UNANIMOUS PRAISE FOR VICTORIA CHANCELLOR! MIRACLE OF LOVE

" . . . tender and spellbinding, a classic time-travel!"
Evelyn Rogers, bestselling author of Wicked FOREVER & A DAY

"A mesmerizing adventure with star-crossed lovers who will leave your heart pounding!"
Helen R. Myers, RITA Award-Winning Author

"Victoria Chancellor has penned an exciting, eerie and romantic tale of obsession, true love and sacrifice."
Romantic Times BITTERROOT

"Bitterroot is an absorbing time-travel. . . ."
Rosalyn Alsobrook, bestselling author of Love's Image

"Victoria Chancellor works magic with her clear, crisp prose, drawing the reader deeper . . . a truly believable and heart-wrenching tale!"
Romantic Times Other Love Spell books by Victoria Chancellor: BITTERROOT FOREVER & A DAY PASSION'S PRESENTS

He pulled out beautiful flowing fabrics, soft knitted garments, blouses with lace. Erina felt her eyes go wide, heard the soft sound of a sigh that came from her.

"What have you done, Mr. Kirby? I cannot pay for these clothes!"

"I don't expect you to." He placed two pairs of shiny slippers on the table beside the sofa. "But I'm tired of seeing you in a dress that would be more suited for a museum. So these are for you. There are some . . . undergarments in this bag. I wasn't sure of your . . . size."

"But I'll not be acceptin' clothes from you. That would be most . . . improper."

"Erina," he said, placing his hands on his hips again, "don't argue every point with me, okay? Pick your fights carefully. I'm bigger and more persistent than you, and in the end, I'll win."

"I wasn't aware we were havin' a battle, Mr. Kirby."

"And stop calling me 'Mr. Kirby,'" he said, stepping close to her. "That's what people called my father, and he's long gone. I'm Grant. Not 'mister.' Just Grant."

She tried to ignore his nearness. The clothes he'd purchased lay about the sofa, draped like a very decadent offering on his own personal altar. Well, she couldn't be bought for a few handfuls of garments.

"I'll not be familiar with you, Mr. Kirby. I'll not"

His hands gripped her arms and before she could say another word, his lips sealed over hers. Miracle of Love Victoria Chancellor In memory of my father
Arthur V. Chancellor
19131995
A man with a great amount of faith
who enjoyed his life to the very end.

LOVE SPELL®

October 1996

Published by Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
276 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10001

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

The name "Love Spell" and its logo are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

Acknowedgments

Special thanks to the staffs of UTMB ER and Pediatric ER, The Galvestonian, Galveston Historical Society, Rosenburg Library, Rev. William J. Bosworth of St. Mary's Cathedral, Monsignor John Bell of the Dallas Catholic Diocese, Galveston County Child Welfare, Jerry Goldberg for his real estate expertise, the CompuServe RWA Online Chapter for their support, my Catholic friends for their "technical" help, and especially Evan Fogelman, for suggesting a religious time-travel.

For more information on Galveston, read Gary Cartwright's wonderful Galveston, A History of the Island (Atheneum, New York 1991).

Prologue

September 21, 1996
Houston, Texas

Grant hadn't been in his Jeep Cherokee five minutes when the car phone rang. Either an emergency or a summons, since only a few people knew his number. He briefly considered letting it ring. Who could really need him at one A.M.?

As soon as the question formed, he knew the answer. He'd slipped away from a post-opera premiere party his mother was hosting. She'd wanted him to stay, but not as much as he'd wanted to get away. Just for the weekend. If he'd had more time, he would have flown to Colorado and climbed something tall and steep before the mountains became snowed in for the winter.

He answered on the third ring. "Hello, Mother."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Who else would be calling?"

"Brian, Dottie. I could name a half dozen." "Yes, but I didn't just sneak away from them, and I doubt any of our properties are in serious danger in the middle of the night."

"Sneak away is right. I wanted you to stay in town tonight. I'm having a breakfast in the morning for the diocese outreach program. You know they want that old building just a block from the church."

"Yes, I know they do." He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he drove east on the loop toward I-45. "Tell Brian to get together with Dottie and see if we can get a good write-off for it. But don't tell the church until I see the figures."

"Really, Grant, I hardly think that one old building is going to affect our financial position."

"Let me see the numbers first, Mother."

"Very well," she said with a dramatic sigh. "I'll talk to Brian."

"Good. Is there anything else?"

"No. I just wish you'd be around this weekend. I wanted you to meet some of the opera board tonight, but you got away so quickly"

"It's late, Mother. Believe it or not, I'm tired."

"I think you were looking for an excuse to leave."

"Would I do that?" Of course he would. She preferred to ignore his lack of interest in her social life. Oh, it was fine for her, but . . . sometimes he imagined his parents had found him under the fictional cabbage leaf. He didn't have the "normal" traits of a Kirby.

"Absolutely. I'll bet you wouldn't be too tired to climb."

"That's different. But I still wouldn't climb at one o'clock in the morning with the kind of wind we're having tonight.''

"I never win an argument with you anymore," she complained.

"Why does a simple conversation have to turn into a competition to see who wins?" He'd never understood that about his parents. When his father was alive they'd made these little power struggles into some kind of game. Grant wasn't amused by the pastime, however. He didn't want to play their game and, in refusing to be baited, often disappointed his mother.

He was sorry she felt that way.

"I have to go, Grant. My guests are still here."

"Have a good time, Mother. I'll see you next week."

"If you decide to come back to town, join me for brunch at the club on Sunday. The Peterson's daughter is back from Washington"

"I'm going to be at the condo all weekend. Leave a message if you need me."

"Good night, Grant," she said with a resigned sigh.

"Good night, Mother."

Silence descended like the blackness of night inside the Jeep. With only the whine of the tires and the faint sound of air whistling past, he felt a profound sense of loneliness. He was doing what he wantedgetting away for the weekendbut that didn't mean he was totally content with his life. The problem with his getaway was that he'd made it a solitary pursuit. No one from Houston had ever been invited. Only a few people from Galveston had been in his condo. He realized that his choice seemed odd to many people, since he didn't own a unit in one of his properties. He'd bought the twelfth floor, two-bedroom standard layout at the Galvestonian at the market price when he could have afforded the entire building. But if he lived in a Kirby Investment property, he'd be treated like the owner. Catered to, tainted by his status as "boss," so that he couldn't come and go as a regular guy. And more than anything he wanted to be an anonymous person when he escaped from his position as the CEO of a multimillion dollar real estate investment firm.

Grant flipped on the radio and listened to the late-night chat of a sports station. Bored, he selected a CD and slipped it in, relaxing to the melodic strains of U2. The miles slipped past under the hum of the Jeep's tires, and soon he was crossing the high bridge from the mainland to the island. A few more miles and he'd be at the East Beach condo.

A gust of wind buffeted the car as he drove across the bay. He'd heard on the local evening news that a cold front, unusual this early in the year, would come through during the morning hours. That meant no swimming in the gulf, but he didn't care. His condo was stocked with a variety of clothes; he could run or work out at the gym, or just lay around and watch college football on Saturday. On Sunday he'd check out the Oilers game, then drive back to Houston that night.

On Monday morning he'd be ready for the office again. Ready to don the suit, read the reports, have business lunches, and make million-dollar decisions. This weekend he was just Grant Kirby, a former geology major at Colorado State who liked to relax in his modest condo in Galveston.

Chapter One

October 8, 1896
Galveston, Texas

Erina O'Shea pushed open one of the tall, heavy wooden doors of St. Mary's Cathedral, just wide enough to see that the church was empty. It was near midnight; the priests and Bishop Gallagher were no doubt snug in bed, safe from the unseasonably cold wind that whipped off the gulf and across the island like the screech of a witch. Clutching her bundle close, she eased herself inside.

Neither the priests nor the bishop nor any mortal man could help her. Only God, if he chose . . .

Candles burned at the Blessed Virgin's altar, dancing long shadows up the wooden columns and across the many stained-glass windows. But the light didn't reach all the way to the ornate wood and smooth plaster of the ceiling. The night seemed to press down on her, even inside this sacred place, as though she couldn't escape its sheltering darkness. She knelt at the back of the church, dipping her fingers into the holy water and quickly making the sign of the cross. Her breath came fast and shallow, or was it his breath, gasping in the night? She felt her heart hammering beneath her chest, pounding inside her head. As quickly as possible, she walked past the carved wooden pews to the front of the church, toward the only hope she could imagine.

Kneeling awkwardly with her bundle, she leaned briefly against the wide altar rail. The wood felt cool and smooth to her forehead. She wondered if she had a fever, or was the unnatural heat just a response to her fears?

After making the sign of the cross again, she lit a candle with a shaking hand and looked up into the eyes that seemed to blink and shimmer in the golden glow.

"Mary, Holy Mother," she whispered, "you are my only hope."

Beneath her breast, her bundle stirred weakly, then coughed. Erina looked down at the tiny, fragile body of her son.

"Hush now, Colin. I've come to pray for a miracle, and if the Blessed Virgin is listenin', a miracle you shall have."

Even in the faint light Colin's skin looked blue. His eyes seemed heavy, although not with sleep. He was so weak, had been since his birth almost two months earlier. The sisters at St. Mary's Infirmary had told her he probably wouldn't live. He'd been born a month early, a tiny baby who'd needed her love and care so desperately. The city physician wouldn't give her an authorization to admit Colin to the charity hospital because there was no hope. Inside his chest was a problem that no doctor or nurse could fix, since no one could operate on a beating heart.

She couldn't depend on the skills of man to save what God had made defective. No, she had to ask Mary for divine intervention. And even though Erina knew herself to be an unworthy sinner, perhaps the Blessed Virgin would intervene for the life of an innocent child.

With shaking hands, Erina placed her son on the altar rail, holding him steady with arms braced on either side of his body and hands clasped in prayer. As Colin breathed unsteadily and whimpered occasionally, she spoke aloud. "Holy Mother, you know what it is to lose your son. Please, save my baby. He's an innocent child, a victim of our sins, but innocent all the same. And you are my only hope."

She paused for a moment, watching Colin's nearly transparent, blue-veined lids close over his dark eyes. His tiny chest rose and fell with each breath. Two fists grasped his blanket, holding fast even in sleep. He was so perfect in every other way, such a bonny childexcept for his heart. If only God would grant this wish and make him whole . . .

She looked up into the compassionate eyes of the statue, who seemed to stare back with calm assurance. "Please, Blessed Virgin, ask God to grant a miracle to save my son. Please, cause his heart to be healed. I ask this in the name of your son, who suffered as well, and as a mother who cannot bear to lose her own child." Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. She would stay on her knees all night and all day tomorrow if there was a chance of saving Colin. This was her only hope. The more he moved or cried, the worse his symptoms became. And he grew weaker every day.

Suddenly he began to cough, his little fists beating against his covers, his eyes squinting closed. Between his tears and the way he tried to draw his legs toward his chest, he could barely take a breath. Erina tried to comfort him, but he seemed past comfort or a mother's love. She wished she could somehow reach inside his chest and make his heart whole, but she knew that was impossible. Not even a skilled surgeon could do that.

The skin around his mouth began to turn blue as Erina soothed him against her breast. She watched him grasp her finger with his little hand, as blue as his lips.

"Please, Holy Mother," she pleaded, tears falling down her cheeks, "grant a miracle. Save my son. Please, please. I love him so . . ." She squeezed her own eyes shut, unable to continue, unable to watch the life gasp and wheeze from Colin's tiny body. When he was gone, she would be all alone. She couldn't face life without her child.

"Please," Erina said one more time, gazing into the serene features of the Virgin Mother. "A miracle . . ."

Suddenly all the candles at the altar seemed to flare to life at once, surrounding her in a light so white, she could no longer see. She clutched Colin tight, frightened even as she dared to hope. Had Mary granted her wish? Was this healing blaze her miracle?

As abruptly as the light began, it ended. Darkness cloaked her, or was it just the absence of the miraculous light? Erina's eyes searched for the details of the altar, the statue of Mary, even the wall sconces at the back of the church. But nothing looked familiar.

In her arms, Colin wiggled, then began to cry. "Hush, my little darlin'," she crooned softly.

Slowly, Erina's eyes adjusted to the darkness. Strange shapes filled the room, with faint light from some unknown source providing soft illumination. Strange, tall draperies framed a huge window that stretched across one wall. Odd boxes with shiny black fronts were stacked on shelves. The only furniture that looked familiar were a sofa and two chairs, and even they seemed oddly formed.

She was no longer in the church, that was certain. But where was she? What had happened to them in that bright light? Had Colin been cured?

At that moment he jerked, his arms pumping, his legs drawn up to his chest, and Erina felt more tears form. He wasn't cured. How could his tiny body endure this any longer? She knew the answer; it couldn't. Despite her prayers, despite her hope for a miracle, despite the white light, he was still gravely ill. A miracle had occurred, but not the one for which she had prayed.

"Oh, my baby," she said aloud, trying desperately to comfort him. But he was past a mother's comfort.

Suddenly the room was filled with a golden light that was not as bright as before. And Erina sensed another presence, even before she heard his harshly uttered words.

"Who in the hell are you?"

Grant jerked awake, not certain what had disturbed him. He only knew something was wrong. Something besides the cold front that had arrived in Galveston shortly after he had, very early Saturday morning.

He usually slept like a baby in the king-size bed, with the balcony door in his bedroom ajar and the sound of the surf, twelve floors below, lulling him to sleep.

Not tonight. The wind had screeched like a banshee, swirling cold air into the bedroom. Was that what had awakened him?

No, it wasn't the wind. It was a baby! And then he heard the indistinct murmur of a voice. It wasn't coming from outside, but in. Someone was in his living room!

Within a second he was out of bed, pulling on jeans and grabbing his cordless phone. He wasn't sure if he was going to call the police or bash the intrudernot the babyover the head with it.

And how in the hell had someone gotten into his condo? The building was locked at ten o'clock, and he'd activated his own security system before going to bed. The only open door was the one on his balcony, and there was no way a person could get in that wayunless they were an experienced climber.

No one had walked through his bedroom. And only an idiot would bring a baby along to a break-in.

He took a deep breath and flicked on the overheads, flooding the living room with light. Standing between his couch and the dining table was a young womanmore of a teenager, reallydressed in a long, gray dress, clutching a baby to her chest. Her eyes were wide, dark, and luminous, her face flushed, her appearance disheveled. She resembled a young Audrey Hepburn, with long, curly black hair spilling from an old-fashioned, hooded cloak.

"Who in the hell are you?" he asked.

"Erina O'Shea," she whispered, apparently as surprised to see him as he was to find her in his condo.

He felt her eyes flick across his naked chest and stomach like the tickle of a feather. As she took in his low-riding, unbuttoned jeans, her eyes widened even more. "You don't look like an angel," she said, her voice soft and tinged with an Irish accent.

"An angel?" He laughed sarcastically. "Hardly." His eyes narrowed, and he remembered where he wasand that this young woman was trespassing in a seemingly secure condo. "What are you doing here and how did you get in?"

"I don't"

The bundle whimpered weakly, then cried a pitifully thin wail, interrupting her explanation.

"What's wrong with the baby?"

"He's very ill." Her voice and face revealed a wealth of confusion and fear. "I asked the Blessed Virgin for a miracle, and she sent me to you."

Grant blinked, unable to believe his ears or his eyes. A miracle? He was obviously having a major hallucination. He seriously doubted that any deity, especially the Catholic ones of his younger years, remembered his address or cared for his whereabouts. He certainly hadn't frequented their houses in the last ten years or so, except to attend a few weddings and his father's funeral.

''Please, sir, I need your help. My child"

"I don't know a thing about kids. I don't have nieces or nephews. Besides, I'm the last person you should approach for a miracle."

"But Mary sent me to you for help. I prayed to her, and then I was here, and I'm so afraid that Colin will . . ."

She obviously couldn't continue, breaking eye contact and bending her head over the child.

Placing the phone on the entertainment center, Grant walked toward her. She was small and frail in appearance, but her eyes burned with motherly love and something he hadn't seen in agesfaith.

When he neared she shrank away. Ignoring her fears, he pushed aside the blanket covering the baby and immediately felt a jolt of panic. He didn't know much about babies or children, but he was damned sure they weren't supposed to be blue.

"How long has he been like this?"

"He was born with a heart condition, but he's been worse lately. There's times when he turns so blue. Oh, please, sir. Please save my child."

Her pleas prodded him to action. "He needs to be in a hospital, not running around in this weather."

"The doctors at St. Mary's Infirmary told me they couldn't do a thing for him."

"St. Mary's Infirmary? What are you talking about? Why didn't you take him to UTMB, or Sealy, or a half dozen other places?"

"But"

"Never mind." Grant ran into his bedroom, pulled a sweatshirt over his head, and grabbed his jogging shoes. He pushed his feet into them as the young woman watched with wide eyes, still standing in the same spot.

"Come on," he said, reaching for her arm. "I can get him there faster than the paramedics can arrive up here."

"But where"

"Move it," Grant said sternly. "You should have taken him yourself." He couldn't stand the thought of this little baby suffering because his mother wouldn't take him to the hospital. Instead, she'd dragged him out on a cold, blustery night to break into a condo.

"But"

He pulled her out the door and into the corridor, past the other doors and the bank of elevators that traveled to the lobby, then down the other hallway and into the garage elevator. He jammed his finger on the button and silently cursed each second that the doors remained closed.

Glancing at the baby again, he noticed the horrid color, the searching, deep blue eyes, the way the little tyke had drawn himself into a ball like a wounded animal. "I don't know how you managed to get inside my condo, but you should have expended your time and effort in getting your son to the hospital," he said harshly.

"I tried. The hospital said they couldn't save him," she replied, her voice ringing with distress. "I don't know what this place is. Where would we be goin'?"

"To UTMB. It's only a mile away."

At her baffled expression, he explained impatiently, "The University of Texas Medical Branch. UTMB."

"That's the place where they train doctors. I'd need a certificate from the city physician; he already told me Colin's case was hopeless."

Grant shook his head. He had no idea what she was talking about. "They'll treat him in the ER."

The baby whimpered again, but sounded weaker than before. Just then, the elevator doors eased open and Grant steered the woman inside.

"What is this . . . thing?"

What part of the world was she from that she'd never been in an elevator? Obviously Ireland, but they had tall buildings there, didn't they? Ignoring her frightened stance, he pushed the button for the garage. "Don't tell me you've never been in an elevator."

"I've heard of such."

"Who hasn't?" Damn. Why did elevators always travel twice as slowly when he was in a hurry? He counted to nineteen before the elevator reached the bottom floor.

The young woman stumbled as he pulled her down the concrete corridor toward the garage. "Here, let me take him," he offered, then wondered where that request had come from. How long had it been since he'd held a baby?

Years, maybe. He remembered one company picnic when a baby had been shoved into his arms, kicking and squirming. This baby settled limply against Grant's chest. He felt something inside him leap to life as the slight weight of the baby rested trustingly against him, looking up with those dark blue eyes. Could they even focus yet? What did the boy see and feeland know about his condition? Somehow, Grant knew he had to save this child. . . .

"How old is he?" he asked as they reached the Cherokee.

"Nearly two months," she said breathlessly. "What is this?"

He looked at her over his shoulder as he unlocked the doors. "A Jeep. Get in and buckle up."

She stared at the vehicle as though it might bite.

"Get in, dammit. We don't have time for this."

"But where is the team? Shouldn't you hitch them first?"

He stopped himself from shaking some sense into her. "Are you nuts? Just get in the car. I'm trying to save your baby."

"I . . . of course," she said fearfully, easing awkwardly into the front seat.

"Put your seat belt on."

"I don't know what you mean." She turned those wide eyes on him again. They appeared almost black in the faint light of the garage.

"Hell," he mumbled, juggling the baby with one arm while he reached for the seat belt and strapped her in. Didn't she know how to do anything?

He thrust the baby into her hands. "Hold him. I don't have a car seat."

The baby was no longer crying, which was probably a bad sign, Grant thought as he jumped into the driver's seat and turned the key. The engine leapt to life, causing a gasp from his passenger.

"Hold on," he said, slipping the gear into drive and gunning the engine.

They raced through the sparsely populated garage, up the ramp, and onto East Beach Drive before she could say another word. He wanted to know how the baby was doing but knew he couldn't take his eyes off the road, not at this speed. Taking the turn at the end of East Beach way too fast, he felt two wheels leave the pavement as he steered south on Sea Wall Boulevard.

The woman screamed.

"What's your name again?" he asked, ignoring her unwanted commentary on his driving skills.

"Erina," she gasped. "Erina O'Shea."

"You probably don't know any more about emergency rooms than you do elevators and cars, do you?"

"No . . . no, I don't think so."

"Then let me do the talking. Just answer the doctor's questions about the babywhat's his name again?"

"Colin."

"Colin," Grant said, rolling the name off his tongue with a bit of the same Irish accent she used. He ran the red light at Ferry Road and cursed. He should have turned there.

Taking the next right, he careened down Harbor-side toward UTMB way too fast, but it was late, the streets deserted. He followed the red signs to the emergency room as Erina whimpered in the seat beside him and Colin remained way too quiet.

"Are you sure the Blessed Virgin wanted you to bring me here?"

The signs guided him in almost a U-turn and up toward the second-floor entrance. He roared up a steep incline, passing the Care Flight helicopter on its pad, and pulled to a stop in a spot near the portico marked ER VEHICLES ONLY.

"I have no idea. All I know is that this kid needs help, and this is the best place around."

"They'll save my baby?" she asked as he released her seat belt and grabbed the child from her arms.

"They'll do their best," he said, certain that they would. Galveston boasted some of the finest medical facilities in the country. He should know; one of the wings bore his family name. "Come on."

He heard her footsteps behind him as he ran toward the glass doors. Then he was inside, racing toward the triage desk with the unconscious blue baby held securely in his arms.

Erina followed the man into the strange building, with its lights that seemed to hide in the tall ceiling, yet illuminated everything so brightly. The smell was equally strange, unlike anything she'd sensed before. And the people! A few slumped in chairs made of painted metal and fabric; some walked around, wearing very plain white or blue clothing, cut in a style she'd never seen before. Doors led in different directions, some with neatly lettered signs and words she didn't understand.

"What might this place be?" she asked the man, grasping the soft fabric of his shirt as he stopped beside a desk.

"UTMB Emergency Room," he said over his shoulder.

"But that's not right," she said, gasping for breath. "The university building is red brick with arched windows. Not this . . . place."

The man ignored her. "There's something wrong with his heart, or his lungs," he said firmly to the nurse behind the high desk. "He needs immediate attention."

"Have a seat."

"No. I think he's stopped breathing. He needs to be seennow!"

The redheaded woman talked into some device. Perhaps it was a telephone, which Erina had heard about but never seen. Few people in Galveston had a telephone.

"How old is he?"

"Almost two months," Erina said, shifting her weight from side to side as she watched her son, lying in the arms of the tall man.

"How long has he had this condition?"

"Always. He was born that way."

"Was he a full-term baby?"

"What are you askin' me?" "Was he born at nine months?"

"No. Only eight months."

"And the delivery? Was it normal?"

"I . . . I suppose it was." In truth, she'd been too racked with pain to remember much of the blessed event. "Mrs. Abernathy delivered him."

The woman's head snapped up from her papers. "No doctor attended the birth?"

"No. I couldn't"

She looked back down at the desk. "What previous treatment has he received?"

"Not a thing! The doctors were tellin' me there was nothin' they could do."

The woman looked up at her, frowning. Erina noticed that her red hair was cut very, very short, and she wore blue cosmetics on her eyelids.

"He has these . . . episodes. But saints preserve him, this one is the worst."

"Get him some help," the man said. "You can ask these questions later."

"We need background before we can perform any procedures."

"My God, he could die while you ask your questions!"

At that moment some more people with uniforms burst through two doors and reached for her son.

"No!" she cried, suddenly afraid that they weren't part of the miracle for which she'd prayed. What if they took Colin away and she never saw him again?

The man handed her baby over without pause. She grabbed for him, her eyes awash with tears. "Colin!"

"Erina, calm down." She felt his hands on her arm, holding her fast. "They've got to take him to an examination room. And you've got to pull yourself together."

"I'm wantin' to go with him. Don't let them take Colin away!"

"They're only taking him inside to examine him. They'll need information from you, so you've got to calm down and answer the nurse's questions. Can you do that?"

She looked up at the man. He seemed so sincere, so certain. "I want to help my son," she whispered.

"Then go with him, but stay out of the way, and no hysterics. They need answers, and you're the only one who can give them."

"He'll be in crash room one. We need these forms filled out," the woman behind the desk said. "What's the baby's name?"

"Colin," Erina said, glancing back at the swinging doors.

"I'll take care of this," the man said. "Go see your son."

Erina paused for just a moment, afraid of these strange surroundings but more afraid for her baby. She walked quickly toward the doorway where he'd been carried.

"Colin O'Shea," she heard the man say.

She stopped and turned around. "No. Colin Patrick Kirby," she said. Dropping her gaze from the man's startled expression, she added softly, "His father's name is Kirby." And then she turned back and hurried through the doors.

Chapter Two

Kirby? What did she mean, his name was Kirby? Grant felt as though he were in the midst of some mysterious drama, yet he didn't know how or why he'd become involved.

"Excuse me," the triage nurse interrupted, "but we need to get some additional information."

"Sure." Grant shook his head, but he could still see the image of Colin, his blue-tinted skin color revealing his failing heart. The poor little guy. Colin Patrick Kirby. Was he the son of some relative, or had Erina O'Shea picked the name because the Kirby family was well known, socially responsible, and financially secure?

"And what is your relationship to the patient?" the woman asked.

"I . . . I'm not sure," Grant admitted.

"Does the mother have insurance?"

"I have no idea." He doubted she carried insurance. She didn't appear responsible to him, dragging a sick baby around on a night like this, breaking into his condo through who-knew-what-method. He couldn't imagine what kind of occupation or background would require her to wear such clothing. Maybe she was some sort of religious fanatic or cult member.

''Who is the responsible party?"

"I don't know. If she doesn't have the means, I'll take care of the child's expenses." Had he really said that? Grant closed his eyes and wondered again if he was hallucinating. No, he really was in the ER of UTMB, taking on the responsibility of a gravely ill child. He could afford it, of course, but he'd always confined his philanthropic efforts to writing checks to legitimate charities, not providing funds to babies with names and faces, and mothers with wildly curly black hair and eyes that revealed her very soul.

You're getting fanciful, Grant, he warned himself silently. Get a grip.

"And your name is?" the woman asked.

"Grant Kirby," he replied, distracted by his jumbled thoughts and still-racing pulse.

"Oh, Mr. Kirby. I didn't recognize you."

He ran a hand through his hair. He was accustomed to the mollifying or patronizing tone some people used when they discovered his name, even though the fawning made him uncomfortable. Being on the cover of the local Sunday magazine insert of the Houston Chronicle and various business journals hadn't helped his anonymity, either. "That's okay. I'm a little disoriented myself."

"I'll just place your name at the top of the form, and these can be filled out later." "May I go back and see how he's doing?"

"Well . . . only relatives should be with the patients."

He took a deep breath. "I may be a relative. I'm not sure yet. But his mother . . . well, she needs someone with her right now."

"All right, Mr. Kirby. He'll be in crash room one. That's the one at the end of the hall, just a bit to the left. Don't get in the way," the woman said with a smile. "And I hope yourI mean, thebaby is going to be fine."

Great, Grant thought as he walked through the swinging doors. Now the entire hospital would think that he'd just brought his secret love child into the ER for treatment, along with the obviously confused, very young mother. Great, just great.

"Let's get him stabilized. Get that ventilator over here."

The nurse pulled a clear mask off Colin's face as someone else rolled more machines to the bed.

"Don't worry," another nurse said, brushing past her. "The machine will breathe for him. He'll get more oxygen that way. And we're running other testsX rays and an EKGto see what's wrong."

Erina folded her arms across her chest, then stuffed a fist in her mouth to stifle a scream as the doctors inserted some sort of device in her son's throat. She didn't understand what they were doing. They'd already warned her to stay back, that interference could jeopardize the care her son received. As difficult as that was, she'd refrained from crying, or asking questions, or snatching Colin from the table and running out the door.

She'd grabbed his blanket instead, holding it in her empty arms, letting her baby's familiar smell fill her senses.

She shook from her fears, and from this unknown situation in which she found herself. These men didn't look like the doctors she'd seen before. The nurses didn't resemble the nuns at St. Mary's, or any other women she knew, with their short skirts and trousers like men's.

"We need your signature on this form." The redheaded nurse who had been behind the desk shoved a piece of paper at her, then handed her a dark, narrow object. "Sign here."

"I need a pen."

The woman looked strangely at her, then did something to the object, causing it to click, and placed it in her hand. "Read it and sign. We need your consent in writing."

"But the other doctors said"

"Ms. O'Shea, I'm not sure why your son hasn't received any previous care, but he has a serious heart condition. We need to get him admitted."

"But what can they do for him?"

"We don't know yet. The important thing is to get him stabilized, so he's not deprived of oxygen for long periods of time. If his problem is congenital, he may need surgery."

"On his heart? But how can that be?"

"It's done all the time."

"And this can fix Colin's heart? And my son . . ." "The survival rate is good. There are no guarantees, but we'll do everything we can to repair his heart."

Tears came to Erina's eyes as she looked down at the form before her. She couldn't read the words at this moment, but did that matter? They were going to save her son. She stroked the instrument across the paper, surprised to find a thin line of blue ink. With shaking hands, she signed her name. Anything to save her son.

The woman hurried away, form and miraculous pen in hand.

What kind of world was this? Where had Mother Mary sent her?

Just then the doctors rolled another piece of equipment toward the bed.

"Clear," someone said.

A whirring noise came from the machine. Erina jumped backward, right into something solid and warm.

Strong hands closed over her upper arms. "What's going on?"

"They're goin' to do something called 'stabilize' to him. Then they might have to operate on his heart." Erina glanced back over her shoulder, into the worried face of the man who'd been chosen to save Colin.

He seemed so concerned, so caring, even though he'd been wakened in the middle of the night and didn't know her or her son.

In the background Erina heard the gentle whir of the machine that was now breathing for Colin. He would be fine. Mary had sent her to this place so he would be cured. Erina knew her faith must be stronger now than ever. Asking for a miracle was one thing; living through one was another entirely.

One of the nurses came over to them. "We're taking him to the Pediatric ICU. You won't be able to see him for a while, so you can wait down here, or

The bed rolled past her. Erina stepped forward. "Wait!"

She leaned over Colin, who seemed so still, so small and frail on the white sheet. A transparent pipe of some sort went into his mouth, while a tiny one was attached to his arm. Erina had no idea what these devices were, except for the fact that one of them helped him breathe, but at least Colin's color seemed better. She had to trust that these people knew what they were doing.

After all, God had granted this miracle, sending her to this place where doctors could operate on a beating heart.

"I love you," she whispered to her fragile son. She smoothed a hand over his forehead, brushing against his dark, downy hair. His eyes were closed, and she wished she could look into their wide, dark depths one more time. Or that she could see his true smile, just once again. "Holy Mother, watch over him," she whispered.

Then they pushed him away, all the people rushing down the hall, through doors that swung open and then shut, closing her out.

Only then did she bring his blanket to her face to smother a sob, bending at the waist, devastated by the pain she felt. Her son, her only joy, was gone.

"They'll take good care of him."

She'd forgotten the man. Suddenly she realized that his hands held her fast, that his strength helped support her trembling body.

"I've never been separated from him. Not for one minute since his birth," she said softly.

He didn't say anything, just urged her forward with an arm around her shoulders. She felt so weak that she was surprised she could walk. "Where are you takin' me?"

"Someplace quiet. We'll sit down and get some coffee. There's nothing you can do until after they find out what the problem is."

"And how long will that be takin'?"

"Hours, probably. It depends on what they find once they get the results back from the tests."

And what if these tests told them that he needed surgery to fix his heart? Would she even know before they cut into his little chest? Erina stuffed a fist in her mouth, stifling her cries. How could Colin survive such surgery? Faith, her inner voice answered. You must have faith.

"Come on," the man said gently.

She let him guide her down the wide hallway as she blinked back tears. They went into a small room like the one at his house, one with no windows, that moved downward. In a few seconds a faint bell rang and the doors opened. They were in another part of the hospital.

If she hadn't been so frightened, she realized, she would have been amazed yet again. He turned her to the right, into a room with large, shiny boxes that had names splashed brightly across them. Coke. Pepsi. The words made no sense. The air smelled like strongly boiled coffee. The odor made her slightly nauseous.

He pulled her down to a chair. "I'll get us some coffee. What do you like in yours?"

She looked up at him, suddenly so tired and sick she couldn't make sense of his words.

"Sugar and cream?"

She nodded.

She hugged her arms, rocking his blanket back and forth as though Colin still rested close to her breast. How many times had she tried to ease his pain and distress by rocking him on their single bed, in the small apartment above Mrs. Abernathy's dress shop? Would she ever hold him again?

"Here you go," the man said, sitting across the table from her.

"Thank you." She held the warm, soft cup with one hand and wiped her eyes with the other. "What is this . . . material?"

"Styrofoam," he said, a puzzled look on his face.

He needed a shave, she thought. Whiskers a few shades darker than his hair covered his jaw and chin. She imagined they would be very coarse and scratchy.

"I know some people don't think it's environmentally sound," he said, "but then, others don't approve of cutting down trees, either."

She looked into his eyes, wondering how he could make so little sense. But these strange cups must be normal to him. She embraced the meager warmth with both hands. Apparently the people in this unusual place didn't like their beverages very hot.

She dipped her head and took a sipand almost burned her mouth. It was scalding! But the cup was cool.

"Sorry. I should have warned you. Someone just made a fresh pot."

Erina nodded. The coffee tasted a little better than she had expected from the smell of the room. She blew across its surface as they sat at the small table.

The silence stretched as long and tight as her nerves. The man reached over and patted her hand, the gesture comforting and nothing more. Years had passed since anyone except Mrs. Abernathy had offered her affection without expecting something in return. Her da had been happy and affectionate, but he'd passed on three years ago.

"I'm thinkin' that I should apologize for gettin' you involved in my problems. I had no idea . . ."

"Still sticking to your story that you were sent to my condo by the Virgin Mary?"

"Yes. It's the truth I'm tellin' you." She looked into his eyes. They were green, tinged with a bit of blue like the ocean on a calm day. His hair was short and light-colored, like the different shades of yellow and brown on the dried grasses near the beach. His complexion appeared unusually dark for a blond-haired man, as though he spent much time out of doors without a hat. Perhaps he worked at the dock or on one of the shrimp boats. His hands were certainly large and square, not the hands of a man of leisure. Whatever he did, he didn't look like any man she'd ever seen before.

"I don't even know your name," she said softly.

His features hardened, a muscle jerking in his cheek. "You don't?"

"No. I'm sorry I forgot to ask."

"It's Grant. Grant Austin Kirby."

She felt the room spin around her. "Kirby?"

"Yeah," he said. His voice sounded a thousand miles away.

"But you're not . . . I don't know you."

"And I don't know you either. Which is why I was really surprised when you gave my name to the clerk. Tell me, is your son's father really a Kirby, or did you decide that would make a better story?"

"No," she said, confused. She sat the coffee down on the table, then rubbed her forehead. "His name is Kirby."

"And yours is O'Shea."

"Yes," she said weakly.

"Did you keep your maiden name, or didn't you marry his father?"

She took a deep breath and paused a moment before answering. "It's sad I am to admit that he didn't marry me," Erina said softly. How humiliating to tell your darkest secret to a stranger, even one who shared the same name as Colin's father.

"Which Kirby?"

"Jerrold," she said, looking into the face of this man who had been kind, despite his reluctance to believe her story. He stared at her intently.

He frowned. "I don't remember any Jerrold Kirby. Does he live in Galveston?"

"Yes. In the house on Broadway, when he's not away at school. He's studyin' law at Harvard."

"The only Jerrold Kirby I know of is my great-grandfather. He was a lawyer around the turn of the century in Galveston."

Erina felt a prickle of unease. "What do you mean, the turn of the century?"

"Around 1900. I remember that my great-grandfather's law offices were destroyed in the hurricane in September 1900, but the house wasn't damaged much at all."

"But this isn't . . . What year would this be?"

"It's 1996," he said, his expression one of confusion and irritation. "It's September already, and it's been 1996 all year."

Erina felt her eyes widen as the air seemed to leave her body: 1996? Could it be?

"Erina?"

Holy Mother of God! Her miracle had been granted. She'd been sent forward a hundred years, to a time when doctors could operate on her son. And this man, who had whisked her and Colin to the hospital with such speed, was the great-grandson of the man who had forced his attentions on hergullible fool that she'd been, falling for his wordsthen offered her a pittance and never claimed his son.

Of all the people who must live in this strange, future world, why had Mary chosen him to help save Colin? <><><><><><><><><><><><> Grant registered immediate alarm at Erina's blanched color and startled expression. Was she going to faint? No; she took a deep breath and the color came back into her pale, high cheeks. She had the most clear, smooth skin he'd ever seen.

''What's wrong?" he said, placing his coffee beside hers on the table.

"The year. It's crazy you'll think I am, but I'm not from your time."

"What do you mean, not from my time? Whose time . . . what are you talking about?"

"When I walked into St. Mary's Cathedral tonight it was October 1896."

"Bull" Grant stopped himself before he launched into a disbelieving tirade. "There's no way."

"But it's the truth I'm tellin' you! I was born in the year 1875, in County Kildare, and I came to Galveston with my da in 1888."

"Look, showing up in my condo in the middle of the night was a good trick, but I'm not going to believe that you're some sort of time traveler who got zapped into the future. You've been watching too many reruns of 'Quantum Leap.'"

"Now I wouldn't know what you mean by zapped or 'Quantum Leap,' but the Blessed Virgin sent me here to save Colin. And savin' him is what the doctors are doin'!"

"Yes, they are." I hope, he added silently. "You don't need to make up some story. I already told the hospital that I'd be responsible for his medical bills if you don't have insurance or money, and I'll keep my word, because of the boy." "I'm not askin' for your charity, Mr. Kirby. Just because your great-grandda took liberties with my person doesn't mean you're responsible for his son."

"He's not Jerrold Kirby's son!"

"Oh! And I'm thinkin' that I'm in a better position to know the man's nature and what he did to me."

"I'm not going to argue with you about my great-grandfather. I didn't even know the man."

"Well, let me tell you that he was a bonny fine man to look upon. Not too tall, but well made and handsome. He had a fine mustache and thick brown hair."

"You sound like you were in love with him."

"Oh, I was. Or I thought I was. He acted nice to me, and I felt more than a wee bit flattered that he'd notice a servant in his own house. But it wasn't love he was feelin' for me. I found out he was slippery as an eel, and his heart was just as cold."

"Wait a minute!" Grant mentally shook himself. "I'm talking about this like it was real. Forget it!" He pushed himself off the couch and paced the room. For some reason she'd concocted this fantastic story, including just enough family history to keep him intrigued. He didn't understand why . . . but he would.

"Now why would you be angry at me for tellin' the truth?"

"It's not the truth! You do not know my great-grandfather."

"Aye, I did know the man, and a bit too well, but no more."

She folded her arms over her chest and sank back into the chair. The baby's blanket, a crazy mix of velvet and satin in a variety of colors, spilled across her chest and the skirt of her gray dress. Spots of pink colored her cheeks, and her eyes flashed with dark fire.

"If you're finished with your coffee, we can go back to the waiting room. They might have some news about your son."

Her demeanor changed immediately, from righteous indignation to worried mother. She bolted from the chair, her long dress swirling around her ankles, revealing black lace-up boots. Damn, but she dressed as though she'd stepped out of another century. She'd planned this little charade right down to the last detail.

They took the elevator back up to the ER, where he escorted her to a row of chairs facing a TV, mounted high on the wall. The channel aired an infomercial about the latest workout machine that promised a miraculous body in just weeks.

Miraculous. That's what she expected him to believe about her mysterious appearance in his life. More like a calculated ploy to get him to take financial responsibility for her baby. Right now she was claiming Colin was the son of a long-dead man. But what about tomorrow? Would she then claim Colin was the son of the heir to the Kirby family, expecting a large payoff for keeping quiet?

He'd fallen into her little scheme quite well, already telling the triage nurse that he'd pay for the surgery. And look at how fast she'd jumped to the conclusion that Colin was his son! If Erina went to the press, he was sure at least one paper would carry the story. His motherthe socially impeccable Virginia Kramer Kirbywould have a coronary. His attorney would assume the worst and look for someone with whom he could negotiate. His CFO, an extremely practical woman, would launch an all-out plan to liquidate assets in case a settlement was needed.

"What in the name of all that's holy are those people doin'?"

Her agitated voice caused him to whirl and face her again. Huge, startled eyes stared past his head to the television set. Her hands gripped the metal arms of the chair. He glanced up at the TV.

"Exercising," he replied, trying to keep his tone civil.

"But they're not wearin' any clothes! They're in their underthings!"

"Leotards and tank tops," he corrected her.

"And where are those people? They're not in that little box."

"Television," he corrected her. "You know perfectly well that they taped that in a studio somewhere. Don't pull that innocent act on me."

"I'm thinkin' that you're a most infuriatin' man."

"And I'm thinking that you're a very accomplished actress."

"I most certainly am not!" she said in a haughty, offended tone. "I may have a babe and no husband, but it's honest work I do, sewin' and the like. I'm no actress."

"I was referring to your thespian skills, not your profession." "You think I'm lyin' about where I'm from, and I'm not takin' that lightly."

"I cower at the thought, Miss O'Shea."

She stared at him until her lower lip began to tremble. "I'm no liar," she said in a small voice that broke ever so slightly.

"Damn," he cursed under his breath. Of course he thought she was a liar. What else could he think? That she really was a time traveler? That the baby who had looked up at him so trustingly was his cousin, several times removed?

"It's my son I'm wantin'," she said in a small voice, looking away from him, from the television, from everything in the room, "not a brawl."

In the bright light of the waiting room he could see tears glistening in her eyes. For a moment he'd forgotten that her child was gravely ill and might not survive without major surgery.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have upset you."

She said nothing, looking old-fashioned, small, and very young sitting in the dark, thoroughly modern chair. She should be in school somewhere, studying art or Medieval literature or mathematics, not sitting in an emergency waiting room, worried about her child. Despite the lies, despite the deception she might be trying to pull, he wanted to sit beside her, put his arms around her, and tell her everything would be all right.

"Can I get you something else to drink? Something to eat? There's a cafeteria here, but I'm not sure it's open this late."

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Kirby." "Please, call me Grant."

"I'm thinkin' that's too forward."

"I'm an informal kind of guy. And Galveston isn't exactly a metropolitan place."

"Galveston? But it is. It's the largest city in Texas, I'm told, and quite a seaport."

"We're not back to the nineteenth century, are we?"

She sighed, looking at him with a directness that was unnerving. Her eyes were a deep, deep blue, he realized, not black as he'd thought earlier.

"You're not believin' me."

"No. Let's just stay away from that topic, okay?"

"I'll not apologize for speakin' my mind, Mr. Kirby."

"Grant."

She didn't reply, just broke eye contact and looked around the room, dismissing him as an irritating element of the environment. Hell, he'd brought her to the hospital, volunteered to be responsible for the boy, and had every intention of waiting here with her until the surgery was over. Didn't she realize that he caredfor the baby?

"How old are you?" he asked before he could stop the question. It was rude, but he wanted to know.

"I'll be twenty-one in December," she replied, sitting up straighter.

Just as he'd thought, she was way too young to be a mother and such an accomplished actress. He was eleven years olderand probably couldn't concoct nearly as extravagant a story. With a sigh, he grabbed a couple of magazines and put them on the chair beside her. Then he eased into a seat across from her, crossing his feet and stretching out his legs. It was going to be a long night.

Chapter Three

She knew she should stay awake, but her eyes felt as heavy as wet Turkish carpets. She heard the noise of the hospital, the faint music and murmurs from that magical box called television, and the familiar smell and feel of the blanket she'd made for Colin last spring. The doctors would come soon to tell her about him, but until they did, as much as it hurt, she could do nothing to help him.

She wanted to curl up beside her baby and take a nap, to wake and know that all this had been a dream. He hadn't really been born with a bad heart; she hadn't really asked the Holy Mother for a miracle and been sent a hundred years into the future.

No, when she woke up she would be in her bed above Mrs. Abernathy's dress shop. She'd light a fire in the stove, feed Colin his breakfast, and dress for the day. Then she'd walk down the back stairs and settle her baby into a bassinet beside her chair, and she'd finish the trim on the gown for Miss Bettie Brown. Mrs. Abernathy would bring in a pot of tea and two buttery scones, and they'd talk about Colin and current fashions and upcoming social events that meant new gowns for the island's elite.

Just as soon as she woke up . . .

Grant knew he should be sleeping; there was nothing he could do until the doctors came back with the test results. Then he'd see what decision Erina would make about her son's care. Maybe he'd throw in a few suggestions, since she didn't seem very knowledgeable about modern medicine. He knew he should be furious with her for breaking into his condo and involving him in her life, but somehow he couldn't work up the anger. He found himself making excuses for her weaknesses: She didn't know any better; she had no money; she was desperate to save her child.

She needed a keeper. If she was going to tell stories, they should at least be believable ones. Not some wacky sci-fi fantasy of time travel from the gay nineties in Galveston. Erina O'Shea had a lot to learn about the context of her lies, although he couldn't fault her one bit for delivery.

Now she slept, worry etched across her brow, a frown turning down the corners of her perfectly formed mouth. Her neck rested at an awkward angle, and he knew she'd be stiff when she awoke. Her long gray dress covered her legs and the tops of her black high-top boots. At least they were in fashion. He'd seen a teenager at the Galleria wearing a very similar pair last weekend, only she wore them with black tights, a leather mini skirt, and a cropped sweater that displayed a pierced navel.

Grant was fairly certain Erina O'Shea did not have any pierced body parts.

He wondered if she was telling the truth about how old she was. She didn't appear to be over nineteen. At thirty-one, he felt ancient.

He tried to focus on the magazine he'd picked up, but an article on the ten best fly fishing spots in the western U.S. didn't hold his interest. He'd never been fly fishing, although he had seen that Robert Redforddirected movie about the father and sons who . . .

Damn, he was rambling in his own mind! Blabbering to himself about teenagers with pierced navels and fly fishing. He was going out of his head thinking about everything except the most important two; why was he so drawn to Erina O'Shea, and could her son's failing heart be fixed?

He didn't want to think about those subjects. Not at two-thirty in the morning, he thought, glancing at the wall clock.

The sliding glass doors opened and paramedics pushed a gurney into the triage area.

"Traffic accident on Sea Wall. Drunk as a skunk."

He didn't listen to the rest. The patient, a young man from the sound of his voice, was singing "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall" off-key, obviously not critically injured.

Erina stirred, her eyes opening wide and looking all around her.

"I'm still here," she said, as though the idea baffled her. ''Yes, and so am I."

She focused on him, frowning again. "I thought this was all a dream."

"No, not really. The doctors haven't come back yet with any news."

"How long did I sleep?"

"Not more than ten minutes, I think," Grant answered, glancing at the clock again.

She rubbed her temples. "I had the strangest dream that I was asleep in my own bed above the dress shop with Colin beside me, and my heart just as sad. . . ."

"This would be back in 1896?"

"Of course. It's not a story I told you, Mr. Kirby. It's the truth."

"We'll see."

"I'm thinkin' you give me a headache."

"And I'm thinking that you woke me up in the middle of the night."

"I'm not askin' you to stay," she said bravely, thrusting up her chin in a defiant gesture. "The Holy Mother woke you, not me, so you might be askin' her pardon, if that's your mind. I didn't ask to be sent to your home."

"It's my condo, not my home."

"And what would the difference be?"

"I have an apartment in Houston I call home. It's just off Westheimer, in River Oaks. Maybe you've heard of the area."

