The Preserver & Protector Series

Blake stepped up to the podium next to the war memorial as he’d done for the past nine years. Only this time, he hoped to see the woman who’d infiltrated his dreams for the past three hundred and sixty-five days.

Would this Memorial Day be anywhere near as interesting as that of last year when he’d fought in a Civil War battle? If not for the scar on his arm as proof, he’d never believe it’d really happened. Countless times, he’d tried to convince himself it was all a dream. But again, the ragged scar told him differently. And though he’d searched high and low for his mystery woman, Ariel, he’d never located her. He also hadn’t time traveled since a year ago.

Nervously, he shifted his eyes from side to side, hoping to find the beautiful golden-haired, blue-eyed angel among the spectators. No sign of her. Hollowness filled his chest. Today was not his lucky day. He delivered his speech and turned the podium over to the next speaker, then he wove his way through the crowd, still in search of her. His heart picked up pace every time he caught sight of a small, blond woman, and it stilled each time he discovered it wasn't her. Willing it to happen wasn’t enough.

The ceremony ended, and Blake climbed into his truck to make his usual rounds to the cemeteries. Both fear and excitement rushed through him at the thought of crawling through the tunnel of brush at the Civil War cemetery that'd sent him on the journey of a lifetime a year ago.

With nervous fingers, he shifted his truck into park and slid out of the vehicle, a handful of small flags clenched in his fist. Looking to the heavens, he wondered what was in store for him this year, if anything.

"Well?" he asked. The unusual clear, blue sky told him nothing. Strange, not a dreary cloud in the sky on this Memorial Day in Wisconsin.

He trekked down the path leading to the cemetery. The damp, earthy aroma was no different than any other year, nor were the budding trees.

As he stepped up to Simon Dupont's modern headstone, he noticed someone had already placed a flag on it. The soldier was no longer ignored by everyone but him in this long-forgotten cemetery.

Blake turned to head down the short path leading to the burial sites of the other Civil War soldiers. No effort had been made in the past year to clear out the mangled mass of brush in that section of the cemetery to make it more accessible. Still, Simon's plot had been cleared. First thing tomorrow, he'd petition the county board again to clean up the entire cemetery. Maybe, eventually, his persistence would pay off.

His pulse thudded in his ears, and his body quivered as he approached the tunnel made of brush he'd have to pass through to get to the other gravesites. The memories of last year's events played through his mind. Though he feared where a journey might lead him to this year, his curiosity pushed him to pass through the tunnel he believed to be his time travel portal. But, since it had only happened once, he didn't know for sure if that was a portal or if he could be summoned from any spot at any time.

He crouched down to enter the passageway, but his apprehension stilled him. Did he dare step through? His mind drifted to the lovely woman he'd met during his last journey. Adrenaline surged through him, and he lunged forward.

Spindly branches encircled him. And unlike the year before, the air was still and warm. No swirling sky or bone-chilling breeze. Looking ahead, he focused on his great-great-grandfather's grave marker. A few more steps and he'd be out of the tunnel, safe and secure.

He straightened his spine as he stepped out of the passage. Nothing. All was good. He was safe, yet disappointment rippled through him. How much longer would he have to wait before he'd again see the woman of his dreams? He desperately wanted to talk with her. Find out what this time travel was all about, and, more importantly, learn more about her. Spend time with her. Though in the past year, he'd researched and asked people about time travel, he'd told no one of his journey, fearing he'd sound like a crazy person,

Talk was not all he longed to do with Ariel. His fingers itched to touch her porcelain skin. His lips burned to join with hers. Every time he watched the video of her, his body throbbed to be with her. Unfortunately, dreaming of his beautiful angel never came without the associated guilt of falling for another woman—a woman other than his late wife. Countless times, he tried to convince himself that it was okay to love again—find someone to grow old with. His wife, Patti—whom he loved with all his heart—had died more than ten years ago. It was acceptable to move on. Yet, a dark shadow of guilt enveloped him when he thought of Ariel. What a life he was living, loving a woman he could no longer have and hold, and falling for one he couldn't find. He must have asked a hundred people in the past year if they knew Ariel, and they all shook their heads.

He blew out a frustrated sighed. Maybe I am crazy. Time travel? An angel named Ariel? But then, there was solid proof of his adventure. The ragged scar on his arm from a musket ball. What more substantiation did he need?

Blake placed a flag on his great-great-grandfather's stone and then did the same for the other two soldiers in that section of the small cemetery. After saying a silent prayer, he spun around and headed back toward the brush tunnel. He'd almost reached the passageway when a rush of fire-hot air blew by him. The same eerie, bone-penetrating sensation from last year seeped into his body. He glanced up to find dark swirling clouds had taken over what had been a clear blue sky just minutes earlier. Both fear and thrill gripped his spine. It was happening again.

A bolt of lightning flashed so brightly it blinded him, then a crack of thunder deafened him. Blake froze in place for a brief moment before he plunged himself into the tunnel. He didn't care about the consequences; he needed to see Ariel. She'd be on the other side. He knew it.

* * * *

Ariel

Ariel sketched the scene of Theodore Roosevelt's Rough Riders at San Juan Heights as they waited in the wings for orders. The scorching hot grassy area consisted of a valley separating two hills.

Roosevelt, on horseback, peeked out of the thin tree line looking eager for a fight.

Which of the hills was it that Roosevelt and his men would storm—San Juan or Kettle? Ariel's little knowledge of history was probably going to hang her someday, but she knew not of the scenes she'd be partaking on her time travels until she partook. That said, she could study history until the end of time and probably never hit upon the incidents she'd be plunged into.

