THE TIME STAR Read online

  THE TIME STAR

  by

  Georgina Lee

  Copyright © 2011 by Barbara Phinney

  All rights reserved.

  All Romance ebooks Edition November 10, 2011

  Visit http://www.barbaraphinney.com

  Licensing Notes

  This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction.

  The Time Star

  Chapter 1

  "HEY! WHAT’S THAT THING?"

  At the sound of her cousin's sharp tone, Waneeta Meadows jerked up from adjusting her helmet in the headlight of her ancient Skidoo. "Where?"

  Kevin Meadows pointed eastward. The Ontario night was as clear as any she'd ever seen, and in the openness of the winter-bare trees, it wasn't hard to spot what Kevin saw skimming low in the deep and dark horizon. Like a brilliant star, it twinkled, but, with reddish-orange flares radiating away, it was also growing. Fast.

  As fast as the seconds that raced by.

  With a curse word, Kevin leapt onto the seat of his Skidoo and revved the engine. "It’s heading this way! Let's get out of here!" With one more rev on the accelerator, he disappeared down the snowmobile trail.

  "Kevin!" Waneeta called as the sounds melted into the night. Good grief. That kid! Kevin may be 18, but he acted 12. To hell with him. She wasn't going to speed to catch up with him, Waneeta shoved on her helmet as her eyes lifted. Oh, wow! The eastern sky was totally aglow and whatever-

  Then, in the next blink of an eye, it barreled past, so close she could feel its heat. A tremendous roar like a chimney fire chased the brilliant thing. She squinted, automatically snapping her head to one side to deflect the glare.

  A shower of sparks chased after the explosion. She felt the fireworks rain down on her. Several hit her neck. Hundreds pricked and burned her new Skidoo suit, some jabbing through like needles. Immediately, Waneeta ducked, too late, she knew, but the reaction couldn't be stopped. She dived over the dark vinyl seat and into the soft, late winter snow.

  The fireball found its mark. The earth around her shook, growling as though a freight train rumbled along this provincial trail.

  She crouched, afraid to breath, not sure if she had died by whatever it was that raced past.

  The roar choked abruptly, leaving only the quiet spits as sparks met their ends in the damp snow somewhere deeper in the forest.

  Waneeta craned her neck to peek over her Skidoo's handlebars, through the headlight's dim beam. Her gaze found a thin line of glowing smoke fingering into the still, starry night. She stood there, then, with cautious steps, she peered into the hole.

  Understanding dawned on her. It had to have been a meteorite! Through the trees in front of her, its sputters and sizzles like bacon on a hot griddle. The Skidoo headlight glowed through the steam rising from the foot wide, wet crater.

  As it cooled, she craned her neck upward. Beyond her position, a huge cloud of white sparks was quickly dissipating in the wintry sky. Focusing back on the ground in front, Waneeta pushed back some wayward branches until she had a clear view of the steaming hole. Then, wetting her lips, she pulled her thick gloves on more snugly and reached down for the rock.

  Not the whole meteorite, after all. Instead she found only a fragment, broken away in the last seconds of its life, not having enough energy to indent anything more than this snowy crater. Warm, but not hot, it weighed heavily in her hand, the size of a golf ball.

  The headlight behind her dimmed and died. The engine coughed and it too, died. Queasiness then washed over Waneeta. Her stomach rolled, and she shut her eyes to stop the sensation from overwhelming her. She reached for her Skidoo's handlebars with her free hand, hoping that grounding herself would ease the nausea. But it was too powerful, and her right hand released the rock. Her grip on the Skidoo gave way also to watery weakness, the blackening sense of fainting.

  Then, as quickly as the nausea rolled over her, it passed. Abruptly, the Skidoo engine backfired and restarted. She jumped. The headlight suddenly glowed brighter.

  She released her wobbly grip on the Skidoo and leaned over the handlebars. There, she twisted the key to shut the engine off, but left the headlight on. Around her, the woods were suddenly colder, quieter.

  So very quiet. Surely the rest of this meteorite would sizzle for a while? Maybe it wasn't that big. In the deep snow of early spring, it may have cooled off quickly. Or perhaps it broke apart, leaving only tiny chunks like the one she'd just dropped? Waneeta looked down.

