The Captive Bird

By Claire Sanders

A SHAMEFUL SECRET Jenna Ryan has a secret she plans to take to the grave, but the arrival of Matt Watson on her doorstep threatens to reveal that secret. There's no way Jenna will fulfill Matt's request, because doing so would threaten the fragile world she's built. A DUTY TO FULFILL Matt Watson grew up idolizing his uncle. But as he endeavors to fulfill his uncle's last request, Matt reveals a secret he wishes he'd never uncovered. How can a man Matt idolized have committed such an appalling act? THE CAPTIVE BIRD Jenna Ryan has created a safe haven in the north Georgia town of Walnut Hill. The victim of a devastating crime, she's established a new life where she's loved and admired. But her house of cards will crash around her unless she does the one thing she thinks is impossible – forgive the man who hurt her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Claire Sanders
• Release date: Feb 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393316817

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

––––––––

Matt Watson drove through the autumn-hued foothills of northern Georgia with one question pressing on his mind like an ever-tightening vice. Of all the people Uncle Frank had known, why did he want to see Jenna Ryan?

She’d been the kid sister of Frank’s first wife and by his own admission, Frank hadn’t seen her for fifteen years. She was all but a stranger. So what business could Frank possibly have with her?

Not that Matt was in any position to question Frank’s dying wish. The image of Frank’s gaunt body under the white sheets of the hospital bed bit at Matt’s heart. Matt had seen death before, but he’d never seen someone he loved inching his way toward the inevitable. Cancer crept through his uncle’s body like crabs on a dead fish, but despite Matt’s years of medical training, all he could do was help Frank’s doctor manage the pain.

Welcome to Walnut Hill, the sign at the city limits proclaimed. The home of southern charm.

Matt had heard of the town, one of the many places in north Georgia that lured visitors from Atlanta with promises of cozy inns and home-style meals, but he’d never treated himself to the luxury of time to visit the area.

Golden leaves flew from beneath his wheels as he drove along the orderly streets and indulged his interest in southern architecture. On one corner sat a white Charleston single house, its gallery painted a contrasting bright blue. Another block yielded an antebellum structure with a flying staircase leading to what was once the bachelor’s quarters. The citizens of Walnut Hill obviously treasured their history. Even the newer houses featured period doors and windows. The whole town was a throwback to the time when southern ladies ruled their neighborhoods with white gloves and lemonade.

Jenna’s house turned out to be the type of raised, two-story, Victorian cottage  common  to small southern towns. A wide porch wrapped around three sides of her white, clapboard house, and multi-paned windows fronted the lower story. Two stone chimneys bracketed opposite ends of the roof and a white picket fence bordered the spacious, well-manicured lawn. Everything about her place spoke of security and warmth, of lazy Sunday dinners with family, and warm summer evenings with friends.

Matt parked on the street, got out of his car, and stretched. Maybe he should’ve called first.

He paused at the gate, rehearsing what he’d say when she answered the door.

Hi, it’s been fifteen years since we last met and I’m sure you don’t remember me, but my dying uncle wants to see you.

Too direct.

Hello, I’m the nephew of your sister’s ex-husband and I was in the neighborhood, so I... Lame.

Good afternoon. I’m here to ask if you have a relationship with our Lord, Jesus Christ. As if he was qualified to ask such a question.

At that moment, a woman stood up from behind a bed of tall flowers. Although her back was to Matt, the honey-colored hair tumbling down her back matched his memory. Even though Jenna was no longer the annoying twelve-year-old who’d peppered him with nonstop questions and followed him like a stalker, Matt hadn’t thought to envision how she’d look now.

The woman turned and caught a glimpse of him, then walked slowly toward the gate. Hello, she called as she pulled off her gloves and gathered her hair into a ponytail. I bet you’re looking for the Morrison’s house.

Time had frozen Jenna’s face in Matt’s memory, but the beautiful woman approaching  him bore little resemblance to the girl he recalled. A smattering of freckles danced across her nose. Large, hazel-green eyes took him in as a genial smile produced one dimple in her left cheek, giving her face a distinctive, off-center appeal.

My address is 30 Maple Hill Lane, she continued. "The Morrisons live at 30 Maple  Street.

People are always showing up at my house by mistake."

She was tall and slender with gentle curves in all the right places. When Matt didn’t respond, her smile faltered under arched eyebrows. Are you looking for the Morrisons?

So pesky, skinny Jenna Ryan had grown into a knockout. Who would have imagined?

No, Matt answered, finally finding his voice. "I’m looking for you. At least, I think I am.

You’re Jenna Ryan, aren’t you?"

Her gaze turned inquisitive. And you are...?

