Becci expelled an exaggerated sigh. She always gave in to
her aunt. Today wouldn’t be any different. “It doesn’t matter
whether or not they came from the past. You still shouldn’t
give someone you don’t know alcohol. He might be injured
and booze could make the condition worse, or he could be an
alcoholic.”
“The other one might be a drunk, but this guy looks too
clean-cut to be a drunk.”
“You know looks have nothing to do with it.”
Lilly dismissed her comment with the wave of her hand.
“One sip won’t hurt him, even if he is a drunk.”
Becci noted the determined set of her aunt’s mouth. Aunt
Lilly wouldn’t stop until the man had the ‘antidote.’ Hopefully
it wouldn’t hurt him. She couldn’t afford a lawsuit on top of all
her other expenses. Her checking account had more red in it
than the blood bank.
“Take this,” her aunt ordered as she shoved the glass she’d
been extending into Becci’s hand. Glass clanked against glass
as the bottle hit the tumbler’s lip. Lilly poured two fingers of
the amber liquid, twisted the lid back onto the bottle, and then
slipped her arm under the man’s shoulders.
“Give it to him, Becci,” Lilly ordered as she tipped her
head in the direction of the unconscious stranger. “The books
say it’s important to give it to a traveler if he collapses. A
swallow or two is all he’ll need.”
Together they raised the stranger’s head enough to trickle
a little of the whiskey down his throat, and Becci made sure it
was a very small amount. Still, he choked on the liquid and his
head jerked away from the glass.
After a moment of fighting for his breath, he drew in several
deep gasps and relaxed. His eyelids fluttered but remained
closed. Slowly, he reached for the saddlebags lying beside him
and drew them back to his chest in a white-knuckled grip.
Becci shook away her concerns and faced her aunt. “What
do we do next?” she asked as she eased his head down. “Call
an ambulance?
“Goodness, gracious, no. He doesn’t need an ambulance.
Unfasten his shirt while I get a cold compress.”
“I don’t know, Aunt Lilly. Maybe we should call 911.”
“No need, child. I’m a nurse, and I say he’s fine. Now
unfasten his shirt,” she ordered as she left the room.
Unfasten his shirt? Becci’s hands trembled, and she stared
at his broad chest and drew in a deep breath. After she released
it, she said, “Well, mister, you heard Aunt Lilly. The shirt needs
to be open. I guess the first thing I have to do is remove the
saddlebags.” Where had those old things come from anyway?
Becci tried to move the bags, but the man clutched the
strap so tightly the leather crimped.
“All right, mister. I’m just trying to help.” Becci tugged at
them again. “Finally,” she muttered when she managed to lower
his hands enough to work the top three shirt buttons free. As
her fingers brushed over the soft cotton fabric, she noticed the
stitching on the shirt pocket. Strange, but she would swear his
shirt was hand sewn.
Becci rested her hand on his shoulder. She hoped her touch
would reassure the man that they were doing all they could for
him.
What else could happen? She didn’t need another delay.
Something had to be done, and soon.
She glanced at her watch and then toward the window.
The rain would start in earnest at any minute. Since this worker
had collapsed and the other one had disappeared, there was no
way they’d get any more furniture into the house today. At
least she’d managed to clean up the two rooms they planned to
use for the nursery. That’s really all she needed done today.
She leaned against the dresser but kept her hand on the
man’s shoulder while she waited for her aunt’s return. Her back
ached, and she didn’t have time to waste. Yet she couldn’t just
leave him lying alone on her bedroom floor.
Becci studied the man’s face. Sweat beaded above his upper
lip. His jet-black hair fell across his forehead, nearly touching
his eyebrows. She brushed her fingers over his brow edging
the hair back, then slid her knuckles down his cheek. A tingle
rippled up her arm as she traced the contour of his jaw and his
lips with her fingertips. What would they feel like against hers?
Becci chuckled. Where had that thought come from? She
certainly didn’t need another man in her life. After all, she had
a fiancé, and Michael definitely wouldn’t appreciate her having
such thoughts about another man.
Her aunt hurried into the room and knelt beside the worker.
She pushed Becci’s hand aside, and placed the compress on
his head. “I need to get a blanket. According to the journal, his
temperature might fluctuate for a few minutes as his body
adjusts to our time. Whatever happens, don’t let him get up
until his system stabilizes. It could be dangerous. Only one
person was supposed to come through.”
Becci arched her brows. “Aunt Lilly, what are you talking
about? No. Never mind.” She raised her hands and waved off
her aunt’s reply. “I don’t want to hear another word about people
popping in and out of the past. It’s all gibberish. You said the
journals are written like an outline for a science fiction novel.”
