Caleb closed his eyes completely and took pleasure in the tender sweep of her fingers on his forehead. He’d never had a woman soothe away his pain. Not Rebecca, and definitely not his mother. Of course, ladies of the night didn’t have much time to devote to one man. No, sir, prostitutes didn’t touch like this.
When he heard a shuffling sound, he opened his eyes. The older lady called Lilly had returned with a pillow, another blanket, and something that looked like a long silver weapon. He watched the cylinder pass above him, from the aged hand to the slender, youthful one.
Undoubtedly, this woman was another of Rebecca’s relatives. She couldn’t be the young woman’s travel companion because ladies of the evening didn’t travel with companions, and as far as he knew, Rebecca hadn’t hired anyone. So who was she? Why hadn’t Rebecca told him about these women?
“Becci, dear, if I don’t take our lunch out of the oven it’s going to burn. Do you think you’ll be okay alone with this man?”
“Sure.”
“Yell if you need me.”
“Will do,” Becci called after the woman who’d already hurried out of the room.
Caleb gazed at the young woman, and his heart skipped a beat. She was definitely not Rebecca’s twin sister, Catherine. He’d seen her once. She was a sour-looking woman. This woman’s eyes held him transfixed with their brightness.
Her long red braid had fallen over her shoulder again. A scrap of white material kept the ends together. Would her hair be as soft to the touch as it looked? He lifted his hand and immediately let it drop back down. He didn’t know this woman. Even a prostitute might object to the forwardness of such a touch before he paid her price. But she’d made the first move when she’d caressed his forehead.
Caleb cleared his throat and forced himself to change the direction his thoughts were taking. He’d talked to Rebecca at the Wednesday night prayer meeting, and she hadn’t said a word about having guests in her house. Of course, he hadn’t really listened either. Luke had held most of his attention during the service. Afterward they’d met with the solicitor to discuss his responsibility as the trustee of Luke’s and Rebecca’s inheritance, and what he should do if something should happen to Rebecca.
Luke? Caleb hesitated, listening for the boy’s wail, but he heard nothing. “Luke’s not crying. I’m glad Rebecca finally got him quieted down,” he told the woman.
Then he remembered the bloody knife Jacobs had held and fear stirred inside him. He wanted to rush downstairs and make sure Rebecca and Luke were all right, but he didn’t have the strength to sit up let alone stand.
“How long have you been here?” he asked the woman.
“When you were late, I went to the mall for Aunt Lilly so she would be here when you arrived. I’ve been back about an hour,” the woman said, scooting away from him. Caleb frowned. She didn’t have to move. He enjoyed the feel of her fingertips on his forehead.
She sat beside him with her arms wrapped loosely around her bare legs, making it difficult for him to follow the trail of their conversation. What’s a mall? he wanted to ask, but he was too scandalized by all that flesh to speak. He also knew he was destined for Hell because he couldn’t stop staring at her smooth, naked legs.
“I’d hoped to get the furniture in before the storm hit. If you hadn’t been late you would be finished by now. We expected you and your friend early this morning.”
“My friend?”
“The other worker. I believe you called him Luke.”
Caleb jerked his eyes away from her legs and stared straight up at the ceiling. If he focused on the animosity he felt for the town drunk maybe he could keep his mind off her shapely thighs.
He cleared his throat, but the words still came out husky. “The other man is William Jacobs.” He cleared his throat again. It didn’t help. “He’s more of an enemy than a friend. Luke is eleven months old. He’s in the parlor with Rebecca. Or at least he was when I started upstairs.”
“You brought a child to work with you? Great. That’s all I need, a sick man and a baby. The nursery’s not open yet, mister.. Even if it was open, this nursery is going to be for babies up to a year old, not toddlers. In another month you’d just have to change his routine again. But even that is a moot point. If I don’t get the aid from Ascomp, we’ll have to sell, and there won’t be a nursery of any kind.”