Matt Watson. He extended his hand across the gate. It’s nice to see you again,  Jenna. Matt Watson?  she repeated, surprise evident in her  voice. "No wonder I didn’t   recognize

you. What’s it been, fifteen years?"

More or less. Her handshake was firm, her palms smooth. Realizing he was holding on to her, he dropped his hand and pushed it into his pocket.

What brings you to my house? she asked.

He made it a practice not to lie, but he knew how to dodge a question. I really like your place. When was it built?

1920. But it’s been completely modernized—new plumbing, new wiring, new everything. Jenna unlatched the gate and swung it open. Would you like to come in?

Thanks. He followed her along the paved walkway that led to the front door. Old houses like yours have so much more character than new ones. There’s an enduring quality about them, almost as if the house has a wisdom of its own. How long have you lived here?

Four years. Where do you live now?

In midtown Atlanta, near Emory University Hospital.

She stepped up onto the porch. When we were kids, you talked about becoming either a doctor or a storm chaser. Does the fact you live near the hospital mean you’ve given up traveling by tornado?

Can’t believe you remember that, but yeah, I’m a doctor. I work in the ER.

Jenna’s faced scrunched into a small grimace. I made a trip to the ER last year. Hope I never have to go there again.

Oh, yeah? What happened?

A silly accident at work. I broke my wrist and a friend took me to the hospital. Jenna gestured to a set of generously padded, white wicker chairs. Why don’t we sit on the porch to talk? Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll get us some refreshments.

She disappeared through the screen door and Matt sat down. The  art of porch sitting, like many southern traditions, had almost vanished with the advent of air conditioning, but Jenna had hung a swing on one end of her porch and placed tables and chairs on the other. One lantern sat in the center of the glass-topped wicker table and others hung from the edge of the roof.  Someday he’d like to create a home like this for himself, a place where he could share a candlelit meal with someone  while the  scent of night-blooming flowers drifted on the  evening breeze. It would be   a

perfect way to relax after a chaotic shift in the ER.

Jenna bumped open the screen door with her hip and brought out a tray. Matt sprang to his feet to take it from her.

No, that’s okay, she protested. I’ve got it.

Matt waited until she sat down then resumed his seat.

She took one glass of ice and filled it with tea. How’s your family?

Very well, thanks. My father died before I finished high school, but my mother’s doing great. She volunteers at the hospital and we run into each other once in a while. A few days ago, I saw her pulling a wagon with three kids.

She works with children?

Matt stirred sugar into his glass. She coordinates a program for volunteers to entertain the pediatric patients. They read to them, play games, that kind of stuff.

Important work.

Matt nodded his agreement and took one of the cookies she offered. How’s your sister? Helen owns a New Age shop in Atlanta. You know...candles, crystals, tarot cards. Did she ever remarry?

No. Did Frank?

This was touchy territory, but he had no one to blame but himself for stumbling into it. When Helen had discovered Frank’s affair, she’d given him the usual ultimatum, and, to his later regret, Frank had chosen his mistress over his wife. Matt studied Jenna’s face but saw no censure there. Her patient gaze and relaxed mouth indicated nothing more than polite conversation. He remarried shortly after his divorce. It didn’t last long.

Jenna crossed her legs under the table and folded her hands in her lap. Her gaze drifted to the flower bed where she’d left her tools.

The garden is beautiful, Matt said. Is that your hobby?

Not much else to keep me busy on Sunday afternoons. How did you find me after so long? "Nothing a  simple  Internet  search couldn’t provide.  I saw  you’re  a  vice  president at   the

Walnut Hill Community Bank."

Don’t let the title mislead you, she replied with a grin. The bank gives out promotions in lieu of raises.

Matt studied her face. She did have an exceptional mouth. Her lips were full but not pouty, and he knew without testing they’d be soft and warm. Although...he wouldn’t mind testing them. Remember that time Helen took you to the haunted house my basketball team sponsored?

Jenna flicked an amused gaze at him and snickered, her lips curving in an appealing smile. Matt rubbed his nose. It still hurts when it rains.

Jenna pointed an accusing finger at him. You’re the one who jumped out of the closet with an ax. Throwing a punch was my first reflex.

He chuckled with her. It was a rubber ax. Man, you had a killer jab for a twelve-year-old. Yours is the only nose I’ve broken.

I heard there was a restraining order against you where haunted houses were concerned.

A restraining order was hardly necessary. You scared me so much I haven’t been near a haunted house since.

They laughed in unison, and Matt took another sip of his tea. Jenna was a revelation— beautiful, friendly, and undoubtedly intelligent. Despite her earlier claim, Matt didn’t believe her employer gave vice president status to someone as young as she without good reason.

Jenna took a cookie from the tray and absentmindedly nibbled on it. "So...where’d you go  to

college?"

