Keeper of the Key

by Barbara Christopher

  With one last look in the mirror, she rolled her eyes and hurried downstairs. She would drink a glass of milk instead of her usual coffee. Maybe that would calm her nerves. Then she would face Caleb.

  Her aunt puttered around the kitchen, making biscuits and setting the table for breakfast. Becci carried her glass of milk to the dining room and studied the destroyed cabinet door. Glass crunched under her feet, and Becci’s anger rose another notch. Forget calming down. She was going to get rid of Caleb now.

  AS HE’D DONE the last two nights, Caleb went to sleep with the Bible’s weight resting on his chest. He’d rolled away from the light coming in the window and fought through the fog of his first few waking moments. He gradually opened his eyes, hoping to see that the last two days had been just a vivid dream, but he knew that this morning wouldn’t be any different than yesterday’s.

  The early morning sun etched bright squares on the stacks of boxes. Nothing had changed. He’d really walked into the future. At least today there wasn’t a storm brewing.

  That thought died instantly when the door bounced open with a loud explosion. The weather might have changed, but Miss Berclair sure hadn’t.

  Sunlight silhouetted her figure where she stood in the entry, but he didn’t have to see her face to know it was her. Becci’s trim, youthful body gave her away. She was younger than the Rebecca he knew, but just as beautiful. And Lord, he wanted her in his bed.

  Through half-closed eyes, Caleb watched her pivot around. She’d glanced at something in the far corner, but what?

  “Get out,” Becci ordered as she advanced toward him, her hands on her hips. “Unless you’re snake bit or dying from some unnamed wound that you thought alcohol would cure, I want you off my property. I’ll not cater to thieves. A liar is bad enough, but when you steal from the people trying to help you, you’re lower than the scum of the earth.”

  Her words slowly penetrated his sleep-fogged mind. He stretched his arms above his head and stifled a groan. “I take it something’s missing.” He’d been right about her eyes sparking when she got mad. And right now they didn’t hold just sparks, they were in full blaze.

  “Damn right. If you wanted our whiskey, all you had to do was ask. But no, you have to break into the cabinet and steal it. The glass alone will cost sixty dollars to replace. That’s money I don’t have.”

  Caleb laid his Bible on the floor and cupped his hands behind his head. He wouldn’t get angry at her accusation that he was a thief. There had to be a logical answer. He certainly hadn’t taken her whiskey.

  As he tried to think how to approach the matter, he swept his gaze over her. Today she wore long pants in a muted green and a matching top that brought out the color of her eyes and covered her torso completely. The outfit didn’t erase the memory of her bare legs and slender waistline. If anything, he liked the less revealing garments better. Her anger heightened the color in her cheeks, giving her a fresh, glowing look. He fought to keep his masculine needs under control. If only he knew if she were a proper lady or not. She might dress like a bordello woman, but after their earlier misunderstanding, he doubted she worked at the local brothel.

  Caleb closed his eyes and stifled another groan. Even if she did work at the brothel, he couldn’t touch her. She belonged to someone else, and he’d bet a ranch hand’s wages the man wasn’t a sleazy saloon type or a bastard, like Caleb.

  Besides, she’d come here in anger, and he knew her anger would get worse if he got up. His clothes hung on a nail beside the door. It would serve her right if he decided to toss aside his cover and traipse across the room with nothing on but what God brought him into the world with.

  “I didn’t take the whiskey,” he told her. “Spirits rob a man of his ability to think straight, and in my situation I need all my wits intact.”

  “If you didn’t take it, then how did that get in here?” Becci asked, pointing toward the far end of the room.

  Caleb rolled his head to the side and looked where she pointed. The sunlight flickered off something on the opposite side of the room. Catching the corners of the sheet securely, he whirled to a sitting position. An empty bottle lay in plain sight between two boxes.

  “Jacobs must have brought that in here.”

  “I’ve never seen your Mr. Jacobs. You’re the one who checked the lock on the door and lingered in the dining room to study the liquor in the cabinet. If you weren’t looking for whiskey, what were you looking for? I bet you spent the last two days planning the robbery instead of finishing the jobs I gave you.”

