Page 5 of Out of Time (Undaunted Courage #3)

“Not every dream is meant to come true. But perhaps I can help someone else realize hers.” Natalie sent her a smile, then set her crocheting aside, rose, and gripped her cane. “I believe I’ll make this an early night. You’ll be all right on your own for the rest of the evening?”

“Yes.” Cara stood too. “I’m used to entertaining myself.”

“No young man in the picture back in Cape?”

Cara blinked.

That had come out of nowhere.

“No.”

Natalie exhaled. “Men can be very foolish—and shortsighted.”

“It sounds as if there’s a story there.” The comment popped out before Cara could stop it, and she cringed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Don’t apologize. I asked you a nosy question, and turnabout is fair play. But no, there’s no unrequited love in my past. My physical issues were off-putting, as were my face and figure. Men don’t tend to be attracted to homely, big-boned women who limp.”

“I’m sorry.” What else could she say in response to such a starkly honest statement? “And I do understand what you’re saying about the difficulty of appealing to the opposite sex.”

Natalie’s features softened, and she touched her arm. “Not the homely part. You’re a beautiful woman.”

If she was, her limited dating history would suggest that her appearance wasn’t sufficient to compensate for her other issues.

“Thank you.”

At her perfunctory reply, Natalie smiled.

“Your time will come. I have a sixth sense about these things. Just focus on your career for now and let nature take its course.” She started for the door.

“There’s a flashlight on the kitchen counter to use for your walk back to the cottage, since our dinner was delayed tonight thanks to all the excitement.

The path can be rather dark. Good night. ”

Cara returned the sentiment as her hostess disappeared through the door, still digesting their unexpected and enlightening exchange.

Who would have guessed that a woman who’d spent most of her life deep in rural Missouri had gone to the Sorbonne, spoke fluent French, and had journals that potentially held not only useful anthropological information but also family secrets?

And what had Natalie meant about her continued use of standard French?

This project was becoming more fascinating by the minute.

Cara wandered into the kitchen, picked up the flashlight, and pulled out the key ring Natalie had given her.

After exiting onto the galérie that encircled the house, she flicked on the light and followed the winding stone path toward the compact guest cottage tucked among the trees fifty yards away.

Thank goodness she had the flashlight. Otherwise, she’d have been feeling her way. Who knew nighttime in the country meant utter and absolute darkness? Not this city girl. But the stars were unbelievable.

She stopped, lowered her beam until it pointed toward the ground, and gaped at the diamond-strewn heavens. The stars in Cape were a pale facsimile to this glittering display. It was a shame she didn’t know more about astronomy. It would be fun to identify—

A sudden flash of light, much closer to earth, redirected her attention, and she peered into the dark woods ahead.

Nothing.

Had she imagined that momentary bright flicker?

Maybe.

But the sudden shiver that rippled through her despite the lingering heat of day wasn’t reassuring.

Aiming her flashlight at the path ahead, she picked up her pace and tamped down her feeling of unease.

Logically, there was nothing to fear here.

Natalie had lived on this land for decades with nary a problem.

If the light had been real, it was probably the groundskeeper she’d mentioned—though why he’d be roaming around in the dark was a mystery.

Whatever the explanation for that terrestrial light, however, she could avoid future unsettling sights by going back to the cottage before nightfall.

She stopped at the door, key in hand, and scanned her surroundings. All appeared calm.

After slipping inside and sliding the lock into place, she flipped on a light in the single-room structure and surveyed the furnishings.

A queen-sized bed with what appeared to be a handmade quilt.

A tiny kitchenette and café table. A comfortable reading chair, with a lamp beside it.

And the generous desk Natalie had once used.

All more than adequate for her needs as she and her hostess dived into the journals that would hopefully offer her a unique peek into the culture that had flourished in this remote, isolated area for almost two centuries, until the world intruded.

A surge of excitement set off a tingle in her nerve endings, and her mouth bowed as she crossed the room and pulled her sleep shirt out of the dresser. Only a historical anthropologist would get pumped at the prospect of spending a fall delving into old journals.

One thing for sure. Her work here would never be great fodder for scintillating, date-worthy conversation, even if a dating prospect was on the horizon.

An image of the sheriff appeared unbidden in her mind, and she huffed out a breath. Thinking about him in dating terms was silly. In all likelihood, the man had a significant other. And she wasn’t here to date, anyway.

Nevertheless, meeting a handsome man in the first few minutes of her stay had been a pleasant surprise.

And Natalie’s revelation about her background had been fascinating, capping off an unexpectedly eventful day.

All of which led her to ponder one question as she prepared for bed.

What other surprises lay in store for her during a research trip that was shaping up to be not only a career booster but an adventure?