Anyone but Him Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Anyone

  But Him

  Theresa Linden

  PRAISE FOR ANYONE BUT HIM

  “Anyone But Him had me hooked from the start! How did good girl Caitlyn Summers wake up next to bad boy Jarret West? Theresa Linden unravels the mystery layer by layer as Caitlyn questions whom to trust, who has changed, and how an unfinished investigation may be the key to it all. Caitlyn’s quest for truth won’t be complete until everyone’s motives are brought to the light, including her own. Told through Caitlyn’s eyes, Anyone But Him will keep you doubting, guessing - and maybe even falling in love - alongside her.”

  ~Carolyn Astfalk, author of contemporary inspirational romances, including Stay With Me and Ornamental Graces

  “I don’t often re-read books but once in a while, one touches me, and I become so connected with the characters that I must revisit them from time to time. Anyone But Him is that kind of book. The author has a lot of elements going on in this story - mystery, romance, amnesia, and a pro-life message. How she intertwines and weaves all these pieces together is perfection. There were so many scenes that I read numerous times because they were so captivating.”

  ~Leslea Wahl, author of award-winning The Perfect Blindside and An Unexpected Role

  BOOKS BY THERESA LINDEN

  CHASING LIBERTY TRILOGY

  Chasing Liberty

  Testing Liberty

  Fight for Liberty

  WEST BROTHERS SERIES

  Roland West, Loner

  Life-Changing Love

  Battle for His Soul

  Standing Strong

  SHORT STORIES

  “Bound to Find Freedom”

  “A Symbol of Hope”

  “A Battle for the Faith”

  “Made for Love” (in the anthology Image and Likeness: Literary Reflections on the Theology of the Body)

  “Full Reversal” (in the anthology Image and Likeness: Literary Reflections on the Theology of the Body)

  Copyright © 2018 by Theresa A. Linden

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or places is purely coincidental.

  Scripture quotations are from The Revised Standard Version of the Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1965, 1966 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  http://theresalinden.com

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017918741

  Hardback: 978-0-9976747-5-0

  Paperback: 978-0-9976747-4-3

  First Edition, Silver Fire Publishing, April 2018

  Cover: Theresa Linden

  Editor: Lisa Nicholas

  DEDICATION

  This book was originally titled “Life After Mistakes” but was retitled to avoid sounding like a non-fiction, self-help book. But the possibility of having a wonderful life even after making big mistakes is the message of this story, so I am dedicating this book to everyone who has made big mistakes in their life. I hope you come to believe that God is much bigger than your mistakes, and He can’t wait to forgive you, shower you with grace, and give you a mission for the sake of the Kingdom.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am grateful for the encouragement and assistance I have received from several talented authors: Carolyn Astfalk, Leslea Wahl, Don Mulcare, Susan Peek, Corinna Turner, Barb Grady Szyszkiewicz, and my editor Lisa Nicholas. These authors have helped me to grow as a writer and have encouraged and supported me through this project. Last but not least, I will always be thankful for the love and support of my husband and three boys, who have helped me in countless ways.

  “Therefore, if any one is in Christ,

  he is a new creation;

  the old has passed away,

  behold,

  the new has come.”

  ~2 Corinthians 5:17

  CHAPTER 1

  A STRANGE TAP-TAP-TAPPING sucked me from a dark sleep, making me aware of something warm and comforting draped over my waist. An arm? No, not possible.

  Shadows shifted, a breeze tickled my cheek, and a burst of light turned my closed eyelids orange. The tap-tap-tapping started up again, my last hope for sleep slipping away. Inhaling a deep breath of lilac-scented air, I reached to adjust my pillow, but pain made my hand shoot to my throbbing head. Why did it ache so? I never got headaches.

  I opened my eyes and tried focusing on what should’ve been my closet door. Curtains swished in the breeze and a drawstring tapped the window frame. The window didn’t belong there.

  The thing draped over my waist moved. It was an arm! Then a hand touched my side and slid over my abdomen. A man with a deep, sleepy voice said, “You still mad at me?”

  Wide awake now, I stopped breathing. I threw back the covers—and the hand—and tore out of bed.

  “I guess that’s a yes,” the man said.

  In my mind, jagged, edgy lines zipped in every direction, splintering off again and again over the picture of my life, turning it into a puzzle. What was a guy doing in my—

  I stood in the middle of a large shadowy room, next to a queen-size bed with a curved headrest behind it and a bare-chested man in it. A dark old-fashioned dresser with a huge mirror dominated the opposite wall. The room had three closed doors that probably led to a bathroom, a closet, and the way out. This was not my bedroom.