A correspondent stood next to her. She should know his name from her high school history class, but she couldn't remember. The man wrote feverishly on his notepad. Every so often, he'd glance up, wipe the sweat from his brow, observe the scenery, and then write some more. She'd do the same, but in her case, she'd draw, rather than write. She wondered whose spot she'd taken, and she was unable to remember the famous artist's name.

Roosevelt peeked out again. He looked forward and yelled something she couldn't make out. Who was he yelling to?

Her inner protective alarm went off. It was go time. She scanned the area more quickly now. Blake and Evan were here. But where were they?

A soldier sprang from the tall grass. She hadn't known he was there. He spun in a circle. Her heart slammed in her chest. Blake. Though she was some distance away, it was easy to see the petrified expression on his face as he took in his surroundings.

Blake ran to take cover behind one of the few trees jutting out of the tall grass.

Ariel looked over to the soldiers she could see from her vantage point. Where was Blake's awful cousin, Evan? Would he be among the American soldiers or the Spanish? And how would he attempt to change history?

She hoped to rendezvous with Blake momentarily as Roosevelt would likely soon order the charge up the hill. Ahh! She finally remembered; Roosevelt and his Rough Riders would charge up Kettle Hill.

Seven millimeter Mauser bullets zipped past her as she wove her way through the tall grass toward Blake.

She knew she needed to hurry. Some of the soldiers talked about how Roosevelt had sent messengers to seek out generals in hopes of coaxing orders to advance on the hill. She supposed he was tired of them all being sitting ducks for the Spanish soldiers.

A short time later, a messenger returned, and Roosevelt rallied his men for the charge up the steep hill. Men from other units joined them.

Within seconds, she was on Blake's heels. He didn't appear to know she was there. Being disguised as a man surely had something to do with him not noticing her. Plus, she imagined he was more focused on why he'd been thrust into the middle of a battle in San Juan Heights, where he needed to be, and what he needed to do to preserve history.

Texas, Roosevelt's horse, galloped at such a quick pace that the blue polka dot handkerchief his rider wore whipped behind him in the hot breeze.

Ariel took her eyes off Roosevelt and scanned the area for Evan while dodging bullets as she charged up the sharp hill. Her breath quickened. Her heart raced. What a life she lived.

* * * *

The hail of cover fire from the Gatling guns made the troops cheer and encouraged them to rush faster and harder up the steep mound. While charging, Blake tried to be on the lookout for his great-grandfather Charles Cornelis. He'd seen pictures of him as a young man, but would he recognize him among the chaos? The bullets whizzing by him at present were taking priority.

His great-grandpa Charles, at the young age of eighteen, had voluntarily joined the Rough Riders. It was in San Juan Heights that he took a bullet for an officer and lived to tell about it. He'd voluntarily joined the troops with his cousin, Edgar Dupont. But Edgar never actually fought in the San Juan Heights battles because he'd come down with yellow fever and was in the infirmary during the battles.

It was rumored Edgar faked being ill to get out of fighting. Whether one could actually fake such a thing was unknown to Blake, but Edgar's sketchy lifestyle after returning to the states only added to the possibility the rumors could be true.

Blake fired a round from his bolt-action rifle, then he frantically shifted his eyes from side to side, searching for his great-grandfather and his cousin Evan, who was surely close by to change history. Somehow, he'd try to make the Dupont family line the heroes of war, devaluing the Cornelis line in the process. But how? What could Evan do here, in San Juan Heights, to change history?

Nearing the top of the hill, Blake lifted his leg to step across the barbed wire. As he swung his other leg over, his pant leg caught. He tugged at it, but it wouldn’t let go. As he yanked more vigorously, a Spanish soldier leaped out from the sandbag barricade only a few feet from him while flinging his rifle. The hot, metal stalk slammed against the side of Blake's head hard enough his teeth rattled. His arms flailed as he fell backward. The soldier leaped onto him, fists pounding into him. Blake fought back but was at a disadvantage with his pant leg still tangled in the barbed wire.

The Spanish soldier wielded a knife toward Blake's chest. Luckily, Blake caught the man's wrist just before impact and held it at bay. The soldier's fierce stare bore into him as he maximized on his advantageous position, using his body weight to push down harder.

The knife inched closer to Blake's chest. He pushed back with all he had. Was this it? Was this how it would end for him? If he died here, how would that appear in the twenty-first century? Would it look as if he'd simply disappeared? Would he be found dead at the cemetery where he’d traveled from?

In that second, the Spanish soldier stilled and his grip on the knife loosened, allowing Blake to shift the blade sideways before the soldier fell forward. Lifeless. He pushed the dead body off, then sat up, but before his hands could grasp the material of his pant leg, a small American soldier leaped forward with a bloody knife and cut him free of the barbed wire. Blake could only assume the blood dripping from the knife was from his attacker.

His ally turned and reached out a hand to him. It was her. Ariel. His Protector.

Their gazes locked. Electricity sparked through him when he touched her. She pulled him to his feet. The chaos around him slapped him back into business. Where were Charles and Evan? He and Ariel hurdled the barbed wire.

American soldiers rushed to the blockhouse building on top of the hill as Spanish soldiers fired out of peepholes in the boarded-up windows.

Blake hurried into the nearest pockmarked structure, his Protector on his heels.

He'd barely stepped through the doorway when a Spaniard lunged toward him. Preparing for hand-to-hand combat, Blake curled his hand into a fist, then swung toward the soldier. His knuckles crushed against the man's jaw. Pain shot through his joints. The soldier staggered, falling to the side until he hit a wall, then he bounced back, swinging fast, and caught Blake square in the face. The coppery taste of blood coated his tongue. More punches ensued.

