Wishes & Tears Read Free Page A

moaned.
    Bridget rushed out of the room seeking help.
    Doctor Forrester dashed into the room and to Faith’s side. Putting one arm around her, he used the other to lift her up and out of the chair. He held her tight in his arms as he carried her to the bed. Tears rolled from her eyes as she mumbled incoherently. As if tucking in a child, Dr. Forrester laid her on the bed and covered her with the sheets and quilt.
    “Bridget, fetch me a basin of cool water and a rag. Make haste!” he barked.
    Bridget scurried out of the room.
    Faith gazed up at the doctor as he leaned down to examine her. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his minty breath and spicy masculine scent. She looked up at him. His was an arresting face with a strong bone structure, a solid square jaw, and high cheekbones. Black lashes, unusually long and wispy for a man, framed dark almond eyes. His bushy black brows and wavy black hair added to his dramatic appearance.
    Withdrawing a stethoscope from his suit pocket, he put on the headset and eartips and placed the chestpiece on her chest. His gentle fingers slid the cool chestpiece over the flannel nightgown. His touch, so close to her flesh, made her flinch and tingle.
    “What is it that upset you so?” he asked, removing the stethoscope and putting it back in his pocket.
    “You … you wouldn’t understand,” she mumbled.
    “There’s a great deal that I don’t understand about you. Perhaps it’s about time you start explaining. A doctor cannot help a patient about whom he knows so little.”
    Faith quietly watched him as he stood and went to retrieve a nearby chair. He placed the wicker chair at her bedside and sank his tall, lanky body in it.
    Bridget returned with a small metal basin of water and a cotton rag. The doctor took them from her and placed the basin on the bed. He swished the rag in the water and rang it out.
    “Thank you, Bridget. You may attend to your other duties now.”
    “Yes, sir.” Bridget curtsied and left.
    The doctor placed the damp cloth on Faith’s forehead. She quivered as the cold touched her warm skin.
    “Now, tell me. How did you end up on the bank near Golden Gate Park wet, strangely attired, and near death? Where did you come from?” he asked, eyes boring into her for answers.
    “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. You’d really write me off as being crazy.”
    “Perhaps.” He removed the cloth from her head and returned it to the basin.
    She sighed. “I wish I knew how I ended up here, in this place and time, and why. It doesn’t make sense.”
    “You say place and time? Bridget said that you became hysterical when she told you the date and handed you today’s newspaper. Why?” he asked, his eyes darkening with the intensity of his gaze.
    “As I said, you wouldn’t understand. Just like you didn’t understand Tylenol and couldn’t understand cellular phone.”
    He shrugged. “I still don’t. Perhaps, if you explain it will help.”
    He wrung out the cloth and placed it on her forehead again.
    “How can I explain that in the year 2006 I accidentally drove my car over a cliff into San Francisco Bay, only to be found on its banks in 1906?” she asked, beginning to tremble at the thought.
    He knit his brows and glared at her.
    She met his gaze. “I warned you wouldn’t believe me.”
    “It’s preposterous. You’re asking me to believe that you have gone back in time one hundred years?”
    “Yes. I don’t know how or why.”
    He scoffed in agitation. “I’ve heard that gypsies can be beguiling, but you, Madame, have mastered the art.”
    “You think I’m a gypsy?”
    “Only gypsies weave strange tales, wear indecent garments, wear numerous earbobs, claim no past, and predict the future.”
    She had the urge to laugh at his ranting and raving and his thinking that she was a gypsy because she was from the future. This wasn’t a laughing matter, though. She was as confused as he was about the turn of events. How can one