The Last Daughter (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (2 page)

The stranger rubbed a hand across his face and sighed. “Okay, okay, you can stay here if you want; third floor. But be warned that nothing’s sunshine fresh. You’ll have to shake the dust out of the sheets and don’t let all those locks on the door freak you out.”

“Locks?”

“You’ll see.”

“No, tell me. Are they on the outside of the door? If so—”

“Inside. You’ll be safe.”

Safe in her childhood home? Multiple locks on the door? A tight knot formed in her stomach. Did she dare accept his offer? Aside from the sinister house, this man was a stranger. He could be evil to the core, though he certainly didn’t look it with this tousled dark hair and quick smile. His t-shirt was quality thick, looked worn but expensive. His running shoes were a name brand she recognized. Still, bad guys came in all shapes and forms, and some even had sexy grins.

She fingered her keys and the canister of pepper spray attached. She could handle him. This house was the most important thing in her life right now; it was the answer to her questionable life story. She examined his face. He quirked an eyebrow. Making her decision, she stepped forward with an outstretched hand. “I’d love to stay here. It’s good of you to offer. I’m Rayna Guilbeau.”

He sobered. His face changed, and he bit his bottom lip. Finally, he pasted a smile back on his face and took her hand. Quickly, he let go. “I’m Trent Jones. Watching you make the decision to stay was an interesting study. And don’t think I haven’t noticed the pepper spray you have on your key chain. Believe me, you won’t need it. I’m one of the good guys.” With a funny little laugh, he added, “You really do want to see inside this place, don’t you?”

She pinned him with her gaze. “More than you could possibly know.”

For a moment he stared at her. “Did I just fall into your very clever plan?”

She shook her head. “I promise, this wasn’t part of any plan, but it sure worked to my advantage, didn’t it?”

“Well, Miss Rayna Guilbeau, it must be someone’s plan, because you have mail.” He bounded up the steps, shoved the door open, and switched on the back porch light.

“What?” How could she have mail?

He disappeared for a quick second and returned, handing her an envelope.

“Nothing in it though.”

She frowned. “You opened it?”

“Of course not. It’s a federal offense to open someone else’s mail. I held it to the light. There’s nothing in it.”

Rayna stared at the stained envelope. It looked as though it had been dropped on damp grass. Just her first name—and it was slightly smeared—and the address printed in small block letters.

“It’s postmarked more than a week ago. Before I’d even decided to come.” Questions bounced around in her head as she stared at him, wide-eyed, and filled with apprehension. An involuntary shiver ran through her, and she looked around. The neighborhood was dark and still, as if they were the only two people on earth.

“You honestly have no clue, do you? That you were expected, I mean.”

“That’s...a little scary. No one knew I was coming, except the people I work with. I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. But you’re here now. Maybe tomorrow you’ll get a
real
letter.”

Moments later, Rayna had pulled her car into the driveway. She felt torn, part of her wanted to turn around and return to the only home she’d ever known. Another part wanted to follow the clues to who she really was. She allowed Trent to get her small bag out of the trunk and into the house. “King, queen, full or twin?” she called after him.

“All beds are full,” he answered.

“Good.” She reached into the backseat for a laundry basket overflowing with sheets and towels and pulled a few out.

“You’re prepared,” he said, a hint of amusement in his tone.

The moment she stepped across the threshold of the backdoor into the spacious country kitchen, she sucked in a breath and held it. Was it her imagination or did the place smell like home? A fleeting image of strong arms holding her at the stove while stirring a huge pot of soup caused her to gasp. In her mind’s eye, she looked down into the pot, fascinated by the movement of the spoon in the thick dark liquid.

“I’ve been here three days and it still smells musty. From what I understand it’s been closed up a good while. Eventually, that odor will go away.”

She shook her head, not daring to speak.

“Is it making you sick?”

She swallowed. “No, I’m...I feel as though I’m...home. I can’t explain it.”

For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned and proceeded toward the stairs. “Yeah, well, you’re not home. At least not from the looks of
my
depleted bank account, so don’t go getting any ideas. Of course, I wouldn’t mind having someone share the so-called rent.”

