Oh, Luke. I love you as if you were my own.
He suddenly knew he was losing the boy—would never again hold him in his arms again. Never have him snuggle against his chest or call him papa. Never see him grow to be a man.
“No.” The word tore from Caleb. He didn’t want to lose the child. Didn’t want to live without the innocent love Luke showered on him. At that moment, he acknowledged that he loved the boy as if he were his own.
Caleb slumped to the floor as a glaring white light filled the room. Searing heat flamed in him. He tried to shield his head with his arms as he cried out for Luke and Rebecca. He heard Rebecca scream in pain, heard Luke’s wail, then total silence.
Caleb heard an agonized groan and recognized it as his own. Slowly the pain eased, and he opened his eyes. The room swirled—tilting, shaking and spinning in all directions.
The vibrating dresser changed with each passing second. Staring at its beautiful, glistening wood, Caleb watched its appearance alter before his eyes. A deep, fresh, scratch ripped the side, swirling angrily down the whole length of board.
“No,” he whispered, raising his hand to the scarred indention only to have the marred line darken as if colored by time. A corner cracked away. He reached up to snatch the chip, only to have it slip through his fingers and vanish before it hit the floor. The mirror rattled in its frame, then cracked.
A menacing quiet settled about the room, charging the air with tension. Caleb glanced to where William Jacobs crouched behind the dresser. The drunk’s terrified look told Caleb that whatever was happening they were in this together. Jacobs jumped to his feet and ran for the stairs. He suspected the man was going to look for a bottle. He knew that Rebecca kept a bottle of whiskey for medicinal purposes, and he was sure that Jacobs would find it. That meant he wouldn’t do anything but drink the rest of the day.
Caleb turned his gaze back to the dresser. His whole body trembled. His heart raced dangerously. He clutched his saddlebags to his chest with one hand and traced the dresser’s dented planes with the other. What had happened to cause all this damage? Had lightning somehow struck it?
As he asked himself the questions, the pounding of his heart began to ease, and the room slowed its swirling march.
Lightning flashed.
Caleb rolled his head against the floor and peered around the dresser. Regret tore through him as he stared at the long break in the looking glass. Rebecca hadn’t even seen the beveled mirror. He’d hoped to surprise her with it.
What had happened to destroy it? Confusion and anger battled with his common sense. Although the dresser looked similar, this couldn’t be the piece he’d just moved in here. Yet in his heart he knew that although it no longer resembled the beautiful piece Rebecca would have loved, it was definitely the one he’d just shoved into the room.
The silver-backed looking glass, once giving a perfectly clear image, now reflected a marred surface with discolored circles. The two sides gave a distorted, jagged, swirling reflection of the gradually slowing room.
Wind roared through the open window, whipping the soft white curtains and popping the material with such force that it threatened to rip them off the frame. A tree limb scraped the glass and rain pelted the floor, leaving small mounds of water in little pools.
Caleb drew in a shaky breath and rolled his shoulders. No broken bones. And no pain except for his head, and that would pass. Right now, he needed to close the window before the water damaged the floor.
He listened for Luke’s cry. Nothing. Had Rebecca finally quieted him? Were they still downstairs waiting for him? They had to be. Rebecca wouldn’t take Luke out in a storm.
Caleb sat up and caught the edge of the dresser to pull himself upright. Before he could stand, motion in the mirror caught his eye. Bare legs—feminine, perfectly shaped, bare legs—moved into view in the cracked looking glass. Caleb sucked in a sharp breath. In all his thirty years he’d seen such a sight only once and then quite by accident.
Whoever the woman was, she rose up on her toes and pressed on the top of the window. He couldn’t pull his gaze from her mirrored image.
Where had this woman come from? Why had Rebecca let someone of such obviously immoral demeanor enter her house? Was this another of Rebecca’s sisters? A black sheep, perhaps? He’d met Rebecca’s twin, Catherine, and this definitely wasn’t Catherine who carried too much weight to have legs that slender. Well, he would have a word with Rebecca. If she expected him to marry her and raise Luke, this woman would have to leave. He wouldn’t have Luke living in a home that the townspeople would gossip about. He knew firsthand how such slander could unfairly destroy a boy’s reputation for life.
Caleb released his hold on the dresser and brushed his damp palms against his trouser legs. Still kneeling, he twisted around, telling himself he had to be imagining the apparition. Rebecca was a good woman and would never let a loose woman into her home, even if she were a relative.
