If you'd like to order a bundle of the first three books in the Civil War Brides Series for the special price of $34.99 (free shipping), please let me know. Supplies are limited. You can email me directly at firstname.lastname@example.org.
If you'd like your name put into a drawing for signed copy of The Bride Spy, Book #3 in the Civil War Brides Series, BEFORE it is released to the general public, then go to Amazon.com and leave a review for either The Bride Price or The Bride Found...if you leave a review for both, I'll enter your name twice!
You have until Monday, November 15th, to leave your review and then email me (email@example.com)with your reviewer name and what you said (good or bad). Names/reviews will be compiled and put into Jackson's Union Hat (yes, he really does have a Civil War cap) and chosen on the 17th.
Winner will be announced shortly after. Below is a synopsis of the next in the series.
Thanks for all your support and good luck!
(US participants only)
The Bride Spy
Hannah Nelson, a native New Zealander, has been accepted to DePaul University in Chicago. She had been living in Portland, Oregon for several years, and is relieved to be away from the questions surrounding the sudden disappearance of her close friend, Emma. While at her dance studio, housed in an historic building in downtown Chicago, she is drawn to a painting of a handsome man from 1865, and as she looks into his emerald green eyes, her world goes black.
Christopher Butler is in Lincoln’s War Cabinet and working with his close friend, Clayton Madden to keep the President safe. Upon returning from Lincoln’s historic Gettysburg Address, he hears a strange noise in his barn, and enters to find a beautiful woman unconscious on the straw strewn floor. He realizes quickly she is the key to his sanity and he will never let her go.
As Hannah navigates her new world and comes to terms with the fact she has been transported back in time, will she allow Christopher to love her? Will she find answers about what happened to Emma in her own circumstances, and will she find out if her presence in the past will help the state of the future?
Emma Wellington stared at the television in hopeful silence.
“Theodore Cary unable to take over the Washington State Senate seat, despite his attempts to impeach Senator Robin Wade.”
“Yes!” She grinned as the reporter droned on. “You’ll never get her, Ted. She’s too good, and quite frankly, it’s about time we had someone honest in politics!”
“Controversy and questions still surround the validity of the Cary camp’s impeachment charges.”
“Ya think? If Ted Cary’s claim is legitimate, then I’m freakin’ Miss America.” Grabbing the remote in disgust, Emma flipped through the channels until she found a romantic comedy and then dropped the remote on the coffee table.
Not that she would watch. The saga of Westley and Princess Buttercup would be utilized as background noise. Emma had heavier issues on her mind. Well over a year since her sister, Sophie, and brother-in-law, Jamie, disappeared mysteriously, Emma stood in the parlor of their historic 1870s Victorian home and struggled with her current predicament.
Her brother-in-law had no living relatives, so Emma was the sole heir to his assets, but without proof of death, everything had been frozen. Now she was left to pay a mortgage. Small though it might be, thanks to her sister’s financial prowess, it was still beyond her pay grade.
The quintessential modern woman and self-confessed technology junkie, Emma always had the latest iPhone, Blackberry, Blueberry, whatever berry was currently hitting the market. But a checkbook and its balancing scared her to death.
The melodic chime of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts. She pushed her glasses back up her nose, and made her way to the front door, hoping it wasn’t yet another barrage of ponytails and green sashes ready to sell her a month’s supply of cookies. The horde of sugar inevitably only lasted a week, and settled quite firmly on her rear end. Emma strode down the hallway and tried to force her mind off the minty chocolate goodness that suddenly overtook her thoughts.
A quick glance out the side window had her grimacing. Slipping the deadbolt, she swung the door open to find Alexandria Smith, Sophie’s best friend standing on the front step. Emma had been avoiding her for weeks.
“Hi, Alex.” She stepped back to let her inside.
“Emma!” Alex crossed the threshold and pulled her in for a quick hug. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” she retorted.
“What happened to your contacts?”
Emma wrinkled her nose, dislodging her glasses, requiring her to secure them again. “I haven’t gotten around to ordering more. I wore my last pair for nearly three months and the left one tore yesterday.”
“I thought the cat look went out in the sixties,” Alex joked.
Emma pulled out of her embrace with a quiet snort. “Meow.”
Alex narrowed her eyes and let out a sigh. “Are you not eating?”
Emma shrugged. “I haven’t been hungry.”
“Where’s the girl who can eat anything at any time in any circumstance? Hm? The girl who convinced Hannah that a tub of ice cream was an essential dairy snack?”
Emma dropped her gaze to the floor. “That was before I had to cook for myself.”
“Emma Justine, you can’t do this to yourself.”
Tears pricked Emma’s eyes. “I just want to know where my family is.”
“I know.” Alex pulled a tissue out of her purse and handed it to her. “Any word from the FBI?”
Emma shook her head as she closed the door, her blonde hair falling around her face. “No, none. At least, nothing relating to an answer. But I see them watching the house sometimes.”
Emma shuddered. “I guess some agent seems to think our house is ground zero.”
Alex sighed. “Em, why don’t you ever ask questions?”
“What do you mean?”
Alex’s eyes widened. “You and Hannah couldn’t be any different. Hannah asks unending questions and looks for all the angles, but you clam up when you’re in strange situations. You take everything in stride and let the situation run you.”
“I do not! I just don’t feel it’s necessary to ask a million questions that only lead to lies anyway.”
