CHAPTER SIX
Sensing Sam's hologrammatic pal had gone, the Helen of 1977 fell
back onto the bed and blew out a long breath. She stared with unseeing
eyes at the rough beams of the cabin's roof. "Oh God, PLEASE let him
have listened and understood. If he hasn't and comes back and tells Sam
why he's here, then I'm done for. Please don't make Sam go yet." She
grabbed a pillow and coiled herself around it, burying her face in its
softness. "If he goes now I couldn't bear it, I'll just crawl into a
corner and die."
At her melodramatic words an image of herself as a Southern belle
fading away for a lost love frothed into her mind. She gave a small
chuckle and sat up. "No I wouldn't. People don't - not unless they're
complete weak-minded fools!" She plumped up the pillow and threw it
back into its place at the head of the bed. "Anyway, with any luck,
Sam may not yet have done what he's here to do. Let's hope it takes a
lo-ong time!" Pushing herself off the bed, she stretched until tendons
cracked. "Ouch! If last night was anything to go by, man, we're going
to have fun doing it!"
She headed for the bathroom for a quick shower. Despite her brave
words, she was not yet ready to face Sam, not sure how he would behave,
still a little concerned by what Al might already have said. Perhaps
Sam would ask why Al had come, or worse, why Al would ask - had asked? -
her to marry him. If only she'd known about that! Or worst, perhaps
Sam would ask why he was with her. Surely his curiosity must have been
aroused by Al's visit. *I don't think I can lie to him. Please don't
let him ask anything. I don't want to tell him - it's too soon.*
* * * * *
Sam poured two mugs of coffee when Helen appeared in the kitchen
looking clean and casual in a short-sleeved, cheesecloth shirt and old,
denim cut-offs. Adding milk to one mug, he handed it to her. "I
thought it was time I cooked for you!" He indicated pancake batter
bubbling on the stove and bowed, saying with a heavy French accent,
"Your brunch, mademoiselle."
He grinned, feeling pleased with himself. It was ridiculous,
feeling happy just because you'd managed to make pancakes and coffee,
especially if your usual occupation was building time machines and
parallel hybrid computers. He wondered if he'd felt this happy when
he'd completed Ziggy. Something in him said, 'yes', but nothing more.
Al had probably mentioned it, then. Not even the knowledge that it
wasn't a true memory could depress him this morning, nor could Al's
ridiculous accusations about Helen. SHE'D seduced Al? Yeah, right.
>From what Al had said his marriage had been a mess before he'd ever set
eyes on Helen. Remembering the way Al had bounced from one woman's bed
to the next the first time around when his marriage to Beth really had
ended, Sam doubted if Helen had so much as batted her eyelashes at his
friend. To use Al's own words, Casanova Calavicci would have been all
over her like a cheap suit.
And if it hadn't been Helen it would have been someone else, who
wouldn't have told Al to go home to his wife and probably wouldn't have
tried to stop him drinking, either. Al's life would have followed a
similar pattern to the first time around - and that special Leap to see
Beth would have been a waste of time. He'd have given up the chance of
a sabbatical for nothing. Perhaps the Someone was not as pitiless as he
had thought and was giving him a sabbatical now. Perhaps Helen was
right and he had been granted a vacation. If so, he better make sure he
enjoyed it. That wasn't going to be difficult, not with Helen around.
Helen might not Leap but she was going to fix something for someone just
as surely he did, and the way she would do it wouldn't be so very
different from the way he sometimes fixed things. She would care about
someone, give them what they needed - understanding, a measure of love -
and set them back on the right path in life again. That it was his best
friend to whom she would give that love didn't bother Sam in the
slightest. He, of all people, understood it would be utterly different
from the intense, soul-binding love he shared with her.
He grinned again. Al's love-life was turning out almost as complex
as the original history. He refused to think about it any longer, he'd
rather think about his own. At last, Sam Beckett had a love who
belonged to him, not someone else! The grin broadened until it
threatened to split his face.
Helen was smiling rather tentatively as she sipped her coffee,
uncertainty and wariness clearly written in her beautiful eyes. She was
wondering what Al had said, waiting for him to ask questions.
