"Are you alright?" His voice was deep, dark,
and sinful like a cup of hot chocolate. Without thinking she
reached out and touched his shirt. It was some sort of snug woolen
garment.
"I believe so. I cannot understand what has
happened. It is all so very vexing."
The man looked at her in confusion. "You from
England?"
Oh dear
. He was wickedly handsome, but
also very dumb. She pulled her hand away and rubbed her forehead.
"Yes, could you please help me?"
He reached out and she slipped her gloveless
hand into his large masculine warm one. A bolt of heat shot
straight through her body from his touch. With no effort, he lifted
her to her feet. He was strong and his shoulders were quite broad.
If he was not too simple, perhaps this rugged and fine-looking
smithy could direct her to the nearest village.
She frowned and looked around her. Where was
everyone? Even the blasted horses had left her. How did she come to
be alone in the carriage and in this strange place? The man smiled
at her. He still had a hold of her hand.
"Anyone ever say you look like Julie
Christie?"
She snatched her hand away. "I am not
acquainted with the lady. Sir, I was involved in a carriage
accident. Could you please direct me to the nearest town or
village? I must get to Truro."
The man laughed. "Far out."
Catherine frowned again. "Am I speaking a
foreign language? I need transportation."
The man stopped laughing. "Okay babe. Don't
flip your wig..."
"I am not wearing a wig. Why would I? Is there
someone with whom I can converse who has the intelligence to
comprehend what I am saying?"
The man scowled and took a step toward her.
Catherine stood her ground, her chin raised in stubborn defiance.
Lord, he towered over her.
He was a good five inches past
six feet and looked very annoyed..
.
"Are you calling me stupid?"
He took her hand and led her outside. She
could not keep up with his long powerful strides.
"You're in the city, babe. You want
transportation? Take your pick. I'm going to split."
Catherine's senses were inundated with the
strangest of sights and sounds. Surrounding the large weed infested
property were a number of tall buildings. Strange carriages not
pulled by horses filled the streets. This was all over whelming.
Catherine did the one thing she swore she would never do. She
fainted.
Chapter Two
Joey looked to the sky in disbelief. The woman
had fainted dead away at his feet. She lay on the damp, overgrown,
weed-infested ground. Leaving her there wasn't an
option.
McKeen groaned and his eyes fluttered open.
Seeing Joey, he scrambled to his feet, pinched his bleeding nose,
and limped off.
"Two o’clock, asshole. Tomorrow!" Joey yelled
after him.
He leaned down and tapped the woman's cheek.
"Wake up babe, come on."
She groaned. He helped her to her feet and
then slipped an arm around her waist. He could put her on his
motorcycle and head home. It was only two blocks. Wrapping her arm
around his shoulder, Joey walked to his bike and then situated her
in front of him. Taking the long skirt and pulling it up around her
waist caused him to moan aloud at the enticing sight of her long,
well shaped, stocking clad legs.
Having her snuggled in tight against his body
felt right and gave a sizzling jolt to his cock. Nuzzling her head
as he reached for the key, he breathed in deeply. She smelled of
delicate fresh lavender. He smiled as he turned the ignition key,
hit the kick-start, and waited for the roar of the Vtwin before
tapping the bike into gear.
****
"So, do you want to explain how you managed to
appear out of thin air in a friggin' carriage?"
Catherine's eyes fluttered open. Across from
her sat the man in black. One long leg was crossed over his knee.
The man had quite the presence. His hair had the color and sheen of
a crow's wing. It was luxuriously thick and tousled, tapering down
to hug his collar. Catherine was overcome with a desire to run her
fingers through his impressive mane. She felt her cheeks
flush.
"What is your name sir and where have you
brought me?" Catherine knew she sounded haughty and imperious but
this man rubbed her the wrong way.
"Joey Indelli, and what is your name, my
snotty little princess?"
"Catherine...ah..." She hesitated, might as
well give her real name. "Worthington. The Lady Catherine
Worthington. My father is Viscount Sherwin I am honored to make
your acquaintance, Mr. Indelli."
Mr. Indelli threw back his head and laughed. A
combination of desire and annoyance swept through her. His deep
sensual laugh did strange things to her insides.
Heavens, he was
just too male.
He calmed down and set his gaze on her. For
the first time, she looked into his eyes. They were dark blue, the
color of a naval uniform she had seen a young man wear in the
village. His mesmerizing eyes were so dark she could not make out
the iris from the pupil and were framed by very long lashes. Joey
Indelli had very fine eyes indeed. His face, while not classically
handsome, was well formed. A few sharp angles denied him true male
beauty. However, the rugged strength appealed to her. Dark stubble
caressed a sturdy jaw line and well-shaped chin.
"Well, Lady Cathy, going to answer the
question?" His eyes sparkled with amusement.
"What do you mean thin air? I was in a
carriage with three other passengers. There was a driver,
horses..."
"Babe, only you came through from wherever.
You're shivering. You should get out of that granny dress. I can
get you some clothes and I bet you're hungry too. Um, I don't have
any food but I can run down the street to the Luxury."
She was again having trouble processing his
conversation. Mr. Indelli did not sound like any man she ever met.
She appeared out of thin air? Alone? His story made no sense
whatsoever.
"Granny dress? I assure you, Mr. Indelli, I do
not have to borrow any of my grandmother's gowns! The very
thought."
"Don't spazz out. The long dress you are
wearing is called a granny dress or so some chick told me." Joey
Indelli stood and reached in his back pocket. "I have enough bread
to get us some fish and chips."
"Bread? You pay for things with a loaf of
bread? What kind of strange city is this and just where is this
place? There are no large cities on the way to Truro."