“What?” Emma threw her hands up in the air. “Everyone lies. And since I’m not the greatest judge of character to begin with, I prefer to observe the situation and figure things out for myself.”
“I know you do. I just worry about what this all means.”
Emma ran her hands through her hair. “It might mean nothing, Alex. It might be some underlying, diabolical plan to bring down the world. All I know is that my family is gone, and the FBI is watching my house.”
“Don’t you think that’s weird as well?”
“Them watching the house?”
Alex nodded. “Yeah. It seems strange that Sophie and Jamie’s disappearances would go all the way up the ladder to the FBI. This is all so X-Files.”
“I know what you mean.”
“I don’t get it.” Alex patted her back. “Why would they think you could do anything? They just disappeared. No explanations.”
“I know. But, no one really believes me.” Emma scowled. “They think I know more than I’m saying.”
“I believe you.”
Emma snorted. “Thanks.”
“Anything else weird going on?” Alex set her purse on the bench in the foyer.
“I did have a strange call from that grief counselor.”
“The French one that irritated Jamie?”
Emma nodded. “Yes. Bernadette.”
Alex’s eyebrows knitted together. “Why?”
“I don’t know. She asked me how I was and if I needed anything.”
“But, why now?”
“She didn’t say.”
Alex tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Maybe she was being nice. I mean, she was really kind after Sophie disappeared, comforting and all that.”
Emma took her arm and led her to the living room, sidestepping several boxes as they made their way to the sofa. “It just seems weird, a year and a half after the fact, to call me. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, it does,” Alex said distractedly.
Emma made a sweeping motion with her hands, indicating her pack-ing procrastination. “I really don’t know what to do with Sophie’s things. I may have to sell a lot of them off just to afford the mortgage.”
“I know, honey, but what’s the alternative?”
“Why don’t you and Luke move in? I’ll rent it to you for cheap and then live here with you for a few years,” Emma asked with a hopeful glance in her friend’s direction. “You could invest the money from your home until all this is settled and who knows, if...” Emma choked a bit. “I mean when Jamie and Sophie come back we can sort details out then. You know Jamie and Sophie would have both wanted that. You’re our only family.”
Alex stalled, arms crossed, a look of surprise on her face.
Emma clasped her hands together. “Well? What do you think?”
“That’s not a bad idea, actually. Especially now.” Alex’s hands settled possessively over her abdomen. “Luke and I are going to have a baby.”
“Seriously? Oh, my gosh, that’s incredible!” Emma squealed and gave her a hug.
“If we did this, it would mean having to sell our house, but that wouldn’t kill me. To be honest, I never did feel at home there. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight and stay. We can talk to Luke about it then.”
Emma hugged her again. “Does that mean I can forget about cleaning out her library right now? It gives me the heebie-jeebies every time I go near that room.”
“Yes, we’ll leave it—for now. Let’s go get some lunch. We’ll wait to pack anything up until after we’ve talked to Luke.”
Emma ran upstairs and got her purse, grabbed a change of clothes, set the house alarm, and followed Alex out the front door. She climbed into the passenger seat and dropped her purse on her lap with a thud.
“Do you think your bag is big enough?” Alex teased as they took off toward their favorite restaurant.
“It’s about being prepared.” Emma looked down at the purse her sister used to refer to as Mary Poppins’s carpetbag.
“Prepared for carrying several small children around?”
“Oh, you’re funny.”
As they drove through the streets of downtown Portland, Emma thought about her sister and the life Sophie had made for her.
Emma was fourteen, Sophie barely eighteen, when their mother lost her battle with cancer and their world was turned upside down. And now, a year later, their father lay dying with a heart defect and no hope for a transplant. Sophie’s father had wanted to send Emma to his sister’s home in Texas, but Sophie wouldn’t hear of it. Emma remembered poking her head through the stairway slats, listening to their argument.
“She needs a firm hand, Sophie. Send her to Austin.”
“Texas?” her sister squealed. “I won’t do that to her, Daddy. Emma hates cowboys.”
Emma had gone to Texas the year before to visit her aunt and had experienced a painful childhood crush on a young man who was working the ranch. It was her first broken heart, and she’d come back with a deep hatred of anyone wearing a cowboy hat.
“She’s not even fifteen, Sofa. She’s too young to hate cowboys.”
“Dad! Emma and I’ll figure it out—together.”
Sophie gave up college to take care of her, and that decision weighed heavy on Emma. Sophie was the smart one, the one who should have gone on to teach about the history she loved so much. The bright spot had come in the form of Jamie, and once again, Emma had been blessed with the option to continue to live with Sophie and Sophie’s new husband.
Emma had been given everything simply because Sophie sacrificed for her. Other than the ability to maneuver through the world of iPods and Blackberry’s, Emma felt more like a typical blonde. She had been blessed with light blonde hair that highlighted a peaches and cream complexion, framing deep blue eyes. She and Sophie looked very much alike--the only difference was that Emma was an inch taller and had straight hair, rather than curly. Her looks worked for her, and she used them to her advantage every chance she got.
Alex parked the car less than a block from the restaurant, and they made their way to one of their favorite places to eat. Entering Manzana Grill, the waiter showed them to their table, and as she sank into the comfy leather club chairs, Emma felt the knots of tension she’d carried for weeks subside.