A quick glance to his left let him know his Protector was in the midst of her own fierce fight. He needed to hurry, end his fight, and help her. With another hard blow to his opponent's temple, the soldier fell to the floor, and Blake wasted no time spinning around to help Ariel, but it was too late. Her skillful tactics had sent her assailant to the ground, unmoving.

Blake heard the echoed cheers of American soldiers. As he and Ariel stepped outside, the cries of victory grew louder. But the war wasn't over. The hill across the valley still needed to be taken.

All this, and still no sign of his cousin Evan or Evan's great-grandpa Edgar or his own great-grandfather Charles. Where were they? They had to be somewhere close by or he and his Protector wouldn't be there.

While Blake searched for his relatives, the Rough Riders were ordered to defend Kettle Hill in the event of a counterattack, which was sure to come. To hold their position, a shallow trench was dug toward the bottom of the hill facing enemy troops who defended a line between them and Santiago. The exposed position of the American troops in the trench made it impossible for the Americans to retreat up the hill in the daylight, so they were forced to suffer in the intense heat.

Blake eyed the men around him, looking for anyone who resembled his great-grandpa Charles. He also kept watch for Ariel. Somehow during the chaos, they'd been separated. And then there was the matter of Evan and Edgar. He rubbed his hand over his chin. Where are they? Were they all in the trench? If so, had Ariel found them? Would she be able to protect his great-grandfather or was she only able to protect him? Still so many unanswered questions. ~How can I preserve history when I don’t know what in the hell is going on? Will I ever get enough time with her so she can explain this whole situation in more detail? ~

A lump rose in his throat as the worst possible thought sifted through his mind. Were Ariel and his great-grandfather still alive? Was it too late?~ ~It crossed his mind to charge down the hill and launch himself into the trenches to see if they were there. At this point, it wasn't only enemy fire those in the trenches had to worry about. They'd been down there so long without provisions, hunger might be a problem, but dehydration was the real threat. He wiped his brow with his sleeve. The sweltering heat was a killer.

As the thought of how to get food and water to those troops ran through his mind, Roosevelt's voice drew Blake's attention. He turned to find Roosevelt and another officer discussing the very thing he had been thinking about. How to get provisions down to the men in the trenches. An opportunity presented itself to him. He could perhaps get orders to carry them down. Though those orders came with a great risk to his life, it was a chance he would take, because he needed to know if his relatives were in one of those trenches. Just as importantly, he needed to know if Ariel was down there.

Blake took a step toward Roosevelt, his lips parted to speak, when all of a sudden, a tiny, short man, probably no more than five feet tall or so eagerly volunteered for the job. Hardly waiting for approval, the little man grabbed a case of food and water and leaped over the top of the hill. Blake watched as the soldier stumbled down the hill, dodging enemy fire. He prayed the guy would make it without getting shot.

* * * *

Provisions

Ariel

From down the trench-line, Ariel heard that a soldier had brought provisions. Blake. It has to be him. Though she didn't really know him, in her heart she knew a guy like him wouldn't hesitate to perform such a selfless act.

Word quickly followed that their savior was a man by the name of McGinty. Not Blake.

Where was Blake? And how did they get separated? One minute, they were on top of Kettle Hill celebrating the taking of it, and the next minute she was in a trench a few soldiers down from Blake's great-grandpa Charles. After further thought, she recalled exactly how it had happened. She'd spotted a profile of a man she thought looked like Blake, only much younger, as if the soldier could be his son. He couldn't have been more than eighteen years old. Like a magnet to metal, she'd been drawn to him. When he turned toward her, his resemblance to Blake was even more striking. Familiar dark eyes, almost black, held her gaze.

Ariel had studied his face. A fist to his right eye, she presumed, was the cause of the swelling lid. Without ice, it would surely swell shut in no time. Not good for a soldier who needed to be on the ready for a counterattack from the Spaniards. Lowering her gaze, she'd caught sight of a blood-soaked bandana wrapped around his thin thigh. Stab wound? Gunshot? Either way, he should probably not be with the soldiers preparing for the counterattack. He should have headed back to camp, to the infirmary. Instead, he'd spun and moved in the opposite direction. His limp—evidence of his serious injury—seemed to go unnoticed by many who probably worked to control or ignore their own aches and pains.

A tap on her shoulder drew her out of her reverie. The soldier next to her informed her provisions had made their way down the line as he handed her a canteen. Though warm, the water refreshed her dry, itchy throat. She took a couple of small swallows before passing the canteen on to the next soldier.

The hot sun baked her fair skin. Breathe. Just a bit longer and the sun will go down. She knew that's what it would take—the sun to go down before they could make their way back up the hill in the darkness of night.

Just as she’d thought, when night came, the soldiers rose and made their way up the hill. She positioned herself so she could keep an eye on Charles as they climbed to the crest.

Once atop, she trailed him. He limped along, moving slowly, allowing her time to periodically take her gaze off him to look for Blake and Evan. But her sight was of little use to her in the dim light of the moon. Yet, they both had to be somewhere nearby. She sensed it, and with each step she took, the dark feeling she got whenever she was near a person who she was to protect a Preserver from, grew stronger. When it came to Evan, the evil sensation he emitted that absorbed into her being was second to none.

An eerie silence filled the air. Adrenaline zipped through her veins. Goose bumps riddled her body. The dryness of her mouth before when she stood in the trenches in the hot sun was nothing compared to the parched feeling she experienced now.

Glancing ahead, she noticed the silhouette of a man pointing at Charles. The guy who pointed was a bit shorter than the soldier he talked with. His stocky build matched that of Evan's. It must be him. What was he up to? He couldn't possibly try to pull any stunts with Charles now; there would be too many witnesses. Her gaze darted around the area. Where was Blake? He needed to be here. A lump rose in her throat. Had something happened to him?

