Instructions for Love

by June Shaw

  Dane would probably never meet these people, but their unfair attitude toward the deceased couple—and Erin—made him want to show them how wrong they had been.

  “And now,” Erin said, “I have a real problem. I really needed to rush back to New York tomorrow.”

  “Your words and the way you move… everything about you seems constantly in a hurry.” He spoke without considering. He wanted her to rush back to where she came from.

  Erin held back her laugh. Of course she must talk and move fast—compared to him. Dane Cancienne seemed to pause between every thought, word, and motion. He spoke with a unique pleasant accent, deep but not flat. The bayous she’d driven near to reach this place appeared extra lazy. But not him. His jean-clad rugged body and mannerisms exuded great strength. Maybe it was his forcefulness causing her to act almost giddy. She did ordinarily speak quickly, but not using rapid-fire words as she kept doing with this man. Of course the burial must be adding to her strain, even if her aunt didn’t want her to experience any sorrow.

  He stood in front of Erin. The muscular chest she’d seen exposed moments ago expanded even more with his breathing. His black hair was mussed, surely from her arrival when he was changing from dressier funeral clothes. His skin, tanned from working in the fields, set off intense eyes the color of warm honey. An instinct surged through her to slide up to tip-toe and press her hand against the plane of his cheek. And pull his head down and kiss his lips.

  She stifled the wayward thought. This man probably only tempted her because she was lonely down here, and he had been close to her aunt.

  “Tomorrow is probably Day 1,” she said, needing to break the moment’s spell. “I’m exhausted from this cheerless day, so I’ll just check out the bedrooms tonight.”

  Beyond Dane, she spied interesting rooms with high ceilings. Old-fashioned pale green wallpaper with magnolia blossoms coated the wall in her view. A room she spied to the left held varnished furniture and the railing of a stairwell that probably ran up to the sleeping quarters. The railing and doorframes had been built from uneven wood, thick and warm to touch.

  She clasped Dane’s forearm to get him to move aside.

  The muscles’ firmness made her wince. An awakening stirred through her. “So where do you live?” she asked, wishing her voice hadn’t risen.

  He stared down at her. “Here.”

  Erin swallowed. Should she fear him? He had been making himself quite at home in her aunt’s kitchen. A hopeful thought came. “Are you married?”

  He appeared to sink against the doorjamb, his head making a slight sideways motion.

  Erin used the moment to slip past him. “I’ll stay in the guestroom.” She forced a yawn, hoping she wouldn’t have to try to force him out. “Do you have a cottage out back? Aunt Tilly told me there were some pretty ones.”

  Seeming to regain his strength, he took her suitcase. “No, I stay here. In this house.”

  “Oh.” She couldn’t think of what else to say, couldn’t even continue her blubber. With a steadying breath, she headed for the stairwell.

  “Not up there. That’s storage, junk in the attic. The door’s locked.”

  She took her foot off the first step. Come on now, she told herself, stop acting so uncertain. “What a pity,” Erin said. “It seems that nice rooms for guests could have been created up there, or that would be a great place for children. Of course Aunt Tilly didn’t have children. Maybe the previous owners didn’t have any either.”

  A haunted expression touched Dane’s eyes, replaced with a harsh stare. He didn’t award her a response.

  Chapter Two

  We would have redone the rooms upstairs, Dane considered, biting down and trying to force away the anguish he experience by remembering. “The bedrooms are back there.”

  “Of course.” Erin squared her shoulders. Her hair skimmed over them as she glanced from side to side walking ahead of him, her heels rapping against the oak floor. “Maybe that used to be a dining room. And this must be the office—it’s a little messy.”

  “It always is.”

  She faced him wearing a small grin. “I was kidding. I’m not a neat-nik myself.” A moment of quiet passed, unusual for this woman. “Are you always so serious?” she asked.

  “What should I smile about?”

