THE TIME STAR (3 page)

Feeling suddenly warm, Waneeta whispered,
"I don't even know your name."

"Thomas Stafford." His gaze
held hers and oddly, he took her hand and drew it up to his lips. The warmth he
radiated surged up her arm, heating her further. Oh, wow. Even as his lips
touched her hand, his eyes remained fixed on hers. "Charmed to meet you,
Miss..."

Oh, double wow. She was the one who was
charmed. Now, what the heck did he ask? Oh, yeah, her name.

Waneeta found her voice. She'd lost it
somewhere between his smile and his whisper. Somewhere around the time those
lips found the back of her hand. "Waneeta Meadows," she whispered.

A smile lingered on his smooth, sensuous
lips, lips she could still feel on her skin. "Juanita," he repeated,
testing the name with Hispanic flair. "You don't look Spanish."

"I-I'm not. It's spelled
phonetically." She was having trouble catching her breath. He was so
handsome. So debonair, a gentleman in plaid. When she reddened yet again, he
took her arm and eased her back onto the pillow.

"You'd best lay down, Miss Meadows,"
he advised her politely. "You were unconscious when I found you, remember?"

Mutely, Waneeta obeyed. Gone was the
gentle teasing, and the wonder of what was surely an unreal man that had suddenly
dropped into her life.

All that remained was the essence of
attraction, distilled until it would surely burn if ignited by a spark like
those she'd had rain on her this very evening.

Chapter 3

Suddenly, Thomas remembered his manners.
"What a terrible host I am, Miss. You must be thirsty! Would you like a
cup of tea or some water?"

He had seen worse injuries, but not on a
tender lady as Waneeta. It would be improper to offer her an alcoholic
beverage, and considering what he read in the book, he was glad he had none.

"Just some water, thanks," she
answered quietly, as if all that was happening around her was perfectly normal.

Thomas took a china cup from a hook
beside the fireplace and ladled some water out of the barrel. His guest
hesitated when he offered it to her.

"Well, down the hatch. It can't be
any worse than the treated town water I drink every day." She grinned
bravely. "Besides, how else are you going to store water here, when you don't
appear to have a well?"

She sipped the water and her smile
relaxed. "It's good."

He found himself smiling back. "I
have bread and cheese that I bought in Eganville on my way here. Would you like
some of them?"

"No, thanks. I'm actually hoping
Kevin will find me. It's getting late, and I really should get home."

Thomas walked over to the window and
peered out. Then, turning and frowning, he shook his head, "It's already
started to snow as you predicted. He'll most likely wait until morning to look
for you, if he isn't injured himself."

"Ha! I doubt Kevin's injured,"
she answered. "He probably just went home, expecting me to follow."

"He would just leave you here to
find your own way home? What kind of an idiot is he?"

Waneeta blinked, dumbfounded at his outburst.
She wanted to explain that she knew her way home, but Thomas interjected, "I'm
sorry. I've no right to speak that way about your cousin, Miss. I'm sure he's
not the monster you make him out to be."

She frowned. "He's just immature,
that's all. It's probably because I've always been in charge when the two of us
are together. Because I'm older." She sighed. "But you're right. He won't
bother to look for me until morning." Waneeta wished it was different, but
Kevin was really just a big kid.

And not too bright.

Thomas shook his head. "Well, you
need to stay here until he finds you. I insist you don't return home tonight. It
would take you too long, and you're injured."

Waneeta raised her eyebrows, and Thomas turned
away. Smothering a smile, she watched his wide, strong back. This guy's so
Victorian.

Yet rather compelling.

Thomas continued to tidy something near
the door, forcing Waneeta's smile to widen as she suppressed a giggle. He
couldn't even look at her, now, while she was not the least bit embarrassed by his
suggestion of staying the night.

Was he sensing the attraction she felt? She
uncurled her legs to stick them out in front of her as she relaxed on the bed.
Yeah, funny how relaxed she was. Gone was the eeriness she'd felt outside. It
was so typical of a body. Once warmth and comfort were restored, a body was so
willing to overlook any dangers that may lurk.

She drained her cup and set it down on a
narrow table nearby. Did any dangers lurk? Any because of her sudden
attraction? Not that she'd act on the emotions budding within her. But they
were interesting to consider, however. A fun fantasy.

"You know," Thomas began as he
finally turned, "When I first heard you outside, I thought you were the
Wendigo."

Waneeta lifted her eyebrows. "What's
a Wendigo?"

Thomas took a chair and dragged it closer
to her, still keeping a conservative distance between them, she noticed. His
eyes twinkled. Obviously, storytelling was a delight for him. Of course,
considering the guy was a teacher, that wasn't a surprise. But could it also be
that the tale provided a nice barrier?

"It's an old Indian legend,"
he began with melodramatic flair and mock sternness. "They say when you
camp in the winter to hunt, the Wendigo will come for you."

"Are you here to hunt? It's not
hunting season, and jacking deer is against the law. Maybe the Wendigo is a
Natural Resources officer?"

"Jacking deer? You mean poaching? I'm
not here for that, and nor is the Wendigo a member of the local constabulary."
When those gorgeous dimples deepened, she knew he was enjoying himself as much
as she was.

He cleared his throat to begin again,
this time, his tone softer. "But the Wendigo doesn't know why you're there.
He doesn't care, either."

Waneeta straightened on the cot, finding
herself leaning forward to catch his quiet words. "Sounds like a demon,
and they always know what you doing."

"Yes. The Wendigo is a supernatural
creature, so perhaps he would know, but we're getting away from the tale
now." He wagged his finger. "He was once human, a simple hunter
himself, but an evil medicine man cast a spell upon him to prevent him from
catching game. He couldn't eat, and driven mad by starvation, was forced to eat
his own family."

