Daring Time

Ryan paused abruptly midsentence whe

n he noticed Hope shaking her head desperately, her eyes beseeching him not to continue. He sighed. Well, in all fairness to Hope, it really was too much to ask of her to allow a man she didn't even know into her bedroom. Given her culture and upbringing, he should still be counting his blessings over the fact that she tolerated his presence there.

He dropped down on a step. "On second thought, the staircase seems like a great place for us to talk. Maybe we should start with the mirror and then move on to the fact that Diamond Jack Fletcher and Jim Donahue just happen to be the same man."

TWENTY-THREE

Eve Daire showed Hope the bathroom in the storeroom of her boutique and told her to meet her back up front when she'd finished. She lifted her eyebrows pointedly at her son when she rejoined him behind the checkout counter.

"You might as well have driven a Mack truck through the front of my store."

He sighed regretfully. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't know how else to tell you except for to just, well. . . tell you."

Eve shook her head, speechless.

"Do you believe me?" Ryan asked when he realized that the glazed expression of amazement hadn't faded from his mother's pretty face in the slightest even though Ryan and Hope had been explaining the circumstances of their time traveling almost nonstop for the past hour—minus the more intimate details, of course.

"Of course I believe you. Can't a grown woman walk around in stunned amazement when the circumstances totally warrant it? I believe you because for one, you told me. You're obviously not insane even though the story is absolutely crazy. And also because of that young woman." Eve shook her head again incredulously. "She's clearly not from this time. Even if it weren't for you telling me or the incredible clothing she's wearing, I would have figured that out eventually."

Ryan couldn't help but smile. "I couldn't talk her into leaving the front door wearing my sweatpants that were about to fall off her. Hope is ... unique. I don't think it's just the time period differences, either. She must have raised quite a few eyebrows in the early 1900s."

"You're in love with her."

Ryan started slightly. His mother hadn't asked a question, she'd made a bald statement.

He opened his mouth to say something along the lines that it was too soon to tell, that he hadn't known Hope long enough to know if he was in love with her or experiencing an intense infatuation.

Actually, Ryan didn't like to dwell too much on that aspect of their strange circumstances. After seeing Hope firsthand in her time period, he was all too aware of what would be expected of him if he were a man with even a semi-stiff backbone who lived in the year 1906. Decent men didn't go around seducing gentlewomen like Hope Stillwater, let alone do what he'd done to her in that bordello bedroom, and then just walk away.

Problem was, Ryan wasn't an early-twentieth-century man. He existed in a very different time, one where people didn't proclaim their love after a few days of knowing each other, let alone get married like Hope's father—and possibly even Hope—would expect of him.

The situation was so confusing it was just easier for him not to think about it for the time being.

Eve didn't seem to mind his muteness over her disturbing proclamation about him being in love with Hope. She stepped toward Ryan, her eyes shining with amazement.

"Do you know that young girl back there— Hope Stillwater—is the kind of woman we read about in our history books? An activist for women's and children's rights?" Eve asked, her voice laced with barely restrained excitement.

"Yeah. She said the name Miss Addams a few times last night. I finally realized she was talking about Jane Addams. Hope regularly gives lectures and attends meetings at Hull House. Apparently Miss Addams was a sort of mentor of hers," Ryan admitted, referring to the founder of the field of social work in the United States.

Eve shook her head in continued amazement. "Wow. She knew Jane Addams. The Jane Addams. Can you imagine the chutzpah a girl like Hope must have had to possess to be so nontraditional during that time period?"

Ryan rolled his eyes. "There's no need to remind me of Hope's chutzpah."

Eve gave a chest-deep chuckle. "I'm glad for you, Ryan. I always hoped you'd find someone special someday—someone who means to you what your father did to me. And Hope certainly is special."

There it was again, that casual, anxiety-provoking reference to Hope and him being a couple. Once again, Ryan ignored it.

"I suppose you could call the fact that she was born a hundred and twenty seven years ago and wears pantaloons underneath sweatpants 'special.'"

"Ryan, you know what I meant," Eve scolded even though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "She's so . . . alive. I've never known anyone like her. You know that saying,

'light up a room'?"

"She does, doesn't she?" he admitted gruffly after a pause.

"She certainly does."

"She has other characteristics that aren't quite so stellar, though. She's as impulsive as a three-year-old sometimes. Once Hope gets an idea in her head there's no stopping her."