floor, covered the small table he’d just repaired, and picked it
up. Without looking back, he threw up the latch, shoved the
door open and stalked out into the raging storm. The wind
immediately slammed the door against the outside wall, splitting
the board at the hinges.
Becci pressed her hand to her rampaging heart and stared
at Caleb’s retreating figure through the door’s broken slit.
Moments ago fear had knotted her stomach. Now, confusion
mixed with anxiety. The expression on his face had said she’d
hurt him deeply. If he turned out to be the man Rebecca and
her brother talked about in their journals, upsetting him like
that could be dangerous. Very dangerous.
Obadiah’s statements listed the evidence they’d found. It
all pointed to Caleb as the murderer. Caleb’s knife had been
clutched in Rebecca’s hand, and his wagon, less its horse, had
been at the house. Even Rebecca’s sister, Becci’s own great-
great-grandmother Catherine, had written about Caleb in her
journal.
However, Catherine’s words raised doubts when the others
wrote of the worst. She hadn’t believed Caleb Harrison capable
of murder, but she had been discussing a man who was from
the past. Unless Becci was willing to admit that time travel
was possible—which she wasn’t—then she was dealing with
a man who’d chosen to play the role of a murderer. And why
would he do that if he didn’t have some kind of sinister actions
on his mind?
She shivered and wondered if she should call the police,
but what would she say? A man is here pretending to be my
great-great-great-aunt’s killer, come and arrest him?
***
Caleb stopped in front of the bedroom’s entrance. God, he
had wanted to take Becci to that narrow bed and bury himself
in her softness. But he’d ignored his baser instincts and behaved
like a gentleman. It stung to have her think he would use force.
He gathered the thick canvas material in his fists and
hugged the table to his chest. Maybe he deserved the title of
scoundrel or rake. It had taken every ounce of willpower in
him to keep his hands away from the abundance of satiny skin
she exhibited. Every time she moved, that skimpy top gave
him a glimpse of pale flesh. He couldn’t take this indecency
much longer and remain sane.
He lowered his head in defeat. An inner torment gnawed at
him. He needed his godson. He needed to feel the free and easy
trust Luke offered him. He’d made a vow to always be there
for Luke, and he planned to use every available source to get
back to his own time and keep his promise.
“Caleb, I’m sorry.”
The sound of Becci’s voice startled him. He lifted his head
but kept his eyes locked on the doorway in front of him. “Don’t
say things you don’t mean. I know I’m not wanted here. If I
have my way, when I go through that door, I’ll be back in my
lifetime. Not stuck where people consider a person lazy, or
suspect they might force—what did you call it?— sexual favors
on unwilling females.”
Becci moved in front of him and stared at him assessingly.
According to her aunt, less than an hour earlier Caleb had
promised Aunt Lilly he would help them for as long as “the
spirits that be” allowed him to stay.
Becci shook her head. She had no idea what that statement
meant, and she wasn’t about to analyze it. If she did, she’d
probably be as crazy as her aunt and Caleb. She also knew she
should throw Caleb out the door and slam it securely behind
him.
But even as she told herself to get rid of him as fast as she
could, there was another part of her that said this man couldn’t
be violent if he wanted to. She also knew that if he worked for
her for room and board, she’d have the help she needed to get
the house ready for a nursery. It would be a way out—her only
way out. Besides, what if he really was from the past? He
wouldn’t have anywhere to go, wouldn’t know how to survive
in today’s world. The culture shock alone would probably give
him heart failure.
She laughed inwardly. She’d definitely lost her mind. He
couldn’t be from the past, yet...
“Are you a man of your word, Caleb Harrison?”
He jerked his gaze to her face. Mere inches separated them.
She fought the urge to move closer and smooth her fingers
over his forehead to erase the deep creases his frown created.
“Are you?” she repeated, keeping her hands clenched in
tight fists at her sides. She had an almost overpowering urge to
reach out and touch him.
“Yes.” The single syllable hung in the air. Seconds ticked
off. Each one accented by the grandfather clock in the parlor
downstairs.
“Listen, I know you’re angry, and you have a right to be.
But I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it for Aunt Lilly. I
don’t give a whit about this house. I n-never have.”
She stumbled over the lie. She loved the place. Always
had. If she had the finances to keep Berclair Manor in the family,
she wouldn’t even consider selling it. Her parents had barely
managed to hold onto it, and the bills they’d left behind proved
that she’d never be able to manage to do so without the nursery.
“The funding Ascomp is offering is my last hope. I can’t
possibly get the nursery ready without help. The living room
has to be painted, and the appliqués put up. You told Aunt
Lilly you would help us. I need you to keep your word.”
