Bear My Heart: A Small Town Paranormal Romance (3 page)

He and Brandon ran Mister
Handyman together. The two of them did almost all the maintenance
and repair work in Bear Cove. No odd job was too odd for them. As a
result, they knew almost every family and business in town.

As he drove, Troy found his
thoughts drifting to that beautiful, mysterious newcomer. He didn't
want to admit it to his sister but Megan had hit the nail on the
head. He wasn't watching Dot because he was suspicious of her. He
watched her because he wanted to protect her.

But—protect her from
what?

Troy didn't know what secrets
Dot was hiding, but he could see the fear in her haunted gray eyes.

He had seen her the very
first day she drove into town.

The real estate agent had
contacted Mister Handyman to do some last minute repairs to Mr and
Mrs Yong's house. The new tenant was moving in today, the agent
said.

It turned out he just had to
secure a loose shelf. As he was leaving the house with the agent, he
saw a little car rattle to a stop in front of the house. A
raven-haired woman stepped out and walked up to the agent.

“Miss Dot!” the
agent exclaimed and glanced at his watch. “You're...right on
time.”

Troy made his way to his
truck and watched as the agent handed the woman the keys to the
house. Troy kept his eyes on her, unconsciously memorizing every
detail about her.

The woman was clean-scrubbed
with not a trace of makeup on her face. She was of average height
and build, around five foot four, and her black hair was tied up in a
simple ponytail. She was wearing faded jeans and a dull, brown
jacket. There was not a single piece of jewelery on her body. No
rings, necklace or earrings. Most women did their best to enhance
their looks, but this woman seemed to be trying to hide her natural
beauty.

The woman noticed him at once
as he stood beside his truck but pretended not to see him.

No one would ever accuse Troy
of being effusive and effervescent. But for some reason, Troy wanted
to walk up to this woman and talk to her. There was something about
her that called to him.

The woman frowned and turned
sharply away from him. Her body language told him that she very much
preferred not to make small talk. In fact, she wanted him to
pretend that he hadn't seen her at all.

Well, he could pretend but he
still wanted to see her. Troy climbed into his truck and watched her
in the rear-view mirror.

The woman's large, gray eyes
continued scanning the street behind her. Her gaze lingered for a
while on Troy's truck which was idling at the side of the curb.
After a few seconds, she turned and followed the agent into the
house.

As soon as the agent left,
the woman strode quickly back to her car and grabbed her duffel bag
and laptop bag. She went into the house and the door closed behind
her.

Troy watched the front door,
but it didn't open again.

Was that all she brought, one
duffel bag and a laptop?

The agent had mentioned to
Troy that the new tenant had rented the place for six months. Troy
knew his sister packed a whole suitcase for a two-day trip.

Miss Dot certainly traveled
light.

And Dot appeared to be her
first name and her last name, her only name.

It wasn't her real name, he
was sure of it.

Dot was running from
something or someone.

It didn't matter to Troy who
Dot really was or what she was doing in Bear Cove.

From the first moment he saw
her, Troy knew that he would do everything in his power to keep her
safe.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Someone walked into the
diner. Dot looked up and saw a tall, handsome, blond man walk up to
the counter and place his order. He chatted amiably with Lilly and
Daisy for a few minutes.

Dot closed her notebook and
slipped it into her bag. She usually lingered at Papa Bear's after
breakfast and wrote for an hour or so in the diner. In the
afternoons, she usually continued her work in the library before
going home. The house that she rented was very nice and comfortable,
but still, it was just a house. It had walls and furniture, but no
people.

It was nice to sit in a
corner and listen to the low hum of human conversation. Having
strangers around her was better than being utterly alone.

But this morning, Lilly had
become a friend.

Lilly was unfazed and
undaunted even after learning that Dot was just “a plum name”.
The woman was determined to befriend her and it had touched Dot
deeply.

Daisy had stopped by and
patted her hand. “I'm so glad you found a friend in our Lilly.
I've been telling Lilly to come over and talk to you. You girls are
about the same age. And you look like you could use a friend,”
Daisy said softly.

“Thank you,” Dot
managed, blinking quickly. Lilly and Daisy had both seen her aching
loneliness and sadness beneath that tough, impassive exterior and had
discreetly and quietly showered her with care, concern and
friendship. They had been her friends even before she opened up to
them.

These people were amazing.
And there were many more warm, wonderful people around her. If only
she'd let them in.

Dot took a sharp breath as
her eyes returned to that tall, handsome man leaning against the
counter.

She recognized him.

She had seen him on the very
first day she arrived in Bear Cove. And she had seen his truck
around town.

Mister Handyman
. That
was the logo emblazoned on his truck.

Mister Handyman had been
watching her that day as she unloaded her bags from the car and
scuttled into the house.

And he was watching her now.

His brilliant, blue eyes
looked right at her and held her gaze steadily until she had to look
away.

He was wearing faded jeans
and work boots, and his t-shirt announced that he was Mister Handyman
to the world.

Mister Handyman pushed away
from the counter and started walking towards her booth.

Dot gulped and squirmed in
her seat. If she jumped up now, she would still have to squeeze past
his broad frame to get to the door.

He was standing beside her
booth now. She had no choice but to look up.