"I've never been to Mudville, er, I mean Houston," she said saucily. "Nor can I think of a single reason to waste a dime on the train trip. Galveston is twice the city"

"You really have your historical perspective down pat, don't you?"

"I'm thinkin' that's another insult."

Grant laughed at her smoldering outrage. "You're good. You're very good."

"I'm not actin'."

"What did you dream?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I dreamed that I was back at Mrs. Abernathy's dress shop, sharing a spot of tea and workin' on my quilt."

"Who's Mrs. Abernathy?"

"The lady I work for. She owns a shop on Post Office Street. I live above the shop."

"By yourself?"

"With Colin, of course," she said indignantly.

"And is there something special about this quilt?"

"It's a piece I'm makin' from scraps of gowns and such. Velvets, brocades, silk. Mrs. Abernathy makes gowns for some of the island's finest ladies, and there's nothin' like the feel of those fine fabrics on a cool winter night. I was almost finished with it when"

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the doctor who had begun treatment on Colin in the ER. Erina jumped to her feet, her hands clenched together until her knuckles turned white.

Grant stood beside her. She looked as though she was ready to collapse, except for the fever-bright excitement in her eyes. "Ms. O'Shea. Mr. Kirby." The young doctor nodded at each of them in turn.

Grant read his name from the blue coat as Dr. Jack Cook.

"What news do you have of my Colin?"

The doctor's gaze darted between them. "We've managed to stabilize your son"

"Her son," Grant said between gritted teeth. He supposed the entire hospital thought Colin was his son. By tomorrow the rumor could be all over town.

"Yes, well, he's resting comfortably at the moment. His vital signs are good and so is his color. We'll continue with the ventilator for now, but hopefully he can be weaned off of that tomorrow."

"I want to see him."

"He's in PDICU"

"And what is that?"

"The Pediatric Intensive Care Unit. It's for critically ill children. You can see him, but only for a moment."

"But he needs me! You can't have me leavin' my son to the care of strangers."

"Ms. O'Shea, your son is very ill. The X rays showed a possible case of pneumonia, in addition to the heart problem."

"What exactly is wrong with his heart, Dr. Cook?" Grant asked.

The doctor ran a hand through his brown hair. "Why don't we have a seat in the consultation room? I can get you a cup of coffee and we'll talk."

"I just want to know about my son," Erina said with distress. "I understand. We can sit down and I'll explain everything we know."

"Let's go to the consulting room, Erina. The doctor looks as though he could use a cup of coffee." Grant placed a hand on her elbow and guided her stiff body as they walked behind the doctor back through the doors behind the triage area, down the hallway that led to the examination roomsor crash rooms, as the nurse had called themand into a small, windowless office.

"Get some coffee if you'd like, Doctor," Grant said. "We'll wait right here."

"Thanks."

Erina turned to him the minute the doctor cleared the doorway. "And just who do you think you are, Mr. Kirby? Givin' orders and makin' suggestions like you owned the whole hospital?"

"I'm just trying to be polite. The doc is obviously bushed."

"What nonsense would you be talkin' now? The doctor is no bush."

"I didn't say he was a bush. He's bushed, as in tired. Look, Erina, I don't want to argue with you."

"Well, I don't want a fight either, but I'll thank you to leave my son's care to me."

Grant felt himself bristle at the suggestion that she'd done a good job so far. "Why? So you can ignore his heart problem another two months, drag him around on a night like this, then depend on the kindness of strangers to pay for his medical bills?"

"I did no such draggin' about! I did everything I could. The doctors would not help me!" "I find that hard to believe. Any county or city general hospital would have treated your son, even if you didn't have a penny."

"And I'm tellin' you they would not!"

"Am I interrupting?"

Dr. Cook stood in the doorway, holding a cup of coffee and looking just as tired as he did before.

"We're just discussing Colin's previous medical careor lack of it," Grant explained.

Erina turned to the doctor. "Where I came from, the doctors told me that they could not fix his heart. They said I had to accept that he would not . . ."

She whirled away, covering her face with trembling hands.

"Oh, hell," Grant murmured, recognizing her pain in spite of the fact that she was lying through her teeth. She wasn't from 1896; her claims made no sense. Still, he placed an arm around her and offered her his shoulder to cry on.

Dr. Cook sat down in a chair. "Where are you from, Ms. O'Shea?" the doctor asked.

Grant urged Erina down to the couch, keeping his arm around her for support.

"County Kildare, Ireland," she replied with a sniff, "although now I live"

"With me," Grant finished, knowing he couldn't have her spouting wild stories. They'd have her in the psychiatric ward while Colin was in PDICU. He couldn't allow that to happen, not until he understood the real reason she was hereand his reaction to her. "At the Galvestonian, on East Beach."

"How long have you been here?" "Here?" Erina said, sweeping her arm wide to indicate the hospital.

"No, in Galveston. Was Colin born here?"

"Not exactly," Grant said, interrupting her.

"So he didn't have any medical care until now?"

"No. The doctors said they couldn't help him, as I've said," Erina answered.

"What difference does it make? I mean, he's here now, and he needs medical care," Grant said, perturbed by the continued inquisition.

"Oh, he'll get the best care we can offer, Mr. Kirby. But you've got to understand that denying a child medical attention is tantamount to child abuse. Unless there's a good reason Ms. O'Shea hasn't had her son treated, then I'm afraid I'll have to notify our social workers to do an evaluation."

"What does that mean?" Erina asked, turning her frightened gaze to Grant.

"That means that they might take Colin away from you." He felt as if he'd just kicked a puppy. She looked so shocked, so afraid. And he also realized that he didn't want Colin taken away, nor put in some foster home or warehoused in a state facility. He was just a little baby.

"No," she whispered. "Not my Colin. He's all I have. I love him with all my heart."

"Ms. O'Shea, I find it hard to believe that any doctor told you there was nothing that could be done for your son's condition."

"Just exactly what is his condition, Doctor?" Grant asked, turning the conversation away from Erina's maternal deficits to a more concrete topic. After all, no one was going to believe her story. There was no sense exposing her to more ridicule or possible confinement as a mental case.

"It's known as Tetralogy of Fallot. There is an obstruction in the right ventricular outflow. This causes hypoxia, or a lack of oxygen, which is why he doesn't have normal color. Hypoxic babies usually have a gray skin tone, with tinges of blue around their fingers, toes, and mouth. When he's in distress the blue color intensifies."

"Can the obstruction be removed?" Grant asked.

"Oh, yes. Surgery is very successful in these cases. After the procedure his heart should be fine."

"You'd be performin' surgery on his heart?" Erina asked, her tone skeptical.

"Yes. As I said, it's a fairly common procedure. Within a week he'll seem like a different child."

"Holy Mother of God," Erina whispered.

Grant felt as though a weight had been lifted from his own heart. He didn't understand why Colin's health and Erina's happiness seemed so important to him. Hell, he'd known them for less than three hours. But the fact was, he felt responsible, for both their physical and emotional well-being. "When can the surgery be performed?"

"I'd like to treat him with antibiotics for his lungs for a few days. He should be off the ventilator tomorrow. If there are no complications, then we should be able to do the surgery in two or three days."

"And he'll be well?"

"Yes. He should be fine. Normally, children recover within a week or two. Of course, he'll need checkups after he leaves the hospital, but there should be no long-term effects of the procedure."

"It is a miracle," Erina said softly.

"No, just medicine. Which brings me back to my original question: Why didn't you seek another opinion? You obviously knew something was seriously wrong with your son." Dr. Cook was frowning again, which wasn't a good sign, in Grant's opinion.

He stepped in before Erina could say anything crazy. "I think that as long as there is a question of his previous care, Ms. O'Shea should talk to my attorney before answering any more of your questions. Nothing personal, Dr. Cook, but I think she should be protected from saying anything that may sound a bit . . . well, odd, to you. After all," Grant said, looking at Erina, "Colin is a Kirby. He deserves legal protection as much as he needs medical attention."

"All I want is a truthful explanation," the doctor said, clearly irritated.

"But I already told you" Erina said.

"Yes, she did, and you said you didn't believe her. Let's just leave it at that for now. We'll be glad to answer any other questions later."

"I'm too tired to argue with you right now. Obviously these other issues will need to be addressedsoon." Dr. Cook finished his coffee in a big gulp. "I'll take you upstairs now to see Colin, Ms. O'Shea. He's been given a sedative to help him relax, so don't be surprised that he's sleeping."

"All right," she said. She looked up at Grant with big, searching eyes. "Will you go with me?" Something inside him performed a little flip at her raw emotionsfear, confusion, love for her child. The force of her feelings overwhelmed him. "Of course," he said hoarsely.

They followed the doctor down the hall to the elevators, then upstairs to PDICU.

"Erina, you're exhausted. Let's go get some breakfast and sleep for a few hours. Colin is doing fine."

Erina looked up from the bed where her son lay. His little chest rose and fell with the regularity of deep sleep, but she suspected that was caused more by that ventilator, as the doctor called it. Since she'd been sitting beside him, Colin had barely moved.

"What?"

"I said we should get some breakfast."

"What if he wakes up and cries? What if he needs me?"

"The doctor explained that he's sedated. He'll sleep peacefully for quite a while."

"But how will he eat?"

"I'm not sure. Let's ask Dr. Cook."

Mr. Kirbyshe couldn't be so familiar as to use his first name, although he'd insistedhelped her up from her chair. She felt very tired, despite the brief nap earlier, and her body ached with weariness. And her breasts hurt terribly. If she didn't get to feed Colin soon, she would be in much more pain, she was afraid.

They walked to the central desk, where nurses and doctors congregated. Dr. Cook bent over some paperwork, writing with one of those pens that didn't need inkwells.

"Dr. Cook," Mr. Kirby said.

The doctor looked up.

"Erina has some questions."

"Yes, Ms. O'Shea?"

"Well, I was wonderin' how you feed a baby with his little mouth filled with the . . . the ventilator."

"I meant to ask you what he's been takingformula or breast milk."

Erina felt herself blush. "Doctor, could I speak with you privately?" she managed to whisper.

"Of course."

They left Mr. Kirby standing beside the desk, looking slightly irritated. She couldn't worry about him right now; she had more pressing concerns.

She and the doctor stood in a small alcove where supplies seemed to be stored.

"I don't know what you mean by 'formula,' but Colin is being fed the natural way."

"Okay. So I'll get you a breast pump and we'll insert a feeding tube so he can get what he's used to. I suppose your milk agrees with him. He seems a little underweight but generally healthy."

Erina couldn't meet the doctor's eyes. She felt so embarrassed to discuss such issues with a man, especially a young man, even though he was a doctor. "I'm not sure what you mean by a . . . a . . ."

"Feeding tube?"

"No, the other."

"A breast pump?"

"Yes, that one." ''It's a device to relieve you of milk so it can either be fed to the baby later or, as in Colin's case, where he needs a feeding tube."

"Oh." She frowned. "I don't know how to use this . . . thing."

"I'll get one of the nurses to help you."

Erina sighed in relief. "Thank you."

She and the doctor walked back to the desk.

"Well?"

"I'll be seein' a nurse before I leave," Erina announced.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin' that you need to concern yourself with," she said, looking away from him. Just the idea of explaining her "problem" caused another round of embarrassment.

Dr. Cook smiled. "This won't take long. Why don't you go into the ICU waiting room, Mr. Kirby?"

Erina could tell he was anxious to know what was going on. Well, she wouldn't tell him. The man was entirely too bossy, putting his nose into other people's business way too often. She held her head as high as possible and walked beside the doctor. Even though they walked farther and farther from the desk, she could still feel Mr. Kirby's blue-green eyes burning a hole in her back.

Of course, having him take charge when Colin needed him was wonderful. Mr. Kirby had been wonderful, sweeping her to the hospital in thatwhat did he call it? A Cherokee?had been miraculous. At the time she'd been terrified, and she hoped that the Cherokee didn't always travel so fast. She wasn't looking forward to another trip in such a vehicle. She much preferred the slow but predicable electric trolleys on Broadway.

Dr. Cook showed her into a room. She heard him talk softly to a nurse at the doorway; then the nurse was inside the room with a strange device.

"If you'll just unbutton your bodice, Ms. O'Shea, I'll show you how to operate the breast pump. You can take this with you to relieve the pressure whenever you need to. The milk can be stored in the refrigerator and brought to the hospital later."

Erina had no idea what a refrigerator was, but she wasn't going to ask this woman. Besides, she would probably be at the hospital all the time, so that wouldn't be necessary. She had no place to stay, or to work, so perhaps she could just nap in the chairs when she wasn't with Colin. She wasn't sure what she would do for money, but she'd think about that later, she decided as she finished with the buttons on her dress.

The Holy Mother wouldn't have sent her to this time only to abandon her. She would provide. . . .

"Now, the slip."

"The what?"

The woman pointed to the chemise.

Erina blushed and undid the ribbon ties. She'd never been unclothed around another woman except Mrs. Abernathy, who had assisted with Colin's birth, and even then she'd kept on her nightgown.

She jumped when the nurse placed the pump over her naked breast. "This is what you do," the woman said, and Erina blushed all over again.

Over Erina's objections that she should stay inside with her sleeping son, Grant managed to guide her outside just as the sun came up, peeking through the palm trees along Harborside Drive. The cold front must have pushed through while they were in the hospital, because the clouds were gray and broken, showing the deep rose sky behind them. Grant rubbed his arms against the chill. He knew that Galveston's high humidity made it feel at least ten degrees cooler than the surface temperature, but this morning seemed especially frigid. He should have grabbed a jacket before he left the condo, but he'd been a little occupied with saving Colin's life.

At least Erina had that long, ugly cloak. He wondered where she'd gotten it; maybe in a thrift store.

She stopped and looked around the parking lot, her eyes wide as she stared at each car, at the Ramada Inn across the street, at the power lines. Her shocked glance took in the skyline. "And where would we be goin' to get breakfast?" she asked softly.

"I could use a real breakfast. You know, bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns. How about you?"

"I usually have tea and a scone."

He smiled down at her. "No wonder you're so tiny."

She looked at him as though he'd insulted her. Most women would simply say, "Thank you."

"Are you sayin' we're goin' to a restaurant?"

"Of course. I'm not up for cooking this early in the morning. Besides, I'd have to go to the grocery store first. There's not much in the fridge."

"What is a 'fridge'?"

"A refrigerator."

"Oh. You have one of those?"

He frowned. "Of course. Everyone has at least one refrigerator." His mother had four, if you counted the freezer in the garage. Where in the world had Erina lived that she didn't have such modern conveniences?

Ah, yes: 1896. She was sticking to her story.

He unlocked the door of the Cherokee, which he'd moved to a restricted parking spot earlier. At least he hadn't been blocking the emergency entrance the whole time.

"I'm glad you have a refrigerator."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'll show it to you when we get back to the condo. I didn't realize you'd be so impressed by my appliances."

"I'll not be goin' back to your home, or to your condo, with you alone, Mr. Kirby," she said indignantly.

He helped her into the car and slammed the door. Dammit, he hadn't offered his condo so he could take advantage of her. He hadn't even planned to invite her to stay with him, although he was pretty sure there wasn't anywhere else for her to go.

He eased behind the wheel and started the engine. "Put on your seat-belt," he reminded her.

She fiddled with it. She looked at it. But she didn't slip the end into the latch.

"Here, let me help you," he said finally. He showed her what to do, how to release the catch, before putting on his.

"Texas has a seat-belt law."

"Oh," she said, staring straight ahead, her hands clenched on the armrests. "I'm hopin' you won't be drivin' this Cherokee quite so fast."

"Of course not. Breakfast isn't an emergency." He put the Jeep into gear. "You're not a backseat driver, are you?"

She looked at him as he backed out of the parking space. "I'm not any kind of driver, except for a pony cart. We had one in Ireland."

"I'm glad to hear that. My mother got her backseat-driver's license at the same time I got a learner's permit."

Erina shook her head, as though he was speaking a foreign language.

"Never mind," he said. "It's not nice to speak ill of one's own mother."

"That's the truth of it," Erina said. "I barely remember my own mum. She died when I was seven, back in County Kildare."

"I'm sorry. It must have been tough growing up without a mother."

"My da was a good parent."

"That's great." Grant felt a shaft of pain at the thought of a "good father." His own had been a drunk, someone who got by on a few sober hours every day before lunch. Then he could do deals like no one else. Everyone in the real estate business knew that Randolph Kirby was a force to be reckoned withas long as you caught him at the right time. After a three-martini lunch he'd sell you a piece of prime commercial property for the price of a four-rental unit in a depressed neighborhood. Without Brian Abbott around to repair the damage, Kirby Investments would have been bankrupt years ago. Instead, the family business now had holdings worth upward of 400 million dollars. Grant was proud of his own accomplishments in turning the company around, but he never forgot that Brian had been there when the real possibility of disaster had loomed daily.

Grant turned onto Sea Wall and headed west. Few cars were on the road this early. He made good time to one of his favorite breakfast spots.

Erina watched as he unbuckled his seat belt. She did the same, smiling when she was successful. Despite the exhaustion that was etched on her features, she looked beautiful as the soft, pink light of dawn bathed her pale skin.

Their gazes met and held. Grant lost himself in the depths of her eyes, in the emotions she revealed. She seemed so vulnerable. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, protect her from the world, show her that he cared for more than the welfare of her son.

Before he could stop himself he reached toward her, ran a finger along her satiny cheek, and watched her lips part in response.

He was going to kiss her. Despite her lies, despite whatever plan she'd concocted, he wanted her.

He leaned near, watching her eyelids lower, hearing the soft sigh that escaped her parted lips. She smelled of lemons and wool; nothing seductive, yet even her scent aroused him.

Just as his lips were about to touch hers, she let out a shriek and slammed herself against the door.

"Ahh, you're a smooth one too," she said breathlessly, her eyes wide and frightened, "but I'll not be seduced by another Kirby man." She thrust her chin in the air. "I'm not the breakfast you'll be havin'."

Grant blinked, shook his head, and eased back into his seat. He was going mad; there was no other explanation. He'd almost kissed a woman who claimed to be from 1896, who said she was here because of a miracle!

He'd never been tempted to follow in his father's footsteps before, but Erina O'Shea just might drive him to drink.

Chapter Four

She'd never seen so much food assembled for common folks. Only at one of the Kirbys' parties or balls could one find so many meats, different types of bread, fruits, and desserts, all for the choosing. As she stood near the buffet tables, arranged in a rectangle with bright lamps and glass above, she could only stare and wonder where to begin.

"Aren't you hungry?" Grant Kirby asked.

He'd insisted she call him Grant, which seemed entirely too informal. Sweet Mary and Joseph, she didn't need to think of him with any more familiarity than she already did! Then her stomach growled, distracting her from thoughts of the man who stood nearby, an expectant look on his face.

"That I am," she said. The slice of cheese and apple she'd eaten last night after nursing Colin were a distant memory. A hundred years distant, she reminded herself.

"Then help yourself. Or I could fill a plate for you, if you're not feeling well." "I can fill my own plate, thank you, Mr. Kirby." She thrust her chin high and tried to appear in the best of health. To tell the truth, she was dead tired and wished she could sleep as easily as Colin, all snug in that hospital room, with machines that kept him breathing and doctors who knew how to fix his little heart.

"Grant," he said, snapping her back to the present.

"Yes, well, I'm thinkin' that sounds too forward." She looked away from his penetrating gaze and stepped up to the buffet. The smells of breakfast assailed her, making her stomach growl once again. Hoping he hadn't heard her unladylike reaction to the food, she chose a strip of bacon, and then a biscuit.

"Calling me 'Mr. Kirby' makes me feel as if I'm your boss. And we both know you don't want me to tell you what to do."

She looked up at him, standing so close. She felt the heat of his body on her side and back, as warm as the steam rising from the warming pans of the buffet. "I appreciate all you've done for myself and Colin, but I have to remind you that he's my son."

"Believe me, I'm not likely to forget that point," he said. She was sure she heard censure in his voice.

So, he did condemn her for having a child out of wedlock. She sighed as she put some fried potatoes on her plate. She shouldn't be surprised; most people found her guilty of sin, as well they should. She'd encouraged Jerrold Kirby's attentions, although at the time the glances and smiles had seemed so innocent. How was she to know he'd expect so much more? Her mother had died long ago, and her father hadn't told her what men expected from a girl.

The fact that she was only a maid, and he was the son of the house, had seemed romantic to her. Until the night they were alone in the house. . . . She shuddered as she placed some grapes on her plate. What had happened between them had not been romantic. Not in the least.

"Erina?"

She blinked away the memories. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"For a moment I thought you'd fallen asleep standing up. Are you sure you're okay?" He looked down at her with such compassionate eyes that she wanted to lean into his strength and warmth. He might think her a sinner, but he was concerned nonetheless.

She tensed, straightened her backbone, and breathed in the air of reason. "I'll be fine. Just a spot of hunger."

She'd have to be more careful around this Mr. Kirby. He seemed to be a truly kind man, deep inside, but that was all the more reason to be a lady in his presence. She'd make sure he didn't mistake any innocent smiles or shy flirting for invitations to assault her person. She'd never repeat the mistakes of her past, even if the despicable act itself had given her Colin.

When they arrived back at their "table," which was really a pub booth similar to ones she remembered from her childhood in Ireland, the tea she'd ordered had arrived, along with coffee for Grant . . . Mr. Kirby. ''You didn't take very much," he observed, looking at her plate.

His own was piled high with small, round pieces of ham, strips of bacon, eggs, biscuits, fried potatoes, and gravy. A smaller plate held an assortment of fruit and pastries. She'd already decided he must labor outdoors for a living; he obviously worked hard at his occupation, else he'd weigh far more. She hadn't detected a bit of fat on him, not in the few times she'd been close. Not that she'd tried to notice, of course.

She turned her attention back to her own plate. "I'll be fine, thank you."

When she opened the small metal pot that held her tea, a string with a piece of paper fluttered against the side. "What's this?" she asked absently.

"You did order tea."

"Yes, but . . ." She bent closer to the little pot and inhaled the steam. Tea, all right. She tugged on the string and retrieved a small, square bag. Apparently the leaves were inside. "This is very handy," she said, looking across the table.

He stared back, a frown line between his eyes.

"You needn't glare at me, Mr. Kirby. I'm enjoyin' the novelty of these new . . . inventions."

He broke off eye contact and shook his head. He pushed a basket of pink and white paper envelopes, each printed with black and red letters, toward her. "If you like tea bags, you'll love sugar packets," he said before returning his attention to his meal.

They ate in silence. Erina enjoyed the food, and the novelty of having someone else wait on her for a change. As she satisfied her hunger, her attention turned to the other diners. All of the women in the restaurant wore either trousers like men or scandalously short skirts and dresses. She supposed she was the one who looked out of place, dressed in her long woolen gown and cloak. No one else's attire resembled hers in the slightest.

The men were dressed similarly to Grant Kirby. Not one of them wore a suit, so she supposed this establishment appealed to working-class people. As she finished her tea, she wondered if there was a wealthy section of town any longer, or if all the people worked at various jobs. Everyone here dressed so casual.

"Feeling a little different?"

She turned her attention back to the man sitting across from her. "Yes, I am. I'm dressed in a different style, but it's more than that. I'm thinkin' that these people aren't servants, but they're not wealthy either. I'm not sure if I belong here, or if I should be havin' breakfast somewhere else."

"Is wealth that important to you?"

"No," she replied automatically. "But how can I tell the difference? How will I know"

"You sound like a reverse snob. Do you always measure someone by the size of their bank account?"

"No! And you shouldn't be so sensitive about the subject. Not everyone has wealth and power. Many of us need to work"

"Wait a minute. You think I have no money?"

"I'm thinkin' you work for a livin', like most of us. You're a large, healthy man, Mr. Kirby. You spend a good deal of time out of doors, and I've noticed you don't have the hands of a man of leisure."

"So you've decided I'm a working Joe."

"It's no sin," she said, leaning forward slightly. "The wealthy have the money and the power, here and in Ireland. Always have and probably always will. It's not so easy breakin' into their circle, although I know quite a few merchants who ended up with mansions on Broadway not too many years after gettin' off the boat."

"And what about you? Are you looking for a wealthy man to set you up with a house and money?"

She turned her head away, sinking back into the booth as she felt her energy drain away. Around the restaurant, young women served coffee and tea, diners clinked their spoons and talked to family and friends, but the sounds seemed far away, and the delicious smells of the buffet faded in significance.

Erina remembered the wealthy man who had caught her fancy, then ruined all her illusions about becoming a wife who could entertain in her own parlor, shop with her lady friends, buy the latest bonnets from Paris.

All those silly, girlish notions had vanished on a hard cot in a third-floor bedroom, destroyed by a man whose wealth made him believe he was above the moral principles that the rest of the world were supposed to live by. While imported greenery and red velvet bows adorned the stairs below, Christmas candles lit the mantel in the drawing and music rooms, and unwrapped presents awaited their final destinations in wardrobes and drawers, Jerrold had presented her with a gift of his own. "Merry Christmas, Erina," he'd said with a half-drunken leer as he'd plunged inside her unwilling body.

She couldn't suppress a shudder at the memory.

"Erina?"

"No," she said quickly, glancing back at Grant Kirby's handsome tanned face. "I'm lookin' for no man to care for me or my son."

"But you'll accept my help."

"Only because the Blessed Virgin sent me to you. I'm not sure why she did such a thing, but I'm not one to argue with God in Heaven."

"So you'll take my money?"

"And why would I be needin' your money? Maybe my Colin needs some help, but I'll not be expectin' a thing from you."

"Let me go along with your fantasy for a moment. You say you're from 1896, you arrive in my condo with only the clothes on your back, and yet you say you don't expect anything from me. How do you expect to live, to eat?"

She straightened her spine. "God will provide in his own way, just as he did in gettin' Colin to a hospital that can repair his heart."

"God will provide in the form of me," he added.

"I'll work for my livin' if I need to. I'm not afraid of work. I can act as a lady's maid or sew a fine seam. If no one will be needin' me for those jobs, I can cook their meals or clean their houses. I may be a mite on the small side, but I'm strong and hardy. Don't you be worryin' about me, Mr. Kirby. I'll make my way just fine until my Colin is well."

He smiled at her as he finished his coffee. "You're a spirited, single-minded woman, Erina O'Shea, whatever your story. I must admit that I'm intrigued enough to want to find the truth in all this, even if you do have me marked as a patsy."

"What you mean by a 'patsy' is beyond me, but I'd remind you that I'm not fond of bein' called a liar."

"Fine. Then I think you have a wonderful imagination."

He rose from the booth and pulled out a wallet from the tightly fitting light blue denims he was wearing. Erina watched in outright fascination at the way the pants molded to his body as he moved. Did all men wear their clothes this tight? Perhaps Mr. Grant Kirby had gained a bit of weight and couldn't afford new garments.

He tossed a five-dollar bill on the table.

"And what would that be for?" she asked, amazed that he'd throw money around in such a manner.

"For the tip. What did you think?"

"The tip! Saints preserve us, but that's enough for the week! Have you no sense?"

He smiled again, showing very strong white teeth, but there was no amusement in his eyes. "As I've said before, you have your historical details down pat. Let's cut this foolishness and get out of here. The breakfast crowd is waiting for tables, and I think we've exhausted the subject of my moneyor lack of itfor the moment."

He took her elbow, helping her rise from the softly padded cushions of the bench. Erina stared at the five-dollar bill, wondering at the cost of things in this time. Surely not that much. How would she live when she'd be expected to tip a waitress five dollars for bringing her a cup of tea?

But then Grant Kirby retrieved her cloak, folded it over his arm, and guided her toward the restaurant entrance. At a small desk he handed another woman the piece of paper from the waitress, along with a twenty-dollar bill.

"But"

"Not a word, Erina," he warned in a low voice.

The woman gave him change and thanked him, as well she should for paying such high prices for food. Even if this was an elaborate buffet. Everyone else in the restaurant had seemed to expect the food, hadn't commented on it that she could tell. Perhaps they were accustomed to such excess.

They made their way past many people, standing or sitting on benches near the entrance. All looked at her oddly, lingering on the long dress and cloak. Erina held her chin high and walked out alongside the man who thought she was lying about her background.

Erina doubted that she would become accustomed to this time, these people, even if she stayed here for weeks, months, or years.

Grant drove through the early morning traffic, back up Sea Wall toward the hospital. The sun had risen over the east end of the island, the sky was cloudless and blue, and the wind wasn't blowing like a Blue Norther. The waves to his right weren't covered in whitecaps, as they had been early in the morning. Nature had calmed down considerably since Erina had shown up in his condo. He wished he could say the same.

His hands gripped the wheel tightly, almost of their own accord, probably because he had no other outlet for his frustration. Erina was the best little actress he'd ever seen, ready for an Oscar or an Emmy with her portrayal of a misplaced nineteenth-century domestic. Never had he seen anyone more into a role.

Of course, the other explanation was that some traumatic event had caused her to block or distort her memory. Perhaps her son really was the product of rape. If so, Erina could have constructed a fantasy to explain her sonfill in the gaps in her life she simply couldn't face. She probably needed therapy, but she didn't appear crazy. To her, the world of 1896 would make more sense than 1996.

And if this business of time travel was her fantasy, she'd certainly done her research. From his family's background on the island, his interest in the Galveston Historical Foundation, and his study of Texas history, he knew she was accurate, down to the last detail.

"Where did you get that dress?" he asked casually, willing himself to relax. Getting frustrated about her origins or mental health would do no good.

"I made it," she replied quickly.

He glanced at her, noticing the way the fabric molded to her petite but surprisingly lush body. He suspected she was breast-feeding her baby, which accounted for the roundness pressing against the bodice of the gray wool. If she weren't feeding Colin herself, he supposed her breasts would be small, firm, and high. Just right for

"Damn," he muttered as he swerved around a car that had slowed to enter the turn lane. In a moment he asked, "Would you like to stop and get something more . . . appropriate? Maybe some jeans and a sweatshirt?"

"I've noticed that I'm the only person dressed this way," she said, running her fingers over the edging on her cloak, "but as you already know, and were so kind as to point out, I have no money to buy new clothes. I suppose these will do until I can find myself a job."

"I don't mind buying you a change of clothes."

"I'll not be spendin' your money, Mr. Kirby."

"What if I insist?"

"I doubt you could drag me into a dressmaker's shop and force me to purchase a new dress. Even in your time, I'm thinkin' that would be considered poor manners."

"You're right. I've never seen a woman yet who had to be dragged shopping."

"If you'll just get me back to the hospital, I'll be sayin' good-bye."

He turned onto Harborside, feeling oddly out of place. Erina was going back to her baby, but where, Grant wondered, would he go? Back to his nice, quiet condo? Perhaps catch a football game at noon, call out for pizza, have a few beers?

Somehow, the prospect of relaxing this weekend held no appeal. Not when a baby lay in the Pediatric ICU critically ill, and his mother didn't have a penny to her name. Hell, she couldn't even buy herself a cup of coffee or a snack if she needed one. She knew next to nothing about medicine, so how could she make decisions about her son's care? What if the social worker began asking her questions? If she gave them the same crazy answers she'd given him, would they confine her to a psychiatric ward for evaluation, or report her to child welfare? Colin might be taken away, made a ward of the state. What kind of medical attention would he get then?

No, there was no way he could drive away and leave Erina O'Shea to fend for herself at UTMB. He'd already determined that she needed a keeper; it seemed that the job fell to him.

He pulled into the parking garage, then went up two levels before he found a space. As he turned off the engine, Erina twisted in her seat to look at him.

"Thank you very much for all you've done. I'm sorry I've been such an inconvenience to you, but as I said before, a higher power than me made that decision. I'll be goin' inside now. Colin may be wakin' up soon."

She fumbled with the seat belt, a frown line in her forehead and her mouth moving in what he suspected was a silent litany of Gaelic curses. Grant smiled. She had spunk and, he suspected, a lot of passion locked inside.

The latch finally released, and the belt slid quickly over her chest and shoulders. He had the strongest urge to follow the same path with his hand, to see if her breasts were as firm as they appeared. Instead, he clenched the wheel as she reached for the door handle.

"Wait," he said.

"I need to get inside. I want to see my Colin."

"I'll go with you."

"There's no need, Mr. Kirby. You've done enough."

"Are you trying to get rid of me, by any chance?"

"Of course not! But I'm certain a man such as yourself has more important things to do than follow me around. I'm just goin' inside to sit beside my son and wait for the doctors."

He thought he heard a tiny catch in her voice. "I'll make sure you're settled and see how he's doing."

"There's no need."

"Yes, there is. I care what happens to the little guy. I'm the one who drove him to the hospital, remember? I think he trusted me to take care of him. I can't let him down now."

"That's blarney you're talkin'. Colin's too young to know what's happened to him." She turned away, looking out the car window as though the gray concrete columns fascinated her, and touched the corner of her eye with her fingertip.

"How do you know?" Grant said softly. "He might remember me."

"And what if he does? Will you be here tomorrow, and the day after, and after that?" She shook her head. "No, Mr. Kirby, I think it's best that I go inside now. You've been a bonny fine help, and I appreciate what you've done, but Colin is my responsibility."

Grant felt a moment of pure panic. She was brushing him off! "Look, you may be Colin's mother, but I've already told the triage nurse that I'd be financially responsible for his medical bills. That is, if you don't have insurance. You don't, do you?''

"No, I have no insurance," she said with another frown. "I didn't know such a thing was possible."

"Then I'll be paying his hospital bills. For that, I want to make sure he has the best care."

"I'll be seein' that his care is fine," she said defensively.

"And do you know a lot about modern medicine? What will you do if the doctors ask you to make a decision between two procedures? How will you know what to say?"

"Well, I'll . . . I'll ask them to explain. Really, Colin is not your responsibility."

"Yes, he is."

"I'll not be arguin' with you over my son, Mr. Kirby."

"Call me Grant."

"I'll do no such thing. Now I'll be sayin' good-bye and thank you."

She managed to get the car door open, then slammed it shut. With a firm step, she walked away from the Jeep. Grant calmly unfastened his seat belt and opened his door. She'd stopped in the middle of the drive, looking around the dimly lit garage.

"Lost?" he said, walking up beside her.

"This is a very confusin' place," she complained. "All these letters and numbers, and those signs just say 'exit.' I want to know where the entrance is to the hospital." Her dark blue eyes looked suspiciously bright and luminous. "Follow me."

"You're not goin' inside with me, Mr. Kirby."

"Grant."

"Colin is my son." She followed him to the stairwell.

"Funny, but by now I'm sure most of the staff believes he's my son too." Grant opened the metal door and she walked through.

"And why would they be thinkin' such a foolish thing? I've not told them he's yours."

"Maybe the name?" Grant suggested with just a hint of sarcasm as they walked down the short flights.

"Oh. The name. Well, there's no help for it. That's his name, by rights. I'll not change it so you'll look better."

"I'm not worried about it." Not now, anyway. When word reached his mother, his lawyer, and the press, then he'd worry. And backpedal, and run damage control. "For now, all that matters is that Colin get well."

"That's very understandin' of you," she said cautiously. "I wish his real da were as nice." Erina paused as he opened the door to the ground level.

Grant didn't say anything. He hadn't known his great-grandfather, and had no idea what type of man he'd been. Perhaps he had been more concerned for social position than for his responsibilities. And that left Erina

"Dammit," he swore, taking her elbow and guiding her toward the hospital entrance.

"What's the matter now?" "I'm doing it again. I'm believing your story."

She paused as he opened the glass doors, looking up at him with those big, honest dark eyes. "Well, you were bound to sooner or later. After all, it's the truth."

About nine o'clock that night Grant called Brian Abbott, attorney and operating manager of Kirby Investments, at home. He waited as the phone rang once, then twice, rubbing his forehead where a slight headache pounded away like the surf below.

Brian picked up on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Brian. It's Grant."

"What's up, son?"

"Not much. Well, that's not true. Something has come up this weekend, only I don't know how to explain it."

"Just spit it out. You're not in some kind of trouble, are you?"

"No, not me. I met a girl this weekend."

"Dammit, son, I told you to be careful around those beach bums. You weren't smoking any funny stuff on the beach, were you?"

Grant laughed. Brian was hopelessly fixated on the evils of the sixties, from the perspective of someone who worshiped the fifties. "No, nothing like that. This girl showed up inside my condo, in the middle of the night. I have no idea how she got there."

"Sounds kind of kinky."

"Not really. She had a baby with her."

"A baby? You're pulling my leg."

"No, unfortunately, I'm telling you the exact truth. The baby has a heart problem. I ended up taking him to UTMB, and I've been kind of . . . involved with his care ever since."

"Grant, are you trying to tell me something? Look, if this girl is claiming it's your kid, we'll put the stops to her"

"She's not," Grant said quickly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you who she says is the father. Anyway, I just kind of feel responsible. I mean this kid is so little . . . and he's a cute fellow. He needs an operation."

"And I suppose this woman has no money," Brian said with a heavy dose of cynicism.

"Yeah, she doesn't. And no insurance either. I told them at UTMB that I'd be responsible."

"Hell, son, do you know how much heart surgery can cost?" Brian roared.

"I don't think I'll be too surprised. But dammit, Brian, I didn't have any choice. The kid needs the surgery."

"That's what charities and welfare are for. You contribute enough to both to pay for a dozen operations."

"But those are kids I haven't seen. I held this little guy in my arms, and he just seemed so . . . helpless."

"You're a soft touch. I suppose this woman is encouraging you. Is she offering to compensate you for your generosity?"

"She's not like that," Grant said firmly. "As a matter of fact, she's fighting me every step of the way. And she's not really a woman. More of a girl. She says she's twenty." "Hell, Grant, you sound like you don't even believe how old she is! Why don't you just write her a check and get your butt on back to Houston? I always said your running off to Galveston every weekend was a bad idea. Too much free time. She could even be jail bait. Think about how that would look in the papers, not to mention what it would do to your mother."

"I can't just write a check this time. The kid's having surgery soon. I'm going to stay down here for a few days." He didn't dare tell Brian what the hospital staff already thoughtthat Colin was his son. Of course, Grant had to admit that he'd done little to dissuade them from the assumption.

"Dammit, Grant, don't start getting involved with this charity case. If you want to make sure the kid's okay, I can have someone take care of it."

"I don't want someone else doing this. Colin is my responsibility."

The phone was silent for just a few seconds. "Not unless you're his daddy," Brian finally said. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I am not the father of this baby," Grant said firmly. "I never saw the mother until yesterday. Well, actually, early this morning." God, had it only been that long? "But I'm still going to be here until he's out of danger."

Grant imagined that Brian was pacing his study, running his hand over his receding hairline and frowning.

"Okay. Whatever you say. I can put off that meeting with the Phoenix property management firm, and I'll get the numbers together for the loan payments due on those two shopping centers. I'll fax them to you tomorrow."

"That would be fine. I'll be in and out. I'll take the cel phone in case you need to reach me."

"Grant, are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure, Brian. Hell, I can't explain it, but I've got to be there. Colin needs me. And Erina needs me."

"Erina, huh? Are you sure it's the kid you're concerned about?"

"Good night, Brian. I'll call you tomorrow."

"You do that, son. And keep your perspective on this one. I don't like women who show up out of the blue. They're up to no good."

"Brian, I have yet to figure this one out. But when I do I'll let you know."

"You do that. And don't forget that your place is back here, not frolicking in the sand in Galveston. Damn place is too much like a vacation."

Maybe that's why I like it, Grant thought to himself. "Look, Brian, Mother is going to call you on Monday to discuss that brick warehouse by the Catholic church. You know the one?"

"Yeah, I know it."

"Well, talk it over with Dottie. Unless we're going to lose a ton on it, go ahead and see how much it will cost to turn it over to the diocese."

"Damn, son, you're getting to be a real softy. You'd better get back here fast."

"I'll be back as soon as possible. If there are any complications, I'll call you."

Grant hung up the phone, his thoughts focused on Erina and her motives. How had she gotten into the condo? He'd checked the security system; it was working fine. If she wanted his money, why was she putting up such a fight? And if she wanted more than that, why wasn't she using his obvious attraction to her as an advantage?

Erina O'Shea made no sense whatsoever. But that wouldn't keep him from trying to poke holes in her story about being from the past . . . and making sure her son had a future.

Chapter Five

Grant paused outside the doorway to Colin's room on Monday morning, two paper cups and a bag in one hand, the houston Chronicle under his arm, and a balloon bouquet bobbing over his head. The drapes were still drawn. Erina lay curled on a cot beside Colin's crib, a blanket covering her legs and bottom.

She was still wearing the damned gray dress.

He walked into the room and sat down in the chair next to the cot. "Erina," he whispered.

She barely stirred, partially rolling onto her back.

Grant swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. She looked so young and vulnerable lying there. Long, curly black hair spread out over the pillow and sheet. From this angle, looking down her body from the head of the cot, he could see her black lashes resting against her pale skin, just above the faint pink blush that was entirely natural. He had two strong, equal urges: to protect her and to make love to her.

"Erina," he said again. He took the lid off the tea he'd gotten at the doughnut shop and waved it beside her nose.

She jerked awake. "Colin?" she whispered.

Grant retreated, smiling at her sudden transformation from sleeping beauty to concerned mother. "No, he's still asleep. Beside, he's too young to fix tea for you."

"Good mornin'." She rubbed her eyes. "I was dreamin' again."

"About the dress shop?"

"Aye. I was halfway asleep in my own bed above the shop, with Colin beside me, and my heart was just so sad. . . ." She frowned, as though she couldn't quite grasp the essence of the dream.

"It was just a dream."

She sat up, pushing her hair back with both hands. The thick curls spread out over her shoulders, arms, and chest. "What are you doin' here so early?" she said in a throaty, sleepy voice.

"It's not that early. I wasn't sure how late you'd sleep. Or did you get much sleep last night?" He kept his voice low so he wouldn't wake the baby, and also because it enforced the sense of intimacy he felt, sitting in this hospital room.

"I slept very well, thank you. Colin had a good night."

"He looks so much better."

"The doctor came by last night and said he was doin' very well. He doesn't have pneumonia. His lungs were just a bit congested."

"That's great. Did he say when the surgery was scheduled?" Erina swung her legs over the side of the cot and accepted the cup of tea. "Tomorrow," she said faintly. "That's so soon."

"I know, but it's best to get it over with."

"My mind knows that, but I'm afraid. He's such a wee babe. I can't believe they're goin' to operate on his heart."

"They do it all the time. Colin will be fine."

"How can you have such faith in the doctors?"

"It's not a question of faith; it's a matter of statistics. The survival rate is very high for this type of surgery. And the doctors here are among the best in the country."

"But to put him in the hands of man . . ."

"As opposed to the hands of God?"

"Yes."

Grant sighed. They really did have a major difference of opinion when it came to beliefs. She trusted in what she couldn't see more than she did in the tangible abilities of trained professionals. He, on the other hand, wasn't even sure that a greater power guided the universe.

He sipped his coffee, glad that it was strong. He hadn't slept well last night, not after leaving Erina alone at the hospital yesterday afternoon. But she'd refused to leave Colin's side after they took him off the ventilator and moved him out of ICU. Grant had been useless after a while, roaming the halls until Erina had insisted he go home to rest. He hadreluctantlyafter warning her not to discuss her circumstances to anyone, particularly the social worker. He'd left her alone at the hospital because he didn't know what else to do, beside making a complete fool of himself.

Since mothers often stayed in the hospital with their infants, they'd set up a cot for her in Colin's room. At least the room was a private one; Grant had seen to that. He was paying the bill, so there was no question of insurance restrictions. And since there was a Kirby wing at the hospital, Erina and Colin had received the best of everything.

Grant was sure everyone assumed Colin was his son. They probably thought they were caring for the Kirby heir, perhaps a future philanthropist who would donate megabucks because his life had been saved at the hospital when he was only an infant.

Okay, let them think it. Grant knew that denying his relationship to Colin would only amuse the staff. They'd still give him knowing looks. The false premise no longer angered him, especially since his mother hadn't found out yet.

''Here, have a doughnut," he said, handing Erina the waxed bag.

"And what's a doughnut?"

"Come on, Erina. Everyone has eaten a doughnut."

"Not me."

"Okay, I'll play along," he said, unwilling to let her continued playacting ruin his mood. "They're good. They're like round pastry, I guess, only fried. Real junk food. I got several different kinds because I wasn't sure what you'd like."

"I'm not sure either," she said, peering into the bag. "Try the chocolate-covered glazed. They're my favorite."

Erina removed one slightly messy doughnut from the bag and held it with two fingers of one hand. "Are there no plates or forks?"

"No, you have to eat doughnuts with your fingers. It's a tradition."

"If you're sure . . ." she said slowly. She opened her mouth wide, obviously trying to keep the gooey chocolate off her lips. Her small, white teeth bit into the confection and the expression on her face changed from wariness to pure pleasure.

"Oh, this is very good," she said after chewing the first bite. "Very good."

Grant smiled. Tenderness welled up inside him, an emotion he hadn't felt in . . . hell, he didn't know when he'd felt that way. "I'm glad you like it."

Just then Colin let out a little cry. Grant pivoted to watch the infant flail his arms and legs. He looked as if he was ready to let loose with a real bone-chilling wail.

"I need to pick him up. Do you have a napkin?" Erina asked. She held a sticky, half-eaten doughnut in one hand, a cup of tea in the other.

"I'll get him," Grant volunteered, not at all certain why he'd opened his mouth. What did he know about infants? Other than holding his receptionist's daughter a few times and watching a diaper being changed at a company picnic, he'd never been around babies.

Grant set down his coffee, far away from Colin so he wouldn't knock it over and get burned. He tied the balloon bouquetan impulsive purchase at the gift shop downstairsonto the crib rail. Then he reached down and scooped the fussing baby into his arms.

Colin quieted immediately. "Spoiled already, aren't you, buster?" Grant said to the infant.

Colin looked up at him and gurgled. Tiny spit bubbles appeared at the corners of his mouth. "Very attractive trick. What else has your mother taught you?"

"She's been teachin' him to sleep a bit longer at night," Erina answered, standing behind Grant.

He felt her breast brush against the back of his arm. The contact lasted less than a second, but he couldn't help his body's involuntary reaction to her nearness. Every nerve seemed to tingle, as though he'd been exposed to a large dose of static electricity. He wanted to put the baby back in his crib, turn to the mother, and kiss her senseless. He imagined that she'd taste better than any doughnut he'd ever eaten.

"You'd better take him," Grant said huskily. "I'm not sure how long I can keep him entertained."

"You're very good with him," Erina said. "I believe you have the touch."

I'd like to show you what kind of touch, Grant said to himself. He wondered if passion had an Irish accent. Instead of alarming Erina with his totally inappropriate case of lust, he eased the infant into her arms, savoring the feel of her firm, round breasts against his forearm.

Perspiration dotted his forehead when he moved away from the crib. "What's the matter, Mr. Kirby? You're not feelin' ill, are you?"

"No, not at all. It's just a little warm in here. I think I'll . . . I'll just get a breath of fresh air."

He grabbed his coffee and the newspaper, then hurried out of the room before he made a fool of himself over a too-young Irish girl and her cuddly infant son.

"Ms. O'Shea, we're going to take Colin around for his tests. If you'd like to get away for awhile . . ."

The blond nurse looked at Erina, who knew her rumpled gray dress, tangled hair, and scuffed half-boots were far beyond acceptable. She hadn't washed or brushed her hair in over forty-eight hours, and her teeth felt like an old, nappy blanket.

She would appear completely unappealing to anyone. So why had Mr. Kirby looked so closely at her, as though she were not a slovenly mess? When he'd left yesterday she'd thought perhaps she wouldn't see him again. He had no reason to return, having delivered Colin safely to the hospital and the doctors. Perhaps he felt some responsibility for her son; but then, the memory of their near kiss in his Cherokee sprang into her mind, and she felt heat creep into her cheeks.

At the moment when he'd leaned toward her, his intentions had been clearto press his lips to hers. And just for a second she'd wanted to believe that he hadn't meant to seduce her. That a kiss was all he wanted. That his interest was honorable. But she knew now how wrong she could be about men, and she wasn't going to allow another man to deceive her with enticing looks and sophisticated manners.