  Maybe she mistook his intentions. An expression of fear, quick as a harvester could slice a cane stalk, reached her eyes. Erin turned and hurried ahead of him. “What a nice settee,” she said, scampering through the foyer. “I wish I knew the name of all those antique pieces. Oh, and the pictures. But none of them show people. I’ll probably find photos of Aunt Tilly and her husband in their bedroom.”

  Not hardly, Dane thought. She wouldn’t even find pictures of Anna. They’d made him so lonesome he’d put them all away.

  Erin stopped, although she still appeared to be moving. Maybe from her body shift away from his. Possibly because she’d quit talking.

  Her small frame seemed to wither. He might let her spend a night here and explain things in the morning. She would need a night to get rid of exhaustion. Until tomorrow, he could avoid her.

  She pulled up to a standstill.

  Dane watched her. “What’s the matter?”

  The front of her black jacket rose with the deep breath she drew in. “I see through these doors what must be a row of bedrooms. It doesn’t appear that anyone uses this first one, so this will be fine. Where do you sleep?” Her eyes hinted of concern, immediately replaced with a confident expression.

  Dane kept his grin from appearing. One moment she acted like a rabbit caught in a hunter’s crosshairs, the next she seemed like a boar ready to charge its huntsman.

  He pointed toward the front of the house. “That’s my bedroom.”

  She didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  “Erin?”

  “I was thinking. I don’t know much about plantation life, but this whole thing seems strange. I would’ve thought an overseer had his own place and wouldn’t need to stay in the main house.” Before he could respond, she continued. “Aunt Tilly was frugal, mainly because she didn’t have much. But then if she married a man who owned a place like this, I’d think she would pay enough so that you could at least rent your own apartment.”

  Dane couldn’t stop his smile from showing. “It’s all right,” he said to lighten her concern for him. He’d need to be gentler. At least she showed compassion.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to--”

  “It really is okay. I get by.”

  Apparently Erin recovered from what she thought was a blunder. “I’m sure you do. You appear to be doing quite well.”

  Was that a slinky gaze she ran over his body?

  Dane’s smile widened. She yanked her suitcase from his hand. “Well then… I see that this door between your bedroom and this one hangs a little.”

  They stood in the bedroom at the rear of the house. Two others came next, each separated by only a door. When he’d pointed, she must have thought his room was the middle one. But what was her concern about a door slightly hanging?

  “So,” she said, “it probably doesn’t close too tightly. I believe I’ll just take the master bedroom.”

  “Master bedroom?” A quick appraisal of the situation made Dane determine he needed to tell her the truth this moment.

  She stood, head high, shoulders rigid. The set of Erin’s mouth gave her the appearance of a woman who was certain of her rights and would insist on them like a farmer determined to get just prices for his crops.

  The fullness of her lips, however, only looked like they were meant to be kissed. Long, lingering kisses. And her cheeks would be soft to the touch. And beneath her straight black dress and jacket, her body would be as shapely as her legs.

  “No,” he said, stopping his thoughts from straying where they ventured.

  “What? I can’t have that bedroom? I don’t think Aunt Tilly would mind. Do you?”

  “No, you can do a
nything you want.” Dane turned away. The last thing he noticed was the way she yanked up her lowered suitcase and shoved through the next doorway.

  He might be able to put up with this annoying, tempting woman until tomorrow without telling her that Tilly lied, which would certainly hurt her. But how would he get his clothes out of the closet in the room she was about to sleep in?

  “What a beautiful room.” Erin strode into the master bedroom, wishing Dane hadn’t followed. His presence in a bedroom made her flustered.

  “It’s not bad,” he said.

  She set down her luggage and saw him glancing at their surroundings. Her gaze followed his toward the huge antique bed with massive posts, the grass green shutter doors that probably opened to the verandah, the armoire and matching vanity, the closed door to what must be a closet, and the open one that clearly led to a bathroom.

  Had he ever been allowed entry into this room? Was he casing it for valuables?

  “You’re shivering,” he said. “Maybe I need to raise the temperature.”

