Helen laughed in his face. “Right. Dude, you are not a fourteen year old kid.”

“True. But Simon McAllister I am.”

“The men in the woods called you MacCoinnich.”

“A name my stepfather honored me with when he married my mother, Elizabeth McAllister, now Elizabeth MacCoinnich.”

“You’re not fourteen.” So far away from fourteen, in fact, Helen needed to remind herself to keep her eyes glued to his or risk licking her lips while gazing at his very manly chest.

“You’ve just traveled from a forest in the Highlands to your apartment in California in only minutes. Believing I am the Simon McAllister you’re searching for can’t be impossible.

One crisis at a time. Emergencies were tumbling over themselves screaming for attention, but she could only deal with one drama at a time.

This would be easier with wine.

Without another word, Helen walked around the massive man in her bathroom and made a beeline for the kitchen. She found an unopened bottle of Cabernet and set it on the counter with a plop. The man watched her every move, but she didn’t bother with explanations or even conversation. Not yet.

Scotland. They’d both been in Scotland an hour ago.

She rummaged through a drawer and found a corkscrew. Maybe she was dreaming. Yeah, that must be it. She was asleep. Why on earth would any dream of hers with a man draped in nothing but a throw, involve men slicing through her leg with swords? And, why the hell did it hurt so much?

Helen struggled with the cork for a couple of seconds before it popped free from the bottle. She poured a generous portion of wine into a tall, plastic glass before lifting it to her lips for a long drink.

She probably should have tried something stronger. Whisky. Leaning a hip along the counter, she watched the man in her apartment settle his very sexy ass on the backside of her sofa and regard her without saying a word.

Simon?

The boy in her picture had dark hair and blue eyes.

Helen went ahead and allowed her gaze to settle on her guest’s face.

Dark hair, blue eyes.

Big deal. Half the men in this country had those characteristics.

After another drink, Helen let her shoulders relax. She couldn’t completely. Her body was too charged to let go of the energy of the day. Humming. She was positively humming and had been since she’d first laid eyes on this man. That same hum had sizzled when he touched her.

Even his innocent touch while tending to her leg felt like a thousand butterfly wings brushing against her skin—similar to the buzz she’d felt before she’d found the book in Mrs. Dawson’s library, and the same buzz that had struck when she’d first seen the picture of Simon.

What did that say?

If the man in front of her wasn’t Simon, what would he gain by saying he was?

“You’re Simon?”

“Aye.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

“Exactly how is that possible?”

“Time travel.”

What did she expect him to say? Falling through a rabbit hole and waking in the Land of Oz didn’t hold a candle to this conversation.

“Time travel.”

Simon folded his roped-with-muscle arms across his chest. His lips didn’t crack into a chiding smile. He was serious.

“Two years ago, your time, my mother and I were whisked back in time, just as you were today. We found happiness there and decided to stay.”

“Decided?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She took another drink. Damn glass wasn’t full enough so she poured more wine. “If you decided to stay, how is it I found you in 2011?”

“You didn’t. You found me in 1596.”

Whisky. There had to be at least half a bottle somewhere. Helen shifted back to her cupboard and opened it wide. There it was. A few years ago, she’d had a boyfriend who liked Canadian whisky. Thank God.

The eyes of the man who called himself Simon followed her around the kitchen as she found a clean glass. Glancing at him, she went ahead and grabbed a second glass. After pouring the amber liquid, she handed him a drink, which he took with a nod.

Still he said nothing. It was as if he was giving her time to digest everything. Only offering answers to the questions she asked.

1596. “I guess that answers the questions about the men in costumes swinging their swords.”

In a strange way, the time travel explanation sat easier on her mind than Simon being a thirty-year-old kilted man. Scratch that, naked man. She was about to ask what happened to his clothes, but didn’t think she’d like his answer.

The whisky burned the back of her throat.

“If you decided to stay back in time, why are you here now?”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “That is a very good question, lass. One only you hold the answer to.”

“I don’t have any answers. I didn’t think time travel was possible until today.”

“So you believe me?”

Helen barked out a laugh. “Sure. Why not? This is all probably some crazy dream, and I’ll wake up tomorrow in Scotland with a hangover.”

“I understand why you’d wish that. But tomorrow you’ll wake here in California. The hangover is a possibility if you continue to drink the rest of that bottle.”

Licking her lips, Helen felt some of the sizzling buzz generated by Simon’s presence start to numb. The threat of a hangover didn’t deter her from lifting the glass to her lips again. A hangover sounded better than dealing with time travel sober.

“You think I’m the reason you’re here?”

“You were searching for me, right?”

“I was.”

“Then you are the reason I’m here. What you and I need to discover is how you shifted time so I can return to my family.”

His family? Was he married? Did he have children of his own?

He finished his drink and set his glass to the side.

“I’m not sure I can help you.”

“No need to worry about it tonight. We’ll think more clearly in the morning.”

In the morning? Did he think he was going to sleep in her apartment? She didn’t even know this guy.

“Listen, I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to stay here.”

“You’re safe with me.” Simon walked around the couch and propped up one of the throw pillows for him to use.

“I don’t even know you.”

“That is changing with every minute. Besides, if you have no idea how you shifted time, there’s no way for you to stop it from happening again. Facing those Highland warriors again, alone, might not have such a pleasant outcome.”