“You know they’re apple,” Lilly chided. “Apple is Becci’s favorite. Now, I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”
Caleb glanced from Ascott to Lilly. She twisted on the water and started cleaning the sink she’d already cleaned before Ascott arrived. Her movements were clipped, and her shoulders were drawn in a tight angry bow. At least Lilly and he shared the same feelings for this man, even if Becci didn’t.
Ascott pulled out a long, dark cigar and ran it under his nose. “Tonight is Ascomp’s charity dinner. Becci and I won’t be eating here.”
“Tonight?” Lilly whirled around. Her gaze landed on the cigar. “You know better than to light up in this house, Michael.”
Ascott’s lips slid into a challenging sneer as he put the cigar between his lips and pulled out a box of matches.
Caleb rose slowly, and Ascott glanced in his direction. Their gazes locked.
Just do it, mister, Caleb thought. Just do it. If Ascott lit the small cigar it would give him an excuse to put his fist in the man’s face.
“I believe you were asked not to smoke in here, sir. You may either take the cigar outside or put it away,” Caleb said. “The choice is yours.”
Ascott hesitated for a moment before taking the cigar out of his mouth and slipping it into the inner pocket of his jacket.
Caleb eased back into the chair. It was only a minor victory, and one he would probably regret later. But the battle had definitely begun.
“To answer your question, Lilly, yeah, the benefit dinner is tonight. And since Becci wouldn’t want to miss out on the pie, we’ll just take one of them with us.” Ascott pinched off a piece of the crust and popped it in his mouth. “Becci and I can share it at my place later.”
Caleb flinched inwardly as the remark found its target. Hopefully he’d managed to keep his expression free of emotion. One look at Lilly, and he knew she’d sensed his reaction. Thankfully, it appeared that Ascott hadn’t.
“No, you can’t take a pie.” Lilly said. “The extra one is for Caleb.”
She nodded in Caleb’s direction, and then quickly turned back to her cleaning.
Caleb’s gaze again collided with Ascott’s angry glare. With a hint of triumph, Caleb smiled. He wasn’t sure Lilly really had made one of the pies for him, but he’d certainly let the man think she had.
“Since when did you start making pies for the hired help? And what is he doing answering the door?” Ascott snapped.
“He’s not the hired help. He’s a friend,” Lilly said.
“Friend? Yeah, sure. And how long have you known this friend?”
The back door opened, and Becci rushed in, saving Lilly from having to answer. Caleb stood politely, but Becci stared at Michael and smiled.
A sharp tightness gathered in Caleb’s chest as he watched the exchange. Would she ever look at him and smile? He doubted it. He closed his book and traced the binding with his index finger.
No one had to tell him he didn’t belong here. The silence in the room let him know who was the outsider.
Becci tossed the paper bag on the table and took a tentative step in Ascott’s direction.
“What are you doing here?”
Ascott crossed the room, hooked his arm around her waist, and pressed his lips to hers in a possessive kiss. Caleb clenched his jaw to stop the curse that almost erupted.
He had no right to feel jealousy for this woman. No right to take offense at the way they held each other. After all, he’d only known Becci three days.
But he did feel jealous.
Ascott glanced in Caleb’s direction. His cold, dark eyes said Becci belonged to him. Back off.
He’d held her closer this morning, Caleb recalled. He’d kissed her with more passion, and she’d responded. A smile tugged at his lips then died as Becci slipped her arm around Ascott.
Caleb stifled a groan. It hurt to see her in the other man’s arms. He’d never had Becci, and never would, yet the thought of losing her hurt almost as much as losing Luke.
Ascott’s smirk changed to a smile as he faced Becci. “Did you forget about the company’s charity dinner? I called to remind you, but your shift supervisor said you’d taken a personal holiday. You aren’t sick, are you?”
Becci rose on her tiptoes and placed a kiss on Ascott’s cheek. “No, I’m not sick. And, yes, I did forget about the dinner. It won’t take me ten minutes to change.”
