Hidden Shadows (The Shadow Series Book 1) (15 page)

Jacy came over, crawled onto the chair with Jenna. “Maybe I can sing him a song. I bet he likes singing.”

“I can sing, too,” Dawson added with a hint of a whine.

“You both can. And soon enough, we’ll be able to reach our hand in, touch him, pet him, then teach him how to do something called step up, where he’ll perch on our fingers.”

Wide-eyed, Jacy grinned. “That’s so neat.”

“This is the best day ever,” Dawson declared, sighing.

“Well, if it’s the best for you, it’s the best for me.” Jenna smiled, relaxing back into the chair and pulling Jacy with her.

While Dawson began his own rendition of “Jesus Loves The Little Children”—
Jesus loves the little birds, all the birds of the world …
——Jacy leaned in, whispered, “You’re the best, Mom.”

And that, Jenna thought, was worth everything.

Worth the time it took to go to Allen’s Pet Shop, worth the research on which animal to get, which bird would suit them best. Worth all the times she knew
she’d
be feeding and watering, loving and playing.

As her phone beeped, she reached, dragged her purse over, and smiled as she read Ben’s text.

So am I in for tonight?

“Burgers and dogs ready, ladies!”

Robin threw her hands up. “My brute calls us.”

On a laugh, she boosted herself from the table, walked to the kitchen island that held the final additions to dinner.

Surveying the spread, she steadied a fruit tray in one hand, clutched a pitcher of lemonade in the other, while Jenna gathered napkins, buns, and the plate of lettuce, onions, and tomatoes.

As they wound through the kitchen to the back deck, Robin stopped at the door, wiggled golden eyebrows over green eyes bright with anticipation.

“Why are you so giddy?” Jenna questioned.

“This is exciting!”

“What?”

“Seeing the two of you—together. Being a part of such a special time.” Robin’s eyes brightened again, and the lemonade sloshed to the top of the pitcher as her shoulders bounced excitedly.

Jenna eyed her idly, juggled the bag of buns under her arm so she could reach the door handle. “It’s just a couple of burgers, Robin. Not that special.”

Robin raised her brows.

“What?”

“Nothing . . .”

“No, say it.”

“You can tell me that, tell yourself that. But my eyes know better. The way that man looks at you, at your kids.” Robin blew out a breath. “Falling, fast."

“He knows I want to take it slow. We’re taking it slow.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Exasperated, Jenna slowly, deliberately removed her hand from the door and stared at her friend. “Is there anything else you’d like to say? Or would you like to stand here all night holding stuff?”

“Nope.” Robin shook her head confidently, her cap of sandy blonde hair waving.

“Okay, then.” Jenna twisted back to the door, turned the handle.

And Robin chirped cheerfully from behind her, “I was just thinking, your head can plan, say any number of things. But in the end, it’s the heart that does the falling.”

Jenna sighed heavily, and almost heard her heart fall as she swung open the door and stepped onto the patio.

He looked so good.

So comfortable, so at home there, standing by Erik over the grill with her boy chattering away in his arms (about Perry, of course).

Simple burgers they may be, slow and steady they may have established, but her head nor her heart could deny that Ben was a striking sight.

His standard pair of jeans fit snug to long, lean legs. A deep olive T-shirt hugged broad shoulders, showed off strong, solid arms, browned from his days in the sun. His hair, closely cropped on the sides with a bit of length on top, was dark and rich and in its usual rumpled state.

When he spotted her, his lips curved into a lazy grin.

You’d think after spending every day together for the last week, she’d be over the belly flopping, but there it was, in the pit of her stomach, the warmth that spread and grew as he watched her.

Though some parts of last weekend had been the most frightening and confusing of her life, it had also been the beginning of something new and wonderful.

He’d phoned her every day since, they’d had dinner every night—lunch even, if they could swing it. They'd fallen into a routine of sorts. Quickly and quite naturally.

But that didn’t mean they were moving fast. Didn’t mean he was falling for her. Just that the fling she’d been anticipating turned out to be a little more, a little longer.

As Erik transferred meat to platter, Robin and Jenna set the table, arranged the condiments and sides.

Once the prayer was said, food dished out, kids’ plates filled, Jacy fixed her eyes on Robin. “Are you coming to my recital?”

Robin wiggled a chip in Jacy’s direction. “Wouldn’t miss it, girl.”

“Daddy and Susan can’t come.”

Jenna caught Robin’s eye, rolled her own. She hated that the disappointment had become so unsurprising to her girl. What a pity, too, that Keith was missing such joy in these special, fleeting moments.

“Sometimes schedules can get busy, Jace, and us adults don’t juggle them well enough,” Erik said, his warm chocolate eyes smiling at her as he loaded his burger with tomatoes. “You can count me as another fan there.”

“Really?

He nodded eagerly and Jacy bounced a little in her seat.

“A recital, huh?” Ben set down his tea. “What’ll you do there?”

Jacy looked into her baked beans. “Just dance.”

“I like dancing. What kind?”

“Ballet.”

“Hmm. Good choice. Think you’ll manage any pirouettes?”

Jacy looked up, surprised. “How do you know what that is?”

“I have women in my life, Jacy, and they tell me what to do. I’ve been to plenty of ballets in my time.”

Okay, in truth, he’d caught a couple glimpses on T.V. at his mom’s place and one Christmas Heidi dragged the whole family to see the Nutcracker, explaining every move on the way home. He couldn’t believe he’d managed to spit one out.