When she didn’t answer, he halted on the first step and pivoted toward her. “You’re a really intense person. I’m getting vibes that you’re going to be trouble.”

She jerked her eyes to his. “What do you mean? Why would you say that?”

He grunted. “I don’t even know you, yet, I can tell you’re surrounded by mystery. That empty envelope is one indication.” He took the stairs two at a time. “Add to that I’m a guy; you’re a gal. Not to mention a really good-looking gal. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Still, it’s that empty envelope and the hair standing up on the back of my neck that has me worried.”

She followed him up the stairs. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as straightforward as you are.”

“And that’s a good thing,” he quipped. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, that’s a good thing, and thanks for the compliment.” She couldn’t help but laugh, and add in a mocking tone resembling his earlier comment. “...but let me add, don’t go getting any ideas.”

If any other man had called her trouble and complimented her in the same breath, Rayna may have felt wary, hesitant to spend the night, but even as attractive as Trent Jones was, he had a non-threatening, easy going nature. She was surprised that she felt comfortable with him. Even safe. It was a good thing. Getting mail at a residence she didn’t own or know existed only a few minutes after hitting town was nothing short of creepy. And that Trent Jones would predict she was trouble…well, she hoped he was wrong. Yeah, there was a certain amount of mystery surrounding her. She’d always felt it, but it wasn’t anything he needed to worry about. He’d done his part. Allowed her to spend the night in the house. And now that she was inside, nothing short of dynamite would scare her away.

Nothing.

****

Rayna was exhausted but wound up, too excited to sleep. She wandered around the room, eyeing the three locks on the door. Why were they there? Who had lived in this room, and why hadn’t they felt safe? Obviously, they hadn’t been locked in or the locks would have been on the outside of the door. No, whoever this room belonged to felt threatened. Her mother? She forced the thought away.

She wanted to explore every nook and cranny, but she made herself put sheets on the bed. When she finished, she surveyed; one five-drawer chest, a mirrored dresser, and two bedside tables. She was tired, but her time was limited. She would search.

Tugging the top dresser drawer open, she peered inside. Dingy articles of clothing were folded neatly. With her thumb and forefinger, she pinched a piece of the fabric, pulled it out, and let it fall to the floor. Then another and another. She fought disappointment when she’d emptied the chest and found nothing. She even examined the bottom of each drawer and the crevice from which it came.

“Don’t know what I thought I’d find,” she mumbled. She eyed the dresser with its tarnished mirror. A hand mirror with a matching brush and comb were neatly arranged on a yellowed crocheted doily. A flash of memory pierced her brain. A woman brushing long brown hair. She closed her eyes. Tried to capture the image, but it faded away.

She couldn’t help but believe that luck was on her side. Maybe when Trent gave her the grand tour, she’d be able to recognize more—wallpaper, a specific room—maybe she’d feel something that jogged her memory and gave her a clearer picture. She kept playing and replaying in her mind everything he’d said to her. He didn’t act as though he knew more about the house than he was telling her. Oh, how she wished she could stay here indefinitely—at least until she had answers.

The last time she looked at the clock, it was three a.m. She didn’t wake up until almost eleven the following morning. Very late for her, but the long drive from South Louisiana and the adrenalin that had pumped through her veins when she found the house, had taken its toll. Once she’d showered and made herself presentable, she went downstairs. She smiled, surprised to see Trent Jones sitting in the kitchen with a mug of coffee resting on the scarred breakfast table.
He wore a faded A&M t-shirt with a tear on the shoulder. His thick brown hair was askew, as if he’d washed it but hadn’t combed it. His jeans were worn, faded from many washings.

He looked as if he’d been waiting for her and for some reason her face grew hot.

“Morning, sunshine. How’d you sleep?” he asked.

“When I finally wound down, it was pure heaven.”

He motioned to an extra cup on the counter and a pot of coffee. “Help yourself. If you don’t drink coffee, there’s milk and juice in the fridge.”

