A Timeless Melody

By R. Ann Siracusa

Melody is out of her element, and Brandon believes she knows more than she lets on. Her secret may be more than he bargained for.

 

She appeared out of nowhere, blown into of Red Gulch, a decaying mining town in the Mojave desert, on the crest of a desert breeze like the ever-present tumbleweeds that filled the empty streets in the blink of an eye.  Except everyone knew where tumbleweeds came from.

Brandon O'Donnell never figured out where Melody came from, but she captured his heart with her flaming red hair, hypnotic light-grey eyes, and intense but distant way of speaking...as though, Brandon had thought for years, she knew a lot more than she let on.

What will happen to their love when Brandon find out about the secret Melody has been hiding from him all these years?

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Ann Siracusa
• Release date: Jun 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9798223598374

Book preview

Series Title – Tour Director Extraordinaire

All For A Dead Man’s Leg

All For A Fistful Of Ashes

Destruction Of The Great Wall

All For Spilled Blood

All For A Blast of Hot Air

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Other Books By R Ann Siracusa

Family Secrets: A Vengeance of Tears

All In The Game

The Last Weekend In October

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Short Stories

Christmas Plans Gone Awry

Elves For Christmas

First Date

Halloween in the Catacombs

Tiffany

Time in a Bottle

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my dear friends, Evelyn and Larry Fox, who introduced us to desert riding and the mining town of Red Mountain in the Mojave Desert.

Prologue

Red Gulch City

Earth Province of America

Monday, February 1, 2500

"And furthermore, as a matter of world security, it is imperative that such a breach of protocol never happens again, boomed the Supreme Director of the Intra-Galactic History Department. The existence of a functional temporal chronometer, here or anywhere else in the solar system, must remain classified information. From now on, the Solar System Security Agency will authorize all jumps to other time periods. Any history student, regardless of status, found guilty of unauthorized use of the department's temporal chronometer will be expelled immediately from Red Gulch University—with no possibility of reinstatement—and turned over to the SSSA."

The heavy-set man shot his cuffs and glared from under bushy gray brows, his gaze sweeping across each of the graduate students. Do I make myself perfectly clear?

Twenty-five heads bobbed up and down.

Good! He turned on his heel and stormed out of the computer research lab, slamming the door behind him.

The grim-faced students remained rooted to their seats until the translucent borosilicate glass stopped rattling in its frame.

You old fart! one of the young men shouted.

Stifle it, Stryder. The red-haired woman next to him stood and punched the youth lightly on the shoulder. He'll hear you.

Stryder sprang to his feet and shoved her. Cut it out, Red. Why can't the old fart just call it a time machine? That's what it is. But noo, this is some big secret, so we can hide the truth behind fancy scientific terms. Bullshit! He kicked the chair she'd been sitting on, sending it sliding across the slick floor.

Haven't you done enough damage already? Red's face flushed pink with anger and frustration. It's your fault RGU is being investigated by the SSSA. Now none of us will get authorization to travel again.

Big fucking deal!

It's a big deal to me. She poked a long blue fingernail at his chest. I need to make jumps to complete my thesis research so I can graduate and get out of here.

Grumbling with discontent and irritation, the other students rose from their seats and gathered around them.

Stryder glared at her and sneered. "Cut the holier-than-thou crap, Red. You've been taking unauthorized jumps, just like everyone else. And you don't even need to visit your time period. That's why the old fart denied your request in the first place. He shook his head and uttered a disgusted-sounding snort. I don't know what you find so fascinating about the damned twentieth century. It's a waste of energy to study the history of Red Gulch City when there are new worlds out there to explore and millions of years of hist—"

In case you didn't know, she interrupted, fisting her hands in growing anger, Red Gulch City happens to be the Mineral Capital of the Solar System. It's important history. She piled on the sarcasm without restraint. "I like it because it's our heritage. Besides, the records aren't all that complete. All the personal documentation about the founding father and the early history of the mining industry is based on one detailed account. No one knows who wrote it or if it's accurate."

The one you think is phony? another girl asked.

Red swung around and nailed the speaker with an indignant glare. "I've never claimed it was phony...exactly. She tossed back her mane of red hair. Only that it's not complete. I mean, the document is, well, awkward. Like the author knows a lot more and isn't telling all the facts for a specific reason. I just know there's some information that's being hidden, important information. I have to find that secret in order to finalize my work. There's no other way to do it than by visiting the time period."

Stryder exaggerated a groan. Yeah, right. And that's so fucking important? What's it going to change?

Several of the students retrieved their belongings, uttering disgruntled good-byes as they left. Others settled in front of their computers to resume their research, skewering Stryder with glares of anger and disappointment.