She stepped around Charles to get a better look at the two men who stared at him. Her movement drew the stocky man's attention. A feral growl hissed from his lips. Nobody else seemed to notice. But it wasn’t the growl that ratcheted up the intensely unsettling feeling penetrating the depths of her core—it was the red glow in his eyes. The sight sent her reeling. It was like this man had been spawned from the devil himself.

* * * *

Blake

Blake stood silent and still as a statue in the darkness, listening to his cousin Evan as he talked with the officer while pointing at Charles. He hoped to learn his game plan, and then try to figure out a way to prevent it—to preserve history.

Evan paused and glanced over his shoulder. The red hue in his cousin's eyes was disturbing. A shiver snaked down his spine, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. So, Evan knew he was there, listening. Yet, he seemed to not care and returned his attention to the officer he'd been talking to.

"There, sir. He's the man who took that bullet for you."

The officer looked at Charles and then back toward Evan. "His name?"

"Edgar Dupont."

Blake's breath hitched. So that was his cousin's plan. Swap Charles out for Edgar to make Edgar look like a hero. But how would he pull this off? Surely his great-grandpa Charles would identify himself. Furthermore, it must be recorded somewhere that Edgar was in the infirmary during the battle of San Juan Heights. And what about the gunshot wound to his grandpa's leg? Evan had obviously missed his opportunity to change history during the battle, and this was the last-ditch effort on his part. A desperate one at that.

Blake hung back to hear more. This wrong would be easy to right. No worries.

"Edgar!" the officer yelled out.

Charles paid the officer no attention. Why would he? His name wasn't Edgar.

The officer took a few steps toward Charles before the wounded man collapsed into a heap on the ground.

Blake flew past the officer and his cousin, rushing to his great-grandpa's side. Ariel was already crouched down beside him, her hand on the man's forehead.

"He's burning up," she whispered as she pointed to the bandana fastened around his leg. "He's lost a lot of blood, and then to be in the hot sun like he was for so long, he's probably dehydrated as well."

"Water! We need water!" the officer yelled to some soldiers standing a short distance away.

Blake looked up in time to catch a glimpse of Evan's irritating slight smile. He was probably banking on Charles’s death so he could pull off the switcheroo.

How would something like this impact history? What chain of events would this start? If his great-grandfather were to die, then Blake would never exist, right? If Evan could change this piece of history, could it ever be changed back? Blake wasn't sure because he still didn’t know how this all worked. He needed time with Ariel so she could help him understand this whole Preserver and Protector thing. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He swallowed hard. Did they only get one shot at it? One chance to keep things on track?

A man ran up with a canteen and handed it to him. He and Ariel pulled Charles into a seated position. He was conscious but lethargic. Blake held the canteen to his great-grandpa's mouth. The man choked as the first of the liquid passed through his lips, but then he slowly swallowed some down.

"You two," the officer said, looking at him and Ariel, "get Edgar back to camp, to the infirmary."

"His name is Charles," Blake stated firmly as he nodded and rose to his feet, pulling his great-grandpa up along with him.

The officer shifted his puzzled gaze between him and his cousin.

Evan pointed at Blake. "I don't know what he's talking about. This is Edgar Dupont. The man who saved your life."

Rage shot through Blake's veins. "Liar!" If his hands hadn’t been busy holding his great-grandfather, he would have charged at Evan.

His cousin smirked and gestured toward Charles. "Ask him who he is."

Charles's hardly conscious self was limp as a wet noodle in Blake’s hands.

"We'll sort this out later," the officer snapped. Annoyance laced his tone. "Get him to the infirmary."

Blake nodded, then pulled one of his great-grandpa's arms over his shoulder. He wrapped his other arm around his waist. Ariel did the same on the other side.

In the dim moonlit sky, they staggered the distance back to camp, nearly stumbling toward the end as they carried the full weight of his great-grandfather. Blake yelled for a doctor as they crossed under the flap of the medical tent.

A bearded man, wearing a blood saturated shirt approached them quickly. His gaze zoned in on Charles's wounded leg, and then lifted upward. His thick brows pulled together as he looked at Blake. "Didn't I just treat this man?"

"What?"

The doctor glanced over his shoulder and pointed to the opposite end of the tent. "Over there."

He looked back at Blake. "Twins? Same injury?"

"He's not a twin," Blake replied.

The baffled expression remained on the doctor's face. "Hurry, bring him over here."

He and Ariel followed the doctor who pointed at a soldier on a cot and ordered another medic to help him get off it. The soldier teetered as he rose to his feet as he held his injured arm to his chest.

With Ariel's help, Blake lowered his great-grandpa onto the cot.

The doctor swooped in and pulled the bloody bandana from Charles's leg. "Amazing. Same spot and everything."

"Same spot?" Blake questioned. What is this guy talking about?

The doctor pointed to the next bed. A young man lay sedated. He was the spitting image of his great-grandfather. Blake's mouth fell open.

"I know; that's why I thought they might be twins. And their injuries are nearly the exact same spot." The doctor's gaze bounced between him and Ariel. "But you know this man, and he's not a twin?"

Blake nodded. "His name is Charles Cornelis."

The doctor sprang to his feet and pointed at Edgar. "The man who brought him in said his name was Charles Cornelis."

Disbelief swirled in Blake's stomach but quickly vanished with the realization it was true. Evan had gone so far as to shoot his own great-grandfather in the leg in order to pass him off as Charles. No wonder he couldn't find his cousin on the battlefield. Once he'd seen Charles had been shot, he’d probably hightailed it to the infirmary where his great-grandfather Edgar lay with yellow fever, to put this plan in place. If one or both of the men were to die, his cousin’s plan just might work.

