Right Where He Belongs. Rebecca Russell
Cassie inside the room. He pictured her, lonely and missing her dad, racing off to do repairs in the old house, and felt a sharp tug on his heart.
He knew how working with your hands could soothe your soul. After he’d lost his parents in a car wreck when he was seventeen, a nonprofit group called Mentors, Inc. had hooked him up with a master carpenter who specialized in framing and building cabinets on-site.
Tanner had thrown himself into the part-time job to curb his loneliness. Wood was solid, yet he could coax it to his will. He determined the shape, texture, even the color. Control of any kind had worked like a bandage against the open sore of helplessness that had raged inside of him.
He doubted he’d have to explain to Cassie how that job had become a lifeline to an angry, scared kid in search of direction and purpose.
At least he’d been old enough to declare himself emancipated, and could make his own decisions about his future. He had stayed with neighbors, who were also close friends to his parents, until he graduated from high school and got his own apartment. Man, he hadn’t thought about those dark times in ages. Didn’t care to, either. He’d rather contemplate the fascinating woman next to him who was real, unpretentious and obviously unaware of her effect on him.
Who was he kidding? She probably had the same effect on all men, was probably involved with someone. No. He wouldn’t think about her personal life; it was none of his business.
“The antiques are so beautiful.” Cassie’s soft voice pulled him back to the present. “Too bad they can’t talk. I’ll bet they have wonderful stories.” She slowly ran her hand along the curved back of a cherry rocker.
She hadn’t simply touched the chair, she’d caressed it. He marveled at how she milked the simplest of pleasures for all they were worth.
At breakfast, observing her lost in the taste, smell and feel of the pastry had thrown him off balance. In no time, his cool politeness had been replaced with a keen awareness of the sensual woman across the table. He’d found himself relaxing, had even razzed her about a simple thank you after she’d shrugged off his compliment for promptness.
Minutes later he had agreed to explore the upstairs with her. The spontaneous act had felt natural, which amazed him, since he’d denied that part of himself for so many years. He had learned quickly that spontaneity was for other people, not for someone like him who had lost his parents, his anchors, much too early in his life.
Cassie’s slow ascent up the staircase she’d been dying to climb for years had impressed him, made him wonder if she would approach lovemaking with the same drawn-out passion….
Tanner nearly groaned at the thought. In less than a month he’d return to Texas. He had no business thinking of her in that way. Damn. He needed a distraction. “What do you think this room was used for?” he asked as he opened the doors of an intricately carved armoire.
“It might have been your dad’s, if that picture means anything.” She walked over to the nightstand, picked up an ornate silver picture frame and offered it to him. “Do you recognize anyone, Tanner?”
He wanted to walk away, but couldn’t. Cassie placed the frame in his hands, the heavy metal cool to the touch.
He traced the outline of a young boy with familiar dark hair and eyes sitting on the back of a red convertible, no doubt the Thunderbird Cassie had mentioned earlier. An obviously proud father stood off to the side.
“They look happy in that picture, don’t they?”
Tanner returned the frame to Cassie, determined not to show a reaction to the photograph. No way did he want to imagine his grandfather as a typical, doting dad. He was a monster who had hassled his family. “Nice car.”
She gazed at him expectantly, but he had nothing to say that she’d want to hear. “Let’s check the next room,” she finally said.
Up and down the hallway, her enthusiasm built with each step. Her excitement proved contagious. Tanner followed, grateful for a distraction. How could someone so curious possess the willpower not to sneak upstairs on one of her many visits? Despite himself, he was impressed.
She hurried to the next room. “Jill is going to gloat. She never believed there was anything special up here.”
“Jill. That’s your sister, right?”
“Right. The one without an imagination.” Cassie stopped in front of the last room. “What made you choose this room, Tanner?”
He blinked. “Choose it for what?”
“Your room. None of your stuff was in the other rooms, and this is the only one left.”
“I tossed my dufflebag in the room downstairs.”
She raised an eyebrow. “In case you didn’t notice, the bed downstairs is a double. All the beds that we’ve seen up here are queen or king-size. But hey, whatever floats your boat.”
She turned her attention to the next room. “I sure hope this one is more interesting.” She opened the door and stepped inside.
Tanner followed close behind. “More interesting, maybe, but nothing exciting.” Heavy, stale air assaulted him. Light poured in from high windows and revealed a long, narrow room that ran the length of the house. The perfect space for storage.
“Wow,” Cassie murmured. “Looks like a Hitchcock movie set.”
“The only things missing are a few rabid birds.” A sloped ceiling created a tunnel affect. At one end stood an enormous oak rolltop desk and shelves that sagged under the weight of too many books. The opposite side of the room held an armoire and several trunks. Cobwebs cloaked every surface.
“Just look at that Victrola, Tanner! I can almost hear big-band music and picture giggling teenage girls teaching one another the latest dance steps.”
He watched Cassie rush across a massive, faded, Oriental rug to the Victrola.
“I knew it! Jill and I would’ve had a blast in here. And of course, probably destroyed every breakable thing in sight.” She took a rag from a back pocket and flicked it across the lid of the antique, destroying at least one spider’s home while she whipped up a miniature dust storm.
She sneezed and waved her hand to clear the air, a grin on her face all the while. A blanket of dust and a maze of sticky cobwebs failed to dim her excitement. The sparkle in her eyes made him want to keep giving her reasons to be excited. A dangerous thought. He planned to leave as soon as possible so there wouldn’t be time to…to what? Build a relationship?
Not an option.
Once again he needed a diversion and stopped at the first thing in front of him, a fancy table with a glass case on top. Four rows of tarnished spoons nestled against faded black velvet.
“Tanner, look. I found some old letters addressed to your grandmother. What did you find?” Cassie approached him and gasped. “These collectibles are from all over the world. You should get a safety deposit box.”
Vivid childhood memories popped into his mind. His truck-driving father had always brought back a souvenir spoon from each town he visited as a gift for his mother. They had explained how the spoons symbolized their freedom. The real collection and more could’ve been theirs if they had agreed to let his grandfather run their lives. He had insisted they return to New Haven, or send Tanner to live with him in order to benefit from the opportunities money and status provided. Of course they had refused.
Tanner had thought it silly how happy the cheap gifts had made his mother. Now, as he gazed at the impressive collection, he understood why she had claimed that a spoon from Peoria was more valuable than a collectible from Paris.
His throat tightened. A strange wetness appeared behind his eyes at the reminder of how much pain his grandfather had caused his parents. He was more convinced than ever that he’d done the right thing by coming to New Haven. Finally, he could make good on the promise he’d made to his parents while he knelt at their