So why had he brought her those sinfully delicious pastries called doughnuts and the large group of "Get Well Soon" balloons for Colin? She hadn't even known what to call the shiny, silver objects until the nurse mentioned them.

Erina pushed her unruly hair back with one hand and looked again at her son. He lay in the crib, his attention focused on a colorful, bobbing display of animals. The nurse had called the device a mobile and shown Erina how to wind it up so it played music. She'd never seen such a music box before, but Colin seemed fascinated by the red pig, the blue cow, and the green horse.

"Ms. O'Shea? We need to get Colin to the lab for his tests."

"I can't go with him?"

"Really, it would be best if we take him ourselves. The tests are all routine. They'll take about two hours, so that will give you some time of your own."

Erina spread her heavy, wrinkled skirt with both hands. "I suppose I could do somethin' about my clothes, if you could show me the facilities."

"I can do better than that."

She turned to Mr. Kirby, who'd appeared suddenly in the doorway. Erina had hoped to avoid the man for a while longer. She had too much of a tendency to become flustered around him. And whenever he took charge of a situation, as his tone of voice just now had implied, her life became much more complicated. "I just need a place to freshen up," she said, lifting her head and looking him straight in the eye. She wasn't about to give in to his bossiness, even if he had been very nice this morning.

"You need a shower and a change of clothes."

"That would probably make you feel much better," the nurse added.

And make me smell a wee bit better. "I didn't bring a change with me," she said defensively.

"That's all right. We can remedy that."

"Mr. Kirby, I'll be remindin' you of my situation," she warned.

"Ms. O'Shea, I'm very well aware of your situation," he countered, placing his hands on his hips. Although they'd gently cradled Colin not so long ago, his hands seemed very large and masculine, his fingers framing the front of his pants an arrogant advertisement.

She tore her eyes away from his . . . hands, and looked again at his eyes. He seemed determined, yet amused by her unwillingness to give in on this point. Did he expect her to challenge him in front of the nurse, a stranger? But then, Mr. Grant Kirby wasn't much more than a stranger himself, and a demanding one at that.

"I'll go somewhere to launder my dress," she said, trying a compromise.

He watched her a moment longer, his brows drawn together. Then his expression lightened, his posture shifted. "Okay. That's a deal." His attention switched to the nurse. "How long did you say we have?" "About two hours for the tests, but don't worry. When he gets finished we'll give him a bottle, if you'd like to prepare one, Ms. O'Shea, and he can take a nap." The nurse glanced at Colin with true affection, mentioning the task of feeding him as though it were a subject suitable for discussion around a man.

Erina felt her cheeks grow warm at his close scrutiny. "I'll be takin' care of that when Mr. Kirby leaves the room," she announced softly, turning back to the crib. Colin kicked and waved his arms, preparing for a full-fledged fuss. "At the moment I need to feed my son."

"I'll get the car."

She heard his footsteps as he walked toward the door. "Don't be too long, Erina. I don't want to get a ticket."

"A ticket? Would you be goin' to the opera house?"

He laughed. "Very clever. I'll see you downstairs in twenty minutes, okay?"

She had no idea what was so funny, but at the moment she wanted very much to put Colin to her breast. She ached from the fullness. "Very well, Mr. Kirby. Just go along with you now. I have to care for my son."

She waited until both visitors had left the room before unbuttoning her bodice and picking up her son. Erina wrinkled her nose with distaste as she prepared to nurse Colin. Her chemise stuck to her breasts and smelled faintly sour from the leaked milk. She used a damp cloth from the adjoining facilities to wash up.

"Your mother does need a bath, little one," she crooned to her hungry son as she sat in the chair by the window, "but she doesn't need charity from that particular Kirby."

"Give me whatever you have that will fit a woman this size," Grant said, placing Erina's old, gray dress and black boots on the counter of a trendy boutique on The Strand.

The saleslady picked up the dress with two fingerslooking inside the neck for a size, Grant supposed.

"I don't know what size she wears, but she's real petite. About this tall," he said, gesturing to the center of his chest. "And she's small all over, except . . . well, she's just had a child, and . . ."

"I think I understand," the woman said after a moment of silence. She gave him a tentative smile, held up the dress, and then looked at the bottom of the boots. "Let me see what I can do."

She walked across the store to a rack. Grant shifted from on foot to the other, then leaned his hip against the glass counter. Whatever he brought back to the condo, Erina was bound to look better than she had in that antique-style dress. If she looked more like a twentieth-century woman, maybe she'd quit throwing around lines about being from the past. And maybe if she looked less like a homeless waif, he'd quit feeling so damned protective.

The woman returned with a red leather jacket and miniskirt, then held up a pair of matching knee boots. "This should be her size," she said, smiling.

He eyed the flashy outfit. On any other woman he'd say definitely; if you could get away with wearing it, you should. But not Erina. She wasn't the red leather type, even if it might make her appear older and more sophisticated.

"I'm sorry. I think she's too modest for that particular outfit."

The saleslady's smile faded.

"It's very nice, but perhaps you could find something a little longer." Lace and flowers came to mind, along with buttery soft wools and cashmere, and silk against her pale skin. "Something soft and feminine. And undergarments."

"Of course." The woman returned to browsing the racks. Grant crossed his legs at the ankle and resumed his pose against the counter.

A few minutes later the saleslady was back, her arms full. She placed the items on the counter.

"I found two skirtsmidcalf, a blouse, a two-piece sweater ensemble with a darling ecru lace collar, and a pair of wool slacks. I think a size four petite should fit her. Also, I took the liberty of suggesting some accessories."

Grant glanced at the selections briefly. All of them looked modest enough for Erina. "Fine. Do you have shoes here, or just boots?"

"Yes, both."

"Throw in a couple of pairs, and maybe some brown or black boots. And purses. I don't think she has a purse. Maybe some stockings and things. Just whatever else she'd need. She . . . lost her luggage."

"Yes, of course." The saleslady seemed a bit baffled by his carte blanche attitude, but hurried off again. When she returned she said, "We don't carry foundation garments here, but the store next door should have a good selection."

Grant stared at her, his mind a blank.

"Undergarments, sir. If she's nursing, she'll need a special bra."

"Oh, right. I forgot about that."

He wondered if Erina's historical accuracy extended as far as going without a modern bra. Probably not. He decided not to take a chance. What size would she wear? He had absolutely no idea, except that her breasts appeared too large for her petite frame.

Grant shook his head, then pulled out his wallet and chose a credit card. Months had passed since he'd bought a gift for a woman. His accountant would no doubt raise his eyebrows at this purchaseand the one next door, at the "foundation" shop.

A few minutes later he walked out of the lingerie store with a total of four shopping bags and two dresses on hangers. One of the bags held Erina's old dress and boots. He probably should have given them to Goodwill, or, better yet, a drama company specializing in period productions, but he didn't know if the old garments meant something special to her. If she'd sewed them herself . . .

What was he thinking? Women didn't sew their own clothes anymore, did they? From what he'd read in economic and business journals, domestic production or even retail fabric couldn't compete with the price of foreign clothing imports. The big discount retailers had the market cornered on low-price merchandise. No, Erina O'Shea hadn't sewed that dress herself, unless it was another part of her elaborate story.

He placed the bags in the back of the Jeep, then drove back to his condo. Erina should be getting out of the tub about now . . . and discovering that she had no clothes.

''Mr. Kirby?" Erina wrapped the thick bathing robe tightly around her, then clutched the lapels together at her neck. Peering through the barely open door, she tried to locate her host, but all she could see was a short hallway and a wall of mirrors in the living room.

"Mr. Kirby?" She pushed open the door into the silence of his home. Condo, she corrected herself, whatever that might be. To her, it looked like an apartment.

But she was still amazed by the bathtub and the abundance of warm, fresh water that had flowed from the shiny brass faucet. And toothbrushes and paste that made your mouth feel so clean and fresh. He'd shown her shampoo for her hair and fresh towels that were as thick as ten bathing sheets. After telling her to place her dress and boots outside the door so he could have them cleaned, he left her alone with the amazing inventions.

This world was truly foreign, even more so than when she'd first come to Galveston from Ireland in 1888.

The thick carpet cushioned her footsteps. In the mirror she saw herself, a dark shadow in the hallway, moving slowly with her hand fisted at her throat.

A frightened shadow, she thought. She didn't want to appear so cowering. She hadn't felt like cringing in a long time, not since Jerrold Kirby had swaggered out of her room in the wee hours of last Christmas morning. As a matter of fact, she did all she could to put on a good show of courage and spunk.

No, she wasn't a frightened shadow, even on the inside, when she didn't know what had happened to her host and her clothes. A woman grown, and a mother besides, that's what she was! She smoothed the lapels flat over her upper chest, straightened her spine, and walked into the parlor.

The room was empty.

So was the kitchen, with all those modern white boxes, and the bedroom near the bathing room that she'd used, and the other bedroom, which contained the largest bed she'd ever seen.

His bed. Did he sleep in it alone? She hadn't even asked if he had a wife.

He didn't act as though he had a wife.

She was still staring at the bed, with its unmade cover and sheets so dark a blue that they matched her Colin's eyes, when she heard the door open.

"Erina?"

She hurried from Mr. Kirby's bedroom but didn't get out in time. He stood in the hallway beside the kitchen, holding a number of sacks, as she stepped from his room into the parlor.

"Mr. Kirby. I was just lookin' for you." He smiled in a way that made her nervous.

"You look good in my robe." Walking toward her, he placed the bags on the sofa. She resisted the urge to back up, to clutch the robe more tightly to her. Surely he wouldn't try to . . .

He walked over to a desk and picked up a few sheets of paper that seemed to come out of a machine that looked something like the telephones they had at the hospital. He seemed to focus on the writing on the paper, but his words were definitely for her. "You don't have to look at me as if I'm going to molest you. That's not my style."

"I don't know what you mean," she said, straightening her spine again. "And I'm only wearin' your robe because it was the only decent garment you left me!" In truth, she'd washed and donned her chemise, but it was wet and clung to her like a second skin.

"I'm well aware that I took your clothes."

"Well, I'll be askin' for my dress back. You had no right to take my property. And I want to go back to the hospital. Colin will be"

"He's probably still having tests. And he'll be fine. The nurses all love him, or haven't you noticed? They treat him like their own little china doll."

"He's a bonny boy."

"Yes, he is, but it's his mother I want to discuss."

"What do you mean?"

He reached inside a bag and started pulling out garments. "I wasn't sure of your size, so I took your old dress and boots to the shop. The saleslady was very helpful. I hope these fit."

He pulled out beautiful flowing fabrics, soft knitted garments, blouses with lace. Erina felt her eyes go wide, heard the soft sound of the sigh that came from her.

"What have you done, Mr. Kirby? I cannot pay for these clothes!"

"I don't expect you to." He placed two pairs of shiny slippers on the table beside the sofa. "But I'm tired of seeing you in a dress that would be more suited to a museum. So these are for you. If they don't fit, we can exchange them later. And there are some . . . undergarments in this bag. I wasn't sure of your . . . size."

"I'll not be acceptin' clothes from you. That would be most . . . improper."

"Erina," he said, placing his hands on his hips again, "don't argue every point with me, okay? Pick you fights carefully. I'm bigger and more persistent than you, and in the end I'll win."

"I wasn't aware we were havin' a battle, Mr. Kirby."

"And stop calling me 'Mr. Kirby,'" he said, stepping close to her. "That's what people called my father, and he's long gone. I'm Grant, not 'mister.' Just Grant."

"I'll not be familiar with you, Mr. Kirby. I'll not"

His hands gripped her arms, his head tilted to the side, and before she could say another word his lips sealed hers.

Warm. That was the only sensation she felt as all other thoughts flew from her mind like leaves in an autumn breeze. She closed her eyes in a purely instinctive gesture; she simply couldn't stare at him as his lips moved against hers. He pulled her closer, until their chests met, until she felt the coolness of his leather jacket and the warmth of his large, hard body. The wet chemise pressed even closer to her heated skin, making her shiver. He smelled like sea and salt wind, and clean, strong man. She moaned in response.

Suddenly another memory flashed in her mind, of a strong man kissing her, holding her. There had been no one there to stop him, either. She felt panic rise up like bile. With a strength she wasn't sure she possessed, she broke away from his grip, panting, clutching the robe closed over her heaving chest. "No," she whispered. "I'll fight you. I'll scream"

"Erina, no," he whispered, reaching out a hand. "I didn't mean . . . Dammit, I wasn't trying to force you."

"No. I won't let you do this." She backed up until she was pressed against the cold glass of the large windows.

He stopped a few feet away. "I'm sorry. I was just angry. And I wanted you to say my name."

"I gave you no rights," she whispered. "I didn't know you thought . . ."

"We're not talking about me now, are we?" he asked softly. He watched her until she hugged her arms around herself, then looked away. Looked into the past.

"No," she finally said. "He came to my room on Christmas Eve. I . . . I didn't know what he wanted. I thought that he . . . but I was a foolish girl."

"And now you're a much wiser woman?" he asked gently.

"Yes," she said, feeling stronger now. "Yes, I am much wiser. And I know what men like himlike youreally want from a girl or a woman who sews and cleans."

"You know nothing about me."

"All I know is that the Holy Mother sent me here, to your home, so Colin could be saved. I appreciate all you've done for him, and for me, but I'll not be payin' you back with my body."

"Did I ask?"

"You . . . what do you mean?"

"I mean I didn't ask you into my bed. All I did was kiss you when I should have taken a deep breath and cussed a blue streak."

"But you"

"Miss O'Shea, when and if I ever want you in my bed, you can be sure I'll let you know. Directly, succinctly, and without offering a bribe. Now why don't you take those clothes into the guest bedroom and see if any of them fit? Then we can get our butts over to the hospital and see how your son is doing."

He pivoted and stalked across the room, while Erina stood near the cold glass, the beach far below, and wondered what she'd done to make him so angry.

Chapter Six

"You look . . . great," Grant said, wondering how she could appear any younger or more vulnerable than she did right now. He'd thought the modern clothes would make her somehow different, but he hadn't anticipated his gut reaction to the maroon-flowered, flowing, soft skirt, the sweater that molded itself to her breasts, the lace collar that framed her sweet face. No, he'd hoped to feel differently about her.

Instead, he wanted to put his arms around her, erase that wide-eyed, uncertain look from her face, tell her that everything was going to be fine.

He wanted to kiss her again. This time in passion, not in anger. He wanted to ease his tongue between her lips and

"Mr. Kirby."

"Grant," he said automatically. His anger had long since vanished, replaced by the damned sense of protectiveness. And tenderness. He recognized the feeling but didn't welcome such a compelling emotion. He'd only known her for two daysmuch too short a time to develop any real affection. And God, she was so young.

"I cannot be callin' you 'Grant.' That wouldn't be proper."

"Everyone calls me 'Grant.' Just try it. Say, 'Okay, Grant.'"

"I don't think I can do that."

"If you keep calling me 'Mr. Kirby,' I'm just going to have to remind you that's not my name. Maybe by kissing you again, just so you realize who I am." That should convince her. She wouldn't welcome another kiss, not after she'd pushed him awayafter he'd frightened her by reminding her of the past. Damn. There he went again, believing her stories. She had not been raped by his great-grandfather. She was not from the past.

"Look, Erina, why don't you just say it?" he asked in a very reasonable, bland tone. "Just call me Grant. That's all I'm asking."

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm thinkin' that you're takin' advantage of me by wantin' me to be familiar with you."

He spread his arms in a gesture of conciliation, then let them drop to his sides. "I haven't asked for a thing, Erina, except this."

She seemed to consider that fact for a long time but, in truth, it must have been only seconds. "Oh, very well. Grant. Now, are you happy?"

"No. I'd like to hear you say my name in a sentence. Like, 'I really like my new clothes, Grant.'"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm not sure I can be wearin' these clothes. The skirt's a wee bit short."

He glanced at the hemline, which almost reached her ankles. "Actually, it's a little long."

"I know other women wear their skirts short, but I'm not feelin' comfortable showin' my ankles. I need my boots, at least. These shoes are no help at all."

"You want to blend in, don't you? Why not be practical? You do need to wear hose, probably, or your legs and feet will be cold. The temperature is still pretty cool."

He watched a faint pink blush work into her cheeks. "There's also a bit of a problem with the . . . hose you brought to me. I cannot understand how to wear them. So if you'll just return my boots and stockings, I'll be gettin' dressed."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Erina, you can stop acting when it's just the two of us. Every woman knows how to get into a pair of panty hose. I think they do it just to irritate men, but that's another story."

"I'm tellin' you, Mr."

"Grant."

"Grant. I'm tellin' you that I do not know how to wear that infernal garment. I want my own things back."

"Your dress needs to be cleaned, your boots could use a good polish, and you've been wearing the same stockings for at least two days. Now put on the panty hose and we'll go to the hospital."

"I don't know how to get the blasted things on!"

Grant stalked into the guest bedroom and picked up the offensive hosiery from the bed. He was a thigh-high stockings man himself. He especially liked black ones with wide lacy tops. But he wasn't going to think about that right now. He'd be better off concentrating on the fax Brian had sent earlier, and the one that told him his balance sheet was going to take a serious hit for those balloon loan payments.

"Look," he said to Erina, who'd followed him to the doorway of the bedroom, "you just wad them up like this, all the way down the leg, and put them on, one leg at a time. Don't stick you fingernails through the material. I understand that's a problem. And make sure the tag is in the back."

She folded her arms across her chest. "And where did you learn so much about ladies' undergarments?"

"Commercials. Plus, I've taken off my fair share in the past. Now why don't you try it, unless you'd like me to do it for you."

She unfolded her arms and marched into the room. "I'll try the blasted things, but I cannot imagine why women of your time would wear something that's so difficult, when a simple pair of stockings would work just fine."

"My sentiments exactly," he said with a smile. "Next time I'll buy you some stockings."

"You'll not be buyin' me another thing!"

"I don't know how you're going to stop me."

"I'll just not see you again," she said, thrusting her chin in the air.

"Oh, really? And how are you going to keep me away?" ''I'll tell the hospital not to allow you in the room."

"I'm paying for that room."

"Then I'll move to another one. I'll put Colin in the charity ward, as long as the doctors will save him. But I'll not be ruled by any man, especially one so bent on bein' contrary."

"I'm not contrary. I'm one of the most reasonable, even-tempered people I know." That was the truth. His attorney, accountant, and property managers often told him that he was as businesslike as they come. He'd always thought that was the highest compliment they could give him.

"I doubt you're too fair-minded about your own traits."

"I'm fair-minded about everything."

"Then understand that wearin' these clothes does not feel right to me," she said with passion. "I've never worn a dress so short. I'm not a woman of your society."

"You are now," he said, passing the panty hose to her. "And for as long as you're here you'd better dress and act the part of a woman of this time. I'm not sure of your game, or even if you're completely aware of the story you're telling. But I know that if the authorities think you believe you're from another time, they'll take Colin away. He'd be saved, he'd have the surgery, but you might never see him again."

"No one's takin' my Colin away. I came a hundred years into the future to save him, and I'll be keepin' my son."

He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her dark blue eyes. "Then put on the hose. Put on the shoes. Don't worry that people can see your ankles. Most women wear clothes much less modest than these."

In a moment she slumped, the fight gone out of her. "You're right. I must do whatever is necessary to save Colin."

"I'm sorry I've had to tell you what to do. I think maybe we're both just a bit headstrong."

She smiled ever so slightly. "I'm thinkin' maybe you're right."

"I'll try not to tell you everything to do, Erina, but I have to interfere when I feel it's necessary. I've come to care about Colin . . . and about you. I mean, I feel responsible for the two of you. Together. I don't want him to be taken away from you."

"I'll not let anyone take him away. He's my son."

"I know that. I'll do what I can to help, but you've got to cooperate. They could put you in the psychiatric ward and charge you with child abuse if you tell them Colin didn't get medical attention because he's from 1896."

"You're right," she said in a small voice, looking away. "I'll keep my thoughts to myself from now on."

"Good girl," he said, giving her shoulders a pat. He was trying his best to think of her only as a friend-in-need, a too-young mother, an off-limits, out-of-town visitor. Even though he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again and again . . .

"I'll put on the hose now and I'll not say another word about the skirt bein' too short. Then can we go to the hospital?" "Of course," he said neutrally, giving her a smile. "I'll be ready whenever you are."

She stayed with Colin all night, rocking him back and forth on the cot, just as she did back in her rooms above Mrs. Abernathy's shop. When he slept she watched, leaning over the crib until her eyes misted and she had to turn away before she woke him with her sniffles. Toward dawn she fell asleep in the chair but jerked awake when the nurses came into the room.

"Is it time then?" Time to take him away, to cut open his chest?

"Not yet. I just need to listen to his breathing and his heart," the blond nurse said softly. She placed a metal disk on Colin's chest and the two connecting tubes in her ears.

"How is he?" Erina asked, leaning forward so she could watch her son sleep.

The nurse moved away from the crib. "He's fine. The anesthesiologist should be by in about thirty minutes."

Erina rubbed her temples. "Which doctor is he? There's so many, I forget."

"You really are from the country, aren't you?" the nurse asked with a smile. "The anesthesiologist makes Colin fall asleep and keeps him that way until after the surgery."

Erina walked into the hall with the nurse. "How do you know where I'm from?" she asked warily.

"Mr. Kirby. He explained how you've only been in Galveston a short time, and that you're from the countryside in Ireland. I think it's so romantic. I mean, meeting Mr. Kirby and all. I got the impression he was in Europe last year," the nurse said with a grin and a nudge of her arm. "He's a real hunk."

"A hunk of what?"

The nurse laughed. "Oh, honey, I don't have to tell you, do I? Did you know he was named one of Houston's most eligible bachelors? I wonder if he'll be on that list next year," she said with a smile and a wink. She walked away, shaking her head and chuckling.

Erina frowned, then returned to Colin's room. She wasn't sure what hunk meant, but she did get the impression that the nurse believed Grant Kirby was her son's father. And that maybe they'd met in Ireland. Had he planted those ideas in the nurse's mind? Or had she come to those conclusions on her own?

She didn't have time to think of him right now. She wanted her thoughts to be of Colin, and the trauma he would soon undergo. She still had a hard time believing that his heart could be operated on, but all the doctors and nurses told her it was so. And the Blessed Virgin Mary had sent them here in a true miracle.

She sat back down in the chair, looping her arms around her knees as she leaned toward the crib. The soft fabric of the new skirt rubbed against her skin, reminding her of the way Mr. Kirby had brought home the bags full of beautiful garments. Even though the styles were foreign to her, she had to admit they were comfortableespecially the special corsetlike device for nursing. How had he known to buy that particular item for her? The thought of him describing her needs to a salesclerk made her blush.

And he had been more than generous with his money. Did he have enough money to buy her such expensive gifts and to pay for Colin's surgery? If a cup of tea cost five dollars, what must this room and the services of all the doctors be worth? Surely more than Mr. Kirby would earn as a laborer.

Somehow she would find a way to pay him back, even if she had to work for years after Colin recovered.

Would she stay in this time? She had no idea. The longer she stayed, the less odd her new surroundings seemed. Only in her dreams of Mrs. Abernathy had she revisited her own time, and then she'd felt like a stranger looking in on the rooms of the dressmaking shop, gliding up the narrow, dark stairs to her own rooms, seeing the place she'd stayed for nearly a year, the place where Colin had been born and had almost died before she took him to St. Mary's Cathedral. She'd seen herself, working on the quilt, which seemed much more finished than when she'd left. Was it a dream or a premonition that she would return to the past?

Or would this be her home? A part of her hoped that she could stay. There were so many wondrous things. The experience was similar to her reaction to arriving in Galveston after living all her life in the Irish countryside. The island had been so . . . alive. So bustling with activity. People working, warehouses under construction, loads of cotton arriving by train, to be processed and shipped around the world. Wagons crowded the streets near the docks and business district, while trolleys made their rounds on Broadway.

She'd loved Galveston from the moment she'd stepped off the boat. Her da had also, jumping into his job landscaping the Kirby estate with such enthusiasm that Erina had laughed each night as he explained the new plants, the variety of flora that could grow in this climate. He'd loved his job, right up until three years ago, when he'd dropped dead between the bushes he was planting in Mrs. Kirby's new rose garden.

She'd like to see more of Galveston in this time. If she did stay, she'd need to know the customs and the town. And if she went back to her own time . . . well, then she'd have the memories of what was to come.

And memories of Mr. Grant Kirby, great-grandson of the man who'd taken her innocence, a cousin, many times removed, to her own son.

Colin moved restlessly, stuffing a little fist in his mouth. Erina sat beside the bed, leaning on the rails of the crib, and smoothed his downy hair.

"How much longer?" Erina asked, fidgeting in her waiting room chair. "He's been in surgery for three hours."

"There's really no way to tell. The doctor said three to five"

Erina jumped up and began pacing the waiting room floor. "I need to know! I cannot stand the waitin' a minute longer."

Grant watched her as she echoed his own feelings. He'd arrived at the hospital that morning just in time to see the little guy before the anethesthiologist arrived. Erina had drawn within herself, obviously terrified of the surgery her son was about to undergo. Grant had held Colin, put his arm around Erina, and stood with her as they carried the boy away.

He felt as though Colin were his own son. He felt like a little bit of his heart had gone with the boy.

"What can I do, Erina? Do you want me to get you something to eat or drink? Or I can ask the nurse for a sedative for you, if you're too upset."

She whirled back to face him. "I just want my son, whole and healthy, and not cursed for what I" She cut herself off with a fist stuffed to her mouth. Her face showed the distress of a mother in pain, but not just for her child.

He got up and walked to where she stood, placing his hands on her upper arms. "What are you talking about?

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "It's my fault that Colin was born with a bad heart. He's bein' punished because of my sins."

"Your sins? What could you have possibly done that would be considered a sin?"

She broke away from his hold on her arms and turned toward the window. "I encouraged his father. I thought he . . . I was a foolish girl."

"You've said something like that before, only I got the idea that he took advantage of you. What did you do, smile at this guy? Flirt with him? Ask him to your place and then change your mind?" Grant wondered who Colin's father really was. A high-school sweetheart? A one-night stand? Was he tall, short, dark, light? But what did it matter? No matter who the biological father might be, Erina obviously had received no support from the jerk.

"I . . . I did smile at him. I allowed him to think that I would welcome his attention. I was angry before when I talked about him, and you might have noticed that I have a bit of a temper." She shook her head. "That doesn't matter. I should not have looked at him, or been more than polite. I was a servant in his home."

"Listen, Erina, I don't know where you've been for the last ten years, but let me update you: This is not your fault. You have every right to say 'no' at any time, even if you're both naked and breathing hard. If you were out on a date and he didn't stop, that's called 'date rape.' And if you were an employee . . . well, what he did goes way beyond sexual harassment. Men know the bounds, even if they don't want to admit it."

"No, you don't understand. He didn't know any such thing. He was just takin' what he thought was offered."

"You're making excuses for this jerk."

"He's your own great-grandfather! You should not speak so ill of the man."

"My God, I can't believe this! He raped you."

"The truth is that he would not have done so if I hadn't encouraged him."

"Erina, I can't believe you'd defend his actions. What happened to that spunky girl who called him a slippery eel? And quit saying my great-grandfather was the one. We both know that's simply not true."

"It is the truth."

Grant shook his head. Maybe she had been raped. A violation of that sort could certainly cause her to want to forget the facts surrounding Colin's conception. The guy needed to be prosecuted, if he'd gotten away with the crime, and to do that Erina would need to recall the actual events. But perhaps she wasn't able to distinguish the truth at the moment. She might need time or professional help. He could provide both, if only she'd give some indication she was willing to cooperate. At the moment she was sticking to the impossible time-travel story with a frustrating determination.

"Look, let's not argue about that now. How about we go visit Kirby House after Colin has his surgery and gets better? You can show me where all this allegedly occurred."

"The house is still there on Broadway?"

"It's a historic home. People tour it every day. Maybe you've already been . . ." He let his words trail off, hoping she'd admit to visiting the house, coming up with her outrageous story, and seeking him out when she discovered a Kirby heir still resided in Galveston.

"I've not seen the house as it is now. When I last saw it your great-great-grandparents were still livin' there, and Jerrold Kirby was just becomin' a lawyer."

Grant sighed. There was just no shaking her story. "Okay, whatever you say. I'll take you to the house as soon as possible." "I'd like to see if Mrs. Abernathy's shop is still there on Post Office Street."

"Sure. We can drive by, stop in. I'll even take you to the Galveston Historical Society if you'd like."

"Do they have information on the past?"

"Yes. A lot of it focuses on the hurricane of 1900, though. Much of the island was wiped out. I forget how many thousands of people were killed."

"Oh, that's so sad. I'm sure many of the people I knew lost their lives. I hope Mrs. Abernathy survived. She was a dear, sweet woman. I do miss her so."

"I'm sure you do." No telling who was the model for the fictitious Mrs. Abernathy.

"And what of your family? Did they survive?"

"Yes, they were fine. They moved everything of value upstairs, then stayed on the second floor when the water rose. Almost everything downstairs was ruined."

"Even your granny's beautiful piano, I'd suppose. That piece was too heavy to move."

"My granny's piano? You mean the huge monstrosity with the claw-footed legs?" He'd heard that it had been damaged in the storm surge, but refinishers had done a remarkable job restoring the enormous piece to pre-hurricane splendor.

"Aye, that's the one. I've dusted those keys many times, wishing I knew how to play. Mrs. Kirby was a wonderful talent. She had a voice like a lark."

"She did?"

Erina's face took on a dreamy quality that made her even more appealing. "When they had folks over she'd often play and sing after dinner. I'd listen from upstairs, just thinkin' how grand it would be to have her talent.''

"You did?"

"Aye. She was a fine woman to work for. Very fair to us, because her family was from Ireland and she understood how hard it was to come to another country with more dreams than money. That's why I thought her son . . . but never you mind. What's done is done."

"You thought her son would marry you and take you away from your life as a servant."

She blushed and looked away. "I've already admitted that I was a foolish girl, Mr. Kirby. You don't have to be remindin' me."

"There you go, calling me 'Mr. Kirby' again. Shall I kiss you now to remind you of my name?"

"I'm askin' you not to kiss me again. If you're a gentleman, like you said men should be, I'm hopin' you'll honor my request."

He placed his hands against her warm cheeks and tilted her face up. "I'm not sure if I'm a gentleman as much as I am a man, but I'd never harm you," he said softly.

She looked startled for just an instant; then her eyes grew soft and she seemed to melt against him. He felt the tentative brush of her breasts against his chest, the warmth of her body, the womanly smell of her filling his senses. How could he not kiss her, again and again, until she said his name in a sigh of satisfaction?

"Mr. Kirby? Ms. O'Shea?"

He dropped his hands and stepped back, feeling as though the doctor had thrown a pitcher of ice water over him and Erina.

"Doctor, do you have news of my son?" she asked, her mood changing in an instant.

The surgeon looked tired but not grim-faced. "Yes, I do. Colin's surgery went very well. We were able to repair the obstruction. I'd expect a full recovery."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you." She whirled around between the doctor in front of her and Grant behind her, as though she didn't know what to do.

Grant solved that problem, placing his arms around her and holding her tightly, feeling her joy and energy like electricity, racing from her body to his. And then another feeling, warm and glowing, as joyous as a child's first Christmas, caused him to blink and hide his face in her hair for just a moment.

Colin had survived the surgery. He was going to be okay.

"He'll be in the ICU for the rest of the day and night; then he can probably be transferred back to a regular room."

"Can I see him now?" Erina asked, sniffing, breaking away from Grant's embrace and facing the surgeon again.

"In a little while. He's still in post-op. And don't be surprised that he's still under anesthetic. We keep the little ones sedated and restrained so they don't pull out their IVs and tubes. He'll have some bruising on his chest near the incision. It might look a little scary to you, but he's going to be fine."

"Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much. This is truly a miracle." Erina clasped the surgeon's hands in what looked to be a very tight grip. He smiled in return.

"I'll be around tomorrow to check on him."

Erina whirled back to Grant as soon as the doctor left. "Did you hear? My Colin is going to be fine. Oh, I'm so happy I could dance with the joy of it!"

"I'm happy too," Grant said, catching Erina's hands in his. "I'm happy for both of you."

"I must thank Mary. She's the reason my Colin is alive today."

"There's a chapel in another part of the hospital. If you'd like to go, I'll take you."

"Yes . . . no, I'd like to go to St. Mary's, if the cathedral is still there. Do you know if it is?"

"Yes, it is. As a matter of fact, there's a legend that as long as the statue of Mary is on top of the spire, the church will be safe. It survived the hurricane intact, with no major damage to even the windows."

"The Holy Mother protects her own, I'm here to say," Erina said joyously. "Oh, can we go to the church? I'd be so grateful to give thanks to her there."

"Sure. Do you want to wait to see Colin?"

"Yes. I want to see my son, and then go to St. Mary's."

"Your wish is my command," Grant said with a smile. At the moment he felt like granting her any favor. Even if she pretended she was from the last century and that a miracle had occurred.

Chapter Seven

Erina enjoyed the drive to St. Mary's Cathedral; the Cherokee didn't travel too fast this time and she got a chance to see more of the changes that had taken place since 1896. When they'd gone to breakfast and to his home before, they'd stayed along the beach, on a road that Mr. KirbyGrantcalled Sea Wall Boulevard. He'd explained that the sea wall had been built after the hurricane of 1900, but Erina still had a difficult time understanding how the island had been raised so many feet in such a massive undertaking.

She looked away from the scenery outside the window and watched him drive. Both of his large, work-roughened hands rested on top of the wheel that steered the Cherokee. He looked straight ahead, his nose straight, his chin solid and strong. She knew from memory that when he smileda rare occurrence indeeda dimple appeared in his cheek.

His hair brushed the collar of his jacket and curled under slightly. She wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. She wished she could reach out and touch the tawny curls, much as she would Colin's hair. But there was nothing childish about the way her imagination seemed to be working. The feelings Grant inspired in her were not motherly, and definitely not appropriate. Not when he'd made it clear that he would accept her affectionsand that he wouldn't take them forcefully.

She was simply a guest in his time, and whether she stayed forever or just a few days, she had to think of Colin first and not allow her own nature to lead her astray. She'd done that before with Jerrold Kirby and had more than learned her lesson.

They drove through business and residential areas, passing many buildings that she recognized. The roads looked so very different thought, and the carsshe'd learned that was the proper term for these modern carriagesparked along the sides of the road. So many of them! Did no one own a horse and buggy any longer?

"Do the trolleys still run down Broadway?" she asked, craning her neck to see what she could as they crossed that major street. The Kirby mansion was close, along with many other homes she hoped still stood.

"No, just buses."

"What are buses?"

"Come on, Erina," he said in an exasperated tone.

She continued to stare at him. Finally, he explained. "They're like trolleys, but not electric or pulled by mules. They have engines, like my Jeep. I think Galveston does have a trolley of sorts, but it's really a bus that looks like a trolley. There's a historic route and people pay to ride."

"I'd like to ride this new trolley," she said, distracted as she looked ahead for the church. Above the large palm trees and oaks stood the statue of a pale gray Virgin Mary, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, rising behind the cathedral like a protective mother.

"I think the parking lot is on the side of the church," he said as he pulled the Cherokee off the road and steered through an open area in a tall fence. He switched off the engine and turned to her. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

"If you would like." In truth, she didn't know how she'd feel about having him there inside the sanctuary as she gave her personal thanks for the miracle. She didn't even know if he was Catholic, although she suspected he was because all the Kirbys were.

"I'll walk in with you, but I think I'll stay in the back."

"I won't be long."

"Take your time. It's good to be away from the hospital."

"You needn't stay if you'd rather get back to your work," she said. "You've been more than generous with your time and money. I've been meanin' to tell you that I'll be payin' you back, but it might take awhile."

"Erina, I don't want you to pay me back. And I wasn't complaining about being in the hospital so often or so long. I did what I did because I wanted to help Colinand you. Whatever I gave you was a gift, not a loan." "But I'm understandin' that things are a lot more expensive now than I'm used to, and I know that you're not a wealthy man, so if"

He unfastened his seat belt and turned to face her. "What?"

"Your hands. They're big and rough, like a workman. And you don't wear suits, just the denims and cottons of a working man. I'm not complainin', mind you. I think you look grand in them, but I know that you must work for your money, and you needn't spend it on me and my son."

"You can jump to the oddest conclusions of anyone I've ever seen. What are you trying to do, get me to admit how much I'm worth?"

"Mr. Kirby! I'd be doin' no such thing. It's none of my business how much money you have, and it's not even proper to discuss it with you. I'm just informin' you that I'll pay you back when I can."

"Erina, I won't accept a penny of your money. You're making me angry just talking about it."

"I told you it wasn't a proper subject."

"And I told you I have plenty of money to take care of you and Colin," he replied, scowling at her.

She would dearly love to ask him how he'd come by this money, if indeed he had any. Had he inherited it from his family? Surely that must be it. But if he had, he must still workat something. Good manners forbade her from inquiring, no matter how she longed to know more about him. But how ironic that Jerrold Kirby's money was finally being used to help his son! "I'll just be goin' into the church then," she said when he remained silent.

He got out of the Cherokee and walked around, opening her door. "You could have looked up my personal or family income in one of the Texas business journals." His eyes flashed, and a muscle in his jaw where that dimple sometimes appeared now jerked in repressed anger.

"I don't know what you mean," she said warily, hoping he didn't become abusive when he was in a temper. She didn't believe he was the type of man who would strike a woman, even if he was more than willing to tell her what to do.

"Don't you? Even though my mother is the primary stockholder, Kirby Investments is still my company. I run it. And we have assets in excess of four hundred million dollars."

With that announcement he took her arm and steered her toward the front doors of the church. She felt numb, her mind refusing to comprehend what he'd just said as her feet automatically moved her forward. As they neared a statue in the middle of a small garden, Erina dug in her heels and stopped.

"Four hundred million dollars?"

"Yes," he said before urging her on.

Lord in heaven! How did one man, or even one family, acquire that kind of wealth? Even if tea cost five dollars a cup, four hundred million dollars was too much to comprehend.

Then she entered the vestibule of the church, passed through the heavy oak doors that she knew so well, and slipped inside the darkness of the rear of the church. Finally, something familiar.

"Wait," she said, turning back toward the door. "I need to cover my head."

"You don't need to do that any longer."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I remember clearly when my mother gave away an entire closet of hats to charity."

"If you're sure . . ." She turned around and looked in wonder, expecting the cathedral to appear much the same as it had when it was only fifty years old, back in her time. But so much had changed! Instead of pews reaching almost to the doors, a strange sort of display had been erected. Colorful signs and banners, along with pamphlets of different sorts, covered the latticework walls and wooden table tops. There were brightly painted shields of each diocese, but she didn't recognize most of the names.

No, not even her church was familiar any longer. That realization filled her with sadness and a longing for something solid and real in this new world.

The holy water resided in the middle of this new area, so Erina knelt, touched her fingers to the liquid, and made the sign of the cross. At least that tradition had remained the same. As she walked up the aisle toward the altar, more changes became obvious. The beautiful gas lamps were gone, replaced by smaller ones that looked as if they should hold candles but appeared to have the glass bulbs she'd seen before in electric lamps. Gone was the communion rail. The whole area was now raised from the original floor by tiles of white and black marble. Behind the dais was a carved wooden piece that seemed too small for the area. Stained-glass windows faced each other high on the wall, but sunlight did not shine into the church there. She imagined that a wall had been added that blocked the sun.

Most of all, she thought as she approached the Virgin Mary's altar, the statue had changed. The face was different, looking down from a marble table instead of the sturdy oak one she remembered. But this was just an image of Mary, Erina told herself. She could still give thanks, even though nothing about the Holy Mother seemed the same.

What had happened to her statue, the one she'd prayed before with Colin? It must have been replaced long ago by some well-meaning bishop or due to an accident or natural disaster. The fact that she'd transcended time, that she was here when the statue of Mary was long gone, struck her with awe.

Erina knelt at the marble rail that fronted the statue. "Holy Mother, I'm here to give thanks to you for savin' the life of my son Colin. You granted me a miracle, and guided the hands of the doctors as they operated on him. And I want to thank you also for sendin' me to this new time, and lettin' me experience all the wonders of this world."

She stopped her prayer and turned toward the back of the church. Just as she thought, Grant Kirby sat in a back pew, hands folded across his chest, looking at her. Four hundred million dollars. That was unbelievable. Incomprehensible.

She quickly looked away. Resuming her prayer, she closed her eyes and tried to block out the sight of him. "I want to thank you for sendin' me into the care of Mr. Grant Kirby, who has been more than kind to me and Colin. And I ask for your blessin' on him also, because he really is a good man, even if he doesn't believe where I'm from.

''In the name of Christ your son," she ended, crossing herself, "I pray."

Erina stood but still didn't turn back to the rear of the church. She needed to absorb the feeling of peace she'd always found in church, but with his eyes on her, she knew peace would elude her.

As she stood there, uncertain and confused about her feelings for Grant Kirby, a priest entered the church from a door beneath one of the stained-glass windows above the dais. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, Father. If you have time to hear my confession, I'd be very grateful."

"Certainly. Evening mass isn't for another forty-five minutes. Come right this way."

Erina looked at the place he'd indicated with a sweep of his arm toward the front of the church. Nothing more than a table with two chairs and a tiny screen, it looked more like a place to dine than a confessional. Grant would be able to see her there, and she'd feel his eyes on her when she should be concentrating on seeking peace and forgiveness. Then she remembered the velvet-draped confessional she'd seen in the back of the church.

"Father, may I give my confession in the other one? The closed one."

"We don't use that one anymore. It's merely a relic of the past."

"But that's the kind I'm accustomed to. Please, Father. It would mean so much to me."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Just for you. Come."

Erina followed the priest toward the back of the church, glancing just once at Grant. Her heart beat a little faster at his intense look. She slipped inside the confessional, feeling comfortable for the first time in such a long while. Here was something familiar, something from her own era.

"Father, forgive me, for I have sinned," she began. "It has been two weeks since my last confession." Two weeks and a hundred years, she amended silently.

The priest said his words, she responded, and then it was time to admit to her sins.

"I doubted the power of the Blessed Virgin on one occasion and lost my temper twice," she admitted. "And I was kissed by a man who is not my husband," she added hurriedly.

"Are you married?"

"No, Father."

"Then that is no sin."

"But Father, I . . . I felt . . . I felt lust for this man."

"Did you act on this lust?"

"No, Father."

"Then you have committed no sin. Go in peace, my child."

"But Father!"

She heard the slide of the velvet curtain, and then the faint footsteps of the priest as he walked away.

She also thought she heard him chuckle.

Erina frowned. Why hadn't the priest told her to say a dozen Hail Marys, or give up something she enjoyed, or attend an extra mass? He didn't seem at all concerned that she'd admitted her feelings for Grant went beyond gratitude.

Shaking her head, she left the confessional. Near the back of the church, she saw Grant place some paper money inside an envelope and slide it into a slot on a wooden box. "Are you ready?" he asked, looking up as though he knew she'd be standing there.

"Aye, I'm ready," she said, still feeling a bit sour over the priest's dismissal of her confession.

"Church must not agree with you. You don't look as if you're in a good mood."

"I'm just not understandin' this time of yours," she said peevishly. "Some people act more than a bit odd."

With that, Grant Kirby burst into laughterand in church, of all places!

Grant returned Erina to the hospital after buying her lunch on The Strand and listening to her "ooh" and "ahh" over the "changes." Probably since she'd been to Galveston last time, he thought to himself as he drove back to the condo, a year or so ago. And she was so excited by the horse-drawn carriages standing along the streets that she'd spooked one normally placid animal. Grant had slipped the driver a ten and apologized for Erina's exuberance. She was from the country, he said softly so she wouldn't hear, as if that explained her unusual behavior.

She was not from 1896, despite her convincing portrayal of a young, innocent, Victorian, IrishCatholic . . . what? She wasn't old enough or worldly enough to be a woman, but she was a mother. Grant had no doubt that Colin was her son. She loved that baby too much to be anything else.

She was too damned young, that was for sure. Too young to be a mother, too young for him . . .

He pulled into a parking spot near the elevators and slammed the door of the Cherokee. He couldn't get her out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how many times he told himself she wasn't his problem. No matter how often he told himself to make sure the baby had what he needed and forget about the mother.

The cold front that had come through on Saturday was rapidly dissipating in the warm breeze off the Gulf. As he opened the door of the condo and stepped inside the air-conditioned comfort, he again wondered how Erina had managed to break in without setting off the alarm system. He knew he'd turned it on before slipping into bed. In many ways he'd become a creature of habitmostly out of necessity. Being a real estate mogul did not come naturally.

He hadn't wanted to run his father's business. He'd wanted to become a geologist and was well on his way to his undergraduate degree when his father had died.

So he'd transferred to Harvard, after strong alumni recommendations and academic counseling, to study business instead of rocks. Without Brian Abbott's help in getting into Harvard and holding Kirby Investments together, the company would have folded years ago.

Grant eased into a comfortable chair and dialed Brian's office.

"Where have you been, son? I've been trying to reach you on the cel phone."

"Believe it or not, I've been in church. I had the phone off."

"Church? You?"

Grant chuckled. "Don't sound like the earth is going to split open and swallow me up. I went with a . . . friend."

"It's that woman, isn't it? I knew she'd have a strange effect on you."

"She is different," Grant said, looking around the living room. How did the modern furniture look to her? Too stark and plain?

"How's the kid?"

Grant smiled. "He made it through surgery just great. Erina's at the hospital with him now."

"Good. Now maybe you can get your mind on business. We need to meet with the Phoenix people on Thursday. That's the latest I could make the meeting. We're pushing it at that."

"Okay. I can make Thursday."

"Well, hot damn, son. I'm glad to hear it." Brian said sarcastically, his voice booming over the telephone as though he was right there in the room.

"Don't get on my case. I've had a few things on my mind."

"Grant"

"What time is the meeting?" "Ten. I'm having lunch brought in so we can get finished in one day."

"Fax me whatever I need. I'm staying down here until Thursday morning."

"Hell, Grant, come on back to Houston. Your mother's having a dinner party on Wednesday night for one of her pet projectsFriends of the Library, I think. Why don't you"

"I'm staying down here, Brian. I know you can't accept this, but I'm going to be involved in that baby's recovery."

"It's not the baby I'm concerned with," Brian replied.

Grant ran a hand through his hair. How could he reassure Brian about something he didn't fully understand himself? "I'll be in around nine thirty on Thursday. Just send me what I need before then."

He hung up the phone, concerned that Erina and Colin were coming between him and Brian. He hoped not. Brian was like an uncle, at least. Maybe even a father.

Grant pushed out of the chair and walked around the condo. Funny, he'd always thought of it as peaceful and quiet. Now it seemed empty. Barren. Not at all like Erina, who glowed with warmth and motherly love.

He walked into the guest bedroom. She'd need somewhere to go after Colin was released from the hospital. No one had ever used this extra bedroom except her, when she'd changed clothes after her bath. When was that? Yesterday? It seemed much longer ago than that. She'd need a crib for Colin, plus some baby clothes and diapers. And other things. He had no idea what a baby needed outside the basics. The guest bedroom contained one double bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. A crib would fit nicely at the end of the bed. And even another chest, to store the baby clothes.

He needed to do something about that soon. The doctor had said that Colin could be released in a week.

Across the room, he heard the fax machine receiving. The information about the Phoenix management firm, no doubt. He had to look at it, just to make sure he had what he needed for the Thursday meeting.

Then he was going back to the hospital to check on Colin. And convince Erina that she should stay at the condo.

Erina learned a lot that afternoon, reading magazines in the Intensive Care waiting room. She didn't understand many of the words that were used, and wanted to know more about some of the historical events that were cited, but she got a good picture of how modern women were supposed to act.

