They made a mistake at the hospital! They had the wrong man, only thought it was Paul. He’s been living here all this time. Maybe he lost his memory, and whoever’s heart I received led me to him. She didn’t want to know the whys, she only knew that Paul was alive; somehow, some way, he was alive, and everything was going to be all right again.
She pushed away from the tree and hurled herself at him, enveloped by a rush of scents: sweat, deodorant and the earth that smeared his knees and elbows. Her hands bracketed his face, fingers moving over his slick skin, daring him to disappear. But he was real, as real as she was.
“Oh, my God, I don’t know why, I don’t know how … but you’re here. You’re alive.” And then she kissed him, her heart bubbling over with joy. She was instantly lost, getting dizzy as their mouths connected, as his mouth slowly came to life and took control.
The hoots and hollers of the men nearby penetrated her joy first, but she pushed it away. How could she have been afraid to come here, when her love was waiting? Something about him felt different, that was the next thing to push against the delicate bubble of joy. It had been nine months since she’d kissed him, nine whole months, she reasoned. That’s why he felt different. Paul’s hands circled her wrists and lowered them, and then he pulled away. Not even that penetrated her haze fully, as she just leaned forward to try again.
After a moment, he pulled away again. His lips were pink and moist after her assault on them, but it was the questioning look in his eyes that finally burst through the haze.
“Paul, don’t you remember me? What’s happened to you? How did you get here?”
She couldn’t name the expression she saw on his face, but it was close to pity mixed with disappointment. The dread she’d felt earlier now returned full force, and she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth.
“I’m not Paul,” he said in a voice spiced with a Southern accent.
“No, you’re wrong.” Her words came out sharp and uneven. “You just don’t remember that you’re Paul. Something happened, and you don’t remember.”
“I’m not Paul,” he repeated, and that strange mixture of sympathy and disappointment disappeared to leave a hardness. “I’m his twin brother, Mitch. Who are you?”
She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. Too many words wanted to crowd each other out. Her knees threatened to buckle again, and instinctively he reached out to steady her. The moment they touched, a frightening affinity assailed her, more powerful than anything she’d felt, even with Paul. She jerked away from his touch. He stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before letting it drop.
Not Paul, not Paul. His words echoed in her brain, and she remembered how his mouth had felt different than Paul’s, and for that moment when he had kissed her back, how that kiss had been so different from Paul’s. She put her hand over her mouth again.
“You kissed me back.”
He shrugged, tucking his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts. “You kissed me first.”
“But I thought you were someone else. You didn’t.”
“I kissed you back out of instinct. Who are you, anyway?”
Instinct! Her whole world had been lifted up and crushed in the space of a heartbeat, and he’d kissed her out of instinct. But he was right; she had kissed him first, had thrown herself at a virtual stranger. Paul’s twin brother.
“My name …” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “is Jenna Elliot.” Out of some instinct of her own, she held out her hand to him.
When their hands connected, she felt that jolt of affinity again, and of awareness. His hand was damp, yet he squeezed hers without apology. Their skin slid against each other before his fingers locked around her hand. Her chest hurt, but other sensations overrode the pain. Mingled with the anxiety over what Mitch’s existence meant was an odd giddiness she’d never felt before, and a warmth that burned in the pit of her stomach.
She found her gaze on his mouth again, on the blond hairs that sprouted from around it. Several of the strands of hair that had escaped his ponytail stuck to the side of his neck. Beads of sweat slid down the contours of his collar bone … she blinked, bringing her gaze back to his face and pulling her hand free of his.
“Did you say your last name is Elliot?” he asked, eyes narrowed in interest.
“I was married to Paul.” She soaked in the details of his face, so familiar and beloved, then met his eyes again. “Your twin brother.” She let her gesturing hand linger in the air just in front of his face, then let it drop. “You look so much like him.” Her voice had gone soft at that as she let herself take in the familiar curves of his face, the broad forehead and soft, sensual mouth. She found herself reaching out again, fingers hovering just beneath his chin. She’d loved Paul’s chin, the way it dipped in beneath his lower lip.
“I’m not Paul,” he said in a firm voice, startling her into dropping her hand.
“I know that … now.” Or at least part of her did. There was still some crazy part that wanted to believe it was somehow Paul. “I’m sorry if I’m staring,” she said, mortified to realize she had been, and he’d been watching her do it. “It’s just that you … you really look so much like him.” She wished she could interpret the many things going on behind those deep brown eyes of his.
“You gonna play or make kissy-face?” one of the men called out in a deep, booming voice.
“Go on without me, Bob!” Mitch waved them back to business, not taking his eyes from her. And ignoring the remark that had Jenna flushing in embarrassment. The men slowly took up their game positions, but their gazes kept slinking back to Jenna and Mitch. She remembered Mitch’s primal scream, seeing that it matched his voice and the power she saw in his eyes.
“What do you mean, you were married to him? Are you divorced? Or did he take off and disappear?” Mitch asked
Jenna swallowed hard. “He died in a car accident. Nine months ago.”
“No. He can’t be dead.”
“He is.”
