Free The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance by Trisha Telep Page A

Why did ye give them to me if ye only meant to take them away?”
    Receiving no answer, unable to bear the thought of life in the glen without them, he took a step on the slanting shelf upon which he stood. Only six more strides and he’d step into the abyss. Aye, ’twould be better this way than to simply exist until his bones grew too frail and his spirit too weak to hunt.
    He took another step forwards then another, his warrior’s heart beating a painful tattoo of protest against his ribs. As he took his next step the water before him began to churn and roil.
    To his utter astonishment and joy his bonnie Spaniel popped up – then Ty – sputtering and flailing for all they were worth. Heart soaring, he nearly fell over the edge, grasping at his heart’s desires.

Lost and Found
    Maureen McGowan
    A billy club to the hip was not the worst way Jake had ever been woken up.
    “Get up, asshole,” a voice boomed, and the weapon slammed down again, higher this time.
    Straight to the ribs. Damn. Another bad start to another bad day.
    “Easy. He’s asleep.” A velvet-soft voice drifted over him. “Give him a chance to sit.”
    Jake opened one eye to witness the speaker – surely an angel – but all he saw was a wall of dark-blue slacks in his face.
    Angel, my ass. Two cops. Uniformed. Modern dress.
    Even in the dim light, he deduced he’d woken in his own century. At least he wasn’t lying on damp ground. At least New York City, the park, the bench, existed today.
    He slowly pulled his face off the wooden slats and blinked his eyes fully open. The sun had barely turned the sky pink. Six twelve, he guessed, and then glanced at his wristwatch. Off by a minute. And although the watch wasn’t one of those ones where the date clicked off in a bevelled box in the three’s spot, he knew it was April 17. Question was, what year?
    He drew in a deep breath and winced at the pain in his side.
    “You hurt?” the female cop asked.
    He looked up at her and stared without answering. She was tall for a chick, probably only three or four inches shy of his six foot two, and her dark hair was pulled back, mostly hidden under her cop hat, exposing pale skin that gleamed in the pink light of dawn. She might be cute – out of that uniform.
    Apparently women’s libbers had changed a few things. No girl cops walking the streets in his day.
    Ha. His day didn’t mean shit any more.
    He was a man with no time, no life – just a place and one day to endure, over and over again.
    “What the fuck is that on your face?” The male cop slammed his club on the bench and pointed to the flower Jake knew was drawn on his left cheek in metallic-blue eyeliner, matching the three teardrops trailing down his right. So enduring they might as well be tattoos, no amount of cold cream could wipe them off for more than twenty-four hours.
    “Fucking fruitcake.” The cop sneered.
    “Hey.” The female shot her partner a scolding look.
    Cop ignored it. “Get up, pretty boy. We’re taking you in.”
    The male cop was ugly. But not in an unhandsome kind of way. He had that whole square-jawed, clear-skinned, masculine look Jake knew women went for. No, his ugly came from the angle he held his chin, the way he kept one hand close to his gun, the other on his club, the way he stood with his knees locked, his feet spread six inches wider than was natural, projecting the repulsive look of a power-hungry asshole. He was why hippies and Black Panthers called police pigs.
    The female cop talked in low tones to her partner, and then he grunted and stepped back. She reminded him of someone, but who?
    Her blue eyes flashed a hint of kindness as she thrust a card towards Jake. “Here’s a list of shelters. You can’t sleep here.”
    Jake dismissed the offered card. “I just did.”
    The male cop lurched forwards ready to strike, but she blocked him.
    “Let’s go. He’s not hurting anyone. Besides, time to go off shift.”
    The male cop’s nostrils flared and