She wanted to shout, “damn practicality,” yet she knew he’d spoken the truth. He didn’t know that it was too late to save her from being hurt. She’d already lost her heart. A future without him would be no future at all.
He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “If, after you’ve got your wits about you, you still want me tonight, I’ll be in the shed waiting.”
Becci couldn’t know what turning away from her did to Caleb. Work waited in the next room. Thank goodness painting didn’t take concentration. He didn’t have the power to keep his mind on a tedious task.
He feathered one last kiss to her cheek, stood and walked out.
BECCI TOSSED THE empty fried chicken box into the trash. She’d spent her last ten bucks on the dinner, and she hoped Caleb appreciated it. After placing a blanket on top of the basket, she cast a quick glance at the clock. They still had a little over an hour of daylight for a picnic, if Caleb agreed to it. He would argue that they didn’t have time to waste, but they had to eat anyway, and it wouldn’t take much longer to have a picnic than it would to sit down at the table.
Caleb had been upstairs painting since he’d walked out of the bedroom, leaving her sitting on the bed trembling with a need she couldn’t comprehend. He’d finished one room and started on the upstairs’ hall.
Becci set aside the plate she’d made up for Lilly, then lifted the corner of the blanket and double-checked what she’d packed.
“Do you want me to tell Caleb to meet you down by the lake?” Lilly asked.
Another idea surfaced. Grabbing the basket, she faced her aunt. “That would be great, but give me five minutes to get it set up.”
WHAT COULD BE so all fired important that Becci had asked Lilly to interrupt the whitewashing? Caleb lowered his hat to shade his eyes from the evening sun and started toward the pond. As he reached the crest of the hill he slowed, and his heart lurched.
Becci sat on the edge of a dark blue quilt. She glanced up and smiled then continued to take things out of a large basket. She laid out a napkin and two plates, then pulled out a bowl of fried chicken.
But the food wasn’t what held his attention. Becci did. Her legs were curled under the full skirt of her yellow dress. Thin straps trailed over her shoulders, leaving an enticing amount of skin visible. Caleb swallowed hard, and tried to stifle a hunger that had nothing to do with food.
As he approached her, Becci wove her fingers together and rested her hands in her lap. “I hope you like chicken.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You said you wanted us to go on a picnic. It’s a beautiful evening for one.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated, “but I have work to do.”
“We have electricity. You can do the work later.”
“Well, yes. I . . . I guess I can, but don’t you think you’re asking for trouble? Especially after what happened in your bedroom?”
“Maybe I am.”
She looked at him then. He saw fear trembling in her soft gaze and heard it in her hesitant reply. Kneeling beside her, Caleb covered her clenched hands with his own and rubbed his thumb over the soft skin of her knuckles.
Becci swallowed hard when Caleb pinned her with his blue-eyed gaze, and she leaned toward him and said, “Kissing you could become addictive, Caleb Harrison. I like it more than I should. If that means I’m asking for trouble, then yes, I am. Kiss me. Please.”
He brushed his hand up her arm and over her shoulder to cup the back of her head. His lips touched hers, coaxing at first, then with more urgency. His tongue teased, begging entry. With a dreamy sigh of surrender, she opened to him and met his tender assault with renewed hunger.
He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “Becci.” Her name vibrated with feeling, as did the kiss he pressed to her temple. He stood and took a step backward.
He wanted her. That much was evident. So, why did he resist what they both wanted?
“We’d better eat.” She picked up one of the plates and held it out to him.
He took it, slid the napkin off and watched as she placed two pieces of chicken on it. Her hands shook as she filled his plate with mashed potatoes and slaw. The thought that he’d caused that tremor both thrilled him and scared him.
He took a biscuit from her, then moved under the canopy of the nearest magnolia tree. He eased down between the gnarled roots and leaned against its trunk, determined to put some distance between them.
Resting the plate on his thighs, he ate without letting his gaze leave Becci. When he’d first walked down the hill, there had been an excitement around her that had dwindled since he’d pulled away from their kiss.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I should have asked if you still wanted to go on a picnic before I planned it.”
“Don’t apologize. This is special. It means a lot to me.”
“Then why are you sitting over there?”
“Because if I sit within touching distance of you, we’ll end up on that blanket, and the hungers we satisfy won’t be out of a need for sustenance.”
“Would that be so bad?”
“Yes, it would. We are in the clearing, Mary Rebecca. Lilly is at the house. When I make love to you, I don’t want anything or anyone interrupting us.”
He set his plate on the ground beside him. His heart hadn’t slowed since he’d topped the hill, and he wanted what Becci offered, but not here in the open. “There is a mountainous attraction between us. I feel it, and I know you do, too. I want you to be sure what you’re offering me. You must realize there is no future for us. No wedding, and no commitment, which goes against my beliefs. In my time, bedding a respectable woman means forging a commitment—one man, one woman together forever. That’s what it’s supposed to be.”
Becci pulled out two mugs and opened the thermos of coffee she’d brought down. After filling the cups, she tightened the lid and returned the thermos to the basket.
