Faithfully Yours (The Forever Time Travel Romance Series, Book 1) (8 page)

She stood within an arm's reach of him.  He did consider her to be his wife.  Maybe a small touch on his shoulder, although not as provocative as what she had originally thought, would accomplish her goal.  Good gracious, she had kissed him only an hour ago.  Even that innocent gesture had caught her off guard, but that one sample was enough of a taste to know she wanted more.

He sat back on his heels, and Faith reached her arm forward, touching her hand to his shoulder.  "What are you looking for?" she asked, trying to suppress a devilish leer.  He had no idea how close he came to being accosted on the main room floor.

He slid the crate back in place and stood to his feet.  "I thought I put an awl in here last week, but I don't see it now."

"Why would a barn tool be in the house?" she asked.  A diversion might be what she needed to keep her inner thoughts from him.  She emptied the picnic basket of its contents and tucked it under the work table.

"The new bridle I fashioned needs holes punched through the leather.  For the past few days, I planned to work on it after dinner.  But something," a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes, and he pulled her into his arms, "has captured my attention."  He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the mouth.

Did he have any idea what he was doing?  He saw her as his bride, but Aidan was still unfamiliar to her, and the attraction she felt toward him was hard to resist.  She stared up at him, her lungs desperately needing air.  There was something in the way he looked at her.  One glance from him, one touch of his hand, and everything surrounding them drifted away from her.  She wondered if this was what had originally drawn her to him.  Whether it was or not, it was what drew her to him now, and she wanted it to never end.

She held him to her, wanting to devour him.  Their breaths mingled as though they each tried to decide if their immediate plans could wait until later.  She licked her lips, inadvertently touching her tongue to his mouth.  Like steel being forged by a lightning strike, he held her tighter.  He tilted his head, slanting his mouth over hers.  Silently responding, she slid her hands behind his back, and pressed her body against him.  Their forms neatly meshed together like the threads in a wool blanket.  If she were to pull away from him now, she would unravel any chance she had for happiness.

He drew his head back, and Faith moaned in protest.  "There is nothing I would like more than to finish this discussion in our bedroom," he said.  His breath seemed as difficult to catch as her own.  "But if I don't finish this harness, I will have to walk the crops to Charlotte."

Faith closed her eyes and dropped her head forward, resting her brow against his chest.  Her forehead rose up and down with each breath he took.  She pressed her nose into his shirt, inhaled, and tried to memorize everything about him.  He smelled of sunshine and lemons.  She smiled and hugged him tighter.  Adding dried citrus rind to the wash was a laundry tip she had learned from her mother.  Apparently, this secret was not exclusive to her family.  It was too bad her parents had not been here to advise her on her latest conundrum.

"I should have taken care of this adjustment last night while you were sleeping," he said.  "But I didn't want to disturb you." 

She raised her gaze and stared up at him.  "Disturb me?" 

"You seemed out of sorts after dinner, and complained of your head hurting.  Don't you remember?  When I looked in on you a few hours after you went in to lie down, you were sleeping fitfully.  I didn't want to make you more uncomfortable with the noise I would make with an awl and hammer."

Faith had no reason to doubt what he said, except that she had no memory to correspond with his statement.  Was it possible that she would move from one world to the next while asleep?  This was how she had described the incident to the woman on the ridge.  She would take Aidan at his word and hope the missing pieces of her memory would return. 

"While you take care of the tack," she said, "I thought I would go look for wild mushrooms.  I could make a soup."

Aidan slid the basket under the worktable and then looked over at her.  "Would you like company?  I could go with you."

She placed her hands on her hips and tried to look the part of a dutiful wife.  "You just told me how important it is that you work on that strap."

"It is," he conceded, nodding in agreement.  "How long do you think you'll be?" he asked, and flipped the leather strip onto his shoulder.

Good heavens, he was gorgeous.  "A few hours at the most," she said.  She lifted her shawl from the back of the chair and draped it around her back.

Aidan gathered the woolen ends of the wrap in his hands and pulled her to him.  "Hurry home," he said, and then whispered in her ear.  "We need to finish what was started earlier."

The glimmer she had seen previously throughout the morning flickered in his eyes like a firestorm in a wind gust.  She wanted more than anything to do just that, but she needed to know how she came to be Mrs. Aidan Valentine.  Hopefully, this afternoon she would find more answers than mushrooms.

****

Faith walked the creek bank, nearing the halfway point to the house she had shared with Hank.  She would tread cautiously as she made her way to the path that would take her to the top of the ridge.  She didn't know what to expect when seeing him.  One thing was certain, she wanted to solve one confused thought at a time. 

The old woman was the only connection Faith had between her life with Hank and with Aidan.  The gray headed woman had been selfish with her information when Faith spoke with her before falling from the cliff.  She had mentioned Aidan by name, but when she had spied on them from across the creek bank, she had seemed more curious than nosey to see her there.  Surprise had not covered her features, but interest, like a person who was anxious to see if things had turned out as she expected.  If the old woman wanted to know the answer to that question, she would have to share more information with Faith than a man's name.  At least Faith had something to bargain with this time.

Faith kicked a pinecone, shooting the seedpod to the water's edge.  She would have to cross the river in order to reach the home she once shared with Hank and then continue on to the path that would lead her to the ridge and the old woman.  She glanced up at the sky.  With any luck, Hank would still be in the fields.  She would cut a wide berth around the crops, and move as quickly as possible behind the house. 

