timeaftertime Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title

  Copyright

  Reading Order

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Reading List

  Want more

  About

  Time After Time

  A Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Novella

  Book 6

  Cynthia Luhrs

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Time After Time, A Merriweather Sisters Time Travel Romance Novella

  Copyright © 2017 by Cynthia Luhrs

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Books by Cynthia Luhrs

  Listed in the correct reading order

  THRILLERS

  There Was A Little Girl

  When She Was Bad

  When She Was Good - Coming 2018

  TIME TRAVEL SERIES

  A Knight to Remember

  Knight Moves

  Lonely is the Knight

  Merriweather Sisters Medieval Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Books 1-3

  Darkest Knight

  Forever Knight

  First Knight

  Thornton Brothers Medieval Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Books 1-3

  Last Knight

  The Merriweather Sisters and Thornton Brothers Medieval Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Series Books 1-7

  My One and Only Knight

  Beyond Time

  Time After Time

  THE SHADOW WALKER GHOST SERIES

  Lost in Shadow

  Desired by Shadow

  Iced in Shadow

  Reborn in Shadow

  Born in Shadow

  Embraced by Shadow

  The Shadow Walkers Books 1-3

  The Shadow Walkers Books 4-6

  Entire Shadow Walkers Boxed Set Books 1-6

  A JIG THE PIG ADVENTURE

  (Children’s Picture Books)

  Beware the Woods

  I am NOT a Chicken!

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my fabulous editor, Arran at Editing720 and Kendra at Typos Be Gone.

  For everyone who’s ever wanted a second chance.

  ONE

  Present Day—Las Vegas

  From the endless wall of black glass suspended high above the lights and crowds, Drake Gregory surveyed his kingdom. Not only was he able to monitor the numerous camera feeds from this vantage point, but he could look out over the vast space, hidden from view while his customers went about the business of gambling, drinking, and trying to forget their lives, if only for a few hours. There wasn’t a single clock to be found. All the better to keep the patrons oblivious to the passage of time. Let them be content to live in the moment, believing that this time their luck would change and they would finally beat the house. As Drake knew all too well, they never did.

  The dreams had been plaguing him again, jumbled images of another time and place, dark and violent, filled with the screams of dying men. He’d wake to the feeling of warm blood coursing down his side, the scent of smoke filling his lungs, and the clang of metal ringing in his ears. There were men on horseback with strange accents, and always the last thing he recalled was the sound of the sky tearing in half.

  Unconscious of his own tell, Drake’s hand went to his side as if looking for a weapon, and when it wasn’t to be found, his fingers twitched, sending spikes of unease rippling through his body.

  “Full house tonight. You’ve exceeded my expectations since I promoted you.” Tony DiSilvio clapped him on the shoulder and stood close, knowing how much Drake despised anyone in his bubble of calm, as Caroline called his irrational need for personal space. Instead of moving away, he widened his stance, forcing his employer to move a few inches, though the raised brow told Drake the movement had been detected and catalogued for future use.

  “Profits are up, though we need to keep an eye on the changes I’ve heard the Flamingo is making across the street.”

  No threat. Drake sent the thought through his body, willing his twitching fingers to stillness, counting in his head until his fist clenched once more and then relaxed against the black fitted trousers. “Word is they’ve come up with several innovative ideas.”

  “I’ll send Jefferson to find out what he can. Might be some ideas we can leverage.” DiSilvio grinned, looking like the sharks in the aquarium the casino across the boulevard showcased, and like the sharks, his employer’s bite was much worse than his grin. Jefferson was head of investigations and security and performed who knew what kind of tasks. Drake had learned long ago not to meddle.

  DiSilvio was not only Drake’s employer, he was his savior when Drake was lost and confused. So many years lost to the mists of his befuddled mind. He ran callused hands through his hair and caught the other man’s assessing gaze in the smoky glass.

  “You can have the salon take care of that.”

  “I hear it makes me look distinguished and rakish, like a pirate.” Drake gazed at his reflection. The years had been kind: his body was still strong thanks to his sword practice, his face unlined except for what Caroline called laugh lines around his eyes. But his hair, though thick as ever, was now threaded with silver amongst the black. Blue eyes stared back, taunting him to recover the missing memories, until, with a sigh, he turned.

  “How did you know how old I was when you found me?”

  DiSilvio blinked, caught off guard, making Drake smirk. ’Twas rare to catch the legend unawares.

  “I didn’t know, not for certain.” He looked Drake up and down. “You’ve aged well. It’s possible I was wrong. Though in my experience, judging a man’s age and character are usually easier than a woman’s. They’re better skilled at lying and devious behavior.”

  Not touching the topic of DiSilvio’s ex-wife, Drake kept quiet, ignoring the opening. His employer knew how to take the measure of a man, Drake would grant him that. The man knew within minutes if an employee would work out at the casino, and he insisted on sitting in on every interview, from janitorial staff to IT and management. That way he’d said, he’d know if his competitors were trying to infiltrate the casino.

