I'll Be Watching You Page 37

  She shuddered at the thought of that place. “I have to keep telling myself it was Charlotte who put herself there, not the gators.” She let him guide her to his truck. Instead of opening her door, he just looked at her for a few seconds. She self-consciously pulled at her strands of hair. “What?”

  “You look good.” He leaned forward and gave her a quick kiss. “Real good.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” She gave him another kiss, this one not so quick.

  Almost dying had taught her that life was too uncertain to waste on safe men. Not that she had a choice on whether to fall in love with Zell Macgregor or not.

  When she hoped he’d lead her back into the house so they could discuss their future, he helped her into the truck instead. They drove farther out than even Otter’s Tail, through the thick cypress in the far reaches of the swamp. The road nearly disappeared, only in evidence by the matted grasses. He parked next to a decrepit truck and helped her out. A rickety hanging bridge led to a house that looked as old as the town itself. The scent of smoke and fish hung in the air, and she saw dark smoke filtering up from behind the house.

  “Why are you taking me here?” she asked as Zell took her hand and led her across the bridge. There was something familiar about the place from deep in the recesses of her past.

  “You’ll see.”

  An old woman stepped out of the house and stood in the shadows of the front porch. She waved as they approached, showing gaps between her teeth as she smiled. “Heya, Zell. This the gal you were telling me about?”

  Kim glanced at Zell again, but turned her attention to the woman. She looked familiar too, and then Kim knew why. “Toopie,” she uttered, making the woman smile again.

  “She ’members me.” The woman wore a faded black tank top that revealed the nub of her right arm. “Your daddy saved my life, he did. He was a good man.”

  Kim felt a burst of pressure in her chest at hearing her father described that way. “Thank you.”

  Zell handed her the cold package he’d brought with him. “Got some gator meat for you.”

  Toopie took the package with her good hand. “Thanks, Zell.” She jerked her head toward the large smoker around the side of the house. “Smoking some mullet. Come on back and have a bite.”

  Kim glanced at Zell, but he held out his arm to indicate that she precede him. Toopie wobbled a little from side to side as she walked, but she made good time. She grabbed two chairs from the porch and set them out on the lawn. Kim couldn’t help looking at the river where the gator had grabbed Toopie’s arm.

  The woman took her in with cloudy blue eyes. “Heard you was afraid of gators ’cause of what happened to me.”

  She nodded, trying not to think of other reasons she was afraid of the creatures.

  “They shot ’im,” she said, coming up beside her. “Didn’t want them to, but the government men came out and kilt ’im. He’d been living here longer than I had; it’s us who’s intruded on their land, not the other way around. Wasn’t right.”

  “You didn’t want the gator killed?”

  “Course not. You wouldn’t shoot a gator for eating a coon, would you? Or even a dog. It thought my hand flapping in the water was a fish in distress. It was just acting on its instincts.” She walked over to the smoker and pulled out a big fillet. Kim was amazed to see her use one hand to de-skin it, cut it, and set a piece on three plastic plates. She handed a plate to Kim and one to Zell. “Best mullet you’ll ever taste.”

  Kim dutifully tasted it and nodded in agreement, but she couldn’t get past Toopie’s words. “You aren’t mad at the gator?”

  She waved her good hand. “Why should I be? I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, is all.” She nodded toward the river. “There’s another gator in there now. He’s a big’un, too. But I don’t have to wash my clothes in the river no more. The Macgregors got me a washer and dryer long time ago.” She gave Zell a smile drenched in warmth.

  They finished their mullet and then their visit. When they left, Zell waited before starting the truck. “What did you think of her?”

  “She’s pretty neat. I wish I would have met her a long time ago.” She reached for his hand and twined her fingers with his. “I see what you’re trying to do. Make me understand that Toopie’s having her arm bit off was more traumatic for me than it was for her. And I do understand, but I’ll never love gators, Zell, and that’s a fact.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “It is?”

  “Yep. It’s all right if you don’t love gators. As long as you love me.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip. “You do love me, don’t you?”

  She kissed the pad of his thumb. “Oh, yes.”

  “Good. ’cause if you didn’t, that’d make it real tough on me loving you. Now then, I have a picnic basket, a boat, and a sunset waiting for us. You and me, we’re going to talk about this a little more. I’ve got a big lonely bed and a lonely body tired of spending every night thinking about you and not doing anything about it.”

  He looked so serious she tried hard not to crack a smile. She failed. “I’ve heard about this guy in town who dispenses advice on love. They call him the Sage. Maybe he’d have a few suggestions for a girl who wants to learn how to give her heart away.”

  He couldn’t contain his smile either. “Why, angel, I have a feeling he’ll have some interesting suggestions.” He gave her a long, languid kiss. “Some interesting suggestions indeed.”

  Thank you so much for reading I’LL BE WATCHING YOU. If you enjoyed it, please consider posting a review on BookBub.com and Goodreads.com.

  SNEAK PEEK

  IN A HEARTBEAT

  PROLOGUE

  Where are you, Paul? He was never late like this. He always called if something had detained him, even for a few minutes.

  Something’s happened to him.