  It wasn't there. The snow was clean. Nothing lay deep within it.

  She quickly scanned the area around her. All was pristine. Ahead where her cousin had just roared away was untouched snow around thick trees. No one, save herself, had stood there since the last snowfall. Waneeta's breath swirled in the dimming beam of the headlight. The forest around her had closed in. No snowmobile trail lay ahead as it should have done.

  The air chilled further. She shivered, uneasiness dancing through her bones. The new, one-piece snowsuit had become too flimsy for the cold night and wet where the snow had melted on her.

  She blinked, hoping that the action would restore the trail that she knew should have been in front of her. But no. The same untouched snow. Waneeta trudged through the deep snow to where the trail should be, but a thick stand of pine and spruce blocked her way, a silent testimony to her error. She turned and looked in the direction from which she and Kevin had come.

  There were no snowmobile tracks. Even her Skidoo stood on virgin snow, no track marks behind it.

  What? How was this possible? Eeriness tickled her spine with cold thin fingers. Where was she? The only activity was a wobbly line of snowshoe tracks crossing in the distance. That small trail was wide enough for her Skidoo, so surely she wasn't too far off the beaten track? Perhaps the meteorite had knocked her back, caused her to black out and in that time, she'd moved her Skidoo without realizing it.

  But no Skidoo tracks? What the hell was happening here?

  "Kevin!" she blurted out, but her sudden call merely filtered through the forest, dissipating quickly in the cold air. She tried again, this time with the hint of panic she was definitely feeling. "Kevin!"

  Nothing. Only total, creepy silence.

  Waneeta climbed back onto the machine and restarted the engine. She maneuvered the Skidoo down the snowshoe trail, a trail far narrower than it should be, hoping to meet up with Kevin's tracks shortly, all the while fighting the urge to speed away from the uneasiness lurking around her. No, she wouldn't be like her immature cousin, taking off at the drop of a hat. No, she'd be-

  Suddenly, a black mass loomed before her. She swerved sharply to avoid it. A scraping thud hit her skis and the whole machine heaved on its side. Her own momentum carried her over the handlebars and into the mass.

  "Aah!" A sharp pain tore through her right side when she landed on a broken branch. She arched in agony.

  Rolling away, she turned to see what she'd hit. The huge black bowl was just a freshly uprooted tree. And she'd collided with it.

  She groaned, looking disgustedly at her Skidoo. From where she sat, Waneeta could the left ski twisted and bent. And now, as the machine used up all the fuel in its carburetor, the engine sputtered and died.

  Gingerly, she struggled back to it, her side tight with pain. She wasn't strong enough to right the heavy machine, especially now with her side injured.

  "Kevin!"

  Still no answer, even to her now pan
icked tone. Oh, this was pointless. She'd hear him coming and as much as her cousin was a wimp, deep down, he wouldn't abandon her. He'd come back as soon as he realized she wasn't behind him. She would just have to wait. Waneeta pulled the key free from the ignition and eased down again with a wince.

  The minutes ticked by. No Kevin. Waneeta's normally sunny manner was sorely tested by her younger cousin.

  "Come on," she growled impatiently, pulling up her sleeve to check the time. Her watch was dark. When she pressed the top button, the light did not glow. The crystal must have cracked during her fall. Waneeta tapped it impatiently, but to no avail. She pulled out her cell phone, and found it also damaged by her fall, its screen now a mess of colours and black smudges. Great. She couldn't afford the deductable for a new one.

  Well, it was too cold to sit and wait. Pushing herself to standing, she grimaced. She may as well start walking. The trail couldn't be far and if she stayed calm and rational, she'd find it soon enough.

  Figuring Stafford Village was southwest of where she was, Waneeta noted the moon's rising and kept to the left at each fork she met as she followed the snowshoe trail. Surely whoever made these tracks came from there?

  After half an hour, she stopped her painful trudging and gingerly touched her side. All movement was fast becoming excruciating. Waneeta willed herself to breathe more slowly, to breathe in through her nostrils to calm her and ease the pain.

