Page 20 of Caught in Time
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Spencer stood stock still staring at her for several moments, and then ... heexploded.
“Whatdid you say?”
His handsome face twisted in fury as he grasped her upper arms in a cruel vise.
“Thisis your attempt to explain why you’re rejecting my marriage proposal? Christ!”
He half lifted her off the bench.
“I realize I’ve been blind to the truth, Charlotte, but I’m a bit more intelligent than to believe you’re from the future. And you could at least have had the decency not to say you loved me!”
The rage, now far beyond red hot, pulsated through him, darkened his vision, and he was hard put not to wrap her throat in his hands and strangle her.
“Spencer,” she cried desperately. “No, please listen. It’s true! I can prove it!”
“Prove what? Who the hell are you, Charlotte?Whatare you?”
“Spencer.”
Bravely, she forced herself to meet his condemning gaze. “I know how this sounds, but I was born in 1998. March 26, 1998, right here in Savannah, Georgia. I’ve lived here all my life.”
He turned on his heel ready to leave her standing there alone.
She grabbed his arm, refusing to release it even as he pulled away.
“Get off me,” he growled.
“No, Spencer ... all those things I know about medicine. It’s because I’m a surgeon! I went to Savannah State University and then attended medical school. I was also an intern at the hospital here in Savannah. It took me eight years to qualify for the profession,” she sobbed, frantically.
She gazed at his incredulous face.
“I do not believe you,” he replied stonily.
“You must! I swear what I’ve told you is the absolute truth,” Charlotte insisted. “When I came here—I’m not even sure how it happened—but I was sitting on the balcony off my room at the Marshall House hotel and the next thing I knew Annabelle had somehow managed to get me into her carriage and it was 1864 instead of 2024!”
She was babbling, sobbing, rambling uncontrollably, her eyes crazed.
He stopped, blinked.
“Are you mad?”
“No!” she cried in panic. “Annabelle—Annabelle knows that what I’m saying is the truth. I still have my driver’s license. I have pictures. I can prove it to you!”
“Jesus Christ,” he cursed. “Is your entire family insane?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Spencer.”
Me, don’t be ridiculous?
“Charlotte,” he sighed, suddenly feeling resoundingly hollow, depressed. He didn’t want to feel this way—he wanted to stay angry, no, heneededto stay furious. He fought to maintain it even as he realized the woman he loved was quite clearly insane. He was pulsing with anger. If he gave in to sadness, he’d have to admit that Charlotte was totally mad.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Charlotte, but I am leaving.”
“Where are you going?”
Her whisper was so devastatingly soft and broken that for a moment the anger coursing through his veins faltered, wavered and disappeared. Her beautiful, wounded eyes made it impossible to stay furious with her. But without anger, what was left? Despair? God, he didn’t want to feel that! Anything but that! He needed his anger. There was righteousness in it. Anger was powerful—it kept the crushing sadness at bay.
“The hospital,” he said. “I’ll take the nightshift for one of the other doctors.”
