VICTORIA TOOK A deep breath, steeling a courage she didn’t feel. “Who are you?”

“I asked you a question, ma’am,” he said, his voice harsh. “Answer it, or I’ll be forced to take action.”

“My name is Victoria Carrington,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“What are you doing in the middle of a battlefield?”

Her head whipped up. “Excuse me?”

“War, woman. We’re in the middle of a war. What the hell are you doing in the middle of a skirmish?”

A shot rang out and Victoria jumped before the man pushed her to the ground. “Get off me—”

“Stay down!”

As the man edged away from her, Victoria took a minute to observe him. “Why are you wearing a uniform?”

He turned slowly to face her and she noticed frustration cross his face. “I’m a soldier.”

Victoria frowned as she took in details of his appearance. “Oh! It’s a Civil War uniform. Are you doing a reenactment?”

He pulled her back to the ground and growled, “Stay down!”

Victoria did what he asked—sort of—rolling onto her side and leaning on her forearm. “Are you doing one of those mock battles?” she asked, but then noticed they were alone, under a full moon and stars that shone like spotlights. No spectators in sight. Victoria mumbled, “Why would you perform a mock battle at night? Are you rehearsing for something?”

What kind of director would have their actors rehearse at night? This doesn’t make sense.

“Are you doing a roving action sequence? I saw that once in a play where the audience actually had to walk to each scene. It was kind of cool, a take on Shakespeare, I think.” Rambling now, her nerves shot, Victoria put her hand to her forehead again and tried to rub her confusion away. “Did I walk into the middle of your play?”

“Ma’am?”

Tears filled her eyes as confusion and fear overwhelmed her. “I don’t understand why I’m outside,” she protested. “This makes no sense.”

Glancing up, she watched him closely as he seemed to sort something out in his mind. Shifting his rifle, he glared at her. “You’re a Johnny,” he accused.

Taken aback by the anger in his voice, Victoria’s ire rose. “Nooo, I’m a Victoria.”

“How the hell did a rebel get past our lines?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! My name is Victoria Carrington, and I don’t know how I got here or why I’m suddenly in the middle of this reenactment.”

Her guard up, she watched as he moved his head slowly, surveying their area. “Where did you come from?”

Victoria huffed. “What do you mean? I’m from here.”

“I deduced that from your accent, ma’am.” He glanced her way and then back to the open field. “What I want to know is what you are doing on my side of the battlefield and why.”

“I don’t understand. If we’re in Chicago, how could you deduce that I’m from here? I’m originally from Kentucky.” A chill went up her spine as she imagined all the horrible things this man could do to her if she didn’t get away from him. “You’re scaring me, and I’d really like to go home.”

“What does Chicago have to do with a battle in Virginia?” he asked as he pulled his cap from his head. “Did you wander from your home?” His eyes narrowed. “Is there a husband looking for you?”

Victoria’s head whipped up in shock. “Virginia? No, you’re mistaken. I was in my studio on First Street and I passed out. I was in the building and now I’m here and outside... but I don’t know why I’m outside.”

“You’re in Virginia.”

She waved her hands dismissively. “No, no, I can’t be. I am in Chicago.”

Victoria reached for her bag and couldn’t stop a few tears from sliding down her cheeks. She glanced up and his eyes widened and then just as quickly, squinted. “Ma’am, you’re not in Chicago. For all I know, you’ve been sent here by the Confederacy to spy.”

“Excuse me?”

“Perhaps with another soldier you would have been more convincing.”

“Convincing? What am I supposed to convince you of?”

“That you’re a damsel in distress, of course. The enemy’s quite adept.” He smiled sardonically. “I’m impressed with your performance, particularly the tears. I have always been amazed how ladies are able to cry on a whim, however, the jig is up, and you’ve been found out.”

She stood, her fright forgotten, now replaced with anger. She clenched her fists, but before she could comment, he growled, “Get down.”

“No! I’m not performing anything, Sir Rude-A-Lot. I’m originally from Kentucky, which is why I have a southern accent, but now I go to school here... and don’t call me a rebel!”

With a firm voice, Quincy continued his tutelage, “If you’re going to attempt to pull the wool over someone’s eyes, ma’am, a word of warning. Keep enough truth in your story for it to be believable.”

She stomped her foot. “I’m not lying!”

“Ma’am, you cannot expect me to believe that a woman of your obvious beauty would do anything other than marry and have several children. There are no schools hereabouts accepting ladies, unless school means something entirely different than what I think.”

