time to gather up the remnants of her engagement from his studio and shut him out of her life forever. But she didn't really want to go over to his place. She didn't want to see him or... Marne.

A shooting star streaked across the black oblivion of the nighttime sky and Marissa could not resist throwing a silent wish heavenward, I really want a new life... A different life... Sliding behind the wheel of her sporty white Chevy, thoughts of Brian and Marne—and Marne and Brian—refused to be thrust from her mind. Two weeks ago that day her former fiancé had appeared unexpectedly at work, work of all places, to announce that he had fallen in love with his latest model.

Marne.

Marne was essentially everything Marissa was not: tall and willowy with radiant raven curls and blue-green eyes that perfectly matched the color of the ocean before a summer gale. Marne could best be described as Marissa's polar opposite. But as much as Brian's devastating betrayal hurt, the knowledge that she should have seen it coming, had known it was coming, was far more depressing. She had always been a strong, career oriented woman, one who would never allow herself to get caught up in girlish romantic fantasies.

Or so she had thought. One look from the dark brooding artist and she'd practically swooned in his arms. Following a whirlwind courtship he'd proposed after a mere six months. Marissa had felt like the luckiest woman alive. Busy schedules had prevented them from getting around to setting a date for the wedding and after two years...

She should have known better than to fall for such a romantic illusion of a man. But the bottom line was that as much as his betrayal hurt she could not allow this one man to wreck her... She was Marissa McClafferty strong, independent woman and she did not need Brian Whitely. Even as she pounded the words through her brain they felt hollow, unconvincing and the powerful realization was that Brian had wrecked her... The miserable break up had left the shreds of her heart and soul like a shoddy patchwork quilt, barely held together with old yarn, and a gaping hole in the very center.

The silhouette of a man in the middle of the road became visible in the yellow glow of Marissa's headlights, snapping her from her musings. "That's weird," she murmured slowing and shifting to the shoulder of the road, away from the frantic figure standing on the dotted yellow line. Cautiously Marissa inched ever closer and spotted a beat up little car stopped on the opposite side of the old highway. The Toyota compact definitely appeared to be out of service with all of the lights out, and the vehicle was parked at an extremely odd angle in the road. With a contemplative sigh Marissa warred over the wisdom of stopping and cursed under her breath when good conscience won out. Inching the window down just enough to speak with the man she opened her mouth to speak.

"I need help!" The panicked voice exploded through the window opening." My girlfriend is having an asthma attack." The boy couldn't have been more than 18. "But the car broke down before I could get to the hospital and my cell phone is dead!"

"Okay, Okay," Marissa said soothingly feeling instantly guilty that she had considered not stopping. Subconsciously an internal switch flipped to ER nurse mode and Marissa sprang into action. "I'll call an ambulance for you." Quickly she dialed 911 and filled the dispatcher in on the present situation. Stepping from the car she snatched the stethoscope off the passenger seat and handed her cell phone to the distraught boyfriend. "What's your name?"

"Tom."

"All right, Tom, I want you talk to the dispatcher while I go to check on your girlfriend." Though soft, her voice held an authoritative tone that brooked no argument from the teenager.

"Are, are you a doctor?"

"No, I'm a nurse." Marissa tossed him a quick reassuring smile. Sliding into the driver's seat of the young man's car it was immediately apparent that the girl was in a severe state of distress. "Hi. My name is Marissa, I'm a nurse in Community's ER and an ambulance is on the way. Right now I want you to try and relax, okay?" Even as she laid a gentle hand on the teen's arm a siren screamed, coming rapidly closer.

The flashing lights of the ambulance cast a reassuring red and blue aura over the landscape surrounding the car and as the large vehicle sped to a screeching halt in front of the crippled automobile a burly man leapt from the back of the wagon and strode with urgency to the car. "Oh, hey, Marissa." The EMT was obviously surprised to see her.

"Hey, Dan." Marissa gestured to the distressed teenager and quickly relayed her assessment of the situation. "Do you think her boyfriend could ride in on the ambulance with you? Their car broke down and it's only a couple of minutes into town."

"Hey, that's no problem." The EMT grinned widely at the worried boyfriend. "Hop aboard, kid!" Dan had an appealing manner that could lighten even the most dire of situations.

The teenager turned a grateful smile to Marissa. "Thank you so much. I hope you don't mind but I called a tow truck about my car." The boyfriend placed the cell phone back in Marissa's hand. She shoved it into her pocket.

Marissa just smiled. "That is absolutely fine."

Within moments the ambulance was speeding away. Marissa sighed, more than ready to begin her two weeks off. The black cloud of disaster seemed to be following her even when she wasn't at work! Sliding behind the wheel of her car Marissa felt as though she were functioning on autopilot. Automatically she stabbed the key into the ignition and slipped the gearshift into drive. Steadily she pressed her foot to the gas pedal and began to accelerate past the broken down car.

"What the hell?" The curse escaped her mouth as her own vehicle's engine made a strange whining noise and died. In vain she wrenched the key in the ignition willing the car to start, but it was no use, it seemed as though the entire electrical system was out. Grabbing her wallet she threw open the car door and stormed from the vehicle. Lifting the hood wouldn't do any good because she was anything but a mechanic. She would never recognize a problem much less fix one. Leaning against the car she flipped the cell phone open to call Triple A. It was dead. It wouldn't even power on, which could not be possible as the phone had been fully charged when she'd left work not twenty minutes ago.

A glance up and down the road revealed not a single, solitary light—anywhere! How far had she come from the hospital, anyway? And where were some of the nearby houses? Dusk became darker. This must be a massive power outage.

"Ahhhrrgg!" In total frustration Marissa pounded her fists on the top of the shiny white car, sending her cell phone flying in the process. Could one more thing possibly go wrong? The phone bounced and rolled into the roadside ditch between her and the edge of a barren field bordering an old brick farmhouse. "Well, I guess that's what I get for losing my temper," she grumbled.

In what light the full moon lent she stumbled down the embankment and bent to pick up the cell phone. As she reached for it, Marissa noticed that her watch had also stopped. Taking it off, she shook it beside her ear. Nothing. Growling in dour frustration she beat down the urge to hurl the watch into the field and stuffed it into her scrub pocket instead. It was then she noticed a single light shining from the first floor of the rustic brick house in the field. Marissa surmised that was her best bet for a working telephone. She'd always thought the place was deserted, but maybe someone had recently bought it. On the chance there was someone there, she set to her jaw and strode determinably across the field at a brisk clip, more than a little nervous about approaching this particular house.

Most people in Charleston said it and the woods behind it were haunted. A hundred or so years ago there had been a murderer in those woods. Everyone knew the story and many claimed that every twenty years someone disappeared in the vicinity of the farmhouse. Every Friday the 13th or Halloween night a group of teenagers from the nearby high school came out here looking for ghosts. Marissa had never put much stock in ghost stories but just the same she'd never seen fit to tempt fate. Even now a bizarre white mist visibly emanated from the woods, creeping around the moss laden tree trunks.

About half-way across the field she slowed as it became apparent the pale beacon shining from the farmhouse was neither a reflection of sorts or from an electrical source. The way the glow bounced and flickered, Marissa thought it must be candlelight. Swallowing back the unease welling in her throat she reasoned that the farmhouse must have lost power as well. Carefully she averted her gaze from the 'haunted' woods and pondered the possible causes of such a mass power outage.

"Ouch!" Marissa swore as she stumbled over a large rock and fell. Grumbling under her breath she righted herself and brushed the thick dust from her thigh. Tucking her blonde hair back into its twist as best she could, she took more care walking in the dark. Her eyes—and ears—must be playing tricks on her. The swirling fog emerging from beneath the trees created a surreal aura over the landscape; an unearthly stillness descended upon the field and Marissa shuddered with cold dread as wraithlike silhouettes seemed to dance and bob, fading in and out of her visual field. With a fervent shake she rubbed the flat of her palms across her eyes and stared.

I do not believe in ghosts, so I'm not seeing them now! But... Did the sky really seem lighter? Why did the field suddenly look... different? Had someone painted that ancient porch? Surely it had never been white before.

A powerful gust of wind sparked Marissa from her trance and she broke into a terrified run for the farmhouse. The stars faded in the evening sky and it almost seemed as though the sun were rising back out of the west. Impossible! Ghostlike figures continued to eddy on the wind around her and another gust threatened to steal the very breath from her lungs. An intense flash of light lit the sky and the blanket of stars shattered into a thousand glittering orbs of spectral light.

A scream built inside her, but an even more horrifying sensation of being paralyzed swept over Marissa, blocking it in her throat. She was unable to move, or cry, or scream. In desperation she fought to tear herself from the hellish chaos of the weird half-night, half-day she found herself in. Intense light flooded the world around her and the ghostly wraiths bent and twisted. The sights and sounds and smells of the night merged in a stunning collage of sensation and color. The wraithlike figures grew even more distorted, altering her perception of everything around her. The earth, the grass, even the farmhouse changed before her very eyes. Then all at once she felt solid ground beneath her feet, and she could move again, running toward the house... in terror.

She never saw him coming, never noticed the man who materialized like a ghost from thin air, but she certainly felt it when she plunged headlong into him. Marissa cried out in surprise as she and what felt like the solid trunk of a tree collided. For one long moment all she saw was gray... gray, scratchy wool. Marissa held out her arms as a shield, but found them entwined with pair of long masculine arms. Spinning and off balance, Marissa squeezed her eyes shut, tensed in anticipation of the inevitable collision with the ground. At the last moment the man with whom she was falling shifted his weight to cushion her fall, and they tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The two lay for a moment unmoving, stunned.

Upon opening her eyes Marissa became acutely aware of two things: One, it was light out, and two, she was lying on top of the rock hard, well-toned form of a man. Raising her head she looked frantically around, heart still hammering with the terror she'd experienced just moments before.

"Madam, your knee!" The man beneath her grunted in obvious discomfort.

"Huh?" Marissa was far too disoriented to comprehend, much less form, intelligent speech.

"Move your knee, woman!" the man said with considerable urgency.

"What? Oh!" Realizing the delicate area in which her left knee had landed Marissa hastily scrambled off of the man and sat beside him, struggling to get her bearings.

"Oh, God." The man she'd plowed into rolled away from her with a grimace. "Getting run over by a stagecoach would have been less painful." With a deep breath, and another grimace, he rose to a sitting position facing Marissa in the grass. He picked up his hat, brushed it off and replaced it on his head. Then he jumped lithely to his feet and held a hand out to assist her up.

Marissa shook her head, trying to make sense of all this. How can it be daylight again? The last shades of dusk had fallen only moments ago on the highway.

"It's light out," she marveled aloud.

"Well of course it's light out. It won't be dark for nigh on an hour."

Marissa, still trying to collect herself, took her first good look at the man in the field with her. Her heart gave a sickening lurch as her mouth gaped in disbelief. In a word the gentleman's attire appeared... odd. He wore a snug fitting gray woolen tunic with a high stiff collar embroidered with decorative gold scrollwork. A rich scarlet sash encircled a trim waist and intricate gold buttons closed the front of the jacket.

A Civil War officer? Impossible! Unless this is one of those re-enactment groups? And if that is the case, he is really into his character. Nobody said 'nigh onto' anything anymore.

Narrow straps atop each of his shoulders bore captain's bars, if badges of rank were the same now as the time he was dressed up to represent, and the initials "M. S." bedecked the impeccable high collar. Marissa dragged her gaze up the shape of a man who appeared tailored to fit the uniform and not the other way around. Neatly trimmed sandy hair shown beneath his gray cap, and he possessed a strong, clean shaven face. Under normal circumstances Marissa may have thought him handsome—no not handsome; this man was beyond handsome—but when her gaze slid up to meet his eyes... her breath froze... the arresting blue hue left her totally dumbstruck. After several mindless moments, reality returned and she snapped her mouth shut, but confusion continued to swirl through her mind as she returned his equally puzzled gaze. Never had she seen eyes so captivatingly blue.

* * *

Craig Langston studied the woman he'd collided with in a fashion as openly fascinated as she appeared to be. She was young, probably in her early twenties, very pretty, with cornflower blonde hair streaked with silvery strands pulled into a half-hazard bun. Her ebony eyes contrasted vividly with pale milky skin, and the delicate bone structure of her heart shaped face deserved more than a casual glance. This woman was undoubtedly a timelessly classic beauty. However, it wasn't the young woman's looks which held Craig Langston enthralled, but her attire.

She was clad in a pale blue uniform of sorts which somewhat resembled a sailor's dungarees. The clothing was constructed of a light-weight fabric, pale blue in color, and consisted of an unrestricting short sleeved blouse tucked into similarly unrestricting trousers that tied off with a draw string at the waist. The blouse had a V neck which, when she leaned forward as she did now, revealed a great deal more flesh than the girl probably would have liked; she was certainly not wearing any sort of chemise or undergarments he was accustomed to. The woman's appearance was scandalous at best, and he couldn't help but notice how the thin fabric clung provocatively to her voluptuous curves. Tearing his eyes away from her peculiar attire he forced himself to look at her face again. She looked positively stricken. He surmised her expression was likely a result of her inappropriate state of dress and their compromising position a few moments before.

"Captain Langston!" a voice called out.

Craig startled and turned to see Mrs. Harris practically sprinting across the field toward them. A long full skirt hindered her pace and black high-heeled boots showed beneath her flying petticoats. He tugged his jacket swiftly back into place and leaned forward, grasping the peculiar young woman beneath the arm and helping her to her feet.

"Thank you so much for stoppin' by, sir," Mrs. Harris drawled breathlessly. She smiled sweetly, drawing his attention away from the girl.

"No, trouble at all, ma'am."

"If the mare isn't any better by tomorrow I'll send Fredrick out for you again," Mrs. Harris's said casually. She didn't seem at all perturbed by the odd woman on her farm. "If that is all right with you of course."

"Perfectly, fine, Mrs. Harris." He glanced again toward the younger woman, wondering at the bewildered expression lining her face.

"Oh, where are my manners!" Mrs. Harris exclaimed. She reached for the girl. "Captain, I see you've met my niece."

Two

Niece?

Stunned, Marissa flicked her gaze to the lady Captain Langston had referred to as Mrs. Harris. Concern flickered briefly in the other woman's pale eyes.

"You must forgive my niece's attire, sir, but she is just arrived from Atlanta and has been helping me with some handiwork around the farm. With all the men gone to fight in the war we women have had our hands full."

Atlanta? I've never seen more than the airport in Atlanta, Marissa thought but her voice froze again.

Captain Langston nodded in immediate understanding. "Of course, Mrs. Harris. These are times when we must all do our share to help one another. As for your mare, there is no need to send Fredrick out tomorrow, I'll make a point of stopping by in the afternoon when my shift at the hospital is through."

"Why thank you, Doctor," Mrs. Harris gushed as the captain turned to Marissa and tipped his hat,

"My apologies for the rather abrupt meeting this evening, Miss—?

"M-McClafferty," she stammered out, grateful she could form any coherent thoughts or speech. "Marissa McClafferty."

He nodded. "Good day to you, ladies." And with that Captain Langston took his leave.

To say Marissa was confused would have been the understatement of any century. Marissa knew she was still standing in the field outside of the old brick farmhouse, but everything was different.

Even the air smelled differently.

Where the highway should have been she saw a wooded area with a dirt road winding through, and a barn lay off one side of the house where none had existed seemingly moments before. The dilapidated house she'd driven past countless times appeared in excellent repair with the trim and porch neatly painted white. The yard was decorated with a tasteful collage of flowers, and freshly washed linens had been hung out to dry. The word picturesque came to mind and Marissa turned tentatively to the woman who had proclaimed her a member of the family.

"Let's get you into the house, child." Mrs. Harris spoke kindly and her refined southern drawl had a soothing quality. Her pale hair with the slightest hint of gray about the ears had been pulled into a proper bun at the nape of her neck and her pretty face flushed with color. "We can't have anyone else seein' you dressed in such a fashion." Mrs. Harris took Marissa by the arm and led her behind the house toward a back door. "Don't worry, darlin'," she whispered emphatically. "You're not crazy, that much I can promise you."

"What!" Marissa spun away from the woman, dumbfounded.

"You are not crazy." Mrs. Harris stopped and turned to her, excitement sparkling in her blue-green eyes. "I have to ask, Marissa, what year is it where you come from?"

Marissa's eyes widened in alarm. "Well, I come from here," she hedged, unsure of how to respond.

"Yes, but what year is it?"

Mentally she threw up her arms and went out on a limb. "2012." Oddly terrifying as the declaration seemed she sensed Mrs. Harris already knew.

The woman nodded in satisfaction. "Twenty years on the nose. I'll be damned! Excuse me, I suppose a lady shouldn't use such language." Mrs. Harris let out a short almost hysterical laugh then shook her head as though to clear it. "It was 1992 when I found myself here and now it's 1863."

Marissa's mouth went dry. 1863. It could not be possible. Charleston, South Carolina 1863 meant... Mouth agape she could do nothing but shake her head in fervent denial. None of this could be real! "I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming." Perhaps she'd hit her head on that rock in the field and was unconscious.

"Come along, Marissa, I'll explain everything inside over a nice cup of hot tea."

Marissa entered the house, immediately struck by its charming appearance. Golden wood floors gleamed with fresh polish and crisp white walls reflected the natural light from the windows lending the home a light, airy aura. Mrs. Harris led Marissa into the parlor, and instructed her to make herself comfortable. Marissa sighed as the other woman stepped out of the room. Wearily, she flopped into a wingback chair, trying to make some sense of recent events. Through the lacy curtains she spied the reddening of dusk in the clouds and realized that she felt strangely numb. I think I must be in shock.

"Have you eaten, Marissa?" The kind almost motherly voice pulled her from her musings and she turned to find Mrs. Harris carrying a tray laden with a silver tea service, biscuits, preserves, and a steaming bowl of soup.

"No, not since lunch, but that was—" She shrugged and let out a short laugh. "Well, I suppose I don't know when that was."

Mrs. Harris bestowed another understanding smile upon her. "I'm glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor. Now, you eat and I will explain to you everything I know." She sat opposite Marissa and lifted a cup of tea. "My name is Imogene Harris, but you can call me Genie. I was born July 8, 1968 in Atlanta, Georgia, as Imogene Garret.

"That's my birthday," Marissa mumbled.

"What was that dear?"

"July 8 is my birthday."

"Well, it must be fate." Genie grinned and then continued with her story. "In 1988 I came to Charleston to attend college and in 1992, with one semester left to go I was driving along the road that will someday pass by this house and my car broke down. I waited a long time for another car to come past, but the road was almost always deserted at night and I finally decided to see if there was anyone in the farmhouse who might be able to help me. I cut across the field right out in front here."

Mrs. Harris gestured in the general direction of the field Marissa had also ventured through. "When I was mid-way across the whole sky lit up and—" she chewed at her bottom lip as though struggling for the right words "well, I can't rightly describe it, but the next thing I knew everything was just... different. An elderly widow took me in. The year was 1843, and it was exactly 20 years ago today." She leaned forward, speaking earnestly. "The way I figure it we passed through some sort of wormhole to the past or an inter-dimensional doorway of some kind. I was never much for quantum physics, but that is the only explanation I can think of."

Marissa's mind reeled wildly. She had never given much thought to quantum physics or time travel either, but was it possible she'd actually traveled into the past? Had she really passed through the fabric of time to Charleston, South Carolina and the year 1863?

Leaning forward she set her tea cup on the table. It rattled in its saucer. "The same thing happened to me," she said. "Exactly the same thing! I stopped along the side of the road to help a couple whose car had broken down. I called them an ambulance with my cell phone, and right after the ambulance pulled away my car broke down too. When my cell phone didn't work I tried coming to this farmhouse for help, though I'd always thought it was deserted. I saw a flicker of light through a window. Or, I thought I did. It seemed to be the only light for miles around."

Genie's face scrunched into a vise of puzzled amusement. "I have to ask. What is a cell phone?"

"Oh." Marissa reached into her pants pocket. "I suppose cell phones didn't exist in 1992." She pulled the phone into view and handed it to Genie, issuing a disgusted snort at the totally blank screen. "It's a portable phone that uses special towers to send signals."

"My God, it has been so long since I've seen any sort of contraption like this. Is it like a satellite phone the military would use?"

"Kind of." Marissa watched Genie turn the phone over in her hand.

"Well, we'll have to destroy or hide everything you have brought back with you." Mrs. Harris rose and walked over to a large oak bookcase lining the wall. Pulling out several books from the top shelf she opened what appeared to be a secret compartment in the wall and removed a box. Carrying the box to the sofa she sank onto the seat beside Marissa, pulled a key from around her neck, and opened the box.

Slowly Genie handed Marissa a small rectangular object. It was a South Carolina driver's license with Genie's younger face smiling back at her. Marissa swallowed hard. This was it, the final nail being hammered into her coffin. Everything she had witnessed and heard, no matter how impossible, was real. The year was 1863 and she was trapped in the past.

No!

Hot bile welled in Marissa's throat and her entire being retched at the thought of being stuck in the past. Uncontrollable shaking took hold of her entire body as the denial gave way to shock. "What about getting back?" she whispered hoarsely.

Genie put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I gave up hope of that a long time ago, my dear. I am inclined to believe the portal is one way."

A burning sensation seared Marissa's throat. "Why?" Anger built in her voice and she spat, "How could you possibly know the door is one way?" Tears blurred her vision and she swallowed the intense urge to scream. "Didn't you even try to get home?"

Unruffled by the outburst, the other woman wrapped compassionate arms around Marissa as she broke into tears. "About a year after I came back to this time I saw the highway briefly but couldn't get back through to it. I could see cars driving by, and a dog run across the field. None of them were affected so I assume the doorway wasn't actually open. It was not long after that I realized I didn't really want to go back, not anymore that is."

Genie drew back, fixing Marissa with empathetic eyes. "I was working as a school teacher, a wonderful man had asked me to marry him, and I felt that my place was here and that I could do good things for the people who needed me," she paused, "in this time." Her voice was quiet and soothing with a quality that reminded Marissa of being read a bedtime story. "I now believe that I was always meant to be here, and maybe you're meant to be here too. Perhaps this is our place and time to be, to exist."

Marissa's mind rebelled as she desperately sought to reject Genie's words. Violent sobs tore from her body and Genie held her and stroked her hair, quietly murmuring words of understating until Marissa regained a small measure of control. Pulling away Marissa rubbed her tear stained face, feeling as though her eyelids were made of sand paper. Looking at her new friend she realized how lucky she was that Genie had found her as soon as she did. Straightening, Marissa squared her shoulders desperately grasping at some measure of determination. "Well, I guess it's time to face the music." Wiping tears from her eyes she put on her best game face, but failed miserably at a smile.

The women talked for hours, Marissa filling Genie in on advancements in the two decades of she had missed, and Genie assuring Marissa that everything could turn out as well for her as it had for Genie. She also reinforced the history lessons Marissa had learned in school, filling in gaps with present day local knowledge.

"You're a registered nurse then?" Genie asked finally, gesturing to Marissa's scrubs.

"Yes, I work in the Emergency Room." Marissa put a hand to her brow and shook her head. "Or worked in the Emergency Room. I don't know if I still do or ever will again." Her voice broke and her composure threatened to crumble again.

"Good," Genie said briskly, as if to forestall any further show of emotion and put a positive spin on Marissa's presence in this time and place. "You can be of use at the hospital then."

"The hospital?"

"Yes. There is a Confederate Army hospital here in Charleston, and you have more medical training than anyone claiming the title of doctor this day in age."

"So much for my Bachelors degree," she said wryly. Marissa knew that in the mid-19th century two six-month semesters of medical school or an apprenticeship with an established physician were all the education required to earn a medical degree. "But I don't know about working at the hospital. I don't really know much about medicine in this era and I have absolutely no idea what kind of medicines are available or what treatments are used. "

"Do you know a little somethin' about anatomy and physiology?" Genie's drawl was like sweet molasses over pancakes and Marissa felt overtly comforted.

"Well, yes, but—"

"Do you know some about wound care, and caring for the sick and injured?"

"I—"

"I know you do, because my mother was an RN and believe me, you can be of use to the sick and wounded in the hospital, and the community." Genie's tone left no room for argument. Marissa realized her hostess was trying to make her see she could have a purpose in this new life, but Marissa clung hard to her determination to somehow get home and made no commitment to so much as look at the army hospital.

The women talked for another hour concocting and perfecting an identity for the niece of Mrs. Harris who had recently arrived from Atlanta. "Well," Genie said in a chipper voice, "that is enough for now. Let's find you some clothes and then get to bed. You've had quite a day and it won't do for me to keep you up all night jawing."

Marissa rose wearily to follow Genie out of the parlor and up a flight of stairs. Darkness had settled over the farmhouse hours before and Marissa didn't know whether she found the night comforting or terrifying. In its obscurity she could pretend everything around her was familiar, normal. When the world was concealed by shadows the evidence of her predicament was swallowed along with time itself. As she struggled to find something coherent to hang on to, she watched Genie expertly strike a match and light a kerosene lamp. A warm glow cast through the room. It was as though the light lent a degree of clarity to her thoughts and Marissa smiled into the comforting yellow light, allowing her to see that a home was a home and a friend was a friend regardless of the time or place.

"You'll have to teach me how to do that." She nodded toward the lamp with a slight smile toying at the corners of her mouth. "I have never had the need for such a 'contraption'."

Genie threw her head back with hearty laughter. "No, I suppose you haven't! I still find it amazing how items I once considered antiques are now the latest technology—contraptions I had no idea how to use. But I learned, and so will you."

Marissa tilted her head thoughtfully. "Rather humbling really." Here was the opportunity for an entirely new life she had been silently begging for just hours before. Was she ready for it?

* * *

Marissa woke to the soft patter of rain on the window and stretched catlike beneath her quilt. Smiling, she breathed deeply of the sweet dampness in the air. Nothing smelled better than a South Carolina rainstorm. Nothing smelled fresher than the scent of wet grass and flowers wafting through the air like a heady perfume. Eyes still closed she felt more rested than she had in months. Thank God for vacations. The last thing she remembered was—

She sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes darting frantically about the unfamiliar room. The gray, overcast sky cast a dingy quality to the surroundings, which only added to her instantly black mood. Flopping back onto the bed Marissa rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. She screamed into the feathers as memories came crashing in on her. "This has to be a dream," she said aloud, sitting up again.

Viciously she pinched her arms. It hurt.

With equal ferocity she slapped her face. Yes, that hurt too.

As she clenched her teeth in tortured frustration, a bitter metallic taste leeched onto her tongue. Blood. Unwittingly she'd bit the inside of her cheek, and with the tang of blood so came the realization that none of this was a dream. Blood—real blood—was not something one dreamed about and Marissa had seen plenty of real blood.

Everything was real. She was in Charleston 1863 in the midst of the Civil War's Confederate south. Tears welled once again in her eyes and she lacked the strength to even attempt stemming the onslaught scorching her cheeks like lava. Feeling defeated, dejected, and more than a little frightened, Marissa cried in anguish for her lost life. Everything she'd worked for, had ever earned was for naught, not to mention her family.

Would her parents and three older brothers even know she was gone? Instantly she banished the thought from her mind, No, fervently she sought to assure herself, my family cannot possible miss me because they haven't been born yet, and neither have I for that matter.

Oh! But, that doesn't make any sense!

"Nothing makes any sense," she muttered aloud. Wiping fat salty tears from her eyes, Marissa turned and watched the rain weep down the glass window panes. Drawing herself up with what felt like Herculean effort, she squared her shoulders. I shall just have to make the best of this situation until I can get home, she resolved, and I will get home. With that thought she made a valiant attempt to put all nonproductive thoughts aside.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she set to the task of getting dressed.

Genie had pulled a trunk full of clothes out of the attic the night before, saying, "My daughter has a love for clothes that goes unmatched in any century, and I sometimes wonder how her husband affords her massive wardrobe. Carolyn was only sixteen when she married, I was against it, but," Genie shrugged, "when in Rome..."

Marissa smiled as she thought back on Genie's words; apparently some things never changed, like the love some women have for clothes and shopping. Rifling through the garments she was hardly sure of what to be seeking. Genie had given her a quick instruction as to proper 1860's dress the night before, but Marissa's mind had whirled just trying to keep the undergarments straight.

After a full thirty minutes of struggling with the myriad of buttons and ribbons that held things together, Marissa turned triumphantly to the full length mirror in her room—admittedly she'd cheated a little and was still wearing her own bra. The reflection staring back at her was unrecognizable. It showed a demure, southern belle who must be a ghost, because it could not possibly be her. The ghost was garbed in a gown of pale coral which perfectly flattered her petite figure, fitting snuggly against her bosom and torso before flaring at the hips to give her waist a remarkably slender appearance. Almost hesitantly Marissa raised a hand to the modestly dipped neckline as though to ensure it was her in the mirror.

A small bubble of excitement welled up and seeded itself in the back of her mind where the childhood fantasies of wearing such clothes had long ago been stored. Though the chore of getting dressed had not been much fun, the act of wearing the gown made her feel like a new person, a new person with a new life. She tidied her long hair with the brush Genie had provided the night before, wearing it down rather than try to fashion it into some sort of upsweep. The oversize alligator clip she'd worn to keep it up and out of the way yesterday would never pass muster in 1863. Quietly, she descended the wooden stairs and smiled at the sight of Genie bustling about the kitchen humming what sounded like a Beatles song.

"Good morning, dear." The older woman smiled warmly, motioning for her guest to come forward. If she had heard the outburst from a little while earlier she gave no indication. "You look absolutely lovely. I don't think Carolyn wore that dress more than once before convincing her father she needed a new one."

Marissa smiled at her new friend. "I think I would like to meet Carolyn. Where does she live now?"

"Oh, she's in town. That girl was never much for farm life and she married a solicitor almost two years ago. Just after the war started. A lawyer," Genie supplied at Marissa's questioning glance. "When her husband joined the Confederate army I invited her to come stay with me, but she elected to stay in town, not that I'm surprised, mind you." Genie's cheer was positively infectious and Marissa felt herself genuinely smiling at the other woman as she heaped oatmeal and biscuits onto a plate. "It's been lonely with my husband gone," Genie continued. "My husband, Jim, rode with Jeb Stuart's cavalry, but he was killed six months ago." Her voice broke and she paused a moment before continuing. "My son, Andy, is only fourteen but he's driving an ambulance somewhere in northern Virginia."

When she looked up there was no mistaking the worry and loneliness in her eyes. "I was a history major in college," Genie went on, "so I have no illusions about this conflict and what sort of devastation it will bring to the south."

Marissa spoke then, moved by the other woman's emotions. "Genie, your whole family is fighting for the Confederacy, but you already know the outcome of the war and—" Marissa stopped, groping for the right words to voice her question.

Genie laughed, though no humor shone in her clear blue eyes. "You want to know which side I'm on?" At Marissa's affirmative nod the other woman continued, "I stand by my husband's memory, but truthfully I cannot put my heart into the cause. All of Charleston knows how I abhor slavery and I think most of my family and even some of my neighbors know I secretly sympathize with the Union." Genie lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. "Although it isn't so much sympathizing as having no faith in a hopeless cause. You just have to support the people you love. Because when the fighting is over the people are the only thing left, it doesn't matter which side of the barrier they fall on because in the end there will be a lot of pieces to pick up."

Thoughtfully Marissa nodded and a vision of the handsome officer she had met the day before flashed before her mind's eye. "And what about the Confederate officer who was here yesterday?" For whatever reason, she could not banish the sight of those intense cerulean eyes from her mind.

An arch smile spread across Genie's pretty face. "Impressed, were you? Dr. Langston. His entire family has lived in the Charleston area for years." Her cheery demeanor returned in an instant. "I volunteer at the hospital a couple days a week and he was kind enough to come out and look at my mare that is close to foaling."

Her voice took on a wistful quality, "I tell you, if I were twenty years younger I would have a mind to chase after that man myself, or one of his brothers. There are four Langston boys in all, and every one of them as handsome as he is. They take after their father." Casting a suggestive look in Marissa's direction she changed the subject slightly. "Which reminds me—" Genie tapped a finger on the table "—we need to inquire about a job for you at the hospital. I gave it much more thought after we discussed it last night and I think it will be just the thing for you."

Marissa opened her mouth to protest, but Genie cut her short with a wave of the hand. "We can't very well play off of your nursing knowledge, but we'll tell them that you trained alongside your father who was a doctor."

Marissa had to smile at Genie's enthusiasm for seemingly all aspects of life, and then decided it may not be such a bad idea to get a job. It would provide a necessary distraction while she worked toward getting home and she could at least pay Genie back for her help and kindness. Marissa had heard many a tale about the hardships that the citizens of the Confederacy had undergone and anything she could do to prevent straining Genie's life further would be welcome. "Actually," Marissa said throwing Genie a conspiratorial glance, "my father is a doctor, or was... or will be... Oh, I don't know how to put it. This is all so confusing!"

Her friend flashed an understanding and compassionate smile. "I know, Marissa, but I do promise you that it gets better."

Desperately trying not to succumb to tears, Marissa choked back a sob and instead said with a smile, "Okay, but how long before you stopped reaching for light switches on the wall?"

"Oh," Genie chortled gleefully, "Never! I still do."

* * *

Marissa spent the day with Genie Harris helping her adjust to her new surroundings. Hah! As if it was possible to adjust. Marissa followed her dutifully around the farm, met Fredrick and Grace, the elderly black couple the Harris's employed to help her with the farm a few hours each day, and made a half-hearted effort to keep up with Genie's constant strain of chatter.

All she could focus on was that it was hot! And dusty! And totally without modern conveniences!

Marissa grew more frustrated by the hour, though she did find the ice house truly intriguing in that even in the intense southern heat it stayed cold. She'd never considered where the ice had come from, but Genie explained it was cut from frozen lakes in the north, insulated in sawdust or straw and transported into the south. Marissa wasn't sure which point was more fascinating, that the ice was actually transported from the north, or that sawdust made such an adequate insulator.

The bathhouse reminded Marissa of just how desperately she missed her shower, and bubble baths, and dear Lord—antibacterial soap.

And the privy—nothing more need be said about the privy. It was a privy. Though in all honesty Marissa had to admit she'd used worse facilities at her grandparents' mountain cabin.

It was all downright depressing.

Antiquated items that she'd never realized existed were now necessities that positively boggled her mind and she'd finally begged Genie to limit the day's lesson to use of the stove, kerosene lamps and water preparation for baths and laundry.

Late in the afternoon the women passed by the chicken coop and Genie pointed through the netting. "That is Toughie," she said. A gnarly old rooster glared at them from his confines. "He is the meanest rooster I've ever seen, and if he gets out you just duck and run for cover."

Marissa cocked a brow and glared back at the rooster who looked ready to eat them alive.

"If we let Toughie loose he could probably stand down the entire Yankee invasion and end the war today!"

"Well, what are you waiting for, maybe you could change history after all," Marissa suggested wryly.

"It is tempting isn't it?" Genie smiled back. "But I mean it. Watch out if he ever gets loose."

The woods came into view, looking darker than was natural and the unease she'd experienced since being a teenager settled over Marissa. "Genie, have you heard that old story, or maybe it's a new story now, about a murderer in the woods over there? I've been afraid of this house since I was a kid because of it."

The other woman nodded instantly. "I remember the story, but as far as I know there is no murderer in the woods and there hasn't been before now." Genie shrugged. "Either the story is made up or the murders haven't happened yet. I don't know about you, but I prefer to believe that someone made up the legend to scare the living daylights out of kids on Halloween."

"Okay." Marissa nodded, grasping hold of the logic and her thoughts flew back to more pressing issues. Vaguely, she remembered hearing that life in this era was simpler. Well, whoever had said that was wrong!

"'Okay'" is not a term you should be using," Genie said gently. "Try to purge it from your vocabulary because it could mark you as not being from here even more than your accent will. It's not a common term in Charleston in this time. Remember I said I was a history major. I think the term came into being around the end of the 1830s, in Boston, where some historians believe it was short for the slang term 'orl correct.' But others date it a little later, in the 1840s when a man named Martin van Buren used it, calling his presidential platform 'the O.K party'—because his nick name was Old Kinderhook, name of the place where he grew up."

"O—" Marissa broke off quickly. "All right, I'll try to remember. I wouldn't want to be mistaken for a Yankee."

By the end of the day her mind was whirling with the effort of learning an entirely new way of life. It was rather like visiting a third world country she supposed, except that this was her country! The glamour she had perceived from watching movies about this era was definitely overrated. Everything was filthy, dusty, and hot. There was no TV to relax in front of, no showers to wash the sweat from her grimy tired body. No pint of chocolate ice cream conveniently stashed in the freezer to wallow away her sorrows.

Desperate to escape the cruel twist of fate known as her life Marissa went to the field and spent the better part of an hour stomping angrily across the stretch of grass that had thrown her into the past. Was this destiny? Had fate played some sort of cruel joke on her? Or had she gone completely insane?

"I wasn't serious when I wished on that star," she grumbled, shaking a fist toward the blue, cloudless sky. "My life wasn't that bad." Or maybe it was...

Finally tiring of the endless trek across the field Marissa sighed and, taking care to cut a wide swath around the chicken coop, wearily mounted the porch steps. Perching on the wooden swing facing the field she gazed at the beautiful country around her and drew a deep cleansing breath.

The air smelled fresh and clean, and the quiet was peaceful in a way she had never experienced. There was no noise or smell from passing cars and trucks, and the occasional horse or buggy traveling along the hard packed dirt road provided a nostalgic quality that she found oddly comforting.

Stretching her neck she looked out over the field, catching a glimpse of the blue sky around the edge of the porch roof as she enjoyed the sheltering shade. It was incredible, almost unfathomable, but for the first time in weeks, maybe even months, she didn't feel overwhelmed by life. Considering her world had been turned topsy-turvy a mere twenty-four hours before she could only credit the change to shock; though she did seem a bit too rational for shock, which left madness as an alternative. But be it madness or shock, she felt relaxed. And she liked it. Her job had become so stressful lately she hadn't taken the time to look at the sky or steal even a moment for herself. Not to mention the whole ordeal with Brian. Stretching her arms out in front of her she gazed at her hands, they looked remarkably feminine with the delicate coral sleeves framing her slender wrists.

* * *

Craig Langston stopped dead in his tracks as he cut across Mrs. Harris's yard. Marissa McClafferty was quite simply a vision sitting on the porch. Sunny hair cascaded down her back in waves of buttery silk and the gentle breeze brushed soft strands enticingly across her cheeks. Craig imagined how it would feel to brush those errant locks away from her smooth skin, letting his fingers linger on the creamy flesh. Her huge brown eyes were cast downward and the slightest hint of a smile curved the corners of her full, pink—kissable—lips.

Never had he been so physically stricken by the sight of a woman, but the image of the ethereally lovely Marissa poised on the swing like a goddess in a dream pierced him to the core. Realizing his jaw had gone slack Craig snapped his mouth shut and shook his head before continuing his trek across the yard. Her eyes lifted, locking on his as he approached.

He'd nearly reached the porch steps when she rose from the swing, a demure smile lighting her face. "Good afternoon, Dr. Langston. Are you here to see my aunt's mare?"

Craig was once again rendered quite speechless as he gazed into the wide ebony pools of her eyes; so dark and vast, surely if he ventured too close he would fall into them forever. "I'm--I'm sorry, what?" he stammered, unable to look away from her enchanting face.

"The mare?" she said.

"Oh! Yes, the mare. I have already been to see her. No change as of yet." He cleared his throat in an attempt to grasp at a shred of composure before continuing, "Is your aunt at home, Miss McClafferty?"

"Why yes, Dr. Langston, she just went inside for a moment. Would you like to sit and wait for her?"

He grinned as she flashed him a coy, flirtatious smile. "Only if you will join me while I wait."

She lowered her lashes. "Of course I'll wait with you."

As the delightful Miss McClafferty strolled slowly along the porch he enjoyed the sway of the skirt around her legs. She didn't walk like other girls, with studiedly mincing steps, but moved with poise and something else he could not quite put his finger on. It was intriguing.

"Dr. Langston," she said, gracefully reseating herself, "I am terribly sorry for running into you yesterday. It was not the friendliest of greetings." She raised her eyes to him. "I do beg your pardon."

He laughed, and when she joined in, the sincere quality of her laughter struck him. It was not the prim and proper tinkle of practiced amusement he was accustomed to hearing. "Well, Miss McClafferty what do you say to starting over then?" He turned to her, smiling, and cleared his throat. "I am Craig Langston, currently serving as a Captain in the Confederate Army Medical Corp."

"Lovely to meet you, Captain." Her head tilted slightly as she faced him, allowing her hair to cascade over a shoulder. "I am Marissa McClafferty. I arrived yesterday from Atlanta to stay with my aunt Genie." She beamed up at him, the gesture friendly and totally genuine.

It was easy to smile back at her, her delightful voice and crisp accent refreshing after the scores of women whose words had been deliberately sweetened for the purpose of husband catching. "You say you're from Atlanta, but I detect a bit of a northern accent." Instantly her face clouded, and he feared having erred. She watched him closely before answering, as though searching for malice in his inquiry.

"I lived in Michigan as a child," she replied after a moment. "I moved to the south when I was twelve years old."

"I see," he said. "And your family? Where are they?"

Craig watched the light drain from her captivating dark eyes, and her shoulders slumped sadly. "I'm afraid that aside from Aunt Genie I am very much alone."

"I'm sorry." He spoke quietly, silently kicking himself for his lack of tact. No doubt something terrible had happened to her family and that was why she had come to live with her aunt.

A single tear trickled down her cheek and she turned away as if to conceal the evidence of her distress. It was too late; Craig saw a teardrop splash onto her lap and his heart ached for her. The war had been cruel to so many people, it was difficult not to be consumed by bitterness. A desperate need to take Marissa's pain away griped him, and on impulsive he slipped an arm around her slender shoulders. He knew it was not proper for a gentleman to touch a woman he wasn't acquainted with in such a way, but a gentleman should never leave a crying woman without consolation either.

An audible sigh gushed past her lips as she leaned into his embrace, laying her head upon his shoulder.

An unexpected thrill of excitement surged through Craig. By damn... he hadn't had this reaction to a woman in... well... ever.

"Dr. Langston. You made it." Genie's cheerful voice shattered the tender moment.

Guiltily, Craig snatched his arm back and jumped to his feet. "Yes, Mrs. Harris. I, uh... I've been by to see your horse and I should think she will foal within the next day or so. If you like I will stay on until she does."

The relief on Genie's face was evident, and with a wry smile she drawled, "Why, Doctor, as long as I'm not keeping you from necessary duties I would be very grateful. You know from past experience that I do not fare well when it comes to any sort of blood."

Craig was unable to keep the mirth from his voice or expression when he replied. "It's no problem. Perhaps Fredrick would take word to my regiment and let them know where I can be found should I be needed?" Craig knew Genie didn't have much stomach when it came to blood and was terrified of having her mare foal while she was there alone. Fredrick was a skilled horseman, but rheumatism prevented him from assisting during a difficult delivery. Craig could not deny the fact that he was also looking forward to the opportunity to get to know Marissa McClafferty better.

Three

Genie and Marissa were put to the test of selling Marissa's new identity over dinner. Fortunately, Dr. Langston tactfully avoided the subject of her family and past, seeming to understand it was a subject best not broached at the time.

"Dr. Langston," Genie broke suddenly into a moment of awkward silence, "Marissa may be of use at the hospital. She has a great deal of medical experience and trained alongside her father, who was a doctor, for many years."

Craig's sapphire gaze turned immediately to Marissa. "Really?"

Marissa shot Genie a pinched look before turning back to Craig. "Yes. I have worked with physicians in the past."

"I'm impressed. Not many of the women I know have much interest in medicine. Most of them are like Genie here, and can't stand the blood." He rocked back in his chair as though contemplating the possibility of having Marissa work with him. "Well, Lord knows how much we need help at the hospital. I don't know if Major Bernstein will go for having a young, unmarried woman work there, though." He winked at her, a twinkle lighting his blue eyes. "Dare I not forget to mention pretty, but I'll see what I can do."

He thinks I'm pretty? This man was obviously one accustomed to being fawned over by women, his every glance or smile sought as a treasure. Immediately, Marissa realized it would behoove her to maintain a safe distance. But at the same time there was just something about him, a warm confidence that was absolutely intoxicating. He seemed to read her train of thought and grinned directly into her eyes.

All of a sudden her shoulders, where his arm had stretched not half an hour earlier, burned as though the weight of him were still there. She found herself paralyzed as the smile transformed his already handsome face. The perfectly portioned mouth curved into a most charmingly boyish grin that spread across his countenance and infused his radiant blue eyes with warmth. In that moment a jolt of raw sensual awareness shot through Marissa, causing the shattered pieces of her heart to tremble. Smiling across the table at her he ceased to be the intimidating Apolloistic figure of a man in uniform and became, quite simply... irresistible.

Her lashes flitted downward and she licked her lips, insides suffused with butterflies as blood thrummed in her ears. Why am I so nervous? One would think a good looking man had never flirted with her. Straightening, she gazed into the intense hue of his warm eyes. On the porch she hadn't been blind to the effect her southern belle routine had had on the good doctor. She'd thought no harm could come from an innocent flirtation—especially with a man who looked like that. But... perhaps she'd been wrong.

The meal progressed amiably and again Marissa found herself relaxing in the pleasant company. She had recently spent her evenings primarily alone and once again, even in the midst of these unfamiliar surroundings, she felt at ease. "Why don't Fredrick and Grace join us?" she queried, wondering where the older couple had gone.

"I have never been able to convince them to share a table with me." Genie shrugged. "I think the unseen scars of slavery run far deeper than those that meet the naked eye."

Marissa nodded in understanding." Well, I'll find Grace later and thank her for the wonderful meal. I can't remember the last time I ate anything so delicious!" No restaurant claiming to provide southern cooking could hold a candle to the fare Grace had provided.

Craig instantly repeated the sentiment and turned to Marissa. "Maris-er-ah... Miss McClafferty, would you care to take a walk with me outside?" He glanced at Genie as if for permission. Marissa nearly laughed aloud. This world demanded different manners from both men and women. "I would like to further discuss the possibility of your niece working at the hospital and the extent of her medical knowledge."

Genie bubbled with amused laughter, waving them off. When Marissa began to clear the table Genie stopped her with a knowing wink. "You go along, my dear. I can take care of this."

