The rhythmic thud of heavy military boots hitting the dirt pulled Gisele out of the black void.
She opened her eyes slowly. Her cheek was pressed flat against the rough, scratchy canvas of a jacket. Her nose was filled with the sharp scent of pine and the faint, bitter smell of tobacco.
She tried to lift her head. A sharp, burning ache shot down the side of her neck. A low, raspy groan slipped past her lips before she could stop it.
The footsteps beneath her halted instantly.
Ernest stood completely still on the dirt path. He didn't turn his head. He didn't ask if she was okay.
Gisele realized she was still draped over his back. The memories in her head warned her that in this conservative, tight-knit town of the 1970s, a man carrying a woman like this would start a wildfire of vicious gossip.
The silence between them was thick and suffocating. She needed to break it. She swallowed hard, her throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper.
"Who..." she croaked, her voice weak and trembling. "What is your name?"
The broad muscles of Ernest's back instantly turned to stone.
A second later, a harsh, mocking scoff vibrated in his chest.
To Ernest, the question wasn't a sign of gratitude. It was the ultimate insult. It sounded exactly like the arrogant, spoiled rich girl looking down her nose at a servant, demanding to know the name of the trash that dared to touch her.
Without a single word of warning, the arm supporting her legs vanished. Ernest leaned forward.
Gisele lost her balance completely. She slid off his back and hit the ground hard.
She landed awkwardly on the grass at the base of a massive oak tree. The soft ground saved her from breaking any bones, but the sheer shock of the brutal drop made her eyes widen in absolute disbelief.
Ernest turned around. He stood over her, his tall frame blocking out the sun. His dark eyes were filled with raw, unfiltered disgust.
"We are even now, Miss Pierce," he said. His voice was like coarse sandpaper scraping against rusted metal. Cold. Final.
Gisele opened her mouth. She wanted to yell at him, to explain that she wasn't trying to insult him, that she genuinely just wanted to thank him. But her throat was too dry. No sound came out.
Ernest didn't wait for a response. He didn't care. He turned his back on her and walked away, his long strides eating up the distance as he disappeared into the thick brush of the woods.
Gisele stared at the empty space where he had just stood. A dizzying wave of confusion washed over her. Why did he save her, only to look at her with such intense hatred and drop her like garbage? The chaotic thoughts made her chest tight and her breathing shallow. But as the foreign memories continued to settle in her brain, the confusion turned into a heavy, sinking realization. She wasn't mad at him. She was mad at the original owner of this body.
She leaned her head back against the rough bark of the oak tree and closed her eyes, trying to process the mess she had just woken up in.
The loud, aggressive roar of an engine shattered the quiet of the woods.
Gisele snapped her eyes open. The sound of tires tearing through gravel grew louder. An old, beat-up but sturdy Ford pickup truck slammed on its brakes on the dirt road just a few yards away. A massive cloud of yellow dust kicked up into the air.
The driver's side door was kicked open. Arthur Pierce, her oldest brother, jumped out. His face was pale, his eyes frantically scanning the tree line.
A second later, her third brother, Donato, vaulted over the side of the truck bed. His knuckles were white as he gripped a sharp, heavy hunting knife. His eyes were wild, practically begging for a target.
Arthur spotted her leaning against the tree. "Gisele! Oh my god, we found her! We thought a bear dragged you off!" his voice cracked, echoing through the trees.
The two massive men sprinted across the grass. Arthur dropped to his knees right beside her. His large, calloused hands shook as he reached out, hovering over the dried blood on her forehead, too terrified to actually touch the wound.
Donato stood over them, his grip on the hunting knife tightening until his veins popped. He spun around, scanning the empty woods. "Who did this to you? I swear to God, Gisele, I'll kill them! I'll cut them to pieces!"
Gisele looked at the two large, rough men. Their eyes were red-rimmed. Their panic was raw and real. A sudden, intense heat bloomed in her chest. This was family. The memories told her these brothers loved her to a fault.
She weakly shook her head. She reached out and grabbed Arthur's thick, rough finger. "I fell..." she whispered, her voice barely audible. "No one hurt me."
Arthur didn't ask any more questions. He slid his arms under her and lifted her from the grass. He held her against his chest as gently as if she were made of spun glass.
Donato took the lead, his hunting knife raised, his eyes darting at every shadow in the trees as he escorted them back to the truck.
Arthur carefully placed her on the wide bench seat of the passenger side. He stripped off his plaid flannel shirt and balled it up, gently placing it behind her head as a makeshift pillow.
The heavy doors slammed shut. The Ford engine roared back to life. Gisele closed her eyes as the truck bounced over the dirt road, taking her away from the woods and toward the Pierce farmhouse.
