been mooning over so recently, and refused to think about his clothes. “You’re, um…sick or something, aren’t you,” she said, almost as if to convince herself of it. “You’re disoriented and you wandered in here by accident. I understand, all right? I’m not going to press charges, or anything like that.”
The man’s eyes opened. They were a bit dazed, clouded with pain, but they were also intelligent, perfectly sane and utterly sincere brown eyes. Brown eyes that looked so familiar it was downright uncanny. “What year is this, Jane?”
What year—
Jane swallowed hard and refused to so much as allow the thought to enter her mind. “Nineteen ninety-seven,” she told him, as casually as if it were a question she answered every day. She nudged her son with her as she took another backward step into the hall.
The man’s head jerked up fast and his eyes widened. “Nineteen…” Then he looked above him, at the light fixture in the ceiling, and when he lowered his head again, he grimaced in agony. “No… No, I went the wrong way. I came forward instead of going back. This can’t be, I…” Still ranting, he lunged forward, toward Jane, but he never made it. He went down like a giant redwood, in a heap at her feet.
And that was when she noticed the gold wire-rims on the floor beside him. The satchel in the middle of Cody’s bedroom floor. The little black box. She swallowed hard and told herself she was letting her imagination run wild. She bent down over him, reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the pocket watch—the exact same pocket watch she’d seen in the painting. And then she looked more closely at the small black box on the floor. An odd-looking remote control that looked an awful lot like the box the inventor was tinkering with in the painting.
“He asked what year it was. Said he’d come forward,” she muttered. And she mentally revisited what Sheriff O’Donnell, and the library books, had told her about the genius scientist who’d lived here. That he’d claimed to have invented time travel…and then he disappeared.
“But that just can’t be…”
“Mom?”
She rose, and turned to face her son.
“Can we keep him?”
Jane braced her hands on the edge of the bed, bending almost double as she tried to catch her breath. The man was no lightweight, that was for sure. Getting him into the bed had been no easy job. And whoever he was, he could use a shower, a shave and a clean change of clothes.
None of which, she reminded herself, was her problem. All she had to do was go downstairs, call Sheriff Quigly O’Donnell and have this intruder taken away to a jail cell.
Except that she hadn’t placed that call just yet. And she was in no hurry to, for some reason.
“Mom, is he sick?”
She glanced at her son, shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably. You’d better go wash your hands, Cody. It might be catching.”
Cody didn’t go. “Maybe he’s not sick, Mom. Maybe he’s hurt.”
Jane slipped her arm around her son’s shoulders and squeezed. “You must have been scared to death.”
“Nah. At first I thought he really was my dad. That he’d come back somehow—even though I know that’s impossible. The way he was hugging me and all.” His chin lowered just a bit. “It was kinda nice.”
Jane’s throat tightened. Time to change the subject. “How did he get in here, sweetheart?”
Cody shook his head. “There was this big light, right in the middle of my room. Round. Like…sort of like a train tunnel, only light instead of dark. Really light. It hurt my eyes.” Jane frowned, but her son kept on talking. “Then the light was gone, and he was laying on the floor.”
“Lying on the floor,” she said automatically, her gaze pinned to the man in her son’s bed.
“That’s what I said. Mom, you think he’s a ghost?”
“No, Cody, I don’t think he’s a ghost.” She frowned at her son. “And I didn’t think you believed in anything as non-scientific as that.”
“I don’t. But what about—?”
“Come on,” she said, feeling uneasier by the second. A train tunnel, indeed. “Let’s go call Sheriff O’Donnell.”
“Mom, we can’t!” Cody pulled his hand free. “He needs help! He’s sick or hurt or something! You can’t go putting him in jail!”
“Honey, he broke into our house—”
“He’s my friend!” Cody crossed his arms over his chest, lower lip protruding.
“How can he be your friend? You don’t even know him.”
“He hugged me,” Cody said firmly. “And he said he loved me. And I’m not going to let you put him in jail.”
Jane closed her eyes and sighed. “Codester, sweetie, we can’t just keep him.”
“Why not? He could help with the tree house I want to build in the backyard. When he’s better, I mean. It would be great. And we could—”
“For all we know, Cody, this man could be a dangerous criminal. We can’t just let him stay. He could be—” She looked down into her son’s huge green eyes and felt like Attila the Hun. “Cody…”
“Please, Mom? We at least have to find out who he is, where he came from. What that flash of light was all about. I think he needs help, Mom.”
She sighed. “I’ll think about it.”
Cody smiled. Then he yawned and rubbed his eyes.
“Come on. You’d better get some sleep now. In my room, okay?”
“Okay.” Grinning, Cody raced down the hall and shot right into her bedroom.
Jane looked at the man who slept in her son’s bed. There was, of course, no way she was going to let him stay here. She’d simply have to wait until Cody went to sleep to call the sheriff. She’d figure out a way to explain it to him later. Meanwhile, she wouldn’t take her eyes off the guy. If he so much as glanced in Cody’s direction…
She picked up the baseball bat and pulled up a chair. She’d give Cody fifteen minutes to fall asleep. Then she’d place that call.
Zach awoke in the darkened room. His son’s bedroom, of course. He must have tired himself out working today, and fallen asleep reading to the boy. It was a wonder Ben hadn’t shaken him awake to get him to finish the story, the way he usually did.
But where on earth was Benjamin?
He closed his eyes, shook his head. Of course. Benjamin was still visiting his grandparents in Boston. How could he have forgotten?
Well, then, as long as he was awake, he might as well get some work done.
Oh, bother.
Zach
