Second Chance Mom. Emilie Rose
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together.
Rachel’s trapezius muscles knotted. Rolling her shoulders to ease the tension, she continued toward her old room. The same floorboards creaked, but then she stopped in surprise on the threshold. Other than the furniture and the picture of her parents that she’d taken with her old camera, all traces of her stay here had been erased. The soothing sky-blue curtains, bedding and painted walls had been changed to deep plum with touches of lavender and lime.
This room had been her prison and simultaneously her sanctuary from the town in which she did not fit. She forced her feet forward and dropped her bag on the bed.
“What’re you doing in my room?”
Rachel jerked around. “This used to be my room.”
“It’s mine now.” Defensive. Territorial. “The guest room is that sissy pink one down the hall.”
Only then did Rachel notice the nail polish and makeup in a plastic bin on the dresser. “Gotcha.”
She backtracked to the ballerina bedroom, but she couldn’t help wondering if her things were gone because her sister had redecorated the room for Chastity or was it something more? Had Hope been trying to eradicate Rachel from Chastity’s life? She’d stopped Rachel’s visits five years ago, reducing contact to emails and brief phone calls.
How badly had her sister wanted her gone?
* * *
MATT TOLD HIMSELF he was simply taking a shortcut home from the Cub Scout meeting. But he knew differently.
It was late. His knee ached. He should be in bed getting much-needed sleep. Why was he making an unscheduled detour by Hope’s house? Because Rachel had looked ready to bolt earlier today. He wanted to see if she’d packed up her niece and taken off. Would she selfishly put her wants above Chastity’s?
Turning onto Hope’s street, he slowed his pickup. He was surprised to see a car in the driveway, even more surprised to see a lamp burning in the den. A shadow crossed in front of the window. He braked involuntarily. Rachel’s? Had to be.
There wasn’t anything to do in Johnstonville after ten, and Hope had refused to install cable TV. What was Rachel doing up at this time of night? Packing to hit the road at dawn?
The only reason he was out this late was because he’d had to clean up the volcano experiment he and the boys hadn’t quite pulled off as planned at the meeting. His mind had been on other things, and he’d measured incorrectly. The volcano had erupted with too much enthusiasm, spreading its fake lava all over the church basement. He’d sent the dripping kids and their fathers home and gotten out the mop. His mistake. His duty to clean it up.
Against his better judgment, he turned into Hope’s driveway. His headlights passed across the front of the house. A moment later Rachel’s face appeared in the window. Too late to wise up and go home now. He cut the engine. When he climbed out of his truck, she dropped the curtain. He tapped quietly on the door and waited. Silent seconds passed. Did she plan to ignore him? He was about to knock again when the porch light came on. His mouth dried. The door eased open a crack.
Her chocolate-brown eyes looked red-rimmed in the light, but Rachel had always been too tough to cry. Tangled dark hair tumbled over her shoulders. He couldn’t halt the memory of how it had felt when she’d dragged it across his chest and stomach when they’d made love. Not a thought he needed right now.
“What do you want, Matt?”
Her lack of welcome quenched the flickering ember of desire. “I saw your light. Is everything okay?”
She lowered her lids and rubbed her temple. She looked fragile. Fragile? Rachel? Impossible. Rachel was cast-iron tough. Hell on wheels. But the shadows beneath her eyes and hollows in her cheeks were impossible to miss.
“Jet lag. Can’t sleep.”
“May I come in?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure you want to do that? By breakfast it’ll be all over town that you were with Rachel the Rebel at midnight.”
She was right, but he was a big boy now. And apparently not a smart one. “I’ll risk it.”
She stepped back, putting a finger to her lips, and the memory of her doing the same when they’d snuck out of this same house over a decade ago tackled him.
“Chastity’s asleep.”
Her whisper brought back a flood of emotions he didn’t need. Following her inside, he rubbed the back of his neck. It felt strange to be in Hope’s house without Hope. Stranger still to be here with Rachel. She wore the same clothes as earlier, only she’d untucked her baggy shirt. His mind immediately went to the last time they’d been alone together in the dark. Naked. Only then, he’d been the one to mess up her hair. God, he’d loved tangling his fingers in the silky strands and holding her close. Involuntarily, desire rekindled. He tried to snuff it out and failed miserably.
Focus. “Have you decided to let Chastity finish out the school year here?”
Rachel’s brow dipped, and she shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Bad decision.” He didn’t want her to go. For Chastity’s sake.
“Excuse me?”
Matt moved carefully as he approached her. The last thing he wanted was for his knee to buckle and dump him on the floor at her feet. All the kneeling from mopping and cleaning had strained the muscles. He needed his brace, but it was at home. Where he should be.
“Chastity doesn’t need another change right now. She’ll graduate from middle school in a few weeks and would be transitioning to high school for fall. Summer is the logical time to move her.”
Rachel jammed her fingers into her hair and paced toward the sofa. “I understand what you’re saying, Matt. I even agree with you to a point, but my job is very important to me. It would be difficult to get more time off.”
“Try. For Chastity’s sake.”
She faced him, looking torn, exhausted and a little...scared? His protective instincts kicked in, but he dismissed them.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
The fact that they continued to whisper like kids sneaking around only increased the southerly direction of his blood flow. Damn it, he was getting a boner. It irritated him that she still got to him.
“I’m asking you to put someone else’s needs ahead of your own for once.”
He couldn’t decipher the look she gave him, but tangled in all the other emotions chasing across her face, he thought he caught a flash of pain.
“Fine. I’ll call my supervisor in the morning and see if she can spare me a little longer. But don’t get your hopes up.”
“Good.” He searched her face. This wasn’t the sassy Rachel he remembered. This version looked as if she needed a hug. But he flattened the impulse to deliver one. He knew better. He came from a family of huggers, but holding Rachel definitely wouldn’t be like comforting his sister. Rachel was the only woman who’d ever made him lose control, and that wasn’t a trail he wanted to travel again. His relationship with her and her subsequent rejection had taken him to a moral low that he couldn’t forget.
They stared at each other, the silence stretching awkwardly. Questions charged through his head like the punt return team. A part of him wanted to ask why she’d dumped him, to hear the reasons from her lips instead of conjecture from townsfolk or Hope’s account. But Rachel’s reasons didn’t matter—water under the bridge and all that.
She’d left him when he’d been at the top of his game—so she definitely wouldn’t want anything to do with him now that his glory days were over. And he was okay with that. He’d come to terms with disappointing his dad and the citizens of Johnstonville. He’d rebuilt his life and made it a decent one. He loved his job.
She