“Then why did you think I was him?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her forehead. “I … wanted to believe it was somehow him, alive all this time. I know it sounds crazy, but for a few minutes …” She opened her eyes. “for a few minutes, it wasn’t.”
“He can’t be dead,” Mitch repeated, and Jenna knew well that disbelief.
“He hit a telephone pole. They said he probably didn’t feel any pain, that he sustained head trauma immediately.” She dipped her head. “You know, they tell you that, about the pain, as though it makes everything all right.” She met his gaze. “It doesn’t, does it?”
Now he scanned her face, and she saw the change on his expression when he realized she was telling the truth. He closed his eyes, becoming still. Jenna felt the strongest urge to put her arms around him, to share in the grief she felt as strongly as he did. Her body stirred at the thought, and she quelled the urge. It was only because he looked like Paul that her body came to life, she assured herself. The tickle in her stomach, the warmth flowing through her veins, all because of the similarity.
You never felt this way when you stood close to Paul, a voice whispered.
Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I did.
Mitch opened his eyes at last. “Why did you wait so long to tell me?”
It was at that moment as she took in the accusation in Mitch’s eyes that she realized the depth of Paul’s betrayal. He had kept the knowledge of his twin brother from her. But why? “I … I didn’t know about you.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “How could you not know?”
“He never told me. He said his father died some years back in an airplane wreck, that his mother died from cancer before that, that he was raised in Philadelphia. He never said anything about you.”
“Airplane … cancer? Philadelphia?” Mitch went pale for an instant, but color flooded back into his face as he moved closer to her. “It’s all a lie. Everything he told you.”
She moved back, pre
ssing against the bark of the tree. “What?” The word came out as a whimper. But she knew. Hadn’t she known the moment she’d felt at home here?
Mitch regarded her with an amount of suspicion she didn’t understand. “He grew up here, right there in that house. But you already knew that.”
“I …” He was confusing her, accusing her, yet right in a way she couldn’t explain to him. “I wondered. When I got here, I wondered if …”
“You had to know. Why would you have come here if you didn’t?”
That was the question she’d dreaded. “I found some things in his papers,” she lied. “I came here to see what they meant.”
He seemed to dismiss his suspicion for a moment, giving her an assessing once-over. “You were his wife.” She nodded, feeling too aware of his eyes as they traveled over her body. For a moment, she wondered if he could see the scar that ran down the center of her chest, feeling that naked under his gaze. “Why did he lie to you?”
She couldn’t help the cold shudder that rippled through her at the blunt question. “I don’t know.”
He stared off in the direction of the pasture and whispered, “Why didn’t I feel it when he died?”
“Feel it?”
He turned back to her. “I would have felt it if he’d died.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked past her. “When Paul and I were growing up … our whole lives, really, we had this connection thing between us. If one of us was hurt, angry, the other one would feel it.”
Should she tell him that Paul’s heart beat within her, that in a way he was still alive? No, she wasn’t ready yet. “It’s the truth. I have his death certificate with me.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She related the events of the car accident, even admitting Paul’s reckless driving and lack of a seat belt. She let the words sink in for a moment before asking a question of her own. “Did you keep in touch with him?”
“He left here nine years ago. Just left, without telling anyone where he was going. No one ever heard from him again. I knew he was alive …” He shook his head. “Thought he was alive. I figured one day he’d come back, when he was ready.”
“Why did he leave?”
“It was after our parents died.” His gaze drifted off again, eyebrows furrowed. “Where did he live? Where was he all these years? What did he do with himself?” His gaze took her in again. “Besides marry you?”
“We have a home in New Hampshire.” She caught herself at the word ‘we’. Her voice went softer. “We lived all over, buying old houses and renovating them.”
“I can’t believe he even left Texas.”
“He loved it here,” Jenna caught herself saying. When Mitch shot her a questioning stare, she amended, “I’ll bet he loved it here. I can’t imagine why anyone would leave a place like this.” She took her gaze from his and scanned the property. It was as if she could feel Paul’s ache at having to leave. Why did you leave, Paul? You obviously loved it here. Did she want to know? The man who had been her life had lied about who he was, or at least where he’d come from. What had driven him away from his home and his past, even his accent?
“Let’s go inside,” Mitch said, leading the way back through the trees.
He left her no choice but to follow him. Faced with his backside, she lost the sense of familiarity between Mitch and Paul. Mitch carried himself with sureness, shoulders straight and wide, stride confident. Paul, she realized in contrast, walked slower, shoulders slumped. And even though Paul worked on houses for a living, he never had the muscles Mitch did. Through the thin jersey shorts, Jenna could see the contours of his behind, small and firm. Awareness tingled through her, and she quickened her step so she wouldn’t have visual access anymore. But that didn’t help the memory of his mouth on hers.
How could she feel like this after losing Paul? She’d swore she would never feel this way about a man again. But Mitch wasn’t just any man. He was Paul’s twin.
Mitch glanced over at Jenna as she stepped up beside him. Pretty, fair, feminine. Dad would have approved of Paul’s choice for a wife. For once, Paul might have made the man happy. Of course, that depended on Jenna’s background. Dad was willing to overlook his own, but not that of a daughter-in-law.