“Sell? This house?” Caleb waved his hand to indicate the whole house. “Rebecca didn’t say anything about selling Berclair Manor.”
“What are you talking about? I’m Rebecca.”
Caleb lifted his gaze to hers and stared at her in confusion. “I’m talking about Luke’s mother. Where is she? She’s the woman who owns this house, and she wouldn’t even consider selling it without talking to me first.”
“Listen, mister, Berclair Manor belongs to me. Me,” she repeated jabbing a finger at her chest. “My father left it to me, debts and all. When the time comes to sell, I’ll be the one making the decision.”
“Your father gave it to you?” Caleb managed to roll to a sitting position so he could look at this stranger. Big mistake. His head throbbed, and his stomach churned in protest to the motion. He raked his fingers through his hair then wrapped his arms around his waist as another shiver vibrated through him.
Expelling a groan, he leaned back against the wall and shut his eyes. Lord, he didn’t want to lose his breakfast in front of this woman. He drew in several deep breaths and slowly opened his eyes. The woman stared at him with concern, and not the anger he expected for doubting her word.
“Sir, are you okay?” Becci asked.
He nodded slowly, and she continued. “My name is Becci Berclair. The only person I consult when making decisions about this house is my Aunt Lilly, but basically what I do is up to me alone.”
He watched Becci unfold her arms and push herself to a standing position with the grace of a sleek doe. She shoved the long silver weapon in her front pocket, leaving just enough showing to get a good grip on it.
The fact that she put it away told Caleb she wouldn’t use it unless provoked, and he had no intention of picking a fight with a woman. He would say nothing more until he consulted with Rebecca—the real Rebecca.
Once he put the dresser right, he would leave this woman to her fancy, but not until he found out if she came from the “house” on the outskirts of Raleigh. Ladies from places like that shouldn’t go about flaunting their wares outside such establishments, not to mention the damage she’d cause to Rebecca’s reputation.
She swung around and marched across the room. His gaze automatically focused on her legs. He felt his temper flare, although his anger was directed more at his inability to keep from staring at her than at her.
“Do you plan on parading about in those clothes?” he asked, knowing he sounded like a stuffy minister, but he needed to do something to get the woman clothed for both Rebecca’s reputation and his sanity. “Rebecca’s about your size. I’m sure she has something that will cover you properly.” He watched her through half-closed eyes, making sure where her hands were. One move for the weapon and, nausea or not, he’d be across the room before she could shoot.
“Look, mister,” she said as she whirled around to face him. “What I wear is none of your business. I’m sure Mr. Latham will understand if I’m not dressed to the hilt for this meeting. After all, he’s just coming by to see the area for the nursery and pick up the financial statement that needs to be filed with my application.”
Lightning flashed behind her, and she shot a quick glance at the window. With her thumbs hooked in her back pockets, she rose up on her tiptoes and swayed. Rebecca rocked like that while trying to think. Only Rebecca usually braced her fists on her hips because she didn’t have the pockets to hold on to.
As he took her in from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, he was ashamed to admi
t that this woman made his heart race and his blood heat like no one he’d ever encountered, not even the women he’d visited at the bordellos. And he was sure that’s where this woman had come from. Of course, he wouldn’t know about her because Rebecca wouldn’t discuss a black sheep relative with him. She also wouldn’t let such a relative into her home unless it was under duress. So what had this woman done to force Rebecca to take her in?
“You and the other lady were discussing some journals. May I ask where you found them and what was written in them?” he asked with more casualness than he felt. Had she somehow found out about The Keeper journals? Was she working with Obadiah? Something inside him told him that that was exactly what was going on. She and Obadiah were teaming up to steal Luke’s inheritance, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.