Red, not ready to retreat from the argument, gritted her teeth. "Nothing is going to change. It's already happened. But how important it is depends on what the secret is. At least, I've always been careful to stay out of sight and avoid damaging anything when I jump. And I'm not going to be stupid like someone I know―who shall go unnamed―and bring an artifact back from another time period."

Stryder stiffened. Who told you that?

Red shrugged. Rumors. The word gets around. Everyone knows that's what got the university in trouble.

The youth glared at each of his colleagues through eyes narrowed to a squint. One of you effin' jerks ratted me out, didn't you?

An older student slammed his computer case on the table. That's enough, pal. Clean up your mouth. Maybe you don't care about history, but you've messed things up for the rest of us who do. Single-handedly, you've set the History Verification Program back at least a hundred years.

Yeah, another girl cut in. The rest of us have never brought back any souvenirs.

Stryder frowned defensively. "The wendo is just a cute harmless little creature. What can it hurt? There are zillions of them in that time period."

Another grad student looked up from his computer screen. "And now they're extinct. Maybe because of you."

He's right, Red insisted. "You never know what it can hurt. Any little thing could change history, even wipe out our reality."

Do you believe that crap? Stryder threw his things into his backpack. "The old farts have been using the chronometer in secret for over a hundred years, and we're still here, aren't we? What a gutless bunch you are. I dare you to use the time machine again. I don't think you've got the balls."

Red bristled, the roots of her hair tingling with indignation, teeth clenched, jaw tight. "Don't count on it, asshole. And if I have to do another trimester at RGU because of you, being investigated by the SSSA will be the least of your problems."

Chapter One

Red Gulch

Mojave Desert, CA

Saturday, August 11, 1979

On Saturday morning, Brandon O'Donnell drove his battered Ford pickup into Red Gulch, a thin decaying town in the middle of the Mojave Desert, all but abandoned by everyone who could get away after the mines played out. Only the very old and the very young remained, trapped by time, and a few die-hards like himself.

He brought the truck to a halt in front of the general store and killed the engine. Even at that early hour, a swell of heat blasted him when he opened the door and hopped out. Clouds of fine red dust swirled around his legs, stirred up by his boots as he walked across the dirt to the store.

At the entrance, an eerie shiver rippled through him. He stopped abruptly and studied the desolate town. He knew the six streets by heart, each lined with tiny clapboard houses. Old mining-company houses, unpainted and worn forever divided by a black ribbon of state highway. That long straight stretch of asphalt, revered by the town folk for the few transient tourists it brought, kept Red Gulch alive. Their tie to the real world and a means of escape from the great silence of the desert.

Struck by a sense of repulsion he'd never experienced before, Brandon compressed his lips and shook his head. Inside, he tipped back his Stetson and fanned his face with his hand. Mornin', Lester. Feels like it's going to be another scorcher.

Lester Singleton—he has to be a hundred and fifty years old if he's a day—hobbled from behind the counter and slapped Brandon's back with a wrinkled hand covered with age spots. You got that right, son. Hundred and fifteen degrees, at least. Here for your supplies?

Brandon replied with a silent nod, keeping his expression serious. For two years, he'd been coming to the store every Saturday morning at this hour, and their greetings never varied. Except for the weather. Old Lester always assumed it would be the highest or lowest temperature on record, depending on the season. Brandon guessed the old man had never read a newspaper, much less heard the television tucked in the corner of the shop. The man refused to acknowledge any hearing problems.

Speaking loudly, Brandon answered. Sure thing, Lester. Got to get the hay unloaded before the sun gets too high, you know.

Here's your stuff. Old Lester shoved a big box of groceries across the counter to Brandon. Your beer is still in the ice box. I'll git Young Les to help you load the hay.

Brandon jerked his head up in surprise. Les is here? Now? I thought he was still in Florida.

Everyone in Red Gulch referred to Old Lester's son as Lester Junior and his grandson as Young Les. Brandon had gone to school with Young Les and Les's younger brother, John, in Ridgecrest, twenty-five miles away. The nearest town with any kind of school.

Nope. Navy sent him back last week. Got some fancy sounding job at NAWS. The old man pushed open the door into the back room. Hey, Young Les! Git off yer duff, boy! Brandon's here.

NAWS was the Naval Air Weapons Station at China Lake, not too far from Ridgecrest. Brandon hadn't seen his friend since graduation from high school, when he'd left California for the Colorado School of Mines and Les joined the Navy. Six years ago.

Les burst into the room and clapped Brandon on the shoulder. Hey, buddy. Good to see you. It's been a long time. You've filled out a bit.

Looks like the Navy's turned you into a man. Brandon returned the teasing with good humor, pleased to see his childhood pal again. What'd your family say about that tattoo?