She pulled a face. "Ug! Nice story."

With a light shrug, Thomas went on even more
spiritedly, "After that, his appetite became insatiable, and he began to
hunt other people."

"Why didn't the hunters just kill
him?" She lifted her brows, her eyes wide with enjoyment. As gross as the
story was, she couldn't help but be drawn into it. Thomas' varied tones,
relaxed manner, everything about him told her he was a consummate storyteller.
She leaned forward. "Or could they?"

Gravely, Thomas shook his head. "They
couldn't kill him. His body had already swelled and turned to stone, so no
arrows or even bullets could hurt him. And he wore only a loin cloth because
the cold no longer bothered him."

"Nor did his eating habits,
apparently," Waneeta added drolly.

Thomas' dimples deepened further as he
chuckled. "The hunters say when someone hears his breathing, it weakens
them and they fall. They're unable to move and can only watch him come and
devour them. But the Wendigo comes only in winter, and retreats north when the
snow melts. With a stone body, he can't stand the heat of summer."

A pause lingered between them. Her
expression turned chiding. "So you thought I was a big, ugly, guy with a
stone body?"

Thomas laughed out loud and dipped his
head as he shrugged. "Well, you
were
panting. One can never be too
careful."

"Nor have too many pleasant bedtime
stories."

"Don't worry, you've got me here to
protect you."

His timbre was soft, lulling and so
completely mesmerizing. Oh, how she could easily fall for it. She mentally
stiffened herself. "And who's going to protect me from you?" she teased,
enjoying the diversion from her troubles. The thought of what he might do to
her brought an unexpected blush to her cheeks. She smiled to herself. It was as
if she was some kind of Victorian maid herself.

Well, she wasn't. And while she wasn't
going to stop herself from openly admiring him, she wasn't a fool, either.

"Don't you trust me?" His
whisper was barely heard over the crackling fire, yet it danced through her
like a delicious tickle. Those sharp blue eyes watched her closely, too, adding
to the sensation.

Which was far stronger than she
expected. Had she made a mistake getting comfortable here? But what was the
alternative? The snow was falling heavily now. Out the tiny window to the left
of the door, the snow already filled in the corners of the pane. Her side hurt,
her Skidoo damaged.

But had she jumped from the frying pan
into the fire?

"Well? Don't you trust me?" he
asked again.

"Yes I do, but perhaps I shouldn't."
Although his right side was to the soft glow of the fire, she could easily see
his eyes teasing her. She may be safe.

Then again, she may not be. The thought
dried in her throat when she swallowed, and it almost hurt her.

"Yes, I do," she repeated in a
hoarse whisper. "So remember that."

Thomas threw back his head and laughed,
again showing those straight white teeth. When his laughter died, he rose and
dragged the chair back to its place by the table.

"Do you have any more ghost
stories?" Waneeta had never felt uncomfortable around any man before. But
tonight, she wasn't sure what she felt. This anticipation, well, it wasn't so
much discomfort, but rather, wishing that he wouldn't break the spell he'd
woven around her. She didn't want the
comfort
of the storytelling to
slip away.

"The Wendigo isn't a ghost. And
yes, I do have ghost stories, but, however, it's late, you're hurt and you must
be tired." His voice dropped, but still carried the warm concern. "Perhaps
tomorrow."

Waneeta glanced at her watch. Seven
forty. Still? It had been that when the meteorite had raced past. The thing
must be broken. The hands were frozen at the moment she was thrown from the
Skidoo.

"What time is it?"

Thomas glanced up at the mantle where an
antique clock ticked patiently. "A quarter after ten." He walked to a
cupboard in the far corner and drew out several woolen blankets. Then he laid
all but one on the wood floor in front of the fire. He handed the last one to
her.

"It's warm in here, Miss, and I'll
stoke the fire, but if you get cold in the night, here's another blanket. I'm
sorry I don't have any nice ones for you."

Waneeta smiled as she took the blanket. Nice
ones? These were Hudson Bay blankets, with their telltale coloured stripes at
one end. Although wool wasn't as soft as the newer synthetics out, these blankets
weren't cheap. Their quality was excellent, the wool almost sleek. "Call
me Waneeta," she said, after thanking him and taking the blanket.

Thomas dropped his head almost shyly,
and quickly took up another log and set it on the fire. That action sent a
spray of sparks up the chimney, so like the meteorite had sprayed when it
ripped past her.

If it hadn't, she'd never have met this
intriguing man, the man she couldn't figure out.

Thomas folded one of the blankets into a
makeshift pillow. Waneeta winced slightly as she tried to make herself
comfortable.

Immediately, and wordlessly, he came to
her rescue. Cradling her shoulders in the crook of his arm, he gently lowered her.
Her hair waved over her face. After settling her into a more comfortable
position, he brushed back the locks that had fallen onto her cheek.

For a moment, it felt as if the breath
in her lungs had simply dissolved. "I haven't thanked you for helping me,
Thomas. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't found me."

"I'm glad I was here to help you,
Waneeta." He was still bending over her, and his close proximity scrambled
her senses. Yet, she was no more ready for him to release her than she was to
cut out her own heart. But if Thomas didn't set her down soon, she wasn't sure
what would happen. Or what initiative she may dare to take.

Thomas did nothing. For several, long,
delicious moments, they seemed frozen in time.

"Thank you," Waneeta finally whispered.
Then, on that impulse that had pressed against her all evening, she slid her
hand up along the corded muscles of his neck. Her hand rested on his jaw with
her fingers teasing the ends of his dark hair.

Then, adding to her shock, she craned her
neck upward toward him and brushed her lips against his cheek. And the bristles
of his growing beard shot shivers through to her very core.

So incredibly delicious.