  “It’s Saturday. Come back to bed, Caitlyn.” The man lay with his face in the pillow and his arm stretched across the bed in the exact spot where I had been. He turned his head, maybe to look at me but dark curls covered his eyes. He looked familiar. Did I know him? Why was I in his house? In his bed? Certainly we hadn’t—

  My stomach tightened. “No, I—I think I...” With my eyes fixed on him, I backed to the window and the blowing curtains. Any chance it was a sliding glass door and I could make a break for it?

  A gust of wind sent the curtain twirling and light scattered the darkness in the room. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair had none of its natural curl but hung down, straight and red, over my shoulders. I wore
a pastel pink sleep teddy and—

  My heart shot into my throat. Was I wearing only a sleep teddy that barely covered my panties? I crossed my arms over my chest, which was adequately covered, and scanned for clothes.

  My toes sunk into a fluffy dark-blue rug on a hardwood floor. Two antique armchairs flanked a big wooden chest against the wall. A worn cardboard box sat askew in the corner, seeming oddly out of place in the otherwise tidy room. Not a stitch of clothes anywhere.

  What had I done with my clothes? Or what had he done with them? And what else could I use to cover myself? A wave of nausea washed over me. Head throbbing and hands trembling like mad, I grabbed the bedspread and gave it a good tug.

  He grasped at it and said, “Hey! Just ’cuz you don’t want to sleep in...” as I whisked it from the bed. He made one last swipe for the bedspread, then pulled the sheet up to his chest and locked it down with his arm.

  I wrapped the dark flowery bedspread around myself and tossed the end of it over one shoulder, making a sort of toga. Where was my purse? My cell phone?

  “I still don’t get why you’re mad at me.” The man rolled over and threw back the sheet, revealing a lean but muscular physique. He pushed himself up, swung his bare legs over the edge of the bed, and sat with his back to me. Dark curls hung past his wide shoulders. He wore nothing but dark blue shorts or maybe boxers.

  The trembling increased. I shot wild glances to each side, looking for something to arm myself. Who was he? How did I end up here?

  He groaned, rubbing his face. “Really, I should be mad at you. You were the one out late. With no explanation. You ever gonna tell me why?”

  Not sure how to answer, I watched his reflection in the mirror. When he dropped his hands, I gasped and staggered back. The puzzle of my life quivered, and all the pieces scattered. “Jarret West?”

  Okay, so at least I knew him. I shook my head, shocked that I’d found a degree of comfort in that thought. Jarret West?

  He looked older or maybe tired. And rather than the faint, trim goatee I remembered, he had that stylish unshaven look of today’s young actors and models. Maybe he hadn’t bothered shaving for the past few days. No, that didn’t seem like him. He’d been one of the vainest guys in high school.

  His haughty eyes narrowed as he gazed at me through the mirror. “What?” His tone held a note of challenge.

  “Oh, I... um.” I backed up until the curtains licked my back. Not wanting to make him mad and desperate to figure this mess out, I forced a smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I got here.”

  Where was here? I’d been inside Jarret’s house before. His younger brother Roland was one of my best friends. Expensive furniture and displays of antiques filled every room of their gigantic house. This looked nothing like their house. “I’m not sure where I—”

  “You wanna go look for your car? Is that it?” He stepped to the dresser and opened a low drawer.

  So much bare skin and in such an intimate setting! I squirmed and turned away.

  “I wish you’d tell me why you up and left it somewhere. I’d like to know what happened. Don’t I have a—”

  “My car?” What was he talking about? I was only eighteen. My parents weren’t rich. How could I afford a car? “You mean my dad’s van? I’m sure it’s at home.” My parents must be worried sick. I’d never stayed out all night unless for a sleepover... with permission... at a girlfriend’s house. What did I do last night? How did I end up in this mess? I tapped my throbbing forehead. Why couldn’t I remember?

  “Huh?” He glanced at me through the mirror as he pulled his jeans up. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “What happened last night?”

  “I don’t know.” He shoved a wallet into his back pocket and jangled some keys but didn’t seem interested in getting a shirt. “I hate when we fight.” He turned around. His eyes looked softer, maybe a little sad. I had never seen him like that before. He’d always struck me as an insensitive, rude, and conceited guy.

  I stepped back again and bumped the window. “No, I mean, what happened to me last night?”

  Bare chested, long hair hanging loose, he walked around the bed, eyes on me. “You don’t remember? Are you feeling all right?”

  I reached for my aching head, and the toga slipped.

  Jarret stepped into my personal space.

  I gasped.

  He stepped back.

  Grasping wildly at the bedspread, I remade the toga and held it in place as I moved away from him. He followed until I wound up backed into a corner.

  His eyebrows twitched. He stopped uncomfortably close and brought a hand up to my head.

  I jerked back, knocking my head against the wall. Not that I thought he would hit me but... I shivered and crossed my arms over the quilt.

  He put a palm to my forehead. “You’re not hot.”

