WANTED (A Transported Through Time book) (12 page)

~~~

Chapter Eleven

Samantha focused her eyes and shrieked when Carla’s face came into view. She sat upright, pushing the woman’s hands away.

“What are you doing?” What happened? She must have passed out in the woman’s kitchen. She was still here, sitting on the awful-colored linoleum. Carla was trying to make her drink something.

“It’s all right, Sammie. Drink this. You blacked out.”

Samantha pushed the cup away. Hard. It spilled onto Carla’s low-cut shirt, and the cup clattered to the floor.

Carla reached after the cup and stood after rescuing it. She ignored Samantha, searching the cup for damages. When the woman held it to her bosom and looked heavenward, Samantha’s little itch of guilt vanished.

Good. Well, not good. Not bad, either. She looked around her, for what she didn’t know exactly. For a sign of what happened to her, for evidence it wasn’t real.

That it was over.

A hollow feeling spread out inside her, pain along the edges. It opened and widened until her whole body numbed a bit.

“Are you okay?” Carla stood above her, cup set down on the counter behind her. The older woman’s tone wasn’t one of surprise. In fact, it sounded annoyed, even exasperated.

Samantha tried to stand. The room went all topsy-turvy on her, so she sat back down in the middle of the kitchen floor and glared at the owner of the auction house.

“Tell me what happened,” she demanded, realizing that Carla probably couldn’t tell her much, but needing to hear some sort of explanation—a run-through of how she went from sipping tea to having the most erotic and realistic dream, outside of all time and place, and then back to here. Sitting in an ugly and old kitchen, staring at the knees of a woman who made her somewhat uncomfortable. “Tell me exactly what happened in the last ten minutes.”

“Six hours.”

Samantha blanched. “
Six hours?
” No wonder the dream seemed so long. Oh God, Charles! She had to pick up Charles at the airport. His plane landed hours ago. He would be worried sick. Or raving mad. Or both.

She again tried to get up. “I have to go.” Again, the dizziness took hold of her, and she pressed her hand to her forehead, sitting back down.

“If you’d like, I’ll call someone. But I think you should at least drink some water.”

Carla’s tone sounded strangely concerned. She definitely sounded worried, but for some reason, Samantha didn’t get the feeling the woman was worried about her health. Probably annoyed a customer had gone and passed out for six hours—

“Why didn’t you call an ambulance or something?” Samantha looked up at the woman.

Carla had the decency to look caught and a bit remorseful. “I thought you’d wake up?” She said it like a question, one eye squinting dubiously at Samantha.

A weird thought sprang into Samantha’s mind. “Did you slip something in my tea?” Even saying it sounded ludicrous, let alone thinking it, but she couldn’t seem to stop the words.

Carla snorted, shook her head, and crossed her arms. “No. Like what? Drugs?”

Samantha slowly nodded. “Yeah. Drugs. Did you slip me something to try to get my dad’s map and poster from me without paying? Are you trying to steal from me?”

God, she wished she could stand up, move, or something. Too late, it occurred to her that accusing someone of something like foul play wasn’t done well from a vulnerable and immovable position, such as her current one. In case it was true, probably not the smartest thing to do.

Carla’s response was anything but evil or villainous. She stammered, gasped, and threw up her hands, only to recross them over her bust. She turned back to the counter, where the cup sat.

A funny feeling formed in Samantha’s stomach. She suddenly got the idea that she knew Carla from somewhere. That was impossible. She’d never met Carla before. The funny feeling turned to a sour feeling. The hollow became hurting. She didn’t like this, any of it. She almost wished she hadn’t awakened, and that scared her.

She didn’t want to be depressed or ill. She didn’t want to be a woman who couldn’t live life, emotionally crippled.

A tear slid down her cheek.

Carla turned to her, saw it, and rushed to her side.

“Shhh. There, now. Don’t cry, Sammie. You’re okay. Here, drink a little water, and I’ll call someone. Okay?”

