A Husband in Time (4 page)

Not since Claudia…

And then a mighty shove sent him staggering backward, and Zach was too surprised to even wonder why he was so weak that a mite of a woman could send him flying.

She stood panting, glaring at him. “That's it,” she fairly growled at him. “That's it. I was thinking about going easy on you, mister, but you've pushed me too far.”

“Rough or easy,” he told her, “doesn't much matter. I'm not interested in having sex with you, Miss, so you might as well be on your way.” It was a lie, of course. He was
very
interested. If only he had one of those condoms on hand, he might even oblige her.

“Not…interested…
Sex?
” She blinked as if in shock.

“Oh, it isn't you, love.” He smiled at her, reached out a hand to smooth her hair out of her eyes. She only stood there, apparently too shocked to move. “Actually, I'm more tempted than I've been in a very long time. You're lovely. But I've no wish to expose myself to… Well, you understand.”

She shook her head. “No. I don't understand, and I don't think I want to. Listen, you're nuts. You're certifiable. I'm taking you downstairs right now, and I'm calling the sheriff. But don't bother waiting around for him, okay? Just get out.”

He frowned, tilted his head. “Pardon?”

“I said get out,” she told him. She was grating her teeth and her fisted hands were shaking at her sides. “Get the hell out of my house. Now.”

“My word,” he told her. “You really should consider a career in the theater. I've no idea what you're up to, darling, but this is my house, and it's you who really ought to be leaving.”

She blinked. The anger was rapidly fading. It was fear he saw replacing it in her eyes.

“I'm sorry,” he said, thinking perhaps she'd be beaten if it became known she'd failed. He almost reconsidered his decision to abstain. Sex with this fiery woman would have to be something to experience. “What if I let you stay a couple of hours, hmm? Will that be enough to convince them we had ourselves a good tumble?”

Her hand connected with his face in a streak, and he didn't have time to duck it. It thoroughly amazed him when her blow knocked him off balance. He landed on the bed, blinking up at her. Lord, why was he so weak? So dizzy? Had he been ill recently?

“Get out,” she ordered.

“Enough,” he said softly, still baffled by his physical state. “Are you daft? Must I prove to you that this is my home? Shall I send for the sheriff to have you carried out? Is that what you want?” He shook his head, lifted a hand and pointed toward the table near the window, its shape just visible in the darkness. “There is a worktable. Not the main one, of course, but I do keep one here in Benjamin's room. Some of my experiments are there. My tools. My notes. They're secret, naturally, but a common doxy like you could make neither heads nor tails of them anyway, so go ahead and look.” He pointed to the far wall. “There is the hearth, and upon the mantel are a pair of oil lamps and some matches. Do light one, so you can see for yourself where you are, woman. And then kindly remove yourself. I have work to do.”

The woman only stared at him, completely puz
zled. And then, slowly, she moved to the wall. She touched an appendage there, and the room was suddenly flooded with light. Zachariah Bolton nearly fell on the floor in shock.

J
ane searched the floor, spotted the baseball bat and snatched it up again as she watched an apparently bewildered man gazing around Cody's bedroom as if in disbelief.

“What is this?” he shouted. “Where is the slate board? My notes? Lord, woman, who installed this confounded electrical illuminator in here, and what have you done with my notes?”

“Look,” she said, holding the bat up in front of her. “I don't know who the hell you are, or what you're talking about, but—”

“My tools!” he yelled, turning this way and that, pushing a hand through his nearly black hair. “What in tarnation have you done with my tools? And my worktable? Woman, where is Aunt Hattie's credenza?”

The man was sick. And not just mentally, either. His face was pale, and thinner than it should be, and dark circles ringed his deep brown eyes.

“Thank heavens,” he said at last, and fell to his knees on the floor, grasping that small box. “The device is safe, at least. The device…” He looked even more confused than before. “But…but I hadn't finished it yet.”

She wanted to run from the room. Right that sec
ond, run down the hall to grab Cody, and then take him right out of this house. But the man on his knees in the center of the floor was looking at her, and she thought, maybe, he was remembering… The pain that slowly shadowed his face said more than words could. But he spoke all the same, staring hard at her.

“You're Jane.”

She nodded, not moving. Telling herself to leave, call for help. And telling herself
not
to go to him and try to ease the confusion from his brow.

“And the boy…he's your son… He's not Benjamin.”

“That's right. You remember, then,” she whispered.

He closed his eyes. “I remember. Benjamin…my little Benjamin…he's…” His head bowed, and his shoulders began to shake. “He's dying. How could I forget that, even for a moment?”

Jane blinked. Dying? He had a son, who resembled her own, and that son was dying? “My God,” she whispered, and the bat fell to the floor with a bang. “My God, no wonder you're so messed up.” Warily she moved forward. And when she stood close to where he knelt, she touched his hair, stroked it away from his face and felt the tears that dampened it.

His arms closed around her legs, his head resting against her thighs. “I meant to go back, Jane. I meant to go back, so I could save him. Before he was ever exposed to the blasted virus. I meant… But I failed. A miscalculation. Something. I failed, and now I might have lost him forever.”

