THE TIME STAR (6 page)

Thomas dared to push himself on this
lady and risk her shoving him away.

She did not. She gripped and held him as
if her very life depended on it. Indeed, both their lives depended on it, for
the breath they shared was losing the potency needed to sustain them.

When he finally drew away, Thomas knew
there could only be her, Waneeta Meadows, in his life, now. He would have to
give her up today, tomorrow at the latest, but it wouldn't be forever. She'd
return to Pembroke after he'd taken her to the Eganville train station, but he
would search for her when spring came and he would find her.

Then they'd return here, to finish what
he'd started.

Except, what about his father's dream?

Slowly, he backed away.

Flustered by his powerful kiss, Waneeta
tripped lightly backwards.

Thomas reached for her. Unnerved by her
reaction to his kiss, he offered a shaky apology, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't
have stopped so suddenly."

"It takes two to tango." She
grimaced inwardly at the stupid remark.

"Tango?"

Waneeta frowned. It wasn't the first
time he had queried her choice of words. Even as the bells started their
clanging again, she remembered he'd quoted Wordsworth to her. And now, his
fingers caressed her arms, and those stupid bells were just set to confuse her.
They were crazy, a foolish reaction to her jaded view of men made louder
because of the accident.

Thomas was not just a man. He was all
she had ever wanted in a man. So those damn bells could go to hell for all she
cared.

 Chapter 6

"Tell me another story, Thomas,"
Waneeta pleaded as he settled down on his makeshift bed.

By dusk, the storm had finally blown itself
out, and though Waneeta knew she should leave, as Kevin's non-appearance concerned
her greatly, she found herself hanging on.

She'd offered the bunk to Thomas, saying
her side wasn't sore any longer, but he shot her a startled look and coolly declined
her offer. Again, Waneeta suppressed a smile. Was there nothing this man
wouldn't do for her?

At his place on the plank floor, giving
her a long, silent look that offered little clues to his thoughts, Thomas crossed
his legs. She knew if he were to walk over to her, she would open the blankets
and invite him in. Yet, oddly, the thought didn't scare her as much as it
should have.

"There's one story about the
Madawaska River," he began, breaking into her thoughts.

She leaned forward with anticipation. The
Madawaska River joined many lakes on its journey from the park to the Ottawa
River. "Let's hear it." She'd rather sit there, drinking in his face,
his thick biceps, his long, lean legs, and lazy smile wondering all the while
what their evening would bring. But if he entertained her with another story,
she'd take that as well.

He began, "One section of the
Madawaska River is full of shoals and sharp rocks. In the spring, when the
water level is high, these rocks are hidden, making them even more dangerous. These
are called slides, by the way. Sometimes the sticks of timber get caught on
them, then break away suddenly."

"Sticks? You make the logs sound so
small."

"That's what they're called. These
sticks, about 25 of them, are tied together to form a crib. Then they tie the
cribs together to form a dram. Several drams together are a raft, and they
float these rafts downstream to the mills."

"Whoa! That's a lot of lumber!"

"Yes, but when the river isn't deep
enough to carry them, they break them down into drams, or even further into
cribs to run the slides. One section of the river is particularly bad. That's
where, one time, a man was driving a crib directly toward the jagged rocks."

He paused. Waneeta leaned forward, her lips
parted. What a delight to listen to him. Pure pleasure of word, where actions
would not do.

"What happened?" she asked.

"The timbers were driven hard against
the rocks." He lingered in silence a moment. "He was caught between
the logs when the crib buckled."

She frowned. "Oh! He died?"

"Yes. When his fiancé heard what
happened, she became so distraught, she fled down to the river and threw
herself into the same rapids. Now, sometimes, when the moon is full, you can
see the two lovers meeting in the river."

Thomas smiled slowly, obviously savoring
her riveted attention. "They say it was their love that brought them
together."

"So their love transcended death?"

"Eloquent and accurate. Don't you
think love is powerful enough to bring two spirits together?"

Waneeta drew in a long, uneasy breath.
Thomas lured her in with persuasive eyes.
Believe in love
, they said.

I want to
, hers answered.
Help me. I've been too cynical, too long.

Those words caught in her throat. And,
Thomas, what was he saying? That they were the two spirits brought together by
love? Did he truly believe love could release even the bonds of death?

She and Thomas met because of a storm,
but he talked as though something greater, more overwhelming than simple snow
had been at work here. What was it?

Love? Death?

Was love that strong? She savoured the
idea in her mind, pushing aside her twenty-first century cynicism, allowing
herself to be drawn in by his words, his soft, trusting manner.

Could love really be that strong? Did
she even believe in love?

She leaned forward, her thoughts smoldering
within her very core. Thomas watched her, his gaze rolling over her frame. She
could feel him, even though he sat on his bedroll at the other end of the small
cabin.

She could feel him as easily as if his
hands were on her right now.
Whoa. Too much, too soon
. Too crazy, this
talk of love and death, of spirits and passion. This wasn’t her. She didn’t do
love stories. She was a woman who wanted to live her own life with her own
style of femininity. She would like to say her life was a reflection of
equality and women's rights, but she'd had to push for all she had and she
refused to compromise on what she'd earned.

Waneeta cleared her throat. "So how
come you can only see these two ghosts when the moon is full?"

There was a pause. "Maybe because
the moon is very romantic."

His words were soft, hardly heard over
the crackling fire he’d recently banked. It would be so easy to yield to the
temptation in his deep voice. He could seduce her with a single, penetrating
look, one easy whisper. One word of pure romance. And she'd love it.