Maybe, just maybe, everything will work out. Maybe, just maybe, the pain and frustration will disappear and I’ll be able to get on with my life.
* * *
Clayton Madden’s frustration manifested itself in the death grip he had on the arms of the high-backed leather chair in the house he shared with his brother, Richard. Since the beginning of the war, Harrisburg had become his secondary home, and he didn’t get much time to visit. His primary residence was in Washington, D.C., where he worked for Lincoln’s War Cabinet. His friend and colleague, Christopher Butler, had given him the leeway to return to Harrisburg to check on Richard, not easy to do when they were preparing for the President’s trip to Gettysburg in a month.
However, Richard had promised to deliver horses to Maryland, and Richard had yet to fulfill his commitment. Vincent Butler, Christopher’s father, was a prominent farmer and horse breeder for many of the counties in Maryland, and with the shortage on horses due to the war, relied on the ones Richard provided. Clayton had known something must be wrong, but had no idea Richard’s drinking had become as bad as it is.
For three days, Clayton had watched Richard drink himself into yet another stupor—a violent one. Richard Madden, wounded severely at Gettysburg, hadn’t done well after his stay in the hospital, and although his injuries were healing, he continued to self-medicate with alcohol.
Richard told Clayton the reason he chose whiskey over other available methods of pain relief was to avoid the “Army Disease” of addiction to laudanum or morphine. Trouble was, he didn’t seem to realize, or refused to see, his growing addiction to alcohol. Truth be told, his dependency began long before any physical injuries.
A broken heart compounded Richard’s need for alcohol. Forced to watch the object of his affection in love with and pregnant by another man left him crushed. Clayton relaxed his hands and settled his forearms on his knees as he leaned forward. “Richard. You need to slow down, your conduct is atrocious.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about any damn thing, Clayton,” Richard snapped.
“I know you’re drinking entirely too much. Why don’t you drink water for the remainder of the day?”
“Why don’t you go to hell?” Richard bellowed as he shook his half-empty glass at Clayton. “Did you see how she treated me last night? Her husband came to her rescue as though I did something wrong.” Richard took another swig and stared off into space for several minutes.
Clayton sighed. “Richard.”
“The lieutenant has been nothing but trouble since he got here.”
“She’s pregnant, Richard, and you tried to accost her.”
“I did not accost her! I greeted her.”
“With your lips. On her mouth!” Clayton ran his hands through his hair.
Richard waved his glass in the air dismissively, mumbling incoherently.
Clayton knew bits and pieces of the Sophie Ford story, Richard’s lost love…or new obsession…he couldn’t quite discern which. Her arrival to Harrisburg nine months ago had been a strange one, and still unexplained. He’d met her briefly when her life had been threatened, and had also made the acquaintance of her husband, Jamie. Clayton liked the man. He was genuine, had a gift with people, and did his best to be patient with Richard, despite the fact that his brother treated him poorly.
But the issues with Sophie were simply the last straw. Richard had wounds far deeper than anyone had ever been able to reach.
Polar opposites in personality, Clayton and his brother were a combustible combination. Richard could be aggressive and a bully at times, whereas Clayton was the peacemaker. Clayton made his point with words, rather than his fists. Growing up with Richard, however, made him a crafty fighter. He’d had to be…just to survive the frequent brawls with his older brother.
Clayton hadn’t realized how badly his brother was doing. The rumors didn’t come close to the truth, and he was both shocked and saddened by the sight of Richard’s deterioration. “I’m leaving on the four o’clock train. I would like to report to the President that all is well here. Why don’t you go upstairs and try to rest?”
“I’m perfectly rested,” Richard slurred.
“You need to sober up.”
Richard staggered to his feet. “And you need to get the hell out of my office!”
Fists clenched, Clayton stood and walked slowly towards the office door. He knew he had to take a walk or he would end up punching his brother. And no good ever came out of a fight with Richard. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards him. “Richard, be sober before I return, or I’ll be forced to take action.”
The ring of Richard’s humorless laughter followed Clayton as he quietly pulled the office door closed and made his way to the stables to check on the cavalry training. Hearing the forceful voice of Sergeant Lowe directing the horses in several military movements as he app-roached the arena, Clayton took a deep, steely breath, and tried to shake off his anger towards his brother. A slight breeze carried the briskness of the ensuing winter and the scents of horseflesh, and the soldiers took advantage of the mild weather to get in an extra exercise session.
Clayton’s thoughts were diverted when he saw Jamie in deep conversation with his wife. Feeling slightly like a voyeur, yet unable to turn away, Clayton watched as Jamie smiled down at her as though she were the only person on earth. Tall with long, blonde curls that cascaded down the middle of her back, Sophie commanded attention by the men around her. However, she seemed unaware of her effect. Jamie looked up as he approached and Sophie turned, welcoming Clayton with a quick smile.
No wonder Richard is a mess.
“Good afternoon, Clayton.” Jamie stretched his hand out in greeting.
“Good afternoon.” Clayton removed his hat and turned to Sophie with a slight bow. “Mrs. Ford, lovely to see you again.”
“You, too, Mr. Madden.”
“How’s Richard?” Jamie asked. At Sophie’s grimace, he wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her up against him.
Clayton tucked his hat under his arm. “Not doing well today, I’m afraid.”
“What time is your train?”
Jamie frowned. “Will Richard see you off?”