She was shocked to the roots of her hair. Grant had asked her to act more "normal," but there was no way she was going to behave like these women, with their short, revealing clothing, their quest for perfect lovers, and their constant concern over what they ate and drank. She couldn't believe all the articles about the sexual act. Women seemed obsessed with it, for what reason she couldn't imagine. The very idea made her flushed and hot. Despite her attraction to Grant, she didn't believe that the act of coupling could be as wonderful as the writers expressed.

Could it?

She was debating the issue with herself when the object of her speculation appeared in the doorway. She dropped the magazine like a hot pot and tried to calm her racing heart.

"Sorry I've been gone so long. How's Colin?"

"He's fine," she said, sounding somewhat breathless to her own ears. "They let me see him every hour, but only for a few minutes."

"I'm sure he'll be out of ICU soon. I talked to the doctor on my way in."

"You sought him out?"

"No, I saw him in the hall and asked."

"What did he tell you?"

"Basically that Colin was doing great, but he was worried about you."

"And why would the doctor be worryin' about me?"

"Maybe because you look like a strong wind would blow you over."

Erina thought back to the magazines she'd read, and the pictures of tall, curvey models. She supposed she did look underfed and unkempt compared to them. Was Grant Kirby accustomed to those kinds of women? And if so, why was he spending so much time with her?

She raised her chin. "I'm just a bit on the short side, Mr. Kirby." "Have you eaten anything this afternoon?"

"No, not after the lunch you fed me."

"It's almost dinnertime."

"Then I'll eat a bit soon."

"We'll go out to dinner. Do you like seafood?"

"You mean fish and the like?"

"Yes. Gaido's is what you need. Great food, large portions."

"I'm not leaving Colin again."

"You can't stay here constantly."

"I slept here before. I don't see why I can't stay again."

"You had a cot in his room. Now he's in ICU. You can't stay in these chairs overnight."

"I don't see why not."

"Well, you just can't," he said imperiously. "Let's get some dinner and then we'll come back to the hospital and see Colin again."

She thought of the fresh water, the toothpaste, and sweet-smelling soap at his home, and longed for a moment to refresh herself. But she couldn't put her own needs first.

"Colin is fine. He'll sleep most of the time anyway, so you might as well get some food and rest."

"Why do you want to take me to dinner?" she asked, looking up at him. He wasn't smiling. His arms were crossed over his wide chest in a gesture she'd come to recognize as extreme stubbornness.

"Just because I do. Now why don't we ask if they'll let me see Colin before we go."

"But"

He walked toward her, stopping in front of her chair and holding out a hand. "Come on, Erina. I'm starving, even if you aren't."

She gazed up at his handsome face, wondering how he'd become so familiar to her in such a short time. She should tell him to go to dinner alone, that she'd stay with Colin here all night, even if the hospital didn't want her to sleep in these chairs. But he looked so earnest, and seemed to care so for Colin's welfare.

She should tell Grant Kirby that Colin was her child and she'd take care of him. Colin wasn't this man's responsibility.

She held out her hand. "I'm just goin' to dinner with you, Mr. Kirby, and only if Colin is fine."

He quickly pulled her up, catching her against him as she tilted forward. "I asked you to call me Grant."

"I . . . I'm tryin' to remember."

"Remember this." She felt a rush of excitement as his head descended, as she felt his hot breath and then his firm lips lock over hers.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief moment of pleasure. His lips slanted and coaxed a response she couldn't deny. Just like in the magazines, she thought. She finally understood what the nurse meant by "hunk." But not even the nurse could know how wonderful he kissed, how he made her feel as though she were floating off the floor in a mist of stars. When she felt his tongue brush against her closed lips she didn't even try to resist his gentle invasion.

"Ms. O'Shea?"

She barely heard her name, but suddenly his lips were gone and she dropped back to earth in a dizzying fall.

''Yes?" she whispered, still staring into the blazing eyes of Grant Kirby.

"You can see Colin now. Sorry to interrupt."

Erina pushed away from him, but he held her steady when her knees threatened to buckle. The nurse was gone, they were alone again, and yet the spell was broken.

"Do you mind if I go in with you to see him?"

"No," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm not sorry I kissed you, Erina," he said softly.

"I should slap your handsome face," she replied without thinking. As soon as the words left her mouth, she looked at him.

He smiled, the dimple appearing like magic. "I don't think you're into violence, so I'll ignore the threat," he said easily, "but I'm glad to know you find me appealing."

"I didn't say you were appealin'," she said, blushing and looking away. "I just said you had a handsome face. Now I'd like to see my son."

"Whatever you say," he replied with a chuckle.

Colin looked very peaceful, even with all the tubes and bandages across his little chest. Erina knew she was getting used to seeing him attached to machines and things that she'd learned were monitors to check his heart and breathing. She no longer wanted to cry when she saw needles stuck under the skin of her baby. She wished he didn't have to suffer, but she was grateful for the doctors' ability to save Colin's life. Standing beside her, Grant filled the room with his large body and his warmth. He reached out and stroked his finger down Colin's cheek, brushing against her arm as he bent toward the bed. Erina's heart seemed to flutter at the image of the strong man and the tiny child. How wonderful it would be if Colin had a father like Grant.

What was she thinking? She'd been sent to this time for Colin's surgery, not to find a husband for herself and a father for her baby. And he'd get what he needed to save his life, of that Erina was sure, whether it was in the form of the doctors, the hospital, or a generous man like Grant Kirby. The Holy Mother had not let her down. To ask for more would be both selfish and foolish.

Chapter Eight

They went to dinner at Gaido's on Sea Wall Boulevard. As they walked from the Cherokee to the restaurant, Erina noticed many cars traveling up and down the wide road. The ocean lapped against the sand beyond the sea wall and salt spray tainted the air. The weather had turned balmy, and she was warm in her new clothes.

The restaurant wasn't elaborate on the outside, but inside were carpets and wonderful lighting, along with illuminated cases of cut crystal so beautiful that she had to stop and admire the pieces before being led to the table.

She was surprised that it was nearly dark outside already; she hadn't thought much time had passed since she arrived at the hospital after lunch. Apparently, reading magazines made the hours pass quicklyespecially ones with articles on such shocking topics. So different from Godey's and The Saturday Evening Post.

And, of course, waiting to see Colin gave her a distorted sense of time. She was so happy her baby was going to be well that the worldeven this new, unknown timeseemed as bright as the lighted crystal, and so full of hope that her heart was near to bursting.

Over her protests, Grant ordered a large combination of scallops, shrimp, fish, and oysters for her, along with a wonderfully sweet white wine from Germany. She wouldn't be able to eat that much food in days, she told him, but as they talked and sipped the wine, she was surprised at how much of the delicious food simply disappeared.

"I'll not eat another bite all week," she said, wiping her mouth with the cloth napkin. "Thank you for dinner."

"No dessert?" he asked, smiling across the table.

"Not another bite. You can't tempt me with anythin' else." She took a sip of her cooling cup of tea.

"Really? You wound my ego," he said with a half smile that made his eyes sparkle in the candlelight.

She felt a blush warm her cheeks as she remembered the kiss in the waiting room. "I'd best be gettin' back to the hospital now," she said, looking away. The restaurant was full of couples and families. Although she felt a bit disheveled after spending so many hours in her new outfit, she at least knew she was dressed appropriately. She didn't look at all out of place, even though she felt so different on the inside. If she was really a woman of this time, wouldn't she go back to Grant's condo, have sex with him, then "share" the experience with her friends? She could never be that modern. Her religion forbade it; her experience reinforced the danger of physical attraction. With shaking hands, she refreshed her cup of tea from the hot pot the waiter had brought minutes before.

"I'll take you back to the hospital, but I want you to come home with me later."

"Mr. Kirby!" she said, her spoon clanking loudly as she dropped it against the saucer. The fact that his words echoed her thoughts was too upsetting.

"Calm down, Erina. I have the extra bedroom, and I think it would be a good idea for you to get an uninterrupted night's sleep. You can't stay with Colin in the ICU. I'll take you back to the hospital first thing in the morning."

"I can stay in the waiting room tonight."

"But wouldn't you be more comfortable in a real bed? Besides, you need to change your clothes, and you'd probably like another bath. Since everything I bought for you is still at my place, it makes sense for you to come over tonight."

She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. "Why do you want me to come to your condo?"

"Because, as I said, it makes sense. You've got to be exhausted. You need to relax, at least for a little while, and"

"But why would you be carin' about me and my son?"

"Dammit, Erina, I just do, okay? I don't know why."

"And you don't believe in miracles?"

"No, I don't. I believe I'm attracted to you, despite my best advice to myself that you're way too young and that you've got some secret to hide. I believe that I care about what happens to a baby too small to help himself. I believe I have the money and time to help."

"You don't think that God is guiding us all, and that the Virgin Mary might just be askin' for your faith? She did put us in your condo."

"You broke in. I don't know how or why."

Erina sat up straight against the chair back. "I did no such thing. I went to the cathedral and prayed for a miracle."

Grant leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. "Look, Erina, I think you suffered some trauma. It's easier to believe you're from the past than accept what really happened. Obviously you've studied turn-of-the-century Galveston and my family. Lord knows you've got your historical perspective down solid. But for once just try to tell me where you're really from and what you want from me."

"I want nothing from you for myself. And I've told you what happened to me."

"Did you plan this whole scheme to get your son the medical attention he needs?"

Erina fought the frustration she always felt at Grant's dismissal of the truth. She knew her first reaction was to get angry, but that wouldn't make him believe her. Somehow he had to believe that divine intervention had occurred, but perhaps that would take another miracle. "I didn't plan on meetin' you. I didn't know how the Blessed Virgin would grant a miracle, but I'm grateful she sent me to a man who would care for Colin." "And after he's wellwhat then? Surely you want something for yourself: an apartment, a job, an education?"

"I can do just fine. I imagine even in this day ladies need their clothing tended or their houses cleaned. But I'd like a better life for my son. An education for him would be a fine thing. When he grows up he can work with his mind instead of his hands."

Grant glanced at his own hands. Erina noticed again how large they were, how weathered they appeared in contrast to his well-cut hair and clean-shaven jaw. "You want me to provide a college fund for Colin?" he said casually.

"No! I've not asked for a penny of your money."

"You still believe I'm a laborer, don't you?"

"I've no reason to call you a liar, Mr. Kirby."

"Grant. And I really do run our family investment company. That's not what I'd planned to do with my life, but it's what I chose."

"Your job must not be too demandin' then; you don't even go to the office," Erina observed.

"It has its peaks and valleys. Some days I don't even leave the office. I have a corporate attorney, Brian Abbott, who handles the contracts. Dottie Benson is my CFOChief Financial Officerand I have property managers in various cities. In addition, my office staff takes care of the daily operations of the investment firm."

"And this office is in Houston?"

"That's right. I usually just come to Galveston on the weekends to get away from . . . well, to have a change of pace." He paused, looking at her intently. "But I suppose you know that, since you knew where my condo was and when I'd be there."

"I knew no such thing, as I've said before."

He didn't answer, just continued to stare in a most unnerving way.

"Colin and I will be fine if you have to work. I'll remember not to talk to anyone about my past."

"That's good, but that's not the only reason I'm staying in Galveston."

"And what would the other one be?" she asked, feeling a bit breathless from his close perusal.

"A spunky Irish girl who should get an Oscar for the performance of a lifetime."

"I'm not performin'! And I don't know anyone named Oscar."

Grant laughed. "We'll see if you're real, sooner or later."

"I'm here because of a miracle and no words can change that fact."

"As I said, you're certainly consistent."

"And as you've said, you don't believe in miracles."

"That's right."

"Well, I do. And I also believe that the Holy Mother chose you for a reason. I'm not sure why, but maybe it's because Colin was denied his true father, and you are a Kirby who takes responsibility seriously."

"Erina, you did not know Jerrold Kirby, in the biblical sense or any other way," Grant said patiently, as though he was speaking to a small child.

"I certainly did, but it's clear you don't believe me, so I won't burden you with the story again."

"Thanks. Now can we go to the hospital, then back to the condo? I promise I'll be on my best behavior."

"I'm ready," she said, pushing back her chair.

He came around the table and acted the gentleman. "I do trust you," she said as they stood beside the table, "I just don't know how to make you believe. I don't know you very well."

"Brian Abbott, my corporate attorney, is beginning to think the same thing," Grant said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Colin was still sleeping when they arrived at the ICU. Grant leaned against the wall while Erina sat in the chair beside the bed, rubbing her baby's hand and smoothing back his hair. She spoke softly, with that lyrical Irish accent, and he swore she crooned in Gaelic for just a moment.

Erina excused herself for about ten minutesusing the breast pump, no doubt, and blushing as she did so well. He supposed she didn't want him to think of her nursing the baby, but he did. He thought about it a great deal lately, far more than he should.

The nurse ushered them out at nine thirty, telling Erina that Colin was doing fine, and that she should get some sleep. He could tell she wanted to argue, but she yawned instead. Grant smiled as they walked into the corridor.

"I know you hate to leave Colin for the night, but he's going to be fine. I'll have you back as early as you want in the morning."

"You have no work to do tomorrow?"

"No, except to read some papers. I'll probably do that tonight. On Thursday I have to go back to Houston for a meeting."

"Oh."

She didn't say anything else. As they walked together down the empty hallway, he had a strong urge to take her hand. He didn'the knew he shouldn't. He'd made a point of telling her how much he could be trusted, that he just wanted her to get a good night's sleep. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He did want her to stay with him, make love with him, sleep with him. And when they woke up together in the morning they would make love once again, take a shower together, then go to the hospital to see Colin.

None of that was going to happen, except the part about seeing Colin in the morning. He was going to keep his word. He wasn't going to give in to his entirely inappropriate urges.

He still didn't understand why he was so obsessed with her. Even if she was suffering some trauma that made her believe she was from the past, she must know how she got into his condo. Grant could not understand why he tolerated such behavior. With anyone else, he would have cut them off immediately. With Erina, he couldn't wait to see what she'd say or do next.

The air was warm and humid as they walked through the corridor to the parking garage. She seemed deep in thought. He wondered what she was thinking about but didn't want to ask. For one thing, she probably wouldn't tell him the truth. She'd make up some story about Galveston in 1896, or her childhood in Ireland, or something that he couldn't believe.

He decided to stay on a fairly safe topic. ''Colin looks much better. His color is pink, just like a healthy baby."

"He's never had that good a color before. When I took him to the doctor after he was born the man said that nothin' could be done. I never believed that, though. I kept hopin' that God wouldn't make such a wee baby suffer forever."

Grant opened the door from the second-floor stairwell into the parking garage. "Well, whatever happened, I'm glad he came through the surgery okay. I've grown attached to him. I've been thinking that maybe I should put aside some money for his education. I can take out an investment policy for him now, and by the time he's eighteen he'll be able to go to the school of his choice."

"If he's still here," Erina said softly.

Their footsteps echoed in the concrete structure, virtually deserted at this time of night. Lonely was the word that came to mind. "What do you mean? Are you planning to move?"

"No, I have no plans myself. But the Blessed Virgin might have different ideas. Perhaps I won't stay in your time forever. I might go back when Colin is well. After all, I don't belong here."

"Don't be ridiculous. You have free will over where you live. And let's have no more talk about miracles. If you want to stay, you can."

"Ah, you don't understand, do you? Sometimes the world isn't as neat and orderly as you'd like to believe."

"Right. Natural disasters happen. People get sick and die. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about where you choose to live, where your son will grow up."

They arrived at the Jeep. Grant unlocked the door and walked Erina to the passenger side.

"If I had a choice, I'd stay right here. I'd miss Mrs. Abernathy, but she might already think I'm gone. Maybe somehow I can find out what happened to her."

"Erina, Mrs. Abernathy is a figment of your imagination," Grant said, resting his arm on the door. "Or she's a name you discovered while researching the past. She's not real."

"Aye, she's real. She's a fine, compassionate woman. I'll never forget what she did for me and Colin."

Grant shook his head; she was so far gone in her fantasy that she couldn't consider reality. He wished he'd taken more than one semester of psychology in his college days. "Don't forget to fasten your seat belt."

They drove home in silence. Once they entered the condo Erina seemed especially tense.

"Don't worry. I'll keep my word. I won't make a pass."

"I'm not worried," she said with an upward thrust of her chin.

Grant couldn't resist a smile. "Do you remember where everything is in the bathroom?" "I believe so. I'll not be bothering you any more tonight."

He dropped his keys on the bar between the kitchen and living area. "It's no bother. If you need anything at all, just call me. I'm a light sleeper."

"So am I, especially since Colin was born. Sometimes it seems as though I hear his every breath, and I always had to listen for . . ."

He saw her eyes fill with tears, saw the strength that seemed to desert her with that admission. In an instant Grant crossed the room and took her in his arms. "Erina, it's okay. Colin is going to be well."

"I know, but I miss him so. I want to got to sleep with him beside me, and wake up knowing he's there. He's all I have."

She felt so good, so right, tucked beneath his chin, next to his heart. "No, don't say that. You love him very much and he loves you. But you're not alone. I'll be here when you need me."

"But you might be gone from my life soon," she said with a watery sob, "and I'd feel so sad if I grew to care for you and never saw you again."

"Is that what's happening? Are you growing to care for me? Because I'll tell you right now, I'm very attracted to you."

She pushed away from his embrace, fighting tears and comfort. "I'd best be gettin' ready for bed. I'm sorry to be a bother."

"You're no bother," he said again, reaching out for her.

But she stepped back, away from his hand, rebuffing his sentiments as certainly as she denied her own. "Good night, Grant. Thank you for dinner and . . . everything."

She slipped into the guest bedroom, as silent as a wraith.

Grant threw himself heavily on the couch. He'd certainly picked a difficult woman to be attracted to, one with secrets and fantasies that he couldn't even imagine. And yet she seemed so much more real that any other woman he'd known.

With a sigh, he flicked on the television and tuned into a financial news channel, then picked up the faxes from Brian. He'd lose himself in his work, at least for a few minutes, and forget that Erina O'Shea was naked behind the door to the guest bathroom.

Erina woke early, just as the sun crept over the east end of the island and gilded the waves with gold and pink. The sky itself was purple and gold, turning to rose as lighter fingers of pink radiated upward. She watched the sun rise from the large windows of what Grant called the living room. She tried to be quiet so she wouldn't wake him too early, but her impatience to see Colin was a tangible thing, pulling her toward the door that led to his bedroom. She actually took a few steps in that direction before stopping herself.

No, she wouldn't venture inside. He'd told her that he'd take her to the hospital whenever she wanted. She was ready now but couldn't bring herself to knock on his door. That was too intimate. She could imagine him in that large bed, looking much like one of the men in the magazines; chest bare and sculpted with muscles, loose pants resting below his waist, a smile on his face. He'd be more temptation than advertisements of those other men.

She hugged her arms around herself and walked into the kitchen. She wished she knew how to operate this stove. She'd make herself a cup of teaif Grant had any of those tea bags the restaurant used. Of course, the water coming from the pipes was very hot, maybe hot enough to brew her favorite beverage. She began opening cabinets, looking for something familiar.

One of the doors slipped from her fingers and slammed shut. The sudden noise in the still condo surprised her; in an instant, she realized it had awakened Grant also. He stood in the doorway of his bedroom, looking just as she'd imagined himtall and lean but muscled, and wearing very little. Nothing above the waist and baggy, soft drawstring pants below.

She swallowed, suddenly needing the tea to soothe her parched throat. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"No problem. I was ready to get up."

"I was lookin' for tea bags."

"I think there are some in the canister," he said, walking toward her, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair.

She scooted back from the counter, giving him plenty of room. In truth, she didn't know what she might do if she stood too close to him. He was too nearly naked, too potently male.

He gave her a sleepy frown. "I'm just going to get you some tea," he said with a touch of irritation. "I wish you wouldn't act like I'm some kind of sex fiend."

"I'm not," she said defensively. She was beginning to think she was the one who had a problem. "I'm just gettin' out of your way."

"Uh-huh," he said absently, turning his back to her and opening one of the ceramic containers that sat next to the refrigerator. That appliance she knew, because she'd used the breast pump and stored the milk in there for Colin. "I hope these aren't too old. I rarely make tea, but my mother insisted I have a well-stocked kitchen."

She couldn't tear her eyes away from his back. Muscles rippled over and around his spine, his shoulders, his arms. His skin was a golden color that reminded her of the sunrise. She'd never realized a man could be so beautiful. "Sounds like she's concerned about you," she said weakly.

"She is," he said, turning and handing her a large cup with a bag already inside. "Actually, she had her chef see that I had a well-stocked kitchen. My mother doesn't know how to cook anything more elaborate than watercress sandwiches."

"She comes from a moneyed family then," Erina said, trying to tear her eyes away from Grant's naked chest to focus on the much less interesting cup.

"That's right. Her family came to Houston when oil was first discovered in East Texas. They made a fortune in refineries."

"What?"

"Large plants that process crude oil." "Oh." She still had no idea what he was talking about.

He stepped closer. "So, do you want me to heat some water for you?"

"Ah . . . yes, that would be nice."

"Pay attention," he said with a smile. "You can do it yourself the next time."

Erina nodded, wondering if she'd need any appliance to heat water for tea. She could probably just hold it close to her blazing cheeks. She watched him fill the mug with water, then place it in a boxlike device.

"This is a microwave oven. It doesn't get hot, but it heats food or water from within with vibration. It takes about two minutes to boil a cup of water; less if you just want it hot."

His smooth-skinned, muscled arms lifted the mug and placed it inside the black box. He hit some panels with his fingers, but she was so busy watching him that she barely noticed what he was doing.

"I've got to take a shower and get dressed. We can grab a bite to eat on the way to the hospital, or go to the cafeteria later."

"I'd like to see Colin as soon as possible."

"Of course." He reached around her, close enough that she could smell his very masculine scent and feel the golden glow of his sleep-warm body. "Here's the sugar." He pressed a bowl into her hands. "Spoons are in the drawer beside the sink."

He smiled at her again, looking less sleepy and more sexy every moment. "Good morning, Erina," he said, dropping a quick kiss on her lips. Startled, she stood there as he walked out of the kitchen. When a bell rang on the microwave she jumped and nearly dropped the sugar bowl. Taking a deep breath, she prepared her tea, though she couldn't banish the image of Grant from her mind, or forget the enticing smell and taste of him. Did he know what he did to her?

Chapter Nine

They arrived at the hospital less than an hour later. Grant had showered and shaved, all the while warning his body that Erina was off limits.

She wanted him, but he had a feeling she wasn't aware of her passion. Hadn't she lusted after another man? Maybe not Colin's father, if indeed she'd been raped. But someone? As young as she was, he didn't expect her to be very experienced. However, she had produced a child; didn't that mean something?

When they walked into the PDICU Dr. Cook was standing beside Colin's bed with a woman Grant didn't recognize. From her solemn expression and no-nonsense business suit, he imagined she had some sort of bureaucratic position.

"Dr. Cook," Grant said when they entered the room, "what's going on here?"

"This is Mrs. Henshaw, one of our social workers. She has some questions"

"About Colin? Is there something wrong with my baby?" Erina burst into the room, going directly to her son.

"Just the fact that he was denied medical care. He has received no childhood immunizations and has no pediatrician," Mrs. Henshaw said.

Grant stiffened, knowing that the worst thing that could happen would be for someone to threaten Colin's welfare.

"We're concerned for his health, Ms. O'Shea. There are rules that must be followed."

Erina looked up from stroking Colin's hair. "But I did what the doctors told me! I already explained that to Dr. Cook. They said nothin' could be done for his heart."

"Ms. O'Shea, your son has not received even minimal care. It's my job to determine if this lack of care constitutes abuse that should be reported. Or if you could benefit from some counseling."

"No! How can you say that my son is bein' abused? I love him with all my heart."

Mrs. Henshaw said nothing.

"Look, this is ridiculous," Grant said. He was tired of the insinuations, tired of people implying that Erina wasn't a good mother. She might not be telling the truth about a lot of things, but she was an excellent mother. "Erina, please let me handle this," he said to her as she cast a worried gaze from the woman to him. He turned his attention back to the bureaucrat. "There's a simple explanation for what you consider to be child neglect or abuse."

"And what would that be?" Mrs. Henshaw asked.

"Do we have to discuss this here, now?" Grant asked, playing for time. ''I advised Erina not to talk to anyone until she's seen an attorney." And then he'd promptly forgotten that there might be a threat after telling her not to recount her story to the doctors or the social workers. Had she said something they considered suspicious?

"I told Mrs. Henshaw that Colin is receiving the best care possible now," Dr. Cook added. "We expect a full recovery."

"When should Colin be able to leave the hospital?" Grant asked.

"In about four days. He'll be released from ICU today."

"Then why don't we set up a meeting for Friday, Mrs. Henshaw?" Grant suggested. "Erina and I will be there, along with my attorney."

"That's not the way we work, Mr. Kirby."

"Maybe you should. That's the way I work." He crossed the small room to stand beside Erina. "We're not going to have this discussion here. Colin's not going anywhere and neither are we."

"I need Ms. O'Shea to answer some questions."

"With an attorney, in your offices or mine. Not in her child's hospital room."

"I did this as a courtesy, Mr. Kirby. I thought it would be less intrusive than an actual investigation."

"Sounds to me as if this is an investigation, Mrs. Henshaw. And Erina has been through enough for the moment."

"Very well. I can't make you talk to me. I just want you to know that we consider each child as an individual. His or her parents' financial situation makes no difference to me." She took a deep breath, raising her eyebrows as if to punctuate her words. "If you have a card, we'll set up an appointment."

Grant reached inside his wallet and pulled out a business card. "Call my office any time, Mrs. Henshaw. We'll get this misunderstanding cleared up."

"I hope it is a misunderstanding, Mr. Kirby. Some people suffer the misconception that social workers want to take children away from their parents. That is not true."

Parents, she said, not mother. So even the stern bureaucrat believed he was Colin's father.

"I'm glad to hear that, Mrs. Henshaw. Now, if you'll excuse us, we'd like to spend some time alone with the baby."

"Of course," she said, picking up a portfolio and walking out the door. "Call me this week, Mr. Kirby, and we'll get the matter settled."

Grant looked down at her business card as he listened to her sturdy heels click across the floor. Now what? he thought to himself. You've gotten yourself into the middle of a social worker's righteous cause. She didn't care who he was or what he said. Just the facts. She was a female Joe Friday.

If Mrs. Henshaw made a negative report about Colin, there was no telling what Child Welfare would do. They'd probably expect some sort of medical documentation on him. Who knew what bureaucrats needed? He'd heard on the news that most agencies could not require a parent to prove that he or she was in the country legally due to the nature of public care provided to immigrantslegal or illegalbut if they asked Erina, what would she say? Would she make up some story about arriving here from Ireland or another century? They could still question her mental competence.

Somehow he knew that Erina had no papers, nothing to prove who she was.

He felt Erina's trembling and placed an arm around her shoulders.

"Why did this happen?" she asked the doctor in a shaking voice. "Did you not believe me?"

"Colin's records indicate several risk factors that child welfare considers crucial. Since you had no answers"

"I answered your questions! I told you the truth."

"Ms. O'Shea"

"Let's not get into finger pointing right now," Grant interrupted. "We're just going to have to deal with the situation."

"I don't know what"

"Let's talk about it later, okay?" he asked gently, hoping Erina wouldn't tell the doctor anything incriminating. "Remember the talk we had?" he whispered into her hair.

She nodded but held herself stiffly, still trembling slightly and obviously upset.

"If you'll excuse us, Dr. Cook?" Grant asked. "Unless you have something else to report about Colin's condition . . ."

"No, he's doing well. I hope you can convince Mrs. Henshaw that he's in good hands. She's new to the department, I understand, and plays everything by the book. That doesn't mean you've done anything wrong. You both apparently love him very much."

The doctor left the room. Erina sagged against him, but when he tried to steer her toward a chair, she pulled away and turned toward Colin. "I won't let them take him away, but I don't even know what they want," she said as she looked down at her son.

Grant watched the baby. The doctor thought he loved Colin, probably as a father loves his son. Dr. Cook didn't know what he was talking about. Oh, Grant knew he cared for the boy, but he didn't love him. Not as a father. He was just doing the boy and his mother a favor.

Colin's eyes were open, his fists flailing as he smiled up at his mother.

"Just in case the authorities get involved," Grant said, "do you have any documentation on coming to the U.S.?"

"Back home, in my apartment."

"And that would be?" Finally, faced with a crisis, she might admit where she'd been living and what she was doing in Galveston.

"I've already told you that I live above Mrs. Abernathy's dress shop," Erina said, distracted by Colin's antics.

"I see."

"I don't believe you do," Erina said, turning to Grant. "That's really where I live. The only other place that might have a record of me entering the country is the office that admitted my da and me when we left the ship."

"So even faced with losing your son you're sticking to this time-travel story." "It's the truth."

"Well, they're not going to believe it any more than I do."

"I know. How long do you think I might have before they come to take Colin away?"

"They're not taking him anywhere," Grant said, surprised at the surge of emotion he experienced at the thought. Fight or flight; he recognized the reaction, but for him fight was the only option.

"I could take Colin away. . . ."

"No! We're going to come up with an explanation that will satisfy the most stuffy bureaucrat, if it comes to that."

"But I have nothing with me!"

"There are ways to obtain any document," Grant explained, "and with computers, we should be able to produce some sort of history for you."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't worry about it. I'll find a way to get you documented."

"Why are you gettin' involved with this new problem?" she asked cautiously.

"I told you; I care about Colin and you. I don't think taking him away from you would be in his best interest."

"Of course not! But I still don't understand why you're makin' this your concern."

"Let's just drop that for now, Erina."

"You don't want to talk about it."

"That's right. Now, let's see Colin for as long as we can."

They stood beside the bed and talked to him, silly gibberish that he seemed to find amusing. He looked so good that it was hard to believe he'd been gravely ill just days before, that he'd had no chance of a future without the surgery. And Erina seemed so happy, despite her obvious urge to cradle her son close without the wires and tubes.

"I'd like to feed him myself today," she said softly.

Grant looked down at the baby's cupid bow mouth and then realized what she was saying. She wanted to nurse himright now. "I'll check with the nurse on duty to see if that's okay."

He could clearly imagine how beautiful Erina would look, nursing her son. Her breasts would be full and white, so soft . . .

Taking a deep breath, he stepped up to the PDICU nurses' station. "Ms. O'Shea would like to know if she may breast-feed her baby."

When he secured the approval, and passed on a word of caution to be mindful of the tubes that still connected Colin to the monitors, he returned to the room and watched as she turned her back to him and unbuttoned her blouse. He imagined that she was blushing. She carefully picked up her child. He wanted to stay, he realized. Very badly. He wanted to be part of this mother/child bonding.

"I'll be feedin' him now," Erina said softly.

He thought for a moment of asking her permission to stay in the room. He wanted to. But that would sound too much like begging, and he wasn't a man who begged. "I'll wait for you outside. Then we can go get some breakfast."

"I'll be finished in ten or fifteen minutes," she replied before sitting down in the chair beside the bed.

The last glimpse Grant had before going out the door was Colin's downy hair, his head pressed to Erina's breast, his tiny fist beating happily against her chest.

Erina regarded Grant in the hospital cafeteria over a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of toast. She should feel frightened and nervousof the social worker saying she wasn't a good mother, of herself being judged to be living in the United States illegally, of a thousand other things. But when she was with Grant, she'd realized upstairs in Colin's hospital room, she felt as though she'd be safe no matter what.

She believed Grant when he said that he'd find a way to document her entry and protect Colin from the social worker. She believed with all her heart that she'd found a true miracle in Grant Kirby.

"Are there no old records of the immigrants who came to Galveston?" she asked after sweetening her cereal.

"I suppose there are. I think there's a database of immigrants at the dock, down by where the Elisa is berthed."

"Can you check those records for my da and me?"

"That wouldn't prove much, would it?" Grant said after swallowing a bite of eggs. "I mean, that's just a name. If I were a skeptical man," he said, giving her a searching glance, "I could say that you'd found a name on a manifest or as part of the immigrant files and adopted it so you could convince me of your identity."

"I did no such thing!" How could he be so wonderful one minute and then turn cruel by doubting her once again?

"I'm just saying it's a possibility."

"Maybe, but it's not the truth."

"Erina, there's no way to convince me you're from the past, so give it up. Let's try to think of a way to document you. I assume you have no papers anywhere?"

"Just back at Mrs. Abernathy'sin 1896."

Grant took a deep breath. "Okay. How about Colin? Is there any record of his birth?"

"Of course. I registered his birth at the county offices."

"And that would have been . . ."

"He was born a month early, on August 24, 1896."

"Right. Look, Erina, it would really help if you'd cooperate."

"I'm tellin' you the truth! You'll find no record of me in your time because I'm from the past. If I could produce some documents, I would. Do you not know that I'd move heaven and earth to save my son?"

Grant sighed and looked very serious. "I know that. That's why your story is so hard to believe. I keep thinking that there must be something very serious that keeps you from revealing your identity."

"A miracle is very serious business, but it doesn't keep me from revealin' anything. Check the old records if you'd like."

"Even if I found your name on a manifest and Colin's name in the birth records, that doesn't prove a thing, and I certainly can't use that with Mrs. Henshaw."

"Then what can we do?"

"Come up with a story to satisfy even her hardened heart."

Erina leaned forward, pushing her dish aside. "I'll do anything to keep Colin safe. If I have to lie to Mrs. Henshaw, I'll do it."

"Oh, we'll both have to lie before this is finished," Grant warned her. "Just be certain you can carry it off. I'm not going into the interview alone to face some county or state charges of child abandonment or abuse."

"You didn't abandon Colin! You've done everything possible to save him!"

"Well, I'm not sure I'd place so much importance on my efforts, but you have to understand what the hospital staff and Mrs. Henshaw believes: that I'm Colin's father and that I've kept him a secret for the past two months."

"That's ridiculous!"

"I know, but that's what they believe. If I deny it, they'll just think I'm lying."

Erina sank back into her chair. "I didn't mean for you to be accused of fatherin' a . . . a bastard child." She knew she couldn't keep the catch from her voice as she said the word that branded her baby illegitimate.

"No one's calling Colin a bastard," Grant said forcefully.

"I can face the truth. But I'm going to give him every chance to have a good life anyway."

"Erina, no one cares much for those titles any longer."

"You mean your friends wouldn't ask about Colin's da? Their children wouldn't wonder where his da was when they talked to Colin? I think you're not recallin' how cruel children can be."

Grant shook his head. "You may be right. But he's under no disadvantage legally."

Erina said nothing more on the subject; Grant's mind was made up about Colin and she couldn't discuss the issue without becoming angry. Anyway, she would do whatever was in her power as a mother to keep him happy and safe in whatever world he enteredthe nineteenth century or the twentieth.

"What will this story be?"

"Excuse me?"

"The story we're going to tell to Mrs. Henshaw. You said we'd have to lie to the woman."

"Oh, that. I'm going to have to think about it."

"Shouldn't we discuss it together?"

"I want to talk to Brian Abbott. I think I've mentioned his name to you before. I need some advice on what could be considered criminal and what can be proven in court."

"You think we'll have to go to court?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe. Don't worry about it, though. If we do, I'm sure it will just be a technicality."

"What's that?"

"A matter of establishing the proper records."

"Oh. I still think I should help" ''No. Let me talk to Brian first. Then you and I can discuss strategy."

"You mean you'll be tellin' me what to say."

"That's not what I meant. I have to find out what's possible and what the officials will believe."

"I'll not be goin' along with just any story," Erina said vehemently, "not when my son's future is involved."

"I promise I won't do anything to harm Colin. I told you, I care about him."

"I know you do," Erina said, leaning forward again. "But he's my son and my responsibility."

"We'll get through this together," Grant said gently.

The idea of no longer shouldering all her burdens alone sounded like heaven on earth to Erina. But was she being fair to Grant? He certainly hadn't expected to become involved in the life of a two-month-old baby. Would she be ungrateful if she took Colin from the hospital and disappeared, running away from all the Mrs. Henshaws of the world, away from the commanding presence of Grant Kirby?

She'd be unfair to Colin at least. He needed care, and she had no idea how to provide the nursing he'd need to recover. And after he was recovered? She'd have to wait and see. If life in this new time became too complicated, she might have to leave Grant and elude the bureaucrats.

No one was going to take Colin away from her, but at the same time she couldn't take advantage of Grant Kirby's kindness. <><><><><><><><><><><><> Grant left Erina at the hospital that afternoon, deciding to do a little investigating on his own. Before he tried to formulate a plan with Brian's help, he needed to know what information Erina might have had access to when she devised her story.

At the Seaport Museum Grant paid his admission and walked immediately to the computer which housed the immigrant database. However, when he began his search he found no records of the year in question.

"What's the problem with researching 1888?" he asked one of the employees of the museum.

"The records from 1871 to 1894 were lost, mostly during the hurricane in 1900. I'm sorry, but there is no way to find out who came over then."

Damn. Had Erina intentionally chosen a year when she couldn't be proven wrong? What was he thinking? Just the idea of time travel was absurd; he didn't need an immigrant database to tell him that.

"Thanks," he said distractedly. When the employee began to walk away, Grant stopped him. "Is there any other place that might have records of that time?"

"The Rosenburg Library has some records, but I'm not sure what. You might check with them."

"I'll do that. Thanks again."

Grant left the dock area, drove to The Strand, and then turned left on Twenty-third down to Post Office Street. Erina claimed Mrs. Abernathy had a dress shop in one of the buildings along this street. Was there an actual building, or had she made that up? He cruised by slowly, watching the Victorian-era buildings for a clue. Several looked old enough, but of course there wasn't a dress shop anymore.

Damn! There had never been a dress shop. For some reason Erina had made up her elaborate story! The fact that he still didn't have a clue as to why filled him with frustration. What did he have to do to show Erina he could be trusted?

He pulled up to the curb along the tree-lined street in front of the Rosenburg Library. Two children ran along the sidewalk and up the steps into the building. A mother and child walked by, returning books to the library. An old man using a cane made his way slowly toward the entrance.

Had Erina stood on that sidewalk and observed a similar scene when researching the past? Is this where she got the idea to become a Victorian-era seamstress, a former maid to a well-known family? Maybe there was enough historical detail in the archives to allow her to create a credible past. Erina had the ability to put herself so far inside the character that she'd surprised him on several occasions with her "ignorance" of common, modern conveniences and terms. Would she ever return to the present?

He wouldn'tcouldn'tbelieve she was crazy. She was simply confused. Or in trouble. Or she had experienced something she couldn't face. He wanted to make whatever was wrong, right again. But he couldn't if he didn't know what was bothering Erina.

Slamming the door of the Jeep, he walked quickly into the library. After learning from the reception desk that the reference library was on the third floor, he took the elevator upstairs. Across the hall, the glass-walled historical archives seemed deserted this afternoon.

He signed in and received five books from the reference librarian on Irish immigrants. He learned that there were no records of immigration in Galveston; all documents had been lost in the hurricane of 1900. But he scanned articles, books, and newspapers from 1888 to 1896, hoping for some mention of an Irish gardener named O'Shea, of his daughter, who might have worked for the Kirby family.

He did find a mention of Mrs. Abernathy, who designed a dress for Miss Bettie Brown, one of Galveston's legendary citizens. However, no details existed, and nothing was mentioned of her shop or an apartment above it where a baby named Colin was born.

Of course not. All of that was a figment of Erina's active and vivid imagination. There was no mention of her in the past because she hadn't lived then. She was probably an Irish immigrant, but circa 1996. Just as he'd guessed when he'd first met her, she'd probably created this fantasy to save the life of her son, whom she really did love with all her heart.

Could he fault her for bearing a mother's love for her son? Hardly. If Colin was his son, he'd probably do the same thing given the same set of circumstances. He wouldn't hold her actions against her, and he wouldn't deny Colin the best medical care available.

Grant knew that when he met with Brian Abbott tomorrow he'd upset his old friend, mentor, and attorney even more. He was about to become even more involved in Erina and Colin's lives.

Chapter Ten

After three hours of meeting with the Phoenix management company officials, eating a catered lunch in the executive conference room, and drafting a contract to be completed later, Grant was ready for a few minutes' privacy. Brian would be busy for a while, seeing the rest of the attendees out; Grant slipped into his office and behind his desk.

He hadn't been in for four business days and he hadn't missed the office one bit. He usually sweated the details, right along with Brian and the rest of the staff. But since he'd spent so much time with Erina and had concentrated on Colin's recovery, he hadn't worried about the real estate market in Houston or the other cities where he owned property. He hadn't checked the bond markets and interest rates every morning, and he hadn't wondered what the next quarter's occupancy rate would be.

He picked up a large glass paperweight that his mother had given him last year for his birthday. Blue and lavender swirls caught the strong sunlight coming in through the wall of windows behind his desk. His mother loved to purchase expensive, showy, worthless gifts like this paperweight. He supposed she didn't know what else to buy her son; his only hobby was rock climbing and he didn't need another briefcase.

Erina wouldn't buy a paperweight for Colin, even if he had everything else in the world. She probably do a nice deed, or make something, or whatever "earth mothers" did. When had he and his mother grown so far apart that she resorted to buying him an overpriced chunk of glass?

Brian burst into the office, hitching up his dress slacks over his increasing waistline. "I thought you were going to kick them out the door before they ate the last bite of their strawberry tarts," he said, taking a burgundy leather chair in front of Grant's mahogany desk.

"They didn't look as if they were starving to death. Besides, with what we're going to be paying them, they can afford new desserts."

"You're cruel, son, real cruel," Brian said with a laugh. "So what's the big hurry?"

"I need to talk to you about Colin and Erina."

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"No, you're not. As a matter of fact, you may think I should be kicked out without finishing dinner."

"What's happened this week? Besides the fact that you're infatuated with a Irish teenager and her illegitimate son?"

Grant frowned, setting the paperweight back on the edge of his desk. "She's not a teenager," he said, uncomfortable with their age difference but aware he couldn't change it. "The UTMB social worker is suspicious of Erina because Colin hasn't had his immunizations and didn't get any previous medical attention. The doctors also mentioned he was slightly underweight." Grant sighed. "I'm also concerned that the social worker might bring the child welfare people in. I don't believe Erina has any documentation on her entry into the country, or even a birth certificate for Colin."

"Good Lord! You mean on top of everything else she's an illegal immigrant?"

"I have no idea. She says she's from 1896."

"What?"

"She thinks she and Colin have traveled forward in time as a result of a miracle at St. Mary's Cathedral."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No, unfortunately. She's actually very convincing. And she even picked a time from which there are no records."

"Wait just a minute, Grant. The fascination you have for this girl and her baby is getting out of hand."

Grant pushed himself out of his chair and paced the length of his office. "I knew you were going to say that, Brian. And it's going to get worse."

"No, you don't! You just wait"

"Can't do that, Brian. Now, the way I figure it, what I need right now is a good immigration attorney and a meeting with a private investigator. A really good one."

"Dammit, Grant . . ." "Think you can arrange something for this afternoon?"

Erina paced Colin's private room, her thoughts more on Grant than on her sleeping son. Night had fallen, but he still wasn't back from Houston. Perhaps something had happened to him. Maybe he'd just grown tired of her problems. He was under no obligation; still, she'd grown to depend on his guidance and . . . his presence.

She'd grown to care for Grant.

The very thought filled her with both excitement and dread. While she'd come to expect his smiles and frowns, his intense looks and heart-pounding kisses, she had no way of knowing how long she'd be in his time. What if she and Colin suddenly disappeared next week, or in two weeks? Oh, Grant would believe her then, no doubt, but his realization would come too late. She'd never see him againa thought that saddened her terribly.

Once before she'd fantasized about a wealthy young man, and look what had happened! She knew she was safe with Grant; he'd proved himself a gentleman at his condo, leaving her in peace to bathe and dress. But now her heart was in more danger than her person.

She should be focused on Colin, she reminded herself. Although he'd run a degree of fever, the nurse had explained earlier, that was considered normal, and he could still be moved from the intensive care unit. He'd been awake longer today, and she could sit with him for as long as she liked. The hour grew late though, and still there was no sign of Grant.

She had no money for dinner, and although she could help herself to coffee, the brew didn't set well on an empty stomach. A combination of nerves and no food was producing a headache that pounded against her temples with each step.

She stopped pacing and looked out the window. Lights from around the island gave a magical view. She'd rememberedand misselectric lights if she went back to her own time. Not only were they functional, they were beautiful as well. Grant had explained that at Christmas, homes and businesses were decorated with colored and white electric lights, giving beautiful displays of holiday shapes and messages. She wanted to stay and see such a sight but feared that her time was limited. Her miracle had concerned only Colin's cure, and he was getting better each day.

With a sigh, she walked over and sat in the chair beside the bed. She'd turned off the overhead lights, leaving only a lamp to provide a faint glow in the room. Colin slept peacefully on his back, the bandage from his surgery covered by his little gown.

What would she do if Grant didn't come back? She could sleep here at the hospital for a time, she supposed, but she still had no money, no food. Her new clothes were at Grant's condo. And what about Colin's medical bills? Would Grant pay those now?

"You're workin' yourself into a mean, gloomy mood," she whispered into the darkness, hugging her arms close. How had she become so dependent on a man in such a short period of time? Minutes passed. A nurse came by and checked Colin, then left with barely a smile. Erina sat in the hard chair, rested her chin on a propped-up hand, and tried to envision life without Grant. The longer she sat there, the more her head pounded and the louder her stomach growled.

Grant stood in the doorway and gazed into the darkened room. The faint light from a low-wattage bulb illuminated Erina as she rested beside Colin's bed. Poor girl. This had been a long day for her.

He stepped into the room, his leather soles making no sound on the flooring. Colin appeared to be sleeping peacefully, his little chest rising and falling regularly, his head turned to the side, away from the light. Grant watched him for a moment, knowing he'd never experienced anything like the feeling of happiness and peace he felt when he looked at this baby. If he didn't know it was impossible, he could almost believe Colin was his son.

But that was impossible, just as Erina's story of being from the past was a fabrication. He had to remember that, especially when she began talking about things she'd done, or questioned him about life today. Sometimes he fell for her wide-eyed vulnerability. Sometimes he had a hard time separating fact from fiction.

He turned to Erina. She was asleep, her neck bent at an awkward angle, her back impossibly slanting toward the small bedside table. If he could, he'd just scoop her up and carry her home. But she'd probably protest, he thought, grinning, and the staff would never understand why it was okay to carry a kicking and screaming woman out of the hospital.

He hunkered down in front of her chair. ''Erina?"

Her eyes drifted open. She gazed at him without recognition for just an instant, then launched herself from the chair into his arms.

"I was so worried about you," she said, a death grip around his neck. "Where have you been when all I was doin' was thinkin' the worst?"

"And what was the worst?" he asked with a chuckle.

"That you'd driven that demon Cherokee of yours too fast. Or that . . . Never mind what I was thinkin'."

"Oh, no. What else?" he asked, disengaging her arms from around his neck so he could lean back and see her face.

"'Tis nothing," she said, blushing.

"Did you think I wasn't coming back?"

"Now what would be givin' you an idea like that?" she asked defensively.

"Because you have the worst poker face I've ever seen."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her eyes flashing blue fire.

"Just that whatever you're thinking is clearly written on your face."

"I've never been told such a thing before," she said, as though challenging him.

"Maybe no one else was looking closely enough."

Her eyebrows rose and she opened her mouth as though she was going to reply, then shut it and blushed. "I take it I got the last word in," he said, feeling very carefree for the first time in days.

"I know you enjoy gettin' the last word."

He pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Look at us, bickering and teasing like an old married couple. What do you think that means?"

"I . . . It probably means we've been together too long."

"I think maybe it means something else entirely," Grant said, studying her pale face, her dark eyes, her soft pink lips. Right now they were slightly parted, as though issuing an invitation. When her gaze fell to his mouth he was lost.

He kissed her gently, sweetly, until she responded by parting her lips even more. He teased her with his tongue until she opened for him. Then the kiss changed, turning from a gentle exploration to an explosion of passion. He held her tightly, her breasts firm against his chest, his lower body desperately craving contact with her softness. A part of him wanted to pull her from the chair and lie with her on the floor, the hospital be damned. He wanted Erina, now and with a fierceness he'd never experienced before.

