Out of Touch, Out of Time - Chapter Five

July 2, 2008

Cheyenne rolled over as her alarm went off, startling her awake. She punched the button, stopping the incessant beep and looked out the window. Not even light yet. God, she hated mornings, but she’d thought it might be for the best if she got up before her visitor. At least, she thought she had a visitor. Unless the previous evening had been part of a dream and not real.

Grabbing her robe, she knew last night had been no dream. Somehow, someway through some cosmic joke the most handsome, enticing man she’d ever seen crossed the boundaries of time and landed at her feet.

Wow, that was just too much to take in.

Trekking down the hall, trying not to be too loud, despite the squeaking floor boards, she pushed the bathroom door open and stopped dead.

Mistake. She should have suspected something when the door was actually shut.

Holy cow, if she thought he was delicious dressed; she couldn’t begin to believe her eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, before he reached for the towel, and she came to her senses and squeezed her eyes shut. Backing out of the room, she firmly closed the door behind her.

She leaned against the wall, trying to breathe. Well, there was an image that would be burned in her brain for the rest of her life. She was a photographer. A good one, or so she’d been told by the gallery owners where she showed and sold her work, and she had a good eye, took in details quickly and never missed a thing.

Wow.

The door opened and he walked out wearing the towel wrapped around his waist. She quickly looked away, but not before she found herself comparing him to her ex-boyfriend who’d made a hasty exit two years ago with his twenty-something replacement girlfriend. Once Cheyenne had passed thirty, she'd fallen over the hill as far as her ex had been concerned. Comparison final score: Jonas, ten; ex, negative twenty.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” he said. "Please excuse my inappropriate appearance, my clothes were filthy. Do you have something more appropriate I may wear?"

“No, no, that’s quite alright. I’m sorry to have just walked in like that, I should have knocked first. But I thought you’d still be asleep," she said, then realized he'd asked a question. "Oh, you're fine; a towel is perfectly acceptable under the circumstances. I'm sorry, I don't have a robe that will fit, but I may have some clothes that will."

Fighting off the embarrassment she felt, she forced herself to look at him. His land in the garden had left him with a scratched cheek and black eye.

Her gaze wandered down toward his chest, and then wished she hadn’t let it. She was just trying to make sure he had no major injuries, she told herself. But Herself didn’t believe that, Herself knew better. A slightly muscled body had always left her weak in the knees.

Quickly Cheyenne turned toward the spare bedroom and said, “Let me see if John the Jerk left anything when he moved out. I should have taken all this stuff to Goodwill two years ago, but honestly, I’d forgotten I’d even thrown them in here until you needed something.” She was rambling, she knew it, but that wasn’t going to stop her.

“John the Jerk?” came the husky voice behind her. “What, may I ask, is a jerk? Not that I don’t know what to jerk something means, but somehow I don’t think in this case you are talking about pulling something hard.”

Wow, good question. Sure if you looked up the definition of “jerk” in the dictionary, there’d be a picture of her ex, but that wasn’t going to help in trying to tell Jonas.

She stopped in her tracks and he almost bumped into her. Jeez, what in the world had gotten into her, she was neither clumsy nor bumbling, but at the moment she appeared to be both.

“Sorry,” she said as way of apologizing for the abrupt stop. “Ah, no, I mean it in the slang term. Let’s get you dressed, me showered and both of us fed, and I’ll explain what a ‘jerk’ is.” Or, at least, she’d let the online dictionary explain what a “jerk” was.

She walked into the room he’d slept in, noticing the nicely made bed, and remembered hers, still unmade and a complete mess from days of not being made. Really, when she was the only person to ever see her bed and that was just before she got in or just after she got out of it, why in the world should she make it? Maybe today should be an exception. Well didn't that just raise the question; was he going to see her bed?

Shaking off the images filling her imagination, she walked to the basket she’d thrown the clothes in saying, “Just look through here and take your pick. I'm sure something will fit.” She looked at the basket and continued, “I’m sorry they’re in a pile, hopefully you can find something not too wrinkled. I promise, they are clean. Anything in the hamper I threw away, but I’ve been intending to take this mess to the Goodwill.” She looked at him as he opened his mouth, “No, don’t ask. I’ll show, maybe, or I’ll explain later.”

Walking to the door she said, “I’ll just let you dig through that, then, while I get cleaned up.”

She turned back. “Are you staying, do you think? Or are you going to be flying back the way you came?”

He lifted an eyebrow and smiled, “Do I finally get to say something?”

“Ah, yeah,” Cheyenne said embarrassed, she had been hogging the conversation. But, damnit, she was nervous.

“The clothes in the basket are fine, I’m sure I can find something. I wasn’t going to ask about good will, I know what the two words mean; I’m guessing it’s a charity organization of some sort that takes clothes. And, lastly, I have no idea if I’m going back soon or not, but since there was a disturbance in the atmosphere before I came here, I can only guess that it would take the same disturbance for me to go back.”

“Oh, okay, good,” she stammered before going out the door.

Jonas watched as she practically turned and ran. He couldn’t help the chuckle before turning to the basket.

He should be scared, he should be worried, and he should be wondering just what god had decided to use him as a plaything. He should be wondering, if indeed, he was going to be returning to his own time, his friends, and his family.

Surely, his sisters would be worrying by now, and what about the body that mysteriously appeared in Hucksinger’s garden. He should be worried that if he did return to his own time, he’d be arrested for murdering the woman who had just left the room very much alive.

He should be wondering if he’d gone mad watering old man Hucksinger’s garden to perfection.

But he wasn’t wondering about any of those things. What he was wondering was what the beautiful Cheyenne Cole would do if he kissed her to shut her up.

Chapter Four

Chapter Six