Watching Whitney

by Jerri Drennen

  “I did. Thanks. Have you seen Whitney? I went by her place but no lights were on.”

  “You mean your wife?”

  “Do you know where she is, Patsy? I need to talk to her.”

  “She and Bethany drove over to Carbondale to the Legion hall. I’ve got Kylie for the evening.”

  Steve smiled. “If all goes as planned, Whitney and I will be back to get her later. It might take me a while to convince her not to kill me first though.”

  Patsy grinned again. “Yes, it just might, but I’m sure you’ll find a way to make her forgive you.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  On the drive to Carbondale, Steve went over all the reasons why he and Whitney should get married. He hoped he could make her see all of them. Without her, he’d be miserable — had been the whole time he’d been back in Denver. Work hadn’t even been able to erase her from his mind. He was in love for the first time in his life and he couldn’t function in the same way anymore. He needed Whitney. Needed Kylie. He had to have them both to feel whole again.

  At the Legion, it took him ten minutes to find a place to park, only adding to his anxiety. For a small-town hall, the place was jam-packed.

  Before entering the building, Steve sucked in a labored breath. He’d never been this nervous in his life. The outcome of this meeting with Whitney could make or break him as a man, and that alone left him feeling insecure. What if he couldn’t convince her that they belonged together? What if she told him to take a flying leap off a one hundred foot cliff? What would he do then? Go back to Denver with his heart on his sleeve and hope that the pain would subside eventually? Somehow he had to convince her that they were destined to be together — to raise Kylie and be a happy family.

  Inside, once his eyes had adjusted to the lighting, he glanced around the crowded room, spotting Bethany on the dance floor.

  Where was Whitney?

  His eyes pivoted to the bar where he found her sitting on a stool, with five guys standing around her. Jealousy rushed through him like a shot of adrenaline. He couldn’t blame them for trying to attract her attention, not when she was the most beautiful woman in the room — hell, in the world. And that dress she wore showed off those long, shapely legs that a man could imagine wrapped around him.

  Steve fisted his hands at his side and headed toward her. If he had to fight every one of those men for her, he would. They were after her body; he was after her heart.

  He cleared his throat as he approached. They all turned toward him, including Whitney, whose eyes widened.

  “Can I talk to you?” Steve ignored the looks of annoyance he got from the men circling her like vultures. “Wait your turn, buddy,” a tall, dark-haired man said, moving closer to Whitney.

  “I would if she weren’t my wife,” Steve said, and then looked at Whitney, whose eyes widened further. A lie, but they didn’t know that.

  At that point, all the men dispersed, moving away from her as if she’d just grown horns.

  Good. Glad that meant something still. He wasn’t sure claiming such a thing would matter a whole lot in Denver. Small towns clearly were different. People had strong opinions about the institution.

  Steve turned his full attention on Whitney, who seemed to look right through him. That was a bad sign. But he refused to let it deter him from his goal.

  “Can I speak to you outside?” Steve inwardly prayed she’d say yes. He couldn’t tell her everything he wanted to in this noisy place with fifty pair of eyes watching them.

  “I don’t think there’s anything you could say that I want to hear.”

  “Please. I need to talk to you in private, Whitney.”

  “Write me a letter,” she snapped back, her eyes turning a shade darker. She was angry with him about the note he’d left and he could hardly blame her for that. It still pissed him off at how crass he had been about her feelings.

  “I’m sorry about the note, Whitney. It was stupid. I just thought it’d be easier for all of us that way.”

  She snorted. “You thought it would be easier for you. Kylie was heartbroken. I’m sure you didn’t think about her at all, did you?”

  Emotion clogged Steve’s throat. “I did think about Kylie. I thought it wouldn’t be as hard for her if I said goodbye in a letter. I know now I was wrong about everything. I love you, Whitney.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why now?”

  “Because I need you. I can’t function anymore without you.”

  “And it took you a month to come to this conclusion? Do you have any idea how hurt Kylie has been by you leaving? How she’s asked every day where you are? If you’re coming back? You’ve hurt her badly, Steve.” Tears clouded her green eyes and sent his heart into his stomach.

  “I’ll make it up to her if you’ll let me. I promise you that, Whitney. Give me a second chance and I’ll make sure you never regret it.”

  She stared at him for what seemed like a lifetime. “I need time to think.” She stood and headed for the women’s bathroom.

  Steve didn’t know what else he could say to convince her to give him another chance. It was Whitney’s call and he needed to give her time to decide. That was all he could do. Leaving now was not an option. He was willing to wait a lifetime if that’s what it took for Whitney to realize that they were meant to be together — forever.

  Steve swiveled around on the stool and lifted Whitney’s drink to his lips, taking a hefty swallow. If and when she came back, he planned to have a second round of apology ready. He’d grovel until she realized they needed to be a family.

  A light touch on his arm had him turning.

  Whitney leaned in and kissed him lightly, then pulled back. “You have a lot to make up for with me, but Kylie will need more than a simple apology. Do you think you can make her forgive you?”

