THE TIME STAR (4 page)

Chapter 4

In the dark quiet of the cabin, Waneeta
lay awake, not more than a few feet from Thomas, afraid to move and disturb him.
The smoldering fire gave off a warm glow that lit on Thomas' face. His eyes
were closed, and from this angle, she couldn't see his lips. Her mind took the
memory of her kiss and rolled it over and over. Immediately after the kiss,
Thomas had straightened and stepped away. Thankfully, he had not run with the
invitation she'd so boldly offered.

The whole evening seemed like a dream, an
easy, comfortable one that leaves the dreamer warm and fuzzy. Thomas had
insisted she spend the night here. And she'd felt as though it was a natural
choice.

Yet despite the easy friendship growing
between them, Waneeta wasn't so sure this camaraderie was good for her heart. There
was a less romantic side to her emotions, and it refused to be ignored. The man
who'd been a virtual stranger only a few hours ago now lay on the floor near
her. She couldn't let her heart to forget that fact.

Oh, but his manners! He was like no man
she'd known before. He couldn't hurt her, she was as sure of that as she was of
her own good instincts. Really, the only scary thing was that she'd kissed him.
Even now, her lips tingled with the memory of the feathery kiss on his bristled
cheek. What must he think, being such a gentleman?

He probably thinks I'm cheap
. As she watched
him buried in his bedding, Waneeta felt her cheeks burn. What could have
possessed her to kiss him?

She knew the answer, even without
thinking. That answer caught in her throat.

Oh, yes. She was incredibly, impossibly
attracted to him, to the point of not wanting to ever leave. The attraction was
that strong.

Total insanity. Next, she'll be telling
herself she was in love with him.

Thomas listened to the fire burn down,
trying to ignore his body's tight reaction to the woman who lay on his bed. Only
a few feet away. So close. So bold.

So very bold.

And she'd kissed him! His cheek still burned
with the imprint of her lips, as did his neck where she'd laid her warm hand to
draw him close. He had fought the urge to fall onto her and show her what she
did to him.

This is insane! Whatever could she be
thinking? She's obviously not one of those ladies from the taverns in Eganville,
but what will people think of her when they find out she'd spent the night with
a bachelor? More than a night, for surely it would take several days to get her
back home, regardless of what she claimed.  Why, the train left Eganville only
once a day, and didn't go any further than Renfrew. She'd have to catch the connector
to Pembroke.

She wouldn't be bothered by any scandal,
he wagered to himself. She really should be, though, if she expected to marry
well some day. Now was the time to consider the consequences her actions might have.
Thomas didn't care about himself. He'd only returned to his father's cabin to reflect
on his life. He still hadn't decided if he should pursue his father's dream of
teaching the native population up here, and building up this area so they
didn't have to live hand to mouth. He'd survive any scandal. Men always did,
his mother had often said.

Again, his thoughts returned to Waneeta.
Although clad in the strangest garments, she appeared quite normal, in fact a
merry young woman. And who was to say what they were wearing nowadays? The
material of her suit could just be one of the new silk blends his sisters often
mentioned. A bit cold outside to be wearing such a light outfit, but women do
strange things for fashion, especially the sillier designs from Europe.

Nevertheless, Waneeta needed him
tonight, and he was only too glad to help. Surely, she'd have died if he hadn't
been here. Ready for her.

A thought hit him. It was as if he had
waited all his life for her. This was the same anticipation he felt when he
began his new journal, only today. A sensation of expectation, of fully and almost
wantonly knowing something good would come, and suddenly, that good was here.

Perhaps he could convince her to stay. Perhaps
he could ask-

Thomas snorted inwardly. The woman was vibrant,
well-educated, and beautiful. No doubt she could have her choice of any man in
the Ottawa Valley, so she certainly wouldn't live in a camboose shanty with a
teacher whose only aspirations were to teach the rural poor and fulfill his
father's dream. No doubt Waneeta's cousin would show up in the morning,
grateful to Thomas for coming to her aid.

He clenched his jaws. One thing was
sure; if the man didn't admit being out all night looking for her, Thomas would
surely throttle the cur.

It was long after he thought Waneeta was
asleep, that Thomas heard the wind rise, the howl and moan rather like the
Wendigo's voice in the tale he'd told her. This storm didn't take long to blow
up. She was right about the weather channel and all that rather prophetic talk.

Like many evenings, thoughts danced
wildly as the active mind refused to sleep. Tonight was no different. Thomas
wondered why she was here. Chasing a meteorite? An odd thing in a time when most
people believed that they were dangerous to their health. Perhaps Waneeta came
from an enlightened family. Thomas, being the son of a teacher, had learned
long ago not to be afraid of things unknown. Meteorites weren't dangerous,
unless, of course, one hit you.

How close had that falling star come to
hitting Waneeta? The odds of that happening must be astronomical. She was very
lucky. So was he, for meeting her. The wind roared around the cabin, causing
the draught to suck the warm air up the chimney. Secretly, Thomas hoped for a
storm to match all others combined. One to keep Waneeta with him for many more
days.

Alone with Waneeta. A wave of heat
surged through him, and shocked him back to common sense. Storm-stayed with
Waneeta?

Tomorrow was going to be one long day.

* * *

As much as he tried, Thomas couldn't be
completely silent while rekindling the fire and heating the water the next morning.
Although he normally shaved before retiring, last night had forced him to
complete his ablutions now. His movements stirred Waneeta and he cast a long
look at her as he wiped his face dry. The same thought returned again and again.
She was extraordinary. Beautiful, relaxed, slightly too bold for her own good.
And she spoke like no one he'd heard before.