Emory. Both undergrad and medical school. Then, after my residency, I was offered a position in the ER. What about you?

Duke. I loved North Carolina. What made you come back?

She gave a halfhearted shrug. Family, I guess. Helen said Mom and Dad needed me, but after I returned to Atlanta they retired in Savannah. Did you ever think about moving?

Not really. I wanted to stay close to my mother.

Jenna’s attention drifted back to the gardening tools. Surely she didn’t need to return to work. She recrossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, flicked her gaze to Matt, then looked down at the tray of refreshments. Would you like anything more to eat?

No, thanks.

They’d run out of things to say, and the way she fidgeted in her chair told Matt that awkwardness was quickly replacing amiability. He searched for another safe topic, but before he could settle on one, Jenna spoke.

You know, Matt, over the years I’ve learned how to make polite conversation and, if  need be, I can do this for at least another hour. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me why you’re here.

Matt chuckled softly. He hated artifice of any kind, and Jenna’s directness was as refreshing as the autumn breeze. He turned his chair away from the table and stretched his legs, relaxing for the first time that day. Uncle Frank has terminal cancer. He asked me to find you and Helen because he wants you to visit him.

A subtle shift in Jenna’s attitude passed through her body. Matt would have missed it had he not been watching for her reaction. Where politeness had been only a few seconds earlier, caution now narrowed her eyes.

Why does he want to see me?

Hadn’t Matt made that clear? About a year ago, Frank was diagnosed  with pancreatic cancer. He came to me for advice and I worked with his oncologist to find a treatment that would help. We’ve tried everything, even the experimental procedures, but nothing’s worked. He’s in the last stage now.

"Yes, I understand, but why does he want to see me? Oh. Well...actually...I don’t know why."

I’ll be right back. She reentered the house, her shoulders straight and her steps measured, as though she carried an invisible weight.

What had happened? Minutes earlier, they’d been laughing, but at the mention of his uncle, Jenna’s quick smile had dissolved into tight lips and a guarded expression. He’d done something wrong, said something that had cooled her friendly warmth and silenced her laugh.

Had learning of Frank’s illness affected her so strongly?

Matt didn’t hear her return and her voice startled him when she spoke. I won’t see Frank, but you can give him this message.

Matt took the light-green envelope from her hand and examined it. There was nothing written on it, not even Frank’s name.

If that’s all, Jenna said as she moved toward the porch steps, I really need to finish my yard work before it gets dark.

No two ways about it—Matt was being dismissed.

Jenna glanced back at Matt, obviously waiting for him to get the hint. He rose from his   chair

and joined her on the steps.

It was nice to see you, she said as she escorted Matt to the gate. I’m glad to learn you’re doing so well.

When he realized they’d reverted to polite chitchat, Matt’s heart sank a few inches. It was nice to see you, too.

She opened the gate and Matt automatically walked through. Without another word,  she hurried up the walkway and vaulted the porch steps. The screen door flew open and she shut the heavy front door behind her. Although Matt couldn’t hear them, he imagined the sound of several deadbolts sliding into place. He stood on the sidewalk, staring at the closed doors as though they held a clue about what had just happened. At the mention of Uncle Frank, warm, polite Jenna had transformed into a threatened sentry at the castle’s gates.

He turned the unsealed envelope in his fingers. Perhaps it held an explanation for Jenna’s behavior. But the note was for Frank.

Matt had two choices. He could argue with himself and then open the envelope, or he could let the inevitable happen.

He loosened the flap and slid out a note card.

A single line of precise handwriting appeared on the paper.

I never told.

* * *

Jenna watched Matt through the sheer curtains of her front window. He propped his elbows atop the car and opened the envelope.

A jolt of panic hit her. The note wasn’t for him. If he read it, he’d know. Why hadn’t she sealed the envelope?

She pushed away from the window, intent on reclaiming her message from his  prying eyes, but reason caught hold of her frantic thoughts. She hadn’t written anything that would reveal her secret.

The secret she planned to take to her grave.

Matt looked at the card, shook his head in obvious befuddlement, and then tossed her  note onto the car seat. Suddenly aware of the tightness in her chest, Jenna forced herself to breathe. The fresh air did little to calm the anger swarming at the base of her spine.

As soon as Matt’s car pulled away from the curb, she raced from the foyer to the kitchen, shot through the back door, and paced the perimeter of the courtyard. With hands fisted at her sides and her stomach contracting with anger, Jenna stomped along the paving stones. How dare Frank Watson contact me? she muttered. I’ve never said a word, and now he wants to see me? For what?

