Page 1 of Out of Time (Undaunted Courage #3)

ONE

HER DREAM SABBATICAL was not off to an auspicious start.

Easing back on the gas pedal, Cara Tucker frowned at the flashing lights in the distance as she rounded a bend in the two-lane, rural Missouri road.

Why was a police cruiser blocking the entrance to Natalie Boyer’s secluded estate—her destination on this early September Tuesday?

Cara coasted forward on the deserted road and squeezed onto the narrow shoulder a dozen yards back from the squad car emblazoned with the county sheriff logo.

When a deputy emerged from behind the wheel and walked back to join her, she lowered her window, cringing as a wave of late-summer heat surged in.

“Morning, ma’am.” He stopped beside her car. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. The owner of this property is expecting me. What’s going on?”

Instead of answering her question, he posed one of his own. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

She passed it on. “Is Natalie all right?”

“Give me a minute.” He pulled out his radio, walked several yards away, and angled sideways.

Cara peered at him through the haze of heat. He appeared to be talking, but his words were indecipherable.

Not a surprise, but frustrating nonetheless.

She shut her window, cranked up the AC to compensate for the humidity-laden air that had infiltrated the car, and tapped her fingers on the steering wheel while she waited for the deputy to return.

A minute ticked by. Two. Three.

What was going on?

Had something happened to Natalie?

And if it had, how would she manage to pull off the project that had won her a prestigious fellowship for the fall semester? Natalie and her journals were key to the research.

At a sudden prod from her conscience, she winced. Banished those selfish thoughts. The safety of the older woman should be more important than career considerations. Rather than worrying about the feather this project would add to her academic cap, she ought to be saying a prayer for—

The deputy ended his conversation and strode back to her.

Gripping the wheel with one hand, Cara opened her window again and gave him her full attention.

“I just spoke with the sheriff, ma’am. He’ll meet you in front of the house. Give me a minute to move my car.”

They were letting her in.

Yes!

One hurdle cleared.

While the deputy returned to his cruiser, Cara rolled up her window and put her car in gear.

Once access to the driveway was restored, she rolled forward and swung in, tires crunching on the gravel as she traversed the long lane that wound among the pin oaks, sweetgums, maples, cedars, and white pines that had been left to grow in their natural state on the rolling terrain, with scant room for one car to get through.

Rounding the last curve, she gave the clearing ahead of her a sweep.

The house was just as she remembered it from her one visit back in April.

Similar in design to the style favored by the Missouri French settlers who’d arrived in the area in the 1700s, it was slightly elevated off the ground, with a steeply pitched hipped roof, wraparound galérie, and a multitude of French doors and windows.

New in the picture were the squad car like the one at the entrance—and an ambulance.

Her stomach clenched.

Natalie had sounded hale and hearty during their phone conversation to finalize all the arrangements, but she was in her early eighties.

And she did have long-standing physical challenges.

While people developed workarounds for those sorts of things, health-related conditions could create problems on occasion.

Grimacing, Cara pulled to the side of the drive and set the brake. Been there, done that. Experience was an excellent teacher.

Hopefully whatever had happened in this house wasn’t as bad as it appeared.

A fit-looking man in uniform exited through the front door, and Cara slid from behind the wheel to meet him by the hood.

“Cara Tucker, I presume.” He extended his hand. “Brad Mitchell.”

She returned his firm clasp. “I’d say it was nice to meet you, but I’m not certain that’s the most appropriate sentiment under the circumstances. Is Natalie okay?”

“She claims to be. The EMTs aren’t convinced yet.”

“What happened?”

“According to her, she felt lightheaded, lost her balance, and fell when she got up after her nap. The housekeeper heard the fall, found Ms. Boyer in a disoriented state, and called 911.”

“Did she hit her head?”

“She says she didn’t. I told her you were here, and she confirmed you were expected. Maybe you can convince her to go to the ER and get checked out. She hasn’t been receptive to that suggestion so far.”

Cara shook her head. “I doubt I can change her mind. Our one face-to-face meeting won’t buy me much influence.”

His eyebrows rose. “I got the impression you were friends.”

Flattering, but a bit of a stretch.

“More like acquaintances. My association with her is professional. I’ll be spending weekdays here during the fall semester to work on an academic paper.”

