Footprints in the Snow. Cassie Miles
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“Except that you were in the Middle East.” His tone was suspicious. “You told me that last night.”
What else had she said? Last night, they hadn’t done much talking. Between her headache and her intense attraction to him, she hadn’t told him much. Now, his lack of information might work to her advantage.
“I have amnesia.” She rose to her feet to emphasize her words. “I need to get to a doctor in Leadville.”
“We have medical personnel here on base.”
But she didn’t want to stay here, trapped in 1945. If she left Camp Hale, she might be able to find the way back to her own millennium. “I need a specialist, a psychiatrist. Or a neurologist. Please, Luke.”
His jaw set in a firm, stubborn line that made her think he had little intention of accommodating her wishes. “Where were you staying in Leadville?”
“A hotel.”
“Which hotel?”
Her lodging probably didn’t have the same name as it did in 1945. It might not have even existed. “I don’t remember the name. I left the receipt in your cabin. I wrote a goodbye note on the back.”
“You must have driven to get up here. Where’s your car parked?”
“When I was skiing, I got lost. I don’t know where my car is.” That much was true. “You have to take me to Leadville. From there, I can find my way back to Denver. Or I might find a specialist in Aspen.”
“Aspen?” He gave her a puzzled look. “You won’t find much of anything in that sleepy little town.”
Of course not. The development of Aspen into a glittering, world-class ski resort took place after World War II. If she remembered correctly, returning soldiers from the 10th Mountain Division were largely responsible for that growth.
The door to the office swung open and a stocky man dressed in old-fashioned ski knickers strode inside. “I have been looking for you, Luke. You promised to show me the best trails.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We will leave soon. Very soon.” His accent was Italian. His dark eyes sparkled when he noticed Shana. “But first I must meet this charming young lady. You are?”
“Shana Parisi,” she said. “Buon giorno.”
Obviously delighted, he responded in Italian. Shana used rudimentary Italian she’d learned from her grandmother to make polite conversation about the weather and the scenery.
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips in a courtly gesture. “I am Enrico Fermi.”
“The Nobel Prize winner?”
“You know my work?”
“Absolutely.”
He was one of the most brilliant physicists of all time, the father of nuclear fission. She’d studied his theories, seen his face in textbooks. Fermi worked on the Manhattan project and had been at Los Alamos where the atom bomb was developed.
A realization struck her. The first atomic bomb test had taken place in 1945 at Alamogordo, New Mexico. Shana even recalled the date because it was the same as her sister’s birthday, and their father always called her sister a bombshell. July 16, 1945.
“What’s the date today?”
“May seventh,” Luke said.
In two months, Dr. Enrico Fermi and the other scientists at Los Alamos would change the world.
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