At the sight that met his eyes, his heart picked up its pace. The reflection hadn’t lied. A real woman stood by the window, and he focused his gaze on her bare feet. Inch by inch he followed the gentle curves upward. Instead of frills and petticoats, she was dressed in clothes he’d never seen before and showed more flesh than a proper woman should. A lot more flesh. She wore something resembling men’s pants, but they stopped just below where her legs joined her hips.
Caleb swallowed around the lump in his throat. Not only were the men’s pants cut short, they started a good four inches below where her top ended. He’d never seen so much woman. Not even at the bordello he’d visited every Friday night before he moved to Raleigh.
His head might be swirling, and his vision slightly blurred, but he could tell that regardless of her attire—or lack of it—her beauty rivaled any he’d ever seen.
But beautiful or not, he had to get her out of Rebecca’s house before her reputation was ruined. If that happened, even marriage to him might not stop Obadiah from stealing Luke’s heritage from him.
He tightened his grip on the edge of the dresser and tried to stand again. Pain, sharp and intense, tore through his head, and the room suddenly faded into darkness.
Three
BECCI JUST ABOUT had the window down when another curse rent the air. She again whirled around to tell them not to use such language in her house, but the sight of colorful lights encircling two men who’d just stepped over the doorway stopped her.
One of the men turned and stumbled from the room. As his footfalls faded, the other man glanced at her before his ice-blue eyes rolled back. His body twitched for a moment, and then he sank into a motionless heap.
“Aunt Lilly, I need help up here!” Becci yelled as she hurried across the room and scooted the dresser out of the way as best she could. Fear knotted inside her. Her hands were shaking.
“Calm down and check his pulse,” she whispered, mentally going over the procedures Aunt Lilly had taught her. She pressed her fingers to his wrist. “Slightly elevated, but steady.”
“Respiration.” Becci frowned at the strange saddlebags he held, then shoved them aside and rested her hand on his chest.
“Come on, make those breaths deeper, mister,” she ordered.
He seemed to obey, and Becci breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s it. Keep it up. Help is coming. Aunt Lilly’s a retired nurse. She’ll know what to do.” What was keeping her aunt?
Becci flipped her braid over her shoulder. “What next?” She went through the list of emergency procedures again.
“Skin tone,” she muttered as she cupped her hand to his cheek. She brushed her knuckles over his chiseled features, as she stared down at his rough, yet ruggedly handsome, face.
He looks really good..
Becci let her hand glide down his neck to his shoulder and on to his upper arm. Trim, yet muscular. A real wor
king-guy physique like the type used in the television commercials that had women hanging out the windows for a peek.
Lord, even unconscious the man sent a tingle of attraction to the pit of her stomach. His raven-black hair curled over the collar of his flannel shirt and accentuated his sun-drenched skin.
“Aunt Lilly!”
“I’m coming, dear. The other man collapsed at the foot of the stairs,” Lilly said as she entered the room. She drew in several deep breaths before she dropped to the floor beside the other worker and held a glass out toward Becci. “Take the glass, honey. I’m too shaky to hold it and pour the whiskey at the same time.”
“Whiskey?” Becci gasped in disbelief. What had gotten into her aunt? After the way alcohol had destroyed Becci’s father, Lilly despised the use of liquor for any reason. “What are you doing with whiskey?”
Aunt Lilly winced as she answered. “I bought a couple bottles after I read the journal last week. I was putting it in the cabinet when I heard the commotion. The other man snatched the one bottle I had when he came around. He drained half the whiskey in one long swig.”
Her aunt paused and drew in a deep breath. Becci drew in one with her, too stunned by her aunt’s behavior to comment.
“Before I could explain that he needed to rest a moment,” her aunt continued, “he ran out the door, bottle in hand, so I had to get this one. That’s why it took me so long to get up here.”
Becci rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. She knew what her aunt’s next words would be. Sure enough, Lilly didn’t disappoint her.
“They have to be from the past. The book says . . . ”
“Don’t start. There is no way these men came from the past. You hired them. Didn’t you?”
“Me?”
Becci arched her brows and looked at her aunt askance. They both knew she’d hired them. She opened her mouth to state as much, but closed it without uttering a word. What was the use? Her protest wouldn’t be heeded. If her aunt chose to use a remedy she found in one of the old tattered journals they’d found, she would. And no amount of prodding would change her mind.
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.
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.
Keeper of the Key Page 3