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  The sound of her name on his lips made her skin tingle. She tore the paper off the package. At the sight of the brooch, her breath caught.

  “Do you like it?” he asked anxiously. “I had it made just for you.”

  Eyeing him, she had a hard time finding her voice. This was Erin O’Connell’s brooch, the very one that had sent her back in time. It shone in her hands, new and unworn from time and wear.

  What did this mean? She must be following Erin O’Connell’s footsteps. As far as she knew her being here hadn’t changed anything. Will was still destined to die this year.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Erin. If you don’t want the brooch—”

  “No.” She clasped the pin against her chest as the meaning of his gift sank in. “It just means so much to me.”

  His look of concern softened into a lopsided grin. “I’m happy you feel that way.”

  “Thank you, Will.” She slipped the brooch into the pocket of her wrapper, then stood on her toes, lifting her arms to circle his neck. She kissed his cheek, inhaling his musky scent.

  His mouth was on hers, hot and urgent. The softness of his moustache and chin beard tickled her lips. She opened to him, her tongue slipping inside to taste him thoroughly. He groaned, pressing the length of his body against her.

  Fourth place - 2006 Valley Forge Romance Writers' Sheila Contest

  Third place - 2005 San Francisco Area RWA's Sharp Synopsis Contest

  Erin’s Rebel

  by

  Susan Macatee

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Erin’s Rebel

  COPYRIGHT Ó 2008 by Susan Macatee

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Nicola Martinez

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First American Rose Edition, 2008

  Print ISBN: 1-60154-520-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my mom. I love sharing books with you.

  And to all my men: my sons,

  Shaun, Chris and Ryan

  And to my hero: my husband, Walt

  I love you all.

  Chapter One

  Erin Branigan had finally found the man of her dreams.

  Unfortunately, he’d died over one hundred and forty years ago.

  On a warm, bright day in mid-June, she stood in a small, church cemetery in a rural area outside Mason, Virginia. Vivid dreams of a handsome, Civil War soldier had sent her here, but they had also driven a wedge between her fiancé, Rick Meyers, and her. To solve this mystery, she’d called off her wedding two and a half months before. And now today, she hoped what she learned in this graveyard would put a halt to her nightly visions.

  Erin kneeled beside the weathered granite headstone of the Confederate captain and traced her finger over the inscription. William James Montgomery; Born September 20, 1833; Died November 23, 1864. Despite the warmth of the day, she shivered, recalling the dark-eyed man and her intense, sometimes sensual dreams. After taking a deep breath, she rose, brushed off her jeans, and snapped a few photos.

  “Here’s his wife.” The caretaker, who’d introduced himself as John, tipped the bill of his black Orioles cap toward the stone beside Montgomery’s.

  Erin glanced at it. Anne Eugenia Montgomery; Born October 3, 1838; Died September 15, 1861.

  “She was so young,” she said.

  The caretaker lifted his cap and ran a liver-spotted hand through his thinning, gray hair. Replacing the hat, he turned to indicate the old, stone-walled church. “The records show she died shortly after William enlisted in the Confederate Army.”

  Erin nodded. Her grandmother had told her some of this story. The couple had a daughter, Amanda, and a stillborn son. They were also buried here, along with Amanda’s husband and their children.

  She fingered the engraved silver frame of the brooch pinned to the lapel of her beige, cotton blazer. As she glanced at the clear summer sky, a light breeze ruffled her cropped hair. Sparrows, perched in the oaks overlooking the plots, twittered. Such a beautiful day to recall such sadness.

  “My grandmother told me her great-aunt Erin O’Connell knew William Montgomery. She met him during the war. This brooch was given to her by the captain.” She clasped the oval frame, surrounding tightly woven chocolate-brown hair. “It’s supposed to be a lock of his hair.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” John admired the pin. “Where’s this great-aunt buried?”

  “In Pennsylvania in a small town named Candor. It’s just north of Gettysburg. My grandmother lived there, but she died last week.” Her voice broke as she recalled the dear lady.

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  She cleared her throat. “That’s why I’ve come here. It was one of her last requests that I find this man’s grave. In addition to the brooch, she had an old Bible and photos of both her great-aunt and William Montgomery.” She lifted the photos she carried with her.

  “My God! She looks just like you.”

  Erin smiled. “There are a few minor differences.” In fact, she’d found the family resemblance unnerving, especially since Captain Montgomery resembled the soldier in her dreams. “Grandma also told me Erin O’Connell had been a Federal spy.”

  John arched his brows and let out an appreciative whistle. “What a great story! Researching the past is fascinating. You say you’re from Philadelphia?”

  “Yeah. I’m a reporter for the Philadelphia Inquirer.”

  “Well, then, feel free to go through all the records we have.” He gestured at the church. “It should be all in a day’s work for you.”

  ****

  On her return trip to Pennsylvania later that night, Erin couldn’t shake the eerie feeling she’d experienced after going through the ledger. The facts she’d uncovered only added to her sense of unease. As her dreams combined with the historic facts, a feeling of insanity invaded her mind.

