She picked up the box of old journals and headed for the
kitchen. “Well, Mr. Caleb Harrison, let’s see if one of these
can tell me a little more about you.”
She set the box on the kitchen table and stretched. Her
back ached, and all she wanted to do was sleep. But she’d
promised, and she would keep her word. She pressed one hand
to the small of her back and stifled a groan.
Why had she worked so hard for what would probably end
up being nothing? She adjusted the cushion in the canebottomed
chair and sat down at the kitchen table with the first
book.
According to Aunt Lilly, one of these old, tattered journals
had a little of Caleb’s history in it. Of course she had no way of
knowing if her Caleb and the man written about were one and
the same. She still told herself that time travel was impossible,
but as crazy as it seemed, there was a part of her that had begun
to believe his story.
And if his story was true, would he still interest her if she
knew more about him? She had enough trouble keeping her
mind off the man without reading about him, but read she must.
Aunt Lilly would never stop pestering her until she did.
Becci straightened the book so the light hit it and carefully
turned each brittle page. The grandfather clock’s constant
ticking set a slow, monotonous pace in the background. She
didn’t see anything about Caleb in this journal, so she set it
aside, picked up the next one, and laid the first one back in the
box.
This journal revealed more of the same boring monologue
as the first. She didn’t care that rain washed out the bridge
over the Wolf River or that a late spring freeze had destroyed
the newly planted seedlings.
The second book joined the first. One by one she studied
each journal. There was nothing of importance, at least not in
her eyes. What had she expected? Maybe a detailed description
of the man outside, or an identifying birthmark to give her
positive proof that Caleb Harrison was whom he claimed? Or
maybe she’d hoped to read about the elusive gold? No, she
knew better than that. After all, her mother and father had looked
in every conceivable place for the fortune.
They hadn’t had the journals, but if they couldn’t find the
manor’s secret treasure in fifteen years what made her think
she could locate it in less than a month? Assuming, of course,
that it existed, which she still didn’t believe.
She flipped open the fourth book, stretched and glanced
down at the first page. A sense of awe consumed her. In the
corner beside the date, Rebecca had written, “Book One, 18 5.”
January 10, 18 5
Eli called for Saul this afternoon. He’s been sick since
Saul and I moved here from Boston. He’s much worse today.
As Saul instructed, I wrote Obadiah to tell him of Eli’s
worsening condition. I fear Eli will not be here when his son
arrives.
Saul and I told Eli of my condition. We’d hoped the news
that he would become a grandfather sometime in June would
give him new strength. It didn’t, but we saw the pleasure it
brought to him. Eli gave Saul the gold medallion. I’ve never
seen Eli without it. Now Saul will be the one responsible for
this last remaining piece of Atlantis metal. Orichalc, such an
odd metal. Golden, yet not gold. Eli explained that Obadiah
had stolen a similar coin from another family, then he lost it
in a game of chance. Now the one we have will be theirs as
payment for the sins against their family. We, as his kin, have
now inherited Obadiah’s sins. Once the rightful family reclaims
ownership and understands the aspects of the medallion it
will become theirs. Through Obadiah’s disgrace we have lost
the right to be keepers. There are no single men or women left
in our family except for Christina’s son, and unless the new
owner marries into our family the Berclair’s have lost the
power forever.
As far as I know, there are no more pure Atlanteans left,
and only a true Atlantean will be able to touch the medallion.
We will keep it safe until the proper owner arrives, or until we
are instructed to nullify its properties. We cannot leave such
power in the hands of uncaring souls for it will destroy them.
So this is where Aunt Lilly had found the proper name for
the golden metal. Becci shut the book. She’d read enough for
one evening, and she definitely didn’t need to read about what
her namesake had done with the fortune she’d been forced to
oversee.
Besides, Rebecca’s words were written in such a fancy
script they were difficult to decipher. Becci cupped her palm
to the back of her neck and massaged it. Then she caught the
braid and slid her fingers along the woven length. When she
reached the brush-like tip, the memory of Caleb painting her
cheek with it flashed instantly to mind. What was he doing
right now?
Not that she really cared. She didn’t. She just doubted he
was from the past. After all, if he came from Rebecca’s era, he
should be brimming with curiosity and bombarding her with
questions. But he hadn’t asked about anything. Except when
the lights came back on, she amended. And then he only
questioned her on the meaning of the words “utilities and
appliances.”
