Instructions for Love (17 page)

Exhausted though he felt, new liveliness emerged when he considered that in just a couple of hours, she would be back in his house.

He sped back there, hopped in the shower, and tossed on clean clothes. Hustling outside, he retrieved the cleaned fish. He brought it inside, seasoned and coated it with corn meal. He was pouring grease into the frying pan when pounding came from the back screen door.

A glance at the wall clock told him it was too early for Erin’s return. Waiting for her, he did not want to entertain other visitors. “Yes,” he barked, pulling the back wooden door open.

She stood on the top step, suitcase in hand.

Dane’s heart sped.

Erin shoved inside past him. “I don’t know why you tried to make me stay in that cottage. Of course my aunt owned it. She and her husband owned all of these buildings, and don’t you forget it.”

She spun on him, eyes aflame, making her even more intriguing. “And somebody left food in that place, in the refrigerator and the cabinets, and there are even clothes still in the closets. As if you hadn’t known.” She tromped ahead to the kitchen and set her suitcase down. “I’m sure somebody moved out of that place recently and left their things behind. I have no idea why, but I felt like I was trespassing on other people’s privacy and didn’t look at much of their belongings. If they aren’t coming back, then someone had better go out there and clean out what they had.”

“Erin,” he said, smiling, “you obviously don’t understand.”

“Oh yes, I do.” She waved an index finger at him. “I understand that you don’t want me to stay in this house. But I will.”

“But--”

“But I was almost afraid of you, not knowing whether I could trust you or not, or whether you might pull out another weapon and use it on me.”

“Oh, Erin, no way would I ever hurt you.”

“Great. I thought about that and believe it.” She leaned back against the counter, her face with much less passion. “And I understand that if I don’t go back to work tomorrow, I’ll lose my job.”

His hands balled to fists. “Lose your job?”

“My boss said I need to be back tomorrow. Or else.”

Rancor flared inside Dane at the man who held such control over her. Of course she would have to go. But the thought of her leaving now, abruptly, made an uncommon surge of panic erupt from his gut. He controlled his voice. “Did you call the airport and make arrangements for an early flight out? You aren’t leaving tonight, are you?”

She shook her head, and his alarm eased. At least she would stay around for supper, and maybe sleep in his bedroom one more time.

“I’m not flying out tonight. And I’m not going tomorrow.” Gripping her suitcase, she headed toward the bedrooms.

“Erin, wait.” He watched her stiff back. As much as he had begun to enjoy her company, he recalled that her finances were spare. “Are you willing to give up your income? Don’t they need you for that program?”

She turned and faced him. “There are lots of writers on the staff. I’m one of the newer ones. And yes, I need the income. But if I lose it, I’m sure I’ll find something else. Eventually.”

A mixture of annoyance and satisfaction struck Dane. Trevor was her boss. Losing her job would mean she’d probably be away from him. But finding another job in the same area wouldn’t be easy. “You can’t take days off?”

“Some network bigwigs want meetings this week, so the boss instituted a stern policy, he told me when I phoned. No calling in to miss work unless it’s from a deathbed.”

Dane needed to ask but wasn’t sure he wanted the answer. He sure didn’t want to push her away. “Then why don’t you go back?”

She shrugged. “Aunt Tilly never asked anything of me, but now she wants me to do something for her.” A mist coated Erin’s eyes. “I have no idea in the world why she would want me to stay here, but she said for me to stay four days.” Erin hiked up her chin. “And I am.”

Dane’s admiration for the woman in front of him rose even higher. “Will you be able to get a job writing for another program?”

“There aren’t many filmed in our state, and there’s lots of competition for the few openings. I’ll have to tell potential companies that I was fired.”

Dane wanted the unhappiness to leave her face. He noted her lips, pressed together, and recalled the sweet kiss from them. With great effort, he turned away and lifted her suitcase. They walked toward the master bedroom. “What is it that you like about your job? Writing for television or working with a team?”

With a slow stride, she shook her head. “I wanted to write about people. I could support myself by writing for the screen, so I studied screenwriting, but my part-time jobs stretched out the time it took to finish my courses. This job hasn’t given me the creative fulfillment I had hoped for.” Erin stopped, her expression livelier. “I wanted to create people who lived
real
lives, facing difficulties and striving to work out their solutions.”