"Visiting hours are over," a stern voice announced, breaking into his fantasy like a bucket of ice water.

They broke apart like naughty schoolchildren. Erina covered her swollen lips with a hand while he stood up, turned to the wall, and tried to tell his body to calm down. Every damn time they kissed at this hospital they got "caught."

"We'll be gone in just a minute," he said, his voice sounding strained and slightly high. Great. Just like a teenager. Not only couldn't he control his raging hormones, now he sounded like he was going through puberty again.

This was no way to impress Erina.

"I suppose you haven't gotten into any trouble," she said, breaking into his thoughts.

"No, but I'm sorry I'm late. I didn't want to call the room and wake up Colin, and I wasn't sure where he was."

"They transferred him to this room late this afternoon. He's doing fine, except that he had just a touch of fever."

"Really?" Grant said, turning to look at the sleeping child. He looked okay, but his cheeks were a bit pink.

"Did the doctor come by?"

"Yes, he did. He told me not to worry."

"Did you worry?"

"Just a bit. The nurse explained that a touch of fever after surgery is not uncommon."

"I've heard that too. Well, if he still has a fever, we can get another opinion tomorrow. I'm not going to risk his health when he'd done so well."

"I think the doctor knows what he's doin'," Erina said gently.

"Probably, but I'm not taking any chances with Colin's health."

"You're actin' like you're his da," Erina said, amazement and a trace of resentment in her voice.

"I'm sorry, but it's my nature to take charge. And I mean it; Colin is going to have the best care possible."

She tilted her head to the side and watched him but said nothing else on the subject. "I suppose I should have a bed brought in."

"Why? You're coming back to the condo with me, aren't you?"

"I wasn't sure," she said, looking him in the eye. "When you didn't come to the hospital I thought perhaps you'd grown tired of . . . Well, I suppose that isn't true."

"No, it's not. I think I was well on my way to proving that until the nurse interrupted." He watched Erina smile slightly and look away. "But if you'd like more proof . . ."

"No! I mean, that's not necessary."

"Darn. I suppose I can wait until the next time I get such an exuberant welcome."

"I . . . You caught me unawares. I was asleep and I'd been thinkin' of you."

He pulled her close, craving contact with her petite body almost as much now as he had earlier. The slight brush of her skirt against his dress slacks, the feel of her breasts against his chest, the near touch of her soft belly against his rapidly hardening body was enough to drive him crazy again. "We'd better get home quickly before someone else interrupts us."

"We'll not be carryin' on like this at your home," she whispered.

"If you say so, although I'd like nothing more than to prove how good we could be together."

"I'd like nothin' more than to stop this madness." He smiled down at her. "Liar. You want me nearly as much as I want you."

She pushed away from his chest and turned to the bed. "Enough of your seduction, Mr. Kirby."

"So we're back to that. Well, I don't mind. You'll be calling me Grant soon enough. Let's say good night to Colin and get a bite to eat. I haven't had anything since a lunch of wimpy croissant sandwiches about noon. Did you go downstairs and eat?"

"No. . . . I . . . I suppose you know I don't have any money," she said softly.

"Damn, Erina, I'm sorry. I totally forgot to give you some spending money."

"That's not your responsibility. I've taken so much from you already."

"None of that talk. I'll give you some as soon as we get home. That way, if you need dinner or a cab or whatever, you'll have your own money."

"I'll be glad to work for my keep."

"Sorry. I don't need any dresses made," he said, lifting her chin and smiling into her too-serious face. "Besides, we're friends. Shouldn't friends help each other without expecting anything in return?"

"I . . . I suppose."

"Good. Now, kiss Colin good night and I'll take you out to eat."

She placed a kiss on her baby's cheek. Grant leaned over and touched his lips to Colin's forehead. "Sleep tight, tiger," he whispered. Sure enough, the baby's temperature felt normalat least in his untrained opinion.

Taking Erina's arm, he guided her out the door. "What do you feel like? Chinese, Italian, steaks, seafood?"

Erina knew something had changed. She didn't know what; she couldn't understand from Grant's odd mood. He seemed happy, yet also introspective and very observant of her. As a matter of fact, she'd felt herself squirm several times under his close perusal as they ate in a small restaurant that sold sandwiches called "hamburgers"which contained no ham that she could discern.

Grant kept his arm around her shoulders as they walked from the garage to the elevator, then his condo, even though the weather was warm and clear, the breeze fresh and salty. "It's been a long day for both of us," he said as he unlocked the door.

"I suppose I'd sound very ungrateful if I said that I got a bit tired at the hospital today."

"Ungrateful? Not at all. Why would you think that?"

"Because it's a miracle that Colin had the surgery and he's doin' so well. I should just be thankful, but I'm afraid I'm becomin' a bit spoiled."

Grant placed his business case on the small desk near the couch. "I think you should recognize your own needs. You don't have to convince me how devoted you are to Colin."

"I'm not tryin' to convince you," she whispered, walking to the large windows and looking out at the dark beach and ocean. She couldn't see much except a little white froth on the waves. In the background she heard Grant push the button on his telephone so it would speak back to him. When he turned on a light she could no longer see outside, only her reflection in the glass.

How different she looked in these new clothes! She would never have believed she'd wear such short skirts, but here she was, her lower legs and ankles exposed. And she could bare her arms without anyone looking at her twice. Her physical appearance made her look like a woman of this century, but was she also changing in her thoughts? Perhaps, about some of the social conventions. But she had to hold fast to her values and beliefs, especially those of the Church. Her blessing as a motherthe health of her childwas a result of her faith in the Blessed Virgin and in God.

She must not think so much of Grant Kirby that she forgot who she was and why she was here. And just because she'd read every magazine in the waiting rooms, advising her of her woman's needs and how to satisfy them, didn't mean that she would take any action.

He finished listening to the messages on his telephone and walked up beside her. "See anything interesting?" he asked, placing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close.

"No . . . yes," she said, shivering as she came in full contact with the very warm, solid side of his body. He smelled so good, was always so clean and well groomed, unlike the men she'd known in her own time. They'd smelled of hair oil, bay rum cologne, and, sometimes, the odor of stale sweat.

"You sound a little confused tonight," he said, looking out the window even though he couldn't see a thing.

She suspected he was looking at her. The knowledge made her even more concerned about her appearance, her values, and her desires as a woman. "I feel a bit uncertain. You seem . . . different."

"I think we should sit down and talk," he said. "I do have several things on my mind."

She slipped away from his arm and walked to one of the chairs facing the couch. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, slipping off his suit coat and placing it over the arm of the couch. He sat down facing her. "But I think things could get bad if we don't take some action."

"The social worker and her threats?"

"Exactly. While I was in Houston today, I talked to an immigration attorney."

"Is that someone who could help get papers for me and Colin?"

Grant shifted on the cushion. "Not exactly. I told him about you and Colin and he gave me some suggestions."

"What did he say?"

"If I can get your papers, he can help."

"But I can't get them! They're in my apartmentin 1896."

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

"What else can I be sayin'?" Why didn't he understand that if she had any way to prove that her entry into the United States was legal, she would? If she could produce Colin's birth certificate, she would. "What about the records that the city or the state keeps? Can I get a copy from them?"

"If there is a birth certificate for Colin, it wouldn't do any good now, would it? I mean, no one is going to believe he's a hundred years old."

Erina crossed her arms over her chest. "Includin' you."

"You have to admit that your story is unbelievable."

The fight went out of her. "I know. If it hadn't happened to me, I wouldn't have believed it either. If I'd been sittin' in my own apartment and you appeared, I wouldn't have believed you were from the future."

He stared at her until she felt uncomfortable. "What can I do?" she asked.

"What can we do is more like it. I told you we're in this together." He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "The attorney's name is Sam Reynolds. He's a good guy. I think he understands the situation."

"What do you mean?"

"That you have no proof whatsoever that you're Erina O'Shea, that Colin is your son, or that you're here legally."

"I cannot believe he'd be that understandin'," she scoffed.

"He's heard a lot of stories in his time."

"This isn't a story!"

"I know; it's the truth. Anyway, Sam said that if we could find your papers, he'd be glad to represent you in case there's a hearing."

"But how can we get something that doesn't exist?"

"We can have some of them re-created." "What do you mean?"

"We hire someone to make the documents that you should have, like Colin's birth certificate, your birth certificate, and some other type of identity card from Ireland."

"But I haven't lived in Ireland since 1888."

"Erina, please."

"All right! But I'm tellin' the truth. They'll be no record of me in Ireland."

"Would you submit your fingerprints for a check?"

"What do you mean?"

"An investigator will take a print of your fingertips. Each person has a different pattern. That's one way to identify individuals."

"Really?" Erina looked at the swirls and lines on her fingers and marveled that such methods existed. "If it would help, I'd be glad to give you fingerprints."

He seemed surprised by her response but quickly launched into another subject. "And this investigator will probably want to question you, just to make sure you're telling me the same story."

"He's going to see if I'm lyin' to you?"

Grant looked uncomfortable. "Well, in a way. You've got to understand that he needs all the facts he can get to help you."

"And I suppose you told him you didn't believe me?"

"I didn't have to. None of them believed your story, but as you said, who can blame them? It is farfetched."

"Right you are. And I cannot fault you for that again." ''Thanks. So you'll cooperate with the investigator?"

"I told you I'd do anything to save Colin."

"Even if it means getting married?"

Chapter Eleven

"What?"

She almost shouted the question. Grant was sure his neighbors could hear Erina's startled reply to his bombshell comment.

The idea had been a surprise to him at first too. Now that he'd had time to think about, he could see the merit of such an outrageous proposal.

"Even if Mrs. Henshaw doesn't cause any problems, you still have the ongoing problem of no documentation. What will happen when Colin gets older or if you need some government assistance? Sam mentioned that as the wife of a U.S. citizen, you would have a much better chance of gaining resident status. And if you said that Colin was the son of a U.S. citizen, then"

"And what man did you have in mind for such a task?"

"You're kidding, right?" He watched the high color of her cheeks, the flash of her dark blue eyes, and changed his opinion of her once again. This wasn't the reaction of a womanor a girltrying to trap a rich husband.

"I do not find the holy state of matrimony the subject of jest."

"Look, Erina, I thought this would be clear to you. I'm offering to marry you if necessary to keep Colin out of the hands of the authorities."

She sank back into the chair, her mouth parted in surprise. "Are you daft?" she whispered. "We cannot get married."

"Why not?"

"Because . . . Well, we hardly know each other. We don't love each other. You've already helped me far beyond what any other man would do"

"And you don't trust my motives."

"I trust you with my son's life, but that's not the point I'm tryin' to make."

"Then tell me why we can't get married to keep him safe."

"First, you said we need documents. And we don't know that the social worker will cause us trouble."

"Believe me, they're like a dog with a bone. If she reports Colin to the child welfare department . . . well, sometimes it takes them a while to decide whether a child is in danger, but once they do they hang on for dear life."

"So you believe that someone in authority will insist on seeing these documents?"

"I don't know, but you've got to be prepared. I'm calling Mrs. Henshaw tomorrow. I'm certain she'll want to set up a meeting immediately with you and me." Erina closed her eyes and clasped her hands in her lap. "What are you going to tell her?"

"I'm going to say that you'll be glad to meet with her, with me and your attorney. And if she asks about documents, I'll stall her until I can find out how to get counterfeit identification."

"That sounds illegal."

"It is. That's why the attorney doesn't need to know anything about it."

"But I thought you said he suggested it."

"Not in so many words. I just understood what he meant."

"Are you sure you're not just speculatin'? Maybe no one will care about where I'm from or ask for any documents on Colin."

"No, I'm sure this is very serious."

Erina sprang from the chair and paced the width of the room. Her floral skirts swirled around her legs as her long black hair flowed about her shoulders and arms. She seemed agitated, meditative, unapproachable. Grant knew she needed time to think, time to assimilate all the information and options he'd heaped upon her, but they didn't have a lot of time. He needed to finalize a storya tale almost as outrageous as her claims to be from the past.

He walked to the bar and found a bottle of good cognac from his limited stock. Grabbing two glasses, he poured them each a splash. He returned to the sitting area and stopped in front of Erina. "Here, try this."

She looked at him suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Brandycognac. Just sip it." She did. Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard.

"Not a big drinker, I take it?"

"No."

"Good, neither am I." He sipped his own drink, then put the glass on the coffee table.

"Erina, I have an idea of how we're going to be able to pull this off."

"What do you mean?"

"A story. Come and sit down. I'll tell you my idea."

Erina couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned until her nightgown tangled around her legs. The walls seemed to press in on her; the air was too still, the night too quiet. She couldn't stay in bed a second longer.

Finding the satin robe that matched the nightgownan extravagant creation Grant had purchased with the other clothingshe slipped her feet into slippers and made her way across the bedroom. She eased open the door. The condo was quiet; Grant was no doubt sound asleep after telling her his preposterous story of how they'd "met."

She tiptoed into the kitchen and looked for a mug that she was sure could be put in the microwave oven. Grant had showed her again how to heat water for hot tea, but she was still unsure of which dishes to use. Some plastic heated okay, he'd said, but she still didn't know what plastic was.

The tall, wide windows beckoned. She took her cup of tea into the living room and looked out into the darkness of night. A full moon had risen high into the night sky, giving the water a blue glow and clearly showing each wave. Erina slid open the latch on the door and pushed it wide, stepping out onto the small balcony.

She was so high up! Twelve floors, Grant had said. No building that high existed in her own time in Galveston. Four stories was the most, she thought. Even though she was so far above the beach, the sound of the waves carried upward, soothing her with their rhythm. She loved the ocean and the beach. Although she hadn't been able to visit it often, she'd treasured each time. Once, she'd accompanied Mrs. Kirby and her two daughters to Murdoch's Bath House for a summer outing. The two girls had dressed in bathing costumes and ventured out into the waves while she and Mrs. Kirby sat above on the veranda built on piers driven into the sand. They'd sipped lemonade and watched the citizens of Galveston mingle, giggle, and generally enjoy the day.

That was one of the times that had made Erina think of marrying wellat least well enough to afford a bathing costume and an occasional day at Murdoch's Bath House. Not long after that summer day, Jerrold Kirby had gone away to college and her father had died. Her dreams had faded, replaced by grief and loneliness.

"A penny for your thoughts."

Grant's voice cut through the softness of the night, making her jump and splash some tea on her hand.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, stepping out beside her on the balcony. "That wasn't hot, was it?" he asked, placing his large hands around her own and cradling the mug.

"No," she said, still shaking from the start he'd given her. Or at least that's what she wanted to believe. His mere presence, his gentle touch, wouldn't make her tremble so.

"What were you thinking so intently?" he asked again.

"Just about the beach. A long time ago I visited a bath house with Mrs. Kirby and her daughters. The day was special to me, but then my life changed. . . ."

"What happened?"

"My da," she said softly.

"I'm sorry."

"I am too. He was a fine man. Colin is named for him."

"Colin Patrick?"

"Patrick was my mother's da's name."

Grant released her hands and went to the railing, staring out into the ocean. "Colin deserves a good life."

"I know. Right after he was born I dreamed of taking him to the beach, teaching him to walk on the wet sand, showing him the waves. When I learned how ill he was I knew I'd never have that chance."

"He'll have that opportunity now."

"But if I don't convince the social worker that he should stay with me, I won't be the one to teach him to walk in the waves." She heard the catch in her voice and tried not to sniffle.

"You will. We're going to make this work." Grant made the statement with such certainty that she could almost believe he was right. He turned to look at her, resting his back against the railing.

"Doesn't the height bother you?" she asked, watching him nervously as he leaned casually against the narrow band of metal.

"No. I've been rock climbing since I was eighteen. I'm used to heights."

"What do you mean, rock climbing?"

"It's a sport, like skiing or surfing or skydiving."

She had no idea what he was talking about.

"You climb almost vertical faces of rock using just a few tools. Sometimes you're dangling from your fingertips hundred of feet above the ground. It's a real rush."

"That sounds horrible! What if you slip and fall?"

"Each climber wears a harness and is attached by chocks wedged into a fissure or driven into the rock. There's a rope that fits through metal rings into the harness and the chocks. You can fall, but you don't fall far."

"But what if the rope breaks, or those chock things pull out of the rock? You could be killed!"

"I'm careful."

She looked at his large, workman's hands. "Is that how you . . . why I thought you worked with your hands?"

"Probably. You don't have to be bulked up to climb, but upper body strength is important. And you depend on your hands to pull you up the face of the mountain or cliff."

She shook her head. "This doesn't sound like a good pastime."

"I enjoy it." "You enjoy the danger?"

He shrugged. "I enjoy controlling the risk of climbing. It's just you against the rock." He shifted his weight, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Anyway, I learned to climb when I attended the University of Colorado. Some friends already knew how and I went along. I loved it. After living in Houston, and occasionally Galveston, I loved the mountains and the sheer rock faces. It was so different. And I was studying geology, so my interest in rocks fit right in."

"What's geology?"

"The study of rocks, basically."

"You went to college to study rocks?" she asked skeptically. She'd never heard of such a thing.

"Yes. My father wasn't too happy about it either. But that's what I wanted to do. My mother was convinced that I'd come to my senses soon, change my major, and transfer to a 'better' school."

"And did you change your mind? I mean, you're running your da's company."

"No," he said, looking out into the night, "I didn't change my mind. My father died and I didn't have much choice."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. I was having a hell of a time in Colorado." He looked at her again, smiling in a way that didn't convince her he was telling her much of what he felt. "Have you thought any more about the story?"

"Of course I've thought about it."

"Is that why you couldn't sleep?"

"I'm not sure."

"Do you want to talk some more?" She shook her head. "I just need to think."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"Yes . . . no. I mean, I'm not sure. I don't want to keep you from your rest."

"I don't need a lot of sleep." He pushed away from the railing and took a step toward her. "I could use a kiss, though," he said softly.

He pressed her up against the cold glass, his body warm and hard. Erina knew she should push him away, should ask him to stop before he even began kissing her, but her resolution faded with the first touch of his lips. When his mouth closed over hers, she could only moan and grasp his shoulders. And when his tongue slipped inside her parted lips, she kissed him back.

She felt as though she were floating above the balcony, high in the breeze that pushed her gown around her legs, far out over the waves that gently pounded against the sand. Yes, she was soaring, and Grant was with her.

His hand was hot against her stain-covered waist, sliding along her ribs . . . and higher. She couldn't believe she would allow such liberties, but her body had awakened and she wanted to feel the touch of his hands on her breasts. And then he gathered the weight into his large hand, rolled the nipple between his fingers, and she thought she might die.

Panting, she broke the kiss. That didn't stop Grant. He trailed his lips down her throat to the sensitive point where her neck joined her shoulder. Her knees buckled. He caught her easily, pressed her more firmly against the glass, and dropped to his knees in front of her.

''What?" she managed to gasp faintly.

And then his mouth closed over her swollen breast.

"No," she moaned as she felt her body respond. A sweet, urgent throbbing began low in her body, a feeling she'd never experienced before. Was this what the magazines meant, passion so strong that a woman could forget where she was, who she was?

"Grant, no," she said again.

He stopped his gentle assault, looking up at her with eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. "Why? Just let yourself go. I want to give you pleasure."

"I . . . I can't," she said.

"Is it because of Colin's birth?" he asked. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, I don't think so. But this is wrong. I cannot make love with you."

"Then don't," he said, resting his head against her sensitive breasts. "Let me make love to you, as far as you want to go. I won't demand anything, Erina. I won't force you."

"I know that," she said, her eyes closed as she felt his warm breath against her nipple through the satin. "But being with you this way is against my beliefs, my religion."

"Even if we're engaged? Even if I'm going to be your husband?"

"No. I will not tie you to me in marriage even for Colin's sake." "You know you will if it's the only way. Erina, let me show you how good it can be."

"Please, don't ask me," she whispered.

He stood up, still touching her but no longer pressed against her. She felt the dampness of his mouth on her breasts, and also the milk that had leaked. What would Grant think of such a blatant reminder of her motherhood?

"Look at me, please."

She opened her eyes, surprised to feel tears escape and spill down her cheeks. She wiped them away, hoping Grant wouldn't notice. But, of course, he did.

"I've made you cry," he said, his voice low and sad.

"No, I'm just confused. I never expected to feel this way."

"You've never wanted a man before?"

"No, never. I read about such things in the magazines at the hospital, but I've never . . . You make me feel so different."

"Is that necessarily bad?"

"I don't know," she said, closing her eyes again as new tears threatened. "I look different in my new clothes. I'm tryin' to act like a woman of your time. But inside I'm still the same person. I cannot go against what my father taught me, what the Church states as doctrine, just because I want to make love with you."

"I appreciate your honesty," he whispered. Then he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close but not trying to kiss or caress her. His face rested against her hair; she felt his steady breathing. He just held her, while the salty breeze blew around them and the waves continued their journey to shore.

It was at that moment that she knew she'd fallen in love with Grant Kirby.

Grant called Sam Reynolds the next morning and set up an appointment for Erina to meet him in Houston on Monday. Then he called Brian.

"We're going ahead with the plan, Brian. Erina and I are meeting Sam on Monday to get the ball rolling. I'd like you to be there too."

"I'll just tell you one more time that I think you've lost your ever lovin' mind."

"I know." Grant rubbed his forehead, where a headache threatened. "Look, I've got to tell Mother something. Our appointment with Sam is for two o'clock. Why don't we have an early dinner at her house around five thirty?"

"Who's we?" Brian asked suspiciously.

"You need to be there too."

"Oh, no I don't. I don't think your mother wants me to see her when she goes ballistic."

"Sure she does. Someone has to be there to commiserate with her. After all, Erina and I will be on one side. You need to hold her hand and agree that she's raised an idiot for a son."

Grant imagined that Brian was shaking his head. "How much are you going to tell her?"

"We're going with the story. Nothing more."

"She's not going to believe it. She'll check back on the calendar. She'll get your travel records. Hell, she'll probably have her own background check done on Erina." "And what do you think she'll find? When you did your initial check you found nothing, right? Not here or in Ireland."

"That's right, which is just going to tell your mother that Erina is an impostor."

"She'll come around when she sees Colin."

"You're bringing that baby to dinner?" Brian almost shouted.

"No, of course not. He'll probably still be in the hospital on Monday, although he should get to come home on Tuesday. He ran a slight fever, so I'm going to make sure he's well before they release him."

"You've gotten real attached to the boy, haven't you?"

"Yeah. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was mine, Brian. I mean, he looks like me, and there's this kind of bond I felt the first time I held him."

"That's because he's a little kid and needed help. Don't read more into this than there is."

"I'm trying to retain some objectivity," Grant said, exasperated at himself for the softness and domesticity he was experiencing for the first time. It was Erina's fault too; she inspired that kind of thinkingof warm, cuddly nights sleeping together, making love while the waves crashed to shore. Of eating meals together, snuggling on the couch while they watched television, laughing as they walked along the beach. All those American ideals, those middle-class values that he'd missed so far in his life. He wanted a familybut only if that family was Erina and Colin. "Okay, I'll call your mother and make plans for dinner on Monday."

"Thanks, Brian. I'll call if anything comes up."

"Think you could squeeze in some contract signing while you're in town attending to your other business?"

"Of course. After we get finished with our appointment at Sam's we can stop by the office. That reminds me: Erina agreed to be fingerprinted for a more intensive background check."

"Really?"

"Yes. It surprised me a little too, how quickly she agreed. But Brian, she'll do anything to protect her baby."

"Sounds like she's thought of everything."

"Or maybe she's just a devoted mother."

"Um-hmm," Brian said. "Do you want me to call the PI we use for security checks?"

"Yes. If possible, he should be at the office when we come by. He could fingerprint Erina and get the information he needs."

"I'll call him. What do you want me to tell him?"

"Just to put a rush on the check. You can say that we're thinking of hiring her for a critical position."

"Okay, but I doubt he'll find anything."

"You may be right." Grant wanted some proof, anything that would tell him who Erina really was, where she was born, where she'd lived. "We'll see you at Sam's office, then. After we get finished at my office we can ride to Mother's together, if you want."

"No way. I'm taking my own car in case she throws me out for aiding and abetting the enemy." "Hey, I'm not the enemy. I'm her only son, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. I just hope she does when you present your very young Irish love to her."

"She's not my love. I'm just doing the right thing by Colin." Grant ignored the leap in his pulse. He did not love Erina; he did, however, want her. She was so vulnerable, so lovable . . . But he didn't love her.

Really? A little voice inside his head questioned his judgment.

"Whatever you say. I'll see you on Monday."

"Thanks, Brian."

Grant hung up the phone. He couldn't ignore the dichotomy of his logic; he wanted Erina, he was willing to marry and live with her, but he didn't love her.

Of course he didn't. He'd have to trust her to love her, and she still hadn't told him why she'd made up her story. Until she told him the truth about where she was from and how she'd gotten into his condo, he couldn't give his heart to her.

Someday she'd tell him the whole story. She'd admit how and why she had picked him to save the life of her child. And then he'd decide if he could fall in love with her.

Chapter Twelve

Colin looked so much better on Friday morning. Erina and Grant arrived at the hospital just before ten o'clock, due mainly to the fact that she overslept that morning. She wanted nothing more than to sit with her baby, rock him, sing to him, and enjoy his healthy pink color. After Grant watched her with an intense, possessive look on his face, she told him to go back to his work or his condo if he wanted to; she'd stay at the hospital during the day and play with Colin.

She didn't want to think about how Grant had made her feel last night on the balcony.

Grant smiled and said he'd be back to take her to lunch at around twelve thirty. She welcomed the respite but wondered again at his mood. He was very serious about sacrificing his bachelor status for heror for Colin, actually. But he also wanted her, and she didn't have enough knowledge of men to understand why he wanted her so much and why he was willing to marry her. Was it really to save Colin or did he want her in his bed that badly?

"There's no explainin' some things," she said to Colin as she nursed him in the chair beside the bed. Her baby looked up at her with his clear, dark blue eyes as though he listened to her every word. Perhaps he did. She knew next to nothing about infants; she'd been frightened to death when she learned she was pregnant. Mrs. Abernathy had been a wealth of knowledge, a rock of stability during those trying months. And after Colin was born, early and with his heart problem, Mrs. Abernathy had helped her get to the doctor when all Erina had wanted to do was lie abed and cry.

Colin's eyes drifted shut and he quit nursing. Erina adjusted the nursing bra and rose from the chair. Gently, she lay Colin down for a nap. With little sleep last night, she could use a nap too herself. She didn't want to leave Colin, so with a grimace, she curled up into the chair, tucked her fist underneath her chin, and closed her eyes.

"Erina, wake up."

She heard the words, but it took a moment to register where she was and who was speaking. When she opened her eyes she saw. Grant, smiling and holding a . . . rocking chair?

"What's this?" she asked sleepily. He placed the chair, which was adorned with a big blue bow, near the bed.

"It's for you. I noticed the other day how you liked to rock Colin back and forth. I did a little shopping while you were napping." "What time is it?"

"About twelve thirty."

"Oh." She rubbed her eyes and sat up straight. "That's a lovely chair," she said, reaching out to touch the smooth, dark wood.

"The salesperson said it was comfortable."

"You carried it all the way up here for me?"

"Of course. Well, for you and Colin, actually."

"Thank you." He was doing it again: performing such good deeds that she could swear he was an angel sent to protect her son and provide for her.

But angels didn't kiss like Grant Kirby. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the memory.

"Come and try out the chair," he said, breaking into her thoughts.

She stretched and rose from the hospital chair, noticing for the first time that her neck was stiff and her hand was asleep. When she slid into the big rocker she felt right at home. There was plenty of room to hold Colin, even when he grew too old to rock, and she could rest her elbows on the arms of the chair. She pushed with her foot and set the chair in motion.

"I like it very much," she said, smiling, looking up at Grant.

He bent down and kissed her lips. The touch was brief, the kiss fleeting, but it warmed her as much as his thoughtful gift.

"Let's have some lunch while Colin is sleeping. I've hired a private nurse to look in on him. That way he won't be alone when you're gone."

"Really? I didn't know you could hire private nurses to work in the hospitals."

"I didn't either, but then I asked what would happen if you couldn't be here during the time when Colin was awake, and the nurse told me that they had to divide their time among several children. She suggested a private nurse, since Colin is in a private room."

"That's very thoughtful, but why wouldn't I be here?"

"In case we went to lunch," he said, steering her toward the door, "or if we have to go to Houston or to meet with Mrs. Henshaw."

"Oh, that." She didn't want to spoil the day thinking about the social worker who thought she was an uncaring mother. And she didn't want to think about what she might have to do if someone decided to investigate her lack of documentation.

They stopped by the nurses' station, and Erina met the private nurse, Mrs. Bea Parker, a very competent-looking woman who reminded her of Mrs. Abernathy. She wore a white uniform with a gray apron and looked very much like a grandmother.

"I'm sure you'll be fine with Colin," Erina said warmly.

"I'm looking forward to meeting the boy," Mrs. Parker said.

"He's sleeping now, but he should waken soon. There are bottles for him in the refrigerator. The nurses know which ones."

"We'll do fine. Have a nice lunch."

Erina smiled as they walked down the corridor toward the elevators. She was proud of her grasp of these new terms, and the fact that she could use them with ease when she hadn't even known them a week ago. She was fitting in very nicely in this century.

''I've set up an appointment for you and me to meet with Sam Reynolds in Houston on Monday," Grant said.

"Are you so sure then that we'll need his help?"

"I'm pretty sure. I also called Mrs. Henshaw this morning. She can't wait to meet with us and find out the 'truth.'"

"She wouldn't recognize the truth," Erina said, mostly to herself.

"I'm not sure I'd recognize the truth at the moment. That's why she's going to get our versionthe one we can agree on."

"Grant, I don't think that's wise." They stopped at the elevators and waited for the doors to open.

"You know, I really like the way you've begun to use my name," he said with a grin. "How about seafood for lunch? There's a great place where you can sit out over the water and watch the waves. Sometimes even a few surfers."

"Grant, we should talk about this story."

"We will. Before Monday. I promise. After all, you'll need to get all the facts straight before you meet my mother for dinner on Monday."

"Your mother!"

That afternoon the nurse took Colin for a round of tests to see how he was recovering from his surgery. He had no more fever, and that was a good sign. Grant finally convinced Erina to come back to the condo with him for a short time while Colin was out of the room.

Being a father was kind of fun, Grant thought as he unlocked the door to the condo. He had a reason to get out of bed each morning besides just showing up at the office. He looked forward to Colin's smiles more than those of his office or property management staff. And Erinawell, he wanted to make her happy too.

"Now close your eyes. I have a surprise for you."

"What are you doin'?"

He stood behind her and placed his palms over her eyes. "Just walk forward." She took a few tentative steps. "That's it. A few more. Now turn left."

She followed his instructions until they stood at the doorway of the guest bedroom.

"Okay. Now you can look." He took away his hands and moved to stand beside her. "What do you think?"

"Oh, Grant, it's beautiful," she said, awe in her voice. She walked into the room and ran her hand along the carved post of the crib, then traced the length of a rail. "When did you do this?"

"This morning. I decided Colin needed his own baby furniture."

"But there's so much!"

Grant probably had gone a bit overboard. But hell, what did he know about babies and their needs? He did know he needed a car seat for Colin, which he'd left in the Jeep so they could bring him home from the hospital safely. The salesperson, a matron who looked as though she'd raised a few of her own, assured him that this furniture was the best. It would last for years, she'd said with a smile, and through several children.

More children with Erina. The thought filled him with longing. If they did need to marry, would she want it to last? Would he? He was beginning to think they could have a good life togetherif only she'd tell him the truth. He certainly wanted her, and she wanted him. Her response last night had been endearingly honest. She reacted innocently, even though she'd had a child.

He would teach her about making love, he thought with a fierceness that was foreign to him. The idea of making her his, legally and physically, filled him with a primitive joy. He'd never understood the possessive actions of some men before, but now he did. The attraction he felt for Erina was as elemental as breathing. How had he lived so long without experiencing this emotion?

"You shouldn't have," she said, turning to him with a smile. She seemed completely unaware of his inner turmoil. But the fierce longing must have shown on his face, because she stopped smiling, her eyes widened, and she took a deep breath. Awareness sparked between them.

He took a step into the room. Her bed was there, just waiting for them. He didn't have any protection in the condo, but that wouldn't matter between them. In this room crowded with baby furniture and a chaste double bed, he'd make love to Erina until she cried out her need for him. And she'd have his childtheir child. "Erina," he whispered, wanting her desperately. His body was primed and ready.

"Grant, no," she said, taking a step backward, coming up against the changing table. The sturdy piece tottered against the wall.

But he could make her respond, he thought. He could . . . What was he thinking? He was responding to her like a caveman! This wasn't like him at all. He took a deep, cleansing breath, then wiped his hand across his heated face. "I'm sorry, Erina. I don't know what came over me."

"I'm thinkin' maybe I shouldn't be in your home anymore," she said softly.

"No! I'm not going to harm you. I just . . . damn, I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I admit I want youvery badly, in fact. But I'm not going to force myself on you."

"But you will try to seduce me."

"I know I shouldn't. I tell myself to leave you alone, but you've got to understand that I know how you responded to me last night. That makes me want you so much more."

"That was a mistake. I couldn't sleep and I was thinkin' of other things, and"

"The reasons don't matter. What happened was real. I wouldn't be much of a man if I didn't want to feel that way again. But I'm not going to put you in that sort of situation."

He closed the gap between them, noticing that she watched him but didn't try to run away. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Erina, I'll always stop if you say 'no.'" When she looked up at him, confusion and trust warring in her dark blue eyes, he almost took back his words. Almost. Finally, trust won out and he pushed his physical instincts asidefor the moment.

After they married she'd come to him willingly. She'd be free to make love to him then. She did want him, but she wanted to follow her religious beliefs more.

Just the kind of woman who would make an excellent mother, a wonderful wife. What more could he ask for?

The truth, a voice taunted him. She may have convictions, but she did show up in your condo with a whopper of a story. As soon as Colin was well, Grant vowed, he'd get some professional help for Erina. She'd be able to tell him where she was really from, what had really happened in her past.

He pushed his doubts aside for the moment. They needed to get back to the hospital, and besides, nothing could be accomplished by discussing her purported background. Though he hoped that someday soon they'd be able to establish a deeper relationshipone based on trust.

"Now Colin will have a room to come home to," he said with a false cheerfulness. "Maybe we'll find out this afternoon when he can come home."

"Are you sure you want us here? You've gotten very involved in our problems. Each day we cost you more money. Are you absolutely certain that you want us in your home?"

"Erina, I'm certain. I want youboth of you." <><><><><><><><><><><><> She dreamed that night, the past and the present meshing until she wasn't sure whether she was awake or asleep, or whether she'd returned to her own time.

She was in her room above Mrs. Abernathy's shop, but she sat in the rocking chair Grant had bought for her. Colin rested in the new crib, happy and healthy. Below, she heard Mrs. Abernathy singing in the kitchen. The smell of corned beef and cabbage drifted up the staircase and through her open door.

Looking down in her lap, she noticed the quilt she'd been working on for several months. She was adding more embroidery, strands of silk floss stretched across her hand. The quilt was even more complete than it had been the last time she'd dreamed of it.

Why did she dream of the quilt? It was only a work of scraps "borrowed" from various dresses she'd sewn. Miss Bettie Brown's gold ball gown, a green silk brocade day dress for Mrs. Menard, a silvery-gray velvet coat for the Kempners' daughter. A bit of lace left over from the milliner's shop around the corner.

But whenever she dreamed of the past the unfinished quilt was always there.

She set the rocker in motion, a feeling of sadness washing over her just as the sun broke through the salt-glazed windows and landed on her lap. What was wrong? She couldn't quite put her finger on the problem, but whatever it was, she felt a deep sense of loss. It wasn't Colin; he was fine and healthy. The feeling intensified until she got up from the rocker and, holding the quilt to her chest, walked to the window. She looked outside. Suddenly a cloud passed over the sun. Daylight turned to dark; Post Office Street turned into the beach below Grant's window. The waves pounded against the brick of his building as she looked down, way down, twelve floors. But she lived on the second floor!

She opened the window and leaned out. Dizziness assailed her. She tried to draw back inside but felt drawn even farther over the railing. Railing? There was no balcony in her apartment. But the wind called to her, the waves urged her on, and then she was falling, falling, all the way to the sandy shore.

She awoke with a gasp, her heart pounding, her body covered in sweat. The sense of tumbling through space was so fresh in her mind that she had to hold on to the mattress to stop the spinning sensation. Finally her heartbeat slowed and her breathing returned to normal.

Moonlight filtered through the drapes at the window, illuminating the guest bedroom in Grant's condo. The new furniture lined the walls, the crib standing at the foot of the bed in which she slept.

She hadn't gone back in time, but the dream had been so real. Why was she mixing the past and the present, and why now? She'd never placed much significance on dreams, although she'd known others who experienced everything from night terrors to silly fantasies they swore would come true.

Somehow, these dreams of the past seemed different. Maybe that was how she would returnjust go to sleep one night and wake up in the past. But would she know she'd returned, or would she think it was only a dream?

Chapter Thirteen

"Are you sure I look all right?" Erina asked, fidgeting in the Cherokee as they drove on Broadway out of Galveston.

Grant was certain she'd asked the question twice before. Even since buying a new outfit specifically for the trip to Houston, she'd fretted over how she would appear to the attorney and to Grant's mother.

"You look great," he said. The blue, tiny-flowered dress she'd chosen was modest but clung to her curves in all the right places. Her long black hair was pulled back with a lacy bow, but a few tendrils escaped around her temples and in front of her ears. It wouldn't take Sam Reynolds, Brian Abbott, or his mother any great stretch of their imagination to believe he'd fallen for Erina O'Shea at first sight.

"As a matter of fact, if you looked any better, I don't think I'd want you to leave the condo."

"What do you mean? Is there something wrong? Am I dressed inappropriately to meet your mother?"

"No, not at all. And she's not the one I'm concerned about. It's Sam and Brian who'll probably be a bit too charmed by your appearance." As the words left his mouth, he recognized the possessive, protective attitude he'd developed about Erina. She was charming, beautiful, and projected an innocent sexuality that had turned him into a lusty fool. Would she have the same effect on Sam and Brian?

If she did, they'd better have the good sense to keep their thoughts to themselves. Erina was his.

Damn, he did sound like a caveman. He'd never been that way around a woman before. As a matter of fact, if a woman got possessive with him, it had always been time to leave the relationship. He'd never wanted to be "tied down" until now.

Erina seemed to be pondering his words; then she said, "Are you sayin' I'm sexy?"

She sounded so surprised and confused that Grant burst out laughing before he could stop himself. "Darling, you are definitely sexy. Where did you come up with that, though?"

"From the magazines. They claim that women are supposed to be sexy, but I didn't know . . . that is, I never thought of myself that way."

"Well, you are, but just for me."

"Why is that?"

"Because Sam and Brian are too old for you."

"I thought you believed you were too old for me too."

"I am, but I'm not as old as those two."

"My da was fifteen years older than my mother, yet she died when I was just a babe. I don't think age has much to do with . . . things." ''Older men are usually attracted to younger women, but you're younger than most."

"In my time I'm considered quite mature."

"Well, in the 1800s, I think the average lifespan was about fifty years. So if you'd lived back then, you'd be almost middle-aged at twenty. But you don't live then, you live now. And twenty is very young."

"Will your mother and the attorneys think poorly of me because I've had a child?"

"No." They'd better not. Not when he'd claimed the child as his own.

"I'm havin' a hard time believin' you," she said, looking out the window. "What's this?" she asked, her tone indicating she was quite startled. She edged forward on the seatas much as the seat belt would allowand looked with wide eyes out the windshield.

"The bridge over the bay," Grant answered, wondering what kind of story she'd come up with next. "Surely you noticed it when you drove to the island the first time. Or did you fly into the local airport?"

"No, I got off the ship. I haven't been off the island before, but I know that a railroad bridge was built from Houston to transport cotton to Galveston. But nothing like this!" Her hands had a death grip on the dashboard.

"It's perfectly safe. We're not that high."

"I think maybe we're higher than your condo."

"I doubt that. Just sit back and relax. If you're going to get this frightened over a bridge, then you're going to have a heart attack when you see the traffic in Houston." "Traffic?"

"On the interstates and highways that go around and through town. They're notoriously crowded."

"Oh."

He could tell she wasn't too concerned about traffic. Maybe she'd been in Houston traffic before. Or maybe she doesn't know what you mean, a little voice said. He pushed aside the notion that she really hadn't crossed a large bridge or driven in traffic. At least her air of conviction would help with their story, both with Sam and his mother.

"How long does it take to drive to Mr. Reynolds's office?"

"About forty-five minutes. Just sit back and relax. We're driving through the salt marshes now, but soon we'll be on solid ground."

"This road seems very solid," she said, glancing out the window at the tall grasses and water on either side of the highway.

"It is. I meant the rest of the ground. Not much is built out here because of the land. Kind of like around my condo. There are salt marshes there too."

"Yes, I've seen them. I like the beach, though."

"If it gets a little warmer we should start exercising along the beach. We can take Colin for walks."

"I'd like that." She was quiet for a moment, then added, "But I'm not sure how long Colin and I will be here."

"Let's not get into this right now, okay? You know I want you to stay. Unless there's somewhere else you need to be, I don't see why you can't stay in Galveston." "Oh, I think we'll be stayin' in Galveston," she said softly, "but I'm not sure in what time."

He ignored that remark. Traffic picked up as they passed the outlet mall. He didn't need to think about Erina's fantasy right now; he needed to concentrate on getting them to Sam's officeand convincing everyone that Erina was Grant's fiancée and Colin was his son.

Erina sat on the edge of the chair in Sam Reynolds's office, wondering if she would be able to get through this meeting without bursting out with the truth. But as she listened to Grant tell the story so convincingly, she began to believe it herself. He sounded so sincere! If she hadn't known he was spinning a yarn, she would have wept from the depth of the emotion he evoked.

She glanced at Brian Abbott, Grant's friend and attorney, and wondered what the man was thinking. He displayed little on his faceat least to her. She suspected he was much more open to Grant. He probably thought all this was her idea, a way to get Grant to marry her so she could take his money. As though he felt her eyes on him, Mr. Abbott looked at her. His eyes narrowed even as he smiled slightly. She imagined he was assessing her, trying to decide who and what she was.

Well, she didn't blame the man. If her friend had suddenly decided to marry an unknown person and declare himself the parent of a child, she would be suspicious too. She smiled at Mr. Abbott and scooted back into her chair as Grant began to explain how she'd arrived in the United States.

"On a private plane," Sam Reynolds said.

"That's right. She didn't go through Customs because she didn't realize she needed to."

"Grant, that's a bit hard to believe. Surely the pilot or your friend knew that she needed to enter the United States legally."

"Yes, I think they mentioned it. They would have mentioned it, wouldn't they, Erina?" he asked, turning to her.

"Yes, I suppose so," she answered carefully.

"But then Colin became ill suddenly. All Erina could think of was finding me fast and getting Colin to the emergency room."

"I can understand how that crisis would preclude any formalities, but what about later?" Mr. Reynolds asked, looking between Grant and her.

She looked to Grant.

"Since Colin was admitted to the hospital Erina has been with him constantly, and I've been there quite a bit too. We haven't had time to contact INS."

"What is INS?" Erina asked.

"The Immigration and Naturalization Service."

"And these are the people I need to see?"

"Yes," Mr. Reynolds answered, "but when you do see them, I'll be with you. You don't need to contact them now."

"So you'll represent Erina?" Grant asked.

"Yes, and you knew darn well I would," Mr. Reynolds said, shaking his head. "I still don't know the whole story, but I'm convinced that with Colin's critical medical condition, we can successfully represent this case to INS. The worst thing that could happen is that Erina might need to go back to Ireland for a short period and re-apply"

"No," Grant stated. "She's staying here. If necessary, we'll marry immediately. They won't deport the wife and son of an American citizen."

"Now Grant, don't jump the gun," Mr. Abbot said in a cautious voice.

"Don't worry about this, Brian. We'll do what's necessary."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Erina heard him murmur.

She'd been right about Mr. Abbott's disapproval of her, but apparently he was also unhappy with Grant. She prayed that she hadn't come between the two men. Surely Grant wouldn't do anything to jeopardize their friendship. She had a feeling Mr. Abbott was like a second father to Grant.

"As soon as we receive Erina's documents from Ireland, I'll courier them to you," Grant was saying to Mr. Reynolds.

"You do that. And make sure that everythingI mean everythingis in order."

"It will be," Grant assured him.

Erina had no idea how he could make such an outrageous claim. Everything they gave to the attorney would be a lie. She'd need to attend mass and confession after this one, and she'd have to take Grant with her. She just hoped she would be forgiven for telling such a story.

Grant got up from the chair beside her, then reached down and helped her to her feet. She felt a bit shaky. All these lies . . . But she didn't have a choice, she told herself. She had to do this to save Colin because no one, including Grant, would believe the truth.

Brian Abbott walked with them past Mr. Reynolds's secretary and out the door of his law office, which was located in the tallest building Erina had ever seen. She'd been terrified to get into the elevator to ride to the twenty-seventh floor, although Grant had assured her that the trip was perfectly safe. Now they had to ride back down to the ground. Erina didn't want to think about the chances that the elevator could fall.

"I think that went pretty well," Grant said as they stood waiting for the doors to open.

"I think you're full of"

"Watch your language in front of a lady," Grant warned Brian quickly.

Mr. Abbott looked at her. "I just hope that these documents you're getting will be authentic enough to get past INS and child welfare."

"I've been told they will be," Grant said. "I mean, why wouldn't they be?"

"Yes, why indeed?" Mr. Abbott asked sarcastically.

"Brian, you need to be with me on this. Either that, or just back out now. You don't have to be involved if you're not comfortable, because I'm going to help Erina and Colin whether you like it or not."

"Hell, Grant, you don't know what you might be getting into. What if there's something criminal involved? Have you thought about that?"

"No. What I'm thinking is that I'm helping Erina and her son, a baby who needed medical attention or he was going to die. There's nothing criminal about that."

"Yes, but"

The elevator doors opened and Erina walked in first, her cheeks blazing. She wanted to tell Mr. Abbott what she thought, but did she dare? Not if her outburst would hurt Grant. For him, she'd hold her tongue and let him vent his suspicions. As long as Grant didn't listen to him. As long as he didn't desert her . . . and Colin.

"Brian, I need to know if you're going to support me on this," Grant said, pushing a button that would send them plummeting down to the ground floor. Erina placed her palm against the wall to provide some stability while the elevator descended.

"I think you're a damn fool," Mr. Abbott growled in a low voice. "There had to be another way to help her and the kid."

"What other way?"

"Did you try money?"

"Okay, that's it," Grant said, reaching for his friend and grabbing a handful of shirt and tie.

"Grant, no!" Erina cried out, tearing herself away from the wall to hold on to Grant's other arm. "You mustn't fight with Mr. Abbott. He's your dear friend. I won't have you fightin' him, do you hear me?"

Grant looked at her as though she'd suddenly sprouted another head. His eyes blazed and his cheeks were flushed. His brows, darker than his sun-streaked hair, drew together over his eyes. She looked at him, pleading silently with him. Soon his expression calmed and he let go of Mr. Abbott's shirt.

She turned to the older man. "Now Mr. Abbott, you can think what you will of me. I'm a poor Irish girl and I know I'm not the kind that you'd have Grant marry, but I'm not deaf and I'm not stupid. I didn't ask for his money or his name. All I ever asked for is help for Colin."

She turned to Grant. "And you . . . well, you need to remember that I have a mind and a voice. I'd thank you not to speak about me as though I were a child. I'm a woman grown.

"Now I'm not goin' to be the cause of an argument between the two of you. So settle your differences right now. I'm none too fond of meetin' Grant's mother with both of you bickerin' in the background."

