waste on such a foolish project,” he snapped.
Becci’s temper flared, but she bit back her retort and calmly
said, “Ascomp won’t decide who gets the money until after
the party, and that’s three weeks away. I need that time,
Michael.”
He pressed his lips into a tight line. For a moment she
thought he would refuse. “All right. I’ll find a way to make my
client understand, but it’s imperative I have the signed contract
in my hands that night.”
“Caleb says I shouldn’t sell.”
“What does he know? He’s a backwoods carpenter who
doesn’t know how to turn a buck.”
“Carpenter? How did you know Caleb was a carpenter?”
She hadn’t told him anything about Caleb, and when she’d
entered the kitchen earlier everyone had been so tense that she
was sure that neither Caleb nor her aunt had told him.
“I didn’t know for sure, but I know his type. He certainly
isn’t a man who can give you sound financial advice. Use your
head, baby. I’m your friend and your personal consultant, and
I’m going to marry you.”
Becci glanced toward the shrubbery and flicked the
flashlight on and off. She needed time to think about what
Michael had just said. Even if she wasn’t going to marry
Michael, she did trust his financial advice. Would she be better
off selling? She might get enough money to open a better,
more modern nursery somewhere else instead of sinking a
fortune into this money pit of a house. And if she broke off her
engagement with Michael right now, she might lose the seller
he already had lined up. Who knew how long it would take to
find another buyer.
She felt torn, knowing she should tell Michael she didn’t
love him and wouldn’t marry him, but she had to think about
her aunt. Would it really be so wrong to wait another couple of
weeks before breaking their engagement?
Before she could come up with an answer, Michael curled
a finger beneath her chin and turned her face toward his.
Lowering his head, he brought his lips to hers, stopping a breath
away.
“Forget Caleb. I know what’s right for you,” he whispered,
brushing his lips against hers.
Becci turned away from his kiss and saw a flicker of anger
in his eyes as he cupped his palm to her cheek and forced her
to meet his gaze.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared more about
that bum than you do me. You wear my ring, Becci. Not his.”
She couldn’t reply. The solitaire on her left hand seemed
to tighten. If she had any sense at all she would give his ring
back and tell him to get out of her life, but what would she do
without his financial advice? Who could she trust to handle
the sale of her property? No one else had presented an offer
that promised as much as the one he’d given her.
“I think you’d better leave now. It’s late, and I have to
work tomorrow.”
“Okay, Rebecca, but we will settle the issue of the house
within the month.” He lowered his head and ground his lips
roughly against hers. She hadn’t expected such a harsh kiss,
and when he raised his head, the only sparks she felt had to do
anger not passion. How dare he try to force her to make a snap
decision on something so important! Her anger veered toward
panic at the sound of Caleb’s muttered curse coming from the
bushes.
Damn it, Caleb, shut up. What if Michael hears you?
“You’d better go,” Becci said, hoping she’d covered
Caleb’s mumbling as she shrugged out of Michael’s grasp.
“We’ll talk, tomorrow,” he assured her again, his voice
clipped and his expression hard.
Michael slid behind the wheel, and Becci breathed a sigh
of relief as she watched his car disappear behind the row of
trees that blocked the view of the busy highway. The moment
the car was out of sight she turned toward the shrubs.
“Caleb Harrison, get in the house. Now!”
Ten
Becci paced around the kitchen. Her head pounded, and
her muscles ached from all the tugging and lifting she’d done
over the last two days. Having Caleb sit at the table with his
hat pulled just low enough to give her a shadowed glimpse of
his sparkling blue eyes didn’t help.
His cockeyed half-smile gave him a mischievous but
confident aura. The room seemed to shrink in his presence,
and her pulse started tapping out a rhythm that she’d never felt
before Caleb’s arrival.
“Men,” she rasped. “I don’t need this. I don’t need Michael,
and I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”
She watched his mouth twitch. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t
you?” she said as she took two glasses from the cabinet and
slammed them onto the counter. “Didn’t you see the flashing
light on the console? You had to know the alarm was set.”
The minute she spoke, she realized how ridiculous that
statement must have sounded to him. She lifted her hands in
exasperation and slapped them against the counter, making the
glasses clink together.
“Of course you didn’t,” she stated, expelling a sigh. “You
didn’t even know what a car was until tonight.”
He shoved his hat back and gave her the full impact of his
mischievous smile and glistening blue eyes. “It sounded worse
than a drunken band of river ruffians after a long night of
carousing.”