  Caleb’s temper stirred. First she thought he was trying to play out some sort of ruse with Lilly’s help. Then she’d accused him of trying to bargain his work for time in her bed. Now, she denounced him as a liar and a thief.

  He tried to tamp down his anger. Hadn’t she learned anything about how he felt about liquor? If he’d wanted it, he would have taken it the first day.

  “I was examining the workmanship of the cabinet, not planning to steal its contents,” he said. “Maybe you’d better ask Jacobs about the whiskey. He does have a taste for strong drink.”

  “And you don’t?” Becci drawled sarcastically. “You probably fall below him in that department. You’re the only one who has been in the house.” Becci paced back and forth in front of the door, her hands on her hips. “Aunt Lilly and I both saw you looking at the cabinet during one of your trips inside the other day.”

  She stopped pacing, and turned to face him. “What are you doing? Casing the place? Not my house, mister. I’ve had enough. You’ve taken the last thing you’ll ever take from me. Leave, now, or I’m going to call the police.”

  She’d had enough. Well so had he. He’d been patient. Hell, he’d been a damnable saint. Caleb stood up and snapped the sheet off.

  Becci gasped.

  Caleb hesitated for a moment, his breath hissing between clenched teeth. With deliberately slow steps he crossed the room, jerked his clothes off the nail beside the door and retraced his path back to the bed. He tossed the clothes down and in two long strides closed the distance between them. Less than an inch separated them. With each breath, he drew in the soft scent of wildflowers and felt the flimsy material of her blouse brush against the hair on his chest.

  “For the record, Mary Rebecca, I haven’t taken anything—not even the medallion that belongs to me. And I have to have that to get back to where I belong.”

  Even though he was furious with her, he couldn’t fight the urge to feel her mouth against his. Three days of trying to ignore the way her pants molded her rounded bottom and her tops teased him with glimpses of pale skin was all he could take. He caught Becci by the shoulders, lowered his head and took her lips for a taste of heaven. She tasted better than fresh, cold water after a hard day in the field. He feathered kisses across her lips from one corner of her mouth to the other. In his thirty-two years, he’d kissed lots of women, but none as tantalizing as this stranger.

  Becci gasped again, and Caleb took advantage of her parted lips to dip his tongue into the sweetness of her mouth. She tasted of milk and mint. Of anger and desire, heaven and hell, and the forbidden fruit, all rolled into one.

  He curled his fingers into her silky hair. It held the scent of flowers and hung loose over her shoulders in a riotous flurry of red curls. Lord, she felt good, and she tasted better than anything he’d ever experienced.

  Becci heard a deep-throated groan and realized it had come from her. His kiss was tender and soothing. Her anger evaporated as he slipped one hand to her waist and let the other glide up to cup the back of her head.

  She had to end this! And she would, in a minute.

  She slipped her hands to his shoulders to push him away. Instead, she pulled him closer, delighting in the explosive feel of his flesh against her palms. He tensed as she wove her fingers together behind his neck, but he didn’t back away.


  He slid his hands down her arms, his thumbs grazing the sides of her breasts. He moved his hands to her waist and took the kiss deeper.

  His hold tightened, and he drew her intimately nearer. She could taste the hunger, the need, and something else that tugged at her heart that she couldn’t quite identify. His arousal pressed against her abdomen, and she instinctively arched against him. Wanting. Needing. But not knowing how to put out the fire he’d ignited. Her whole body trembled.

  With a surge of need she couldn’t deny, she buried her hands in the soft folds of his hair. She wanted his arms around her, wanted to lose herself in his embrace. He reminded her of summer storms—the scent of fresh pine needles and the fresh soil of the flower beds after a much-needed rain.

  Oh, Lord, Michael’s kisses had never tasted this good.

  Michael!

  Frantically she pushed against Caleb’s chest.

  He pulled back and stared at her. His lips curled into the half smile Rebecca had discovered was uniquely his. Seizing her wrists, he held them against his chest with one hand. She could feel the thunder of his heart, its pace matching her own.