“I doubt it.” Clayton crossed his arms. “I’m hoping he’ll pass out soon. I’d hate a scene at the station.”
“I’m so sorry. I hadn’t realized it’d gotten that bad,” Sophie whispered sadly.
Clayton held his hand up. “Please don’t apologize, it’s his doing.”
Sophie leaned heavily against Jamie with a sigh.
“If you need a ride, let me know,” Jamie offered.
“That won’t be necessary.” Clayton grimaced. “Richard was supposed to deliver horses to Maryland. However, in his condition—” He paused with a scowl. “Nevertheless, Andrew Simmonds has offered to deliver them to Vincent Butler, so we’ll ride them to the station. I’ll disembark at Union Station, and Andrew will continue with them to Camden.”
Jamie nodded. “When will you be back?”
“Not for several weeks, I would imagine. I have to report to Christopher Butler and the President, which will require time.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. “Will you let them know about Richard?”
“I will tell Christopher. The President has too much on his mind to be concerned about my brother. I am satisfied with the work in spite of Richard’s illness.”
“Excellent.” Jamie gave a quick nod. “Well, my wife needs to rest, so we’ll see you next time you’re in town.”
Clayton shook Jamie’s hand and watched him lean down to whisper something in Sophie’s ear as they walked away. A few seconds later, Jamie handed her a handkerchief. Clayton hoped it wasn’t something he’d said.
“Clayton!” Andrew approached him, leading a pair of award-winning Morgans.
Andrew had to fight to keep the stallion from sidestepping into the mare, so Clayton rushed to assist. “They’re beautiful.”
Andrew nodded. “Richard chose well with these two. Once Vincent mates them, their foal will be a nice addition to his stable.”
Clayton took the stallion’s lead from Andrew and noticed he grabbed his knee briefly before standing again. Andrew Simmonds had been severely injured at Shiloh and was left with a badly damaged knee and scarring on his face. He would joke that the scar finally made him less pretty, but Clayton always felt there was something deeper behind his comedic façade. “I have nothing to take with me, so I’ll check on Richard and meet you out front in ten minutes, if that is acceptable.”
Andrew nodded. “Yes, fine. My bag’s on the back of the mare, so I’m ready to go.”
Clayton jogged back to the house and made his way to Richard’s office. He pushed the door open to find Richard passed out in his large leather chair. With a curse of disgust, Clayton penned a quick note, put another log on the fire, and met Andrew outside.
Amazon does not allow coupons for discounts on Kindle, and I have the Bride Price listed on my author spotlight as $3.99. So, until September 30th, you can purchase the Kindle version online at Smashwords - enter Coupon Code: NU64H, which will give you 20% off, making the price $3.99.
I know that seems like a strange number, but I have two kids with birthdays, so I'm celebrating by offering the sum total of their ages in a discount. My oldest turns 11 and my youngest turns 7 within five days of each other.
Emma Wellington is dealing with the strange disappearance of her sister and brother-in-law, and no one is certain they’re even still alive. Saddled with their home drowning in probate, she is forced to take over the settling of their estate.
As she is standing in her sister’s library, possibly for the last time, she sees a strange vision and then her world goes black. She awakens to find herself in an old-fashioned carriage house, and facing a man in top hat and tails.
Clayton Madden is in Lincoln’s War Cabinet and after arriving home one evening, discovers a beautiful woman in the shadows of his carriage house. He is immediately enamored with the tall beauty, despite her strange speech and dress. His intention is to get to know her further, but she disappears in the middle of the night with no explanation as to where she’s gone.
Will he find her before a deeper plot threatens her life? Will Clayton and Emma find a love that is everlasting?
Jamie Ford leaned against the frame of the solid pocket door and tried to focus on something other than the vision of his beautiful wife dozing on the chaise in the library of their historic 1870’s Victorian home. The beeping pulse of her Left Ventricular Assist Device indicated she was still alive, but its steady rhythm matched the tick-tock of the antique wall clock that stole each minute away.
He sighed and dragged a shaky hand over his face, wincing as he encountered three days’ worth of stubble. He must look like hell. It couldn’t be helped. He’d managed to grab a quick shower, but shaving took more time and energy than he had at the moment.
Sophie’s condition was deteriorating and he coveted every minute of each day God saw fit to give them. He’d sold his Internet company a year ago, and although he still held a seat on the Board, his CEO days were behind him.
Sophie mumbled, drawing his gaze. He swallowed hard, sending up another silent prayer that a heart would be found in time. Crossing the library’s thick oriental rug, he pulled a chair close and sat next to her. Weight loss and shortness of breath were the only external indications she was sick, and his eyes swept over her once-voluptuous body. Lifting her hair, he stroked a golden curl. The myriad of colors, much like the ribbons of caramel taffy, slid through his fingers. Sophie let out a quiet sigh and turned her head in her sleep. “Jamie?”
Sophie smiled and fluttered her eyes open. “Hovering?”
Jamie inhaled deeply, relishing the sound of her voice as he leaned over and kissed her forehead, a subtle attempt to check her temperature. “How are you feeling?”
“Hmmm...how am I feeling? Give me a dose of Dilaudid and ask me then.”
“Are you in pain?” Jamie’s voice shook as he stood.
Sophie grabbed his forearm. “A joke, sweetheart. I’m sorry. No pain, just a bit groggy—and thirsty.”