But he couldn’t stand to see that little girl’s face covered in the regret and sadness her scum of a father created.

“That’s cool. I love dancing too.” She finally smiled, her eyes lighting with it, and Ben noted his success, felt a little blossom of affection in his heart with it.

“Are you coming?” she asked suddenly.

“Coming?”

“To my recital. It’s Friday, the night before Halloween and trick-or-treating.”

Ben glanced at Jenna, caught her subtle nod, pleased eyes.

“I would love to. Thank you for the invitation.”

Jacy nodded, smiled into her food, and took a big chomp from her hotdog.

Ben looked back at Jenna, raised his brows with interest. She smiled again, wishing she could say more, wanting to reach over, grab his hand, tell him how grateful she was for . . . him.

Instead, she rose to grab more silverware—Dawson had dropped his twice now—and grazed his shoulder with her fingers and a quick squeeze on her way into the house.

When she came back out, Dawson had crawled into Ben’s lap. He lay now, tuckered out from his day of excitement and play, his head on Ben’s chest, his little arms twined around Ben’s neck.

And Jenna finally felt that new leaf turn all the way over. Felt it soar to new heights.

In fact, this man that held her son with gentleness and familiarity and had her daughter’s approval and interest, made her feel kind of like a leaf herself—light, free, and able to fly.

Both kids were sacked out in the back seat.

Their day of transition, the excitement and continual conversation about Perry—the small break for recital talk had been the only respite in the evening—and the constant play at Erik and Robin's had exhausted both of them.

Jenna leaned, trying to get a better view in the rearview of the car whose headlights were practically blinding her. It had seemed to be behind her the whole drive home.

She didn’t like this rental at all. Her insurance company had provided it after deeming the Jeep non-drivable. They, of course, had asked for no input or suggestions from her.

And while she was grateful for it—it fit the car seat and booster seat fine—it didn’t drive well, she wasn't used to it, and really, she was just excited about finally sitting high in an SUV, only to be bumped back down to a car.

So she would pout about it for a bit, then be over it and just appreciate she had something to drive.

Give it three weeks—at least according to the shop’s quote—and she’d have her Jeep back anyway.

How weird
, she thought, shifting again so the beam of headlights was out of her eyes. The car just kept lingering there, behind her. Not speeding up or slowing down but staying at her pace.

They’d had opportunities to pass her, numerous different routes to take, but they’d stayed close, making every turn she made, venturing down every street she chose.

Jenna didn’t like this. Her heart kicked up, sweat popped up in between her breasts where it was prone to when she got too warm, too agitated.

She sped up and watched the car behind her speed up. She slowed and it slowed.

Glancing in the rearview again, she cursed under her breath, realizing night vision in this car was crap. And the tinted windshield of the tailing car didn’t help her decipher who might be inside, or if they were, in fact, following her.

She turned swiftly onto a road she normally wouldn’t take. The car followed.

Was she imaging this? Over-exaggerating? Making a situation out of nothing? What made her think they, or anyone, would be following her?

She didn’t know.

But she did know that with the kids in tow, she wasn’t taking any chances.

She turned around in the middle of the two-lane country road, tires squealing, and shot past the car that she now noted was long and black with all its windows tinted.

The black car followed suit.

Now she knew she wasn’t paranoid. Whoever was behind that wheel was trying to scare her. Or worse.

The speedometer read seventy—thirty-five miles over the winding road’s speed limit—as she pressed the pedal further to the floor.

Again, she jerked the wheel, this time pulling into the only gas station ten miles in either direction.

Cell phone in hand, she fumbled, found the Emergency button, prepared to press it. Instead, she dropped it slowly to her lap, watching the taillights of the suspicious car fade into the black night.

Exhaling her anxiety and fear, she dropped her head on the steering wheel and steadied her breathing. After steadying her hands too, she checked on both children and shifted into drive.

ELEVEN

Jenna felt rested, calm, and more like herself. Well, almost. But for now, that was good enough.

It’d been two weeks since the attack on her home and one since the mysterious car incident. Other than Ben watching her like a hawk, and constantly checking in, things were getting back to normal. She found she liked normal, very much.

Unfortunately, today’s string of appointments ended with one of her more difficult and stranger patients. Suffice it to say, Taryn Tate was not the best way to stay on track with normalcy.

She’d never say that out loud, of course. Helping was her job. Supporting in difficult and delicate situations her life, her income, her passion. But some patients were just easier to deal with than others. Less high maintenance, for lack of a better word.

Take Heidi for instance. She’d just needed an objective ear and some recommendations and tools for emotional recovery after baby loss, as well as calming techniques for her current pregnancy. Jenna knew she was a good physician to meet that need.

But a patient like Taryn took, well . . . patience.

In all the years Jenna had been seeing her, she never changed. At least on the surface.

But today was a new day, and maybe progress could be made.

Outside the room, Jenna focused, readied herself with a cordial, pleasant smile and opened the door.

“Hello, Taryn.”

The frail woman nodded, lifted the corners of her mouth a fraction.

Her pale face was slightly sunken from extremely low weight, what looked like little sleep based on the dark circles under her eyes, and probably too much of some substance . . . most likely alcohol if history was any indication. Her bark brown hair lay in strings around her shoulders, badly needing a trim and a comb. Her rarely focused deep brown eyes were tired and worn. Half-closed lids, a somber mouth, and silence told Jenna this was a bad day for Taryn.

Not much improvement from the last time they had seen each other. And though a pity, it wasn’t
surprising.