Rebecca Russell - Right Where He Belongs

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 graves so long ago. Delayed justice, but sweet just the same.

He didn’t need the money, only the satisfaction he’d feel when he sold the very thing his grandfather had valued over family.

“Tanner? What’s wrong?”

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