Grant stared at her for a long time. He smiled, and then he laughed. After reaching over and holding her hand he turned to Mr. Abbott. "Any more questions? I think Erina is in charge now."

"Damnation. I'm convinced that you can pull off any story you want," he said with a bit of admiration and a shake of his head. His expression sobered. "But do you think your mother's going to be as easy?"

"Leave Mother to me," Grant said, "and Erina. You're there for Mother's moral support and a possible shoulder to cry on."

"Whatever you say, son. I just hope you have a miracle up your sleeve in case she decides to have you investigated," Mr. Abbott murmured as the elevator doors opened.

A miracle. Erina was afraid one miracle in a lifetime was all she was going to get.

They stopped at Grant's office so he could sign some important papers. Erina was impressed again; she didn't know much about businesses, but this one looked prosperous. The desks were dark wood, but there were many windows and glass partitions, some etched with designs of flowers and birds. She could tell the people who worked for Grant were curious about her, but they smiled shyly, their gazes darting between herself and Grant.

She sat on the edge of a leather chair in his office. The decor seemed almost too bare. There were no photographs of family like the ones Sam Reynolds had on his desk and shelves. Several works of art hung on the wall, but Erina couldn't understand what they represented. To her, they were just the pretty colors of a sunset in slashes across a pale lavender background.

But she could watch Grant while he bent over some contracts Brian Abbott was explaining to him. The men talked so quietly that Erina couldn't understand what they were saying, but she was sure this was the business that Grant's company did and not a personal issue. His face appeared different when he discussed business. She'd seen the same expression when he talked on the telephone. Did he dislike what he did, or did he need to concentrate fully on the documents?

She couldn't tell because he seldom talked about his business. One thing she knew was that he wasn't in any hurry to rush back to this office, despite the pleasant people and surroundings. He had stayed in his condo in Galveston, taking her back and forth to the hospital and buying baby furniture for Colin when he could have been working.

With a sigh, she shifted on the chair. Grant made her feel in a way she'd never imagined: hot and achy, lost to his kisses and craving his touch. She was also drawn to the kindness in him, but there were many things about him she didn't know. Perhaps after dinner tonight she'd understand more. Surely when she saw him with his mother she'd get a better idea of the kind of family he'd grown up in.

Because if she stayed in this time, she knew she'd think of Grant and family often. She'd think of them walking along the beach with Colin . . . and perhaps other children. Children with blond hair and dimples. She gripped the arms of the chair and suppressed a sigh.

"Erina?" Grant said, looking up from his desk. "Are you getting tired? I'll be finished in just a few minutes."

"I'm fine. I'm just thinkin' about . . . Colin."

"Why don't you ask my secretary to help you phone the hospital? You can talk to Colin's nurse and make sure he's okay."

"She can do that?"

"Of course. You can call anywhere you'd like."

"Excuse me then," she said to both Grant and Mr. Abbott.

She watched Grant's secretary, a charmingly efficient woman named Margaret, dial the telephone and connect with the hospital. Within a few seconds she handed the phone to Erina. "Mrs. Bea Parker is on the line,'' she said, smiling.

"Mrs. Parker?"

"Hello, Ms. O'Shea. Little Colin is fine. He's lying in his bed, trying to reach the mobile above his bed."

"He does love to look at the colors and shapes."

They talked for just a little longer about Colin's health; then Erina said good-bye. As she hung up the phone, Grant and Mr. Abbott came out of the office.

"Erina, I'd like you to talk to someone."

"Of course," she said, surprised that he had something else planned at the office. She supposed that anything to prolong her ordeal with his mother would be welcome, but the waiting was beginning to set her nerves on edge.

She walked beside Grant down a row of offices, stopping in front of one that read CONFERENCE ROOM on the door.

"Do you remember when I asked if you would give your fingerprints to a private investigator?"

"Yes."

"Brian managed to get in touch with him. He's waiting inside. If you would, give him some information and he'll take your prints."

"And what will he be doin' with my fingerprints?"

"He'll check police and government databases to see if you match anyone on file."

"I won't, you know," she said, looking up into his blue-green eyes. "I'm not from your time."

"That's why I want him to check you out. If he doesn't find anything, then INS won't either. We'll be in much better shape to face whatever questions they have for us" "You will be, you mean. I know perfectly well where I'm from."

"If you don't want to do this, just say so." Grant paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"I don't mind," she replied, but a lump formed in her chest when she thought that Grant didn't believe herand probably never would.

The private investigator took only a few minutes to "print" her. He used a special kind of ink that seemed invisible, but then turned black on the paper. And he asked only a few basic questions about her place of birth and other numbers and identifications, which she didn't have. Grant told him to forget using her date of birth. The man looked at him strangely but nodded. Throughout the whole ordeal, Erina kept thinking about how many lies they'd told, and how many they had yet to tell to his mother.

A few minutes later he was gone. Grant said, "We're finished here. Are you ready for dinner?" He opened the door for her.

"I'm not sure I can eat a thing," she answered honestly, queasy at the thought of the way they were deceiving the people most important to him. He hadn't talked about his mother, about what kind of woman she was. Erina had no idea what to expect, but she would have been nervous even without the lies.

"Don't worry. We won't eat right away. Mother will want to put us on the grill for a while and watch us sizzle."

"She's not that bad," Mr. Abbott said, joining them in the hallway. "I think you're prejudiced," Grant said with a smile.

"Hmm."

"Perhaps dinner would be more pleasant if you went without me," Erina volunteered.

"No way," Grant said. "We're in this together. Don't forget that."

Grant's mother was as intimidating as every other society matron Erina had ever met. Tall, slim, and with a regal bearing, she stood in the foyer of her home like a queen receiving her subjects. Her eyes were wide and deep set, looking down at Erina as if she were a thief come to steal the silveror the son.

"Mother, may I present Erina O'Shea, recently of Ireland?" Grant said formally, yet with a bit of a smile.

"Erina, this is my mother, Virginia Kramer Kirby."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Erina replied, resisting the urge to curtsy to the tall, blond woman. Instead, she stood a little straighter.

Mrs. Kirby extended her hand and Erina shook it tentatively. There was no warmth in the handshake; it was polite at best. She reminded herself to be as gracious as possible; this was Grant's mother and he must love her, even if he didn't talk about her.

"Welcome to Houston," Mrs. Kirby said, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Thank you." Erina looked around the entryway of the large brick home. A decorative gilt paper covered the bottom half of the walls, with cream paint above it, and light, almost golden stained wood around the tall window and along the floor. A large mirror hung above an ornate white-and-gold credenza, its doors painted with twining vines and flowers. Overhead, a gold and crystal chandelier glistened in the afternoon sun.

Jerrold Kirby's mother would have loved this entry hall.

"How about something to drink before dinner, Mother?" Grant finally asked when the silence stretched too long.

"Of course. Where are my manners? But Erina seemed so interested in the decor," Mrs. Kirby said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Please, come into the library and we'll have some wine. I received an excellent vintage just the other day."

Grant reached for Erina's hand again, this time holding on as they walked down a short hallway past an impressive staircase.

"I hope dinner didn't ruin any of your plans," Grant said as they took a seat in a dark, masculine-looking room. Bookcases lined a fireplace. The walls were a dark red, matching the red, black, and gold-patterned rug laid over the hardwood floor.

Erina sat next to Grant on a cane-backed leather settee. She resisted the urge to slide closer to him on the uncomfortable piece of furniture, sitting up straight and trying to appear confident when that was the last thing in the world she felt.

"Just a tennis game at the club," Mrs. Kirby replied. "We're getting ready for the tournament."

"My mother is a great tennis player," Grant told Erina. "She took the trophy last year in the senior division at the country club."

Mrs. Kirby twirled around, a white-knuckled grip on a bottle of wine in one hand, a cork extractor in the other. "Grant, why don't you do the honors while Erina and I have a chance to talk?"

"Of course," he said, rising from the settee.

Mrs. Kirby settled in a wing-backed chair that resembled a throne. "Have you been in the country long, Erina?"

"No, not really." At least, not in this time, she added to herself to justify the lie. She'd been in Galveston for eight years in 1896.

"And are you here visiting friends or on business?"

"Well, actually"

"Mother, why don't you save the inquisition so I can join in the fun," Grant said, walking up with two glasses of white wine.

"Really, Grant, there's no reason to be defensive," she said, taking a sip of wine. "Is there?"

He handed a glass to Erina. "Not at all. But Erina is my guest. I didn't expect her to face one of your chats alone."

"Honestly, Grant"

"You know I'm not exaggerating, Mother. You love to intimidate the common folk."

"I do no such thing!"

"Grant, please," Erina said softly, "don't argue over me."

"This isn't about you, sweetheart," he said, bringing over his own glass of wine and sitting beside her. "This is a long-standing disagreement we have."

"That's not true. I can't imagine where you get these ideas. I'm just making conversation." Mrs. Kirby took a sip of her wine, her gaze on them both.

Erina felt a blush creeping into her cheeks at the endearment Grant had used. Although she knew the reason they were thereto explain her and Colin's relationship to Grantshe still wasn't used to thinking of herself as his "sweetheart."

"Brian should be here soon," Grant said. "He wanted to bring his own car."

"Yes, he told me he was coming," Mrs. Kirby said. "By the way, Erina, how long will you be staying in the United States?"

"Mother!"

"Well, what do you want me to say? I'm trying to find an acceptable topic of conversation."

"Why don't you just wait for me to explain everything when Brian gets here?" Grant said, leaning back and placing his arm across the settee. Erina felt the brush of his fingers, against her hair. Chills chased heat down her spine.

A chime sounded. Erina jumped, but Grant placed his hand on her shoulder. "That must be Brian."

"Maria will get it," Mrs. Kirby said.

Silence descended for just a few moments before Mr. Abbott's large, bearlike frame filled the doorway of the library.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. "Traffic along Westheimer was a . . . awful."

Erina watched Mrs. Kirby as she tracked Mr. Abbott with her gaze. Her face softened and she looked much less regal than when she'd greeted them. Odd, how the woman would appear warmer to a friend than to her own son.

"Let me get you a glass of wine, Brian," Mrs. Kirby offered. "Or would you like something stronger?"

"Scotch would be nice," he said, walking over to stand beside her. "I've got a feeling I might need it," he said in a low voice.

"I may join you," Erina heard Mrs. Kirby whisper.

As soon as they took their seats, Grant said, "So, is everyone ready to hear about Erina? I could wait until after dinner if you'd like."

"No! That is, I'm sure we're all anxious to hear why Erina is here."

Grant smiled. "I thought so. Well, it all started last fall when I went to Europe."

Mrs. Kirby's brow drew together in a frown. "I don't remember a trip you made to Europe last year."

"For climbing," Grant explained. "I'm not sure I even mentioned it. It was a very quick trip between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I'm sure you were busy with your charities and the holiday season."

"Perhaps," she replied, not quite convinced.

"It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I heard about a good place to climb in Ireland."

"I thought you went to Europe."

"Ireland is in Europe."

"Did you go with one of your friends from around here?"

"No, I didn't go with anyone you know, Mother. Just a climbing instructor from Colorado."

"Oh, I see," she said. Erina got the impression Colorado was a sore spot between mother and son. "And that is where you met Grant?" she asked Erina.

"Yes," she replied, crossing her fingers in the folds of her skirt. Please forgive me for lying, she prayed silently. I'm doing this for Colin.

Grant looked deeply into her eyes. "I forgot all about climbing when I saw Erina."

"And where was that?"

"Just in the village."

"Um hmm," she heard Brian Abbott murmur.

"And what did you do there?" Mrs. Kirby asked her.

"Do?"

"Yes. Did you live there? Work there?"

"I lived in the village with my da," Erina answered carefully. That was true. Before 1888 she'd never left their small village.

"Her father was a landscape architect," Grant said.

"He was a gardener," Erina whispered as she turned her head toward Grant.

"Yes, I know," he whispered back, his breath hot against her ear. She shivered at the pleasurable chills that raced through her.

He smiled and faced his mother again. "I'm afraid I swept her off her feet," he said, playing with a strand of Erina's hair. "She'd never met anyone as determined as I was."

"You mean you took advantage of an innocent child," his mother said, censure in her voice.

"No! He didn't take advantage of me," Erina said quickly, angry that Grant would make himself seem so callous in front of his mother and his friend. "She's just saying that to make me look better," Grant added.

"Um hmm," Mr. Abbott murmured again, his lips against the glass of scotch.

"That's a very touching story, but what does it have to do with why Erina is visiting us in Houston?"

"Actually she's visiting me in Galveston," Grant corrected. "You see, I had to leave Ireland after less than a week. Something came up and I couldn't stay any longer."

Um hmm," Mr. Abbott murmured.

"I tried to contact Erina but couldn't get through. I called the embassy, but that was during the budget crisis last year and the offices were closed. You remember that funding problem the government had last year?"

Apparently Grant was weaving fact and fiction together. Erina watched as Mrs. Kirby nodded, her eyes narrowed in speculation. "I take it you couldn't contact Erina for some time."

"That's right. Then her father died and she had to move."

Heavenly Father, forgive us, Erina silently prayed again, for our lies to this woman.

"I'm sorry about your father, dear, but again, I wonder why you're here now."

"I wasn't sure I could find your son, Mrs. Kirby," Erina said, glancing at Grant for moral support. He nodded. "I probably wouldn't have tried to find him, but you see, I . . . we . . ."

"What Erina is trying to tell you is that my time in Ireland was very fruitful. We have a son." "Aye, a son named Colin," Erina continued quickly as color drained from Mrs. Kirby's face. "And he's a sweet child, just two months old, but he has a heart problem that needed an operation, and"

"In any case, congratulations. You're a grandmother," Grant announced with a smile as Mrs. Kirby slumped back against her chair.

Chapter Fourteen

''I thought you should hear it from me first," Grant said as his mother regained her composure.

"Grant, are you absolutely certain?" she asked, her voice sounding weak for the first time in years.

"Yes, Mother."

"How did this happen?" she asked, a bit of panic in her voice.

"The usual way, I suppose. The heat of passion and all that. Do you really want the details?"

"Of course not! That was a rhetorical question."

"Aren't you at least curious about your grandson?"

"Grant, give me a moment, please. This is a shock."

"Yes, Grant," Brian said, draining his scotch, "this whole story is a shock."

Grant doubted much of anything would surprise Brain at this moment. He'd known the basic idea all along; he'd already expressed his displeasure.

"What's this about a heart condition?" Grant's mother asked finally.

"Colin was born with a hole in his heart," Erina explained. "He always looked blue around his mouth, his fingers, and toes. The doctors . . . where I was said that they couldn't help him. That's why I needed Grant's help. I had to find a way to save my baby."

"But if you couldn't find him before, how did you locate him? And why wait until after the baby's birth?"

"I . . ."

Maria entered the library. "Dinner is ready, Mrs. Kirby."

"Of course. We'll be right there." She turned her attention back to Erina. "We can finish this later."

Brian set down his empty glass on the butler's table and escorted Grant's mother out of the room.

Grant took Erina's hand when she rose. "You're doing great," he said. "Just keep with the story and we'll be fine."

"Your mother thinks I made all this up to take your money."

"Mothers always think that. Don't worry about it."

"I won't be comin' between you and your family. Even Mr. Abbot is vexed with you. I feel like a cheat."

"Don't." He traced a finger along the curve of Erina's cheek. The skin was as soft as Colin's. "The problem between my mother and me didn't happen because of you."

"What then?"

"I'm afraid I've never been the son she thought I should be. I didn't try hard enough when I was younger. I didn't go to the right college. I'm just not what she wanted in a child." "That's a horrible thing to say! How can you know what's in her heart? Surely she loves you just the same."

"Let's drop it, okay? My mother and I just don't want the same things from life and probably never will."

"Grant, I . . . I feel bad that I'm makin' you look even worse in front of the people you love."

"Are you sure that's what you're doing?" he asked, resisting the urge to kiss her soft lips.

"I believe so," she whispered, leaning close.

"Grant? Are you coming?" His mother's voice from the open doorway cut through the heavily charged room.

"Yes, of course," he replied, taking Erina's arm and steering her toward the door. He pushed all thoughts of kissing Erina from his mindat least for now.

After they walked down the hall and into the dining room Grant took a seat beside Erina. His mother already sat at the head of the table, with Brian on her left. As Grant watched Brian across the polished expanse of mahogany, he wondered what his old friend was thinking. The conversation in the library had no doubt reinforced his opinion that Grant was certifiable.

His mother rang for dinner to be served.

"This is your great-great-grandmother's table," Erina whispered to him in an excited tone.

"How do you know?" he asked, amused by the change in topic.

"I'll have you know that I've polished it enough to know it by sight," she replied in a hushed tone. "When your great-grandfather was a boy he carved his initials inside one of the legs, way up high so it couldn't be seen."

"I'm sorry, dear. What did you say?" his mother asked.

"Erina was just commenting that she believes your table is an antique."

"Yes, it is. It was brought to Galveston by Grant's great-great-grandparents when they settled there from England."

"I'm so glad it survived the hurricane," Erina said. "Grant told me about the storm and how the downstairs of the house flooded."

Grant felt his stomach do a little flop. He'd never inquired about his mother's furniture. Although he knew Galveston's history and contributed to the historical society, he'd never felt any personal interest in the past except in a very general way. But that didn't mean there were initials carved on one of the legs. Erina's observation that the table had been in his family for generations could have been a lucky guess.

Erina smiled at him. Her eyes said, I told you so.

Only the presence of his mother and Brian kept Grant from getting down on his knees and looking under the table for the initials Erina was so sure existed. Perhaps being confronted with the truth would help her deal with what she had to. There was no way she could guess about something like initials.

"Do you have an interest in antiques, Erina?"

"Yes, I suppose I do, ma'am." She looked around the room. Grant wondered what she thought of the heavy mahogany pieces set against the gold walls and light wainscoting. Did she have any other stories about specific pieces of furniture? He'd always liked this room, but it was only used for formal occasionslike dinner with the mother of the next generation of Kirbys: the soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

Except his mother didn't know that yet. He hadn't dropped that bombshell.

Maria served a puréed soup with some kind of toasted bread. Grant noticed that Erina seemed nervous again. She waited until he took his first spoonful of soup before tasting hers.

"Grant just signed the contracts for the new management firm in Phoenix," Brian announced.

"I didn't know you were changing companies." Grant's mother turned to him.

"Occupancy rates were down," he explained.

"But the company is doing well, isn't it?" she asked.

"Very well, Mother. Brian and I are meeting with my people next week to discuss the Dallas properties. Their rates are up, but Dallas is having another building boom. We'll have to be positioned to take advantage of existing properties."

"I'm sure you'll do what is necessary," she said, dismissing the subject of business as she always did when she realized that the company and her income were not in danger.

They finished the first course and the plates were removed. While Maria was gone, Grant said, "I want you to meet Colin as soon as possible, Mother. He's in UTMB at the moment but should be released tomorrow."

"Well, of course. I just . . . this has caught me by surprise."

Grant imagined the idea of being a grandmother was as upsetting as the thought of him fathering a child. Of course, he hadn't fathered this child, but that was a minor point. Colin would still be his son, no matter who the biological father was. "Why don't you come down on Wednesday?"

"To your condo?"

"Yes."

"I'm surprised again. I didn't know you invited anyone to your weekend hideaway."

"I don't," he said emphatically. He'd never invited anyone from work or any family member to Galveston. That was his private place; now it was his and Erina's. Since her arrival the condo had become hers . . . and Colin's as well, with the addition of the baby furniture. "But this is a special occasion, isn't it? Would Wednesday be convenient for you?"

"I suppose. What time?"

He turned to Erina. "What would be best for Colin?"

"He takes a nap after lunch, but he's usually awake by two o'clock. Or you could come in the morning, before lunch."

"Morning would be best for me. How about ten o'clock? That way I won't interfere with his schedule."

"That would be fine. We'll be expecting you. Brian, you're invited also, of course." "I may just take you up on that," he said, looking at Grant's mother.

Maria served the next course, some type of chicken dish. His mother watched her weight and cholesterol very carefully, every meal. She'd once told him that an extra two pounds looked like ten in a photo. And Virginia Kramer Kirby had her picture in the society pages very often.

"Good. It's settled then." He turned to Erina. "Our first guests, sweetheart."

He watched a wealth of emotions flash across her expressive face. Dread, excitement, fear, hope. As always, Erina was a surprise. He felt exhilarated by her presence, ready for each new day with an anticipation that he had never experienced before except during a challenging climb. And then the feeling was fleeting. With Erina, he thought perhaps it could last a lifetime, if only she'd tell him the real story.

All in all, he thought as they finished dinner, the evening had gone pretty well. His mother hadn't fainted or thrown a fit at the idea of a grandchild. Of course, he hadn't informed her that he and Erina might get married. One thing at a time. Perhaps he'd break the news on Wednesday. By then he should have Erina's documents.

He hoped the ink would be dry.

While everyone else relaxed, as much as possible, in the living room, Grant excused himself for a minute. He was sure they thought he was going to the bathroom, but he slipped into the empty dining room instead.

When he was sure that no one was around he bent down on one knee and looked at the leg of the table. No initials there. He tried another one, feeling increasingly stupid. He didn't believe Erina's claims, she'd never been in his mother's house before. She'd probably never expected him to verify whether the initials were there. This was just an exercise to satisfy his curiosity.

But as he knelt by the third leg and looked up high, two age-darkened initials were obvious. J.K. stared back at him, a message from the past.

How in the hell had Erina known? Could she really have seen those initials when they were freshly carved, over a hundred years ago? Of course not. What was he thinking? She might have a good reason for making up her story, but if he bought into the fantasy, he'd be crazy.

Erina didn't know what to say on the way back to Galveston. Grant was quiet, steering the Jeep with one hand as he rubbed his chin with the other. He'd placed a round silver object into a slot, filling the interior with music the likes of which she'd never heard before. At first she hadn't liked the mixture of sounds and voices, but soon she grew accustomed to the music and tried to understand the lyrics of the songs.

Before she knew it, they were driving over the bridge. Lights from along the bay reflected in the water, creating a beautiful picture that made her forget how afraid she was of heights.

"Would you like to stop by the hospital?"

"Yes, I would," she said, startled to hear Grant's voice after such a long silence.

He drove down Broadway, past the Kirby home, closed now to the public but lit so people could see the architecture and the sign out front. She had mixed feelings about her three years there; she'd enjoyed Mrs. Kirby and the girls, but Jerrold Kirby had destroyed her dreams in the servants' quarters upstairs. She'd never expected to go back, but maybe she could visit it in this time. Perhaps now, when it was bound to look different, she could put her own ghosts to rest.

Grant remained silent as they drove into the parking garage of UTMB.

"Are you angry with me for tonight?" she finally asked. "Did I say or do something wrong?"

"No!" he said quickly. "You were great. I'm sorry. I've just had a lot of things to think about."

"If you're havin' second thoughts, I understand," she said, placing her hand on his arm.

"I'm not having second thoughts about getting involved with you or with Colin. But I am a little confused."

"About what?"

"Things like the initials under the table leg. I know you couldn't have had time to look for those ahead of time because you were with me before dinner."

"Of course I didn't look. I just remember seeing the initials and asking Jerrold Kirby about them when I first went to work for Mrs. Kirby . . . your great-great-grandmother, that is."

He was silent for quite some time, turning off the music and the engine. "Erina, you know I can't believe your story. Time travel isn't possible."

"I know you refuse to let yourself believe."

"Whatever. The fact is, I don't believe in miracles."

"Oh, but you should," she said softly. "The world is a much better place because of them."

"I've read stories about paranormal happenings. I've enjoyed movies where something fantastic occurs. But I've never known anyone who experienced an actual miracle."

"Of course you do," she said.

"Who?" he asked, turning toward her.

"You know Colin and me."

Grant shook his head and smiled. "You never give up, do you?"

"I'll never deny my faith. If you could believe in the power of God, you could believe in miracles."

"I can't believe in miracles," he stated again.

"I cannot make you believe. Perhaps someday you will."

"I believe that you're here, and that you're real, and that I want you very much," he whispered as he leaned toward her.

She should have pulled away, pushed him back, done something to make him stop. But his eyes held her fast, and his clean masculine scent entranced her until she could only welcome his warm, firm lips. As always, his kiss was like visiting heaven. She allowed herself to float and swirl in the passion he created, forgetting everything but his touch. His hand stole to her breast and she whimpered, part in longing and part in pain.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pulling back slightly. ''T'm . . . I need to . . ." She couldn't finish the sentence. The reason was too embarrassing.

"You need to nurse Colin," he said for her.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Let's get you inside then. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You didn't," she said, unable to look at him. "I'm just not used to . . . you know what I mean."

"You're not used to a man's touch."

"Of course not."

"Erina," he said, leaning closer so his lips hovered close to hers, "I'm glad. I want to be the only one who makes you hot. I want to teach you about passion."

"Grant, please, don't," she said.

"If you want to wait until we're married, I understand. But I'm beginning to think that whether we need to marry for INS or child welfare, we should just because I'll lose my mind if I can't make love to you soon."

"Perhaps it's not me. You might feel this way about another woman," she answered weakly.

"No, I've never felt this way about any other woman. The closest thing I've ever experienced was being a teenager with a car, a girlfriend, and no place to go. But that was just hormones. This is . . . something else."

"What do you think it is?" she asked tentatively, afraid of asking but wanting to know the answer more than anything.

"I don't know," he said, brushing his fingers across her cheek and through her hair. "But I don't want it to stop."

She leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and for the first time she initiated the kiss. He allowed her the time to mold her lips to his, to taste him, to stroke him with her tongue. Then he encouraged her, parting his lips, letting her kiss him as he'd kissed her. The feeling of excitement and power was overwhelming. She wanted to sink inside, to lose herself in him until they became one.

She eased away from the kiss before she gave in to her own desires. Now was not the time; this was not the place. Besides, she truly believed in the sanctity of marriage, not in fleeting passion.

Was this love? She knew she'd fallen in love with him, but how did he feel about her? Did he feel the same passion, hope, and joy?

"We'd better go inside before we fog up the windows," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"A heavy makeout session in a car often produces fog on the windows. It's another one of those teenage memories that you're bringing back in me."

"Oh. Then I suppose we should go inside."

"Okay," he said, still not releasing her. Although the car was dark, Erina imagined that he could see her clearly, that he was memorizing her features, her smell, her very essence.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and sat back in his own seat. "I'm going to need a cold shower when we get back to the condo."

"Why would you take a cold shower? Do you have no more hot water?" she asked, unfastening her seat belt.

"Another expression," he said, opening the door of the Jeep. He walked around to her side of the car and opened her door. "It means that I need to cool down a specific part of my body." He lifted her from the seat with his large hands under her arms, then slid her down his body. Her tight breasts brushed against his chest, sending tingles throughout her body. He eased her lower, until she brushed against the hardness that pressed against his slacks.

Erina had the totally inappropriate and shocking urge to wrap her legs around his waist and hold tight. Just the idea made her hot, but not just her cheeks. This heat was all over, throbbing low in her body, where she wanted to be joined with Grant.

Her toes touched the ground and she sagged against him. Breathing hard, she looked up into his gleaming eyes. "I think I need one of those cold showers too," she whispered.

He smiled, then laughed, hugging her close. "Maybe we'd better get inside the hospital before we embarrass ourselves and a lot of other people."

"Yes, I think that's a good idea." She stepped back, smoothing her clothes and pressing her flaming cheeks. At the moment she needed to nurse Colin, calm her racing pulse, and forget that Grant Kirby was more temptation than any woman should have to face.

While Erina was at the hospital the next morning, the documents arrived in a plain brown envelope via an equally plain courier. Grant passed the man an enveloped filled with hundred dollar bills after checking the quality. He was no expert, but the Irish birth certificate for Erina and Colin looked authentic.

He hoped they were good enough for Sam Reynolds.

The birthdate they'd chosen was her own, December 6. The year he'd selected based on her claims that she'd be twenty-one on that date. She said she'd been born in 1875, which he changed to 1975. Just looking at the date made him shudder. She really was too young for him, but dammit, she didn't feel like a girl when he held her in his arms. She didn't seem immature when they talked. Whatever her true background, he was sure she'd worked and been on her own, giving her experience with life that most teenagers never experienced. And she was a mother already, aged beyond her years by that experience.

He slipped the birth certificates back into the envelope and placed it on his desk. They'd still have some explaining to do when they met with INS. Their hands would no doubt be slapped for Erina entering the U.S. illegally. But if they could just show the bureaucrats how serious Colin's condition had been, how wonderfully he'd recovered, then they had a good chance.

Perhaps they should have Dr. Cook attend the meeting. No, that was too much too soon. First they needed to get an idea of how much trouble they were in.

And, he thought, picking up the phone, he'd better check what the procedures were for getting married. He assumed they'd need a blood test and a license from one of the county offices, but beyond that, he hadn't a clue.

Erina had Grant take her to St. Mary's Cathedral for the noon mass on Tuesday, although he hadn't been excited about coming himself. He'd shown her the documents that had arrived that morning, which gave her even more reason to go to church. She chided him for his lies and made him feel guilty, and he sat with her as the priest said the holy words.

She wished that she could give her confession then, but the priest was busy. She vowed to herself to come back and confess everything so she'd be forgiven. Urging Grant to do the same had no effect, however. He said he would think about it, which meant that he had no intention of telling all they'd done to a priest.

After mass, she felt better. She and Grant ate a quick sandwich at a restaurant by the pier. A ship named the Elissa was docked nearby. Grant called it a tourist attraction, and while they ate, Erina saw people walk across the polished decks, go below, and emerge to stare up at the tall masts.

"Have you been there before?" Grant asked, looking at her intently.

"No, of course not."

"That's where they have the database of immigrants."

"Really?" she said, excited. "That's the listing of all the people who came to Galveston, isn't it?" At his nod, she asked, "Do you think my da and I are in this database?"

"I already checked there and at the Rosenburg library. Most of the records were destroyed in the hurricane."

"Oh." She felt a little sad that there was no documentation of her arrival in Galveston. So many immigrants had come in those years, and now no one could discover who they were.

"I just thought perhaps you'd gone to the Elissa or the museum."

"No. It wasn't here in the last century," she said automatically, used to Grant's attempts to expose her as a fraud.

She'd arrived on a steamer, not a schooner, so the ship didn't evoke any memories in her. However, she had to smile at the public's fascination with old things. In her time, unless an item had true value, there was no sentimentality. The Victorian society embraced the modern, as long as items conformed to rules of taste. The vulgarity of the previous periods was quickly discarded. Now people seemed to love anything from the past.

She realized that she would be considered an "expert" by some of these people. She knew how items worked, how homes were decorated, how Victorians dressed. Was there a use for this information? She'd have to ask Grantif she stayed in this time.

After lunch they returned to the hospital to meet with Dr. Cook. He was going to tell them if Colin could come home today. "Well, Doctor," Grant asked as they stood beside Colin's bed, "has he recovered?"

"He's done very well. I'm going to release him as long as you don't take him away from the area. If he has any abnormal responses at allrapid pulse, trouble breathing, or loss of appetite, for exampleI want him back at the hospital immediately."

"I can really take him out of the hospital?" Erina asked, a sense of excitement welling up inside her.

"Yes. Just be cautious of his incision and watch his fluid intake. I'll give you a prescription for some antibiotics he'll take for ten days. I'll want to see him then."

"I'll do whatever you say. Oh, Doctor, I'm so happy to be takin' my baby home!"

"Our baby," Grant said, smiling down at her. "We're going to take our baby home."

Chapter Fifteen

Late Tuesday night, Erina slipped out of bed at Colin's whimper. She'd barely slept, anticipating every heartbeat, listening to his breathing as he slept in his new crib. The night-light that Grant had purchased, an oddly dressed mouse with large eyes and a smiling face, glowed in the darkness so she could see Colin clearly. Sitting atop the mattress on the corner of the bed was a soft, furry toy that Grant called a stuffed animal, similar to the night-light.

She smiled down at Colin, who opened his eyes and blinked several times. Then he screwed up his mouth in anticipation of a full-bodied cry.

She picked him up quickly, mindful of his incision but anxious to keep him from waking Grant. As much as he seemed to enjoy Colin, she'd been told by both Mrs. Abernathy and Mrs. Kirby that men did not want to be bothered by a baby's demands. That would be especially true since Colin wasn't Grant's child.

Opening the bodice of her nightgown and settling into the rocking chair, she put Colin to her breast before he could do any more than give a few weak cries. He latched on, thankfully hungry since she was full with milk. With a push of her foot, she set the chair in motion and leaned back her head.

Life couldn't be much better than this, she thought as she rocked slowly. Her baby was home, his heart healed; she had a warm, secure place to live; she was with a wonderful man who seemed to truly care for her and her child.

If only he would believe that she was from the past. If only he had faith in miracles. And if only she'd be allowed to stay in this wonderful time.

She opened her eyes when Colin stopped nursing so strongly, ready to put him back to bed so she could get a little rest. Grant's mother was coming in the morning, and Erina had no idea what the woman would say or do. She'd been surprised yesterday, to be sure, but she'd been polite when Grant had told her about Colin. Erina felt a bit sorry for the lady, because Colin wasn't really her grandchild, even if Erina wished it were so with all her heart.

Colin looked around the room, no longer interested in her breast. "What can you see, my little one?" Erina whispered. "Do you like your new room? Grant bought you some fine furniture, I'll have you know."

"He'll need his own room soon."

Erina jumped, clutching Colin against her breast. Her heartbeat leaped when she saw Grant, standing in the doorway with those loose pants, barely tied low beneath his waist, his arms crossed over his wide, muscled chest.

"You startled me," she said softly.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to watch you nurse Colin. The sight is beautiful."

"You . . . you shouldn't have gotten up."

"I told you I was a light sleeper. I heard Colin whimper."

"I tried to keep him quiet."

"I don't mind," Grant said, pushing away from the door and walking toward the rocking chair. "Here, let me take him while you . . . well, I suppose you need to pull your gown together. Not that I mind the view."

She blushed from her forehead to her breasts. How could Grant be so nice, then so outrageous? She didn't know whether she should hug him or scold him.

He reached down and lifted Colin in those big handswhich brushed against her breast and caused a flurry of tingles through her body. Her eyes met his hooded gaze. He smiled slowly. "Sorry," he said, but his expression said just the opposite.

She jerked her gown together and clamped her lips shut. She wouldn't say a thing; any words that came out of her mouth right now would be nonsensical babble.

Grant strolled across the room with Colin against his chest, talking in hushed tones.

"So you like your new room, hmm? I thought you'd like Mickey. He was always my favorite too. When you get older we'll take you to Walt Disney World. Your mother and I will have a great time and we'll tell you all about the trip later, because you won't remember. But that's okay, because we'll go back.''

Erina smiled at the two of them and Grant's silly talk to the baby. She had no idea what the Walt Disney World place might be, but suddenly she wanted to see it. She wanted to know who Mickey was and why Grant liked him as a child. She wanted to have a life that included Grant holding Colin, treating him like a real son.

She blinked away tears of happiness and yearning as Grant paced the floor. Within minutes, Colin fell asleep, nestled snugly against Grant's wide, warm chest. Erina felt a twinge of envy; she wished she had the right to snuggle against Grant and fall asleep in his arms.

He lay the baby back in the crib and covered him with the quilt. Grant was smiling as he tiptoed away from the crib.

"He's sound asleep," Grant whispered. Reaching down, he pulled Erina from the rocking chair. "Now it's your turn."

"You're wonderful with him."

"I'm not sure why. I've never been around babies much."

"I think it's a natural talent."

"How about my talent with women? You in particular. What do you think of that?"

"I think you're used to gettin' what you want," she said as he pulled her closer. "And I think you have some real natural ability there too."

"Oh? What kind of ability?" he asked playfully, holding her loosely in his arms. His hands rubbed up and down her back.

She closed her eyes and just enjoyed his touch. This was wrong; she knew she shouldn't be in bedroom with a man, especially all alone, at night, with someone like Grant. He could tempt a saint. He'd certainly tempted her so she struggled to be virtuous.

His lips brushed against her forehead as she leaned closer to him. If they truly were married, he'd have the right to be in her bedroom. To hold her, kiss her. To make love to her. The act itself wouldn't be like before; Grant was tender and thoughtful, not given to violence or drunkenness. He would provide for her and Colin, and they would be a family. She'd have everything she'd ever wanted.

She lay her cheek against his naked skin and breathed in his scent. Beneath her hand, which had crept up to his chest of its own accord, she felt his strong heartbeat and the crisp hair of his chest. He was a large, strong man, but not one who would use that strength against her. She and Colin would be safe in Grant's care.

But to give in to her own desires would be wrong. Grant thought that he wanted to marry her because he desired her, and also because he needed to keep Colin safe. That wasn't the reason Grant should marry. He should find someone he loved, because Erina knew that now people married for love, not for fortunes. He didn't need the money of a dowry, if a thing like that even existed anymore. He needed a home, a wife who loved him, children he could love in return. She could not be that woman. She didn't even know if she'd stay in this time. What if they married and then she went back to her own time? Grant would be tied by holy bonds but would have no wife, no child. He would need to petition the church for an annulment to marry again. And that didn't even consider the legal problems her disappearance might cause.

He probably hadn't considered these problems; he was thinking of the present, and besides, he didn't believe that she was from the past. If only he could believe . . .

"Marry me, Erina," he whispered against her hair. "Then we can be together like this always. You wouldn't be violating your principles. And I know you want me."

She tried to shake her head, but she was too close to his chest. She only managed to rub against his warm skin. "I can't," she whispered so softly she wondered if he could hear her.

"Why?"

"Because you don't believe I could be sent back to my own time. Because you want to marry me out of a sense of duty and kindness, and I don't want to bind you in marriage to save us from Mrs. Henshaw and the INS."

"Does it matter so much why I want to marry you, as long as it's right? I know you want to be with me too. I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way your heart beats fast when I hold you."

She didn't know how to reply. She didn't know at this moment if the reasons mattered. "But what if I do go back in time?"

"What if you don't?"

She had no answer to that. "I need to think about what you're askin'. In my heart, I know you'd be sacrificin' yourself for me and Colin, and that's not right."

"If holding you and Colin close to my heart is a sacrifice, it's one I'm more than willing to make."

"Oh, Grant." She closed her eyes again and let him hold her. How would it feel to lie on the bed beside him, warm and secure? If they married, she could be with him every night. Every night . . .

"I can't," she said, pushing away from him with a hand against his chest. "I need to think, and that's impossible with you so close."

He drew in a deep breath. When he stood straighter his loose pants fell even lower below his waist. She looked away quickly before she learned more about a man's body than she was ready to see.

He tightened the string of his pants so they didn't threaten to fall off his body. "I'll give you all the time I can," he said, "but I want you to know that I've never asked a woman to marry me before. This isn't just a good deed. I really want you, Erina. I know I shouldn't. I know you're too young for me, but I can't help how I feel."

"But what if I must return to my own time?"

"You don't have to go anywhere."

"If I'm called back"

"Just say that you can't go. No one will come between us." "No person, but . . . but the Holy Mother may want me to return to my own time."

"Erina, that's a fantasy."

"No, it's not."

"Let's not discuss it. Just think about what I said, okay?"

She nodded.

He dropped his hands and stepped back toward the doorway. "I could lie beside you in the bed," he offered, smiling so that his dimple showed.

She smiled back, unable to resist his humor. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"I think it would be a very good idea," he said softly, raising his eyebrow.

She placed a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. "Good night, Grant."

"Good night, Erina."

She checked on Colin once more, then curled up in her bed. If only she could think of a way to marry Grant without feeling as though she'd taken advantage of him. If only she believed he was truly happy with the bargain.

He'd asked her to think about his offer. How could she not?

At the last moment Grant realized that Colin had no clothes. How had that happened? Grant had thought of everythingfurniture, mattress, sheets, a soft Mickey Mousebut no clothes. He felt like slapping himself in the forehead. Instead, he grabbed his keys and ran for the door.

"If Mother comes before I get back, just entertain her. Maybe Colin will cooperate and play in his crib."

"Entertain her! How would I be doin' that?"

"I don't know. Make her some tea." With that, he dashed out the door.

He wasn't sure where to buy baby clothes. He should have checked the Yellow Pages, he supposed, but all he could think of was that his mother was going to believe his baby had no clothes. That no one had thought enough of Colin to buy him a decent outfit.

There was a maternity shop in a strip shopping center not too far away. They might know where to go.

At ten minutes until ten o'clock, he remembered Brian's car phone number.

"Brian, this is Grant. Is Mother with you?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

"Just pulling into the parking lot."

"Damn."

"Well, hell, it's nice to see you too."

"I don't mean it that way. It's just that I had to run out and get something."

"So you're not upstairs?"

"No, I'm on my way back. Can you stall Mother?"

He heard a sound like the phone being dropped, then muttered curses. In a second, a voice said, "Grant, what's going on here?"

"Nothing, Mother," he said.

"Where are you?"

"I'm on Sea Wall. I'll be there soon." "Well, I should hope so. You did invite us, after all."

"Mother, just wait for me downstairs, okay?"

"Where is . . . she?"

"Erina is in the condo with Colin."

"Then I'll see you there." She hung up the phone.

"Damn," Grant muttered. He stepped on the gas but didn't go far before seeing blue lights flashing behind him. Great. The morning was starting off just great.

Erina lay Colin down in his crib and answered the telephone. This was only her second time using the modern device and she felt a bit nervous. "Hello?"

"There's a Mrs. Kirby and Mr. Abbott to see Mr. Kirby," the man at the front desk announced.

"They're here?" Erina knew she hadn't kept the panic out of her voice. How was she supposed to face Grant's mother alone?

"Yes, ma'am. May I send them up?"

"No! I mean, yes." She couldn't leave Mrs. Kirby sitting downstairs in the lobby. She took a deep breath. "Please ask them to come up."

She dashed into the bedroom to check her blouse and skirt. There was no need to pinch color into her cheeks; she was already flushed. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she walked quickly into the parloror the living room, as Grant called itand looked around once more. Everything was in placeexcept Grant.

Where was he? She didn't want to face these people alone. They might ask her something she couldn't answer, or comment on a modern custom that she wasn't familiar with.

Fix tea! That's what she was supposed to do. She rushed into the kitchen and looked for a formal tea pot. Before she could find one, Colin began to cry. She forgot the tea as she hurried into the bedroom. She'd nursed him just a half hour ago, so that couldn't be the reason for his tears. The idea that something could go wrong with his heart was always on her mind.

She scooped him into her arms. "Hush, darlin'. Your mother's here now."

Colin continued to fuss. Erina checked his diaper, but it wasn't wet. She lay him back on the mattress and lifted the bandage covering his incision. The scar was even and pink, with no sign there was a problem.

"Oh, darlin', what's the problem?"

The doorbell rang. Torn between caring for her son and making a good impression on Grant's mother, she chose her son. Picking him up, she hurried to the door.

"Mrs. Kirby, please come in," Erina said over Colin's whimpering cries. "I don't know what's wrong with him. Just a minute ago he began to fuss."

"Well, I . . ." She turned to Mr. Abbott. "Brian, see if you can do something."

"Ginny, I don't know anything about babies."

Colin drooled on Erina's blouse, leaving a large wet stain on the front. "Oh!"

"For heaven's sake," Mrs. Kirby said, reaching for the baby. "Let me hold him while you change." With a flourish, she grabbed a kitchen towel and placed it over the shoulder of her pale pink suit.

"Please be careful of his surgery," Erina said when Mrs. Kirby lifted him gently from her arms.

"Of course I'll be careful. I know how to handle a child."

The door opened then, letting in a burst of warm air and Grant, holding two bags in his arms. There was no place for him to go, however, since three other adults were standing in the tiny entry area by the kitchen.

"What's going on?"

"Colin is fussin'," Erina explained with a catch in her voice, "and I don't know what's wrong with him."

At that moment, he let out a very loud burp.

"That's what's wrong with him," Mrs. Kirby said, patting him on the back with her perfectly manicured hand. She turned to Grant. "Now just exactly what was so important that you went off and let Erina meet us alone?"

"Colin needed some . . . things," he said with a shrug.

"And Erina needs you here," his mother said. She walked into the living room, still lightly patting Colin's back. "A father should be there for his son," she said softly, gazing out the windows, "and for his . . .'' She turned back around. "But then you know that."

"Yes, I know that," Grant said, walking up to his mother.

"He looks like you," she said, looking at Colin. The baby smiled back, reaching for her perfectly styled hair.

"Yes, but he has Erina's eyes," Grant said. "I don't know. Your eyes were blue when you were his age."

Colin grinned and cooed, making both adults laugh together. Then they looked at each other, longing in both their eyes.

Erina crossed her arms, leaned against the wall, and blinked back tears. She had a feeling that Grant and his mother hadn't been this close in years. He'd said that he was a disappointment to his mother, but Erina didn't see that. She suspected that he was just very different than what Mrs. Kirby was accustomed to. Perhaps she didn't know him well.

"Quite a scene," Mr. Abbott whispered to Erina.

She'd forgotten he was there. Turning, she expected to see censure in his face, but that wasn't the expression he wore. Instead, he seemed contemplative.

"I think it's a beautiful thing we're seein'."

"I think you're right." He turned away and looking inside the kitchen. "So, how about some coffee? I've got a feeling we're going to be here for a while."

Erina collapsed on the couch beside Grant after his mother and Brian left and Colin, dressed in one of his new outfits, was taking a nap.

"Tired?" he asked, holding her hand. Her skin was soft, her fingers fine-boned and delicate.

"I'm exhausted. I didn't know visitin' could be so hard."

"I guess we weren't as prepared as we thought."

She nodded. "I'm not good at that sort of thing. I've never had company come to visit before." "Really? Not even when you lived with your father in Ireland?"

"We lived in a very small village. Any visitin' to be done was taken care of over the half-door of the kitchen or at the town market."

"How about friends your own age? Did you go shopping in the city or whatever else teenage girls do?" Maybe she'd admit something that would give him a clue as to her real origins.

"We had no way into the city, and besides, what would we have done there? Shopping and the like takes money, somethin' we were all without back in Ireland. That's the reason my da decided to come to America. There was no way to make a decent livin'. Mr. Kirby knew of my da's work through a friend in Ireland and asked him to create gardens for their new home on Broadway."

Grant couldn't suppress a sigh as she talked about her fictitious life in the 1890s. "And what did you do in Galveston once you arrived?"

"We lived above the carriage house. Mrs. Kirby allowed me to sit in with the children's tutor, so I continued my education from the parish school I'd attended in Ireland."

"And what about when your father . . ."

"I continued to live and work for Mrs. Kirby. She was very kind."

"Your life sounds lonely to me. Didn't you miss doing what other girls your age were doing?"

She tilted her head. "I was doin' what other girls did, only I had a better time of it. Some worked in far worse places or had harsh employers. I was very lucky."

"Child labor doesn't seem like a lucky condition to me."

"You might think I was a child, but I wasn't. True, I was only thirteen when my da and I came to America, but I was seventeen when he died. I could have married before that if I'd found a man who caught my eye, but I enjoyed livin' with my da and working for Mrs. Kirby."

Grant shook his head. "You shouldn't have had to work."

"Haven't you been readin' your Bible? There's nothin' wrong with honest work."

"Children should have time to play, not work for a living."

"Workin' did no harm to me."

"You were lucky to have a family, I suppose, even though you lost your father."

"Aye, I was."

"So you never found a young man you wanted to marry?" he asked, bringing her attention back to her earlier statement.

He watched a slight blush creep into her cheeks. "No, not then. I'm afraid I was a bit spoiled by Mrs. Kirby. I didn't want to live in a tiny room with six or seven babes clinging to my skirts and only cabbage and potatoes for the pot."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting a good life . . . unless you violate your principles to get what you think you deserve." "I'm only admittin' that I aspired a bit above my station."

"Above your station? Don't be silly."

"I used to dream of having my own house and friends to come visit, but . . . well, I've never been more than a maid or a seamstress. Now I'm livin' in a fine place with a man and entertainin' his mother. The Fates have a fine sense of humor, I'm thinkin'."

