Shifting Sideways: The Rift Read online

  Abruptly, the buildings disappeared into the night and the horse picked up speed. The lamplight of the streets gave way to endless fields and dark so thick she felt she could reach out and poke a hole through it.

  Still on the dirt road, the man leaned forward, pushing his mount to its limit. The horse’s muscles strained beneath her legs.

  Cresting a drumlin, the horse cantered slowly down the other side. The man straightened.

  “We’re out of danger now. What the fucking hell did you think you were doing?” His breath came in harsh pants and his angry intensity surprised her.

  She loosened her grip on his body, suddenly wary. “I…I…was lost.”

  “Well, count yourself lucky I found you.”

  Charlotte stayed quiet, feeling anything but lucky.

  Following a tight lane, lined by tall pines, he guided the horse toward a stone house, two stories tall. Dim lights burned in a few of the windows, masked by diaphanous curtains.

  When they reached the small stable behind the house, the man swung off the horse in one graceful movement. Then he turned, looking up at Charlotte. It was still dark outside but the glow from the nearby windows lit his face. His rugged, tired features were softened by the light. With his frown, rushed manner and eyes hidden by his hat, she would have thought him dangerous if circumstances were different. His shape was angular and strong, but when he reached up his hand to help her down, she knew instinctively she would be safe with him.

  She took his gloved hand and swung down.

  “You’re not from here, are you?” he asked.

  “How can you tell?” she scoffed, feeling quite irritated at her own confusion and his questions.

  The man led his horse through the stable door and into a stall. He pulled off the halter and unstrapped the saddle, slinging all the tack over the stall railing. She stood at the doorway, hugging herself in the rain.

  “Come in out of the rain and we’ll get you sorted out.” He swung closed the stall and gently stroked the nose of the horse. “See you in the morning, Coyote.”

  “Your horse is named Coyote?” she asked.

  “Gotta problem with that?” His gaze flashed over her. She had the distinct feeling she hadn’t been meant to overhear him speaking to the animal. She felt as if she’d intruded.

  “No…No, I’m sorry,” she stammered. “It’s just unusual for a horse. I thought there might be a story behind such a creative name.”

  The man walked toward her, put his hand against her shoulder blade and steered her toward the house.

  “I’m sorry for snapping. It’s been a long night. We’re both wet and tired. We’ll talk inside.”

  She acquiesced, allowing the man to lead her.

  “Um, before I take advantage of your hospitality, I think I should know your name.”

  “Sawyer,” he answered. She barely heard him over the rain.

  “Is Sawyer your first or last name?” she asked as they reached the heavy oaken door. Her rescuer/kidnapper/whatever put his shoulder to the door and held it open for her.

  She walked warily inside. The heat and comforting scent of a wood fire washed over her. They’d entered a large sitting room.

  “It’s a name, that’s all,” he answered. He took off his hat, shook out his hair like a wet dog and for the first time, she got a good look at him. His hair was long in front, fairly short in the back and black as the night outside. Locks of dark hair fell forward into his eyes. He ran a hand through the dark sheaves, smoothing it back. He couldn’t have realized how effectively he showed off his stunning blue eyes. When he looked at Charlotte, who was staring, his perfectly formed lips curved ever so slightly. She couldn’t bring herself to tear her gaze away.

  “And you, Miss? What should I call you?”

  “I’m Charlotte Allen. I own a bookshop.”

  “A bookshop? You’re definitely not from around here.” His eyes darkened. “Perhaps you’re a spy.”

  “A spy?” Her mind whirred. She thought he must be joking but his expression was stern and foreboding. She took a step back. “You think I’m a spy?”

  Sawyer shrugged out of his wet coat and stood before her, hands on his lean hips. He wore black pants and a crisp white shirt, open at the neck, revealing a hint of dark chest hair. He was beautiful.

  “Relax. I won’t hurt you,” he said in the same tone in which he spoke to his horse.