  She tried to still the doomsday voice in her head. No, not Paul, not her husband. He wouldn’t get shot down on a dusty street in a Godforsaken country like her parents had. He wouldn’t die of cancer like her grandmother. She wasn’t going to lose him like she lost everyone she loved.

  Jenna Elliot pushed those thoughts to the far recesses of her mind. Paul would come home. He’d be just fine, fine enough to be reamed out for worrying her like this.

  The house was dark but for the dim light in the bedroom that snaked down the hallway. Jenna leaned against the door frame of the nursery, conjuring up the soft sounds of a baby cooing as it played with the mobile hanging over the crib. Would the baby have her ash-blond hair? Her gray eyes or Paul’s brown?

  In every house that she and Paul bought and restored, he let her create a nursery in one of the rooms. It was pure whimsy, for they only stayed in any one place less than a year before moving on to the next house.

  And before she could have her baby, she needed a heart. She’d been on the waiting list for two years now, while the walls of her heart inexplicably thickened.

  She pressed her cheek against the smooth wood that still needed staining. The trim work was all that remained of this restoration project. Paul was already out scouting a home in Maine, the very task that had taken him away that day. She hadn’t been up to the car ride, though he’d insisted she stay home and rest anyway. She hadn’t told him about the pressure she’d been feeling in her chest over the last two days, the increased weakness.

  Beyond the crib, moonlight spilled over the water like shattered crystals. In the distance, a lighthouse warned of danger with its beacon. The beam of light kept flashing, round and round, and uneasiness mounted inside her. Why hadn’t he called? Paul was always considerate, careful not to upset her. He did his best to protect her from the harshness of the world.

  Jenna shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, keeping her eyes far from the ticking clock. Instead, her gaze strayed to the beacon, warning, warning…uneasiness transformed into dread as the clock ticked, ticked, ticked…

  The phone splintered the silence. Hand clutched to her
nightgown, chest tight from exertion, she ran to the bedroom. Her voice sounded thick when she breathlessly said, “Paul?”

  “Jenna, it’s Dr. Sharidon.” His voice usually sounded steady, but now traces of uncertainty ran through it.

  Despair rocked her first. Not Paul’s voice. Then elation gripped her: they had a donor. If they had a heart for her, she’d have to leave for Boston immediately. Where was Paul, now that she desperately needed him?

  “Dr. Sharidon,” she said, sounding even more unsteady than he did. Her chest felt crushed by anxiety, and she pressed a palm to it. “Is it…” She couldn’t even say the words, fear and hope surging inside her at once.

  “Jenna, I…” The way his voice broke off sent a shiver of unease through her. “The transplant coordinator just contacted me. We have a heart for you.”

  “Th…that’s wonderful!” Her knees went weak, and she sank down on her bed. “But Paul’s not here. He has the car.”

  “We’re sending an ambulance for you. I want you to get ready, call a friend or relative to come with you.”

  “But Paul…” She let her sentence die. Paul was all her friends and relatives wrapped up in one. “I’ll be ready.”

  “Good. I’ll be waiting.” He paused, then added, “And I’ll be here for you. Remember that.”

  She hung up and readied the suitcase she kept packed for this occasion, then sat in the darkened parlor waiting. Her fingers incessantly tapped on the arms on the rocking chair. Dr. Sharidon wasn’t telling her something. He was holding back, and that knowledge revived her earlier dread. Why hadn’t the transplant coordinator called her directly? That’s how they said it was supposed to happen.

  She found her gaze returning to the lighthouse. “Oh, Paul, where are you?”

  CHAPTER 1

  Nine months later…

  The sun rose in brilliant splashes of color over the Atlantic Ocean. Like the sun, Jenna was also released from another endless night. The summer sky would soon be bright blue, the air warm and salty. Jenna drew up her knees and curled her arms around her legs. The gazebo near the rocky beach was her favorite morning place where she sipped her coffee and nibbled her bagel. And watched as the first child found her creation.

  The state park ended several hundred yards away, where the beach was less rocky. In the pre-dawn hours she wandered like a woman waiting for her sea captain to return. Before walking back to her house, she arranged shiny brown stones into a smiley face. Later, she delighted in the children’s fascination, reveled in the words “fairy” and “mermaid” floating over the wind.

  She turned back to the turn-of-the-century house she had come to love. It was the longest time she’d ever stayed in one place, and she felt comfortable in the New Hampshire community. But her home lacked the two things most important: Paul and their baby. Why hadn’t she thought to have him donate sperm so she could someday have his child?

  That’s easy, Jenna. He wasn’t supposed to die; you were.

  She shivered, blaming it on the chilly morning air. Her hand went automatically to her chest, covering the place where Paul’s heart beat inside her. Irony was cruel. Paul had often said he’d do anything to get her the heart she needed, but he probably hadn’t counted on sacrificing himself. Yet, he had made arrangements, unbeknownst to her, that she get his heart should something happen to him.

  She’d never heard of the ability to will one’s organs to a specific individual, but apparently Paul had. He’d had his blood tested to see if they matched, then had signed his heart over to her. The transplant surgeon had trimmed the heart to fit her cavity, and as he’d told her in the recovery room, “You’re off and running now.”