“Becci, please, for his sake, just do as I ask. What will it
hurt?”
“People think I’m stubborn. They ought to tangle with you.”
Becci shook her head. What was the use? Ever since Lilly found
the tattered, old journals they’d been at war over selling the
house, even though Aunt Lilly knew Becci would jump at any
reasonable chance to save Berclair Manor. Fictitious gold aside,
did her aunt have to bring up the other supernatural things the
journals mentioned? Becci caught her braid and gave it a tug.
Time-travelers? Yeah. Sure.
Her aunt left the room to get a blanket, and the man
suddenly moved like a slow-motion video. He groaned, reached
for the compress and drew it away. Then he blinked several
times before he managed to keep his eyes open.
Blue. Not the iciness she’d seen from across the room, but
a hue so deep it reminded her of a cloudless night just after the
sun dropped below the horizon. Confusion clouded his gaze,
and the deep squint-lines at the corners of his eyes, combined
with his dark tan, suggested he spent lots of time outdoors.
Boots, saddlebags, cowboy hat, and hand-sewn clothes—could
this man really be from the past?
Becci’s mind balked at the idea, but a strange feeling inside
suggested that her aunt might be right.
She forced herself to shake her head to remove that silly
idea before she let her gaze drift back to the stranger’s face.
His classically sharp features looked freshly shaved except for
the stubble circling a small dimple in his chin. The indention
dipped just deep enough
to add a bit of charm to his features.
Their eyes met, and Becci felt her cheeks heat as she
realized he returned her inspection with the same intensity as
she’d scrutinized him. Suddenly, he shivered violently and
closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” His words reached her just as lightning flashed
and thunder cracked.
As Aunt Lilly appeared in the doorway, the lights went
out.
“Not now. I don’t have time for this!” Becci cried.
“Don’t worry about the lights, Becci. Just help me wrap
this blanket around our time-traveler.” Lilly dabbed perspiration
off his forehead after they secured the blanket. “Please don’t
jostle him, Becci, dear.”
“Aunt Lilly, if you insist that he remain immobile, fine,
but I don’t have time to sit here. There’s a pillow and another
blanket in the bedroom at the end of the hall. I believe there’s
a flashlight in there too. Would you bring it to me?”
“Of course, dear.”
“This must be heaven,” Caleb reasoned more to himself
than the woman as he watched her through half closed eyes.
Her touch felt comforting, and she smelled like spring flowers
and fresh air after a gentle summer rain. She wore her hair like
Rebecca did, in a long braid that hung like a red river over one
shoulder. She flipped it back, and he caught the flowery scent
again. Not of roses or violets, but a mixture—like a field of
wild spring blossoms at their most fragrant time.
Caleb closed his eyes completely and took pleasure in the
tender sweep of her fingers on his forehead. He’d never had a
woman soothe away his pain. Not Rebecca, and definitely not
his mother. Of course, ladies of the night didn’t have much
time to devote to one man. No, sir, prostitutes didn’t touch like
this.
When he heard a shuffling sound, he opened his eyes. The
older lady called Lilly had returned with a pillow, another
blanket, and something that looked like a long silver weapon.
He watched the cylinder pass above him, from the aged hand
to the slender, youthful one.
Undoubtedly, this woman was another of Rebecca’s
relatives. She couldn’t be the young woman’s travel companion
because ladies of the evening didn’t travel with companions,
and as far as he knew, Rebecca hadn’t hired anyone. So who
was she? Why hadn’t Rebecca told him about these women?
“Becci, dear, if I don’t take our lunch out of the oven it’s
going to burn. Do you think you’ll be okay alone with this
man?”
“Sure.”
“Yell if you need me.”
“Will do,” Becci called after the woman who’d already
hurried out of the room.
Caleb gazed at the young woman, and his heart skipped a
beat. She was definitely not Rebecca’s twin sister, Catherine.
He’d seen her once. She was a sour-looking woman. This
woman’s eyes held him transfixed with their brightness.
Her long red braid had fallen over her shoulder again. A
scrap of white material kept the ends together. Would her hair
be as soft to the touch as it looked? He lifted his hand and
immediately let it drop back down. He didn’t know this woman.
Even a prostitute might object to the forwardness of such a
touch before he paid her price. But she’d made the first move
when she’d caressed his forehead.
Caleb cleared his throat and forced himself to change the
direction his thoughts were taking. He’d talked to Rebecca at
the Wednesday night prayer meeting, and she hadn’t said a
word about having guests in her house. Of course, he hadn’t
really listened either. Luke had held most of his attention during
the service. Afterward they’d met with the solicitor to discuss
his responsibility as the trustee of Luke’s and Rebecca’s
inheritance, and what he should do if something should happen
to Rebecca.