“Coffee’s great.” She took the cup, poured her coffee, and got milk out of the refrigerator. The coffee looked strong, so a little extra milk was in order. Then she sat and looked at him. “You didn’t waste any time getting the utilities turned on.”

“The Realtor did it. That was the deal—that she’d take care of everything for me, have it ready before I got here.”

“So you aren’t from here?”

“Texas. My family owns one of the biggest flea markets in Texas and several antique stores in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. Some people call me a picker, but I don’t pick. I usually grab and run.”

“Grab what?”

“Anything that’ll make a buck.”

She took a sip of coffee and wished she had soy milk instead of regular whole milk “And you figure this place is going to make you a buck? That’s what you plan to do—resell?”

“She’ll bring a pretty penny when I’m finished with her.”

She wilted. “I really wanted this house.”

He eyed her. She could almost see the wheels turning inside his head.

“Why would you want this place? You’re pretty young. If you don’t mind my asking, what do you do for a living?”

She pretended to be insulted, jutting her chin in his direction. “I’m a very mature twenty-seven, but you’re right. I really didn’t have the money to buy it. Enough for the down payment, but then I’d have to take out a huge loan. I’m a PA, a physician’s assistant.”

He nodded. “And?”

“And?” she echoed.

“I assume you have a job lined up here. Though probably not since you didn’t even have a hotel room. What’s the deal? Okay, so you lived here once. Is that really it?”

She squirmed in her chair. “I think I may have been born here.”

He smiled. “You don’t remember where you were born? I recall all the details of my birth.”

She made a
you’re-way
-
too-funny-for-your-own-good
face at him. “I grew up with a foster family in Louisiana. Well, they’re related in a weird sort of way, but they know nothing about me, at least nothing they could or would share.”

“That sounds fishy. If they wouldn’t tell you anything, how’d you hear about this place, and why would you think you were born here?”

She took another sip of the coffee. “I saw an ad in a Louisiana magazine.”

“Me too. I was sitting in the New Orleans airport thumbing through it. Next thing I know, I’m on the phone with the Realtor and making an offer.”

She grinned. “Lucky you. I should have looked at the magazine as soon as I bought it. I might be the proud owner instead of you.”

“With a huge loan, remember. And, you would have been a poor owner. Can’t you see all the work that needs to be done?”

He was right. The country kitchen showed signs of age in the light of morning. The scarred cabinets and countertops would have to be replaced. In fact, the entire room needed a facelift.

Trent interrupted her thoughts. “So you saw a picture and just felt you were born here?”

“Yeah, more or less. It felt right because...” She didn’t plan to tell him—
show him
—everything. He’d have to take her word for it. “The emblem—the Wounded Heart brand by the front door—it looks familiar to me. It jogged a memory that hasn’t exactly made itself understandable yet, or clear.”

They looked at each other for a moment longer before she spoke again. “Are you going to give me the grand tour and tell me your plans for the place?”

“Yep, I’m going to show you every little dust bunny. But first, how about some breakfast? Eggs and bacon with toast or biscuits? Or maybe it’s too late for breakfast.”

Her stomach growled before she could answer. Trent got up from his chair. “That’s good enough for me.”

Rayna laughed. “Please don’t go to any trouble.”

“No trouble at all, and I’m starved myself. Besides, you probably didn’t eat yesterday, and I didn’t have the good manners to offer you anything before you went to bed last night. I mean...this morning. So I’m giving you the works. It’s coming up.”

Rayna didn’t want to waste time arguing with him, but she couldn’t help sharing what she had eaten the day before. “I ate peanut butter and crackers all the way here. I didn’t want to stop too often. I wanted to get here.” She stood. “Let me help you.”

He turned and pointed to her chair. “Not on your life. Sit.”

Within minutes they were sharing breakfast and talking as if they were old friends.

Trent told her about his family—his widowed mom, two brothers and three sisters—back in Dallas. “I’m the baby of the family,” he said. “And yes, I’m used to getting my way.”

“I’ll remember that,” she teased. She envied him his huge family but even more, she liked his good-natured personality. He came across light-hearted and easy to talk with. She couldn’t imagine anything upsetting him or making him angry.