In a Heartbeat

by Tina Wainscott

  “How long were you married?”

  “Five years,” she said in that silky soft voice of hers.

  “Kids?”

  Sorrow shadowed her eyes, and she shook her head. She looked out beyond the curved glass to the terrace and back yard. “Who is that?” she asked of the silver-haired woman turning ribs on the bar-b-que pit, stereo headphones on her head, bouncing to some country beat, no doubt.

  “That’s Betzi, my — the housekeeper. I always supply dinner to the Sunday football Bobs, and she makes the best ribs in the tri-county area.” He found himself adding, “Sneaks in a pinch of jalapeno for a kick.” He walked over to the counter and brought back a platter of brownies. “Also makes the best brownies, chock-full of walnuts.” He pushed the plate toward her.

  She stared wistfully at them, then took one. “Paul loved brownies with walnuts.”

  “We used to polish off a tray like this in one day. That’s if Betzi didn’t catch us.”

  She stopped mid-bite, then continued. “I used to hate walnuts, or any kind of nut. But now …” She looked at the brownie contemplatively, then took another bite. “I like them.”

  Mitch got caught up in watching her mouth bite into the brownie and almost forgot to help himself to one.

  Jenna’s eyebrows furrowed. “What did you call those guys? Football Bobs?”

  “Old joke. We used to go ’round calling each other Bob. Hey, Bob. Yeah, Bob. That kind of thing. It caught on.”

  She nodded, but obviously didn’t get it.

  “You and Paul renovated old houses,” he said, hard-pressed to imagine his twin doing something so physical.

  “Yes. It was something we both loved. He was checking out a house in Maine when he died.”

  “Maine?” Now why did that ring a bell in his head? There were a lot of bells ringing, all centered around this woman. Now she was looking at his mouth, and it was making his stomach feel as though he’d just downed three beers in a row. He rubbed his chin and realized he hadn’t shaved. “How did you two meet?”

  She smiled at the memory, looking out the window again. “I was being a dreamer, looking at this old home that had just gone on the market. Paul was the real estate agent who showed it to me. We hit it off instantly. Both our parents were gone, and we had no one else.” Her face flushed, and she looked at him. “Or at least he said he had no one.”

  Mitch’s expression hardened. Paul had wiped him right out of his life, his own twin. “He had me, and he had Betzi. Betzi’s not family,” he added at her questioning look, “but she might as well be. She practically raised us while our mom was busy with all her trips to Dallas and her charities.” He watched her face, watched the way each word made her expression change a little. She didn’t know. No one could act that well, and he was good at picking out liars, manipulators. But he could tell she wasn’t parting with the whole story.

  “He lived here his whole life?” she asked, seeming disconcerted to look up and find him watching her.

  He didn’t shift his gaze away, settling instead in a relaxed position to watch her more fully. He tapped out a beat on the edge of the table with his fingers. “We were born here, upstairs. We came without much warning,” he added at her surprised expression.

  She stared at her hands, spread out on the glass tabletop, not all painted up with long nails either. In fact, she had the hands of a woman who worked, with little flecks of paint in the creases of her nails. She looked back up at him with those big, gray eyes of hers. “Why did Paul leave?”

  Mitch decided not to tell her everything yet. If she were up to something, she might trip up if he didn’t give too much away. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  She shook her head. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything,” he said with a shrug.

  “Why do you keep staring at me?”

  Because you’re the prettiest damn woman I ever did see. He leveled with her another way, though. He reached across the table and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. She started, pulling her arm away, looking like that spooked horse he’d thought about earlier.

  “That’s why I keep staring at you.”

  She kept her arms next to her body, wariness filling her features. “What are you talking about?”

  “I know you feel it, too. Whenever I’ve touched you, there’s something weird between us, like static electricity, only stronger. It’s not that I don’t find you attractive, but this is different than sexual attraction.”

