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 hand-held 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 in the chest. If you’ll follow me I’ll show it to you. We believe the same carpenter made all the furniture.”
Becci glanced at Caleb as if waiting for confirmation. He nodded and swallowed hard. They were going into Luke’s bedroom. He couldn’t stifle the surge of pain that clawed at his heart. In another hour, he would be helping Rebecca put Luke to bed. Provided, of course, he returned in time to save her.
Becci swung around and motioned for Mr. Latham to lead the way into the room then she inched closer to Caleb.
Caleb closed his eyes. Lord have mercy, didn’t she know what she was doing to him? She smelled good. Too good. She stood too close, and he wanted her too much. When he opened
his eyes, he found her staring at him, her lips curling into a tentative smile.
“Lighten up. I don’t think you have to worry about leaving us just yet,” she whispered. She lifted her hand, indicating for him to follow Mr. Latham.
She’d taken his hesitation as fear that he would disappear when he exited the room. If she really knew his thoughts, it wouldn’t be Luke’s bedroom she led him to but the front door he determined, watching her hips sway as he reluctantly trailed after her.
Big mistake. Becci Berclair definitely existed. The longer he was around her the more he didn’t want to leave. He had to get away.
He didn’t want to look at Luke’s tattered bed and know that he hadn’t been there when Luke had needed him. He had to find Jacobs, retrieve the medallion from the dresser, and leave before he started caring too much about Becci, her aunt, and the problems they faced.
As they reached the door to Luke’s room, he glanced toward the window. The sun had long since dropped below the horizon. Jacobs would need another bottle of whiskey before long. They had to head back to Raleigh before that happened.
“I think I hear Lilly calling me,” Caleb said.
He slapped the light into Becci’s hand and hurried toward the stairs. He told himself it was the idea of entering Luke’s bedroom, but he knew better. He could have faced seeing Luke’s room, but he couldn’t take another minute of Becci’s gentle touch as she guided the light he held to where Mr. Latham needed it.
Caleb shook his head, disgusted. Becci had asked him to help her. How could he? He’d failed his godson. He’d failed Rebecca. Just as he’d failed everyone who ever touched his life, even his mother. And if he tried to help Becci, he would fail her, too.
Maybe he could go back to his time where he belonged and be the godfather he’d promised to be. For now he had to concentrate on the unvoiced declaration Mr. Latham had made because he sensed that there was something wrong about the man’s visit.
Who was this Michael, and why did he want to know about the furniture? And why was he interested in the chest?
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