第 3 页

An intern, she realized suddenly. He had to be the intern assigned to her case. She'd seen that ragged, haggard look before?it was a surgical intern on the tail end of a three-day round.

"Amarylis?"

"No, thanks, I don't drink." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized that something was wrong with her voice. It sounded ... southern. I doan draank.

"What?"

A headache jackhammered across her head. She squeezed two fingers against her temples. "Forget the liquor. What I need is an Excedrin the size of Baltimore, and a look at my charts." "Charts?"It took a supreme effort to remain civil. "Just tell the doc in charge of my case that I'm conscious and I'd like to consult about my condition. Okay?" "H-He's not here."One eyebrow cocked upward. "Golf day at the club?" "Golf?"Tess clamped her dry lips together and didn't say a thing. It was best that way.

He offered her a tense smile. "Do you want to see the baby?"Tess frowned. She thought he'd said "baby."She was about to suggest he get some sleep when a question crept cautiously into her consciousness. What if Carol hadn't been a dream? What if?

She chewed nervously on her lower lip and stared up at him. "Baby?" "You ... don't remember?"r She winced. The last time someone had asked her that question, Tess had forgotten getting run over by a bus. That kind of memory lapse did nothing to inspire confidence. Cautiously she said, "No.""Yesterday you had a baby. Our son."She started shaking, and all of a sudden remembered where she'd seen this man. He wasn't an intern. He was the man she'd chosen in the theater of second chances.

"Oh my God ..." She clamped a hand over her mouth.

It had been real. Real.

The bus had killed her. She'd died in Seattle and been reborn in the body of a woman who'd died in childbirth. Questions and concerns and hopes and fears tumbled one after another in her mind. What did one do at a time like this? Laugh, cry, scream?what?

One thing at a time, Tess. Only one.

She took a deep breath and offered him a tenuous smile. "I?I need some time here. To think. How about getting me that aspirin?" At his utterly blank stare, she added, "Acetaminophen is fine, too. Whatever you have. That and a glass of ice water would be great." "Aceta?what?""Tylenol."He shook his head. "I don't understand, Amarylis. What are you asking for?"Tess shoved her hand through the bunched-up sheets in search of the nurses' button. Except there was no button; no button, no metal railing, no utilitarian food tray. There was only a splintery, old-fashioned wooden bed.

The woman had given birth at home?

Tess shivered. No wonder the poor woman had died.

She glanced around the room for a bottle of something?anything?that would take the edge off her migraine. Sunlight spilled through a small, thick-paned window and splashed across a dull, planked floor. Blue gingham curtains hung listlessly on either side of the small window, their hand-hemmed edges bleached from too many days in the sun. No flowers peeked through the glass or brightened the sill. Against the far wall, standing alone and unadorned with photos or knick-knacks, was an oaken washstand with a tilted mirror. A white crockery ewer and basin sat dead center on a wrinkled white scrap of lace.

A prickly-hot feeling crawled through Tess. Reluctantly she shot a look sideways, and immediately winced. The bedside table was a fruit crate turned on its side, and the lamp was a small, triangular glass jar with a wick sticking out of the narrow top. Tucked beside the crate was a pink porcelain chamber pot.

Horror rounded her eyes. She thought of the cowboy and the knight in shining armor, and shook her head in denial.

No, Carol wouldn 't do that to me....

"What is it?" the man asked anxiously. "Should I call Doc Hayes?" "Where am I?""At home ... on San Juan Island."Tess felt a tiny stirring of relief. At least she was still in Washington; she could get home from here.

But her location wasn't really the issue, and she knew it. She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. It took every scrap of courage she possessed to ask the next question: "What year is it?"There was a heartbeat's pause before he said quietly, "It's 1873.""Oh, no." She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, shit ..." Eighteen seventy-three.

No television, telephone, electricity. And that was just for starters. How was she supposed to live without showers, razors, tampons?

"No way." She curled her hands into fists and screamed at the top of her lungs. "CAROL!!!"

Chapter Three

Carol? Jack thought. Who the hell is Carol?

He stared at his wife in confusion, unable to think of a single damn thing to say.