  “Why did you pick me up? I’m really not sure whether to thank you or not. It’s nice to be somewhere warm though.” Her teeth chattered on her last word. Her discomfort wasn’t lost on Sawyer.

  He strode to a log fire, smoldering in the far corner of the room. As he tossed on a birch log, flames roared to life sending sparks high up into chimney.

  “I picked you up because you looked lost and confused,” he said as he worked.

  “Ah, I see. The damsel in distress, right?”

  He shot her an indecipherable look.

  “You shouldn’t have been out there. Don’t you realize the danger you put yourself in?” Sawyer crouched by the fire, looking over his shoulder at her.

  Danger? Charlotte felt nothing but confusion. She had no idea where she was or what was going on and asking too many questions would only get her into more trouble. She didn’t want the only person she knew in this place to think she was crazy. He’d opened his home for her. With everything else gone, she needed to retain her welcome. “Other than freezing to death, no, I didn’t realize the danger. I know being anywhere alone in a city is inherently dangerous, but I don’t think that’s what you mean.”

  His incredulous look quickly softened. “And that’s not enough for you?” He walked over and took her head between his hands. She panicked, pushing at his chest with both hands.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, fear prickling her skin. Her voice was low and threatening.

  He backed off, hands raised in mock surrender.

  “I thought perhaps you had a bump on the head. Maybe you’ve lost your memory.” He stepped back. “All right. You aren’t from around here. We’ll work from there but you need to know you can’t go outside without me and most definitely not to the city. I took the time to bring you to safety. I won’t have my efforts wasted.”

  His hands remained on her shoulders as his gaze traveled over her body. “You’re shaking.” He reached for a knit blanket that hung over the back of the sofa. “Here. You should have told me you were cold. There’s a washroom up the stairs to the left. You can take off your clothes there and wrap yourself up. I’ll see if I can find something for you to wear.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. She wasn’t about to refuse a chance to warm up. She was safe enough for now. Might as well be comfortable.

  While still on horseback, hanging on to Sawyer for dear life, she realized she was stuck. She couldn’t will herself back to her desk no matter how tight she squeezed her eyes and focused. The first time she’d caught a glimpse of Sawyer on horseback in the city, she’d immediately returned to Pages. This time, who knows, perhaps she stayed too long. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t hop back to Newburg. She hadn’t panicked then, but now, as Sawyer explained the dangers of wherever it was she’d ended up, her stomach felt tight, her hands trembled and her voice was strained. If Sawyer noticed, he said nothing. Perhaps she had hit her head or lost her memory. Maybe if she asked him, he could take her back to Newburg. Then, she remembered The Rift. If the book brought her here, did she need it to get back home? The realization hit her like a wet blanket.

  The upper floor of the house consisted of hallways surrounded by what she surmised were bedrooms. The first door on the left was indeed a large bathroom complete with claw-foot bathtub, shower and two sinks under a heavy, brass-framed mirror.

  She stripped down, discarding her bra but leaving her panties on. She folded her wet things and placed them on the counter. She wrapped herself in the blanket Sawyer provided and gazed into the mirror. Her sandy blond hair was flattened and tangled an
d her brown eyes seemed glassy. She didn’t look that bad, all things considered.

  Sawyer’s heavy footsteps ascended the stairs. He knocked once on the door.

  “Charlotte, I’ll leave the clothes out here. They won’t fit but they’ll do. You can wear them until we get yours dried.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll be downstairs.”

  She listened to his footfalls fade. Only then did she open the door and stoop to pick up the pile of clothing he’d left. She closed the door again and dropped the blanket. He’d provided her with a navy, flannel button up shirt, obviously belonging to him. The only other thing in the pile was a pair of navy socks that pooled around her ankles when she pulled them on. Great, no pants. She wondered if he’d done that on purpose and promptly dismissed the thought. No, he wouldn’t be interested in a lunatic.

  “Sawyer?” she called from the top of the stairs.

  He sat on the couch, legs outstretched and resting on the coffee table. He held a steaming mug of coffee in one hand while the other hand rubbed the back of his neck. He looked up, and his gaze roamed over her body, then came to rest on her face. Heat crawled up her neck.

