Somewhere in Time

Chapter Three

One moment he was kissing her with more hunger and heat than she'd ever longed for and the next he was walking out of her life as if nothing had happened. 

 Emilie stared out the window as Zane leaped into his fancy sports car and vanished up the street the way all good fantasies were supposed to do. She shook her head, trying to banish the memory of his mouth on hers. Five of the best seconds of her life... 

Clearly nothing had changed. Not his reckless attitude or, to her dismay, the way he made her feel. She'd been alive to his touch, filled with a sweet longing that seemed to promise something wonderful that was just beyond reach. 

A full moon hung poised in the sky beyond her window, splashing silver on the turbulent waters of Crosse Harbor. She should have known there'd be a full moon tonight. She'd felt crazy, out of control. With any encouragement she would have thrown her arms around his neck and begged him to make love to her right there on the floor of her workroom with the ghosts of the past all around them and only the stars to see. The way he'd looked at her. The tone of his voice when he said her name. He'd wanted her as much as she'd wanted him. The signs had all been there but she'd let the opportunity slip through her fingers and now she felt empty and very alone. If it wasn't for the uniform on the worktable, she might have believed she'd imagined the whole encounter. 

She crossed the room and picked up the jacket, holding it close to her chest. He'd only worn it for a few minutes but his scent, a blend of wind and rain and sea air, was everywhere. He was everything she didn't want in a man, yet when she saw him striding up the driveway toward the house, she'd known the same sense of reckless excitement she'd experienced the very first time.She'd been living in Hollywood, working for a movie studio that specialized in big-budget films grounded in historical detail--especially when it came to the authenticity ofthe costumes. Zane had been on the set visiting a stuntman pal who earned his salary by risking his neck. Zane, of course, was nothing like the stuntman. Her ex-husband had been more than happy to risk his neck for nothing. 

 "Zane Grey Rutledge?" she'd asked when he told her his name. 

He'd shrugged with the casual ease of someone who'd never had to struggle for anything in his life. "My parents had a sense of humor," he'd said. "They were reading Riders of the Purple Sage in the labor room the night I was born." 

Everything about him had been larger than life, from his movie-star looks to his relentless search for adventure. It had taken her awhile to realize that his endless quest for the next thrill was a mask for a loneliness that went deeper than he'd ever admit. He'd never been one to talk about the past,but she'd learned about his adventure-loving parents who had placed their five-year-old son in a fancy boarding school then jetted off in search of their latest thrill. When they died on a mountain in Nepal, it took six months before Zane even realized they were gone. Only his grandmother, a Philadelphia Main Line matron, had ever been there for him but by then it was a case of too little, too late. 

Emilie had longed to fill the empty parts of his soul with her love but, like a shooting star, he was impossible to catch. He'd spent too many years alone to believe in happy endings. They had nothing in common. She loved the past. He worshipped the future. He liked fast sports cars and trips to exotic locales, while she liked old quilts and museums. This miraculous wonder of a uniform meant less to him than a pair of sweat socks or a worn-out jockstrap. But when he held her in his arms, the world fell away until she could almost see forever.

He should have stayed in Malta or Manhattan or wherever it was he called home these days. She didn't need him in her life again, making her long for the impossible. Lately she'd found herself pushing against the boundaries of the lazy town where she'd grown up. The kind-hearted concern of her neighbors grated against her nerves. The cry of the gulls, the smell of salt air,  the familiar routines of daily life all seemed alien to her, as if they belonged to someone else. Just yesterday she'd raised her voice to Mrs. Willis at the market and told John Parker that no, she didn't like the way he'd wall-papered her powder room. She could still see the look of astonishment on the faces of those two nicepeople when she'd stormed out the door of the Stop'n'Shop with her quart of milk and half-dozen eggs.