  On her drive south, the winding two-lane highway through north-western Virginia had been so open and scenic in daylight. Now in the darkness, the heavily forested road and lack of traffic caused chills to slither through her as she mulled over her discoveries. She should have left earlier but had found it difficult to pull herself away. Erin had discovered the man for whom she’d been searching. But would finding his grave finally end the dreams, or would this just make things a helluva lot worse?

  The moist scent of impending rain sifted through the window she’d left cracked open. Hopefully, any shower would be light. She didn’t look forward to a long drive in heavy rain, especially on an unfamiliar road. After two, quick flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder, the first drops of rain hit the windshield. A deluge followed, forcing her to flick the wipers on high.

  A sudden vibration shocked already frayed nerves. Where did that come from? Her cell phone was in her purse on the adjoining seat, so it hadn’t come from that. The hair brooch on her lapel? When she fingered it, a sharp pulsation shot up her arm.

  “What the hell?” She jerked her hand.

  Despite the strange sensation, Erin remained focused on the road. Nothing ahead or behind her but forest. Dark, creepy forest encased in shee
ts of rain. Unable to see, she considered pulling over but wasn’t sure she wanted to stop there.

  As the vibration increased, she almost skidded off the blacktop. She grasped at the clasp, trying to yank the pin off her jacket.

  Headlights glared in the distance and grew brighter. She had to concentrate on regaining control of the car. Tires squealed as a truck slid into her path on a rain-slicked curve.

  “Oh, shit!” Heart pounding, she jerked the steering wheel to avoid a collision. She hydroplaned off the highway and swerved onto the shoulder—too late to see the tree dead in front of her.

  Impact rolled as a film in slow motion. The sound of crunching metal, smell of rubber and gasoline, and a jolt through her system were the last things she remembered.

  Chapter Two

  Confederate Camp in Northern Virginia

  June 18, 1863

  A scream pierced the air. Men’s shouts woke Will Montgomery from a deep slumber and dreams of his home and Anne.

  What in damnation? Black coated the interior of his tent, making it impossible to see. What time was it anyway? Snatching up his trousers, he yanked them on over his under drawers. Emerging from the tent, he struggled to see in the ink-black darkness. No moonlight shone, and only a few, lone stars flickered through the dense clouds. The shuffling of heavy boots and the sound of men’s angry voices drew his attention a few yards past the laundress’ tent.

  Had it been Mrs. O’Connell? A lantern glowed near her tent. Upon investigation, he found two men standing over what appeared to be a woman lying in a heap of calico skirts and petticoats. One of the men held a mare by the reins; the other hefted a lantern.

  “What happened?” Will said.

  “The lady fell from the horse, sir,” the private holding the animal answered.

  Kneeling at the woman’s side, he tilted her face toward him. He motioned to the other soldier. “Bring the lantern closer.”

  Mrs. O’Connell, a young widow serving as one of the camp’s new laundresses, lay limp and still. What the hell had the laundress been doing on a horse in the dead of night? He gazed at her placid face. Long, red-gold lashes brushed against her rounded cheekbones, ghostly pale in the candlelight. Blood oozed from one delicate nostril. Her bosom rose and fell gently, drawing his gaze to the swell of her breasts.

  The first day the Irish woman had arrived in camp, feelings stirred in him he’d thought died with Anne. After his wife’s death, he’d vowed not to give his heart to another woman. Losing her had torn out his soul.

  “What happened?” Will addressed the thin private with the lantern.

  The soldier glanced at his companion and shrugged. “We think the horse reared up, sir. Then we heard her scream and came a-runnin’ just in time to see her hit the ground.”

  Will nodded. Could be she’d imbibed a bit too much tonight. He’d heard the new laundress kept a bottle of whiskey in her tent, but so far, he hadn’t witnessed any improprieties.

  He studied the motionless figure. Doc Matthews could determine the extent of her injuries. As he lifted her, he smelled no hint of alcohol, but a feminine scent overwhelmed him. Soap and something sweet he couldn’t identify.

  He hadn’t held a woman for two years. The softness of her curves increased the yearning he’d been denying. Leaving the other men to tend to the horse, he carried her across the camp to Doc.

  ****

  Erin groaned. Her head and neck hurt like hell, and so did her nose. In fact, everything hurt. What had happened? She reached to the back of her head, where her fingers closed around a damp cloth. When she opened her eyes, a sharp pain knifed through her skull.

  Focusing her thoughts, she recalled flashes of a dark, rainy highway. A truck hurtling toward her. The tree.

  She turned her head and squinted into the yellow-white glow of a lantern. She wasn’t in her car but lying flat on her back.

  Someone moved beside her. A man with a heavy drawl spoke. “Are you all right, ma’am? Can you speak?”

  She stared at him. Was she in a hospital? No. The gangly, sandy-haired man with the handlebar mustache wasn’t wearing scrubs. He appeared to be in his early thirties and was dressed in an oversized, striped blue and white shirt draped over tan wool pants with a set of suspenders dangling to his knees. This sure wasn’t an emergency room.