Jamie poured a glass of water and handed it to her. “Are you hungry at all? Do you think you could try to eat something? Alex cooked again.”
Their closest friends, Lucas and Alexandria, were daily companions at the Ford house. They cooked, cleaned, and did anything they could to take the pressure off Jamie. The help allowed him to spend every available moment with Sophie.
“Is she still here?”
“No, Luke picked her up about an hour ago. She’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
Sophie rubbed her forehead. “Where’s Emma?”
“Out with Hannah. She’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Truth be told, Jamie practically had to force Sophie’s sister out the door.
“Ooh, so we have the house to ourselves?” Sophie raised her eyebrow.
Jamie chuckled. “Yes we do.”
Sophie dragged her legs over the side of the couch and stood. Jamie wrapped an arm around her waist. “Careful.”
“Jamie, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Yes. I’m sure. I would really love a shower.”
“All right, sweetheart, I’ll take you upstairs.”
Jamie disconnected her portable monitor and lifted her in his arms. Carrying her up the narrow stairs and to their bedroom, he set her on her feet in the adjoining bathroom. He started the shower and waited for her to undress and step inside.
“I’m perfectly capable of showering without you, love. Geez, you'd think I was dying or something.” She gently pushed him away and pulled the glass door closed.
Jamie left the bathroom, but didn’t go far. He was gathering clean clothes when he heard Sophie’s soft cry. He rushed into the bathroom to find her sitting on the floor of the shower, her knees drawn up to her chin. “What happened?”
“I felt a bit light-headed.”
Turning off the water, he grabbed a towel and reached in to lift her into his arms.
“You’re gonna get wet,” she whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“There are worse things in life than getting wet holding a beautiful woman in my arms after she’s showered.” Sophie burst into tears. He pulled her closer. “Baby, what?”
Sophie wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and muttered, “I’m useless. I can’t even shower without feeling like I’m going to pass out. I can’t believe you’re going to have to do everything for me. You didn’t sign up for this. I think you should just leave me. I don’t want you to have to deal with me wasting away.”
Setting her on her feet, Jamie wrapped the towel around her and then cradled her face in his hands. “Sophie Jane, who peed in your cereal this morning?”
She glared at him, fire lighting her dark blue eyes. “Apparently, the same person who gave you your sense of humor.”
Jamie chuckled. “With your temper, you’d think you were born a redhead.”
“Oh, you’re funny.”
“I think we need to set some ground rules here.”
“Ground rules?” she asked.
“First of all, I’m not going to leave you. You don’t get to make that decision for me.” She tried to interrupt but he held up his hand. “Second, you are not useless. Third, I love you, so you don’t get to escape. Not that you could. If you can’t take a shower without me, then it’s a sure bet you can’t run away from me.”
Sophie let out a quiet snort.
“I can’t believe you’d even think that I wouldn’t want to be here. No matter what happens, I’m here, with you and for you. Leaving you would be like losing my right arm. I couldn’t do it. Got it?”
Sophie nodded. “Are you sure, Jamie? Because I’d totally understand.”
“In sickness and in health. I took my vows seriously, did you?” Jamie lifted her chin. “It’s all encompassing. Your sickness and mine.” He smiled gently and kissed her nose. “You’re my ten-cow woman. Even at your worst, there’s nobody better for me than you. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me until the very end—and even if you die before me, I’ll figure out a way to find you. Don’t ever doubt it.”
Sophie patted his chest. “Okay, ok, no need to get so melodramatic.”
“Let’s get you dressed and I’ll check your monitor so we can eat.”
Sophie nodded and let him fuss over her. By the time he settled her into their king-sized bed, she slumped against the pillows and waved away his offering for food. “You need to eat, Sophie.”
“I’m too hot to eat.”
Jamie stroked her cheek. Her skin was beaded with sweat. “I’m calling Chrystal.”
Their neighbor, Chrystal Gornitzka, was a registered nurse who’d been a wealth of information and comfort since Sophie’s diagnosis. Jamie picked up the phone and dialed her number. “Hi, Chrystal, it’s Jamie. Sophie’s fever seems to have spiked again. I’m not sure what to do.”
“I just pulled into the driveway. I’ll grab my bag and be over in few.”
Jamie let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, I really appreciate it. The door’s unlocked—just come on in.” After hanging up the phone, he poured a glass of water for Sophie. “Drink this, baby.”
She took the glass from him and sipped. “I probably just need some Tylenol.”
“Perhaps. Let’s wait for Chrystal and then go from there.”
Sophie groaned. “That poor woman must have a life outside of me, Jamie.”
“Well, I don’t.” He forced a smile. “So humor me.”
Before she could protest further, they heard the slam of the front door and then footsteps on the stairs. “Yoo-hoo.”
“Up here, Chrystal,” Jamie called.
Chrystal walked through the door, her shoulder-length brunette hair slipping over her cheeks as she set her bag on the bed. “Hi. Does someone have a fever?”
Jamie saw Sophie’s eyes flash with mischief as she smiled. “Next you’ll be asking me how we’re feeling.”
Chrystal opened her bag and pulled out a blood pressure cuff and thermometer. “How are we feeling?”
“Everyone’s a comedian today.”
“You know the drill.” Chrystal pushed the thermometer between Sophie’s lips and then wrapped her bicep with the blood pressure cuff as Sophie mumbled something.