  He left the room, and she sighed with relief. He might go to his own room and keep a distance from her. After all, who knew what this man, left to oversee the fields, might do with no remaining owners around?

  She shut the door to his bedroom and immersed herself in her aunt’s sanctuary. She liked the feel of the worn doorknob, robbed of color by age. A key would be needed to lock the door, but she hadn’t seen one in the keyhole on either side. At least, she hoped, he would find the door closed and take it as an indication that she didn’t want company.

  “Hope that’s better,” he said, stepping in through the doorway still open from the foyer.

  Erin froze in place. No, she wouldn’t reveal her apprehension with more shivers.

  “Great,” she said, although she felt hot and wished he would’ve lowered the thermostat instead of raising it. Humid air clung to her skin. She couldn’t imagine that anyone would ever need any of the fireplaces she’d spied in each bedroom. And right now she needed to get that man out of this one. “I was ready to unpack my suitcase,” she said as a hint, “because I’m really tired.” Surely he wouldn’t stay while she took out her lingerie.

  But the man didn’t move.

  She thrust her luggage up on the white bedspread. “I’ll put Aunt Tilly’s envelope on this mantle and stand the dove from her casket flowers in this water bowl.” Maybe the mention of her aunt would add incentive to make him leave.

  Not hearing him move, she glanced at Dane. He was staring at the shut closet door.

  “Well,” Erin said, lifting her teal linen dress from her luggage, “let’s see where I’ll hang this.”

  “Can’t you leave it in your suitcase?”

  “No, it would wrinkle. It’s gotten a couple of wrinkles already from being shoved in here, and as I told you, I’m not the greatest on keeping things neat.”

  Why do I keep chattering? she wondered, answers rapidly coming. She’d always kept her body and mind busy, and she lived in the bustle of constantly moving vehicles and people. And this man was an unmoving, unwanted presence in her bedroom.

  The staunch look in his eye when she headed for the armoire convinced her to hesitate. But only for a moment. “This will be fine,” she said. Erin tried to open its doors and found them locked. “Is everything locked around here?”

  She turned the small key in keyhole. Her peripheral vision let her see Dane moving up near her side.

  “That’s hers,” he murmured.

  Erin yanked the door open, struck by a slight mothball smell. “Aunt Tilly started wearing all these youthful clothes?”

  Dumbfounded, she tried to wrap her mind around images of the slender middle-aged woman with red curly hair wearing them. Her aunt had shopped for these pretty garments, choosing gauzy fabrics and ruffles? Some of the dresses were floor length, and some skirts would have challenged her own as to which would be shorter. Hangers held fine silk blouses. Knit and cotton pieces folded on a shelf would be casual wear. “My aunt must have trimmed down. I didn’t remember her being so petite. And just look at her nighties.”

  He was staring, especially at the flimsy pieces, some pastels, some black and some red.

  “You can’t use this armoire,” he said.

  “I won’t. There’s no space.” Before shutting her view into the past, Erin touched her aunt’s clothes. She let her hand linger on the softest pieces. Moving away from Dane, she said, “I’ll use this closet instead.”

  “The closet?”

  “Is that also a problem?”

  At least he didn’t come near her this time. “Probably not,” he said, gawking from across the room.

  Dane watched her open his closet. When she’d opened the doors to Anna’s things, he had wanted to bark at this woman. To shove her hand aside and slam the doors. He had peered inside that space only once after Anna’s death, but the ache was too sharp, the memories too bold.

  His chest squeezed when Erin had Anna’s clothes exposed. But she’d been kind with his wife’s things, her touch gentle on each piece.

  And now she carried her dress over and opened the door to where he stored his things.

  If Erin discovered the whole truth this late in the evening, she’d probably lose sleep after knowing of her adored aunt’s deceit. And she looked exhausted.

  “A man’s clothes are in this little closet.” Erin peered back at him, her expressive eyes extra-wide. “How touching that Aunt Tilly kept her husband’s things.”