She looked ... different. The hard, calculating look usually in her eyes had softened. She looked frail and frightened and alone.

He had an inexplicable desire to brash the hair from her face and tell her everything would be all right.

His mouth twisted into a grim parody of a smile. God, how she would laugh if she could read his mind right now.

She would never accept comfort from him, and the realization that even now, after years of silence and hurt, he still wanted to be in love with her was enough to make him sick.

His broad shoulders hunched in defeat. Jackson Rafferty, you 're a goddamn fool.

She hated him; she had since the moment he'd told her the truth about himself. In that split second the love in her eyes had metamorphosed, congealed into something cold and dark. Not once in all the years of their marriage had the hatred lessened. She despised him and his cowardice with an intensity that continued to amaze him. Wound him.

Amarylis had married Jack for one thing, and one alone. Security. She'd come from a family labeled poor white trash by the whole county, and Jackson Rafferty had been her ladder out of poverty. When things had changed, when he had changed, she'd felt betrayed, and in the years since, her sense of betrayal had grown, turning finally into an icy knot of hatred. She had never?would never?forgive his weakness. It had taken her dreams of respectability and wealth and left her with nothing but a crazy shell of a man and a broken-down sheep ranch in the middle of nowhere. He knew all that, and more. So why did he see in her eyes right now an impossible softness? Amarylis was never frail and frightened; he knew that. It was all in his mind, as were so many things.

He ran a shaking hand through his hair. Too well he knew what she was capable of doing to him, and he wouldn't let it happen again. Her contempt and hatred wouldn't push him over the edge. He had the children to fight for, even if he didn't have himself.

"I'm not your wife, you know. What's her name, Amaretto?"Jack's head snapped up. "Huh?" "She died. Go ahead and mourn her passing. There's been a mix-up. I never agreed to any time change. Eighteen seventy-three." She shuddered. "How am I supposed to function without a microwave and a computer? And what about my work?""You mean the household chores?" He frowned. "But you don't do anything."She drew in a tiny, squeaking breath. "Nineteenth-century chores?" she said, gasping. "What do I do, make soap from tree bark and scrub floors? Oh my God. Carol! Get down here. Now!" She looked wildly around the room, as if she expected someone?or something?to answer her cry. The name, Carol, vibrated on the air, then died away, plunging the bedroom back into its thick, awkward silence.

The lamp beside the bed sputtered. Light wobbled, splashed across the red and white wedding-ring-pattern quilt and glittered on his wife's classically beautiful face. Her eyelids quavered for a moment and closed. The dark brown lashes looked like smudges against the paleness of her skin.

He thought he heard her mumble "shit" as she sank tiredly back into the pile of feather pillows, but that wasn't possible. Amarylis Rafferty?the perfect southern lady even on a backwater sheep ranch?never cursed.

Jack scoured his brain for something to say. But it had been years since he'd spoken civilly to his wife, and longer yet since she'd wanted to hear it.

He had just decided to try something incredibly banal and inoffensive, like Are you thirsty? when footsteps sounded outside the door. After a flurry of whispers, a knock thudded.

Jack tensed. All thoughts of comforting his wife vanished. He remembered in a rush just who she was and the pain she was more than capable of inflicting on all of them.

A headache pounded behind his eyes. He rubbed his throbbing temple. The kids were his life; all he had or ever hoped to have. He had to protect them from their mother's vituperative anger and explosive hatred, and there was only one way to do that. No matter how much it pained him, how much each aching silence cost him, he had to appear detached and uncaring. Because if Amarylis thought?even suspected?how much he loved his children, she'd find a way to make them all pay. The children most of all, for in hurting them, she hurt Jack. And hurting Jack was always her primary goal. She wanted him to remember, every day in every way, that he'd betrayed and ruined her, and that she would never forgive him.

He still remembered the last time he'd tried to shield the girls from his wife's biting tongue. She had smacked him?a stinging, flat-palmed crack to the cheek?and told him that if he said another word, ever, she'd leave.

See how the girls would do then, you sniveling coward. They'd grow up as twisted and crazy as you are. Do you want that? Do you?