He came over, took the hot mug out of her hand and put it on the
bench, before pulling her into his arms. She kept her distance, resting
her hands on his chest, a faint crease between her brows. She smelled
fresh and new, her hair still damp, curling more than usual. He
smoothed a couple of stray strands away from her face. "It's okay -
about Al, I mean. I promised I wouldn't ask questions - and I won't. I
said I trusted you and I meant it, Helen. I can wait for explanations
until you're ready to give them."
A relieved expression replaced the worried one.
Sam's chest hair felt soft to her fingers, in contrast with the
musculature beneath. "Are you sure?" she asked, searching his face,
still not quite daring to believe he'd accept her word over that of the
man who had been his only guide and friend for so long.
"Yes, I am." In affirmation of his verbal answer, and to silence
any further discussion of the matter, he kissed her firmly.
As she responded, his kiss became more sensual. He tightened his
arms around her, tangling his fingers in the damp hair. Pulling away,
he drew in a great breath and cupped her face in his hands. "If I was
very gentle, do you think we could possibly...?"
One of Helen's hands snaked around his neck while the other reached
around him to switch off the stove. "I'm sure we can find a way," she
breathed, her mouth very close to his ear. She nibbled his earlobe and
licked the sensitive skin behind it.
Sam shivered, but was unable to resist temptation. "I have just two
questions first."
Helen pulled abruptly away. Her stomach dropped to somewhere in the
region of her knees.
"How did you know Al was going to appear this morning?" Sam went on.
"And how DO you sense him?"
Helen was nonplussed until she saw the devilment lurking in the
hazel eyes.
"You lousy, stinking rat!" she said slowly. "You KNEW I thought you
were going to ask something else!"
"Gotcha twice!" He grinned, reaching for her again. That would
teach her to doubt him. It felt great being able to tease someone other
than Al, someone who wouldn't stare blankly at him because teasing was
not something 'he' normally did. A brook babbled and chuckled inside
him. He was carefree, not weighed down by other people's troubles. He
was as light as a feather.
Helen dodged away from Sam's cocksure hands, her eyes full of
mischief now the panic was over, glad to see Sam so happy but determined
to make him pay for frightening her so much. She backed off, leaned
against the sink and folded her arms.
"I knew about Al because I had another letter the same day as the
one I showed you and it told me he'd be here," she said in a cool voice.
"Though it wasn't very specific as to why he'd be so upset. You know,
it would make life just a weeny bit easier if your letters weren't quite
so obscure-"
"Yeah, but not half so much fun!"
Helen ignored his interruption. "As for how I know when he's
around... It's very simple - but I'm HANGED if I'm going to satisfy
your curiosity about it right now."
She switched the stove back on.
"Now, I think we'd better eat these pancakes before they're
completely ruined. Then you'll need to have a rest - on your own - to
catch up on some of the sleep you missed last night and then we'll go
for a walk. You're here to get fit, you know, not laze around in bed
all day - with or without me."
* * * * *
It was well past noon when they emerged from the cabin. Helen set
off on a different path from the previous day, down towards the lake
rather than up to the road. Her cheese-cloth shirt was tied up around
her midriff and she wore good, nearly new running shoes. She set the
pace this time and settled into a long stride, moving with an athletic
grace, shoulders and arms loose, swinging easily, pace never varying.
Sam, however, was soon breathing heavily and feeling hot, even
though he also wore only shorts, T-shirt and sneakers. He felt light as
a feather no longer, the babbling brook of the early morning now reduced
to a mere trickle. He stumbled occasionally in an effort to keep up
with Helen. She ignored him, a smile hovering around her mouth as she
noticed how hard he found the brisk pace.
Unlike the previous day, Sam did not have time to enjoy the sights
and sounds of the surrounding woods. He kept his head down and grit his
teeth, determined not to show Helen how tough he found keeping up with
her.
After about twenty minutes of fast walking, she stopped on the edge
of a little ridge, so abruptly Sam nearly smacked into her. He pushed
his hair out of his eyes and took the opportunity to try to get his
breath back, bracing his hands on his knees. Helen turned her back on
him, hands on hips, and gazed at the panorama of the lake and mountains.
"Just look at that, Sam. I never get tired of this view. It's
magnificent!"