Blake opened his mouth to protest, but the doctor held up his hand. "Later. Right now, we need to take care of him."

The doctor yelled for someone named Arthur and then shooed Blake and Ariel out of the way and out of the tent.

Blake stood outside the tent flap. He wasn't going any farther than that until he knew his great-grandpa would be okay, and until he knew Evan had returned to the twenty-first century.

"Are you all right?" Ariel whispered.

He supposed she kept her voice hushed in an effort to keep her female identity undercover. That was probably why she kept her head down as well. Being as tiny and fair as she was, and with those delicate features, he could certainly understand how others would question her gender. And he'd never heard tell of a female Rough Rider, unlike tales of female Civil War soldiers.

"Yeah. Just worried. What if…" His voice trailed off, and he pulled his gaze from hers.

"What if what?" she asked.

"What happens if my great-grandfather dies and Evan is able to pull this off? What does it mean in the future? I won't exist—my daughter won’t exist…" Those words choked off the sound coming from his mouth.

Fear, anger, and anxiety ripped through him at the thought and the unknown of what changing this point in history would do to his family—his life. And he would be to blame for failing his Preserver duty.

Returning his gaze to Ariel, he caught her hard swallow and the uncertainty in her eyes.

"I don't know. I simply don't know the answers—what it would do. But what I do know is that I haven't failed a mission yet. Were there close calls? Yes. But no failures."

"How many missions have you been on?"

"One with your dad, two with you, and a dozen or so with other Preservers to whom I'm assigned."

Questions flooded his mind. He wanted to know more, not only about this whole time travel bit, but more about her—his guardian angel. Since it was unknown how much time he'd have with her, he attempted to mentally place his questions in some sort of systematic fashion, ordered by importance.

"Ariel, how do I know what…"

She raised her hand and cut him off. "Not here. Let's go somewhere more private."

He looked over his shoulder, toward the entrance of the tent. "But what about my great-grandfather? Shouldn't we stay here and watch over him?"

"We won't go far." She pointed at the stream bordered with tree cover. "We'll just go over there. If Evan gets close again, I'll know."

His lips parted to question her about that but the conviction in her voice and gaze let him know he need not worry. She would know.

* * * *

Ariel

Ariel motioned for Blake to follow her. There were very few soldiers near them, but still, the conversation they were about to have needed to be confidential. For the most part, those soldiers who weren’t in the hospital were either still at the hills or fast asleep. She hoped to be granted enough time for her to answer Blake's questions. She'd be able to provide some answers, but there was still much that she needed to figure out.

She stepped up to the rocky riverbank, not stopping until she reached an area shielded by trees and brush. Even in the dark dead of night, the temperature was still scorching hot, and the air was thick and humid. She crouched down and let the somewhat cool liquid flow around her fingers, then she cupped her hands to splash some over her flaming cheeks. Relief from the heat came slowly. After a few seconds, she pulled a cloth from her satchel and patted her face dry.

Looking back, she found Blake sitting on a rock, rolling up his pant legs. He yanked off his boots and socks and dipped his feet into the water.

Ariel stood and walked over to him, catching his gaze.

"It's hot as hell here," he said as he patted the spot next to him on the flat surface of the large rock.

She sat and pulled off her boots and socks and dunked her feet into the refreshing water. Fortunately, the eerie feeling she got whenever an evil time traveler approached was non-existent. She'd take advantage, rely on that sense, and relax her aching muscles for a moment.

Blake stared forward. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, probably trying to make sense of everything. Was that even possible? Time travel? Preservers? Protectors? She'd been at it for a while, and was still mystified by it. This was all still new to him.

Blake took off his hat and placed it on the rock behind him. In the brightening, moonlit sky, Ariel noticed the swollen and darkening bruise on his cheek. Dried blood crusted his ear and trailed down his neck. "Your ear," she muttered.

He looked at her. "Huh?"

"Your ear has a nasty cut." She leaned closer. "In fact, it looks like there's a little nick out of it."

He reached up and touched it. His grimace let her know the wound stung at the touch of his salty fingertips. "Must have happened during the fight on top of Kettle Hill. I got hit on the side of the head with a gunstock."

She reached up and lightly touched his cheekbone. "That explains this as well. It's pretty swollen and bruised."

He shrugged.

"Let me clean up the cut."

"That's okay; it's fine," he replied with a shake of his head.

She ignored him, reached down and dampened the cloth in her hand, and then patted at his raw ear. He flinched but let her continue. She rinsed the cloth and repeated the process until all the dried blood disappeared.

His silence surprised her. She figured he'd bombard her with questions. Maybe he was waiting until she was done tending to him.

After giving the cloth a final rinse, she hung it over the side of the rock.

When she looked back toward him, he opened his mouth as if he were going to speak but then closed it and sat silent, eyes forward. She considered offering some explanations and advice about their roles as Preserver and Protector and time travelers, but then chose to wait for him to ask, formulate his questions in an order appropriate for him.

Blake yawned, causing Ariel to yawn as well. Exhaustion weighed down her limbs, her eyelids, her thoughts. She bit the end of her tongue in the hope to waken herself, but all that did was bring tears to her weary eyes.

More silence filled the air. She waited patiently for his questions—anything from him. Nothing. The quiet made her more tired. She felt herself drifting off.

Ariel’s eyelids fluttered open and then closed. She reached to fluff the hard pillow cased in scratchy material beneath her cheek, but it didn’t plump. Instead, the hard ripple under her palm flexed. What? Her eyelids flew opened, and she found herself staring at Blake’s knees. Her head rested on his lap. His arm lay across her shoulder. With all that had gone on, and was still unfinished, she’d fallen asleep. She’d never fallen asleep while on a mission. ~Shit!~ ~What if something happened while I was out? What if Evan returned?~ She sprang to her feet.