“I made a promise, and I do not break my promises.”
He shifted the table to one side. With his free hand, he
raked his hair off his forehead. His lips curled into a semblance
of a smile as he visibly relaxed.
“Who are you? Really?” Becci watched for any sign that
this might be a charade.
“I am Caleb Harrison. I was raised in an orphanage on the
outskirts of New York. I left there on my sixteenth birthday,
July twenty-seventh, eighteen sixteen.”
Eighteen sixteen. He’d said the year with such force she
knew he really believed he’d traveled through time.
“Yes, well, despite your advanced age, you look physically
fit enough to work. So, I’ll tell you what we need done, and
you can tell me if you’re able to do the work, okay?”
Caleb nodded. “That’s fair.”
“It’s a long list. I’ll get a pencil so you can write everything
down.”
Caleb hesitated letting his gaze rake over her. “That won’t
be necessary. I have an excellent memory. Rebecca—the
Rebecca I know—called it a unique gift that should be
cherished. My ability to recall even moot details is not always
a blessing, though. Some things are best forgotten. Other
things….”
Caleb’s gaze shifted to her lips, and he seemed to lean
toward her. His lips were so close to hers, yet they were eons
apart. Instinctively, she closed her
eyes, feeling as if she would
explode with anticipation.
She waited for his kiss, but it never came. Instead she felt
the scrape of his callused thumb glide lightly over her lower
lip. Her eyes flew open, but his hand hung at his side. Was her
imagination playing tricks on her?
“Mary Rebecca, I’ve called you three times. What’s going
on up there?” Lilly’s voice slowly penetrated the fog encircling
them.
Aunt Lilly had called her three times? Impossible!
Becci felt heat skitter up her neck to burn her cheeks again.
With a casual nod, Caleb stepped back, but his gaze stayed
locked with hers. In his eyes she saw the same heat that she
felt, and she knew she hadn’t imagined his touch. She wanted
to grab his hand, pull it back to her lips and press kisses to his
rough palm. But to do that, she’d have to look away from those
mesmerizing blue eyes.
She didn’t know how long they remained suspended in an
emotional trance. Only when he closed his eyes was she released
from the captivating, nerve-rattling hold they’d had on her. She
turned to face her aunt, who now stood on the first landing
staring up at them.
“N-nothing. We’re doing nothing,” Becci answered as she
took a step backwards. What had come over her? “I’m sorry.
We didn’t hear you call. I’m coming.”
But she still couldn’t seem to move, and her gaze shifted
back to Caleb and settled on his lips. He’d wanted to kiss her,
and, heaven help her, she’d wanted him to kiss her.
What about Michael? her conscience taunted. She and
Michael were comfortable together. No wild passion. No raging
hormones, and that’s the way she liked it.
And she wasn’t about to let a man who thought he was
born in eighteen-sixteen change that.
“Mr. Latham is waiting in the parlor. I told him you’d be
right down.”
With a casualness she didn’t feel, Becci swept around Caleb
and hurried down the stairs.
Damn it, she had to stop thinking about Caleb and
concentrate on her future. She’d spent her whole life trying to
get away from her parents’ legacy of a day-to-day existence.
There had never been extra money. Extra? There had barely
been enough for food. You could forget clothes and college.
Her father’s words echoed loud and clear. If you think you
can’t exist without a college education, then you’d better earn
a scholarship or start saving. Heaven knows we can’t pay for
that kind of schooling.
Of course they couldn’t. Daniel Berclair’s drinking habits
came first.
No way would she let Caleb divert her attempt for financial
security.
Even if he did make her blood run hot.
Becci lifted her hand and shifted her engagement ring until
the light made it sparkle. Soon she would be out of this financial
bind forever. Michael offered her the security she craved. Maybe
he didn’t make sparks fly when they kissed, but he understood
her.
What about Caleb?
Becci curled her fingers into her palm. Even the memory
of Caleb’s midnight-blue eyes, dark and full of desire, sent a
ripple of excitement through her. They seared into her, spawning
a flow of volatile sensations, but she couldn’t judge a man by
the feelings he created.
Besides, she knew all about lust. She wouldn’t give in to
the feelings as her mother had done. Emotions such as passion
destroyed everything.
Becci gave her crop-top a decisive tug. Besides, Michael
didn’t criticize what she wore.
Six
Caleb rearranged the items again and stepped back to study
the set up. Everything on the table belonged to Rebecca, even
the kerosene lamp, but nothing looked right.