She heard Caleb’s muffled curse and glanced around in time to see him grab a book from the table and his hat off the hook by the door. Their eyes met for a brief instant before he put on his hat. In that moment she saw a flicker of an emotion she didn’t want to acknowledge.
The door slammed behind him, shaking the windows, and Becci’s heart lurched in her chest. Why had she kissed Michael in front of Caleb? Because childish as it was, she’d wanted to make Caleb jealous, but all she’d done was make him angry.
“Have a piece of pie while I’m dressing,” Becci said to Michael, ignoring Lilly’s scowl as she rushed from the kitchen.
If the dinner hadn’t been a benefit for Ascomp she would have begged off, especially after seeing the hurt in Caleb’s eyes. A hurt she felt, too. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted to share the meal with Caleb until it had become impossible.
CALEB DROPPED TO the shed’s cot. Cupping his laced fingers around one knee, he rested his head against the rough wall and tried again to rationalize his feelings. The whole situation was hopeless. He’d walked around the lake three times before he got his jealousy under control.
He had to block out his memory of Becci and concentrate on his immediate needs—finding something to eat. He’d seen a pair of squirrels at the edge of the woods. They would make a nice meal, but not a quick one.
He rolled to his feet, grabbed his hat and slapped it against his leg. Sitting on the cot wouldn’t get him his supper. With one last glance at the small shed, he scooped up his bible, opened the door and halted in his tracks.
Startled to see Lilly standing in the front of him clutching a large bowl and a brown bag to her chest, he stepped back.
“I thought you would like some stew. There’s a slice of pie in the sack. Michael stole the one I made for you, only I didn’t notice it was missing until after they’d left.”
Lilly handed him the food and took a step backward. “Becci doesn’t love Michael. She’s grateful for the help he’s given us, but it’s not love. The kiss didn’t mean anything.”
“Did she say that?”
“No,” Lilly admitted.
Caleb set the food on one of the boxes and pushed it closer to the cot. “Sit down, Miss Lilly. We can talk while I eat.”
“Good. I need to know as much about you as possible.”
There was nothing underhanded about Lilly. If she wanted information she didn’t hesitate to ask. Well, they would just trade off. He wanted to know things about Becci. Things only Lilly could answer.
“There’s a rocker behind the boxes. I’ll get it for you,” Caleb said. If this session turned out to be like the ones he’d had with Rebecca, they both needed to get comfortable.
Lilly placed a bowl and spoon on the box he’d chosen to use as his table. While he uncovered the rocker, she opened the container and dipped out a large helping of stew. He could smell the rich aroma the moment she started filling the dish.
“Sit,” she ordered. “You’re a man with a man’s appetite, and as far as I know you haven’t eaten much of anything since you arrived. You have to be starving.”
Caleb motioned for her to make herself comfortable. She tested the rocker for stability and eased down into the woven seat.
Once she was settled, Caleb took his place and picked up the steaming bowl. When he lifted the dish to his face to breathe in the tantalizing aroma, his stomach rum
bled, confirming her statement.
When he finished, Lilly dipped him another serving.
“I want to thank you for the stew,” he told her. “It’s delicious. Now, I know you have several questions you want to ask. I’m ready when you are.”
“Is Caleb Harrison your real name?” Lilly asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What year were you born?”
Caleb set the empty bowl on the box, leaned against the wall and brushed his hand over the Bible beside him. “1802, I think. I was six when I entered the orphanage. According to Sister Teresa, Ma died in March of 1808.”
Lilly raised one arched eyebrow and kept her gaze steady as she said, “The journals say Caleb Harrison murdered Becci’s namesake. Are you that Caleb Harrison? If so, did you kill her?”
“I am Caleb Harrison, and I am from that era. However, I didn’t kill Rebecca. She named me as Luke’s godfather. The last time I saw her, she told me that she and Luke would be in the parlor, and I was to join them when I finished carting the dresser I’d made for her upstairs. That was June 18, 1836.”