She looked relieved by his question. “We found several books. My great-great-great-grandfather, Obadiah Berclair wrote some of them. He kept one that discussed his father Eli and his brother, Saul Berclair. Saul built this house. There are several others written by my great-great-aunt, Mary Rebecca Berclair, who was my great-great-grandfather Samuel’s favorite aunt. That’s who I was named after. I believe there’s even one journal written by her sister, my great-great-great-grandmother, Catherine.” She held up her hand and counted off the greats as if to be sure she put enough in. “They married brothers.”
She shook her head, looking bemused. . . . “Finding those journals really sent Aunt Lilly on a sniper hunt.”
Caleb went still. He must be dreaming. This woman talked about Rebecca, Saul, Catherine and Obadiah as if they were long lost relatives, but that was impossible. Samuel, who was Rebecca’s nephew, was only ten-years-old, for heaven’s sake.
He reached for his saddlebags, and his hand hovered over the cracked leather. A corner of his journal protruded from the open flap, its edges frayed. What was going on? The journal was new!
For the first time since he regained consciousness, he really looked around. Only two of the five furniture pieces were in place—the dresser he’d just moved in and the bed.
Cracks marred the beauty of the hand carved “B’s” on the bed’s headboard. The wood no longer showed the texture of the grain, but had gone dark. Three white-lace doilies similar to the ones he’d watched Rebecca create only a week before lay on the matching coverlet in the seat of a rocker he’d never seen. The lace looked old and yellowed.
Caleb closed his eyes. Everything about the room looked age-worn and tattered. The wallpaper didn’t even have the same design. The dresser, which he’d lovingly wiped with the final coat of linseed oil only this morning, had a dull, uncared-for finish.
“I’ve got work to do,” Becci said, turning back to the window she’d been trying to close when he first saw her. “You just sit there and rest until you’re feeling better.”
Caleb wasn’t about to rest. He was going to find Rebecca and learn what was going on. He pushed himself to his feet, picked up his hat and saddlebags from the floor and laid them on the rocker. He would retrieve his belongings and go looking for Rebecca after he put the dresser into its proper place.
He rubbed his hand over the tight muscles at the back of his neck and studied the once beautiful scrollwork he’d labored over so hard. He could do nothing to restore its beauty.
Confused by how the furniture had changed in just a matter of minutes, he decided to ignore the problem for now and take care of the immediate one, which was protecting Rebecca’s bedroom from the rain. He walked over to the window and edged Becci out of the way.
“I won’t let you or Obadiah steal Luke’s inheritance,” he said as he shoved the window down.
Becci caught his shirtsleeve and whirled him around. Caleb stared at the hand that rested on his arm and faced her. Concern flared in her eyes.
“What inheritance?” she whispered.
“This house, of course,” he replied.
Four
CALEB GLANCED AT the hand resting on his arm. Her touch felt real. He let his gaze trail up her arm to her well-rounded bosom. The small piece of fabric she wore showed every rounded contour.
Heat scorched his cheeks, and he quickly turned his back to her only to come face-to-face with her image in the cracked mirror. Damn it, he didn’t know where to look.
“What inheritance?” Becci asked again.
“Nothing. G-gold, maybe?” He swallowed hard, forced his thoughts away from the woman’s body, and locked his eyes with hers. If she didn’t know about the gold Rebecca had hoarded or the orichalc medallion, it wasn’t his place to tell her. The gold belonged to Rebecca. And according to Rebecca, he was the keeper of the medallion until Luke came of age. He knew the rules, knew its powers, but Rebecca would decide who inherited Berclair Manor and its contents.
“There is no gold or, as Lilly prefers to call it, orichalc,” Becci said. “We have antiques and this old house that’s mortgaged through the roof. That’s all.”
Smiling, Becci caught her braid, gave it a sharp tug and flipped it over her shoulder. “I’m tired of all these stories about something that doesn’t exist and probably never did.”
Caleb’s breath caught, and he snapped his gaze back to the window. The hazy reflection in the glass only made him want to look at the real person standing beside him. Even blurred, he could tell that her smile made her eyes sparkle, which added to her appeal. He’d bet his horse that she had her pick of the men who visited her work place.