She left it at that. The sheriff likely wouldn’t be interested in hundred-year-old journals written in a vanishing language. Even her siblings’ eyes glazed over if she went on too long about her research project.

“Are you a student?”

Her lips twitched in anticipation of his reaction. “No. Associate professor at SEMO. Historical anthropology.”

He did a double take.

Not surprising.

At thirty-four she still looked more like a typical undergrad than a professor.

But the sheriff recovered quickly. “Impressive. What sort of paper are you writing?”

She studied him.

Did he have a genuine interest in her project? Or was he simply being a thorough law enforcement officer and digging for more information about the woman who’d appeared out of the blue in the midst of a crisis?

Didn’t matter. A top-line answer would suffice in either case.

“French culture around Old Mines. Natalie has material that will be helpful to me and offered to assist. Since commuting two hours each way every day wasn’t practical, she also offered me a place to stay.”

“Interesting.” A beat passed as he considered her, but rather than follow up on that comment, he motioned toward the house.

“Why don’t we go in? It’s too hot to stand out here in the sun.

If you were able to convince Ms. Boyer to let you invade her turf, I’m still hopeful you may be able to persuade her to pay a quick visit to the ER. ”

“Don’t count on it.”

“You can’t do any worse than we have. Shall we?”

He let her precede him up the walkway and the steps that led to the galérie but reached around to twist the knob when she arrived at the door, giving her a subtle whiff of an enticing aftershave.

As she entered the house, it was clear the activity was centered in the living room to her right.

“Ah. Cara.” Mouth contorting into a rueful twist, Natalie lifted a hand in greeting from her seat on an upholstered chair. “This wasn’t the welcome I had planned for you. I’m sorry for all the turmoil.”

“No worries.” Cara crossed to her, and the hovering EMTs moved aside. She perched on a chair beside the older woman, whose leg was propped on an ottoman. “Are you okay?”

“I feel fine now. I know Lydia meant well, but she overreacted. The lightheadedness has passed, and my leg will heal.”

Cara inspected the woman’s exposed black and blue knee. “Do you think it would be wise to have a doctor weigh in on that?”

“No.” Her tone was decisive. “I’ve seen too many doctors in my day.

And I know my body far better than they do.

I can’t explain my earlier fuzzy-headedness, but that happened before I fell.

I did not hit my head. My brain is working fine, and no harm was done to my knee other than a bruise. This is much ado about nothing.”

Cara gave the sheriff a slight shrug and telegraphed a silent apology. She was in no position to push the woman, who seemed in total control of her faculties and fully capable of making decisions about her health care.

He acknowledged the message with a slight nod and joined them. “Ms. Boyer, the EMTs will have you sign a form indicating you declined transport and further treatment. Once you do that, we’ll leave you in peace.”

“Thank you, Sheriff. I do appreciate your prompt response. I’m sorry to have wasted everyone’s time.”

“To tell you the truth, we prefer calls that end this way.” He smiled at her, displaying a killer dimple.

Cara’s pulse picked up as she gave him a closer inspection.

Broad shoulders that seemed capable of carrying a heavy load.

At least half a foot taller than her five-six frame.

Toned physique, suggesting workouts were part of his regular schedule.

Light brown hair, neatly trimmed. Green eyes the color of imperial jade.

Strong jawline. Firm lips, softened now into an appealing flex, that looked like they knew how to kiss.

She blinked.

Where on earth had that fanciful notion come from?

As if sensing her scrutiny, the sheriff transferred his attention to her.

Warmth suffusing her cheeks, Cara shifted away on the pretense of watching Natalie converse with the EMT who’d handed her a clipboard while the other medical technician spoke into his radio.

Ogling wasn’t her style, even if a man was ogle-worthy.

Nor was it her practice to dwell on a stranger’s physical attributes.

Besides, getting carried away by a handsome stranger was foolish.

Her focus this fall needed to be on her research, not on the opposite sex.

Just because her sister and brother had both found The One over the past eighteen months didn’t mean the same kind of happy ending was in the cards for her.

That was a reality she’d accepted long before Cupid came to call on Bri and Jack.

So getting all hot and bothered about a man she’d met mere minutes ago and would have little or no contact with in the future was crazy. She ought to—

At a touch on her shoulder, she swiveled back to find the sheriff watching her with a quizzical expression.

Whoops.