He thought he caught a suspicion of laughter mingled with the awe in
her voice, but before he could raise his head to look at both her and
the view, she was off again, running lightly down the slope, calling,
"Come ON. Let's hurry up and get down there."
He groaned and stumbled after her, nearly losing his footing on the
narrow track. Every root and snag along the way tried to trip him up.
Low branches thrust twigs into his eyes whilst thorns and burrs caught
at his clothes and legs.
At last he staggered out of the trees and collapsed by the edge of
calm, still water.
Helen looked down at the spluttering and coughing heap at her feet.
"You're a bit slow, Sam. Still not recovered from last night?"
He dragged sweet air into his burning lungs and managed to gasp,
"I'd have...beaten...you if I'd...been wearing...my Asics Gel Kayanos...
instead of these...sneakers."
Helen pushed back a stray wisp of hair, puzzling over the strange
words he had used. She shrugged, shook her head and said flatly, "No,
you wouldn't. You're a wreck."
Sam lay on his back, still breathing laboriously, but beginning to
feel as though his legs actually belonged to him and not someone else.
He shaded his eyes so he could see the girl who towered over him. She
looked magnificent, like a modern, red-haired Artemis. He tried to
imagine a statue of the Greek huntress in denim shorts and sneakers. It
would have made an interesting addition to the temple at Ephesus.
"You're not even sweating!" he panted in disgust.
Helen sat down beside him. "Of course not. Not yet, anyway."
She began to do sit-ups, hands clasped tightly behind her head, legs
straight out on the ground. She pulled herself all the way up to a
sitting position, before going all the way back to lie flat.
Warning bells jangled inside Sam's head. He switched into physician
mode and hauled himself to his knees. "Whoa, whoa," he said, still
rather breathless. He held her shoulders on the ground. "You shouldn't
do sit-ups like that, you'll traumatize your lower back. You need to
have your knees up like this and your hands should be resting behind
your ears to support your neck, not yanking your chin onto your chest."
He arranged her body to suit his words. "Look up at the sky, not
between your knees - and don't try to come up so far. It's just as
effective with a small movement."
Helen was startled but did as she was told and was surprised to find
the funny positions worked and actually felt more comfortable. Sam
watched while she did some more, nodding in satisfaction.
"Are you a medical man, as well as a quantum physicist and computer
expert?" Helen had turned her head slightly and was regarding him
thoughtfully, still doing sit-ups.
"I was once, a long time ago."
"Well, Dr Beckett M. D., it's time you did some of these, too."
Sam groaned, but obediently flipped onto his back and began to do
the exercises.
He gave up long before Helen and once more collapsed as long disused
muscles screamed in agony at their ill-treatment. Helen watched him,
her eyes alight with laughter. Suddenly, with one swift move, she
straddled his body, not touching him but resting on feet and hands, one
leg either side of his. She bent her elbows and dipped down in a push-
up, stopping with her face a couple of inches from Sam's.
The eyes so close to his were sparkling, seeming all green. "Now,
is this position correct, Dr Beckett?"
"Um, yes. That one seems fine to me."
"Good."
Helen dipped down the remaining inches and kissed Sam quickly on the
mouth before pushing back up. She continued the exercise, kissing him
each time she dipped, saying between kisses, "Have... you...ever...made
...love...in the...open...air?"
"I'm...not...sure...I...can't...remember."
She raised her eyebrows suggestively before rolling over onto her
back. "Your turn."
No longer listening to the shrieks from his stomach muscles, Sam
assumed the same position she had. He dipped down towards the
mischievous face beneath him and kissed it, before pushing back up.
"Have...YOU...ever...made...love...in the...open...air?"
"Actually, yes." Helen wriggled out from under him just before he
collapsed. "It's a lot more comfortable with a blanket," she continued,
standing up and brushing herself down. "You don't get ants on your
butt!"
She stood over him for a second, hands on hips again. "I'm hungry.
I'll race you back to the cabin." She darted off up the track, running
lightly as a deer, her laughter floating back on the breeze.
"Oh, dear God!" groaned Sam as he dragged himself to his feet. "I
swear I'll never tease her again!" He lumbered off after the lithe
figure that was fast disappearing into the trees. "Where does she get
her energy from? Oh, to be twenty again - instead of heaven knows how
old! I'm dying here and she's hungry!"
