"Then he is not mad. Or maybe, both of you are," the sheriff murmured. I heard his concern and troubled affection for the man. His look of consternation shifted to me. "You rode out in a lightning storm because of this … dream."
"And finding the bodies of the girls who came before me." This time when I shivered, coldness had nothing to do with it. "You know, before I came here, I …" I stopped, hearing my words.
He was listening too intently.
"Never mind," I whispered.
"Keep talking, Miss Josie. We're finally getting somewhere."
It was my turn to be in the hot seat. Racking my mind for a way to keep from being cornered by the persistent man, I retorted, "Take off your shirt, and I might!"
"That wouldn't be appropriate, Miss Josie."
I almost laughed at the Nell-like response, entertained by the repressed sexuality of a man who would have no trouble lining up baby-mamas and one-night stands in my time. "I'm afraid we're at an impasse." Victorious once more, I shifted to face the fire, content that our conversation was over.
"Nell said you were different," he said. "The doctor told me John isn't well off."
"No, he's not," I replied, mood dampening. "Philip can't wait for him to be gone." I nibbled my lower lip, once more finding it hard to look the other way. This reality was temporary and the real-Josie probably dead already. Why anything here should matter … why anything did matter …
"You care for John."
"Of course I do. He's a good man," I replied. "Very kind and sweet. Just wants to spend the last days of his life with the daughter he loves." The guilt was back, stronger when I realized John was likely to die soon without ever knowing the true fate of his beloved daughter.
"Yet you left him on his deathbed in the middle of the night and in a storm. What are you not telling me?"
I'm scared. I didn't want to admit it to him or myself. He was calm, even-tempered and attractive - a combination I found a little too appealing right now. I had the urge to trust him once more, the same way I did Carter. Look where that got me.
At first, the task to change history seemed straightforward. Now, I debated how I was supposed to change the actions of the men around me without revealing what I was, without becoming emotionally entangled about anyone like John, and without being killed off by whoever was hunting down time travelers.
"It's complicated. You wouldn't understand," I said.
"Try me."
I glanced at him, once more ensnared by his green gaze and quiet strength. The longer I was around him, the less I wanted to maintain the barrier between me and everyone else and the easier it became to talk to him.