“Ten-Cow, shhh,” Jamie admonished at Sophie’s attempt to talk.
Chrystal glanced at Jamie as she checked Sophie’s pulse. “She’s doing fine. And you should probably stop calling her a cow. She’s well below her normal body weight.” She pulled the thermometer from Sophie’s mouth.
Sophie met his eyes, a sweetness in them that could always render his heart liquid in his chest. “Oh, he can call me Ten-Cow.” She winked at him.
“It’s a romantic story of undying love,” Sophie said. “Tell her, Jamie.”
“Undying love, huh? Does that even exist?” Chrystal’s arched brow popped in question.
“I’m going to be sick.” Sophie sat up suddenly.
Jamie grabbed a bowl and held it under her chin.
“Give her some Tylenol and then call the doctor.” Chrystal’s eyebrows puckered.
Jamie felt the color leave his face. “Is it serious?”
Chrystal shook her head with a gentle smile. “Honestly, I think it’s just the flu, like the doctor said yesterday. Her blood pressure hasn’t changed and her pulse, although not ideal, is fine. The LVAD is doing its job, so her lethargy is because of the fever. The antibiotics will kick in soon and she’ll probably feel better in the next day or two.”
Jamie stroked Sophie’s cheek.
“I’m fine, baby.” Sophie turned to Chrystal. “Thanks for checking on me.”
Chrystal patted her hand. “It’s my pleasure, Sophie. Call me if you need me. Even if it’s the middle of the night. You can tell me the story later.” Jamie stood but Chrystal held her hand up. “I’ll let myself out. Tylenol, cold compresses, doctor, and she should be good as new.”
Jamie nodded. “Thanks.”
Once Chrystal left, Jamie gathered the Tylenol and a cool washcloth. He waited until Sophie took the pills and then sat beside her.
“Jamie? You need to stop worrying. The LVAD is doing its job.”
He frowned. “Sophie, your immune system is lowered and you’re weak. I can’t help but worry.”
She squeezed his arm. “Okay. I can’t make you not worry, but there are people who live for years with this device. I would have been dead within weeks without it, and now I’m at the top of the transplant list, guaranteed the next heart.”
“If your flu goes away.”
Sophie sighed. “It will.”
He slid off the bed and reached for his guitar.
Sophie chuckled. “Ah, yes, the other woman. Will you play me a lullaby—provided she doesn’t mind, of course.” She smoothed her blankets and gazed at him.
“Well, Ten-Cow, that depends on you.” He paused, the hollow sound echoing through the chamber of the guitar as he tapped his hand against it. “One song for two bites of food, that’s the deal.”
Sophie sighed through tight lips. “I’ll take a bit of the orange.”
Handing her a wedge, he waited for her to eat it, and started to play quietly. Sophie hummed along with the melody, and Jamie paused, mid-strum. “I miss your voice.”
Sophie smiled. “I miss singing.”
Jamie reached over to the nightstand and opened the drawer.
“What are you doing?”
Jamie grinned. “I’m reminiscing.” He pulled out an old playbill from the production of Grease she’d starred in. “You were the perfect Sandy.”
Sophie chuckled. “If only you could have been my Danny.”
Jamie snorted. “I’m not going to justify that statement with a remark.”
Sophie rolled over and wrinkled her nose. “Well, you would have been better than Justice Wright.”
Jamie shrugged. “He seemed okay. He played the role well.”
“You try kissing a gay man and make it look real.”
Jamie laughed. He leaned over and kissed her quickly, before handing her another wedge of orange. “That should settle your stomach enough to eat something substantial.” Sophie rolled her eyes and Jamie responded with a raised eyebrow in challenge. “You’re gonna eat, Ten-Cow.”
Sophie scrunched her nose up in disgust. “I’m not hungry.”
“You have to strengthen your body in order to fight—”
“—the infection that will tax my failing heart even more,” she interrupted and slid further under the blankets. “I know, Jamie but my heart’s gonna stop whether I eat or not. Daddy’s did and I couldn’t make him live.”
Jamie froze, a quiet hiss escaping between his teeth.
“Sorry, baby,” Sophie whispered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Jamie shook his head. “It’s fine.”
Sophie smiled. “I just remembered a weird dream I had about one of our reenactments.”
“Do you remember the haunted house?”
Jamie laughed. “Not haunted, simply a case of faulty wiring.”
“Right. Go with that.”
Three years ago Sophie had taken part in a Civil War event that was filled with mishaps. Little things like a power surge that caused a television, hidden behind an antique painting, to turn on. “Your team had fun explaining the noise coming from behind the artwork. Didn’t one of the old ladies faint?” Cradling the guitar on his knees, Jamie picked up the fork again, speared a small piece of potato, and lifted it to her mouth.
She shook her head. “That was Miss Olive. I personally thought it was a stroke of pure genius on her part to fake a swoon. She distracted people until we could shut off the breaker.”
“Sophie, you need to eat.”
“I’m too hot to eat.” She pushed the blankets away from her body.
Jamie helped pull the blankets further down the bed. “Imagine you in the nineteenth-century without air conditioning. God forbid the temperature went above seventy degrees and you’re stuck in a gown like Mary Lincoln’s.” Jamie leaned over her and settled his palm on her forehead. Sophie winced and let out a quiet moan. “Are you in pain?”