* * * * *
Sam swung open the door of the cabin and swayed in the doorway,
chest heaving, legs buckling, just as Helen was closing the oven door.
He leaned heavily against the doorframe and sucked in great mouthfuls of
air, trying to douse the fire in his lungs. His head pounded, his
throat was dry and parched. He was dishevelled and dirty, T-shirt
soaked, hair plastered to his forehead and neck in lank locks. Sweat
ran down his face in eye-stinging rivulets, great drops fell from the
end of his nose and chin. The brook had become a dry, cracked river-
bed.
"Hi," said Helen, throwing him a towel. "You made it."
He mopped his face and glared balefully, chest still heaving, unable
to catch his breath enough to reply.
Helen watched, mouth twitching. Finally, she took pity on him, went
to the refrigerator, took out the jug of water and poured a large glass.
She placed the jug and glass temptingly on the bench then cleared away
the dirty mixing bowl and utensils.
Sam eyed the water. He staggered across the living room on leaden
legs, propped himself against the bench and grabbed the glass.
"Sip it," ordered Helen.
"I KNOW," he managed to gasp. He fought the instinct to drain the
glass in one long gulp and took a small sip. The icy-cold water washed
around his dry mouth before trickling down his throat. He took another
sip, then allowed himself a larger mouthful. Never had water tasted so
sweet!
Helen leaned against the sink, watching, mouth still tilted in
amusement.
Sam glowered over the rim of his glass. "I was dying back there and
all you were concerned about was baking?" He waved the glass in the
direction of the oven.
"I was going to give you five more minutes, then I was going to go
look for you," came the infuriatingly calm reply.
Sam scowled again. "At least it made you sweat, too." Helen's
forehead glistened and stains darkened her shirt.
"HARD exercise always does. A quick walk and a few sit-ups and
push-ups aren't hard. A fast run up a hill is."
"A few!" Sam nearly choked on the last of the water.
Helen refilled the glass. "Don't worry, you'll think they're a few
by the time I've finished with you! Now, drink that on the way to the
shower, Sam. You stink - like a skunk!" and she flicked the white
streak off his damp forehead.
"And you, I suppose, smell as fresh as a florist's!"
"A locker room more like, but I want to finish the dishes first. Go
on - shoo!" She gestured towards the bedroom door before turning back
to the sink.
Sam wobbled away on weak legs. "Slavedriver!"
"Wimp!"
He stomped through the bedroom to the bathroom, shucking his clothes
as he went, throwing them away in disgust as he realised how bad they
smelled. Turning on the shower, he stepped in straight away, shivering
until it ran hot. He closed his eyes and let the water cascade over his
aching shoulders and neck, enjoying the feel of it running down his body
and limbs. His lower arms and legs began to sting pleasantly as it
washed the dirt out of a myriad abrasions and scratches the underbrush
had inflicted.
"I thought you might need your back scrubbed." Helen was all
innocence as she stepped into the shower. Reaching past him, she picked
up the citrus-scented soap and rubbed his back before scrubbing his
shoulders with strong fingers. He groaned as she worked into the knots
in his sore deltoids, following the line of his trapezius muscles,
applying so much pressure he leaned weakly against the tiled wall as she
reached the deep tissue of his rhomboids. Her hands gradually softened
the vigorous massage into sensuous stroking. Sam turned and circled his
arms around her, sliding one hand down along the curve of her spine, the
other up to the flat plane between her shoulder blades, his aches
forgotten, forgiven at last.
"You've got twenty minutes or my muffins will be burnt."
* * * * *
"It's a good thing they're chocolate," Helen remarked as she broke
a very brown muffin in half. Steam rose and Sam sniffed appreciatively.
"They still smell okay," he said, taking the half she offered. He
took a bite, then fanned his mouth. "Hot! Taste good, though."
Helen brought out bread, cheese and a platter of fruit to go with
the muffins. After they had finished eating, she rummaged in a cupboard
and pulled out a hammock which she and Sam strung up between two trees.
"It's a matrimonial hammock," she told him. "It takes two people.