A chill crept up his spine at the memory. "It's the girls. They've been asking to see you."She looked at him sharply, her eyebrows pulling together in a slight frown. "The girls?"He searched her face for a hint that she was toying with him again. But there was no trace of pretense, no sign that she was faking her memory loss. "Our daughters, Savannah and Mary Katherine.""Oh ..." She nodded, but the confusion remained in her eyes. "Okay.""Come on in, girls," he yelled. The door opened. Savannah entered first, carrying the baby. She stopped at the foot of the massive bed. Katie followed quickly, melting like a formless apparition into the shadows behind her older sister. Only the jet black outline of her hair and a hint of lemon yellow ribbon were visible at Savannah's crooked elbow.

Jack stared through dull, tired eyes at his children. Their frightened faces tore at his heart. As always, the magnitude of his sin and shame sickened him. He and Amarylis had turned two vibrant, loving girls into shadowy, silent wraiths.

This marriage had been a bloody battlefield for years. And these two perfect, beautiful girls, their own children, had become the casualties. Prisoners of a war they couldn't understand.

"H-How are you, Mama?" Savannah asked in a hushed, respectful voice. Tess sat up a little straighter in bed. There was some thing wrong here. Something ... strange. "Come closer, girls. I want to see you."The taller of the two girls moved hesitantly forward. As she moved into the lamp's circle of light, Tess's heart wrenched. The girl was trying desperately hard to keep her chin cocked at a defiant angle. Her huge blue eyes stared emotionlessly forward, as if the wall were of utmost fascination. She was completely motionless except for the trembling in her chapped, work-reddened hands.

Behind her cowered a smaller child, her small, pink fingers clutched tightly in the blue gingham of her sister's floor-length skirt.

"Which one of you is Savannah?"The older girl seemed startled for a moment, then said, "I?I am.""I assume that's Mary Katherine behind your skirts?"She nodded, flicking a long, mahogany-hued braid over her shoulder.

"How old are you?"

"I'm twelve. Katie's seven."

After the quick answer, silence descended once again. Tess got the distinct impression that it was the normal state of affairs with this family. Then someone cried. It was a hiccuping, sputtering sound like the whining cry of an un-greased engine.

Tess's gaze lowered to the bundle in Savannah's arms. "Is that the baby?" Savannah bobbed her head.

Tess swallowed thickly. Fear and excitement merged together, bringing a slow, hesitant smile to her lips. "M-May I see him?"Surprise flitted across Savannah's face. She stood rooted to the spot.

The truth washed over Tess in a cold wave, made her feel sick and twisted-up inside. "You're afraid to let her ... I mean me hold him."Savannah blanched. Chewing nervously on her lower lip, she edged closer to the bed and gently placed the baby on Tess's distended stomach. "N-No, it's just that you never wanted to hold Katie. I?I thought ..."Instinctively Tess reached out to comfort the frightened girl. "It's okay, honey."Savannah stiffened and jerked out of reach. Before Tess could respond, the bundle in her arms started wriggling furiously.

Gingerly she peeled back the homespun blanket. Murky, swollen-lidded eyes peered up at her from a beet red, wrinkled face the size of a tea saucer.

Hesitantly she stroked his velvet-soft newborn skin. At her touch he sucked in a shuddering, hiccuping breath and stopped crying. His unfocused gaze landed on her face, and she had the unmistakable sense that he was studying her. After a moment he gave a quiet, contented sigh. Snuggling deeper in the blanket, he went back to sleep.

Tess felt his acceptance and trust like a tangible presence. For the first time, she understood the meaning of the word awe. Her eyes widened with it, her heartbeat slowed to a crawl. Tears scalded her eyes.

She looked up suddenly, expecting to see her awe mirrored on the faces around her. Instead, she saw anxiety and suspicion.

Savannah immediately reached out for the baby. "Here, Mama, I'll take him...."Katie, who'd peeked her head around her sister's elbow, jerked back into invisibility behind Savannah.

Tess frowned. What was wrong with this family? They acted as if they expected her to fling the baby across the room. Savannah and Jack were standing on guard, waiting for the explosion, regarding her with the wary, nervous glances normally accorded a hand grenade with a pulled pin. And poor Katie was following the first rule of warfare: Keep your head down and stay in the trenches.