Crazy talk again. But then, how sane would she be if she ever lost her Codester? A little chill raced
up her spine, but she went right on stroking his hair. His entire situation resembled the history of Zachariah Bolton. No wonder he'd wandered here in confusion. “It's all right,” she whispered, because there was a lump in her throat that prevented her speaking louder. “It's going to be all right. I'll help you. Okay?”

He said nothing. But she knew he was devastated. He clung to her, shaking, crying perhaps, confused and in terrible pain.

“What's your name?” she asked him.

“Zach,” he muttered. “Zachariah Bolton.”

She stiffened, and he must have felt it, because he straightened away from her. He pressed a hand to his forehead, as if trying to rub away a pounding headache, and then he slowly got to his feet. “I'm sorry. I'm falling apart. What must you think?”

“I think,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “that you've been through something horrible and it's left you…confused.”

“Insane, you mean.”

“Of course not.”

He shook his head and paced away from her. “You look at me as if you believe I'm insane.”

“I…well…look, it's just that Zachariah Bolton would be over a hundred and thirty years old today.”

He stopped pacing and stood, toying with the black box in his hands. “Zachariah Bolton,” he said softly, “is thirty-five years old, Jane. He was born in 1862.”

“That doesn't make any— What is that thing you're playing with?”

He looked up, blinked. “So the house belongs to you now?”

“Yes. My son and I, yes.”

“Your husband…is he at home? May I speak with him?”

“I don't have—” She bit her lip, averted her gaze. Since when did the handbook on survival in the nineties advise women to tell insane housebreakers that they were all alone? “He's not here right now.”

The man who claimed to be Zachariah Bolton frowned, and his gaze shifted downward. To her left hand, she realized belatedly. “You're not married, are you?” She didn't answer. He shook his head in wonder, and looked down at the box in his hand once more. And then he swayed a little, blinked as if his vision were blurring.

“You're not well,” she told him.

He drew a fortifying breath and eased himself down onto the edge of the bed. “No. No, physically, I'm not at all myself. Side effects, I suppose. I hadn't expected them to be quite so severe.”

“S-side effects…to what?”

He looked her squarely in the eye. “You'll run off to send word to the local asylum if I tell you. But I don't suppose I have much of a choice right now, do I? I need you, Jane. I need you to… Ah, but I can't make you understand this way. Come here.”

She blinked, took a step backward, eyeing him as he patted the spot on the bed beside him.

He frowned, and then his brows went up and he nodded. “Yes, I don't suppose I behaved as a gentleman when I found you here earlier, did I?” And his eyes, for some reason, fixed on her lips, and re
mained there a moment too long. “I don't know what that was, Jane. A memory lapse of some sort. Side effects, as I said. I was remembering a time when two of my colleagues hired a…” He gave his head a shake. “No matter. I apologize for that. Please, come over here, just for a moment. If you stand there, you might be hurt when I show you what this device does.”

She tilted her head. “What is it, some kind of stun gun?”

His eyes narrowed. “I don't know that term, but no, that's not what this is. I only want to show you how I got here, Jane, because if I tell you, you'll think I'm insane and throw me out before I can offer proof.”

She took a step toward him. He held out a hand. “I am Zachariah Bolton, Jane, and if you'll just come over here, I'll prove it.”

Sighing, she picked up her baseball bat. He glanced down at it, lifting one eyebrow. Jane went to him, sat down beside him on the bed. “I suppose you're going to tell me you traveled a hundred years forward in time, and that this little remote control gone haywire is your time machine.”

He frowned hard. “How on earth could you know—”

“Oh, everyone around here knows about Zachariah Bolton. He was a genius. A man light-years ahead of his time. But he got a little crazy after his…” Her voice trailed off, and she lost her breath.

“After his son died? Yes, I suppose I will go a bit crazy if that happens. But, Jane, I have no intention of letting it happen.” Her eyes widened as she stared
at him. He glanced down at himself. “I've been wearing these clothes all night, as I sat up with him. No wonder you were so afraid of me. I look like a common tramp. I hadn't expected anyone to be here…except for Ben and perhaps Mrs. Haversham.”

She stood up, shook her head. “Stop. Just stop talking this way. It's…”

“Crazy?” He nodded. “I know. I know. That's what all my colleagues kept saying. That time travel was physically impossible. That I was wasting my talents working on it. I was close, oh, so very close, for months. When Benjamin took ill…it did something to me. Gave me something…extra.”

She was still shaking her head, still backing away. But his hand came up and caught her wrist, holding her still, bringing her close to him. With the funny-looking remote, he pointed. “That spot, right there, Jane. A spot some thirty-five feet above the ground, a spot that this house ended up being built around…There's a wrinkle there. An invisible wrinkle in the fabric of time. A doorway, Jane. And I can open it.”

His thumb touched a button on the remote, and she heard a low-pitched hum. A pinprick of light appeared in the air halfway between the floor and the ceiling, at the room's center.