Dane smiled. This creation of struggling people certainly held great appeal for her. “Then why don’t you do it in another area? Write a novel. Tons of people spit them out every year.”

She offered a weak grin. “I’d love to, but it’s not that simple. Most of those `tons of people’ aren’t making enough to live on. It normally takes years to become a best-selling author—if a person is lucky enough to ever reach that threshold. And while authors spend all that time creating the best writing they’re capable of, they need to eat.” Her grin faded. “End of story.”

She headed for the master bedroom, and he followed, setting her suitcase down near his bed. This bed, he considered, casting a gaze across it, now held more appeal as a place for her to snuggle into to gain comfort. She flicked on the light.

“At least,” he said, “you’ll get to enjoy one more meal. I’m about to go fry up some of our fresh fish for you.”

Her smile made her eyes light up. “I’ll remember your generosity when I’m starving.”

He felt the lightened area of his heart harden. “I’ll go fix supper. Come on back to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

He headed for the kitchen with a quick pace, his step slowing while he walked through the office. Why hadn’t he encouraged her to get back home? This woman who’d so recently flown down here had a life to lead and a job that probably paid decent money, at least once she’d been on staff awhile.

A glimpse through the doorway to the dining room let him see the silent telephone. And that phone, with her calls on it, had let him know more about her boyfriend than he’d wanted to discover. What a jerk.

Dane glanced back toward his bedroom. The woman inside it deserved much better than that man back in the city. Her generous spirit had revealed itself in her caring about Tilly and determination to carry out her wishes. Erin needed something, someone better.

Inhaling a breath, Dane stormed into the kitchen. He’d fix her a meal that would make her forget pressing concerns, at least for a little while.

Chapter Twelve

Erin sat in the master bedroom, staring but seeing nothing. She had never let go of anything of importance, not her first stuffed doll with the missing eye that still sat on her bed in the apartment or the stories she’d written in school that made her proudest, all sealed in a box on the top shelf of her closet. She still had her prom dress, although the boy she’d gone to the dance with had been her buddy. She had sewn that royal blue dress and felt good about her accomplishment.

Now she was letting go of her screenwriting job?

She sighed and gazed at the green shuttered door to the porch.
Shadowed Lives
might not be the best of programs, but she felt some success working for it. And while its star and staff might not be the most supportive, the position had given her a start to express herself creatively with writing. She earned a decent enough salary to let her get by on her own in the Big Apple and even managed to put a little aside. But the money she had saved wouldn’t be enough to tide her over for long while she searched for another job. Being fired from the one she had wouldn’t help.

“Oh, Aunt Tilly,” she said with a slow shake of her head, “I wish I knew why you wanted to create such a stir in my life.”

Possibly Tilly had given her attorney a note of explanation for Erin. Or, Erin hoped, one of the next pages her aunt wrote would explain.

Pushing up to her feet, Erin heard the floorboards squeak while she crossed to the mantle. She lifted the manila envelope, ran a finger over its crisp closed top, and pressed it to her chest. She breathed in, let her out breath slowly, and touched the white silk dove as her eyes warmed. “I miss you so much.”

The aroma of fried foods swept into the room, its smell inviting. The man preparing that meal held as much appeal as the tantalizing scent of dishes he was putting together. If only he knew how much their brief kiss had meant, how the touch of his lips against hers had sent joy through her, making her feel as though she were at the exact place she had been born to reach.

“How ridiculous,” she said, giving her head a shake. She’d been in a boat in the swamp. And if Dane Cancienne had any idea of how she had been affected by their one brief kiss—over a fish—he would surely think of her as a lovelorn pup, unable to attract any man.

She lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, and walked to the kitchen, its enticing aromas spreading through the house. “That smells terrific.”

Dane faced the stove, where frying food sizzled. He turned, spatula in hand, his smile bright. “I wondered if you were coming back, or if you were too scared of my cooking to come in here and try it.”

