Who wouldn't love to have a "helpless" nineteenth century man fall right into one's lap? I know I would!! If you can't "do," you write books. So, that's what I did...while I'm waiting for my nineteenth century man to travel forward in time for me.... :-)
While on a genealogical research journey through the Midwest, Molly Hamilton impulsively buys a 100-year-old Victorian house in the middle of a cornfield, and falls in love with the house’s owner...the original owner, that is. Can he be a ghost? The handsome, intriguing attorney certainly feels solid—and somehow her soul knows she has always loved him.
Darius Ferguson has no idea how he has come to present-day Iowa. The last thing he knew, the year was 1880, and he had just buried his fiancée, who happens to look exactly like Molly. He cannot separate the two women in his heart—to him, they are one.
In spite of being drawn to him, Molly thinks Darius is unhinged. Darius wonders if he has joined his fiancée in purgatory. If time travel is possible, will love be enough to build a future together?
(Time Travel)
Rating: Sweet
Page Count: 308
Word Count: 89994
Print ISBN: 1-60154-970-9
Excerpt:
“Molly, wait!”
I froze in place for a moment. It was definitely a man under the tree though I couldn’t see his face...and he knew my name.
“Do I know you?” I called in an unsteady voice. It seemed, though, as if my words were taken by the wind. Who was this man? And how did he know my name?
He moved away from the tree with a tentative step. His clothing was formal—a dark suit and white shirt—as if he had just been to a funeral. I hadn’t remembered seeing a canopy for a funeral on the grounds, but I wasn’t about to take my eyes off the stranger for one instant to confirm that suspicion.
I thought I saw a flash of white teeth from under his dark mustache, but he was still some distance away. Golden highlights in his chestnut hair caught the sunlight, and my mouth dropped open. He was undoubtedly one of the most handsome men I had ever seen in my life. My stomach rolled over at the sight of him, though not exclusively with admiration of his good looks. Cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and I put my hand to my mouth as if to hold back the morning’s breakfast...if I’d had any.
For here—in the flesh—was the man of my dreams. Not just any dreams. More specifically, my dreams of the previous evening. Yet I couldn’t for the life of me remember ever seeing him before until this moment.
“Be careful what you wish for,” I muttered behind the hand that covered my convulsing mouth.
“Molly, do not be frightened. I can see that you are. I do not want to scare you.” He took another step forward and held his hands up palms out...as if to show me he wasn’t armed, I thought hysterically, or to calm me down. Either way, it wasn’t working.