Blake’s shocked gaze glued to her as he leaped up. “What’s wrong? Is Evan nearby?”

She paused for a moment, assessing herself and her surroundings. That eerie feeling she got whenever anyone like Evan was around wasn’t present. She blew out a sigh of relief. “No, he's not nearby.”

“Then what is it?”

Shame sifted through her. She stared at her feet. “I’ve never fallen asleep while on duty. I’m supposed to stay…” Disgrace choked her words.

He stepped toward her as he reached out.

She stepped back.

His dark gaze softened. “It’s okay. You just fell asleep. You were only out about thirty minutes. You were exhausted and needed rest.”

She held up her hand. “That’s no excuse. My job is to protect you. Something could have happened…”

“Nothing did,” Blake interrupted.

“How do you know? We should go check on Charles.”

“He’s fine. For now, anyway. Evan’s not nearby. I’m sure of it,” Blake assured.

“And you know that, how?”

“You mentioned to me earlier that you could feel when he was around. Well, I can, too. Both times I was near him a horrid, unsettling sensation overtook me. Deep in my bones. The kind you can't deny, no matter how hard you try. I don’t feel it now, nor did I while you were sleeping. And I figured, from the way you described how strongly you felt his presence when he was near, you’d surely wake if he were close by.”

He had a point, yet she still felt mortified at her behavior—failure.

The compassion in his gaze let her know he knew and understood how she felt.

Again, he stepped toward her with his arms outstretched. This time, she allowed herself to step into them—into the comforting arms of the man she’d dreamed about nonstop for the past year.

He pulled her tight to his warm, firm body. Maybe there was something to be said for the fact she was able to rest while on a mission with this man.

One of his hands glided up and down her back in a light, soothing manner. The other pulled the hat from her head and undid the band that held her hair in place high on her head–the long strands that had been intentionally hidden from view from the world. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders. That simple maneuver made her feel sexy; wanted in a way she hadn't experienced for a long time. Not since her ex, eons ago, long before their marriage started to fall apart.

She went rigid.

Blake inched back but still held her. "You okay?"

Was she? Yes. She loved his hold, the feel of him, and his warm, comforting scent that reminded her of roasting chestnuts.

Slowly, he combed his skilled fingers through her hair for a moment before he wove them in and eased her head back. Her heart fluttered in response to his wanting gaze, and when his lips met hers, it nearly leaped out of her chest.

His kiss was soft, sweet, and lingering. Just enough to make her want more, but instead, he pulled back and stared at her.

After a few beats, he spoke. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of you in the past year. How many times I’ve wondered if I was ever going to see you again. I tried to find you, but I don't even know your last name.”

Her heartbeat ratcheted up a notch. He'd actually sought her out.

"Jonas. My last name is Jonas."

The man’s dark eyes were mesmerizing. She’d been lost in his gaze in her dreams more times than she could count, and now here she was, lost in the depths of his mahogany eyes in real life. She didn’t want this moment to end, yet she knew it would. It was only a matter of time before they’d be separated again, which was why this couldn’t go any further. She should stop it now. She needed her brain to convince her pleading heart it was of no use before she got in too far and couldn’t get out. They could never be together. It would never work, and she had to accept that. The memory of her nearly twenty-year marriage that fell apart was a perfect reminder that her role as a time travel Protector would be too much for any relationship to bear. Yes, for both her and Blake's sake, she could not let this go any further.

If that was the case, why did she find herself wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him to her?

His mouth found hers again, only this time his kiss was firmer, hungrier, and turned hotter with each beat of her heart. His talented tongue explored delightfully in her mouth, and she couldn’t help but wonder how it might feel probing other areas of her body. Heat surged in her core, spreading like wildfire. She kissed him harder. Years of pent up passion flowed out of her as if she had no control. His large hands roamed her body before they settled on her buttocks and squeezed. The cloth barrier between her flesh and his needed to disappear.

As if he’d read her mind, he gripped her shirt and pulled it from beneath her waistband and yanked it over her head so quickly their lips hardly had to separate to complete the task. Following suit, she stripped him of his shirt.

Gliding her fingers over his hard-muscled abdomen, she paused when she reached the button on his trousers. What am I thinking? I’m not; that’s the problem. Did she dare go any further here and now? Should she risk opening her heart and body any further to this man, knowing they could never be together in the long-term? And what if another soldier were to see them? Yeah, they were in a secluded spot, but not completely isolated.

At her hesitation, Blake stilled. “Is something wrong?”

She needed him to stop looking at her with that desire-filled, smoldering gaze.

“This. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

He edged back slightly but kept his hands on her hips. His eyes stayed glued to her. “Why not? Because of having to stay on full-alert to ward off Evan and protect my great-grandfather?"

Ariel shook her head. "No. I'll know…we'll know when Evan's close. We'll know when we have to spring into action. Like you said, that eerie sensation Evan brings with him can't go unnoticed."

She heard his audible swallow. "So then you just don’t want to?”

Good Lord, she’d never wanted anything more, but the practical part of her brain couldn’t get over the unusual circumstances surrounding them. There was a chance that after this mission she would never see him again, and she didn’t know if her heart could handle that once she gave herself fully to him. She wasn’t built for casual romance or romps. When she gave herself physically to a man, to her, that meant she wanted to give her whole self to him—body, heart, and soul. Deep down, she felt he was like-minded, but their positions as Preservers and Protectors could very well dictate they would have no future together. Their roles came with a destiny in which they had absolutely no control.

