Somewhere in Time

Chapter Two

Crosse Harbor, New Jersey 

 At the moment her life changed forever, Emilie Crosse was balanced on a step stool on her front porch, watering a flowering begonia plant that had seen better days. She was considering whether or not to put the poor thing out of its misery when the deep roar of a car engine brought her up short. The most traffic her dead-end street usually saw was the appearance of the red-white-and-blue US mail truck every morning and that truck's engine sputtered rather than roared. 

She climbed down from the step stool and, wiping her hands on the sides of her pants, glanced toward the street as the sound grew closer. A shiny black foreign car rounded the corner and she felt the kickstart of adrenaline hit her bloodstream. It didn't take an automotive genius to figure out you could run the Crosse Harbor school system on what the driver had paid for that sleek beauty. It also didn't take a genius to figure out where the car was headed. Hers was the last house before you hit the water. 

The car roared up her driveway as if it were the home stretch of the Indianapolis 500 and screeched to a stop aggressively close to her dumpy old Chevy. She'd only known one person in her life who wouldn't be overshadowed by a car like that and she'd been crazy enough to marry him.  The car door swung open and she pinched herself sharply on the inside of her arm then looked again. No doubt about it. Striding up the driveway was Zane Grey Rutledge, the Main Line Philly son with the Wild West name who had captured her heart back when she still believed in happy endings. 

"Been a long time, Emilie," he said in a voice so rich with testosterone that it made her knees buckle. "You look great." 

"You too," she said, shaking her head at the understatement. 

"So let me guess: you were in the neighborhood and decided to pop in and say hello." 

He smiled but the look in his eyes gave her pause. "I would've called but you're not listed." 

"Emily Crosse Restorations. I'm in the book." 

"I'll keep that in mind." 

"Is there something I can do for you?" 

"You're not going to ask me in?" 

"You're here for a reason, Zane, and it isn't to talk about old times." She sounded cool and collected. He'd never in a million years suspect the way her heart was thundering inside her chest in an approximation of flat-out, unadulterated, completely ridiculous joy. "What do you want?" 

"Your professional opinion."

She barked a laugh that embarrassed her. "You're kidding." He didn't look like he was kidding. To her surprise she caught a flash of vulnerability behind the movie-star smile and her defenses started to melt. 

"I have a package in the car that I'd like  you to look at," he said, shifting his weight to his left foot. 

"Is this some kind of joke?" 

"Trust me, Em, it's no joke." 

"I'm pretty busy," she said, "but if you make an appointment I'd be happy to see what I can do." 

"I can't. I'm leaving for Tahiti tomorrow morning." 

Instantly her defenses started to regroup. He'd always been on the way to Tahiti or Aspen or the dark side of the moon. And he'd always been able to turn her into a hopeless romantic with a soft spot for happily-ever-after endings that never came true. "Then it can wait until you return." 

 He didn't hear a word she said. He was already halfway to his Porsche, his long legs eating up the ground with each stride. She watched, awash in a weird combination of appreciation and annoyance. Time had been unfairly kind to him. He cut a dashing figure in his tailored grey slacks and the white shirt of silky Egyptian cotton. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips. Powerful legs. Definitely the poster boy for pirate fantasies. Too bad a good marriage required more than great sex and a well-worn passport.