Madsen laughed. "That's exactly what a historical romance writer likes to hear. I'm sure you just ate that up."
"Not really. Billy the Kid may have become something of a folk hero over time, but by most accounts he was nothing more than a cold-blooded killer. I'll stick to the good guys for my books, thank you."
"Whatever you say," Madsen said. "I'm just your biggest fan and best friend."
"And I couldn't imagine being without either," Trina told her genuinely.
They spoke a while longer. Trina invited Madsen to come and spend a few days at the cabin when she had the time in her busy schedule and could manage to pry herself away from her boyfriend. Trina wondered if she could ever feel such passion about a man again. Or had Justin forever soured her on future relationships?
* * *
Trina was working on her manuscript when she heard a dog barking.
Oh no, it's back, she thought.
Again, the sound somehow seemed to be coming from upstairs. Trina wondered if there was a trap door or something that would enable the dog to slip in and up the stairwell.
She went up the stairs tentatively. Standing in the hallway leading to her bedroom, Trina took a breath before going in. There was no dog in the room, but she could still hear barking as though there were.
Weird.
She looked out the window, but saw nothing.
Suddenly the barking began to echo in the room, growing louder and louder. Then it turned to whimpering and seemed to be coming from throughout the cabin.
"Where are you?" Trina shouted. This was starting to freak her out. Was it all in her head? Maybe she had been more traumatized by her breakup with Justin than she wanted to believe.
Trina heard a different sound coming from downstairs and realized it was the doorbell. At the same time, the dog stopped whimpering, as if it had been pacified.
Maybe the dog's owner had finally rescued it. Or maybe it was still out there somewhere suffering.
Neither explained to Trina the odd sounds she had heard coming from someone's dog.
Bounding down the steps, Trina opened the door. Standing there was an elderly woman with fine white hair tucked into a bun. She wore gold-rimmed glasses and was leaning on a cane.
"Hello, you must be Trina," the woman said.
It took Trina a moment to remember that she had an appointment with the cabin's owner. With the unnerving sounds of the dog's barks and whimpering, she had failed to hear the car drive up.
"Yes, I am," she said evenly. "And you're Lucille Bonner?"
"Yes, but please call me Lucy."
She stuck out a frail hand and Trina shook it. "Nice to meet you, Lucy."
Lucille's blue eyes crinkled. "The pleasure is mine, dear."
"Please come in." Trina noted the black Mercedes in the driveway with a driver inside.
"That's Henry," Lucille explained. "He takes me everywhere I want to go and tries to keep a low profile otherwise."
So no inviting him to join us, thought Trina. She took a quick scan outside in search of a dog, but saw nothing. Was it even real?
"You didn't happen to run across a collie outside, did you?" Trina asked.
Lucille cocked a brow thoughtfully. "I'm afraid not. Is it yours?"
"Not exactly, though I think it may be trying to adopt me." Or scare her to death.
Lucille smiled. "I'm sure the dog's probably gone astray and is trying to get back to where it belongs."
"Yes, I suppose so," Trina said. Something told her there was more to it than that, but she hesitated to speculate on what that might be. "Would you like some tea or lemonade?" she offered her landlord.
"Lemonade sounds good."
"Two lemonades coming right up," Trina said.
A moment later, they were sitting at the hickory dinette table.
"I hope you're making yourself at home here," Lucille said, tasting the lemonade.
"Yes, I am."
"That's good to hear. It's not for everyone."
"Well I think it's a perfect hideaway in a beautiful area," Trina said.
"I couldn't agree more." Lucille looked across the table. "So I understand you're a writer."
Trina nodded. "Yes, historical romances."
"Interesting. My grandmother wrote those and was really very good. Of course, in those days, there wasn't much money in writing fiction for women. But at least it kept her busy."
Trina guessed that Lucille was in her eighties and still seemed to be going strong. If only she were as fortunate one day. She noted that Lucille was studying her as well.
