Reaching Through Time by Lurlene McDaniel

stairs. Every now and then it slowed,stopped and then speeded up, letting him know that she had wound the crank handle. How could she ever dance tending to that crappy machine every few minutes?
    He threw down his paperwork and hobbled to the door. He glanced at the old clock, was surprised to see that it was only two-fifteen. Except for the ticking clock and the tinny music, the house lay silent. He had no idea where Dennison was, but at the moment, he didn’t care. Taking a deep breath, Drake crossed the hallway and began a long slow climb up the stairs.
    He stood outside the door of the attic room sweating, waiting while his shriveled leg muscle and breathing settled down from the exertion. When he regained control of both, he stepped through the doorway. Gina was pirouetting en pointe, her arms and legs in classic ballet poses. His heart thumped crazily, but not from his climb. She was sheer beauty, as fragile as a flower. Sunlight shot through the windows, and in its beams, tiny flurries of dust rose from the floor as she spun. Her white blond hair was pulled into a severe bun, accentuating her cheekbones and eyes.
    She spun so much that Drake grew dizzy watching her. She broke her pose, bounded across the wooden floor, whirling as she leapt. Her athleticism amazed him. There might have been a time when he would have felt intimidated and left wanting, but now he was mesmerized by her skill and beauty. When she finally caught sight of him, she cried, “Drake! What are you doing here?”
    He snapped from his trance, felt his color rise. “I, um—I wanted to see you dance.”
    She came to him, splay-footed because of her toe shoes. Her face was rosy with the glow of exercise, and perspiration stood out on her face and throat. He stared at the throbbing pulse in her neck and wanted to suck it. He snapped his gaze to her eyes. “Do you mind if I watch?”
    She laughed. “I haven’t danced in front of an audience since I left Boston in the spring.”
    “Then it’s okay?”
    “It’s okay.” She took his hand and led him into the large room.
    “Maybe I can wind your music machine so you don’t have to stop every time and do it.”
    Another smile lit her face. “That would be wonderful.”
    “I could bring a better machine to you. One that runs on batteries. I can pick up a few CDs if you tell me the ones you want.”
    Her smile turned tender, a little sad. “We’ll be going home soon. No need to bother.”
    His heart wrenched. He didn’t want her to ever leave. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning more than he could put into words. Sorry she was leaving. Sorry he’d withdrawn from her.
    She touched his arm, ducked her head to meet his eyes. “I know.”
    With the two words, he knew she’d forgiven him. Heswallowed against a hard knot of emotion clogging his throat.
    “I have an idea,” she said. She knelt next to a stack of disks in paper sleeves, riffled through them, came up with one and exchanged it for the one on the turntable. She reached for the crank.
    “Let me,” Drake said. He wound it tight, set the needle on the disk. Voices sang.
    “It’s my favorite,” Gina said. “ ‘Till We Meet Again.’ ”
    The music was scratchy, the beat slow and the words sentimental. He’d never heard the song before and he didn’t think much of it, but if Gina liked it …
    She slipped her arms around him. “Dance with me.”
    He drew back, shocked by what she was asking. “I can’t dance.”
    “Of course you can.”
    Looking into her intense blue eyes, he believed her. “I—I’m clumsy.”
    “I don’t care.”
    His arms went around her and she snuggled against his chest. They swayed together, their bodies touching, his body aching with need and longing for her. She raised her chin and he bent his head and kissed her.

7

    K issing Gina. Drake revisited the moments over and over in his head that weekend. He’d heard dopey love songs telling of “sweet kisses.” Lame. But remarkably true. Gina