  “I’ll do everything in my power, Whitney.”

  “Okay. You can take me to Patsy’s to pick her up now.” She yanked him off the barstool. “And, if you play your cards right, you might get lucky on the way. That is if you promise to make an honest woman of me.”

  Steve grinned from ear to ear. This was going to be the most memorable drive of his life. He could tell that with certainty by the mischievous glint in her beautiful green eyes, and he was literally up for it.

  “I will.”

  Epilogue

  Whitney took hold of Kylie’s hand and walked up to the shiny glass door of the new Marble police station. She was proud to be known as Sheriff Morgan’s wife. Inside, she reached the counter and smiled at the blonde woman sitting in the seat behind the desk. “Afternoon, Marilyn. Is he in?”

  “Nope. He’s out at the lodge. He told me to tell you to meet him there. He has something he wants to tell you.”

  Whitney frowned. She had no idea what Steve would be doing at Crane Lodge. No one had been there since Mason died.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Whitney looked down at Kylie. “Let’s go see Daddy out at the lake.”

  Her daughter jumped up and down with excitement. Kylie had always liked spending time at the lodge, especially the lake.

  Whitney had some news of her own to share. She hoped Steve would be as excited as she was about it.

  The roads were rain-soaked so she had to take them slow out to the lodge. A ten-minute trip took twenty. She saw Steve’s vehicle parked in front of the rec center. She pulled alongside the SUV and cut the engine.

  Whitney glanced around, thinking she’d be anxious about coming back to the place, but she wasn’t. A sense of calm settled in over her as she opened the car door and came around to get Kylie.

  Her daughter raced ahead of her to the door, her face lit up with excitement. Steve had done what he’d promised — he’d made everything up to Kylie. Whitney didn’t think the little girl could love him any mo
re than she did.

  She smiled. Everyone in Marble loved Steve and trusted him with their town. He had saved her in more ways than one.

  Inside the rec center, Kylie raced around the rustic stone building trying to find him.

  “Steve,” Whitney called and waited for a reply.

  “I’m in the office,” he said, the timbre of his voice still sending twinges down her backbone. Whitney hoped it always would.

  Whitney followed her daughter down the hall, remembering the first time she and Steve met in that hallway. She’d been attracted to him at first sight, though she’d never admit that. “Are you always lurking about” was what he’d said to her that day. It had angered her, yet intrigued her at the same time.

  Kylie darted into the office and started to giggle. What had Steve done to make her laugh?

  Whitney walked into the room and stopped dead in her tracks. “What’s going on?” she said, studying a heavyset man who sat at the desk, a stack of papers piled high in front of him. Steve was holding Kylie, tickling her to make her giggle.

  “I need you to sign some papers.” Steve pointed to those she’d notice atop the desk.

  Whitney frown, puzzled at the request. “What are they?”

  “Come see for yourself.” He gave her a smile, one that made her even more confused.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Would you just come and see?”

  Whitney made her way to the desk and smiled at the man sitting behind it. He turned the stack of papers around for her to read. It was a mortgage of some kind. “What?” She noted the name of the property. The land they were standing on now. The lodge.

  She whipped around to look at Steve, slack-jawed. “Are you telling me we’re buying Crane Lodge?”

  He smiled broadened. “You told me you wanted to own a bed and breakfast someday, and I saw the way you lovingly took care of this place when you worked here. I thought it would be perfect for us.”

  “But can we afford this?” She watched him intently.

  “Yes. My mother left me with enough to buy it almost outright. A few months after the summer season and it’ll be paid for in full.”

  Whitney couldn’t believe what he was telling her. She looked around, seeing the place in a whole new light, noting changes that could be made to make it even better. Whitney couldn’t believe they were going to own the lodge. Everything surrounding Beaver Lake.

  “Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

  “Just show me where to sign.”

  Both men laughed, then the heavyset man with warm brown eyes pointed to the first sheet. “Right here,” he said.

  An hour later, the property was theirs. The loan officer left and Whitney rushed into her husband’s arms and kissed him soundly. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

  He pulled back and stared at her, his eyes filled with tenderness. “I’d give you the world if I could, Whitney.”

  Her throat choked off with emotion. How had her life become so perfect? Just what she pictured for herself. She knew the answer — Steven Tyler Morgan had made it so. He had given her the world by just being here. She loved him so much. Now it was Whitney’s turn to give him something in return for everything he’d done for her.

  “I have a bit of news myself.” She grinned up at him.

  “Really? What’s that?”

  “I went over to Carbondale this morning. To the clinic?”

  His eyes narrowed with obvious concern. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  She reached inside her jacket pocket and pulled out a picture. After looking at it longingly, she handed the black-and-white print to Steve.

  He studied it for a few seconds and glanced at her again. “What are you saying?”

  “Do you want a boy or a girl?”

  With all his pearly whites shining, he pulled her into his arms and squeezed her tight. He then scooped up Kylie and swung them all around.