"Actually, you remind me of my grandmother," Lucille said. "You're a striking resemblance of her when she was around your age."
Trina cocked a brow. "That's amazing," was all she could think to say in response.
Lucille chuckled. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just the ramblings of an old woman."
"It's fine," Trina said, smiling. "I'm honored to look like your grandmother." She sipped her lemonade thoughtfully. "So have you owned this property for long?"
"My grandfather, Will Bonner, built it more than a hundred years ago," Lucille answered proudly. "He, my grandmother, and father lived here for a good while. Later, my parents used it only when they wanted to get away from the city or for summer vacations. Then when my father died some years back, I inherited it and turned it into a rental property. I don't really get out here very much these days, but I will always treasure the wonderful memories of this place. Just as I'm sure you will, my dear."
I like her, Trina thought, envying her for what must have been a great era to grow up. "I'm sure I will," she told her.
Lucille finished off the lemonade "Well, I'd better not take up any more of your time." She removed a card from her purse and handed it to Trina. "If you have any questions about the place, feel free to give me a call. I'll be happy to help, if I can."
Trina looked at the card. She noted that Lucille was living at an assisted living facility in Melrose, two towns over from Sky Creek.
"Thank you," she told her, though Trina didn't imagine she would ever need to call her, other than as a friendly and wise voice to talk to.
After seeing Lucille off, Trina searched around a bit for the dog. No such luck. Maybe it was gone for good this time.
Trina hoped so. She felt a bit uneasy being alone in the cabin—at least as long as she continued to hear an invisible dog's eerie cries.
When she went back inside, Trina braced herself, but all was quiet.
* * *
An hour later, the familiar sound of a dog whimpering jarred Trina after she had dozed off while watching CNN. This time the sounds did not seem to be coming from upstairs or reverberating throughout the cabin. They were coming from right outside the front door.
Or so she believed.
Please let there be a dog there so I know I'm not going crazy, she thought.
Warily, Trina opened the door and saw the collie standing there. The dog looked at her curiously and whimpered some more.
"Hi there," Trina said. "So you are real after all." She reached out and touched the dog's head to be sure. The dog responded by licking her hand. "Why have you been hanging around here, coming and going? Where is your owner?"
The dog seemed content simply to be in her company. "You must be hungry. Is that what this is about—you're on your own and looking for some food and maybe a little attention? Well, come on in and I'll see what I can scrounge up for you."
The dog barked in a non-threatening way, but backed away from Trina.
"What is it, girl?"
She watched as the dog ran toward the side of the cabin. Trina followed. "Are you trying to show me something?" Perhaps something had happened to the dog's owner. The thought was unsettling.
When Trina rounded the corner, the dog had seemingly vanished. But how, when it had been there just a moment ago? She would have seen if it had it darted off in a different direction. Wouldn't she?
She heard the dog bark again. Tri
na turned around and found it was now somehow behind her.
What on earth is going on here? she wondered.
"Are you Houdini's dog, or what?"
The dog suddenly sprinted away and Trina ran after her, watching as she bolted into the cabin. She wasn't sure if the dog was just in a playful mood or out to cause her trouble. As much as she loved animals, Trina was not in a position to take in a stray and be liable for any damage it caused to the property.
She entered the cabin. "All right, I'll feed you, but then you have to go."
"And where might that be?" a deep voice asked.
Trina stopped in her tracks as she came face to face with a man unlike any she had seen other than in her imagination.
* * *
If she hadn't been so ill at ease with that fact that this man had slipped unnoticed into the cabin, Trina might have felt that he'd jumped right off the page of one of her novels. In his late thirties, the man was tall and fit with short sandy hair and a mustache tapered neatly at the corners. He wore a black sack coat with a matching waistcoat and gray striped trousers.
But this wasn't the late nineteenth century; it was the second decade of the twenty-first century. And the man and his dog were trespassing.
