Instructions for Love (3 page)

“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.”

Erin 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.

She murmured with pleasure and looked forward to morning when could view the window even better with sunlight streaming through it. The room gave off the feel of a man. Strange, Erin thought, and shrugged off her foolish imaginings.

The cabinet built above the lavatory enticed her to open it.

She touched its round white knob. A tinge of guilt surfaced. She chose not to look within. Doing that would be like invading others’ privacy. Even though someone would eventually have to endure going through the former couple’s personal things, that person would probably be her aunt’s brother.

The sound of Dane’s shower stopped. Erin grabbed towels from a stack on a stand, washed up, and changed clothes. Then she headed for the bed that would surely keep her awake, reminding her too much of Aunt Tilly.

She slid onto the bed and laid her head on a down pillow. Her eyes adjusted to the dark and took in deep shadows. Massive posts on the bed. The mantle and bare pieces on it. As Erin’s eyelids fluttered and then clamped together, and she noticed—this room did not make her think at all of her aunt.

Chapter Three

Dane scrambled from bed at the usual hour, much too early for the little sleep he’d had. The woman in the next bedroom made him stay awake into the wee hours, punching his pillow and trying to get her presence out of his mind.

He’d been foolish to let her believe Tilly’s ridiculous words in that envelope. After Erin woke up this morning, he would tell her the absolute truth. Or even better, the page Tilly wrote for her to read today would disclose it. Probably Tilly, with her great sense of humor, would have said the whole idea was only a little joke. It would be like Tilly to try to play a prank even after her death.

Dane looked forward to learning what Tilly had to say on that next page. In the meantime, he needed to get dressed. And his clothes were all in that room, his bedroom where Erin lay asleep in his bed.

He wrapped a bath towel around his waist. Creeping to the door between them, he avoided any boards that squeaked. Annoyance built inside him. How ridiculous for him to skulk around his own house and try to open the door to his bedroom without making noise.

He grabbed the doorknob, a grin sneaking to his face when he recalled the click of that door last night. Right after he’d closed it, Erin had shoved it even tighter, just to make sure. Had she thought he might sneak in after she undressed?

A frown replaced Dane’s smirk. Why did he want her to stay in his bed? He should instead, shake her out of it.

He yanked the door open. A long squeak sounded.

He peered through the space he created, making sure she hadn’t jump up, ready to scream for help.

Erin formed a small mound on his bed. She faced away from him, her breaths barely audible as though calling him closer.

He stepped toward her. Then stopped. No—this woman wasn’t the one he wanted. He wanted Anna returned to him. This woman with her breaths against his sheets wouldn’t soothe him. They only brought back memories he refused to have.

He yanked his clothes out of the closet and did not worry about shutting the door all the way when he went out.

“I can’t believe it,” Erin said as she rose from the bed with the firm mattress. She had slept an entire night. She never slept through a night without waking many times, hearing horns blare as cars raced past each other near her apartment or thinking of all the things she needed to get done and trying to hurry back to sleep but unable to.

Now the sun was high, she could tell by the bright rays streaming through tilted slats on the floor-to-ceiling green shutters. For a change, Erin woke up fully rested.

She wanted to look around her aunt’s wonderful house, but that would have to wait. First, she had to see about that man who said he also lived in this house. She glanced at the door between their bedrooms.

It was open half an inch.

Her back stiffened. Had he come into this bedroom last night? Or just now?

“Hello,” Erin called out through the open doorway. “Hello. I’m up.”

She listened. Heard nothing different. The momentary tingle of excitement she’d experienced dissipated, replaced by a trace of fear. Dane Cancienne looked fantastic, but she didn’t know the man at all. Possibly she should fear him.

She hurried to get dressed in the bathroom, slightly disappointed to find shadows of trees blocking the morning sunshine from streaming in through the lovely stained-glass window over the tub.

Erin retraced her steps through the rooms she’d walked through the night before.

When Dane returned from inspecting the fields, she was standing on his porch at the section where people seldom came, right outside the door to what used to be the dining room.

“Hi,” Erin called, waving when he drove up.

He nodded in greeting and left his truck in the driveway instead of parking in the garage. “’Morning,” he said, trotting up the stairs, expecting her to say she’d read Tilly’s next note, and it explained that her first instructions had only been a joke.

Erin was wearing shorts. She looked great.

And he didn’t need to be thinking about such things.

She rose to her tip-toes and stretched, shoving her arms high. “I can’t wake up,” she said in a husky tone.

Dane stood a distance away, holding the porch rail. Why wasn’t she being an annoying chatterbox? She’d talked almost constantly last night, reminding him of the incessant chatter of crickets and bullfrogs in the woods right after a thunderstorm. But now as she’d shed heavier clothes, had she also gotten rid of excess talking?

“It’s time to get moving,” he said. He didn’t want to sound blunt, but she needed to go.