David brought it back from one of his trips to southern Mexico."
They swung lazily together for the rest of the afternoon, not
needing to talk, content in each other's company. The sun gradually
sank over the lake, going down in a blaze of glory, its rays first
shimmering silver over the water, deepening to gold and finally turning
all to flames.
Later, after dinner, Sam cleared the books from the low table in
front of the couch and set the chessboard on it instead.
"It's no good doing that," said Helen. "I can't play. My Dad tried
to teach me when I was small and so did David when I was older but I'm
hopeless, I don't have the right sort of mind for it."
Sam's face fell. All through dinner he'd been looking forward to a
game. He hadn't played in - in... He wondered how long exactly. Ziggy
would know, but Al would probably say he wasn't allowed to tell. Well,
he hadn't played in a very long time. "I bet I could teach you," he
said persuasively.
"I bet you couldn't! You're supposed to sacrifice the pawns to save
the bigger pieces and I hate doing that, it's so unfair." Sam grinned
at her description of the world's greatest game of strategy. Helen sank
onto the rug by his side, folding her legs smoothly into a half-lotus in
a manner that fascinated him. She picked up one beautifully carved
pawn and patted it on the head with one finger. "I prefer looking after
the little guys - like you do." She gave him the pawn. "You'll have to
wait and maybe have a game with David. He loves it. He's pretty good,
too. District Champion last year. Are you any good?"
"Not bad," he replied. He'd been able to beat a chess computer
since the age of ten. Al had told him that much.
He tried to persuade Helen to change her mind but she was adamant in
her refusal, finally saying, "I can just about manage checkers, if you
really want to play something." He agreed, so they swapped the chess
pieces for some old checkers she unearthed out of a drawer.
Sam beat her soundly every game and she finally swept the pieces off
the board, laughing. "I told you I was no good at this sort of thing."
She eyed him shrewdly. "Had enough revenge for that run? Are we quits
now?" He nodded. "Good." She rose and held out her hand to him.
"Time for bed?"
Sam caught her hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. "Yeah,
let's go do something we're BOTH good at!"
Still holding his hand, Helen walked slowly backwards to the
bedroom. Her free hand unbuttoned her shirt and the look in her eyes
had Sam tugging his shirt out of his jeans.
By the time they reached the bed both shirts were undone and loose.
They unclasped their hands so they could strip the shirts off
completely, then quickly removed the remainder of their clothing, never
looking away from the other's face, never fumbling nor faltering.
In the light radiating through the open doorway, they stood for a
long moment, not needing to touch, the link forged between hazel and
grey-green eyes enough. Sam lifted his hands to Helen's face and pushed
the heavy, red hair further back, looking lovingly down into the eyes of
the girl who now meant so much to him. He bent his head and kissed her
very gently on the mouth. Small tongues of flame flickered through his
body, caught at the edges of his mind. His thumbs stroked the smooth
skin of the upturned face, his fingers threaded into the silky hair.
Helen's eyes were closed now, as enthralled by his touch as he was by
hers.
"Helen."
"Mmm."
"We'll never need to light the logs in the other room, will we?"
Her eyes opened. Even in such dim light, Sam could see the green
gleam of laughter in the pools of grey.
"No, we've got our own internal heating system." She pushed him
suddenly and he fell back onto the bed with her on top of him. "Think
of the money we'll save on heating bills and we'll have a real good
excuse for not letting double-glazing salesmen within shouting distance
- while we're together."
The gleam died, but before he could ask what was wrong her mouth was
on his and the flames were back, crackling up and down his spine. Her
hands and mouth roved over him, touching, kissing, generating more heat
and sensations than he would have believed possible. She sank down on
him and they were locked together by eyes, hands, bodies and hearts.
Had anyone experienced such a bond as this? Joined together with God's
glue. A lyric? He thought so, a true memory from another time, his
time, though he didn't think the singer had meant quite this kind of
bonding.
There was no laughter in Helen's eyes now, it had been overwhelmed
by other emotions - desire, love, need, want - of such intensity it
would have terrified him, except he knew his own eyes reflected the same
emotions with equal intensity.
