Chapter One

George woke up flat on his back, feeling like he’d eaten a bad egg.  He opened one eye, then the other, and with the last bit of strength he had, he rolled to his stomach, pushed himself up to his hands and knees, lifted his head, and in the fading light of day, saw what had to be the ocean.

I was just as he’d heard it described and yet, altogether different.  More gray than blue.  Bigger, for sure.  It went forever, until it reached a point where it bumped up against the setting sun and was sucked up into the violet and pink-streaked sky.

He hadn’t expected it to be so noisy, or so angry.  Tall waves rushed the beach, slapping against the rocks, churning and foaming over the sandy shore.  Birds, big silver-white ones with wings spread wide, swooped low, letting loose with high-pitched plaintive screeches.  One erratically changed direction and George turned his head to follow its path. 

            He winced when the strap of his camera, which had somehow become wrapped around his neck, tightened.  He untangled himself and rested his hand on the sturdy case, feeling doubly grateful—one, that the damn thing hadn’t strangled him along the way and two, that it had come through time in one piece. It was tangible proof that he hadn’t left everything a hundred-plus years behind.

            The beach, a patch of sand fifty yards wide and stretching as far as the eye could see, was empty save a solitary figure at the edge of the water.  Three hundred yards separated them, and the dwindling light of day combined with the white straw hat on the person’s head made it difficult to tell it is was a man or woman.  All George knew is that given how close the person sat to the rolling waves, his or her trousers had to long past wet.

            His own trousers were dry although there was a fresh hole in the knee, and they were stained with dirt.  His heavy shirt had rips that hadn’t been there when he’d slipped it on just as the wicked bitch of a storm had started.

            His journey had not been an easy one.  He had jagged memories of being sucked into utter blackness, or whirling and banging into objects he couldn’t see or identify, or feeling like his insides were being ripped from his body. 

            Just when he’d been sure he couldn’t take another minute, he’d seen the hand, somehow visible in the darkness.  He’d recognized it immediately, because at one time he’d held it in friendship, claimed it in love, and clasped it in passion.  His Hannah had not deserted him and he’d been desperate to feel his wife’s touch one more time, to hold her in his arms, close to his heart. 

            But when he’d attempted to reach for her, his stupid arms and legs had refused to obey.  His limbs had hung from his body, useless.  Hannah had tried.  She’d wrapped her long, slender fingers around his arm and tugged hard.  However, the dank and greedy darkness, a worthy enemy, had fought back and as seconds had turned to minutes, her touch had grown cold and weak.  Hope had faded and a terrible emptiness had loomed.

            Then, from out of the darkness, another hand had appeared.  Not Hannah’s.  This one was that of an old woman’s, with fingers bony and bent with age, and skin lined and spotted from the sun.  It had brushed up against Hannah’s hand, passing through it in a flash of silvery light, and the sudden heat that flowed from his wife’s fingers, into his upper arm, had warmed him to the bone.

            Then the old hand, its grip stronger than he’d imagined possible, had grabbed his other arm, and working together, Hannah and the Other had pulled him to the light.

            Then they’d disappeared.

            And it had been like losing Hannah all over again.  Only this time worse than that terrible day he’d buried her in the cold North Dakota ground.  Because this time, he’d known, had felt it all the way through his battered soul, that she was leaving him forever. 

            Her work was done.  She’d brought him safely into his new world, into this strange place, this strange time.  He was on his own to make of it what he would.

            He guessed he best get to it.

            He sucked in a breath, gathered his strength, and stood up.  And promptly fell flat on his ass again.  He felt dizzy and stomach sick and he thought he might have cracked a rib or two on his journey through time.  It hurt like a son of a gun to breathe.

            Damn it to hell and back.  He’d promised Sarah Tremont that he’d come forward to her time and help eight-year-old Miguel Lopez but he wasn’t going to be able to help himself, let alone a sick child, if he couldn’t keep standing.

            Keeping his breaths shallow, he stood up, a little slower this time, and while the dizziness didn’t leave him, it did fade and he remained standing.  He situated his camera, letting the leather strap loop over one shoulder and the heavy box rest at his hip.

            H gave the person at the water’s edge one more lingering look.  He or she was huddled over bent legs, head down.  It dawned on him that the person had no doubt come to the beach, expecting solitude, and he had no right to intrude.  Plus it wasn’t like he didn’t have any of his own business to attend to.  He’d come to this time so that Sarah Tremont could stay with John Beckett.  The love between those two had been so real that only a fool could have missed it.  But Sarah had been torn, believing that she had to leave, had to come back to her own time, to fulfill her promise to the Lopez family.  She’d had information that the family needed, information that would help the young boy. 

            George had come in her place.  Somehow.  Someway.  And he’d managed to survive it.  Now, he needed to find Miguel and his mother.  He shifted his eyes, looking upward at the sky.  It would be dark soon.  He needed to get the lay of the land before the light was completely gone.  Before he’d left Sarah, she’d told him about her house, saying it wasn’t far from the beach. 

            He turned away from the person and walked toward the rocky cliff at the back edge of the beach.  He found the steep steps leading skyward.  Halfway up, his boots heavier with each passing second, he had to stop to catch his breath.

            And coming from behind him, he heard a scream.  He whirled around, so fast he almost slipped.  The beach was empty and he caught a glimpse of white tossing around in thee dark waves.

            George scrambled down the stairs, his arm clenched to his side, holding his aching ribs.  He ran and tried to keep the person in his sight.  His camera banged against his hip and he dropped it in the sand along the way.  He charged forward like a mad bull, not stopping until the water was waist-high and pushing at him, like it hoped to drag him under, too.  Just when he thought he was too late, the wild beast of an ocean tossed up its bounty and he saw a flash on pale skin.

George dove into the water and grabbed. The person’s arms were kicking and flailing and Christ, if he wasn’t careful, he was going to get knocked silly.  He grabbed the person tight into his body and kicked his feet hard.  Three more kicks and he’d made enough progress that there was sand beneath the water.  He staggered toward the beach, crawling the last three feet on his knees.

His eyes burned, his chest hurt, and his ribs ached worse that the time he’d been kicked by a cow.  He ignored it all and sand back onto his haunches to look at what he’d dragged out of the sea.

Mother of God.  It was a woman.  With long dark hair plastered flat against her head.  Her eyes were closed, her face pale, and she wasn’t breathing.

He deposited her on the beach, rolled her over to her side, and rapped her sharply between the shoulder blades.  It seemed to take an eternity but water gurgled out of her mouth and she started coughing and sputtering.  He thought he’d never heard a more beautiful sound.

“You’re safe,” he assured her and felt bad when her body jerked and she fell flat on her back.  Her wide-set eyes were open now and dark with fear.

“I mean you no harm, ma’am,” he said.  He braced his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath.  She wore dark trousers and a white blouse and both were molded to her body.  She put her hand over her stomach, her eyes flashing wildly and he saw the slight swell of her stomach.  “Oh, Jesus,” he whispered.  “You’re with child.”