Luke? Caleb hesitated, listening for the boy’s wail, but he
heard nothing. “Luke’s not crying. I’m glad Rebecca finally
got him quieted down,” he told the woman.
Then he remembered the bloody knife Jacobs had held
and fear stirred inside him. He wanted to rush downstairs and
make sure Rebecca and Luke were all right, but he didn’t have
the strength to sit up let alone stand.
“How long have you been here?” he asked the woman.
“When you were late, I went to the mall for Aunt Lilly so
she would be here when you arrived. I’ve been back about an
hour,” the woman said, scooting away from him. Caleb
frowned. She didn’t have to move. He enjoyed the feel of her
fingertips on his forehead.
She sat beside him with her arms wrapped loosely around
her bare legs, making it difficult for him to follow the trail of
their conversation. What’s a mall? he wanted to ask, but he
was too scandalized by all that flesh to speak. He also knew he
was destined for Hell because he couldn’t stop staring at her
smooth, naked legs.
“I’d hoped to get the furniture in before the storm hit. If
you hadn’t been late you would be finished by now. We expected
you and your friend early this morning.”
“My friend?”
“The other worker. I believe you called him Luke.”
Caleb jerked his eyes away from her legs and stared straight
up at the ceiling. If he focused on the animosity he felt for the
town drunk maybe he could keep his mind off her shapely
thighs.
He cleared his throat, but the words still came out husky.
“The other man is William Jacobs.” He cleared his throat again.
It didn’t help. “He’s more of an enemy than a friend. Luke is
eleven months old. He’s in the parlor with Rebecca. Or at least
he was when I started upstairs.”
“You brought a child to work with you? Great. That’s all I
need, a sick man and a baby. The nursery’s not open yet, mister..
Even if it was open, this nursery is going to be for babies up to
a year old, not toddlers. In another month you’d just have to
change his routine again. But even that is a moot point. If I
don’t get the aid from Ascomp, we’ll have to sell, and there
won’t be a nursery of any kind.”
“Sell? This house?” Caleb waved his hand to indicate the
whole house. “Rebecca didn’t say anything about selling
Berclair Manor.”
“What are you talking about? I’m Rebecca.”
Caleb lifted his gaze to hers and stared at her in confusion.
“I’m talking about Luke’s mother. Where is she? She’s the
woman who owns this house, and she wouldn’t even consider
selling it without talking to me first.”
“Listen, mister, Berclair Manor belongs to me. Me,” she
repeated jabbing a finger at her chest. “My father left it to me,
debts and all. When the time comes to sell, I’ll be the one
making the decision.”
“Your father gave it to you?” Caleb managed to roll to a
sitting position so he could look at this s
tranger. Big mistake.
His head throbbed, and his stomach churned in protest to the
motion. He raked his fingers through his hair then wrapped his
arms around his waist as another shiver vibrated through him.
Expelling a groan, he leaned back against the wall and
shut his eyes. Lord, he didn’t want to lose his breakfast in front
of this woman. He drew in several deep breaths and slowly
opened his eyes. The woman stared at him with concern, and
not the anger he expected for doubting her word.
“Sir, are you okay?” Becci asked.
He nodded slowly, and she continued. “My name is Becci
Berclair. The only person I consult when making decisions
about this house is my Aunt Lilly, but basically what I do is up
to me alone.”
He watched Becci unfold her arms and push herself to a
standing position with the grace of a sleek doe. She shoved the
long silver weapon in her front pocket, leaving just enough
showing to get a good grip on it.
The fact that she put it away told Caleb she wouldn’t use it
unless provoked, and he had no intention of picking a fight
with a woman. He would say nothing more until he consulted
with Rebecca—the real Rebecca.
Once he put the dresser right, he would leave this woman
to her fancy, but not until he found out if she came from the
“house” on the outskirts of Raleigh. Ladies from places like
that shouldn’t go about flaunting their wares outside such
establishments, not to mention the damage she’d cause to
Rebecca’s reputation.
She swung around and marched across the room. His gaze
automatically focused on her legs. He felt his temper flare,
although his anger was directed more at his inability to keep
from staring at her than at her.
“Do you plan on parading about in those clothes?” he asked,
knowing he sounded like a stuffy minister, but he needed to do
something to get the woman clothed for both Rebecca’s
reputation and his sanity. “Rebecca’s about your size. I’m sure
she has something that will cover you properly.” He watched
her through half-closed eyes, making sure where her hands
were. One move for the weapon and, nausea or not, he’d be
across the room before she could shoot.
“Look, mister,” she said as she whirled around to face him.
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