“Stop calling me ma’am!” She ran her hands through her hair and glared at him. “I’m enrolled at DePaul University in Chicago, Illinois. I’m currently third in my class and expect to graduate in a little over a year!”

He smirked. “What exactly are you studying at this so-called DePaul University?”

Victoria raised her chin in defiance. “Law.”

“A woman lawyer,” Quincy droned, his sarcasm evident. “How ambitious of you. Will the presidency be your next goal?”

Victoria swore. “Look, you fucking Neanderthal! Forget it! If you could just direct me out of here, I’ll grab a cab home.”

“Cab? Do you mean transport?” Without waiting for her to clarify, he continued, “There are no buggies in the middle of a battlefield, woman. Are you daft?”

Taking a deep breath in an effort not to slap the arrogantly raised eyebrow from his face, Victoria narrowed her eyes and spoke very slowly, “Apparently daft enough to sit here and take your abuse.”

“Perhaps you have a head injury.”

What sounded like a cannon went off a few hundred feet from them, the smell of gunpowder smoke overwhelming her senses. Victoria screeched as he pulled her down next to him again. “What are you doing?”

“Get down and stay down!” he hissed.

Suddenly face to face with him, she looked up into a very familiar pair of eyes. She took a deep breath as he looked in each direction and then back down at her. As his face caught the light from the moon, his eyes were illuminated. Emerald.

“Oh, my god, it’s you!” she exclaimed as she looked into the face of her photograph.

His eyebrows puckered into a V. “Do I know you?”

She shook her head. “Um, no. Sorry.”

“Tell me again what you’re doing on this field and how you got here?”

“I don’t know!” Victoria sighed. “The last thing I remember was standing in a room above my studio, when everything went black.”

Quincy sighed. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Duh, really?”

“Why are you wearing men’s clothing?”

“Excuse me?” Before they could continue, a loud bang made her jump. Pushing him away from her, she sat up. “You know, I must admit, this all sounds very real. I had no idea reenactments could be so loud. I don’t remember them being this way at home.”

“Ma’am? Did you hit your head?”

“What? No, I don’t think so!” She paused briefly before adding, “Actually, I’m not certain.” Another explosion sounded. Victoria sat up a little more and looked around. “Where did that one come from? It sounds close.”

“Ma’am, you need to get down.”

A series of rifle shots sounded and then another loud boom of cannon fire that actually made the earth shake. Suddenly curious, Victoria stood and moved closer to the sound of gunfire. “I always wanted to visit Gettysburg,” she said. “They’re fake rounds, right? I mean, blanks?”

“Get down!”

Victoria turned at his order but was unprepared for the large hand reaching out and pulling her to the ground. “What the—?”

“I said, get down!”

“Look here, buddy! I’m about to lose my religion. Tell me how to get out of here.”

* * *

The two glared at each other for several seconds before Quincy looked away briefly. “Just sit there and don’t move,” he ordered.

As the noise and smoke of the battlefield dissipated, Quincy took a moment to study the woman seated beside him.

It’s a shame a woman of her beauty is mad.

Holding her forearm, he absently rubbed the silky skin and studied her outlandish garb. She wore tight-fitting breeches in a blue fabric that appeared to be denim. But no woman of class would wear the newly discovered fabric, not to mention the shirt that hugged full breasts. He wondered how he’d missed it in his previous assessment. His body now virtually thrummed with an arousal he hadn’t felt in a while... shoved down with the reality of war. This observation shook him and he forced air into his lungs in an effort to calm himself.

“Ma’am,” he continued, his tone gentler than before. “Who brought you to this field?”

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held firm. She raised glistening eyes to his. “I told you, I don’t know!”

The sound of pounding footsteps distracted him, and he turned to see a man running out of a wall of what appeared to be thick, black smoke. A shot rang out, and the man fell down hard, although his body continued to twitch for a few minutes.

“Wow, he looks quite convincing,” she murmured and stood, despite Quincy’s effort at a death grip on her arm.

“Stay down!”

She moved toward the fallen man. “No, I want to see.”

Quincy, growing increasingly angry at her apparent indifference to her own safety, stood quickly and grasped her waist before tackling her to the ground.

“Hey! You need to quit with the Hulk Hogan shit!”

Quincy looked down at her in surprise when she punched his shoulder. He rolled off her but grasped her arm again. “You’ll be killed if you don’t stay down.”

“Riiight, by the fake bullets coming out of the fake guns, during a mock battle.”