The fire burned higher, sending out fingers of flame that caught his
soul and thrust it deep into the heart of the conflagration where it
blazed with Helen's, fusing radiantly into one. The incredible feelings
transcended anything he had ever known and he cried out, arching his
back as he heard Helen call his name, exulting in the knowledge that
she, too, had reached the same emotional and physical high.
They came back to earth slowly, gently, completely at peace, and lay
facing each other, not touching, content once more just to look.
Neither felt sleepy, but wide awake.
Eventually, just so he could hear the sound of Helen's voice again,
Sam asked, "Where did you sleep that first night here?"
"On the couch," she replied with a smile. "Where else? I couldn't
sleep in here - at least, not until I was invited. Though, you were so
dead to the world, I don't think you'd have noticed if the whole high
school cheerleader team had been in here with you!"
"You should have made me sleep on the couch," he protested, feeling
guilty. It hadn't occurred to him to make sure she'd had a bed.
Helen laughed. "You'd have fallen off! Anyway, I was quite
comfortable. I'm used to it. I slept on it heaps when I was younger.
Mom and I used to come up here quite a lot, sometimes with David, some-
times without. Though when all three of us came it was David who slept
on the couch. A few times David brought me here on my own so Mom could
have a complete break. He taught me how to swim and fish and sail - and
that's when he tried to teach me to play chess."
"Sounds like David's been pretty good to you and your Mom."
"Yes, he has. He knew my father first, though. He and Dad met at
the chess club in town. Dad had joined just after he was posted here.
They got on real well even though they were so different in age and
background and things. Dad invited David home for a game and it became
a regular thing whenever David was in town. David told me once he used
to go for Mom's cooking as much as Dad's chess! Dad made the chess set
out there." She waved a hand towards the living room. "When David saw
the one at home, he asked Dad to make him one - paid a good price for
it, too.
"After Dad died, David sort of kept an eye on Mom and I - when he
had the time. He's quite an entrepreneur, always dashing here and there
on business. He and Mom were partners in the restaurant. He said it
was a culinary crime for Mom to hide away in the kitchen at home and he
put up the money and taught Mom the business end of things. She
gradually paid him back but he refused to accept more than half the
money and they stayed partners.
"His family have been at Logres - the hotel - for ever. Mom used to
call them 'landed gentry' - she nicknamed David 'the squire'. His
father had lost the family fortune in the Wall Street Crash and died
soon after - David says his father couldn't stand the shame and felt he
had 'dishonored the family name'! David couldn't give a damn about the
family name but he likes money and what you can do with it - he LOVES
fast cars, races them. As soon as he was twenty-one and had control, he
sank everything there was left into converting Logres into a hotel -
much to the horror of his aging, genteel relatives and his father's old
financial advisers. It was a huge success and he's never put a
financial foot wrong since and now he's VERY rich. He's got a sixth
sense when it comes to business.
"He's never married, much to the disappointment of the local
debutantes AND their mamas." Nasty old cats and their venomous
daughters. She'd seen the way they looked at her and her Mom, envy and
jealousy hiding behind painted smiles, heard the insinuating insults
whispered behind hands which moments before had patted her on the head.
'Such a darling little girl you have there, Mrs Carter. What unusual
hair and eyes. She doesn't look at all like you, does she?' She didn't
look like David, either, but that hadn't stopped them from trying to
make out David's friendship with her widowed mother had been more than
that. Her mother would give them a little smile, tell them her daughter
took after her husband and walk off without a backward glance. Then
she would stroke her seething daughter's hair with gentle fingers and
remind her it didn't matter what anyone thought or said, as long as THEY
knew they had nothing to be ashamed of. Of course, the green-eyed old
pussies were always as nice as pie whenever David was around. "Mom and
I seemed to fulfill any need he had for a family. I think he enjoys
doing what he wants and knows he's too selfish to be a good husband or
father. But he's always been there whenever we really needed someone.
"But that's enough about David," she ended rather abruptly. "I'd
rather think about a different man, the one who's here now." She
reached for Sam.
Sam caught her hands and imprisoned them in his own. "You know,
Helen, I think you've got a thing for older men."
"I have not!" she retorted indignantly. "Anyway, you're not much
older than I am."
"Aw, c'mon. Get real! I must be twice your age at least!"
