Letters in Time by Reiss Susan (i love reading books .txt) 📕

TJ beamed with optimism. “What do we do with these things?” He pointed at the box.

“You’ll see.” First, I put the bottle of ink in a cubbyhole. The inkwell and pen went above the short stack of paper on the desk’s writing surface.

“Is that enough paper?” TJ asked.

“Hopefully, Daniel won’t need any.”

“Why?” TJ asked, then he brightened. “Of course, if he is reunited with Emma, he won’t write letters to you anymore.”

And if this doesn’t work, I thought, an angry letter will appear. But I didn’t say anything. I wanted to stay positive that our plan would work.

“And now, for the other vital piece.” I opened a small jewelry box I’d found in the Cottage to keep the miniature safe. “I’m so glad you unearthed this necklace.” I gently laid it on the sheets of paper and whispered a plea for Emma to come to this place to be with Daniel.

TJ and I stood quietly for a few moments. There was nothing else to say. Then we headed out through the door and TJ locked it. It was time for us to go on with our lives.

I led the way down the path back to the Cottage. At the front steps, I picked up my cane, put it on my shoulder like a rifle, and went up the steps, holding on to the rail.

“Wait! You’re walking,” he said in surprise.

I turned back, laughing. “Yes, I have been since I was about a year old.”

“No, I mean you’re walking without the cane.”

“The doctor and the therapist both said I don’t need the support, but it would be nice to have it for the next week or so to build my confidence.”

“You’re walking, well, like a normal person,” he said. He put his hands in his pockets then took them out again. TJ was fidgeting with embarrassment.

I took a small bow. “Thank you, thank you very much. Walking feels better now even though I’m not quite ready for dancing.” I shrugged. “Not that there’s a rush. I was never very good at it.”

He spoke the next words so quietly that I almost missed them. “I am.”

“You are—?”

“I’m good at dancing. Mom made me go to Cotillion when I was young. Later, when I found that girls like boys who dance, I took more lessons at that famous dance studio.”

“You didn’t.” I burst out laughing. “I’ve never met anyone who answered those ads and signed up.”

“Well, I did and, I must say, it paid off. In fact—”

Quickly, I held up my hand. “Stop, stop! I don’t need to hear details.”

He took a step toward me. Always distracted by pain and then the activities at rehab, I’d forgotten how handsome he was. A hunk of light brown hair bleached blonde by the autumn sun fell over his forehead. His shirt sleeves were rolled-up, baring his muscular arms that had rescued me after my fall. But it was his sparkling eyes—hazel green like his land—that drew me in.

He held out his hands to me. “If you need motivation, keep on getting better and, when you’re ready, I will take you dancing.”

A wave of warmth moved through my body. I tried to keep the giddiness out of my voice, "You don't have to worry. I doubt that will be anytime soon."

As I put my hand on the doorknob to go inside, his words stopped me again. “In the meantime, may I take you out to dinner tomorrow night? As friends. Not a date. We wouldn’t want to do that.”

The air around me seemed to shimmer. A great calm feeling came over me. “That would be nice. We can talk about things other than…” I cocked my head toward the cabin.

He chuckled. “Yes, that would be nice.” He called out as he started walking back to his truck, “Pick you up at seven-thirty.”

I called after him. “Why didn’t you ask me before?”

He stopped and turned slowly toward me. “I don’t normally like city girls. Had my fill of them at college. Grad school was the worst. As soon as they found out I had some land, they were all ready for me to sell up and buy some fancy condo in the city or a big McMansion in the suburbs. No, thank you. But you’re different. I figured I’d wait.”

I couldn’t let it go. “Why?”

“I didn’t think you were ready.”

“And now? What changed?”

He smiled. “You’re ready to start living again.”

A slow smile of satisfaction played on my lips. I nodded gently. “Yes. Yes, I guess I am.”

Letters Across the Miles (Chapter One)

It started as a rumble in the distance. Then, the noise and vibrations rolled over the land scoured flat during the ice age. Acres of fertile land soaked up the pelting rain. I suspected the Chesapeake Bay, two hundred miles of pleasant waters, was whipped up to four-foot waves. It would not be the place to be tonight. This storm was unsettling enough inland at the Cottage on a creek. As the storm moved closer, white-hot lightning followed by booming shock waves reminded me of a cannon firing in war, the Civil War. And of Daniel and Emma or the cabin TJ had restored for the lovers. I’d have to check it in the morning for damage.

I stood at the window watching the storm’s flashy pyrotechnics. I’d heard that this kind of violent storm could spawn a tornado. People say the sky turns a sick green if a twister is in the area, but who could tell at night? Man was