  Breathe slowly, calmly.

  Smoke. She smelled wood smoke. She sniffed again. A house must be nearby. Whoever it was here really lived out in the boonies, but hey, it was a house, nonetheless. Waneeta straightened. The pain shot out in all directions, making her jerk.

  Come on, girl, you can do it. Just a few more steps. Plowing through the deep snow, stumbling when her feet slipped from the snowshoe tracks, Waneeta reached the house and fell against the rough logs along the building's side. Her sharp intake of painful breath drew in strong wood smoke. Yes, she'd found the source of the wood heat, all right.

  Her breathing hard, she bumped down the logs and into the drifted snow. Kevin better be here-

  To her right, a door creaked open. A large shape eclipsed the bright interior. Waneeta was sure she heard a swear word as the man, too big to be Kevin, advanced on her.

  Then all went black.

  Chapter 2

  Gently, even cringing when he heard her moan, Thomas Stafford placed the limp woman on his narrow bunk. Still holding her, he peered closely, deeply at her.

  As pale as she was, this creature was simply, extraordinarily, fantastically beautiful. Dark lashes rested on clear cheeks. Her walnut hair circled her round face, giving her a quality that he'd seen only on a painting from one of the great masters. Indeed, her trouser outfit could have been worn by 17th century Turkish concubine, for it glimmered in the firelight like silk woven with silver threads.

  Thomas swallowed the lump forming in his throat and turned to quickly stoke the fire. Whoever she was, one thing was for sure: she was injured. He knew he should remove her garment and find her injury. But...

  But confusion waffled through his resolve. From his quick examination, the only way to remove such a strange outfit was to somehow open the hard-toothed fastening device running from her neck to her waist. He cautiously tugged at its tab and found the teeth parted easily as it traveled downward.

  "Ow," she groaned in her sleep. Thomas jerked back. Clearing his throat, he leaned over her again. "Come on, Miss, let's get you out of this wet thing."

  It took a while to peel the suit off her, with Thomas gingerly tugging and pulling. That task done, he straightened back in shock. She wore only a thin shirt and long undergarments. Sweat burst onto Thomas' brow. No gown at all? Fascinated, he touched the fabric of her chemise. Thin and tightly woven, it clung to her like a second skin. He could see the outline of her breasts easily, despite the short corset she wore beneath it. Thomas wondered if he should throw more wood on the fire, for her shirt was damp with perspiration, and he wasn't prepared to remove it. But it was already quite warm in there. Too warm for him.

  He dared to peek downward. She wore trousers so snug that they molded themselves to every shapely curve of her legs, just as her chemise did.

  But no gown? Of course it would have been awkward to stuff one into her outer garment, but-

  The woman moaned again. Thomas took one of his woolen blankets and tucked it about her body. He shouldn't be staring. The poor thing would probably faint when she'd discovered he'd undressed her. If she awoke and found herself without some modest covering, she may not take kindly to his attempts to help her. But still, she was injured. He should at least find out where.

  If she would only awaken and tell him...

  He pivoted and strode to his table. Taking the only medical book he owned from the shelf above, he sat down. Then, after opening the book, he adjusted up the oil lamp.

  'When fainting in women is not caused by the Vapours, brandy may be administered. If the patient is unconscious, administer it through the-'

  Horrified, Thomas slammed the book shut. Thank God he had no brandy here.

  That's it. He would have to wake her.

  Feeling a gentle nudge, Waneeta hauled open her eyes and focused on the most piercing blue gaze she'd ever seen.

  "Hello, Miss," a deep voice resonated through her.

  She blinked. The man's ruddy face was framed by a thick crop of dark brown waves. It was an odd foil for such startling eyes. She could see straight, white teeth, a strong jaw and the sweetest set of dimples that had ever bookended a smile.

  Her breath drained from her. This man was gorgeous. And those eyes! Words couldn't do them justice. The blue was as pure as a winter's morning sky. When Waneeta finally inhaled, pain shot through her, and she winced.

  "I was going to ask you how you feel, but I can see it isn't good," he said. "Where does it hurt?"

