Page 89 of Killing Time

Puzzled, I opened the folder. Sure enough, there was an article from a newspaper that didn’t exist anymore, the CottonwoodHerald.

Mining Accident Claims Life of Jerome Resident,it said, and I raised an eyebrow.

“That’s how they explained it away,” Seth murmured.

Because yes, the article said that one Seth Lewis McAllister, 24, of Jerome had perished in a cave-in at an exploratory mine shaft, and was survived by his brother Charles and his parents Henry and Molly.

“I suppose they had to come up with some sort of story,” I said, then looked over at Bellamy. “Why did Rachel have this?”

“Her father gave it to her, sounds like,” Bellamy replied. “I guess he was Charles McAllister’s son?”

Of course. That was why the store had come to Rachel all those years ago — she was actually Seth’s great-niece and the oldest remaining heir.

“I’m sorry she wasn’t here,” Seth said, looking disappointed. Yes, all the McAllisters were his distant relatives in one way or another, but it had turned out that Rachel was his great-niece, and I knew he must have wanted to strengthen that connection.

“You’ll meet her soon,” I said firmly. “And so many others.”

With that promise still hanging in the air, Seth and I thanked Bellamy for the clippings and then headed down to the bungalow. As we walked, I wondered if I might be able to convince Margot, its current owner, that it needed to be returned to Seth. After all, it had been his house first, and although it seemed as though he’d abandoned the place, the truth was just a little more complicated than that.

Even if she didn’t want to give it up permanently, I had a feeling she’d allow us to rent the house for as long as we liked.

Inside, cool air filled the space, thanks to the glories of modern air conditioning. I set the folder with the newspaper clippings down on the dining room table and then looked over at Seth. We’d had some wine, just enough to make us the slightest bit tipsy, but he now seemed very thoughtful.

“We’re home, aren’t we.”

It wasn’t a question. No, it felt to me as though he needed to say those words aloud to affirm to himself that we truly had reached our destination, and now there was no longer any need for us to wander in time.

No, this was where we were supposed to be. My time-travel gift had given me plenty of grief over the years, but in the end, it had helped to bring us safely out of the past and into a world where we could begin the next phase of our lives.

I went to Seth and took his hands in mine, pulling him close so I could touch my lips to his, could let him know that yes, we had finally come to the place where we were supposed to be.

“Yes, Seth,” I said. “We’re home.”