Free The Man from Forever by Vella Munn Page B

dismiss them and concentrate on the landscape.
    It wasn’t lifeless land. She’d learned that in a way no one else here possibly could. Because she was related to General Canby? Because, somehow, her presence last winter had awakened Loka?
    Of course not! What was she thinking?
    Hoax. The greatest hoax of all time.
    But he’d known about her heritage, and his eyes had carried a message about a once-proud and now-defeated people.
    When she heard her name being called, for a moment she thought that Loka had somehow overtaken her. Determined to take her back to his time, he would wrap his powerful arms around her and she’d be stripped of a will of her own.
    Instead, the voice belonged to Fenton. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said breathlessly. “Just got back from your cabin. I don’t know why they built that thing way off in the sticks like that, or why anyone would want to stay there.” He took another deep and slightly shaky breath. “I hate to say this, but you look as if you’ve been on a hard run.”
    She wasn’t at all surprised by that. The last time she’d glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, she’d caught an image of too-bright cheeks and a too-pale mouth. She wondered if her eyes gave away anything of her turmoil and what she could possibly say if he brought that up. “Hopefully I’m smarter than that,” she said with what she hoped was a convincing smile. “I’m afraid that if I went jogging this afternoon, I’d wind up giving myself heatstroke. It sure is hot. What were you looking for me for?”
    â€œYou got a phone call. The way he talked, I knew it was important. That’s why I’ve been trying to find you. His voice isn’t as deep as I thought it would be. A man with that much prestige—well, I guess I’ve given him a larger-than-life image. Don’t tell him I said anything, will you? I thought I handled myself pretty—”
    â€œDr. Grossnickle left a message for me?” she broke in when it looked as if Fenton would never run down.
    â€œAbout an hour ago, maybe a little more. The connection wasn’t that good. Anyway—” Fenton pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her “—here’s the number. Maybe you have it already.”
    She did but hadn’t committed it to memory because she hadn’t thought she’d need to get in touch with her boss during the few days she’d planned on being away. Glad for thereminder of a world she understood, she looked around for a pay phone. When Fenton said she could use the one in his office, she had a momentary hesitation about indebting herself to him, but the pay phone was close to the parking lot. It might be difficult to carry on a conversation.
    Unfortunately, Fenton wasn’t content to simply lead her to the cubbyhole at the rear of some kind of storage building that he referred to as his office. Showing absolutely no hesitancy about what he was doing, he leaned against a wall, watching her as she dialed the number.
    The phone rang so many times before Dr. Grossnickle came on the line that she was about to give up. As was usual with him, he wasted no time in small talk. Yes, he was sorry to inconvenience her, but she had told him where she was going to be. He knew she’d want to hear this.
    She listened while Dr. Grossnickle brought her up to speed about the Oregon Indian Council’s latest attempt to block the university’s involvement in the Alsea excavation. Although the district court had ruled that the council had no exclusive right to the site because it was on federal land, they’d drawn up an appeal based on their original contention that the artifacts were sacred and thus should be entrusted to Native Americans, not outsiders.
    â€œWhat really worries me is the way the press is reporting things. They were so excited by the