  He saw color flame into her cheeks, and she busied herself with taking a long draw from her tea. Without meeting his eyes, she stood and walked to the refrigerator where she’d seen him put the pitcher of tea back. She poured a glass, then halted, staring at something inside. Pulling out a jar of tamales from the fridge, she held it up to him. “You eat these, too?”

  He shrugged. “Bad midnight-snack habit, dipped in hot chili sauce. Paul used to eat them, too, by the dozen. I take it he still did.” How much had Paul changed over the years? Who had fought his battles for him, or had he just slunk away like he always had? Jenna didn’t look like the kind of woman to cause him much trouble.

  She put the jar back and closed the door, facing him. “There’s something I haven’t told you.” Her fingers traced a line from her throat to her chest. “It might explain a few things, at least the … electricity you’re talking about.”

  Chapter 3

  Betzi Mulligan basted the ribs again, rocking her head to the beat of Billy Dean’s Billy the Kid. Pretty soon all the football Bobs would be rushing onto the back lawn hungry as a bunch of cowboys after a cattle run. If Mr. and Mrs. Elliot would have ever seen such a sight, they would have fainted dead out. No one from town had been allowed at the homestead unless they were buying a horse, paid labor or had a title. She liked the Elliots well enough, but they were bigger snobs than the family her mother had worked for, and they’d had more money than the Elliots, God rest all their souls.

  Mitch had always done what he could to bridge the gap his father had created between the Elliots and the rest of the folks. Truth to tell, Betzi didn’t mind the fracas once a week; it broke up the routine. Could be worse things than being one woman around a bunch of sweaty, virile young men. Her mother, Harriet (Etta to her friends), had been brought up to serve in the finest of homes with all the pomp and circumstance high society Texans required. Betzi had learned her craft from Etta, but had been grateful to escape Dallas city life and work for the Elliots and their coming twins out in the country land.

  Betzi could hear the distant hollers of the young men playing that ruffian sport. After she closed the bar-b-que lid, she turned to flop back down in her lawn chair when movement in the breakfast nook caught her eye. The semi-circular glass alcove stuck out from the rest of the house, farther than the similar music alcove. She narrowed her eyes, trying to look past the reflection. No one was supposed to be in the house right now.

  With her spatula poised like a weapon in front of her, she crept through the gathering room door, crossed the music alcove and the dining room to the kitchen. The sound of a woman’s voice was even more out of sorts. Her mother’s quarterly visit wasn’t due for another week.

  All right, so the spatula wasn’t exactly a lethal weapon, but Betzi wasn’t exactly a frail flower either. She puffed up her shoulders and moved stealthily toward the door opening. With spatula raised, she took a big step into the kitchen. “Hands up!” She looked from Mitch sitting at the table to the young woman standing by the refrigerator. “Oh.”

  Mitch covered his face for a moment, but his smile was genuine and not the least bit irritated. Well, it wasn’t as if she’d interrupted them at a vital moment; they were nowhere near smooching.

  “Mitch! What are you doing in here? I thought you were out with the Bobs.” Betzi looked at the woman. “Now, I understand finding something better to do, but it sure gave me a start seeing someone in the house that shouldn’t have been.”

  “What were you gonna do,
flip the intruder to death?” Mitch stood and walked over. “Betzi, this is Jenna Elliot.” Betzi raised her eyebrow at the name. She’d never heard of kin named Jenna. “Jenna, this is Betzi, the presiding queen of Bluebonnet Manor.”

  Betzi shook the woman’s hand, looking at Mitch for further explanation. The boy could be as blunt as a board, but sometimes he could hold back just enough information to drive a person crazy.

  Jenna and Mitch’s gazes met, and something odd passed between them that Betzi couldn’t understand. Just as quickly, they turned away from each other. Betzi narrowed her eyes at Mitch. “You didn’t go off and get married without telling me, did you?”

  Jenna’s face flushed, and she swore that Mitch’s did, too. He never blushed, not that she could remember.

  Mitch’s voice was low when he said, “Jenna is — was Paul’s wife.”

