What was wrong with her? She was mixed up, that’s all. Paul had been ripped from her life so unexpectedly, and she’d lived with her precious memories of him and nothing more for the last nine months. And now, without any more warning than Paul’s death, she’d found his twin brother. And this connection between them, because of Paul’s heart. That was confusing things, too.
Mitch turned around, obviously surprised to find her standing so close. He held the pictures of her and Paul in his hand. She’d brought their wedding photo and a few of Paul working on their homes.
Her heart lifted. “Do you have pictures of him I could look at?” She smiled at the mere thought of seeing his childhood pictures.
His gaze dropped to her smile, and he turned away and tossed the pictures on the table. “Sure, after dinner. Any minute now twenty guys are going to overtake the back yard, hungry for beer and ribs. We can eat and then I’ll send them on their way.”
She imagined all those men making grunting noises and jumping on one another. Years of conversing in awkward sign language with people who didn’t speak her tongue had ill-prepared her for making small talk with one person, much less a bunch of men who called themselves Bob. “I don’t know if I’m up to that kind of socializing.”
He reached out and grazed her chin with his crooked finger. “Betzi’d have my ear if I didn’t at least introduce our guest to the fellows. Besides, you look like you could use some fattening up. Come on, I’ll get your things and show you to your room.”
Fattening up? She wanted to dispute that fact, but she realized he was right. Not that he had any place to mention it to her. Maybe he should have met her when she was bloated from the steroids, before they’d cut down her dosage.
She followed him, glancing over at the family room the galley kitchen overlooked. Brown leather couch, nooks and crannies that held art objects, and thick, cream carpet made the room feel warm. On each side of the huge stone fireplace were twenty-foot high windows, and through one of those she could see her rental car.
Despite her desire to see Paul’s pictures, the car made her eager for escape. Everything she learned about Paul made him feel further from the man she’d married. His family, his home, it all started to obliterate the tidy past Paul had created, the past that had been a part of who he’d been to her. Was there more? A dark secret foreshadowed by the worry gnawing at her? Maybe it was better to hold onto the familiar than to venture into a place where the darkness could snatch away the only thing that mattered.
Mitch led her through a utility room and past a back set of stairs. A door opened to the parking area and her car. She pulled the keys out of her pocket, fingering the ignition key. She could leave. Thank Mitch for his hospitality, get the heck out of Dodge. She could return to New Hampshire and pretend this never existed, that this and Mitch were all a bizarre dream.
“Your keys.”
Mitch’s voice stirred her from thoughts of fleeing. His hand was held out, capable, work-worn hands with long fingers. “I need to get in your trunk for your bags,” he said when she kept staring at his hand.
Reluctantly she handed them over, and he popped the trunk and took out one small bag. “This it?”
She merely nodded, still trying to find a way out.
“You pack light for a woman,” he said, closing the trunk and heading back to the door. He had her keys. Now he had her bag, which contained her purse and return ticket. There was no escape. But she knew Paul wouldn’t allow her to give up this quest. If she left, tomorrow night she’d no doubt find herself on the phone with the travel agent again. She slowly followed him to the door that led back inside.
Why are you doing this to me, Paul? Have you brought me here to make peace with your twin? I can do that right now and leave. But she couldn’t leave yet, somehow she knew that. She would have to deal with Paul’s past, his betrayal … and these shameful feelings she was having every time Mitch was close.
She followed him up the stairs, Harvey-the-mutt close behind. She reached down to pet his mop-top, finding the hair silky soft. He looked up at her with adoring black eyes, tongue drooping out. She normally didn’t touch animals, steering clear of germs because of her suppressed immune system. Well, she’d just wash her hands right away.
At the top of the stairs, she found herself at the end of a long hallway. She stopped before a gallery of photographs that were lit from above. Her hand went to her throat as she saw pictures of Paul as a youngster.
Paul had a few photos of his parents when they were young, or at least his supposed parents. But he’d explained that all of his childhood pictures had gone up in a fire. She’d never thought anything odd about that; after all, she had few pictures of her younger years herself. Her parents had been more concerned with saving lives than documenting their daughter’s life. Jenna had understood that; well, at least most of the time. With all of their moving about and primitive living conditions, there wasn’t room for sentimental journeys anyway.
But here, as further proof of Paul’s lies, was a wall of his life, his real parents, real childhood home. Many pictures showed the twins together, driving miniature Jeeps or racing remote control cars on an elaborate track. Even dressed alike, Jenna could tell the difference between them immediately. Mitch had always been a bit bigger than Paul, more filled out and tan.
Paul had looked happy in an innocent way back then, perhaps free of the melancholia that haunted his life with her. In one picture he laughed, all gap-toothed, while opening presents at a birthday party, Mitch beside him and just as gap-toothed. The backyard was decorated with streamers and balloons and one of those inflatable bouncing tents. The adults in the photo were all dressed in elegant finery, champagne glasses in hand.