Marissa turned to Craig, immensely pleased that he'd asked her to go for a walk and couldn't help but ogle as he crossed the room to hold the door open for her. In a word, the man was sexy, but in an entirely unassuming way. Brian had been sexy in a manner that proclaimed I know women are just dying to jump me, but Craig was different... better. While he was ungodly good looking—no, make that godly good looking, Zeus or Apollo to be exact—he didn't flaunt it or swagger the way Brian had, he moved with an easy confidence. She stepped past him onto the porch and a shudder of awareness coursed through. She inhaled a deep breath of the fresh rich southern air to steady her nerves.

The humidity had lessened after the morning rainfall and the heat of the day had passed leaving a languid ambiance in its wake. A beautiful evening. "Dr. Langston," Marissa turned to him, "I must ask, how is it you manage to survive the heat in that wool uniform?"

"Call me Craig," he said, falling into stride beside her. "I must be honest—I don't always fare well in the heat. I take this stifling thing off every chance I get."

She looked up at him as they walked, heart flopping beneath his warm smile. "And, you must call me Marissa, I hear Miss McClafferty and look around for someone that I've never met." She was losing herself in the moment. There was something inexplicably right about the entire scene playing out before her and as they strolled beneath the shelter of the trees surrounding the yard, Marissa took in the adjacent countryside, the clear sky, the varying greens of the forest, shrubs and grass, the dun color of the field, but most of all walking with Craig Langston. She felt deliciously nervous yet comfortable with him at the same time.

From the corner of her eye she studied his impressive form. Craig was a very large man, at least six-foot five, which she knew was unusually tall for this time period, and boasted a muscular, athletic physique. His gray uniform fit snugly, provocatively, against his broad shoulders and chest. She could not help but envision the trim muscular figure without the uniform. Her cheeks flushed hotly at the train of her thoughts. Briefly their arms brushed and the light contact burned into Marissa's arm until her flesh tingled, sending the butterflies in her stomach to a new level of frenzied activity. What am I doing, getting caught up in a fantasy about this man? I'm not staying here any longer than necessary.

And there it was. Reality came crashing back down on her with such force that her ears were ringing. Ringing!

Once more a sense of desolation came over her. It was as though the wind had been physically knocked from her. Why had she traveled almost 150 years to the past to suddenly find this sense of rightness? To find a man like Craig Langston? Could it be destiny? Fate? Genie's words from the night before echoed in her mind: Perhaps this is our time and place to exist. Totally perplexed, Marissa doubted that any of this would ever begin to make sense. It would be best not to get overly involved with anyone until she knew one way or the other if she was going home. Once again Genie's voice rang clear in her mind, telling her the door was one way, but she shut it out.

"What was it you were hoping to discuss with me, Doctor? I mean, Craig." She raised dark eyes up to him deciding to lose herself in work until some sense could be made of her situation. It occurred to her then that loosing herself in work had all too often been her problem. That was probably why I lost Brian... But she quickly dismissed the thought.

"Ah, yes. Your medical experience. What sort of work have you done with your father?"

Marissa hesitated unsure of how to answer. I can't exactly tell him I worked in a level four trauma center and attended university for four years to achieve a BSN degree. It would mean nothing to him and would definitely confuse the issue. "Um, why don't you ask me a few questions, and then you can judge how useful my experience is."

"All right." Craig tilted his head thoughtfully for a moment, then proceeded to ask her a number of questions regarding human anatomy, diseases, and treatments. As the conversation progressed his expression showed him to be thoroughly impressed by the knowledge and ease of her responses and he began seeking her opinion over a wide array of topics.

"We have a great many wounded men who appear to be getting well, but develop pneumonia and die. Has your father ever remarked on that?"

"Yes. You have to get the patients out of bed as soon as possible," Marissa responded without hesitation. "When your patients lie in bed for a prolonged period of time they don't take breaths deep enough to expand their lungs properly. When their lungs don't expand, atelectasis sets in, allowing fluid and secretions to consolidate in the lungs, causing pneumonia. You also need to make them cough and breathe deeply on a regular basis, as well as change their position to assist postural drainage."

Craig's jaw visibly dropped. "How do you know all of that? I'm not even familiar with some of those terms or concepts and I went to one of the best medical schools in the country." He stared at her, utterly incredulous.

Marissa shrugged and continued with confidence. "Some of these concepts are being studied in Europe," she said, drawing on a paper she had done for nursing school years ago. "My father studied in Europe and received some literature from a physician he knew in London." Okay, that is a full blown lie, but how else can I make it sound credible?

* * *

Craig studied her, thinking she was unlike any woman he'd met before. She was flirtatious and witty, not to mention brilliant, but more than anything her words and smiles were not calculated like those of so many women he'd met before. Part of the reason he'd yet to find a woman to marry was that those he'd actively courted in the past never seemed... sincere. Having been one of the more sought after bachelors in Charleston, Craig kept a wary eye on interested women. He had no desire to be snared by scheming young misses and their mothers out for his family's money.

Craig asked Marissa a few more questions and continued to be thoroughly staggered by the extent of her knowledge, even if some of the ideas were a little farfetched. They paused in the shade of a weeping willow tree and he turned to inquire about another subject but found the words slipping from his mind as she raised those huge ebony eyes to him. Enraptured, he fought the urge to reach out and stroke a strand of her intriguing hair—so many different shades of blonde woven through.

He couldn't resist.

Ever so gently he stretched out a hand and drew his fingers through the glossy locks. The strands ran like water across his skin. Pure silk, he thought, and wondered if the rest of her would be so velvety smooth. A flash of guilt sent heat to his face. His high collar nearly choked him. He had no right to such thoughts, but the urge to kiss her was so strong. He hadn't kissed a woman since... Well, he couldn't remember when exactly, it had been entirely too long.

What the Hell...

He slid a palm across her cheek and stepped forward, closing the distance between them to claim her lips in a soft kiss.

Craig should have been disappointed. When her supple lips parted that way it was obvious she'd been kissed before... kissed well. But he was anything but disappointed. She actually tasted good. His mouth opened against hers as his tongue prepared to intrude the wetness of her mouth only to find hers already there, meeting him half way. He greedily accepted what she offered, took her mouth in a deepening kiss, and groaned, fast approaching a place from whence most men cannot return.

* * *

Marissa's heart hammered so hard in her throat she was aware of little other than the sound of blood rushing in her ears, and his lips over hers. His kiss was better than any drug, dizzying, electrifying, leaving her reeling, and as she prepared to dissolve in a liquid pool on the grass, her arms curled around the strength of his neck. He was so tall the movement of pure self-preservation only served to fit her flawlessly against the contours of his body. Captivated by the magical moment, Marissa was convinced she'd ascended into a dream. The touch of his mouth was like a healing balm poured directly over the gaping wounds in her heart. Her mind swirled in ecstasy as the perfume of fresh flowers floated on the breeze, mingling with Craig's masculine scent. His fingers and lips enthralled her. She never wanted to leave the inviting haven of his arms.

He broke the kiss off suddenly and for a long moment she could do little more than stare into his face with passion clouded eyes. His sandy hair was tousled from the wind and she knew an intense desire to run her fingers through the wavy thickness. The blue of his eyes held her transfixed in a timeless moment. Never before had she responded with such wantonness. Softly, she sighed as her lips spread in a silent summons. His arms tightened about her waist and he bent to claim her lips once more, but...

"No!" she gasped pushing away from him. What am I doing? I can't let him kiss me again! The thought flooded her senses and while the idea was anything but unpleasant she knew better than to get involved with a man here... Now! Ever, for that matter...

Craig reached for her, but she quickly sidestepped his grasp. "Don't, Craig. You... you, don't know what I am." Frustrated, Marissa pressed her palms to her forehead. "I don't even know where I am! I'm sorry." Marissa turned to escape. She could not get involved with a man in 1863. It would only cause more pain and anguish in the long run.

"Marissa, wait." He snared her arm, successfully halting her flight.

"Dr. Langston, suh! Miss Genie's mare! She's a-foalin', suh!"

Craig dropped her arm. Marissa quickly backed away, brushing the hair off of her shoulders and looking down as Fredrick approached.

The old man had a knowing twinkle in his eye but said nothing except in reference to the horse. As the trio quickly made their way to the barn Marissa silently berated herself for opening up to Craig as she had. The last thing she needed was another Brian situation and no matter how heady and alluring the Captain Doctor proved to be, a romantic entanglement now could only lead to further heartbreak.

Steeling herself against the almost physical pull of the man, she resolved not to get carried away again and to concentrate on getting home. It was immensely saddening to have met a man like him with whom she could have no future. Literally no future. Because this was a world of unattainable men.

Four

As the cart bumped along the muddy road winding into Charleston, Marissa listened with half an ear to Genie prattle on about an array of somewhat obscure topics, none of which gave Marissa any clues as to what she was actually talking about. And the fact of the matter was she didn't want to know. The surreal dreamlike quality of the last few days was gone and she just wanted to cry—scream and sob, throw things, and pitch a right fine temper tantrum. She deserved a tantrum. And she certainly didn't care about the 1863 political climate, or how many munitions plants existed in Charleston, or how the union blockade of the coast affected the south. The Civil War from her prospective was ancient history. Something you spoke reverently about from time to time because it was an awful part of the past—key word—past. Her great-great-great-great grandfather had fought in the Civil War for Christ's sake!

Her political climate consisted of the Middle East, an impending presidential election, and healthcare reform! Did real healthcare even exist in this time? Forget a new life! All she really wanted was to go home! She would deal with Brian. She would make nice with Marne—well, maybe not make nice, but behave tolerably—if only she could find a way back to her real life. Her eyes, gritty and dry, pricked as though to form tears, but the course of the last two weeks combined with the events of the last two days had left her body quite incapable of forming anymore tears.

The cart bumped over a rise and Marissa stared, mesmerized.

She may well have stepped into Gone with the Wind, and was instantly struck with a mental image of the photo hanging over the door of the USC commons. But this was like nothing she could have imagined. The streets were alive with people and activity and while nothing modern met her wide-eyed gaze, nothing about the city struck her as antique either. This was a place of vibrancy, fascinating in its richness and range of different sights. All thoughts of temper tantrums and tears crowded to the back of her mind.

Genie expertly wound the cart through the streets. "We'll just pick up my daughter before heading to the hospital." She turned to smile at Marissa who was desperately wishing she'd paid more attention in high school history class. Rounding a cobblestone corner Genie halted the conveyance in front of an adorable two story brick house. "Here we are." Genie tied off the reins and alighted from the small carriage. Marissa lingered in the seat.

"Mama!" a pretty young woman with Genie's blond hair and cheerful expression came bounding out of the house, leaving the door to bang behind her.

Genie's face lit with motherly pride as she embraced her daughter. "Carolyn, dear, how are you?"

"I'm wonderful, Mama. I received a letter from Alfred today. He is in Tennessee of all places or at least he was almost two months ago when the letter was sent. He's been promoted to 1st lieutenant!"

"Oh, Carolyn that is wonderful news."

"I hope so." Carolyn's light blue eyes flicked the wooden cart.

"Carolyn." Genie gave Marissa a reassuring smile. "I would like you to meet your cousin."

"Cousin?" Carolyn looked in surprise from her mother to Marissa sitting quietly inside the cart.

"Yes," Genie said firmly. "This is Marissa. She came from Atlanta the other day to stay with me."

Carolyn smiled warmly at Marissa, but turned back to her mother. "I didn't realize we had any family in Atlanta."

"I'm afraid my sister and I were estranged for many years. Marissa sought me out after her recent death."

Carolyn gave her mother a dubious look, but turned to Marissa with open arms. "Marissa, it is wonderful to meet you. I am your cousin, Carolyn Reed." Marissa liked Carolyn instantly, finding her mannerisms much like her mother's. Looking puckishly from Marissa to Genie, Carolyn demanded, "Are you ready to go shopping?"

Genie rolled her eyes. "We're not here to go shopping, Carolyn, we're taking Marissa to the hospital."

"The hospital?"

"Yes, she's going to work there."

"Oh." The young woman turned a curious expression to her "cousin" but didn't question further.

Piling onto the narrow splintered seat of the cart Marissa found herself sandwiched between Genie and the unforgiving corner of a rail. So much for the leather interior of my brand new Chevy.

Staring at the crush of the city around her she felt totally lost. It was like drowning on dry land or suffocating with lungs full of air. She wanted to scream for rescue but who would hear? Still, she continued to gaze, enthralled at the passing store fronts, wondering if she looked as out of place as she felt. What she knew of this era was severely limited to high school history class and watching westerns on TV—probably most of that knowledge could be credited to television—and in spite of her earlier comparison, this was anything but Gone With the Wind.

"What do you say, Marissa?"

Carolyn's voice pulled her from the dredges of her mind. "I'm sorry. What?"

"The Confederate officers are having a ball in a few weeks and now that you're in town you simply must come with us. I already made a new dress for the occasion. Today I had planned to buy a bit of ribbon and lace."

"That sounds wonderful," Marissa replied with a miserable attempt at enthusiasm. She did not want to consider still being here in a few weeks. "Although I don't have anything to wear."

Carolyn's eyes glowed at the prospect. "Don't you worry, dear cousin. I have more clothes than I could wear in three lifetimes. I'll make you the most ravishing belle at the ball."

"In that case, I feel compelled to warn you that I'm not much of a dancer."

"Again, not to worry." Carolyn grinned. "I can fix that as well."

It was bizarre but on more than one occasion Marissa caught sight of a short balding man staring at her through the crowd. At first she didn't think much of it, but after the third time his black beady eyes locked on hers she grew a little unsettled. But when she turned to ask Genie or Carolyn about him the man melted into the crowd. As if life couldn't get any worse the last thing she needed was to attract a stalker.

Eventually the cart rattled to a stop before a massive three story brick building—the hospital—and nerves assailed Marissa. Getting a job was without doubt a disaster waiting to happen. She had less than no idea what to expect of medicine in this era, and it would only take time and effort away from getting home.

Together the three women exited the old cart and entered the arched doors of the hospital, Marissa lagging a step behind.

"Good day, Dr. Langston," Genie drawled sweetly.

Marissa's gaze instantly honed in on Craig's towering form. He turned toward Genie's voice, as did the young dark-haired woman he'd been speaking with.

Marissa stared. Oh, fate was a cruel, bitter entity indeed. The woman clinging so lovingly to Craig Langston's arm was Marne. Or at least her double. Maybe a multiple-great grandmother? Marissa stood frozen as the whole of her world began to tilt.

With curls as deep as the night and dimples that made her smile dazzling, this woman could have been Marne's mirror image. The only difference was the eyes. While Marne's had been blue-green this girls eyes appeared violet, almost purple in the bright light of the entry. Taking in the willowy figure Marissa experienced an all too familiar ripping at the seams of her soul.

* * *

Grateful for the interruption, Craig greeted the newcomers politely. "Good morning, Mrs. Harris, Mrs. Reed, Miss McClafferty." He deftly extricated his arm from the claw-like grip the ever-determined Kirsten had on it. "I've been expecting you." Amazing he thought. He'd felt Marissa's presence, known she was there without looking. The sensation was so profound he was taken aback, but a quickening in his chest had alerted him to her even before she'd passed through the door. To Marissa he continued, "I've already discussed your working here with Major Bernstein and he thought it would be fine to give you a try. Lord knows we need the help.

"Unfortunately we'll have to pay you in Confederate currency, which, as you know, is almost completely worthless." His voice dropped a fraction. "To be perfectly honest I can't promise we'll be able to pay you regularly at all. A payroll shipment due a few days ago never came in."

"Whatever the hospital can manage is fine," Marissa said. "I'm just happy to do my part."

"Oh, I'm certain of that." Kirsten's tinkling laugh drew everyone's attention to her—as she'd no doubt planned. Craig knew Kirsten was only happy when all focus was upon her. "Craig, darling, aren't you going to introduce me?" Once more, she tucked her daintily gloved hand into his elbow. He couldn't remove it without appearing rude.

He cleared his throat. "Of course. Do excuse my rudeness. I'm completely forgetting my manners. "Marissa," his eyes fixed on her oddly tight-lipped face, "This is Miss Kirsten Jamison. Kirsten, Miss Marissa McClafferty, who has come from Atlanta to stay Mrs. Harris, her aunt, whom you already know." Once more, he slipped his arm free of Kirsten's grip.

"Now," he added, smiling at Marissa, "if I haven't scared you away, may I give you a tour of the hospital?"

"I... Yes. Of course, Doctor." He wondered at the toneless voice, at the way her eyes avoided his direct gaze. She seemed... different, somehow today. Was it the thought of working with him as her superior that made her act so strangely?

He turned back to Kirsten, whose presence she had never explained. She frequently dropped in to visit, and good manners forced him to acquiesce unless he was in surgery. "Good day, Kirsten. Please give my best to your mother."

"Oh." The brunette pouted. "May I not take the tour as well?"

"No," Craig said brusquely. "Miss McClafferty is not here on a social visit, but to learn if she is willing to work among the patients." He nodded politely and once more said, quite firmly, "Good day, Kirsten," before turning completely away from her.

* * *

Marissa made a concerted effort to breathe normally and nod politely as the Brunette's gaze raked her from head to toe, then appeared to dismiss her as of no consequence. Kirsten fluttered her lashes at Craig and murmured a sweet farewell to him, one that suggested without words she'd be seeing him again in a very short time.

Marissa wanted to smack the woman, even as she sashayed away, skirts swinging. Stop it, she ordered herself. You are here to concentrate on the hospital.

Hospital?

The term, in her opinion, scarcely applied. The building consisted of three large over-filled wards, one on each floor. On the first floor, a room toward the back served as an operating room. There were a few small offices for the physicians and officers, and a couple of even smaller rooms where the doctors on duty could catch a few hours of sleep. With all the windows tightly closed, and filthy, a more desolate place she'd never seen. But it wasn't just the forlorn misery pervading every corner of the building, but the smell.

Death.

Death had a very distinct odor, one Marissa could never quite describe but never failed to recognize, and this "hospital" reeked of it.

"This place is beyond belief," she said, sweeping her eyes across the first ward. "Completely unacceptable."

"Excuse me?" Craig sounded more than a little incredulous.

"This," she gestured broadly to the room, "is totally unsatisfactory. When is the last time the floor has been so much as swept, let alone washed? Is this the dark ages? Do you use a common axe for surgery or even bother cleansing or anesthetizing your patients before operating?"

"Well, forgive me if this isn't London proper or wherever the hell your father studied but we do the best we can with what we have."

"The best you can? I doubt that. Has it escaped your attention Doctor that this man has a raging infection and debridement is necessary to treat his wounds?" She jabbed a finger toward an orderly in the process of changing a dressing, and a thick layer of purulent slough was easily visible even from her vantage point a few feet away.

"Debridement?" Captain Langston's tone rose. "Are you mad? That is a protective layer over the wound, created by the body!"

"Protective layer!" she exclaimed, eyes flashing, "That is staph! An infection, Doctor." She turned away. "Oh, my God, I am in the dark ages," she groaned, mostly to herself. "How could I forget that Penicillin won't be invented for another sixty, or so years?"

"Marissa," Genie laid a restraining hand on her elbow. "I thin—"

Marissa sucked in a deep breath. "Sorry, Genie," she whispered. "I forgot myself." Louder, she added, "But would you just look at the filthy state of this room? Old bandages lying all over the floor, no doubt infested with bacteria to spread infection." Marissa shuddered. "You call this a hospital, Dr. Langston? Why have these orderlies not been instructed to clean this place up? Don't they—and you—know that cleanliness is key to preventing infection?"

"My orderlies have other duties." Blue eyes flared with outrage. "They are not charwomen!"

"Neither am I, but I'll be here first thing in the morning to start."

"Start?" Craig spat angrily. "I don't think I want you working here."

"Too bad. You hired me and now you're stuck with me." Their eyes locked, sparking with challenge.

"Fine," Craig barked. "But I won't tolerate another outburst like this and I will not have you questioning my medical judgment in front of the patients."

Marissa just narrowed her eyes. It would be a cold day in hell before she kept quiet about the deplorable conditions of this hospital, but there were other means of getting what she wanted. Nurses had methods of steering obstinate doctors to their way of thinking. Craig Langston would never know what hit him.

* * *

The hour was late when Marissa ventured from the porch to the yard to amble leisurely with her thoughts. In truth she was hiding. Genie had not so gently lectured her about the need to control her temper and avoid another outburst like the one that afternoon.

"When Dr. Langston says they're doing the best they can with what they have he means it," Genie had said. "And you'd be wise not to draw attention to yourself by referring to things which do not yet exist. Penicillin, Marissa, really!"

She cringed, more than a little chagrined by the memory, but Genie was right, and if she wanted to blend in—which really she didn't, but had to for the time being—she would have to be more careful. She should probably apologize to Craig, but she really hated to apologize, especially when she was in the right. Well... at least she wasn't technically wrong, or wouldn't be wrong in about fifty years. That must count for something.

Sighing heavily she rotated her head to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders. Tomorrow was going to be a disaster. She really should just put her foot down, refuse to take the job and put all time and energy into going back to the future. Back to the future—how cliché. But a little voice at the back of her mind, her conscience, the same streak of good Samaritanism that had made her stop to help those kids on the road, which had landed her here in the first place, just couldn't let her leave those wounded souls. She'd made the mistake of meeting the gaze of the patient with the horrible wound. His gray eyes had held such deep pain, they belied the youthful features that told her he could not be more than fifteen.

How could she not care?

Too cold to continue avoiding the other occupant of the farmhouse out-of-doors Marissa turned to wander back to the house when a glint of light caught her eye.

God! Those damn haunted woods never failed to put her heart in her throat!

But realization dawned that it was not silly superstition causing her fear but the illuminated form of a man digging in the woods. A ghost? Or more realistically a lantern flickering through the mist, but... The old legend burned in her mind. Breaking into a run, Marissa fell flat on her face when Genie's old rooster began to crow. Piling the heavy layers of her skirts over an arm, she clambered breathlessly up the stairs and into the house.

"Genie!" Marissa sucked air into her lungs and rushed across the sitting room to the window facing the woods. "There's a ghost," she gasped. "In the woods! Look!"

"A ghost?" Genie rose in surprise, peering through the window at the poorly lit figure in the woods. "That's no ghost. It's a man. How long has he been digging out there?"

"I don't know." Marissa's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "I just noticed the light of his lantern and came right in to tell you." Even as the words left her mouth the lantern light began to move and disappeared into the depths of the thicket. "You don't think that could be a gho—"

Genie raised a dismissive hand before Marissa could finish the thought. "I don't believe in ghosts. Do you know how to handle a gun?"

"Yes," Marissa replied without hesitation.

"Good." Genie crossed the room and bolted the door. "We'll keep Jim's hunting rifles close tonight and it may be a good idea to stay in town with Carolyn for a few days."

"Is there a sheriff we can talk to tomorrow?" Marissa swallowed the nerves wrapped securely about her windpipe.

Genie nodded before ushering her charge off to bed, advising a good night's sleep.

I wish I could sleep, Marissa thought, twisting and turning, tangling the covers. If she wasn't haunted by visions of being murdered in the dark of night she was haunted by visions of the hospital's miserable occupants. The huge gray eyes of that one boy... He, especially, haunted her.

Tiring of the futile quest for sleep Marissa left her bed long before sunrise. It was raining again. Flipping the lid of the old steamer trunk she began sifting through the contents in search of suitable clothing. What did one wear to work in a 19th century hospital? Longingly she fingered the scrubs—her only link to the future—tucked carefully into the side of the trunk. The airy, easily washable garments would have been exceedingly preferable to the heavy gowns she was required to wear. What a stir she would cause if she did show at the hospital wearing her ER scrubs. Then Craig Langston would really have a reason to fire her on the spot... Tempting.

In the end she donned a simple brown skirt and tan blouse.

After a quick breakfast, and a few chores, they embarked on the exceedingly muddy trek to Charleston. Just before leaving, Genie instructed Grace and Fredrick to report any sign of trespassers. Thus reminded, Marissa couldn't help but glance nervously over her shoulder at the spooky woods from time to time. Fortunately Genie's insistence that she learn to handle the cart served as a more than sufficient distractor.

"Next time you're driving," Marissa grumbled, stretching fingers sore from clutching the reigns.

"Nonsense." Genie replied breezily. "You're doing just fine and eventually you will need to do this by yourself."

Once they reached the hospital Genie bustled into a corner room and returned carrying a basket filled with pens, ink, writing paper, and books. After assuring Marissa that she would be fine, she set off to assist the sick and injured men with reading, writing and whatever else they might need that did not immediately deal with blood or gore.

Fine indeed, Marissa thought grumpily, taking a moment to gain her bearings and then set off in search of Dr. Langston. When a quick survey of the facility failed to reveal any sign of him, she inquired after his whereabouts with another man in gray. "Excuse me, sir I was looking for Captain Langston."

The man looked at her in surprise then grinned appreciatively. "I say, Miss, are you sure it's Captain Langston you're looking for? I would be more than happy help you out."

Ignoring the man's flirtatious gaze Marissa plastered a polite smile on her face and assured the man that it was Craig Langston she needed to see.

"Why is it all of the pretty ones want to see him?" The comment was directed upward as though appealing a higher power. Turning a mischievous grin to her, he waved a hand. "Follow me then, and I'll see if we can't find him. I am Captain James Rowe, army surgeon extraordinaire, and glad to be of your assistance, mademoiselle."

The man's grin had an infectious quality and before long Marissa was smiling genuinely in return. Now that the shock of the hospital's atmosphere—and its lamentable downfalls—had ebbed she couldn't help but be morbidly fascinated. Moving toward the back of the hospital her eyes drank in every aspect of the place and while it looked more like a holocaust camp than a hospital—mentally she made note not to mention Nazis, Hitler, Word War II, or World War I, for that matter—it felt like a hospital. Men in uniform strode with importance about the facility, young orderlies scurried up and down stairs, completing errands, following orders, and volunteers were carrying out any variety of tasks.

As if on cue Craig Langston appeared before the wide door of the operating room chucking a bloodied apron into the corner. Her heart positively lurched in the face of the pure devastation mirrored in his eyes. The man looked tired and drawn, and so terribly young in that moment... all she wanted was to wrap her arms around those broad shoulders and pull him to her.

Slowly she approached. "Craig? Are you all right?"

He glared at her, as if asking himself what the hell she was doing there. "Miss McClafferty," he clipped, "if you have come to once more take me to task about my methods of healing, you may leave. I am not in the mood to listen." His attention shifted to Dr. Rowe. "I lost Billy Cole this morning."

Instantly Marissa understood his dour mood and once again the shattered pieces of her heart trembled in sympathy. She wasn't entirely sure she liked it, but her knowledge of medical advances yet to come assailed her conscience and she bled for him. No doubt many physicians in this day had lost countless patients who could have been saved in her time. How many young soldiers had placed broken bodies into Craig's hands, trusting his skills to perform miracles and give their lives back to them?

"What do you need me to do?" Marissa asked quietly. "Remember, I agreed to help in whatever way I can."

He closed his eyes for a moment, then without looking at her again, said, "James, please show her the cleaning closet and whatever else you think she'll need. The lady finds the condition of our wards unacceptable." This time, he shot a pointed look at Marissa. Heat flamed in her cheeks but she refused to be intimidated. Maybe she wasn't a charwoman, but if that was all the use he could see to put her to, then so be it. Then, to her amazement, he went on, speaking again to the other doctor. "When you have done so, start rounds in the third ward. Corporal Tanner may need his wounds debrided."

So, her point about debridement had stuck with him. She hadn't really expected him to acknowledge the fact the idea had come from her.

Already having formed a plan of action, Marissa donned an apron and took mental note of the meager supplies available to her. Basins, scrubbing brushes, rags, big bars of what had to be lye soap. Lye soap! She looked at her hands, which she knew were going to be burned raw by the stuff. When had rubber gloves been invented, anyway?

"Captain Rowe," she said impulsively, as he was about to mount the stairs on his way to the third ward. "Who was Billy Cole?"

The man sighed heavily and shook his head. "A friend of the Langston family. Up until a couple weeks ago Doc Langston was attached to an artillery unit with General Lee's Army of Northern Virginia. A few months back Billy Cole was injured on a scouting mission; injured bad, hopelessly bad," he emphasized. "But what you have to understand is that Billy was like another brother to Craig and when he stumbled across him dying in a field hospital, Langston refused to listen to reason and worked on him for hours. In the end he did it. He saved him." Dr. Rowe shifted as he told the story, propping a shoulder against the wall.

"Craig was transferred back to Charleston and personally saw to transporting Billy with him. But Billy's been in a bad way ever since and we've all been telling Langston it was only a matter of time before..." The doctor's voice faltered and Marissa nodded in understanding. "This morning it finally happened, his abdominal wounds opened back up and..." James's green eyes looked upward as he raised his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. "Craig tried, but Billy died anyway. Eighteen year old kid was all."

Oh, God!

Tears burned as she turned a blurred, compassionate gaze to Craig who stood with shoulders slumped over an empty cot in the first ward. How dare she think her lot unfair when he was faced with the suffering of these young soldiers and their families? These people had lost friends and brothers, entire homes; every man who died meant at least one broken heart. The tragedy, like ripples on a pond, would eventually touch everyone. Whatever hand she'd been dealt never had she suffered an army invading her homeland or lost anyone truly close to her. Even her grandparents were all still living—at least they had been in 2012—and right now, in this moment, she had no real cause to fear for the safety of her family.

All those callous comments she'd made about the unsatisfactory state of the hospital and he'd been fighting to save the life of his friend, his brother...

And now she felt like a royal ass.

What was the worst that had ever happened to her? She'd been jilted by her fiancé? Well, boo hoo... It sucked to be dumped, more than that it royally hurt to have someone look you in the eye and say, "You're not worth wasting my love on," but in the face of true suffering, in the face of needless death and destruction—not that she was a stranger to death, the ER had hardened her—she was forced to recategorize her priorities and reclassify what it meant to be hurt. Well, Brian Whitely was barely a swell on the Richter scale. And Richter scale there was another phrase she'd have to avoid using... This is going to impossible!

It was early afternoon when Marissa finished scrubbing and organizing the first ward and dragged her aching body up to the second. A plus to following through with the fool plan to have a job was that her duties primarily consisted of cleaning. Cleaning had always been an outlet for her, a means of subduing nervous energy and after today she should be feeling sufficiently numb to sleep. On the second ward, she spotted Genie sitting beside a man whose face was almost totally obscured by bandages and meandered over ready for a quick break.

The man smelled like death.

Suppressing a shudder, she sought a moment of privacy with her friend, quickly relaying what she'd learned about young Billy Cole.

Genie's expression was sober as she patted Marissa's hand. "Just be there for him, dear. He needs all the support and compassion he can get to continue helping those who need him."

Marissa nodded and turned to smile warmly at the soldier, realizing too late that he was blind. Drawing Genie out of the patient's earshot. "He's not doing well." It was a statement not a question.

With a small shake of the head Genie returned to her task of trying to bring comfort to a dying boy.

Plowing steadfastly though her work Marissa found that her senses would not be completely numbed. The bandaged face of Genie's soldier and the beaten expression on Craig Langston's swirled endlessly through her mind. She watched for him almost constantly, thinking of the unfathomable atrocities he saw and treated. Really, he must be an incredible man. She should never have spoken to him as she had and—

"Oh, ow! Ow! Son of a bitch!" she swore reflexively as the oversize bin she was wrestling toward the wall tipped precariously to the side, momentarily smashing the index finger of her right hand between the wall and the corner of the crate. Shaking the injured extremity, it took her all of three seconds to realize the error of her outburst as the room fell deadly silent, uncomfortably so.

Sheepishly she held up the injured hand.

Genie was biting her lip fighting obvious convulsions of laughter, a few of the patients snickered, and Craig, who'd finally emerged from hiding, cracked his first smile of the day. God! She would have to be more careful in the future. People in 1863—especially women—didn't curse in polite society. "Oops," she tried to smile sweetly as a rumble of laughter rolled through the room.

Her cheeks had never felt so hot. Damn! She'd blundered yet again. It was near impossible to successfully check her speech every time an improper word or phrase came to her lips. She'd only lived in this time for a matter of days! How long before people came to believe her mad, totally unfit for polite society, or both?

"Would you like me to look at your finger?" Craig's blue eyes twinkled with good humor as he strolled casually over, reaching for her hand. Her flush deepened impossibly. "That sounded like it hurt."

"It did hurt," she snapped, tucking the sore finger beneath her apron, "and I'll have you know I don't always swear like that." Not true, she swore quite a bit more than her mother would have liked. But she came from a time where the use of profanity was more publicly acceptable. "Dr. Langston," she took a steadying breath. "Why did you have Charlie Tanner's wound debrided?"

He shrugged. "For three weeks the kid has done nothing but get worse. At this point I'm willing to try anything."

She nodded, hoping the treatment she'd suggested would have the desired effect. "Craig," she said a bit more timidly. "I wanted to apologize for everything I said yesterday about the hospital."

His shoulder's visibly sagged as he turned his back to her. "Don't worry about it, Marissa."

Now she really felt like an ass.

The day seemed to last an eternity but eventually evening closed in around them and she dropped wearily onto the floor. The floors fairly gleamed, and every soldier had been supplied clean linens and a fresh washbasin. She couldn't remember a time when she had felt so physically exhausted. Work in the Emergency Room had always been difficult and challenging but a great deal of that had been thinking work, mentally exhausting; what she had done today bordered on the realm of backbreaking. Her muscles would be screaming tomorrow.

A tingling at the nape of her neck signaled Dr. Langston's approached. Tingling? That couldn't be good.

The exhausted doctor sank to the floor beside her and leaned his head against the wall with a dull thump. Turning, Marissa took a moment to study the man who'd occupied her mind so much throughout the day. Tension and sorrow etched deep lines in his handsome features, but despite that, he looked so young... and completely defeated that Marissa could not help but open her heart to this man. She ached for him.

Without a word, she reached out and laced gentle, if soap-roughened, fingers through his.

As though pulled from a trance Craig locked soft, pained eyes with hers. A question seemed to skim the surface of those crisp sapphire gems and for the briefest instant Marissa thought he would speak. But it was in silence that he gazed at her so intently he must be able to read her most intimate thoughts and fears. It's as if he can look directly into my soul. The sensation was unsettling to say the least, but she could not tear her eyes away. This man seemed to need her. Could it be that it wasn't only the injured in need of healing?

"What is it about you?" he asked quietly. "In one moment I think I could throttle you, and in the next I want... something else altogether."

"Craig, I..."

He shook his head as if forbidding her to go on, then seemingly embarrassed he rose hastily to his feet and cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said briskly, averting his gaze as he gestured about the hospital. "You've really whipped this place into shape. I'm impressed. I... I hope you'll return. We could certainly use you around here on a regular basis."

Marissa smiled warmly and accepted his hand as he assisted her to her feet. "Don't worry. I'll be back. It's nice to feel like I'm doing some good."

"Your aunt said you'd be staying at Carolyn Reed's house tonight. May I walk you home?" The endearingly awkward, almost boyishly nervous quality of his voice made her lips curve into a pleased smile.

She inclined her head. "That would be very nice."

The agony of the day seemed to melt away from his features. "Shall we?"

As they exited the building, Craig took her hand and pulled it through the crook of his arm. Marissa couldn't keep a warm blush from infusing her cheeks.

"How's the finger?" he asked.

She shrugged and glanced toward her still throbbing finger. The wounded digit seemed to sum up the whole of her existence at the moment. "As well as can be expected." She wondered if medical personnel in 1863 used that particular phrase when they didn't want to say anything more truthful.

"But what about you? Are you feeling better after this morning?"

The strong line of his jaw hardened and a chilling blankness blocked his feelings from her.

"I'm sorry, Craig. I shouldn't have asked." If she could have sucked the words back from the air she would have. "I didn't mean to upset you, but you know it isn't your fault Billy died."

"What would you know about it? It is my fault. I couldn't save him." A muscle worked testily in his jaw and the anguish in his voice ripped at her soul. "He was my youngest brother's best friend and when I brought him home I swore to his mother I wouldn't let anything happen to him. I swore to her that I would keep him safe but—" His voice cracked and he looked away, dropping her hand from his elbow as he turned. "There must have been something else I could've done. Something I missed." His hands raised in a futile gesture. "Now I have to go and face Mrs. Cole."

"We all have patients die, Craig. I can't count the number of times I've wondered what more could've been done, especially when working with children, but sometimes it just doesn't matter. Sometimes bad things happen and there is no rhyme or reason for it." They paused side by side on a street corner silently watching a wagon rattle down the cobbled street. Quietly she offered, "Would you like me to come with you to see Mrs. Cole, for moral support?"

Craig looked thoughtful for a long moment. "How much medical experience did you say you have?"

"A little over four years, but that is beside the point." She waved dismissively. "Do you want moral support when you see Mrs. Cole or not?"

He shook his head. "No. This is something I need to do myself. I just dread having to face her. I failed her."

"I understand," Marissa said softly, and she did. "Feel free to stop by later if you need to talk." What possessed me to say that? I'm supposed to be avoiding exposure to this time—and to this man. This certainly wasn't helping her to get home.

"Thank you."

Suddenly Marissa realized they were standing outside Carolyn's house and Craig was gazing down at her, intensity radiating from his eyes. Gently he reached out and tipped her chin with his fingers. For a moment Marissa thought he was going to kiss her. I want him to kiss me! But just as the aught in her throat he backed away. A strange mixture of relief and disappointment filled her as she stood watching his departing back.

What had gotten into her?

Five

Later that evening Marissa conversed congenially with Genie and Carolyn in the cozy atmosphere of the sitting room. She'd planned to dredge her mind and Genie's for information that may lead her home, not in front of Carolyn, of course, but she found the quiet companionship of the other women too enjoyable to interrupt. So often at home she was alone and lonely.

"And the next thing I knew, Alfred and Jim came flying out of the barn with that damn rooster pecking at their heels!" The three women erupted into a fit of giggles as Genie related yet another Toughie story.

A heavy fist pounded at the door quieting the mirth of the women.

"Who could be calling at this hour?" Carolyn said, rising to open the front door. She stepped back with a warm smile. "Why Dr. Langston. How nice to see you."

Instantly Marissa leapt to her feet.

"Would you like to come in?" Carolyn invited.

"Thank you," Craig replied, stepping through the door and pulling the gray cap from his blond head. "Is Miss Marissa available to receive callers?"

"Yes," Marissa answered, stepping urgently forward. Their eyes locked and she knew in an instant something was terribly wrong. "What's happened?" On impulsive she took his hand, ushering him into the small parlor. Genie and Carolyn tactfully excused themselves, allowing a moment or two of privacy.

Craig looked haggard as he dropped heavily upon the pale green sofa. "I'm sorry." He seemed to choke on the words. "I just had to see you. I don't know why, but..."

She took a step forward, achingly aware of the agony in Craig's intense gaze. "Did you speak with Mrs. Cole?"

His eyes closed in a pained gesture and he nodded slowly. Swallowing convulsively he whispered, "It was awful. She'd already found out."

"Oh, Craig..." She sat beside him and slid a hand onto his forearm.

"She tried to kill herself," the strangled words wrenched from his body and his head sagged defeatedly forward as if even his powerful muscles had given up. "I got there just in time. I took her to the hospital and I told her how sorry I am, but the worst part is," he swallowed hard, "she didn't even blame me. She was glad I was there for Billy."

A single tear slid slowly down Marissa's cheek. Wrapping comforting arms around him she pulled his head to her and rocked him soothingly.

"It's all my fault. Billy was just a kid. Why did it have to be him? He lied about his age, you know. He and my brother both did. Why did they do that? And now Billy's mother—oh, God, why? It's my fault. It is! I should have been able to protect him!" The words ripped convulsively from his throat. "I promised her and—"

"No, Craig, this is not your fault." Marissa kept her tone soft but firm. "You must stop blaming yourself." Her fingers ran through the thick locks of his hair. "Bad things happen and you just can't save everyone."

"I know that." He pulled miserably away from her and rested his elbows on his knees, head sagging.

"The best you can do for anyone is try, and then keep moving forward. Think of all the people you have helped and think of all the people who still need you."

For a long time he just sat, not moving, contemplating her words.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, lifting his head at last. "I shouldn't have burdened you with this. I should have talked to Major Bernstein or James Rowe."

With a firm shake of her head Marissa gave him a small smile, "No, you were right to come to me. After all I offered didn't I?"

Craig offered a weak smile. "I'll have you know this is not a side of me that comes forth very often. If I can ever repay the favor I would be more than happy to lend a shoulder."

* * *

Work continued to prove an exhausting diversion from her time travel predicament, especially as Marissa could find no readily available route home. Genie Harris and Carolyn Reed were becoming fast and true friends and Marissa was finding herself powerfully drawn to Craig Langston. It was more than just a physical attraction, the two of them seemed to know and understand each other more than their brief acquaintance could or should account for. Even Brian had not affected her so and she had loved him.

As she hauled a large bag of laundry through the back door of the hospital she could have kicked herself for getting her thoughts so wrapped up in the man. There were at least one-hundred good reasons not to get involved with Craig, the most important of which that she was not at all over Brian's betrayal, and she was a woman out of time. But even as she silently drilled herself with logic, her thoughts drifted to the exhilarating feel of Craig's firm lips on her own. Dumping the laundry into boiling water she beat the linens as though beating thoughts of the intriguing young doctor from her mind.

Later that afternoon, Marissa finished putting away freshly rolled bandages on the second story and headed for the stairs, nearly done with work for the day.

"Marissa certainly has whipped this place into shape." Craig's remark drifted up the staircase, his rich tenor shooting a warm thrill through her.

"You doctors and the orderlies listen to her so well I'm beginning to wonder who is in charge here, her or me!"

Marissa paused on the opposite side of the bannister, suppressing a pleased grin as the men continued singing her praises. She could just see them standing beneath her in the hall.

With a laugh Craig gestured to one of the orderlies. "I know what you mean. I don't remember seeing any of them work so hard or be so organized before she got here."

As if on cue a young private approached. "Captain Langston, you have a visitor, a Miss Jamison."

Marissa Froze.

"Please ask Miss Jamison to wait in the front room," Craig ordered politely. "Sir," his deep voice continued to Major Bernstein, "as far as Corporal Tanner is concerned, we'll have to see if he makes it through the night. If he does then I'll take him back to surgery first thing in the morning."

Peering covertly around the corner, she watched Craig rinse his hands and face in a basin of water before making his way to the front room. From her vantage point at the top of the stairs it was impossible to see beyond the hallway so Marissa crept down the steps to peek through the gap between the door and the wall. She physically grimaced when the pretty raven-haired woman with perfect dimples came into view. Kirsten—or rather, the Marne of the 19th century. Jealousy surged through Marissa as Kirsten batted impossibly long lashes up at Craig. Given her wont to visit him so frequently at work, Marissa could only surmise the two of them were close.

"Miss Jamison, how can I help you today?" Craig drawled solicitously, portraying the perfect southern gentleman.

"My family and I were hoping you would honor us with your presence at dinner tomorrow evening, Dr. Langston," Kirsten's voice fairly dripped with honey as she turned clear, unusually hued eyes up to him. "Oh, Captain, you must promise you'll come."

Fists clenched, Marissa walked curtly away from the little interlude. Southern gentleman... Pah! Some gentleman that would kiss her and take her on enticing walks—not to mention cry on her shoulder—only to have another woman waiting in the wings. She really shouldn't be angry. She had promised not to get involved with anyone until she sorted out her own life. But... just the same... she couldn't quite quash the remaining twinge of envy.

"Enough." She shoved away from the banister, thrusting the handsome Craig Langston from her mind as she did so, and set out to find Genie, anxious to be on her way home.

Home. The thought of Carolyn's house as home came to her suddenly. A mixture of panic and yearning threatened to choke her. Finding the emotions more than she had the capacity to deal with at present, she brushed that thought aside as well.

* * *

Craig paced the lower level of the hospital, anxious to see Marissa and ask how she liked working at the hospital. It had been a busy week, and he'd seen her only in passing. It didn't take long to locate Genie Harris gathering up her books, pens, and paper, and he decided to wait for Marissa with her. "Good evening, Mrs. Harris. Have you had a good day?"

"As well as can be expected, Captain, thank you."

Clearing his throat Craig shifted nervously and could have kicked himself for feeling so damnably green. "Would it be all right if I came to call on Marissa sometime?"

Genie winked. "I do believe you already have, sir." She smiled broadly. "Don't get flustered, Captain, I'm only teasing. Feel free to stop in anytime."

Craig grinned sheepishly in return, hoping Marissa would be as enthusiastic as her aunt. What had she thought of him and his display of weakness following Billy Cole's death? He gestured to the newly restored order of the wards. "She's certainly made a difference around here."

"She is very efficient. I don't think she stops for more than two minutes at a time." Mrs. Harris raised a hand in friendly greeting as Marissa approached. "Why, here she is now."

Craig smiled at the sight of a slightly disheveled Marissa. With her blonde hair spilling haphazardly from her disorderly bun, and a rosy flush in her milky cheeks, she was beautiful. Her dark eyes smoldered and a fire he hadn't experienced for months lit within his being. "How was your day?"

"Fine," she replied, dark eyes glancing dismissively off his face as she turned to Genie. "I'm exhausted, Genie. Are you ready to go home?"

Frustrated by her coolness he tried once more to catch her gaze. "I could—"

"Craig!" The trio turned to Dr. Rowe's urgent call. "There was an explosion at one of the munitions plants. There are a couple of men downstairs who need to be operated on now and a few others that will have to wait."

Immediately Craig strode across the room to the other physician.

"I can patch up the men who aren't seriously wounded," Marissa volunteered, close on their heels.

Craig and James looked at her, but it was Craig who said, "Very well, do what you think you can. We'll be out to help you as soon as we're able."

* * *

Marissa spent the next two hour suturing, cleansing, and bandaging wounds. It felt good to do something she knew. For the first time working in this hospital she felt her internal switch flick to ER mode and she settled into a familiar groove.

Had she really compared the ER to a war zone? Little had she known...

The injured munitions workers may have been surprised to have a woman tending them, but only one of them gave her trouble. "I ain't goin' ta have no woman layin' a hand on me," the middle aged dullard of a man sneered at her. "Women should know their place and it sure ain't doctoring!" The black, beady eyes scorned her and she drew a ragged breath, recognizing the man who'd been following her the other day, but... big and slow, with obvious mental handicap he hardly seemed the type to be dangerous.

"Come on, Christenson, she did a good job on us, and none of the other docs look as good as she does," a younger man with a small second degree burn to his back reasoned, trying to calm the angry man.

Another patient she'd treated chimed in, "Yeah, Paul, give her a chance. She's got nice, gentle hands," but the middle-aged Paul Christenson turned a prejudiced gaze on Marissa. Blood trickled from an ugly flap of torn flesh on his arm and yellow fat protruded from the jagged gash.