She laughed. “I live in the big city, remember? I’m not scared of much.” Her thoughts rounded to where they had just been, fearing for the loss of her job. She amended her statement. “Usually.”

“Glad to hear it. If any gators come after me, I’ll know who to call.”

Her mood lightened. She enjoyed his humor, at least the brief flashes of it he allowed. He removed a tray filled with golden fried fish out of the unlit oven and used his spatula to get more fish from his frying pan. “That looks great. Can I help?” Erin said.

“So now you ask.” He grinned at her. “This’ll only take a few minutes. I really wanted to do it alone to show off my cooking skills.”

Dane Cancienne was, it seemed to Erin, a man of many skills.

But she couldn’t care. She would be leaving him soon, to his own element, and she’d be returning to hers. “Then if you don’t want my help, I’ll go and make a phone call.”

His smile wiped away.

“It shouldn’t take long,” she said and hurried to the dining room. She set the manila envelope on the lower shelf of the phone table, reversed the charge to her own phone, took in a breath, and waited while the other line rang.

“This is Trevor.”

She smiled, but slightly. “And this is Erin, in case the humid air down here made my voice change.” Maybe her attempt at levity would make him laugh.

He didn’t. “So you stayed.” The comment sounded like an accusation.

“My aunt wanted me to, so for a couple of more days. I have to be here. I thought you might understand and not fire me.”

He didn’t respond, so she moved on with chatter. The weather, exceedingly hot, the huge oak trees filled with moss, pretty, and the man cooking at the stove—she didn’t mention. No sizzling sounds came from there, so the meal must be ready.

“I need to go,” she said, not getting more feedback from the other end of the line, “but I’ll call you again.”

“And you forgot about your job?”

“I didn’t forget.” By tomorrow evening, she wouldn’t have it. She avoided discussion about what was about to happen or thinking about the repercussions. “I’ll stay in touch.”

He released a loud sigh. “Erin, I don’t know what’s really going on with you, but I wonder. I have to believe you don’t care about your position.”

“I care.” She made a mental check. Yes, she did care. She just wasn’t sure how much.

“Do you know what an awkward position you’ve put me in? I told everyone they couldn’t miss work this week.”

“I know. I needed to come to my aunt’s funeral. And now I need to stay here a couple of days more.”

He was quiet a moment. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Give me a call back tomorrow during afternoon break. Three o’clock. I’ll be waiting.”

“Three o’clock. Right.”

“I’ll talk to you then. And Erin, behave while you’re down there.”

She laughed. When did she ever not behave?

Hanging up, she traipsed back to the kitchen. Dane was placing the tray of fish on the table. Concern etched his face. “Did you talk to your boyfriend again?”

She squeezed her lips together. Why did he keep thinking Trevor was her boyfriend? Well, no matter. He didn’t need to know everything about her personal life. She had told him enough about her job.

He raised one eyebrow, waiting. When she didn’t explain her phone call, Dane’s expression changed to hardness. “Everything’s ready,” he said, turning away. “Go ahead, try it.”

He had set the table. Instead of placing the rose vase near their places, he’d pushed it farther aside. Erin sat, and he took his chair. “It looks like you’ve had practice with your cooking skills.”

A bitter chill reached his eyes. When he gave no other reaction, she selected two small pieces of fish from the tray. She served herself some of his French fries, which also looked battered. “If I ate like this all the time,” she said, having to break the silence, “I’d need to shop for more clothes. Bigger ones.”

His stern expression faded while he selected food, her change of topic possibly causing him to relax. “I doubt that you’d ever need big clothes,” he said, holding a fry and nodding toward her torso. “You’re extra slim.”

“Slim? Why, thank you, sir. Maybe I’ll start using that as my nickname. It’ll make me feel better on those days when I’m feeling fat.”

“You, fat?” He snickered and ate his fry.

Pleased to see him not so angry, Erin used her fork to slice a slab of fish. She speared the piece she’d cut. Its meat flaked and fell apart. She used a fry to push a bit of fish against. Scooping her fork beneath the fish, she was able to get it to her mouth. The crunchy batter accented the tender flakes of fish. “Yum. How do you get this so tasty?”