  “Where am I?” she croaked. “What happened?” Blinding pain shot through her skull, again.

  “You were thrown from a horse. Do you remember?”

  “Horse?” She shook her head, then the sharp pain stopped her. “Ow, everything hurts.”

  The man pried the damp cloth from her hand and pressed it against the back of her head. “I don’t feel any broken bones, but you’ve got a nice sized lump right here. I reckon you have a nasty headache. Just what were you doing on that mare this hour of night?”

  “I wasn’t on a horse,” she said. “I’ve never been on a horse in my life. It was a car crash. I hit a tree when that truck slid in front of me.”

  “A bad fall like that could have affected your mind, Mrs. O’Connell.” The man eyed her. “You’re not making a lick of sense.”

  “O’Connell? No. I think you’ve made a mistake, Doctor.” She scrutinized him. “You are a doctor, aren’t you?”

  He grinned. “Now I know your mind has been affected. I’m Doc Matthews. We met two weeks ago when you first came to camp.”

  “I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  Prickles of fear shot through her. When she made to rise, her legs tangled around mounds of material. She stared down the length of her body. Was she wearing a long dress?

  “Where am I?” Leaning on one arm, she glanced around and studied the walls of the spacious, white canvas tent. With the pain in her head making it difficult to see, she blinked to bring things into focus. Only then did she fully notice her surroundings. She lay on a canvas wood-frame cot while other, empty cots stood in rows along one wall of the tent. A long, wooden table with spindle-back chairs occupied the opposite corner. An oil lantern on the table illuminated the interior. Assorted corked bottles of colored glass, in various sizes and shapes sat beside—what looked like—antique medical instruments. Had she stumbled into some kind of reenactment? A friend of hers from the paper had been into Civil War reenacting. She’d visited his camp, and it had looked like this.

  Cradling her aching head between her hands, she blinked, squeezing out tears that obscured her vision. On the edge of the table sat a pile of cream-colored ceramic plates, bowls, a few teacups, two pitchers, and an assortment of wood-handled utensils.

  “Where am I?” she repeated. She struggled to untangle her feet from the skirts and reach the floor. She gasped. Not only did she wear a dress, but her white sneakers had been replaced with black leather lace-up boots. “Why am I dressed like this? Where are my clothes?”

  A long strand of red-gold hair flowed over her shoulder. She reached up and realized it was attached to her head. The close-cropped style she normally wore was gone. Her fingers brushed over long, loose strands tumbling over the nape of her neck. She pulled out hairpins stuck in the thick, tangled mass.

  Alarmed, she pushed herself to her feet. The momentum caused her to sway, and a bout of nausea made her stomach churn.

  Doc reached out to steady her. “Whoa there, ma’am. Don’t go running off so all-fired fast.” He pressed her back into a seated position on the cot.

  Through the haze of pain, something clicked in her memory. “Did you call me Mrs. O’Connell? My name is Erin...Erin Branigan.”

  The doctor frowned. “Your Christian name is Erin, but your married name is O’Connell. Could Branigan be your maiden name? Hitting your head could’ve caused a lapse in your memory.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my memory. I’m Erin Branigan. I’ve never been married. I was in a car accident on my way home.”

  “Railcar? That don’t make a lick of sense. Far as I heard, you never left camp.”

  “No—I mean—I don’t understan
d any of this.” A knot formed in her stomach.

  “The blow to the head has affected your memory. Just rest a spell, and everything will come back to you.”

  “I don’t know who the hell you think I am. I just want to know where I am and how the hell I got here. I have to get back home.”

  The man backed up a step and raised his hands, palms out. “Calm down, ma’am. There’s no cause for cussing. And what happened to your brogue?”

  “My what?”

  “Your choice of words is odd, too. I’m having a hard time catching your meaning.”

  Is this guy for real? He obviously understands English.

  But another thought sent a chill down her spine. What had happened to her car? It could still be back on the road, or already been towed. The vehicle would be traced to her, and her mother would be notified as next of kin. Her mom would be frantic when the police can’t locate her.

  Her cell phone must still be in the car, along with the rest of her belongings. But where were her clothes?

  “Listen, Mr.—ah—Doc,” she said. “I need to make a phone call. My mother will be worried sick. I guess I should call the local police, too.”

  His brow furrowed. “I thought you said your mother lived in Ireland. And what in tarnation is a phone call?”

  She sighed in exasperation. “Don’t you have a cell phone?”

  A blank expression took over his face.

  “I’ve heard you re-enactors can be strict, but there must be a pay phone somewhere around here.”

  He shook his head. “You should rest, ma’am. I’ll mix up a headache powder for you. You’ll feel a mite better once you get some sleep.” After lifting her ankles onto the cot, he pushed against her shoulders, forcing her to lie down.

  As he walked away, she glared at him. No way could he force her to stay.