Instructions for Love (19 page)

No matter. Her business was her own.

Erin stood before the unlit fireplace, her thoughts swirling. She had wanted to remain with him, in that cozy kitchen, out in the boat, in fact, anywhere. But that longing to stay near had probably stemmed from her need for attachments, she told herself, accepting the satisfactory explanation.

She grabbed the enveloped off the mantle, carried it to the dressing table, sat, and read the top page again. The swirling letters in blue ink caused Erin to grin. Then she peered at the few words, hoping she had read them wrong.

Day 3 Instructions: Chill. (That means relax. I heard it on TV.)

Hope you enjoy your day, dear. And remember, I’m happy—as I want you to be.

With all my love, Tilly.

“Relax,” Erin uttered. She released a sigh, her chest falling. For this, she had to give up her income and the position she’d clung to?

The instinct had come, right after she’d seen these words last night, to grab her suitcase, call the airport, and drive back to it, taking a red-eye or whatever flight might be available. She’d get back to the city, and even if she was late, she could call her boss and say she’d be in. She could keep her employment and everything that felt safe.

She walked over to the mantle and replaced the envelope on it. She lifted the white dove, stroking its silk wings. “Oh, you sly thing,” she said, imaging her tiny redheaded aunt with her most devious grin. With her head cocked and green eyes bright, Tilly might’ve pointed a finger at her and said, “Gotcha.” And then she would belt out the hearty laugh that sent joy bubbling throughout Erin. Her aunt had kept Erin and lifted her mood often when she’d known Erin’s sprits sagged after one or another of her mother’s wayward actions. Her mother found another of those rich men, who soon married her. And Erin again felt slighted, shoved aside while her sole parent thrust attention on the husband she didn’t care about, but who provided her with all the money she wanted to spend on those trips, the fashionable clothes, or whatever.

Setting the dove beside the envelope, Erin again experienced the pain of losing those most important people. She’d lost out on so many childhood days, spending them in waiting, hoping the father she’d never seen would come back for her, or at least want to know who she was. But he didn’t. And neither had her mom given the child Erin much of the nourishing she needed. Oh, she’d had lots of toys other kids would’ve wanted and had given most of them to the children who’d cared about them. Her mother bought her lots of things, but never seemed able to give to Erin the one thing she would cherish, the feeling of being totally loved, of belonging in a home.

“You gave me that feeling,” Erin said, glancing over her shoulder at the dove lying flat on the mantle. She grinned, but her grin quickly faded. Her aunt had provided Erin with the feeling of belonging, of being loved without reservation. But Tilly died and left her.

Erin yanked off her nightwear. She shrugged into the clothes she had washed late last night, after that nosy Dane had opened her papers, gotten his head chewed off for doing that, and then taken off. She’d heard him slam the back door and screech off in his truck. Where he’d gone, she had no idea. Maybe to a barroom to drink away troubles. Maybe to a girlfriend’s house, where he might have righteously complained that Erin took away the papers he had every right to read.

The concept of him having a girlfriend made Erin stop moving. Her heart, though, sped.

No, who cares?
She gave her head an angry shake. Thrusting her nightwear back into her suitcase, she considered how she might start her day. A whole day here, with nothing to do except relax? This place was too slow for her to feel relaxed, and much too uninhabited.

The sound of a moving vehicle came from the driveway, making Erin’s mood brighten.
Dane, coming back?
She ran to the louvered doors, opened a slat, and peeked out.

Mom Bea’s red truck came forward on the circular drive.

Erin dashed through the house. She threw open the door in the dining room and rushed out. “Mom Bea!”

“Hi, sweetie.” The middle-aged woman slammed the door of her truck once she got out, her eyes brightening when she spied Erin. Mom Bea hustled up the steps, throwing her arms out and giving Erin a big hug.

Erin could have kept her body close to this soft woman’s. Snuggled in Mom Bea’s arms, she felt content. But she had to let go. “I was hoping I’d get to see you again,” Erin said.

“Well, you are.” Mom Bea thrust her arms out wide, giving Erin a good view of her plump body, again clad in loose shorts and a T-shirt. “Looks good, huh?” Mom Bea said with a wink.

“You couldn’t look better.” Erin meant those words. “Come on in. Let’s visit.”