No one, absolutely no one would ever convince her to see Frank Watson. She owed him nothing. Frank had turned her from a high-spirited, young girl into a despondent teenager. She’d spent fifteen years learning how to master the unending rage that lived a few centimeters below her skin. It had taken determination and sacrifice to find a way to exist in the world, but she’d done it. Wasn’t her life proof that she’d wrestled the fear and anger into a tightly locked cage?

If she did see him what would she say?

Jenna halted her steps as a question formed in her mind. Why did you do it?

If she ever wanted an answer, she’d have to see Frank before he died. Was it worth it? Could she actually stand in front of the man whose memory haunted her and ask him why?

No.

Even after fifteen years, the wound was too tender.

She collapsed into a lawn chair and stared at the ground, her body limp without the constricting anger.

Matt Watson. At her front gate.

At the age of twelve, Matt had been the coolest, most handsome, most wonderful boy on the planet. She’d loved sneaking into his room to investigate all the boy things there—running shoes with spikes, model cars and airplanes, video games, and adventure stories. His room had always smelled faintly of mud and sweat. He always seemed to be in a hurry, rushing in after school and rushing right back out for sports practice. The walls had been decorated with posters of basketball players and fantasy spacecraft, the ceiling adorned with glow-in-the-dark planets.

Today he’d simply appeared as if those girlhood wishes on stars had finally been granted. With dark hair that curled around his collar, and eyes the color of the morning glories that climbed her back trellis, he’d fulfilled the promise of his adolescent good looks. Matt was no longer  the tall, lanky teenaged boy who had filled her girlhood fantasies with visions of stolen kisses and long walks, hand-in-hand. Now he was Dr. Matthew Watson, all grown up and heart-stoppingly handsome.

But Matt hadn’t come because of her. He’d looked her up after all this time because his uncle had requested it.

So much for girlhood dreams.

At least it was over now. Matt would take her message to Frank and she would return to the life she’d made for herself. She planned to age gracefully, passing through each celibate decade like a paragon of virtue. She’d be financially secure, conservative in dress and manner, and beyond reproach in her adopted town.

It was all a lie, of course.

Beneath her well-crafted façade, Jenna’s soul ached with the loneliness she’d been forced to endure. The mere glimpse of a mother swinging a child at the playground wrenched Jenna’s heart until drops of sorrow-infused blood tinged her skin.

So be it, she reasoned. She’d surrender emotion for logic, and trade spontaneity for carefully guarded conduct if it meant safety from people who saw vulnerability as an invitation to attack.

Jenna pushed to her feet and waited for her head to clear. As she made her way to the back door, fatigue wrapped her shoulders in a leaden mantle. There was one consolation. Now that she’d sent Matt away, she’d never be bothered by him or his uncle again.

CHAPTER TWO

––––––––

Matt let himself into Frank’s house and walked along the plush carpets to the sunroom. He spent most of his free time with Frank, listening to his uncle’s stories about the good old days and giving as much comfort as he could. Frank was out of options, but whenever his uncle spoke of the future, Matt knew he still fought the undeniable conclusion of his illness.

Matt’s stomach clenched as he stepped into the room. The cloying smell of imminent death hovered nearby, a spectral reminder of Matt’s failure.

The  night  nurse’s  gray head  snapped  up  from the  book she’d  been reading.  "Evening, Dr.

Watson, she said in a soft, professional tone. Your uncle’s been sleeping for the last hour."

Matt nodded his understanding and timed the drip from Frank’s I.V. bag. The rate was satisfactory, exactly what Frank’s long-time internist had ordered.

If you’re going to be here a few minutes, I’d like to make a fresh pot of coffee, the nurse

said.

––––––––

Go ahead, Matt answered, but the nurse was already on her way to the kitchen.

Is that you, Matt? His uncle’s voice was a no louder than the beat of a dragonfly’s wing. Matt took in a deep breath and  leaned closer. "Yeah,  it’s  me,  Uncle  Frank.  How  are   you

feeling?"

Like I’ve been on a five-day bender. What time is it? What day is it?

Six o’clock, Sunday evening. Matt reached for a nearby stethoscope and listened to Frank’s chest. Still clear, Matt noted.

Frank rubbed his face and Matt frowned at the many bruises on the back of his uncle’s   hand.

Someday there’d be a better way to deliver intravenous therapy. Did you see Jenna today? Frank asked.

Sure did. She lives in a lovely house in Walnut Hill, north of the city. She works at the bank there.

Is she coming to see me? I don’t think so.

The disappointment in Frank’s eyes tore at Matt’s heart. Who did Jenna think she was to deny Frank’s last request? She gave me a note for you, Matt hurried to add, pulling the folded paper out of his pocket and offering it to his uncle.

Read it, Frank said. I can’t focus on anything. Go ahead and read it. She wrote, ‘I never told.’

Frank swiveled his head away from Matt and gave a