  Dane held back the smirk he felt rising. Tempering his words, he said, “Is that so unusual?”

  “I guess not. He didn’t die that long ago.”

  “Would that matter? If you love someone, you want to keep their memories forever.”

  Erin blinked. She returned her attention to the closet. “Let’s see. I saw that my aunt had gained excellent taste in clothing. Her clothes were fashionable for this area and its heat. And all of her pieces are hanging just so.”

  Dane felt a smile tugging on his lips while she held up her own dress and stared at his things. Would she also make positive comments about clothes he owned?

  “Now Cliff,” she said, “could have used some organizational skills from my aunt. His shirts and pants are crammed together. And look down here. He just tossed in his shoes. Maybe it’s good that he didn’t have too many.”

  Annoyance sprang up in Dane. “What difference does it make, how a man puts his things in a closet?” The edge in his voice surprised him. Why should he care about what she thought of his clothing?

  His displeasure, he decided, must have come from having this stranger go through his wife’s clothes and the scenes they brought back to him. He needed to get out of this room, let her go to sleep and then leave in the morning.

  Dane headed toward the middle bedroom.

  “He wore lots of denim,” Erin said, and he looked back. She still stared in the closet. “That’s understandable. He must have worked hard in the fields. He had nice taste in shirts. Or maybe she chose them for him.”

  She picked out most things in there, he considered, pleased with Anna’s choices. He opened the door to where he would sleep tonight, satisfied that Erin might also have been talking about the newer clothes he’d finally bought on his own.

  “Oh no, this shirt still has its tag. He never got to wear it.” Erin’s chin trembled as though she were ready to cry.

  “It’s just a shirt,” Dane said, not wanting her unhappy because he hadn’t worn that knit thing yet. It was gray, a color he didn’t ordinarily wear, but he’d bought it because he liked a dash if Tabasco hot sauce on some foods, and this shirt bore a Tabasco logo.

  “This space feels like a shrine. I hate to hang my dress in here.” She started to close the closet.

  “Go ahead. Put your dress in there.”

  She eyed him with a quizzical stare. “All right,” she said and reached in for an empty hanger. “Oh my God, the mud on those boots hasn’t dried.”

  E
rin held up his favorite brown leather work boots. He’d worn them this morning when he went to check the small garden before Tilly’s funeral, and the ground was wet from yesterday’s downpour. Tilly had been checking for ripe crops every day before she took sick. She’d planted the tomatoes herself and never wanted any of the eggplants or okra wasted.

  “I understand.” Erin stared at him and nodded. “It’s your humidity. It must creep into the wood, especially since this house was built so long ago.”

  Dane grinned. “We do have humidity. And you have a good night.”

  Erin watched him close the door between their bedrooms. She listened for a click, hoping he might have a key that she’d missed seeing.

  Only the sound of the slow pace of his boots crossing the wooden floor carried into her bedroom.

  She walked to the tall door between their adjourning rooms and tried to shove it even tighter. “Now,” she said, moving through the room, a board of the varnished floor in front of the bed squeaking, “I’ll be sleeping in your bed tonight, Aunt Tilly. Does that please you?”

  Erin quieted, anticipating that maybe some sign would come to mind. Why did her aunt want her here?

  Creaks, followed by rattling, sounded from the walls. And then gushing water. Dane was taking a shower.

  Erin needed to get to bed. She’d showered this morning and now felt drained. Emotional upheavals from the funeral. The confusion from her aunt’s letter. The upsetting man in the next room, with no key between them. “It’s all too much,” she told herself to explain the exhaustion.

  She would have to let her boss know about needing a few extra days off. The studio had other writers, so her contribution to the soap opera shouldn’t be missed.

  Erin carried her nightgown and toiletries into the master bathroom. Its uniqueness filled her with tingles of delight. An extra-deep tub stood on bear-claw feet. A pedestal lavatory was set against an amber colored wall of thin wooden slats. The focal point on the wall above the tub was a stunning large diamond shaped stained-glass window.