  “Could I ask you a question?” she continued.

  “Of course you can. If I’ve frightened you, I didn’t mean to. You can ask me anything.” He seemed more relaxed, perhaps due to the warm coffee.

  She descended the stairs. “Thank you. Um…do you, by chance, recognize the name Marie-Claire Duchene McEwan?” If the book brought Charlotte to this place, perhaps Marie had been here, too.

  Sawyer dropped his feet with a thump and sat forward. His eyes narrowed. “Marie-Claire?”

  “Yes, that’s the name of a woman who might have something to do with my confusion.”

  “How could that be? Marie has been dead for over five years. She died soon after my grandfather.”

  Charlotte rounded the couch and sat beside him, gazing into the fire.

  “Dead? Marie-Claire Duchene McEwan?” She paused. “You’re sure?”

  “It’s a fairly precise name, is it not? Yes, she died last spring. My grandfather passed away of a stroke only the month before.”

  She chewed her lip for a moment before asking again. “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. She was my grandmother. My mother’s name is McEwan.”

  She stifled a gasp. “You’re her grandson?”

  “Yes. Last time I checked. My grandfather, Joseph McEwan, always told me what a mystery my grandmother was…how he just…” Sawyer looked Charlotte in the eyes and his words slowed. “How he just…found her one day and took her home.”

  She smiled to think Marie-Claire found love in this place. She’d lived here, made a life here and somehow ended up in Newburg with a book capable of transporting people to this place.

  “Would you like some coffee?” he asked as he stood. “You look like you could use some. I know I need another cup.”

  Charlotte gazed at the fire. “I don’t know. Yes… maybe.”

  “I’ll get you some coffee.” He left her then, heading further into the house to the kitchen.

  Chapter Three

  Sawyer was Marie-Claire’s grandson? What kind of coincidence was that? She accepted a book donation from Marie, then found herself riding horseback at breakneck speeds in the middle of the night with her sexy grandson.

  Sawyer gazed at the mug of coffee in his hand. He walked slowly to avoid spilling. Behind him an animal pounced into the room. Charlotte cried out. At her alarm, Sawyer startled, spilling the coffee. He gazed down at the drops of coffee splattered across the floor.

  “Fucking hell. What’s the matter with you woman?” He licked his hand and stared at the floor.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had a dog. My nerves are shot.”

  The young Irish Setter ran up to her, lavishing her with kisses as she extended her hand in friendship.

  Sawyer chuckled, disappeared back into the kitchen, emerged with a damp cloth and bent to wipe the hardwood floor. “Her name’s Beth.”

  “Beth? Hey, girl.” She rubbed at the dog’s ears and elicited whimpers of pleasure from the Setter. “A horse named Coyote and a dog named Beth. You’re nothing if not imaginative.”

  He looked up at her and grinned. “Thanks, I suppose.”

  He looked so incongruous in his surroundings, Charlotte had to smile. Tall, dark and handsome with a coffee stained rag in one hand, sitting on his haunches, wiping up a spill.

  “Thanks for taking me in, Sawyer. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

  He stood and walked to the couch, dropping the rag on the coffee table. He handed her the mug of coffee. “I didn’t spill much and it’s still hot.”

  “Thanks.”

  “As for taking you in, I don’t see I had much choice. I couldn’t leave you on the street in Newburg alone.”

  “Newburg?” She stared at him. “That wasn’t Newburg.”

  He narrowed his almond shaped eyes. “Bloody hell, it wasn’t. Don’t you think I know my own land?”

  “I just left Newburg and that wasn’t it.” Her mind went back to the city she’d dropped into. The buildings were different, taller and more medieval in style. More ornate in their design. The streets were dirt and gravel and there had been no comforting lights of habitation.

  He must have sensed her discomfort. “What’s going on, Charlotte?” He rested his hand on her back, slowly rubbing a circular pattern.