"Maybe you're just getting what you deserve. Perhaps you were meant to have what you dreamed about."

"I'm not sure that dreams come true."

"That sounds pretty cynical for someone who believes in miracles."

"Oh, I think you can make your dreams come true with hard work and a bit of luck, but I don't think everyone gets their heart's desire just because they want it."

"I'd agree to that. But sometimes luckgood or badplays a larger role in life."

"Like the bad luck of your da dyin' young," she said gently.

"That wasn't luck," Grant scoffed. "He did that to himself. No one poured those drinks down his throat."

"Ah, but he was unlucky to be born cravin' the bottle."

"And he was too weak to stop."

"Perhaps. It's not easy to know what's in another's heart."

That was certainly true. He was sure Erina's heart was good and pure, but he still had no idea who she really was.

Before they could pursue the discussion the telephone rang. Grant picked it up quickly so the ringing wouldn't waken Colin.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Kirby?"

"Yes?"

"This is Mrs. Henshaw. I'd like to schedule a meeting with you and Ms. O'Shea for tomorrow afternoon at three o'clock."

"Tomorrow? Isn't that a little quick?"

"I don't believe so. I'm concerned about the welfare of that child. To be quite frank, you seem to be hiding something. I'm not sure what, but"

"I'll contact our attorney and see if he's available."

"Having a high-priced lawyer enter into our conversations isn't going to benefit our investigation of Colin's condition."

"I'll agree that lawyers don't always help, but look at it from my perspective; you're insulting Erina's character by insinuating that she's not a good mother. I'm simply trying to protect her from that kind of thinking."

"I haven't filed any report on Ms. O'Shea."

"Good. But I'd feel more comfortable with my attorney present, just in case."

"This is a preliminary meeting to gather information. This is not an inquisition."

"Whatever you say. I'll still need to see if my attorney is available."

"I certainly hope he is. I wouldn't want to get a protective order for the child just because his parents are being uncooperative."

"Don't threaten me with court orders, Mrs. Henshaw."

"Don't impede this investigation, Mr. Kirby. If Colin is your child, then you are equally liable for his condition."

"There is no condition. His heart has been repaired and he's doing great."

"The condition is lack of vaccinations and emergency medical attention, combined with his low weight. Ms. O'Shea was unable to answer even the most basic questions and seemed completely unaware of her responsibilities as a parent. That's not the kind of person who should have primary care of a seriously ill infant. She obviously needs training in parenting skills."

"Erina is a great mother." Grant discounted his own suspicious regarding her abilities when she'd first shown up at his condo. He hadn't known her then. He hadn't realized how deeply she loved her son. "And she's not alone. We'll be at your office tomorrow afternoon, Mrs. Henshaw, and I'll expect an apology from you for your suspicions about Erina."

He hung up the phone, his hand shaking from the anger he'd tried to hold inside. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he hadn't considered how the conversation would frighten Erina until he heard a faint sound from her. She sat beside him, a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

"I'm sorry," he said, slipping his arms around her. "I suppose our idyllic world was bound to collide with reality sometime soon. But we'll be okay. Sam Reynolds is on our side. That social worker isn't going to do anything to separate you and Colin."

"I wish I had your faith in people," she said against his shoulder.

"You'd be surprised how much faith money can buy," he said automatically. And it was true; money talked, even if Mrs. Henshaw claimed it had no influence on the process. One had only to look in any jail or courthouse across the country to validate that assumption. When she realized that he was going to claim Colin as his son, marry Erina, and hire as many lawyers as necessary to fight these outrageous suspicions, she'd back down.

"Erina, I'll admit that there was a time when I dreaded the idea of other people thinking that I'd fathered an illegitimate child with a young Irish girl. But no more. I'm proud of you and Colin, and I'm not going to let anyone separate us."

"We can place our faith in others to save us from the laws of man, but what about the laws of God? I'm tellin' lies and we're deceivin' your own mother. That's not right. I'm afraid God might not be as easy to convince as Mrs. Henshaw."

"I'll tell you what: Let me take care of the bureaucrats of the world and I'll leave the religion to you."

"I wish life was that simple," she said, "but I'm thinkin' I'll need your prayers."

"I'll give you what I can, Erina, but I don't have the same kind of faith as you."

"I know," she said softly, sighing against his shoulder. "I'll pray for us all and hope that's enough."

Chapter Sixteen

Erina woke in a cold sweat near dawn on Thursday morning. Heart pounding, she struggled to remember what had caused such terror. On shaking legs, she stumbled across the floor to stare into Colin's crib. He slept peacefully, his fist resting against his parted lips.

She held on to the rails of the crib and fought the sense of panic that still held her in its grasp. What had caused her to feel this way?

Then the dreamor the night terrorfiltered into her consciousness. She slipped into the rocking chair, unable to stand any longer.

She was in her room over Mrs. Abernathy's shop, sewing her quilt. Today she was embroidering a chain stitch in red silk on a piece of silver velvet. Concentrating on the needle and thread, on their precise placement in the fabric, she hadn't at first noticed the silence. When she lifted her head and looked around, Colin's crib was gone. She threw the quilt to the floor and ran across the room, calling him, crying.

When she couldn't find him upstairs she ran below, calling "Colin!" over and over again. Mrs. Abernathy came out of the shop and looked at her curiously.

"Colin! Where is my baby?" Erina asked.

"Who?" Mrs. Abernathy said. "You don't have a baby."

"Yes I do! Where is he? Where is my Colin?"

She ran through the dress shop, scattering bolts of fabric and trim in her wake. She rushed outside, blinking against the brightness as she cried for her son. Where was he? Everyone looked at her as though she was ready for Bedlam.

"You don't have a son," they all chanted as she ran through the street.

She fell to her knees on the rough wood blocks of the Strand.

That's when she awoke, the terror so real she could smell it, touch it, taste it. Just re-living the dream made her feel the same panic.

Erina concentrated on calming herself. She set the rocker in motion and told herself that no one was going to take her baby away. She was just reacting to Mrs. Henshaw's telephone call. Grant had promised that no one would take Colin away, and she trusted Grant as much as she loved him. The emotion she felt for him grew each day until it had become a part of her. To lose either Colin or Grant would make her feel as though her heart were missing. Grant would find a way to allow her to stay, both legally and in this time. She had faith that she would be here forever, together with Colin and Grant.

After the meeting with Mrs. Henshaw on Thursday afternoon Erina was ready to do whatever was necessary to save Colin from the clutches of the county officials. Although she was sure that many children benefitted from such efforts, Colin wasn't one of them. He hadn't been abandoned or abused; he hadn't been denied medical care on a whim or because she was lazy. Yet Mrs. Henshaw had her rules, the hospital had protocol, and now Erina was being investigated.

Mr. Reynolds had been a great help with the legal matters, and Grant had been so supportive, but as soon as Erina sat down in his Cherokee, she knew the time had come to take action. She'd told him once that she'd do whatever was necessary to save her child. Now she was going to have to compromise her principles by sacrificing the man she'd grown to love.

She was going to have to marry Grant.

She glanced across the jeep at him. He was angry, she knew, at the ''system," as he called it, and at Mrs. Henshaw in particular for pursuing the investigation. He'd once said that the officials were like a dog with a bone, and now she knew what he'd meant.

"Grant?"

He took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. "Yes?"

"If you'd still be willin' . . . that is, I think perhaps it would be best if we married."

He was silent for so long she thought he'd changed his mind. Or that she'd misunderstood his intentions all along. But then he smiled, revealing the dimple in his cheek. "It's about time," he said softly.

"I'm bein' selfish in acceptin' your offer," she said, looking into his eyes. They flashed with life even in the dim light of the parking garage. "But I'm worried about Colin. That woman"

"She's not going to be able to do a thing once Colin is legally mine."

"What do you mean?"

"Once I legally claim him and we're married, he'll have two parents, not just one. They're focusing on you at the moment because you had custody of him when he needed surgery. But now they'll have to fight us both. And they know they can't win that battle."

"Are you sayin' that Colin will be under your care and no longer under mine?" The idea that Grant could take her child away was almost as devastating as that of a stranger snatching him from her arms.

"No," he said, reaching across the Cherokee and running a hand through her hair. "No, sweetheart, that's not what I meant. We'll be a couple. You know, fifty-fifty. I'm not trying to take your baby away from you."

"It's not that I'm doubtin' you, you understand, but who can protect my right to raise my child? What if you decide I'm not a fit mother?"

"I don't think that."

"What if you did? You don't believe I'm from the past. Someday you might decide I'm dafttoo daft to be a mother."

"Erina, you're borrowing trouble. Just because I don't believe your story doesn't mean I think you're crazy. Oh, I might have thought that at first, when you showed up in my condo and I had to rush Colin to the hospital, but I don't anymore. I know you're as sane as I am."

"But what do you believe about me, Grant?" She had never asked him such a question before, but now she needed to knowbefore they became tied to each other for all eternity.

"Do you really want to talk about this in the car, sitting in a parking garage?"

"No, but I'm thinkin' we need to discuss the subject."

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath and placing both his hands on the steering wheel. "Tonight, after dinner, we'll have a long talk."

She nodded, looking away. Did she really want to know what he thought about her? Who he believed she was? Because if he didn't think she was from the past, where did he think she'd come from?

Mrs. Parker was walking the floor with Colin when they arrived home from the meeting. Grant was in no mood to chat but smiled at the nurse before checking his messages and the fax machine. Everything seemed to be running smoothly at Kirby Investments. He hoped Brian and Dottie weren't too busy without him there, but he knew he couldn't concentrate on business with so much going on in his personal life.

After all, it wasn't every day that a woman agreed to marry him.

He turned back just as Erina took Colin into the bedroom. Dinnertime, he supposed.

"When you need me again just give a call," Mrs. Parker said, picking up her purse.

"As a matter of fact, something has come up and we'll need to be in Houston tomorrow. Would you be available then?"

"Yes. Just let me know what time."

"I'll call you later. Thank you, Mrs. Parker."

The nurse let herself out. Grant followed her and turned the lock, then kicked off his shoes and walked through the living room and down the short hall, and stopped at the guest bedroom doorway.

Erina sat in the rocker, nursing Colin. Late afternoon sunlight came through the high windows of her room, casting blue highlights in her hair. She talked softly to her baby, but Grant couldn't make out the words.

Who was Colin's real father? Did she know his name, or had an anonymous man attacked her? Grant could understand why she'd make up a story about Jerrold Kirby if the truth was too hard to face. But Grant knew that someday, Colin would want to know the truth. What would Erina tell her son then? He hoped she'd be able to face reality before that happened.

Grant told himself again that the identity of Colin's real father didn't matter. Colin would be raised as his son, no matter who his biological father was. But a part of him wanted to know the truth. He wanted Erina to trust him enough to confide in him, no matter how horrible or embarrassing the story was.

She looked up, as though she'd listened to his thoughts and heard his doubts. Her face serious, she rocked in the chair without her usual discomfort at being caught nursing. She was so modest that he had no idea what she would really look like naked. But he could dream. Oh, he could dream . . .

He felt his body stir at the image of Erina walking toward him, natural and uninhibited. When they married would she do that? Or would she be as modest as ever?

He couldn't wait to find out. His body definitely wanted to know the answer.

"I think I'll go out and get us some dinner," he said. "What would you like?"

"Anything is fine with me."

"Seafood, steaks, Italian?"

"I liked those wee shrimp we had the other day," she said.

"Good. I'll get those."

"I can cook, you know," she said as he was about to turn away. "You'll not be gettin' a woman without skills."

He smiled. "I'm not worried about whether you can cook. I want you to be a wife, not a maid or a chef."

"I've no experience bein' a wife."

"That's okay. I don't have any experience being a husband." She smiled back. "I suppose we'll both be learnin'."

"I suppose so." A stray thought crept into his mind. "Erina, you do know I expect us to be really married, don't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so," she said, even though she looked a bit confused.

"And that means we'll be sharing a bed and . . . everything."

That comment earned a blush. "Yes, I know."

He took a deep breath. "Okay. I just wanted to make sure we were clear about that."

She nodded. "I mean to be a good wife to you, Grant Kirby."

"And I promise to be a good husband and father."

Erina shifted Colin on her lap. "Grant, I've got a powerful yearnin'"

"For me?"

"For those wee shrimp."

He laughed at one of her first attempts at humor. "I won't be gone long."

After they bathed Colin and put him to bed Erina followed Grant into the living room and sat beside him on the couch.

"Do you want to talk now?" he asked.

She nodded. "I need to know what you believe." Although she'd been busy this evening, uncertainty continued to plague her. How could Grant want to marry her and not believe her?

"I admit I was pretty confused when you first showed up. I mean, I go through securing the condo for the night as a ritual; I have business and financial documents here from time to time. I know that I locked the condo and turned on the alarm system before I went to bed. And I know that you didn't climb the side of the building and enter through the balcony."

"Heavens, no! I could not stand the height."

"I figured that. I suppose that means you don't want to learn to climb with me."

"I don't think I could even watch from the ground," she stated, shivering at the thought of Grant hanging from a rock ledge, hundreds of feet about the earth.

"So anyway, I decided you must have gotten in before I locked up. You must have hid until later."

"You think I hid in this place with a sick baby? Do you not think he'd cry?"

"He was asleep, I'm sure, or he would have."

"Colin was dyin'! Do you think I'd hide in a closet while his heart stopped beatin'?" Grant's story was more ridiculous than her own. At least hers made senseif you believed in miracles.

He shrugged. "That's the only explanation that makes sense."

"Or you could just believe that the Virgin Mary sent me to the future."

"I'm sorry, Erina, but I can't believe that."

"So you think I'm lyin' to you," she stated, her heart breaking at the thought.

"No, I don't. I think you absolutely believe your story."

"I don't know what you mean. Of course I believe my story; it's the truth!"

"As your mind knows it. Look, let's say something traumatic happened to you. Maybe you really were raped and your mind just couldn't deal with the emotional pain. You read a book about Galveston's past and unconsciously created this fantasy about Jerrold Kirby. That's much easier to deal with because Colin's father has a face and a name."

"That's absurd! I know exactly what happened to me."

"Erina, think about what you're claiming. You say you're from 1896. No one has ever documented a case of time travel. It doesn't really exist."

"It does because Mary wiled it to happen."

He ran a hand over his face. "Your religion has become part of the fantasy. You chose me to save Colin because you believe Jerrold Kirby is the father of your baby."

"I didn't choose you, the Holy Mother did. I didn't even know who you were."

"I'm sure it seemed that way to you. I remember that you appeared confused about my identity. But that just means it's part of the fantasy."

"Grant, do you know how crazy you sound?" She was beginning to believe that he was the one creating stories in his head.

"What I'm proposing is based on psychological fact, not on miracles. I know it sounds far-fetched, but not as weird as traveling in time."

"To me it sounds even more odd. But then, the time travel actually happened to me. I can understand how you'd have a hard time believin' me since you didn't experience it yourself."

He touched her cheek, his eyes tender. "I know that you believe you're from the past, and that's all right with me. I hope that someday you'll remember what really happened, but if you don't, I'm willing to live with that."

"Well, that's very understandin' of you, but you happen to be wrong," she said, still a bit upset that he thought she'd made up a story, even if he thought she wasn't aware it was a story.

"I think I'm right, and that someday we'll find out the truth."

The idea that they might find out the truth because she went back to the past filled her with dread. What could be more horrible than proving she was telling the truth only to lose Grant forever?

Arguing about who was right wouldn't solve any problems. If he was willing to accept her, thinking she'd created a fantasy inside her head, then she could accept him with his skeptical view of miracles.

"I understand," she said at last. "Once you said we should agree to disagree. I think that's a good idea."

He smiled. "Good. I don't want your past coming between us."

"Neither do I," she said, closing her eyes and resting her face against his hand. "Neither do I."

Chapter Seventeen

Grant's newly discovered closeness to his mother was a tenuous thing that needed to be carefully nurtured. Instead, he was about to shock her with a rush wedding. She'd taken to the idea of having a grandchild remarkably well, but how would she react to acquiring a daughter-in-law?

On Friday morning Mrs. Parker came to the condo to stay with Colin so Grant and Erina could go to Houston. He needed to tell his mother in person, with Brian in attendance, he hoped. Then, after all the discussions and explanations were over, they needed to plan a wedding.

"I don't suppose you'd agree to a civil ceremony," he said to Erina as they walked toward the Jeep.

"What's a civil ceremony?"

"Where you go before a civil authority, like a Justice of the Peace or a judge, to get married."

"And not be married in the eyes of the Church? No, I couldn't do that."

"I was afraid you'd say that." ''And why would you be afraid?"

"Because I'm not sure how long it takes to get married in the Catholic Church. I'm sure we'll need some kind of approval. I remember when one of my property managers got married, he and his wife went through required pre-wedding counseling sessions and had to sign all kinds of documents. We don't have time for that."

"I'm sure we can make a priest understand that."

"I hope so. If we can't, then we can get married in a civil ceremony and have a church wedding later."

She stopped him before they got into the Jeep. "I'll not consider myself truly married until our union is blessed by the Church."

"But mainly we'll need the marital status for Mrs. Henshaw and the INS."

"Yes, but I just wanted you to know that I can't be your wife . . . in every way . . . until we're truly married."

What she was saying finally penetrated. "You mean we can't sleep together?"

"Sleep or anything else," she stated with a nod of her head.

"Oh."

"And you'll not be talkin' me out of this, Grant Kirby."

"I wouldn't even try," he said, unlocking the door for her. "I know how important religion is to you."

"To us all," she corrected him.

He didn't say anything more; Erina had the kind of faith that went deep and spread wide. She didn't go around trying to convert others, but she did have a way of reminding him of the abstract philosophies he'd learned as a child.

They drove to Houston in light traffic, chatting about the sights, the music, and the weather. But as soon as they neared his mother's house, Grant felt himself pull away. He wasn't looking forward to informing her of the hasty wedding, but, he kept reminding himself, his mother had taken to the idea of Colin remarkably well. Brian would be more resistant; but then, he'd made himself clear about his doubts from the first.

Brian just didn't understand the overwhelming attraction Grant felt for Erina. The way she made him feel protective of her and Colin.

"I'm a bit fearful of tellin' your mother," Erina said as they sat in the oval driveway.

"So am I." He took a deep breath. "Are you ready?"

Erina nodded.

His mother met them at the door instead of letting Maria answer the doorbell. And she seemed more relaxed, maybe even a little friendlier as they took seats in the living room.

"You didn't bring Colin?" she said chidingly.

"No, the doctors said to keep him in Galveston for now. Mrs. Parker is with him."

"She's a retired registered nurse," Grant explained. "I hired her while Colin was still in the hospital."

"Then she's not a stranger."

"No, she's a fine woman," Erina said. "She reminds me of . . . someone I once knew."

"Someone in Ireland?"

"No . . ." Grant knew what Erina was thinking: She couldn't tell his mother about the fictitious Mrs. Abernathy, Having this fantasy inside Erina's head must be a real problem for her; she had to constantly think about what she was going to say. If she said something about the past that seemed perfectly normal to her, others would react negatively, just as he had. He hadn't really thought about her story from that angle before. At first he'd thought she was trying to remember or assemble a background as she went. Now he knew that wasn't the case.

Brian followed Maria into the room, helping with coffee and tea. "What's up, Grant?"

"Erina and I have some news," he said, reaching for her hand. "We've decided to get married."

"Married?"

"Yes, Mother. We think it's the right thing to do."

"Well, I can't say that I'm too surprised."

"Really? I would have thought you'd at least give us a little token opposition."

"Grant, you make me sound like an ogre! I never give you grief just for the fun of it."

Grant smiled. "I didn't mean that. It's just that Brian has been trying to talk me out of rushing into my . . . involvement with Erina and Colin from the beginning. I guess I expected the same."

"Well, Colin is your son. You should take responsibility for him. And if you cared enough for Erina to . . . get involved with her when she was obviously young and inexperienced, you should do the right thing." "It wasn't Grant's fault," Erina said, defending him.

"I'm not sure we should say it was anyone's fault, dear," his mother replied patiently. "But the fact is that you're here now and so is Colin. As Brian is fond of telling me regarding real estate matters, this is not a problem, it's an opportunity."

"Mother, I'm so glad you feel that way. We're going to need your help in getting the wedding set up. Due to the investigation of Erina by the UTMB social worker and the need to establish her legally with the INS, we need to get married quickly. With my name and influence, I hope to deflect some of the questions they might have about Colin's background and Erina's entry into the U.S."

"I'll call the parish priest right away. But I wish you'd give me time to plan a proper wedding. Even a few months would be enough time to"

"Mother, we're talking about a few days here."

"Days! Grant, I doubt that anything can be arranged that quickly."

"One thing I've come to realize lately is that anything's possible," he said, looking at Erina. "So I think we can arrange something, don't you?"

"I . . . I suppose," his mother said, putting down her coffee cup and pacing the floor. "Yes, I'm sure we can." She turned back to Grant. ''By the way, did you make a decision on that property by the church?"

Grant smiled. "Funny you should ask. I've decided that would make a great outreach center."

"Excellent. I'll get on the phone immediately." Brian raised his eyebrows and watched her retreating figure. "I haven't seen her this excited about a project in years."

"This isn't a project," Grant said. "It's our wedding. Let's keep that in perspective."

Armed with Grant and Erina's birth certificates, they arrived at the Harris County Clerk's office at noon, just in time for the lunch crowd rush. Erina looked around the large room, amazed at all the people who were here to get married. All kinds of people mingled together, something she wouldn't have seen in 1896.

And most of the women were much older than she, lending credence to Grant's statement that she was too young for him. For the first time in years she did feel young. Since her father's death, and especially since Colin's birth, she'd been mature and responsible to the best of her ability. The idea that she had someone beside herself with whom to share the joys and burdens filled her with hope for the future.

Surely Mary wouldn't send her back in time if she and Grant married in the Church. God's judgments sometimes seemed harsh, but Erina refused to believe He was cruel and unfeeling. He wouldn't separate a family, joined in holy matrimony, would he?

Finally they arrived at the counter where they would acquire their marriage license. Grant had called earlier and received a paper through the telephone, a process he called a "fax." They'd completed the form and had it witnessed and notarized at his office. Now he presented it to the clerk, along with their birth certificates.

"There is a three-day, seventy-two-hour waiting period," she said in a singsong voice. Stamping another form, she looked up and said, "That will be thirty-one dollars."

Grant paid the money and received the license.

"Now all we have to do is talk to the priest," he said.

"I'm hopin' your mother had good luck talkin' to the man."

"Trust me; if anyone can get the Church to agree to a speedy wedding, it's my mother."

Erina hoped he was right. "I wish we could have been married at St. Mary's Cathedral, but I understand that your own parish church would be important to you and your mother."

"It's really her church," Grant explained. "I don't attend regularly and haven't for years."

"Shame on you, Grant Kirby," Erina said, taking his arm. "I'll expect you to mend your ways. Colin needs a good example."

Grant smiled. "I suppose you're right. I guess being a father is more complicated than I imagined."

"No, bein' a father is very simple," she said, remembering her own da. "Just do what's right and your children will follow in your footsteps."

"You make it sound so simple. Life isn't necessarily like that, Erina. Not anymore."

"I think life is as simple as you make it," she said as they walked out the door into the bright sunshine. "And I know you're going to be a good father to Colin. You're a good man."

"And that's the only criteria?"

"Aye, I think so. What else is important?"

Grant seemed deep in thought as they drove away from the downtown offices. Erina forgot about his mood as she looked out the windows at the tall buildings. They amazed and frightened her. How could they stand upright, so tall and yet so thin? Someday she'd find out.

They drove back toward Grant's mother's house but turned onto another street.

"Where would we be goin'?"

"Back to my place. I should have taken you by before, but I didn't think about it."

"This is the apartment where you live most of the time?"

"Yes. It's close to my office." He pulled into a parking garage and inserted a thin card into a machine that opened the gate. "I'll introduce you and get you signed up so you won't have any problem coming or going."

"Is every place so guarded?"

Grant pulled into a parking place and turned off the engine. "High-rise buildings like my condo and this apartment are safer. Otherwise, criminals could walk right up to the door."

Like I walked right into your condo in Galveston, Erina thought to herself. The fact that he refused to believe her story still stung, but she was trying to be understanding of his feelings.

She signed a card and met a very nice man who sat near the elevators and seemed to know everyone by name. "You won't have any problem now. Use this card to get in and out the door when the security guard isn't here. I'll get a key made for the apartment."

"All right." She placed the card in her purse, which was mostly empty. She wondered what most women carried about with them.

They rode upstairs to the sixth floor in a beautiful mirrored elevator with brass doors. Grant walked her down the hall, which was richly carpeted and had brass and crystal sconces on the walls.

When she walked into Grant's apartment she was amazed by the wealth displayed. This was the type of home she'd expect a wealthy man to have. It was far, far different from his condo.

The walls were covered with deep green paint and a printed paper. The floors were covered in thick, richly colored Turkish carpets over wood. The furniture was a combination of fabrics and styles, much like she'd seen in magazines at the hospital. It looked very rich, but it didn't look much like Grant.

"I know it's ostentatious," he said, leading her into the parlor. "My mother had her decorator do it." He shrugged. ''All she told her decorator was that I was a bachelor and the place needed to look good for entertaining. I didn't really care, so if you'd like to change anything, feel free."

"You'd want me to change your apartment?"

"Our apartment," he corrected. "You're going to live here too, and I want you to be comfortable. Of course, we'll have to redecorate the guest bedroom as a nursery for Colin anyway, so you might as well do the whole place."

"But I . . . I wouldn't know where to start!" Just the thought of buying new furniture in 1996 filled her with dread. She really didn't know where to start. If she went by her own skills and knowledge, they'd end up with a Victorian-era home.

"There's no hurry. My mother will help you."

"Oh." She'd forgotten that she wasn't alone. And Grant's mother did seem to be very willing to help with the wedding.

"As a matter of fact, I can call her and ask her to come over. The two of you can discuss the wedding and decorating and whatever else while I'm gone."

"Where would you be goin'?"

"I've got to run by the office, but I'll call Mother first."

Erina sank down on one of the chairs, an uncomfortable piece covered in a leopard-skin print. This was what Grant's wife was expected to do, she realized. She had a lot to learn about lifemore than she'd expected when she'd lived in her own time.

His mother would help, she realized. Erina took a deep breath. The idea of being a wife seemed overwhelming at the moment. She wished Mrs. Abernathy was here. She could ask her about the more personal aspects of being a wife. That's something she could never do with Grant's mother, especially when they'd deceived the poor woman into thinking that they'd already . . . acted like a married couple.

"Make yourself at home. There should be drinks in the refrigerator or in the bar," Grant said. He walked up to the chair, placed his hands on the arms, and leaned over her. "I won't be long," he said; then he kissed her.

They'd been so busy that they hadn't kissed recently. She'd missed it; oh, how she'd missed his kisses. She closed her eyes and parted her lips so he could deepen the contact, and he didn't disappoint her. Within seconds she wished he could stay and teach her more about the passion she was just discovering.

He broke the kiss, his eyes clouded with desire. He rested his forehead against hers, his breathing uneven. "I hope we don't have to wait long for the weddingor, more specifically, the wedding night."

"I'm just as anxious to be your wife," she whispered. "I hope I don't disappoint you. I know most women have a bit more experience than I do."

"I don't care about experience. I know we're going to be great together."

She smiled, believing the same thing. "I'll be waitin' for you to return."

"Have a good visit with my mother. She's already talked to the parish priest and she'll fill you in."

"I'm sure we'll have a fine time."

"You don't sound too convincing," Grant teased.

"I like your mother, Grant, but she is a bit intimidatin'."

"Yes, but I think she honestly likes you. And I know she adores Colin. I've never seen her like that before."

"I'm so glad. I think she loves you very much."

Grant seemed embarrassed by her observation. "I've got to get to the office. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

She watched him go with such love inside her. Grant was a good man. He would be a good father.

And besides, he was a hunk, she thought with a smile.

Grant arrived at Brian's office just as some of the staff were leaving for the weekend. Unless they were busy he'd always encouraged a short day on Friday. Today, Grant was glad for the semiprivacy. He wasn't sure if news of his upcoming marriage had leaked out, but he didn't want to spend the afternoon getting an equal measure of congratulatory slaps and curious looks.

He was equally glad that the hospital staff had been discreet. He'd half expected to see his name splashed across some tabloid with a photo of a startled Erina and a crying Colin.

"Hey, son, come on in," Brian said from behind his large, cluttered desk, the phone to his ear. "I'll be with you in just a minute."

Grant took a seat and looked around the office. Brian was a true Texan, with the requisite Western paintings on the walls and the bronze cowboy and horse statue on the credenza. Two uncomfortable leather chairs faced the desk; the seats were hard and straight so guests wouldn't want to linger and chat. Brian got down to business fast and concluded promptly.

He might look and sound like just another good ol' boy, but Brian was no fool. He'd graduated near the top of his class at Harvard and had a mind like a steel trap and instincts that were astounding.

He hung up the phone. "Is everything arranged for that wedding?"

"I didn't ask Mother yet. She's coming over to the apartment to talk to Erina. I'm sure they'll get the plans finalized."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

Grant nodded. "I feel good about this."

"No doubts?"

"Not one."

"What about your bride's story of being from the past? Has she 'fessed up?"

"No, she still claims a miracle occurred. I have a theory that something bad happened to her and she created that story to help her cope. But whatever the truth, I'm not worried. Erina is as good as they come. She's a great mother and . . . well, hell, she just makes me feel good."

"I know that it's hard to reason clearly when you're not thinking with your brain, but marriage is for a long, long time. And divorces last even longer."

"I'm not worried, Brian. I know that sounds as if I've flipped, but I can't help thinking that this is going to be the best thing I've ever done."

"I hope you're right. Is that what you came to tell me?

"Not really." Grant shifted in the uncomfortable chair. "I've come to a decision about Kirby Investments. You've known since the beginning that my heart wasn't in the real estate business. The problem was that if I didn't manage the company, what would I do? So I told myself that I should stay and just do it. Hell, almost anyone in America would have felt blessed to inherit such a position."

"You've taken to real estate real well, even if it wasn't your first choice. Are you sure this isn't just some kind of reaction to getting married?"

"No, but being around Erina and Colin has made me re-evaluate my priorities. I'm going to have a family now, Brian, and I want to spend more time with them."

"What are you thinking?"

"A real estate investment trust. I think it's the answer for all of us."

"You're ready to give up the family business, sell it off to a bunch of investors?"

"I'm ready to settle up, that's for sure. I think Mother will agree. We'd be viable as an investment trust. I don't think the public offering would be a problem. But I want you to know one thing; you're family too."

Brian shook his head. "I'm not family. I'm part of the hired help."

"Bull. For years, you were Kirby Investments. Whenifwe go public, you'll be taken care of. If you want to continue representing the firm, you can. I'll set it up. I'll probably be around for at least a year. If you want out, then we can arrange that too."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm not sure. I've been thinking about a few things. You know how much I love to climb. I've got some ideas for new equipment. I'd like to explore that, maybe in partnership with a couple of guides I know."

"You haven't talked this over with your mother?"

"No. I thought I'd dropped enough bombshells for a week or so."

"When are you going to talk to her?"

"After the wedding. She'll have enough to do until then. Erina doesn't seem to know much about wedding customs and . . . hell, whatever it is that needs to be done."

"Your mother is the woman to get this wedding on track."

"That's for sure." Grant looked down at the standard beige office carpet. Not working with Brian would be like losing a family member, but setting up a REIT would give them all financial and personal freedom.

"If the trust goes through and you end up with some extra time on your hands, can you think of anything you'd like to do?"

Brian shrugged. "Go fishing, I guess."

Grant laughed. "I have a better idea. I think you should learn a little more about tennis. Maybe make a few more appearances at the country club. Get involved in some charities."

"Hell, then I'd be doing what your mooh, no you don't. Don't start matchmaking. Just because you're infatuated doesn't mean the rest of us have lost our minds."

"Don't give me that. You know you're attracted to her. Why not go for it?"

"We're about as alike as night and day." "You're no more different from Mother than Erina is from me."

"Exactly my point."

"Well, we're getting married on Wednesday. What does that say about you and Mother?"

"Not a damn thing. Now get on back to your girl and leave my love life alone."

"I wasn't aware that you had one," Grant said, laughing at the mock ferocity of Brian's response.

"Out!"

"You'll talk with a brokerage representative?"

"I know just the one to call. Believe it or not, this isn't a total surprise."

"Really?"

"You've always been a little restless. I'm not too surprised."

"As usual, you're one step ahead of me." Grant pushed himself out of the chair. "I'll get back to the apartment. I'll call you if anything comes up this weekend."

"If you need me . . ."

"I know. Thanks, Brian." Grant paused in the doorway. "This is going to work out, you know."

"The investment trust or the wedding?"

"Both."

Chapter Eighteen

"The priest doesn't want to marry us," Erina told Grant as soon as he came through the door.

"What do you mean?" he asked, walking over to the refrigerator beneath the bar. He took out a soft drink and opened the can.

"You mother said that he doesn't believe we should marry so quickly," Erina explained, clasping her hands together. She'd felt extremely nervous ever since Grant's mother had arrived with the news.

"He's resistant," Mrs. Kirby explained with a patience Erina found exasperating.

"What's the problem?" Grant asked.

"If you'd remember your teachings as a boy, or even attend mass occasionally, I'm sure you'd realize that marriage is considered a solemn occasion. The Church believes you should enter into the union with a bit of forethought," his mother explained.

"I'm entering into this with lots of thought," Grant said defensively. "But you want to get married in five days," she said.

"I'd like to take a few months and plan a big wedding, if that's what Erina wants." He looked at her, and her heart skipped a beat. She'd never imagined having a large wedding with a white gown, not since Jerrold Kirby had changed her life. "Unfortunately, we don't have the time, with the social worker and the INS problems. I want to make sure that no one can take Colin and Erina away."

"I understand, but the church is more cautious. They expect baptismal certificates and an Affidavit of Free Status, along with your attendance at pre-wedding counseling."

"We can't do that. What other options do we have?" he asked.

"What we need to do is convince the father that we are serious," Erina answered. "We should go to see him and explain the truth."

"The truth that we have very little documentation on you and Colin?" Grant asked as he walked toward her.

She sat down in one of the chairs beside the sofa. "I'm thinkin' we shouldn't lie to a priest," she said, before recalling that Grant's mother didn't know the truththe truth he wouldn't believe.

"Erina, I don't want you to have to lie."

"What are you two talking about?"

"Erina thinks we should tell the whole story of how she came to the U.S. and why she has nothing except birth certificates for herself and Colin."

"Surely you could just allow some time to obtain the proper documentation. You could even take the wedding counseling on a weekend.''

"Mother, I know we won't be able to get those certificates."

"Why not?"

"I'm from a very small village in Ireland. I don't think the church is there anymore," Erina hedged. In fact, she was fairly certain the small chapel had long since crumbled away. When she and her da had attended the thatched roof had leaked and the wind had whistled between the stones. Outside, the cemetery where her mother was buried was in better condition than the church itself.

"But if you attended mass somewhere else recently . . . Surely someone knows you and can vouch for you," Mrs. Kirby said.

"No," Erina said, "There's no one. Not anymore. They're all . . . gone." That was the truth. Mrs. Abernathy would be the closest person to a relative, and she'd surely been dead now for at least fifty years.

"You've certainly gotten yourself into a mess this time, Grant," his mother said.

"I don't want to cause problems for you and your family," Erina said, looking up at him. "Maybe it would be best if"

"Maybe we should make an appointment to see the priest tomorrow. Erina needs to get back to Colin before tonight."

"I don't like to leave him for so long," she explained.

"You should just move in here. That would be much more convenient." "Colin's doctor wants him to stay in Galveston until he has his checkup on Thursday morning. He's still on antibiotics. Besides, his nurse is in Galveston."

Erina didn't want to bring up the subject at the moment, but she dreaded moving into this apartment. She'd much rather stay in Galveston, even though she realized now that the condo wasn't as grand as what the Kirbys were accustomed to. She'd miss the sound of the surf and the smell of the ocean. As a matter of fact, at the moment she'd like nothing better than to run back to Grant's condo, lock the door, and stay there forever.

But she couldn't run away from her problems that easily. And she couldn't ignore the teachings of the Church. If she stayed too long with Grant, she'd want to be his wife in every way. She needed the blessing of a priest before that happened.

"Do you have the church's phone number? I'll call and make an appointment for tomorrow. We'll get this straightened out."

Grant's mother gave him the number. When he'd gone into the other room to make the telephone call Erina turned to Mrs. Kirby. "I'm sorry that this is such a problem. I wish it could be otherwise."

"My dear, nothing is easy. Don't worry. I've never seen anyone whom Grant couldn't turn around. He doesn't realize it, but he's so much like his father in that way." Her face took on a wistful look before settling into a more reserved expression. "That is, when he wasn't drinking. But thankfully, between Brian and Grant, Kirby Investments is on solid footing once again."

"Grant doesn't discuss his business with me," Erina said weakly. She didn't want to discuss family matters or business with Mrs. Kirby at the moment.

Grant came back into the room. "We've got an appointment for eleven tomorrow morning," he announced. "Father Flannigan is anxious to meet Erina."

"Father Flannigan? He's Irish, then?"

"By family, not by birth. But perhaps he has a bit of sympathy for a fellow Irishmanor Irishwoman, as the case may be," Grant said with a smile.

Grant walked into the priest's dark, quiet office prepared to defend Erina and his relationship with her. She didn't need his help. From the minute she perched on the edge of one of the leather chairs facing the desk, her tentative smile won over the cherubic-looking father.

"And what's the rush with you two young people?" Father Flannigan had asked right out, a smile in place even as he looked at Erina's very young face.

"We have a bit of a problem with Colin," Erina answered quickly.

"Ah, yes. Mrs. Kirby explained the whole story to me earlier. I'm sorry the baby had such a serious heart problem, but I'm glad he's doing so well." The priest's smile faded as he stepled his fingers and looked at them above his reading glasses. "Now, I must say that you two have gone about this all wrong." "What do you mean?" Grant asked, moving forward in the chair and resting his hands on his knees. If this man thought he'd give Erina a hard time for

"Courting, marriage, then babies, Mr. Kirby," the priest answered. "I know your mother didn't raise you to disregard the laws of God and man."

"Of course not," Erina said, jumping in quickly. "This wasn't Grant's fault."

"I'm not blaming just him," the man said, looking at Erina over his half glasses. "You should have thought of the church's teachings before leaping into . . . a situation with this young man."

"Yes, Father," Erina said, bowing her head.

"And you, Mr. Kirby, should have gone back to Ireland to make things right with this young woman."

"I realize that now, Father. That's what I'm trying to domake things right."

The priest turned his attention to Erina. "You're the problem, young lady. Mrs. Kirby said you have no Church records."

"That's true, Father. Our village church burned when I was twelve. My baptismal certificate was destroyed, and I have no idea where the priests went afterwards. My da and I moved . . . away the next year."

"Do you have no one from the village who could vouch for your baptism?"

"No, Father. I don't even know how to contact anyone there. It was a very small village."

Father Flannigan sighed. "Would you be willing to sign a Supplitory Oath stating that you were baptized in the Catholic Church?"

"Of course! I've attended the church my whole life, Father."

"And what do you say, Mr. Kirby? Can you give me a good reason to disregard our pre-wedding counseling?"

Grant paused before answering, knowing that what he was about to say could sway the priest's decision. "I'm not entering into this marriage with my eyes closed, Father Flannigan," he said slowly. "I know our need to marry seems rushed, but Colin is our major concern. He was born without the benefit of a ceremony in the Church, and we can make that up to him now. As for Erina and me, well, we both know what we want. I would have asked her to marry me earlier if only I'd known . . ."

He let his sentence trail off, leaving the good father with the implication that he hadn't known about her pregnancy. That might have been true; he would have married Erina if she was pregnantwith his or another man's childalthough at the thought of consummating their marriage he was glad she'd already had the baby. His body reacted strongly to the image of the two of them entwined in his big bed in just a few nights.

"And you, Ms. O'Sheaare you entering into this marriage with realistic expectations?"

"Yes, Father. I intend to be a good wife and mother, keeping my family in the Church."

"Very well. I can suspend the requirements if I agree that the circumstances are beyond the scope of our regular counseling and certification. I believe this case qualifies."

"Oh, thank you, Father!" Erina cried, reaching for Grant's hand. She squeezed him with surprising strength, happiness radiating from her like the sunshine on a sandy beach. "The father has given us permission!"

"I know," Grant said, smiling at her beautiful face, her features alight with hope and joy.

"Where's that oath, Father?" Grant asked, still smiling, reluctantly breaking his gaze away from Erina. "We have a lot of plans to make."

The wedding took place at two o'clock Wednesday afternoon in a small chapel. Mr. Abbott and Grant's mother were the witnesses, with Colin held in the arms of Mrs. Parker in the second row of pews.

Grant had called Dr. Cook and received permission to bring Colin to Houston with Mrs. Parker. He was going to stay the night with her at Mrs. Kirby's home. Erina knew that meant she and Grant would be alone in his apartment. The thought made her flush all over and tingle in the most unexpected places.

Erina couldn't believe all that had happened since last Friday, when they'd told Mrs. Kirby and Mr. Abbot of the intended wedding. The appointment with Father Flannigan had gone better than she could have expected, far better than she'd dared to hope. And the look on Grant's face had made all her doubts vanish. He didn't appear to be a man who was being forced to marry. After leaving the parish, Mrs. Kirby had taken Erina shopping to buy a wedding gown. Erina rubbed a hand over the beautiful ivory lace and seed pearls. The skirt ended in something called a handkerchief hem, with v's of lace falling between her knees and ankles. Fine ivory silk hose, held in place by satin garters, covered her legs, and on her feet were ivory satin shoes with low, curved heels.

Before the wedding Mrs. Kirby had given her a family heirloom, a choker of pearls that had belonged to Grant's great-great-grandmother. When she'd put them around Erina's neck she'd burst into tears, hugging the older woman. How could she explain that she'd seen those pearls on the throat of her Mrs. Kirby, a hundred years ago?

Now, as Erina stood beside Grant in the quiet little chapel, she felt her eyes fill with tears again. In a few minutes she would be Mrs. Kirby, although she wasn't marrying the man she'd been infatuated with as a girl. She was a woman now, and in love with Grant, not some immature, dashing young man who took what he wanted without a thought for others. Grant had given up his freedom to save her and Colin. Could the luck of the Irish be with her more than it was today?

"With this ring, I thee wed," Grant said, watching her eyes as he slipped a heavy band on her finger. He smiled, and when she looked down she almost gasped as the emerald and diamond ring sparkled even in the dim lights of the chapel. She'd never expected such an extravagant wedding band. "Emeralds to remind you of Ireland," he whispered.

With shaking hands she slipped a plain gold band on Grant's finger, a ring his mother had helped her select. Because Erina didn't know what to buy and had no money of her own, she'd opted for simplicity. Besides, Mrs. Kirby had said that Grant led an active life and a gold band could always be polished. Given his hobby of climbing cliffs, that had seemed a good idea.

After the rings had been exchanged Erina glanced back at Colin, catching a wink and a misty-eyed smile from Mrs. Parker. Grant squeezed her hand and smiled, as though he understood Erina's joy. Even Mrs. Kirby and Mr. Abbott seemed pleased to be at the wedding. Truly, this was the happiest day of her life.

They knelt and received the blessing, and then Father Flannigan pronounced them man and wife and Grant was kissing her. She closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment of pure bliss before reality intruded in the form of sniffles and sobs.

Erina pushed back from Grant's smiling face and turned to the people watching them. Mrs. Kirby dabbed her eyes, her arm linked through Mr. Abbott's. Mrs. Parker wiped her nose with a tissue as she clutched Colin close to her bosom.

The bride smiled, tears running down her cheeks, then began to laugh. Grant spun her toward him, grinning, so handsome in his dark suit, white shirt, and tie. She'd never seen him dressed this way. The idea that he was hersall hersmade her want to hug the whole world on this fine day.

As soon as the priest stepped down, everyone came forward to congratulate them. Even if Grant didn't love her, he and his family cared enough to make this day special. And at that moment Erina felt truly loved.

Grant tried to relax on the way from the small reception at his mother's house back to his apartment. A glorious sunset illuminated the western sky. The night was mild and clear, yet the only thing he could think about was getting Erina back homeall to himself.

Married.

The thought should have brought chills to him, made him think of chains and shackles, but he could envision Erina lying on his king-size bed, gloriously naked with her long black hair spread around her. The arousal that image provoked made him shift on the white leather seat. Think of the other benefits of marriage, he told himself. Someone to come home to each night, to talk with and plan their future with. Quiet dinners together, long walks on the beach. A house with a noisy den and a driveway filled with bicycles. He wanted all of that with Erina.

But at the moment he wanted to get her safely inside his apartment.

"Are you tired?" he asked. He needed conversation to keep him from seducing her right there in the limo.

"Not really," she replied in a dreamy voice. "This day has been so special. I cannot tell you how wonderful . . . and yet I think you know what you've done for me."

"I'm just as happy as you are," he replied easily, then realized how true that statement was. He'd conceived of the idea of marriage as a way to protect Colin and Erina, but he knew now that he wanted them to be a couple, sharing life and someday, hopefully, love. He felt that she could come to love him in time, and he already cared very deeply for her.

The limo stopped at the entrance to the apartment building. In a few moments the driver came to open Erina's door. When she started to get out Grant said, "Wait a minute."

He exited first, then assisted her from the car. Before she could take a step he swung her into his arms and carried her past the smiling driver.

"Add twenty percent and send me the bill," Grant said to the man.

"Grant, you cannot carry me all the way inside," Erina said, protesting despite the way her arms clenched his neck.

"Of course I can." He carried her past George, the grinning night security guard, and into the elevator. "I see no reason to put you down."

"But I must be heavy."

"You don't weigh as much as a backpack," he said, determined to seevery, very soonjust how his bride looked without her wedding gown.

They got off on his floor and made it to his door without incident. However, his key was in his front pant's pocket. "Reach in the left pocket of my pants and get my key, please." She looked a bit scandalized at his suggestion. ''I can't."

"Sure you can. I'm not about to let you go."

She blushed, then reached tentatively into the pocket. He felt her small, firm fingers search for the elusive key. "Lower," he urged, thinking she just might get a big surprise if she searched a bit to the right.

"I have it," she announced a second later.

"Unlock the door quick before we embarrass the neighbors by starting the honeymoon in the hall."

Erina giggled, a sound he found charming. She didn't laugh often enough; he'd have to make sure she had a reason to smile and laugh from now on.

Pushing the door shut with his foot, he strode quickly to the bedroom. His mother's decorator had done a splendid job, he realized, looking around at the many candles, the fresh flowers, the lace-edged sheets. The scents were as rich and seductive as Erina's long black hair.

"It's like a fairy tale," she said breathlessly as she surveyed the room.

"Just as long as it isn't Beauty and the Beast," he replied, letting her slide down his body so she could become familiar with his bedroombefore she became familiar with him.

"No, that's not the one," she said, trailing her hand along the soft comforter of the bed. She walked to the antique mirrored armoire. "I think it's called Cinderella. I feel as though I've found my prince."

"No, I've just found my princess in hiding," he said, walking up behind her. He placed his hands on her delicate shoulders. He did have large, rough hands. But tonight, he hoped they'd give her pleasure.

He kissed the side of her neck as he watched her face in the mirror. She closed her eyes and moaned. In the background candles flickered inside crystal bowls and brass hurricane lamps. The scent of vanilla drifted through the air, along with the faint smell of the cream-colored roses in tall vases.

But what he sensed most was the growing heat and awareness of Erina, warm and soft in her wedding gown. Married. The idea that he was about to make love to his wife filled him with desire.

"I want you so much," he whispered into her ear. "I promised myself that I'd go slowly, that I wouldn't rush you, but all I can think about is taking that beautiful dress off you."