  “You’re in a mood today. Go home early and relax.”

  “Tell him, Dad. He’s been a beast all day.” Caroline glided into the room, long hair gleaming like burnished gold under the soft lights. She twined her arms around Drake’s neck and kissed him, her perfume tickling his nose, threatening to make him sneeze.

  “We’ll have dinner. There are a few things I’d like to discuss, darling,” she cooed into his ear. DiSilvio’s only child was even more of a shark than her father. It was only this past year she’d shown an interest in Drake other than as an acquaintance of her father’s. Somehow he found himself wooing her, unable to figure out how it had happened, buffeted along like an autumn leaf on the wind.

  “You heard her, Drake—my daughter wants to talk.” DiSilvio made a show of shuddering. “Those are the words that strike fear into every man’s heart.”

  He let out a rumbling chuckle and clapped Drake on the shoulder, a look passing between father and
daughter. What were the two of them plotting?

  Knowing when to pick his battles, Drake offered Caroline his arm.

  “As the lady wishes. I look forward to our discourse over a fine meal and wine.”

  Her eyes sparkled as she took his arm, her perfume clawing itself into his skin.

  “I wonder if you were studying Shakespeare or studying medieval history when you hit your head? It would explain where you picked up the old-fashioned speech and manners. When I came home from boarding school that summer, I remember getting dressed and hearing shouting. There you were, out in the driveway shouting at the driver. I swear I could hardly understand a word you said.”

  Unbidden, the scene took hold of Drake. He was on horseback, leaning over so far he should have fallen off, the blade arcing down to cleave a man’s head from his shoulders. The taste of blood and sweat lodged deep in his throat, saliva pooling in his mouth as his fingers twitched. No, he wanted to call out, don’t go. But before he could grasp the memory, follow it to the conclusion, it faded into the ever-lingering mist where it would stay, and no matter how he tried to penetrate the veil, he always failed.

  The lobby was marble with expensive art on the walls. Caroline pressed the button in the private elevator for the penthouse. No matter how much she’d cajoled him, he’d refused to allow her to move in with him. Even her father found his old-fashioned ideas amusing and at times exasperating, but Drake would not yield. ’Twas not proper for her to live with him until they wed, and that was what vexed him so: he should want to wed her. DiSilvio made it clear the casino and the entirety of his considerable wealth would go to Caroline, with a generous portion settled upon Drake along with the title of CEO. A beautiful woman. Money. Power. What else did he want—love? He snorted.

  Silver eyes gazed out of the mist, taunting him, elusive. Mayhap he had been with the faeries and ’twas why he could not remember who he was or whence he came? Did the woman he heard weeping in his dreams think of him now? Who was she?

  There were times, in the heart of the night, when Drake woke, unable to go back to sleep. He’d sit outside on the terrace and wonder how it was he spoke Norman French in his dreams yet could not when he woke? On the worst nights, he’d drive out to the desert and swing an antique sword he’d taken as payment from a gambler down on his luck. The blade was dull, but it felt like it belonged in his hand as he swung it under the moon with the coyotes and other desert dwellers watching him. How did he know how to use a bloody sword? Perchance he had been in the theater?

  “Honestly, darling. Have you heard a single word I’ve said?”

  Drake gave her credit: the woman could convey more with a single arch of her eyebrow than any woman he’d ever met.

  “You know how I despise repeating myself.” Her heels clicked across the floor, the sound echoing through the cavernous space.

  “This place has bachelor pad written all over it.” She waved a hand, the rings on her fingers exceeding the price of a mansion as she wrinkled her nose. “What’s with the rug and tapestry? Please don’t tell me you’re actually buying into this whole theater theory nonsense?” Her hand was cool on his forearm, the red nails perfectly done just like the rest of her. The woman before him was beautiful. Like a piece of art in a gallery, too perfect. He thought of a crooked smile with a chipped tooth, a soft accent.

  This time she pursed her lips. “You are a million miles away tonight. I don’t know what’s gotten into you. Don’t you think it’s more likely you were a collector of historical artifacts? You’re incredibly smart. I know you must have been studying finance or law, not drama. You don’t have a dramatic bone in your body. I swear, you are the most serious man I know—well, except for my father.”

  With the slightest pressure on his arm, she steered him around the space.

  “Look around—it’s past time this place had a woman’s touch. It looks like the medieval history wing in a museum.”

  She fingered the edge of the antique tapestry, the distaste flitting across her face.

  “Talk about dreary. We need color. Lots of color.”