This woman might have work to do inside, but at the moment, Erin needed company. And if Mom Bea had housework to complete here, then Erin could help her. That concept made her energized. Cleaning this big house and maybe working in the yard would keep her active, and she needed to do something—anything.

Mom Bea glanced from the porch toward the garage, no longer smiling. “He left already, didn’t he?”

“Dane? Oh yes. I imagine he’s gone to work.”

“He would.” Mom Bea made a sound like
tsk
, and then her face brightened. “But he should be back during the day.”

“That’s no matter,” Erin said, going inside with her. “I’ve got you here. Come, let’s talk. I’ll make you coffee.”

“All right, dear.” Mom Bea’s walk was sprightly to the kitchen. She pulled a chair out at the table and sat, glancing at the vase holding roses.

“Aren’t those pretty?” Erin said. “I cut them from the garden. Oh, but I see that they need more water.”

She had no idea whether Mom Bea normally sat here to visit before or during her chores around the house. But her employers, Tilly and Cliff, were no longer around to require her services. Dane still lived here and most probably did, but he’d just have to wait to have this place dusted or whatever her services were. Mom Bea would need to earn her income, though, and Erin couldn’t keep her from doing that. She would, however, help her to earn her income after they sat to chat.

“You’ve learned how to use that old pot,” Mom Bea said when the teakettle whistled, and Erin poured water from in over the grounds.
Drip-drip
sounded.

“This wasn’t hard to learn to work.” Erin glanced back. “Dane seems to like a mug, but I prefer the demitasse cups. Is that all right with you?”

“Perfect.” A gleam lit in Mom Bea’s eyes, making Erin think of Aunt Tilly in one of her mischievous moods.

Erin lifted the vase and brought it to her nose, enamored with the roses’ sweet fragrance. She held the vase out toward Mom Bea. “Isn’t this a wonderful scent?”

Eyeing Erin instead of the flowers, Mom Bea sniffed. “I’ve smelled them before. They’re delightful.”

Erin added water to the vase and set it close to her company. She poured coffee into the delicate cups.

Mom Bea looked her over, a pleased glint in her pale blue eyes. “Thanks. This is just my second cup this morning.” She drank her coffee black, just like Dane, and nodded in approval. “You learn fast.”

Erin tried to sip the plain coffee. A bitter taste stung her tongue. She dusted her coffee with powdered cream and dropped in a pinch of sugar. “To learn to drink this straight like you—or is that
y’all
—I’d have to stay around her quite some time.”

Mom Bea laughed with Erin, the sparkle in her eye still hinting of mischief.

“You were close to my aunt, weren’t you?” Erin said.

Her friendly smile gave the answer. “I only wish I’d had much more time to spend with Tilly. She was delightful.” She took a deep breath, and mist coated her eyes. “I miss her.”

Erin clasped her hand over Mom Bea’s soft one. “So do I. She was like the mother I wished I’d had.”

A nod of understanding came from her elder. “Tilly spoke about you all the time. She sure adored you.”

Erin sniffled. She forced the tears that came to her eyes to stop their flow. Both of them sipped their coffee in quiet.

Mom Bea stood with her cup, the area around her mouth reminding Erin of Dane. “I’d like more. Can I pour you some?”

Erin laughed. “I couldn’t handle another cup of this yet. I have trouble sitting still now.” She waited for her guest to sit with her refill. “That’s the problem. My aunt left me such strange instructions.”

“Oh, really?” Mom Bea swallowed her coffee in big sips, not showing surprise at what Erin told her.

“It’s why I’m still here. She wanted me to hang around here today. That’s it, hang around. Chill, she called it, like some of the teenagers do.”

Mom Bea smirked. “That Tilly.” She didn’t, however, seem confused about Tilly’s request.

“And I can’t do that.” The words tumbled from Erin’s mouth at the same time that she realized they were true. “I can’t just sit around here.”

“Why not?”

“Because--” Erin had to pluck thoughts from her mind, needed a moment to search for reasons. She found plenty and voiced the first one. “Because I’m not used to keeping still and relaxing. I know the fast pace, and that’s all. I need movement and plenty of people and action.”

Mom Bea gazed at the table, sipping her coffee. She looked up at Erin. “Do you really like all that traffic, all those cars honking, and all those scads of people who don’t know who you are and could care less about you?”