"I . . . I don't know what to say or do," she whispered, looking into his eyes in the mirror.

"Then don't do anything but feel." He slid his hands to her back and began unfastening the many small buttons down the back of the dress. His fingers brushed against her skin and she trembled, closing her eyes and biting her bottom lip with those small, white teeth. He wanted to feel her mouth on him that way, gently nipping. But he'd save that pleasure for later. Right now he wanted to concentrate on her.

He peeled the dress apart, looking down at Erina's ivory slip. So many layers. This seduction was slow, he realized, but he didn't mind. He could take hours undressing her, as long as he knew what was waiting for him at the end. Her softness and warmth. A welcome home. A joining of bodies and minds. With a sweep of his hands the dress slid down her arms, hung momentarily on her full breasts, then pooled on the floor. He took her hands and urged her to step out of the lacy puddle. That brought her closer to him, flush against his aroused body.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against her shoulder before placing a kiss there. His lips brushed against the strands of pearls circling her throat. His mother had remembered the heirloom, he thought with pride. What a perfect gift for Erina's wedding day.

"I'm a plain one," she said softly.

"No, you're not. There's not a plain inch of skin on your body. Not a plain strand of hair on your head. Don't you know how special you are? To me, you look as though you stepped from the pages of a fairy tale. A princess, come to me from long ago."

He trailed kisses up the slope of her shoulder to her neck. "No, you're not plain, Erina O'Shea Kirby. You're magic."

He tugged the straps of her slip off her shoulders, down her arms, over her hips. She stood trembling in her lacy bra and panties and, below, satin garters that held up creamy stockings. Her breasts were full and white, her waist small and her stomach gently curved.

"You're perfect," he whispered, watching his hands skim her arms, hug her waist, then inch higher to cup her breasts. Her nipples instantly hardened and she moaned.

"Are you sore?"

"No, but you make me feel . . . as I did on the balcony that night. I've never felt that way before."

"Tight and aching?" he asked, lightly caressing her through the lace.

"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning back against him.

"I think it's time to lay down, don't you?" As much as he enjoyed watching Erina's response in the mirror, he wasn't sure how long he could stand there. Sooner or later he'd collapse from need. Right now he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of his own clothes and feel her against his body.

She turned and looped her arms around his neck. "Yes, but you need to undress too. I feel odd wearin' so little when you're still in your suit."

"Whatever you want, princess." He hugged her closer, burying his face in her hair. When he opened his eyes he saw the back of her, so pale against the darkness of his clothes. Her bottom was round and barely covered by lacy panties that matched her bra. The thought of what she would feel like made him even harder.

He slid his hands to her buttocks, making her gasp. Then he lifted her, urging her thighs apart so she could straddle his waist. "Hold on," he said, speaking to himself as much as to her.

She tentatively tightened her legs around him, then clutched him harder. "I had a fantasy of holdin' on to you like this," she admitted, her face buried in his neck. "I didn't know if such things were done."

"You can do anything you want to me," he said, settling her on the high bed. "Anything."

With a yank of his tie, he loosened it, then began unbuttoning his shirt. The soft cotton failed to cooperate. He was about to yank it apart when Erina's hands replaced his.

"Let me," she said, and she deftly slid each button from the hole with far more finesse than he possessed at the moment. He wanted her so badly that he ached. She was sitting on the bed, her legs straddling his thighs, and all he could think about was making her cry out in passion.

She pushed his shirt and suit coat off his shoulders and down his arms, just as he'd removed her dress. With a look of wonder on her face she touched his chest.

"I wondered what it would be like to be free to touch you," she admitted. "You are so strong, so big."

"I don't feel very strong at the moment. Right now, I feel as weak as a kitten."

"Then perhaps you should lie down," she said with a slight smile that made his heart beat faster.

"Not until you get me out of these pants," he challenged.

Her fingers weren't as sure on his belt buckle and buttons. She fumbled when it came to his zipper; he was forced to help her tug it down along the ridge of his arousal. He moaned when she exerted the least amount of pressure on his already rigid flesh, which was still covered by his briefs.

"Does it hurt?" she asked innocently.

"Not the way you mean," he whispered against her lips, then kissed her, hard and openmouthed. She seemed startled at first, then relaxed as he slid his tongue into her mouth. At the first touch of her tongue to his, he deepened the kiss even more, urging her to let her passion go.

She seemed to sense what he wanted, because she came up full against him, her breasts teasing his bare chest. She held him tightly, grasping his shoulders, his arms. He slipped his hands lower, cupping her bottom and rubbing her against his arousal.

He broke off the kiss, panting, trying to control his body. He was hotter than he'd ever been before. Burning up with need. "Oh, God, Erina," he whispered against the top of her head. "You have no idea how much I want you."

With shaking hands he pulled himself away from her and sat on the bed. He jerked off his shoes and socks, then yanked his pants down his legs. His shirt, tie, and suit coat ended up on the floor across the room.

He noticed she was struggling with her hose. "Let me," he said. His own hands trembling, he unfastened the garters and slid the silky stockings down her legs, kissing her knee, her shin, her calf. When he got to her ankle he noticed a tiny cut.

"You hurt yourself," he said softly, kissing the damaged area.

"I had to learn to shave my legs," she admitted breathlessly. "I'm afraid I'm not very good at it yet."

He smiled against her soft skin and removed the stocking from the other leg.

He settled her legs on either side of his thighs and reached around her back to unhook her bra. He felt her tremble beneath his fingers. "Nervous?"

"Terribly," she whispered, the words a soft caress on his neck. "I've never removed my clothes in front of another person before."

"Never?" he said, smiling when the catch came loose. He eased away the lacy garment.

"No, never."

"I've never wanted to remove another person's clothes more," he said, hoping to put her at ease, "so this will be a first for both of us."

"But you've made love to other women."

"Yes, but never to my wife," he said softly as he leaned down and kissed her gently, deeply, until she again responded with all the buried passion she had yet to explore. As he continued the kiss, he coaxed her back on the bed, sweeping his hand down her body until he caught the waist of her panties.

He paused before removing this last piece of clothing. "This is just between us, Erina. Two people who care for each other, making love, giving and receiving pleasure. No one else. Okay?"

She looked up at him with large, dark, trusting eyes. "Yes. I'm not afraid of you. I know you'd never hurt me."

He felt empowered by her trust. With a quick sweep of his hands, he removed her panties. Before she could have second thoughts he skimmed off his briefs and stretched out beside her, his erection pressed against her thigh.

She shivered, although he knew she couldn't be cold. The room seemed unusually warm with the candles glowing and their scents mingling in the air. His own skin was burning hot, especially that part of him that begged for release. Not yet, he told himself. Not until she's really ready.

He kissed her lips, her cheek, her neck. Lying beside him in nothing but the heirloom pearls and her wedding band, she smelled fresh and pure, with no artificial fragrance to mar the perfection of skin. His mouth trailed lower, to trace her collarbone, then lower still, to the slope of her breast. He could feel her heart pounding, her lungs straining for breath. When he touched her nipple with his tongue she jumped as if he'd shocked her. A bead of milk appeared, and he licked it away.

His hands swept her stomach, her hips, down to her thighs. She shifted on the bed as if she couldn't decide what she wanted. Then he cupped her, stroked her, and she gasped his name.

"That's right, my princess." She was damp and swollen. "You do want me," he whispered against her neck.

He stroked her until she began moving against him, her moans the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. And then he moved between her thighs, pressing against her, stroking her as he eased inside.

Heaven must feel like this, he thought. She was tight and warm, closing around him before he could thrust fully.

"Relax, sweetheart. It's okay. Just relax and let it happen."

He felt the muscles of her thighs loosen a little, so he urged her to wrap her legs around his waist again. He kissed her as he began to move, slowly at first, then deeper as she opened to him. He wasn't sure how long he could last, so he reached between them and touched her where they were joined.

She screamed his name, convulsing around him so hard that it drove him over the edge. With a cry, he surged one last time, his body gloriously complete for the first time. "Erina," he rasped as he tightened his grip around her and fell into oblivion.

Erina awoke to the heavy weight of Grant lying across her, the smell of vanilla and roses in the air, and the feeling that she'd experienced another miracle.

She reached up and touched Grant's hair, lying soft against her breast. His breath teased her with memories of his kisses. She'd known before that she loved him; if they'd never experienced what they'd shared this night, she would have been happy. But now . . . she could never have imagined such passion, not even after reading about it in the magazines at the hospital.

Nothing, not even his kisses and caresses on the balcony, had prepared her for the reality of making love with Grant.

He settled closer, his arm tightening around her. How long had they both slept after . . . afterwards? The candles still burned brightly, lighting the room in a lovely yellow glow that reminded her of her own time. No sounds intruded, and the drapes were tightly drawn. The hour could be early still, or very late. But what did it matter? This night she had no obligations, no worries except pleasing her husband . . . and herself. She ran her fingers through his hair, hugged him closer, and smiled into the night. Grant had been right that what happened was between only them. No memories had intruded to ruin the moment. She didn't resent the other women for sharing their bodies with Grant, and he didn't seem to mind that she wasn't a virgin. All that was in the past, where it belonged. They'd never need to talk about it again.

She soon realized that the air conditionera wonderful invention in most caseswas fanning cool air over their bodies. She shivered, the warm glow of their lovemaking deserting her. With a sigh, she eased from beneath Grant and reached for the sheet and comforter.

He mumbled a protest at her movement, and she smiled. She'd never imagined that men could be so endearing, so entertaining. As she covered him with the sheet and draped the comforter across his legs, she realized she needed to make a trip to the bathroom. Making love was certainly enjoyable, but it had some new and embarrassing consequences.

And at that moment she realized what one of the consequences could be. The wetness between her legs . . . she could have Grant's child! She sagged against the side of the bed as the idea formed in her mind. With trembling fingers she touched her stomach, which was still slightly soft from Colin's birth. She wasn't ready to have another baby, as much as she would love to carry Grant's child.

You're being selfish, she told herself. If conceiving a child was God's will, she would have another baby. But the very human, weak part of her wanted to keep Grant to herself. She wanted time to watch Colin grow and prosper. She wanted to learn more about this time in which she now lived.

Dear God, please let me live my life in this timein Grant's time, she silently prayed. Surely now that she was married in the eyes of the Church she'd be able to stay forever.

Yes, she would stay forever. With a renewed sense of hope, she pushed herself away from the bed and walked silently into the bathroom. She closed the door, then searched the wall for a light switch.

When the lights over the sink came on she gasped. Mirrors reflected the fixtures over the twin sinksand her very naked, flushed-pink body. She pivoted in the center of the room. The bath was as extravagant and lush as the rest of the apartment, from the gold fixtures to the huge, soft towels. Both a tub and a shower, much like those she'd seen in a decorating magazine, nestled between two closets.

Well, she'd just have to get accustomed to such luxury. Grant obviously enjoyed such things, so it was her duty to do the same. One thing that she wasn't used to yet was the expensive jewelry. She wouldn't dare remove her wedding ring, but the pearls . . . When she tried to work the clasp they refused to cooperate. She'd have to wear them to bed and have Grant remove them in the morning.

She washed as quietly as possible so she wouldn't disturb him, then turned out the light and eased open the doorwalking right into the very solid, warm body of her husband.

''Grant! You frightened me." His eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "Did I? Is that why your heart is beating so fast?" he asked as he placed a hand on her naked chest.

She looked at his large, tanned hand against her skin. She was naked! She'd forgotten that small detail as he'd surprised her in the doorway, but now the realization that she stood before Grant wearing only the strand of pearls filled her with a strange mixture of excitement and fear. Would he find her attractive now that his lust had been satisfied?

She shouldn't carevanity was a sinbut she couldn't help wondering. She looked up into his eyes and found them glowing with a desire as strong as before.

"Grant," she whispered, leaning toward him as his hand moved lower, circling her back, pulling her against his warm, aroused body.

"I missed you," he said simply before he lowered his mouth.

She met his kiss, her lips parted, hungry for the taste and feel of him. He wore no clothes, just the musky scent of their lovemaking. She found the essence stimulating in the extreme. The part of her that had been so gloriously satisfied not very long ago leaped to life again, craving Grant's touch.

This time he took his time when he carried her to the huge bed. He kissed his way down her body, over her milk-swollen breasts to her navel. And when he ventured lower she tugged on his shoulders and urged him to stop. But he didn't. He did things to her that made her crazy with need. She'd never imagined that a man would do that. But oh, he kissed her so privately, so shamefully, that she cried out, begging him for release.

He surged inside her, moving slickly and strongly as she held him tightly with her arms and legs and listened to his whispered words of encouragement. This time he didn't need to touch her intimately to take her over that high ledge and let her soar. She cried out his name as she fell through a special night sky filled with thousands of stars. And Grant was with her on that extraordinary journey, calling her name, bringing her gently to rest on a bed of lace and roses.

Chapter Nineteen

Facing Grant in the light of day, knowing that he was watching her, was one of the hardest things Erina had ever done. Every time she looked at him she remembered what he'd done to herand what he'd taught her to do to himin the wee hours of the morning. She was in a constant state of flushed cheeks and suppressed smiles as they drove toward Galveston.

Colin cooed and played in his car seat. He'd been a little angel, Mrs. Parker had said this morning when they picked him up from Grant's mother's house. And Mrs. Kirby . . . she looked at the two of them as though she knew what they'd done in the dark hours of the night.

Now, as they crossed the high bridge over the bay, Erina no longer felt a sense of panic at the height. Maybe it was just because she'd ridden in the Cherokee several times before, or maybe it was because she felt relaxed and confident for the first time in years. They pulled into the parking garage of UTMB minutes later.

"I talked to Sam Reynolds and told him about the wedding. I'll be sending over a copy of the marriage certificate later today. I'm sure that will go a long way toward getting your status settled."

"I couldn't bear the thought of havin' to leave you . . . now."

Grant smiled, his eyes hooded in a very sexy way. "I may never let you out of my sightat least not for forty or fifty years."

She wanted to lean toward him, to kiss him just one more time, but Colin let out an angry wail at sitting so long in the Jeep.

"He's making his wishes known this morning," Grant observed, the dimple still in his cheek. "I guess he's jealous that I took his mommy away for so long yesterday."

"Under most conditions, I'd agree with him that I'd stayed away too long. But I just can't be agreein' with him this fine day."

"It is a fine day, isn't it?" Grant asked as he reached into the back seat and unfastened Colin from his car seat. "Just the first of a lifetime of fine days."

Colin's checkup didn't take over an hour. Dr. Cook pronounced him well, healing with no problems. The doctor wanted to see him again in a month, but that was just routine, he explained. Colin didn't even need any more medicine.

Erina left the hospital feeling as though another part of her life was falling into place.

"What would you like to do with the rest of the day?" Grant asked as they walked toward the Jeep.

"I'm not sure," she said, thinking of the many sights she hadn't seen yet. She'd wanted to ride the new trolley, walk on the beach, visit the homes that had survived the hurricane and the years. "Wait, I know!" she said, suddenly excited. ''Can we visit Kirby House? I'd love to see how it looks now."

Grant looked at her a little strangely but nodded. "Of course. They're probably having tours all day."

"Good. I so want to see the place again. I'd forgotten how much in the past few days, with all the excitement of the wedding, but when I saw your mother's table I remembered how it used to look."

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

"That you don't believe I'm from the past. I know. But please take me to Kirby House. I promise I won't do or say anything odd in front of others."

"I'm not worried about that, sweetheart. You can say or do anything you wantas long as you don't start removing your clothes in public. I'm afraid I'd have to put my foot down there," he said in a teasing way.

"As if I would be takin' my clothes off anywhere," she replied with a smile.

"Oh, I remember your clothes coming off last night. Very clearly, in fact. If the memory gets any better, we're going to have to detour to the condo and put Colin down for a nap."

Erina placed a hand over her mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl. "Maybe after visitin' Kirby House," she said between bursts of laughter. "I'll hold you to that," he said with a wink as he started the engine.

Kirby House was built in New Orleans style of red brick, with high steps out front and lots of iron grillwork around the porch and windows. Erina had always loved the house, which looked much as it had a hundred years before. The main difference was in the landscaping; now palm trees clustered in the front where an oak had once stood, and oleanders lined the wall leading from the main house to the coach house.

Grant had called ahead from his car telephone and made arrangements for a private tour. Being married to a respected, wealthy man did have some advantages, she thought with a smile. Of course, she would have loved him anyway. Inside, Grant was as kind as they come. Outside . . . well, he did make her heart flutter every time she looked at him.

They parked along the side and walked up the front steps like any other tourist family. Family. That's what they were now. The idea that within two weeks she had acquired the husband of her dreams and a healthy baby made Erina want to laugh out loud, to hug the world, and tell everyone of her good fortune.

"Marriage seems to agree with you. You're certainly in a good mood today," Grant observed as he opened one of the double, leaded-glass front doors.

"Oh, and I wouldn't know why that would be," she said, grinning as she carried Colin inside the dark foyer. As soon as she entered the mansion, however, her smile faded and a sense of déjà vu assailed her. Even Colin became quiet, looking around at the red-patterned walls and gilt accents with wide blue eyes.

"It looks so different," Erina said softly. "Like there is no family here; like the house has no soul."

"Houses don't have souls," Grant said, walking a few steps forward on the creaking wood floor.

"I don't know. I think maybe they do, if they're lived in and loved." Someday she'd like to have a house that comforted her family, a place of warmth and happiness.

He shrugged. "A house has always been just a place to sleep, eat, and entertain to me."

"Even your condo?"

"That's different."

"I know," Erina said, walking toward a red velvet settee centered on one wall of the hallway. "I think the condo is how you'd like your life to be, far away from your family's world, and your apartment is just part of that world."

"That's pretty deep for this early in the day," Grant observed lightly as he studied a painting on the opposite wall.

"I'm not sayin' anything ill of your apartment or your mother's home, mind you, but somehow they don't seem like you."

He walked toward her, standing so close she was forced to look up into his eyes. "You're right. And I've been giving my life a lot of thought lately. I haven't mentioned this before, but I've decided to get out of the real estate business." "How can you be doin' that?" From what Erina understood, Kirby Investments was the family business. Surely Grant wouldn't turn his back on his mother and his friends.

"I'm going to offer Kirby Investments on the stock market as an investment. It's called a Real Estate Investment Trust. Shares will be sold to many people, who will get a dividend and a chance to make money when the stock goes up in price. I'll retain a voting share, as will Mother and Brian. But over the next year, I'm going to get out of the management end. Brian is considering whether he'll retire or stay. It's up to him."

"That's such a big decision. Are you certain?"

"Yes. I never wanted to be in the business. This way I'll have time to spend with you and Colin, and hopefully other children in the future." He smiled and touched her cheek. "You're blushing. Are you thinking about last night?" he asked softly.

"How could I not think of it?" she said, looking away. "We could be blessed with another child from . . . what we did."

"Yes, and if I'd been thinking more clearly I would have asked if you wanted me to use protection. But I wasn't thinking clearly at all. All I wanted was towell, let's not go into that right here. I'd have to carry you upstairs and find a comfortable, private place."

She blushed all the more at the idea of making love to Grant again, but her smile faded as she remembered where she was. She'd made a fool of herself over Jerrold Kirby in this house; she'd lost her virginity as a result of his drunken attack. And if she'd never worked for Mrs. Kirby, never smiled shyly at Jerrold, she wouldn't have had Colin. And she would never have needed a miracle or been sent to Grant's time.

Now was not the time to think about that, though. Later, when they were alone, she'd tell Grant how she felt. Instead she said, "What else will you do, besides stay home with me and watch Colin grow up?"

"I'm thinking about designing some new climbing gear, maybe go into business with some instructor friends of mine. We've talked about improvements that could be made. That way, you and I could live wherever we wanted. I have no ties to Houston, but if you want to stay there, we can."

"Can we live in Galveston?"

"If you want. Or we can travel. You may like Colorado or California. Or anywhere else. We could split our time between a few different locations if you want, maybe Colorado in the summer and Galveston the rest of the year. I'm pretty open."

"I've never been to any of those other places."

"We can go anywhere you'd like."

The freedom his money allowed was as foreign to Erina as the idea of engines that propelled cars at sixty miles an hour or airplanes that flew through the sky. But, she had to admit, she'd love to travel.

"Could we go back to Ireland some day?"

"Whenever you want. It's less than ten hours away by plane."

"Ten hours! It took us four weeks from Dublin to Galveston."

Just as Grant was about to comment, a short, stout woman in Victorian dress bustled into the hallway.

"Hello! Welcome to Kirby House."

"I'm Grant Kirby, and this my wife, Erina." His eyes rested on a still-curious Colin. "And our son."

"Yes, yes, Mr. Kirby. Thank you for calling ahead. And such a beautiful wife and child," the woman said, grinning at Colin. "How old is he?"

"Two months," Erina answered.

"What a wonderful age! Well, if you're ready for your tour, we can begin in the music room."

She and Grant followed the tour guide through the rooms of the first floor. Surprisingly, much of the original furniture was here, including the huge piano that she and Grant had talked about before. The ivory keys were yellow with age, but the finish had been restored to its original shine.

Each room was roped off with heavy velvet so people wouldn't walk on the old carpets or touch delicate items like Mrs. Kirby's silver tea service. In the dining room another table, similar to the one at Grant's mother's house, sat beneath twin crystal chandeliers and hosted a large gilt and crystal epergne. The family's china rested in a cabinet that matched the table.

"This furniture is new," Erina said before the tour guide began to speak. "But the china and the chandeliers are old."

The woman verified Erina's observations. Grant looked at her oddly, but she continued to follow the woman through the butler's pantry and into the kitchen.

They walked up the servant's stairs to the second floor, a route Erina knew well. Grant took Colin from Erina's arms as she started up the narrow steps. As a girl, she'd carried a tall stack of sunshine-smelling linens upstairs many, many times. She'd taken tea to the ladies' parlor at the top of the main staircase, and brushed Mrs. Kirby's long brown hair when her maid was indisposed.

So many memories. They were as clear to her as if they'd happened yesterday, yet she hadn't been in the Kirby's house for over a year. And a hundred years. She was part of this time now, and had to start thinking in those terms. She'd never forget her past, but the future called to her with promises of love and joy.

They went into the master bedroom upstairs, which looked much as it had in the 1800s. Mrs. Kirby's silver brush and comb set rested on her cherry vanity as it always had. Lace panels covered the windows and blue brocade drapes blocked out the sun during the hottest part of the day. The wallpaper and border was new, but similar to the blue and gold pattern Mrs. Kirby had ordered from France in the 1880s.

When it came time to enter Jerrold Kirby's bedroom Erina hung back, feigning interest in a landscape painting in the wide hallway. Within seconds Grant walked back to where she stood.

"What's wrong?"

"I have no need to see that room."

"Do you think that's where he"

"No! It was upstairs on the third floor. I just don't want to remember . . . him. I'd rather see the rest of the house."

"It's just a fantasy, Erina. Don't let your imagination cause you any pain."

"It's not my imagination. Jerrold Kirby lived in that room until he went away to college. He used to climb out his window onto the balcony and throw apples at the other children. Once he climbed down the ironwork and fell into his mother's rosebush. Don't tell me those things didn't happen!"

"How did you know all that?" their tour guide asked, peering from behind Grant in the doorway.

"I . . . perhaps I heard it somewhere."

"But that's not part of the tour. Some of those stories are in our background information on the family, though. Have you ever been a tour guide?"

"No." But perhaps she should be. Who could be a more authentic orator of the past? If she hadn't been so upset at Grant's continued denial of her background, she would have laughed at the irony.

"Why don't we go on to another room?" Grant suggested.

"It's just so odd," the woman mumbled.

"My wife studies history, especially Galveston's past."

Thankfully, everyone let the subject drop as they walked into the next bedroom, which had been occupied by Jerrold's sister Kathleen.

"This chest-on-chest was imported from Ireland and withstood the hurricane of 1900. Records indicate that the Kirbys used it to store fresh fruit and vegetables from the kitchen when everyone moved upstairs. There are still stains in the bottom of the drawers." The guide pulled out the middle drawer to show the dark, round spots.

When Erina looked up her breath caught in her throat. She could barely hear the woman's words as her heart began to pound.

"The bed is authentic to the period and was made on the mainland in Galveston county," the guide explained, smiling as she walked across the room. "The quilt was made right here in Galveston in the 1890s and was donated to the historical society by a dressmaker."

"Mrs. Abernathy," Erina whispered, feeling the blood drain from her face.

"Why, yes, it was! How did you know that?"

Grant hurried over, Colin clutched in his arms. "Erina, are you okay?"

She couldn't answer. All she could do was stand and stare at her own quilt, lying so innocently across Kathleen Kirby's bed.

"Would you excuse us for just a minute? My wife's not feeling well," Grant said to the woman. "Maybe if you could get her a glass of water from downstairs . . ."

"Of course. Sit down, dear; I'll be right back."

The woman's footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Erina walked slowly toward the bed.

"Sweetheart, why don't you sit down? You're as white as a sheet. You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I have," she whispered.

Grant caught her arm. "Erina, you've got me worried." "I . . ." Colin began to fuss and reached out his little arms. "Let me hold my son," she said softly. "I need to hold Colin."

The nightmare she'd experienced at Grant's condo came back to haunt her. Suddenly holding on to her son seemed the most important thing in her life. She mustn't let him go. She mustn't lose her son.

"Erina, talk to me. What's going on?"

"This is my quilt," she said softly, moving closer to the bed. "I made this quilt after I left Kirby Houseafter Jerrold . . . I used the scraps from different gowns I worked on."

She stopped near the foot of the bed. "But when I left it wasn't finished. I'd never embroidered any of this," she said, pointing to the pieces that contained the tiny stitches she'd learned as a child. "See here? It's the rockin' chair you bought for me. And our initials inside the heart." Tears filled her eyes.

Grant stood beside her, worry and a growing sense of panic reflected in his handsome features. "Erina, let's get out of here. You're really scaring me."

"Don't you see? Don't you know what this means?" Tears streamed down her face as Colin began to squirm and cry. "I'm goin' back. All along I've been fooling myself into thinkin' that I could stay with you when . . ."

"Erina, no. That's not what this means. This is some kind of joke, some"

"Oh, Grant, if only you could believe." She wanted to touch him, to feel his warmth and share her love one more time. But even as she swayed toward him she felt the pull of the past. Looking back at the quilt, her fingers reached out and traced the pattern of the heart.

''I love you, Grant," she whispered.

"Erina!"

And then there was nothing but the blinding white light.

"Erina!"

Grant screamed her name, thrust his hand toward the blinding flash of light. Too late! Like the flash powder in a magician's act, she'd disappeared into the brightness.

"Erina!" he cried again, staring around the room, looking for some explanation, some trapdoor. Something to prove that what he'd just witnessed hadn't really happened. But the floor beneath the bed was solid, with no sign that anything unusual had just happened here.

He reached out and touched the quilt. Just as she'd said, a rocking chair was embroidered on velvet, bordered by intricate stitches in soft gray. And on another square was a heart, made of tiny loops of red with their initials inside: E.O. and G.K.

"Oh, my God!"

"What's wrong, Mr. Kirby?"

The tour guide came into the room with a glass of water and a wet towel. "Where's Mrs. Kirby?"

Grant stood there staring at her, his heart pounding, unable to answer her. What could he say? That one minute Erina and Colin had been standing there by the bed and the next she'd vanished in a blinding flash of light? It was impossible; it was unbelievable. . . .

If only you could believe. She'd said those words to him before she'd disappeared. And she'd said that she loved him. She'd never said that before. Why would she say it now, then vanish?

Why?

"Mr. Kirby?"

"She's gone," he whispered into the stillness of the room.

"What do you mean? Did she and the baby leave the house?"

"She's gone," was all he could whisper as he walked through the doorway.

"Mr. Kirby!"

He ran down the stairs, but when he got to the bottom he had no idea where to go, what to do. When he heard the footsteps of the tour guide behind him he ran out the front door of Kirby House.

"Erina!" Looking right and left, he ran toward the Jeep. Where was she? She hadn't left him. She hadn't.

When he reached the car and she wasn't there he felt like collapsing in defeat. At the same time he wanted to run through the streets, calling out her name. He wanted to throw himself on the ground and pound his fists against the earth. He wanted to rant to the heavens.

"Oh, God." It was true. It was all true, all her stories, all her claims to be from the past. There was no record of Erina O'Shea in the present because she'd never been here before she'd appeared in his condo. There was nothing wrong with his security system. She hadn't sneaked inside and hidden for hours with Colin.

She really was from the past and he'd lost her. Just when he . . .

Grant dropped to his knees on the hard asphalt, tears filling his eyes. "I love you, Erina," he said aloud, looking into the clear blue sky. "I love you. I believe you."

Only silence greeted his labored breathing and his tears. The silence of his lonely years, the void of his life without his wife, his love, his Erina.

Chapter Twenty

"Erina?"

She spun around at the voice. Standing in the doorway was Mrs. Abernathy, dressed in her nightclothes, a muslin cap on her gray hair. She held an oil lamp in her hand, filling the room with soft light. "Where have you been, girl? And what was that noise?"

"Noise?"

"Sounded like the pop of a fire, it did."

"I . . . I don't know."

Mrs. Abernathy walked over to her and placed her hand on Erina's forehead. "You feel warm. Are you coming down with a cold?"

"No, I don't . . . Mrs. Abernathy, what day is this?"

"What kind of question is that? Why, it's Thursday!"

"What's the date?"

"You are running a fever. Let's get you to bed. I have no idea why you're up and dressed at this hour of the night." "Please, what's the date?"

"Let's see," Mrs. Abernathy said, rubbing her chin. "It's October the eighth, near midnight." She hooked her arm through Erina's and led her toward the bed. "Where in the world did you get those clothes? Why, the skirt's a scandal! Have you been out like that?"

"Yes, I've been to the church." And she'd come back in time to her own home, just minutes after she'd left.

Oh, Grant. Where are you? What's going on inside your head? Do you believe me now? All she wanted to do was sink down on the bed and cry.

"At this time of night? What were you thinking?"

"Colin was so ill," she said automatically, her voice sounding flat and lifeless. When she looked down at her son, who was yawning, she noticed that his color was still pink, and he was dressed in some of his new clothes.

"Poor little lad. He's so quiet."

Erina sat on the bed and grasped Mrs. Abernathy's hand, pulling her down beside her. "Do you believe in miracles?" Erina asked, looking intently at the older woman.

"Why, I suppose. The Church says that miracles occur."

"Yes, they do. Mrs. Abernathy, I need to show you something."

"What"

"Just look." Erina lay Colin on the bed and unzipped his romper, as she'd learned to call the one-piece garment. "Where did you get those strange clothes? I've never seen the like!"

Erina didn't answer, just peeled apart the fabric over Colin's chest.

"Good Lord!" Mrs. Abernathy exclaimed. "What has happened to your baby?"

"He's been cured. Oh, Mrs. Abernathy, I know this will be hard for you to believe, but I went to the church tonight to pray for a miracle to save Colin's life. He was so blue, havin' such a hard time with his poor little heart. I prayed to the Blessed Virgin to save my son and she . . ."

"She what? Tell me!"

"She sent me a hundred years into the future, into the hands of a good, kind man who took Colin to the hospital. And they operated on his heart."

The older woman reached out and touched the pink scar. "Surgery on his heart? But how?"

Erina shrugged. "I don't know the exact way they do it. All I know is that his heart is fixed. This mornin'" She had to stop; she couldn't talk past the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry. I'm just so surprised to be back here. I thought we'd live our lives in 1996, with . . . with Grant."

"He's the man who helped Colin?"

"Yes. He's the man . . . the man I love." Erina collapsed against Mrs. Abernathy's shoulder, letting the older woman hold her as she'd held Colin so many times. "What am I going to do?"

"Oh, my poor lamb, I don't know. I just don't know." <><><><><><><><><><><><> Somehow Grant dragged himself back to the condo. He had no idea how he got there, or whether he'd run down a score of pedestrians on his way. All he knew was that Erina and Colin were gone to a place where even he, with all his money and contacts, couldn't find them.

Had they gone back safely? Could Colin survive without postsurgical checkups and modern medicine? Had Erina eventually married someone else who could be a good husband to her and a father to Colin? There were no records before the hurricane, so he couldn't know if they'd even gone back to her timeOctober 1896.

He opened the doors to the balcony and went outside, leaning against the rail and watching the waves come in from the Gulf. How long ago had they kissed on this very spot, letting their desire run free for a few brief moments? A week? So much had happened since then. His life had been changed forever by Erina and Colin, but it was too late. Too late.

He sank against the sliding glass doors, letting himself cry for the second time since childhood. Even when his father died he hadn't cried. Now he couldn't stop. He sobbed like a baby as the steady southerly wind dried the tears on his cheeks.

He wasn't sure how long he sat out there, but eventually he realized that the wind had changed. It was cooler now, and a hint of rain drifted on the breeze. Perhaps another cold front, like the one that had come through the weekend Erina had arrived, he thought with a shaft of pain. Oh, Erina, what has happened to you? Where are you, love? He pushed himself up from the concrete floor, feeling a hundred years old at least as he limped inside the condo. Everywhere he looked he could see her. Standing in the kitchen, trying to learn how to make hot tea. Walking across the living room carrying Colin. Emerging from his bedroom doorway swallowed up in his bathrobe, a startled look on her face.

Would he really never see her again? He simply couldn't imagine not finding her, somehow, somewhere, even though he believed that she'd gone back to her own time. He believed her now, when it was too late.

But was it too late to find out if she'd lived past the hurricane? Since she knew it was coming, perhaps she would leave the island for safer ground. She wouldn't risk Colin's life. She'd resettle somewhere else. There should be a record of her sometime after 1900. He just needed to know where.

But that won't bring her back, whispered a voice inside his head. But if he at least knew she was safe . . . And what if she didn't show up anywhere? How should he interpret that? That she hadn't gone back in time? That she hadn't survived?

He picked up the phone with shaking hands and called the private investigator Brian had used before. The man had Erina's fingerprints, her name. He could search for her in the computer databases. If she'd lived in the past, surely there was a record.

But what if she married someone else? The house and their possessions would be in the man's name. Erina was only twenty years old in 1896, so she should have lived until the 1950s or 1960s, at least. But she'd still be dead today. And what about Colin? He'd been born in 1896, so he could have lived until the 1970s, '80s, or even longer. He would have been one hundred years old this past Augustnot totally inconceivable.

Grant fought back a wave of panic as the investigator answered the phone.

Within minutes he told the man to search for Erina O'Shea and Erina Kirby, and Colin Patrick Kirby, not in the present, but in the past. Back to 1900, Grant told the surprised man. Find some record of her and her child. He knew he sounded crazy to the investigatoras crazy as Erina had sounded to him at first. How had she endured his skepticism?

When he hung up the phone he paced the floor. He'd told the man to drop everything else on his calendar, charge anything he wanted. Grant had to know immediately. He had to find Erina, to tell her that he was wrong, that he was sorry. To ask her forgiveness for ever doubting her.

Exhausted, he dropped down on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head. "Oh, God, I've got to know."

Later, when the phone didn't ring, he walked into her bedroom and curled up on her bed. A beautiful, long, black hair rested on her pillow. Grant held it, curled it around his ring finger, and cried again for his loss. When all his tears were gone he lay dry-eyed through the night, breathing in her scent and trying to reach out to her somehow, across the years, to tell her how much he loved her.

The next morning he received a call from the investigator: No record existed anywhere in the United States or in Ireland of an Erina O'Shea or an Erina Kirby from 1900 on. Nor was there anything on a Colin Patrick Kirby, born in 1896. Grant hung up the phone realizing that he might never know what had happened to them.

He made a decision then. All the efforts he could expend wouldn't bring Erina back; only one thing would. He had to find a way to cause another miracle. She'd disappeared at Kirby House. He'd go back there, he'd pray, he'd petition her God for intervention. She was his wife; he thought of Colin as his son. Didn't the Church consider matrimony a holy state? Why would they be separated after they'd been married by a priest?

He shaved and showered, threw on fresh clothes, and drove to Kirby House. It was closed, so he sat in the car until ten o'clock, when the tour guides arrived. He waited, remembering how happy she'd been just yesterday after Colin's checkup, with the marriage, with life in general. She'd giggled and laughed, making him smile more than he had in ages.

She'd been everything he could have imagined and more on their wedding night. For all practical purposes, she had been a virgin, but she'd responded to him with an honest passion that had turned into a realization of her own desire by night's end. If they had a hundred years together, he'd never learn everything about her. Yet he was more than willing to try.

He rubbed his scratchy eyes. The doors to Kirby House opened and he jumped out of the Jeep, running up the steps two at a time.

''I'm Grant Kirby," he told the startled tour guide. "I was here yesterday with my wife and baby. A different lady was here. Older, with gray hair."

"Yes, we alternate days. What can I do for you?"

"Something happened upstairs in one of the bedrooms. Something . . . bizarre." He ran a hand through his hair. "I've got to get back up there and find a way to get them back."

"Your wife and child are missing?"

"Yes. Not in the usual sense. One minute we were standing there together and the next, she was gone. Gone, just like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "I've got to find her."

The guide looked at him as though he were mentally deficient. "Mr. Kirby, your wife is not here," she explained patiently. "I've just opened up the house and no one was here."

"I know they're not here now," he said. "They were here yesterday. They vanished. I've got to go up there. I've got to find a way to get them back."

"Where did they go?"

"Back. Back to the past." He didn't wait for the tour guide to ask him any more questions. He simply bounded up the stairs and down the hall, looking for the right bedroom.

There it was: Kathleen Kirby's bedroom, with Erina's quilt on top of the bed. All the glorious colors, all the tiny stitches, all the work she'd put into piecing it together. A labor of love, that's what the quilt was. Could he find her through it?

He knelt on the floor beside the bed and placed his hand over the embroidered heart. "Erina, come back to me please. Come back. I love you. I need you and Colin."

He stayed on the floor, trying to talk to Erina, thinking about everything she'd said and done while she was with him. He stayed beside the bed until the tour guide became concerned and asked him to leave, and even longer, until she called the police to talk to him.

As the afternoon wore on, they left him alone. Everyone thought he was crazy, but he was still a Kirby and a multimillionaire. They closed the door to the room and left him alone to talk to Erina, to plead with her to come back. He became angry at fate, at whatever force guided their lives. When nothing happened he cursed God for taking her away.

There was no response, but Erina's words kept echoing in his head. If only you could believe. Had she meant in her, or in something else altogether? And if she meant in God, in the power of miracles, what would his answer be?

Erina knew she shouldn't feel so betrayed, but she couldn't help the desolation that constantly overpowered her. How could Mary be so wonderful as to grant a miracle to save Colin only to separate a husband and wife joined by the Church?

But Grant lied to the priest, a little voice reminded her. You should have told the father the truth and asked for his mercy. You should have been honest in your intentions, but you had more belief in Grant than you did in your faith. "Stop it!" she cried, putting her hands over her ears. She didn't want to hear the truth, now that it was too late. Now that it only tormented her further.

She was also tormented by imagining what Grant thought, what he'd experienced when she vanished before his eyes. Did he drive back to Houston or stay in Galveston? Was he angry? Sad? Had he cried for her?

She needed a project to keep her mind off Grant and everything they'd lost in one blinding flash of light, so when she wasn't caring for Colin she worked on her quilt, her eyes filled with tears most of the time. Mrs. Abernathy came up to check on her several times a day, bringing tea and a meat pie at lunch, and tea and scones later in the day. By the time the sun began to set, the quilt was finished, and Erina felt emotionally and physically exhausted.

She would never be able to live with herself until she confessed her sins. But Colin was fussy, no doubt missing Grant just as she did. Tomorrow she'd go to the church and tell the priest everything that had happened. If the good father thought her crazy, so be it. She simply couldn't go on like this, torn between the two times, between her love of the Church and her love for Grant.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, Colin napped and so did Erina. She dreamed of a house by the beach, with sunshine and windows that gave a glorious view of the ocean. All the furniture was light, soft, and comfortable. Standing outside on the sand was Grant, holding Colin in his arms while the seagulls drifted in the breeze overhead and a large dog, his fur almost the color of Grant's sun-bleached hair, bounded toward the surf.

She walked toward the windows, holding out her hand. Grant turned and smiled, reaching out to her, beckoning her to join them. She put her hand against the cool glass and looked for a door, but there was none. She ran along the barrier, searching, leaving smudged prints in her wake, but could not find the way outside. Grant turned away and walked toward the water, but she couldn't follow. She beat against the glass, but it didn't break. She yelled until her throat was raw, but to no avail.

Erina woke with a start, her heart racing as she looked around the dark room. The candle she'd lit earlier had burned down. Colin stirred, so she reached down and lifted him into her arms. She felt so weak that her hands shook. The dream was so real; the house was just what she would have wanted had she stayed with Grant.

But she wasn't with him. The door to the future was just as real as the glass barrier in her dream.

After she nursed Colin and changed his diapermissing the paper ones from the future as she secured the soft fabric around his waistshe paced her small room. Restlessness set in, leaving her edgy and her mind racing. She'd prayed for a miracle once; was it possible to pray for one again? But the miracle had been for Colin, not for herself. She doubted if Mary would be inclined to bestow another one for such a selfish reason.

But what about Grant? He loved her, even if he'd never said the words. He had shown it every time he looked at her, in each kiss, in all his actions. Now Grant might even realize the depth of his feelings. The fact that he was suffering alone added to her own anguish.

If only she could help him, reassure him through all the years. You've done that through the quilt, she told herself. But was that all she could do?

No. She could use the power of prayer to help Grant. If the Blessed Virgin would allow her one more wish, she'd send strength and faith to him across the years.

"We need to go out," she told Colin. "Back to St. Mary's Cathedral." Suddenly she felt energized, her restlessness turned to purpose.

She grabbed a shawl and Colin's blanket, wrapping him securely against the evening breeze. At the last minute she turned back to the quilt. A sense of unease tickled the back of her neck, as though she didn't want to be parted from her labor of love. but she couldn't drag the heavy quilt with her to the church. Carrying Colin was enough of a burden.

Besides the quilt must end up in Kirby House. The knowledge made her aware of how vulnerable they all were to time. What if the quilt was ruined in the hurricane? What if it wasn't donated to the Galveston Historical Society?

She unwrapped Colin and placed him on the bed. Grabbing her lap desk, she sat beside him and wrote a note to Mrs. Abernathy, telling her of the hurricane and the importance of donating the quilt. She added that if anything happened to Erina, she should make sure to leave Galveston before September 1900, and take the quilt with her. So many people had died in that awful storm. Erina knew she couldn't be one of them, and she couldn't let Mrs. Abernathy perish either.

After looking around the room one more time, she bundled up Colin and walked out the door, leaving the folded quilt and note on top of her bed.

A half hour later she knelt at the altar of St. Mary's and lit a candle. The night reminded her so much of when she'd presented Colin to the Holy Mother for a miracle. To her it was weeks ago. In the reality of 1896, it was yesterday.

Colin began to fuss, so she rocked him in her arms while she knelt. "Blessed Virgin, please hear my prayers. I come to you tonight to ask for help for my husband, Grant Kirby. I told you he was a good man, a kind man. But his faith has been sorely tested and he doesn't believe. I ask you to help him find faith, to comfort him during his time of need."

Erina bowed her head over Colin, tears coming to her eyes. "I love him so much," she whispered. "I'll bear whatever burdens I must because of the deceptions about my marriage, but in my heart he is my husband. He needs me, and if I cannot be there, please give him the comfort of faith. Please, Blessed Virgin, guide him during these dark days. Guide him back to God, Mary, please. I pray."

Grant stayed at Kirby House until it closed for the day at six o'clock. He had failed to bring Erina and Colin back. Was there no hope then? As he stood on the front steps and heard the lock click behind him, he felt even more desolate than before.

If only you could believe. Erina's words came back to haunt him again. She was the kindest, most giving person he'd ever known. A woman of faith and virtue, the kind of person who represented everything good about the Church.

And as he looked out at the twilight sky, he knew what he had to do.

He ran to the Jeep, jumped in and started the engine. With an excitement that he hadn't felt since Erina's disappearance he drove to St. Mary's Cathedral. The parking lot was empty, and when he ran to the doors he found them locked.

"No," he whispered. He ran down the side of the building but found no other entry. He changed directions, searching the side near the parking lot. There! He went through a gate and bounded up the stairs.

A priest answered the door, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. He'd obviously been eating dinner.

"Please, Father, I need to get inside the church. It's . . . important. I have to"

"Calm down, son," the father said. "Come inside and take a breath."

Grant realized then that he was breathing hard, that he probably appeared to be a wild man to the priest. He entered through the open door, standing inside a sunroom filled with plants.

"I can see you're troubled. Can I help?"

"I'm not sure. I . . . I think I need to confess what I've done, and then I need to pray."

"We usually do confessions on Saturday, but I think you have a more serious need." The priest took his arm and steered him through the kitchen, past the dining room where two other priests sat around the table, and down a long hallway. "Come with me."

Grant followed the man through a room that had obviously been enclosed at some earlier time. The original brick could still be seen. They entered the church above the altars, through a door Grant had noticed when he'd visited St. Mary's with Erina.

"Have a seat at the confessional. I'll be with you in just a moment."

Grant did as he was told, his heart still pounding. A sense of rightness assailed him here in the church, as though he'd been called here. He couldn't explain the feeling, but he knew that in this place he would feel closer to Erina.

He gave his confession to the priest, telling him of the miracle that had occurred, of his doubts about Erina, about how he'd grown to love her even when he thought she was deluding herself about her background. He confessed the lies he'd told to INS, Sam Reynolds, Mrs. Henshaw, and everyone else. He admitted that he'd lied to his mother and to the priest in Houston so he and Erina could marry in the Church.

When he was finished he dropped his head to his hands and wept silently.

The priest spoke quietly to him for a long time. If the man thought Grant was crazy to believe that someone had traveled in time, he never said a word. Grant felt a weight lifting from his shoulders as he listened to the absolution. He'd sinned, but he could be forgiven.

He'd do whatever was necessary to make himself the man he should be, he vowed as the confession ended. He'd strayed, but mostly from neglect. Erina had showed him the importance of faith, and he'd never forget that lesson.

The priest left him alone to pray in the quiet, dim church. Following Erina's example, he walked softly to the statue of the Virgin Mary and knelt. Again, he felt closer to Erina in this holy place.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," he began, then prayed with all his heart for the first time since he was a boy. He closed his eyes and thought of nothing else but asking forgiveness for the wrongs he'd done, for lacking faith in Erina.

"She's the kindest, the best person I've ever known. She asked for a miracle to save her son and you granted it. She would never ask for anything for herself, but please, protect and watch over Erina. I know she's hurting. She has so much love to give, so much that I never realized what we shared when she was here with me. If only I could see her one more time, to tell her how much I love her. Please, if there is any way, tell Erina of my love. Tell her what I never got to say, tell her"

Behind his closed eyes he sensed a brightness, as though the priest had suddenly switched on the overhead lights. He opened his eyes, expecting to find the father standing above him near the doorway behind the altar. But there was no one there.

"Grant?" He pivoted at the sound of the voice he'd never expected to hear again. Standing before him, holding Colin tightly in her arms, was Erina.

"Oh, God," he whispered, reaching for her with trembling arms. "Is it really you? Are you really back?"

"Yes! Oh, yes," she cried, melting into his embrace. "I was in the church, praying for you, and then I got up to leave and . . . Oh, Grant, it is a miracle."

"I love you," he said, tilting up her face so he could see her through the tears filling his eyes. "I love you and I believe you and I want you forever."

She smiled, touching his face as though she couldn't believe he was really here. Her eyes were also brimming with tears of happiness. "I know," she whispered. "I always had faith in you."

He hugged her again, then took Colin from her arms. "We're a family, Erina, and we'll be together always."

There was a sound of someone coughing discreetly behind them. They turned to see the priest standing there, a baffled look on his face. "What's going on here?" he asked.

"It's a miracle, Father," Erina said joyfully. "A miracle of love."