He straightened the lace doily, removed the things from
the top of the table and carried the table to the opposite side of
the bed. Changing the tables didn’t make a difference.
If he concentrated on the little things maybe he could keep
his mind off Becci. He shouldn’t have noticed the desire in her
eyes. His body shouldn’t have responded to what society
declared off limits for a man with his background.
He knelt in front of the table and picked up Rebecca’s handheld
looking glass. He felt Becci’s presence before he saw her
reflection in the mirror.
She stood at the entrance for a moment before she entered
the room. A spiral of desire whirled through him. He wanted
this woman.
Encircled in a halo of color she looked like a princess. His
eyes followed the long weave of golden-red hair over one
shoulder and along the curve of her breast.
“Caleb?”
“Ma’am?” He laid the mirror down and pretended to be
engrossed in straightening items on the table. Why had he taken
liberties with this woman? He had come so close to kissing
her. He couldn’t afford to make that kind of mistake. And now
he had to face her again.
He stood up, took a deep breath, and turned toward her.
She rocked back and forth from her heels to her toes. Her
thumbs were tucked into the belt loops of her short-pants, and
her fingertips were slipped into the snug pockets.
“I could use your help showing Mr. Latham around. It gets
pretty dark when it’s cloudy, especially when the electricity is
out.”
“Show him around?”
“Yeah. It’s not what I want to do, but one of the antique
dealers coming to the party asked him to check out the antiques.
Consider it part of your job description.”
She caught his hand, slapped the light in it and motioned
for him to follow her downstairs.
“Mr. Latham, this is Caleb Harrison. I’ve asked him to
accompany us on the tour. With the power out, I figured we
could use the extra light.”
“Mr. Harrison.” The middle-aged man tipped his head in
greeting.
Caleb returned the action then faced Becci for instructions.
She pointed toward the back of the house. He followed them
to the kitchen, making sure the puddle of light fell a fraction
ahead of Becci and the stranger.
As Mr. Latham drew ahead of them, he found himself
walking next to Becci. Her shoulder suddenly brushed his. He
dropped a step back, but a moment later Becci caught his hand
and tugged him back in line. Still holding his hand, she guided
the light to an area where the stranger needed to take a closer
look. His breath caught in his throat and stayed locked there
until she released him.
They finished their tour of the lower floor and headed
upstairs. As they entered the bedroom, Caleb could smell the
simple lilac fragrance Rebecca had worn.
Did Rebecca’s spirit remain in the room? He thought he
felt it as he passed through the door. Surely not.
His stomach muscles tightened. He was here wasting time
when what he really needed to do was track down Jacobs and
/> return to Berclair Manor. If he returned tonight, he might be
able to save Rebecca. Especially if he managed to go back to
the month of May.
What had really happened to him this morning?
Had he fallen through time as he pushed the dresser into
the room? Could the dresser he’d made for Rebecca have
something to do with his dilemma? He eased over to it and ran
his fingertips over the initialed knobs. Or was it the orichalc
medallion he’d hidden in the secret compartment? Had anyone
found it? Was this the treasure Becci sought?
“The furniture is all hand carved,” Becci explained to Mr.
Latham.
Caleb watched the man run his palm over the slick wood
surface.
This must be the furniture Michael asked me to check on.
It’s old enough. He’ll be glad to know the junk is still here and
in fairly good condition, too.
Caleb stiffened, jerked his hand off the dresser and stared
at Mr. Latham. He’d heard the man clearly even though he
hadn’t spoken aloud. That meant the coin he’d hidden in the
secret compartment hadn’t been found, and it still had its
powers.
Had the man called the furniture junk? The man didn’t
know quality work. Caleb Harrison didn’t make junk, and he
didn’t like hearing his masterpieces described in that way. He
didn’t want to eavesdrop on other’s thoughts, either, but
curiosity pulled at his resolve. He tentatively replaced his hand
on the dresser.
Michael said there would be a chest, but I don’t see one.
Maybe it hasn’t been brought in yet.
Caleb slipped his hand off the dresser again.
“The dealer that’s coming might be more interested in the
furniture in the next room. I have a cradle and matching chest
that is at least as old as this set, maybe older,” Becci said.
Instead of responding, Mr. Latham traced the carved letters
on the dresser.
“Mr. Latham?”
“Huh? Oh, yes, the nursery furniture.” Mr. Latham waved
his hand to indicate Rebecca’s bedroom. “Is this your room?”
“Yes.”
“And all this furniture is authentic?”
“I’m not sure,” Becci answered honestly. “I believe so. It
was what we used when my family first inherited the house. I
slept in the child’s bed that’s in the next room and put my toys
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