The thought of his reaction to electricity and his stunned
expression made her smile. He’d beamed with curiosity, but
remained silent. She had to admit his acting abilities surpassed
her expectations. Earlier he’d stopped in front of the paintings
on the stairwell gallery and waved his hand at Eli, Saul and
Obadiah’s portraits. “I know who these three are, but who are
the rest?” he had asked. Had he really known her ancestors?
Becci stood and stretched. Then she rolled her head in a
slow circle trying to get relief for the nagging ache between
her shoulder blades. With her hands on her hips, she twisted
first to one side and then to the other. Finally, she bent forward,
touching her toes. She slowly straightened and inhaled, drawing
in a deep breath. She loved the smell of wood-smoke.
Wood-smoke? She glanced toward the bay window. The
setting sun streaked the blue-white clouds as they forged a slow
path through the large oaks and gnarled magnolia trees that
surrounded the small lake.
Smoke. Fire!
She felt a surge of hysteria. She couldn’t lose Berclair
Manor. Not this way. If she hurried she could the contain fire
until the fire department arrived. She grabbed the telephone
and punched the nine, then stopped, her index finger hesitating
over the one.
No, she couldn’t call nine-one-one. What if it was a false
alarm? They’d bill her for coming out, and it would cost more
than she could afford. She would just have to check it out.
Another puff swirled over the hill. She grabbed a bucket
from the shed and ra
n in the direction of the swelling clouds
and fragrant odor of wood smoke.
When she reached the top of the hill, she came to an abrupt
halt. Thank heavens she hadn’t called the fire department. It
wasn’t a fire—it was Caleb. She drew in several deep, calming
breaths then ambled down the slope.
Everything glistened around her. Water droplets left by the
recent storm twinkled like diamonds in the trees. Caleb sat on
a stump, his forearms resting on his denim-clad thighs and his
hands hanging loosely between his knees.
He wiggled his fingers then jerked them back when the
kitten slapped at them. He teased Pepper again and again, but
that wasn’t what held Becci’s attention. It was the smooth
muscles of his bare back rippling with each move that
captivated her.
He picked up the kitten in one hand, leaned forward and
shifted the two long sticks, turning over the catfish that lay at
the edge of the small campfire. The evening sun painted the
smooth surface of the lake with red and orange, while the
dancing flame’s softer hues flickered over Caleb’s muscled
shoulders. The man, more real than she cared to think about,
stared as if hypnotized into the flames and slowly caressed the
kitten. The fire created a golden halo, making the thin layer of
perspiration on his body shimmer and added highlights of
masculine strength to the sculptured lines.
The scene appeared mystical, like looking into a crystal
ball and catching a vision of your future lover.
Lover?
Where had that thought come from? Certainly not from
the scene playing before her. Caleb represented nothing
magical, and he’d created the symbolic mist with his fire.
Besides, he didn’t show any signs of being overly interested in
a relationship, intimate or otherwise. He cared more about her
cat than her.
She couldn’t stop the smile from curling her lips. That
wasn’t exactly true. She’d seen the desire flicker in his eyes
each time she’d looked up and caught him staring at her.
She gave herself a mental shake. Enough.
“That’s against the law,” Becci proclaimed, pointing at
the fire as she approached Caleb.
He snapped to attention. Without answering, he set the
kitten down, rolled to his feet, and grabbed his shirt and hat off
the low limb of the magnolia tree where he’d hung them. He
slapped his hat onto his head and shrugged into his shirt.
Becci watched Pepper scamper off toward the house. When
she faced Caleb she froze, her gaze locked on his hands as
they inched up his shirt, sliding each button into place. She
imagined those same callused thumbs tracing her lips, and the
image sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” Caleb said.
His voice pulled her attention to his face. His eyes held no
sign of desire as he scrutinized everything about her. His lips
curled into a crooked line—half smile, half frown.
She’d never met anyone like Caleb Harrison. He had the
power to make her tremble without even touching her. His
raven-black hair curled just above his brows as if begging her
to brush it back. His midnight-blue eyes showed a strong-willed,
stubborn streak. Altogether he added up to a very sexy, very
masculine, hunk-of-the-month-gorgeous guy.
“I didn’t know they’d made laws against cooking.”
Becci followed his motions as he pointed at the neatly
circled stones and branches that made up his campsite. “Not
cooking. Open fires. They’re too dangerous.” And so are you.
“Not if you know what you’re doing,” Caleb replied as he
rolled a stump closer to the fire.
Oh, yes, especially if you know what you’re doing.
After checking the log for stability, he took his hat and
fanned it over the top to dust away the loose leaves and twigs.
“Will you join me? It’s not much, but you’re welcome to
share what there is.” He motioned for her to sit down.