  Her sense of peace evaporated like the early morning mist. She gathered her dishes and the note pad covered in her flower doodles and left the gazebo, stopping at her shed-turned-workshop to start airing out the paint fumes. When once she and Paul had renovated houses for a living, now Jenna refinished furniture. Alone. The way she did everything these days.

  The loneliness made her blood flow thick and heavy. She was tired, so very tired of feeling alone, but she didn’t have the courage to remedy the situation. Making friends wasn’t a skill she’d had the opportunity to learn. And the thought of opening herself up for any kind of friendship, to depend on someone who would let her down again…no, she couldn’t do it.

  She walked across the half-moon patio and up the wooden steps. The kitchen was bright and airy, sparkling with the sun catchers hanging in the windows. The little things made life bearable, like the children on the beach and the cardinals that visited her bird feeders. But was she making the most of her precious second chance? Last year she had been on the edge of death, struggling with even the most simple tasks—like sanding, painting or making love. There were days she couldn’t muster energy enough to get out of bed in the morning.

  Jenna now thanked God for each step she took on her treadmill every evening, for every day she’d been allowed to live. She was grateful, yes, but her second chance had come at the expense of her dreams, of all she held dear. Jenna thought she’d die from Paul’s loss alone, never mind the surgery or threat of her body rejecting his heart.

  She told herself, as she always did when a bout of loneliness washed her in blue, that she didn’t need anyone else in her life; she had a part of Paul with her always. Not only physically, but … spiritually. Sometimes his presence was so strong, she would actually turn around and expect to find him standing there. Jenna had dared to ask Dr. Sharidon about the sensations she’d experienced since getting Paul’s heart. She now craved the jars of tamales Paul used to devour, and she was a sleepwalker, as he was, waking to find herself in the living room or even outside once.

  Her doctor said he’d heard of instances where an allergy had transferred from the donor to the recipient. But presences, cravings…not likely. The heart was only an organ, nothing more. She should concentrate on the future, on a life that, besides her medications and suppressed immune system, was now much like everyone else’s.

  Dr. Sharidon thought most likely that Jenna was mourning Paul so deeply, she was conjuring the sensations. He said she had to heal, both physically and emotionally, before they would go away. But was she ready to let that part of Paul go?

  No, she decided, heading to the office they once shared. Her memories with Paul were all she had. Were, in fact, the most important thing in her life. She was healing in her own way, sealing herself in her world of memories. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. Was there?

  The office was dark, rich with the scent of the wood that covered the floors and made up the built-in bookcases. This was Paul’s place, where he’d managed the financial details of their lives. Now she used the large oak desk and the leather chair she slid into.

  Framed pictures lined the back edge of the desk, from their simple wedding ceremony to a recent photo of him scraping paint from this very house. She found herself smiling back at him, but her smile faltered. She looked at each of the pictures in turn, studying them. Paul was smiling in most of them, but the smile never quite warmed his eyes.

  Jenna blinked, picking up one of the brass frames and looking closer. Something thrummed in her chest, not the ever-present ache of loss, but something she couldn’t identify. She quickly set the frame down, licking her dry lips and dismissing it as a by-product of her grief. Of course Paul was happy.

  You make a good man of me.

  His words echoed in her mind, fading into the quiet of the dark-paneled room. He said that a lot, though she knew his goodness has nothing to do with her.

  I’ve never been happier in my life, Jenna.

  Those words echoed, too, and faded. That’s what he’d said, time and again. But was he truly happy?

  “Why am I thinking this?” Her voice sounded thick in the silence, and she ran her hand over her shoulder-length hair, pulling it away from her face. “We had the perfect life. We worked together, loved what we did … loved each other. We… . ”

/>   Her gaze drifted back to the photos. It was her imagination that made his eyes look … empty. They had been each other’s first loves, drawn together by their loneliness and the ghosts of their pasts. She shared the tragedy of her parents’ murders, and he shared the sadness of his cold childhood and his parents’ deaths. Neither had siblings, though Paul had mentioned distant relatives who may as well have resided on some distant planet. It was just the two of them, and that’s how he wanted it.

  For the first time in her life she’d been protected, cherished. She would have lived in an igloo with him if that’s what he’d wanted.

  Jenna wrote out two checks and two invoices. Sometimes it seemed that all of her newfound energy went into worrying about paying the bills, keeping the house. As if to punctuate the thought, the stamp holder was empty.

  She pulled out the drawers in the desk, each one moving like silk after hours of sanding and finishing. When she searched the middle drawer, her mouth went dry. Behind two boxes of pens lurked a plastic bag: the jewelry Paul had been wearing when he died.

  She sat back in the chair, feeling as exhausted as she had in the days before her transplant. Jenna had brought the bag home and stuffed it away, never giving it another thought.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the bag. “Why were you driving so recklessly, Paul? You never broke the speed limit, always wore your seat belt.” There was the other question, too, but she held that one in. She would never know the answers and, frankly, wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  Before she even realized what she was doing, she’d pulled out the bag. “All right, so it’s out. I can put it away just as easily.”

  But she couldn’t.