Erin’s view glazed over as Mom Bea’s description jelled in her mind. Yes, she had described Erin’s surroundings. Pleasant? Erin leaned toward Mom Bea. “But that’s the only kind of life I know.”

“Did you ever consider that there might be a different kind, one that’s better?”

A jolt of annoyance ran through Erin. “Do you dislike New York and New Yorkers?”

Mom Bea’s cup clinked when she thrust it down on its saucer. “Absolutely not. Those people have proved themselves to be fighters, people who could come together and find strength when they had to. Oh no, don’t get me wrong, I think the place would be great to visit, what with all the places to go and things to see, and I know it’s got lots of wonderful people.” She leaned to Erin, her tone lowering. “I just want you to consider. There are other places, other people. And a couple of them who might love to keep you around them.”

She pushed loosened gray tendrils back into her ponytail, giving Erin a moment to ponder her statements. Then Mom Bea shoved her chair back. “Think about it. I have to go now.” She stood and headed for the dining room and then the porch.

“Don’t leave.” Erin darted behind, following her out.

“I only stopped by to see how you were. And maybe see Dane.” The sound of a vehicle approached from the area of the fields. Mom Bea smiled. “Ah, there he is.”

She gave Erin a quick hug, brushed a kiss on her cheek, and scooted down the steps.

“Wait to see him,” Erin called to her retreating figure.

The ponytail bobbed as she ducked into her truck, calling out, “I can talk to him any time.” Her truck made a fast spin to circle back toward the highway.

Dane parked in the area she’d left. Coming out of his truck, he looked at hers speeding away. He glanced up at Erin. “What did she want?”

What a cold question. He could have asked how the lady was doing or even whether she’d come by to get paid. Dane must make out her checks since he said he did payroll. Maybe just like him, Mom Bea needed money. And she should get lots of it, Erin decided, if only for her warmth and compassion. Unlike this man, who now strode up the steps.

“She wanted to see you,” Erin said when he was up on the porch, “and see me.”

He glanced back at the roadway, where her truck was turning, and murmured, “Hmm.”

Erin had wanted to keep her anger at him, to keep recalling the aggravating things he did that set her on edge. But he stood too close, his nearness sapping away all her burning fury.

He turned his eyes toward her, their intensity making her shoulders tighten. She saw the motion of his neck while he swallowed. “I came back for something I forgot,” he said, turning aside and putting more space between them.

Erin breathed freer. She forced a harsh tone. “I’m sure you’ll get what you need and then go back to the fields.”

“Yep.” He walked inside.

She hurried in behind him. “I made coffee. Would you like some?” Darn, she wouldn’t have wanted to ask him to stay. But if he left, she’d be alone again. Even his company would keep her from feeling so stranded.

He cast a gaze over his shoulder. “Maybe so. I didn’t take time to make any this morning.” Turning into the office, he bent over papers on the desk.

She hurried to the kitchen and turned on the burner under the coffeepot. But a cup of coffee wouldn’t keep him here long. She opened the refrigerator and found canned biscuits. Turning on the oven, she located a tray and set a few biscuits on it.

“I have breakfast cooking,” she said when he strolled into the kitchen.

He sniffed, seemed pleased, and headed for his chair. He stopped, his gaze hard on the vase of roses pulled close to their places.

“They’ve opened more but they’re still so lovely,” Erin said, her hand caressing the petals of the half-open one. “I gave them more water.”

His stony expression softened. He took his place, and Erin picked up the cups she and her recent company had used. “Mom Bea and I had coffee,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you having some with me?”

Erin imagined how wound up her nerves would feel after more caffeine, but his gaze at her sent that thought away. “Sure, why not?” She served his coffee in a mug, poured a little in her demitasse cup, and put the tray in the oven.

“Thanks. I needed this.” He took big swallows and then seemed relaxed. “We have a cow with some difficulty.”

It surprised her that he shared a problem. The idea of an animal in trouble made her worried. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s getting ready to drop her calf, and it hasn’t turned yet. But the vet’s watching over her.” His face showed real concern.

Erin connected with the problem he explained and felt tense, yet at ease while he moved the conversation into another area concerning him, getting all the equipment ready and planting new cane, and barely noticed when the oven buzzed. She took the biscuits out and ate with him, asking questions about the animals and crops.