"Just take your dog and—"
"You—!" Will cut her off, not believing what his eyes were seeing. But since he didn't believe in ghosts and wasn't subject to illusions, he had to accept what was right in front of his face. It was his wife, Catherine. Her hair was shorter and lighter and she was dressed in clothing the likes of which he had not seen before. But, yes, it was definitely her. The shock of the moment gave way to anger. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Excuse me?" Trina lifted a brow as the man's indignant gray-blue eyes bore down on her as if they knew each other. She noted a moment earlier that he'd given her the once-over, studying her beaded cami and capri pants, just as she had him in his period attire.
Oddly enough, there was a shaft of light shining on them as if the sun was repositioning itself at that very moment, practically blinding Trina to the rest of the cabin.
"You heard me," Will said through compressed lips. "Why did you just walk away without so much as a word to say that you were unhappy? In fact, you gave me every impression it was just the opposite."
Trina sighed in confusion. Did she really look that much like this other woman? Or was he high on drugs or something?
"There is obviously some sort of mix up here," she told him. "You've got the wrong cabin..."
Trina watched as the dog came bounding down the stairs, racing past her and to the front door as a boy about seven or eight entered.
The moment his blue eyes saw Trina, they lit up.
"Mama, is it really you?" he asked hesitantly, scratching red hair in ringlet curls.
The shaft of sunlight seemed to shine on him and, like the man, Trina noticed the boy was dressed in a nineteenth century costume of a tunic and knickers.
"I'm not your mother—" Trina began, but the boy sprinted to her, wrapping lean arms around her waist.
"You've come home, Mama," he cried as if totally disregarding her words to the contrary. "Papa was so worried. Don't leave us again. Promise."
Even if a part of Trina was moved by this show of affection from the child and his father's apparent mistaken identity, she had no intention of going along with the charade. She gently pried the boy's arms from her waist.
"What's your name?" she asked.
He gave her a peculiar look. "Christopher."
"Well, Christopher, I may look a lot like your mother, but I'm not her. I'm sorry to disappoint you."
Bafflement colored the boy's face. He gave Trina a look of despair and ran out the front door. The dog growled at Trina before following the boy.
So much for whatever affection had developed between her and the dog.
Trina turned her attention back to the man who had somehow snuck into her cabin while she was chasing his dog. Again it appeared as if they were bathed in light, making Trina wonder if she wasn't somehow dreaming this, though she felt very much awake.
He was a nice looking man in a rugged, old-fashioned way. She could imagine gentle qualities about him, especially as it related to his son and the wife he'd spoken of. But that didn't mean he wasn't a threat to her.
"Since you're trespassing, I think you'd best leave," she told him.
"Now why the hell would I want to do that when this is my cabin?" Will snapped, before correcting himself. "Our cabin."
"Uh, excuse me," Trina begged to differ. Could he have somehow gotten his cabins confused? If so, that didn't explain his assertions that they were a couple and the boy was her son. "I signed a three month lease and have no intention of sharing my space. If the rental agency accidentally leased this cabin to you, too, then I'm sure we can get it all straightened out."
"What rental agency?" Will gazed at her, forgetting for the moment just how beautiful Catherine was. In fact, if possible, she had actually become more beautiful over the past year, once he put aside the strange clothing and her personality change. "I built this cabin myself."
"I don't think so, unless you're a ghost. My landlord Lucille Bonner told me that this cabin was built over a hundred years ago."
Lucille Bonner. Will was not familiar with the name. He doubted such a person existed, considering that he had conjured up the name Bonner. Short of a bizarre coincidence, only Catherine and Chris bore his surname. Nor could he make any sense of her statement that the cabin was built long ago when he had built it less than ten years ago.
"I don't know Lucille Bonner," he said. "You're not making much sense, Catherine. What has happened to you?"
Catherine? Trina thought, staring at him. Now she knew he was off his rocker.
"My name is not Catherine," she said succinctly. "It's Trina Emerson."
"Trina Emerson?" Will narrowed his eyes and thought about the name. Trina was a variant of Catherine. Had she hit her head and developed amnesia?