Odd. She had lived all her life in the
lumber town of Pembroke, but didn't speak like anyone he knew there. Thomas
doubted she was lying, but his sensible nature questioned her story. Perhaps
she was the daughter of a lumber baron whose grand new home graced the main
street, but who had been sent off to a boarding school. Thomas, being well-educated
and a bachelor, both commodities scarce here, had met many such daughters. In
fact, he thought he'd met them all, having been shoved toward far too many giggly
girls during the few times he'd been to Pembroke.

Perhaps Waneeta was married, though
there was no mention of a husband, no ring on her finger.

Not married. Hmm.

It could give a man ideas.

Waneeta finally woke up in time to watch
Thomas peel the last potato. She couldn't help but quip, "Now, if I had a
camera, this would be a photo I'd like to take. No pre-packaged breakfasts for
you. Do you make your own bread, too?"

As he dropped the last potato into the
big black pot that hung on a hinged hook, Thomas offered her a lazy smile. And
surprising her, she felt pretty much the same way, all propped up on his
pillow. Lazy. Relaxed.

She'd heard something earlier, but ended
up dropping back off to sleep again. She was sure she must look a sight this
morning. She'd never had good bedhead. The light of the fire reflected on her
skin, though, giving her a warm glow that she rather liked more than her pasty
winter colour. If she could, she decided, she'd meet all men by the light of a cozy
fire.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I make excellent
bread." Thomas swung the pot back over the fire to cook. "My mother
felt if I was to be head of a household someday, I should learn all aspects of
it. Cooking, sewing, cleaning."

Waneeta giggled. The thought of such a
brawny man mending clothes was charming, indeed. "Such a refreshing
attitude. Most people I know live in a disposable world." She lit up.
"I should have brought my old socks with me. You could have darned them."

But as he moved around, she bit her lip.
She would have to get out of the bunk soon, and use the bathroom. Where exactly
was it?

"How is your side this morning?"
he asked, oblivious to her need.

Waneeta twisted gingerly about to test
it. Although there was no pain shooting down her leg, the dull ache remained. "I
guess I didn't break anything after all. It feels much better, thanks."

Thomas nodded before turning quickly
away. "I have to bring in more wood, Miss," he said, his voice
muffled. "The water's hot, and the, er, things you'll need are under
there." He hastily pointed to the wash stand. Thankfully, she understood
his offer to give her privacy.

After hauling on thick leather mukluks
and a woolen coat, he opened the door. A swirl of airborne snow danced inside. Good
grief. Was it still storming out? The snow wasn't supposed to last this long.

Which brought her back to Kevin. Yes,
she was definitely concerned now. He knew these woods better she did, mostly
because he'd wasted his high school years snowmobiling when he should have been
doing homework. He should have stopped by here, even if only to ask Thomas if had
seen her.

Her parents would be worried. With a
busted cell phone, she couldn't ease their concern.

Sighing, she climbed out of bed. After a
peek at the scabby bruise on her side, she walked to the washstand.

She ran a hand over its polished surface
of the washstand and peered down at it. It must be one of those replicas they
make on public TV. It fit in well with the decor of the cabin, except it really
didn't have that patina of age the experts rave about. And, she decided as she
opened the lower cupboard, neither did the chamber pot hidden inside.

After doing what she needed to do, she
poured water into the wash bowl and reached for the soap. It looked handmade
and naturally grainy. She brought it up to her nose and inhaled, learning how
Thomas got his clean scent. She found his comb and picked it up, admiring it.
It was ivory. How rare! Not wanting to break any of the teeth, she merely
dampened her waves and fluffed them. All that the small, gilt-edged mirror propped
at the back of the stand told her was that she looked adequate. She finished
tidying up then turned to make the bed.

The door suddenly opened, revealing a
heavily laden Thomas. Waneeta hurried to close the door behind him, stopping
the wind from driving even more snow in.

"Here, let me help you with them."

Thomas turned, his face reddened at the
sight of her in a thin shirt. He turned away, quickly. "No, thank you,
Miss. I can manage."

Waneeta sighed. Thomas, ever the
gentleman, refused to allow her to help. As sweet as the gesture was, guilt
pricked at her. "It's still bad out, isn't it?"

"Yes, Miss," His voice was
muffled, his back still turned. "But you’re safe here."

Exasperated, Waneeta cried, "I'm
sure I am, but there must be something you'd like me to do for you!"

Thomas straightened sharply, striking
his head on the slope of the roof.

He rubbed the bump probably forming on
the top of his head. "No thank you, Miss. Yes," he changed his mind, "You
can make breakfast while I stack wood."

Breakfast? Oh, okay. Returning to the
fire, Waneeta inventoried what he had and what had been done so far. Unsure of
what he wanted, Waneeta hesitantly poked the fire. Thomas came to stand near
her, holding out a cloth sack.

"The last of the apples," he
explained. "They aren't very good to eat raw, but you can peel them to
stew up. Do you like apple sauce?"

She shrugged. "For breakfast? Sure,
I guess."

He handed her a paring knife with a bone
handle. She pulled a stool nearer to the fire, and sat down, throwing a fast
glance over her shoulder.

This guy took rustic living to a whole
new level. She glanced around, hoping to at least find a box of cereal, but
there was none. With another shrug, she reached into the bag for her first
apple.

Thomas was right. These apples had seen
better days. But with careful peeling, they could be salvaged, so she set to
work diligently.

"Trying to find the name of your
true love?" he queried her as he stacked the wood.

She looked over at him. "Huh?"

"You know what I mean. Haven't you
ever been to an Apple Bee?"

"A what?"

Thomas laughed. "Now I know for
sure that you are incredibly well-sheltered! It's an old tradition. At an Apple
Bee, if you peel an apple in one long piece, you throw the peel up in the air.
It'll land in the shape of a letter. It's supposed to be the first letter of
the name of your future husband."