Quincy hissed as he kept his hand on her bicep.

“Fine, I’ll stay down for now.” Victoria wiped dirt from her hands. “What’s your name?” He didn’t respond. “Dude! What the hell is your problem?”

Although confounded by her strange speech, Quincy chalked it up to her southern accent and ignored her question.

“Hey! I asked you a question. What’s your name?”

He frowned. “Ma’am, you need to close your mouth and stay down.”

Victoria snorted. “Grumpy Gus, apparently.”

“Leave it!”

Victoria glared at him. “Don’t speak to me that way! I told you my name. I simply don’t understand why you won’t do the same.” She grabbed her bag, swinging it over her left shoulder, and let out a loud, unsubtle huff. “All right, Gus, don’t tell me. Do you think you could find the road, so I can hail a taxi?”

“What is a taxi?”

“Are you kidding?”

Quincy shook his head. “Ma’am, you are not going anywhere. I will turn you over to my superiors when the battle dies down and it’s safe to move.”

“Your superiors? Which ones would those be? The fake ones who are going to do what, exactly? String me up by my thumbs, or do they use stocks in fake battles? A bit of overkill, don’t you think? I mean, come on. Yes, you look very genuine.” She swept a hand toward him. “Whoever made your costume did a really good job, but I think we need to get back to reality so that I can figure out what’s going on.”

He stared down at his jacket. “Ma’am, this is a Union-issued uniform. One that is damaged, granted, but still Union issued.”

“Mm-hmm. Sure, it is,” she said as she looked around quickly. “Perhaps you’re the one with the head injury.”

“Ma’am,” he asked slowly. “Are you all right?”

“That’s good, Gus. Next you’ll tell me it’s 1862 and we’re in the middle of a Civil War battle.” Quincy narrowed his eyes, and Victoria glared at him. “What?”

“It’s August 1864. And we are in the middle of a battle—the War Between the States. Weldon Railroad, in fact.”

Victoria crossed her arms. “Oh, please. I might have been born in a small town, but it wasn’t yesterday.”

“Ma’am?” He touched her arm gently. “Did you wander from your home and wind up here?”

Standing quickly, she accused, “Now you’re just being mean. Stop this. I need to get out of here.”

He pulled her back down. “It’s not safe, Miss Carrington.”

“Oh, I’m Miss Carrington, now? Not dirty rebel?”

“I never said dirty,” he retorted.

The ground shook and dirt peppered their faces as the deafening crash of explosions filled the air. Victoria screamed. “This is too much. I need to go.” She scrambled to stand again.

“Miss Carrington, you need to wait.” Concerned with her sanity, he reached for her. “It’s too dangerous. The sun will be rising soon.”

“Okay, Gus, what do you suggest we do then?”

Quincy rolled his eyes. “Quincy.”

“Excuse me?”

“My name... it’s Quincy Butler, or Quinn.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow. “Somehow, Gus suits you better.”

“It does?” Quincy had to stop himself from laughing when she mumbled something under her breath. He was not prepared for her to be both beautiful and funny. His stomach started to growl, and it was the first time in an hour he’d noticed he was starving. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast the previous day, and that was only one piece of hardtack.

Victoria let out a quiet gasp. “Is that your stomach?”

Quincy nodded. “Yes. I’m apparently hungry.”

“When did you last eat?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Seriously? You’re kind of taking this act a bit too far, don’t you think?” Opening her bag, she said, “I have snacks.”

“What are snacks?”

* * *

She glanced at him and then back down at her bag. “You know. Snacks.”

“Snacks?”

“Yes. Food. Nibbles and such.” She rummaged through her bag, muttering, “They’re in here somewhere. This dark certainly doesn’t help.” Angling her bag to try and get light from the moon, she pulled out a power bar and handed it to him.

“What is this?” he asked as he turned the package over several times.

“It’s a power bar.” Noticing his confusion with the power bar, she opened the package for him and handed it back. Victoria watched him closely.

He peeled the packaging and brought it to his lips. “Power bar?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you can get them in any supermarket.”

“What’s a super market?”

“Well, Gus,” she explained as if speaking to a child, “it’s a place to purchase groceries. Fruits, vegetables, meats and such.”

“You don’t grow your own?”

Gasping in mock surprise at his question, she placed her fingers to her mouth and answered in her best Scarlett O’Hara impersonation, “No, suh! I have my slaves do it for me on the plantation, and then I make them pretend to sell them to me in a giant building equipped with large refrigeration units.”