"Sit down," Marissa commanded, picking up a curved suture needle and thread. She'd dealt with plenty of men like this throughout her nursing career—performing a painful procedure could be a bit satisfying, if the guy insisted on being a jerk.

Surprised by the commanding, no-nonsense tone of her voice, the dullard complied. "Ouch, woman!" he hollered and began to jerk his arm away as she picked up a cloth to cleanse the wound with alcohol. She ignored him and proceeded to suture the gash. "You're hurtin' me!" He tried to pull his arm away again.

"Hold still or you're going to have an even worse wound on your arm." She continued her work without as much as an upward glance. "Not that I care. I'll stitch you up as you are, and then again after you've ripped all the sutures out." Grumbling, the man complied but remained still for the remainder of her treatment.

"I'm impressed," Craig's voice startled her from her work. "I was just about to step in and rescue you, but obviously you're not a damsel need of rescuing." He stepped up behind her and gestured to the eight sutures she'd placed in the man's forearm. "Nice work."

"Thanks." She flashed a quick smile, ignoring the nerves Craig ignited, before turning back to her patient. "It is very important that you don't pick at your stitches even if they begin to itch. If your arm gets red, the sutures come out, or if you have any other problems, come back and we'll take a look at your arm. All right? If you come back in about ten days someone here will take the stitches out."

Paul's expression suggested he was about to make a nasty retort, but Craig's glare forestalled it. Without a parting word Paul left.

Marissa glanced up at Craig.

Rocking back on his heels, he pegged her with a curious look. "You said your father taught you all of that?"

"I learned to suture on his hunting dog," she answered, turning to pick up the supplies.

"I see." The heat of his gaze burned even though she was not facing him. "You are a puzzle," he murmured.

Marissa gulped, flashing him a nervous glance. She hoped he wouldn't answer too many prying questions she didn't have a suitable answer for. "Not hardly."

"You know, I'm awed by how you handled Paul Christenson. He can really be a bast-uh-um—" He cleared his throat. "He's not a very nice man."

"So I've noticed," Marissa agreed, replacing her supplies in their proper drawers.

For a long while Craig just stared at her with a questioning gaze, finally he said, "Are you ready to get out of here?"

"Yes. I feel as though my arms are going to fall off, they're so sore from all the scrubbing I've done this week." Gesturing to the window she asked, "When did it get dark out? I didn't even notice."

"About forty-five minutes ago," Craig replied. "Which gives me an idea, my dear, how do you feel about star gazing?"

My dear?

How many times had she heard those two little words spoken? She'd never thought of herself as a 'my dear' as any man's dear for that matter, but coming from his lips...

Without waiting for an answer he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the front door of the hospital. As she stepped into the starry night, the toe of her shoe caught the bottom step and she cried out, twisting precariously off balance. Instantly Craig turned, wrapping strong arms about her waist and half lifted her against him. Marissa swallowed hard as she landed mere inches from his smiling visage. Her arms settled about his neck and the length of her body crushed against his deliciously hardened frame.

"Well, aren't you accident prone?" Craig teased, tilting his head slightly.

"I've always been a little clumsy," she murmured a little too breathlessly.

"Not that I'm complaining. I'll take whatever excuse I can get to hold you this way." He half turned, lifting her off the last step and setting her feet gently to the ground without releasing her.

Heart thundering in her chest so hard he must feel it resonating through her body and into his, she said, "I wonder how your Miss Jamison would feel about your holding me this way."

"Miss Jamison?" Dropping his arms, he gazed down at her in surprise. "Why would I care about Miss Jamison's feelings?"

Sliding her arms away from his broad shoulders, she took a small step back, confused. "Aren't you having dinner with her tomorrow night? I heard her ask you."

A lopsided grin traversed his face. "I say, Miss McClafferty, were you spying on me? Or eavesdropping? Or, better yet..." He leaned provocatively forward. "Are you jealous?"

"None of the above!" she said a bit too forcefully. Her cheeks must be on fire and she felt like an awkward teenager failing miserably at an attempt to flirt with the star quarterback. "However, it was impossible for me not to hear her."

"And did you also hear me decline?"

Marissa stopped short. "Decline? Er... no."

Craig just smiled, regarding her with a steady gaze, eyes warm and twinkling. "Come here." He slipped an arm about her shoulders and led her up a slight rise to a grassy field adjacent the hospital yard. "Isn't it beautiful?" He stepped forward, allowing his arm to drop from around her and sweeping the other toward the city spread before them. A silvery sheen bathed Charleston, masking all evidence of the inner suffering of her citizens. And standing in the glow of the moonlight Craig looked rather like the gatekeeper, a warrior protecting the city from evil. It was almost surreal. The man looked rugged, athletic, and more like Apollo than any man had a right to. The heavy gray jacket was gone and in its place a white shirt gaped at the neck, revealing just a hint of the expansive muscular chest beneath. Surely he'd been carved from marble to look so perfect.

A warm blush crept into her cheeks and Marissa was glad for the blanket of night. It wouldn't do for him to realize the extent of his effect on her. Craig reclined casually in the lush grass, reaching for her hand, pulling her down with him. She positioned herself to angle slightly away from him.

"What a day." He released a haggard breath, leaning up on one elbow. "After an emergency like the munitions plant I can never fall asleep right away. I have to let my mind settle for a while no matter how tired I am. Star gazing always seems to help me relax."

Marissa shifted, facing him directly. "I know exactly what you mean. My mind whirls after a busy day. I hate feeling helpless to change things." Remembering their conversation about Billy Cole a few days before, she turned compassionate eyes to him.

Craig nodded. Their eyes locked and true understanding sparkled in the depths. Marissa's heart did a little flip. He reached out, grazing a thumb along her cheek. "We are kindred spirits you and I," he murmured, and Marissa marveled at the realization he was absolutely right. A harmony existed between them. A simple bond that could not be put to words, but existed just the same. They did not need words or explanations. They just knew what the other needed.

After a long moment Craig turned away from her and pointed upward. "There is the north star."

Marissa's gaze followed his outstretched hand. "Yes, Polaris, the only fixed point in the sky. I find stars immensely comforting as they seem never to change."

"Ah," he grinned at her, "so you know about medicine and astronomy. What next, botany?"

She laughed. "I wouldn't say I know Astronomy. I am able to recognize the north star and that is all."

"I suspect you know more than that." He leaned toward her. "Show me your favorite constellation."

For Marissa, this was far better than any dinner and a movie date she'd been on. She licked her lips, thinking of how she'd like for the "date" to end. "Orion the Hunter," she said, and pointed to the grouping of stars. "When I was little I had terrible nightmares and one night my grandfather told me that I didn't need to be scared because Orion was there to protect us and chase bad dreams away."

"A hunter and a protector," he murmured in a soft voice. "Do you need him still?" Gentle fingers reached out to pull a stray lock of hair from her face. She shivered from the contact of skin on skin. He must have noticed because, still holding the strand of her hair between his fingers, he gazed into her face long and hard. "Marissa, what's wrong?"

She shrugged miserably. "Oh, it's just been a long day I suppose."

"That's not what I mean, and I think you know it. Something else is bothering you. Please tell me. Let me help you the way you helped me." The hair slipped through his fingers, fluttering on the breeze, ticking her face. "I meant it when I promised to return the favor. I never make a promise I don't intend to keep."

Marissa shuddered again as the gentle warmth of his voice washed over her and seeped into the frayed edges of her soul. He looked so compassionate and sincere in his desire to help. "I just feel so out of place here," she blurted. "I've lost everyone I ever cared for and everything I've ever worked for."

Craig nodded. "I understand, but don't forget, you have your aunt Genie."

"Uh-huh." Marissa blinked furiously against the sting of tears. "But I didn't even know about her until recently. She and my mother were estranged," she explained, using the same story Genie had given Carolyn. "She's been nothing but kind and welcoming, but..."

"You have a home, family with her and Carolyn," he reminded her.

"You don't understand, Craig, I really have lost everything. Everything! And all I want is to go back to what I had." Despite her best efforts the tears burst forth and fierce sobs racked her body. "The worst part is... I-I don't even know if I was happy before."

"Oh, Marissa!" He rolled to his knees and gathered her within the fold of his arms. "Hush, love, I'm here for you." Gently he slipped an arm beneath her knees and pulled her across his lap, ever so softly brushing his lips across her hair. "Marissa," he pulled back just enough to look directly into her eyes, "I understand what you're going through, really I do. But we cannot change what's already happened. You reminded me that all we can do is move on and not allow ourselves to be consumed by regret and bitterness." His eyes burned like blue embers at the base of a flame and a fire, his fire, ignited something deep within her veins.

Her breath hitched. "I don't know, Craig. It's so hard to start over completely. I don't have anything left of my old life. Everything is just so... different."

"What's so wrong with different?" Craig gently ran his knuckles up and down her arm, it was soothing. "Nothing in life is ever easy, but I believe things happen for a reason; even when it's not fair and makes no sense. Have you ever heard the saying when a door is closed a window is opened?"

"Yes," she sighed miserably against the warm comfort of his chest. There was true irony in his statement, she thought, thinking of that one-way portal that had drawn her to this time in history. Pulling back she flashed a watery smile. "Thank you for this, but I think I ruined your shirt."

"Ah," he shook his head without looking at the splotches of tear stains and, unfortunately, snot. "Shirts wash and I'm just glad to help." Flashing her that irresistible grin, he held out a hand. "Come on. I'd better get you home. And tomorrow, you take the day off. It's Sunday." Before climbing to his feet he leaned in to press a quick kiss to her lips.

The touch left her feeling warm and more than a little fuzzy all over. When he kissed her the gaping hole Brian had left in her heart flickered and caved just a bit around the edges. But Craig was more than a bandage for past hurts. He was like a salve, soothing, numbing and oddly warm.

"And I was wondering..." His gaze lingered on her face. "Will you be attending the officers' ball next weekend?"

"And why would you like to know, sir?"

"I was hoping to see you there."

"What about Miss Jamison?"

"What about Miss Jamison? I'm not having dinner with her or hoping to see her at the officer's ball." His smile was intoxicating. "I will, however, be heartbroken if you aren't in attendance."

"Heartbroken? Well, we can't have that," she answered, casting thickly lashed eyes downward in sudden, and not at all assumed, shyness. "Don't worry, Craig, you won't be disappointed."

"Good, then I will take this opportunity to ask you for the first dance."

Gazing up at him, into his eyes, she felt as though she could lose herself in their blue depths forever.

"The first dance will be yours."

* * *

Despite being utterly exhausted Marissa lay awake long into the early hours of the morning thinking about Craig Langston and how he'd held her in the moonlight.

The officers' ball?

How quickly time had passed. She'd never planned to be here long enough to attend the ball. She'd thought to find a door or wormhole back to 2012 quickly and never have to deal with the reality or hurt of being sucked too far within the contours of this life.

She didn't want this life... did she? Didn't she want her life? Life with running water, and grocery stores, and dear God, fast food!

Craig's blue eyes flashed through her mind and her heart lurched. This wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. Fate and destiny weren't fair, because the cold reality was, she was falling in love with Craig Langston. When she looked at him she could see the whole dream. She could see blond children with sparkling blue eyes, a husband worth adoring and the perfect balance her life had been craving. When she was with Craig the shoddy laces holding her soul together tightened.

But could it work? Could it ever really be? She didn't belong here. Even in sleep words like destiny and fate haunted her, swirling around the shimmering statue of a god reclined in the moonlight.

* * *

As Craig walked home after seeing Marissa safely to Carolyn Reed's house his thoughts followed a similar train.

She was incredible.

Beautiful and intelligent, Marissa seemed his match in every way. He wanted her. He wanted her as he'd never wanted another woman and... and what? She was what he'd spent years dodging, a woman to share his future with. But she was more than that. She was an angel, too, but no, his thoughts ran on, that wasn't right; she was Venus, or Aphrodite, she was... Dear Lord but he was acting like some love struck fool! He was no poet and yet his mind ran circles trying to find an adequate description for Marissa.

Raking a hand through his hair, Craig contemplated the course of his future. He'd spent years skirting the alter and it wasn't just looking for a woman with genuine qualities, but a deep seated, almost irrational fear of losing the one he loved. He'd been but nine years old when his mother had died giving birth to his youngest brother and his father had nearly been destroyed by despair and loneliness. And then three years ago, his brother David had lost his wife, also in childbirth, just one year after they'd been married. Davy had been wrecked leaving Craig to wonder what quirk of the soul possessed people to fall in love. He'd decided then and there that family life wasn't for him, but now that perspective was changing, shifting, and maybe it was the war or maybe it was the awesome force of nature that was Marissa.

Marissa...

Surely just one of her dazzling smiles could tide a man for a lifetime.

Six

Marissa rose late after another restless night, unsure if she was in good spirits or confused spirits. Craig had told her to take the day off as it was Sunday, and her body had more than welcomed a few extra hours of sleep. Humming to herself she threw the covers back and dressed as quickly as she could, still a most cumbersome task.

"Good morning." She breezed around the corner of the stairs. "Sorry I slept so late." The mantel clock read after ten in the morning.

"Oh, Marissa, don't feel bad," Carolyn replied. "Mother told me about all the work you've been doing and how you cared for the men who were hurt in the accident. I am so impressed. Are you a doctor?"

"No," Marissa stated, perching on the settee facing the two women. "I've had some formal training though." Carolyn and Genie were sewing and she gestured to the silk in their hands. "What are you working on? That fabric is beautiful."

Carolyn and Genie shared a conspiratorial glance. "Well, with the ball coming up we knew you needed a dress."

Marissa gazed at the beautiful green fabric in amazement. "You mean..."

"It's for you!"

"I hope you don't mind," Carolyn continued, "but we had to reuse material from some older gowns."

"No, of course I don't mind." She couldn't stem the burn of tears. "Thank you. Why, why are you being so nice to me? You only just met me and, and..." Marissa couldn't find the words to finish her sentence.

Genie rose and came to her. "Marissa, you're family."

Looking into Genie's eyes she knew the other woman meant it. "Oh, Genie. Thank you so much!"

Genie winked with a bit of the devil in her eye. "Do you think Dr. Langston will like it?"

Marissa couldn't help but laugh, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Mama," Carolyn drew their attention. "Speaking of Dr. Langston, I've been thinking, with Marissa working at the hospital nearly every day it doesn't make sense to drive back and forth. I think you and Marissa need to stay here indefinitely. Especially in light the mysterious man digging in your woods. Fredrick and Grace can take care of the house during the day and you can drive out every week or so to check on things."

"That would be wonderful Carolyn, thank you."

Marissa's light mood deflated with Genie's words. Over and over she'd blamed the man in the woods for thwarting any immediate attempts to get home. She crossed her arms in frustration. Being away from the farmhouse permanently would only stem further attempts to return to her time. She was thoroughly intrigued by the hospital and Craig. Every day spent in 1863 Charleston pulled her further from home and closer to heartbreak. It was high time she made a real effort to find that gateway back to where she belonged.

* * *

The next afternoon Genie stomped through the front door, plopping her blue bonnet onto the table. "Sheriff Hudson and his deputies haven't found a single clue in my woods. Nothing! How does one find nothing after a man has been digging holes in the ground? There must be some sign of disturbed soil. You know," Genie tapped her chin thoughtfully, "Maybe we should go out there and have a look around ourselves. Marissa and I saw where the man was and I'll bet we could find something!"

Marissa grinned eagerly, but with an ulterior motive. "I'm game."

"For goodness sake, Mother, I haven't the faintest idea where you come up with these ideas." Carolyn leapt from her seat beside the fireplace. "That man could be in the woods now! He could have murdered someone for all we know and the two of you," she swept a pointed finger from her mother to Marissa, "do not need to be poking around a murder scene! This is a job for the sheriff and no one else."

Genie grumbled something about the incompetence of the sheriff and Carolyn rolled her eyes.

"I don't know," Marissa teased. "It could be buried treasure. Didn't Blackbeard the pirate sail up and down this coast?"

"Oh!" Carolyn threw her hands up. "I don't know what I'm going to do with the two of you!"

Rolling her eyes back to her daughter Genie conceded. "All right, all right I won't go poking around in the woods. Happy?"

"Yes."

"Although I still think we could do a far better job of investigating the woods than that old dunce of a sheriff."

"Mother!"

Marissa couldn't help but laugh though it saddened her to think she may never argue this way with her own mother again. She missed her mother terribly. Releasing a disheartened sigh, she set aside the bolts of leftover fabric Carolyn had her stitching—an exceedingly boring diversion—and meandered to the backroom to prepare a bath and sulk.

Oh, the simple luxuries she had taken for granted.

Staring glumly at the tin basin she lit the stove and began heating the water, longing for a shower and running water, a toilet that flushed. Presently, cooling the overly hot water she tested the temperature with the back of her hand and sprinkled a few drops of rosewater into the tub. Slipping beneath the surface Marissa breathed a deep sigh of relief. However burdensome it may be to prepare a bath it was still relaxing to soak and she desperately needed to lighten up and think.

* * *

Dr. Bernstein and Craig Langston watched with poorly concealed amusement one afternoon as Marissa gave James Rowe what they'd come to term The Look. It was a rather amazing ability. With nothing more than a small quirk of her brow she could have the most obstinate of men backtracking in circles until he discovered the "right" course of action. Craig had found himself victim of the look a time or three. It had taken him all of a day to realize he was being maneuvered and all of two to realize he liked it. He liked the fire in her dark eyes, the way they flashed, the life in her. Marissa's presence lifted the whole atmosphere of the hospital.

"She's a pistol, that one," Bernstein commented, casting a suggestive glance at Craig. "I admire her spunk."

Craig just smiled. "So do I, sir. And I have to admit, she really seems to know what she's talking about."

Major Bernstein shrugged. "I don't know. Some of her ideas seem a little unconventional."

"She saved Charlie Tanner's life," Craig pointed out.

"I suppose." The major shrugged again. "And the boys always look disappointed when she leaves for the day." The Major winked slyly at Craig. "Seems to me you look a little disappointed when she leaves too."

Craig bit back a sheepish grin. "Oh, you think so?"

"Unconventional" was hardly the word to describe Marissa, he mused. She was the kind of woman who took orders from no man—though she was amenable to suggestions. In fact she was the type of woman to give men orders and have them obeyed. She worked like a man, on occasion she cursed like a man—typically after she found some comical fashion to hurt herself for the umpteenth time in a day—and not only did she understand the men's jokes but she could laugh along without blushing—at least most of the time. But while Marissa had obviously not lived a sheltered life there was a conservative quality, an innocence, about her that served only to increase his desire. The combination of those qualities with her spitfire nature was irresistible. He more than liked it; he wanted it for himself.

* * *

These men, these surgeons, are impossible! Marissa berated silently as she swabbed a pus-filled wound with a saline solution she'd boiled up herself. It was no wonder so many of these patients had raging infections. How could doctors be so careless about sanitation? While maintaining the cleanliness of the wards grew easier by the day with the assistance of the orderlies, it was painfully obvious how little was known about germ science in the 1860's. Hand washing was anything but commonplace and the surgical instruments were rarely cleansed even between cases unless she saw to it herself!

Deplorable.

Diligently, she'd set about implementing means and procedures for the cleansing of instruments, hands, linens, and bandages. To her immense relief most seemed to be following her implicit instructions, though convincing the surgeons had proven a more difficult undertaking than she could have possibly imagined. Not that convincing surgeons of anything during any time period was easy, but she was making progress. Major Bernstein seemed to find her determination to boil every instrument amusing, yet told her most obstinate opposition—James Rowe—to humor the young lady as it couldn't possibly do any harm.

"Miss McClafferty?" An orderly approached.

"Yes?" she asked smiling at the boy. He'd become one of her most able students.

"There is a man here to see you about his stitches," the young man said. "He's out front."

"Okay, er, I mean, all right, I'll go and see him right now."

Marissa made her way to the front of the hospital and stopped short when Paul Christenson's short surly figure came into view. A sense of unease settled over her as she remembered all the times she'd felt his black eyes on her in town. Quickly she gathered the supplies to remove his sutures and send him on his way.

"Your arm looks fine, Mr. Christenson." Marissa clipped below the last knot and pulled the suture from his forearm. "Do you need anything else today?" The man's glare was menacing and she couldn't help but wonder why he'd bothered asking for her assistance.

"I notice you've been staying in town."

A chill ran up her spine. He'd noticed? How closely had he been watching? With a jaundiced eye she neglected to answer.

"Probably wise," he said cryptically, narrowing his gaze as he stood. "It isn't safe for two comely ladies to be alone in the country." Christenson jammed a wide brimmed hat onto his head and turned to leave. "Not safe at all."

What am I supposed to make of that? Marissa chewed at her lip, deciding to speak with the sheriff should Paul Christenson so much as look at her cross-eyed again. Marissa tried to dismiss him from her thoughts, and returned to work.

A short while later Craig found her rolling bandages and scraped a chair across the floor to sit beside her. "What was Paul Christenson doing here? Was he bothering you?"

"Apart from wanting me to remove his sutures," she began, stilling her hands, debating how much to tell Craig. "I think he's been following me around town." She quickly relayed the disturbing conversation.

For a long moment Craig fell silent, expression stern, pensive. "Have you spoken to the sheriff about this?"

"No." Her fingers toyed nervously at the thin fabric of the bandage. "But, Craig, I'm not sure Sheriff Hudson can do anything about it. He hasn't really done anything wrong."

"Just the same, I'll mention it to him and keep an eye on Christenson myself."

"Thank you." Marissa smiled, touched.

"It's no trouble." Craig picked up a scrap of loose fabric, beginning to roll it.

"Stooping to lowly nurse-er-uh, orderly work, Doctor?" Her question was teasingly pointed, and she laughed as he feigned indignation.

"Actually, I was hoping to walk you home tonight." He looked incredibly sweet and she couldn't hold back a pleased grin. His asking to walk her home had become something of a daily custom. It was also his custom to kiss her good night, every night.

"Of course. When are you finished?"

"Now." He grabbed her hand, causing the bandage roll to drop upon the desk and unravel completely. "Leave it." Craig raised his shoulders in a nonchalant gesture. "The orderlies can take care of it. I have something to show you."

Marissa laughed as he practically dragged her from the room. "What is it?"

"It's a surprise," he responded, a mysterious light twinkling behind his eyes.

He led her from the hospital and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, guiding her along the busy street. People scurried to the side as Craig walked through, avoiding his hulking, uniformed figure as his long legs ate up the roadway. Marissa stumbled over her full-length gray skirts making it very difficult to keep pace with him. "Craig, can you slow down a little?" What I would give to wear jeans again...

"Oh, of course. My apologies." He checked his stride and pulled her more closely to his side. His warmth seeped into hers, and the pressure of his strong fingers lingered where he'd touched her waist. Her heart fluttered. Surely the imprint of his hand was permanently tattooed to her flesh. Tingles rushed straight to her head. A little off balance she snuggled into him, resting her cheek briefly against his arm. Heaven above, this felt so _right_.

* * *

"Kirsten!" Molly Jamison whispered sharply to her daughter. "I thought you were handling Dr. Langston."

Annoyed, Kirsten spun from the shop window she'd been peering through. The lavender ribbon sitting in the front was exactly the shade she'd been searching for. "I am, Mother. I can't help it if the man is busy every night and turns down every invitation to dinner."

"Well, he doesn't appear busy at the moment."

"What?" Kirsten spun around, her gaze instantly honing in on the towering figure of Craig Langston. He was impossible to miss with those amazingly broad shoulders and the fine cut of his uniform. Why... the thought fizzled in her mind as the sight of Craig walking arm in arm with the woman from the hospital materialized before her. Kirsten could have spit fire. From her vantage point on the street corner it was obvious Craig hung on her every word.

The man was rich, incredibly good looking, a doctor and, oh, had she said rich? More like rolling in money. In light of her father's waning funds Kirsten and her mother had seized the opportunity to pursue him, no holds barred, when he'd been transferred back to Charleston, and... the only thing better than becoming his wife would be becoming his widow. All of that money. Kirsten clenched a fist. If that McClafferty woman got in her way...

"Who is that young lady with Dr. Langston?" Another woman, Mrs. Porter, inquired, sidling up behind them. "I don't believe I've met her." The known gossip gaped across the street with open interest.

"Oh, that is Genie Harris's niece from Atlanta," Molly Jamison said. "She works at the hospital, not as a lady volunteer, but as something of an... orderly. A common drudge." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "I'm amazed you haven't heard about her before this."

"As am I," Kirsten said. "Why, rumors have been flying about for several weeks." Kirsten, having started those rumors herself, had been delighted in the way they'd grown and spread.

"Ah... Even out on the farm, I've heard bits and pieces about a most unladylike young woman from Atlanta working at the hospital," Mrs. Porter murmured. "So that is the one, is it?" Her round eyes flicked left and right as her voice dropped. "Dr. Langston appears quite taken with the girl."

"He most certainly is not. At least not in any proper way." Kirsten snorted, more than prepared to cast further aspersions on the other the woman's reputation. "She is not from Atlanta either. She is from the north." With that declaration even Mrs. Porter fell dead silent. "Since you haven't met her, you haven't heard her accent. It is quite obvious. And you know," Kirsten added confidingly, knowing the story she was about to impart would be all over Charleston before the end of the next day, "she's been seen leaving the quarters of several different officers, quite often late at night."

"Oh my." Mrs. Porter clapped a hand to her mouth. "And Genie Harris's niece? I never would have imagined, though I think we all suspect where Genie's true sympathies lie. After all, think of how she's befriended that pair who work for her. You don't think her niece could be—" Mrs. Porter's eyes widened in horrified speculation.

"What? Slipping into the beds of our officers to gain information to leak to the Yankees?" Kirsten now had the attention of several citizens passing by on the street. The tone and tenor of her voice rose. "I have heard that, and truly, is it so hard to believe she's the sort of woman to make 'special' house calls as some of the men have been saying? And," her eyes swept the eager bystanders dramatically, "what better place to work than in an army hospital if you're searching for information about enemy troops?"

The reaction of the group gathered round was more than she could have hoped for. Oh, yes, this Marissa McClafferty would be little more than a bump in the road to snaring Craig Langston and his money. With any luck, Craig would learn of the rumors and be done with the little trollop by the end of the week.

* * *

"Please tell me where we're going!" Marissa begged in good-natured excitement as Craig led her to the outskirts of the city.

"I told you it's a surprise." He winked down at her and leaned close as though to tell her a secret, his warm breath tickling her ear. "We're almost there, I promise." His lips lingered and she felt him brush them across her hair. As they approached the embankment along the seaside she wondered at the wisdom of letting him bring her to his secluded place... alone. In this day and age a woman had little more than her reputation.

Craig led her up a narrow trail along the top of the bluff, glancing back every so often to grin as she gazed in amazement at the indescribable landscape surrounding them.

Taking advantage of the solitude, Marissa released his arm and slipped her fingers intimately through his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He returned the gesture, dropping to an even more leisurely pace, their linked arms swinging between them. Craig wove through a small grove of trees, never letting go of her hand, and then into a grassy clearing overlooking the glittering expanse of the ocean.

Marissa released his hand and walked forward. "Breathtaking," she murmured, eyes sweeping the unruffled water spreading endlessly before them. The sunlight glittered across the glassy surface and the salty air brushed her face in a gentle caress. Closing her eyes, she relished the warm mixture of the sun and the wind, breathing deeply. At this moment, even if it was for only the briefest of instants, contentment settled in her breast.

Craig's strong hands came upon her shoulders and a moment later he kissed the sensitive skin along the side of her throat. His fingers brushed a stray tress from the back of her collar and his lips touched the slope of her neck at the very base where every nerve ending seemed to center. Her skin tingled in anticipation of his touch and she turned to him. No thoughts of work or time travel or holding herself from him entered her mind. Right now she was content simply to be with him.

"I come here to be alone and think," he whispered, placing a soft kiss just above her eye. Tenderly, he brushed a windblown hair from her throat as his lips moved to her cheek. "I thought you might need a place of your own as well."

They stood so close the heat resonating from his body sent tingles dancing across her skin. He kissed the delicate flesh at the corner of her mouth and the tingles shot straight to her brain. Her lips parted in response, warm, ready. "It's true," she whispered, closing her eyes as he kissed the other corner of her mouth. "There are times when I am completely overwhelmed by life. I need a place like this." She tilted her neck, responding without thought as his lips slid an intoxicating trail down the gentle slope of her throat. His fingers ran light paths up and down her spine until she fairly shivered. "Thank you for sharing your special place with me."

Lifting her into his arms, Craig's piercing blue gaze bore into her eyes with such smoldering emotion her breath froze. "There is so much more I want to share with you," he said. "God help me, Marissa, you feel so good in my arm."

A heady combination of desire, delight and passion swirled through her veins, leaving her light headed and more than a little foolish. She twined her fingers through his hair, angling her face in to meet his lips. "Kiss me."

* * *

Craig was only too happy to oblige. He kissed her once more full on the mouth, keeping his touch soft, tender, inviting. She trembled.

Cradling her against him he settled her back into the soft bed of tall grass, pressing his mouth more insistently against hers. Her lips were made of the most pliable velvet and he drank in the sweetness of them. Her hair was smoother than silk and it tickled his face. Her skin was pale like fresh cream and he caressed it. And her eyes, oh those eyes, like warm liquid pools of the nighttime sky, they could pull him into oblivion if he wasn't careful. He didn't want to be careful. He just wanted Marissa...

"Marissa," he murmured against her lips.

Craig had never known it could hurt to want a woman, but at this moment he ached for her. His chest grew tight, his fingers thick and awkward, and he didn't just want her... he needed her. After all the horrors he'd seen in recent years she was the one shining beacon of good in his life. For only a moment he pulled back, clasping her hand to chest. She lay before him, her eyes wide and trusting, and when he leaned forward to kiss her throat once more he could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse. It matched the pounding of his own.

"Are you afraid of me?" he whispered against her mouth, bracing his hands on either side of her.

"Yes, I'm afraid, but not of you." Her lips parted and he answered the invitation.

She moaned and Craig swallowed the sweet sounds. He wanted to devour her. Explore her. Make love to her.

His hands roamed her still clothed form until she writhed beneath him. She responded to his every touch, and his every kiss, and it was driving him to madness. Her movements were incredible, provocative, and every gasp escaping her mouth prompted the next kiss to be more fervent than the last.

Moving down he kissed the notch at the base of her throat and his fingers traced the edge of her bodice where the tantalizing swell of her breasts peeked over the top. Maneuvering the gown away from her breasts he drew back, claiming just one in a cupped palm and prompting yet another throaty moan. "You are so perfect," he murmured huskily.

At this moment Craig stood at the very precipice of his self-control, ready to topple over the edge and into... her. And when she began to unfasten the buttons of his jacket he was done. The edge not only loomed near but as she leaned up to strip the garment from his shoulders he heard the wind rush past his ears as he plunged past the point of no return. Her cool fingers dug into his back and a shudder of pure pleasure coursed through him. He couldn't stop now. This was it.

* * *

Marissa paused for the space of a breath, half sitting, all but gaping at the man before her. He was more man that she'd ever seen. A god... with rock hard, sinewy muscle bulging from every inch of his frame. Making love to him would be ecstasy, but she could be content just to stare at him for hours. Craig, however, obviously had no intention of staring. He moved quickly forward, grasping the back of her neck with his roughened palm, pulling her to him for more mindless kisses. He took her lips hungrily, as though his very life depended on it. The kiss was hot, wet, and all-consuming and she matched him in it stroke for stroke never wanting it to end.

Nothing had ever felt so incredibly good, so right, and so... perfect. A man had never stirred her emotions the way Craig Langston did and now she was positively drowning in passion. She settled herself back more fully in the grass allowing him to lie completely on top of her. She shivered in ecstasy, relishing the thrill of his bare flesh against hers. This man need only touch her to awaken desire as she'd never known it could exist.

Is this love? Lust? Both...?

Their fingers worked together to further loosen their remaining clothes. "Craig..." she moaned, unable to form any other coherent words.

"Marissa," he whispered breathlessly against her mouth, voice thick with passion. His body poised above her was clearly primed with desire of the most primitive fashion. "I want you," he rasped, ravishing her neck with his mouth. He moved lower, pressing searing kisses along her collar bone and then to the beginning swell of her right breast. Her exposed nipple ached for his touch. "Are you ready for this?"

His words jarred her back to reality.

What am I doing?

As much as she wanted him she was not ready for what a sexual relationship with a man in this time would ultimately mean. If she committed herself to what he was asking, and what she herself so wanted, it was admitting that she would never get home. She wasn't ready to accept such a fate.

Brian. The dark face of her former fiancé burned before her eyes, bringing with it thoughts of betrayal and self-doubt. "I—I can't do this," she stammered, wriggling out of his suddenly suffocating embrace. "I'm sorry, Craig, I—" She grasped the thin chemise to her exposed breasts and stumbled to her feet while simultaneously attempting to wiggle her arms back into the bodice of her simple dress.

Craig rolled onto his back with a guttural sound that could have been mistaken for a curse, and covered his face with an elbow.

Marissa's face burned with guilt and embarrassment. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, wanting nothing more than to sink into the earth and disappear.

"No, Marissa, its fine." He held up a hand, and assumed a kneeling position, the tone of his voice sounding anything but fine. "I should never have put you in this position. I'm the one who should be sorry." Marissa glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. Despite apparent frustration he was making a valiant effort to be gentlemanly about what had turned into a rather ungentlemanly endeavor.

Turning back away, Marissa took her time fastening her gown, which was missing a couple of crucial buttons, and running fingers through her hair, which in all reality was beyond taming. When at long last her fingers stopped trembling she turned back to him. The sight of his still naked torso set her to trembling all over again. His skin was bronzed and stretched taut over the expanse of his chest. Toned muscles flexed with even the slightest movement and she couldn't help but liken him to Neptune with the sea glittering in the background. Craig emanated an aura that was, if nothing else, intoxicating. And if she didn't escape his nearness immediately she would no doubt hurl herself back into those incredibly powerful arms, losing herself in him... forever?

She wasn't ready for forever.

Breaking into a run she dashed for the grove of trees they'd passed through only a short time before as if the gates of hell had opened beneath her feet.

"Damn!" Craig sprang to his feet pulling the white shirt over his broad shoulders and slinging the woolen uniform jacket over his arm. "Marissa! Marissa, please wait!" He called, rapidly closing the distance between them.

With heavy skirts dragging against her legs it wouldn't matter if hell really had opened its gaping mouth to swallow her because never would she have been able to outdistance the ground eating strides of Craig Langston. Roughly he grasped her upper arm and spun her around to face him, slipping his other palm around her waist. "I'm sorry, Marissa. God knows the last thing I want is to drive you away." He drew a ragged breath, holding firm to her arm. "May I still walk you home?" The words were rough, his breath warm and moist just inches from her lips. The air between them grew thick with a sort of electric tension only lovers understand.

In that moment Marissa knew an entirely new meaning to the term 'weak at the knees.' His words washed over her in a caress more arousing than any physical touch. Weak at the knees? Weak in the head. Every bone in her body threatened to melt like butter, and if not for the steady grasp of his hands she surely would have spilled into a puddle at his feet. "I should think it is the least you could do, Dr. Langston," she said coolly, pulling away from him.

Suddenly she was standing on her own two feet again and the not so welcome clarity of reality crashed back down on her. With a gentle shake of her head Marissa turned to begin the long trek back to town, allowing him to take her hand. "I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression," she said. "I just need some time to sort a few things out for myself. Another place, another time—" Another time indeed!

Craig narrowed his gaze at her, faint glints of silver moonbeams slid through tree-branches, giving his eyes an ethereal shine. "Now don't go giving me ideas, Marissa, if another time and place is all you need I have no doubt I can arrange for it." He studied her for a long moment as if trying to glean some insight to her thoughts, she quickly averted her gaze. She could never explain the obstacles between them.

* * *

Craig led her back along the trail they'd earlier ascended. Guarded. Her expression was guarded. There was something else going on. He knew it in his gut, but every time he tried to get close enough to unwrap her secrets she pulled away. This evening she'd gone from pliant and willing to elusive and withdrawn in a matter of seconds. There must be a reason.

Hell, she'd wanted him as much as he'd wanted her a few minutes ago. Craig was dead sure of that.

He would never be certain how long they walked in uncomfortable silence but at last he broached the subject lying so heavily on his mind. "Is there someone else?"

The pained expression on her face spoke volumes and Craig deflated as though physically struck. There is another man.

"No," she said quietly.

A disturbing degree of relief rushed through him. He wanted her, no doubt about that, but the reaction he'd felt to the thought of anyone else claiming her, looking at her... kissing her... It appalled him how much it had hurt to remember her so wanton in his arms, but it was far, far worse to consider her belonging to another man.

"There isn't anyone else, at least not anymore," Marissa explained, drawing him from the troubled direction of his thoughts.

"Were you married?"

Her ebony gaze flicked to his, secrets brimming at the surface, her internal war with what to divulge evident. "I was engaged."

Understanding hit instantly and Craig relaxed, giving her hand a compassionate squeeze. "Was it the war?"

* * *

The simple gesture nearly broke her heart. Craig's kindness was a trait Brian lacked. She shook her head. "No, it wasn't the war. In fact I think Brian would be the last person in the world to take up arms." She raised her eyes to Craig, all of the shame of rejection she'd experienced when Brian had told her she just didn't measure up welling up in her chest all over, she wasn't what he wanted. "It was another woman. He announced one morning, out of the blue, that he'd fallen in love with someone else. Her name is Marne." Marissa crinkled her nose and let the name roll distastefully off her tongue. "Marne is tall and raven-haired, and beautiful, and everything I'm not." Convulsively she swallowed back an onslaught of tears. Once started, the flow could be unstoppable.

"Everything you're not!" Craig scoffed, incredulous. "Marissa you are perfect." He stopped then, turning to face her, gently taking her face in his hands, threading his fingers through her hair. "You're beautiful and intelligent and if that bastard, Brian, couldn't see that then he didn't deserve you."

Tears welled in her eyes, but not for Brian... Craig's declaration meant more to her than she could ever put into words.

"Christ." Craig stepped back, hands clenched into fist as if he wanted to pound the man who'd hurt her. Marissa was infused with warmth as she looked at Craig's strong jaw clenched in anger over her being jilted. _Neptune? Apollo? Why he's not a god, he's my knight in shining armor_.

And sh

e fell in love with him just a little bit.

Oops...

Seven

Marissa couldn't remember the last time she'd spent so much time looking in the mirror. She'd never been one to spend hours primping or worrying over the place of every hair on her head, she'd even considered herself pretty enough, but Carolyn was a miracle worker. After the last four hours of washing, curling and setting, Marissa hardly recognized herself. She looked every bit the Southern belle and could have stepped out of a scene of North and South. "Are you sure I'm still in there?" she breathed turning eyes of amazement to Carolyn.

"That is all you, darlin'," Carolyn drawled with a grin. "You will be the belle of the ball and Dr. Langston will never know what hit him."

Marissa's heart fluttered thinking of her last encounter with Craig. The officers' ball was the sort of event that little existed in 2012 and in spite of herself she was excited, almost giddy about the prospect. A little maliciously, Marissa couldn't wait to see the look on Kirsten Jamison's face when Craig claimed her for the first dance. It probably wasn't fair to think that way, but it would somehow feel the ultimate revenge on Brian and Marne—yes, definitely a little perverse. Or, maybe not, considering the way Kirsten had cornered her at the hospital the other day and told her, "Dr. Langston is mine." Not hardly.

"You girls both look radiant." Genie entered the room looking no less than beautiful in pale blue herself. "Are you ready?"

The younger women nodded with barely concealed excitement and the trio set off for the ball, each with her own need for a night of distraction and happiness.

* * *

Craig paced the perimeter of the ballroom, growing more impatient by the second. The party was well underway and Marissa still hadn't arrived. His gaze skimmed the large hall. Ribbons and colorful drapes decorated the walls and chairs, and fresh flowers dressed every table. The Confederate stars and bars hung above the doorway flanked by several regimental flags. A small band made up of three uniformed men and two ladies played festive music while several couples spun happily around the room. He would gladly join them if only Marissa would get here.

Hell. What if she'd decided not to come? He'd thought they'd made a break through the other day, but she had such a tendency to...

Craig stopped short, placing a hand over his heart sure it had stopped cold in his chest when Marissa entered the room. She was stunning. A vision in emerald green. The color contrasted brilliantly with her pale skin and deepened the rich hue of her dark eyes. Thick buttery curls spilled along her bared shoulders and her lips looked perfectly red and full as they curved in amusement as her cousin whispered in her ear. Gazing at the tantalizing curve of her lips the word ripe came to mind. He was more than ready to sample their sweetness. Setting off to claim her, he was totally oblivious to the woman who'd positioned herself directly in his path.

"Dr. Langston," a sugary voice crooned, and Craig groaned inwardly as he glanced down at Kirsten Jamison.

"Good evening, Miss Jamison." He forced a polite smile and glanced impatiently toward Marissa, longing to be at her side.

"It is a wonderful party isn't it, sir? Why a lady could wear out her shoes dancing on a night like this."

Craig blatantly ignored his cue to ask her to dance. "It's very nice, indeed," he replied distractedly. God, but Marissa looked gorgeous tonight. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Jamison."

* * *

Marissa's breath caught as she took in the overall splendor of the room. She felt like a new person standing in the beautiful room... garbed in a fancy gown. Genie and Carolyn glided further into the hall, but Marissa held back, her eye sweeping the room in nervous excitement, silently searching out one tall form in particular.

Marissa's gaze collided almost instantly with Craig making his way toward her, smiling. Her heartbeat quickened and as always she was struck by what a magnificent specimen of masculinity he was. The gray dress uniform fit his frame like a second skin, and the decorative gold embroidery left the man gleaming from his perfectly shined black boots to the glittering blue of his eyes. Watching the crowd part like the Red Sea as he passed, Marissa was convinced he was the most handsome man in the room.

He stopped before her, giving a slight bow, and lifted her hand enticingly. "I believe the first dance is mine."

Marissa's eyes widened and her heart fluttered as he led her onto the dance floor. Never had she imagined such a romantic moment. Never had a man looked at her that way or made her feel so... desired. When he swept her into his arms for the waltz—thank God I know how to waltz—she felt as though they were the only two people in the room, and when he looked so attentively into her eyes and asked, "How are you this evening, my dear?" she knew it.

She felt it to the depths of her soul.

She was in love with Craig Langston.

How could she have let herself fall in love with him? Briefly she closed her eyes, considering, but she couldn't deny it. The gaping holes in her soul weren't just healing, they were sealed. Gone. Without a doubt she'd fallen hopelessly in love with him. It was a sensation deeper than anything she'd felt for Brian and a flight of nerves assailed her so profoundly that it took a moment to form a reply. "I'm fine, Captain, thank you." Captain?

"Captain?" Craig's word echoed her thoughts. "I had hoped you'd keep calling me Craig." His smile was easy, friendly, genuine, and she felt herself relaxing under his familiar gaze.

"I'm sorry, Craig. It's the uniform. You look so official in it that I can't seem to help myself."

"Then we'll just have to get me out of it so you can feel more comfortable."

It took a moment for the full meaning of his words to hit home and when they did she blushed feverishly. "My apologies, Marissa, that was a crude joke. It isn't what I meant."

Recovered, she laughed, her eyes dancing. "I am quite sure that is exactly what you meant, but it's all right, I forgive you." She flashed a wicked smile, leaning in to whisper, "Mind you, if we sneak off now we'll never manage to get my hair back into place, and then we'll have a real scandal on our hands."

Craig's eyes widened in surprise and Marissa grinned, devilishly pleased by his reaction.

"Don't tempt me, woman." He clutched an arm more tightly around her waist, pulling her against him as they turned.

A burst of surprised laughter bubbled from her throat and she reveled in the ease with which he laughed with her. Their eyes locked and a moment later his heated gaze dropped to her mouth. Her lips tingled in response, silently yearning for his kiss.

Without any other warning, Craig bent his head, claiming her lips in a deliciously tender kiss for all of Charleston to see.

* * *

If looks could kill Marissa would have been struck down on the spot. For the first time Kirsten Jamison's conviction that Craig would be hers wavered. Her family needed his money... desperately... and with his equally rich brothers gone and likely dead fighting in the war he was her last hope to land the Langston fortune. If that blond bitch got her hooks into him first... Well, she wouldn't allow it! Even if it meant stooping to even more ruthless means of persuasion, she intended to become Kirsten Langston. She certainly wasn't opposed to a shotgun wedding if it came to that.

Turning to a table with three of Charleston's most notorious gossips Kirsten dimpled sweetly and drawled, "I do declare! A man like Dr. Langston carrying on with a woman of her reputation in public," Kirsten smiled wickedly as the three women took the bait.

* * *

Oblivious to the whispers of treason and indiscretion whipping through the room behind her back—all fueled by Kirsten's poison tongue, Marissa's believed she might actually be floating as Craig gallantly pressed his lips to the back of her hand. He returned her to Genie's care before crossing the room to get some punch.

Genie smiled warmly at Marissa. "Mrs. Long, have you met my niece, Marissa?"

"Ah, so you're the young woman who's snared the most eligible bachelor in Charleston."

"I beg your pardon?" Marissa asked as the old woman's gaze raked over her.

Mrs. Long nodded approvingly. "My grandson, Craig Langston."

The woman's declaration that she was Craig's grandmother and that she considered him the most eligible bachelor in Charleston startled Marissa. It was then she noticed Mrs. Long's eyes were the same startling blue as Craig's.

"He is quite smitten with you, Marissa. Why, he's been walking on a cloud since the day you met. It's all I hear about, Marissa this and Marissa that. He thinks you're the most brilliant woman he's ever known."

"Besides you of course," Craig grinned down at his grandmother and winked. Marissa felt her stomach lurch as his piercing gaze locked on hers with that incredible smile that left him looking boyish and irresistible. She actually felt a little lightheaded when he pressed a cool glass into her hand. "Grandmamma, you look lovely tonight," he added, bending to kiss the wrinkled cheek

"Oh, you charmer," Mrs. Long scoffed. "I look old and you know it!" Nodding toward Marissa she said, "I was just getting to know this young lady and I must say, Craig, I like her much better than that Jamison hussy."

"Ginny!" Genie scolded.

"What?" Mrs. Long said as though she couldn't imagine why Genie would be shocked. "That girl has been shamelessly chasing after him for years!" Mrs. Long's matter-of-fact statement left everyone stifling laughter.

Craig rolled his eyes and held out a hand. "Grandmamma, why don't you come out here and dance with me?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

As Craig swept his grandmother expertly about the dance floor, Marissa's mind whirled around the possibilities of the evening. In truth she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so... happy. Was it possible to feel yourself glowing?