  He traced a line over her lips, then let his knuckles glide over her cheek before dropping his arm to circle her waist.

  He traced tiny circles in her palm with his thumb. Becci stared at her hand cradled in his, his touch unbearably erotic, provoking images of intimacies in rumpled satin sheets that she had only read about. His kiss had kindled a fire deep inside her.

  She’d stormed into the shed ready to throw him out of her life. Instead, he had dissolved her into a quivering mass of jelly. The very sight of him made her desires soar. The feel of his body against hers did strange things to her senses.

  Michael had never made her tremble. No one ever had. How could she kiss Caleb and enjoy it when her heart belonged to another man? What could she be thinking of?

  Heat warmed her cheeks at the realization that they were plastered together from the waist down. Only her thin cotton slacks and underwear separated her from his arousal, and she didn’t want to move away.

  “I shouldn’t have done that,” Caleb whispered. His eyes, dark with passion, held hers. Inviting her to make the next move, yet closing down as if to put a barrier between them. “I’m not sorry I did, but you might be . . . and should be, if you aren’t ready to . . . .”

  He glanced at the cot then back at her.

  Becci jumped backwards as if he’d branded her.

  Caleb chuckled and turned away. He jerked on his jeans and shirt. When he faced her again, the guard on his emotions appeared to be firmly in place.

  “For the record, Miss Berclair, I don’t have a liking for whiskey, and I’m not particularly fond of wine, either. I may be a bastard, but I don’t lie, cheat or steal. I did kill a man once. I’m not proud of it, but it happened, and with good cause.”

  Caleb picked up his hat and settled it on his head. “I owe you a half day’s work for the use of your cot. If you have no objection to me making that a full day, I’ll use the other half to pay you for this.” He scooped the Bible off the floor and held it up. “I found it among Rebecca’s things.”

  Becci nodded, afraid her voice would betray the emotional turmoil inside her.

  “I’ll work straight through until dinner. Then I’ll be gone.”

  “F . . . fine,” Becci stammered.

  Caleb picked up the hoe he’d repaired yesterday and headed for the garden. Becci had given him a list of chores. He still had to weed the flowers before he left.

  “Miss Berclair,” Caleb called from the doorway without facing her. “It’s been a pleasure meeting my Rebecca’s namesake. There is gold in the manor. I only need one small piece of the treasure, and it’s not gold, it’s orichalc. You may have the rest. Once I find it for you, I’m gone. I just wanted you to know there are no bad feelings, and I’ll be no more trouble to you. I also promise that I’ll take Jacobs back with me, so you’ll have no more problems.”

  That said, he walked out.

  Becci stared at the empty doorway, her fingertips pressed to her still tingling lips.

  “Oh!”

  The single syllable had come out as a breathy whisper. Caleb Harrison packed a punch like no man she’d ever kissed. How could she have behaved so . . . so wantonly with a stranger? She should apologize, but her feet wouldn’t move. Her heart pounded frantically—and not from fear, either.

  Pepper leapt out of the corner and sent the empty whiskey bottle spinning toward her. She retrieved it before it rolled away and scooped up the kitten.

  She held the cat up in front of her. “He proved one thing for certain. He didn’t smell like he’d been up all night drinking. But where else could the bottle have come from? I want to believe him. I really do.”

  JACOBS EASED THE blanket away from his face and watched the woman scoop up the cat. He wished she would leave. He needed a drink, but he didn’t dare move until she left.

  But he couldn’t wait. He licked his lips, quietly twisted the top off the whiskey bottle and swallowed a big gulp. Damn woman. At least he’d had the good sense to stay under the blanket out of sight while she accused Caleb of stealin’.

  He brushed his mouth on his shirtsleeve. Two bottles wouldn’t last him long. He would have ta slow his drinkin’ until he learned where they kept their stash. He tucked the full bottle in the crook of his arm, took another swig of the open one and moved deeper into the shadows. Slow, he ordered silently. Drink it slow.

  SHE’D MADE A mistake, and thievery had nothing to do with it. The danger lay in Caleb’s kiss, which had felt like magic.