Standing, she picked up the two cups and joined Caleb under the low branches of the magnolia. “Caleb, no one can be sure of the future. What we have is the present. Shouldn’t we make the most of our time together?”
“Not if it means destroying each other. That kind of hurt never goes away.”
She handed him one of the cups and knelt down beside him. She’d heard the bitterness in his words.
“Has someone broken a promise to you?” she asked softly.
“It’s not your concern.” Careful not to spill their coffee, Caleb motioned for her to turn around then he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her between his thighs, her back to his chest.
“I’ll never intentionally cause you pain,” Becci said.
“I know you won’t,” he said as he rested his chin on her head. Together they watched the last rays of the day dance on the lake’s smooth surface. A peaceful silence surrounded them, disturbed only by the night sounds of crickets and frogs.
“It’s been so long since I watched a sunset,” Becci said.
“It’s one of my two favorite moments of the day. The other is when the sun peeks over the horizon, bringing in a new day. I’m not sure which one I like best.”
Becci sighed. “I hate to break the spell, but we still have work to do and clothes to try on.” As she spoke she picked up their cups and stood. “Maybe we can have another picnic before you leave.”
“I would like that,” he said.
BECCI DISCARDED the cotton and boned corset, held the flowing, wine-colored dress against her, and looked in the full-length mirror. The day dress, although casual for its time, gave the appearance of formal attire. The dark silk material had been well maintained and carefully stored, as had been the clothes Caleb was putting on downstairs.
She ran her hand over the ecru lace that went from shoulder to shoulder just above the bust line and discovered s
everal small mended areas. The material surrounding the rips had a faint, dingy stain that only showed when the light hit it at a certain angle. The spots were nothing more than could be expected for clothes more than a century and a half old.
Becci glanced at her watch. Caleb would meet her at the foot of the stairs in fifteen minutes, and they would inspect each other’s attire. She eased the dress on and slipped the tiny loops over each button. She pinned the cameo she’d found with the dress in place and glanced at her reflection.
She ran her palm over the soft, silk skirt, then traced the mottled image in the cracked mirror. Somehow she knew Rebecca would approve. According to the journal, this had been Rebecca’s favorite dress—the one Caleb liked best. Becci brushed her fingers over the lace then lowered her hand to the dresser’s carved initial handles, feeling a close kinship with the long ago Rebecca. Rebecca had never seen the dresser Caleb had made for her, but Becci knew she would have loved it.
A shimmer in the mirror caused Becci to look up, and her heart echoed in her ears. There was another woman’s reflection in the glass instead of her own. She felt the woman’s anguish, and Becci’s throat tightened over a sob.
I only wanted him to find happiness. He has, but now he must return to the sorrows of my life—not for me, but for Luke.
It was a woman’s voice echoing in her mind. The wavering image in the mirror was oddly like Becci’s own image, yet different. Was it Rebecca? Was the voice also hers?
He needs you, Becci, and if it were not for Luke I would relinquish Caleb to you. But I can’t. Please do not hate me.
Becci drew in a shaky breath. How could she let Caleb go? Didn’t Rebecca know that she loved him and needed him, too?
“Caleb will be there for Luke,” she told the reflection. “He feels strongly about his promise, and not even I can make him break his word. My love is not enough to hold him.”
Becci covered her eyes to block out the other woman’s image. “This is crazy.” She lowered her hands and faced the mirror again. Her own image stared back at her and reflected the tears that pooled in her eyes. She was sure she’d been hallucinating, that she’d dreamed up the other Rebecca’s image as well as her words. It was her subconscious’ way of making her face the truth.
Caleb would never be hers.
Feeling as if her heart would break in two, she repaired her makeup, slipped her watch from her wrist and laid it on the dresser. She wanted everything from the top of her head to her toes to look perfect, even if life with Caleb could never became a reality. At least the memories he took back of her would be good ones.
The clock struck seven. With one last glance in the mirror, Becci headed for the stairs. She stood at the top and drew in several deep breaths as she heard the door to Aunt Lilly’s room, where Caleb had chosen to dress, open and close. The sound echoed through the silent house. Then Caleb’s shadow fell across the polished, wooden floor. Becci descended the stairs one step at a time. Her foot hit the last step just as Caleb rounded the corner.
They stopped, several feet still separating them. The sight of him took her breath away. The stirrup pants molded to his thighs like a second skin and outlined every masculine detail. With a flourish, he flipped off his top hat and bowed. From top hat to tails and down to his sharp-toed dress boots, he created a picture of elegance. Even the cravat looked right on him.
He wore that cocky grin that she loved, and excitement sparkled in his eyes as his gaze drifted from her toes upward. His grin assured her that he was equally approving of her.
Suddenly his grin disappeared. With deliberately slow steps, he closed the distance between them. A mixture of disbelief and pain flickered in his eyes.
What had she done to hurt him so badly?
Fifteen
BECCI HELD HER breath as Caleb raised his hand to the cameo and traced the ivory border.
“I gave this to Rebecca to celebrate Luke’s birth. She had it on the last time I saw her. In fact, she . . . she was dressed exactly as you are now.”