"You and your young beau are the talk of the room," Genie said.

"I don't know why."

"If you haven't noticed, Craig Langston is the type to turn a few heads. He is also a doctor, an officer fighting for the cause, and a member of a well-established Charleston family." Carolyn's voice dropped low as though imparting a hefty piece of gossip. "Have you seen the scalding glares Kirsten Jamison has bestowed upon you?"

Marissa shook her head. "I haven't seen her tonight.

"And you heard Ginny Long say that you've 'snared the most eligible bachelor in Charleston,'" Genie said. "Why, she's been sitting here watching the two of you like the cat who caught the canary all night. I think she hears wedding bells and is delighted they have nothing to do with that grasping Jamison girl."

"I think so, too," Carolyn said, laughing.

Marissa could have groaned aloud. In love with him or not, her life was still too much in limbo to even consider what they suggested. Marriage to a man who'd likely died eighty years before she was born? It ridiculously defied logic!

A young man came to claim Carolyn for a dance, leaving Marissa and Genie a moment of privacy, though Genie picked up exactly where her daughter left off. "Has he said anything to you about marriage?"

"Oh, Genie, please," she moaned. "I barely know the man, not to mention the fact that I'm not exactly from here!"

"Barely know him?" Genie scoffed. "Don't be dramatic. Eventually you will have to move on with your life, Marissa, and when that happens you could do a great deal worse than Dr. Langston."

"Will you please drop this? I am not going to marry the man."

"Not now or not ever?"

"God, Genie, this is all happening so fast, I've known him for a matter of weeks and marriage is not an option. Whatever happened to kissing a few frogs instead falling for the first illusion of the fairytale prince anyway?"

"Oh, come now! As if Craig Langston isn't the very definition of Prince Charming."

There she was had. Craig could be Prince Charming and tonight she could be Cinderella, but Marissa knew better than to believe in fairytales, no matter how enticing.

Before she could dwell further on the subject Kirsten Jamison sidled over. "A word, Miss McClafferty? In private."

"Certainly." Marissa smiled, relishing the notion of being the center of Craig's attention that night just a bit more than she should.

Kirsten grabbed her arm and half dragged her to a corner a few feet away. "What are you doing? I told you to stay away from him! Craig Langston is mine!"

"Obviously not." Marissa jerked her arm away. "If he was yours he would be here with you and not me."

"I warned you, you little Yankee bitch!"

"Yankee bitch?" Marissa shook her head, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Kirsten shrugged. "I'm talking about what everyone else in Charleston is whispering. It's obvious you're not from Atlanta. I've heard the talk and I know what you are." Violet eyes raked the length of her. "Traitors hang, Marissa, but I've heard plenty of stories about stray bullets in the back, too. Maybe you should watch yours."

"Is that a threat?"

"Word around Charleston is it's the truth, Yankee."

A stone cold fear seeped into Marissa's bones at the threat shimmering behind Kirsten's eyes. She spun away, head held high as she made her way back to Genie.

"What did she want?" Genie asked.

"To warn me away from Craig." Marissa swallowed back her dismay. "For the second time."

"Really? You never told me that. When did she issue this 'warning'?"

"A few days ago," Marissa said. "I didn't think it important enough to mention, but now she's calling me a—"

She broke off as Craig returned with his grandmother and snared her trembling hand for another dance.

Traitor? Does everyone think that of me?

Nervously, Marissa cast her gaze around the other couples on the ballroom floor. Were they all whispering about her behind her back? Was she becoming a danger to Genie?

"Marissa, what's wrong?" Craig shot a daggered glare toward Kirsten. "What did she say to upset you? You're pale as a sheet and trembling."

"To stay away from you, or else." She swallowed and quirked a dry smile, unsure of what else to divulge. "Now I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"She actually said that?" Craig's jaw tightened and then he shook his head in some disbelief, and, Marissa imagined, not a little pride. "Imagine, two women fighting over me."

"I," Marissa said, "am not fighting."

"I know, my dear. I was joking." More seriously he added, "You know better than to listen to her, I hope? She is nothing to me, but you are..." He smiled at her again. "When you came in, well, you took my breath away. I want you to remain as happy as you looked at that moment. I want to keep you happy, always."

Her breath caught at the warmth glittering through the depths of his eyes. Tonight there was something more in his gaze, something that made her shiver. "I am happy. I'm having a wonderful time," she murmured, pushing Kirsten's threats from her mind. "Especially since I'm with you."

"What do you say to a little fresh air?" he whispered, his lip breezing past her ear in barely palpable caress.

"It is pretty hot in here."

Craig offered her his arm and laid his fingers over hers when she nestled her hand within the crook of his elbow. As he led her through the room several people tried to stop them along the way. "Tell us now, Langston," an officer with major's insignia clapped Craig on the shoulder, "are you going to marry this bonny lass or do the rest of us gents still have a crack at her? Prettiest girl in Charleston I dare say!"

"Yeah, Langston, you goin' to keep her all to yourself?" One man, a lieutenant, definitely in his cups, jeered, throwing her a lewd wink. "I want a turn with some of the 'special doctorin' I've been hearin' about!"

Marissa's mouth flopped open indignantly, more than ready to refute the drunk's uncouth words, but Craig wrapped his arm protectively about her waist, drawing her toward the door. "Sorry, boys I think I'm going to hang onto this one for a while."

As they stepped into the crisp night air Marissa's head reeled as she replayed the scenes of the night over and again. I know what you are... Yankee bitch... 'Special doctorin'? What did that mean? Her mind felt clouded, inundated with a collage of confusing twists and turns of conversation, and her time warped brain couldn't keep up with everything. It was all too much, too fast.

Rounding the side of the building and into the shade of a leafy tree, Craig crushed her against his chest without a word and plundered her mouth in a devastating kiss. His lips were possessive and all thoughts swept into oblivion as his mouth explored, no, devoured hers. Never before had she been so completely staggered by a kiss or touch.

Love.

Sparkling, shining and new, it brimmed over at the surface of her being. Tired of being cautious and guarded she abandoned reason at least for tonight... this one special moment. His hands circled her slender waist and slid over her curves in a caress that left her flesh hot and thirsty for more. A soft moan escaped her lips as she leaned further into him. This felt so... Right.

He traced a trail of fiery kisses down her neck and murmured, "I've been waiting, wanting to do this all night. I just want you, only you."

"Oh, Craig," she moaned his name, a breathless whisper escaping her throat. At that moment she would follow him anywhere.

Pulling back he implored her, "What do you say Marissa?"

"Say to what?" She pressed forward, wanting nothing more than to be swept back into his arms.

His face was intense, nervous. "I want to--"

"Oh!" A startled cry pierced the night. "I do declare!"

As one, they turned to see Kirsten Jamison staring at them from the crushed shell path, one hand clamped over her mouth in mock horror.

Craig groaned aloud. "Kirsten, what in the hell are you doing out here?"

Kirsten's eyelashes fluttered as though she'd been struck. "Dr. Langston," her voice was indignant, wounded. "How could you say such a thing to a lady? How could you use such language?" Her chest heaved and a hand flew to her brow as though she might swoon. "I," she breathed heavily. "I only wanted a breath of fresh air, and instead of finding relief, I find you out here with this—" She stared pointedly at Marissa, "This—well, a real lady could hardly utter the word!" Before Marissa or Craig could give suitable riposte, Kirsten spun on a heel and marched back into the ballroom.

Marissa bristled at the other woman's words but the tales Kirsten claimed were running through Charleston developed into full clarity in her mind, especially in light of what that drunk had said. Could it be true? Was the whole of Charleston society firm in the belief she was not only a spy, but a harlot?

"What was all of that about?" Craig asked.

"You mean you don't know? How could you possibly not? I'm told stories about me are all over Charleston."

"I know some foul rumors have been bandied about, but I assumed it was only among the low-minded. Someone started a story days ago, weeks even, about you offering 'special doctoring' after hours. I know it isn't true and I hoped you'd never hear of it."

"What?" A hand flew to her mouth. If the rumor that she was nothing more than a whore had been started days ago, then how long had Kirsten's accusation that she was a Yankee traitor been circulating? I'll shred you, the other woman had said. She hadn't put much stock in the malicious words before, but in light of these rumors...

"Marissa, I'm sorry."

"Just leave it," she said miserably, pulling away from him.

"Wait, Marissa!" Craig reached for her arm. "There's something I have to ask you."

"Not now, Craig, I have to see Genie." She yanked from his grasp and whirled into the ballroom in a swirl of emerald satin.

Utterly confused, Craig stood at the doorway, watching Genie, Carolyn and Marissa picked up their wraps and leave the ball. Would it help her, or make things worse for her if he raced after her? Pulling one hand through his hair he shoved the other into his pocket.

Kirsten Jamison seemed bound and determined to make his life miserable until she got what she wanted, and that was him.

How could he make her see it was never going to be? He, too, left the ball early.

* * *

"Marissa there is no way back!" Genie repeated in exasperation later that night, after Carolyn had gone to bed.

"You don't know that!" Marissa shot back equally annoyed. "I can't stay here! Have you heard what the gossip mill has been saying about me?"

"Yes," Genie sighed, sitting heavily on a sofa. "I've heard it all."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What would be the point? It doesn't change anything."

"Don't you see that if I stay here I could be putting your and Carolyn's reputations in question, not to mention your lives in danger? If the rumors that I'm a traitor to the south escalate you could both be in trouble too!"

"Marissa, there is no evidence that you're a traitor, and you work every day at the hospital around Confederate officers who are obviously not concerned. I even talked with Craig about this a few days ago."

"You did?" Why had no one seen fit to tell her about this? "What did he say?"

"That in light of your accent it had just been a matter of time before some idiot—his word not mine—got paranoid and accused you of treason. He also said that the law is so hyper-vigilant about espionage that if anyone was truly suspicious you'd be in irons."

"Irons?"

"Point being," Genie placated, "that you have nothing to worry about."

"I need to go home, Genie," she whispered again. "I can't stay here. There is no future for me, here, in the past."

"What do you mean there is no future? You just spent the night twirling in the arms of Prince Charming."

"I told you, that subject is closed! I will not consider marrying a man I make a concerted effort to lie to every day!" As a closing argument, she added, "Besides, he hasn't even asked me."

## Eight

Marissa was in trouble. Deep trouble. And she would swear she hadn't gone looking for it. Wending her way through the cobbled streets of Charleston—to a destination that she was not entirely sure she would manage to reach—she contemplated the predicament, nay the mess that was her life. Nay? Heavens! Now I'm even thinking in old-fashioned speech! She was Marissa McClafferty born July 8, 1985, currently residing in Charleston, 1863—in the midst of the Confederate South—with a war on.

Even now it sounded impossible.

And, as was so wont to happen, life was crashing in on her from all sides and she had absolutely no idea what to do about it. Her futuristic knowledge of the inevitable death and destruction, and one could not forget heartache, be damned. She yearned with every other Charlestonian for a copy of Harper's Weekly and news of this terrible war. Her knowledge of medical advances yet to come was far more torturous than it was helpful, and every time she watched a soldier at the hospital die a slow, miserable death, said knowledge rattled taunting and useless in her mind.

And then there was Craig Langston, the real source of her trouble. She hadn't meant to get involved with him, she hadn't pursued him, and yet it had happened. She was thoroughly entangled with him. He came to call on her at Carolyn's house, walked her home from work almost every day, and in this time, a man as prominent as Craig Langston didn't publicly "court" a woman he wasn't actively interested in... Marissa gulped... marrying.

The lump that seemed to form in her throat whenever Craig popped into her head returned. When she saw him today, it would be to say goodbye forever, which quite simply sucked because she loved him. She loved him with every fiber of her being and when she thought of leaving him there was no gaping hole in her heart, just complete emptiness, as if no beating heart lived in her at all. But it didn't matter that she loved him because it could never be. It could never work. To be with him, she could never really be honest, and no relationship could survive if it was based on lies and half-truths. She didn't belong here and she was going home. Period.

Stopping in front of the impressive Charleston townhouse, Marissa drew a deep breath and willed the frantic beating of her heart to slow. This had to be done before the affair went any further. However much it hurt to walk away and spend her life without him she knew what it was to be left in the lurch. She would not lead him on any more than she already had.

Steeling her will against the tempting desire to take the coward's way out and simply hide from him until a route to the future was found, Marissa climbed the stone steps and lifted the heavy knocker.

The door opened and she jumped.

Craig stood just inside the doorway dressed in casual attire, charming her with his ever irresistible grin.

"Marissa!" He propped a muscular arm on the door frame and looked straight into her eyes, pleasure brimming over. Her heart stumbled, maybe even stopped for a beat or two. She opened her mouth but found no words forthcoming.

Craig took a step back from the door. "Would you like to come in?"

Of course, it wasn't proper for her to enter the home of an unmarried man, not in this day and age, but what the hell—her reputation lay in tatters anyway. With a faint nod, Marissa stepped into the two-story brick house. She nearly forgot her mission as she took in the striking decor of Craig's home. The front hall was impressive with a high ceiling sporting a wrought iron chandelier, and the tall windows lent a fresh, natural light to the interior.

"Do you live here all by yourself?" This was unlike any bachelor pad she'd seen before.

Craig's eyes twinkled in response. "Well, I employ a couple of servants to help maintain the place but other than that it's just me." Clasping his hands behind his back he continued, "My family owns a plantation just outside of town but my father and I don't do well living under the same roof. Besides that, I'm far more accessible to my patients from a town location. Of course, my decision to go into medicine is just another of a long list of sore spots between my father and me."

"A plantation," Marissa murmured.

"Yes, my father named it The Highlands. You may have heard of it."

She shook her head. "How does plantation business fare with the war on?"

Craig heaved broad shoulders in a casual shrug. "Well enough I suppose. We've been fortunate in that our slaves haven't deserted yet. Not all of them in any case. My mother and grandmother always saw to it that they were treated with the utmost respect." Rocking back on his heels Craig continued. "At the start of the war my father and grandmother offered a paid wage to any willing to stay. Most don't have anywhere else to go and stay on to help us run the plantation."

Marissa nodded, processing the information.

"What brings you here today, Marissa? I thought you'd be resting after the ball."

She hardly dared to look at him. Drawing upon her courage, Marissa forced herself to meet the gaze of the man she knew she must push from her life.

"There is something I need to discuss with you."

"Would you like tea or lemonade? I can ring for Hodges."

"No. Nothing, thank you."

With a nod, Craig bade her follow him into a lavish parlor and indicated for her to sit on the sofa. Marissa squirmed uncomfortably when he took a seat beside her and quickly stood to move about the room. She paused before a picture of Craig with three other men who could only be his brothers. Following her gaze, he came to her side and lifted the framed photograph from the mantel. "My brothers. Davy is the oldest, then me, Curtis is number three and Jake is the youngest." Craig cleared his throat before continuing, "Curtis was reported missing a few months back so I don't know that you'll ever meet him."

Marissa stared for a long time at the men who seemed to be assessing her— judging her for what she was about to do to their brother. They looked so young, so full of the promise of life, and then the war—

Moving away from Craig's disturbing nearness, she went to a high-backed chair and sat. To her relief, he didn't try to sit too near again, but took a seat on the sofa opposite her.

This is going to be far more difficult than I thought.

Looking at her in some bemusement, Craig sprawled with casual self-confidence on the sofa. He flashed that alluring smile and asked, "What did you need to discuss with me, my dear?"

My dear... My dear... There were those two little words again. Marissa swallowed convulsively, praying for the strength to accomplish the deed she must.

Oh, but he looked so good sitting there with his shirt gaping open at the top giving her a glimpse of the brawny, bronzed chest she knew lay beneath. And he was so tall. Deliciously tall... unearthly tall... and strong... with shoulders as broad as a building! One strong arm stretched across the back of the sofa and she could hardly tear her fascinated gaze from the muscles in his forearm as they flexed powerfully with the drumming of his fingers.

With a forceful shake of her head, Marissa plunged into the dialogue she'd rehearsed a hundred times in her head. "Craig..." She licked her suddenly bone dry lips, and coughed as though to clear her throat. "This, this thing," she emphasized the word, "between us it... it just has to stop." This certainly didn't sound as eloquent and matter-of-fact as the words she'd practiced, and his intense blue eyes had been far easier to resist in her imagination.

Determinedly, she plunged on. "I just can't see you anymore. There can be nothing else between us. It's over." There she'd said it; the words were out, and for better or worse it was over between them.

Over.

The word sounded hollow even to her ears and she need only to glance at his raised quizzical brow to know he'd hardly taken her seriously. Frustrated by her own lack of resolve Marissa desperately tried to remind herself that she had no business getting involved with a man nearly two centuries out of her lifetime! Whether she loved him or not, she didn't even want to be living here! But even as her mind preached logic and good sense, she knew that pulling away from Craig was the last thing on earth she really wanted.

Still... It just wouldn't fair to him if... no, when... she went back to her life in the future.

Craig stared at her. "Over? What do you mean, over?"

"I mean you're no longer welcome to call on me. I don't wish to see you any longer."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "You're serious aren't you."

She didn't respond. There was nothing left to say.

"God damn," he muttered more to himself than her, staring down at the floor. "Christ, Marissa, don't you understand?" His gaze snapped back to hers. "I love you."

Panic sparked Marissa to action. She jumped to her feet, whirling toward the hall and the door he'd so politely left open. She had to escape. But Craig leapt as swiftly from his seat as she had hers, jumping over an end table to snare her upper arm and spin her into his embrace. Their eyes collided as physically as their bodies, and Marissa could scarcely draw air into her lungs. The sensual awareness that had burned between them for the last several weeks soared to new heights and Marissa had, not for the first time, strong doubts as to her ability to resist his mere presence. Craig exuded an intoxicating aura that left her senses reeling whenever he was so much as in the same room.

* * *

Craig wanted to shake her. "What do you mean it's over?" His entire body was tight and primed, with desire burning relentlessly in his loins. Rather than cool his ardor her unexpected words had sent his manly cravings spiraling dangerously close to the edge of control. She looked so goddamned beautiful standing before him that Craig wasn't sure if he should throw something against the wall to vent his anger over her announcement, or kiss her senseless.

Those huge, liquid brown pools were a smoldering vortex of conflicting emotions and her full round lips parted ever so invitingly just inches from his. Heat radiated from her body pressed intimately against his hardness and he was... lost.

He lowered his head to claim her mouth in a heated kiss that and she responded so sweetly he was powerless to stop

Grasping her roughly against him Craig could hardly control his rampaging emotions. He kicked the door to the parlor shut and tore with a feverish need at the buttons of her day dress. What he felt went far beyond animalistic need to have her because he finally understood completely what possessed people to fall in love. The simple act of loving her was enough to sustain him for a lifetime. Falling to his knees he clutched her to him and traced a steaming trail of kisses down the warm creamy flesh below her breasts. How he wanted her, longed for her, loved her...

"Marissa," his voice was barely above a rasp. "I want you. Please don't hold yourself from me, please. I love you. Say... say you'll marry me."

* * *

Marissa clasped his head to her bosom with tremulous hands, and drew a cleansing breath, struggling to control the shredded emotions Craig's plea had so effectively scattered to the winds. At that moment every fiber of her being craved his touch and she yearned to throw herself into his arms and know the rapture of making frenzied, passionate love to him. But this was not her time and place! This was the only thought allowing her to maintain even a tenuous grasp on her sanity.

For all that she wanted him, she still didn't know if this was where her life was going to be. If the opportunity to get back home arose would she be willing to turn it down for a man?

It didn't matter. Not really, because all points considered... it just couldn't work.

This had to be done. Now! She was barely treading water, drowning in a whirlpool of her own making.

Pain swirling through her, Marissa tore away from the man whose pleas ripped at the tenuous seams of her soul. "Craig, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't!" Quickly pulling the front of her dress together, she warred with the knowledge that she wanted nothing more than to be ensconced in his warm embrace, know the rapture of making love with him. She looked into his face one last time and... the agony etched across his handsome features rent what remained of her paper thin resolve.

She melted.

Crumpling to her knees, she pressed parted lips to his. "Craig, oh God... I want you!" He grabbed her face between his hands, eyes searching hers before he took her lips in a desperate exchange. She'd never be entirely sure how it happened but suddenly she was floating, his arms locked around her as he lifted her against him. He did not utter a sound as he pressed her back onto the sofa. Today, the weight of his body settling over her wasn't suffocating. It was the embrace her entire soul longed for, and she opened to him in welcome.

Dragging his pale blue shirt up, she pulled it over his head, letting her fingers trail the honed expanse of his back. He groaned.

"My love. Are you sure about this?"

"Yes." Her tongue dipped into his mouth, beckoning him closer.

"Really certain?" He lifted her layers of petticoats until his hand found the curve of her thigh. "I don't think I can control myself if you run from me screaming a second time."

"I was never screaming," she breathed against his mouth, but as his fingers slid further up her leg she wanted to. Oh! How she wanted to scream. "Craig, wait!"

"Christ, Marissa." His entire body tensed as though he wanted to pull away and simply couldn't. "Are we going to do this or not? I really can't take it anymore." His lips caught hers again. "You make it damn near impossible for me to behave as any sort of gentleman."

"Before we start," she said, which was apparently going to be soon because he was quite obviously ready, now, and so was she, "there is something I have to tell you."

Craig settled himself between her legs, pulling her more securely beneath him, tracing the path of her hip with the flat of his palm. "I don't care," he murmured pressing deliberate, feather light kisses to the line of her jaw and down her throat to the swell of her breasts.

"But—"

"I'm not naïve, Marissa. You were engaged once. I don't care if you've been with another man."

A glitter of tears blurred Marissa's vision. Why did she want to cry at a time like this? "I—I think... I love you," she whispered, twining her fingers through his softly curling hair, searching the intense blue of his eyes; eyes so incredibly soft and adoring.

"And I you," he murmured, and then they were beyond words, locked together, moving as one. She cried out again and again for him to hold her closer... tighter. She couldn't get enough of him. She felt him in every fracture of her damaged soul, and her body tingled everywhere, ready to shatter from pure physical pleasure, but there was more...

When he held her close, so close she could scarcely breathe—she didn't want to breathe—she could feel his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her own. It tripped the cadence to a dance that was all their own. She wanted to hold that sound, that sensation, to leave it imprinted in her mind and heart forever.

And when it was over, he kissed her sweetly, held her in his powerful arms and again she wanted to cry, this time, not from joy, but from sorrow. How could she have done this to him? To herself?

Pulling away she made a miserable attempt to smile. "I have to go," she said, unable to meet his gaze as she dressed, struggling to pull down the mountain of petticoats he'd pushed up around her waist and fasten buttons at the front of her gown.

"Marissa, no. Don't leave. What is wrong? Is it because of what we did? I truly want to marry you. Please, tell me you are all right."

Oh, God, she moaned internally. His hand on her elbow was compassionate and gentle, and still he had absolutely no idea that this was it, all they would ever have, or why it must be so. It was over. Over.

"I'm... fine," she said, taking a step away, her legs leaden. "I just need to get back to Carolyn's."

"I understand. Let me get dressed. I'll walk you home." He turned to find his shirt and trousers, and she took the opportunity to flee.

She left his house at a dead run. A fissure the size of the Grand Canyon cracked straight down the middle of her heart. I'm no better than Brian, she told herself, sprinting across the street and causing a team of huge horses to swerve in their path. Harsh, silent sobs tore from her burning lungs and after several blocks of running she didn't merely feel as if she were suffocating, she actually was. Near collapse, she ducked into an alley, silent tears streaming down her cheeks.

Craig would live, she decided. If she could survive Brian Whitely's betrayal, then Craig Langston could survive hers.

But could she live without him?

* * *

Slumped exhaustedly over a desk at the hospital Marissa pretended to roll bandages while she dozed. She hadn't slept well in days, searching tirelessly for a way home and fearing the moment her resolve to leave this place, leave Craig, would shatter. Of course whenever the resolve wavered the whispers about the "lady doctor from Atlanta" helped to steel her will. Traitor... whore... and of course the uncouth propositions, "Hey, lady doc, how much to have you come by my place tonight?" She couldn't stay here. She'd even taken to wishing upon every shooting star gracing the nighttime sky.

"Marissa."

"Yes?" Her head snapped up and she jumped so quickly the chair toppled backward. "Sorry," she mumbled in embarrassment as Genie and a balding gentleman of about fifty approached.

She righted the chair and clung to its back as Genie said, "Marissa this is Sheriff Hudson. Sheriff, my niece Marissa McClafferty. She was with me when we first saw the man digging in the woods behind my barn."

In some surprise Marissa managed to smile at the gentleman. She'd all but forgotten the man with the lantern in the woods.

The sheriff offered a polite greeting before providing the women with an update. "As you know I've had deputies watching your farmhouse for some time now, but up until last night we hadn't found sign that anyone had walked through your woods much less been digging out there."

Genie nodded. "What happened last night, Sheriff?"

"My deputy, Rogers, spotted a lantern in the woods behind the barn and high tailed it over to see what was going on. Whoever it was got out of there before he could catch him; and I'll be damned if we could find anything later. I tell you we couldn't find a single footprint much less any sign of digging. There was nothing. It was almost as though he saw a ghost out there!" The sheriff shook his head in bewilderment. "We're going to keep an eye out, but I think you ladies should remain in town for the time being." Marissa and Genie quickly assented.

A ghost? Something, some bit of half-recognized knowledge hovered just on the periphery of Marissa's mind, but in its exhausted haze her brain couldn't quite wrap around the idea. A ghost. The haunted woods. Time travel. People disappearing every twenty years...

"What is this about a man digging in your woods?" Craig's deep voice successfully scattered the swirl of thoughts from her sleep deprived brain and sent her heart to tripping. "This isn't about Paul Christenson following Marissa again is it?"

"Dr. Langston." Sheriff Hudson extended a hand and Craig took it. "No, Mr. Christenson seems to have been leaving this young lady alone, but a while back Mrs. Harris and her niece saw a man digging in the woods beyond their barn. We haven't been able to find much, but I think it best they remain in town for the time being."

Turning his smoldering gaze to Marissa, Craig crossed burly arms over his chest. "That is why you've been staying with Carolyn? Why didn't you tell me?" His tone was accusing.

"There was nothing to tell, Craig."

"You don't think Paul could be the one in the woods?"

Marissa only half-listened as Craig discussed the situation with the sheriff. She continued grappling with the thought foremost in her mind. A ghost? Disappearances every twenty years... She must appear to those on the other side of the portal as a mysterious disappearance, and—

Marissa's eyes snapped open. The Epiphany hit with monumental force. A ghost? Marissa thought of the wraithlike silhouettes she'd seen before being sucked into 1863. Could the man digging in the woods really be a window to the future? Could the entire legend about a murderer in the woods really be more about a wormhole through time? The wormhole back to her time?

Slipping past Craig, who was deep in conversation with the sheriff, she hoped to escape without his immediately following, but she should have known better. He was hot on her heels in less than two heartbeats.

"Marissa, stop," he commanded. "I demand to know what is going on."

Damn it! Marissa swore to herself, she'd taken a wrong turn in her haste to escape and inadvertently backed herself into a corner. Whirling, she sought to get past him again. "Craig, I don't have time for this. I have to go. _Now_!" She shoved against his chest. _Dear God,_ she thought, momentarily dumbstruck as her palms struck the rock hardness of him _. How can any man be so damned solid?_

Shaking her head, she squeezed past him, but Craig would have none of it. Seizing her about the waist he pressed close, backing her up until she hit the wall, forcing her to look into his eyes.

His breath was hot on her face as he whispered, "Where are you going, Marissa?"

"None of your business." She was trapped between the solid wall of brick at her back and the solid wall of flesh at her front.

"None of my business? You agreed to be my wife which makes wherever you're running off to very much my business."

"Your wife?" She sputtered in disbelief. "I realize the words yes and sex sort of rhyme, but where I come from they do not mean the same thing. I never said I'd marry you!"

"Well, where I come from yes and sex do mean the same thing when immediately preceded by a marriage proposal." The hurt in his eyes wrung her heart until she was certain blood no longer flowed through it. "You said you loved me, Marissa."

"I said I think... I..." Craig shifted even closer, pressing the length of his hard frame provocatively against her, effectively scattering the remnants of her argument to the wind. His eyes burned into her with an intensity that bordered fire and once again she sensed his fire seeping into her. Paralyzed she could nothing but allow her lids to flutter closed and accept the gentle caress he bestowed upon her lips.

All too soon a voice pierced the intimate shroud enveloping the pair, finally dragging them apart. "Dr. Langston! You are needed in the operating room."

"This isn't over," Craig growled huskily, pulling her roughly against him. Before she could mount any sort of protest he took her lips in another hot kiss.

Abruptly breaking off the exchange Craig strode without a backward glance out of the secluded hall, leaving her completely alone.

Her heart shattered. If her theory proved true, this was the last time she'd ever see him.

Nine

Craig rushed with determination along the busy streets of Charleston. Of all the days to be unable to escape that infernal hospital it had to be today! Marissa had left in a variable huff near an hour ago and after their rather bizarre conversation he was near desperate to speak with her, and discover what the hell was going on.

He should have realized something was amiss after they'd made love, but he'd been too lost in his own bliss, too ecstatic to have won her, to recognize that even as she gave herself to him she was pulling away. Until now he'd never entertained the thought of not being with her. And now he couldn't stand it.

After reaching Carolyn Reed's house he took the stairs two at a time. "Is Marissa home?" he demanded before Carolyn managed to open the door more than a few inches.

Startled Carolyn shook her head. "No, I'm afraid she went out for a ride some time ago. But you're more than welcome to wait for her."

In total frustration he raked a hand through his hair. "No, I'll try back later. Thanks anyway." Turning on a heel he strode away deep in thought. So she'd gone for a ride? She should know better than to go off alone! Ridiculous as the accusations were she was a suspected Yankee spy, for Christ sake!

It took another fifteen minutes to retrieve his buckskin gelding, Jeb, and his outlook on the future grew bleaker by the second. Being with Marissa was better than anything he could have imagined, and to think of life without her... That life quite simply was not worth living.

He loved her.

He loved the way she stubbed her toe ten times a day, and the way her face flushed red when she swore about it. He loved the way she compulsively cleaned and organized and then reorganized everything. And he loved the fact he knew her well enough to recognize that most of her reorganization efforts happened when she was upset.

Turning up the dusty drive of the Harris farm Craig didn't immediately see Marissa. Carolyn's ancient bay grazed beneath a tree, that damned rooster was staring him down—really someone should just shoot the miserable creature and drop it in a stewpot—but the one he sought was nowhere to be seen. A rapid search of the house revealed no sign she'd been inside, and a quick surveillance of the grounds lent no clue as to her whereabouts. Grace and Fredrick must already be gone for the day as not even the older couple seemed to be around. Where could she be? Sweeping the gray cap of his head he raked a thoughtful hand through his hair, turning a slow circle about the front yard. The only place he hadn't searched was... the woods.

Would she really have ventured into those woods alone? Anxiously he glanced upward, nearly dark. The mysterious digger could be out there even now.

* * *

The woods were dark, forbidding, with an aura that screamed haunted. Mist curled around the trees and the air was so unnaturally still that Marissa jumped like a scared rabbit when a squirrel leapt from one branch to another. This was probably the stupidest thing she'd ever done, but it could be her one chance to get back home. The road back to television, a hot shower, and away from Craig...

A strong fist gripped her arm in a steely vise.

Sheer panic coursed through her and she jerked violently to escape her would be captor, cutting loose a bloodcurdling scream, though she knew there wasn't another soul around. What was I thinking to come out here alone? Getting back to the future is not worth being murdered!

Whirling, she beat ferociously at the man, attempting to hit, bite, claw, kick or whatever other measures would secure her freedom. It wasn't until she caught a glimpse of intense blue eyes that she stopped fighting.

"Jesus Christ, Marissa!" Craig stumbled back a step, holding a hand over his left eye where she'd struck him.

"Craig." Her eyes widened in alarm as she clasped her hands to her face. "Oh my God." She stepped forward. "I am so sorry. I didn't realize it was you!"

Swiftly he yanked his head away from her probing hands.

"Come on let me look at it." She stood on tip toe to get a better look, but Craig stubbornly refused to move his hand. "Oh, I swear, doctors are the biggest babies!" She threw up her hands in a show of defeat. "It's your own fault, you know. If you hadn't snuck up on me this never would have happened."

Craig turned a dubious one-eyed look to her. "Is that so?" Finally daring to move his hand he tentatively opened the injured eye. "Damn it, what were you doing out here in the first place?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," she repeated turning away from him. "Besides it's none of your business!"

"Marissa, there is someone, a madman for all we know, out here digging in the woods for reasons I'm sure only the devil knows. I therefore believe it is very much my business if you decide to come traipsing about the woods unaccompanied. Good God, you could have been killed!"

"Oh, please." Marissa rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "You're being melodramatic. I made short work of you."

"Touché." He bowed in mock salute. "I never imagined such fury could erupt from a woman so small."

"That I can take care of myself is beside the point because it's still none of your business what I do with my time!"

Striding forward he shot back. "You are impossible! You know that?"

"Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment," she retorted, giving him a show of her back again.

"Well it wasn't intended as one." The tense muscle in his jaw bulged. "You still haven't answered my question as to why you came out here in the first place."

She spun back around, mouth open. "I—"

He raised a silencing finger. "And do not say that it's none of my business."

Raising her chin in a haughty gesture she shrugged. "I was curious." Curious? The excuse sounded ridiculous even to her so she covered with another spurt of anger. "Oh why do you care anyway?"

"Rahhh!" Craig roared, taking a step back to glare at her. "How can you even ask that? I asked you to be my wife, goddamn it." He clasped a hand over his chest for emphasis. "I love you! I don't see any reason why there should be confusion as to why I care when you decide to go strolling through a madman's backyard. Curious? God, Marissa!"

She startled at the force of his words. He was shouting. He'd never shouted at her before. More than that... his anger bordered on rage and she stood squarely at the center of his wrath. His hands clenched into meaty fists. Abruptly he pivoted, driving one into a nearby tree. A shower of bark rained down on the forest floor.

Marissa jumped. "Craig, no! You'll break your hand."

He whirled back on her, eyes flashing. He advanced on her, both hands swinging easily at his sides. He didn't appear to be injured. "What have I done to deserve this treatment, Marissa? What? I'm tired of this continual push and pull game you play with me." Craig stopped a few feet from her and a bit of the fierceness in his stance sobered. He spread his arms as though asking the universe along with her a question. "What do you want? Or more importantly, why don't you want me?"

She hesitated, unsure what to say, fighting the tears battling to run free. "It's not you, Craig." Her throat constricted, choking off the words. "There are things... things you don't know about me."

"Do you love me or not?"

Marissa bit her lip, desperate to maintain silence.

More of the anger dissolved from his handsome features, replaced by the compassionate guise of the man she knew so well. Her insides trembled, threatening veto her resolve. Craig moved in then, stopping not half a foot from her, tiling her chin with gentle fingers. "You are a puzzle," he murmured. "I look into your eyes and see so much conflict. Share it with me, Marissa. Let me take it from you." He took her face between his rough palms and pressed his forehead to hers.

She crumbled.

The warmth of his hands, the pain of rejection she'd seen in his eyes—pain she knew all too well—pain she'd inflicted on him—and the thrill of his touch combined until the barrier of hurt, betrayal and confusion crumbled away, letting rays of sunshine and clarity into her dreary world. "Craig, I..." she flicked her eyes away from the intensity of his gaze and stopped cold. "What is that?"

Several yards away the eerie shrouding of mist parted revealing a piece of steel gray fabric that perfectly matched Craig's Confederate uniform.

"What?"

She stepped around him, taking a tentative step toward the fabric, drawing closer, a sickening of dread settling in the pit of her stomach.

That certainly was not her window to the future.

Sticking up from the dirt was a partially buried human arm, hand reaching out of the soil, with every indication the rest of the body was still attached.

"Oh, my God." Craig strode past her.

"Why is he buried like that?" A cold trembling descended upon her as the mist swirled around them, rising from their feet to their knees. Run! A chill swept her spine as a whisper echoed on the breeze around her.

"Coyotes probably dug him up." Even Craig looked a little pale. "We need—"

Snap!

Heavy feet crunched on the forest floor. Marissa grasped in panic at Craig's arm as an odd scraping noise pierced the thicket not twenty yards away. It sounded like something being dragged through the underbrush.

With a gentle urgency Craig put a hand on her waist. "Move, now!" They ran to the edge of the woods before dashing to the tethered the horses.

Toughie squalled anxiously from his pen.

The crack of a gunshot sounded behind them and simultaneously an ominous whistling zipped past Marissa's ear.

"Jesus," Craig blasphemed, grasping Marissa about the waist and heaving her onto his buckskin before swinging an agile leg up behind her. Grabbing the reins of the old bay mare he urged them to a breakneck pace as another shot cracked behind them.

Shaking uncontrollably she clung to the strong arm clamped around her waist and cringed into the broad expanse of Craig's chest as a third shot sounded behind them. Carolyn's bay mare crumpled, letting out a pitiful grunt of anguish as she thrashed behind them. Craig dropped her reins and spurred his buckskin on.

"Maggie! No!" A hysterical sob escaped her lips. Craig seemed not to hear as he crushed her more snuggly against his chest, hunching over Jeb's haunches, urging the horse to an even faster pace.

Thundering down the dusty road Marissa became absolutely positive of two things: one the woods really and truly were haunted... Run... echoed through her thoughts, and two: she was never going home.

Flying over the rise leading into Charleston, Craig sawed on the reins, halting them just outside the city. "Are you all right?" He pulled her around until she sat somewhat awkwardly facing him half in his lap and half in the saddle, one knee looped around the saddle horn. She hadn't realized quite how hard she was shaking until she nearly rattled off her perch and his strong arm curled securely around her, anchoring her.

His eyes blazed against the red hues of the twilight sky and Marissa felt the familiar quickening of her pulse and the breathlessness that seized her every time his gaze locked on hers. His hair glowed reddish gold in the lingering beams of sunlight and for a moment she was unable to tear her eyes away as the oddest sensation of being safe, protected with him descended upon her. "I th-th-think so," she stuttered, swallowing convulsively as the memory of that partially buried body in the woods flooded over her again, along with the fact that someone had been shooting at them! She'd seen trauma; she'd always prided herself on being level headed and cool under pressure, but never before had she felt truly traumatized herself. In that moment she had new empathy for the countless hysterical accident victims she'd rolled her eyes at in the past.

"We need to find Sheriff Hudson and tell him about that man buried behind Genie's house," Craig said, gently stroking her hair.

"Oh, Craig!" She half choked on a strangled sob. "You could have been shot! I-I'm so sorry." Sobs racked her as she clung to the strength of his body, clutching the thick wool of his jacket and listening to the steady thudding of his heart. What would she have done if he'd been hurt—and all because of her? For a moment his long fingers calmly, soothingly stroked her hair as he nudged Jeb into a slow walk into town. She sniffed. "And poor Maggie! How am I going to tell Carolyn I killed her horse?"

* * *

Craig swallowed a small smile. He wasn't entirely sure why, but there was something inexplicably funny about her last statement. It was so like Marissa to worry more about the horse than herself. "Don't worry about it, I'll replace the horse." He fit her more snugly against his chest, if in fact that were possible. "I'm sure everyone will just be glad you're all right."

"What were you doing out there, Craig?"

"I was looking for you." He sighed, pressing his lips to the top of her head, breathing in the rosy scent of her soft hair.

"Why?"

"Because I was worried after you took off in such fit, and then Paul Christenson was nosing around again. It made me nervous." He paused contemplatively. "But we'll talk about this later, all right?"

She nodded, relaxing a bit against his chest. God, but she felt so tiny and fragile nestled against him... It brought out every protective instinct inside him. If anything had happened to her...

"You saved my life," she murmured. "If you hadn't come looking for me..." She shivered. "Craig?" She reached up to touch his cheek and he glanced down, meeting her eyes. "I do love you. Whatever happens, I want you to know that."

"I love you too," he replied without hesitation, kissing her hair once more.

Expertly maneuvering the horse through the city streets he pulled it to a stop outside the jailhouse and hopped to the ground, reaching back to lift Marissa from the mount before flipping the reins loosely over the hitching rail. Jeb was well trained. He'd stay.

Their eyes locked as his large hands encompassed her slender waist. The waning light cast reddish-purple beams of radiant light across the loose thickness of her pale hair as colorful prisms danced across her face, turning it into a beautifully surreal mask and making her dark liquid eyes unreadable. He held her for a moment suspended in time, drinking her in, knowing she could have been lost to him... forever.

"Dr. Langston," Sheriff Hudson's voice sounded from the jailhouse door "What brings you two here? Not trouble, I trust."

"George." Craig nodded a grim greeting, leading the way into the jailhouse. He quickly relayed the evening's events. Throughout the telling he kept an arm securely about Marissa's waist. He couldn't help but worry over her. He'd never seen her so stricken or so pale. No, that wasn't entirely true. The day he'd run into her in the field she'd looked this way... stricken. She'd also been in an equal state at the officers' ball, when Kirsten Jamison had bothered her.

"I can take you back to where we found the body," Craig assured the sheriff, "but we're going to need a whole posse if whoever shot at us is still out there. And first, I want to get Miss McClafferty back to her aunt. She's had a bad scare."

"I'd appreciate it, but if the killer has half a brain he'll be long gone before we get back out there."

Marissa's gripped the arm not fitted about her waist. "Don't leave, Craig. Please."

He hesitated, giving her a reassuring squeeze. He understood she didn't want him traveling back to the place where they'd been shot at, but at this point he saw little other choice.

Sheriff Hudson glanced briefly between the two of them and waved dismissively. "It's all right, Doc, see to your girl. I'm sure my deputies and I can find it. Where is Mrs. Harris?" he went on. "I'll need to speak with her about this."

"We'll tell her, Sheriff," Craig offered, "we're headed over to the Reed's house now."

Following Sheriff Hudson through the wide door of the office Craig led her to where Jeb waited obediently beside the hitching post.

* * *

"You found a dead body in my woods?" Genie asked, outraged, planting both hands on her hips. She didn't bother asking what Marissa had been doing out there. Obviously, she knew. "And then you were shot at?"

Solemnly Craig and Marissa nodded. "The sheriff is on his way there, now," Craig replied, pulling a chair out from the table for Marissa.

"Does he have any idea who it is?"

Craig shrugged, resting his hands on her shoulders, lightly rubbing them. "I still think Paul Christenson is behind this."

"Aarrgh!" Thumping angry fists on the table, Genie harrumphed and plopped onto a third chair. She held her head in her hands. "What am I going to do? I can't go home because there is a madman cavorting about my woods shooting people!"

Rising, Marissa moved to her friend and wrapped sympathetic arms around her. "I know this is hard, but Sheriff Hudson and the other deputies will catch him. I'm sure of it."

Genie looked back at Marissa with troubled eyes. "I guess now we know where the legend about the murderer came from."

Marissa nodded slowly. "Not a made up horror story after all."

* * *

Stepping onto Carolyn's back porch to steal a moment alone with Marissa, Craig turned her to face him. "Are you really doing all right?" Reaching out he brushed a thumb across her cheek as worried eyes roamed over her face.

She nodded. "I'll be fine." Reaching up, she brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead and drew a shuddering breath. "I'm just glad you're all right." Their eyes locked and in that moment everything became timeless... still.

All else melted away.

Stepping a bit closer Craig slid his hands around her waist watching the ever darkening shadows dance across her face. "Marry me?" No flowery words of love and longing came readily to his lips but his deep voice wrought with emotion said all that was needed. The ensuing darkness made it impossible to see her face or gain even a small glimpse of her expression. With bated breath Craig stared into her shadowed eyes silently pleading that he hadn't seriously erred in choosing the moment to tread upon this particular limb.

A small barely audible sniffle escaped her lips and her hands shook. "No, Marissa, Please don't cry. Don't cry." He cupped her face in his hands, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. "I'm sorry. This was a poor time to propose. I didn't mean to upset you." Craig was devastated. He'd pushed too hard, and now he had no one but himself to blame for the rejection. Still... he just couldn't believe that she felt nothing for him. From the very beginning they'd seemed drawn together by some unknown force.

She sniffed again leaning her cheek against the warm flat of his palm. "That's not it. I'm just so happy."

"Happy?" He bent down, looking directly into her eyes. "You mean...?

"Yes," she cried, throwing her arms about his neck. "I'm saying yes." Craig laughed aloud, sweeping her off the wooden planks, turning a wide circle.

Marissa pressed breathless kisses to his lips, and Craig fought to accept that he'd truly won her. She lifted her head, fixing eyes like melted chocolate on his. "I love you," she whispered.

"I know," he grinned, finally allowing her feet to touch to the ground.

"We should tell Genie and Carolyn." She grasped his hand, tugging him back toward the house.

"Wait." He pulled her back with a low laugh. "I have something for you."

"You do?" Surprise and excitement brimmed in her expression.

"The other reason I came looking for you this afternoon after you disappeared." He shoved a hand into his inner breast pocket and withdrew an exquisite engagement ring. "I was preparing to plead and if necessary demand that that you marry me." Slowly he slid the thick band, inlaid with a diamond of no meager size and offset with two sapphires onto her finger. "It was my mother's."

"It's beautiful." Amazed eyes raised to his. "Oh, Craig, thank you. Thank you so much!" She threw her arms around his neck again, burying her face against his shoulder.

"Marissa, I must know, why did you change your mind tonight?"

She eased back, resting her palms against his chest, toying with one of the gold buttons. "We were shot at tonight." She shook her head, disbelieving. "I still cannot quite fathom it, but," her eyes flicked upward, the swirl of emotions reflected within real and vulnerable, "I could have lost you, and I realized that no matter how complicated my life is... I don't want to spend a moment of it without you. Whatever lies in my past... you are my future, Craig."

Craig stared down at her for a long moment, rubbing a stray hair between thumb and forefinger. He sensed a wealth of other meaning beneath her words. He resisted the urge to delve deeper, this woman would be his wife, God willing he'd have a lifetime to unearth her scars. Running a hand up to cradle the back of her neck he pressed firm lips to her neck, tasting her sweetness. "Come home with me tonight."

With her breath hot in his ear and full breasts crushed against his chest he wanted nothing more than to rip the clothes from her body and bury himself in the inviting heat of her. Again! Now! Her lips were wet on his neck and the way her fingers feathered the hair at his nape. Her touch was caring, loving and it was driving him crazy. His lips moved to her ear and the moan she emitted as he gently nipped was more than he could bear.