  “I—I have a headache.”

  “Yeah?” With concern in his eyes, he brushed the hair from my forehead.

  My skin crawled. I shoved his hand away and darted past him. “Yes, a little one.” I lied. It felt like a bomb had gone off inside my head, and my stomach rumbled as if I had eaten bad clams. “But really, I can’t remember how I got here. And...” I gulped, hating to ask the next question. “Do you know where my clothes are? And my purse?” I slunk to the other side of the bed, scanning the floor.

  “You don’t remember how you got here?” He cocked an eyebrow and raised his voice. “You came home in a cab. You don’t remember that? I want to know where your car—”

  “Home? Okay, but that doesn’t explain how I got here. I took a cab home... and then came here? Why? Where else was I? I mean, what was I doing?” I tried one of the doors. A nightlight showed a large, tidy bathroom that smelled of soap and manly cologne.

  Jarret stood motionless on the other side of the bed, staring at me with his mouth hanging open. “What... were... you doing? You’re asking me?”

  “Yes.” I held his gaze then dropped mine to the bed. I’d shoved the thought aside but had to face it now. We’d crawled out of the same bed. The answer was obvious. Needing to hear him say it, I pulled the toga tighter, sucked in a breath, and waited.

  His mouth fell open again, his eyes narrowing. Why didn’t he want to answer my question?

  I gripped the bedspread so hard my fingernails pressed into my palms through the fabric. How could I ever have wound up in a situation like this? This was like bad casting for a horror movie. Some of my friends might have found themselves in this situation. But not me. I always said “no” to drugs and to sex before marriage. I didn’t even swear. And I always said “yes” to my parents and to Jesus. This could never be a chapter in my life. There was no possible way this was happening to me.

  “We didn’t, I mean...” Relaxing my death-grip on the bedspread, I set my jaw, determined to get an answer. “Did we, did we...?” I couldn’t get the words out.

  His mouth curled up on one side and his eye twitched. “Make love?”

  “Have sex?” Could one really call doing it with someone they didn’t like making love?

  He turned away, inhaled, turned back, exhaled. “You don’t remember making up?”

  My heart plummeted to the floor. My eyes watered, making me blink rapidly. I couldn’t have. I was waiting for marriage. Could he be lying? “Where are my... my clothes?”

  “Where are your— I think you’d better go back to bed. Maybe you’re dreaming. Somehow. Maybe. Could you be sleepwalking, sleep talking?” He crept toward me. “Why don’t you lie down?”

  “No, thank you.” I backed away. My lips wouldn’t stop trembling. “If you could give me my clothes, I’ll be on my way.”

  He shook his head. “No.” He pointed to the bed. “Lie down.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to. You can’t keep me here. I need to go home. My parents are probably worried sick.”

  His face drained of color. “Your parents?” With something like panic in his eyes, he grabbed my shoulde
rs. “Baby, you need to lie down.”

  Disgusted by his touch, I tried twisting from his grip. “Please, don’t call me baby.”

  “Something must’ve happened to you.” Still gripping my shoulders, he moved me to the bed. “Maybe we should get you to the hospital.”

  “The hospital? I’m not going to the hospital. There’s nothing wrong with me!”

  “No, I’m gonna call a doctor. I’ll call Mike. You remember Mike? Did you know he’s a doctor?”

  “Jarret, no, I’m not going to—” If he went to make the phone call, I could try the window. I’d need to grab some clothes. “Okay, I’ll lie down. You call the doctor. What’s his name? Mike? You go call Mike.”

  With jail warden eyes, he watched as I crawled back into bed. Then he went for the middle door. He gave me and the window a funny look before leaving the room.

  The door clicked shut.

  I jumped out of bed. The toga fell to the floor. I tore open the bottom drawer, the one from which he’d taken the jeans. Two neat stacks of jeans filled the drawer. I grabbed a faded pair and shoved my foot into it. They fit tight at my hips, loose around my waist, and hung way past my feet. As I zipped up, I dashed for the window.

  When I pushed back the curtains, my blood ran cold.

  A little wooden deck came off the back of the house, outside the bedroom window. A tree with a twisted trunk grew nearby, casting its shadow on the cushioned patio chairs and teak table on the deck. Jarret, still shirtless, sat hunched at the table with a phone pressed to his ear. He glanced at the window.

  I let the curtain fall.

  Had he kidnapped me? Maybe he’d drugged me. But why me? He had no need for money and no interest in my type. He always chased the pretty, flirty, vain girls.

  I flung myself onto the bed and wrapped my arms around my waist. My head still ached and my stomach churned, but I didn’t feel different in any other way. Had I really lost my virginity? To him? I could never get that back. Burying my face in the pillows, I sobbed. Oh Lord, how could I have let this happen? What have I done? Why did he do this to me?