“We also have six journals.”
“Journals?” Caleb repeated. He cast a quick glance in her direction then forced himself to turn away again.
“Yep. They tumbled right into our laps last month while we were going through some of the junk in the shed. One of the tables literally fell from the top of the mess, dumping the box of journals at our feet.”
Becci frowned. Did she have remnants of her lunch between her teeth or something? The man acted as if he couldn’t stand to look her in the eye.
“Did Aunt Lilly hire you to look for the treasure that’s supposedly hidden in the house? Well, it doesn’t exist. And please look at me while I’m talking to you.”
She planted her hands on her hips and rocked up on her toes. “I want to be sure you understand completely. I’m not paying you to go on a treasure hunt. I’m paying you to bring the furniture from the shed to the upstairs before Mr. Latham arrives. Understand?”
Caleb swallowed hard. He’d thought she just didn’t realize her effect on him, but at her demand for him to “look at her,” he knew better. He scanned the room for something to cover the woman.
She might not care who saw her body, but as long as she remained under Rebecca’s roof she would not display herself for his benefit.
“Ma’am, would you please cover yourself while I’m in the room?” Without waiting for her answer, he crossed to the bed and jerked off the spread.
“I’ve never met your Aunt Lilly,” he said, draping the coverlet over her shoulders. “At least not before she administered to me just now.”
He caught one of her hands and pressed it against the loose ends. He let his fingertips brush the back of her hand as he reluctantly pulled away.
“You said one of the tables broke.” He waved his hand toward the dresser. “Does it match this bed and dresser?”
He couldn’t turn away. Couldn’t concentrate. Even with the coverlet wrapped around her shoulders, the memory of her pale, bare midriff flooded his mind.
“This is ridiculous.” She raked her free hand through the bangs curling over her forehead. “Of course it does. The bedroom furniture are the only pieces that lasted. Whoever made them knew his trade.”
“Yeah.” Caleb felt a surge of pride followed by concern. Why had Rebecca removed the other pieces? Had they changed, too? Had the linseed oil he’d used done this damage and Rebecca just didn’t want to tell him
? He ran his hand over the side of the dresser.
“If you’ll show me where the rest of the furniture is, I’ll get back to work.”
“Did your fainting spell cause your mind to go blank, too? The rest of the furniture is in the same place you found the dresser.”
Caleb frowned.
Becci rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and expelled a hard breath. “We stored everything in the shed while we painted the nursery and office,” she explained.
“Shed?”
“Are you sure you’re up to the job?” She heard the concern in her own voice. The man looked healthy, but he had just passed out. She ruled out his having anything major wrong with him. After all, he’d just moved the dresser up the stairs.
Lightning flashed again. Becci glanced at the window and mentally counted off the seconds while she waited for the rumble of thunder. Two. Not far away at all. According to the weather forecast, the small shower preceded a raging storm that was due to arrive within the hour.
“I’m fine,” Caleb said, pulling her back to their conversation.
He reached out, as if he wanted to touch her, but his hand never reached her cheek. A half smile tipped one corner of his mouth as he slowly lowered his hand. She should move. She should tell him not to even think about touching her, but the thought of his touch sent a tingle from her toes to her lips. Would his kiss create the same rippling effect? Heaven help her, what had brought that thought to mind?
He stepped back, and the fluttery sensations inside her ebbed away.
Her common sense shouted for her anger to flame, but what she felt bordered on . . . disappointment? Yes, disappointment at not receiving the kiss her mind had conjured up. Becci expelled a breath and decided to ignore both emotions. Neither would help the situation.
“I hope you’re worth your wages. I don’t have money to waste.” She knew she was being rude, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. The man was having such a strange effect on her. Instead of apologizing, she flung the spread toward the bed and walked out of the room.
Keeper of the Key Page 4