A rope bridge stretched across the narrow part of the waterway, connecting Aidan's property with Hank's.  Faith stood at the mouth of the bridge.  She grabbed the hemp rails for support and placed her foot on the first group of slats.  Aidan had told her that he had bought his land from the old woman.  He also said that the crone owned all of the property on the other side of the river.  Faith remained stationary and considered the information.  Before their fight, Hank had been sole owner of the property, except for the ridge. 

Her hand tightened into a fist.  She could feel the knife handle she had used on him in her grip.  During her last encounter with Hank, she had fought for her life, stabbing the blade in his direction.  From the way it had sunk to the hilt, she had not hit bone.  Had he died from the wound?  She added this question to her list of queries, and stepped onto the bridge.  The slats bounced under her feet as she crossed to the other side of the water. 

Faith climbed the short embankment and walked toward the tree line.  From where she walked, the gray stones of the chimney showed behind the leafy foliage.  She braced herself for the memories that would certainly come and then looked through the leaves at the stacked stones.  Slowing her steps, she stopped at the property edge. 

She stood rooted in place.  Everything in front of her seemed familiar, yet foreign.  Where were the crops and the tobacco fields?  Nothing was the same as it had been before she left Hank. 

Her world seemed to pull away from her and she considered turning around.  Afraid that she would be thrown back to Hank if she stepped one foot on his property, she looked down, making sure the tips of her shoes remained within the thicket.  She wiggled her toes.  The crone was the only constant in this nightmarish dream, and to reach her, she had to cross through Hank's property. 

Faith glanced from left to right, searching for Hank.  He was nowhere to be seen.  She took a deep breath and shot up a quick prayer.  Stepping forward, an eerie qualm slipped over her.  Everything within her urged her to turn around and run back to Aidan.  What would happen if she confronted Hank?  She might not be able to survive a second murder attempt.

Hurrying to the house, she stepped onto the porch and inched her way to the window.  Her heart raced and her palms sweat.  Before she sought out Trista, she had to know if Hank was still alive.  If he was, she would no longer have anything to fear.  She peered inside.  Nothing seemed out of place, but more importantly, there was no sign of anyone being home.

With a quick glance toward the barn, she looked to see if she had time for a peek inside the dwelling.  Nothing stirred nearby.  Catching the cabin door handle, she pushed the entrance open, and stepped inside.  The interior of the room had not changed.  Dishes were stacked on the table, and an iron pot hanged from the hook in the fireplace. 

Faith moved further inside the house, and made her way to the bedroom.  There was nothing distinctive about the décor.  A bed and dresser was the only furniture in the room.  The air was thick and stifling.  She waved her hand in front of her face.  The room could use a good airing.  She remained in the doorway and considered what she saw. 

Men's clothes lay tossed over a corner chair, but there was nothing feminine in the space.  No dresses, hair brushes, or even clean linens had any place in the room.  While the clothes were visibly cut for a man, she did not recognize the garments as being anything Hank had worn.  One thing was clear; none of her things were still in the house.  Did a new owner live on the farm?  If they did, she should exit their home immediately.  There was no need to cause trouble with new neighbors.

Chapter 9

"Wait!" Faith shouted and ran for the front door.  Tearing out of the house, she turned the corner, and chased after the old woman.  "I need to speak with you.  Stop!" 

Matching her step for step, Faith was amazed at the speed in which the woman moved.  She maneuvered her way through the garden with agility and a quick stride.  Continuing toward the tree line, Faith ran harder, hoping to catch up to her before she covered too much ground.  If she could prevent a climb to the top of the ridge, Faith could keep the crone from locking herself in her house.     

Daylight dimmed as Faith entered the dense woods.  In a half-run, she jumped over an exposed tree root and ducked her head beneath a low hanging branch.  She glanced up at the trail ahead of her and searched for any sign that the woman may be waiting for her to catch up.  Leaves swung back in place offering the only evidence that anything had passed this way.  Faith slowed her pace and pressed through the heavy shrubbery.  A pebble rubbed against the outside of her foot.  She would remove it later.  As much as she hated the idea, she would have to follow the trail to the top of the ridge. 

The rich blue and purple garments the woman wore should be easy to spot, but there was no sign of anything other than the green and brown colors of the forest.  For an aged woman, she seemed to know how to dart through the wooded area like a deer trying to escape a hunter.  Faith leaned her arm against a tree and tried to catch her breath.  While deciding what to do next, she listened for the sound of diminishing footfalls. 

Birds chirped above her head and there was slight movement in front of her.  She jerked her attention forward, and prepared for an awkward confrontation.  Instead of an intimidating woman, glaring down at her, a furry, brown bunny hopped across the path.  From its diminutive size, this was possibly its maiden adventure from its burrow.

Faith rested her back against the trunk and raised her gaze up the hillside.  She pursed her lips and blew her breath upward, attempting to cool her brow.  A blue and purple splotch fluttered at the top of the ridge.  The colorfully clad woman had made her way to the crest.  Instead of disappearing from view, she gazed down over the slope.  Faith cocked her head to the side and tried to determine if the woman hoped to be seen. 

The woman's gray hair hung in front of her shoulders, reaching to her waist.  The tips of it blew back and forth as though it beckoned Faith to follow her.  The woman stood motionless, like a narrow beacon on a rocky coastline, seeming to wait for Faith to continue her pursuit. 

Faith shook her head, trying to decide the reason for the woman's interest in her life.  She hadn't seemed that concerned with anything she had said yesterday.  The answer seemed to await her at the top of the hill.  This time, Faith wouldn't be dismissed with a pointing finger and a closed door.  She rucked up her skirt, tucked the hem of the material into the front of her waistband, and set her chin in a determined pitch.  She would have the answers she needed before returning home to Aidan.