“But you arrived here three days ago—May twenty-seventh, not June. Are you sure about the date?”
“Yes, ma’am. Saturday, June 18, 1836.”
“The day Rebecca died.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Caleb repeated, his voice barely a whisper. He kept his gaze locked on Lilly.
Lilly rocked forward and rested her hand on his arm. “I believe you.” She cleared her throat and continued. “I know you want to get back to your time, but there is a chance you’ll be stuck here. And my Rebecca needs you, whether she knows it or not.
“But you might have a few problems with the police if we don’t get you a Social Security Number and a birth certificate. If you’ll give me your vital information, I’ll try to get them for you. Your being an orphan might help. You can’t do much of anything without proof of your birth.”
Caleb nodded. “If that’s all you want to know about me, I have a couple of questions.”
“Fair enough, but in exchange, I would like to know what you remember about the day you came here.”
“As you said, fair enough. Now, this nursery Becci wants, why is it so important to her?”
“Last month a mother was arrested for stealing milk for her newborn baby. Her excuse was that she couldn’t work because she didn’t know anyone she trusted enough to care for her baby, and none of daycare facilities would take a child under six months old.”
Lilly snapped the lid back on the plastic container she’d brought the stew in and set it back on the makeshift table. “Becci’s heart went out to the woman. She would really like to open a nursery for the underprivileged, but, as you know, her finances won’t even allow her to open one for profit. Once the nursery is established, she might be able to accept a few charity cases.”
“Is Becci from . . . I mean, the clothes she wears are . . . skimpy.” Caleb’s cheeks burned. How could he ask Lilly if her niece sold herself? And if, perhaps, she wasn’t allowed to open the nursery because of her social standing?
“Today’s women wear fewer clothes than they did in your day,” Lilly said. “Although I agree that they’re too darned skimpy.”
“She doesn’t work at . . . Of course not.” Caleb cleared his throat and decided to change the subject. “You wanted to know about the day Rebecca died. I didn’t kill her, but I’m pretty sure I know who did.” He told Lilly everything he remembered about that day. Even that Jacobs had come up the stairs carrying the blood-covered knife. The same knife the journals claimed he’d used to kill Rebecca.
“I have to find Jacobs and go back,” he finally finished.
“Caleb, you can’t go back to Raleigh. They’ll hang you for Rebecca’s murder.”
“If I go back, I might be able to save her. I have to try.”
“I understand,” she whispered. “Just let me . . . us . . . know before you leave.”
“I will,” he promised. “Now, will you teach me about the world today?”
“I was wondering when you’d ask.”
THE MAN AT THE door checked their names off a list, then said, “Mr. Ascott, according to our list we never received your check for the benefit. The notation beside your name says you are to pay at the door.”
Michael patted his pockets. “I can’t believe this. I’ve left my wallet home. Becci, can you give the man a check? I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”
“I can’t,” Becci whispered.
“Becci, don’t embarrass me. You know I’m good for it. Give the man a check.”
She had a bad feeling about this, but her utility bill wasn’t due for another week, and Michael said he would pay her back tomorrow . She had to trust him. She was going to marry him, after all. After writing out the check, she ripped it off and stuffed her checkbook back into her purse. Michael escorted her to the table and ordered wine for both of them.
Becci sipped the wine and tried to stifle her complaint. She didn’t like the club, but at least more of the money would go to the charity than if they’d gone to a snazzy restaurant. A lot of fifty-dollar-a-plate benefits were held at various places around town. Not many were held in nightclubs.
“Who picked this place?” Becci asked.
“It was a committee decision,” Michael supplied.
“I can’t believe they chose a country and western bar,” Becci grumbled. On all sides, people wore jeans and hats. It wouldn’t take much imagination to visualize the whole group horseback riding across an open range.
