Free Instructions for Love by June Shaw Page A

inside this building he called his residence, sitting at that desk or in the kitchen drinking his late-afternoon coffee. Aunt Tilly had told Erin that the people living down here drank lots of it, even until they went to bed. Erin’s couldn’t imagine spiking her nerves even more with caffeine overdoses.
    She crept out of the bedroom, anticipating that in the next room, she might run smack into Dane Cancienne.
     
    Erin Westlake was what Dane hoped he would find after rounding that final curve in the road to his house. He wanted to see that signature at the bottom of a note stuck to the back door or on the kitchen table. And on that note she would have thanked him for the hospitality and told him she had gone home.
    He had been hoping that the whole time he planted in his fields. He hadn’t been able to concentrate, and even old Jessie, also driving a cane planter that Dane almost ran into, asked what was the matter. He said Dane didn’t seem himself today.
    Of course he wasn’t. He had that Yankee to contend with.
    A grin sneaked up to Dane’s face. He recalled a few of the elder men who’d long since passed away. When each of them mentioned Yankee , they’d said it as though they had sworn. How times changed , Dane considered when he rounded the bend near the deserted chicken coop. Many of his relatives he admired lived up north now, although most of them remained in the Deep South. Dane stretched his head forward, anticipating spotting a piece of paper stuck near his back door.
    A curse sprang to his lips when he spotted Erin.
    He’d already passed the flower garden behind the house, and only her motion in his side vision let him notice her. He braked, threw his door open, and strode across the grass.
    She snipped a fragrant Tea Rose and bent, placing its stem in a basket near her feet that held two others. She cut another pastel yellow one and stood with a smile when she saw him coming.
    “What are you doing?” he snapped.
    Her smile faded. “I found these gorgeous flowers and thought I’d cut some for the house. It could use some life.” Creases crossed her forehead. “Was I doing something wrong?”
    He stared at the cut stems, what they meant to him not allowing him to speak.
    Erin pointed to the rows of others. “This is such a lovely area, but I almost missed it with all those tall shrubs surrounding it. Who tended this garden, Aunt Tilly?”
    His fiery gaze met hers. “Me.”
    “Oh. Then no wonder you’re so--” She thrust the stem she held into the basket and headed back to the house, calling over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I had no idea this was your garden.”
    He stared at the cut flowers. Dane stepped through rows of the many colored rose bushes, the acute sense of loss tormenting him. Anna’s sanctuary.
    He had cleaned out the grass and trash bushes and then tilled up rows for her to plant. The reds, pinks, yellows and multicolored buds now filled in all six rows. Anna had rimmed the rose garden with azaleas and bridal wreath bushes. She’d added banana magnolias to give the secluded area more sweet fragrance in the spring.
    After she was gone, the roses quickly fell into disarray. Dane hadn’t bothered about other flowers around the house, but took a crash course in learning to care for these. He tended to them often. Heat sprang to his eyes.
    Stomping out the garden, he glanced around, satisfied that he didn’t see Erin.
    At the edge of the garden, he retrieved her basket. The flowers she’d cut would die a quick death in this sun.
    He found his unwanted guest in the kitchen. “Here are the flowers you cut,” he said harshly.
    Her back was to him. She stood near the stove, staring at the drip coffee pot. Dane’s fury had subsided from encountering her in the garden, but new anger swelled when he found her around the small pot that only Anna had used. This woman was helping herself to more of his deceased wife’s things.
    Erin still didn’t turn.
    Dane slammed the flower basket