  Gently, Drake removed her hand and looked at his home through her eyes. It was pleasing to him with the stone floors and comfortable furniture to relax after a long day. Though mayhap the weaponry was the problem? Since he’d acquired the sword from the gambler, many nights had passed. In Vegas, there were many pawnshops where he found all sorts of interesting items people traded for money to gamble or to pay for a ticket home after having lost all.

  When he had a few free hours, he liked to wander through the shops. In the months that had passed, the owners had gotten to know him and called when something came in that he might be interested in acquiring. Now he had swords, daggers, and a few tapestries on display, drawn to them like customers to the sound of the slot machines, unable to resist. Other pieces came from antiques dealers he’d contacted through the casino, and even as many of those items had cost him dearly, it was of no consequence; he had to have them just as the gambler needed one last throw of the dice.

  “There is color in the tapestries and rugs. You do not find my home pleasing?”

  The tap of her foot on the stone was answer enough. “Not at all. They’re ghastly. You can move them to a man cave. I want bold colors and modern lines in here. Black and white. No overstuffed sofas and recliners.”

  When Caroline threw open the doors to the terrace, the sounds of the street sounded far away, muffled by how high they were, in one of the tallest hotels on the Strip.

  “Come along. We’re eating outside. I’ve taken care of everything.”

  And there it was. The women he’d met in Vegas always took charge, arranging things to their liking, expecting him to show up and do as they bid. Usually Drake went along, content to let Caroline plan their time together, but the dreams had unsettled him. The sad silver eyes hidden in the fog belonged to a woman, he was sure of it. His heart and soul knew her even if his mind did not remember. She was his constant companion, haunting his every waking moment.

  “Drake. You need to take a day or two off. You’re worrying me.” Caroline stood by the table on the terrace, and, catching movement, he narrowed his eyes. Her fingers trembled. Caroline DiSilvio was her father’s daughter. If she was nervous… Drake’s heart hammered in his chest, fist clenching at his side, a roaring sound filling his ears as he strode to the chair, prepared for battle.

  TWO

  Holden Beach, North Carolina

  Mildred Merriweather, the last of the Merriweather women, stretched out on the grass in front of the new tombstones, quietly sobbing. It was a warm October day, though the nights were getting cooler. She rummaged in enormous taupe handbag she never went anywhere without, pulled out a sterling silver flask, uncapped it, and drank the cranberry and vodka, coughing as it burned her throat.

  “Look what you’ve done to me. Not even noon and I’m drunk as a skunk.” Mildred found a slightly rumpled but clean tissue and blew her nose.

  “I even drove your convertible—yes, with the damn top down. Blew through three lights in honor of you. I’ll have to donate extra to the police this year like you used to do every year, so I don’t end up in the slammer.”

  She took another drink and glanced over to where she’d parked the shiny blood-red 1960 MG roadster.

  “I swear, every time I’m in that car, feels like I’m going to skin my butt on the asphalt.”

  The Cadillac was her favorite car, but since Pittypat had passed, Mildred drove the convertible at least once a week. She didn’t have the heart to get rid of it; her sister adored the tiny car, so she’d keep it.

  Her sister never cared what other people thought. She said normal was overrated. But Mildred believed in trying to fit in, living a modest and proper life. And yet here she was, making a fool of herself. She sighed.

  What she wouldn’t give to have her “weird” sister back. And her nieces. They were all gone. Was it possible? Could her nieces have traveled through time?

 
There was that one time after he had left her that she’d tried. Hitchhiked out to Sedona to a spot rumored to be magical. But…nothing happened. So Mildred decided she was too firmly rooted in practicality and common sense for something as woo-woo as time travel to work on her.

  It had been years since she’d thought about him, but ever since Penelope had died and left Mildred all alone, he’d come and gone, passing through her mind at the most unexpected times.

  “I’ve put my house up for sale. I’ll move into your place like you wanted.”

  Pittypat’s home sat at the far end of Holden Beach, with dunes on the left and a huge house on the right, now owned by a family that spent a few weekends and one or two weeks a year there. They were from New York and had stressful, busy jobs. Rainbow, her sister’s closest friend, had married the last owner and now lived in Boston with a few kids.

  Mildred would miss the views of the intracoastal. But having the beach to herself this time of year would be wonderful. She finished off the alcohol, slurring her words as she talked to her sister and nieces until she fell asleep in the warm afternoon sunshine.

  Every week, Mildred kept to the same routine. And each time the clerk at the Harris Teeter or the women in Women’s Club asked, “How are you holding up?” and then said, “She’s in a better place. They all are,” and then “Such a tragedy to lose your entire family,” and finally “Time heals all wounds.” By the time the leaves had changed, they were back to the usual pleasantries. During these exchanges, Mildred nodded and murmured but never asked them if they knew what it was like to have a piece of their own soul ripped out. How she’d give anything to have let them in. Then again, she never shared her feelings with anyone, not since that fateful summer so many years ago.