Caleb rocked back in his chair. “I had a mustang, once.
Well, it wasn’t exactly mine. The man who took me from the
orphanage to work his fields owned him.” His expression
slipped into a distant stare. “I thought I’d found a home, but it
didn’t work out.”
“What happened?” She watched the sparkle drain from
his eyes, replaced by a deep sadness. She wished she hadn’t
asked. The memory obviously wasn’t a good one.
Spinning away, she grabbed a bottle of aspirin out of the
cabinet and laid two on the counter. After filling both glasses
with water, she tossed back the tablets and drank down the
contents of one. Without asking if he wanted a drink, Becci set
the other glass within Caleb’s reach and settled into her chair.
“Tell me your story, Caleb. I really would like to hear it.”
Caleb took his hat off and rolled the brim. When he looked
back up his expression held no visible emotion. “I’d hoped the
horse would be mine someday, but they had a boy of their own.
Newly born. When he turned five, they booted me out because
I’m a ‘bastard’ and they didn’t want me corrupting their son.”
“How old were you?”
“Eleven when he took me in. Sixteen when I left.”
Becci felt the pain in her heart. “I’m sorry.”
Caleb met her green-eyed gaze, saw the sympathy
glistening in them, and turned away. He didn’t want Becci’s
pity. Why had he told her that story? Not even Rebecca knew
about the hurt he’d felt at the fami
ly’s rejection.
He shrugged off the memory. At least Becci hadn’t bristled
at his confession of having no name. He shook his head and let
his gaze meet hers again.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Becci. It wasn’t a bad life. The
man paid me a good wage and kept me fed, even if he didn’t let
me forget I had no pa. I should have known it wasn’t permanent.
When the time came for me to leave, he handed me some
saddlebags with a day’s supply of food and said thanks. It was
time. I was a grown man and needed to make a life for myself.
Besides, it’s long since past.”
Becci chuckled. “You can say that again. By my
calculations, about one hundred and eighty years. Give or take
a year or two.”
“Yeah, seventeen for me. Give or take.”
Caleb tossed his hat on the table and picked up the glass of
water. He stared at the contents for a moment, drained it and
handed the glass to Becci. He pointed at the carafe on the
counter. “Is that coffee?”
“Yeah.” Becci pushed herself up and went to the counter.
She’d thought her stab at humor would put a smile on his face.
All it had done was make him more pensive.
“What did you do after you left the farm?” She poured
them both a cup of coffee and slid back into her chair.
Caleb didn’t meet her gaze head on, but watched her
reflection in the window. “The day I was ordered out, I spent
every penny I’d saved on a bottle of cheap whiskey and a lady
of the evening just to prove that whether I had a name or not, I
was a man. It turned out to be the best investment I ever made.”
Becci’s hazy image in his peripheral vision held his
attention. He didn’t dare look at the real woman sitting so close.
She had joked about his past, whether out of jest or ridicule, he
didn’t know. Once women of his era learned of his birthright
they treated him with reproach and taunted him with cruel words
and glances, unless they decided to tinker with danger. He’d
been able to stay in Raleigh longer than any other place. He’d
been asked about his family background the week before
Rebecca invited him to move to Berclair Manor. He hadn’t
lied, and the taunts from the townspeople had begun within
the day.
Caleb faced Becci. Like Saul and Rebecca, Becci was
different. Although he’d known her less than a week, he felt a
friendship with her he’d felt with few others. And friends didn’t
turn away when they learned about things in your life you had
no control over. Things like having no father, or having a mother
who sold herself to feed her offspring, shouldn’t be dumped
on the child’s shoulders. But he’d learned firsthand how cruel
the world could be for a bastard.
“Why do you say that a bottle of cheap whiskey and
a...um…lady were the best investment you ever made?”
As she asked the question, Caleb watched the blush of
embarrassment color her cheeks. He lowered his gaze and
studied the strange-smelling coffee before taking a tentative
sip. He set the cup down and faced the window.
He’d told her this much, and she’d had the gumption to
ask, so he might as well let her know the whole story. “Lola,
the woman I bought, took the bottle of whiskey away from me
and asked what happened to make me turn to the spirits. I told
her, and we talked for almost two hours. She refused to take
me in the way a woman of her profession usually would and,
instead, introduced me to an old man who taught me how to
make furniture.”
Their eyes met in the window’s reflection, but he couldn’t
see clear enough to know what Becci thought about his story.
He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter what she thought, but it
did. He had to know. Slowly, he faced her, ready for the worst.