"What?" her voice was breathless as she dissolved against his chest.

"Come home with me tonight."

"No," she moaned the word against his lips.

"What do you mean no?" His hand found the curve of her buttock and he grasped her almost roughly against him.

"I want to do this right," her breath was tantalizingly hot and wet in his ear. "I want our wedding night to be perfect."

Groaning aloud he dragged himself away from her. "I think we already ruined the concept of a wedding night."

"Please, Craig? Nothing in my relationship with Brian was ever quite right. With you I want to follow tradition. "Please, Craig?"

"Er..." Though he wanted to continue arguing the point, Craig understood that she needed for them to have one magical night of perfection. Wedding night. Silently he vowed to make that night as special for her as possible.

Ten

Genie and Carolyn were both ecstatic when told of the engagement.

"I am so proud of you, Marissa," Genie said, having slipped into Marissa's room later that night. Carolyn, of course, had no idea that her "cousin" from Atlanta was no real relation, so both time-travelers were careful with what they said in front of her. "It took me a full year to come to grips with being here forever, and you've only been here for a few months."

The older woman's revelation surprised Marissa. "You seem so happy and composed I didn't realize it had taken you so long to accept."

"Well, I wasn't always like this. Life is what we make it and it took me a year to realize I could be happy here."

Marissa nodded. "It took me right up to the moment I accepted him to realize that I could make my life here and be happy." She lifted the delicate white gown Genie had pulled from the back of the closet. "Are you sure you want me to wear this?"

"Of course!" Genie exclaimed, her eyes dancing. "I hope you don't mind, but I really have come to think of you as my niece. I wore that dress to marry Jim, Carolyn wore it to marry Alfred, and now it's yours to marry Craig."

Tears welled in Marissa's eyes at the unconditional kindness the other woman had shown her. "Thank you, Genie. Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You are very, very welcome, Marissa." The women embraced warmly. "Are you excited?"

Marissa nodded and beamed through sparkling eyes." I don't think I have ever been so happy. I had every intention of swearing off men, but Craig just wouldn't take no for an answer." For a moment her expression sobered and she turned to Genie with a question heavy on her heart. "But I still feel like I'm lying to him. He doesn't even know where I'm really from. I stop myself from making reference to things that to me are common knowledge or everyday sayings that he has never heard of, things that don't even exist yet. What if I slip up and say something stupid. What if he thinks I'm crazy?" Marissa rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I guess what I need to know is, did you ever tell Jim? And if so, how did he react?"

The older woman let out a long breath and her pale eyes clouded as though she had drifted faraway. "Oh, Marissa. I'm afraid that it is not a question I can fully answer for you. I didn't tell Jim until after we'd been married for almost 17 years. I was always afraid he wouldn't believe me or, like you said, think me mad."

"But didn't you feel as though you were being dishonest? Lying to him?"

Again Genie cocked her head, thoughtful. "No." She shook her head. "No I never did feel that I was lying. I told him about my family. Memories from my past, I just omitted details that would have put me through the door of an asylum." Pain clouded her pale eyes as she continued. "I told him a couple of years before the war started. I was hoping to get an early start on convincing him not to join the military." A wan smile crossed her lips. "I should have known better. He was a proud southerner. It took a long time for him to believe what I was telling him, if he ever really did, despite the future artifacts I showed him, but in the end it didn't matter what I knew or what I told him. He refused to accept that the south had lost and, in the end, he died anyway."

Without a word Marissa stretched a hand out to cover that of her friends.

After a moment Genie's face brightened with a dazzling smile. "Enough of this depressing talk." She squeezed Marissa's hand. "There is a wedding in our very near future and we still need to find you something to wear to the engagement party." The wedding was scheduled for the following Sunday and while Craig would have marched her straight to the nearest justice of the peace his grandmother had insisted on a proper church wedding and at least one week to prepare.

With her wedding only a week away Marissa couldn't help but think of how drastically her life had changed. What if she had actually married Brian? Would she have been thrown back in time regardless and still met Craig, her soul mate? The thought of Craig as her soul mate put a smile in her face. What she felt for Craig surpassed any measure of love she had ever dreamed possible and now she was forced to realize that Brian had probably never truly loved her. For that matter, had she ever really loved Brian?

Rifling through the third trunk in the space of an hour, Genie finally pulled a simple but elegant creamy gown from a trunk. "What about this?" The gown was champagne in color, the arms would be left bare, with only thick satin straps to cover the shoulders, the neckline was modest with just a splashing of lace and the skirt fit snuggly against the hips before flaring just above the thighs.

"It's perfect," Marissa grinned reaching for the satin dress. "Now we have to decide what to do with my hair."

* * *

Floating on air—or so it seemed, Marissa descended the stairs the evening of their hastily arranged engagement party. Craig waited at the bottom, looking particularly dashing in his sharp dress uniform complete with red sash and intricately handled saber. His sandy blond hair was combed neatly beneath his cap and the handsome angles of his face were clean shaven. His wonderful eyes assessed her and her cheeks grew hot at his perusal.

"You are beautiful, Marissa." Craig bent to kiss her cheek and ran a hand through the silken length of her hair that draped unbound over her shoulders. "You're certain I can't convince you to elope?"

Marissa bit back a smile and shook her head.

"Pity." Craig clapped a hand to his chest, feigning a dire wound.

Marissa laughed, stopping two steps from the bottom so that she'd be as tall as he. She reached for his hand, pulling him to her for a kiss. "Only six more days to wait."

He sighed. "Ah, yes, six days... More like six eternities." He took her hand and she descended the last two steps. He tucked her hand into his arm. "Shall we be off then?"

Forty minutes later Craig escorted her into the impressive plantation house owned by his family. She recognized the mansion from her own time and knew it was one of few such buildings to be spared by Yankee invaders. "This place is magnificent," she murmured in awe. "You grew up here?"

"Yes. Now my grandmother, my mother's mother, lives here with a few servants and when my father isn't in Virginia serving as a presidential aide, he lives here with my two younger brothers." As if on cue a huge golden lab lumbered happily across the yard toward Craig. "Hey boy, oh no, down! Down!"

Craig held his arms up to shield himself from the massive paws of the hulking animal. Planting a slobbery tongue across Craig's cheek the beast sat back on his haunches looking markedly pleased with himself. Wiping a hand across his drool slimed cheek, Craig snorted in disgust. "Damn dog." He gestured between the dog and Marissa. "This beast is Jake. Jake, this is Marissa, but you are not permitted to jump and slobber all over her. Understand?"

Laughing, she leaned down to scratch the ears of what was undoubtedly the biggest Labrador she had ever seen. "Isn't your brother named Jake?"

"Yes," Craig drawled casually. "There is a pretty good story behind that."

"Would you care to share it with me?" Marissa grinned, enjoying the pleasant interlude before she was shoved front and center into the festivities. This was a moment with Craig, one she would cherish, one that would appear ordinary in any age.

"Five or six years ago, my brother Jake found this puppy down by the river and brought it home. My pa has a pretty soft heart when it comes to animals and as you can see we kept him. At first we named him Howler but no matter what we did we couldn't get the dog to answer to his name."

Absently he stretched a hand down to rub the dog's ears. "So anyway, Jake and the dog were absolutely inseparable and after a while we started to realize that every time we called for Jake the dog would come running. One day my father had some really important men coming for dinner to discuss plantation business and somehow the entire venison roast, um, disappeared and Pa had nothing to serve his guests for dinner. Pa knew who to blame for the missing roast and was so mad he hollered for Jake, who was supposed to be responsible for his pet. My brother, who was about sixteen, came flying down the stairs looking guilty as sin. The dog came galloping in from outside as well. Even with meat juice all over his chops he didn't look guilty at all. Ever since then we've just called the dog Jake, too."

Marissa's lighthearted laughter warmed his heart. "Where are your brothers now? Have you heard from them recently?" Craig rarely talked about his brothers and Marissa seized the opportunity to learn more about them.

"As you know, Curtis was reported missing a few months ago, but the other two are somewhere in Northern Virginia. I haven't seen or heard from them since I was reassigned to Charleston." Craig's drawl thickened. "Let's not talk about the war tonight." He smiled down at her. "I want to think about my beautiful bride and the wonderful future we are going to have together."

The evening was a whirlwind as Marissa was introduced to age-old friends of the family and accepted their good wishes with Craig. As the evening progressed, however, it became painfully obvious that in light of the vicious rumors which had been circulating, a fair percentage of Charleston's "society" believed the good Captain Doctor Langston must be marrying as a matter of honor after having "gotten the girl in trouble." After all, war or no war, this was planned to be an indecently short engagement.

Gotten the girl in trouble. Marissa heard that particular phrase muttered more times than she cared to count over the course of the evening and the scrutiny piqued her ire to no small degree. She came from a world with very different standards. On more than one occasion she physically bit back retorts to some snide comment or another. Fortunately, Craig never left her side and he gave no cause for anyone to believe he was less than enamored of her—or she of him.

At long last the party came to a close. She and Craig bid the last of the well-wishers goodbye and left his grandmother in the sitting room. Alone in the front hall Marissa sagged against his chest. "I have never been much of a social butterfly and after tonight I am exhausted! Thank goodness I don't have to be at work tomorrow."

"You may not be accustomed to acting as a 'social butterfly'," Craig said with a grin. "But no one would have guessed it. You're every inch the gracious lady, my love." Craig touched his lips to her hair and breathed deeply. "You always smell of roses."

"Well it's a good thing the party ended when it did because I was going to punch the next person who intently scrutinized my waistline."

Craig threw his heart back in hearty laughter. "I have no doubt that you would have made good on your threat. Your feistiness is only one of the things I love about you." He looked down at her for a long moment, pulling down one of her manicured curls. He released the hair and it sprung back into place. "I suppose I must take you home now." The gleam in his eye told her it was the last thing he wanted to do and it made her blood run hot.

"I suppose."

* * *

Craig handed her up into the cart he would use to deliver her to Carolyn's house and settled himself in the seat beside her. The stars twinkled in the late night sky and the air had a bite to it that hinted of autumn. To guard against the chill Marissa pulled a pale blue woolen shawl more tightly around her shoulders and leaned into Craig. "I wish we were married now," she whispered, her voice soft and wistful.

Craig's entire body tightened at her words. He was more than ready to have her properly wedded and in his bed. If not for having promised his grandmother the social event of a church wedding, he would have spoken the vows already. "We could go get married right now," he said, looking down at her mischievously. "I don't think I can wait another week to have you again."

"Your grandmother will be devastated if we don't wait. She wants to see you married in a church. If it weren't for the war, I think she'd have insisted on a longer engagement so she and Genie could properly prepare for a huge wedding."

Craig's broad shoulders lifted indifferently. "So we won't tell my grandmother or anyone else. We'll get married tonight, keep it a secret, and then have a big wedding next Sunday."

She turned teasingly accusing eyes to him and opened her mouth, likely to protest further, but... she hesitated, lending a bit of foolish hope that she might accept his proposition. "What is it going to be?" he asked softly. The carriage approached a crossroads, he slowed the horse slightly. "Your cousin's house or the justice of the peace?" Bathed in the silvery moonlight, Craig knew she had never looked more beautiful than in that moment. The love he felt for her was the most intense emotion he had ever known. He needed her. She was more important to him than food or air. "Marry me tonight?" His voice was soft, pleading.

Marissa turned sparkling eyes to him. "Yes. Although I don't think the judge will be very happy about us waking him up this time of night.

"He's not asleep."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because Judge Peterson left our engagement party all of five minutes before we did."

* * *

"Welcome home, wife."

Beneath the blanket of twinkling starlight Craig opened the door of his—their—townhouse and swept Marissa up into his arms, carrying her ceremoniously over the threshold.

Marissa giggled, curling her arms around his neck, unable to slow the rapid tripping of her heart. The mere thought of an entire night in wedded bliss with Craig, a night with no guilt or rushing, thrilled her. "What about the servants? Are they here?"

"No. It's just us." He kicked the door shut, nipping teasingly at her ear. "They only work here during the day, but if you like I will hire some to stay around the clock."

Marissa shook her head, threading her fingers through the hair at his nape, brushing the tip of her nose against his. "No, I would prefer to have the house to ourselves at night."

"Mrs. Langston," his lips covered hers for a dizzying moment, "I couldn't agree with you more."

Mrs. Langston. Mentally Marissa savored the words Mrs. Langston—there was something erotic about the way he said it. Mrs.? Erotic? Who'd ever believe she'd think so?

In record time Craig mounted the stairs, sweeping her into the bedchamber. Marissa laughed as he tossed her playfully onto the thick feather mattress. She rolled to her back, wrapping her arms around his powerful shoulders as he leaned over her reclining form. With a self-assured grin he caught her lips in a long, savoring kiss that left Marissa disconcerted and breathless. Without warning he stood up and backed away, leaving her utterly bereft. She reached for him, but he caught her wrists, preventing her from pulling him back.

Marissa sat on the mattress, watching in eager anticipation as her new husband tugged the gold buttons at his throat loose and dropped the heavy uniform tunic to the floor. Blood roared deafeningly in her ears and she rose up on her knees, watching him quickly unfastened the white shirt still covering his strong, swarthy chest. His suspenders hung in twin loops down beside his thighs.

He closed the distance between them and reached for her, drawing her to the edge of the bed until her breasts brushed the hard expanse of his chest. Electric shivers shot up her spine as he cupped her face between his palms, smoothing his thumbs across her cheeks and jaw, breezing them softly down her throat to the edge of her bodice. It was sweetest kind of torture as he held her on the precipice, her entire body tingling and straining, reaching, for him with every inch of her heart and soul.

Marissa reached behind her back, deftly unclasping the round pearl buttons holding her gown in place. Craig's broad hands peeled the champagne fabric from her shoulders, revealing the thin cotton chemise beneath. Their eyes locked and he slowly he bent down to sweetly capture her lips. Their mouths danced erotically as he deftly peeled the remaining layers from her creamy skin. He pressed her back onto the bed and slipped off his trousers and under drawers, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Marissa shivered as he settled against her, skin on skin. His tongue traced an invisible line down the gentle slope of her throat. And she trembled. This was better than anything she could have possibly imagined.

"I love you," she whispered softly.

* * *

"I know." Settling more fully on top of her Craig could hardly believe the goddess before him was his wife. Her hair spilled over the pillows in rivers of molten butter and her skin glowed like a magnolia in what meager light the moon lent. He roamed every inch of her body with his hands and lips, learning, exploring, until every last curve and crevice was embedded in his memory. Marissa trembled beneath his gentle caresses, answering his every stroke by tracing his body with her soft hands until he fairly vibrated with wanting more.

"I can't take this anymore," she groaned, wiggling beneath them until her hips nestled flawlessly beneath his. He grinned against her throat, slowly tracing the curve of her thigh with his palm. "Don't make me wait," she gasped.

"Your wish is my command, wife." He needed no further urging and positioned himself above her, more than ready to plunge into her heat. To hell with slow. He needed her now. Fast and hard.

"Oh, yes!" Marissa cried out when he entered her, and it was near to his undoing. The shudder that coursed from her body and into his was a sensual experience he would remember for the rest of his life. Never had he realized that this act of joining two souls as husband and wife through a love and devotion and mutual giving and taking of pleasure could usher forth a fulfillment that only those truly in love could appreciate... encompass... achieve...

If Craig had believed he understood love before making love to a woman who'd promised herself body and soul to him and no other, he was mistaken.

In the early hours of the morning he collapsed on top of her, breathing deep the scent of rosewater that seemed ever-present in her hair, and enjoying the slick of their damp skin pressed intimately together.

"You're amazing," he murmured, raising her hand to press a soft kiss upon the palm.

Marissa smiled with satiated contentment. "You're not so bad yourself," she teased, rising on an elbow she pressed a loving kiss to his forehead. She gazed into his eyes she sighed wistfully. "I suppose I should get back to Carolyn's before the entire town realizes I've spent the night here."

Craig flopped onto the pillows with a discontented groan. "No." Rolling to face her he dropped his head onto his hand, watching as she rose from their bed. "Stay. Let us scandalize the entire town." He grinned mischievously.

"Getting married early is supposed to be a secret," she reminded him, fumbling with her under garments. Dragging fingers through her long hair in an attempt to reassemble some form of order, she turned back to face him.

Craig's mouth physically dropped. She looked glorious standing in the pale moonlight with her magnificent curves scarcely concealed by the soft fabric of the chemise. Pale hair swirled erratically about her head, and she appeared mouthwateringly wanton. Reaching out he snared her about the waist, pulling her back into bed. "I don't care if it's a secret or not. You are my wife and I want to spend the night with you in our house in our bed." He rolled on top of her pinning her arms above her head.

"Craig, let me go." She laughed, squirming playfully beneath him, but she did not resist when he bent to kiss her. She parted her lips, deepening the exchange. He loosened his grip on her arms, more than ready to get her back out of that chemise, and—

She rolled swiftly away from him.

"Hey!" He cried out, laughing as she evaded his grasp.

Marissa quickly swept her gown off of the floor. Scooping up his pants she tossed them into his lap. "You are the one who promised your grandmother a real wedding so." She quirked a perfectly arched brow, giving him The Look, "either we tell everyone we're married or I'm going back to Carolyn's."

"All right, all right," Craig held up his hands in defeat, "but I am only letting you go for the sake of my grandmother. You're sure Carolyn and Genie won't spill our secret to her? Surely they will guess."

"They're trustworthy." She grinned stepping into his embrace. "If I don't go back there tonight, they'll never tell. But how I'm going to sneak through town in broad daylight, wearing the gown I wore to our engagement party, I haven't yet figured out."

* * *

The coffee supplies had run out some weeks ago as a result of the Union blockade of the coast but Craig and Marissa hardly minded sipping the bitter chicory, so absorbed were they in each other. They'd arrived back at Carolyn's house just before dawn and Marissa prepared breakfast while waiting for her friend's to rise. She couldn't wait to share her news with Genie.

"Ouch!" Marissa snapped her hand back from the heavy skillet popping and spitting on the stove. "I burned my finger," she complained, sticking the affected digit in her mouth.

Craig chuckled as he stepped behind her, folding his big arms about her middle. "Always hurting yourself. People are going to suspect I beat you." Pressing his face into the sweet curve of her neck, his breath washed over her skin in an intoxicating wave. Marissa closed his eyes resting back against his chest. This was how she wanted to spend every morning for the rest of eternity. "That is a huge omelet," he said, drawing her out of her thoughts. "How many eggs did you use? Ten?"

"Five," she rolled her eyes at his exaggeration. "What can I say? I'm hungry. Besides," she turned in his arms, "I thought we could share."

"Well, when you put it that way," Craig flashed his alluring grin and reached around her to snatch a scrap of bread from the counter. "I'm famished."

A few minutes later they sat side by side at the wooden table devouring their breakfast and sipping from steaming mugs. "When the war is over," Craig glanced up from his plate, "I would like for you to join my medical practice. I've been giving it a great deal of thought and I think we work very well together."

"Really?" Marissa was rather taken aback by his statement. She felt that work at the hospital had been going well, and she would even venture to say that she had made a goodly number of positive changes. "But I'm not a doctor. People wouldn't want to see me. What would you have me doing anyway?"

"Women would probably sooner see you than me, and," Craig set his fork down and looked seriously into her eyes. "Marissa, you have proven to have more knowledge and experience than most of the physicians I have met. In fact, sometimes I think you're about ten steps ahead of me on what needs to be done, and that you're somehow just steering me in the right direction."

He paused, lifting his mug from the table and rolling it between his palms. "I could petition the medical board to get you a license based on apprenticeship right now. I don't know where and how you learned all of the progressive ideas you have stored in that pretty little head of yours, but I do know that they work and I want you to keep working with me," he leaned back and took another swig of his 'coffee.' "Just think on it, all right?"

Marissa nodded, considering everything he had said.

"Craig," she asked presently, "what about the man who shot at us in Genie's woods the other day. Do you think he could come after us again?"

Letting his breath out in a heavy rush, he wrapped a secure arm about her shoulders. "I don't know, Marissa, but Sheriff Hudson is probably right. After what we found, whoever murdered that man is probably halfway to Texas by now."

"I hope so," she murmured with a shudder, laying a cheek against his shoulder. "If I'd just murdered someone I'd certainly want to get out of Dodge!"

"Dodge?"

Oops. "When do you have to be at the hospital?" she asked, quickly shifting the topic.

"Soon," he sighed. "Although it's the last place I want to be."

* * *

Half an hour later Craig made his way to the hospital deep in thought.

"Dr. Langston!"

Pausing in his trek, Craig glanced around the busy intersection and caught sight of Sheriff Hudson hailing him from across the street. With an internal grimace Craig dodged a horse and buggy and jogged across the street to the lawman. "What can I do for you, Sheriff?" Though the question probably should be, who'd you dig up in those woods?

Sheriff Hudson shook the hand Craig offered, his grim expression speaking volumes. "Doc, do you remember the Army payroll that went missing a while back?"

Craig a raised brow. "Of course I do." The wagon and horses carrying the payroll were found abandoned on the side of the road outside of town. There'd been no sign of the transport officers or the payroll. "What about it?" he asked. "I always figured the transport officers made off with the money and deserted."

"That's what everybody suspected up until yesterday," the sheriff said, then cleared his throat. "We found them buried in the Harris woods."

Craig nodded as a vision of the woods flashed through his mind.

"Along with three empty strong boxes, but there's more, Doc," George Hudson continued. "There were several other bodies out there, and I'd guess some have been there for years."

"Oh my God."

"This looks like a dangerous situation and I think best if Mrs. Harris and her family continue to stay away from the farm until we figure out what has been going on out there."

"Of course," Craig nodded gravely. "But, George, have you thought more about whether or not Paul Christenson could be the one behind this? He was nosing around looking for Marissa again the same day we were shot at."

George instantly shook his head. "I don't think so, Doc. He's not the sharpest tool in the shed if you know what I mean, and whatever is going on out there is bigger than he is smart. I'd wager on it."

Craig's brow furrowed. He wasn't so sure. "I'll make sure Genie and her family keep away from the house."

"Good man." George extended a hand again. "I'll head over and speak with Mrs. Harris right now. I've still got deputies posted out there so old Fredrick and Grace don't run into trouble."

Craig couldn't suppress the multitude of questions assailing him, the foremost of which was, Could they all be in danger? And why did Paul Christenson persist in following Marissa around town? Craig couldn't imagine Genie Harris being involved with murder, and Jim Harris was dead. It was a puzzle.

Eleven

The last days leading up to the wedding were a whirlwind. Not much for frilly, frou-frou parties, Marissa was only too happy to hand over all plans for the hasty wedding to Genie, Carolyn, and Ginny Long. While the bodies in the "haunted" woods proved an ungodly, unnerving revelation, she couldn't help but be lost in the bliss of the unconditional adoration Craig bestowed upon her. And there was something inexplicably fun about their precious secret. Thrilling was the word that came to mind. In the end Marissa had told neither Genie or Carolyn about the unplanned nuptials. Genie's eyes danced whenever she spoke of the wedding, and Marissa hadn't wanted to ruin her fun.

The only damper on her joy was being less than truthful with her husband about her past. Lying to the one person to whom she should be most honest preyed on her conscience.

* * *

Molly Jamison irritably elbowed the green pillow at the back of her chaise lounge. "I tell you, Kirsten, it is a damn, crying shame that Dr. Langston is getting married to that woman this coming weekend," she complained. "If you had played your cards as I told you to, it would have solved all of our problems."

Kirsten rolled her eyes. She didn't need to be reminded of the family's dwindling funds. "What would you have me do, Mother? I've done everything short of climb uninvited into the man's bed." She'd looked for every opportunity to catch Craig Langston in an even remotely compromised situation.

Molly sat forward. "What did you say?"

"You heard what I said, Mother."

"That's it!" Molly's eyes glowed with renewed energy as she abandoned her chaise. "You've solved it for us."

"Solved what? He is getting married in three days."

"But he isn't married yet." Molly paced about the room, clearly plotting. "Now," she said, turning back to her daughter, "here is what you are going to do."

Two hours later Kirsten swallowed a wave of unease and paused to stare up the steps of the hospital, stealing a glance over her shoulder. Her eyes flicked to the street corner in search of her mother, who'd set off to find Paul Christenson—the man hated the Langstons as much as the Jamisons coveted their money. Molly was gone. Kirsten knew that once she entered the hospital a specific chain of events would officially be set in motion, and there was no way to stop them. The plan her mother had concocted should work, but if it backfired... well, if it backfired Kirsten would be the one left to linger in the flames.

Putting a foot on the first step, she beat back doubts.

With the second step she thought, It is a good plan.

The third step. This will work.

And before she knew it she'd passed through the heavy door of the hospital and steeled her courage. No turning back. This was the moment when her future would be realized.

"Dr. Rowe," Kirsten dimpled prettily. "Do you have a moment to help me with something?"

The young, flame-haired captain turned to her in some surprise. "Certainly." He flashed an eager smile.

"My mother has been having difficulty sleeping at night and we were hoping you could recommend a little something to help her." She cocked her head, smiling sweetly and stared straight into his green eyes, pulling him under her spell.

He swallowed, his nervous gaze trapped within her own. "I, um—" He cleared his throat. "We really don't have any supplies to spare..."

"Oh, please," she said, lashes fluttering. "I would consider it a personal favor." She stepped forward, lightly touching his forearm and allowing her breasts to bump against his uniformed bicep. Men always gave her what she wanted—with the exception of Craig Langston anyway. She fixed Captain Rowe with a full-lipped smile and beguiling stare that men never resisted.

"Let me see what I can do," the young doctor said, patting her hand.

He strode to the supply room and emerged a moment later with a small glass bottle. "Laudanum," he said quietly, and placed it in her hand, letting his fingers linger over hers. "Just a few drops in some water before bed and she'll sleep like a baby."

"Oh, thank you, Doctor," she cooed with another smile. "Mother—and I, of course—will be forever in your debt."

"I'm more than happy to be of service to you, Miss Jamison, and please, you must call me James. I hope we'll become great... friends, Kirsten."

"But of course we will, dear James. I feel we already are."

* * *

The day before the wedding Marissa watched in some bemusement as her husband grumpily shoved through Carolyn's front door, shook the gray uniform jacket from his shoulders, and sprawled unceremoniously onto the settee, glowering into the flames licking the scarred brick of the fireplace.

"Craig, what's the matter?"

"My father," he grumbled testily, stretching an arm across the back of the couch as she came to sit beside him. He dropped it over her shoulders and squeezed.

"Your father is here?" Marissa didn't know much about Robert Langston, apart from the fact he was Scottish born, worked as an aide to President Jefferson Davis, and Craig had alluded to an overbearing nature which irritated his son. She also knew that Genie believed the man Zeus incarnate. If Genie liked him, he couldn't be all that bad. "Is he coming to the wedding?"

"Unfortunately." Craig stood, turning a circle about the room. "I tell you, Marissa, the man is insufferable. He wasn't in my house for five minutes before spewing insults about you and he hasn't even met you."

Marissa gulped. She could only imagine the content of Craig's argument with his father. She guessed the elder Langston was privy to all the lurid gossip about her loose morals. Gotten the girl in trouble, was a particular phrase Marissa had heard muttered more times than she cared to count. Coming from a world that practically glorified premarital relations, she found this terribly insulting. And while unwanted pregnancies weren't necessarily desirable, couples were not expected to leap into marital bondage as a result. On one occasion she'd overheard a woman in the dry goods store snidely comment to her companion, "There is that girl who got herself in trouble. Can you believe poor Dr. Langston having to marry her?"

Marissa had been so irritated she'd snapped a curt response to the shocked women who hadn't realized she overheard. "Isn't marriage the thing to do if a girl gets herself in trouble? Besides, I doubt any woman has ever managed it all by herself.''

The two gossips had marched off in high dudgeon, and somehow the exchange had gotten back to Craig. He hadn't been entirely pleased with her, though at first she couldn't fathom why he wouldn't want her to defend herself. Then she remembered that the fact of the matter was she had lived in a very different time and was going to have to make greater effort to mind her p's and q's She had no desire to create marital strife because she couldn't hold her tongue.

It had been hard, though, when she'd overheard yet another pair of old crows cawing about her. "It's a crying shame it is," one of them had said. "Especially with all the talk. Why, who even knows if the child is his?"

That time, she'd simply walked away, biting her tongue, but livid.

Pulling herself back to the present, she squeezed her husband's hand. "Craig, everything with your father will be fine. I'm sure we have nothing to worry about. It's you I'm married to. Not him."

And when she did meet her father-in-law, she was glad to learn Genie's opinion was one she could share. Robert Langston, while gruff, could manage to be courtly when the occasion called for it.

Craig was near to the spitting image of his father even though he was more the twenty years the man's junior, and Genie was quite obviously over her grief enough to be infatuated with Robert. Though he may have been less than thrilled with the northern roots of his son's chosen, and mumbled several times in Marissa's hearing that the story of her past did not quite add up, and stated clearly he did not believe women had a place in medicine, he was more concerned about the man in Genie's woods. "The sheriff is quite correct. It's unsafe for you to stay at your farm under the circumstances, Mrs. Harris. If your daughter grows tired of your company, I'm sure you'll be welcome in my home—that is—Craig's grandmother's home."

But when the time came for the men to depart for the bachelor's party at Schooner's Saloon—it sounded as though every man in Charleston would be in attendance—father and son did so on more or less good terms. Robert even unbent enough to kiss Marissa's cheek. "You are a bonny one, lass," he conceded. "My boy always did have an eye for the prettiest girls around."

"Didn't I tell you!" Genie exclaimed as the men took leave.

"Tell me what?" Marissa was only half listening, wondering if bachelor parties in 1863 consisted of the same trouble and antics as those in her day. Strippers. Too much booze. Plenty of trouble. Fights. She could almost envision Kirsten Jamison in a G-string and pasties leaping out of a cake. "Tell me what?"

"That all the Langston men are gorgeous?"

"Actually I think you told me that Robert Langston is the embodiment of Zeus." Marissa grinned suggestively at her friend. "You know Genie, you're both widowed."

"Absolutely not." Genie instantly raised a hand. "My Jim was it for me. I won't think of sullying what we had by chasing after another man."

"Well, what if another man was to chase after you?"

"Now that," Genie allowed with a twinkling smile, "would be entirely different."

* * *

It took an immense amount of effort but eventually Kirsten and her mother managed to dump the unconscious Craig Langston onto Kirsten's bed. Paul Christenson had successfully delivered him to their backdoor from Schooner's saloon and the bachelor's party. Dr. Rowe had recommended a few drops of laudanum, so she and her mother had instructed Paul to use half the bottle on Craig. That, combined with a couple of drinks at his bachelor party had proved more than adequate in sedating the large heavy man. It took a full forty-five minutes for the women to wrestle him free of his clothes and he didn't stir once.

Everything was going perfectly to plan.

"All right," Molly wiped her brow, letting a wicked grin split her face. "I'll make sure your father finds him early. With any luck you'll be married by noon."

Kirsten could practically hear the chinking of money as she crawled into bed with her victim. Tomorrow at this time she would be Mrs. Craig Langston, a dream come true.

* * *

Light forced its way through Craig's closed eyelids and into the hazed consciousness of his brain. He wanted to groan but it would take far too much effort. God, he felt as though he'd been run over by a wagon and at least four horses. It must have been one hell of a party. Too bad he couldn't remember it.

Why couldn't he remember it?

Craig had never been one to over indulge or have trouble holding his liquor, but Christ, he couldn't even remember coming home last night, or even leaving the saloon.

Snuggling closer to the warm figure encircled in his arms he wondered fleetingly why he was with Marissa since they wouldn't be married publicly until that afternoon. Oh well, it felt good to be with her, and—

Click-click.

The unmistakable and ominous sound of a shotgun racking shells was enough to sober even the worst of hangovers. Craig leaped out of the bed staring in no small measure of disbelief at Kirsten Jamison reclining on silken sheets of.... her bed?

How could it be?

He snapped his gaze from Kirsten to her father, Mike Jamison, aiming a double-barreled shotgun right at his naked belly.

"What the hell!" Stumbling backward, Craig snatched his trousers off the floor and turned a harried eye to the door where Mike Jamison kept his shotgun at the ready. "What is going on here? Where am I?"

"On your way to the altar it would seem."

"No. Hold for just a moment." Craig held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I swear to God I didn't touch your daughter." He gulped back a pit of unease. Or did I? No. He banished the thought as quickly as it came. He couldn't have, there is no way he'd been able to stand last night much less do that... with her.

Mike Jamison spluttered, entirely beyond words and held the gun steady as Craig hastily hauled up his trousers and yanked on his boots.

Contemplating the best course of action, Craig scooped up his shirt and vest, and cast a harried glance about the room. Jamison stole a murderous glare at his daughter and Craig made a break for the door.

Jamison jabbed the shotgun into his chest. "No you don't, you son of a bitch! I find you in my daughter's bed, her bed, and you dare to deny that you touched her?"

Craig held his hands out again, silently willing the man not to shoot. Kirsten's mother stood behind the door looking like a cat with cream. "You!" he accused, glaring from mother to daughter. Kirsten sat weeping loudly on her bed, a sheet pulled up to her quivering chin. "You two! You set me up."

"Set you up?" Mike raged. "You set yourself up and now you're going to pay the price. Charles!" He bellowed for their servant. "Fetch the reverend. He has a wedding to perform."

"No!" Craig shouted.

"What do you mean, no? You debauched my daughter and now you're going to make it right."

"First of all I did not 'debauch' your daughter and second of all, I'm already married."

"Pah! You're not getting married until this afternoon!"

Craig gulped as the older man's stubby finger caressed a trigger. "I was married a week ago by the justice of the peace."

A moment of stunned silence settled over the room. No one moved or even dared to breathe. Even Kirsten's pathetic wails choked off in an outraged gasp. "No!" she cried. "You can't have been!"

Craig took full advantage of the moment and flung himself toward the door. He nearly collided with half a dozen Jamison servants rushing around the upper level of the house, but he didn't care. This was a matter of survival. Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw Jamison in hot pursuit.

The first barrel of shot went wide, and white plaster flew through the air as Craig turned to leap down the stairs, two or three at a time.

"Daddy, no!" A voice screamed from the top of the stairs. "Don't kill him."

The door was one mere stride away when the gun exploded for a second time. The buckshot splattered against the door. Instinctively he ducked, at the same time jerking the massive portal open. Dashing into the morning sun, he broke into a full out sprint. The blood rushed and pounded in his ears, making Mike Jamison's outraged shouts blessedly unintelligible as he put distance between them.

More than a few heads turned as a disheveled Dr. Langston raced shirtless run. Rumors of impropriety soared.

Craig's lungs were on fire. He couldn't maintain this pace for another second. Casting a fleeting glimpse over his shoulder he assured himself that Mike Jamison was no longer behind him. "Jesus Christ," he wheezed, ducking into a deserted alley and resting his hands on his knees. Leaning against the brick wall of a building he wiped the sweat from his face with the palm of his hand. What had happened the night before?

He was certain he hadn't done anything with Kirsten. It reeked of entrapment. That was the only explanation. He just didn't know how those two conniving women had done it. "Marissa," he murmured, panic settling in a pit in his stomach. How would he ever make her understand?

Stepping from the alley Craig made his way toward Carolyn Reed's house, keeping a watchful eye toward his back.

He passed through the front door without knocking and was instantly met with a half dozen women scolding him about bad luck to see the bride on their wedding day before she came to him at the church. Holding his hands up to thwart their efforts to shove him back out the door, he couldn't help but feel exceedingly guilty when he caught sight of Marissa's huge, happy eyes. "Ladies, ladies!" The room finally quieted. "I need a moment alone with my wife."

"Wife," one of them teased, "she isn't your wife yet." The rest of the group cackled, caught up in the fun of the day.

"As a matter of fact she is and it is imperative that I speak with her immediately." His eyes swept their faces. "Alone."

Good humor sucked out of the room with vacuum force, but before the women could file away another small but raucous crowd burst unannounced through Carolyn's front door.

"That son of a bitch is marrying my daughter right now!" Mike Jamison's bellow echoed off the walls. "I've brought the reverend, so get out of our way."

An obviously uncomfortable Reverend Hollister shuffled his feet while Kirsten and Molly Jamison wisely stood just outside the front door.

"Marissa," Craig stepped forward with his arms pleadingly outstretched. Damn but he'd wanted to tell her himself. No. That wasn't true. He hadn't wanted to tell her this at all, but the events of the morning needed to come from him, not a riotous mob.

"What is going on?" The words were a question but her eyes said that she already knew.

Standing stock still he could do nothing but stare at her, guiltily.

"Are you going to tell her?" Mike spat. "Or should I?"

"I..." he began miserably, pleading with his eyes. "I..." his shoulders slumped. "I love you," he said finally. Taking another step forward he placed both hands on her waist. "Please believe me when I tell you how much you mean to me and that I would never intentionally hurt you."

All color drained from her face.

"Aren't you going to tell her why you can't marry her?"

"Damn it, Mike," Craig shot him a dangerous glare. "I told you that Marissa and I are already married. I'll show you the marriage documents if you don't believe me."

A ferociously heated argument about the events of the morning poured forth in immediate, graphic detail. Craig could have throttled the Jamison family, staring so smug and superior at his wife. The worst of it was that, after the ugly truth was revealed, Marissa didn't fly into a rage, she didn't shout, she didn't even cry. No it was far worse than that. She just stood in the center of the room, expression numb with shock.

"Marissa, I swear to you I didn't do anything with her." He clasped her hands, which remained limp even when he squeezed. "I would never—" He swallowed. He had no idea what to say. There were no words to convince her of his innocence, not when he'd been found in Kirsten's bed the morning of his wedding day—naked.

"So." She withdrew her hands and buried them in the pleats of her skirt. "Last night you went to the party and got so plastered that you blacked out and don't remember leaving the bar, much less anything that may or may not have happened thereafter."

"Er, yes." he shifted uncomfortably "Plastered would be a good word for it."

"If you don't remember anything, how can you be so sure that you didn't do anything with Kirsten? After all you did wake up in her bed this morning with her, if I'm to believe her father."

Damn it all, what was he supposed to say to that?

"They set me up!" He turned a jaundiced eye to the Jamison clan. "Don't you think this whole scene is just a little too convenient? I had two drinks last night. Two!" He held up two fingers for emphasis. "There is no way that two drinks would have made me drunk enough to sleep with her."

Kirsten blanched, then whimpered.

"I can't remember the last time I was so thoroughly sodden that I couldn't stand, and if I couldn't stand there is no way I could have done that."

"If I may interject—" Every eye turned toward the staid voice of the reverend. "Perhaps we should verify that Dr. Langston and Miss McClafferty—"

"Mrs. Langston," Craig corrected tersely.

"Mrs. Langston," the reverend acquiesced, "are indeed married."

The white knuckled grip Mike had on the shotgun eased slightly as he cast a stiff nod toward the pastor.

Kirsten and Molly exchanged a quick, nervous look.

Marissa's eyes narrowed at the pair. Craig could only hope she'd caught the exchange.

* * *

The day proved to be a horror-show for Marissa. She listened to arguments, more nasty rumors, half-truths and denials. And when it was all over she found herself standing alone in the front hall of the townhouse watching Craig stalk furiously about the room's perimeter. At last he turned to her but she held up a hand when he opened his mouth to speak.

"I've heard the story. I've heard all of the excuses and I really don't want them repeated." Pursing her lips she flicked her eyes upward and whispered, "Just convince me."

Eyes soft he stepped forward and clasped both of her hands, dropping to one knee. "I vowed before man and God to love you and honor you and cherish you all the days of my life," he spoke solemnly, the words reverent. "I now swear that I have not broken my vow, and as long as I live I never will." He pulled both of her hands to his lips. "Stay with me? Forever?"

Convincing? That was incredible. Marissa nodded as tears welled in her eyes. It was time to take a leap of faith, something she'd never been good at, and put her trust in him, her husband.

## Twelve

The next weeks were sheer bliss. Heaven. And Craig found himself happily falling into the routine of married life. As before, the sheriff's deputies had turned up nothing new in the Harris woods and he was beginning to relax into the idea that the man had in fact moved on. Craig strode through the streets of Charleston, sweltering in the August heat. Soon, though, the fall crispness would come, and then be exchanged for the cold air of winter. Craig felt like a little boy when he thought of it. He loved the snow, loved winter—though it tended to be the bane of his medical career, what with slips and slides and broken bones—but every year he couldn't wait to throw his first snowball. Marissa preferred autumn, she'd told him that just last night. Marissa...

Longingly he glanced toward the road that would take him home to his wife and wished he had more time to spend with her. His army commitment didn't allow time to maintain much of a personal practice, but Craig still did his best to honor those who'd been his patients before the onset of hostilities.

And right now instead of heading home he was on his way to a house call.

Marissa usually accompanied him but she'd stayed home that afternoon. He missed her. He felt like a lovesick fool, but that's what he was. It was wonderful to share his work with her, though he could never shake the sensation that she was biting her tongue, and he was certain that she knew more about medicine than she let on. He could never manage to coax the whole story out of her.

Climbing the steps of his patient's modest farmhouse Craig pounded on the door several times before a man of middling years yanked it open. From a curtained doorway inside the house he heard a woman weeping. Craig smiled in greeting at Steven Miller who had been discharged from the Confederate Army a week or two ago after a severe injury to his left arm in Chattanooga.

"You are not welcome here," Steven said flatly, his steely gray gaze angrily assessing the younger man.

Craig drew back in confusion. "What are you talking about, Steve? I came to see Annie. She sent for me."

"Without my permission. No son of a bitch traitor is going to lay hands on my wife!"

Disbelief washed over Craig like an icy ocean wave. "Traitor?"

"Your wife is a Yankee spy!" Steven spat the words in Craig's face. "Everyone knows it."

What the hell? Incensed Craig, the much larger of the two men, took a menacing step forward. "How dare you speak such slander against my wife? Marissa is not a Yankee or a spy! I can personally attest to that."

Steven closed the distance between them and glowered up at Craig. "Oh, I'm sure you can." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Of course, who would believe you? You're probably in cahoots with them blue-bellied bastards too!"

Shocked, Craig was speechless for a moment. "Why you son of a bitch!" He snarled, doubling his fists. "My own brother died in service of the Confederacy. For you to suggest I would so sully his memory is an outrage!'

"You're the outrage!" Steven launched himself forcefully at Craig and the men tumbled to the ground in front of the door, locked in vicious battle for a few tense moments. The lame arm proved too much for Miller and Craig quickly overpowered him. Deftly Craig subdued his attacker and glared at the man who dared accuse him or his beloved of treason. "Do you honestly believe me a traitor to the cause?" Craig barked, fist balled in Miller's shirt-front.

Steven stopped struggling and let out a ragged breath. "No, Doc, I don't think you are. But as far as that uppity little bitch you took to your b—" Craig's steely grip twisted on Steven's collar, choking back the words, but he shoved Craig's hand away and forged ahead. "How much do you really know about her? She sure don't talk like she's from around here or from Atlanta for that matter, and I've heard more than a few stories about her since I got back."

"I've heard those stories, too, Steve, and did it ever occur to you that the stories are just that? Stories? Vicious rumors? Lies?" Lifting the other man off the ground by the front of his shirt Craig shook him. "My wife is not a traitor, and if I catch you or anyone else spreading slander against her I swear on my mother's grave you will rue the day."

Steven's eyes widened with fear, but as Craig let him go again and stalked away, Miller refused to let the threat lie. "I didn't get shot up and damn near lose my arm to have someone little Yankee bitch sell us up river."

Craig shot a withering glare at the other man which promptly sent Steven scampering inside the door.

"You think about it, Doc!"

Craig was pensive as he made his way through the outskirts of town. Those filthy rumors refused to die. The gossips had been circulating tales about Marissa almost since she came to town, but never like this. Should he have seen it coming? "This is totally absurd," he muttered angrily under his breath. He'd never seen or heard anything even remotely suspicious but...

There are things you don't know about me! Marissa's voice rang in his memory. "Bloody Hell," he said aloud, pounding one fist into the other hand. What had she meant by that? Craig had always assumed it had to do with her personal life, with her engagement to Brian, but could it have been more? Why had she gone alone to the woods that day he'd followed her and they'd been shot at? The thought sneaked up on him, catching him unawares. No! No she was not a Union spy. It was quite simply impossible. But those foul accusations were escalating and the severity went beyond a tarnished reputation. It could put Marissa in grave danger.

Deeply troubled, Craig quickly made his way home. Should he even tell her? He knew how hurt and angry she'd been when the initial tales had reached her ears. Perhaps it would be best to keep this quiet for the moment, see if it went any further.

When he stepped through the front door of the house Marissa's laugh floated cheerfully from the direction of the kitchen. "Come on, Genie you can do better than that. All right, I bet you'll get this one." Marissa proceeded to hum a tune Craig didn't recognize.

"Oh, that's too easy, Marissa," Genie replied teasingly. "Stairway to Heaven. Led Zeppelin!"

Craig was thoroughly perplexed. He paused in the doorway to observe them separating bread dough in the kitchen. "What, may I ask, are the two of you talking about?"

Marissa and Genie jumped, appearing momentarily flustered, which Craig found odd, before Marissa turned to bestow a wifely kiss upon his lips and pop a bite of dough into his mouth. "Oh, nothing, we're just bored and, um, making up silly songs to amuse ourselves."

Genie formed a loaf and shoved it into a bread pan.

Craig chewed the bite and gave his head a rueful shake. What was a lead zeppelin?

* * *

"Well, I must be off," Genie said. "But do consider coming over to Carolyn's house when your bread is out of the oven."

"All right. We'll talk about it and maybe see you later on this evening, after dinner," Marissa said, walking her friend to the door. There, Genie fixed her with a pointed look.

Marissa nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. Really, Genie could have given her a bit more warning. She'd claimed to have forgotten until just that morning and only scatterbrained Genie would forget a situation as imminently dire as a bombing! Apparently in the wee hours of the morning August 22, 1863 the Yankee cannon, horribly named the Swamp Angel, would bombard Charleston with artillery and Greek fire. This was a situation in which fore-knowledge was a valuable asset and Genie had insisted she and Craig get away from their house well before the bombing. The problem was it was now the evening of August 21st, which meant she had a matter of hours to convince her husband of the need to spend the night at either the hospital or her "cousin's" house, without sounding a bumbling, idiotic fool.

"What were you talking about?"

"Oh, Carolyn's been blue lately. She hasn't heard from her husband in weeks and Genie thought if you and I came to stay the night at her house it might cheer her up. I told Genie I needed to speak with you first."

Craig gave her a warm kiss. "If you want to spend the night there, then that's what we'll do," he assured her.