“No, just feel sick. And hot.” Sophie reached for his hand. “I’m fine, Jamie. Really. I just need to sleep.”
Jamie watched her eyes close and her breathing grow even. Taking Sophie’s frail hand in his, he stroked her arm. “Remember when we met? The frat party. I will never forget the moment I saw you. You were yelling at some frat guy who’d just slapped your butt, and you were explaining the pitfalls of displaying chauvinism in your presence. I wondered if you were a law student.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist, drawing in her scent, hearing only the beep of her monitor. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You were pissed, and it made me hot. I’d never seen anyone put someone in their place the way you did that guy.”
The headlights of a car flashed through the window as it drove by, illuminating the room and drawing shadows across the wall. “I knew I had to meet you.” Jamie squeezed her hand. “When we talked, I felt like my life had just started and there was no way you weren’t going to be in it. I knew you would be mine—forever.” He couldn’t continue. Tears escaped as he laid his head down, her hand still in his, and closed his eyes.
* * *
Sophie’s eyelids felt like lead weights. She wanted to wake up, needed to. The bedroom grew cold, despite the roaring fire in the corner. Sophie tried to get her bearings, forcing her eyes open. Her gaze fell on the shelf that held her favorite Lincoln biography, and she stared in disbelief. The wood grain faded away, becoming the trunk of a very large tree. Beyond the tree, all she saw was an expanse of snow and forest.
Sophie squeezed her eyes shut and then looked again. The books and shelves were back. Sophie’s focus pulled back to Jamie, but as she stared down at him, the sheets melted away, becoming a mound of fresh snow. Her body frozen, Sophie shivered, and then the bed was back. She tried to force her body to move again, but couldn’t reach the blankets. Sophie’s head fell back onto the pillow.
The ceiling disappeared. White sky met her gaze; drops of cold water feathered her face. She shivered again and glanced back down at Jamie. He lay still next to her, his hand covering hers. Her vision blurred.
I’m hallucinating. This must be what happens with a raging fever.
Sophie’s heart stuttered and pain coursed through her chest.
No, not hallucinating. Dying! Am I dying?
The snow returned and she tried to reach out to the strange vision. Before she could do anything else, the room spun, and her world went black.
* * *
Jamie jerked awake at Sophie’s shiver. Leaning over the bed, he put his hand to her mouth, then her cheek, and relief slicked through him as heat bloomed against his skin.
“Sophie? Honey, wake up.” His voice shook as he whispered her name again. Her shaking worsened, and he pulled the covers to her shoulders, just as he heard the front door slam.
“Jamie!” Emma called from the foyer. “I’m home.”
Jamie jogged down the hall and peered down from the landing. “Up here.”
Emma’s straight blonde hair slid behind her shoulders as she lifted her head. Deep blue eyes so much like her sister’s narrowed in concern as she peered up at him. “You sound weird, what’s wrong?”
“Sophie’s fever spiked, and now she’s shaking. She’s freezing.”
Emma took the stairs two at a time. “Did you give her anything?”
“Yes, Tylenol. I don’t know if it’s helping though.”
Emma ran to the bedroom as Jamie grabbed a couple of blankets from the hallway closet and followed her.
“Emma?” Jamie scanned the room and found her standing over the empty bed holding Sophie’s LVAD wires. Wait—empty? His heart raced.
“Where is she?” Jamie moved to the side of the bed and ran his hands over the sheets.
Emma dropped the wires. “I don’t know, Jamie. Did you see her leave the room?”
“It would have been impossible.”
Emma grasped his shoulders and turned him to face her. “Did you check the bathroom? She probably just went to splash water on her face.”
Jamie pushed her hands away. “Emma, check downstairs.” Without waiting for her to agree, he ran through the upper floor, yelling Sophie’s name. He lingered in each room just in case she might appear at his call.
Emma met him back in his bedroom. “She’s not downstairs, Jamie, or in the basement.”
Jamie pulled at the sheets on the empty bed and dropped to his knees, shaking hands digging into his scalp. “Where is she? Where is my wife?”
Sophie has just filled Jamie in on their life together in the future. She's emotional and not feeling well, and faints from the overset, and the heat.
* * *
“Sophie!” Jamie fell to his knees next to her. “Wake up.” He felt her forehead, and swore at the heat emanating from her skin. A flash of a hallway, a bed. She groaned and he slipped his arm under her back. “Let’s sit you up.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “What happened?”
“You fainted.” Without warning, she vomited—and then passed out again. Jamie’s heart raced. Standing with her in his arms, he turned several times.
Michael’s tending to the Rogers’ boy, I can’t take her back to the house. Damn it!
“We need to get your fever down.” He knew she didn’t hear him, but he didn’t care. His fear overwhelmed him as he carried her for almost a mile. Finding the small building at the edge of the Wades property, he pulled the door open and stepped inside.
Setting Sophie gently on the straw ground, he removed his jacket and folded it into a makeshift pillow. He was grateful that the room was cool and the floor was dry. Kneeling beside her, he unbuttoned her jacket and then her blouse and pushed them from her body. “Please, please, wake up.” He rolled her onto her side and loosed the laces on her corset then slid the top three hooks on the front.
Sophie drew in a deep breath and opened her eyes. “Jamie?”
He rolled his sleeves up in an effort to stop touching her. “I’m here.”
“Well, you fainted, then vomited, then fainted again.” He sat back on his heels.