In another shot, Paul was studiously trying to lawn bowl, lower lip pulled between his teeth in concentration. How many times had she seen him do that? Mitch stood to the side, perhaps giving him instruction. Why hadn’t he shared any of this with her? The ache inside was double: one for his betrayal, and the other for the loss of him. No matter what, she loved him.
She wiped her palm across her cheek, not even aware that she’d been crying. There was another ache inside her, too. Seeing these photos reminded her of what their child might have looked like. These pictures represented the three ways she had lost, and in that moment grief overcame her. It had been a long time since she’d let herself cry, and she hated herself for giving in now.
She’d forgotten all about Mitch even being there until he said softly, “I’m sorry.”
She turned to him, his image blurry with her tears. For a moment she let herself think it was Paul, apologizing for leaving her, for putting her through this. She started to say something, but her words came out a soft whimper.
She heard him whisper, “Don’t cry,” but then he moved closer, sliding his hand up into her hair and pulling her against him. Not Paul. He felt different. His arm held her close, pressing her cheek into the hardness of his shoulder. He brushed his jaw back and forth against the top of her head. She was enveloped by him, by his strength, and at the same time, his tenderness.
But the feelings that swept her into their fold were quite different, startling in their intensity. She desperately wanted to slide her arms around his waist and hold him close, to feel all of his body against hers. She craved his warmth, and the comfort he offered. She felt him inhale deeply, felt his exhale of air on her hair. This felt so right, so completely, totally — wrong!
Her eyes snapped open, and she stepped back. He looked away, running his hand through his hair. His lips parted, as though he were going to say something. When he looked up, she realized she was watching him. Instinctively she turned toward the pictures of her husband, the only man she loved, the only man she would ever love.
Her stomach trembled. What was happening to her? It was Paul’s heart, binding her and Mitch in a way that couldn’t be explained. Her body was responding to Mitch as though he were Paul, she was sure of it. It was another reason fo
r her to flee this house.
Mitch picked up her bag from where he’d set it down and continued to the end of the hallway. Shakily, she followed, buying time to gather her wits by pausing to look to the right, where the wall became a balcony that overlooked an immense room below.
She looked up to see Mitch watching her warily from the open doorway. His wide jaws tensed, the muscles in his neck flexed. She pushed herself forward, concentrating on the doorway and not the man.
“Don’t feel as though you have to … offer me comfort. I’m quite used to handling it myself.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as she walked by him. He set her bag on a wooden chest at the foot of a beautiful swan bed. The carpet and window dressings were shades of mint green.
“It’s lovely,” she said, glad that her voice was firm and polite. “I’d like to take a shower and change before dinner.”
“There’s the bathroom, walk-in closet,” he said, opening and closing doors.
She could feel his gaze on her as she studiously avoided meeting it. Instead, she looked around the room.
“There’s something you should know,” he said, making her turn to face him just by the hard tone in his voice. “If you’re entertaining any ideas of cashing in on Paul’s inheritance, forget it.”
For a moment she couldn’t say a word. And then, all she could do was stupidly repeat the word, “Inheritance?”
Mitch stood stock still in the framed opening, arms at his side. “His half of all this.” He made a gesture that she assumed included the entire estate. “It was set up that if Paul died before me, the balance goes to me unless he has an heir.” The muscle in his jaw flexed again. “Just so you understand.”
Jenna crossed her arms over her chest. “You think I have an ulterior motive to claim part of some estate I didn’t even know about?”
“Dunno.”
“In other words, you think I’m lying. That I knew about this, and that I came here to scrounge something out of Paul’s family.” He only blinked, nothing more. “When I married Paul, he had a thousand dollars in his bank account. That’s all I know about his vast amount of wealth … his inheritance.” She bit out the last word, narrowing her eyes at him. This felt much more comfortable, animosity instead of tenderness.
Mitch had an amazing capacity not to let anything show on his face, just as he had after holding her in the hallway. “You really didn’t know anything about the inheritance?”
The money in the car. The thought came to mind and clicked into place like part of a jigsaw puzzle. “No, I didn’t.”
Mitch saw the flicker of knowledge in her eyes before her denial. He’d wanted to clear the air with her, but mostly he’d wanted to put some negative distance between them. What he’d felt in the hallway jolted him no less than the time he’d stuck his finger in a socket when he was a kid. He’d held her against his body and felt … felt Paul’s love for her. It overwhelmed him with a need to protect her, to keep her safe and warm and loved. Mitch had never felt anything like it before, never felt such a deep sense of love or need.
He shook the thought away, concentrating on the woman standing before him. She was lying to him. He’d let his judgment get clouded, especially when he’d held her in the hallway … a surge of heat swept through him at the memory of what he’d felt, but he pushed it away.
“You’re lyin’.”
She blinked at the bluntness of his statement. “I’m not lying. I never knew about any of this.”
“You knew something, though.”
She looked guiltily away, arms still tight around herself. “Did Paul ever take money from his inheritance?”
Her question threw him off. He was ready for sidestepping, or further denial. “Four times.”
