Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2) Read Online Free

staying alive, but it always amazed her that she hadn’t missed
her twenty-first century luxuries more. After they returned to their own time,
she thought she would indulge in those things that were unattainable in their
other life: endless hot baths, anything that plugged in that made her life
better or more convenient, and especially the ease with which you could create
an amazing meal.
    In the kitchen at
the convent in 1620 it took her all day to make and bake several loaves of
bread. Now she reached into her freezer to look at the package of yeast rolls. You
just tossed these babies, hard as snowballs, onto a cookie sheet and went and
did something else with your time.
                She
hadn’t made Rowan a meal in the whole of the three months that they had been
back. They practically lived on
restaurant take-out and fast food. What
does that mean?
                But
tonight would be different. Tonight she would use every one of the modern daily
conveniences at her fingertips and create for her man—for the man who had
volunteered to sacrifice his life for her at one point— wow, had she really forgotten that? She
would make him a home-cooked meal and then remind him of who they were together.
                The real Ella and Rowan. Those people
who they were before their bodies were taken over by these automatons that just
went through the motions of making love, working, eating. Rinse and repeat.
                She
went to the calendar, picked up a pink Sharpie and drew a heart around the
wedding date. It doesn’t have to be like
this , she told herself. Whatever boll
weevil of discontent that has infected us, I refuse to let it change who we are
together . As she punctured the pork loin with peeled garlic cloves,
drizzled it with olive oil, seasoned it and then tucked it away for Rowan’s
return, she thought: maybe it’s Dothan?
Could it be we’re in the wrong place? She turned on the oven before running
upstairs to shower and dress for her returning hero.
     
                Rowan
wasn’t sure what the problem was but he knew he was part of it. And his mother sure wasn’t helping. He
left the florist with an armful of roses and checked his cellphone for the
time. Just a little after six. He drove to the wine shop and picked up two bottles
of Pinot Noir he knew Ella preferred. That was one of the things he had liked
about Heidelberg: No one hassled him about preferring to drink beer over wine.
He sighed. Not that Ella cared. She wasn’t like that, needing him to be a
certain way. God forbid trying to mold him or make him be different. His
mother’s anxiety seemed to come from the fact that that’s what she did with his dad. If you’re knee-deep in the make-over project
of your spouse, you probably can’t see any other way of relating .
                He
set the wine bottles on the seat next to the roses. Ella wasn’t perfect but the
last thing she’d ever do was try to change him. He grinned ruefully remembering
a few times she had tried to circumvent him, but she had never tried to make
him be somebody else. In fact, he always had the distinct impression that Ella
liked him because he was the way he was. With that thought, his mood elevated
from the aftermath of the bad weekend home to Atlanta and their tentative
attempts not to step on any wounds or create new ones. Rowan pulled into the
parking spot out front of their apartment, gathered up his purchases and
fumbled for the key to the apartment. The door swung open as soon as he put the
key in.
                Ella
stood in front of him, breathless and practically naked. She wore a black see-through
blouse that barely covered the fact that she was wearing no panties, or if she
was wearing them, they were very, very tiny. He took a breath and stumbled
across the threshold, struggling to close the door behind him as quickly as
possible.
                “Good
God, Ella,” he said,