She sat up slightly. “Are we in an icehouse?”
“What made you think to bring me to an icehouse?”
“You were burning up. Michael’s several miles away, and I knew I had to get your fever down.”
She flopped back. “Good thinking. This is perfect.” Sophie raised her head slightly and glanced down the front of her body. “Now explain something. How did I get half-naked?”
Jamie shrugged. “You needed to breathe.”
“Oh.” She pushed herself up and leaned on her forearms.
Pulling an orange from his pocket, he peeled it and handed her a wedge.
Sophie took the fruit with a frown. “How did you know I love oranges?”
He wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I just did.”
She rubbed the wedge on her lower lip as if in thought. “Hmmm.”
He grimaced. “It’ll settle your stomach.”
Sophie sucked the slice through her lips and let out a quiet moan. “Heaven.”
Jamie’s stomach clenched as he watched a small drop of juice linger on her full lips. Her tongue darted out to lick it off, and her head fell back as though in the throes of ecstasy. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to think of something other than the half-dressed beauty in front of him.
Sophie sighed. “I wish I could stay in here all summer.”
“There’s no rush to return.” Jamie stood and secured the door as best he could.
“Perhaps not the entire summer, but a summer evening would be acceptable.”
Sophie smiled and slipped the remaining hooks on her corset.
Is she trying to drive me crazy?
“What are you doing?” Jamie growled.
“Getting comfortable.” She stood and pushed her skirts and hoops from her body.
“Put your clothes back on.”
“I’m fully covered, Jamie.” She lowered her head and checked her appearance. “Chemise, pantaloons, stockings, and slippers. This is more clothing than I ever wore at home.”
His head dropped back and he stared briefly at the low ceiling. “This is entirely inappropriate, Sophie.”
“Sue me.” She shrugged and her chemise slid off one creamy, white shoulder.
“Sophie, we aren’t in private.” He groaned as he turned his back. “We’re not even in a place with a locking door.”
“I. Don’t. Care.” She sighed. “May I have some more orange?”
He handed her a slice over his shoulder and caught her smile as she popped it in her mouth. “You remember, don’t you?”
He turned his head slightly at the sound of rustling fabric. “Remember what?”
“That oranges were what I craved while I was sick.”
“I definitely remember something.”
Sophie giggled. “How about you turn around and give me some more?” He shook his head and then heard the straw crunch under her feet. “I have a surprise for you. Turn around, Jamie, I won’t bite. Well, not unless you want me to.”
Jamie turned and swore. Sophie stood before him in nothing but stockings and garters. He turned away again.
Sophie moved to stand at his back. “You don’t get to escape, love.” She slid his vest from his shoulders and threw it into the corner. “I have waited a long time for this, and I don’t care what you do and don’t remember, I want my husband back.”
He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. “Sophie. Don’t.”
“Don’t, what? I’ll stop as soon as you say you don’t want this.” She slid her hands around the front of him and her hands slipped under his shirt.
Jamie clenched his fists at his side. “I won’t do this.”
“Why not?” Sophie kissed his neck.
She sounds breathless. Is she breathless?
Jamie tried to stay her hands. “Sophie, this is highly inappropriate.”
Sophie chuckled. A low, throaty sound that made several muscles tense—muscles he didn’t realize he had. In parts of his body he’d never really paid much attention to before.
“You said that earlier.” She kissed his back, in between his shoulder blades. “I don’t care if it’s inappropriate. I have certain needs, and I’ve decided you’re the man for the job.”
“Needs?” he virtually squeaked the word out.
Not quite the manly disdain I’d wanted to produce. Damn it.
“I’ve shocked you.”
Not shock, so much as blown up any chance of me being able to stop from taking you against the wall, and the ice block third row from the left, and then the floor.
He shook his head. “Not at all.”
Her tiny hands had now slipped up his back and she raked her nails gently over his skin. A low growl escaped between his gritted teeth. “Sophie.”
“I want you naked, Jamie. I have been patient up till now, and I’m done being patient.”
He squeezed his eyes shut with a grimace. “I don’t remember you as my wife, Sophie.”
“Oh, you’re going to remember, baby. I have no doubt. Now, turn around.”
Turning to face her, he rasped, “Are you sure you want to do this? Even if I don’t remember? Even if your reputation will be compromised?”
Her eyes, hooded with desire, seemed on fire as she smiled. “Surer than I have been about anything.”
Reaching behind his back, he pulled his shirt over his head and then cupped her face and leaned down to kiss her. He slid one hand around her waist, pulled her body closer to his, and intensified his assault. He knew now that he was too far gone to do anything but make love to her. “I need you,” he whispered as he searched her face.
Sophie kissed him as she ran her hand down his chest. Stilling her hand, Jamie placed a kiss in the middle of her palm.
As he made love to her, his vision began as a flash. The square pattern on a blue door, his hand knocking, and it opening to reveal the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The vision brought the memory of her disappearance and the confusion and devastation that followed.
“I love you,” Sophie whispered.
He kissed her before rising to his feet. “We should get back to the house.”
Sophie sat up slightly. “What? Why?”
He dressed quickly and held his hand out to her. She didn’t move, so he gathered her discarded undergarments and clothing. “We need to get back. It’s getting late.”
“Jamie? What’s wrong?”
“Just get dressed, Sophie. I’ll walk you back to the house.”