Monday was Thanksgiving Day in Canada, and I had cause to be thankful this year as I had all three of my children home for the first time in almost thirty years. It’s been a difficult year, and we’ve lost many friends as the years creep forward, but I’m still on the right side of the grass, and that’s what matters.
This week’s word prompt for the Tuesday Tales authors is RUN. I’m continuing with The Bonds of Time, my romantasy, and Samantha’s unplanned journey to her ancestral home. Enjoy!
The rocking motion of the train lulled Sam to sleep. A hand on her shoulder and the sound of the conductor’s voice woke her. She blinked, completely disoriented. She must’ve been more tired than she’d thought.
“Sorry, Miss, you looked so peaceful, I’d half a mind to leave you, but we’re just about to pull into Swindon.” The man smiled at her.
Sam nodded, stifled a yawn, and stood on legs that were more wobbly than expected. She reached for her backpack and the coat she’d removed. The train lurched as it slowed. Opening the compartment door, she crashed into a heavy tweed coat.
An electric shock coursed through her, followed by a wave of desire so potent that she almost collapsed. She jumped back to distance herself from the man. An elderly woman shouldered her way past, separating her from the tweed-covered back, giving her a second to regain her aplomb as the departing passengers moved her toward the exit door.
What had just happened? Sam caught a glimpse of him looking back at her, and she felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. She knew him, and yet she was certain she didn’t, but there was something familiar about him. The words from the song she associated with Sleeping Beauty filled her mind. I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.
“Are you okay, Miss?” The conductor held out his hand to help her off the train.
She blinked. “What? … Yes, yes, I’m fine. I guess I’m still half-asleep.” How else could she explain reacting so strongly to a stranger’s casual brush?
She looked around, hoping to get another glimpse of the man, but he was nowhere in sight. Shaking her head, she walked over to the baggage cart, collected her luggage, and looked around. Children rushed around as if the need to run after the hour of inactivity couldn’t be ignored. She sighed. While she might’ve had a nap, she felt anything but rested.
The train station at Swindon, like many buildings in England, was a blending of eras. It consisted of an old brick edifice attached to a multifloor structure, remarkably modern. Somehow, she’d expected something quaint, perhaps with a thatched roof and stucco, but this was the twenty-first century, and time waited for no one. She approached the ticket window.
“Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to Dolmens?” She peered at the man behind the bars.
Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.