  Whitney’s heart was about to burst with happiness. She and Steve had a lifetime to spend together, to raise their children, and live their dreams to the fullest. What more could she possibly ask for?

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  (From For the Love of Jazz by Elke Feuer)

  CHICAGO

  50 Years Later

  “This is it,” Josie Fagan took a deep breath, “moment of truth.”

  She got out of her car, ran shaky fingers through her hair, and smiled when it tickled the back of her neck. The curls would return to their original state, but the gesture gave her comfort.

  Each step to the chestnut brick house made her heartbeat escalate. She’d felt a connection the moment she saw it advertised for renovations, even dreamed about it and a man standing in the upstairs window waving her inside. She looked up, but no one was there.

  Emotional connections, as her father used to call them, were as natural to her as breathing. Since her childhood, she’d felt strong connections to things like jazz music, old buildings, and just recently, Chicago. Like being black, it was a part of who she was.

  She made her way along the sidewalk to the crimson front door and with a shaky hand rang the doorbell.

  When the door opened, she looked up to meet cool emerald eyes and neatly combed ebony hair. If not for his suit, she’d have guessed he was a construction worker with his strong square jaw line, and shoulders that were barely contained beneath his expensive suit. Icicles of recognition jumped across her vertebrae.

  She extended her hand. “Patrick Pullman?”

  When he took her hand, memories sparkled in his daunting stare, before he released her hand reluctantly, as though breaking the grasp would stop the wheels turning in his mind. “Yes, Josie Fagan?”

  Interesting. He felt it too. She nodded, but pretended not to notice. Her interest was what lay behind him. She was about to see the inside of the house that had taunted her the last two days. The intensity of the connection to it surprised her. Other than jazz music, no connection was stronger.

  He gestured her inside.

  When she stepped into the entryway, warmth surrounded her like the coverlet her mother had given her on her eighteenth birthday. It started in the pit of her stomach and spread prickles over the surface of her skin. It was the thrill of waiting for the sun to set, then watching it explode into brilliant hues of red, yellow, and gold. It was being curled up with her favorite book by the warm glow of a fireplace with the faint sounds of jazz in the background. It was home.

  “Thanks for coming on short notice.” He came to stand next to her in the entryway.

  “My pleasure,” her voice creaked, still feeling the sensations awakened by the house.

  “I’ve selected three restoration architects to bid for this job. I’m looking for someone to handle all aspects of the job from the restoration to providing design ideas. I will expect a design and estimate from you by the end of the week.”

  His curt business tone was a dose of cold water, reminding her why she was there.

  “Let’s get started.”

  Nodding he walked into the next room.

  Thick mahogany moldings trimmed the middle and tops of each corner of the room, and brown water stains crept half way down one of the corner walls, peeling the faded wallpaper, a hint at plumbing problems. Imposing white mantel framed the fireplace in the middle of the room; it was a looming fire hazard. Built-in mahogany bookcases with glass shelves flanked the fireplace. She wanted to laugh when she saw the television from the seventies, along with the mocha recliner positioned carefully before it; she’d stepped back in time.

  Moving toward the chair she grazed one hand over the surface. Soft leather tingled her fingers as she caressed the top of the chair and along one side to the arm, taking in each crevice that had aged it. The urge to know the history of each
one seized her, and the thought, shouldn’t it be on the other side of the fireplace, intruded.

  “Ahem,” pulled her from her trance.

  “Shall we continue?” she said as nonchalantly as she could muster. What was that? She’d never had a connection like that before.

  Placing her large black portfolio on the cushion, she took out her camera and started taking photos of the front door, and snapped her way back to the living room. “I recommend keeping the original cut of the crown molding. It will add value to the house if you decide to sell.”

  “I don’t intend to sell.”

  She paused in mid-click. The passion in his voice surprised her. She turned her attention back to the room.

  In the kitchen, just off the living room, she took panoramic views of the room, the oak flooring, and beamed ceiling. “What would you like done here?”

  “Modern appliances are a must, but I’m open to suggestions on everything else.”

  An open mind huh, good trait for a client. “Okay,” she said and followed him up the staircase.

  “Did your family always own this house?” She knew the answer because she researched potential clients, but their answers were much more fascinating.

  “Yes, my uncle purchased it in the 1950s and was the only owner.”

  “What happened?” She continued to take photos to give the impression of a casual conversation. The Pullmans valued their privacy, and she didn’t blame them. They were public figures, after all.

  “He died a couple of weeks ago.”

  Sadness hit her unexpectedly, along with questions about his uncle, but she ignored them. She didn’t ask personal questions, especially during the bidding stage. Following him to the next room, she said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

  A half smile pulled at his lip, showing hints of a dimple. She was a sucker for dimples.

  “You stay at the house?” she asked, peeking inside the next room on his tour. It was the only dust free and relatively clean room she’d seen so far.

  “I moved in a few days ago.”