“Hi. I'm Troy
Hillman.” His voice was deep and gentle.

“Hi. I...I'm Dot.”

“You're living in that
blue house at the corner of Tulip Drive.” It wasn't a
question.

“Yes.”

“I did some work on
that house. I'm...”

“Mister Handyman,”
she finished with a faint smile.

“Yeah. Brandon and I
run the business together, so there are actually two Mister
Handymen,” Troy said, returning her smile.

Dot blinked. Troy was even
more handsome when he smiled. She had initially thought that he was
in his late thirties, but now she guessed he was only in his early
thirties at most.

He was very tall with broad,
powerful shoulders. His arms were tanned and muscular, and from what
she could see, his body was lean and ripped. He was a very
good-looking male, but she detected no arrogance in his body language
or tone. He wasn't smug or smarmy, and he was just chatting with
her, not trying to chat her up.

Troy frowned slightly as he
stared deep into her eyes. It felt as though he was looking right
into her heart.

Could he see all her secrets
and terrors? Would she ever be free of the evil that was determined
to follow her?

Dot gripped the edge of her
seat tightly as the tormenting images swirled in her mind. The diner
and all the light around her began to dim and recede from her.

She was in that dark place
once again.

Twelve years. It was twelve
years ago, but she was still trapped. In that dark cabin that reeked
of fear...and
him
.

She was alive, but she hadn't
escaped after all.

CHAPTER
EIGHT

With a groan, the Artist
stood up and pulled off the condom. He always wore a condom and
latex gloves when he took her.

She clung on desperately
to that last sliver of hope.

If he was taking care not
to leave his semen and fingerprints, that meant that he wasn't
intending to kill her, right? Maybe he would let her go after he
grew tired of her.

She had never seen his
face. So she couldn't identify him. She had tried to ask him his
name, but he only told her that he was the Artist.

The Artist threw the used
condom and gloves into a plastic bag. But he didn't remove his hood.
She could only see his eyes through the hood. His eyes were like
chips of ice, greenish-blue, flinty and cold.

She sagged against the
wall, tugging at the collar around her neck with trembling fingers.
She closed her eyes and tried to stem the nausea. She always felt
like throwing up after he touched her.

The Artist settled in a
creaky wooden chair and picked up his pencil and sketch pad. He
gestured with the pencil and said, “Kneel, Daniella. On your
hands and knees. And spread your legs, the way you spread them for
me just now.”

Shivering, she obeyed.

The slightest sign of
disobedience and defiance would be punished. She didn't mind the
slaps, beatings and cigarette burns. She was almost numb to the pain
and humiliation by now.

No. He punished her by
depriving her of food.

He would starve her for
days, until she was so weak from hunger. Then he would take her
unresisting body on the floor.

Without food, she wouldn't
have enough strength to escape. And she was going to escape. She
wasn't going to die here. She would escape, or die trying.

She knew his routine by
now. She had lost count of the days, but she knew that a few months
had passed.

And no one had come
looking for her.

She had no family who
would miss her. No one who cared enough to search for her.

She was just another
missing person, and the police wouldn't pay much attention to her
case.

Her foster family would
just have assumed that she had run away. They would have thrown away
all her things by now. No one would remember her.

The Artist began to draw.

His pencil moved swiftly
over the paper, making soft, scratching sounds.

“Look at me,
Daniella,” he said. “I want to capture your expression.”

She raised her head,
muting the hatred and hostility in her eyes.

The Artist made an
appreciative sound. “You're so beautiful, Daniella.”

He leaned forward and ran
the sharpened tip of his pencil down her naked body. Deliberately,
he dragged the pencil up the inside of her thigh and toyed with her.

She forced herself not to
shudder, not to make a sound.

He laughed.

“I won't hurt you,
Daniella.” His voice was quiet and menacing. The threat and
warning was clear.

He could hurt her very
badly indeed. And she would be in agony for days before he would
allow her to die.

“Daniella, my muse,”
the Artist declared proudly as he returned to his drawing.

The walls of the cabin
were covered with his sick, twisted drawings. And all the drawings
were of her.

CHAPTER
NINE

Dot tried to suppress the
sudden, violent shudders as she fought those dark, screaming images
back into the deep, buried recesses of her mind.

“No,” she
whispered angrily. She squeezed her eyes shut and fought against the
pain and nausea.

She wasn't going to live half
a life and keep looking over her shoulder.

It had to stop.

When she opened her eyes
again, she saw Troy staring intently at her. He was sitting opposite
her now, his brilliant, knowing blue eyes boring into hers. For a
few terrifying heartbeats, Dot felt as though Troy could see what she
was hiding, who she really was.

“I...”

She let out a small cry like
a wounded animal when Troy leaned forward and covered her hand with
his. She knew she should pull away but his touch seemed to comfort
and calm her. She wanted him to keep touching her. Her body angled
forward of its own volition as though it were trying to close the
distance between them.

“Everyone has secrets
and everyone has a past. Many people come to Bear Cove to start a
new life.” Troy paused and took a deep breath. “I did,”
he said quietly.

Dot started. Was Troy
dangerous? She froze and stared at him. Handsome faces could house
evil hearts.