"Yes, that's right." Trina batted her lashes. "I don't know if there's just an incredible likeness between myself and Catherine or if you've been—"
"Nonsense!" Will's voice rose an octave, even as he tried to come to terms with the fact that they were talking face to face for the first time in a year. Whether she truly believed what she was saying or was playing games with him, he wouldn't be easily dissuaded. "You're Catherine Bonner, my wife! And I'm Will Bonner...your husband of eight years."
Trina's eyes widened with shock. The name Will Bonner struck a chord. Lucille had said that her grandfather's name was Will Bonner. Looking at him, dressed for the part, Trina imagined he definitely could have been that Will Bonner under other circumstances. Except that it was 2012, which would have made that quite literally impossible.
Trina had often entertained the notion of traveling back in time to an era she had written about. But, last she knew, there was no way to bridge the time gap.
No matter how convincing the man before her was.
"Nice try, but I've never been married in my life, through no fault of my own," Trina told him, thinking briefly about Justin abruptly ending their engagement. "And Will Bonner has been dead far longer than you or I have been alive."
Will patted his chest as if to prove to her that he was not a ghost. "I promise you I am very much alive, Catherine. And so are you, thank goodness. I can't tell you how much I feared you were dead. Or that my enemies had—"
Will checked himself, realizing he had never told Catherine about his past life as Billy the Kid. Or that he had been framed, taking away his good name. He wanted to spare her something that was painful to him and would not help their relationship. Maybe now he would tell Catherine the full story—when she was well enough to hear it.
Trina wasn't sure why she was still engaged in this silly conversation that seemed to be going around in circles. She clearly was not Catherine Bonner and he was not her husband, though somehow Trina could envision being married to such
a man instead of Justin. Even having a son like Christopher did not seem so farfetched, as she'd always wanted children when the time was right. But that time was not now.
So why did this man calling himself Will Bonner seem so adamant about it? Trina wondered.
Trina decided to catch him off guard and end this once and for all. "Okay, so if I'm your wife, when did we get married?"
Will did not hesitate, since it was a day he would always treasure. "August 18th, 1890," he said evenly, going along with it as maybe some sort of test to prove that he still loved her in spite of everything.
Trina couldn't help but laugh, even if he seemed quite serious, right down to his wardrobe. "Good one, Will, or whoever you are. There's only one problem with that date."
"What might that be?" He wondered if in her mysterious absence she could have forgotten it.
"Today is July 14th, 2012. That means if we were married in 1890, we'd both be well over a hundred years old by now. I don't think so."
Will looked puzzled, not quite sure what to make of his wife's nonsense about this being 2012. Had she gone mad? Perhaps she'd contracted a fever and was hallucinating. The trouble with that theory was that he saw no indication from her posture and conversation that she was anything but of able mind and body. But her words suggested otherwise.
Another explanation occurred to him. Perhaps Catherine, influenced by others, merely sought to shirk her responsibilities as a wife and mother by pretending to be Trina Emerson.
Will moved closer, desperately wanting to hold in his arms the woman he had fallen hard for from the moment he first laid eyes on her. He longed to make love to her again. But not if she thought of him as nothing more than a stranger from a different time.
Trina was frozen in place as Will drew closer. Something told her that he was going to kiss her. As much as she wished to run and hide, certain he was playing some sort of bizarre history game with her, Trina wanted to be kissed by the handsome man claiming to be Will Bonner.
He did not disappoint. He held her face with rough hands and brought their lips together. Trina thought she was going to melt right there on the spot. The kiss burned her lips with desire and caused her knees to buckle.
It took all the willpower Trina could muster to come back to her senses. She pushed Will away. No small feat, considering he seemed just as determined to keep the kiss going.
"I think this has gone far enough," Trina said, her mouth still tingling. "We are not in the 19th century and I am not Catherine Bonner! I'm asking you to leave, along with your son and that strange dog of yours."