Samantha nodded, wanting to tell her not to call her Sammie, that only her dad called her Sammie. She missed him now more than ever. Stupid treasure hunting and all. Emotion overwhelmed her, and she wanted everything to be normal again. To feel normal again.

Carla smoothed her hair, and Samantha drank from the teacup she’d almost broken. She gagged a bit, swallowing, realizing it wasn’t water. She looked up, terrified, at Carla, and a strange sympathy swirled in the woman’s gaze. Whiskey. Why on earth would Carla give her whiskey?

As though in answer, Carla said, “Go back to him, Sammie. He needs you.”

As she was about to ask who, the world went blank.

*

Not ten minutes after he found her gone, Jesse came upon Samantha sprawled in the grass, legs akimbo, hair pooled like a puddle on the ground. He rushed to her side, looking for signs of injury.

“Damn it,” he said through clenched teeth. This woman would be the death of him. The longer he knew her, the more enigmatic she became, and the more suspicious he grew.

He touched her brow. It was warm. She was breathing. Gingerly, he scooped her into his arms. No snakebite could explain this.

The pieces of the puzzle began to fit together, and he hated the picture they formed. First, he found her asleep, whimpering near camp with Mick and Joe, the very site Mick had chosen.

Next, she is discovered, not by him, but by Tommy. Weeks after an encounter exceptional both in experience and possibility, Tommy finds her. Not Ginny, not him. Tommy.

Tommy was a good man, a good husband and loyal to the bone, but he’d never be deemed a genius. He often reminded Jesse of the proverbial gentle giant. He wasn’t stupid. By no means. A bit gullible, perhaps.

Now, after a full night of lovemaking almost too good to be true, she disappears again, only to be found vulnerable and fainted not ten yards from his front door. One minute he was making her breakfast, preparing to ask the questions that needed asking, the next, she was gone. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he’d checked this very area. That would mean worse than suspicious. That might mean outright deception.

He didn’t want to believe it, yet. Yet? At all. There it was, forming in his mind anyway. Mick. Joe. Samantha.

What’s the next best thing to killing the man who knows where buried loot lies? How about finding it, stealing it, and carrying on in the greediest, backstabbing way as always.

He’d been set up. He’d let his guard down one too many times, and his partners had gotten to know him well enough to find this woman and play his emotions.

Jesse carried Samantha across his threshold, into his room and laid her on the bed. She didn’t waken. He watched her breathe. An actress. A good one, to be sure. One with loose enough morals and, no doubt, some experience.

His stomach turned sour, anger roiling in it. He fisted his hands, released them, and fisted them again. Damn them for making a fool of him. Damn himself for being one.

Any right-headed man would have detected foul play from the first. He’d been blindsided by beauty and vulnerability. The same she practiced now, lying in his bed, the same spot where they’d gone to heaven and back only an hour ago.

“Hello to house?” Ginny knocked loudly on the front porch.

Jesse walked the short distance through the living room and braced an arm on the doorframe, barring her entry.

“Jesse,” she protested. “You can’t keep her here like some concubine. The woman has a reputation to keep intact. Every woman does.”

He shook his head, and for a moment he thought he might be too angry to speak. Even worse, for a moment he thought they might have gotten to her, too. And to Tommy.

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?” Ginny stopped fighting him. “Gone where?” Her eyes narrowed.

“She dressed and left not an hour ago. Leave it be, Ginny.”

“If she’s gone, then she’s well. If she’s gone, you’ll let me pass.”

Jesse didn’t move. He shook his head and gave his sister his most penetrating warning look. “No, Ginny. Get back home. I’m leaving here.”

Ginny didn’t wince, but he’d obviously hurt her feelings. He couldn’t help his brisk tone, though. His mind raced so fast with implications and plans, he hardly had time to soothe his sister’s matronly concerns for a woman who plainly didn’t deserve them.