One thing was for sure: the woman passed in the kissing department. What was a guy supposed to do when a pretty woman threw herself into his arms and started working on his mouth? He hadn’t missed the way she kept rubbing the back of her hand over her mouth either.
She was his brother’s wife.
His brother, his twin who was dead. The knowledge was a lead weight inside him. Mitch led Jenna around the garage to the front entrance of the house. At times he’d thought the worst of Paul, but as they walked through the terrace, a hundred memories assailed him: playing hide and seek among the huge potted plants, climbing on the balcony over the front door (which they’d gotten walloped for), and many more in quick succession.
Paul had been his other half, the one person who understood him. Even though Paul hadn’t shared Mitch’s need to fit in with the other kids in town, he’d innately understood the reason why. Dad wanted his sons to live up to his status of being the big fish in the small pond of Ponee. He hadn’t understood that neither twin wanted that. Mitch wanted to be a part of the population, and Paul just wanted to immerse himself in his schoolwork and fiction books. Even in their differences, they’d been united. Until that horrible day …
“Mitch?” she asked in that soft voice of hers, making him realize he’d stopped.
She had the most incredible almond-shaped eyes, gray and thickly lashed with a haunted quality. And a small chin that begged to be pinched. That first moment he’d seen her, he’d been struck with the oddest sensation of knowing that this stranger would have the key to set him free of the past. He wasn’t even sure how he’d become aware of her presence. Something had made him look up, though it had the worst timing. But the physical tramping had been nothing compared to the slam in the gut when he’d seen her. And when she’d thrown herself into his arms.
Now he was staring at her. She had reason to stare at him, he supposed. He looked like the man she’d loved, the man she’d recently buried if she were telling the truth. He had no such excuse other than general fascination. She had a great mouth, pink and tilted up at the corners. A woman with a mouth like that ought to be used to a man staring.
“Come on,” he said a bit too gruffly as he moved past her and opened the front door.
Harvey rambled up the walkway, making big-dog panting noises. Jenna looked at him in question, moving away.
“Don’t worry about Harvey; he thinks he’s a cat.”
“A cat?” She lifted an eyebrow.
“Yeah. He was raised by a mama cat and her two kittens. Come on, boy.”
She paused in the foyer, taking in the staircase that curved upstairs, the marble and chandelier, all with an appreciative fondness. What was she really here for? A piece of his spread? Money-grubbing females were lower than slugs.
Along with her awe, though, lingered the hurt of someone betrayed. “He never told me,” she said, even softer than usual. Then her voice went flat. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Part of Mitch wanted to distrust her as he did most women. No matter who she was, though, she deserved the common courtesies.
“Would you like something to drink, eat?”
She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I couldn’t think of eating right now, but I’d love a glass of tea or water. And a place to freshen up a bit.”
He stepped back into the foyer and pushed open the door with his elbow. “Powder room’s in here. I’m going to jump in the shower, but I’ll be back down faster than a spooked horse’ll run the quarter-mile.”
Another common courtesy: don’t scare your guest away with your sweat. He raced through the routine, jumped into a pair of shorts and a shirt, and headed back down. She was just walking out of the powder room when he returned.
Harvey hadn’t followed Mitch like he usually did. Instead, he had sprawled out on the cool marble outside the powder room waiting for Jenna.
“Traitor,” Mitch whispered to the dog. “I’ll get you a glass of that tea you mentioned earlier,” he said to Jenna, nodding for her to follow.
She took in the house as she followed him to the kitchen, where he poured two glasses of tea over ice and handed her one. She seemed to take the glass carefully, as if trying to avoid physical contact with him. Or maybe it was his imagination.
He held out a chair at the table nestled in the circular breakfast nook. Self-consciously, she sat down, and as she did, their arms brushed together. She looked startled as she met his eyes, but quickly looked away. He hadn’t given it away, but he’d felt something too, some inexplicable connection. He took a seat across from her, annoyed to find his loyal dog flopping down at Jenna’s feet.
She had a sweet smell about her, and though she probably wouldn’t have believed him, he could have told her she hadn’t needed refreshing. She’d looked fresh and pretty, schoolteacher-like in her blouse buttoned all the way up to her chin just about. But behind those eyes he felt her apprehension.
What was she apprehensive about? And what she was after? He’d figure the latter out soon enough. She reached into her purse and produced a piece of paper. Ah, now we’re getting somewhere, he thought.
“I … I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I came to Ponee, but I brought these.” She laid out Paul’s death certificate and some photos. Her hands were shaking.
Mitch didn’t touch the certificate at first, repositioning himself to read it. It looked real enough. Why hadn’t he felt it? Even through the nine years of separation, he sometimes felt something from Paul. Mitch had always been sure that if some terrible thing had happened, he would have known. He glanced up at Jenna, who was also staring at the certificate. She met his eyes, then looked away. She was hiding something, or at least not telling him the whole story. He’d get it one way or the other.
In a Heartbeat Page 3