"Bread is money." He took out a piece of paper
from a flat leather pouch and waved the green parchment at her.
"You're in my basement apartment on Waterloo Street."
He looked at her as if she were ready to be
carted off to Bedlam.
"They named a street after that horrid battle?
Thank God the French madman Napoleon is dead. I just read about his
demise in the local paper. He died some weeks ago. May 5th I
believe. What is it?"
His jaw hung open in a very unattractive way.
Oh dear, perhaps he was a simpleton. What an utter waste of
virile maleness if he were so.
"What year do you think this is?" he
asked.
What an odd question. She sighed as if
indulging an annoying and brainless child. "May 20,
1821."
"Lady Cathy, I hate to tell you, but its
September 23, 1969. You better sit down and I'll get you something
to change into."
Joey Indelli went into the next room and left
her in a state of utter shock. She then had a good look around the
room. There were many strange things she did not recognize. Odd
colors on the walls, the furniture was quite different, and the
sounds outside were strange. His furnishings were sparse and
shabby. He must be poor. However, his dwelling seemed
clean.
1969?
She recognized nothing at all.
Her glimpse of the city overwhelmed and frightened her. She rubbed
her forehead.
Think Catherine, think!
She was not some
simpering miss. She was very well read much to the chagrin of her
father.
'No man of substance desires a bluestocking for a
wife!’
He would scold her when he caught her reading science
manuals and stacks of newspapers. She believed in science and
followed every discovery in the paper. Read in depth on the studies
and experiments in electromagnetism and the laws created in
electrodynamics. Catherine sat up straighter. Of course, the
lightning that struck the carriage! There could be no other
explanation. And what of the interminable period of floating in
darkness? Was she lost in time? It was utterly absurd.
She cocked her head. Perhaps she slept through
time as Rip Van Winkle did in the recently published Irving story?
Catherine also knew from her extensive reading that there were
numerous ancient folk tales and myths depicting forward travel
through time. Why not her? Her brows furrowed, Rip Van Winkle woke
up in the exact spot twenty years in the future. She had awakened
in a different place altogether and more than a hundred years in
the future.
A spontaneous giggle tore from her throat. The
carriage must be the key. Surely it was the receptacle of transport
through time. Catherine clapped her hands together in excitement at
her hypothesis. She hid her exhilaration as soon as Joey Indelli
walked into the room. He carried a bundle of clothes and handed
them to her.
"My old girlfriend left a few rags. Maybe you
could use them while the dress dries. I'll run down to the
Luxury."
"You said that before. What is a
Luxury?"
"The name of a take-out. I was going to get
food, you know, to eat? Don't be a square." One corner of his
luscious mouth quirked. "Don't touch anything. I don't completely
buy this 1821 shit you're shoveling but just in case, sit still
until I get back."
Joey Indelli stepped outside and closed the
door behind him. Catherine frowned.
Insufferable
man.
****
Joey walked around the side of his building
and leaned against the dark brown clapboards and took a few deep
breaths.
Jesus. This broad came from the past? Really?
The
carriage had appeared in a flash of light. He'd seen it with his
own eyes. Catherine Worthington didn't look or sound like any woman
he ever knew. She was a pain in his ass with her snotty tone, but
he had to admit, beyond the obvious beauty a headstrong intelligent
woman was apparent. Brave too, considering she may have traveled
through time.
He wasn't used to a woman who seemed clever
and courageous. His few encounters were brief. His only long-term
relationship had lasted for two months and that was last year. What
in hell was he going to do with this woman?
Joey had a few ideas. Each time he touched
her, the intensity of the burn he felt increased. It was hard to
tell under the flowing dress and cape what kind of curves she had
until he lifted her up next to his body. Lady Cathy felt warm, lush
and feminine. Her full breasts pressed against his side seared his
skin through his sweater. When he placed her on his bike in front
of him, his cock swelled with the impact of having her well-shaped
ass snuggled next to him. He also reacted to the sight of those
long legs. This could get complicated. Joey didn't need or want
anyone in his life depending on him or looking to him for
protection. How could Lady Catherine Worthington fend for herself?
If she was from the past, where could she go? How would she
survive?
No, he had nothing to offer her. He barely
kept his head above water financially. Joey had been a lone wolf
his whole life and he wanted to stay that way.
The older man who lived in the upper flat
strolled by walking his yappy ball of white fur.
"How're you doing, Mr. Evans?" Joey called
out.
"Terrible," he replied with a smile and a
quick wave. The dog turned and growled at Joey. He snarled back for
good measure.
Stupid mutt.
Joey watched as an ambulance roared up the
hill toward the Saint John General Hospital with sirens blaring.
Quiet was not a word to describe the area with The General looming
over the street and the entire neighborhood. Things were changing.
He glanced at the empty lot where St. Mary's Anglican Church used
to be. The hospital used the lot for parking now. He wasn't one for
church and religion but he used to enjoy the chimes on a Sunday
morning. Not anymore. Entire streets and rows of houses were just
torn down by the cotton mill making way for 'urban renewal'. Joey
realized he didn't much like change, but nothing in his life was
steady or stable. He stepped out on the sidewalk and sprinted down
the hill toward the Lux.
Joey sauntered in the front door of the small
take-out and he inhaled the aroma of deep fried fish and chips. The
air was heavy with oil. Even the walls were coated. The Luxury had
a few rickety formica tables and chairs in the corner but primarily
this was a take-out. A cheap, scratchy transistor radio played
'Honky Tonk Women' by The Rolling Stones.
"Hey, Indelli, two piece or three piece?" A
gruff voice called from the back.