“You have an unusual way with words, ma’am.” He took a small bite and grimaced.

“I know they’re not the tastiest. It’s the soy. But it’ll help with the hunger,” she assured him. “Or so the advertisements say.”

He took another bite. “I suppose it’s staving off the hunger.”

She smiled. “Good.”

“Would you perhaps explain to me why you are dressed like a man?”

“Excuse me?”

“You have denim breeches on and—”

“Oh, right. I need to play along,” she interrupted. “Well, kind sir, I am an international spy and I found that the hoops tended to get in the way of a quick escape.”

“Who sent you?” he asked in suspicion.

“Why, General Lee is my daddy’s very best friend in the whole wide world, and he said that he needed me to find a tall, green-eyed Union soldier and poison him with a power bar.”

Quincy dropped the food, spitting out the bite he nearly swallowed, and Victoria began to giggle uncontrollably at the look on his face. She wasn’t sure her reaction wasn’t also because she was starting to feel a little unstable. He narrowed his eyes.

“If you like, I’ll take a bite and then you can finish,” she offered, still giggling under her breath.

Quincy snorted. “Who are you really spying for?”

“I just told you. Boy, Gus, you have a really bad memory. Now, eat.” She watched Quincy stare at her again as he took another bite. His gaze raised her discomfort, and she licked her lips as she felt heat creep up her neck. She decided to take the focus off her and change the subject. “Who do you spy for?”

“I am a Sergeant First Class in the Union Army. If you consider that spying, then I suppose it would be for Lincoln.”

Victoria giggled nervously. “I’m assuming you’re referring to Abraham Lincoln?”

“Is there another?”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “Okay, you know, this is really silly. Could we please speak like we’re normal? Admit that Lincoln was assassinated over a hundred years ago and you’re doing some form of reenactment and then let’s figure a way out of here and I’ll go back to my ever-changing life.”

Quincy grabbed her. “You’re speaking treason!”

“Treason?” Victoria pried his fingers from her wrist, knowing he could snap her bones with one squeeze.

“Yes, the President is alive.”

She stood and started to pace. “Stop this. Stop it right now. Abraham Lincoln was assassinated April something, 1865. Shot by John Wilkes Booth.”

“Who?”

“Booth! He’s an actor.”

“He is shot by an actor?” Quincy asked again and then chuckled.

“Yes, Einstein, an actor,” she snapped. “Why the laugh? Have you never taken a history class?”

A shot rang out.

“Get down.” He grabbed for her hand.

She deflected him, pulling her arm behind her back. “Not until you answer my question.”

“Miss Carrington? What year do you think it is?”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, call me Victoria.”

“All right. Victoria, what year do you think it is?”

She crossed her arms. “It’s 2018. What year do you think it is?”

Quincy took a deep breath and then said, slowly, “It’s 1864, Victoria.”

She gasped. “No, it’s not!”

He shook his head. “This is a ridiculous conversation to be having in the middle of a skirmish.”

“I agree.” Victoria sat down again and opened her bag. Pulling out her iPhone, she asked, “If it was 1864, would I have this?”

Quincy took it and turned it over in his hand. “What is this?”

“Um, duh. It’s an iPhone,” she said, and then responded to his look of confusion. “Oh, come on! Have you never seen an iPhone before? It’s like an iPod and cell phone all in one.”

He stared at her blankly.

“Seriously?” Pulling her headphones out, she placed them on his head, picked a song, and pressed play, somewhat vindicated, and frightened, when he jumped and tore the headphones off his head. She grabbed the phone out of his hand, her hands shaking as she stuffed it back in her bag. “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Victoria.”

“Oh,” she said quietly and then looked up in surprise as Quincy reached out to quiet her still-quivering hands. He took one in his and squeezed gently. She was comforted by the kindness she saw in his eyes.

“Are you all right?”

She shook her head as her eyes filled with tears. “No, I don’t think I am.”

“Victoria, please don’t cry. I’ll help you. I’ll take you to my sister. My mother will also help. We’ll get you medical help.”

Pulling her hand away from him, she snapped, “I am not crazy, you freaking caveman.”

“Shhh, Victoria, listen.”

She glared at him. “Why?”

“The gunfire has stopped.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“We can get to shelter and then organize a way to get you to safety.”

Nodding, Victoria watched him stand and then reach his hand out to her. She let him pull her to her feet, but as she leaned down to pick up her bag, two shots rang out. She quickly sat down and looked in Quincy’s direction. He was no longer standing.