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Funny how, only hours ago, she thought she would be out for the night, and while still physically tired, she needed to do this for herself.
Wait a minute. Was she growing used to his comforting hugs and his warm voice that caressed her earlier? They barely knew each other, but already she found his very presence a comfort to her.
The box contained more treasure than she imagined. Her father was a packrat. He kept everything. He had written poetry to her mother. Beautiful, flowing poetry promising her the world and that they would spend eternity together.
She dug deeper in the box, looking for a clue into her father's life, and she found too many things. All of it brought a myriad of emotions to the surface of her awareness. There was a sense of joy at being able to see this part of his life, and yet a sense of loss and regret at never having known it—him—while he was alive.
So why did he leave them? Frantically she searched the box, hoping to find the answers she desperately sought. She read into the night, having to replace the candle once.
She held several letters in her hand that had been returned to sender in a lady's delicate script. They were addressed to her, Miss Barbara Lane. She imagined it was her mother who had written on the envelope, and so it was her mother who had refused him. Not the other way around.
She opened one of the envelopes just to see what he had to say to a little girl so many years ago. It was sent on her birthday, November 30, 1861. She would have been twelve years old that year.
A hand drawn card fell out of the envelope. She read the letter, almost numb to the emotions she had closed off from her life for so long.
My dearest Barbara,
Happy Birthday, darling. I wish I were there to see your face. What I would give to see how you have grown. I would give up everything to see you one more time, but we all have made choices that we regret in life. Leaving you was mine.
But let's not focus on the bad things in our lives. I want to see you do better in life than me. I hope you make better choices and ones that leave you happy in life.
I hope more than anything you have a happy childhood, too. You deserve a puppy that will follow you everywhere and play fetch, and sisters and brothers to play with, and all the things a child wants. All the things I could never give you.
Your mother keeps sending my letters back, but I want you to know one thing about me if you don't know anything else. Know I love you.
Love always,
Your Dad
Reading the letter to herself left her in a state of shock. Her mother hid her father from her. She was the one who refused to accept him. It wasn't her father who abandoned them. It was her mother, and she did it so she could marry her stepfather who was better off than Barbara's real father, Joseph Lane. It left her happy knowing her father would have been there if he could.
Moreover she felt mad that her mother had done this and kept it a secret, lied as if she would never find out.
All those bitter years wasted.
She didn't realize she was holding her breath until she let it out in a sigh. All of that frustration and anger she was holding in all those years and who was she hurting?
Only herself.
Barbara resolved to never do this again. Once was one too many times to make such bad judgments. “I am so sorry, Papa. I forgive you, and hope you can forgive me, wherever you are."
Even as exhausted as she felt, sleeping would not be easy tonight. She felt too raw. Too emotionally exposed. She blinked back tears and blew out the candle, before padding over to the large bed and slipping under the covers with her partner.
It felt odd climbing in bed with a stranger, yet nice to feel his warmth next to her, it was also more comforting than it should be to have Vincent nearby. That was why she allowed herself to snuggle into his solid body and why she didn't fight it when he placed one strong arm over her protectively in his sleep.
* * * *
"Wake up, sleepyhead,” Vincent said in a singsong voice.
The morning sun had just risen, bringing a bright cheeriness to the cabin. The birds were outside chirping their wake up calls. All of it accentuated the pounding in Barbara's head.
How could he be in such a good mood?
Yesterday was really hard on Barbara physically. She had never had to work so hard in her entire life. Every muscle ached, and she needed more sleep. She may have felt better if she had a full night's rest, but she had been so absorbed with those letters belonging to her father that she couldn't sleep. It was amazing how much her life could change in one day.
Changes that shook her world. Everything she believed, and knew as a basic truth in her life had been questioned. Just thinking of how her father had been robbed of a relationship with her all these years made her emotionally fatigued, made her angry. Everything her mother had taught her over the years was drawn into question. She had hated her father for the lies her mother told her.
More sleep would have made today easier, and so would coffee. Perhaps coffee would ease the pounding in her head.
Barbara mumbled incomprehensible words into her pillow. It came out like, “Mmmmph,” but what she really meant was, I don't want to get up yet.
"Come on and wake up, Barbara. I let you sleep in too long already."
"Just a little longer...” Her golden hair splayed across the pillow, her slender neck exposed.
"Your coffee is getting cold."
"Coffee?"
"Yes, I have a cup for you right here."
As he sat down next to her the mattress shifted, causing her to roll into him. The skin-to-skin contact made her flesh tingle in sexual awareness. She pulled herself away as if he burned her, and she raised herself up on her elbows to try and si
t up. The jolt had her looking at him through sleepy eyes. He looked far too masculine—his day-old beard growing in, made him look like an outlaw. Manly and rough, and way too sexy for her. No man should look that good this early in the morning.
He pressed the steaming cup of hot coffee into her hands, unaware of what his nearness was doing to her. Her strong, slim fingers gripped the black mug, taking it from his much larger hands.
Her mouth kissed the edge of the coffee cup and she sipped it slowly, welcoming the morning caffeine. Some people valued their cigarettes, and others lived by their whiskey or their alcohol. Barbara's vice had always been coffee. She firmly believed that coffee had to be a gift from the gods.
"Thank you."
He cocked one eyebrow up at her curiously, “So you do know how to behave?"
"Of course, I know how to behave and I have manners, too. Which is more than I can say for some men around here."
"And what exactly are you implying, Miss Lane?"
"Exactly what I said. Do gentlemen tackle ladies from behind?” She waited for him to respond, and when he didn't she carried on. “No they don't, Mr. Waverly. They also don't force their lady friends to sleep with them."
"I have never had to force a lady to sleep with me."
"It's either sleep with you or sleep on the floor. That's forcing me to sleep with you."
He chuckled softly, the sound caressed her like a lover's touch. “We were not thinking about the same thing, darling. If you wanted more in bed, you would have to ask me to take you."
"I will never ask you to take me as a lover, you cad."
"No. You are right. Asking would not be enough, you will have to beg sweetly."
She let out a breath indignantly. “That is never going to happen, Mr. Waverly."
"Never?"
"Never,” she replied firmly.
"Well in that case, I may have to take that as a challenge."
"It would be a challenge you lose!” she hissed.
"I am not a man to back down from a challenge, darling, and especially not one so tempting to win."
* * * *