Marissa turned with a smile and slid four loaves of bread into the oven, then chattered with him while she fixed dinner.

* * *

"Holy Christ!" Craig shot out of bed and ran to the window. "Did you hear that? I think we're being bombed!" A bright flash followed by another explosion confirmed his words. "Oh my God," he said. "We are being bombed!"

Marissa flinched, dragging herself from the warm cocoon of bedclothes as a resounding crash emanated from somewhere in the city around them. Genie had assured her that only the lower regions of the city would be devastated and that Carolyn's house, and probably even Marissa and Craig's home, should be well enough away from the cannon fire, but the reassurance did not stem the deep-seated unease quivering in her breast.

"I've got to get to the hospital." Craig was already half-dressed. "I'm sure there will be plenty of injured in need of assistance. Goddamn Yankees," he spat, "shelling a defenseless city with few left in it but women and children! They should burn in hell for this."

"Craig," Marissa said quietly, clambering into her own clothes. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

"How can you say that?"

Marissa gulped and shrank away from his blatantly angry gaze, mumbling, "I'm going to let Genie know where we're going."

"You don't need to come," he said. "Go back to bed. It might not be safe out there."

Marissa pulled on her stockings and shoved her feet into her boots. "If you're going, I'm going."

Craig didn't argue.

As Genie had predicted, only a handful of Charleston citizens were killed or wounded, mostly nearest the docks, and it appeared the city would go on more or less as before.

Trudging home from the hospital late that afternoon with Craig, Marissa was relieved to see their townhouse had been well out of the way of the catastrophe. Marissa elected not to mention staying away longer for the scattered shelling supposedly to take place over the next couple of days.

Craig had been pensively silent since the early hours of the morning and each time he came from the operating room, something in his face sowed a growing sense of unease in her mind. When she reached for his hand he sidestepped swiftly and clasped his hands behind his back. As they entered the house he didn't bother holding the door for her.

"Craig, is something wrong?"

"Hodges!" He bellowed for his servant, ignoring her completely. When no one answered, he turned to his study mumbling, "Just as well." Collapsing wearily into the overstuffed chair behind his desk, he wiped the flat of his palm over his face. Finally, when he met her gaze, the flicker of whatever it was—doubt? suspicion?— she'd seen in his eyes several times during the day had now turned into a dangerous blue fire. It frightened her.

He fixed her with a steel edged glare. "You knew that was coming, didn't you."

She froze, her face blank, as she sat abruptly on the edge of a wing backed chair, staring at him. "What?"

* * *

This is awful. Craig stared at his wife as the rumors and accusations clicked into place like all the little gears of a Chinese torture box. A box manufactured for the sole purpose of bending and twisting, contorting, into a weapon to tear his life apart.

"Carolyn wasn't suffering from the blues." He made an effort to keep his voice steady. "You just needed an excuse to get out of our house in case some of the Yankee shells hit us. You knew," he accused, slumping forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his head in his hands. He looked up again. "It's all true, isn't it? All the rumors and tales I've denied on your behalf. You are a Yankee spy! I've been so blind." He groaned. "God, Marissa, how could you do this to me? I loved you, trusted you."

"No!" she cried. "No, Craig. It's not like that!"

"Then what is it like? So help me Marissa, if I find out that you helped those blue-bellied bastards murder innocent civilians—" His words choked off and he was unable to continue for a long moment. "The only way you could have known to leave the house last night is if you had inside information, and the only way you could have inside information is if you're... one of them."

"No, Craig! No!" Tears filled her eyes, spilling over her pale cheeks, and it would have been so easy to believe her, except...he couldn't. "I'm not one of them, I am not a Yankee informant. I swear it!"

"Then tell me you didn't know, Marissa."

He rose, came to her, and knelt before her, taking her hands in his hard grip. She winced, and he knew he was hurting her but refused to ease his grasp until he had answers. Her eyes were so tortured... so pained... he looked away, sickened by the inevitable truth. "Tell me you didn't know the shelling was coming."

"Craig, I—I..." She began to cry, her hands cold and clammy, but she did not assure him she hadn't known.

The fury and dread smoldering in his gut grew to full on anger. It shouldn't be so hard, just three little words I didn't know. I. Did. Not. Know. "Christ, Marissa, you can't even lie to me about it? Bloody hell, I am such a fool." He dropped her hands in disgust.

"Craig," she croaked. "I am not a spy. You must believe me. It's not what you think—"

"Enough!" Craig leapt to his feet, wrenching himself away from her. He raked an angry hand through his hair. "Did you bed half of Charleston as well? What were you doing in the woods that day, Marissa? Passing off information? Did you help murder the transport detail?"

"No!" She ran to him and grabbed his forearms. "Please, just listen to me for a moment."

Throwing her violently off, he shook with red hot rage, a fury that became a palpable, living, breathing thing within him. It was bitter and vile as he recognized how she'd blinded him, fooled him, used him. "We both know you weren't a virgin when I took you to bed the first time. I was willing to accept that there had been someone else. You had been engaged, after all, but I never even asked myself how many other men may have come before me. How many, Marissa? How much of what I've heard is true? Tell me!"

"N–none of it," she stammered, quaking beneath his outraged glare. "It's not what you think. I don't sympathize with the Union, not necessarily. But, you see I—I know things."

"And you know these things how?"

"It's complicated. I can't really tell you how I know them, but—"

"What are you saying, that you're a witch, a seeress with visions of the future or some such nonsense?" His eyes rolled in rejection of the notion. "Oh, Marissa that is just so much more believable than your being a Yankee spy."

"No, I'm not some sort of clairvoyant. I don't have ESP, I—"

"You don't have what?"

"Never mind, forget I said that. It's not important. What is important is that now I have to tell you the truth about myself. I should have done it long ago, only I didn't see how you could possibly believe me. Even now I have only a slim hope that you will, that your love for me, mine for you, will get us through this."

She beseeched him with her huge dark eyes and a blow full in the chest could not have more powerfully laid him low. Please God, he thought, make this believable. I want to believe her. I love her.

"I'm... I'm from the future," she said, and squeezed her eyes shut as if to hide from the look of disbelief she knew must be on his face.

"The... future." Seconds ticked by before he added. "I see."

Marissa opened her eyes and gazed at him. "No," she said. "I don't think you do. I knew it was hopeless to think you might take me on trust, take my word for something so far beyond the realms of possibility that even I had a hard time accepting it when it... happened. When I was torn from the year two thousand and twelve."

Craig stood stock still, staring at her for several moments, and then... he exploded.

"What did you say?"

"I--I'm from the year two thousand and twelve."

His handsome face twisted in fury as he grasped her upper arms in a cruel vise. "Is this your excuse, your explanation for these accusations? Christ!" He half lifted her off the floor. "I realize I've been blind to the truth, Marissa, but I'm a bit more intelligent than to believe you're from the future. And you could at least have had the decency not to marry me!" The rage, now far beyond red hot, pulsated through him, darkened his vision, and he was hard put not to wrap her throat in his hands and strangle her.

"Tell me, Marissa, did you give up the life of a common whore after we exchanged vows or do you cuckold me every night I work late? Do you trade favors for information?"

"You're hurting me," she gasped, and he shoved her away as though burned.

He'd be damned before hanging for murdering his wife no matter how she deserved it.

"Craig," she cried desperately. "No, please listen. It's true! I can prove it!"

"Prove what? Who the hell are you, Marissa? What are you?"

"Craig." Bravely, she forced herself to meet his condemning gaze. "I know how this sounds, but I was born in 1986, July 8, 1986 in Chicago, Illinois."

He turned on a heel to leave the room.

She grabbed his arm, refusing to release it even as he pulled away." When I was three, my family moved to Michigan, and then down here. I've lived in Charleston since I was twelve."

"Get off me," he growled.

"No, Craig," she sobbed, frantic. "All those things I know about medicine? It's because I am a nurse! I went to school—university—for four years to become one, you know, like Florence Nightingale and—" She placed a hand over her eyes. "Oh, no. She was from England, but surely you've heard of her?" She gazed at his incredulous face. "In the Crimean War? Or how about Clara Barton. She is a nurse for Union troops."

"Ah, yes. A Union Army nurse. Is that where you learned about medicine? With Clara Barton in the Union Army."

"No. I swear it," Marissa insisted. "When I came here—I'm not even sure how it happened—but I was on my way home from the hospital and I stopped to help some people whose car had broken down on the highway. I called an ambulance for them. It left without a problem, but when I tried to leave my car broke down as if it's entire electrical system was shot, and my cell phone didn't work, either, and there were no lights on in houses anywhere so I figured there was a huge power outage. I saw some light in Genie's house, though I didn't know it was hers, and went there hoping to find a working phone so I could call Triple A, and the next thing I knew I was running into you in Genie's field and it was 1863 instead of 2012!"

She was babbling, sobbing, rambling uncontrollably, her eyes crazed.

He stopped, blinked. "Are you mad?"

"No!" She cried in panic. "Genie--Genie can tell you! Genie came from the future too. We still have our driver's licenses. I have pictures. I can prove it to you!" Marissa ran toward the door.

"Jesus Christ," he cursed. "Is your entire family insane? What next, is Carolyn going to sprout wings?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Craig."

Me, don't be ridiculous?

"They're not really my family! Genie found me right after I bumped into you. She guessed what had happened because the same thing had befallen her, twenty years before."

"Marissa," he sighed, suddenly feeling resoundingly hollow, depressed. Oh, but he didn't want to feel hollow and depressed; he wanted to stay angry, no, he needed to stay furious. He fought to maintain it even as he realized the woman he loved was quite clearly insane. He grasped desperately at the pulsating anger, drawing it around him like a defensive cloak, for if he gave in to sadness, he'd have to admit to himself that his wife was totally mad. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Marissa, but I am leaving."

"Where are you going?"

Her whisper was so devastatingly soft and broken that for a moment his protective shield of anger faltered, wavered, and collapsed. Her beautiful, wounded eyes glowed in the center of the room as if trying to suck him into their depths, making it impossible to stay angry.

But, without anger, what was left, despair? God, he didn't want to feel that! Anything but that. He needed his anger. There was righteousness in it. Anger was powerful. Anger kept the billowing cloud of crushing sadness at bay. "The hospital," he said. "I'll take the nightshift for Dr. Rowe."

Exhaling on a whoosh, he crossed the room and pressed his lips to her forehead. He couldn't help himself. "We'll talk about this later. But I don't want you going anywhere, not tonight, not tomorrow. Don't even go to see Genie. I want you to stay home and get some rest."

Drawing a ragged breath Craig grabbed his uniform tunic and sidearm and jerked the door inward.

"Whoa!" Craig took a reflexive step back as four pistols and a shotgun trained on his chest. Raising his hands he dropped his own gun and stammered, "What the hell is this about, Jamison?"

Thirteen

"I should kill you right now, you—you lecherous rake," Mike Jamison growled. "You know damn well why I'm here."

"I can assure you I do not." Craig's eyes darted from the various muzzles to the fingers lingering at the triggers. None of them looked overly steady.

"My daughter!"

"What about your daughter?"

"You son of a bitch, she's pregnant!"

"Christ almighty." Craig felt the black hole of his life began to collapse in around him, and for a fleeting moment he wished for them to shoot him and be done with it.

"Her mother and I heard her retching and sobbing this morning. She told me it's yours. I found you in her bed, so don't even try to deny it."

"I told you before that I never touched her! It's a goddamn lie."

"I should castrate you here and now!" Mike's voice rose impossibly high as spittle flew from his mouth. "You don't really expect anyone to believe that now do you?"

Craig looked the man dead in the eye. "Yes, I do, and so should you, considering the trick your daughter pulled the night before my wedding."

Jamison hesitated for the barest instant, and Craig saw confusion and doubt warring with certitude in the man's eyes. "But I found you in her bed, you bastard. In her bed! That was no trick! You got drunk and you ruined her. What will you do to take care of her, Langston? You're already married, but I expect you will give the child your name and support my daughter and the child you sired on her."

"Never!" Craig growled like a caged lion. "I didn't father her bastard. How can you be sure if she even is pregnant?"

"The midwife confirms it."

"Really? Then I suggest you look elsewhere because I am not, and will not be responsible for her!" Taking a definitive step back Craig put a hand upon the heavy door as though to close it. "If you'll excuse me, my wife is waiting."

Slamming the door closed, he slid the bolt securely home and leaned his back heavily against it, sliding his own weapon back to his side as he waited for the sound of the men treading back down the walk.

Sinking to the floor, he leaned his head against the wall. Numb. What was he going to do? As if this situation with Marissa wasn't enough to deal with, Kirsten had to go and throw her dirty ace on top of the pile.

Turning, he saw Marissa standing statue still and ashen before the winding staircase. "It's not true," he said.

Catatonically she slid onto the bottom step.

* * *

Visions of Marne and Kirsten merged as one. Memories of Brian's betrayal assailed her and Marissa was frozen with horror that this was all happening to her again. At this moment she felt more lost than when she'd first found herself in Genie's field. She'd been so desperate to find solace in her tumultuous life, to be loved, to be wanted, she'd fallen for the next lying man to come her way.

Marissa stared with empty, unseeing eyes. "I believed you, Craig. When you said she was lying... I believed you."

"Marissa, I never touched her."

"Why would she lie? And why would the midwife lie?" A woman didn't have to be from this time—this era—to understand the fear and uncertainty, the judgmental attitude of her community that went with an unplanned pregnancy outside of marriage. Marissa knew too well the whispers of this society and she experienced a fleeting wave of empathy for Kirsten.

Craig groaned, dragging his hands down over his face. "Don't you see it? They're still trying to set me up!"

"Why would they?" Marissa asked.

"At the beginning of the war her father converted all of his money into Confederate currency. The man is dead broke." Craig heaved to his feet and stood in front of her. "When their plans for a shotgun wedding didn't work out they decided to claim that she's pregnant to coerce me coerce us into giving them money."

Her eyes searched his, probing, seeking truth. She wanted to believe him, to accept that he hadn't betrayed her—that he was a better man than that, but... she shook her head... In the end she couldn't.

"All right, Marissa. Believe what you will. I'm going to the hospital."

The door slammed, jarring Marissa from her daze. "No!" she cried, clutching her arms to her middle as though to keep herself together. Collapsing against the stairs, she did not have the capacity to move or think, and certainly not to run after her husband.

Craig stormed through the streets of Charleston as visions of Marissa assailed him. Marissa laughing, Marissa crying, Marissa lying wanton in his arms... He could smell her, for Christ's sake! Feel the rosy heat emanating from her skin. "Jesus," he blasphemed for the umpteenth time that day. Even in the face of possible madness or more certain treachery, he was still crazy in love with her.

Was she a spy? A harlot? Insane, or none of those, or all?

Craig shook his head as the questions spun round and round in his mind. Whatever the result of the rising dilemmas he was near convinced that none of it boded well for him or Marissa.

Would it be best to cut his losses now? More to the point, if his suspicions proved true, he'd be obliged to report her to the authorities. And if she wasn't in charge of her faculties, there was always the Pembroke Asylum... No! His gut clenched. The thought was entirely too much to bear.

"Dr. Bernstein." Craig entered the hospital and hailed his support. "I'll take Dr. Rowe's duty shift tonight, sir."

"Very well." The commander nodded quirking a brow in question.

"And I don't expect my wife to be returning to work in the near future." The words were terse.

Major Bernstein nodded. "I can understand why."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Craig snapped.

"The rumors are getting worse, Captain. I just think it best she stay away for a while."

"As I've already instructed her to do, Major." Does everyone think I've been blindsided by a common whore and a Union spy?

"Very well, Captain. I'll see you again after your evening rounds."

Craig worked through the night and the following day and to say the situation was stressful would have been an understatement. The rumor that his wife was a Yankee informant had spiraled out of control and the angry glares, malicious comments, and flat out refusals to see him as a physician were almost more than he could bear. Combined with Kirsten's most recent ploy, Craig knew the intense desire to crawl into a dark hole and never resurface.

To make matters worse—if truly matters could get any worse—Kirsten appeared in the flesh at the hospital adding insult to injury, mincing and flirting, acting as if she owned him. It was as if a twisted version of his life had been placed on public display for scientific dissection by the city's gossip mongers.

Whispers of speculation rang clear through every corner of the hospital and the city.

"To have married a woman with Marissa McClafferty's reputation, Captain Langston must have been coerced. It's no wonder he went looking for another woman."

"Now wouldn't you know, he's got two girls in trouble? I never would have thought it from a man like Dr. Langston," one of the most loyal lady volunteers whispered to a companion from around a corner.

Slamming a palm against the table, Craig left the hospital.

He needed a drink.

* * *

Bad things always came in threes, Craig thought, sitting at the end of the long bar in Schooner's Saloon and that was precisely why he was gulping his third double shot of whiskey. Medicine had taught him to be superstitious, and one of his first lessons had been that things always came in threes, three deaths, three broken bones, three appendicitis; sometimes things even came in double threes. Craig hailed the bartender. May as well have four drinks just for good measure. It might break the cycle of three.

This particular crossroad in his life was no exception to the rule of threes and he sat dourly contemplating the three disasters which befallen him within the last day. Marissa was a suspected traitor to the south; Kirsten Jamison was claiming he'd fathered her bastard child, which was totally absurd, but hardly refutable at this point; and then of course there was the fact that his wife was very likely insane. Though if she was not insane all of the vicious rumors about her were probably true!

Was that three or four disasters or only two? Craig was too drunk to count, but as far as he was concerned this was the perfect example of the rule of threes.

* * *

Marissa paced restlessly about the house half the night and all day. Cleaning, straightening, scrubbing, folding laundry, rearranging furniture, anything to prevent two consecutive thoughts from running together.

Craig hadn't come home that morning, and escape from this hell was impossible because he'd actually posted guards—guards—around their house. She'd thought to seek Genie's advice and, after managing to have a note sent—through much coercion and much duress of her uniformed guards—her friend had not been at Carolyn's home.

That's when the cleaning had begun. She was so frantically beyond rational thought or emotion she couldn't stop moving. She smashed the fourth finger of her right hand four times in three hours and it was throbbing. But if she stilled her hands for more than a moment or two her mind took over, spinning and swirling until she actually had motion sickness, felt physically nauseated.

The servants had wisely indulged her every whim, but now that every article of furniture had been arranged until the interior was unrecognizable and every surface of the house clean enough to eat from, there was nothing more to plug the dam of her emotions and keep the chilling pain at bay. Marissa knew she was compartmentalizing. Knew that eventually Craig would come home and she'd have to deal with the bitter truth of the situation.

Couples in her time got divorced for less than this.

Divorce.

Did she want a divorce? Did she want to leave Craig? If he'd fathered another woman's child she most certainly did, or at least should. And why had she thought telling him the truth of her existence would help anything? Lost, Marissa wandered across the wide hall into Craig's study, collapsing into the large leather armchair behind his desk, succumbing to anguished tears.

* * *

Marissa could see Craig was in a foul mood when he finally arrived home that evening and her disposition was no better. She'd drifted to sleep in the overstuffed chair and been assailed by dreams of her husband in the arms of the winsome Kirsten Jamison, and the beautiful raven haired children they would no doubt have together. Roused by the heavy slam of the front door, she slipped quietly from the room and eyed him warily, terrified to speak for fear the bitter tears would burst forth should she even consider opening her mouth.

"Why are you still up?" Craig asked, gripping the back of a chair as he slung his gray jacket over the back and stumbled toward the stairs. He reeked of booze and the mantel clock read the hour well past midnight.

"You're drunk," Marissa accused.

"You are very astute, my dear." He leered at her from half way up the stairs and, leaning heavily on the banister, stomped the rest of the way to their bedchamber. "I'm exhausted, I haven't slept in two days, and I'm going to bed."

Uncertain, Marissa waited a few minutes before following him. Silently she entered the bedroom to find her husband sitting on the edge of the bed staring at the far wall. She lingered tentatively by the doorway. "Are you still angry about yesterday?"

Craig turned his drunken gaze upon her. "Of course I'm angry about yesterday! Are you not angry? I for one am very angry. I am furious and I don't know what to believe about any of this affair. At work today, if I wasn't contending with rumors that my wife is a Yankee spy, then it was rumors of what a scoundrel the good Dr. Langston is." He stood, voice dripping with sarcasm, and began to undress. "So forgive me if I am in a foul temper this evening, madam."

Marissa started at the forceful tone of his voice, tears welling in her eyes for what seemed the hundredth time that day, "I--I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are sorry." He staggered a few steps toward her, his face contorted as though he wanted to say more. At the last minute he swerved toward the door. "I am going to sleep in my study." He slammed the bedroom with such force a painting on the wall shuddered.

Halfway down the stairs, he heard her crying.

And now he felt like a total ass, knew he was behaving like a total ass. The agonizing sobs followed him down the stairs and it wasn't until he slammed the door to his study and collapsed onto his chair that he could no longer hear.

But then he could smell her.

The scent of her rosewater seemed to have embedded itself in every fiber of his chair and the aroma wafted through the air, flooding his senses. He loved her and she infected every fiber and pore of his being. Without her life would be empty. Had she used him? Craig could not believe it, could not bear it. But then was she mad? He could not bring himself to believe such a fate as insanity either.

All that was left was the truth.

Could she possibly be telling the truth? Hell, no!

Pulling a crystal decanter from his desk drawer Craig didn't bother pouring the dark liquid into a tumbler. Gulping the fiery liquor, he relished the burn as it traced a flaming trail down his gullet. He staggered up and fell full length onto an uncomfortable leather couch. Tomorrow he would deal with his problems; right now he just wanted to sleep. And forget.

* * *

"Go away," Craig grumbled, swatting at whoever sought to disturb his sleep.

"Dr. Langston," the unrelenting voice continued, "I fear you will be late for your duties, sir."

With gargantuan effort Craig drew himself up, squinting against the painfully bright rays of the sun. What had happened last night? It felt as though someone had taken a sledge hammer to his head. Looking up, forcing his eyes open, he saw his butler standing before him. "What are you doing here so early, Hodges?"

"It is nine o'clock in the morning, sir," Hodges said in his ever efficient voice.

"Damn." He should have been at the hospital by seven. Dragging himself to a standing position, Craig realized he was still mostly dressed right down to his boots. He staggered miserably from his study. Passing out on that couch had not been conducive to rest and every muscle screamed in protest as he started to move. Pressing one hand to his head, which he was fairly certain was about to explode he turned to the butler. "Is my wife up yet?"

"I do not believe so, Dr. Langston."

"Good," Craig muttered grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and staggering through the door. He wasn't ready for a confrontation with Marissa.

* * *

As Craig dragged himself through the front door of the hospital at quarter after nine that morning, he caught an expression of surprise on James Rowe's face. "Christ, Langston, this is the first time I've ever known you to be late." James stepped closer. "Are you drunk?"

"Of course not. I'm fine," Craig barked in return. Instantly, a white hot needle of pain pierced his skull and he regretted raising his voice.

James looked at him long and hard then pressed a little further." Do you want to maybe lie down for a while?" He cleared his throat. "I'll cover rounds for you."

Craig started to shake his head but the movement brought a new wave of pain shooting through his head and nausea gripping his stomach. "Maybe that isn't such a bad idea."

"How much did you have to drink last night?" James inquired falling into stride beside him.

"I lost track after about six doubles."

"Double shots of what? Scotch whiskey?"

"And bourbon."

"What the hell happened?"

The men had reached a back room on the second floor, where the physicians on night duty could rest. Craig collapsed face down on the cot. "If you haven't already heard, Kirsten Jamison is pregnant and telling the world it's mine." As soon as the words were spoken, Craig succumbed to the black oblivion of sleep.

A little after noon Craig woke feeling sufficiently revived. Shucking the rumpled gray jacket and undershirt from the day before, he pulled a fresh shirt over his head and stuffed it into his pants. Spying a mirror he cringed at his own reflection. He did look like hell. After rinsing his face in a wash basin and running wet fingers through his hair, he brushed a hand over his prickly jaw. A shave could wait.

Stepping from the sleep room he immediately sought out his friend James Rowe. "Thanks for covering for me this morning."

"That's no problem." James's eyes sort of drifted away. We... we all have rough days and I'm sure you would've done the same for me." For a moment, Craig thought James might say something more, but they were interrupted by an approaching orderly.

"Captain Langston." The boy swallowed, looking decidedly nervous. "You have a visitor, sir."

With a groan Craig rolled his head back on his shoulders. "And who would this visitor be?"

The orderly swallowed again, his sharp Adam's apple bouncing. "A Miss Jamison, sir."

"Then I'm not available to receive visitors," Craig said dismissively. He would not give the gossips more fat to chew by entertaining her visits at work. That woman had caused him enough trouble.

"Sir," the boy toyed nervously with his hat. "She said it was urgent and that she had to see you."

"No," Craig bit out. "Go dismiss her. And that is an order."

"But she was cryin', Captain," the boy blurted. "She looked mighty upset. I can't just leave her out there cryin'!"

"Crying," the word fell flat from Craig's tongue. "Look, son, I hate to see a woman cry as much as any man, but if she isn't bleeding then I couldn't care less what she is doing out there. Even if she were bleeding I would send you for one of the other doctors first!"

The boy's eyes widened in shock as he scampered away, and James Rowe hesitated for a moment. "I'll see to her, Craig."

"Thank you, James."

Nevertheless, work, proved to be an extremely trying ordeal. Several more wounded men were transported in that day, three died shortly after arrival...

Craig made his way home that evening with a heavy, defeated, heart. Climbing up the stone steps, he hesitated fighting the urge to run from the house. The moment he passed through the door he knew an inevitable battle with Marissa would ensue. On the other hand... drowning his problems in booze didn't sound quite so appealing tonight. A quick glance at his silver pocket watch showed the time. Six-thirty. The servants would not leave until about seven. Sucking in a long breath he strode determinably up the steps and inside.

The house was peaceful, quiet, and a small degree of tension eased from his shoulders. Marissa hadn't been waiting to stare accusingly from the hall this evening and the only sound readily meeting his ears was that of the mantle clock tick, tick, tick. Striding through the lower level of the house he didn't see her anywhere. Could she have left him? The thought left him reeling... Reeling and hurt and angry. Which really wasn't fair because he'd considered handing her over to the authorities.

Following the scent of fresh bread into the kitchen he found Mrs. Potts, the cook he employed, and stole a hunk of the loaf she was slicing.

"Good evening, Dr. Langston." Mrs. Potts bestowed him with her ever warm smile.

"Have you seen my wife recently?" Craig asked the question so heavy on his mind.

"Mrs. Langston wasn't feeling well today. I brought her some soup at noon, but she didn't eat it. She's been abed for most of the day."

Not feeling well? Marissa was ill? A sickening dread filled him at the thought that something could be terribly wrong. Quickly mounting the stairs to their bedchamber, he opened the door without knocking. The room was dark save for the evening light seeping in through the drapes pulled over the windows and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust enough for him to spot the slender form of his wife curled beneath the bedclothes. Silently, he crossed the room and stared down at her. His breath caught in his throat. She was beautiful in sleep. So peaceful and innocent. How could he believe the vicious tales circulating about her? The thick expanse of her golden hair shone like silk around her head and ever so gently he reached out to tuck a thick piece behind her ear.

What would he do without her?

Never taking his eyes from her face he sank quietly onto the bed, bracing one arm on the mattress behind her. Slowly she stirred and raised her sleep- weighted lids. A smile curved her lips. "I love you," she murmured sleepily, letting her lids flutter closed again.

Guilt struck him full in the chest. Craig forced himself to steady his voice. "How are you?" he whispered softly. "Mrs. Potts said you weren't feeling well." He bent to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Is everything all right?"

More awake now, she wiggled onto her back and cocked her head to the side, "I'm fine," she answered with a yawn. "I just feel really tired today. I think it's all the stress."

Craig gazed into the dark chocolate eyes that perfectly contrasted her buttery hair and found himself drifting in... falling under her spell. Afraid to shatter the peace of the moment, he said nothing, just lifted her hand to press a soft kiss on the palm.

"Your whiskers tickle," she giggled. "I like it."

He smiled, leaning in to scrape a bristled cheek against hers and for a moment all doubts faded.

"Do you really think I'm crazy?"

And there it was. Reality. Doubts returned. The painful truth returned and Craig just wanted to... break something. Something expensive. Something that would make a lot of noise and a huge mess. Shaking his head to clear the incredibly childish thought, he drew a long breath before answering. "No, I don't." The words were quiet but gruff as he spoke. "Which leaves me more than a little confused as to what I'm supposed to believe."

Marissa swallowed and fought back another wave of the nausea which had assailed her throughout the day. "Look Craig I know it sounds crazy and I know I wouldn't believe someone who told me a story like the one I told you." She paused. "But it is true. I can prove it."

He stared straight forward, struggling with himself for a long moment, "Marissa," his voice was ragged. "I don't want to be lied to or played for the fool. But just the other day I was in a literal fist fight with a man I have known my entire life because he believes my wife is a goddamn Yankee spy, which she probably is." He rose and turned his back.

"I've been accused of fathering another woman's bastard child and, not only does my wife not believe me innocent of such an act, but I am forced to either believe a ridiculous fabrication as to where she comes from or face serious doubts about her extramarital activities."

He strode with hands clenched to the door, trembling as renewed anger swept away the gentleness he'd felt upon waking her. "I need another drink." He slamming the door behind him. "Damn it," he cursed. I've made her cry again. Her sobs followed him down the stairs.

* * *

Marissa lacked the energy to follow him and demand that he see her proof. Instead she lay on the bed, letting the tears saturate her pillow. She felt completely wretched, which did not make the doubts of their relationship or her present state any easier to deal with. What was she going to do? And more importantly, what was she going to believe? Had her husband strayed from her with Kirsten Jamison? With her whole heart she wanted to deny it, but a midwife confirmed Kirsten was pregnant, and Craig had admitted to waking naked in her bed.

A soft knocking at the door intruded upon her thoughts and Marissa flung the sheet over her head. She didn't want anyone, especially Craig, to see her like this. The door creaked as someone peaked into the darkening room and soft footfalls padded across the floor. It quickly became apparent that the intruder was not her husband. Pulling the sheet back slightly, she saw the smiling, compassionate face of Mrs. Potts.

"Your husband asked me to bring some dinner up to you before I leave for the night." the cook set a tray laden with a steaming cup of broth, a crustless sandwich, and a plate of fresh fruit on the bed stand.

"Where is he?" Marissa asked as visions of him stumbling into the house drunk in the middle of the night crowed into her mind.

The older woman smiled from the side of the bed. "In his study I believe." With a knowing look on her face she continued, "Perhaps you should go and speak to him."

"As if he would listen. Men!" She spat the last word out.

Mrs. Potts chuckled, plumping the pillows behind Marissa. "Sometimes men just need a little encouragement," she said. "In twenty-five years of marriage I have had my share of cross words with my husband and in my forty-eight years I have met a goodly number of men. I can tell you that Dr. Langston is a good sort." The woman began to move toward the door. "Why you should have seen how worried he was when I told him you hadn't been well today." Before she closed the door behind her Mrs. Potts said, "Good night Mrs. Langston."

It took a Marissa a full twenty minutes, nibbling at the fruit and sipping the rich beef broth, but a last she gathered up enough courage to descend the stairs. If Craig was out drowning his woes in liquor again she would leave at first light but if he was still home... She would try and reason with him. A telltale shimmer of light leaked beneath the closed door of his study and, drawing a slow breath, she gripped the door knob.

* * *

Craig sat at his desk staring at the mostly empty crystal decanter of bourbon in front of him. Considering it had been full the night before, he must have imbibed considerably more than he'd initially thought himself capable. He hated the thought of Marissa crying in their room and hated all the more that it was his fault. A rattling of the door handle halted his brooding. He glanced up as she opened the door.

Given the expression on her lovely it was difficult not to cross the enormous chasm between them and gather her into his arms. But the rift was just too large. He clenched his fists beneath the cover of his desk.

She stared at the decanter. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Tonight?" He lifted his hands. "Not a drop. Last night? More than I care to remember." Leaning back in the chair he rubbed a weary hand across his bristly jaw. "What is it Marissa?"

She stood frozen in the doorway, as if teetering on a precipice and totally unsure of what to do. Quietly she moved across the room, the long nightdress swirling about her legs. "I do not wish to fight with you, Craig, but more than our marriage is at stake here. My very life could depend on whether or not you believe me."

He sighed heavily. "Look, Marissa I don't know what to believe, but if you have proof I will go with you in the morning to see it. All right?"

She stood still, searching his face, then nodded. "Thank you." She turned to go.

Craig jumped up, caught her and pulled her onto his lap as he sat back in the oversize chair.

"Let's go to bed," he breathed into her hair.

"You mean you don't want to sleep down here again?"

"No. One night of that was more than enough." Standing, he carried her up the stairs trying, not to dwell on how perfect and warm she felt in his arms. Setting her onto the bed and pulling the coverlet over her Craig turned to undress before sliding beneath the covers on his side of the bed. Closing his eyes he prayed for sleep to come quickly and grant him an escape from the turmoil of his life and the intoxicating nearness of his beautiful wife.

She was watching him. He could sense it.

Reluctantly Craig opened his eyes and raised himself up on an elbow, "Marissa, now what is it?" The pained expression on her face spoke volumes. The moment he'd agreed to see her evidence of time travel the next issue in their list of problems had crept into the light. Rolling onto his back he groaned. "This is about Kirsten Jamison isn't it?"

"I just can't believe she would lie about this, Craig, after all you were fou—"

"Yes I was found in her bed! Jesus. As if we haven't been over this a dozen times before. She wants money, Marissa. Money!" The word split the air "I have told you over and over again that she and her family have been trying to sink their claws into me and my money," he continued, voice thick sarcasm. "She's been chasing me for years. When I married you before they could pull off their little stunt they fabricated another story hoping I would be forced to support her."

"It all sounds like a pretty elaborate hoax," she said.

His mood grew blacker. "Look, Marissa, I love you, and I never touched that woman before or after our marriage vows." He paused, then went on, his voice softened a bit. "You are the only one I want to have children with, ever."

Closing her eyes Marissa nodded and rolled to her back. She released a weighty sigh, tilting her face back to him. Craig knew what she wanted. He held out an arm, silently inviting Marissa to come closer. She needed no further encouragement and cuddled into the crook of his shoulder.

He drew her near, then turned down the lamp wick, bathing them in darkness. Marissa snuggled against his side, her hand falling naturally at the center of his chest. The knots in his muscles eased just a little. What was he going to do? Pulling her tightly against him, he knew this could be the last night he had with her. If the so-called "proof" was not forthcoming tomorrow, he would have to decide if she was mad or a traitor. He would have to make a decision.

Silently, he sighed. Whatever tomorrow might bring, right now he needed to claim just a few hours of contentment in the arms of the one he loved.

Fourteen

The next morning Craig stood in the doorway, heart aching as he watched Marissa dress. He did not know what to believe, but he would be devastated if at the end of the day he found that she was not fully in charge of her faculties, or just as awful that all the rumors about her were true. Testily he asked, "If you're from the future, then tell me when the war ends."

"April, 1865 in Appomattox Courthouse, Virginia." Her answer came without hesitation. "The Union wins. General Ulysses S. Grant is the commander of the Union Forces at that time and General Robert E. Lee surrenders to him."

Craig's jaw visibly dropped. "Lee? Surrender? You're making that up."

"Could I possibly make up anything that detailed?"

He opened his mouth to reply and then rapidly closed it. Could she be telling the truth? The progressive ideas about medicine she so often spoke of and the countless times he'd caught her and Genie in the middle of a bizarre conversation—Craig still wasn't sure what a lead zeppelin was or what it had to do with a stairway to heaven—he would have to ask her about that someday. And her babbling about a nurse named... What had it been? Nightingale? The name was vaguely familiar, and he was sure he'd heard of a war somewhere in a place called Crimea, but it was only a vague notion.

The tension was thick enough to slice with a knife as they drove in the early hours of morning to collect a very sleepy and thoroughly confused Genie Harris from her daughter's house.

In further silence the trio drove to the farmhouse, all casting somewhat apprehensive glances toward the woods. Craig's mood had remained dourly foul and Marissa desperately hoped he would believe them when provided proof of the time travel. The sun was had just peeked over the horizon when they reached the farmhouse and Craig lifted the women from the wagon.

"Where is this proof you spoke of," he demanded before striding into the house without a backward glance.

Genie turned to Marissa. "You told him?"

Marissa shrugged as they followed Craig into the house. "I had to! It was tell him the truth or let him believe that I'm a Yankee spy."

"Oh!" Genie's hand flew to her mouth. "I can assure you, Craig, Marissa is not a spy." Leading the way into the parlor Genie opened the small door located behind the book case and pulled the box containing their futuristic belongings from the safety of its hiding place. Quickly she handed the box to Craig and allowed him to feast his gaze upon the proof of Marissa's words.

To say he was shocked would have been a gross understatement. Holding Marissa's driver's license in one hand and her cell phone in the other, he collapsed back onto the sofa, shaking his head in disbelief. "It can't be. It is impossible, impossible," he murmured over and over again. After a moment Marissa handed him another picture.

The photograph was amazing, like nothing he had ever seen before.

It was a picture of her and all in color. She wore trousers and a long sleeved shirt with the words USC Class of 2008 emblazoned on the front. Craig knew of no way for the women to fabricate such evidence but it was still several moments before he was able to speak. Looking at Marissa and Genie he asked warily, "So this is how you knew about the bombing?" Both women nodded. "You'd better start explaining."

Over bitter cups of Confederate "coffee" the women explained everything they knew until Craig's head was fairly spinning. Relief that his wife was number one, not crazy and number two, not a spy or a whore was intense but it didn't make coming to grips with the situation any easier. "Why don't you use your knowledge to save people's lives? If you had told me—someone—we might have saved those poor people down along the shore where the bombardment hit."

Marissa sat beside him. "Who would have believed me? Certainly not you."

"She's right," Genie nodded in agreement. "My own husband wouldn't listen to what I knew. He said that whatever I knew about the past was still his future and he was going to make his own way. Besides, anyone crazy enough to believe us wouldn't be in a position to make much difference and we would probably just wind up in the madhouse anyway. In any case, we cannot change the future--nor should we. Whatever happens, we are part of it. We must live our lives as though we don't know anything."

Craig nodded thoughtfully, grasping his wife's hand and squeezing it in evidence of his profound relief. "You're probably right. I don't necessarily believe the future will be exactly as you say, and there is still a great deal you two don't know." Changing the subject slightly Craig turned to his wife. "In the meantime what are we going to do about the rumor that you are a Yankee spy? This is going to get ugly, fast."

Marissa swallowed hard and looked bravely into his face, eyes shining with life despite her fear. "Surely if I'm innocent people will listen. You are an officer in the Confederate Army after all."

"This is wartime, Marissa. People don't think clearly when their homeland is being invaded. When I was with the Army of Northern Virginia I saw people's homes burned, their crops destroyed, livestock stolen or killed. Innocent people—" abruptly he stopped with an inadvertent shudder, shaking his head. Craig turned to wrap a reassuring arm around her shoulders. "I'll protect you, love, but you have to be careful. Go nowhere unattended and do nothing that could be construed suspiciously."

After depositing Marissa and Genie at Carolyn's house with firm instructions not to leave until he returned, he went home to don his uniform and made his way to the hospital. The immense sense of relief he'd experienced upon learning that his wife had not been unfaithful or treasonous was fading and now he was left to wonder, who was Marissa?

She did not come his time... What did she think of him? Did she laugh at him and his clumsy attempts to heal people? How was her life different before he'd met her? Discovering the true identity of his wife left Craig with an odd mixture of relief and insecurity. He was totally perplexed. Her proof had convinced him, but what to do about his other problems?

He felt as though he'd aged ten years in the space of a week. He felt trapped. The desire to escape grew ever stronger. Hangover be damned, that night he was going to have a drink. Or two. Or maybe even three. Definitely three... three would ward off more bad luck.

Fifteen

The next morning Marissa found Craig collapsed over the top of his desk. Again. And the man positively reeked of booze. "Where were you last night?"

"Oh, Marissa," he groaned. "What do you want? My head... It feels like it's going to explode."

Marissa propped her hands on her hips, anger bubbling in her veins. I'm married to a drunk! Well, this was the last straw. "Is that all you have to say to me?"

Craig didn't respond, merely slumped back in his chair, letting his head roll back on his shoulders.

Marissa narrowed her gaze. "Goodbye, Craig." She stormed from the room, head held high even as the thin thread holding her together threatened to unravel. She'd vowed never to be wrecked by another man, but... it had happened, and she would die before letting Craig know it. Her breath came in short gasps and her vision swirled through a blur of tears. She stopped in the hall to press her back against the wall, drew in a ragged breath and held it.

She needed her mother. Desperately. She needed the sort of comfort and understanding that only a mother could offer.

"Where are you going?" Craig's voice sounded with more clarity than she would have expected. His heavy footfalls sounded as he strode through the study and into the hall.

"Out." She dashed past him, tripping over the length of her skirt in the process.

Even hung over, Craig had stellar reflexes and he looped an agile arm about her waist without missing a beat. "What do you mean, out?" He set her feet on the floor, but continued holding her close to the heat of his rock hard chest. "We need to talk about this. About everything. You can't just leave."

"Talk about what?" She jerked away from him, swallowing the burning acid welling in her throat. "That you slept with another woman? That I am from a place and time which makes it quite impossible for us to be compatible? It's obvious you'd rather drown your sorrows in bourbon than talk?"

"Whiskey, actually," he said, sullen.

Her anger flared. "Whatever. It's becoming increasingly obvious we have absolutely nothing to talk about because you can't stay sober long enough to make any sense—or to listen to any."

She moved toward the door as he tried to take her arm again. "Marissa I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that and I shouldn't have gone out last night, but after everything that happened yesterday..." His voice trailed off. "And I swear to you again that I haven't slept with any other woman since the day I met you. Especially not Kirsten. I swear it on my mother's grave." Devastation lined his handsome face. "Please, Marissa, don't go."

She shook her head and bit the tears back. "Just leave me alone, Craig. In case you didn't realize I am a woman of the twenty-first century, and women of the twenty-first century do not roll over for lying, cheating, drunkard husbands. Even if they are pregnant." She moved toward the door. "I'm going back to Genie's."

He stumbled backward, tripping over the bottom step and landing heavily on the stairs. The color drained from his face. "Pregnant?"

"Yes." She whirled. "Does that make you proud? Fathering two children with two different women in the space of a couple months?"

Silence.

Part of her wished to take back her cruel words and ugly tone. She truly did believe Kirsten was expecting a child, but on the other hand, she could not reconcile that it was Craig's. Was that naivety? Or a sign that he was telling the truth?

"Craig?" she whispered.

He blinked, but nothing more.

Her heart lodged in her throat, and it suddenly became quite impossible to breathe. His pale stone visage swished in a blurry haze as tears rushed to her eyes. Choking on despair and loneliness she spun and flew from the house.

* * *

For an entire hour, Craig stared dumbfounded at a ding in the wall just to the left of his study door, and at the shattered crystal decanter below it. Pregnant. He'd known hadn't he? Deep in the back of his mind he'd recognized the signs, but denial was a powerful thing. Through years of conditioning, 'pregnant' had become something of a dirty word. He'd lost his mother in childbirth, he'd lost his sister-in-law to childbirth—worse, he'd been unable to save her or his nephew. He'd seen countless other disasters due to pregnancy. To lose Marissa that way, see her in such pain...

Marissa. The vision of a beautiful baby with dark hair and dark eyes floated through his mind. "Marissa," he called, rising from the steps and stumbling toward the door. "Marissa!"

* * *

Sitting on the fluffy green sofa at Carolyn's house, Marissa was convinced she'd been drained of half her bodily fluids through her eyes. The vision of sheer petrified horror on Craig's face was impossible to banish from her mind and she couldn't help but wonder, what was wrong with her? Didn't he think her worthy of having his child? She'd been glad to find the house empty. She needed this time alone.

The front door exploded inward.

"Marissa!" Craig's shout jarred her upright. "Marissa?"

A moment later her husband rounded the corner. Haggard and out of breath, he'd obviously sprinted half-way across town. "I'm so sorry," he gasped, falling instantly to his knees before her, reaching for her.

"Don't touch me." She yanked away from his touch, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her skits. "You're not even happy about my baby," she sobbed, turning her face away from him. "Why don't you just go away and make more beautiful raven-haired babies with beautiful raven-haired Kirsten?"

"Marissa, my love," he murmured, ignoring her demand not to touch her, and gathering her into his arms. Tired and miserable, she lacked the energy to fight and let his strong arms support her, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "I want to be happy about our baby. I'm trying to be."

"Trying to be happy?" She lifted her head and stared at him from ravaged eyes. She and had never felt more alone than she did in this moment. "Trying? Why is it so difficult for you?"

"Because I'm scared to death," he stated, raw honesty glistening in his eyes.

"Scared?"

"Terrified."

Marissa shook her head. "Craig, I don't understand."

"Marissa, I love you. It's not being the father of your child that scares me—it's the thought of losing you."

Her eyes widened, heart softening a fraction. "Losing me?"

"Yes." His gaze dropped to her belly. "If anything happened to you or our baby..." He shook his head, releasing a long slow breath. "I would go mad. My brother, Davy, lost his wife in childbirth, his son too. I was there. It wrecked him."

Tentatively Marissa ran a palm down his shoulder. "How awful. I'm so sorry."

He met her gaze. "No. I'm sorry. My reaction to your news was reprehensible."

She shrugged. "Well, I might have told you with a bit more tact."

"It was a bit of a shock," he said, "and with everything else going on..." He shook his head. "Marissa, forgive me." He clasped her hands in his, imploring her with his eyes. "I behaved as a total ass."

"Yes, you did."

"I've been drinking too much."

"Yes, you have."

"All right, I deserve that." The flicker of a smile lit his mouth. "Let me make it up to you. Please, come home?"

Pursing her lips she shook her head. "Absolutely not."

Devastation reflected in his gaze. "After the way I've behaved that's probably fair. What if I take a day's leave? Will you spend the day with me tomorrow?"

Sighing heavily she glared at him through a veil of glittering tears. "What for?"

"So we can be together. Talk."

She hesitated, warring within herself. Finally she nodded briefly. "All right, if you can get the day off I'll spend it with you."

### Sixteen

"Full house. Read 'em and weep!" Marissa laughed gleefully, spreading three jacks and two kings across the table in their lavishly decorated parlor.

"How do you win every time?" Craig shook his head and tossed his shirt across the table. He'd already lost his shoes, socks, jacket and belt to her and he was fairly certain she was cheating. She must be cheating, but after groveling on bended knee—literally—to persuade her to spend the day with him, he wasn't about to point it out. Winning never failed to put her in a good mood.