Immediately, Waneeta backed off
emotionally. "Maybe there's no point in looking for them when you can't
see them."

He chuckled softly. "I like my answer
better."

Waneeta looked out the window, briefly, "Is
there a full moon tonight?"

He shook his head, watching her
intently.

"Then am I safe from all this
powerful love?" she teased, despite her pounding heart.

For a long, difficult minute, as he sat
cross-legged on the floor, he stared at her with those intense blue eyes. His
smile had long since faded. "I can’t promise you that, Waneeta," he
told her quietly. "Love doesn't promise anything but itself."

A thrill
shot through
her. It took all of her willpower not to slip from the bunk, not to go to him, not
to ask him to make love to her beside the hearth on his warm, white blankets
before she would have to leave tomorrow.

Oh, Kevin, why haven't you come yet?
Things would be different, then. Safer.

"Goodnight, Thomas," she
whispered.

A shadow of disappointment swept over
his face. "Goodnight, Waneeta." He lay down on his makeshift pillow
and closed his eyes.

She slept better that night, only out of
sheer emotional exhaustion. She knew what her body was telling her, but just
because she was attracted to an incredibly handsome man and vice versa didn't
mean she should fall into bed with him. A girl must be careful. In her mind's
eye, she could see his smoldering look again. Another day with him would
certainly erode any willpower left within her.

The sun was high the second morning when
Waneeta finally broached the subject of leaving. All had been quiet up until
then. Even the small talk that started the day was brief and difficult.
Breakfast was simple like yesterday, and their day appeared to be repeating
itself, but when Waneeta suggested she'd better go, Thomas knew how true that
was. If she stayed any longer, things would become much different. And far more
complicated.

When Thomas suggested he accompany her into
the village to find a ride to Eganville, Waneeta asked, "How will you
return?"

"With my snowshoes."

He pointed to a set of old fashioned
snowshoes propped up in the corner.

Waneeta shook her head. "Better you
than me. I’m not very good on them, I’m afraid. But we'll take my Skidoo
in."

"Skidoo?"

"Yes, it's buried halfway up your
trail. I bent the ski when I hit a rock, but it should get us into the village
if we take our time. I'll need your help to find it under all this new snow,
though. And set it upright."

Thomas nodded, curious to see this
contraption, and how she handled it. He looked forward to her surprising him
yet again.

A short while later, dressed back in her
pockmarked suit, Waneeta stepped out into the bright day and turned to face the
cabin. "You know, this place doesn’t seem that old fashioned, after all.
Merely quaint, like what you'd see on a Christmas card."

She turned and Thomas found himself smiling
at her. When she returned it and his grin faltered, his heart lurched as he
considered all his thoughts from last night.

Together they plowed into the woods,
Thomas in his snowshoes breaking trail ahead of her. Waneeta inhaled the crisp
air deeply as they pushed through the heavy snow. It was much colder than the
early spring-like days they’d had so far. As much as she liked winter, after
the mild days so far this month, she was ready for spring.

"Waneeta," he blurted out as
they walked, "Would you consider being my wife?"

Waneeta stumbled to a stop behind him.
She gawked at him, eyes wide, and feeling her jaw drop like a stone. He wore
fresh clothes and knee-high leather mukluks, looking like the one of the lumberjacks
he’d mentioned. So quaint, so old-fashioned, but she bit her bottom lip. Was that
what she was afraid of?  Of him being so old-fashioned, when she was determined
to be so modern?

Or was it the distrust she'd learned
along the way?

She could see his frosty breath swirl between
them, his chest rising with each strong inhalation. His eyes had brightened
with the sunshine.

He crossed the short distance between
them and with one mittened hand, gently closed her jaw.

Waneeta flushed. When she finally found
her voice, she asked, "Are you proposing to me?"

He gave her a slightly crooked smile. "I
believe so."

"Why?"

It was his turn to look incredulous. "Waneeta,
we just spent two nights together! People will talk."

Scowling, she scoffed, "Let them
talk. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before."

Thomas caught her arm. "Your
reputation will be ruined."

Fear skittered down her spine. She'd
wanted to know him better, but this? She scanned his face for a hint of a joke,
but there was none, leaving her to laugh shakily. "Maybe, but no worse
than what I've endured running a sports store. The owner can be a jerk,
sometimes, really rude to his female workers. But, really, Thomas, marriage? We
hardly know each other!"

She shook her head. This man was
incredible! He'd offer to marry her solely on the premise that her reputation could
be ruined? Without warning, Thomas pulled her in his arms, and she found her
breath coming in light, frosty puffs. She could feel his body heat, and desire
swept over her. For one moment she toyed with the idea of returning to the
cabin and getting to know him better. His breath caressed her cheeks, and his
lips hovered over hers temptingly.

"Then let me see you again,"
he whispered. "Let's get to know each other."

Finally, a sensible option! She smiled. "I
was hoping you would say that."

"We could meet in the village."

"Up here? I have to go to work
today in Pembroke. I’m late as it is. Then I'm not free until after Easter. I'd
like to spend time with you, you know, come back up here, but I'm afraid it'll
have to wait until Victoria Day."

His arms tightened. "When's that?"
he asked, his eyebrows pressed into a frown.

"This year? Really, Thomas, you'll
have to get a calendar! It's the twenty-second of May." Her hands clutched
the sides of his coat as she inhaled his clean scent. He'd been up earlier than
her, and bathed before she’d even opened her eyes.