Becci straddled the seat Caleb had prepared and set the
bucket on the ground next to her. He waited until she’d settled
before he returned to his seat.
His blue plaid shirt gaped open at the neck, revealing a
thatch of dark hair the same shade as the long lengths that
curled around his collar.
“I whittled down a fallen branch and managed to spear a
couple of catfish,” he said, tipping his head toward the long
pointed stick leaning against the magnolia tree’s trunk. “I would
have tried catching the fish by hand in the logs around the
pond, but Rebecca told me it was best not to disturb the snakes.”
Becci cringed. The thought of Caleb reaching under the
water into one of the buried logs chilled her. “Grandma told
me stories about men log fishing and losing a finger to a turtle
or having to have a hand amputated for lack of medical attention
after a snake bite. I thought the stories were tall tales woven to
keep me from playing in the mud around the lake.”
“The stories are probably a bit exaggerated, but basically,
they’re true. That’s one of the reasons I chose to make the spear.”
“You should have used one of the rod and reels in the shed,”
Becci said. “Although, after the front that just passed through
I doubt you would have caught anything using them. I’m
surprised you were able to catch these.”
“Me, too,” Caleb said reaching down to rotate one of the
fish. “They’re ready to eat. You will join me, won’t you?”
She started to refuse, but Caleb was already sliding the
fish off the charred limb and onto one of the old metal plates
that had been stored in the shed. He leaned to one side, slid the
plate toward her and repeated the process on a second one.
“Have you done this before? Cooked by the lake?” Becci
asked as she reached for her portion.
“Yes, once or twice. Rebecca would fix a basket, and we
would take our midday meal out here. We never stayed this
late in the day, though.” Caleb lifted his gaze to the colorful
sunset. “By now I’d have already tucked Luke into bed and
been on the road back to Raleigh.” He broke off a piece of the
white meat and took a bite.
A flash of what could only be jealousy sparked in Becci.
She wanted to ask him more questions about her namesake.
What kind of relationship had they had? What attracted him to
her? How did she, Becci, compare to Rebecca? Instead, she
followed his lead and pinched off a bite of the fish. To ask him
such questions would be ridiculous. There was no such thing
as time travel! Yet in her heart she knew he spoke the truth.
Somehow, he’d slipped forward in time. For now she’d ignore
the situation and just enjoy the food.
The moment the morsel touched her lips she closed her
eyes and enjoyed the rich smoked flavor. “This is absolutely
the best fish I’ve ever tasted.”
“Thanks to Lilly,” Caleb admitted. “I asked her i
f she had
any spices to liven up my dinner, and she gave me this,” he
said holding up a small seasoning bottle. “And a lemon.”
“Well, this is fantastic.”
“Thanks,” he said again, this time with more emphasis.
Caleb hadn’t thought her approval would mean so much
to him, but it did. Except for the gentle caress he’d woken up
to after his arrival and the brief moment in the hall, she’d
wavered between sharp-tongued and distantly polite. Now, she
was offering kindness and conversation, and he was oddly
hungry for both.
“Tell me about this nursery you’re planning.” Caleb broke
off another bite and put it in his mouth, never taking his eyes
off her. He heard the excitement in her voice as she talked
about the new mothers who had to work but couldn’t find
daycare, and of how she loved children.
“So those are the plans. Turn the downstairs into the
nursery, with the exception of Aunt Lilly’s bedroom. When
Aunt Lilly first came up with the plan to turn the house into a
nursery we were going to use her room as a clinic for the
children that might get sick during the day. But she broke her
hip last year, and it’s too hard for her to go up and down the
stairs.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Miss Lilly’s injury.” Caleb looked
at his plate, surprised to find only bones remained. “Things
have changed so much around here. You even closed the well,
and I haven’t made it over to the spring for water.” Caleb
shrugged. “I’ve already drank what water Miss Lilly gave me,
so I can’t offer you anything to wash the fish down.”
“I didn’t close the well, the city did, and we don’t go to the
spring for water. It’s piped to the house through the city’s water
system. You could have gotten it from the spigot beside the
back door.”
“Oh. Nobody told me. How would I go about learning the
everyday things? Are there books? I know about switches that
make dark rooms light, and that the torch I carried around the
house is called a flashlight, but what are a rod and reel and a
two-wheeler? There are hundreds of other things you’ve
mentioned that don’t make sense to me. Will you teach me
about these things?”
“Come off it, Caleb. Enough is enough. The thought of
you being from the past is ridiculous, and I’m not going to
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