If it killed him this would be a pleasant afternoon.

Marissa blatantly ogled his shirtless form and her heated gaze burned across his flesh. "I must say, Craig, I have never seen a sexier man."

He quirked a curious brow. "Sexy. Is that one of your future words?"

"Yes."

"I gather the meaning is much as the word sounds."

Marissa winked in response, toying with the cards.

"You are driving me mad," Craig growled, and wondered at the sly smile on her face as he watched her shuffle and whip the cards in front of him. He was dying for a winning hand. Starving to see something. Lifting the five slippery cards he, scanned them. Aha! Aces and eights. This should be a winning hand!

"I fold." Marissa grinned devilishly and slapped her hand down on the table.

"No!" Craig feigned outrage "You can't do that!"

"Sure I can. I just did," she said with a sassy flip of her hair, and a finger pointed at his chest. "You, sir, are a terrible poker player."

"What do you mean?"

"You can't bluff. I saw in your face you must have a pretty good hand."

"Really." Craig leapt from his chair tried to grab her. Feinting to the right, he was ready when she dashed to the left. He swept her into his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck, and together they laughed. "Do you still think I can't bluff?" he asked.

Marissa splayed a gentle hand across his bare chest and turned dark eyes to him with a warm glow of expectation he'd almost forgotten. She tilted her face up until her warm breath mingled with his own. She coasted caressing finger-tips up his arms and across his shoulders. Parting her lips, she ran the tip of her tongue over them.

With a growl, Craig swept her off the floor, bounding up the stairs. He wasn't entirely sure how he managed to reach the bedchamber, as their lips never parted, but they made it. It took him far less time than a poker hand to divest her of her clothing.

She was so beautiful and willing and he needed her as he'd never needed anyone or anything. He had to know, to feel, that there was hope for them, for their marriage. It had been so long since he'd kissed her this way, and oh how he wanted her.

He lowered her back onto the bed clothes, settling over her soft frame. She wrapped her legs around him, wriggling into position without preamble. God, she must want this as much as he.

Bang! Bang! Bang! A meaty fist pounded their front door.

Craig sagged against her. "Can we just ignore it?" He pressed a hungry kiss upon her neck, fully intending to do just that.

"Dr. Langston!" an urgent voice called. "Doc! You're needed!"

Marissa groaned. "I guess that's a no." She pulled him to her for a last kiss before he quickly donned a shirt and galloped down the stairs.

Craig yanked the door open. A short balding man with a dusty hat clutched in his hands danced nervously from foot to foot. Craig nodded in greeting. "How can I be of service, Mr. Walters?"

"Doc, it's an emergency! There's been an accident out at my place, and my boy... his arm is hurt awful bad."

Craig nodded, beating back the frustration he'd have to cut his afternoon with Marissa short. "Give me a moment to gather my bag and I'll come with you."

A moment later he returned the bedroom. Marissa lay expectantly upon the sheet. "You have to leave?"

"Yes. Horace Walters has an emergency he needs me to attend to. If I know Mr. Walters, it's not much of an emergency and I should be home within the hour." Pausing to sit on the bed, he gathered her onto his lap and bestowed a loving caress upon her lips. "Wait for me, love?" Craig hated to leave his wife, so willing and pliant in his arms. The strain of the last few weeks seemed but a distant memory at the moment and he was anxious to begin mending the rift between them.

"I'll be here." Marissa's eyes sparkled with such promise that his heart lurched. She sat up on the bed and he took one more moment to run his hands through her waist length silken hair.

"I wish I could come with you," she said. "I miss working."

Craig sighed and stood again, before temptation overcame him. "It will get better, Marissa. I promise." He stroked her cheek. "Just be patient. I'm sure cooler heads will soon prevail and you'll be working with me again before you know it. I'll have you so busy you'll regret ever wanting to work!"

Smiling, she pulled the coverlet over her naked form. "You'd better get going. Mr. Walters's emergency may be more serious than you think."

* * *

Marissa listened to his booted feet thump down the stairs and the slam of the door behind him. She sighed, disappointed he'd been called away, but happiness than she'd felt in weeks, thinking of the time she and Craig had spent together that day.

Bored, Marissa dressed and wandered into the kitchen. Craig had given his household servants the day off so she was completely alone in the house. She opened a few cupboards, wanting to make cookies, but baking supplies were scarce with the Union blockade of the coast. Instead she pumped water from the pump out back, set the water to boil in a large pot and plunked a chicken into the pot. Stew was one of the few dishes she could make on her own. She sliced a few vegetables—carrots, potatoes and leeks, and then cleaned up after herself.

Craig's hour stretched into two.

Dropping onto a chair, Marissa crossed her arms, longing for some other sort of diversion. She reflected on the ways she'd found to pass time in her earlier life.

"I miss watching Law and Order in the afternoon," she grumbled, lifting a book from the end table and leafing through it. Nothing but pictures and descriptions of birds. She couldn't watch television, or listen to the radio, or waste time on the computer. That left reading. When was the last time she'd read anything purely for pleasure? Wandering to the bookcase she perused the titles, absently lifting a copy of Pride and Prejudice from the shelf. The movie had been one of her favorites and now it was oddly comforting to find something familiar between the pages of a book. With a sigh she flopped onto the sofa and waited impatiently for Craig to return.

Presently, another knock at the door sounded. In her good mood Marissa never thought to peek through the window. Expecting Genie or Carolyn, she opened the door with a smile and grimaced as Kirsten Jamison's violet gaze met her own.

With clenched teeth Marissa let go all pretense of civility. "What do you want, Miss Jamison?"

As if pleased to see the Marissa so rankled Kirsten smiled sweetly. "Is Craig at home? I'm afraid he wasn't at the hospital this afternoon when I stopped by for our usual visit, and he hadn't mentioned that he would be away. As you know we still have much to discuss."

The desire to throttle Kirsten was so strong Marissa had to clasp her shaking hands behind her back. Fighting to maintain her composure, she said, "My husband was spending the day at home with me, but he was called away for an emergency."

Kirsten shrugged her shoulders. "Then it's safe to assume he'll return in the next few hours? That being the case, I'll stop by later. Tell him to expect me around five o'clock. Oh, and Marissa, I would appreciate it if you weren't present for the discussion."

Seething, Marissa enunciated each word of her reply in a slow, strained tone, "You will not be welcome in my home later today or at any other time. If you wish to speak with my husband somewhere else, I will be present during any communication between you."

Kirsten narrowed her eyes menacingly. "Just tell Craig I'll be by later."

Stepping back Marissa clipped, "Good day," before heaving the door in Kirsten's face.

Shaking with outrage, Marissa hurled the book into the wall. "That little bitch!"

* * *

A chuckle of amusement escaped Craig as he stepped off the porch of Mr. Walters's house. The "emergency" had been little more than a sprained wrist and by the time he'd arrived the boy afflicted with the injury had been bounding happily about the yard, clearly not in need of medical attention. Just the same he evaluated and wrapped the child's wrist.

"No more climbing trees, Timmy." Craig knelt to the boy's eye level. "You're lucky you didn't break that arm."

Timmy gave him a sheepish grin. "Yes, sir."

"All right then." Craig ruffled the lad's dark mop of hair and stood. "Run along then. Your mama is waiting."

Striding back through the city on his way home, Craig was in better spirits than he'd been for quite some time. A half hour later, he entered his home and founds Marissa rampaging through the house, wrestling with a chair too large for her to handle. Perplexed, he asked, "Why are you rearranging the furniture again?"

She whirled, startled, snatching up the cards they'd been using before and flung them at his feet. "Have you ever played fifty-two card pick-up?" Before he could reply, she kicked at the scattered deck, strewing the cards farther and glared daggers at him.

"Your little girlfriend stopped by and told me to pass along a message for her." Her tone was all pain and brittle as ice. "She'll be back later, around five o'clock, to discuss your child. Tell me, darling husband, why does she feel free to drop by any time if she hasn't had any encouragement?"

"Whoa," he held up his hands up to shield himself from her tirade. Girlfriend? "Kirsten Jamison was here?"

"Yes! Apparently she stopped by the hospital for her ussuuaal visit with you, and was disappointed not to find you there. Are you certain it's for my safety you've kept me from going to work? Or is it your personal privacy you're protecting?"

"Just because she comes to the hospital doesn't mean I see or encourage her. We do not have 'usual' visits, or even unusual ones, not if I see her coming first." Craig stalked forward, defensive. "Don't you see that she is trying her damndest to drive us apart? For Christ sake, Marissa isn't it obvious that you are playing right into her hands and giving her what she wants? Kirsten knows goddamn well that I have never shown any interest in her much less touched her—"

"Never touched her? No, you were just found in her bed!"

He narrowed a piercing gaze on her. He would not be baited into that familiar argument again. "She wouldn't be so brazen if she wasn't completely desperate." Throwing his arms up in defeat Craig turned away from his wife. "This is hopeless. Do you think so little of me, Marissa?"

After storming righteously from the room, Craig realized he'd probably destroyed all ground gained that afternoon. Even now she was probably preparing to go back to Carolyn's house. Drifting into his study, he sank heavily into the comfortable leather chair. Letting his head drop into his hands, he let out a long breath. He'd sworn to be patient with Marissa, to be understanding and help her through the hurt of her past because he loved her.

But he was sick and tired of being patient!

She was... what exactly? The air? Heaven? His reason for breathing?

She was a lightning strike.

She'd certainly struck him like lightening. One afternoon he'd blinked his eyes and in a flash she'd been there. Literally. His eyes had been open walking across a wide open field and the next—bam—there she was bright, vivacious, and so goddamn beautiful he would never be sure if she knocked him over or he fell for her—literally and metaphorically—right then and there. He'd just returned from a miserable tour with the Army of Northern Virginia and he'd wanted, needed, the incredible ray of sunshine that seemed to follow her everywhere. He'd wanted to fall in love with her.

Willed it into being.

Leaning back in the chair his gaze fell to the photograph of himself and his brothers taken before the war. Marissa must have moved it in one of her cleaning frenzies. With a sad smile he lifted the picture and studied the faces. It had been months since he had received word from any of them. Curtis had been officially reported missing last November, which realistically was a notification of his death. While Craig knew he would never hear from Curtis again, the hope that Davy and Jake hadn't suffered a similar fate dwindled by the day. Marissa had helped him hold to some of that hope, but with her drifting away that last bit of hope began to wane.

Sensing a presence he raised troubled eyes to the doorway and gazed wearily at Marissa standing quietly just outside the room, her expression unreadable. Setting the tintype on the desk he said, "Marissa?" Damn! He hadn't meant for her name to sound like a question. "Are you staying?"

For a long moment her eyes, unreadable in the dim light of the study, caressed his face before she turned away from the door.

A balled fist slammed the desktop with such force that the picture of his brothers fell forward. She was going to leave. She didn't believe him and he was losing her. Reaching out he lifted the photograph and held it for another long moment. God, but he'd already lost at least one brother, could he bear to lose his wife for a deed he'd not committed? Gazing at the youthful, happy faces of his brothers he felt heartsick and swallowed around a thick lump in his throat. Just as he was ready to break down and lose all semblance of composure the sound of music drifted from the parlor.

His breath caught. Marissa hadn't left.

Rising, he followed the haunting notes. It was now or never and if he didn't do something fast it was going to be over. Over. Recognizing that no words would ever prove his innocence or deny his actions, he decided to show her how he felt, how he needed her, and that he would never survive without her.

Standing mesmerized in the doorway, he watched her fingers dance over the piano keys. Long strands of hair hung loose from her upsweep, curling on her nape. She swayed gently in time to the music and he heard her softly singing the words of the tune. Craig didn't recognize the song but he liked it and he would never be sure how long he stood suspended in time just watching her.

* * *

A gentle hand squeezed Marissa's shoulder and she stopped playing long enough to glance over her shoulder. Craig stood watching her, his with eyes filled with warmth, and love, and something else... torment? Sorrow?

"Craig," she began hesitantly. "I'm sorry for what I said. Sorry for blaming you for that Kirsten came here."

He held out a hand. "Dance with me?"

"But there's no music." Even so, she placed her fingers in his palm.

He pulled her to up. "We'll make our own."

She shivered.

One arm encircled her slender waist and the other warmly curled her hand within his. "What were you playing?"

"It's called Fly Me to the Moon," she whispered.

"I like it," he murmured into her hair, tightening his arm until they pressed intimately together, gliding in slow circles about the room. Beginning to hum the tune he'd listened to her play, he leaned his head down to press his lips lightly to her hair.

Closing her eyes Marissa, scarcely dared to breath. The sway of their bodies left her weak, and they were pressed so closely she the steady thud of his heart resonated beneath her hand. The warmth of his arms, of his body, left her flushed and tingling to the tips of her toes. Frank Sinatra had nothing on Craig Langston, not even blue eyes. No voice could ever hold a candle to the soothing sound of her husband humming the tune, even without words, and the moment was pure magic.

Could he feel it too? The magic?

Suddenly she needed for him to feel what she did. If he didn't feel it as deeply as she did, then it would somehow be far less special, less meaningful for her, less healing to her battered heart. Opening her eyes she turned up to him, "Craig," she whispered and he bent to brush her lips with his. The touch left her insides fluttering and she knew in that moment, he felt the magic, too, the magic of them.

"Marissa," he murmured leaning down to claim her lips in a far more turbulent kiss. Lost in him, dizziness overcame her and it was as though she truly were flying with him to the moon. Surely her feet were no longer on the ground. She clung to him, her only anchor. And then she was on the settee and he was on top of her, whispering words and promises of love against her lips.

"Stay with me. Don't leave tonight."

Seventeen

Stretching aching muscles after yet another long, frustrating morning of surgery, with grievously wounded men dying even as he worked over them, Craig's mood was at its lowest ebb, or so he thought, until he found Major Bernstein waiting for him by the entrance of the operating room. "Could I have a word with you, Captain?"

Grudgingly, Craig followed his superior into his office where another man, a colonel, sat waiting. "This is Colonel Omar Briggs," Bernstein said. "He has new orders for you."

Craig waited, his heart beating slow and heavy. The Colonel stood and said, "In light of the speculation of your wife's involvement with the Union Army, we have decided it best to formally restrict you from duty until this matter has been settled."

"What!" Craig was incredulous. "This isn't true, sir, none of it!" He stalked angrily to the older man, fury roughening his voice. "Am I being charged with anything?"

"Not at this time, Captain. You have your orders." The colonel remained rigid and with apparent reluctance, returned the two crisp salutes before he did a perfect right about face and marched out the door.

Major Bernstein put a compassionate hand Craig's shoulder. "Craig, I don't like this either. I don't believe you or Mrs. Langston to be Union sympathizers, but until this matter is sorted out you're being restricted from duty. I have managed to keep you from being arrested for the time being, but lay low and be wary, son. I don't know where this is headed."

In lower tones he added. "Take advantage of this time to get your life back on track. I realize your foremost concerns are the allegations made against your wife, but you also have the mess with that Jamison girl to clean up."

Craig slammed an outraged palm upon the table. "You're making a huge mistake," he declared, storming from the building. Blowing through the blustery autumn streets he took careful note of the stares from those around him. He cringed when Kirsten Jamison stepped from a store to confront him.

"Hello, Craig. I still want an opportunity to speak with you."

"You have a lot of nerve," he growled at her.

Expertly, her pale eyes watered and she sniffed indignantly. "Craig, how can you say that? Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? I will be cast from society and my child shall have no name."

Stepping back Craig threw his arms out and said loudly, "That is no fault of mine, Miss Jamison, and I have no doubt the blame for the mess that is my life falls entirely on your shoulders." The temptation to make a deal with her flickered in the back of his mind. He wanted the whole of his problems to just go away. Stepping forward he ground out, "What is it you want?"

A small smile stretched across her lips. "Isn't it obvious?"

"No, Kirsten, it is not obvious. I have absolutely no idea what would possess a woman to falsely accuse a married man of fathering her child." He wanted to shove her away from him, step over her and continue, but this had to be brought to an end. "What do you want?" he repeated.

"I have told you what I want, sir. Give it to me and all of your problems will go away. All of them. You can send word when you're ready to hammer out the specifics."

Suddenly Kirsten burst into tears and Craig turned to see several people had gathered behind him. Kirsten wept loudly. "I only want what every mother wants, a stable home and a good name for her child. How could you do this to me, Craig? How?"

"Jesus Christ. You were meant for the stage." Craig backed away. Watching her wail on the street corner it was no wonder the whole of Charleston, including his wife, didn't believe him. He found it difficult to dismiss the accusations and he was her accused! Uneasily, he broke into a run for home. That feeling was back. The sensation of hairs prickling on the back of his neck. The sensation of being watched.

He'd just started to turn when a blow to the back of his head sent him staggering to his knees. Rough hands shoved and dragged him into an alleyway. The world exploded in white light and his head swirled sickeningly. Craig was barely conscious enough to know there were three—maybe four—men surrounding him. He heard the ominous click of a pistol being cocked through the black tunnel surrounding him. "What do you know boys, seems we've caught ourselves a Yankee right here in Charleston."

"I'm not..." Craig tried say, lurching unsteadily to his feet. The world reeled so wildly he wasn't sure how he managed to remain upright.

"We've caught a Yankee who likes to bed our daughters and deny it even when he's caught with his pants around his ankles." The butt of a pistol cracked across his jaw while a rifle jabbed him brutally between the shoulder blades. He reeled and slumped against a rough brick wall.

"No..." The word was little more than a weak groan. Again Craig tried to stand erect, holding his head and straining to see through a thick fog to identify his attackers. One face came into focus and he lunged, but iron fists seized him at the same moment a gun exploded.

The bullet caught him low in the abdomen.

"You shot him, Christenson!" a panicked voiced shrieked. "You shot Doc Langston!"

"Christ almighty, we've got to get out of here!" a second, urgent voice said. "Do you think he saw us?"

"It doesn't matter," claimed a much more controlled voice as Craig fought to remain conscious. "He'll be dead before anyone finds him."

"But you shot him!" the first voice squealed again.

Fire and ice swept up his left side. Craig tried to move. Tried to open his eyes. Willed them to open. To see those who would leave him to bleed to death in an alleyway. Christenson? Would he try to hurt Marissa next? Marissa...

Blackness overwhelmed him and he was aware of nothing but drifting, totally weightless, away.

* * *

Marissa paced the house for the better part of the morning, fighting off the terrible sensation that something was... wrong. She tried to eat the lunch Mrs. Potts prepared for her and served in the big, lonely dining room, but could scarcely swallow a bite. She had just shoved her plate away when a tremendous clattering at the front of her house caused her to leap up.

"You need to come, ma'am," a man's voice called. "The doc's been shot!"

The doc's been what? Shot?

"Oh, my God!" Marissa flew into the hall. "What happened?" A cluster of three men half carried, half dragged her limp husband into the hall. Very little of him was visible behind the brute of a man hauling him by the shoulders but a dark liquid splattered onto the polished wood flooring. Blood. "No!" she clasped a hand to her breast. "Craig!" The left side of his gray coat was thick with a darkening pool of blood.

"Take him upstairs," she instructed, close on the men's heels. Hodges and Mrs. Potts both assisted. When Craig had been settled upon the bed she turned to one of the men. "You, go to the hospital and fetch Dr. Rowe." The man lingered, staring uneasily at the blood soaking the bed. "Now!" she snapped.

"Yes, ma'am."

When the man finally left she immediately set to work removing Craig's clothes with a large pair of sewing scissors. "What happened?" she inquired of the remaining two. Craig was gravely still and her hands shook as she cut the uniform from his upper body.

"Don't know, missus, we found him in an alley not for from your house." One man shifted uncomfortably. "I figure all the talk about him bein' a Yankee finally caught up with him."

Sheer cold settled over her at the thought of his being shot because of her. Focusing all of her energies on Craig, she examined the wound. The shot had obviously been fired at close range, though it was remarkably low and to the outside of his abdomen. As far as she could tell, the bullet had passed through but... she forced herself to be calm and focus.

"Mrs. Potts," Marissa said to the hovering cook, who stood by the door, wringing her hands. "Bring clean towels. Lots of them."

"Right away, Mrs. Langston."

Marissa applied direct pressure to both the entry and exit wound, watching Craig's color fade away. Oh, God! Where was James? How long would it take? The doctors at the hospital had little time to spare as it was. Craig's breathing grew painfully shallow and his color even more ashen. He'd not moved or made a sound since arrival home and...

"Marissa!"

She choked on a sob as a harried James Rowe crashed through the bedroom door.

"What the hell happened?"

She held her hands out to him but pulled back realizing they were covered in blood. Craig's blood. She grabbed the towels again and continued to put pressure on the wounds. "I don't know. These men carried him home about twenty minutes ago." It had felt like twenty hours. "I did what I could without help or instruments, but—"

The door opened again and an equally agitated Major Bernstein huffed into the room followed by a man, a colonel, Marissa had never met.

"Dr. Bernstein," James said officiously. "I'm going to need your assistance." The young physician was already pulling supplies from his bag.

"Of course," the older man replied. "Colonel Briggs would you please see to Mrs. Langston."

The Colonel stepped forward to take her arm.

"No," she pulled away. "I won't leave him."

"Marissa, I know you've seen a lot, but I'm not sure you should see this."

"Damn it, James, I'm not leaving him." Her jaw set stubbornly and her eyebrow quirked ever so slightly.

"Leave her be," Bernstein said.

"Very well." James pulled her away and removed the towels. "Colonel Briggs, keep an eye on her, please, and keep her out of our way."

"Of course, Doctor." Colonel Briggs turned to Marissa with a comforting smile that reminded her suddenly of her own father. "Mrs. Langston, it may be best if we give these men a little room."

"I'm not leaving."

"No," he acquiesced, "but perhaps we could wait just over here."

With a stilted nod she let the man lead her to a settee a few feet away. She heard Hodges tell Mrs. Potts to bring tea, hot and sweet.

Marissa sat on the edge of her chair, staring at the wall James and Major Bernstein made. It was impossible to see the surgeons work, though she had to admit James may have been right. Maybe she shouldn't see this. Time was lost to her as she sat nervously pleating the thick blue skirt of her dress. Occasionally she could discern a word spoken by the two physicians, but for the most part their murmuring was undistinguishable and she was entirely in the dark. Part of her wanted to cry but the tears were stuck. She was beyond tears. This hurt too much to cry.

After an eternity the doctors stepped back, looking exhausted. Marissa flew to her husband's side. He was breathing. Turning to James and Major Bernstein her eyes spoke her questions for her.

It was James who spoke. "The bullet passed through and as far as we can tell it missed any major organs. His guts are intact, but he's lost a lot of blood. God knows how long he lay before someone found him." He paused. "I don't want us to get ahead of ourselves, but he's young, he has a good heart, and if infection doesn't set in I think he'll make it."

Tears of relief rushed to her eyes and she threw her arms around James. "Thank you."

James returned her embrace and then turned to Major Bernstein. "I know we're short-handed at the hospital, sir, but with your leave, I'll stay a while to make sure everything is going well."

"If we need you, I'll send word." Bernstein glanced at Marissa who had dragged a chair close to sit beside her husband. "But I think he's in the best hands possible right now."

* * *

Craig's lids felt leaden. He couldn't force his eyes open. Voices surrounded him and words occasionally penetrated the haze of his mind. It was difficult to tell if any of it was real or just a dream. He remembered hearing shouts, the sound of a gunshot, and oh God, how his head hurt! He tried to move, and a worse pain stole his breath. His side was on fire, his back as well... What the hell had happened?

He moaned, prying one lid up a sliver. Soft fingers curled around his and he tried to speak but only succeeded in moaning again.

"Craig," a distant voice murmured, the sound so distant it felt an impossibility to reach out and grab hold of it.

"James," Marissa said, her voice coming through more sharply.

"Yeah?"

"I think he's waking up."

"Good."

The voices grew stronger. The words seemed closer, clearer, and he finally managed to open both eyes. A light pierced the cloud wrapped around his brain and his head began to throb even worse. Am I hung over again? He didn't remember drinking. The desire to sink back into oblivion was strong but... "Marissa," he croaked, dragging his tongue over parched lips.

"Craig," she clasped his hand. "I'm here. We're looking after you." He squeezed her hand back. She moistened his lips with a damp cloth.

"What happened?" His eyes were open now and the sight of his wife and friend hovering as though on death vigil left him further bewildered.

"You were shot," James said and Marissa squeezed his hand until it hurt.

"No wonder I feel like death warmed over."

"Do you know who did this?"

Craig closed his eyes and a furrow of concentration formed between his brows, "I don't remember anything. I was almost home and then—" He stopped, there was something on the tip of his consciousness, a memory obscured by a hazy shroud, an almost familiar worry. "I just don't remember."

"Marissa," James said, "would you get some water and that rich broth Mrs. Potts left?"

"You go," she said, her eyes never leaving Craig's.

"I'd rather you did. I'm not familiar with your kitchen."

When she'd left the room James folded his arms across his chest. "You really don't remember what happened?"

Craig shifted, wanting to sit up, but unable. "Someone shot me? Why? Because they think I'm a Yankee spy?" A vague memory of those very words swam into his mind. He blinked, and slowly, his head began to clear.

"The major told me you'd been relieved of duty," James said. "For what it's worth, I don't believe for one minute you and Marissa are Yankees, and neither does he."

"Thank you for that." Craig looked towards the door Marissa had left open. "And thank you for coming when we needed you.

"James," Craig went on, wanting to get this out before Marissa returned. He didn't want her to hear the woman's name on his lips ever again. "I think Kirsten Jamison is the mastermind behind all of this. The spy rumors, this shooting, everything."

James gaped slightly, then stepped back, his expression guarded. "Kirsten? Why do you think that?"

"I've been avoiding her sharp claws for years. All she and her family want is my family's money. I can't prove it, but I know they set me up, James. The morning after my bachelor party I woke up feeling as though I'd drunk an entire bottle of Laudanum."

The color drained from James's face. He raked a hand through his short red locks and plopped back onto the wooden chair. "If... if Kirsten was trying to trap you I should hardly think she'd have you shot!"

"No," Craig agreed. "I don't think that was part of the plan. I was just supposed to be roughed up. I heard... I think I heard..." His voice weakened again. What was it he'd heard? His mind fought to remember, but the pain... It was bad.

"That night of the bachelor's party. How much did you have to drink?"

"I remember having... two." A stabbing of pain made Craig pause. "After that I don't remember anything... And then I woke up in—"

"Kirsten's bed. Yes. I know. Craig, her father caught you there." There was more than a hint of concern in Rowe's tone. "Do you really mean to tell me you haven't been with her? You can tell me the truth, Craig. I won't tell your wife."

"I never touched her."

"But she said—"

"I know damn well what she has been saying." Again he tried to push himself up, but his body screamed in protest. Oh God! He wanted to curse but simply lacked the strength to do so.

"Easy." James lowered him back down to the pillows. "You'll undo all my good work."

With a shuddering breath Craig swallowed, feeling incredibly... tired. "Don't you see it?" he closed his eyes. The faraway haze beginning to close back in around him. He struggled to keep his head above the surface. "Kirsten is nothing but a conniving bitch. And she is ruining my life."

James's voice seemed to come from far away. "I think I can shed some light on at least part of this," he said, "but later. Rest now."

Marissa led the way into the room followed by the Hodges carrying a tray. At the sight of her, Craig fought off the sleep threatening to take him.

"Oh good you're still awake." She lay gentle fingers across his brow. "Do you think you can take a few sips of water or broth?"

"Yes," he said, though the tempting oblivion of sleep taunted him.

* * *

Marissa cradled Craig's head in her arm and dribbled sips of broth and water into his mouth between his spells of dozing. What she wouldn't have given for IV fluids and antibiotics. When the two cups were empty, she lay atop the covers on his good side, watching over him in the flickering light of a candle. When the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, his color looked better, she was sure of it.

James climbed stiffly from a chair where he, too, had been dozing, and stretched. Ambling over to the window, he parted the draperies before approaching his patient. "He looks better."

Marissa just nodded, stifling a yawn, and lay her head on Craig's arm.

As if on cue, his eyes opened and he turned his head to his wife, curled at his side. "Does this mean I'm forgiven."

James rescued her from the need to make an immediate response. "I have an errand to run in town," he interrupted. "I'm not sure how long it will take, but I'll check in a little later."

"What do you think, Doc, am I going to make it?" Craig managed a wan smile.

"I think you're going to be fine. The gunshot wound itself isn't all that bad, but you lost a lot of blood." To Marissa, he said, "I don't have to tell you to keep giving him fluids, do I?"

"No, doctor, you do not."

Craig attempted to sit. He grimaced, but managed without assistance. After stuffing pillows behind his back, Marissa scooted off the other side of the bed and stood while she escorted Dr. Rowe to the door, thanked him, and watched him leave.

She returned to her husband's side, and tentatively touched the wide white bandage contrasting with his bronzed skin. "Craig... Oh, Craig," she said, climbing back onto the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I was so afraid. I thought I was going to lose you."

"Not to worry, love, it will take more than this to get rid of me." He curled an arm around her middle, the scent of rosewater swirling through his senses. She always smelled so good. He would never smell a rose again without thinking of her.

"You and James were discussing Kirsten last night, weren't you?" she asked. "When you sent me away to get broth."

"Yes." His jaw flexed and again he just felt... drained. So much for being forgiven. "Marissa I'm really in no shape to fight about this."

"I don't want to fight either. Let's just talk."

"Please believe me when I swear that I love you and no one else," Craig said, keeping his gaze steady on her dark brown eyes, willing her to see the truth, to understand it, to believe it, once and for all. "Kirsten is a selfish, spoiled brat and looks out for no one but herself."

For a long time she was quiet. Thinking.

Her silence went on too long for his liking. "Damn it, Marissa!" He tried to take a deep breath, but pain stabbed him. "I believe without a shadow of a doubt that you are not a Union spy. I believe that you traveled one hundred and forty-odd years into the past so that I could find you. I believe the impossible for you, because I love you. Why can you not extend that same trust to me?"

She still said nothing and he plunged on, "Don't you ever consider how hard it was for me to find out my wife was not who I thought she was? You talk about amazing things from the future that I cannot even begin to comprehend. Sometimes it makes me feel totally inadequate, and all I can wonder is if I am nothing more than what you had to settle for when you found you couldn't return to you old life."

"Hard for you?" Her voice was incredulous. "How dare you insinuate that I am spoiled, and ungrateful, and casting you in an unfair light."

"That isn't what I meant Marissa."

"Oh, I think it is. Do you realize that you have never once asked me about my family? Did you know that I have three older brothers or that my mother's name is Anne?"

He gulped, damn it, but she was right.

"You do believe the impossible for me, and I love you all the more for it. You have nothing to feel inadequate for because people now are no different than people one-hundred years in the future or one-hundred years in the past. I'm sorry I lied to you but you've obviously never thought that my life changed in a way that no one could ever expect. I didn't settle for you Craig. I stopped trying to find a way back home. For you. I chose you. And if a way should turn up tomorrow, I'd choose you again." A glossy sheen of tears spread over her eyes. "I have accepted that I will never see my parents or brothers again, and you will just have to accept that I did lose a lot that was important to me when I was torn from my old life."

"I'm sorry." The harsh features of his face softened. "It's just that I don't want to be forever trying to rectify the wrongs some man in your past did you. I realize I look damn guilty, but I will not stand by and watch you regret our life together because you believe you could have had better in another time and place with that other man."

All anger drained in the face of his words.

"You can't possibly believe it's Brian I want?" Her heart melted. "Craig, I don't want him! That relationship was over, dead and buried, before I came here. No lifetime could be complete without you." The floodgates opened and she gave her heart to him all over again. "I believe you."

No other words were necessary.

He pulled her back against him, burying his face in her sweet smelling hair. For so long he'd longed to hear those words and reclaim the happiness he'd found with her. His wife.

"Come on, let's get you laid back down," she said. He nodded and let her ease him back onto the pillows. "Sleep for a while, then I'll feed you more broth."

"Don't leave me, Marissa." Craig caught her wrist and turned her toward him.

"I will never leave you," she vowed.

He smiled, and slept as she curled tenderly against his uninjured side.

Eighteen

Standing outside of Major Bernstein's office James Rowe gnawed at wad of tobacco stuffed in his cheek. His conversation with Craig Langston had left him deeply troubled and he now sought the counsel of his commanding officer. The major would know the best course of action, or so James sincerely hoped.

"What can I help you with, Captain Rowe?"

Closing the door behind him James turned to the major. "Sir, I think I can blow this whole situation with Craig and Marissa Langston out of the water, but I'm going to need your help doing it."

"Really. Take a seat and tell me more."

* * *

That evening James returned to check on Craig with Major Bernstein and the man Marissa had met the afternoon before.

"Captain Langston. It is good to see you again, though I wish it were under better circumstances." Colonel Briggs extended a hand.

"Yes, sir," Craig eyed the group warily.

"Some evidence has come to the attention of Major Bernstein in regard to recent accusations against you and your wife. As we discussed before, I will be overseeing this matter."

"Are we being placed under arrest, sir?"

"Nothing of the sort, young man." Gesturing to the bandage encircling Craig's waist he asked, "Do you know who did this, Captain?"

Craig shook his head. The memory had yet to return.

"Do you have any idea who would have wanted you dead?"

He let his breath out in a short, ironic laugh. "I have a few ideas, sir, but among them are half of the Confederacy who would believe the ridiculous rumor that my wife is a Yankee informant."

"Quite right," Briggs nodded thoughtfully. "Well, you rest up and we'll see if we can't get this mess straightened out before the end of the week.

Major Bernstein stepped forward and lightly dropped a hand to Craig's shoulder. "I've taken the liberty of posting a twenty-hour hour guards around your house so no one will think to pull another stunt like what happened yesterday."

"I appreciate everything you've done." Shifting uncomfortably Craig continued. "Colonel Briggs said some new evidence has come to your attention. What is it?" These officers were not treating him like a fugitive and a small kernel of hope was beginning to rise. He clung to it.

The reply was cryptic. "You just worry about getting well and let me take care of sorting through this nonsense. If you need anything, Craig, please let me know."

"Of course, sir, but I think I'm in more than capable hands." He cast a smile toward Marissa.

Even the major smiled. "Very good, but I'll be by to check daily just the same."

The men shook hands. "I appreciate that."

When the men left Marissa turned to him. "Dare we hope that this new evidence will exonerate us?"

A touch of sadness skimmed the surface of her eyes and Craig reached a hand out to stroke her cheek. "Everything will work out. Just wait and see."

* * *

When word of Dr. Langston's injury circulated through Charleston the societal paradigm shifted and a renewed sympathy for the young couple became apparent as they were inundated with visitors calling at all hours of the afternoon and evening. Fortunately, Hodges let only a few into parlor at a time, and only those he, himself, approved.

"I don't even know who half of these people are!" Marissa exclaimed, peering into the hall as the Hodges closed the door behind yet another group of callers.

Her husband, looking much improved, raised broad shoulders in an indifferent shrug. "Neither do I. Let's just tell Hodges to turn them all away." He grinned devilishly at his wife's incredulous expression.

"We can't do that, Craig! It would be so rude."

"Fine then, we'll turn them away for the rest of the day." He stood, reaching for the bell-pull, he summoned Hodges.

The elderly but poker-spined butler quickly appeared. "How may I be of assistance, Dr. Langston?"

"Mrs. Langston and I will not be receiving any more visitors this afternoon."

"Very well, sir," Hodges replied with a nod, and as if on cue, a knock sounded at the front door. The couple could barely contain hysterical laughter as Hodges deep voice intoned the message that Dr. and Mrs. Langston were not receiving any more visitors that day. The doctor was still convalescent.

"You see," Craig bent to look into her eyes, "that wasn't so rude, was it?"

Marissa sagged against him and shook her head. The last few days and been blissfully happy for her. Pulling him to the settee Marissa let him recline against her. Lovingly she ran soft fingers through his thick blond locks and caressed his face.

"I'm sorry for ever doubting you," she whispered running gentle fingers along his jaw line.

Fixing a bright blue gaze upon her Craig replied, "It is past us, love, no regrets." With a playful tilt of an eyebrow, he let a hand slide into her blouse. "I don't know about you, but I could certainly use a bath. Care to join me?"

"Is that a proposition, Captain Langston?"

"It sure as hell is." Standing with a swiftness she'd not thought him capable of, Craig called down for Hodges to have Mrs. Potts prepare a bath in the upstairs chamber.

A short while later Marissa tightly bound a new dressing over Craig's sutures and tried in vain to convince him not to soak in the water. "Craig I wish you wouldn't take a bath. I wasn't thinking earlier. It could open you up for an infection."

Grumbling a myriad of curses under his breath Craig brushed off her concerns and sank into the steaming water. "Are you coming or not?"

"Getting in the water would only be condoning what I specifically asked you not to do." Marissa stubbornly placed her hands on her hips and was caught totally by surprise when Craig swiftly snagged her with his right arm and pulled her into the water with a resounding splash. "Damn it, Craig!" The unladylike oath spluttered with a gasp as her head resurfaced.

Unable to keep a pleased grin from his face Craig raised a hand as though in concession. "I'll let you thoroughly inspect and cleanse my wound when we're finished in the bath, but until then not you or a thousand rampaging horses could pull me out of this water." Without further ado, he put an arm behind his head and watched appreciatively as Marissa stood and stepped dripping wet from the tub. Disappointment etched his handsome face. "Aren't you staying?"

Turning to him she wrinkled her face. "Of course I'm getting in. I would just prefer not to bathe with my clothes on." She shed the sopping garments and twisted the thick expanse of her hair onto her head before stepping into the bath. With a contented sigh, she leaned against the broad expanse of her husband's chest. "This feels good."

"You know what would feel better?" Craig asked nibbling playfully at her ear.

Relishing the rough expanse of his hands on her skin she closed her eyes and melted beneath his fingertips. "You tell me."

"I think I'd rather show you." His tongue dipped into her ear. "After we finish in the bath of course."

"I thought nothing could get you out," she said, and stood, water streaming off her.

"Well, when you put it that way..." Craig eased himself from the tub and drew her, still wet, to the bed.

"Stop," she ordered, giving him The Look. "You cannot stay with that wet dressing on your wound."

He allowed her to change it, then, lying on his back, pulled her astride him. "This time, you get to do all the work."

* * *

A light knock on the door intruded upon the magic of the afternoon. "I said we weren't to be disturbed," Craig called over his shoulder as he tracing a hand along his wife's flat stomach, he touched his lips gently to her own.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Dr. Langston," sounded the efficient voice of Hodges, "but a Major Bernstein is here to see you. He said that it is quite urgent, and your father is with him."

With a sigh Craig bent his head to steal another moment of bliss before reentering the nightmare they'd blessedly avoided for the last few days. "I'm on my way Hodges. Ask the Major and my father to wait in my study." Reluctantly Craig pulled away from his wife. "Well, I think the vacation is over. Bernstein must have some news for us."

Nodding Marissa tried not to look apprehensive before her husband, but she had no idea what to expect. "Craig, what will happen if I'm convicted of treason?"

Instantly he took her into his arms. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, all right? You haven't even been arrested. Besides I already have a plan for that."

"You do?"

"Of course. You can't believe I'd let them hurt you?"

She smiled weakly.

"If they try to arrest you we'll flee to Montana."

"Be serious, Craig."

"I am being serious. I've heard there is a great need for doctors in the western territories."

She gave him a wobbly smile. "I love you."

"I love you too."

A few minutes later the couple entered the study hand in hand.

Craig nodded to his father. "Pa? What are you doing here?"

Robert stepped forward to grasp his son in a fatherly embrace, but Craig felt how gently he held him, as if afraid of hurting him. "Genie wrote me about yer troubles lad." He cleared his throat gruffly and stepped back. "The thought of losin' another son was more than I could bear. I went straight to Major Bernstein when I arrived this afternoon."

"Genie?" Craig asked returning the embrace. "Genie Harris wrote you?"

"Aye," his father nodded. "We've been keepin' in touch since I came for that farce of a weddin'."

"That was no farce, sir," Marissa said. "I love your son and every promise I made I intend to keep.

"Oh, I'm certain of that, lass," Robert's eyes flashed. "Of course without you my son wouldn't be—"

"Not now," Craig cut in firmly. He turned to Major Bernstein. "What can I do for you, sir?"

A broad smile stretched across the major's face. "Craig you look wonderful!" Merely nodding in response, Craig waited for his superior officer to continue. "I just dropped in to check on you and let you know we have a date for the formal hearing. Colonel Briggs and I have gathered all of the necessary evidence and witnesses and a formal hearing will be held at the town hall, Monday at two o'clock in the afternoon. This situation will be resolved once and for all."

"Can you tell me a little more than that?" A muscle in his jaw worked tensely at Craig's temple. "How does it look for us? Does everyone still believe Marissa is a spy and I'm a lying bastard?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot divulge a great deal of information at this time, but I can tell you that everything should go well for you and Marissa." With a cordial tip of his hat Major Bernstein turned to leave, with Robert Langston close behind.

Silence ensued for nearly a full minute after they had gone. Monday? Day after tomorrow? Craig locked gazes with his wife. In two days, they would either be exonerated or on the other side of the Appalachian Mountains. He hadn't been kidding about Montana, or at the very least Texas, but either way it would be over. Over.

"What are you thinking?" Marissa's voice was soft.

"Whether we should cut our losses and run west now or take our chances running after the hearing." Drawing her to him he nestled her into the protective fold of his arms and placed his chin on top of her head.

"Will you shut up about going to Montana?" she scolded, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "What do you expect this hearing to turn up?"

"Nothing," he assured her. "The pendulum of public opinion has quite obviously swung back, putting us into the favor of society. Even Kirsten hasn't been brazen enough to show her face. If it was going to be bad James would warn us."

"You're probably right," she murmured. "I know you're right. Are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"As long as I'm with you I'm perfect."

Nineteen

Sunday morning dawned clear and sunny as Marissa and Craig prepared to attend church for the first time since Craig's injury.

"Aren't you going to eat more than that?" Craig questioned, watching his wife push her breakfast around the plate with her fork. "Services start at nine o'clock sharp." It was already half past eight and he'd spent the last hour waiting for her to eat.

Marissa raised her eyes and decided she must look as pale as she felt. She shook her head. "I'm not feeling very well this morning." God, if that wasn't the understatement of the century! She'd never felt worse!

Craig nodded in immediate understanding. "You know morning sickness is all quite normal in the early months of pregnancy, and in my experience it's a sign of healthy pregnancy."

"So reassuring, Doctor," she snarled, shoving the plate away and rising." Let's just go to church."

Barely able to suppress a smile Craig held up a hand in mock defense, wisely choosing not to speak. Helping her with a light shawl, he took hold of her arm as they walked the quick two blocks to the church. Though they took a pew at the back of the sanctuary it was impossible to remain inconspicuous, and near every head in the congregation turned to stare at them.

"Oh! You did what?" An offended cry and a harsh slap rent the air at the front of the church and all eyes instantly turned from Craig and Marissa Langston, to Kirsten Jamison and James Rowe sitting together in a pew. Kirsten slapped him again and both of them rose to their feet. James held a hand to the reddening mark of a handprint on his cheek. "What was that for?" he demanded indignantly. "I simply asked you to marry me and asked to have our banns read."

"And what makes you think I would want to marry you?"

"I don't know," James replied caustically. "Maybe because I'm the father of your child?"

The church plunged into hushed silence, no one even bothered to breathe. Not even clothing rustled. A coin chinked onto the floor but no one moved to retrieve it.

Kirsten's eyes widened in alarm. "You? You're not the fa-father!" She stammered, her composure more than ruffled. "I told you before you and I even—" She broke off. "I-I mean Craig Langston is my child's father."

James scoffed. "Craig Langston? I find that quite impossible to believe, my dear. How can you be so certain the child is his and not mine?"

"I... you... How could you, James?" Kirsten's cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. "How can you be certain?"

James Gestured about the church. "Would you really like me to elaborate in front of all of these people how certain I am? Including your parents? And in the house of God?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" Kirsten's fair cheeks deepened to a vermillion hue Marissa would have thought impossible. "James! You said you loved me, that you'd do anything for me."

"Except hang my best friend out to dry," James said. "Even I didn't believe him when he insisted that you'd set him up. But then, much too late, I remembered you coming to get laudanum from me the day before his bachelor party. Your mother wasn't really having difficulty sleeping was she?"

She clung to the back of a pew, appealing to him. "Don't do this, James. Please! I never meant to hurt anyone. I—"

"If you never meant to hurt anyone, why did you go to bed with me? How can you be so sure Dr. Langston is the father of your child and not me?"

Kirsten glared at him icily. "A woman just knows." Her shrill voice rose even higher. "I know! I do know who fathered my child!"

"Please," James said, stiff-arming Kirsten's angry father who rushed to her defense, his face mottled with fury. "Please enlighten a poor man who lacks your womanly intuition in such matters."

"Yes, Kirsten, do enlighten us." This time Craig spoke, rising despite Marissa's efforts to keep him at her side. He strode forward confidently, his eyes glittering with the promise of redemption. "James, were you an innocent pawn in this woman's quest for my hand? Not to mention my fortune."

James laughed. "So it would seem. I gave her laudanum. You passed out after two drinks, woke up in her bed with her father conveniently pointing a shotgun at you. I find those facts to be a little too coincidental."

Kirsten raised her voice, shouting over James, "Oh, please, Craig, how can you deny it after we were caught together?"

"Caught together after you drugged me."

"I? You think I drugged you?" she said weakly, a hand fluttering to her throat. "But... I wasn't even there that night. I do not frequent saloons."

"I was falling asleep at the bar after two drinks. I never understood why until I learned about the laudanum. I wasn't drunk. I was drugged."

"That's true," a man piped from a pew near Marissa. "Doc Langston was so far gone I had to help Paul Christenson carry him to the alley behind the saloon and spill him into a cart. I don't think he could have told you his own name that night, much less climbed into any lady's bed on his own."

Craig pegged Kirsten with a penetrating stare. "How much did it cost you from your father's dwindling funds to pay Paul Christenson to drag me, unconscious, into your bed?"

Kirsten glanced about the church and took a stumbling step toward her mother. "I don't know what you're talking about. As Dr. Rowe said, this is a house of the Lord. This is not the place for such a discussion. Mother? Father? I want to leave. Now."

"Not yet," Craig and James answered as one.

"Well, of you insist on talking about it..." Kirsten glared cagily at Craig. "You must have revived that night because you--you met me as planned and—"

Craig stepped menacingly forward, shattering her confidence. "And? What was planned, Kirsten? If anything was, it was not between you and me."