  “Oh, my Lordy, you see why I never jump to conclusions? Never assume, that’s what my mama always told me,” Betzi said. “Makes an ass out of u and me. Spells out the word, get it?” She shook her head. “Paul … wait a minute. Was?”

  Jenna nodded, a sad expression on her face. “He died in a car accident nine months ago. It took me this long to … track down his family.”

  When the two traded that look again, Betzi got the distinct feeling there was more to it. Not that it was her business. Well, it was her business, but she didn’t have rights to ask if it concerned personal family matters.

  “Where do you come from, Jenna?” Betzi figured that was a safe enough question.

  “A little coastal town in New Hampshire called Oceanside.”

  “All the way from up there?” She looked at Mitch. “You did invite her to stay in the guest room, didn’t you?”

  Mitch did, at least, have the decency to look chagrinned. “We didn’t get that far yet.”

  Paul had sure picked a looker, he had, though there was something fragile about her, like she’d seen a lot of unhappiness in her life. “I appreciate the offer, but I can stay in town. I passed a little motel on the way here I’m sure will do fine.”

  “Nonsense,” Betzi said, waving away that stinker of a motel. “She’ll stay right here, won’t she?” she asked Mitch, though he wouldn’t dare dispute her. She knew her place in the household, and if it had anything to do with manners and social graces, she was in charge.

  Mitch, however, didn’t look as though he was going to dispute her anyway. He braced a hand against the refrigerator and looked at Jenna. “Yeah, she’s going to stay here. We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?”

  Jenna didn’t look so sure about the situation, though. Betzi couldn’t imagine why she wouldn’t jump at the chance to stay there instead of the fleabag in town.

  Still, Jenna smiled graciously. “Thank you. I … I wasn’t actually planning to stay long —”

  “Nonsense,” Betzi said again. “You certainly didn’t come all this way to turn around and go back home again. After the Bobs leave, I’ll get the room ready for you.” She rubbed her palms down the front of the apron that read, Don’t piss off the cook. Mitch bought it for her as a gag gift. “Do you need anything? A drink, snack?”

  “I’m all taken care of, thank you.”

  “I’m glad you looked us up. We’ve been worried about Paul these years. I’ll just be glad to know he was happy.”

  A shadow passed over Jenna’s face. “He was happy,” she said after the slightest of pauses. “But I’m sure he missed you all, and this place.”

  “We missed him. Sure would have liked for him to bring you around. Why did he stay away so long?”

  Mitch answered for her in a hard tone of voice. “Seems he had better things to do than think about his home.” Another look passed between the two. And then silence, that awkward kind where everyone’s trading looks and no one’s saying anything.

  “Well, I’d better get back to the ribs. They’re all still coming for dinner, aren’t they?” she asked Mitch.

  He shrugged. “Can’t turn ’em away now, can we?”

  “Don’t suppose so. We’d have a riot on our hands, what with them smelling the ribs all day. Nice to meet you, Jenna. Welcome home.”

  Betzi didn’t know why she’d said that, but then sometimes things came out of her mouth for no apparent reason. She just went with it and turned to go back outside.

  She might be off — hardly ever, mind you — but there was something strange between the two in the kitchen. Almost an electricity that reminded her of times past, love lost.

  Could there be a spark between Paul’s widow and his brother? Why, they were both good-looking and legally available. Betzi knew nothing would ever come of it, though. Mitch was a lot of things, some good, some bad. But the man was honorable, and a long-ago vow would keep him from acting on anything that might spark up between them.

  “You were saying,” Mitch prompted the second the door closed after Betzi.

  He was standing far too close for Jenna’s comfort, and he smelled far too good. Whatever he was wearing went straight to her senses, clouding them with essences of spice, lemon and something sweet thrown in. His damp hair was loose around his shoulders, leaving wet patches on his white shirt. One side of his collar wasn’t folded down, as though he’d dressed in a hurry.

  The cool face of the stainless-steel refrigerator pressed against her back, leaving her with no place to move away from him. It was crazy to feel so … so caught up in him like this. It was wrong. She never wanted to feel this way about anybody, but especially not Paul’s twin brother.