She felt ridiculous in her outdated long satin dress and the dangling crystal earrings that hung nearly to her shoulders. The dress and accessories had been her mother’s, and she’d thought the outfit appropriate for the benefit dinner. Out of all the members present, only four of the women wore evening attire, and hers was the only full-length dress in the whole room. Most of them wore cowboy boots and jeans. Michael hadn’t specified what to wear, but she hadn’t asked, so the blame wasn’t entirely his. But he could have spoken up when she came downstairs instead of telling her she looked nice.
Although Michael wore a three-piece suit, he didn’t look out of place, probably because he hardly ever wore anything else. And he was wearing cowboy boots, damn him.
“Don’t complain too loud, Becci,” Michael chided. “The organization gets more money this way, and the club did reserve an area just for our group. Besides, there won’t be any boring speeches to listen to and no elaborate pleas for additional funds.”
“I understand all that, but I’d hoped to mingle and discuss my plans for the nursery with a few of the members.” Especially since she’d had to use the money she’d set aside for the utility bill to pay for the tickets because Michael had conveniently left his wallet at home.
With the music blaring she had to strain to hear what the person next to her said. She shook her head and blew out an exasperated breath. She’d thought Michael said the Ascomp executives were a very tight-knit group. She must have misunderstood him. These people hardly spoke to each other.
Becci waved at Mr. Latham, who sat at the other end of the room. He nodded and turned away. Michael picked up her plate. The other men at the table followed his lead and cleared off the remains of their dinner, leaving the women alone.
Becci started to introduce herself to the ladies, but they were wrapped up in a private conversation. Wishing she’d stayed home with Caleb, she glanced at her watch but couldn’t make out the time in the dark room. Becci tapped her fingers on the hardwood table. She’d had enough. She reached for her evening bag just as Michael returned.
Becci straightened and garnered her courage to ask him to take her home, but before she could speak the DJ said, “I would like to present the Ascomp Company. They are our special guests tonight, and the following song is a specia
l request for one of the couples in the group. Enjoy, Becci and Michael.”
Michael took her purse and tossed it on the table. “I’m not ready to leave, and your nose isn’t shining. Might I suggest a little whirl around the dance floor since they’re playing this for us?” Michael coaxed.
Before she could refuse, he led her to the small parquet area in front of the bandstand and wrapped his arms around her. A round crystal ball hung from the ceiling with red, blue and green spotlights trained on it. Fragments of color flashed over everything. Becci curled her hand over Michael’s shoulder and swayed to the soft country love song flooding the bar.
Nothing felt right. Not the dancing nor the way he rested his hands at her waist. Even the slight pressure of his fingers, which she knew he meant as a loving gesture, had little effect on her.
Where were the sparks? Caleb’s face came to mind. She’d never experienced such an explosive reaction with anyone—never believed such sensations existed. At least that’s what she’d thought until Caleb had kissed her. Why had his touch created such a response when Michael’s didn’t?
She glanced up, letting her gaze drift slowly over Michael’s features. He was handsome. More handsome, really, than Caleb. And Michael had been there to help her through the financial woes her parents had left her. Yet, Michael was a bit standoffish, even with her. Maybe she just needed to jump-start their desire. But how? With a kiss? It definitely had worked with Caleb.
Becci combed her fingers through the short hair that curled just above Michael’s collar. He looked down at her. His eyes took on a hard glare, and his lips twisted into a cynical sneer.
Confused, Becci lowered her gaze and stared at the diamond tie tack placed a fraction too high on Michael’s tie. His reaction had startled her. He probably thought he looked sexy, but he just looked . . . mean.
Suddenly, she realized she felt nothing for Michael. She didn’t love him. Would never love him. She wanted to be with Caleb.
Becci sighed, recalling when she’d come home. She’d caught a glimpse of Caleb coming to his feet, and she’d felt the thick thread of tension in the air. She hadn’t dared acknowledge Caleb, even though all she’d wanted was to stare at him forever.
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