Her expression held no rebuke, and if she pitied him, it didn’t
show in her eyes. The corners of her mouth suddenly curved
upwards, and a series of emotions slipped across her face that
he couldn’t define. But he saw no sign of rejection in her green
eyes. Without thinking, Caleb leaned forward, traced the
contour of her jaw, and shifted her head until they faced each
other. He eased closer until he felt the warmth in the nervous
sigh she expelled.
“Enough about me,” he murmured, knowing he was being
too forward. She belonged to another man. He let his knuckles
linger on her cheek a fraction longer than proper before he
lowered his hand to his coffee cup. For a long moment their
gazes held. Then she closed her eyes, breaking the connection.
He cleared his throat, swallowed hard and chose an
impersonal subject for them to discuss. “Tell me about these
automobiles. Is the mustang as fast as its namesake?”
“Faster.”
He heard the tremor in the single word. He should never
have touched her, but her womanly softness pulled him like
the tide sweeping the shoreline of a distant sea.
Tentatively, he brushed her knuckles with one finger. When
she didn’t pull away from him, he traced a line up her arm to
her shoulder and on to her face. He cupped his hand to her
cheek. So soft. His heart raced as she leaned into his palm and
feathered a kiss to his callused hand. Only a whisper touch, yet
he felt it deep in his very soul.
Heaven help him, he wanted her more than any woman
he’d ever met. He wanted to feel her womanly curves against
his hardened muscles—flesh pressing flesh. Body to body in
the most intimate way a man could be with a woman.
Closing his eyes, he let the sensations flow freely. He had
no right to want this woman. He shouldn’t crave the feel of her
lips, nor have this aching need to take her in his arms. Not just
because she belonged to Ascott, but because a lady such as
Becci deserved more than he could provide.
Slowly, he drew his hand away and tried to force back the
raw desire that battled within him. No matter how long he lived,
he would never be worthy enough to make Becci his wife, even
if he ended up staying in this time.
Caleb tipped his chair back and hooked his thumbs in his
pockets. Hopefully it would keep him from touching her again.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asked, his voice
sounded unusually husky, even to his own ears.
Becci pushed a curl away from her face and drew in a
deep breath. Caleb had asked the question in his usual tone,
his voice laced with a husky, controlled calmness she couldn’t
believe. He’d touched her, but he wasn’t even affected, while
her heart raced at the speed of an Indy car, and her hands
trembled from the effects of his caress.
She tried to hide the tremors by removing the pins holding
her hair in the tight twist. Michael preferred she wear her it up
when they went out. She hated it. Finger combing the lengths,
she divided them into three equal parts and began braiding it
for the night.
“No,” she answered honestly. “Michael and I argued tonight
because he thinks I should quit school and give up the idea of
the nursery. Just because we’re engaged he has no right to tell
me what to do, and I’m tired of him pressuring me to sign the
papers giving him permission to sell my house.”
“You’re going to school?”
She nodded, and he added, “Very few women of my time
took to book learning beyond reading. What are you studying?”
“Nursing. I need the degree because the law requires a
qualified medical person in any facility where newborn babies
are cared for. That’s the kind of nursery that’s most needed in
this area, and that’s the kind I want to open.”
“Won’t you have enough problems taking care of your own
children?”
“I...we’re not going to have any children.”
“Not have children? Not even one?”
“No.” She stopped weaving her hair and looked up.
“Michael doesn’t want children. Besides, we plan to live in an
apartment if we have to sell the manor, so there wouldn’t be
room for kids. And I won’t know if I have to sell until we find
out whether or not we get the grant money.”
He started to tell her she couldn’t sell the house, but he
knew he didn’t have any say in the matter. “What will happen
to the house if you sell it?”
“The developer interested in the property wants to put in a
gas station.”
“A what?”
Becci finished braiding her hair, and while holding the ends
together scooted her chair back until she could reach the junk
drawer. She pulled out a scrunchy and secured the woven
lengths before she said, laughing, “A gas station. It’s where
you buy the fuel that runs cars. Automobiles are called cars for
short.”
Caleb stiffened. “You’re laughing at me, Becci. I’m not an
uneducated man. But I’m learning a whole new world, and I
don’t deserve your ridicule. What I’m discovering now are
things you’ve known about all your life. Thanks to the books,
it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. The only thing that
could make it better would be to learn everything firsthand
from a well-instructed guide.”
Becci cringed at his offended expression. “I’m sorry, Caleb.
I wasn’t making fun of you. It’s just that it seems impossible
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