  “The reason for this thing we have when we touch,” he pushed. “Is because?”

  She forced herself to look right into his face, so familiar, yet so foreign. “I have Paul’s heart.”

  That set Mitch back. She saw him swallow, watched the muscles in his neck working. “You mean … for real?”

  Her words came out in a rush. “For real. I was waiting for a donor; my heart wasn’t living up to its end of the bargain. Paul was brain dead after the accident, but his heart was still working. He’d made arrangements, like a will, only he was leaving me his heart. He must have gotten tested to see if we matched, and we did.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “So I got it.”

  “They took your heart out —”

  “And put his in,” she finished quickly.

  He ran his hand back through his hair, looking down for a moment. “Wow. Wow,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I’ve heard of transplants, but …” He looked at the place where her heart beat within her. “Paul.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  His eyes held her fast, making her lose her train of thought for a second. That was another difference between Mitch and Paul. Paul never looked at her as though he were probing her soul. “It’s just that, I don’t know, sometimes I feel … guilty. For getting his heart. I lived, he died.” She knew guilt was common among transplant recipients, but she had more reason for feeling that way. If she hadn’t been sick, if she’d been able to give him a baby, maybe they wouldn’t have moved around so much, maybe he wouldn’t have gone to Maine that day.

  “You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

  She was grateful that he didn’t somehow hold Paul’s death against her.

  “But it does explain a lot,” he continued, letting his gaze drop down and then back up to her face again. “I thought I might be going crazy, feeling … strange whenever I touched you. Because of the connection.” His expression became enlightened. “That’s why I didn’t feel him die. Because his heart was still beating … is still beating.” His voice lowered, and he stretched out his hand and held it only an inch from her chest. She swore she could feel the heat emanating from his palm. “Inside you.” He let his hand drop.

  Jenna realized she’d been holding her breath, waiting for him to touch her. She quietly released it, assuring herself she’d have pushed him away if he had.

  “They took your heart out and put his in,” Mitch was sayin
g as she caught herself staring at his mouth again, caught herself wondering if the hairs around his mouth were soft or prickly. “Did they take out your heart before putting his in? Does it feel … different?”

  The few people who knew she’d had a transplant asked her questions as though she were some kind of Frankenstein experiment. Some even wanted to see her scar. But Mitch’s words didn’t smack of that morbid curiosity. Still, talking about those few minutes when she’d had no heart were eerie. It gave a whole new meaning to the term “heartless.”

  “I can do most of the things anyone can do. But it feels different in a way maybe only you can understand. Paul led me here,” she said, feeling sure enough to tell him now. “Now I know why.” When Mitch gave her a questioning look, she added, “He wanted to make peace with you.” Pinpricks of unease scampered across the back of her neck. That peace, that sense of doing the right thing … it would come at her expense, at the expense of the one thing that mattered most — her memories.

  He narrowed his eyes, but not suspiciously. “You can feel him?” He looked at the place her heart resided.

  She hadn’t realized she’d put her hand over her heart. “I feel … things. Like the urge to come here, a place I’d never heard about before.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Does that sound crazy?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. Do you get anything else?”

  Jenna wasn’t ready to tell him about the images she’d gotten from Paul’s jewelry. And why was he so ready to believe her, to want more information? “Just feelings, nothing specific.”

  He walked over to the table where Paul’s death certificate lay, stepping over the mound of solid black hair that was Harvey. The pedestal beneath the glass top was a fancy gold pillar of some kind. Fancy table, sculptured throw rug, Italian tiles, and what looked like a mutt. It was an odd combination. And where did Mitch fit into all of it?

  The air where Mitch had been standing was filled with that spicy scent. Paul never wore any scent except the stale smell of the cigarettes he thought he was cleverly hiding from her. She walked up behind Mitch. Paul had worn his hair ultra-short. She caught herself reaching out to touch a strand of Mitch’s hair and jerked her hand back.