Ariel reached up and placed her palm on his cheek. “I do want you, but…”

“I understand. I don’t know how this works either. I feel such a strong connection to you, and I fear I’ll never see you again when this mission is over. For the past year, I’ve read every piece of information on time travel I could get my hands on to figure out how I could see you again on my own terms, but I came up empty. Is there any way to do that?”

She debated telling him how her mother had once spoken of a special power her Protector grandmother had which allowed her to access a time period without being summoned. But then, she’d have to tell him that it appeared most Protectors either didn’t possess the power or hadn’t yet figured out how to use it. And then she’d have to tell him that her grandmother didn't pass on the knowledge to her mother because it was frowned upon by the gods.

The desperation in his gaze had her spilling her guts.

His eyes lit up. “So, there is hope.”

Wanting to believe it, too, she nodded.

He pulled her toward him and crushed his hungry mouth on hers while his skilled fingers undid the tight binding used to conceal her breasts. As he unwrapped the last of the scratchy material, she sighed into his mouth. Relief. Though her breasts were tiny, they still ached beneath the tight binding. With one hand, he cupped a breast as the other slid fluidly over her back and down to her waistband. In one swift movement, he’d managed to drop her pants. They pooled at her feet along with her underwear.

Her fingers shook with excitement as she fumbled with the button on his pants, and then gave them a yank.

Pulling his lips from hers, he planted feathery light kisses along her jaw, to the sensitive spot under her earlobe, and then down along her neck, not stopping until his mouth reached her breast. He circled his tongue around her nipple and then sucked it into his searing mouth while he kneaded her other breast. Her breath hitched. Moisture pooled between her legs.

The hand that worked her breast glided downward, leaving a burning path beneath his calloused fingertips. His adept mouth switched breasts as his traveling fingers found the wetness in her folds. His touch nearly drove her crazy. Hell, she was crazy. Here she stood outside, in the nude, where anyone could see her, letting a man she hardly knew touch her so intimately. Yet, it felt right. Completely appropriate. The swirl of his finger around her swollen bud was mindboggling, and all thoughts of stopping vanished. The incredible sensations shooting through her were worth the risk of anyone seeing.

Blake lapped at her nipple one more time before he slid his warm tongue down her body. It trailed over her bellybutton and continued to move lower. Her weak knees caused her to grip her lover's shoulders. Any more and she’d probably be completely incapable of standing on her own.

Her response to his touch was amazing. The exhilaration shooting through her body, heart, and soul was more than she'd ever experienced with any other man. Ever.

When he pulled his mouth from her and stood, disappointment whipped through her tingling body, but the wanting look in his eyes sent her anticipation reeling as she realized what was coming next. He eased her back until the calves of her legs bumped against the large, flat rock they’d been sitting on earlier.

“Wait,” he said as he spun around, grabbed their clothes, and scattered them over the hard surface. “There.” He gestured for her to sit.

She sat.

Placing one hand on the middle of her back, he guided her down, making sure her head rested directly on the makeshift pillow he’d made out of his shirt. His erection hovered over her. God, how she wanted that inside of her.

He stepped around the rock, kneeled in front of her and edged her legs apart. His heated breath brushed over the sensitized skin of her inner thighs. A slight quiver raked through her. The second the warmth of his tongue touched her clit, her back arched and she nearly screamed out his name. His scorching hand pressed lightly to her stomach and slid upward as his tongue flicked over her swollen bud. He worked her clit as his hand kneaded her breasts and with the other, he slipped a finger into her wetness.

Sensation overload forced quick, ragged breaths from her. The blistering temperature she experienced in the trenches earlier in the day didn’t compare to the sizzling heat surging through her body now.

Blake replaced his probing finger in her wetness with his tongue. Adrenaline zipped through her veins, and her extremities tingled and burned with delight. His tongue delved deeper, and his finger circled harder around her clit. With the slight pinch to her taut little bud, her heart pounded, her back arched, and she cried out his name as pure pleasure raked through the innermost depths of her being.

"You're so responsive," Blake whispered huskily.

Though she wanted to lift her head and look at the man who’d just given her the most sexual pleasure she’d ever endured, she couldn’t move. She lay languid, fulfilled, staring at the stars. That orgasm, that pleasure, had taken everything out of her.

Blake stood over her, fully erect, offering his hand. Her weak arm reached up and accepted. Once she sat upright, he took a seat next to her, reached around and lifted her onto his lap. Straddling him, she took the full length of him into her, kissed him, and then urged him to lay back and simply enjoy.

His dark gaze held hers as she slowly rode him. When his hands reached up and squeezed her breasts, she increased her pace, wanting—needing—the pleasure of another climax. The faster she rode, the harder he squeezed. She liked it. And she liked when his breath quickened. Soon, he’d be shooting his hot seed into her. His already dark eyes darkened more, nearly black. He released one of her breasts and slid his hand down to her clit, scraping a fingernail lightly over it. Pleasure ripped through her. She convulsed around him. His eyes went opaque, his body tensed, then his seed heated her. Helplessly, she floated down to him.

* * * *

Blake

Blake’s eyes popped open. The sun began to light the sky. No eerie feeling was present. Where was Evan after all this time?

The stiffness in his back as a result of lying on the rock had him wanting to get up and stretch out the kinks, but the angel sleeping on top of him pinned him in place. Even with the risk of being seen, he'd allow her a few more moments of rest before he woke her to dress.

Her small, warm palm and delicate fingers lay against his skin, while her soft, pale cheek pressed to his chest, in line with his heart. He wondered if she could feel its beat. Silky strands of hair smelling of fresh rain tickled his neck and shoulder.