"But..."

"Did you also falsely accuse my wife of treason?" Craig's voice took on a dangerously razor sharp edge.

Kirsten's eyes flitted to where Marissa still sat, frozen in place. "I never accused her of treason! I merely made the comment that her accent is northern." Kirsten made a valiant attempt to assume a remorseful guise. "If anything I said may have been misconstrued, I am terribly sorry, but—"

At that moment Cadence Jamison, Kirsten's younger sister, jumped to her feet. "You did too accuse her of being a spy! You and Mama spread that rumor all over town, before she married Dr. Langston!"

At this announcement from Kirsten's own sister, a communal gasp nearly sucked the roof from the church.

Colonel Briggs stood in his own pew and cleared his throat, turning a reproachful eye on Kirsten. "Miss Jamison, do you have any evidence or proof that Mrs. Langston has had contact with the Union Army? I feel inclined to inform you that should you be found to be lying in this situation the consequences for false accusation are dire."

"She made me do it!" Kirsten pointed a trembling finger at her mother who promptly gasped. "She made me get a bottle of laudanum from Dr. Rowe. My mother is the one who paid Paul Christenson to drug Craig at the bachelor party and put him in my bed. All of it was mother's idea. All of it!"

"Why you lying little trollop." Molly Jamison jumped from her seat. "You begged—"

"That will be quite enough." Colonel Brigg's voice boomed and he sent Molly Jamison a withering glare. "Does anyone have evidence that Doctor or Mrs. Langston have had contact with the Union Army?"

No one stepped forward and more than a few bodies plopped back down into the pews as Craig strode down the aisle, back to where Marissa sat, shaking like a leaf.

Colonel Briggs spoke loudly enough for the entire congregation to hear. "From what I've been able to gather through extensive inquiry throughout Charleston and the surrounding area, Mrs. Langston has never been seen in the company of Federal troops and for that matter has hardly been seen unaccompanied away from her residence, or that of her cousin. There is no evidence to support the notion that she or Captain Langston have been in any contact with the Union Army. I am hereby officially closing this inquiry. Tomorrow's hearing is cancelled." Marissa was sure that if he'd had a gavel, he'd have rapped it sharply on the back of a pew.

Turning to speak with Craig, the colonel said, "Captain Langston you are to resume your duties as soon as you are fully recovered from your injury. Do you have any questions?"

Craig shook his head and gave his wife's shoulders a reassuring squeeze, "No, sir. I am just extremely pleased to have this behind us."

Colonel Briggs nodded. "The rest of this affair seems to be a personal matter and I wish you all luck in resolving it."

The sanctuary was abuzz as the officer marched out, and the townspeople showed no sign of quieting even after Reverend Hollister took to the pulpit. After a few moments the reverend gave up and announced over the din that Sunday services would be held that evening instead.

"Is there anything else you'd like to confess to, Kirsten?" James crossed long arms over his chest. His face white under his flame of short, red hair. "Perhaps that your baby is mine once and for all?"

Violet eyes dropped in shame Kirsten fled, and behind her rose the cackling of Charleston society. To Marissa's surprise James followed her.

Mike Jamison approached, clearing his throat, he turned his attention to a smear of mud on his boot. Finally he shuffled to face Craig and Marissa. "Doc, Mrs. Langston." Mike stretched out a hand to Craig. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I just didn't know."

Gallantly, Craig shook the other man's hand. "I'd like to think we would all go to such lengths to protect our daughters." He nodded, then turned to lead his wife away.

"How could you shake that man's hand? He may be the one who shot you."

"I don't think he is, and anyway, if I suspected a man of taking advantage of my daughter, let's just say... I wouldn't have missed."

Marissa's eyes widened. "Oh, God, I hope we never have daughters!"

Spreading a hand over her stomach he smiled tenderly. "I wouldn't go that far."

Outside, they saw the Jamison family's buggy rolling away. James stood looking after it.

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" Craig asked. "About Kirsten, the laudanum, all of this?"

The other man shrugged slender shoulders. "I didn't put any of it together until you made a comment about feeling hung over on laudanum. I reported to the Colonel and Major Bernstein. They were going to save it till the hearing tomorrow, but," he shrugged, "as you can see it blew up before we'd anticipated. I'd hoped to... to protect Kirsten, by having it made plain today I want to marry her."

"Why?"

"Because I was fool enough to fall for her games and now it's the right thing to do." He shrugged. "Her babe is mine. I've no choice but to follow through."

"I don't even know how to thank you," Craig said. "If there is anything I can do for you?"

"Don't even think of it. We're friends and I'm sorry I didn't believe you sooner." Flashing a wolfish grin toward Marissa he said, "Granted, I couldn't figure as to why you'd stray from a wife like that."

Grinning in return, Craig slapped James on the shoulder. "God willing, I could never imagine being tempted."

Twenty

Life may not be perfect, but it's definitely better. Craig smiled as he headed home after making a house call. Marissa was miserable, well loved, but feeling wretched, sick, tired and was perpetually grumpy. One child may well be enough if we survive this ordeal, he thought. He'd finally convinced her to take a few days off and rest.

"Major Langston!"

Not yet used to the new distinction, it took a moment for him to answer the call. Turning, he spotted the sheriff hailing him from across the street. With a friendly greeting he crossed to speak with the lawman. "Problems, Sheriff?" he asked, noting the grim expression on the other man's face.

"As you know we've kept a constant watch over the Harris farm ever since the bodies of the transport detail turned up."

Craig nodded.

"The deputy I had posted out there last night never came back." A deep sense of dread settled into the pit of Craig's stomach and he shifted, crossing his arms as the sheriff continued. "I've got a few men rounded up to go looking for him and I was hoping you would ride out with us in case we find him injured. It can't hurt to have a doctor along and I wouldn't mind having another fast gun in the party in case we run into whoever is out in those woods."

"You've got it," Craig said at once. "Just let me run home to tell my wife and get my horse."

As he jogged the last couple of blocks to his townhouse his mind whirled with the news the sheriff had relayed. What had happened to the deputy? Was it a freak accident or something more sinister? With the other turmoil in his life he had given very little thought to the man in the Harris's woods, assuming he'd moved on when the law threatened to move in. Taking the stairs two at a time he burst through the front door and followed the sound of the piano to where his wife sat in the parlor.

"Marissa."

She turned at the sound of his voice, the smile quickly fading from her face as she caught sight of his deadly serious expression. "Craig, what is it?"

"One of the deputies never came back from Genie's farm last night, and I need to ride out with the search party in case he's hurt."

"Oh, my God," Marissa clasped a hand to her breast. "I haven't thought about the woods in weeks!"

"I know." He kissed her gently before turning to mount the stairs. Quickly he strapped dual side arms about his waist. Descending the stairs, he grabbed his medical bag from a chair in the entryway and turned to Marissa once again. "I don't know how long this is going to take so don't worry about holding dinner for me, or waiting up. I promise to wake you when I get home. All right?"

"All right," she nodded, embracing him tightly with love and concern. "You look more like a gunfighter than a doctor just now. Be careful."

"I will." He strode from the house to saddle Jeb and rode toward the jail.

The posse of ten men road cautiously into the woods, each man keenly alert for anything out of the ordinary. Not a soul spoke. The thicket was eerily quiet, with only the sound of crunching horses' hooves on the dry, autumn leaves.

"Over there!" The call alerted the riders to a shape lying on the ground. "Doc! Up front. Quick!"

Craig kicked his buckskin to the head of the pack and saw the man lying motionless on the ground. He dismounted to perform a quick examination. Pressing two fingers along the man's throat he checked for a pulse, and watched for signs of breathing. "He's still alive but barely," he reported. "We'll need to get him back to town, now."

George Hudson strode quickly to the physician's side. "It's Rogers. What do you make of it Doc?"

Craig opened his bag and grabbed thick dressings, which he bound to the deputy's abdomen. "He was gut-shot."

"Haze! Miller!" Sheriff Hudson called. "Find what you need to help Doc Langston get Rogers back to town. The rest of us will stay out here and go over these woods like we're looking for a needle in a haystack.

During the thirty minute ride back to Charleston Craig's mind swung between the plight of the patient he hoped to save, and thoughts of what could have happened to Marissa the night he'd found her in the woods. Rogers had been shot with deadly intent in the same place she and Craig had fought so heatedly that night.

As the party eased to a halt at the hospital, Craig spotted Paul Christenson hanging around, taking a great interest in the goings on. "Get Rogers into the operating room," he instructed, then turning to Mitchell Haze he said in an undertone, "will you go and bring my wife to the hospital?" He needed to see her, to know she was safe. "Take my horse for her."

"Sure thing Doc." Without question the man took Jeb's reins, swung his mount around and headed in the direction of the Langston house.

James Rowe came instantly to Craig's aid and quickly the doctors set about having the operating room prepared for emergency surgery. Craig couldn't help but smile as he noted that even in Marissa's absence, the hospital staff had maintained the standards she'd set. Laying Jesse Rogers upon the hard table, the surgeons quickly sliced the clothes from his body and set to work removing the bullet from his belly and saving the brave man's life.

* * *

When Mitch Haze first arrived at her front door to ask her to accompany him to the hospital Marissa was certain Craig had been injured. Quickly Haze assured her, and on the ride to the hospital, filled her in. She assumed Craig needed her knowledge of advanced medical care. He often grilled her about techniques to come.

It had been difficult to suppress an amused chuckle the first time he'd asked her about the controversial and experimental practice of slowly running saline into veins. When she'd explained the extent to which fluid replacement therapy was used he'd been astounded, and had the equipment been available to them, she was sure he would have quickly put the practice to use.

"Thank you, Mitch," she said hastily before hitching up her skirts and dashing up the front steps of the hospital.

It had been several weeks since she'd been there and the realization of how much she missed working with people, helping people washed over her.

"Excuse me, Bobby." At the sound of her voice the orderly turned to her and beamed a welcoming smile. "Can you tell me where to find Major Langston?"

"He's in surgery, Mrs. Langston."

"All right, then I'll do what I can out here." Looking around she quickly donned an apron and set to work. It felt good to be useful again. She wiped sweaty brows with damp cloths, changed unsightly, blood-soaked dressings, and comforted young men in pain. Several of the officers and orderlies came to tell her it was nice see her back and Major Bernstein even gave her a one armed hug.

"Mrs. Langston, this place hasn't been the same without you. It wasn't until you weren't working every day that I realized you do the work of about ten good men all on your own." Lowering his voice the Major continued, "and I'll tell you, losing you was as bad as losing one of my doctors. I hope this won't be your only visit."

"Oh, Dr. Bernstein," she bit her lip to conceal a pleased smile, "The hospital looks as though it has gotten along just fine without me here. In fact it looks no different from the last time I was here."

"Just the same, you do plan to come back to work on a regular basis?" The older man cleared his throat. "I understand that congratulations are in order, but we can still use your input."

"Don't worry, Major," Marissa smiled. "I plan to be back."

At last Craig and James Rowe emerged from the operating room looking decidedly haggard and talking quietly between themselves. It was impossible to hear what they were saying but when James shook his red head Marissa couldn't take it anymore.

"Craig," she strode quickly to stand beside him and squeezed his arm compassionately. "What happened?"

"Deputy Roger's was shot and—"

"Yes, yes, I know that. Is he going to make it?"

"He's still alive for the moment." He held up a forty caliber slug. "Right now I'm not sure he'll even make it through the night. I would say that if he survives the next two days, he'll live as long as infection doesn't set in."

With a nod Marissa opened her mouth to ask, but Craig held up a hand to stop her. "Yes, my dear, we used only sterilized surgical instruments and have orderlies busy re-sterilizing them even now, in case they're needed again tonight." He held his hand up once again. "And we scrubbed before operating. And—" This time he raised only a finger. "We cleansed him as best we could, too, scrubbing his skin all around the wound." Rocking back on his heels Craig cocked his head to the side. "Is that acceptable, Dr. Langston?"

"Very acceptable, but don't call me doctor. You know I hate that."
Twenty-one

Over the course of the next few days Deputy Rogers regained consciousness and strength and it looked as though he would make a full, if slow, recovery.

"Well, who shot him?" Genie asked, hands, as usual, planted on her hips.

"The sheriff still doesn't know," Craig replied, taking a sip of his so-called-coffee. "Jesus, Genie that's hot!"

"Doesn't know? Did Deputy Rogers not see the man?"

Craig just shrugged, pushing the mug of hot liquid away.

"It's not that bad," Marissa said, testing the contents of her own cup as she smiled at her tired husband.

"Then you drink it."

"Are the two of you even listening to me?"

"What?" The couple asked in unison.

"Oh." Craig shifted in his straight backed chair. "Genie, all Rogers knows is that he saw something in the woods and went over to check it out. It was black as pitch so all he saw was a muzzle flash, and the next thing he knew, he woke up two days later in the hospital."

"Damnation!" Genie slumped onto a chair and held her head in her hands. "What am I going to do? I can't go home because there is some madman cavorting about my woods shooting people!"

Rising, Marissa moved to her friend and wrapped sympathetic arms around her. "I know this is hard, but Sheriff Hudson and the other deputies will catch a break soon."

* * *

"I said I am coming with you." Marissa stood, arms folded, tapping her foot agitatedly. Men she thought.

"And I said you're staying home." Craig stood with equal adamancy before the door. "You need to stay home and rest."

"Why?" Marissa shot, showing no sign of backing down.

"Because," Craig was at a total loss. "Because I said so."

"Hah! You don't even have a good reason why I can't come." Because I said so, indeed.

Craig threw his hands up in the air. "I said you're not coming. You've only been feeling better for a few days and I just want you to rest. Please?" Attempting a change of tactics he looped his arms about her waist and pulled her close, cajoling. "What if I tell you it's doctor's orders?"

"I am not an invalid, and I'm bored. I don't care what you say or how much you beg I'm coming with you and that's final. That poor woman probably needs some good, old-fashioned girl-talk." Breaking out of his arms she stomped past him and threw over her shoulder. "Are you coming or not?"

"Women," Craig muttered, following after her in defeat.

"I heard that."

The buckboard had been readied in front of the house and they were headed out of town to pay a visit to a woman prescribed bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy. Considering his wife's delicate condition, Craig would've preferred she not see a woman undergoing pregnancy complications, but when Marissa set her mind to something it was like trying to stop a hurricane or other force of nature.

In companionable silence, listening the creaking of the wagon, they rolled through town and along the road that passed by Genie's farmhouse. Suddenly, a sharp snap sounded from somewhere beneath the wagon and it lurched to the side as the left back wheel groaned in protest. Drawing the horse to a stop, Craig set the brake and swung to the ground.

"The axel broke," he called from beneath the wagon. "Damn. Well, Genie's barn is just up the road so we'll have to go see if there is another wagon we can borrow until I can get some supplies out here to fix this one." He stood, brushing the dust from his trousers before lifting Marissa from the seat and unhitching the horse from the traces. "Do you want to walk or ride old Joe?"

Marissa wrinkled her nose. "I'll walk. You know I can't ride without a saddle."

"Right," he said, leading the horse. "I forgot you have fancy cars in the twenty-first century."

Twenty minutes later they were cutting across the field toward the barn. The perpetual swirling eerie mist of the woods came into view and Marissa couldn't fight a sense of unease. With any luck they'd be out of there in ten minutes, and moreover, nothing had happened out here in weeks. It was presumable the killer was gone. After Rogers was shot, the sheriff and his deputies had found a stash of loot and bodies, but no one to blame.

As they passed the chicken coop, the old rooster, Toughie, glared and Marissa stopped to toss him and his harem a few a handfuls of dried corn.

"I don't know why Genie hasn't beheaded that monster," Craig grumbled shooting the old bird a wary look. "The first time I came out here a few years ago I thought the damn thing was going to kill me. I'm glad Genie keeps him penned up now."

Marissa laughed. "I think she likes him. If you haven't noticed, Genie has a Toughie story for every day of the week." As they walked into the barn Marissa continued, "If I remember correctly there should be a little cart behind the barn door and it's just about the right size for two people."

The cart was exactly where she remembered and a quick survey revealed that it would be more than serviceable for the remainder of their errand. As Craig pulled it out and turned to secure old Joe into its traces, the animal whinnied and backed nervously toward the door.

"Easy, boy," Craig murmured soothingly. "Easy."

With a sense of growing unease, Marissa turned a slow circle, surveying the interior of the barn. She jerked around at a sound that came from... where? The horse bucked again and tossed his head wildly, dragging the long leather reins through Craig's fingers.

"Did you hear that?" Marissa whispered.

"No," Craig ground out, as he struggled to hold the quivering horse. At that moment Toughie began to crow with fervor, which only served to further aggravate the horse. A metallic scraping followed by a loud crash sounded from the hay loft, fully terrifying old Joe. He reared, his slashing his hooves narrowly missing Craig's head.

"Watch out!" Marissa screamed as a large barrel rolled from the hayloft and collided sickeningly with her husband's head. Dodging the flailing hooves of the horse as he thundered from the barn trailing the reins, she rushed to Craig's side. Dropping to her knees, she gingerly lifted his head onto her lap. Her stomach lurched as his head lolled lifelessly to the side and a dark trickle of blood ran from a deep gash in his scalp just below the temple.

Another metallic scrape and the heavy thud of footsteps sounded in the hayloft and Marissa searched frantically for some sort of weapon. She spied a heavy pitchfork. Feeling as though she'd stepped into the climax of a bad horror film she laid Craig's head down gently and ran as silently as possible to lift the weapon to protect Craig, cursing that he'd neglected to bring a sidearm on this particular outing.

"Hello, lady doc," a gravelly voice said from the shadows.

Marissa jumped, gulping back a scream as she tucked the pitchfork behind her. Oh, please God, no she thought as the man, who was almost totally obscured in darkness, stepped over the motionless form of her husband and into the light from the open barn door. It took her less than half a second to recognize Paul Christenson.

Craig had been right all along.

"I'm tired of you snooping around out here."

"Wha-what?" she stammered, silently praying that Craig would begin showing some signs of life.

"My life would have been so much easier if I'd got you and the doc the last time you were in my woods."

Ice cold dread washed over Marissa as the full realization of his words dawned on her. She cast an apprehensive glance toward Craig looking for some means of distracting Paul Christenson before he could finish what he'd started. "Your woods?" she said, her voice too high. "Those are Genie Harris's woods."

"Genie's old man and me had a good thing going here until he up and got kilt. I was carryin' it on just fine until you and the law started pokin' around in my business." His mouth contorted into a menacing sneer. "It's only a matter of time before people figure out it's me working in those woods. I've wanted to get rid of you all for a long time, before the sheriff gets any closer, but I couldn't do it right in Charleston. I've been biding my time, watching, waiting for you to come back out here."

He pulled a gun from his pocket. "Prepare yourself little missy, cuz after I shoot Langston here I'm going to have a little fun before sendin' you to meet the almighty with your pretty faced husband."

Convulsively she gulped. "He's already dead," she blurted, desperately trying to buy more time. "You killed him with that barrel."

For a moment the man seemed to consider her statement as he gazed down at Craig's inert form. "I don't really care if he's dead or alive. I just want to shoot the bastard and finish what I started before."

"What?"

"Who do you think shot him in Charleston, Missy? I'd thought to do away with him while everyone thought he was a Yankee." A cruel grin twisted his lips as he cocked the pistol hammer. "Third time's the charm, eh?

Her mind spun as she began to realize how closely he'd been watching them. She needed to buy some time. "Do you work alone out in those woods?" Hastily she took a step back, finding the pitchfork again with one hand, but frantic to find a better weapon. The pitchfork wouldn't be enough. "There are ghosts out there, you know."

"What?" the madman barked. "What ghosts?"

"I--I, there are stories. You must be brave if you work alone." Clutching the pitchfork behind her back she plunged on, desperate to distract him. "Your work is very, um, complicated, I'm sure. Do you manage it alone or do you have another partner?"

With a superior leer Paul ambled a few steps away from Craig. "I hire help when I need it and then I dispose of them when their services are no longer needed." He tossed his head back to laugh. "Your uncle was the only partner I ever had."

Uncle?

Her heart went cold. "You mean Jim Harris?"

Paul grinned. "Of course Jim Harris. I needed access to the bog behind the house. I think the bog is a part of hell, or mayhap purgatory."

"What do you mean?" she asked, still stalling for time.

"Fer fifteen years Jim and me been stashin' loot and bodies back there, but them woods is haunted, jes like you say, or bloody cursed or something cuz we'd bury our loot and sometimes it'd be there and other times it'd be like a shovel had never touched the dirt."

He stepped forward with a smirk. "A course it made for the perfect hiding place what with the bodies fadin' in and out. If anyone ever came pokin' around there was usually nothin' to find. Until you."

Marissa mind whirled. This explained everything. The ghosts, never finding sign of digging until the afternoon she'd been looking for her window to the future She'd been right!

Paul stepped forward again. "Umm," she swallowed, "Wha-what about Jim's wife? Didn't you worry about her finding out?"

"Nah," he shook his head almost jubilantly, relishing the opportunity to gloat about his conquests. "Genie Harris never once went back in those woods and all Jim had to do was give her an excuse to keep her from asking questions. She'd believe the sky was green if Jim said it."

"Oh, Genie," she whispered, but Paul was getting dangerously close, almost within arm's reach. With the gun in his hand trained on her she didn't dare attempt to use the pitchfork. The man had already said he didn't intend to kill her right away and if she could just prevent provoking him for a few more minutes...

* * *

It felt as though a railroad tie had been rammed through his temple. Craig opened his eyes and blinked a few times, grossly disoriented. With a low moan he started to move but stopped as pain and nausea overwhelmed him. As he lay still as possible, the sound of voices slowly began to penetrate his aching skull. Third time's the charm...three was a damned unlucky number... Jim Harris... partner... loot... bodies... bodies? With enormous effort Craig heaved himself upward and staggered, nearly falling backward as a wave of dizziness sent his senses reeling. The sight of Paul Christenson backing his wife into a corner with a gun pointed at her galvanized him. Ignoring the blinding pain in his head he hurled himself across the barn toward the man.

The crack of gun fire echoed through the confines of the barn leaving a deadly silence in its wake. Somewhere outside the rooster began to crow frantically from his pen and the noise broke the trance of the moment. The shot had gone wide, embedding the bullet in the wall of the barn, and before Christenson could regain his bearings, Craig took firm hold of his right arm, twisted it, wrenched him to the ground and kneeled on his arm. "Marissa," he gasped, holding the struggling madman beneath him. "Go get help!"

"I won't leave you!"

"I can handle him." Sweat poured from his brow and his chest heaved with the exertion of restraining the frantic man. "Don't argue." He sucked in a ragged breath. "I need... to know..." he punched Paul in the jaw "...to know you're safe." For a brief instant he looked up at her, his intense blue eyes conveying more love than words ever could. "This is not a request. Go and get help. Now!"

Turning she fled the barn. Help? Where was she supposed to find help? And where was that damn deputy who was supposed to be watching the house? On horseback it was thirty minutes back into Charleston and a good fifteen minutes to any neighboring farms; on foot it would be at least twice that long. There was no way she could leave him for that amount of time. Craig was injured, badly, and Paul was a desperate man; if she left the action could very well doom her husband. Her eyes fell to the chicken coop. Yes!

* * *

An unholy shriek split the air and both men both froze for an instant.

"What the hell?" Paul gasped as a squawking rooster streaked into the barn.

"Toughie!" Craig exclaimed, leaping out of the way and grabbing the six-shot pistol as the gnarly rooster attacked the man on the ground. With his sharp beak and vicious spurs, the bird knocked Christenson back as he tried to rise. The merciless attack gave Craig the chance to leap onto some hay bales, aim and fire with deadly accuracy.

"Craig!"

He stumbled over the limp body on his way to Marissa, and nudged it to ensure that Christenson would not surprise him again. The rooster, cowed by the gunshot, cowered in a corner. Craig raised a hand to the bird in mute thanks before staggering through the barn doors and into Marissa's reaching arms.

They collided. "Ouuff," he grunted as they tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

"You're alive!" she sobbed, clinging to her husband. "I thought he shot you. I heard the gunshot and yelled your name, but you didn't answer and—"

"Marissa," Craig choked trying to loosen the stranglehold she held on his neck. "I can't breathe!"

"Huh? Oh!" Quickly she moved her arms. "I'm sorry, Craig."

"I don't know about you," he said, "but I have the feeling we've played this scene before. Marissa, move your knee!"

* * *

###### June 5, 1865

The south had been inundated with carpetbaggers and con artists looking to capitalize on the desolation that had befallen the former Confederacy, and the people of Charleston were more than ready for a celebration. A myriad of well-wishers milled through the lush gardens of the Langston plantation, murmuring in appreciation of the beautiful bride and handsome groom.

"My father has been a widower for over twenty years." Craig shook his head with a wry smile "I'd never thought to see him marry again."

Marissa grinned and leaned into his shoulder. "And it's really good to see Genie so happy. She deserves this. And with her son Andy home, along with Carolyn's Albert, as she said, her 'cup runneth over.' I'm glad we didn't tell her about Jim."

Craig grinned down at his wife. "I'm just glad to see you so happy." Quickly he leaned in to claim her soft lips in a gentle kiss. "But if you will excuse me for just a moment, my dear, I see James Rowe and I would like nothing more than to show off my son."

"Be my guest." Marissa smiled, tenderly laying the sleeping blond bundle into the crook of her husband's arm. "Christopher is getting awfully heavy and my arms could use a break."

Manfully, James had married Kirsten and while a more miserable union had likely never existed, he was famously enamored of his daughter who'd inherited his flaming red hair

"Where has that man taken my new grandson off to?" Marissa turned to see Genie's aquamarine eyes sparkling into hers.

With a laugh Marissa tossed her head in Craig's direction. "Showing Christopher off as usual."

"Papas are allowed to be a little proud, you know."

At that moment Ginny Long came to join them. "Now where has my little great-grandson gone?" Ginny craned her neck and shook her head with amusement when she spotted Craig holding the no longer sleeping, bright eyed Christopher over his shoulder. "Genie, congratulations on snaring the other most eligible bachelor in Charleston."

Genie opened her mouth to scold the other woman teasingly when a sudden rush of excitement flowed through the crowd like electric current. All eyes turned to the back of the wedding pavilion where a tall, strong young man with shaggy blond hair and piercing blue eyes had entered The Highlands Garden. The man wore the tattered remains of a gray uniform jacket over a well-worn shirt and faded trousers. Though obviously bone weary, a toothy, lopsided grin split his handsome face.

"Curtis! Curtis me lad, can it really be you?" The joyous and somewhat disbelieving voice of Robert Langston rang out in the warm afternoon air. Plunging through the crowd, the hulking man grasped his son by the shoulders and stared at him for a long moment, tears welling in his eyes. "It is you."

Robert crushed the young man to his chest until Curtis coughed. "Yeah, Pop I'm really glad to see you too, but I can't breathe."

"I'm sorry, me boy, but I just can't believe yer back."

The rest of the Langston men gathered eagerly about their brother, embracing him warmly. With a watery gaze Marissa couldn't help but be reminded of the picture of the four brothers Craig kept in his study. The Langston family had been lucky indeed over the course of the war. Now, all four of the brothers were together again.

"Well, if I ever saw a Hollywood moment," Ginny Long whispered, gazing upon her grandsons as a pair of tears trickled down her cheeks.

Marissa and Genie turned in tandem. "What did you say, Ginny?"

The older woman turned, wide-eyed. "Nothing!" she exclaimed. "Nothing."

"You said something about Hollywood." Marissa narrowed her gaze thoughtfully.

"Hollywood, California?" Genie continued carefully, as though testing dangerous waters. "Where the movies are made?"

Eyes widening in surprised awe, Ginny stared in profound disbelief at the younger women. "You don't mean to tell me..." Her voice trailed off.

"What year was it Ginny? 1972?"

Blue eyes sparkling the older woman inclined her head with a smile. "Yes, it was. What do you say girls, any regrets?"

Marissa and Genie turned to one another and smiled. "Not one."

##### Epilogue

Anne McClafferty sat with trembling hands staring at the faded envelope in her lap. It couldn't be possible. The postman said the letter had been at the post office with specific instructions for about one-hundred and fifty years. Was it a trick of the mind, making her believe the script was Marissa's?

July 15, 1865

"Dear Mom," the letter began.

"I have no idea if you'll ever get this letter, but I had to try and let you know that I am safe. Believe me, I know how impossible it sounds, but I'm living in Charleston in 1865. It was 1863 when I came here and so much has happened that I don't know where to begin.

"Enclosed is a picture of my family—can you believe it? Me in a dress? My husband Craig is a doctor, and I work with him as doctor of sorts myself. On my lap is Christopher, your grandson. He takes after his father. Both of them have the most beautiful blue eyes..."

The letter continued on for several more astounding pages and finally ended with—

"I will try to write again.

"Forever your loving daughter,

"Marissa McClafferty-Langston"

End
Want more Langston Brothers?

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Melissa Lynne Blue's

Cadence

(Langston Brothers Book 2)

When murder suspect Cadence Jamison disguises herself as a boy and stows aboard the Heavenly Mistress Captain Curtis Langston may find his two past occasions for rescuing her more than he bargained for.

Bitter and Cynical after service in the Confederate Army, Curtis believes himself no more deserving of another's love than capable of returning it. Content to drift through life free of emotional and therefore romantic complications the once carefree and mischievous rogue may be forever gone. But when Cadence appears in his life Curtis finds himself smiling again, smiling and dreaming and feeling more like himself than he has in five years. Drawn with almost unnatural force to the sweet and innocent goodness Cadence offers, Curtis blunders again and again to resist the pull of what a life with her could be.

Can Cadence show this wounded soul how to love again? Or is he doomed to be forever unforgiven, haunted by the ghosts of his past?

11th Hour Rose

(Langston Brothers Book 3)

U.S. Marshal David Langston never planned to fall in love again. A graduate of West Point and former General in the Confederate Army, he wants nothing more than to move west, leave memories of loss behind, and put his honed skills to work as a government Indian agent. But when women start turning up dead in Charleston, his plans must be delayed.

As the only daughter of the widowed town sheriff, Lillian Hudson has grown up around the law. With her father's encouragement, she's spent years educating herself as an attorney and assisting in his work. Local society, however, is not ready for a woman lawyer, and the infuriating Marshal Langston is at the forefront of her naysayers.

Lilly Hudson is a thorn in David's side. Bossy... stubborn... she perpetually sticks her nose where it doesn't belong. When the unthinkable happens and Lilly falls into a serial killer's sights, she has no qualms about seizing the opportunity and using herself as bait to catch the murderer. Tormented by memories of his late wife, David will hear none of it and vows to stop at nothing to keep her safe. As the dire situation unfolds, the pair become unlikely friends and attraction flares despite their tendency to clash.

Will David see Lilly for the strong, capable woman she is before it's too late? Or will hopes of finding his way to her loving arms be forever dashed by a madman on the loose?

Fool's Gold

(Langston Brothers Book 4)

Does a future exist for a man out of time?

Charleston 1870...

In far too deep with a dangerous man, Jacob Langston has twenty-four hours to repay hefty gambling debts or his family will be harmed. Desperate for funds, Jacob goes in search of the lost Confederate bullion rumored to be buried in the woods outside of Charleston. Trapped in a wicked storm, he soon realizes the fool's errand he's embarked upon. Before he can escape the woods he is caught in a bizarre cascade of events that throws him 150 years into the future. There he is given aide by the warm-hearted Sage Martin... a woman as lovely as she is kind. Jacob can't help but be drawn to the idea of a future in her future. However, he is plagued by the threats made against his brothers, and knows he could never embrace a life in which those he loved were left to suffer because of his weakness. Though he longs to stay with Sage, Jacob remains driven to return to his own time and rectify his wrongs, whatever the personal cost.

After a lifetime chasing after fool's gold can he finally grasp the treasure his lonely heart has been searching for? Or is he doomed to pay the ultimate price for the foolishness of youth?
Keep Reading for a peek at Melissa' Lynne Blue's latest release

Siren

Lady Phoebe Landon has little interest in men until a chance encounter on the beachfront brings her face to face with a disheveled cavalry officer who knows just how to trip her pulse and inspire her every forbidden desire. Only after she becomes hopelessly drawn to the man does she learn that he's none other than the notorious James Witherspoon. Not only is Colonel Witherspoon known for his womanizing and depravity, but all of England knows he murdered her brother fifteen years prior.

James is not the man England has labeled him. Although he enjoys his whiskey a little too often—and his women just as much—deep down inside, there is the real James Witherspoon lurking, struggling to break free of his past mistakes. It's not until he meets his Siren by the edge of the ocean that he feels the need to become the man Phoebe Landon deserves...as long as she gives him a chance.

One

April, 1815

Sussex

"James, are you drunk?"

Slumped in a straight-backed wooden chair, contemplating the whys and wherefores of life, death, and grief, James Witherspoon cast a brooding glare over the rim of his brandy sniffer at his righteously indignant mother.

Are you drunk? What sort of a question was that? Of course he was drunk. He was by definition—a drunk.

"Is it past noon?" he asked peevishly.

"Barely." Constance Witherspoon stalked across the room in a cloud of black mourning skirts. She snatched the crystal brandy decanter off the table and the sniffer from his hand.

"Then I am most definitely drunk," he drawled, reaching into his breast pocket to retrieve the silver flask hidden inside. "Give me another hour and I'll be bloody foxed." He twirled the flask lid, tilting the nozzle to his lips.

She plucked the flask from his fingers, sloshing amber whiskey onto the red wool sleeve of his dress uniform. "On today of all days, how can you sit here and drink yourself into oblivion?" Constance stormed to the open window beside the oak bookshelf and emptied the contents of the flagon into the grass below.

"Funny," James grumbled, lamenting the loss of such fine whiskey. "I thought today more so than other days I had a damn good reason to get soused." Not to be deterred, he slid open the end table drawer and removed yet another spirit filled flask.

"Have you no respect for your father's memory?" She turned wide teary eyes on him.

Anger twisted in his gut. "The general was not my father," James spat, the liquor loosening his tongue. "My father died twenty-eight years ago."

The lines around Constance's mouth deepened as her eyes turned cold, frosting her tears. "This is an old argument, James."

He shrugged. "I'm not arguing, merely stating a fact."

"I will not have this discussion again. Not today. Not ever." Her gaze fell hard upon him. "The fact remains the general is—" she stopped short, blinking quickly, "—was... your uncle and your blood relative. Your true papa, God rest him, would be gravely disappointed to see you so disrespectful of his brother's memory."

Disappointed... If that hadn't been the general's favorite word in regard to James. A familiar flicker of guilt swelled in his breast. James took a long drag from his flask, quickly washing the emotions back down. He'd spent years learning to show no weakness—to feel as little as possible—and a bout of sniffling wouldn't weaken his resolve today. Maintaining his usual show of nonchalance, he spun the lid back onto the second flask. "The general knew very well what I am." A disappointment. "Somehow I doubt he expected a sudden reformation at his funeral."

Wordlessly Constance tugged a lacey handkerchief from the black beaded reticule dangling from her wrist and scrubbed at the wet spot on his jacket.

"Mother, please stop that. I'm not five years old any longer."

"No." She continued aggressively rubbing the stain. "You're not, but I won't have you mingling with the guests smelling as though you've bathed in a rum keg."

James shrugged.

"Heaven save me, James, I don't know what to do with you. I'd suggest you marry except that I wouldn't wish a fate as your wife on any woman I know."

"Your vote of confidence is overwhelming." He heaved to his feet and tucked the drink back inside his jacket. He made the mistake of making solid eye contact with his mother, and... Hell...

Her swollen, red rimmed eyes locked with his. "Jamie—" her voice cracked. "You are all I have left. With Tobias and your uncle gone I... I don't know how I'll go on."

A white-hot needle of pain pricked clean through his breast, arresting his show of indifference. Oh, but she knew exactly where to strike. Tobias, the favored son, or rather, the staid and trustworthy son, had died near five years ago. Boots James would never fill.

With effort he suppressed the foul urge to lash out, and faced his distraught parent. "Forgive me, Mother. I have no wish to fight."

"Neither do I. Not today." She sniffed, tears tipping over her lids. Her gaze shifted to a point on the wall to the left and slightly above James. "I-I just can't believe he's gone."

"Nor I." James followed his mother's gaze to the one item in the room he'd avoided laying eyes on since setting foot inside. A life size portrait of General George Witherspoon. For all his uncle's faults the man had truly loved his wife.

The likeness loomed over the hearth with such brooding menace James would not have been surprised if his uncle stepped from the painting, brow furrowed, a glowering frown on his face, and begun lecturing him on the folly of some vice or other. The artist had captured the general's aura to immaculate perfection, from his intimidating stance to the piercing hue of his eyes. Eyes that delved straight to a man's inner lining. The hard blue held James captive, dragging back memories of the last time he'd seen the man...

"It should have been you, James. Not your brother. I always expected you to die young."

Heaviness settled around James in a dark cloud, the same dark cloud he'd battled for nearly fifteen years. Reflexively his fingers itched to drag his flask back out of hiding... to drown those bitter memories until—

"Jamie, please don't."

He jerked his attention from the painting back to his mother. After a moment he dropped his hand from the whiskey tucked in his jacket. Internally he cursed his weakness. Surely, for his mother's sake, he could make it through the next hour without a drink. He cleared his throat. "If I'm not mistaken the services begin in fifteen minutes."

Soft gray eyes met with his. "Will you walk with me?"

"Of course, Mama."

The ghost of a smile touched her pale lips. "You haven't called me Mama in years."

"Nor have you called me, Jamie." Offering a thin smile, he held out his arm, and led her from the room. "Chin up."

The weight of the general's gaze followed from above the hearth. In death did his uncle finally know of the age old secret stashed in James's pocket? James never had revealed the truth of that ill-fated night fifteen years prior. He had never believed he'd run out of time.

* * * *

"Lady Phoebe? Lady Phoebe? Is everything quite well?"

"Hm?" Lady Phoebe Landon jerked from her reverie and dragged her blurred gaze from Reverend Alistair's oversized Adam's apple to his overly round eyes. "Y-yes," she stammered. "I, uh... I..." She scrambled to grasp at some shred of what he may have been speaking about, but truthfully he'd lost her a good ten minutes ago while lecturing the true meaning of some obscure Psalm. Phoebe cleared her throat, eyes flipping from the mantel clock to his expectant face. "Will that be part of your sermon this Sunday?"

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with her response, and linked his ankle over his knee. "I think the book of John offers up an excellent parallel that will speak to even the most ardent of sinners."

Phoebe wanted to point out that the most ardent sinners would not be present in church, but offered a prim smile instead. Such peevish banter would be terribly rude, and, more to the point, completely impossible given the reverend's wont to drone on with nary a breath to sustain him.

Alistair slouched back in the chair, continuing on about scripture and the overall weakness of mankind.

Phoebe shifted slightly, trying to ease the stiff ache in her back. An hour and a half in this straight-backed chair was entirely too long to maintain good posture in a sitting position.

A soft rap at the door offered a much needed distraction and Mrs. Condon, the portly housekeeper, bustled into the room with a silver tray perched on one arm. "Pardon the interruption, Lady Phoebe, Reverend Alistair." She nodded politely to each in turn. "I've brought the tray of biscuits you requested."

"Thank you, Mrs. Con—"

"Lovely!" the reverend interrupted, rubbing his palms together in a greedy fashion. He leaned forward, crumbs from the previous two trays tumbling from his collar to his rounded middle, and began grabbing the steaming biscuits before Mrs. Condon managed to settle the platter on the table. "We'll be needing a bit more jam as well."

"Certainly, sir," the housekeeper clipped in a barely civil tone.

Phoebe cast her an apologetic smile. Whenever the reverend saw fit to visit the Corsair Estate—which, unfortunately, was growing ever more frequent—he kept the staff running with demands for food and drink. One might suspect the man to be starving except that his middle threatened to pop the buttons clear off his waistcoat. He never allowed a staff member to leave the room without three requests.

"And some of those little cucumber sandwiches."

Request number two.

Mrs. Condon's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Of course." She turned to leave, presumably before a third demand could burst from his lips.

"Oh, and if it's not too much trouble..."

Mrs. Condon ground to a halt. "Yes?"

"More lemonade," Alistair finished.

"Lemonade won't be necessary, Mrs. Condon," Phoebe interrupted. "As you can see we still have half a pitcher here."

Alistair scowled. "But the ice has all melted."

Phoebe smiled and folded her hands in her lap. "Come now, Reverend, surely a God fearing man as prudent as yourself wouldn't wish to be wasteful."

Caught in a trap of his own idle prattling, Alistair opened his mouth, paused, and finally snapped his jaw shut again. "Jam for the biscuits will be all," he grumbled.

The housekeeper tossed Phoebe a pitying glance, knowing he wouldn't leave until the biscuits and all of the lemonade had been devoured. Likely he would stall until such an hour that a dinner invitation would be extended. Phoebe would like nothing more than to invite the reverend to leave, but a lady could hardly be rude to the local vicar, however deserved he may be of being tossed out on his ear.

Mrs. Condon exited the room and Phoebe sucked a deep breath into her lungs, steeling herself for another hour of Reverend Alistair's one-sided conversation.

"Where were we?" The vicar queried around a rather large bite of unbuttered biscuit. Crumbs rained from his mouth.

Phoebe swallowed back her disgust at the slovenly display, and searched for a response. "I believe—"

"Ah, Phoebe, there you are."

Supreme relief fused Phoebe as she turned to find her brother, Edward Landon, Duke of Corsair entering the room. "Brother, dear, what can I do for you?"

"Mrs. Ford is here inquiring after her painting."

"Oh, of course." Phoebe leapt to her feet, genuine excitement warming her blood. "I will see to her straight away."

"Painting," the reverend grumbled with a disproving shake of the head. "A sinful endeavor for young ladies."

Phoebe ground her teeth, ignoring the eccentric clergyman's jibe. Painting was a true passion for her, a pastime inspired by her late mother. Pasting a polite smile on her face she turned to the strange man and curtsied. "Thank you for visiting, Reverend. I will see you Sunday in church." Without waiting for a response she hurried through the parlor door, mouthing, Your turn, to her brother on the way by.

"Mrs. Ford is waiting in your day room," Edward called after her.

Phoebe rushed down the hall, stopping just around the corner to settle the unrest that often accompanied the reverend's visits. There was something... off... about the man though she could never put her finger on exactly what. Unfortunately, he was a distant cousin and the son of the Viscount Chatters so she and Edward had no choice but to tolerate his prolonged visits and constant prattle about sin and the devil. She drew a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and sashayed into the day room.

The familiar faint scent of oil paint and chalk wafted through the air, relaxing Phoebe instantly. The day room was littered with varying sizes of canvas, drawing pages, pencils, charcoal for sketching, and paints. Several unfinished projects lay scattered about the room—some paintings, others sketches. This was her favorite place in the house. A space only for her.

The kindly widow, Lilly Ford, perched on one of the only open chairs in the room.

"Mrs. Ford, what a wonderful surprise. I didn't expect you today."

The older woman stood, sedate muslin skirts rustling about her legs, a rosy pink lighting her round cheeks. "I could not wait another day, my lady. I do hope I'm not troubling you."

"Not at all." Phoebe grinned. "Would you like a bit of tea or lemonade? Or shall we get straight to the painting?"

"Running the risk of sounding rude," Mrs. Ford began, eyes sparkling, "I'd rather get right to the portrait."

Phoebe laughed, understanding completely, and crossed to the wooden easel beside the hearth. It was the perfect place to unveil a piece because of oversized window situated directly behind the easel. Sunshine spilled through the wavy window panes, providing idyllic lighting for Mrs. Ford's first glimpse. She grabbed the top corner of the white sheet draped over the painting, hesitated a second for dramatic effect, and pulled the sheet down, revealing the completed painting.

"Oh, Lady Phoebe! The portrait is exquisite." Mrs. Ford clasped one hand over her mouth and the other to her chest. "Absolutely marvelous."

Phoebe released the anxious breath she'd been holding and smiled, genuinely pleased.

Mrs. Ford circled the painting with an expression of pure wonder on her face. The long feathers adorning her hat drooped in front of her eyes and she brushed them back, squinting into the face of the distinguished gentleman in the portrait. "I cannot even see where you've repaired the damage." A tear glinted in her eye, but she quickly blinked it away. "To see the face of my beloved Piers face again... it's magic. Pure magic." She shook her head and beamed to Phoebe. "How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing." Phoebe strode forward to clasp the other woman's hands. "To see this bring you so much joy is all the payment I need." Phoebe rarely accepted compensation for the portraits her tenants and neighbors commissioned.

Mrs. Ford grabbed her in an impulsive embrace. "I declare, Lady Phoebe, you are a saint. Whatever will we do once you're gone away to London?"

London. Phoebe's spirits dampened instantly. The start of yet another season. Edward was growing impatient with her reluctance to marry, but Phoebe had no patience for the strictures of Town. Naught but endless gossip, parties and men chasing after silly girls. A London ballroom was as stifling as an afternoon with Reverend Allistair. Here, on the family estate, Phoebe was useful, needed. Her brother's tenants appreciated her and she them. She had no desire to leave Corsair.

"I cannot wait to get this painting home to show my daughter," Mrs. Ford's statement sparked Phoebe from her thoughts.

Once again she smiled warmly at the older woman, forcing back thoughts of London. "Allow me to walk you out."

A few moments later she stood on the steps by the front door bidding Mrs. Ford farewell. Phoebe hesitated outside. The last thing she wanted was to trudge back inside and endure Reverend Alistair's ridiculous lecture about painting and sin.

Releasing a long breath, she turned her face up to the sky. Brilliant sunshine filtered through the fluffy clouds, beckoning her toward freedom. A mischievous grin quirked her lips. She should return to the parlor and rescue Edward from the reverend, but... perhaps she would take a walk instead.

Books By Melissa Lynne Blue

Forget Me Not

Light to Valhalla

Bewitched

Love Lies Traitors and Spies

Journey of the Heart Anthology, featuring, _Winter's Rose_

Siren

Langston Brothers Series:

Edge of Time

Cadence

11th Hour Rose

Fool's Gold

The Soldier's Christmas: A Langston Brothers Novella

The Christmas Ghost: An 11th Hour Rose Novella

Also by Melissa Blue from _Entangled Publishing_

Confessions of Love

About the Author

Photo by Susan Gest

A Registered Nurse by night, Melissa battles the stresses of life and illness by enjoying uplifting tales of love and romance. A firm believer in true love united with an enduring fascination with history has prompted her pursuit of romance writing. She lives in beautiful Big Sky Country Montana with her husband and children.