  In answer to his question, she lifted her shirt and peered down at the ugly bruising on her side. A large cigar shaped rash curved along her lowest rib. "Right here. I think a branch got me."

  The man frowned. Without touching her, he bent to examine it.

  "Are you a doctor?" she asked suddenly.

  The man jumped back. "No, I'm, um, a schoolteacher," he said with obvious embarrassment.

  Waneeta bit back a smile. An actual gentleman. Now this was refreshing. "Which school?" Being a local girl, she knew of most of the schools in the county.

  He rose and reached for a tin from the mantle behind him. "Nowhere at the moment, miss," he said. "I, er, just finished my studies in Kingston." Gingerly, Waneeta shifted her weight as she watched him. He was oddly dressed for a teacher, but then again, he couldn't be expected to bring his best suits to a cabin in the woods.

  Still, that outfit? He wore a heavy woolen shirt tucked into dark pants held up by suspenders that stretched over a nicely massive chest. Her grandfather wore clothes like this when he went hunting. She followed the length of him down to the floor. On this guy's feet were thick, wool socks like the ones her grandmother used to knit. They were pulled over the hems of his pants as if to block the draft.

  The man walked over to a small dry sink. "You've grazed the skin. I can put something on it if you like."

  She felt her face warm. His hands on her? Interesting idea, and if she'd been any healthier, well...

  ...then she wouldn't need his hands on her, would she?

  Despite her pain, she nearly snickered out loud. Immediately, she stopped. It hurt.

  Thomas pulled a strip of white linen from a paper wrap above the sink. Then he carefully poured some black liquid from the tin onto the cloth before returning to her. Waneeta clamped her eyes shut, gritting her teeth as she waited for the sting.

  When it never came, she peeked up to find a wide grin plastered on her companion's face, the white teeth glimmering in the fire light.

  "I won't hurt you, Miss, I promise," he told her with the smallest, cheekiest laugh.

  T
his guy is so polite. Waneeta offered him a wobbly, sheepish smile. As he gently dabbed the rash, Waneeta inhaled vigorously, not from the stinging, but from his warm hand as it brushed against her skin. It was as if every single nerve ending she owned tingled at the same time.

  Oh, this is foolish. "Here, let me." She took the cloth and applied the iodine on the scrape herself. From the corner of her eye, she could feel the man shift away. But still so close, so there in her presence.

  Injured or not, she recognized the attraction for what it was. Purely physical.

  And yeah, despite the pain, welcomed.

  Insane. But she wasn't about to deny her own reactions. She just needed to control them better. She thrust out the cloth. "All done." Their eyes met, and Waneeta found the sharp blue softening. He took the rag over to the enamel wash basin and rinsed it out with water from a pitcher. She watched him; oh, it was hard not to. He filled the whole room. His massive shoulders and thick muscular arms told her he worked out regularly.

  I guess hauling water and wood in a hunting cabin keeps a guy in shape. Thank God for rural living, she thought with an appreciative smile.

  The smile faded. She was only here because something really creepy happened to her. Hopefully tomorrow, she'd walk down that snowshoe trail and find the snow well-packed, the trail obvious, and everything normal again.

  Waneeta blew on her injury, checking to see if it was dry so it wouldn't stain her clothes. It was still damp, and while she waited, she made good use of her time by glancing around the cabin.

  Simple furnishings crowded around the hearth made the cabin rustic and old-fashioned. To the left of the fireplace stood a washstand and to the right of it, the bed she rested on. The rough-hewn table with a single bench on one side was shoved against the side opposite the hearth. Beside the door sat a large, squat barrel. On the side closest to her stood a well-preserved pie safe.

  The ceiling was low, not even seven feet. Since her host towered over six, Waneeta was sure; it must have been uncomfortable living here. The roof sloped to meet the walls at an even shorter height. He wouldn't be able to stand comfortably and look out of the window. Two huge logs spanned the length above her, supporting, Waneeta presumed, the logs on the roof. She looked up again, a frown forming. Logs on the roof? The logs on the walls had their gaps sealed with whitewashed clay, but the logs on the roof remained unsealed. How was it that the roof didn't leak?