Ariel stirred and slowly lifted her head. She rubbed her eyes before she fixed that sapphire, soul-reaching gaze on him.

“Good morning.” Her grapefruit-pink lips stretched into a heartfelt smile.

“Morning.” He considered taking that tempting mouth of hers with his as he’d done in the wee morning hours, but with daylight breaking, he thought better of it.

The wanting look in her eyes and hesitation to get up let him know she entertained a similar thought.

She pushed herself into a seated position, slid off the large rock, and reached out to him. He placed his hand in hers and she pulled him to his feet. They dressed, and then he watched as she wound her hair up, fastened it to the top of her head, and yanked on her hat. They’d hardly taken a step toward camp before an unnerving sense seized his chest.

“He’s here!” Ariel said as she darted by him.

They ran to the medical tent to find Evan standing between Charles’s and Edgar’s cots. Evan insisted to the doctor that Edgar was the soldier who took the bullet on the battlefield for the officer. Blake rushed to his great-grandfather's side to debunk his lying cousin's claim. The doctor threw up his hands in disgust.

“What in the hell is going on here?” An authoritative voice boomed from the entrance, rendering the tent silent.

Blake’s head snapped in that direction. The officer who Charles had taken the bullet for had walked into the chaos.

The officer pinned his gaze on the doctor. “Has he woken yet? The man who took a bullet for me.”

“Yes, but we seem to have a problem,” the doctor replied.

“What do you mean?”

The doctor gestured toward Charles and Edgar. “The soldier you’re looking for is right here, but I don’t know which one it is.”

The officer stepped between the two cots and looked at the identical men.

Evan pointed at his great-grandfather. “This is the hero, right here. Edgar Dupont.”

“Liar!” Blake shouted as he made a move toward his cousin.

The officer held out his arms, a palm each facing Blake and Evan, then he fixed his glare on the doctor. “The man who saved me from that bullet took it in his left thigh. Which soldier bears that wound?”

“They both do, sir,” the doctor replied as he stepped up to Edgar and pulled the blanket back, revealing the bloody bandage on his leg. Then he reached toward Charles and did the same.

The officer studied the two men’s legs. “What is going on here?” he asked, eyeing those around him before returning his gaze to the doctor.

“They came in one right after the other. Edgar assisted by this man,” the doctor said, pointing to Evan, “and Charles, assisted by this man,” he finished, gesturing toward Blake.

With as much as Blake wanted to defend his great-grandpa’s honor right now, he knew by the irritated expression on the officer’s face that he wasn’t in the mood for any arguing. The man just wanted the simple truth as to who saved him from being shot. Plus, since he had silenced them earlier, he hadn’t yet given them permission to speak again.

The officer stepped closer to the injured men. “The question is simple. Which one of you do I pin the medal on?”

“Him!” Evan exclaimed as he pointed at his great-grandfather Edgar who nodded in agreement.

“Me, sir.” Edgar’s tone wasn’t as convincing as Evan’s.

“I see.” The officer’s gaze swept over to Charles. “And you, Charles, what do you have to say for yourself?” The man’s tone wasn’t angry as Blake suspected it might be if the officer thought Charles was the liar. In fact, it was just the opposite, with traces of compassion with inquisitiveness.

Charles cleared his throat. “It doesn’t really matter who took the bullet. The important thing is that you’re unharmed and were able to lead your regiment to victory.”

The officer reached a hand out to Charles. The men shook hands. “Thank you. You are a true war hero and will be decorated as such.”

“What!” Evan exclaimed.

The officer jerked his head in Evan and Edgar’s direction. “A true war hero is selfless and doesn’t go through such great lengths to steal or accept glory that’s not his. He looks out for the welfare of all men, not just for himself.” The officer’s tone was stone cold. “And this,” he said as he reached down and pulled the bandage down from Edgar’s leg, “let this scar always remind you of your disgrace. Consider this your medal—medal of dishonor."

Great lengths to steal or accept glory. Did the officer really believe Evan shot Edgar in the leg to help set up this whole charade? Is that what he meant by ~great lengths~? It didn’t matter. He believed Charles to be the hero.

Evan stormed out of the tent without so much as a glance back.

A thrill of victory slammed through Blake. History had been preserved, but as quickly as the exhilaration came, it went. He looked at Ariel. Her bright blue eyes dulled and teared. Their time, for now, was over. In that split second, swirling hot air threw back the tent flap and encircled him. He opened his mouth to speak, but before any sound escaped, the fiery force pulled him into a tornado-like atmosphere that sucked him out the door. The funnel rumbled like a freight train and spun him into oblivion.

On hands and knees, his face only inches from his great-great-grandfather’s flat tombstone in the little Civil War cemetery he’d been whisked out of earlier, is where Blake suddenly found himself. Alone—no Ariel.

After taking a minute to collect his thoughts, he pushed himself to his feet and quickly placed the three American flags on the veterans’ gravestones, then he turned and headed toward the narrow tunnel to exit the cemetery. Only this time, fear didn’t grip his spine like it had last year when he hunkered down to pass through it. This time, he actually found himself hoping he’d be whisked away because that meant he’d probably see his beautiful guardian angel again. The woman who’d just given her whole self so freely to him, stealing his heart in the process. Yes, time travel came with a risk, evidenced by the musket ball scar on his arm, his current aching jaw, and the nick out of his ear. But no matter the potential injury or outcome, time travel would be worth the risk to see her again.

With hope, he bent over and moved through the tunnel-shaped branches. No luck with another travel. Uneventful.

He placed his hand over his aching heart and pressed lightly to alleviate the pain. Would he have to wait another whole year to see Ariel? And where did she go when missions were over? Present, future, back in time to protect another Preserver?