"Not the way I figure it, you're not!" Helen pulled herself up on
one elbow. "When were you born?"
The information wouldn't come. He couldn't even remember his own
birthday. "I - I'm not sure. I can't remember."
"That's okay, it doesn't matter," Helen said quickly, sensing his
distress as his memory failed him. She scolded herself for asking him
something about his life that he might not know. "I'll put it another
way. What's the furthest back in time you've been?"
His face cleared. Now that he could answer. "Within my lifetime -
1953. I Leaped back even further once, but that was unusual. What's
that got to do with how old I am?"
"In that case, I bet you were born in 1953, or maybe '52. I was
born in '57 - so that makes you only four or five years older than me!"
Sam blinked. "I hadn't thought of it that way before." It was
strange, he hadn't thought of their age difference at all after last
night - except on that run which had nearly killed him.
Helen stroked his cheek, glad to see the haunted look disappear from
his eyes. "See, I said you weren't much older."
Sam turned his head and kissed her palm. They were almost
contemporaries when seen from Helen's point of view. "Hey, you're the
same age as Katie - my little sister. She was born in '57."
"You've got a sister?"
He nodded. "And a brother - Tom."
"Yes, you mentioned him yesterday." So Sam had a little sister as
well as a brother. Another tiny piece of his life to remember. "Tom
must be older than you if he was in 'Nam," she said, careful not to ask
a direct question.
"Yeah, he is." Sam smiled. 'Is' not 'was'. Tom was alive some-
where, not dead in a Vietnamese river. He had a living, older brother.
And that was partly thanks to Al.
Helen was stroking his cheek again, setting his skin tingling with
flickers of fire. Judging from her expression this morning, she'd been
worried he'd be upset by her relationship with Al. Well, there was no
need for worry.
"Al's older, too," he said thoughtfully. The fingers stopped their
stroking. "Though I suppose he won't be as MUCH older when you know
him, if you see what I mean." He turned his head and kissed her palm
again, but kept his gaze on her face, wanting to see her reaction. "You
know, you definitely have a thing for older men, Helen. First me - and
then Al."
She snatched her hand away.
"How do you know Al and I will...? Did he say something to you?
Just because he said he wanted to marry me doesn't mean we... WHAT did
he say this morning?" she demanded, suddenly frightened Sam already knew
everything after all, that Al had told him. If so, Sam's time with her,
already so precious, would be even shorter than she thought.
"Not much." Sam laughed as he remembered how Al had looked and
sounded. "He just kept swearing about Ziggy not allowing him in the
Imaging Chamber and threatening to tear him apart - except when he was
threatening ME for hurting you. The only other thing he said was that
he asked you to marry him." She didn't need to know anything else,
especially not all those unbelievable names Al had called her.
Despite his light tone, Helen was still gazing at him in
consternation. He sat up, pulling her with him. "Look, Helen, I'm
trying to reassure you it's okay about Al, that you two having a
relationship - of whatever sort - doesn't bother me. How could it? I'm
not going to be here for ever." How he wished he could be. He secured
his arms over her shoulders, lacing his fingers through her hair. "I
have no right to expect you to not want other men. You've got your
whole life ahead of you, girl - go for it! If you and Al make each
other happy for a while then I'm glad. He's a really great guy, you
know - when you get past the flashy exterior. And if you meet someone
else then I'd be glad about that, too. I don't want you to be alone
because of me."
Helen stared into the honest hazel eyes. He had absolutely no idea
about anything at all - thank God. How did Sam - or God or Whoever for
that matter - think she was going to want or allow another man into her
life, let alone her bed, after Sam had gone, even if it was that
apparently great guy, Admiral Al Calavicci? Her future without Sam
would be utterly miserable. No, it wouldn't - she wouldn't let it.
He'd hate it if she was unhappy. *I'll worry about that later.
There'll be plenty of time.*
He wasn't even the slightest bit jealous. Were all men like this in
the future? If so, they must evolve pretty quick. Highly unlikely. It
was much more probable that this particular specimen was special. But
she knew that already. "You really are an incredible man, Sam."
His hands knotted more tightly into her hair. "No I'm not." He
grinned impishly. "But I'm about to be!"