Page 22 of Borrowed Time

“Anyway,” I went on. “I’m hungry. Let’s go down to the restaurant and see what’s on the menu, okay?”

Seth looked almost relieved by the suggestion. “That’s a good idea. I could definitely eat as well.”

With the matter settled, we headed to the door and went downstairs. Again, no one seemed to pay us much attention, which was exactly what I’d been hoping for.

With any luck, we’d be able to escape 1884 without anyone realizing we weren’t supposed to be there.

Despite my corset, I decided to go for broke and get the full roast beef dinner, while Seth ordered a steak. And because I’d had enough of Prohibition to last me a lifetime, I went ahead and asked the waiter to bring us a bottle of claret as well. Maybe that was a little bold, since I had a feeling men were supposed to be the ones who ordered the alcohol, but I had a feeling my dinner companion was still too bound by the strictures of the time he’d come from to volunteer to do it himself.

After the man left to get the wine, Seth gave me a curious look from his side of the table. “Are you sure that was such a good idea?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” I returned blithely. “It’s not like I’m driving, and it’s perfectly legal here.”

His mouth tightened a little. “Yes, but aren’t we trying to be careful? Too much wine, and….”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but I understood what he was attempting to tell me. If we got drunk and said the wrong thing, we could cause all sorts of problems for ourselves.

Except I knew half a bottle wasn’t going to do anything except make me the slightest bit tipsy, especially when accompanied by a large meal. And unless Seth was the world’s biggest lightweight — which I supposed he could be, since he’d never had a real chance to drink at all — then I doubted the wine was going to cause much of a problem for him, either.

It seemed he decided it wasn’t a good idea to argue the issue in such a public place, because he settled against the back of his chair and instead reached for the glass of water in front of him and took a sip.

Good thing, since the waiter appeared a moment later and uncorked the wine before pouring a few inches into each of our glasses. He told us the food should be out soon, then headed over to a neighboring table to check on the couple dining there, both of whom were well-dressed enough that I guessed they were probably stopping in Flagstaff on their way across the country, maybe with San Francisco as their destination.

Smiling a little, I lifted my glass. “To an easy trip home,” I said.

Seth was far too well-mannered to ignore the offer of a toast. Looking resigned, he raised his glass against mine and touched it briefly before allowing himself the smallest of sips.

His expression shifted from resignation to surprise. “That’s good.”

Since I’d just drunk some myself, I knew the wine was excellent, much better than I’d been expecting. The label indicated it was from the Bordeaux region of France, which made sense. The Verde Valley might have become one of the premiere viticultural areas in the U.S., but in 1884, no one was growing wine in northern Arizona.

“Of course it’s good,” I said. “There’s a reason why people have been drinking wine for thousands of years.”

A few amused crinkles around his eyes told me he wasn’t going to argue with that comment. “Fair enough. I have to admit, I like it a lot more than brandy.”

It was my turn to look surprised. “When in the world did you drink brandy?”

“Jeremiah offered me some while we were waiting when Emma was healing you. He said it should steady my nerves.”

Well, that made sense. Luckily, I’d still been completely out of it while all that was going on, but I guessed both men had suffered some anxious moments until the healer came out and let them know I was going to be all right.

“Did it work?” I asked, genuinely curious, and Seth grinned.

“More than I expected it to.”

I chuckled, but before I could reply, the waiter came back with our meals. Since we’d already had breakfast here, I knew the food in the hotel’s restaurant was excellent, and dinner was no different. Both of us were quiet for a few minutes as we ate our first mouthfuls and washed them down with claret — and if the look on Seth’s face as he punctuated bites of steak with sips of wine was any indication, then he was beginning to understand why there was a lot to be said for having the right pairing with your meal.

“I think I could get used to this,” he said as he set down his glass, now more than half empty.

While I understood the sentiment — Prohibition was one of the things that had bothered me the most during the time I’d spent in 1926 — I also wasn’t sure whether getting settled here was a very good idea. No, we needed to be working on figuring out a way to get back to our own time, even if there was a certain allure to realizing you weren’t bound by such a stupid law any longer.

I made a noncommittal sound and reached for my glass of wine…then froze.

Standing on the other side of the room, near the entrance to the lobby, was a man I guessed had to be one of the Wilcoxes. Sure, there might have been other men in Flagstaff with hair as sooty and eyes black as coal, and yet I guessed most of them wouldn’t have that utter air of self-assurance, as though they knew they were the lords and masters here, even if the town was officially governed by the mayor and the sheriff.

And then he began to walk toward us.

Seth must have seen the way I’d gone far too still, because he shifted in his seat so he could see where I was looking. “Is that…?” he said in an undertone, and I nodded.

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