“My intent was to go back, and only a few months. I wanted to go to my Benjamin before he'd ever been exposed to the virus, and take him away before he could become infected. I wanted to save him. Surely you can understand that, can't you, Jane? Only hours ago you were willing to face me down with nothing but a wooden bat in order to save your
own child. You'd do anything for him. You know you would.”

She didn't like the way his eyes were blazing, or the tightness of his grip on her forearm. She pulled, but he got to his feet, gave one good tug, and she was pressed tight to him. His free arm snapped around her waist like a padlock's hasp, and he held her immobile. The fingers of his other hand worked the dial on the little black box, and the box began to hum. But the light remained the same.

“I messed it up, Jane,” he said, his voice close to her ear, as he slowly turned a dial with his free hand. “My calculations were off somehow, and I came forward instead of going back. And not just a few months, but a century. A hundred years.”

He gave the dial another twist, his grip on her waist tightening. She shook her head, but stopped pulling against his embrace. “This can't be,” she whispered. “This just can't be.”

Zach twisted the dial once more, but the light only flashed brighter for an instant and then died. For a long moment, Jane just stared at the spot where it had been.

He fiddled with the box, twisting the knob again, but nothing happened.

“Damn. I'm forgetting… I'm not insane,” he whispered, and she realized, a little belatedly, that he was still holding her. Her back nestled intimately against the front of him, and his hand remained, lightly now, but snugly, at her waist. “The device needs time to recharge. How I let that slip my mind, I don't know. Three days, Jane, and I'll show you a wonder you'll never forget. I am exactly who I say
I am. I swear to you. And I need you, Jane. I need you to let me stay here until the device can recharge and I can get back to my son.”

She turned in his arms, stared up into his eyes and knew, without any doubt, that this man fully believed every word he was saying. This poor, beautiful, sick man.

“You won't turn me away. I know you won't. There's kindness in your eyes, Jane. I see it there. You won't—”

“You need help,” she whispered. “Let me help you find it.”

He closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping forward as if he were too exhausted to go on. “At least,” he whispered, “let me stay until morning. I'll think of a way to make you believe me by then. I'm too tired now. I can't think….”

“All right.” Stupid, she told herself. Stupid to let an insane man stay the night. But she couldn't turn him away, not with that pain in his eyes. She just couldn't.

The relief in his face, in his eyes when he opened them again, was incredible. He pulled her closer, hugged her, rested his cheek in her hair. “Thank you, Jane,” he told her. “Thank you.”

 

She was, he mused, perhaps the kindest woman he'd ever known. She'd suggested he get some rest, expressed concern over his health before she retired to her bed. Truth to tell, he was more than a bit concerned himself. That memory lapse…and this incessant weakness, and the recurring vertigo… Coming through the doorway had altered him physically,
and he still wasn't certain of the extent of the damage. He'd fallen asleep instantly, and only awakened just now, to the sun rising high in the east. And he still felt exhausted and battered. His head ached intensely. But he had no time to waste lying in bed and waiting to recover. For all he knew, he might get worse, rather than better. Best, he decided, to get to work right away.

Work? But what work? What the hell could he do? Nothing, he realized slowly. Nothing but wait. He couldn't return to his own time until the device had recharged. So for three days he'd be here, unable to do a thing to help his son.

It wasn't hopeless. Merely a setback. He'd wait, and then he'd return. He'd return to the exact time whence he'd come. Benjamin's condition would not have had time to worsen. And from there, Zach would simply start over. Make a few adjustments, and try again. In the meantime, there was very little he could do. His main task, it seemed, was proving himself to Jane, convincing her to let him remain right here, for there was no other place….

Yes. He'd have to convince Jane to let him stay. Fortunately, Zach thought, influencing reluctant females to his way of thinking was one of his areas of expertise. Second only to science, in fact. Or had been, once. He wondered briefly whether he could drum up enough of his legendary charm to sway her. He had to try. There was more at stake than conquest here. There was Ben. Benjamin was safe…for the moment. So Zach was free to pursue the matter at hand.

But first…

He glanced down at his rumpled clothing and wrinkled his nose. First a bath, and a change of clothes. His carpetbag still lay on the floor, where he'd dropped it when he first came through. So at least he had the most recent notes—torn hastily from his journal in case he might need them—a few basic tools, a change of clothes and some toiletries. He carried these with him into the bathroom down the hall, and then marveled at the wonders to be found there.

At first he wondered how he'd manage without a lamp or a candle. But then he recalled the electric illuminator in Benjamin's—er, Cody's—room, and searched the spot on the wall just inside the door, where the control for the other one had been. He found the switch, moved it, and the bathroom filled with light. Zach simply shook his head in wonder, and explored further. The tub was huge, with spigots fixed into it. Water, hot, as well as cold, ran into the giant shining tub at the touch of a knob. Far more advanced than his own bathroom had been, and his had been the very latest in technology. Judging by the force with which the water spewed from the spigots, he knew there must be more power behind it than mere gravity. The necessary, too, was sparkling-clean and water-filled. Warm air blew gently from a register low on the wall. He smelled no wood smoke. Something else was obviously heating the water, and the house, as well. The very essence of day-to-day living, he realized slowly, had changed. Drastically changed.