As Ginny looked past his shoulder and back to his face, silence stretched and pulled between them. Finally, she stepped back.

“I don’t know what is going on here, Jesse. But I love you, so I’m going to trust you.”

Jesse nodded. He ignored the well of guilt her tenderness caused to bloom inside his chest.

“How long will you be gone?”

She always liked a deadline, a worry date she’d call it. The day when she knew something bad had happened, something terrible, and maybe even her worst fear. Because a sister shouldn’t have to be informed of such a thing by some stranger. Or so she said.

This time ... “I don’t know.” And he didn’t.

He didn’t know how Mick and Joe had come to find where he’d made his home, but they had. If they didn’t get what they wanted from the woman lying in his bed, he didn’t know what their plan might be.

He would soon find out, and he wouldn’t do it here.

“Tell Tommy to keep an eye out.” Jesse hugged his sister gruffly and nudged her off. “A good one. Tell him if anything happens to my little sister ...”

“Nonsense, Jesse. Stop talking that way. Everything’s fine. Tommy will protect me just fine.” Ginny held a stiff smile on her lips and walked away with such forced lightness it was all he could do not to tear into his room and shake Samantha awake.

She’d brought them to his home, to his family. He’d die before letting them hurt a hair on Ginny’s head.

He watched his sister walk evenly and surely down the hill. He kept his gaze to the view, making certain he was here if she chose to glance back, verify in a look things would be all right somehow. She didn’t look back. So he didn’t wave, only watched her disappear.

Once she was gone, he turned and returned to his bedroom. She lay there still, her eyes open and warily taking in her surroundings. She appeared frightened, like a rabbit whose hunt was now ended. She was the prey, he the hunter, and she was ensnared, caught, nowhere to go and no one to come to her aid. She knew it.

She didn’t see him at first, and when she did, she smiled a smile that could melt the devil’s icy-cold heart. Jesse’s own ached. Whatever he’d begun to believe in, whoever he thought she had been—angel, bewitcher, he didn’t know—she was no longer.

He steeled himself, masking his features so as not to belie his discovery of her black heart.

“What happened?” Her voice was painfully melodic.

“You fainted again.” Jesse swallowed, willing his voice not to strangle in his throat. “The snakebite effects, I reckon.” He smiled tightly.

She nodded, and her smile waned. As she regarded him, the fear crept back into her gaze. “There’s something else. Isn’t there?”

Jesse cocked his head to the side. Let her wonder. Let her muse and stew about what he may or may not have found out. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. Nothing else.” He winked. “How is your leg? Does it hurt?”

He wanted to move to the bed and sit down next to her, touch that very leg. When she raised it, exposing another inch of creamy skin, he bit down. His nostrils flared. He’d not be able to keep up a farce for long.

He needed to get the two of them packed and riding. Fast. Mick and Joe could be nearby, in wait. He couldn’t risk her knowing he knew, or the two of them coming in to get her. Surely they’d allow more time for their spy to get the information they wanted—the location of the loot. Surely that could take days.

If he left with her, he could lose their scent and vanish while forcing her to admit to her plan and where the bastard brothers were. He’d have
a
little surprise for them.

“Jesse? Is everything all right? You look as strange as I feel.” He focused on her face. Too beautiful—deceptively beautiful. Resisting her might be the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. However, he would.

“Everything is fine. I just was thinking, is all. If your leg is all right, I’d like to show you something. Some place, really. It’s not far. We could ride to it, if you’re able.”

“I’m not much of a rider.” Her gaze still seemed to search his face for meaning.

“I beg to differ.” He winked again. “I remember you being quite adept at riding.”

Her cheeks shocked pink, and her eyes widened. He smiled. Genuinely, this time. She was talented, he’d give her that. Too good to be true. He should have known from the first night. Good old-fashioned lust and anonymity had taken lead. Her turning up on his doorstep should have triggered immediate caution. Again, lust had besotted his brain so well he’d gone blind to what had seemed like mere coincidence.