Shock rifled through Becci. Slowly she placed her hand on the cameo nestled on the dress’ ruffled neck. She touched each button lining the bodice front. As she let her hand fall to her waist, she lifted her eyes to Caleb’s.
Pain swam in the depths of his blue eyes. It made her wonder if his relationship with Rebecca had really been one of friendship and nothing more.
“Rebecca wore the cameo the day she died.” Becci spoke the thought aloud, a chill shaking her.
Her hand went to the stitched slit. If Rebecca wore this dress on that day, then the mended area and the faded marks weren’t just incidental rips and watermarks. They were grim reminders of Rebecca’s death, and a crude attempt to remove the blood that had once soaked the dress. Becci felt weak. With her free hand, she clutched the stairs’ newel cap to steady herself.
“Don’t you mean, the day I killed her for her gold?” Caleb asked softly.
He closed his eyes to block out the accusation that he instinctively knew would be evident in her eyes. She really did think he’d killed Rebecca. She’d found him guilty without asking him one question. It usually didn’t matter to him what others thought, but in this case he felt like a knife had been thrust into his chest and twisted.
When she didn’t respond to his question, he opened his eyes and nervously rolled the brim of the top hat between his hands while he studied her. She’d gone pale.
“Are you sure Rebecca was wearing this dress?”
Caleb nodded slowly. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Becci swayed and reached out for support. Caleb placed his hand on her elbow to steady her, then quickly released her.
She looked vulnerable, and he wanted to protect her.
“I have many dark secrets in my life, Becci, but murdering Rebecca isn’t one of them.”
Her lips parted in protest, and he touched the tip of his finger to them to stop her reply. It was a mistake. Just the feel of their softness against his skin made him want to haul her into his arms.
So inviting. So tempting.
Caleb had to swallow hard before he could force out the words. “Lilly showed me the last page of Rebecca’s diary. The one where Obadiah wrote that he believed I killed Rebecca and stole her gold. I know you’ve read it, too.”
Becci nodded. The motion created a tantalizing sensation where his finger still rested on her lower lip. She should tell him that she knew he didn’t kill Rebecca—tell him of Rebecca’s appearance in the mirror and her plea for Becci to send him back. But she couldn’t. If she confessed to having contact with Rebecca, he would leave. And she didn’t want to lose him. Not yet.
Caleb’s gaze rose to hers and then dropped back to her mouth. Slowly, he lowered his hand. His words were barely a whisper in the quiet entry hall.
“Rebecca and Saul befriended me when others turned their backs. When Saul died, I promised to look after Luke and Rebecca. I love Luke as if he were my own, and I . . . I have promised to wed Rebecca. As for the gold, I believe there may be some here, but I’m not sure where it is. Rebecca did give me a medallion—the one that I drew the picture of and showed you. I’m sure the medallion is still in the house, and you know that once I have it I’ll be leaving.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but he again lifted his hand to her mouth and brushed his thumb across her lips. The friction had her trembling like a girl waiting for her first kiss. Not sure she could stand up a moment longer, she caught the long skirt, lowered herself to the bottom step and patted the vacant space beside her.
Caleb settled the top hat on his head and ran his palms over the upturned brim. He glanced at the door then back at Becci. He should leave. Run like he’d done before. Something told him that if he sat down beside her, it would only make it harder for both of them when he had to leave her.
But instead of running, he joine
d her.
She kept her gaze straight ahead. Her tongue flicked over the area his finger had just rested. He glided his knuckles down her cheek and then captured her chin and turned her face to his. Her eyes were brimming with curiosity, fear and . . . desire.
As he stared at her, her lips parted, inviting him to taste them. Covering her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers and tried to ignore her entreaty. He had to tell her his story. She had to know the truth.
“The day the journals claim Rebecca died, I delivered the dresser which is upstairs in your bedroom. I planned to ask her to be my wife that day. I wasn’t sure she would accept, my past being what it is.” He pulled his hand from hers and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs.
“Jacobs came with me that day. He was the last person to see Rebecca alive. What happened next is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. One minute I was pushing the dresser into Rebecca’s bedroom, and the next minute I was in yours. But I swear to you, Becci, I didn’t kill Rebecca. I’m not a violent man.”
Becci inched over until their thighs touched. Then she rested her hand on his and squeezed lightly. Slowly, he let his gaze meet hers again. A jolt of heat surged through him at the understanding reflected in her eyes.
He bent forward to claim her lips, but she turned away. He closed his eyes and ran his hand over his face. He’d misread her expression. She didn’t want his kiss—didn’t want him. But he couldn’t move away.
Becci groaned inwardly when she glanced back at Caleb. His defeated express told her he thought she was rejecting his kiss because she thought he’d killed Rebecca.
“Caleb, to use a phrase you’re so fond of, it’s not what you think,” she assured him. “I don’t think you killed Rebecca. I know you wouldn’t kill without just cause, but you did tell me several days ago that you’d killed someone. I can’t believe the Caleb Harrison I knew would do such a thing. I . . . I have to know what happened about the man you claim to have killed.”
As much as she needed to know his story, she had trouble concentrating. A fraction of an inch separated them. If she leaned forward at all, their lips would touch.
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