  She dropped her head into her hands, nervous fits of laughter bubbling up as Beth stuck her wet snout in Charlotte’s face. The Setter licked at her face until she was forced to sit up. She found herself laughing hysterically.

  Hot tears rolled down her cheek and his strong arms enveloped her. It seemed the most natural thing to lay her cheek against his warm chest. Beth stopped her energetic greeting and cocked her head at her master.

  “I don’t know, Beth.” He spoke to his dog as he stroked Charlotte’s hair. “I don’t know what to do with her either.”

  * * * * *

  Sawyer lay on his king-sized bed, eyes wide, ankles crossed, and hands cupped beneath his head. He couldn’t understand how the woman lying downstairs on his couch had come to be in Newburg at the most dangerous time of day. Perhaps she’d escaped her captors and during the struggle she’d somehow lost her memory. It was completely feasible that she’d been knocked on the head, although he’d neither seen nor felt any sign of injury. She knew her name but not what she was doing on the street in the middle of the night. She knew of Marie-Claire McEwan but not of the dangers of the city. She was the perfect enigma. That or the perfect infiltrator.

  On the other hand, no one knew he’d be on that street, at that point in time. No one could have arranged for Charlotte to be there, looking so adorably perplexed. No one could have guessed he’d go back for her. His brows furrowed. No, she wasn’t a part of any elaborate espionage scheme. The only thing to do was give her time. Time to remember what had happened, adjust to her surroundings and make some decisions about where to go next.

  He couldn’t think about his own plans in Newburg right now. They’d have to be put on hold until he knew what to do with Charlotte Allen. He’d risked his life today, turning Coyote around and going back for her. That risk was not to be wasted. He’d not have her captured.

  Sawyer sat up and pulled his shirt over his head. He unbuttoned his jeans and lay back down. The sudden freedom in his pelvis turned his attention to more pleasurable thoughts. Charlotte attracted more than his protection. She was petite with creamy skin and cute little reading glasses perched on her freckled nose. He pictured himself nipping the tip of that nose, and then lower to taste her pretty pink lips. The thought of her laying her cheek to his chest, as she’d done earlier, had his blood rushing to the area deemed to need it most. He reached down and slowly rubbed the burgeoning erection beneath his trousers. He closed his eyes. No, he told himself. He couldn’t have her. There was too much at stake for him
to be involved with a woman he didn’t know. He couldn’t afford to be distracted now, when everything hung on a precipice. Aside from that, any move might frighten her. He couldn’t have her taking off into the night, perhaps making her way back to Newburg. He would never be able to forgive himself if he inadvertently caused her death.

  Despite the aching pressure in his groin, he pulled his hand back and rolled to his side. He let out a long, slow exhale and switched his thoughts to morning. The meeting at his brother’s home was too vital to miss. He’d have to take Charlotte with him, which meant travelling within sight of the city.

  As his thoughts began to still, he closed his eyes, willing sleep to take him. In the morning, he’d tell her everything. Well…everything that was necessary. Shit, what the hell had he gotten into?

  * * * * *

  When Charlotte opened her eyes she found herself curled up on Sawyer’s couch with a warm woolen blanket stretched out over her. Crap. She’d cried on his chest and promptly fallen asleep. Some guest. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, allowing the embarrassment to run its course.

  The house was dark, the fire a simmering heap of red embers in the hearth. She relaxed, sensing Sawyer was still in the house. Beth was curled up on the rag rug between the couch and the coffee table, snoring softly. Two empty coffee mugs were still on the table. Beth gave Charlotte a sense of security and she felt at ease. Wondering if Sawyer had commanded the dog to stay with her, she reached down to stroke the dog’s back.

  Charlotte watched the dying embers as they glowed with pulsing heat. Sawyer had taken her into his home without question, but she felt she shouldn’t be where she was. To be anywhere else, however, seemed impossible. Panic unfurled with alarming speed in the pit of her stomach. Realizing her breath was becoming shallow enough to make her light-headed she took two deep breaths, letting them out on a long count of ten.