Wakening the Past: A Time Travel Romance (Medicine Stick Series Book 2) by Barbara Bartholomew
Authors: Barbara Bartholomew
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This was the jump suit Nolan Jeffers had been wearing when he escaped.
He had been staying here.
Calling for more deputies, he immediately instigated a thorough search of the building and its environs, but after hours of looking, his troops had to finally admit the obvious. Nolan Jeffers had been here, but he was gone.
Hart awakened by a strange sound found that sometime during the night Alistair had come in and was asleep at her side. He must have been terribly late because she hadn’t even heard him enter the bedroom.
She listened, trying to determine what had caused her to wake from sound sleep. Then she heard it again. Someone was crying and that someone had to be Bobbi.
Surprised that the apparently brash teen would so indulge, she crept silently from her side of the bed, anxious not to disturb what little sleep her husband was managing to get and tiptoed from the room and down the short hall to the guest bedroom.
Bobbi wasn’t merely crying, she was wailing so loudly that she could be heard even through the closed door. Turning the knob and pushing it open, she was surprised to see the girl lying in the light cast by the little reading lamp, her eyes closed as though she were soundly asleep . At the same time those terrible cries came out of her mouth.
Even as Hart watched, she turned over and the wails turned to agonized murmurings, half smothered against her pillow.
Poor baby. She looked a lot younger than her fourteen years, more like a little girl with her face swollen from crying and her hands scrambling against her sheets as though in some kind of desperation.
“She’s going to shoot! She’s going to shoot! Run, Stacia, run.”
The words were mumbled, but distinct. With horror, Hart realized she was reliving those moments when a killer had Stacia at gunpoint and Hart was rushing to her aid, sacrificing her own life for the other woman.
For Stacia. For her. She touched the girl’s skinny arm lightly so as not to add to her distress. “Bobbi, it’s all right. It’s only a dream.”
The child continued to mumble indistinguishable words and to toss wildly. “Hart,” she found herself saying the name she went by these days, though the soul inside her did not belong to that name. “It’s all right, Hart. It’s over.”
Long lashed eyes flew open and Bobbi stared up at her in obvious bewilderment. If she’d been dreaming she was Hart, what was it like for her too look up and see the woman who seemed to be Hart standing near her.
“It’s over. It’s not happening anymore,” Hart tried to comfort her, taking her into reassuring arms. “You’re Bobbi Lawrence and you ’re at my house in Oklahoma. You came here because there was something you wanted to talk to me about.”
The girl went silent as she collapsed, shivering, into Hart’s grasp.
Chapter Eight
Looking composed and slightly annoyed, Serena Hudson got out of her rental car in front of the Redhawks’ ranch house and strode forward. Hart couldn’t help being glad she wasn’t the runaway granddaughter in this case because auburn-haired Serena looked like she meant business.
Hair probably colored at her age, Hart thought randomly, but it’s the same shade as Helen’s was. Well, Helen was her mother. It was always hard to remember that Helen was gone, as if each day she had to gradually absorb knowledge of the loss of her only sister.
“Roberta Louise Lawrence,” she said, stopping in front of her granddaughter, who for once in her life looked almost scared. Hart was surprised; she’d only thought the things that happened to her in dreams frightened the girl, who seemed intimidated by few things in the real world.
“Hi, Granny.” With a visible degree of caution, the fourteen-year-old reached up to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “Hope you had a good trip.”
“Roberta Louise,” Hart mused aloud. “I had no idea.”
“Isn’t it hideous?” Bobbi asked plaintively, her round face troubled.
“It’s a
He had been staying here.
Calling for more deputies, he immediately instigated a thorough search of the building and its environs, but after hours of looking, his troops had to finally admit the obvious. Nolan Jeffers had been here, but he was gone.
Hart awakened by a strange sound found that sometime during the night Alistair had come in and was asleep at her side. He must have been terribly late because she hadn’t even heard him enter the bedroom.
She listened, trying to determine what had caused her to wake from sound sleep. Then she heard it again. Someone was crying and that someone had to be Bobbi.
Surprised that the apparently brash teen would so indulge, she crept silently from her side of the bed, anxious not to disturb what little sleep her husband was managing to get and tiptoed from the room and down the short hall to the guest bedroom.
Bobbi wasn’t merely crying, she was wailing so loudly that she could be heard even through the closed door. Turning the knob and pushing it open, she was surprised to see the girl lying in the light cast by the little reading lamp, her eyes closed as though she were soundly asleep . At the same time those terrible cries came out of her mouth.
Even as Hart watched, she turned over and the wails turned to agonized murmurings, half smothered against her pillow.
Poor baby. She looked a lot younger than her fourteen years, more like a little girl with her face swollen from crying and her hands scrambling against her sheets as though in some kind of desperation.
“She’s going to shoot! She’s going to shoot! Run, Stacia, run.”
The words were mumbled, but distinct. With horror, Hart realized she was reliving those moments when a killer had Stacia at gunpoint and Hart was rushing to her aid, sacrificing her own life for the other woman.
For Stacia. For her. She touched the girl’s skinny arm lightly so as not to add to her distress. “Bobbi, it’s all right. It’s only a dream.”
The child continued to mumble indistinguishable words and to toss wildly. “Hart,” she found herself saying the name she went by these days, though the soul inside her did not belong to that name. “It’s all right, Hart. It’s over.”
Long lashed eyes flew open and Bobbi stared up at her in obvious bewilderment. If she’d been dreaming she was Hart, what was it like for her too look up and see the woman who seemed to be Hart standing near her.
“It’s over. It’s not happening anymore,” Hart tried to comfort her, taking her into reassuring arms. “You’re Bobbi Lawrence and you ’re at my house in Oklahoma. You came here because there was something you wanted to talk to me about.”
The girl went silent as she collapsed, shivering, into Hart’s grasp.
Chapter Eight
Looking composed and slightly annoyed, Serena Hudson got out of her rental car in front of the Redhawks’ ranch house and strode forward. Hart couldn’t help being glad she wasn’t the runaway granddaughter in this case because auburn-haired Serena looked like she meant business.
Hair probably colored at her age, Hart thought randomly, but it’s the same shade as Helen’s was. Well, Helen was her mother. It was always hard to remember that Helen was gone, as if each day she had to gradually absorb knowledge of the loss of her only sister.
“Roberta Louise Lawrence,” she said, stopping in front of her granddaughter, who for once in her life looked almost scared. Hart was surprised; she’d only thought the things that happened to her in dreams frightened the girl, who seemed intimidated by few things in the real world.
“Hi, Granny.” With a visible degree of caution, the fourteen-year-old reached up to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “Hope you had a good trip.”
“Roberta Louise,” Hart mused aloud. “I had no idea.”
“Isn’t it hideous?” Bobbi asked plaintively, her round face troubled.
“It’s a
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