Her face went pale, annoying him with how fast that broke down his wall of reserve. The softness of her voice turned low and dull when she asked, “When was the last time?”
“Last November.”
She looked away, pressing her lips together. “Was it four hundred thousand dollars?” she asked in a near whisper.
“Yes.”
“He had it in the car with him when he died. I … I didn’t know where he’d gotten it, didn’t want to know. I couldn’t find any evidence that he’d taken a loan, and no one came looking for payment.”
Her gray eyes looked straight into his as she’d said that, and he saw truth there. Could he trust himself, though? This woman had already knocked him off-balance in more than one way. “What did you do with the money?”
“I … spent it.”
Ah, just as the cynical side of him suspected. She’d probably fixed up the house, bought a new car. Before he could ask her on what, though, she answered him: “I paid medical bills with it. Our insurance company weaseled out of paying for some of the costs of my surgery.”
She’d looked away, which was lucky for Mitch. He didn’t know what had shown in his eyes.
“It’s all gone,” she admitted, “but I can repay you. I can … sell the house, buy something smaller.”
Mitch knew he lacked in the area of perceptiveness and sensitivity, so why was it incredibly obvious to him that the prospect of selling her home broke her heart? “I’m sure we can work something out,” Mitch found himself saying. Four hundred thousand wasn’t worth putting this fragile-looking woman out of her home over. If she didn’t ask for anything more, he’d let it go without a second thought. After all, Paul had taken it out to do as he wanted. “What’d he do with all that money?”
“I … I don’t know.”
He could see the pain of her admission. He steeled himself and said, “How could you not know what your husband did with eight hundred thousand dollars?”
She winced, making him regret the words. “I don’t know. Maybe he put the money into the houses. He handled the financial end of everything.”
She was lying again, or at least holding something back.
“He take drugs?”
She threw her hands down, facing him squarely. “No!”
“Maybe you didn’t know —”
“I would have known. He didn’t take drugs, he didn’t gamble. We were together …” Her chin trembled, and she turned away. “A lot.”
What this woman did to his insides. Mitch shook his head. She was pale and delicate, like an angel, yet beneath that he saw strength.
“Maybe I should leave,” she said, walking to her bag. “I don’t see any point in —”
He met her at the bag, wrapping his fingers around one small wrist, feeling that connection again. “Don’t go.” The urgency in his voice startled him. He let go of her and tempered his voice. “I need to know about Paul, about his life after he left here. You’re the only one who can tell me.” He saw reluctance in her eyes and pressed further. “I’m the only one who can tell you about his life before he left. Don’t you want to know who your husband was?”
She swallowed hard, looking up at him as he stood too close. “I’m not sure if I want to know any more. I know too much already.”
“That he lied to you.” She nodded. “Don’t you want to know why?”
“No.”
How could she not want the truth? Mitch wanted to shake her, but he’d already overstepped the boundaries as far as touching her went. “Nothing is more important than the truth. You know just enough to haunt you, have just enough answers to spur a thousand questions.” He knew that too well. For years Paul was the only one who could give him the truth, and now he was dead. But Mitch’s initial feeling when he’d first seen Jenna had proven true: she could give him the answers that might free him from the past. Or bind him even tighter.
“I can live with the questions,” she said. The trembling was gone, and she squared her shoulders and stood tall before him. “What I can’t live without are my memories of Paul, of what we shared together. His past may have been a lie, but our life together was real and true.” She swallowed again. “I don’t want any part of his inheritance, not money or
property. He left me his love and wonderful memories. But there is something he didn’t leave me, something I want very badly.”
If not money or assets, what could she mean? Her face had flushed a becoming pink, and he braced himself. He had a feeling it wasn’t going to be simple. “What is it?”
“I wanted to have his baby. We couldn’t try before because of my condition, and now he’s gone.” Her gaze had dipped for a second, but now swept across his face in such a tender manner, he actually felt touched by her. “You’re his twin brother; you share his genetics, his looks. You are the closest thing I have to Paul, and in you I have one last chance to make a long-time dream come true. Maybe … maybe this is part of why Paul brought me here.”
Mitch felt a tightness circle through his chest. His voice had gone low and hoarse when he asked, “What are you asking me?”
“I want you to give me Paul’s baby.”
Chapter 4
Jenna took her sweet time in the shower, anxious to put as much time as possible between her request and seeing Mitch again. She pulled out a white jumpsuit with a high collar so her scar wouldn’t show. Her hand automatically pulled the brush through her hair as it dried, but she stared at nothing.
Was she crazy? Absolutely, positively. She’d had no intention of asking Mitch for something as outrageous as his sperm. But like the pieces of Paul’s past that clicked together, so had her request. Even she hadn’t realized where her words were going until they were out of her mouth. Paul knew how much she wanted a baby. Was the baby, or prospect of having one, her part of Paul’s inheritance, the consolation for finding his lies?
The look on Mitch’s face! Jenna’s mouth quirked into a smile. With his accusations so easily spilling from his mouth earlier, her one request had rendered him speechless.
In a Heartbeat Page 5