  Becci tossed the bottle in the trash can and combed her fingers through Pepper’s soft fur. The cat mewed, squirmed free and scurried out the door. She was sure it was following Caleb.

  “Traitor.” Becci dusted her hands and scanned the dingy surroundings. A single row of boxes, all marked books, lined the same wall the cot occupied. Another row of boxes lined the other wall. Caleb Harrison certainly wasn’t lazy. He’d done more work in three days than two men could in a week.

  There had to be something here that gave her a clue about the real Caleb Harrison, and she was still convinced her Caleb couldn’t be the one from the past.

  She took a tentative step toward the cot. Why had he wanted the Bible? She traced the raised letters on the bible’s front and ruffled the thin pages. Slowly, she lifted the time-aged cover to the dedication page and read the inscription.

  Accept this, my gift to you, Caleb Harrison. You are a young man ahead of your time. A soul destined for future greatness. Listen and learn, read and pray. We, here at Our Lady of Sorrow Orphanage, wish you the best. God bless you.

  Your friend,

  Sister Teresa

  Caleb hadn’t said why he wanted the bible, but now she knew. It definitely belonged to a Caleb Harrison, but was he the Caleb Harrison? She turned to the middle section to see if anything had been listed there.

  The family tree had the name Sara beside the word mother. Where the father’s name would be, a child’s hand had written “Bastard.” The label didn’t mean much today, but a hundred and sixty years ago it held the power to scar a child for life.

  Two other names were listed on the page. The first had two small paragraphs beside it.

  Elizabeth Murray, as of the fifteenth day of January in the year of our Lord 1830 has agreed to become my Mrs. We will wed in the summer.

  Becci smiled at the simple statement of love. But as she read the rest, her smile died.

  My dearest Elizabeth laid to rest this fifth day of April in the year of our Lord 1830. Killed by the hand of an illicit lover. Good-bye Elizabeth.

  “Killed by an illicit lover?” She’d seen words similar to those when she’d scanned the last page of Rebecca’s diary. They were in the para
graph speaking of Rebecca’s death. The journal entry bore the signature of Obadiah Berclair, Saul’s brother.

  The names of Saul and Rebecca were next in Caleb’s Bible beside the date of May 10, 1835. Only one paragraph followed their names.

  My thanks to one of the fine citizens of Raleigh. I now know Saul and Rebecca Berclair. They are more than friends. I feel as if we share a rare kinship.

  Becci closed the Bible and backed away from the cot. “Oh, Caleb. Did you kill Rebecca? And why did you come forward in time? Are you here to kill me, too?”

  She shook her head at the question and whispered, “No.” She knew Caleb wouldn’t harm her.

  “Please, how can I help?” she asked, her hand resting on the Bible.

  A noise startled her.

  Becci whirled around to face the intruder. She clutched her hand to her chest to try and calm her wildly pounding heart as she realized the shed was empty.

  BECCI PRESSED HER toe against the floor and rocked back and forth in the kitchen chair as she watched her aunt roll out dough for the apple pies. One by one Lilly set the three crusts aside. Then she pulled out the bag of Rome apples they’d purchased earlier in the week and laid them on the counter.

  “He didn’t do it,” Lilly said as she dug through the utensil drawer. She didn’t have to explain what she meant. Becci knew. Ever since they woke to the sound of breaking glass, Aunt Lilly had defended Caleb.

  “I know,” Becci said with a sigh. “At least, I know he didn’t drink it. If he had, I would have smelled it on his breath when he kissed me.”

  “Kissed you?” Lilly glanced at Becci, her eyes sparkling with delight as she grabbed the paring knife out of the drawer and snatched up the sack of apples. She crossed to the table, plopped the apples onto the surface and pulled out the chair beside Becci’s. “I think we need to have a little talk. Why are you and Caleb kissing? You hardly know the man.”

  Heat rushed to Becci’s cheeks. She hadn’t meant to tell her aunt about the kiss. And she certainly couldn’t tell her all the circumstances surrounding it.